^>UL^lx 

 
 "You girls live . . . just the other side of the wall from 
 each other, and ought to be friends," blurted Tom
 
 THE OTHER SIDE 
 OF THE WALL 
 
 BY 
 HENRY JUSTIN SMITH 
 
 Illustrated by Clinton Pettee 
 
 GARDEN CITY NEW YORK 
 
 DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 1919
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1919, BT 
 
 DOUBLEDAT, PAGE & COMPANY 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF 
 
 TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, 
 
 INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN
 
 To 
 KATHERINE
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 " You girls live . . . just the other side 
 of the wall from each other, and ought to be 
 friends," blurted Tom Frontispiece 
 
 (See page 136) 
 
 PACING PAGE 
 
 Pauline rose. She was . . . tired of the 
 party, too. As for Lance, he was plainly 
 bored 42 
 
 "... And the idea of dragging your 
 side money out of father! It will ruin his 
 health, if not yours" 82 
 
 His eyelids closed again ... on his third 
 revival Pauline was beside him, holding 
 something for him to drink 318 
 
 vfi
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 PART I
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 F~ "^HE beginning happens to be about Ann 
 Stone, who went North to find a job. 
 
 -* She alighted from the passenger end of a 
 rickety ranch wagon one scorching day in the sum- 
 mer of 1916, and regarded without savour the dust- 
 covered town of Los Adios, Texas, where she was to 
 catch the north-bound express. John Blunt had 
 driven her over, and as this was in Texas she did not 
 give John anything, but said good-bye to him heartily 
 and sat down on the station platform to wait. 
 
 There appeared presently, from the wrong side of 
 the horizon, a cloud of dust that grew into a train. 
 It was an odd-looking train whose passengers kept 
 their heads out of the windows and yelled at random. 
 Further, as speedily appeared, they were all men, 
 dressed just alike in khaki. In short, this was a 
 troop tram. 
 
 The wheels creaked, and the train stopped. From 
 a forward platform leaped a long and lithe young 
 man with stripes on his sleeve. He gave onejdis- 
 gusted look at Los Adios, peered in at the deserted 
 window of the station office, and approached Ann 
 uncertainly. He was always uncertain how to ad- 
 dress ladies; and further, Ann did not seem to belong 
 in this landscape. He thought it probable that she
 
 4 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 was a school teacher, just from the East. ~ Hence it 
 was with more than military ceremony he took off his 
 hat and asked if she knew where there was any water. 
 
 "You see, we've been riding for hours in day 
 coaches, and we're just about well, we're dry." 
 
 Ann glanced up at the heads, which were trying 
 hard not to stare at her, and saw that the soldiers 
 were suffering. But though they were haggard and 
 dust-covered, they were merry. These soldiers were 
 the forerunners of those who, two years later, laughed 
 at the horrors of the French front. 
 
 "I think I don't live here, but I think there's a 
 well over back of that livery stable," said Ann, indi- 
 cating one of the five buildings of Los Adios. 
 
 "Thank you," said Sergeant Tom Fanning. He 
 and a squad dispensed water. Then the tram moved 
 on, amid cheers for Los Adios, and more stares for 
 Ann. She sat the rest of the morning, awaiting the 
 delinquent north-bound express, and glad she had 
 been of even so small a service to those hard-travel- 
 ling soldiers. As for Sergeant Tom Fanning, she 
 promptly forgot him. 
 
 There was trouble with Mexico, and that was in- 
 directly the reason why she was going North. Her 
 father, a professor of history in the little college back 
 on the prairies, had made some foolish remarks about 
 Texas in its relation to Mexico. So he had been 
 advised to try some other college the next year, and 
 Ann, foreseeing he might have trouble finding another 
 one, decided to be independent. This meant leaving
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 5 
 
 her father alone, for his wife was dead, and there were 
 no other children. Nor were there any jobs for 
 women in that part of Texas. Ann's father was now 
 in El Paso, whence he wrote that he might accept a 
 clerkship in a book store. It was time for her to 
 "strike out," and she had determined on the North 
 because it was rich, and because it was cool. Be- 
 sides, she had friends in the city whither she was 
 bound; the City of Deadly Ambitions, as it was some- 
 times romantically called. Friends? Perhaps bet- 
 ter say "a friend," for she did not yet know how Mr. 
 Bragg, of the famous advertising firm (to whom she 
 had a letter of introduction from the college presi- 
 dent), would turn out. But she was sure of Sally 
 Crowe, who had passed six unedifying months at the 
 college, and then had gone north to marry one Dick 
 Crowe, whom Ann had never seen. There was a 
 warm-hearted letter in Ann's pocket from Sally. It 
 gave an address on Westmont Avenue, which cer- 
 tainly "sounded like something." 
 
 One way or another, Ann felt sure of "getting on." 
 She had forty dollars, and a good deal of unobtrusive 
 pluck. And she was only twenty-one years old. 
 
 As for the city why, even in Texas it was spoken 
 of as glorious. It was also spoken of as over-popu- 
 lated and grasping. It was richer than ever since the 
 war, and the impression reaching Texas was that its 
 people, two million of them, lived in a sort of primeval 
 conflict to become richer still. It was, Ann had read, 
 a desert of smoke-covered buildings; a riot of hideous 
 noises; a bedlam of foreign languages. She had also
 
 6 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 read that its business was mainly done within a few 
 square miles, confined within a transportation "loop " 
 and a sullen river. Nevertheless, she had heard that 
 all this was glorious, and believed it. 
 
 When at last what was left of the north-bound 
 express groaningly stopped in the Union Station, 
 and Ann emerged into the City, she was half -stunned 
 by the clamour. It was evening. The "rush-hour" 
 was on. People homeward bound overflowed the 
 sidewalks into the gutters; dodged street cars and 
 taxicabs; tramped, heads down, across a bridge that 
 must have been built a half century before; plunged 
 along in two solid cross-currents that clashed and 
 never apologized. And overhead and all about there 
 was an uproar like battle, an uproar of bells, shouts, 
 thundering hoofs, shrieking machinery, policemen's 
 whistles. And a red sun, in a veil of smoke, lit up 
 the scene like the flare of a stage battle. 
 
 And oh, the people! The people, too desperately 
 in search of home and rest to think about anything 
 like trouble in Mexico, or even about the war in 
 Europe; too headlong for courtesy, or pleasure, or 
 hope. More people than Ann had ever seen; more 
 than she thought lived in the whole world. This 
 city was not like the one she had pictured; it was 
 greater and more frenzied than any of the reports 
 reaching Texas could picture it. People, people, 
 people ! Why, where did they all live ? Where could 
 they find places enough to live? 
 
 This thought was still in Ann's mind, in fact it 
 grew upon her, as she discovered, by aid of a police-
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 7 
 
 man, her elevated station, and by nobody's aid 
 at all, the right train. The train was besieged; 
 mobbed. She found herself roughly pushed inside, 
 while a hoarse guard yelled "Step up there," and 
 the platform was full and the passengers were 
 stepping on each other's feet, and still more people 
 got on. 
 
 Where did they all live? 
 
 It seemed impossible that there could be enough 
 roofs to shelter so many. Not until the train had 
 swayed cautiously around a dozen curves, and had 
 got across the river with its fringe of factories, and 
 past the huddled houses of the "near north side," did 
 Ann begin to understand. Then she perceived that 
 every lot that could be bought, leased, or grabbed 
 was built up with flats. There were whole cities of 
 flats, with stores and theatres serving them; and as 
 the train rattled north, and its human burden became 
 a little lightened, there were simply more flats. Pano- 
 ramas of streets bordered by pile after pile of gran- 
 diose masonry; mile upon mile of community dwel- 
 lings; vista after vista of fagades, cornices, porticos, 
 and towers. 
 
 They were Romanesque, Florentine, Colonial 
 everything. They flung out toward the street the 
 sturdy elbows of stone porches, or they retired from 
 the street into palm-bordered courts and quadrangles. 
 They were brown, yellow, some even purple, in front, 
 and uniformly a dull brown in the rear, with laby- 
 rinthine stairways. And some sprawled the length 
 of a block, while others rose slimly into the air, with
 
 8 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 signs atop saying "Four and five room apartments. 
 Cafe." 
 
 They stood in a silence that was remarkable, con- 
 sidering that after all they must be clamorous, fecund 
 places. They had an air of propriety, of seclusion. 
 About them there were no people at all, no sign of 
 human occupancy, except that occasionally there was 
 a glimpse of a table set for dinner, or clothes hanging 
 out to dry, or a woman's face at a window. A few 
 vague figures strolled in the streets, but they im- 
 mediately vanished. The passengers disembarking 
 from the elevated rushed down flimsy stairways, 
 separated in the streets below, entered these apart- 
 ment buildings, and vanished. For the most part, 
 they did not speak to each other. They had reached 
 home. 
 
 Ann was much interested in all this. She was as 
 much interested as she would have been in Constan- 
 tinople, or in East London. She wondered if these 
 people ever spoke to each other, and what they did 
 after they got home. And she wondered if they were 
 happy. 
 
 As the train went on, jerking to a stop at stations 
 with names as diverse and mysterious as "Grace," 
 "Sheridan," and "Buena," she amused herself by 
 peering into second-story windows. Perhaps it was 
 rude to do this, but if people did not expect it, why 
 did they live within view of the elevated, and why 
 leave their window-shades up? They had evidently 
 said good-bye to privacy, except in regard to speaking 
 to each other. But they seemed to attempt a sort
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 9 
 
 of privacy, after all, contriving things like window- 
 boxes, and complex lace curtains, and goldfish bowls, 
 to shut them in. Unless these articles were intended 
 to improve the view from within. Or to make the 
 public side of their lives more glittering. 
 
 Ann felt increasingly drawn to these curious folks. 
 Their evident struggles to be "homy" and self- 
 expressive in "three, four, and five rooms" struck her 
 as both gallant and quaint. Coming from the wide 
 reaches of Texas, where there was room for everybody 
 to have at least a "verandah" and a flower" garden, 
 she sympathized with this .cluttered and difficult 
 effort to live joyously. And behold, there was a 
 young woman watering a flower box, high up on the 
 fifth floor of a flat building. Ann felt like calhng 
 across to her, just as she would have done at home, 
 "Good evening. How are the nasturtiums?" 
 
 But she did not do this. She was saved from what 
 would have been a sad social error, in the flat build- 
 ing world, by hearing the guard call her station. 
 
 "Lakeside! Lakeside! Argonaut Park next!" 
 
 Where was the lake? Ah, Ann saw it twinkling 
 at the end of the little street as she got off. 
 
 Lakeside! The name brought visions of summer 
 resort cottages, and ravines, and all that. But there 
 was nothing here but flat buildings, larger and more 
 ornamental than those farther south. 
 
 It proved to be only a few minutes to the Fanning- 
 ton Annex, where, after a little trouble with speaking- 
 tubes and the like, Ann found Sally Crowe awaiting 
 her at the top of the third flight of stairs; Sally Crowe
 
 10 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 in the most violent yellow skirt Ann had ever seen, 
 and hair that beat all ! And Sally gathered her into 
 her arms, and cried : 
 
 "Ann! Why, you're so little! And you have no 
 colour at all. Is that what they do to you in Texas? " 
 
 The flat, inevitably nicknamed "The Crowes' 
 Nest," consisted of five rooms, and every one was 
 full. Not that they were all occupied, except by 
 Dick and Sally (who had no children), but they were 
 full of inanimate objects. Tables, chairs, sofas, 
 bookcases, a phonograph, a bowl of goldfish, an 
 imitation mahogany cabinet full of imitation porce- 
 lain, and a general clutter of framed photographs, 
 piles of magazines, paperweights, ash trays, and 
 pipes, decorated the living room. In the spare bed- 
 room, to which Sally conducted the visitor, there was 
 nothing much; but in passing Sally's own room, Ann 
 had a glimpse of a dresser whose mirror was half- 
 covered with dance programmes and photographs; 
 also of a bed with stray lengths of ribbon dangling 
 from the head and footboards, and clothes piled upon 
 it. There were more clothes on the chairs, and shoes 
 everywhere. 
 
 After laying off her hat and "tidying up," Ann 
 was conducted to the kitchenette, which was dosy 
 and fascinating, but showed little sign of use; and 
 thence to inspect the court, where two strips of grass, 
 assisted by a few priggish looking ferns in pots, bor- 
 dered an asphalt driveway. There was a forlorn- 
 looking little garden down there, made by taking up
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 11 
 
 the sod and sticking in seeds radishes and lettuce, 
 Ann thought. 
 
 "Whose garden is that?" she inquired. 
 
 "It's Dick's. Isn't he the limit?" And Sally 
 laughed with good-natured scorn. 
 
 "He'll soon be home," she added, glancing at her 
 bracelet watch. "Or I suppose he will." 
 
 "Don't you want me to help you with dinner?" 
 said Ann. 
 
 "Bless you, I'm not going to get any. I never 
 cook in summer." 
 
 "Then what " 
 
 "With a million cafes handy, why should I cook?" 
 protested the housewife. "I suppose you just love 
 to make omelettes and things. You look domestic. 
 There, I don't mean anything by that. You have 
 distinction," she continued, surveying Ann more 
 critically. "Your hair looks nifty, waved that way; 
 it's so dark. But just a little more there, now come 
 in and peek at yourself in the glass, and I'll give you 
 a ribbon for your hair. Oh, I'll love to go out with 
 you." 
 
 They went in, but Ann did not accept the ribbon, 
 despite suggestions that she "lacked colour." While 
 this argument was still on, Dick arrived. He came 
 in whistling, with his straw hat on the back of his 
 head, stopped short when he saw Ann, and furtively 
 tossed a cigarette stump into the fireplace. 
 
 "This is Ann Stone, who's going to visit us for 
 oh, ever so long," was Sally's introduction. 
 
 Dick shook hands with Ann gravely, and muttered
 
 12 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 something about pleasure. This over, Sally turned 
 on him with the question, "Well, did you land it?" 
 
 Dick shook his head. 
 
 "Well," she said, indignantly, "I'd like to know 
 where the upkeep of this flat is to come from, then?" 
 
 "You should worry about that," he replied, look- 
 ing sideways at Ann. "I was never out of a job 
 more than a month, was I?" 
 
 "No, and you never were in one more than a 
 month, either," retorted Sally. But she dropped the 
 subject there, and gave all her attention to Ann, who 
 was somewhat dazed at having personal matters aired 
 in this way. 
 
 Ann found out, however, during dinner at the 
 Magnificent Cafe a low-ceilinged dining room 
 around the block, with tiny glass-topped tables and 
 stems on shelves that Dick and Sally conducted 
 all their affairs in the open : Their reckonings, their 
 quarrels, and their reconciliations. They were very 
 plainspoken both with each other and with her. 
 
 "You see there's no sham about us," Sally in fact 
 remarked, after a warm discussion relating to the 
 purchase of a new davenport. "We don't pretend 
 to be richer or sweller than we are; and that's more'n 
 you can say about most people in Lakeside." 
 
 "What is Lakeside?" Ann sought to know, hoping 
 the question would lead away from the subject of 
 money. 
 
 "It isn't really anything," Dick replied. "That 
 is, it isn't a place by itself; a suburb, or anything 1 like 
 that. It used to be a village, they say, with a with
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 13 
 
 a church steeple, and everything. But now it's just 
 a part of the city. You don't know where it begins 
 or ends." 
 
 "Why, Dick," objected Sally. "It ends at the 
 elevated." 
 
 "I know that's the way some look at it. The 
 swells over here think people west of the elevated 
 don't live in Lakeside; but that's all bunk. Fact is, 
 I don't know when I'm in Lakeside and when I 
 ain't." 
 
 He absorbed a forkful of food. 
 
 "And I don't care," he grinned, looking at Sally. 
 
 "The dickens you don't," she jeered. "Wasn't 
 it you who insisted on coming up here? " 
 
 "It was not. It was you who said you couldn't 
 stand the noise down at Fullerton Avenue. And now 
 this is too quiet for you." 
 
 To an accompaniment like this, varied by bursts 
 of half -hysterical merriment, dinner was finished, 
 and they made off to a vaudeville show a few 
 blocks south. Ann did not especially care to go to 
 this show. She was tired. It was apparent that if 
 she remained more than a day or two they would 
 have to leave her out of their "evenings." They 
 seemed to be continually on the move, and planned 
 ahead for days, so that there should not be a moment 
 unfilled. This, she judged, was a characteristic of 
 Lakeside. Both going to and coming from the 
 theatre they passed building after building whose 
 apartments showed only the dim light of non-occu- 
 pancy. Some of the people were in the streets; a
 
 14 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 great many more in the "movie" shows; others were 
 still nibbling at pink and yellow viands in the in- 
 numerable restaurants. There may have been, for 
 them, no place like home no place like home to get 
 away from. 
 
 Three days brought more discoveries; also a few 
 developments. 
 
 Of the discoveries, one was that the Fannington 
 Annex, as its name implied, was a subordinate part 
 of another building known as the Fannington. This 
 supreme achievement in the making of "homes" was 
 just around the corner, on Thoreau Place (generally 
 pronounced "Thorough"), where its silk-curtained sun 
 parlours gave a view of the lake. It had towers like 
 Windsor Castle, and its entrances were reminiscent 
 of French chateaux. On the towers were big brass 
 medallions with fancy "Fs" on them. Clearly Sally 
 would have been made happy for life by an invitation 
 to play cards in the Fannington; as for living there, 
 she had given up hope, in view of Dick's failings. 
 
 Here came discovery number two: That people in 
 the Fannington did not visit with those of the Annex, 
 did not invite them out, or know them at all. There 
 was an imaginary wall between the two buildings, 
 as well as a fire-wall. 
 
 "The truth is," said Sally, "the other building is 
 filled with old Fanning's friends, or people he lets 
 live there for advertising reasons, while we are sure 
 enough tenants, who have to pay or get out." 
 
 "And who is old Fanning?"
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 15 
 
 "He's the main mogul of Lakeside; owns twa 
 banks, four or five of the best buildings, bosses the 
 Little Stone Church, and just about keeps people's 
 souls around here locked up in his safety deposit 
 vaults, what with chattel mortgages and all that." 
 
 "Has he any of your mortgages?" 
 
 Sally laughed. 
 
 "Well, say, child, nobody hands out more than two 
 or three, unless they're poly poly some kind of 
 crat. No, we don't owe old Fanning a cent, except 
 the rent, and that's hard enough to scrape together, 
 heaven knows." 
 
 It was at this point that the rest of the truth about 
 Dick came out. He was, Ann learned, what some 
 people call an "in and outer." That is, he never 
 held a business place as Sally had said for more 
 than a month, and the salaries he drew varied greatly. 
 More, he appeared to be steadily on the down grade 
 as to income. He could, if he chose, said Sally, make 
 good anywhere. He was a successful salesman, a 
 fair accountant could turn his hand to almost any- 
 thing. But there was something vital the matter. 
 And whereas he had once made as much as seventy- 
 five dollars a week, he now could scarcely command 
 forty-five. It seemed that whenever a fifty-dollar 
 job "soured on him," as Sally put it, he became sure 
 he could "drag down" sixty dollars somewhere else. 
 But he generally sank below even the fifty. 
 
 "Honest," said Sally, "he's worked so many places 
 I wonder they don't just run and hide, everywhere, 
 when they see him coming."
 
 16 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 "Wbat do you suppose is the matter with him?" 
 inquired Ann, with her look of innocent concern. 
 
 "Maybe you don't think I'd like to find out." 
 And Sally frowned for a moment. But the next 
 breath she was playing with the goldfish, and scream- 
 ing with laughter. 
 
 During these researches into Lakeside and its 
 ways, Ann became a permanent resident. She was 
 advised by Sally against boarding, and accepted 
 gratefully the offer of the spare bedroom at a moder- 
 ate rate. Sally's only stipulation was that Dick be 
 not told about the arrangement. "He'd only throw 
 the money away." He was to be permitted to think 
 Ann was still a visitor. 
 
 "And maybe it'll stir him up to get a good 
 job," said Sally, "having a, so-to-speak, permanent 
 guest." 
 
 Ann was not sure of the soundness of this strategy, 
 but she concluded it was not her affair. She was too 
 busy, just now, to worry about the Crowe household, 
 for she had "accepted a position" with Bragg & 
 Co., a position mostly having to do with the filing of 
 newspaper clippings, and she was anxious to make 
 good. Here, too, she yielded to her passion for find- 
 ing out about people, and especially about how find 
 where they lived. Being only a "filer," she was not 
 in the inner secrets of the office. She had the vaguest 
 notions what it was all about, and she had little idea 
 that the chunky and baldish Bragg, who generally 
 worked with his hat on, was a genius in his way. 
 Yet, through bits of talk at the lunch hour, through
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 17 
 
 things overheard, innocently enough, and through 
 quiet observation, she learned a great deal. 
 
 She came to know the luminaries of the office: 
 the "ad-writers" who sat in little private offices 
 or, more often, did not sit in them; the "art depart- 
 ment," from whose room came the loudest argument 
 and the densest tobacco smoke; the bookkeeping 
 department, presided over by Mr. Fleming, who was 
 said to be a Baptist and to have six children; and so 
 on. 
 
 The stream of life flowing in and out of Bragg's 
 own cubby-hole was all wonderful, amusing. She 
 made the acquaintance of Teddy, Bragg's confiden- 
 tial office boy, and found him a cynic, a believer in 
 the theory that "anybody will fall for publicity." 
 In bursts of confidence he talked about his boss, and 
 revealed the belief that the boss would "do him if he 
 could." He went further, and whispered that he 
 thought sometimes "the boss would do anybody." 
 
 "D'ye see that sheeny in here the other day?" 
 scoffed Teddy. "He'd invented some new kind of 
 drip-pan. Thought he'd invest ten dollars or so in 
 advertising. I don't know what was said, but before 
 he's been in with the boss a half hour, the boss calls 
 in the experts; then he gets in Happerth to frame up 
 a line of ads; and hang me if they didn't get that 
 Jew for a $5,000 contract; all about a drip-pan." 
 
 Womanlike, Ann seized on a minor point. 
 
 "Who is Mr. Happerth?" she wanted to know. 
 
 Teddy laughed in a jeering way. 
 
 "Ain't you wise to him yet? Haven't you seen the
 
 18 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 boy with the ice-cream pants, and the the chocolate 
 sundae hair? Haven't you noticed anybody swat tin* 
 flies with a ivory-handled paper knife?'* 
 
 "I'll look out for such a person," Ann laughed. 
 "But you haven't told me yet who he is." 
 
 "He's the finish ing- touch man, that's who he is. 
 He's the fellow Bragg calls in when they want an 
 ad to have just the out-and-out pep that gets the 
 money. 'Let somebody else collect the facts,' says 
 the boss. 'Then turn it over to Happerth/ And 
 he's on the payroll for " 
 
 *'I don't care to know about his salary." 
 
 "But here; he's a fat thing on the payroll. Comes 
 to the office in a car some days. An* he lives in the 
 Fannington, that gimcrack flat building up north 
 what gets a quarter-page in the Tribune Sundays." 
 
 Teddy had impressed her at last. He went on to 
 paint the Fannington, which he had never seen, in 
 dimensions and colours like those of an Atlantic City 
 hotel. Ann did not listen. She was thinking that 
 it was only in large cities such coincidences could hap- 
 pen as her proximity, in two different places, to Mr. 
 and Mrs. Happerth for of course there was a Mrs. 
 Happerth. And she had an undefinable feeling that 
 this proximity would lead to something some time. 
 
 She would have been more than human had she 
 not looked out for Happerth's arrival at the office 
 next morning. He came in late, as office hours went. 
 He had on the white trousers scorned by Teddy, 
 but the office boy's description of his hair was unjust. 
 It was brown hair with a tight little wave in it, and it
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 19 
 
 fell gracefully across a brow much wider and whiter 
 than the brows of some ad-writers. He had a soft, 
 alert step, and seemed very good-natured, although 
 the satirical twist of his mouth promised trouble if 
 he were crossed. 
 
 He flitted into a private office, and did not come 
 out again. Perhaps he was swatting flies. 
 
 It was several days before Ann mentioned at home 
 that a great star of Bragg & Co. lived in the Fan- 
 nington. And when she did speak of it the effect 
 was merely to bring out afresh the Crowes' old quar- 
 rel about social prominence. 
 
 "Look at him," railed Sally, referring to her re- 
 creant husband. "He sits there, pegging pins into 
 a war map. Oh, he's a peach at figuring out battle- 
 fronts, but he never does me any good. And if it 
 ain't the war map, then he's studying some old rail- 
 road timetable, or reading up on Alaska. Just as if 
 we ever went anywhere! And it wouldn't be Alaska 
 if we did go, you bet you." 
 
 Dick whistled softly to himself. He was acutely 
 happy with his war map, constructed at great pains 
 by piecing together half-pages of the Sunday supple- 
 ments. 
 
 Very soon he put on his coat, and without answer- 
 ing Sally's taunts, swaggered out of the flat. 
 Ann watched him go with a kind of compassion. 
 He was an athletic young fellow with a straight 
 mouth, and gray eyes that twinkled easily. It 
 seemed strange, incredible, that he made so little 
 of himself.
 
 20 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 "There he goes," said Sally. "The selfish mut. 
 He has his fun, and leaves me, kicking my heels." 
 
 "How did you come to marry him?" asked the 
 inquisitive Ann. 
 
 "I wanted a home!" cried Sally. 
 
 Ann almost laughed. "Is that what Dick 
 wanted?" she asked. 
 
 "I suppose so," Sally pouted. 
 
 Ann glanced around at the flat, started to speak* 
 and checked herself. The outcome of that marriage 
 "for a home" was comic. But also pathetic. 
 
 Sally suddenly jumped up, and flounced into her 
 room, apparently to cry. She emerged presently, 
 however, arrayed in a costume of light blue, with a 
 smart hat tipped over one eye. 
 
 , "Come on!" she cried. "I'm going to hire a car, 
 and drive around. I'm going to roll along Sheridan 
 Road, just like anybody, and maybe stop at the 
 Beach Hotel." 
 
 "But the car will cost " 
 
 "What do I care? I've got the money you paid 
 me for the next two weeks. I'm going to spend every 
 copper cent, right now, to-night." 
 
 "I can't go with you, Sally." 
 
 "All right, then. I'll get the Reekers." 
 
 She flung herself out of the room. 
 
 Ann had met the Reekers, and thought little good 
 of them. They appeared to be excessively fond of 
 Sally, but Ann was sure that the day they learned 
 how unstable was the foundation of the "Crowes* 
 Nest," would be the last day the Reekers would be
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 21 
 
 seen therein. Mr. Reeker, a slender and cool person 
 with a habit of biting his fingernails, was an authority 
 on real estate values, also social values; while his 
 wife, clad in all the hues and textures available on 
 State Street, discussed plays and refreshments. 
 They were always available for a "bust" such as 
 Sally had planned; but Ann thought there must be 
 something wrong with people who were always avail- 
 able. 
 
 She stayed up reading as late as she could, and then 
 went to bed. Just what time it was when the party 
 returned she did not know, but she had a confused 
 impression, between two waves of sleep, that people 
 were laughing, and later quarrelling, in the living 
 room. There was a clink of glasses, too. The bang 
 of a door. Silence. 
 
 In the morning a cloud hung over the breakfast 
 table. Sally poured the coffee with an abused air, 
 while Dick, who gazed sullenly upon his wife, re- 
 turned fragments of speech to Ann's carefully neutral 
 remarks. The row of the night before for there 
 must have been a row when Dick discovered where 
 Sally had been seemed likely to break out afresh. 
 
 And yet, after Ann had been in the kitchen with 
 her hands full of dishes, she returned to find these 
 extraordinary children laughing together over the 
 comic supplement of the Sunday paper. And Sally 
 had her arm around Dick's neck. 
 
 They both smiled at her. They rallied her upon 
 being "solemn." 
 
 "I'll bet she's homesick," said Sally.
 
 22 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 "Perhaps I am," smiled Ann. But she was really 
 only dazed. Life and its humours went too fast for 
 her in the Fanning ton Annex. 
 
 She might well have been homesick. Such a Sun- 
 day morning as this, penned up in five rooms still reek- 
 ing of the Reekers, and with the sun already beating 
 up waves of heat from the court, was not much like 
 those dewy, sweet-scented Sunday mornings she had 
 known. She went to one of the front windows, and 
 gazed down into the branches of a meagre Lakeside 
 tree. A couple of sparrows were brawling there, 
 and below a red-eyed poodle, towing a lady in green, 
 with a white lace hat, was barking maliciously at 
 them. These little touches of nature but empha- 
 sized the unrealness of Lakeside. The buildings, 
 the sleek lawns, all seemed to Ann like stage scenery; 
 the life that went on there, like a comedy "from the 
 French." It seemed as though all this paste-board 
 existence must presently fold itself up and vanish. 
 The buildings might remain, for they were solid 
 brick and stone. But what would become of the 
 people? What could become of people whose affec- 
 tions apparently endured only while there was money 
 in the house, and whose very quarrels scarcely lasted 
 overnight? 
 
 Just as this thought came to her, she heard a re- 
 newed outbreak in the dining room. Dick was say- 
 ing, 
 
 "I tell you we can't take supper at the Beach cof- 
 fee room. I haven't got the price, that's all." 
 
 "You had it last night," said Sally.
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 23 
 
 "Well, I haven't got it now." 
 
 "Lost it in that billiard-game, I suppose." 
 
 "Yes; while you were blowing in the rent money." 
 
 "I told you, Dick Crowe, that money was my 
 own." 
 
 Dick came stamping out of the dining room in his 
 shirt sleeves, striking a match on the mantel as he 
 passed. His eyes were snapping with rage. 
 
 "A fine business; a fine business," he growled, as 
 though to himself. "Every cent I was figuring on 
 for next month's rent gone to blazes; blown in on a 
 pair of grafters." 
 
 He turned to the dining-room door, and cried : 
 
 "Maybe you don't know that if we don't come 
 across by the fifteenth old Fanning will bounce us, 
 bag and baggage, chafing-dish and goldfish. Maybe 
 you'll like that." 
 
 There was no response from Sally. 
 
 Ann, seeking a diversion, called out, as though she 
 had not overheard the argument: 
 
 "Please, who are these people just starting out in 
 a motor? Look below here." 
 
 Dick hurried to the window, and peered down at 
 an automobile party of four rounding the corner into 
 Westmont Avenue. The car contained, besides the 
 chauffeur, an elderly man with rubicund cheeks and 
 a gray moustache, a stout lady with a pronounced 
 jaw, and two younger people, one of them evidently 
 the daughter of the stout lady; the other Lance 
 Happerth. 
 
 "That?" said Dick, with bitterness and utter col-
 
 24 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 lapse of grammar. "That's him old Fanning. 
 That's the Grand Mogul ; the precious old pirate who 
 I owe two months' rent to. Damn him. And that's 
 his wife, and his daughter, and his sweet little son-in- 
 law. God bless 'em all." 
 
 Ann gazed down at the magnificent party with 
 vivid interest. She looked mostly at the serene and 
 luxurious Mrs. Happerth, and at her husband. He 
 did not seem happy.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 WHETHER Lance Happerth was happy at 
 that time, after about a year of married life, 
 is not of immense importance now, after all 
 that has happened to him. Then, however, in the 
 comparatively uneventful summer of 1916, it was 
 almost painfully important to Lance. It was of more 
 consequence than success success of a kind under- 
 standable in the City of Deadly Ambitions for this 
 came so easily to Bragg's "finishing-touch man" that 
 he regarded it as a detail. Happiness, however, was 
 obtainable only by a lot of adjustment and sacrifice. 
 It had to be fought for through a maze of human 
 barbed wire; it had to be groped for through the 
 marsh of Lakeside prejudices, likes and dislikes, 
 stupidities. It is probable that Lance never at- 
 tained, at this time, a solid grip upon happiness. 
 It may have been that he was not born to be happy 
 at all. Perhaps he was even born for something 
 better. 
 
 The best source of information about Lance as he 
 was before he married a Fanning is Freddy West- 
 cott. Freddy used to room with him when they 
 both worked on the Press as reporters. It is to Fred 
 we owe our special insight into the reasons why Lance 
 was what he was, and became what he became.
 
 26 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 There was only one main reason, after all : " Too good- 
 natured." 
 
 It was excessive good-nature, according to Freddy, 
 that "got Lance into it," meaning his engagement, 
 his marriage, and the Fannington. Although he 
 was attracted to Pauline Fanning from the first, it is 
 doubtful whether he would have married her had he 
 not gone farther than he intended, and then been too 
 amiable to desert. And it is certain he would not 
 have chosen the Fannington to live in. But the in- 
 clinations of Pauline, and the steady pressure of the 
 family, created a situation in which he must either 
 live in the Fannington or hurt someone's feelings. 
 And this last he abhorred. 
 
 The fate of such a person, of course, is to have his 
 own feelings hurt every few weeks. This happened 
 to Lance, even as far back as when he first came on 
 the staff of the Press. He was then a shy youth of 
 twenty-two, whose father, it was understood, had 
 died suddenly, and whose mother had moved "back 
 east," leaving Lance to the mercy of a large and not 
 over-generous city. He existed in odd ways for 
 some months, and then a series of coincidences that 
 need not be recounted took him into newspaper work. 
 Here, as has been mentioned, he had his feelings 
 hurt; almost daily, to speak truth. He had a grace- 
 ful touch in writing, and this part of him was regu- 
 larly expunged from his "stuff." There were also 
 brutal remarks when he failed to "pick up all his 
 facts." This situation lasted until the winter before 
 the war, when it became a fashion to write certain
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 27 
 
 news stories gracefully, and Lance, from being the 
 office doormat, developed into its ornament. He 
 had an ironic tendency that gave point to his descrip- 
 tive stories. He read quantities of modern writers, 
 and interlarded in his "stuff" allusions to, and quota- 
 tions from, these writers. He began to get a reputa- 
 tion outside of the office; had verse published in one 
 or two magazines scarcely anybody read; and wrote 
 a one-act play that was almost accepted. He was a 
 literary rocket. Soon he began to take himself seri- 
 ously, ffis ironic remarks were much quoted. He 
 easily drew about him a circle delighting in hearing 
 him "roast" Arnold Bennett, or others of the "board- 
 ing-house school" of novelists. And he was espe- 
 cially piquant in his attitude toward the war, which 
 broke out about the time Lance was most celebrated. 
 He said the war was a stupid contrivance of bankers 
 and military persons for earning their salaries. It 
 existed for savages and sentimentalists. It made 
 fools cheer, and slaves give up their lives. And the 
 less said about it in a sane paper like the Press, the 
 better. 
 
 He would walk up to the city editor and drawl, 
 "You don't think much of good stuff now, do you? 
 Let a lot of rot about the future of Europe crowd it off 
 the first page any old time. Well, here's that story 
 about the melting-pot of the west side. Print it on 
 page 20, and then fire me. That's what you'd better 
 do." 
 
 You see, Lance had got past the stage of being 
 walked on by everybody, and actually walked on city
 
 28 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 editors himself. But he was so amiable they did not 
 care. They all loved him, and prophesied great 
 things for him; and when he got out a new poem they 
 passed it around, and pretended they understood it. 
 He was earning forty dollars a week and spending 
 forty-five, mainly because of widely scattered good- 
 nature. 
 
 About this time he met Pauline. 
 
 A party of Lakeside girls, including Pauline, were 
 going to hold a pacifist meeting, and Lance was as- 
 signed to make fun of it. This should have been 
 "his kind of job," for Lance had little use for women 
 save as objects of satire. But on this occasion he was 
 so pleasantly received, and what was said so far 
 coincided with his own opinion, that he felt no 
 temptation to make fun of the meeting. He returned 
 to the office and reported "no story." Accordingly, 
 no story appeared. Next day Pauline telephoned 
 him to inquire why there was no notice in the Press, 
 and in order to explain properly he called upon her at 
 the Wiltshire, where she and her parents lived in 
 eight rooms, with three baths. 
 
 This was the first time Lance had seen the interior 
 of a "high-class" Lakeside apartment. 
 
 He described it to Freddy with grins and ani- 
 mated eyebrows. He pictured also Mr. Fanning 
 who was not then known as the Grand Mogul and 
 Mrs. Fanning, and a pale minister and his wife, who 
 appeared to be relatives. 
 
 "We all sat around on near-Sheraton chairs," said 
 Lance, "and we talked about the war. That is,
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 29 
 
 they talked about the war, and what a shame it was, 
 and what great changes it had made. And they said 
 all the nice people were moving out, and people they 
 did not know were moving in. And I listened, and 
 agreed. It's easy to agree, Freddy, when you're all 
 surrounded by works of art, and you're enjoying one 
 of papa's mild cigars. Mrs. Fanning the other one, 
 I mean, the minister's wife kept her mournful eye on 
 an engraving of Rheims cathedral, and sighed. And 
 Papa Fanning rapped the Germans, and talked about 
 the Perils of Banking. And then I came away." 
 
 "Without having spoken to Miss Pauline alone?'* 
 asked Freddy. 
 
 "Oh, we had a few minutes together in the study," 
 yawned Lance. "Looking at all the riff-raff she'd 
 brought from Europe." 
 
 He did not express any opinion of Pauline, accord- 
 ing to Freddy; nor was this necessary. His actions 
 spoke for him. He called upon Pauline more than 
 once; many times. He ceased wearing a flowing silk 
 tie, and took up four-in-hands, which he fought 
 tigerishly before his looking-glass. His jeers at the 
 Fanning tribe, whom at first he had described as "a 
 lot of fried eggs," and "a bunch of vegetable products 
 reared in hot-houses," became fainter. He spent 
 much money, judging by the fact that he usually 
 was borrowing from Freddy, and his work at the 
 office, like his promptness of arrival, was fitful and 
 unenergetic. 
 
 It came out incidentally that his poetical efforts 
 were appreciated by Mrs. Fanning and her friends.
 
 30 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 "A rare old card, Mrs. Fanning," he said. "A 
 truly dreadful termagant when crossed, but a nice, 
 plump old Angora when stroked. Wants me to read 
 some things before the arts and literature division 
 of her woman's club." 
 
 "Going to?'* asked Freddy, through clouds of 
 pipe smoke. 
 
 "What do you think?" returned Lance, with a 
 hair brush suspended over his wavy locks. 
 
 "Well, that kind of fame won't sell anything to the 
 Atlantic," ventured the chum. 
 
 As it fell out, Lance did not read to the woman's 
 club. About that time he produced, in a small 
 publication called Scrapings, a discourse on certain 
 comic aspects of apartment buildings and their 
 tenants. He sketched in, with a light touch, a few 
 types similar to the Fannings, father, mother, uncles, 
 and aunts. Mrs. Fanning, reading this unwise 
 article, and recognizing her portrait, not only called 
 off the reading, but forbade Lance the house. Freddy 
 believes he met Pauline at other places, such as the 
 Country Club, and the Imperial Cinema Palace, but 
 the narrator is not sure. At all events, Lance's 
 ostracism was brief, and it had only served to "drive 
 the young people into each other's arms." Before 
 spring arrived, Freddy was given to understand that 
 "everything was as good as settled." 
 
 "They don't like me any too well/' said Lance. 
 "That is, the old folks don't. They can't make up 
 their mind whether I'm merely a reporter or a coming 
 sensation. Dad, I suspect, thinks I write editorials,
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 31 
 
 and Mother credits me with the jokes on the back 
 page. And Uncle Augustine, who preaches delicate 
 nothings in the Little Stone Church, insists on read- 
 ing Tennyson to me for my good. Mrs. Augustine 
 puts me down as a flippant young person with hor- 
 ribly crude ideas about the war, and Aunt Pringlc, 
 who exists on chocolate creams and steam heat, 
 doesn't like my neckties; so there are difficulties. 
 But I'm going to promise to be good, old chap. I'm 
 going to be their little tame bear, and dance to their 
 music. I'm going to quit liking Strindberg and 
 Dostoieffsky, and learn to like Harold Bell Wright 
 and yes, even Tennyson. And so " 
 
 "You think that much of Pauline, do you?" 
 
 "Yes, my boy; I've never met any girl but her." 
 
 Freddy relit his pipe, and made an enormous 
 smudge, behind which he regretfully shook his 
 head. 
 
 It would have been plain enough, even to a less 
 sharp-sighted chum than Westcott, that the idea of 
 marriage did not fascinate Lance. He spoke of it at 
 times with the deepest contempt. 
 
 Marriage, the state of deference, of obligation, of 
 petty worries ! Marriage, a farewell to one's untram- 
 meled individuality ! 
 
 These were reminiscences of the Russian writers. 
 Freddy thought, and openly asserted, that Lance 
 would take to marriage as his true state. 
 
 "But," said Freddy, "I can't quite see you mar- 
 ried to a flat building and a couple of banks." 
 (By this time, you see, Barton Fanning had ac-
 
 32 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 quired two banks, was becoming a landlord, and was 
 beginning to be known as the Grand Mogul.) 
 
 "What difference whether you live in a flat or a 
 cottage? " demanded Lance. 
 
 "None, my lad; only, remembering your article in 
 the " 
 
 "Just forget that, will you," returned Lance with 
 a frown. 
 
 "Well, I simply meant, it didn't seem to me you 
 would exactly hitch with that crowd. Your writing 
 will simply go to pot. You won't be able to work 
 surrounded by sofa-pillows, and with damask cur- 
 tains tickling your neck. You need a busted type- 
 writer desk, and a chair without a seat, like me." 
 
 This sort of talk, however, did no good. What 
 Freddy did not know, and did not find out until 
 later, was that there was another young man of 
 whom the Farmings thought pretty well. He was 
 Bob Sweetling, better known as "Butterfly Bob," 
 Fanning's rising young assistant in the "old bank." 
 Bob was not merely the Fanning sort; he was a good 
 sort any way he was looked at. He could do any- 
 thing, could Bob: manage a dance, superintend a 
 club dinner, act as banker in a poker game, swear at 
 a contractor, or play tennis until after dark,. He 
 came to the Wiltshire frequently, and was far more 
 comfortable in the near-Sheraton chairs than Lance 
 was. 
 
 But there was one thing Lance could do that Bob 
 never so much as attempted; that is, write a play for 
 Mrs. Fanning and the dramatic department of the
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 33 
 
 woman's club. He wrote a play that gave "fat" 
 parts to Mrs. Fanning and Pauline. And then he 
 became producing manager of it. During its run 
 Bob was lost to sight; Lance had the Wiltshire to 
 himself. 
 
 It was about this time, to the best of Freddy's 
 belief, that Lance found himself "in" deeper than he 
 had intended, and was ensnared. Freddy cannot 
 believe he seriously intended to become the son-in- 
 law of a "blithering old soapy Philistine" like Bar- 
 ton Fanning; or that he expected his position as 
 private dramatist to the Lakeside woman's club to 
 make him so precious they could not bear to lose him. 
 Freddy does not think Lance even felt that his life 
 would be empty without Pauline. That he liked her 
 very much; that he felt expansive and pleasantly 
 stirred in her society; that he thought her the ulti- 
 mate thing in feminine ornaments he whose knowl- 
 edge of women was confined to his mother and to the 
 stenographers in offices he visited as a reporter of 
 all this there was no doubt. But an engagement! 
 A complete merging of one's life with that of people 
 who half the time did not understand what one was 
 talking about. Impossible for Lance! 
 
 Some time or other there must have been a head- 
 long move on his part; a fatal speech; a "balcony 
 scene" (there were plenty of balconies even on the 
 Wiltshire) perhaps ironically conceived, but ended 
 in dead earnest. There must have been. 
 
 For in May, shortly after the Lusitania was sunk, 
 the engagement was announced. In October, while
 
 34 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 the world was ringing with indignation over Edith 
 Cavell, came the wedding. And a month later, in the 
 same week when the liner Ancona went down under 
 horrible circumstances, Lance and Pauline Happerth 
 went to live in the Fannington, just completed. 
 
 These references to the war, as fixing the dates of 
 three great events in Lance's life, are given exactly 
 as Freddy Westcott gave them. Freddy couldn't 
 keep the war out of anything. 
 
 Sitting alone in the rooms they had shared together 
 Freddy pondered a great deal the destiny of his 
 friend. This marriage could not possibly develop 
 him in the same way he had begun to develop. It 
 could not make him more skilful in the use of rhetoric; 
 it would be unlikely to deepen his thought, or enrich 
 his fancy. It was probably the end of Lance as a 
 writer. What would come next? 
 
 Freddy never thought it would be a "star ad- 
 writer" that would emerge. But that some huge 
 bluff would be the inevitable next phase became plain 
 to Westcott upon his first visit to the flat. It was 
 too gorgeous to be maintained by a reporter. 
 
 Freddy came away unable to describe anything, 
 but with impressions of furniture as majestic ^and 
 dazzling as that in the haughty show-windows of 
 Michigan Avenue, of cedar-wood chests, of a dining 
 room having hand-painted walls, and of twin beds 
 built mainly of shining brass. You see, they took 
 him around the flat. Pauline herself was "gotten 
 up"
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 35 
 
 Well, as Freddy said to Lance at the office next 
 day: 
 
 "It's great, old man; it's great, but " 
 
 "Sing it!" 
 
 "You'll have to get into some branch of endeavour 
 other than journalism." 
 
 Lance derided this idea, but feebly. He knew per- 
 fectly well that one winter of this kind; nay, two 
 months more of it, would break him. Already he 
 had to do bits of advertising writing "on the side" 
 to make things go. And even at that, he did not 
 make things go. He was behind in his payments on 
 the phonograph, and he had still a lot to pay on the 
 davenport. And in the meantime Pauline was press- 
 ing him for a grand piano. Nothing less than 
 that 
 
 Pauline saw no earthly reason why she should not 
 have a grand piano. She had not the slightest idea 
 none of the Fannings had how much, or rather 
 how little, was Lance's income. She had the vaguest 
 of ideas about money, anyhow. She was a little 
 shocked when she found a grand piano would cost at 
 least $1,000, but not enough shocked to give up the 
 idea. Lance conveyed this much information to 
 Freddy, when he told him that, by George, he was 
 going to buy her that piano if it busted him. And 
 the Press needn't be surprised if they lost him, unless 
 they were willing to double his salary. 
 
 "Which," said Freddy, "is as likely as that I'll 
 be made London correspondent." 
 
 The Press played to form. It regretted, etc. An
 
 36 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 hour later Lance was in the employ of Bragg & Co. 
 Two hours later he was at Pauline's side on the 
 davenport, and thinking how deuced attractive she 
 was, with her hair waved something like that of the 
 girls who frequent the Beach Hotel tea room, and her 
 delicate feet encased in bronze slippers; thinking 
 likewise how fond he was of her, although her con- 
 versation was not brilliant and he was telling her to 
 skip right down town and get her piano. 
 
 " For," said he, "I'm on the road to riches. Fame, 
 especially literary fame, can go to the devil. I'm 
 now on the staff of the great Bragg, the biggest 
 publicity bunk artist since Barnum. Aren't you 
 glad?" 
 
 "Bragg! " exclaimed Pauline. " That horrid little 
 fat man we played cards with over at the WinchelFs? 
 Oh, Lance, why don't you stay in the newspaper busi- 
 ness and write poems? Mother will be so disap- 
 pointed." 
 
 He smiled a little crooked smile at this. 
 
 "Oh, I shall be much happier out of the news- 
 paper business," he replied. 
 
 So we shall have to assume that on that Sunday 
 morning in 1916, when Ann Stone saw him appar- 
 ently sulking in the back seat, Lance really was 
 happy. He was out of the newspaper business, at 
 all events; had been out of it for more than six 
 months; had become, as you are aware, a specialist, 
 and a highly paid specialist in a very lucrative and 
 sometimes exciting business. Still, there were things
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 37 
 
 in life that plagued him. One of them was riding in 
 an automobile "just for the sake of buzzing around," 
 and another was talking business with Father Fan- 
 ning. 
 
 Fortunately this motor trip did not promise to be 
 long. It was almost time for church, and Father 
 Fanning would not miss church. He had decided 
 to "run around" and look at the Exeter Arms, an 
 especially old-English type of flat building a half 
 mile south. He was thinking of buying it, and, see- 
 ing Lance and Pauline loafing in their sun parlour, 
 he had insisted on taking them along. 
 
 "You," he said to Pauline, "can tell me if the din- 
 ing room friezes are O. K.; and you," to Lance, "can 
 advise me about the validity of the title." 
 
 "I was always good at titles," replied Lance, 
 gravely. 
 
 As well be doing this as anything, he reflected. 
 Sunday morning must be got through somehow. 
 Sunday afternoon they would have their walk along 
 the beach, in all the clothes they had; in the evening 
 probably the Roy Merediths or some others of the 
 "crowd" would tumble in. And then they would talk 
 about the war or something until bedtime. Oh, 
 Lord! 
 
 As they started down Westmont Avenue, and the 
 chauffeur threw on second speed, Lance glanced up 
 at the building that he seldom observed with the 
 naked eye, the building he understood his father-in- 
 law owned, but did not talk about the "Annex." 
 And there in a third-story window he perceived two
 
 38 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 young women and a young man, the latter being in 
 shirt sleeves, peering down at him with interest. 
 
 They looked cosy and serene up there, he thought. 
 Probably, he reflected, they had few worries indeed, 
 why should they? and lots of fun. 
 
 Barton Fanning, following Lance's line of vision, 
 gave the young people in the window the benefit of 
 one of his severest looks. 
 
 "That building," he said, "is the very deuce. I 
 wish I had never built it. Do you know, there are 
 people in there those very ones, for all I know 
 who owe me as much as two months' rent."
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 A AHE war," said Roy Meredith, the "fashion 
 artist," "is two years old and still lively." 
 
 -* He reached for another sandwich, from a 
 pile tastefully disposed on a flat stone. The stone 
 stood on the sand, and beside it were other stones 
 with other edibles, such as cake, olives, almonds, and 
 candies in silver paper. Around the beach supper 
 reclined the beach party, in bathing-suits but en- 
 tirely dry, full to repletion but still eating. There 
 were only eight in all, composing the main units of 
 the "Fannington crowd": Roy and his wife, who 
 was an oppressive blonde; Mr. and Mrs. Alfred 
 Harrold, the former being a concert pianist of some 
 renown; the Winchells, who were a little older than 
 the others but did not look it, and finally Lance and 
 Pauline. The "star ad-writer" and the pianist were 
 not in bathing-suits, the former because he hated 
 cold water, the latter because he was too lazy. 
 
 No one answered Roy's remark. He waved a frag- 
 ment of sandwich, and continued lugubriously: 
 
 "Millions dead. Millions wounded. Whole na- 
 tions starving " 
 
 "Kill him, somebody," cried Winchell, throwing a 
 piece of sandwich at Roy's head. It landed in the 
 ripples of the darkening water; and the ripples went 
 
 39
 
 40 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 gleaming out into the waves and were lost. The 
 beach party lazily watched this event, and they all 
 gazed for a few minutes upon the dull blue of the 
 lake over whose horizon the moon was rising, like a 
 naked bather. 
 
 Lance, who reclined in the warm sand beside a log, 
 occasionally tracing absurd sketches with a stick, 
 shivered. 
 
 "I'll be catching cold here," he grumbled to 
 Pauline. 
 
 "It's about time we went home," said Mrs. Har- 
 rold. " How quiet it is ! " 
 
 "Yes; the mob from west of the *L* must be some- 
 where else to-night," shrilled Mrs. Winchell. " There 
 hasn't been hardly room to wade here all summer." 
 
 It was quiet in this particular spot. Close at 
 hand loomed the enormous bulk of the Beach Hotel, 
 with its hundreds of windows, like a huge honey- 
 comb. The "mob" was farther north, around a 
 bend. From that point came screams of joy, and 
 the twang of a ukulele. 
 
 Roy stretched out his bare legs, which were of a 
 slimness out of proportion to the rest of him. 
 
 "But listen," he insisted. "We don't take life 
 seriously enough. Gosh almighty, there are chaps 
 getting killed over there all the time. Once in a 
 while I think of it. And it all comes over me, what's 
 it all about? And why should I be sittin' here, full 
 of sandwich, and those chaps be starving and dead? 
 It don't seem fair. Somebody please pass the 
 chocolates."
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 41 
 
 Mrs. Meredith glanced at her husband respect- 
 fully. He was so deep! She would bet nobody else 
 around here ever thought such things. 
 
 "What's the use of bothering about it?" yawned 
 Harrold. "You can't do anything about it." 
 
 "Well, I'll bet they'll be making peace pretty 
 soon," spoke up Mrs. Winchell, snatching a chocolate 
 as the box passed her. 
 
 "They'll have to," returned Roy, wagging his head 
 solemnly. " They'll have to. The world can't stand 
 it. Look how it's knocked business already. Look 
 what it's done to mine. No more Paris fashions at all. 
 Gee!" 
 
 "Oh, but you draw so beautifully, you don't need 
 Paris," murmured Mrs. Winchell, feeling of her 
 earrings to see if they were still there. "And you 
 have a model right at home when you want one." 
 She smiled sweetly upon Mrs. Meredith. 
 
 That lady tossed her head, and replied, "I'm not in 
 the business now, thank you." 
 
 "As I was saying," broke in Roy, hurriedly, "it 
 seems like we're all too easy-going 'round here. 
 Don't you think so, Lance? " 
 
 " Well, hardly," answered the sand artist. " I think 
 we're having an awful struggle to make ends meet." 
 
 "Yes, yes; a whole lot!" and "That sounds fine 
 from you, Happerth!" they cried. 
 
 "The prices are terrible," murmured Mrs. Harrold 
 
 to Pauline. "Only yesterday I priced a " the 
 
 rest of the sentence, which had to do with clothes, 
 became indistinct.
 
 42 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 "But suppose," said Roy, sitting up, excitedly, 
 "suppose we I mean the United States got in. 
 Don't you think that would make a difference, 
 Lance? What are your views on that?" 
 
 "Haven't any views. I don't think about it." 
 
 "And if Hughes should be elected ' 
 
 "I say," boomed Winchell, "this party is de- 
 generating into a political meeting. I move we call 
 it off eh, Mrs. Happerth? There's no way to stop 
 that fellow but to get him home, and have his wife 
 attend to him." 
 
 Pauline rose. She was, in a way, the hostess, and 
 she was tired of the party, too. As for Lance, he was 
 plainly bored. The "crowd" was too much for him 
 at times, especially when they asked his opinions 
 in that owlish way. He had no opinions, God wot. 
 
 "Come to our house and dissipate a while," said 
 Pauline. "It's fairly cool there when the lights are 
 down. And we'll sit in the twilight " 
 
 "And Mr. Harrold must play us some nocturnes," 
 begged Mrs. Winchell. 
 
 "Ah, no," protested the pianist, raising a jewelled 
 hand. 
 
 "Please," coaxed Pauline. 
 
 He looked up at her from under his dark, ^arched 
 eyebrows. 
 
 "If you ask," said he. "And on your magnificent 
 piano. Is it in tune? " 
 
 Lance, who was watching the pianist satirically, 
 interjected, " We had it tuned after you played on it 
 last."
 
 Pauline rose. She was . . . 
 tired of the party, too. As for 
 Lance, he was plainly bored
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 43 
 
 Their eyes met without great liking, but Harrold 
 only shrugged, and said, "It is a fine instrument. 
 It was a good thing you asked my advice, Mrs. Hap- 
 perth, before purchasing." 
 
 A suspicion that had long dwelt in Lance's mind 
 namely, that Harrold had incited Pauline to buy the 
 piano, and had "swung the deal" to a certain piano 
 house was thus partly confirmed. But he said 
 nothing. He brushed the sand from his flannel 
 trousers, and led the way up the beach, the others 
 following, in cloaks and bathrobes, like a flock of 
 
 many-hued birds. 
 
 v 
 
 Assembled at the flat and entering the darkened 
 "library," they discovered a long, lazy form reclining 
 in a deep chair. 
 
 "Turn on the light, somebody," cried Mrs. Win- 
 chell. "Here's a burglar." 
 
 But it was only Bob Sweetling. He unwound 
 his legs, stretched, and rose to greet them with a 
 laugh. 
 
