g|KCL!Y 
 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
Copyright, 1903, by 
 FOX, DUFFIELD & COMPANY 
 
 Published, October, 1903 
 
 10AN STACK 
 
 gorh 
 
PS 3,503 
 
 ES IRRT DER MENSCH SO LANG ER STREET. 
 
 GOETHE. 
 
 554 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PART I 
 
 PART II ........... . 153 
 
PART I 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 TTTITHIN the plate-glass front of his office, which 
 * * bore in new gilt letters his name and the prev 
 alent words "Real Estate," Daniel Devin stood, 
 looking out into the busy street and bestowing some 
 final counsels upon his auctioneer. He had to use the 
 strength of his deep voice, for opposite the window, 
 in a band-wagon drawn up at the curb, a brass band 
 was blaring out in trumpet notes the sentimental 
 strains of "Little Annie Rooney," with a tremendous 
 crash of cymbals in the chorus. The driver of the 
 band-wagon, however, was ready for the start. He 
 had gathered up the reins over the four horses and 
 was looking into the window for his signal. Daniel 
 Devin glanced over the vehicle and the line of omni 
 buses behind it, all gay with flags, bunting, and signs. 
 A fair number of people had seized the chance of 
 fered by the signs, of a free ride and a free lunch, and 
 were already seated in the omnibuses. The proces 
 sion in its course through the main streets of the 
 city would doubtless gather in a good many more. 
 Devin nodded to the driver, the horses started with 
 a jump which shook some false notes out of the 
 trumpets, the buses and the caterer s wagon rolled 
 on in the wake of the band; and the crowd on the 
 
 1 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 sidewalk, after a friendly cheer, turned to other 
 occupations. 
 
 "Well, I shall proceed then/ said Mr. Stoneman, 
 the auctioneer. "I have a few things to arrange, but 
 I ll be at the ranch by the time you are. Somebody 
 wants you at the telephone, I infer. " 
 
 In fact, the bell on Devin s desk, after several short 
 rings, was now thrilling out a prolonged impatient 
 call. 
 
 "All right. Just wait a minute, will you?" 
 
 "Certainly, sir," said Mr. Stoneman, taking up his 
 silk hat from a chair and eyeing critically its immac 
 ulate gloss. He was a man of bland look and urbane 
 manner; of a portly person, adorned by the dignified 
 black coat, low-cut collar and bow-tie in favor with 
 solid citizens the country over. He looked impor 
 tant, as indeed he might with reason; having so 
 wide a reputation in his art that he had been brought 
 on from the East by a leading citizen some months 
 before, especially to conduct a sale of land. Since 
 then, sales of land in these boom-times had kept Mr. 
 Stoneman busy. He was much in demand; yet his 
 consciousness of that fact never impaired the meas 
 ured courtesy of his demeanor. 
 
 Daniel Devin betrayed much more impatience at 
 the interruption. Snatching the telephone receiver 
 off the hook, he slid into his chair and shouted: 
 "Stop that buzzing, will you? Yes, this is seven- 
 nine-three. Yes yes, this is Devin. Who are 
 you? What? Oh." 
 
 His face and voice underwent a sudden change. 
 He half smiled, biting his lip and raising his eye 
 brows with a repentant look, 
 
 2 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Oh, I didn t recognize your voice. How are you? 
 . . . Yes, I m all right rather busy, yes. I m 
 going out to the ranch pretty soon the sale, you 
 know, this morning. . . . What? ... I 
 promised you? . . . But not to-day won t 
 
 some other day ? . . . What? . . . You 
 
 want to go? I thought you said . . . oh, I didn t 
 understand you wanted to go with me. I beg 
 your pardon, I m sure. Of course I shall be de 
 lighted to take you out. But the sale, you see, 
 begins at eleven I intended to start in about 
 twenty minutes; I want to get there before the 
 crowd. . . . You have to sing? And I promised 
 to go and hear you? Well, ... it will make 
 me late to the ... Now don t, you shall go, 
 of course ... of course I want you to. ... 
 I ll go round there, and then afterward we ll drive 
 out. . . . Yes, I want to do that, of course I 
 do. And we ll have lunch out there it will proba 
 bly last till the middle of the afternoon. Yes, that s 
 all settled, then. What time does this show begin? 
 . . . Well, I ll get round as soon as I can. . . . 
 Yes, ... no, you re not. . . . Good-by, 
 then. . . . Good-by." 
 
 The intonations of Dan s voice betrayed him to 
 the auctioneer, who smiled to himself, but met the 
 expected explanation with perfect gravity. 
 
 The fact is," said Dan, laughing in a slightly em 
 barrassed way, "I can t get out early after all. I d 
 forgotten an engagement for this morning a rather 
 important one " 
 
 "I understand, sir, I understand," said Mr. Stone- 
 man indulgently, There are certain contingencies 
 
 3 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 in which business must be subordinated. . . . 
 And by the way, Mr. Devin, I trust you will allow 
 me to congratulate you. I read the paragraph an 
 nouncing your betrothal in this morning s paper. 
 I have had the pleasure the very great pleasure 
 of seeing the young lady. I heard her sing at the re 
 cent concert at the Opera House. I hope you will 
 allow me to say that I was charmed delighted. 
 She has a remarkably fine voice, and, if you will 
 pardon me for saying so, she is certainly one of the 
 most beautiful in this land of fair women." Mr. 
 Stoneman s unctuous periods showed a very genuine 
 warmth. In his enthusiasm he offered Dan his 
 hand. 
 
 "Thank you much obliged, I m sure/ Dan said 
 hastily. He shook Mr. Stoneman s kid-gloved hand. 
 "But this rather upsets me I d counted on being 
 out here at the start. Of course you understand 
 about how I want the thing to go, but still nobody 
 can tell what kind of a crowd we re going to have 
 or whether we re going to have any." 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Devin, I wouldn t worry about that," 
 and the auctioneer smiled broadly. "Why, sir, I 
 could go out on the sidewalk and raise a crowd in 
 ten minutes that would buy your property! It isn t 
 a question nowadays to find people to buy, but to 
 find something to sell em." 
 
 "I m not worrying much," Dan said. "Still 
 no lot is to go under a hundred, you know. If they 
 aren t hungry enough for that " 
 
 "Oh, rest easy, sir, we ll bid em in. But a hundred 
 Lord, I ll get a hundred and fifty for the worst of 
 the tract. Why, anyone would think to hear you, 
 
 4 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Mr. Devin, that there was no such thing as a boom 
 in this blessed country to-day. " 
 
 Mr. Stoneman s speaking countenance was nobly 
 expostulatory. Dan laughed. 
 
 "Well, I leave it to you/ he said, escorting the 
 auctioneer to the door. "Begin at eleven sharp. 
 I ll be out as soon as I can/ 
 
 Then he went back to his desk a new one, large, 
 square and glittering, and elaborately fitted up. In 
 deed everything in the office, from the Turkish rug 
 on the floor to the paintings on the wall, was new 
 and of the most approved pattern. Dan set to work 
 to finish up his morning s mail; whistling softly a 
 cheerful, tuneless strain, frowning now and then, 
 yet with a very happy look. If he had been a little 
 aghast at Anna s sudden demand on his morning 
 this morning of all others he had quickly resigned 
 himself to it. True, he was not looking forward 
 with any particular joy to the time he must spend 
 in the synagogue where Anna though she was the 
 daughter of a clergyman sang in the choir. He 
 would even have preferred, perhaps, that the ex 
 cursion in her company should be deferred to an oc 
 casion not complicated by business. But they had 
 been engaged only three days; this was the first 
 thing she had asked of him, and the granting it cer 
 tainly promised some compensations. 
 
 Dan was much interested in the business before 
 him; yet as he ran through his remaining letters, or 
 read over and signed those brought to him by his 
 clerk, his thoughts occasionally wandered; he would 
 catch himself, with his pen suspended, smiling into 
 vacancy, and with a momentary frown would con- 
 
 5 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 centrate again upon his work. But even when he 
 frowned his look was happy. Indeed all his thoughts 
 on this brilliant morning were pleasant ones. He 
 was young, full of life and vigor; he was in love and 
 successful. The consciousness of success and power 
 showed in his resolute, alert face; and joy in life 
 shone in the vivid blue eyes that went with his curl 
 ing black hair and ruddy color, and in his ready smile. 
 
 By the time he had finished his letters there were 
 several people in the front part of the office, studying 
 the large map of the property which was that day to 
 be sold, and waiting to see Dan. His team, too, 
 was waiting outside, and the restive horses had to 
 stand forty minutes before he could get through his 
 business and leave. 
 
 Then he went out with a rush, jumped into the 
 buggy and took the reins from the negro driver. 
 The street and sidewalks were crowded, the cable- 
 cars had to go slowly and with much clanging of 
 gongs through the concentrated and congested busi 
 ness part of the city. In many places in this small 
 district building operations further obstructed the 
 way. Frame cottages were being torn down to 
 make way for brick office buildings. Another new 
 hotel was going up. The city was making enormous 
 efforts to house her suddenly increasing business 
 and the crowds of tourists or new settlers that poured 
 in now by every train. And she was happy in doing 
 it. The joy of activity, of expansion, was perfectly 
 visible in the faces of the crowd. It was in the air 
 itself; and that air on a perfect October morning, 
 under a sky as blue as the mountain peaks in the dis 
 tance, was alone a reason for living. 
 
 6 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Dan, forced to hold down his prancing horses till 
 they had got out of the main street, narrowly missed 
 a collision with a cable-car; then, turning off at the 
 first corner, the team took fright at the sudden 
 bursting into song of another brass band not 
 Dan s and, shying, ran past the band-wagon and 
 the procession following. The signs on the buses 
 in this case announced a sale of lots out on the 
 heights toward the sea. Dan felt a qualm of anxiety. 
 Those people in the buses were so many possible 
 investors drawn away from his own attraction. 
 Still it was a slow day now on which two rival brass 
 bands and auctioneers did not compete for the crowd; 
 and the crowd was generally equal to two such 
 occasions. 
 
 All the more, however, Dan wished, as his horses 
 sped along a less busy street, that he could put 
 them now on the stretch of country road leading 
 out to the scene of his auction. But that was quite 
 hopeless. He drove instead to the synagogue and 
 entered with a sigh. It seemed an unusual waste of 
 time to go to church on a fine rushing Saturday 
 morning. Apparently a good many other business 
 like people thought so too, for though the service 
 had begun half an hour before, the building was al 
 most empty. 
 
 Dan looked about him with some interest, noting 
 unexpected points of resemblance to the ordinary 
 church as he remembered it. Surely those colored- 
 glass windows, those lines of straight-backed red- 
 cushioned pews, those decorous ushers in black, were 
 very like what he had been used to see. Dan had 
 not been in a church since he had left the Illinois home 
 
 7 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 of his boyhood, but those early impressions were 
 still oddly clear. When a light-haired man in frock- 
 coat and white tie rose from his seat on the dais, 
 came forward to the pulpit and began to read, Dan 
 could imagine himself back in Mapleton. This per 
 son had the pompous air and his voice had the nasal 
 intonations of Dr. Brewster, the old Methodist parson. 
 
 Vaguely Dan had looked for something different, 
 he hardly knew what, but perhaps more in the line 
 of the Chinese joss-house, which was his sole experi 
 ence of an alien worship. The Jews he considered 
 to be not only foreigners, but Orientals also, and dis 
 liked them as such. It was disconcerting to find 
 them behaving like Christians. He had taken a seat 
 near the door in order to be able to get out easily, and 
 there it was difficult to distinguish what the reader 
 was saying; for, though his voice was sonorous, it 
 had a curiously muffled quality. Dan had just de 
 cided that he was speaking English, when he paused, 
 and from the screened choir-loft came a few soft 
 grumbling organ-chords and then a long minor 
 phrase sung in a baritone voice. 
 
 Dan looked up, and listened eagerly. In another 
 moment the full choir joined in and he thought he 
 could distinguish Anna s voice; then the soprano 
 had a phrase alone and he was sure of it. He knew 
 that later she would question him and that he would 
 be obliged to produce a certain number of ideas about 
 her singing. He listened, therefore, devoutly. But, 
 as it happened, music never inspired Dan with any 
 ideas whatsoever, except such as he might get from 
 the words of a song if pronounced very distinctly; 
 and in this case, if the choir were pronouncing any 
 
 8 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 words at all, they concealed the fact. However, Dan 
 got other things from music a number of emotions, 
 namely, and a vast amount of sensuous pleasure, all 
 of which might be inarticulate, but were certainly 
 very real. Amost any kind of music would serve 
 him thus, excepting always the purely gymnastic 
 sort, though the simpler it was the better he liked it. 
 As the choir went on, weaving a softly-blended, 
 richly-colored melancholy strain, the cockles of his 
 heart began to warm. His face, uplifted in the di 
 rection that the music came from, softened and 
 brightened to its most attractive look. 
 
 The far-away Irish ancestor his station was lost 
 in the mists of antiquity or of obscurity who had 
 given Daniel Devin his name had also handed down 
 through five generations of New Englanders his 
 main physical characteristics: the powerful, rather 
 stocky build; the black hair which would curl at the 
 ends if allowed to grow a little longer; the blue eyes, 
 showing race and temper; the sanguine complexion 
 and square chin with the hint of a cleft. New Eng 
 land environment and intermarrying had, in fact, left 
 no visible impress on that strong original mould, yet 
 Dan was not to be mistaken for anything but an 
 American born and bred. He looked excitable, 
 emotional enough, to belong to a gayer people. It 
 was the mouth, perhaps, that marked him off from 
 them; this lacked the happy curl that goes with a 
 light heart and an irresponsible head; the corners 
 curved down instead of up. 
 
 The choir ceased suddenly, the reader again took 
 up his mysterious theme, and Dan fell from a vague 
 bright region of mid-air to earth. People had kept 
 
 9 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 coining in by twos and threes, and the swinging 
 doors at the back now creaked almost continuously. 
 Yet the expanse of pews still looked vacant. Dan 
 had inevitably some business acquaintance among 
 the Jews of the city, and he now recognized one of 
 them Julius Kahn, a lawyer in the stout, spec 
 tacled gentleman who passed him and, followed by 
 a lady in black satin, proceeded up the aisle. Men 
 and women sat together, and the men did not wear 
 their hats, as Dan had a faint notion they would. 
 Most of the women were dressed in black, but richly, 
 with silks and plumes. There were, in fact, no poor- 
 looking people in the place. Dan, who, as has been 
 said, disliked all foreigners, and who considered a 
 Jew as much a foreigner as a Chinaman (the lowest 
 of created things), looked the audience over, noting 
 the peculiarities he especially disliked. In return 
 for his glances, some, rather cold and unfriendly, 
 were cast at him; but he was not disturbed in the 
 least, having been assured by Anna that there would 
 be no expressed objection to his presence. 
 
 The choir sang again, the audience rising, and Dan 
 rose too. Again Anna s voice rang out alone a 
 full, robust soprano, with depth in the lower register, 
 and a hint of stridency in the upper with dramatic 
 intention rather than feeling clear, true and fresh, 
 rather than sweet. The things that Dan liked best 
 in her singing did not come out in this church music. 
 Yet he was irritated when it stopped as abruptly as 
 before and the audience sat down. Quite evidently 
 the music was designed to be simply an accompani 
 ment to the locution of the blond official. Dan 
 began to feel bored. His thoughts went far afield, 
 
 10 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 while occasionally a traditional name fell upon his 
 ear " Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob," or something 
 about "Israel"; and his eyes wandered over the 
 reader s desk to the red velvet chairs in semicircle 
 behind it, three on either side of a gilded grating sur 
 mounted by an inscription in strange lettering (Dan 
 thought it resembled Chinese) and an arch of gas 
 lights. The man at the desk read a prayer begin 
 ning "Our Heavenly Father"; then a beautiful alto 
 voice, beginning softly, sang a plaintive recitative. 
 
 The first notes thrilled Dan. The voice had the 
 emotional quality which was what he cared for in 
 music; it had sweetness and depth, and a kind of 
 tender solemnity. In just those tones, he thought, 
 had his mother been used to sing, when he was a child, 
 in the church choir at Mapleton. Dan had not 
 thought of his mother for a good many days; he 
 made a mental memorandum to write to her. Sud 
 denly he realized that he had news to give that would 
 be important to her she had no idea that he was 
 going to be married. But then Dan himself had not 
 known it a week ago. 
 
 Anna was singing again now, her voice dominating 
 the others with crystal clearness; but Dan began to 
 be restless. He saw that people were still coming 
 in; obviously there was a good deal more to hap 
 pen. A family procession up his aisle interested him 
 unexpectedly. The two men he knew, in a business 
 way. The leader, short and stout, with slightly 
 bowed shoulders and thick gray hair, was Abram 
 de Ronde, one of the best known and least liked 
 citizens of the place. He was a banker, reputed 
 to be a millionnaire even before the days of the 
 
 11 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 boom; and now when every tenth man was a 
 millionnaire on paper he still had a solid pre 
 eminence. De Ronde did not speculate; but his 
 bank lent money, at high interest and on ample secu 
 rity, to those who did. He was known to be not only 
 very conservative, but also as hard as nails in all busi 
 ness transactions two qualities apt to be unpopular 
 in a new country, and sure to be so at a time, like this, 
 of generous expansion and general confidence. More 
 over, De Ronde was an aristocrat. His fortune had 
 its beginning, not in a New York peddler s pack, but 
 in a Portuguese goldsmith-money-lender s shop, seven 
 generations back. He had traditions to maintain; 
 his generosity to his own race and reserve to all others 
 were points of honor with him. All that Daniel Devin 
 knew of him, however, was that he was a grasping old 
 skinflint, and that he, Dan, owed him a great deal of 
 money, for which he was paying fifteen per cent inter 
 est. De Ronde s son, Abram the second, who fol 
 lowed him, was popularly considered a chip of the old 
 block. He was a handsome youth, slightly built, 
 with a pale, rather melancholy face. These at 
 tractions were shared by the two young girls who 
 came next, Mrs. De Ronde bringing up the rear. It 
 was easy to see how the children came by their good 
 looks. The mother was still beautiful, though not 
 quite escaping the bane of the women of her race; 
 tall, with a fine stately carriage of the head, and a 
 profile of clear distinction. Daniel, who was exceed 
 ingly susceptible to feminine charm, moved to the 
 end of his pew and watched them into their seats. 
 The two girls were beautifully slender and graceful; 
 in them the Oriental was undoubtedly highly pleas- 
 
 12 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 ing. But it has been observed that even the most 
 stalwart patriot and disliker of foreigners will make 
 an occasional feminine exception. Dan saw that be 
 fore De Ronde sat down he turned and glanced down 
 the aisle. He guessed that the banker had recog 
 nized him and was displeased by his presence. It 
 was too far away to make sure, but he guessed also 
 that De Ronde s light-gray eyes had the peculiar 
 fishy look that he, Daniel, abominated. During their 
 brief business interviews Dan never looked the banker 
 in the eye if he could help it; and whenever he was 
 obliged to do so he received a renewed impression of 
 the look of a fish a dead fish, as he put it to himself. 
 
 But all these impressions De Ronde and his 
 women, the singing, even the idea of Anna herself 
 were like eddies along the margin of a swift stream, 
 or like ripples on its surface. The main current of 
 Dan s thought concerned that business transaction in 
 which he had risked every dollar he owned or could 
 borrow, and the success or failure of which the events 
 of the day would largely determine. 
 
 Dan counted surely upon success. He would not 
 admit a doubt. Yet something of the gambler s 
 fever was burning in his veins. He had not slept 
 three hours the night before; but it would take more 
 than one night s restless pillow-punching to dull his 
 eyes or pale his ruddy skin. He looked perfectly fit; 
 and sitting quietly with folded arms he looked per 
 fectly calm, too, though in reality his nerves were 
 en edge. 
 
 He now wanted fervently to bolt; and wondered 
 whether Anna could see him from behind the crimson 
 curtains that hid her. He would have to wait for her 
 
 13 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 outside; but outside were his horses and the clear, 
 bright October air to move about in. He felt that 
 he couldn t sit still much longer, singing or no singing. 
 
 A momentary flicker of interest woke when the 
 three men up in front opened the gilt grating, took 
 out the middle one of three indefinite red-and-gold 
 objects behind it, and, coming forward to the desk 
 again, performed some incantations over it in a 
 heathen tongue, and then kissed the object devoutly. 
 Dan was again irresistibly reminded of his sole com 
 parison, the joss-house, and of the singsong jargon 
 of the despised Chinaman. De Ronde was a heathen, 
 after all in spite of his air of dignity not really much 
 superior, in point of light, to a miserable Chink! It 
 was, Dan puritanically considered, just as degrading 
 to kiss an object in a red velvet cover as to throw 
 paper pellets at the Joss. 
 
 He sighed deeply. There was more singing and 
 reading, and then the joss or whatever it was 
 was again imprisoned behind its grating. Then be 
 gan a sermon. This was decidedly more than Dan 
 had bargained for. He had not the least desire to 
 hear about Moses from an elderly man with an ex 
 ecrable accent and delivery. His skin began to 
 prickle and chills ran up and down his legs exactly 
 as in the church-going days of his boyhood. To 
 complete his discomfort a woman came in and took a 
 seat directly behind him, rustling in silk upon silk. 
 She was stout; he could tell from the way she sat 
 down. She took off a wrap that rustled fearfully; 
 crossed her knees, first one way and then another, 
 with the peculiar scraping of stiff silk linings. Then 
 she pulled up her skirt and apparently dived into a 
 
 14 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 pocket in her petticoat. Her handkerchief shook 
 out a generous odor. Dan liked some strong per 
 fumes, but not musk. Repulsion overcame the feel 
 ing, inherited from his boyhood, that it was criminal 
 from a churchly point of view to leave during service, 
 and especially in the course of the sermon. Dan, 
 naturally courteous, disliked to offend these people, 
 but the musk was really too much. He rose and 
 went out hurriedly, noting that she was atrociously 
 fat and wore one of those shiny bonnets that elderly 
 women affect. 
 
 Outside, the air and sunlight were more than ever 
 glorious. Rain had fallen the night before, and the 
 dust of the streets was beaten down. The pepper- 
 trees across the way swept their long, drooping 
 leaves in the light breeze, fresh as a beauty after the 
 bath; and in the little yards of the cottages beyond 
 the heliotropes and rose-bushes were covered with 
 new blossoms. 
 
 The horses were not in sight. Dan walked up and 
 down the block. Going south he looked vaguely for 
 the team. Going north he looked up at the great 
 mountain chain twenty miles away shining in the 
 sun with metallic purple and bronze lights, the 
 farthest peak white with snow. Dan had been eight 
 years in California, but he still looked at the moun 
 tains, even though, as now, he might be thinking of 
 something else. He walked slowly, with his hands 
 thrust deep in his trousers pockets, jingling the loose 
 gold and silver pieces. He was well dressed in brown 
 tweeds not particularly new, and wore a light felt hat 
 with a brim no wider than might be worn in New 
 York. An objection might perhaps lie against his 
 
 15 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 red neck-scarf. But any person so intolerant of flam- 
 boy ancy as to dislike a red tie would certainly find 
 many other things to dislike about Daniel Devin. 
 
 Presently his horses came trotting in a wide, lei 
 surely sweep round the corner. They were "high- 
 steppers," a well-matched pair of bays curried to per 
 fection. As they tossed their uncurbed heads there 
 was a spirited jingle of silver chains. The buggy 
 they drew was new and handsome. The colored 
 groom, attached to the stable where Dan boarded 
 his horses, but practically in Dan s employ, pulled 
 the team up at the curb with a flourish, and started 
 to get out. Dan looked at his watch. "A quarter of 
 an hour yet," he said resignedly; and getting into the 
 buggy he took a note-book and pencil from his pocket 
 and began to work at some figures. The team, how 
 ever, was loath to stand. 
 
 "They re pretty fresh," the groom suggested, 
 "not bein out at all yestiddy, you see, suh." 
 
 "All right, let em go drive round the block," said 
 Dan, absorbed in his arithmetical exercises. So in 
 teresting, in fact, were these that he was driven un 
 heeding round not one but several blocks, and only 
 came back to himself at a sudden halt to see Anna 
 standing on the sidewalk in front of the synagogue 
 and looking reproachfully at him. He sprang out 
 and managed to explain before her sense of injury 
 found voice. She then consented to smile. Dan 
 helped her into the buggy, took the driver s seat 
 and the reins, tossed the colored man a dollar, and 
 they were off. 
 
 "Thank heaven," he breathed involuntarily. "I 
 thought you would never come." 
 
 16 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "You didn t seem to be looking for me very hard 
 when you came up/ Anna said, laughing. Her 
 speaking voice had the freshness and decision of her 
 "dramatic soprano." If it were not good-humored 
 it would certainly be sharp. 
 
 "I ve been waiting for you for an hour and a 
 half." 
 
 "Then you didn t like the singing? I thought you 
 liked to hear me sing." 
 
 "So I do. But think of the other things I had to 
 sit through. I haven t been to church for I guess 
 ten years." 
 
 "Then it s time you went. Your soul must be in 
 danger." 
 
 "Well, it won t be saved by this morning s experi 
 ence. I d hate to be saved in De Ronde s company, 
 anyhow. Almost rather go to the other place." 
 
 Anna laughed. "I m glad you re not religious," 
 she said confidentially, though it was not the first 
 time she had said it. 
 
 "Why? So you can convert me to your own par 
 ticular brand?" 
 
 "No you know why. I ve had so much of it. I 
 never want to go to church after afterward." 
 
 "Well, begin now by not singing there any more. 
 Honestly, I wish you would." 
 
 "Why? That s different from what I mean. I 
 like to sing in a big place, and I like church music. 
 Didn t you think my voice came out well?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. But why should you sing for De Ronde 
 and that crowd? I don t like it." 
 
 "Why, you silly boy, I sing there because I can 
 get money for it, I ve earned all my own clothes 
 
 17 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 and pocket money for a year, as well as my lessons 
 shouldn t have had any if I hadn t." 
 
 "Well, at any rate, that isn t necessary any longer. 
 So give it up, will you please dearest?" 
 
 "Do you really mean it? Why should you care 
 who hears me sing? How funny men are! Perhaps 
 you d like me not to sing to anybody but you?" 
 
 "Yes, I think I would oh, no, I wouldn t mind if 
 it was in your own house, you know. But what I 
 like best is to be alone when you sing." 
 
 "Well, I don t mind that. But surely you don t 
 object to concerts, do you? I mean you wouldn t 
 mind my singing in public occasionally?" 
 
 "Yes, I should," said Dan very decidedly. 
 
 Anna was silent for a moment. 
 
 "Oh, well, very likely I sha n t want to," she said 
 carelessly. 
 
 She looked away at the citrus hedge and walnut 
 plantation spinning by on the left, apparently as 
 composed and good-humored as before. Inwardly, 
 however, she was adjusting herself to a slight shock. 
 This subject, important to her, had not come up for 
 discussion with Dan before. But there were so many 
 things they had not talked over! Had Dan views 
 as decisive about all those other things? She felt 
 a momentary qualm, but it was only momentary. 
 Dan was very much in love. Whatever his words 
 might say, his every tone and look spoke the lover, 
 and proclaimed Anna s power over him. She took 
 courage. If men are not to be ruled by beauty, what 
 is the use of anything? In reality she had as much 
 confidence in her own untried strength as Dan had in 
 his. But hers was to be exercised on Dan; while he 
 
 IS 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 meant to do something big, in order that Anna might 
 have everything she wanted. To be sure, he had 
 meant to make a fortune before ever he saw Anna. 
 But now there was an infinitely stronger reason for 
 doing so. Anna was the sort of woman, he fondly 
 thought, to be set off by magnificence. 
 
 Dan liked what he called style, in women as in 
 horses. He meant physical perfection, conscious of 
 itself. He liked to see a horse prance and curvet. 
 He liked to see a woman carry herself in such a way 
 as to challenge attention to her points. Of course, 
 both the horse and the woman must have the points. 
 Anna had them in abundance. She was very young, 
 but unmistakably already "a fine woman." The 
 generous country of her birth has this faculty of 
 forcing a quick, full maturity, and Anna s type is not 
 uncommon there. At eighteen she had the figure of 
 a well-cared-for woman of thirty. She was tall a 
 little taller than Dan and stately as the young 
 palm-tree whose straight woody stem is a trifle too 
 rigid for grace. Her main beauty was her coloring. 
 She was a tawny blonde, with very dark eyes. She 
 wore her light hair curled low on her forehead, and 
 at a little distance the contrast was almost too ef 
 fective a little theatrical. It was only on a near 
 approach that one could see how the brown tones of 
 her rosy skin blended the eyes and hair into harmony. 
 Anna sometimes wished that her dark eyelashes had 
 been longer, or that her straight eyebrows had been 
 thicker and continued in a graceful curve instead 
 of ending abruptly short of the corner of the eye. 
 Otherwise she was very well satisfied with herself; and 
 her general expression said as much. Very handsome 
 
 19 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 she was certainly; healthy, good-humored; a woman 
 to attract attention and admiration wherever she 
 might be. Dan would be envied, and he thought 
 himself most enviable. To him Anna was the ideal 
 woman; and he was not the person to miss anything 
 because she was already a woman when he wooed 
 her. He thought often of the future, but never with 
 apprehension. That Anna was already in her prime, 
 and could scarcely be imagined to change for the bet 
 ter, suggested no regret to him. That she missed 
 the typical charm of youth, the promise that lies in 
 its meagreness, softness and lack of form, had never 
 occurred to Dan. In fact, though Anna was so much 
 in his mind, he did not definitely think much about 
 her. 
 
 The bays were making fast time over the sandy 
 road between orchards of orange or lemon trees, or 
 rows of poplars and eucalyptus, but not fast enough 
 for Dan. He looked at his watch and urged them on, 
 as they passed "Keyser s place," which was half-way 
 to their destination. Keyser s was one of the oldest 
 ranches in the district; its avenue of pepper- trees 
 had been twenty years growing, and it boasted an 
 orange orchard and vineyard as old. Part of the 
 establishment was a winery, where Dan had sent his 
 own grapes, during his brief experience as a fruit 
 grower. He pointed out to Anna the roof of the 
 winery as they sped by. 
 
 "Oh, I know that place," she said. "We had a 
 church picnic near here once. They were crushing 
 the grapes then, and you could smell them about 
 half a mile away. It made some of us dizzy. Not 
 just the place for a church affair, was it!" 
 
 20 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Talk became more difficult as the team s speed in 
 creased. The clots of sand flew still thicker from 
 their flashing hoofs, and Anna drew up the lap-robe 
 to protect her gray silk, the best dress she had, though 
 an unbecoming one. 
 
 "It will be past noon by the time we get there," 
 Dan said rather anxiously. 
 
 "Couldn t they have waited for us?" 
 
 "Hardly. The auction was advertised for eleven, 
 you see, and well, the crowd mightn t have stayed." 
 
 "Oh, I hope they haven t gone yet I ve never 
 seen an auction. Don t you?" 
 
 "Yes, I do," Dan said grimly. 
 
 Anna had no idea of the importance of that crowd 
 to Dan, no idea that the auction involved anything 
 serious; naturally enough, since Dan had painted the 
 situation to her in the brilliant colors in which he nor 
 mally saw it. Anna thought she was simply going 
 to be a witness of her lover s success. If this auction 
 of Dan s land sold to the amount he expected, he 
 would make six times the money he had put into it 
 a month ago ; so much she knew. There was an ele 
 ment of risk about which she knew nothing; but this 
 risk was less than it would have been in any other 
 than the extraordinary conditions then prevailing. 
 Dan was not alarmed, but his nerves were tense. 
 He took out his whip, almost never used, and slashed 
 the off-horse sharply; the horse reared and the team 
 broke into a run. It took all the strength of Dan s 
 brown hands to bring them down again, but he was 
 glad of the exertion. Anna was silent, protecting her 
 face as well as she could and holding her broad white 
 hat on; they brought up with a whirl at the turning 
 
 21 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 which led through a wide gap in the cypress hedge 
 and over a zanja bridged with planking into the 
 ranch. 
 
 The driveway was a good deal marked up by fresh 
 wheel- tracks and hoof-prints, and Dan noted the fa 
 vorable sign. 
 
 To the right was the low gray house, a scanty lawn 
 set with large rose-bushes separating it from the 
 road. Dan looked sharply at the windows as he 
 drove past them, but there was no sign of any mem 
 ber of the Emmons family either about the house or 
 in the "backyard" a stretch of hard-beaten ground 
 under a large pepper-tree which was the children s 
 playground. 
 
 To the left the orange orchard stretched away 
 in even rows. At this season of vernal revival after 
 the first rains the ranch should have been at its best, 
 but instead it showed plainly the effects of neglect. 
 The owner had spared the trouble of ploughing and 
 irrigating during the last half of the dry season. The 
 fall pruning had not been done and the citrus-trees 
 and hedges were straggling out of shape, while the 
 grape-vines beyond were covered with long waste 
 shoots. Weeds speckled the ground all the way from 
 the first rows of English walnut-trees through the or 
 chard and the vineyard, and grew almost visibly in 
 the hot sun. And the trails of the busy gopher 
 were everywhere, long runs above the surface show 
 ing where he had bored below from the roots of one 
 orange-tree to another. 
 
 These trees, ten years old and in full bearing, were 
 heavy with fruit just beginning to turn, but doomed 
 to wither and rot uselessly. And the reason was ap- 
 
 22 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 parent in a plentiful crop of white stakes set at regular 
 intervals among them; and in the gathering of ve 
 hicles which extended from the tank-house to the 
 barn, and the men densely packed about the auction 
 eer s stand under a great live-oak tree. Dan drew a 
 deep breath of relief. With a crowd like that bigger 
 than he had dared to expect success was practically 
 sure. 
 
 23 
 
n. 
 
 TTE drove round the circle, going out into the 
 -*--- orchard to pass it, and drew up under the 
 farther oak-tree, where the caterer and his assist 
 ants were setting out the lunch on long tables 
 made of planks and trestles. A brief conference 
 satisfied Dan that there would be enough food to go 
 round, and he was then free to listen to the orotund 
 voice of Mr. Stoneman, who, leaning over the stand, 
 with his silk hat tipped a little back on his head, 
 was apparently on the best possible terms with him 
 self and his audience. 
 
 Two hundred and fifty," he was saying. "If you 
 want that lot, Mr. Feltner, you can do a little better 
 than that. Two-fifty two-fifty, why, gentlemen, 
 the owner of this lot can go back to town and sell it 
 this afternoon for probably double that price. You 
 know that as well as I do. You know that people 
 are standing in line all night to get a chance to pay 
 down their money for land not half so good. Two- 
 seventy-five thank you, Mr. Feltner " 
 
 "Three hundred," said an anxious man in the front 
 rank. 
 
 "Three hundred this lot, as you see, has a frontage 
 of fifty feet on what will be one of the main streets of 
 this fine suburb. You know, gentlemen, what city 
 lots are selling for now you know how soon a city 
 like ours swallows up its suburbs like ah, ha Minos 
 
 24 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 devouring his own children three hundred dollars 
 three hundred really I hate to see a chance like 
 this going so easily. It looks as though I hadn t 
 made things clear to you. Three hundred three 
 hundred going, going sold at three hundred dollars 
 to Mr. Bragg." 
 
 The gavel fell. 
 
 Mr. Stoneman turned and bowed to Dan, removing 
 his tall hat for a moment, and motioned his assistant 
 to turn the large cloth map of the property round. 
 A glance showed Dan a very encouraging proportion 
 of squares marked with the pencil cross which meant 
 "sold." He smiled and nodded carelessly. 
 
 "I don t think we d better get out," he said to 
 Anna; "the team won t stand." 
 
 "This is very nice," she said. "But I thought 
 there d be more excitement!" 
 
 Dan shook his head, smiling. He was listening to 
 the bidding. Several men wanted the next lot of 
 fered. The auctioneer ran the price up to four hun 
 dred and fifty dollars, and the successful bidder took 
 the two inside lots at the same price. Dan might 
 have said with justice that there was no need of a 
 brass band, or of "cappers" to stimulate enthusiasm, 
 with a crowd in such a temper as this transaction 
 showed. While the assistant was marking the cor 
 responding squares on the map, Mr. Stoneman stepped 
 down from his stand and came over to Dan s side of 
 the carriage. 
 
 "Going pretty well," said Dan. 
 
 "I should say so. Look at this, Mr. Devin." 
 
 He handed Dan a memorandum of prices and 
 buyers. 
 
 25 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 " Miss Quartermain, this is Mr. Stoneman, the best 
 auctioneer in the country/ 7 said Dan. 
 
 Anna smiled, and Mr. Stoneman, snatching off his 
 hat, made a deep if not very graceful bow. 
 
 "Most happy to meet you, I m sure," he mur 
 mured. "I suppose, Miss, this is not your first ex 
 perience of a land-sale." 
 
 "Yes, the first," Anna said. 
 
 "Well, some day when you drive through this sec 
 tion and see it covered with brick buildings and dwell 
 ing-houses, with cable-cars running through what 
 are now only strips of red gravel road, it will doubt 
 less interest you to recollect that you saw it when it 
 bore only orange- trees and grape-vines." 
 
 "Do you think this will be a part of the city?" 
 she inquired incredulously. "Why, it s three miles 
 away." 
 
 "And what are three miles to a city growing at the 
 rate of ours? Why, Miss, the city limits are but one 
 mile north of us now, and I predict that in a term of 
 five, or perhaps four or three years, this district will 
 be entirely built up. It will then be worth per acre 
 a hundred times what these enterprising gentlemen 
 have paid for it to-day." 
 
 "Right you are, Mr. Stoneman," said Daniel 
 gravely, as he handed back the memorandum. 
 "They re getting it dirt-cheap, considering. How 
 ever, we may as well let them have a little more, 
 since they want it." 
 
 The auctioneer bowed himself off, and went back 
 to his chair; and another parcel of land was put up 
 and speedily bid off. 
 
 "Is it interesting?" Dan asked, smiling. He took 
 26 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 off his hat and leaned back in the seat, the reins 
 drooping from his right hand. He was at ease now 
 and elate. Anna had finished brushing stray grains 
 of sand from her dress and adjusting her hat. She 
 glanced over the crowd, prosperous, well-dressed 
 and cheerful, calmly encountering the gaze of a good 
 part of it. 
 
 "Yes, rather. I don t see anybody I know. Do 
 you?" 
 
 "Yes; about half of them. The others are East 
 erners, I reckon, that got into town yesterday or the 
 day before. They ll expect to sell out next month, 
 and go home, with enough profit to pay their ex 
 penses; that is, the tourists do. There are plenty 
 of them that will stay with the game, though." 
 
 "It seems like an easy way to make money," Anna 
 sighed. 
 
 "Well, it ought to be easy to make money with a 
 country like this. All you ve got to do is to get in 
 line." 
 
 "We never thought the country was so wonderful 
 till the Easterners discovered it," she said. "I al 
 ways thought Los Angeles was a pretty poky place. 
 It s lucky for us that the boom happened along!" 
 
 "It didn t happen along," Dan corrected her. "It 
 was bound to come. Why, this place has just begun 
 to grow. It s going to be one of the richest cities in 
 the United States." 
 
 He had a quietly emphatic way of making such a 
 statement, an air of having inside information on 
 the subject, and of being able to back it up with un 
 limited details, that usually conveyed something of 
 his own confidence even to the masculine hearer. 
 
 27 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 As for Anna, she wanted nothing better than to be 
 lieve him. And she was dazzled by this very air of 
 his, by his buoyant energy and easy assumption of 
 success as natural and inevitable. It was to this 
 essentially masculine strength, as she thought it, 
 that she had gladly yielded. Anna had been used 
 to regard herself as the one bright spot in a dull, 
 monotonous world. But Dan was as brilliant in his 
 way as she in hers. There were no low tones about 
 him. She was proud of him. She liked his striking 
 appearance, his good clothes, above all his look of 
 competence and of being equal to any situation. 
 And she knew exactly why she liked him; knew that 
 it was the feeling of his power and effectiveness 
 that attracted her. Certainly the desirable husband 
 must have that easy superiority to circumstances. 
 But, after all, there was more than this in the mind 
 of the maiden of eighteen. Even though that mental 
 atmosphere was clear and dry like the air above a 
 desert, there hung a blue haze on its horizon. There 
 was the unknown; and in spite of herself she felt its 
 mystery. When she thought about Dan, away from 
 him, she was clear enough; but when she was near 
 him she was sometimes rather tremulous. Dan 
 thought those occasional quavers and blushes de 
 licious; but if he took them for signs of a ready re 
 sponse to his own emotion he was mistaken. Anna 
 was not loving; if she was to love she must be won 
 as slowly and patiently as the desert itself is won to 
 fertility. But who is to guess at such a necessity 
 looking upon a beautiful young creature, of the most 
 utterly feminine mould, who seems created only to 
 charm? Certainly not a lover like Dan. 
 
 28 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Taking advantage of the fact that his broad shoul 
 der partly screened Anna from observation, Dan laid 
 his hand on hers; she, with a prompt feeling for pro 
 priety, evaded the caress, but with a smile and blush 
 that made amends. 
 
 "Don t, they can see. I suppose they wonder 
 who on earth I am, anyway." 
 
 "Let them wonder. I m glad to have them see 
 you. You re looking lovely not that that s any 
 thing unusual, though." 
 
 "But I shouldn t think you d like other people to 
 look at me, Mr. Bluebeard! What s the difference 
 between that and hearing me sing?" 
 
 "Well, there is a difference. Of course you can t 
 help people looking at you, any more than the sun 
 can! But when you sing to them, well, it seems as 
 though you were giving them something, some part of 
 yourself that s the way I feel." 
 
 "Well, 7 don t feel that way, not in the least. And 
 I ought to know, don t you think so? But let s not 
 quarrel about that now. How much longer will 
 this last?" 
 
 "Why, you re not tired already, are you? I 
 thought you d like to see how we re making our fort 
 
 une." 
 
 "Oh, I do, of course. But as long as we are mak 
 ing it, that s the main thing." She said it laugh 
 ingly, but expressed her feeling notwithstanding. 
 The result to be attained interested her tremendously, 
 the process not at all. 
 
 "And after I spent an hour and a half in that con 
 founded church to please you!" cried Dan in mock 
 reproach. "Do you really want to go?" 
 
 29 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "No but I m getting hungry. We have break 
 fast at daylight, almost." 
 
 "Oh, well, if that s all. I ve got some stuff here in 
 the wagon some chicken and champagne and so on. 
 I took it for granted you d want to see it through. 
 I ll tell Stoneman to stop pretty soon and let the 
 crowd feed, and you and I ll go up to the house 
 that is, if we can get in." 
 
 "Champagne? I never tasted it!" Anna cried 
 gayly. "This is really a picnic!" 
 
 Dan would not of himself have chosen this occa 
 sion for a picnic; and secretly he would now have 
 preferred to stay on the ground, where he could, if 
 necessary, direct the auctioneer. But he was not 
 as loath to go as he might have been if Mr. Stoneman 
 had been less than equal to his reputation or the 
 crowd less eager. His presence was not necessary; 
 as for stopping for lunch while the bidding was still 
 brisk, he thought it a good move, and Mr. Stoneman 
 agreed with him. 
 
 "The best men here General Rose, and Sepulveda, 
 and old Baldwin have gone in strong," whispered 
 the auctioneer. "Just as well to let the rest of em 
 reflect on that for a few minutes. And they re 
 hungry, too. I ve seen three look at their watches in 
 the last five minutes. This air s enough to make you 
 eat your boots if you hadn t anything else handy. 
 Confess I d like a bite myself. I ll do better after 
 lunch, and they will too, I guess." 
 
 Accordingly, after Dan had seen that the "free 
 lunch" was ready and plenty for the crowd, he drove 
 back to the house. It was apparently shut up and 
 deserted. 
 
 30 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "It looks as if Emmons had gone away for the day 
 to avoid us," Dan observed. "I know they haven t 
 left for good yet." 
 
 "Why should he? Doesn t he like seeing his place 
 cut up and sold?" 
 
 "Oh, I hardly think he has much sentiment about 
 that. You see, he hates me/ Dan said easily, step 
 ping out of the buggy. "I ll just see if I can raise 
 somebody. If not we ll eat our lunch on his porch, 
 anyway. Take the reins a minute, they won t run. 
 Whoa, Tom stand, Jerry!" 
 
 He went up the single step to the narrow porch, 
 which ran across the front of the house and was cov 
 ered with Lamarque rose-vines in blossom. From 
 where she sat in the buggy Anna could have reached 
 an armful of the white pink-hearted blossoms. Turn 
 ing to keep an eye on the horses, Dan knocked at the 
 door, and after a moment s delay it was opened by 
 a small woman in black. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Devin," she said with a faint smile, put 
 ting out a thin hand, red and rough from work. 
 "Won t you come in?" she added, but with some 
 hesitation. "I m all alone. Frank has taken the 
 children to town." 
 
 "I d like you to meet Miss Quartermain," Dan 
 said, and in a lower tone, smiling happily, "I m going 
 to be married." 
 
 "Oh, I m glad I shall be most pleased," cried 
 Mrs. Emmons, looking up into his face with a pale 
 reflection of its brightness. "I m so glad for you." 
 
 She went out to the side of the carriage with Dan, 
 and he performed the introduction. 
 
 "I m very glad to meet you. I ve known Mr. 
 31 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Devin ever since he was a boy you know, we came 
 from the same town in Illinois/ Mrs. Emmons said, 
 looking up admiringly at the radiant girl. 
 
 Anna smiled and murmured something indefinite. 
 
 "Won t you come in? You might like to rest a 
 little," Mrs. Emmons then said rather nervously. 
 
 Dan understood what was back of this nervous 
 ness her husband s feeling toward him; but as he 
 had only a serene contempt for Emmons, whereas 
 he liked Mrs. Emmons and thought she still liked 
 him, he agreed promptly. 
 
 "In fact, we came to invite ourselves to lunch," 
 he said with the utmost cheerfulness, "and even 
 went so far as to bring the lunch with us. I ll 
 leave Miss Quartermain with you and put the horses 
 
 in the barn " Then something in her manner 
 
 checked him. "I hope we aren t putting you 
 out now you must say so if we are " 
 
 "Oh, no " 
 
 She was certainly looking ill, Dan thought much 
 older and thinner than when he last saw her, which, 
 to be sure, was several years ago. 
 
 "You re all alone, are you?" he asked, a little 
 uncomfortable. "I d hoped to see the children. I 
 hope they re all well." 
 
 "Oh, yes." The tears rose to her eyes. What ailed 
 her, Dan wondered helplessly. 
 
 "And the little chap my boy he must be a big 
 fellow now " 
 
 Mrs. Emmons gasped, stared at him and caught at 
 his arm. 
 
 "Oh," she cried, "you know, don t you?" 
 
 "Know what?" said Dan, turning red. 
 32 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "Why, Dan, he died he died four months ago," 
 she burst out crying, hiding her face in her hands. 
 
 Dan cast an imploring look at Anna, then put his 
 arm about the weeping woman and took her into the 
 house. From the narrow entry opened on one side 
 a small sitting-room in which the family took their 
 meals. There was an old horse-hair lounge in one 
 corner that Dan remembered well. They sat down 
 on that. 
 
 "Emmons never told me he never said a word 
 about it, though I ve seen him twice in the last 
 month/ said Dan, his voice trembling. His face 
 was flushed and his blue eyes shone fiercely. "He 
 knew I was fond of the little chap why should he 
 treat me so! And you thought I knew?" 
 
 Mary Emmons nodded, groping for her handker 
 chief. Dan s agitation calmed her. She looked up 
 to see his tears and her own ceased to flow. 
 
 "But I knew you would feel it," she said. 
 
 "But you wondered why I never came you must 
 have thought " 
 
 "No. I thought perhaps it was the trouble with 
 Frank " 
 
 "No, you thought I was a heartless brute not to 
 come. Poor little Allie, poor baby don t you re 
 member how fond he used to be of me? He was 
 three when I saw him last; and I would have come 
 to see you and him often since then if it hadn t 
 been for Frank. You know it." 
 
 "Yes, I know it. I know you are good and kind." 
 She spoke almost triumphantly, and took Dan s 
 hand in both hers. "He died of pneumonia he was 
 only sick three days. He stayed out one night with 
 
 33 
 
TtiE FORERUNNER 
 
 his father, when they were irrigating the orange or 
 chard and you know he inherited weak lungs, any 
 way." 
 
 She finished in a hard tone, and, setting her lips to 
 gether, stared at the floor. Dan felt instantly that 
 she blamed her husband, indirectly at least, for the 
 boy s death, and his heart leaped with sympathy for 
 her. He was silent, thinking of the child that he 
 had loved, and of the time when he had lived in this 
 house. 
 
 It had not changed in the six years since then; 
 Emmons had not even painted it. The cheap paper 
 on the walls was actually the same. Dan remembered 
 every piece of the scanty furniture the black walnut 
 table covered with a red figured cloth, the cane-bot 
 tomed chairs, the sewing-machine always piled with 
 work, the old lumpy lounge, the worn carpet, the 
 little stove that they used on rainy days, that would 
 get red-hot and smell of blacking. Next to this 
 room was the bedroom that used to be his just big 
 enough for the cheap yellow-painted bed, bureau, 
 wash-stand and one chair. There were two other 
 tiny bedrooms, where the Emmonses and their three 
 children had slept; and the kitchen where Mary 
 Emmons s days had been mainly spent, and doubtless 
 were now. 
 
 Dan remembered the occasion of his first open 
 quarrel with Emmons; that was about four months 
 after he had come out from Illinois, at Emmons s 
 suggestion, to invest his few hundred dollars in a 
 third interest in the ranch, and to give his time and 
 energy to develop it. From the very first they 
 had disagreed. Emmons was consumptive, a thin- 
 
 34 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 blooded, cautious, careful man, ten years Dan s 
 senior. Dan was twenty- two; full of large ideas 
 that were of his time, and of spirits and energy that 
 were all his own. He immediately saw golden pros 
 pects in the fruit farm, but they must branch out, 
 put in more money, get some new ploughs and 
 horses. Emmons negatived every such proposition. 
 Then one day, angered at the sight of Mary, frail 
 and weak, working in the hot kitchen she did all 
 the work of the house, besides the care of the two 
 children, with another one expected Dan had gone 
 to town, and brought out a Chinaman, whose wages 
 were to be thirty dollars a month. Emmons had 
 bitterly refused to pay any part of this new expense, 
 and Dan paid the Chinaman for three months. Then 
 Mary herself when the baby was two months old 
 insisted on dismissing him. Dan, when he was about 
 the house, would often take care of the baby, and so 
 grew fond of him. But the final break with Emmons 
 came when Dan had been on the ranch but eighteen 
 months. He felt himself that he was not cut out for 
 a small farmer. He gave Emmons the alternative 
 of buying his interest at the price he had paid for it, 
 or of selling his own two-thirds to Dan, who intended 
 to raise the money to pay for it on a mortgage. 
 Emmons explosively damned both propositions and 
 termed Dan s conduct dishonorable. He held that 
 Dan had agreed to manage the business of the ranch, 
 it being understood that he was not to wreck it. Dan 
 pointed out that he was not bound by any agreement 
 for a specified length of time and that when he had 
 taken the management of the ranch he had expected 
 to have some control. By "management," on the 
 
 35 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 other hand, Emmons understood practically an 
 overseer s work. 
 
 The end of it was that Emmons secured a new 
 partner who bought Dan s interest; and the two 
 men parted very bad friends. Dan considered Em 
 mons a fool and an old fogy, and carelessly dismissed 
 him from his mind; while Emmons thought Dan 
 plainly dishonest, and was tenacious and voluble of 
 his injuries; and bad accounts of Dan went back to 
 his home town, Mapleton, while he on his part wrote 
 nothing of the matter at all in his infrequent letters 
 to his mother, except that he had parted from Em 
 mons. 
 
 Dan had never felt so bitterly toward Emmons as 
 he did now. When the boom in land began to reach 
 out into the country and he conceived the idea of 
 buying part of Emmons s ranch, which had not paid 
 well, to sell it again in town lots, he had even felt 
 pleasure in being able to throw a chance in Emmons s 
 way. He had paid him in cash, as half payment, 
 more than Emmons had originally paid for the whole 
 ranch; and had given his note at ninety days for the 
 rest. Dan had felt an easy pity for the poor, plod 
 ding fellow who still hated him but now he was 
 conscious of something very like hatred in return. 
 
 Outside the open window where the rose-vines 
 shut out light and air the horses began to stamp and 
 Anna called rather sharply, 
 
 "Dan! I can t hold them much longer!" 
 
 He sprang up. 
 
 "I must go, but I ll come to see you again " 
 
 "We re going away, you know back to Maple- 
 ton," Mary said, rising too. 
 
 36 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "I didn t know. How soon?" 
 
 "Oh, in about two weeks." 
 
 "And you re glad? You used to be so homesick." 
 
 "I know. Yes, I want to see my folks. But now 
 I have to leave him here you understand?" 
 
 "Yes. . . . I ll come out to see you before 
 you go. God bless you." 
 
 He bent to kiss her cheek, hurried out and got into 
 the buggy. 
 
 Anna released the reins without a word. The rose 
 in her cheeks was decidedly brightened, perhaps by 
 exertion, for the team was pulling hard. Dan gave 
 them their heads and they whirled down the drive 
 way and out into the road like a flash. 
 
 "I beg your pardon for keeping you like that," 
 said Dan humbly; "but that poor woman I couldn t 
 leave her for a few moments " 
 
 "I was frightened they almost ran away with 
 me," Anna said indignantly. 
 
 "I m awfully sorry but you heard, didn t you? 
 Her child had died and I didn t know it. I asked 
 for him. ... I used to be very fond of him 
 when he was a baby. ... I always sent him 
 a present at Christmas. Emmons knew that, he 
 knew . . . and he never told me! The infernal 
 mean " 
 
 Dan choked. The off-horse shied violently at a 
 newspaper blowing across the road. Dan snatched 
 out the whip and slashed him; then, with a savage 
 jerk at the reins, pulled him back into the road. 
 Anna looked at Dan in astonishment. 
 
 "Why are you so rough?" she asked chillingly. 
 
 "Am I? forgive me, dear. I m rather upset, you 
 37 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 see. All this is uncomfortable for you, I know. But 
 you will forgive me, won t you? You ve got to!" 
 
 He threw his arm around her, pressed her close 
 and kissed her. 
 
 "What a bear!" Anna cried as she put her hat 
 straight but she smiled. 
 
 "And what about the auction? Aren t we going 
 back?" 
 
 "Do you want to? You can see now what it s like. 
 I thought you wouldn t want to be mixed up in the 
 crowd." 
 
 "But I thought you had to be there . . .?" 
 
 "Oh, not with things as they re going now. It s 
 all right. I m not needed. And I want to be with 
 you, my beautiful girl I can t think about business 
 now!" 
 
 38 
 
III. 
 
 expedition ended rather grayly for Anna, in 
 a family luncheon at her home. Dan had sug 
 gested going to a downtown restaurant, but with the 
 proviso that he must leave her immediately after 
 ward, to meet Mr. Stoneman on his return. "So 
 perhaps we d better wait till another day, when I m 
 free," he added. 
 
 "Is there any such day? " Anna asked. "But yes, 
 I suppose we d better wait. I ll go home, then." 
 
 "And you ll give me a bite of lunch, won t you? 
 I ll contribute that chicken and champagne." 
 
 "Good heavens, don t mention champagne in our 
 house ! I believe my parents would forbid the banns !" 
 
 "Oh, I forgot. Well, I sha n t miss it. Champagne 
 in the middle of the day is something new to me. 
 But I thought you might like to try it." 
 
 "Oh, I should. And I will when when I can do 
 as I like." Anna brightened at this general prospect. 
 
 "Now s my chance," said Dan, pulling the horses 
 down to a walk, for they were turning into Figueroa 
 Street, where Anna lived. "Wouldn t you like to 
 begin doing as you like right away?" he demanded. 
 
 Anna made no reply, but seemed to be pondering 
 the question. 
 
 "Why shouldn t we be married at once?" he pur 
 sued. 
 
 "At once - ?" 
 
 39 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "I mean in a few days. I suppose women always 
 have to have some time for fussing and fal-lals. But 
 you can get all those afterward, you know. Say a 
 week from to-day." 
 
 "Oh, I couldn t get ready by then," Anna pro 
 tested. "I must have one dress." 
 
 "Well, can t you get one dress in a week? Surely 
 you can, dearest. Or if not, what s the difference? 
 We ll go right up to San Francisco, and there you 
 can get all the frills you want." 
 
 Dan stopped the team they were within a few 
 doors of Anna s home and appeared determined 
 not to go on till he had his answer. And Anna looked 
 straight before her pensively; her eyes shone and her 
 lips curved; she was a sweet image of maiden hap 
 piness. 
 
 "I don t know what father and mother will say," 
 she said finally. "You ll have to ask them." 
 
 "I will. But it doesn t matter what they say, 
 does it? This is our affair, you know." 
 
 Anna laughed in the consciousness that this was 
 perfectly true. She was not much subject to her 
 parents; and she was altogether glad to be leaving 
 their household for one where things would certainly 
 be better ordered. Dan understood. He drove on, 
 feeling that everything was coming his way. 
 
 The little house in which lived the Reverend James 
 Allen Quartermain and his family was almost on the 
 outskirts of the town. It stood where the broad, 
 paved street, lined with large, prosperous houses set 
 in sweeps of green lawn and shaded by a fine double 
 row of pepper-trees, began to narrow and break up 
 into the country road. The cottage itself was one of 
 
 40 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 a number in the so-called Queen Anne style, which 
 certainly owed its popularity to no kind of fitness or 
 harmony with its surroundings. It was a little box 
 of a place, a story and a half high, painted in two 
 shades of brown, shingled half-way down, and dotted 
 with a strange eruption of gables, peaks, and odd- 
 shaped windows filled with colored glass. It had a 
 small porch, up which climbed a Marechal Niel rose- 
 vine, heavy with yellow blossoms. There was a tiny 
 lawn of coarse grass, along the sides of which grew 
 rows of calla-lilies, and instead of a fence a cypress 
 hedge, bright and untidy with new shoots. 
 
 The place did not belong to Mr. Quartermain. It 
 was the fourth house Anna had lived in; though she 
 had been born, and spent all her eighteen years, in 
 the same town. The three others had been like unto 
 this small, ugly, and rented. Inside was the fur 
 niture that Anna had vainly hoped each year to see 
 the last of; in the parlor, for example, a flowered 
 carpet and wall-paper, an old square piano, a set of 
 sofas and chairs upholstered in worn brown plush, 
 two marble-topped tables, and a good deal of bric-a- 
 brac, including a number of paintings, one on an 
 easel, by Mrs. Quartermain. But this room repre 
 sented her taste entirely; Mr. Quartermain never 
 entered it if he could help it. He had his study and 
 books in the little church near by, and there read and 
 wrote, when not on active duty or abroad upon his 
 pastoral business; coming home mainly to eat and 
 sleep, and not doing either of these very heartily. 
 
 Dan hitched his horses, which by this time had 
 worked off their superfluous spirits, to the post in 
 front of the house, and carried in the basket of eat- 
 
 41 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 ables. Anna took this from him at the door and 
 ushered him into the parlor, where in a moment the 
 head of the house joined him. This was the first 
 time that Dan had seen his future father-in-law alone; 
 but now they had some time to make one another s 
 acquaintance, for a guest at meals was a rarity in 
 the household, and involved much perturbation and 
 rushing to and fro between kitchen and dining-room 
 on the part of Mrs. Quartermain, who kept no ser 
 vant. Anna usually did the lighter part of the house 
 work, and she was now instructed to get out the best 
 table-cloth and the scanty best china and set the 
 table, not forgetting a bouquet of flowers in the cen 
 tre, and the cut-glass butter-dish and salad-bowl. 
 She performed this task languidly, listening the while 
 to the amicable murmur of talk on the other side of 
 the folding doors. 
 
 The introduction of Dan to her family had caused 
 her some uncomfortable moments; in particular the 
 thought that he ought to be asked to a meal. It was 
 now two months since Dan had heard her sing at a 
 public concert of the musical club she belonged to, 
 and got himself presented to her; and he had been 
 calling on her with great and increasing frequency 
 ever since. But he had not been asked to break 
 bread with the family. Anna felt that he must think 
 it queer, especially when it became understood that 
 they were engaged; but she had hung back from ask 
 ing him. Now she was glad that it had come about 
 in this perfectly informal way, though she disliked 
 the prospect of the next hour; and now, at least, 
 Herwin would not be there. Herwin was her brother, 
 two years older than herself, and they all admitted 
 
 42 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 it a bad lot. At present he had a position as book 
 keeper in the Clarion office; too far downtown to 
 come home for lunch. It was because of his failing 
 that even the mention of spirituous things was tabooed 
 in the family circle, as Dan had been warned. 
 Anna wondered what they were talking about, her 
 father and her lover. About her, perhaps. They 
 seemed to be getting on very well. The murmur of 
 voices now Dan s deep, decisive tones, now her 
 father s, slower, slightly husky, but musical was 
 continuous. 
 
 The voice in both cases fitted the physical presence. 
 Mr. Quartermain was a faded aristocrat in looks a 
 slight man who would have been above middle height 
 but that he stooped, with a beautifully shaped head, 
 light silky brown hair and beard, a delicate skin, 
 through which the blue veins showed on his temples, 
 and on his long, fragile hands. His eyes were deeply 
 melancholy; there were fretful lines about them. 
 The look of oppression, of harassing care, marked his 
 whole figure and was now, indeed, become a physical 
 habit. Yet even now he could throw it off at times, 
 when his native temperament could have sway 
 generally in the pulpit, for there alone he was really 
 free. His imaginative eloquence was profoundly 
 religious but it was the religion of the solitary. He 
 could have been a hermit living in a mystic glow of 
 emotion. Locusts and wild honey might have satis 
 fied the demands of the flesh upon him; and he would 
 have poured all his fervor into the joys of the spirit. 
 But, alas, he lived in the world of the butcher and 
 the grocer; his salary, even when it was paid, some 
 how never paid the bills. Religion helped him to 
 
 43 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 bear his son s misconduct, but it did not reconcile 
 him to being dunned by tradesmen. 
 
 Anna knew better than he why the tradesmen 
 were seldom paid; also why their accounts, taken by 
 the month, were so small. Her mother scrimped on 
 food, light, and fuel for the household, and handed 
 over every cent she could thus save to Herwin. Anna 
 had discovered this two years before, and her mother, 
 weeping, had made her promise not to tell her father. 
 Anna kept her promise, but blamed her mother s 
 weakness and her father s blindness for this wrong 
 and injustice. She hardened to them both as well 
 as to Herwin. Naturally the family life was not a 
 happy one. 
 
 Mr. Quartermain knew that he had no hold over 
 his children. In Anna s case he felt it without know 
 ing the reason ; she grew up suddenly and all at once 
 shook off impatiently even the hint of control or ad 
 vice. She had not asked parental permission to 
 marry. When Daniel Devin had been coming to 
 the house for a month or more, Mrs. Quartermain one 
 night followed Anna into her little bedroom and 
 hesitatingly said: 
 
 "Mr. Devin comes here a good deal, Anna." 
 
 "Yes. He wants to marry me," was the cool 
 reply. 
 
 "And have you do you ?" 
 
 "Yes, I think I will." 
 
 "You ought to tell us more about him, Anna! We 
 should know before you think of such a step " 
 
 "No, I don t think so, mother," Anna had said 
 gravely, "I ll tell you everything I know about him, 
 of course. But I shall decide for myself." 
 
 44 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Mrs. Quartermain wept at that; and Anna felt the 
 ungraciousness of her own attitude, but hardly said 
 to herself that she couldn t help it. Her main feel 
 ings toward her parents were irritation and something 
 very like contempt, and one of her main characteris 
 tics was candor. She could not pretend to meet her 
 father s timid advances on this occasion with con 
 fidence. She told him the bare facts about Daniel 
 Devin as she knew them ; that he was born in Illinois 
 and had come from there to California eight years ago ; 
 that he had been in business, first in the orange ranch, 
 next as a business manager for the Clarion, then in 
 real estate; that he was well-to-do. 
 
 It was not the part of such a parent as Mr. Quar 
 termain to cross-examine the suitor himself. At 
 least, though he had a dim feeling that he ought to 
 have a serious conversation with Devin, he was quite 
 unable to begin it. Therefore when Mr. Quarter- 
 main shook hands with Dan and welcomed him with 
 nervous cordiality, there was embarrassment on 
 both sides; for Dan, too, felt that something must 
 be said. With one accord they plunged into a dis 
 cussion of the real-estate situation; if that may be 
 called a discussion which was really a monologue on 
 Dan s part, punctuated by an occasional vague ques 
 tion from his host. 
 
 Dan had not meant to begin talking about himself, 
 but in accounting for his unexpected return with 
 Anna, he spoke of the auction, its success, and the 
 general rapid progress in the building up of the coun 
 try by means of similar sales. 
 
 "Ah, yes people call it the boom, don t they?" 
 asked Mr, Quartermain. 
 
 45 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 He had the haziest ideas of the state of the country 
 in general, and of real estate in particular. 
 
 "Boom, yes in a sense it is," Dan promptly re 
 sponded. "Certainly the town is booming as most 
 people never expected to see it. Crowds coming on 
 every train, most of them to settle here houses, 
 hotels, office-buildings going up by the hundred 
 yes, it is a boom. But usually when people use that 
 word it means a sudden thing that doesn t last 
 like some of the mining towns, you know, that have 
 been built up in a few weeks and never grow after 
 ward. This boom isn t that sort; it s here to stay. 
 And if people never saw anything like it why, they 
 never saw a country like this, either. It s a wonder 
 ful country. We re just beginning to see its possi 
 bilities. For years people thought that about all it 
 had was climate. You know how everybody talked 
 about the climate and made most of their money out 
 of the tourists that came out here to sample it. Now 
 we ve got a long way past caring about tourists. 
 What we want now is actual settlers, with money 
 in their pockets and a determination to help make 
 this section what it s bound to be one of the rich 
 est in the whole country." Dan s fluency was 
 breathless. 
 
 "You say we I infer that you have identified 
 your interests, to a large extent, with those of the 
 country," said Mr. Quartermain. 
 
 "I feel as though I belonged to it," was the quick 
 response. "I like everything about it the bigness 
 of it, and the feeling of newness. There are chances 
 that you don t get back East. It s too crowded 
 there. You can t move without brushing up against 
 
 46 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 some fellow in a business way, I mean. Here you 
 can get your start, at least, before the crowd gets in. 
 Yes. I hope to stay here for some time to come. I 
 don t know of a better place for a home." 
 
 Dan s voice quavered a little on the last sentence. 
 He reddened, drew a long breath, and was about to 
 broach the important subject when the interruption 
 came. Anna opened the folding-doors and asked 
 them to come out to lunch. 
 
 It was not a gay meal, but they got on well enough, 
 Dan and Mr. Quartermain contributing most of the 
 talk. Mrs. Quartermain, a plain, eager-faced woman 
 of solid figure, had a constrained manner of speaking 
 and smiling. She devoted herself to carving Dan s 
 cold chicken, and circulating the other eatables. 
 Dan said to Anna he went away immediately after 
 the meal, and she walked bareheaded out to the 
 street with him that he thought her mother looked 
 unhappy. 
 
 "And I guess she has a grudge against me for tak 
 ing you away," he added. 
 
 "No, she s glad," said Anna, positively. "She 
 knows I m not happy at home." 
 
 The tears rose to her eyes. She had a kind of 
 pride, which would have impelled her, if possible, to 
 conceal that fact, but she couldn t do it. She was 
 keenly sensitive, however, to the impression that 
 Dan might have received. 
 
 "I liked the old gentleman very much," he said. 
 "But I felt sorry for him. He s too fine, I guess, to 
 get on in this world. . ., . I didn t get a chance 
 to tell him I was just going to when you came in 
 but it s settled anyway, isn t it? In a week? I can 
 
 47 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 get away so much better then later I shall have to 
 be here right along." 
 
 Anna would not give a definite answer. Vaguely 
 she resented the mention of business then, the idea 
 that Dan could think of it in connection with the 
 more momentous affair of the wedding. And yet 
 the main thing she admired in him was this very 
 practical turn. A man who had not the ability to 
 make the world serve him might be as fine as he liked, 
 but he would not have appealed to Anna. No, it 
 was right that Dan should be devoted to business 
 up to the point where her own claims might interfere. 
 Naturally, she doubted nothing that these claims 
 would be honored first of all. A young beauty, 
 wooed in Dan s headlong way, can hardly regard 
 herself as anything but a privileged creditor, with a 
 lien upon her lover s entire being. And how should 
 Anna suspect that Dan put into his work a large part 
 of the ardor, the dreams, and the hopes that Love 
 should properly monopolize? 
 
 48 
 
IV. 
 
 T^AN S whole life had been concerned with practi- 
 -*- cal things. He had always been making money, 
 or trying to make it, since he was fifteen years old. 
 But though he wanted to be rich, he loved action for 
 its own sake; and action in his circumstances meant 
 business. But to him it could never mean simply 
 trading, nor farming, nor manufacturing on a small 
 scale; in fact, none of the things that lay within his 
 immediate reach in his native place. It must have 
 the elements of originality and risk, must put to use 
 the strongest things in him imagination and daring, 
 an emotional delight in letting himself go. The 
 faculty which he had of seeing in a way over the heads 
 of the people about him, of seeing things in a brighter, 
 sharper light somewhat as through a prism all ob 
 jects are outlined in a glow of color came to him 
 directly from an emotional mother, and perhaps in 
 directly from that far-away Irish ancestor, along with 
 the streak of fire in the blood and the sanguine tem 
 per. 
 
 And there were things in Dan s boyhood to stir the 
 blood and breed dreams. 
 
 His father, to begin with, seemed a prosaic man 
 enough, though in the end he came to wear an 
 aureole for Dan. He was an engine-driver by trade, 
 and came from Vermont on the wave of Eastern 
 emigration that settled Illinois. But unknowingly 
 
 49 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 to meet him there, came from the Western Reserve 
 the daughter of a frontiersman, then a tall, strapping 
 girl of nineteen, hardened by the life which had killed 
 off the feebler ones of her family. Somehow she had 
 felt enough of the spirit of that rude, simple life, of 
 the impulse of the pioneer, pushing with axe and 
 gun into the wilderness, to be able to hand it down 
 to her son. Homesickness helped her to paint those 
 vivid pictures. She longed for the forests; the flat 
 prairie wearied her; and the half-grown trees which 
 the New Englanders had planted on it only empha 
 sized that flatness. Dan came to know exactly how 
 the forests and log-houses looked; he had absorbed 
 every detail of that four- weeks journey, from Ohio 
 to the Illinois line, which Abraham Cleghorn, with 
 his wife and seven surviving children and all his 
 worldly goods, had made in two covered wagons 
 drawn by four oxen each and followed by a couple 
 of cows. The family ate and slept in these wagons. 
 In each was a small charcoal furnace, which served 
 for heating and cooking. So vivid were all these 
 things to Dan that he thought he had made that 
 journey himself. He was nearly seven before he 
 ceased to relate how he had gone out with his grand 
 father, with a hatchet and bucket, to cut from the 
 charred trees along the route the charcoal for those 
 wagon-stoves. But Dan was the sixth child of John 
 Devin and Martha Cleghorn, after they had settled 
 on a small farm near the village of Mapleton and, ac 
 cording to the tradition of their time, begun to mul 
 tiply. 
 
