GIFT OF 
 f 
 
 H 
 
IMPULSES 
 
OTHER BOOKS BY MRS. HASLETT 
 
 "DOLORES OF THE SIERRA, AND OTHER ONE- 
 ACT PLAYS." "THE TEMPTATION OF ANN 
 O'BRIEN." (WEST WINDS.) AND OTHERS. 
 
Impulses 
 
 STORIES TOUCHING THE LIFE OF SANDY, 
 IN THE CITY OF SAINT FRANCIS. 
 
 BY 
 HARRIET HOLMES HASLETT 
 
 THE CORNHILL COMPANY 
 
 BOSTON 
 
Copyright, 1920, by 
 CORNHILL COMPANY 
 
 /All "Rights Reserved 
 
TO THE ORIGINAL SANDY 
 
"Life, with Sandy, was a series of impulses. 
 'Keep your heart and mind working clean,' 
 was his theory, 'and your impulses will be 
 all right.' And with him they usually 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 
 THE CASE OF SANDY ^ 1 
 
 THE HOBO DINNER 28 
 
 His FIRST ABDUCTION . . . 61 
 
 THE HUMAN LOTTERY .... 82 
 
 "AND A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD 
 
 THEM" 115 
 
 A LAME DOG 145 
 
 THE MOVIE FAN 165 
 
 PERTAINING TO THINGS SPIRITUAL . . 205 
 
 THE BLUE-EYED LADY 230 
 
IMPULSES 
 
THE CASE OF SANDY 
 
 Great preparations were under way for 
 the monthly dinner dance at the Club. These 
 recently inaugurated affairs were a popular 
 success, and Sandy, chairman of the enter- 
 tainment committee, found himself beset with 
 so much advice from an exacting board of 
 directors, and so many well-meant offers of 
 help from laymen, that he was well-nigh dis- 
 tracted. 
 
 Nevertheless he surveyed with satisfac- 
 tion the order emerging from chaos in the 
 dining-room under the hands of several well- 
 trained men, and glancing at his watch, saw 
 that he had barely time for his self -promised 
 half-hour of quiet before the guests would be- 
 gin to arrive. 
 
 "Keep right along, you're doing fine," he 
 assured the steward. "I'll be back in a little 
 while." Hastily eluding another bit of ama- 
 teur advice, Sandy escaped to the waiting ele- 
 vator, and so to the street. 
 
 Up the hill a few blocks from the Club, in 
 
: .' 
 
 " .. 
 
 a room on the third floor of "The Blythe Fam- 
 ily Boarding House," a girl stood practising 
 on the violin. For three hours she had been 
 at it, and suddenly, as daylight faded, she 
 realized that she was very tired. 
 
 A loud rap on the door caused the instru- 
 ment to slide from the girl's shoulder as with 
 a frightened start she turned. 
 
 "Yes?" she answered, and the angular 
 form of Mrs. Blythe, unsavory from the prep- 
 aration of the evening meal, appeared upon 
 the threshold. 
 
 The fortunate Mr. Blythe, long-since de- 
 parted for an unknown world, had not been 
 responsible for his own name, and such as it 
 was it had suited him very well. Having be- 
 stowed it with the rest of his worldly goods 
 upon the woman of his choice when entering 
 the holy estate of matrimony he had been hap- 
 pily snatched away after a brief illness be- 
 fore the misapplication of its cheery signifi- 
 cance had had time to embitter his existence. 
 
 Such is the impertinence of the human 
 race that this misfit name caused much ill- 
 timed merriment for which Mrs. Blythe could 
 not be fairly held accountable. As she stood 
 now, grim and menacing, surveying her slim 
 young lodger and the bare, unattractive room, 
 
IMPULSES 3 
 
 she would appear a melancholy jest indeed to 
 any but the most ironic. 
 
 "Did did you want anything, Mrs. 
 Ely the?" foolishly stammered the girl, for she 
 read the message in the woman's cold eyes. 
 
 "Yes, I'm wantin' something" Mrs. Blythe 
 snapped. "I can't have them complaints goin' 
 on any longer. There's them that have nerves 
 in this house, an' they pay fer 'em, an' I've 
 got to consider 'em." 
 
 "Oh !" breathed the girl. Her brave brown 
 eyes clouded a trifle. She knew what was 
 coming. She had dreaded it for six whole 
 weeks, while she had watched her shabby, flat, 
 old purse grow flatter, and had cut her meals 
 down from two to one a day. 
 
 "They say they can't stand all this scrap- 
 in' an' squallin' any longer, an' that's what." 
 
 "You want me to go, I suppose?" 
 
 "Yes, I've offers for this room I can't af- 
 ford to refuse. It's a choice corner." 
 
 The gaze of the brown eyes turned to the 
 one window, four feet away from which an 
 alluring brick wall caught the reflection of a 
 parting ray of sunlight. It tried to tell what 
 might be in the glorious world of the real out- 
 of-doors, and the brown eyes caught a gleam 
 of the reflection. Actually it seemed funny. 
 
4 IMPULSES 
 
 One might laugh but for the restraining 
 thought of the flat, shabby purse. 
 
 "I'm sorry I've been owing you so long, 
 Mrs. Blythe, and I can't give up my practis- 
 ing. It means my living, you know." 
 
 "A great, strappin' girl like you oughter 
 be doin' housework or somethin' useful," ad- 
 vised the landlady. 
 
 The gleam in the girl's eyes became defi- 
 ant. "I asked you last week to let me help you 
 do up the rooms for my board," she reminded 
 her. 
 
 Mrs. Blythe needed no reminder, and she 
 also distinctly remembered her elaborate re- 
 joinder at the time concerning "fine ladies 
 who were too pretty to be fussing around the 
 rooms of the men lodgers," but she instantly 
 resented the implication of inconsistency. 
 
 "There's them that can be impudent," she 
 announced to the opposite wall, "but I ain't 
 got no room for 'em. I'd like this room vacat- 
 ed tomorrow morning, Miss Felton." 
 
 Turning on her slatternly heels, the land- 
 lady clattered away down the two flights of 
 back-stairs to the kitchen, whence issued the 
 mingled sounds and smells of sizzling fat and 
 other adjuncts peculiar to a dinner in "family 
 style." 
 
IMPULSES 5 
 
 | 
 
 Marian Felton mechanically closed the 
 door, shutting out the smoky, sickening odor. 
 Recently she had not been going down to din- 
 ner. She was not hungry in the evening, she 
 explained; and each time her healthy young 
 appetite had gnawed resentfully at the lie. 
 
 Now, unfortunately, the statement was 
 the truth. It was not the hunger of youthful 
 strength; it was the weakness of poor nutri- 
 tion, it was deadly nausea it was sometimes 
 despair. The last-named formed horrible, 
 grotesque shapes during the late hours of the 
 night, that danced about her bed. 
 
 The light spot on the bricks outside trav- 
 elled up and up and out of sight. The end 
 of the quiet bow rested on the floor as the girl 
 sat on the edge of her bed, facing the gather- 
 ing darkness, and clasping the violin, her one 
 friend, to her breast. 
 
 Next week an engagement to play for a 
 small club dance would bring her a few dol- 
 lars, but between then and now would come 
 many meal hours. Afterward nothing ap- 
 peared on her horizon. 
 
 Outside in the busy streets show-windows 
 were being lighted, and gay electric signs 
 flashed out, inviting the passing throng to 
 share in the evening's fun. From the gloom 
 within came thoughts of what one might be 
 
6 IMPULSES 
 
 forced to do, and what for several weeks past 
 had been haunting her. 
 
 With a quivering start the girl finally 
 came out of her stupor, and springing up she 
 turned on the one light. She brushed and 
 smoothed her disordered dress and hair. 
 Then, slowly from the bureau she took a small, 
 round box. Opening it she dabbed her finger 
 gingerly in its contents and held it up to the 
 light, surveying the rosy tip, and holding it 
 next her pale cheek. 
 
 "Great owl-eyes!" she thought. "I hate 
 you!" 
 
 Then with sudden revulsion of feeling she 
 cast the box to the floor where it rattled away 
 in circles far under the bed. No, she could 
 never do that never, never! Better starve, 
 or yes, there were easier ways than starva- 
 tion. Presently she would go out and walk a 
 little. There must be someone, surely some- 
 one, who would help her without demanding 
 a price. 
 
 People had told her that there would be 
 few to aid her to be strong, but many to pull 
 her downward, yet despite all the hard knocks 
 she had received, despite the nightly visita- 
 tion of grotesque shapes, she still clung to her 
 faith in the kindliness of humanity. 
 
 Laying her precious instrument in its case. 
 
IMPULSES 7 
 
 she put on her old jacket, hat, and shreds of 
 gloves; then with a stifled gasp when the 
 smoke of dinner met her as she opened the 
 door, she hastened down the stairs and was 
 soon one of the hurrying crowd on the street. 
 
 Half a dozen blocks away three men stood 
 on a corner discussing dinner. Not any din- 
 ner, but the forthcoming club affair. 
 
 Comments in reference to what might be 
 "run in on them" during the evening were 
 being repeated gathered from certain mem- 
 bers of the board of directors. 
 
 "I'm not going to run in anything on 
 them," declared one, a slight, brown-haired 
 individual with a determined chin, evidently 
 a person in authority, "and now I'm going 
 where I can get something to eat." 
 
 "Listen to Sandy!" gibed another. "He's 
 afraid of eating the dinner he's ordered !" 
 
 "Go to hell, Dan!" politely and promptly 
 responded Sandy. 
 
 "What's the matter with the feed at the 
 Club tonight, if you have to go somewhere else 
 to get something to eat?" shouted Dan, to 
 whom several superfluous highballs had given 
 the impression that Sandy was half a block 
 away. 
 
 "Shut your face, Dan, before you're ar- 
 rested for speeding," suggested the third man, 
 
8 IMPULSES 
 
 stepping in front of Sandy, whose chin was 
 assuming a well-known characteristic tilt 
 which it was wise to conciliate. 
 
 "There's nothing the matter with the din- 
 ner," he asserted with portentous calm. "It's 
 just the dope for you and your friends, Dan, 
 and I've got a table engaged for some of my 
 friends, but just the same, I'm going now 
 where I can get something decent to eat, with 
 
 no music." 
 
 "How's your program for tonight?" asked 
 the third man. "Are you full up?" 
 
 "No, I'm short one number," growled 
 Sandy. "That fool Carlton renigged a few 
 minutes ago." 
 
 Just then a touch on his arm made him 
 turn to confront the gaze of a pair of sweet 
 brown eyes, while a faltering low voice asked : 
 
 "Could will you give me ten cents to get 
 something to eat? I'm hungry." 
 
 Somewhat roughly he shook off the detain- 
 ing hand. How dared the girl approach him 
 so publicly ! But silence came upon the group, 
 and jests of dinner fell flat. 
 
 The girl shrank back against a shop win- 
 dow, while the reluctant Sandy stole a glance 
 at the thin, white cheek revealed by the elec- 
 tric light 
 
IMPULSES 9 
 
 Despite his firm chin a warm heart beat in 
 Sandy's breast that never failed to respond to 
 a call of weakness or distress, albeit his stern 
 mind continually strove to reduce it to order 
 and common-sense. 
 
 "Say boys, she's hungry all right," he ad- 
 mitted. "I don't care if I do." Stepping up to 
 the girl he gave her a dime. 
 
 The third man promptly followed suit, but 
 hilarious Dan noisily jingled a handful of sil- 
 ver in front of the startled girl's face, and 
 flipped a quarter into her protesting hand. 
 
 "I I couldn't," she faltered. "I asked 
 for only ten cents." 
 
 " 'Ten cents, my baby!'" chuckled Dan, 
 "What's that for a beauty like you? Come 
 with me, I'll give you something to eat!" 
 
 "See here, Dan, cut that out," threatened 
 Sandy. "Can't you see she's not that kind? 
 Shut up, and go home !" 
 
 "Shut up yourself! Why doesn't she go 
 home, then, from her work? I guess you don't 
 have to work, eh, my lady?" 
 
 Marion drew herself up and measured the 
 man with one deep glance. 
 
 "You're drunk," she said, "or you 
 wouldn't talk like that. I don't want your 
 money." She laid the quarter down on the 
 window ledge, and turned to the two other 
 
10 IMPULSES 
 
 men. "Thank you for my dinner," she said, 
 and slipped away down the street. 
 
 "You brute!" exclaimed Sandy, and start- 
 ed after her. She had gone only a few steps 
 when he caught her. 
 
 "I want to talk to you," Ke said. "You're 
 only a little girl, and you need help, don't 
 you?" 
 
 Tears filled the brown eyes. "Yes," she 
 answered. It was all she could find to say 
 just then. 
 
 By this time the two others had joined 
 them, bound to be in on Sandy's new game. 
 Annoyed, he glanced up, but otherwise took 
 no notice of them. 
 
 "What kind of work can you do?" he asked 
 bluntly ; it was his way. 
 
 "I play the violin," she answered; "some- 
 times for dances, or dinners or other en- 
 tertainments." 
 
 "Oh, Lord!" groaned Sandy inwardly, 
 cursing his unlucky star which had led him to 
 linger on the street corner. Strains of more 
 unwelcome music haunted his unwilling soul. 
 Was there no quiet spot on earth where one 
 could dine in peace, unentertained! 
 
 Suddenly an idea came to him. Life, with 
 Sandy, was a series of impulses. "Keep your 
 heart and mind working clean," was his the- 
 
IMPULSES 11 
 
 ory, "and your impulses will be all right." 
 And with him they usually were. Now this 
 idea why not? He was short a number on 
 account of that fool Carlton. 
 
 "Are you sure you can play?" he asked. 
 
 "Sure, I can," she asserted, her face light- 
 ing up. 
 
 The other men listened, aghast. What as- 
 inine act was Sandy about to commit now? 
 
 "Go slow, old man," nudged the anxious 
 third man. "If she's a decent musician why 
 is she begging on the street corners?" 
 
 Sandy vouchsafed no reply, his own din- 
 ner hour was calling him. 
 
 "Look here," he told her; "if you're giving 
 me the true dope you come up to the Club to- 
 night at eight o'clock and bring your fiddle 
 with you. Sure thing, I'll give you a job." 
 
 Extracting a club card from a pocket-book 
 and scribbling a name on it, Sandy gave it to 
 the girl. "You're sure you're not jollying 
 me?" he urged. 
 
 Her only reply was to produce a small 
 card from her jacket pocket. It was a union 
 card and seemed to prove her assertion. 
 
 "All right," said Sandy. "You come 
 around to where my card tells you at eight 
 o'clock. You'll find a whole lot of people 
 
12 IMPULSES 
 
 there, and you can play for them for, well, the 
 usual price." 
 
 "I'll come/' she answered, her hands 
 tightly clasped to hold the joy and sobs surg- 
 ing in her tired heart. Then again she slipped 
 away down the street. 
 
 "You're a damn fool, Sandy," guffawed 
 Dan, slightly sobered, though still doubting. 
 
 "That's where you're mistaken, old top," 
 responded Sandy. "It's you who are that kind 
 of fool ! And now I must beg to be excused," 
 he continued, politely ironic. "I must go and 
 eat." 
 
 At eight o'clock the handsome Club rooms 
 were filled with light, warmth, and a cheerful 
 crowd. As it was Ladies' Night, feminine 
 curiosity was being appeased with that rare 
 and unusual behavior assumed by the club 
 man when he allows his womenkind to invade 
 his own special and particular quarters. 
 Pleasantries, such as, "good old chap!" and 
 "I get you, old man," now circulated where to- 
 morrow the same circumstances would bring 
 forth terse profanity and invitations to 
 warmer climes. All was serene, and "what 
 good times men had among themselves, hadn't 
 they?'' 
 
 Numerous round tables accommodating 
 
IMPULSES 13 
 
 lively groups varying in number from four 
 to ten filled the large dining-room. At one 
 end on a small stage an orchestra did its pop- 
 ular ragtime best to aid digestion. It was the 
 laudable intent of the entertainment commit- 
 tee to have "something doing every minute," 
 and thus far there had been no noticeable 
 lapses. 
 
 Only by possessing several astral shapes 
 could the ordinary person have accomplished 
 what came into the course of the ubiquitous 
 Sandy's evening when he had an affair in 
 charge. Just now he was doing three things. 
 He was raising his finger as a signal for the 
 orchestra to play an encore ; he was assuring 
 the lady who occupied the seat beside his va- 
 cant chair at table that he never ate dinner, 
 but that he would soon be overjoyed to occupy 
 that chair simply because she was there; he 
 was consulting his watch and discovering that 
 it was eight o'clock, and thinking (fourth oc- 
 cupation) "that darned girl isn't coming after 
 all. I was a fool to think she would." 
 
 Dexter, the desk clerk, touched his arm. 
 "There's a lady in the reception-room to see 
 you, sir." 
 
 A sense of renewed faith glowed through 
 Sandy. "Good! She's here," he thought. "I'll 
 come," he said, and a half-minute later he 
 
14 IMPULSES 
 
 stood before Marian Felton where she sat 
 waiting in the great, softly-lighted room. His 
 keen glance took in all the pitiful attempts at 
 making herself presentable for the evening, 
 but his manner showed nothing of this. 
 
 "Well, you're here," he said genially. "I 
 knew you'd come." 
 
 She looked up in great surprise. Had he 
 ever doubted it? 
 
 "Of course," she answered. 
 
 "Did you get some dinner?" he asked 
 thoughtlessly, and then felt ashamed. Twenty 
 cents between this frail little creature and 
 starvation or something worse! 
 
 "Oh, yes !" A silly lump in her throat pre- 
 vented her saying anything more just then, 
 and she fumbled with her music-roll instead. 
 
 "Let me have a look at your selection," 
 said Sandy. 
 
 She spread out an assortment, classical, 
 ragtime, popular the usual medicore thing. 
 
 "All right, let's have a go at these," he 
 suggested, laying three aside. "You may play 
 early, if you like, and have it over, eh?" 
 
 "Oh, I'm not nervous!" smiled the girl, 
 with a quick, indrawn breath. She was not 
 nervous, no, not now ; but two hours ago she 
 had been, and one does not recover quickly on 
 two rolls and a bowl of broth. 
 
IMPULSES 15 
 
 Applause following the orchestra encore 
 sounded, and several committee-men looked 
 about for their chairman. No interval was 
 allowed for worry because miraculously 
 Sandy appeared at that moment on the stage 
 from behind the scenes. There were those, es- 
 pecially the lady with the blue eyes who sat 
 beside his vacant chair, who could have sworn 
 that he had left the dining-room by the main 
 door leading toward the big reception-room, 
 yet there he was near the piano laying seme 
 sheets of music in front of the pianist, and 
 setting up a stand for a slight, young violinist 
 who was visible in the background. A mo- 
 ment later he announced that Miss Marian 
 Felton would now contribute to the pleasure 
 of the evening with several violin numbers. 
 
 Careless diners glanced up from their 
 plates or partners, then down again. Enter- 
 tainers come and go; so few make any per- 
 manent impression in these blase times. But 
 one after another the diners glanced up again. 
 What a queer gown Miss Marian Felton wore 
 for an evening affair. Why, on close inspec- 
 tion it looked shabby; and what weird eyes 
 she had, set in a small, pale face ! 
 
 This was a dinner, however, not a concert, 
 and conversation droned on with little abate- 
 ment during the first selection. 
 
IMPULSES 17 
 
 "Picked her right up off the street not two 
 hours ago. Now what do you know about 
 that?" he hiccoughed. 
 
 Later, he was strenuously admonished to 
 desist, but not before his irresponsible tongue 
 had wagged freely, slinging mud where only 
 pure gold would stick. 
 
 Silence gradually came upon the room. 
 What was this the girl was playing? No one 
 could place it, yet everyone had heard it be- 
 fore. 
 
 Something caught and held remote mem- 
 ories, bringing out from dim corners the 
 scent of a rose, the feel of a hand, the low ca- 
 dence of a voice, all all these things which 
 are laid away in the hidden chambers of each 
 heart, whether the reality, or the secret desire 
 for them under layer upon layer of conven- 
 tion, materialism, or any of the many excuses 
 which accomplish the same purpose. 
 
 While she played the sweet old air w r ith an 
 accompaniment of her own interwoven with 
 many chords and thrilling little trills like 
 early morning bird-calls, Miss Marian Fel- 
 ton's eyes glowed and danced as though they 
 were reflecting a lake of living fire, and her 
 cheeks flushed a glorious pink. Her magic 
 bow drew her audience, willing and unwilling, 
 wherever it chose to lead them. 
 
16 IMPULSES 
 
 Truthfully speaking it was nothing out of 
 the ordinary, but Sandy, standing in the 
 wings, saw much that the casual audience 
 could not. 
 
 "Brave kid!" his kind heart thumped to 
 his stern mind, where it was promptly com- 
 manded to "shut up !" 
 
 A perfunctory round of applause greeted 
 Miss Felton's first effort and she looked un- 
 certainly in Sandy's direction. He gave her 
 an encouraging "hand," so she raised her vio- 
 lin again. 
 
 As the accompanist enquiringly lifted an- 
 other sheet of music the girl shook her head. 
 "I'll play alone this time." 
 
 And then a strange thing happened at a 
 Ladies' Night Dinner. Because it was Sun- 
 day, perhaps, and in spite of the most hard- 
 ened, Sabbath-breaking habits, there are 
 things one cannot forget; or, perhaps, there 
 was something unusual about the girl after 
 all was it pathos, or what? Or was it be- 
 cause people do have hearts, much as they 
 strive to conceal them? 
 
 While it was taking place, down in a cor- 
 ner farthest from the stage, Dan was giving 
 his own half-tipsy version to a few congenial 
 pals, of "Sandy's latest." 
 
18 IMPULSES 
 
 The "third man/' seated beside Dan, 
 swore fearfully into that talkative person's 
 ear, adjuring him to hold his tongue, which 
 command Dan immediately put into literal 
 practice, yet did not receive the expected 
 laugh. 
 
 "Say, she can play!" admitted the "third 
 man." "Gee, that's some tune!" 
 
 The plaintive air wailed itself away in 
 three or four lingering notes. The pink flush 
 faded, the eyes grew tired. The bow almost 
 slipped from a nerveless little hand, yet Miss 
 Marian Felton was ready to receive her ap- 
 plause when it came. A moment of silence 
 preceded it. There were lumps in throats to 
 reduce, there were layers upon layers of dead- 
 ening material to be replaced, there were doors 
 seldom opened to be relocked. Sandy, in his 
 sheltered corner, hammered on his chest to 
 dislodge a horrible obstruction, and winked 
 rapidly, calling himself all kinds of an idiot. 
 Then the applause burst forth, long and insis- 
 tent. 
 
 The glow and flush came again as the girl 
 looked down on the sea of clapping hands and 
 waving napkins. Then another of Sandy's 
 impulses arrived, swift, and fatal to his 
 peace of mind until carried out. Taking the 
 girl's hand, after he thought she had received 
 
IMPULSES 19 
 
 enough encouragement from her audience, he 
 raised his own for silence. 
 
 "Miss Felton will play again for us," he 
 announced. "Meantime let us do something 
 to try and show her what we really think of 
 her. Here's a starter !" 
 
 Snatching up her old-fashioned sailor-hat 
 from an off-stage chair, he tossed a coin into 
 it. "Go to it, boys!" he cried to the aston- 
 ished crowd, and before anyone realized what 
 was happening, least of all Miss Marian Fel- 
 ton herself, she was threading her way in and 
 out among the tables, playing again sweet 
 snatches of the heart-stirring air, while close 
 behind followed Sandy, extracting contribu- 
 tions with a mixture of ingratiating persuas- 
 iveness and vengeful threatening impossible 
 to resist. 
 
 An enthusiastic mob spirit took possession 
 of the crowd. Men dug down with cheerful 
 alacrity into the pockets of their Sunday trou- 
 sers and brought forth coins both large and 
 small, while women rummaged in their sweet- 
 scented bags and vanity-boxes to see if by 
 chance they had tucked in some carfare. 
 
 It required no explanation from Sandy 
 why he was establishing this precedent, if as 
 such it would be regarded. One look at the 
 pathetic, much-mended gown of white cotton 
 
20 IMPULSES 
 
 crepe would have been enough without the 
 added reason of the brown eyes, far too large 
 and bright for the white face. The women 
 saw the gown, and wondered what they had in 
 their cedar chests that would fit her. The 
 men saw the eyes, and ruminated on the cause 
 of them, and wondered also. 
 
 In one noticeable quarter only was this 
 move of Sandy's regarded with disfavor. At 
 a table near the center of the room sat several 
 of the august board of directors. A rumor of 
 Dan's flighty remarks had reached them. This 
 and a chronic unrest caused by Sandy's unex- 
 pected movements upon all occasions, made 
 them regard any action of his with suspicion. 
 
 Time and again it had been agreed in sol- 
 emn conclave that something must be done 
 with him, and the present appeared to be one 
 of the sample cases for deliberation. 
 
 In the midst of the general enthusiasm, 
 however, the dignity of this group was not es- 
 pecially observed save by Sandy's all-seeing 
 eye, and the sight caused him, as ever, a great 
 and unholy joy. 
 
 The worn old sailor-hat performed its of- 
 fice nobly, and after the first bashful plunge 
 into this novel occupation, its owner went 
 through the ordeal bravely, happily, turning 
 now and then toward her leader in the enter- 
 
IMPULSES 21 
 
 prise for guidance. She allowed even Dan's 
 tainted quarter to drop in with the rest, giv- 
 ing him a faint smile of restored good-will as 
 she passed. 
 
 Walking in and out as though in a maze 
 she finally reached the center table at which 
 sat the aforesaid august board members, but 
 seeming to feel the chill as she approached, 
 she looked at them apprehensively, then 
 veered away toward Sandy. 
 
 "You've got enough! Oh, far, far too 
 much!" she protested. "I can't take any 
 more." 
 
 It was wise not to press the point, so Sandy 
 steered her past the table without comment, 
 reading upon the averted faces, with grim 
 satisfaction, what was coming to him on the 
 morrow. There was a directors' meeting 
 scheduled for the next morning at ten. 
 
 When they returned to the stage the or- 
 chestra leader came quietly to Sandy. 
 
 "Us fellows want to help," he said casu- 
 ally, waving his hand comprehensively toward 
 his brother musicians. A five-dollar piece 
 clinked down into the heap of silver, and be- 
 tween Sandy and the orchestra leader there 
 passed a sense of that divine touch which is 
 said to "render the whole world akin." 
 
 An hour or so later the old sailor-hat had 
 
22 IMPULSES 
 
 resumed its regular occupation of covering 
 Marian Felton's head, and a little canvas 
 cash-bag furnished by the desk clerk held the 
 comfortable assurance that she could occupy 
 Mrs. Blythe's choice corner several weeks 
 longer. 
 
 The girl was trying to tell Sandy this as 
 she received the fat little bag from his hands, 
 but she could not, and he, being a man of few 
 words on certain subjects, sympathized, but 
 could not help her. 
 
 "I enjoyed my dinner so much," she said, 
 referring to the good meal which had been 
 served to all the entertainers at a table of 
 their own when the program was over; "and 
 and it was all beautiful, Mr. Mr. but I 
 don't know your name, do I?" 
 
 "I have so many you could never remem- 
 ber them all," he answered whimsically. 
 "Most people call me Sandy. Let it go at 
 that." 
 
 "I can never thank you, Mr. Sandy," she 
 stammered. "I " 
 
 "Don't try," he answered brusquely. "I've 
 cut 'thank' out of my dictionary. I don't 
 know what it means." 
 
 "Oh, but you do!" she protested, "and I 
 want so much to". But Marion found her- 
 
IMPULSES 23 
 
 self talking to rapidly retreating footsteps. 
 Sandy had fled. 
 
 Next morning Miss Felton went down to 
 breakfast, something she had not done lately, 
 and afterward Mrs. Blythe received three 
 weeks' back rent for her choice corner which 
 suddenly appeared to be again at its present 
 occupant's disposal. Incidentally Miss Felton 
 also dined that evening, and thereafter re- 
 sumed the regular habit of dining with a 
 growing and healthy young appetite. 
 
 The august board of directors met accord- 
 ing to appointment at ten, and under the head 
 of new business, although it was really old, 
 they discussed the case of Sandy. 
 
 -"This thing has got to be stopped, you 
 know," announced one of the super-august; 
 "this establishing a precedent of that sort, 
 picking up girls off the street and bringing 
 them in here, and subjecting our guests to an 
 exhibition of maudlin sentimentality." 
 
 "Yes," all agreed, "it should be stopped." 
 
 But how? 
 
 It was proposed to summon the chairman 
 of the entertainment committee and hear 
 what he himself had to say about the matter. 
 So Sandy was sent for. This was the usual 
 procedure of the august board. 
 
 Having just finished his breakfast the in- 
 
24 IMPULSES 
 
 dividual under discussion came without pro- 
 test, his toothpick poised at an aggravating 
 angle. Accepting the chair offered him, he 
 sat down and removed the toothpick. 
 
 "Good-morning, gentlemen," he remarked 
 with disarming friendliness, and awaited 
 their pleasure with the guileless air of a 
 school-boy. Anything would have been easier 
 to combat than this simple attitude. The 
 august board suddenly and secretly to itself 
 appeared entirely in the wrong. 
 
 The chairman of the board cleared his 
 throat, the chairman of the entertainment 
 committee listened solicitously. 
 
 "Ahem!" began the chairman of the 
 board. "You have been summoned before this 
 meeting to explain, if you can, the peculiar in- 
 cident which took place during last evening's 
 performance. The honor of this club de- 
 mands that " His words trailed off into in- 
 adequacy, confronted by Sandy's infantile be- 
 wilderment. 
 
 "Incident?" he queried, reflectively re- 
 suming his toothpick. 
 
 "Yes," continued the chairman, encour- 
 aged by the reassuring calm of his colleagues. 
 "We feel that an affront has been offered our 
 guests, I might say an insult, to the ladies es- 
 pecially, which we shall find difficult to oblit- 
 
IMPULSES 25 
 
 erate. It was our intention in establishing 
 this custom of Ladies' Nights to bring our 
 guests here assured that they would find the 
 atmosphere of the home. I shall now feel 
 obliged to apologize to each one of them for 
 the embarrassing, not to say disgraceful, po- 
 sition in which they were placed by the intro- 
 duction of this girl off the street who " 
 
 During this arraignment the accused had 
 slowly stiffened, and the infantile demeanour 
 slipped away leaving the alert man of action. 
 
 As the chairman reached his last insulting 
 sentence Sandy rose to his feet, and his ready 
 tongue was about to cut in with a scathing 
 rejoinder when Dexter suddenly interrupted 
 the meeting with the information that Sandy 
 was wanted at the telephone. 
 
 "Excuse me a moment, gentlemen," said 
 Sandy, and went out to the office 'phone. 
 
 Several board members shifted cigars and 
 feet, but no one spoke. Then the telephone on 
 the table at the chairman's elbow buzzed, and 
 he took the receiver off the hook. Those 
 watching him wondered at his varying facial 
 expressions, although he said very little save, 
 "I see/' and "Certainly, Madam," and added 
 other polite speeches demanded from a gentle- 
 man when a lady 'phones. How glad he was 
 that the board members could not hear the 
 
26 IMPULSES 
 
 whole of what he was later compelled to give 
 them the gist! 
 
 Now the lady was a woman of distinction 
 and discrimination, of great influence in club 
 circles, whom they had been proud to have as 
 their guest. She was the blue-eyed lady who 
 had sat beside Sandy's vacant chair at table. 
 
 "I wanted to speak to the chairman of the 
 entertainment committee," she began, "and I 
 have already exchanged a few words with him 
 regarding that talented young violinist who 
 entertained us so charmingly last evening. He 
 has switched me on to your 'phone, as he says 
 you can give me some information concerning 
 her." So the pleasant, womanly voice contin- 
 ued, telling of the pleasure all the guests had 
 enjoyed, and what she thought of the splendid 
 action which had turned the tide of popular 
 emotion flowing toward the needy young girl 
 with such substantial results. "It was one of 
 the best things I ever witnessed," she assured 
 the embarrassed chairman of the board, who 
 longed to hang up the receiver, but was de- 
 terred by his ever-ready but often misdirected 
 sense of club honor. 
 
 "It would be better for all of us to be 
 waked up oftener from our selfish apathy," 
 went on the lady. "I want to help that 
 girl. I have asked for her address. She's a 
 
IMPULSES 27 
 
 genius, frail little mite, and I can keep her 
 busy for awhile." 
 
 "Very well, Madam, certainly," respond- 
 ed the chairman of the board, mopping his 
 brow. 
 
 Here Sandy appeared on the threshold, his 
 mantle of simplicity again enveloping him. 
 The chairman was powerless between the se- 
 renity of his gaze and the open telephone. 
 
 "Kindly give the lady the information 
 she wishes at the office 'phone/' commanded 
 the chairman gruffly. "And, by the way, ow- 
 ing to lack of time, your case is dismissed this 
 morning." 
 
 "Very good," responded Sandy politely, 
 retiring to close the conversation rather 
 abruptly with the clubwoman. Her laudations 
 of his own unpremeditated act embarrassed 
 him. 
 
 The chairman of the board made very few 
 remarks suffice for his explanation to the as- 
 tonished members. This, however, was no un- 
 usual occurrence, and thus once more by unan- 
 imous consent the case of Sandy was "laid 
 upon the table." 
 
THE HOBO DINNER. 
 
 The whole glory of the affair rested with 
 Sandy. It covered him like a coat of many 
 colors, whereof blame, inconvenience, recrim- 
 ination, the overwhelming personal twist to 
 himself, and many other phases formed the 
 resultant hues. 
 
 It was just in line with all his crazy no- 
 tions, the board of club directors declared, 
 when the plan was "sprung upon them." 
 They yielded to it, however, as they usually 
 did to his schemes. 
 
 The idea came to Sandy about two o'clock 
 one dismal afternoon as he walked through 
 the square from his comfortable luncheon. 
 
 Why not give a hobo dinner at the Club? 
 
 There they sat in rows on the park 
 benches, all degrees and dimensions of the 
 genus "hobo," from the "gentleman in re- 
 duced circumstances," to the veriest bunch of 
 rags that ever tramped the ties, only that 
 morning arrived from a dusty railway jour- 
 ney. 
 
 "Poor ginks!" mentally ejaculated Sandy, 
 
IMPULSES 29 
 
 genially conscious of his own well-filled in- 
 terior. He regarded their varied shapes and 
 hungry eyes with more than usual interest. 
 Sandy was always observant during his walks 
 about town, and read many a story in the 
 lines of a face or the glance of an eye. 
 
 No doubt the stories were often wrong, 
 but right lay in the human interest expressed. 
 Away back in his mind lay the memory of a 
 younger brother. Donald was a lad of ten 
 when Sandy, a man of twenty, had left home. 
 They had never met again, those two, but dur- 
 ing the intervening years the gradually les- 
 sening news from home had been more and 
 more unfavorable concerning Donald. 
 
 Finally Donald also had left home, a slave 
 to drink, and the great Canadian forest coun- 
 try had swallowed him up. That was many 
 years ago, and now no one ever gave him a 
 thought, save the mother-heart at home which 
 never forgets; and occasionally a brother or 
 sister held a fleeting impression of Donald's 
 presence in far-off childhood games. 
 
 Nothing annoyed Sandy more than the im- 
 putation of "brotherly love," or "the hand of 
 fellowship" held out to suffering humanity, 
 yet results often proved directly contrary to 
 his professed methods of action. Just now 
 he reflectively considered the "poor ginks." 
 
30 IMPULSES 
 
 They grilled in summer and froze in winter 
 on those corrugated benches. Apparently 
 they never left them. How did they subsist? 
 Who cared whether they went or stayed? 
 
 Sandy could testify that the midnight and 
 early morning hours found them there, 
 stretched only in slightly different attitudes 
 from those of mid-day. What a pleasing 
 pastime it would be jauntily to crook a fore- 
 finger in one of their stupid faces late some 
 afternoon and say: "Come along with me! 
 You're invited to dinner at the Club. Excuse 
 a late invitation/' and then side-step the as- 
 tonished owner of the face to the best meal he 
 had enjoyed for who knows how long! 
 
 During his short diagonal walk through 
 the well-filled park Sandy apportioned one 
 guest apiece to each of his fellow clubmen. A 
 bath, a dinner, and a bed appeared on the pro- 
 gram of each, for after surveying the first 
 half-dozen prospective guests the bath natur- 
 ally presented itself to the imagination; and 
 after a bath and a good dinner, why not a 
 smoke and a bed? Something cheering to 
 drink was another item. Sandy's impulses 
 were often elaborately logical. 
 
 His enthusiasm bounded and leaped. Be- 
 fore he left the square there was no hobo 
 either dirty enough or hungry enough to sat- 
 
IMPULSES 31 
 
 isfy his craving for well-doing. He was 
 aware that there are various degrees of caste 
 in trampdom, and over there in vacant lots 
 beyond the Club, or behind the walls of old 
 buildings about to be renovated, he knew of 
 choice specimens of humanity far too low to 
 associate in broad daylight with these higher 
 grades who occupied comfortable park 
 benches. 
 
 He knew just the spot to which he would 
 go in search of his hobo. He had noticed him, 
 not individually, but in groups of four or so, 
 skulking about in shadowy corners by day, 
 and creeping out by night to accost a passer- 
 by for change, always being careful to keep 
 out of sight of a member of "The Force." 
 
 Perhaps also he would tip off a few of "the 
 fellows" as to where these special favorites of 
 misfortune were to be found, but he was not 
 sure about this. It might be he would reserve 
 them all for himself from which to choose the 
 most wretched of the bunch. No doubts as- 
 sailed Sandy. A plan once formed needed 
 only his firm will to carry it through. Impa- 
 tience to issue his invitations caused him to 
 look at his watch. Too late for today; his aft- 
 ernoon was full. Besides, a short interval 
 would be needed for certain judicious prepar- 
 ations. 
 
32 IMPULSES 
 
 Quitting the park he turned down the 
 street, his mind reverting for a moment to a 
 recent board meeting in solemn conclave over 
 an episode in which he had played a prominent 
 part. A reminiscent smile curled his lips. This 
 also would be a success if he set his mind on 
 it. So down the street he went, with quick 
 step and eyes alert to all the shifting scenes 
 through which he passed, yet when he arrived 
 at his destination to keep a tiresome business 
 engagement the details of menu and decora- 
 tions were already planned for the "Hobo 
 Dinner." 
 
 The following afternoon the late sun rays 
 beat pitilessly down into a dusty vacant lot 
 only a few streets away from well set-up club- 
 dom. 
 