 "I suspected you'd come here," he yawned. "So 
 
 "Why didn't you join us at the beach?" demanded 
 Pauline. 
 
 "Too hot. I knew you'd come back here, so I let 
 myself in with my little pass-key - 
 
 "Ain't it great to be an agent," interposed Win- 
 chell. 
 
 " and fell asleep over a copy of 'Mr. Britling/ 
 Say, what'd that fellow write that book for?"
 
 44 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 "It's a great social study," remarked Roy, wag- 
 ging his head. "What war does, and all that. I 
 read it " 
 
 "Oh, for heavens' sake, don't let's talk about 
 books," wailed Mrs. Winchell. "I want to hear Mr. 
 Harrold play." 
 
 "Alfred, play," commanded Pauline. 
 
 Thereupon they adjourned to the sun parlour 
 through whose curtains the moon did the best it 
 could. And Harrold played. They listened for a 
 while in silence, then Bob began talking to Lance in 
 a low tone. Mrs. Meredith yawned. 
 
 "What's he playing?" she whispered uneasily to 
 Pauline. 
 
 "Something by Chaminade, I think," returned the 
 hostess. 
 
 "Oh," exclaimed Mrs. Meredith faintly. 
 
 At the end there was scattered applause. And 
 immediately Bob's voice became louder, saying: 
 
 "Not that I like the job at all. In fact, I'd just as 
 soon your esteemed father-in-law would hire some- 
 body else for that racket. It was painful, positively 
 painful." 
 
 "What was painful?" inquired Pauline. Harrold 
 appeared, and two or three voices cried poiitely, 
 "Oh, play something more." 
 
 "Not to-night," said the pianist, gloomily. He 
 sat down in a corner, and helped himself from an 
 open cigar box. 
 
 "I was telling Lance," said Bob, "how I had to 
 go over to the Annex just now and tell some tenants
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 45 
 
 to vacate. It was a mean job. I always hate to do 
 that." 
 
 "Have they got small-pox, or something? " queried 
 May Harrold, with interest. 
 
 "No, they're just broke. Oh, it's a common case. 
 No special features about it. Except that a girl 
 there seemed like a lodger, or something offered 
 to square everything up herself if given time. Had 
 half a mind to take her up, but didn't.'* 
 
 "Why not, Bob?" asked Lance. 
 
 Sweetling glanced at Pauline. 
 
 "Well, you see Mr. Fanning what I mean is, 
 there'd be no end to that sort of thing. Those 
 people owe for two months. Fellow had the usual 
 story sickness and everything. Got behind. Times 
 hard. H. C. L. Oh, the devil ! " 
 
 "Lance, do turn on some lights," said Pauline 
 after a moment. "And don't tell us any more of 
 that depressing story, Bob. I don't intend to have 
 my party spoiled." 
 
 There was light, and the talk bore for a while 
 upon a new skating rink in process of erection. 
 Then Bob was heard again: 
 
 "It beats me how some of these folks around here 
 keep up the bluff. Now I suppose that chap earns 
 perhaps a hundred a month, and he's been paying 
 fifty rent, and they've got rubbish enough in their 
 flat to furnish two of 'em. And his wife had on as 
 much clothes as any of you " 
 
 A general laugh. 
 * I mean, she was dressed as well as most of you
 
 46 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 generally are. Now where's the sense of that? As 
 Mr. Fanning says, that's what makes a landlord's 
 life a nightmare." 
 
 "And paying for their furniture on instalments, of 
 course," interjected Winchell. 
 
 "And her clothes were things sent out on ap- 
 proval," supplied May Harrold. 
 
 "But the Annex!" cried Mrs. Winchell in a de- 
 scending note. "You wouldn't think the stores 
 would give that much credit to people in the Annex! " 
 
 "What's the odds?" grinned Roy. "You girls 
 all do it." 
 
 "We do not!" they chorused. 
 
 Lance, who was passing around the cigars Har- 
 rold took a fresh one smiled his twisted smile. 
 
 He winked encouragingly at Roy. The latter, 
 excited, continued: 
 
 "We're all the same breed out here," he insisted. 
 "I owe my tailor; I admit it. I don't owe my rent. 
 Don't dare to. But other things; gee " 
 
 "That's enough, Roy," protested his wife. 
 
 " Now, say; we're all friends here. Why not admit 
 it? We're a bunch of slickers. All except Lance. 
 He pays on the nail." 
 
 "Thank you," smiled Lance. He wondered if 
 Roy really thought that! 
 
 "I say!" shouted Meredith, as a bright thought 
 struck him. "I'll bet every man here, except Lance, 
 has been through bankruptcy. All who have hold 
 up their hands." 
 
 He held up his hand, but no one else did. Bob
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 47 
 
 glanced at Winchell, who, as generally known, had 
 "discharged his obligations" only a few months be- 
 fore. The broker only laughed, though his wife was 
 crimson. 
 
 "Enough of that," protested Bob. "There's 
 plenty of people to knock without knocking ourselves. 
 I must go home and see how Fanny's toothache is." 
 
 He rose, and the others shortly followed. Their 
 partings lacked something of hilarity. 
 
 After they had gone Pauline clad herself silkily, 
 and disposed herself in comfort with the remains of 
 the candy and a novel of which 100,000 copies had 
 already been sold. Lance filled one of his numerous 
 pipes, eyed the bookcase unzestfully, and finally sat 
 down to think. 
 
 He should have been thinking about a page adver- 
 tisement of "glorious California" which had to be 
 written before Saturday, but he found it impossible 
 to fix his mind upon this task. Instead, the conver- 
 sation just ended, and especially Roy Meredith's 
 part of it, kept coming back to him. He was an 
 absurd creature, was Roy, and yet what he had said 
 was true; he had been groping for a big idea, and had 
 almost found it. "Millions dying over there, and 
 here we sit in comfort," or something like that. A 
 big idea! If it could be twisted around to advertise 
 anything, Bragg would jump at it. But it did not 
 serve to advertise anything except the fact that the 
 world was growing lop-sided. One half suffering un- 
 told agonies, the other half prospering on that woe.
 
 48 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 And Lakeside expressed so perfectly the prosperous 
 half. Lance knew, from the business talk he indif- 
 ferently absorbed from a dozen sources, that much 
 of the money used to furnish these "superior apart- 
 ments " and to clothe the dwellers therein came from 
 "war babies" or else from food speculation. He 
 knew that Barton Fanning had been a winner in 
 munitions* stocks, and he had heard of a round hah* 
 dozen of lesser lights in Lakeside who had profited 
 by the war, and were now rolling around in new 
 automobiles, or entertaining lavishly at the Beach 
 Hotel, the Von Moltke Gardens, and other places. 
 He himself Lance himself and Pauline were more 
 luxurious, more pleasurably occupied, than they 
 would be without the war. This was not a delight- 
 ful thought. For although Lance, like most people, 
 had come to take the war as a remote spectacle, a 
 reiteration of old stuff and seldom interesting, there 
 were times when its sheer brutality, its stupid scorn 
 of decency, its ghastly waste of human essence, stood 
 out in vivid colours in his sensitive mind. And he 
 wondered what would happen. 
 
 The Rev. Augustine, who sometimes said things to 
 Lance that he would not have said to other members 
 of the family, had a theory that the lop-sidedness of 
 the world could not last. He predicted darkly that 
 Lakeside would "pay for its fun." These were 
 things that the minister did not dare suggest in his 
 sermons. And he said them to Lance because Lance 
 was good-natured enough to listen. 
 
 In this thoughtful mood Lance half credited the
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 49 
 
 dark predictions. It must have been something 
 like that that Roy was groping for. And if so light- 
 some a person as Roy held such ideas, it behooved 
 others to think. 
 
 However, Lance was unable to continue this, or 
 any other train of thought, very long at a time. 
 Concentration never was his strong point, and lately 
 he had been too busy, or too bothered, to concen- 
 trate at all. Even now 
 
 "Have you written those place-cards for the 
 Sweetlings' dinner party?" Pauline called to him. 
 
 "No; I'll get right at them," he replied; saying 
 which he settled deeper in his chair, and refilled his 
 pipe. The mention of the Sweetlings recalled Bob's 
 story of the defaulting tenants over in the Annex. 
 He sympathized with the tenants, not with Bob, or 
 with Mr. Fanning. Lance had a feeling for people 
 who were reckless, or unconventional, or headstrong. 
 He would have liked to be so himself; and one of 
 the reasons he cared for Pauline was because she 
 was reckless. Too bad she wasn't unconventional, 
 too. 
 
 He considered those Annex people lucky. They 
 could "blow up," and be evicted, and start some- 
 where else, without retribution in the form of shocked 
 relatives and horrible visions of conventions shat- 
 tered. They could just stuff their spare clothes into 
 a suitcase, leave the unpaid-for furniture to moulder, 
 and rent a flat a few blocks away, where life would go 
 on as merrily as ever. 
 
 The fact is, Lance was born a bohemian, and not a
 
 50 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 Fanning. At this moment he would have liked to 
 run away, with nothing but the clothes on his back, 
 and "bunk" for a while with his artist friend Pin- 
 owsky, who lived over a restaurant on the west side, 
 and made impossible pieces of sculpture, and threw 
 things at the door when people from the Art Insti- 
 tute came around. He and Lance used to sit about 
 this was before Lance's marriage and talk about the 
 Absolute, and eat sardines. That was life. This 
 was 
 
 Pauline stood at his shoulder, trailing her blue 
 lounging-robe, and with her finger in her book. 
 
 "Why don't you wake up and do something, in- 
 stead of just yawning?" she inquired not unamiably. 
 
 "I am doing something. I'm thinking how to 
 make our life all different. All different, Polly,'* 
 he cried, jumping up and tweaking her braids teas- 
 ingly. "I think we'll move into a suburban cottage, 
 with chickens and currant bushes, and do our own 
 washing." 
 
 "What do you mean?" she responded, with won- 
 der and vexation in her blue eyes. "You're so crazy 
 at times. I don't want my life any different. And 
 I wish you'd let go my hair." 
 
 At that moment, however, the mood in the 
 "Crowes' Nest" was not exactly as Lance fancied it. 
 
 It was not a mood of care-free readiness to leave 
 the Annex, with a mocking grimace for landlords, 
 but a will to stay right on and weather the crisis, 
 somehow. This was Sally's determination, and Ann
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 51 
 
 i 
 
 approved her purpose more than she did Dick's, 
 which appeared to be all for surrender. 
 
 Sally raged up and down the small uncluttered 
 space in the living room, and cried: 
 
 "I just knew this would happen. I just knew it." 
 
 "So did I," said Dick, from his place at the table, 
 where he sat stolidly eyeing his war map. 
 
 " Then why didn't you do something? Why didn't 
 you borrow some money or something? Where 
 are we going to put all this truck, if we have to go to 
 boarding? Oh, I never would have taken the trouble, 
 if I'd thought I'd have to leave my home.'* 
 
 At this last Dick raised his head; then, after a couple 
 of attempts to speak, "Call this a home?" 
 
 "It's the only kind I've ever known," cried Sally, 
 with a bright shower of tears. 
 
 "Stop that, Sally; stop it," commanded Dick, 
 rising. "Look here, old girl, I'll get the money. 
 I'll I'll make good with old Fanning. Damn him, 
 I'll give him a surprise." 
 
 "Its all very well to swear," sobbed Sally. "But 
 it doesn't get us anything but to shock Ann. Look 
 look at her." 
 
 Ann did show signs of shock. She was sitting by 
 the table, with her slender hands folded, and her face 
 turned earnestly from one to the other of the dispu- 
 tants. To her all this was deeply tragic; she thought 
 it more tragic than it was. She did not know that 
 scenes like this were commonplace in the helter- 
 skelter life of the City of Deadly Ambitions; that 
 somewhere in the city a family was "bounced every
 
 52 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 minute." She thought her friends were victims of 
 some unique and deadly blow of fate. And she 
 longed to fling herself into the situation somehow, 
 and remedy it. 
 
 "How much is the rent?" she inquired. 
 
 "Fifty a month; we owe a hundred," replied Dick, 
 indifferently. 
 
 Ann calculated. If she put all her salary into the 
 pot, it would take her ten weeks to pay the amount. 
 It was hopeless. 
 
 And Dick looked hopeless, as he stood with his 
 hands on his hips, and a cigarette half -smoked in his 
 fingers, and blurted at intervals of a few minutes 
 that he would "find the money." She was very, very 
 sorry for Dick. His outburst of scorn over calling 
 this a home was the truest thing she had ever heard 
 him say. Whatever was wrong with his mainspring, 
 no doubt the chief trouble was that he had no real 
 "nest"; nothing but a place to sleep, and eat, and 
 smoke. He was the kind of fellow who needed a 
 yard to keep in order, and screens to repair, and 
 chickens to feed. He had to be busy with his hands. 
 The little garden he had started, and now neglected 
 entirely, was a symptom. And all Sally gave him 
 was restaurant dinners and phonograph music. 
 
 "I'll find the money," he kept saying. 
 
 "Well, go and find it," Sally finally shouted. 
 "Don't stand around here." 
 
 He put on his coat and moved toward the door. 
 His face was downcast. But instead of going out he 
 walked down the hall to the telephone, and they heard
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 53 
 
 him calling a number. He spoke for a few minutes 
 in a low tone, and then returned to the room. 
 
 "There," he announced to the girls, without look- 
 ing at them. "I've got a job." 
 
 They stared. 
 
 "Well," said Sally, "if you can get them as easy 
 as all that I should think you'd have done it long 
 ago." 
 
 "What kind of job is it?" asked Ann, encourag- 
 ingly. 
 
 "Oh, it's it's a kind of outdoor work. It may 
 take me out of town a bit. All I've got to do now is 
 scare up that hundred, and we're fixed. But that's 
 no snap." 
 
 Sally leaned across the table toward him, her face 
 affectionate and forgiving. 
 
 "I know you can do it, old fellow," she said. "And 
 now I'm going to ask the Reekers over to supper for 
 to-morrow night; do you mind?" 
 
 She danced around the table, and kissed Dick on 
 the cheek. He bore the salute unconcernedly, and 
 presently was deep in study of his war map.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 PAULINE'S brother Tom had not lived with 
 the family for years. One of the first things 
 Lance learned to avoid, when in conversation 
 with Barton Fanning or his wife, was any mention 
 of Tom. The impression was conveyed to him that 
 Tom was a lout and a drunkard. The truth was that 
 the wilful young man hated the Wiltshire and Lake- 
 side generally; that he preferred the society of people 
 who could sail yachts and hunt big game; and that 
 as regards liquor, his own assertion that he "never got 
 drunk; not on ordinary stuff, anyhow" was quite ac- 
 curate. He was well known as a chap who would 
 dare anything unless it was a Lakeside bridge party 
 and he managed a taxicab company, an occupation 
 he made exciting through his personal interest in 
 strike disturbances and fights between drivers. 
 
 Tom had met Lance only once, shortly before the 
 wedding, and had conceived a dislike for him. He re- 
 garded Lance as a languid, half-feminine male^doll, 
 told Pauline he washed his hands of her; and had not 
 been heard from since. Occasionally, however, he 
 wrote to Aunt Pringle, who openly took his part. 
 And whenever this happened she always "sprung" 
 the letter as sensationally as possible, quite often at a 
 Fanning dinner, when the whole crowd was there. 
 
 54
 
 About two weeks after the accident to the 
 "Crowes' Nest," just related, there was one of these 
 dinners at the Wiltshire, and Aunt Pringle took 
 pleasure in announcing she had heard from Tom. 
 She withheld the announcement until after dinner 
 was over, and they were all sitting about the living 
 room. Barton Fanning was smoking with zest a 
 large and highly decorative cigar, and Lance was 
 labouring at one. The minister was turning over a 
 magazine, and the ladies, except Aunt Pringle, were 
 discussing suffrage. No one ever knew why these 
 Fanning "roundups" were allowed to happen. 
 
 "I have a letter from Tom," said Aunt Pringle. 
 
 The conversation stopped dead; then flowed on 
 again. 
 
 "Want to hear it?" she inquired, wickedly. Her 
 earrings shook with her mirth, and she winked at 
 Lance. They had always understood each other. 
 
 "I will read it," and Aunt Pringle cleared her 
 throat. 
 
 There being nothing else to do, they listened. The 
 letter was unusually mild, except in its comments 
 upon Texas weather. It described Tom's duties as 
 sergeant of his artillery battery, touched lightly upon 
 the number of greasers he would have killed if there 
 had been opportunity, and berated Washington for 
 keeping the men idle on the border. Continuing, 
 the letter expressed the hope that Pauline was not 
 overworking; sent, most impertinently, the writer's 
 love for his father and mother, and then, in a sort of 
 postscript :
 
 56 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 "We have a peculiar case here. Young fellow 
 named Crowe; used to live in Lakeside. He blew in 
 here suddenly the other day at headquarters, with 
 enlistment papers. He's in my company. What do 
 you know about him, or what can you find out?'* 
 
 Barton Fanning sat upright, and his cigar ash 
 fell on the rug. 
 
 "By George," said he. 
 
 The women looked at him in amazement. There 
 seemed little or nothing in that postscript to excite 
 a prosperous banker after dinner. 
 
 His bright blue eyes, fixed upon the nodding ferns 
 in the "conservatory," became reflective, then 
 shrewd. But he did not explain what had roused 
 him. Barton Fanning was the most private of pri- 
 vate bankers. 
 
 Lance, however, lingering after the others, pumped 
 him while Pauline and her mother were examining 
 some new dress goods. And this was all that had 
 happened: Dick Crowe had persuaded Sweetling 
 to accept a check in payment of the $100, and the 
 check, when presented at the bank, had proved to be 
 bogus. Bob, informed by his employer he was 
 "about as good as no agent at all," had been adjured 
 to find Dick or the money, and had been unable to 
 find either. Of course the fellow had skipped as 
 soon as he realized his crime was discovered. Hadn't 
 been seen at the flat for ten days. 
 
 "I was about to put it up to Bob to make good on 
 the hundred," said Fanning, "for of course he had 
 no business to take a check. But now I guess it
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 57 
 
 won't be necessary. Take it out of the chap's 
 hide." Puff, puff. " Guess I'll stop that little check 
 game right here. And the army'll have one man less 
 to feed." 
 
 Lance felt vaguely distressed. In the presence of 
 the aggrieved landlord he could, of course, do nothing 
 but pronounce Dick's conduct revolting, but after 
 he had gone home with Pauline the incident pictured 
 itself to him in other colours. He could understand 
 Dick's desperation he who had been close to that 
 himself while maintaining a Fannington flat on a 
 reporter's salary and he could understand how 
 miserable Dick must have felt when contriving that 
 check. Somehow he could not conceive of the 
 youngster as a professional swindler, though he 
 sneered at himself for taking this charitable view of 
 a stranger. No, Dick must be just a fool, and fools 
 were pitiable. 
 
 And all this had been happening the last few days 
 just the other side of the wall, while he, Lance, and 
 his establishment, had been spending almost as much 
 as Dick had sold his soul for! A life turned upside 
 down, and a man headed for the penitentiary, while 
 they played bridge. 
 
 There was this sober streak in Lance, this capacity 
 for remorse, which no amount of life in a careless 
 world would take out of him. That was what made 
 him different from the Fannings. 
 
 And yet he did nothing. He did not suggest to 
 Father Fanning that clemency would be only human, 
 nor did he propose anything else that would save the
 
 58 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 poor fool whose nest on the other side of the wall was 
 about to be swept away. There was this streak in 
 Lance, too, that he seldom acted upon his generous 
 thoughts, except when Pauline wanted something. 
 He disliked to be positive or assertive. He hated a 
 row, and in a case like this, with a stern landlord 
 trying to get back $100, there could be no protest 
 without a row. 
 
 So he kept silent, while he had glimpses of Father 
 Fanning going here and there, and evidently con- 
 triving means of getting Dick Crowe out of a uniform 
 and into stripes. The banker did not make any 
 more revelations. He could be seen walking down 
 the street with his well-dressed agent and discussing, 
 no doubt, this affair as well as others. The agent, 
 too, was reticent. Lance tackled "Butterfly Bob" 
 one day, and received only the reply : 
 
 "Look here, old chap, the less said about that the 
 better." 
 
 And Bob had a distressed frown. 
 
 But the days went on, and there was nothing in the 
 papers about a young man living in the Fannington 
 Annex being arrested on the Texas border. The 
 days went on, and Lance pursued his serene way to 
 and from the office, thinking every time he saw a 
 young man with a carefully pressed last summer's 
 suit board the elevated that this might be another 
 of the same type as Dick Crowe. And all the time 
 he was unaware that at the office, glancing furtively 
 at the star "ad-writer" from her infinitely lower 
 level, was a young woman who had more than a
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 59 
 
 passing interest in Dick Crowe, and who wondered 
 whether Lance would help her if it came to that. 
 
 In the meantime, the evening of the Sweetlings* 
 dinner party arrived. It was given at the Beach 
 Hotel, of course, and the hotel press agent saw that 
 the newspapers heard about it. Everybody heard 
 about it in Lakeside, for that matter, because it was 
 on that occasion that Alfred Harrold became intoxi- 
 cated and threw a plate of ice-cream at Lance. A 
 most mysterious affair, this; Alfred did not get drunk 
 or throw things, his wife assured everybody, unless 
 he had "a serious feud on," and no one was aware 
 he had it in for Lance. He was eventually quieted, 
 and Lance took the thing so good-naturedly 
 the ice-cream did not hit him that nothing much 
 happened at the time, and we can afford to forget 
 it. 
 
 In the interval between the dinner and the dancing 
 Bob came to Lance and said : 
 
 "I have to go over to the Wiltshire a minute to see 
 your father-in-law. Wish you'd come along. I feel 
 jumpy." 
 
 The target of the plate of ice-cream was glad to 
 accept. The clatter of the "crowd" had wearied 
 him. He and Bob strolled arm in arm through the 
 canon-like streets, listening to the squeal of phono- 
 graphs and the laughter that issued from lighted 
 rooms, and aware, too, of the pallid stars that pre- 
 sided overhead. 
 
 "There are some queer things in this world," said 
 Bob, pensively. "There are all kinds of people."
 
 60 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 Lance made no reply. He was too fond of Bob 
 to twit him because of banality. 
 
 "You're going to see a rum bit of drama," con- 
 tinued Bob. "I asked you to come along because, 
 you being a student of life, and all that, it may in- 
 terest you. That is, if she's there. I'll just about 
 bet two bits she won't be there." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "You'll see. Ah, here looms the Wiltshire. No 
 other building just like it in Lakeside, 'spite of all 
 the new ones." 
 
 The Wiltshire was reposeful compared with its 
 neighbours. The fountain, in its snow-white court, 
 plashed calmly on. 
 
 They went up to the second floor, and were ad- 
 mitted to the wide, low living room. Barton Fan- 
 ning sat there alone, busy with some papers. He 
 greeted Bob with a nod, and looked at Lance with 
 surprise. 
 
 "I brought him along as another witness," said 
 Bob. "Gad, I hope she'll hurry, for I've got to 
 get back and be host." 
 
 "We don't need Lance, but let him stay now he's 
 here. I told you," he said to his son-in-law, "about 
 that bad check affair. Here you'll see anotheivde- 
 velopment of it. Maybe you can advise us," he 
 concluded with a twinkle. 
 
 The banker had not looked at his watch more than 
 twice when the door-bell rang, and the maid brought 
 in not a young man in a last summer's suit, not a 
 brace of detectives, as Lance had rather expected,
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 61 
 
 but a young woman of something less than medium 
 height, clad in a severe dark suit, and with dark hair 
 waved over a white forehead. 
 
 "The wife," thought Lance. 
 
 She accepted a chair without so much as saving 
 " Good evening," and surveyed the three men calmly. 
 
 "Well, now, just what is your proposition?" in- 
 quired Fanning, leaning back in his chair. Bob 
 Sweetling's shirt-front crackled as he awaited the 
 answer. 
 
 "It's just this," said the girl, glancing a bit timidly 
 at the elaborate evening dress of the two younger 
 men. "I'm no relation of Mr. Crowe's, Mr. Fanning. 
 I ought to explain that. But I think a good deal of 
 him and his wife. I don't I don't want to see him 
 go to jail. It would be too awful." 
 
 Lance glanced at Bob, and conveyed a silent, but 
 intelligible, curse for having brought him. 
 
 The young woman went on: 
 
 "I want my motives clearly understood, because 
 I am told a misunderstanding of one's motives, in 
 Lakeside, is apt to be embarrassing. And this is aH : 
 I like Dick Crowe and Sally, and I want to help them 
 out of trouble. Is that clear? " 
 
 "Quite clear," Fanning ruled, like a judge. And, 
 "Oh, quite," murmured Bob Sweetling. 
 
 Ann Stone's long-lashed vision swept Lance for an 
 instant, then returned to the man who had Dick 
 in his power. 
 
 "What I should like," she said, "is to work in your 
 bank, evenings, and make up the shortage. Give me
 
 62 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 just any little thing to do; I'm not a stenographer or 
 anything clever. At Bragg & Co.'s" she avoided 
 looking at Lance this time "I'm just a filer. But 
 you must have to have unskilled clerks in the 
 bank, Mr. Fanning; and sometimes there must 
 be more than they can get through in the day- 
 time." 
 
 "H'm," muttered Fanning, rubbing his nose. He 
 looked at Bob, who said: "There is, of course, er 
 occasional checking." 
 
 There was a silence, during which Lance, who was 
 astounded by this young woman, who was not Dick 
 Crowe's wife, nor any relation, but just a friend, took 
 out a cigarette and put it back again. What a 
 friend she was, to be sure! So that was the sort of 
 people on the other side of the wall! 
 
 The banker spoke, with a sharp and steady gaze 
 upon Ann Stone: 
 
 "In return for such work, what would you ex- 
 pect?" 
 
 She unfolded her hands, and refolded them, but 
 in no other way betrayed agitation. 
 
 "I would ask you not to prosecute," she returned 
 in a low voice. "I would ask you to let Dick Crowe 
 be entirely free; just as though he had done nothing 
 wrong. And, too, that nothing more be said to 
 anybody than than has to. He's not a bad fellow, 
 Mr. Fanning. Its just that he's never been he's 
 never had " 
 
 "We needn't go into that," said Mr. Fanning, 
 hastily. "I don't doubt he's a nice chap, though I
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 63 
 
 think lie really needs a brief term in a cell. But 
 well what do you think, Sweetling?" 
 
 He looked at Bob, and Bob looked at Lance. Ann 
 also looked at Lance, as much as to say, "I know 
 you're a good-hearted man; won't you please help?" 
 
 Lance didn't say a word. But in a moment Bob 
 turned back to Fanning, and said, 
 
 "Oh, I can find some work for Miss Stone, if you 
 want." 
 
 And the banker, who had probably thought it all 
 out, very promptly replied to her questioning gaze: 
 
 "I think I'll take up your proposition. I will 
 h'm pay you three dollars and fifty cents a week, 
 if Mr. Sweetling finds that much work for you. Is 
 that satisfactory?" 
 
 "I'll be grateful for anything at all," she replied. 
 
 Lance kicked Bob savagely in the shin, and mut- 
 tered, not to Bob, but to himself, "Great God! Is 
 he going to jew her down like that? The old Shy- 
 lock!" 
 
 "That is," continued Mr. Fanning, blandly, "each 
 week we shall consider that amount deducted from 
 the total sum. There will be no cash transaction." 
 
 "Ouch!" said Bob, without apparent relevancy. 
 
 Ann Stone rose. "I'll begin whenever you say," 
 she said to Sweetling. 
 
 Bob struggled to his feet, blinking, and with 
 one of his most courteous bows, answered vaguely 
 to the effect that he would talk it over with her later. 
 He looked at his watch, said "That all?" to Barton 
 Fanning, who, like Lance, had risen also, and made
 
 64 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 for the door. He opened it for Ann Stone, and 
 watched her to the head of the stairs, where she 
 nodded to him with a grateful smile before she 
 disappeared. 
 
 "There, Lance," Barton Fanning was saying. 
 "Don't let anybody ever say I'm a brutal and hard- 
 hearted landlord. I'm letting the young crook go 
 scot-free, and I'll never see a cent of the money I 
 lost. But I'm not a church trustee for nothing. Am 
 I, Lance?" 
 
 "No, I shouldn't say you were anything for noth- 
 ing," was the swift reply. 
 
 Out on the street, as he and Bob walked rapidly 
 toward the hotel, Lance broke out: 
 
 "By heavens, Bob! By the great brown-toed 
 Buddha! Did you ever see anything like that? 
 Did you ever see a pious old rip soak it to a helpless 
 little feminine God's creature like that? By Me- 
 thusalem, I don't care if he is my father-in-law, Bob; 
 it was awful ! She's going to work for him evenings, 
 to pay back what another woman's husband tried 
 to steal. She's going to slave all winter for it'll 
 take all winter for that old curmudgeon's hundred 
 dollars. Bob, how in the hell did you sit there-and 
 let it happen?" 
 
 "Why did you sit there?" retorted Bob, much 
 hurt. "You're his son-in-law." 
 
 "I couldn't do anything," frowned Lance. "I'll 
 take it out of him some way by thunder. I feel 
 like never speaking to him again."
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 65 
 
 "That would be darned awkward," said Bob. 
 
 They walked on, and the tall, luminous towers of 
 the hotel came in view. 
 
 "No," said Lance, "I don't suppose I can do a 
 thing. I suppose that's business. But anyhow, I'm 
 going to have Pauline invite that girl over invite 
 the whole caboodle, whoever they are give 'em 
 a big dinner. And I'll borrow the money for it from 
 Father Fanning, and never pay him back." 
 
 "My guess is you won't even do that," replied Bob, 
 calmly. And then they entered the hotel lobby, 
 where half Lakeside was sitting around pretending it 
 had an "appointment"; and they rejoined their 
 friends in the ball-room amid cheers and reproaches.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 NOTHING, of course, was precisely what Lance 
 did. He told Pauline all about the infamous 
 bargain, and she heard him with that child- 
 ish, politely interested expression she always wore 
 when he mentioned business. Then he depicted the 
 dignified yet modest demeanour of Miss Stone, think- 
 ing as fools sometimes do think to interest her 
 in the girl's personality. But Pauline merely opened 
 her eyes, and said: "You seem awfully engrossed 
 in this affair." 
 
 And Lance wilted. The proposal for a dinner 
 never issued from his lips. 
 
 What Pauline was concerned about was the trouble 
 with Alfred Harrold . She maintained he never would 
 have picked Lance as the object of his ice-cream- 
 throwing frenzy without a reason. 
 
 "What have you done to him? You must have 
 done something." 
 
 "Not the least little thing," Lance insisted. 
 
 "Not even tried one of your silly jokes on him?" 
 
 "My dear Polly, I haven't tried a joke not a 
 real joke on any of your friends since we were 
 married." 
 
 "Well, you have made yourself unpopular some- 
 how. You must have done something like you did 
 
 66
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 67 
 
 over at the Braggs' that night, when he sang that 
 song he composed himself, and you insisted you had 
 heard it in the 'Follies.'" 
 
 "That was sober earnest. I didn't believe Bragg 
 could have composed it himself. And I don't think 
 so now. I'll bet he hired " 
 
 "And you went around pretending you were an 
 old man, and limping." 
 
 "I had to do something. All those stiff old parties 
 in velvet gowns, and suede shoes " 
 
 "Well, anyway, we're not likely to be asked to the 
 Braggs' again." 
 
 "Oh, yes, we are; we're going to have to dinner- 
 dance with them, and tea-dance with them, and 
 beach supper with them, unless there's an early fall." 
 
 He made a little boat of paper, and blew it out of 
 the window. 
 
 "Well," said Pauline in a tone of finality, "I wish 
 you would apologize to Alfred Harrold, and have it 
 over." 
 
 "Apolo " he started to shout; and then gave 
 
 it up. Perhaps it was his fault somehow, though he 
 could not imagine what he had done. How could he 
 know that, as recently as last July, he had wounded 
 the "modern Rubinstein" (as his circulars had it) by 
 falling asleep during the rendition of a Rachmaninoff 
 prelude, then by waking up and asking if "that was 
 the Tannhauser march." This was at a little recital 
 given by Pauline in Harrold's honour. 
 
 And how could Lance know that Harrold had re- 
 ceived a commission of something like 5 per cent.
 
 68 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 because Pauline bought a Stunway and not a Marlin 
 and Hanspike; also that Harrold supposed Lance 
 had learned about this, and was looking for revenge? 
 
 What Lance might have perceived, if he had not 
 been inexcusably good-natured and lazy, was that 
 Harrold considered all women below a certain age 
 to be his pals, and when any of them had husbands 
 they admired, these husbands were practically rivals 
 of his glorious self. 
 
 Such subtleties were quite beyond Lance at his 
 present age and his present state of education. He 
 endured Harrold, and was rather proud of enduring 
 him; and never until the violent episode at the hotel 
 did he imagine that Harrold was his enemy. He was 
 now convinced of it, thanks to Pauline, and he did 
 not like it. He hated a row, and there was no telling 
 how far this row might go. 
 
 The thought persisted as he worked that evening 
 on some democratic campaign publicity, and re- 
 mained with him after he went to bed, when he was 
 doing what he called his "dog-watch." The dog- 
 watch was that hour or two, every night, after he 
 struck the pillow, when he failed to sleep, and his 
 imagination went galloping on ahead of him. In 
 those hours his mind, awakening from the tofpor 
 that oppressed it by day, would invent dramas, 
 mostly bloodthirsty ones; whole pages of dialogue, 
 full of the wildest revolt and the most sardonic 
 humour. It was not uncommon for him to kill a 
 person during his "dog-watch." 
 
 And this night, while Pauline slumbered, and he
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 69 
 
 lay with clenched fists seeing things on the blank 
 ceiling, he fancied his row with Harrold growing 
 from day to day, expanding from ice-cream throwing 
 to something less absurd and more fatal. He con- 
 ceived a scene in which the pianist, having insulted 
 Pauline, as well as Lance himself, would have to be 
 pummeled, perhaps killed. Yes, Lance might acci- 
 dentally kill him in his rage. The picture became 
 ghastly. " Take that, and that ! " Harrold lying with 
 dark blood on his forehead, and Lance bending over 
 hun, horrified. They would come to arrest him. 
 He would cry out 
 
 "What on earth ails you?'* came Pauline's drowsy 
 voice. 
 
 "Have to get a drink," he replied, the tragedy 
 foolishly ending. He pattered out to the bathroom 
 in his slippers, lit the light in that white-walled re- 
 treat of luxury, filled a glass, and drank slowly, eye- 
 ing himself in the mirror. 
 
 " Getting seedy," he thought, remarking his pallid, 
 wrinkled brow. And he fancied his hair was thin- 
 ning. He finished the water, and returned to the 
 bedroom. 
 
 It was all nonsense. He could not kill anybody. 
 He could not even punch anybody. All that sort 
 of thing, he reflected, had been educated out of his 
 father, and his father's father, before he, Lance, was 
 born. He had no kinship with those Vermont an- 
 cestors of his, who had fought Indians and tamed 
 wildernesses. He could not fight, would not fight, 
 and never would have to fight.
 
 70 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 He would "fix it up" with Harrold. 
 He fell asleep. 
 
 Weeks went by, and he met the pianist several 
 times, and they neither fixed it up nor came to blows. 
 Nothing else happened. There was nothing happen- 
 ing except the national campaign. Roy Meredith 
 had something new to talk about. The weather 
 grew too cold for beach parties, so they had card 
 parties, and talked politics. 
 
 Lance kept out of these endless, futile arguments 
 as much as he could, and even dodged a few games 
 of bridge. He had something at last to do that 
 interested him. Bragg had captured a big con- 
 tract relating to the democratic campaign, and the 
 office was in a whirl. This work engrossed Lance; 
 it was almost like newspaper work. He threw him- 
 self into it body and brain; his "dog-watches" were 
 filled with captions and slogans instead of duels. 
 For once he was doing something for Bragg that 
 was genuine; he believed what he wrote. As the 
 campaign progressed he passionately approved, and 
 assisted, the argument that Wilson had prevented 
 war, and that he was a great man. He searched his 
 extensive vocabulary for epithets with which to-sneer 
 at that "mere knocker," Hughes. And he even went 
 around to the Press office and abused the managing 
 editor, before whom he had once trembled, because 
 the Press was republican. 
 
 He jeered at himself afterward when he thought of 
 this piece of folly. But he went on working for
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 71 
 
 Wilson, and writing screaming full-page "ads." 
 Meantime, in the heat of things, he stirred up an- 
 other feud. 
 
 There was no good reason why Bill Ellsworth, 
 Bragg's other "crack man," should be jealous of 
 Lance, but he was. Ellsworth deemed himself hard- 
 worked, and Lance pampered. Most of the time, 
 now, Ellsworth sulked. Bragg, who foresaw trouble, 
 hinted at making him vice-president and treasurer, 
 but Ellsworth did not take these hints kindly. As 
 treasurer he would have to work afternoons, and he 
 did not want to work afternoons. He wanted to 
 play golf. 
 
 A day or two before the election this ill feeling 
 came to the surface in the ridiculous way such things 
 do, over an umbrella. It was a rainy afternoon, and 
 Ellsworth was in that savage frame of mind that be- 
 sets golfers with the approach of winter. About 
 four o'clock he started to leave the office, and perceiv- 
 ing an umbrella standing in a corner near Teddy's 
 desk, started off with it. 
 
 Lance, who was idling at a window, turned just 
 in time. 
 
 "Here, man, that's mine," said he. 
 
 Ellsworth unrolled the umbrella calmly, and re- 
 plied: "I left it here." 
 
 Lance walked up and remarked, "I'll be glad to 
 loan it to you, but I don't quite know what I'll do 
 myself. If you take my umbrella I'll get wet." 
 
 "Too bad," came the sneer. "Might get pneu- 
 monia and die."
 
 72 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 "Well, Bragg could spare you as well as he could 
 me." 
 
 "Think so?" snapped Ellsworth. The gibe had 
 fallen upon a sore spot. "Maybe he'd as soon keep 
 a man who works eight hours a day as one who pre- 
 tends to work three." 
 
 He spoke loud enough to be heard in the general 
 office, where the consciousness of a squabble now 
 began to awaken. The clerks and filers in the larger 
 room craned their necks. Teddy, at his post, bounced 
 in his chair with delight. 
 
 Lance gazed curiously at Ellsworth a moment, and 
 then looked wicked. 
 
 "Look here," he said, "I don't know what's wrong 
 with you, but I'll bet it's pastry. Eat less pastry, 
 Ellsworth, and improve your liver. Now, at your 
 age " 
 
 The elder man seized the umbrella handle threaten- 
 ingly, and bit his graying moustache. 
 
 "Happerth," he croaked, "I'd enjoy mussing that 
 snowy collar of yours. And I think one jolt would 
 just about crumple you up. But a man picks a man 
 to fight with; and you're not that. You're neither 
 man nor woman a sort of zero in sex. You're a 
 hothouse plant that would wither at a touch. \One 
 of these days you'll get yours, for the world is getting 
 more and more uncomfortable for such as you. Now 
 take the damned umbrella I'll make you a present 
 of it, but don't you dare address me in this office 
 again." 
 
 He thrust the inoffensive object there is nothing
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 73 
 
 that looks quite so sheepish as an umbrella into 
 Lance's arms, and plunged out of the door. Lance, 
 in a boyish passion, flung the object of discord after 
 him. It struck the wall and fell, dismembered. 
 
 This over, Bragg's "star" stood there, with a 
 feeling he could not account for, that his limbs 
 were trembling under him. Was this fear, or what 
 was it? He could not believe it was fear. His heart 
 was fluttering, too, was that fear? He was furi- 
 ous over this weakness, the more when he turned 
 and discovered heads protruding through two or 
 three doors. These heads were instantly withdrawn, 
 but their owners must have seen him as he stood 
 there, white and trembling. It was awful! Ells- 
 worth had insulted him before the whole office, and 
 Lance had let him "get away with it." It was not 
 the end, either. There was something underlying 
 this. There must be office politics of which he 
 had been unaware. He took a step toward the door, 
 with the idea of catching Ellsworth, and finding out 
 what was really wrong. Then he abandoned this, 
 and walked back toward his cubby-hole, winking at 
 Teddy as he went. Teddy winked, but calculatingly 
 and deprecatingly, like an expert at the ringside who 
 marks the weaker man. 
 
 That evening, after a long and very smoky con- 
 ference over the last advertising broadsides of the 
 campaign, Lance came home late, with his eyes 
 smarting and one foot dragging after the other. The 
 soft lights in the flat glowed gratefully, the heat,
 
 74 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 after the wet and cold home-coming, was blessed. 
 He looked for a sympathetic and comforting Pauline, 
 who would give him hot drinks and put him to bed. 
 Instead he encountered an icicle in clinging robes, 
 who stared at him inimically, and seemed unaware 
 of his forlorn condition. 
 
 Lance sank upon the davenport and unbuttoned 
 his damp overcoat. 
 
 "I had no umbrella," he muttered, disgustedly. 
 
 "I know," said Pauline, without sympathy. "A 
 young lady who, I suppose, was Miss Stone, the mar- 
 tyr, brought yours home about dinner time, and said 
 she found it at the office, and thought you might want 
 it." 
 
 With this her chin went up very high. 
 
 "What? Where is it?" He struggled to his feet, 
 and took up the umbrella, which stood in a corner. 
 "By Jove, it's got silver on the handle. Then it 
 wasn't mine that " 
 
 He had been entirely in the wrong that afternoon. 
 
 "Plague take the thing," he said, much vexed. 
 "I had an awful row over another one, and all the 
 time- 
 
 "But let me ask, does Miss Stone if that i$ her 
 name look after your umbrella, rubbers, and so on? 
 Or what is the idea?" 
 
 He looked at her blinkingly. 
 
 "I don't know. No, of course not." It became 
 apparent that Pauline was angry. "Say," he went 
 on in a more intelligent tone, "I suppose she thought 
 she was doing me a favour. I suppose she thought
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 75 
 
 of it as a little neighbourly action; the kind of thing 
 they do in Pleasant City, or Peaceful Village, or 
 wherever* she comes from. And why not?" 
 
 Pauline turned abruptly. 
 
 "Neighbourly!" she exclaimed, with scorn. "We 
 don't have neighbours, do we?" 
 
 And she added, "I'll thank this this unofficial 
 Sister of Mercy to stay away that's all." 
 
 Lance stared at her in astonishment; and not only 
 because of her unreasonable rage. Pauline had in- 
 vented a phrase!
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 DESPITE his absorption in the election, and 
 his feverish uncertainty during the deadlock, 
 Lance found opportunity to thank Ann.Stone 
 for being so awkwardly thoughtful. He did not hint 
 she had been awkward, of course; indeed the un- 
 pleasantness at home had quite blown over. It was 
 with unimpeachable courtesy that he sought her out 
 and told her he was grateful. He would have liked 
 to add that he was interested to find a resident of 
 Lakeside capable of an unconventionality, but he 
 thought she would not understand this. 
 
 She responded to him with the right degree of 
 warmth. It was clear she was not a simpering filer, 
 like the others. 
 
 "And are you," he inquired, "are you, as reported, 
 an unofficial Sister of Mercy?" 
 
 Her smile was uncomprehending. 
 
 "I mean, besides looking after people's umbrellas, 
 are you doing overtime work in the bank?" 
 
 She merely gave him a flitting little smile, said, 
 "I'm on my thirteenth week," and went away. 
 
 She thought as she went that he looked jaded, in- 
 deed almost ill. There was an unhealthy whiteness 
 about his face, and his eyes looked "screwed up." 
 It was work because of the election, of course. She 
 
 76
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 77 
 
 thought he appeared out of place in this company of 
 burly and thick-skinned "ad. men." Naturally she 
 had no means of knowing that during this election 
 week there had been three dinners and a dance to 
 which Lance had felt bound to go. The pace in Lake- 
 side grew more feverish as the cold weather settled 
 down. 
 
 Yes, Lakeside was "speeding up." That last fall 
 and winter of peace it was as though a premonition 
 of some blight pervaded the dance halls and the 
 cafes, the theatres and the clubs. Every place of 
 that sort was overflowing. A multitude of "new 
 people " had swarmed into the locality. Their money 
 flowed into the pot; their costumes blended with 
 the already impressive array. Every flat building 
 echoed to their player-pianos, or rang with their 
 laughter. And the lights streamed from these 
 tiers of homes until long after midnight. Wilson 
 Avenue, a "show street" of the district, blazed with 
 lights both from shop windows and from graceful 
 white pillars along the pavement. Hat shops and 
 confectionery stores, musical instrument showrooms 
 and tobacco dispensaries, shone into the night. And 
 the sidewalks were full of idlers or purchasers or 
 groups of hurrying folk, "out for a stroll," and drawn 
 to Wilson Avenue as to a bazaar. There is nothing 
 like Wilson Avenue except Broadway, New York. 
 
 And through this dazzling, powdered, fur-clad 
 crowd Ann Stone threaded her way each evening, 
 bound for the bank to check lists of depositors. She 
 was aware that these lists grew with each week. She
 
 78 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 was astounded that an "outlying bank" could do 
 such a business; but these conclusions she kept to 
 herself. She was altogether occupied with doing her 
 checking right, and with thinking about Sally's wel- 
 fare, and wondering whether Sally would hold on to 
 her job of selling 50-cent fiction to customers of the 
 Largest Department Store. Also with Dick, and 
 when he would be heard from. 
 
 Those were lonely evenings. Except for the shuf- 
 fling step of the Scandinavian night watchman, and 
 the occasional appearance of Bob Sweetling, who 
 would rush in with a mere nod to Ann, rummage in 
 a drawer, and run out again, she saw no one in the 
 rooms where she worked. Under the single electric 
 light she checked and checked until her fingers stif- 
 fened. In the street outside came passersby whose 
 laughter was borne faintly through the heavy win- 
 dows. And across the street, as if to mock her at her 
 sacrificial task, revolved endlessly the shining doors 
 of the billiard hall where Dick had lost the rent 
 money. 
 
 Sometimes she watched those doors for quarter 
 hours at a time, fancying that Dick might be seen 
 among the crowd. But this, of course, was foolish. 
 Dick must be far away. He had never telephoned hor 
 written. No doubt he cowered somewhere, expect- 
 ing the worst and eating it. His whereabouts, and 
 the possible state of his mind, cost Ann many hours* 
 sleep. Sally, on the other hand, betrayed no worry. 
 
 "The silly ape can come back when he's good and 
 ready," said Sally.
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 79 
 
 It was in the sixteenth week of Ann's servitude 
 that, as she sat there with only the silent bank furni- 
 ture for company, there came a most unusual inter- 
 ruption. It was not from the street, not from the side 
 door, where Sweetling generally entered, but from the 
 front door, which was kept locked and barred. A 
 rattling of the knob, then a head at the window; a 
 head in a big slouch hat. She looked closer, and per- 
 ceived that the man wore a soldier's overcoat, and 
 that the hat was a soldier's. Then she made out a 
 face under the hat; a face full of good humour and 
 intelligence. Surely she had seen it before. Where? 
 
 It was only a moment he peered in the window; 
 then he returned to the door and shook it thoroughly. 
 Ann called into the unexplored shadows of the bank 
 for the watchman, who eventually slouched into the 
 room, stared awhile, then took down the bars, and 
 admitted the soldier. 
 
 He took off his stained headgear, bobbed his yellow 
 head with brief politeness, and inquired: "Mr. Fan- 
 ning here?" 
 
 His quick blue eyes glanced from Ann to the blink- 
 ing watchman, and his even white teeth were revealed 
 in a smile. 
 
 "Is this the night force? Say, I didn't mean to 
 startle anybody." 
 
 "You haven't," replied Ann stoutly. She wished 
 she could think what made his face so familiar. 
 
 "Well, it must seem a little weird, my breaking in 
 like a man insisting on depositing a million dollars. 
 But I haven't brought anything, nor am I going to
 
 80 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 take anything. I'm on the hunt for my father, that's 
 all; and as he wasn't anywhere else, I thought he 
 might be here." 
 
 "He doesn't come here in the evenings," said Ann. 
 "Sometimes he goes over to the other bank." 
 
 There was a silence. The watchman had de- 
 parted. 
 
 Tom walked over to the radiator in the little lobby, 
 and stood warming his hands, and applying the heels 
 of his long brown boots to the coils. Ann returned 
 to her checking. 
 
 Presently his voice was heard behind her: 
 
 "I know now where I've seen you before. It was 
 down in Texas, the day we went South, You fwere 
 sitting on a suitcase, and looking lonely." 
 
 "And along came a troop train, and there was 
 plenty of company. I remember," said Ann, smiling 
 over her shoulder. 
 
 "How did you get to Lakeside? " he inquired, com- 
 ing up to the mahogany rail. 
 
 "By the Alton and the elevated." 
 
 She felt unaccountably cheerful in Tom's society. 
 He had a sort of unadorned courtesy and a twinkling, 
 but respectful, gaze. 
 
 "How is it you're all alone here?" he demanded 
 presently. 
 
 She paused while she stabbed a check-mark op- 
 posite a name, then replied, 
 
 "I'm an extra worker. This is a a side line." 
 
 "Looks like a soft one. Do you mean you work 
 in the daytime, too?"
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 81 
 
 Ann swung about in her chair. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Fanning, I've told you all I need to 
 about my jobs, haven't I?" 
 
 Delighted, instead of disturbed, by this remark, he 
 said: 
 
 "Well, I never knew man nor woman either who 
 tried to grab two salaries who wasn't sorry for it. 
 And the idea of dragging your side money out of 
 father! It will ruin his health, if not yours." 
 
 After a pause: 
 
 "Is he still getting rich quick?" 
 
 "I couldn't tell you," she laughed; but the laugh 
 only covered her wonder at this singular Fanning. 
 Was he really ignorant of his father's affairs, or 
 only making conversation? She returned to her 
 work. 
 
 After a time, "Look here," said Tom, "do you 
 mind if I come in there and telephone?" 
 
 She rose and unlatched the gate, which had a 
 special catch to it, and he swung his long form within 
 the enclosure, where he planted himself, vast over- 
 coat and all, on a high chair before the instrument. 
 He seemed to have forgotten how to use one, and it 
 was only after much trouble with Central that he ob- 
 tained a number. He talked low, but intensely, with 
 his blue eyes rolled upward. 
 
 "I tell you, this won't wait . . . Now, mother, 
 for heaven's sake don't fly off that way . . . No, 
 I won't come to dinner . . . Oh, well . . . 
 Do you suppose he's at the country club? . . . 
 I'll be hanged if I will . . . Oh, damn!"
 
 82 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 The last two words were uttered simultaneously 
 with the click of the receiver. He turned toward Ann 
 to apologize for these words, but her oblivious back 
 was toward him. It was a business-like little back, 
 too, and it had its charms. She worked, yet she 
 spoke like a lady. He wondered again how she got 
 here; how she came to Lakeside. Tom did not know 
 much about girls who worked. 
 
 He got up and stood swinging the toe of his 
 boot against the gate. He was deep in thought; 
 how deep, Ann could not have guessed without 
 knowing that he had advice for the family, and 
 hated nothing worse than advising the family. 
 Yes, there was one thing worse: being advised 
 by it. 
 
 After what seemed a long time Ann breathed a 
 relieved sigh, put up her papers in a drawer, locked it, 
 and rose. It was nine o'clock, and she was very 
 tired. As she turned from her desk her eyes met 
 Tom's, and they both smiled, for no traceable rea- 
 son. Perhaps she wanted to show she was not 
 afraid of him; and he well, there is no telling why 
 he smiled. But the next instant he found himself 
 boldly proposing that he see her safely through the 
 wild region "west of the elevated," and she accepted 
 as casually as though she had known him for many 
 years. 
 
 He walked with long strides, and with his hands 
 thrust into his huge pockets. Ann flitted beside him, 
 her head scarcely at his shoulder. He felt enormous 
 and very, very cheerful. And a fragment of an old
 
 "... And the idea 
 of dragging your side 
 money out of fa- 
 ther ! It will ruin his 
 health, if not yours"
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 83 
 
 verse there was no telling where he had heard it 
 came into his head: 
 
 "Her feet, like little mice, 
 Stole in and out." 
 
 The wind shrieked under the elevated structure, 
 and hard flakes of snow spun along the walk; but 
 the pair were not discommoded. An elation without 
 reason or excuse kept them oblivious to the cold . And 
 they talked. 
 
 Of the war, of course, and how it seemed one day 
 close at hand, the next remote, unbelievable. It was 
 Ann who said this, and who expressed all the gratitude 
 to President Wilson for having kept the great shadow 
 far away, and who hoped Germany's latest peace offer 
 would be accepted. 
 
 "Surely you don't hope that!" exclaimed Tom, al- 
 most stopping in his tracks. 
 
 "Of course I do. Doesn't everybody want the 
 awful thing stopped?" 
 
 He became graver than she had yet seen him. 
 
 "I belong to the Pioneers of Hate," said he. "I 
 was in New York when those butchers sank the 
 Lusitania, and a lot of us swore we would get even 
 some day. I had a friend on that ship." 
 
 She murmured something, but the wind blew it 
 away. 
 
 "His name was Billy Todd," continued Tom, "and 
 he was the livest guy that ever lived. He and I 
 went on many a hunting trip away up in the north
 
 84 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 woods, and once we sailed pretty near to Alaska on 
 his yacht, and we had a beautiful wreck on a pinnacle 
 rock. He and I were like brothers. He was a 
 square chap, was Billy; and he never did anything 
 but the sporting thing by anybody. And there he 
 was, drowned like a rat, by a bunch of pirates en- 
 gaged in a game as far from sporting as anything you 
 ever " 
 
 He stopped suddenly, and turned to her with a dif- 
 ferent look. 
 
 "By the way, what's your name?" 
 
 He was comically naive, but he was harmless. 
 Ann answered his question in full. And then she 
 would have liked to ask him all about his regiment, 
 and his ambitions. But just then they entered the 
 glare of Wilson Avenue, and the carnival crowd shut 
 off more than fragmentary talk. A moving picture 
 theatre was just disgorging one audience and swal- 
 lowing another. The sidewalk was a whirl of faces, 
 radiant and vivid, and scores of voices were chattering 
 about the melodrama within. Tom led his compan- 
 ion to the curb, and shouldered a path through lanes 
 of young fellows with fur-collared overcoats and slim 
 feet. These stared fixedly, like Chinamen, at Ann. 
 And they eyed Tom's uniform, and mumbled^sar- 
 castic remarks from the corners of their mouths. 
 
 Tom wrenched himself out of this press, rescued 
 Ann, and walked on with her past the rainbow lights 
 of the music shops, the jewellery shops, and the beauty 
 shops. 
 
 "What I always think about these people," said
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 85 
 
 Ann, "is, they're so gay. They laugh so much. 
 People don't do that where I came from. These folks 
 act as if they were always on vacation." 
 
 "They are," he said, grimly. "They don't care 
 who gets torpedoed." 
 
 " Oh, I don't feel that. I don't mean they're heart- 
 less but they're children. All they need, or want, 
 is fun." 
 
 "I know," replied Tom. "This part of town is a 
 little like Paris; or Paris as it used to be. You ought 
 to see it now. Or have you been there?" 
 
 "My, no!" laughed Ann. Paris! It seemed to her 
 as far away as heaven. 
 
 But Tom had been to Paris; since the war, too. 
 He had driven an ambulance for a while. Then he 
 had returned, thinking the United States was going 
 to war. And he had been badly disappointed. 
 
 He became more wonderful every minute. He had 
 been at Dunkirk when the great shells first fell. He 
 had been on a liner whose stern evaded a torpedo by 
 rods only. And he had been on the Texas border, 
 and had tramped miles in the angry sun, while com- 
 rades fell fainting by the roadside. And here he was, 
 this figure of romance, clumping along beside her in 
 Lakeside, and seeming to like it. 
 
 They turned into Westmont Avenue, with its 
 array of high fagades and deserted porches; its 
 warm lights glowing into the night; its mysteriously 
 gliding motor cars. Somehow it seemed less for- 
 bidding to the lonely girl from Texas, less formid- 
 able. She faced it now with Tom's strength beside
 
 her; with some of his sturdy indifference supporting 
 her poise. 
 