 Most important to his outlook on life, he was of the 
 generation of the Civil War ; old enough when it be- 
 
 50 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 gan to remember his father s departure with the first 
 volunteer regiment from their county. Dan thought 
 he recollected even the previous drilling and enlisting 
 of men in Maple ton; and undoubtedly about this 
 time the line between fact and vivid fancy began to 
 be drawn. Thus at a bound the boy s horizon, which 
 else would have included only Mapleton, and a vague 
 notion of the West, widened indefinitely. When 
 ever a neighbor came to their house, or whenever 
 the mother talked to her children, Dan heard of fear 
 fully interesting things, too big for him to grasp. 
 Names became familiar to him that he never forgot, 
 though he only understood them later: battle and 
 siege Fort Donelson, Shiloh, Vicksburg, the Battle 
 of Lookout Mountain, the Battle of the Wilderness, 
 the March to the Sea. Dan dreamed night and day of 
 men fighting their way up the mountains, through 
 the forest wilderness, all the infinite way to the ocean. 
 Interwoven with his childhood thoughts was this feel 
 ing of the vastness of the country; his imagination 
 took fire from it. Dan now could never be bounded 
 by village life. But Mapleton, during the years of the 
 war and immediately afterward, was not a village; 
 it was part of one vast community. Practically 
 every household in or near it was bound by its most 
 sensitive nerve; the fate of one was concerned with 
 the fortune of all; and all must thrill with the news 
 of battle, east or west, victory or defeat life or death. 
 Among Dan s war-time pictures were these : 
 The arrival at their house of the local paper, the 
 Mapleton Weekly Courier, with its enormous lists of 
 killed and wounded after each great battle; his 
 mother first in fearful silence running these columns 
 
 51 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 through, and then reading aloud to the awed, un 
 easy children, with shaking voice, the story of the 
 fight. 
 
 The first sight of a wounded soldier, a one-armed 
 man. 
 
 Their giving up the farm and moving into a still 
 smaller house in Mapleton. John Devin had mortgaged 
 his little property when he enlisted, in order to leave his 
 family money enough to live on in his absence; tak 
 ing the chance that the war would last, as the coun 
 try generally thought, but "ninety days." 
 
 The rare letters from his father, one of which told 
 that he had been wounded and had spent three weeks 
 in hospital. 
 
 The illumination of Mapleton in honor of the twin 
 victories of Vicksburg and Gettysburg; and the talk 
 about Grant, whom Dan pictured to himself as a 
 brilliant hero mounted on a fire-breathing steed like 
 that in an engraving of Napoleon which hung in their 
 parlor. 
 
 The sight of his mother, sewing, sewing, sewing, 
 from morning till night, in the little parlor littered 
 with piles of cloth for she made their living now as a 
 tailoress. The two girls and three boys who were 
 older than Dan did the housework and odd jobs out 
 of school hours. 
 
 The news that his father had been wounded again 
 at Savannah . . . the long expectation of him 
 . . . his return. A stranger, a white, old-look 
 ing man, with crutches and only one leg ... 
 with a beard . . . in an old blue uniform. The 
 neighbors all came to see him, and he seemed too 
 tired to talk. Dan s mother never cried before his 
 
 52 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 father, but often did when only the children were 
 about. She sewed as much as ever. 
 
 His father s beginning to talk to him about the 
 war. Dan would listen, fascinated, only asking ques 
 tions when the narrative flagged. Now came those 
 sounding names again, and now first Dan understood 
 what a battle was, how Vicksburg was taken, how 
 they fought the Wilderness through, and how Sher 
 man marched through Georgia. Now, too, his father 
 became a hero to him by reason of those experiences. 
 
 The end of the War. Grant had licked the rebels 
 out. "Thank God/ said Dan s mother sternly, "and 
 now I hope they will be punished for it. I hope they 
 will hang that man Davis, and Toombs, and the rest 
 of the traitors!" "There has been blood enough," 
 Dan s father said dreamily. "We want peace." 
 
 Then a black day a kind of earthquake. Dan 
 is playing in the front yard it is warm, everything 
 is thawing out, the ground soft and squashy under 
 foot the rich man who lives next door, Mr. Elwood, 
 a solemn deacon on ordinary days, comes running 
 down the street. He sees Dan s mother sewing at 
 the parlor window and calls out to her, "Haven t you 
 heard f Lincoln is shot!" Dan s mother throws up 
 the window and leans out. She looks frightened. 
 1 What did you say f" Lincoln has been assassinated ! 
 Seward was shot, too, and Johnston, and I don t know 
 how many more. The rebels have a plot to seize Wash 
 ington!" Dan s mother rushes out into the street. 
 There comes his father on his crutches . . . there 
 come all the neighbors. The street is full of people. 
 "Lincoln is dead. What will happen now? Perhaps 
 we shall have to fight the war over again." 
 
 53 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 There is no supper that night at home. "Don t 
 bother me!" says Dan s mother fiercely, sitting in 
 the parlor in the dark. The children help them 
 selves to preserves and gingerbread in the kitchen. 
 They are hungry, even if the War has got to be 
 fought over again. Dan thinks that Grant and old 
 Sherman can lick the Johnny Rebs again, anyhow, 
 and perhaps he will have a chance to go this time. 
 Next day it is like a funeral. Nearly every house 
 and all the stores have black cloth hangings. Peo 
 ple cry in the streets. 
 
 The night that Dan is taken into Chicago to see 
 the dead President lying in state. The train is 
 crowded when they get on, but a seat is given to his 
 father and mother. Dan and his older brothers and 
 sisters stand in the jammed aisle. It is the first 
 time Dan has seen the city. He is taken through 
 miles of streets, all lighted up and all crowded with 
 people. The crowd is noisy ; some are crying; some 
 are swearing, but Dan s father goes ahead on his 
 crutches, and the people push back and let him pass. 
 After him goes Dan s mother, dragging Dan by the 
 hand, and calling to the others to keep close behind. 
 At last they get into the building. Dan had never 
 imagined that a building could be a mile wide and 
 high. He wonders how they got the black hanging 
 away up there. Not a sound except the shuffling 
 of thousands of people walking along in line. Dan s 
 mother still holds him by the hand. Here it is ... 
 a great pedestal, all black a great black coffin 
 . . . soldiers standing all about . . . Dan 
 looks, into the coffin ... his heart is pounding 
 hard. His mother suddenly squeezes his hand so 
 
 51 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 that it hurts. He feels her trembling and sobbing. 
 Dan bursts into tears as they are swept on in the 
 crowd. His first sight of death, that face is printed 
 on his memory as by a flash of light. He sees it often 
 afterward in his sleep. 
 
 John Devin got occupation running a stationary 
 engine in Mapleton; but he was not able to keep it 
 long. The wound which he had received at the be 
 ginning of the war, and which had never entirely 
 healed, soon disabled him completely. He lived 
 to see Grant elected President and died before he 
 was inaugurated. In Daniel s memory his father 
 remained as a kind of embodiment of the spirit of 
 the war; doubtless mainly because of the way the 
 widow talked of him. Martha Devin impressed 
 deeply on her children s minds the fact that their 
 father had given his all his little property and his 
 life for his country. Patriotism was to her what 
 it had been to him, a religious emotion. Her voice 
 would break when she spoke of the Flag, as it did 
 when she talked of the silent patience with which 
 John Devin had suffered. 
 
 Dan went to work when he was fifteen years old, 
 after he had gone through the grammar-school and 
 two years of the high-school. He was taken on as 
 office-boy and expected to make himself generally 
 useful in the establishment of the Mapleton Weekly 
 Courier. The Courier was a Republican newspaper. 
 Dan s father had been a Republican. But in .any 
 case Dan would naturally have been of the party 
 which stood for growth, expansion, a positive and 
 
 55 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 active policy. At any rate, even while he was learn 
 ing, among other things, to set type and gather items 
 of local news, his practical faith was fixed, and he 
 never afterward departed from it. Wherever fortune 
 led him later, he was part of the Republican machine. 
 He thought his party right on almost every issue, 
 and almost every act of it justified on one plea or an 
 other; but right or wrong, it was his party, and loy 
 alty to it was an article of his extremely simple creed. 
 
 His mother grieved so bitterly at the necessity for 
 his leaving school she had dreamed of a complete 
 education and a professional career for the flower of 
 her family that Dan promised her he would study 
 in the evenings, keep up with his classes and take the 
 examinations, and he did so. When he was seventeen 
 he finished the high-school course, and his first article 
 was published in the paper an account of the fire 
 which destroyed Mr. Elwood s house and barn one 
 bitter night when the water all but froze in the hose. 
 For a time Dan considered himself dedicated to a 
 literary career. But having an earlier chance in the 
 business department of the newspaper, he began to 
 drum up advertising and job printing, and to dun 
 delinquent subscribers, and this field quickly widened. 
 
 Dan was strong physically and full of restless en 
 ergy, which found an outlet mainly in work. He 
 shared, however, in the town gayeties such as they 
 were the beginning of the roller-skating craze, an 
 occasional "social" with dancing in the rink, a debat 
 ing society, hay-rides and buggy rides by moonlight, 
 or a game of cards very much on the quiet. There 
 was plenty of more or less innocent flirtation going 
 on in Mapleton. Dan had his share of that; but did 
 
 56 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 not often fall in love with any violence, and saved 
 himself by the ease with which he fell out again. , 
 
 At the age of twenty-one he suddenly found him 
 self business manager and part owner of the Courier, 
 but this advancement was not due entirely to his 
 own exertions. He had made a powerful friend in 
 the person of Alvin Colfax, the big man of Mapleton, 
 and the most brilliant lawyer of his time at the Illinois 
 bar. Judge Colfax, as he was generally called, had 
 political ambitions; he had also a strong belief in the 
 future of Mapleton. It was through his efforts that 
 the railroad was brought there ; and he further showed 
 his faith by building a house that is still the show- 
 place of the town an imposing edifice of red brick 
 and white stone, with broad lawns about it, an elab 
 orate iron fence to shut it off from the street, and at 
 the rear a large coach-house and stables, surmounted 
 by a cupola and a gilt horse. 
 
 It was the Judge s idea that Mapleton would grow 
 up to this house; and he predicted freely that the 
 days of Rockford, the county seat, were numbered. 
 Naturally, the Mapleton Courier would increase in 
 importance in direct ratio; and even now it was 
 worth while as an organ for an aspiring Congressman. 
 The Judge forthwith acquired a controlling interest 
 in the paper, and then began his friendship for Dan. 
 He liked the young fellow from the start his good 
 looks, his temperament, his energy and ambition. 
 And the sincere admiration which Dan gave to the 
 Judge gratified a deep need in the elder man. Judge 
 Colfax required followers, disciples, personal homage ; 
 and he preferred young men, because with these such 
 a relation involved no kind of servility. The Judge 
 
 57 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 wanted to be the leader in his society, but he did not 
 like associating with his inferiors. Furthermore the 
 quality of youth was a delight to him he loved what 
 was expanding, growing, alive. Dan pleased him in 
 their first interview, and was immediately asked to 
 dinner. The Judge dined at six o clock, whereas 
 the accustomed hour of Mapleton was twelve noon; 
 and there were many stories afloat in the town of 
 the Lucullian luxury of these feasts. 
 
 Judge Colfax did like good living and he was served 
 well. Moreover, he was a rich man, as the times 
 went; worth, it was reputed, between thirty and 
 forty thousand dollars, besides the income from his 
 practice. He was a bachelor; and Dan was over 
 come to find how elaborate a meal could be thought 
 necessary for two men. He had his first taste of wine 
 at the Judge s table that night; and went away at 
 ten o clock, intoxicated, not by the Burgundy, of 
 which he had been sparing, but by his host s talk, 
 and the whole atmosphere of ease, power, and com 
 mand that surrounded him. Dan walked far out 
 into the country, in a kind of trance of enjoyment 
 and desire that was half pain. He had no doubt that 
 he, too, should be successful that he should be in 
 time some such man as Judge Colfax was but 
 what an interval lay between! 
 
 In the months that followed Dan spent an increas 
 ing amount of time with the Judge. He was invited 
 to dinner very frequently. Judge Colfax taught him 
 to play billiards, gave him the run of his library, and 
 would discourse to him by the hour of his experiences 
 and observations of men and things, of politics and 
 the state of the country, of love, war, and fortune. 
 
 58 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Very often in these soliloquies the Judge would be 
 drunk, but he was eloquent in his cups. His vanity 
 came out more plainly then ; and a certain grandi 
 ose, rather flamboyant, quality about him was more 
 marked. He was apt, moreover, to be exceedingly 
 profane ; but there was nothing worse in him, though 
 Mapleton privately held that Dan was going to the 
 dogs because of the Judge s taking him up. Maple- 
 ton was proud of its great man, but at the same time 
 loved to spread scandal about him. Dan was called 
 a beggar on horseback and was abused for being 
 "more close-mouthed than ever." But his apparent 
 reserve was more than anything else the solitude of 
 soul that is the penalty of the seer of visions 
 whether visionary or not. To Judge Colfax, who 
 understood, Dan poured out his whole mind and 
 heart. He continued to be careful of the unwonted 
 wine, but it had its effect on him, no doubt. The 
 truth of him came out also in those long evenings, 
 spent in the Judge s library or billiard-room. And 
 the truth of Dan at that time was leaping ambition 
 which was not sure of its goal; many fine dreams, 
 bright but blurred and vague; a great amount of 
 emotion, easily stirred by sounding words; and a 
 generous sweetness of nature, with the best intentions 
 in the world. If Dan did you harm, it would most 
 likely be from over-confidence in his own ability, 
 plans, or the promises of somebody else. He had a 
 natural belief in the best that could happen; a dis 
 inclination to look on the darker side of anybody or 
 anything. 
 
 For Judge Colfax he had an entire loyalty which 
 saw no blemish in its idol, and which longed heartily 
 
 59 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 for an opportunity to do him service. When he 
 was taken into the Judge s confidence, and shown 
 how he could really help the Judge s ambition, Dan 
 fairly trod on air. He was not absolutely disinter 
 ested; naturally it was part of Judge Coif ax s power 
 over him, that he saw his own advancement in the 
 Judge s friendship. Nor was he mistaken in this 
 confidence. On his twenty-first birthday the Judge 
 gave him an interest in the Courier and told him 
 that he meant to watch over his career and to leave 
 him half his property; in the meantime, if he needed 
 money he was to consider that he might draw in ad 
 vance. 
 
 "I sha n t marry, Dan," the Judge said. "I m an 
 old fellow now" he was forty- two "at least for 
 that kind of thing. I m well past the age when ad 
 venture tempts for its own sake ; I see the shoals and 
 reefs where you see the sirens, as Thackeray says. 
 The fact is, I was born a generation too soon. I can t 
 help being conservative it s in the blood of my con 
 founded New England ancestors, who never in their 
 lives lived up to their incomes or forgot their lawful 
 wives. They left me a conscience, Dan, which warned 
 me off from matrimony; it gave me such a high 
 idea of the duties and responsibilities of the married 
 state that I avoided it as the plague. In my younger 
 days when I found I was getting interested in a girl 
 I used to pack up and leave town at once. I always 
 found a few weeks absence a specific. Then when 
 I came back some other fellow would be courting the 
 girl, for of course it was only the pretty ones that at 
 tracted me. You might think I would be jealous 
 bless you, no. My only thought was, Thank 
 
 60 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 heaven she is provided for. If one of the jades had 
 had the art to pretend I had jilted her, or to wear the 
 willow for even a month, I can t answer for the con 
 sequences. I dare say my infernal conscience might 
 have driven me to marry her in spite of all. But, 
 praised be feminine stupidity, they all tried the same 
 game flaunting the new beau in my face. And, 
 as I said, it worked to a charm. 
 
 "But don t think I admire that kind of caution. 
 That perpetual afterthought is like a string tied to a 
 man s leg. It gives him a ridiculous gait, until he 
 learns to resign himself to the inevitable. No, I hate 
 canniness. But it s forced upon me by those old 
 Puritan Colfaxes who thought so much of their 
 damned descent that it s a righteous judgment on 
 them to have the family come to an end through 
 their godliness. 
 
 "I envy you, Dan. You re foot-loose. You ve 
 got the country before you where to choose I don t 
 say the world, for this country is world enough for 
 me or any man. By George, how it broadens out! 
 I and my generation are the end of the old order 
 of things; you re the beginning of the new. I m 
 doomed, I think, to die in this place. I don t look 
 farther afield than Washington. The rest of my life 
 will be spent in the kind of thing that I m already 
 more or less familiar with. Public life and politics 
 offer no real novelty to me. And I wish it to be so. 
 I ve no spirit for untried fields, any more than I have 
 the will to transport my unwieldy corporeal frame 
 to the Californian placers. 
 
 "But you young men you ll inherit the earth! 
 We shall grow fast now, Dan. People are beginning 
 
 61 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 to see what the war has done for us, now that they ve 
 done counting their dead, and stopped worrying 
 about the niggers. Look to the West! Do you 
 know, I think that s the place for you. I ve been 
 studying over you a good deal, my son. I don t 
 think Maple ton s going to hold you." 
 
 Dan broke in here, though usually when the Judge 
 took this contemplative attitude and tone, stretched 
 out in his big easy-chair before the library fire, with 
 his cigar between his teeth and the whiskey and 
 water at his elbow, the young man was content to 
 hold his peace and listen. 
 
 "It will hold me as long as you re here, sir," he 
 said with a little quaver in his voice. 
 
 "I used to think so, Dan," the Judge turned an 
 affectionate look upon him. "But I ve changed my 
 mind about Mapleton in the last year. I think now 
 that she s out of the current it sweeps round her, 
 Dan, and you and I together can t change its course. 
 I begin to think that Mapleton will be left high and 
 dry, or at least stuck in the mud which is a more 
 appropriate figure. You ve done a lot with the 
 Courier, and I know you re looking forward to doing 
 a lot more, but I think you ll be wasted here. You 
 can t make a big newspaper in a one-horse town, and 
 that s what Mapleton is and I believe is going to be. 
 And the reason? Look at the young men. Are 
 they staying here and helping to build the place up? 
 Not much. They re going to Chicago, or they re 
 going West. The leaven is working. They see big 
 things ahead of them. They re right. Mapleton 
 is just half-way to nowhere. She has all the con 
 servatism of the East and none of its hustle. In a 
 
 62 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 few years she ll be simply an adjunct to the ceme 
 teries. You d have seen this too, Dan, if it hadn t 
 been for me. Perhaps you have seen it." 
 
 Dan nodded. "Some thing like it. I ve thought 
 some about the West, too, of course, seeing so many 
 of the fellows go; but I thought the paper needn t 
 depend entirely on Mapleton. And somehow the 
 place seems pretty big to me while you re here. And 
 when you are in Congress you may still want the 
 Courier " 
 
 "That s all right, Dan, but you re not to be simply 
 a help to my career, if I have any. And I don t be 
 lieve that your field is politics. You don t pull well 
 with other men you can t adapt your stroke to 
 theirs. I ve noticed that in the business. That s 
 one reason why I wanted to make you independent 
 as long as you stay with the Courier. After the 
 election you ll sell your interest I ll buy it if nobody 
 else will and that will give you a little money to 
 start in with out there." 
 
 The quick tears sprang to Dan s eyes he was 
 thus easily moved by kindness from those he loved 
 and he was speechless for the moment. Judge 
 Colfax was looking into the fire, his large gray eyes, 
 under their bushy brows, fixed and meditative. Ap 
 parently that moment he ceased to be aware of Dan. 
 
 "A new world to conquer a new wilderness," he 
 murmured. "Not with the pick and spade and axe 
 Kentucky has seen the last of that but by sheer 
 brains. A new kind of pioneer, with the civilization 
 of the East back of him, with the railroad to follow 
 him. The best of us, our youth, will organize the 
 new country. Bring the Chinese to lay the ties and 
 
 63 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 work in the fields; ship the European peasants west 
 to dig in the mines; and we will gather up the gold 
 in both hands, and heap it up millions on millions, 
 and build up with it the Empire of the world. 
 
 "Now is the golden time. The big chances lie 
 there, as the gold nuggets did, for the first comer to 
 pick up. The next had to wash their gold out of 
 the streams grain by grain. Now you must dig for 
 it, pulverize the rock. So it is with the big fortunes. 
 To be first on the ground that is the thing. To be 
 the scout, the picket out in advance before the main 
 army comes down with its tread of ten thousand " 
 
 The Judge sighed and cut short his musings, turn 
 ing to fill his glass. 
 
 "Take some whiskey, Dan, and let s drink to your 
 good fortune." 
 
 On the eve of the election Judge Colfax suffered 
 a stroke of apoplexy, and after lingering unconscious 
 for three days, he died. No will could be found. A 
 left-handed wife and family appeared from Chicago 
 and a brother from Boston to claim his property, 
 and eventually divided it between them, the brother 
 taking as part of his share the Courier stock. The 
 big brick house was shut up, no one rich enough to 
 rent or buy it choosing to live in Mapleton. Dan 
 sold his interest to Joshua Colfax a dry man with 
 a hard gray eye for a good deal less than it was 
 worth. But he was in no mood to drive a bargain, 
 and wanted simply to get away from Mapleton. A 
 few months before he had had the offer from Frank 
 
 64 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Emmons to go into orange-ranching in California. Em- 
 mons warned him that the country was by no means 
 all that it had been painted; still there were oppor 
 tunities, and above all it had a climate that a man 
 could live in. Dan had replied saying that he could 
 not leave Mapleton for six months, and very likely 
 should stay there indefinitely. When the Judge 
 died he telegraphed Emmons, and finding the offer 
 still open, telegraphed again, accepting it. He had 
 about eighteen hundred dollars to take with him. 
 It was a plunge but Dan was then in the mood for 
 plunging. It was his first plunge, but temperament 
 and chance playing in with one another by no 
 means his last. 
 
 In his grief he thought, it must be confessed, very 
 little about his family; as, for that matter, he had 
 done for some time. He had continued to live at 
 home; and his mother and the two younger children 
 and Elmira, the older girl, who had not married, had 
 had the benefit of his good fortune. But they had 
 not shared his life. His mother, who grew sharper 
 and more rigid with age, once angered him deeply 
 by repeating an unpleasant story about the Judge, 
 of whom, on hearsay, and with a bias of maternal 
 jealousy, she disapproved. From that time he 
 ceased to talk about the Judge at home, and spent 
 less and less time there. And now there was no tie 
 that he dreaded to break. 
 
 He thought that the only memories of Mapleton 
 he should carry away were of his father and of Judge 
 Coif ax. He never saw the town again. But it had 
 impressed itself upon him more deeply than he 
 thought. All his life some detail of it would keep 
 
 65 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 rising up the war-time happenings, the looks of 
 some village sweetheart, a hunt for snipe in the 
 marshes, the deep thick black mud of the roads, the 
 gas-lit streets with their wooden sidewalks and over 
 hanging maples, and loafers on the corners; Mr. El- 
 wood s pond, where he skated as a small boy ; maple- 
 sugar time in the spring, when the trees in their front 
 yard would be pierced, and the sweet sap collected 
 in tin pails, to be boiled down afterward in a huge 
 black kettle; the cemetery where his father was 
 buried, and where they laid the Judge, with a great 
 gray granite sarcophagus over him to keep him down ; 
 the very air and smell of the prairie, with its per 
 petual low hanging vapors its freezing cold, its moist, 
 sticky heat; the long line of wild geese stretching 
 across the gray sky, and their harsh, melancholy 
 cries as they fled away south. 
 
 66 
 
V. 
 
 r |\EN days after the sale had put twenty thou- 
 -* sand dollars to Dan s credit in the bank, and 
 given him notes for forty thousand more, he mar 
 ried Anna. The wedding was as quiet as possible. 
 Anna s father performed the ceremony in the little 
 parlor of her home. The only witnesses were Mrs. 
 Quartermain, who wept throughout, and Herwin, a 
 young fellow inheriting his mother s plainness along 
 with enough temperament to send him far on the 
 road to physical ruin. Herwin s Prince Albert coat 
 and white tie, together with the brilliance of the 
 noonday sun that filled the room, emphasized his sal 
 low frailness. Mrs. Quartermain, in her worn black 
 silk, with reddened nose and eyes, came no better 
 off; and the minister looked wan and shadowy in 
 the flood of light. But the bridal pair shone all the 
 brighter by contrast. 
 
 Anna wore her new blue travelling dress and a hat 
 with a sweeping blue feather. She wore also the 
 bridegroom s present, a watch and chain, the watch- 
 case set with diamonds in the form of a star; and 
 carried his bouquet, a huge affair of roses and white 
 violets. She looked radiantly happy. It was Dan 
 who was grave, whose voice trembled at the solem 
 nity of his promises; he looked straight into Anna s 
 eyes when he said, "And thereto I plight thee my 
 
 67 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 troth," whereas Anna, when she repeated the words, 
 looked at the floor. 
 
 It was astonishingly brief, both felt; nor was there 
 much time to be emotional afterward. The carriage 
 was at the door; Anna hurried the leave-taking, 
 and the new-married pair were off, with a shower of 
 rice from Herwin s nervous hand spending itself 
 against the panels. 
 
 They were bound to San Francisco for a two weeks 
 honeymoon; then they were to come back to the 
 house Dan had rented and furnished in accordance 
 with Anna s wish. Later they would build to suit 
 themselves. The house was a large new one, of wood, 
 on one of the principal streets. The two servants 
 were already installed, and Mrs. Quartermain was to 
 stay there until their return. Dan had been lavish 
 in his buying; everything was in the latest fashion 
 and expensive. There were a few handsome pres 
 ents, too, silver or bric-a-brac, from his business 
 friends or associates; and some others which mainly 
 expressed good-will. From Dan s mother came, but 
 not in time for his wedding-day, a letter to the bride 
 and a lace handkerchief. Mr. Stoneman sent a gilt 
 spoon with a green stone set in the handle. Mary 
 Emmons sent half a dozen teaspoons, a cherished 
 heirloom, which Dan recollected well. From the 
 bride s parents came another family treasure a sil 
 ver loving-cup, which had come overseas with the 
 Cornwall Quartermains in the last century. Herwin 
 sent two dozen new silver forks from one of the jewel 
 lers in town; which, Anna reflected, her mother would 
 have to pay for, if, indeed, they ever were paid for 
 at all. 
 
 68 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 But now at last she could put all the discomforts 
 and annoyances of poverty behind her. For a fort 
 night she felt like a princess. Their rooms at the 
 Palace Hotel, the carriage and horses hired for their 
 stay, the best seats at the theatres, the elaborate 
 meals, the rushing to and fro and profound salaams 
 of the liberally feed servants, and last, but not least, 
 the shopping, made up a delicious whirl of luxury 
 and excitement which she would have liked to last 
 forever. She enjoyed every moment of these ex 
 peditions, even the long drives about the windy city, 
 out to the Cliff House and into the environs, which 
 were Dan s suggestion; while, for his part, Dan en 
 joyed the shopping as much as anything. He bought 
 for Anna a crescent and a marquise ring of diamonds; 
 and she ordered a complete winter outfit of dresses, 
 hats, and furs from an expensive house. 
 
 Dan knew a few people in San Francisco news 
 paper men and politicians but it did not occur to 
 him to look them up for any social purpose. His 
 happiness was restless, absorbed in itself it was half 
 pain. Yet it was happiness, for he felt that his life 
 with Anna must work out into simplicity and peace. 
 She would come to understand him and to love him, 
 though not perhaps as he loved her; and meantime 
 he must have patience. She trusted him and was 
 fond of him already. In their little excursions she 
 was delightfully gay; in all their lighter moments 
 together completely at her ease, evidently happy. 
 It was true that she much preferred gayety to emo 
 tion, but that was natural enough. Natural, too, 
 that she should be a little frightened, even repelled, 
 by the completeness and intensity with which Dan s 
 
 69 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 love possessed him. He wanted to abandon himself, 
 to be simple as a child with her; and that instinctive 
 appeal to maternal tenderness failed. Anna herself 
 wanted a firm support. She could not adjust herself 
 yet to perceive, much less to satisfy, claims upon her 
 own strength. 
 
 By the end of the fortnight, however, she had per 
 fectly adjusted herself to the forms of her new life. 
 The novelty of being rich had worn off, though not 
 the naive enjoyment. She still thought more of 
 what she had than of what she would like to have; 
 and, for that matter, it was her disposition to live in 
 the present whenever the present was at all tolera 
 ble; just as it was Dan s to live in the future. Anna 
 still got a keen thrill of pleasure out of every dress, 
 hat, and trinket as she put it on; out of every ad 
 miring glance cast at her, and these were many. Her 
 taste was, like Dan s, for striking and sumptuous ef 
 fects. Her dresses were all of heavy cloth, silk or 
 velvet, in rich colors, some of them trimmed with 
 fur, all in elaborate designs. All her hats were large, 
 with drooping feathers or velvet flowers. Her tall 
 figure thus richly dressed, her young face blooming 
 like a rose, her blond hair and dark eyes, could not 
 but attract attention. And Anna had not yet got to 
 the point of taking those delightful new possessions 
 as a matter of course. She expected always to have 
 them; but remembrance of the time when she had 
 nothing except her beauty made her keenly conscious 
 of clothes and setting. 
 
 The day before they were to leave for Los Angeleg 
 came the first real break in her pleasures. Dan, in 
 the morning, left Anna at her dressmaker s, saying 
 
 70 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 that he had some business to see to, but would be 
 back to lunch. In the afternoon they were going 
 for a farewell drive. Anna waited at the hotel from 
 one till two, then came a delayed telephone message 
 from Dan. Business detained him; he would lunch 
 where he was and might not be back much before 
 dinner. She must go on and take her drive without 
 him. 
 
 She ate her luncheon without much taste for it, 
 though the long wait after the morning s tussle with 
 the wind had made her feel rather faint. After 
 luncheon there was really nothing to do. She decided 
 promptly that she wouldn t drive. The day was un 
 pleasant, threatening rain, and she knew by heart, 
 she thought, all the streets through which they usually 
 drove the main residence streets, where stood the 
 stone palaces whose like Anna expected to possess 
 some day. She began a yellow-backed novel, but 
 found it dull; wrote two letters, to her mother and 
 to Elise Andrews, her one girl chum, filled with glow 
 ing accounts of herself; tried on her newest dresses 
 with all her diamonds; and finally relapsed on the 
 bed in a dressing-gown, where Dan found her crying 
 when he came in at six o clock. 
 
 He was first terrified, then mystified; and had his 
 primer lesson in consoling an injury which he could 
 not for his life understand. Dan had almost never 
 been bored; certainly never without some definite 
 cause that action would remove. Nerves he had 
 himself, and he was rapidly accustoming them to 
 need and demand excitement; but he could not com 
 prehend feminine nerves in the same condition. If 
 he had ever heard the old word "vapors" applied to 
 
 71 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 such a state of things it would have seemed to him 
 very suitable. He was befogged himself; the griev 
 ances that Anna alleged did not strike him as tangi 
 ble. Why should she be offended with him? He had 
 sent the telephone message before one o clock. Cer 
 tainly he would blow up the hotel people, but . 
 
 But he couldn t get away. He had to see these men 
 and arrange some important political matters with 
 them, and he had been busy all day. She ought to 
 have gone out. If she didn t want to drive she should 
 have done something else. What? Well, anything. 
 Anything except cry like a baby and spoil her looks. 
 
 At this point Dan had to change his tactics. A 
 fresh burst of hysterical tears warned him not to rea 
 son further. He won her back to calmness, finally, 
 by abasing himself as a careless brute, who was en 
 tirely at fault, and humbly begged her pardon. They 
 were reconciled, dined in their own sitting-room, and 
 Dan demonstratively declared that the marks of 
 tears only made Anna more attractive. It was true, 
 for him; he welcomed any sign of emotion in her far 
 more deeply than he could be disturbed by it. He 
 had not reasoned it out; but he knew that unless she 
 were deeply moved she would not love him, and if 
 she did not love him their life together would be 
 neither peaceful nor happy. It was not only patience 
 that he needed. He could see now that there were 
 storms ahead. 
 
 However, they travelled back in very friendly 
 fashion to their new home. Anna was delighted with 
 its prettiness and comfort; delighted for once to see 
 her family and to distribute her gifts. She had 
 brought a pattern of heavy black silk for her mother, 
 
 72 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 and a dressing-gown with Chinese embroidery for her 
 father; and a silver vinaigrette for Elise. To these 
 three, also, she exhibited all her new treasures. Dan 
 had bought a grand piano for her; and when, the 
 evening of their return, after they had dined alone, 
 Dan sat in a corner of the dusky drawing-room smok 
 ing, while Anna sang his favorite songs "Auld Lang 
 Syne/ The Suwanee River" and " Annie Laurie" 
 both felt the homely sweetness of it all. Dan was 
 moved beyond placid contentment; forsook his cigar, 
 got up and put his arms about Anna, saying, with the 
 thrill in his voice that she almost dreaded, "You re a 
 thousand times too good for me, dearest. I don t 
 deserve you." 
 
 " You re a silly boy," she tried to laugh it off. "I m 
 not good at all, you ll find out." 
 
 "All women are good," said the infatuated man. 
 "They re good by nature, and men are naturally bad. 
 No man deserves a really good woman like you, dear 
 est. When I think of you, living peacefully in your 
 home, sweet and innocent as you are, and being good 
 and kind to me, you seem to me like an angel." 
 
 She felt his cheek against hers wet with tears. 
 
 "Oh, please don t," she cried. "I don t like you 
 to say such things. I m not an angel, and I don t \ 
 want to be, not a bit. I d like to be rather wicked." 
 
 This confession came out headlong, in the kind of 
 panic that possessed her whenever Dan on his part 
 made an approach to confession. She knew that 
 there were things in Dan s life that he regretted 
 knew vaguely that "men did" those things but she 
 did not want to know more definitely what Dan had 
 done. Impulse urged Dan to pour it all out to her, 
 
 73 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 and be absolved; but he had never done it, his in 
 stinct as well as hers preventing. He felt that most 
 likely he should not get absolution from her. Anna 
 had a kind of hatred of the whole subject. She was 
 afraid to know how much Dan had as she thought 
 of it degraded himself. And an obscure jealousy, 
 more powerful in her than any other instinct, would 
 shake her at times with physical repugnance. Dan, 
 feeling this reluctance in her to let him talk freely, 
 revered it as true womanly innocence, and would re 
 tire abashed but with an ache at his heart. His 
 ideal woman had this snowy purity, which would not 
 defile itself by even the knowledge of evil ; and he 
 held that she need not and ought not to know man s 
 life in its completeness. And yet the feeling that 
 there were things he dared not tell Anna chilled him ; 
 it seemed to make a distance, almost a barrier, be 
 tween them. If only she could have seen him at his 
 worst, and forgiven, and loved! 
 
 But Anna s diversion was successful. 
 
 "You wicked!" he said fondly. "You couldn t be 
 if you tried you haven t the faintest idea of it. Tell 
 me, how would you begin?" 
 
 "Oh " Anna was at a loss for a moment. She 
 
 did not want to shock him. "I mean to be frivolous, 
 gay, don t you know? To go out a lot, dance, play 
 cards, entertain, and have punch on the sideboard, 
 and champagne, and well, that s all, I guess." 
 
 Dan laughed. 
 
 "Well, I guess we can manage that! And without 
 being very wicked, either." 
 
 "I hope we shall know a good many people. Your 
 friends will come to see us soon, won t they?" 
 
 74 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "Oh, yes, they will as soon as we want them. 
 But I don t know so very many. Mostly men, in a 
 business way." 
 
 "But" here Anna touched that further desire 
 of hers which she thought might displease her hus 
 band "some of the men are nice, aren t they? Why 
 shouldn t they come?" 
 
 "They will, I dare say, if we ask em. But why 
 talk about them to-night?" 
 
 "Oh, no reason. I don t suppose anybody will 
 come to-night." 
 
 "Well, I should hope not," Dan protested. 
 
 Anna rose from the piano-stool and, her hand 
 clasped in his, drew him after her to the window. 
 Without was a dense white fog. Even the lights of 
 the cable-cars, passing in the street, thirty feet away, 
 were invisible, though the clanging of their gongs 
 could be heard. 
 
 "I hope Mrs. Goodwin will call on me," said Anna, 
 dreamily. "And I suppose she will, since she sent a 
 present, don t you?" 
 
 Mrs. Goodwin was the wife of a banker, and one 
 of the patronesses of everything that happened 
 in paragraphed society, from a ball to a church 
 fair. 
 
 "I suppose so. Are you tired of me already?" 
 
 "You absurd man! You re not going to spend all 
 your time with me, are you?" 
 
 "No I m afraid not." 
 
 "Well, then, I must have some amusement." 
 
 "You shall have all you want if you ll stay alone 
 with me part of the time and always like me better 
 than anybody." 
 
 75 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "Oh of course. But you want other people to 
 admire me, too, don t you? 7 
 
 A pause. "I suppose so but not too much/ said 
 Dan, with a proprietary kiss. 
 
 "Too much? How could they admire me too 
 much?" She spread out her arms and waltzed across 
 the floor, into the back parlor. "Come here a min 
 ute I ll show you something." 
 
 She turned up the gas, opened her little mahogany 
 desk, and held out a handful of papers to him. Dan 
 looked them over bewilder ingly. 
 
 "Can t make em out," he said. 
 
 "Why, those are menus for dinners, can t you see? 
 And this is a list of all the people we know that I d 
 like to invite. And this is a plan for a musicale and 
 supper. And these are things I want to subscribe 
 to the Friday cotillions " 
 
 "But I can t dance." 
 
 "You needn t. You look awfully handsome in 
 full dress, and you can be a wall-flower. And I m 
 going to join all the clubs I can " 
 
 Dan whistled. "Well, you do want to cut a 
 swath!" 
 
 "I want some fun. Oh, Dan, I do want it awfully !" 
 
 Dan caught her in his arms. 
 
 "Then you shall have it as long as the bank holds 
 out." 
 
 "But we re going to be rich, aren t we really rich?" 
 
 "I hope so. Some day." 
 
 "Oh, soon!" 
 
 "Soon" was the thought of most of the population 
 of the city at that time. To be rich, if not to-day, at 
 
 76 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 least to-morrow, was the general expectation; and 
 practically to-day was to-morrow, since credit was 
 easy to get. The " to-morrow" of the old Calif or- 
 nians who had founded the town was a distant and 
 disagreeable day when work was to be done, removed 
 from the enjoyable present by a long chain of idle 
 hours. The to-morrow of the Americans who had 
 built the city was a golden time when the reward of 
 to-day s work was to be reaped. No wonder if they 
 anticipated it a little ; and drew a check on the fut 
 ure which unless something happened to-morrow 
 would put funds in the bank to pay. 
 
 When the Pueblo de Los Angeles was built out of 
 its native clay, land in California could be had by the 
 league and for the asking. The Spanish-Californians 
 were few in a country of vast natural wealth. Estates 
 of from four to eighteen leagues a league is about 
 five thousand acres were common. But when a 
 man and his horses could live out of doors all the year 
 around; when his cattle and sheep, feeding uncared 
 for over an unlimited range, supplied the main article 
 of his diet, and a few acres in beans and maize fur 
 nished the others; when he could portion his daugh 
 ters from the public domain: one league was as good 
 as twenty. The typical Californian never thought of 
 cultivating the land, even though the Mission Fathers 
 showed him what could be done with it, bringing the 
 almond from France, the olive and orange from 
 Spain. He lived, happy and careless, finding it easy 
 to borrow money when he needed it, and to get any 
 thing he wanted to buy on credit. When he had 
 money he did not put it out at interest, but buried it 
 in the earth or hid it in some corner; when he bor- 
 
 77 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 rowed he willingly paid two or three per cent a month 
 interest, and renewed his notes as often as they fell 
 due, or borrowed more. He was trusted, for it was 
 said of his class that they would pay their debts if it 
 ruined them; as it did. In the middle fifties these 
 pastoral patriarchs owned the whole of California; 
 twenty years later they had lost everything. 
 
 When the Easterners rushed in on the wave of the 
 gold excitement of 49 things boomed for a time 
 and the Californians got the first benefit. Cattle 
 became valuable for meat and the Yankee need for 
 beef made the owners suddenly rich. They hastened 
 to spend in the only ways they knew. They trimmed 
 their saddles and bridles with solid silver, and had 
 spurs of silver or even of gold. Few of their adobe 
 houses had wooden floors; but they covered the 
 floors of earth with costly rugs, hung their old four- 
 post beds with silk and lace curtains, and the women 
 went about dragging as many yards of silk and satin 
 as could be looped into a train. 
 
 The end of this splendor came soon. The simple 
 Californians were finally ruined by the boom from 
 the East. As soon as their land was perceived to be 
 valuable they lost it. Miles of wild grass were cut 
 up by the new-comers into stock and grain ranches, 
 still thousands of acres in extent; and so held until 
 the Eastern immigration changed in character. When 
 enough men came, not to dig gold but to farm, they 
 broke up the great estates by forcing the owners to 
 pay their share of taxation; and each new wave of 
 settlers subdivided still further. Small farmers at 
 first had a hundred and sixty acres; later they were 
 content with thirty or twenty. Then the Chinaman 
 
 78 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 might have ten acres in strawberries or he might 
 raise vegetables on an acre lot within the city limits. 
 But it was reserved for the second boom to cut up 
 an acre into twenty or thirty city lots and sell it for 
 enough to buy out the twenty-acre farmer twice over. 
 
 Once more Eastern gold filled the pockets of the 
 Californians, while native amateurs ably assisted the 
 foreign professionals in working the boom to its 
 height. 
 
 But long before this final transformation of the 
 city it had dropped the superfluous syllables of its 
 lazy Spanish name and had grown away from the 
 original settlement, though this remained in lines of 
 peeling, one-story adobes, under the name of "Sonora- 
 town," a place of sordid look and evil resort. Beyond 
 it grew up the American town, first the business dis 
 trict, then the well-laid-out and shaded residence 
 streets on which business constantly encroached. A 
 few better-class examples of the old architecture 
 might linger in the lower part of the American city 
 two or three of those adobe houses which were 
 simply a long row of rooms each with a door opening 
 on the veranda, unless, in a family having unmarried 
 daughters, there might be one room with no outside 
 door and only a narrow window, to keep the girls safe 
 from nocturnal wooers. There, too, stood the old 
 Mission church with its cracked and discordant bells. 
 And living relics of the old days sometimes peram 
 bulated the broad streets of the new quarter the 
 ice-cream man and the tamale man, swarthy of skin, 
 dressed in white, carrying on their heads the buckets 
 holding their mysterious wares and proclaiming them 
 by the aid of a bell. 
 
 79 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 The boom decreased the interest, never very brisk, 
 in these reminders of the old life. The tourist might 
 like to see General Fremont s head-quarters, or some 
 of the huge palm-trees which grew up with the Span 
 ish town; but after that he was more apt to be inter 
 ested in the latest "addition" to the city a tract of 
 land out on the hills perhaps beyond the suburbs, 
 but already laid out, lighted, and being sold off 
 in lots. 
 
 After practically all the available land within the 
 city limits had been thus disposed of, the speculators 
 proceeded to buy out the small farmer next beyond, 
 and to cut up his orange orchards and vineyards. 
 Naturally the fruit trees and vines went by the board 
 in this and succeeding deals. Nobody wanted them, 
 and the sooner they died from lack of water the 
 sooner they would cease to cumber the valuable 
 ground. 
 
 Then the boomer went still farther afield. Be 
 tween the city and the mountains stretched miles 
 of level or gently rolling land, a good deal of it cul 
 tivated, the rest covered with the native growth of 
 brush and live-oaks. The mind of the real-estate 
 man saw the wave of urban population submerging 
 this rural waste, and sweeping clear up over the foot 
 hills; or at least he saw the land dotted with white 
 stakes representing the population to come. Ac 
 cordingly, he bought a certain number of acres and 
 founded a "town-site." First he selected a name 
 for his town; then streets were laid out and graded 
 and sometimes car- tracks were put down. Electric- 
 light poles were set up. Sometimes a hotel was built, 
 or if not the lumber for it was carted to the ground, 
 
 80 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 along with loads of water-pipe. Then a map of the 
 property was made and all was ready for the sale. 
 
 The boom had lasted a year and a half, and Dan 
 had been married three months, when he threw down 
 his big stake on the broad green table. But he had 
 been in the line of it from the start. He had seen 
 the craze grow from its small beginning to such pro 
 portions as turned many cooler brains than his. And 
 he had helped it on by every means in his power, 
 having a real faith that the country would live up 
 to its press-notices. 
 
 He had been assistant business manager of the 
 Clarion having invested in the newspaper after dis 
 solving partnership with Emmons during the mem 
 orable winter two years before, when the influx of 
 Eastern tourists doubled past records, and when the 
 immemorial desire of the Californian to sell his land 
 had begun to be gratified on a large scale. Dan then 
 had no land to sell: but when the trading in city-lots 
 assumed the proportions of a boom, he did a part of 
 it. However, he was not a trader by temperament. 
 He wanted to make money, but the idea of buying 
 cheap and selling dear and keeping on the safe side, 
 did not attract him. It may fairly be said that he 
 was never much interested in any transaction that 
 did not involve an element of risk; and, indeed, that 
 the larger this element was, the deeper was his inter 
 est. He was a plunger; but so far as plunging can 
 be distinguished from gambling, not a gambler. He 
 had, for example, never cared for cards or racing. 
 He speculated; but not simply for the gain, nor for 
 the excitement. The desire of action and of achieve 
 ment was his impulse. To do something at once bold 
 
 81 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 and solid was his intention. To discover, to organize 
 and direct forces in line with the development of the 
 country, was really his ambition now, and the boom 
 had helped to make that ambition definite. Dan be 
 lieved in the boom. Already in his mind he had gone 
 far beyond it; and what loomed large to the eyes of 
 less imaginative men seemed to him but the natural 
 consequence of the pouring of Eastern capital into a 
 country of immense natural riches; and that inpour- 
 ing, again, but the result to be expected, when the 
 shrewd Easterners should see the country s possibil 
 ities. 
 
 Dan kept his interest in the Clarion because the 
 newspaper is a necessary and valuable agent in build 
 ing up the country, but he gave his time to real estate, 
 and constantly reinvested his increasing profits. 
 From the city he had progressed to the suburbs, where 
 more land could be bought for less money; and thence 
 beyond the city limits. The sale on the Emmons 
 ranch gave him the money to invest in a town-site. 
 The town-site had been in Dan s mind from the time 
 when such a thing seemed possible. He had thought 
 of it before he met Anna; it had kept a place in his 
 thoughts not to be usurped even by her image. And 
 now that the woman he loved was his, Dan had a 
 double stake to throw; and he risked it on the future 
 of his town. 
 
 82 
 
VI. 
 
 town was named Elaine, after the states- 
 man whom he most ardently admired, and for 
 whom he had stumped the State in the last but one 
 Presidential campaign. The disappointment of the 
 White Plumed Knight himself in the result of that 
 campaign, though it may have lasted longer than 
 Dan s, could hardly have been sharper at first. And 
 Dan s loyalty was enduring if not his grief. It may 
 be that the title deed to the best corner-lot in the 
 new town did not convey much consolation to the 
 Secretary of State; but such as it was, he had it. 
 
 The town-site was twenty miles out in the valley 
 of the San Gabriel and comprised sixty acres of level 
 land, which had never been broken by the plough. 
 It was well into December before all Dan s arrange 
 ments were made. He put up no buildings; but he 
 graded his streets, erected electric-light poles, and 
 laid down sidewalks. Meantime towns had been lo 
 cated to the east and west of him, to the north and 
 south. Baldwin, a boom town in the foot-hills, was 
 really growing, and survives to-day; and others, 
 founded to grow and not merely to sell, took root 
 and prospered. The population of the parent city 
 was still increasing, and the holidays, which always 
 brought the main body of visitors, were yet to come. 
 
 Daniel Devin s hopes were green and flourishing, 
 as the whole face of the country in its spring luxuri- 
 
 83 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 ance. He enjoyed thoroughly the time that he spent 
 on his land, superintending the work. He liked boss 
 ing any kind of a job, and particularly anything that 
 took him out of doors. He felt while he walked about 
 and gave orders to his Mexicans that he should have 
 liked to be always as near the earth; a farmer, per 
 haps, if farming could be conducted by a central brain 
 controlling enough hands. It was inspiring to sow, 
 to watch the growth of the harvest, and to reap; and 
 to sow a crop of white stakes and reap brick buildings 
 was to Dan a legitimate as well as a most interesting 
 enterprise. He already saw the brick buildings in his 
 mind s eye; the growth of the town would make it a 
 centre for the agricultural products of the valley, and 
 would bring the railroad. It would be a health re 
 sort, too, fdr the dry air of the valley was sought by 
 consumptives. And since many a town has been 
 made by the natural beauty of its surroundings, 
 Blaine had a third chance of life and prosperity. 
 
 It lay just below the hills that rolled waves of green 
 up into the clefts and canons of the mountain range. 
 The short wild grass, sown with violets, that covered 
 these slopes after the rains, gave the most brilliant 
 note; but the whole valley really a broad plain 
 bounded on the south and west by another line of 
 hills bare in the distance was a patchwork of greens, 
 wild or cultivated land alike, relieved by the deep 
 brown of freshly ploughed fields, the glitter of a 
 stream between rows of cotton-wood or willow trees, 
 or a stretch of wild mustard tossing its light-gold 
 blossom high in the air. The mountains near at hand 
 lost their blue and purple tones, and showed brown 
 and bronze instead above the line where the chapar- 
 
 84 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 ral climbed. Still to the north rose a further range, 
 crowned with snow and melting vaguely into the ra 
 diant blue of the sky. 
 
 Dan had bought his land from an old German, 
 Jacob Rathgeber, of whose ranch it had formed a 
 part. Rathgeber had declined to part with any of 
 his cultivated land, and especially with the little rise 
 crowned by his house and gardens. Dan coveted 
 this site for his hotel, and offered a round price for it. 
 
 "Sell my rose-garden tausendmal nein !" exclaimed 
 the old settler scornfully. He formed the habit of 
 coming down, whenever, from the vantage ground of 
 his hill- top, he perceived Dan among the workmen; 
 and would stand, pipe in mouth, watching the 
 operations with a sardonic smile, and occasionally of 
 fering a chuckling comment. The creases of his old 
 clothes were constantly full of the soil of his flower 
 beds and powdered with tobacco. He smelt of beer, 
 seldom shaved, and never wore a collar. Now and 
 then he would be morose, for, unable to resist the of 
 fer that Dan had made him, he still regretted having 
 sold the land. One day he said, while his eyes roved 
 with mingled pride and gloom over his trim, perfectly 
 kept orchards, the fields of young barley just begin 
 ning to head, stirred by the light breeze in glisten 
 ing waves, and his garden ablaze with color: 
 
 "If I fought you would ever have a town here I 
 would yet try to buy my land back." 
 
 "Try," said Dan good-humoredly. 
 
 "Well, maybe I get it back wit out buying. If 
 your town don t grow in a hurry, you sell it out for 
 what you can get, hein? You ain t goin to wait 
 some years for it to grow." 
 
 85 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "No, I don t expect to," Dan said abstractedly, 
 and began to whistle. 
 
 "No. I been fifteen years making my rose-garden, 
 and it is wort all the town you will ever make here. 
 My view is already spoiled with dese criss-cross lines 
 and poles. If you should build any buildings here, 
 I turn my house around to look down into the canon/ 
 
 "Well, you better get to work, then," was Dan s 
 rejoinder. "We ll begin to build the hotel in two or 
 three weeks." 
 
 "Ach, niemals. I don t believe it. I know how 
 dese sales work, I been to one the other day, where 
 they got another town like yours about a mile over. 
 It makes me laugh. All you want is to sell out some 
 lots to dose people in stove-pipe hats wit diamonds 
 in dere shirts. Much dey care about your town! 
 You ain t goin to live here yourself, nicht?" 
 
 "Maybe," Dan laughed. The old fellow amused 
 him. "Maybe you and I ll be the first residents. 
 We must be neighborly." 
 
 "I a resident! I move out first." 
 
 "Well, you ll probably move out sooner or later. 
 This land will be too valuable for you to live on, when 
 the valley settles up. When you can get five thou 
 sand dollars an acre for it, you won t put ten acres 
 into alfalfa and three into flowers. I ll build my hotel 
 on your hill yet." 
 
 "Not till I m dead, anyhow," shouted Rathgeber 
 as Dan moved away. 
 
 The mid-day sun was warm on the plain from which 
 the western hills cut off the sea-breeze. Dan went a 
 little way up the slope and threw himself down on 
 the grass in the shade of a live-oak tree. The grass 
 
 86 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 was coarse, but of the brightest and most luxuriant 
 green; and in with it gr,ew innumerable violet-plants 
 and other wild-flowers which would be blossoming 
 in a few weeks. It hid, too, the nests of the meadow- 
 larks, which were singing far and near in the covert 
 a brief song of lowly sweetness, liquid as the gurgle 
 of a stream, fresh and joyous as the spring itself. 
 
 "I suppose I m trespassing/ Dan said lazily to 
 Rathgeber, who had followed him. "Are you going 
 to throw me off?" 
 
 The old German grunted. 
 
 "Do you know, I like this" Dan waved his 
 hand vaguely "better than your fenced-in place. 
 I think the violets and poppies when they come up 
 just where they please will be a long sight prettier 
 than your stiff roses and lilies." 
 
 "Ah, you have not seen my rose-garden." Rath 
 geber after a pause added shamefacedly, "If you 
 will come up and drink a glass of beer with me?" 
 
 Dan took the invitation as a pretext, but accepted 
 it cheerfully enough. They walked together up the 
 winding roadway, bordered with rows of fan-palms 
 and bands of small flowers, that led to the house. 
 The knoll lay in the mouth of a canon. Down its 
 slope and up the hill beyond ran long lines of orange 
 and lemon trees. The cottage was surrounded by 
 perfectly kept lawns, studded with odd-shaped little 
 flower-beds. A great rose- vine with a trunk as thick 
 as a man s arm overspread the whole front of the 
 house and threw its white blossoms above the roof. 
 An odd bright medley of flowers was banked against 
 the sides of the house nasturtiums, fuchsias, lilies, 
 geraniums, and a dozen other sorts. On the porch 
 
 87 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 as they approached stood a homely little woman in a 
 stiff print dress and white apron, with a large dinner 
 bell in her hand. 
 
 "Ah, dinner must be ready," said Rathgeber with 
 an air of surprise. He glanced anxiously at his guest. 
 " Would you sit down with us?" 
 
 His manoeuvre succeeding, the old man became 
 at once happily genial. He ushered Dan into the 
 tiny parlor, full of German bric-a-brac and the smell 
 of rose pot-pourri; hurried to change his dirty coat 
 for a velvet house-jacket, and then invited the visitor 
 to follow him out the back-door and into the grape- 
 arbor, where the table was neatly set for dinner. 
 There was a good solid meal, with unlimited Mlinch- 
 ner of the best. As they ate, Rathgeber questioned 
 Dan about the business situation in the city, and his 
 personal connection with it. Much of the peasant 
 roughness of his speech had disappeared, though he 
 ate with his knife and talked with his mouth full. 
 
 "So you have made sixty tousand dollars in the last 
 year, eh?" he said, sceptically. "Mostly on paper, 
 ain t it? Well, maybe you get out dis time, I don t 
 know. People are about crazy just now, but how 
 long will it last? I t ink you re crazy to pay me so 
 much for my land. How much you t ink I paid for 
 it when I came here fifteen years ago?" 
 
 "Oh, about a dollar an acre." 
 
 "No, sir, two dollars and a half. Dis whole valley 
 was a desert den not ing but sage-brush and cac 
 tus, sand and stones. Dere was no water and nobody 
 ever fought to raise any t ing on it. Dere was a little 
 stream up here in the canon going to waste. I 
 started in to keep bees. When I got enough money 
 
 88 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 to pipe de water over dot hill, all de rest was easy. 
 My oranges and olives, my grapes and all other fruits, 
 pay me every year more dan de whole business cost. 
 Now you come along, and pay me for land dot I 
 never even ploughed, t ree hundred dollars an acre. 
 I m rich, I don t need dot money, but if you offer it I 
 take it. But if you don t make a lot on it you are 
 busted, nicht?" 
 
 "Not a bit of it. Even if I didn t sell it right off, 
 I d have the land, wouldn t I?" 
 
 Rathgeber shook his head. 
 
 "You paid me eight t ousand dollars. In free 
 months you got to pay me ten t ousand more. If you 
 don t sell dot land you can t do it. Now I ain t goin 
 to make you a present of dot ten t ousand." He 
 hurried on, drowning Dan s protest by a violent blow 
 on the table. 
 
 "It ain t right, I tell you! You ll be sorry and 
 I ll be sorry and de country 11 be sorry. It s better 
 you make one place like mine dan a hundred towns 
 like yours." 
 
 "Even supposing I make eighteen thousand dollars 
 for you and fifty thousand for myself, and the town 
 goes on growing and trebles the value of this land 
 you ve got left?" suggested Dan. 
 
 Another blow on the table. 
 
 "It ain t, I tell you! You can t take a piece of 
 land, stick some white poles in it and say, yesterday 
 you were wort five hundred dollars, to-day you re 
 wort* five t ousand. Niemals! Margaretha, bring 
 the pipes." 
 
 When the little hausfrau had brought them and 
 filled the long, gayly decorated bowls, Dan could not 
 
 89 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 refuse to light his, though he said he must soon be 
 getting away. 
 
 "I have business in the city this afternoon. But 
 first I want to see your garden," he added out of cour 
 tesy. 
 
 Rathgeber sighed. "Already? You Americans al 
 ways hurry. If we could smoke here awhile, it would 
 be pleasanter, too, outside. Only one more stein of 
 beer?" 
 
 "One more, then. But why should I hurry you 
 away? Another day will do for the garden." 
 
 "No, to-day is always the best time. To-morrow 
 maybe never comes, nicht wahr?" 
 
 The beer was brought stone-cold from the earthen 
 cellar, and slowly consumed. Then Rathgeber filled 
 his pipe again and reluctantly rose. 
 
 "Ach, es ist so furchtbar unangenehm die Tatei 
 zu verlassen," he sighed again. 
 
 Though it was cool in the sun-shot shade of the 
 arbor, the direct sunlight outside was hot. But Dan 
 enjoyed his walk about the place, which indeed jus 
 tified its creator s pride. It was a little miracle of 
 order and abundance, from the acres of rose-bloom 
 to the bee-colony up the canon, rows of little white 
 hives gleaming against the solid wall of chaparral 
 mixed with wild buckwheat, where the bees hummed 
 busily; and the nursery where Rathgeber, who had 
 some fame as a plant-breeder, conducted his experi 
 ments in hybridization. 
 
 "But de best time to see de roses, of course, is early 
 in de morning," said the old German, looking them 
 over tenderly. "We cut de best buds before de sun 
 reaches dem. Dot is Margaretha s little business 
 
 90 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 She supplies two florists, and she also makes pot 
 pourri and conserve from the petals. You will see 
 dem drying up near the house." 
 
 Then he pointed out some curious trees and shrubs. 
 "It is my amusement to see how many of dese foreign 
 ers I can make at home here/ he said. In a short 
 radius there were, beside the sword and fan palms, 
 olive and fig trees, banana, magnolia, India-rubber, 
 camphor and umbrella trees, a hedge of Chinese 
 lemons, pomegranate andguava bushes; a sago-palm 
 from Ceylon, tea-plants from China, a silver-tree from 
 South America. 
 
 "It is a friendly soil," said Rathgeber. "It will re 
 ceive anything and give it a home. Dot s because 
 it had not ing to start with itself, maybe. Well, 
 perhaps de yucca palm and de yellow poppy, but 
 most everything else comes from abroad. De syca 
 more is an Oriental, like all dese others. De euca 
 lyptus comes from Australia, de pepper-tree from 
 Chili. And de people, too, de same. Now you and 
 I, we are exotics, hein? You are not born here?" 
 
 "No, but I m planted here like your queer trees!" 
 
 "Ah, but you have no roots here, like dem and 
 like me. Often I want to go back to Strasburg, but 
 I can never give up my place here." 
 
 "Perhaps my town will tie me here, too," Dan said, 
 laughing. "But I see I shall have to find another hill 
 for my hotel." 
 
 "Truly you will. But your town must first have 
 roots itself before you care much about it." 
 
 "That oughtn t to take long. A soil that can raise 
 a forest in ten years ought to be able to raise a town 
 
 91 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Rathgeber shook his head solemnly. 
 
 "It must have some life to start with. You have 
 only planted money in dot land." 
 
 They came round to the front of the house as he 
 spoke, and looked down upon the site, where the 
 workmen were now putting in the last of the electric- 
 light poles. In its raw beginning Dan s creation cer 
 tainly did look out of harmony with the natural 
 beauty of springing grass, tree and flower. Dan 
 could even share Rathgeber s point of view and admit 
 that it was, in some sort, a blot on the scene. 
 
 "But you ought not to bear me a grudge," 
 he said as he took leave. "Think of the eighteen 
 thousand." 
 
 Rathgeber put out a hand not too clean and gave 
 a cordial grip. 
 
 "I wish you success," he said. "Auf morgen. 
 For you must come again." 
 
 As Dan travelled back in the train to the city he 
 smiled at the recollection of this interview, and 
 thought of telling Anna about it. But the second 
 thought was against it, as, indeed, was now generally 
 the case with his daily experience. Business detail 
 and talk about commonplace people bored Anna. 
 And besides she would probably not take a humorous 
 view of Rathgeber s attitude toward Dan s enterprise. 
 In fact, she seldom took a humorous view of anything. 
 In trying to consider her feelings and prejudices, Dan 
 had by this time come to efface a large part of himself 
 from her view, and when they talked together it was 
 generally of their joint affairs or of hers. The habit 
 of his life helped him to overcome that impulse to 
 confidence which Anna discouraged. And, unable 
 
 92 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 to talk of what occupied his mind, he was now some 
 times silent when she would have preferred conversa 
 tion. But his silence was never sulky or dead; he 
 was simply preoccupied and at night generally tired. 
 Very often he made an effort to meet Anna on her 
 own ground. Just now especially he was eager to do 
 this, and with her or absent had her constantly in 
 his mind. For Anna was going through experiences 
 of her own that made her more than ever the centre 
 of her own world, and of his. 
 
 Having spent two hours at his office, Daniel stopped 
 at a florist s and bought a huge bunch of Anna s fa 
 vorite violets the purple single kind with long stems 
 and broad petals. They were to have some people 
 at dinner that night, and Anna wanted to go to a 
 dance afterward. He reached the house a little after 
 six. The maid was lighting the lamps in the parlors, 
 and, looking in for a moment, Dan perceived a festal 
 note in the vases and bowls of red roses that stood 
 on all the little tables and on the piano. He saw also 
 that the girl, besides her usual uniform of black and 
 white, wore a cap, and recognized that Anna had won 
 a victory over Irish- American independence. Smil 
 ing he went on upstairs. 
 
 The first door to the right in the upper hall led into 
 a room which Dan and Anna in their first gay days 
 in the new house had named "the nursery." The 
 room was empty as yet, the door locked and the key 
 in the lock outside. Dan glanced at it as he passed. 
 They would, at no very distant date, be furnishing 
 that room. 
 
 In their bedroom Anna was sitting before her dress 
 ing-table doing her hair. She smiled faintly into the 
 
 93 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 mirror at Dan when he tossed the violets into her lap 
 and bent to kiss her. 
 
 "See, I ve done it the way you like," she said as 
 she turned her head and put in the last hair-pin. Her 
 hair was thick but short; drawn back loosely in two 
 heavy waves covering the tips of her ears, it made a 
 small knot at the nape of her neck. She took up a 
 white rosebud from its little vase on the dressing- 
 table, dried its stem, and fastened it in the knot be 
 hind her left ear. Then she threw off her dressing 
 jacket and stood up. Dan, having taken off his coat 
 and collar, stood looking at her. 
 
 She appeared very well, with color in her cheeks 
 and lips; and the marked change of expression in her 
 face had certainly not lessened its beauty. Indeed, 
 the shade of melancholy that replaced her former 
 rather aggressive self-confidence, the slight languor 
 of her movements, gave her a wholly new charm. 
 With her blond hair so simply dressed, and her large 
 eyes half-veiled by their heavy lids, she momentarily 
 suggested the Madonna type. 
 
 She went to put on her dress, which was spread 
 out on the bed, and said without looking up, "Hadn t 
 you better begin to dress? I want you to see if the 
 champagne is all right. Sarah didn t know which 
 kind to put in the ice." 
 
 "Yes, I ll see about it now." 
 
 When he came back Anna was standing before the 
 cheval-glass, waiting for him to fasten her dress, which 
 laced up the back. It was a white silk, heavy and 
 lustreless, made very plainly to show the majestic 
 contours of her figure, and embroidered in white about 
 the low decolle tage. It had short sleeves of lace and 
 
 94 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 a square train, and was Anna s favorite gown. When 
 Dan had painstakingly finished the lacing, she looked 
 at herself from head to foot in the mirror, then turned, 
 saying, "Am I all right?" 
 
 "You are too beautiful, almost," he answered in a 
 low tone. His admiration of her was no longer light- 
 hearted or gay. There was now always a tinge of 
 pain in it, his tenderness seemed almost remorseful. 
 
 Anna at once went out of the room. 
 
 "You must hurry you have only fifteen minutes," 
 she said plaintively over her shoulder. "I m going 
 to see about the table." 
 
 She went down the stairs slowly trailing her rich 
 dress, the tips of her fingers sliding over the banisters. 
 She was afraid of falling now. Half-way down, the 
 tears came into her eyes, but by the time she reached 
 the bottom stair she had conquered them. 
 
 She walked through the parlors, and noted with 
 satisfaction the effect of the new shades which she 
 had bought that afternoon for the lamps and candles. 
 On the dinner table the same scheme of color was 
 used, and the plateau of crimson roses and ferns in 
 the centre, with the crimson shaded candles at the 
 four corners, together with the silver-gilt bon-bon 
 dishes, and the array of silver and of gold decorated 
 glasses at each plate, made a brightly gay effect. 
 Anna had seen carefully to each detail beforehand. 
 She got a wonderfully keen pleasure out of all these 
 possessions; even the care of them was a pleasure. 
 She had the disposition, if not the training of a house 
 wife. 
 
 She went into the butler s pantry for a moment 
 to give some last directions to the cook, and then re- 
 
 95 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 turned to the parlor with the cry of admiration warm 
 in her ears: "Oh, ma am, you look like a queen. I 
 niver in me life saw anything like you for beauty!" 
 
 The dinner was to be a small one only the Good 
 wins and two of Dan s bachelor acquaintances but 
 it was Anna s most ambitious attempt so far. She 
 was a little nervous, but not so much excited as she 
 would have liked to be. A vague veil of sadness 
 dimmed the present for her and blurred the future, 
 for which she had made such minute plans that could 
 not now be carried out. However, she clung to what 
 pleasure she could get; and she was as determined to 
 go to the cotillion that night as Dan was reluctant to 
 let her go. 
 
 When he came downstairs just on the stroke of 
 seven, Anna looked him over carefully and, finding 
 nothing in his attire to criticise, she said: "I ordered 
 the carriage for half-past ten." 
 
 Dan s face clouded. 
 
 "I wish you wouldn t go," he said imploringly. 
 "You must be careful." 
 
 "It s nonsense your not wanting me to go," Anna 
 cried. "I feel perfectly well. How could it hurt me?" 
 
 "Well, if you would just go for a little while and 
 not dance " 
 
 "How could I go and not dance? That s silly. Of 
 course I shall dance." 
 
 "Anna, I can t bear to have you do it. I m afraid 
 some accident " 
 
 A sob interrupted him. 
 
 "Oh, it s cruel that I can t have even a little bit of 
 pleasure! I don t see what s the use of living in such 
 
 a world. I shall die I know I shall " 
 
 96 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "Anna, Anna!" he cried. "For God s sake, don t! 
 You shall go if you want to so much. Don t cry, 
 don t, my darling, I can t bear it " 
 
 He held her firmly, though she shrank back, and 
 his voice was like a sob. Anna laughed hysterically 
 and pushed him away as the door-bell trilled faintly. 
 
 "We are a nice pair. They ll find us in tears. You 
 have mussed my hair, too." 
 
 She fled into the back parlor, where there was a mir 
 ror in the mantel-piece. The tears had left no trace. 
 And as Dan followed her she threw herself into his 
 arms and clung to him. 
 
 "I will be good, and not dance much" she said 
 pathetically. 
 
 97 
 

 VII. 
 
 dinner, Anna felt, was a success; and the 
 dance, too, proved so. She had a flattering 
 amount of attention and yet was content to come 
 away early. She enjoyed every moment of it; was, 
 she protested triumphantly, not even tired the next 
 day; and was very sweet to Dan for days afterward. 
 In spite of the constant alloy in her happiness they 
 still had some completely happy hours together. 
 
 Dan s delight in the prospect of the child often 
 overbore Anna s dread; and she had her times of 
 being glad as well as rather astonished that he should 
 be so happy. She softened to him slowly; but more 
 and more she was coming to depend on him and to 
 need him. 
 
 And yet he felt more and more that she needed, or 
 at least that she wanted, a good deal beyond him. 
 She was eager to be a woman of affairs, to have a 
 large establishment, many clubs, a church she 
 wished to join the fashionable Episcopalians, and a 
 visiting list including "everybody." She wanted to 
 connect herself by these various threads with innumer 
 able little points of interest. She had set busily about 
 weaving her social web, having its exact pattern def 
 initely in her mind; and already she had accom 
 plished something. Mrs. Goodwin, a middle-aged 
 woman of worldly cultivation and very outspoken 
 humor, had been struck by Anna s beauty and 
 
 98. 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 youth, and still more taken by the earnestness with 
 which she went about her business being indeed in 
 finitely diverted by simplicity of any sort. She had 
 asked Anna to receive with her at a tea which prac 
 tically introduced Anna to the women she was most 
 anxious to know. Mrs. Goodwin was one of the 
 patronesses of the cotillion, and Anna had made 
 her first appearance there under a very efficient 
 wing. 
 
 She often rose above her fears, was amiable and 
 cheerful for days together, and would plan happily 
 with Dan for the future. But also she had her fre 
 quent moods of rebellion and desire for excitement, 
 which Dan s opposition only intensified into hard 
 recklessness. To these moods Dan always had to 
 yield against his own judgment. She knew too well 
 how to silence his protest, by a fit of tears, by out 
 cries against her hard lot. As she saw the time fast 
 approaching when she must give up her pleasures for 
 some months at least, when there would be no more 
 afternoon teas or calls, nor the occasional dinner or 
 dance, nor even the delight of exhibiting her beauty, 
 Anna insisted all the more eagerly on getting what 
 she could. 
 
 Thus she was determined to go to the second cotil 
 lion, which was given on the tenth of January. 
 Unknown to Dan, she had gone down the day before, 
 in company with a number of the young women and 
 some idle men, to help decorate the hall. They had 
 spent a gay morning making and hanging huge scar 
 let flower-balls of tissue-paper, and garlands and 
 wreaths of evergreens. There were to be potted 
 palms in the corners, a frieze of palm-leaves around 
 
 99 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 the wall, and fresh flowers put in at the last mo 
 ment. They all agreed it was immensely successful. 
 
 One of the young men so superior to the calls of 
 business was Abram De Ronde the second. He was 
 close at Anna s side the whole morning, cutting the 
 tissue-paper into the proper shape for her he had 
 very delicate, deft hands, with the most perfect al 
 mond nails and insisting that she should not blacken 
 her fingers with the evergreen. And when, all being 
 done, and the chattering crowd putting on their 
 wraps, a girl sat down at the piano and rattled off 
 a waltz, it was young De Ronde who swept Anna 
 off into the middle of the room before she could pro 
 test. He was shorter and slighter than she, but Anna 
 liked dancing with him better than with anyone else. 
 She had met him at several small private dances, and 
 counted him securely among her admirers. She had 
 wanted to invite him to dinner, but Dan refused, and 
 when pressed for a reason alleged that De Ronde be 
 longed to a race of blood-suckers, and that he, Daniel 
 Devin, hated all of them. Anna was exasperated 
 by this attitude. 
 