 Several male specimens of weary human- 
 ity draped themselves in corners as far re- 
 moved from each other as possible in the few 
 feet of shade afforded by a rickety board 
 fence. During the next fifteen minutes two 
 of these forlorn persons were to be invited to 
 dine, but they were not aware of it. 
 
 In fact had any one had the temerity to 
 prophesy the invitation he would have been 
 promptly cursed into a fiery future. 
 
 To only one of them had a definite plan 
 
IMPULSES 83 
 
 presented itself for the evening. It was well- 
 formed, and at a chosen time was to be carried 
 out. 
 
 Weary and emaciated, he leaned against 
 the fence with closed eyes, his fingers nerv- 
 ously twisting the wisps of straw and other 
 bits of dry stuff surrounding him. In the 
 group he was the most abject sample of mis- 
 ery, yet a certain air of gentility distinguished 
 him from the others something which 
 marked him to be let alone when a sympa- 
 thetic unity drew the rest together for a dis- 
 cussion of their rights and wrongs. 
 
 Every now and then the man glanced up 
 at the sun, and at the slowly lengthening 
 shadows. Once he drew a small, black phial 
 from his pocket and fingered it without look- 
 ing at it. He had carried it about with him 
 for a long, long time. He knew quite well 
 what it looked like, but he wanted to make 
 sure it was there, ready to lend its aid when 
 he needed it. It had lain in his pocket, burn- 
 ing calling, and on three separate occa- 
 sions he had nearly yielded to its insistence, 
 yet each time he had resisted. A sense of re- 
 pugnance and rebellion over acknowledged 
 defeat, bade him cling to life. But now he 
 was ready to declare himself beaten. He 
 found himself one of those at whom he had 
 
34 IMPULSES 
 
 often jeered : one of the great army of "Down- 
 and-Outs." 
 
 He replaced the phial carefully. It was 
 too early yet for his purpose ; he was waiting 
 for a signal. When a certain whistle sounded 
 the siren call which ordered the laborer to put 
 up his kit for the day, he intended to quit 
 work himself to leave off this weary job of 
 living. Shifting his limbs, he dozed a little. 
 
 He was aroused by the sound of two voices 
 on the sidewalk slightly above him and just 
 outside the fence. 
 
 "We'll find four or five in here/' declared 
 one. "You can bet your life, Dan, this is the 
 headquarters of the *Down-and-Out' Club." 
 
 "All right, Sandy, sail in and pick your 
 man. Of course you get first choice for the 
 guest of honor," replied the other. 
 
 With the pleasant sense of sharing a rare 
 treat with a favorite pal, Sandy applied his 
 eye to a convenient knot-hole. 
 
 "I can spot four over there in the opposite 
 corner," he whispered excitedly. "Great 
 luck!" 
 
 "Say, won't they murder you if you don't 
 invite them all?" quavered Dan, visibly weak- 
 ening now that the crucial moment had ar- 
 rived. That morning among a joshing crowd 
 of fellows at the Club it had appeared an easy 
 
IMPULSES 35 
 
 and highly witty thing to do, airily to issue an 
 invitation for dinner, but Dan now found 
 himself mentally selecting the smallest hobo 
 in the group when Sandy thoughtfully loaned 
 him the use of the knot-hole for a few min- 
 utes, wondering how he could separate the 
 chosen one from the others without dissension 
 and possible assault. 
 
 Such vain forebodings had no place in 
 Sandy's make-up. "Get a hunch on," he 
 urged. "It's late, mon." 
 
 Advancing a few steps to where several 
 loose boards in the fence made a convenient 
 entrance, Sandy leaped confidently down into 
 the dust, intending to choose his man during 
 a hurried, though careful trip across the in- 
 tervening space. He took only three steps, 
 however, for there at his feet lay his guest. 
 There was no doubt about it. The slanting 
 sun rays caught him full in the eyes and he 
 almost fell across the man. Something held 
 him there as he looked down at the heap of 
 dingy clothes. He opened his mouth, and the 
 words came forth not at all as he had planned. 
 
 "Hello, you lazy gink ! What are you do- 
 ing in my way?" 
 
 The man opened his eyes and gazed 
 straight up at Sandy. There was a half-min- 
 ute's silence between them; then it was 
 
36 IMPULSES 
 
 broken by the first discordant sounds of the 
 city whistles, gradually growing louder and 
 more uniform, as one after another from dif- 
 ferent parts of town they joined in the an- 
 nouncement that the day's work was done. 
 The tramp fumbled vaguely in his pocket, 
 then resentfully withdrew an empty hand. 
 
 "Hello! How are you?" pursued Sandy 
 more genially. 
 
 An unintelligible murmur was all the re- 
 sponse he received, but the tramp slowly 
 struggled to his feet and gazed menacingly at 
 the two men confronting him, Dan by this 
 time having carefully insinuated himself be- 
 tween the loose boards and landed in the dust 
 heap beside his valiant leader. 
 
 Sandy, with a sudden recurrence to his 
 plan of action conceived on the previous after- 
 noon, crooked a forefinger in the dazed, dusty 
 face, and smiled. 
 
 "Come along with me ! You're invited to 
 dinner at the Club. Excuse a late invita- 
 tion!" 
 
 "Huh?" questioned the man, not showing 
 a trace of either joy or gratitude. - After all, 
 hoboes were complicated individuals, not 
 wholly composed of hunger, thirst and thiev- 
 ery. Sandy forthwith hurled himself into a 
 sea of explanations. Meantime a short, wiry 
 
IMPULSES 37 
 
 person with a swarthy, lowering cast of coun- 
 tenance, separated himself from the group of 
 four on the opposite side of the lot, and ap- 
 proached warily to see "what was doing." 
 
 Dan seized opportunity as it came near. 
 "Here's mine !" he joyfully announced, spring- 
 ing toward the astonished tramp with such 
 celerity that the latter retreated in alarm with 
 disturbing visions of hand-cuffs. He stopped, 
 however, when confronted by Dan's cheerful 
 countenance, and in response to the query 
 whether he had anything to do that evening, 
 replied : 
 
 "Not a damma t'ing," in a soft Italian 
 voice which knocked Dan "dippy," as he aft- 
 erward explained. 
 
 In genial conversation they returned to 
 Sandy and his chosen guest, where the situa- 
 tion had little changed. 
 
 "What's yer little game, mister?" the 
 tramp muttered, his suspicious eyes shifting 
 from one to the other of the three, then focus- 
 ing upon the other end of the lot. The others 
 followed his gaze, and beheld three ragged fig- 
 ures disappearing one by one over the back 
 fence. Assailed by fears of arrest they van- 
 ished into the lengthening, western shadows. 
 
 The tramp's gaze shifted back again to 
 
38 IMPULSES 
 
 Sandy's frank countenance. Then the Italian 
 chipped in. 
 
 "Say, ole pal, wot yer waitin' fer? De 
 game's alia de right, see?" 
 
 The steady flow of Sandy's explanations, 
 coupled with his convincing manner, was 
 slowly taking effect. Also there was some 
 mysterious influence at work between them 
 which neither could understand. The tramp 
 straightened his emaciated form and with- 
 drew his hand from his pocket where it was 
 again fumbling. The many-toned whistles 
 had sounded their last call for the day. With 
 a twist of his broad shoulders he shook him- 
 self free from something well-nigh overmas- 
 tering, and turned his weary footsteps into 
 this new pathway presented by Sandy. 
 
 "All right, mister ; go ahead," he assented 
 less gruffly. "It's a queer game ye're playing, 
 but I guess ye're playing it straight." 
 
 A strange quartette left the vacant lot. It 
 required some nonchalance and a fair amount 
 of courage to accomplish the passage along 
 five blocks of crowded city streets. An alert, 
 slight figure led the way. A step or two be- 
 hind him followed the "guest of honor," heav- 
 ily dragging one foot after the other in his re- 
 luctant return to life. 
 
 Dan, well-groomed, and with the virtuous 
 
IMPULSES 39 
 
 air produced by a month on "the water- 
 wagon/' advised his tricky-looking companion 
 as to the evening's program. He dwelt at 
 length upon the nobility of Sandy's scheme. 
 To him was conceded the palm of having 
 planned this affair where all might meet as 
 brothers. It is doubtful just how much the 
 Italian understood. He had but lately ar- 
 rived from his native shores, but he assented 
 to all assurances with eager professions of 
 brotherly love, his beady eyes, meanwhile 
 alert to the possible value of Dan's watch fob. 
 
 Arrived at the Club entrance they found a 
 motley assemblage waiting for the elevator. 
 Four other members had rounded up their 
 men and were proudly conducting them, in 
 varying degrees of doubt, to their destination. 
 
 There appeared a decided lack of that 
 clannishness usually attributed to the wan- 
 dering class. Each tramp ignored his fellows 
 and sedulously attached himself to his own 
 personal conductor. The alert little Italian 
 was the sole exception. He adopted a frater- 
 nal spirit, but it was received with marked 
 disfavor by the other five. A sturdy Swede, 
 Carlton's particular "find," regarded him 
 with especial distrust, making it evident to 
 their hosts that a diplomatic distance between 
 the two should be preserved. 
 
40 IMPULSES 
 
 Upstairs they gathered in groups, and by 
 twos and fours, until the fifteen clubmen who 
 had fallen under the spell of Sandy's sugges- 
 tion had safely housed their guests. Then be- 
 gan a scene of turmoil not soon forgotten by 
 the participants. 
 
 An announcement on the blackboard early 
 that morning of the forthcoming event had 
 nearly caused a riot among conservative, com- 
 fort-loving members, but that was nothing 
 compared to the excitement which now pre- 
 vailed. 
 
 All looked to their leader for guidance. He 
 had never failed them before, he did not now. 
 He issued commands right and left, in brief 
 and often picturesque language, well-attuned 
 to hobo comprehension. Sandy had spent sev- 
 eral early years in frontier towns himself, and 
 his ears had always been wide open. 
 
 Enthusiasm which at noon had been based 
 only upon theory now burst into the fullness 
 of reality. All over the bedroom section 
 bathtubs were heard filling, and new plans 
 sprung into being from minute to minute. The 
 next logical step from baths being fresh cloth- 
 ing, a wholesale turning out of closets and bu- 
 reau drawers began. In half an hour an im- 
 promptu Misfit Parlor was doing a lively bus- 
 iness. As in all great undertakings, new com- 
 
IMPULSES 41 
 
 plications confronted the distracted leader at 
 each step. His own guest towered above him 
 a good six inches, while the wiry little Italian 
 could have wrapped Dan's capacious gar- 
 ments twice around his person. Hence a gen- 
 eral exchange of guests, solely in the matter 
 of clothing, took place, each member in all 
 other matters being responsible for his own 
 "find." 
 
 Sandy found himself beset on every 
 side with questions, and bits of information 
 concerning individual plans which were not 
 working out according to expectations. For 
 instance, "that idiot, Wright," in a true 
 spirit of hospitality, had treated his guest, on 
 entering, at the Club bar. Result: a deep 
 sense of injury apparent among half-a-dozen 
 other guests, and several private libations. 
 While their trusting hosts left them alone 
 with their bath water and borrowed clothing, 
 two thirsty hoboes devoted the time which 
 should have been given to these chastening in- 
 fluences to the more certain enjoyment of the 
 contents of short, thick-necked bottles con- 
 cealed upon their persons. When discovered 
 half an hour later they were sleeping soundly, 
 the bath water still flowing, and no human ef- 
 forts at that moment could arouse them. In- 
 cidentally some of the surplus water found 
 
42 IMPULSES 
 
 its way into the library below, and eventually 
 created a musty, moire effect, usually a fea- 
 ture of antique editions, upon various cloth 
 and leather bindings. The time spent in mop- 
 ping up consumed most of the dinner hour for 
 the two members responsible, but no one 
 missed them in the general melee. Keys were 
 turned upon the sleeping delinquents and two 
 vacant chairs among the hoboes marked their 
 absence from the feast. 
 
 During the trying on of clothes the big 
 Swede ran against the little Italian. 
 
 "Ah lak you kip ouda mah way, you damn 
 t'ief!" growled the Swede in the other's 
 swarthy ear. 
 
 An eloquent stream of choice Italian ex- 
 pletives flowed from the latter's lips which so 
 enraged the Swede as they struck his uncom- 
 prehending ear that his great hand reached 
 out and grasped the other's coat collar. More 
 correctly speaking it was a navy blue serge 
 coat of Sandy's that moment transferred to 
 the Italian's back. But the latter was too 
 agile for the Swede. Twisting himself free of 
 the sleeves with a quick, backward movement 
 of the arms and grabbing his old coat from the 
 floor as he ran, the Italian fled down the hall, 
 the big man in hot pursuit. 
 
 The unanimous impulse was to stop the 
 
IMPULSES 43 
 
 Swede. It was like preventing the proverbial 
 angry bull from damaging a china shop. No 
 one thought to stop the Italian. He sped 
 down the little-used stairway, and far up the 
 street. 
 
 Six blocks away he stopped and drew 
 breath, looking furtively behind him. Few 
 pedestrians were in sight, none showed the 
 slightest interest in him. He felt joyously in 
 two bulging hip pockets, and chuckled in low, 
 sweet Italian tones. Turning a corner he 
 passed on more slowly and was lost once again 
 in the realms of the submerged brotherhood. 
 
 Meanwhile three of the huskiest club mem- 
 bers wrestled with the big Swede. Sandy's 
 hands itched to get at him, but he restrained 
 his pugilistic desires and inquired discreetly 
 what all the row was about. The pertinence 
 of this simple question appealed to all bystand- 
 ers. Gradually, limb by limb, the Swede was 
 released and allowed to explain. Only a linguis- 
 tic scholar could have disentangled the furious 
 medley of words, but certain expressions re- 
 curred with alarming frequency. 
 
 "Tief! Damn t'ief! Doin' tahme. 
 Call poleese mahne!" in time became con- 
 vincing. 
 
 "He recognizes the Italian as a thief, boys. 
 That's what's the matter, he's been 'doing 
 
44 IMPULSES 
 
 time!' Suffering cats, I wonder how much 
 he's done us for !" 
 
 Carlton clapped his hand on his hip pocket. 
 It was empty. While he, the most genial of 
 "fitters," in his shirt sleeves, had pronounced 
 Sandy's coat just the thing for the Italian, the 
 latter had chosen that moment to appropriate 
 Carlton's neat little revolver. His sapphire 
 scarf-pin was also missing. 
 
 Dan, to whose door would roll the blame 
 for his unwise choice of a guest, in perturbed 
 moments habitually fingered his watch fob. 
 He sought its consolation now. It was not 
 there. His watch was also absent. Words 
 failed him ; he started down the hall. 
 
 "Stop him, boys!" shouted Sandy. "He's 
 desperate. Lock the bar-room door!" 
 
 "Let me go!" yelled Dan. "Damn the 
 bar! I'm off to catch that little dago thief." 
 
 "I'm with you !" shouted Carlton, and to- 
 they bolted to the elevator, and from 
 out on a fruitless search into the night. 
 
 All this and many similar matters had oc- 
 cupied much of Sandy's attention. Neces- 
 sarily his own guest, who proved quiet and 
 tractable, was left to himself. When Sandy 
 had taken him to his room, the man had stood 
 gazing about, first at the photographs and 
 other pictures, books and many keepsakes, 
 
IMPULSES 45 
 
 then back again at Sandy, with disturbed 
 curiosity growing in his hungry eyes. 
 
 "What's the matter?" asked Sandy with 
 abrupt kindliness. 
 
 "Oh, nothing! Only this is the first time 
 anything like this ever happened to me. Am 
 I dreaming, mister, or what?" 
 
 "Call it 'what/ if you like," responded 
 Sandy; "but you'll find it a bit real before you 
 get through." 
 
 The tramp came and stood very close to 
 him, looking down with deeply penetrating 
 eyes. 
 
 "What are you doing it for?" he demand- 
 ed. "Are you one of those reform chaps?" 
 
 "Good Lord, no!" exclaimed Sandy with 
 impious horror. "I detest reform." 
 
 "So do I," said the tramp sullenly. "I'd 
 have been a man long ago if a lot of blooming 
 relatives hadn't started in to reform me." 
 
 Inadvertently he had hit upon Sandy's es- 
 pecial "bete-noire." 
 
 "To hell with relatives !" quoth Sandy with 
 cheerful hospitality. "I never let them bother 
 me. Indeed a man's much better without 
 any!" 
 
 The tramp regarded Sandy with growing 
 intensity. "You're not like the others," he 
 said slowly. "You talk different." 
 
46 IMPULSES 
 
 "How 'different?' " 
 
 "There's a bit of the old country in your 
 speech." 
 
 "You're away off, I'm an American," pro- 
 tested Sandy. "Look here, I haven't time to 
 discuss nationalities. You just get busy." He 
 threw open the door of his bath-room. "Tum- 
 ble in and make yourself at home while I chase 
 up a change for you. You're hardly my size, 
 you know." Then he hurried off into the con- 
 fusion reigning in the hall. 
 
 Left alone, the tramp went slowly from 
 one object to another, surveying each with 
 careful scrutiny. Some seemed to confirm a 
 suspicion growing in his mind, others gave 
 him no clue. 
 
 He refrained from fingering the books in 
 his present grimy state, yet he longed to do 
 so. The flyleaf of any one of them might at 
 once show him what he sought. At last his 
 roving gaze came to a small, framed photo- 
 graph hanging near the bureau. He turned 
 on the electric bulb next it and scrutinized the 
 picture, his haggard face growing whiter as 
 he gazed. It was only the likeness of a plain 
 little lady with a sweet face. 
 
 She was dressed in old-fashioned clothes, 
 perhaps those of fifteen years before. The 
 picture was the duplicate of one the tramp 
 
IMPULSES 47 
 
 had once carried among his personal belong- 
 ings. Now he packed nothing with him it 
 was so much easier to travel light ! 
 
 The face of the little lady showed a re- 
 semblance to the man who had brought him 
 here. The tramp clenched his hands, and 
 stood a long time in front of the picture. 
 
 "It's him/' he muttered; "it's him, sure!" 
 
 He sank down in a Morris chair beside the 
 
 table, all thoughts of the present blotted out 
 
 by the memories of twenty years crowding in 
 
 upon him. 
 
 It was as though he had drunk the con- 
 tents of the little black phial, and was facing 
 the last moments of his life. A multitude of 
 incidents flashed before his mental vision, and 
 resentment took possession of him. 
 
 Why had Sandy stumbled over him and in- 
 terfered with his plan just at the moment 
 when he was waiting for the signal? What 
 was this fool game which he and all those 
 other men were playing anyway? Rebellious- 
 ly the demon in him wrestled with his better 
 nature. What was there to prevent his using 
 the little phial now? This was as good a place 
 as any. Better, perhaps it would show all 
 those fellows ! 
 
 Then came the restraining thought of the 
 
48 IMPULSES 
 
 apparent genuineness of the affair. His stu- 
 por lightened. He shook himself and looked 
 about again. 
 
 After all, he had some sense of decency 
 left, and he had no desire to pose in the lime- 
 light. The passing out of a nameless vagrant 
 in a vacant lot implicated no one; here it 
 would be different. Then, over there was that 
 little lady's face looking at him. He could not 
 get away from it. Neither could he get away 
 from the undefinable "something different" 
 in Sandy's speech. He rose again and went 
 toward the picture. Damn this world and its 
 contradictions ! 
 
 "Well, all right, then !" he said impatient- 
 ly, and drawing the phial from his pocket was 
 about to smash it on the first convenient sur- 
 face, then checking the impulse he tucked it 
 away behind a box on the bureau. There was 
 no time for explanations just now. They 
 would come later perhaps unless he de- 
 cided to light out again. 
 
 He heard Sandy's step outside, his voice 
 calling back to someone, his hand on the door- 
 knob. Quickly stepping into the bath-room 
 the tramp closed the door and turned on the 
 water-faucet. 
 
 When Sandy entered the room, a pile of 
 clothing on his arm, his guest was apparently 
 
IMPULSES 49 
 
 carrying out the preliminaries of the even- 
 ing's program in a satisfactory manner. 
 Sandy banged on the bath-room door. 
 
 "Hello! I've got you fitted all right, I 
 think. Dinner will be ready in half an hour. 
 Want a shave?" 
 
 The bath-room door opened a crack. "I 
 suppose I'd better go the whole game," replied 
 the tramp's voice unsteadily. "I'll be out of 
 here in ten minutes." 
 
 Sandy dropped the bunch of clothing on 
 the bed and went reflectively to the bureau. 
 The shave suggestion had slipped out unex- 
 pectedly. Should he risk his razor in the 
 hands of a strange man? Oh, well, what was 
 the diff.? By the way, where was his razor? 
 Pushing the articles about on his bureau in 
 his impetuous search, he toppled the little 
 black phial over into view. Sandy picked it 
 up and examined it curiously under the elec- 
 tric light which he now remembered he had 
 not turned on himself. 
 
 Laudanum! What was it doing here on 
 his bureau? His tramp had brought it in, of 
 course. Why, the devil, hadn't he ordered all 
 these fellows searched before they came in! 
 Suppose a revolution took place and all the 
 unsuspecting hosts were murdered in various 
 choice ways ! 
 
60 IMPULSES 
 
 Sandy's eyes glittered excitedly. He 
 rather liked the idea. It would stir things up 
 a bit, and be a fine ad. for the Club. He care- 
 fully pocketed the phial, however. 
 
 "We won't have the poisoning until after 
 dinner anyway, my fine gink!" he thought. 
 Then the razor turning up he made a few 
 preparations and left the room. The phial in 
 his pocket was not comfortable; it disturbed 
 him. 
 
 What should he do with the damned thing? 
 If only he had a chosen enemy there confront- 
 ing him he would ram it down his throat! 
 Sandy had a variety of mental methods for 
 uniquely destroying his enemies. Swiftly fol- 
 lowing this thought came another coupled 
 with a vision of two serious eyes set in a be- 
 loved face. A certain blue-eyed lady who 
 sometimes honored the Club with her presence 
 was never far from his thoughts at any time. 
 On occasions such as this she had a way of in- 
 sinuating herself between his choicest plans 
 and their accomplishment. The eyes could 
 laugh approval; just now they were reproach- 
 ful he almost heard her voice saying . 
 
 He looked hurriedly about. A hall win- 
 dow opening on a light-well caught his eye. 
 With more cheerful thoughts concerning his 
 enemies running a merry chase through his 
 
IMPULSES 51 
 
 mind, he opened the window and dropped the 
 phial. Leaning out he saw it smash on the 
 pavement five stories below. 
 
 "So much for that!" he nodded conclusive- 
 ly, and continued on his way, undisturbed, to 
 the dining-room where some final details 
 awaited his attention. 
 
 Shortly after seven o'clock the dinner, now 
 famous in club annals, was fully under way. 
 The tables were arranged, banquet-fashion, in 
 two long rows, with a speaker's table running 
 crosswise at one end. The decorations were 
 simple and to the point. Small silk flags of 
 many nations alternated with bunches of 
 dried grasses at intervals down the center of 
 each long white cloth, and at every place was 
 laid a corncob pipe with the necessary filling. 
 
 Sandy, under a multiplicity of titles, as 
 leader of the feast, naturally occupied the cen- 
 tral seat of honor, and up and down the lines 
 club members and guests were alternately 
 ranged. At Sandy's right hand sat a man at 
 whom general attention and curiosity were 
 directed. Each member had been more or less 
 absorbed, up to the present, in his own hobo. 
 Few had been serenely manageable. Only the 
 members who had entered with Sandy had 
 any remembrance of what his tramp had been 
 like. Now the universal impression was that 
 
52 IMPULSES 
 
 Sandy had fooled them. There was certainly 
 nothing of the "hobo" about the man who oc- 
 cupied the "guest of honor's" seat. A bath, a 
 shave, and a good, well-brushed suit of Dan's 
 were not the only factors in making the differ- 
 ence apparent between him and the other 
 guests. There was something else, difficult of 
 definition, which made him one with the best 
 of his hosts. Sandy observed him with ever- 
 increasing wonder. On the tramp's side all 
 curiosity had subsided. He seemed sure of 
 his ground, and in some inscrutable way, in- 
 stead of Sandy's taking his hobo in tow and 
 managing him according to preconceived 
 methods, the former found himself deferring 
 to and being influenced by a guest on his own 
 level. 
 
 It was discovered that the man had trav- 
 eled widely. There were not many occupa- 
 tions he had not tried ; not many countries he 
 had not visited. 
 
 He talked well, though spasmodically. 
 Plainly he was exhausted and out of health. 
 A general forced hilarity at the commence- 
 ment of dinner soon became genuine as good 
 food and fellowship warmed the inner man. 
 
 The tongues of many nations were loosed, 
 and a curious lingo swung up and down the 
 tables. "Dutch" and "Dago" predominated, 
 
IMPULSES 
 
 53 
 
 with American slang a dose second In a few 
 quarters correct English was attempted bat it 
 was quickly frowned down and booted out by 
 dob men. Sandy's man dropped fruui one 
 lingo into ajx)ther with sraprising facility. He 
 ate with bis knife and fork as thoagji be 
 
54 IMPULSES 
 
 The sense of peace attending this occupa- 
 tion was rudely disturbed by the tempestuous 
 return of Dan and Carlton. Utterly frustrat- 
 ed in their search for stolen goods by the elu- 
 sive Italian, they returned to vent their wrath 
 in the bosom of their club home, only to find 
 popular attention directed elsewhere. A su- 
 premely satisfied, after-dinner attitude pre- 
 vailed, and no one expressed much sympathy 
 for the loss of a revolver and a few bits of 
 jewelry. When it was learned that notice of 
 the theft had been given at police headquar- 
 ters after the two men had followed several 
 wrong clues over many miles, the mild curios- 
 ity of everyone was fully appeased. 
 
 "All right, you fellows; now dry up !" com- 
 manded Sandy, and the attention of the com- 
 pany, with one accord, veered toward their 
 leader. What was to come next? Sandy 
 would know. Apparently something was ex- 
 pected of him. He laid aside his corncob and 
 rose to the occasion. Chairs shifted and 
 scraped. Numerous mutterings were heard. 
 
 "Go to it, old man!" "Want an inter- 
 preter?" "Talk Esperanto." "Hear, hear!" 
 were a few of the many admonitions to 
 which Sandy lent an unperturbed ear. 
 
 "Gentlemen," he began, then stopped and 
 cleared his throat, running his gaze swiftly 
 
IMPULSES 55 
 
 along the rows of expectant faces. "No, I 
 take that back. I give you a better title 
 Tramps!" 
 
 Several hoboes frowned and clenched their 
 fists, but the majority smiled in lazy good 
 humor. 
 
 "For what are we all but tramps along the 
 road of life?" asked Sandy. "Some walk a 
 little faster than others, that's all. Now my 
 purpose is not to make a speech. Speech-mak- 
 ing is a pernicious habit indulged in by gentle- 
 men and politicians, and should be counted a 
 capital offence. I therefore propose to spend 
 the time otherwise devoted to speech-making 
 in a general swapping of experiences. Start 
 the ball rolling, Dan. Tell us about that 
 tramp of yours through the Bingo Moun- 
 tains." 
 
 Thus adjured, Dan launched forth into a 
 thrilling narration of personal adventures 
 embellished here and there with highly ornate 
 bits of fiction. Numerous other discourses by 
 tramps real and impersonated followed this, 
 until excitement waxed high, and experience- 
 swapping threatened to become Bedlam. 
 
 Sandy's guest remained extremely quiet. 
 He puffed at his pipe, lost apparently in medi- 
 tation, yet Sandy felt his keen attentiveness 
 
56 IMPULSES 
 
 through all the clamor of tongues, and finally, 
 meeting his glance, his hobo said quietly : 
 
 "I'll give them a bit of my experience." He 
 rose to his feet. He looked out over the crowd, 
 and magically it came to order held by curi- 
 osity concerning the strange man. 
 
 "Fellow-Tramps," he began, "you have all 
 been jesting here about life. You have relat- 
 ed thrilling adventures in which you have 
 tossed your lives about in every sort of haz- 
 ard, and what you call good luck has pulled 
 you through every time. You depended on 
 chance, every one of you, but some day it will 
 fail you. Now I have always believed in luck, 
 too. You've none of you spoken of the many 
 fights you must have had with death. You 
 have all talked only of life, and your own clev- 
 erness in outwitting circumstances, or your 
 neighbors. Now I am going to tell you about 
 some of my own escapes from death." 
 
 He went on, his voice growing stronger as 
 he talked. He told of a rescue from ship- 
 wreck he related incidents in a starvation 
 fight on the desert he dwelt upon a desperate 
 struggle with Indians in a border town. "But 
 these fights," he continued, "were as nothing 
 compared to the constant warfare some of us 
 wage against the death of our own souls. Fel- 
 low-Tramps," he looked from one to another 
 
IMPULSES 57 
 
 of the transfixed club members, he was talk- 
 ing over the heads of the real tramps; "we 
 don't always know what we are doing when 
 we talk about 'luck/ and 'chance/ When you 
 planned this dinner you did it for a good bit 
 of fun for yourselves. You didn't know what 
 you were doing any more than I knew that I 
 should be standing here in decent clothes talk- 
 ing to you." He hesitated. "I'm getting 
 away off my subject, and will soon be laying 
 myself open to conviction for a 'capital of- 
 fence !' ' A quizzical glance at Sandy pointed 
 this last sentence, and drew a quick: "Hear! 
 Hear!" from that individual. The strange 
 guest continued : 
 
 "It's too big a subject, that soul-fight I 
 spoke of. I want only to tell you of my last 
 one in which 'luck' interfered. Perhaps many 
 of you did not hear the city whistles this after- 
 noon. Only those who are vitally interested 
 hear them as a rule." The man's voice grew 
 husky, unsteady. He turned and fixed his 
 gaze upon Sandy. "I heard them. I was 
 waiting for them so were thousands of oth- 
 ers. But I wonder how many of those who 
 waited were intending to quit work for good 
 when the signal sounded !" 
 
 One nervous hand clutched the back of his 
 
58 IMPULSES 
 
 chair, his voice grew more unsteady. Sandy 
 watched him with increasing wonder and fas- 
 cination, vague premonitions of something 
 strange, yet familiar. 
 
 "Three times before I've tried to quit this 
 job of living," continued the faltering voice. 
 "But each time I was too big a coward. To- 
 day my mind was made up. I was waiting for 
 the signal. Only one-half minute was left for 
 your 'luck' to work in. What happened? 
 This this man you call 'Sandy' stumbled, 
 yes, literally stumbled over me, and and 
 told me to 'come along with him !' That I was 
 'iivited to dinner.' That's all, Fellow- 
 Tramps you talk about your 'luck,' and 
 make game of it, but I tell you " 
 
 His voice broke completely, and Sandy, ab- 
 horrent of a "scene," rose hurriedly. 
 
 The stranger rallied again. "I'll go up- 
 stairs now if " 
 
 "Of course! Come right along!" exclaimed 
 Sandy, in haste to break the breathless spell 
 which had fallen over the assemblage. 
 
 As the two left the room a clatter of 
 tongues burst forth, and countless surmises, 
 suggestions, and questions were promulgated, 
 ready to spring upon the luckless Sandy when 
 he should return; but that perturbed person 
 did not soon come back. 
 
IMPULSES 59 
 
 In the bedroom his guest sat for several 
 minutes in the Morris chair. He refused the 
 offer of whiskey, or any other restorative, and 
 lay back, white and still, with closed eyes. 
 Sandy stood by, restless, desirous of doing 
 something any old thing! 
 
 A helpless feeling, entirely foreign to his 
 usual confidence, took possession of him. He 
 knew how he ought to feel, good Lord, yes ! It 
 was an infernal nuisance, having his hobo fool 
 him like this. He ought to feel all cut up 
 about it and curse him up and down, but 
 somehow, he didn't. 
 
 That was what troubled Sandy. He was 
 feeling all cut up but in quite another way. 
 He was fighting against it. He didn't like the 
 feeling in his throat, and a lot of annoying 
 emotions swayed him. 
 
 His hobo opened his eyes. "Forgive me, 
 Sandy," he said, "for bringing a skeleton to 
 your feast. I couldn't help it. Something 
 greater than you and me forced me on." 
 
 He rose and went to the bureau, facing the 
 photograph. The plain little lady looked out 
 at him serenely. She seemed to smile. Sandy 
 followed, hypnotized. He knew then what 
 was coming. 
 
 "If Mother could speak," began the other, 
 "she'd call me" 
 
60 IMPULSES 
 
 "Donald!" finished Sandy. 
 
 "Yes I'm Donald. The doctors gave me 
 just so long to live, unless I could get the right 
 climate and treatment, so I thought I'd better 
 quit before I got too bad. I'll go away tomor- 
 row, if you like. I'd be only a trouble to you. 
 I mightn't stay 'reformed' very long!" He 
 smiled wanly. "I never could, you know. No 
 doubt you've heard that from relatives !" 
 
 Sandy grasped his hobo's hand. "To hell 
 with reform and relatives!" he cried. 
 
HIS FIRST ABDUCTION 
 
 Affairs at the Burtons' were approaching 
 a crisis, and Sandy was worried. As he 
 walked up the hill toward the shoddy apart- 
 ment-house which sheltered this so-called 
 "family" of man, woman, and two young 
 girls, Sandy held himself a weak fool for hav- 
 ing been drawn into this nauseating domestic 
 maelstrom. 
 
 There was much about it which he did not 
 understand. Surmises only created suspicion 
 of an ugly nature. Sandy's brain, accustomed 
 to obey his orders, flew off on a tangent, and 
 refused to look sanely at the matter. 
 
 It was all Prescott's fault anyway. His 
 friend, Prescott, had met Maylita Burton at 
 a cafe dance a short time before his last sail- 
 ing, and had mentioned her to Sandy as "a 
 promising kid who would bear watching;" 
 and that somebody should "give her a tip to 
 cut out the night life and go back to school." 
 
 Then Prescott had gone about his business 
 of officering his ship, leaving Sandy's new- 
 
62 IMPULSES 
 
 born curiosity to feed upon nothing more sub- 
 stantial than a few words exchanged with the 
 girl, following an introduction one evening, 
 and an inherent desire, fostered by years of 
 newspaper work, to follow up a clue. 
 
 Then, one day he had passed Maylita on 
 Powell street. She had given him a gay little 
 nod with all the western assurance of seven- 
 teen. Her idiotic hat, with its downward tilt 
 toward her upturned, freckled nose, aided the 
 nod. Since then the acquaintance had passed 
 through several gradations. Now he was on 
 his way up the hill, a book under his arm, car- 
 rying culture to Maylita. 
 
 "Lucky kid, she hasn't been much to 
 school !" he mused, nursing his old-time preju- 
 dice against established methods of education. 
 
 Maylita agreed with him on this subject. 
 How she had escaped an enforced amount of 
 schooling was a mystery, unless a certain pre- 
 cocity which passed for maturity had hood- 
 winked the census-takers. Maylita had been 
 a "young lady," with all its advantages of 
 long skirts, turned-up hair and flaunting 
 feathers, since she was fourteen. 
 
 Recently something seemed to trouble her. 
 She had assumed a strangely defensive atti- 
 tude. The young-girl sauciness was harden- 
 ing a trifle into the boldness of the street 
 
IMPULSES 63 
 
 promenader. Sandy's thoughts shifted to the 
 mother of this girl, then to the father. Was 
 he her father? Why should his brain ask the 
 question? Yet it did. By the time Sandy 
 reached the Burtons' front door and rang the 
 bell it held a tangle of questions and surmises. 
 
 He intended leaving the book for Maylita 
 with anyone who answered the summons. 
 Vague, shuffling sounds from within assured 
 trim that his ring had been heard. He waited. 
 Sandy was not a patient man, but in consid- 
 eration for a woman passing on the sidewalk 
 below, he swore softly. He heard an upper 
 window thrown open and something muttered 
 about an "agent." Then the window slammed 
 down again. 
 
 Once more he rang, this time continuously, 
 a look of grim humor testifying to his enjoy- 
 ment of the pastime, until the door slowly 
 moved, and a portion of Mrs. Burton appeared 
 in a ten-inch aperture. One surmised that the 
 rest of her was held together by the hand 
 clutching a gaudy negligee. 
 
 "I don't want any " she began tartly. 
 
 Sandy urbanely cut short her speech. 
 "How do you do, Mrs. Burton?" 
 
 The aperture widened and the atmosphere 
 cleared. Mrs. Burton's society manner, which 
 she had left on her dressing-table, slipped 
 
64 IMPULSES 
 
 down the stairway with miraculous swiftness 
 and enveloped the lady. She laughed affect- 
 edly. 
 
 "That's one on me! You must really par- 
 don me I am so annoyed by er Mr. " 
 She stopped, puzzled. 
 
 Sandy did not enlighten her as to his name. 
 "Kindly give this to Miss Maylita," he re- 
 quested, tendering the book. "It's a story she 
 and I have been talking about." 
 
 Mrs. Burton assumed an air of mystery. 
 "Maylita ain't home, neither's Claribel," she 
 whispered. "I wish you'd come in awhile. I'm 
 in great trouble and I must talk to someone." 
 
 Sandy's first impulse was to turn and rush 
 headlong down the steps and away; his sec- 
 ond tempted him with the promise of a good 
 story. 
 
 To gain time he looked dubiously at his 
 watch, which, with its daily habit, had 
 stopped. 
 
 "I have half an hour to spare," he admitted 
 gruffly, and followed Mrs. Burton into the tiny 
 entrance hall and thence into a box-like sit- 
 ting-room. 
 
 The lady was rapidly inventing an appro- 
 priate tale while she motioned Sandy toward 
 a brilliantly upholstered patent-rocker, and 
 seated herself with studied negligence in the 
 
IMPULSES 65 
 
 "cosy-corner," over which a standard lamp 
 presided. Sandy's imagination pictured the 
 alluring glow this lamp was designed to shed 
 during the evening hours. 
 
 He could not know that the story now is- 
 suing from the speaker's lips was an inspira- 
 tion of the moment, yet he suspected it, and 
 listened warily. His surmises when coming 
 up the street recurred to him, and they fitted 
 each new statement exactly. He believed 
 nothing Mrs. Burton told him. His faith in 
 his own theories grew strong. The details of 
 her recital he forgot almost as soon as uttered, 
 but the substance added layer upon layer to 
 the structure of his own conviction. 
 
 Here was a household, founded, not for the 
 integrity or uplift of the human race, but for 
 its downfall. The "cruelty" and "infidelity" 
 of a husband he defined as the straining 
 chains of a temporary relationship. The "un- 
 dutifulness" of daughters he put down as the 
 natural waywardness of two pretty, un- 
 trained girls. Looking at their mother, sud- 
 denly and intimately thrown under his obser- 
 vation, Sandy saw the appropriateness of both 
 these adjectives. 
 