 "I've a sister living around here somewhere," he 
 remarked, gazing up at the buildings vaguely. 
 
 "I know where she lives. In the Fannington, 
 just ahead there." 
 
 "You mean that brownstone " 
 
 "No, that's the Annex, where I live. The Fan- 
 nington is But I thought you were brought up in 
 
 Lakeside." 
 
 " I was," he answered, drily, " but the place couldn't 
 hold me." 
 
 Another half block, and he remarked, "I'll have to 
 run up and see sis. We've always been good friends, 
 in spite of I've got to see her, since I can't find 
 father. Oh, are these your diggings?" 
 
 Just as they came to the entrance, a tallish man 
 with black, curling hair and an astrackan-lined over- 
 coat issued from the door and walked rapidly away, 
 head down against the wind. And Ann, glancing 
 into the tiled hall, saw a flash of what she was sure 
 was Sally's skirt mounting the stairway. The sight 
 held her tense for a moment. The man had looked 
 like Lance Happerth but it could not be! She 
 turned to Tom with a face suddenly grown thoughtful 
 and wan. 
 
 Her thanks were very faint. She seemed in a 
 dreadful hurry to get inside. 
 
 He decided she regretted having come with him. 
 And it was in no pleasant frame of mind that he ad- 
 dressed himself to the Fannington.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE fellow in the fancy overcoat entered the 
 Fannington just ahead of Tom, and while the 
 latter was seeking, and eventually finding, 
 the very elegant card that read "Mr. Lancelot Hap- 
 perth," framed in bronze over a glittering speaking- 
 tube, the man was being shot upward in the elevator. 
 Tom thought nothing of him. He was concerned 
 with the smooth marble floors and walls of the en- 
 trance hall, and the marble settee that ornamented 
 it, and the subdued richness of the whole place. 
 
 Scorning to announce himself by the speaking-tube, 
 he mounted the stairs, and rang the bell at the right 
 door. 
 
 There was a rustling behind it, and Pauline opened 
 to him, with a stare and an exclamation. 
 
 "Yes, I'm here," said Tom. "How are you, 
 Polly?" 
 
 "But how in the world " 
 
 "Why in the world is what you mean? " he retorted, 
 entering. A wave of warm air, and odours of cloth- 
 ing, plants, and coffee assailed his senses. He 
 glanced with a scowl into the living room, where he 
 heard voices. 
 
 "There are people in there," he complained. 
 
 "They won't hurt you," she laughed. "I'm aw- 
 
 87
 
 88 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 fully glad to see you, Tom, but I suppose I looked 
 queer, because I thought it was Lance " 
 
 "Look here, where can we talk? I don't want to 
 get into that crowd. And for heavens* sake, let me 
 take off this coat. It must be ninety here." 
 
 Pauline eyed with surprise, and some distaste, his 
 desert-stained uniform. He, on the other hand, had 
 a flicker of genuine admiration in his eye. Pauline 
 had taste, all right, if she was giddy. 
 
 By this time "the crowd," never dreaming that 
 a stranger stood outside, had come to the door in 
 a body, and introductions could not be avoided. 
 Neither could Tom escape being led into the living 
 room and planted in a chair that creaked under him. 
 He was addressed immediately by a fashion-plate 
 whose name seemed to be Meredith, and who de- 
 sired the number of his regiment. 
 
 "Forty-fourth bottle-washers," growled Tom. 
 They were going to ask him now if it was hot down 
 there, and if he saw any Mexicans he knew they 
 were. 
 
 "Do be civil, Tom," said Pauline. "My brother," 
 she explained to the company, "was brought up 
 in a Christian family, though you wouldn't think 
 it." 
 
 Murmurs of "Oh, I'm sure " and the like. 
 
 "It's so interesting to see a real military person," 
 said Mrs. Sweetling from her place on the davenport. 
 "Did you get that scar at the front?" 
 
 He held up his wrist, and replied, " That came from 
 having a door shut on me a Lakeside door."
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 89 
 
 "I have a friend in the artillery," persisted Roy. 
 "Name of Clavering." 
 
 "I know him," said Tom. "He fell out on the 
 first hike." 
 
 He was certainly a tough customer, they decided. 
 So strange that Pauline should have a brother like 
 this! Yet they had heard what had they not 
 heard? He was a drunkard, was he not, and a ne'er- 
 do-well. Probably he had come for a loan. They 
 decided to let him get it, and they began to talk 
 among themselves, to give Pauline a chance to take 
 him away. Winchell and Mrs. Sweetling moved 
 toward the piano. Mrs. Meredith, whose pale blue 
 eyes had rested upon Tom as steadily and insolently 
 as those of a child, yawned, and took up a book. 
 
 Tom thrust out one booted leg, and examined the 
 apartment, with its new-looking furniture, and its 
 inevitable pictures, statuettes, and books. He felt 
 smothered. 
 
 "We were rehearsing a play when you came in," 
 said Pauline. "It's one that Lance wrote, and we 
 all are going to act. That's why I was so anxious 
 to have Lance get home. I can't think where he is." 
 
 "Say!" exclaimed Tom, rising. "Suppose your 
 friends go right on rehearsing, while you and I go into 
 the other room a minute. I've really got to tell you 
 something." 
 
 She looked doubtfully at the "crowd," but Sweet- 
 ling said : 
 
 "We can go through with part of the second act, 
 Pauline the part where you're off stage."
 
 90 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 ("That red-haired yap calls her Pauline," Tom 
 registered privately.) 
 
 "Well, go ahead," she answered. "And help 
 yourself to the eats." 
 
 She took Tom into the dining room, where she sat 
 with the pink table light full upon her costume. He 
 wondered whether it was the sort of thing she wore 
 habitually, or whether it was "in the play." And he 
 wondered whether all the lights in the flat were con- 
 tinually burning, as now, and whether it was always 
 so infernally hot. 
 
 "Well, Polly," he said, "so here you are, queening 
 it over a lot of swoozies and hand-painted dolls. I 
 suppose you're perfectly happy. And how is the 
 little husband?" 
 
 "If you've come to say things like that," Pauline 
 snapped, "you can go right back to camp, or 
 wherever you came from. As for Lance, he can 
 give you fifty points in intelligence, and beat 
 you." 
 
 "Oh, intelligence ! " jeered Tom. "It's brute force 
 that's going to count in this world for some years. 
 And though I had only one glimpse of the little hus- 
 band, I seem to remember he wasn't ferocious in the 
 way of brawn." 
 
 Pauline controlled herself, allowed time enough to 
 pass to show that he might as well drop Lance, and 
 then inquired: "What did you want to talk to me 
 about?" 
 
 A burst of laughter from the living room drowned 
 everything for a moment. Tom gazed at a French
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 91 
 
 landscape on the wall, and wondered which was grass 
 and which was lake. Then he said: 
 
 "I'm going East early in the morning. My taxi- 
 cab business is busted. Before I left I wanted to 
 find father and tell him his latest real-estate scheme 
 is likely to be a holy show. I can't find him, mother 
 won't listen to me, so I fall back on you." 
 
 "But I don't know a blessed thing about real 
 estate." 
 
 "Of course not. But maybe you can get this 
 straight: Father's gone in with a chap named Ulrich 
 the same who used to be county commissioner, and 
 now calls himself an investment man. He's a big 
 slob with none too good a name, I can tell you. He 
 wrecked a building and loan association four or five 
 years ago, and somebody else went to the peniten- 
 tiary. But never mind that. The trouble is, he's 
 been bragging about having a beautiful new angel 
 source of supply, that is and he's talking his head 
 off at the Real Estate Club every day about father 
 and their schemes." 
 
 "And you expect me to tell father all that?" 
 
 "Somebody's got to tell him." 
 
 "Well, Bob Sweetling, his agent, is in the other 
 room." 
 
 "He probably knows it already, and is afraid to tell 
 father. Or else more likely father doesn't con- 
 fide in him about outside ventures." 
 
 "Then wait until Lance gets home, and tell 
 him." 
 
 "Ho, ho, ho! Lance!" Tom jeered.
 
 Pauline kept her temper, and sat examining her 
 rings. Suddenly Tom exploded: 
 
 "Won't any of you take any responsibility? Are 
 you all a bunch of slackers, and face-feeders, and sure- 
 thing people? There's father blowing financial soap- 
 bubbles, and mother sliding around to tea parties in 
 her electric, and you sitting on a gilt chair, refusing to 
 
 lift a finger because you because you That's 
 
 Lakeside! Say, if the rest of the country was like it 
 there wouldn't be any nation, or anything. There'd 
 be nothing but a lot of goldfish playing in a pond. 
 And pretty soon there wouldn't be any pond, nor any 
 goldfish." 
 
 A significant silence had fallen in the other room. 
 
 "For goodness sake," whispered Pauline. "Don't 
 shout that way." 
 
 "Do 'em good to hear," he grumbled. But he 
 moderated his tone, and it became more persuasive. 
 
 "Polly," he said, "chuck it all. Break away from 
 these titmice and twaddlers, and be something in the 
 world." 
 
 "I suppose you'd like me to live on a farm, have 
 nine children, and do my own washing. Or else be 
 like those women in Europe who wear trousers and 
 run street cars." 
 
 "No; just be what you started out to be. I re- 
 member when your hair was in braids, and you could 
 run like a gazelle. And we used to wade in the lake, 
 and go chestnutting. And I taught you to sail a 
 boat. That was before every tallow-faced head book- 
 keeper in the world came to live in Lakeside, and
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 93 
 
 before the flats spoiled everything. It's too bad, 
 Polly, it's too bad." 
 
 He looked at her with fondness and wistf ulness in 
 his scratched and sunburnt face; striving to see what 
 remained of the sister and companion he had known, 
 looking for the soul underneath the Fanning veneer. 
 But it eluded him. He sighed, and rose. 
 
 "Well," said Pauline, "you've done what you 
 usually do : been disagreeable, and upset me, and ac- 
 complished nothing. Oh, Tom," she cried, sud- 
 denly, "why do you always do that?" 
 
 "I can't cuddle down in a steam-heated museum 
 and live on sugar-plums, so I can't be happy with you 
 people. That's all. Never mind, Polly, be happy 
 with your Lance and keep a flannel on his chest, or 
 he might get sick and die." 
 
 "Lance is not " Pauline began, angrily. But 
 
 Tom failed to learn what Lance was not. The bell 
 rang; the maid got there first; and there was a com- 
 motion in the hall. 
 
 The commotion was Lance being helped in by two 
 strangers, who asked for Mrs. Happerth, and eased 
 their burden down upon a chair in the hall. They 
 were well-dressed persons, and cheerful. 
 
 Pauline had sped into the hall, and Tom with her. 
 The theatrical troupe was gathered at the door. 
 Sweetling whispered something to Meredith, and 
 snickered. 
 
 Between them, the maid assisting, Tom and 
 Pauline got Lance into the bedroom for the two mem 
 had already vanished and laid him on the bed.
 
 94 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 His stupor became complete. There was perspira- 
 tion on his brow, and his hair clung to it in ringlets. 
 
 "Who were those fellows who brought him?" 
 
 "How do I know? Oh, Tom, what do you think 
 ails him? Please telephone for a doctor and tell 
 those people to go home. Oh, do you think it's any- 
 thing serious?" 
 
 "No," answered Tom, gruffly. 
 
 He went into the hall, and found the visitors es- 
 caping unobtrusively. Then he turned to the tele- 
 phone, disentangled the receiver from the doll's dress 
 that camouflaged it, and sought in the directory for a 
 doctor. Meantime he philosophized, "It gets 'em 
 all. Lakeside gets 'em all."
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 AN went straight to Sally, whom she found bur- 
 rowing in an overflowing dresser drawer, and 
 asked quietly: 
 
 "Who was the gentleman who brought you home? 
 The one who just left you at the door?" 
 
 Sally turned. Disquietude and anger contended 
 in her face. Anger prevailed. 
 
 "You don't need to look after me, Ann Stone. I 
 won't have it." 
 
 "If I didn't look after things we shouldn't be living 
 in this flat," Ann retorted, for she had a tart way 
 with her when roused. "I think it's perfectly all 
 right I should ask you; and you know it is." 
 
 "Well," said Sally, "we won't quarrel. That 
 gentleman, if you must know, is a pretty famous 
 musician. Besides that, he is of age, a white man, and 
 an American citizen. And he thinks I have a good 
 singing voice. Anything else?" 
 
 There was more said, but it need not concern us 
 now. The point of Sally's explanation is that it was 
 not Lance who was with her if you ever thought it 
 was. Lakeside had not "got him" in that way. 
 
 Lance's trouble was not the kind that is explained 
 by winks or jesting remarks such as Bob made to 
 Roy. It was not at all what Tom thought it was; 
 
 95 
 
 s
 
 so Tom need not have been so gruff. There was 
 indeed a suspicious aroma about him when he was 
 carried in, but that was a secondary symptom. He 
 had one of his bronchial attacks, made acute by a 
 dinner with Bragg, Ellsworth, and one or two others. 
 And besides this, as it developed after the doctor had 
 called daily for a week, there was a sort of breakdown. 
 The doctor murmured "overwork." He was a canny 
 Lakeside doctor. 
 
 The sufferer was in bed two weeks. At Christmas 
 time he was able to sit up and to smile wearily at his 
 new silk dressing gown. He smiled, too, at the doc- 
 tor's diagnosis, and said to Pauline: 
 
 "If I've been overworking, then my normal pace 
 must be about like that of private secretary to a lady 
 novelist. I used to work twice that hard on the 
 Press and never feel it." 
 
 "I wonder just what is wrong with you," his de- 
 voted wife said, thoughtfully. Her nursing had been 
 spasmodic, for the play had to be put through, author 
 or no author. 
 
 The Fanning cabinet finally considered the case, 
 and decided he should go South. The Fannings did 
 not, however, select the place. Bragg did that. 
 He had a scheme just then for booming Southern 
 resorts, and though the scheme brought Bragg noth- 
 ing, it fitted Lance's needs. Soon after Christmas 
 he and Pauline, with two trunkloads of winter re- 
 sort clothes, departed for Gulf ports. The "crowd," 
 or most of it, saw them off at the station. It was an 
 early morning train, but Bob Sweetling, Roy, and
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 97 
 
 Winchell were in Tuxedoes, a fact which made the 
 departure all but too conspicuous. The fact was, a 
 bachelor party of the previous night had lasted until 
 daylight, and the three men had thought it would be 
 a lark to go to the train as they were. 
 
 So it was with many grins from porters, and stares 
 from other travellers, that the Happerths departed. 
 Lance was delighted; Pauline annoyed. She refused 
 to put her head out of the window until Lance made 
 her. 
 
 The "crowd" stood a few feet away, yelling things 
 above the roar of the station. 
 
 "You must write often." 
 
 "Yes, and you must write, too." 
 
 "Oh, we'll all write." 
 
 "Bring me an alligator, Lance; a nice little alliga- 
 tor that'll keep sober hie." 
 
 "May, please take care of my fern for me." 
 
 "And don't forget Voltaire." 
 
 (Voltaire was the canary, acquired since Lance's 
 illness.) 
 
 "And say," were Lance's last words, "if peace is 
 declared, send me a wire, so I can put my one war 
 baby to bed." 
 
 The Southern Limited, despite everything, man- 
 aged to get away on time, and in a section jammed 
 with bunches of flowers, boxes of candy, besides maga- 
 zines and minor baggage, they journeyed southward. 
 
 Whenever, from the altitude of later years, Lance 
 looked back upon that winter sojourn, he knew that
 
 98 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 it was then his life curve dipped the lowest. It was 
 then he came nearest to the despair, the sense of 
 futility, that besets middle age but rarely disturbs 
 the twenties. 
 
 Cut off even from such adventure as he found in 
 office work, clear away from the stimulating slam- 
 bang of the city, living langourously in a climate that 
 offered no bracing cold winds or piquant changes in 
 temperature, Lance sank back on himself. 
 
 And himself was nothing. 
 
 During his newspaper life, and even later, when he 
 was striving to "make good" under Bragg, he had 
 felt vibrant with personality. He was a good deal of 
 a fellow; that was what everybody said, and they 
 made him believe it. But it was all untrue. Down 
 at the bottom he was zero. Everything he had done 
 came from outer impulse. He the essential he 
 was a pose, a gesture, a simulation. 
 
 He lay under orange trees, amid the unnaturally 
 beautiful scenery, and watched the futile gulf shift 
 from one to another of its moods. He gazed upon 
 the unchanging luxuriousness of flower and tree, and 
 thought how horrible it was to be like them: a crea- 
 ture that existed merely to grow fat and die. A crea- 
 ture like the moneyed spinsters and widows of Lake- 
 side, whom he had seen waddling out of tea rooms, or 
 sitting on their porches, watching the motors and 
 buses go by. 
 
 Ugh! And they all wanted him to "rest." He 
 did not need to rest. He needed to be worked into a 
 dripping sweat; to be driven until he ached; to make
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 99 
 
 something with his brain or hand, half kill himself 
 making it, and then, if you like, rest. He was not so 
 much ashamed of this idleness as madly in revolt 
 against it. He had no schemes for humanity that 
 had to be worked out. He knew only that some- 
 where deep down a devil of energy was in him that had 
 never yet found outlet; that had been gentled, and 
 soothed, and drugged by imitation work, and now, 
 when he did not work at all, was writhing in his soul. 
 
 The day of its deliverance was not so far away, but 
 Lance could not see it coming. Nothing ever hap- 
 pened; nay, there was scarcely a breath from the 
 world of action, in this winter paradise. Life had 
 stopped. 
 
 He could not tell Pauline these things. He could 
 not tell Pauline very much anyhow. In this collapse 
 of all the illusion that hung about Lakeside and him- 
 self he saw even Pauline in a cold fog that made con- 
 fession impossible. She was a Fanning; a creature of 
 that world that flowered only to perish. 
 
 So his fantastic thoughts ran on. Three weeks, a 
 month, he nursed them, while Pauline tripped about 
 from this pleasure to that. Then he sat down, with 
 knit brow and a flaming cigarette in his mouth, and 
 wrote a telegram to Bragg: 
 
 Cannot write] anything about Southern resorts. The 
 idea is banal. L. HAPPERTH. 
 
 He smiled after he had written it. Bragg would 
 be furious, and he would have to look up "banal" in 
 
 s
 
 100 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 the dictionary. And he would discharge Lance, and 
 everything would be at an end. 
 
 While in this mood, he wrote a long letter to 
 Freddy Westcott. This letter, as you will see, was 
 not sent. It would not have reached Freddy, who 
 was in France as a correspondent for the Press. But 
 it did Lance lots of good to write it. 
 
 "Freddy, you were right. You told me it was 
 a mistake to marry a flat building, and it was. 
 
 "I haven't a word to say against Pauline. She 
 doesn't neglect me, nor bankrupt me, any more than 
 any other woman would. I can forgive her even the 
 grand piano. I would have bought it if she hadn't. 
 The only thing she, or rather the whole lot of them, 
 did was to place temptation in my way. They 
 showed me all sorts of things to buy, and I bought 
 them. They got me into the Fannington, where 
 every mortal minute there's something to pay for, 
 and so I had to go to work for Bragg, who is the 
 smoothest con man un jailed, and I have to bully him 
 into giving me more money every six months. 
 
 "But look here, Freddy, this isn't a bankruptcy 
 schedule, this letter. It's a confession that Ijfe in 
 Lakeside is a failure. And I can't stand it. I don't 
 know what I'm going to do, but don't be surprised 
 if you hear that I've disappeared. I may become 
 one of those fellows who leave a peaceful home, 
 and just drop out of sight; and maybe come back 
 after twenty years, with whiskers, and claim they 
 had aphasia.
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 101 
 
 "Who made Lakeside, Freddy? I can't believe it 
 was God. Maybe it was Father Fanning. He is at 
 once its pride and its support, and its juggernaut. 
 I wonder if he can save it when the inevitable crash of 
 that glass house on stilts is brought about." 
 
 The letter went on in this vein for a half page, and 
 continued, 
 
 "Would they take me back on the Press, do you 
 think? I fancy I hear you say no, they wouldn't. 
 And they would be right. As I write this, I am aware 
 that I would be no good to the Press. And I take 
 back that part about disappearing. I haven't the 
 courage. I shall live on in Lakeside, having a devilish 
 fondness for sofa-pillows and steam heat. And I shall 
 become one of those old boys who smoke on the porches 
 of family hotels, and play solitaire in the evenings, and 
 they will carry my coffin down three flights of stairs, 
 while a strange minister says a Lakeside prayer. 
 
 "I get the Press regularly. Is the world at a 
 standstill? Seems like they must be cooking up 
 peace over there. 
 
 "Write me if you " 
 
 At this point in the writing Pauline came around 
 the corner of the hotel into the angle where Lance was 
 scribbling. He was startled, and pretended that the 
 swish of her skirts had blown his papers to the floor. 
 
 "Letters, Lance, letters," she cried, waving a hand- 
 ful of mail . " What were you writing ? ' ' 
 
 "Some stuff about summer resorts and winter 
 resorts," he prevaricated; and he crumpled up the
 
 102 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 letter and jammed it into the pocket of his white 
 coat. The telegram to Bragg he saved, and later in 
 the day he sent it. 
 
 Pauline, who looked remarkably well and amiable, 
 asked no more questions. She was deep in a com- 
 munication from Aunt Pringle, always the champion 
 letter writer of the family. From it she sorted out 
 bits of information for Lance, who sat with his dark 
 eyes narrowed, partly listening, and partly wondering 
 why he was born. 
 
 Most of the items Pauline prefixed with "Fancy!'* 
 She had acquired this exclamation since coming South. 
 
 "Fancy! Father's still at work on that big real- 
 estate deal. The one Tom tried to worry me about. 
 *A two hundred-acre subdivision' oh, I can't read 
 all this stuff. Aunt Pringle says, * Everything your 
 father touches seems to turn to money.' That's 
 perfectly true. "What did you say?" 
 
 Receiving no answer, she read on : 
 
 "' Mother's been elected regent of the D. A. R. 
 chapter. That makes three things she's head of. 
 Think what a glorious mother we have.' " 
 
 Opening another envelope, in Fanny Sweetling's 
 bold hand, she read, stared, and ejaculated: 
 
 *' Lance. Just fane Lance! May HarrolcKis 
 going to sue for divorce." 
 
 Lance sat up. 
 
 "I hope she gets it, with a hundred a month ali- 
 mony." 
 
 "But I don't suppose that's any more than Alfred 
 Harrold makes, is it?"
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 103 
 
 "Good Lord, I don't know what he makes, but 
 it's too much." 
 
 Pauline sat tapping her white shoe upon the floor. 
 
 "How strange it seems that a thing like that 
 should happen in the Fannington." 
 
 "Does it?" he began, ironically; then changed his 
 tone, and said merely, "I've seen it coming for some 
 time." 
 
 "Well, I haven't. I think May mmst be crazy." 
 She turned over the mail again. "Of all things, he's 
 sent me a picture postcard." 
 
 "What's it say?" 
 
 "Great ovation in Battle Creek. Sending clip- 
 pings." 
 
 "Why should he send us clippings?" grumbled 
 Lance. "I'm not a newspaper editor. Perhaps he 
 thinks I'll write him a page ad. What I hope to 
 write is his obituary." 
 
 "How grouchy you're getting, Lance. Here's a 
 card from but I haven't read the rest of Fanny's 
 letter." A pause. "Fancy, Lance. It's Bob's 
 birthday next week, and she's going to give a surprise 
 dinner for him. Wishes we were going to be there." 
 
 "Happy to say we're not." 
 
 Pauline looked up from the letter.' 
 
 "You like it here, don't you?" 
 
 "Immensely." 
 
 "As well as home?" 
 
 "No; not so well." 
 
 "It's a place to do that writing you Ve" always 
 wanted to do, isn't it?"
 
 104 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 "Ideal place." 
 
 "Then what's the matter?" 
 
 "Is that the Press ?" he demanded, in self-defense, 
 " Let's see what the old thing says." 
 
 She held it out to him vaguely. She was again 
 tasting the coloured postcards. There was a whole 
 table d'hote of them. 
 
 Lance spread out the paper, and instantly picked 
 out "the" headline from all the array of subordinate 
 news. He read slowly and with absorption the half 
 column or more under a Washington date. 
 
 The actual news had evidently been told the day 
 before. They had not received that copy of the 
 Press but this one told enough. It said that the 
 insolent establishment of a new submarine zone, and 
 the declaration of unlimited warfare, had shocked 
 the country, and Washington was "aroused." There 
 appeared to be only one thing for the President to 
 do, and he was expected to do it. "It was learned 
 from high authority," etc. Something about "ex- 
 treme measures." 
 
 "Big news," said Lance, carelessly tossing the 
 paper to his wife, and sinking back in his chair. 
 
 She read, with her face distorted with the effort. 
 
 "I don't understand it," she complained. 
 
 "It looks like more trouble, that's all," he drawled. 
 "More diplomatic squallings and babblings. Don't 
 let it worry you, Polly," he added half ironically. 
 
 And she replied, as he had expected, "Why should 
 it worry me?" 
 
 Still with a slightly sardonic smile a smile that
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 105 
 
 might have meant tolerant contempt for Pauline's 
 vegetable composure, or disdain for the futile dis- 
 putes of diplomats, or deprecation of his own idleness 
 Lance lay back and scanned the placid sweep of 
 lawn, the luscious foliage, the bright blue gulf. All 
 this whispered to him, too: "Why worry?" The 
 sources of that news he had just read, the wires 
 and railroad trains that brought it, the snows and 
 storms through which it had come, were dim and 
 dreamlike. 
 
 "By George," he said, "it's February. It's 
 February third. It doesn't seem like February at 
 all." 
 
 A remark Pauline might have made. No reason 
 to say anything about February. 
 
 And yet that February was one that deserved mil- 
 lions of words and got them. 
 
 It was February third, yet there was nothing hap- 
 pening except a ukulele party on the east porch. 
 
 Lance lay, a delicate slim shape in white, on the 
 lawn near the porch, and listened to the soft syncopa- 
 tions, and watched the stars, and marvelled that the 
 breeze could be so moistly mild while the Northern 
 world was freezing. 
 
 Presently, despite the singing, he heard from the 
 direction of the village, distant half a mile or more, a 
 gust of cheers. Then a steamer whistle blew. A 
 medley of little sounds, oddly thrilling, were borne 
 across the meadows. The singing stopped. 
 
 Another moment, and nineteen-year-old Harry 
 Steere, wild son of the famous steel man Steere, came
 
 106 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 galloping along the porch, yelling: "We're at war. 
 Hooray, we're at war, and I'm goin V 
 
 Lance rose on his elbow. He heard laughter, cries 
 of protest, "Impossible!'* "So soon!" 
 
 He climbed the steps, took Harry by the throat, 
 and demanded: 
 
 "Young man, why these shouts? Who's at war? " 
 
 "We and Germany. Let go, Happerth, or I'll 
 break your wrist." 
 
 "You've been meddling with fire-water," said 
 another skeptic. 
 
 "Just see if I have. The village paper has got it. 
 We've broken off relations." 
 
 "Oh, only broken off relations," said Lance, wither- 
 ingly. And the murmur passed along the porch, 
 and down the steps: "They've only broken off rela- 
 tions. Not the same thing at all." 
 
 An American flag floated out over their heads. 
 There was cheering in the hotel, in the office, in the 
 kitchens. 
 
 And someone said, after a silence, "Of course, it's 
 very nice to hang out the flag, and all that, but I 
 don't think " 
 
 But no one knew what this person thought, for the 
 ukuleles broke out afresh, and there was no peace 
 until midnight. 
 
 Lance hung about the billiard rooms for a while, 
 until he wearied of the unending, stupid wrangle as 
 to the chances of actual war, and the effect upon 
 stocks. One man had decided to go North early in 
 the morning, and he was preparing for this chilly
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 107 
 
 exploit by drinking things. Lance wearied of him, 
 and of all the babble. Besides, he had a telegram 
 in his pocket that seemed a deal more important. It 
 had come late in the evening, and had followed him 
 about the hotel until it found him. He decided it 
 was about time to tell Pauline about it. So he 
 yawned himself upstairs, and approached her as she 
 lay in bed, with the gulf breeze blowing tendrils of 
 hair across her smooth cheek, and said: 
 
 "Well, it's all settled: we're at war, and there will 
 be a great deal of hate unbottled, and things will be 
 done that we will be sorry for for years. And some- 
 body will have to surrender within three weeks." 
 
 "What do you mean? Have they heard anything 
 more?" 
 
 "No, they haven't, dear child, but I have." 
 
 He spread out the telegram, and Pauline read it 
 with lips poutingly attentive : 
 
 LANCE HAPPERTH, Ocean View Hotel, 
 
 If Southern resorts too banal, try the office. 
 
 G. BRAGG. 
 
 "What does he mean? What perfect " 
 
 "Oh, it's clear if you know the code. It means, 
 'War declared on you. Better pack.' Seriously, 
 Polly, Bragg is tired of the Southern resort scheme, 
 and so am I. We return to-morrow or next day. 
 Telegraph your mother to have the bird cage dusted, 
 and to have the rug turned over. For we're going to 
 reopen our town house."
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE season was waning anyhow, and the Hap- 
 perths were not the only people who were 
 going home. But Lance was the only man 
 who seemed pleased about it. 
 
 So absorbing were the pleasures of travel, and so 
 roused was he by the prospect of a contest with 
 Bragg that he scarcely noticed, until directed to 
 them, the symptoms along the road that patriotism 
 was astir. Mostly, it was flags. As the train rushed 
 through some weather-beaten town, there would be a 
 glimpse of bright bunting hanging from the second 
 stories of dusty shops, or depending from flag-poles 
 that must have stood there since Vicksburg was be- 
 sieged. Then the open country again; greening 
 fields; drowsy farm animals. But once a boy went 
 through the train selling little flaglets for buttonholes. 
 And another time they passed a wagonload of pick- 
 nickers with the colours wound about their vehicle. 
 They were singing something inaudible, andHhey 
 waved frantically at the train. 
 
 "That's the way it catches some people," said 
 Lance's companion in the smoking room, a young 
 banker of Cincinnati. "They take their war along 
 with their picnic, as a lark. Half those young farm- 
 ers would run like hell from a recruiting sign." 
 
 108
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 109 
 
 "You're right. Poor chance scraping up an 
 army in this country. But I guess we shan't 
 have to." 
 
 "Don't know. The news doesn't look good to 
 me," said the other, moodily surveying a Memphis 
 paper smeared with headlines. 
 
 And both men fell to thinking of themselves, and 
 of what might happen if 
 
 Yes; what if 
 
 The old question that Lance remembered as hav- 
 ing buzzed about the local room of the Press, years 
 before; that had flung itself at him at intervals ever 
 since! Why was it that every little while this vast, 
 dim question mark sprang out? Was there no more 
 stability in the world? Had the reliable, directing 
 minds collapsed? And must one forever be disturbed 
 by their long-faced warnings, their verbose confes- 
 sions of failure? 
 
 More papers came aboard. More exclamations. 
 
 It was remarked by someone that "Wilson was 
 picking on Germany," and nobody challenged this. 
 And certain ladies Pauline may have been one of 
 them said "What a fuss about a few old ships!" 
 And Mrs. Brethorn, the Cincinnati lady, wailed, 
 "Why can't they settle it?" 
 
 "Oh," said Lance, "statesmen don't settle things. 
 This whole clothes-line row, from the time it began, 
 is just a requiem for statesmen. I wouldn't have 
 one for janitor of our building, if I had the say. He 
 would quarrel with the iceman, or with me, or some- 
 body."
 
 110 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 "Don't you quarrel with your janitor, as it is?" 
 laughed Brethorn. 
 
 "I do not. He's the kaiser, nothing less." 
 
 The talk drifted away from the war. 
 
 At home, which was reached toward noon the next 
 day, the talk did not seem to be of the war at all. 
 Nor was there any other reminder of it. A flag or 
 two, hung deprecatingly among swollen theatre signs, 
 or in front of windows announcing cheap drugs and 
 artificial limbs, was all. And these might have been 
 there indefinitely. For the rest, there were the same 
 wolfish crowds tearing about, the same carnival of 
 shopping women; the same stolid taxi drivers, and 
 cynical idlers in front of hotels, and staring groups 
 in front of picture galleries, and gulping mobs in 
 cafeterias. 
 
 And the same Lakeside, with its grand canons of 
 buildings, and its women starting downtown, nuzzl- 
 ing their furs and groping in their pocket-books, or 
 its women in sweeping caps, shaking rugs over back 
 porch railings and sniffing the frosty air; and children 
 in wool caps and leggings, screaming and dancing on 
 the pavements. 
 
 At last, the tall, chocolate-coloured Fannington, 
 with its medallions gleaming in the noonday suni^and 
 Jimmy, the second janitor, washing windows. 
 
 Life was not different. 
 
 Nothing was impending, after all. 
 
 In the flat they had the first feeling of strangeness. 
 Its walls seemed to have contracted, its furnishing 
 to have dwindled. But gradually their minds, ac-
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 111 
 
 customed to vast hotel areas and sunlit spaces, fell 
 into the Fannington mood. It was "home." 
 
 Pauline sank down, retaining her wraps, into a big 
 leather chair, while Lance, shivering, went about 
 turning on steam. 
 
 "Well, nothing's changed," said she. 
 
 "You didn't expect to find a revolution, did you? 
 Oh, your mother's been here. I observe a book mis- 
 placed." 
 
 "I wish you'd call her up and tell her we're back. 
 Some of them might have met us without hurting 
 themselves." 
 
 After another glance around, like a dog divining 
 an alien presence, Lance went to the telephone. He 
 was gone some time, and during the wait -Pauline 
 sat musing. She was already a little homesick for 
 the South, and for the joys of that genial hotel. The 
 winter sojourn was gone, and there could never be 
 another like it. This was truer than Pauline knew. 
 But all she meant was that, even if they went South 
 the next winter, the novelty would be gone. Ahead 
 lay the accustomed round of Lakeside, and even of 
 that she could not be sure. The crowd could not be 
 the same, for the Harrolds. . . . Perhaps 
 their flat was already empty; perhaps poor May, 
 who had always had such a dreadful time with her 
 complexion, was now ruining it forever by lonely 
 weeping. 
 
 She got up, with the idea of telephoning to her mo- 
 ther, and met Lance returning. His face was disturbed . 
 
 "I must go downtown," he said, "right away."
 
 112 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 He stood with his hands in his overcoat pockets 
 gazing at the suitcases as though they baffled 
 him. 
 
 "Did you get mother?" 
 
 "Yes oh, yes," he replied, still with that wrinkle 
 in his brow. Pauline realized he had been telephon- 
 ing to Bragg also, but she said nothing. To her, 
 Bragg was a paltry detail. 
 
 Lance departed, and a few minutes later Mrs. 
 Fanning arrived. 
 
 "Well, so you're back," she remarked, permitting a 
 brief kiss, and settling her extensively wrapped and 
 bedizened person upon the davenport. She began, 
 with gloved hands swollen by rings, to unwind her 
 veil. Pauline fancied she had gained flesh; perhaps 
 dignity as well, if that were possible. Her air was 
 superb. Yes, "mother" was an empress, at least. 
 She shone in no glory merely reflected from the Grand 
 Mogul, but in a majesty all her own. 
 
 "Let's see, how many things are you president or 
 treasurer of?" Pauline was fain to ask. 
 
 There was no relaxation in that massive and heav- 
 ily powdered face. 
 
 "Don't be a silly little thing, Pauline. Do you 
 suppose I'm thinking about my offices at sudj a 
 time?" 
 
 Pauline mischievously rejoined: 
 
 "Are you so glad to see me back as all that?" 
 
 "What? Oh, I see what you mean. Well of 
 course it's an event to have you back. However, 
 what I meant was that I wasn't thinking about per-
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 113 
 
 sonal prestige during this situation; the war situation. 
 I ponder it day and night. And your father " 
 
 "You think there'll be a war?" 
 
 "My dear child, it's the uncertainty. It's the not 
 knowing whom to believe, or what news to trust. 
 It's maddening. Your father hasn't had a good 
 night's rest for a week. It's dreadful to bear such a 
 responsibility as his." 
 
 She swallowed. Could it be that mother, the 
 Gibraltar of the family, was about to cry? 
 
 With a feeling of smallness, almost of awe, Pauline 
 watched her recover self-control. 
 
 "Had you heard that Elsinore Manor burned 
 down?" 
 
 "No!' 
 
 "It did. Night before last." 
 
 "That beautiful building. Did the Russells lose 
 much?" 
 
 "The Russells!" exclaimed Mrs. Fanning with 
 scorn. "I don't care what they lost; it's what we lost. 
 You didn't know, but your father bought the building 
 only last January. For a hundred and fifty thou- 
 sand dollars. And now it's gone. Wiped out." 
 
 Even Pauline was impressed. She managed a 
 sentence ending with the word "insurance." 
 
 Mrs. Fanning shook her head. 
 
 "The insurance!" she snapped. "That's the 
 worst of the story. It wasn't paid up. It's all gone, 
 every cent paid on that building. I don't suppose 
 your father will ever speak to Bob Sweetling again. 
 Pauline, that fellow had the check in his pocket to
 
 114 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 pay the premium of course they had both let it 
 run longer than they should and Bob forgot to 
 pay it." 
 
 "How in the world could he forget such a thing?" 
 
 "How? You may well ask. But he made a clean 
 breast of it, I'll say that. It seems he was out all day 
 and evening with Roy Meredith and some others; 
 away from his work, mind you, and then raising cain 
 nearly all night. Just the foolish things they do up 
 here. The last thing he told father was, 'I've got 
 that insurance check. I'm going downtown, and I'll 
 turn it in personally/ And that was all, until about 
 one o'clock the next morning, when the building 
 burned. And they called your father to the 'phone 
 and when we looked out it seemed as though all Lake- 
 side was on fire. I never saw such a blaze. The 
 people barely got out alive." 
 
 "How awful ! " quavered Pauline. " How awful for 
 Bob and Fanny." 
 
 "For them!" exploded Mrs. Fanning. "I have 
 little enough sympathy for them. Fanny must 
 share in Bob's disgrace; for it's nothing less. Every 
 mortal in Lakeside all our friends, I mean know 
 about it by this time. Bob and Fanny!" 
 
 Pauline's private thought was, "I suppose they 
 won't have that birthday party now," but her com- 
 ment aloud was, "They'll have to move away. 
 Bob's so sensitive, he never can face it out." 
 
 " Butterfly Bob," said her mother, witheringly. "He 
 is well nicknamed. 
 
 "Well," she continued, after a pause, "that's one
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 115 
 
 thing. We might have stood it, if it hadn't been for 
 all the other worries." 
 
 "The big real-estate deal, you mean?" 
 
 "What do you know about it?" asked Mrs. Fan- 
 ning quickly. 
 
 "Why, nothing. Aunt Pringle wrote about it. 
 She said it was all right, so " 
 
 "It is all right. It is all right." She slapped a 
 glove up and down. " I know about it. Your father 
 tells me more things than he used to. He has to, 
 since his affairs got so big and perplexing. Well, the 
 banks are standing up to it, thank goodness." 
 
 "I never supposed they weren't." 
 
 They looked at each other. 
 
 "Pauline, do you ever think what it would mean if 
 we if your father's interests went smash? How 
 many hundreds of people around here have their lit- 
 tle savings and then, the landlord part of it. The 
 whole thing is mixed up together. So many lives 
 and properties." 
 
 "Why think of all that?" asked Pauline with won- 
 der. * * No thing can smash father. He's too cautious ; 
 too honest." 
 
 "I suppose I'm foolish," Mrs. Fanning admitted; 
 and they changed the subject to the doings at Ocean 
 View, and to the state of health of Voltaire, who had 
 been boarding at the Wiltshire. 
 
 After her mother had gone Pauline went to the 
 cafe for lunch, met May Harrold there, and listened 
 to a mournful tale. Alfred had departed, taking 
 with him all he could carry. He was in a desperate
 
 116 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 mood, said May. She feared for his life. This was 
 an absurd idea even to Pauline. It was not so comic 
 to learn, through a letter which May showed her, 
 that he blamed the quarrel upon the Happerths. 
 Alfred wrote that Lance had talked against him, and 
 conspired against him for months. " He thinks," said 
 May, "that you folks poisoned my mind. What 
 d'ycm know about that? But I'll tell you what's poi- 
 soned it. It was " and then a long and lurid nar- 
 rative. 
 
 Pauline returned to the flat in a hazy state of mind, 
 and sat down at the piano to play these clouds away. 
 She opened the lid, wiped away some dust, and struck 
 a chord. 
 
 A feeble and unnatural tinkle came forth. 
 
 She stared, and struck a place higher up, with a 
 similar result. 
 
 It was weird. The cold could not have done this. 
 There must be something terribly wrong with Pau- 
 line's noblest possession. She examined the interior, 
 but to little purpose. Then she gave it up, and sat 
 looking at the instrument moodily. 
 
 This was the news she had for Lance when he came 
 home, morose, after his battle with Bragg. He had 
 won the contest for the time, he intimated ; bub it 
 had left him with jangled nerves. And then the 
 piano ! He doubted there was anything permanently 
 the matter. Insisted upon eating his dinner first; 
 then made a brief examination. Clearly, the piano 
 would not play. And would it ever play? 
 
 "That's what we get for thinking we can leave a
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 117 
 
 flat unoccupied for two solid months," said he. "I 
 felt there was something wrong when we first came in. 
 But I thought I smelled burglars. This is worse." 
 
 "Worse? How?" 
 
 "Somebody has fooled with that piano," he re- 
 plied, darkly. "Somebody has hamstrung it. He 
 must have done it with an axe, or else a twelve-inch 
 
 shell. Now who Polly, kindly run over a list 
 
 of our enemies." 
 
 "We haven't any," she started to reply. And 
 then she paused. It would do no good to tell him 
 what she thought. 
 
 It was all over the Fannington next day that some- 
 thing dreadful had been done to the Happerths* 
 piano. Roy Meredith and his wife came, looked and 
 exclaimed. The janitor came, looked and scratched 
 his head. He was followed by Mrs. Winchell, and, 
 a little later, by May Harrold, who confirmed Lance's 
 theory that the thing was no accident. Nobody had 
 any sane opinion about the vandal nor, of course, 
 could the expert who arrived later in the day offer 
 anything useful beyond a diagnosis too technical for 
 these pages. 
 
 The Sweetlings came not, nor were they heard 
 from. The curtains to their apartment were drawn. 
 It was understood that Bob was out looking for a job, 
 and Fanny flat-hunting. It was a sad case. 
 
 There was no sympathy wasted on them that even- 
 ing at the Wiltshire, where the Fannings gathered for 
 a sort of welcoming celebration for Lance and Pau-
 
 118 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 line. The sympathy was all for the piano and its 
 owners. Barton Fanning suggested a detective 
 agency, while his more subtle brother proposed that 
 watch be kept at night, on the theory that the crim- 
 inal would be irresistibly drawn to the scene of his 
 crime. The Rev. Augustine meant this in jest, but 
 nobody understood it that way except Lance. 
 
 And Lance only smiled drearily. He was very 
 quiet that evening, complained that he was cold, 
 that his blood had become thin. Aunt Pringle kept 
 a concerned eye upon him, and in a favourable mo- 
 ment whispered to Pauline that she "had better 
 watch out." Aunt Pringle did not know of the 
 combination of Bragg, Ellsworth, and a question of 
 Lance's efficiency that had confronted him the day 
 before, and which, added to the distressing and mys- 
 terious piano episode, made him feel that enemies 
 lurked everywhere. He was never less genially dis- 
 posed toward the Fannings. His father-in-law's 
 regal bearing at the head of the table, the precise 
 accents of Augustine and his wife, Mrs. Fanning's 
 portliness, even Aunt Pringle's solicitude, made him 
 wriggle in his chair and bite his lips to restrain spite- 
 ful remarks. 
 
 Pauline, however, was joyous, despite the piano. 
 She was reassured about her father. He did not 
 look as though he had lost $150,000. If anything 
 he was ruddier than usual; his hair and moustache 
 nattier. Nor were there any signals of distress about 
 the menage. Pauline noticed the addition of a maid, 
 and, more significant still, there was a man-person
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 119 
 
 in evening dress who served. The dinner was in 
 six courses, and the salad alone contained no less 
 than twelve kinds of edibles. 
 
 There was some rallying of the parents for having 
 outgrown even eight rooms and three baths. 
 
 "No joke about that," said the banker. "I'm 
 thinking of buying the McDougall house over on the 
 Drive." 
 
 "That monster place!" cried Pauline. "What 
 would you and mother do in seventeen rooms?" 
 
 "Give the servants a chance to stretch," laughed 
 Barton. 
 
 "Well," said Aunt Pringle, "they say it's bad luck 
 to live more than seven years in one apartment. 
 I'm going on iy third over at the Terrace." 
 
 "And we have five more in the Fannington," came 
 from Pauline. "At least we hope so; don't we, 
 Lance?" 
 
 "Counting on it." 
 
 "You can't count on anything these days," sighed 
 Mrs. Fanning. 
 
 "That's so," put in the tactless Augustine. "Think 
 of the Manor." 
 
 "It was the war I was thinking of," his sister-in- 
 law gave response. 
 
 Augustine, overlooking the hint, continued, "What 
 became of that young fellow Sweetling the re- 
 creant " 
 
 Mrs. Augustine jogged his elbow, and a fragment 
 of pudding fell upon the ministerial trousers. 
 
 "Pshaw!" said Barton. "We can't talk about it
 
 120 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 in the family. I'm not worrying; certainly not 
 about Sweetling. I replaced him quick. Got a 
 fellow worth two of him; chap named Reeker." 
 
 The table listened politely. 
 
 "Clever chap with a business head. Knows a 
 thing or two about Lakeside, too. It was he told 
 me that Alfred Harrold " 
 
 A warning look from his wife, and the banker 
 halted, and became busy with his plate. 
 
 " What? What? " begged Pauline. 
 
 "Why drag in all the unpleasant subjects?" ruled 
 Mrs. Fanning. 
 
 "Very well," said Barton. "Bully pudding, this. 
 Meekin, be sure the wine is cold." 
 
 "Since when did you start drinking wine at din- 
 ner?" from Aunt Pringle. 
 
 "For my health," and he winked at Lance. The 
 Augustines looked steadily at their plates. Lance 
 observed this, and combining it with other signs he 
 had noted during the evening, concluded that the con- 
 trast between the brothers, a temperamental dif- 
 ference always very marked, was developing into an 
 estrangement. But he forgot about this when Bar- 
 ton Fanning said, as though in spite of himself, " Con- 
 found that Annex! It's my nemesis. First there's 
 that bad check case, and then this talk about Har- 
 rold. Both in the same flat, too. If it wasn't that 
 I had given my word to little Miss Stone " 
 
 "By the way, is she still working out the sen- 
 tence?" asked Lance, awakening from his torpor. 
 
 The question fell heavily upon the company.
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 121 
 
 Barton Fanning moved in his chair, and said "I 
 wouldn't put it just that way," while Pauline eyed 
 her husband in a peculiar manner. And then the 
 hostess burst out forcibly: "For goodness* sake! 
 Lance, do start something about the Gulf coast, 
 about the war anything. There's a fatality about 
 this dinner." 
 
 She rose, and they betook themselves heavily to 
 the drawing room, where Lance started the phono- 
 graph with the song that flourished for three weeks, 
 and then died a pitiful death: 
 
 "There ain't a goin' to be no war, 
 
 Is what I always say ay. 
 For how hi the world kin we lick the Dutch? 
 
 And how kin we make it pay ay?" 
 
 During this number, and the selections from 
 "Lucia" that followed, Aunt Pringle whispered 
 steadily to Pauline. It was a budget of news not 
 lacking in spice, dealing as it did with the Manfred 
 Terrace version of Harrold's wickedness; but it had 
 a benevolent note, too, for Aunt Pringle sympa- 
 thized strongly with Butterfly Bob, and thought his 
 escapade ought to be overlooked. This view was 
 still in Pauline's mind when she and Lance went 
 home; and, seeing lights in the Sweetling apartment, 
 she suggested they go up. Lance assented. 
 
 "At least see if the poor simp is contemplating 
 suicide," he said. 
 
 Bob was not. He looked a trifle askance when the
 
 122 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 visitors came in, but he was quite comfortable with 
 a pipe and a sporting sheet. Fanny, he explained, 
 was downtown at a show. 
 
 "I suppose you folks have heard no end of strong 
 talk at my expense," he ventured. "Well, it's all 
 true, friends; it's all true. I lost $150,000 or so for 
 the boss, and if I saved at the present rate for a mil- 
 lion years I never could pay it back. So I won't 
 try." 
 
 "Please believe we don't hold it against you," said 
 Pauline. 
 
 "I'm more afraid of your mother than any one 
 else," he replied, scratching his red poll. "As for 
 your father do you think he'd knock me if I tried 
 for an automobile agency?" 
 
 "Of course not." 
 
 "Well, we have to move out of here, anyhow. And 
 God knows " 
 
 He paused and examined his pipe bowl. 
 
 "I don't feel like going anywhere," he added with 
 pathos. "I've ducked all the sports about here 
 since it happened." 
 
 "Come over and look at our piano," said Lance. 
 "You can't play on it because of a little vendetta or 
 something that's been wreaked if wreaked V the 
 word." 
 
 Followed an account that made Bob sit up in his 
 chair. 
 
 "When did that happen?" he exclaimed. 
 
 "Don't know. The corpse was cold when we got 
 there," replied Lance.
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 123 
 
 Bob was silent longer than a minute. 
 
 "Look here," he said, finally, with a long face, 
 "I'll have to tell you something. It's a clew; yes, 
 by George, it's a clew, though I hate to think the 
 fellow would but, fact is, Harrold was in there a 
 week ago. I let him in." 
 
 " You let him in ? " Pauline's outcry was both aston- 
 ished and sharp. 
 
 "I did. I suppose it's another frightful exhibition 
 of me as an agent. But I took him in there. He 
 said he had left some music. Gosh, he wasn't there 
 more than a couple of minutes, and I was in the din- 
 ing room looking at a book." 
 
 The three surveyed each other with consternation. 
 
 "You've said it," muttered Lance at length. "I 
 believe he would do it." 
 
 "But what earthly reason?" wailed Pauline. 
 
 "Ah, there you've got me. I can understand his 
 poisoned tongue, for he was born that way. But to 
 assail a poor defenceless piano well, it looks as 
 though he had it in for you, Polly, and not for me." 
 
 "On the contrary," argued Bob. "He knows 
 you'd have to pay for the repairs." 
 
 "Perfectly right," said Lance, as though it had 
 just occurred to him. "You're a wise old thing, 
 Bob." 
 
 They sat again in gloom and thought. 
 
 It was going to be a bad "dog-watch" that night, 
 Lance knew. The impression of being tangled in a 
 web of enmity, and none of it justified, grew upon 
 him. Likewise the realization of his powerlessness in
 
 124 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 such conflicts. He ought to pursue the pianist with 
 detective agencies, and charge him with mayhem or 
 something. But he would never do this, and he knew 
 it. And Bob, seeing through him perfectly, thought, 
 "When will Lance ever get backbone enough to 
 fight?" 
 
 Whereupon, desirous of changing the subject, he 
 said, "Have you seen to-night's paper? Another 
 ship sunk." 
 
 "Drat the war," growled Lance. "It's no more 
 deadly than life in the Fannington."
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 NOBODY in Lakeside had much time for the 
 war. Spring was about to make an en- 
 trance, supported by a whole army of new 
 people in fetching clothes. The winter spurt of 
 prosperity in Lakeside was nothing to this. Father 
 Fanning could well afford to "drop" $150,000. 
 
 There was more of everything: More doing in real 
 estate; more delicatessen shops per family; more and 
 pinker millinery for sale; more and gaudier sign- 
 boards announcing the new '* dance paradise," the 
 enlarged real-ice skating rink, the latest movie knock- 
 out, the foxiest collars, the corkingest cork-tipped 
 cigarettes. New restaurants galore, too. For every 
 one that had succumbed to the food speculators, a 
 half dozen sprang up to gamble. Mme. Dolly's tea 
 shop, with blue chintz curtains and a 60-cent din- 
 ner, succeeded the Red Mill, which had specialized 
 in Dutch ornaments and French pastry. And no 
 sooner was there one Mme. Dolly's than there were 
 six. 
 
 Even the Little Stone Church found it necessary 
 to feed people or be old-fashioned. So the bulletin 
 board that announced lectures and the like was 
 superseded by a red-and-white sign, "Superb Table 
 d'h6te Dinner, 55 cents." The Rev. Augustine
 
 126 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 averted his gaze when he passed this sign on the way 
 to his study. He had thought the idea frivolous, 
 and had yielded only when the trustees, his brother 
 included, cried him down with the argument, "People 
 will eat somewhere; why not here?" 
 
 It was a rather unhappy time for the Rev. Augus- 
 tine. What could he do with such people? They 
 would not listen when he pictured the war scourge, 
 and begged for economy. He was lucky to get at 
 them at all. His congregation was never alike two 
 Sundays in succession. As for calls well, it was 
 Mrs. Augustine who complained that she was tired 
 of calling on "For Rent" signs. And she said she 
 was discouraged about her work for the poor and 
 afflicted, because "one can't tell the poor from the 
 rich, unless one can distinguish beads from pearls 
 across the street, and the afflicted always move out 
 before one can get there." 
 
 Meantime the war was coming on; no doubt about 
 it. Nobody could say there wasn't plenty of warn- 
 ing. Every newspaper was full of dark hints. Peo- 
 ple just back from New York or Washington looked 
 solemn and told what the White House was thinking. 
 The clouds began to roll up the sky in a volume that 
 masked their speed. And then they broke, and the 
 lightning flashed out, forked and terrible. Immense 
 plans, formed weeks before, were suddenly uncovered. 
 The great determination was released. Words 
 piled up by the hundreds of thousands. Everybody 
 talked, talked, talked. Lance Happerth figuratively 
 held his ears. The wild guesses, the childish com-
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 127 
 
 placencies, the crude threats that maddened him 
 when Europe went to war were outdone a million 
 times when America went to war. 
 
 "Oh, the twaddle!" thought Lance. 
 
 Twaddle about Liberty, he thought; twaddle 
 about a "great nation awakening." Old first-reader 
 mottos raked up. Stuff about "the spirit of '76," 
 and "making the world safe for democracy." This 
 was the way it appeared to Lance. He said it was 
 all press agent work. The poor, childlike, impres- 
 sible American people were being sign-boarded and 
 bannered into helping a lot of frenzied financiers. 
 One could say such things then, and get away with 
 them. Every community had its Aunt Pringle, who 
 opposed the war because she was tender-hearted; its 
 Barton Fanning, who was unsentimental and pessi- 
 mistic; its Lance Happerth, who sulked. 
 
 "Just Salvation Army stuff," Lance said to Pauline. 
 "Beating the drum on a corner, and gathering in the 
 half-wits. One can't go to a movie without having to 
 get up, or to applaud just because a bunch of lumpy- 
 jawed soldiers march across the screen. I saw Uncle 
 Augustine weeping big tears the other night when 
 they played the ' Marseillaise.' " 
 
 Pauline did not reply. 
 
 "I guess you like it," he persisted. 
 
 "I like to do what's right, that's all." 
 
 "Well, three cheers for the good little citizen. Of 
 course if you feel better to get in line, and go through 
 the ritual, I won't object. But there's no telling 
 where you'll land. Suppose the Government came
 
 128 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 after all the money we have your father's money, 
 too and grabbed it, what would you do?" 
 
 "You're always thinking up extreme things 
 
 "Or suppose it commandeered all the able man- 
 hood, including, of course, all the good dancers, to 
 take up arms. Even, perhaps, yours truly. How 
 would you like that?" 
 
 Pauline ignored this absurdity. 
 
 "If we're really in the war," he said, after a little 
 more thought, "why don't they make it interesting? 
 The Russian revolution now that was picturesque. 
 But they haven't any new ideas in this country. 
 And they can't accomplish anything but talk. We 
 never can do any fighting." 
 