 "He is certainly much more of a gentleman than 
 some people we have had here," she said coldly. "He 
 has beautiful manners and he is extremely well edu 
 cated and polished, and talks better than any young 
 man I know." 
 
 "Very likely. But considering the business rela 
 tions between his father and myself, it would be im 
 possible for me to ask him here," Dan said quite as 
 positively. 
 
 Anna forbore to press the point then, but privately 
 determined to carry it sooner or later. She liked De 
 
 100 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Ronde very much. His vivid good looks and a cer 
 tain personal power, which was not natural grace or 
 charm so much as an acquired suavity veiling some 
 thing mysterious, had impressed her. There was 
 excitement, not without a faint thrill of uneasiness, 
 in being with him, and in perceiving that, notwith 
 standing she was unable to ask him to her house, they 
 were growing more intimate. Beside him, somehow, 
 the men whom she could ask seemed not only harm 
 less, but brusque and cold. 
 
 When the waltz ended and the gay little assembly 
 broke up, De Ronde went with her out of the hall and 
 put her on a cable-car. She would have liked im 
 mensely to take him home with her to lunch, but 
 dared not ask him, though she knew Dan would not 
 be there. He was out in the country. In most other 
 things that she wanted to do, and knew Dan would 
 disapprove, she would very likely have gone ahead 
 and told him afterward as, for example, this morn 
 ing at the hall, in which she had promised several 
 dances for the next night, and the cotillion, to De 
 Ronde. But the luncheon would be different. Anna 
 wished to be the pink of propriety. She let the hand 
 some boy go with disappointment plain in his face, 
 and thought about him a good deal on the way home. 
 Her dress for the next night was already selected 
 with a view to his admiration she knew his favorite 
 color was red. 
 
 Naturally there was to be a bitter dispute when 
 Dan flatly opposed her going. She told him at din 
 ner that night about her day; he half listening, as 
 was his way of late when he was oppressed with busi 
 ness. But the mention of the dance roused him. 
 
 101 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "I thought it was settled a week ago that you were 
 not to go/ he said wearily. 
 
 "I don t know how it could have been settled when 
 I didn t agree with you," Anna retorted. 
 
 Dan rehearsed his arguments, she her refutations. 
 She thought his excessive carefulness for her, his 
 "worrying over her," unnecessary and stupid. Fi 
 nally, since he was, this time, really obstinate, Anna 
 bethought herself of a new resource, holding in re 
 serve the last resort of tears. 
 
 "I ll ask Mrs. Goodwin," she said. "She knows 
 all about it, and I m sure she ll think you re silly." 
 
 "Better ask the doctor," growled Dan. 
 
 Anna thought him very disagreeable. He left the 
 table and betook himself with a cigar to a pile of 
 papers, over which he was still working late in the 
 evening. Anna had seen that he was getting more 
 and more absorbed in his business; that in proportion 
 as he talked less about it he was more often nervous, 
 tired, irritable, and indisposed to talk about anything. 
 Anna sometimes resented this mood of his, some 
 times ignored it; never tried to get to the bottom of it. 
 
 At luncheon the next day she had a report for Dan, 
 who made one of his rare mid-day appearances. 
 
 "Mrs. Goodwin says that once she slipped and fell 
 down a flight of stairs and it never did her the least 
 harm," she said triumphantly. 
 
 "That doesn t prove anything," Dan replied. 
 
 Anna was voluble in explanations that it did; but 
 after luncheon, when Dan had lit his cigar, kissed her 
 good-bye and gone to put on his coat, she followed 
 him into the hall. She was too proud to lie, even to 
 suppress truth unfavorable to her. 
 
 102 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "Mrs. Goodwin said there was a risk/ she re 
 luctantly said. "And that nobody could tell whether 
 it would be safe for me or not." 
 
 "There, you see. Now you"ll give it up, won t 
 you, dearest?" he implored. 
 
 Then the tears filled her eyes and gushed over. 
 
 "Just this once," she pleaded, "and I promise 
 I ll never ask again." 
 
 And she sobbed at the forlorn sound of the words. 
 
 Dan s over-strained nerves gave way. He flung 
 angrily out of the house. 
 
 "Goon, then but I won t go with you," was his 
 last word. 
 
 Anna calmly went on and made her preparations; 
 and at the last moment he gave in, as she had known 
 he would, afraid to let her go alone. 
 
 As though she had known that it was really the 
 end, not only of the season, but of the gay life she 
 had hoped for, Anna blazed out that night in beauty 
 that extinguished every other woman in the room. 
 In her scarlet dress she was, many of them said, too 
 startling, too big, too much of everything. But she 
 was the most constant centre of attention. The 
 room, red being the main note of its decoration, 
 seemed designed as a setting for her. She had a lap 
 full of favors, which Dan was commissioned to keep. 
 
 And this time she had no pity on his boredom and 
 ill-concealed uneasiness. She danced the few dances 
 before the cotillion they had come late. At supper 
 she was in the midst of a crowd, away from Dan, talk 
 ing and laughing gayly. And she danced through 
 the cotillion Dan was none too pleased to see De 
 Ronde as her partner rather wildly toward the end. 
 
 103 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 At three in the morning the dance had become a 
 romp. Some of the men were decidedly unsteady, 
 for though no wine was served with the supper there 
 were evidently private sources of refreshment. 
 
 It was one of these men, whirling with a giggling 
 girl in his arms, round the room, who managed some 
 how, by stumbling over her train, to precipitate their 
 combined weight against De Ronde as he tried to turn 
 Anna out of their way. He was quick, but too slight 
 to resist the inevitable collision. They were on the 
 edge of the floor. Anna was thrown violently against 
 the line of chairs, and dropped into one, De Ronde 
 saving her from falling. He came to his knees on the 
 floor, while the cause of the trouble suffered not at all. 
 
 Dan, watching sombrely from the other side of the 
 room, was the first to see Anna s mishap, and the 
 first at her side. He cut short the apologies of the 
 culprit and of De Ronde, and Anna s assurances that 
 she was not the least hurt. In reality she was as 
 white as he. 
 
 "Don t make a scene," she whispered, as he lifted 
 her to her feet. 
 
 "Come away!" 
 
 "Of course. It s over anyway," she smiled. 
 
 In fact, the music had stopped, and they were only 
 among the first to leave. Anna insisted on saying 
 her good-nights, and on having all her favors gathered 
 up and carried home with her. When they got into 
 the carriage she began to cry from the shock, and by 
 the end of the rather long drive she was in pain and 
 terrified. 
 
 It was two hours after they reached home before 
 the doctor came the longest two hours of Dan s life. 
 
 104 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 There was no sleep for him that night, nor for several 
 nights after. Though a nurse was installed the next 
 day, he insisted on watching by Anna; and spent 
 most of his time, day as well as night, in her darkened 
 room, mourning over her, and blaming his own weak 
 ness. He found no time to grieve over the end of 
 their hope for the child, till Anna was beginning to 
 get her strength back, and the slow process of recovery 
 plainly begun. 
 
 Not till then, either, did he feel the full force of the 
 financial blow that had fallen on him. It was during 
 the first days of Anna s illness that the sale at Elaine 
 took place. And while she was too weak to share or 
 know anything about any new misfortune he had to 
 face the result complete and crushing failure. 
 
 105 
 
VIII. 
 
 A S a huge breaker, piling up higher and higher in 
 -~ its onward rush, halts for an instant at the high 
 est before it falls, so in the craze of speculation there 
 had come a sudden lull. Just before the holidays the 
 volume of sales dropped in a few days nearly one- 
 fourth, and at once a good many timid people, and 
 those who were only slightly involved, began to "pull 
 out from under." But the greater number were 
 those who did not see the crest of the wave impend 
 ing and curling to the crash over them, but were car 
 ried along in it, and could not realize that its strength 
 was spent. They felt the pause, but took it lightly 
 enough; the holiday season was not a good one for 
 business the new year would see a fresh start, and 
 a faster pace than ever. Among these sanguine souls 
 was Daniel Devin, who had simply postponed the 
 sale at Elaine until the second week in January, and 
 meanwhile made no effort to sell anything. 
 
 But the number who were trying to sell was by no 
 means inconsiderable, and had the natural effect on 
 the market. The amount of sales dropped in two 
 weeks more to one-fourth, to one-eighth. The holi 
 days were past now. Several Pullman excursions 
 had come in; the tourists crowded every hotel and 
 lodging-house, but they kept their money in their 
 pockets. The whole city then began to be sensible 
 that something serious had happened. The citizens 
 
 106 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 blamed the coming Presidential election, the tax col 
 lector, and the envy of the Eastern newspapers, which 
 for some months had been filled with abuse of Cali 
 fornia and the boom, as much exaggerated as their 
 previous praise had been. But still they could not 
 believe that they would have to wait till spring for 
 the rush to begin again. 
 
 So Dan felt at least, and taking the day after a 
 Pullman excursion reached the city, he risked his 
 sale. That it was a risk he knew, but he was obliged 
 to take it. A note for $5,000, held by De Ronde s 
 bank, fell due in a week, and he would have to meet 
 it. Within a few days he had paid half that amount 
 to Emmons s representative, and as much more on a 
 note to another bank. The first payment to Rath- 
 geber, the cost of the material and work on the town- 
 site, and his living expenses, had swallowed up his 
 ready money, the proceeds of his sale on the Emmons 
 ranch. He held notes at sixty and ninety days for 
 the second and third payments on that land, and if 
 he could have collected their amount, or even half of 
 it, he might have tided over. But out of forty thou 
 sand dollars due, he could get only five thousand. 
 
 The scramble had begun. Now it was save him 
 self who can. The banks called in their loans. The 
 real-estate market was swamped with all kinds of 
 holdings, thrown in for what they would bring. 
 Money tightened with a snap. There was no more 
 coming into the community. There was a vast 
 amount still going out for lumber, water-pipe, rail 
 road iron and cement, material already ordered for 
 improvements; and for the luxuries of the table and 
 of dress, suitable to the station of prospective million- 
 
 107 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 naires. The moment the wheels stopped this drain 
 became unbearable. 
 
 It was on the edge of the resulting panic that Dan 
 tried to launch his enterprise. With the clatter and 
 blare of a brass band to head the procession; wagons 
 filled with lumber for the hotel, so labelled that all 
 who ran might read; omnibuses placarded with the 
 offer of a free ride and a free lunch and a glowing 
 description of the property, he strove to lure the 
 stranger. For it was certain that the native could buy 
 no more, even if he would. 
 
 The day was a perfect one; the air cool, clear and 
 sunlit; and in every dooryard and vacant space grass 
 and trees were green, and flowers bloomed incon 
 tinently. The tourist might read in his morning 
 paper of the blizzards under which cowered the frozen 
 East, together with a complacent editorial comparison 
 of the temperatures of New York and Los Angeles. 
 Nor could he gather from the columns of the paper 
 that the boom was not still progressing toward its 
 apogee. If he went out on the streets he would still 
 find them crowded, would still hear the familiar bray 
 of the brass brand, and see work on the new monster 
 hotel and numerous other buildings still going on. And 
 yet he bought not. 
 
 Dan s omnibuses were full of well-to-do excursion 
 ists who went to look on at the much-heralded nov 
 elty of a land-auction, but who had not the remotest 
 notion of buying any "wild-cat town lots." In the 
 early days of the boom or at its meridian such a crowd 
 had often been swept off its feet by the contagion of 
 enthusiasm aided by the arts and eloquence of the 
 auctioneer. But now the general temperature had 
 
 108 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 dropped to freezing-point. Mr. Stoneman s most 
 dulcet tones fell into this icy void and brought no 
 response. Dan was too late. The tread of ten thou 
 sand had trampled down his field. And though his 
 spirit had been very different from that of the self- 
 recognized speculator who aimed simply to exploit 
 the country for his own profit and to get out before 
 the inevitable crash, yet he was confounded in the 
 result with the less shrewd of those gentry, who had 
 merely miscalculated the time when the crash would 
 be due. 
 
 Dan had not taken a possible crash into account at 
 all, until the shadow of it was upon him. He had a 
 genuine faith and expectation that the country would 
 honor the large draft drawn against it. And it was 
 inevitable that he should back that faith heavily. 
 He would have considered that otherwise he should 
 not deserve success. Dan never feared his fate; in 
 his opinion his desert was large; and therefore he 
 dared, in the spirit of the old rhyme, "put it to the 
 touch, to win or lose it all/ He would have held that 
 fortune does not reward the niggardly; or at least 
 that it is not worth while being niggardly, for any 
 fortune. And to reconcile these two positions that 
 of the soldier of fortune who risks himself with gen 
 erous freedom, and that of the business man who is 
 simply confident that he has a good thing it is only 
 necessary to appeal to Dan s temperament. He 
 was both. But he considered himself a business man. 
 He took extraordinary risks easily by virtue of not 
 regarding them as such; by regarding them as the 
 ordinary chances which any man of spirit and enter 
 prise must take. 
 
 109 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 In the present instance, indeed, he had done only 
 what many of his associates did without real loss. 
 He had played on velvet." He had used in specu 
 lation only the money that he had made in real estate 
 in the two years past. That, to be sure, was all the 
 ready money he possessed. But he still had what he 
 started with his stock in the ClarioUj and, nominally 
 at least, his position on the paper; though he had not 
 done any work on it for months, nor drawn his salary 
 of thirty dollars a week. His place had not been 
 filled. During boom- time the most pressing need 
 was for clerks to take care of the business that came 
 in, rather than a manager to work it up. Dan often 
 met the owner of the Clarion outside and was on per 
 fectly friendly terms with him. So far, he stood on 
 his old footing, or at least could regain it. 
 
 If he had imitated the more cautious speculators 
 in another respect, and bought his sixty-acre tract 
 practically on an option, he might have been able to 
 free himself from his minor entanglements. But 
 Rathgeber had been shrewd and obstinate, and he 
 had Dan s note. 
 
 Before that note matured in the middle of Feb 
 ruary it was evident to the most hopeful that the 
 boom was "busted." The bottom was out and the 
 pieces were not worth saving. The paper million- 
 naires were now land-poor. Most of them, like Dan, 
 had spread out their money to hold as much land as 
 possible, and now tried to throw this land back on 
 the market to save the first payment with failure 
 like his. Dan could not sell a rod of his land. But 
 he managed to meet the note held by De Ronde s 
 bank; though to do it he had not only to sell his 
 
 110 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 horses and carriages, and give a chattel mortgage on 
 his furniture, but also to help push into bankruptcy 
 a man who had been a large buyer at the Emmons 
 
 But what of that? The whole town was bankrupt, 
 it seemed to Dan, except indeed the banks and loan 
 agents. Hundreds of families were ruined; were 
 leaving their homes for smaller quarters, giving up 
 all luxuries, and in many cases what they had been 
 accustomed to think necessaries servants, for ex 
 ample and when possible leaving the city. Among 
 these were many of the acquaintances the Devins had 
 made during their brief social career. 
 
 It was impossible that Anna should not know what 
 was happening, though Dan kept it from her as long 
 as he could. As she grew strong enough to leave her 
 bed, though not the house, she wondered why her 
 visitors, instead of increasing in number, fell off. 
 Then she began to hear tales of trouble, though not 
 first from her own family. Dan had forbidden Mrs. 
 Quartermain to talk to Anna on the subject, but he 
 could not control the tongues of all her feminine call 
 ers. Elise Andrews, the friend of Anna s girlhood, 
 was earliest in the field with her hard-luck story. 
 Her father had been a prosperous lawyer and chief 
 support of Mr. Quartermain s church. They lived 
 in a large old-fashioned house on what was now one 
 of the main business streets. That house had been 
 sold, and they were moving into a "bandbox" on the 
 outskirts of the city; and, Elise wept as she told it, 
 she could now not be married in the spring, as she 
 had expected. Charley s father was ruined, too. 
 And Charley, who had never done any work in his 
 
 111 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 life, would at twenty-seven be obliged to earn his 
 own living. He was trying to find something to do. 
 
 Anna was shocked, and, being still nervously weak, 
 cried too. And later in the afternoon, when her 
 mother made her almost daily visit, Anna poured out 
 the story to her. Mrs. Quartermain burst into tea s. 
 
 "They aren t the only ones," she sobbed. "Since 
 Mr. Andrews failed, all the well-to-do people in the 
 church have either left or lost their money, too. Your 
 father hasn t had any of his salary for two months. 
 I don t know what we re going to do. You are very 
 lucky if Daniel has managed to pull through all right." 
 
 Anna began to tremble. When the man had come 
 to take an inventory of the furniture Dan had told 
 her that he was having it insured. When, on the oc 
 casion of her first drive a fortnight since, she had 
 noticed with surprise the inferior team and carriage, 
 Dan had said carelessly, "Yes, these are hired. I 
 sold the others was too busy to drive them and they 
 were eating their heads off in the stable." And he 
 had promised to buy others for her. 
 
 Now she thought of the horses, though not of the 
 furniture. She resolved to question Dan that night; 
 and controlling herself proudly, replied to her mother : 
 
 "Oh, we re all right. Something must be done 
 about father. I will talk to Dan about it." 
 
 Then she threw herself back among her cushions 
 and shut her eyes; that was the signal for her mother s 
 departure. 
 
 Anna lay still for a long time; and only the flutter 
 ing of her closed eyelids might show that she was not 
 asleep. She had lost both in weight and color by her 
 illness; the former at least a gain in actual beauty, 
 
 112 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 In the soft loose white dress her figure looked younger, 
 more girlish than before, and her face, pale and with 
 the chastened look of physical weakness, was more 
 appealing. 
 
 She was questioning her memory to know if there 
 
 was anything beside the incident of the horses . 
 
 No, she could not find anything. The house had been 
 kept up, so far as she knew, just as usual. Dan had 
 seen to everything the ordering and so on. The 
 servants were the same. She had had expensive 
 food, fruit, flowers, and old port. And she had not 
 seen any bills. Most likely it was all right. Sup 
 posing some people were ruined? There were the 
 Goodwins, for instance, who weren t. Mrs. Goodwin 
 was going abroad for a year. She had been Anna s 
 most constant and cheerful visitor. Surely she must 
 have known, if anything was wrong. 
 
 That afternoon Dan made his first visit in weeks 
 at the Clarion office and had a long talk with the 
 owner, Eldridge, in his private room. He wanted to 
 realize on his Clarion stock, the only available asset 
 that he now had. 
 
 Eldridge, a stout, untidy man with a cool gray eye 
 and a sceptical mouth, heard him through with only 
 a nod here and there, and then said, shifting his cigar 
 to the corner of his mouth: 
 
 "Hadn t you better stay with us?" 
 
 "How can I?" said Dan. He had been walking up 
 and down the small space not occupied by Eldridge s 
 colossal desk and chairs, files of papers, a movable 
 book-case, spittoons, a fox-terrier, and a safe. Now 
 he flung himself into a chair fronting the light of the 
 unshaded windows and Eldridge s gaze. He looked 
 
 113 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 tired, his eyes slightly blood-shot, his ruddy color a 
 little faded, but he was as carefully shaved, dressed 
 and brushed as ever. 
 
 "Well, thirty a week isn t much, I know, but it s 
 something/ Eldridge drawled. "I know plenty of 
 fellows that were driving their own horses and drink 
 ing champagne a month ago, that would be glad to 
 get it. But I don t want them, I want you. I can t 
 offer you any more now, for we re trimming our sails 
 pretty close at present. But mind you, the Clarion s 
 as solid as a rock, and we ll weather it, and there s 
 something ahead for you. There are mighty few 
 men with the amount of hustle that you ve got in this 
 country and there ll be still fewer by spring." 
 
 "That s it," Dan said gloomily. "Hustling isn t 
 going to pay in this town for some time to come. 
 And I can t live on air meanwhile. I reckon I ll 
 have to join the procession and move out, if I can 
 get out." 
 
 "Well, there you are. You can t get out at pres 
 ent with anything but your skin. Your stock in 
 this paper is worth five thousand dollars. If you 
 force a sale now you can t get more than two. I ll 
 give you two thousand for it, and I venture to say 
 that nobody else in town will give you a cent. Arid 
 that s not because anybody doubts the Clarion, but 
 because nobody s buying anything except grub these 
 days. And not too damn much of that. Now, thirty 
 dollars a week will at least give you grub, and if you ll 
 take my advice you ll take that, and hold on and a 
 year or so will see us through the pinch." 
 
 "A year or so," Dan said bitterly. "I can t do it. 
 My wife she isn t well, and I can t ask her to rough 
 
 114 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 it. And then, confound it I I can t go back and 
 do what I was doing two years ago." 
 
 Eldridge smiled cynically. 
 
 "I know. You ve been feeling your oats you ve 
 been living pretty high independent capitalist and 
 all that. You don t want to go into harness again 
 natural enough. But, my dear boy, you ll see worse 
 falls than that among the high-flyers yet, mark my 
 words. And it won t hurt the country, either. We ll 
 be pretty dead for a year, I grant you maybe two. 
 But I don t believe a bank will go under. I don t 
 believe an important business house of any kind, ex 
 cept the few that had fools at the head of them, will 
 fail. And you can t keep this town down long. She s 
 bound to come up again, and when she does, we ll 
 come with her. No more booms, though." 
 
 Eldridge puffed at his cigar for a few moments in 
 silence. Dan was looking absently out of the window. 
 Finally, he glanced at Eldridge and shook his head 
 smiling. 
 
 "Not good enough," he said. 
 
 "Oh, come, what have you got up your sleeve?" 
 demanded Eldridge. 
 
 "I have got something, that s a fact," Dan ad 
 mitted. "Something that takes me well out of this 
 country. So I ll trouble you for that two thousand 
 if convenient." 
 
 "Can t you tell me what it is?" 
 
 "Not now too indefinite. I will, though, when it s 
 decided." 
 
 There was a knock on the door and a card was 
 brought in to Eldridge. 
 
 "Ask him to wait a few minutes," he said. "And 
 115 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 here" writing a few words on a Clarion letter-head 
 "take that down to Mr. Farman, and wait and bring 
 me his answer. " 
 
 He turned to Dan. 
 
 "I m having a check made out for what s due you 
 on salary it must be two or three hundred." 
 
 "Well I don t know that it is due it strikes me 
 I haven t been earning any salary lately," Dan said, 
 with some embarrassment. 
 
 "Oh, that s all right. You re on the books, you 
 know. And in a way you helped to work up a big busi 
 ness for us in the last year," and Eldridge chuckled, 
 not unkindly. 
 
 When the check was brought, Dan rose, and the 
 two men shook hands heartily. 
 
 "If you change your mind, so much the better," 
 Eldridge repeated. "If not, come round and we ll fix 
 up that matter in a day or so." 
 
 "You re a good fellow," said Dan. "I d stay with 
 you if anybody, Eldridge. But it s no use, I couldn t 
 stand it. I can count on the two thousand?" 
 
 "Oh, you can count on it, all right. I ll make fifty 
 per cent. Only" he caught Dan by the arm "be 
 fore you put it into anything else, for the Lord s sake 
 let me know, will you? I know a gold brick at longer 
 range than you do." 
 
 Dan promised carelessly and went away lighter at 
 heart, not only from the prospect of the two thousand 
 dollars, but also the actual possession of a much 
 smaller amount. The check was for three hundred 
 dollars, and was welcome out of all proportion to its 
 size. It would not pay the tradesmen s bills which 
 Dan tore up as fast as he got them, so that Anna 
 
 116 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 should not see them but it would help him to make 
 the move which he had now practically decided on. 
 
 When he reached the house he found Anna lying 
 as her mother had left her, thought her asleep, and 
 was leaving the room on tiptoe when she spoke to 
 him. Her voice was languid, dragged a little as it 
 never had done before her illness. Dan pulled up a 
 chair beside her sofa and sat down. 
 
 "Whew, I m tired," he sighed, rubbing his hands 
 over his face and hair. "How are you, dearest?" 
 
 "Oh, about the same. I have been rather upset 
 to-day mother and Elise were here, both in the 
 dumps and crying " 
 
 "Damn it!" cried Dan, setting his teeth. "Your 
 mother promised me she wouldn t bother you. Til 
 keep the whole lot of them out now confound 
 women, anyhow!" 
 
 "Don t be angry and swear, you bad boy it is just 
 as bad as crying." Anna put out her hand from un 
 der the shawl that covered her and smiled. In reality 
 she rather liked to see him angry, and to hear him 
 swear, in behalf of herself. And the sight of him, the 
 strength and energy which she felt in him the more 
 from her own physical weakness and languor, com 
 forted her, drove away the vaguer and more terrible 
 fears that had haunted her. Dan had not the look 
 of failure. But he did look tired out. He put her 
 fingers to his lips; then slid down on the floor and 
 laid his head against her shoulder, sighing deeply. 
 
 "It s a shame they should bother you," he repeated 
 drowsily. "Lord, how sleepy I am! I haven t 
 stopped all day except for a piece of pie and glass of 
 milk at noon." 
 
 117 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "Don t go to sleep now, it s dinner time," said 
 Anna. " Besides I want to talk to you." 
 
 "All right I m listening." 
 
 She stroked his forehead lightly with the tips of 
 her fingers. 
 
 "How long your hair is! There are little rings 
 here over your ear." 
 
 "Yes; must get it cut to-morrow." 
 
 "And you are getting gray, do you know it? There 
 are lots of white hairs at your temples why, I never 
 noticed them before!" 
 
 "I m getting old twelve years older than you, you 
 know. I feel about a hundred to-night." 
 
 "Is anything the matter?" Anna nervously plunged 
 in. "I have been so worried. Mother hinted there 
 might be something wrong. So many people are 
 having hard times. But you wouldn t keep it from 
 me, would you?" 
 
 He was silent and only tightened his grasp on her 
 hand. 
 
 "Dan!" 
 
 Now he raised his head and looked at her. 
 
 "I couldn t tell you, when you were ill." 
 
 She pushed him away and sat up. 
 
 "Tell me what it is! How bad is it? Have we lost 
 everything, like the Andrews?" 
 
 Then Dan, with a certain sense of relief that he 
 could speak out at last, found himself trying to ex 
 plain the situation to an excited woman who could 
 not grasp the beginnings of it. 
 
 "But why did you keep all this from me? Why 
 didn t you tell me how you were risking your 
 
 money ?" 
 
 118 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "I often tried, but you wouldn t listen. You never 
 wanted to hear anything about business." 
 
 "But I never thought you would do anything like 
 this! I trusted you I thought your business was 
 safe. You certainly gave me that impression." 
 
 "I thought so myself till a month or so ago/ said 
 Dan meekly. 
 
 He was not beaten down by Anna s reproaches. 
 He thought it perfectly natural that she should be 
 upset, and she had taken it better than he expected. 
 If only she did not break down and cry he could 
 stand her anger much more easily. She did not look 
 like crying. She sat bolt upright, renewed color in 
 her face and sparkle in her eyes, much like her old self. 
 
 "How bad is it?" she demanded. "What must 
 we do?" 
 
 Dan responded freely, frankly, gladly. Her atti 
 tude helped him immensely. Not to cry over spilt 
 milk, but to turn to the future and action that was 
 brave of her! It was his own way, but he had not 
 dared expect it of a frail feminine creature at least, 
 not at first. Happily he had a definite plan and 
 course already mapped out. 
 
 Throwing himself again into the chair facing her 
 and wide-awake enough now he took half a dozen 
 letters from his breast-pocket, read them to her, in 
 terspersing them with comments, and then laid them 
 one above the other on her knee. Anna sat silent, 
 her face and body rigid and her color slowly dying 
 out. The technical details of Dan s proposition es 
 caped her; she gathered that the letters were from 
 a man in Wyoming, and concerned a copper-mine in 
 which he wanted Dan to invest, promising that it 
 
 119 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Would make the fortune of all concerned if it were 
 once developed. These letters had been written to 
 Dan as a moneyed man in the flush of success; but 
 Manlove asked him, in case he couldn t see his way 
 to investing himself, to try and send some capital his 
 way, and offered a large commission. 
 
 "You mean we should leave here?" Anna said when 
 she had gone over them all. 
 
 "For a time, anyway. We might come back if you 
 think you would rather live here." 
 
 "I don t know any other place. But I shouldn t 
 like to stay on here and be poor. Have we lost every 
 thing?" 
 
 Then Dan explained again. What they had lost 
 was his profit of two years. They still had what 
 he had started with, his stock and position on the 
 Clarion. 
 
 "Eldridge asked me to come back. But the salary 
 is small. I shouldn t like to do it and you wouldn t 
 either, would you? It is only thirty dollars a week." 
 
 "No, indeed! If you can do anything better. But 
 I don t understand about profits! I thought really 
 that when we were married you had a good deal of 
 property." 
 
 The action of the boom upon property could not 
 at once be grasped by Anna s intelligence. What 
 she did grasp was that Dan had been strangely fool 
 ish, but that there were extenuating circumstances, 
 namely, for one, the number of other foolish persons 
 in the same predicament. It was a good deal of 
 comfort to Anna to know that the Richardsons, the 
 Morgans, the Damons and many another were ruined 
 too; even that Charley Feltner, Elise s fiance, had 
 
 120 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 taken a clerkship at ten dollars a week, and that the 
 two daughters of Judge Carpenter were trying to get 
 positions as typewritists. It was not that she re 
 joiced in the misfortune of these persons but it was 
 necessary to her to feel that she could still have con 
 fidence in Dan. Where so many solid men had gone 
 down his failure lost something of its personal aspect, 
 and seemed more a part of a public calamity. 
 
 So she shed no tears; and though the coldness of 
 her manner showed that she had by no means for 
 given Dan, their dinner that night was more animated 
 than for some time past. To be sure, it was Dan who 
 supplied the animation. He talked eagerly about 
 the Wyoming enterprise. He had an astonishing 
 amount of details and figures at his fingers ends, and 
 poured them out with nervous profusion. Mainly 
 they were Greek to Anna. She listened half-absently, 
 still bewildered from the shock, trying to adjust her 
 self to the new situation. What questions she asked 
 were largely about the character of the country 
 how were they to live there? Dan evaded this 
 point. As a matter of fact, he was sure that it would 
 be impossible to take Anna with him, but he left this 
 dreaded point in doubt till after his return from a 
 journey of inspection. 
 
 Before he went to Wyoming Dan transferred his 
 Clarion stock to Eldridge, and banked the two thou 
 sand dollars with De Ronde in Anna s name. He 
 intended to pay all his small debts, but not immedi 
 ately. Emmons, too, would have to wait for his last 
 twenty-five hundred. Meantime there was Rath- 
 geber to be reckoned with. The note that he held 
 for $10,000 was now due, and Dan had not the glim- 
 
 121 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 mering of a possibility of paying it. He went out 
 and told Rathgeber so very frankly. 
 
 "Well, I expected it would be so/ said the old man 
 sarcastically. "What shall we do about it, hem?" 
 
 "I have paid you eight thousand dollars for land 
 that is worth now about fifty dollars an acre/ said 
 Dan. "Give me twenty acres clear for the eight 
 thousand, and take back the other forty; or else take 
 my city lots in payment of the balance." 
 
 Such propositions were being made and accepted 
 every day, for the process of liquidation had begun 
 immediately after the crash. 
 
 Rathgeber refused. 
 
 "But I will not press for de ten thousand," he said. 
 "Deed me back de sixty acres and you lose de eight 
 t ousand dollars only." 
 
 That was the rule in the larger number of such 
 cases, and Dan, after some protests, found himself 
 obliged to yield. 
 
 "Very well," he said shortly. "It s a hard propo 
 sition, but you can force it, of course. Let s get it 
 over with." 
 
 "I tell you," said Rathgeber suddenly. "I don t 
 want to be hard. I m rich and I don t need to be. I 
 tell you what I will do. You promise to work dot 
 land and I tear up your note, and de sixty acres are 
 yours. It s a shame de land should stand idle, and 
 I got all I can manage now. I want to see it im 
 proved. You take it and work it and I sell you on 
 credit all de young vines and trees you want; and I 
 lend you some money to start with. And if you 
 come out here to settle I put up a little house. Now 
 what do you say? You can t help but make money. 
 
 122 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 In four, five years you have a nice place clear of debt 
 paying you several thousand a year. You will?" 
 
 Genuine anxiety and kindness showed in his rough 
 face. 
 
 "I can t," Dan said slowly, "I can t wait so long. 
 My wife she isn t well and she couldn t live out 
 here. And we couldn t afford to live in town." 
 
 He was thus explicit in recognition of Rathgeber s 
 good intention. 
 
 "We will do all we can," urged the old farmer. "I 
 put up a nice little house. And Margaretha she is 
 good; she will be glad to help your wife so much as 
 she can. Or maybe you could board with us at first. 
 We got a nice spare room " 
 
 Dan shook his head, smiling ruefully. 
 
 "It wouldn t do. You re very kind, but it s im 
 possible. I ve made other plans. I m going away. 
 I ll have to accept your other proposition. Take the 
 land and give me back my note." 
 
 So it was settled and Dan departed. And while 
 Rathgeber, pottering about his roses, shook his head 
 every now and then, with a sigh or a muttered ex 
 clamation, "Too bad! Too bad!" Dan on his way 
 back to the city was carrying with him his last glimpse 
 of Blaine a patchwork of grass and raw streaks of 
 red earth, a few tall, lonely poles, piles of pine lumber, 
 lines of unconnected lengths of pipe all those useless, 
 melancholy relics, cumbering the soil in which he had, 
 as Rathgeber said, "planted" his money a sterile 
 seed. 
 
 123 
 
IX. 
 
 came back from his three weeks stay in 
 Wyoming refreshed, full of life and enthusiasm. 
 His almost daily letters had kept Anna informed of 
 his movements and given her some idea of the place 
 and the prospect to which he was committing him 
 self. She was prepared, therefore, for his decision in 
 favor of an immediate removal, and also in a measure 
 for their temporary separation. 
 
 "If you were perfectly strong," Dan said sorrow 
 fully, "we might risk your going. But I don t dare 
 take you there now. In the spring or summer you 
 shall come, unless by that time I can arrange for us 
 to live in some place that you d like better. It will 
 only be two or three months. I shall be working 
 hard you ll be getting strong and in a year at most 
 I m convinced we shall be on our feet again. There s 
 a fortune in those mines, without a doubt." 
 
 If he had urged it in the least Anna would have 
 gone with him ; she wanted to go, though his descrip 
 tion of the country, in spite of its complete novelty to 
 her, excited rather terror than interest in her mind. 
 Of two hard alternatives she would have preferred 
 being snowed up with Dan on the top of a mountain 
 to being left alone amid the wreck of her short-lived 
 comfort. But Dan s conviction that it was impos 
 sible for her to go silenced her. He was inclined al 
 ways to under-estimate her strength, to expect less of 
 
 124 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 her than she was really capable of; and she was in 
 clined to take herself at his estimate. Being treated 
 as a hot-house plant to which the rude breath of the 
 winter would be dangerous, she resigned herself, with 
 a certain listlessness, to be one. 
 
 Life in the mining-town where Dan must establish 
 himself would assuredly be a sufficient contrast to 
 anything that Anna had known. She heard with 
 astonishment that the snow now lay fifteen and 
 twenty feet deep on the mountain-top where this 
 little settlement of Mallory was situated. She who 
 had never seen snow, except as a white shimmer oa 
 far-away mountain-peaks, could not conceive how 
 it would seem to be buried in it as Mallory was now; 
 each house covered up to the second story (they were 
 all built with two stories in order not to be covered 
 completely); and the inhabitants walking out from 
 their second-story doors upon a solid crust of snow 
 fifteen feet above the ground. 
 
 Mallory, Dan told her, had one street, thirteen 
 houses, two stores, and a "hotel," where he was to 
 live. Near it, and all the way down the mountain 
 slopes, were the copper-mines, whence the ore was 
 transported by sleighs through Grandview and River 
 City, larger towns in the valley, to Ralston on the 
 railway, and thence to Denver or Chicago to be 
 smelted. From Ralston a six-horse stage-line ran 
 to River City, thirty miles; beyond that, mountain- 
 wagons, or in their season sleighs, took you up. It 
 meant little to Anna that Mallory was ten thousand 
 feet above the sea and on the summit of the Con 
 tinental Divide ; but a good deal that the snow-drifts 
 lay in some places about it until the end of August, 
 
 125 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 and that about the first of September snow began 
 to fall again. 
 
 However, Dan had been told by people living there 
 that the short summers were beautiful, and he could 
 testify that the air even now was the best and most 
 exhilarating he had ever breathed. Manlove s fam 
 ily wife and two children stayed there the year 
 through. They were a strong, healthy lot Mrs. 
 Manlove a plain, pleasant woman and had been very 
 cordial to him. He thought he should be comforta 
 ble enough at the "hotel," where there was now only 
 one boarder, though in summer they had more. The 
 living was rough and primitive, of course mostly 
 canned things since they had to bring all their sup 
 plies sixty miles from the railroad. His life would 
 not be luxurious, nor would Anna s but they would 
 make up for it afterward, when Dan had made his 
 "pile." 
 
 There remained the question of Anna s living 
 meantime. She understood that their house must 
 be given up; she proposed taking a smaller house, 
 in order to keep the furniture that she was so fond of. 
 Dan s proposition he made with a good deal of hesi 
 tation. He was paying or owing four per cent a 
 month on the chattel mortgage, by which he had 
 raised eight hundred dollars on the furniture, but he 
 preferred not to tell Anna that, or that they must 
 lose it anyway. He suggested that they should "let 
 it go" (by which Anna understood sell it), because 
 every dollar that he could raise was needed in the 
 new business, which was true enough; and that Anna 
 should board with her parents for the next few 
 months. In that way she would be looked after, and 
 
 126 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 he would feel easier about her, and it would also help 
 her family and they absolutely needed help. 
 
 Anna acquiesced sombrely. She knew that some 
 thing must be done for her parents, that she could 
 not ask Dan to give them money, even if they would 
 have taken it; she agreed that this was probably the 
 only practicable scheme. As to the furniture, Dan 
 never guessed what its loss cost her. It was not only 
 that she had a real love for these pretty and elegant 
 things but they were the last tangible evidence of 
 prosperity; the last, that is, except her personal be 
 longings, and even these she dumbly expected to 
 sacrifice. 
 
 The day after Dan s return, when they had finally 
 settled everything, when Anna had consented to 
 leave the house with all its contents, and smiled 
 faintly at Dan s promise that she should have ten 
 times as fine a place before long, she went upstairs 
 and got out her diamond ornaments, took off all her 
 rings except her marriage-ring, and laid them out on 
 her bureau for a last lingering inspection. 
 
 "You will have to sell these, too, I suppose," she 
 said tragically, when Dan came in. 
 
 He was silent for a moment the money certainly 
 would be useful. But the sight of Anna s face re 
 flected in the mirror the heavy, downcast eyelids 
 with their suggestion of tears, the melancholy mouth 
 moved him too much. 
 
 "No keep them, you poor girl!" he cried tenderly. 
 "We ll get on somehow. You ve been so brave and 
 good I never dared expect you would take it so well." 
 
 Anna had been perfectly calm during all their dis 
 cussion of practical details but this vivid allusion to 
 
 127 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 her sacrifice, the huskiness of Dan s voice, the appeal 
 in his face as he bent over her, were too much for her 
 self-control. She burst out crying wildly. 
 
 "Oh, take me with you!" she sobbed. "I can t 
 stand it to stay here. I couldn t bear it at home be 
 fore and how can I now? Oh, take me!" 
 
 "Don t you think I would if I could? Don t you 
 know it s a hundred times harder for me than for you, 
 to leave you?" he said despairingly. "But supposing 
 you were ill? There s no doctor nearer than River 
 City. And even if you were well, it would be deadly 
 hard for you. You can t realize what it would mean. 
 You couldn t get a piano even. No, I can t take you 
 there, I don t dare do it." 
 
 His will, when it came to action, was so much the 
 stronger that Anna simply gave way. She could 
 resist, but she could not take the initiative. So, help 
 less, she watched the last frail threads by which she 
 had tried to bind herself to the things she cared for, 
 broken; the slight web of her life, just begun, swept 
 away so completely that one could scarcely say it 
 had been. 
 
 Dan left her. She went back to the little house on 
 Figueroa Street; to the tiny bedroom with its yellow 
 wall-paper and worn ingrain rug; to the atmosphere 
 of care and disunion and pinching poverty, that had 
 oppressed her girlhood. Yet there was a difference. 
 Her marriage had set her apart from the family life 
 or lack of it and it troubled her much less. For 
 one thing, Herwin was not at home. He had lost 
 his position on the Clarion, and now he was a travel 
 ling salesman for a San Francisco publishing firm. 
 No doubt he would lose that chance, too, before long, 
 
 128 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 but for the present they heard little from him. Again, 
 Anna could use her advantage to see that the money 
 she gave her mother was applied to the household 
 expenses and she did so. Herwin got none of it. 
 And the last faint shadow of her parents authority 
 had disappeared. They now made no pretense at 
 control or even at knowing her affairs. They seemed 
 indeed glad to be rid of responsibility, eager to leave 
 her perfectly free. 
 
 And they were very kind to her kinder than ever 
 before, or else she was quicker to feel it. Mrs. Quar- 
 termain, on the ground of her not being strong yet, 
 would not let her do any work about the house, ex 
 cept dusting the parlor. And in a more important 
 way she was careful to spare her: there were very 
 few complaints of the family situation, and no refer 
 ences at all to Anna s misfortunes. She was grateful 
 for that reticence. Her father hi many shy ways 
 showed his thoughtfulness for her. For some time 
 she took her breakfasts in bed, and he would bring 
 in the tray; almost always putting a flower on it 
 a pansy or a rose. He would bring her the newspaper, 
 or one of the lighter historical works from his small 
 library. He expressly relieved her from the neces 
 sity of attendance at the little church, where he still 
 preached a carefully prepared sermon every Sunday 
 to a handful of people. He made an attempt to talk 
 cheerfully at the meals they shared; and after the 
 dinner at night he would go into the parlor and open 
 the piano, to indicate that if she cared to sing he would 
 be glad to listen. 
 
 The state of the piano was a real grief to him; not 
 only its age, but the fact that he could not afford to 
 
 129 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 have it tuned for her. But Anna, when she began 
 to sing again, touching the yellow tinkling keys with 
 the utmost lightness, at once felt that here was a rift 
 in the clouds. Her voice was left her, if nothing else. 
 She had the piano tuned, and began to practise regu 
 larly, seeming to grow stronger and to bloom again 
 as she sang. The exercise was good for her mentally 
 as well as physically. She brooded less. She spent 
 less time turning over the relics of her past splendor 
 dresses and trinkets; photographs of herself in her va 
 rious ball-dresses, or of her parlors, with all the fur 
 niture disposed to the best advantage and the per 
 spective managed so that they looked really palatial. 
 On her bureau she had a small photograph of Dan, 
 and some specimens of copper ore he had sent her 
 beautiful bits of metal showing rainbow colors. She 
 liked to have these always before her the rock 
 which held riches, according to Dan, and his strong 
 face, which seemed as surely to promise success. He 
 wrote almost daily, breezy enthusiastic letters, full 
 of hope and of affection and she kept all these let 
 ters and read them over and over again. He was 
 perfectly well, he wrote the mountain air was a 
 wonderful tonic. They were making good progress 
 in the mines. Manlove was a good fellow, but rather 
 slow. When spring came they could move faster. 
 He was putting in some machinery, but they must 
 have more. There was a small creek running within 
 a few rods of their main mine " that is, of course, it 
 isn t running now but when things thaw out I have 
 an idea it can be dammed and turned so as to operate 
 our engines. That will enable us to increase produc 
 tion to and so on, with columns of figures, which 
 
 130 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Anna carefully scrutinized, though they did not con 
 vey much to her. Dan had not much else to write 
 about, and the daily letter meant as much to him as 
 it did to her; hence the statistics. 
 
 She wrote more briefly, but giving the details of her 
 life. She was well. She was practising two hours a 
 day and thought her voice better than before. She 
 was very comfortable; the weather warm and every 
 thing in blossom. Mrs. Goodwin had been to see 
 her several times, but on March 3d had started 
 East; she was going to travel in Italy and Spain for 
 a year. Mrs. Grayson had called once; they were 
 going back to Illinois. Her only constant visitor 
 was Elise Andrews. Elise was terribly bitter and 
 moody. She talked about Charley all the time. 
 Dan remembered what an excitable, hot-headed girl 
 she was. She and Charley were more in love than 
 ever at least Elise was and they could not marry 
 because Charley was only getting ten dollars a week. 
 Elise wondered if Dan could not find something for 
 Charley to do out there. 
 
 Then one day Anna had a dramatic incident to de 
 scribe. The night before about eleven they had all 
 been wakened by the violent ringing of the door-bell. 
 Mr. Quartermain had gone to the door in a dressing- 
 gown; then he came back and held a whispered con 
 ference with his wife. Anna could hear them through 
 the wall, and could hear voices in the parlor. She 
 was alarmed and went to ask her father through the 
 crack in the door what was the matter. He hesitated 
 a moment, then whispered: 
 
 "It s Elise and young Feltner. They want me to 
 marry them." 
 
 131 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Anna went in and closed the door. "I tell your 
 father he shouldn t do it," Mrs. Quartermain said 
 sternly, sitting up in bed. The idea! Waking peo 
 ple up in the middle of the night! They oughtn t to 
 be married, anyway. James, you must just send 
 them home." 
 
 "Yes, but they won t go," he said, perplexed. 
 "They ll try to get some other minister, Elise says, 
 if I don t do it. But they came to me first because 
 well, I know them, you see " 
 
 "Came to you first, at this hour of the night a 
 pretty arrangement! Depend on it, there s some 
 thing wrong," cried the moralist in the bed. "I 
 should just send them about their business, if I were 
 you." 
 
 Anna was equally bewildered. "It does seem 
 very queer," she said. 
 
 But the minister, more in sympathy with the situa 
 tion, smiled sadly. 
 
 "I think perhaps I should be doing a greater wrong 
 if I sent them away," he decided finally, "so, if you 
 please, my dear, I will dress. And I shall want you 
 two as witnesses. I ll just go and tell them they ll 
 have to wait ten minutes." 
 
 "And ask Elise to come to my room a minute, will 
 you?" Anna said. 
 
 She intended to remonstrate with Elise, who, 
 though several years older than herself, had been 
 rather dominated by Anna s cooler head. But when 
 the girl came in and sat down on her bed while she 
 dressed, Anna felt suddenly that Elise had got beyond 
 that. She looked older, somehow. She was very pale, 
 she had a look of exaltation. So Anna said simply, 
 
 132 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "I am coming out to be a witness." 
 
 "Yes," Elise said. 
 
 "It s sudden, isn t it? Do your parents know?" 
 
 "No, but I am of age." 
 
 "But I thought Has something happened? 
 Have you arranged I mean how are you going to 
 live?" 
 
 "Together that s all I know and all I care about," 
 Elise said, with a little laugh. 
 
 "But surely you have some plan " 
 
 "Not one. It isn t more than half an hour since 
 we decided it." 
 
 "But where are you going, afterward to-night, 
 I mean?" 
 
 "I don t know. Wherever he takes me. What 
 do I care? We can live somehow. I will work, too. 
 I would sweep the streets, if it helped us to be to 
 gether." 
 
 Anna was silent after that, and hurried to finish 
 dressing. They went out into the little parlor, where 
 young Feltner was walking about restlessly. He 
 was a big, handsome, light-haired man, who wore his 
 very good clothes with the air of a "swell," as Elise 
 had been used fondly to call him. Anna shook hands 
 with him solemnly; then Mr. Quartermain came hi 
 and they had to wait ten minutes for Mrs. Quarter- 
 main, who finally appeared frigid in a black dress 
 and curl-papers. The young couple stood up and 
 the ceremony proceeded. 
 
 Anna ended her letter thus: 
 
 "And they stood in just the same place that we 
 did to be married. It did seem so strange and so 
 forlorn somehow that is, all except Elise. She was 
 
 133 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 happy enough. She looked as if she was in a trance. 
 They didn t even have a ring and I had to lend them 
 my wedding-ring. And Elise was actually going off 
 with it when I reminded her. Wasn t it all queer!" 
 
 A few days later she wrote that Elise and Charley 
 were living with Elise s parents. Elise, who sewed 
 beautifully, was embroidering things to sell, and was 
 going to do dressmaking for anybody who would 
 have her. And she, Anna, would like to have Elise 
 make some cheap little dresses for her, as Elise 
 needed some money terribly and she needed some 
 thin clothes. It was getting warm. 
 
 Dan wrote back that of course she must have what 
 dresses she needed, but that he would be rather short 
 of money for a few months. He was putting every 
 thing into the mine. It would begin to pay them 
 before long. What they needed most in that region 
 was a smelter at Grandview. That would make their 
 low-grade ore profitable and that meant millions to 
 them. At present the ore had to be sent to Denver, 
 and it didn t pay to haul the low-grade that far. In 
 the spring someone would have to go to New York 
 about the business, and that person would undoubt 
 edly be himself. Manlove agreed that he, Dan, was 
 the man to put through the thing. It was Dan s 
 project. Manlove would never have thought it pos 
 sible. Of course when he went to New York Anna 
 would go with him. But meantime they would have 
 to be careful of money. 
 
 That letter spurred Anna to an action that she had 
 had vaguely in mind for some time. She was bent 
 on having the summer clothes and also she wanted 
 to help Elise and she wanted to use her voice again. 
 
 134 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 It had occurred to her to try for her old position at 
 the synagogue. It was very well paid, and she re 
 membered hearing Dan say that whoever lost by the 
 boom, the Jews had got rich on it. And they had 
 been sorry to lose her from the choir. In her place 
 they had engaged a young woman, known to Anna, 
 who had a voice fairly well trained but not at all re 
 markable. She and Anna had been fellow-pupils of 
 the fashionable singing-teacher of the city for the 
 year that Anna s salary had enabled her to take ex 
 pensive lessons; and Anna had been the star pupil, 
 always put forward at recitals, and urged by Madame 
 Blauvelt to study for a public career. She was not 
 afraid of Miss Hiller; but curiosity urged her to go 
 and hear her. One Saturday morning therefore she 
 went to the synagogue, and took a seat quietly at 
 the back, as Daniel Devin once had done. 
 
 The thought of seeing De Ronde had not been con 
 sciously in her mind; yet she knew when he came in, 
 rather late, in time to look up and bow as he passed 
 her. Nor did she miss the flash of surprise and pleas 
 ure in his face. And, though she looked straight past 
 him, after he had followed his parents and sisters up 
 the aisle and taken his seat, she knew when he turned 
 and looked at her. 
 
 Miss Killer s performance was satisfactory that 
 is, obviously enough inferior to Anna s own. Anna 
 went out before the sermon began, and walked slowly 
 home. The day was bright, though it had rained 
 heavily the day and night before, and the gutters 
 along the main streets were rushing torrents. She 
 enjoyed the walk, the feeling of renewed vigor, the 
 prospect of a break in her monotonous days. 
 
 135 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 She cared infinitely more to sing in public than in 
 private, and her mind now was busy with reasons 
 for doing it, which seemed to her so strong that not 
 even Dan could object to them. Since they were 
 poor, by his own misjudgment, he could not fairly 
 oppose her earning some money. If Charley Felt- 
 ner s wife could do dressmaking, surely she could use 
 her own infinitely superior gift. So thoroughly was 
 she convinced herself, that she intended to get the 
 position first, if possible, and then to tell Dan about 
 it. But how to get it? It would be rather awkward, 
 since she knew Miss Hiller, to apply openly for it. 
 Her thought just glanced at De Ronde but certainly 
 she could not say anything to him about it. In some 
 way, however, she must let the committee know that 
 she was available, if there should be a vacancy. 
 
 Thus occupied, she was a long time in getting home, 
 particularly as she had to negotiate carefully each 
 street-crossing. And she had hardly got into her 
 bedroom and taken off her muddy boots, before her 
 mother appeared and announced that there was a 
 young man in the parlor to see her "boyish-looking 
 and dark he didn t give his name." 
 
 Anna knew who it must be, and turned hot and 
 cold at the idea that De Ronde perhaps thought she 
 had gone to the synagogue to see him. But in a 
 moment she went into the parlor, rustling with con 
 scious dignity in her brown silk dress, and greeted 
 him. He was wiping his bro\v with his faintly- 
 scented handkerchief; he looked exceedingly warm. 
 
 "I hurried after you, as soon as I could get out/ 
 he explained quickly. "I hope you ll forgive me 
 for coming without being asked, but I ve wanted to 
 
 136 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 do it for a long time. "I wanted to. know how you 
 are; and to see you." 
 
 "I m very well won t you sit down?" Then 
 Anna plunged into her explanation. 
 
 "I went this morning to hear Miss Hiller. I knew 
 she had taken my place, and I thought I should like 
 to hear her." She ended lamely, flushing as she 
 realized that she could not tell him her reason for 
 going. But he had guessed it. 
 
 "Could you come back?" he asked eagerly, leaning 
 forward in his chair near her. "I hope so much that 
 you can. Everybody felt your going as a great loss. 
 We don t like Miss Hiller, and I know she is only on 
 probation and they don t mean to engage her per 
 manently." 
 
 How easy it was after all! 
 
 "If that is so, I don t see why I shouldn t," Anna 
 said softly, "though of course I wouldn t do anything 
 to injure Miss Hiller." 
 
 "Then may I arrange it? I mean, just a hint is 
 all that s necessary. The committee ought to know 
 that it s possible." 
 
 Anna shook her head. "No, I can t ask you to dp 
 anything about it " 
 
 "But you don t ask me. I insist on doing it." 
 
 "Perhaps it s hardly worth while after all," she 
 hesitated, "since I m to be here so short a time. I 
 shall go away in six weeks to join Mr. Devin. I 
 thought it would be something to occupy me a 
 little I have so much time on my hands but 
 perhaps " 
 
 "I m very sorry to hear that about your going 
 away very, very sorry," said De Ronde in a low 
 
 137 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 voice, and he looked it. "But even a few weeks 
 is something, for us, for me. You won t refuse, 
 surely." 
 
 She couldn t refuse very well; and De Ronde did ar 
 range it, in the course of the next two weeks. Three 
 further calls, of about an hour each, seemed to him 
 necessary in order to keep Anna posted on the prog 
 ress of the affair; at least some introductory sen 
 tences each time gave this color to his visits, and it 
 was thus that Anna accounted for them to her mother. 
 
 Anna herself was faintly uneasy. In her environ 
 ment it was hardly within the limits of propriety for 
 a young married woman, especially if her husband 
 were absent, to receive the regular visits of a man. 
 And more, she knew that De Ronde admired her, had 
 a feeling for her which was rapidly growing upon him. 
 He had behaved with the utmost punctiliousness, so 
 far, but now and then a word, a look, interrupting 
 the current of their gossipy chat, gave her alarm. 
 She liked him, she thoroughly enjoyed his visits, and 
 rejoiced that her mother did not think it necessary 
 to come into the parlor when he was there, except 
 once when he had been introduced to her. 
 
 But there was too much pleasure in it, Anna felt. 
 It was, she could not but feel, at least questionable 
 whether she should allow him to come. And Anna 
 could not bear to be questionable. She would prefer 
 to be bored. 
 
 But she did not know how to convey her meaning 
 to De Ronde. After she had resumed her place in 
 the choir he continued to come about once a week. 
 Then one week he came twice. And both times, by 
 the merest chance, Elise Feltner came in^-to try on 
 
 138 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 a dress for Anna while he was there, and after stay 
 ing a few moments went away without accomplishing 
 her errand. Elise s silence about him, when she and 
 Anna met, was significant; it was heavy as lead. 
 And it provoked in Anna a venomous outlash of 
 thought that barely stopped short of speech. Elise 
 Andrews! Elise to be setting up as a judge and dar 
 ing to judge her! She had her own idea about 
 Elise and about that midnight marriage. That is, 
 it was really Dan s idea, conveyed by a careless jocu 
 lar comment in one of his letters. But Anna could 
 not be jocular about such things. With that idea 
 in her mind she could never be really friendly again 
 with Elise. And yet she had been kind to her; given 
 her that work to do. And now Elise ! 
 
 No, it was not to be borne. There should be no 
 "talk." She would dismiss him. But it wasn t 
 easy. She was under a sort of obligation to him. 
 Several times she began to frame the sentence, but 
 the words wouldn t come. The days and weeks went 
 on. She began to hope that Dan would send for her 
 before it became necessary to do it. But it was the 
 middle of April now, and still he was indefinite. 
 
 Slowly, and all the more surely because it grew in 
 silence and darkness, resentment against Dan was 
 taking form in the mind of his wife. He had left her 
 in a very uncomfortable position; she felt its hard 
 ship the more keenly since she was obliged to give up 
 its only alleviation. Dan had left her without pro 
 tection and exposed her to gossip. And in some way 
 she resented the ease with which he had accepted her 
 singing again in the synagogue. As a matter of fact 
 she had stated her wish to do it so strongly, not only 
 
 139 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 for the money but for the occupation and interest it 
 would give her idle days, that Dan could not refuse 
 his consent; and it was not his way to yield grudg 
 ingly. But Anna remembered the strength with 
 which, before they married, he had objected to her 
 singing in public; and she thought bitterly that he 
 had grown careless of her. 
 
 He was still in many ways a puzzle to her ; a puzzle 
 that grew less easy to solve, the more she brooded on 
 it. They had been married but six months and for 
 two of these they had been separated. The apparent 
 ease with which he had adjusted himself to living 
 without her, she felt as an injury. He was full of 
 affection for her still or his letters were but they 
 were not the letters of an unhappy man. He had 
 left the place in which he had lived eight years with 
 out a regret for it, so far as she could see. He had 
 broken whatever ties of friendship he had, with per 
 fect carelessness. She who needed, to be happy or 
 at ease, a network of other lives connected with her 
 own, a frame of material interests surrounding her, 
 could not comprehend the solitary spirit who appar 
 ently needed nothing except his work and his dreams 
 of the future dreams in which, not herself, but work 
 again, accomplishment, success, played, she thought, 
 the main part. 
 
 But, though she might be ill-used, Anna was re 
 solved to be blameless. She could not write freely 
 about De Ronde to Dan, and she disliked to feel that 
 she was concealing anything from him except, in 
 deed, her thoughts of him. 
 
 Finally an event of happy augury to her family 
 helped her to the step she felt obliged to take. Mr. 
 
 140 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Quartermain received a call from a prosperous Uni 
 tarian church in Oakland, with the offer of a liberal 
 salary. A book of his sermons which had been pub 
 lished by subscription a year ago before and had, he 
 thought, been as seed cast upon the rock, had now 
 borne this surprising crop. Two or three influential 
 members of the congregation had been first inter 
 ested; lately one of them had travelled down to hear 
 Mr. Quartermain preach, and upon his favorable re 
 port the church had acted. 
 
 There was agitation and thanksgiving in the house 
 hold soon to be broken up. By the sale of their house 
 hold effects and by the tardy coming in of some ar 
 rears of salary, Mr. Quartermain got enough money 
 to tide them over the move. Anna immediately 
 wrote the news to Dan, saying that if her own de 
 parture was to be postponed more than a fortnight 
 she would go to a small quiet family hotel not far 
 from her present home, until he should send for her. 
 And when De Ronde came the next evening, Anna 
 told him of the prospective change, saying with more 
 show of calmness than she felt: "Of course that 
 leaves me quite alone, and I shall have to be even 
 more quiet than I am here. I suppose I shall live in 
 one room and see nobody." 
 
 He started to protest, then her meaning struck 
 him. He reddened, turned pale, and said: "You 
 mean I am not to come any more." 
 
 "I am sorry," was all she could say. She dreaded 
 those signs of emotion he was exhibiting the change 
 of color, the bitten lip. While she would not have 
 liked it if he had taken his dismissal quite calmly, 
 Anna much preferred that no one should have strong 
 
 141 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 emotions, at least in her presence. She wondered if 
 he were going to choke up and shed tears, as Dan 
 sometimes did, and hoped not. 
 
 He got up abruptly, walked to the window and 
 stood there with his back to her till sheer nervousness 
 forced her to speak. 
 
 "Please don t act that way it is absurd. We 
 hardly know one another, she argued. "You make 
 
 it harder for me " Much to her surprise a sob, 
 
 not his but hers, interrupted her. 
 
 He turned round, came swiftly back, dropped on 
 the sofa beside her, seized her hands. "Do you mean 
 it? Do you really mean it? Don t you care then 
 the least bit for me?" 
 
 Anna gazed at him stonily. "No/ she said with 
 an effort. 
 
 "You do! Do you think I don t know it? You re 
 afraid of gossip, that s all. You send me away 
 rather than have a parcel of old women say what 
 could they say, after all? What have I done? Don t 
 be a fool! Don t send me away." 
 
 "Yes, I must. Don t speak to me in that way, 
 either." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, but I it s pretty sudden. 
 A man doesn t like to be thrown overboard in that 
 cool fashion. I thought you liked me a little in a 
 friendly way." 
 
 "I did." 
 
 "But not enough to outweigh a little gossip or the 
 chance of it? A friend doesn t mean very much to 
 you then." 
 
 "I can t help it," said Anna, still offended. "I 
 did like you, but my husband didn t, I couldn t 
 
 142 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 have you come to see me while he was here, and I 
 can t when he is gone. I couldn t even if you 
 hadn t " 
 
 He interrupted sullenly. "What has your hus 
 band against me? I ve scarcely spoken to him." 
 
 "I don t know, but there is something." 
 
 "And are you bound by that? I thought you had 
 separated." 
 
 Anna rose precipitately. 
 
 "It isn t true! Why should you think that? How 
 can you say such a thing!" Her face flushed deeply. 
 She bit her lip, and tears stood in her eyes. 
 
 "Well, when a woman as young and pretty as you 
 are, and married only a few months, goes back to her 
 parents " 
 
 Again he repented the brutality of his speech and 
 begged her forgiveness. <jfa 
 
 "But, you see, that s what people think. And I 
 suppose I took it for granted all the more easily be 
 cause I hoped it." 
 
 He moved a step toward her and Anna retreated, 
 lifting her head proudly. 
 
 "I can t help what people think. They have no 
 right to say anything against me" 
 
 "No, by Jove, that s true! They haven t. You ve 
 got a cool, level head and can take care of yourself, 
 and I admire you for it. I m sorry for the way things 
 have turned out. I wish we could be friends at least. 
 Won t you give me your hand and say good-bye?" 
 
 Anna put her hands behind her backhand looked 
 him in the eyes resentfully. 
 
 "I won t shake hands with you. I don t think 
 you have behaved very well. You have hurt my 
 
 143 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 feelings, and and you had no right to say what you 
 did." 
 
 De Ronde shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "There might be two opinions about that. You 
 hurt my feelings too, remember." 
 
 "Well, that was different. I couldn t help it." 
 
 "Oh, yes, you could, too. You needn t have been 
 as cold as a stone about it. You it wouldn t have 
 hurt you to be a little kinder to me. You re a woman 
 why should you act like a school-girl? Why should 
 you shut yourself up just because your husband 
 chooses to leave you alone? You can be sure he 
 amuses himself; why shouldn t you? He ll like you 
 all the better if you don t cry your eyes out for him. 
 Come, I m going now, perhaps I shan t see you again. 
 . . . And I m sorry, yes, by Jove I am, in spite of 
 the way you ve treated me. You re the prettiest 
 woman in this state, Anna ... by Jove, I m 
 in love with you! It hurts like sin to go away and 
 leave you. Won t you let me stay . . ." 
 
 "No, no!" she cried, putting out her hands to keep 
 him off. "Go away." 
 
 He seized her hands. "Then kiss me good-bye! 
 You owe me that much." 
 
 Anna broke from him by main force, and fled into 
 her own room to weep with rage. She was sure that 
 De Ronde s last words had been overheard by her 
 mother, who sat in the dining-room with her mend 
 ing and newspaper. What would be thought of her? 
 Her mother, of course, would be too scandalized to 
 speak of it, and how could she explain? Was ever a 
 blameless person placed in so humiliating a position 
 before? 
 
 144 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 And the responsibility for her humiliation in the 
 end rested upon Dan. He had left her alone and ex 
 posed her to gossip and insult. Her pride was deeply 
 wounded. De Ronde had said that people talked 
 about her. And if it had not been so, if she had not 
 been unprotected, he would never have dared. . . . 
 
 That night she wrote a letter resigning her place in 
 the synagogue choir, and one to Dan telling him sim 
 ply that she had done so. For several weeks now she 
 had paid all her own expenses out of her salary; and 
 Dan had not sent her any remittance for a month. 
 But now through his fault it was out of her power to 
 earn any more in that way; and Anna rather hoped 
 the result would inconvenience him. 
 
 145 
 
X. 
 
 MALLORY, April 20. 
 "Mr DEAR ANNA: 
 
 "We shall build the smelter. I am organizing a 
 company under the laws of this state, to be called 
 the Mallory Smelter, Power, and Light Company. 
 The company will own over sixty acres of patented 
 land, valuable water-rights, a dam and a pipe line 
 one and three-fourths of a mile long, from site of dam 
 to smelter when completed. It will have an electric 
 light plant for its own use, operated entirely by water 
 power; seventeen and one- third cubic feet of water 
 per second to be legally appropriated from the north 
 and south forks of the Grandview River, at the 
 junction of which the smelter will be situated. 
 
 "The others in the company are all business men 
 interested in developing this section. Mr. E. T. 
 Grand has been a mining man here for ten years. He 
 is president of the Grand Copper Mining Company, 
 which owns two of the richest mines about here, and 
 president of the Grandview Town Company. I think 
 we shall make him president of our company. The 
 vice-president will be Mr. Powers, Secretary of State, 
 of Wyoming ; treasurer, Mr. Parker, president of the 
 Parker Electric Light Company; assistant secretary, 
 Mr. Green of the Green Water Works Company. I 
 am to be the secretary, and shall have 7,500 shares of 
 stock, par value $10 per share. 
 
 146 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "The Mallory Smelter Company will own sixty per 
 cent of the capital stock of the Parker Electric Com 
 pany, which has valuable franchises in Grandview 
 and intends to supply light and power to the town 
 and to the mines throughout the district. Also we 
 shall own sixty per cent of the stock of the Green 
 Water Works Company, which has exclusive fran 
 chises for supplying Grandview with water. We 
 estimate that the profits of our stockholders will be 
 at least thirty per cent per annum on the value of 
 the capital stock, including dividends from Electric 
 Light and Water Works Companies. 
 
 "We shall capitalize the company at $700,000, of 
 which $300,000 is owned by officers of company, and 
 the rest will be sold. 
 
 "Our smelter will have a capacity of 150 tons of ore 
 a day; the mines of this rich district now produce 
 over 350 tons a day. Our location is in the centre 
 of the district, with a down-hill pull from the mines. 
 It is a great proposition. 
 
 "I am rushed every minute, but well. Have been 
 in Cheyenne for two or three days on business about 
 the company. We expect to sell a good deal of our 
 stock in the East. I may telegraph you any day to 
 meet me. Take care of yourself, dear. It won t be 
 long now. Yours always. D. D." 
 
 MALLORY, May 3rd. 
 "DEAR ANNA: 
 
 "We are having beautiful weather snow melting 
 a little even up here, and down at River City things 
 look springlike. This is a beautiful country you 
 
 147 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 will enjoy seeing it. We have finished the organiza 
 tion of the Mallory Smelter, Power and Light Com 
 pany, and I am Secretary. Shall have a salary of 
 $4,000 a year when we get started, but that doesn t 
 count much. We have a good deal of money paid 
 in about half enough to build the smelter. Our 
 engineer, John Murray, is one of the best-known me 
 chanical, hydraulic and civil engineers in the country. 
 We shall begin work on the ground shortly; and shall 
 have when completed a perfectly equipped plant of 
 the most modern and expensive machinery. The ore 
 will net us, less cost of treatment, $5.00 per ton, and 
 at 150 tons a day, returns from that alone will be 
 nearly $300,000 a year. 
 
 "We shall use charcoal for fuel. Forests of spruce 
 and pine all about us furnish the charcoal at seven 
 cents a bushel. Iron and lime for fluxing are abun 
 dant in this region, and our iron is of a superior qual 
 ity and largely used in Denver and Omaha. 
 
 "You will enjoy the drives in summer about here. 
 There are a good many points of interest and we can 
 live comfortably at River City for a time. I shall not 
 be at the mines after this spring, but shall give most 
 of my time to the Smelter Company. 
 
 "I hope now to get away in two or three weeks. I 
 am busy every minute, but I have time to miss you. 
 I think of you constantly, and if I make a success 
 here it will be for you. DAN." 
 
 MALLORY, May 14. 
 "MY DEAR ANNA: 
 
 "I am glad you are comfortable in your new quar 
 ters and thankful that you keep well. I shall see 
 
 148 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 you, if all goes well, in a fortnight or so now. We 
 have done about, all we can here for the present 
 at least I have and feel that the sooner I can put 
 the stock in the eastern market, the better for all of 
 us; and the others agree with me. I have some let 
 ters of introduction to men in New York and Boston, 
 and they seem to think here that I am the best per 
 son to get what we want. I came up in the stage 
 from Ralston to River City yesterday with Mr. Grand, 
 our president, and on the way pointed out to him 
 that we ought to build a railroad along the route that 
 the stage now takes about thirty miles. He was 
 struck with the idea and said, Well, you certainly 
 are a holy hustler before the Lord! He d been in 
 this place fifteen years, and the notion never oc 
 curred to him before! 
 
 The valley is really lovely now. It is a farming 
 country everything green and the fields covered 
 with beautiful wild-flowers. There will be a fine town 
 at River City before many years climate perfect, 
 and a good many people here now. I hope you will 
 be with me here before the end of the summer. I 
 expect to telegraph you to meet me at Cheyenne in 
 a couple of weeks at furthest. 
 
 "I am more certain than ever that I shall do what 
 I want in New York or Boston. Copper is rising 
 steadily in the market. It is just dawning on the 
 country that copper is the base of the modern in 
 dustrial development of electrical heat and power, 
 and that all we can produce won t supply the demand 
 that is bound to come with a few years. 
 
 "The manufacturers and the mining world are 
 slowly getting on to the fact that the rise in the price 
 
 149 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 of copper is not temporary; but that, as the sources 
 are limited and the demand inevitable, the price will 
 go on rising steadily. Of course this is our chance 
 and it is a big one. And this business will not only 
 make us rich, but it will add to the permanent wealth 
 and power of the country. 
 
 "The history of the copper industry is as interesting 
 as a novel. It takes you out into the world, where as 
 a matter of fact the United States has been fighting 
 England again over it ! We are forcing her manufact 
 urers to buy from us now, as the French and Germans 
 have been doing, since we got control of the world s 
 markets. But those bull-headed Britishers held out 
 wouldn t buy from us because they thought we had 
 simply engineered a gigantic corner in copper. A 
 Frenchman tried to do that some years ago and went 
 broke; and the Britishers have been waiting for us 
 to collapse, too. It does me good; I would rather 
 lick them than anybody on earth. This is a great 
 age and a great country. And I think we re going 
 to make our little corner of it here count for some 
 thing. The company we have organized will do a lot, 
 but I m more and more convinced that we ve got to 
 have the railroad. 
 
 "I m not saying much about that here, for I rather 
 think I ll manage to build it myself. That s what I 
 want to go East for quite as much as the other. I m 
 going to have a survey made on the quiet, and get 
 some options, and later I shall see the Union Pacific 
 people. 
 
 "We shall make a success here anyhow, but with 
 the railroad we would boom. 
 