 Another suspicion assailed him Was she 
 their mother? Yes, she must, at any rate, be 
 Maylita's. Both had the same trick of the 
 
66 IMPULSES 
 
 eyes, although that might be due to constant 
 association. He could not definitely place the 
 elder girl, but she was beside the point; his 
 concern was Maylita. 
 
 Mrs. Burton's smooth, insinuating tones, 
 contrasting oddly with her lack of grammar, 
 continued : 
 
 "Maylita's her pa's favorite, and I says to 
 him the other night, 'you ain't got no call to 
 make a difference between the two/ but he 
 says," a hard glint came into the woman's 
 eyes, " 'she's so pretty I can't help it.' ' 
 
 Here Sandy's structure of surmises grew 
 rapidly. Maylita was not Mr. Burton's 
 daughter and her mother was jealous of the 
 girl. 
 
 Her daughters had not been brought up to 
 work, he was told. Their father had met with 
 reverses. Everyone knew what this last year 
 had been in a business way. Couldn't he see 
 how she was placed with two young, attrac- 
 tive girls on her hands, so difficult to manage 
 discord and jealousy between her husband 
 and herself? In fact, a man of mature judg- 
 ment like Mr. er she never could remem- 
 ber names! might be of so much assistance, 
 especially in Maylita's case. Maylita had 
 spoken of him often lately. In fact she sus- 
 
IMPULSES 67 
 
 pected oh, well, she mustn't "butt in," she 
 supposed ! 
 
 This final insinuation, flung at Sandy with 
 the suddenness of a bomb, brought him to his 
 feet. He consulted his silent watch. His 
 hostess, seeing her advantage slipping from 
 her, grasped for some new straw, and caught 
 it in the sound of quick footsteps coming up 
 from the street, and the banging of the outer 
 door. 
 
 "Here's Maylita now," she said, as the 
 girl with the exaggerated enthusiasm of the 
 present day, ran into the room. 
 
 Her genuine surprise was evident at the 
 sight of her mother's visitor. 
 
 "Hello!" exclaimed Maylita airily. 
 
 "Hello, yourself!" responded Sandy. 
 "Been shopping?" 
 
 "Sure! On thirty cents. Can you beat 
 it?" 
 
 Sandy's grim surmise about the girl's po- 
 sition wavered as he contemplated her fresh 
 gaiety. Surely she could not be deliberately 
 concerned in any conspiracy. 
 
 "I came to bring you the book we were dis- 
 cussing," he said. "Let me know when you 
 have finished it, and I'll bring you another." 
 
 "Oh, ain't you just grand!" she cried de- 
 
68 IMPULSES 
 
 lightedly. "Clare's so jealous she can't see 
 straight." 
 
 "I'll bring her one too," suggested Sandy 
 simply. 
 
 "I guess nitl" was the indignant response. 
 "You're my find." 
 
 Bewildered Sandy winced at the definite- 
 ness of this assertion. The drawn-out half- 
 hour again suggested itself. 
 
 "I was just going," he said, and with an 
 abrupt "good-bye" he left mother and daugh- 
 ter to share their astonishment with each 
 other. 
 
 Several days passed. Then, early one 
 evening Sandy received an agitated telephone 
 message. Maylita's voice urged him to meet 
 her "right away" about something important. 
 She was starting that moment down the hill. 
 Sandy's ire rose. No woman should say "right 
 away" to him! He hung up the receiver 
 without giving a definite answer. Immedi- 
 ately an organ within him which he firmly be- 
 lieved to be callous asserted itself. He pot- 
 tered about in his tiny sitting-room, carefully 
 filled his pipe, and lighted it. Each puff only 
 accentuated the threatening of that callous 
 organ in his chest, till, hang it all ! He caught 
 up his hat and hastened out. 
 
IMPULSES 69 
 
 "What does the darned kid want now?" 
 he grumbled, as he strode up the street. 
 
 Maylita, true to her word, had started 
 "right away," never doubting the willingness 
 of her "find" to obey her behest. She met him 
 three-quarters of the way. 
 
 "I hate 'em all up there!" she began ex- 
 citedly. "On the low down, I'm going to run 
 away!" 
 
 "Come off, now, come off," advised Sandy, 
 twitching her sleeve, presumably bringing her 
 down from an airship flight. "What's the 
 trouble, eh?" 
 
 "Gee, it makes me sick! That man's the 
 limit." 
 
 "Whatman?" 
 
 "That" she hesitated, "my f father." 
 
 Sandy caught her elbow firmly, turned her 
 round a corner, and walked her determinedly 
 forward. 
 
 "Now, see here, I want the truth about 
 this, Maylita ! I can't help you in the slight- 
 est until I know the facts. Why do you call 
 your father 'that man?' " The girl began to 
 stammer again. "7s he your father? I don't 
 believe he is." 
 
 "How did you know?" 
 
 "It didn't take much perception. Where's 
 your own father?" 
 
70 IMPULSES 
 
 "I don't know," said Maylita inconsequen- 
 tially. "I never heard much about him. This 
 guy's been hanging around for the last three 
 years, and he's getting to be a pest, see?" 
 
 Sandy did "see," and a street light helped 
 by giving him a glimpse of the girl's honest 
 eyes, clear and unfaltering, gazing into his. 
 
 Her treble voice rattled on. "I've had a 
 lot of 'fathers.' That's all right when you're 
 a kid. Kids don't bother much about things 
 if they've got plenty of food and clothes. But 
 it's the limit when you begin to see things 
 like in that book you just gave me." 
 
 "Serves me right!" growled Sandy, feeling 
 his own responsibility growing. "I never did 
 believe in education." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing! I was merely talking to 
 myself." 
 
 He frequently addressed strange remarks 
 to himself while conversing with Maylita. She 
 was accustomed to this habit, and put it down 
 as one of the peculiarities of middle-age. 
 
 "I'm going to quit now," she continued. 
 "I'm going to light out, skidoo, tiventy-thr- 
 r-ree, and I knew you'd help me!" 
 
 The unfortunate Sandy, his hand gripping 
 her thin little elbow, marched firmly on. 
 
 "Ouch!" complained Maylita. "When 
 
IMPULSES 71 
 
 you're done with my arm I'd like it back, kid !" 
 With amazement Sandy regarded this 
 slender, snub-nosed, starry-eyed bit of femi- 
 ninity so nonchalantly treading the brink of a 
 frightful chasm. 
 
 He laughed aloud. "You're a game chick- 
 en. If I do help you, you must do as I say, you 
 know. When do you wish to run away, and 
 what do you propose doing?" 
 
 'Til get away first," she announced 
 calmly. 
 
 "It isn't so easy to run away as you think. 
 If you pack up and walk out you'll be readily 
 traced. You have nowhere to go." 
 
 "That's just what I wanted to talk to you 
 about. Ma won't be itching to find me, but 
 my dear 'pa' will !" 
 
 More and more heavily the unwelcome sit- 
 uation pressed upon Sandy, but he had never 
 been known willingly to disappoint a "kid." 
 
 "Go home now and hold your own for a 
 few more days. You can do it. I'll do some 
 thinking. Darn you, I'll come up to the house 
 in a day or so, and size up the situation my- 
 self ! We'll see what can be done." 
 
 "All right," she assented. "I know you'll 
 think of something." 
 
 They turned another corner and found 
 
72 IMPULSES 
 
 themselves within a few doors of her apart- 
 ment. 
 
 "Come in now," she suggested. 
 "No, not now. I must think." 
 "Just as you say, but don't you forget!" 
 "I always remember," answered Sandy, 
 and with him, although Maylita did not know 
 it, this was a binding oath. 
 
 Airily she tossed a kiss as she ran up the 
 steps, leaving Sandy to walk soberly down the 
 hill, alternately cursing and marvelling at 
 the pranks of fate which had deliberately 
 given into his keeping, to make or mar, this 
 irresponsible fragment of human life. 
 
 When he strolled up the hill the following 
 evening with another book in his pocket for 
 Maylita, he had made no definite plans. His 
 mind was open to receive the impressions 
 which a call on the assembled family would 
 give. To his dismay he found a half-dozen 
 guests being entertained by an apparently 
 harmonious domestic group. Preparations 
 for a card game were under way, as a box of 
 poker chips and other signs testified. 
 
 The nonchalant object of his visit scarcely 
 noticed him, so absorbed was she with the at- 
 tentions of a tall, powerful-looking youth 
 whom Sandy recognized as one of the fastest 
 
IMPULSES 73 
 
 men about town. Mr. Burton greeted Sandy 
 with scant cordiality, but Mrs. Burton allevi- 
 ated the effect of this by drawing him aside 
 with a confidential smile. The standard lamp 
 shed a rosy glow over the "cosy-corner" to- 
 night. She seated herself there but Sandy 
 evinced no desire to be lured into a flirtation 
 with Mrs. Burton. He stood uncompromis- 
 ingly in front of her and spoke solemnly of 
 the weather of its effect upon the crops. 
 Then taking the book from his pocket he 
 glanced toward Maylita. 
 
 Mrs. Burton held up her hand chidingly. 
 "Don't don't disturb her now, you naughty 
 man ! She's having the time of her life." She 
 laughed, and Sandy hated her for the look she 
 bestowed on her young daughter. 
 
 "Give the girl a chance," she added. 
 
 No more words were needed; one read 
 the woman's purpose in every glance and ex- 
 pression. In the interval Sandy decided upon 
 his method of campaign. He would beat this 
 woman at her little game if it took six months ! 
 His expression betrayed nothing. He became 
 more genial, and continued to talk about the 
 weather. 
 
 Craftily watching for his chance, he soon 
 deserted the lady in the "cosy-corner" and 
 
74 IMPULSES 
 
 went to Maylita. He nodded greeting to the 
 man at her side. 
 
 "How are you, Elaine? Well, Miss May- 
 lita, how's the library coming on?" 
 
 She smiled languidly. Elderly men and 
 their books were of small consequence tonight. 
 
 "Oh, all right, I guess! I ain't finished 
 the last one yet. It's too deep for me !" She 
 tapped her pretty forehead where the way- 
 ward hair fell loosely. "Nobody home!" 
 
 Elaine smiled approvingly. "That's right! 
 Don't let's have any of this 'new woman' stuff 
 in ours. Miss Maylita's too pretty to worry 
 over books." 
 
 She simpered delightedly. Sandy set his 
 teeth. Determined lines showed about his 
 mouth. His tone was suave. 
 
 "I think this one will interest you. It's a 
 story of the mountains." 
 
 Good fortune favored Sandy at that mo- 
 ment. A girl who with jealous eyes had been 
 watching Maylita and her admirer suddenly 
 took advantage of Sandy's making a third and 
 broke into the group, claiming Elaine's atten- 
 tion. For the moment Elaine was helpless 
 against the intruder's effusive greeting. 
 
 Meanwhile Sandy rapidly "made hay." 
 Opening the book he insisted upon Maylita's 
 
IMPULSES 75 
 
 looking at it. Under cover of this on a bit of 
 paper he wrote hurriedly : 
 
 "I have decided what to do. Come down 
 the hill tomorrow at four. Bring a clean 
 shirtwaist with you. No fooling, kid. I'm on 
 the square." 
 
 He slipped this into her hand. "Good- 
 night, Maylita; sorry I can't stay longer," 
 and was gone. 
 
 Promptly at four o'clock the next after- 
 noon a much-puzzled Maylita met him. Sandy 
 had been right in his belief that curiosity, if 
 nothing else, would bring her. 
 
 "What's this fer?" was her first enquiry, 
 indicating the small parcel she carried, con- 
 taining presumably, the clean shirtwaist. 
 
 During their tramp up and down the city 
 streets Sandy explained. For an hour they 
 walked and argued. Up Pine street they 
 went, and down Bush; up Sutter and down 
 Post. It was a different girl now with whom 
 Sandy had to deal, a girl dazzled by the at- 
 tentions of a new admirer, different from any 
 previous one. Sandy was a "find" of another 
 sort. He was an interesting puzzle, not a pos- 
 sible "beau." Sandy realized that it was now 
 or never with her. He would take no refusal. 
 Acting on her expressed wish to leave home he 
 
76 IMPULSES 
 
 insisted that with his help she should carry it 
 out. So they argued. 
 
 "It will take time, Maylita, to find a place 
 for you, and to decide what you are eventu- 
 ally to do. If you leave home at once with bag 
 and baggage they'll see you go, and will soon 
 trace you. What I want you to do is this. 
 During the next few days smuggle down to 
 me in packages all the clothes and truck you 
 think you'll need. I'll keep them in my room. 
 Tust as soon as we get everything together 
 \ye'll pack you up in a couple of my suitcases 
 or bags or anything!" Sandy's enthusi- 
 asm increased with each new idea. "Then I'll 
 tike you across the bay to some friends of 
 mine. I'm abducting you, Maylita, don't you 
 see?" he wound up gleefully. 
 
 Her face expressed anything but the ex- 
 pected pleasure at this announcement. He 
 continued. 
 
 "My friends will keep you until we find 
 work for you. Then when you are at work, 
 and independent " he snapped his fingers 
 "no relatives in the world can get you back!" 
 
 Maylita grew rather pleased with this 
 idea. "All right," she finally agreed. "I get 
 you. I guess it's what I ought to do." 
 
 "Good girl ! Slip out tomorrow at ten and 
 f Dur. I'll be waiting to take your bundles. 
 
IMPULSES 77 
 
 Bring all you can without causing any sus- 
 picion.'' 
 
 'Oh, they don't notice what I'm up to much 
 of the time ! Ma and Claribel have their own 
 troubles." 
 
 "Is Claribel your sister?" 
 
 "I don't know. I always thought she was, 
 but she's been away a lot. Maybe she's a 
 fakir too, eh?" 
 
 "Let's give her the benefit of the doubt," 
 suggested Sandy. 
 
 "She needs it!" charitably conceded May- 
 
 lita. 
 
 The next few days were exciting ones for 
 
 the hero of this abduction case. His club saw 
 him not. "What's become of Sandy?" various 
 clubmembers enquired. No one knew. No 
 one saw him cross the bay at an unusual hour; 
 neither did anyone know of his suddenly de- 
 veloped interest in advertisement columns, 
 nor of his making numerous calls upon peo- 
 ple who might lend their aid in this conspiracy 
 without being told that it was one. 
 
 At ten and four o'clock each day a jaunty 
 little figure came down the hill, sometimes 
 happily expectant, sometimes defiant, but 
 never quite daring to defeat her abductor's 
 plans. Curiosity continued to do its work. 
 
 Sandy questioned her once or twice about 
 
78 IMPULSES 
 
 what was taking place at home. Mr. Elaine 
 had called once again. It was the morning 
 after this that Maylita was defiant, and 
 Sandy called her a "little fool." 
 
 Then the day arrived when a sober-faced 
 Maylita, half-frightened, sat in Sandy's sit- 
 ting-room for the first time and surveyed her 
 numerous parcels carefully stacked in a cor- 
 ner. Sandy had been calculating their dimen- 
 sions, and several valises stood ready. 
 
 "Come, Maylita, it's up to you. Chuck 
 them in and we'll get the next boat across." 
 
 Then the unexpected happened. "I don't 
 want to go," whined Maylita. "Say, it'll be 
 awful lonesome over there. I'd rather stay 
 here." 
 
 "Stop that!" commanded Sandy. "Do you 
 know what you're talking about, you bloom- 
 ing kid?" 
 
 "Yes, I know !" defiantly. "But what's the 
 use? I guess you're a pretty kind guy. I 
 don't know how to do no work to earn my liv- 
 ing, and what's the use, anyhow? Claribel 
 says " 
 
 "Just cut out the Claribel stuff and listen 
 to me. Do you remember what you told me 
 last week when you decided to 'light out?' ' 
 
 "Yes," she admitted. 
 
 "Well, then, that was you talking, not this 
 
IMPULSES 79 
 
 silly little goose here on my couch. That was 
 you, your real self, that girl, and she can do 
 anything she wants to do because she's big 
 and strong!" 
 
 "I ain't big and strong," sobbed Maylita, 
 throwing herself face downward on the couch. 
 
 Then for a few minutes the devil entered 
 Sandy's soul. 
 
 Sandy's name for him was "the other fel- 
 low," and he loathed him, but he loathed him- 
 self more after having listened to his prompt- 
 ing. 
 
 No, Maylita was not "big and strong," she 
 was small and frail, agreed the devil. 
 
 "But her potentialities are great," argued 
 Sandy. "With me lies the making of her 
 life." 
 
 "What have you to do with her future? 
 There she is !" urged the devil. "Her mother 
 practically gave her to you that day last week. 
 The present is yours. Why is it for you to 
 shoulder the responsibility any more than for 
 any other man?" 
 
 Sandy stood rigid, his hands clenched. To 
 make or mar? There was a middle course 
 to turn her out again and let her drift. It had 
 been through no wish of his that he had be- 
 come this girl's guardian. 
 
 Thus Maylita's fate hung upon the out- 
 
80 IMPULSES 
 
 come of a struggle between Sandy and "the 
 other fellow." 
 
 Meanwhile she lay on the couch sobbing 
 tumultuously. Perhaps the sobs turned the 
 scales for her. They were too much like those 
 of a tired, excited child. 
 
 Suddenly the devil slunk away, beaten, 
 and a gruff, profane Sandy stood, determined 
 and alone. 
 
 He strode to the couch and shook the pros- 
 trate Maylita. 
 
 "Damn you !" he shouted. "Quit that ! Get 
 up and pack your clothes. I'm going outside. 
 I'll be back here in ten minutes, do you hear? 
 I give you just that to be ready." 
 
 He was gone, but his departure was glad- 
 dened by a glimpse of the girl hurriedly sop- 
 ping her tears with a ball of a handkerchief, 
 and commencing to cram her belongings into 
 the waiting receptacles. 
 
 The trip across the bay was silent and 
 gloomy. Neither could have told whether the 
 sun shone. Even the seagulls respected their 
 mood and swooped in wide circles away from 
 them. 
 
 It was only after Sandy had returned to 
 his apartment, and was philosophically gath- 
 ering up the scattered bits of string and 
 
IMPULSES 81 
 
 paper, that he realized with a sense of tri- 
 umph that his first abduction had been suc- 
 cessfully accomplished. 
 
 All this happened several years ago. 
 Sandy's crime was never discovered; he still 
 walks the earth unpunished. 
 
 One evening last week he dined with May- 
 lita at her home across the bay. She is no 
 longer "lonesome," for in her home live also 
 her husband, and year-old son. 
 
 Sandy passed a pleasant evening there. 
 After he had said good-night, the husband fol- 
 lowed him to the door, while the young wife 
 answered the cry of the tiny boy. 
 
 "I'm glad to see you so well fixed," said 
 Sandy, making conversation as he shook him- 
 self into his much-worn overcoat. 
 
 "I tell you, it's great," responded the 
 young man. "That little girl is as square as 
 they make 'em ; but then you know what she 
 is. Maylita says she's known you a long time. 
 It's what we all need, you bet! a good 
 woman to keep us straight!" 
 
 And Sandy, smiling wisely, agreed with 
 him. 
 
THE HUMAN LOTTERY 
 
 Sandy despised Maisie with all the 
 strength of his impetuous nature, yet with the 
 exception of two well-known facts, he knew 
 nothing about her. She wore a bold, green 
 feather on an otherwise inconspicuous hat, 
 and she sold lottery tickets in all the vilest 
 dens along the water front. 
 
 Frequently he questioned his prejudice. 
 What was the woman or her occupation to 
 him? Then the green feather would flaunt 
 its hideousness in front of his harmony-loving 
 eyes, the strident tones of her voice would jar 
 once again upon his ear-drums, and with a 
 shudder he would hasten out of sight and 
 hearing. 
 
 An evening came when he voiced his emo- 
 tional opinions to his friend, Prescott. Every 
 three months Philip Prescott's steamer came 
 into port, and Prescott, a clean-cut, young sec- 
 ond officer, leaving his gaily bedecked cabin 
 with his "mascot" and other keepsakes, 
 "bunked" with Sandy during the few nights 
 on shore. 
 
IMPULSES 83 
 
 Maisie brushed against them as they were 
 about to enter the ferry building on their way 
 to dine with a suburban friend. 
 
 "There's a woman who ought to be run 
 off the earth !" grumbled Sandy. 
 
 Prescott, shifting his gaze sideways as he 
 dropped his ticket into the gateman's box, 
 glimpsed the woman's back in retreat. 
 
 "Why, that's Maisie!" 
 
 "Is it, indeed?" gibed Sandy with mild 
 surprise. "You seem to be on familiar terms 
 with the lady." 
 
 "She's not a bad sort," answered Prescott. 
 "She comes on board every trip in, and there's 
 not a man on the ship who hasn't a good word 
 for Maisie." 
 
 Sandy concealed his increased surprise. 
 "Well, I hate her," he stated emphatically. 
 The subject continued to irritate him however, 
 and half way across the bay he jerked it forth 
 again. "She's had a young girl around with 
 her recently; teaching her the tricks of the 
 trade, I suppose!" 
 
 "Yes, that's Alice." 
 
 "Alice?" Sandy was now openly curious. 
 
 "Yes young Englishwoman," volun- 
 teered Prescott. "It seems she landed here in 
 San Francisco last year with a dead husband, 
 and a kid expected." 
 
84 IMPULSES 
 
 Interest gleamed in Sandy's eyes, but a 
 casual "humph" was all he vouchsafed. It 
 was his opinion that Prescott showed undue 
 familiarity with the private history of these 
 women. 
 
 "The man died on the train near Sacra- 
 mento," continued his friend, unconscious of 
 the impression he was creating. "Maisie ran 
 across the girl in the waiting-room just after 
 the train got in. She was having some stiff 
 time, I can tell you, with a lot of dunderhead- 
 ed officials who were treating the affair as a 
 capital offence against the comfort of passen- 
 gers for a woman carelessly to allow her hus- 
 band to die on the train." 
 
 "Some women are like that!" commented 
 Sandy, siding with the officials. 
 
 "Don't be a chump, Sandy. I'm giving 
 you the straight dope. Maisie has been a good 
 friend to Alice; she's had her in tow ever 
 since." 
 
 "Well, I'm sorry for Alice. I wish she had 
 a better friend ! Of all the" 
 
 Just then the boat bumped into the ferry 
 slip, cutting in two any further invectives in- 
 tended for Maisie, and after the two men had 
 boarded the Oakland train the subject was not 
 resumed. 
 
IMPULSES 85 
 
 Meanwhile the green feather bobbed in 
 and out among the countless varieties of mil- 
 linery hurrying to catch the outbound boats. 
 Gradually in the mist its jauntiness became 
 reduced to damp, pathetic wisps clinging to 
 their wearer's indescribable hair. 
 
 The evening was a depressing one follow- 
 ing a weary day. Maisie's heart was not in 
 her work ; her tongue seemed to have lost its 
 power of persuasion. She usually knew "how 
 to talk to 'em, sure she did!" When dealing 
 with "swells" she knew just the wink and the 
 sly insinuations to make use of which drew 
 them aside and exchanged bits of pasteboard 
 for good, hard coin in a minute's time, always 
 out of sight of the nearest "cop." 
 
 Although the majority of the officers on 
 the beat knew Maisie well by sight and had a 
 pleasant speaking acquaintance with her, and 
 although each had his well-founded suspicion 
 as to her occupation, suspicion had never been 
 substantiated by fact. Facts are troublesome 
 affairs often causing endless deviations from 
 one's regular line of duty, so there existed a 
 tacit agreement allowing Maisie to pursue her 
 own untrammelled way. 
 
 Across the Embarcadero she went hoping 
 for better success among her "regulars" in 
 the numerous dens which face the ferry docks. 
 
86 IMPULSES 
 
 In these she was quite at home. Here insinu- 
 ations and hoodwinking were seldom needed. 
 
 "Hello, here's the old gal a-comin' !" joshed 
 the bleary-eyed individual who ran a choice 
 "beanery" into which many a young sailor 
 lurched when he came ashore to "blow in" his 
 wages in the few hours allowed for riotous liv- 
 ing. These young sailors were meat and 
 drink to Maisie. 
 
 "Sure, it's much better fer thim ter take a 
 uncertain chanst wid me, thin a sure drunk!" 
 she sometimes said. 
 
 Often her stout fist was called into requisi- 
 tion when her ready tongue failed to settle 
 some matter of too much familiarity on their 
 part. 
 
 "Close yer face, Maginnis," she now cas- 
 ually remarked to the bleary-eyed josher. 
 "Has Kennedy come in yet?" 
 
 "You bet, an' gone out again." 
 
 "Whyn't ye hold 'im here, ye darn fool, till 
 Oi come?" 
 
 "Me hold 'im! Guess yer ain't seen 'is 
 new mash. I tell yer what !" The bleary eyes 
 of Maginnis roved heavenward in an ecstatic 
 attempt to express something for which mere 
 words were inadequate. 
 
 "A good thing too ! Ye needn't think Oi'm 
 
IMPULSES 87 
 
 after wantin' ter stop 'im. He kin jist kape 
 'is dirty paws off en my Alice !" 
 
 "How is the purty miss?" questioned 
 Maginnis. "I ain't seen 'er this week." 
 
 "No, nor ye won't, Tom Maginnis. Oi've 
 had enough o' the loikes o' ye fer a honest girl. 
 She'll come no more aroun' here." 
 
 A water-front policeman strolled in and 
 nodded pleasantly. 
 
 Without a change of tone, owing to long 
 practice, Maisie continued. "An' jist tell 
 Kennedy Oi've got those new kind o' shoe- 
 strings he loikes, an' maybe he'd want some 
 little trifle fer 'is girl." 
 
 "Shoe-strings, is it?" Maginnis laughed 
 derisively. "All right, I'll tell 'im !" 
 
 "Cold night, Maisie," remarked the officer, 
 as she passed out into the fog. 
 
 "It is that," she answered. 
 
 Standing still a moment in the jostling, 
 cosmopolitan throng she looked southward 
 along the glittering line of lights streaming 
 from open doorways, each one attracting its 
 quota of unresisting humanity. 
 
 Trade might be good tonight. The fog 
 would drive many indoors to remain through 
 the evening, and it required only a drink or 
 two in a convivial atmosphere to loosen the 
 average man's purse strings. 
 
88 IMPULSES 
 
 An unusual distaste of it all possessed 
 Maisie. 
 
 "Aw, what's the use?" she exclaimed to a 
 hulking sailor stumbling over the curb. "Oi'm 
 goin' home." 
 
 The man leered. "Well, go on, old gal. 
 What's hinderin' yer?" 
 
 Turning northward, Maisie trudged for 
 many blocks until ferry-boat whistles, car 
 bells, and all the other city noises dropped 
 away below her in the distance. Still, the feel- 
 ing of distaste, mingled with a vague sense of 
 injustice, pursued her. Over and over again 
 the sound of a man's voice rang in her ears, 
 the voice of a man whom she knew well by 
 sight but whom she had not for a long time 
 accosted. "There's a woman who ought to be 
 run off the earth," reiterated this voice until 
 the hard sidewalks gave back the words in 
 rhythm under her weary feet, humming them 
 out of the swathing fog. 
 
 After half an hour's walk she came to the 
 foot of a flight of rickety steps. Climbing 
 these she paused to take breath. Perched on 
 the side of a steep hill with others of its kind 
 was a shabby little cottage toward which she 
 turned with a sigh of relief. From the nar- 
 row front walk she peered through a slit in 
 one of the old green shutters. A feeble light 
 
IMPULSES 89 
 
 was visible. Yes, there they were, those who 
 composed her bit of home. 
 
 One glance showed that something had 
 occurred to disturb the usual routine. A girl 
 of ten had thrown aside her school-books and 
 was trying to comfort a fair-haired young 
 woman whose pale, refined face looked mark- 
 edly out of place in its poor surroundings. A 
 boy of five sat at a shaky old table busily oc- 
 cupied with some kindergarten work. Occa- 
 sionally he glanced up with a troubled look. 
 His pudgy face bore a ludicrous resemblance 
 to the one peering through the shutter. Some- 
 thing should be done, he knew, in the way of 
 offering comfort, yet he felt his extreme youth 
 an obstacle, so he pursued his occupation in 
 stolid silence. 
 
 "Don't cry, Alice, dearie," the little girl 
 was saying. "Ma'll be in soon, then you can 
 tell her all about it." 
 
 Alice leaned her head against the dark one 
 of her little consoler. "Your mother is so 
 good to me, Maggie. I've been a lot of trou- 
 ble to her." 
 
 Then Maisie withdrew her eye from the 
 slit and tramped across the narrow porch and 
 entered. 
 
 "Here she is!" cried Maggie. 
 
 Little Bob recklessly cast aside his strips 
 
90 IMPULSES 
 
 of many-colored paper, leaped up and swung 
 joyously on his mother's arm. 
 
 "Spalpeen !" said Maisie, but her tone and 
 smile conveyed all he wished to her son, and he 
 returned to his task with a satisfied sigh. 
 
 "Well, Alice, what's the matter? What ye 
 doin' t'er, Mag?" 
 
 "Nothin', Ma. She won't tell me what's 
 the matter. She was home here when I came 
 in from school." 
 
 "She was, huh? We'll have ter see about 
 that." Maisie glanced keenly at the face of 
 the older girl. "Bring me my supper, Mag- 
 gie; thin ye kin take Bobby an' run over ter 
 Mis' Henderson's fer a bit." 
 
 "Oh, Ma, why must I?" implored Maggie, 
 torn with disappointed curiosity. 
 
 "Oi don't want none o' yer lip, Mag. Ye 
 kin do as Oi say." 
 
 "Yes'm." 
 
 "Bobby kin take 'is mats ter weave, an' 
 ye kin do yer Arithmetic jist as well over there 
 as here. Give Mis' Henderson me love, an' 
 ye needn't come back till Oi blow the horn." 
 
 It was irrevocable. Fate, in the shape of 
 a ponderous form and a broad, homely face 
 dealt thus with these two dependent little hu- 
 man beings. Forth into the fog they went 
 
IMPULSES 91 
 
 bearing colored paper and the Arithmetic book 
 to Mis' Henderson's. 
 
 "Poor children !" sighed Alice. "It's a 
 shame to send them away." 
 
 "Don't ye be botherin'. They'll be better 
 off there fer a bit. What's gone wrong, 
 girl?" 
 
 "Eat your supper, please, Maisie." Alice 
 roused herself with an effort and pushed the 
 woman toward an uninviting heap of food on 
 a tin plate which with a cup of coffee Maggie 
 had placed on the table. 
 
 "How dreadful of me! I should have 
 cooked you something fresh." 
 
 As she talked Alice relieved Maisie of the 
 green feather with its accompanying shred of 
 straw, and drew off her dingy brown jacket. 
 
 "Phew!" said Maisie with a sound be- 
 tween a puff and a sigh. "Oi'm not hungry. 
 Oi'll jist pick it over a little." 
 
 While she ate, Maisie regarded Alice curi- 
 ously, and soon pushed aside her plate. 
 
 "Let's come ter bizness. Did ye git let 
 out?" 
 
 Alice nodded. "I I let myself out. Oh, 
 Maisie, it's the same old story! I thought it 
 was going to be a good place. The work was 
 just about right for me not too hard, and I 
 thought he was going to be square. But this 
 
92 IMPULSES 
 
 afternoon "her voice grew bitter "he said 
 he wanted to make a lady of me. Well, I knew 
 what that meant, so I came home." 
 
 Maisie's expression grew menacing. "Oi'd 
 loike ter be at 'im !" she muttered. 
 
 "I've never been anything but a trouble to 
 you since the day you brought me home. Let 
 me go, Maisie nobody wants me in this 
 world; even my baby was taken from me!" 
 
 "Hush, child, don't ye be talkin' truck! 
 Did ye git a letter terday?" 
 
 "Yes." Alice produced the letter, a brief 
 one, written in an English hand. 
 
 Maisie pored over it a moment with puz- 
 zled brows. "Ye moight as well tell me what 
 it says. Oi can't mek head nor tail o' these 
 sprawly words," she finally admitted. 
 
 Short as the letter was it contained the 
 tragedy of one human being's life possibly 
 that of another. 
 
 In highly cultivated diction it set forth 
 that in view of the recipient having married 
 the writer's only son in total disregard of his 
 parents' wishes, the said parents utterly re- 
 fused to recognize the son's widow. The son 
 had ceased to exist for them when he married 
 her. She was less than nothing to them. As 
 it had come to their knowledge, however, that 
 she had brought an innocent child into the 
 
IMPULSES 93 
 
 world, they were bound in family honor, it 
 being a boy, to take the child and bring him 
 up in his English birthright. The writer was 
 glad to state that the infant had arrived safely 
 in the care of the trained nurse sent out for 
 him, and was now thriving under proper 
 nourishment and wise discipline. Despite the 
 unfortunate beginning of his young life the 
 writer trusted that in the child was the mak- 
 ing of a loyal British subject. 
 
 No more communications were desired 
 from his mother. The family wished to for- 
 get as far as possible that such a person had 
 ever existed. Having so independently ar- 
 ranged the details of her own life in the past, 
 she, no doubt, was highly competent to con- 
 duct her future in a satisfactory manner. 
 Hoping that this would be the last time that 
 the writer would be compelled to address her, 
 she signed herself et cetera . 
 
 By adopting a monotonous tone Alice was 
 able to read aloud the heartless mandate to the 
 end. It repeated only what former letters had 
 contained, but this one, in its hardness, crys- 
 tallized her life's tragedy. Her husband dead 
 her child taken from her her health a 
 slender thing, unable to stand a full day's 
 work what was there left for Alice? 
 
94 IMPULSES 
 
 "He loved me so he loved me so and 
 they cast me out!" she sobbed. 
 
 "There, there, child, there's no good iver 
 comes o' cryin'! Sure there's enough mud 
 aroun' now widout addin' ter it." 
 
 "I know, I know. But I'm so tired of try- 
 ing. I can't help it." 
 
 "Ye cudn't try the Emporium again, cud 
 ye? But, of course ye cudn't." 
 
 "I'm afraid not. I'm not so strong now as 
 I was before baby came, when I had to quit 
 work there. Let me go around with you, 
 Maisie, and help you with your work. Couldn't 
 I do that?" 
 
 "Ye moight ye moight. But there's 
 places my ugly old mug kin go where yours 
 would be sorter out o' place." 
 
 "Oh, Maisie, don't! I love your dear 
 face." 
 
 "Huh!" grunted Maisie, only partially 
 convinced. 
 
 "You'll have to find new customers, while 
 I can go to some of the old, can't I?" 
 
 "Oi'll see. Rest ternight, girlie, an' don't 
 ye worry. Jist go out an' blow that horn fer 
 the childern, will ye?" 
 
 Next moment the dismal wail of a fish- 
 horn sounded from the front porch, a familiar 
 call on the hill for Maggie and Bobby, soon 
 
IMPULSES 95 
 
 bringing them home, sleepy, but with exam- 
 ples done and mats woven for the morrow. 
 
 Through the long night hours Maisie lay 
 awake. Out in the channel at regular inter- 
 vals the fog-horn sounded its doleful warning 
 to dependent vessels. Toward morning its 
 solemn tones became a part of her fitful 
 dreams. 
 
 "Wouldn't it be foine," she thought, with 
 her rough philosophy, "if somebody'd blow a 
 horn at us ivery toime we're goin' wrong, an' 
 tell us what ter do !" 
 
 Maisie never stopped to worry over her 
 own troubles during the day, but often they 
 caught her, too weary for sleep, in the middle 
 of the night, and forced her attention; usu- 
 ally, as now, in connection with someone else. 
 
 Could she give up a portion of her trade 
 to Alice? After the experience with young 
 Kennedy and other similar ones it would be 
 wise to allow the girl to go about only among 
 the better class of customers. 
 
 Alice could not stand the rough element; 
 the vile talk, the insults, to which Maisie was 
 impervious. For a year or so Maisie's trade 
 had carried her more and more among "the 
 swells." She was proud of the fact. To her 
 it meant a distinct rise in "bizness," and she 
 looked forward to the time when she could 
 
96 IMPULSES 
 
 drop the rougher places altogether. Yet some 
 of the frequenters of these were her staunch 
 friends, no one of whom would not say a good 
 word for her when necessary. But "bizness 
 was bizness" with Maisie, and recently it had 
 become easier to dispose of a certain portion 
 of her wares, for which shoe-strings, collar- 
 buttons, and various other trifles, were only a 
 shield, among the so-called better classes. 
 
 There was pride concerning her "chil- 
 dern" in this. When Mag and little Bobby 
 were older they need not look back upon any- 
 thing of which to be ashamed in their moth- 
 er's occupation. Thus the ignorant, hard- 
 working woman reasoned. Although she well 
 knew that honest hearts often masqueraded in 
 rough places under the guise of poverty, and 
 that immaculate shirt-fronts hid some of the 
 vilest, yet respectability and success place 
 their stamp of approval upon the well set-up 
 man. Among these trade was both better and 
 pleasanter. 
 
 At present the children were well cared 
 for. One of the charitable institutions estab- 
 lished for their kind took charge of them dur- 
 ing the hours between their dismissal from 
 school and dark. Maisie daily threw up her 
 hands in surprise at the cleanly, kindergarten 
 habits her small son brought into the home. 
 
IMPULSES 97 
 
 Was she now to put a check on all this? Must 
 she lessen the sum of her earnings, and with 
 extra toil seek a new route? 
 
 Toward morning she slept lightly, and the 
 fate of Alice and her own children seemed 
 balancing in a hugh pair of scales out in the 
 channel. The fog-horn marked the over- 
 weight first on one side, then on the other. 
 Two against one Alice against her own chil- 
 dren so the changing tide and the doleful 
 horn sent them up and down these three 
 dependents upon her decision. 
 
 Morning's clear sunlight dispelled the fog, 
 also her own uncertainty. Her course was 
 decided. 
 
 "Ye'd best come along wid me," she an- 
 nounced to Alice while they were eating their 
 breakfast. "Oi've been a-thinkin' of it out, 
 an' it'll be a rale help ter have ye take some o' 
 me calls. There's the steamers comin' in an' 
 out, an' the manny, manny calls at the offi- 
 ces." 
 
 "But these are your best places, Maisie, 
 you mustn't " 
 
 "Och, sure, Oi kin get plenty more ! Niver 
 ye moind." 
 
 Alice finished her breakfast in silence. 
 Quietly she helped to put the tiny house in 
 order, and sent two neat children to school. 
 