 He said these same things to Roy Meredith a little 
 later, and Roy partly agreed with him. 
 
 "Send an army over? Fudge! The alleys don't 
 want men. They want food, and, er all that sort 
 of thing. But I'll swear, Lance, if we do send an 
 army over " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Why, we'll give 'em a fancy licking, that's all." 
 Roy grew excited, and almost burned a hole in the 
 davenport .with his cigar. "The country's waking 
 up, all right. Recruiting offices jammed already," 
 
 "Are you going to enlist?" Lance inquired, with a 
 twinkle. 
 
 Roy puffed, and replied: 
 
 "Just as soon as I can get my affairs arranged. I'd 
 'a' sent in my name for the Roosevelt expedition, only 
 that's off. I'm a fan on militaryism, Lance, you know. "
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 129 
 
 "All you have to do, I believe, is to walk in and 
 sign a paper," smiled Lance. 
 
 "Are you trying to make me mad?" Roy retorted. 
 "If so, you old egg, you can't do it. I'm not thin- 
 skinned. I'm not unpatriotic, either. But I'd be a 
 fool to enlist as a private; man of my equipment. 
 Well, if they should open those officers' camps, I'd 
 probably send in my name if it weren't for Marcel- 
 line." 
 
 "Does she object?" asked Pauline. 
 
 "Object! She regularly hangs around my neck 
 when I talk about it." 
 
 The auditors had to smile. A Shenandoah scene 
 staged amid the scarlet glories of the Meredith apart- 
 ment perhaps in the hand-painted dining room 
 was too grotesque. 
 
 After Roy had gone, Lance returned to the sun 
 parlour to think it over. He was not going to do any 
 bragging of his own, come what might. Come what 
 might, he was going to "keep his poise." For him- 
 self, he would as soon have soaked himself in gasoline, 
 and set a match to it, as enlist. There was Pauline; 
 he could not leave her, "and without a cent saved, 
 at that." And even if there had not been Pauline, 
 the whole notion of being in the army was fantastic. 
 Imagine himself in uniform! Imagine Roy; or 
 Reeker! He thought of a funny story about Reeker, 
 with his skinny legs encased in knickers. He even 
 thought this story might be worth writing out. He 
 fished for a pencil, scribbled a dozen lines, then 
 
 "Oh, Lance," cried Pauline, bursting in, "those
 
 130 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 new people on the top floor, the Waytes, have tele- 
 phoned, and want us to dance, and go to Mme. 
 Dolly's afterward." 
 
 "All right," said Lance, and tore up the story. 
 "Three cheers for the Featherwaytes. I'll bet they 
 won't talk about war, and tragedy, and everything." 
 
 The Featherwaytes, as Lance persisted in calling 
 them, did not talk about tragedy. They couldn't. 
 
 The husband was about twenty-seven years old- 
 Lance's age and his wife a couple of years younger. 
 He was something-or-other like a bond salesman; had 
 a blond pompadour; was inclined to smile too much. 
 His wife let them know right at the start that he 
 could dance rings around anybody in Lakeside. She 
 hovered about him so much that her personality, 
 except for a great shock of hair overhanging a re- 
 markably slender neck, and a pair of feet that, in 
 white shoes, seemed too large for the rest of her, had 
 little to say for itself. She was only a chorus for 
 Laurence. He had a way of saying about this or 
 that, "It's a subject I've looked into a little"; and 
 she would always say, "Oh, yes, Laurence has read 
 up about that." 
 
 These characteristics the Happerths discovered 
 during the brief walk to the dance hall. They learned, 
 also, that the Waytes had the distinction of owning a 
 baby eleven months old, which, on occasions like 
 this and evidently the occasions were not infrequent 
 was left in care of Mrs. Wayte's mother. 
 
 Lance felt old, somehow, when he talked to these
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 131 
 
 "new people." It was something like talking to 
 Roy Meredith, except that Wayte was more modest. 
 He, too, was a "fan on militaryism," and he pro- 
 nounced it the same way. Generally speaking, his 
 remarks were so conventional that Lance could talk 
 to him and go on thinking his own thoughts. These 
 concerned in part the stupidity of war, and in part 
 his private affairs. He reached a great decision dur- 
 ing this walk, namely, that he would not accept a 
 luscious offer he had received to be a moving-picture 
 press agent. Although all was not serene in his 
 relations with Bragg, he preferred that bushy eye- 
 browed tyrant to the thick-necked movie people, fat 
 though their pocket-books might be. 
 
 Having decided this, Lance was free to be joyous. 
 And the world, as displayed in Lakeside that evening, 
 helped him. The motor-horns tooted defiance to 
 war-lightnings. The lights along the glistening ave- 
 nues were festive; belated diners in caf6s, seen under 
 rose-shaded table-lamps, wore laughing faces. The 
 tinkle of a street piano somewhere rose sharply 
 among the voices of a thousand phonographs. And 
 on a corner a sharp- visaged old woman sold flowers 
 to passersby, just as though this were Paris. 
 
 Lance bought a huge bouquet for each of the ladies, 
 and they entered the enormous dance "paradise" 
 in triumph. 
 
 Almost as soon as they arrived on the floor Pauline 
 sailed away in the arms of the confident and graceful 
 Laurence Wayte. Lance, as was inevitable, pursued 
 them down the polished boards with little Mrs.
 
 132 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 Wayte. It was a splendid evening for dancing, and 
 the floor was quite up to the advertisements, while 
 an organization calling itself the "North Shore Naval 
 Reserve Band" played bewitchingly in the balcony. 
 Nevertheless, after a couple of rounds Lance began 
 to feel bored. He became thoughtful, and his re- 
 marks to his partner grew rarer and rarer. Finally 
 she suggested they rest. 
 
 Lance guided her between swirling couples to a 
 seat. 
 
 "I'd rather talk, anyway, wouldn't you?" she said, 
 looking up at him with an evident intention of hu- 
 mouring him. She seemed to be at once pitying him 
 because he was not a Featherwayte, and suggesting 
 that he must be very clever at something. 
 
 "Oh, yes, I'm tremendously fond of talking," he 
 said. (It was likely to be a long and uneventful 
 evening, after all.) 
 
 "Do you know," confided Mrs. Wayte, patting her 
 forward deck of hair, "I'd rather talk than most 
 anything. Larry and I talk whole whole encyclo- 
 pedias. He's so tremendously well-read." 
 
 "What do you generally talk about?" 
 
 "Oh, not generally anything in particular. I love 
 to tell stories. I clip them out of the Sunday paper; 
 don't tell anybody. There was such a good one I 
 remember but perhaps I'd better not tell it to 
 you who are such a great writer and all. Aren't 
 you?" 
 
 A great writer! Lance smiled cynically. Fortu- 
 nately Pauline and Laurence Wayte flashed by just
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 133 
 
 then, and in the necessary comment on their "elegant 
 style" Mrs. Wayte forgot to press for an answer to 
 her question. 
 
 She racked her brain for something to interest this 
 strange, uncommunicative Mr. Happerth. Just now 
 he was closely watching the dancers. He looked 
 first intent, then amazed, and then ironic. He must 
 have seen someone he knew. She followed his gaze, 
 but none of the couples looked especially remarkable 
 to her. Suddenly he laughed aloud. 
 "Excuse me," he said, turning to her. 
 "You saw someone you knew?" 
 "I saw one of life's little ironies, that's all." 
 Too subtle, this, for a Featherwayte. He had 
 discovered Tom Fanning, son of the prominent 
 banker, etc., dancing with Ann Stone, who must be 
 just about on her thirtieth week of restoring to this 
 banker the equivalent of $100. 
 
 The humour of the thing, supposing there was any, 
 had not occurred to either of these dancers. Tom 
 had been at great trouble to persuade Ann to come, 
 but had at last succeeded in finding a fun-loving 
 streak underneath her quiet mask. This was only 
 the third time he had met her, and he was determined 
 to have it different from the others. The first was 
 when he walked home with her, and barely learned 
 her name. The second was a bad evening at the 
 Annex when he had insisted upon knowing the terms 
 of her contract with his father, and had gone away 
 angry with his father.
 
 134 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 This time, he swore, there should be nothing to 
 spoil a perfect evening. He would give her one good 
 time, if she never had another. And since he was 
 about to join an officers' training camp, she might 
 never have another with him. He felt queerly cut 
 up about this. 
 
 Ann, as she swung along trying to accommodate 
 herself to Tom's somewhat clumsy steps, reflected 
 that this was the first invitation she had had since 
 leaving the little college town; the first dance since 
 the last commencement "at home." All that 
 seemed many lifetimes distant. The young men of 
 that staid commencement dance where were they 
 now? Especially the one who, during a moonlight 
 outburst, had taken one of her gloves and later, 
 cooling, had returned it by mail. He was a very 
 different young man from Tom Fanning; danced 
 better, perhaps, but as to other things 
 
 Tom was fascinating company. He never pre- 
 tended he had any social value, or that he knew 
 prominent people, but he let slip an allusion now and 
 then that showed his associations had not always 
 been with taxi drivers and troopers. And when he 
 revealed his enthusiasms, his plans, the reasons why 
 he thought fit to leave his militia regiment and -try 
 for a commission, it was with a simple confidence 
 that was not vanity. 
 
 He towered half a head above other men in the 
 hall. He was athletic while they were merely agile. 
 Some cavalier, with or without uniform! To-night 
 he was without it.
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 135 
 
 "It's strange he would invite a little gray creature 
 like me," thought Ann. 
 
 She had been twice around the floor with him, and 
 was listening keenly, but saying very little, when she 
 caught sight of Sally Crowe in a group of people 
 who had just come in. 
 
 Her attention was at once distracted from what 
 Tom was saying. Sally had told her she was going 
 to the rink. There was nothing special to worry 
 Ann about this, except that she had suspected Sally 
 did not always tell the truth, and now she knew it. 
 It was sad to discover this in one of whom Ann was so 
 fond. But it was more than sad; it was ominous. 
 It must have something to do with the man whose 
 stalwart form it looked stalwart in the dark, at 
 least had sometimes accompanied Sally home, but 
 who never came in. There could not be anything 
 seriously wrong, Ann thought; not while Sally clung 
 as she did to the possible return of Dick; not while 
 she cherished his poor old war map, and wept over 
 it; nor while she worked so diligently selling fiction 
 in the Largest Department Store. The constant 
 escort was probably some young salesman who had 
 started dangling after Sally, and whom Sally, in 
 a spirit of fun, was allowing to dangle. 
 
 Puzzling things out this way, Ann let slip the op- 
 portunity to refuse Tom's kind offer of an introduc- 
 tion to his sister, whom he had remarked across the 
 floor. He saw no reason why Pauline should not 
 know so nice a person as Ann Stone, and he intended 
 she should. Therefore he acted promptly in the
 
 136 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 ensuing intermission. Muttering "some pleasant 
 people I want you to know," he led his partner briskly 
 toward the corner under the big flag where Pauline 
 and her party had assembled. Halfway there, Ann 
 divined his plan, and quailed; but it was too late to 
 invent any way to defeat him. She found herself 
 plunged into the centre of a group that made way 
 for her good-naturedly, but seemed in haste to forget 
 her. In the centre stood Pauline. 
 
 "You girls live right next door to each other, and 
 you ought to be friends," blurted Tom, presenting 
 Ann. 
 
 "We shall be, I'm sure," smiled Pauline. But her 
 tone was of the sort that ends friendship ere it begins. 
 Matters were helped very little by Lance, who dis- 
 engaged himself from some shadowy people in the 
 background, and spoke to Ann kindly. It was the 
 wrong attitude for him to take at this juncture. And 
 it did not add anything to Ann's comfort to observe 
 a very frigid nod exchanged between the two young 
 men. 
 
 Tom now stood fully aware he had "messed 
 things,"and blaming the mess upon Pauline's snob- 
 bery. After a moment he could endure no more, 
 and interrupted her in an aside to Mrs. Waytev 
 
 "Come out here somewhere; I want to talk to 
 you," he whispered to his sister. 
 
 She shook her head; then met his eyes fairly and 
 gave in. 
 
 They went out of a door with "exit" burning 
 redly over it, and emerged upon a sort of balcony.
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 137 
 
 "Is this what I'm to expect when I bring my friends 
 to meet you?" he broke out at once. 
 
 She was not going to let him bully her this time! 
 
 "You make such queer friends, Tom Fanning." 
 
 "So do you. You married one." 
 
 "Leave Lance out of it. He stays in his own set, 
 anyhow, and that's more " 
 
 An elevated train passed with a roar, and cut off 
 the rest of the sentence. Also the first half of one 
 by Tom, which ended in the words, " that Fannington 
 set." And he added: 
 
 "Just because she works in an office, and because 
 she is a sort of slave of father. That's why you 
 snubbed her. Father and the rest of you, too, I 
 suppose, have made a sort of a family cash register 
 out of her." 
 
 "A martyr, isn't she? That's what Lance seems 
 to think." 
 
 "Then I give him credit. He's less of a puppy 
 than I thought." 
 
 He pulled a crushed cigar from his pocket, and 
 worked off his rage by mangling it into leaves. 
 
 "If I had a cent in the world," he said, "I'd step 
 in and pay the beggarly balance on that bad check. 
 I met Dick Crowe down South; but of course I didn't 
 know anything about this mess until the other night. 
 He's a keen soldier, and I'll swear he never knew 
 a girl was paying off for him. If father had half a 
 heart he never would let her do it. But he has, and 
 you've all stood by without lifting a hand. That's 
 Lakeside!"
 
 138 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 Pauline heard this out with a good deal of patience, 
 and when she spoke it was not haughtily. 
 
 "You always get back to that; to your grouch 
 against Lakeside. How are we different? Do you 
 mean that Lance and I should have dug down in our 
 pockets, or what do you mean? There wouldn't 
 have been any sense in doing that for people we didn't 
 know " 
 
 "Ah, that's it," he interrupted. "You've got 
 to know people. They've got to have some kind 
 of an introduction before you can be decent to 
 'em." 
 
 "Of course," said Pauline, as if that ended it. 
 
 And he saw it was ended. He had done his poor 
 best to make Pauline sorry for that snub, to make her 
 see life as he saw it, and the effort was no good. His 
 whole strategy from the moment he led Ann across 
 the floor was a mistake. He could not tear down the 
 wall between the Fannington and the Annex. 
 
 "Well," he said, with a shrug, "I must go back 
 and rescue that little girl from your friends. They're 
 probably asking her to show her pedigree. Come 
 on, Polly." 
 
 The group they had left was nowhere to be seen. 
 It had melted into the current of dancers, a revolving 
 mass that grew denser and gayer every hour. The 
 slither of feet was like the flight of dry leaves in a 
 tempest; the music beat a faster and more ardent 
 rhythm; laughter floated in the warm air that 
 rose almost perceptibly to the flag-bedecked girders. 
 
 Tom and Pauline stood intently scanning the
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 139 
 
 merry-go-round. Several of her acquaintances 
 passed, and greeted her with sprightly nods com- 
 bined with curious looks at the tall stranger. 
 
 "Suppose we take a turn," suggested Tom sud- 
 denly. 
 
 She looked at him teasingly. 
 
 "You don't like to dance that well, I know." 
 
 "It's a sort of good-bye," he said. "If I get into 
 the camp, Lord knows where I'll be after that." 
 
 "Well " her face changed. Lance and Ann 
 
 Stone had just sailed by. Tom saw them, too. 
 
 "Rather rich," he chuckled. "Rather rich. There 
 goes your Perfecto husband with Little Miss No- 
 body." 
 
 His mood mellowed as Pauline's grew the reverse. 
 The hall was illumined by comedy: A comedy of 
 floor-walkers, niftily made up with British hair-cuts 
 and Tuxedos; of forty-year-old "butterflies" dressed 
 like twenty-year olds; of beer incomes indulging 
 champagne appetites. And over all, a hand of 
 destiny writing what? 
 
 He might have gone on thinking; only it was not 
 his way. He might have reflected how all the little 
 impulseSj dislikes, ambitions, that swayed these frag- 
 ile people would some day be as nothing. The ques- 
 tion of Ann Stone's place in society, the unduly 
 gracious conduct of Lance, the fact that a brother 
 and sister had disagreed again all this would be as 
 nothing. 
 
 He looked at his watch, It was nearly eleven 
 o'clock. Probably Ann would be coming soon, to
 
 140 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 be taken home. And she would tell him what a 
 pleasant time she had had ! 
 
 Suddenly, from the far end of the hall, there came 
 a shriek; then a confused chorus of voices. Dancers 
 all the way down the floor stopped, like street-cars 
 in a blockade. Men and women scudded toward 
 the point of disturbance, and a managerial person 
 could be seen fighting his way through. Even the 
 music had halted, leaving a silence as impressive as 
 the sudden pausing of machinery in a factory. 
 
 "Well," said Tom. "Seems like something has 
 gone wrong in this paradise. I'll take a look." 
 
 He walked rapidly to the end of the hall, and 
 elbowed his way into the crowd. Pauline waited, 
 feeling much alone, and inclined to self-pity. Tom 
 did not return. Instead, here came Lance and 
 the Waytes, talking and laughing excitedly. 
 
 "A row," cried the star dancer, as soon as he could 
 be heard. "Peach of a row. Fellow knocked an- 
 other down." 
 
 "And one of them was in uniform," shrilled Mrs. 
 Wayte. 
 
 "Really," said Pauline, with her blonde head held 
 high. "I think that's rather disgusting. Let's go 
 home." 
 
 She swept Lance with a look that contained the 
 emotions of an entire evening. She observed the 
 absence of Ann Stone, connected it, as well as Tom's 
 absence, with the fight, and thought her own 
 thoughts, but uttered none of them. 
 
 "You should have been there, Mrs. Happerth,"
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 141 
 
 said Laurence Wayte, more quietly. "There must 
 be something deep behind this." 
 
 "Oh, there must be," his wife chorused. 
 
 Lance, affecting not to notice Pauline's chilling 
 aspect, said to her: 
 
 "The strong-arm boy in uniform has done us a 
 favour, Polly. He avenged us for the piano. The 
 other chap can you guess- 
 She caught his meaning, and her eyes widened in 
 spite of her. 
 
 "Yes, our old room-mate Harrold. Polly, he's a 
 sight. I think he's a case for a doctor." 
 
 Pauline shivered slightly. 
 
 "I suppose you're ready to go. Have you danced 
 enough?" 
 
 "I've always danced enough." 
 
 He fell in beside her as they moved toward the 
 cloak-room. 
 
 "I just took little Miss Stone around a couple of 
 times to save her " 
 
 "So glad you saved her," she interrupted. 
 
 "But I guess," he went on, blithely, "I guess this 
 was due to be a bad evening for her. She seems to 
 have been a friend of Harrold's partner a lady 
 something like a jonquil, or a bad chromo of one. 
 When we left, this lady had her head on Miss Stone's 
 shoulder, and was having a good cry." 
 
 "Will you get my wrap?" replied Pauline. "Oh, 
 yes," she remarked coldly to the Waytes, "I presume 
 they were all friends, the whole lot of them, and my 
 brother Tom, too."
 
 142 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 "Oh, yes, indeed," said Wayte. "Friends? I 
 should say so. It seemed the soldier was the husband 
 of the the yellow lady. And as soon as he had 
 floored the long-haired chap, what does she do but 
 throw herself in his arms the soldier's, I mean and 
 sob out, 'Oh, Dick, so you've come back!*' 
 
 "There are many, many angles to this," remarked 
 Lance, returning with an armful of coats and cloaks. 
 "And one of them is, what became of the soldier 
 afterward? If found, please notify the manager. 
 Oh, Lakeside will buzz about this for many a week! 
 Consequences, ladies, consequences." 
 
 And once more he thought of "life on the other 
 side of the wall" as warmly human, dramatic, re- 
 juvenating.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THERE were consequences indeed. 
 They moved slowly, but logically, as in rare 
 cases they do. Dick had vanished, so the 
 consequences could do nothing to him. But there 
 were other fates involved. May Harrold, for in- 
 stance, decided it was time to act, and she filed a bill 
 that had thirty-nine counts and included nearly all of 
 Blackstone. Then Reeker, most efficient of agents, 
 took a hand. He was very jealous of his employer's 
 reputation, was Reeker. More than once he had 
 saved the Fanning buildings from pitiless publicity. 
 And now he set out to save the Fannington Annex. 
 It took him no time at all to piece together the facts 
 behind the row at the dance hall, and the facts 
 not yet proved as such behind May's divorce bill. 
 Reeker was shocked. He laid everything before 
 Mr. Fanning, and Mr. Fanning, good church mem- 
 ber that he was, was more shocked than Reeker. 
 
 All this took something like two weeks. At the 
 end of the time we find Ann Stone, sitting alone in 
 the back room sewing, and waiting for Sally to come 
 home. It was not very late, but it was late enough. 
 The dance-hall rumpus had somewhat sobered Sally, 
 but it had not turned her into a stay-at-home. Nor 
 had the fact that she was mentioned in the 10,000- 
 
 143
 
 144 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 word divorce bill put her into sack cloth and ashes. 
 She had bought a new waist on the strength of it. 
 
 Ann was thinking hard about her as she toiled 
 thoughtfully, and not very skilfully, at the mending. 
 She was also thinking about Dick, and oh, a very 
 little, of course! about Tom. And the distant 
 throbbing of band music came to her on the moist 
 wind, through the partly opened window, as a re- 
 minder of war. 
 
 There was a ring at the doorbell, and Ann admitted 
 a man whom she recognized as Reeker. She was 
 both surprised and displeased at this evening call. 
 The rent was paid ; what did he want? Reeker came 
 in, glanced about at the furniture, which he seemed 
 astonished to find in the same condition as when he 
 last saw it, mentioned the weather, and asked if he 
 might smoke. And he did smoke, while his deliber- 
 ate, light-coloured eyes studied Ann. 
 
 He came at last to the point. There were going 
 to be changes in the building, he said. Going to be 
 a lot of decorating, and alteration. "They" would 
 have to ask a number of tenants to vacate tempo- 
 rarily. This flat especially. 
 
 Why this one especially? 
 
 Well, as to that Reeker could not say. Mr. Sin- 
 ning had given particular instructions. 
 
 Ann, bringing upon the agent all her force of per- 
 sonality, insisted upon knowing about these in- 
 structions. If Mr. Reeker did not know, or did not 
 want to tell, would there be any harm in asking Mr. 
 Fanning?
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 145 
 
 A pause, while Mr. Reeker examined a paper-knife 
 as though he would like to borrow it. On the whole, 
 he would advise against asking Mr. Fanning. It 
 was seldom wise to appeal to the owner. "He has 
 given me positive orders, Miss Stone, I assure you," 
 added the agent, uncomfortable because his delicate 
 manoeuvring had failed. And because he saw a light 
 of combativeness in Ann's eyes. 
 
 "Surely we're what are called good tenants. 
 We've paid the rent promptly all winter; never later 
 than the tenth." 
 
 Oh, yes, Mr. Fanning was aware of that. He had 
 mentioned it as a redeeming feature. Still, his deci- 
 sion remained the same. 
 
 "Well, if paying up promptly, and keeping things 
 in order, and causing no disturbance doesn't entitle 
 one to stay, what does? " Ann flamed out. 
 
 Driven clear off the field of diplomacy, Reeker 
 murmured, "There are charges ; 
 
 "I know there are charges, but they are false. 
 I shall see Mr. Fanning. It's an outrage to disturb 
 us because of a crazy woman's action." 
 
 "I tell you, it won't help you to see Mr. Fanning. 
 He thinks he has done his utmost for you." 
 
 Reeker put into this a meaning that showed he 
 knew everything: the reason why Dick disappeared, 
 the magnanimity of Barton Fanning in regard to 
 paying off the debt everything. 
 
 He laid down the paper-knife, and picked up a 
 fashion magazine. 
 
 "How the styles change, don't they? " he remarked,
 
 146 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 and restored the magazine. Ann made no reply. 
 She saw Sally and herself amid a welter of household 
 goods, packing up to go; lingering over the flimsy 
 furniture, the odds and ends of haphazard married 
 life; returning some of the pieces to the instalment 
 house whence they had come, and conveying others 
 into storage. Then a boarding-house, possibly 
 she would not long be able to keep her hold on Sally, 
 without even this pitiful anchorage. And Dick, 
 when he stopped wandering, would have no place to 
 
 go. 
 
 But she could think of no more appeals. She bit 
 her lip, and waited. 
 
 Reeker said: 
 
 "No one could regret more you know a landlord 
 must be very careful." He managed to get to his 
 feet. "With all that's said about apartments these 
 days, you can appreciate " 
 
 And more that was equally vague and apologetic. 
 If it had only been the other girl, he would have been 
 at his ease. 
 
 "Not a word against you, Miss Stone, of course." 
 
 Suddenly he found himself confronted by a little 
 fury, who flung defiance at him both as landlord's 
 agent and as agent of social reform. 
 
 "Not a word against me? " she flung at him breath- 
 lessly. "You think that eases everything, don't 
 you? But I'll tell you, Mr. Reeker, what you say 
 against Sally is said against me, too. I'm on their 
 side, whatever happens I mean hers and Dick's. 
 The whole of Lakeside can be down on them, but
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 147 
 
 I'm for them. I suppose you and your precious 
 Mr. Fanning have been digging around in the dirt, 
 and this is the result. I suppose Lakeside wants 
 to get rid of us. They're all so good so awfully 
 good, on the other side of the wall." 
 
 Reeker, who was cool again, looked at his watch. 
 
 "May first, or the fifteenth at the latest," was all 
 he said. 
 
 He found himself on the stairs, picking at his neck- 
 tie, and with perspiration on his brow. Poor work! 
 He had not expected to find Ann Stone alone. Well, 
 it was done. He passed down the stairs, glad it was 
 done. He felt momentarily more relieved, more 
 conscious of firmness and uprightness. There ought 
 to be a raise in salary for him out of all this; his 
 discoveries and his manful action. He lit another 
 cigarette, and went out into the spring night. 
 
 Five minutes later Sally Crowe, accompanied by a 
 quite unusual escort, namely Dick himself, entered 
 the flat. They found Ann standing on the rug just 
 where Reeker had left her. She did not seem thun- 
 derstruck to see Dick. She only said, in a queer 
 tone: 
 
 "So you've come home. That is, you think you 
 have. But no, you haven't any home, Dick; never 
 did have. Oh- 
 
 And then she flung herself on the sofa and buried 
 her small head in a pillow. Sally sat down beside 
 her, and smoothed her shoulders and loaned her a 
 handkerchief. And Dick sat in a chair, in his ill-
 
 148 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 fitting khaki, and quavered, "Well, well!" They 
 did not know Ann could cry, or "take on," like other 
 people. 
 
 They were very much concerned, and did not 
 know what to do. So Dick just said : " Oh, come ! " 
 and "Well, well!" while Sally kept on smoothing and 
 crooning, "What's the trouble, lovey?" 
 
 After a long time Ann sat up, and brushed back 
 her wave of dark hair. But instead of explaining, 
 she asked Dick questions. 
 
 How had he come to go to the dance hall that 
 night? 
 
 Dick looked at Sally. It was clear they under- 
 stood each other. 
 
 Hadn't Sally told her? Why, it was just the talk 
 he had heard. You couldn't keep anything quiet 
 around Lakeside. 
 
 But had he been around Lakeside? She supposed 
 he was in Mexico, or somewhere. And where had 
 he been since that night 
 
 "I'll tell you all about it," said Dick. "After I 
 did my bit on the border, I came back here, and went 
 to work as a street-car conductor. You see I figured 
 I'd get along better back home, and be just as just 
 as safe, too. I didn't send any word home because 
 I figured well, I didn't know just how things would 
 be." 
 
 He paused and regarded Ann uncomfortably. Did 
 he know what Ann had done for him? She waited. 
 
 "Then when I happened against all this talk about 
 Harrold, I thought I'd snoop around and see what
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 149 
 
 was up. You know the rest. But it's all right now, 
 am' tit, Sally?" 
 
 Her smile confirmed him. 
 
 Their sang-froid was rather remarkable, but it 
 restored Ann's composure. Such children! She 
 smiled a battered smile. 
 
 And then, sustained by their perfect ease over 
 what had happened, and over anything that might 
 befall, she told them about Reeker's visit. 
 
 "By gosh, I thought I saw the snipe on the street," 
 exclaimed Dick. "Well, well! So he thinks he'll 
 put you girls out." 
 
 His face suddenly hardened. 
 
 "A great encouragement for a fellow to go and do 
 his bit, I must say," he added. "These Pannings 
 and that crowd certainly do make things easy for a 
 chap in this world. By gosh!" 
 
 And he got up and paced the floor in his squeaky 
 boots. 
 
 Ann watched him, and became aware that he 
 seemed bigger. Not only heavier in body, even 
 broad in his chest and hips, but larger in the jaw, 
 more commanding all around. It came over her 
 that he had at last found a job he would not leave; 
 the very job he had perhaps subconsciously desired. 
 Her eyes smarted. 
 
 "A fine how-de-do!" he raged on. "Here I am, 
 taking the midnight train for Lord knows where, 
 and I got to leave you girls on the ragged edge of 
 nothing." 
 
 Another square turn. All his turns were square.
 
 150 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 "I'd call up the Grand Mogul if it would do any 
 good. But it would only make him sore 
 
 He bit at a knuckle, ruefully surveying the girls. 
 
 *' What are you in ? " asked Ann . ** Militia or 
 
 "Not me. I'm in the regular army, young friends. 
 No militia for mine." 
 
 He added proudly, 
 
 "I've been up at the fort now three weeks. My 
 regiment is sure to be one of the first over." 
 
 "Why!" exclaimed Sally. "They say none of the 
 troops are going to Europe." 
 
 "Don't you believe it," grinned Dick. "It's a 
 regular cleanup this time." 
 
 The expression on Sally's face was a study. She 
 was half-reclining on the sofa in her favourite atti- 
 tude, with one foot swinging. The foot ceased to 
 swing. Her face passed rapidly from indifferent 
 attention to intentness; astonishment, incredulity. 
 
 "It couldn't happen," she murmured. "Not so 
 soon." 
 
 "Soon says it," cried Dick; and his voice seemed 
 oddly loud. "This is the time for soon. Girls, I 
 hardly know what it's all about; I couldn't make you 
 a speech about it; but there's a song they sing 
 We're off for somewhere for something we've 
 got to go." 
 
 He paused, confused and laughing. But the light 
 of a Dick Crowe come into his own was in his face. 
 Those months, years, of yearning, of poring over time 
 tables and the various symbols of "going somewhere" 
 had been rewarded.
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 151 
 
 Sally said, soberly, 
 
 "You'd go away you'd Dick, if you could leave 
 the army now, to stay here with me would you?" 
 
 He answered her good-humouredly, "No, Sally, I 
 wouldn't, and that's a fact. I'm sorry " 
 
 He took a quick glance around the little flat, with 
 its tinsel furniture, its clutter of ornaments, books 
 piled helter-skelter, photographs in cheap frames, 
 the goldfish bowl. And he was sorry. They could 
 see that. It was his only conception of a home. And 
 he said: 
 
 "You don't know how often this winter I've 
 wished I was back here. I'm glad I took a chance 
 and came back to see it once more." His face 
 changed. " As for you, Ann Stone, I don't know why 
 you did what you did. Sally has told me." 
 
 He regarded her with a solemn gratitude that 
 struck deep into her heart. 
 
 "That'll be something for me to think about, when 
 I'm rolled up in my pup tent, a long way from here: 
 what Ann Stone did for me, and what I can do for 
 Ann Stone." 
 
 "It was nothing," she managed to murmur. 
 
 Dick wrung her hand, and glanced at the little 
 frenzied clock on the mantel. 
 
 "Ten thirty," he said. "I must be on my way." 
 
 Sally rose unsteadily. 
 
 "Oh," she said, "to think only a few months ago, 
 you and I " 
 
 She could not continue. 
 
 His blue eyes softened.
 
 152 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 "Don't worry, old girl, in a few more months I'll be 
 back; the same old bad penny." 
 
 Sally flung herself upon his shoulder. 
 
 "Don't worry," he kept saying, patting her 
 shoulder. His eyes glowed with the light of the 
 coming adventure. He winked at Ann even while 
 kissing Sally's moist face. 
 
 And then there was the moment of his final de- 
 parture, the last scrutiny of his valise, his face at the 
 door for an instant. He was gone. His whistle 
 came back to them from the stairs.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 SOME time after this Bob and Fanny Sweet- 
 ling disappeared. No good-byes to any one. 
 The flat was locked, and a wondering post- 
 man stacked up bills and circulars over the mailbox. 
 
 Fanny reappeared about a week later, with a de- 
 meanour somewhere between pride and pathos. 
 
 "I've been down to Peoria arranging with dad for 
 a weekly allowance," she announced. 
 
 She sank back in one of Pauline's chairs, and 
 looked tantalizingly at the others Lance and 
 Pauline, Roy and Marcelline. 
 
 "But where's Bob?" they all cried. 
 
 "He's enlisted in the navy," replied Fanny, loftily. 
 
 "What, old Bob?" and "For gosh' sake, what 
 made him do that?" 
 
 It was a crusher. The Fannington quartet looked 
 at each other with uneasy faces. They had more 
 than one acquaintance who had "gone in"; they had 
 got used to going downtown, and being elbowed by 
 khaki uniforms or bumped against by fledgling blue- 
 jackets. But Bob ! Why, he was one of the "crowd." 
 
 "Well, I know one thing sure," said Roy, wagging 
 Ids head. "If they want me they'll have to come 
 and take me. And my eyes ain't strong." 
 
 He removed and wiped the horn-rimmed spectacles 
 
 153 
 
 N
 
 154 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 he had lately donned and which made him look, 
 Marcelline complained, like a broken-down lawyer. 
 
 "They can't get me," put in Lance. "Got a pull 
 with Chowder." 
 
 "Chowder" was what they called him in Lakeside; 
 the hitherto unknown general whose face now stared 
 from the columns of the newspapers. It was charac- 
 teristic of Lakeside to invent a nickname while in 
 so many other parts of the city, and widely through 
 the country, there was uneasy discussion, the dread 
 of partings, worry about the effect of the draft upon 
 business. June 5th, registration day, was approaching, 
 and it was expected to cause trouble. Would the 
 young men submit to this? And if they did, what 
 then? 
 
 You remember that far-distant time, when patriot- 
 ism ran thin, and when it was touch and go whether 
 Washington could be arbitrary without starting a 
 riot? 
 
 Maybe the war reached its turning-point right 
 then. Let's not argue the point. The facts of his- 
 tory are that June 5th was a success, and 10,000,000 
 blue cards appeared in the breast-pockets of young 
 Anaks, who showed them to their friends with a 
 combination of vanity and sniggerings. An4 the 
 next month came the drawing, that ghoulish affair 
 of celluloid globules, a glass bowl, and a blindfolded 
 man, groping among lives with his bare hand. Lake- 
 side paused from its summer gaieties long enough 
 to share for one day the tensity of the national mood. 
 It joined in the breathless watching of bulletin boards,
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 155 
 
 the scramble for newspapers that printed columns 
 of numbers and names, the rush to the movie theatres 
 where "The Perils of Ida" were forgotten while the 
 screens shone out with fateful bits of Arabic. And 
 through all the rose-lit apartments ran the question, 
 "Were you drawn?" And in the Fannington for at 
 least a day they forgot to talk about the annual 
 midsummer dance, about Winchell's new bankruptcy 
 petition, about the Wayte's baby; while in the Annex 
 the disappearance of "those two girls who lived in 
 flat 17" had long since ceased to be of moment. 
 
 Lance's number was among the first ten. Roy's, 
 too. They met the following day, and shook hands 
 solemnly. 
 
 "Yours for exemption," said Lance. 
 
 Roy drew from his pocket a clipping that told the 
 regulations. 
 
 "There certainly are a few loopholes here for hard- 
 working married men like you and me. Even if I 
 pass the exam. " 
 
 Lance left him standing there. He was tired of 
 hearing about Roy's eyesight. For himself, he had 
 no fears. He was not like some of the others; not 
 like Teddy at the office, just turned twenty-one and 
 foot-loose; not like the chaps who lived at the Dor- 
 chester, the "high-class bachelor apartments" on 
 Zephyr Street. It amused him to think about those 
 fellows, and to listen to their talk about expedients 
 for "getting off." He was married, he was the "sole 
 support" of somebody who, he might have added,
 
 156 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 took a whole lot of support. Besides, what earthly 
 reasoning could suggest that he would be any good 
 in an army? 
 
 This detached and pleasurable mood lasted him 
 through the period of physical examinations, when, 
 after a very disagreeable experience in company 
 with a lot of naked men, he was passed as "fit." 
 
 "You've had all your trouble for nothing," he re- 
 marked to the doctors. He laughed in the very face 
 of a solemn member of the exemption board. 
 
 He laughed at Bragg, too, when the boss asked 
 about his chances for continuing to write his inimita- 
 ble "ads." The only thing that spoiled this scene 
 was that Ellsworth was standing there with a sort of 
 hungry look; a look not to be misinterpreted. This 
 nettled Lance, and he felt moved to demand an in- 
 crease in salary; which, however, Bragg waved 
 aside "for the present." Lance got even by going 
 to the cashier and wheedling her into letting him 
 have a week's salary in advance. It was at this time 
 he noticed for the first time that Ann Stone no longer 
 worked for Bragg. 
 
 Having filled out his exemption claim, Lance felt 
 so much at ease that he took his summer vacation 
 as usual. Two of those August weeks he and Pauline 
 spent at a northern lake, while the third he enjoyed 
 alone in the east, doing some work (not very definite) 
 for Bragg. It was during this last week, which 
 Pauline spent at the Wiltshire, that Barton Fanning 
 came to his daughter one evening when they were 
 alone and broached a financial matter that puzzled
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 157 
 
 her. She could not remember afterward just what 
 had happened. Mainly she recalled that her father's 
 face was oddly flushed, and his hands trembled, she 
 thought. 
 
 And he asked her to say nothing about it about 
 her having signed something, that is. 
 
 "Not tell even Lance? " she exclaimed, round-eyed. 
 
 "Not even Lance," he replied very emphatically. 
 "You know, Polly, there are things in my kind of 
 business " 
 
 He folded up the paper and put it in his pocket. 
 
 And he left her holding another piece of paper, 
 with which she did not in the least know what to do. 
 
 When Lance returned, it was to find Lakeside 
 bubbling with bad news. The exemption board was 
 anathema. It had taken no account of social posi- 
 tion, nor of the need of "leaving a few live ones in 
 Lakeside," as somebody said. It had marked down 
 Fred Ames, the singer with a bright future; it had 
 deprived, or was about to deprive, the Beach Hotel 
 of its most popular clerk. It was breaking up the 
 Country Club. It dared to call away two of Barton 
 Fanning's most efficient and obsequious clerks. 
 
 Lance had a hot session with the three ogres, in 
 which they tried to prove that Pauline could take 
 refuge at the Wiltshire, and leave him in the position 
 of one without dependents. In order to defeat this 
 insidious idea, it was necessary for him to stir up a 
 quarrel between Pauline and her parents something 
 not difficult to accomplish and to have them de-
 
 158 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 clare, both publicly and privately, that they would 
 not support her. The details of this quarrel, and 
 the patching up thereof, would make a chapter. But 
 we have too many other chapters. 
 
 And after all, the little storm that centred about 
 Lance seemed of small moment beside the terrible 
 thing that had happened to Roy Meredith. 
 
 Roy had approached the physical examiners with 
 perfect faith in the horn-rimmed spectacles. And 
 after they had thumped and pumped him, and had 
 taken off the spectacles and made him read letters 
 on a card, one of the doctors had slapped him on the 
 back and exclaimed," You'll do." 
 
 "What do you mean I'll do?" quavered Roy. 
 
 "You're the soundest man eyesight and all 
 we've had here to-day. Absolutely prime army ma- 
 terial, with a little dieting." 
 
 By the time Lance saw his friend, the worst ex- 
 plosions of Roy's turbulent nature were over. He 
 had had his set-to with the exemption judges, and 
 they had decided Marcelline, having a profession, was 
 able to take care of herself. 
 
 "You see, they don't know Marcelline," said Roy, 
 resignedly. "I don't suppose the girl'll starve, 
 but " 
 
 "How does she take it?" inquired Lance. 
 
 "She's sore because I didn't go into an officers' 
 camp. Says she'd never've married me if she'd 
 known I was going to turn into one of those wops 
 with leggings that don't fit. Oh, well ! " He sighed, 
 and then brightened. "Look here, I'm going to
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OP THE WALL 
 
 have some fun out of this. I'm going to give a 
 draft party; rent a room at Ye Olde Inne. Have 
 Prussian helmets for drinking-cups, and a lot of 
 skulls hung about with lamps in 'em. Will you and 
 Pauline come?" 
 
 "As honorary guests, yes," replied Lance. "You 
 know I'm exempt." 
 
 "Hope you are," was the unselfish response. " Old 
 boy, write some place-cards, will you? Something 
 rather gruesome '* 
 
 The week that elapsed before the party brought so 
 many sober things with it that by the time the crowd 
 assembled at Ye Olde Inne even the absurdity of 
 Roy in a rented uniform and Fred Ames in red French 
 trousers and a tin pail for a hat, failed to "put the 
 thing over." The pink-and-blue drinks were all 
 right, and the skulls were ghoulish enough, but the 
 talk simply would not grow frivolous. The depar- 
 ture of the drafted men was getting terribly near; 
 even the " crowd " felt it. Fred Ames sat most of the 
 time looking into a half -filled glass. Roy himself, 
 with heaven-knew-what ahead of him, made forced 
 speeches. And there was something wrong with 
 Pauline; at least, she was silent and pale. While 
 Lance 
 
 "Now, where is that poet?" snapped Roy, for the 
 fourth time, about ten o'clock. 
 
 Pauline at length explained: "He had an unex- 
 pected call from the draft board." 
 
 There was a general murmur.
 
 160 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 "Well, my dear," said Fanny, "I do hope 
 
 "Oh, it isn't any trouble; nothing like that, I'm 
 sure," said Pauline. 
 
 "Only some more red tape, I suppose," growled 
 Roy. "Only thing is, after Lance forgot my place- 
 cards, its rather tough the Government should de- 
 prive us of him entirely. Here, Winchell, have some 
 more of this brew. Drink up, folk*, for heavens' 
 sake." 
 
 They had begun discussing an adjournment to the 
 last act of the "Midnight Follies" when, without 
 his entry having been noticed, Lance stood in the 
 door. 
 
 Roy jumped up to meet him, with the words, 
 "It's about time " 
 
 But Lance did not seem to see Roy. His brow 
 was wet with perspiration. It glistened white in the 
 spectral glow of the skeleton-lamps. His dark eyes, 
 in which burned excitement and distress, sought out 
 Pauline. 
 
 She rose and went to meet him. They spoke for a 
 few moments in low tones. Then they beckoned 
 Roy. He was heard to say, "Oh, now, folks, that's 
 too bad." And then, to the huge curiosity of the 
 others, Lance and Pauline left the place. 
 
 He had a cab there for her, and in it they were 
 whirled home, while he sat at her side, reticent and 
 forbidding. It was not until they had entered the 
 flat, and he had turned on nearly every light in the 
 place, as though his mental fever bade him illumine 
 the remotest nooks, that he turned to her with a
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 161 
 
 violence of manner quite foreign to him, and uttered 
 the singular question: 
 
 "Have you got $40,000?" 
 
 Pauline, sitting where he had put her on the daven- 
 port, with a red, white, and blue scarf about her 
 neck, shrank before the assault. But she started, he 
 thought, not so much with surprise as with the sensa- 
 tion "At last." 
 
 She moistened her lips, and lifted her eyes to his 
 unwaveringly. Pauline never was one to "hedge." 
 
 "Yes," she replied. "I have a check for $40,000." 
 
 To find this was true excited him beyond measure. 
 
 "You really mean it? There's a fortune around 
 the house somewhere, and I didn't know it?" 
 
 With that he flopped down upon a chair. In the 
 interval before his next question they heard laughter 
 below on the street. Then the creak of the elevator. 
 Just the usual sounds, but now quaintly unfamiliar. 
 
 "Well where did you get it?" 
 
 "From father." 
 
 That accorded with what he had heard. He 
 leaned toward her, his white fingers clutching his 
 knees. 
 
 "To keep?" 
 
 "I suppose so." 
 
 Lance made a vague gesture of despair, and got up. 
 He looked bruised and frightened. His tie had pulled 
 part way out of his waistcoat; his hair was rumpled. 
 
 "Then if that's all true I'm a drafted man, 
 Polly; that's all. I'm in the army. Cannon fodder. 
 And you've done it."
 
 162 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 He walked unsteadily to the table, and fumbled 
 with his pipes. 
 
 "Let me explain " she began. 
 
 "It won't help any. Here's what happened to- 
 night: I went to the draft board, thinking there 
 was some detail like a wrong entry; had my birth 
 date wrong, or something. They hauled out an 
 affidavit for you to sign; one like you signed before. 
 I said you had signed one. 'No longer valid/ snaps 
 old Cathercoal. 'The situation has changed. We 
 understand her father has settled money on her,' 
 he says. 'We hear it's something like $40,000.' 
 And he demands a new affidavit. What he doesn't 
 have to tell me is that this cooks my goose." 
 
 "How how could they have learned it?" gasped 
 Pauline. 
 
 "It must have been through Reeker. But hang 
 that! What I'd like to know- 
 
 "Lance!" she cried, with sudden hope. "I can 
 give back the money." 
 
 " Can you ? " Hope awoke in him, too. Then hers 
 died. 
 
 "I forgot," she said, crushing her handkerchief 
 in both hands. "Father's gone to New York to stay 
 two weeks." 
 
 " We'll telegraph him. Ah, no ! It wouldn't help. 
 The affidavit has to be returned to-morrow. They're 
 just that anxious " 
 
 They sat in miserable silence for a time. 
 
 "The trap's all set," said Lance. "And there isn't 
 time to undo this horrible blunder or whatever it is."
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 163 
 
 He got up again, walked to the table, and came 
 back. 
 
 "What did he give you the money for?" 
 
 "That," replied Pauline, crushing her handker- 
 chief still more fiercely, "is a secret." 
 
 "What! You're going to keep that dark?" 
 
 "It's father's secret, not mine." 
 
 Lance pondered what this might mean, but all he 
 could understand and he understood it very fully 
 was that there was no hope. A Fanning would 
 always protect a Fanning. . 
 
 He smashed one fist into the other, and began to 
 make a tour of the room, kicking chairs aside, knock- 
 ing over his tall, glass-bowled ash tray, and finishing 
 at Voltaire's cage, at which he glared as though he 
 would throw it into the street. Then he returned to 
 the table, pulled out a drawer full of manuscripts, and 
 started flinging them into the waste basket. 
 
 Pauline sat where she was, with the scarf, patheti- 
 cally patriotic, dangling from her throbbing neck. 
 
 "What are you going to do?" she ventured pres- 
 ently. 
 
 "I've a night's work to do." 
 
 Swish! Thump ! fell the manuscripts. 
 
 "You'd better go to bed. The first draft goes next 
 week, and they won't overlook me. My life's over." 
 
 An hour later, from where she lay, she heard him 
 go into the "guest bedroom," and lock the door.
 
 CHAPTER XHI 
 
 A CROSS-STREET downtown. It is a street 
 of shops, leading into a boulevard, which is 
 also of shops. Along both, as far as normal 
 eyes can see, there are people and flags and bedlam. 
 
 There are parked motor cars, full of spectators. 
 The, windows of tall buildings are full. People are 
 packed along the curbstones. Boys cling by their 
 toes to the pedestals of street lamps. Shuffling, 
 elbowing lines are pushed back by mounted police. 
 Seeing all these faces, you get a telling impression of 
 how unhealthy the people of this city are. Even in 
 their present excitement they are haggard; few have 
 clear eyes or good teeth. They are now happy over 
 a big spectacle that impends. For a few it is like a 
 funeral; for most, like a holiday. 
 
 The city has come out to see the drafted men go 
 away. It is more of a revel than a funeral. In the 
 big windows of a club a group of men in leather chairs 
 smoke contentedly. The crowd outside elbows, ^and 
 jokes, and gossips, while waiting. Only here and 
 there are thoughtful faces. Only here and there, old 
 women, wearing shawls and weeping. 
 
 The war is still young. 
 
 Three new-fledged officers from Fort Sheridan 
 camp stand grandly on the corner. One of them is 
 
 164
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 165 
 
 Tom Fanning. He lounges there, watching the 
 crowd. Presently, as a bottle-green automobile 
 glides up to join the line, Tom vanishes. The car is 
 full of his family. He sees that Pauline is in the car 
 with her parents, and for once in her life she looks 
 tired, distressed. 
 
 Then he remembers. Lance Happerth is in this 
 draft. At this point in his thoughts, Tom takes 
 fright, and vanishes. 
 
 Sympathize with her over Lance they might try to 
 make him do it. And that would be the last straw. 
 
 That morning had been one of the worst Lakeside 
 remembered. There had been, in a dozen of those 
 pretty and sheltered apartments, scenes appropriate 
 to the fact that, as in Lance's case, "life was over" 
 for certain young men. It was not really half that 
 bad, but when it came to going out into a world as 
 cruel as war made it, "life's over" seemed none too 
 tragic. 
 
 For all these men their wives or their mothers had 
 planned comforts for them to take alone, little re- 
 minders, Lakesidean trinkets; only to find they were 
 forbidden. A miserable little bundle; the clothes on 
 his back; with these, Lakeside youth, like the thou- 
 sands of others that day, for all the world like the 
 "chaps west of the *L'," fared forth. 
 
 Now they were to march in a chaotic procession, 
 keeping step with the rude and uneducated, the badly 
 dressed, uncouth, criminal, or half-witted, along the 
 cross-street into the boulevard.
 
 166 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 It was this odious intermingling, perhaps, that the 
 Farmings grieved about. As Mrs. Fanning said, 
 "Lance won't have a companion he knows, now that 
 Roy Meredith has been ordered to the coast artillery 
 instead." 
 
 Pauline said nothing. Everything that could be 
 said, had been, for her. 
 
 She and her father were not on the best of terms. 
 Later they would get over it, but not yet. 
 
 There was a roar from far down the cross-street. 
 A band began to throb. Cheers started down there; 
 ran along the buildings, above and below, like thun- 
 derous combers. Straggling marchers appeared, 
 slipping on the rough pavement, watching each 
 other's lumbering feet. They came rapidly nearer, 
 in wavering lines, dressed in all sorts of good or bad 
 clothes, some of them straight and brave, some of 
 them slouching, some waving and yelling at the win- 
 dow balconies, some staring ahead as in a trance. 
 The shuffle of their feet had no discipline. On their 
 faces were traced a thousand human traits, wild pas- 
 sions, or burnt-out fires. They had only one thing 
 in common. They were young. 
 
 A section of them reached the boulevard, and 
 turned into it with a semblance of "right whe^el." 
 A placard followed, with the ragged, comic, pathetic 
 scrawl, "We'll Get the Kaiser." 
 
 Jeers and yells of "Hurrah for the rookies!" 
 
 In some places, tears; fainting women. For it was 
 believed these boys never would come back. 
 
 Fully a thousand had passed before the Lakeside
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 167 
 
 group appeared. They went rapidly, in a little body; 
 friends side by side, where possible. A stricken lot. 
 
 And at last Lance. 
 
 He was marching alone, using his reserve strength 
 to hold himself rigidly indifferent to the crowd that 
 he hated. For he hated them all. The city he had 
 once thought romantic, human, friendly, had come 
 out to see his shame. Even the Fannings. He saw 
 them in their car. Why couldn't they let him go, 
 without joining the multitude of gloaters ? He looked 
 straight ahedd. 
 
 He must he must look straight ahead. 
 
 There was running through his mind a song he had 
 heard Fred Ames singing just a night or two before, 
 while he, Lance, was walking the streets trying to 
 "pull himself together." It was that stanza of the 
 "Rubaiyat" beginning "Oh, moon of my delight," 
 and ending "Turn down an empty glass." 
 
 He repeated these words to himself, so that he 
 would not look at the Fannings. And in a moment 
 he had turned into the boulevard, and was gone. 
 
 Pauline, as he passed, was leaning forward, with 
 every nerve tense, to catch his eye when he should see 
 her. Once she cried "Lance!" but her voice was 
 puny in the uproar. Suddenly he was gone; gone 
 without seeing her perhaps without looking for her. 
 
 Then she wept; wept despite the horrified remon- 
 strance of her mother; wept as unrestrainedly as 
 though she lived "on the other side of the wall."
 
 PART II
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE young man who thought his life was 
 ended made himself as small as possible in the 
 car seat, and watched the shabby fringes of 
 the city dwindle; the last furnace chimneys disap- 
 pear. His head still ached with the uproar of that 
 pageant now remembered as the finale of his life as a 
 civilian. 
 
 The car was filled with boisterous youngsters, 
 crimson with excitement, and reeking of "bad booze." 
 A politician f rom" west of the L" had supplied every 
 man with a pint flask of whisky and an aluminum 
 comb. The latter, folded within wet scraps of paper, 
 were now supplying an accompaniment to songs in- 
 spired by the whisky. They were bold, bad songs, 
 and some of the boys sang shamefacedly. Others 
 looked excessively convivial; they gawped about 
 hoping the others would notice they had been drink- 
 ing. They smacked their lips and talked about "the 
 real stuff." It was the first drink many of them had 
 ever had. 
 
 At times they stuck their red faces out of the win- 
 dows, and bawled at people on the platforms of the 
 little stations, or at bucolic parties jogging along the 
 country roads in buggies. 
 
 None of them were known to Lance, and he sought 
 
 171
 
 172 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 no acquaintances. Occasionally one boy in a plaid 
 cap, or a battered fedora, would glance toward him 
 sarcastically, or wistfully, but he took no heed. He 
 did not know how to be "sociable" with these louts. 
 He felt decades older than they. He was bored with 
 them. 
 
 There was a vacant seat beside him, and presently 
 he realized perhaps he had dozed a little that a 
 tall, ungainly being had slouched down beside him. 
 His blackened fingers held the stump of an unspeak- 
 able cigar, and some of the ashes dropped off on 
 Lance's knee. Lance drew away. At this the new- 
 comer turned toward him, and his teeth were dis- 
 played in a smile of apology. This smile was a dread- 
 ful thing. It revealed the yellowed fragments of 
 teeth. The man's furrowed cheeks were mottled 
 with some skin disease, and his eyes were bloodshot. 
 Lance shrank farther away. He was appalled by 
 this companion, and a little afraid of him. He had 
 never dreamed of such a contact; but probably this 
 was what the army meant. If he had but known it, 
 the ghastly wreck of youth beside him represented 
 one of those errors the physicians of the first draft so 
 often made. But the knowledge would not have 
 helped Lance, anyhow. His soul gave a final convul- 
 sion of disgust, and he looked steadily out of the 
 window, hoping the creature would not speak to 
 him. 
 
 There was no danger, for in the next few minutes 
 Lance's seat mate sank into a half-drunken stupor; 
 it lasted during the remaining hour of the journey.
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 173 
 
 Then the fellow awoke, and leaned over to look out 
 of the window in his turn. 
 
 "We're mighty near there, buddy," he croaked, 
 and his hand fell on Lance's knee. The knee was 
 promptly jerked away, whereupon the toothless one 
 looked up sharply, his eyes lit with anger, and 
 
 But a train hand appeared at the door. 
 
 " Here's where you guys start work for Uncle 
 Sam!" he shouted. The car wheels began to grind. 
 The passengers boiled up out of their seats, and 
 Lance saw his loathsome companion no more. 
 
 With almost a sense of relief, such as a condemned 
 criminal might feel as the noose is finally adjusted, 
 Lance joined the line moving toward the door. Stiff- 
 legged, and feeling that his clammy face was covered 
 with soot, he descended the steps into the hot sun. 
 As his feet struck the ground he closed his eyes in- 
 stinctively, for a gust of wind, laden with dust, as- 
 sailed him. As far as he could see, when he managed 
 to reopen his eyes, there was nothing but this whirl 
 of dust, hiding the cantonment, making the long, 
 low buildings loom up dimly, like wraiths. 
 