 "I m sorry to hear about Herwin. If he would 
 150 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 brace up I might be able to get him a book-keeper s 
 place out here. We shall need more men shortly. 
 I am working like a beaver to get away I think 
 now by June 1st at latest I can arrange it. There 
 has been a great deal of business to settle first in order 
 to put things in good shape. Everything going on 
 as well as possible. 
 
 "Keep well and cheerful, my dearest. Yours al 
 ways D. D." 
 
 "RALSTON, June 15. 
 
 "Leaving for New York. Meet me Cheyenne via 
 Union Pacific leaving there Thursday. Am tele 
 graphing money. Wire me Ralston when you start. 
 
 DANIEL DEVIN." 
 
 151 
 
PART II 
 
T ATE September in New York. The gasping city 
 *^ was submerged in a hot wave which had lasted 
 five days without ebbing perceptibly at night the 
 worst weather of an uncommonly bad summer. It 
 was smothered in a blanket of vapor, thin enough to 
 let the sun through, thick enough to make breathing a 
 conscious effort. In this hot humidity the outlines 
 of buildings and of trees were hazy; the asphalt half 
 melting was spongy to the foot, readily taking an 
 imprint. The air was full of singed and dusty smells. 
 The streets through which sprinkling-carts had just 
 passed or which some cloud, faint and hardly dis 
 tinguishable in the tarnished sky, had moistened with 
 a brief tepid shower, were unrefreshed; and this 
 moisture absorbed again seemed only to make the 
 atmosphere more perceptible and unbearable. 
 
 Man, the sufferer by these conditions, also presented 
 his least attractive aspect. No matter how bloom 
 ing or spruce he might be normally, he could not but 
 wither and wilt in the hot blasts reflected from stone, 
 brick, concrete and metal. When possible he fled to 
 some one of the oases in this desert, where a few trees, 
 a little turf, a fountain or two, tried to create an il 
 lusion of freshness. 
 
 Central Park at half-past five in the afternoon 
 was crowded. Every bench was occupied, the 
 
 155 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 broader walks showed an incessant stream of people 
 and baby-carriages. The ponds were surrounded, 
 the boats and carrousel busy, and the drive-ways full 
 of hired carriages. But with all this motion, there 
 was no air of briskness; all was languid and oppressed, 
 with perhaps the sole exception of the musical wooden 
 horses of the carrousel. The crowd, along with this 
 limpness, exhibited an extreme informality in dress 
 and attitude. Men carried their hats and coats and 
 sometimes their collars, shirt-sleeves being the pre 
 vailing note of their attire. Women wore the thin 
 nest cotton waists or dresses, sometimes cut down a 
 little at the throat or with elbow-sleeves. If the 
 sleeves were long they were rolled back to the elbow, 
 showing round arms or scrawny. Many of the girls 
 were bare-headed, and with some of them youth and 
 beauty, and the advantage of light, easy dress, went 
 far to overcome the blighting influence of the weather. 
 The innumerable babies, wearing as little as possible, 
 lying pale and dumb or fretfully wailing, showed its 
 worst effects. 
 
 On a bench facing the main drive-way, near the 
 Fifth Avenue and Fifty-ninth Street entrance, Anna 
 Devin sat, watching absently the passing show. She 
 wore a plain black India-silk dress, her neck and 
 arms showing faintly through the thin stuff; and a 
 broad black straw hat. A light parasol leaned against 
 her knee. One ungloved hand resting in her lap held 
 a small black fan. Beside her on the seat lay a sum 
 mer magazine, separating her from an Irish laborer 
 in overalls who was peacefully smoking his pipe. Next 
 to him was a swarthy little woman with a scarlet silk 
 kerchief crossed on her breast, holding a sallow child 
 
 156 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 in her arms and trying to hush its crying. The other 
 two seats were occupied by a courting couple. His 
 arm was frankly round her, and her head now and 
 then touched his shoulder. The tobacco-smoke and 
 the baby s crying annoyed Anna; she often glanced 
 up the line of benches beyond, but a vacant seat was 
 not to be seen; and with a weary droop, her eyes 
 would travel back to the procession of carriages, neg 
 lecting the pedestrians between. She was rather 
 pale, and her head, unsupported by the back of the 
 bench, sunk a little, languidly. Her dark eyes, look 
 ing up from under the rim of her hat, rested for a 
 brief instant on each carriage as it passed; not often 
 was she interested enough to follow any one of them 
 farther in its course. But now a victoria trimly ap 
 pointed and containing an incongruously gorgeous 
 woman, drew her gaze; again a four-in-hand coach, 
 crowded with sight-seers, rolling out into Fifth Ave 
 nue with a stirring though unsteady salute from the 
 horn. She took these, not necessarily as evidences 
 of rank or fashion, but as some spectacular relief from 
 the general level of unkempt humanity; much as she 
 watched out of sight a bevy of young girls in light 
 muslin dresses, hanging together and giggling explos 
 ively. It seemed fairly evident that no one who was 
 not obliged to stay in town would be there; and 
 to be obliged to do anything unpleasant was entirely 
 outside Anna s conception of the fortunate among 
 men. But at least the unfortunate, she thought, 
 might have the grace to make themselves as little un 
 pleasant in appearance as possible. Few of them, 
 though, apparently looked at it in this light; wher 
 ever her glance turned it fell on some unshaven, per- 
 
 157 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 spiring face; some coarse dress idly pinned and gap 
 ing in the back; some waxy-white child sucking 
 a neglected milk-bottle some sign of distress, of 
 shameless poverty. And even the great breathing- 
 place for all this cramped misshapen life the park 
 itself, that has such beautiful moods could not with 
 all its care look beautiful now. Its greens were yel 
 lowing, wasting, withering. Its guarded flowers, 
 looked at so longingly, could not keep their freshness. 
 The soggy air had not life enough even for them. 
 Heavy and sluggish, it still caught up and held every 
 evil and unclean smell. And here among rolling 
 stretches of turf and great trees that had hardly 
 dropped a leaf, with flowers and fountains in sight, 
 the slow incessant stream of humanity, fainting for 
 lack of air, poisoned what remained. 
 
 Yet here Anna had spent her afternoon. In the 
 early hours it had not been so bad. And now that 
 the crowd released from shops, offices, factories, was 
 every moment increasing, she had not energy enough 
 to go up into the heart of the park, where there might 
 be found a comparatively empty corner. Besides, she 
 had not time. Vaguely she thought it must be get 
 ting late, though the grayish-yellow haze concealed 
 the whereabouts of the sun. She had no watch, but 
 she had expected to get back to the hotel before six, 
 as Dan, when he came back to dinner, was always 
 hungry. 
 
 But suddenly, while there was as yet no change 
 in the sickly light, the six o clock whistles began to 
 sound. First one shrill note afar in the distance, then 
 a deeper one joining in, then a swelling chorus, still 
 distant, but rising above the clatter of the streets; 
 
 158 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 mounting and falling by semitones, and dying away 
 in a long-sustained melancholy minor. 
 
 Anna had risen, pulling on her silk gloves and 
 gathering up her small possessions. She was late, 
 still she could not hurry; simply to move was hard 
 enough. And, keeping to the right, it was difficult 
 to make way through the people that were pressing 
 in now by every entrance, to try for their breath of 
 fresh air before night or the policeman should drive 
 them forth. Summer evenings, however, are long 
 in the park; policemen may be evaded and are not 
 inexorable; and the early dawn might surprise some 
 of these couples making for secluded nooks. 
 
 Anna walked across the plaza, whose great hotels 
 were already flashing out their electric lights, and 
 waited for a stage. From north and south carriages 
 and wagons streamed through the broad square, and 
 east and west the cars rattled along, filled with the 
 homeward hurrying throng. The stage, when it 
 came, had two or three empty places inside, though the 
 seats on the roof were crowded. Anna, however, would 
 not in any case have imperilled her dignity by an 
 ascent of the ladder. She got in and the stage lum 
 bered on. All the windows were open and the vehi 
 cle s motion made a little stir in the stagnant air. 
 When Anna had paid her fare she had eighteen cents 
 left in her purse. That morning she had given Dan 
 the two or three dollar bills that she possessed. How 
 ever, she got out at Thirty-third Street and entered 
 the big brown-stone caravanserai favored resting 
 place, especially at this season, of traders and pil 
 grims with the unobserving manner of one at 
 home. She went directly up to the small inside room 
 
 159 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 one of the cheapest having a private bath which 
 she and Dan had occupied for the last month. Before 
 that they had had a larger room, though even then 
 they had taken most of their meals outside the hotel, 
 and had lived by no means extravagantly, in Dan s 
 estimation. They must have decent accommodation 
 and food, of course; and the big hotel was a con 
 venient business address and place of meeting for 
 him. Therefore he had chosen to stay there, even 
 when they were forced to economize sharply ; for after 
 all any day might see the end of their stay. Why 
 bother to move when it was a question probably of a 
 week or so at most? So they had stayed on from 
 week to week. 
 
 Anna took her bath and began to dress, all the 
 while listening vaguely for Dan s footstep. He was 
 often late, but if he had been detained for dinner he 
 would have telegraphed her before this. She laid 
 out some fresh clothes for him and then threw herself 
 on the bed to wait. The bath had refreshed her, but 
 she still felt utterly listless and enervated. It was 
 not only the physical terrors of the summer that op 
 pressed her though these gathered additional force 
 from novelty and her experience of a possible climate. 
 Her tonelessness was mental, too it was the weaken 
 ing of a string kept too long at high tension. The 
 hope deferred that makes the heart sick had been hers 
 it seemed to her for ages. It was not so long, in 
 actual time it was not long, considering what she 
 expected to be done. And she could have waited 
 patiently, perhaps, if a more impatient spirit had not 
 perpetually keyed hers up. Dan s vision, overleap 
 ing the obstacles in his path, went straight to the goal ; 
 
 160 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 it foreshortened what lay near at hand and brought 
 the distance so close that it seemed one had but to 
 put out one s hand and grasp. He grasped it in 
 imagination; already in his sanguine dreams he en 
 joyed some of the pleasures of success. The chame 
 leon s dish afforded him at least a kind of stimulant. 
 But a literal person with a healthy material appetite 
 cannot make merry at a Barmecide feast. That sort 
 of entertainment had long since palled on Anna. 
 When now she was invited to console herself for pres 
 ent short commons by the prospect of plenty to-mor 
 row and to-morrow and to-morrow, she revolted in 
 dumb hunger. If she had been told to content her 
 self as she was for a year for two years it would 
 have been easier. Anything is easier than perpetual 
 postponement. But a bright to-morrow that never 
 comes makes to-day of no account. 
 
 Anna desired, as passionately as she could desire 
 anything, to live to-day. It was well for Dan; he 
 was busy; her days and her hands were empty. She 
 was hung up in the air between the duties of earth 
 and the rewards of heaven. She was as miserable as 
 a bird whose nest has been destroyed and who is pre 
 vented from making another. There were no ma 
 terials for nest-making in this bleak little corner of 
 the caravanserai. Anna had almost nothing to do, 
 even for Dan, in the long days when he was away. 
 But she clung to that little; mended and kept his 
 clothes in perfect order, having a sharp eye for the 
 laundress and tailor. And when Dan had urged her 
 to go some where to the seashore" and be comforta 
 ble without him, she had refused with a passion of 
 tears that mystified while it deeply touched him, 
 
 161 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Dan s imagination had its marked limits; it had 
 never represented to him fairly Anna s state of 
 mind. 
 
 She was homesick now not so much for her birth 
 place, the memories of her disappointments there 
 were too bitter but for some place that might be a 
 home. She felt lost in the great city as a grain of 
 sand in the sea. It stunned, bewildered, crushed 
 her. In the months of her stay this feeling only grew 
 stronger. She had not made a friend, scarcely an 
 acquaintance; and without these she could take no 
 definite step toward orientating herself. She knew 
 the principal streets by name, the shops, the park. 
 Dan had taken her to some roof-gardens and vaude 
 ville shows. They had a rather varied experience of 
 the cheaper restaurants. The rest of Anna s im 
 pressions concerned the life of the hotel. She saw 
 many things that interested and amused her; but 
 she needed to be a part of them in some way. To be 
 a mere spectator without any way of using her im 
 pressions no, decidedly that was not her role. And 
 in any case the seamy side of things could not interest 
 her even as a spectator; and she knew well that she 
 was seeing the wrong side of the city. She longed 
 for the day when the other side the pattern, the 
 gloss, the glow of color, that she could guess at, 
 though all she touched was knots and tangles and 
 frayed ends should be hers to enjoy. But that day 
 Dan s to-morrow alas, would it ever come? She 
 had not yet said to herself that it would not, but the 
 suggestion of doubt was terrible enough. And doubt 
 was strong in her to-day, for this morning Dan, need 
 ing to raise some money, had taken all his jewelry 
 
 162 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 and her own, including both watches, "for a day or 
 so." So they had touched rock-bottom financially. 
 It looked as though the next thing must be a rise, but 
 who could tell when it would come? Not Dan. He 
 had deceived her and himself too often. 
 
 And yet faith in him was still stronger than her 
 doubt she could not escape the influence of his own 
 faith in himself. If she had once looked on him as a 
 failure, her own attitude would have been very differ 
 ent. As things were she was still in the attitude of 
 waiting but she was very weary of it. 
 
 The room had grown dark and she was slipping into 
 a doze when she heard Dan s firm footstep down the 
 carpeted corridor. She got up and turned on the 
 electric lights as he came in, and a glance told her that 
 as usual he was fagged out. He smiled at her, throw 
 ing his straw hat into a chair ; but they did not speak 
 till he had taken off his coat and his collar, which 
 had wilted round the top. Then he drew a long 
 breath. 
 
 "Oh, Lord, I feel like a sweep! What weather. 
 You look cool enough, though." 
 
 "Yes, I am now/ sighed Anna. "But it has been 
 an awful day. You poor boy, you look melted." 
 
 "Worse. Don t touch me, dearest! Wow, how 
 everything sticks! But I ll be all right in a minute 
 
 or so." 
 
 He seized his clothes and a bottle of Florida water, 
 which he liked in his bath, and shut himself into the 
 bathroom, where a vigorous splashing soon bespoke 
 the intensity of his relief. 
 
 Anna sat down before the bureau to brush her hair, 
 which the humid air tended to make dull and stringy, 
 
 163 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 and was still at it when Dan emerged, in a blue dress 
 ing-gown, and dropped on the bed. 
 
 "I ve got to sleep," he said. "Wake me up in 
 twenty minutes, will you, dear? I ve asked some 
 people to dinner at half-past seven tell you all about 
 it by and by." 
 
 "But who are they tell me that!" cried Anna, 
 bending over him. 
 
 He looked up drowsily. 
 
 "Colonel O Beirne and his wife. Interesting peo 
 ple South Americans, I think. . . . You put 
 on that blue dress I like will you?" 
 
 He turned, throwing up his arm to keep out the 
 light, and was asleep in a moment. Anna stood 
 looking at him; wishing that her hair curled as his 
 did, lying in little segments of rings against his tem 
 ples and neck still damp from the bath; wishing he 
 would wake up and tell her more; wishing she had a 
 new dress to wear. 
 
 But her toilette was a longer affair than his, and 
 it was already seven by the little clock on the bureau. 
 She returned to arrange her hair, which she now wore 
 drawn softly back from her face in the prevailing 
 mode, even more carefully than usual. She did not 
 know who Colonel O Beirne and his wife might be, 
 but at least they were people, and people were rare. 
 And evidently from Dan s request about the blue 
 dress they were to dine at the hotel; that meant a 
 good dinner, which was rare, too. But how could 
 they afford ? She shrugged her shoulders im 
 patiently; that was Dan s affair. And the question 
 did not check her rising spirit. The process of getting 
 into the blue dress did, a little. Anna had bought 
 
 164 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 no good clothes since the honeymoon days in San 
 Francisco. This was a winter dress, too heavy and 
 elaborate for the present occasion. Moreover, it no 
 longer fitted perfectly, for she was thinner than for 
 merly. But it was a beautiful fabric and color and 
 well-made; the lace on it was good, and it became 
 her. Anna took courage as she contemplated her 
 reflection, the knowledge that she looked well am 
 ply compensating for any physical discomfort. So, 
 rather happy, she went to wake Dan. 
 
 He seemed perfectly refreshed by his nap; he was 
 in buoyant spirits. Anna laid out his evening clothes 
 and he dressed, talking gayly. 
 
 "I thought you might be amused to meet these 
 people. I was. O Beirne has been everywhere and 
 got mixed up in something everywhere he s been. 
 Too much of a rolling stone to get anywhere in par 
 ticular, I guess, but he s, a shrewd fellow, too. Wife s 
 a jolly sort of woman. I took dinner with them a day 
 or so ago " 
 
 "Why didn t you tell me?" said Anna jealously. 
 "I thought when you stayed away it was on busi 
 ness." 
 
 "Well, this was business. You see, it s this way. 
 Green, one of our men, you know, knows O Beirne, 
 and wanted me to look him up here. Green didn t 
 know then where O Beirne was said the last he 
 heard of him he was in Chili but he always turns up 
 in New York about once in so often, and always stops 
 at the Gilsey. And he knows a lot of people here. 
 So I went round when we first came, but he wasn t 
 there and I left a note for him. Then the other after 
 noon late he telephoned me that he d just got in, and 
 
 165 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 asked me to dinner. I didn t know he had a wife with 
 him and of course he didn t know I had. But when 
 I found they were pleasant people I arranged for 
 you to meet them. Now are you satisfied, you 
 minx?" 
 
 "Well, partly," said Anna, leaning back in her 
 wicker chair and fanning herself languidly. "Are 
 they at all swell people?" 
 
 "Oh, no. She was dressed very plainly. They re 
 both middle-aged. But you needn t turn up your 
 nose at them, Miss. They gave me a rattling good 
 dinner, and O Beirne has some whiskey that s forty 
 years old." 
 
 They both burst out laughing at this. 
 
 "Much I care about his whiskey! Or you either, 
 for that matter," Anna said scornfully. "Is he Irish? 
 His name is." 
 
 "I guess so. I don t know where he comes from. 
 Just now he hails from Mexico, which must be a 
 mighty interesting country from what he says of it. 
 And by the way I ll want to talk with him a little 
 after dinner. You ll get on with Mrs. 0. all right, 
 won t you?" 
 
 "I don t know," said Anna with reserve. "It de 
 pends on what she s like." 
 
 "You see, I m off to Boston or I expect to be 
 to-morrow, and O Beirne may be gone by the time 
 I m back. He doesn t know how long he ll have to 
 stay here." 
 
 "Oh," said Anna, indifferently. "Well, I hope we 
 shall have something decent to eat to-night." 
 
 "We ll try to for a change. Lord, I hope I ll 
 never see one of those table-d h6te birds again!" 
 
 166 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "No, let s have some real birds to-night. And 
 some champagne ?" 
 
 "Well, champagne well, yes, if you want it. But 
 just wait till I get back from Boston and you shall 
 
 have all you want. Anna " he finished tying his 
 
 white necktie carefully, and turned with a flash of 
 his blue eyes "Purcell has finally agreed to go in 
 with us." 
 
 Anna thought she had heard something like this 
 before. 
 
 "Has he?" 
 
 "Yes, he s agreed to it. He was to be here to-day 
 and sign the papers, but I had a letter from him say 
 ing he was ill down at his country place somewhere 
 near Boston, and that if he wasn t able to come on 
 in a day or so, he d telegraph me to come there. Con 
 found the old rascal! He might as well have made 
 up his mind to it a month or more ago, and saved 
 me all this time. But it s over now it s done now, 
 thank heaven!" 
 
 Dan stretched out his arms with a long sigh and 
 let them fall, looking abstractedly over Anna s head. 
 She looked up at him with quickening though still 
 dubious interest. It struck her again how he had 
 grown visibly older in a few months. His hair was 
 streaked with gray at the temples. There was a 
 deep fold between his eyebrows, especially marked 
 when, as now, he wore his intent, slightly frowning, 
 look ; there was a network of fine lines about his eyes, 
 and the eyeballs often had a curious seared look. As 
 a matter of fact, these signs of strain were due partly 
 at least to the constant glare of sun on snow at Mai- 
 lory; but they added ten years to his apparent age. 
 
 167 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Anna, however, thought him still very handsome, 
 especially in evening dress. And he looked more 
 important. His face was more resolute than ever 
 the mouth now rather grim. 
 
 It softened, though, as he became conscious of her 
 again. He bent down to kiss her. 
 
 "I m glad of it for your sake more than anything," 
 he said. "Of course, I knew it was bound to come 
 but the waiting s hard. It takes people here so long, 
 to see a thing. They sit on their money-bags as if 
 you were trying to steal something, confound them! 
 But now but now we can go ahead." 
 
 "What can we do now?" Anna asked vaguely. 
 
 "Why, we can go on and build the smelter. Pur- 
 cell has made up his mind to put in a good deal of 
 money. Not as much as I wanted, but a good deal. 
 And the next thing is the railroad! We ll go back 
 out there as soon as I close this up." 
 
 Anna rose. 
 
 "Well, I hope it is over," she sighed. "And the 
 next time we come to New York I hope it will be in 
 the winter, and that we ll be able to see things and 
 do something." 
 
 "Of course we will," Dan assured her fondly. 
 "Next winter." 
 
 She brushed a fleck of dust from his shoulder and 
 looked him over approvingly. 
 
 "I don t see how you keep so well dressed," she 
 pondered. "Your clothes are older than mine and 
 yet you always look well/ 
 
 "And don t you?" He slipped his arm round her 
 and smiled at her in the mirror. 
 
 "Oh ; no, I am way out of style. But anyhow" 
 168 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 she laughed rather sharply "we don t look like peo 
 ple who have just pawned their watches to pay their 
 board-bill, do we?" 
 
 Dan s face clouded. 
 
 "Why do you say that? I guess we ll pay our bills 
 all right." 
 
 A knock sounded at the door the bell-boy with a 
 card. 
 
 169 
 
II. 
 
 HPHE O Beirnes struck Anna at first glance as Dan s 
 -*- sort of people. The Colonel was a big man with 
 an unruly waist-line, or rather none at all ; somewhat 
 bald, with a long dark mustache, and small greenish 
 blue eyes. He was in evening dress, but wore a very 
 low-cut collar, leaving his stout neck quite free, and 
 a ready-made tie; obviously a man s man and a man 
 of business; with also a sporting flavor which Anna 
 instantly detected and disliked. He had a frank, 
 perfectly easy, good-humored way; as remote from 
 the rustic as it was from Anna s idea of the manner 
 of good society. His wife had much the same way, a 
 little more brusque perhaps; and Anna thought her 
 masculine. She was short, with a robust muscular 
 figure; curly black hair flecked with grey, very fine 
 dark eyes and a rather red face. Her dress was 
 severely plain a dust-colored mannish suit, well- 
 cut, and a black straw turban. Anna at once felt 
 overdressed and uncomfortable; and was in conse 
 quence inclined to be a little more majestic than 
 usual. But she determined to be gracious and to 
 enjoy the evening, if possible; and accordingly the 
 first stiffness of her manner soon relaxed. Her sur 
 roundings helped her not a little to keep that resolu 
 tion. She was glad to be once more in the big dining- 
 room, kept tolerably cool, whose marble pillars and 
 gilding she liked; with its shaded lights and flowers 
 
 170 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 on the tables, the music, the pompous waiters, and 
 the well-dressed people, of whom there were always 
 some to look at. The O Beirnes also were interested 
 in the room. 
 
 "They were just finishing up this thing last time I 
 was in town/ remarked the Colonel. "It s pretty 
 gay, hey, Flora? I wouldn t dare eat breakfast here. 
 No, give me the old place over on Broadway. No 
 frills there to make a pair of tramps like us feel hum 
 ble. Just food and drink and that s about all 
 we re used to. You can get those even down in 
 Mexico; but as for onyx pillars with gold trim 
 mings " 
 
 "It s true our house has wooden posts/ Mrs. 
 O Beirne put in briskly, "but hasn t Michael there 
 promised me solid silver furniture when he gets the 
 water pumped out of his silver-mine over in Sonora?" 
 
 She laughed quite loudly, and tossed off her cock 
 tail just as the men did theirs. Anna, loathing the 
 mixture, let hers severely alone. 
 
 "Tell me about the silver-mine," she said, no other 
 subject presenting itself at the moment. 
 
 "Lucky for you that you asked me that instead of 
 the Colonel for I can tell you in two words, while 
 he would talk you to death about it, if he got a chance. 
 It s his latest, and he s chock-full of it, up to the brim. 
 Ask your husband he s heard." 
 
 "I have, and I want to hear more," said Dan, or 
 dering the dinner with an occasional reference to the 
 Colonel. 
 
 "There, you see," said that warrior equably. "(A 
 good steak for me, Devin, there s nothing better, and 
 Flora s the same.) I defy any man not to want to 
 
 171 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 hear more of that mine. But as to ladies I can t 
 speak; maybe Mrs. Devin won t be interested." 
 
 "She will," said Flora, "for I ll wager her husband s 
 packing his trunk now in his mind to go down 
 there. Ah, Michael, you ve the tongue ain t I ready 
 to go with you myself any minute?" 
 
 "Of course you are. I can t get rid of you, I know 
 that well enough," said the Colonel cheerfully. "Yes, 
 whiskey Scotch and seltzer." 
 
 "I suppose Mrs. O Beirne will have some cham 
 pagne? Ladies prefer that, I believe " 
 
 "Champagne, no," said the Colonel s lady. "A 
 little good whiskey for me if you please Scotch and 
 seltzer, same as Michael. You see, we re both rene 
 gades, taking to Scotch; but I tell him he s the worst, 
 for he s not only Irish, but born in Kentucky to boot." 
 
 Whiskey! Anna had never seen a woman drink 
 whiskey. With her half-pint of Veuve Clicquot she 
 inwardly marked the chasm of taste between Mrs. 
 O Beirne and herself. No, decidedly she should not 
 get on with her. 
 
 "Never mind where I was born," interposed the 
 Colonel. "I can t be President, anyhow, because I m 
 a Colombian citizen, so they tell me. There s a 
 puzzle for you, Devin but we ll get to that after 
 ward. Go on, Flora, tell your story." 
 
 "My story! I disown it. It s far too grand for 
 me. I don t even believe it it s far too good a story 
 to be true. Well, Mrs. Devin, the tale goes that when 
 the bloody Spaniards held Mexico as a province 
 the Jesuits and though I m a Catholic, a bad 
 one, I don t uphold them got from some of their 
 Aztec converts the secret of some wonderful silver- 
 
 172 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 mines in the northern mountains of Sonora. The 
 man that told us the story he was a patriot and 
 fought with Juarez and was bitter against the Church 
 said that the Jesuits put out of the way the Indians 
 that guided them to the mines, so that only they 
 had the secret. There was a legend that prevented 
 the Indians themselves from working the mines. The 
 former owners had offended one of the Mexican gods, 
 and consequently died of the plague; and there was 
 a prophecy that whoever should have anything to do 
 with the mines afterward would die a violent death. 
 Well, the Jesuits worked the mines till 1820, when 
 they were driven out and a lot of them massacred by 
 the Apaches, the pest of that country. And the 
 Indians held the country, though they didn t do any 
 thing with the mines, until Maximilian put his soldiers 
 in there. Maximilian sent some Austrian engineers, 
 who reported that the mines were enormously rich 
 but badly wanted pumping out; and they were work 
 ing to get the machinery in when Maximilian was 
 taken and shot at Queretaro. Immediately the 
 Apaches rose again and killed the Austrians, smashed 
 the machinery and filled the openings of the mines 
 up with rocks. And so they stayed till recently. 
 Now that Mexico is getting civilized, you see, the 
 Indians have been cleared out for good ; and Colonel 
 O Beirne sees his chance. The mines belong to who 
 ever discovers them now, and he s got a copy of the 
 old map made by Maximilian s engineers. There s 
 nothing in the world he loves better than an adventure 
 like that a million in the bush, with maybe a bit 
 of fighting to get it. Isn t that right, Michael?" 
 "Right except the fighting, Flora," said the Colonel 
 173 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 gravely. "I m a man of peace. But if I could get 
 away I d go straight into those mountains all the 
 same. Would you go along, Devin?" 
 
 "Wouldn t mind it at all," Dan said promptly. 
 "Perhaps I ll take a vacation in the spring and come 
 down and look you up." 
 
 "Do." "Yes, do that!" the Colonel and his 
 wife responded in one breath. "Come and stay all 
 summer. And bring Mrs. Devin, too, of course. It 
 isn t half a bad country where we are." 
 
 "I hope you ll see the necessity of coming, too," 
 Mrs. O Beirne turned to Anna. "I don t know wheth 
 er you ve the same rule that I have, but I think 
 it would be useful to you : I never let Michael go any 
 where alone. I made up my mind when I married 
 him to be an Arab or a what-d ye-call- em, those 
 people that live in tents a Nomad, that s it, a 
 Nomad, and I said to him: Whithersoever you go, 
 I ll go also, tent or no tent, whether it s to Kam- 
 tchatka or Peru and don t hope to get rid of me. 
 That s twenty-five years ago, and if I m not an old 
 campaigner by this time, it s not Michael s fault 
 nor mine, either, for I ve stuck to my word. I ve 
 been in every yellow-fever country in the world with 
 him somehow it s that kind he likes and I suppose 
 I ve kept him out of more scrapes than he s got into, 
 and that s saying a good deal. You see when it 
 comes to a tight squeeze of any kind, Michael, if he 
 had only himself to think about, would just go ahead. 
 But now he has to think: There s Flora: how about 
 the old lady? Isn t this a bit stiff for her? If he 
 decides it is he doesn t go in; and in that case, you 
 may depend on it, he is better out. I m not a hot- 
 
 174 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 house plant. Our last siege of yellow-fever down in 
 Ecuador showed that. Neither of us got it, of course 
 we knew how to take care of ourselves, or rather 
 I knew how to take care of myself and Michael but 
 people died round us like flies, our consul among 
 others; and we were still there, and the yellow-fever, 
 too, when the new consul arrived with his family 
 and he turned tail and went back to the States as fast 
 as he could make it, and resigned. It wasn t an ex 
 perience I d like to have often. Take my advice, 
 Mrs. Devin, and keep your husband on this continent 
 if possible." 
 
 "He hasn t shown any signs of wanting to leave it," 
 said Anna, smiling mechanically and a good deal 
 bored by this loquacity. Both the O Beirnes seemed 
 to be unlimited talkers, she thought; the Colonel was 
 holding forth to Dan about Mexico. 
 
 "Ah, you never can tell," Mrs. O Beirne shook her 
 head wisely. "With men like them and I wouldn t 
 give much for the other kind you never know where 
 you are or at least how long you re going to stay there. 
 Listen to that now. To hear Michael talk about 
 the Sonora Land Company, you d think he hadn t 
 another idea in his head. If he gets onto the silver- 
 mines it s the same. Ten to one, he ll drop the Land 
 Company and be off to the mines before many weeks 
 and then, next you hear of us, we ll be growing 
 opium in China, very likely." 
 
 "And you think they re alike my husband and 
 yours? Why?" Anna was faintly, rather patron 
 izingly, amused. 
 
 "Oh, they re alike. I can tell from the little I ve 
 seen of your husband that he s the adventurous 
 
 175 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 sort, too. Only he s young, and Michael s getting 
 old. Michael can t grind away at a hard job as he 
 could when he was thirty; he can t stay so long in 
 one place. And then he s had bad luck and there s 
 a lot in that, my dear. If you haven t luck, you may 
 plan and work all you like, and at the end perhaps 
 not have a house over your head. Look at Michael s 
 Venezuelan Iron Company, for instance. He had a 
 big concession along the bank of the Orinoco River, 
 and had just put in a pile of money and was begin 
 ning to get some out. We d have been millionnaires in 
 a year or so. Along came one of their revolutions. 
 The rebels got in and cancelled Michael s concession, 
 and got his improvements for nothing. We lost 
 everything. Again in Colombia. Michael had big 
 grants of land and a subsidy promised for his rail 
 way, and was up here organizing his company and 
 getting money to build it, when before you could say 
 Jack Robinson! the Colombian government decided 
 to build itself, along a route parallel to ours. There 
 
 you are! And then at San Paolo " Mrs. 
 
 O Beirne checked herself. "How I chatter! What 
 do you care about all this ! I was only trying to show 
 you what was it now? oh yes, that you must have 
 luck on your side. Michael s clever enough, nobody 
 more so and yet somehow he does the work and 
 somebody else gets the benefit. Ah, well!" she 
 sighed; and added philosophically, "We get our fun 
 out of it." 
 
 Here she turned and interposing between Dan and 
 the Colonel s eloquence, proceeded to give what she 
 called "a sober idea" of the Mexican prospect. "Mr. 
 Devin isn t going to invest anyhow, you know, 
 
 176 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Michael/ she observed, "so why shouldn t I give 
 him my side of it?" 
 
 "Do, and then let him come and see for himself," 
 said the Colonel easily. "He ll find the reality a lot 
 better than your idea of it. Women are a good deal 
 like cats, anyhow, even the best of them," he added. 
 "They ve got to have a soft warm corner and a 
 saucer of cream handy. Comfort that s the main 
 thing with them. Even Flora here, for all she talks 
 about campaigning; she hates to rough it. That s 
 their limitation, eh, Devin?" 
 
 Anna found herself free to study some people at 
 the next table, whose entrance had attracted her at 
 tention a few minutes before. It was a party of two 
 men and two women; all young, evidently on terms 1 
 of gay intimacy, and belonging, from their appear 
 ance, to the world that alone interested Anna. 
 
 Of the two men, one sat with his back to their table, 
 and the other was half concealed from her view by the 
 taller head and shoulders of the first; but now and 
 then when he leaned forward she got a general im 
 pression of well-groomed blondness and a jolly smile. 
 The first man was darker and had a slow, almost 
 drawling voice. The woman opposite him was tall, 
 handsome, red-haired, talking more than anyone else, 
 and looking delightfully cool in a dress of light pongee 
 and lace and a white flowery hat. But it was the 
 other woman who finally absorbed Anna s attention." 
 She sat in profile, a few feet away, and her whole 
 figure, from the light hat which curved gracefully 
 above her brows, its flowers and stems falling over 
 the knot of dark hair at the nape of her neck, to the 
 hem of her long skirt trailing round the side of her 
 
 177 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 chair, was charmingly visible. A most attractive 
 figure it was harmonious and exquisite to the least 
 detail. 
 
 She was a study in browns as obviously and suc 
 cessfully a study as a portrait of herself by a master 
 would have been. Her dress, also of pongee, was the 
 palest brown, her hat the same tint wreathed with 
 small water-lilies, white and faintly pink, with long, 
 shining green stems. Her hair was brown ; her cheeks 
 and hands browned by the sun. She was tall and 
 slender; sat a good deal bending over the table, 
 sometimes with her elbows on it; and then the line 
 of her head and back made one long continuous beau 
 tiful line. She seemed to have no small curves, no 
 broken lines; almost she seemed not to have a bone 
 in her body, so lithe was she, so soft and straight and 
 easy in motion. At least it was plain there was no 
 artificial boning. Anna speculated and gazed wide- 
 eyed, wondering how a woman who might be said to 
 have no figure at all could wear her clothes in so fasci 
 nating a manner. Her small face was not beautiful 
 exactly, though she had fine eyes. But the profile, 
 the line of the cheek, chin, throat, and bosom, was 
 lovely. 
 
 She was cool as a water-lily in the shade; she was 
 like that flower, placidly swaying on a strong, flexible 
 stem. There was a definite look of the open air about 
 her. She might be athletic; certainly she was just 
 up from the country. There was a suggestion of in 
 formality about her dress, like that of the other 
 woman. At this season they were not of the city 
 they heeded it not. Some whim perhaps had brought 
 them into it for a few hours, but for them it was 
 
 178 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 empty a desert where only a million or so of peo 
 ple stayed who couldn t help themselves and who 
 didn t matter. 
 
 Anna was wistful and bitter. How jolly they were! 
 The red-haired woman seemed to be doing the talk 
 ing, in a low, gurgling voice that made it difficult to 
 hear what she was saying and Anna listened frankly. 
 The others laughed almost constantly. So busy were 
 Anna s eyes and ears with them, that her own guests 
 were patently neglected. Finally Mrs. O Beirne, 
 with her shrewd twinkling glance, cried: "What is 
 it that interests you so much? You re lost to the 
 world!" And she turned sharply round in her chair 
 to look. 
 
 What bad manners! Anna thought, irritated; when, 
 rather to her amazement, the dark-haired man whose 
 back she had been observing turned round and looked 
 at them. The lady of the water-lilies looked, too 
 she had large inquisitive greenish-brown eyes, and 
 on her bosom hung a glistening jewel with watery 
 green and pink lights and the other two glanced 
 up. And to Anna s surprise the dark-haired man 
 nodded to Dan, who acknowledged the recognition 
 with equal carelessness. Conversation at both tables 
 ceased for an instant, and then was resumed in lower 
 tones. 
 
 Anna flushed. Dan knew those people, or one of 
 them at least! And they were now discussing her 
 party, she was sure of it. The dark-haired man 
 murmured something in his lazy voice. She burned 
 and palpitated. If only they had not had the 
 O Beirnes with them horrid people! And Mrs. 
 O Beirne thought her husband and Dan were alike! 
 
 179 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 At least they didn t look alike, Anna reflected con 
 temptuously. 
 
 " Young Purcell," Dan said across the table to her, 
 taking no special pains to whisper the information. 
 He nodded toward the other table, and Anna nodded 
 slightly to him. She did not want to discuss young 
 Purcell now, but meant to find out about him after 
 ward. Her thoughts circled vaguely about him and 
 about the water-lily lady for the rest of the dinner. 
 If young Purcell s father were really interested with 
 Dan hi a business way, she might meet him the 
 son. And she would like to meet him and perhaps 
 the others, some day. 
 
 She did meet young Purcell within an hour af 
 terward. Her party finished dinner first though 
 Anna, totally uninterested in the eternal talk about 
 Sonora and the reasons why Colonel O Beirne 
 didn t know whether he was a citizen of Colombia 
 or the United States, thought they would never 
 finish and she followed Mrs. O Beirne out of the 
 dining-room, feeling the eyes of young Purcell and 
 his friends upon her, and very stately in her self-con 
 sciousness. They sat in one of the big, almost empty 
 rooms. Dan and Colonel O Beirne were talking and 
 smoking a little apart, while Anna was trying to 
 answer Flora s questions about California, when he 
 young Purcell came up and spoke to Dan. Anna 
 had her first chance to see what he was like. He did 
 not look young at all, she decided older than Dan 
 if anything. He looked more tired than anything 
 else; his tall figure was rather sprawling and ungrace 
 ful as he leaned both hands on the back of a chair and 
 humped his shoulders. A lock of hair hung a little 
 
 180 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 down on his forehead; his tie had slipped a bit out 
 of place. He smiled in a bored way, and shook hands 
 languidly with Colonel O Beirne all three were 
 standing now and then he looked toward her, 
 toward Anna. Dan turned, too; he was bringing 
 him over. Anna felt herself blushing again a de 
 tested trick of hers. But she greeted him calmly 
 enough, introduced him to Mrs. O Beirne, and asked 
 him to sit down. He slid into the indicated chair, 
 and declined the cigar that Dan offered him with a 
 careless upward glance and smile. "No thanks, I 
 must be going in a minute my sister and some other 
 people " 
 
 His minute stretched to nearly ten. They talked 
 about the weather and the city. Mrs. O Beirne gave 
 in her opinion of both, and Anna hated her for it. 
 She discovered that he had gray eyes and a friendly 
 smile; also, that in some way she, rather fluttered, 
 could not tell just how he was interested in her. 
 When he got up to go his leisurely, loose-jointed 
 motions were really awkward he asked, "Are you 
 going to be here long, Mrs. Devin?" 
 
 Anna, uncertain of her interpretation, said only, 
 "I don t know perhaps only a few days." 
 
 "I hope I may see you again?" 
 
 "I hope so/ she murmured, giving him her hand. 
 
 "What long legs that young man has!" observed 
 Flora O Beirne. "He s terribly homely, isn t he? 
 He moves like he was tied together with twine, and 
 was afraid it would break." 
 
 Anna declined to smile at this sally. She watched 
 Dan and Pur cell walking together across the floor. 
 And for the first time she felt a little dissatisfied with 
 
 181 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Dan s appearance. It suddenly struck her that he 
 was too trig, too spruce, too dressed up rather. Her 
 perceptions were exceedingly keen for the sort of 
 thing that differentiated his general look from Pur- 
 cell s. She had an immediate conviction that it was 
 far better to look not dressed up when you wore even 
 ing clothes. Even a tie slipping out of place had its 
 merits, looked at in this light. 
 
 Dan came back with a suggestion. 
 
 "Suppose we go up to the roof-garden? There 
 may be a breath of air up there." 
 
 Anna wondered if the suggestion came from Pur- 
 cell, and hoped they should see his party there; but 
 she was disappointed. 
 
 There were only a few people on the roof and no 
 one that interested her. The place itself was not in 
 teresting, either simply some tables set under arches 
 of evergreen, with potted palms about, and red and 
 blue electric lights in the greenery. It was rather 
 tawdry, and much less feeble efforts at decoration 
 must have faded into utter insignificance, placed as 
 they were between two great spectacles: the sky, 
 where a thunder-storm was gathering, and the sea 
 of roofs veiled in smoke which swirled in huge strange 
 shapes, made visible by a myriad earthly lights. 
 
 The sullen canopy which had hidden the sky was 
 broken up now into definite cloud forms; gray and 
 black, towering and ragged; and a full moon lit now 
 their fringes, now their summits, and now was hidden 
 by some denser mass and only illuminated the gulfs 
 of air about its edges. All was motion; below the air 
 was stirring, and in that upper plane the clouds rose 
 and sank, melted and formed again, in flying squad- 
 
 182 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 rons. And now lightning began to play in them, and 
 the first distant roll of thunder was heard. 
 
 And still nearer the earth, clouds of black and gray 
 smoke, eddying and drifting through the glare of elec 
 tric lights, echoed the drama of the upper air. But 
 below all this action, which grew momently more con 
 fused and wilder, the eye found an immense solidity. 
 Stretching away out of the reach of vision in every 
 direction, with an impression of regularity in all its 
 unevenness of elevation, dark or lit within by an in 
 finity of little sparks, one huge, bare rectangular 
 mass inexorably succeeding another, the tremendous 
 City presented itself, overwhelming, crushing, in its 
 expression of man s labor and achievement. 
 
 The Devins and their guests stood at the parapet 
 for a few moments looking down, and they were all 
 silent. Flora was the first to speak. 
 
 "It makes you feel like a bird on the wing, doesn t 
 it?" she said, with a little shiver. 
 
 "It makes you feel that you would like to be a win 
 ner," said the Colonel meditatively. 
 
 Dan nodded. 
 
 "It looks like a hard proposition to buck up 
 against," he said. "But people do break in." 
 
 "It makes you wish you belonged in it, and didn t 
 have to break in," Anna said, half to herself. 
 
 And her thoughts went back to Purcell. He looked 
 as though he belonged in it; as though he had never 
 had to break into anything. . . . 
 
 It was true. His road had been prepared, smoothed 
 by the work of those who had gone before. He was 
 not one of the laborious atoms whose lives had gone 
 into the building of those reefs of stone. The freedom 
 
 183 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 of the city was his. Its material solidity was what 
 he rested on. It gave him ease, a calm and lordly air 
 of permanence. 
 
 A personality so sure of itself as his makes its mark 
 anywhere. It appealed strongly to Anna s love of 
 obvious superiority to circumstance, and to her in 
 stinct of conservatism. What imagination she had 
 played about the material goods of life and made it 
 seem to her a necessity to get them, a virtue to keep 
 them, and the main thing to be able to make the most 
 of them, in order to get something else perhaps 
 the sort of personal distinction that young Purcell 
 had. 
 
 She wished to see more of him. And she pondered 
 over her brief talk with him, and especially his part 
 ing words. 
 
 Had he meant that he would come to see her? 
 
 184 
 
III. 
 
 "VTOT only was this what he meant, but he came 
 ^ the next afternoon. 
 
 Dan had already started for Boston, in response to 
 a telegram from the elder Purcell. He had given Anna 
 money enough for several days, telling her that he 
 might be gone that long, and that as soon as Purcell 
 had given his check in payment for the stock he should 
 telegraph to Grand to send him a thousand dollars 
 on account. Then in two or three weeks they 
 Dan and Anna would get off for Wyoming. Dan 
 whistled buoyantly as he packed his suit-case. At 
 last at last! All the weariness of those months of 
 waiting and working; all those days of disappoint 
 ment, one upon another, when he had come back 
 nervously exhausted after vainly hurling himself, his 
 eloquence, his energy, against the intrenched, inert 
 might of capital in its stronghold; that long siege, 
 that battering of a rock harder than his copper at 
 Mallory: all was forgotten, put behind him, in the 
 instant of opening the telegram. He had won! 
 Anna stood by, folding his clothes, handing him 
 things, listening to his short, abrupt sentences, not 
 quite understanding, distrustful of his jubilance. 
 
 "But you won t be gone long? Not more than 
 two or three days? I cannot bear" a sob "to be 
 left here alone." 
 
 185 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "Now, now, of course not! I shall undoubtedly be 
 back by Monday or Tuesday. You know to-morrow s a 
 half-day, and then Sunday and I must shake up our 
 people in Boston oh, yes, Tuesday at latest. Cheer 
 up, little girl, we shall have some decent weather now 
 after this storm, and you ll feel better. I must run. 
 Write me every day, the office address. I shall be 
 down at Purcell s place to-night, but in Boston to 
 morrow." 
 
 A quick embrace, and he was gone; taking a cab to 
 the station, for it was raining heavily. 
 
 The hot wave had broken up in a wild driving east 
 erly storm the equinoctial. The even gray sky, like 
 a huge sponge suspended over the island, seemed to 
 have sucked up all the humidity that made life a bur 
 den, and to be sending it down again in fierce streams 
 cooled by the wind from the sea. The city shivered 
 luxuriously in its needle-bath after a week in steam. 
 
 Anna, by no means athletic enough to enjoy a direct 
 plunge into this elemental gambol, sat at a desk in the 
 reading-room, writing a letter to her mother, when a 
 bell-boy came through with the monotonous call, 
 
 "Devin Devin card for Devin " She had a 
 
 momentary fear, as she beckoned the boy, that the 
 caller might be Flora O Beirne, who had parted from 
 her the night before with the assurance that she meant 
 to come and see her; but the size and shape of the 
 card dispelled that idea. She had no notion, how 
 ever, till she had read the name, that Purcell could 
 really be calling on her; and if the boy had not said 
 "for Mrs. Devin/ she would have supposed Purcell 
 must be wanting to see Dan, who had met him sev 
 eral times, in connection with his father s affairs. 
 
 186 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Not many months ago Anna would easily have ac 
 counted for the haste of any man to see her. But 
 since she had measured her own attractions and abil 
 ities against those of women like that one with the 
 water-lilies, she had grown a little humble. True, 
 she still thought that she had at least the elements 
 of success, the raw material in abundance but she 
 recognized that it was raw. She had thought a great 
 deal about the water-lily lady since last night, going 
 over in her mind every recollected detail of the other s 
 appearance and manner, trying to imagine the process 
 by which these had been evolved, trying to account 
 for the effect they produced. In spite of that grace 
 ful creature s individual charm, it was as a type, a 
 representative, that she poignantly interested Anna. 
 Behind her was the whole world of power, of achieve 
 ment, of repose in possession that world which, in 
 different ways, both Anna Devin and her husband 
 felt to be set impassively against them, their aims, 
 their desires. 
 
 Purcell, too, was of this world. That the water- 
 lily lady was his sister Anna had instantly known 
 when last night he had spoken of her; there was just 
 enough resemblance to need this pointing out. Pur- 
 cell knew, doubtless, many women as charming and 
 as much of his world, who were not his sisters. What 
 then brought him here if he had not been really struck 
 by her, and she could not think he had been? Per 
 haps he thought her a freak from the West, something 
 outlandish, amusing! 
 
 She gathered up the sheets of her unfinished letter, 
 and, sending the boy back with a message to Purcell, 
 went up to her room to get an ink-stain off her finger, 
 
 187 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 and to make sure that her appearance was as good 
 as, under the circumstances, it could be. Self-in 
 spection gave her, as usual, more confidence. Af 
 ter all, it could not be denied that she was very 
 handsome, and that her height gave her a certain 
 command. And her brown silk dress, if not in the 
 latest mode, had its good points. 
 
 Her appearance certainly interested Purcell. He 
 liked big women, and admired solid fairness, placidity 
 that might even be stolid. But his visit had another 
 motive besides the impression that Anna had made 
 on him a motive which he admitted to himself 
 humorously. His sister, Margaret Vaughan energy 
 rather than humor was her strong point had put it 
 thus : 
 
 "Nick, can t we find out something about these 
 people? I don t doubt in the least that father will 
 lose a lot of money." 
 
 "Well, very likely he will. But he s old enough 
 to look out for himself, my dear," Nicholas had re 
 sponded indifferently. 
 
 "But don t you care whether he is swindled or not?" 
 protested Margaret. "You know you said that if 
 he went into business again at his time of life he prob 
 ably would be. . . ." 
 
 "Yes, he probably will be. But we can t help it. 
 If he wants to throw his money over the fence that s 
 his business. And you know nothing would make 
 him do it quicker than the suspicion that someone 
 was trying to interfere." 
 
 "Yes, that s true," sighed Margaret. "But it 
 would be rather amusing to find out about them, at 
 least. You know them a little, don t you?" 
 
 188 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "Oh, I ve met Devin. The light-haired girl is his 
 wife. They seem pretty crude." 
 
 "She is handsome. You might go and see her 
 and " 
 
 "And ask her about her husband s business? Why 
 don t you go, Madge? You re so much abler than 
 I " 
 
 "Well, I didn t mean exactly that. I think I will 
 go to see her when I get back from Marshbrook. It 
 will be interesting to see what I can find out." 
 
 Nicholas laughed. "I ll warn her that you re 
 coming," he said. "Indefatigable Madge! You 
 won t rest till you have the whole story of her life." 
 
 "It would be easy for you to get it," Margaret said. 
 "I wish people confided in me half as much as they 
 do in you." 
 
 "They would, probably, if you weren t so much 
 interested," said Nicholas idly. 
 
 In fact he was used to confidences, being more 
 disinterested, though certainly no less interested 
 than, for example, Margaret. It was that quality 
 of his interest in life a little detached, yet sym 
 pathetic, intelligent, and above all kindly that at 
 tached to him many very different people those who 
 could give him nothing except affection, as well as 
 those who enlarged his experience. Experience, as 
 expressed in personal relationships, was really what 
 he cared for in life. But his interest had an unusual 
 scope. It recognized the aesthetic value of externals, 
 it appreciated beauty in any form, whether of nature 
 or art; but it was deepest in the most elemental 
 things, in the simple, the universal emotions on which 
 life rests. 
 
 189 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Early ill-health had given him a philosophic turn, 
 had predisposed him to reflection rather than action, 
 and made him nervously more impressionable, more 
 leceptive. He was a man of practically no prejudices, 
 but of definite dislikes. And one of the things which 
 he disliked most was the attitude of caring for money, 
 actively seeking it or worrying about it. 
 
 He could see no compensating advantage in the 
 necessity of earning one s daily bread; to his imagi 
 nation, it was a more attractive mode of life to beg 
 it, or even to steal it. He himself had always had 
 rather more than enough; but he was convinced 
 that it would be infinitely easier to reduce his needs 
 to the vanishing point than to try to increase his 
 means. This, however, was but theory, and it was 
 not likely ever to be proven whether he could give 
 up the present conditions of his life independence, 
 freedom, and ease. His few thousands a year in 
 rents, left him by his mother, were safe, unless a tidal 
 wave, or an earthquake, or her own mass, should 
 sink New York in the ocean. And for himself Nicho 
 las wanted nothing more. 
 
 The prospect of his father s millions was by no 
 means so sure, and Nicholas was rather disposed to 
 exaggerate its unsureness. His pride in any case 
 would have refused to take explicit account of that 
 prospect; and he found a certain relief in dismissing 
 it altogether, in putting before Margaret the strong 
 probability that their father would either in his 
 crabbed old age dissipate the fortune he had painfully 
 amassed; or would leave it to charity, or perhaps 
 even marry again. 
 
 Margaret Vaughan rebelled strongly against this 
 190 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 view of it. To her their inheritance was an actual 
 possession, and it was theirs by right. She consid 
 ered that her father had no right to deprive them of 
 it, and that, since his judgment was very likely now 
 impaired by age, it was their business to prevent him 
 from doing a wrong. Margaret cared frankly for 
 money, and wanted a great deal more than she had ; 
 she was now maintaining an expensive establishment 
 and a second husband who had a love for sport. 
 From her first husband she had been divorced, after 
 four years of married life, and had married the sec 
 ond a month afterward. Her present object in life 
 was the happiness of George Vaughan, and George 
 was rather extravagant. 
 
 Nicholas was very fond of his sister. The unhap- 
 piness of her first marriage had been a source of mel 
 ancholy to him as poignant as his father s disappoint 
 ment in them both. Now that Madge, poor girl, 
 was getting some enjoyment out of life, Nicholas 
 was correspondingly relieved. He would have done 
 a good deal for Madge that he wouldn t do for himself. 
 
 And since the event that he had often predicted to 
 her now seemed in a fair way of coming to pass, Nicho 
 las could not but be interested, on her account and 
 his father s, if not his own. Josiah Purcell was about 
 to invest a good deal of money Nicholas did not 
 know exactly how much in a scheme which might 
 be fraudulent and would doubtless be a failure. He 
 was investing practically on the word of Daniel 
 Devin, whose eagerness, eloquence and absorption 
 in his business were all rather against him, with 
 Nicholas. Nicholas, on the two or three occasions 
 when they had met, had thought him rather too talk- 
 
 191 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 ative, too plausible, too enthusiastic. He did not 
 readily see how a man could put so much tempera 
 ment into a matter of dollars and cents unless he 
 were presenting a proposition that needed gilding. 
 To be sure, Devin had been talking to his father, not 
 to him, and allowance must be made for the fact that 
 Nicholas was bored. Yet he confessed to a definite 
 impression made by Devin; and now to one, equally 
 definite and less doubtful, of Mrs. Devin. She was 
 extremely handsome, there could be no doubt of 
 that. And she was young, and in some way unhappy. 
 That was enough to a man interested in women. Al 
 together Nicholas felt he had reason to stay over an 
 other day in town, though he had intended to go back 
 to Lenox with Bella Buccleugh and her husband. 
 
 It was with a charitable eye, though one not wholly 
 single to her personality, that Nicholas studied Anna. 
 He thought it very likely she might be the wife of an 
 adventurer; very likely that her lack of ease, her air 
 of repression, might be due as much to a sense of a 
 false position as to her inexperience. For there was 
 nothing of the adventuress about her. With all her 
 stiffness and reserve she was somehow as simple and 
 forlorn as a lost child. 
 
 She confessed to him indeed that she felt rather 
 lost in New York that she found the city " terrible" ; 
 and, immediately alarmed at having shown feeling, 
 added: "I mean, it is so big and so much like a ma 
 chine. It s too big to stop. It keeps on grinding, 
 and you see people all the time being ground up in it 
 or so it seemed to me. I never saw so many miser 
 able people in my life as I ve seen this summer." 
 
 Purcell was sympathetic. He had never been 
 192 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 close enough to the ground himself to feel that jarring 
 of the machinery, that vague fear that one s self 
 might be caught and crushed in it but as to miser 
 able people, yes, he knew what she must have seen. 
 
 "Oh, the summer yes, it is terrible. All those 
 poor wretches swarming into the parks and streets 
 and not caring how uncomfortable they make us 
 by the sight of them!" Again Anna felt the kindli 
 ness of his smile, the personal glance that seemed to 
 appreciate in friendly fashion herself, her words, 
 looks, feelings. 
 
 "Yes, and this is the reason, I think, why New York 
 seems terrible to me that it seems like a place meant 
 only for rich people, that only the rich can enjoy 
 and yet almost all I have seen in it are poor." Anna 
 was pleased at having thought this out so definitely, 
 and went on, expanding a little: "I think it must be 
 the worst place in the world for poor people. Why, 
 where I come from they can breathe in comfort, at 
 least! They can live out-doors, without dropping 
 dead or fainting from the heat, as I ve seen people 
 do here. I wonder why they all stay here." 
 
 "They have to, I suppose they work here, or 
 they re dependent on those that do." 
 
 "Yes," said Anna, coloring a little and remember 
 ing her own summer. 
 
 "But it is over now, the sort of misery you ve seen," 
 Purcell went on quickly. "You ll see the city now 
 in a better mood waking up, beginning to live and 
 enjoy itself. That is, if you re to be here into Octo 
 ber I hope you are." 
 
 "I don t know probably not. It depends on Mr. 
 Devin s business." 
 
 193 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "You ll be glad of that, I suppose? Getting back 
 to your home, I mean." 
 
 "Oh I don t know," Anna looked blank. "You 
 see, we re not going back to California, and that s 
 all the place I know really." 
 
 "Oh, I thought " 
 
 "Mr. Devin s business is in Wyoming now. He is 
 interested in copper-mining there as I suppose you 
 know." 
 
 Purcell smiled amiably. "Yes, I d heard some 
 thing of it. I met Mr. Devin two or three times, in 
 my father s office, and they were talking business 
 but I can t lay claim to any very definite ideas on 
 the subject either of copper-mining or of Wyoming. 
 Is it a wild country?" 
 
 "Oh, I don t think so except the climate. I ve 
 never been there, you see." 
 
 "Oh, really!" Purcell was genuinely surprised, 
 and interested in straightening this out. Where 
 had she been, then, he wondered. She couldn t be 
 over twenty, and couldn t have been married long. 
 And he had an idea that Devin had been mining cop 
 per for years. 
 
 "No, Mr. Devin thought the winter too severe for 
 me. At Mallory, where he has been, the snow is fif 
 teen and twenty feet deep almost all the year. It 
 was just melted off when he left in June, and has al 
 ready begun again." 
 
 "That sounds rather Arctic." Purcell was not 
 going to try to pump Anna about her husband or his 
 business. It was the personal side of her marriage 
 that his questions concerned. "Shall you like going 
 into it?" 
 
 194 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "I don t know," she said again. "But we shall 
 not be at Mallory. That s on top of the mountain, 
 and in the valley there s a town, River City, where 
 we shall live, I suppose." 
 
 The prospect certainly roused no enthusiasm in her. 
 When her face was not animated, when her heavy 
 eyelids drooped, she looked melancholy. And she 
 was not the melancholy type. Her face, he thought, 
 was made to express content, well-being. Now there 
 was a touch of sullenness in its naive dissatisfaction. 
 
 Anna almost instantly became conscious of that 
 look, and controlled herself. Purcell s questions 
 had forced her to think of her immediate prospects, 
 and so to betray how little she liked them; and yet 
 she was glad he had put them, for after all, what else 
 could they have talked about? She did not feel 
 equal to asking questions about him. But she was 
 flattered by his apparent interest in her. 
 
 "River City, you know," she went on hurriedly, 
 "is where they re going to build the smelter." 
 
 "Oh, I suppose I know what a smelter is. But 
 tell me, what shall you do at River City?" 
 
 "Well, I can hardly tell till I get there." She 
 laughed at that, and he thought her very attractive. 
 "I shall have a house, I suppose. And a piano, 
 though I suppose no chance really to study there. 
 Naturally there wouldn t be any good teacher in a 
 little village like that. I shall have to go on by my 
 self." 
 
 Here was something positive, at last. He had 
 begun to think she was all negations. 
 
 "That s something you care a great deal for 
 music?" 
 
 195 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "Oh, yes!" Anna spoke with all her natural 
 energy and impulsiveness. "I was studying for the 
 concert stage when I was married. I had sung in 
 church choirs for two years. I had a good teacher 
 in Los Angeles, and she was very ambitious for me. 
 I am eager to go on. It has really been the worst 
 part of the summer here that I couldn t have a piano. 
 There wasn t room. And we were expecting to go 
 from day to day " 
 
 She checked herself, rather aghast. Why was she 
 telling such things to a man with whom she was talk 
 ing really for the first time? How, in spite of his 
 quiet, attentive face and observant manner, could 
 he care to hear them? He was probably bored. 
 
 But he was nothing of the sort. A woman to in 
 terest him need not be clever; she need only be genu 
 ine and frank, and she was sure to have something 
 to tell him. His intimacies, and all his friendships, 
 too, were intimate, had been mainly in the two strata 
 the top and the bottom where genuineness and 
 frankness are in demand and frequent. Anna he 
 judged to belong, by training at least, to the between, 
 the middle class; which is too much absorbed in the 
 struggle with material things to cultivate its emotions, 
 and too much bound by convention to confess them 
 freely. But he judged her also to be genuine, and 
 thought she would be frank, if she had not some out 
 side reason for trying to hold her tongue. 
 
 In spite of her stately figure and some signs of ex 
 perience in her face, she still had a certain child-like 
 quality. And she had the bloom and freshness of 
 a child. As she sat facing the window Purcell, on 
 the tufted window-seat, had his back to the gray pane 
 
 196 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 streaming with water, which blurred out the Avenue 
 from view he thought he had never seen a face 
 which needed less to be managed. She was one of 
 those women whose honest robust beauty is a con 
 stant quantity. Purcell much preferred that kind, 
 as opposed to the gaslight beauty, which is there in 
 a favoring light and air even bewilderingly, and gone 
 like a spell dissolved in the gray morning. And she 
 blushed, too, charmingly with a completeness and 
 helplessness that was appealing. 
 
 "I wish I could hear you sing," he said at random, 
 for he didn t wish it, music being one thing in which 
 he had no love for the amateur. "But at least there s 
 one thing that may bring you back to New York 
 some day. I suppose New York s the half-way sta 
 tion on the road to Europe, for the student, isn t it?" 
 
 "Oh, I think I should be satisfied with New York!" 
 said Anna fervently. "If I could have a whole win 
 ter here, to study with a really good teacher " 
 
 something like a gasp of longing gave her pause. 
 
 "Well, I suppose you will have it, since you evi 
 dently want it very much," Purcell said softly, and 
 not without an obscure intent that had a certain 
 malice, toward Devin, in it. "People are apt to get 
 what they determine to get, I think." 
 
 "Oh, do you think so?" She gazed at him intently, 
 rather sombrely. "I don t. People may determine 
 to do things and fail." She was thinking now of 
 Dan. 
 
 "Yes, they may. But if they have will enough 
 and strength enough to assert themselves and are 
 willing to make sacrifices I think success is pretty 
 sure." 
 
 197 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Anna looked absently over his shoulder at the win 
 dow and the torrent flung against it by the wind. 
 
 "Yes, if they make sacrifices/ she murmured. 
 "But supposing they sacrifice somebody beside them 
 selves " she looked a bitter question. 
 
 "The end may be worth it/ Purcell said medi 
 tatively. "I suppose each of us has to judge of 
 that, at one time or another. And then one can t 
 always be sure that what seems like sacrificing some 
 body else isn t the best thing for them for the 
 somebody else, I mean." 
 
 "No," said Anna, adapting this sophistry, "just as 
 you can t be sure that what seems the best thing for 
 somebody else isn t sacrificing them." 
 
 She was not trying to be clever she was be 
 ing autobiographic! Purcell said to himself as he 
 watched her downcast face. But again she made a 
 visible effort over herself. 
 
 "I watched your sister last night," she said. "At 
 least I suppose it was your sister the one with dark 
 hair. How beautiful she is!" 
 
 "Beautiful? She isn t thought so, generally 
 though she does make her impression, whatever you 
 name it." 
 
 "Oh, I call her beautiful. I was quite fascinated. 
 I stared at her all through dinner!" 
 
 "She was interested in you. She spoke last night 
 about wanting to meet you. Perhaps when she 
 comes through again " 
 
 "Oh, I should like it very much if we re here " 
 
 said Anna rather oppressed. 
 
 "She s gone down to Marshbrook to-day, to be with 
 my father," Purcell went on. "He s been a little bit 
 
 198 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 ill for a few days, and whenever he s that way he 
 wants one of us with him. He likes to have my sister 
 look after him at home, and to have me around when 
 he has any business that s the way I happened to 
 meet your husband. At other times, though, he 
 gladly dispenses with us. At his age, you know, peo 
 ple begin to want to be independent." 
 
 "Then I suppose Mr. Devin and your sister will 
 meet." Anna was struck by this. "For he has gone 
 down there to-day . Your father telegraphed for him . 
 
 Nicholas was struck too. 
 
 "Has he really? Then they will, no doubt." 
 
 "Yes, for Mr. Devin was to stay overnight there." 
 
 "Ah, I hope he ll be comfortable," said Purcell. 
 "My sister hates the place all marshes and midges. 
 Now and then she threatens to burn the old house 
 down it s been in the family for ages, and my father 
 was born there, so he clings to it and Madge says 
 he evidently intends she shall die there." 
 
 Then he rose with a fair show of reluctance. 
 
 "I ve got to go up to Lenox for a day or so, to look 
 after some guests of Madge s till she gels back," he 
 said. "But may I try and find you again after that?" 
 
 "I hope you will. But we may go at any time. I 
 suppose I shall know when Mr. Devin gets back Tues 
 day." She gave him her hand, and a regretful look. 
 
 "I hope you won t go. At least till I ve seen you 
 again." Nicholas meant that speech with a whim 
 sical completeness. He hoped that Devin would not 
 immediately get what he wanted to get from his 
 father, and so since his going evidently hinged on 
 that transaction that he would not be able to carry 
 off this handsome girl into the wilds of Wyoming. 
 
 199 
 
IV. 
 
 TP\AN reached Marshbrook and The Homestead in 
 ^T- time for a late dinner. A closed carriage met 
 him at the station, from which Mr. Purcell s place was 
 distant about half a mile. Dan could not make out 
 much of the village, through which he was driven rap 
 idly, except that it seemed to consist of a few stores 
 near the station and of a straggling line of low houses, 
 each in its fenced yard, on the side of the road which 
 curved round the shore of a little bay or cove. It was 
 still raining, though not like the deluge in which he had 
 left New York, but the wind was stronger. It rushed 
 in, fresh and salt, straight off the sea, and drove the 
 rain obliquely before it, blurring the carriage window 
 on that side, so that he could only guess at the out 
 lines of house, tree and shore. But he heard the 
 wash of little waves on a pebbly beach, and farther 
 off the roar of a long surf. Soon he had passed the 
 little beach, and then the swishing of reeds moved 
 by the wind above and the water below accompanied 
 him the rest of the way, except for one stretch, where 
 on a kind of low plateau a group of pine-trees grew. 
 The road ran beneath the pines, whose perpetual note 
 was deepened to an echo of the surf, then branched 
 off to the right, and followed the bank of an inlet 
 which was half marsh. At the end of this inlet stood 
 The Homestead, so named by Josiah Purcell s long- 
 dead wife. 
 
 200 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Its long, low, irregular front looked gloomy enough 
 to Dan, for the shutters of all the eastern windows 
 were closed against the storm. But once inside, the 
 impression was very different. The big square hall, 
 belonging to the main new part built on by Mrs. Pur- 
 cell, was in fact the most cheerful spot in the house, 
 at least when a fire burned, as now, in the enormous 
 fireplace at the back which held six-foot logs with 
 ease. The dark polished floor and wainscoting, and 
 surfaces of the high-backed seats on either side, as 
 well as the brass of the tall andirons and of the candle 
 sticks on the narrow shelf above the wainscoting, re 
 flected the blaze so as to fill the hall with a red glow, 
 dazzling to one entering from the dark. 
 
 A grave butler had opened the door, and a man in 
 livery was at the step, as the carriage drove up, to 
 take Dan s suit-case. In the hall Dan was relieved 
 of his hat and overcoat, and was led up immediately 
 to a bedroom on the second floor. 
 
 "Mrs. Vaughan told me to say, sir, that dinner will 
 be served as soon as you are ready/ the man mur 
 mured. 
 
 "All right I ll be down in a minute," Dan said. 
 
 He threw off his coat, and looking about the large, 
 low-ceiled room, saw that a curtained doorway led to 
 a dressing-room. It had not occurred to him to bring 
 his evening-clothes, nor did it now that they were 
 called for. When he emerged, he found that every 
 thing he had brought had been unpacked and neatly 
 disposed of, and that his coat had been brushed and 
 hung on a chair; and he was further relieved to find, 
 also, that his attendant had vanished. The quaint 
 old-fashioned air of the room struck Dan agreeably, 
 
 201 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 as he took it in while brushing his hair. The wood 
 work was all white. There was a huge four-poster 
 bed of mahogany carved all over, and the other fur 
 niture was in corresponding odd shapes. A fire 
 burned in a grate, and over the mantel-piece hung 
 three miniatures in oval black frames. This room 
 too was lit by candles, in old silver holders. Dan s 
 toilet consumed not more than ten minutes. Mechan 
 ically he felt for his watch, when he was dressed, and 
 was rather irritated in remembering the reason of its 
 absence. But the tall grandfather s clock in one cor 
 ner of the hall told him the time as he descended. It 
 was chiming eight. Dan had snatched a buffet meal 
 in Boston, but he was now perfectly ready for an 
 other. He was ready also to confront Mrs. Vaughan, 
 though he had no idea who she might be. And when 
 the lady, who was leaning against the back of one of 
 the settles and looking into the fire, came forward to 
 greet him, Dan had no recollection of having seen her 
 before. He had noticed her the night before at din 
 ner, but then she wore a hat and now she was without 
 one, and also she was not the type that impressed 
 Dan. He now thought her very pretty, however. 
 She wore a long white ruffled dress, cut square a little 
 below the throat, and with sleeves to the elbow. 
 About her throat was a black velvet ribbon with a 
 gold locket, and she had heavy gold bracelets on her 
 wrists. Her hair was massed low in a thick knot. 
 If Dan had been more learned, he might have thought 
 she had got herself up to match the house. As it was, 
 his eyes simply did homage to her as a charming 
 woman. And evidently she meant to be charming 
 to him. 
 
 202 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "I m so- sorry my father isn t able to welcome you 
 himself, and he is sorry/ she said, smiling at Dan 
 their eyes were on a level as she gave him her hand. 
 "But I ve persuaded him to stay in bed till to-mor 
 row, when we think he ll be all right. Probably, 
 though, he would have come down in spite of me, ex 
 cept that he is so hoarse he can t speak." 
 
 Her manner indicated that this illness might be 
 taken very lightly, and accordingly Dan only said, 
 "I m sorry. But you re quite right not to let him 
 get up." 
 
 "Then, if you ll resign yourself to dining alone with 
 me I should think you must want something after 
 your journey." 
 
 "I shan t mind it," Dan said with his frank 
 laugh. 
 
 The butler appeared at one of the four square door 
 ways opening into the hall and announced dinner, 
 and Dan and the lady walked side by side into an 
 other large square room, all dark polished wood and 
 dark tapestry. The inevitable fire glowed here un 
 der a chimney-piece reaching to the ceiling. Op 
 posite, a mahogany sideboard, towering up nearly as 
 high, was covered with silver pieces, each of which 
 reflected in miniature the whole room with the flame 
 at the heart of it. Cupboards and cabinets in the 
 obscurer corners sent out occasional gleams, and the 
 round table with its nasturtiums and yellow candle- 
 shades and its two places laid near, one another, 
 looked oddly isolated and intimate in the centre of 
 the broad floor. 
 
 "I saw you last night," Mrs. Vaughan began, as 
 they sat down. "We were at the next table at din- 
 
 203 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 ner, don t you remember? And we all fell in love 
 with your wife. She is beautiful, isn t she?" 
 