98 IMPULSES 
 
 Then she and Maisie set forth to the day's 
 work. Up and down, in and out they went, 
 a strangely matched pair. Gradually under 
 the invigorating rays of the summer sun the 
 green feather perked up and added an air of 
 jauntiness to its owner's step. 
 
 Alice soon became weary, and by twelve 
 o'clock was ready to join the throng of work- 
 ing-women who daily congregate in the ferry 
 building to eat their noonday meal. Another 
 innovation for Maisie! For without Alice 
 could she not have carried her own hunk of 
 bread and cheese to any nearby "joint" and 
 drained a mug of beer in free fellowship and 
 comfort? 
 
 Many tired women sat furtively eating, 
 sometimes talking in groups of three or four, 
 but always with the hushed air of expecting 
 the next moment to be asked to move on. 
 
 Maisie was jubilant over her morning's 
 success. Many of her customers had taken 
 kindly to Alice and had promised to give her 
 the same consideration which they had given 
 her. Maisie's shrewd eyes had noted every 
 sign of undue interest in the girl, and some of 
 the names had been withdrawn from Alice's 
 list with prompt decision. The majority re- 
 mained, and on the whole the morning had 
 been a promising one. 
 
IMPULSES 99 
 
 "Yell soon git used ter the trampin'," said 
 Maisie when the noon hour was past "Come 
 along, we'll be movin'." 
 
 Thus it happened that at the foot of the 
 great stairway Sandy met them as he came off 
 the ferry-boat. When one is hastening to 
 catch the only car for ten minutes which will 
 suit one's purpose it tries a man's temper to 
 collide with even the fairest of earth's crea- 
 tures, but when the object is one of loathing 
 the situation becomes decidedly tense. 
 
 Sandy glared at the green feather with 
 prompt recognition. His lips framed a heart- 
 felt malediction, prevented from utterance by 
 a glimpse of Alice's delicate face ; then he hur- 
 ried on. 
 
 "That man hates me loike poison," said 
 Maisie, defiantly shrugging her shoulders in 
 Sandy's direction. 
 
 "Who is he?" 
 
 "Oi dunno. Oi guess he ain't so much his- 
 self." Maisie straightened her hat and 
 glanced a question of her companion. 
 
 "Yes, it's all right," fibbed Alice. 
 
 "Oi run inter 'im last night. He was wid 
 that young Prescott, ye know, offen the 'Mon- 
 golia.' " 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Prescott? Is he a friend of his, 
 I wonder!" 
 
100 IMPULSES 
 
 "Seems ter be." 
 
 "I didn't tell you that I used to know Mr. 
 Prescott years ago at home, Maisie. His fam- 
 ily lived near mine. He was a big boy when 
 I was a little girl." 
 
 "Hm! Is that so? Why didn't ye inter- 
 juce yerself that day when I tuk ye on board 
 instead o' standin' aroun' so dumb-like?" 
 
 "He wouldn't want to know me now," pro- 
 tested Alice shyly. 
 
 "Now, luk ahere, girl, Oi ain't advisin' ye 
 ter be too bold, but Oi tell ye it takes a lot o' 
 gall ter git along in this wurrld, an' ye've jist 
 got ter luk out fer yer chanstes wherever they 
 be. Us humans is jist shufflin' 'roun in a big 
 game anyway, same's these lottery tickets is 
 shuffled when people buy one. They all has 
 their different ways o' takin' a chanst some 
 counts, an' some spits on their han's but 
 they kin never tell when they're goin' ter draw 
 a prize. It's a hell of a game, beggin' yer par- 
 don, but it is, fer sure!" 
 
 "I know, I know. I make up my mind so 
 often that I am not going to care what any- 
 one says, and just keep on trying but " 
 
 Alice's blue eyes grew dim. She thought 
 of a husband dead, of months of ill-health, of 
 a baby in a far-distant land who would grow 
 up a stranger to her, from whom birth had 
 
I M P U L S E-S 
 
 been given. Certainly her prizes had been 
 few in this great game of which Maisie spoke. 
 
 Prizes? Her eyes cleared and she gazed 
 at the rugged form trudging beside her. 
 Where would she have been without this 
 woman's friendship? Maisie herself would 
 have been more astonished than anyone else 
 had she been told that she was Alice's great- 
 est prize drawn out of the human lottery. Yet, 
 so she was. 
 
 After a few minutes' walk they came to 
 the ocean steamer wharves, where several lin- 
 ers were docking, and the two women became 
 a part of the busy scene. Alice's fatigue was 
 forgotten. Her cheeks grew pink, and her 
 eyes bright with excitement as she learned her 
 lessons. 
 
 Maisie sized up situations with a practiced 
 eye. "Jist watch me!" she adjured her com- 
 panion. 
 
 She was familiar with every sign which 
 brought customers to her. 
 
 Among the passengers, the smoking-room 
 gambler must be approached in an altogether 
 different fashion from the "Social Hall" card 
 player. From their walk down the gang- 
 plank she judged whether their pockets were 
 full or empty, and by keeping her keen ears 
 open to conversations between custom officials 
 
S62 IMPULSES 
 
 and would-be smugglers, she often spotted her 
 best patrons. "Second Cabins" and "Steer- 
 ages," she had discovered, turned more of 
 their cash into her bag than "First Cabins," 
 but Maisie never enjoyed making sales in the 
 steerage. It was there that she pressed her 
 sales of buttons and shoe-strings in preference 
 to taking money from these poor people. The 
 richer ones well, they knew what they were 
 about. Let them take their chances. 
 
 Every now and then she introduced Alice 
 to an old customer and explained how her own 
 work was "gittin' most too much for her, and 
 she'd taken on an assistant." 
 
 Toward the latter part of the afternoon 
 they reached the great China steamer where 
 it lay unloading its cargo. On the saloon deck 
 stood Second Officer Prescott, for he was ex- 
 pecting some visitors at four o'clock. Near 
 him, lounging against the rail, was Sandy, his 
 interest centered in the busy scene below. 
 
 "Hello, Maisie! How goes it?" called 
 Prescott, as the women came near. 
 
 Maisie nodded. "Foine, sir. How's yer- 
 self?" 
 
 Alice glanced up at the two men, her shy 
 nod including them both, and Sandy, with a 
 start, discovered himself returning it. 
 
IMPULSES 103 
 
 "How's business?" continued Prescott. 
 "Wait a minute, I'm coming down." 
 
 Maisie's explanation to him as to her 
 change of route was nonchalant and elabor- 
 ate, yet failed to be convincing. 
 
 "See here, I'm not much on for this plan," 
 he announced, eyeing Alice doubtfully. 
 
 The latter colored under his gaze. What 
 right had he to object? Secretly she was glad. 
 
 "It takes a a Maisie," went on Prescott, 
 "to stand the hard knocks of a pedlar's life." 
 
 "Sure Oi've made a picked list fer Alice," 
 interposed her manager proudly. "What's 
 this ye call it? It's it's expurggated, it is. 
 Sure me bizness is so big Oi cud niver manage 
 the half of it anny more." 
 
 Again the young officer eyed her keenly. 
 He saw through her little ruse, and he paid 
 tribute to the big, kind heart which prompted 
 it. 
 
 "You're a trump, Maisie. May I look over 
 the list?" 
 
 "Here it is," said Alice, giving him a small 
 memorandum book from her shabby bag. 
 
 Prescott wished to talk over this matter 
 with Maisie. There were some things he 
 wanted to say to her which were not suitable 
 for Alice's pretty ears. How could it be man- 
 
104 IMPULSES 
 
 aged? Glancing up he saw Sandy, still intent 
 upon the group of busy workmen below. How 
 many stories he had read in their grimy faces 
 only Sandy knew. 
 
 From time to time the wind wafted the 
 sound of Prescott's and the women's voices up 
 to him, but a characteristic fit of contrariness 
 was upon him, and he preferred to ignore 
 Prescott's visitors. The annoyance of the en- 
 counter at the ferry still rankled. Suddenly 
 his friend's voice was directed toward him. 
 
 "Sandy, ahoy !" he shouted. "I wish you'd 
 come down here. I want you to meet some 
 friends of mine." 
 
 A devil of mischief possessed him. He de- 
 liberately braved the reckoning which he 
 knew would be his later. Sandy's look of grim 
 surprise furnished the young officer with 
 enough amusement at the present moment to 
 compensate for future misery. 
 
 Sandy did not hurry, but in due time, with 
 only partially concealed ire, he joined the 
 group. 
 
 Prescott presented him with ceremony, 
 but came to a surprised halt over Maisie's 
 name. "Mrs. Mrs. ," he stammered. 
 
 She laughed good-naturedly. "Och, cut 
 out the Missis! Iverybody calls me Maisie. 
 Sure, they've all fergotten the rest, includin' 
 
IMPULSES 105 
 
 meself!" 
 
 In spite of himself, Sandy smiled. Could 
 there be, after all, something more to the 
 woman than the green feather and the lot- 
 tery tickets? 
 
 But what was this which that fiend, 
 Prescott, was saying? 
 
 "Miss Alice is interested in steamers, San- 
 dy. Suppose you show her over the quarters 
 a bit while I have a business deal with 
 Maisie." 
 
 Alice doubtfully surveyed her proposed es- 
 cort, but Sandy, always ready for the unex- 
 pected, took the dare. It only elaborated the 
 details of the day of reckoning for Prescott. 
 
 "With pleasure," he answered, to Alice's 
 surprise, and together they ascended the 
 gangway and disappeared, leaving Prescott 
 and Maisie to arrange the girPs future be- 
 tween them. 
 
 On board the great steamer a busy crew 
 was scrubbing and cleaning, putting every- 
 thing in order for sailing. Sandy conducted 
 the girl up and down companionways, through 
 "Social Hall" and dining saloon, with few 
 comments. 
 
 Several of the state-rooms also came in for 
 inspection as well as two or three of the offi- 
 cers' apartments. They paused at the door of 
 
106 IMPULSES 
 
 the Second Officer's cabin. It stood open. 
 Alice looked in with curious eyes. 
 
 It was a gay little place, hung with 
 streamers, posters, photographs, and other 
 sentimental mementos from many climes. 
 
 "Is is he married?" she asked, curiosity 
 getting the better of her timidity. 
 
 "Not he! He's the typical sailor, a sweet- 
 heart in every port." 
 
 "Oh!" Alice involuntarily stepped for- 
 ward. Across the narrow cabin she could see 
 distinctly a row of photographs on the mirror 
 shelf above the dresser. The central picture 
 was a tiny old-fashioned one of a little girl 
 about five years old. A pretty wooden frame 
 encircled it, and at the top the words, "My 
 Mascot," shone in gold. 
 
 "Oh!" again exclaimed Alice, and sat 
 down quickly on the divan under the porthole. 
 
 "Eh?" questioned Sandy, alarmed. He 
 did not favor the idea of a fainting girl on his 
 hands. 
 
 "He does remember me," Sandy thought 
 he heard Alice say, but he could not be sure. 
 The girl composed herself quickly, and with- 
 out another look at the photograph left the 
 cabin followed by a puzzled escort. Sandy 
 said nothing until they reached the "Social 
 Hall" again which was now deserted. 
 
IMPULSES 107 
 
 "Something is troubling you. Can I do 
 anything?" he asked. 
 
 Sandy's voice could be very kind. It was 
 so now, holding a note of encouragement 
 which was irresistible. All at once Alice 
 found herself pouring a torrent of confidences 
 into his willing ears. Somehow people always 
 did confide in Sandy when he was willing. 
 
 She did not tell him why, but the sight of 
 the little framed photograph on Prescott's 
 dresser had started a chain of memories in the 
 girl's mind. Seated there in the quiet saloon 
 of the great ocean liner, she narrated in brief, 
 excited sentences, the important events of her 
 life. Her account of the unhappiness of the 
 past three years ending in the goodness of 
 Maisie was somewhat jumbled. Sandy tried 
 to pin her down to facts, not understanding 
 the reason of her strange excitement, and 
 finally succeeded. 
 
 He listened to an unusual eulogy from a 
 girl of Alice's refined, sensitive character on 
 a woman of Maisie's type. He was told of the 
 harsh treatment received from the relatives- 
 in-law in England, and how, but for Maisie's 
 sheltering wing, Alice would have been home- 
 less. 
 
 Sandy heard all this in a daze of revulsion. 
 
108 IMPULSES 
 
 He was assailed by self -accusing thoughts, yet 
 at each one he retreated behind a barricade 
 composed of a flaunting green feather and a 
 bunch of lottery tickets. 
 
 "And I'll start out alone tomorrow. She 
 has given me a list of names, and I'm going to 
 help her all I can, selling buttons and tape, 
 and er tickets," he heard. 
 
 "You are?" he shouted, sadly beset. His 
 voice, resounding through the quiet saloon, 
 struck Prescott, entering, with alarm. 
 
 "What's the matter?" he cried. 
 
 "Oh, nothing! We are just coming out. 
 Miss Alice has seen enough." 
 
 Prescott regarded them intently, and 
 Alice's gaze dropped before his. How could 
 she summon up the courage to "interjuce" 
 herself as Maisie had suggested! In great 
 trepidation she went down on to the pier fol- 
 lowed by the two men. All the way she felt 
 the eyes of the young officer upon her, and 
 sensed an approaching climax. Maisie was 
 waiting for them, and lost no time in bring- 
 ing the situation to a head. 
 
 "Alice has a little surprise fer ye, Mr. 
 Prescott," she announced. 
 
 The girl looked at her appealingly but 
 Maisie relentlessly continued, a beaming smile 
 illuminating her broad, Irish face. 
 
IMPULSES 109 
 
 "Tell 'im yer family name, girl; let's see 
 if he has anny memory left o' the old days." 
 
 Alice had few words at her command just 
 then, and they came haltingly. "I'm I'm 
 Alice Leslie Phil." 
 
 Prescott gazed at her with stupefaction. 
 Then a great burst of light staggered him. 
 How had he been so stupid ! In that moment 
 he knew the why of his ever-increasing inter- 
 est in Maisie's protegee. 
 
 "Alice !" he cried. "Why, of course you're 
 Alice! What an idiot I've been not to know 
 you all along!" 
 
 "Why should you remember me? It's 
 been so long and I have changed and " 
 
 "Changed! Why, Alice, you haven't 
 changed a bit, now that my eyes are open. Do 
 you know what you've done all these years? 
 You've traveled around the world with me and 
 been my mascot!" 
 
 Sandy had fears for his friend's sanity, 
 but Alice understood and smiled happily. 
 
 "That silly little photo ! Fancy your keep- 
 ing it all this time!" 
 
 There was much more to be said, but just 
 then a party of people with great chatter and 
 laughter alighted from a machine at the head 
 of the pier. 
 
110 IMPULSES 
 
 "Hang it all, there's my company!" grum- 
 bled Prescott. 
 
 Sandy's self-satisfied world was tumbling 
 topsy-turvy. Usually he was the rebel against 
 social functions, and now behold the hospit- 
 able Second Officer repudiating invited 
 guests ! 
 
 "I'll see you this evening," Prescott hastily 
 continued. "My friends are here; you will 
 have to excuse me now." 
 
 As Maisie and Alice left the pier the sound 
 of gay greetings came to them, and the girl's 
 heart grew heavy; yet through her sadness 
 one happy thought came. After all she was 
 not altogether forgotten. While the world 
 had given her above the average share of mis- 
 fortune, all unknown to herself she had lived 
 in someone's life under the magic title of 
 "Mascot!" 
 
 Later, when Prescott thought that the 
 time for his settlement with Sandy had come, 
 he found that individual strangely non-com- 
 mittal. He made little comment while Pres- 
 cott narrated many incidents concerning the 
 child, Alice, and himself during their early 
 years. 
 
 "They moved away; her father met with 
 reverses, and we lost all trace of them. I sup- 
 pose they had a lot of pride and sort of lost 
 
IMPULSES 111 
 
 their grip on the world. I've never forgotten 
 my little chum." 
 
 He was standing in front of the mirror as 
 he spoke, and picked up his mascot's picture. 
 
 "Oh!" ejaculated Sandy, comprehending 
 at last Alice's sudden collapse in Prescott's 
 cabin. 
 
 "Yes," continued his friend dreamily, 
 even used to call her my little sweetheart, but 
 now of course " 
 
 "But now of course!" gibed Sandy. 
 
 The settlement came then, and pillows and 
 divan cushions were the chief weapons, but 
 books and other handy trifles were also used 
 until two breathless combatants cried "quits!" 
 
 That evening Prescott and Sandy called at 
 the shabby little cottage on the hill. Over the 
 channel not a trace of fog lingered. The dole- 
 ful voice of the horn was silent. The scales 
 were evenly balanced that night, and tired 
 Maisie slept soundly. 
 
 Next morning in spite of opposition Alice 
 started out alone on her new business venture. 
 
 Three months later the "Mongolia" was 
 again in port. Sandy and Philip Prescott 
 were enjoying their usual quarterly period of 
 comradeship, yet the latter was unaccountably 
 busy at times over matters which took him 
 away from his friend. 
 
112 IMPULSES 
 
 On the third morning Sandy received a 
 telephone message at the office. Prescott's 
 voice greeted him. 
 
 "Hello! That you, Sandy? Say, I want 
 you to have a quiet little wedding in your 
 rooms tonight." 
 
 "Wed ?" gasped the amazed Sandy. 
 
 "Yes, Alice and I are going to be married. 
 We'll go away into the country for a few days. 
 I've got a transfer from the home office for a 
 commission on another route, so next week 
 we're going to sail as guests on my own ship." 
 
 "B but !" stammered Sandy. 
 
 "We'll have the ceremony about eight 
 o'clock ; and, I say, old man, I'll depend upon 
 you to bring Maisie. No other guests. So 
 long!" 
 
 Sandy fell away from the receiver bereft 
 of speech and consecutive thought. All that 
 day life's perplexities whirled through his 
 brain. He yielded up his apartment as though 
 weddings were nightly occurrences therein, 
 and stood by dumbly watching the few neces- 
 sary preparations taking place. He was los- 
 ing his friend. One big protest was in his 
 heart. It included Alice, weddings, and above 
 all, Maisie. 
 
 Seven-thirty, nevertheless, found him and 
 Maisie walking toward his apartment. It 
 
IMPULSES 113 
 
 was a considerable distance from the shabby 
 little cottage, yet Sandy chose to walk. The 
 green feather had decided the matter. To en- 
 ter a street car in company with that flaunt- 
 ing plume was one step further than his pres- 
 ent state of mind could carry him. Then 
 suppose the Blue-Eyed Lady should happen to 
 see them ! How could he ever explain ! 
 
 "If she wears that feather tonight/' he 
 had thought earlier in the day, "we walkl 
 Otherwise " 
 
 So seven-thirty discovered them trudging 
 companionably down the hill. 
 
 To the green feather Maisie had added a 
 cerise pompom. This, she thought, gave an 
 appropriate touch to the present festive occa- 
 sion. A pair of cheap white gloves covered 
 her capable red hands. Maisie was quite pre- 
 pared to do honor to her friends. 
 
 Half an hour later Alice took another 
 chance in the great Human Lottery. Simul- 
 taneously Prescott took his also. 
 
 "Why didn't you try long ago to get a bet- 
 ter job, Maisie?" asked Sandy, as they walked 
 away after toasting an exceedingly happy 
 pair. 
 
 Maisie had mentioned having to take up 
 Alice's work again herself. 
 
114 IMPULSES 
 
 She looked at him with mild scorn. The 
 green feather trembled. 
 
 "Sure, Oi guess whin ye've got two young 
 uns yellin' around fer food ye ain't got much 
 toime ter wait fer a swell job ter come yer 
 way. Oi had ter take the first chanst Oi got. 
 It paid well, an' Oi kep' it. Oi don't fool no- 
 body. Whin my ole man played me the scurvy 
 trick an' run off Oi niver had no toime ter 
 choose. The chanst jist came an' Oi tuk it. 
 Life's jist all a big chanst, ain't it, Mr. Sandy? 
 May&ee a better wan'll come me way some 
 day!" 
 
 All green feather and lottery ticket bar- 
 riers toppled and were strewn behind them as 
 they climbed the hill, and Sandy said "good- 
 night" at Maisie's door with more respect 
 than he would have paid royalty. 
 
 Slowly he walked away again to his now 
 deserted apartment pondering these truths in 
 his heart 
 
 A week later the "Mongolia" steamed 
 through the Golden Gate. On board were Sec- 
 ond Officer Prescott and his living "Mascot," 
 while once more the green feather appeared, 
 fluttering up and down the docks of incoming 
 and outgoing vessels. 
 
"AND A LITTLE CHILD SHALL 
 LEAD THEM" 
 
 Late one afternoon a pale young woman 
 sat at an upper window in an apartment- 
 house near the outskirts of the city. The light 
 was fading, and she moved closer and closer 
 to the pane to catch the last rays of light on 
 her sewing. Under her clever fingers a fash- 
 ionable outfit for a cheap doll was nearing 
 completion. 
 
 Finally she held up the result, balanced 
 on her hand, surveying it with a weary smile 
 of satisfaction. Bless the kiddie, how her 
 eyes would shine when she saw it! Think of 
 her being five years old day after tomorrow ! 
 How the months and years had flown since 
 those dread days preceding the baby's coming, 
 when the future had looked so hopeless ! 
 
 Just now the outlook was not altogether 
 promising either, but she was feeling stronger 
 the last day or so, and soon she hoped to be 
 able to resume work. While the young wom- 
 an twirled on her fingers, with all the pleas- 
 
116 IMPULSES 
 
 ure of a girl, the dainty little figure of her 
 creation, the room door opened, and an older 
 woman, clothed in street attire, entered. 
 
 "Hello, Rosie! Why are you home so 
 early? What's up?" 
 
 "Nothing much. I just thought Fd run 
 out and see how you were getting along. How 
 goes it, Blue?" 
 
 "I'm fine," answered the other, her words 
 belied by the weariness with which she leaned 
 back in her chair, the doll slipping from her 
 limp hand. 
 
 "See here," scolded Rosie, "didn't I tell 
 you to keep quiet and not be working over 
 that fool stuff?" 
 
 Rosie brushed the doll aside, and stood 
 over the girl she called "Blue," looking down 
 at her with half -reproachful, half -loving eyes. 
 
 "Now, Rosie, quit your bluffing," smiled 
 Blue Belle wanly. "You know I had to finish 
 that, or Daisy wouldn't have any birthday 
 present." 
 
 "When's the kid's birthday?" demanded 
 the other. 
 
 "Day after tomorrow." 
 
 "Is that so? Well, there's no use o' your 
 giving her a funeral for a birthday present. 
 Listen! Come along over here and lie down 
 and quit your nonsense !" 
 
IMPULSES 117 
 
 Half lifting the weak form, Rosie Myers, 
 cabaret dancer and entertainer of sorts, led 
 Blue Belle to the bed. Making her lie down, 
 she threw a light spread over her, then began 
 laying aside her own outdoor garments. 
 
 "I don't know yet why you're home so 
 early," said Blue Belle. 
 
 "Humph! Henderson's on the tirade 
 again. He don't believe you've been sick, 
 and" 
 
 The girl on the bed raised herself hur- 
 riedly and stared at the other with wide eyes. 
 
 "Why, Rosie, surely you told him I'd be 
 back again in a few days?" 
 
 "Lie down, girl ! There I won't tell you 
 any more unless you do as I say." 
 
 "All right, I'm down," smiled Blue. "Go 
 on." 
 
 "He thinks I'm lying about you, being such 
 a liar himself. 'See here, Henderson,' I says, 
 'you leave it to me when she comes back. The 
 girl's been sick all right. I'll have her on 
 hand again day after tomorrow, sure.' 
 
 " 'Well, she'd better be here,' he says, 'or 
 she'll be losing her job. I can't be holding it 
 for her much longer.' " 
 
 "Day after tomorrow ! Oh, Rosie, I want- 
 ed just that one day for Daisy ! Couldn't he 
 make it one more day, I wonder?" 
 
118 IMPULSES 
 
 Rosie's dark, florid face, with its carefully 
 manipulated "street make-up" rather the 
 worse for wear, assumed a menacing expres- 
 sion. 
 
 "I'll see to that if I have to, well, no mat- 
 ter ! You listen to me. You behave yourself 
 like you oughter, and we'll all chip in and give 
 the kid such a party like she never had, be- 
 lieve me\" 
 
 "Oh, Rosie, you're an old sweet!" sighed 
 Blue. 
 
 "Aw, cut it out!" said Rosie. "Hender- 
 son's got another girl down there, from Car- 
 doni's, to take your place, but natchally she 
 don't fit the bill. You can't find a Blue Belle 
 in a hurry, you betcher! But I tells him, I 
 says, 'Why don't you pay us girls a few dol- 
 lars more and keep us alive? You make 
 enough on the drinks, the rotten stuff !' I says. 
 Lord, he was mad ! 'I manages my business 
 to suit myself, Miss Myers,' he says." 
 
 "You'd better not talk that way to him," 
 warned Blue Belle. "Don't you run any risks 
 with your own job." 
 
 "I guess he knows which side his bread's 
 buttered on," responded Miss Myers complac- 
 ently. "I could just yank all those girls away 
 if I'd a mind to, not that they'd be much loss ! 
 The most of 'ems the sweet, sappy sort, ain't 
 
IMPULSES 119 
 
 got no pep. Takes you to put the jazz into 
 'em, Blue." 
 
 Blue smiled again faintly. Not much 
 "jazz" left in her tonight, that was sure. 
 
 "Tell him to give me two more days, Ro, 
 that's all I ask. He's not paying me my fif- 
 teen a week, so what does he care!" 
 
 "He says the line of custom you bring in is 
 falling off." 
 
 "Tell him I'll work harder than ever on 
 the side when I get back, I sure will." A bit- 
 ter look crept into her wonderful eyes. 
 "There's not much use of my holding myself 
 so high, Rosie. Joe's gone for good. I sort of 
 set this birthday of Daisy's as the limit. She's 
 five years old now. If he'd wanted me, or 
 cared anything for her, he'd Ve come back by 
 now. What's the use she's got to have an 
 education and everything! I give in." 
 
 Blue's face was turned to the wall, and 
 silence lasted for several minutes in the little 
 room. 
 
 "It'll be all right, don't you fret," encour- 
 aged the ever-optimistic Rosie, whose experi- 
 ence as a one-time chorus girl, now risen to 
 her present status of cabaret dancer, and 
 coach to the new girls, made her conscious of 
 an assured position in the community where- 
 of all persons of the opposite sex were to be 
 
120 IMPULSES 
 
 either scorned or conciliated as the occasion 
 demanded. 
 
 "What do you say to a cheese sandwich 
 and a bucket o' 'suds' for your supper? I'll 
 run down to the corner for 'em." 
 
 "I couldn't eat a bite. Bring me a milk- 
 shake, like an angel." 
 
 "Milk-shake !" exclaimed Rosie scornfully. 
 "How do you expect to get any strength in 
 you, girl?" 
 
 "Oh, well, fix it up anyway you like! I'll 
 take it." Once again the girl's face was 
 turned to the wall, and Rosie, after a mo- 
 ment's thought, went out and slammed the 
 door. 
 
 Then silence deepened in the room, and 
 darkness slowly came, while a little birthday 
 doll in gay, fashionable clothes, lay face 
 downward on the floor near the window. 
 
 The "Merry Whirl" cafe, run by "Spike" 
 Henderson, did a rousing business at all times, 
 but especially on the days when many vessels 
 were in port, and the sailors came ashore on 
 leave. This was during the period when the 
 "lid was off," and countless numbers of the 
 youth of both sexes strayed at will among the 
 damning red lights of the great city. 
 
 The "Merry Whirl" was one of the most 
 
IMPULSES 121 
 
 popular of the eating-places near the water- 
 front, and, on the whole, well run. Hender- 
 son prided himself on catering to the so-called 
 "better class" of cafe patrons. On the sur- 
 face respectability reigned. It was never defi- 
 nitely known just what standing his enter- 
 tainers held in the community. Presumably 
 they went each night after their strenuous 
 contributions to the evening's program to vir- 
 tuous homes. It was none of Henderson's af- 
 fair what happened to them out of cabaret 
 hours. He would have thought them fools, 
 however, if they did not take advantage of fol- 
 lowing up opportunities offered them during 
 that time. 
 
 The munificent sum of fifteen dollars a 
 week to the ordinary dancers was barely 
 enough to keep them from starvation, after 
 the price of costumes and room rent was de- 
 ducted. Even Blue Belle, whose drawing val- 
 ue was so great, received no more than that, 
 save on rare occasions when her services were 
 demanded for extra "turns." Rosie Myers, 
 holding the proud position of coach as well as 
 dancer, received the fabulous sum of eighteen 
 dollars a week. With this she paid a small 
 portion of her expenses. Rosie was extrava- 
 gant in her tastes, and money ran through her 
 careless fingers to needy relatives or to fur- 
 
122 IMPULSES 
 
 nish her own broad back with seasonable at- 
 tire. 
 
 Several hours later in the evening, after 
 having given Blue Belle the milk-shake, and 
 tucked her comfortably into bed, Rosie was re- 
 sponding to uproarious applause from a mix- 
 ture of sailors, soldiers, ordinary men, and 
 their girls, in great numbers, all seated at 
 small tables around which swayed and circled 
 films of grey-blue smoke, while ice clinked, 
 and glasses were filled and refilled unstint- 
 ingly. 
 
 Rosie glanced nonchalantly out over the 
 crowd, knowing full well that her own good- 
 nature played a large part in her favorable 
 reception, for youth and grace were gradu- 
 ally disappearing with the years. 
 
 Entering at that moment from the street 
 were two unattached men, one a well-known 
 frequenter of the place, the other a stranger. 
 
 They stood for a few minutes surveying 
 the gay scene, while Rosie descended from the 
 platform and stopped to give and take all sorts 
 of badinage. She had seen the two men enter, 
 and "spotted" a new man, but she was diplo- 
 matically blind at the moment to their pres- 
 ence. 
 
 "Some gay little place, eh, Sandy?" ex- 
 claimed the taller of the two, Ralph Carlton, 
 
IMPULSES 123 
 
 special column writer on one of the evening 
 papers. 
 
 "You bet you !" agreed the smaller, brown- 
 haired one, alert at once to all the possibilities 
 presented. 
 
 "See here, you must meet the powers that 
 be Chef Henderson's around somewhere. 
 Hello, Rosie, how's every little thing? Allow 
 me to present my friend." 
 
 Rosie's start of pleased surprise was well- 
 feigned, also her assumption of the high-class 
 society "dame" awaiting a properly formal 
 introduction. 
 
 "Why, Mr. Carlton, where did you spring 
 from? And er ?" An enquiring pause. 
 
 "Miss Myers, meet my best friend, the re- 
 nowned and " 
 
 "Oh, cut out all that dope, Ralph!" broke 
 in a burry, old-country voice. "Don't listen 
 to him, Miss Myers ; he's nuts, you know. I'm 
 not renowned at all, and my friends all call 
 me Sandy." 
 
 "But I am hardly in that class yet," de- 
 murely protested Miss Myers. 
 
 "I have a bet with myself that you soon 
 will be," audaciously declared Sandy. 
 
 "I can see that you're a cutey, all right," 
 was her quick response. 
 
 Rosie was in her element now, and Sandy 
 
124 IMPULSES 
 
 could follow a lead as well as the next one. 
 Wending their way in and out among the 
 mass of tables, they found one to their liking, 
 leaving Carlton to follow, amazed, at the erst- 
 while blase Sandy who had shown no interest 
 whatever only an hour previous to being 
 shown this "peach" of a resort. Miss Myers, 
 it seemed, had now finished her part on the 
 evening's bill ; her duties, except those of host- 
 ess, were over. 
 
 Carlton's pretense of jealousy over the at- 
 tentions paid her by his friend, delighted her, 
 and with the addition of a bountiful supper 
 ordered by the two men, in which a plentiful 
 supply of drinks played a part, Rosie settled 
 down to the full enjoyment of the evening. 
 
 "I say, Rosie, I came here specially tonight 
 to introduce my friend to the Queen. Where 
 is she?" 
 
 Rosie's air of injury was superb. Sandy 
 took up the cudgels in her defense. 
 
 "I have already met the Queen," he lied 
 gallantly, bowing over his glass toward the 
 lady. "What are you talking about, Ralph?" 
 
 "Oh, fudge! Rosie knows who I mean. 
 Where's Blue Belle? I haven't seen her for 
 two weeks." 
 
 For a moment Rosie's countenance 
 
IMPULSES 125 
 
 changed, but habit held the joy lines, and she 
 laughed. 
 
 "Oh, she's all right! She can't waste her 
 time down here every night. She's a winner, 
 Blue Belle is ; I'm proud of that girl, she does 
 credit to my teaching." 
 
 "Are you giving us the low-down, Rosie?" 
 
 "Sure, what do you think?" 
 
 "Well, Blue Belle's always been square 
 with me, and I'd hate to think " 
 
 "Well, stop thinkin', what's the use ! Blue 
 Belle's on the high now, believe me! What'll 
 you have, boys?" 
 
 They had "another," and under its influ- 
 ence Rosie waxed even more genial, while the 
 music wailed on, and a girl in Portola colors 
 "interpreted" her own erroneous idea of a 
 snake-charmer. 
 
 "Blue Belle's one of the clever sort," con- 
 fided Rosie in Sandy's ear. 
 
 "I don't like 'em clever," he growled, his 
 fit of ennui rushing back upon him. Suddenly 
 Rosie, Carlton, the music, the drinking, gorg- 
 ing crowd all their tribe sickened him, and 
 he sought means of a swift escape. 
 
 "Well, not too clever," amended Rosie. 
 "She'll be back to work Friday. Blow in then, 
 you'll like her. She's the lively little dancer; 
 
126 IMPULSES 
 
 am I right, Ralphie? And so sweet and 
 good!" 
 
 "Sure thing!" agreed Carlton, with a 
 wink at Sandy. Then, during a burst of ap- 
 plause accorded the "interpretation," he 
 whispered a few words in his friend's ear in 
 regard to the possible advances that might be 
 made along the road of Blue Belle's "good- 
 
 ness." 
 
 "Just the same, I don't like the idea of her 
 giving us the go-by down here," he continued 
 aloud. "I don't fancy these high-toned dames 
 myself, neither does Sandy." 
 
 "7 should say not! None of them in 
 mine," muttered the latter. 
 
 "You can just tell Blue Belle that she can 
 go to the place that rhymes with her name, for 
 all of me ! Tell her I brought a swell gent, my 
 best friend" 
 
 "Hear, hear!" murmured Sandy. 
 
 "down here to meet her tonight. He 
 was all out of sorts and wanted a good time, 
 and here's she's gone back on us like this !" 
 
 "Let's have another," irrelevantly inter- 
 posed Rosie, and until "another" was served 
 following her imperious command to a waiter, 
 her attention could not be claimed by either 
 of the two men. 
 
 "Here's hoping!" she smiled, raising her 
 
IMPULSES 127 
 
 glass, and the ceremonial took place amid the 
 usual serious smacking of lips. "Now I've 
 got a swell plan. You two come out to the 
 house tomorrow for lunch, and I'll arrange 
 a meeting for you with Blue Belle. I'll see if 
 she can manage to sneak off from one of her 
 engagements and give us an hour or two on 
 the quiet. She'll give you a good time all 
 right," pointedly to Sandy. "And I guess I 
 can take care of my little friend here at the 
 same time." 
 
 She smiled fondly at Carlton, leaning 
 lazily back in her chair. Rosie was complete- 
 ly and supremely happy at the moment. 
 
 "Well, I don't exactly know whether we 
 can," temporized Carlton, seeing no deep in- 
 terest depicted in Sandy's face, and hesitat- 
 ing to bring down a characteristic string of 
 maledictions upon his own unfortunate head 
 later. "We're not much on for parties, you 
 know, and " 
 
 "Parties? Who said it was a party?" pro- 
 tested Rosie. "Just an exclusive little 
 what's this your Lady Society Column calls 
 it ? 'Foursome,' that's it! Come on now, 
 don't be tights!" 
 
 "You're too high-priced for us, Rosie," 
 laughed Carlton. "We're poor working-men." 
 
 "Who's talking about any price? You 
 
128 IMPULSES 
 
 make me tired. Bring a few bottles of beer 
 with you, that's enough." 
 
 He glanced dubiously at his friend, ex- 
 pecting a rebuff, but received the result of an 
 impulse instead. 
 
 "I shall be delighted," declared Sandy. 
 
 "What time did you say those gents would 
 be here?" Blue Belle asked Rosie the follow- 
 ing morning. 
 
 "I set a real swell time for lunch, one- 
 thirty," she answered, hurriedly running a 
 sweeper over the cheap carpet, and banging it 
 noisily against the sewing-machine, around 
 which bits of cloth, silk, and threads were 
 scattered. "I do wish Mother Sullivan would 
 pick up her scraps when she gets through." 
 
 "She was awful late last night finishing 
 the skirt of Maine's costume," said Blue Belle. 
 "Poor soul, she was one tired old woman!" 
 
 "Well, it's about time Mame had a new 
 one. She'd soon be falling clear out of the 
 old one." 
 
 The carpet-sweeper was emphatically 
 placed out in the hall, and Rosie began to 
 wield a cock's plume duster with whirlwind 
 results. 
 
 "Here, let me do that," said Blue Belle, 
 trying to take the duster into her own hands. 
 
IMPULSES 129 
 
 "Not on your life. You're the swell dame 
 today. Go and put on your blue velvet, and 
 do your hair all pretty. Remember now, 
 you've just broken away from your other en- 
 gagements for an hour or so, on the q. t. for 
 the sake of old friends. I don't know how this 
 new guy will pan out. He may not be a live 
 one, but I thought it worth trying." 
 
 Blue Belle's eyes filled. She looked away 
 and shivered nervously, as Rosie's duster 
 made jarring sounds on the piano keys, and 
 several sheets of music fluttered to the floor. 
 She stooped and picked them up. 
 
 "I wish you hadn't asked them to come to- 
 day." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "I wanted to fix some little things for kid- 
 die's party tomorrow, and 
 
 "Oh, don't you worry! You'll have time 
 for that all right. We'll all stick in. Mother 
 Sullivan promised to give something, you 
 know, and I'll run down to the corner after 
 they're gone and order some ice cream and 
 cakes, and " 
 
 "Oh, Rosie, you mustn't!" 
 
 "See here, who's doing this? You're aw- 
 fully in my way. I wish you'd go and dress. 
 I've got to coach Mame in her new solo before 
 
130 IMPULSES 
 
 lunch; she's got to put it over this evening." 
 
 "Where is Mame?" 
 
 "Cooking lunch; where'd you suppose? I 
 began it, but I had to break away to do this." 
 