 "Over here, you district 50 men!" yelled a voice. 
 Lance stumbled in that direction, and joined the em- 
 barrassed group at the side of the car. 
 
 "Who's in charge of this party?" demanded a gruff 
 major of the quartermaster's corps, stopping and 
 consulting a notebook. 
 
 "I am, sir." A young man stepped forward. 
 
 "Let me see your papers." 
 
 They were exhibited.
 
 174 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 "Thirty men, eh? Everybody here?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. Here are all the papers the draft-board 
 secretary gave me." 
 
 The major looked at him sharply. 
 
 "Have you seen service before?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. Marine corps." 
 
 "All right. You know what a sergeant is, then. 
 You're sergeant of this outfit. Form in columns of 
 two and wait for Lieutenant Morin. You are assigned 
 to" he consulted the notebook "Company C, 
 344th Infantry." 
 
 Lance listened to this drearily. Somewhat to his 
 surprise he found himself wheeling into line with an- 
 other young man, a red-haired, happy-looking fel- 
 low about Lance's own height. Presently another 
 officer, much younger than the major, and wiping 
 his face with a khaki handkerchief, paused before the 
 little column. He held a brief colloquy with the 
 "sergeant." There was a sharp order, and the 
 column, in straggling formation, and with heads 
 bowed against the unspeakable dust, moved off down 
 the company street. 
 
 Across the wide parade ground and down the newly 
 cut roads it flew, this torment of dust, blowing thirty 
 feet high. The new soldiers, like a file of penitentiary 
 inmates, as Lance thought, trudged through the 
 clouds, with the young lieutenant striding, upright 
 and grim, at their sides. 
 
 "Oh, you pretty country!" muttered an irrepres- 
 sible a pace or two behind Lance. "They said it 
 would be so nice out in the country."
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 175 
 
 "Who started this war?" croaked another, by 
 way of jest. 
 
 "Who? Kaiser Bill, that's who. Oh, what we'll 
 do to him 
 
 Lieutenant Morin turned and grinned at the column. 
 His face was caked with dust and sweat, like theirs; 
 but he could grin. They grinned back, beginning to 
 take delight, seeing his pluck, hi the mere act of being 
 plucky. 
 
 "Oh, you'll like it, boys; you'll like it," he said. 
 
 They took up the words. 
 
 "He says we'll like it," they yelled, one to another. 
 " The lieut. says we'll like it. Oh, boy ! " 
 
 Lance almost laughed. He surveyed Morin with 
 more interest. It came faintly into his mind that this 
 young man was a person worth knowing. He had a 
 premonition of the fact it was a proven fact within 
 two days that "You'll like it" was to be the by- 
 word of the division. 
 
 As in a dream, with his thoughts far scattered, 
 Lance found the squad halted before a barracks on 
 whose steps stood another officer. He and Morin 
 exchanged salutes those ridiculous salutes Lance 
 had seen in plays. As in a dream he watched them 
 in parley, then followed the herd to a low, one-story 
 building, where all were adjured to strip and get into 
 the shower baths. There was hot water. There 
 were clean towels. As he laved and dried himself, 
 among all those other naked, glowing bodies, Lance 
 began to feel more alive. The disgust over this close
 
 176 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 companionship with a "bunch of louts" began to 
 pass away. A few minutes later, in the mess hall 
 of the barracks, he was given a mess kit, and had it 
 heaped with steaming food beef stew, bread, pud- 
 ding, and vegetables. He ate this goulash slowly, 
 and with an unexpected relish, sitting at one end of 
 the long wooden table. Gradually the dull misery 
 within him subsided before the resurgence of his 
 animal life. 
 
 He found Lieutenant Morin was sitting next him. 
 Lance ventured a polite question. 
 
 "Is this a fair sample of army food?" 
 
 "It'll be better than this. Wait till you've got a 
 regular mess cook and everything. Have real mess 
 then. National Army food in 1917, buddy, is going 
 to be different from the chow back in 1898. No em- 
 balmed beef this time." 
 
 "Why don't you say I'll like it?" returned Lance, 
 with only a slight touch of sarcasm. 
 
 "You will," said the lieutenant soberly. He took 
 a gulp of coffee, and rose. 
 
 ' 'Tention, men ! " called a sharp voice. The officer 
 to whom Morin had reported at the door of the bar- 
 racks stood before the rows of diners. They strug- 
 gled to their feet, most of them. The officer waited 
 until all had come to a sort of attention. Then he 
 spoke. 
 
 "I am going to introduce myself. I am Captain 
 Wellington, in command of Company C. That's 
 your company." 
 
 He allowed this to sink in.
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 177 
 
 "We're going to spend to-day, to-morrow, and the 
 next day, getting acquainted with each other and 
 with the camp. Also physical examinations and 
 inoculations. Then you get your uniforms." 
 
 The motley crowd glanced at each other, and some 
 grinned. 
 
 "You're not going to be made into fighting sons o' 
 guns in a day, nor will it take a year. We're going 
 about it gradually. But here's a few things to re- 
 member: You're not going to be mistreated here. If 
 any man mistreats you, come and tell me. We're 
 going to have a square deal here." The young cap- 
 tain's face became graver as he went on. His eyes 
 looked deep into Lance's for a moment, lingered, and 
 swerved away. "If you don't play square with me, 
 I'm going to punish you. Not the whipping post, 
 either." 
 
 His voice took a deeper note. 
 
 "Boys," he said, "your country is at war. We're 
 all in this together. I've come into this from civil 
 life, just as you have. You and I are going to do our 
 part; that I know. You and I are going to have the 
 best company, the best regiment, the best division, 
 in the best damned army in the world ! " 
 
 A cheer started. The captain checked it with up- 
 lifted hand. 
 
 "Save that for the day we go over the top. All I 
 want now is that you remember you are all Uncle 
 Sam's soldiers. Some day you'll be proud of Com- 
 pany C and what it did." 
 
 With that he walked from the mess hall, and cheers,
 
 178 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 unchecked, followed him. The rookies looked at 
 each other, and broke up into groups. They had 
 already lost some of the saucy, chip-on-shoulder 
 bearing they had exhibited thus far. The captain's 
 words had "sunk in." This was not a picnic, after 
 all. It was business. 
 
 Lance leaned against the door-jamb, and gazed out 
 over the bleak parade ground. The contest of wills 
 had risen within him again: The old argument 
 whether he should fall in line, or should follow his own 
 bent. Did he want to be a soldier, or not? There 
 had been a thrill or two even for him in that speech ; 
 a vision of a great task. But he persuaded himself 
 he did not believe in it. "They'll have to push me 
 every step," he decided. He glanced at his watch. 
 It was not yet one o'clock. His whole world had 
 turned over. Home and Lakeside, and everything 
 else he had known, were gone, and it was not yet 
 one o'clock. 
 
 The company had been given an hour's freedom to 
 stroll about the camp, and Lance started off alone. 
 He sauntered among barracks bearing enigmatic 
 signs, "machine gun company," "depot quarter- 
 master," and "base hospital." He dodged huge 
 motor trucks laden with mysterious cargoes. The 
 place was like an enormous ant-hill, swarming with 
 men, with and without uniforms, hurrying about ap- 
 parently without purpose. And over all blew the 
 sirocco wind and its dust-clouds, through which 
 Lance wandered dumbly, a forlorn fragment of hu- 
 manity, at whom no one so much as glanced. He
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 179 
 
 felt as he had years before, when he prowled through 
 the city looking for a job. His confidence was gone. 
 
 And then, when he had returned to the barracks, 
 came a final blow to his pride. He was turned to, 
 with every man in the company, on what Lieutenant 
 Morin called a "housecleaning." Half a dozen fel- 
 lows, Lance among them, were sent for buckets of 
 water. Others were given brooms and mops. The 
 squad room, the mess hall, and the sleeping quarters, 
 were thoroughly swept and scrubbed. Blisters 
 popped out on Lance's palms; his breast heaved, 
 And his soul heaved, too. This stable-boy work was 
 something he had not dreamed of. Even in his 
 worst visions he had supposed there were menials 
 men more menial than soldiers to do this sort of 
 thing. And his curiosity overcoming his reserve, he 
 muttered to his nearest companion, "Is this part of 
 the regular job, or 
 
 As though he had overheard the question, Lieu- 
 tenant Morin said loudly, " This sweeping job is done 
 every day. Twice a week we'll scrub." 
 
 His eye met Lance's, and lingered there. Through 
 the grime on the private's face had appeared the 
 famous twisted smile whose meaning was so well 
 known in Lakeside. 
 
 "That man's a character," thought Morin. He 
 spoke again to the company. 
 
 "Another thing: We look after your cleanliness as 
 
 well as that of these quarters. You'll take a bath 
 
 once a week. If you don't, a couple of men will give 
 
 you one with lye soap, garden hose, and a scrub brush." 
 
 \
 
 180 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 There was laughter. But Morin turned on his 
 heel without a smile. 
 
 During this housecleaning, Lance had centred his 
 interest, in a shuddering sort of way, on the sleeping 
 quarters. And after mess, when darkness began to 
 settle down, this interest became intensified. He had 
 seen the cots drawn together hastily, side by side; 
 and he had seen sacks mere sacks, filled with straw 
 piled upon them, and rough brown blankets pro- 
 vided for covering. And Morin had said, with a 
 special glint in his eye for Lance, "The army doesn't 
 know anything about linen sheets and silk pajamas. 
 No, nor pillows, either. You'll find it easier to sleep 
 without pillows than with them." 
 
 It was not this absence of pillows or sheets that 
 troubled Lance, however, so much as the idea of 
 sleeping practically shoulder to shoulder with a lot 
 of male animals; the idea of undressing and dressing 
 in public; the idea'of having lost his privacy forever. 
 Over the head of his bed there was a shelf, and two 
 feet of that shelf belonged to him. Already some of 
 his mates had utilized it for storing their tobacco 
 and a few other pitiful little possessions they prized. 
 That two feet was now all the space on earth Lajnce 
 could call his very own, all that represented his indi- 
 viduality. This was what cut the deepest. As he 
 surveyed the little shelf he could almost have wept, 
 thinking how the freedom, the unlimited chance for 
 self-expression, he had possessed but twenty-four 
 hours before, had been swept away. 
 
 But instead of weeping for he was not reduced
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 181 
 
 quite to that extremity he sat, after supper, on the 
 door-sill of the barracks, and watched the light over 
 the hills deepen from crimson to brown and then 
 fade entirely. He was enjoying the most complete 
 and unhampered fit of sulks he had known for years. 
 Most of the fellows had scattered to Y. M. C. A. 
 huts, to write letters, or listen to the phonographs. 
 But Lance would have none of this. He sat there, 
 unheeded, thinking. It was at length fully dark, and 
 through this velvety darkness the sounds of the camp, 
 now modified and almost musical, came to his ears. A 
 locomotive was puffing and whistling across the hills. 
 And he heard the roar of a fast train, bound, no doubt, 
 for some place where people were happy and free. 
 
 He thought how at this hour in Lakeside groups 
 of his friends were setting out for the dance halls, 
 the rink, the cabarets; and how the lights of the Beach 
 Hotel were streaming out over the lake, and how the 
 orchestra was playing bewitchingly for late diners. 
 Nothing had changed back there, he thought, noth- 
 ing had happened to Pauline and the Farmings, 
 they who, through some blundering he could not 
 yet understand, had virtually doomed him to all 
 this; they who had drawn him into their life, and 
 then discharged him again. He forgot how, within 
 recent months, he had chafed at that life with its 
 falsities and its ornamentations. Now that it was 
 all gone, it seemed desperately dear. 
 
 The men came trooping back" to the barracks, and 
 interrupted his reverie. They swarmed up the stairs
 
 182 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 to their "hotel," as he heard them calling it. Lance 
 got up and followed. He remembered that unless he 
 went to bed with the rest, there would be some kind 
 of penalty. 
 
 When he got there, some of the men were already 
 undressed, and were sitting up talking, or singing. 
 In one corner four fellows had made up an impromptu 
 quartet, and were bawling out "Tipperary" with 
 weird harmonies. Others, as they tumbled in, had 
 writing materials, and were pencilling letters, with 
 much biting of the ends, and contemplation of the 
 ceiling. A few were even studying "I. D. R."- 
 infantry drill regulations. Lieutenant Morin's eyes 
 rested with satisfaction upon these studious ones, 
 and his report to the colonel, when he went back to 
 the little cubby hole that was his home in officers' 
 row, was full of enthusiasm for his company. 
 
 "But there's one chap," said Morin, "that's going 
 to give me trouble. He's a silk-stocking boy from 
 the boulevards. His face is one continual sneer; he 
 won't chum with the others." 
 
 "Conscientious objector?" 
 
 "Maybe not that bad. More of a spoiled child, 
 I'd say." 
 
 The colonel smiled. 
 
 "My dear boy, fifty per cent, of our American 
 boys are that." And he said no more. 
 
 That spoiled child, Lance Happerth, sat on the 
 edge of his cot and tried to close his ears to the efforts 
 of the quartet. He took a magazine from his bag, 
 read a few lines, and put it back. At last, worn out
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 183 
 
 by the shocks of the day, he reclined among the 
 rough blankets and closed his eyes. 
 
 Suddenly, almost under the window at the foot of 
 his bunk, he heard the sweetly brazen notes of a 
 bugle. It played a tune whose staccato blended into 
 long, fading notes. 
 
 "What's that?" Lance inquired of his neighbour, 
 rising on his elbow. 
 
 "It's what they call taps," said the boy. "I used 
 to hear my father whistle it." 
 
 Another bugler, a little distance away, had taken 
 up the call, and was sounding it with even greater art 
 than the first performer. Then came another, far 
 away through the still night. Then farther and 
 farther, and again near by, Lance heard the silver 
 notes of the military lullaby swell and die. Those 
 echoes, those long-drawn, wistful notes, were beauti- 
 ful. Lance Happerth, alive to poetry in whatever 
 form, listened in a new mood. The song of the bugles, 
 that mournful yet noble song, was something he 
 could understand. 
 
 There was poetry even in the army. There was 
 beauty. . . . 
 
 He sank back on his cot. Lights were out. The 
 windows made grayish oblong spaces against the 
 dark. About him there were the last mutterings of 
 voices, an occasional sigh, from one cot the suspicion 
 of a homesick sob. The soft thud of a sentry's feet 
 passed below the windows. 
 
 Lance and his new comrades slept.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 HE STARTED awake, with bugles again in his 
 ears. They were playing a tune this time 
 with nothing of poetry in it. A snappy tune, 
 meant to be cheerful, no doubt. But it fell harshly 
 on the ears of these rookies. 
 
 The sun was coming mistily through the eastern 
 windows of the barracks. Far away, little birds 
 piped. Outside the camp, as well as within it, life 
 was astir. It was very early in the morning. 
 
 Lance, after one stare at the plain board walls and 
 the strangers tumbling out of their cots beside him, 
 realized where he was, gave a savage kick at his blan- 
 kets, and sat up. He looked at his watch. It was 
 a quarter to six. He dressed hastily, as the others 
 were doing, and found himself presently being bad- 
 gered through "setting-up drill.'* Like some of the 
 others, he became breathless, sore, and desperate; 
 but when it was over, and Lieutenant Morin at last 
 said, "That'll do," he was glowing in every vein^and 
 he was hungry as he had not been for months. 
 
 Mess was followed by cleaning of quarters, and 
 then came the never-to-be-forgotten ordeal of physi- 
 cal examinations and inoculations. In an outer 
 room of the regimental infirmary they stripped, piling 
 their clothing along the walls; then, in a long row of 
 
 184
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 185 
 
 nakedness, they filed past the regimental surgeon. 
 Lance learned that he held the rank of major, and 
 had given up a practise worth $30,000 a year to do 
 this work. He thought the major a fool, and decided 
 he was unnecessarily gruff with a fellow. The $30,000 
 man and his aids, also men from civil life, sounded, 
 thumped, and questioned the new company with a 
 dour attentiveness. They spent an extra minute or 
 two over Lance's heart, and for an instant a wild 
 hope rose within him, as it had when he was drafted. 
 But he was passed, with an extra thump on the back. 
 
 The line, reclothed except for arms and shoulders, 
 now marched in front of the medical corps lieutenants 
 for the "shots in the arm." One "Tuffy" McLean, 
 a gigantic former teamster just ahead of Lance, 
 fainted at the first sight of the gleaming syringe of the 
 typhoid man. He was unceremoniously "shot and 
 scratched" while lying on the floor. Paradoxically, 
 the slender Lance kept both his feet and his wits, 
 though after his two doses he felt a bit squeamish. 
 He recovered entirely after the company had been 
 led in a brisk run around the regimental camp; to 
 "scramble the stuff into your blood," Morin ex- 
 plained. 
 
 Morin was ever-present. He was slightly less 
 companionable than he had been the day before. 
 At the first drill by squads that afternoon he became 
 positively hateful. 
 
 Lance Happerth had never in his life learned to do 
 things exactly as he was told. Even in the Press 
 office he had been noted for "taking a different angle
 
 186 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 on things," and his originality had rather been ap- 
 plauded than condemned. As for Bragg, well, a 
 "finishing-touch man" always did as he liked. But 
 now orders were orders. Two paces to the front 
 meant two paces, neither more nor less. And 
 Morin's tongue was sharper than any tongue Lance 
 had ever encountered. Further, the young lieuten- 
 ant seemed to have a way of singling out Lance for 
 his sarcasm. At some of the members of this 
 awkward squad he merely laughed; he even permitted 
 one young Irish monkey to scratch the back of his 
 neck, and when "Tuffy" McLean fell over his feet, 
 he calmly waited for him to pick himself up. But for 
 Lance he seemed to have only scorn. His whole 
 bearing, his words (some of them) bore an implica- 
 tion, which was exactly what Morin was thinking, 
 "You baby, I'll make a man of you yet.'* 
 
 While being made a man of, Lance hated Morin 
 with a desperate hatred. 
 
 But there was worse to come. 
 
 That morning, while the examinations were going 
 on, several hundred noncommissioned officers from 
 regular army posts had arrived in camp. Lance's 
 company drew a wiry little sergeant named John 
 Christensen, who made up with a profane tongue 
 educated in Cuba, the Philippines, and Porto Rico, 
 what he lacked in inches. He became at once a com- 
 bination of first sergeant, mess and supply sergeant, 
 besides looking after much "paper work." This 
 would be his task until drafted men could be schooled. 
 
 The first thing Christensen did, after afternoon
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 187 
 
 drill, was to call the men together, introduce himself 
 gruffly, and dole out the clothing allotment of Com- 
 pany C. Lance, as he walked down the line, was 
 handed a felt campaign hat, two pairs of khaki 
 breeches, two heavy flannel shirts, a blouse, as the 
 army calls a uniform coat, besides shoes, underwear, 
 socks, and leggings. With arms piled high he climbed 
 the stairs to his cot, doffed his civilian clothes, and 
 faced the mysteries of laced breeches and leggings. 
 
 Others around him were doing the same. 
 
 "Gosh, these things are hot," grunted one boy, as 
 his head emerged from a flannel shirt. 
 
 "How in all that's holy do you get into these 
 pants?" wailed another. 
 
 When the company stood partially clothed the 
 effect was ludicrous. Fat men had breeches far too 
 small, lean ones could have wrapped their blouses 
 twice around their bony frames. There was much 
 trading, and roars of laughter. 
 
 Lance glanced down over himself, when fully 
 dressed, with a wry face. Everything he wore was 
 evidently poorly made, full of wrinkles; the breeches 
 baggy and shapeless, the blouse full of absurd angles 
 and pouches, and the leggings instead of tapering 
 gracefully to the ankle, they were straight and stiff, 
 like felt boots. 
 
 Must he be made a scarecrow, as well as a nonen- 
 tity? 
 
 He went determinedly downstairs and stood before 
 the hard-faced Christensen. 
 
 "Say, you must have picked out the wrong stuff
 
 188 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WATT. 
 
 for me," he remarked pleasantly. It was meant for a 
 dangerous sort of politeness. 
 
 The sergeant looked up sharply, surveyed Lance 
 from head to foot, and then suddenly blazed out: 
 
 " Go on back where ye belong, and keep yer mouth 
 shut." 
 
 And as Lance turned a defeated back, Christensen 
 scrutinized him again, as though to fix him forever in 
 his memory. 
 
 That was not the last encounter of these two men, 
 as far separated as the poles in their views of life and 
 duty. But even his troubles with Morin and the 
 doughty sergeant faded before an encounter of a dif- 
 ferent kind that came a few days later. 
 
 On his return one evening from the regimental 
 exchange, whither he had gone to buy a package of 
 cigarettes, Lance was mooning along, dispiritedly 
 watching some low-hanging clouds that promised the 
 first rain for weeks. Suddenly he passed an officer, 
 and, as his thoughts were far away, he failed to salute. 
 He was going on, but the officer, who looked gigantic 
 in the dusk, and who wore the bars of a first lieutenant 
 with a royal pride, whirled and accosted him. 
 
 "Look here, boy," he said in a commanding but 
 not ill-natured tone, "haven't you been taught to 
 salute in your company?" 
 
 Lance turned back, and, yielding in the same way 
 he had yielded to many other "impositions," he lifted 
 his hand to his hat-brim. The next moment these 
 most unsoldierly words started from his lips, "Well, 
 for the Lord's sake."
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 189 
 
 The lieutenant leaned forward and peered into his 
 face. 
 
 "Happerth!" he exclaimed. 
 
 Lance stood in utter amazement and confusion. 
 This tall young officer, whose handsomely cut uni- 
 form contrasted so painfully with Lance's "bags," 
 was Tom Fanning. 
 
 The moment was unnerving for Tom as well as for 
 his despised brother-in-law, but he inquired: 
 
 "What company are you in?" 
 
 "Company C, the 344th." 
 
 "Sir! "Tom added. 
 
 The blood flew to Lance's cheeks. Say that word 
 to Tom Fanning? Not in a lifetime. 
 
 "Look here, Lance," remarked Tom, not un- 
 pleasantly. "We're not in civil life now, and it 
 doesn't make a not a particle of difference that you 
 married my sister. Unfortunately the regulations 
 provide that you say 'sir' to an officer, and you're 
 going to say it or get into trouble." 
 
 The private in Company C stood breathing hard. 
 
 "Isn't it enough," he queried hoarsely, "isn't it 
 enough that you and all your tribe should have done 
 to me what they have done? Isn't it enough that 
 I'm humiliated by this dirty uniform; shoved out here 
 to be a dog of a soldier, while your family, and all the 
 selfish gang around them " 
 
 He choked. 
 
 Tom loomed up suddenly like a flagpole in the 
 night. He seized Lance by the loose collar of his 
 flannel shirt, and bent his head toward the ground.
 
 190 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 Lance resisted frantically, but in vain. That hand 
 at his neck was like iron. 
 
 "Say sir!" commanded Tom. "And take back 
 what you said about the uniform.'* 
 
 There was an agonizing moment, during which 
 Lance sought to trip his opponent, and was kicked 
 on the shin by a heavy boot. Then he gave in. 
 
 "I take it all back sir," he said, faintly. 
 
 Tom instantly released him. 
 
 "Lance," he said, almost sadly, "now you're in it, 
 why don't you take what you get, and keep that fool 
 mouth of yours closed? That's my advice." 
 
 It was almost identical with the advice of Christen- 
 sen. Lance made no reply, but passed on rubbing 
 his throat. Wild ideas of revenge ran through his 
 brain only to be smothered by the knowledge that he 
 was helpless. Helpless before an officer who bore 
 Pauline's name! 
 
 He vanished into the darkness, while Tom stood 
 looking after him, thinking many things, and not all 
 of them disdainful. 
 
 Day followed day with its changeless routine of 
 drill, mess, and drill. Lance, although his body 
 responded automatically to the stimulus it was get- 
 ting, remained lonely and ill at ease. His malicious 
 feeling toward the army and all its manifestations 
 was fading; he was acquiring almost an affection for 
 noble ceremonies like "retreat"; yet he still told him- 
 self he was an outsider. Of companionship he had 
 practically none. Much would he have given for a
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 191 
 
 glimpse of Fred Ames, or even of Jimmy, the janitor, 
 but these young men seemed to have been absorbed 
 by other units. 
 
 He made up his mind he would learn what was 
 told him, and would obey orders, but he would never 
 be "keen on it"; never would do more than was re- 
 quired. He heard others of the company talking 
 about promotion, and thought, "They'll never put 
 stripes on me." 
 
 While in this phase he was astonished one day to 
 meet Pinowsky, his artist friend of yore, the wild 
 "Polack" in whose studio he used to discuss the 
 Absolute. Pinowsky had been dragged into the 
 draft "by the neck," as the saying was. And he 
 was still recalcitrant. Lance found him brooding 
 on the steps of the regimental Y. M. C. A. and was 
 fain to pound him on the back, but was restrained by 
 something black and forbidding on Pinowsky's face. 
 He was still in civilian clothes, ragged and dirty. 
 An ultimatum had been given him that day, he said, 
 either to put on the uniform, which he had refused 
 to do, or face a court-martial, charged with deser- 
 tion. 
 
 . "I am an artist," he said, pushing back his shock 
 of dust-coloured hair. "Why should I kill and be 
 killed? What do I care for this flag they make 
 much prate about ? Heh ? Bands, bugles, f ol de rol ! 
 Salvation army." 
 
 His teeth gleamed. 
 
 Lance remembered remarks of his own, very much 
 the same. But now he was made vaguely uneasy by
 
 192 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 hearing them spat out by the artist. To his sur- 
 prise he found himself arguing with Pinowsky. He 
 said: 
 
 "I've made up my mind to go through with the 
 game. You know how I feel, Pinny, but, hang it all, 
 a fellow doesn't want to welch." 
 
 The uncouth objector glanced over Lance's slim, 
 khaki-clad figure, and sneered: 
 
 "I know. You have gofc rich since I last saw you. 
 It is always the same. You are rich, and you fight 
 for Wall Street. As for me, let them send me to 
 prison. I will come out alive; you will then be dead. 
 We see who has the best of it. Good-bye, Happerth. 
 We meet not again." 
 
 Nor did they meet again. Lance thought often 
 of that lonely, spectral figure on the steps, and in 
 later days he shuddered to think that, given a little 
 more stubbornness, he might have become the same 
 sort of isolated, despised being. 
 
 By contrast with Pinowsky there was Henry 
 Pelleter, whom Lance had known as a small politician 
 "west of the L." Henry almost convinced him 
 Pinowsky was right. For Henry's philosophy was 
 this: 
 
 "Let me tell you, boy: The man who gets through 
 this thing alive is going to get the cream out of life 
 in the reconstruction. You and I are in on the 
 ground floor in this war. Nobody in politics, as I 
 am, or in business, like you, is going to be worth a 
 damn after the war unless he's been in it. Suppose I 
 get a busted finger, or a cracked head; come back all
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 193 
 
 covered with glory and bandages. No trouble carry- 
 ing my precinct then, eh?" 
 
 "You're going to fight just for what there is in 
 it?" 
 
 "Just that, my lad." 
 
 It was a new view to Lance. None of the boys in 
 his company Pelleter was in Company A seemed 
 to think of the thing that way. It was odious. If 
 that was why men became soldiers, then Pinowsky 
 had reason for despising the uniform. 
 
 He sat on a log over the little river one whole even- 
 ing, thinking it out. And he came to the conclusion 
 that Pelleter was partly right. One way you looked 
 at it, being a soldier was just like any other business. 
 You either were promoted, or you remained at the 
 bottom, despised and snubbed. This idea Lance 
 could not endure. He thought of Tom Fanning, and 
 that ugly encounter, now back in the perspective of 
 a fortnight, and it suddenly came into his head he 
 would seek Tom's advice; perhaps his help. For a 
 time his pride held him back. Then self-interest 
 prevailed. He hunted up Tom in his quarters, and 
 they had a long, earnest talk. The next afternoon a 
 lieutenant of artillery called upon a captain of in- 
 fantry. 
 
 "You have a chap in your company," said Tom, 
 when they were comfortably seated in the captain's 
 cubby-hole home, "name of Happerth." 
 
 "I know him," said the captain, with a queer little 
 smile. 
 
 "He's my brother-in-law, that's all," said Tom.
 
 194 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 "Is that really all?" inquired the captain, with 
 the same smile. 
 
 "Oh, I know what you think of him," grinned 
 Tom. "Pet cat, and so forth. But look here: the 
 point is, he has asked me to use my influence a little, 
 and I " 
 
 The captain jumped to his feet, with his face very 
 red. 
 
 "Look here, Fanning " 
 
 "Hold on a minute," interposed Tom, calmly. 
 "Just listen a minute to my scheme." 
 
 The scheme was explained in a low tone, and at the 
 end the captain gave a bark of laughter. 
 
 "I apologize," said he, shaking Tom's hand. "I 
 get you perfectly. Let me see " 
 
 He thought a moment and then slapped his knee. 
 
 "Lieutenant Fanning," he said with mock gravity, 
 "your intercession for your brother-in-law has er 
 worked. Have a cigar, and most glad to have met 
 
 you." 
 
 The next morning Sergeant Christensen came out 
 of the captain's orderly room with a leathery smile 
 on his face. He singled out Lance from a group pre- 
 paring for mess, and said: "I've been asked to give 
 you some special duty. This is it: *K. P.' Go to 
 it." 
 
 Lance knew what K. P. was, but thus far he had 
 escaped it. Now he found he was in for a week of it. 
 He peeled bushels of potatoes, shed oceans of tears 
 over deserts of onions; scrubbed all the pots and pans 
 in the world, and was "cussed out" as he never had
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 195 
 
 dreamed of in his worst visions of the army. In the 
 intervals, he was put to work cleaning the latrine. 
 If a visitor came in sight, that was when Lance 
 Happerth was sent outside to empty a pan of 
 ashes. 
 
 At the end of the week came the final humiliation, 
 when the passes for leave were given out. Lance's 
 application was ignored. 
 
 "Look here," he protested to Christensen, turning 
 to that officer a smeared and defiant face, "doesn't 
 my application go?" 
 
 "You haven't earned it," growled the sergeant. 
 
 In a sudden heat of rage, Lance, the good-natured 
 one, the man who had let a shrimp like Ellsworth 
 bluff him out of an umbrella, aimed a blow at his 
 sergeant's face. The next instant he found himself 
 pinioned in a peculiar grip, and without ado he was 
 led to the guardhouse, and introduced to the lieu- 
 tenant on duty. 
 
 So this was a fine ending for a "career." Here was 
 Lance Happerth, not merely a dog of a private, not 
 merely the man they picked for dirty kitchen work, 
 but a prisoner! 
 
 He was too abject during the rest of that day, and 
 during the awful night that followed, even to identify 
 himself with the brilliant Lance that was. Lakeside, 
 Pauline, the office all these were as though they 
 never had been. He was a dirty, dishevelled, de- 
 spairing morsel of humanity in whom beat the pulses 
 of a human being, but who had lost all else that was
 
 196 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 human. He lay inert on his bunk, while faces 
 passed before him the brilliant face of Tom Fan- 
 ning, the morbid countenance of Pinowsky, the stony 
 features of the sergeant as he gripped him. 
 
 And if he had the strength, he would have butted 
 his head against the wall until his senses left him. 
 But he was too weak, too indifferent. And at last 
 the dawn came, and he was taken from prison. He 
 was led back to the barracks under guard, and there 
 in the captain's room he faced the grave and candid 
 face of his chief. 
 
 The captain was sitting behind a table, and some- 
 body was repeating some kind of charges. For a 
 long time the captain sat there, looking down at tfye 
 table. Then he suddenly glanced up, and in his eyes 
 there was no censure. 
 
 The slender young prisoner, with his short-cropped 
 curly hair matted beside his temples, and his delicate 
 face grooved with despair, stood with trembling 
 knees. And then these words came in a leisurely man- 
 ner, almost sadly, from the cap tarn's lips: 
 
 "Happerth, don't you think you've been a fool 
 long enough?" 
 
 There was no reply. 
 
 "You think you've been made a goat," continued 
 the captain, his blue eyes eyeing the wreck of Lance 
 Happerth. "You've been given the dirty work, 
 and all that. You blame Christensen. Happerth, 
 Christensen acted on my orders. He said you hadn't 
 it in you to do a man's work. I said you had. Which 
 was right, Happerth?"
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 197 
 
 Lance moistened his lips, but still said nothing. 
 
 "You've got it in you to be the best soldier of the 
 bunch. You're an American born and yet you're 
 going to let some Pole or Italian beat you to the 
 stripes or are you? I ask you again, Happerth, 
 are you going to stay a fool a damned fool at 
 that?" 
 
 And Lance heard a voice he presently recognized 
 it as his own saying, faintly, "No, sir." 
 
 "That's all." 
 
 He was free. He stumbled back to the mess room, 
 and crawled upstairs. It was a recreation hour, and 
 a group of the "foreigners" a dozen or so Greeks, 
 Italians, and "hunkies" who were sprinkled through 
 the company's ranks were discussing the forth- 
 coming appointments as "non-coms." They were 
 boasting, in their jargon, of the stripes they would 
 win, just as Captain Wellington had intimated. A 
 sudden pride in the fact of his birth, a pride in those 
 rawboned Happerths of Vermont, filled Lance's heart 
 to bursting. 
 
 He would show everybody. He would show the 
 Farmings; Tom, even Pauline. Did she care what be- 
 came of him? Probably not. He would be a man, 
 yes; a man worthy of her; worthy of two of her. The 
 captain was right. . . . 
 
 And so, on this day of his abasement, Lance en- 
 tered a new phase. The spirit of the old Press, the 
 life of intellectual freedom and cynical individualism, 
 had been the first to go; then Lakeside, with its 
 tinted walls, its steam-heat and sofa-pillows and
 
 198 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 mental anaesthetics that had gone, too. And now 
 the new life, the life of harsh duty, and virile com- 
 radeship, and courage, stretched out before him. 
 The bugle sounded for drill.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 HE WAS right about one thing: Lakeside 
 was not changed. Neither was Pauline. 
 For about a week she thought she never 
 would get over it; the grief of that last day, the feel- 
 ing of desertion and bewilderment. But her sadness 
 wore off with amazing quickness, and in its place 
 came a thrilling sense of independence. Independ- 
 ence of Lance, now a dun-coloured being far away; 
 independence of her parents, of her aunts, of every- 
 body. She was a "single woman," without one 
 responsibility or worry. 
 
 No wonder Fanny Sweetling, paying a "visit of 
 condolence," decided there was little to condole 
 about. She found Pauline playing the piano, while 
 Voltaire poured out ecstatic tribute to the afternoon 
 sunlight. Magazines and candy boxes were strewn 
 about. A sparkling costume from Mme. Dusac's 
 lay across a chair in front of Pauline's dressing table. 
 
 It took no more than a glance over the apartment 
 to convince Fanny that words of sympathy were 
 superfluous. She sat down with Pauline in the sun 
 parlour, with her feet on a very new rug, and indulged 
 in envy. She herself had moved to "that unspeak- 
 able Murdstone," and she had neither new rugs nor 
 sparkling gowns. 
 
 199
 
 200 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 "You miss Lance, of course?" Fanny suggested. 
 
 "Of course. Have one of these things in silver 
 paper, Fanny. Aunt Pringle gave them to me, to 
 cheer me up." 
 
 They savored the dainties in silence. 
 
 "One thing sure," said Pauline, balancing a blob of 
 chocolate on her forefinger, "now that the shock is 
 over, I'm not going to wear mourning. Would it 
 make Lance any happier to think I spent my tune 
 looking at his picture? I don't doubt he's having a 
 good time in his own way. Nothing to do but pre- 
 sent arms, or whatever they do." 
 
 She swallowed the last of the chocolate. 
 
 "And he's within walking distance of the village. 
 He can dance there with the country girls, if he likes." 
 
 The fact was that the village did not give dances 
 for the soldiers, whom it resented rather than wel- 
 comed. About all army men could do there was to 
 buy "soft drinks" at double prices, or listen to 
 squawking phonographs in a cavernous "music par- 
 lour," or sit forlornly in hotel windows. But Pauline 
 did not know these facts. 
 
 "I suppose the army is very different from the 
 navy," said Fanny, with a shadow of a sigh. "Bob 
 says up at the training station it's nothing but. drill 
 and study; drill and study. And he spent two whole 
 nights guarding a silly old coal pile." 
 
 "Well, of course, Lance wouldn't do anything like 
 that. He'd leave the army first." 
 
 "So would I," replied Fanny, emphatically shak- 
 ing her small head.
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 201 
 
 Pauline turned to the piano, and played a few bars 
 of the latest from "tin pan alley." 
 
 "You play so divinely," murmured Fanny. After 
 a pause, "Do you know, I never look at that piano 
 any more without thinking of how Alfred Harrold 
 tried to spoil it. Wasn't that the queerest thing ? v 
 
 "How do you know he did it?" demanded Pauline. 
 
 "Why, I thought everybody knew he did it." 
 
 "Everybody doesn't include me, then," replied 
 Pauline. "In fact, he was here just the other night 
 and denied it." 
 
 "Alfred was here?" Fanny's eyes widened with 
 surprise and curiosity. 
 
 "Yes; why not?" returned Pauline, meeting this 
 gaze squarely. 
 
 "No reason. Only I thought didn't Lance for- 
 bid him the house? " 
 
 "Not to my knowledge. Besides, I'm boss here 
 now. And I'm not going to bar out an amusing 
 fellow just on suspicion. I don't more than half be- 
 lieve he touched the piano at all." 
 
 There was nothing more for Fanny to say. She 
 made some further inquiries, sufficient to Confirm the 
 fact that the vengeful May was still on the warpath, 
 and to develop that Alfred was fighting both the 
 divorce and the draft with "whole armies of lawyers," 
 and then dropped Alfred as a topic. She observed 
 privately that this news would not please Lance a 
 little bit; and in order to keep the secret quite safe, 
 she did not tell any one but Bob. 
 
 There were two other pieces of news that Fanny
 
 202 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 bore away from this conversation. One was that 
 Lawrence Wayte had packed off Lily and the baby to 
 her mother's farm, and "gone in for aviation"; the 
 other was that Pauline paid full rent to her father for 
 the Fannington flat. Here, as by a flashlight, stood 
 revealed the fullness of Pauline's independence. It 
 meant, apparently, that the Farmings did not pay 
 Pauline's expenses at all. 
 
 And this was strictly true. Barton Fanning had 
 offered to remit the rent, and even to turn over a 
 monthly check. Pauline said it was quite unneces- 
 sary; it was as absurd as the idea she should go to live 
 at the Wiltshire. She was excited over the prospect 
 of being "on her own." She had a maid, and an 
 account at a garage, and some bankbooks full of 
 blank checks. There was plenty of money down- 
 town, Lance had said (the absurd fellow would not 
 deposit his savings with Father Fanning), and plenty 
 of money must mean, well thousands. So why 
 worry? When Pauline wrote a check she scarcely 
 ever looked to see what balance remained. Most of 
 the bills she forgot until days afterward, and then, 
 remembering and having mislaid the bills she 
 would pay approximately the sum involved, and cast 
 the matter from her mind. 
 
 When she paid the October rent her father showed 
 reluctance, but finally accepted the check. If Lance 
 had left that much money available, so much the 
 better. Oh, yes; all very much to the good, in these 
 times when banking was a lot like tight-rope walking. 
 It took an extra bookkeeper now to keep track of the
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 203 
 
 muddle of withdrawals and what not. For although 
 few people noticed it, the war was causing a chaos of 
 moving, of "doubling up," of financial readjustments. 
 And there was a Liberty Loan that for a few days 
 threatened to make Barton Fanning give up the "big 
 deal," and do nothing but be a banker. The horror 
 of this idea or some other worry gave him sleep- 
 less nights. His hair and moustache whitened quite 
 rapidly that autumn. And his tongue got raspish. 
 And sometimes he acted very unreasonably. 
 
 It was very unreasonable of him to "start in on 
 bankbooks and so on" that evening in mid-October 
 when Pauline called at the Wiltshire to exhibit a new 
 velvet wrap, and to ask a small favour. This was to 
 get her father to indorse a note Marcelline Meredith, 
 had given Pauline for a loan of three hundred dollars. 
 Pauline explained, while her father sat slowly smok- 
 ing, and her mother struggled with a pair of army 
 socks, that Marcelline had insisted on giving this note, 
 and it had to be indorsed by somebody, or it wouldn't 
 be legal would it? 
 
 "Well," said Father Fanning, "she can get some- 
 body else to indorse it. I won't." 
 
 "Father " began Pauline. 
 
 "What's the matter with Marcelline?" asked Mrs. 
 Fanning. "I thought she had gone to work since 
 Roy left for that what is it? artillery place in 
 California." 
 
 "She has gone to work. But she's trying to pay 
 Roy's bills. As fast as she gets a new job as a model 
 somebody comes along and garnishees her."
 
 204 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 Fanning laughed aloud. 
 
 "It's funny, yes," said Pauline. "But the poor 
 thing Roy keeps sending her bills he'd forgotten, 
 and found in his clothes afterward. And the old 
 ones were enough." 
 
 "Well, I'm not indorsing any notes," grumbled 
 Fanning. "I've got troubles a-plenty. And look 
 here! Are you lending money to every Tom, Dick, 
 and Marcelline in Lakeside?" 
 
 "Indeed I'm not!" 
 
 "What are you doing?" inquired Mrs. Fanning, 
 with a sharp look. "Are you saving anything?" 
 
 "How can I save?" returned Pauline with scorn. 
 
 Her father looked at her in his turn. 
 
 "You're keeping books at least, I hope." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I keep books," she laughed. 
 
 "And do you save your receipts?" asked her 
 mother. "Dear me, Lance must have left you a 
 fortune." 
 
 She spoke as though he were dead. 
 
 "Why?" demanded Pauline. 
 
 "Well, that cloak and those slippers are new, 
 and " 
 
 "I don't know why I should go about looking like 
 somebody from west of the *L'." 
 
 "That isn't the point," frowned Barton Fanning. 
 "The question is, are you living on your capital or 
 your " 
 
 "Gracious me! I never think about such stuff." 
 
 There was a silence. The smoke from the banker's 
 cigar curled into the table lamp, and rose from its top
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 205 
 
 in beautiful rosy shapes. His thoughts wandered 
 away from Pauline's finances, and then returned. 
 
 "By the way," he said, "I'm about ready to take 
 back that $40,000. I trust you don't count that as 
 part of your capital." 
 
 "Oh, I do and I don V 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "I mean I why, I don't bother about it, that's 
 all." 
 
 He laid down his cigar. 
 
 "Where is the money?" 
 
 "I deposited it just like you told me." 
 
 "Well, what has become of the interest?" inquired 
 the banker. 
 
 "I suppose it's down there where the money 
 is." 
 
 "Well, where's that?" Fanning pursued. 
 
 "I don't remember which bank." 
 
 "Heavens!" burst out her father, impatiently, 
 and with some signs of alarm. "You don't even 
 know where it's deposited?" 
 
 "I told you I didn't. But it ought to be easy to 
 find out." 
 
 "In whose name is it?" 
 
 "That I don't know, either. I was in such a 
 hurry " 
 
 "Pauline," came the stern voice of her mother. 
 "One would think you were just born. You can't 
 mean that you have treated $40,000 as carelessly 
 as all that. And just when your father " 
 
 "Oh, we'll find it," he broke in. "But I can't
 
 206 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 understand how Lance was so unbusinesslike. Ah, 
 I had forgotten he didn't handle it." The shadow 
 of a remote unpleasantness flitted across his face. 
 "Come, Polly, we'll go and look. You see, that 
 money cuts some ice with me, though it was such a 
 trifle to you." 
 
 "Won't to-morrow do?" asked Pauline. "I 
 wanted to ask mother about a lot of things." 
 
 "I would prefer," he said, biting his lip, "to go into 
 the matter now. I'd sleep better. The whole busi- 
 ness has been a bit queer." 
 
 "There I agree with you," retorted Pauline. 
 "Seeing it cost Lance his place in civil life." 
 
 "You can't get over that, can you?" rasped Mrs. 
 Fanning. "One would think he'd gone to jail in- 
 stead of being an honour man." 
 
 There might have been a renewal here of an argu- 
 ment that had raged every time Mrs. Fanning used 
 that term "honour man"; but Mr. Fanning was in 
 too much haste. He cut in with sharp impatience, 
 bore Pauline away almost by force, and escorted her 
 in an ominous silence the four or five blocks to the 
 Fannington. 
 
 Pauline let him into the flat with an irritated 
 jangle of her keys. If there was going to be this 
 trouble about bankbooks and all that 
 
 "I never saw you so unreasonable," she grumbled, 
 switching on the living-room lights. 
 
 "Where are those books?" was his only reply. 
 
 After considerable hunting they were found in a 
 bedroom in a handkerchief box. Fanning bore them
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 207 
 
 quickly back to the living room and fell upon them, 
 with the stump of his cigar gripped in his teeth. 
 
 The amounts represented in two of the books were 
 not thousands. In the Fanning Trust, in Pauline's 
 name, was a trifle less than $500, as nearly as he could 
 make out (she had forgotten, she said, to fill out a 
 number of stubs). In the Caledonian, downtown, 
 there was a remnant of Lance's savings. In a third 
 book, however, the parental auditor discovered a 
 different story. He stared at this book for a long 
 time. Beyond question he was on the trail of the 
 elusive $40,000. Only there was not $40,000 there. 
 The stubs showed thirty and some hundreds and the 
 dates on the stubs were several weeks old. 
 
 "What does this mean?" he inquired with growing 
 horror. "You've been drawing on it." 
 
 "Have I?" rejoined Pauline, calmly. "Well, 
 what should I do with it?" 
 
 The banker groaned, and examined the stubs more 
 carefully. 
 
 "Can't make head or tail of it," he muttered. 
 
 "I'm dreadfully careless about writing up the 
 Stubs." 
 
 He fixed a wide and angry gaze upon her. 
 
 "This will stop right here," said he. "I might 
 have known it wasn't safe to deal with you children. 
 Lance you and he between you have practically 
 been embezzling money from me." 
 
 Pauline turned a bit pale. She still wore her coat, 
 which she now threw off on the table. 
 
 "How can you blame Lance? As for me, you
 
 208 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 made me a loan. I gave you a note. Why, what 
 was the money for if not to use? Did you think 
 I'd stuff sofa-pillows with it? And about Lance; 
 could he be spending any of it when he was in camp? " 
 
 "I don't recognize such flimsy arguments," said 
 her father. He had risen, and was evidently very 
 angry. His hands were trembling. "This is a 
 serious time for me. It's going to be more serious 
 if I can't trust my own family." 
 
 He flung the bankbooks on the table. 
 
 "There!" he exclaimed. "Write me a check for 
 every cent in that big account. You little fool!" 
 he added recklessly. 
 
 "Wait a minute," said Pauline, becoming clear- 
 headed as her sense of injustice mounted. "Wait a 
 minute. If I gave a note, it must have had a date. 
 When is that money due?" 
 
 "What difference does that make?" he shouted. 
 
 "A lot. When does the law say I must pay?" 
 
 "I say you must pay now." 
 
 "I'll pay when it's due," she insisted. 
 
 There was a moment's silence between them. 
 Two Fannings, with equally strong wills, and equal 
 ruthlessness about money, stood facing each other. 
 
 "I call the loan right here," he said at last, a trifle 
 hoarsely. 
 
 "You can't," she retorted. "I know that much. 
 You must tell me when I have to pay. Oh," she 
 cried, suddenly, "this is what you do, after all your 
 offers. If you want to support me, why don't you 
 leave that money where it is?" She flung the words
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 209 
 
 at him blindly. " Do you think you can do it cheaper 
 some other way? What am I going to live on tell 
 me that. I'm going to call up mother! I'm going 
 to call up Mr. Reeker, and see who's right." 
 
 She moved as though to go to the telephone. 
 
 "No!" he cried, flinging up his hand. 
 
 He sank down on the davenport, to brood, or else 
 gather strength. 
 
 "Let it go," he said, heavily, at length. "You're 
 right, in a way. You've got to live. May as well 
 be on old money as new. Let it all go. Let every- 
 thing go." 
 
 Her sympathy, her alarm, were as quick as her 
 rage had been. 
 
 "No, I'll give it up," she said. "Father, I had 
 no idea it would worry you so." 
 
 She sat down by him, and laid her hand on his 
 knee. He did not move. The silver-mounted clock 
 ticked loudly. Voltaire freakishly awoke, and ut- 
 tered a few peeps. They sat in silence, while the 
 sense of her own uncertain future kept staring at 
 Pauline, and Fanning thought of other things. 
 
 Suddenly the telephone rang. Its voice sounded 
 astoundingly loud. 
 
 Pauline went and answered; returned looking 
 mystified, troubled. 
 
 "It was mother. She asks you to come home at 
 once. A message." 
 
 "My God, what now?" said Fanning, looking up 
 dazedly; then, more intently, "why couldn't she 
 give me the message?"
 
 210 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 "She didn't say," replied Pauline, gently, observ- 
 ing how stiffly he rose. 
 
 "What now?" he repeated, as he found his hat 
 and made for the door. 
 
 "I'll send you a check for all that money, to-mor- 
 row," she said at the threshold. It flashed across 
 her mind, like an impossible thing, that she would 
 then have no money herself; but she was not as much 
 frightened by this as by her father's face. He made 
 no reply to her remark, but went quickly down the 
 stairs, like a man catching a train. It was as though 
 he divined what that message from home meant; as 
 though he was in a hurry to meet whatever lay 
 ahead; as though the $40,000 was, after all, a detail 
 of his complicated agonies. 
 
 Not until the following day did Pauline learn what 
 had called him home. Sitting propped up in bed 
 while her maid cleared away a dainty breakfast tray, 
 she read in the paper and wondered if this really 
 could be "it" that Herman Ulrich, partner in the 
 "big deal" had, "owing to ill health," shot himself 
 with an automatic pistol, and was dead. An inquest 
 would be held and the funeral 
 
 There was something about the cold, brief story 
 that suggested the funeral of the "big deal" itself.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THERE was other news that morning much 
 more important to most of the world. Ameri- 
 can troops were at the front! The first shot 
 had been fired into the German lines by an American 
 gunner. 
 
 The headline loomed big and black at Lakeside 
 breakfast tables. Its message buzzed through popu- 
 lous buildings and unloosed the tongues of hundreds 
 of families. And in one tiny room in a weather- 
 stained apartment hotel "farther south," where 
 streets were noisier, narrower, and more fecund than 
 in Lakeside proper, a yellow-haired young woman, 
 snatching up the paper during a dash from her bed- 
 room to the street, cried out: 
 
 "There's been a battle! And I bet Dick was in 
 it!" 
 
 "Have you got a clean handkerchief?" was Ann 
 Stone's reply. "What did you say? Dick in a 
 battle? Sally, let me see." 
 
 "Oh, hang this torn place," exclaimed Sally, giving 
 her sleeve a brief inspection. " I'm sure he must have 
 been in it. Why, he was one of the first to go 
 over!" 
 
 And she sped down the Stan's. 
 
 Ann sat down for a few minutes alone with the 
 
 211 
 
 N
 
 212 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WATT. 
 
 paper. She was not due at her own office for an hour, 
 nor would there be any severe penalty if she were late; 
 for Ann was no longer a "filer" for Bragg & Co. 
 She was in a downtown bank, in a job from which a 
 young man had conveniently departed to enter a 
 training camp. She now had luxurious hours, and 
 what seemed to her almost royal pay. 
 
 In spite of this great change, together with the 
 fact that Sally was earning two dollars a week more 
 than before, Ann had insisted upon moving into the 
 Zealand, probably the dingiest and cheapest place 
 near Lakeside. They had lived "all over" since 
 leaving the Fannington, but the Zealand was the 
 worst. Sally had objected, then yielded to argument. 
 There was a change in Sally, though hardly an out- 
 ward change. Almost any of her friends, seeing her 
 swinging along Clarendon Avenue, near the beach, 
 would have said she looked just the same; just as 
 smart, and just as plentifully powdered. But there 
 was a difference. Ann knew. 
 
 She took a pair of scissors, and snipped out the 
 piece about the battle. They were keeping a scrap- 
 book about the war. The scrapbook, to date, con- 
 tained a three-column story written by one Fred 
 Westcott, the brilliant correspondent of the Prm, 
 about the disembarking of American troops in 
 France; and an account of a ball game played "some- 
 where," in which Corporal Dick Crowe, of the 
 regiment, was mentioned as having made a home run; 
 and a postcard photograph of a severe-looking young 
 soldier, with his hat tipped over one eye. That was
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 213 
 
 all. Not much of a scrapbook yet, but it was going 
 to be bigger. And with each item that was added 
 Ann thought she saw the change in Sally become 
 more vivid. 
 
 Having accomplished her clipping and pasting, 
 the scrapbook editor all at once noticed the account 
 of Ulrich's suicide. The name of Fanning caught 
 her attention. She read the story clear down to the 
 place where it mentioned, with great care in the word- 
 ing, that the unfortunate victim of melancholia was 
 "associated with Barton Fanning, the north shore 
 banker, in the Shadyland addition, a sensational home- 
 making enterprise of the northwest side. Mr. Fan- 
 ning said last night that the affairs of the corporation 
 were in excellent condition," etc. 
 
 "That means, I suppose," said Ann to herself, 
 "that they're in bad shape. If not, why should the 
 reporters have asked him about it?" 
 
 She began her preparations to go downtown. Once 
 during the process of brushing and smoothing her 
 warm coat (the days were cool now, and Ann, a 
 Southerner, none too warm-blooded) she returned to 
 the newspaper, and read once more the epitaph of 
 Mr. Ulrich. 
 
 "Oh, well," she mused, hah 5 aloud, "I don't sup- 
 pose it would affect him much anyhow." 
 
 Which remark could not have been construed as 
 applying to Mr. Ulrich, now deceased, nor even to 
 Barton Fanning, who was bound to be affected much 
 if at all. 
 
 So whom was Ann talking about, anyhow?
 
 214 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 And whom was she thinking about that evening 
 as she and Sally devoured lamb chops and potatoes 
 au gratin in the E-Lite restaurant, at a little table 
 looking out into the whirligig of Sheridan Road? 
 She was gazing squarely at the broad brown back of 
 a young officer eating one of the E-Lite's dangerous 
 wedges of pie at the lunch counter. But she was not 
 thinking about him. She said she was not when 
 Sally twitted her. 
 
 "Oh, I know it's not him," mocked Sally. "But 
 every tune you see one you think it may be him. 
 Oh, I know." 
 
 Ann did not deny it. She looked quickly away 
 from the young officer and studied the angry-looking 
 liquid in her coffee cup. 
 
 "But what gets me," continued Sally, staring 
 defiantly at a "fresh" young man two tables away, 
 "is how you can keep on thinking he's got any use 
 for you when he hasn't been near since he went to 
 camp hasn't even written." 
 
 "I asked you not to talk about it," protested Ann, 
 with dignity. "But since you insist on it: well, I'd 
 like to know how he could call or write when he 
 doesn't know where I live." 
 
 "Oh, piffle for that," Sally's eyes rolled mis- 
 chievously. "He could find out if he wanted 
 to." 
 
 "Maybe he could," agreed Ann, indifferently. 
 
 "And why hasn't he got your address? You've 
 written to him in camp, of course." 
 
 "I have not." Ann's colour began to rise.
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 215 
 
 i 
 
 "And again piffle. Who have you been hammer- 
 ing out those long letters to, these evenings?" 
 
 "My father." 
 
 "Her father," echoed Sally, pretending disgust, 
 and gazing out into the street, where the crowds 
 ambled by women with bakery goods from the 
 delicatessen stores; young men with imitation fur 
 collars on their overcoats; triplets and quartets of 
 women made up to look "svelte" like the magazine 
 advertisements. 
 
 Sally leaned over the table. . 
 
 "Do you want to see him, Sister Ann? Tell 
 Sister." 
 