 "/ think she is," Dan admitted. "But she tells 
 me I m not much of a judge. She fell in love, as you 
 call it, with you too." 
 
 Then we ought certainly to meet some day," said 
 Mrs. Vaughan, laughing. (Honest man, she reflected, 
 he told his wife how much handsomer she is than I, 
 and she talked clothes to him.) "Are you going to 
 keep her in New York much longer?" 
 
 "I hope not, this time. I m very anxious to get 
 back to Wyoming. But she has made me promise 
 her a winter in New York as soon as we can manage 
 it. I hope it will be soon, on her account." 
 
 "She likes the East, then?" 
 
 "Well, she thinks she would like to live here event 
 ually. She wants to study music. She has a very 
 fine voice, and she thinks there are no facilities in the 
 West for cultivating it." 
 
 "Oh, she sings too! Well, she is right, I suppose, 
 about studying here. But tell me more about her. 
 Is she a type of the Wyoming women?" 
 
 "Wyoming? She never saw it, except from a car- 
 window. She s a Californian never was out of her 
 native State till this trip East." 
 
 "Oh, I didn t know you had lived in California." 
 
 She appeared wonderfully interested, Dan thought, 
 in his wife, himself, and his doings. Her large, clear, 
 greenish eyes were fastened on him inquisitively. She 
 leaned a little toward him, her head bent, in an at 
 titude of keen attention. In willing to express her 
 interest, she was overacting it a little, and Dan was 
 slightly puzzled. However, he responded; he could 
 
 204 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 not well help it; and prompted by her frequent ques 
 tions, he found himself telling her something about 
 California, and a good deal about Wyoming. Once 
 set going on the subject that occupied his mind, he 
 talked freely. He ceased to notice Mrs. Vaughan s 
 posing, and presently, as she was really struck by 
 what he was saying, she ceased to pose, sat upright 
 and quiet, and simply listened. The dinner was very 
 good and rather long; but Dan, always abstemious, 
 early ceased to think about what he was eating, and 
 his glass of claret, which he had half filled with water, 
 stood untouched until, with a large gesture intended 
 to indicate the sweep of country comprehended in 
 his project, he knocked it off on the floor. This ac 
 cident gave him only an instant s pause. Fortunately 
 Mrs. Vaughan s dress swept out its transparent white 
 frills on the other side of her chair, and so escaped; 
 and after assuring himself of this, Dan went on. 
 
 The mines and their prospects; the certainty that 
 they would pay when the smelter was built; the cer 
 tainty that the thing would be a bonanza if the rail 
 road was built : Dan had gone over this field so often, 
 had so often displayed its every detail to an auditor 
 lukewarm or cold, covertly or openly sceptical, that 
 now he could only be moved to do it again by either a 
 definite practical prospect, or by the quality of per 
 sonal sympathy which a feminine listener is more apt 
 to have. Margaret Vaughan was very good at pre 
 tending to be interested in people, and as a matter of 
 fact her casual interest was diffused over a remarkably 
 wide superficies; but she could not simulate sym 
 pathy, and she had it for very few people or things. 
 Dan somehow had managed to stir some real feeling 
 
 205 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 in her. He was a new type, and so mildly exciting; 
 but by the time he had begun to make a map of the 
 Grand River valley, so that she could understand just 
 why and where the railroad should go in, she was sure 
 she liked him. Margaret Vaughan herself had a sur 
 plus of energy which she was generally at a loss to in 
 vest; the love of action was deep in her; it was gen 
 erally activity of one sort or another that interested 
 her; and she mainly respected only accomplishment, 
 tangible success. Dan impressed her as the sort of 
 man who does things; and this daughter of a shrewd 
 and hardworking sire felt a sudden admiration for the 
 new man s virile strength and ardor. 
 
 Dan was quick to respond, and he talked as he had 
 never in his life talked to Anna, whose eyes indeed 
 had never dwelt on his with this comprehending, in 
 tense, intimate gaze of Mrs. Vaughan s. He had im 
 pounded her sherry, claret, and water glasses as well 
 as his own, and two small silver dishes containing 
 salt-nuts and candied fruit, to indicate the mountains 
 round River City. It took all the forks and spoons 
 remaining on the table to mark the course of the river 
 and of the stage-line from Ralston. And perceiving 
 Dan at a loss for some further object, Mrs. Vaughan 
 slid off one of her bracelets and handed it to him. 
 
 "That s a good omen," he said; "River City is 
 marked with gold! Now by rights, since the stage- 
 line is silver, I should have gold to mark the railroad. 
 But never mind, you must imagine it. It should run 
 parallel to this line, and when it gets into River City 
 gold and silver will be common there. And it s bound 
 to come. With a gold and copper country like that 
 waiting to be tapped, the Union Pacific will build it 
 
 206 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 themselves in the course of a few years, if we don t. 
 But we re going to." 
 
 He leaned back in his chair and looked at her tri 
 umphantly; and the butler, who had been hovering 
 near for twenty minutes, approached in another 
 attempt to place the salad plates. A glance from 
 Mrs. Vaughan stopped him. She did not want Dan s 
 map disturbed; the earnestness with which he re 
 garded it was interesting her much more than the rest 
 of the dinner. 
 
 "How you care about it all!" she exclaimed. "You 
 simply devote yourself to it, don t you?" 
 
 "Well, why shouldn t I? I expect to make my 
 fortune out of it, you know. And, besides, it s a good 
 enough thing to devote yourself to." 
 
 "And after you ve made your fortune, what then? 
 What shall you do with it?" 
 
 "Oh, as to spending it, you mean? I suppose my 
 wife will attend to that. That s the women s busi 
 ness, you know!" 
 
 "You mean it s all they can do, don t you? Well, 
 perhaps so. But surely you must have some idea of 
 spending, yourself. Isn t there something you want 
 a lot? A yacht a racing-stable a big establish 
 ment " 
 
 Dan shook his head. "None of those. I d want 
 to have some horses, but mainly to drive myself. I d 
 like a comfortable house good living. As for the 
 rest, it would be Anna s lookout." 
 
 "So you re really making it for her," said Mrs. 
 Vaughan meditatively. "She cares for a lot of 
 money?" 
 
 "Oh, ghe likes it. You all do, don t you? And 
 207 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 yes, I suppose I am making it for her. But that s not 
 saying that I m not pleasing myself, too." 
 
 "I see. But it s really the making of it that you 
 like." 
 
 "I guess it is mainly." 
 
 "Then when you ve made your fortune your pile, 
 they say out there, don t they? you ll just put it 
 into something bigger?" 
 
 "I shouldn t wonder if you re right. And I ll tell 
 you about something that may or may not be bigger, 
 but I d look into it right off if I were free it s rather 
 a long story. Would you like to hear it?" 
 
 "Indeed I should. And wouldn t you like to 
 smoke? I like a cigarette sometimes with salad." 
 
 The dinner proceeded. Dan did not care about 
 smoking; his cigarette went out and he laid it down 
 to eat his salad. But Mrs. Vaughan kept hers and 
 smoked that and another while he was telling her the 
 story of the lost silver-mines. Dan rambled a bit at 
 first. He had never before seen a lady smoke. He 
 had in fact a theory that no lady would smoke. He 
 was a good deal jarred and perhaps this showed how 
 kindly he had begun to feel toward her. She did 
 not attract him sensuously, and yet he liked her as a 
 woman. He felt that if he knew her better he should 
 request her, as gently as possible, not to mar thus the 
 feminine sweetness of her looks but that was now 
 out of the question. He collected his thoughts and 
 went on with the story, telling it concisely, briefly, 
 and leaving the picturesque outline to speak for 
 itself. 
 
 "That s one of the romances of money -making, 
 isn t it?" she said when he had done. "But do you 
 
 208 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 think there s anything practical in it? I mean, even 
 if the mines were found, could they be worked 
 now?" 
 
 "Why not? Only it would take a lot of money. 
 You see, the Indians, or some say the Austrians, when 
 they found they couldn t hold the mine, smashed the 
 machinery and it would have to be replaced. You 
 can t start any big thing, you see, without a good 
 push, and it s money that gives that. Here in the 
 East you ve got most of the money. Out West we ve 
 got most of the big things. It usually takes two 
 kinds of men to make a thing go one to discover it, 
 and do all the hard work, and one to put up the 
 money. Now which do you think deserves the big 
 gest share of the profits?" 
 
 "Why, I should think the discoverer," said Mrs. 
 V^aughan. 
 
 "Well, perhaps so. But he doesn t get it. The 
 capitalist gets the lion s share. Look at Columbus! 
 He discovered America, but the King of Spain that 
 is to say, the fellow who staked Columbus got the 
 country, didn t he?" 
 
 "I dare say he did." 
 
 With a laugh at this their dinner ended. They 
 went into the library, which was in the old part of the 
 house, and talked a little longer while Dan smoked 
 half a cigar. Then Mrs. Vaughan rose. 
 
 "It isn t ten yet, but you ve had a good bit of travel 
 ling to-day, and I m sure you re tired," she said. 
 "Now I ve something to suggest for the morning. 
 My father won t be ready for this business conference 
 before ten o clock, when I believe his lawyer gets 
 here, and he ll probably want to rest till then. So 
 
 209 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 supposing you come for a sail with me? I go out 
 every good morning when I m here it s the only 
 thing there is to do. And I rather think this storm 
 is going to blow over and give us a piping breeze. 
 Are you a good sailor?" 
 
 "I shouldn t wonder, though I never tried as the 
 man said when he was asked if he could play the 
 fiddle." 
 
 "Well, if you ve never tried ! It s apt to be 
 
 pretty rough. You mightn t like it." 
 
 "If you can stand it, I ought to be able to," said 
 Dan. "I m not going to be bluffed out that way, 
 anyhow." 
 
 "Very well, then eight o clock breakfast. You ll 
 be called at half after seven." 
 
 She walked back to the hall with him, gave him a 
 lighted candle, and said good-night to him at the foot 
 of the stairs. And following a few moments later, 
 she heard, as she passed his door, which was a little 
 open, a shout of laughter, instantly checked. She 
 wondered for a minute but never knew its cause the 
 sight of his bed, opened for him, with his pyjamas 
 neatly laid out on the foot. If this struck Dan as 
 rather an excessive refinement of hospitality, it was 
 only a momentarily comical aspect of what charac 
 terized the whole time of his stay. He was thoroughly 
 well taken care of, and instead of a business errand 
 was made to feel that he had come as a welcome guest. 
 Of course it was Mrs. Vaughan who gave the surpris 
 ing social aspect to his visit. That elaborate little 
 dinner tete-a-tete with a pretty woman, and the 
 early morning excursion nothing could have been 
 farther from Dan s expectation. But he felt the re- 
 
 210 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 lief that this little interval gave both to mind and 
 body he was grateful to her. After the sweltering 
 heat of the last few weeks, the noise of the city per 
 petually, insidiously wearing on his unaccustomed 
 nerves, the tedium of the railway journey; the cool 
 quiet of his room with even the sound of wind and 
 rain subdued for it was at the back of the house 
 made Dan sleep soundly till he was roused in the 
 morning. As Mrs. Vaughan predicted, the storm 
 had blown over. He looked from his windows on the 
 blue of a cloudless sky, reflected in innumerable little 
 pools of ultramarine among the yellowish green reeds; 
 on the darker surface of the inlet, crisped by the wind ; 
 the roofs of the village beyond over the pines and old 
 apple-trees; and a boat riding at the little pier a 
 stone s throw from him. 
 
 As for the sail, it was an experience. The boat 
 was rather large; with a man to manage the canvas 
 and Mrs. Vaughan at the tiller, Dan had plenty of 
 room to range about, if he so desired. With the tide 
 just turned and running their way they slipped easily 
 out into the bay and then had to tack out against the 
 wind. 
 
 "Do you want to go outside V the man asked. He 
 was not a servant, but a villager, and he addressed 
 Mrs. Vaughan with a little more brusqueness, perhaps, 
 than he would have used to his own womankind. He 
 was in fact one of the old residents of Marshbrook, 
 where to be an old resident means that your family 
 have lived there a hundred years. The residents of 
 Marshbrook had all known Josiah Purcell as a boy 
 and an equal, and he was still to them an equal and 
 "Josiah." The villagers were rather proud of Josiah, 
 
 211 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 but prouder still of their ability to address him by his 
 first name, to patronize his children and snub his 
 English servants. 
 
 "Of course/ said the lady briefly. In her rough 
 dark suit and white sweater, with her head bare, she 
 looked less pretty than on the night before; Dan 
 could see that she was a good deal freckled, and, with 
 her hair blown back from her forehead, she also looked 
 older. But her physical strength and vigor were 
 more in evidence; and the swaying of her lithe figure, 
 the ease with which she managed the tiller, and her 
 enjoyment of it all, were attractive enough. 
 
 "You ll get pretty wet," said the man. 
 
 "Never mind, skipper. I ve been wet before, 
 
 haven t I? If you don t mind a little spray " she 
 
 turned to Dan. 
 
 "Oh, no," he said, sitting tight on the upper side 
 of the boat. "Look out for your head!" roared the 
 skipper. Dan ducked into the bottom, while the 
 boom swung across and the boat turned round. They 
 were passing now between the two curving points of 
 land that enclosed the little bay, and already met the 
 swell of the sea. Some distance out a long strip of 
 rocky land extended about a mile parallel to the shore, 
 and intercepted the full force of the breakers. On 
 this dashed the surf which Dan had heard, and he saw 
 it now leaping high into the air in foam. But even 
 inside the breakwater the waves were crested with 
 white, and as the boat breasted them in her oblique 
 course she flung the spray backward in sheets. Dan, 
 wrapped in a mackintosh which had been disinterred 
 from the cabin, had his face and hair drenched, and 
 could taste the salt blown against his lips. 
 
 212 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "Can you swim?" shouted Mrs. Vaughan, smiling 
 mischievously. 
 
 "Not a stroke/ he returned, keeping a calm front, 
 though he could not help watching the boat s rail 
 awash and the green wall of water towering up be 
 yond. He was conscious of some inward qualms, but 
 also of enjoying the thing; and though they did ship 
 a good deal of water and though there were one or 
 two moments when even the skipper and the lady 
 seemed a bit tense, he was never really alarmed. Still 
 the keenest enjoyment came perhaps when it was over 
 and he could realize to the full how he had been ex 
 hilarated and refreshed. Mrs. Vaughan bade him 
 good-by when they returned to the house. Business 
 and a sort of sentiment were mingled in that farewell. 
 
 Tut me down for a hundred shares of your stock, 
 will you? I want to feel that I have a little part in 
 your success," she said, looking at him with the odd 
 mixture of manly frankness and feminine insinua 
 tion that characterized her. Margaret indeed was by 
 turns a good fellow and a simple expression of her sex. 
 In either aspect she was attractive, stimulating. Dan 
 thanked her warmly "for everything." 
 
 He went into the business interview, which took 
 place in the library, between Mr. Purcell, the lawyer, 
 Mr. Andett, and himself, with a greater vigor, energy 
 and mental clearness than he had known in months. 
 Josiah Purcell was a small man, made smaller by a 
 pronounced stoop of the shoulders, but wiry and 
 crabbed in look. His hair and short beard were 
 white, his complexion ruddy, his gray eyes quick and 
 full of temper. He was carefully dressed and cer 
 tainly did not suggest the invalid, though he was still 
 
 213 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 hoarse. Mr. Andett was an odd contrast an un 
 usually tall man, with a long, very gentle, melancholy 
 face, a subdued manner and voice, large, grave eyes. 
 
 All the preliminaries had been arranged at previous 
 meetings, and this one was simply to sign certain final 
 papers, copies of which both Dan and Mr. Andett had 
 brought. Josiah PurcelPs naive vanity was gratified 
 by bringing Dan from New York and Andett, a busy 
 man, from Boston, to suit his own convenience, and 
 by the feeling that both were to a certain extent de 
 pendent on his will. Andett he paid a large yearly 
 salary to look after his interests and conduct his in 
 cessant litigation. Daniel Devin he regarded as a 
 man who was to be made by his, PurcelPs, money. 
 True, he considered it certain that he, Purcell, was 
 going to make a good deal out of Daniel Devin s 
 scheme; but he preferred to lay the emphasis on what 
 Devin was about to receive from him. 
 
 His aspect this morning was slightly defiant. An 
 dett on general principles had advised him against the 
 new project; and he had taken this advice as some 
 thing of an affront to his own business acumen. The 
 attitude of his children toward his engaging in any 
 further business acted as a still stronger irritant and 
 spur. Ten years before, Josiah Purcell had formally 
 retired from business, and had started for a European 
 tour; never having been abroad except for a trip 
 round the world taken for the sake of his health when 
 he was a very young man. He had got as far, this 
 time, as Paris, then turned round and came back, and 
 had ever since been thwarting the efforts of his family 
 to keep him in a state of elegant leisure. It gave him 
 pleasure to thwart them, quite aside from the ab- 
 
 214 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 solute necessity, to him, of an active life. He cared 
 about his money, but he cared much more about do 
 ing as he chose, and most about proving that he was 
 "as good a man as ever." 
 
 Dan, when he took the noon train to Boston, car 
 ried with him the documents assuring the building 
 of the smelter, and also an agreement between him 
 self personally and Purcell providing that if Dan could 
 get the necessary traffic agreement with the Union 
 Pacific, Purcell would go out to Wyoming, and, if 
 satisfied, would advance a large proportion of the 
 money needed for the railroad. 
 
 215 
 
V. 
 
 Tuesday Dan did not return to New York, but 
 Anna had a note from him, written in Boston the 
 morning before, in which he said that he found work 
 at the office that would keep him for several days. 
 The first instalment of Purcell s money was to be paid 
 over to the company s account on Wednesday. Dan 
 had telegraphed the news to Grand, and asked him 
 to telegraph back a thousand dollars. The arrange 
 ment had been that when Dan s trip to New York 
 should be thus successful, the company was to refund 
 all his expenses. 
 
 Meantime, "Boston was waking up to the copper 
 situation." A number of copper stocks which had 
 been in the market all summer, were now moving. 
 At their own office, there had been received, in the 
 last few days, more subscriptions than in the three 
 months preceding. Two of the Boston papers had 
 had editorials on Copper, which he enclosed. He 
 was getting out advertisements for next day s paper, 
 moving into a larger office and getting ready for busi 
 ness. He hoped to see her by Friday or Saturday. 
 
 Meantime, Anna was extremely irritated to find, 
 he said nothing about sending money for the weekly 
 hotel bill, which was now due. She tore up his let 
 ter in anger, and left it in a little heap of fragments 
 by her plate. She had breakfasted in the hotel, but 
 now saw herself reduced to going out alone to some 
 
 216 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 cheap restaurant for her other meals. She hated 
 cheap restaurants hated going out alone. And \yho 
 could tell how long Dan might be away? His goings 
 and comings were as uncertain as the wind. 
 
 In the reading-room she looked languidly through 
 a newspaper, and finally turned to the advertising 
 pages and looked for musical advertisements, but did 
 not find what she sought there. Anna wondered if 
 Mrs. O Beirne could tell her anything about teachers; 
 she thought it very likely that Nicholas Purcell could. 
 A winter in New York, with peace and freedom to 
 study her mind had dwelt on that happy prospect 
 ever since her talk with Nicholas. Why should it 
 not be this winter? Dan would be busy, and un 
 settled most likely; and he seemed very well able to 
 get on without her. And a winter in New York, with 
 the people it now seemed possible she might know 
 there decidedly that would be worth while! The 
 living was the main difficulty that presented itself to 
 her, for she thought Dan could not be so unkind as 
 to oppose her staying. But it was very likely she 
 would have to live in a poor way. What practice she 
 had had in scaling Dan s visions down to actual facts, 
 taught her that they would probably be poor for some 
 time to come if indeed they were ever to be anything 
 else. And when she thought that expense might be 
 a bar to her desire, her project took a wider range. In 
 place of studying, she might at once begin to earn 
 money by her voice. Concert-singing was out of the 
 question, she knew, without at least a year s further 
 training. But she might get a church engagement. 
 Or there was the stage a vague idea in the back 
 ground of her thought, but it indicated the lengths 
 
 217 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 she was prepared to go rather than abandon her 
 plan. 
 
 She went up to her room and made herself ready 
 for the street, putting on a black hat and gloves. Her 
 gown was black cloth, one of her winter dresses which 
 the cooler weather now made it possible to wear. She 
 felt that it was suitable and that she looked well in 
 it, and accordingly was at ease, at least in the hotel. 
 But she disliked very much the attentive glances that 
 followed her in the street. It was altogether differ 
 ent when Dan was with her, or when she could have 
 a cab; then she did not mind glances. But to be 
 looked at boldly, perhaps not recognized for what 
 she was, that was terrible to her. Colonel O Beirne s 
 hotel was hardly ten minutes walk from hers, how 
 ever, and she went down Fifth Avenue and up the 
 cross street, avoiding Broadway. 
 
 The O Beirnes had gone to Washington and would 
 not be back for several days. Anna had no liking for 
 either of them, but her disappointment was keen. She 
 had no way now of proceeding another step, until 
 somebody came back either Flora O Beirne, Dan 
 or Purcell. In the whole city she knew nobody else, 
 excepting a lawyer who had once dined with them, 
 and of him she knew only his name, and did not want 
 to know more. She walked back up the Avenue, feel 
 ing deserted. But there were things that it interested 
 her to look at. The town was, as Purcell had said, 
 waking up. The storm had washed it clean for the time 
 being, and under the bright blue sky it wore a shining 
 morning face. There was a touch of crispness in the 
 air, that made the people in the street fill their lungs 
 and walk briskly. Either they looked better in con- 
 
 218 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 sequence, or the change of air had brought in a better- 
 looking class. Even the appearance of the fashiona 
 ble shops hi the basements and first floors of the old 
 dwelling-houses along the avenue had changed almost 
 overnight. The shops with curios, antiques, rugs 
 and pictures, interested Anna a good deal, but she 
 walked more slowly past the milliners , in each of 
 whose chaste windows bloomed discreetly two or 
 three oblations to the coming season. 
 
 Having passed the shops she had also temporarily 
 passed the region of interest, for the dwelling-houses 
 proper, up toward the Park, were still tightly closed; 
 the boarded-up doors and windows seemed to keep 
 a blank superiority toward the new life of the 
 street. 
 
 Anna wondered if Purcell or if his sister lived in one 
 of those houses. Mrs. Vaughan must have a hus 
 band: what was he like? Were they all up at Lenox 
 now, with the red-haired woman and the blond man? 
 Should she see Purcell again? He had indicated that 
 he meant to see her, when his sisters return from 
 nursing her father left him free to come back to the 
 city. But very likely he had forgotten. Why had 
 not Dan mentioned Mrs. Vaughan in his letter? He 
 must have seen her at Marshbrook, and he knew she 
 was interested in Mrs. Vaughan. But Dan never 
 wrote about interesting things. Only about business, 
 business, business. And there would be nothing but 
 business at River City. A winter at River City 
 oh, no, it was no longer possible. If only Purcell 
 would come again, she would ask his advice, yes, his 
 help. If he did not come well, she might write to 
 him. Anna felt a little desperate. . . . 
 
 219 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 If it was a coincidence that he appeared on that 
 day, it was one that might have happened any day; 
 for he was often in her thoughts, as the only person 
 known to her who might relieve the dreariness of her 
 situation. He came, in fact, at five; and Anna had 
 been in her room at the hotel since half-past four, with 
 the intention of not missing him, if he should come. 
 Again she found him in the Turkish room; and she 
 now decided that he preferred that place on account 
 of the superior ease of the seats, and also that the 
 limpness and laziness of mien which she had observed 
 in him were not the effect of the weather, but his nor 
 mal manner. As he sat one-sided in his chair, his el 
 bow on the back of it, he seemed more loose-jointed 
 and careless than ever. The stray lock of hair hung 
 down on his forehead, too. But Anna was used to 
 his appearance by now, used to his tired but interested 
 look, his amiable smile; and she thought him, as she 
 might have said, very distingue. 
 
 "You see we have begun to treat you better al 
 ready/ Purcell said. "Aren t you in a friendlier 
 mood to us than you were last week? At least from 
 now on you ll find it possible to live here." 
 
 Anna was a little startled and puzzled, till she per 
 ceived that he was simply referring to the weather. 
 
 "Oh, I hope so," she said fervently. 
 
 Purcell thought she was even handsomer than be 
 fore, and for some reason or other, looking more alive. 
 How much of the rose in her cheeks and the light in 
 her eyes was due to the autumnal air and how much 
 to the pleasure of seeing him, he could not, of course, 
 be expected to guess. 
 
 "Oh, you are in a friendlier mood/ he said, half- 
 220 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 laughing. "The other day, if you remember, you 
 were very doubtful about it wanting to live here, I 
 mean. There were all sorts of conditions " 
 
 "I ve been thinking about it since," said Anna. 
 
 "And got rid of the conditions? I hope so." 
 
 "Oh, no, there are conditions. But not the ones 
 I was thinking of the other day. I ve been think 
 ing " 
 
 She paused, the idea having occurred to her that 
 she ought really to tell Dan about her plan before dis 
 cussing it with this friendly stranger. But Dan, as 
 usual when he was wanted, was not within reach, and 
 surely this opportunity was not to be lost! She 
 frowned at her awkwardness Purcell looked amused, 
 and she blushed and hurried on, "I have thought of 
 studying here in New York this winter, since you 
 spoke of it. I mean, of course I had thought of it 
 before, vaguely but now I don t see why I shouldn t 
 do it this winter. And I wondered if you could tell 
 me of a good teacher to go to." 
 
 "Let me see. My sister was studying something 
 last winter no, though, it was acting, I believe. But 
 I know plenty of people who have studied, or who 
 could tell me about it and I ll find out. I ll get a 
 list for you." 
 
 "Oh, thank you but that would be too much to 
 ask! I don t want to trouble you " 
 
 "It won t be any trouble. A couple of notes, of 
 two lines each, will bring me all the information I 
 want. But it will be several days a week perhaps. 
 You see the people I thought of consulting are off in 
 the country somewhere. I ll telegraph to Margaret 
 to-night my sister. She ought to know somebody." 
 
 221 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "Telegraph? Oh, there isn t any such hurry as 
 that!" 
 
 "Well, it s easier than writing. I always telegraph 
 to Margaret. She ll be interested too, if she hears 
 it s for you. She got back to Lenox yesterday, and 
 before I left she d talked to me a full hour about your 
 husband. She said he was the most interesting per 
 son she d met in ages; that the time she spent with 
 him at Marshbrook was the only time she hadn t been 
 bored there and any amount of things. She took him 
 sailing, I believe, and monopolized all she could of 
 his stay there but she said she got more pleasure out 
 of it than he did, she thought." 
 
 "Why, he never wrote me a word about it!" cried 
 Anna, her wide gaze speaking surprise and a grievance. 
 "He didn t mention your sister, or any sail, or any 
 thing! His letter was all about business " She 
 
 checked herself, sensitive about seeming to complain 
 about Dan, and managed to laugh. "But he ll tell 
 me all about it when I see him," she ended. 
 
 "Oh, your husband isn t here, then?" 
 
 "No, he s in Boston for several days, I sup 
 pose." 
 
 "I m sorry, very. I d hoped that you and he would 
 dine with me to-night." 
 
 "Oh!" Anna turned quite pale with disappoint 
 ment. "I m very sorry too. I m sure he would have 
 liked it very much and so should I." 
 
 "Well, why can t I still make up a little party, per 
 haps with those friends of yours the O Briens ?" 
 
 "O Briens? Oh, you mean the O Beirnes. But 
 they re not friends of mine. And anyhow they re in 
 Washington." 
 
 222 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "E very body s out of town it s a nuisance, isn t 
 it? And really it s very hard on me. I shall have to 
 dine all alone." 
 
 "No harder than on me. But I m getting quite 
 used to it," said Anna resignedly. 
 
 "Well, I don t see why we shouldn t dine together, 
 do you? If you really would like it?" 
 
 "Oh." 
 
 Purcell thought he understood her by this time, 
 pretty well. He felt the struggle between her wish 
 and her fear of offending propriety which made a 
 blank pause. But she must say something. And 
 to refuse now would look silly and awkward, Anna 
 said to herself, palpitating. It would look as though 
 she thought he had suggested something improper. 
 And he had made the suggestion in such a matter-of- 
 fact way ! No, it must be all right, of course. 
 
 She said, rather lamely, rather timidly: 
 
 "I should be very glad if you would like it." 
 
 Purcell thought her charming. He was conscious 
 of a flashing wish that his sister, or her husband, or 
 somebody, had been available ; and of a more lasting 
 satisfaction that they were not. It would be too bad 
 to do anything to put this pretty creature at odds with 
 her husband who looked like an elemental, jealous 
 brute or with herself. But it would be too bad, 
 also, to sacrifice what promised to be a pleasant ex 
 perience. It was literally true that he knew nobody 
 in town now who could reasonably be asked to share 
 their little expedition; but at least one ought to be 
 allowed the advantage of the fact that nobody was in 
 town. He meant to take Anna to a little restaurant 
 which is fairly unfrequented even in the season, 
 
 223 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 though one can get as good food there as is procurable 
 in New York; the few who go to it cheerfully paying 
 for the many who stay away. And when they had 
 agreed on the hour of seven, he went around there 
 to order the dinner, Monsieur Chapuis liking to be 
 consulted a little in advance if his best efforts are 
 desired. 
 
 However, until Anna actually found herself on the 
 way thither, it had seemed to her by no means certain 
 that she was going. She was not certain of anything 
 about the affair whether Purcell should have asked 
 her to go, or whether she should have consented. She 
 wished that she had known him longer; that Dan 
 knew his family in a way, did not really alter the fact 
 that she had seen him only three times. She really 
 knew nothing about him, and, what might be worse, 
 he knew nothing about her. Since her experience 
 with De Ronde, Anna had had a pathetic fear of being 
 put in an equivocal position, of being treated lightly 
 or rudely. She was conscious that she knew little of 
 the world, and that her marriage had so far not given 
 her the calm assurance which she had thought the 
 prerogative of married women. With Purcell she 
 knew she had no assurance at all. After he had left 
 her she fell into a kind of panic. Suppose he thought 
 less of her for going? And what would Dan say 
 about it? 
 
 But the thought of Dan was a counter-irritant. If 
 Dan had not broken his agreement to come back on 
 that day, it wouldn t have happened. It was Dan s 
 fault. Dan coolly left her alone, without a friend, 
 without sufficient money, even depriving her of the 
 
 convenience of a watch ! At this point she shed 
 
 224 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 a tear or two, and began to feel that she was fairly 
 entitled to a little pleasure. 
 
 And how very quiet and irreproachable a pleasure 
 it proved! Beyond the simple fact that she went, 
 nobody could reasonably object to anything in the 
 proceeding. They walked the few squares to and 
 from the restaurant, Anna enjoying the sharp even 
 ing air and also her handsome furs, which she wore 
 with a dark cloth dress and black hat. And the 
 moment she was with Purcell again, her tremors dis 
 appeared. He had a kind of brotherly, almost 
 prosaic way of taking charge of her. In his manner 
 was no trace of the kind of admiration now odious 
 to her through association with De Ronde. The in 
 terest he showed seemed to take no account of her 
 beauty. She could find only one word for it it was 
 just friendly, and it was as delightful as new to her. 
 
 The restaurant seemed to consist of two rooms, in 
 which stood perhaps a dozen little tables, not set out 
 and ready for guests, but simply there in case any 
 body came. No other persons were visible when 
 they went in and took the table set for them near the 
 windows; but from the back room came the sound 
 of conversation a man s voice and a woman s and 
 of subdued laughter. The place had a quaint plain 
 ness, the only decorations being a few small paint 
 ings in deep gilt frames, hung so far up that their 
 miniature subjects were hardly to be made out. It 
 was lit by old-fashioned crystal-drop chandeliers, 
 one in each room, reflected in long mirrors between 
 the windows. In fact the scene of Monsieur Chapuis s 
 hospitality had been a private house of sober elegance 
 in its day; and he had preserved as much of its former 
 
 225 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 air as possible the sobriety if not the elegance. The 
 little interior was made to seem still more quiet and 
 isolated, by the roar of the elevated and the clanging 
 of the surface cars, half a block away. 
 
 "A queer little place, isn t it?" said Purcell. "I 
 thought it might be novel to you. After some 
 months of hotel and restaurant life, one gets pretty 
 tired of the round, don t you think so?" 
 
 "Oh, yes! I thought at first that the foreign res 
 taurants were wonderful you know there isn t any 
 thing like that in the West. But now I hate them 
 the table d notes, I mean. Mr. Devin likes chop- 
 houses, but they are so noisy, and have such bad 
 music. It s very quiet here, isn t it?" 
 
 "Yes, that s the reason I like it. But you oughtn t 
 to be wanting quiet already wait for that till you ve 
 lived four or five years in this uproar. Then you re 
 allowed to have nerves. But now you should be in 
 the mood to enjoy the enormity of it. I was, when 
 I came back after five years of loafing mainly in little 
 German university towns. After I got over being 
 deafened and shocked by the way life moves here, I 
 was rather exhilarated by it. And the effort that 
 one has to make just to exist, made me feel that I was 
 really working at something. You see it s impossible 
 to loaf in New York, even if, like me, you do nothing 
 else. But now I have got to the point of wanting to 
 loaf again." 
 
 "Then shall you go back to Germany?" 
 
 "Oh, there are other places. No, I don t think I 
 could go back to the university kind of loafing. You 
 see, I had a sort of excuse then. I was supposed to 
 be studying philosophy. But I came home because 
 
 226 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 I really could not impose upon myself any longer 
 so, of course, there s no use trying it again." 
 
 At this point appeared Monsieur Chapuis, a smiling, 
 rosy little man, and after greeting them he presented 
 what were, as he assured Pur cell, the first perfect 
 oysters of the season. Twenty-five minutes later 
 he removed the first course with a soup for which also 
 he had a word of commendation. The dinner pro 
 ceeded by similar easy stages, and in the intervals 
 between his little presentation speeches Monsieur 
 Chapuis disappeared completely, though now and 
 then his voice might be heard for a moment as he at 
 tended on the couple within. For the rest, it may 
 be that he cooked the dinner; or, it may be, he 
 thought it discreet to disappear. Anna realized 
 that the dinner was very good; she realized, too, that 
 she enjoyed the intervals more than the food. It 
 did not need the white wine and the red to lighten 
 her spirits, to keep alive her secret excitement; the 
 sight of Purcell, sitting opposite her with a quiet air 
 of belonging there, was enough to do that. And he 
 was telling her things that she was eager to know, 
 about himself, his life. 
 
 He was humorous about it; he offered a mock 
 apology for his evident entire uselessness to anyone 
 but himself. 
 
 "But what can you expect," he said, "from a per 
 son of my antecedents? Have you ever seen my 
 father? Well, he is a New Englander and Puritan 
 to the backbone, and the most strenuous person of 
 my acquaintance. He started life with a fair capital 
 of energy and with a conscience that made him work 
 like the devil. I had a strenuous time of it in my 
 
 227 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 youth. He wasn t going to see me damned into idle 
 ness if he could help it. I went through Harvard 
 and the law-school on time but then, I came into a 
 little money, enough to live on. And I ve just been 
 living on it ever since. You see, it s the natural re 
 action. Our fathers pulled the pendulum too far one 
 way, we swing to the other extreme. Regard me as a 
 type, please. I regard myself in that way. Taking 
 one s self as an interesting scientific phenomenon, 
 I find, is an easy way of avoiding the sting of con 
 science. " 
 
 "Does your conscience sting you? Why?" in 
 quired Anna, declining the scientific aspect of the 
 theme. 
 
 "Why? Because that is what consciences are 
 made for, I suppose. Did you ever hear of one that 
 didn t sting? If you ask me why I have a conscience, 
 I can only refer again to my Puritan ancestry. But, 
 on the whole, I m not sorry I have one. I like to try 
 experiments with it." 
 
 "Experiments!" laughed Anna. "What an idea!" 
 
 "Exactly, you re shocked. I ve no doubt you treat 
 your conscience with respect and care, as my ances 
 tors did theirs. When you were a little girl and were 
 dressed up in a fine white frock on Sundays and told 
 to keep It perfectly clean, I ve no doubt you sat still 
 with folded hands, and did as you were told. But 
 when I was told to keep my Sunday clothes clean, I 
 couldn t do it. I was miserable till I d done some 
 thing to them, to see how they d look when they were 
 dirty, to see whether I d be switched or not. Well, 
 it s just the same with my conscience." 
 
 "I don t believe you have much on your conscience, 
 228 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 all the same. You wouldn t think it worth while to 
 do anything wrong, I m sure." 
 
 "Oh, you re mistaken! But I admit that my sins 
 are mainly sins of omission. It could hardly be other 
 wise, you know, when I don t do anything. But 
 that perhaps is the worst kind. A great many good 
 people think so. I rather think so myself." 
 
 "I don t see why. Do you mean that just doing 
 things is a virtue?" 
 
 "Certainly. You think so too, don t you? Don t 
 you despise a person who drifts along self-indulgently, 
 amounting to nothing, while all about him men are 
 toiling and accomplishing things making money, 
 getting themselves elected to Congress, writing books 
 or bringing up families? Oh, I m a drone in a busy 
 hive." 
 
 "I think the drones must have the best time of it." 
 
 "But how can they keep their self-respect? They re 
 so looked down on, you see. Sometimes, I believe, 
 they re stung to death by the workers in righteous 
 rage. I often feel very uncomfortable, I assure you. 
 My relatives consider me a melancholy failure. I 
 really only enjoy myself, as a rule, in the society of 
 fellow-drones. But happily there are some energetic 
 and ambitious people who actually afford me a little 
 sympathy now and then. You ve been very in 
 dulgent." 
 
 "I? But do you call me energetic? I don t do 
 anything!" 
 
 "Oh, you re energetic ambitious. Aren t you 
 going to work hard in New York this winter? By the 
 way, I ve telegraphed to my sister. I ll send you her 
 answer to-morrow." 
 
 229 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "Oh, thank you. But I am giving you so much 
 trouble and it isn t even certain that I can stay. I 
 only hope to. But I shan t know till Mr. Devin comes 
 back unless I write him about it. I can do that." 
 
 Anna made a mental note to write to Dan; and 
 Purcell noted that Dan was so far in ignorance of her 
 plan. He at once set it down as unlikely that she 
 would stay. 
 
 "I would do a good deal for the sake of staying/ 
 she went on, her unwonted reserve beginning to give 
 way. "I d even thought of something on the stage, 
 perhaps if there wasn t any other way." 
 
 Purcell was a good deal puzzled by this. Did she 
 mean by the "other way" money? Did she mean 
 that her husband might not have the money which 
 was unlikely, considering he had just bagged a good 
 many thousands of the old gentleman s or that he 
 might not give it to her? Was she going to quarrel 
 with him about it? And why the stage as alterna 
 tive? Why was she anxious to stay in New York 
 if not to study? Was she going to quarrel with her 
 husband anyhow? 
 
 "Ah, that is energetic," he said. "But I doubt 
 whether you d like the stage. At least you wouldn t 
 unless you re very, very energetic." 
 
 "Oh, I m afraid I m not," sighed Anna. "And I 
 don t agree with you in one way, I don t think it s a 
 virtue to be. There s only one thing that I think 
 worth while doing and that is, to enjoy life! If you 
 do that, you re a success if you don t, you re a fail 
 ure, no matter what you do." 
 
 And she nodded emphatically, with her shining 
 glance full of defiant meaning. 
 
 230 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "But you ve named the occupation that is the hard 
 est to most people in the world/ protested Pur- 
 cell. "You ve no idea how hard people work at that 
 and fail, most of them." 
 
 "Well, that doesn t matter. Some people suc 
 ceed, and without trying very hard either. I think 
 you do don t you?" 
 
 "Oh, I don t know. No, I don t think I m a suc 
 cess, in your sense of the word. I don t enjoy life 
 in any definite, spectacular way. I m not young 
 enough or pagan enough. And yet it s true that if 
 if I were Faust and had made his compact with the 
 devil, I should have been damned without a doubt." 
 
 "What compact?" she asked, intently. 
 
 "Faust said to the devil, you know, that if he could 
 ever make him, Faust, so content with the passing 
 moment that he said to it Verbleibe doch, du bist so 
 schon Remain, you are so beautiful! the devil 
 could have his soul. In that way I could have lost 
 my soul over and over again." 
 
 "Then you have enjoyed life." 
 
 "And I could never have slid out of the bargain as 
 Faust did ! You remember how he was saved ?" 
 
 "No, except that he goes up to heaven with Mar 
 guerite " 
 
 "Well, in the poem he does say to the moment, Ver- 
 bleibe dock but it is in contemplating his own good 
 deeds. He has built an aqueduct which benefits 
 large numbers of his fellow-creatures and because 
 of that virtue of his the devil is foiled and Faust goes 
 to heaven! You see the moral of that is on my side 
 or rather against me personally and for my argu 
 ment. I could never build anything like an aqueduct 
 
 231 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 or a railroad. And one must be strenuous to be 
 saved." 
 
 "And to be happy? Do you think so?" Anna 
 asked rather wistfully. 
 
 "I suppose so/ said Nicholas. "At least other 
 people will make you unhappy if you re not." 
 
 "I don t believe you re unhappy," she said gravely. 
 "It would be a shame if you should be made so, just 
 because you don t agree with somebody else " 
 
 "But if you can t agree with somebody else you 
 oughtn t to be fond of them. You can t be happy 
 and constantly irritated too though you may love 
 and be irritated, I suppose." 
 
 "That s true," said Anna sombrely 
 
 And they looked at one another with a sudden feel 
 ing of intimacy, though their confidences, that even 
 ing, went no further. 
 
 232 
 
VI. 
 
 "VTEXT day Anna had a note from Purcell, enclos- 
 -*-^ ing this telegram: "Bella says try F. Kreisner 
 or Madame Venner, both expensive. List of teachers 
 at music-stores. When do you return M." 
 
 His note gave her the two addresses, and promised 
 further data, which he expected to get from a musical 
 critic of his acquaintance. "I ought to have thought 
 of him in the first place instead of my sister," he 
 ended. "It seems singing is one of the few things she 
 hasn t tried herself." 
 
 Anna found his handwriting very difficult to read 
 a rapid, careless scrawl, each word ending form- 
 lessly in the same running dash. The paper bore 
 the name of the University Club. 
 
 She pondered a long time over his note and the 
 telegram. She would have liked to consult one of the 
 teachers named, but she was a little nervous about 
 the question of fees, since her money was nearly gone. 
 So she simply wrote Dan a note, acquainting him 
 with the latter fact and asking when he meant to 
 come back. Then she went out to dinner alone, 
 choosing a restaurant in the shopping district, which 
 was fairly good, cheap, and much frequented, as she 
 had observed, by women apparently in no need of 
 escorts. Some of these women had the flashy "style" 
 and the hard faces which inspired Anna with con- 
 
 233 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 tempt and loathing; they generally came in couples. 
 But the other sort, the majority, had a solid business 
 like air, and were plainly though well enough dressed. 
 Generally each one had an evening newspaper, which 
 she would prop up against the cruet in the middle of 
 the table, and read while she ate her solitary meal. 
 There would be family parties, too, often. The front 
 part of the restaurant was usually filled with men; 
 many of these wore diamonds in their ties and on 
 their little fingers, which glittered in the electric light 
 as they selected their dinner from the show-case con 
 taining live crabs and lobsters. But all was orderly 
 and reasonably quiet, even to the music of piano, 
 violin and cello. 
 
 Anna studied the lone women now with unusual 
 interest. Soon, she reflected, she might be one of 
 them. She must try to acquire that matter-of-fact 
 look, to feel, as they apparently did, that nobody 
 was looking, or at least that what she did was no 
 body s affair. And it would be nobody s affair. She 
 might be utterly alone. Her face was very melan 
 choly as she considered this prospect. Pur cell prob 
 ably had left the city, or at least he would be leaving 
 again soon. Had not the telegram shown that? And 
 then he had spoken of going abroad again. Of course 
 she could not count on him in any way and who else 
 was there? Perhaps it would be better, after all, to 
 give it up, and to go back West with Dan. 
 
 If it were only to mean a sort of business life hard 
 work, solitary meals, going home at night with your 
 veil over your face, and your eyes and ears shut, as 
 far as possible, to the life of the streets why, then, 
 even River City might be preferable. But it need 
 
 234 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 not mean only that. If she knew only a few people 
 like the Purcells, had even occasional glimpses of 
 their life, it would make her own interesting. 
 
 She was still halting and hesitating when Dan 
 came, two days later. She was not expecting him, 
 though he had written her that he was coming. She 
 was rather vaguely expecting Purcell. It was the 
 hour when he had come before, and she sat in her 
 room. Dan came in with a whirl, threw a half-dollar 
 to the boy who brought in his suit-case, coat, and par 
 cels, and had Anna in his arms before Buttons was 
 fairly out of the room. 
 
 "Did you think I was never coming? I got your 
 note yesterday whew! it sounded mad. Don t 
 blame you though, dearest! It was pretty hard on 
 you. But honestly I couldn t help it. The money 
 only came this morning from Grand, I mean, and 
 I rushed right off. Only for a day though; then I 
 must go back to Boston. Things are beginning to 
 hum now, at last!" 
 
 Anna felt a little comforted when he held her close. 
 She was unfeignedly glad to see him. There was at 
 least usually something doing when Dan was about. 
 He brought with him a stir of excitement, perhaps 
 gayety at least of life. Now he put Anna into a 
 chair, and dropped a florist s box into her lap. She 
 found a dozen great red roses, their long stems stuck 
 through a hole cut in the pasteboard. He had brought 
 also some of her favorite chocolates and a bundle of 
 magazines and papers. 
 
 "You may like to see what they say in Boston about 
 copper now," he said with his militant air. "But I ll 
 brush up a bit and we ll have some dinner first, then 
 
 235 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 I ll tell you about things. I ve been pretty busy over 
 there. You look well, dearest." 
 
 "Oh, I am well enough/ Anna said. 
 
 She lay back in the low chair, holding the roses to 
 her face, her eyes looking rather contentedly over 
 them. Dan came to kiss her again. Then whistling 
 he took out of his coat-pockets half-a-dozen jeweller s 
 boxes and laid them on the bureau. 
 
 "I guess we won t have to do that again," he re 
 marked cheerfully. 
 
 "Oh, my rings! Give them to me!" she cried. 
 
 She took out the rings and put them on, slipped her 
 watch into her belt and held up the open cases con 
 taining her two diamond brooches, moving them 
 slightly to catch the colored lights. 
 
 "Poor girl!" said Dan suddenly. 
 
 She did not answer and he stood looking at her 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 "Have you missed them much?" he asked, smiling, 
 with a kind of tender pity. Anna answered care 
 lessly, piqued by his tone, 
 
 "I hate to lose things. Yes, I m glad to get them 
 back." 
 
 "And I m glad to get you back," said he not very 
 relevantly. 
 
 At his request Anna put on her blue silk and the 
 diamonds, and they dined early at the hotel. 
 
 Dan was full of the prospects in Boston. Josiah 
 Purcell s large purchase of the Mallory stock had 
 started a run on it. They had sold off all that of 
 fered at five dollars a share and put the price up to 
 seven-fifty. The next lot offered would be at par. 
 With their new offices and a proper use of Purcell s 
 
 236 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 name, which counted for a good deal over there, Dan 
 calculated that it wouldn t be long before there was 
 something like a rush for it. Copper was the thing 
 now anyway. Boston was a bit slow about waking 
 up, but when she did have a good thing hammered 
 into her head . . . 
 
 "Is Mr. Purcell very rich?" inquired Anna. 
 
 "Oh, he has a few millions salted away. But it s 
 his character that counts. He s known as a safe, 
 conservative sort of man, you see " 
 
 "You didn t write anything about your visit there 
 or about his sister I mean Mr. Purcell s daughter," 
 said Anna reproachfully. 
 
 "Didn t I? Well, I don t know as there was much 
 to write about. They treated me well, but I was only 
 there one night, you know." 
 
 "Well, you met the daughter what s her name, by 
 the way? I suppose she s married, isn t she? And 
 you went sailing with her." 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Vaughan. Yes, I did, but it didn t 
 seem to me there was anything very interesting about 
 that. How did you know I went, anyhow?" 
 
 "Oh, Nicholas Purcell told me. He s been here 
 several times. He said his sister had quite fallen in 
 love with you." 
 
 "With me! Well, she didn t give me any hint of 
 it. She subscribed for a hundred shares of Mallory, 
 though." 
 
 "Oh, bother Mallory. Tell me about her, and 
 what kind of place have they? I suppose it s very 
 grand?" 
 
 "No, it isn t. Just a big old house that s been in 
 the family for a couple of hundred years or so, and 
 
 237 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 when Purcell made his money they enlarged it and 
 made it over a bit but it isn t grand. It s in the 
 Colonial style, more or less, so Mrs. Vaughan told me. 
 Candles to go to bed by and your great-grandfather s 
 bed to sleep in, and all that. Comfortable, though. 
 The old gentleman was still in bed when I got there, 
 and Mrs. Vaughan and I had dinner together. Are 
 you jealous?" 
 
 "Well, and you didn t mention it! What did you 
 have for dinner? Was there a butler? What did 
 she have on? What did you talk about?" 
 
 "Good gracious, how can I remember? The din 
 ner was good enough. There was a man to wait on 
 us, I suppose the butler. And I guess we talked about 
 Mallory a good deal." 
 
 "Well, she told her brother you were the most in 
 teresting man she d met for a long time!" 
 
 "Oh, she was interested in the railroad and all that. 
 You see, she subscribed. And Purcell is going to see 
 the thing through, I think, Anna! The railroad, I 
 mean. He told me to go ahead and get the traf 
 fic agreement with the Union Pacific people; and 
 he s coming out there to look it over this fall. By 
 Jove, the thing s as good as built now we re all 
 right!" 
 
 "I thought it was the smelter he was going to help 
 build." 
 
 "That s where the money he s just paid over goes. 
 They ll push the work right ahead now. But this 
 other, the railroad, is a private deal between Purcell 
 and me. I had the first survey made myself and the 
 right of way is partly secured. I shan t let those 
 other fellows in." 
 
 238 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "Well, how long will it take to build it?" 
 
 "Oh, perhaps a year, counting the preliminary 
 work that has to be done. I ve got to go straight 
 back and begin on that." 
 
 "How soon do you go back?" 
 
 "In about a week. I must spend a few days more 
 in Boston, then we re off. And I want to stop on the 
 way back and see my mother. You know she lives 
 up in Wisconsin now with one of my brothers. That ll 
 mean another day or so, but I ll have to do it. She 
 felt rather hurt that I didn t stop coming East. How 
 would you like to go to a theatre to-night?" 
 
 "What theatre?" said Anna absently. She was 
 thinking that the time had come to tell Dan but 
 should she tell him definitely that she intended to 
 stay, or only that she had thought of it? 
 
 "Oh, anything you like. There are a couple of 
 those musical shows and there s that English actress. 
 Waiter, get me an evening paper, will you?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," murmured the functionary, with re 
 spect if not alacrity. 
 
 When the paper was brought, their choice nar 
 rowed down to a war-drama and the English com 
 pany s problem play, Anna declining the comic 
 operas. She rather urged the melodrama, assuring 
 Dan that it was more his sort, but Dan was not to be 
 outdone in generosity. 
 
 "That means you d rather see the other, and this 
 is your picnic," he said. "I want you to have a good 
 time to-night. I suppose you ve been lonely. Did 
 Mrs. O B. come to see you?" 
 
 "No, but I went out to dinner one night with some 
 body. Guess who." 
 
 239 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "Couldn t guess. I didn t know you knew any 
 body." 
 
 "Nicholas Purcell. Are you jealous?" 
 
 "Oh I guess not. I didn t know you knew him 
 well enough for that, though." 
 
 "Well, he came to ask you and me. And as usual 
 you weren t here and I hadn t money enough for a 
 decent meal " 
 
 She stopped, astonished herself at the sudden flood 
 of bitterness that rose in her. 
 
 Dan flushed. He was silent while he folded up the 
 newspaper with unnecessary care and dropped it un 
 der the table. 
 
 "I hope you had a good time," he said then, with 
 an effort after his usual manner. "Where did you 
 go?" 
 
 "I don t know the name. A little place not far 
 from here. A French place, very quiet and nice. 
 There was only one other couple there, and dinner 
 lasted two hours and a half!" 
 
 Anna, too, made an effort at lightness. Dan 
 looked at her, troubled, a sudden spark in his blue 
 eyes. 
 
 "I don t know whether he ought to have taken you 
 there," he said. "I ll find out." 
 
 "Oh, Dan!" Anna cried, and bit her lip. It would 
 not do to quarrel here. Dan never could quarrel 
 decorously. She threw down her napkin. "I don t 
 want any dessert. Let s go upstairs. I want to tell 
 you something." 
 
 "Very well. I ll see about the theatre- tickets, 
 then I ll be up." 
 
 Anna, walking up and down their small room, tried 
 240 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 to think calmly, tried to see why it was that Dan s 
 suspicion of Purcell had so roused her own feeling. 
 She only knew that she was angry, hurt, miserable, 
 that everything seemed wretched. In such a mood 
 how could she spare Dan? As soon as he had come 
 in and lit his cigar, she began, her voice trembling 
 slightly. 
 
 "I hope you will not do anything absurd or say 
 things as silly as that about finding out! There 
 isn t anything to find out. Mr. Purcell simply took 
 me to the quietest place he knew, I suppose. He is a 
 gentleman, and has always treated me with perfect 
 respect, and he wouldn t do anything that you or 
 anybody could object to." 
 
 "How do you know he wouldn t?" 
 
 "Well, I do know it! He is he is " 
 
 "Now, Anna, we ve got wrong on this thing. I m 
 not blaming you, I had no idea of it," said Dan ear 
 nestly. "When I spoke that way I simply meant 
 that well, you don t know the world, my dear girl. 
 I didn t like the sound of it just at the minute. 
 But perhaps it is all right and I m sure about you. 
 You know, of course, that I wasn t blaming you." 
 
 Anna avoided his caress. She sat down in the 
 easy-chair and said very coldly: 
 
 "I had something I wanted to say. It s this: I 
 don t want to go to Wyoming this winter." 
 
 Dan sat down on the bed and looked at her per 
 plexedly. 
 
 "You don t want to go? Why not?" 
 
 "I want to stay here and go on with my music. 
 
 "But couldn t you go on with it out there? You ll 
 
 have a piano " 
 
 241 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "Piano ! I want a teacher, and a good one. I want 
 to make progress, to do something with my voice. 
 What could I do in a one-horse mining town?" 
 
 "Well, Anna!" 
 
 He rose and in his turn began to walk the room. 
 
 " This is a complete surprise to me. You want to 
 stay in New York? But how could you? 7 can t 
 be here. How could I leave you here alone?" 
 
 Anna drew a quick breath. 
 
 "Haven t you left me here alone, time and time 
 again? Didn t you leave me alone in Los Angeles 
 for months? How do I know that you won t leave 
 me out there alone? I never know where you re 
 going to be you don t know yourself!" 
 
 Dan received these rapid sentences in momentarily 
 dumb amazement. 
 
 "But Anna! I couldn t help it! You must see 
 yourself. It will be different out there. We shall 
 have a house at River City. I shall be there most of 
 the time " 
 
 11 Most of the time ! Then you admit you ll be away 
 part of the time!" 
 
 "Don t be absurd, Anna. You can see that I ll 
 have to be. With a big deal like this on my hands, a 
 great many people to see about it, a great many mat 
 ters to arrange of course I shall have to be away on 
 short trips. But surely Why you should feel hurt 
 about it, as you seem to be ! I d no idea you de 
 pended on me so much as that!" 
 
 Anna thrust the half-playful suggestion away 
 fiercely. 
 
 "I wouldn t if I had anything else!" she said. 
 "But out there I wouldn t have anything." 
 
 242 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "Well, if you feel that way perhaps you could go 
 with me on my trips, or most of them " 
 
 "I don t want to! That isn t what I want. You 
 can t understand. I want a place of my own, some 
 thing settled, some peace and enjoyment in life! I 
 don t want to live here and there, in any horrid un 
 comfortable way, never knowing where I m to be 
 to-morrow! You are happy that way, but I m miser 
 able! I ve been miserable almost ever since we ve 
 been married. You re always telling me about what 
 we re going to have some day. I don t care about 
 that, I want something now." 
 
 She sat upright in her chair, her hands clasping the 
 arms tightly. Her voice had not risen, but the sharp 
 ness always latent in its clear tones now made it un 
 pleasant to the ear. A single electric jet beside the 
 bureau was lit. Its chilly light shone directly down 
 on her blond head. Her eyes in shadow looked black 
 and hard. 
 
 Dan stood perfectly still where her last sentence had 
 struck him, across the room with his back to her, his 
 head slightly bent, holding the cigar between the 
 fingers of his right hand. He stood there while the 
 glowing tip of the cigar gathered a perceptible cover 
 of ashes. 
 
 At last he wheeled and came quickly toward her. 
 
 "You don t mean that. You don t mean what 
 you say all that. I know you have had hard things 
 to bear I know you haven t had things the way you 
 wanted them but I have tried to make it as easy for 
 you as I could. It hasn t been easy " 
 
 He bent over her, laid his hand on hers, uncon 
 sciously appealing to the great solvent that had such 
 
 243 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 power with himself. At just the touch of her, his 
 hurt pride yielded, bowed down to her. His voice 
 became imploring. Anna, erect, hard, repelled 
 him, though passively. Yet she too moderated her 
 tone. 
 
 "I know, but you don t understand how it has been 
 hard for me," she said tragically. "It was a terrible 
 wrench, losing everything as we did. Everything 
 seemed to go at once everything I was trying to do. 
 And I haven t been able to do anything since. It 
 would make me very much happier if I could use my 
 voice some way. But now I feel that that is being 
 wasted too everything " 
 
 Her lips trembled. She stopped, gripping the 
 arms of the chair in an effort not to cry. 
 
 "Anna! If that is the way you feel tell me just 
 what you want. You know I want you to be happy 
 more than anything else in the world. I will do any 
 thing I can. Tell me." 
 
 He dropped down on the floor beside her, took her 
 hand and drew it to his lips. 
 
 "Well, I have told you," she said, still tragically. 
 "I want to stay here and work. I could live quietly 
 somewhere, I suppose. And I think another year 
 or perhaps less would do " 
 
 A silence. Then Dan asked: 
 
 "Have you any idea what teacher you would want? 
 Do you know anyone here?" 
 
 "Not yet. But I can find out. Mr. Purcell gave 
 me some names." 
 
 "Oh, you asked him about it?" 
 
 "Yes, I asked him." 
 
 "Do you know how much it would cost?" 
 244 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "I don t know exactly. But I suppose twenty- 
 five or thirty dollars a week." 
 
 "And how would you live?" 
 
 "I suppose in a boarding-house. There must be 
 plenty of cheap ones. Do you think will there be 
 money enough to do it?" 
 
 "Oh, money yes, I guess that can be arranged. 
 Though there won t be a great deal to spare this win 
 ter " 
 
 Anna pulled her hand away with an impatient 
 gesture. 
 
 "Well, can you spare it or not? Or don t you 
 know? If you do, for heaven s sake say so. It s 
 just what I can t bear this everlasting uncertainty 
 I would rather go out there and live in a shanty!" 
 
 "I don t think that will be necessary," said Dan 
 more sharply. 
 
 He got up and began walking the floor again, one 
 hand thrust in his trousers -pocket, the other still 
 holding the cigar. Once he put the cigar in his mouth 
 and found it had gone out, but still continued to hold 
 it absently. His face, slightly frowning, the vertical 
 fold between the eyebrows strongly marked, was 
 grave and intent. 
 
 Anna laughed a little. 
 
 "I don t see why you take it so seriously/ she 
 cried. "It isn t such a tremendous thing." 
 
 "It is serious, to me," Dan said, coming to a stop 
 before her. "It s a serious thing to me to leave you 
 absolutely alone in this big city, without a friend 
 when I m to be a week s journey away." 
 
 "I won t be without a friend," she assured him. "I 
 shall know some people. I do know some already." 
 
 245 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "You do? Who? The O Beirnes won t be 
 here " 
 
 "I m not thinking about the O Beirnes. There s" 
 she was about to mention Mrs. Vaughan, but 
 recollected that she had not yet met her "Mr. Pur- 
 cell said his sister wanted to meet me, and she will be 
 in town soon." 
 
 "Are you counting on them that crowd?" de 
 manded Dan. "I hope not." 
 
 "Well, why not?" 
 
 "Because they re not our sort. They re fashiona 
 ble people, I suppose. Anyhow they have their own 
 friends and their own ways and they re not ours. I 
 don t believe they ll do you any good, Anna, even if 
 you see them." 
 
 "I don t see why they re not my sort! Do you 
 mean I m not good enough to associate with them?" 
 
 "Don t be a fool. You know what I mean. They 
 won t take the trouble to find out whether you are or 
 not. I know what these Eastern people are they 
 think the Lord never made anything good but what 
 they ve got. That young Purcell is an example. 
 Father told me he never did a stroke of work in his 
 life and never will. If that s what their money comes 
 to, that sort of fellow, loafing round Europe and think 
 ing this country isn t good enough for him well, the 
 less we see of em the better." 
 
 "I don t agree with you," Anna said hotly. "I 
 think the only use of money is to let people live de 
 cently and get some cultivation and knowledge of the 
 world. You don t get that by grubbing away in a 
 corner. And I hope I shall see those people. They re 
 the kind I like. I like Nicholas Purcell. He s in- 
 
 246 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 teresting. And he s kind too, and understands 
 things. But I don t care whether I see them or not, 
 I want to stay." 
 
 She sprang up. 
 
 "I would rather live in the poorest place here than 
 go back out there. I hate the idea of the West. And 
 if you can t give me money enough to study, I can 
 get some kind of position. I can support myself, 
 while I am training. And after that I shall have 
 enough." 
 
 "After what?" 
 
 "After I am fitted for concert-singing or the 
 stage." 
 
 "The stage! You re crazy, Anna. Do you think 
 I would let you go on the stage?" 
 
 "I don t care whether you would let me or not!" 
 she panted. "I shall do exactly as I choose. You 
 would like to prevent me from living at all. It was 
 your fault that our home was broken up, and that I 
 have to help myself now. If you had not been reck 
 less it wouldn t have happened. And I had given 
 it all up to please you to marry you. And you de 
 ceived me. When you married me you didn t let me 
 know what chances you were taking. And now 
 and now how do I know that it won t be just the 
 same over again? I don t believe you will succeed 
 
 "And when you say you are afraid to leave me 
 alone! I am used to being left alone! When you 
 left me in Los Angeles people insulted me because of 
 it! Yes, insulted me! A man tried to make love 
 to me, and he said everybody thought we had sepa 
 rated that I had gone back to my parents " 
 
 "Stop!" said Dan. 
 
 247 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 He seized both her wrists and held her quiet, and 
 his eyes held hers and checked her hysterical passion. 
 
 "Who was the man if there s any sense in what 
 you say?" 
 
 "It was De Ronde, if you want to know. And even 
 here you say it was insulting me, to take me out to 
 dinner " 
 
 "I didn t say it. If I thought it " 
 
 Anna stared at him. He looked as she had never 
 seen him. He was deadly pale, and his eyes, looking 
 straight into hers, seemed not to see her. His hold 
 on her wrists relaxed, his hands dropped. And still 
 his eyes held hers, vacant themselves, as though all 
 sense had been crushed out of the brain behind them. 
 Suddenly he put out one hand gropingly and took 
 hold of the back of a chair. His gaze shifted. He 
 seemed to be looking at the crimson roses which filled 
 a vase on the bureau. Near the vase lay a little paper 
 envelope containing the theatre-tickets. Dan stared 
 at that for some moments. 
 
 At last he moved, went over to the bureau, took up 
 the envelope, tore it in two and threw the pieces on 
 the floor. And then, without looking again at Anna, 
 who still stood defiant, he took his hat and coat and 
 went out of the room. 
 
 248 
 
VII. 
 
 A NNA sat in the white-and-gilt parlor talking to 
 ^^ Flora O Beirne. That is, Flora was doing the 
 talking. A few questions had given her the informa 
 tion that Daniel had gone back to Boston, that he had 
 nearly completed his work there and that it had gone 
 to his satisfaction; and, apropos of what she called his 
 success, Flora described the "wild-goose chase" on 
 which the Colonel and herself had been wasting their 
 time in Washington. A certain Senator who had large 
 investments in Mexico had been over their Mexican 
 lands some months before and had practically prom 
 ised Colonel O Beirne to help build his railroad. He 
 had certainly been very much interested. And now 
 they could not even get sight of him. 
 
 "He wouldn t see us! What do you think of that? 
 And in reply to Michael s letter his secretary just 
 
 wrote that Senator H couldn t give any attention 
 
 to the matter." Flora sighed. "So heaven knows 
 how long we shall be here. Your husband is a mighty 
 clever man, don t you think so, my dear? He got 
 what he wanted in no time. It s sure, isn t it, that 
 the road will be built out there?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, he thinks so," said Anna. 
 
 "And this Boston man puts up the money." 
 
 "I believe so." 
 
 "Well, there it is. I m glad, delighted. And yet 
 249 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 I dare say your husband had to work like a slave to 
 get it. It s just as Michael says. Capital is as coy as 
 a pretty woman, and takes an everlasting amount of 
 wooing!" Flora laughed. "You see a woman, if a 
 man s enough in love with her, knows she can just 
 sit quiet and let him do the worrying, she knows he 
 has to have her. Well, it s so with these moneyed 
 people: they know we have to have their money 
 and they make us work for it Lord! the months that 
 Michael and I have spent the thousands of miles 
 
 we have travelled the amount he has talked ! 
 
 And all to convince some old Money-Bags that he 
 can make another fortune if he ll only turn over his 
 hand. But Daniel you don t mind my calling him 
 Daniel, do you? I m almost old enough to be his 
 mother Daniel has a gift for convincing people. I 
 thought Michael could talk, but, my dear, your hus 
 band has a way with him ! I should expect him 
 
 to get anything he d set his heart on. I like him 
 Michael and I both like him tremendously. Do you 
 think we ll ever see you down in Mexico? It is a 
 beautiful country really now that the Apaches are 
 all good Indians. 
 
 "I don t know, I m sure," Anna said languidly. 
 "You don t really expect me to tell you where he ll 
 be next year or next month do you?" 
 
 "Oh, I know, that s the worst of it," sighed Flora. 
 "A woman wants a roof over her head, doesn t she? 
 It s true, as Michael says, we re all like the house-cat. 
 We like the chimney corner and a place we re used 
 to. But then what of it? As the old song says, 
 
 What ll ye do if ye marry a sojer, 
 But pack up your clothes and go marchin wid him! " 
 250 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Anna was silent, only smiling mechanically. She 
 could not echo the cheerfulness of Flora s tone; even 
 to speak was an effort to her. She had passed the 
 night without sleep, except for a miserable doze after 
 daylight, haunted and broken by the listening for 
 Dan s step. He had not come. But early in the 
 morning he had sent a messenger, with a note asking 
 for his suit-case packed for a few days stay, and say 
 ing that he would write her from Boston. The note, 
 with what she had come to consider his habitual care 
 lessness, enclosed two hundred-dollar bank bills. 
 
 Anna s paleness and heavy eyes had not escaped 
 her visitor s notice. 
 
 "I came to ask you to take lunch with me," Flora 
 said, "but you look tired. Perhaps you d rather not 
 go out." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I d like it. I didn t sleep very well; but 
 I d like to go." Anna was even eager in her ac 
 ceptance. She wanted some relief from her thoughts. 
 
 "Well, I m very glad. I came right over because 
 I ve learned to take people I want to see on the fly, 
 as you might say. Have to, in our way of life, or I d 
 never see anybody. And I ve got so used to dropping 
 the frills and trying to make acquaintance with peo 
 ple on the spot that I m sure they often think I m 
 pushing! But it isn t so, my dear, it s just lack of 
 time. That s the reason I talk about myself so much. 
 It s because I want to hear about other people." 
 
 Her soft bright dark eyes looked very kindly on 
 Anna. 
 
 "I don t know when I ve been more interested than 
 I am in you two," she went on. "Your husband is 
 such a fine fellow, and you re well, I partly like you, 
 
 251 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 I suppose, because you re beautiful. The Lord made 
 me plain, but I can honestly admire another woman 
 who is beautiful, and like her the better for it. And 
 
 then you re young you have such a chance ! But 
 
 you re reserved, you won t tell me about yourself 
 and the time is so short. You ll be going soon. And 
 unless you ll come down to Mexico I shall never know 
 anything about you!" 
 
 "Oh, but there isn t much to tell," said Anna, 
 touched in spite of herself by this real interest, and 
 rather wishing she could respond to it. She was in 
 fact naturally perfectly frank, so long as she could 
 be so without wound or compromise to her vanity. 
 She would cheerfully have talked about herself and 
 her circumstances to the exclusion of anything else, 
 if only she could have painted her subject in bright 
 colors. But when she had ceased to be prosperous 
 and happy she had ceased also to be frank. It would 
 have been impossible for her to talk about Dan, his 
 affairs and her quarrels with life, with Flora O Beirne s 
 candor. Flora could be candid because at bottom 
 she had no quarrel with life. She could rally her 
 husband, with what seemed to Anna an amazing lack 
 of reticence, because at bottom she was contented 
 with him. But Anna felt that decorum must be 
 preserved at all hazards. She was not going to let 
 anybody know, if she could help it, that she had quar 
 relled with Dan. And just now she felt more than 
 ever that she was on thin ice; she was fearful of a 
 single step. The events of the night had thrown her 
 mind into confusion. She had gone too far, and the 
 recoil left her with a sick feeling of uncertainty about 
 everything. She did not want to talk about Dan or 
 
 252 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 herself. And as for her plans and the advice she had 
 gone to ask of Mrs. O Beirne, there was no use talking 
 about that now. The advice would come from some 
 body else. So she said, rather petulantly : "My head 
 aches, and I can t talk very well now. Wouldn t you 
 like to walk a while before lunch? We might walk 
 up to the Park and back." 
 
 Accordingly it was again Flora who talked, during 
 their walk, their luncheon and the afternoon that they 
 spent together. An eye less keen than hers could 
 have seen that Anna was in mental stress, unable 
 really to listen or to talk, and yet unwilling to be left 
 alone. So she took Anna to see some pictures and an 
 exhibit of Japanese wood-carvings ; gave her tea, and 
 asked her to dine with the Colonel and herself at their 
 hotel. 
 
 But this Anna was unable to do. Fatigue due to 
 sleeplessness and worry finally overpowered her. 
 
 "I can t keep my eyes open," she confessed. "I ll 
 just go to bed, I think. Couldn t eat any dinner, 
 anyway, after all that tea." 
 
 "Well, then, to-morrow night, if your husband 
 doesn t get back? Or if he does, for that matter 
 we ll be delighted to have you both." 
 
 Anna gave a promise for next night, subject to 
 recall by telephone, and they parted at the door of 
 her hotel. 
 
 "You ve been very good, taking me round when 
 I m so stupid," Anna said, smiling painfully. 
 
 Flora answered affectionately, and standing on 
 tip-toe, kissed her. 
 