 "Oh!" said Blue Belle, and hurried out 
 into the kitchen where frowzy-haired, black- 
 eyed Mame, during the humdrum process of 
 getting lunch for Blue's "swell friends", was 
 enlivening the odd moments by rehearsing her 
 "turn" in the narrow space between stove and 
 sink. 
 
 "Go along and try over your song, Mame ; 
 Rosie's waiting for you," urged Blue. "I'll 
 do this." She took the egg-beater from 
 Mame's unresisting hand, and the latter van- 
 ished into the living-room. 
 
 All was in order when, about two hours 
 later, the guests arrived. 
 
 Mame, in neat cap and apron, her frowzy 
 hair smoothed hastily, showed them into the 
 living-room. Blue Belle was a trifle late in 
 appearing, but Rosie graciously arose from 
 the piano stool whither the ring at the door- 
 bell had sent her a moment before, with an air 
 of having been pleasantly interrupted. 
 
 "Hello, boys!" she greeted them genially. 
 "Come in; glad to see you." 
 
 "Don't let us disturb you, keep right on," 
 suggested Carlton. 
 
IMPULSES 131 
 
 Sandy tried to nod pleasantly, hoping that 
 she wouldn't. 
 
 "I'm only too glad to be interrupted," she 
 said gaily. "Such a relief to do something 
 else once in awhile!" 
 
 "Must be," agreed Sandy, his gaze roving 
 alertly about the room while he made mental 
 notes of what he saw. The dust was not now 
 apparent, having been moved by the cock's 
 plume duster from the furniture to the many- 
 hued carpet. The music scattered on the pi- 
 ano showed only an artistic confusion to be ex- 
 pected in this home. There were few orna- 
 ments. Several empty bottles, and glasses, 
 stood on a side-table quite naturally as a part 
 of the household life. Books, magazines, 
 where were they? he wondered. Some fash- 
 ion papers lay about. For other reading mat- 
 ter this busy set of women had no time. Their 
 only books were the stories gossiped about in 
 the lives around them. The world news they 
 read in headlines held high in the newsboys' 
 hands. 
 
 All this and more suggested itself to San- 
 dy's psychic sense, while Carlton "joshed" 
 with Rosie and wondered where Blue Belle 
 kept herself. 
 
 "She came in about three minutes before 
 
132 IMPULSES 
 
 you did," fibbed Rosie. "Didn't you see her 
 limousine drive away?" 
 
 "No, we didn't!" laughed Carlton loudly, 
 while Sandy wondered how he did it. 
 
 "Well, here's herself now," said Rosie, 
 with the air of announcing a personage. 
 
 The blue velvet matched Blue Belle's eyes. 
 It was of a fair quality, and Mother Sullivan 
 considered it her "cheff doovrer" in the way 
 of costume making. "Straight out of 
 'Vogue,' " Rosie was fond of telling her. 
 
 A bit of rouge and pink powder erased the 
 tired lines and concealed the pallor of yester- 
 day. Blue Belle's hair was tastefully dressed. 
 Apparently she looked her own vivacious, 
 pretty self, as Rosie proudly introduced 
 Sandy. 
 
 "He don't seem to have no name, Blue." she 
 laughed. "Mr. Man, meet my chum, Miss 
 Lamson." 
 
 Sandy scarcely heard the words, although 
 he mechanically murmured a greeting. Sur- 
 prise at the type of girl confronting him held 
 him dumb a moment. 
 
 She accepted his apparent homage with 
 little interest. She was accustomed to it; it 
 was a pose all men adopted under similar cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 Today it was an understood thing, that 
 
IMPULSES 133 
 
 she was to give this stranger a "good time," 
 in exchange for a pecuniary recompense, but 
 why become unduly excited about it? She 
 greeted Ralph Carlton in a cordial enough 
 spirit. He was Rosie's "friend" for the after- 
 noon, therefore one need not play a part with 
 him. 
 
 "Hello, Blue, what's all this about giving 
 Henderson's the go-by?" demanded Carlton 
 jovially. "You're queering the place. It was 
 like a funeral down there last night." 
 
 Rosie whirled round on the piano stool. "A 
 thousand thanks, Ralphie ! You can think of 
 the choicest things to say." 
 
 "You're always an angel, Rosie!" protest- 
 ed Carlton. "Away out of the funeral class." 
 
 "While you would like me to play the ani- 
 mated corpse, eh?" asked Blue Belle. 
 
 "Don't pay any attention to him, Miss 
 Lamson," broke in Sandy, whose habitual 
 poise had returned. "He's a gay deceiver." 
 Continuing, he told her of the previous even- 
 ing, how Carlton had inveigled him into visit- 
 ing the "Merry Whirl" under false pretenses. 
 To hear her sing, to see her dance, these had 
 been the only reasons for which he had con- 
 sented. 
 
 This and much more Sandy told the girl, 
 while Mame went noiselessly back and forth 
 
134 IMPULSES 
 
 setting the first course of luncheon on the 
 table. 
 
 Suddenly the empty chatter was inter- 
 rupted by a plainly-dressed, middle-aged 
 woman making her appearance in the door- 
 way, and as suddenly backing out again. 
 Over her arm hung a bright-hued bunch of 
 material. 
 
 "Oh, I forgot you was having company!" 
 she exclaimed. 
 
 Rosie's face expressed annoyance. "I told 
 Mame to tell you," she muttered, with an im- 
 patient look toward the girl, who was placing 
 salad in front of the guests. 
 
 Mame gave a saucy shrug, not quite in 
 keeping with her supposed position in the 
 household, at which Sandy, under cover of the 
 women's preoccupation, glanced quizzically at 
 his friend. "It's all a part of the game," he 
 thought. 
 
 Blue Belle was more kindly disposed con- 
 cerning the incident than Rosie. 
 
 "Come in, Mother Sullivan," she called, 
 and the woman reappeared. "Don't mind us. 
 Do you need to use the machine?" 
 
 "Just a bit of stitching," hesitated Mother 
 Sullivan. 
 
 "All right, come along in," laughed Rosie 
 boisterously. "I guess these gents have seen 
 
IMPULSES 135 
 
 a sewing-machine before. Mame's costume 
 has got to be finished by tonight, you see, so 
 if you don't mind " 
 
 "Sure! How are you, Mother?" ex- 
 claimed Carleton. 
 
 The woman included both men in her nod 
 as she made her way around the table. 
 
 "Mame!" queried Sandy of Blue Belle, his 
 eyes following the girl who was entering 
 from the kitchen carrying two more plates of 
 salad. 
 
 "Miss Sullivan, make you acquainted with 
 our friends." Blue Belle smiled indifferently. 
 "She likes to help us out sometimes, don't you, 
 Mame?" 
 
 "Sure. You don't suppose I wear these 
 things all the time, do you?" she demanded, 
 fixing Sandy with her bright, black eyes, and 
 indicating her cap and apron, 
 
 "I really had not given the matter much 
 thought," admitted Sandy, with mild sarcasm. 
 
 The girl's slight flush of resentment 
 amused him, and he devoted himself to the 
 plate before him, his interest in this household 
 growing each minute. 
 
 The sewing-machine stood in the corner 
 where Sandy sat, so when he had finished his 
 rather oily salad it was natural for him to 
 turn around and comment on the really beau- 
 
136 IMPULSES 
 
 tiful fabric, in color at least, upon which 
 Mother Sullivan was occupied. 
 
 "Tis fine," she assented. "Good color for 
 my girl, eh?" 
 
 "Splendid," agreed Sandy. "Dances, does 
 she?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, most anything! They give her 
 the 'spot' on this, and it's great." 
 
 A tiny garment of cheap mull and cotton 
 lace dropped from among the folds of the gay- 
 colored material. Sandy rescued it from the 
 floor. It looked like a child's dress. He made 
 no comment, but Mother Sullivan, much flut- 
 tered by the interest of the stranger guest, 
 became loquacious, while Carlton held the at- 
 tention of the three other women. 
 
 "Pretty thing, ain't it? That's my little 
 surprise for Daisy. Don't let Blue Belle see 
 it," confided she, spreading the little dress 
 lovingly on her knee. 
 
 "And who might Daisy be?" asked Sandy 
 idly, not caring at all to know. Some four or 
 five-year-old brat, he judged, by the size of 
 the garment. 
 
 Not at all sure whether she should be di- 
 vulging these facts, Mother continued in an 
 undertone, her enjoyment keen the while. It 
 was not often such an opportunity came her 
 way. 
 
IMPULSES 187 
 
 Daisy was Blue Belle's little girl, he was 
 told. At this, Sandy started and regarded the 
 young mother across the table with newly- 
 opened eyes. 
 
 Tomorrow was the child's birthday. Oh, 
 no, she didn't live there, they were all too busy 
 to take care of a youngster ! Blue had to keep 
 her in a little private school where they took 
 in a few to board. It was awful expensive 
 too ! But tomorrow she was coming home for 
 the whole day. Why, they'd all been planning 
 it for a week ! No visitors were expected on 
 that day, you betcher! It was going to be 
 Daisy's day. 0' course it was too bad her 
 mother had been so sick, she'd lost two whole 
 weeks' salary, and now she couldn't get Daisy 
 lots of things she'd expected to, but 
 
 "How about all her other engagements?" 
 asked Sandy softly. 
 
 Mother Sullivan's face was blank. "What 
 other engagements?" she asked. 
 
 "That's what I'm asking you," said Sandy. 
 "I understood that she was very busy filling 
 many engagements at present." 
 
 "Don't you believe it. Where'd you get 
 that stuff?" exclaimed Mother. "She's been 
 flat on her back for the best part of two weeks, 
 and anyway, there's far too many in this busi- 
 
138 IMPULSES 
 
 ness now. It just keeps them hopping to land 
 new work." 
 
 "But about the child's party?" Sandy 
 wanted to know. 
 
 "Sure, we're all going to chip in and have 
 some doings. The dress is finished, and 
 Mame's made a cake, and Rosie " 
 
 Sandy could stand no more. The four 
 walls of the close little room seemed closing 
 in upon him. Something clutched his throat 
 and almost stopped his breathing. 
 
 "Where's the child's father?" he managed 
 to ask. 
 
 Mother Sullivan regarded him with un- 
 mitigated scorn; not, however, directed 
 toward him personally. "He needn't show 
 his sneaky face around here," she announced. 
 "We'd step on it, if he did. Daisy ain't got no 
 jather!" 
 
 "Oh !" answered Sandy, and something in 
 his intonation partially placated her indigna- 
 tion. 
 
 "She ain't seen him for four years or so. 
 Oh, yes, she was married to him all right 
 enough, but she don't need him no more. Why, 
 she's the prize bunch o' joy down at the 'Merry 
 Whirl.' She puts it all over the rest of 'em 
 there, I tell you !" Mother's plain face shone 
 with honest pride. 
 
IMPULSES 139 
 
 Sandy turned from the sewing-machine 
 and looked across the table. 
 
 Dessert, a mixture of cloying sweet stuff, 
 was being placed before them. Apparently no 
 one had noticed his prolonged confab with 
 Mother Sullivan. Possibly he had already 
 been labelled a "dead one" by his hostesses. 
 
 The new eyes with which he regarded Blue 
 Belle revealed a change in her expression; it 
 was duller, the vivacious lines were drooping, 
 the girl was very weary. She turned to speak 
 to Mame, and that young person nodded and 
 went into the kitchen, reappearing in a mo- 
 ment carrying an iced cake slightly rough as 
 to edges, but rosy in hue, a cake for an "en- 
 tertainer" to be justly proud of on the whole. 
 She placed it with much ceremony in the cen- 
 ter of the table. 
 
 "Here, what's this?" demanded Rosie, a 
 quick look passing between her and Blue Belle. 
 
 "Blue told me to bring it in," said Mame, 
 defending herself. 
 
 "Oh, all right !" said Rosie, somewhat puz- 
 zled. "What's the idea, Blue?" 
 
 "I thought they might like to see Daisy's 
 birthday cake," she answered nonchalantly. 
 "She'll be five tomorrow, you know, Ralph." 
 
 He looked puzzled. "I don't get you, Blue. 
 Who's Daisy?" 
 
140 IMPULSES 
 
 She assumed an air of mock dignity. 
 "Daisy's me child. Do you mean to say you've 
 forgotten about my daughter?" 
 
 Ralph stammered something about, well, 
 long ago, perhaps, he had heard something of 
 the sort, but he was never quite sure, and 
 
 Blue Belle laughed mirthlessly. "Just as 
 well you weren't. I don't have much time for 
 the kiddie now, but some day, perhaps !" 
 Her eyes grew misty, and she turned aside to 
 smooth an invisible wrinkle in the tablecloth. 
 
 "Well, sometimes you spend too much time 
 on her," broke in Rosie, having been too long 
 silent. "Here's what she's been wearing her- 
 self out over when she'd oughter been rest- 
 ing." Forthwith Rosie produced the small 
 doll which had lain all night face downward 
 on the bedroom floor. She now placed it right- 
 side-up on the table beside the cake, and 
 strewed its many little garments around it, 
 laughing noisily in her good-natured way. 
 
 Sandy had nothing to say. He was plan- 
 ning as hasty an exit as was compatible with 
 decency and common-sense. Only to be able 
 to swear in the open was all he asked just then 
 of life. 
 
 Carlton took the matter more calmly, not 
 being a student of humanity, but merely one 
 who took good-naturedly and somewhat 
 
IMPULSES 141 
 
 greedily whatever pleasure came his way, and 
 asked no questions. 
 
 "Got any candles for the cake?" he de- 
 manded. 
 
 "Oh, curses, I forgot 'em!" exclaimed 
 Mame. "Say, I got a nickel ; gimme another," 
 to Ralph, "and I'll get some." 
 
 He tossed her the desired coin. "Here 
 any other little thing," he suggested, looking 
 enquiringly at Blue Belle, whose eyes were 
 shining again at so little a thing as a five-cent 
 piece for her baby's pleasure, and once more 
 Sandy's heart annoyed him with its rising 
 throb. 
 
 He suddenly drew out his watch. It was 
 not a reliable time-piece, but such as it was it 
 often helped him out of predicaments. 
 
 "Look here, Ralph, I'm due down town in 
 twenty minutes," he announced brusquely. 
 "Suit yourself about coming with me. I hope 
 the ladies will excuse my running away. Busi- 
 ness, you see," he explaimed rather lamely. 
 
 Ralph Carlton looked his surprise, but 
 knew Sandy too well to protest in public. 
 
 "Why, I thought this was to be an all-aft- 
 ernoon affair !" insinuated Rosie, entirely for- 
 getting the limited time which the popular 
 "Miss Lamson" was supposed to be stealing 
 from her numerous engagements. 
 
142 IMPULSES 
 
 "Sorry!" said Carlton, concluding to hu- 
 mor Sandy in his impulse, whatever it might 
 be. "I'll go along with you/' he told him. 
 " 'To be continued in our next/ " he quoted 
 airily to Rosie. He turned just in time to 
 catch a look of relief flit across Blue Belle's 
 tired face which Sandy had already noted. 
 
 Outside, the fresh afternoon breeze 
 brought back sufficient breathing material for 
 Sandy, but he boarded a street-car with his 
 friend in silence. 
 
 The car was crowded, the two men were 
 separated by a medley of human beings. 
 
 "Where do we get off?" signalled Carlton, 
 when the Market street shops began to slide 
 past them. 
 
 "Emporium," was Sandy's laconic an- 
 swer. 
 
 More mysteries! Then intelligence 
 dawned in Carlton's brain. "Why not?" he 
 thought. "I'll buy a few gimcracks too for the 
 kid." 
 
 Very little was said when they entered 
 the great Emporium, with its daily stream of 
 shoppers pouring in and out of the wide doors. 
 Sandy marched straight to the huge toy de- 
 partment by way of one of the many elevators. 
 
 What matter what he bought, or whether 
 he and Carlton, during this novel occupation, 
 
IMPULSES 143 
 
 argued hotly over the relative values and al- 
 lurements of a tiny go-cart and a tin kitchen 
 outfit, or a sewing basket and a train of cars? 
 
 Sufficient to say that on the next day an 
 innocent little child was made happier by sev- 
 eral wonderful, enchanting gifts, and the 
 birthday "party" enriched by unexpected 
 "goodies" from the delicatessen counter. 
 
 All during his waking hours that night, 
 and the following day, Sandy was conscious of 
 the festivities going on in that strangely min- 
 gled home. 
 
 Late that afternoon he walked out Post 
 street, it was a favorite stroll of his toward 
 evening. A little earlier he had chanced to 
 meet the Blue-Eyed Lady among the shops, 
 and after even the shortest chat with her he 
 always felt exhilarated by something to which 
 he had not yet dared to give a name. 
 
 On Post street there were several shop- 
 windows of which he was fond. He liked to 
 see if certain pictures or books were there. 
 Stopping in front of one of these, rather noted 
 for its fine copies of celebrated paintings, his 
 gaze was attracted by a picture which had 
 been placed in the center of a group. It was 
 not a new one. It is well-known in many 
 homes. Life-size copies are to be seen in every 
 large gallery. The central figure is a beau- 
 
144 IMPULSES 
 
 tiful, holy Child, the surrounding ones are 
 beasts of every kind, both wild and tame, all 
 held under the domination of that wonderful, 
 Child-like innocence. 
 
 "A little Child shall lead them," thought 
 Sandy, knowing the biblical title of the pic- 
 ure, and his thoughts, relentlessly going on, 
 showed him his own and Carlton's selfish 
 plans for their 'good time/' frustrated, and 
 turned into higher channels by the influence 
 of a "little child." 
 
 He thought of the frail young mother 
 nightly evoking laughter at the "Merry 
 Whirl," for fifteen dollars a week, in order 
 that he, and others like him, might have their 
 pleasure while a "little child" went without 
 its God-sent heritage. 
 
 Turning abruptly from the window, he 
 was confronted by Ralph Carlton. He also 
 was fond of strolling out Post street; he also 
 saw the central picture in the shop-window. 
 The eyes of the two men met. Sandy's com- 
 ment was not expressed in biblical terms, but 
 it was final : 
 
 "Carlton ain't it hell?" 
 
"A LAME DOG" 
 
 Giorgio was about twenty years old when 
 Sandy first met him. Their acquaintance be- 
 gan unexpectedly, as often happens, and 
 through the friendship which followed, San- 
 dy's impulse theory was perhaps put to se- 
 verer tests than at any period of his varied 
 career. 
 
 When an auto-truck narrowly escaped 
 crushing out Giorgio's life one day in Front 
 street, Sandy chanced to be passing, and it 
 was into his face that the dreamy brown, Ital- 
 ian eyes, frightened and beseeching, gazed, 
 when several kindly hands assisted the boy to 
 the sidewalk. 
 
 Now Giorgio had no morals of which he 
 was conscious, and he possessed an ardent 
 love for strong drink; two characteristics of 
 which Sandy knew nothing at the time of res- 
 cue, although he suspected the latter of being 
 the chief cause of the accident. It would have 
 made no difference to Sandy, however, if he 
 had known these things. 
 
146 IMPULSES 
 
 The auto-truck driver swore in the pres- 
 ence of witnesses the next morning that the 
 "Dago" had tumbled off the sidewalk in the 
 narrow street, right under his truck wheels, 
 where congested traffic made it impossible for 
 him to avoid injuring him. The Court be- 
 lieved the truck driver, which simplified the 
 matter for him, but made it harder for Gior- 
 gio. The latter's habit of spending his pre- 
 carious earnings up to the minute left him 
 helplessly alone in an alien land after the ac- 
 cident. 
 
 As he lay writhing in pain on the sidewalk, 
 it was Sandy's arms which raised him. When 
 the ambulance came it was Sandy who as- 
 sisted the officials, and became responsible for 
 the boy's receiving special attention at the 
 hospital. 
 
 The consequences of helping this "lame 
 dog over a stile," came in due time. 
 
 Giorgio lay for some weeks in the hospital, 
 visited occasionally by his protector. Each 
 day the boy adored him with more intensity, 
 and caused Sandy much discomfort by lavish- 
 ing upon him in unstinted measure the 
 warmth and gratitude of his Latin nature. It 
 would be different when he was dismissed 
 from the hospital, Sandy promised himself. 
 Good Lord, he didn't want this Dago kid hang- 
 
IMPULSES 147 
 
 ing round his neck for the balance of his life! 
 Where were all his people anyway? Giorgio 
 had a happy disregard for his relatives. This 
 appealed to Sandy, who had long ago placed 
 all his own at a discount. There were times, 
 however, when they might be useful, as in the 
 present instance. Someone with the legal 
 right to assist in the payment of Giorgio's 
 medicine bills would be welcome. 
 
 Sandy questioned him, but it appeared a 
 matter of small moment to the boy, who daily 
 became stronger, and whose dreamy eyes 
 again glinted with the expectancy of life in 
 their depths. 
 
 After Sandy secured him a job with a 
 packing company he considered his responsi- 
 bility ended, and with a sigh of relief, the ne- 
 cessity for changing his own place of abode 
 occurring at the moment, moved to a new 
 apartment, and thought no more of the Ital- 
 ian. 
 
 It was nearly a year later that Sandy's 
 habit of seeking new restaurants, and using 
 them for a short time, became the means of 
 giving Giorgio a clue to his kind friend's 
 whereabouts. Returning one evening in the 
 dusk, after an Italian dinner in a new loca- 
 tion, Sandy became conscious of someone fol- 
 
148 IMPULSES 
 
 lowing him, and as he reached his own door, 
 Giorgio flung himself impetuously in his way. 
 
 "At last I have founda you, my frienM" 
 he cried. "You have lefta me so long time. 
 Now you coma to my place to eat. I have 
 founda you, I have founda you !" 
 
 There was no denying that he was found. 
 Trapped at his own door, Sandy capitulated. 
 
 "What's up now?" he demanded as though 
 he had seen the boy only yesterday. 
 
 "I lika just to see you every day," ex- 
 plained Giorgio. 
 
 "Well, I don't mind your looking at me 
 every day, if you don't bother me." 
 
 "Oh, no, I nota bother you !" 
 
 "Then it's a bargain?" asked Sandy, with 
 a searching look. 
 
 "Mr. Sandy, I hava no more money," con- 
 fessed Giorgio, hanging his head, his eyes 
 slanting upward to watch the effect of this 
 information. 
 
 "That's no news. You needn't have taken 
 all this trouble to tell me that." 
 
 "It was verra harda work in that job you 
 so kinda give me. I almost gotta seeck 
 again." 
 
 In truth there was a frail look about the 
 boy. Also there were no signs of strong drink 
 apparent 
 
IMPULSES 149 
 
 "I lika you give me another job," casually 
 continued Giorgio. 
 
 "I haven't one in my pocket at this mo- 
 ment." 
 
 The jest fell flat on Giorgio's understand- 
 ing; his thoughts were rapidly pursuing his 
 own affairs. 
 
 "I lika maka much more money." 
 
 "So would I," agreed Sandy sympathetic- 
 ally. "What do you intend to do with all your 
 money?" Heavens! he might as well invite 
 the boy in and form a partnership! There 
 seemed no escape from this implicit confidence 
 in his ability to furnish unlimited jobs and 
 good-will. 
 
 "I don't like standing around on doorsteps. 
 Come in and talk awhile inside," invited 
 Sandy. 
 
 This was an unexpected honor, and Gior- 
 gio twirled his hat in nervous anticipation 
 while his host led him up two long flights of 
 stairs, and into a comfortable room which was 
 Sandy's present "Hades," the name he always 
 attached to the place which sheltered him and 
 his belongings for the moment. 
 
 He turned on the lights, and relentlessly 
 continued the subject of Giorgio's financial in- 
 tentions. 
 
 The latter, seated on the edge of a 
 
150 IMPULSES 
 
 straight-backed chair (Sandy had carefully 
 steered him past his couch) launched forth 
 with great relish into many matters of per- 
 sonal history occurring during the year. 
 
 He needed "mucha money," it seemed, be- 
 cause of "Carlotta." Sandy was naturally 
 curious about Carlotta, her whereabouts, and 
 occupation. 
 
 "Carlotta", it was divulged with much 
 bashful self-consciousness, was "verra 
 pretty." 
 
 "Of course, I know that!" exclaimed 
 Sandy. "Carlotta is always pretty!" 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Sandy," agreed Giorgio. 
 
 There were no stern parents in the way, 
 only an elderly uncle, a fruit-monger in Paci- 
 fic street; and Carlotta had also two big 
 brothers. 
 
 The latter were not here now, but some- 
 where in a convenient country at a distance, 
 where they did not seem likely to disturb the 
 forthcoming plans of two optimistic young 
 persons. 
 
 "Carlotta, she worka in the cannery some- 
 times, but I lika best when she worka in the 
 fruit-store with her uncle," Giorgio confided. 
 
 Sandy could well understand this, and 
 mentally conjured up the many additions 
 
IMPULSES 151 
 
 which this fruit-store might yield to the fru- 
 gal meals of the young Italian. 
 
 Carlotta, in addition to being "verra 
 pretty," was also strong. "Oh, yes, she could 
 carry wood, mucha wood!" declared her lover, 
 "and heavy pails of water." In every way she 
 appeared suitable to be a model wife. 
 
 A very real interest was aroused in Sandy 
 as he listened to this recital, and his resolution 
 to bother himself no more with the boy lay 
 broken into bits about him. 
 
 "I'll see what I can do for you," he assured 
 him. "Come around tomorrow evening, I may 
 have something. Meantime, you and Carlotta 
 go slow. You're young yet, you know 
 there's plenty of time to think of marrying 
 two or three years from now." 
 
 "Oh, yes!" agreed Giorgio. "Plenty time. 
 We don't getta married yet, Carlotta and me." 
 
 The significance of this simple statement 
 did not strike his hearer at the time, and as 
 Giorgio took his departure Sandy heaved a 
 sigh of relief that the remainder of the even- 
 ing was his own, with which to do as he liked. 
 A chapter in his weekly letter to the Blue- 
 Eyed Lady would come first; then a loitering 
 through the ever-fascinating city streets, un- 
 til fatigue should drive him back to "the hay" 
 and the kindly oblivion of sleep. 
 
152 IMPULSES 
 
 Not one job, but two or three, did Sandy 
 tender Giorgio, each tried out for a few days, 
 then slipped out of by that convincing youth. 
 
 One was too hard, "Oh, verra hard, Mr. 
 Sandy!" It was Carlotta who told him this, 
 as in the natural course of events it was con- 
 sidered necessary that he should meet the ob- 
 ject of Giorgio's adoration. 
 
 An impish, black-eyed creature, she 
 sparkled and flashed bits of fun and coquetry 
 at anyone who came her way. "A valuable 
 asset in the business of the fruit-monger," 
 thought Sandy, as he observed her among the 
 customers. 
 
 Another job which Giorgio held for a week 
 was taken away from him by his employer. 
 He caused jealousy among the other boys by 
 his "damned winning ways," the man stated. 
 
 "My Giorgio, he is the one grand boy!" 
 declared Carlotta, in confirmation of this. 
 
 In the fourth position he seemed likely to 
 please, and to remain for a while at least, so 
 Sandy permitted himself a brief breathing 
 spell of relief. Then, ensued the sequence of 
 events, compared to which the preceding 
 faded into insignificance. 
 
 A more than usually excited Giorgio was 
 discovered on Sandy's doorstep one evening 
 when he returned from work, and begged 
 
IMPULSES 153 
 
 leave to come in and tell his "kinda frien' " 
 something important. As each new step Gior- 
 gio took was important Sandy did not realize 
 at the moment that the beginning of a new 
 series of trouble for himself was upon him. 
 
 Upstairs, seated as usual on the edge of 
 the straight-backed chair, Giorgio went at 
 once to the vital point. 
 
 "I lika you tella me where I buy marriage 
 'certificate.' " 
 
 "What's that?" cried Sandy, his pipe sud- 
 denly puffing smoke into his eyes. 
 
 "Marriage 'certificate,' you know? You 
 put in frama, hang 'em on wall," carefully ex- 
 plained Giorgio. 
 
 "Oh," answered Sandy; "I see! So the 
 happy day approaches, eh? When are you 
 going to get married?" 
 
 "I notta going to getta married," an- 
 nounced Giorgio simply. "I have notta yet 
 mucha money, Mr. Sandy. I canno taka care 
 Carlotta, and maybe she canno work all the 
 time." 
 
 An idea of the boy's meaning began to 
 dawn in Sandy's mind. He felt what was 
 coming. 
 
 "Then why the marriage certificate?" 
 
 "You know where I cana buy one?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, there are plenty of places !" 
 
154 IMPULSES 
 
 "I lika to go where you buya yours/' de- 
 clared Giorgio. 
 
 "I have no regular place," responded 
 Sandy with great seriousness; "I buy them 
 wherever I happen to be." 
 
 "Is that so?" answered Giorgio politely. 
 
 "How much money have you? It takes a 
 large sum, you know, to buy a marriage cer- 
 tificate." 
 
 "Nota much," evaded the boy. "I think 
 maybe you lenda me " One of the winning 
 ways of which the former employer had 
 spoken was brought into play, but Sandy 
 hardened his heart. 
 
 "Just why do you want this now?" he 
 asked, relentlessly pressing the point. 
 
 Giorgio's eyes grew beseeching. "Car- 
 lotta, she lova to hava the marriage 'certifi- 
 cate/ she lika to hang it on the wall, show 
 her friends, oh, she hava many friends, Car- 
 lotta!" 
 
 "All very nice," Sandy admitted; "but 
 why can't Carlotta wait a year or so for that 
 artistic triumph?" 
 
 Giorgio did not follow this sarcasm in the 
 slightest degree. 
 
 "The baby it comes in June," he an- 
 nounced. 
 
 Here was reason indeed. His listener pon- 
 
IMPULSES 155 
 
 dered in silence, while the prospective head of 
 a family continued. 
 
 "We lova verra much, Carlotta and me. 
 By and by when I am richa man we going to 
 hava fine house, and veectrola, and maybe 
 limousina for Carlotta.-' His face shone. 
 "But now she worka two, three more months 
 for her uncle, and he giva her home. I canno 
 buy home for Carlotta now, I hava not enough 
 money. I cana buy marriage 'certificate/ she 
 hang it on the wall, it maka her verra happy, 
 my frien'." 
 
 Thus pleaded Giorgio until Sandy's stern 
 mind allowed his tender heart to agree to go 
 himself on the morrow, and purchase a mar- 
 riage "certificate" for the illegal pair. 
 
 Logic showed him no good reason for bind- 
 ing these two together at the present time. It 
 might mean much future unhappiness for the 
 young wife, whose uncle would more readily 
 care for her and her child were there no im- 
 pecunious husband in the foreground. Also 
 the element of self-protection entered into 
 Sandy's reasoning. He had no desire to as- 
 sume all the financial responsibility of rearing 
 a thriving young Italian family. 
 
 There is a shop in Market street where 
 one may secure a highly ornamental "certifi- 
 cate" for a small sum, and it may be framed 
 
156 IMPULSES 
 
 or not as the purchaser desires. To be sure, 
 the purchase is usually backed by the posses- 
 v jion of a marriage license, safe in one's 
 pocket, or else the certificate is presented to 
 the happy couple by the officiating minister. 
 The clerk in a stationery shop does not en- 
 quire into these matters, however; he merely 
 shows the goods when asked for, and dis- 
 creetly assists the buyer in the selection of an 
 appropriate frame. 
 
 When Sandy ventured in to attend to his 
 unusual bit of shopping nothing appeared 
 easier or more commonplace. 
 
 It was when he turned about, after the 
 selection of a white and gold frame, that he 
 encountered the grinning face of his friend 
 and fellow-clubman, Dan. He realized then 
 that it was this presence which he had felt 
 near him all during the purchase of the hor- 
 rid object. 
 
 "Well, of all the sly dogs!" shouted Dan, 
 who habitually spoke as though his hearers 
 were at least fifty feet away. "You're a nice 
 one, you are, trying to give us the slip like 
 this! Here, tell me all about it. Who is she? 
 When's it to be? Hang it all, you're pretty 
 damned mean to treat your best friend this 
 way!" 
 
 Sandy had so many "best friends," that 
 
IMPULSES 157 
 
 he had a hard time keeping count of them, and 
 keeping them friends with each other when 
 counted. Dan stood very near the top of the 
 list, but just now he was in grave danger of 
 tumbling to the bottom. 
 
 "I wish you'd go to hell and stay there!" 
 exclaimed Sandy, slamming down the price 
 of the white and gold object on the counter. 
 "Not you," he explained to the astonished 
 clerk, "but this 'butt-insky,' here. I don't 
 recognize your right to question my pur- 
 chases in this store. When I get ready to tell 
 you anything, why, I'll tell you, that's all!" 
 Whirling about he marched out of the shop 
 with haughty mien, leaving Dan full of wrath 
 and a desire for revenge. 
 
 Sandy would have passed a pleasanter 
 evening had he assumed a more tolerant atti- 
 tude. He admitted this to himself later. 
 
 Leaving the marriage certificate in his 
 room he sauntered to the Club, thinking to 
 dine there that evening for a change. Fatal 
 resolve ! 
 
 Dan had preceded him by two hours, and 
 when Sandy entered the spacious "lounge" ad- 
 jacent to the Club bar, a buzz of comment ran 
 round the room. Its significance did not strike 
 him as he walked serenely through, intent 
 
158 IMPULSES 
 
 upon ordering his favorite appetizer before 
 the evening meal. 
 
 The storm broke a few minutes later, not 
 abruptly, but with autumn gentleness, only to 
 increase, as time went on, to all the fury of a 
 mid-winter gale. It began with the approach 
 of several "best friends," headed by Dan, who 
 insisted upon "having one" with him. Sandy 
 does not quite remember how, or when, it 
 ended. 
 
 What was not attended to in the way of 
 pre-nuptial celebrations was not Dan's fault, 
 nor that of his chief coadjutor, Carlton. It 
 was only when invention and the hours of the 
 night gave out, that the thirst for revenge 
 was satisfied. The supposed groom-elect was 
 put through a series of ceremonies compared 
 to which the initiation into a college frater- 
 nity is a paltry affair. They began with the 
 "appetizer," followed by a series of toasts, 
 more or less felicitous, concerning the ap- 
 proaching change in Sandy's life, the know- 
 ledge of which he had so basely concealed from 
 his friends. 
 
 These were merely annoying, but the se- 
 quence of inquisitorial acts which ensued laid 
 low the unfortunate victim. Brief intervals 
 were accorded him in which to divulge the 
 name of the lady, and the day and hour of the 
 
IMPULSES 159 
 
 happy event, but these only served to render 
 him dumb, and to give him renewed strength 
 and obstinacy for the next onslaught. From 
 hair-raising experiences in the elevator shaft 
 he passed to the consumption of obnoxious 
 mixtures of food, and thence to blanket-toss- 
 ing, in bewildering succession. But daylight 
 found his persecutors even more weary and 
 sore-limbed than he. In Club annals Sandy 
 still holds the record for endurance among 
 numerous competitors in pre-nuptial celebra- 
 tions for bridegrooms-elect. There are those 
 who still discuss this marvelous night, but un- 
 til time had somewhat dimmed its glory in the 
 minds of the participants, its hero was seen 
 no more at the Club. 
 
 Giorgio had never before been favored 
 with the grim look which was on his benefac- 
 tor's face when the latter presented him with 
 the much-desired "certificate" the following 
 evening. He feared for Mr. Sandy's health, 
 and made solicitous enquiries, only to be told 
 to "go to hell with his damned certificate!" 
 This grieved Giorgio extremely, and the mem- 
 ory of his stricken face, the soft brown eyes 
 full of tears, returned and kept Sandy awake 
 during the early morning hours. 
 
 For some time after this he saw no more 
 of Giorgio. Casual enquiries disclosed the 
 
160 IMPULSES 
 
 fact that the boy was giving satisfaction in 
 his latest position. 
 
 "There's nothing wonderful about his bus- 
 iness ability," his employer stated; "but he'll 
 do. You can't help liking the kid." 
 
 Sandy also had one or two confidential 
 chats with Carlotta's fruit-monger uncle. Ap- 
 parently the "certificato" had done its work, 
 and both the "many friends of Carlotta," and 
 the uncle were satisfied to accept its white and 
 gold-framed affirmation of something into 
 which it were wise not to enquire too deeply. 
 
 So in due time there came a tiny, dark- 
 eyed daughter to Giorgio and Carlotta, and 
 they were "verra happy." 
 
 Baby Maria was six months old when her 
 father rushed frantically to Sandy's apart- 
 ment one evening. "What to do? What to 
 do?" 
 
 Carlotta's two big brothers from that con- 
 veniently far-distant country, had suddenly 
 decided to abandon all former occupations, 
 and come and establish themselves in the city. 
 They had written that Carlotta was to keep 
 house for them, and to throw the sum of her 
 earnings in with theirs. Being her nearest 
 male relatives they naturally assumed com- 
 mand of both her earnings and her services. 
 Giorgio was incoherent in his distress. 
 
IMPULSES 161 
 
 Aside from having these rights over the 
 person of Carlotta, the brothers were "Catho- 
 leeca," very "streecta" ones, at that. The 
 girPs elastic conscience had allowed her to 
 stray far away from the ministrations and 
 powers of the church ; not so the big brothers. 
 Now they were about to descend upon them. 
 "Dio Mio!" Giorgio's youthful person, his 
 slender income, and above all, the white and 
 gold-framed "certificato," would be consid- 
 ered but slight foundations for his permanent 
 presence in the household, to say nothing of 
 Baby Maria's. 
 
 The stability of matrimony in due form 
 had at last presented itself to the young Ital- 
 ian's mind as a necessary and desirable thing. 
 Carlotta, married, would naturally be in the 
 sacred custody of her husband. The big 
 brothers were expected to arrive within a 
 week at the latest. Sandy was urged to pro- 
 vide, before the hour of their arrival, all the 
 details of license, priest, ring, decorations, 
 place of ceremony, and other customary 
 features. The groom did not wish knowingly 
 to eliminate any of these. 
 
 "And what about bridesmaids?" enquired 
 the ironic Sandy, when a moment was vouch- 
 safed him for speech; "and a ring-bearer? 
 Too bad Maria is not yet walking! It would 
 
162 IMPULSES 
 
 hardly do for her to creep in with the ring, 
 would it!" This was a statement, however, not 
 a question. Fortunately Giorgio took it as 
 such ; one of the many in which he could not 
 follow his "kinda frien'." 
 
 The thought of the little Maria creeping 
 anywhere troubled the boy not a little. What 
 place would she hold in the minds of the big 
 brothers? Would they look at her, and then 
 at the too-recently dated "certificato" with 
 questions in their ruthless eyes? "Dio Mio!" 
 He snatched up the tiny "joy of his heart" 
 greedily. Nothing should harm her ! 
 