 "Let me alone," snapped Ann, so far as she was 
 capable of snapping. "I'm too busy to think about 
 such nonsense." But her tone was not convincing. 
 And right there Sally conceived a little plan. She 
 knew a young man at the national army camp. He 
 had been a clerk in the Largest Department Store, 
 and was now the proud keeper of a team of mules. 
 She reflected. Yes, she decided this young man 
 would do her a good turn. It would not be difficult 
 to find so shining a military figure as Tom Fanning, 
 even though the camp was large and lieutenants as 
 numerous as the sea-sands. She looked affection- 
 ately, protectingly, across at Ann, and winked. 
 
 Then, with great diplomacy, she picked up an 
 evening paper that someone had left in departing, 
 and smoothed it out, and her eyes flitted hungrily 
 over its first page. There was nothing about the 
 American troops, but there was news about the
 
 216 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 "Fanning interests." Another interview, in which 
 Mr. Fanning again heatedly denied that the suicide 
 of Mr. Ulrich affected him except that he had lost a 
 friend. And, for some reason, there was an enumera- 
 tion of the Fanning holdings, a very guarded refer- 
 ence to an investigation, a paragraph that repre- 
 sented Lakeside as doing some intense thinking. 
 
 Sally read the article with a look of baffled absorp- 
 tion, and slid the paper over to Ann. 
 
 "Some of our old neighbours getting their names 
 in the paper," she said. 
 
 "Yes, I saw it this morning," replied Ann, with 
 vague interest. 
 
 "Kind o* getting after Pa Fanning, wouldn't you 
 say? Oh, baby, if they should get him, wouldn't I 
 be sorry?" 
 
 "I would," responded Ann; and again you couldn't 
 be sure; you couldn't be sure just whom she would be 
 sorry for. 
 
 The young man Sally knew in camp, though a 
 mere muleteer, was an able plotter. Together with 
 a correspondent of the Press named Stub McCord he 
 conspired to have two visitors admitted to the camp 
 on a Saturday afternoon. Sally played her part 
 well, too. She found a reason that satisfied Ann for 
 paying a visit to the muleteer: a message to deliver 
 from a dying grandmother, or the like. It was all a 
 little vague, but perhaps Ann had her own reasons 
 for not demanding particulars. 
 
 Anyhow, the two girls alighted from a dusty train
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 217 
 
 that Saturday afternoon very merry, and quite 
 oblivious of the fact that they had irritated two excel- 
 lent employers by demanding this holiday. Stub 
 McCord was there to greet them with the Press 
 automobile, a little box-like choo-choo nicknamed 
 Schrecklichkeit. Very polite was Stub, and pom- 
 pous, too, as he pointed out village landmarks and 
 emitted camp lore, the while manoeuvring the skit- 
 tish car around sharp turns. 
 
 Once out of the village, the road stretched along 
 the river, past some russet woods, and on over gentle 
 hills until it suddenly widened and hardened, and 
 became a military road. They began to pass enor- 
 mous trucks and quick-speeding cars containing 
 officers, and transport wagons full of grinning boys 
 off for "leave." 
 
 Ann clung to one of Schrecklichkeit's sides, and 
 sat very still. Sally chattered to Stub. Did he like 
 newspaper work? Did he not have wonderful 
 experiences? and so on. The words fell almost un- 
 heard on Ann's ears. She was thinking what a 
 marvellous life, here in this vast open country, had 
 come to thousands of young fellows from offices, 
 from factories, and from unreal places like Lakeside. 
 This was life in earnest; everything enormous, 
 energetic, and free; yes, despite discipline, free as 
 compared with the routine of civil life. And she 
 thought of Dick, and what wonders he had seen; of 
 Lance Happerth, somewhere in the incredibly vast 
 camp that loomed up yonder; and of another. . . . 
 
 " Commander's residence press headquarters/'
 
 218 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 Stub announced, as they sped by a couple of con- 
 verted farmhouses. 
 
 They passed an automobile containing a big, stout 
 major and a couple of dark-faced military men in 
 light blue. 
 
 "French officers," ejaculated Stub. "Down here 
 to look us over. I had a scoop on 'em this morn- 
 ing." 
 
 "What's a scoop? "asked Sally, holding onto her 
 hat, for the camp sirocco caught them at the bend. 
 
 Stub failed to answer the question, and Sally did 
 not press it, for now they were fairly within the 
 camp; they were amid barracks where lounged un- 
 numbered hosts of youths in brown uniforms; they 
 passed prisoners conducted by amiable-looking 
 guards with rifles; they had glimpses of kitchens, with 
 smutty-faced youngsters grinning over their pans; 
 and of Y. M. C. A. buildings, whence came the senti- 
 mental strains of phonographs. 
 
 "Of course you won't see much drill hang this 
 accelerator but that wasn't why you came down, 
 was it?" 
 
 And he could not forbear a glance at Ann. 
 
 "You'll have to ask Mrs. Crowe why we came," 
 she said. 
 
 Stub looked at Sally. He had understood it was 
 "Miss" Crowe, and somehow he felt disappointed. 
 But he merely gave Schrecklichkeit an extra "kick," 
 and drove on. 
 
 The mud was rather deep in some of the company 
 streets, and the car seemed to be having spasms.
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 219 
 
 Presently, among some buildings that bore signs re- 
 ferring to the 300-and-something Artillery, it gave 
 an angry jerk, and stopped entirely. A group of 
 soldiers examining a mule's hind feet looked up from 
 their perilous occupation, and two of them strolled 
 across the road. 
 
 "Engine trouble?" inquired one; then, "By Jove, 
 if it isn't Mrs. Crowe!" 
 
 It was Sally's department store friend. 
 
 There were greetings and introductions. Mean- 
 time Stub explored the interior of Schrecklichkeit's 
 rusty nose. Suddenly he glanced up toward the door 
 of the nearest company building, and appeared to 
 forget his car entirely. He remained thus standing, 
 with a half -smile on his face, until Sally's muleteer 
 caught his eye, and also turned. 
 
 Next a long shadow fell across the group, and a 
 quiet voice, in which there was nevertheless a thrill, 
 said: 
 
 "Miss Stone, isn't it? And Mrs. Crowe." 
 
 And Tom Fanning stood there, lifting his visored 
 cap, very straight and formal, but with a sparkle of 
 such delight in his eyes that the mere privates made 
 poor work of saluting. 
 
 One of them said to the other that evening, "Now 
 that was doing something for my country. Did you 
 see the Lieutenant's face?" 
 
 "How did you dope it out he wasn't going to 
 town?" 
 
 "I didn't," said Sally's conspirator. "Just took a 
 chance on that. But I'd heard he wasn't much for
 
 220 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 weak-end leaves. Prefers to sit around and read 
 I. D. R." 
 
 That day there was no I. D. R. for Tom. There 
 was, instead, a rare October afternoon, with all the 
 wonders of the camp to exhibit, and two angels from 
 heaven one angel, at least to show them to. We 
 need not describe all that they saw. They saw 
 everything. Toward evening they even visited the 
 "creek," where homesick soldiers sat on logs, and 
 watched insects skating across the quiet pools. 
 And they saw the sharp-shooting ranges, and the 
 camouflaged artillery emplacements all those things 
 so marvellously like war. And by favour of the cap- 
 tain of Tom's company they peeked into the squad- 
 room of his barracks, and the kitchen, where they 
 saw great slabs of meat in coolers, and huge shallow 
 pans of rice pudding. 
 
 Then they drove back to the village over that hard, 
 white road, and had dinner at the hotel; a dinner that 
 tasted like rose-leaf and champagne, although it was 
 really an affair of tough veal and impossible fritters. 
 
 And Tom kept saying to himself, as he saw the 
 small, sweet face of his most unexpected visitor 
 across the table, "My Lord, what a dandy place 
 the world is!" 
 
 After dinner came an astonishing thing: Sally 
 announced she had developed a headache, and retired 
 to her room. It was part of the plot, but Ann did 
 not know this. She pursued Sally with solicitude 
 and hot water, in return for which she finally got
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 221 
 
 this shot, "Don't ask too many questions, you little 
 fool. Go and entertain Mr. I mean Lieutenant 
 Fanning." 
 
 There was nothing for Ann to do but obey. She 
 returned to the sitting room, where she found Tom 
 examining an ancient print of the battle of Gettys- 
 burg. 
 
 "Those fellows," he remarked as Ann came in, 
 "didn't know what war was. No machine guns, no 
 H. E. shells, no gas, no aviation control. I wonder 
 how they did it." 
 
 "And yet they killed each other," she said. She 
 sat down on a dusty horsehair sofa. There was 
 an embarrassing silence. 
 
 "Is your friend er very ill?" asked Tom at 
 length. 
 
 "I don't think so. I can't quite make out." 
 
 He sat down on the edge of a table, and swung one 
 large brown boot. The room, indeed the entire 
 house, was remarkably still. From outside came 
 the hum and clatter of passing street cars, and the 
 tramp, tramp of military feet in endless, aimless 
 promenade. 
 
 Was this the Moment? 
 
 Tom suddenly felt his throat become dry and 
 constricted. The small head, with its dark waves of 
 hair, only a few feet away, seemed waiting waiting. 
 Words he had long dreamed of rushed into his brain, 
 to his very lips, and then remained unuttered. 
 
 He swung himself off the table, and, with the feel- 
 ing of a coward, a sweating rustic, proposed gruffly :
 
 222 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 "Well, let's go to a picture show. It's all there Is 
 to do." 
 
 Ann, released from a strain as tense as his, jumped 
 up with exaggerated joy. But somewhere in the 
 obscure depths of her being there was a pang of dis- 
 appointment. She banished this as soon as she 
 identified it. Picking up her gloves, she turned to 
 Tom with a smile that was a perfectly commonplace 
 smile, and yet conveyed mysteriously the message, 
 "It's all right, my friend; it's all right." 
 
 They went out into the street chattering like 
 children. 
 
 The street was full of soldiers, bearing down three 
 abreast, or standing in doorways with cigarettes 
 cornerwise In their mouths, or streaming in and out 
 of candy stores. Tom, with Ann in the crook of his 
 elbow, as it were, strode among them like a lord. 
 The walk recalled to Ann that other evening, many 
 months before, when they had threaded the crowds 
 of Wilson Avenue. Wliy, some of the same people 
 were probably here, In this swirl of uniforms ! 
 
 "It seems impossible impossible," she thought 
 aloud. 
 
 "What's impossible?" 
 
 "That since last spring last summer they've 
 all turned into soldiers." 
 
 "Americans can do that any time they like. 
 We've shown 'em," said Tom, soberly. "I thought 
 once we couldn't. Now I know the contrary. These 
 fellows nothing can beat 'em." 
 
 "Are they really will they really make an army?"
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 223 
 
 He turned to her with flashing eyes. 
 
 "Will they? They're an army already. There's 
 a whale of a lot of work ahead, but we know their 
 class now. And it isn't only what are called the born 
 fighters. It's all of them. It's the bank clerks, the 
 theatre ushers, the fox-trot specialists. It's our old 
 silk-socks of Lakeside. I take off my hat to 'em." 
 
 He felt Ann's arm quiver in response to his earnest- 
 ness. 
 
 "And another thing," he added. "I i&ed to think 
 it was the foreigner, with his big chest and broad 
 cheeks, and peasant ancestry, that would turn out the 
 best. Now we know the good old American stock 
 is the stuff. It has come up out of generations of 
 soft living, as sound as ever." He laughed. "You 
 ought to see 'em getting after a dummy with a 
 bayonet." 
 
 He felt Ann give a little shudder. 
 
 "Well, that's enough of that. There's the Grand 
 Opera House, and we're going to see Mary Pick- 
 ford." 
 
 Just before reaching the theatre they passed an- 
 other hotel. Behind its large front windows some 
 dozens of soldiers were lounging in cane-bottomed 
 chairs. Here and there a youth sat, with his feet on 
 the window-ledge, staring out into the night. There 
 was a lassitude, an evident homesickness, about these 
 that wrung Ann's heart. Her soft eyes dwelt upon 
 them tenderly. Suddenly she gave an exclamation. 
 
 "Look," she exclaimed, "that second fellow from 
 the end. The one reading a letter."
 
 224 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 Tom looked. 
 
 "You're right. You see before you a complete 
 example of citizen soldier. Yes, it's Lance Hap- 
 perth, bless his little heart. And he's reading a 
 letter from home." 
 
 Ann was for hurrying by the window, but Tom 
 held her back. 
 
 "It's a letter from Pauline," he speculated. "And 
 she's telling him how she's coming down to see him 
 next week. Don't worry about him. He's happy." 
 
 Lance did not look up. 
 
 "Want to go in and speak to him?" inquired Tom. 
 
 "No," was her hurried answer. 
 
 "It's just as well. Leave him to his lonely bliss." 
 
 And they went on. But if they had been a bit 
 more experienced in reading Lance's expressions they 
 would have realized that he was far from being happy. 
 And they might even have gathered that the letter 
 was not from Pauline. 
 
 It was from an old friend, and it had made him 
 angrier and more disgusted than he had ever been in 
 his life.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 FOUR o'clock the following Saturday after- 
 noon; almost time for the city-bound train. 
 The soldiers who had been restlessly swagger- 
 ing about the waiting room, or buying gum at the 
 fly-blown "refreshment counter," were making for 
 the platform. Scores of others, swinging their legs 
 from baggage trucks, or sitting on the stairs that led 
 down into the lazy street, were growing alert and 
 watching for a column of smoke in the distance. 
 They wore, without exception, a special type of grin; 
 the week-end grin, excited and anticipatory. They 
 slammed each other on the back, stole each other's 
 hats, danced jigs. And the smoke of scores of 
 cigarettes curled up under the smoke-blackened roof 
 of the train shed. 
 
 At the extreme end of the platform, away from 
 the mob, Lance Happerth leaned against a gorgeous 
 circus poster. He was neither dancing, grinning, nor 
 smoking. His face looked precisely as it had when 
 Tom and Arm saw him. And he was still thinking 
 about the letter. 
 
 Another swarm of boys in khaki came up the stairs, 
 brushing by Lance with a gust of talk and laughter. 
 Then the train rushed in. Before it had stopped the 
 troops were on the steps, in the cars, all over the 
 
 225
 
 226 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 platforms. A group of officers sauntered with su- 
 perb dignity back to the chair car; and Lance, suit- 
 case in hand, headed that way, too; but a voice spoke 
 out at his elbow: 
 
 "Hey, Happerth! Goin* to town? This way, or 
 you'll get no seat." 
 
 "I'm going up in the chair car," replied Lance to 
 this worthy, a famous "card" of Lance's company: 
 one Kelly, who had been a newsboy, a prize fighter, 
 and a train "butcher," and who bore scars derived 
 from all these pursuits. 
 
 "Chair car? Look here, take my dope: stay out 
 of that car. It's for officers." 
 
 Lance shrugged his shoulders, and turned toward 
 the smoker, with Kelly beside him. He accepted 
 this exclusiveness of the chair car as one of the in- 
 evitable things. He no longer battled with the in- 
 evitable, even inwardly. 
 
 Besides, he was still thinking of that letter. 
 
 He found a seat by the water cooler, and Kelly sat 
 on the arm and swung his legs. The car was full of 
 hats, legs, sun-burned necks, and a noisome mix- 
 ture of cheap tobaccos. Kelly yelled : 
 
 "Now, boys, the old one; all together now.'* 
 
 They roared: 
 
 "Glory, glory, what a hell of a time they had, 
 Glory, glory, what a hell of a time they had, 
 Glory, glory, what a hell of a time they had, 
 When they tried to make a soldier out of me." 
 
 "Why don't you sing?" the former boxer growled
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 227 
 
 at Lance between verses. "Somebody dead in the 
 family?" 
 
 "I've got my own troubles," answered Lance, 
 with reticence. He looked out at the skimming 
 landscape; the flat monotony of cornfields, brown 
 roads, and tree clumps. Of all the men in that car 
 he was the only one who could not rejoice that each 
 clank of the wheels brought him nearer the city. 
 The infamous letter lay across his heart like a leaden 
 weight. His lips were compressed, and he looked 
 steadily through the window regardless of loud de- 
 mands that he "come out of that grouch." 
 
 Twilight suddenly fell upon the fields. Lights 
 gleamed remotely in the farmhouses. This was the 
 time when the people of Lakeside were sitting down 
 to dinner under their pink-and-gold dining room 
 shades. All light and music there. And the night 
 life of Wilson and other avenues was about to awaken. 
 And a thousand subtle human relations, born of the 
 coming of night in Lakeside, were being entangled 
 and disentangled; there in that rich, complex, and 
 perilous place where Pauline was. 
 
 And he was a stranger, going there to discover 
 he knew not what. 
 
 For certain reasons, connected with the letter, he 
 had not sent word to Pauline that he was coming. 
 Therefore, when the train crept into the great, 
 echoing station toward seven o'clock, he found him- 
 self unwelcomed by a soul. Most of the others 
 alighted straight into the arms of screaming and
 
 228 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 babbling womenfolk; they were swept down the 
 platform with wives, mothers, and children clinging 
 to their hands, or running along behind. Lance, with 
 his hat pulled over his eyes, walked swiftly in and out 
 among these groups, impatient with them. 
 
 It was from this very station from this very plat- 
 form that he and Pauline had launched their South- 
 ern trip. Here the "crowd" had stood, tossing 
 jokes and bon-bons into the window. The platform 
 had been a noisy place that day, just because Lance 
 Happerth and his wife were going somewhere. Old, 
 
 glittering days He wet his lips, and strode 
 
 on. 
 
 He went into the lunch room, squirmed onto a 
 stool, looked blankly at a lean waitress who smirked 
 closely into his eyes, and ordered rolls and coffee. 
 He scarcely knew what he ordered. The plan of that 
 evening was beginning to form in his mind. He 
 would not even telephone to Pauline. On the con- 
 trary, he would make his homecoming a complete 
 surprise; not in order to intensify Pauline's delight 
 at his return, but well, for reasons. It was going 
 to be a sort of skulking thing, and he did not half 
 like it; but he did not know what else a fellow could 
 do under the circumstances. 
 
 The circumstances, as Bob Sweetling had hinted at 
 them Bob was the author of the pernicious letter 
 justified almost anything. 
 
 His imagination, as he sat gulping coffee and star- 
 ing unseeingly down at a sloppy bill of fare, painted 
 the situation in Lakeside more and more vividly. The
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 229 
 
 words of the bill-of-fare, thoughtlessly read, became 
 jumbled in his mind with all he was thinking. 
 Chocolate eclaire, five cents not like Pauline at all, 
 and yet as the fellows said, "they have a devilish 
 good time while we're away, don't you forget it" 
 French pastry, 10 brilliant Lakeside, devil-may-care 
 Lakeside pie of all kinds, 5, a la mode, 10 
 
 He finished eating, and the lanky waitress cleared 
 away. Lance rose stiffly, lit a cigarette, and went 
 out through the criss-crossing crowds into the street. 
 
 In Michigan Boulevard the automobiles were 
 gliding, gliding to north and south, like whispering 
 wraiths in the dusk. And as far down the street as 
 he could see, their lamps glowed and bobbed. To 
 the north the tall buildings wore spangles, and the 
 white cornices of a regal hotel, illumined by 
 a sort of searchlight device, stood out in pearly 
 beauty against the soft blue-black of the sky. Ah, 
 yes, the City of Deadly Ambitions was beautiful 
 at times; cruelly beautiful. And Lakeside, its 
 creature, was still more beautiful, and more cruel. 
 
 A great clock Lance could not for the moment 
 think what building this clock ornamented hung on 
 the horizon like a planet. Its enormous, crinkled 
 hands almost seemed to move. They pointed to half- 
 past seven. 
 
 Time to go north if he were to accomplish his 
 errand. Pauline would be going to the theatre, or 
 to the rink; if there still was a rink. 
 
 It was strange to be within telephone call of her, 
 and not to bring her voice to the wire, and say, 
 N
 
 230 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 "I'm home, Polly; I'm home." But this was not 
 possible. Bob's letter, with its implications, must 
 be laid before her. As he thought of it, visualizing 
 her cool stare at Bob's straggly handwriting, the 
 implications did not seem as serious as when he read 
 them in camp. Any one else but Alfred Harrold! 
 Lord, how could she admit him to the flat? And 
 here Bob had said, as though it were the most natural 
 thing in the world, that she let Harrold call upon her. 
 And if, after all that had happened, all that the pianist 
 had done by way of direct and indirect effort to in- 
 jure her husband, she let Harrold call on her, it would 
 not be the last time. For it meant that Pauline did 
 not care what people did to him, Lance; and it might 
 mean more than that. . . . 
 
 An elevated train bore him swiftly among the tall 
 buildings, and across the river, toward Lakeside. 
 He smoked cigarette after cigarette, sitting with 
 tightly folded arms at the extreme end of the car, 
 which was almost empty. The guard who ma- 
 noeuvred the gates, and stuck his head into the car at 
 regular intervals to announce a station, looked 
 curiously at this dejected figure in khaki. And the 
 guard decided, "A draft man, he is; and he don't 
 like the army a little bit, he don't." 
 
 By the time the train had rounded the big curve 
 that led from the district of two-story houses into the 
 flat-building world the car was empty save for Lance, 
 a sleeping negro, and a jovial elderly man reading a 
 newspaper. The last-named passenger had glanced 
 frequently at Lance, and now, folding up his paper,
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WATT. 231 
 
 he deliberately moved over alongside the young sol- 
 dier. 
 
 It developed immediately that he was that product 
 of war most dreaded by army men on furlough the 
 Civilian Who Wants to Know How You Like It. 
 
 "Home on leave?*' he croaked at Lance, with a 
 grin that showed a decrepit set of teeth. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Draft or volunteer?" 
 
 "Draft." 
 
 "They're both alike," grinned the man. "All 
 honour men, damn it. We er we honour 'em 
 both alike. 'S what I say." 
 
 Lance gazed woodenly out at the dim shapes of 
 roofs. 
 
 "Married?" pursued the tormentor. 
 
 His victim recrossed his legs, and finally replied, 
 "Yes." His good-nature was too innate for him to 
 repulse even this bore. 
 
 "Well, I hope you find the farably all well. The 
 kids got any kids?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "An* a slim chance now, eh?" grinned the yellow 
 teeth. "Oh, well, it's great to get home anyways; 
 ain't it? Say, here's my card. I got two boys in 
 service. Give 'em up without a whimper." 
 
 Lance took the card and twiddled it between his 
 fingers. He thought of getting off the train, then 
 pulled himself together again. 
 
 "Yes, sir. The home flat '11 be all lit up for you. 
 The wife'll have the fatted calf dressed up with
 
 232 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 pussley. Don't you worry. I s'pose she's been 
 lookin* out the window for you for two hours an* 
 more." 
 
 Lance suddenly decided ne could not stand this. 
 He picked up his suitcase, and murmuring a word of 
 excuse, went into the next car. The civilian re- 
 mained behind, chuckling. As he told his wife that 
 night: "I always speak to the boys. Durn it, 
 sometimes they're grumpy, like a feller I spoke to 
 to-night. But it's bashfulness, Martha; just bashful- 
 ness." 
 
 "Fatted calf." "Looking out of the window for 
 you." Lance could have murdered the author of 
 those words. He was a cheerful fool, the worst kind 
 of fool there was. The kind that beams upon the 
 world and imagines all women are faithful slaves, 
 and all households harmonious wholes. This might 
 have been true of a certain household in the Fanning- 
 ton, too, had it not been for certain things. That 
 was what made it all so bitter. Given a different 
 environment, and what a Pauline Lance would have 
 had! 
 
 He left the train, and walked through streets he 
 had not seen for two months; streets familiar yet 
 strange. Compared with the wide reaches of\the 
 camp, how cramped and cold Lakeside was! And 
 how self-sufficient! Aside from a few Red Cross and 
 Liberty Bond emblems in the windows Lakeside 
 gave no sign of knowing there was a war. Lance 
 thought about this with wonder and disdain as he- 
 strode on.
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 233 
 
 But soon, realizing he was nearing the Fannington, 
 he ceased to think about Lakeside, and pondered his 
 programme. It occurred to him he could hardly 
 burst in without warning, without even having tele- 
 phoned. How would he explain this? 
 
 He paused under one of the statuesque street lights 
 of Westmont Avenue to think about it. An auto- 
 mobile load of people swept by, and at one window 
 he thought he saw a familiar face. But none of the 
 passengers more than glanced at the stranger in uni- 
 form. Lance shrugged his shoulders, and walked 
 on. In a moment the familiar structure, with its 
 French towers and bulging sun porches, rose above 
 the surrounding buildings. He shot a glance at the 
 windows behind which he had lived. Pauline was at 
 home! At least part of the flat was lit. The win- 
 dows of the sun parlour and living room were almost 
 dark; but at the side, where the library was, with its 
 glimpse of the lake there, where he had sat so many 
 evenings and dreamed of great things he was going 
 to write the windows, with their light yellow shades, 
 were like gold bars in the night. There was nothing 
 odd about this sort of illumination, and yet to Lance, 
 whose soul quivered to a hundred imaginings, it 
 seemed singular. A sort of camouflage of being 
 alone. As this notion struck him he determined not 
 to go in the front way, but to turn in on the alley 
 leading from Thoreau Place, and take to the back 
 stairs. If Pauline were alone, he could pass off his 
 appearance at the back door as one of his bad jokes. 
 
 So he went into the rear court, with its view of
 
 234 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 tiny kitchens, and the clink of dishes from a scul- 
 lery part of the cafe, and, discovering his own back 
 staircase with some difficulty, went up the two 
 flights, and tried the back door. 
 
 It was open. 
 
 He stepped circumspectly into the kitchen, through 
 the pantry, and pushed irresolutely the swinging 
 door into the dining room. Now he heard indistinct 
 voices; principally a man's voice. Then a word or 
 two in Pauline's clear, abrupt accents. 
 
 With his suitcase dangling from one hand, and the 
 other gripping the edge of the dining table, he stopped 
 and listened. A faint glow from the court brought 
 out the shapes of well-remembered pictures on the 
 walls; steins and vases on the plate-rail; the serving 
 table he and Pauline had bought together when they 
 were "accumulating." Among these reminders he 
 stood, with his pulses beating, and a feeling of the 
 incredible, a feeling of shame, together with a wild 
 desire to laugh, all mixed up together in his brain. 
 
 Spying! 
 
 Suddenly the indecisive Lance Happerth of former 
 epochs perished forever. There came into his head 
 something Lieutenant Morin had said at drill: 
 " When you're in a tight fix, don't step back. Plunge 
 ahead; always ahead and give 'em hell." 
 
 Lance set down the suitcase, kicked a chair out of 
 nis way, and "plunged ahead," through the dining 
 room, along the hall, and into the library. 
 
 There sat Pauline, pale and frightened; and there 
 sat Mrs. Fanning, with tears running off her nose.
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 235 
 
 And there by the mantel stood "the man." It was 
 Father Fanning. He was trying to figure on the back 
 of an envelope, but his pencil made vague stabs. 
 And he seemed tremendously amazed at something; 
 besides, his lips were blue. 
 
 The two women shrieked when Lance came in, and 
 half rose. 
 
 "Lance!" cried Pauline, in a strangled way. 
 
 But Father Fanning only gazed at him, as if from 
 a great distance, with eyes shadowed by what seemed 
 like years and years of pain. 
 
 Lance moved to the centre of the room. He was 
 fascinated by the sight of this Grand Mogul turned 
 old and feeble. Alfred Harrold, the whole object 
 of his visit all that, Lance had forgotten. The 
 knowledge of some family calamity gripped him. 
 
 He said: 
 
 "Well, I'm here? What's wrong? Tell me, Polly." 
 
 Pauline did not move or speak, but Mrs. Fanning 
 got out of her chair, like an ancient and corpulent 
 duchess, and the next moment collapsed again on the 
 davenport, wailing: 
 
 "We've failed, Lance; we've failed." 
 
 "You mean the bank?" He frowned, and even 
 at that moment they had tune to wonder at his 
 bronzed face and straight back. 
 
 "Yes, the bank," said Father Fanning. "The 
 bank, the bank, both of the banks." 
 
 He looked at Lance with a sort of foolish shrewd- 
 ness. 
 
 "You see," he said, "we've failed." 
 
 N
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE usual number of hours, thirty-six, elapsed 
 between that Saturday night and Monday 
 morning. But none of the Farmings knew 
 just how many hours there were. They remem- 
 bered this period afterward as a time of huge and 
 horrid arguments, of lamentations, of futile figuring. 
 It was a nightmare having as a background a sort of 
 dark, swollen flood this being the Fanning fortunes 
 flowing down to perdition and a foreground in 
 which floated the tortured face of Father Fanning, 
 shouting, "I can settle everything if they give me a 
 chance." In this foreground, too, appeared from time 
 to time the agonized and arguing personalities of 
 Pauline and her mother, of the two Augustines, of 
 Aunt Pringle. All that Saturday night and Sunday 
 the Fannings came and went, with careful footfalls 
 on the stairs, and voices hushed in the hallways. 
 And Lance sat steadily on through every conference, 
 a new Lance with a grim look and a tanned face, 
 whom they all but feared. Reeker lent his presence 
 at times (a pale, nail-biting presence) and so did an 
 elderly lawyer whom none of them had met, but who 
 seemed to know all the details. 
 
 Monday morning at nine o'clock a sign went up 
 on each of the Fanning banks: 
 
 236
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 237 
 
 "Closed for investigation by the state bank 
 examiner.'* 
 
 Inside the Fanning Trust sat its sole owner, across 
 a table from the urbane examiner himself. 
 
 The fact that these signs were up, the fact that 
 Father Fanning was sitting there, both of these things 
 were the work not of the examiner, not of the elderly 
 lawyer, but of Lance. Late Sunday afternoon he 
 had found the banker packing a suitcase, and looking 
 furtive. Then had followed the angriest argument of 
 all. With a sudden realization of what this flight 
 would mean, with a determination that surprised none 
 of them more than it did Lance, he had fought 
 to keep his father-in-law at home to face the music. 
 He stood over the collapsed Mogul with clenched 
 fists, and threatened him. 
 
 "No, you can't pull this off. You can't sneak 
 away, and leave the women to do your explaining. 
 I'll expose you; I'll put the police on your track. 
 You stick, Mr. Fanning, or " 
 
 And the emperor of Fanningdom gave way. 
 
 Yes, it was Lance's work, that stunning confession 
 of failure that hit Lakeside on Monday morning. 
 But Lance was not there to see the effects. He was 
 back at camp, doing setting-up drill. He moved 
 with a sluggishness that drew reprimands from his 
 lieutenant. His eyes burned with sleeplessness; his 
 chin was scrubby and unshaven. And after drill one 
 of his mates whispered to him, with a wink, "You 
 must have had some swell time in town, old boy; 
 some swell time!"
 
 238 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 He lay on his cot in the "recreation hour" after 
 supper, with a drowsy sense of having done the right 
 thing for once, but with fears of what must have hap- 
 pened in Lakeside that day. It had been hard to 
 leave Pauline to face all that alone. They had quar- 
 relled again about it; for Pauline could not be made 
 to understand that army rules took no account of 
 private calamities. She had accused him of desert- 
 ing her just when things were hardest. But at least 
 they had no time to quarrel about Harrold. That 
 problem would have to be settled some other time. 
 But it would have to be settled. His soul was grimly 
 set on that. 
 
 Pauline remained secluded in the Fannlngton all 
 that day, sleeping, or else sitting in the sun parlour 
 with the shades lowered, trying to think. Even she, 
 with a newspaper education, could understand what 
 this crash foreboded; and she gave it a more melo- 
 dramatic tone than the facts themselves. She 
 imagined violent crowds before the bank doors; police 
 beating them back with clubs; her father cowering in 
 a back room to escape would-be lynchers. And she 
 imagined some things that were more or less true: 
 an outcry from half of Lakeside, poisonous comment 
 by people who had fawned upon the Farmings, a 
 sibilant suggestion that her father was a thief and 
 that "now those snobs would get theirs." People 
 always said a ruined banker was a thief. It was of 
 course no more true this time than in lots of cases. 
 He would prove it; they would beat down all this
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 239 
 
 talk. Pauline's pride in Fanning grit, her belief in 
 Fanning luck, sustained her while she "thought 
 things out." 
 
 Once or twice the doorbell rang, but she did not 
 answer. So did the telephone, which Pauline si- 
 lenced by removing the receiver for the day. She ate 
 nothing at noon. She was like a prisoner. 
 
 But it was not in her to endure more than eight 
 or ten hours of this, so at dinner time she pulled her- 
 self together, put on one of her smartest "things," 
 and went down to the cafe. It was almost empty, 
 and the head waitress, in whose eyes flickered sym- 
 pathy rather than hostility, took her to a quiet corner. 
 And there she ate hungrily, while her consciousness 
 of great trouble became vaguer and vaguer. 
 
 This consciousness might have vanished entirely, 
 for the time, had not May Harrold discovered her. 
 
 May was the last person Pauline had expected to 
 see. For several weeks the litigant had been away 
 from the Fannington. It was supposed she was " stay- 
 ing with friends," as her furniture was still in the flat. 
 Now she had suddenly returned, to plague an un- 
 happy Pauline. 
 
 Her sharp gaze explored the restaurant, and almost 
 at once she descried Pauline in her corner. There 
 was no escaping her. She came slithering over the 
 slippery floor, with a large bag on her arm. May was 
 never seen without this bag, which probably con- 
 tained "papers." 
 
 She sat down at the table, cleared a place for her 
 bag, and said to the waitress, "No, thanks, I don't
 
 240 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 want a thing; well, a plate of soup, maybe." And to 
 Pauline, "Don't go. I know you don't want to see 
 me, or anybody, one bit. But I just want to ask 
 you one thing." 
 
 Pauline regarded her old friend across the table 
 with an enigmatic expression. 
 
 "I just want to ask you," continued May, "if you 
 can speak to your father, and " 
 
 "No, I can't." 
 
 "Wait till you hear. You ought to be willing to 
 help me out just this little bit. I only want just 
 enough money to pay my lawyer. If I don't get it 
 he won't go on with the case, and there's no telling 
 when it'll ever be tried. I've been to the bank, and 
 to Mr. Reeker. It wasn't any good. They don't 
 understand how my trouble is different. Pauline, I 
 haven't a cent not a cent." 
 
 From the look on her face she was about to burst 
 into tears. Bother! 
 
 "Come upstairs," said Pauline, hastily. "Oh, 
 there's your soup." 
 
 "I don't want it," quavered May. "Take the 
 horrid stuff away," she commanded the waitress. 
 
 The few people in the room stared, while the two 
 young women fled. And a Fannington tenant of 
 some weeks standing whispered to his table mate, a 
 newcomer, "Look there! that woman, the blonde 
 that's old Fanning's daughter. Reckon she won't 
 be wearing so many rings a month from now, eh?" 
 
 In the flat May seated herself with apparent com- 
 posure, and then she had the crying spell fore-
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 241 
 
 shadowed in the cafe. After 'this she became again 
 gloomily serene, and also talkative. 
 
 "I don't suppose there's anybody else in such hard 
 luck as me. Here within a few months I've lost a 
 husband, and a home, and had to give up pretty near 
 all my jewellery, and now the bank with all my money 
 is busted. Did you ever see such luck? I don't 
 know where to go. I went down to Danville to my 
 aunt's, and they didn't want me there. And I don't 
 know what to do with the furniture." 
 
 "Why don't you go on living in the flat? Father 
 would never disturb^you." 
 
 "Perhaps not," returned May, sagely. "But the 
 new owner there, I didn't mean to say that, Pauline. 
 Lord knows I don't want to make you feel any worse. 
 I don't blame you, or your father, either. And that's 
 more than most people " 
 
 She bit her lip. 
 
 "You can tell it," said Pauline, drily. "A lot I 
 care what people think." Yet just that was what 
 she had been pondering all day. 
 
 "I shan't be the one to tell you," and May shook 
 her foolish head vigorously. 
 
 "Yes, you will. If anybody's been talking to you, 
 I want to know what they said." 
 
 "It was only Mr. Winchell. I happened to ride 
 out in front of him on the *L.' He said he had known 
 this was coming for a long time. He said Lakeside 
 might have had better sense than to put all its eggs 
 in one basket. And a lot of sneering things about 
 pikers getting stung by backing a wind-broken
 
 242 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 horse. There! I knew you wouldn't want to hear 
 it, Pauline." 
 
 "Goon." 
 
 May looked at her doubtfully a moment, and con- 
 tinued: 
 
 "Over at Chapman's drug store, where I dropped 
 in to get a soda, everybody was just buzzing with it. 
 I could tell that half the folks at the tables had lost 
 money. They were kidding each other about it. 
 Oh, they weren't bitter at all, Pauline. They were 
 just joking about five cents on the dollar, and how the 
 receiver would get most of it anyhow." 
 
 "The receiver! They'll get fooled. Father says 
 he can open the banks again in a week." 
 
 "Will he?" cried May. "Oh, that's good! And 
 you'll see I get my money when he reopens, won't 
 you? I guess that'll be good news for lots of people. 
 When I came away from the bank this morning 
 there were two women just ahead of me crying and 
 taking on something awful. You see it hits different 
 people different ways. And oh, Pauline, I'll bet 
 your poor Aunt Pringle will feel it. Such a dear old 
 lady! Didn't you tell me once she invested every- 
 thing with your father? And what about your uncle 
 and his wife? My dear, when you come to think "of 
 it, how dreadful it is for everybody! Do you expect 
 to go on living here? Now, I suppose I shouldn't 
 have said that, either. I'm an awfully poor com- 
 forter. It's my own troubles makes me dwell on 
 such things. That reminds me: I never paid for 
 that soup."
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 243 
 
 "It's a trifle," said Pauline, sighing. 
 
 "Perhaps they won't charge it against me, be- 
 cause your father, in a way, owes me a lot more than 
 that." 
 
 "Father doesn't control the cafe," replied Pauline, 
 listlessly. "Another man runs it." 
 
 The visitor started to open her bag, as though to 
 see if it contained the price of the soup, but changed 
 her mind. 
 
 "As you say, it's a trifle," she decided. "I guess 
 they won't bother a poor widow woman. Oh, my 
 Lord ! The worst of it is, if I happen to pass him on 
 the street " 
 
 She rattled on about her sorrows until the doorbell 
 rang. Pauline's maid, who had been given leave of 
 absence for the day, but had now returned, went to 
 the door. In a moment she came in, looking 
 stealthy. She whispered in Pauline's ear. 
 
 "Would you believe it," said Pauline to May, "I 
 forgot to pay for my dinner. " Tell him," she said to 
 the maid, "I'll send down the money to-morrow." 
 
 The girl went out, and soon reappeared. 
 
 "He wants to see you, ma'am." 
 
 "The nerve!" exclaimed Pauline, rising. She 
 noted a quizzical look on May's face, and suddenly 
 flushed angrily. It took her only a second to flounce 
 into the hall, and in a few seconds more she came 
 back, with her flush angrier than ever. 
 
 "Did you give it to him?" inquired May. 
 
 "Give it to him!" 
 
 "I mean, did you tell him where he got off?" 
 s
 
 244 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 There was more than indifferent curiosity in the 
 question, and Pauline made no answer to it. She 
 knew by May's manner that it would be known 
 throughout Lakeside in a few hours that the daughter 
 of Barton Fanning had been dunned for a 60-cent 
 dinner in Barton Fanning's own Fannington. 
 
 Worse ordeals lay before Pauline Happerth, but 
 they did not develop that evening, nor the next day. 
 On that Tuesday she decided she had been foolish 
 to shut herself up, so she went abroad, clad with 
 defiant luxuriousness and forcing a smiling face. 
 People whom she met greeted her with scarcely 
 perceptible coldness. They were still uncertain, so 
 far, whether "old Fanning would come back," or 
 "stay dead,'* and they tried to temper their greet- 
 ings to either possibility. Besides these mere ac- 
 quaintances Pauline met some real friends. Among 
 them was Fred Ames' mother, whom Pauline en- 
 countered at the Bon-Ton millinery shop, and who 
 said, with the wistful smile that matched her placid 
 gray hair, "It'll all come right, dear. Your father is 
 too good a churchman not to do the very best he can 
 for all of us." This was a really brave thing for Mrs. 
 Ames to say, as she had $1,500 in the Fanning Trust. 
 
 And then there was Aunt Augustine, who had had 
 Very little to contribute to the family conferences, 
 but who now rose up nobly to comfort them all. 
 She met Pauline on Wilson Avenue, and walked 
 part of the way home with her. She said it wouldn't 
 matter if they all were poor, providing everybody's 
 honour was untouched. "And I'm sure, Pauline,
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 245 
 
 that when everything is known your f ather's reputa- 
 tion will come out unscathed." 
 
 "Of course," rejoined Pauline. She wondered 
 why Aunt Augustine should talk about that at all. 
 
 Later in the day, impelled by a curiosity quite too 
 strong for her, she strolled westward into the region 
 where the bank was, and walked by on the other side 
 of the street. It might have been better if she had 
 not done this. The sight of the drawn shades on the 
 building, that ominous white sign on the door, and 
 the glaring irony of the bronze lettering "Bring your 
 valuables to the safest vaults in the 'city," shook her 
 somehow. Besides, there were still people prowling 
 by, and they looked at the bank, and nudged each 
 other, and laughed. And a little boy had the effront- 
 ery to throw a great blob of mud against one of the 
 plate-glass windows. There was no crowd now; there 
 was no mob, as she had imagined, hanging about to 
 lynch the banker; in fact, it wasn't a bit like the 
 movies, yet the whole impression she got was for- 
 lorn. 
 
 She walked back toward home, with her jaunti- 
 ness gone. 
 
 Pauline felt suddenly very young, and alone, and 
 dependent. And then it came to her, like a message 
 from her better nature, that her mother must need 
 her, and that she had not spoken to her for a day and 
 a night. She hastened her steps toward the Wilt- 
 shire. 
 
 Mrs. Fanning herself opened the door. Pauline 
 divined, without inquiry, that the two maids, not to
 
 246 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 speak of the grand but somewhat transient man- 
 servant, must have taken their leave. For the rest, 
 the apartment seemed just the same. It was in 
 perfect order, and the parrot, a recent acquisition, 
 was climbing about the wires of his cage and shouting. 
 
 Mrs. Fanning, too, was in perfect order. She 
 wore a gown with lace at the neck. Pauline recalled 
 having helped her select it, and they had argued over 
 whether the neck was cut too low. Mrs. Farming's 
 neck rose now as robust as ever, and the face above 
 was altogether composed. 
 
 They sat down opposite each other. The talk 
 was desultory. Once the telephone rang, and Mrs. 
 Fanning, returning from answering it, looked a shade 
 the worse. But she did not explain. Another time 
 she went to the door, spoke for a few minutes with 
 the caller, and again resumed her place without any 
 more definite explanation than "A man to see your 
 father." Her reticence made question after ques- 
 tion arise to Pauline's lips, but she did not utter 
 them. She was a trifle hurt and overawed. 
 
 Suddenly in burst Aunt Pringle full of eagerness 
 and scandal. The powder lay on her face in patches, 
 and her earrings jingled a louder tune than ever. 
 
 "Mary," she cried. "Is it true that man Reeker 
 is to be made receiver? It would be perfectly 
 
 "Hs-sh!" warned Mrs. Fanning. "We're not 
 talking about receivers." 
 
 " You might as well. All Lakeside is. And they've 
 left me out of that card party at the Beach. I just 
 feel like crying."
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 247 
 
 Pauline gazed at her aunt with rising sympathy. 
 It seemed too bad that this dear old profligate, 
 whom everybody loved, should suffer. 
 
 "You'll be a preferred creditor, Aunt Pringle," 
 she said. "I believe that's the word." 
 
 Aunt Pringle stared at her. 
 
 "Gracious, child," she said. "You don't suppose 
 I lost anything in money? A few hundred, that's 
 all. And I've got $10,000 of the bank's money; the 
 bank's got my note. I'm not going to starve. It's 
 having everybody turn a cold shoulder that I hate. 
 I'm going to move to California." 
 
 Mrs. Fanning looked at her curiously. 
 
 "If you have $10,000 of the bank's money you'll 
 have to turn it in," she said. 
 
 " I won't do any such thing," stormed Aunt Pringle. 
 "My lawyer says " 
 
 Mrs. Fanning leaned forward with bulging 
 eyes. 
 
 "Have you told a lawyer about it?" 
 
 "I took legal advice yes," replied the elder lady, 
 with nose in air. 
 
 "Then you did very wrong!" shouted Mrs. Fan- 
 ning, suddenly losing her self-control. 
 
 "I act as I please," replied Aunt Pringle, getting 
 up. "No, I shan't stay to dinner as I meant to. 
 And to-morrow I'll see the last of Lakeside. It's as 
 much as one's social standing is worth to be even re- 
 lated to a Fanning." 
 
 With that she departed. Her exit speech was 
 crushing, but they knew it was bunkum.
 
 248 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 A couple of hours later Pauline and her mother sat 
 over the remains of a meagre meal, bestowed care- 
 lessly upon a small part of the great round dining 
 table: scrambled eggs, cooked by Mrs. Fanning, and 
 rolls obtained at a little bakery by Pauline, and 
 what was more, borne home by her in a paper bag. 
 They ate alone, for Mr. Fanning had not returned 
 from the ceaseless investigation at the bank, and no 
 other Fannings chanced to appear. 
 
 The solitary meal, attended by the splashing of cold 
 ram on the windows f or an autumn storm foreshad- 
 owed all the afternoon had now settled down to stay 
 confirmed all of Pauline's growing fears about the 
 Fanning fortunes. Only four days had passed since 
 she first heard definitely of her father's troubles, and 
 already the servants had gone, and life partly de- 
 pendent on the delicatessen store had begun. There 
 was not even an automobile for her father to ride 
 home in. It had been " attached," Mrs. Fanning said 
 vaguely. 
 
 Pauline looked about the gold-and-white dining 
 room, and thought of that dinner so far distant, just 
 after she and Lance came back from the South: the 
 first appearance of the manservant, the talk of buy- 
 ing that mansion on the beach, her father's joy in 
 life. Lance and no war. She did not remind her 
 mother of these things. A great sympathy for her 
 mother was growing in her. It might be it might 
 be that even the Wiltshire would have to be given up. 
 Mrs. Fanning had already hinted that the Fanning- 
 ton was as good as lost, and Pauline, to whom this
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 249 
 
 revelation came only as part of an accumulation of 
 things to be borne, faced the prospect stolidly. 
 
 She sympathized with her mother; she loved her 
 mother. All their differences and quarrels were for- 
 gotten in this hour, as they sat munching bakery 
 rolls on a tiny area of the big table, under the light of 
 a single electric globe. 
 
 Mrs. Fanning betrayed no consciousness of the 
 rain nor of forlornness; but she was very thoughtful. 
 Her face had been perhaps a shade more troubled 
 since Aunt Pringle's outburst. It even looked 
 pinched. But Pauline hesitated to learn the reason. 
 There might be worse things to be told than had been 
 told already. Pauline shrank from hearing any more. 
 Good Lord, how could there be more? 
 
 They cleared away the dishes, washed and wiped 
 them. There was a sort of quaintness about this 
 that almost gave Pauline a feeling of pleasure. It 
 was like being a little girl again, living in the old 
 brick house that was torn down years ago. And it 
 was like being a little girl to be shown to bed by her 
 mother (for it was useless to think of returning to the 
 Fannington for the night in that storm) except that 
 the brass bed and mahogany furniture was not the 
 kind little girls use. She left the door of her bed- 
 room open, and lay awake, listening to the rustle of 
 her mother's newspaper in the drawing room, and 
 hearing the rain play monotonous tunes in the drain 
 pipes. She recalled her life in this same apartment, 
 the entertainments she had given, the tempestuous 
 times over Tom; then her meeting with Lance, her
 
 250 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 wedding how vividly she remembered every detail 
 of that afternoon then her reign as queen of the 
 Fannington. It was like the developing action of a 
 play, each scene more gorgeous and fascinating than 
 its predecessor. And it had ended like the fading of 
 footlights. 
 
 The "crowd" had gone; Lance had gone; life in the 
 Fannington would never again be lived. 
 
 A fragment of one of Uncle Augustine's sermons, 
 a sermon he had preached when he was trying to warn 
 Lakeside of its follies, floated into her mind. It was 
 a commonplace theme, but worth remembering now. 
 Briefly, the burden of it was that people mostly got 
 what they deserved. 
 
 But she could not imagine how she, how all of 
 them, had deserved this much.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 TTN THE meantime, a very important Fanning 
 perhaps the most important of all the Fan- 
 -^ nings remained to be heard from. 
 
 When the first news came he merely laughed 
 grimly, and thought, "Humph! Got the old man at 
 last, did they?" This mood lasted about twelve 
 hours. It was succeeded by one caused by mute but 
 explicit signals of sympathy from other lieutenants. 
 This mood was an angry and contemptuous one, in 
 which Tom nearly swore outright at certain com- 
 panions who chose to regard him as heartbroken. 
 And then came the third mood, induced by these 
 words in a newspaper: "Mrs. Fanning is understood 
 to be prostrated." 
 
 It was at this point Tom decided he was needed 
 at the front. So he obtained special leave even the 
 colonel looked as though he understood the case 
 and journeyed up to the city. 
 
 He rode completely surrounded by newspapers, and 
 accumulating more as he rode. He had discovered 
 a steadily growing colour of surmise, of innuendo, in 
 the "bank failure stories," that struck through even 
 his tough and sanguine nature. There was a sug- 
 gestion, probably founded on certainty, that the 
 Fanning banks, supposedly stuffed with money, and 
 
 ^ 251
 
 252 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 with a reserve drawn from the Fanning properties as 
 a whole, were in fact mere shells. Such sentences 
 as "suffered from heavy withdrawals due to the 
 liberty loans," and "reported that the Fanning 
 enterprises have been a drain upon the banks," oc- 
 curred frequently. And the accounts of Lakeside's 
 attitude were vivid. These papers made the most 
 of the mud-throwing; both the literal bespatterment 
 by small boys, and the sort that went on in the Beach 
 Hotel, the Country Club, and other places. 
 
 Clearly a net was closing about Father Fanning. 
 The Lakeside he had helped develop into a brilliant 
 and self-sufficient community was turning on him. 
 More politely than it would have been done in one 
 of the "Dago districts," but no less cruelly, Lakeside 
 was preparing to crucify its Grand Mogul. 
 
 The latest paper Tom bought told of a hearing that 
 afternoon before a master in chancery. "Astound- 
 ing revelations predicted." 
 
 "Curse the reporters," exclaimed Tom. He wad- 
 ded up the newspaper, threw it into a corner, and lit 
 a defiant cigarette. 
 
 He reached the city a little after two, lunched 
 hastily, and sought out the master in chancery's 
 court. Tom had no plan. The idea "offer my ser- 
 vices" brooded in his mind half sardonically. And 
 he thought he might somehow "see the old man 
 through." He was a partisan of his father's, now 
 that .everyone else was against him. Pauline in her 
 seclusion, Tom in his bold descent upon the court, 
 had an idea in common at last. They were anxious
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 253 
 
 to see Father Fanning get a square deal; and fearful 
 that he wouldn't. 
 
 Arrived at the right room in the Caledonian Build- 
 ing, Tom found himself in a chamber with people 
 roosting on window-sills and packed three deep along 
 the walls. There was a long table at one end, where 
 two stenographers bent desperately over their note- 
 books. Tom's entrance made no commotion, though 
 one or two people glanced at the man in the huge 
 military overcoat, and glanced away again. He 
 flattened himself into the only remaining wall space, 
 and took his bearings. 
 
 It was a Lakeside crowd, clearly enough. In the 
 main they were strangers to Tom, but he recognized 
 a few of them: A druggist and a grocer whom he had 
 known before their hair was gray; the watchman at 
 the Fanning Trust; the carriage-starter at the Beach. 
 None of Tom's family was visible. The chairs were 
 occupied for the most part by women; women of the 
 sort that made Lakeside famous and made pocket- 
 books flat. They were gloating over the testimony 
 as though it were a murder trial. And they darted 
 venomous looks at the back of Barton Farming's 
 head. 
 
 A drily smiling person with horn-rimmed spectacles 
 was giving very dry testimony, while the pink- 
 cheeked master alternately studied his fingernails 
 and eyed the women of Lakeside. Now and then 
 Farming's wiry little lawyer would leap to his feet, 
 snap a few words, and subside. Neither testimony 
 nor objections were intelligible to Tom. He stood
 
 254 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 shifting from one foot to the other for fully twenty 
 minutes, and began to doubt the wisdom of having 
 come. 
 
 Then in a twinkling all this was forgotten. A 
 young woman in a plain brown coat, with a blue 
 feather in her hat, had risen, and was edging toward 
 the door. In the crowd she failed to notice Tom. 
 He almost lost her. Then, to the great distress of 
 the people wedged beside the door, he smashed 
 through, and caught up to the fugitive in the hall. 
 
 He said: "Miss Stone, I " 
 
 She stopped. Her gray eyes flashed delightedly 
 for an instant; then she became very composed. Her 
 lips opened, but he could not hear what she said. 
 
 "Where are you going?" he demanded anxiously 
 rather than peremptorily. 
 
 "Anywhere away from there," replied Ann. "I 
 couldn't stand it any longer. I was supposed to 
 stay there, but I didn't." 
 
 "Did you lose money in the bank?" 
 
 "I hadn't any to lose," she answered, with a faint 
 smile. "I'd almost rather have it that way than be 
 what I am supposed to be a witness." 
 
 "A witness!" 
 
 (What legal monstrosity was this?) 
 
 "They've summoned everybody who ever worked 
 for the bank, it seems," she explained, drearily. 
 
 Tom looked at her with great intensity. He re- 
 membered now that she had spent all those evenings 
 alone with the bank records. She might know more 
 than any one thought; more than she herself dreamed.
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 255 
 
 It would be pretty rough If it were she who, in the 
 hands of clever examiners, disclosed something or 
 other that gave his father his final kick downward. 
 Yet no one could blame her if she found a certain 
 pleasure in doing so. The Grand Mogul hadn't 
 treated her very well, after all. 
 
 But the worst of it was that she would be in the 
 opposite camp from himself, Tom; from himself, 
 who was becoming every minute a warmer partisan 
 of his father's against all those wolves. Could she 
 be as much his friend, under those circumstances? 
 Hardly. And he wanted her not only to be as much 
 a friend as now, but more oh, very much more. 
 
 His face tied itself into knots as he looked at her. 
 
 "Are you in a hurry?" he begged. And without 
 waiting for her answer he drew her to the end of the 
 corridor, where there was a big window overlooking a 
 landscape of tall buildings, smoking chimneys, water 
 tanks; and beyond, a narrow view of the lake, of dim, 
 slender piers and idle ships. 
 
 They stood together, looking out on this scene, so 
 symbolic of the complexities, the huge, harsh proc- 
 esses of city life. And they both felt that they would 
 gladly escape from all this to some place without sky- 
 scrapers, and enmities, and deadly ambitions. If 
 they could but leap off that high window-sill together, 
 and float on beyond the roof-tops to peace! 
 
 But all Tom said was, "Well, do you like the idea 
 of being a witness?" 
 
 "I thought I told you I hate it!" 
 
 He almost broke out: "Then why be one?" but he
 
 256 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 remembered in time that this would be in the worst 
 of taste, and perhaps even illegal. 
 
 "It isn't as if I knew anything," she went on. 
 "What could I know, when all I did was check up 
 lists?" 
 
 "You can't tell," he said, gravely. "I don't know 
 myself just what father did with the banks; whether 
 all that newspaper stuff is true. But it's easy to 
 twist a little thing, and make it look black; and it 
 seems there are about seventy-six lawyers ready to 
 do the twisting. Once a man's credit is gone 
 he completed the sentence with a gesture. 
 
 He could see only her profile, but it looked wistful 
 and anxious. 
 
 "And you," she said, softly. "How will it affect 
 you? You have ambitions, too, I suppose." 
 
 Tom laughed with a sort of contempt. 
 