 She had thought that Purcell would very likely 
 call on her that afternoon, and had been willing for 
 
 253 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 once not to see him. And in fact she found his card, 
 and found also that she regretted not seeing him. 
 There was no sign from Dan. She thought he might 
 have written before he went to Boston, or just pos 
 sibly he might have changed his mind and come back. 
 She took out his brief note and read it again. It be 
 gan with the usual formula, "Dear Anna"; it gave 
 no clew to his feeling when he wrote it. But he must 
 be deeply angry with her. In all their other quar 
 rels he had been so eager to be reconciled, he had al 
 ways made the first concession, taken the first step. 
 To be on bad terms with her had made him so utterly 
 miserable that he could not endure it long. Often 
 had he kept her awake all night arguing some point 
 at issue rather than lie down in anger. Never, never 
 before had he put himself out of the way of seeing 
 her, of being reconciled to her. And, of course, she 
 had never before given him such reason. 
 
 In spite of her fatigue she spent a restless night, 
 and in the morning took her breakfast in bed. Two 
 letters were brought to her, and she opened Dan s 
 first. It was almost as brief as his note of the day 
 before. He wrote: 
 
 "DEAR ANNA: 
 
 "Only one thing is clear to me just now, that you 
 must do from now on exactly as you wish, as nearly 
 as possible. If you will find out what arrangements 
 you wish to make for staying in New York I should 
 like to see you settled before I leave for Wyoming, 
 which will be on Tuesday, I expect. I can arrange 
 to send you two hundred dollars a month, and if that 
 is not enough, will try to meet whatever is necessary. 
 
 254 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 I expect to reach New York Tuesday morning and to 
 leave for the West Tuesday night. D. D." 
 
 She read it twice, flushing hotly, then tossed it 
 from her. If that was the way Dan meant to take 
 it if he kept that attitude why, then, she would 
 simply try to make herself independent of him at 
 once. It was true she had given him cause to be hurt 
 and angry, she had said hard things, but after all 
 they were true, most of them. She, not Dan, was 
 the injured person; and though she had felt momen 
 tarily in the wrong, if he now took a high and mighty 
 tone and aimed at keeping her there, she would she 
 would 
 
 She opened the thick envelope addressed in Pur- 
 cell s writing. It contained several enclosures, letters 
 and a telegram, all bearing on the subject which he 
 had in hand for her. His own note was of the briefest. 
 It said only that he had been very sorry to miss her 
 that afternoon and that he hoped to be more fortunate 
 on the morrow, when he expected to bring her some 
 information more authentic than his various corre 
 spondents could furnish. 
 
 Really he was taking any amount of trouble for her. 
 
 If there were many people as kind as that ! But 
 
 people were generally not kind unless they were in 
 terested. Was he really interested in her, and why, 
 she asked herself naively. Anna had leaped from one 
 extreme to the other, in her estimate of her own at 
 traction and power. Measuring herself against what 
 she had seen of the women of an older civiliza 
 tion, she felt crude, bare, and rather humble. The 
 emphasis now lay, in her mind, on what she had not, 
 
 255 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 rather than on what she had. And she was corre 
 spondingly pleased and moved by anything that 
 seemed to show she had a value in well, the eyes of 
 Purcell, for example of what she now felt was best 
 worth pleasing. Since their talk at dinner she had 
 felt, not that she knew much about Purcell, but that 
 for some reason he wanted her to know about him. 
 He had talked frankly about himself. But every 
 thing he said, in one way, helped to set him away 
 from her. His experience, so completely beyond her 
 knowledge, and so varied, seemed to make him a being 
 of really a different order from any she had known. 
 She felt timidity in face of this superiority of his, and, 
 strangely, she liked to feel it. She had no idea of try 
 ing to impress or dazzle him; wistfully she acknowl 
 edged that that was beyond her power; but she did 
 want keenly that he should like her a little and per 
 haps he did like her. 
 
 She smiled to herself as she lay thinking about him 
 for Purcell s note had for the moment driven her 
 trouble with Dan out of her mind. But she came 
 back to it with a throb of pain through Dan s criti 
 cism of Purcell. Was it possible that Purcell had 
 really not treated her well as he would have treated 
 any one of the other women he knew? She flushed 
 crimson at the thought. If it were so, Dan was right 
 to be angry, and she had been wrong to be so moved 
 by what he said. 
 
 And anyway she had been wrong. She came back 
 miserably to that conclusion. And it tormented her 
 so, the feeling that she had behaved badly, that she 
 rose, put on a dressing-gown and sat down to write to 
 Dan. 
 
 256 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Anna was not skilful with her pen; expression was 
 always difficult to her. She wrote only a few sen 
 tences, and they seemed very lame, as she read them 
 over. It seemed cold and ungracious, too, to say 
 simply that she was sorry for what she had said the 
 other night and that she hadn t meant it. But even 
 that was really more than she felt, for she had meant 
 it. She couldn t take back what she had said, 
 warmly, completely, asking his forgiveness, making 
 him feel her regret. She did regret her outburst, but 
 it had been only the sign of a deep estrangement, of 
 her passionate criticism and dislike of what he really 
 stood for. So she sealed the stiff little note and sent 
 it off; and went back to bed and cried miserably 
 over the whole situation. 
 
 What was to become of her what could she do 
 with herself? She had made Dan unhappy, she was 
 unhappy herself, and she could not see how they were 
 to go on living together, at least for the present. And 
 yet, to separate! A separation was hardly one shade . 
 better than a divorce; in other words it was some 
 thing almost unimaginable from Anna s point of view. 
 Either one was, in the opinion of the community in 
 which she had grown up, a thing not respectable, not 
 possible without forfeiting all standing in that com 
 munity. Consequently it was not so much Anna s 
 opinion as something much more deeply vital in her, 
 that revolted at the idea of such a thing happening 
 to herself. In the society she knew, it was almost 
 better to have a relative in the penitentiary, or on 
 the stage, than to be divorced. And though she was I 
 no longer a part of that society, its ideals, in all that 
 related to "morals," had never for a moment been 
 
 257 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 doubted by her to be the best, in fact the only ones, 
 possible. And the dreadful thing was, that unless 
 her quarrel with Dan could be patched up, they would 
 really be "separated"; whereas, if she remained in 
 New York with his permission, it would be an entirely 
 different matter. Of all the statements she had 
 made in her anger, the least true was that it didn t 
 matter whether she had his permission or not. So 
 far was this from being true, that Anna now saw in a 
 flash that if she could not get Dan s approval of her 
 staying, she would prefer to go back with him. As 
 soon as this was clear to her she had a sense of relief, 
 almost of comfort. Yes, that was the only way out. 
 Dan must decide it. She would go on and get all the 
 information, as he had suggested. Then, if he still 
 objected to her staying, she might be unhappy, but 
 she would yield. The responsibility would then be 
 his, and he could not blame her. 
 
 Peace of mind came suddenly with this decision, 
 and Anna composed herself and slept soundly for the 
 first time since the quarrel. Her last thought as she 
 fell asleep was that she must not show the marks of 
 tears and fatigue when Purcell came that afternoon. 
 
 In fact, this past emotion left no trace except per 
 haps a certain chastened look, which had its own 
 radiance and attraction. A brisk walk after luncheon 
 in the open air revived her color and spirits; though 
 in the course of it she had had a somewhat unpleasant 
 experience. Determining to lose no more time in 
 finding a possible place to live, she had cut out some 
 advertisements of boarding-places from the morning 
 paper, and she went to inquire at an address on 
 
 258 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Thirty-ninth Street. This place promised "high- 
 class accommodations" and "strictly refined patron 
 age," and Anna thought she might see what this 
 desirable combination would cost. But when the 
 colored butler had summoned the landlady, and this 
 imposing black-robed personage had studied Anna 
 for a few moments and found out that she would 
 have a piano and practise two or three hours a day, 
 she coldly said that there were no rooms vacant. 
 Anna went away much flustered, and it took a long 
 walk to restore her equanimity. She decided that 
 she would postpone further investigation until Flora 
 O Beirne could go with her, or at least advise her 
 where to go. 
 
 Purcell brought her the name and address of a 
 teacher vouched for by his friend the musical critic. 
 
 "Walton says he s an admirable person if you want 
 to study hard and thoroughly. He isn t at all popu 
 lar, has no pull and of course isn t expensive. In 
 fact he s never got really started here, and very likely 
 never will. Walton knew him in Leipzig. He speaks 
 very little English, is excessively nervous, irritable 
 and brusque, and drives most of his pupils away in 
 
 one fashion or another. I m quoting Walton " 
 
 Purcell had a little note-book open in his hand, and 
 showed her a page dotted with cryptic scrawls. "I 
 made sure of not missing a single point. No mag 
 netism, enthusiasm or way of seeming to help you 
 along. Only helps those who help themselves. Will 
 tell you the stern truth. Loses most of his pupils 
 that way. Suicidal temper. Will cry at times and 
 tell you he intends to cut his throat. Can thoroughly 
 recommend him/ ... If you re not frightened 
 
 259 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 off, Walton will send a note to Herr Pannier and he 
 will do all he can for you. You ll find him any morn 
 ing at his studio he has a good deal of leisure." 
 
 "It sounds like just what I want/ Anna said. "I 
 want to work hard. I ll take down his address " 
 Purcell wrote it out on a loose leaf of his notebook 
 and gave it to her "and thank you a hundred times. 
 Really I shouldn t have known what to do if it hadn t 
 been for you." 
 
 Purcell smiled. "I m very glad. I ll tell Walton 
 then to write the note, shall I?" 
 
 Anna hesitated and stammered. 
 
 "Perhaps it would be better to wait a day or so. 
 You see I m not absolutely certain yet. There s a 
 chance that I may not be here. If it turns out that 
 you ve had all this trouble for nothing, what mill you 
 think of me?" 
 
 "It won t be for nothing, in any case. I liked doing 
 it, you see." 
 
 "But I shall know now very soon. ... I hate 
 not to know what I m going to do, don t you?" 
 
 "I hate not to know what I want to do. But per 
 haps it s the same thing?" 
 
 "Oh I don t know. I m afraid it isn t, for me. 
 It must be heavenly to be able to do just what you 
 want, and only have to make up your mind what 
 that is." 
 
 "Ah, but you oughtn t to have to make up your 
 mind. It ought to be made up for you. If it s only 
 with your mind that you know what you want why, 
 you re apt not to know at all, and that s far from 
 being heavenly quite the other thing, in fact." 
 
 "But in case you didn t know what you wanted, 
 260 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 it would mean that you had so much! . . . That 
 you could have anything you liked to have. . . . 
 It would mean that you had a choice among pleasant 
 things. . . . But when you know definitely what 
 you want, it means that there s an unpleasant alter 
 native, don t you think so? And that very likely 
 you ll have to take that." Anna proposed these 
 sentiments gravely, thinking them out slowly, and a 
 little triumphant in her conclusion. "So it is better 
 not to know your own mind." 
 
 "But what good are the things you have, if you 
 don t know whether you want them or not? How 
 can you get any pleasure out of what you are, if 
 you re not sure you wouldn t rather be something 
 different?" 
 
 "Yes, but you can try to be different to be what 
 you want to be." 
 
 "Of course, if you re sure you want to be it. But 
 there again you must know what you want. In fact, 
 you see, you can t be anything in particular without 
 making up your mind to it, and even then you can t 
 unless your mind is made up for you too!" 
 
 "But it isn t necessary to be anything in particular 
 I mean, to do anything in order to enjoy life, is it? 
 And we agreed that was the best thing to enjoy." 
 
 "I m not sure we agreed. I ve tried it, you know 
 I mean doing nothing " 
 
 "But of course I didn t mean that! You seem to 
 me to have done more than anybody I know, and yet 
 you say you have only tried to enjoy life. I think 
 that is the only way to do and be anything interesting. 
 How can you be yourself at all if you don t do what 
 you want?" 
 
 261 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "Yes to do what you want! So we re back where 
 we started from, aren t we?" 
 
 "I suppose so " 
 
 "Do you know what you want just now?" 
 
 Anna pondered, and looked up at him with 
 troubled, shining eyes. 
 
 "I m not sure I do." 
 
 "Then, according to your theory it must be because 
 you have an embarrassment of riches to choose from." 
 
 "Oh, no. It isn t that," she declared positively. 
 
 "Then what becomes of your theory? You re quite 
 wrong, you see. And meantime, here are you and I 
 two people with not a single mind apparently. It s 
 distressing. I wish I could help you out. How can 
 you expect to get what you want when you don t 
 know " 
 
 "I know it," she murmured with a melancholy 
 look. "It is terrible." 
 
 "It s very unsatisfactory trusting to chance or 
 somebody else to decide these matters. You might 
 find out when it was too late that you had got the 
 wrong thing, and had really known it all along " 
 
 "Yes, I might," she nodded sadly, and suddenly 
 he saw the tears well up in her eyes. 
 
 He was nonplussed for a moment he had not 
 meant his idle play to have any real personal applica 
 tion. But he turned it quickly. 
 
 "I ll help you to make up your mind, shall I? Tell 
 me what you think you want, and I ll argue against 
 it with all my might and main." 
 
 "Well, I think I want to stay in New York and study 
 singing," said Anna with a wan smile, getting rid of 
 the tears. 
 
 262 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "Oh, I ve innumerable arguments against that. So 
 many and such strong ones that if after you hear 
 them you have the faintest desire to stay you can be 
 quite sure you want it tremendously! But I m afraid 
 it s too late to begin on them now it must be a good 
 deal after six." He rose with some unwillingness. 
 
 "I wish I could ask you to dine with us. But 
 
 Mr. Devin isn t here, and and then I promised to 
 take dinner with Mrs. O Beirne." 
 
 A sort of panic impelled Anna to mention this. She 
 did not know whether Purcell might not expect her 
 to ask him to dinner or perhaps he might be sur 
 prised if she did ask him. A moment later she re 
 gretted having put it out of her power to do so. 
 
 "Ah, then there s no hope for me/ he said, and 
 somehow he conveyed the impression of disappoint 
 ment. 
 
 "But I hope I shall see you again before I go, if I 
 do go," she said. 
 
 "It won t be so sudden as that anyway, will it? 
 Fm going away for a few days, but if you ll send a 
 note to the University Club, so that I can let Walton 
 know that is, if you want him to write Pannier 
 and I hope you will want it." 
 
 "So do I," said Anna. 
 
 263 
 
VIII. 
 
 Anna came back to her room about mid- 
 night, after dinner and a theatre with the 
 O Beirnes, she found Dan sitting in the easy-chair 
 under the electric light, asleep. The pages of the 
 evening newspapers were scattered on the floor. His 
 head was bent forward, and Anna, standing near him 
 for a moment, noticed with surprise how gray he was 
 growing. Then she spoke to him, and he woke with 
 a start. 
 
 "Why, Anna you re back at last ... I was 
 asleep, I guess." He passed his hands over his eyes 
 and got up wearily. "I didn t sleep much last night, 
 and I ve been waiting for you since about seven. 
 
 }) 
 
 "Why didn t you let me know you were coming? 
 I didn t expect you till Tuesday. I ve been to din 
 ner with the O Beirnes. Have you had dinner?" 
 asked Anna, taking off her hat and gloves. 
 
 "Oh, yes, I got something. I decided to come on 
 and see you and then go back, and go West directly 
 from Boston. I wanted to get it settled, about you 
 . . . it worried me. . . ." 
 
 He looked tired and worried, and older, Anna 
 thought. His hair was certainly much grayer than 
 she had noticed it to be before; it was almost white 
 just at the temples. And the lines about his eyes 
 
 264 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 were more marked, showing plainly at the distance 
 they kept from one another. He kicked the news 
 papers out of his way, went to the other side of the 
 room and began walking up and down before the 
 door. 
 
 "I got your letter that really decided me to come/ 
 he said. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "It made me certain that you will not go back with 
 me. . . ." 
 
 "I didn t mean it that way, though. I didn t say 
 that." 
 
 "No, no ... I know. But ... I felt 
 it. You must not go back." 
 
 He was not able to talk about it calmly. He caught 
 his breath after each sentence, and his voice was harsh 
 and strained. 
 
 "I will go if you wish it," said Anna, beginning to 
 undress. 
 
 "If I wish it . . .! What has that got to do 
 with it?" 
 
 "Why, I should think a good deal. I have thought 
 it all over," said Anna, smoothing out the lace on her 
 waist mechanically, "and I ve decided I will do ex 
 actly as you say. As I wrote you, I didn t mean 
 those things I said. I m sorry if I hurt your feelings. 
 And I don t want to stay, if you object to it." 
 
 "Why should I object oh, what s the use of talk 
 ing," groaned Dan. "I haven t anything to say 
 about it. We ll just consider it settled, that you 
 stay, and . . . do as seems best to you." 
 
 "Well, I don t want it settled in that way." Anna 
 sat down and fixed her eyes on him indignantly. "It s 
 
 265 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 your affair as much as it is mine almost. I don t 
 see why you should just wash your hands of it ... 
 and leave it all to me. I want to agree about it. If 
 you treat me that way, I ... won t take any 
 money at all. I ll get on by myself." 
 
 "Don t be foolish," said Dan sadly. "You just 
 don t understand me. There s only one thing in the 
 whole business that matters to me one way or the 
 other. ... If that was all right it wouldn t mat 
 ter what you did ... or said ... it might 
 hurt for a minute, but not . . . like this. It s 
 
 just this " He tried to control the twitching 
 
 muscles that distorted his mouth and made it hard 
 for him to speak. He faced her, wounded, mortally 
 hurt. "You don t love me." 
 
 Anna looked up at him and was silent, feeling hope 
 lessly that Dan was determined to make the breach 
 between them worse. 
 
 Dan went on, pain clouding his eyes and breaking 
 his voice. "I never felt it clearly, till the other night. 
 I never felt that it was useless . . . that you 
 couldn t . . . but now I feel it. I know it now. 
 . . . And so everything is different. I don t 
 know what to do. You can t be with me, because it 
 would be too hard there . . . you would be un 
 happy, unless you wanted to be with me. And yet I 
 don t know how to leave you, to let you go. . . ." 
 
 He clinched his fists and set his teeth in a vain ef 
 fort at calmness. Anna sprang up and went to him 
 and clasped her hands about the tense muscles of his 
 arm. 
 
 "Oh, please don t/ she implored. "You re all 
 wrong. I do, I do love you. I don t know what was 
 
 266 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 the matter with me the other night. I didn t mean 
 what I said. Won t you forgive me, please, Dan?" 
 
 "It isn t that/ he said, and she felt that he was 
 shaking. 
 
 "You know you have often said angry things to 
 me," she cried, "and I knew you said them in anger, 
 and when you were sorry it was all right. . . ." 
 
 "I never said anything like that . . . but if 
 it had been only in anger. . . . But it wasn t. 
 You . . . you meant it. Or else when you 
 wrote me . . . you would have showed . . . 
 some feeling. But you have no feeling for me. Ex 
 cept, perhaps, you might like me a little ... if 
 everything went well." 
 
 Anna s hands dropped from his arm. She turned 
 away from him. 
 
 "I don t blame you," Dan went on jerkily. "You re 
 not to blame for ... not loving me. It is my 
 fault . . . something wrong in me ... or 
 I could have made you love me. I thought you 
 would, when we were married. I know I made mis 
 takes. I haven t done what I meant to do for you. 
 . . . But I didn t mean . . . to deceive you. 
 I didn t mean that. I tried to do what I thought 
 would be the best thing. . . . But now perhaps 
 I am mistaken again. As you said, I may fail . . . 
 and you couldn t stand that, could you? . . . 
 You can t trust me, you said . . . you don t 
 believe I will succeed. And if not, if we were always 
 poor, I wouldn t be anything to you . . . except 
 a failure. ... You would . . . hate me. 
 It s better to know it now. Perhaps you can be 
 happy some way after all. . . ." 
 
 267 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "Happy!" Anna laughed bitterly. "No, I can 
 never be happy ! You get rid of me very easily but 
 we ll both have to suffer for making a failure of it. 
 You can begin over again to make money, but how 
 can I begin over again? . . . You don t know 
 what that means to a woman ... I shall feel 
 disgraced! I don t know what I shall do something 
 terrible, perhaps. You can t blame me. . . ." 
 
 They gazed at one another. 
 
 "Then," said Dan, hoarsely, "would you rather go 
 on as we are? If so, come with me." 
 
 "It isn t necessary that I should go with you. Only 
 that you shouldn t cast me off!" she cried. "I think 
 we d better be apart for a while, anyhow after all 
 this. But I don t want to feel that that it is a fail 
 ure. To feel that I don t belong anywhere, that no 
 body nobody " she struggled with her sobs 
 
 "Don t you see, after a while it might be different. 
 We could be together again. What else is there?" 
 
 Dan looked at her in sad bewilderment. 
 
 "Let it be that way, then," he said finally. "I 
 don t understand you now but I ll agree to anything 
 you want. I am to go, then, and you re to stay . . . 
 for the present. . . . And we are to try and be 
 . . . friends . . .?" 
 
 "Yes," Anna said with great and obvious relief. 
 "That is it. That s the best thing." 
 
 Dan took up his coat and hat, which lay on the bed, 
 and put them on. 
 
 "Where are you going?" she said in astonish 
 ment. 
 
 "To the Turkish bath. I m dead tired. I shall 
 probably sleep late in the morning. I ll be here for 
 
 268 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 lunch anyhow at one. Then we can settle the rest 
 before I go back to Boston. Good-night, Anna." 
 
 Good-night/ she said plaintively. 
 
 She went over and kissed his cheek. Dan received 
 the caress passively and went out, moving with the 
 slower step and slightly bowed shoulders that seemed 
 to show the sudden leap of age upon him. 
 
 269 
 
IX. 
 
 TN effect he had lived years during the last few 
 -*- months. An expenditure of mental and nervous 
 energy which each day left him practically exhausted, 
 in spite of his strong frame, had in that time markedly 
 lowered his vitality and increased his nervous sen 
 sitiveness. The life at Mallory had been hard; ten 
 times harder had been his work in the East. Here 
 the struggle to retrieve his false step, to regain in 
 dependence, had reached its acute crisis. It had been 
 intense in proportion to the issues involved, and the 
 shortness of the time he had allowed himself. To 
 make and lose a fortune and to win another, all in 
 little more than a year, is a thing that in any case can 
 not be done cheaply. In Dan s case it required com 
 plete concentration on the one object, and the invest 
 ment of every ounce of capital he possessed. That 
 capital was his brain, his force, his hope and deter 
 mination in other words, simply his life itself. Ex 
 cept for this, he had gone almost bare-handed into 
 the new enterprise, but he had thrown himself into 
 it without reserve, and his personal force had made 
 its success. 
 
 But this concentration, this abandon to his idea, 
 had made him peculiarly susceptible and left him de 
 fenceless against the blow that had now fallen on 
 him. In his position he absolutely needed freedom 
 
 270 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 of mind, aside from his business. He needed emo 
 tional peace and repose, to rest simply on a love that 
 understood, that made few demands, that gave itself 
 freely. Absorbed in a task whose full difficulty and 
 hardship none could know except himself, he needed 
 to feel that this absorption was being counted for 
 and not against him. If Anna could have answered 
 these demands on her and they were not small 
 she might have eased incalculably the strain upon 
 him. 
 
 But now that strain was increased almost to the 
 breaking-point. Suddenly he had been put upon 
 the defensive, and he could not defend himself. The 
 surprise was complete; he felt himself routed, beaten, 
 so utterly overthrown that there was nothing for it 
 but unconditional surrender in the moment, too, 
 when all his thoughts had been of victory. 
 
 Victory, to be sure, in another field; but in the 
 same cause. Dan had taken it for granted that his 
 wife was with him in his fight; that she understood 
 it was for her more than for himself that he was fight 
 ing; that she would rejoice with him in any success, 
 even though she offered no definite consolation in 
 the event of failure. 
 
 But now, it seemed, in trying to get for her, in the 
 shortest possible time, the things on which she set 
 her desire, he had lost her. The task presented to him 
 now was to win again what he had thought already 
 his; to lay siege to his wife s heart; to make her so 
 completely his that no division like this would be pos 
 sible again between them; to make her accept him 
 once for all, with all his limitations, lacks and faults; 
 to make her love him. 
 
 271 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 And he knew it was impossible. Between the lover 
 of a year ago and himself to-day was an impassable 
 distance. He loved Anna all the more because she 
 was the only being he loved. But few men can have 
 made more completely the transition from lover to 
 husband; can have exercised more freely the marital 
 right to take things for granted, and to expect one s 
 self to be taken for granted. And now, this position 
 being utterly overturned, he felt simply that he was 
 betrayed, that events had betrayed him, had con 
 founded all his expectations, and that it was impos 
 sible to alter the result. He could not sue again for 
 Anna s love. It was his right; for, after all, he had 
 been loyal to her, and he had done what seemed best 
 to him in her interest, even in his Californian specula 
 tions and in the subsequent necessary sacrifices, for 
 which she now so bitterly reproached him. 
 
 It was the crushing misfortune of that loss in Cali 
 fornia that it had swept away, at a blow, everything 
 that might have reconciled Anna to the inevitable 
 change, inevitably hard to a woman, especially so to 
 a vain woman, in Dan. To lose at once lover, house, 
 position, ease, family ties, receiving in exchange a 
 husband at a distance and certain doubtful prospects, 
 might have tried a stronger soul than hers. Dan 
 had not even yet counted the whole cost of his lost 
 venture, which meant the loss of her faith in him. 
 He did not know yet what it would cost him to give 
 Anna up he could not know until he had tried to 
 supply the void that her loss would leave in his life. 
 For practically she represented to him not only what 
 he knew of woman, but all relief to the simple bare 
 purpose of his daily life. If he could not woo her 
 
 272 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 back again, still less could he woo any other woman. 
 As for what women could give him unsought, un 
 asked, he naively despised it, though he might take 
 it, and despised them for giving. No man could feel 
 more deeply the value of love; imaginatively he had 
 felt it, had lifted it reverently far above the things of 
 the world and the flesh. Permanence seemed to him 
 of its essence, and charity also. It must be eternal, 
 long-suffering and forgiving, for was it not, in this 
 world, the one thing divine? 
 
 And in his simple creed, to love and to be faithful 
 was to deserve love. Fidelity too was a thing of the 
 spirit, not to be affected by distance, time, or, in the 
 case of faulty man, by momentary amours. In this 
 spirit he had been faithful to Anna, and would be 
 while he lived; for no other woman could take her 
 place, even though she rejected him. Nor, in his 
 bewildered thoughts, did he blame her for so doing. 
 It was simply a misfortune that fell on her as well as 
 himself. It was a cruel fate that had turned his own 
 efforts against himself, that had misled him, led him 
 somehow to injure her and their life together. In 
 his grief there was no room for resentment. 
 
 Instinctively Dan was a fatalist. By inheritance, 
 too, he was a Puritan. The world had never seemed 
 to him made for joy, but for struggle; the end of man 
 was not enjoyment but work. In his heart, even 
 when he was happiest, he had denied happiness. Al 
 ways he had acknowledged the existence of a power 
 outside himself which might at any moment range 
 itself against him, and baffle or crush him. Am 
 bitious lives near to him he had seen go down before 
 these sledge-hammer blows of the invisible force. It 
 
 273 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 was partly this fatalism which blunted the tooth of 
 regret for his own previous failures: he had done his 
 best, the event was beyond him. 
 
 Now he bowed his head to the inevitable. He had 
 done his best: but Anna was lost to him. 
 
 His intuition was right. Effort would have been 
 vain. From the moment that Anna s dissatisfaction 
 with him was crystallized, fixed by comparison of 
 him with another man, she was already in spirit faith 
 less to him. But Dan did not suspect the reason of 
 her definite change. On the surface, her acquaint 
 ance with Purcell was too slight to warrant suspicion 
 in a mind so little inclined to it as his. Once for all 
 he had placed Anna in the category of good women. 
 A good woman, once for all, was above temptation; 
 above the vulgarity of flirtation, as well as the darker 
 faults. It was unthinkable that a virtuous woman 
 could descend from her august station, could cross 
 the hard-and-fast line separating her from the frail 
 sisterhood lightly spoken of, lightly esteemed. If a 
 woman was not chaste she was nothing in Dan s view; 
 she had no claim, except perhaps on pity that was 
 more contempt. She deserved the brand of the scar 
 let letter, deserved the social stoning. In something 
 the same way, though not so strongly for the special 
 faults of men, as being more in line with their original 
 nature, impressed him less than the fall of women 
 Dan felt toward drunkenness. His kindly nature had 
 its harsh side it was puritanically intolerant of the 
 weaknesses of the flesh. 
 
 And though it had not occurred to him to suspect 
 Anna or to be jealous of Nicholas Purcell, in one way 
 their acquaintance had troubled him deeply. When 
 
 274 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 he was able to think at all he thought of her, and of 
 the dangers that must surround her when she was 
 left alone in the city. Purcell suggested one of these 
 dangers. It was obvious that Anna could not escape 
 attention and admiration she was too beautiful. 
 She was good and innocent, but her very virtues and 
 attractions would make it harder for her. Her in 
 nocence might be taken advantage of. She was to 
 tally ignorant of the world; and it was very probable 
 that she was wrong and he right in thinking PurcelPs 
 conduct, in the affair of the dinner, doubtful. Dan s 
 mind was by no means at ease on the point, and he 
 meant to have it settled, and if need be, to call Pur- 
 cell to account. What he knew of Purcell s character 
 was decidedly against him. Purcell was an idler, liv 
 ing on the earnings of better men, corrupted by the 
 decaying civilizations of Europe it was inevitable 
 he should be vicious, unscrupulous. No doubt he 
 was un-American enough to take advantage of a 
 woman for his own amusement. But if it proved 
 that he had offered Anna any disrespect. . . . 
 
 Dan clinched his fists and rage flamed up in his 
 face as his solitary meditations reached this stage. 
 Immediately afterward he resolved to consult Flora 
 O Beirne. She knew the world at large, and New 
 York in particular. She would advise him as to a 
 boarding-place for Anna, and would also, he was sure, 
 engage to help Anna in any possible way. And she 
 could doubtless settle that other point for him if he 
 decided to ask her. 
 
 After his late breakfast he telephoned and found 
 that Mrs. O Beirne was in and would see him with 
 pleasure; and accordingly went around to her hotel 
 
 275 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 at once. She took him into a corner of the big old- 
 fashioned parlor, and he found it easy to tell her of 
 Anna s plans for the winter. Flora was ready and 
 resourceful. 
 
 "Of course I can find a place for her. It would be 
 hard if I didn t know a little about New York, after 
 all the weary time I ve spent here. Boarding-houses, 
 yes, I know dozens of em all kinds. The sort where 
 you have references, and the sort where you have 
 ructions. Exclusive and quite otherwise, oh dear, 
 yes. I lived in a theatrical boarding-house once, for 
 two weeks, taking care of a little friend of mine who 
 was ill well, we don t want that kind, of course. 1 
 know exactly the sort quiet, not too expensive, and 
 she ll want to have a piano and practise, of course. 
 I ll go and see Miss Thaw, a friend of mine. She is a 
 dear, and has the nicest place, for the money. We d 
 go to her, except that she doesn t take transients, 
 and you know we re nothing if not transient. But 
 the only difficulty, if she has a room, would be the 
 piano. Her whole second floor has been let for years 
 to an old lady who won t have a child, an English 
 woman, a dog or a piano in the house. However, 
 we ll see I haven t seen her for a year, and things 
 may be different now." 
 
 Flora chattered partly out of desire to dissemble 
 her feelings. At first glance the change in Dan had 
 struck her, and each moment made her more certain 
 that something was wrong. She did not fail to put 
 two and two together, and the sum of her mental cal 
 culations was that Anna s disturbance of the past day 
 or so, Dan s miserable looks, and the sudden decision 
 of the couple to part, had a common and a serious 
 
 276 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 cause. Her heart leapt instantly to Dan s side of 
 the trouble, whatever it might be. 
 
 "You re very kind/ he said gratefully. "You 
 take a big load off my mind. If she could only be 
 in a place that would be a little home-like you know 
 what I mean. . . ." 
 
 "Yes, of course where some real interest would 
 be taken in her where she won t be treated as a 
 mere machine that you feed meat and bread and that 
 returns dollars! Oh, I know. There s nothing in 
 life so lonesome as a typical boarding-house in a big 
 city. But if Mary Thaw can take her, it will be all 
 right. She ll feel almost at home. Mary will do 
 that much for me any day." 
 
 "If only you were going to be in New York," said 
 Dan with the moody look that was new to him. "You 
 would look after her a little, wouldn t you?" 
 
 "That I would, as much as she d let me! And I 
 will, Dan, whenever I am here. I know how you 
 feel about leaving her. But if she has her work she 
 won t be so lonely. And then she ll find other things. 
 And it won t be long you ll be here off and on, prob 
 ably, on business, won t you? It will really be much 
 easier for her than trailing about after you and per 
 haps for you, too." 
 
 "Yes, perhaps so," he said sombrely. "But she s 
 
 so young, and she s attractive, you see. And 
 
 she doesn t know the world It s that part of it 
 
 that worries me." 
 
 "Oh, I wouldn t worry! She strikes me as very 
 well able to take care of herself, really. She doesn t 
 seem at all impulsive, feather-headed quite the con 
 trary. I thought her unusually well, level-headed/ 
 
 277 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "Well, but she doesn t know," returned Dan, show 
 ing some irritation. 
 
 He pushed back his chair, and walked across the 
 room and back. Already, it seemed to him, the re 
 freshing effect of his night s rest was wearing off. He 
 was conscious of an extreme nervous irritability. 
 Flora s well-intentioned ease grated on him. 
 
 Flora was quick enough to see that she had taken 
 the wrong tone. She cast away pretence. She put 
 out her hand, took Dan s and drew him down into 
 his chair, regardless of some people at the other end 
 of the room. Lowering her voice she said earnestly: 
 
 Tell me anything you can, my dear, and if there s 
 anything on earth I can do to help you, you won t 
 need to ask twice. It cuts me to the heart to see you 
 look like this. Sorrow to those that have brought 
 sorrow on you!" 
 
 "No . . . don t say that. It is my fault, not 
 anybody else s, in the beginning. I see that now, 
 and it s what hurts the most. I can t tell you all 
 . . . it wouldn t do any good. But . . . but 
 . . , she will be all alone, do you see? And she 
 is not happy, either. Will you help her, what you 
 can?" 
 
 "I will, Dan, for your sake. For I tell you hon 
 estly I don t believe for a minute that you re to blame, 
 no matter what has happened." 
 
 "But," said he, touched and yet alarmed by her 
 evident feeling, "if you take it that way you can t do 
 her any good. She will see, she will think I have told 
 you. . . . And I had better tell you the whole 
 thing now, so that you can see for yourself it is not 
 her fault." 
 
 278 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "Well, if you think it will have that effect for, 
 frankly, knowing no more of you two than I do now, 
 I can t help but blame her." 
 
 What Dan had to tell, beginning with their losses 
 in California and ending with Anna s dislike for the 
 Wyoming prospect with its unsettled conditions, was 
 told as nearly as possible from Anna s point of view. 
 He did not wish at all to exculpate himself, he was 
 concerned only to make out Anna s case so* that no 
 injustice should be done her; and to avoid touching 
 on what could not be explained away, her lack of feel 
 ing. 
 
 It cannot be said that he achieved his object. His 
 simple confession of his own shortcomings and er 
 rors merely confirmed Flora unalterably in her con 
 viction that the real fault lay elsewhere. Anna s 
 unlovingness was too apparent in the bare facts of 
 the case. And to Flora s emotional nature, counting 
 love worth any sacrifice and the ample reward of any, 
 counting it too the highest duty especially of a woman, 
 and her greatest right, Anna stood thereby con 
 demned. 
 
 But if Dan did not touch on that side of it, neither 
 could she. And so she simply said when he had 
 ended: 
 
 "I understand. No one knows better than I do, 
 Dan, the hardship of uncertainty and violent changes 
 to most women. We re made that way I suppose 
 for some good end." 
 
 He got up to go immediately, and asked Flora to 
 come and lunch with Anna and himself, and after 
 ward to guide them in their search for a domicile. 
 She had arranged previously to lunch with her hus- 
 
 279 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 band, but agreed to the latter part of the programme, 
 adding that, as she had an hour or so to spare, she 
 would go to see Mary Thaw immediately. 
 
 When the Colonel appeared at one o clock, Flora 
 poured out to him all her repressed indignation on 
 Dan s behalf she had no secrets from her husband, 
 not even the secrets of her friends. 
 
 "And so she leaves him simply because he can t 
 make money fast enough, though, poor boy, he s 
 working himself to death/ she cried. 
 
 "Ah, you re always hard on the women, especially 
 the pretty ones," said the Colonel easily. "And I 
 shouldn t wonder, Flo, if you wasted more sympathy 
 on the men than they deserve. You ve fallen in love 
 again, and that s the truth, confess it." 
 
 "Better so than to have a heart like a stone," said 
 the lady. "If you love one, you love more, and that s 
 the truth. It s just a habit. But it s a habit she 
 never had. For all her pretty face I wouldn t give 
 that for her," a snap of the fingers. "And yet here 
 I ve been talking to Mary Thaw about her as if she 
 was my bosom friend, getting Mary to give her the 
 back parlor in her new house for two dollars a week 
 less than regular rates, and to try and be a mother to 
 her to boot. And it s a job 7 wouldn t undertake, I 
 can tell you, unless for the pleasure of telling her what 
 I think of her." 
 
 With this help of Flora s, the question was very 
 quickly settled that afternoon. After inspecting it 
 with Dan, Anna agreed to take Miss Thaw s back 
 parlor. She went back to the hotel and packed all 
 her belongings. The next day she would see Herr 
 Pannier, and arrange about renting a piano. Dan 
 
 280 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 could feel when he left for Boston, not to return to 
 New York probably for many months, that she was 
 practically settled, and as comfortably so as possible 
 in the circumstances. 
 
 They were to dine together for the last time that 
 evening. 
 
 In silence, after the little room in which they had 
 lived so long was dismantled and the keys given 
 up, they left the hotel, which was beginning to be 
 gay again with the first hint of winter life. Anna 
 uttered a mental prayer that she might never see 
 it again. 
 
 They walked down the Avenue slowly. It was a 
 crisp bright evening, with a red glow in the west, and 
 a new moon already sinking. The street too looked 
 gay and alive. Its line of lights and those of the side 
 streets, twinkling in the moving air, had a festive 
 suggestion, leading into the constellated district of 
 the cafes and theatres, whose season was already 
 well begun. 
 
 "Can you remember where you went that night 
 with Purcell?" asked Dan suddenly. "We might 
 try that place for a change." 
 
 Anna was startled. 
 
 "We ve passed the street, I think," she said. "It 
 was only two or three blocks from the hotel. I don t 
 remember exactly the street." 
 
 "Well, do you know the name of the place?" 
 
 "No. It was kept by a Frenchman." 
 
 With this information to go upon, it was some time 
 before they found the place. There was a good deal 
 of walking up and down side-streets and of inquir 
 ing by the way, for its fame was by no means spread 
 
 281 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 abroad. But Dan was determined to find it, and he 
 did. Anna did not oppose him, though she would 
 have preferred a place with music and something to 
 look at, in the circumstances. 
 
 When they entered there were two other couples, 
 one in each room, obviously intent on something be 
 sides dining. Anna sat down at a table near the one 
 which she had occupied with Purcell, choosing her 
 place so that she could see the other people in the 
 front room. After taking off her coat and gloves she 
 proceeded to study these people, while Dan, in the 
 generous interval afforded them, was also keenly and 
 generally observant. 
 
 The lady at the other table sat with her back to 
 them, but Anna had glanced at her face as they came 
 in. She judged her to be about thirty; she was 
 rather handsome, very well and quietly dressed in 
 black. Her companion was a man perhaps a year or 
 so younger, with a well-formed though heavy face, 
 fresh and smooth-shaven, and large blue eyes that 
 were expressionless, except when he looked at the 
 lady. Anna was so interested in his looks and the 
 tone of his low responses to the lady s quick nervous 
 sentences, also subdued in tone, that she did not no 
 tice the length of time they waited; but Dan became 
 impatient and rapped his glass with his knife, a habit 
 she disliked. 
 
 The peremptory sound disturbed that atmosphere 
 of leisurely enjoyment. The man at the other table 
 glanced at them again, this time with a shade of 
 amused irritation in his indolent face; and when 
 Monsieur Chapuis appeared, a moment or so later, to 
 bring the first-comers their fish, Anna thought his 
 
 282 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 smile and bow, directed to her table, expressed a 
 slight reproach. 
 
 When he was at liberty to attend them, the host 
 began suavely in French to offer a suggestion for the 
 dinner. Dan cut him short with a request for the 
 bill of fare. One was produced, and at another time 
 Dan would have been irritated to find that it was in 
 French and that no prices were given. But now he 
 threw it aside contemptuously, and with a reference 
 to Anna, ordered soup, "any kind you have ready, a 
 good thick steak, rare, some salad, and a bottle of 
 claret. And hurry up that soup, will you, waiter?" 
 he called after the host as he departed. Poor Mon 
 sieur Chapuis put an unwonted ironical dignity into 
 his bow. 
 
 Again Anna met the glance of the big-eyed man. 
 This time he was more irritated than amused. Still 
 looking at her, he made a brief remark to his vis-a-vis, 
 with an annoyed and supercilious curl of his thick lips. 
 Anna flushed, and herself felt deeply annoyed. It 
 irritated her that Dan could not feel, as she did, the 
 un-American charm of the little place, and adapt his 
 manners to its character. But nothing was further 
 from Dan s mind than adapting himself. Having 
 finished his inspection, he brusquely disapproved 
 that character, and his deep voice was very audible 
 as he said: 
 
 "Well, I can t see much in this place. Pretty 
 poor, I call it. Any chop-house would give you 
 better food too, I don t doubt." 
 
 A certain dry hostility in his tone was due to the 
 fact that he was condemning Purcell s choice, and 
 Anna so understood it. But in her unqualified and 
 
 283 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 deepening preference for Purcell s ideas and ways, 
 she could not trust herself to dispute with Dan any 
 point involving them. 
 
 Their dinner was a very silent one ; and it was not 
 a very good one. Rare steaks were not in Monsieur 
 Chapuis line, and his idea of rareness did not corre 
 spond with Dan s. Result, a slating for that un 
 fortunate artist. 
 
 Dan showed, in these circumstances, at his worst. 
 His temper, always quick, and now exasperated by 
 suffering, was scarcely within his control. His nerves 
 were sorely tried by the long deadly silences that fol 
 lowed his brief remarks to Anna and her constrained 
 answers; by the sight of her downcast, unresponsive 
 face; by the waits between the courses of their un 
 satisfactory meal; perhaps by the proximity of that 
 pair of lovers, with their low talk and absorption in 
 one another. A terrible ache was at his heart; pain 
 sometimes gripped him by the throat. While he was 
 berating the pale, agitated host, he could scarcely 
 keep from crying aloud with misery, from hurling 
 himself blindly forth, to do bodily harm to the first 
 being that crossed his path. It was not to be sup 
 posed that the social perceptions which Dan had never 
 cultivated could serve him now. 
 
 He paid the bill under protest and they departed, 
 Anna vowing with tears in her eyes never to confront 
 Monsieur Chapuis again. It seemed to be fated that 
 each place where of late she had been with Dan should 
 be closed to her by unpleasant memories. 
 
 They walked east four long blocks through the 
 heart of the city s night-life, just beginning to stir 
 and found themselves within a few doors of Anna s 
 
 284 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 new home. It was necessary to consult a memoran 
 dum of the number which she had made in order to 
 identify the house, one in a row of exactly similar 
 design. Dan took her keys and opened the front 
 door, and the door of her room. It was rather a 
 large room, its length being the width of the house, 
 and it had two long windows opening on the back 
 yard, which contained a tree and a grass-plot. There 
 was an open fire, burning cheerily, and when the gas 
 was turned up, Anna beheld her trunk already de 
 livered, and on that article of furniture which was by 
 night a bed and by day apparently a book-case, a 
 large cluster of red roses. 
 
 "Oh, see!" she cried. Then reading the card that 
 lay near the vase, "Mrs. O Beirne. Isn t that nice 
 of her! It looks quite cosy, doesn t it?" 
 
 And she glanced round her new domain and then 
 at Dan, nervously. He was standing, with his coat 
 on, his hat in his hand. 
 
 "Yes, it looks comfortable," he said mechanically. 
 
 "Won t you sit down?" she asked, laughing a little, 
 and going to take his coat from him. 
 
 Dan shook his head. 
 
 "No, I must get along my train have some 
 things to do " 
 
 They looked at one another. And this was to be 
 good-by! It seemed absurd, to both of them, really 
 incredible. 
 
 "You will write often, won t you?" said Anna in 
 a trembling voice. "Tell me about the railroad 
 and everything. And I will try not to be a burden 
 I mean I think I can get a church-position. . . . 
 And I will work hard. . . ." 
 
 285 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "Oh, that s all right/ muttered Dan. "You must 
 let me know how you get on." He took a roll of bills 
 from his pocket and gave her three hundred dollars. 
 "That s for the first month and incidentals. You 
 think two hundred a month will be enough?" 
 
 "Oh, plenty. I will be very careful. And I don t 
 think I ll need that much long." 
 
 Dan looked round the room again vaguely. 
 
 "Well ... I must go," he said again, with a 
 sharp effort. 
 
 Anna approached him. 
 
 "Good-by," she said tearfully. "You will write 
 often, won t you? And I suppose you ll be here 
 again before long, won t you?" 
 
 "Yes, I may be." 
 
 "And take care of yourself, won t you . . . ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes." 
 
 Anna offered a caress, and he kissed her cheek 
 brusquely. Then he turned toward the door. Anna 
 followed, clinging to his hand. 
 
 "Good-by," she sobbed, the tears on her cheeks. 
 
 Dan nodded, keeping his face turned away from 
 her as he went out. 
 
 286 
 
A LL that was left him now was the great cause, 
 *-*^ sign and conservator of middle-age the love of 
 work. In his Boston office he found work piled up for 
 him, and he plunged into it with an energy that left 
 no time for brooding. Boston, city of enthusiasms, was 
 in the throes of her brief copper boom; and the har 
 vest poured in on the happy holders of copper stocks. 
 Mallory stock had sold out the first two blocks of 
 fered, and was now selling at par. Dan s commission 
 on the sales already mounted up handsomely. He 
 was in constant telegraphic communication with 
 Grand at River City; and his reports of the present 
 and forecasts of the future were glowing as ever. 
 For when happiness left him and all lightness of 
 heart, he kept himself going by sheer dogged devotion 
 to the work he had in hand; and this devotion at 
 least was not wasted. 
 
 Josiah Purcell, now a large stockholder in Mallory, 
 and spending a good deal of time in the office, ob 
 served the change in Dan s looks in shrewd silence. 
 He knew, no one better, the cost of such inevitable 
 physical over-drafts as Dan obviously had been mak 
 ing. His own early years of business struggle had 
 bequeathed him a nervous dyspepsia, which all his 
 years of leisure he had been trying to cure. But 
 he hoped, for all kinds of reasons, that Devin was 
 not going to break down. 
 
 287 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Josiah Purcell was immensely interested in the 
 railroad scheme. Having put a good deal of money 
 into Mallory, he was determined that Mallory should 
 pay. And without having been on the ground, he 
 was convinced by Dan s array of facts and figures, 
 that the railroad was the way to make it pay, on a 
 scale attractive to the millionnaire. 
 
 Their first interview in Dan s private room a 
 little place partitioned off from the main office 
 mainly concerned the affairs and prospects of the 
 Mallory company. In Dan s absence Purcell was to 
 have the real charge of the Boston end, though there 
 was a nominal agent. 
 
 " You 11 be getting off in a day or so, I suppose," 
 said the elder man, as they went out to lunch to 
 gether. 
 
 "Day after to-morrow, I think." 
 
 "Go straight West?" 
 
 "I think so. There s nothing that needs to take 
 me to New York again. And you know every day 
 counts now out there. I don t want some of those 
 fellows to come nosing round and spoil my work for 
 me." 
 
 Purcell understood this cryptic reference to the 
 railroad, but postponed discussion of the subject 
 most in the minds of both, till they had pushed their 
 way along the narrow sidewalk, jammed with its 
 noontime hungry hurrying crowds, and had found 
 a table in a hotel cafe. Dan could not discover much 
 appetite. 
 
 "Oh, bring me a mutton-chop and a Scotch high 
 ball, and bring the high-ball right away," he said 
 listlessly. 
 
 288 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Josiah Purcell consumed much more time and care 
 in ordering; his drink was malted milk. He said to 
 Dan: "Wait till you get to my age. You ll be living 
 on gruel. Do you know that a man works on his 
 stomach? Yes, sir, and that s the first place that 
 overwork hits you. You look to me as if you d been 
 hit lately. Been eating well?" 
 
 "Oh, well enough about as usual," Dan drank 
 off half his whiskey and water. 
 
 "It s years since I touched any of that stuff," said 
 Purcell. "I found out that I was beginning to like 
 it, and I stopped." 
 
 "I haven t begun to like it yet. When I do I ll 
 stop." 
 
 "Well, how do you live out there, anyway? Do 
 you get well taken care of home living?" 
 
 "No not exactly. Lived on canned goods when 
 I was there, mostly it did play the mischief with 
 me, that s a fact." 
 
 "Of course it did. I knew well enough what ailed 
 you. Couldn t you get anything else?" 
 
 "No, not there. It ll be a shade better at 
 River City, where my head-quarters will be this 
 winter probably. There s a fair hotel there." 
 
 "Hotel?" said Purcell, his sharp old face showing 
 some concern. "I thought you d be living in a place 
 of your own. Tell the truth, I was counting on board 
 ing with you while I m out there. Deliver me from 
 
 Western hotels and a mining-town hotel ! Why, 
 
 my dear fellow, you ll be a wreck by spring what 
 with fried meat, canned vegetables, biscuits and 
 preserves heaven help us!" 
 
 "Oh, it isn t as bad as that," said Dan carelessly. 
 289 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "Well, what does your wife say? I shouldn t think 
 that plan would suit her. Now my wife never would 
 board. She wanted her own house, but, to tell the 
 truth, she wasn t a housekeeper. She was a smart 
 woman and a good woman, and I don t say a word 
 against her but she wasn t brought up to go into 
 the kitchen and see that things were right, and well, 
 I ve got some troubles to show for it. You see, when 
 you re going ahead full steam on, bound to break a 
 record or burst, you ve got to be well stoked. That s 
 what I say it s the stomach that counts in the long 
 run, and the women ought to look to that part of it 
 a man hasn t time to think about what he s eat 
 ing." And the old man s choleric eyes snapped as 
 he sipped his milk. 
 
 Dan nodded and began to talk about the railroad. 
 Their plans had been previously settled except as to 
 a few details. The thing that lay ahead of Dan now 
 was to get the traffic agreement from the Union Pa 
 cific people. He already had the right of way secured. 
 Josiah Purcell now announced his intention of going 
 out to Wyoming some time the next month. 
 
 "The fact is, I haven t got a blamed thing to do 
 here," he confessed. "And I want to get into things 
 again. My daughter wants me to come up to the 
 place on the Hudson, but bless you, there s nothing 
 up there but horses, riding round in automobiles and 
 playing one kind of game or another. Vaughan is a 
 great sportsman, you see. And my daughter wants 
 to coddle me, make me sit by the chimney-corner 
 and act the doting grandfather. But I m not 
 quite in my dotage yet. How old do you think 
 I am?" 
 
 290 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "Sixty," said Dan, subtracting a few years. 
 
 "Sixty-five, sir. When I m at work, I m about 
 fifty, and when I m doing nothing but nurse my 
 health, eighty at least. That s one reason I want to 
 work. But not to overwork. You ve been running 
 things rather too hard, it strikes me. Why, you 
 look ten years older than when I first saw you." 
 
 "Do I? How old do I look?" Dan asked absently. 
 
 "Well, forty-two or three." 
 
 "Then I Jiave gained ten years or lost them. . . . 
 But now about that option on Graham s land. It 
 expires on the tenth, and from private advices I have 
 I think he won t renew it except at a higher price. 
 We ll have to buy that in, I expect. . . ." 
 
 And the talk went back to the road. 
 
 When Dan returned to his office he found in his 
 mail a letter from Mrs. Vaughan, enclosing her check 
 for the hundred shares of stock she had taken, and 
 inviting him to come up to Lenox over the next 
 Saturday and Sunday. 
 
 Dan immediately wrote to acknowledge the check 
 and decline the invitation, on the ground that he was 
 leaving for the West. 
 
 Then before ending the letter he threw himself 
 back in his chair and thought for a few moments, 
 with the slight frown that was becoming habitual, 
 and finally added this paragraph: 
 
 "You spoke of calling on my wife, and I know she 
 will be very glad to have you. She is to spend the 
 winter in New York studying music," he gave Anna s 
 address, "and if you could show her any attention " 
 here he paused, thinking that this sounded too much 
 like a business letter of introduction, but in despair 
 
 291 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 of a better phrase he ended, "it would be a very great 
 favor to me. Yours very truly, Daniel Devin." 
 
 He could scarcely have told himself the exact 
 motive for the request, which was certainly incon 
 sistent with what he had said to Anna about Mrs. 
 Vaughan and "her sort." It was partly, no doubt, 
 Anna s wish to know Mrs. Vaughan and his own feel 
 ing that any acquaintance would relieve her lonely 
 situation; partly, in an obscure way, some feeling 
 about Nicholas Purcell. Dan s visit at the restau 
 rant had given no more definite form to his doubts, 
 but neither had it dispelled them. He did not see 
 how he could call Nicholas to account for taking Anna 
 there but at the same time there was a dull uneasi 
 ness in his mind about the whole thing. And he had 
 a vague impression that if Anna knew Purcell s sis 
 ter, she would be in a safer position. 
 
 But if he could have foreseen the impression his let 
 ter was to make, probably he would not have sent it. 
 Margaret Vaughan read it, broke into a shout of 
 laughter, and took it in to read to George. 
 
 "Isn t he quaint!" she cried delightedly. "I ask 
 him up here, and he recommends his wife. Oh, I 
 am sorry now he can t come he is such a charac 
 ter!" 
 
 George declined to regret the event. 
 
 "You think any bore is a character," he complained 
 mildly. "I like people without characters best." 
 
 "Well, I m sure none of your friends have any," 
 returned Margaret. But her tone was meditative. 
 She re-read the letter, and then cried suddenly, "I 
 know now why Nick telegraphed!" 
 
 "Didn t know he had. Is he coming?" 
 292 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "No, no, stupid, I mean about the music- teacher 
 don t you see? It was for her he wanted to find 
 out. I ve no doubt she s his latest crush." 
 
 "Who is?" 
 
 "Why, my wife Mrs. Devin. Show her some 
 attention? Of course I will. I always like to know 
 Nick s flames." 
 
 Margaret, by dint of an exceeding attentiveness to 
 any sign of interest between a man and a woman, and 
 a habit of jumping to a conclusion when the slightest 
 sign could be discovered, was very often right; since 
 the kind of thing she was interested in has a habit of 
 occurring. 
 
 It was inevitable now that she should be really in 
 terested in Anna. For besides curiosity she had the 
 motive of a strong love for her brother. Margaret 
 was always rather relieved when Nick s Platonic fancy 
 lighted on a married woman; for though she often 
 told him he ought to marry, she secretly dreaded the 
 day when he should fall really in love. A radical in 
 her own procedure, she was conservative when it 
 came to the affairs of her men-folk. She thought 
 they were very well off as they were, but she distrusted 
 emotions for Nick more than she did business ventures 
 for her father. Falling in love was simply taking the 
 biggest of all risks, and a deliberate invitation to 
 bankruptcy. Margaret had taken that risk and on 
 the whole had come out well ; but nevertheless she had 
 the natural view of other people s love-plunges, as 
 probable calamities for them. 
 
 Nick, she considered, had taken the best means 
 of insuring himself against anything of that kind, by 
 an infinite number of interests in women. He had 
 
 293 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 never got into scrapes, he had never hurt himself or 
 anybody else. Nevertheless, Margaret now regarded 
 each new interest with some uneasiness, very marked 
 if it concerned a girl. For he was approaching the 
 dangerous age of thirty, when permanence and monot 
 ony begin to charm the errant masculine fancy ; and 
 when, propinquity assisting, a man will commonly 
 fall in love if he is going to do it at all. And he had 
 lately given definite signs of settling down. He was 
 tired of living abroad, and interested in his own coun 
 try. He was vaguely tired of doing nothing, and 
 was even talking of going into the law. He was tired 
 of wandering, and he had said that he wanted a home. 
 Yes, certainly, he was ready to fall in love. But Nick 
 was not a violent or a very emotional person. It was 
 of course possible, but it was not likely, that he would 
 be deeply attracted by a woman who was not free to 
 marry him. That would be against the whole tenor 
 of his easy uncombative life and disposition, so unlike 
 Margaret s own. 
 
 Therefore she, took the affair that she had imagined 
 for him with Anna Devin rather lightly, as another 
 example of Platonic homoeopathy. 
 
 It was doubtless a Platonic scene that Dan inter 
 rupted, two days later though just at first blush it 
 did not make exactly that impression on him. 
 
 He had decided, after all, to stop at New York on 
 his way west for unreasoned reasons that took him 
 straight to Anna s door. His ring was answered by 
 a neat maid, who said Mrs. Devin was in; indeed 
 from the hall Dan could hear Anna s voice, thrilling 
 out in one of those plaintive ballads he had liked. He 
 
 294 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 gave his name and said he would go directly in. There 
 was no waiting-room in the house, the front parlor 
 being let to a dentist. 
 
 He opened the door very softly, not to interrupt 
 the song; and it was a decided shock to him to see, 
 outlined against the fading daylight of the window, 
 the head and shoulders of a man lounging in a low 
 chair. Purcell, seeing him, rose quietly and came 
 to shake hands; and as Anna s voice sank on the last 
 low notes of the song she heard the murmur of his 
 voice and turned sharply round. 
 
 She was in her blue dress, with a bunch of violets 
 at her waist: her face was bright with color she 
 was adorably pretty. Dan saw all that in the instant 
 before she came and drew him into the room and took 
 his hat, crying out, with a deepening of her rosy 
 bloom, 
 
 "Well, this is a surprise! I didn t know you meant 
 to come over again." 
 
 "I didn t either, till this morning," he said, with 
 a manner somewhat dry. 
 
 "Sit down," said Anna impartially, trying not to 
 seem embarrassed. "I was just trying my new piano. 
 I like the tone very well. And I like Herr Pannier 
 too. I had my first lesson to-day." 
 
 "That s good," said Dan mechanically. 
 
 He took off his coat and sat down; and Purcell, 
 resuming his chair, met amiably Dan s direct look 
 and abrupt remark: 
 
 "I saw your father just before I left Boston. He 
 is planning to come out to Wyoming I suppose we 
 shall see him there next month." 
 
 Dan had no object in imparting this information 
 295 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 except to speak to Purcell on a more remote theme 
 than Anna had suggested. 
 
 "Really, is he?" said Nicholas. "I find it difficult 
 to keep up with him nowadays. Won t it be rather 
 a hard trip for him? It s a rough country, isn t it?" 
 
 "Oh, rough that depends. You would think so, 
 very likely. Your father will be able to stand a month 
 of it very well, I think. He has had some little ex 
 perience in roughing it, he tells me." 
 
 "It s true I haven t had much," said Nicholas smil 
 ing. "I belong to a useless generation, as you prob 
 ably know. But it s a question, don t you think, 
 where the responsibility lies? For example, if my 
 forefathers hadn t worked so hard I might be work 
 ing harder." 
 
 But Dan was in no mood for easy generalities, nor 
 to be drawn out on any subject. 
 
 "Possibly," he said curtly. "But in that case you 
 would probably blame them because you had to work. 
 The last generation is always wrong." 
 
 "I had an idea it was the present one. At least 
 the last generation thinks this one is wrong, you must 
 admit that." 
 
 "Oh, I ll admit it. They haven t much in com 
 mon." 
 
 It was as the representative of that elder generation 
 that Dan spoke, and as such Purcell took him. There 
 was not five years difference in their ages, but in their 
 point of view there was the difference of a lifetime. 
 Dan now had definitely identified himself with middle- 
 age and its outlook on the shady side of life; he had 
 definitely renounced the badge of youth, its confidence 
 of joy to come, and the look of it had gone from his 
 
 296 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 face. Instead were the deep marks of experience, 
 and a certain hardening which expressed absorption 
 in a narrow groove of thought and feeling, and indif 
 ference to all else. Dan s was now not an emotional 
 face it was rather a record of emotions lived through. 
 
 Pur cell, interested in his look, and for many rea 
 sons in the man himself, would have been glad to 
 establish a common ground on which they might 
 meet in some way; but Dan s manner was forbid 
 ding. Purcell felt himself one too many in this un 
 expected encounter, and with some regret he rose to 
 go. His move relieved what was to Anna a very un 
 pleasant situation. She had sat silent on the piano- 
 stool, folding and unfolding a sheet of music, during 
 that brief exchange of sentences, that confronting, 
 on Dan s part hostile, of the two men. She knew 
 Dan disliked Purcell and that he must dislike to find 
 him with her : she feared that he would show his feel 
 ing in some unforgivable way. But Purcell got out 
 of the room with the conventions intact. Dan got 
 up and shook hands with him, and even echoed his 
 wish that they might see one another again. Anna 
 shook hands with him too, and it was quite under 
 stood that they would see one another again. And 
 so he went away. 
 
 The daylight had quite faded out now. Anna lit 
 the gas. Dan, looking out into the little garden 
 where the straggling vines had showed lines of red 
 against the high fence, and the tree was shedding its 
 yellow leaves, was vaguely sorry that she had done 
 so. It had been in his mind that he wished she would 
 go on singing "Ye Banks and Braes of Bonnie Doon," 
 and that he might sit in the dusk and listen for a little, 
 
 297 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 resting, half-dreaming, as he had used to do ages ago. 
 But now she did not sing to him, but for that other 
 man. Anna spoke nervously. 
 
 "So you found after all you could stop here again." 
 
 A silence. "Yes," said Dan heavily. "I wanted 
 to open a bank account for you, and I thought I might 
 as well see " 
 
 "I m glad you could come. You can see how com 
 fortable I shall be. Everything is very nice." 
 
 Silence. 
 
 "Won t you sit down? You ll stay to dinner with 
 me here, won t you? I should like it." 
 
 Dan stood pressing his forehead hard against the 
 cool glass, his hands clinched down in his pockets. 
 Should he let himself go, just this once? Should he 
 give free vent to all those wild thoughts that were 
 crowding his brain, break through the restraints that 
 he had put on himself and that hurt and chafed and 
 tormented him? His head seemed whirling. In a 
 flash he felt that it was not a question whether he 
 should break out, but whether he could help doing it. 
 Anna s touch on his arm was the last straw. He 
 flung it oft 7 and turned round on her. 
 
 "Why do you have that fellow here?" he demanded 
 with an ominous look. 
 
 "Why why shouldn t I, if I like to?" 
 
 "Why should you? Why should he be here, in 
 your room, in the dark you singing to him " 
 
 "Dan! It isn t true. In the dark! How- 
 dare you " Anna choked with the ready tears 
 
 of anger. 
 
 "It was so. Do you mean to say you would have 
 had him here if you d known I was coming? You 
 
 298 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 thought I was safely away and you could do what 
 you liked. But I never thought that I couldn t trust 
 you." 
 
 "Trust me? What do you mean? I have never 
 done or said anything that you could blame me for 
 never. You are simply crazy. I asked him in 
 here because there is no parlor it is all right to do 
 it nobody would know this isn t a parlor. Do you 
 mean I am not to see a soul no one " 
 
 "I mean you re not to have a fellow like that hang 
 ing round when I m not here to look after him a 
 fellow that has nothing to do but follow women. 
 What do you know of him or his kind? What do you 
 think he comes here for?" 
 
 "He comes because he is friendly to me. Because 
 I like him." 
 
 "Yes, exactly. But you can t have that kind of 
 friends. I know well enough where that ends, if 
 you don t. You d find out soon enough. Take my 
 word for it and stop it now." 
 
 "I won t take your word, because you haven t the 
 slightest idea of what you re talking about. I know 
 him better than you do." 
 
 "That s nonsense. You don t know anything 
 about men, or the world. That s exactly what I ve 
 been afraid of, all along. This can t go on." 
 
 They both spoke now with a measure of calmness; 
 they seemed to be reasoning with one another. But 
 behind this show of reason swelled a confused feeling, 
 on Anna s side of rage against Dan; on his side of rage 
 against everything but her. That defiant, wrong- 
 headed, absurd innocence of hers disarmed him. It 
 was true that he could not long blame her. All the 
 299 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 more reason why he should protect her, even against 
 herself, even though she resented his action. It was 
 hard that he could not do that without rousing her 
 resentment. And it was very bitter that they should 
 quarrel now, at this last moment, when he had hoped 
 in spite of himself for some sort of reconciliation, for 
 some change though he could not tell how it was 
 to come in the situation, in Anna herself. In that 
 forlorn hope he had come that is, he had come sim 
 ply because he could not help it. 
 
 "Do you mean/ said Anna, her voice trembling, 
 "that you forbid me to let him come here." 
 
 "I mean . . . that I want you to see it as I do 
 . . . that it is foolish. . . ." 
 
 "I can t see anything as you do, we might as well 
 settle that. I only want to know if you mean to 
 . . . try to prevent me from doing as I wish, from 
 having the little pleasure that I can have ... be 
 cause if you do . . ." 
 
 "Well, if I do, what then?" 
 
 Anna might justly think from his manner that he 
 was determined to make the worst of the situation, 
 that he was angry with her, determined to put her in 
 the wrong. His look, his voice, were hard and harsh 
 from emotion which could hardly be accounted for 
 by the simple fact of Purcell s visit. 
 
 "I mean to do as I like, that is all. I won t be 
 treated like a child or a fool," she cried. "I will 
 have what visitors I choose. You have no right to 
 forbid me. I won t bear it. You try to take away 
 everything I care about, everything that interests 
 me. . . ." 
 
 "Do you care about him?" asked Dan heavily. 
 300 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "I didn t say that. I like him, and he is the only 
 interesting person I know. And now for no reason 
 you . . / 
 
 She stopped, in tears again, and covered her face 
 with her hands. All this time they had been stand 
 ing, but now Dan turned away and threw himself 
 into the wicker chair. 
 
 "If you try to do that," Anna burst out in a stran 
 gled voice, "I shall just hate you. You can take 
 away the money, and I will live somehow, by myself, 
 I don t care how! I would rather live on bread and 
 water and be free, than . . . than . . ." 
 
 She made a desperate effort, checked her sobs, and 
 turning her back on Dan stood looking out blindly 
 into the dark garden, twisting her handkerchief round 
 her ringers. 
 
 There was a long silence. 
 
 Dan knew already that he was beaten. He had 
 taken up and tried to defend an untenable position, 
 and by the laws of war he deserved no mercy. And 
 it was war between them still, that was the bewilder 
 ing, terrible fact. He had no control over Anna, 
 even for her own good, but she had the heaviest of 
 advantages over him and she used it mercilessly. 
 She could safely defy him, knowing well that there 
 was nothing he feared more than that harm should 
 come to her. She knew well that he could no more 
 "take away the money" than he could deliberately 
 forsake her; that in fact he could do nothing. 
 
 He was back again, up against the blank wall that 
 mocked his strength. He had no hold over Anna; 
 he might watch her drifting into danger, unable to 
 prevent or help her. Her monumental indifference 
 
 301 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 to him blocked every path. She did not need him, 
 she was happier without him, already she had sup 
 plied his place, in a way. She would easily supply it 
 altogether; she would be easily taken from him al 
 together, if she loved someone else and she might 
 love anybody but him. 
 
 It was just that stony fact, that he had come to 
 dash himself against once more. He loved her, and 
 she did not want him. No one could understand a 
 thing like that no one could tell how to meet it. 
 And no more could she understand him. She was 
 setting herself against him, preparing to hate him; 
 while he sat dumb with the pitiful anguish of the re 
 jected. There was war indeed between them; but 
 it was because he had fought for what she had denied 
 him; still fought for it, though he had known long 
 before the thing was hopeless. And now every nerve 
 in his body cried out for what she alone could give 
 him, and would never give him. And he must go 
 away with a longing never to be satisfied, with a pain 
 never to be subdued. 
 
 As he sat quiet, shading his eyes with his hand, 
 for long moments he was possessed by the desire to 
 end her life and his. To kill himself would be too 
 easy, but it would be a cowardly thing to shirk what 
 responsibility she had left him. But if she died 
 too, in some quick way, all would be ended. There 
 would be peace, and if by chance there were any 
 future penalty to pay, it could not be worse than 
 this. 
 
 He laughed aloud. 
 
 "Do you know what I was thinking about?" he 
 said, getting up. He threw his head back and looked 
 
 302 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 at her with a reckless flash of his blue eyes that re 
 vived a suggestion of youth. 
 
 "No, what?" she responded icily. 
 
 "That it would be easy to kill you and myself. " 
 
 Anna turned round, her face blanched and eyes 
 wide, the picture of terror. 
 
 "No, I sha n t do it. You needn t be frightened, 
 you poor little girl. You needn t fear anything from 
 me. Only I wish . . ." 
 
 He stretched out his arms but not toward her 
 and let them fall with a long sigh. 
 
 "I feel queer . . . dizzy . . . but there 
 was something I wanted to say. It was . . . 
 that I want you to be happy. You can be free, you 
 know ... if you should happen to love some 
 body, some time ... it will be all right. Of 
 course you can be free. Only tell me." 
 
 His voice was very gentle now. He went to Anna 
 and took her hand, and she permitted it, dazed still, 
 but not in fear of him. 
 
 "Will you kiss me for good-by? It is good-by 
 this time ... for months at least . . . un 
 less you need me for anything. But I want you to 
 feel that I am there to help you, if you need it. And 
 if ... anything goes wrong . . . you let 
 me know. If anyone should hurt you . . . if it 
 turned out you were wrong in trusting someone, and 
 . . . you were ill-treated, I would find out about 
 it too, and ... I would . . . kill him." 
 
 "Oh," breathed Anna, shrinking from him, "you 
 mustn t say such things or I shall certainly think you 
 are insane." 
 
 "No, I m not, I m quite . . . myself. You 
 303 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 don t understand, Anna . . . poor girl. It s 
 all been a mistake . . . it s all my fault . . . 
 I would have you, you remember? And you never 
 have been really mine, never, never, not for an in 
 stant . . . and yet I can t seem to give you 
 up. . . ." 
 
 He went and took up his coat, and put it on slowly. 
 
 "And yet it s come to that! For you care for some 
 one else. Don t deny it, you do or you will." 
 
 The blood flamed up into his face. He put his hand 
 to his head, and then caught at the back of a chair to 
 steady himself. 
 
 "That dizziness . . ." he muttered. 
 
 Anna ran to him and put her arm round his shoul 
 ders. 
 
 "Sit down and let me get you something," she 
 begged. "A glass of water anyhow I haven t any 
 brandy or anything do you feel ill?" 
 
 "No, no, I m only tired . . . it s nothing 
 
 j) 
 
 "But you re going to stay, aren t you, and have 
 dinner? You could stay here to-night . . . you 
 don t go till to-morrow, do you?" 
 
 Dan looked at her mistily, even in his suffering 
 wondering at her. 
 
 "Yes, at ten to-night ... I must go now." 
 
 She brought him a glass of water. He took that 
 last service from her hand. Then they parted, with 
 out even the form of a caress for a sign of their broken 
 bond. 
 
 304 
 
XI. 
 
 the lawn at Fairmont a group of people were 
 lounging away the after-luncheon hour of a 
 golden day. The men were smoking and two of the 
 women. In the quiet air the smoke dissolved slowly, 
 its lingering spirals curiously in harmony with the 
 spirit of the Indian Summer day. The air had a hint 
 of wood smoke too, and through the tree-vistas could 
 be seen the white wreaths floating over heaps of dead 
 leaves. The lawns, cleared that morning, were al 
 ready flecked again with these yellow and reddish 
 leaves, falling constantly from the elms, oaks and 
 maples of a century s growth. The bank was ter 
 raced, with steps and balustrades of white stone, 
 down to the water s edge. Over the broad river 
 hung a faint mist, which gave a wonderful distance 
 where its banks converged, and blurred a little the 
 opposite bank up which climbed oaks, elms and ma 
 ples in a fading glow of autumn color. 
 
 The people were rather quiet, too, some because 
 of a long luncheon, during which everybody had 
 talked; some from the influence of the scene. George 
 Vaughan was talking a little with Anna. Nicholas 
 Purcell was being talked to by Mrs. Buccleugh. Mar 
 garet, with her cigarette, lay back in a low chair and 
 idly interrupted from time to time Bella s monologue, 
 or joined in the conversation of the other two, a very 
 pretty girl with a short robust figure and a man with 
 
 305 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 a dark, sensitive, worn face. It was a chance gather 
 ing for though it was Anna s first visit at Fair 
 mont, she had not yet achieved enough importance 
 in Margaret Vaughan s eyes to have an occasion ar 
 ranged for her. 
 
 Bella Buccleugh was smoking, too, but rapidly, and 
 from the same necessity of nervous action that im 
 pelled her inconsequent chatter. Suddenly she rose, 
 waving Nicholas imperiously back to his seat, and put 
 her hand on Margaret s shoulder. 
 
 "Don t you want to come in and talk to me a little," 
 she asked abruptly. "I must be going soon." 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 Margaret got up, with no apparent enthusiasm, 
 however, and they walked away together, their long 
 dresses sweeping over the fallen leaves with a pleas 
 ant sound. And Nicholas after a moment sat down 
 by Anna. She turned a dreamy look on him. 
 
 "Isn t this like a picture?" she said. "It is just 
 too beautiful to be real." 
 
 "It s a wonderful day," Nicholas assented. 
 
 "But it isn t the day! I think this place must be 
 beautiful on any kind of day. It is heavenly! It 
 must be easy to be happy here." 
 
 "Well, it is, generally," said George Vaughan 
 placidly. 
 
 He looked happy, Anna thought content as a per 
 fectly conditioned animal. And his sort of indolence 
 made Nicholas look like a tired man of affairs. 
 Vaughan s face was sensuously sensitive, but it had the 
 repose of satisfaction. It was so quiet that it seemed 
 immobile. He had a remarkable beauty, a lithe, 
 athletic body, thoroughly trained, and a head which 
 
 306 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 people called Greek, but which was rather Italian 
 almost a Giorgione type in its physical splendor. 
 
 Anna had got on with him wonderfully well. He 
 liked people who were not pretentious in any way 
 easy, simple and good-humored people. Anna was 
 simple enough, and she did not try at all to be im 
 pressive, he thought, and seemed to have no pre- 
 tentions even on the score of her looks, as she might 
 easily have had. And she was much more at ease 
 with George Vaughan than she had ever been with 
 any of these people even Nicholas. She had a de 
 lightful feeling, with him, not only that being clever 
 didn t matter, but that nothing mattered except 
 what you actually were. It didn t matter how you 
 said things or what you said, particularly. The main 
 thing was to have something agreeable to do or to 
 look at, and to enjoy it. The process of translating 
 his impressions into accurate speech did not appeal 
 to Vaughan as a thing necessary to be gone through, 
 and he did not expect it of anyone else. His impres 
 sions were perfectly definite, but his speech was apt 
 to be nebulous, when an idea was demanded of him. 
 
 Nicholas was apt to demand an idea, very apt to 
 confuse a person not accustomed to speak or think 
 accurately. Anna felt this as he joined in their talk. 
 For the first time she felt that he was really active, 
 even restless. For the first time she felt that she 
 would rather not talk about what he seemed inter 
 ested in her impressions of the scene that she 
 would prefer to sit quiet and simply feel it all, with 
 Vaughan. But she liked immensely to have Nicholas 
 there beside her. And her eyes met his with a look 
 that said as much with the look of intimacy not to 
 
 307 
 
TJIE FORERUNNER 
 
 be mistaken in kind though it may be in degree. 
 George Vaughan s contemplative eyes caught that 
 look and it deceived him into thinking that Margaret 
 very likely was right, and that Nick was making love 
 to this handsome grass-widow. 
 
 Meantime Margaret and Mrs. Buccleugh had dis 
 appeared through a French window opening on the 
 lawn. They were in the library. Bella had thrown 
 herself on a lounge and looked up with a reckless air. 
 
 "I suppose you ve guessed," she said. 
 
 "I don t know but I thought from the way you 
 talked at lunch about going on the stage " 
 
 "Yes, it s all over. This last thing was final. It 
 is no use trying any longer, and I suppose I might 
 have seen it long ago, if I hadn t been bound not to." 
 
 "Oh, Bella, I am so sorry." Margaret sat down 
 beside her with a sigh of distress. "I ve been hoping 
 that it would come out all right." 
 
 "But it won t! And I can t bear it any longer. 
 I well, I determined not to let myself weaken 
 this time and I ve applied for the divorce." 
 
 "Oh, Bella, this is perfectly wretched! I can t do 
 anything, of course. It seems idiotic to ask you if 
 you re absolutely sure." 
 
 "Sure? Why, Madge " 
 
 "I mean sure of yourself of what you re doing." 
 
 "Oh, I don t know how I can be any surer. I know 
 I can t stand this life any longer. I simply must get 
 away from it all and try to live somehow or other. 
 I think I could manage to live away from him, but I 
 can t stand it to live with him any longer." 
 
 "And yet you ll be unhappy if you do it." 
 
 "Oh unhappy but I sha n t be humiliated every 
 308 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 moment in my own eyes as I am now. That s the 
 worst of it I feel like a fool and worse. And yet I 
 can t help doing what I do. I can t help spying on 
 him, and reading his letters on the sly. I open them 
 over steam and then seal them up again, so that he 
 
 doesn t know . Yes, I do. When I see a letter 
 
 that looks suspicious I m driven to open it, I m forced 
 to do it. Oh, who would ever have thought that 7 
 should be a sneak! You know how I like to have 
 things open and above-board. Sometimes I think 
 I shouldn t mind what he did, if only he would tell 
 me the truth about it. And yet I know it s just the 
 
 truth that I can t bear. And so what s the use? 
 
 We might as well give it up. For he can t change 
 any more than I can. He can t help his nature and 
 I can t help being a jealous idiot. If only I didn t 
 care so much for him if I could amuse myself as he 
 does. But I ve tried and I can t. And he doesn t 
 care for me, Madge. Oh, no not really. No, he 
 doesn t. He likes me well enough as a good fellow, 
 if I could just be that. But he has no feeling no 
 tenderness. I bore him. If he only cared for me I 
 would forgive him anything. But as it is you see 
 we are better apart." 
 
 Bella was crying, catching her breath in little sobs, 
 between her low staccato sentences. With a despair 
 ing gesture she abandoned herself to her tears for 
 some moments. Her eyes were already red and swol 
 len and her fair skin blotchy. She pushed her hair 
 back from her forehead and at once she looked old and 
 plain. But indifferently she faced the light, gazing 
 blankly at the floor, her mouth and throat trembling. 
 
 "So I shall go up in the country for a while and he 
 309 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 will stay in town. He won t go away now you know, 
 because she is there. And do you know, Madge, I 
 think he will marry her afterward, if he can. Yes, 
 he hinted as much. But very likely she won t, be 
 cause you know he will be poor. He won t keep a 
 cent of the money that I made over to him when we 
 were married. So there it is. Very likely she will 
 jilt him after all. Did I tell you I saw her the other 
 night? Somebody pointed her out to me in a box 
 at the theatre. She looks as cold and calculating as 
 a cat. Black hair and eyes a Spanish sort of type 
 very stunning." 
 
 "And what will you do, Bella?" 
 
 "Oh, I shall just get the divorce here. Of course 
 he won t contest it. And then, as I said, I shall go 
 on the stage." 
 
 "Seriously? I thought you d given that up." 
 
 "Only when it seemed possible that we might patch 
 things up. It s the only interest I have now. And 
 you know I have the ability. I don t doubt I can 
 really make a success if I work hard as I mean to. I 
 shall study this winter, and in the spring, after the 
 divorce, you know, I don t doubt I can get some en 
 gagement for next fall. And I ll come here for 
 Christmas just the same and we ll do your plays 
 only of course Bob won t come. It will be kept quiet, 
 you know it won t come into court before spring, 
 my lawyer tells me." 
 
 "Oh, Bella," Margaret sighed again. She looked 
 sympathetic and at the same time irritated. "How 
 wretched it all is!" 
 
 "Yes, it is. And I suppose it s rather stupid of 
 
 me to talk to you about it " 
 
 310 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Margaret colored at the blunt allusion to her own 
 experience, and looked more irritated and less sym 
 pathetic. 
 
 "I don t know why you shouldn t talk to me 
 about it ... I m glad you ll come for Christ 
 mas." She moved to a chair not quite so near 
 Bella. "I shouldn t know what to do without you. 
 I ve decided to have the stage put in the billiard- 
 room I had a man down the other day and he said 
 that could be done very well. They re going to begin 
 work next week. . . . There s Millicent and her 
 most devoted. She s going to sing, I suppose." 
 
 The pretty girl with her squire passed the library 
 windows and went into the next room. After some 
 idling with the piano-keys she began Schubert s "Auf 
 dem Wasser zu Singen." Her voice was pure and 
 light, with a soft caressing quality. 
 
 "Do you know, I think that is serious," said Mar 
 garet. "At least with him." 
 
 "Oh, do you? . . . And how about the other 
 . . . Nick s affair?" 
 
 "Oh, as serious as usual." 
 
 "He likes stupid women, doesn t he? All men do." 
 
 "Does she bore you? I don t find her exciting my 
 self. By the way, though, I believe she s thinking 
 of acting, too or light opera or something. Nick 
 got her a teacher, and he says she has a big florid sort 
 of voice. And with her looks, of course, she can 
 easily get into something. Has he been asking you 
 about managers and so on?" 
 
 "Yes, he has." 
 
 "Well, it was for her. He got out of me everything 
 I ever knew on the subject, too." 
 
 311 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Bella sighed and got up restlessly. 
 
 "Let s go somewhere else. I don t feel like listen 
 ing to Millicent s piping. Or you go back to them 
 and I ll come in a few minutes. I ll run up and bathe 
 my eyes, I am always so hideous when I cry. So 
 Bob tells me. What time are they all going back?" 
 
 "I suppose the four- thirty." 
 
 "Well, I ll go with them. I d like to talk with 
 Nick. He s such a dear, isn t he? . . . And 
 George too. You re happy, aren t you, Madge?" 
 
 "Yes, I am happy . If if I can only keep 
 
 so," Margaret said softly, looking out at the group 
 on the lawn. "But we haven t money.enough really. 
 I wish I could make some. Perhaps my Wyoming 
 man will make some for me. If only I had the cour 
 age to plunge on something. That s the only way 
 to get anything in this world." 
 
 "I suppose it is. I d plunge fast enough if I could 
 see anything I wanted. . . . Perhaps I shall get 
 over this after a while. Do you think so? For if 
 I m going on caring for him just the same I may as 
 well go out and jump in the river. I shouldn t mind 
 a bit plunging on that!" 
 
 "Poor Bella are you as desperate as all that? 
 
 And I thought it was all smoothed over! Up at 
 Lenox he seemed so sweet and nice and talked about 
 you so affectionately " 
 
 "Oh, affectionately yes, as if I were his maiden 
 aunt. Well, he can t help it any more than I can. 
 I only say that it s infernal luck for two people like 
 us ever to be attracted to each other. There are 
 plenty of women who could get along with Bob per 
 fectly. Just give him a free rein and he s sweet as 
 
 312 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 the day is long. If I only had the same tempera 
 ment. . . . The tunes when he s liked me best 
 have been when I was trying to be in love with some 
 body else. If I could succeed I ve no doubt he d 
 really be fond of me. But I m such a sentimental 
 idiot, I can t." 
 
 Bella showed a disposition to linger and begin again, 
 but Margaret moved decisively toward the window. 
 
 "Come out as soon as you can/ she said. 
 
 "Well, it s nearly four o clock we ll have to start 
 down soon, I suppose." 
 
 And she trailed dejectedly out into the hall and 
 upstairs. Margaret went back to the people on the 
 lawn, conscious that she had not been very consoling. 
 It seemed really absurd to her that anyone should 
 have hysterics or heroics over Bobby Buccleugh; 
 and she deeply disliked to have Bella seem to claim 
 any community of experience with her. 
 
 Indeed there was none, except that they both loved, 
 and really cared for nothing else. But love of Bobby 
 Buccleugh had no excuse for being a grand passion 
 couldn t be, in fact whereas love of George 
 Vaughan couldn t well be anything else. That was 
 in her mind as she went toward him. 
 
 The three were watching her, too, as she approached 
 tall and graceful in her rippling white dress, and none 
 of them would have denied that she looked the ideal 
 chatelaine. She was at her best in her home. 
 
 The setting of the whole place was immensely be 
 coming to her the broad green reaches and noble 
 trees, the stately, quiet house, the unmarred beauty 
 all about, the air of ease, peace and order throughout 
 her domain. 
 
 313 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 It was this aspect of it all that most deeply im 
 pressed Anna. To just this sort of thing she was 
 peculiarly susceptible. Her ambition had been to 
 possess, to be, something like this herself, even though 
 her dreams had never reached anything so beautiful 
 as this reality. In the country of her birth, all was 
 new, bare, crude, the growth of scarcely one genera 
 tion. Trees, grass and buildings were created for the 
 needs of the time; and all seemed temporary and 
 hardly rooted in the soil. A century had completely 
 changed the face of that country. Between the 
 mountains and the sea only a few mouldering cloisters 
 showed where time had passed, and there age was 
 not impressive; it was too much out of the picture. 
 But here, in this softer, greener, more finished land, 
 each year gave an added value in beauty, not adding 
 something new, but deepening the charm of what 
 was permanent. Permanence and stability had a 
 poetic attraction for Anna s clinging and conservative 
 mind. She would certainly have been no more ad 
 venturous than a limpet, if she had had a suitable 
 rock to cling to. To be the careful administratrix of 
 Fairmont would have been career enough for her. 
 
 Nicholas was rather surprised and puzzled by her 
 evident feeling; her pleasure and the wistfulness of 
 her face were more marked than he had ever seen in 
 her before. She seemed unable or unwilling to find 
 words for her emotion; and there were long silences 
 during which she sat looking away through the dream 
 ing sunlight and shadow of the park, or out across 
 the river or up at the gray stone facade of the house, 
 and the two men watched her. When Millicent be 
 gan to sing, the light, quick, passionate melody of the 
 
 314 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 water-song, softened by distance, seemed to come 
 floating up from the river itself, in magical snatches 
 borne by breeze and tide. 
 
 She sang well. They all listened Margaret too, 
 who came out in the middle of it till the last beau 
 tiful phrase ended. Then at her suggestion they 
 walked down to an angle of the terrace from which 
 the sweep of the river could best be seen. One of the 
 gardeners, a Japanese, who was at work near there, 
 stood up and bowed nearly to the ground as they 
 passed, and the master and mistress nodded to him. 
 Anna was still in her dream. The three people with 
 her did not disturb it; they belonged in it, with their 
 grace and sweetness of manner, for Margaret was 
 sweet to her, too. And before it all ended there was 
 one more picture to take away with her. On the way 
 back to the house Nicholas turned aside, having, he 
 announced, caught a glimpse through the trees of his 
 nephew; and the rest followed him. The baby was 
 asleep in his carriage under a fluffy white parasol; be 
 side him was his nurse, a woman with a refined and 
 intelligent face. The child was about a year old, 
 strong and handsome, with an unusual amount of 
 curly fair hair, and golden lashes showing against the 
 sweet flush in his cheeks. Of the four people stand 
 ing about the carriage three wore the same expression 
 the same solicitude and half humorous tenderness 
 as they contemplated the heir of Fairmont. Anna 
 noted that look, and Margaret s glance at her hus 
 band; and then she felt the presence of happiness 
 if that is not too calm a word at least of a poignant 
 joy in life. It was a keen, a lasting impression that 
 she carried away. 
 
 315 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 They walked down the hill to the station, Mrs. 
 Buccleugh, Purcell and Anna, and after them Milli- 
 cent and her painter, who had been resurrected at 
 the last moment from the music-room. Once in the 
 train, which was full, Millicent and the painter disap 
 peared into one of the forward cars. There was but 
 one vacant seat left and Anna found herself put into 
 that with Bella Buccleugh, while Purcell stood in the 
 aisle talking to them for a few moments, and then 
 took part of a seat at the other end of the car. Neither 
 of the two women particularly wanted that half-hour s 
 tete-a-tete. Either would vastly have preferred 
 one with Purcell. But Anna had a question or two 
 to ask of Bella Buccleugh which she could not so 
 readily have asked of him. 
 
 "Tell me, has Mrs. Vaughan ever been on the 
 stage?" she inquired as soon as Nicholas had left 
 them. 
 
 "Oh, no she studied for it once, though, before 
 she was divorced, you know. Why?" 
 
 "I thought from the way she talked at luncheon 
 that she had acted." 
 
 "Oh, the school where she studied gives public 
 matinees, don t you know? She appeared at some 
 of those. I believe she thought of going in seriously 
 for the profession at one time, but it didn t come to 
 that. She fell in love with George Vaughan instead." 
 
 "But . . . divorced? How do you mean? I 
 didn t know she had been married before." 
 
 "Didn t you? How funny! It s rather a ro 
 mance." 
 
 Bella talked in a quick monotone, hard to follow 
 in the noise of the train. She had a brown veil droop- 
 
 316 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Ing over her hat-brim which partly hid her face from 
 Anna. But the nervous movements of her hands, 
 the twitching of her mouth, and her indifference to 
 what she was saying, could not be hidden. Anna 
 wondered what was the matter with her. At luncheon 
 she had been especially lively and gay. 
 
 "Why is it a romance?" 
 
 "Oh, it s the kind of thing you re always reading 
 about, a life and death affair, don t you know? She 
 was unhappy with her first husband, but he wouldn t 
 give her any legal ground for divorce, because he was 
 in politics and didn t want the talk. Finally she left 
 him and was about to go on the stage when she met 
 George Vaughan. They fell in love instantly and 
 then of course Margaret was simply wild for her 
 divorce. She went to Dakota and got it and then 
 she married George." 
 
 "Oh," murmured Anna, quite shocked. 
 
 "Oh, yes, it s no secret. And you can t blame her, 
 when you see how they care for one another. They re 
 absolutely devoted. And that s the only thing that 
 counts anyway, don t you think so?" 
 
 "I don t know." 
 
 "Well, it is for them. They live up in the country 
 all the time, don t see many people, and they both are 
 happy. They have a pretty place, haven t they?" 
 
 "Yes, beautiful." 
 
 "It s been in George s family for nearly a century. 
 But he never had money enough to live there. It 
 was always let, till he married Margare t. Even 
 now they have barely enough. But of course Mar 
 garet will have plenty, some day. She and Nicholas 
 will be rather rich. Nicholas is a dear, isn t he?" 
 
 317 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "I suppose he is." 
 
 "Won t you even admit that/ Bella sighed. "How 
 stuffy the car is! Shall we open a window?" 
 
 "If you like." 
 
 The track ran for some distance close to the river. 
 And Anna, looking out on it, travelled back in her 
 thoughts to Fairmont, past which this blue water 
 flowed on its way to the sea. Fairmont was even 
 more interesting to her now, in the light of Bella s 
 gossip. She was so absorbed in her thoughts that 
 she fairly forgot, for some moments, her companion. 
 And Bella, looking at her in despair, sank back in her 
 corner of the seat. Rather than be silent she had 
 snatched at the first subject offered, and would have 
 chattered all the way to town, given any encourage 
 ment. But she was not capable just now of much 
 mental exertion. Presently, however, she began 
 again and talked about the theatre, and Anna lent 
 a half attentive ear. At another time she would have 
 listened eagerly, but now a sudden new light on her 
 own situation blinded her to anything else. 
 
 Both were glad enough when the journey ended. 
 Anna had expected that Purcell would go back with 
 her to the boarding-house for a little while before din 
 ner, and he had intended to go. But as they were 
 getting out of the train, Bella made a sudden whis 
 pered appeal to him. 
 
 "Do come and talk to me for half an hour! I m 
 so miserable, I can t bear to be alone." 
 
 Moved by her look, more than by her words, he con 
 sented; unable indeed to resist any appeal to his char 
 ity. Anna was disappointed. But as he put her 
 into a station-cab he said: 
 
 318 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "I m sorry. It s a bore, but I can t help it. Are 
 you going to be at home this evening?" 
 "Oh, of course. I m always there." 
 "I mean, may I come?" 
 "Oh, yes." 
 
 319 
 
XII. 
 
 TT was the first time he had come in the evening, 
 though Anna saw him at least every other day. 
 She had not yet got rid of her fear of the opinions of 
 other people. The doubt as to Miss Thaw s opinion 
 of her, as to the opinion of the maid who so often an 
 nounced Purcell, frequently made her uncomfortable. 
 But she did not yield anything to this doubt. She 
 cared now so much more for Purcell than for anything 
 else in her life that she was slowly gaining a certain 
 independence of mind. She was capable now of ignor 
 ing anything that might interfere with their relations, 
 and of deliberately putting him before all else. 
 
 But the feeling that Miss Thaw was probably criti 
 cising her and very likely gossiping about her to Flora 
 O Beirne, made her stiff and unresponsive to the 
 maiden lady s social advances. Miss Thaw, having 
 honestly tried to be friendly with her, finally gave up 
 the effort, and reported to Flora her repulse. And 
 Flora cooled still more toward her protegee. In fact 
 they seldom saw one another now. 
 
 Anna was practically solitary except for Nicholas. 
 Mrs. Vaughan had called on her twice, but they had 
 not got very far toward intimacy. Anna, handi 
 capped by the consciousness of her material surround 
 ings, and her anomalous position, was unable to meet 
 her visitor frankly. She was melancholy, ill at ease, 
 and showed it. And she made no effort to interest 
 
 320 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Mrs. Vaughan. From a feeling that she could not 
 meet more fortunate people on even terms she was 
 despairingly willing to cut herself off from them alto 
 gether. And this unhappiness affected even her re 
 lation with Nicholas. She did not feel sure in any 
 way of him. 
 
 Cramped thus on the social side, she had thrown 
 herself with all the more energy into her work. Herr 
 Pannier required her to unlearn all that she thought 
 she knew about singing, and to begin at the alphabet 
 of his method. She worked faithfully, but so far had 
 not earned a word of praise from the gloomy little 
 man. She liked him, however, though she felt rather 
 hopeless of attaining the delicate precision, the thor 
 ough workmanship that he required. In manner and 
 appearance he was a typical drill-master a small 
 man, neat and blond, with a pointed beard and blue 
 eyes, severe, rigid, and melancholy. He bound her 
 down to the harshest aspect of work; and promised 
 her some years of it before she would be fit for any 
 professional appearance. 
 
 But Anna was coming to dwell more and more on 
 another prospect the possibility of using all her pres 
 ent capital of knowledge, youth, and beauty in an 
 immediate stage career. She knew that she could 
 sing better and that she was handsomer than most 
 of the stars of light music and burlesque whom she 
 had taken pains to see. She thought she could easily 
 learn to act as well as they did. And whatever the 
 deprivations of that life, at least it would have some 
 satisfactions. If it be true that nothing saddens a 
 woman so much as the suppression of her vanity, 
 Anna had her reasons for being sad. She almost never 
 
 321 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 now felt any satisfaction in herself, and so she was 
 almost always constrained and depressed. Even 
 with Nicholas she could rarely expand in that way. 
 His attention to her was flattery in a sense, but she 
 could not take it as her right. She could not but 
 feel grateful for it, and tremble lest she should lose 
 it. It meant to her so much more than it did to him 
 or so she thought. For she had nothing but him, 
 while he had all that world of his of which she knew 
 nothing. Because of his experience, so much beyond 
 her gauge, because of the multifarious claims on him, 
 part of which she knew about and part guessed, he 
 seemed above any need of her. And yet he did 
 not come entirely out of kindness to her she was 
 sure of that. 
 
 The kindness, though, was there, and she appealed 
 more strongly to him because she was unhappy and 
 alone, and still more because he obviously mattered 
 to her. Nicholas had the instinct of solvency highly 
 developed; it was necessary to him to satisfy any 
 reasonable claim upon him, even when a good deal 
 of boredom to himself was involved. But there was 
 no boredom in the time he gave to Anna. He was 
 strongly attracted to her. And Anna instinctively 
 and without thought presented her most attractive 
 aspect to him. Just as she was prettier for him than 
 for anyone else, as his coming brought light and color 
 to her face, so her whole nature softened and glowed 
 for him. It was not only that she ardently desired 
 to please him, but that he pleased her so completely. 
 She accepted him without question or criticism, with 
 a keen interest and satisfaction in everything he said 
 or did, that was the most artless flattery, Even the 
 
 322 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 least vain of men basks in the atmosphere approba- 
 tive. Purcell had had a good deal of it, but not much 
 with so naive a quality as Anna gave him. And be 
 sides the June sunshine of a pretty woman s admira 
 tion there was, too, just a tang of electricity in the 
 air, a hint of something brewing beyond the horizon. 
 They were very friendly and a little more. 
 
 When Nicholas came in, soon after dinner, he re 
 laxed into his favorite chair with an air of being at 
 home, and a smile that confessed past weariness and 
 present pleasure. 
 
 That was a good deal of a bore," he said. "Even 
 more than I expected." 
 
 His disposition to be practically kind, in fact, did 
 not involve any altruistic or amiable pose. He was, 
 Anna had found, extremely frank as to the faults of 
 his friends, and if they tired or irritated him he was 
 apt to say as much, both to the offender and to any 
 other person in his confidence. 
 
 "I m sorry. What was the matter with her? She 
 acted so queerly on the train." 
 
 "Oh, hysterics. Her nerves run away with her. 
 And then she is pretty unhappy just now." 
 
 "Is she? What about? I thought she was a par 
 ticularly gay person." 
 
 "Well this is a secret just now, though it won t 
 be long she s getting a divorce, though she s fond 
 of her husband. He s treated her rather badly." 
 
 "That nice, jolly-looking man? I saw him once 
 the first time I saw you. And I thought you were 
 all so gay and happy, and I envied you so! And 
 now well, some of you are happy, to be sure. Your 
 sister is, isn t she? And no wonder. She has every- 
 
 323 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 thing to make her so. I think she is the luckiest 
 woman I ve ever known." 
 
 "Did you fall in love with George too?" Nicholas 
 asked, with his lazy smile. 
 
 "Oh, yes, and the place and everything. It was 
 so beautiful! I never saw anything like it before." 
 
 Anna sat quite near Purcell, leaning forward, her el 
 bows on her knees and her palms supporting her round 
 chin; looking now at him and now out the open 
 window. The tiny garden was flooded with hazy 
 moonlight, the warm night was as magical as the day 
 had been, and only the faintest breeze swayed the 
 white curtains inward. The unshaded gas-light 
 shone directly down on Anna s young face, her flushed 
 cheeks, large innocent eyes, and golden hair. She 
 was still under the spell of the day s pleasure, and the 
 attraction which drew her to Nicholas was somehow 
 strengthened by it. 
 
 "That seems to me an ideal life," she said suddenly. 
 "By the side of it I hate what I am trying to do. That 
 kind of thing is what I should like, but I can never 
 have it." 
 
 "Never? Why not?" 
 
 "Because " She paused for a moment. She 
 had never spoken to Purcell about Dan except in the 
 most impersonal and non-committal way, but one 
 of the ideas she had lately imbibed was that freedom 
 of speech about one s own affairs was not only per 
 missible but proper. It was in line with all the free 
 dom of these people s lives, and she was coming to 
 accept their point of view. And yet she was still 
 unable to break through her reserve. 
 
 Nicholas, looking at her, waited. 
 324 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "Oh, because I can never settle down, really," Anna 
 went on hurriedly. "My husband s business will al 
 ways take all his time and strength. And he will al 
 ways want to be in the West and everything is so 
 different there so new and unfinished. And I ve 
 been thinking, you know, about going on the stage. 
 But I hate the idea of it!" 
 
 Tears filled her eyes, and all the unhappiness of 
 her general situation emphasized her dislike of this 
 particular phase. 
 
 "Why do you hate it?" he asked quietly. 
 
 "Oh, because I m not fit for that sort of a life. 
 I can never be a first-class artist, I know that well 
 enough. I could never sing in grand opera, or any 
 thing like that. And I could never act well. I could 
 sing comic opera, or in musical shows, but it all seems 
 horrid to me, really. Sometimes I think I ll do 
 it, but I don t really want to a bit. I should be all 
 alone, and everyone says disagreeable things happen 
 and then " 
 
 "Yes, and then?" 
 
 "I should lose what I really want." 
 
 "And what do you really want?" 
 
 "I want to be at home, somewhere. And to have 
 some social life, and some nice place that I can man 
 age myself and feel that I m really doing something 
 with. I don t want to be a public character." 
 
 And she smiled ruefully through her tears. 
 
 "No, I don t think you were cut out for one, my 
 self," said Purcell. "But how about your original 
 idea or is a concert singer a public character too, in 
 your sense?" 
 
 "Well, not as much of course. But," she sighed, 
 325 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "it would take years of trailing before I could do any 
 thing. Before I could sing as well as Miss Farrell 
 does, for instance. She has studied abroad, of 
 course?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, with Marchesi, I believe, for several 
 years." 
 
 "There, you see. And then I don t know even 
 that I can go on here as I m doing now. I m not cer 
 tain of a thing!" 
 
 Nicholas waited, but again the impulse failed to 
 carry her into complete confession. 
 
 "Tell me, what did your sister think about the 
 stage? Did she feel that way about it? Mrs. Buc- 
 cleugh said she intended to act at one time." 
 
 "No, I don t think she felt the drawbacks as 
 strongly as you do. But then, she s adventurous 
 rather she likes experience for its own sake, and 
 you don t, do you?" 
 
 "No, only when it s pleasant!" 
 
 "And then she simply had to do something. She s 
 a very restless person, or she used to be, and she 
 wasn t happy, and that seemed to be the only thing 
 she wanted to do." 
 
 "Do all women think about the stage when they re 
 unhappy?" 
 
 "Oh, no, some go in for charity, I believe, and 
 some for society. Some go to the church and some 
 to the devil." 
 
 "I don t see that any of those would do for me," 
 said Anna. "I can t go in for society and I m not 
 religious or charitable. And the devil doesn t at 
 tract me much either." 
 
 "You mean that you re unhappy?" 
 326 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "Oh, yes. You knew that, didn t you? But I m 
 not going to talk to you about it." 
 
 She sprang up from her chair and went to the 
 piano. Nicholas followed. 
 
 "Why not?" he demanded. 
 
 "Because you ve been bored enough to-day! 
 You ve heard Mrs. Buccleugh s troubles and that s 
 enough for one day. And I don t want you to go 
 away and tell somebody else how I ve bored you!" 
 
 "That wasn t a very pleasant thing to say," said 
 Nicholas coldly. He moved away from her and took 
 up his hat; then came back, putting out his hand. 
 "Perhaps I d better go," he said in the same tone, 
 with the same look, hurt and resentful. 
 
 "Good-night," faltered Anna. She let him get to 
 the door, then her pride went down with a rush. 
 Never had she seen him look that way, offended with 
 her; and terror lest there should be a real break be 
 tween them overmastered her. 
 
 "Why are you angry? I didn t mean to say any 
 thing to hurt you," she protested. 
 
 "Do you mean that you were perpetrating a joke?" 
 inquired Nicholas ironically. He paused with his 
 hand on the door, quite conscious that he was bully 
 ing her. 
 
 "Well, not entirely. I thought it might bore you." 
 
 "No, I don t believe you did. But you thought 
 I might tell somebody else that it did. Or do you 
 mean that was the joke?" 
 
 "I don t know," murmured Anna. 
 
 "You did really think so, then? Don t you know 
 that if you stood on the same plane with Mrs. Buc- 
 cleugh, I wouldn t have spoken to you as I did about 
 
 327 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 her? I spoke to you as I might to well, to my sis 
 ter, for instance. It wouldn t occur to her that it 
 wasn t safe to say whatever she chose to me." 
 
 "It wouldn t to me either. It wasn t that!" 
 
 "You began to say something, and then suddenly 
 stopped as though you were afraid. And then you 
 said what you did about Mrs. Buccleugh. I don t 
 know what else that means." 
 
 "I only meant that I thought you would be 
 bored." 
 
 "Well, that doesn t show any large amount of per- 
 cipience or confidence on your part. But I dare 
 say I ve deserved this in some way." 
 
 Anna looked miserable and sullen. 
 
 "I m sorry I said anything at all," she said stiffly. 
 
 "Of course I don t want you to tell me anything 
 you don t want to say," added Nicholas relentlessly. 
 "But neither do I want you to say that kind of thing 
 again. Good-by, Anna." 
 
 "Good-by," she murmured inaudibly. 
 
 This time she did not call him back, but stood 
 rigid, leaning against the piano, her hands behind 
 her, palms down on the keys, until she heard the house- 
 door close after him. Then she sank down on the 
 piano-stool in a revery. Her face changed quickly. 
 Her lips curved, her heavy eyelids drooped, she 
 smiled. Purcell s last speech had meant anything 
 but that he was not coming back. For the first time 
 he had called her by her name though for some 
 time past they had dropped the formality of sur 
 names, and addressed one another without any at 
 all. This quarrel, since it was not to end their in 
 timacy, would certainly advance it. Nicholas, for 
 
 328 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 that reason, had not been at all sorry to quarrel. And 
 Anna was not sorry either, for now that she thought 
 it over, the cause of it was flattering to her. He had 
 been hurt because she had not been willing to admit 
 that they were as much to one another as they really 
 were. She knew well enough that she stood on a 
 different plane from Bella Buccleugh, and that in 
 some way he cared about her, and would be inter 
 ested in whatever concerned her. 
 
 Why was it, then, that she had been unable to talk 
 to him about her troubles, as plenty of other women 
 did, whom he cared nothing about? She did not now 
 believe as she would have done earlier that Nicho 
 las would think the less of her because she had dis 
 agreed with her husband. That, it seemed, was an 
 ordinary thing to do. The two women whom she had 
 seen to-day had done it, and they had not let the 
 mistake spoil their lives. Margaret Vaughan had 
 freed herself from an unhappy marriage and she was 
 now happy. Bella Buccleugh had decided that she 
 would be less unhappy without her husband than 
 with him, and she was going to free herself. It was 
 possible, then, in a way for even a woman to begin 
 over again; and from the new point of view, it was 
 a courageous and right thing to do. This point of 
 view appealed to Anna, since it seemed to open a pos 
 sible prospect to her desire for happiness. And yet 
 she was shaken by the sweeping away of all her old 
 traditions which it involved. To live for one s emo 
 tions, as these people apparent^ did, was certainly 
 freedom, but in a way it was terribly unsettling. In 
 a way it offset the material solidity of their fortunes. 
 Still in the end it was the determination to be happy, 
 329 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 at whatever cost of initiative energy, that seemed to 
 her the most wonderful thing about them. 
 
 Anna envied them this power of striking out 
 strongly for themselves; she felt that she lacked it. 
 Though she began to feel that it was a good thing to 
 be bold, she was prevented even from acknowledging 
 to herself what it was that she wanted, much more 
 from seeking it actively. Much as she was interested 
 in Nicholas Purcell, her pride and timidity forbade 
 her to make any frank claim on him, or even to recog 
 nize the extent of her interest. 
 
 She was afraid to follow out the ideas suggested 
 by the day s events to their conclusion; afraid of the 
 possible action suggested thereby to herself. She 
 abandoned herself instead to a vague delicious dream, 
 in which she and Nicholas were together, without 
 any harsh reference to the actual facts of life. 
 
 She sat still on the piano-stool, for some time, 
 dreaming, and unconsciously waiting for Nicholas to 
 come back. She did not really think that he would 
 come, and yet she stayed up till half-past ten, trying 
 to read a little in Maeterlinck s Treasure of the 
 Humble," a book he had brought her, but finding her 
 own meditations more enthralling than Maeterlinck s. 
 Then she went slowly about her preparations for bed, 
 letting down the false book-case and removing the 
 screens that concealed her toilet arrangements. The 
 last thing in her mind at night and the first in the 
 morning was the question, When would Nicholas 
 come again and how would they meet? 
 
 She woke to a vague feeling of happiness, a secret 
 excitement that made the whole day bright to her. 
 She thought that perhaps he would come to take her 
 
 330 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 out to dinner, as several times he had done. Having 
 bungled her practice in the morning she went to her 
 lesson unable to keep her mind on it. In consequence 
 Herr Pannier made her a scene. He began to pace 
 the room while she was going through her exercises 
 a sure sign of disturbance and finally seized his 
 brow in his hands and stopped her in the middle of 
 a scale. The body of his remarks being in German, 
 Anna happily understood little, except that she had 
 produced her tones in the old-time manner, the 
 atrocity of which Herr Pannier had endeavored to 
 beat into her head. She began again, several times, 
 but with no better success. 
 
 "Dumm, dumm," he groaned. "How long haf 
 you vorked to-day, hein?" 
 
 "An hour," she said meekly. 
 
 "Und yesterday?" 
 
 "Two no, I didn t practise at all. I was out in 
 the country." 
 
 "Just so. You can go home now. We can do 
 noddings to-day. You are vorse to-day als ever. 
 You t ink you better try to go on vith me?" 
 
 "Why yes, I think so. Why not?" 
 
 "Oh, it is maybe losing your time und mine. I 
 cannot make you sing. Dese American wo ices! Und 
 efery one at once wanting in public to appear! Ach, 
 Himmel!" 
 
 And he began to cry, from simple nervous irrita 
 tion. Anna, aghast, put up her music and left hur 
 riedly. Her last sight of Herr Pannier showed him 
 bent over the centre-table, his face buried on a pile 
 of papers and one hand clutching the chenille cover 
 frenziedly. She laughed as she went down the dingy 
 
 331 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 stairs, but resolved to work hard to-morrow. She 
 knew that she could do nothing that day. 
 
 The Indian summer was over. The day had 
 dawned cold and cloudy, and in the middle of the 
 afternoon it began to rain heavily. Anna, dressed 
 for Purcell, was contemplating her open fire, when 
 with a knock at the door Flora O Beirne appeared. 
 Anna had not seen her for a fortnight. 
 
 "How cosy you look! No, thanks, I won t take off 
 my coat, for I ve only a few moments. I ve come to 
 say good-by we re off to-morrow," announced Flora. 
 
 "Really? That means you ve done what you 
 wanted to do here, I suppose." 
 
 "Well, partly. But we have to go back now, any 
 way. Michael s affairs simply make it necessary 
 that he should be in Sonora for the next two months. 
 Then we may have another siege of it here. But 
 again I may not see you for years or it may be for 
 ever, as the song says." 
 
 "I m sorry I shall feel quite deserted," said 
 
 Anna mendaciously. "But if you do come back, 
 you ll probably find me here. It s really very nice 
 indeed, and I m ever so much obliged to you." 
 
 "Oh, not a bit of it. And how is Daniel? Does 
 he find time to write much?" 
 
 "Oh, quite often." 
 
 "And he is busy with that road, I suppose?" 
 
 "Yes, very busy." 
 
 "Well, tell him I expect him to give me a pass on 
 it when it s done, and maybe Michael can reciprocate 
 some day. Is he well?" 
 
 "Oh, yeSj I think so, quite well." 
 
 "I thought he was looking badly when he left. He 
 332 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 don t get much comfort out there, I suppose, poor 
 fellow." v 
 
 Anna colored faintly. "He writes that he s very 
 comfortable," she said coldly. 
 
 "Oh, yes, he d make the best of it, of course. That s 
 like him he isn t one to complain. He s just the 
 sort that needs looking after. But perhaps there s 
 some woman out there that does look after him a bit, 
 do you think so? He s the kind that women like to 
 fuss over, too." 
 
 "I don t know, I m sure. He used to write about 
 a Mrs. Manlove, but she s up at Mallory." 
 
 "Well, I hope there s someone. It did seem to me 
 he was a man to have a woman about him. How 
 d ye get on with the singing?" 
 
 With two or three perfunctory remarks, Flora 
 brought her visit to a close. She left Anna indignant, 
 but not with the "bee in her bonnet" that she had 
 meant to put there. Anna had not been roused to 
 jealousy of Dan it needed for that some tangible fact 
 but only to a deeper dislike of meddling Mrs. 
 O Beirne. 
 
 It was after four now, and she sat watching the 
 fire, half-hypnotized by its glow waiting, waiting. 
 As the time crept past five she became restless; got 
 up and watched the rain pouring down into the yards 
 of the old houses, washing the last leaves from tree 
 and vines. Then she rearranged the few books on 
 her table and rang to have the fire made up. When 
 the hands of her watch showed nearly six she sat tense 
 with expectation in her chair. Twice the door-bell 
 rang and she waited with fast-beating heart for the 
 knock at her door. But none came. She went down 
 
 333 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 late to dinner; could not eat, and was back in her 
 room at half-past seven. An hour later she was on 
 the verge of tears. 
 
 All the warm sweetness of her dream was gone now, 
 as completely as the dream of summer had vanished 
 under the pelting rain. All her prospect was gray 
 and dismal. 
 
 The old feeling that her hold on Purcell was only 
 tentative came back with crushing force. Her jeal 
 ousy of the unknown in his life, sometimes dormant, 
 but always there, awoke in full strength. Perhaps 
 he was tired of her, and would take this excuse to for 
 sake her! But no, that could not be. His anger 
 showed that he cared something. But perhaps he 
 would cherish that anger pride might prevent him 
 from coming back, at least for some time. Perhaps 
 he was waiting for some word from her. 
 
 And she sat down to write to him, with only the 
 vaguest idea of what she meant to say, but under the 
 imperious necessity of calling him back. She wrote 
 "Dear Mr. Purcell," and halted for after the formal 
 ity of that disused address how was she to write to 
 him as she felt and as she wished to write? She took 
 another sheet of paper and wrote tremulously, "Dear 
 Nicholas." And the sight of the words sent the color 
 flaming to her cheeks, intoxicated her. She bent 
 down and kissed the paper, then started up. The 
 bell had rung again. She caught up the two sheets 
 of paper, tore them in half, and, as the knock sounded 
 at her door, dropped them into the fire. It was a 
 moment before she could command her voice to say 
 "Come in." The waitress opened the door and an 
 nounced "Mr. Purcell." 
 
 334 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Anna smiled at him as he entered, with joy, the 
 keenest she had ever been conscious of, shining in her 
 face. And there was confession, too, in Nicholas s 
 look. He had meant not to come that night, but a 
 sudden impulse had swept away his reasons. 
 
 335 
 
XIII. 
 
 A ND yet, though a certain surrender was involved 
 ^*" in this, Nicholas had by no means abdicated. 
 Unmistakably he kept the advantage which, as be 
 tween Anna and himself, he would always keep. The 
 great concession she might be able to get from him 
 he might need her, want her near him. But she would 
 have to be satisfied with that. She needed him more 
 than he needed her. And the general business of 
 concession would be hers. 
 
 She did not dare, now, to take his return as a tri 
 umph. She pushed a chair up to the fire for him 
 though it had hitherto been a point of pride with her 
 to be waited on by the admiring male and said 
 timidly, 
 
 "It s a very bad night, isn t it?" 
 
 "Oh, it s raining rather." 
 
 And Nicholas wheeled up another plush chair for 
 her. He had left his wet rain-coat, hat and overshoes 
 in the hall, but it was evident that he had walked, 
 and as usual had not bothered himself with an um 
 brella. The freshness and chill of the rain hung about 
 him. His hair looked damp, and the long straight 
 lock clung dankly to his forehead, till he brushed it 
 back with his handkerchief. He was in evening 
 dress, and Anna noticed that he had fastened his tie 
 down with a pin, which showed plainly. 
 
 "Is it too hot in here for you? Perhaps it seems 
 336 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 so, coming in from outside?" Anna asked anxiously 
 as he did not sit down. 
 
 "Oh, no, it s very comfortable. Have you been 
 reading this?" He picked up the volume of Maeter 
 linck from the table and flicked the leaves over ab 
 sently. 
 
 "Yes, a little only a few pages." 
 
 "You weren t interested then?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, but it is hard to read especially when 
 one is busy. It s hard to keep your mind fixed on 
 that sort of thing. It s so vague." 
 
 "Tell me what you ve been busy about, then." 
 And he consented to sit down near her, still with a 
 slight aloofness of manner, which Anna felt keenly. 
 But she noticed also that he somehow looked younger, 
 more alive, even a little excited. There was a sug 
 gestion of storm and stress about him. 
 
 "Oh, nothing much thinking mostly," she said 
 quickly. "I had a quarrel with Herr Pannier because 
 I couldn t attend to my lesson. I couldn t think of 
 
 anything to-day but what happened last night. 
 
 I thought perhaps I shouldn t see you again." And 
 she smiled tremulously. 
 
 "Why did you think that?" 
 
 "Oh, because you went away angry. And you 
 have so many interests you know so many more in 
 teresting people than I am Why should you 
 
 bother to come?" 
 
 "You re much mistaken. I haven t many real 
 interests I don t know anybody who interests me 
 more than you do." 
 
 "Oh, you don t mean that." She blushed and 
 looked startled. 
 
 337 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "Certainly I mean it. You interest me enor 
 mously. And for that reason I wish we could be frank 
 that you could be. If we are to see much of one 
 another you must be. How can there be any friend 
 ship or intimacy without that?" 
 
 "But do you mean I m to tell you everything? 
 But how can I?" 
 
 "Why not? I want to know all about you. You 
 know all about me all the essentials." 
 
 "Oh, no, I don t! And besides it s different. You 
 can tell all your own affairs, if you like there s noth 
 ing to prevent. But you can t always tell some 
 body else s affairs. I ve never told anybody. I 
 don t think I ought to. Can t we be friends without 
 that?" she pleaded. "I don t really know much 
 about you, either." 
 
 "But I ll tell you anything you want to know, that s 
 the difference. I have no secrets. How queer you 
 are, Anna! I don t think I ever knew a woman be 
 fore who minded talking about her husband for I 
 suppose that s what you mean. It s your Western 
 bringing up, I daresay it isn t considered proper 
 out there?" 
 
 "No, it isn t and I don t think it is proper," and 
 Anna lifted her chin, decidedly piqued. 
 
 "It isn t proper to talk about your individual ex 
 periences, simply because another person is mixed 
 up in them to whom you happen to be married!" 
 Nicholas laughed and got up to walk about the room 
 restlessly. "You are a perfect little bourgeoise, with 
 your worry about propriety. No one will know it 
 anyhow except us two so if it is public opinion you 
 
 fear " 
 
 338 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "It isn t public opinion." 
 
 "Do you think it really wrong, then, irrespective 
 of who knows about it, to tal 1 : to me about your life, 
 your real feelings, your husband, not to take that 
 august name in vain?" 
 
 Anna was silent, staring miserably at the fire. 
 Nicholas s roughness hurt her deeply, and she felt 
 they were about to quarrel again and that she could 
 not help it. 
 
 "In other words, you re not an individual at all, 
 but a Married Woman." His tone was biting he 
 hurled this epithet at her contemptuously. "A per 
 sonality manque." 
 
 "I don t know what you mean, but very likely I 
 am," said Anna finally. "At least I think it would 
 be wrong. Because, if you must know it, we have 
 we don t agree very well. We have quarrelled. 
 And it wouldn t be fair in me to complain of him or 
 to talk about him. It would be mean, and you 
 know it. I can t help it if all the other women you 
 know do it. And if we really can t be friends without 
 
 that why then " But she couldn t say it; her 
 
 voice died away. 
 
 "Confess you ve been reading the essay on Silence," 
 Nicholas said laughing, and he came back and sat 
 down by her, with the book in his hand. He turned 
 over the pages and here and there read aloud a par 
 agraph, looking very much at ease. Anna watched 
 him, bewildered by this sudden clearing of the air; 
 not listening to the philosopher s cool and lulling sen 
 tences, but only to the lazy voice of Nicholas, which 
 was like a half-satirical, if friendly comment on what 
 he read. She had come now to think him handsome. 
 
 339 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 His face, not distinguished otherwise than by intel 
 ligence and character, seemed to her not only fascinat 
 ing, but good and sure, and so altogether adorable. 
 Yet she did not feel that she understood him. 
 
 Presently he dropped the book and again took up 
 the subject of their talk. 
 
 "I liked your husband," he said coolly. "Espe 
 cially the last time I saw him here. I should like to 
 see more of him. I don t know or care anything 
 about business, and what I saw of him in his business 
 aspect didn t particularly interest me. But outside 
 that I should think he must be a very good fellow, 
 with a decided temperament. Isn t it so?" 
 
 "Very likely," said Anna stiffly. "Only it would 
 be hard to see him outside of business. That s all he 
 does." 
 
 "Wonderful! Rather terrible, too. I can t imag 
 ine putting one s temperament into business. That s 
 not what it s meant for, I m sure. And yet I sup 
 pose that s what men do who make the big fortunes. 
 Devin means to make a fortune, doesn t he?" 
 
 "Yes, he expects to," Anna said, looking very 
 sulky, downcast and handsome. It angered her to 
 hear Nicholas talk impersonally about something so 
 personal to her, if not to them both. 
 
 "And do you think he will?" 
 
 "I? I don t know anything about business, either. 
 But if he doesn t his life will be a failure, for that s 
 all he lives for." 
 
 "Oh, that s pathetic. Surely you don t mean it, 
 though. I should think he was a very human per 
 son, and very fond of you." 
 
 Anna flamed up at this. 
 340 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "I don t know why you say such things!" she cried. 
 "I told you I didn t want to talk about it. You are 
 just trying to torment me " 
 
 " No, dear Anna only I want to know whether 
 you love him." 
 
 Nicholas, looking very boyish with the sudden 
 gleam of excitement in his eyes, leaned forward and 
 took her hands. 
 
 And she, already breathless and almost weeping, 
 now surprised by his touch and nearness, was swept 
 completely out of herself. Submerged in the swell 
 of her first great irresistible emotion, she felt herself 
 going she was only able to say, "I love you." 
 
 "I hoped so," Nicholas said quietly. 
 
 He felt at least that he had known it, and that he 
 could not have rested without making her say it. But 
 the ecstasy of the moment was all hers. It possessed 
 her, she was dizzy with it. The vastness of the thing 
 she had done, the emotion, so infinitely beyond her 
 experience, that had forced her to do it, overwhelmed 
 her. She sat looking at him solemnly, unconscious 
 now whether he held her hands or not, unconscious 
 of herself for the first time since her childhood. 
 
 "It s true, I do," she went on in hushed tones. 
 "But I don t say it to claim anything from you. I 
 know you don t care for me as I do for you you 
 couldn t. I m not interesting enough. I couldn t 
 have all of your life even if you did care for me. But 
 you could have all of mine, if it had come about that 
 way. But I know, I know it can t be. I don t ex 
 pect anything at all. I know I shall lose you, I can t 
 hope for anything else but I m glad I love you." 
 
 "And I m glad," murmured Nicholas. 
 341 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 He bent to kiss her fingers, and she, with a gesture 
 of passionate tenderness, laid her left hand on his 
 head. And Nicholas noticed again as he kissed her 
 fingers, their plebeian shape, which all her careful 
 keeping could not dissemble. Then against this folly 
 of taste what was deeper in him rose up in rebellion; 
 and with the impetus of the instant s conflict he cried, 
 "That s what I care for more than anything else in 
 the world that you should love me! It s worth 
 anything in the world, dear Anna!" 
 
 Her heavy eyelids, quivering with delight, closed 
 and opened slowly, showing the gathering tears. 
 
 "Oh, I would have loved you," she sighed. "I 
 would have taken care of you. I would learn every 
 thing you liked, and anything, anything in the world 
 I could do and I should have been so happy " 
 
 "Then why shouldn t we be happy?" Nicholas 
 asked, really dazzled now by her beauty, alive and 
 alight as he had never seen it. "I don t mean to lose 
 you, depend on that." 
 
 "No, no," she said, getting up and moving away 
 from him. "How could it be so? You must see, it 
 can t be. You have your own life, different from 
 mine, you couldn t be bound to me and so we must 
 be apart but I shall always, always love you." 
 
 And still in her mood of exaltation she was ready 
 to devote herself absolutely, to renounce him. She 
 was even eager at the moment to do it, for so the 
 vague and bright splendor of the vision was untouched 
 by a material shadow. So her great avowal stood 
 for what it was a simple, complete gift. At the 
 moment she felt that she could live the rest of her life 
 and need no other happiness. 
 
 342 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "You could be everything to me everything that 
 really counts," said Nicholas, coming toward her. 
 
 She still retreated, looking at him with misty eyes, 
 and shaking her head. "No, no it s impossible 
 I can t believe it!" she said vehemently. And laying 
 her arms along the top of the false book-case, she put 
 her head down, hid her face. 
 
 Nicholas followed, more and more determined. 
 Her emotion moved him deeply; he felt gratitude, 
 tenderness for her, and a strong wish to appropriate 
 her. Moreover, the necessity for overcoming evident 
 obstacles stimulated him, helped to make him sure 
 of himself by rousing his will. And a certain inward 
 conflict, of which in face of any emotional situation 
 he was always conscious, gave an added impulse to 
 action. In order to get any satisfaction that his sim 
 pler self demanded he had always to crush down a 
 certain protest, a depreciating comment, persistent 
 questions; and this gave to the expression of his ele 
 mental side a force, at times a violence, that was really 
 not in his character. 
 
 He was rough because he had to carry his point, 
 not only against circumstances, but against himself. 
 And at this moment he was elated, too, because he 
 was facing the first serious business of his life, because 
 he was going boldly into an affair of which he could 
 not see the end which, so far as he was concerned, 
 would very likely have no end which would cer 
 tainly involve penalties of care and responsibility 
 that he had hitherto been free from. In spite of his 
 many relations with women, Nicholas was more in 
 experienced than Anna herself. He had never come 
 up sharply against any important angle of life, until 
 
 343 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 how. And now the sudden shock of it, the feeling 
 that here was something gravely significant which 
 was not to be got out of, immensely exhilarated 
 him. It was the feeling of life itself that gave to his 
 look, his manner, and voice an extra energy, a novel 
 brilliance. 
 
 He put his arm about Anna, lifted her bowed head, 
 and said with authority, "Come sit down here, and 
 listen." 
 
 She acquiesced, drew away from him quickly, took 
 the chair he placed for her, and sat erect, with her 
 hands folded and her eyelids drooping, as though 
 half -en tranced. Nicholas seated himself, facing her 
 squarely, bent forward and looked earnestly at her. 
 
 "We must settle now what is to be done/ he said 
 firmly. 
 
 "Oh," murmured Anna, lifting her shining eyes, 
 startled in the midst of her dream, and shrinking, 
 with a protesting gesture. "Don t don t say any 
 thing, just now." 
 
 But Nicholas, bent on seizing the practical situa 
 tion, difficult as it was, insisted. 
 
 "We must, dear Anna, if you feel as I do." And 
 he went on rapidly, overpowered by the impulse to 
 commit himself, to bind himself: "I want you, I want 
 to live with you, now and always. And the only 
 question is, if you care for me in that way whether 
 you would marry me, if you were free." 
 
 "You know I do," she said, with a passionate, 
 brooding look. "But don t don t talk about any 
 thing else now. I am so happy. I never imagined 
 anyone could be so happy. I don t want to think 
 of anything but that. It is so wonderful." 
 
 344 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 And she folded her hands, and her eyes closed slowly 
 in a rapturous revery and opened again upon him 
 full of the dream of love. But Nicholas, though he 
 was half-enchanted, was not happy. He could not 
 be anything but restless in face of the difficulties in 
 his way. Ruthlessly he wanted her to feel them too. 
 He wanted some immediate practical plan, some 
 definite settlement, and he said as much, brusquely. 
 
 Then Anna in sudden distress rose and moved away 
 from him again, went to the window and stood with 
 her back to him, silently crying. 
 
 "Anna! What is it, what have I said? Don t take 
 it that way, for heaven s sake. I must be a clumsy 
 brute " 
 
 "Oh, why do you make me think of everything 
 now!" she protested. "How did you expect me to 
 take it? Everything everything else is miserable, 
 and when you make me think, I m miserable too 
 perfectly wretched!" and she sobbed more violently 
 as Nicholas tried to quiet her. 
 
 "I know it s a bad situation," he argued, "but just 
 for that reason we ought to face it and get out of it 
 as soon as possible." 
 
 "It isn t so easy to get out of it." 
 
 "No, but it s quite possible. And it must be done. 
 You agree with me there, don t you? There must be 
 a divorce, and then we shall be married." 
 
 At this brutal masculine rending of the shimmering 
 veil that had hidden for a time the harsh realities of 
 the "situation," Anna became quiet and sombre. 
 
 "You agree with me there, don t you?" said Nicho 
 las more gently. 
 
 "I don t know," she murmured. 
 345 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "It s the only way out the best way, for everyone 
 concerned for Devin too." 
 
 Anna colored, and turned her head away, looking 
 out into the black night where the rain was now pour 
 ing down in torrents. 
 
 "Better for him, for you don t care for him, and 
 he may find someone who will." 
 
 "Yes he may/ she said dully. 
 
 "Then you do agree with me as to what must be 
 done." 
 
 "I suppose so." 
 
 She spoke with such evident constraint and feeling 
 as to surprise Nicholas. He had not suspected her of 
 sentiment, nor of feeling, outside certain limits. He 
 recognized now and respected something new in her. 
 
 This new power of feeling came from the fact that 
 Anna loved him, and was stirred to whatever depth 
 she had; but now she was thinking of Dan. 
 
 "You see, he is very fond of me," she said in the 
 same dry tone. "As fond of me as he can be of any 
 one. I don t believe he cares at all for anybody else 
 in the world." 
 
 "I know," murmured Nicholas. And after a si 
 lence he added as though to himself, "Life is sad. I 
 pity everybody Devin, you the whole world." 
 
 But at this Anna turned suddenly and threw her 
 self on his breast. 
 
 "Don t let it be sad don t pity me I can t bear 
 it! I won t have you speak so! I am young, and I 
 want to be happy I will be! And we can be happy 
 together, for I love you I love you more than all the 
 world! And you will love me a little, won t you?" 
 
 And she clung to him all the closer, at the thought 
 that he had not said he loved her. 
 
 346 
 
XIV. 
 
 HHHE day after Christmas a gray day, which would 
 -*~ have been very cold if it had not been so quiet 
 Manlove was on the station platform at Ralston to 
 meet the two-o clock train, and Dan, who was return 
 ing after a week s stay in Cheyenne. Dan had tele 
 graphed, asking Manlove to meet him, if any business 
 should take him to Ralston that day. But a dozen 
 indifferent passengers had descended, the signal for 
 departure had been given, the train began to pull out 
 slowly; and Manlove was turning away, when he 
 saw Dan on the platform of the last car the private 
 car of the president of the road. Dan dropped off 
 as the car slid by, and greeted Manlove briefly. He 
 was wrapped in his heavy mountain-coat, with the 
 collar turned up about his ears. 
 
 "Got anything to do here?" he asked. "If not, 
 let s get that stage." 
 
 "All right, I m through my business." 
 Manlove gathered up a number of parcels, and they 
 walked down the main street to the hotel, from which 
 the stage started daily at half-past two. It was 
 standing now in front of the hotel a big four-horse 
 vehicle, rather old and rusty, but powerfully built. 
 There were already three passengers in it, and the 
 usual group of bystanders hung about to see the start. 
 Dan had nodded to several men during the short 
 walk, and now as he was about to get into the 
 
 347 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 stage he was stopped by the editor of the local after 
 noon paper, who happened to be passing. 
 
 "Glad to see you back, Devin! Didn t know but 
 you d gone East with your millionnaire friend. Have 
 you seen the Republican yet? Well, I ll get you a 
 copy it gives you a good send-off, editorially, and 
 in fact the whole paper I think will interest you. It s 
 unusually newsy. Hi, boy!" And the editor put 
 two fingers to his mouth and whistled shrilly. A 
 prosperous-looking urchin on the corner, who was 
 apparently much more interested in the proceedings 
 of a Salvation Army band than in selling his papers, 
 obeyed the call. The editor, who was a large man 
 with an oratorical mouth, frowned at him. 
 
 "Boy, you d better look alive if you want to do 
 business with the Republican," he said sternly, hand 
 ing over a nickel, which was the price of the paper- 
 pennies not having made their appearance as yet in 
 Ralston. Then he unfolded the four-page sheet, 
 still damp and sticky from the press, and re-folded it 
 with the editorial page outside. "There you are," 
 he said complacently, pointing to the main editorial, 
 which was entitled "The Iron Horse." "You ll find 
 there a suggestion that may interest you a sug 
 gestion, sir, that your services to this community are 
 worth a public or political reward." The editor 
 looked round importantly at the by-standers, who had 
 presumably already read the editorial. 
 
 Dan smiled perfunctorily. "All right, thank you, 
 Wharton I ll read it going over," he said. "I be 
 lieve I ll get in now out of this wind." And he shiv 
 ered in his heavy coat. 
 
 "But, man, there s no wind! You ve got a chill, 
 348 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 that s what s the matter. You ve got a bad cold. 
 Come along in and have a nip of whiskey before you 
 start it ll brace you up for the ride." 
 
 "I believe I will I have got a chill, I guess," Dan 
 said wearily. 
 
 Manlove was asked to join but declined, and the 
 editor led the way into the hotel bar and ordered two 
 whiskeys, for which he paid, throwing down a gold- 
 piece with a large gesture. Dan was not a frequenter 
 of bars, but the editor was, and he talked familiarly, 
 while they were despatching the drinks, to the bar 
 keeper (who was a son-in-law of the hotel-keeper, 
 who kept a standing advertisement and got many 
 free puffs in the Republican) and to the other citizens 
 in the bar. Dan was unusually silent, and the editor 
 referred explanatorily to his cold, and strongly recom 
 mended a mustard-bath and four fingers of whiskey 
 at the journey s end. 
 
 The place was warm, and the arm-chairs near the 
 stove looked inviting to Dan, who threw back his 
 coat and began to feel how tired he was. But when 
 the blast of a horn without heralded the departure 
 of the stage, he pulled himself together, conscious 
 of work to be done, and went out. The editor bade 
 him farewell with a hearty hand-shake. 
 
 "Look in when you come to town and let me 
 know what you think of the editorial," he called out 
 as the stage started. 
 
 Dan and Manlove exchanged a few words with the 
 other passengers bound for River City, but it was be 
 coming difficult for Dan to speak at all. He breathed 
 with difficulty; and one hand, thrust into the breast 
 of his shaggy coat, clutched at his chest. 
 
 349 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "I m sorry to see you haven t got rid of that cold 
 yet/ said Manlove. "In fact it seems worse than 
 when you left." 
 
 "Doctor down there said it was bronchitis, but I 
 guess he didn t know much. Just a plain, ordinary 
 cold. He told me to stay in the house for a week." 
 
 "Well, you d better do it. You don t want to be 
 laid up now." 
 
 "No. Don t want to stay in the house, either. 
 I ll get out to-morrow and hustle Banks and those 
 Yon Yonsons a little. Must have ten miles done 
 
 before " The pain in his chest interrupted him; 
 
 he sank back in his corner of the seat with an irri 
 tated groan. "Can t talk much just now it starts 
 this blamed thing up." 
 
 He shut his eyes and was silent for some time, 
 breathing heavily. Manlove looked at him with 
 concern. In all his acquaintance with Dan he had 
 never seen him ill, or known him to admit feeling 
 pain or physical discomfort. He was silent, too, 
 though there were many things he wanted to talk 
 over with Dan, whom it was rather necessary nowa 
 days to catch on the fly. Dan had been incessantly 
 on the move ever since his return from the East in 
 October. After the beginning of \vork on the smel 
 ter his active interests had broadened out beyond 
 Grandview and the mines, and his time had largely 
 been given to the railroad project. For six weeks 
 he had been constantly with Josiah Purcell, who had 
 just gone East, after a final conference with the Union 
 Pacific officials; at which the traffic agreement had 
 been signed and also a contract by which the main 
 road was to haul material at a low rate, for the 
 
 350 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 branch. And Dan s time was further occupied 
 by his growing correspondence, interviews with the 
 various contractors, and all the infinite details that 
 must be settled before actual construction could be 
 gin. Manlove therefore felt that Dan had outgrown 
 their common interests, though he was still of course 
 vitally concerned in the progress of the mining in 
 dustries. It was difficult now for Manlove to get 
 much of his partner s time or attention. He had 
 expected that during the stage-ride of five hours 
 they could settle some business matters that were 
 important to him, and the same idea had been in 
 dicated in Dan s telegram. But for the first time in 
 their relations Dan was obviously unfit for business. 
 He had fastened down the leather curtain on his 
 side of the stage, and leaned back in his corner ap 
 parently dozing, but every few minutes roused by 
 a jolt as the heavy coach rolled over a stone or swung 
 ponderously round a bend in the road. After half 
 an hour or so he sat up with a sigh, pushed back the 
 curtain and looked out. The road now ran close to 
 the river, whose steely gray current was visible be 
 tween and beyond the straggling willows on its bank. 
 It was a broad and rapid stream, but smoothly flow 
 ing. On a bright day it had its own beauty of blue 
 color and flashing ripples; but now it answered to 
 the sombre gray of the sky. Beyond it the farming 
 lands of the valley rose in a gradual swell to the 
 foot-hills of a great range of mountains, fir-clad 
 half-way up, above that bare, and crowned with 
 snow. And on the right side of the river along 
 which the stage-road ran there was a narrower strip 
 of valley, then more foot-hills, more mountains. 
 
 351 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Down the valley, from the canyon at its head, poured 
 the river; and up it went the stage, bowling along be 
 hind its powerful team at seven miles an hour. 
 
 Dan moved suddenly to the other side of the stage. 
 "We ought to be getting sight of those fellows pretty 
 soon/ he murmured. 
 
 And in fact over a little rise just ahead came into 
 view a long stretch of newly-graded road-bed, nearly 
 parallel to the stage-road, which a gang of Swedish 
 laborers was continuing toward Ralston. As the 
 coach swept past the workmen, all its occupants 
 leaned out to look, with varying degrees of interest 
 and eagerness. Manlove, leaning over Dan s shoul 
 der, studied the strip of light-brown earth reeling 
 past them, with a naive wonder. Three miles of the 
 track on this end were already graded. And Man- 
 love had secretly disbelieved, all along, in the pos 
 sibility of the road s being built. His honest, rosy 
 face now wore a characteristic expression of puzzled, 
 rather helpless contemplation. He was a perfectly 
 well-meaning, hard-working man, with an inability, 
 which he ruefully recognized himself, to see very far 
 before his nose. 
 
 "They re doing pretty well, I should think?" he 
 remarked tentatively. 
 
 Dan shrugged his shoulders. "They ll take a little 
 more driving. This weather can t hold much longer. 
 Must have ten miles done before ground freezes," 
 he said with difficulty. 
 
 And he, too, studied the significant strip of brown 
 soil the only tangible sign, so far, of all his labor. 
 For the twenty-five minutes that the grade was in 
 sight he did not take his eyes from it. 
 
 352 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 It ended at a creek which flowed at right angles 
 into the river, and which the stage crossed on a 
 wooden bridge. Dan s specifications called for a 
 bridge of stone and iron a few rods above this point, 
 but construction was not to begin till the spring. He 
 moved back into his corner with another quick, gasp 
 ing sigh, the involuntary expression of his bodily un 
 easiness. 
 
 Next summer travelling this way 11 be easier," he 
 said to Manlove. 
 
 "I should say so! An hour in the train instead of 
 five in this old lumber-wagon it ll make a differ 
 ence!" 
 
 "I guess it will," joined in one of the other men 
 heartily. "We ll see lively times then sure. I cal 
 culate to put up some kind of a hotel myself next 
 spring. Grandview ll be booming, too, by the time 
 that smelter s a-working." 
 
 "Yes, I noticed something in the paper about your 
 hotel," said Manlove, smiling. 
 
 "Ya-as, I thought I might as well put it in," the 
 man said, with a slightly embarrassed laugh. "Talk 
 ing about good times helps to bring em, 7 think." 
 He was the postmaster at Grandview, and also the 
 local correspondent of the Ralston Republican, to 
 which he sent a half-column of news notes every even 
 ing. "However, it ain t talking that does the most, 
 I m bound to say," he added, with a deferential glance 
 at Dan. 
 
 In fact, this whole group the others were the pro 
 prietor of the livery and feed stable at River City, the 
 Sheriff, and the owner of a copper mine at Mallory 
 betrayed, in their talk and demeanor, a constant 
 
 353 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 consciousness of Dan s presence. If he had been In 
 clined to talk they would have listened eagerly. 
 Whatever he said would have been food for gossip 
 in two towns, as now his looks, his illness, would be. 
 He represented to these less progressive citizens the 
 big, powerful world beyond their valley. He was 
 hand-in-glove with Eastern millionnaires would 
 doubtless be one himself. His figure was the most 
 interesting, locally, on their widening horizon; and 
 the widening, they recognized, was due to him. 
 
 His appearance, too, marked him off definitely 
 from them all, even Manlove. He was muffled now 
 in a rough coat that any one of them might have worn, 
 but he wore it with a different air. And his profile, 
 visible to them between the edges of the high coat- 
 collar, had a power and a significance which were per 
 fectly alien to the resident type. He had changed 
 much, indeed, in the last few months. The now de 
 cided gray of his thick hair made the heavy black 
 eyebrows a more emphatic and striking feature, and 
 with the deepening of all the lines of his face, gave it 
 a certain ominous distinction. Resolute self-pos 
 session and dogged will spoke in the folds of his brow 
 and the rigidity of his mouth. His expression had 
 gained in strength at the cost of mobility and exuber 
 ance. 
 
 Physical pain had now somewhat intensified this 
 look of stress; his face flushed dully as fever came 
 upon him after the chill. The motion of the stage, 
 the effect of the whiskey, helped too to make him 
 heavy and hazy as to mind; but with a final effort 
 to throw off this drowsiness he sat up and took the 
 Ealston newspaper from his coat-pocket. The 
 
 354 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 editorial headed "The Iron Horse" was over a col 
 umn in length, and Dan read it all; with, however, 
 only a vague consciousness of phrases like "the march 
 of civilization" . . . the far-sighted enterprise 
 and sagacity of one of our leading citizens . . . 
 the great future before the people of our district 
 . . . hail the day when the Iron Steed, again 
 harnessed to our civic chariot, shall whirl us onward 
 to Prosperity. . . . Reward of the energy and 
 enterprise so signally displayed by our we may say 
 fellow-townsman, since Ralston divides with her 
 sister-settlements the distinction and benefits of his 
 residence . . . Councils of the party . . . 
 name of Daniel Devin has been mentioned as a pos 
 sible successor to our present Congressman, who, it 
 is known, will on account of ill-health not be a can 
 didate for re-election." 
 
 Manlove watched Dan s face as he folded up the 
 paper and returned it to his pocket, and then asked 
 hi a low tone, mindful of the listeners: "Well, what 
 do you think of that?" 
 
 "Oh, Wharton is a fool," Dan responded con 
 temptuously. "If he had any influence he d spoil 
 anything he took up. He jumps in like that because 
 he knows he s an outsider. Not that it matters. I 
 don t want it." 
 
 And, looking quite immovable, he sank back again, 
 resigning himself to intervals of dozing and of sudden 
 waking. Nevertheless, some of those phrases kept 
 recurring dimly in his mind; and as sleeping and 
 waking images merged together, Dan seemed to hear 
 some particularly orotund period rolled out in Judge 
 Colfax s great voice. The Judge was offering him 
 
 355 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 the nomination for Congress . . . they sat in 
 the library before the fire of hickory logs . . . 
 the Judge lifted his glass and proposed a toast . . . 
 
 And as with a great jolt the brakes came down on 
 the wheels and the coach slid down a steep little hill, 
 Dan woke and stared confusedly at the gray land 
 scape, with a pang of more than physical distress. 
 
 From this onward the road was rougher, the valley 
 narrower, the river more rapid, and more noisy. But 
 for the rest of the journey Dan was completely silent, 
 and indeed slept, except when the recurrent pain 
 disturbed him. 
 
 It was dark when they came to the other strip of 
 graded road-bed of which two miles from River 
 City had been done and the men had stopped work 
 for the day. But Manlove and the group of four 
 knew when they had reached the spot could even 
 tell how much had been done that day, measuring 
 from the great bowlder yonder in the river-bed. They 
 talked in subdued tones, glancing continually at the 
 sleeping man. 
 
 At half-past seven o clock they swung into the sin 
 gle business street of River City, along which rows 
 of oil-burning street-lamps and the open fronts of 
 shops and saloons broke the pitch blackness of the 
 night. The plank sidewalks were rather crowded, 
 and each shop and each saloon had a group about the 
 door; for this was the social after-supper hour, as well 
 as the time for the arrival of the stage. Loungers 
 were most numerous on the steps of the Weaver 
 House, as the one "hotel" of the place was called; 
 and here the stage stopped, amid a great clatter and 
 snorting of the four horses, and a shout of greeting 
 
 356 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 from the crowd. There were a good many men also 
 in the hall of the hotel, and in the bar, which opened 
 to the left. On the right was the parlor, a room with 
 a melodeon, lace curtains, and plush furniture not 
 often used, for guests as a rule preferred the bar. But 
 a sign of recent festivity was now visible in the middle 
 of a circle of plush chairs a Christmas-tree, with 
 hanging ropes of tinsel and popcorn, and half-burnt 
 candles. 
 
 A noisy recognition greeted Dan as he walked 
 through the hall and went into the office, followed by 
 Doc Weaver, the proprietor, and Manlove. 
 
 "Any mail?" he asked. 
 
 "Sure," replied Doc Weaver amiably, extracting 
 from a pigeon-hole behind his desk a double handful 
 of letters and two telegrams. "These came to-day," 
 indicating the telegrams. "We had four others wired 
 to you at Cheyenne. You got em all right?" 
 
 "Oh, yes." 
 
 Dan started upstairs with his letters. 
 
 "You don t seem to be feelin just right better let 
 me send you up some grub. I ll tell Milly. I reckon 
 she s been fixin up somethin for you." 
 
 "No, no," said Dan impatiently. "I ll come down. 
 Only have something hot, will you?" 
 
 "Sure." 
 
 "Can I do anything for you?" asked Manlove. 
 
 "Do anything? No, I guess not. See you at sup 
 per." 
 
 Dan went on upstairs to his own room, and Man- 
 love to the one assigned to him by Doc Weaver, who 
 himself proceeded to the dining-room to interview 
 Milly. 
 
 357 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 The door of Dan s apartment was unlocked, keys 
 not being much used at the hotel. The room was 
 very warm hot, in fact. A small stove in one cor 
 ner was full of glowing coals. The red rep curtains 
 were drawn over the windows, and the green-shaded 
 reading-lamp was lit. It was the best room in the 
 house and by far the best furnished indeed its cur 
 tains had been plundered from the dining-room, its 
 upholstered rocking-chair from the parlor, and its 
 fur rug, which was very much in Dan s way, from 
 Doc Weaver s private office. It had, moreover, been 
 newly swept and garnished against Dan s return, the 
 news of which, communicated by his telegram to 
 Manlove, had speedily reached the hotel; but now 
 on coming into it, he had only a vague general sen 
 sation of comfort. 
 
 He threw off his overcoat and hat and dumped his 
 mail down on the table, where papers and pamphlets 
 were arranged in neat piles. There were also a num 
 ber of other articles on the table, which had not been 
 there when he left a pink tarletan bag of candy 
 and one of popcorn; a row of little Christmas-cards 
 with landscapes in glittering snow, birds, and various 
 inscriptions on them; a large glass inkstand with a 
 silver top, and a calendar, very large indeed, with 
 a cover elaborately painted with flowers, and tied up 
 with a blue ribbon and a sprig of holly. But Dan at 
 first did not notice these. He was turning over his 
 letters, looking for one which he did not find. Anna 
 had not written to him for more than three weeks. 
 From Cheyenne he had telegraphed to her, asking if 
 she were well. And she had telegraphed back that 
 she was and would write, but the letter hadn t come. 
 
 358 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Dan let his other letters lie and took off his coat, 
 collar, and tie, intending to get ready for supper. Hot 
 and cold water were ready to his hand in two large tin 
 pitchers. But he was stiff and aching in every 
 muscle, and intensely depressed. He dropped into 
 the rocking-chair, and his tired eyes rested for a mo 
 ment on the little gifts, his share of the Christmas- 
 tree. The inkstand was presented by Mrs. Manlove 
 in recognition of a great many gifts to her children. 
 The Christmas-cards were from some of the school 
 children, to whom Dan had presented the tree. The 
 calendar bore no inscription, but the donor might be 
 identified by the resemblance between its handiwork 
 and that of various other objects scattered about the 
 room. There was, for example, a scrap-basket made 
 of stiffened twine, with flowers worked on it in rib 
 bons. There were two water-colors on the wall, of 
 roses and heart s-ease respectively. There was an 
 apparatus consisting of tongs, shovel, and bellows; 
 the tongs and shovel having gilded handles, and the 
 bellows a bunch of roses painted on its leather side. 
 There was, finally, a case for shaving-paper, with a 
 similar floral design, hanging by the bureau. But, as 
 it happened, Dan had never attached any personal 
 significance to these articles, any more than he had 
 to the curtains, the rocker, or the fur rug. Therefore 
 the calendar made no impression on his mind ; which 
 indeed for the moment was no more active than his 
 very weary body. 
 
 The heat and glow from the open door of the stove, 
 the sudden change from dark and cold, had made him 
 irresistibly sleepy. But the pain in his chest still 
 kept rousing him. He would doze and wake gasping, 
 
 359 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 but with not enough energy to get up, as he kept in 
 tending to do. 
 
 A knock at the door finally woke him and he tried 
 to call out, in vain. After a moment the knock was 
 repeated. He lifted himself and went to open the 
 door. Milly Vawter, the housekeeper, was there, 
 carrying a tray covered with a napkin. 
 
 "I ve brought up your supper/ she said, walking 
 past Dan and setting the tray on the table. She had 
 no smile or other greeting for him this time. 
 
 "But I m coming down all nonsense," said Dan. 
 
 "Excuse me, you re not," said Milly. She looked 
 hard at Dan s flushed face and dull eyes. "You re 
 not fit to be out of bed," she added severely. And 
 pushing the letters and the Christmas-gifts to one side 
 with an angry gesture, she began setting out the white 
 china plate, cup and saucer, the worn, plated "silver" 
 and various small covered dishes, glancing all the 
 while at Dan, who was laboriously getting into his 
 coat. 
 
 Milly was a small woman, very slender, very erect, 
 with short dark hair, bright eyes, a vivid color, and 
 a defiant way of carrying her head. She looked about 
 thirty; her face was rather worn, yet full of vitality. 
 Her eyes gleamed and her lips were sharply com 
 pressed as she finished laying out Dan s supper. 
 
 "There s hot milk toast, ham an eggs, cold pork, 
 tea, biscuits, and canned peaches," she said with her 
 exasperated air. "Better eat the hot things right 
 away, while they are hot." 
 
 "Thanks, I will just leave em there, will you," 
 Dan said hazily. 
 
 He was leaning against one of the posts of the high, 
 360 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 old-fashioned bed, in such a way that she could not 
 see his clinched fist pressed hard against the spot in 
 his back where the pain stabbed him. But another 
 sign of distress was not to be concealed his quick, 
 labored breathing. He frowned, waiting for her to 
 go. He had no intention of eating, and Milly saw 
 that. 
 
 "Isn t there anything else you d like if you could 
 get it?" she asked, lingering. 
 
 "Not a thing, thanks. More there than I want." 
 
 "You don t want anything. You re sick, Mr. 
 Devin. Don t tell me. I can see it. You must have 
 a doctor if you can get one." 
 
 "No, Milly, I won t have it! I ll be all right in 
 
 morning . . . hot bath . . . whiskey sling 
 
 )) 
 
 "You re a sick man, Mr. Devin! It s your busi 
 ness to see a doctor. I m going to have them tele 
 graph to Ralston, I don t care what you say." 
 
 Dan sat heavily down in the chair again. "Ask 
 Manlove to come up," he said. 
 
 Milly went over to him, hesitated a moment, then 
 lightly touched his forehead. 
 
 "You re burning with fever! Have you got a pain 
 in your side? Does it hurt you to breathe?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "You re sure? Sure you haven t a bad pain in 
 your back or side?" 
 
 "Sure. I m all right. Just send up some hot 
 water, will you? I ll go to bed, I guess." 
 
 "All right, you d better." 
 
 Milly went reluctantly out of the room, with back 
 ward, suspicious glances. But the door once closed 
 
 361 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 behind her, she ran swiftly downstairs and into the 
 dining-room, her light tread echoing through the 
 flimsily built and almost empty house. In summer 
 the place had usually a number of visitors, and ac 
 cordingly it was arranged for summer, with bare walls 
 and bare floors or slippery matting. The dining- 
 room was like a chilly barn. Its muslin curtains 
 were folded away, three of its four long tables were 
 blankly vacant, and at the fourth, under the bleak 
 glare of a kerosene lamp fastened to the wall, Man- 
 love, Banks, and a few other men were taking a hasty 
 meal. Doc Weaver lounged beside the table, talking 
 to them and doing what waiting on them was neces 
 sary. He had long since ceased to protest against 
 having to do a part of Milly s work while she attended 
 on Dan. She had resented his first grumblings too 
 fiercely. "Supposing I do take extra pains with his 
 things, ain t he the best customer you ve got?" she 
 cried. "Don t he keep the best room all winter and 
 pay more for it and give less trouble than anybody 
 you ever had in it? You don t know your own busi 
 ness." And Milly s employer had not resented this 
 remark. In fact it was generally considered that he 
 could not get on without Milly. It was known that 
 he had offered to marry her, when the death of Mrs. 
 Weaver promoted the summer waitress to house 
 keeper doubtless with the idea that he would thus 
 be able to manage her better and pay her less. But 
 obviously Milly preferred her present position. She 
 came into the room now with an air of authority. 
 
 "Mr. Manlove," she said imperiously, "I think 
 you d better telegraph to Ralston for a doctor. Mr 
 Devin is sick, and I believe he s got pneumonia." 
 
 362 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "What? What makes you think so?" demanded 
 Manlove, pushing back his chair. 
 
 "My mother died of it, and I took care of her. He s 
 got a raging fever and he can hardly breathe. I m 
 sure it s that. But don t stay here talking! Go and 
 send the telegram. You better telegraph to the hos 
 pital in Ralston. Tell them to send the best one 
 they have, and tell them who it s for. He must drive 
 over to-night even now it ll be morning before he 
 gets here. Oh, what idiots men are!" Tears were 
 in her eyes. "To think he s come back here like 
 this. Couldn t you see he was sick?" She turned 
 fiercely on Manlove, who had risen. 
 
 "I thought he was sick, but nothing so serious as 
 that," he said in alarm. "The doctor at Cheyenne 
 told him it was bronchitis. I d better go up and see 
 him." 
 
 "Bronchitis! It s worse n that. He was sick 
 when he went away a week ago and he s been getting 
 worse ever since, and not a one of you had sense to see 
 it. You ought to have kept him in Ralston, where 
 he could have got a doctor at least." 
 
 Milly rapped out her quick staccato sentences, look 
 ing with scorn at Manlove, who wrinkled his brow 
 distressfully. All the men at the table had stopped 
 eating and were listening; and Banks, a heavily built 
 man with a brush-like black mustache and prominent 
 blue eyes, was staring at Milly s flushed face. 
 
 "I ll go up and see him," began Manlove, moving 
 off. 
 
 "You d better telegraph first! If you don t, I will. 
 You know how he is. He don t like any fuss made, 
 and he ll tell you not to do it. But it s going to be 
 
 363 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 done; if I have to do it myself. If it s pneumonia 
 
 it comes like that " and she snapped her nervous 
 
 fingers. 
 
 "Perhaps we d better get Simmons first?" suggested 
 Doc Weaver, standing irresolutely on one foot. 
 
 "Simmons! I won t have that old fossil in the 
 house. It s bad enough to be in a hole like this, where 
 he can t have decent care, without getting a man to 
 murder him. Hurry up, Mr. Manlove!" 
 
 With an irrepressible sob Milly dashed into the 
 kitchen, and set her helper, a negro woman, to heat 
 ing pails full of water. Manlove, pulling on his over 
 coat, went out with Doc Weaver, and the other men 
 at the table began to discuss the situation; except 
 Banks, who stolidly went on with his supper. 
 
 "I ll just run up and have a look at him first," Man- 
 love said, glancing over his shoulder. "Women are 
 apt to fly off the handle, you know, and get scared 
 when there s no need " 
 
 "All right, but don t let her ketch ye," was Doc 
 Weaver s advice. He prudently disappeared into the 
 office, but looked out a few minutes later when Man- 
 love came down. "Well?" 
 
 "By George, I don t know! He says there s noth 
 ing the matter with him and that he won t have the 
 doctor. He wants to see Banks in about half an hour. 
 He s going to take a hot bath and some whiskey and 
 go to bed, and he says he don t want to be bothered. 
 But he does look sick. I m afraid it s worse than 
 he wants to admit. I don t know what to do." 
 
 Banks came out into the hall, wiping his mustache 
 with his napkin, and several men in the bar came 
 forward. "Well, what is it?" asked Banks. 
 
 364 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "I don t know," said Manlove helplessly. "He 
 wants to see you in half an hour. But I don t know 
 whether to telegraph or not." 
 
 "You heard what Milly said," remarked Doc 
 Weaver. "I reckon you better telegraph. She ll 
 skin you if you don t." 
 
 "Well, I guess I d better. After all, if it should be 
 pneumonia, it s pretty serious. He told me not to, 
 but I guess I will. She s right, you know, about 
 Simmons. I wouldn t have him doctor a horse for 
 me no offence to you, Doc." And Manlove bolted 
 in some confusion, for Doc Weaver a former veteri 
 nary surgeon was touchy on the point of his pro 
 fession. Manlove, his childlike eyes fairly bulging 
 with anxiety, ran diagonally across the street to the 
 white-frame building which housed a Dry-Goods 
 Emporium, the post-office, and the telegraph station. 
 
 Doc Weaver was instantly assailed by questions 
 from the men in the bar and the others who came out 
 from the dining-room. While he was parrying these 
 inquiries in his drawling voice, made more indistinct 
 by the habitual tooth pick in the corner of his mouth, 
 Milly called sharply to him and he went hastily. 
 
 "I want a bottle of whiskey the best you ve got. 
 And I want somebody to carry up water for his bath 
 George ain t here, as usual, when he s wanted. He 
 ought to have sponge baths to get the fever down 
 if he ll let us do it. You come up a minute and help 
 me but first get the whiskey." 
 
 "All right, Milly only don t get excited now 
 keep your head cool, you know," Doc Weaver ad 
 vised, edging away. 
 
 "Head cool! I m the only person in this God- 
 365 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 forsaken place that s got any to keep cool!" cried 
 Milly. "Come right along." 
 
 And she flew lightly upstairs, holding up her neat 
 pink dress, which, with the white satin stock tied 
 primly round her slim throat, had been assumed in view 
 of Dan s arrival. But Milly was not thinking of her 
 dress, nor of herself. Her eyes were strained and her 
 throat tense with emotion, crushed down in order 
 that she might meet the sudden emergency which 
 fear made visible to her. Hers was the most intense 
 feeling at the knowledge of Dan s illness. But the 
 news was spreading rapidly, radiating from the two 
 centres of the hotel and telegraph office, and in a short 
 time River City knew all that was to be known, and 
 more. 
 
 Meantime Dan had bolted his door, in the belief 
 that he was to be left alone. In a small, adjoining 
 room, which had been converted into a bath-room for 
 him, his hot bath was now made ready; and Dan 
 through the door directed Milly to leave the whiskey 
 outside, as well as the egg-nog she brought him, and 
 declined sponge baths or any other ministrations 
 whatsoever. Finally, as she persisted, he growled: 
 "For heaven s sake, go away! I don t want any 
 more bother." 
 
 In the ensuing silence he faintly regretted his rough 
 ness, but after all it was intolerable to be bothered 
 just now. He felt that he couldn t bear it. He 
 knew he was ill, he was suffering very much, and his 
 instinct was to shut everybody out and to endure it 
 alone, as he was now used to endure. He had an 
 intense dislike of appearing to be ill; and he disliked 
 being waited on, or as he put it, "bothered." Often 
 
 366 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 he had gone without some convenience, rather than 
 ask for service, even when he knew it would be gladly 
 rendered. And now, as there was no one who had 
 the right or authority to take him in charge, he shot 
 his bolts, with a dull satisfaction, and shut himself in 
 with his hidden pain. 
 
 Milly went away crying; but she did not go far. 
 She sat in the doorway of one of the empty rooms 
 along the hall. Presently she saw Banks come up 
 stairs, with his heavy walk, and go into Dan s room. 
 He had a sheaf of letters in his hand Dan s mail, 
 which had come by the stage. And walking up and 
 down the hall, Milly heard their voices in conference 
 Banks s bass booming out, and Dan s, weaker, al 
 most a murmur for nearly an hour. Meantime Man- 
 love came up and reported. He had telegraphed, 
 and they were to send a doctor from the hospital. 
 He would drive over, but it would be at least six 
 o clock in the morning before he could reach River 
 City. They had asked if they were to send a nurse; 
 and he didn t know how to reply. 
 
 "No, I ll take care of him myself," said Milly 
 quickly. "I know a good deal about nursing." 
 
 "But you won t have time, will you?" Manlove 
 asked. "If he s really very sick he ought to have a 
 trained " 
 
 Milly interrupted, with an angry gesture. 
 
 "Time enough for that to-morrow. I can take 
 care of him till then, anyway, I guess," she said 
 jealously. "Telegraph there is a person here who 
 has done nursing, and they needn t send anyone yet," 
 
 "How is he?" 
 
 "He s talking to that man Banks." 
 367 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "Well," with a sigh, "I ll go and telegraph. And 
 then I ll finish my supper. If you want me, call me." 
 
 When Banks finally came out, Milly was near Dan s 
 door. Banks stood with the door half open, and 
 Milly heard Dan say, "I ll see you to-morrow then. 
 Good-night." 
 
 "Good-night," said the contractor. "Can I do any 
 thing for you?" 
 
 "No, thanks. Shut the door, please." 
 
 Banks was about to shut it, but Milly intervened. 
 
 "I must fix the fire," she said and walked into the 
 room, closing the door after her. Dan was lying in 
 bed, propped up on the two pillows, with letters and 
 torn envelopes scattered about him on the coverlet. 
 He had in his hand, and was re-reading, the long ex 
 pected letter from Anna. He glanced up, with an 
 eager, abstracted look, and frowned at Milly. "Too 
 hot now," he said. 
 
 But Milly put some coal on the dwindling fire, using 
 her gilt-handled shovel, and shut the doors of the 
 stove. The window was wide open, and she shut it, 
 and opened the one in the dressing-room, leaving the 
 connecting door ajar. 
 
 "That ll give you plenty of air. It s getting colder. 
 I ll bring you up some beef-tea as soon as it s ready." 
 
 "No, thanks, don t want it." 
 
 "Wouldn t you like a hot-water bottle, or some 
 more pillows?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 Dan shut his eyes and moved his head impatiently. 
 
 "Good-night," he said. 
 
 When at last she had gone, Dan got up and once 
 more bolted his door. Then again he re-read the 
 
 368 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 brief note in Anna s writing, which during his whole 
 interview with Banks he had held folded in his hand. 
 Its brevity, its very phrasing which Anna had meant 
 to make vague and non-committal had for Dan a 
 definite significance. 
 
 She wrote that she wanted to see him, on a matter 
 of importance; she asked when he was coming East. 
 That was all, but it was enough to change Dan s whole 
 mental outlook. His inveterate hopefulness, given 
 even that narrow foothold, sprang up full-statured. 
 He saw in Anna s letter an offer of reconciliation. 
 
 What else could it mean to him, since, in spite of 
 the definite break between them, he had never, after 
 all, been able to conceive that they should live all 
 their lives apart? In all the unhappiness of the last 
 three months the feeling had haunted him obscurely 
 that this could not last forever; that something must 
 happen for the better. And this feeling came simply 
 from the emptiness at the heart of his life, from his 
 unbearable loneliness. He did not see how he was 
 to go on living and working with no object in it all; 
 and therefore, in some way, he thought, Anna must 
 come back to him. Even though their life together 
 never could be what he had hoped, still she must 
 come back. For after all, in spite of anything he 
 might have said, she belonged to him; he could not 
 see how he was to live without her. 
 
 This feeling had grown stronger as his prospects of 
 material success became more assured. Within the 
 last month he had secured the object for which he 
 had been working: the railroad was a certainty, 
 and his own profits from this undertaking, from the 
 smelter and the mines, were clearly in sight. They 
 
 369 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 would be large; he felt himself fairly upon his feet 
 again. And now also he had a definite prospect to 
 offer. He could make Anna comfortable; she would 
 be able to have the sort of home she wanted; and 
 thus the basis of her complaint against him would be 
 removed. 
 
 It was not, however, clear in his mind just how 
 this obvious reason for Anna s returning to him was 
 to be presented to her. Silently he had hoped and 
 waited for some word from her some sign of regret, 
 or repentance. Little wonder, therefore, that he 
 seized upon her letter the expression of a wish to 
 see him, the evident desire for some change in their 
 relations as the sign he had longed for. The truth 
 of the matter was not within the reach of his imag 
 ination. No fear or jealous idea occurred to him, 
 for the reason that to him Anna was still simply his 
 wife; and what in a flash had seemed a possibility 
 on that last night in New York never really 
 lodged in his mind. He could not imagine Anna 
 capable of deviation, or change from what he had 
 known of her character. 
 
 He immediately began to plan to get away, to go 
 to New York. It was a favorable time, for work 
 must soon stop on the road-bed, until the spring. 
 An unusually mild season had permitted the grading 
 to be begun, but with this storm the winter doubtless 
 would close down upon the valley; and it would be 
 three months before that work could be resumed. 
 There remained, for the most important things, the 
 letting of contracts to lay the track, and to build the 
 necessary bridges across various small streams but 
 he could see his way clear to taking two weeks off 
 
 370 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 say a week or so hence. He resolved to telegraph 
 Anna to that effect. 
 
 And having settled this, the first excitement of it 
 passing off, he became keenly sensible again of his 
 bodily discomfort. He felt for the first time with 
 some alarm that it was increasing, and that some 
 thing serious had got hold of him, an unknown and 
 hostile force. He summoned the strength of his will 
 to fight it. He could not afford to be ill, now of all 
 times. 
 
 He regretted, as he tried to find some ease in re 
 arranging his pillows, in lying down or sitting up, 
 that he had not stayed in Ralston except in that 
 case he would not have got Anna s letter so soon. 
 He regretted that he had not let Manlove send for a 
 doctor. The thought that he must endure this pain 
 and obstruction of his breathing, all night, when it 
 might have been eased, was hard. He wished 
 vaguely, also, that he had allowed Milly to bring him 
 the hot-water bottle, or something that might have 
 helped a little. At one time he thought of calling 
 someone, but reluctance to disturb any of them pre 
 vailed. 
 
 If he had known it, Milly was at that moment in 
 the corridor near his door, sitting in a straight- 
 backed wooden chair, so that she might not fall 
 asleep, and wrapped in a heavy ulster against the 
 keen currents of wind that sifted through the cracks 
 of ill-fitting window-sashes. She listened for sounds 
 from his room until two o clock, and then went up 
 to summon Manlove to take her place. He was to 
 wake her if Dan gave any sign. 
 
 But Dan was perfectly silent all night long. He 
 371 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 moved about in his room, but he did it noiselessly. 
 He could not sleep. He could not stifle the keen 
 pain, nor forget it for a moment. To lie down was 
 impossible; breathing constantly became more diffi 
 cult. He counted the slow hours by his watch 
 lying on the table. From his uneasy bed he saw 
 the dawn break at last over the hills beyond the 
 river. Then with infinite pains he dressed himself. 
 The stage left for Ralston at seven o clock. He meant 
 to go to Ralston to see a doctor; but first he intended 
 to inspect the work on the road-bed. 
 
 At six o clock he left his room, passed Manlove, 
 who was slumbering in his chair; and with the rem 
 nant of his strength went slowly down the stairs and 
 into the street. Nobody had seen him except the 
 negro woman who was washing the hall floor. 
 
 372 
 
XV. 
 
 morning was dark, with a troubled sky and a 
 cold wind sprinkling about little pellets of ice 
 signs of the coming storm. Milly, having overslept by 
 a little the time she had set for herself, came hurriedly 
 downstairs at half-past six, to find Dan s room empty 
 and Manlove still sleeping. A bad ten minutes fol 
 lowed. Manlove, dazed by his violent awakening 
 and by the picture of Dan wandering in delirium, 
 rushed into the street. The old negress, wildly ques 
 tioned by Milly, was able to point the direction in 
 which Dan had gone : first to the telegraph-office, then 
 on up the street. And Manlove had not run a hun 
 dred yards before one of the few men abroad at that 
 hour could tell him the exact whereabouts of his 
 charge. Dan had taken a buggy and driver at the 
 livery-stable, and had left word for the stage-driver 
 to pick him up outside the town on the Ralston road. 
 Manlove ran on to the stable; and there, while they 
 were saddling a horse for him, the men who were 
 washing down the stage in front of the place gave 
 him their impressions of Dan. He looked pretty 
 bad, they thought, and they d been struck all of a 
 heap to see him come walking down the street, when 
 everybody knew a doctor had been sent for; but of 
 course it was none of their business to stop him, and 
 anyhow he looked like he didn t mean to be stopped. 
 The horses were being brought out for the stage as 
 
 373 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Manlove mounted and rode off at full speed. He had 
 a mile to go, and ten minutes start of the stage ; and 
 he made the mile in less than the ten minutes, bending 
 low in the saddle to avoid the stinging onrush of ice- 
 flakes, mingled now with snow. The wind, dead 
 against him, was rising every moment; and Manlove 
 smarted, not so much under its actual lash, as at the 
 thought of Dan exposed to it. 
 
 In fact, Dan had got out of his buggy, and when 
 Manlove caught sight of him, was standing in the 
 middle of the graded strip of road-bed to the right, 
 looking off across the broadening plain toward Ral 
 ston. For another mile the grade was visible, de 
 scending slowly, then climbing a gentle rise, at the 
 foot of which stood a group of shanties for the work 
 men. But the wind rushing up the valley brought 
 a thickening cloud of snow, and the distance began 
 to be obscured. 
 
 A small procession carried Dan quite in his senses 
 and half inclined to be angry back to the hotel: 
 Manlove driving him in the buggy, then the horse 
 ridden by the stableman, and lastly the Ralston doc 
 tor in his buggy, muffled up to his eyes, half frozen 
 and in a reasonably bad temper. He was very young, 
 the doctor, and his important air was qualified by a 
 youthful expressiveness. He glanced at Dan in the 
 hall and ordered him immediately to bed. Then, 
 trying to thaw himself out by the freshly kindled fire 
 in the bar, he vented his displeasure on Doc Weaver, 
 the only person at the moment available. 
 
 "What kind of a damned fool is that man any 
 way?" he demanded. "And why couldn t you look 
 after him? If he s sick enough to bring me over here 
 
 374 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 on a journey like this, it strikes me he might have 
 had a little more attention from you. Pneumonia 
 and out in this wind! Ten to one, if he s got pneu 
 monia he s done for himself. Blamed idiots people 
 are. Well, where is he?" 
 
 Doc Weaver led the way upstairs, and holding him 
 self entirely guiltless, he proceeded, while the doctor 
 was making his examination, to repeat his words to 
 Milly and Manlove, not without a secret feeling of 
 triumph. The two culprits, or at least the chief one, 
 looked pale and miserable enough. Milly was speech 
 less. Accusing herself, she raged still more bitterly 
 against Manlove. If black looks could have made 
 him more unhappy than he was, Milly would gladly 
 have seen him so. But he sat huddled up in his chair 
 they were all waiting in the hall for the doctor 
 his head buried in his hands, unheeding her. 
 
 Graham, the young doctor, came out with an en 
 velope in his hand, and looked at the little group with 
 some uncertainty. 
 
 " Who s looking after him?" he asked abruptly, 
 and added, "If anybody is." 
 
 "We are I am," Milly said. "Mr. Manlove is his 
 friend, and I can take care of him." 
 
 "Oh. He hasn t got any relatives about here?" 
 
 "No. Do you mean he is in danger?" she 
 panted. 
 
 "I don t say that. Only there seems to be no 
 body with any say as to things. He s too sick to 
 know himself. He must have a regular nurse first 
 thing." 
 
 "It s pneumonia?" Manlove asked. 
 
 "Yes right lung. He s got a high temperature, 
 375 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 he s all run down, and his heart seems weak. Got 
 any ice?" 
 
 With a panic-stricken exchange of glances they 
 had to answer that there was none in the town. 
 
 "Well, telegraph to the hospital, tell them to send 
 a wagon-load of ice right off, and have Miss Steele 
 come by the afternoon stage. Or hold on I ll write 
 the telegram to her. And you, get up some cold 
 water, will you as cold as you can and some whis 
 key, and a glass and teaspoon. I d like a cup of 
 coffee, too, and something to eat. Who s Mr. Man- 
 love? This must be for you it was on the table 
 and he asked me to give it to you." 
 
 He handed the envelope to Manlove with a curt, 
 professional air and turned back into the room. 
 
 In the envelope were a key and the brief note 
 scrawled to let Manlove know that Dan was going to 
 the hospital at Ralston; that all his business papers 
 were in the top of his trunk, which the key would 
 open; and that if he, Dan, did not return to business 
 within two or three days, Manlove was to telegraph 
 the facts to Josiah Purcell, Marshbrook, Mass. 
 
 But as yet Dan had by no means given up. He 
 kept hold of himself, with a dogged resolve not to 
 yield, with a keen consciousness of all that was going 
 01 around him. He questioned the doctor, with an 
 almost amused perception of Graham s air of author 
 ity and the flurry of nervousness underneath it. Dan 
 put down the nervousness to the doctor s youth and 
 not to the seriousness of his case. He could not 
 believe, in spite of the extreme and increasing physi 
 cal discomfort, that it was anything very serious. It 
 
 376 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 had not occurred to him that he could be very ill. 
 And now, in the present circumstances, it would be 
 too absurd it must not be allowed. 
 
 When they moved his bed into the middle of the 
 room he wished to get up; the alarm on the faces of 
 the men who were called in to move him affected him 
 unpleasantly. However, though he would ask ques 
 tions, he obeyed the positive orders of the doctor; 
 submitted to the spongings with ice-cold water, took 
 the medicines and the whiskey, and finally even gave 
 up the effort to find out what his temperature was, 
 and whether he would be able to see Banks on the 
 next day or the day after. 
 
 Gradually he became less anxious to see Banks, 
 willing even to be quiet. The disease that he had 
 been fighting unconsciously for a week, and con 
 sciously for the past twenty-four hours, began to get 
 the upper hand of him. Insensibly the tension of 
 his will relaxed; the mounting fever forced him down; 
 lassitude, weakness, prostration followed quickly. 
 Things began to get blurred. He ceased to think 
 definitely about what had been worrying him. His 
 consciousness was absorbed for the time in those very 
 physical details which he had tried to ignore the 
 problem of getting breath, of getting a moment s 
 ease, of dealing with that perpetual pain. Then even 
 these became vaguer, as sleep overpowered him. 
 
 He was clearly aware that night of the new pres 
 ence of the nurse a person in light uniform, with a 
 composed face and strong, cool hands and of her busi 
 ness-like conferences with the doctor. The two did 
 not always trouble to lower their voices, and he caught 
 
 377 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 the drift of what they were saying about him. He 
 knew when they were about to put the ice-pack on 
 his chest, and when a new medicine was given. He 
 felt that they were taking him very seriously, and he 
 meant to find out ... a little later . . . 
 when he could get some breath and strength to talk 
 with. He was not sure that they were doing the right 
 thing for him. The doctor s youth now presented 
 itself to him as a grievance. . . . He would 
 speak to Manlove about it. 
 
 Next morning he learned, from a remark carelessly 
 made by the nurse to Milly, who had come to relieve 
 her they stood just outside the door of his room 
 that the trouble was apt to be with the heart. 
 
 He did not mind Milly s being in the room. She 
 shared now the curious shadow-like quality that all 
 these people were beginning to have. She was even 
 quieter, more colorless, than the nurse or the doctor. 
 Yet he knew always when she was there. On the 
 afternoon of the second day, when she was supplying 
 the place of the nurse for a time, he made her under 
 stand that he wanted something brought to him from 
 the dressing-room. It was, she discovered, a small 
 photograph in the inner pocket of the coat he had 
 been wearing. This picture Milly had not seen be 
 fore, but she instantly recognized it as a girlish por 
 trait of the same blond woman who figured so splen 
 didly in the large photograph lying in the top drawer 
 of Dan s bureau, and apparently undisturbed in 
 months, except by Milly herself. She laid the small 
 photograph in Dan s hand, and he held it quietly, not 
 looking at it. His eyes rested for a moment on Milly s 
 
 378 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 haggard face, and the sight seemed to trouble him. 
 He frowned. 
 
 "Are you a little better?" she cried involuntarily. 
 
 It was the first time he had definitely noticed her; 
 and she thought it indicated some sort of a change. 
 
 "I don t know. . . . Am I very . . . 
 sick?" he asked weakly. 
 
 "Oh, you will be better soon!" she cried, clinching 
 her hands to keep from sobbing for physical fatigue 
 and worry had weakened her self-control. 
 
 "Tell Manlove . . . better get another doc 
 tor ... !" 
 
 Milly glanced at the door. It was a little open, 
 and Graham stood outside. She could hear his voice 
 he was talking to Manlove. 
 
 "Yes, I ll tell him. We ll get one," she said eagerly. 
 
 Then she gave Dan his regular dose of whiskey; he 
 took it passively, with a total lack of interest in the 
 proceeding, which indicated his sceptical feeling 
 toward the young doctor s method. 
 
 This feeling was shared by those responsible so 
 far as anyone on the spot was responsible for Dan s 
 welfare. Graham had not told Manlove that this 
 was his first important private case; but he had said 
 enough to show his own misgivings and uncertainty, 
 and had succeeded in inspiring these in all the per 
 sons who were supposed to take their opinions or or 
 ders from him. 
 
 Manlove and Milly consulted constantly together, 
 and in spite of mutual dislike felt a certain league of 
 sympathy and interest as against the two professionals ; 
 for they both, in different ways, loved Dan. It had 
 
 379 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 been an humble affection, in Manlove s case ex 
 pressed in growing admiration and deference; in 
 Milly s, expressed only in service, in a minute care of 
 Dan s rooms and clothes, in a passionate solicitude 
 about his linen, his food, his smallest personal be 
 longings. And this devotion of hers had not gone 
 unrecognized, any more than Manlove s friendship. 
 Dan had never offered Milly money; nor had he of 
 fered to kiss her, in spite of occasion and the occa 
 sional rosy flash of feeling in her face. He brought 
 her books and magazines and talked with her about 
 them. And Milly cared for him the more for not see 
 ing that she cared. 
 
 From Manlove, nearly a year ago, she had learned 
 that Dan was married; from Manlove also, who in 
 the first months of Dan s stay had seen photographs 
 of Anna, she had lately had the assurance that the 
 beautiful blond woman of the picture was his wife. 
 She had built up a whole drama round what facts of 
 his married life she had been able to glean. The 
 change from Dan, as she knew him first, when he 
 stopped at the hotel going to and from Mallory al 
 ways in high spirits, vigorous, full of life and energy 
 to the man, saddened and broken in spite of his 
 business success, who had come back in the autumn, 
 had been a great shock and stimulus to her secret 
 imaginings. She let herself think sometimes that it 
 might make a little place for her in his life. And 
 meantime her main pleasure had been to surround 
 him with her attentions and her handiwork. It had 
 been a keen pleasure to her to feel that he appreciated 
 the rocker and the scrap-basket; while the fact that 
 he preferred a piece of newspaper to an artistically 
 
 380 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 clipped oblong of tissue from the shaving-case might 
 indicate that he thought the shaving-case too pretty 
 to be used. 
 
 But now all these pathetic contributions to his 
 comfort had been swept away. The curtains and the 
 rug adorned the nurse s room, and the rocking-chair 
 was reserved for her use. The paintings, the scrap- 
 basket, and calendar had been cast into a corner of 
 the dressing-room. And in the bare and bleak cham 
 ber of sickness ruled a doubtful authority, to which 
 Dan s sufferings mattered personally as little as 
 Milly s own. 
 
 Manlove, suddenly saddled with responsibilities 
 for which he was not especially capable, fell back on 
 Milly for advice. It was certain that Dan s illness 
 would last "more than two or three days"; yet Milly 
 had to make Manlove decide to telegraph to Josiah 
 Purcell. The telegram was sent on the morning of 
 the third day a little before Dan had asked to have 
 another doctor summoned. 
 
 That was the next thing to be arranged. Manlove 
 made the proposition to Graham, and he agreed, with 
 relief more obvious than anything else in his manner. 
 And he added that if they were going to send as far as 
 Cheyenne and get the best man there, they d prob 
 ably better have some oxygen too, though he person 
 ally didn t think much of that treatment. He then 
 mentioned the name of the man they ought to try to 
 get, and wrote a telegram stating the case to him. 
 
 Then Manlove consulted Milly on the question of 
 communicating with Dan s wife. He was rather 
 feebly of the opinion that Anna ought to know that 
 
 381 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 her husband was seriously ill, whether there was as 
 yet definite danger or no. On the other hand, Dan 
 had indicated his wish in the matter. Manlove had 
 ventured to suggest to him that Anna should be in 
 formed and he had positively forbidden telegraphing 
 her. 
 
 "Long journey ... no use . . . I ll be 
 all right . . . few days/ was his assurance. 
 
 Manlove had of course guessed on Dan s coming 
 back, alone and markedly changed, from the East, 
 that there had been some domestic disaster. During 
 the first months at Mallory he had talked often and 
 happily about Anna, and his plans for her; since his 
 return he had never spoken of her, except once to 
 say that she was studying music in New York. And 
 if, as appeared, they had practically separated, it was 
 easy to see why Dan did not want her summoned, 
 except in case of absolute necessity. 
 
 "Still," argued Manlove, "she ought to know. I 
 don t see why I shouldn t telegraph her that he is ill 
 and that I ll telegraph again if he s worse." 
 
 "He said not to telegraph," Milly pointed out som 
 brely. In her bitter jealousy of the blond wife a 
 large element of contempt found nourishment. It 
 was plain that the wife ought to be here now; it was 
 plainly her own fault if she was not. 
 
 "I can t help it. I can t be responsible for every 
 thing!" cried Manlove. "I m worried to death." 
 
 Milly shrugged her shoulders. "It isn t my busi 
 ness," she said sullenly. 
 
 "Then I ll ask the doctor," Manlove said in des 
 peration. 
 
 The doctor s opinion was that if Devin had a wife 
 382 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 she certainly ought to be telegraphed for. If she had 
 to come from New York, haste was advisable. He 
 might die now before she came. 
 
 "What! You didn t say there was danger," cried 
 Manlove. 
 
 "I didn t say there wasn t. I asked if he had any 
 relatives within reach. There s always danger for a 
 man in his run-down condition, and with a heart in 
 bad shape. There s every chance, too, that the other 
 lung may be affected on account of the exposure." 
 
 And Graham frowned, with a worried and irritated 
 look. 
 
 "Can I see him?" whispered Manlove, after a pause. 
 
 "Oh, yes, go in he probably won t notice you." 
 
 But as Manlove entered on tiptoe and went to the 
 foot of the bed, Dan s eyes rested on him, plainly 
 recognized him. The sick man, however, made no 
 attempt to speak. He lay very quietly on his pil 
 lows, with the ice-pack close against his laboring 
 chest. 
 
 "We ve sent for another doctor," said Manlove. 
 
 Dan nodded and closed his eyes. Manlove s voice 
 seemed to him to come from some place infinitely re 
 mote he felt too weak to answer him. 
 
 383 
 
XVI. 
 
 1VTICHOLAS, returning to his rooms after lunching 
 * alone at his club, in a sombre and unsocial 
 mood, was surprised, and not too agreeably, to find 
 his father waiting for him. 
 
 "Well! I didn t know you were in town. I hope 
 you haven t been waiting long," he cried, going to 
 shake hands, with his nervous, cordial grip. 
 
 "Oh, no, half an hour," Mr. Purcell replied dryly. 
 "I came up this morning on business. Can you give 
 me Mrs. Devin s address?" 
 
 "Mrs. Devin s? Yes, I can give it to you." Nicho 
 las pushed up a chair and sat down, meeting gravely 
 the old man s keen glance. "Do you want to see 
 her?" 
 
 "Yes, I do, right away." 
 
 Nicholas took out a card and a pencil and wrote 
 down the address. 
 
 "But you won t find her in now/ he said. "She s 
 lunching out at Fairmont to-day and won t be back 
 till late. They re rehearsing some tableaux and 
 things, you know, for New Year s " 
 
 "Tableaux! I should think she might be thinking 
 about something else just now. Look here, d you 
 know anything about this?" He took out his pocket- 
 book and began searching impatiently among the 
 papers with which it was stuffed. "According to a 
 telegram I got this morning, Devin s down with 
 pneumonia, confound him! Here it is. It must 
 
 384 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 have got to Marshbrook just as I left. They tele 
 graphed it on to the office here. Well?" 
 
 "I m positive she doesn t know anything about it. 
 I saw her this morning. I know she had no word of 
 it up to twelve o clock." 
 
 And Nicholas folded up the telegram, and unfolded 
 it and read it again. 
 
 "Devin ill pneumonia unable transact business fort 
 night anyway his orders telegraph you. Manlove." 
 
 "Who s Manlove?" he asked mechanically. 
 
 "Oh, he s a fool of a man out there in the mines. 
 If this is true, I ve got to turn right round and go 
 back out there. But I don t feel like doing it without 
 some further word. That Manlove s like a chicken 
 with its head cut off I don t take what he says. I ve 
 telegraphed back to ask for the doctor s report. But 
 I thought most likely his wife would know more about 
 it. When s she coming back, did you say?" 
 
 "Probably on the six- thirty train it gets in at 
 six- thirty, I mean." 
 
 "And no word up to noon, you said? Well, that 
 seems queer. This telegram had time to go to Boston 
 and be sent up here I should think they d telegraph 
 her as soon as they would me. Hey?" 
 
 "Really, I don t know anything about it." 
 
 Josiah Purcell looked over his spectacles at his son 
 with a sarcastic and irritated expression. He had 
 been very much disturbed by the telegram, and now 
 he thought that Nicholas was disturbed by it and 
 was trying to conceal the fact. 
 
 "I thought you might know. You and Margaret 
 seem to be pretty thick with her," he said brusquely, 
 "I suppose I might telephone out to Fairmont," 
 
 385 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "No, certainly not. It would alarm her and it 
 would be absolutely no use. I m perfectly certain 
 that she knows nothing." 
 
 "Well, it s queer. Very likely the telegram is at 
 her house now. I should think she ought to come 
 back." 
 
 Nicholas looked at his watch. "It s nearly three 
 now. She couldn t get here anyway before five. 
 What s the use of making the thing worse for her? 
 I ll go up and meet the trains after five, and go to the 
 house with her; and if there s any news I ll telephone 
 to you." 
 
 "Well, you telephone me anyway when she gets 
 back. I want to see her. I ll wait here after half- 
 past five, it s convenient to her address. I m going 
 back to the office now to straighten up things, in case 
 I have to go. Confound it, Nicholas, I wish you had 
 some idea of business, you might take this off my 
 hands." 
 
 "Yes it s a pity," said Nicholas. "Here, after 
 half -past five, then." 
 
 It was only after the whir of the descending ele 
 vator had announced his father s departure that he 
 realized he should have kept the telegram for Anna. 
 
 He really was much more disturbed than he had 
 been willing to show; mainly because of the effect 
 on Anna this news would have. He could not be 
 sure that, in spite of what he had said, his father 
 would not telephone to Fairmont. In any case he 
 foresaw a shock, to which she would be especially 
 susceptible hi the present state of her nerves. 
 
 When he had parted from her that morning at the 
 station after, it must be said, a quarrel intense if 
 
 386 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 not violent he had thought her almost hysterical. 
 And it was the distress of seeing her so unhappily 
 moved, and of being unable at the same time to move 
 her an inch toward the action he wanted her to take, 
 that had made him leave her there, at the last mo 
 ment, though he also was expected at Fairmont. The 
 quarrel was an old one nearly a month old and 
 they had been at it almost every day. What Nicho 
 las wanted was that she should write the decisive let 
 ter which would define their situation and help to 
 clear it up; but this letter to her husband Anna had 
 so far been perfectly unwilling or unable to write, and 
 she could not give any satisfactory reason for the de 
 lay. She admitted that it was only a delay, that the 
 thing must be done, and yet she would not do it. As 
 for the temporizing note she finally had written, sim 
 ply putting off the necessary move for an indefinite 
 time, Nicholas had been angry and disgusted to learn 
 of it. Their disagreement then had reached an acute 
 stage. For the first time Nicholas had given voice 
 to his suspicions. He taxed Anna with not knowing 
 her own mind, not being willing or able to live up to 
 what she had promised him; and he told her that he 
 was going abroad and that he would never see her 
 again until she was free. 
 
 His characteristic self-possession, his quiet, un- 
 emphatic manner, helped him to deliver this ultima 
 tum with a coolness and conviction that he by no 
 means felt. Anna had believed him. It was then 
 that she came near breaking down ; but that she could 
 still control herself was evident in the fact that she 
 went on without him and kept her engagement at 
 Fairmont. 
 
 387 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 She did not come back either until the half-past- 
 six train, and Nicholas, who had spent an hour and 
 a half in or near the station, since there were three 
 other trains that she might have taken, was irritated 
 with her until he remembered his errand. He was 
 among the crowd of people waiting at the train-gate; 
 the train was unusually crowded, and Anna passed 
 without seeing him. Indeed, she seemed absorbed 
 in her own thoughts. She walked slowly, with down 
 cast eyes, and she looked pale and tired. All the 
 more evident was her blush and startled look when 
 Nicholas spoke to her. 
 
 "Oh, I didn t expect you," she said, as grave 
 as he. 
 
 "No, I didn t expect to come. Something hap 
 pened. It concerns you, but it s nothing very alarm 
 ing. Here I ll tell you in the cab." 
 
 But they had to wait a moment for a cab. "Tell 
 me/ she said faintly. 
 
 "Well, it s a telegram from a man named Manlove 
 an irresponsible kind of person, my father says 
 that Devin is ill, laid up for a fortnight or so. I 
 thought you d better know it at once, though very 
 likely " 
 
 "111? I hadn t heard. . . . Where is the tele 
 gram?" 
 
 "My father has it. It was sent to him at Marsh- 
 brook, on account of the business affairs, you see. 
 Very likely it s nothing at all serious this man Man- 
 love seems to be easily frightened " 
 
 "But what is it? I suppose there will be a telegram 
 at the house . . ." 
 
 "So I thought. My father is anxious, too, to know 
 388 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 if there is any further word. He doesn t believe 
 much in Manlove thinks he s easily scared. If you 
 don t mind, I ll go with you." 
 
 "Yes, yes, do." The cab drove up here, and they 
 got in. "But you haven t told me what is the mat 
 ter? Didn t he say?" 
 
 "The telegram said pneumonia, but " 
 
 "Pneumonia! But that is ... serious . . ." 
 
 "Oh, not necessarily, in the case of a strong man 
 not at all dangerous, I should think. Besides, 
 we don t know that it is pneumonia. You would 
 have heard before, you know, if he d been very ill." 
 
 Anna was silent stunned and bewildered. She 
 could not believe that Dan was very ill, but for a rea 
 son not known to Nicholas. She had at that mo 
 ment in her purse Dan s telegram of the day before, 
 and she now went over every word of it in her mind. 
 "Four letter received all going well shall get away and 
 see you soon. Write me. Yours, Dan." 
 
 There was nothing in that to indicate illness. On 
 the contrary, it had startled her by its definite buoy 
 ancy and cheerfulness. It was like Dan as he had 
 been of old even to the exuberance of expression 
 and unnecessary expense. And that "Yours, Dan" 
 how could she explain that to Nicholas or even to 
 herself? He had misunderstood her letter, that she 
 saw, and so made things ten times more difficult for 
 her. 
 
 She shrank into her corner and looked at the 
 blurred window-pane, where soft blots of snow clung 
 and melted. The first heavy storm of the winter was 
 clogging the city ways. In twenty-four hours there 
 had been rain, sleet, nearly a foot of snow, and now 
 
 389 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 rain seemed probable again. The cab was twice its 
 usual time in reaching the house, but neither Anna 
 nor Nicholas spoke again. The walk before the house 
 had been partly cleared; Anna trailed her long skirts 
 in the wet snow as she ran up the steps and rang, too 
 much in haste to use her key. 
 
 "Is there a telegram for me?" she demanded of the 
 maid, going on to her room. 
 
 The negative answer did not convince her. She 
 looked the room over thoroughly and even turned 
 over the letters on the hall- table. 
 
 "Are you sure nothing has come for me? Please 
 ask Miss Thaw. It is very important." 
 
 Nicholas had now come in. When Miss Thaw ap 
 peared in person and it seemed clear that no telegram 
 had come for Anna, he offered to go to the nearest 
 station and inquire; and Anna begged him also to 
 send a messenger to his father to ask for the telegram 
 he had received. 
 
 When Nicholas came back, covered with sticky 
 snow-flakes, he had a theory in place of news. 
 
 "No doubt it s this way. He s not sick enough to 
 want to alarm you. He telegraphed my father le- 
 cause there is a lot of business on hand, in connection 
 with the road, that someone must manage directly. 
 My father expects to have to start out there to-mor 
 row, unless some different news should come. But 
 I can easily see that a man might be confined to the 
 house and unable to do active business, and yet not 
 be at all dangerously ill." 
 
 "But Manlove sent the telegram, not Dan. He 
 must be ill very ill. He wouldn t give up like that 
 if he wasn t. And pneumonia always comes very 
 
 390 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 suddenly, doesn t it? Why haven t they telegraphed 
 me?" 
 
 She spoke with a stress of feeling that was like 
 anger, totally disregarding his explanation. Her 
 agitation was painful to see. She had thrown off her 
 wrap, but would not sit down, and Nicholas stood 
 beside her in his snow-spotted coat, holding his hat, 
 from which, in the warmth of the room, melted a 
 trickle of water. 
 
 "I think my suggestion is probably near the truth," 
 he said. 
 
 "Will you call a messenger? I want to send a tele 
 gram." 
 
 "Yes, or I ll take it that s quicker." 
 
 She threw him a troubled look of thanks, sat down 
 at the table and wrote a message to Manlove: "Wire 
 immediately Dan s condition. Leave to-night un 
 less better news," signing her full name and address. 
 
 "I can leave to-night, can t I? I m sure there s 
 a midnight train to the West. And I can get the 
 answer to this in time?" 
 
 "That depends on conditions out there. If the 
 message is delivered promptly and he replies at once 
 you ought to get it in an hour or so, I should think. 
 I ll see that it s sent in rush time and that any reply 
 is delivered here at once. And I ll find out about 
 trains." 
 
 "Oh, thank you, thank you. . . ." 
 
 Her relief at this quick and definite action was 
 obvious. She began to be more composed, and her 
 look at Nicholas said that she clearly perceived that 
 it was he who was helping her, and that she had a 
 right to his help. But continued action was neces- 
 
 391 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 sary to her. When he had gone, with a quick nod 
 and grave glance at her, she rang and ordered up her 
 trunk. 
 
 In the confusion of her thoughts only one thing 
 was plain to her : if Dan was really ill she must go to 
 him. He could not be left in that rough place to the 
 care of strangers. In decency he was entitled to her 
 care. Her response to that primitive claim of his 
 was as instinctive, as strong, as had been her re 
 luctance to follow out the course determined by her 
 own act, and so to separate herself entirely from 
 him. A vague but powerful fear of the situation 
 oppressed her. The last thing in the world she 
 wanted was that Dan should suffer. While he suf 
 fered she felt guilty. For the moment she was pas 
 sionately thankful that she had not written him as 
 Nicholas had been urging her to write. Now at least 
 she could go to him and do something for him, even 
 though he had not asked her to come. She went 
 vigorously to work at her packing. 
 
 Mr. Purcell was announced, and Anna, expecting 
 to see Nicholas, turned with her arms full of clothes, 
 to find a stranger on her threshold. She dropped her 
 burden on a chair, and went forward nervously to 
 greet the little old man. 
 
 "I came myself instead of sending the telegram/ 
 he said, shaking hands with her dryly, because I was 
 anxious to see you. The messenger is in the hall. 
 He says he was told to come back." 
 
 "Sit down, please," Anna murmured, looking for 
 an unencumbered chair, "and will you please let me 
 see the telegram?" 
 
 He took out the large pocket-book with his precise 
 392 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 and methodical air, found the yellow paper and 
 handed it to her; and he observed her keenly as she 
 stood under the gas-jet and read it. Her beauty 
 rather floored the old man. In her black dress and 
 the large black hat which she had forgotten to take off, 
 she looked majestic, imposing; the stress of anxiety 
 and exertion had flushed her face, made it expressive, 
 dazzling. 
 
 "I judge you ve had no further word/ said Josiah 
 Purcell, as she continued still to hold the telegram 
 and look at it. 
 
 "No, nothing/ Anna said, and she felt humiliated 
 in having to say it. It added to her misery that this 
 sharp old man seemed to guess her position. 
 
 "Well, I wired right out there when I got this at 
 one o clock for further news. I asked for the doctor s 
 opinion. I don t trust that fellow Manlove to know 
 pneumonia from a cold in the head. He s an idiot. 
 He sent that telegram this morning, but it don t say 
 how long he s been sick or how serious it is. It s 
 mighty sudden. When I left him ten days ago he 
 was as well as usual, and he s been writing me about 
 every day since. You hadn t heard of his being sick?" 
 
 "No, I had a telegram from him from Cheyenne 
 a week ago, but he hasn t said anything about his 
 health. I ve telegraphed too. I shall leave to-night, 
 unless I hear he is better," and Anna now looked the 
 old man full in the face, proudly returning his specula 
 tive glance. "If your answer comes first, I hope you 
 will let me see it." 
 
 "Of course ought to have had it before now," he 
 muttered. "I see you re packing. If I can do any 
 thing to help you . . ." 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 "Oh, thank you, no there s nothing to do now, 
 except just wait." 
 
 "Well, I ll be getting back. I m at my son s rooms. 
 If you should hear anything, will you send round 
 there? I ll give you the address " 
 
 "Oh, don t trouble, I know it." 
 
 "Ah, all right, then. By the way, have you any 
 idea where he is Nicholas? He was to come back 
 there." 
 
 "Yes, he s gone to send the telegram for me. He ll 
 be back soon. Will you wait?" 
 
 "No, thanks, I ll go on. But will you tell him, 
 please, that I d like to see him when he s at lib 
 erty?" 
 
 With evident irritation the old man made her a 
 stiff bow, and backed toward the door. But there 
 he stopped and added, "It s settled, then, that we 
 exchange news? Whichever hears first will send to 
 the other. And if I can do anything to help you get 
 off I hope you will call upon me." 
 
 Anna had kept the telegram, folding it up small in 
 the palm of her hand; and this was one reason for 
 Josiah Purcell s irritation. He had not liked to ask 
 for its return; but it was a business paper, and his 
 habit was to keep all business papers in due order. 
 Secondly, he was angry at the failure of Nicholas to 
 keep his appointment. And third, the friendship or 
 intimacy which appeared to exist between his son 
 and Devin s wife disturbed him. He disapproved, on 
 theory and hearsay, of Devin s wife. He strongly 
 disapproved any intimacy between married women 
 and young men. Puritan to the backbone, any 
 hint of secrecy or irregularity, any departure from 
 
 394 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 the straight and narrow ways of life, roused his anger 
 and contempt. 
 
 The present result of all these feelings was to in 
 tensify his natural brusqueness of manner, and to 
 produce in Anna a certain terror of him. She was 
 heartily relieved at his departure, and now perceived 
 another reason for starting if she was to go that night. 
 For if she waited till the morrow she would no doubt 
 have to make the long journey in his company. But, 
 indeed, she had already practically decided to go by 
 the first train, with or without further news. The 
 telegram, which she now unfolded and read again, 
 left no doubt in her mind that Dan was ill enough to 
 need her. She had no definite mental picture of his 
 surroundings, but imagined them rather worse than 
 they were; and it was this uncertainty and vague 
 ness about the whole thing that most alarmed her. 
 
 She was about to return to her packing when the 
 messenger in the hall reminded her that he was wait 
 ing; and she paid and dismissed him. And this re 
 minded her that she had not enough money in the 
 house for her journey. She would have to ask Nicho 
 las to lend her some. 
 
 How had such a man as old Mr. Purcell managed 
 to have a son like Nicholas? . . . Nicholas was 
 no more out of her mind now than he had been at any 
 time for two months past. The thought of him was 
 a background to whatever else she might for the 
 moment be thinking of; it was like the air itself, sur 
 rounding and penetrating everything. So now, while 
 she was thinking about Dan, the telegram, her train, 
 the journey before her, the question about Nicholas 
 and his father suggested itself, and almost instantly, 
 
 395 
 
THE FORERUNNER . 
 
 by way of answer, she realized that Nicholas was 
 in some ways like his father. She had been seeing new 
 aspects of him lately. At bottom he was Puritan too, 
 severe and strict in observance of the things that 
 mattered to him, and in the account he required 
 from her. His was a different code from his father s, 
 but Anna was not sure it was an easier one. 
 
 She thought of him and of Dan, and went on pack 
 ing, without much regard to the way she was putting 
 things in; and she had nearly finished when Nicholas 
 returned. He brought the time-table, showing the 
 connections of the midnight train, and Anna with 
 renewed agitation told him of his father s visit and 
 showed him the telegram. 
 
 "Yes, I ve seen it," he reminded her. There s 
 nothing new? Then don t you think we d better 
 have some dinner?" 
 
 "I d forgotten. Will you stay here? Let s go 
 right down, then, so as to be ready if anything 
 comes." 
 
 While Nicholas took off his wet overcoat, she dis 
 appeared behind the screen, to wash her hands and 
 put her hat straight. Then they went down to the 
 dining-room in the basement, which was already full 
 of people, nearly through their dinner. There was 
 a long table in the centre of the room, and small ones 
 in the corners, where the less social sat. Anna had 
 one of these small tables. Their dinner, when it 
 came, was bad; the soup cold, the fish flavorless and 
 the roast tough ; while the hurried negro waiter made 
 a clatter with the dishes, and a nerve-racking buzz of 
 talk filled the room. But they were both indifferent 
 enough to these minor ills. Anna could not eat, and 
 
 396 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 made no effort to talk. Her face was painfully 
 flushed, and her growing nervousness was apparent. 
 
 "I shall go anyway to-night, whether I hear or 
 not/ she said once, and when Nicholas made no im 
 mediate comment, she looked at him almost angrily. 
 Don t you see I must go?" she demanded. 
 
 "I can t tell. You must do as you think best/ he 
 said coldly. The nervous strain was telling on him, 
 too the feeling of things unsaid between them. 
 "But," he added after a moment, "I don t think you 
 should start without some confirmation there may 
 be a mistake." 
 
 She looked at him resentfully, appealingly, but 
 was silent. They hurried through the dessert and 
 left before the coffee came ; and as Anna got to the top 
 of the stairs she saw another messenger in the hall, 
 the maid just taking from him an envelope. 
 
 "For me?" cried Anna, and she snatched it away 
 and went into her room. The envelope was addressed 
 by Josiah Purcell, and contained a brief note and a 
 telegram to him signed by the doctor: 
 
 "Serious case pneumonia vitality low heart weak 
 other lung may be affected have called consultant 
 from Cheyenne." 
 
 Anna dropped the paper with a cry and hid her 
 face in her hands. 
 
 "He is going to die!" she said loudly. 
 
 Nicholas was reading the telegram. He went and 
 shut the door there were several people in the hall. 
 
 "Hush, it is not as bad as that. You must control 
 yourself," he said sharply. "He s a young man, and 
 strong I don t think it at all likely that he ll die. But 
 if you re going to do any good you can t break down 
 
 397 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 now. You have a long journey before you, yet you 
 didn t eat your dinner, and now you re hysterical." 
 
 "No no, I m all right now, she murmured. 
 *I m not going to break down." 
 
 And with bright spots burning in her cheeks, and 
 aimless, trembling hands, she took up a heap of small 
 articles from the table and threw them into her trunk. 
 
 Nicholas regarded her steadily for some moments, 
 then he went over and took her in his arms. "My 
 poor girl, don t look so, you can t help this," he said. 
 
 She half repulsed him, with a frightened look; but 
 at the gentleness of his touch and tone she melted, 
 gave way and burst into tears. 
 
 "Oh, I am wicked, he will die!" she cried, clinging 
 to Nicholas. "I know he will die, and I deserve 
 it. . ." 
 
 "Hush, Anna hush, my dear this changes noth 
 ing. We are as we were before. How are you 
 wicked, how is it your fault? Neither of us wanted 
 him to be ill." And Nicholas held her close and 
 kissed her. 
 
 "No, we did not want it. But I can t help feeling 
 so. If it is a punishment for me, I deserve it. And 
 yet I couldn t help it I couldn t help loving. . . . 
 But I shall never be happy . . . never, never! 
 I shall always feel guilty. . . . Why must he 
 die? . . . Yes, yes, he is dying, you know it. 
 He will never know it now or forgive me . . . 
 and I am afraid . . ." 
 
 She bowed herself over his supporting arm in a 
 paroxysm of tears and wild sobbing. And Nicholas 
 with stony composure held her until the violence of 
 her outburst had spent itself. Slowly she grew quiet, 
 
 398 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 except for a deep sob at intervals. Nicholas put her 
 into a chair and knelt beside her. She held her hand 
 kerchief to her blurred face. 
 
 "Let me go with you/ he said. 
 
 "No." 
 
 Her voice sounded exhausted, but expressed a 
 definite meaning. 
 
 There was a long silence. The sounds of the house 
 again became audible the door-bell, talking in the 
 hall, a piano overhead. And outside the street- 
 cleaners were noisily at work clearing away the snow. 
 The clank of their shovels on the cobble-stones of the 
 street sounded in chorus. 
 
 After this they talked no more, except about the 
 business of the journey. There was a great deal of it 
 yet to be done the packing to be finished, the car 
 riage to be ordered, the ticket and sleeping-car ac 
 commodation to be bought. Anna had to change her 
 dress, to eat something, to pay her bill. There were 
 telephone messages back and forth between Nicholas 
 and his father. A telegram came for Anna from 
 Manlove with no further news, simply repeating the 
 doctor s report; and she telegraphed back that she 
 was starting. 
 
 Nicholas suffered at letting her go alone, at fore 
 seeing the journey before her. He did all he could 
 to lessen the suspense, which was its worst feature; 
 arranging with Manlove that telegrams should reach 
 her at various points on the way. He realized that 
 he could not at all urge himself on her as a mitigation 
 of her discomforts. She must go alone. But he got 
 some consolation from the fact that his father would 
 follow only twelve hours behind her, and would 
 
 399 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 naturally manage the practical part of the situation 
 out there, besides keeping him, Nicholas, informed 
 of it. 
 
 All else that was not wholly saddening and trou 
 bling to him in this sudden occurrence, was the con 
 viction, strengthened by the manner of Anna s part 
 ing from him, that as he had said to her it changed 
 nothing, in their relations to one another. Anna 
 would be his, whatever happened to Devin. He 
 was sure of that; and it seemed to him right, because 
 inevitable that it should be so; and at the same time 
 life seemed to him harsh and sad. 
 
 400 
 
XVII. 
 
 TP\ AN knew that she was coming. On the morning 
 *-^ of the fourth day of his illness Manlove read 
 him her telegrams, along with Josiah Purcell s; and 
 she had then been nearly twelve hours on the way, 
 while Purcell was just starting. 
 
 Dan was still perfectly conscious at moments when 
 something roused him. Now he realized perfectly 
 the distance Anna had yet to travel, the time that 
 must elapse before she could reach him, and his own 
 growing weakness. And he said to Manlove, in a 
 gasping whisper, "Do the best you can for me." 
 
 "Yes, Dan. The doctor from Cheyenne will be 
 here to-night. Don t worry, old man we ll pull you 
 through." 
 
 And Manlove went precipitately out of the room. 
 He was unable to bear the sight of Dan s suffering, 
 the sound of his shallow breathing and of the cough 
 that shook him in a vain effort to relieve the over 
 burdened lung; and still more the thought that per 
 haps the right thing was not being done for Dan tor 
 mented him. He felt, as never before, the isolation 
 of this place, where not even the bare necessaries 
 for the case were to be procured; the length of time 
 that it was taking the new doctor to reach them might 
 turn the scale against Dan. The nervousness of 
 Graham had by now infected them all with a kind 
 of panic. 
 
 401 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 Even Dan was troubled by it. But always after 
 waking to full consciousness of the situation he sank 
 back again, passive the increasing fever and weak 
 ness clouding his brain, veiling and softening familiar 
 outlines. 
 
 The ideas that occurred to him had then the qual 
 ity of dreams the transparency, the inconsequence 
 and at the same time they reflected all the feeling 
 he was capable of. The weight of anxiety had not 
 yet slipped off his shoulders; he could not forget that 
 he had much yet to do. There was Anna . . . 
 there was the road ... the road must be built, 
 and Anna . . . was coming back to him. He 
 must see her ... he must fight off the pain 
 and the drowsiness till she came. And she was com 
 ing as fast as the train could bring her, but still how 
 slowly. 
 
 So many revolutions of the iron wheels on the rails 
 . . . pounding, pounding, his heart kept time to 
 the hard, quick beat . . . those rails, for which 
 the contract had just been closed, would cost more 
 than he had expected . . . but still, if the road 
 could be finished in time . . . if he could only 
 get out and make them work ... it would 
 shorten the journey by six hours. . . . 
 
 Then suddenly it seemed to him that the train 
 bearing Anna, the huge engine running over the rails 
 that he had laid . . . with its head-light glaring 
 wide, its great bell clanging . . . was rushing 
 down upon him, was crushing him, crushing his chest 
 . . . and he cried out, choking, and struggled up 
 on his pillows. 
 
 The nurse ran to him, supported him in her arms, 
 402 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 and laid him down again, coughing and gasping for 
 breath. Then it seemed that his heart was dissolving 
 within him; a deadly faintness overcame him; he 
 lost consciousness. 
 
 At this, the overtasked heart s first grave sign of 
 collapse, alarm radiated from the sick-room through 
 the whole place. A second urgent telegram was sent 
 to make sure that the Cheyenne doctor and the oxygen 
 apparatus came by the first train. 
 
 Dan rallied and became hazily conscious of heat at 
 his hands and feet, of more frequent doses of medicine, 
 and of a weakness that soon lost itself again in sleep. 
 But with the first administration of the oxygen that 
 night he came quite back to himself. The physical 
 relief was immediate and marked; and instantly his 
 mind took up again the questions that had preoc 
 cupied it his hopes and fears revived. 
 
 He insisted on talking, gave directions to Manlove 
 to write to his mother "Mrs. Martha Devin, Shat- 
 tuck, Wisconsin." "I ve only written once since I 
 came back," he whispered regretfully. "Tell her I ll 
 write as soon as I m better." Then he asked that 
 his lawyer in the town should be sent for next day so 
 that he might make his will another omission for 
 which he was remorseful. And insurance that was 
 still another thing that he had meant to see to cer 
 tainly, as soon as he was well again he would insure 
 his life. 
 
 Manlove promised what was asked of him, with 
 new alarm, wondering if Dan thought he was going 
 to die. If he did, his manner gave no sign of it. So 
 far as spirit could dominate the suffering body he 
 seemed stronger. His desire was to live, he willed 
 
 403 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 to live, and the arrival of the new doctor had diffused 
 a distinct atmosphere of hope to which Dan was the 
 first to respond. 
 
 He got a clear impression of this man s personality 
 his tall erect figure, his keen, handsome face, his 
 smile, his curt, positive manner, the gentleness and 
 sureness of his touch. Alone with him, Dan asked 
 what his chances were. 
 
 "Ah, you ll pull through all right/ the doctor said, 
 with his vigorous smile and his practised way of meet 
 ing just such inquiries. So potent was his manner, 
 so buoyant his assurance, that Dan was almost con 
 tent was willing at least to resign himself into those 
 strong and deft hands. And the first effect of the 
 oxygen soon passing off, he felt the struggle for breath 
 becoming acute again, and at the same time drowsi 
 ness creeping upon him, like a fog, thick and dull. 
 
 In moments of full consciousness during the next 
 day he tried to tell the doctor that Anna was on the 
 way, that his wife was coming to him, and he must 
 see her. He tried to say, too, that if he was in danger 
 he wanted to be told the truth. 
 
 But the full force of the fever was now upon him, 
 and the second lung had been attacked. The struggle 
 over his tired body had become acute the incessant 
 effort of the doctors to relieve and stimulate the fail 
 ing heart. Unable to accomplish its task, the heart 
 weakened by the year s long strain was giving way, 
 as they had feared, before the crisis of the disease 
 was reached. 
 
 He lay, when they would let him alone, very 
 quietly, in a half-stupor, yet seeing and hearing what 
 
 404 
 
THE FORERUNNER 
 
 went on about him. But as life ebbed from him the 
 pain of life went too. The fever and weakness acted 
 as an anodyne, soothing his brain and nerves. 
 
 It was only when by means of some powerful 
 stimulant they roused him, that he now suffered. In 
 one such moment he realized what was happening, 
 what was before him. His eyes showed the sudden 
 pang of that realization as they filled with tears. 
 
 His life was going out with the old year the year 
 of his failures and unhappiness. The new year had 
 seemed to promise redemption of all. And from the 
 sense of life unlived, of his own promises unfulfilled, 
 those tears sprang. 
 
 "Anna . . ." he murmured. "Anna . . .?" 
 
 "To-morrow," they said to him. "She will be here 
 to-morrow." 
 
 To-morrow? Great waves of a gray and misty sea 
 rolled between him and the morrow; he felt himself 
 lifted high on those waves and sinking deep and 
 deeper into their cold overwhelming mass. He could 
 never pass them; his strength would not suffice for 
 his desire. He saw, and surrendered it. While he 
 was still conscious he became perfectly calm, peace 
 ful. His eyes, which were not to see the completion 
 of his work, nor the face of his wife again, had a con 
 templative, remote look; as though he turned of 
 himself from the shore already slipping past him, to 
 meet those mists of sleep. 
 
 405 
 
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