 Sandy's mind, instead of his heart, took 
 charge of the simple wedding ceremony. He 
 cruelly over-rode all desires for elaborate de- 
 tails. Attendants, decorations, and festivi- 
 ties of any kind in which outsiders would be 
 involved, were voted down by this adamant 
 committee-of -affairs. 
 
 Three days before the unsuspecting big 
 brothers arrived, the names and fortunes of 
 Giorgio and Carlotta, and those of little 
 Maria, were made one, according to the civil 
 law, and that of the Roman Catholic Church. 
 
 The uncle gave away the bride, and Sandy, 
 with many inward qualms, stood beside the 
 handsome bridegroom. All went smoothly, 
 the priest making no comments on Maria, pre- 
 
IMPULSES 163 
 
 sumably a neighbor's child, who tumbled 
 about under foot. The only mishap was when 
 she nearly swallowed the ring, when in his 
 great perturbation, the best man dropped it. 
 
 Following the brief ceremony and a few 
 words of admonition spoken by the busy par- 
 ish priest, came the serving of cake, fruit, and 
 wine, in the little back room of the fruit-mon- 
 ger's shop, Sandy's one concession to the 
 Italian's love of a "festa." In this the priest 
 urbanely joined them, while above the mantel 
 the white and gold-framed "certificato" shone 
 down in benediction. Fortunately the priest 
 did not notice this, and presented a brand 
 new one of the present date with much kindly 
 feeling to the pretty bride. There were four 
 persons present who devoutly hoped that the 
 two big brothers would never delve too deeply 
 into the discrepancies of parish register and 
 white and gold-framed proof of the married 
 state of Giorgio and Carlotta! 
 
 Life is full of these hazards, each one reas- 
 oned in his own or her own more or less en- 
 lightened way; not in these very words, but 
 in inward conviction. The time has not yet 
 come when Sandy has regretted his own share 
 in the deed. 
 
 When the two big brothers arrived, confi- 
 dent of the parts they intended to play in Car- 
 
164 IMPULSES 
 
 lotta's future, they met with many surprises. 
 
 Their none too bright intellects found diffi- 
 culty in coping with the combined forces ar- 
 rayed against them. On the one hand were 
 the fruit-monger uncle, and the "kinda frien', 
 Mr. Sandy;" the first full of oily-tongued 
 suavity, the latter inscrutable. On the other 
 hand was the little family group of three, in- 
 disputably happy, and on their way to pros- 
 perity, as a visit to Giorgio's employer 
 showed. 
 
 Thus were their plans for a city life com- 
 pletely reversed, and the services which their 
 sister, Carlotta, was to render them as their 
 due, they now found themselves rendering 
 her, as members of the household over which 
 she presided in true western fashion. 
 
 Over all shone the white and gold-framed 
 "certificato," the very handsomest thing of its 
 kind the big brothers had ever seen. 
 
THE "MOVIE-FAN" 
 
 Early one evening Sandy was on his way 
 to a second-hand bookshop in Fillmore street, 
 where he loved to pioneer for literary treas- 
 ures. 
 
 The sun was showing red through a bank 
 of fog, the afternoon wind had died down, and 
 the voices of children shouting in their play 
 were to be heard all over the "Western Addi- 
 tion." 
 
 Where were the parents of these unat- 
 tached young people? As he wondered Sandy's 
 attention was attracted to a probable mother, 
 one of a jostling line serpentining toward 
 the box-office window of a moving-picture 
 house. She was a young woman, one of a group 
 of three flashily dressed, gum-chewing, giggl- 
 ing persons, who were consumed with mirth 
 over Sandy's efforts to make his way through 
 the line. Fixing her with a solemn gaze which 
 only increased her hilarity, he passed on, only 
 to encounter further hindrances. 
 
 It was with difficulty that he avoided seri- 
 
166 IMPULSES 
 
 ously interrupting some of the children's 
 games through which he and other pedestri- 
 ans were forced to pass. Motor horns and 
 street-car bells honked and clanged warn- 
 ingly, miraculously sparing many young lives 
 cast recklessly in the way of traffic. 
 
 A hoidenish little girl of ten, her pretty, 
 fair hair tossing about from under a bright 
 Tam-O'-Shanter, collided with Sandy as he 
 rounded a street corner. The impact jarred 
 them both, and if he had not caught her arm 
 and steadied her she would have rolled under 
 the wheels of an oncoming automobile. 
 
 "Aw, lemme go!" she panted, struggling 
 to free herself. "Jimmy's it! No fair no 
 fair!" 
 
 The game was a combination of "tag" and 
 "one-foot-off-the-gutter," it later developed, 
 and Jimmy, prize gamester of the neighbor- 
 hood, was in close pursuit. It meant serious 
 work when Jimmy was "it." 
 
 "Just calm down now, there's no hurry," 
 advised Sandy. "Don't you know this street 
 corner isn't a playground?" 
 
 By this time Jimmy had arrived, wide- 
 eyed, and panting also. 
 
 "Say, Mister, she ain't done nothin'," he 
 assured the serious-eyed stranger, who, for all 
 he knew, might be a private "cop." 
 
IMPULSES 167 
 
 Jimmy's toes were peeping through his 
 boot tips, and his face was far from clean, but 
 one could see at a glance that his heart was 
 in the right place. 
 
 Sandy kept a firm grasp on the little girl's 
 struggling hand, and took in all the details 
 of delicate features, slender figure, and fairly 
 tasteful, well-made clothes. Where could her 
 mother be to turn such a child loose in the 
 streets at this late hour, the center of a crowd 
 of rowdy youngsters? 
 
 "I want to talk to this young lady/' said 
 Sandy. "Oh, I won't hurt you!" he added 
 more gently. "You may come too." He nodd- 
 ed to Jimmy. 
 
 Seeing no help for it, the girl walked along 
 beside him quietly. Sandy felt the firmness 
 of her hand and step, and there was no sign 
 of either timidity or fear in the clear eyes. 
 "She's a game one," he thought. 
 
 The few among the busy crowd who had 
 noticed the encounter, dispersed, and the three 
 walked slowly on, the boy, Jimmy, dropping a 
 step or so behind the other two. At first the 
 little girl was disinclined to talk, and every 
 now and then jerked her hand suddenly, in 
 the hope apparently of giving this strange 
 captor the slip, but Jimmy's reassuring 
 
168 IMPULSES 
 
 presence soon caused her to resume her cus- 
 tomary nonchalance. 
 
 After a few questions concerning her 
 name, home, and other details, and receiving 
 no answer, Sandy diplomatically turned the 
 one-sided conversation into general lines, re- 
 marking casually on a moving picture bill- 
 board which they were passing. 
 
 "Um-hm. Ma's in there, I guess," vouch- 
 safed the child, taken off her guard. "Or or 
 maybe she isn't. I guess this is the night 
 she goes to the 'California.' " 
 
 "Is your mother a movie-fan?" asked 
 Sandy quietly. 
 
 "She is not! My mother's a nice lady." 
 
 "You bet she is !" proclaimed a loyal voice 
 in the rear. 
 
 "I'm sure she is," responded Sandy grave- 
 ly. "All mothers are nice." 
 
 It was fortunate for him that he did not 
 glance around at this moment and catch the 
 contemptuous gleam of Jimmy's eyes. What 
 a fool this gent must be to think all mothers 
 "nice!" He couldn't have seen some of the 
 ones in Jimmy's alley, that was sure! 
 
 "She goes to movies every night most," 
 boasted the little girl. 
 
 "Doesn't she ever take you?" 
 
 "Um-hm, sometimes. And sometimes my 
 
IMPULSES 169 
 
 daddy comes and takes me too, but it's awful 
 long since he did." 
 
 This sounded like a divided family. 
 "Doesn't Daddy live at home?" ventured 
 Sandy. 
 
 "Nope, not all the time not what d'ye 
 want to know for?" Her bright, child eyes 
 regarded him roguishly. 
 
 Sandy felt duly reprimanded. "It's none 
 of my business, is it?" he said pleasantly, 
 winning her immediately by his kindly tone. 
 "You see, you look like somebody I know, and 
 I thought you might be his little girl." 
 
 This was the truth, although Sandy was 
 blest if he could place the man at the moment. 
 "Now, you're a nice-looking little girl, and 
 you look as though you had a pretty name." 
 
 "Marjorie Manning, some name, better'n 
 Mary Pickford," volunteered the voice in the 
 rear. 
 
 "Say, Jimmy, you shut up! Who asked 
 you to talk?" demanded Mary Pickford's 
 rival. 
 
 "Aw, I ain't said nothin'." 
 
 "Don't be too hard on Jimmy," counseled 
 Sandy, siding with the abashed, snub-nosed 
 boy, whose pride was great, he could see, in 
 his acquaintance with Marjorie. 
 
170 IMPULSES 
 
 "Manning! Why, of course! Does Dad's 
 front name happen to be Peter?" 
 
 "Um-hm, and we live here," announced 
 Marjorie, stopping in front of one of the many 
 shoddy apartment-houses in that vicinity. 
 
 "Peter Manning used to have better 
 taste than this," thought Sandy, glancing over 
 the house. "Well, you run in and tell your 
 daddy that two gentlemen brought you home, 
 and that it's too late for a little girl like you 
 to be playing 'tag' on the street." 
 
 "It was 'one-foot-off-the-gutter,' " cor- 
 rected the other "gentleman," feeling keenly 
 his oneness with Sandy. 
 
 Marjorie eyed the latter condescendingly, 
 feeling sorry for his ignorance. "My daddy 
 isn't hardly never home, what d'ye s'pose? I 
 don't want to go in alone." 
 
 "Well, play around here then, it's quieter. 
 Don't you know that you very nearly didn't 
 come home at all?" Sandy could not help ask- 
 ing this, his heart hardening toward all irre- 
 sponsible parents, and those of this attractive 
 child in particular. 
 
 "No, why didn't I?" 
 
 "Never mind ; you're safe home now, and 
 mind you stay here." 
 
 "I like you," she confided unexpectedly, 
 
IMPULSES 171 
 
 slipping her hand again into his. "I don't 
 know your name." 
 
 A lump rose in Sandy's throat. He hated 
 to acknowledge it, but it was rather pleasant 
 to be liked by Mar jorie. 
 
 "My name doesn't matter," he answered 
 somewhat gruffly; the lump was in the way. 
 Then a thought struck him, and he fumbled 
 in his pocket for a card. It would do no harm 
 to recall himself to Peter Manning. 
 
 "You may give this to your dad the next 
 time you see him. Good-night, and mind you 
 wait here for your mama." 
 
 "Good-night," both children mumbled in- 
 differently. Their minds were too intent upon 
 deciphering the name of the queer man to 
 waste time on polite superfluities. The card 
 was a business one, showing in one corner the 
 name of a small hotel in Geary street, where 
 for a short time Sandy was filling the posi- 
 tion of night-clerk to oblige a friend. 
 
 Looking back when he reached the next 
 street he could see the two children seated 
 obediently on the steps of the apartment- 
 house, their heads still bent in speculation 
 over the card. Ten minutes later the incident 
 had passed from his mind, and a heap of dusty 
 books occupied his whole attention. 
 
 One morning the following week, Peter 
 
172 IMPULSES 
 
 Manning left his card in the office of the hotel. 
 Sandy, at that hour, was sleeping. Under 
 threat of hanging, no one was allowed to dis- 
 turb him by either knock or telephone call. 
 There was only one exception to this rule. The 
 Blue-Eyed Lady, by a certain magic she held 
 over the wire, could call him at any hour of 
 the twenty-four. 
 
 When Sandy found Manning's card a few 
 enquiries satisfied him that he would call 
 again. He did call within the week, this time 
 in the early evening, and with him came a 
 dainty, upright little figure, carrying a small, 
 new suitcase. 
 
 "Hello, hello, who's this?" exclaimed 
 Sandy, turning from a tiresome complainant 
 at the desk to a full view of the father and 
 daughter. "How are you, Pete? Where Ve 
 you been all this time?" 
 
 "In hell," answered Peter Manning. 
 
 "And now we've come to live with you," 
 announced Marjorie joyfully. 
 
 "Is that so? Where did you get that 
 stuff?" 
 
 "My daddy said so." 
 
 "Oh, he did? Well when do you think 
 *)f coming?" 
 
 "Right now, I said ! I've got all my clothes 
 In my suitcase well, not quite all, but enough 
 
IMPULSES 173 
 
 to do me for a few days, my daddy says, till he 
 can boy me some more. Fm going to have aO 
 new ones because he don't want " 
 
 That wfll do, Marjorie," interrupted her 
 father. "Little girfa shouldn't talk so much. 
 The troth is," turning to Sandy, "Marjorie 
 and I thought we'd move down here for a short 
 time. Things aren't going just as we like 
 than at h<me you and III discuss this later. 
 Right now Fd like two connecting rooms, if 
 you've got 'em. This seems like a pretty de- 
 cent joint Quiet, isn't it, and respectable, 
 and all that?" 
 
 "Perfectly," Sandy assured him solemnly. 
 
 "AD right; show us what you've got Ifs 
 about timA thj kid was trr rn T Ti g in." 
 
 Within die hour the two were settled in 
 same pleasant* fourth-story rooms, and an ex- 
 cited fittfegiri was tzying her best to go obedi- 
 ently to sleep, her mind altogether absorbed 
 by the delightful adventure of living in a 
 
 * | , ^nJ-nf * 1- _ . _1_- Jl__ TT_ 
 
 miwu-wwn notel wilo ner daddy. He, mean- 
 whfle was giving Sandy the "dope" on this 
 
 known much about the 
 
 or eating-place, had 
 
174 IMPULSES 
 
 Manning had vanished from the customary 
 haunts. Now, it seemed, the marriage which 
 had taken place twelve years ago, was on the 
 verge of wreck. Having been obliged to travel 
 for his business firm, the husband could spend 
 only a week or so each month in his home. The 
 wife, pleasure-loving from the first, had 
 grown more and more careless of home ties 
 and responsibilities. Her claims on him finan- 
 cially grew more exacting, her tastes more 
 extravagant, until the world now, for her, had 
 become one huge pleasure palace, with the 
 "movie" holding first place in her fancy. 
 Mar jorie, meanwhile, roved the streets at will. 
 The mother's pride in the child's looks 
 prompted her to keep her fairly well clothed, 
 although at time most unsuitably, various 
 "screen favorites" being used as models both 
 for fashions and manners. 
 
 "In short," wound up Manning, "I've de- 
 cided to cut the whole thing. She's not fit to 
 bring up a child, so she shan't have her. I 
 stood all sorts of things two or three years 
 ago for Marjorie's sake, but it was no life for 
 a child, to hear all the quarreling that went 
 on, so I lit out for some months and gave the 
 woman a chance. She said she could manage 
 all right if I'd cut out, so I did. Supported 
 'em, of course, but kept away. Then what do 
 
IMPULSES 175 
 
 I find when I come back to see my little girl? 
 Her mother at a damned show every night, 
 the child running loose on the street for any 
 stranger to pick up. It it was you opened 
 my eyes to that, damn you! That cut deep, 
 old man, I tell you!" 
 
 "It was true, wasn't it?" 
 
 "Yes, that's why it cut so deep, and that's 
 why we're here now. Nobody could do what 
 you did for my child the other night and not 
 be fond of children, and we've come " 
 
 "You're away off," declared Sandy. 
 "Somebody's been giving you a fill. I don't 
 remember doing anything." 
 
 "That's your way of putting it, but just 
 the same, the children told me a pretty 
 
 straight story of the other evening, and how 
 
 
 "Children? What children?" 
 
 "Why, my little Marjorie and Jimmy, 
 don't you remember him little " 
 
 "Oh, Jimmy I" exclaimed Sandy vaguely. 
 "Little snub-nosed gentleman with a specialty 
 for 'One-foot-off-the-gutter!' ' 
 
 "Yes, that's Jimmy," laughed Manning 
 ruefully, "He's a specimen of my little girl's 
 companions picked up on the street. Lucky 
 for her that Jimmy is the fairly wholesome 
 little chap that he is ! Now, I thought of liv- 
 
176 IMPULSES 
 
 ing here for awhile there's a school with a 
 good class of youngsters up here half a dozen 
 blocks and I thought you could easily keep 
 an eye on her going in and out afternoons, 
 and" 
 
 "And when you're out of town what?" 
 Sandy cannily led him on, amazed at the guile- 
 less assurance of the man. 
 
 "Oh, I'm away now only three or four 
 days on a stretch ! Nothing much can happen 
 in that time." 
 
 "No, nothing much" agreed Sandy with 
 emphasis. 
 
 He allowed Manning to reel off his plans 
 for the immediate future without protest. It 
 appeared to comfort him, and gave Sandy an 
 opportunity of deciding what he, himself, be- 
 lieved the proper course to pursue. For Sandy 
 had determined upon one thing early in the 
 conversation, and his future course in the 
 matter was to be based upon it. He was not 
 going to be turned into a day-nursery for any 
 man's child, no matter how attractive or 
 needy ! 
 
 So when Peter Manning reached the end 
 of all explanations and requirements Sandy 
 told him this mildly, but with absolute final- 
 ity. A week or so, yes, that might be consid- 
 ered, while other arrangements were being 
 
IMPULSES 177 
 
 made, but to nothing further would he com- 
 mit himself. Good Lord, did Manning think 
 he had taken a post-graduate course in kinder- 
 gartens? 
 
 No, Manning had not given that phase of 
 the question much thought. Sandy would be 
 well paid for any extra trouble, if that was 
 what he meant. 
 
 It was plain to be seen that when the mat- 
 ters of food, clothing, and sleeping quarters 
 were settled nothing else seemed left, to Man- 
 ning's mind, in the life of an energetic, many- 
 sided girl-child save a little habit of "playing 
 around on the street." Sandy, with one eye on 
 his hotel patrons, and the other on Marjorie's 
 entrances and exits, might easily accomplish 
 all the duties of "watch-dog." 
 
 "Sort of a cross between a foundling-asy- 
 lum matron and a policeman. Good Lord!" 
 complained Sandy. 
 
 Manning expressed the opinion that Sandy 
 was taking the matter too seriously. "Sleep 
 on the idea tonight," he suggested; "then, of 
 course, if you really object, why I suppose I'll 
 have to look around for something else but 
 
 Marjorie has taken such a fancy to you I 
 
 
 
 "It's my business not to sleep at night," 
 Sandy reminded him, "and when I do sleep I 
 
178 IMPULSES 
 
 prefer a good mattress." Then he turned 
 away to answer an enquiry. 
 
 It was annoying of Manning to put the 
 matter that way. All the time Sandy talked 
 with the person at the desk he seemed to feel 
 a soft, determined little hand tugging at his, 
 and caught the gleam of joyous eyes. So the 
 reason he was rather short with the person 
 who was engaging a "room with bath" was be- 
 cause his heart was softening most exasper- 
 atingly. 
 
 Peter Manning stood over by the big, 
 plate-glass windows looking out at the pass- 
 ing crowd. Sandy watched him during the 
 next ten minutes while people came and went. 
 Manning was a good fellow it was a darned 
 shame that a woman could break up a man's 
 life like that! Oh, hang it, perhaps he could 
 help him a bit ! 
 
 Manning strolled up again to the desk, his 
 cigar cold, and leaned against the counter 
 railing. 
 
 "Oh, all right!" exclaimed Sandy, goaded 
 past endurance. "I suppose I can undertake 
 the job for a week or so ; but that's the limit, 
 understand?" 
 
 But the limit was not then in view, as he 
 found later. 
 
 The following morning Marjorie's visions 
 
IMPULSES 179 
 
 of a life of leisure and continuous window- 
 shopping were ruthlessly dispelled by a deter- 
 mined father. 
 
 At eight-thirty the two set forth for the 
 nearby school ; and that evening Manning re- 
 ported that the child had been satisfactorily 
 entered in the sixth grade, with a "dandy 
 teacher, and that was all there was to it!" 
 
 Sandy was relieved to find that the matter 
 was so easy, and indeed it all appeared so. 
 For several days he saw little of them. Man- 
 ning seemed intent upon becoming acquainted 
 with his little girl, and out of school hours 
 they were constantly together. 
 
 Marjorie always had a bright greeting for 
 Sandy when passing in and out, and each 
 evening she had some gay recital of the after- 
 noon's pleasure for his ears a donkey ride 
 in the park, a scamper on the beach or some 
 other outdoor treat. 
 
 "And no movie?" Sandy once asked her. 
 
 "No; my daddy says I must love outdoors. 
 There's prettier pictures there." A puzzled 
 look came into the child's eyes. "Do you 
 know, he called my mother what you did." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 "A 'movie fan.' What is that, Mr. 
 Sandy?" 
 
 Sandy pondered. "I asked you if she was 
 
180 IMPULSES 
 
 one," he temporised. "I didn't know her, you 
 see. You know what a fan is, don't you?" 
 Marjorie nodded. "Something you wave 
 
 to keep you cool, 7 know! It's not a flag, but 
 
 
 "Yes, I can see that you know. It keeps 
 you cool, that's just it. Your daddy wants 
 you to keep nice and cool outdoors, while your 
 mama keeps cool, or thinks she does, at the 
 movies, eh?" Sandy was proud of himself. 
 
 "Yes, I see." Marjorie nodded, quite sat- 
 isfied. -1 
 
 So all went smoothly for four days. Then 
 Manning received a hurry call on a country 
 order, and took the evening train for Sacra- 
 mento to be away for an indefinite time, leav- 
 ing a tearful little girl in the arms of a pro- 
 testing guardian. 
 
 It took considerable diplomacy and an 
 hour or so of story-telling before the child 
 could be induced to go to her room and settle 
 down for the night. All hints referring to 
 the pleasures of playing assistant night-clerk 
 were frowned down by Sandy, and finally, 
 when at eleven-thirty a peep through the 
 crack of her door discovered a sleeping Mar- 
 jorie, worn out with conflicting emotions, he, 
 no less weary, returned to his night's work. 
 
 With commendable forethought breakfast 
 
IMPULSES 181 
 
 for the child had been arranged for at a near- 
 by waffle kitchen, to be eaten under the chap- 
 eronage of the good-natured, stout proprie- 
 tress well-known to Sandy. His plans ended 
 there, and it was not until he awoke with a 
 start at noon on the following day that Mar- 
 jorie's necessity for lunching and also dining, 
 slapped his memory. 
 
 He rose hastily, thereby giving himself a 
 headache, and descended to the office. 
 
 "Have you seen Marjorie this morning?" 
 he asked Wainwright, the day-clerk. 
 
 "Nope. Oh, yes yes, saw her go out to 
 breakfast about eight." 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 "A crowd came in on the eight-thirty. I 
 guess I missed her when she left for school. 
 She's all right; you should worry!" 
 
 Sandy tried to agree with this, but after 
 all, his was the responsibility, not Wain- 
 wright's. He was starting upstairs again 
 when Wainwright remembered more about 
 Marjorie. 
 
 "A lady called about ten-thirty to see her," 
 he remarked casually. 
 
 Sandy started. "A lady! What lady?" 
 
 "Didn't leave her name." 
 
 Sandy returned quickly to the desk. "What 
 did she look like? What did she say?" 
 
182 IMPULSES 
 
 Wainwright, surprised into giving details, 
 tried to remember. "Sort of a 'fluffy-ruffles, 
 movie fan/ I guess. Began by asking some 
 questions about the show there." He indicat- 
 ed a moving-picture poster displayed in the 
 lobby. "Then she looked over the register 
 awhile." 
 
 Sandy groaned. 
 
 "Say, what's the matter?" demanded the 
 other. "There ain't no law against a woman's 
 looking at a hotel register, is there?" 
 
 "No, no, of course not!" Sandy was forced 
 to admit. "What next?" 
 
 "She didn't seem much interested, but she 
 did ask if Mr. Manning and his daughter were 
 to remain here long, and where the little girl 
 was." 
 
 "And of course you told her!" 
 
 "Yes, I did!" snapped Wainwright. "If 
 you're so particular about your pet you'll have 
 to stay on the job yourself." 
 
 This was unreasonable of the day-clerk, 
 who did not know how much was involved in 
 the apparently casual enquiry of the lady. 
 "What's it to you?" he wound up more ami- 
 cably, seeing plainly that something was 
 wrong. 
 
 "That probably was the child's mother, 
 and she's trying to get her back again. Now 
 
IMPULSES 183 
 
 I've promised Peter Manning that she shan't 
 have her not while he's away, at any rate." 
 
 "You're in for a sweet scrap," said Wain- 
 wright, surveying Sandy with commisera- 
 tion. "Why, in hell, didn't you warn me? 
 How could I know?" 
 
 "I never looked for anything like this." 
 
 "Why, saving your presence, any fool 
 might have known that the woman would 
 search the hotel and boarding-house registers. 
 Nothing could be simpler." 
 
 "So it seems," agreed Sandy. 
 
 At three o'clock he impatiently looked out 
 for a lightly-running little figure returning 
 from school, but none came. It was past six 
 when Marjorie appeared in the office doorway, 
 a trifle doubtful as to her reception. With 
 impatience in his heart Sandy smiled encour- 
 agingly. 
 
 "Well?" he enquired, pointing silently up 
 at the solemn office clock. 
 
 "I know I did promise Daddy to come 
 straight home from school," stammered the 
 child ; "but but Mama came to school for me, 
 and " her eyes glistened as she warmed to 
 her subject "and she took me to see 'The 
 Price of her Soul.' Oh, it was perfectly grand, 
 Mr. Sandy!" 
 
184 IMPULSES 
 
 "Yes, I'm sure it was." His tone was not 
 convincing. 
 
 "Don't you like movies, Mr. Sandy?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, I adore them! I think they're 
 cute," he assured her. "Now run away and 
 get ready for dinner. It's time to eat." 
 
 "Yes, I must hurry. My mama's coming 
 after dinner to talk to you." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 "I said my mama's coming " 
 
 "Good Lord! I heard you. Hurry up!" 
 
 Marjorie scampered to the elevator, pon- 
 dering over the vagaries of the middle-aged, 
 and in ten minutes was down again, bathed 
 and brushed, ready for the evening meal. 
 
 When Mrs. Peter Manning, flashily, but 
 most becomingly, "dressed to kill," sauntered 
 into the hotel lobby that evening she encoun- 
 tered at the desk an entirely different person 
 from the affable gentleman of the morning. A 
 half-dozen or more persons were sitting 
 quietly about in rocking-chairs. The deter- 
 mined-looking man, turning over some rec- 
 ords behind the counter, glanced up enquir- 
 ingly, and realised immediately who the 
 woman was. She smiled confidently, and 
 Sandy inwardly cursed heredity which had 
 passed on a bit of that smile to the child Mar- 
 jorie. He had an annoying remembrance of 
 
IMPULSES 185 
 
 the smile quite aside from its sweetness on 
 Marjorie's lips. In the back of his brain was 
 an exasperated query where had he seen the 
 woman before? 
 
 "I'd like to see Marjorie Manning/' de- 
 manded her mother. 
 
 "Sorry, but she has retired." 
 
 "Oh, then, I'll just run up to her room !" 
 
 "She is asleep, and guests are not shown 
 upstairs at this hour unless by invitation." 
 
 "But I am a very intimate why, Marjorie 
 was out with me all afternoon. I " 
 
 "Yes/' answered Sandy sternly; "that was 
 expressly against her father's orders. It must 
 not happen again." 
 
 "Who are you, I should like to know, to 
 tell me what I shall or shall not do with my 
 own child !" exclaimed the woman angrily. 
 
 Several men looked up curiously from 
 their evening papers. Sandy hushed her loud 
 tones by a glance, and a lowering of his own 
 voice. 
 
 "So you are Mrs. Manning?" 
 
 "Yes, and I have a right to see my own 
 child ! I'd like to know what right you have to 
 prevent me?" 
 
 "The right her father gave me when he 
 left town last night, and I intend to carry out 
 his wishes." 
 
186 IMPULSES 
 
 "Oh, you do?" she defied, starting for the 
 elevator. 
 
 "Yes," declared Sandy, motioning to the 
 keenly interested office-boy who promptly 
 closed the elevator doors. 
 
 "Now," continued Sandy, standing on the 
 lowest tread of the stairs ; "I advise you to go 
 home, Mrs. Manning, and think over this mat- 
 ter seriously before doing anything rash. You 
 are not going to see Marjorie if I can prevent 
 it until her father returns. Then, of course, 
 it will be a question for him to decide." 
 
 "Him to decide ! Him to decide !" repeated 
 the angry woman. "Anybody'd think I, her 
 own mother, had nothing to do with her ! I'll 
 just have you know " 
 
 "Shuh! I don't think it's worth while 
 making a scene," advised Sandy. "It would 
 be very easy for me to report you at this hour 
 of the evening." 
 
 In truth, an officer of the law, fingering his 
 club importantly, as though itching for com- 
 bat, was at that moment passing the plate- 
 glass windows. Sandy nodded toward him sig- 
 nificantly. 
 
 Mrs. Manning flushed still more angrily, 
 seeing the futility of pressing the matter at 
 present. Sandy, watching her intently, 
 thought how easily she could be mistaken for 
 
IMPULSES 187 
 
 an undesirable visitor of the night, and how, 
 had he so wished, he could turn the scales 
 against her. 
 
 She paled, and tossed her head carelessly, 
 laughing with strident tones, and then Sandy 
 mentally placed her. He remembered a line 
 of people edging up to a moving-picture box- 
 office, and he felt again the ridicule of three 
 empty-headed young women. 
 
 "I'll be around in the morning/' she an- 
 nounced, for the edification of the occupants 
 of the rocking-chairs and the elevator-boy, 
 who had cautiously opened the doors again. "I 
 was on my way to the show up here, so I 
 thought Fd drop in. Tell Mar jorie I was here, 
 please. Good-night." 
 
 "Good-night," responded Sandy civilly, 
 opening the street door, and allowing the 
 "movie-fan" to sweep past him; that is, if 
 skirts so short that they displayed several 
 inches of flesh-colored stockings could be cor- 
 rectly said to sweep. 
 
 Then began one of the most exacting 
 weeks of Sandy's existence, when evenings of 
 work were interlarded with story-telling or- 
 gies, frequently interrupted by impromptu 
 games of "hide-and-seek," when always the 
 same irate, highly-colored woman was "it." A 
 week during which his morning's repose was 
 
188 IMPULSES 
 
 restless and uncertain, broken by thoughts of 
 the possible abduction of his little charge. 
 
 Marjorie was now under the strictest or- 
 ders to return to the hotel for lunch, and after 
 school on the stroke of dismissal. After her 
 breakfast with her guardian, Tom, the office- 
 boy, thought it great fun to see her safely into 
 the school-yard. Many and circuitous were 
 the routes they took to elude the "swell dame" 
 in case she tried to make a capture in the 
 street. 
 
 At noon, Sandy, cutting short his hours of 
 rest, was ready for her to lunch with him. 
 Three o'clock found him walking toward the 
 school to meet her with some plan for the 
 afternoon. 
 
 Late each day a gaily-dressed woman 
 walked up and down past the hotel, ostensibly 
 examining theatre-posters, to disappear for 
 an hour or so into any one of the numerous 
 motion-picture houses in the vicinity. 
 
 Each evening she sat in the hotel lobby, oc- 
 cupied with newspapers or "vanity bag," im- 
 patiently tapping her high-heeled, high-priced 
 shoes on the tessellated floor; but a pretty, 
 fair-haired little girl never appeared in the 
 office during that time. 
 
 Sandy sat at the desk; and the elevator- 
 boy, seeming to be in his complete confidence, 
 
IMPULSES 189 
 
 worked, one might say, on the same spring. 
 Evening after evening the lady sat there, un- 
 til the game grew irksome, and the policeman, 
 patrolling outside, appeared a menace to 
 which her courage was not equal. 
 
 Then, all unknown to Mrs. Peter, the sec- 
 ond week of Manning's absence proved to be 
 vacation week at school, and, resultant of one 
 of Sandy's inspirations, Mar jorie was spirited 
 across the bay, and into the home of the Blue- 
 Eyed-Lady, who welcomed the chance to help 
 in this interesting bit of life's patchwork. 
 
 While her mother, outwitted, sat tapping 
 her impatient heels in the hotel lobby, Mar- 
 jorie spent seven ecstatic days and seven 
 restful nights, quite out of the reach of city 
 temptations and "movie fans." 
 
 At the end of two weeks when Peter Man- 
 ning returned, there was a reckoning one 
 evening. Marjorie had been brought back to 
 the hotel that afternoon, and an exceedingly 
 excited young person greeted her father when 
 at six o'clock he hurried in. 
 
 During the dinner hour and for some 
 time later there was no conversation save 
 glowing descriptions from Marjorie, drawn 
 out by her father's interested questioning, 
 concerning her wonderful vacation week. 
 
 Sandy, who sat by attending to his work, 
 
190 IMPULSES 
 
 was strangely abstracted, Manning thought. 
 Seated with his back toward the entrance he 
 could not see what Sandy saw a gaudily- 
 dressed woman sauntering by with the even- 
 ing crowd, who, when she saw the father and 
 child intent upon each other, moved quickly 
 out of sight. Sandy caught the expression 
 of satisfaction on her face. 
 
 The piece of his mind which he presented 
 to Peter Manning later, after the child had 
 been sent upstairs, was a large one, forcible 
 and highly-colored, so that the giving and re- 
 ceiving of it lasted far into the early morn- 
 ing hours. In consequence of this, within 
 another week, Marjorie found herself safely, 
 but unhappily, ensconced in a highly-recom- 
 mended boarding-school for young ladies in a 
 suburban town across the bay. 
 
 Marjorie never knew that the Blue-Eyed 
 Lady had a hand in this, otherwise she might 
 have most unfairly hated her. There, despite 
 copious tears, and frequent protestations in 
 the form of ill-spelt letters both to her father 
 and "Mr. Sandy," she remained for several 
 months. 
 
 Meanwhile, legal proceedings for the 
 separation of the parents were pending. 
 Terms concerning the child could not be 
 agreed upon, and contentions daily grew more 
 
IMPULSES 191 
 
 bitter. As Sandy refused to take any part in 
 these discussions he really knew little about 
 them. On one point he was firm however. 
 
 "No compromises/' he commanded, "if 
 you're asking me !" 
 
 Manning thought this the right idea. "I'm 
 doing this solely for the sake of the child," he 
 stated. "I shall marry again as soon as pos- 
 sible in order to have a decent mother for 
 her." This appeared to him an entirely dis- 
 interested and heroic stand. 
 
 Sandy eyed him quizzically. "Going to 
 step out of one mistake into another, eh?" 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "I'd let well enough alone if I were you. 
 That's my advice. Now I'm done, but don't 
 come prating to me about getting another 
 mother for Marjorie!" 
 
 This was one of Sandy's busy evenings, 
 when Manning's affairs bored him extremely. 
 Those upon which he was even more bored 
 were the ones when Mrs. Peter Manning chose 
 to come and air her grievances, and flaunt her 
 wounded maternal feelings in his unrespon- 
 sive face. These ran through the whole gam- 
 ut of emotions from the softly alluring fem- 
 inine to the nobly heroic. The woman haunted 
 both his waking and his sleeping hours. No 
 nightmare was complete without her. Event- 
 
192 IMPULSES 
 
 ually the interest, and then the suspicion, of 
 the occupants of the office rocking-chairs be- 
 came aroused. It was noticed that a bond of 
 some sort, whether agreeable or not they could 
 not judge, existed between this frequent vis- 
 itor and the quiet night-clerk. 
 
 Suddenly her visits ceased. A pleasant 
 void was left in the office one evening, fol- 
 lowed by another and still another. Weeks 
 went by, and the woman did not come again. 
 Peter Manning gave up his rooms, and for 
 several months thereafter Sandy would have 
 lived in peace of mind, had it not been for the 
 arrival at frequent intervals of tear-stained, 
 ink-spotted letters from the young ladies' sem- 
 inary across the bay. These he usually an- 
 swered. When he did not they only came 
 oftener, causing him much anguish of soul, 
 which he crushed down under a calm exterior, 
 and assured himself sternly that it was none 
 of his affair. 
 
 But Fate would not let him off so easily. 
 His life lines were still entangled with those 
 of the Mannings. Once a week Sandy's even- 
 ing off occurred, when the day-clerk took his 
 place for a few hours, and the night-clerk 
 could then dine and use his evening after the 
 manner of the ordinary mortal. It did not 
 please him on one of these evenings to have 
 
IMPULSES 193 
 
 the voice of Peter Manning over the wire urge 
 him to meet him somewhere for dinner. 
 
 "Are you sure there's to be no party?" de- 
 murred suspicious Sandy. 
 
 "Nix! No party," Manning assured him. 
 
 "All right," agreed Sandy promising him- 
 self several quiet hours after dinner. "I'll 
 meet you for a quiet feed. Where's it to be?" 
 
 "Come up here to my room," suggested the 
 other, giving his apartment number. "I'm not 
 quite ready to go out; we'll decide later." 
 
 Half an hour after, when Sandy arrived 
 at the place of meeting, he was much dis- 
 pleased to find a lively young woman, evi- 
 dently ready for an evening's pleasure, wait- 
 ing with Manning in the reception-hall. 
 
 To cover the strained situation the latter 
 chatted with much volubility and impressively 
 presented his friend to the young lady, open- 
 ing Sandy's eyes to the fact that this was 
 probably the prospective new mother of his 
 little friend Marjorie. So Sandy's heart 
 hardened more and more toward any idea of 
 diversion in the coming dinner, and toward 
 the young woman, innocent though she might 
 be ; and most of all toward Peter Manning. 
 
 "Let's go down to Charley Fashion's 
 how's that?" suggested the jovial host. 
 
194 IMPULSES 
 
 "Any place where there's food," assented 
 Sandy gruffly, wondering profanely why he 
 had been chosen to play "gooseberry" in this 
 party which was no party! The young woman 
 evidently wondered also, not very well pleased 
 with the arrangement. 
 
 "Well, come along," hurried Manning, 
 leading the way toward the entrance. 
 
 Just then the telephone at the lobby desk 
 rang, and the attendant, answering, called to 
 him: "It's for you, Mr. Manning." 
 
 With a gesture of impatience he left 
 Sandy and his companion waiting on the door- 
 step while he answered the summons, whence 
 they heard only snatches of an unwilling con- 
 versation on his part. While they discussed 
 the present fog, which might by tomorrow 
 turn to rain, and other vital topics, Manning 
 wrestled with an unwished-for appointment. 
 
 Finally they heard him say : "Oh, all right 
 then! I'll come up for you; be there in ten 
 minutes." 
 