 "Thank the Lord, my line isn't the kind to be hurt 
 by it. I'm well out of all this civilian muddle. 
 Much bigger game I'm in. You don't know what a 
 relief it is, Ann I say, that slipped out. I've got 
 certain things to do, both here and when I when we 
 get across. And so long as I do what I'm told, and 
 do it with all the pluck I've got, I make good auto- 
 matically, don't you see? That's the satisfaction 
 of being in the army. Don't have to bother about 
 all the measly little cheap twists and turns of life 
 around here. I don't express it very well, but 
 
 "I understand you," she said. 
 
 There was a comfortable silence, while the delight 
 of being understood sank into Tom. Then Ann said:
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 257 
 
 "I'm so sorry for your sister; yes, for all of them." 
 "Why?" he demanded, compelling her to look at 
 him. "They never treated you decently, not by 
 half." 
 
 "Well, that wasn't their fault, either," she replied. 
 "Anyhow, as you say, your father is down now where 
 every enemy he's made has him at his mercy. I'll 
 not be one to make it any harder for him, Mr. Fan- 
 ning; that I'll promise." 
 
 Tom's face grew suddenly red with the effort of 
 something he was about to say. He loosened the 
 tall collar of his coat. 
 
 "Is it tell me, Ann," he said, moving closer to 
 her, "is it altogether father you want to be good to? 
 Isn't it- 
 She darted a startled look at him, and drew away. 
 "Wait a minute," he urged, feeling clumsier than 
 on his first day in the "awkward squad," "I want 
 to know if it isn't just a little on my account that you 
 feel sorry, and all that? It won't hurt you to tell 
 me." 
 
 The pause that followed seemed to both of them 
 hours long, and breathless. Then Ann said, without 
 meeting his eye, "You know it is." And her voice 
 caught a little on the last word; and she fled down 
 the hall, leaving him there by the window. 
 
 Returning to the court, with the blood fading from 
 his cheeks, Tom discovered a new witness on the 
 stand. It was a pale young man, with reddish eye- 
 lids, and a way of holding his head forward, as though
 
 258 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 his neck was too weak to support it. But he faced 
 the master boldly, and was giving his testimony 
 with a certain air of relish. 
 
 Clearly this was a very important witness. The 
 crowd was drinking in every word. And Barton 
 Fanning had lifted his head, and was staring at the 
 pale young man with a kind of horror. 
 
 "Mr. Reeker," came the cool voice of the master, 
 "when did you first discover the withdrawals of 
 which you speak?" 
 
 The room waited. 
 
 "When I first became manager," said Reeker. 
 "Almost the first thing I found out was the way the 
 funds were being misapplied." 
 
 He gave a furtive look in the direction of Fanning. 
 
 "Then why did you not inform the authorities?" 
 
 A long pause. 
 
 "I wished to obtain further evidence to be 
 sure " 
 
 The master leaned toward him. 
 
 " Did you not realize you were indirectly guilty of 
 those practises, in countenancing them?" 
 
 Reeker evidently was prepared for this. 
 
 "I protested," he said. "I was not responsible. 
 I protested to my superior, but it" he relapsed, in 
 his excitement, into the grammar natural to him 
 "it didn't do no good." 
 
 Barton Fanning half rose from his seat, and said 
 hoarsely, "That is a lie." 
 
 The master frowned and crushed Father Fanning 
 with a gesture. The examination continued. Tom
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 259 
 
 could not make head nor tail of it, except that this 
 dishrag of a chap on the stand was accusing his father 
 of something rotten. He wished he had heard the 
 first of Reeker's testimony. As it was, he could only 
 listen for the explanation. 
 
 It came presently, when the master began to delve 
 deeper. Reeker pulled out a pocketful of notes, and 
 referred to them. He glanced at Fanning again, and 
 told the rest of the story. 
 
 A black enough story it was; even Tom knew that. 
 He did not fathom the technique, but the main facts he 
 could not miss. Barton Fanning had used his banks, 
 used the money given him in trust, to build up his 
 private deals. He had taken deposits here the 
 testimony became very technical, and figures flew 
 about in blinding clusters and flung these thousands 
 headlong into his real-estate speculations. The "big 
 deal" with Ulrica had robbed the Fanning Trust of a 
 shade less than a hundred thousand. That was only 
 a sample. The burning of the Elsinore Manor, for 
 instance, had not meant money out of Fanning's 
 pocket. He had reimbursed himself from the savings 
 of people like Mme. Dolly, who now sat glaring bale- 
 fully at her former banker and friend. 
 
 "These er withdrawals in what way were they 
 concealed?" inquired the master. He appeared to 
 presuppose the answer, and stared out of the window 
 while it was given. 
 
 "By notes," answered Reeker, glibly. 
 
 "Notes given by whom?" 
 
 The witness grinned. He glanced over the crowd,
 
 260 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 and looked disappointed to find none of the family 
 there. 
 
 "There was one loan to Rev. Augustine Fanning 
 $5,000," he testified, without referring to his notes. 
 "Another of $10,000 to Mrs. J. S. Pringle." 
 
 He continued down the list. Chapman, the drug- 
 gist, even the janitor of the Little Stone Church, gave 
 notes. Fanning loaned to anybody and everybody. 
 The bank was stuffed with these things; and the wit- 
 ness thought he could not be sure, he only surmised, 
 with the accent on the wrong syllable that Fanning's 
 idea was to call in this money at the opportune mo- 
 ment and make good on what he himself "borrowed." 
 "Take, for instance, the case of the loan to Mrs. Pau- 
 line Happerth ' 
 
 There was a squeak from Tom's corner. He had 
 accidentally jabbed his elbow in someone's ribs. 
 
 Mrs. Pauline Happerth, testified Reeker, had given 
 her note in the sum of $40,000. There was a very 
 interesting story in this, if the court cared to hear it. 
 
 But the court, in a dry way, checked Mr. Reeker 
 right in the middle of an eager sentence, and re- 
 marked, "You can tell that to the grand jury." The 
 court had observed that the crowd was becoming too 
 excited, the air too close. He was a fastidious^as- 
 ter in chancery, and a nervous one. He disliked 
 the idea of a "scene." And Father Fanning looked 
 as though he were about to make one. So court was 
 adjourned until the following morning. Just one 
 more question was put, this time by Fanning's law- 
 yer. It was "You understood, did you not, Mr.
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 261 
 
 Reeker, that Mr. Fanning's disposal of the bank 
 monies was made with a view to the development of 
 Lakeside? That his whole soul was centred on its 
 welfare? That without him " 
 
 "Object," said the lawyer for a creditor; and there 
 was no answer. But the crowd, as it filed out and 
 streamed down the hall, answered for itself. 
 
 "Did you hear what the little lawyer tried to put 
 over?" 
 
 "Clever, wasn't it?" 
 
 "Old Fanning put him up to it. Just like the 
 darned old " 
 
 "To pretend he did it for us!" 
 
 "And me saving up for that set of furs at " 
 
 The murmurs died away with the clack of Lake- 
 side's high heels. Tom scarcely heard them. He 
 was waiting at the threshold for a certain person to 
 emerge. This person, after the crowd had quite 
 disappeared, at length came sauntering out, looking 
 pleased with himself. Tom let him pass, and then, 
 when he had almost reached the elevator, hurried 
 after him and tapped him on the shoulder. 
 
 Reeker started, and turned about. 
 
 "I say," said Tom, settling his round cap firmly on 
 his yellow pate. "I listened to all you said in there. 
 It was clever. But I'm the son of the man you told 
 it of, and I just want to tell you, you lied." 
 
 Reeker stepped back to the wall. He was pale, 
 but stood his ground. 
 
 "Figures don't lie," he replied. 
 
 "You twisted 'em so they did," insisted Tom. "I
 
 262 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 don't care what you said, or what the figures said 
 I don't know a cuss about figures anyhow- you lied. 
 That's all." 
 
 The former agent started to walk on. 
 
 "You'll find it borne out when the grand jury gets 
 busy." 
 
 Tom grabbed him and swung him about. 
 
 "You'll get him," he said. "I don't doubt, be- 
 tween you and the other liars, and the slimy lawyers, 
 you'll get him. But you're a pack of crooks, and 
 ingrates, and liars. The lot of you." 
 
 "Is that all you've got to say?" sneered Reeker. 
 He had decided this military person was harmless, 
 after all. 
 
 " Not quite all," remarked Tom, coolly. He pushed 
 Reeker against the wall with one hand, and with the 
 other slapped him savagely across the face. 
 
 "That's one remark," he said, "and here's an- 
 other " and he slapped Reeker 's face again 
 
 with such violence as to bump his head against the 
 wall. 
 
 The agent covered his streaked countenance with 
 his elbows and shrank back. 
 
 "You murderer " he began. 
 
 Tom, with blazing eyes, took another step toward 
 him. But just then a descending elevator stopped at 
 the floor, and Reeker escaped in it. 
 
 "The slimy snake," thought Tom, rubbing his 
 hands together as though to cleanse them. He was 
 not entirely proud of his deed, now it was done; not 
 sure he had been right. But something had to be
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 263 
 
 done. And since punching the leading witness was 
 all that had offered itself, he had punched him. 
 
 He returned to the court to have a word with his 
 father and find out if his mother was prostrated, 
 as reported. Barton Fanning still sat at the table, 
 while his lawyer spoke eagerly in his ear. The mas- 
 ter was stuffing papers into a leather bag, and smok- 
 ing a cigarette. 
 
 The fallen banker looked up when his tall son ap- 
 proached; looked up with eyes that wondered and 
 wavered. 
 
 "Father," said Tom, "I've come back, so to speak. 
 I'll forget our old quarrels if you will. I'm on your 
 side. What can I do?" 
 
 For an instant Fanning drew himself up haughtily; 
 then he suddenly collapsed forward on the table, 
 with his face buried in his arms. His shoulders 
 shook. No one spoke in the darkening room for a 
 full minute. Then the little lawyer said: 
 
 "Let him alone, young man, is my advice. You 
 can't do anything. It isn't a very good time for 
 er family reunions."
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE lawyer was right, as it took little further 
 investigation on Tom's part to prove. Hi.s 
 mother was not prostrated; not enough, any- 
 how, to be different. He sat in her drawing room for 
 ten minutes, fidgeting before her, and was relieved 
 to take his red and swollen presence out of that aus- 
 tere atmosphere. Pauline was defiant. She scoffed 
 at legal process, and stuck out her tongue at him 
 when he asked about the $40,000 note. 
 
 He returned gladly to camp, where life was simple. 
 
 It seemed unnecessary to complicate it by con- 
 ferring with Lance. Even if Lance had any practi- 
 cal value in the world, which he doubted, they two 
 together could not help the self-reliant Farmings. 
 Nor did Tom feel that Lance could elucidate for him 
 the mysteries of banking those notes, for instance 
 as so expertly unveiled in the courtroom. His 
 instinct was correct. Lance had read about the 
 notes, and had understood scarcely anything he read. 
 The papers implied that the revelations were shock- 
 ing. Lance supposed they were. But as regards the 
 really shocking part, the effect of that note-juggling 
 on his own fate, he could get no light from the papers, 
 for they were, happily, in ignorance of all that. 
 
 The more he read and pondered, the more he was 
 
 264
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 265 
 
 led to conclude that Pauline had only submitted to 
 the inevitable; the inevitable as established by Fan- 
 ning hocus-pocus. Keeping the secret well, he 
 could hardly blame her for that, either. She was a 
 Fanning subject; a helpless atom in that whirlpool 
 of intrigue and four-flushing. She had to hold her 
 tongue or be cut off from all Fanning privileges, 
 which he supposed included gifts of money. Lance 
 had the haziest idea of how she was living, except that 
 he was sure she was living "high"; entertaining lots 
 of company, and so on. 
 
 And whenever he got to that point, the hateful 
 thought of Harrold the hatefullest thing in his life, 
 the thing he had tried to forget, and couldn't 
 came up and smote him until he swore he would for- 
 get Pauline. He would never write to her again, 
 or think about her. 
 
 It was too dreadful to work as he was working, and 
 have a vision of Harrold, exempt, contented, smug, 
 tripping about Lakeside in his fancy-collared over- 
 coat, making love to soldiers' wives ! 
 
 When the cold weather came on, he reached an- 
 other kind of crisis in his experience. His spiritual 
 troubles passed to the rear when it came to enduring 
 army life in winter. Morning after morning he had 
 to rise and dress in a room through which the wind 
 had shrieked all night. His bare feet on a floor 
 powdered with snow Lord! 
 
 He had always hated the cold; wasn't built for it. 
 Did they take no account of the way a fellow was 
 made? His grumblings over the new grievance rose
 
 266 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 louder than any he hitherto had made. They came to 
 the ears of Christensen, who directed three huskies to 
 take Lance out and roll him in the snow. This they 
 did so thoroughly that his "dander rose/* as they 
 said, and he fought them like a tiger, coming in with 
 a black eye, but with his circulation improved. 
 
 At evening mess Morin noticed his swollen eye, 
 and made inquiries about it. Summoning Christen- 
 sen, he said, 
 
 "That'll be enough of that." 
 
 "Yes, sir," replied the sergeant, saluting. But to 
 himself he said, "Going to try petting him now, are 
 you?" 
 
 Petting was not Morin's plan at all. He picked 
 squads for "hikes," and sent Lance with them. Fre- 
 quently he led these squads himself, steaming along 
 the road for miles; and as the snow grew deeper, in 
 layers that never thawed, he plunged across country 
 up to the knees, leading a file of men whose feet be- 
 came leaden, and whose breath came in feathery 
 gasps. There was no stopping this demon Morin. 
 The first day Lance "fell out," but after that he 
 struggled on with "the bunch," and to his secret as- 
 tonishment his energy increased tenfold, and he felt 
 the cold no more. He discovered, too, how beautiful 
 the country was in winter; how it glittered, and beck- 
 oned, and arrayed itself in colours that made summer 
 seem false, that made winter-time ir the city some- 
 thing to be avoided for its boredom and unrelieved 
 chill. 
 
 Then came snow-shovelling parties, and sentry
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 267 
 
 duty in a zero temperature. Lance almost revelled 
 in the snow shovelling. The night duty he endured, 
 imagining himself, like any schoolboy, a Jack Lon- 
 don character sticking it out in an Alaskan pass. 
 He came into the barracks with frost-bitten fingers, 
 and had the honour of being treated by Morin him- 
 self. 
 
 What time had he now to muse upon his Lakeside 
 troubles? He was altogether occupied with animal 
 living. He had become absorbed in a world of men, 
 who slept, ate, and worked by system, and whose 
 toughened minds were insensible to the little shocks 
 of civilian relations. They had news from home of 
 sick wives, of new babies, of great good luck and great 
 bad luck, and they felt as though those things be- 
 longed to a secondary existence. They grieved 
 more over a lost pipe than they did over a departed 
 relative; they rejoiced more about a furlough to the 
 village than they did about the new babies. They 
 were gloriously irresponsible as to "things back 
 home." They were free. Lance, by degrees, got 
 into their mood. He became more like the Lance 
 he had been before the Fannington began to smother 
 him; joyous and inventive. No longer was he "the 
 grouch of Company C." He was its poet laureate; 
 a Kiplingesque poet, making great use of words like 
 " buddy " and " chow." These scrawls he would read 
 to stray groups after mess, amid appreciative howls. 
 Nor had he ever had sweeter praise. 
 
 He read in the papers that Barton Fanning was 
 placed on trial. It was all that much idle print.
 
 268 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 But still there were occasions when he thought 
 about Pauline in spite of himself. Her face some- 
 times protruded from his memories of that outgrown 
 life in Lakeside, as distinct as a photograph. And 
 there were evenings when he and his pals would be 
 loafing in the Y. M. C. A. rooms, and they would 
 be sprawled over desks, making tracks with stubby 
 pencils, while he would sit empty-handed. 
 
 Among his friends was a curly-headed yokel who, 
 one such night, looked at Lance over the envelope he 
 was licking, and said, "I say, Happerth, you ain't 
 married?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," smiled Lance, with perfect ease. 
 
 " You be? " exclaimed the fellow. " Well I never 
 see you writin' " 
 
 And he became tongue-tied. 
 
 But later he became as distinctly confidential. 
 
 "You wouldn't ever 'a' thought I was married, 
 maybe," he began. "Fact is, we've been on and off 
 I don't know as you'd understand." 
 
 "On and off? I understand, of course." 
 
 "It was like this. I live down Peoria way. Our 
 town isn't much. Neither was I. When I was nine- 
 teen, brakeman on the Rock Island, I meets a farm- 
 er's daughter named Clara. We got married. ^Skip- 
 ped to the next town, of course. All well an' good. 
 Well, I'm drafted see? And Clara, she says to 
 herself (she didn't say nothin' to me), 'I guess you're 
 as good as dead' meanin' yours truly. Anyhow, 
 she took up with another chap, a clerk in a store. I 
 guess she married him at that."
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 269 
 
 "Why, how could she?" put in Lance, somewhat 
 astounded. 
 
 "Oh, marryin' ain't nothin' down our way," said 
 Barker. ("Just Barker is my name," he had told 
 the receiving officers.) "The country ain't like 
 what you think it is, you bein' a city man. Well, 
 here's the rest of it. Last month I went back to show 
 off my uniform. Say, the town goes wild. You'd 
 'a' thought I was Gen. Jeffrey or somebody. They 
 rode me to the hotel in a hack, and give me a chicken 
 dinner you see, I was the only soldier from there 
 an* stuck cigars in all my pockets. An' Clara 
 
 He rocked with laughter. 
 
 "Welcomed you back?" 
 
 "She reg'lar hung on my arm th' whole time. 
 Nothin' too good for me. Mr. Clerk, he sort o* 
 hung about when he didn't think I was lookin'. 
 Figured I'd shoot him, I guess. 'Fore my leave was 
 up he blew. An' so me and Clara is all right again." 
 
 He waved his letter in the air, and eyed Lance 
 roguishly. 
 
 "Makes a sight o' difference bein' a soldier, don't 
 it?" he suggested. 
 
 "In some parts of the world," Lance replied, stroll- 
 ing out into the frosty night. 
 
 Among simple people like that well, matters set- 
 tled themselves. He determined never to return to 
 Lakeside. 
 
 Christmas drew near, and with it the excitements 
 of anticipated furloughs, and the stirrings of accus-
 
 270 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 tomed emotion arid more vivid thoughts of home. 
 Lance had always hated Christmas, both as a season 
 and as a symbol. He hated it now, for another rea- 
 son, because it gave him an unreasonable and shame- 
 ful sense of loneliness. 
 
 So leaden was his spirit that when, on one of those 
 December days, he found his name on the bulletin 
 board among those advanced to "non-com." rank, the 
 news brought little thrill. If he had been going home, 
 to dash into the old flat with such tidings for Pauline, 
 he would have been excited enough. But as it was, 
 the promotion brought him only the dubious and 
 ironic pleasure of passing on other men's requests for 
 leave. 
 
 After he had handed out nearly a hundred such 
 passes, the week before Christmas, his captain asked 
 him, 
 
 "Aren't you going home? Haven't you any 
 friends or family?" 
 
 The question was not altogether straightforward, 
 for the captain read the papers, and he had followed 
 the stories of Barton Fanning's trial. But he wanted 
 to get at the trouble that plainly embittered the 
 young "non-com's" days. 
 
 Lance replied merely, "If it's all the same to'you, 
 I'll stay here." 
 
 The captain shrugged his shoulders, but his gaze 
 followed Lance from the room with a touch of sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 So Christmas Day came on, attended by howling 
 winds, by zero temperature, and snowdrifts twelve
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 271 
 
 feet deep. Lance employed his leisure in defying the 
 weather by long walks. He wandered to the "Five 
 Points" centre of the camp to watch the preparations 
 for a huge Christmas tree given to the men by some- 
 one few of the men knew by whom. He saw the 
 tree grow from a number of small firs into a monster 
 a hundred feet tall. He read in the village paper and 
 in city papers that the Red Cross and the Y. M. C. A. 
 were arranging gifts and a programme. In adjoining 
 columns were the long streams of court dialogue de- 
 rived from the Fanning trial. The local event was 
 much more vivid to him. Even when he read of 
 Aunt Pringle, of the church janitor, especially of Ann 
 Stone taking the witness stand, those old acquaint- 
 ances seemed far away, puppet-like. In vain he 
 tried to grasp what the lawyers sought to learn from 
 Ann. He gathered that she told them little. "How 
 could she know anything? " he scoffed. And he read 
 that Barton Fanning "kept his nerve." In inter- 
 views the banker said, "My acquittal is assured." 
 Lance flung the paper from him. 
 
 Came Christmas Day at last. His comrades, 
 after morning inspection, marched off to the village 
 with eager strides, leaving him almost solitary. 
 Even Morin had an invitation to the city. Lance 
 passed the time somehow until evening, then joined 
 the closely packed crowd, huddled in olive-drab 
 overcoats, who stood about the little platform under 
 the tree. 
 
 With the first early dusk, the flood lights that en- 
 circled the giant fir were turned on, and with its
 
 272 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 twinkling jewels, glassed birds, and the light snow 
 that hung on its branches, the tree stood out in the 
 blackness, beautiful. 
 
 Lance, to keep warm, strolled about. The men he 
 found himself with were of another regiment, the 
 engineers, and he was lonely; lonely as only a soldier 
 can be who is not with his own "outfit." But pres- 
 ently the major-general commanding the division, a 
 gray-moustached dignitary whom Lance had seen 
 only once or twice before, walked up to the plat- 
 form with his staff and a group of civilians, both men 
 and women. A local politician made a speech that 
 was mostly lost upon the shivering crowd. A woman 
 stepped forward and announced that the gifts would 
 be distributed "soon." Then came a pause. The 
 general fidgeted, and twisted his moustache. 
 
 Suddenly, from behind the platform, came a chord 
 on a piano. It tinkled into the nigh t startlingly clear ; 
 a complete surprise. Another moment, and a tenor 
 voice leaped out to join the piano: 
 
 "Oh, holy night, the stars were brightly shining. 
 It was the night of our dear Saviour's birth." 
 
 With the first notes, Lance felt a tingling of the 
 spine. He knew that voice. 
 
 "That's Fred Ames, or I'm an idiot," he muttered. 
 
 He walked about the platform and brought the 
 piano into view. It was Fred Ames, sure enough. 
 He stood there slim and overcoated, pouring out 
 those liquid tones. Lance was so near he could see 
 the veins in the singer's temples swell, his deepset eyes
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 273 
 
 search the crowd and the starry dark beyond, as he 
 sang. 
 
 When he had finished there was a thunder of hand- 
 clapping. Cheers. Fred merely smiled. But a 
 muffled figure at the piano rose and, with a bow, 
 responded for both. He turned his face in Lance's 
 direction. His white teeth gleamed. 
 
 There could be no mistake. It was Harrold. 
 
 Lance remained where he was standing. The 
 discovery dazzled him. Harrold here! Well, how 
 did they "get him " ? Lance was conscious of a troop 
 of questions shrieking for answer. How did he get 
 here? What "outfit" was he with? How was he 
 "taking it"? And what would happen when they 
 met? 
 
 For an instant he was tempted to rush up to the 
 piano and confront his enemy. But women in furs 
 were crowding up to the performers, and thanking 
 them; while out in front the presents were being given 
 out, amid much laughter. 
 
 His next instinct was to get away. He was edging 
 into the crowd when Fred saw him. Breaking away 
 from his admirers the singer made his way through, 
 and took Lance by the elbow. 
 
 "Old chap, have you heard?" he inquired. 
 
 Lance turned, with a blank face. 
 
 "I've seen," he said. 
 
 "I don't know what you mean. My mother wrote 
 me. The verdict was brought in last night." 
 
 By his look, it was not the sort of verdict the Fan- 
 ning contingent had been led to hope for.
 
 274 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 "You needn't look so sympathetic," said Lance. 
 "I don't care three hoots in Hootville what they did 
 to the old scamoucher." 
 
 "It was guilty. It means the pen. The jury sat 
 all night." 
 
 Lance made no response. 
 
 " Tell me, if you know; how did that yellow-hearted 
 slacker that " 
 
 Fred stared. 
 
 "Harrold?" he returned, following Lance's fas- 
 cinated stare toward the tree. "He was sent down 
 here three weeks ago. He had fought the divorce to 
 a standstill, only to find that it made no difference 
 whether he was divorced or not." 
 
 Lance cut off the explanation with a gesture. 
 
 "What have you got against him?" asked Fred. 
 "Ah, it was he who mangled your piano. I remem- 
 ber hearing about it." 
 
 Lance still stared toward the instrument, now 
 draped in tarpaulin, where Harrold was bending low 
 toward some village "flapper." 
 
 "My Lord," he muttered. "I hope we get to 
 France all of us." 
 
 And then he went away into the night. And as he 
 went, he laughed.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THAT winter brought the crucial test of Lake- 
 side's bouyancy. It saw the fulfilment of 
 some of the Rev. Augustine's prophecies. He 
 was not a mean-spirited prophet, so he did not remind 
 any one he had said "Lakeside would pay for its 
 fun.*' Nor did he ascribe the closing of Mme. 
 Dolly's, and the conversion (temporary, of course) 
 of the Dance Paradise into a warehouse, to an act of 
 Providence. Too clearly these calamities, and others 
 like them, were due to the acts of Barton Fanning, 
 and of Barton Fanning Augustine was not in the 
 least proud. 
 
 And oh, the storm in the Little Stone Church! 
 The meetings of trustees, most of them "stung." 
 The pitiful pleadings of the faithful janitor, John, 
 who even at this late day thought the pastor ought 
 to salvage some of his (John's) wrecked savings. The 
 Rev. Augustine was not so much concerned about 
 being recognized as a true prophet as he was about 
 finding another pastorate. 
 
 By degrees, however, Lakeside began to recover. 
 It was a fearfully cold and snowy winter. The vast 
 drifts that beleaguered the apartment buildings, 
 troubles about transportation, troubles about coal, 
 brought novelty if not ease. Automobiles were 
 
 275 
 
 s
 
 276 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 snowed up in garages, and this made it easy for those 
 whose cars were no longer theirs, because of the fail- 
 ure, to conceal the fact. It was difficult to get out to 
 cafes, so frugal dinners at home became the fashion. 
 Very few people moved away, not even those whom 
 the failure had sent to the loan sharks. The com- 
 munity held together, stripped of much of its pre- 
 tense, living, in fact, more normally and soberly than 
 ever before; and accumulating funds for new social 
 flights when spring should come. 
 
 The recovery began before the winter lost its grip. 
 Three delicatessen stores and a beauty parlour had 
 gone the way of Mme. Dolly's, but new ones came in 
 their stead. The Dance Paradise was reopened. 
 The Beach Hotel, whose mam dining room had been 
 sparsely filled for weeks, began to glow again. 
 
 And to the eye of Laurence Wayte, standing in the 
 Beach lobby one of those winter evenings, the spec- 
 tacle seemed as brilliant as ever. Laurence, on 
 leave from his training camp near an Ohio city where 
 the war was taken as a religion, was a bit shocked 
 at Lakeside. 
 
 Yes, Laurence Wayte was disturbed; he who had 
 once applauded giddiness, and indulged in it. He 
 had just seen a lady cross the lobby carrying a 
 poodle from whose left forepaw flashed a wrist 
 watch; and through the dining-room door he caught 
 glimpses of waiters conveying trays full of towering 
 confections, not to speak of green and yellow drinks. 
 
 "Gad!" murmured Laurence. Then someone 
 came up beside him, and he ceased to stare.
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 277 
 
 The someone was Bob Sweetling. They stood 
 looking at each other's uniforms, not being sure 
 exactly what rank those uniforms symbolized. But 
 they shook hands, and it turned out that Bob was an 
 ensign, and Laurence a partly fledged aviation lieu- 
 tenant. Having established this, they sat down in a 
 corner of the lobby where there were tables, to enjoy 
 such refreshment as the regulations permitted. 
 
 Laurence's frank scrutiny of the costumes, the 
 dancers visible through velvet curtains, and the 
 gourmandizers at their left, could not escape Bob's 
 attention. 
 
 "You feel like Original Ike from Centerville I 
 know," said Bob. "I do, too, after a few weeks 
 without liberty." 
 
 "It wasn't that. It seems kind of funny, though, 
 coming from a place like where I've been, to see just 
 as many fussy clothes as ever, to hear just as much 
 noise, nobody giving a rip 
 
 "Don't fool yourself about that," interrupted Bob. 
 "They do care. There's hardly a person here, I'll 
 bet, but has a relative in the service. And look at all 
 the uniforms. They do care. But there's different 
 ways of showing it. Lakeside powders and frivols 
 in order to forget. Good a way as any." 
 
 Laurence looked rather wistfully toward the 
 dancers. He would have danced himself, had he 
 known anybody. But every face was unfamiliar. 
 
 "How long have you been here?" inquired Bob, 
 lighting a cigarette. 
 
 "In the city? Just to-day. I'm going out to-
 
 278 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 night to Arlington Heights, where my wife is staying. 
 And the kid." His eyes brightened. 
 
 A new group of arrivals swept in at the main en- 
 trance, swathed in winter cloaks, laughing. 
 
 Laurence examined each face in vain. 
 
 "Ever see any of the old crowd?" he could not 
 forbear asking. 
 
 "Very seldom. The war smashed some of it to 
 flinders; and the Fanning failure the rest." 
 
 Laurence's face betrayed entire ignorance of the 
 Fanning failure, and much curiosity. But Bob 
 pressed on. 
 
 "It seems like all that all those old days was a 
 three-act comedy, don't it? And the curtain was 
 rung down, and the play taken off, and the props 
 sold for junk. That play'll never be put on again." 
 
 "But what about the Fanning failure?" 
 
 "You hadn't heard?" responded Bob, eagerly. 
 "Well " 
 
 And he rendered an account, sparing nothing. 
 Bob did not even know what had become of the Fan- 
 nings, except that, according to Fanny, they had 
 dropped out of sight, and nobody cared. 
 
 "It didn't take long to lose even the Grand Mogul, 
 Lakeside being what it is," he commented. I^anny 
 had intended to look up Pauline, but hadn't got 
 around to it. As for Lance, he was "safe in the 
 army." 
 
 At this point Bob caught sight of a party just en- 
 tering the hall, and his face changed. 
 
 "By George," he exclaimed. "They aren't all
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 279 
 
 dead, after all. That old lady there it's Aunt 
 Pringle. Holy smoke, she seems to have saved some- 
 thing from the wreck." 
 
 Laurence, following his glance, saw a stoutish 
 and very animated lady with gray hair, enfolded in 
 rich, bespangled garments, and carrying a cane. 
 She advanced confidently into the lobby, followed 
 by a flock of young people of both sexes. Hah 5 the 
 people in the lobby stopped talking to watch her. 
 
 Bob waited until she came quite near him, then 
 rose and stepped forward with his best "Butterfly 
 Bob'* smile. Aunt Pringle almost embraced him. 
 She screamed a welcome into his ear, and shook his 
 hands up and down. 
 
 "I knew you right away," she cried. "You're 
 the same old Bob, in spite of that neat uniform, and 
 the gold stripes. Well, how do I look? Tell me 
 that, Bob Sweetling?" 
 
 "You look miraculous," he replied, gallantly. 
 
 "Are we downhearted? No! Meet my friends." 
 
 A long string of unfamiliar names. Laurence was 
 brought up and introduced. And then Aunt Pringle 
 swept them all in to supper, which, she announced in 
 no feeble tones, was "on her." 
 
 A little later, amid the hubbub of a hundred 
 crowded tables, Bob managed to get her private ear 
 for a few minutes. His curiosity had awakened. 
 If this were the state of one Fanning, what of the 
 others? When he hinted at this, Aunt Pringle gave 
 him a rollicking wink. 
 
 "I don't go into family affairs with everybody,"
 
 280 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 said she. "But why am I here, instead of eating 
 prunes and mush in some boarding house? That's 
 what you want to know. Well the right kind of a 
 lawyer, my young friend. He pulled me out of the 
 failure, considerably to the good. And that's all 
 you need to know. It makes the Grand Mogul 
 furious, poor dear; as furious as he can get over any- 
 thing. He spends his tune over a lot of musty 
 ledgers, trying to prove he didn't fail, after all. You 
 see, he got a super I mean one of those things that 
 keeps one out of jail. He's going to appeal, he 
 says." 
 
 Out of this the picture of Barton Fanning alone 
 stood out distinctly. 
 
 "Where are er Mr. and Mrs. Fanning living 
 now?" Bob inquired, respectfully. 
 
 "With me," replied Aunt Pringle, grandly. She 
 bestowed a powdery smile upon Laurence, who sat an 
 elbow length away. 
 
 "It's rather like a melodrammer altogether. You 
 see, they always looked on me as a sort of poor rela- 
 tion. Now things are turned about. When the dust 
 cleared, and my lawyer and the receiver got through 
 rowing, hanged if I didn't find myself the owner of 
 a perfectly good flat building. Not the bestbut 
 good enough. Well, Barton and Mary, and, for that 
 matter, Pauline, were simply nowhere. Not a place 
 to lay their heads, as the proverb has it. So I set 
 aside a little apartment for them. Very nice, too. 
 Third floor, sun porch, everything quite complete. 
 They keep house there."
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 281 
 
 She paused rather abruptly. 
 
 "Jove!" muttered Bob, in appalled tones. He 
 was thinking about Pauline rather than the others. 
 
 "And Lance?" he ventured. 
 
 Aunt Pringle's face fell. 
 
 "Ah, that's sad," she said. "That's a sad case." 
 And she was evidently at the end of her confidences, 
 for she turned to her other guests, and proceeded to 
 "speed up" the supper party. 
 
 An hour or so later the sole survivors of "the 
 old crowd" fought their way down the boulevard 
 together, breasting a stiff wind. Sparks from their 
 cigarettes blew back over their shoulders. Their 
 conversation was jerky. 
 
 The darksome reference to Lance was in the 
 thoughts of both. 
 
 " He can't be dead," speculated Bob. "We'd have 
 heard." Then the thought occurred to him, "She 
 may have meant it's a shame he's in the army, when 
 under the new draft he might be safe and sound in a 
 deferred class." 
 
 Laurence delayed reply until they had reached the 
 shelter of the Idler's Club. 
 
 "Way she spoke, I thought it was a private affair. 
 Row, most likely. They all must be frightfully up- 
 set." 
 
 "You know it," replied Bob, sadly. 
 
 They pushed on in silence, muffling their ears. 
 Presently they passed the Wiltshire. Bob gave it a 
 mournful look. 
 
 "I used to go and call on Pauline in that building,
 
 282 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 long ago, before Lance came along. What if I'd 
 married her? Gee!" 
 
 The wind prevented a rejoinder. The two com- 
 panions struggled ahead, past tall and chill structures 
 whose lights made feeble contest against the gloom. 
 
 "It's not the place it was," said Laurence. "I 
 can see that. Not about here, anyhow. I wonder 
 who owns the buildings the Grand Mogul used to 
 
 own. 
 
 
 Yes; the Fannington, for instance. Ah, there 
 it is, the same old edifyce, as Roy used to call it, 
 towers and all. Adversity, a change of owners, 
 hasn't changed the towers, or the medallions. By 
 Hoke, I can almost imagine I'm coming home from a 
 dance, with Fanny hanging to my arm, and she say- 
 ing, 'I do hope the cafe is open, because I've got to 
 have some French pastry and chocolate." 
 
 "All the lights going, same as ever," contributed 
 Laurence. 
 
 In a moment they passed the huge apartment 
 building, glancing curiously into the empty marble 
 lobby. They noted a sign "Cafe closed." Other- 
 wise the place seemed unchanged. Turning into 
 Westmont Avenue, with "eyes left," they almost ran 
 into a couple walking slowly and uncertainly aEead 
 of them, a tallish young woman in a rough brown 
 coat, and a man who appeared aged and forlorn. 
 Their features could not be seen in the darkness. 
 The sailor and the aviator swung around past them 
 in rapid strides, and gave them no thought. 
 
 But as they were almost beyond earshot, the war-
 
 riors heard a voice raised in remonstrance. It was 
 the young woman's voice, as she steered her com- 
 panion into the entrance of a building Bob and 
 Laurence had just passed. 
 
 "You mustn't do that again, father," said the 
 voice. "It's too much trouble running after you 
 every time " 
 
 The door closed. 
 
 Bob ran back and peeped through the glass. Im- 
 mediately he rejoined Laurence, and spoke breath- 
 lessly: 
 
 "It was Pauline," he said. "That was Pauline 
 Happerth and her busted father. Pauline, queen of 
 the Fannington. And now, by the great thunderin' 
 Buddha, she's living in the Fannington Annex." 
 
 Pauline, unconscious of having elicited this hor- 
 rified outburst, escorted her father heavily up the 
 two flights of stairs, and landed him safely in the 
 living room of their flat. She helped him take off his 
 heavy wrappings, from which he emerged querulous 
 and blue-nosed, and said over her shoulder to her 
 mother: 
 
 "He had only gone about a block." 
 
 Father Fanning broke out with: "It's all stuff and 
 nonsense. To say I shan't walk about " 
 
 "Never mind," said Mrs. Fanning. "Here are all 
 your papers. And I've fixed the light for you." 
 
 Diverted to this, he sat down at a desk, and was 
 soon buried in documents; both those which went to 
 prove, as Aunt Pringle said, that "he hadn't failed
 
 284 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 at all," and others on which he depended to get a 
 decision from the appellate court. He was his own 
 lawyer now, all others having despaired of their 
 reward. And between drawing up a brief (an illeg- 
 ible and rambling affair in which he took pride) 
 and figuring future riches, he was quite happy. 
 
 As for Mrs. Fanning, she did the cooking in the 
 kitchenette, read considerably, and was also fairly 
 content. 
 
 Pauline alone felt an abiding sense of misery. And 
 this was not because she had gone to work downtown 
 she was employed in a rather ornamental capacity 
 in a dentist's office nor altogether because she was 
 forgotten socially, but because, with everything else, 
 Lance had gone out of her life. 
 
 Indeed it was a "sad case!" 
 
 Since the trial oh, before that, since the failure 
 itself Lance had seemed unaware of Pauline's 
 existence. For many Saturday nights she had sat 
 up expecting him to arrive for his furlough, as did 
 everybody else's husband or brother. But he did not 
 come. Worse still, he did not write to explain. 
 She well knew that soldiers were given liberty every 
 month, or oftener. Lance could not be so unlucky, 
 or so insubordinate, as to be kept in camp week-after 
 week. There was no blinking the facts any more. 
 He was through with her. 
 
 As she lay awake, listening to the discordant do- 
 mestic symphony of the Annex, she would rack her 
 memory, going over and over the disagreements of 
 their married life; the little squabbles about Harrold
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 285 
 
 and about Ann Stone. Surely there was nothing 
 there to merit this neglect. Those things seemed too 
 petty, in view of the tremendous changes since, to 
 account for it. Nor could she imagine Lance 
 "dropping" her because she now lived, with her 
 dreary and impoverished parents, "on the other side 
 of the wall." He had always been rather partial to 
 that side, she reflected. 
 
 On the whole, it seemed most probable that his 
 education as a soldier, his induction into a vast, un- 
 feeling machine, had changed him. This seemed partly 
 confirmed one week-end when she met Fred Ames, 
 and he told her that Lance was "one of the keenest 
 soldiers at camp." He had been made a sergeant, 
 said Fred, who added, "But of course you know 
 that." 
 
 Pauline nodded and smiled. The smile cost her 
 something, but it left Fred with a feeling that 
 Pauline was bearing her troubles remarkably well. 
 
 She was bearing them nobly. There was a large 
 and hitherto unused reserve of vitality in her that 
 defied depression, so far as her demeanour (in the 
 daytime, on week days) was concerned. She was a 
 trifle thinner, but this was a gain. She wore old 
 clothes skilfully altered with an air that made them 
 like new. And since she would have perished rather 
 than permit any one, even her father and mother, 
 to suspect that she was tired and sad, she contrived 
 to look invariably radiant and composed. 
 
 She went daily to work, enduring freezing "L" 
 trains, frantic cafeterias, and the unwholesome folk
 
 286 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 who thronged the dentist's waiting room, remaining 
 in every outward detail the Pauline Happerth of old. 
 But in several important respects 'she differed from 
 that young lady altogether. 
 
 After the high-tide life of the last few years, after 
 the shocks and terrors and humiliations of the 
 autumn and winter, it was as though these three 
 Fannings had come to a waiting time. They were 
 halted. And what would come of it all ? Imprisoned 
 in five rooms, without a single acquaintance near at 
 hand, visited almost never by a relative or friend, 
 they felt as though nothing would ever happen to 
 them again. Winter had cemented the lake into 
 marble; whiter had snowed in and crusted in their 
 dwelling. And it seemed as though another sort of 
 winter had encompassed their lives. To be station- 
 ary that was something Pauline had always ab- 
 horred. She abhorred it now. She endured. And 
 through a divination that had come to her these last 
 months, when she tried so to understand things, the 
 f eeling came to her that none of this could last. . . . 
 
 An evening in March. 
 
 After dinner; dinner on a small square table, under 
 a huge pinkish light that symbolized, as it were, the 
 brilliance they had known. 
 
 Pauline is eating in silence, with a newspaper by 
 her plate. Her mother complains, "You always 
 keep the paper to yourself. Is there any news in 
 it?"
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 287 
 
 "None of importance,'* replies Pauline. 
 
 "There scarcely ever is," says Father Fanning, 
 wagging his head. " There scarcely ever is." 
 
 Mrs. Fanning sighs. 
 
 "Now," suddenly declares the former banker, 
 "if I prove that Reeker " 
 
 He continues on his hobby until Pauline leaves the 
 table. 
 
 This sort of thing, day after day. 
 
 And then there is all the plaguey business of a flat 
 building. There are the odious encounters with 
 strange women on the back porch, in the laundry. 
 The visits of salespeople. Peculiarities of the agent. 
 
 Somewhere, every night, Pauline can hear through 
 her window, opening on the court, a man coughing, 
 coughing. And there is said to be a child with ty- 
 phoid in Flat 33. 
 
 One day there is a funeral. A coffin is carried with 
 difficulty down the stairs, bumping against the wall. 
 
 There is a mad musician on the fourth floor; on 
 the first floor a doctor who, it is said, vivisects guinea 
 pigs. There are several families suspiciously bril- 
 liant. 
 
 This is life "on the other side of the wall." 
 
 It either drives one mad, or it makes one patient 
 sadly patient, and capable of enduring worse. 
 There is sure to be something worse.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 PAULINE was on the way home on the ele- 
 vated, alone. 
 An evening paper lay in her lap, covered 
 with headlines about the great German drive, and 
 about the long-range gun that killed people in 
 churches. But her thoughts had gone far astray from 
 the war. She was idly watching the people in the 
 car, more especially the younger working women, 
 who knitted, or giggled, or read novels. Beside 
 them she felt old, experienced, and lonely. 
 
 Her thoughts were divided between these children 
 of the workshop or the office and the friendships she 
 had had. Also the friendship she no longer had. 
 That day she had met May Harrold, who had an- 
 nounced that the last legal evidences of her quarrel 
 with Alfred had been erased; the case dropped. 
 "Because he's in the army," said May, proudly. 
 Even May Harrold, thought Pauline bitterly, was 
 better off than she. Marcelline Meredith, hearing 
 frequently from Roy even though his letters con- 
 tained only pleas for money was better off. And 
 so was Fanny Sweetling. So was why, so was little 
 Ann Stone, no doubt, wherever she might be. 
 
 Pauline's reverie continued to dwell upon Ann 
 Stone. The last tune she had seen her was away back 
 
 288
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 289 
 
 at the trial of Barton Fanning, when Ann had made 
 a very bad witness for the prosecution. Yet Pauline 
 had chosen to pretend that Ann liked to testify, and 
 had done all the harm she could. And she had 
 snubbed her in the hall of the courthouse. She had 
 always snubbed her, for some reason. 
 
 She got off at the Lakeside station, and walked 
 swiftly the few blocks home. She usually walked 
 home swiftly, yet ahead of her always raced her 
 premonitions of what might have happened. For 
 she had felt of late that, with both her father and 
 her mother, matters were coming to a crisis. 
 
 This time nothing had happened except callers. 
 Mrs. Fanning met Pauline at the door, and told her 
 in a whisper. The callers were inside. They had 
 come to look at the flat. 
 
 "To look at the flat!" Pauline repeated, hotly. 
 
 But before she had time to develop the suspicion 
 that Aunt Pringle meant to "bounce" them, she 
 found herself facing a familiar figure. 
 
 It was Ann Stone, who had risen to meet her, and 
 looked amiable and unobtrusive. 
 
 "I don't wonder you think it strange, Mrs. Hap- 
 perth," said Ann. "We were just looking around, 
 and the agent had us come here. We had no idea 
 I'm sure he doesn't mean to rent this one " 
 
 The other half of the "we" turned out to be Sally 
 Crowe, a soberly clad and most genteel Sally. 
 
 Now Pauline might have said, "I was just thinking 
 about you on the *L.' How odd!" Or she might 
 have buried her prejudices even more, and greeted
 
 290 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 Ann with a cordial handshake. But she was taken 
 too much by surprise. Her old hostility was for the 
 moment uppermost, and she delivered a cold nod, 
 while peeling off her gloves. 
 
 In the next breath she was ashamed of herself. 
 The little creature looked so much hurt. And 
 Mother Fanning was so evidently glad to have some- 
 one "drop in." 
 
 "Won't you take off your things?" said Pauline, 
 almost with friendliness. 
 
 "We mustn't," Ann replied. She pulled Sally 
 forward. "I don't know whether you've met my 
 friend " 
 
 "Oh, yes, I remember Mrs. Crowe." 
 
 "I hope you don't think " Ann began; but she 
 
 changed the sentence to, "We were sent here. 
 Really, we hadn't the least idea you lived here." 
 
 It was a difficult conversation, and Ann was mak- 
 ing little headway. But the situation was saved, in a 
 sense, by the appearance of Father Fanning. He 
 came shuffling in, and stared at the visitors. 
 Apparently he had no recognition of either. He 
 ponderously shook hands; then sighed, and sat down 
 on the lounge. 
 
 If Ann had ever felt bitterness over his bargain^ with 
 her, the sight of him at this pass would have been 
 enough to bring compassion instead. 
 
 Her eyes filled with tears, and she looked at Pau- 
 line, but could not speak. 
 
 Sally spoke up, "I think we had better look at one 
 of the other flats."
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 291 
 
 "Perhaps we had," returned Ann, controlling 
 herself. "We've been living all over Lakeside," 
 she added to Mrs. Fanning, "and we thought we 
 would come home." 
 
 They moved to go. And as Sally stepped forward 
 something flashed on her breast. Pauline, looking 
 close, saw that it was a gold star. 
 
 Her expression changed slowly from politeness to 
 compassion. 
 
 She remembered now, bit by bit, the story of Dick 
 Crowe, of the bad check everything. So this was 
 the sequel! 
 
 "Your husband?" she asked, softly. 
 
 "Yes," replied Sally. 
 
 "I'm so sorry," murmured Pauline. "You must 
 sit down and tell me about it." 
 
 Dinner was waiting for Pauline, but none of them 
 thought of that. They sat down, and the story was 
 told by Ann. 
 
 There was really little enough they knew. The 
 telegram had said "killed in action." 
 
 "He was one of the first," put in Sally, proudly. 
 
 And there had been a letter from Dick, sent weeks 
 before, saying he was in the front line, and busy. 
 And he wanted some home papers. And he had a 
 fine job repairing telephone wires. The captain had 
 warned him to take no chances. 
 
 "Which didn't go down with Dick, of course," 
 commented Sally. 
 
 They were silent before the mystery, the inexplic- 
 able mystery and dreadfulness of Dick's end.
 
 292 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 "That's the way they go," said Mrs. Fanning; 
 while her husband, sitting on the lounge, wagged his 
 head like a child. "One by one, like leaves." 
 
 Fanning got up and left the room. 
 
 "He doesn't like to hear about the war," said his 
 wife. "I don't tell him about Lance or about 
 Tom." 
 
 They followed the old man out with a composite 
 look of sympathy and concern. 
 
 "Yes, they'll be going over some day," sighed Mrs. 
 Fanning. 
 
 Ann's remark was involuntary. 
 
 "In less than two months," she said. 
 
 "Do you mean it?" said Pauline, startled. 
 
 Ann saw too late that she had brought news to a 
 place where news was poison. 
 
 Mrs. Fanning had risen. 
 
 "Tom going to France?" she quavered. '"Less 
 than two months?" 
 
 Ann became pale, then blushed. 
 
 "I supposed you knew," was all she could say. 
 Her small face was literally withered with distress. 
 
 "They don't mean anybody to know," she blun- 
 dered on. "It's a secret a military secret." 
 
 "Then how do you " Pauline began. But she 
 
 was stopped by something that happened to her 
 mother. 
 
 Mrs. Fanning, who had not mentioned Tom during 
 all the quiet and confidential evenings of the winter, 
 who had clung to that much of her pride, gave an odd 
 clucking noise in her throat, and without other warn-
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 293 
 
 ing, fell with a crash on the rug at their feet. She lay 
 with her heavy body inert, her face turned away from 
 them. 
 
 The three women shrieked, and knelt down beside 
 her. Then Father Fanning crept in from the dining 
 room. 
 
 "That was a strange thing," he muttered, "a very 
 strange thing for her to do." 
 
 And, considering all that had passed in the Fanning 
 family, considering that Mrs. Fanning had contended 
 for years she had no son, it was indeed a very strange 
 thing. 
 
 So here was the "something worse" that lay in 
 wait; the very worst, in some ways, that could befall. 
 To the burden impersonated in Father Fanning was 
 now added the tragedy of Mother Fanning, whose lif e 
 was not ready to depart, but who lay on a bed day 
 after day, smiling pitifully and promising she would 
 "surely get up to-morrow." 
 
 Pauline faced impossible alternatives. If she kept 
 her position downtown, who would look after her 
 mother? And if she stayed at home, how would she 
 earn enough for the expenses? There were already 
 medicines to pay for; the doctor. There was an 
 infinitude of expense in sight, and no regular income, 
 except the monthly allotment of Lance's pay a 
 trifle. 
 
 She was in the last ditch, and nobody knew. No- 
 body could understand. 
 
 Aunt Pringle came to see her.
 
 294 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 "Hire a nurse, of course," said Aunt Pringle. 
 "Hire anything you need." 
 
 But she did not say she would pay for the nurse, 
 or the other things. There was nobody who would 
 pay for them; no one even to advise. Oh, if only 
 Aunt Augustine were at hand ! But the Augustines, 
 uprooted by the quarrel in the Little Stone Church, 
 had moved five hundred miles away. And the 
 others the old friends? Who was there that was not 
 too frivolous, or too mean? As she thought it out, 
 Pauline realized luminously that Lakeside was no 
 place to be poor in. 
 
 There is a certain ghastliness about being destitute 
 in a "high-class apartment building." In the coun- 
 try, where isolation is inevitable, and where neigh- 
 bours are precious because they are few, society holds 
 together somehow. Among the tenements it holds 
 together by force of mutual suffering and under- 
 standing. It is far more dreadful to be "at the end 
 of one's rope" in a building full of imitation grandeur, 
 and quacking phonographs, and people who don't 
 care. The Fannington Annex held, for the most part, 
 tenants w r ho, like the Crowes when we first knew 
 them, spent their days envying the Fanningtonites 
 around the corner. The Fannington now had a, new 
 owner, and a new "crowd," louder and less innocent 
 than of old. It was on the way downhill, that build- 
 ing, to disgrace and frowsiness. And the Annex was 
 going with it. Pauline could have nothing in com- 
 mon with the male vultures and feminine freaks who 
 dwelt all about. And they knew her only as a "has-
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 295 
 
 been," the daughter of a man who at one time, they 
 understood they were so new they did not know 
 whether it was months or years before had owned a 
 bank. 
 
 Separated from this Noah's ark of transient, 
 feather-brained human creatures only by floors and 
 walls Pauline made her solitary fight. The dentist's 
 office saw her no more. She was nurse and house- 
 keeper. Myriad small and disagreeable tasks oc- 
 cupied her. And her father, in the restless hours 
 when his papers did not amuse him, was a continual 
 source of anxiety. He had " business appointments " 
 to meet. Sometimes she kept him in the house by 
 threats, almost by force. And she had to endure his 
 maunderings about future riches, and his fib, no 
 longer believed by any one, that he "Had a nice little 
 bank account somewhere, if he could only find it." 
 
 When she looked in the mirror, after two weeks of 
 this, she saw a face on which, at last, distress had 
 made some impression. Her bloom, she thought, 
 had gone forever. She was old and plain. And 
 there was this much truth about it: That face was 
 not the face of the legendary Pauline. But it re- 
 tained the stubborn Fanning chin that would not be 
 beaten. 
 
 And Aunt Pringle said : 
 
 "Child, you can't go on like this. I wish I could 
 afford to help you, but you know how I'm fixed. 
 It's no joke being a landlord these days. Wish I 
 wasn't. And I've promised to go to the Springs next 
 week "
 
 296 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 "Don't trouble yourself about me." 
 
 "But you can't go on like this." 
 
 "I can go on till I can't go on any longer, I sup- 
 pose." 
 
 "Have you written to Tom? Have you written 
 to Lance? " 
 
 "No. What could they do?" 
 
 Aunt Pringle looked narrowly at her. 
 
 "You're almost too proud to live," said the old 
 lady. "What if you should get sick? I see the lot 
 of you being carted off to different hospitals, at the 
 county's expense. That would make a fine story for 
 the papers, wouldn't it?" 
 
 "The papers!" exclaimed Pauline with scorn. 
 "Is there any more harm they can do to the Fan- 
 nings? I don't care a straw for them, or anybody. 
 Tom! Suppose I should write to him. He would 
 come bustling in here, and upset everything. And 
 most likely he would begin 'I told you so, Polly.' 
 This family was built wrong somehow, Aunt Pringle. 
 It we weren't made to stay. There are lots of 
 people like that. I never knew any other kind." 
 
 Aunt Pringle rose hastily. Generalizations always 
 put her out of countenance. 
 
 "You're morbid," she said. "I read somer Ibsen 
 once, and they all talked like that. You're foolish 
 to leave Lance in ignorance of all this. Ah, don't 
 flare up! I don't know what's wrong between you 
 two, and I'm not silly enough to poke into the mess. 
 But if you were to have just one good talk 
 
 Pauline confronted her with a white-hot face.
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 297 
 
 "It's none of your business," she burst out. "Peo- 
 ple of your age think those things can be fixed up 
 like they are in novels." 
 
 Aunt Pringle gasped. 
 
 "Are you crazy to talk to me like that? " she stam- 
 mered. 
 
 "This isn't a thing you can understand," continued 
 Pauline. "Neither you nor any one else in Lakeside 
 can understand it. I'm not a May Harrold, with 
 things on and off. Let me alone! You've about 
 driven me crazy with your interfering." 
 
 The old lady arranged her scarf about her bediz- 
 ened neck, and stared her up and down. 
 
 "To be talked to like that in my own building! 
 I'll not give you another opportunity." 
 
 After she had strutted out, Pauline walked to the 
 window and stood there, with every muscle rigid. 
 There was nothing to look at save the impassive front 
 of another apartment building across the street. 
 It was full of strangers. The Annex was full of 
 strangers. The Fanny Sweetlings, the May Har- 
 rolds, the Marcelline Merediths they were gone, 
 and good riddance! There was nobody left at all. 
 The whole fabric of Pauline's former friendships and 
 relationships was gone. 
 
 There was nothing that was built to stay.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 IN A city not over sixty miles away, a new city of 
 brown wooden buildings and earthen streets, 
 swarming with men all dressed alike, a city 
 without women that was where things were being 
 "built to stay." 
 
 The camp itself was a transient thing. The build- 
 ings were frankly constructed only for this emergency. 
 As for the men, they were only stopping there as at a 
 half-way house on the road to pain or glory. Before 
 long even that phase of their lives would be past, and 
 they would return to pursuits half yearned for, and 
 hah* despised. So it was not the camp, nor even the 
 military organization, that was built to last. 
 Deeper things than those. . . . 
 
 Lance Happerth sat on a log, in his haunt at the 
 bend of the little river, writing a letter to Fred West- 
 
 cott, correspondent, A. E. F., Hotel Meung, M , 
 
 France. 
 
 April warmth had made the haunt again endurable. 
 Lance liked to write there, alone. There were 
 friends of his making soft, untranslatable noises in the 
 bushes; little friends too queer and shy to talk to, 
 and who never came to look over his shoulder at 
 what he wrote: 
 
 298
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 299 
 
 "My DEAR FREDDY: 
 
 "I happened to get hold of your address the other 
 day through Stub McCord. It's a dandy fine ad- 
 dress. I wish it was mine. 
 
 *'I am in camp here with the division, expect- 
 ing orders to move almost any tune. 
 
 "'And how do you like it?' asks Freddy. I can 
 see your impertinent grin all this distance. *How 
 do you like it?' jeers Freddy, thinking about the 
 Lance that was. I refuse to answer in so many 
 words. What do you mean, like it? Who cares 
 about that?" 
 
 Having written this much, Lance sat gazing into 
 the thicket for some time, with his paper idle on his 
 knee, and his feet dangling over the little stream. 
 Then he scribbled further: 
 
 "The trouble with me always was that before I 
 did anything I stood off for a while to see how I liked 
 it. Well, the system that brought me here didn't 
 stop to ask me. It just yanked me right out of my 
 precious little existence, where I was 'completely 
 surrounded by sofa pillows,' as you once said, and 
 took me by the pants and threw me here. It 
 the system I'm referring to knows how to deal with 
 Lance Happerths. It eats 'em alive. 
 
 "Now? 
 
 "Well, I can lick all but one fellow in my squad in 
 a boxing bout, and I don't have any trouble getting 
 up an appetite for meals. And I've got a lot of
 
 300 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 friends who aren't pretty, wouldn't cut much of a 
 figure at the Beach, but who are men I've dug ditches 
 with, and slept beside while the snow whirled through 
 the ventilators, and who will always be friends of 
 mine. We all hated the army together, and we have 
 had our spells of funking the job, and now we're all 
 cured. And we're going over together to do the 
 bloodiest and dirtiest rotten work men can do; but 
 
 with them 
 
 "Fred, you may laugh, but I wouldn't miss it for 
 worlds. When I read about the torments of those 
 other men over there, I feel I've got to help " 
 
 He had just written these words, with a pencil that 
 bit deep, when he became aware of a form thrashing 
 through the bushes toward him. He stuffed the 
 letter hastily into his pocket; for those were sacred 
 words; or not so much sacred as taboo. Nobody 
 was supposed to write things like that; but nearly 
 everybody did. 
 
 The newcomer was Tom Fanning. And his errand 
 appeared to be urgent, judging by his haste, and his 
 frown. 
 
 "I've been hunting you all over camp," he said. 
 "I've got a letter here; more your business^ than 
 mine." 
 
 In his agitation he had not noticed whether Lance 
 saluted. The latter did so, with a smile, and Tom 
 responded impatiently. He thrust a crinkled sheet of 
 paper into Lance's hand. 
 
 "Letters," said the recipient, lazily, "have been 

 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 301 
 
 the ruin of me. Who is the writer of this one?" 
 He flopped over the page. "Ah Aunt Pringle. I 
 should have thought that dear old soul was dead by 
 now; of sugar-poisoning." 
 
 *He perused the letter, smiling at one or two pas- 
 sages, but in the main gravely. Then he handed it 
 back, remarking, "I see." 
 
 Tom regarded him steadily. They had met once 
 or twice during the winter, and on better terms than 
 at first, but were still far from being spiritual brothers. 
 
 " Well," said Tom. " What I hope you see is that 
 something will have to be done quick. I don't see 
 how you could sit here and let Pauline's affairs get 
 into that state; at least, without telling me about it." 
 
 "I couldn't tell you what I didn't know," replied 
 Lance calmly. 
 
 "They hadn't written you about it?" 
 
 "Not a word." 
 
 Tom sat down bumpily on the log and muttered, 
 "Well, you're a devil of a husband." 
 
 "So is Pauline a devil of a wife," flashed back 
 Lance. "A devil of a lot we're married. And a 
 devil of a lot I care." 
 
 Fanning frowned at him incredulously. He was so 
 upset about Pauline he had come there determined 
 to "make Lance sweat," and for a moment he was 
 tempted to speak his mind about the estrangement, 
 blaming Lance, of course. Then he repressed the 
 thought. Knowing Pauline, he thought possibly 
 the trouble had been born of some folly on her part. 
 He was not as hasty as he had once been.
 
 302 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 "Well," he contrived to say, with gruff reserve, 
 "whatever the quarrel may be, I should think you 
 ought to go down there and see to things. I can't, 
 just now. I get busier every minute." 
 
 "See to things? That's a good one. I suppose I 
 can solve the whole future of the Fannings on a 
 twelve-hour furlough, can I?" 
 
 His imagination busied itself with the problem for 
 a few silent moments. The picture was distressing 
 enough! At the thought of Pauline in a struggle 
 like that he felt certain pangs, which he concealed 
 carefully from his companion. 
 
 "No, but look here!" exclaimed Tom. "You 
 can't leave things as they are. Surely your pride 
 won't let you permit a a person not a member of 
 the family to wear herself out, even if you have no 
 sympathy for Pauline." 
 
 "That's another mystery," said Lance. 
 
 "Ah, you missed it, then. Look over on the back. 
 It's only a line." 
 
 Lance looked, and read: 
 
 "Ann Stone is here most of the time, God bless 
 her!" 
 
 He read it twice, and once more returned the letter 
 to its owner, with the words: 
 
 "That little girl seems bound to be the salvation 
 of somebody." 
 
 He began to scramble off the log. 
 
 "A downright unselfish and unassuming bit of 
 humanity. How did she ever drop into Lakeside?" 
 
 Tom had asked that question of himself once or
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 303 
 
 more than once. He sat down now without answer- 
 ing it. His big shoulders had a forlorn droop. 
 
 Lance noticed this, and his lips twitched. 
 
 "Don't worry," he said. "I'll go down there, and 
 chase her home or whatever you say." 
 
 "I've got nothing at all to say," replied Tom, ir- 
 ritably. He swung himself off the log and stood up. 
 A bugle call came just then, meltingly, across the 
 fields. 
 
 "What do you think about going over?" inquired 
 Tom, by way of a change of subject. 
 
 "I don't think," answered Lance, belying his letter 
 to Freddy. 
 
 "I'll tell you how I feel about it. Sometimes I'm 
 half drunk with anticipation, and sometimes I'm 
 damn scared." 
 
 Lance put out his hand. 
 
 "Myself precisely," he grinned. "Shake on it. 
 You see I'm able now to shake hands even with 
 officers even with Fannings." 
 
 It was May, and the last of May at that, before 
 Lance was able to go home. This for several 
 reasons, one of them being a false report of mobiliza- 
 tion, that kept delaying his furlough. Meantime 
 he was on the point several times of writing to Pau- 
 line, but he never did. He was afraid his pen might 
 run away with him; that his ghostly and ghastly 
 suspicions about Harrold would creep in. He did 
 not want to write about that subject. He did not 
 want to talk about it, either. He was half eager to
 
 304 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 see Pauline, and half dreading it; and this war within 
 himself made him toss upon his bunk o' nights, so 
 that the other fellows threw things at him, and urged 
 him to "take a walk." 
 
 When finally he received the coveted pass to leave 
 camp, he found eagerness had almost conquered 
 dread. Perhaps the subject of Harrold would not 
 come up at all. He could show a dutiful interest in 
 affairs at the Fannington Annex, scout about for 
 some solution, and let quarrels rest. 
 
 But that would leave things as miserably uncer- 
 tain, himself as wretchedly half -married, as now. He 
 did not like that, either. It was a puzzle. 
 
 Fred Ames was "going in" that same Saturday, 
 and they rode together. He found Lance very taci- 
 turn. News had just come of the American capture 
 of Cantigny, and the car was bubbling with this news 
 speculation about " The Rainbows," talk about the 
 strategy. There were no details. Many persons 
 besides Fred asked Lance what he thought, but he 
 would not be drawn into the discussion. He sat 
 watching the fields slide by, as he had on that other 
 ride to town. Fred, aware of the Fanning tragedy, 
 refrained from bothering him. Only once he said, 
 without preface, "It may not turn out as bad as 
 you think." And Lance gave gloomy response, 
 "On the other hand, it may turn out ten times 
 worse." 
 
 Arrived in the city, Fred mentioned a dinner en- 
 gagement with his mother, so they parted under a 
 great clock bulging out from a department store
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 305 
 
 corner, and Lance stood alone. Presently a motor- 
 bus came lumbering along the street, thrusting its 
 big shoulders above trucks and street cars like a circus 
 giant among ordinary folk. The solitary soldier 
 decided to board this bus, for the novelty. So he 
 squeezed his way to the low step, and mounted the 
 winding stairs to the top. 
 
 There, in a rear seat, he sat enjoying the sweeping 
 view down "the street more marvellous than Picca- 
 dilly." He discovered the unfamiliar tops of build- 
 ings, noting for the first time classic cornices that did 
 no good up there; the careful individualism of struc- 
 tures that, on the street level, appeared alike. The 
 street roared with delight; with bursts of advertising, 
 with patriotic poster-appeals, with flags, with re- 
 volving or kaleidoscopic arrays of lights. And above 
 all stretched the pure sky, still meltingly blue, al- 
 though it was nearly seven by the "new time," but 
 beginning to be touched by a vague prevision of 
 twilight. On the sidewalks people strolled lan- 
 guidly, for it was very warm. Sometimes the City of 
 Deadly Ambitions foregoes spring, and plunges from 
 winter into summer. 
 
 The bus clambered into a side street, and by this 
 avenue reached Michigan Boulevard, along which it 
 sped with a hum of engines. The view was now a 
 lakeward view, comprising a strip of grayish grass 
 beyond which locomotives puffed and freight cars 
 clanked; while still farther east, the lake itself 
 brooded, a pool of silver. A gunboat swung to 
 anchor there, a battered thing now used as a tram-
 
 306 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 ing ship. Lance surveyed it lazily. It made him 
 think of Bob Sweetling, and of letters, and so of 
 Alfred Harrold. 
 
 Why did he always come back to that? He shook 
 it out of himself, determined to enjoy the ride. 
 
 The last ride of the kind he might ever take. Think 
 of that! All this was like a farewell. The stores, 
 the ancient shuttered mansions past which the bus 
 now growled and swayed, fell back into memory, 
 like film. There were people on the streets, people 
 idling on benches, who fancied all this was permanent. 
 This was home to them, and because they lived there 
 they thought it would last. But Lance knew he 
 knew it was all a dream only a bit of scenery. 
 
 Dreamlike, too, was Lincoln Park, with its young, 
 aspiring leafage, its long bridle-paths, its lagoons, 
 where scores of pleasure-boats lay eternally at anchor. 
 Dreamlike, the infinite curving avenue ahead; the 
 patches of vacant land remaining between tall hotels. 
 In some of these open lots, now that evening was fall- 
 ing, little camp-fires were lit for picnickers. Their 
 flames were mirrored in the plate glass windows of 
 houses across the street. And in somebody's porch 
 dining room, far above in one of the apartment 
 houses, there was a dinner party, whose laughter 
 came down in faint treble. 
 
 The western sky was turning Prussian blue. 
 Bathers first of the year flitted in front of the 
 bus. They ran into the dusk with a flash of white 
 ankles. 
 
 And Lance thought:
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 307 
 
 "I'll never see all this again. I'll never again be 
 where people have nothing heavy and solemn to do. 
 I'll be over in France in a couple of months, in France 
 with its piles of ruined houses, and its weeping 
 women, and sweating men. . . ." 
 
 The amber-coloured Beach Hotel, with its jutting 
 wings, suddenly loomed in the path of the bus, and he 
 flung aside these thoughts for the ordeal with Pau- 
 line. 
 
 It was hah* after seven. At this hour Pauline 
 would have got her mother to bed, and she and Ann 
 assuming that Ann still held on would be doing 
 the dishes. He pictured them having fun over it. 
 For he could not imagine either of them overworked 
 and morose. And yet Pauline washing dishes in 
 the Annex! The notion was half comic, hah* appal- 
 ling. 
 
 He decided to wait a little before making his ap- 
 pearance. Pauline would scarcely care to greet him, 
 wiping red hands in her apron. So he abated his 
 pace. Perhaps he would stroll about a bit, and see 
 how old Lakeside looked. A band was playing 
 somewhere. It came to meet him, and turned into a 
 parade, including a company of volunteer militia, 
 and a group of Boy Scouts, carrying banners in- 
 scribed "Buy War Savings Stamps," and "Buy at 
 home. Boost the Lakeside average." 
 
 Lance stood and watched the procession out of 
 sight, even to its trail of boys on bicycles. And he 
 noted faults in the alignment of the militia. A
 
 308 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 twisted smile was on his face, but it was not alto- 
 gether for the militia. He was noting also service 
 flags in windows, and Liberty Loan emblems, while 
 at one side of the horizon bleached parasites in 
 limousines rolled along the Drive, and at the other 
 the Dance Paradise blazed with its Saturday night 
 glory. 
 Lakeside!
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 HE GLANCED at his wrist watch. It was 
 nearly eight o'clock. The dishes must be 
 "done " by now, and the girls would be mak- 
 ing plans for the evening; or Pauline would be mani- 
 curing her nails. He wondered what sort of picture 
 she made, with a background of Annex wallpaper. 
 Perhaps this would only heighten her charm. 
 
 A few minutes' walk brought him to the Fanning- 
 ton, upon which he bestowed a sour glance. Once he 
 had called That a home! He turned the corner, and 
 went into the Annex entrance, feeling partly like an 
 explorer, partly like a man about to face court- 
 martial. It was at hand, this meeting with Pauline 
 that might "make or break." And he did not know 
 which flat she lived in. He had to examine all the 
 cards neatly framed over the electric bells. 
 
 "J. Melville Rossiter." "Paul Chesit, professor 
 of languages." "Francis Elliott McDougal." 
 
 All strangers. 
 
 Then at last: "Barton Fanning." A frayed card, 
 with bedimmed type the only thing that still 
 testified Barton Fanning had an identity. 
 
 He pressed that bell, the door-latch clicked they 
 must be expecting guests and Lance went up the 
 stairs. 
 
 309
 
 310 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 A door stood open when he reached the third land- 
 ing, and someone was peering out. Light from 
 within was flooding her hair. It was Pauline, of 
 course. She looked happy and expectant. As 
 Lance came into view, her eyes widened, she almost 
 smiled but failed. 
 
 "Ah, it's you/* she murmured. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Their eyes met. They were both anxious, but 
 determined not to seem so. 
 
 "Well," he said, after a second, "may I come in?" 
 
 "Certainly you may." 
 
 Her only sign of agitation, as she turned, was that 
 she dropped her handkerchief, and did not notice it. 
 He picked it up, and as he handed it to her, their 
 fingers touched. A pang of some sort assailed him. 
 He swore at it as he followed her. 
 
 Scarcely had they passed the threshold when an 
 explosion of laughter came from the dining room. 
 At this point he perceived that every light in the 
 place was turned on, that there were flowers all 
 about a whole box of them spilling its contents on to 
 the davenport and that a violently new suitcase 
 stood by the door. He was in the midst of mysteries, 
 and he, a lonely soldier without a home, wouldjiave 
 fled from this complexity that was his wife's; but it 
 was too late. The people in the dining room had 
 seen him, and now he saw them. 
 
 First he saw Mother Fanning, bolstered up in a 
 rocking-chair a little apart from the table, and look- 
 ing blanched, but faintly animated. And then he
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 311 
 
 saw Tom, enormous in his uniform. Beside him 
 sat Aunt Pringle, her falsely auburn hair illumined 
 by the big pink table-light. Finally, in a gray gown 
 far more stylish than anything she was ever known to 
 wear, and with her diminutive face flushed with 
 smiles, behold Ann Stone a suddenly recreated and 
 important Ann, sitting here among what was left of 
 the Farmings, and, it would seem, dominating them. 
 
 At the same moment that Tom began to rise, and 
 the others to utter fragments of welcome and sur- 
 prise, it flashed upon Lance what this all meant. He 
 had time to notice an empty chair, with a disordered 
 napkin on the table in front of it, that presumably 
 belonged to Barton Fanning; but he had no time to 
 wonder where the man had gone. 
 
 "I imagine," he said, in the tone of a polite 
 stranger, "that there's to be a wedding." 
 
 "There's been one," cried Aunt Pringle. "You're 
 too late." 
 
 "So I see," returned Lance, curtly. 
 
 There was an uncomfortable moment, while they 
 all gazed at him, wondering what they could say. 
 Then Ann broke out, 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Happerth, I'm so awfully sorry you 
 weren't here!" 
 
 He was pale with the effort not to seem upset. 
 
 "I don't suppose I should expect to be invited," 
 said he. "Why should I?" He was most careful 
 not to glance at Pauline as he said this. 
 
 Now Tom got up, napkin in hand. 
 
 "You needn't take it so hard, Lance," he said
 
 312 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 quietly. "This was a hurry-up wedding, if there 
 ever was one. Not till four o'clock this afternoon 
 did I know" he reddened a little "I mean, it 
 was awfully short notice " 
 
 Aunt Pringle giggled. 
 
 Tom glanced furtively at Ann, and continued: 
 
 "I had a furlough to-day; the first for weeks, and 
 maybe my last. Any day may be the day, you know, 
 Lance. And I had to settle this I just went to the 
 bank, and took Ann away from there. We were mar- 
 ried at five by an old preacher friend of mine. None 
 of the family knew. I couldn't stand it with a crowd, 
 you know." 
 
 Ann was looking at her plate, between laughter and 
 tears. Aunt Pringle put in : 
 
 "It's no more a slap at you than at the rest of 
 us." 
 
 "There wouldn't have been time to get you down 
 from the camp, anyhow," went on Tom, persuasively, 
 and eyeing alternately Lance's darkening face and 
 Pauline's rigid one. "I tell you it was sudden; 
 just an impulse no, I don't mean that 
 
 Then Ann exploded into laughter or something 
 and buried her face in her napkin. 
 
 "So," Tom ended, with sudden rage, "if yoirwant 
 to get sore, you can just get sore!" 
 
 And he sat down. 
 
 Lance started to put on his hat; then took it off 
 again. 
 
 "It doesn't matter," he said, with a huskiness 
 that made him hate himself. "I scarcely belong
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 313 
 
 to the family any more. It doesn't matter. All 
 this " 
 
 Pauline moved as though to speak, but set her lips 
 together stubbornly, and remained as she had been, 
 with eyes cast down, her hand upon a chair-back. 
 
 "Oh, children " began Mrs. Fanning, quaver- 
 
 ingly, from her place by the window. Pauline went 
 to her instantly, smoothed her hair back from her 
 forehead, and said, "You'd better let me put you to 
 bed, Mother." She paid no attention to Lance, 
 though he was moving toward the door. He was 
 just a dragging torment; a puzzle she could not solve. 
 Fortunately, she had duties. 
 
 "Where did father go?" she inquired. 
 
 "He went out only a minute ago," said Tom. 
 "He's all right," he insisted, grumpily. Lance had 
 spoiled the wedding supper, confound him! 
 
 Lance was at the door, but could not seem to go. 
 He was quivering on the verge of throwing off his 
 proud sulks entirely. Then he glanced at Pauline's 
 back, bent over her mother, and he fancied it to be 
 uncompromising, indifferent. His eyes rested hun- 
 grily upon the little group an instant; the next, he 
 was actually out of the dining-room door. Just 
 then he heard a cautious click of the latch out in the 
 hall. Like someone coming in. He waited a mo- 
 ment, but no one entered. 
 
 He put his head back into the dining room, and 
 said, in Pauline's general direction, "You were ex- 
 pecting someone else?" 
 
 She looked up, with miserable hot eyes, and re-
 
 314 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 plied in a tone he never forgot (after he came to 
 understand it), 
 
 "I was hoping, not expecting; hoping for the same 
 person I've waited for for months." 
 
 Lance withdrew his head. So she had confessed! 
 He went out through the living room, with its scent 
 of flowers, into the hall, and down the silent stairs. 
 
 Emerging upon the street, he said to himself, 
 "That ends it." 
 
 He had ended "it" many times before in his mind. 
 But this closing of his heart was real. The words had 
 practically been spoken. And in the meantime Tom 
 and Ann were just starting out. Well, they would 
 be happy . . . They had the elements of happi- 
 ness and trust within them. 
 
 It must have been a weird spectacle when Tom 
 proposed. But what matter? Just so they had love 
 waiting to be consummated, and no villainous inter- 
 ferences. . . . 
 
 Lance was at the corner now, and just ahead of 
 him, now visible under a street light, now a dim 
 shape in the half-dark, was a man walking rapidly, 
 with bowed head. He was going east, whither Lance 
 was bound (as much as he was bound anywhere) 
 and kept on ahead about at Lance's pace. Lance 
 was not thinking about him, but he noticed, while his 
 mind went on brokenly and sadly on other matters, 
 that the man walked faster as he neared the lake. 
 He proceeded in hurried shuffles, with his hat crushed 
 down, and his collar up. An odd figure, on the whole.
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL C15 
 
 Not a leisurely Lakeside person at all. He passed, 
 as Lance did, many leisurely Lakeside persons, but 
 ignored them. 
 
 As this figure reached the Drive, where there was 
 a torchlight parade of street lamps, it became more 
 distinct. The man paused, and turned his face half 
 about. 
 
 And Lance's sharp eyes, from a quarter of a block 
 away, recognized him as Father Fanning. 
 
 Now Lance had not gained from Aunt Pringle's 
 letter a very definite idea that Father Fanning was 
 not permitted abroad. He saw nothing especially 
 odd that is, his reason did not in the fact that the 
 former banker was out for a stroll. But an instinct 
 that awoke mysteriously made him pause, and turn, 
 and look after the old man with wonder. 
 
 He was in an astonishing hurry, that was clear. 
 He forged ahead with his coat tails flying, like a sort 
 of caricature of Barton Fanning in a hurry. What 
 could make him so furiously alive? 
 
 Lance hesitated a moment, and then followed. 
 
 "I'll run up and clap him on the back and say, 
 'Here I am; just in time to take you home again,"' 
 he thought. For he began to doubt more and more 
 whether Fanning had any business anywhere except 
 home. Then he thought, "No, I won't. I'll snoop 
 along, and see where he goes. Maybe he thinks 
 he's got a date at the Beach. Maybe I can keep 
 him from making an ass of himself." 
 
 The fugitive did turn up the boulevard toward the 
 hotel, but he kept on beyond it, past the tennis courts
 
 316 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 and the latticed tunnel that led to an open-air 
 theatre, and arrived at a path leading down to the 
 lake. There he halted. 
 
 Lance also stopped, about a hundred feet behind. 
 
 "He's just wandering around; snuffing the even- 
 ing air," mused the pursuer. 
 
 The pursued, however, as though he had overheard, 
 started down the path. He went less rapidly now, 
 in the greater darkness, but there was light enough 
 from the diadem crowning the hotel to reveal that 
 he had cast away his hat. His head was a white, 
 bobbing glimmer. 
 
 Straight down the path, across the sands, and to 
 the ripples themselves, he marched without pause. 
 At the water's edge he halted. Lance watched, his 
 pulse quickening a little. 
 
 Then the old man half wheeled, climbed with 
 desperate energy the three steps leading up to the 
 pier, and started out along the concrete floor. 
 
 Suddenly the idea flashed with certainty into 
 Lance's mind, "He's going out there to jump in." 
 A sort of panic, a buzz of voices in his brain, hi which 
 the certainty strove with "No, no, it can't be true," 
 seized him. He began to run. But Father Fan- 
 ning had accomplished many strides. He was now 
 a hundred feet out on the pier; barely visible in the 
 dark. 
 
 Lance leaped up the three steps, and ran swiftly 
 out along the concrete. His heart was thumping 
 painfully. His own hat had fallen off. And he 
 thought, "If I get there if I get there "
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 317 
 
 Father Fanning stood erect on the edge of the 
 pier. He faced the bespangled curve of the shore, 
 the hotel and all its tributaries; the apartment build- 
 ings, with their jewelled lights, every twinkle of 
 which meant a household. It was here Father Fan- 
 ning had chosen to die, with the music of the hotel 
 in his ears, and with all Lakeside, once his vassalage, 
 like a milky way before his eyes. 
 
 He mumbled something, and swayed. Just then 
 Lance caught him by the arm. 
 
 "Here! here!" he heard himself saying, foolishly. 
 He tried to jerk the old man, now desperately strug- 
 gling, away from the edge. 
 
 Then the lights from shore, and the impassive 
 stars, described a quaint and terrible curve before 
 Lance's vision, and he and Father Fanning fell to- 
 gether into the dark water. 
 
 He awoke in a room. It was a small room, 
 and not one he knew. Yet he felt, vaguely, at 
 home. 
 
 A great weight had gone from him. He had 
 dreamed that a very heavy man or perhaps it was 
 an elephant was sitting on his chest and head. 
 This creature was no more. But he was very weak; 
 oh, unconscionably weak. The task of opening his 
 eyes was enormous. He closed them. 
 
 In a few minutes a new stirring of energy awoke in 
 him, a new curiosity. His drowsy eyes, under their 
 long lashes, rested upon an electric light, shaded
 
 318 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 rudely by a newspaper. A queer way to ornament 
 an electric light. 
 
 The rustling of a dress . . . Someone was 
 sitting there, concealed from him by the footboard 
 of the bed. 
 
 It was all very strange. . . . 
 
 A long interval, and he moved a foot under the 
 bedclothes. At this the person sitting beyond there 
 rose and came toward him. It was Pauline. 
 
 She walked around to the bedside, and stood look- 
 Ing at him. She wore a long waistless garment of 
 blue, with lace at the throat. The light fell very 
 softly on her cheek. She came nearer, and he would 
 have held out his arms to her, but for some reason 
 he could not move them, though he felt no pain. 
 He was not surprised that she did not speak. It 
 did not seem necessary that she should. People do 
 not speak in dreams not always. 
 
 Suddenly his mind cleared, and he remembered 
 leaving the camp, coming up on the bus, and worry- 
 ing. Worrying about what? 
 
 No matter. There was nothing to trouble him 
 in this silent room, which smelled of a strange odour, 
 like the base hospital, but which was altogether 
 comforting. He wanted to lie there indefinitely, 
 and to have Pauline there. The presence of a 
 woman; that was, after all, something. . . . 
 
 She said and her voice was like a soft, distant 
 bell, he thought "Do you feel better?" 
 
 He managed to stretch out a hand, and she laid
 
 His eyelids closed again . . . 
 on his third revival Pauline 
 was beside him, holding 
 something for him to drink

 
 upon it a soft palm whose touch almost brought 
 tears to his eyes. Her face was soft, too; soft and 
 saddened. He struggled to remember when he had 
 seen it like that before. 
 
 Then he made an effort to sit up. The nightmare 
 was coming back. He was again in the water, fight- 
 ing. Fighting, with that weight upon his breast, 
 and wet lights dancing hi his eyes. 
 
 Pauline laid him back on the pillows, and breathed, 
 
 "Yes, yes; it's all right." 
 
 "Did he what became of " 
 
 "It's all right, I tell you. Keep quiet, dear." 
 
 He looked up into her eyes with a steady question 
 that she had no trouble in reading. And she made 
 answer to it but looking away as she spoke "You 
 saved him, Lance; yes." 
 
 His eyelids closed again, and he swam away some- 
 where. On his third revival Pauline was sitting 
 beside him, holding something for him to drink. 
 
 "What day is it?" he begged. 
 
 "What day? Why, it's only midnight, dear. It's 
 the same day." 
 
 He drank, with his dark eyes looking at her over 
 the run of the glass. He was lapped in deep comfort. 
 Some great worry not the worry about Father 
 Fanning was gone from his mind. 
 
 "Come close to me, Polly closer." 
 
 She bent over him. Their lips met. 
 
 "I've always loved you," he murmured, "Al- 
 ways." 
 
 He slept again.
 
 CHAPTER Xin 
 
 A FEW days later Lance sat by a window in 
 the living room; a window flooded with sun- 
 light and admitting the familiar footings and 
 tmklings of Westmont Avenue. He was dressed in 
 an old bathrobe, saved from the vanished splendours 
 of the Fannington. 
 
 He looked very much himself very much his old 
 self as he sat there, fingering an old pipe that had 
 also survived. Some of his tan had faded. His hair 
 had outgrown the camp restrictions, and again curled 
 beside his forehead. Indeed, it would have been 
 easy to fancy that he had never been drafted, never 
 had been "made over," that he was the same old 
 idler in his wife's dainty nest, instead of being a 
 valiant and eager member of the 344th. But his 
 thoughts, had they been uttered, would have shown 
 that he was impatient of this idleness, this ease. He 
 was hoping he could go back to camp that very night; 
 or at least the next night. 
 
 Withal, Lance was grave. He did not hear the 
 tootings and tinglings from the street. The things 
 he had learned since they let him sit up had im- 
 pressed him anew with the mysterious, ironic phases 
 of life. 
 
 Father Fanning was dead. He had lived only a 
 
 820
 
 few minutes after Lance saved him. He was buried. 
 The sturdy figure, with iron-gray hair and rosy com- 
 plexion, that Lance had first almost feared, then 
 despised, then come to regard with an idle and cynical 
 affection, was through living. It had done no good 
 to plunge into the water after him. Or had it done 
 good? Had it been any use to any one that Lance 
 risked his life? And how had he come to do any- 
 thing so headlong, so self -forgetful? He was sur- 
 prised at himself. Mysterious; ironic! It was 
 tangled somehow with the inexplicable things of these 
 last days. 
 
 The week's illness had left him full of puzzling 
 thoughts and memories. He had lain there in bed, 
 flitting in and out of consciousness, while people like 
 shadows visited him or avoided him, while voices 
 murmured, doors banged, dishes clinked; a multitude 
 of human sounds floated in from the court, the back 
 porches, the alley. Pauline had been much with him ; 
 occasionally Ann. No other visitors, except a man 
 with a brown beard, who was always fitting tube- 
 like things to his chest and listening. In his vision- 
 ary moments Lance had fancied that this physician 
 was trying to estimate his morale, to discover symp- 
 toms of cowardice. And once the patient spoke up, 
 "You'll find me all right, doc; I'm not yellow!" 
 At which the beard had smiled, and said, "I guess 
 not, young man. I guess not." 
 
 At times during this "white week," as he thought 
 of it perhaps because the counterpane was white, 
 and the walls he had rebelled against his seclusion;
 
 322 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 had insisted on getting up, on seeing people, on 
 sending word to the camp. His nightmares hovered 
 around marching regiments, glorious amid sunlit 
 dust-clouds, or trains thundering through the night, 
 with the locomotives showering sparks. In the 
 nightmares he was running behind these trains, 
 trying not to be left behind. 
 
 Then they had begun bringing him news, feeding 
 it to him piecemeal and tenderly, like his food. He 
 heard about Father Fanning before they meant him 
 to. Aunt Pringle's fault, this was. But he sur- 
 vived it. And then he learned other things. He 
 was told about Laurence Wayte, killed in his air- 
 plane in an English training camp; about the arrest of 
 Reeker by the receiver for the Fanning banks. 
 Also about Mother Fanning's departure to be, for an 
 indefinite time, the guest of the Augustines. Also 
 about the latest gains of the Germans, and the world's 
 anxiety for Paris. And one day Aunt Pringle came 
 in with her hands full of newspaper clippings, on 
 which his quick eye saw his own name. Pauline 
 seized them, and stuffed them in a drawer, "for him 
 to see later.'* 
 
 "Well," burst out Aunt Pringle, before she was 
 banished, "I'll just say this, if it kills him: He's a 
 hero, any way you look at it. And the last man I 
 ever expected " 
 
 Pauline laughingly hustled her out of the room. 
 
 And now he was restored to the luxury of a view 
 from the front window, and the doubtful ecstasy of 
 a bathrobe. He had that divine sense of having
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 323 
 
 recaptured a world that had almost slipped from him. 
 And it was a world somehow purged of its uncer- 
 tainties, its suspicions. His doubts of Pauline had 
 vanished, without a word spoken on that subject. 
 All that had been left behind. His life, short though 
 it might be, lay ahead, beautifully definite. He 
 knew exactly what he was going to do with himself. 
 It was the first week in June, and an American 
 force, said to be largely Marines, had just outfought 
 the Germans at a place called Belleau Wood. 
 
 Pauline came in from marketing about eleven 
 o'clock. She found him studying a map of France, 
 and tried to take it away from him. A scuffle. 
 
 "My! What a grip you have!" she exclaimed, 
 after she let the map go. 
 
 "Nothing to what I had before I was sick." A 
 peevish look came upon his face. "Look here, 
 Polly, there's got to be an end of this; this sitting 
 around draped in a crazy-quilt. Pack my suitcase, 
 won't you? I'm due elsewhere." 
 
 She looked at him steadily. 
 
 "When do you think you will go?" 
 
 "Well the two o'clock train; the five o'clock at 
 the latest." 
 
 Pauline took off her hat very deliberately. 
 
 "I would rather you didn't go to-day," she said. 
 " You know this is almost the first time I've had you 
 when you seemed natural." 
 
 "I appreciate that; but Morin and the fellows 
 they'll say I'm stalling."
 
 324 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 "And there are so many people who want to see 
 you." 
 
 "Well, who?" he frowned. "I don't know who's 
 left around here that I want to see." 
 
 "I know one." 
 
 "Who? Show me somebody in Lakeside I want 
 to see." 
 
 "I will," replied Pauline, nodding her head at him 
 tauntingly. She went forthwith into the hall, spoke 
 a number into the telephone. Lance listened, mo- 
 tionless. 
 
 "Marcelline yes, it's Pauline. How are you 
 enjoying your vacation? Listen! Roy may come 
 over as soon as he likes " 
 
 "What!" cried Lance. He boggled at the bath- 
 robe, trying to rise. Before he had accomplished 
 this, Pauline returned, laughing. 
 
 "I told you," said she. 
 
 "Well, why didn't you tell me before? How 
 long has that friend of my boyhood been in 
 town?" 
 
 "Only since yesterday. He's on the way east; 
 to sail, or something." 
 
 Lance made a grimace. 
 
 "Another man getting ahead of me. And to 
 think that Roy does he still pronounce that word 
 *militaryism'?" 
 
 "He pronounces everything just the same. But 
 his looks Lance, he's stunning!" 
 
 "I suppose so." Gloomier and gloomier. "He'll 
 come here and open up a line of artillery technic.
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 325 
 
 Or else he'll patronize me because our outfit hasn't 
 had orders to move. I know him." 
 
 However, when Roy and Marcelline "ran over" 
 just after lunch, the two companions of gayer days 
 were so delighted to see each other, and so astounded 
 at the way one had "gained" and the other "gone 
 off," that technic had no chance. They fairly fell 
 into each other's arms. Lance was surprised at 
 himself. ~~ He hadn't realized he liked Roy half that 
 well. And even Marcelline, whose baby tricks had 
 not entirely disappeared; he could endure her. 
 There was a zest in life now that made everybody 
 seem welcome. And Lance had lost something 
 that old tendency to sneer that had never been 
 worth while. 
 
 It turned out that Roy was a sergeant in he 
 
 named battery and regiment. "We handle those 
 big fellows, you know." That was as far as technic 
 got. Yes, Roy was very natural. He made vast 
 predictions concerning a war to last for years. 
 Didn't believe a word he read in the newspapers. 
 He had "inside dope." And he strutted just once, 
 when he said : 
 
 "The wife says I look pretty good in my togs. 
 What do you think?" 
 
 "Grandiose," Lance assured him; and he was 
 satisfied. 
 
 "How do you feel about going over?" Roy asked 
 at last. The ladies happened to be silent at that 
 moment, and listened also. 
 
 "Well," Lance included them all in his whimsical
 
 326 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 gaze. "I feel like Pauline's brother Tom; half the 
 time damned scared, and the other half bursting to 
 
 go." 
 
 "Did Mr. Fanning say that? The great soldier? " 
 put in Marcelline. "That's the brother we met one 
 night?" sie turned to Pauline. 
 
 " My only brother," was the quiet reply. Pauline 
 was looking at her reconstituted husband with an 
 expression that was well, Marcelline could only 
 think of it afterward as pitying. And Marcelline 
 said inwardly, "Some women make such a senti- 
 ment out of their husbands' going. I don't be- 
 lieve " etc., etc. 
 
 "When you think of it," said Lance, "the right 
 kind of attitude is neither of those things; neither 
 funk nor fever. The war's no picnic. Have you 
 read Barbusse's book?" 
 
 The Merediths looked blank. 
 
 "He wrote 'Under Fire.' It tells you what a 
 sickening, dull, muddy business it really is. But 
 when you read him right, when you get the feeling 
 for those miserable, struggling, tortured beings, one 
 has just got to get in beside them and help." He 
 saw that the visitors were beginning to droop before 
 this philosophy. "After all," he finished, "every 
 fellow must have his own reasons for going; for going 
 in ; for sticking it out. The thing is, here are you and 
 I, Roy, who a year ago were jeering at the idea of 
 being in uniform, and who fought for exemption like 
 a couple of " 
 
 "Tango Twins," supplied Roy.
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 327 
 
 "And now we're not only reconciled, but eager. 
 What happened to us?" 
 
 "Why, Uncle Sam just yanked us out and shook 
 us up a bit," replied Roy. "And a good thing, I say; 
 eh, Marcelline?" 
 
 "Nothing will ever seem hard any more," mused 
 Lance. 
 
 "Sh'd say not," the other agreed, with vigorous 
 nods. 
 
 "Except waiting," and the late invalid gazed out 
 of the window. 
 
 The Merediths were preparing to leave when the 
 doorbell rang. Pauline ran into the hall. She came 
 back bringing Fred Ames. There was a further re- 
 union; not, perhaps, as cordial, but very animated. 
 Then Fred sat down on the window-sill and inspected 
 the convalescent. 
 
 "You look fitter than I expected. I shall have 
 to report to that effect. Lance, they're about ready 
 to fire the starting gun." 
 
 Lance sat up with flaming face. 
 
 "Glory!" he cried. "When do we go?" 
 
 "They're weeding out the last of 'em now. The 
 unfit, I mean. Camp's in a fever. A million rumours 
 a day. Bless you, I don't know when we're going. 
 But soon, boy soon." 
 
 "For the Lord's sake," said Lance, now on his 
 feet, his eyes snapping, "get me out of this! Take 
 my passage on the next boat. Polly, that suitcase 
 at once." 
 
 She looked at him tenderly, but did not speak.
 
 "Oh, not so fast," laughed Fred. " You've got to 
 pass another physical, old man, don't forget that. 
 I've had mine. They said I could take care of six 
 squareheads, at least." 
 
 He strolled to the piano, sat down, and bent his 
 head over it, smoothing his fingers along the keys. 
 
 "It's a beautiful thing a beautiful thing," he 
 murmured, rather ambiguously. Suddenly he turned. 
 
 "This piano why, it makes me think. I don't 
 suppose the news has reached you 'folks yet about 
 Harrold." 
 
 They shook their heads. 
 
 "Disappeared deserted jumped camp." 
 
 "No!" exclaimed Lance. "How could he do 
 that?" 
 
 "He could and did. Day before yesterday. They 
 haven't found him yet; but when they do " 
 
 He made a sinister gesture with the edge of his 
 palm across his stiff brown collar. 
 
 A pause; then Pauline asked, "What will they do 
 with him? " Lance was looking at her he could not 
 help it and he felt a sort of relief (although that 
 Harrold madness of his seemed to belong to another 
 existence) at seeing her face betray nothing more 
 than a natural surprise and regret. 
 
 He did not hear Fred's answer, nor Roy's "short 
 laugh. He was thinking how glad he was he had not 
 assailed Pauline with ugly questions. His morbid 
 theory, born of three years' experience with the 
 "crowd," had "blown up," and left no trace. 
 
 Fred continued to fondle 'the keys; then he struck a
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 329 
 
 chord, and began to sing, first tentatively, then in a 
 firmer and more eloquent strain: 
 
 "Ah, moon of my delight, that knows no wane; 
 The moon of heav'n is rising once again." 
 
 The four listeners never moved. Even Roy was 
 sobered by this golden music, and by the magnetism 
 of the singer. The soft summer breeze quickened, 
 fluttering the window curtains, and bringing the dis- 
 tant drone of a steamer whistle. 
 
 "And when thyself with shining foot shall pass 
 Among the guests star-scattered on the grass, 
 And in thy joyous errand reach the spot 
 Where I made one turn down an empty glass." 
 
 He finished with a triumphant chord, and turned 
 upon them with a smile. 
 
 "Oh, that's too horribly sad for me," exclaimed 
 Marcelline. 
 
 "Sad? It's triumphant," retorted Lance. "Once 
 I thought it was no end gloomy, but " 
 
 He did not tell them, however, in what mood he 
 had repeated those words to himself as he marched 
 away, a drafted man. 
 
 "Well," said Roy, rising, "in one way it's a shame 
 to lose that voice. The war ain't worth it." 
 
 "So I used to think," returned Fred, blithely. 
 "So I used to think. And I suppose it was some- 
 thing like that that got poor Harrold started wrong. 
 Well, what'll his life be now? Hunted from village
 
 330 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 to village, from one clump of bushes to another. 
 And they'll get him " 
 
 He, too, rose to go. The party broke up. And 
 this shadow of the desertion of that strange figure, 
 Harrold, whom none of them liked, whom none of 
 them, perhaps, understood, tempered their farewells. 
 
 Life was a succession of farewells, each different 
 from the other. 
 
 After they had gone Lance confessed to being a 
 little tired. He decided to postpone his departure 
 until the next afternoon. That evening he spent 
 shaking his head and grinning over some of his old 
 manuscripts, which Pauline had preserved. She 
 spent it knitting. She said very little. 
 
 The next morning he was in a fever of impatience 
 again. He donned his uniform, and threw a few 
 things into a suitcase. The two o'clock train sure, 
 this time! 
 
 "Tell the doc. he needn't come," said he, when 
 Pauline returned from one of several trips to the 
 telephone. "I don't need him any more." 
 
 She failed to reply. It seemed to be a habit she 
 had formed. Her mouth opened; closed again hi 
 silence. 
 
 "I suppose the last day is rather hard," he thought, 
 and withheld comment on this reticent, puzzled 
 Pauline. 
 
 But within the half hour she was animated again 
 and came out with a most remarkable plan : a pleasure 
 drive. She had hired a car. It was the very last
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 331 
 
 "bit of extravagance, she said; the very last. Aston- 
 ished, but secretly amused, by the flaring up of an 
 old trait, he fell in with the scheme; helped her into 
 the very comfortable machine; and talked to her 
 gaily as they drove off. It came out presently that 
 she had another bit of news for him, saved until now* 
 for some woman's reason: She had found her father's 
 hoard, the "little bank account'* he had always 
 insisted he had somewhere. It was only five hundred 
 dollars, "but oh, Lance, how big it seems just now." 
 
 "Big as a house," he agreed. "And now that 
 removes the only worry I had about going away. 
 You can pay the bills and live on the five hundred 
 until you get that job back. As Ann is going to 
 live with you it ought to be easy. You don't know 
 how relieved I am, really. Ann is going to live with 
 you when Tom goes, isn't she?" 
 
 " Perhaps," Pauline replied after a trifling hesita- 
 tion. 
 
 "You must make her," he said; and then he had to 
 know where the money was found, and how Father 
 Fanning had managed to conceal it: details that 
 proved commonplace in the telling. 
 
 They were rolling all this tune along the boulevard 
 by the lake; past the Beach, past the place where 
 Father Fanning had taken his last walk on earth; 
 and farther north. Then Pauline spoke to the 
 driver. 
 
 "Now downtown," she said. 
 
 "Downtown!" echoed Lance. "What for? It's 
 a funny day to do shopping."
 
 832 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 Her response to this came in accents that a woman 
 would instantly have recognized as carefully ar- 
 ranged. Lance, for all his acuteness, was not subtle 
 enough. He listened with a shade of surprise, but 
 nothing more, while she explained that a sudden 
 ambition had seized her to see the old Press office, 
 where he worked before she knew him. Would he 
 not like to have one more glimpse of the old "gang"? 
 She had thought it would please him. He had so 
 often talked about it 
 
 As she went on Lance, doubtful at first, embraced 
 the notion with growing interest. Yes, it would be 
 something to see the murky, low-ceilinged room 
 where the wallpaper was crinkling off the walls; 
 where he had pasted doggerel verse above his desk; 
 where he had "cracked out" many la story with a 
 sense of creativeness he had not recaptured later. 
 He wondered if many of the old boys still worked 
 there; if Bland still reigned, with the green eye- 
 shade, and the bell he pounded with the flat of his 
 hand, to summon errand boys. 
 
 "I'm glad you thought of it, Polly; I am, indeed," 
 and he thought she must really love him now, to have 
 arrived at such a plan. 
 
 In fifteen minutes or less they drew up before the 
 Press building. With a mingling of many emotions 
 Lance found himself ascending in the aged, creeping 
 elevator; getting off at the top floor, and hearing 
 through a half-open door the swishing, clanking 
 sound of linotype machines. 
 
 He guided Pauline into the local room. It was
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 333 
 
 the middle of the forenoon, and the reporters, as 
 should be the case in a hustling afternoon newspaper 
 office, were out. But there sat Bland, sure enough, 
 eye-shade and all. A little grayer, but the same 
 slow-moving, tired-looking, gravely polite Bland. 
 He rose and solemnly shook hands with Lance and 
 Pauline. His eye flitted over the uniform. And he 
 looked at the floor. 
 
 Was it imagination? Lance thought the glance 
 of his old chief, when he raised it, sought and held 
 Pauline's with a sort of understanding. The fancy 
 passed. 
 
 There was a pause. Then Bland said: 
 
 "Everything looks about the same, I know." He 
 moistened his lips. "There's one new wrinkle I'd 
 like to show you, though. After you, Mrs. Happerth. 
 Down the room here a piece. We've fixed up a 
 corner " 
 
 They passed down the local room. A grizzled 
 copy reader rose and shook Lance's hand shyly. 
 A boy whom he had known, now promoted to clip 
 newspapers, and wearing an air of authority, grinned 
 at him. Thus they reached a remote corner of the 
 room, where a desk and typewriter had been partly; 
 isolated by the simple process of moving an old book-; 
 case out from the wall. 
 
 A slim young man rose from an adjacent desk3 
 Lance gave him one look; then: 
 
 "Fred! Freddy Westcott!" 
 
 "The same," returned the well-known war cor- 
 respondent.
 
 334 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 "We had to bring him home; got scooped too 
 often," twinkled Bland. 
 
 "The truth is, I got sick," said Freddy, surveying 
 Lance affectionately. " Trench life was not for me." 
 
 They were too full of emotion, these old comrades, 
 to say much. 
 
 "Of course," observed Lance, "you would come 
 home just when I'm going across. This is your 
 desk, is it? Whose is the next one, with the nice new 
 typewriter, and all those bully drawers?" 
 
 Freddy turned to Bland. 
 
 And Bland said to Lance, "It is yours." 
 
 The room was astonishingly quiet just then. 
 
 "Mine?" Lance hesitated. "You mean when I 
 come back?" 
 
 "No," said the city editor, firmly. "Yours now." 
 
 And just then Lance felt his wife's hand grip his, 
 and he looked down into her eyes, which seemed to 
 be saying, "Oh, won't you understand?" 
 
 He stood there motionless while the meaning of 
 all this seeped into his mind. He saw Bland's kind, 
 resolute face; the lines about his mouth. He saw 
 Freddy's lips pressed tightly together. He felt 
 Pauline's persuasive clasp of the hand. 
 
 And in a tick of time it was all clear. 
 
 They thought he was not going. They knew he 
 was not going. They knew something he did not 
 know. 
 
 He tore his hand from Pauline's and stepped 
 back. -":., 
 
 "Don't leave me in the dark," he begged. Some-^
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 335 
 
 thing was pounding crazily in his breast. He laid his 
 hand there. More light came. 
 
 Pauline, all but sobbing, drew near him. 
 
 "I couldn't tell you by myself," she confessed. 
 "I had to have someone to help me. I wanted to 
 make it easy for you. So I thought of this way " 
 
 "I'm disqualified, am I? What does it mean, 
 Freddy? Bland, tell me." 
 
 " The doctor says you can't go," continued Pauline, 
 huskily. 
 
 " What doctor? " His anger was beginning to rise. 
 "That Lakeside ninny? What's wrong with me? 
 Don't stand there with your mouths open." 
 
 "It was when you jumped into the water," offered 
 Bland, painfully. "The exertion " 
 
 "That! I got over that." His dark eyes shot 
 from one to another of them, frightened, gleaming. 
 
 Suddenly he struck one fist into the other passion- 
 ately. 
 
 "If it's true," he choked. "If it's true I'm to be 
 cheated of this this chance " 
 
 Freddy swore half audibly. 
 
 "All this year wasted just when I'd got to the 
 point where those fellows, my outfit, were everything 
 to me. I can't believe it even now. Boys, do you 
 suppose whatever it is runs this universe would hand 
 me such a piece of cruelty? Never to see France 
 with my fellows; never to go at all. And for such a 
 reason; because I saved that old " 
 
 Here he paused, the instinct of shielding Pauline's 
 feelings asserting itself.
 
 336 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 Freddy came up and hooked an arm in his. 
 
 "Suppose it's true," he said; "what of it? Life 
 goes on." 
 
 "Ah, but not the life I want. I gave up one life 
 for this; for the army. Now " 
 
 And then, as quickly as he had despaired, he pulled 
 himself together, wiped his forehead with his handker- 
 chief, and straightened. 
 
 "I'll go down to camp. If the regimental surgeon 
 won't pass me, there's still the base hospital. A 
 Lakeside doctor! It takes a specialist. They can't 
 lose me until every stethoscope in the camp is worn 
 out." 
 
 When he left the room he was still talking in this 
 strain; but deep down, he knew the Lakeside doctor 
 must be right. He was done for.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 AD now we see him in one last hour of defeat, 
 one final throe of disappointment, that made 
 him the comrade of thousands to whom the 
 war became nothing but a bitter mockery. Like 
 them, he got over it. Like them, he is going on with 
 life, and there's a lot of it yet to be lived. 
 
 It is far past midnight, and Westmont Avenue 
 sleeps. There is no symphony of sounds within the 
 Fannington Annex. From the little iron balcony 
 outside the sun-porch Lance Happerth, standing 
 there, can hear the keening of the lake. He is fully 
 clothed but not in uniform as though he has not 
 been in bed. Nor has he. He has been downtown, 
 waiting through the midnight hours for a certain 
 train to come in, and a certain forlorn hope to bloom 
 or wither. It has withered. 
 
 The scene, just over with, is still vivid : The sweating 
 locomotive entering the train-shed; the brown, silent 
 cars; the groan of brakes. Here and there a tousled 
 head peeping from a berth. Nothing else. This was 
 a troop train, but its destination was not the City. 
 It was to be switched to a through track, and plunge 
 on eastward without delay. In such manner, with- 
 out pomp or pause, stealing through great cities, 
 roaring across meadows in the moonlight, our troops 
 
 337
 
 338 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 were moved to the seaboard. And that was how it 
 was with the division to which Lance had once be- 
 longed. He knew he had a poor chance of seeing 
 his friends, of succeeding in his wild scheme. But 
 he had to try. 
 
 He recalls now, gazing into the darkness with a 
 flitting smile, how he ran along the inhospitable cars, 
 seeking an open vestibule, and realizing more keenly 
 every moment how absurd it was; then how he en- 
 countered Morin, who never slept, enjoying a ciga- 
 rette and a chat with the fireman. 
 
 Lance's smile is at his own expense. What a 
 figure he must have cut 
 
 Pauline is at his side, in bath-gown and slippers, 
 she has come silently, like a warm-breathing spirit. 
 
 " Come in," she whispers through the open window. 
 "You must get some sleep." 
 
 He withdraws from the balcony, but remains by 
 the window. 
 
 "It didn't work," he says. "Of course it didn't 
 work. Morin wouldn't listen. I offered to go as 
 a cook, as a stowaway, as a servant anything. 
 Against regulations, Morin told me of course." 
 
 "How could you expect it, after what the camp 
 doctors said?" 
 
 "Oh, well, I didn't know but even if I was no good 
 
 for fighting, I could I told Morin I just had 
 
 to be with the fellows somehow, if only to fetch 
 water, to pull off their boots when they came in, 
 tired out. No go. Nothing doing." 
 
 "My dear, dear Lance, you must get some sleep."
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 339 
 
 Sleep? Not now. But he consents to sit down, 
 and to have his brow smoothed. 
 
 "Yes," he keeps saying, "might as well call this 
 the finish. 1*11 get over it. ... Worst of it is, 
 Polly, I'm not sick. Not really sick." 
 
 A pause. 
 
 "I'm good for a long time yet, with care. All the 
 doctors admit that. But what to do " 
 
 A much longer pause. 
 
 "I suppose I might as well take that job on the 
 Press:' 
 
 "I would." 
 
 "It would seem like getting home, some way; and 
 like starting over, and having to make good " 
 
 They are silent again for some seconds. He rises 
 again restlessly. 
 
 "Has it all been a waste, Polly? When you think 
 of it all, what do you suppose Providence, or what- 
 you-call-it, is about? And poor old Uncle Sam! To 
 spend all that time and effort on me, and the others 
 who didn't pan out. . . . Well, it must have 
 been for something. . . ." 
 
 The blackness outside is beginning to pale. 
 
 "You know, it makes me feel . . . I'm no 
 longer a kid. Remember the poem? . . . Well, 
 youth's sweet-scented manuscript is closed. . 
 What next?" 
 
 "The next," says Pauline, sternly, "will be 
 bed. Let all those problems and reasons wait. 
 Nobody gets anywhere trying to solve them, any- 
 way."
 
 340 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL 
 
 A taxicab it must be roars past the building. 
 Somebody is just getting home. Coming up from 
 the opposite direction is the jingle and jog-trot of a 
 milk wagon. The sky now is gray, with spreading 
 pink streaks reflected from the east. 
 
 Another day is beginning in Lakeside. 
 
 THE END
 
 A LETTER TO MR. CARL SANDBURG 
 
 MY DEAR CARL: 
 
 At two o'clock this morning I heard distant whist- 
 les, the bravura of horns, a faint uproar from the city 
 on the horizon, and I knew the war was over. The 
 book of a million adventures was/closed. 
 
 Never again, perhaps, will submarine battle sub- 
 marine, or thirty airships blaze at each other above 
 the clouds; never, it may be, will men live in dugouts, 
 or fight like beasts amid shell-holes. But the book 
 of permanent adventure is not closed. There re- 
 mains "just life," the poor little story of people like 
 ourselves. It has been going on all the time those 
 tremendous dramas have been in progress in Europe. 
 It has reacted to the war, more or less. People have 
 changed some of them. And it has seemed to me 
 worth while to record the experiences of a typical 
 group, living in a sort of conservatory altogether 
 remote, it once seemed, from the long arm of war. 
 
 The army division that figures in the story never 
 got into the fighting, so I didn't have to pretend I 
 had seen any of those soldiers in the trenches. They 
 were like some thousands of other fellows who looked 
 forward for months to all the mystery and horror, 
 who gave up the idea of living, and then were saved 
 against their wills. So, in a feeble way, the book 
 
 341
 
 342 A LETTER TO MR. CARL SANDBURG 
 
 is a tribute to those who never "got across," or who 
 came very near their heart's desire, but were turned 
 back. Hats off to these, Carl, as well as to all the 
 others. 
 
 A word about pretensions to military lore: I 
 haven't any. When it came to that I sought^ the 
 help, both technical and literary, of our friend Paul 
 Leach and he collaborated most skillfully. 
 
 As for the principal people in the story, none of 
 them is "taken from life." A pretty vague and 
 insignificant lot, I admit. But you shouldn't 
 imagine people of the sort are superfluous in the 
 Grand Scheme of Things. Nobody is quite that, 
 you know. 
 
 Sincerely your friend, 
 
 H. J. S. 
 Nov. 11, 1918.
 
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