 He stood a moment after hanging up the 
 receiver, his handsome face drawn with a 
 mingling of annoyance and pain. Then he re- 
 joined the two in the doorway. 
 
 "Sorry! I'm detained for a few minutes. 
 Look here, you two go over to Charley's and 
 
IMPULSES 195 
 
 get a table. I'll be along in about ten min- 
 utes." 
 
 "All right/' agreed Sandy, with all the ap- 
 pearance of dealing with a lunatic. Little did 
 Manning know what risks he was running! 
 
 "Ten minutes, mind!" warned the young 
 woman archly. 
 
 "Sure! Ten minutes, Mabel," and Man- 
 ning disappeared up the street. 
 
 It was fully half an hour later, when 
 Sandy and the young woman called Mabel, 
 having secured a table for three, and having 
 exhausted all topics of conversation which 
 their limited common ground held, looked up 
 hopefully to behold a couple entering who 
 proved to be Mr. and Mrs. Peter Manning. 
 
 Events passed rapidly and bewilderingly 
 after Manning with assumed nonchalance had 
 presented his wife. The unwelcome dinner 
 invitation and the still more unwelcome 
 guests weighed more and more heavily upon 
 Sandy's spirits. His depression did not have 
 the slightest effect upon the spirits of the la- 
 dies. Although total strangers to each other, 
 with true feminine guile, and utterly irre- 
 spective of what their feline attitude might be 
 toward each other on the morrow, they were 
 to all intents and purposes the dearest of 
 friends. Manning was fooled by this pleas;- 
 
196 IMPULSES 
 
 ant atmosphere. Not so Sandy. He retreated 
 still further into his shell of ironic indiffer- 
 ence. This mood was received with much pre- 
 tended amusement by Mrs. Manning. She 
 saw a possible flirtation along these lines a 
 way to bring her husband to terms. "I'll just 
 show him!" she thought; and began to spread 
 her net for the wary Sandy. 
 
 For a time she kept her head, but an hour 
 or so of highly-seasoned food, wine, and bril- 
 liant lights, changed her tactics from ones 
 mildly annoying to those exceedingly distaste- 
 ful. 
 
 "Say, d'ye know," she whispered, coquet- 
 tishly touching Sandy's wine-glass with her 
 own, "it would be fun to make old Pete jeal- 
 ous, wouldn't it?" 
 
 "Is that your idea of fun?" 
 
 "Um-hm. You men are all alike. It's 
 dead easy to make 'em jealous. Say, are you 
 game?" 
 
 "Sure, I'm game, but not your kind of a 
 game," answered Sandy. 
 
 Meantime, Manning's attentions were ap- 
 parently all devoted to Mabel, yet he was not 
 blind to the maneuvers of his partially di- 
 vorced wife. 
 
 These were not having the desired effect 
 as planned by Mrs. Manning, for instead of 
 
IMPULSES 197 
 
 creating jealousy in her whilom husband's 
 mind, and regret over lost claims to her 
 charms, they were merely arousing a mis- 
 taken indignation and contempt for his ill- 
 used friend. 
 
 Mabel's suspicions, influenced by his own, 
 were also sent in this direction ; although se- 
 cretly, as one woman to another, her real 
 venom was directed toward the wife, who, she 
 could plainly see, was fighting with these ill- 
 concealed weapons to regain what she consid- 
 ered her own. 
 
 Various rumors, put aside at the time as 
 nonsense, recurred now to Manning, of the 
 evenings passed by his wife in the lobby of 
 Sandy's hotel. 
 
 Had they been idle rumors? Would she 
 have gone there evening after evening merely 
 to make her claims on Sandy's sympathy? 
 She must have received encouragement for 
 her visits. Manning flattered himself that he 
 knew men pretty damned well. One always 
 had to look out for these quiet, self-contained 
 chaps! Coming to this conclusion, Manning 
 rose abruptly, when two hours of this ill-as- 
 sorted companionship had brought them all to 
 the verge of weariness. 
 
 "Time to call this party off," he an- 
 nounced. "Sorry, but I've got a business ap- 
 
198 IMPULSES 
 
 pointment at nine. I couldn't get out of it." 
 He met his companion's look of surprise un- 
 flinchingly, putting aside as forgotten the 
 "show" spoken of earlier in the evening. "I 
 have time to take you home, Mabel. Just 
 oblige me by seeing Mrs. Manning home, will 
 you, Sandy? You and she seem to have plenty 
 to talk about!" 
 
 They left the restaurant, as many parties 
 do, rather the worse for having entered it, 
 and Sandy, still grimly "game," though not 
 the game of Mrs. Manning, called a taxi-cab 
 for the highly jubilant, and now slightly in- 
 toxicated lady. Paying no attention to her in- 
 ane chatter, he settled himself as comfortably 
 as circumstances permitted in his half of the 
 seat and soon became pleasantly absorbed in 
 reflections of his own affairs, in which the per- 
 son beside him played no part. A silence last- 
 ed for several minutes, his only conscious sen- 
 sation being one of soothing relief. Then he 
 began to wonder, and turning warily discov- 
 ered his companion listing somewhat danger- 
 ously toward his shoulder, in what he thought 
 was a sound sleep. 
 
 "Good thing, too!" he muttered. Diplo- 
 matically tilting her head in the other direc- 
 tion, he resumed his pleasant thoughts which 
 
IMPULSES 199 
 
 at that hour, as well as most other hours, re- 
 verted to the Blue-Eyed Lady. 
 
 The cabman had been given the name of a 
 small uptown hotel of some pretensions. The 
 jerk with which the cab drew up before it 
 failed to arouse Mrs. Manning. 
 
 "We're here," announced Sandy; but she 
 did not stir. He took hold of her arm and 
 shook her gently. "Wake up, woman, you're 
 home." To his horror, her head lolled back 
 on the cushions, then over to one side. Her 
 eyes, half open, rolled up in a peculiar way. 
 Sandy had never seen eyes behave in just that 
 way before. Her mouth dropped open in a 
 silly fashion, and a gasp issued from it. Good 
 Lord, what was this? 
 
 The cab-driver looked around and tapped 
 impatiently on the glass. 
 
 "Here's your place! Two dollars, please." 
 
 "Look here!" cried Sandy. "I've got a 
 fainting woman here. Lend me a hand, will 
 you?" 
 
 The cabman lent disinterested, though 
 practised, aid to the distracted Sandy, and a 
 bell-boy, running out, completed a strangely 
 assorted trio which, trying to make a three- 
 cornered "Lady's chair," succeeded in landing 
 a much-tousled form in the elevator. Fortu- 
 nately few persons were in the lobby, and the 
 
200 IMPULSES 
 
 ; 
 
 bell-boy, discreet of his kind, remembered the 
 lady's room number, and with prompt intui- 
 tion guided Sandy and his burden to it. 
 
 They laid her on the bed and threw open 
 the windows. While the boy hastened for ice- 
 water Sandy struggled with the intricacies of 
 the lady's collar and hatpins. Incidentally he 
 removed several curls with her hat, and would 
 gladly have completed the scalping process 
 had it been lawful. 
 
 After applying all the first-aid remedies 
 of hand-rubbing, pulse-feeling, ice-on-temples, 
 and others which occurred to their united 
 minds, there seemed nothing more for them to 
 do but wait for Mrs. Peter Manning to stop 
 moaning and gasping, and to open her eyes. 
 This she did quite suddenly after about an 
 hour had passed, when Sandy's back was 
 turned, arousing suspicions in him to which 
 he allowed full play, until a real terror in her 
 eyes assured him that the attack, at least, had 
 not been feigned. 
 
 He smiled grimly. "You're here," he as- 
 sured her. 
 
 "Here?" She looked about in a frightened 
 way. 
 
 "Yes. They always ask 'Where am I?', 
 don't they? Well, you're here, all right. Don't 
 be frightened I won't eat you !" 
 
IMPULSES 201 
 
 Then she remembered, and trying to as- 
 sume a remnant of coquetry, struggled to a 
 sitting posture. "Gee, that was some dinner! 
 What's the idea? Have you been doping me?" 
 
 Sandy gazed at her for a full minute with- 
 out speaking, gathering together the forces of 
 his scorn. He motioned to the pitcher-eared 
 bell-boy, and gave him a generous tip. "You 
 may go. I think we're all right now. I'll ring 
 if I want you." 
 
 The door closed behind the reluctant boy, 
 then Sandy spoke his mind with great delib- 
 eration. "Now, cut that out, my lady, do you 
 hear me? Cut that out! You and I have 
 come to a show-down, right here and now. 
 I've stood all I'm going to stand from the 
 Manning family, see?" A clear-eyed, smiling 
 little face crossed his mental vision. He felt 
 the pressure of a soft hand. "Although Mar- 
 jorie " 
 
 "Marjorie!" The figure on the bed hud- 
 dled down again, and there came from it long, 
 strangling sobs. "I can't give her up !" Sandy 
 heard. "I'll do anything to get her anything 
 anything! Help me to get her!" 
 
 Sandy gritted his teeth, and said "Damn !" 
 to the million-trillion stars visible from the 
 open window. He stood there and thought, 
 while the tumult on the bed continued. He 
 
202 IMPULSES 
 
 hated gratuitous sermons preached by canting 
 persons. When himself treated to even the 
 suggestion of one from any over-zealous "up- 
 lifter" he was quick to present an imaginary 
 collection plate for contributions, indicating 
 that the sermon was over. Thus it was much 
 against his principles to preach himself (be- 
 ing keenly aware of his own weaknesses and 
 failings) and it was a well-known statement 
 of his that he would never again give advice 
 to women ! 
 
 So he remained at the window gazing at 
 the stars, until the strangling sobs had done 
 some good. His thoughts were not in the stars 
 however. They could not help but hover round 
 that soul-rending sight on the bed. 
 
 After all, what was she that tousled lit- 
 tle heap of what was it Wainwright had 
 called her? "Fluffy-RufflesMovie-Fan/' 
 that was it ! A light-minded, frivolous, pleas- 
 ure-loving nature left three-quarters of the 
 time alone in a great city full of enticing by- 
 paths. What wonder that our ill-balanced 
 civilisation eventually casts these unfortunate 
 bits of "fluff" into the moral dust heap ! 
 
 The sobbing ceased, and Sandy turned 
 away from the twinkling stars, his mind clari- 
 fied. 
 
 No one but himself (and he has forgotten) 
 
IMPULSES 203 
 
 and Mrs. Peter Manning, knows what he said 
 to her during the next half hour, and there 
 was no one to pass around the collection plate. 
 Sandy left then, after promising to call up 
 Peter in the morning, and she had promised 
 to try and get some sleep. 
 
 He did call Peter up, and the interview 
 was stormy, though brief. The gist of it lay 
 in Sandy's final sentence. 
 
 "You're a damn fool if you don't hang 
 onto the mother you've already got for Mar- 
 jorie. If it interferes with your business, 
 why drop your business! To hell with the 
 whole lot of you !" 
 
 This so enraged Manning that he cut off 
 abruptly, nearly electrifying "Central." 
 
 Hell was a pleasant place, to judge by 
 what Sandy saw one evening about two weeks 
 later. That morning he had received a curt 
 note from Peter Manning saying that he and 
 his wife had decided to try it again, and that 
 he hoped Sandy would run out to see them 
 sometime for Marjorie's sake. Sandy filed 
 this note with an inscrutable smile, having 
 doubts about a renewed intimacy with the 
 Mannings. 
 
 That evening he bethought himself of his 
 old friend, the second-hand book-dealer. It 
 was some months since he had been to see 
 
204 IMPULSES 
 
 him. As it was his evening off, he walked 
 briskly along the darkening streets toward the 
 shop. Passing along Fillmore street, his mind 
 reverted naturally to recent experiences. 
 There was the moving-picture house now 
 where he had first seen the "Movie-Fan." Ap- 
 proaching nearer he rubbed his eyes. In the 
 center of the line now serpentining toward the 
 box-office window were three familiar figures, 
 nay four, for freckled-face Jimmy, rendered 
 almost unrecognizable in a new suit, was also 
 of the party. Marjorie saw Sandy first, and 
 broke away from her parents to run joyfully 
 to him. Peter Manning looked rather sheep- 
 ish, but his wife, woman-like, all smiles, 
 adapted herself to the situation. Sandy felt 
 in a great hurry, but Marjorie's soft hand 
 held his. 
 
 "My daddy's going to stay home every 
 night now," she announced joyfully; "and 
 we're only going to movies sometimes, and " 
 
 "Marjorie, you talk too much!" broke in 
 her father sternly, yet he smiled, and Sandy, 
 catching the smile, returned it. 
 
 "Come and see us soon!" cried Marjorie 
 after him, and he nodded as he hastened on, 
 to be absorbed a few minutes later in a brand- 
 new consignment of dusty volumes that very 
 day flung down in a corner of the book-shop. 
 
PERTAINING TO THINGS SPIRITUAL 
 
 It was when Sandy was connected with 
 the White Laundry Company and matters of 
 religion were furthest from his thoughts, 
 that he first became acquainted with the 
 vicissitudes of the Johannsen family. 
 
 Jack, the office boy, called them to his at- 
 tention. 
 
 America's participation in the great 
 world war was a year old. The office staff was 
 short of men, and replete with well-meaning 
 young women. Sandy's work was multiplied 
 by unexpected duties in all directions. Just 
 now he was looking about for Jack. Where 
 was the kid anyway? He had left at least 
 two hours ago with a load of clean clothes. 
 While Sandy wondered for the fifth time 
 Jack hurried in, a small-sized parcel in his 
 hands. The rule of no delivery without pay- 
 ment had been put in force. 
 
 "No pay, no clean clothes," was Jack's 
 order. "You'd have left 'em though, I bet!" 
 he assured Sandy. "Say, you'd oughter seen 
 
206 IMPULSES 
 
 that place. They didn't have a bean, I guess, 
 and their furniture all bein' moved out, and 
 everything." 
 
 "Whose furniture?" demanded Sandy, 
 his ready interest aroused. 
 
 "Them Johannsens up on Jackson street, 
 you know. Got a whole lot o' kids and no 
 dough." 
 
 "Now I know just who you mean !" San- 
 dy's sarcasm slipped easily away from Jack's 
 comprehension. 
 
 "0' course I couldn't do nothin' but bring 
 their bundle back," he explained. "But I wish 
 you'd go out there yourself, I sure do !" 
 
 "Me? What next! Do you think I have 
 time to deliver laundry bundles?" 
 
 "Well, you could do somethin' about it all 
 right. I couldn't, you see." 
 
 Jack's earnestness eventually had the de- 
 sired effect, and Sandy, a sigh directed toward 
 his overflowing desk, shook himself from ac- 
 counts and bills, and followed the boy. 
 
 They drove rapidly toward the Jackson 
 street tenement where the Johannsen family 
 lived, Jack explaining on the way. 
 
 "They've always paid before, but I don't 
 see how they did. They ain't got much except 
 kids." 
 
 The apparent truth of this statement was 
 
IMPULSES 207 
 
 noticeable when they arrived at their destina- 
 tion. Kids of the human species swarmed 
 everywhere, up and down the narrow outside 
 stairway, and tumbled over each other in the 
 crowded hall through which two men were 
 trying to carry some battered furniture 
 without causing loss of life. 
 
 "Guess they don't all belong to the Johann- 
 sens," suggested Jack, dubiously eyeing the 
 scene. 
 
 "I wouldn't be sure," Sandy replied skep- 
 tically. 
 
 At the top of the inner stairway a woman 
 stood, a forlorn object in a sordid setting. A 
 delicate lame boy of nine, and two younger 
 girls, hanging about their mother, were show- 
 ing the excitement of their ages at any unac- 
 customed change. The boy stood aloof, re- 
 garding his mother from time to time with 
 anxious eyes. 
 
 As soon as Sandy saw her he remembered 
 the beginning of this Johannsen family. He 
 noted the full brown eyes of the woman, and 
 the glossy dark hair, still abundant and grace- 
 fully knotted. Ten years ago he had seen her 
 as a bride. He remembered her as Stella Gar- 
 cia. 
 
 : 01d Garcia, her father, ran a saloon in 
 Clay street in those days. The girl had tended 
 
208 IMPULSES 
 
 bar at times, and had always a pleasant word 
 for Sandy when he had gone to collect the rent 
 for his company each month. Their talk had 
 run along curious lines when one thought of it. 
 Queer for a man in his walk of life to talk over 
 a saloon counter to a girl about her soul. Yet 
 that was what had happened one day, and the 
 girl had kept it up. Sandy remembered it all 
 and now ! The stairway was dark, the two 
 men were for the moment below, and he could 
 make his survey deliberately before his pres- 
 ence became known. 
 
 Where was Olaf, the big longshoreman 
 who had married Stella, he wondered. His 
 gaze now penetrated beyond the group at the 
 head of the stairs and through an open door- 
 way. In the window opposite hung a home- 
 made service flag. Sandy seemed to see a bit 
 of a scarlet petticoat worn by the girl those 
 dozen years ago. The flag displayed one blue 
 star ; so that accounted for Olaf. 
 
 Sandy's musing came to an abrupt con- 
 lusion. One of the handlers of furniture jos- 
 tled him from below. "Here, let's pass ! What 
 more, missus? All this stuff?" 
 
 "It's all I have," she answered drearily. 
 "Do you need to take it all?" 
 
 "Them's my orders," said the man, but he 
 looked unwillingly at his task. 
 
IMPULSES 209 
 
 "You shan't take away my mother's bed!" 
 declared a brave young voice, as the pale boy 
 stepped forward with clenched fists and pant- 
 ing breath. 
 
 "Say, you keep out o' the way, kid/' said 
 the man roughly, though not unkindly. 
 
 "You'd best be quiet, Johnny," admon- 
 ished his mother. "It's no use." 
 
 Sandy, moved to immediate action, gained 
 the top of the stairway. 
 
 "Here, you leave the rest to me !" he com- 
 manded with an imperative gesture toward 
 the astonished expressman. "I'll shoulder 
 this job myself. You can refer your boss to 
 me." He gave the man a card. "By the way, 
 who is your boss? I mean, who sent you to do 
 this dirty job?" 
 
 The man mentioned a well-known name to 
 Sandy; one connected with various prosper- 
 ous business firms for doing their unclean 
 work on the side while attending to their pub- 
 lished deeds of charity in the open. 
 
 "You tell him I'm on this job, see? And 
 I'm onto him too !" The man grinned, yet was 
 disinclined to give up so easily. "It's all right 
 I tell you. Here unload that stuff down 
 there!" yelled Sandy to the second man, who 
 had given up all idea of work for the day, and 
 
210 IMPULSES 
 
 had settled down on the doorstep among the 
 crawling youngsters. 
 
 The two expressmen looked at each other. 
 "Who pays for this job, boss?" enquired the 
 one on the stairs. 
 
 "I'll see that you get paid tomorrow," 
 vowed Sandy. "Now, vamoose! Skiddoo 
 
 ffitl" 
 
 "But my mother's bed, and and the 
 
 cook-stove!" cried Johnny, anxiously peering 
 down the stairway. 
 
 Sure enough! Sandy had noticed a bed 
 forming the foundation for many smaller ob- 
 jects, already in the wagon. He rushed 
 downstairs two at a time. 
 
 "Unload here, what are you about?" he 
 demanded, roughly disturbing the lazy figure 
 on the top step. In another fifteen minutes 
 the furniture had all been carried up again. 
 The expressmen worked under a sort of hyp- 
 notic spell, aided by enthusiastic Jack, who 
 had known well enough what would happen 
 when he had persuaded his busy superior to 
 accompany him. 
 
 During all this time the woman and the 
 two little girls had stood, wide-eyed and un- 
 questioning, too stunned by the quick reversal 
 of events to show any emotion. Adversity's 
 rigid training had been effective; stolidity 
 
IMPULSES 211 
 
 was their predominant trait. They stood 
 aside obediently when Sandy and Jack began 
 moving their belongings back into the deso- 
 late rooms. There were three of these, fairly 
 decent in their appointments, and with that 
 service flag in the window, shot through with 
 the late afternoon sun, stimulating their ef- 
 forts, the two worked rapidly. Johnny man- 
 fully lent his aid, especially when it came to 
 the setting up of "mother's bed." To the cas- 
 ual eye this appeared to be the sole place of re- 
 pose for the entire family. 
 
 "Now," exclaimed Sandy, dusty-handed 
 and breathless; "I think you'll do." He 
 clapped Jack on the shoulder. "You may 
 thank this chap for getting back your laundry 
 bundle. He was keen for my bringing that, 
 you bet you !" 
 
 She who had been Stella Garcia clutched 
 the bannister rail still more tightly. Tears 
 streamed from her closed eyes, and she 
 moaned until the two little girls cried in sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 "You've made my mother cry," said 
 Johnny reproachfully; "but I guess you didn't 
 mean to." 
 
 "We didn't!" protested Sandy. He and 
 Jack half-carried the woman in and placed 
 her in a chair. "She's all right, eh? You are, 
 
212 IMPULSES 
 
 aren't you?" he emphasized. The force of this 
 brought her to a sitting posture with a faint 
 smile on her face. 
 
 "Yes, I'm all right sure I am. Be quiet, 
 children. Ain't you got no sense? For shame, 
 before the gentleman !" 
 
 "Indeed, I'm no gentleman!" declared 
 Sandy. "Don't you remember me, Stella? 
 How's your soul going these days?" 
 
 "Eh?" She looked up bewildered. "Why, 
 of course! What a dub I am! It's Mr. 
 Sandy!" 
 
 "That's who wondering what had be- 
 come of you, Stella. Why, I've seen this kid 
 here day after day when we had the office 
 yonder;" he indicated the opposite corner of 
 a side street. "I've seen him at the window 
 looking out at the other children at play. Why 
 have you kept him shut in like that?" 
 
 "Johnny's never been strong-like. It was 
 the drink Dad used to give him in the first 
 years that took such a hold on him. He's never 
 been like the other children. Then since 
 Olaf 's been gone " She looked up at the ser- 
 vice flag. The sun had left it dark and cold. 
 
 "Tell me about Olaf." Sandy looked at 
 his faithless timepiece; just then it chanced 
 to be going. "Gee whiz, it's closing time! 
 
IMPULSES 213 
 
 Chase back to the office, Jack; I can't do any- 
 thing more there tonight." 
 
 Whereupon he settled down to hear about 
 Olaf, and the many happenings of the inter- 
 vening years since first he had talked to Stella 
 Garcia about her soul and of things spiritual 
 in general. 
 
 It had been a struggle from the first, she 
 told him, to make both ends meet. A long- 
 shoreman's pay was small, and they had al- 
 ways been behind in the race. "I was often 
 tempted to go back to the old life," sighed 
 Stella. 
 
 "I don't blame you a bit. There's no grind 
 like this damned respectability one!" Sandy 
 was now off on his favorite hobby. Naturally 
 his listener could not quite follow him. 
 
 "Yes, it's been a grind," she agreed. She 
 told how the laming of little Johnnie had come 
 to pass. He had been tossed about in a drunk- 
 en brawl over her father's drinking counter. 
 It is to punish deeds like this, thought Sandy, 
 that millions of armed men go forth in the 
 name of humanity and democracy, while in 
 our midst in our neighbors' houses these 
 things occur! 
 
 The little girls had always been healthier. 
 She herself at times had been able to do fac- 
 tory work. Once, oh fortunate interval, she 
 
214 IMPULSES 
 
 had served in a restaurant for several 
 months ! 
 
 "It was you who helped me all the time," 
 she surprised him with. 
 
 "Me?" Bewildered Sandy thought her 
 mind must be wandering. 
 
 "Yes. You always told me to keep my 
 head above my work. That very first day 
 when you come in for the rent, you told me 
 somethin' about my mind." 
 
 Sandy was nonplussed. "I must have 
 been some fresh kid," he said lamely, ransack- 
 ing his memory for a clue to her meaning. 
 
 "I never thought about my mind before," 
 she went on; "sure I didn't. It wasn't my 
 mind the men wanted that used to come 
 round." 
 
 Then Sandy remembered the swinging 
 doors of a barroom closing behind him, the 
 malodorous atmosphere of a water-front 
 "joint." Few men were in the place at that 
 hour, and those few were gathered around a 
 pretty, brown-eyed girl. She was giving them 
 tit for tat, yet holding them at bay. Seeing 
 Sandy, she had turned with the same manner 
 to him, but his business-like air had immedi- 
 ately caused her to change. 
 
 He had been impressed with her prompt 
 methods. That day he had been dwelling 
 
IMPULSES 215 
 
 much in thought over the mastery of the mind. 
 It was his way to take anyone who happened 
 to converse with him into his theories concern- 
 ing these things. "Keep your head above your 
 work," he had advised the girl, and she had 
 not known that she was merely the chance 
 target for generalisation. It might have been 
 one of the drunken brawlers, but it chanced to 
 be Stella, who received and cherished the ad- 
 vice. 
 
 Thus it had been each time for succeeding 
 months when he had called for the rent. From 
 "head" they had advanced to "mind;" from 
 "mind" to "soul;" thence to "spirit" and back 
 again, until all unknown to Sandy he had im- 
 planted an altogether unique line of thought 
 which had struggled on alone through the 
 years. For after a time his work had 
 changed, and he had occasion to go no more to 
 the barroom. And now Stella, the bride, had 
 become this worn woman ! Good Lord, what 
 a satirist old Time was, to be sure ! Here sat 
 Sandy now in company with the service flag, 
 the woman, and the three ill-fed children. 
 
 He wondered what part he had played in 
 keeping this group together. Evidently some 
 word of his had lingered in the "mind" of the 
 woman. 
 
 Realisation that it was time for the even- 
 
216 IMPULSES 
 
 ing meal, and that there were no signs of 
 preparation for it suddenly came to him. Per- 
 sons about to be evicted for non-payment of 
 rent are not apt to have well-filled larders. He 
 bade good-bye to the little group with the 
 promise to look out for work for Stella, al- 
 though he groaned inwardly as he wondered 
 what a woman of her type could do. 
 
 Within another hour a well-filled basket of 
 provisions had arrived at the tenement ad- 
 dressed to Mrs. Olaf Johannsen, with the as- 
 surance from the brisk messenger who depos- 
 ited it at her door that until she became again 
 self-supporting, the District Workers would 
 keep her supplied with necessaries from the 
 Agency near by. 
 
 The following week found Stella estab- 
 lished in the vast mangle room of the Laun- 
 dry, and as Sandy observed her, coming and 
 going regularly, he heaved a figurative sigh of 
 relief, believing his responsibility in her direc- 
 tion ended. 
 
 Responsibility, it is true, may have ended, 
 but the needs of an enquiring mind which he 
 had unwittingly quickened into action were 
 apparently never-ending. 
 
 At first the growing interest of the entire 
 office staff in his association with Mrs. Jo- 
 hannsen escaped Sandy's notice. The regu- 
 
IMPULSES 217 
 
 larity with which she stored up questions to 
 put to him on all sorts of subjects soon became 
 a matter of much half-concealed mirth among 
 his companions. It was not until he had been 
 asked three successive weeks by one of his 
 most secular young assistants which church 
 he would advise him to attend the following 
 Sunday, and another had asked him if he 
 made a study of mind reading, and until even 
 Jack had so far enfringed upon his own idea 
 of what was due the dignity of his superior as 
 to ask him if he had a "soul-mate," that Sandy 
 recognised some familiar reiteration in it all, 
 and realised to what an extent he had become 
 mentor to the woman whose existence he had 
 for so many years completely forgotten. 
 
 Then his characteristic ire arose, and he 
 inwardly vowed to put a stop to it. Being his 
 "brother's keeper," or his sister's either, un- 
 der compulsion, had no charms for Sandy. He 
 forthwith surrounded himself with a baffling 
 atmosphere of unresponsiveness which so be- 
 wildered the unsuspecting woman that several 
 weeks passed while she ransacked the mind 
 which he had awakened to discover in what 
 way she had offended "Mr. Sandy." 
 
 Meanwhile the two little girls Johannsen 
 romped and tumbled with the rest of the noisy 
 children swarming up and down the tene- 
 
218 IMPULSES 
 
 ment steps. Pale little Johnny, too weak to 
 join in their boisterous games, stood usually 
 at the window looking down at them. Above 
 him hung the faded service flag, mute re- 
 minder of a father who might never return. 
 Sandy, walking home from work each even- 
 ing, often passed that way. The picture 
 stamped itself indelibly in his brain the flag, 
 already faded during its brief service of a 
 few months, the boy's life, with its equally 
 brief number of years, too surely fading also. 
 
 One afternoon the boy's face was absent 
 from the window. The faded little flag alone 
 caught the late sun rays. Sandy wondered, 
 then crushed down his interest under sternly- 
 made resolutions. 
 
 Next day about noon he was informed that 
 Mrs. Johannsen had not reported in the man- 
 gle room that morning. The connection be- 
 tween Johnny's vacant place at the window 
 and her absence was obvious, yet Sandy gave 
 no sign. Someone else was deputed to attend 
 to the woman's neglected work, while a mild 
 oath or two was thrown in concerning the 
 sex's irresponsibility. Several days went by. 
 
 "Say, there'll be a strike in the mangle 
 room if you don't put another hand in there," 
 was the report Sandy received one morning. 
 
 " Where's Mrs. Johannsen?" he enquired. 
 
IMPULSES 219 
 
 "Don't know." 
 
 "Well, make it your business to find out, 
 somebody." 
 
 Somebody proved to be Jack. That same 
 afternoon, he returned from his rounds look- 
 ing much disturbed. 
 
 "What in hell's the matter?" demanded 
 his office chief. 
 
 "Say, you know them Johannsens?" 
 
 "Yes, what about them?" 
 
 "The kid's dead." 
 
 The suddenness of this statement under- 
 mined a bit of Sandy's stoicism. "Eh, what's 
 that?" he asked with some concern. Johnny's 
 pale face rose before him. 
 
 "The little chap what wanted us to save 
 'mother's bed,' " explained Jack. 
 
 "Are you sure? Who told you?" 
 
 "Oh, all the other youngsters around!" 
 
 "Trust the kids for knowing," ruminated 
 Sandy. "Well, he's best gone. What chance 
 would he have had of surviving in the con- 
 flict!" 
 
 This was beyond Jack so he wisely stood 
 silent. Simpler matters occurred to him. "I 
 I think it would be nice to take some flow- 
 ers," he suggested shamefacedly. To make 
 any show of sentiment, especially to the office 
 manager, seemed out of place. 
 
220 IMPULSES 
 
 "Sure!" was Sandy's unexpectedly prompt 
 rejoiner. "I'm with you. See what the oth- 
 ers will do." He flipped a piece of silver into 
 Jack's palm, and returned to his desk. 
 
 "She'd like it if you took 'em to him," was 
 the boy's next suggestion. 
 
 "Me? Good Lord, I'm no florist's mes- 
 senger !" 
 
 "Well, I guess she thinks you're more 
 her friend than the rest of us." 
 
 "You're dead wrong, Jack. Get out and 
 buy the flowers pillow with 'rest' on it 
 'gates-ajar' any old thing you like, but don't 
 bother me again about it !" 
 
 Jack's reproachful eyes and slowly re- 
 treating form haunted Sandy for the next two 
 or three hours until he could scarcely endure 
 the silence into which he had withdrawn. He 
 cursed himself for a sentimental idiot. "It's 
 the best thing that could have happened," he 
 assured his softening heart. "What's the 
 good of prolonging a useless life like that. It 
 should be a matter of rejoicing." 
 
 Nevertheless his mental picture of the fad- 
 ing flag and little Johnny disturbed him all 
 the afternoon. 
 
 It was just before closing time that Jack 
 doubtfully approached him, in his arms a 
 carefully carried florist's parcel. 
 
IMPULSES 221 
 
 "I I thought you might like to see it be- 
 fore I took it out to the house," he ventured. 
 
 "Sure," answered Sandy gruffly. "What 
 did you get?" 
 
 Jack proudly displayed one of those de- 
 signs into which innocent flowers are tor- 
 tured, and which custom and florists have con- 
 vinced gullible humanity are necessary as 
 passports into a better world. 
 
 Sandy loathed the sight of them. "That's 
 grand !" he assured the complacent Jack. 
 
 "I wish you'd take 'em," the latter sug- 
 gested, emboldened by the unexpected admira- 
 tion. 
 
 Sandy gazed at him silently. He felt a 
 sudden weakening, as though something 
 snapped in his chest. Irresistibly his hands 
 reached out for the flowers. "Confound you, 
 give them to me ! Close my desk !" 
 
 When the strange gentleman appeared at 
 the Jackson street tenement, carrying one of 
 those mysterious and fascinating parcels seen 
 only in the "swell" districts, curiosity, suc- 
 ceeded by finger-sucking awe, were aroused 
 in countless small breasts assembled on the 
 doorstep. 
 
 First, Death with its dignifying touch had 
 raised the little Johannsen sisters to dizzy 
 heights in the eyes of their admiring compan- 
 
222 IMPULSES 
 
 ions. To this was now added the strange gen- 
 tleman and the wonderful parcel. With un- 
 erring directness Sandy singled out the im- 
 portant members of the group. 
 
 "Where's your mother?" he asked the 
 elder girl. 
 
 She pointed up the stairs excitedly* "Up 
 there. You can't go in ; nobody can." 
 
 -Paying no attention to the child's warn- 
 ing, Sandy mounted the stairs. The task once 
 undertaken, his the grim duty of carrying it 
 through. He knocked gently on the door. In 
 the darkness of the landing he saw nothing, 
 but his hand found the doorknob. 
 
 "I told you no one could come in!" cried 
 a woman's voice. "If you children don't " 
 
 Sandy opened the door. "It's all right, 
 Stella," he said quietly. "No one is going to 
 trouble you. I came to see if you needed any- 
 thing." 
 
 "You mustn't come in you mustn't," she 
 insisted. 
 
 His gaze had traveled past her to the 
 quiet little form at rest in "mother's bed." It 
 then followed her pointing finger to the door, 
 on the outside of which a yellow card was fas- 
 tened. "Diptheria," he read. For a moment 
 he was startled; not for himself, but for little 
 Johnny. Yet after all Death had come with 
 
IMPULSES 223 
 
 swifter, surer strokes than had been expected 
 for the boy, and in the end was kinder. 
 
 "That makes no difference to me," he as- 
 sured the mother. "No, thanks, I won't come 
 in." 
 
 "I'd like you to see my Johnny. He's all 
 the man I've had since Olaf went." 
 
 So Sandy's heart-strings stretched even 
 further, and he stood beside the bed and 
 looked on the half-promise of a man which 
 lay there. 
 
 He could not talk about the boy. "Where 
 is Olaf?" he asked. 
 
 "I don't know," the woman answered 
 dully. "It's six months since I've had a word." 
 
 "Six months! We'll have to see about 
 that," declared Sandy, although what he could 
 do did not suggest itself. Women were wait- 
 ing everywhere weeks and months for word of 
 their loved ones, only to hear bad news in the 
 end. How many Olaf s would be missing when 
 the war was over, who could tell ! 
 
 Leaving the flowers where Stella could do 
 with them as she wished when he was gone, he 
 came away from the bed. 
 
 "Why did your husband go?" he asked. 
 "Did he volunteer?" 
 
 "Yes, he was one of the first. He was al- 
 
224 IMPULSES 
 
 ways bothering about his duty to his country." 
 
 "Humph!" 
 
 "Don't you think it was grand of him?" 
 she questioned wistfully. 
 
 "As grand and as necessary as a Fourth 
 of July oration," was Sandy's ambiguous 
 reply. 
 
 It satisfied Stella, however, and concluded 
 the conversation on patriotism, of which the 
 flag in the window was the mute symbol. 
 
 As Sandy descended the rickety stairs and 
 brushed his way through bereaved sisters and 
 playmates alike, he pondered over the complex 
 question of a man's duty toward home and 
 country. He was several blocks up the street 
 before he realised that he had broken quaran- 
 tine rules, and that now he ought not spend 
 the evening with the Blue-Eyed Lady as 
 planned, but instead must seek the safety of a 
 drug-store, and the preventive company of 
 disinfectants. Damn that boy, Jack, anyway ! 
 
 When Stella returned to work the follow- 
 ing week, things spiritual, final stage of the 
 mental, possessed her. For days thereafter 
 her quest for consolation was unceasing. 
 
 "For God's sake, woman!" finally ex- 
 claimed her exasperated mentor, "I'm not a 
 religious man. You must work out your own 
 salvation. What pleases me would shock you. 
 
IMPULSES 225 
 
 Find your own spiritual plane attend all the 
 meetings you hear of, you'll find something." 
 
 "I want something to bring me nearer to 
 Olaf and little Johnny," Stella insisted. 
 
 "Olaf 11 come back all right; you can't lose 
 him." 
 
 "I ain't so sure. Do you believe in signs, 
 Mr. Sandy?" 
 
 "When they are good ones," he cheerfully 
 assured her. 
 
 "Well, I'm awful superstitious. A week 
 before Johnny died I had a sign about Olaf." 
 
 "Yes?" Sandy's attention was half-way 
 up a column of figures ; he wished she would 
 go. 
 
 "His star fell out o' his flag there in the 
 window one day. 0' course I picked it up quick 
 and sewed it on again so the children wouldn't 
 see, but " 
 
 "That's no sign, that was just your poor 
 sewing!" 
 
 "No." She evidently wished to believe the 
 worst. "My man will never come home." 
 
 "All right," agreed her listener, his eye 
 traveling up the thrice-calculated column. "If 
 you will have it so, that settles it. Now, how 
 about that new lot of linen?" 
 
 Thus her search for spiritual consolation 
 continued until Mrs. Johannsen's "getting re- 
 
226 IMPULSES 
 
 Hgion" became a favorite topic among the 
 laundry workers. 
 
 There came a day when a new expression 
 in her worn face told of something achieved. 
 She kept her own counsel this time on what 
 the discovery was. For several weeks a light- 
 er step and more cheerful mien told that her 
 long quest had been successful. 
 
 "Thank God!" mentally ejaculated Sandy, 
 observing her; and the next time he saw the 
 Blue-Eyed Lady he gave her a new chapter in 
 Stella Johannsen's life-story. 
 
 Although curiosity is not an admitted 
 trait in the male sex, something urged Sandy 
 on to investigation. What could it be that 
 Stella had found? Apparently something 
 satisfying to both her mentality and heart. In 
 response to a guarded reference to his joy 
 over her renewed interest in life, she evasively 
 admitted having found a "meeting" that gave 
 her consolation ; but it was something "They" 
 didn't like talked about, it was something 
 "secret-like." A queer look came into her eyes 
 as she gazed unseeingly into space. 
 
 "I'm soon going to talk to my Olaf and 
 little Johnny," she assured him. 
 
 "Oh?" Now Sandy's interest was indeed 
 awakened. "This bears inspection," he 
 thought. 
 
IMPULSES 227 
 
 He had no opportunity for gratifying his 
 curiosity for several days. Mrs. Johannsen's 
 increasing number of lapses into faraway 
 gazes impressed him. A remark from Jack 
 one day attracted his attention. "Say, Mrs. 
 J.'s gone clean fluey since she got religion." 
 
 Also the number of complaints against her 
 work annoyed him. The moment seemed ripe 
 for decisive action. 
 
 Following his reporter's instinct for get- 
 ting a story he deliberately shadowed the 
 woman one afternoon at dusk when she left 
 the building. He had felt for some time past 
 that she did not go directly home from work. 
 Going up the street, his attention apparently 
 all given to his long cigar, he slowly followed 
 and watched. 
 
 The unsuspecting woman gave him a long 
 walk before she finally turned into a doorway 
 in a questionable neighborhood. By the time 
 Sandy had reached the doorway she had dis- 
 appeared. A long flight of stairs led upward, 
 and at one side there was a closed door. The 
 latter was noncommittal, but at the side of the 
 stairs near the bottom a card was tacked. 
 
 "Madame Sylvia," that was all; yet it was 
 enough for the self-appointed detective. He 
 turned away. Later that evening, among the 
 many advertisements which keep our "one 
 
228 IMPULSES 
 
 hundred percent American" newspapers 
 alive, his trained eye found this same "Mad^ 
 ame Sylvia," with a little fuller information 
 concerning her business than her door-plate 
 had given. It might have passed for a dress- 
 maker's notice to the unwary. Sandy jotted 
 down a few mysterious characters in his note- 
 book, and tucked it away again in his pocket 
 with a supremely satisfied air. He was on 
 the scent now of something interesting. They 
 liked to keep their meetings secret, did they? 
 Well, he would soon share the secret ! 
 
 It was late afternoon, and except where 
 lamps were lighted, it was quite dark indoors. 
 In a small, stuffy room, one flight up from the 
 street, mysterious forms sat in conclave. Vo- 
 luminous draperies concealed a corner of the 
 place, and dark-doored cabinets, hiding one 
 knew not what terror, loomed majestically 
 from out of pitch blackness. Pungent per- 
 fumes were in the air. Behind a canopied 
 table, and veiled with filmy stuff through 
 which she could be but dimly seen, sat a 
 woman in Oriental dress. 
 
 A weird purple light shone over all, while 
 a flicker of many colors, from one knew not 
 where, came and went spasmodically. Mys- 
 terious movements behind curtains and cabi- 
 
IMPULSES 229 
 
 / 
 
 net doors gave the impression that other be- 
 ings, mortal or immortal, also occupied the 
 room. 
 
 To Stella Johannsen, seated in the center 
 of all, they were immortal. To two men even 
 now mounting the long stairway from the 
 street, who could tell what they might prove 
 to be! 
 
 "Do you, Stella Johannsen, wish to speak 
 directly to your husband, Olaf?" droned a 
 voice from behind the filmy draperies. 
 
 "Yes oh, yes !" came the frightened voice 
 of Stella. 
 
 "Up to this time I have been your medi- 
 um/' continued the voice from the purple 
 depths. "You have now reached the plane 
 where your own spirit may be permitted to 
 communicate with his directly with his. Are 
 you ready for the test?" 
 
 "Yes oh, yes!" again came the fright- 
 ened voice. "Oh, Olaf, are you there?" 
 
 The door softly opened and the two men 
 who had mounted the stairs now stood on the 
 threshold. One was a police officer, the other 
 a slight, brown-haired figure. They came un- 
 noticed, and stood there watching. 
 
 "Shuh !" The voice from the purple gloom 
 grew slightly menacing. "Until permission is 
 given, you may not address the spirit. Have 
 
230 IMPULSES 
 
 you the piece of silver ready for the offering?" 
 
 "Yes oh, yes!" Stella placed a "cart- 
 wheel" dollar on the canopied table. The 
 shadowy form behind the draperies made sure 
 of the offering before the ceremony went on. 
 
 "Soul of Olaf Johannsen, are you ready to 
 meet your mortal wife?" 
 
 A slight pause ensued, a movement in the 
 cabinet was heard then silence. Stella half 
 rose, the shock of disappointment distorting 
 her face. The medium repeated her question, 
 this time with careful emphasis. Evidently the 
 soul of Olaf was in a dense mood this evening. 
 Again a shuffling sound was heard, and 
 slowly, as though from untold depths or space 
 came a toneless voice. 
 
 "Sure I want to meet my wife !" it said. 
 
 Stella sprang up, her eyes aflame with a 
 wild light. "It's him! It's him! Olaf , where 
 are you? Is Johnny with you? Oh, where 
 are you where " 
 
 "Silence!" commanded the medium's 
 voice. "Silence, I say!" 
 
 A convulsion shook the cabinet. A noise 
 like a mighty fist crashing through wood re- 
 sounded in the place. A powerful flashlight 
 from the open doorway swept the room. 
 Sandy, following the officer inside, closed and 
 held the door. 
 
IMPULSES 231 
 
 The light revealed Stella, half-crazed, 
 standing in the center of the room. Tumbling 
 out of the great cabinet a large man in rag- 
 ged clothes groped his way toward her. In 
 the excitement of the moment the officer's 
 searchlight neglected to investigate immedi- 
 ately the canopied table with its purple back- 
 ground. 
 
 The big man from the cabinet stared stup- 
 idly about, then his gaze fastened upon 
 Stella's awe-stricken face. Sandy and the of- 
 ficer, watching, saw the awakening intelli- 
 gence, after months, perhaps, of inaction, in 
 the soul of Olaf . 
 
 The eyes cleared gradually, until a mortal 
 possessed of all his mental faculties stood be- 
 fore the woman. "Well, Fll be damned! 
 If it ain't Stella old girl !" 
 
 "Olaf! Olaf!" she cried, and fell upon 
 his breast. 
 
 Next day's write-up in the newspapers 
 was in Sandy's best style. It told of a success- 
 ful raid on one of the city's long-sought-for 
 and most vicious dens, where innocent people 
 were defrauded and robbed. 
 
 It told of the use made of a war-shocked 
 young longshoreman who had returned in a 
 troop train to his home city unbeknown to his 
 
232 IMPULSES 
 
 friends and family. Wandering penniless and 
 bereft of his sense he had been captured by 
 the agents of the would-be sorceress, "Ma- 
 dame Sylvia," where he had for several 
 months, in all innocence, played the star part 
 in her comedy of souls. 
 
 Of "Madame Sylvia" herself Sandy's ac- 
 count said little. He did not feel it necessary 
 to state that the investigations of the officer 
 had disclosed a vacant seat within the purple 
 shadows, and that up to the time of going to 
 press the whereabouts of "Madame Sylvia" 
 were unknown. The account dwelt at length 
 preferably on the unexpected and dramatic 
 meeting of the husband with his wife who had 
 been decoyed there under pretense of spiritual 
 uplift. It closed in brilliant rhetoric with the 
 sudden return of Olaf 's reason at the sound of 
 the voice of his beloved wife. 
 
 In spite of all, however, Sandy was not 
 convinced of his success as a religious coun- 
 selor, Stella's triumphant thanksgivings, com- 
 bined with her faith in his infallibility, to the 
 contrary. 
 
 "Yet we must admit," he said he was 
 giving the Blue-Eyed Lady the last chapter 
 "it was my advice that chased Stella to that 
 meeting. I told her she must go on her own. 
 Thank God, my task is done, and she's found 
 
IMPULSES 233 
 
 her spiritual consolation in the mighty form 
 of Olaf!" 
 
 Over Sandy's face there grew a character- 
 istic expression well-known to his listener. 
 
 "Well, what is it now!" she asked. 
 
 His smile was half-sad, half-humorous. 
 "I'm hoping Stella lets it go at that. It would 
 be a darned shame to call Johnny back into 
 the flesh. Poor kid ! His the flowery paths, 
 and golden streets of the blest!" quoth Sandy. 
 
 And the Blue-Eyed Lady agreed with him, 
 
THE BLUE-EYED-LADY 
 
 As glimpsed through smoke-rings. 
 
 (Showing the one great "exception" to 
 
 Sandy's impulse theory, which 
 
 "proves the rule!") 
 
 Speaking of whom 
 
 Dreaming backward, it seemed to Sandy, 
 there had never been a time when he had not 
 known Her. Somewhere, deep in his con- 
 sciousness, She had existed. To be sure he had 
 not always realised many details about Her; 
 for instance, that Her eyes were blue. That 
 knowledge did not come to him until one day 
 when he climbed a hillside with Her real self ; 
 but whenever he tried to dissociate Her from 
 his early recollections he found bits of Her in 
 all of them. 
 
 One by one the many qualities and 
 endearing traits possessed by the Ideal Lady 
 of his heart ranged themselves through suc- 
 cessive personalities. 
 
IMPULSES 235 
 
 Why, there was Her quiet determination, 
 "demure diplomacy," Sandy called it, and 
 charm of companionship, in little five-year-old 
 Margaret, his first sweetheart back there in 
 the old Ardrossan home. There was the beauty 
 and budding womanliness of fifteen-year-old 
 Mabel, on the farm where he had spent many 
 of his boyhood summers ; the sprightliness of 
 Miriam, the young actress, when town life 
 lured him later; the quiet lovableness of his 
 cousin Elizabeth at home; he had always 
 wished more from them, he could not have 
 told what. All this was never wholly realised 
 by Sandy until the wonderful time came when 
 these long-sought traits were discovered mi- 
 raculously, all combined in the person of one 
 small "Package of Humanity" the Blue- 
 Eyed Lady. 
 
 It was at a period, too, of his life when he 
 was least desirous of seeking Her. This he 
 told Her long afterward, and She believed 
 him, for Her absolute faith in him was estab- 
 lished from the first. 
 
 Picture Sandy, atop of a chair, in a some- 
 what gay little restaurant where he and a 
 half-dozen friends often met for the evening 
 meal. 
 
 Glass in hand he proclaimed his complete 
 
236 IMPULSES 
 
 emancipation from womankind. "Never 
 again ! n he vehemently declared, amid the 
 jeers uf his doubting friends. Not that his 
 experiences had been unusually harrowing. 
 They had been those of a man who lived the 
 average all-round life. For several years an 
 unfortunate venture in matrimony had 
 claimed him ; now Sandy was alone. He had 
 called many cities home since the day he left 
 the old world for the new in his first young 
 manhood. The day he touched America's shore 
 was a link in the golden chain which eventu- 
 ally drew him to the Blue-Eyed Lady, but this 
 he did not know until some years after their 
 paths had met. 
 
 Journeying ever westward he was finally 
 called to California. In those days San Fran- 
 cisco was a place of sand dunes, and wide, 
 wind-swept stretches on its western border; 
 and there, all unconscious of him, a Blue- 
 Eyed Child had romped and played, and 
 grown to womanhood, dreaming of what Life 
 would bring Her. 
 
 Sandy, restless, holding somewhat cynical 
 views about Life in general, and Woman, as 
 he knew her, in particular, crushed down the 
 life-long ideals he had half-consciously cher- 
 ished, and believed himself immune from all 
 women's lures and graces. 
 
IMPULSES 237 
 
 Then came the evening when he stood 
 upon the restaurant chair, and proclaimed his 
 freedom. Even then Destiny was preparing 
 for his surrender, and the triumph of the 
 Blue-Eyed Lady. 
 
 Ring One. 
 
 Sandy walked the city streets, mildly puff- 
 ing his long, Italian cigar. His day's work 
 was done. All about him were hurrying 
 crowds. Every now and then his lips sent 
 forth a ring of smoke, and each one he 
 thoughtfully watched, as though fascinated, 
 in the evening haze. What did he see? En- 
 circled in each ring was a shadowy form. He 
 could not see it distinctly, try as he would. 
 Much more clearly he could hear a voice ; but 
 how idiotic that was! A woman was com- 
 posed of more than a voice. In retrospection 
 he went over the afternoon just ended. He 
 saw himself in a roomful of people. Most of 
 these were hazy, and figured now merely as 
 the excuse for the informal talk on a subject 
 of supposedly mutual interest, which he had 
 delivered. 
 
 These pictures wavered, and several 
 smoke-rings ascended quite empty. Then that 
 haunting voice came again ; what was it it had 
 said? 
 
238 IMPULSES 
 
 "I'm glad to meet you/' and "Pretty well, 
 thank you ;" the last in response to a question 
 of his, "And how is the story going?" 
 
 He and the owner of the voice, in company 
 with all the other shadowy forms, had been 
 drinking coffee, and eating slices of that in- 
 ane cake with which people think they must 
 stuff one at these afternoon affairs. Then 
 ruthlessly the hostess had come and monopo- 
 lised his attention to the exclusion of all 
 others. 
 
 But still that voice, answering several 
 other questions of his, stayed with him as he 
 walked the city streets, until Sandy's whimsey 
 was to find a figure, eyes, and hair to match 
 it; for as yet it had none of these. Only a 
 Personality there was, which made itself felt, 
 and lingered persistently in his consciousness. 
 
 The evening waned; fog settled somberly 
 over the city. Sandy turned his footsteps 
 homeward. In his den, "Hades," he took his 
 pipe, tried friend of many seasons; perhaps 
 it would prove more communicative than a 
 cigar. Puff a fine, big ring floated above 
 him ! But, no ; the encircled space held noth- 
 ing more inspiring than a bit of his own wall- 
 paper beyond. Sandy sighed. He settled 
 down to read; but before the morning paper, 
 which he usually read at midnight, was un- 
 
IMPULSES 230 
 
 folded, he took out his note-book, and scrib- 
 bled thoughtfully therein some shorthand 
 characters. "Met the other guest of honor to- 
 day at Mrs. B.'s. She's worth while." 
 
 During another hour desultory smoke- 
 rings rose ; but the haunting voice was stilled, 
 and Sandy saw no more visions that night. 
 
 Ring Two. 
 
 One day, several months later, Sandy sat 
 among sheets of manuscript, rapidly reading, 
 and throwing them aside. He was interested, 
 amused, bored, by turns. The story did not 
 especially appeal; the chief character, a girl 
 called "Frank," attracted and held him. Why, 
 it was good stuff, he admitted. No one had 
 created just that type of western heroine be- 
 fore, so far removed from the ordinary, cat- 
 tle-ranching dope. How long had he had this 
 script? Good God four months! He must 
 write to the woman. What was it he had writ- 
 ten after meeting her that day? "I'll be glad 
 to help you with your work in any way I can ;" 
 then silence of four months! What would 
 she think of him ! Tossing aside the last sheet 
 Sandy drew his writing materials to him. 
 
 Next morning a Lady and sometime au- 
 thor of stories received a long-expected letter. 
 
240 IMPULSES 
 
 It contained a comprehensive criticism of her 
 manuscript. She had given up all hope of an 
 answer weeks since. 
 
 "He thinks me just another foolish woman 
 who imagines she can write !" sighed She. 
 
 Long afterward She dubbed this period of 
 silence "The Dark Ages." 
 
 How exciting it was to receive so unexpect- 
 edly a fearless, "honest-to-God" criticism of 
 Her cherished work! The Critic slashed Her 
 plot to pieces ; wanted to dash the hopes of Her 
 favorite hero; but "fell in love with Her hero- 
 ine." Here was balm to Her soul, and food 
 for immediate argument. By return mail 
 "Mr. Critic" received a straightforward re- 
 sponse. It justified all Her scenes ; refused to 
 eliminate "superfluous characters;" and loved 
 Her own hero ! In spite of the Critic's disap- 
 proval She insisted upon marrying him to Her 
 heroine. 
 
 Of the latter herself She spoke little, 
 but was demurely glad that she had been 
 "fallen in love with" by the Critic! 
 
 When Sandy read these lines ring after 
 ring ascended, until "Hades" reeked with pipe 
 smoke. He carefully scrutinised each one, but 
 no shadowy glimpse was vouchsafed him; at 
 least, none at all worthy to encompass the 
 
IMPULSES 241 
 
 faintly remembered voice. Piqued by a half- 
 admitted curiosity, balked by a wholesale lack 
 of detail, Sandy groaned. 
 
 "Good Lord, I wouldn't know the woman 
 if I met her face to face I" 
 
 He soon did, however, as Ring Three will 
 show. 
 
 Ring Three. 
 
 It was evening, and Sandy, well satisfied 
 with his day's employment, stretched his 
 weary limbs and lit his nipe. Confidently he 
 puffed, and turned his gaze upward. There 
 She ws, as he had known She would be! 
 Perched upon the edge of a great blue-grey 
 ring appeared a dainty little figure, slender 
 and trim. 
 
 "Come out of that, Woman !" quoth Sandy, 
 "and let me look at you !" 
 
 At these words She vanished, and even 
 then he had no idea that Her eyes were blue; 
 but other smoke-rings gave him details of the 
 afternoon just past. He saw himself talking 
 with an old friend, a vaudeville actress, in an 
 hotel lobby. They were awaiting the arrival 
 of Someone. Sandy, by letter, had made the 
 appointment. 
 
 "She ought to be here now/' he said, con- 
 
242 IMPULSES 
 
 suiting his watch. "I don't know the Lady by 
 sight, but She can write. I believe She'll be 
 able to do what you want." 
 
 "How are you going to recognize her?" 
 lazily enquired the actress. 
 
 Sandy was anxiously watching the pass- 
 ing streetcars, any one of which might bring 
 the expected Unknown. The actress would 
 just as soon have had Her fail to appear, so 
 long had it been since she had had a good talk 
 with her old friend. 
 
 "The Lord only knows!" replied Sandy. 
 "If She speaks first I may know Her." He 
 sprang up and ran out on the sidewalk, leav- 
 ing his hearer somewhat puzzled by his an- 
 swer. In a moment he returned bringing a 
 business-like little woman-figure with him, 
 armed with note-book, pencil, and non-com- 
 mittal air of seasoned writer, ready to jot 
 down notes of what the actress wished in the 
 way of a dramatic sketch. No one would have 
 dreamed of the perturbation cavorting under 
 the calm exterior of the Lady; and no one, 
 least of all, Sandy, could have told how he 
 had known that She was the expected Lady 
 even before the car had stopped ! She had not 
 spoken first, and it was Sandy who had sig- 
 nalled for the car to stop, because She had 
 
IMPULSES 243 
 
 supposed the next street to be Her stopping- 
 place. 
 
 So once again these two had met; and 
 Sandy, looking at the figure in the smoke- 
 ring, was vaguely dissatisfied. The business 
 of the afternoon had gone well enough. The 
 actress had been most good-natured. The lit- 
 tle Lady's note-book had taken in many mys- 
 terious entries, decipherable only to Herself; 
 but, hang it all, She had been altogether con- 
 cerned with the business upon which Sandy 
 had called them together, and even now he had 
 no very clear idea of what She looked like ! 
 
 But the memory of a sweet, low voice 
 soothed his tired fancy each time he recalled 
 it; and gradually through his consciousness 
 there crept the force of a Personality which, 
 all unknown then to Sandy, was never to lose 
 its hold. 
 Ring Four. 
 
 This time the smoke frames the vision of a 
 stage, in a hall well-filled with the usual im- 
 polite audience attending a charity show. 
 
 The majority were there to find as much 
 fault as possible with the amateur talent 
 bravely occupied in trying to "put it over." 
 
 Sandy, in a rear seat, was there for one 
 object solely to witness the performance of 
 a Lady who had given him a card of invita- 
 
244 IMPULSES 
 
 tion the day upon which he had arranged a 
 meeting for Her with the vaudeville actress. 
 Now Sandy was in a quandary. Having no 
 program, how was he to know when the par- 
 ticular Lady appeared whom he had come to 
 see ! Perish the thought that he would attend 
 an amateur performance lightly, and without 
 some special justification to his own soul! 
 
 As he thought it over in "Hades," count- 
 less smoke-rings encircled his remembrance 
 of a weary succession of acts ; when suddenly 
 in the midst of one a white-clad figure en- 
 tered. A few lines, spoken in the voice which 
 now so often haunted both his waking and his 
 sleeping hours, brought Sandy to attention. 
 He knew Her ! It was the Lady he had come 
 to see! Later She appeared again, an old- 
 fashioned, "Dresden-china" sort of girl, in a 
 tiny drama from Her own pen, in which the 
 other characters sank to insignificance beside 
 Her. 
 
 After this he had wandered out into the 
 open air, his duty done ; but never before had 
 an obligation of the sort been so mixed with 
 pleasure, although he did not admit the fact 
 at the time. 
 
 Many of his impressions of the evening he 
 put into a letter the next day, and this in due 
 time reached the Lady who had played the 
 
IMPULSES 245 
 
 part of the "Dresden-china" girl. She re- 
 ceived it with delight. It was addressed to 
 Her former heroine, "Frank," and while com- 
 plimenting Her performance of the previous 
 evening, professed to love "Her," the first her- 
 oine, best! This letter put the Lady in a 
 great flutter, and led to an answer; that to a 
 social dinner at the Lady's home, and many 
 other letters and events, all of which leads to 
 the next glimpse of the Lady. 
 
 Ring Five. 
 
 Churning its passage up the bay, a river- 
 steamer carried two persons who now really 
 knew each other by sight, to one of the small 
 towns, a two-hours' journey from the city. 
 Sandy, reflecting, with slow, deep-drawn 
 puffs saw this picture clearly. How short 
 the wonderful day had been ; how wasteful of 
 time in so far as the business accomplished; 
 but how fruitful as to the progress of ac- 
 quaintance with the still-strange Lady! The 
 trip had been considered necessary in order 
 to meet the vaudeville actress, now filling an 
 engagement in the small town up the bay. 
 
 The clearest part of the smoke-ring vision 
 showed the Two on the homeward journey. In 
 a narrow little seat in a secluded corner, the 
 western sun bidding them good-night at the 
 
246 IMPULSES 
 
 horizon's edge, the Two chiefly concerned sat 
 and discussed a Chumship. Somehow a rela- 
 tionship of this sort had started. 
 
 "What about this Chumship?" demanded 
 Sandy. 
 
 "You started it," brazenly asserted the 
 Lady. 
 
 "I beg to differ when?" 
 
 "In one of your letters; I have it down in 
 black and white!" Thus, the "demure diplo- 
 matist," and then, being a literary Lady, She 
 tried to interest him in a discussion on the 
 madness of Hamlet This held no charm for 
 him at all, except as it necessitated the use of 
 Her sweet, low voice. So the Chum matter 
 rested in abeyance for a while ; but from then 
 on Sandy began to feel something vaguely 
 stirring within him hitherto unknown, as he 
 glimpsed more and more distinctly the pic- 
 tures of the day just past. It made him un- 
 easy, and going home that evening he regret- 
 ted that, having talked so much on the trip 
 himself, he had really learned very little about 
 the Lady; and further, knowing so little, he 
 reasoned, it might be as well to see no more of 
 Her! It was just at this hour that She, a 
 lump in Her throat at the thought that, log- 
 ically, there would be no more occasions to 
 meet him, bethought Her of a tiny ruse a 
 
IMPULSES 247 
 
 thread She might so easily throw out to draw 
 him toward Her again. This took the form of 
 a thoughtful little note which Sandy received 
 the following morning. 
 
 "Just good-night, and thank you for a 
 happy day," it said, and was signed with the 
 name of the heroine of Her story. 
 
 Ring Six. 
 
 Now through a bewildering succession of 
 smoke-rings, both distinct and otherwise, 
 ranged events in the lives of these Two. 
 
 Sandy, one evening, leaning against a rail- 
 ing on one of his favorite spots at the top of 
 the city a bit of stone court and coping for- 
 gotten after the great fire devastation 
 thought over the strange events of the after- 
 noon. He visioned himself and the Lady 
 struggling against the early midsummer wind 
 up a hillside west of the city. At their feet 
 were multitudes of wild flowers; violets, 
 cream-cups, baby-blue-eyes, what not! Whirl- 
 ing down the hill the wild wind whipped the 
 Lady's skirts, and tossed stray locks of hair 
 about Her ears. Sandy made bold to touch 
 one of these locks, and it curled thrillingly 
 round his finger. His own temerity rather 
 abashed him. 
 
 "It wants to get there first," he laughed, 
 
248 IMPULSES 
 
 indicating the truant curl rioting on ahead of 
 Her. 
 
 She laughed, and fell against him, breath- 
 less. "Oh, where's the top?" She gasped. 
 
 The top of the hill was finally gained ; in 
 fact it had two tops, and this became a matter 
 of amusing dispute as to who owned which of 
 them ! So fierce was the gale there that Sandy 
 had to hold the slender little Lady down, else 
 the kidnapping wind would have whirled Her 
 lightly off the hill. The fog, too, swept about 
 them in soft, damp, white clouds. What were 
 these Two seeking there above the world? 
 Neither could have told. 
 
 Sandy, leaning against the bit of coping, 
 wondered just why they had gone there. No 
 smoke-ring picture told him ; but more clearly 
 than all else he heard Her voice saying as 
 they came down the slope again, slipping 
 among the grass and flowers, and into the sun- 
 shine; "I'm afraid I'm often selfish." 
 
 "Good Lord, you selfish !" he cried. "7 am 
 the selfish one never youl" 
 
 And visioning Her face, which he was be- 
 ginning to know was very sweet, he vowed 
 that through him or his selfishness no harm 
 should ever come by word or deed to the little 
 Lady. 
 
IMPULSES 249 
 
 Ring Seven. 
 
 Curl upon curl they came, great waves 
 breaking on the shining sand. Swirling in 
 they brought tiny shells and bits of moss to 
 the Lady's feet. She and Sandy were enjoy- 
 ing a brisk walk along the beach. Again the 
 wind blew, but this time there was no fog ex- 
 cept far out on the horizon line. It might 
 come in tonight and embrace the city, but who 
 cared for that? Not the little Lady. 
 
 Many seagulls fussed and chattered in a 
 group on the edge of the sand where great 
 flecks of foam blew about them. 
 
 "See!" cried the Lady. "The gulls are 
 having a tea-party !" 
 
 "That's just like a woman," chaffed 
 Sandy, "always thinking of tea! Looks more 
 like a convention to me." 
 
 "That's a man's thought!" She teased. 
 
 This turned the conversation to conven- 
 tions, and thence by a circuitous route to re- 
 ligion, for subjects between these Two were 
 endless. They dropped down upon the sand 
 and talked, while a yellow dog which had been 
 interested in them all the way, sat down be- 
 side them and listened attentively while 
 Sandy laid down the law concerning certain 
 tenets of the orthodox faith which he no 
 longer held, and the Lady contradicted him. 
 
250 IMPULSES 
 
 Arguments were rife, sometimes going be- 
 yond the bounds of firmness, and reaching 
 "obstinacy," as claimed by one side or the 
 other. 
 
 This time "agreement to disagree" was 
 reached ; then up sprang the Lady and struck 
 out again, battling with the ocean breeze, 
 across the sand. Perforce Sandy followed, 
 closely shadowed by the yellow dog. 
 
 What manner of woman was this, thought 
 Sandy, who tramped in boyish fashion beside 
 him? One who claimed to be in mid-life of 
 experience (although he could not believe it) 
 with a mentality to match his own, and the 
 heart and figure of a girl ! 
 
 A great, big question-mark began to be 
 noticeable in his mind now after each meet- 
 ing with Her. What and who could She be, 
 this Woman who was calmly entering every 
 angle of his life? Not entering casually 
 either, but remaining there. 
 
 That evening something strongly drew 
 him to read over again the copy of Her story. 
 This time he read from a neatly-bound manu- 
 script with which She had presented him some 
 weeks before. Interest in the leading charac- 
 ter again held him from cover to cover. Sandy 
 loved her more than ever. Why, he knew her 
 well, that girl ! Where had he met her? She 
 
IMPULSES 251 
 
 seemed more than ever familiar to him what 
 a life-companion she would make ! Slowly he 
 laid the volume down, and thoughtfully relit 
 his forgotten pipe. Puff a splendid, grey- 
 blue ring and into it immediately floated the 
 heroine of the story ! 
 
 "You?" cried Sandy. 
 
 "Yes, I am She/' came the haunting voice. 
 "Didn't you know that I am that girl? Oh, 
 dense Sandy and you never knew!" 
 
 But even after this his denseness contin- 
 ued, for he still loved the girl in the story only, 
 not at all realising the inconsistency of it. 
 
 Next morning he received one of the 
 Lady's frequent little notes. 
 
 "Beware!" it read. "We are watched! 
 The yellow dog is on our trail !" 
 
 It said other things too, immaterial here, 
 and was only one of the many jokes the Lady 
 loved to play. 
 
 Ring Eight. 
 
 Now had come a time when Sandy made 
 weekly resolves to see the Lady no more save 
 in haloes of smoke, only to scatter broken res- 
 olutions at Her feet. These She tenderly 
 picked up and stored away in the Treasure- 
 box of Her heart. For She knew much more 
 about Sandy than he knew about himself at 
 
252 IMPULSES 
 
 this time. She, better than he, knew why She 
 perched continually on his smoke-rings; dis- 
 turbing his work, interfering with his plans, 
 hampering his liberty. 
 
 She knew all these things simply because 
 She was a woman. She suspected that She 
 was The Woman, but Sandy himself did not 
 /even yet know that Her eyes were blue. This 
 ring discloses how that knowledge came to 
 him. When he viewed the vision his heart 
 stood still. 
 
 He saw a cold, foggy morning, and two 
 figures wandering uncertainly up a hillside 
 uncertain as to direction, not in gait. 
 
 Bewildering mist settled down around 
 them the higher they climbed. It damped 
 their clothes, and hung heavy on the high 
 grass through which they strode. Occasional 
 rays of sunlight, streaking through, lighted 
 each blade of green, each flower, and tree-leaf, 
 with a sparkling diamond. Even the Little 
 Lady's stray locks of hair became diamond- 
 starred, and Sandy talked about these, much 
 to Her amusement. 
 
 She, tramping staunchly along beside him, 
 hands in pockets of her trim, blue coat, 
 breathed deep, and struck out fearlessly for 
 the top. Not many yards further the path 
 
IMPULSES 253 
 
 suddenly ended in a tangle of wild vines and 
 dead branches. 
 
 "We're lost!" laughed the Lady. 
 
 Sandy laughed also. Himself, lost on a 
 hillside in the fog, with this little trusting 
 Lady! It was a greater jest than She knew! 
 
 "Woman, you are in my power!" quoth 
 he melodramatically. 
 
 She laughed again, and the mere spell of 
 Her sweet voice led him on, with never a 
 thought save to find the right path. 
 
 "I choose this way," She said, finding a 
 faintly-marked trail which became plainer as 
 they went, and finally led them to their goal. 
 
 At the summit a circle of young redwoods 
 sheltered a sunny spot. Great bowlders lay 
 there, tossed up in some giants' game of early 
 aeons. The Lady stood, hands in pockets, gaz- 
 ing out between spaces in the trees toward the 
 far-off sparkling waters of the bay, now 
 glimpsed below the over-sweeping fog. She 
 was in Her "mountain mood," Her thoughts, 
 who could tell? Across the narrow basin 
 formed by rocks, Sandy lay, watching this 
 strange Being who had come into his life, and 
 by no will of his own, was fettering him with 
 golden chains. 
 
 He wondered of what She was thinking at 
 this moment; he would give his soul to know! 
 
254 IMPULSES 
 
 She turned Her eyes toward him, and some T 
 thing definite happened then, for during that 
 long gaze Sandy made a marvelous discovery. 
 Her eyes were blue! She turned away, not 
 knowing of this revelation, yet sensing that 
 She had caught him at some bewildering 
 thought. 
 
 Two people walked homeward that even- 
 ing in a maze of unexpressed emotions, al- 
 though the conversation was principally about 
 books, and the influence which Ruskin had 
 wielded over Sandy's early life. 
 
 Later, in his chair in "Hades" it was his 
 more recent life that the rings encircled, and 
 a little Blue-Eyed Lady smiled out at him 
 from each one; fog-diamonds twinkling 
 among the love-locks above Her pretty ears, 
 and Her hands thrust deep in the pockets of 
 Her blue coat. 
 
 And She, the Blue-Eyed Lady, gathered 
 up an armful of his broken resolutions that 
 night, and placed them tenderly in the Treas- 
 ure-box of Her loving heart. 
 
 Ring Nine. 
 
 Through pensive, peaceful rings in 
 "Hades" -Sandy saw all this that follows; the 
 events of the day just past, the most marvel- 
 ous he had ever known. 
 
IMPULSES 255 
 
 He caught the sound of water bubbling 
 over rocks, and tinkling its way through ferns 
 and tangled vines; mingled with that other 
 sound the sweetest music in all the world to 
 Sandy's ears the voice of the Blue-Eyed 
 Lady. Young fir-trees rose spire-like about the 
 Two, and a peaceful, cathedral humor pos- 
 sessed them. Sandy twisted a great, soft leaf 
 into a chalice, and dipped water from the pool 
 for his Lady. Then they sat serene, and rest- 
 ed, for they had tramped far, and the day was 
 warm. 
 
 "Listen !" She said softly* "The voices in 
 the stream I" 
 
 "Yes ; our choir is singing." 
 
 "I hope the sermon won't be long!" She 
 sighed. 
 
 "Let's not have any," he suggested. "In 
 our world we can do as we like." 
 
 This term pleased Her fancy, and She 
 played with it. "Our World!" she cried. 
 "We'll make one all our own !" 
 
 "Where you are Queen and I?" 
 
 This was delightful. She saw Herself a 
 stern, autocratic Queen ! 
 
 "And you poor you my minion !" 
 
 "A minion sometimes turns!" he warned 
 Her. 
 
 The silences grew longer between them, 
 
256 IMPULSES 
 
 while the cathedral music swelled and fell 
 away. The tips of the fir-spires caught the 
 last rays of the sun before he dipped below the 
 ridge. The beautiful day was almost done. 
 Sandy looked at the little Comrade sitting 
 there, and knew that all Life, past and future, 
 held no better thing than what She chose to 
 give him. Directly out of the pages of Her 
 own written story She had stepped into his 
 life, and made Her own place there for weal 
 or woe. 
 
 And then, because the time had come 
 which all the years in both their lives had led 
 to, Sandy silently laid the love of his great, 
 loyal heart at the Blue-Eyed Lady's feet, for 
 the wasted years which had been, and for all 
 those to come, bring what they would. And 
 She, as silently, accepted this offering, know- 
 ing well its value ; and in exchange gave him 
 the one true love of Her life. 
 
 There was no speech save that of the 
 voices in the stream ; no sound save the stir- 
 ring of the fir-branches ; no visible demonstra- 
 tion of this tremendous event save the touch 
 of Sandy's lips on the Blue-Eyed Lady's hand. 
 
 The last sun-rays left the firs, and in the 
 evening shadows the air grew chill. The won- 
 derful day ended, as all days must end; but 
 when night came a marvelous, wireless mes- 
 
IMPULSES 257 
 
 sage system was established between "Hades" 
 and the abode of the Blue-Eyed Lady. 
 
 The inhabitants of the new world formed 
 that day knew that neither Time, Distance, 
 nor any other mundane term could ever more 
 disturb the unity of their two souls. For the 
 old and new had met, and purposed to spend 
 Eternity together. 
 
 And soon 
 
 Many an evening in pleasant weather 
 Sandy saunters up the hill, and meditatively 
 surveys the world from the deserted little 
 court with its bit of broken coping. Turn 
 whichever side he may there is always some- 
 thing to remind him of the Blue-Eyed-Lady. 
 Only a few yards from where he stands, She 
 has told him, She skipped rope, and played 
 many other childish games, in the long ago 
 when he did not know he knew Her. 
 
 Far to the west long rays gleam in mid- 
 channel from the lighthouse. Round the 
 treacherous reef the currents ebb and flow. It 
 was there one day they saw, from the nearby 
 cliffs ashore, a tiny rowboat landed, guided by 
 one who knew the dangers. 
 
 "What fun," the Blue-Eyed-Lady 
 thought; "to live out there away from all the 
 world!" 
 
258 IMPULSES 
 
 "Yes with Your thought Sandy. 
 
 Across the city to the south Sutro Forest 
 Hill looms dark; against it the cross of Lone 
 Mountain silhouettes itself. They have some- 
 times climbed those heights too, in joyful com- 
 radeship in an all-too-short day. 
 
 Up and down the bay lights gleam and 
 change. Gliding ferry-boats slip behind Yer- 
 ba Buena and out again. To the north Alca- 
 traz rides the water like a battle-ship, train- 
 ing her guns out to sea, on the look-out for the 
 ever-expected enemy. Swinging round and 
 round, the long finger of light from her watch- 
 tower points out the dark places. Faithfully 
 it sweeps a wide circle. Sandy's gaze lingers 
 longest over there in the east, where, he likes 
 to fancy, it touches most carefully and lov- 
 ingly. The stars shine there more tenderly 
 too, he thinks. On the opposite shore, and 
 running far back into the hills, a myriad 
 lights twinkle. Where Sandy gazes oftenest 
 they lie low; it is there his Blue-Eyed-Lady 
 dwells. He leans against the parapet; a hush 
 is over all the world. His pipe is out, cold; 
 but he does not heed it. Smoke-rings do not 
 hold the real things, after all. The Real he 
 holds deep down in his heart something he 
 would not exchange for all other possessions 
 in the past or future. He will hold this, he 
 
IMPULSES 259 
 
 knows, for all Time, whether that means only 
 of earthly ken, or for Eternity. She, the Lady 
 of his dreams is no dream. She is living and 
 breathing in every phase of his existence. 
 
 Although their love may never be ex- 
 pressed in all the ways common to ordinary 
 lovers, owing to circumstances which bind Her 
 to a life outside their own dear World, their 
 unfettered spirits are free to soar above this 
 in a communion greater and more satisfying 
 than anything the Two have ever yet experi- 
 enced. Sandy's restless, rebellious soul has 
 found peace in the haven of Her heart, an- 
 chored there by the golden chain of an eternal 
 love. 
 
 It grows late; the chill of dawn seems 
 near. Once more the long light sweeps round. 
 From Sandy's soul he breathes a benediction. 
 
 "God bless my little Blue-Eyed-Lady!" 
 
THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
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 AN INITIAL FINE OF 25 CENTS 
 
 WILL BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO RETURN 
 THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY 
 WILL INCREASE TO SO CENTS ON THE FOURTH 
 DAY AND TO $I.OO ON THE SEVENTH DAY 
 OVERDUE. 
 
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 9 1936 
 
 
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 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY