THE 
 
 PRIZE, 
 
 TO 
 
 THE 
 
 HARDY 
 
 By ALICE WINTER 
 
THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
VERA 
 
Copyright 1905 
 The Bobbs-Merrill Company 
 
 January 
 
 PRESS OF 
 
 BRAUNWORTH & CO. 
 
 BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS 
 
 BROOKLYN, N. Y. 
 

 
 TO T. G. W. 
 
 M53184O 
 
" I sing New England, as she lights her fire 
 In every prairie s midst" 
 
THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
2 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 that seemed to belong both to the girl and to the hour. 
 Vera was at the piano, where the aquiline outlines of 
 her face against a latticed window beyond, the dusky 
 white of her evening gown and bare arms, the very 
 curve at the back of her neck, raised in his memory 
 the old vision the vision of a day long years ago. 
 Through the scintillating mist in his eyes he looked 
 at it. He seemed to see himself in the level lights and 
 shadows of late afternoon, peeping through untamed 
 underbrush at a half-breed girl in a dingy, straggling 
 gown, raising and twisting just such arms and neck as 
 Vera s, as she shook the wild rice into a much patched 
 canoe. Like the notes of the piano was the wild song 
 she sang, partly music and partly the murmur of her 
 self-communings ; and he, on the shore, followed her 
 progress among the shallows, as she pushed her boat 
 through the water-growing stalks, that bent and 
 snapped before her birchen prow. 
 
 Her beauty caught him like that of the wild country 
 into which he had come. He could see the dazzling 
 blue of the clear Minnesota sky that Indian-summer 
 day; he could see the very cockle-burs and the wild 
 pink plants over which he stumbled ; he could see the 
 sedges that rose between himself and her, the straight 
 leafless bulrushes beyond her, and, farther, the ruffled 
 edges of the lily pads. Still beyond he saw the fringed, 
 
A VISION FROM THE PAST 3 
 
 far-away lake-shore, where yellow flames of birches, 
 scarlet maples and the polished bronze of oaks lost 
 themselves in no mystery of horizon, but stood sharply 
 outlined as was this Indian girl s head. Among the 
 trees he caught a glimpse of a whiff of smoke, the top 
 of a tepee, a lazy brave lying on the shore and indo 
 lently teasing a dog that snarled and snapped in 
 friendly response. The very sounds came crisply 
 through the air, and the quick lapping of the water 
 played an accompaniment to the girl s song. It was a 
 sparkling, clear-cut landscape, where the very air he 
 breathed, instinct with life and vigor, seemed to 
 sharpen a man s senses and spur his blood. 
 
 But at that time he was not thinking of the artistic 
 setting of his unconscious rice-gatherer. After weeks 
 of chopping trees and grubbing roots, after the rough 
 pioneer scramble for food and shelter, and the still 
 rougher company of loud-voiced men who were shar 
 ing his struggle for the elements of civilization here 
 in the northern wilderness, the thought uppermost in 
 his mind was that it was good to hear a woman sing, 
 be she but a high-cheeked half-breed, slaving for her 
 men. Around a promontory shot the canoe, sinking 
 ever nearer and nearer to the water-line as its burden 
 grew heavier, and, with the noiseless tread which the 
 trapper learned from his savage enemy lest a snap- 
 
4 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 ping twig should betray him, he followed over ground 
 that looked like gold from the falling yellow leaves. 
 She caught a low-bending branch and twisted her 
 self with the grace of a wild animal to pass below 
 it; and now the canoe tipped to the point where a 
 ragged tear in its aged side let in a flood of water. 
 The girl uttered a quick cry, and he gallantly waded 
 waist deep among the tangled weeds. The blush that 
 met his rude chivalry filled him witH half-forgotten, 
 strange emotions. Love there was as simple and spon 
 taneous a growth as the virgin forests around them. 
 
 How simple a thing it had then seemed that she 
 should come to share his cabin and his rough life and 
 humbly to accept the crumbs of a white man s kind 
 ness! How natural it was then; how remote and un 
 thinkable now ! With half-shut eyes he wholly forgot 
 the girl at the piano as he recalled the gentleness, the 
 faithfulness, the loving service of that other girl, long 
 dead. Had anything in later life been better than their 
 elemental love? Painted on something deeper than 
 memory was the little log hut where they had shared 
 two low-roofed rooms and the crude furniture that he 
 hewed out with his own hands. He heard again her 
 words as she leaned her dark head against his shoulder 
 and told him, shyly and happily, of that which was 
 coming to them out of the eternal mystery. His own 
 
A VISION FROM THE PAST 5 
 
 Puritan conscience, half-stifled out here on the fron 
 tier, awoke to sudden life and cried aloud to him, as 
 it did that night, when he realized that he was to be 
 the father of a nameless child. The other men laughed 
 at his qualms ; she did not understand them ; but he 
 knew. He opened his eyes suddenly now in the warm 
 room and, startled, stared at his daughter, all uncon 
 scious of these dead happenings, all ignorant of the 
 simple-hearted mother, whose little dream of happi 
 ness had ended when her baby s life began. Most of 
 the time he forgot her himself. But he shivered to 
 think what it would mean to him if this gracious pres 
 ence, who had built up the thing called home around 
 him, had been from the first an outcast. "Thank God, 
 I married her before Vera was born !" he muttered. 
 
 She saw or felt his movement and, rising, went and 
 flung her arms around him. 
 
 "That was wonderful, wasn t it ?" she cried. "Those 
 bars were true October a shudder at the thought of 
 winter coming, and a delicious dreamy touch of Indian 
 summer !" 
 
 "Perhaps perhaps. Is that what it meant? I con 
 fess I wasn t paying much attention to your music, 
 Vera." His voice was commonplace and prosperous 
 in spite of the very gentle emotions that had been surg 
 ing within him. "I don t pretend to understand those 
 
6 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 things, you know. But somehow it set me to thinking 
 of other things and times." 
 
 "What wonderful things and times?" she asked, 
 with a warm and welcome arm about his neck; for 
 was he not her only parent, and was she not the one 
 touch of romance that leavened his prosperous career? 
 
 "I never get over a kind of astonishment to think of 
 the changes I have seen. Can you realize that when 
 I came here there was nothing but a few scrub oaks 
 and a few shabby huts? Why, in those days they 
 didn t even know you could grow wheat in Minnesota, 
 and now " 
 
 She clapped the embracing hand over his mouth 
 and sprang up in amused indignation. Her father had 
 not the gift of poetic expression, being very much a 
 man of deeds rather than words. 
 
 "And you think I am going to leave the finest of 
 arts to listen while you tell me what land is worth a 
 front foot on Lesseur Street, and how many hundred 
 thousand people we have by the last census, and how 
 many million feet of lumber passed through the mills 
 last year? If that is what all my music sets you to 
 thinking of, I will hire a hurdy-gurdy to play beneath 
 your windows, love, next time!" 
 
 He struggled laughingly away from the repeated 
 shakes with which she emphasized her feelings. 
 
A VISION FROM THE PAST 7 
 
 "I m a humdrum old dad, ain t I, Vera? But per 
 haps I can retort, Miss, that there is dramatic point 
 in the thought that one man s memory can span the 
 leap from Indian warfare to the life of a great city. 
 I ve been through it all. It s grained into me, and it 
 isn t all business enterprise, I can tell you. There is 
 a heap of romance and tragedy and living goes with 
 it. And I dare say you ain t any sorrier than I am that 
 I am a rich man, instead of the rough adventurer who 
 made your first cradle out of a hollow log." He looked 
 whimsically down the long room, and they both fell 
 into silence as a servant transformed the dimness of 
 a moment before into brilliancy. 
 
 "We didn t have palms and Persian rugs in those 
 days, I can tell you." His vision came back to the girl 
 who stood with downcast eyes before him. "And your 
 mother thought I was too good to live because I occa 
 sionally helped her to wash the dishes, and wouldn t 
 let her chop her own wood. People don t seem to 
 think I m too good to live nowadays. It s an unappre- 
 ciative world. You don t altogether like to remember 
 it, do you, little girl?" he said gently. "But to me you 
 are the most astonishing part of the whole business. 
 Where on earth did you get your music and your air, 
 and all the rest of it ? Why, you re a fairy tale, Vera !" 
 She grew even paler as he stared at her. It is no easy 
 
8 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 thing to a girl who has been delicately nurtured for as 
 long a time as her memory goes, who has traveled and 
 grown familiar with all that makes life and the world, 
 to carry in her breast such a sense of incongruity as 
 Vera bore to know that one-quarter of her was of 
 the savage forest, that the strain of Indian blood was 
 as visible to her own consciousness as it was in her 
 face, whose beauty it marked but did not mar. The 
 touch that differentiates one from his fellows counts 
 so much! Sometimes she felt herself a thing apart. 
 Yet she was ashamed of that very shame of hers at 
 her birth. 
 
 A New England conscience grafted on a western 
 tree is a troublesome alien growth. Vera loved out-of- 
 doors, she loved the physical exhilaration of winter 
 sports, she loved laughter ; but a peaked-hatted, long- 
 visaged conscience with a confident assurance that 
 convinced both her and himself of the truth of his 
 Puritan doctrine, told her that whatever was agree 
 able was wrong. Being a self-willed young person, 
 she did what she liked, but she never failed to see 
 that sour-faced creature watching her from his corner. 
 
 But of late a new revelation had come a revelation 
 that she hoped would reconcile her with this reproach 
 ful conscience. She had found a new friend, a woman 
 older and wiser than herself, who assured her that 
 
A VISION FROM THE PAST 9 
 
 the conflict between her higher and lower natures was 
 but the prelude to something better. Mrs. Lyell was 
 ecstatic. She lived on a plane where sordid every-day 
 considerations played only a minor part. She had at 
 tached her trolley to some celestial wire that whirled 
 her along the heavenly way ; and Vera began to hope 
 that she might clamber aboard the same roseate car 
 and leave her conscience to trudge along on foot far 
 behind her. But as yet that triumphant stage had not 
 been reached. The worldly in her was still unsubdued. 
 She enjoyed the box of chocolates that stood on the 
 piano while she played Chopin. The body was yet tan 
 gible. And so the struggle between nature and educa 
 tion went on below the surface, while outwardly she 
 bore herself with a dignity straightforward yet re 
 strained, unconscious of the charm that had come to 
 her from the mingling of the Puritan and the red man. 
 
 Now this was not the philosophy which old Nicholas 
 Windsor had built up out of his experience of men and 
 things ; but he loved her, and love lent him sympathy 
 with her mood, though, after his kind, his sympathy 
 found prosaic expression. With intent to change her 
 thoughts, he said : 
 
 "By the way, Vera, a sort of cousin of mine from 
 down in Maine turned up at the office to-day, and I 
 told him to come up to dinner. Thought I d like to 
 
io THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 have a chance to get a little better acquainted with 
 him. He seemed a very decent kind of chap, rather 
 better than the average. Will you order an extra 
 plate?" 
 
 Vera s lips curled scornfully. They could sometimes 
 look as aquiline as her nose. 
 
 "I should think the whole of Maine was populated 
 with impoverished cousins of yours by the way they 
 turn up at the office . They seem to consider you a 
 career. And it s rather too bad to have a stranger to 
 night. Mrs. Lyell and Mr. Kemyss are coming to din 
 ner too." 
 
 "Kemyss coming to dinner again?" the old man 
 asked sharply. "I didn t suppose he d had time to get 
 hungry since he was here before. Can t he get any 
 thing to eat at his boarding-house? I didn t agree to 
 give him his board in addition to his salary." He 
 looked at her with mingled tenderness and anxiety and 
 took an agitated turn down the long room. "What 
 does this Kemyss business mean, Vera?" he asked 
 wistfully. 
 
 She pushed him back to his chair and seated herself 
 in his lap. 
 
 "I m glad you asked me that," she said. "It makes 
 it easier for me to break the silence. Mr. Kemyss has 
 asked me to be his wife. Was I a naughty girl not 
 
A VISION FROM THE PAST n 
 
 to tell you, dad ? I have not said a word even to Eu 
 genia, and I ve been frying to get up courage to con 
 sult you, but you re such a savage old bear of a 
 father !" 
 
 "And you ve accepted him, Vera, and not told 
 me?" Her father s arm tightened around her, and he 
 tried to keep the hurt tone out of his voice. It wasn t 
 like Vera. 
 
 "No, dad, I haven t decided yet," she said as he 
 looked his grateful relief. "What am I to say ? What 
 do you want me to say?" 
 
 "The only object I m hunting for on this earth is 
 for you to have any mortal thing you want, and you 
 know it. I d buy you anything you could mention, but 
 when it comes to husbands, I m afraid, little girl, you ll 
 have to do your own picking. You don t want the 
 kind I can buy for you." 
 
 "Well, that does not answer my question. Way up 
 here, in this big empty space you call your mind, what 
 is your opinion of Mr. Kemyss ?" She tapped his fore 
 head sharply, feeling quite gay and frivolous, now 
 that the ice was broken, and she and her father could 
 talk freely. 
 
 "I can produce one useful piece of wisdom out of 
 that maligned quarter. You don t care a button for 
 him, or you wouldn t be here asking my advice. You d 
 
12 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 be pawing the air and defying me to stop you from 
 having him." 
 
 "I don t know," said the girl wearily. "He always 
 seems to understand without the explanations you have 
 to give most men, and he feels just as I do about 
 things in general. He s very good to look at, too, don t 
 you think so, dad? He seems just the kind of man 
 who ought to suit me." 
 
 "He isn t half good enough for you. If you have 
 to get married, which, mind you, I don t for a moment 
 admit, I wish I could get a man made to order for you, 
 straight from the higher regions. And I don t want 
 none of your angels either. I want a man. But they re 
 not so plentiful as you might think by the number of 
 things in trousers that you see on the streets. You ll 
 have to stay with your old dad, Vera he s the only 
 one who really suits you. He s the one who really 
 understands you. He needs you so badly that he can t 
 get along without you. Nobody else needs you as 
 badly as I do, little girl." 
 
 "Jean thinks Mr. Kemyss perfection," Vera an 
 swered ; "I know she does. She says he is one of the 
 few men she knows who has soul enough to be im 
 mortal with. She does not want me to marry a piece 
 of earth." 
 
 "Well, I m not on the lookout for a mud-pie son- 
 
A VISION FROM THE PAST 13 
 
 in-law myself ; but I never noticed that Kemyss soul 
 stuck out any farther than the next man s, when he s 
 at the office. I don t know how it may be in those 
 sacred conclaves where you three discuss the stars." 
 
 "Well, sir, the subject is laid on the table for the 
 present. I told him that I would take plenty of time 
 to think it over, and he s not even to speak of it for 
 oh, ever so long." 
 
 "I believe I ll send Kemyss to the north pole on per 
 manent business. But I suppose if you ve put him in 
 cold storage, I can t ask anything more. Which re 
 minds me, I had a hundred prairie chickens put in to 
 day. We ll pick their bones later on. Vera, I believe 
 the kind of husband who would suit you best, if you 
 really want my advice, would be a good practical 
 hard-headed drummer." 
 
 He had been dreading for a long time the moment 
 when his little girl should spread her wings. It was 
 a relief that it had not yet come. 
 
 "And you, you frivolous old man, you d better be 
 dressing for dinner or you ll be disgraced when the 
 others come." 
 
 "Don t you worry about me! I ll eat dinner in my 
 shirt-sleeves if I feel like it. I used to do it, in those 
 good old times we were talking about, when you 
 weren t here to make me walk a chalk line and pretend 
 
14 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 I m civilized. I ll defy you, and do it again to-night if 
 I want to. A man can t look like very small change 
 when he s got as many millions as I have salted down. 
 I ve lived long enough in this cold hard world to learn 
 that, young lady." And he departed with dignity to 
 his room. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 * 
 
 A VISION OF TO-DAY 
 
 It was on this very October day, beginning in sun 
 shine and ending in cloud, that Francis Lenox arrived 
 in St. Etienne. 
 
 Age may sneer at the crudities of youth and com 
 fortably congratulate herself on her higher outlook; 
 but youth laughs in his frivolous sleeve at her superi 
 ority, knowing well that the sour grapes he dangles 
 before her spectacled eyes are the most luscious of 
 fruits. To be young is in itself answer to all the spe 
 cious arguments that reason may set up on the other 
 side, for youth creates while age but dissipates; best 
 of all, youth believes in himself, while age pitifully 
 admits her failure. So St. Etienne knew itself young, 
 and rejoiced therein, like the strong man who is to run 
 a race. 
 
 Perhaps Hercules led a more amusing life when, 
 as an infant, he was strangling serpents than when, in 
 experienced maturity, he cleaned Augean stables in 
 
 15 
 
16 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 bondage to Eurystheus. The glory of the imperfect, 
 let it once get possession of the imagination, has a 
 charm of its own. It lures the traveler on and on. It 
 intoxicates with the joy of doing the greatest joy 
 there is. It paints the possible in rainbow hues un 
 matched by the actual. 
 
 When Francis Lenox came to St. Etienne the town 
 was young, yet old enough to be sure that it was a 
 precocious infant, and Lenox, himself young, fell into 
 ready sympathy with his surroundings. He was born 
 and bred in a little college town in Maine, in an at 
 mosphere both conventional and bookish, and yet only 
 superficially scholarly. At least it knew but the schol 
 arship of books, being much shut off from the deeper 
 wisdom which lies behind the printed page in the surg 
 ing life of men. For it the doings of men were chiefly 
 reduced to gossip. It reversed the rightful process, 
 and instead of measuring books by the amount of life 
 in them, it measured life by the amount of book-lore it 
 held. Lenox had always lived a life that, to him, meant 
 partial suffocation. Here the very sun-imbued air, 
 glowing and fresh, stimulated every sense, as after a 
 pent-up night in a sleeping-car, the train disgorged 
 him into the radiance of an early Minnesota morning, 
 where the untamed virility of the fresh northwest, 
 like ether, pervaded the atmosphere. 
 
A VISION OF TO-DAY 17 
 
 There was an unwonted sense of isolation from his 
 kind to the home-bred boy, even in the preliminary 
 manoeuvers of finding a hotel and eating breakfast in 
 the big room rilled with indifferent strangers. When 
 one is without belongings, a new city takes on an al 
 most foreign aspect. One regards it from the outside. 
 In truth a western town is enough of a curious phe 
 nomenon to merit some peculiar emotions, even if it 
 has less individuality than St. Etienne, which bears 
 its brief history and its ruling passion as clearly 
 stamped upon its face as any hoary ruin of the past. 
 
 Lenox began a solitary ramble through the crowded 
 and noisy streets, feeling like a stranger in a strange 
 land. It was evident that the town had grown too fast 
 for its clothes. The city and the village vied with each 
 other and the city was but a few laps ahead. The 
 young man stared curiously at the little wooden shan 
 ties that nestled half-confidingly, half-shamefacedly 
 against their neighbor sky-scraping office buildings of 
 granite and marble, as though St. Etienne should say : 
 "This is what I was. Look at me now ! Imagine what 
 I shall be !" Like a true westerner, St. Etienne wrote 
 the "Imagine what I shall be" in capitals. 
 
 Lenox trod lightly on the latest device in paving for 
 a block or two and picked his way over lumpy mud a 
 little farther on. His eyes followed a dashing turn-out 
 
i8 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 with immaculate coachman as it flew down the wide 
 straggling street. Then he gazed at a strange ante 
 diluvian farm-wagon standing before a spectacular 
 shop window. Still farther afield he went from the 
 roar of the electric car and the rush of feet toward 
 those miles of comfortable homes for every-day peo 
 ple which are characteristic of America, the land of 
 the every-day man. He climbed the hilltops that sur 
 rounded the city, where houses that in Europe would 
 be called palaces rose in more pretentious state, their 
 polished lawns interspersed with unkempt, empty lots 
 where Russian thistle, burdock and ragweed rioted un 
 disturbed. It was a strange bundle of incongruities, 
 this St. Etienne, a city of one generation, where the 
 things that no one had yet had time to attend to hung 
 about on every side waiting until civilization got time 
 to pick up its loose bits of chaos. 
 
 His mind went back to the great elms of the main 
 street of Winterhaven, and the trim line, lawn after 
 lawn, stately house after stately house, that flanked it. 
 But new as all this was, here too was something home 
 like. This overgrown youngster was the child of that 
 respectable dame, less precise than his mother, but 
 more virile; less courteous, but more spontaneously 
 generous. As Lenox sat on a hilltop, his back com 
 fortably set against a scrub oak decorated by a huge 
 
A VISION OF TO-DAY 19 
 
 "For Sale" sign that proclaimed a much-vaunted cor 
 ner lot, he forgot these commoner features to stare 
 at the great structures which showed why St. Etienne 
 had come to be. Everywhere they rose, engirdling the 
 city in all directions, ungainly monsters, gray, ele 
 phant-like, the elevators that carried in their huge 
 maws untold stores of yellow grain for the bread of 
 the world. From season to season this son of the 
 prairies renewed his strength, like a giant Antaeus, 
 by contact with mother earth and hoarded his heritage 
 here, making of himself, while still in his youth, a 
 feeder of nations. No wonder he believed in himself! 
 No wonder he was broad and big-hearted and hope 
 ful! 
 
 Lenox stood up on his hill-crest and counted the 
 big buildings, as many as he could see. There stole 
 over him a little of the true American awe for the mil 
 lions of bushels of wheat here stored before his eyes 
 and the millions of dollars of which they were the 
 visible token. Far northward, where the twisting river 
 gleamed like a serpent s scales, lay pale yellowish 
 tracts of piled lumber, edged by big mills. 
 
 Now he knew why he had come to St. Etienne. He 
 was no longer a stranger in a strange land. This was 
 his field to work. Hitherto he had peeped at this phase 
 only through other men s eyes; but life was not an 
 
20 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 ordered existence, to be devoted solely to discussing 
 the classics, and keeping up with the magazines. It 
 was a maelstrom, with Scylla shrieking and reaching 
 out her slimy fingers and Charybdis whirling below, 
 and yet, get into it one must if the man is to take 
 the place of the college boy. His time was come, and 
 he dreaded the plunge. 
 
 He fumbled a little nervously at a letter in his 
 pocket. His mother had written and rewritten it, that 
 it should prove at once appealing and unsubservient 
 to the great cousin to whom it was addressed. It had 
 seemed an easy thing, fifteen hundred miles away in a 
 placid little town, to take St. Etienne and Nicholas 
 Windsor by storm. Now as he looked down on the 
 tumultuous life below him, the undertaking did not 
 look so simple. He sat down again to think about it. 
 As he pieced together the bits of information that lay 
 scattered in his brain he felt as if he were witnessing 
 the great drama of Nicholas Windsor s career, with 
 St. Etienne, lying glowing in the sunlight below, as the 
 scenic background. 
 
 Of course, everybody knows, at least in outline, the 
 facts of Windsor s life. In Master-Builders of the 
 Great Republic, a book that has had an extensive sale, 
 through agents in the country districts, and which 
 may be found in all public libraries under the caption 
 
A VISION OF TO-DAY 21 
 
 "Collected Biographies," it is said that "his history is 
 one of the most striking examples of the success with 
 which America rewards energy, brains and persist 
 ence." He is an embodiment of all that toward which 
 young Jonathan should aspire power and wealth. 
 What need to analyze or cavil? As so prominent a 
 figure in the up-building of the Northwest, his life has 
 been again and again subjected to what the news 
 papers call "the lime-light of publicity"; and many 
 events that never took place are quite as familiar to the 
 eager public as the more prosaic details. It seems im 
 portant that we should be kept informed that he re 
 tains his boyhood s affection for baked apples, and 
 that magazines should extract from him brief articles 
 on How I earned my first dollar. 
 
 Many of his fellow citizens, chiefly, be it said, those 
 whose careers are least marked by success, regard him 
 as a monster, striding, dragon-like, over groaning 
 widows and orphans, over wrecked railroads and 
 ruined investors toward his goal domain. Others 
 there be of more lenient judgment, or perhaps of less 
 sensitive conscience, who maintain that when a man 
 has laid the foundations of a great civilization where 
 once stood a wilderness, when he has scattered mills 
 and farms along streams and prairies, when his far pre 
 vision has gazed on possibilities where his neighbors 
 
22 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 saw nothing but their bald surroundings, such a man 
 has come fairly by his millions and gained his power 
 by the tacit consent of his fellows. 
 
 But Francis Lenox knew of Windsor mainly 
 through the agitated gossip of his native town, where 
 the great man had been discussed and rediscussed with 
 painstaking minuteness. He knew that Winterhaven 
 had once produced a black sheep, though that distance 
 which empurples mountains had now turned the fleece 
 to a dazzling white. In the days of his youth no one 
 bad doubted that Nicholas Windsor s fleece was black. 
 He was as restless, tumultuous a boy as ever perplexed 
 a mother. He shook the side curls of the town by his 
 lawless escapades. When he went, as all Winterhaven 
 boys do, to Winterhaven College, he was not content 
 to accept the traditions that were good enough for his 
 forebears, though one would have thought he knew 
 too little of his books to question the learned gentle 
 men who labored conscientiously to take him by the 
 scruff of the neck and bump him into the paths of re 
 ligion and scholarship. He was watched with breath 
 less apprehension, and dreaded more on account of his 
 unexpectedness than from any evil that he actually 
 did. A town of eminent respectability did not under 
 stand him, and all mankind are agreed in condemn 
 ing what they do not understand. 
 
A VISION OF TO-DAY 23 
 
 Young Nicholas had steam in him; and human 
 steam, like any other, must find its legitimate outlet 
 and be harnessed into turning wheels, or it will tear 
 and rend its way to freedom without deference to 
 broken boilers and outraged proprieties. Winterhaven 
 gave young Nick Windsor no safety-valve, and the 
 town breathed more freely when the explosion was 
 over, and the offending element had been spewed into 
 outer darkness. At heart it congratulated his dead 
 father and mother that they had not lived to see the 
 son s career. He was gone into some sink of iniquity, 
 beyond the ken of Winterhaven s ordered existence, 
 gone, to be mentioned only as a curious and tragic 
 phenomenon of the comet-like order. People said he 
 had gone West. It was a convenient expression, and 
 sufficiently vague. Ten years went by. Nicholas Wind 
 sor was no longer very young, but he remained un- 
 forgotten in a town that hoarded its traditions. 
 
 To induce a satisfied curve on many a firm-set 
 mouth came the agreeable piece of gossip that he had 
 married or had he married? a half-breed, and was 
 living the life of a lawless frontiersman. This was a 
 fate as satisfactory as any to be found in a Sunday- 
 school book. And then years passed, and more years, 
 and it began to be told that Nicholas Windsor s steam 
 was setting wheels to buzzing, faster and faster in- 
 
24 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 conceivably fast. He was cutting down forests and 
 harnessing streams and building towns. He was creat 
 ing the very order which he had once defied. 
 
 At last, one day a comfortable, middle-aged, well- 
 dressed man came to Winterhaven, and laughed good- 
 humoredly, as if it were the best of jokes to recall his 
 youthful iniquities. People held their breath that 
 scandal should be treated so flippantly, but gaped at 
 him because he had become a man of power. Winter- 
 haven was accustomed to maximum incomes of two 
 thousand dollars a year, and knew that one could live 
 thereon with dignity and nobility. 
 
 And now the town was presented with the Windsor 
 Library, and Windsor Hall was built at the college. 
 The ex-scapegrace seemed to have a real affection for 
 the college to which he had been a disgrace. He be 
 lieved it was a good thing. 
 
 A drinking fountain of marvelous design was set up 
 where the roads crossed in front of the post-office. 
 The younger scions were fired with wonderful tales of 
 Nicholas Windsor s doings, from the time when he 
 went into the vague far-away with thirty-eight cents 
 in his pocket up to now, when he counted his money 
 by millions and set the seal of his genius on a hundred 
 enterprises. After he had gone, the bi-weekly Winter- 
 haven Chronicle included in every issue some para- 
 
A VISION OF TO-DAY 25 
 
 i 
 
 graph about "our distinguished son, Mr. Nicholas 
 
 Windsor," or some item about Miss Vera Windsor s 
 foreign trips. When an unusually promising boy ap 
 peared in Winterhaven he was apt to find his way to 
 St. Etienne, to be set to turning one of the minor 
 wheels in Windsor s great machine. 
 
 Frank Lenox knew the whole story, but he realized 
 it as he never had before, now that he leaned against 
 his tree-trunk and looked at the picturesque huddling 
 of steeples and houses below, with the stately tower of 
 the City Hall accenting it all, and even the unwieldy 
 elevators blending harmoniously with tree and house 
 tops under that soft pinkish haze into which nature 
 somehow transforms the unlovely element of city 
 smoke. 
 
 It was here that the old man had fought for that 
 multi-colored thing called Success. St. Etienne was a 
 great thing for a man to watch springing from noth 
 ing and growing like a young giant before his very 
 eyes. Windsor had watched it all, and helped to make 
 it. He had laid his hand on the life of the pioneer, 
 and on the life where pioneering begins to look ro 
 mantic in the haze of the past. 
 
 Lenox drew a deep breath and thought nervously 
 of the letter of introduction. There swept over him a 
 horrible realization that he was a poor relation. We 
 
26 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 all sympathize with the trials of the rich who have the 
 daily wear and tear of hangers-on to endure, but per 
 haps the other side is even harder to bear. To be 
 baffled, humiliated, helpless, dependent on the caprice 
 of one whose caprice is less likely to be kindly as his 
 sense of absolute power grows greater this is bit 
 terness indeed. 
 
 Lenox clenched his teeth and his hands and felt the 
 whole of it for an instant ; then half-startled at him 
 self, he said aloud : 
 
 "That I will not endure. I ll go to see him once, but 
 if he so much as flecks a scornful eyelid at me I ll 
 never go back again. I am going to stand on my own 
 feet. I guess a boy from Maine has grit enough to 
 hold on to his self-respect. After all, I ve got the same 
 blood in my veins that Windsor has in his, and he 
 didn t wait for some one else to put him on the express 
 train." 
 
 At this my Lady Fortune, who is always listening 
 around corners, and seems to have a real affection for 
 those who defy her, laughed in her sleeve and pre 
 pared to give her wheel a twirl, but Lenox heard only 
 the rustle of the oak leaves above him. 
 
 Then he realized that he was hungry, and that it was 
 long past lunch time. He turned again toward the 
 center of things. Before him, down the wide sidewalk 
 
A VISION OF TO-DAY 27 
 
 that edged an immaculate lawn, raced a Russian this 
 tle, wind-blown and self-confident as though it had 
 a whole prairie to itself. Down together they went, 
 past the gracious homes, back to the roar of business. 
 Half-fascinated, he watched the clumsy thing, wonder 
 ing what fate St. Etienne would mete it. But the 
 thistle mysteriously disappeared long before it joined 
 the whirl. And as for Frank Lenox, he lingered as he 
 went, dreading to present himself in the guise of one 
 who begs a favor from a man he does not know and 
 who may be indifferent or even insolent. The bigness 
 of Nicholas Windsor and the littleness of Frank Lenox 
 oppressed him in spite of his recent self-confidence. 
 
 Where Sauveur and Bottineau Streets come to 
 gether, unoccupied amid the rush of business, Lenox 
 halted idly for a moment. An electric car on the op 
 posite side of the street came to a stop and toward it, 
 on his own side a second car rushed at full speed. He 
 watched with absent vision a girl step from the farther 
 car and come around its back toward him. Suddenly 
 his senses came back. She did not see nor hear the on- 
 rushing destruction whose jangle was drowned by the 
 louder noise around it. In another moment it would be 
 too late ! Even now she stepped into the nearer track. 
 She raised her eyes quietly, and on the instant he lifted 
 his hand and made an imperative motion as though, 
 
28 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 if he were near her, he would push her from him. In 
 a flash she understood, drew back, and the flying car 
 dashed by, blotting her out of sight. 
 
 The one swift act transformed his state of mind. He 
 was no longer the idle, dilatory creature of the moment 
 before, but full of energy and desire. "Enter in with 
 hope. Here all things are possible," seemed written 
 above the portals of St. Etienne. 
 
 As for the girl, when the car had whirled on its way, 
 and she could again see the opposite sidewalk, she 
 stood in the middle of the street and gazed in dis 
 mayed astonishment at his retreating back. 
 
 "Well !" she said to herself, "to think he should not 
 wait to let me get a square look at him ! Such is the 
 rescuing knight of to-day. The dragon has gone, and 
 St. George does not even wait to be thanked. Another 
 hopeful seed of romance has fallen on barren ground !" 
 
 Meanwhile Lenox, not meditating at all on fair dam 
 sels rescued from all-devouring trolley cars, was facing 
 the problem of bread and butter, in the nearest restau 
 rant. 
 
 Windsor s particular office, with scattered offices 
 which represented his various enterprises all about it, 
 was in a huge caravansary. Looking up from the bot 
 tom of its central opening through its innumerable 
 stories, Lenox felt like an ant, but the elevator that 
 
A VISION OF TO-DAY 29 
 
 jerked him upward left no time to meditate on bigness 
 or littleness, past, present, or future. 
 
 In the outer office he delivered his letter to a clerk 
 and set himself to endure a period of nervous sus 
 pense with what grace he could. He wandered about, 
 looking at the pictures on the wall and at the maps 
 of the Northwest, seamed with gory lines of railroad 
 and covered with an eruption of dots and crosses 
 marking the spots which, for one reason or another, 
 came within Windsor s spider-web of activity. Peo 
 ple passed and looked at him with fishy, unsympa 
 thetic eyes, and he was awaiting trial for his life. The 
 time seemed interminable. The door of the inner room 
 opened and four men came out. They were large 
 men, with that look of unctuous self-satisfaction 
 which betrays some varieties of success. As he 
 watched their departure, Lenox s heart sank still 
 lower, sank to the zero point as the period of waiting 
 prolonged itself with no relief except the distant click 
 of a typewriter and the muffled ring of telephone bells. 
 At last a clerk approached him. 
 
 "Mr. Lenox?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Will you step into Mr. Windsor s office?" 
 
 The boy s heart came up in his mouth. This inter 
 view comprehended, or at least he thought it did, his 
 
30 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 whole future. His mind began to fumble mazedly 
 with the question of what he should do if this failed 
 him. Then he found himself in the presence. A hand 
 some, well-dressed young man, broad-chested, wide- 
 shouldered, small-legged, with a face to which Lenox 
 took an instant dislike, leaned against a desk talking 
 toward a big chair wherein was a vision of expansive 
 back. The, young man honored him with a long stare, 
 while a voice on the other side of the back spoke. 
 
 Lenox waited mutely. 
 
 "The fellow s made about as much of a botch of it 
 as he can, and be allowed to live on this green earth. 
 Fire him, Kemyss. I ll give you permission to use all 
 the explosive language you can, in my name. Pile it 
 on. It s time somebody started a factory for the manu 
 facture of backbones. Great Scott, that man is nothing 
 but rolled oats! Why doesn t the Lord make more 
 men and fewer dummies?" 
 
 As though he were used to such outbreaks, and un 
 moved by them, the younger man turned with the fa 
 miliar air of a privileged person and gathered some 
 papers from the desk. 
 
 "I thought you advertised to run the universe, Mr. 
 Windsor; but perhaps," he added, going toward a 
 side door, "y ur success would not have been so great 
 if the proportion of dummies had been smaller." 
 
A VISION OF TO-DAY 31 
 
 "Very likely, very likely. It seems an outrage, 
 though, that an idiot should have the power to foil 
 a wise man s plans. Well, it s a great game playing 
 with them, anyway." And Kemyss was gone. 
 
 Lenox stood and watched the large hand which be 
 lied its phlegmatic character by tapping nervously for 
 an awkward moment; then the chair wheeled about; 
 he was face to face with the tin god, and behold ! the 
 idol was flesh and blood a big cheerful-countenanced 
 man, of the human type that every one calls by the 
 first name. 
 
 "Well, my lad, so you re Nellie Windsor s son?" 
 said Windsor, holding out his hand without rising. 
 "Haven t heard of her for years. It s hard to think 
 of her in anything except a gingham apron and pigtails 
 tied with pink ribbons. How is she ?" 
 
 "She may have grown a bit older since you and she 
 painted stars and stripes on all Uncle Joseph s market 
 eggs," answered the boy. "But I assure you I don t 
 think she could be in any way improved on." 
 
 Windsor put back his wide head and laughed. 
 "Great Scott !" he said, "that s another important event 
 I had forgotten ! Nellie was great stuff in those days 
 game for any deviltry I could invent." 
 
 As this did not seem to Lenox to describe his gen 
 tle little mother with accuracy, he kept silent. 
 
32 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 "I m glad to hear from her," went on the great 
 man, a shade more cordially. "And prospering, I 
 hope she s prospering?" 
 
 "She is leading the life of a quiet Winterhaven 
 widow. I don t know whether you would call it pros 
 perity or not." 
 
 "And her chief interest in life, I suppose, is the 
 young sprig she has sent out here." Windsor was al 
 ready glancing at his desk, and picking up an un 
 opened envelope. "Well, what can I do for you, Mr. 
 Lenox ? I always help a boy from Maine if it s in my 
 power. They re generally worth helping. Not always, 
 though. By gum, not always !" 
 
 "It is the other way, Mr. Windsor. I came hoping 
 I might find something I could do for you." 
 
 "Been through Winterhaven College?" Windsor 
 was scrutinizing the youthful face with the eye of ex 
 perience. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "That s all right. Forget it as soon as possible. 
 So you want employment ?" 
 
 "No," said Frank with a flush. "I want work." 
 
 "So?" For the first time Lenox received a glance 
 that was not wholly indifferent. "You think there s 
 a difference, do you ?" 
 
 He laid his papers deliberately back on the desk. 
 
A VISION OF TO-DAY 33 
 
 "Sit down a minute, and let me talk to you, Frank 
 Lenox. If you want work, you did right to come 
 West. There s always plenty of room at the top for 
 those who aren t afraid to begin at the bottom. And 
 that s where you ll have to begin." 
 
 "So long as you ll let me work like a man and not 
 like a dummy, Mr. Windsor, I ll be contented." 
 
 "So you. heard me talking to Kemyss, did you? 
 Well, I can tell you there are gold mines that aren t 
 salted, and there are fellows who aren t looking for a 
 chance to earn fat salaries by putting their feet up on 
 the office desk. But they aren t either of them abun 
 dant. All I can do for you is to give you a chance to 
 show whether you re one of them or not." 
 
 "That s all I ask, sir." 
 
 Windsor gave him another of those measure-taking, 
 under-eyebrow stares, but all he said was : 
 
 "So Nellie is a quiet little widow, is she ? And I re 
 member the time when she could beat all the boys 
 shinning up a tree." 
 
 The nervous hand began its rat-tat again, as he 
 looked out of the window, back forty years, for an in 
 stant. He turned alertly. 
 
 "Find out where my house is, and come up and have 
 dinner with us to-night, and let me talk to you about 
 the old place. I haven t any time for you now. You 
 
34 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 mustn t expect too much. You re young and you re 
 green, and your life up to now hasn t been on the same 
 lines as life out here." 
 
 "I don t expect anybody but myself to make a 
 career for myself," said the lad, a little stiffly. 
 
 "There are plenty of opportunities waiting around 
 to be taken, but most people mistake them for hin 
 drances. Every lump in your path ought to be some 
 thing to climb on. Oh, I know that ain t the whole of 
 it, but just mix in a little good old Puritan foreordina- 
 tion with this doctrine, and you ll have a pretty good 
 philosophy of life, my boy. See you this evening." 
 
 Windsor tore open an envelope with a nod that in 
 dicated that he was busy. At this period of the world s 
 history it is no distinction to be busy, but this man had 
 more pressure of urgency to the superficial minute 
 than most. 
 
 So Francis Lenox came to be an obnoxious fifth at 
 Vera Windsor s table. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 FOOD 
 
 With a little ruffling of plumes, and the slight cool 
 ness- of manner that comes from a sense of personal in 
 jury, Vera rose to welcome the unwelcome young man. 
 He had added to his guilt by coming a few moments 
 early, having been invited without a specified hour, and 
 her father was still up stairs. 
 
 "Mr. Lenox," she said languidly. Then she flushed 
 warmly, and Frank felt the change that came over 
 the eyes that met his. 
 
 "I I have reason to know you already, and to be 
 grateful to you," she said. 
 
 "That is very fortunate for me. But will you tell me 
 when our meeting took place? I do not see how it 
 was possible for me to have met you and and have 
 forgotten it." 
 
 He was conscious of a new sensation, as his eyes 
 met hers fully and cordially. Her clear-cut face, the 
 skin dark yet delicate, and touched now to more than 
 
 35 
 
36 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 its usual beauty by a faint flush, most of all the eyes, 
 deep and glowing, that looked fearlessly at him with 
 unconscious integrity he knew he should never for 
 get them in the future. How could he have forgotten 
 them in the past ? 
 
 "Is it so common an experience for you to go about 
 saving strange young women from ignominious death 
 that this morning s episode has already slipped your 
 memory? I thought it must be, from the nonchalant 
 way in which you made off. But if it is nothing to 
 you, it means a great deal to me, I assure you. Think 
 of the humiliation of being demolished by a trolley- 
 car ! If I must lose my life, I hope it will be in some 
 more heroic fashion." She smiled at him, and the 
 smile brought out a sudden dimple, so unexpected in 
 her reserved face that Lenox lost himself in bewilder 
 ment. 
 
 "Was it you?" was all he could weakly say. 
 
 "Stupid thing!" she said internally, but with still 
 the same smile. "Stupid and commonplace. Another 
 characteristic of the knight-errant of to-day. Not a 
 word to say for himself. St. George would have writ 
 ten an epic, all besprinkled with lyrics, about it." 
 
 Her father came in, and Vera sank into a chair and 
 listened to their talk about things that bored her, 
 Winterhaven, its town-meetings, its gossip, and the 
 
FOOD 37 
 
 boyhood pranks that her father delighted to rehearse 
 and that she knew by heart. Cyril Kemyss arrived 
 and greeted her in a fashion that in some subtile way 
 gave her to understand that he read her innermost 
 thoughts and sympathized with them; that he, too, 
 was annoyed by the presence of the alien, but of course 
 too courteous to show it except to an adept. He and 
 she sat apart and talked in low tones that made Lenox, 
 wholly occupied with Windsor, feel himself shut off 
 in remote cold regions, though his eyes kept traveling 
 toward the soft fan that sometimes hid and sometimes 
 revealed the glowing face. 
 
 Last came Mrs. Lyell, calm and shedding benignity, 
 regardless of the fact that she was a quarter of an hour 
 late. 
 
 "So sorry to keep you waiting, dear," she said in a 
 voice that indicated that she never let little matters 
 disturb her. 
 
 A small thing often changes the life-course. There 
 was nothing stirring or eventful in the informal din 
 ner that followed, and yet, in retrospect, it seemed to 
 others than Frank Lenox that new relations sprang 
 into being and old ones were weakened during the 
 casual conversation. In the first place, the feeling that 
 this particular guest was unwelcome to the rest of the 
 party made Windsor unusually cordial to the lad 
 
38 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 whom he half liked before; and it meant much to be 
 taken into the old man s favor. 
 
 "Lenox, we ll give you a dish to-night that I ll 
 wager a saw-mill you never tasted before, and a 
 mighty good dish it is, the only tangible memory that 
 is left me of the days when soused bear-paws and 
 beaver tails and roast muskrat were our favorite table 
 delicacies. I m afraid you ll never know the delights 
 of dried buffalo tongue, but at least you can taste 
 pesich-ah-towahapa. Ha, ha, Vera! You didn t know 
 I was a linguist, did you ? Olaf , pass Mr. Lenox some 
 of my wild rice. There, taste that, and if you don t 
 like it, take the midnight train back East. Minnesota 
 is no place for you." 
 
 Lenox laughed. 
 
 "I am convinced that wild rice is the true and orig 
 inal ambrosia." 
 
 "Don t you think " began Mrs. Lyell. She had a 
 tentative way of putting forth her opinions, as if ap 
 pealing to the wisdom of the "questionee" a method 
 highly soothing to his self-esteem. "Don t you think 
 that the conception of ambrosia is a most horrible one ? 
 It is loathsome to me to think of the immortals eating 
 and drinking. I always try to forget such a blot on the 
 Greek ideals." 
 
 "Oh, come now; I m sure you are vastly superior, 
 
FOOD 3g> 
 
 both in mind and in morals, to any Greek god I ever 
 heard of, and you enjoy a square meal, don t you?" said 
 Mr. Windsor good-naturedly. 
 
 "I can t say I enjoy it," she answered in her pleasant 
 drawl. "I always like to emphasize that side as little 
 as possible. I find it a very small stretch of the imagi 
 nation to conceive of a life independent of such neces 
 sities." 
 
 She looked at Lenox with a distant gaze that made 
 him feel that he was a physical obstruction to her 
 range of vision, but that she would soon reduce him 
 and all other corporeal bodies to films of air. He was 
 a commonplace young man, and he rather resented the 
 position. 
 
 "Well, I can t say I have any great scunner against 
 my body," the host went on amiably, "except that mine 
 grows a little unwieldy as I grow old; but even if I 
 did, I should feel obliged to put up with the poor thing 
 as long as it s on deck. And I intend to make the 
 wretch as comfortable as possible, and even try to get 
 a little amusement out of it." 
 
 "But don t you feel" Mrs. Lyell spoke with the air 
 of one giving psychology lessons in words of one syl 
 lable "that the world in which we live is made by the 
 thoughts by which we surround our true inner selves ? 
 And since we create our own world by the kind of 
 
40 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 thoughts we think, doesn t it behoove us to think only 
 of a beautiful and noble world ?" 
 
 "And what about the millions of other people whose 
 bodies are so placed that they can t create beauty or 
 nobility?" asked Lenox suddenly. 
 
 She had not considered the commonplace young man 
 hitherto, her remarks being chiefly for the benefit of 
 her new disciple, Vera Windsor, and for the private 
 secretary who trod wherever Vera trod, so she an 
 swered a little coldly. 
 
 "Every soul must work out its own salvation. I 
 can t afford to defile my inner self by knowing any 
 thing about such a state of mind." She drew herself 
 up with a slight degree of stiffness. 
 
 Lenox glanced around the table. Mr. Windsor wore 
 an expression such as one might wear who watched an 
 interesting performance on a trapeze. Kemyss cue 
 was to be one of the few young men who could enter 
 into the ideals of the higher life which Mrs. Lyell rep 
 resented, and Vera yearned after ; but he was evidently 
 undesirous of expressing this ardent sympathy too 
 clearly in the presence of his business chief. Vera s 
 eyes bore a troubled look, as though she would like to 
 find some pleasant way to lay hold of the higher life 
 at a single jump, and rather hoped this was it. As he 
 looked his mood changed. Hitherto he had felt very 
 
FOOD 41 
 
 shy and strange, but Mrs. Lyell s serenity irritated 
 the lesser emotions out of him. 
 
 "That seems to me the philosophy of incarnate 
 selfishness," he said sharply. 
 
 "Why?" asked Mrs. Lyell, not with irritation, 
 scarcely with interrogation, but as one who would lead 
 to an opening for demolishing the enemy s logic. 
 
 This was not the kind of subject on which he was 
 in the habit of thinking, yet his ideas came clearly and 
 ready-made; and Windsor s amused face said, "Go in 
 and win!" 
 
 "The medieval ascetic hid himself from the world 
 and ignored the work that needed him. This is the 
 modern equivalent. You would make a hermit of your 
 mind instead of your body; and, by constantly af 
 firming it, perhaps you can convince the world, as he 
 did, that to be self-centered is spiritual and religious." 
 
 "And the medieval ascetic preserved the core of 
 Christianity in a time when the world was filled with 
 turmoil. So he did a higher service to the world than 
 if he had merely mingled with its misery." 
 
 "I don t agree with you. It seems to me that the 
 sturdier brethren, who vowed to work and serve, pre 
 served the core of Christianity." 
 
 "By lofty spiritual ideals we create a noble world," 
 she said ; "physical experience is but a shadow." 
 
42 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 "Why should we try to create a world? Hasn t God 
 already created a world for us and put us in it a 
 world where the physical laws are as true as the spirit 
 ual laws? Why shouldn t we live in this great, stir 
 ring, suffering, climbing and imperfect world, and 
 not shut our eyes to its facts, for fear the even routine 
 of our thoughts should be disturbed ? Aren t the laws 
 of physics and human nature as divine as the laws of 
 spirit? Are one-half the experiences that God gives 
 us merely lies?" 
 
 "But what if there is no such thing as death and 
 suffering except as they are created by abnormal 
 minds?" said Vera. 
 
 He was ashamed of being so strenuous, and his face 
 and voice grew gentler as he turned to her. 
 
 "I think both our sense and our senses tell us that 
 they are facts, no matter how we may shuffle and 
 ignore them. It seems to me that however ugly truth 
 may look at first sight, in the long run it is more beau 
 tiful than the most specious falsehood, and it looks 
 to me like falsehood to deny all the universe outside 
 myself. Nowadays our ideal is not repose, but eternal 
 conquest over ourselves and the world. That old be 
 lief, that the perfect life was the life led by the soul 
 disjoined from the body, has been outgrown among 
 other childish things, and it is a return to medievalism 
 
FOOD 43 
 
 to revive it. We know or we ought to know now, 
 that the developed soul and the developed physical na 
 ture go hand in hand. When we try to help the de 
 graded and the poor, the first thing to do is to improve 
 their conditions of life, instead of giving them tracts, 
 because we realize that dirt on the body conduces to 
 dirt on the soul. Even Heaven does not, any longer, 
 mean rest. Do you know the nonsense rhyme, 
 
 "There once was a spirit who died. 
 I have finished my job now/ he cried. 
 But the Lord said, Not so, 
 For to work you shall go, 
 On a far harder task than you ve tried. " 
 
 He stopped suddenly, rather ashamed of his un 
 wonted outbreak. He had not been accustomed ta 
 think on these things, but habits of life create, un 
 consciously, their own philosophy. 
 
 There was a general laugh, but Mrs. Lyell answered, 
 unruffled : 
 
 "Some time, perhaps, you will grasp the measure of 
 our thought. Argument on such subjects is impossible. 
 Truth is felt by the soul. It is not to be proved by 
 logic. One can always find plenty of arguments in 
 favor of what one already believes." 
 
 "I ve no doubt you are right there. Therefore one 
 
44 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 should never consider his own little fragment of truth 
 the final measure of things. Our ideas are created by 
 our temperaments more than by our logic, and you 
 can t be argued out of your temperament." 
 
 Vera pushed back her chair with an impatient sigh. 
 She and Mrs. Lyell left the room, but as she went 
 toward the door she gave Frank a swift look that said, 
 "You are not stupid after all." Straightway he for 
 got nature and spirit, truth and untruth, in an instant 
 of delight as he met her eyes. He could affect only a 
 languid interest in Nicholas Windsor s big laugh. 
 
 "Well, Lenox, you ve got a little of the good old 
 straight Puritan blood left in you ! It did me good to 
 hear you uttering such heresies around here. We ve 
 been having a lot of spirituality and mighty little horse 
 sense in this community lately, I can tell you. Say, 
 Lenox, did you say that all out of your own head, or 
 did you learn it out of a book ? They didn t teach that 
 kind of stuff at Winterhaven College in my days." 
 
 Kemyss looked at Lenox with ill-concealed dislike. 
 He was inwardly cursing his own difficult situation, 
 which kept him silent during the discussion, fearful of 
 offending either his ethereally-minded love or his 
 materially-minded chief. 
 
 "I don t know which looks the worse, a Philistine, 
 or a damn fool, but I m inclined to give the fool the 
 
FOOD 45 
 
 preference," was the message that his inner self com 
 municated to his inner mind. 
 
 Meanwhile Mrs. Lyell, in the drawing-room, settled 
 herself comfortably in the easiest of chairs very near 
 the blazing fire. 
 
 "It is really too bad, Vera, that your father s busi 
 ness life should be constantly bringing you in contact 
 with this type of mind. It makes it very hard for you 
 to live the higher life. That young man has almost 
 ruffled me!" And she laughed pleasantly. 
 
 Vera s eyes shot a little flame. 
 
 "My father has helped to build a great city and put 
 comfort and prosperity into the lives of thousands of 
 people. Can I be sure, Eugenia, that it is better to live 
 alone on the hilltop than to do as he has done ?" 
 
 Mrs. Lyell sat up. Really, the disciple was growing 
 unruly. 
 
 "You are speaking out of a mood, Vera, and a mood 
 that to-morrow you will recognize as unworthy. You 
 should learn not to be influenced by minds inferior to 
 your own. Remember that it is greater to be than to 
 do." 
 
 "The question is whether one can be without do 
 ing," said the disciple, still rebellious. 
 
 After the gentlemen came in, the most contrary of 
 moods took possession of her. While Windsor ab- 
 
46 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 sorbed the unwilling Kemyss, she talked the smallest 
 of small talk with Lenox. Mrs. Lyell listened with dis 
 may. It is not easy to indulge in lightsome and mean 
 ingless sallies while one s mentor sits by in disapprov 
 ing silence, but Vera ignored Mrs. Lyell, and to 
 Lenox it was as if she were not. 
 
 "Mr. Lenox, I owe you at least two good turns for 
 your service to me this morning," said the girl, "and 
 the path of the tenderfoot is a thorny one. Would it 
 not smooth your future in life if you had some elemen 
 tary instruction in western ways and manners?" 
 
 Mrs. Lyell fell to wondering why such simple words 
 should make a man s expression that of a fatuous fool. 
 It is one of the fundamental differences between man 
 and the lower animals a distinction stupidly ignored 
 by students of evolution this tendency of the youth 
 ful male to slip out of possession of man s towering 
 intellect at the slightest provocation from the youthful 
 female. 
 
 "Rule one," continued Vera; "when you meet an 
 other person, you must not begin to talk about the 
 weather. In deference to the summer cyclone, and the 
 winter blizzard, we think it bad form to mention 
 weather." 
 
 "What, then," he asked, with a direct look of smil 
 ing interest, "is the staple of conversation here ?" 
 
FOOD 47 
 
 "Well, the older inhabitant always begins by asking 
 the younger, Where did you come from? You see, 
 no one but myself was born in St. Etienne. Really, it 
 never occurred to me before, that perhaps I am the 
 lodestone about which this big city has been drawn 
 together from the four quarters of the globe. I know 
 there is a popular impression that its water-power was 
 the creator of St. Etienne, but I prefer to think it was 
 because I set the good example of coming first. How 
 ever this may be, Where did you come from? is a 
 good opening to a conversation, because you can then 
 glide easily into a discussion of your native place and 
 the other man s, and so on gracefully to staple ques 
 tion number two, which is, How do you like the 
 West? " 
 
 "And then?" he asked. 
 
 "I think this ends the standard conversation," she 
 replied. "If you have any brains you may branch off 
 into rational intercourse. But with ordinary ingenuity 
 these subjects may be prolonged enough to cover 
 quite a crop failure of ideas. You ll hear it done 
 every day." 
 
 "But if you please, Madam Instructress, you have 
 failed to enlighten me on the most important point of 
 all, in these First steps of a Tenderfoot ." 
 
 "And what may that most important point of all be ?" 
 
48 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 "What, most illuminating, am I to say when the 
 questioner asks me how I like the West?" He looked 
 at her with frank good nature. 
 
 Vera laughed gaily. 
 
 "Nay," she said. "Instruction can t do everything 
 for you. There must be some scope for genius. But 
 I warn you, the community will judge you inside and 
 out, your insight into life, your knowledge of men and 
 things, by your answer to that crucial question." 
 
 "You alarm me. But it occurs to me that I may al 
 ways escape from this horrible dilemma by being the 
 first to ask the other fellow what he thinks of the 
 West." 
 
 "Come, I begin to have hopes of you. Are you to 
 stay in St. Etienne?" 
 
 "I I hope so." Lenox glanced at Windsor. 
 
 "Oh, I see. I think you ll stay. My father likes 
 you," she said kindly. 
 
 "I hope so," he said heartily. "My first impressions 
 have been so so pleasant, that I am quite longing to 
 know more of the inhabitants of my adopted native 
 city." 
 
 "That is the true spirit. You won t have to be here 
 long before the native will seem to you more true 
 than the adopted . I believe I can give you your first 
 opportunity to meet your fellow townspeople, at least 
 
FOOD 49 
 
 on any large scale. Thanksgiving Eve we always cele 
 brate by a semi-public ball, to which we P go en masse. 
 You will see the noble army of pioneers, and the later 
 comers, who are respectable, but of course not to be 
 compared with the originals. You must gather together 
 all your forces in preparation for meeting the genuine 
 western girl, Mr. Lenox." 
 
 "Have I not been meeting her all the evening?" he 
 asked. 
 
 But she ignored his question and went on. 
 
 "It is the opening function of the winter s gaieties, 
 and to be left off its list would be to sink into insig 
 nificance; all of which, being interpreted, means that 
 I am going to have a wonderful new gown for the 
 occasion, and I am sorry for any poor mortal who 
 does not have the opportunity of gazing on me. You 
 may thank me for saving you from such a fate." 
 
 "I am most grateful," said he humbly, "or at least 
 I shall be, if, from the position of a nobody who by 
 this investiture is transformed into a somebody, I may 
 beg for the privilege of a dance with the investing 
 power." 
 
 "So you think boldness is the first requisite of the 
 higher life at least of society?" She glanced with 
 kindly maliciousness at Mrs. Lyell. "Yes, I will com 
 plete my benefactions. You shall have the first dance 
 
50 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 
 
 just five weeks from to-night. I shall tell any one 
 else who asks for it that I am saving it for Mr. Lenox, 
 the most 
 
 "The most what?" he pleaded. 
 
 "The most recent arrival in St. Etienne, of course. 
 And the man who saved me from the demon street 
 car." 
 
 Mrs. Lyell got up a little abruptly, and Vera rose, 
 too, with an apologetic gesture. Other girls talked 
 small-talk, and why should not she? 
 
 Mr. Windsor and Mr. Kemyss joined the group 
 around the fire, and conversation became general until 
 the carriage for Mrs. Lyell was announced, and that 
 lady departed with Mr. Kemyss as escort. 
 
 Lenox made a move to go at the same time, but 
 Windsor laid a detaining hand on his arm. 
 
 "Wait a bit, I want to have a moment s talk with 
 you." 
 
 Vera went to her refuge at the piano, and began 
 to play softly, as if crooning to herself. Windsor hand 
 ed Lenox a cigar. 
 
 "Have another," he said; "the one after dinner 
 didn t seem to amount to anything, and Vera doesn t 
 mind." He turned down the lights, as if settling him 
 self for a comfortable homelike time, and the two men, 
 masculine fashion, sat with crossed knees before the 
 
FOOD 51 
 
 fire. There flashed half-humorously across Lenox s 
 mind the contrast between this interview with the 
 potentate and that of the morning. 
 
 "Who and what is Mrs. Lyell?" he asked, as Wind 
 sor did not seem inclined to take up the conversation. 
 
 "She s an incarnate woman s club, that s what she 
 is. And if you want my opinion, a woman s club is the 
 most unnecessary concatenation of atoms that has come 
 to my notice." 
 
 "Is shea widow?" 
 
 "She s worse than that," Windsor answered glum 
 ly; "she s the superior wife of an inferior husband. 
 She s the ripe fruit of the Lord s experience during 
 the long period that he s been engaged in the manufac 
 ture of women; but her husband is descended from 
 Adam after the fall." 
 
 Lenox laughed, and Windsor went on. 
 
 "She s Mrs. Appleby Edward Lyell, and her hus 
 band is Ned Lyell. Society gives her the distinction 
 of all his Christian names, and leaves him such poor 
 fragments as any poor fellow might have. There you 
 have it in a nutshell." 
 
 "I think you are very unjust to Mrs. Lyell," said 
 Vera in an even voice, from the piano. She did not 
 stop her playing. "I think the deprecating tenderness 
 with which Eugenia always speaks of Mr. Lyell shows 
 
52 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 how she tries to conceal even from herself the know 
 ledge, that she can not help having, that he is nothing 
 but a clod." 
 
 "The solid earth on which we stand is made up of 
 clodSj my dear. He supplies her with the leisure and 
 money that she needs for this chiffon higher life of 
 hers not too much money, be it said to his everlasting 
 discredit, though he works like a horse to get that 
 little." 
 
 "And very fortunate he is to serve so good a pur 
 pose. She is the inspiration of a good many women s 
 lives." 
 
 "Well, if I were picking out wives, I d rather have 
 one that petted me when I came home than one that 
 knew every date from primordial protoplasm to Dar 
 win. There s a pointer for you, Lenox. And there s 
 another thing I ll tell you. It isn t safe for a woman 
 or a man either, for that matter to cut loose from 
 the conventionalities and traditions as she does." 
 
 Vera came over and stood beside her father s chair, 
 slender and tall in the flickering fire-play, and her eyes 
 seemed to Lenox to glow with light within, not sharp 
 but soft, as she fixed them on her father. 
 
 "What do you mean ?" she asked. 
 
 "I ll tell you what I mean," said the older man, 
 clasping the hand that hung loosely at her side, and 
 
FOOD 53 
 
 patting it as he spoke. "You needn t be surprised if 
 I generalize a little myself. I ve lived a good many 
 years on this old ball, Vera, and I ve seen a good many 
 different kinds of men, from trappers to princes. I 
 shouldn t have made the enterprises I ve turned my 
 hands to a success if I hadn t used my brains to study 
 people and principles a little, should I? I can piece 
 things together quite a bit, little girl, when most folks 
 think I m thinking of nothing except how to make an 
 other dollar. Now, then, there are two ways in which 
 you may get philosophy of life. Don t smile at your 
 old dad, Vera. You haven t got a monopoly of the 
 family brains. I say there are two working philoso 
 phies of life. One you get by sitting down all alone 
 in a quiet room and thinking about the things that are 
 true, and resolving to live by them. The other you get 
 by banging up against people and rinding out that 
 things are so whether they re true or not. Mind you, 
 I don t say one of these ways is right and the other is 
 wrong. Very likely you ve got to combine them both. 
 Anyway, if you stick to the last you re apt to forget 
 one set of principles, and if you stick to the first you re 
 apt to forget another. That s what I want to speak of 
 now, because that s where I think your friend, Mrs. 
 Lyell, trips up, and I don t want you to be like her. 
 There is no one human mind so absolutely reasonable 
 
54 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 that it can evolve truth all by itself, and ignore the sum 
 of other people s thoughts. This old world s habits 
 have been built up out of the hard experience of an 
 awful lot of folks. When a man tells me that he can 
 prove that there isn t any God, I say, Great Scott! 
 It s given heaps of trouble to thousands of generations 
 to work out a moderately decent conception of a God 
 who isn t an unjust savage and a disgrace to humanity. 
 Do you think I m going to throw away the result of 
 all that struggle, just because I ain t smart enough to 
 see any flaw in your little two-by-four argument ? " 
 
 "But if we always insisted on accepting things as 
 they are, there d never be any progress," said Lenox. 
 
 "That s all right, my boy. That s all right. But 
 progress has got to be built up on things as they are. 
 You don t get it by knocking everything down and 
 starting over again. Now, I ll tell you what happens. 
 When people begin to play fast and loose with accept 
 ed ideas of truth, you ll find mind you, I m speaking 
 of my observation of real folks, and I could give you 
 plenty of examples you ll find those same people are 
 very apt to play fast and loose with ordinary morals, 
 too. Now you take marriage. It s been a tough pull 
 for the human race to get it as decent as it is, and I ll 
 admit it isn t ideal. But you let a man or woman be 
 gin to say, % being on a loftier spiritual plane, won t 
 
FOOD 55 
 
 be trammeled by the conventionalities that are meant 
 for lower nature, and marriage, as the world recog 
 nizes it, is a poor kind of thing/ Well, ten to one, 
 after your superior soul has run away with his affinity 
 and left his wife and children, he falls into a pit of 
 vileness, and deals a staggering blow in the face to 
 such decency as the commonplace world has already 
 achieved. I tell you, conventionalities aren t just stu 
 pidities. They re crystallized common-sense/ 
 
 "How it would rejoice Winterhaven to hear you 
 hold forth as the apostle of tradition!" said Lenox, 
 and Windsor put back his head and gave a great 
 laugh. 
 
 "Winterhaven isn t such a fool of an old place as I 
 used to think. I m going back there to die some day. 
 By heaven, I d die, if I had to live there !" he said. 
 
 "And all this," said Vera slowly, "means that you re 
 such an old fogy that you don t like Mrs. Lyell to come 
 here to dinner without her husband, and so you expect 
 to see her elopement chronicled in to-morrow s News." 
 
 "Nothing of the kind. That single act doesn t sig 
 nify ; but I don t like her attitude in general. I don t 
 know, and I don t care very much what folly Mrs. 
 Lyell is guilty of, so long as you don t follow her lead 
 too far. Don t you let her teach you that it s only the 
 superior minority that know wisdom, and that the in- 
 
56 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 ferior majority are fools. I belong to the majority 
 myself, little girl, and I don t want you to desert me. 
 There, I ve been gradually accumulating this discourse 
 for some time, and I m glad I ve shot it off. You never 
 heard me explode that way before, did you, Vera? 
 Do you think you can get me an opportunity to ad 
 dress your club on the Ethics of every-day life?" 
 
 He drew down the hand he held and kissed it and 
 then gave her a sharp push, as if to send her away. 
 
 "Never mind about Mrs. Lyell now. She s only a 
 soap-bubble. I want to speak to Frank, here, for a 
 moment." 
 
 Frank looked up startled at the sound of his first 
 name. Truth was, there was a little feeling of kinship 
 behind the shrewd eyes with which the man of ex 
 perience had been studying the boy all the evening. 
 Windsor measured him up, a wholesome, dependable 
 young man with latent possibilities. 
 
 "Lenox," he said, "I m doing a little grain-commis 
 sion business on the side. It isn t generally known 
 that I am in it, and I don t intend that it shall be 
 known in the country. There s nothing the farmer is 
 so much afraid of as the other man s getting a dollar. 
 He thinks I ve got too many, anyway; so I don t let 
 him know that I m after a few more. I ve half a mind 
 to send you out into the country to drum up trade a 
 
FOOD 57 
 
 bit. You ll learn as much about things out here that 
 way as in anything I can give you, and in a few 
 months I shall know what you are good for. Come to 
 my office to-morrow afternoon at two o clock. This 
 isn t the place to talk business." 
 
 And Frank, understanding himself dismissed, said 
 good-night cordially to Windsor and deferentially 
 to Vera, feeling that the doors of his new life had 
 suddenly been flung very wide open. He was glad to be 
 alone for the dark walk to ask what it was that had 
 happened to him. He had been conscious all the evening 
 of a new sensation that was half anguish and half bliss. 
 And now in the dim night air Vera Windsor s face 
 moved before as he tramped along. A policeman, 
 standing under a gas light, stared at him suspiciously, 
 wondering what that fatuous grin might portend. 
 There is a great deal more falling in love at first sight 
 than the world is willing to admit to itself the self- 
 deceiving old world that poses as a creature of rea 
 son, while all the time it is as warm-hearted and im 
 pulsive an old thing as ever moved. And in the less 
 sophisticated regions, where conventions play a lesser 
 part, the primal instincts have freer scope. 
 
 Frank had inherited a tendency to fall in love from 
 some thousands of generations of ancestors, and it did 
 not even occur to him to try to struggle against hered- 
 
58 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 ity. He stopped suddenly, too much self-occupied to 
 
 move. 
 
 "There is one thing Windsor does not know," he 
 said to himself. "Whatever chance he gives me I am 
 sure to make the most of, now that I ve seen her. Yes 
 terday I might have failed, but now I won t P 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE MALCONTENTS 
 
 When they got into the carriage together both Mrs. 
 Lyell and Mr. Kemyss were in a very unpleasant state 
 of mind, though it was hard to define what had pro 
 duced it. The young man had a feeling that his patent 
 right of intimacy in the Windsor household was com 
 ing dangerously near to infringement. His father, 
 Jim Kemyss, had been the companion of Nicholas 
 Windsor in the old pioneering days when friendship 
 meant something. Their cabins stood near enough to 
 gether to warrant their being termed "neighbors," 
 and, when the patient little half-breed wife slept her 
 last sleep, Mary Kemyss soothed the wailing baby, 
 Vera, and brought comfort to the despairing house 
 hold. If Jim Kemyss had stayed in St. Etienne, his 
 fortunes as he often said might have been like those 
 of Nicholas Windsor. "Why, the land I built my cabin 
 on is now held at three hundred dollars a foot. If I d 
 kept it I d a been a millionaire!" How often one 
 hears that in the West ! 
 
 59 
 
60 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 But the great wave of progress, which enriched the 
 land like the overflowing Nile, swept the brood of 
 Kemyss on its front billows ever farther and farther, 
 from place to place, and stranded him at last. Now, 
 when his old friend was a man of prestige and money, 
 he was still a drifter. Yet there is no bond of brother 
 hood stronger than that which binds those who have 
 endured together the stress of the frontier; and so, 
 for the sake of old times, Cyril Kemyss had found a 
 warm welcome in Windsor s hand-clasp, and had fallen 
 into a place which many another young man envied. 
 He, himself, considered his fortune rather a matter of 
 desert than of luck. 
 
 To Windsor s private secretary it was no difficult 
 task to develop an intimacy in Windsor s household, 
 nor was Mr. Kemyss a young man to neglect his op 
 portunities. For feminine methods of reasoning, Cyril 
 Kemyss cared not a whit, having a strong liking for 
 women because of other excellences than those of 
 brain capacity; but he perceived that in their pleasant 
 fancies they must be humored by him who would aft 
 erward master them ; and he further saw that, if they 
 were of the class for whom their men provide food 
 and clothes and warmth, they must beguile their leisure 
 with some such airy toys as these philosophies. There 
 were even advantages in having them discuss Brown- 
 
THE MALCONTENTS 61 
 
 ing and Kant rather than gossip and clothes. He could 
 talk easily on these subjects himself, and, in fact, en 
 joyed doing so in his hours of leisure, though, being a 
 man, he was sooner bored by these trifles than were 
 the women. It would be better if they were less strenu 
 ous, less in earnest about affairs of little practical mo 
 ment. He liked women. He frequently told himself 
 and other young men that they were his one weakness, 
 though there was as much self-laudation as self-criti 
 cism in the confession. He enjoyed the study of the 
 eternal feminine. The development of its intricacies 
 had a fascination for him, and he was fastidious enough 
 to be attracted only by women of refinement and grace 
 though that which he liked was not the nobility 
 which creates grace, but the beauty that accompanies it. 
 It did not take him long to discover that Vera was 
 his fate. She meant ease, distinction, a relief from the 
 haggling with fortune which he loathed. And yet he 
 must often confess to himself that she lacked the mag 
 netism of her friend. Vera was slender, somewhat 
 angular, strenuous, rigid in her judgments, too ethical. 
 Mrs. Lyell, soft and curved in every outline, with flesh 
 that made one long to touch it for its sleek delicacy, 
 and lips that curved in response to the multitudinous 
 emotions within her, charmed his senses. If he could 
 but transform this alluring creature into Nicholas 
 
62 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 Windsor s daughter, it would make the path of duty 
 much easier. But he held himself in leash a thing not 
 easy when one has been accustomed to let the impulses 
 be guides-in-chief. 
 
 Cyril Kemyss, like his father, was essentially a 
 drifter, and the trouble about drifting is that it is 
 apt to send one whirling over a cataract or bumping 
 against a stone. An inherent love of approbation, or 
 even an affection for the elegancies of life, is not suffi 
 cient to guide the craft. It needs a strong hand, and 
 once in a while a vigorous push against the current. 
 
 The intimacy with Vera began as naturally as that 
 of brother and sister. Had they not been babies to 
 gether, even though they knew of that far-off time 
 only by hearsay? In proportion as Vera was beloved 
 by her father, she might prove valuable to another 
 man ; and since, to her strenuous nature and her lack 
 of humor, Mrs. Lyell s ecstasies and ideals appealed so 
 strongly, it occurred to him that a lover who possessed 
 like ecstasies and ideals might gain even greater in 
 fluence. Forthwith he set himself to cultivate, with 
 eminent success, a lofty spiritual nature. But it was a 
 difficult situation. Windsor himself had anything but an 
 idealist s temperament, and, though he humored what 
 he considered his daughter s foibles, because he loved 
 her, he was not likely to endure with patience the same 
 
THE MALCONTENTS 63 
 
 foibles in others. So far Kemyss had played his role 
 admirably. The foundations of his Spanish castle were 
 substantially laid, but for some reason he felt them 
 rudely jarred by this villager from down in Maine/ 
 this straightforward young man, who spoke his 
 mind, and yet offended neither father nor daughter. 
 Kemyss was not in the habit of fearing the youths who 
 hovered, ineffective, about his divinity youths who 
 were characterized by names and a few features, but 
 were otherwise indistinguishable. But Francis Lenox, 
 he instinctively felt, was a dangerous type. There was 
 that which showed, in the face and unwavering eyes, 
 a boy clear-headed, clean-hearted, courteous in spirit 
 and vital in energy. What is the use of inventing in 
 tricate paths if another man can walk straight to the 
 same goal? 
 
 "Rather a disappointing evening, wasn t it?" Mrs. 
 Lyell interrupted his unquiet thoughts. "It s trying to 
 think that one unatmospheric person can so spoil 
 things. Now I had made up my mind to one of the 
 quiet, inspiring talks we sometimes have when Mr. 
 Windsor has gone off to his own sanctum." 
 
 "You put it very amiably, Mrs. Lyell, as you gen 
 erally put your criticisms of other people. I confess 
 I found Mr. Lenox aggressive and intolerable." 
 
 "Yet Mr. Windsor seemed to take quite a fancy to 
 
64 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 him, and Vera, too. It would be a great pity if she 
 should fall under such an influence." 
 
 He looked at her quite startled. 
 
 "I trust you will do all you can to prevent such a 
 catastrophe, Mrs. Lyell." 
 
 "There is only one way to rise above littleness. That 
 is to fill one s mind with the great thoughts of the ages, 
 the great facts of science and history." Mrs. Lyell 
 waved her little plump hand gracefully. She loved to 
 revel in greatnesses without too petty an attention to 
 detail. She was very pretty, and her eyes grew lumi 
 nous. Her mouth quivered with tender curves. Mr. 
 Kemyss was susceptible to beauty and he caught the 
 soft hand and kissed it. 
 
 "If you could make Vera such another as yourself !" 
 he exclaimed. "You are my ideal of womanhood, Mrs. 
 Lyell. I admire you more than I can say, all the more 
 because you are yourself under such adverse circum 
 stances." 
 
 In the little pause during which they waited for the 
 door to open, Mrs. Lyell could not down the discon 
 tented thoughts that rose in her. How different life 
 might have been ! Suppose marriage were a continual 
 inspiration instead of a clog. She looked at Kemyss, 
 not with love, but with a covetous desire for something 
 in him that had not been given her. Her husband, who 
 
THE MALCONTENTS 65 
 
 opened the door for her, seemed even less attractive 
 than usual, in a pair of down-at-the-heel slippers. She 
 followed him into the little parlor, lit by a single gas- 
 jet. There had been a fire burning in the grate, but 
 now there were only gray and hopeless ashes. 
 
 Her radiant philosophy, which bubbled easily into 
 what her critics called "hemorrhages of words," had a 
 fashion of deserting her sometimes in her need; not 
 that she had anything of the hypocrite in her, but that, 
 in spite of her ardent beliefs, her own emotional na 
 ture, susceptible to every wind of circumstance, proved 
 stronger than her intellect and will. 
 
 The bleakness of this room and man depressed her 
 after the smooth comfort of Vera s home. 
 
 "I sent Tilly to bed, and told her I would wait up 
 for you," said Lyell apologetically. He was chroni 
 cally apologetic in the presence of his wife. 
 
 Couldn t you have made things a little more cheer 
 ful for yourself, Ned? This doesn t seem much of a 
 place for spending an evening." 
 
 "I should have had a fire to greet you with, cer 
 tainly ; but I came in only a moment ago. Took dinner 
 down town," he said quietly. 
 
 Mrs. Lyell stared at him a moment in contrition. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Ned. I believe I told Tilly I was 
 going to be out, and she probably took it for granted 
 
66 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 that you would not be here. It wasn t like me to forget 
 to order dinner for you, was it? I am very much 
 ashamed of myself. I mean to do my duty better than 
 that. It s rough on you. I wish, for your sake, that I 
 could be a different type of woman." 
 
 If she had completed her thought she would have 
 added: "But it is hard to remember the things in 
 which one is not in the least interested." 
 
 "And I wish you would not always insist on con 
 sidering me a burden, Jean. About dinner, it did not 
 make the least difference. I should not have cared to 
 sit down alone. As it was I had a very pleasant time 
 at the club with the boys." 
 
 But his voice did not sound jubilant. 
 
 To his wife his words raised a vision of eating and 
 drinking and loud laughter over poor jokes. She 
 turned away abruptly. 
 
 "Did you have a pleasant time?" he asked. 
 
 "Oh, like you, I had a sufficiency of food and drink, 
 but I can t say that it made what I call a pleasant 
 evening. Mr. Windsor was much in evidence, and I do 
 not enjoy him. He had another of his own type there 
 to-night younger and more effervescently offensive. 
 Isn t it queer that sometimes everything in the world 
 looks worth while, and at other times nothing is worth 
 while ? It s all tiresome, and one longs to have it over. 
 
THE MALCONTENTS 67 
 
 How astonished some of my friends would be to hear 
 me talk in such a way ! Well, at least I am not a cow 
 ard. I can help cheer other people, and keep my mo 
 ments of dejection to myself." 
 
 "And to me," said her husband, a little bitterly. 
 
 "Ned," she rose, "you can not accuse me of often 
 thrusting my moods upon you. I know that you do not 
 sympathize with either side of me." 
 
 "That is the worst of it. I am entirely aware that 
 both your depression and your burst of confidence are 
 based on indigestion. I shall not presume on them." 
 
 "I think I will go up to bed at once," she said. 
 
 Her husband sat and stared moodily at the discour 
 aging ashes until long after silence had fallen upon the 
 second floor. Then he went up stairs. His wife stirred 
 uneasily. 
 
 "I forgot to tell you, Jean, I m going to take the 
 midnight train north. Probably be gone a month or so. 
 Will it disturb you if I light the gas while I throw a 
 few things into my bag ?" 
 
 "Can I help you?" she asked languidly. 
 
 "No, thank you, dear." He worked in silence, glanc 
 ing now and then wistfully at her closed eyes. To 
 some people he found it easy to say the things that 
 were in him, and many a time he evolved a long dis 
 course that should somehow bridge the gulf that con- 
 
68 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 tinually widened between himself and his wife, but her 
 complete indifference stifled his power of utterance. He 
 could have said it now, if she would but open her eyes, 
 he thought. He looked at his watch, and moved to her 
 bedside. 
 
 "Good-by, Jean, I must be off." , 
 
 "Good-by, Ned. Take care of yourself." 
 He opened his lips, for her voice was gentle and 
 cordial, but she interrupted. 
 
 "And, oh, will you please take a look at the furnace 
 before you go?" 
 
 "Yes, dear, I ll attend to it. Good-by." 
 "Good-by." He stooped and kissed her unresponsive 
 cheek. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 THE TEMPTER 
 
 As Mr. Kemyss came down the steps of the Lyell 
 house, he discovered a man of substantial proportions 
 awaiting him. 
 
 "Hello, K.," said an aggressively cheerful voice. 
 
 Kemyss half hesitated a moment, then nodded a curt 
 good night to the still waiting coachman. 
 
 "I ll walk, thanks," he said, and the new-comer and 
 he strode off into the night together. 
 
 "Old Windsor s carnage?" asked his friend. Kemyss 
 nodded. 
 
 "Say, you re pretty thick with the old man, ain t 
 you ? Who was the pretty girl you were seeing home 
 in his rig?" 
 
 There was no reply, and Mr. Timothy Norton eyed 
 his companion askance and changed his tactics. 
 
 "Say, I ve got some of the finest ever in the way of 
 Canadian rye. Step into my rooms and sample it with 
 me, won t you ?" he said with unabated cordiality. 
 It was evident that this suggestion met with a more 
 
 6 9 
 
70 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 cordial reception, for Kemyss growled an assent and 
 followed Norton s latch-key into a dark hall and thence 
 into a stuffy but showy room, which might properly be 
 called a "den" as a tribute both to its odor and to the 
 evidently animal propensities of its owner. 
 
 As M, Norton lit the gas, laid aside his coat and 
 busied himself in getting out a bottle and a couple 
 of glasses, Kemyss still watched him silently. He was 
 a person with pretentions to be called a gentleman, but 
 the trouble was that his pretentions remained preten 
 tions. They influenced him only so far as to affect his 
 outer garments, and did not penetrate even to the 
 sanctum of his finger-nails. A wolfish head he had, 
 hung a little too far forward on his shoulders, and his 
 mustache, which young ladies of his acquaintance de 
 scribed as "handsome," did not wholly hide a cruel 
 mouth. 
 
 "I suppose all this friendliness means that you want 
 your money, Tim," Kemyss broke in abruptly. "I wish 
 to heaven you could have it, and I be done with you. 
 But I haven t got it and that s the truth. Curse you 
 and your cards !" 
 
 "Oh, well, come ! You needn t blame me. You like 
 the cards as well as I do, old fellow." 
 
 "I have to thank you for that as well as for my 
 losses," Kemyss answered bitterly. 
 
THE TEMPTER 7 1 
 
 "Well, never mind all that," Norton replied in a sin 
 gularly amiable voice to be coming from such a mouth. 
 "I m in no hurry, and you needn t think that s what I 
 wanted to talk about. I ve known what it was to be 
 pretty hard up, myself, and I m the last man on earth 
 to press a friend on a debt of honor. Pay me when 
 you get ready. Till then say no more about it." 
 
 Mr. Kemyss strained manner relaxed, either under 
 the influence of his kindly creditor or that of the ex 
 cellent whisky. Already this evening, Kemyss had 
 borne the air of an ascetic in the home of Miss Wind 
 sor, he had been a young man of emotional tempera 
 ment in the carriage with Mrs. Lyell, and now he 
 lapsed into the hail-fellow-well-met of Mr. Timothy 
 Norton; and, although he would have felt very loath 
 to let his own particular little world see him in his 
 present surroundings, for the first time in several hours 
 he felt comparatively at ease and at home. An inferior 
 friend is after all a rest. One does not have to pose. 
 The ability to become all things to all men, admirable 
 as it is in an apostle, in the man who does not endow 
 it with the backbone of sterling principles is apt to be 
 come a source of stumbling. 
 
 "No, I ain t going to press you on a debt of honor. 
 I m gentleman enough to know how to treat another 
 gentleman, I hope," repeated his companion. 
 
72 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 "I appreciate it, I assure you," Kemyss answered, 
 and an amicable silence fell between them. 
 
 "Been dining at Windsor s?" asked his companion 
 at length. 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, I don t doubt you deserve your position, but 
 there s a good deal of luck in it, too. No son of his 
 own. Son of an old friend. Almost like his own. The 
 old man s getting on. Some one will have to step into 
 his shoes one of these days." 
 
 "Oh, I don t know," Kemyss laughed the laugh of 
 the flattered. "Windsor has a good many pairs of 
 shoes, and no one man is going to step into all of them. 
 And I ll tell you another thing, his shoes aren t any 
 where worn out, either. He s good for a century. I 
 never saw a man take business the way he does. It 
 does not play him out. He acts as if it was a big game 
 and as if he couldn t lose. If he makes a false move, 
 why, it s only a bishop gone anyway, and he s nowhere 
 near a checkmate. It does not wear on him the way 
 it does on most men." 
 
 "Well, when it comes to games, two can play at em, 
 you know. I understand you stand a pretty good 
 chance at capturing his queen yourself." 
 
 "What makes you think so ?" Kemyss asked quickly. 
 
 "Oh, it s kind of understood among all the boys." 
 
THE TEMPTER 73 
 
 "You don t know her, do you?" Kemyss question 
 was humorous, and accompanied by a sudden vision 
 of this man in conference with Miss Windsor. 
 
 "Naw, how should I? But of course I ve seen her. 
 She s a high-stepper and a beaut, but I guess you ll 
 have to walk a chalk line when she s Mrs. K., at least 
 as long as old Nick pervades this ball. Of course, she 
 ain t my style." 
 
 "Mine either ! She thinks the only purpose in life is 
 to be great and good. I don t know whether the game 
 is worth the candle," Kemyss blurted out, and instantly 
 wished that he had held his tongue. 
 
 "Don t be a fool ! Of course it is," replied Norton. 
 
 "And I suppose this is why you are willing to wait 
 for your money ?" asked Mr. Kemyss pointedly. 
 
 "Cert. I ain t going to cut in with any little fuss that 
 might queer your chances. Go in and win and let me 
 have the crumbs that fall from the table. That is all 
 T. Norton asks." 
 
 "Well, you needn t bank on it too much." 
 
 Norton got up and moved restlessly about the room. 
 Then he came back to his seat, shut one eye, and sur 
 veyed his upraised glass with the other. 
 
 "Kemyss," he said, "you have a hundred chances to 
 make money, marriage or no marriage. Look at the 
 things that Windsor is into, and you at his elbow all 
 
74 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 the time. You must get a lot of tips, say on the stock 
 market, that other fellows don t have. If I were in 
 your place you can just bet I d have money in my 
 pocket." 
 
 Would you ? I can tell you the old man is morbidly 
 sensitive on the subject of speculation in his em 
 ployes, at least. He calls his own operations business 
 enterprises. That is a different thing. But, I tell you, 
 let him catch any one, especially a prospective son-in- 
 law, speculating, and the fur would fly. I don t dare 
 risk it. Besides, he thinks my salary is enough for all 
 my needs. And so it would be, if you hadn t got me 
 in this tight place." Kemyss reverted to his original 
 injury. 
 
 "It ain t my fault if the luck run against you. And 
 it s bound to turn some day. But about this other busi 
 ness. I tell you if I were in your place, I wouldn t be 
 such a blank coward. Why, you could find a hundred 
 ways to operate without his knowing anything about 
 it. If you are scared to do it yourself, you can let some, 
 one else do it for you, can t you ?" 
 
 Norton extended a long deliberate forefinger toward 
 the weak young fellow in front of him. 
 
 "Look here, Kemyss, just say you did happen to 
 drop on to something, and suppose you tipped me the 
 wink. If you put me in the way of making a tidy sum, 
 
THE TEMPTER 75 
 
 I would be willing to let it wipe out your debt to me,, 
 and as you know, that has reached a good round figure. 
 Why shouldn t you and me go into a kind of part 
 nership, you supplying the information, and me doing 
 the business? Profits equaL" Kemyss sat long with 
 boots extended before him gazing at them as though 
 they interested him deeply, while Tim watched him in 
 silence. 
 
 "Well, what do you want me to do ? I ve sometimes 
 thought of some such arrangement myself. Mind, I 
 don t say I ll agree to anything, but if you ve got any 
 safe plans I m ready to listen to them," he said ab 
 ruptly. 
 
 Tim hunched his chair confidentially nearer and the 
 two talked far into the night. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 AN EPISODE 
 
 When two o clock and Lenox arrived together, 
 Windsor, absorbed in the daily mill, had time only for 
 that big human smile behind which he hid his inflex 
 ibility. 
 
 "Afternoon!" he said. "I m going to send you out 
 into the country to solicit grain." It was not his cus 
 tom to ask men whether they wanted to do the things 
 he intended they should. "Don t know anything about 
 wheat, I suppose ? Well, you ll know a little before you 
 get through with my kindergarten. It s a big subject. 
 And the commission business is a small part of it. In 
 cidentally you ll learn a little about Minnesota and the 
 Swede farmer, and you ll just jot down a few points 
 in which he isn t a bit like the Puritan. It wouldn t 
 astonish me if you even found out a thing or two about 
 yourself of which you re not yet aware." He looked at 
 the young man with quizzical kindliness. "I can t take 
 my time to talk to you about details, but Kemyss is in 
 
AN EPISODE 77 
 
 the next room there. I told him to help Holton make 
 out a kind of rough itinerary for you. He has a little 
 interest in this concern himself. Come and speak to 
 me before you go. Good day." 
 
 Frank went through the door to meet Mr. Holton, 
 the head of the firm that Old Nick ran under another 
 name than his own the name of a benevolent saint of 
 long ago, who knew little of the wheat-commission 
 business, but whose cognomen came easily to hand in 
 a country where Jesuit fathers preceded grain, and 
 whose well-known virtues now cast a pious luster over 
 the trade of heretic business enterprise, as in huge 
 white letters, decorating the red country elevators, 
 their patronage was proclaimed. 
 
 A large part of the world eats its daily bread with a 
 certain modicum of gratitude, and does not ponder 
 deeply on the subject; but the interview of that morn 
 ing gave Frank a sense that the great structures of 
 civilization and of the arts and sciences were founded 
 on grain. He perceived that your true Minnesotian 
 surveys the world from the lofty ridge of a wheat ele 
 vator. Mr. Holton had an aggravating way of assum 
 ing that any intelligent creature understood the pre 
 liminary facts that sounded to Frank like Eleusinian 
 mysteries, and awed him into diffidence in discovering 
 the depths of his ignorance. Not that he would have 
 
78 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 minded Holton so much, but greenhorn questions died 
 at the lips in the presence of Mr. Kemyss. All he could 
 do was to store his memory with undigested facts on 
 which to ruminate at leisure. He longed to develop 
 brain tentacles that he might keep a tight grip on all 
 the instructions that were poured over and into him. 
 
 "Kemyss here has made out, at Mr. Windsor s sug 
 gestion, an outline of the route he proposes for you* 
 It lies through a portion of this state and the Dakotas, 
 where we have, so far, done hardly any business, so 
 you will have a chance to make a clean record. All 
 that comes in to us from that region will be credited to 
 you, and the line elevators are not so thick up there 
 either, but that there is quite a field for an independent 
 commission business. Think over what I said to you, 
 Mr. Lenox, and come back to the office to-morrow if 
 you want any further explanations or instructions. 
 The session came to an end, and Frank found him 
 self with a scrap of paper covered with names of towns, 
 Greek, Indian, Scandinavian, and even occasionally 
 English. 
 
 "I think that is all at present, Mr. Lenox. It might 
 do you good to drop over on Change for a moment. 
 Perhaps it will stir up your interest and make you 
 feel that you re part of a big machine. I think you 
 might start off. to the country by day after to-morrow 
 
AN EPISODE 79 
 
 morning. After all, the only qualification for success 
 must be your own experience, your own horse sense, 
 and your own tact. Let me see, Kemyss, about a 
 month s trip this is you ve planned, isn t it ? six weeks, 
 yes." 
 
 Frank thanked him and started for the door. "Six 
 weeks, yes." He came to a halt and a sudden flush 
 spread over his face. He turned on his heel and met 
 Kemyss eyes and cynical smile. She had invited him 
 for five weeks. He could not well say, "But, please, 
 kind sir, I want to come back in five weeks time to 
 dance with Miss Vera Windsor. What, sir, is the 
 wheat business compared with a waltz?" Yet in his 
 present state of mind the ball loomed almost as large 
 as the business chance that was to be his making or his 
 undoing. Such is the erratic mind of youth. 
 
 Running to catch one of the numerous elevators 
 which eternally slipped up and down like the rods of 
 an engine, Lenox found himself pushing a more lei 
 surely personage into the already crowded cage. The 
 hypnotic influence of rushing machines sets human 
 legs to rushing, too. Frank had to catch that elevator 
 though he was not in a hurry, and another was on the 
 point of arrival. 
 
 In the somber profile that turned slowly, as if in 
 remonstrance to his rapid movements, Frank recog- 
 
8o THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 nized a half-familiar face. He and this other young 
 man had been good strangers in Maine, but here, fif 
 teen hundred miles from the fresh sniff of salt water, 
 mere recognition meant warmth and friendship. 
 
 "Aren t you Henry Repburn?" Lenox asked. "It 
 does my heart good to see a Winterhaven face." 
 
 "Well, I swan, if it ain t Frank Lenox ! Used to go 
 to school with you ! I m glad to see you. When d you 
 come out ?" 
 
 "Arrived yesterday. And you ?" 
 
 "Oh, I ve been in this hole two or three weeks. I 
 wish I was back. I haven t heard a word of home 
 news for an age. I can t hardly believe there is such a 
 place." 
 
 "I m fresh, and primed. I can tell you all the gossip," 
 said Lenox. 
 
 The elevator came to a stop that set his heart beat 
 ing against the base of his brain, and left his diaphragm 
 without company. He was a country lad. As soon as 
 he could readjust his internal organs he went on. 
 
 "Come over to the St. Etienne and have dinner with 
 me, and let me tell you about the good old town." 
 
 "I don t care if I do," said the other. He walked 
 apathetically by Lenox s side, listening to the young 
 man s hopeful chatter about his own affairs, his com 
 ing westward, his impressions of Mr. Windsor, his 
 
AN EPISODE 81 
 
 confidence in his own future. But at last his compan 
 ion s listlessness began to tell on Frank s effervescence. 
 The human sympathy, generally uppermost in his 
 make-up, thrust his personal doings into the back 
 ground, and Lenox tried to get something like a re 
 sponsive confidence. It struck him that he was doing 
 all the talking and all the rejoicing, and that his com 
 panion grew every moment more despondent. 
 
 "Of course we never knew much of each other at 
 home," he said, "but I am under the impression that 
 some one told me you intended to marry and settle 
 down. Isn t it rather a new departure, you re coming 
 to St. Etienne?" 
 
 "Yes; it s all of a piece with my confounded bad 
 luck. It got so I couldn t stand it there, and now, upon 
 my word, it looks as if I couldn t stand it here." 
 
 "Come up to my room and have a cigar and tell me 
 about it," said Lenox, as they rose from the table. 
 
 Whether it was the agreeable fume of tobacco or 
 Frank s cheerful geniality that penetrated Repburn s 
 gloom, he suddenly dissolved into almost tearful con 
 fidence, to which the other listened in silence. 
 
 "I think there never was a fellow who had a worse 
 streak of luck than I ve had, and I can t see that I m 
 in any way to blame either. Things have just hap 
 pened. I ve been misunderstood and abused and 
 
82 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 hounded around until I m clean discouraged. There 
 comes a time when a fellow ain t called on to be cheer 
 ful any more. 
 
 "It began back at home, and it s followed me out 
 here, just as if Providence had a spite against me. It 
 seems as if it wasn t only big things, but in every little 
 thing I ve done, some piece of bad luck has happened 
 to me. I m at my wits end, I can tell you ; and to hear 
 you talkin about how cordial old Windsor was to you, 
 and his invitin you up to dinner, and givin you a good 
 job right off, well, I don t want anything bad to hap 
 pen to you, but it just sets me wild. You understand I 
 ain t envious of any one else. Now, he doesn t know 
 you any more than he does me, and he hasn t any call 
 to behave decent to you and give me a cold turn-down, 
 has he? Ain t I from Winterhaven just as much as 
 you? But some folks is born lucky, and some is born 
 unlucky, and it s better not to be born at all than to be 
 born unlucky." 
 
 "But, with all this, you haven t told me what s the 
 matter yet. Perhaps it will ease your mind a bit if you 
 let it off. Swear a little, if you feel like it. Maybe it ll 
 do you good." 
 
 "No, sir, all the cuss words in Webster s Unabridged 
 Dictionary wouldn t do me any good, and besides I m 
 not a profane swearer. See here, I ll go back to the be- 
 
AN EPISODE 83 
 
 ginning and tell you how it happened. Did you ever 
 know old Jim Mitf ord ? He had a big warehouse down 
 on Waterford s dock in Winterhaven, and my Uncle 
 Henry Uncle Henry brought me up, both my parents 
 being dead, which was another piece of my bad luck 
 but Uncle Henry was pretty well off, and took care of 
 me, though he most nagged the life out of me from 
 day to day. However, I d got used to his irritable ways 
 and I never paid much attention to them. If there s 
 one thing I am it s good-natured, though a fellow 
 hadn t ought to praise himself. Well, Uncle Henry he 
 always gave me to understand that he d see me com 
 fortably fixed in life; and he got me a situation with 
 old Mitford. He was tickled to death, Uncle Henry, 
 and he said it was a bang-up place for me, and there 
 wasn t no reason why I shouldn t rise and buy a part 
 nership in the business if I done anywhere near half 
 decent. 
 
 "Well, sir, what happened? The very morning I 
 went down to begin work, that old Mitford had to go 
 off somewhere, and so there wasn t nobody around to 
 give me instructions what I was to do. I hung around, 
 kind of waiting, but it wasn t much fun, and I no 
 ticed a little sail-boat of the old man s moored a piece 
 out, and lookm very inviting, especially as there was 
 a tidy little breeze and not a cloud in the sky. I thought 
 
84 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 I might as well put in my time instead of hangin 
 around and waitin for tHe boss, and a good time I had, 
 though I was a bit later than I anticipated, havin mis 
 calculated the breeze a little. Well, bless me if when 
 I come back, there wasn t old Mitford standin on the 
 dock and waitin ; and, as ill luck would have it, just 
 as I was roundin up a sudden whiff of wind took the 
 boat and smashed her nose up against the dock and did 
 considerable damage. No mortal bein could know that 
 the wind was comin at just that moment, but the old 
 man was swearin mad, and when we went into the 
 office he didn t seem to conquer it, like I always try 
 to any of my evil tempers, so he got me real upset, too. 
 He jawed and jawed, but by-and-by he set me to work 
 on some accounts. 
 
 "I thought that was as easy as rollin off a log, 
 for I was always smart at figurin . He had great 
 big books and all kept like apple-pie. He evidently 
 set a heap by them books, and he handled them like 
 they was babies. I was working away, and every 
 thing would have been all right except the old man 
 kept growling and rumbling like an amateur volcano. 
 He made me nervous. First thing you know, I hap 
 pened to upset the ink bottle, and if the blamed thing 
 didn t go all over that book like a tidal wave. The old 
 man, he jumped so he, most hit the ceiling and he 
 
AN EPISODE 85 
 
 yelled, You get out of this office, and don t you never 
 show your loon face here again. Anybody might know 
 your father come from South Ca liny ! He wan t never 
 born in Maine. 
 
 "Well, of course, if he was such an old dragon, I 
 didn t want to work for him anyway, but Uncle Henry, 
 he was considerable riled, and he made it rather un 
 comfortable for me at home as though it was my 
 fault. A couple of accidents like that might have 
 happened to anybody, as I told him ; but there are some 
 folks that can never see the difference between a visi 
 tation and a fault. If things go wrong, some one is 
 always to blame. 
 
 "I made up my mind I d fix Uncle Henry, and the 
 very next day I went off and proposed to Nannie 
 Means, and she just jumped at me. There aren t any 
 too many young men in Winterhaven anyway, and a 
 girl knows she s lucky if she gets one. She had a nice 
 tidy little fortune of her own, and it looked as if I was 
 all fixed. Uncle Henry was pleased as Punch. He for 
 got he d ever said an ugly word, and was as smooth as 
 grease to me. But, of course, my luck had to turn. It 
 always does. 
 
 "I told Uncle I d rather study law, anyway, than go 
 into business, and he said there was no reason why I 
 shouldn t. I always took better to the repose of a 
 
86 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 student s life than to any work with my hands. I sup 
 pose I was made that way. I d ought to have had a 
 better education. 
 
 "I always thought Nannie was a good-natured girl. 
 She was big and stout, and I ve been told fat women 
 are always sweet-tempered, but I know now that 
 isn t true. No sooner did she have me good and tight 
 than she began to pick at me about the way I did every 
 thing. Nothing seemed to suit her. It kep goin from 
 bad to worse, until one day this summer when a whole 
 lot of us went on a picnic to Knox Beach, and some 
 of the young folks went in bathin . Nothing would do 
 but I must teach Nannie to swim. Her only idea of 
 swimmin was to flap her hands up and down, and I 
 was holdin her chin in about two feet of water and 
 tryin to explain, and she not listenin , when all of a 
 sudden my hand slipped. She just grabbed my legs 
 and threw me like a shot, and she came down on top 
 of me. There we lay. She hadn t sense enough to get 
 up. She just covered me all over and scrabbled. 
 I couldn t do a thing. And we d have both been 
 drowned with our feet sticking out of water if some 
 of the others hadn t rushed in and dragged her off. 
 They were all laughin fit to kill. Well, you d have 
 thought it was all my fault. Anyway, that was the end 
 of me and Nannie. Uncle Henry was furious. He said 
 
AN EPISODE 87 
 
 I d thrown away my luck twice, and I needn t look for 
 another chance. The worst of it was, Nannie sent 
 home the few things I d given her. I opened em right 
 then, and there was a little locket heart that used to 
 belong to Aunt Maria among them. Uncle Henry said 
 I hadn t any business givin away things that wasn t 
 mine to give. I told him I d seen it kickin around for 
 years and I didn t suppose he set any store by it. It 
 wasn t no good, only the kind of fool thing that pleases 
 a girl. 
 
 "But he wouldn t listen to reason, and he gave me 
 a hundred-dollar-bill, and he said, Here, that s the 
 last time you ll see the color of my money. I m sick 
 of you. You just clear out and look out for yourself! 
 
 "Everybody was laughin at me, for Nannie had 
 made me look plumb ridiculous. I couldn t stand it, 
 and besides I didn t see any chance for a man in Win- 
 terhaven anyway. I made up my mind that my place 
 was the West. So I shook all those folks from my 
 soles, and came to St. Etienne." 
 
 "Go on. It s deeply interesting. What happened 
 here?" 
 
 "Oh, of course I went straight up to Windsor s 
 office ; but do you know, I went four or five times be 
 fore they even let me see him. All nonsense, acting as 
 if he was some royal potentate that was just a little 
 
88 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 * 
 
 too good for common folks to gaze on. I call it an in 
 sult to American manhood for a man to shut himself 
 up that way." 
 
 "You must remember that he s busy. It isn t because 
 he s haughty, but such a man s time is immensely val 
 uable." 
 
 "Well, anyway, when I did get to see him he wan t 
 any too sweet. He might have been a fish for the way 
 he looked at me. But I didn t kneel to him, I can tell 
 you, for all he thinks he s so big. I started in to talk 
 to him, but he just cut me off, and he said, I like to 
 give any Winterhaven boy a chance. Perhaps Mr. 
 Harrison can find you an opening. Well, under that 
 infernal Harrison I ve been for three weeks, and 
 mighty unpleasant weeks they ve been. These western 
 fellers haven t got any manners. Harrison is about 
 the biggest savage I ever saw, and you d think that 
 every little mistake a man makes was a crime by the 
 way he hauls you over the coals. I don t suppose I 
 could have stood it much longer anyway, for I won t 
 be treated like a nigger ; but, sir, the way things came 
 to an end was just too much for me." 
 
 "So things are at an end, are they?" 
 
 "Well, I should think so ! Yesterday was a wild day 
 on Change. I don t believe in speculation myself, but 
 I tell you, you hear it talked about in that old repro- 
 
AN EPISODE 89 
 
 bate s office. Some one was having great fun, every 
 thing his own way, and thinking he was the greatest 
 man on earth because every one else was scared blue. 
 Mr. Harrison and a beast of a fellow, who s Windsor s 
 private secretary, were talking about it. Harrison s 
 office opens right out of a room where four or five of 
 us were working, and I was right near the door that 
 was open a little way. I suppose I hadn t ought to have 
 listened, but it was so interesting I couldn t help it, 
 and I held my pen still and my ears cocked. They were 
 laughing and having great jokes about the fun there d 
 be, because old Windsor was goin to sail in and ex 
 plode everything. That fellow, the secretary he s the 
 kind that holds on tight to some big man s coat tails, 
 and thinks he s the whole show. Perhaps you ve seen 
 him?" 
 
 Lenox nodded. 
 
 "He says, Til send over a note by one of the clerks/ 
 just as if we were dogs. Pretty soon Harrison comes 
 out and says, Here, Repburn, do you know Mr. Rugg, 
 over on Change, by sight? and I says, Yes, sir, I 
 think so. Well, take him this note right away/ he 
 said. He used me like an errand boy several times be 
 fore. Well, I took the note, tickled to death to think 
 I was goin to see a little of the fun. I went up to 
 Rugg and said, Mr. Rugg, I ve got a note to you 
 
90 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 from Mr. Kemyss. Kemyss is the name of the secre 
 tary. Have you ? says he, very pleasantly ; What is 
 it? I think it s an order to buy all the December 
 wheat you can, I said. Very likely. That s just 
 what I should expect. But you re mistaken in your 
 man. There s Mr. Rugg over there, says he. So I 
 thanked him, for he talked to me like a gentleman, 
 and went to look for Rugg. I saw the fellow I d 
 spoken to by mistake just streaking across the room. 
 He most knocked down every one in his way. And 
 it was funny, too. He seemed leisurely enough a 
 minute before." 
 
 Repburn stopped and looked at Lenox in a puzzled 
 kind of way. 
 
 "Oh, go on, man, I want to hear it all," said Frank. 
 
 "By the time I found Rugg for he turned out to be 
 in the opposite direction from where the fellow point 
 ed, and I took my time, for I wanted to see all I could 
 of the Change they were yelling so in the pit that 
 I couldn t make out what was happening. They were 
 more like a pack of hyenas than anything I ever heard. 
 I tell you, men wouldn t think it was respectable to act 
 that way in Winterhaven. 
 
 "Well, it turned out that the fellow I d spoken to 
 by mistake was the last man in St. Etienne that Wind 
 sor would want to take into his confidence. Harrison 
 
AN EPISODE 91 
 
 somehow found out about it all, and he just exhausted 
 the dictionary on me because I d made a perfectly in 
 nocent mistake. My luck again ! This afternoon, while 
 I was workin I got a note from that infernal Kemyss 
 sayin Mr. Windsor did not desire my services any 
 longer, and inclosing a month s pay. I ll show you the 
 letter. It s a perfect insult." 
 
 He fumbled in his pocket, and his face began to 
 work. He sprang to his feet and began to clap his 
 hands wildly here and there. 
 
 "By jingo!" he exclaimed. "I ve lost my pocket- 
 book. I ve lost the letter, and most every cent I had 
 in the world! I must have had my pocket picked in 
 that elevator. They hadn t ought to allow people to 
 crowd you that way !" 
 
 He sat down and stared at Lenox with a white face. 
 
 "Doesn t it just beat all? Isn t it all of a piece? 
 Here I am in a strange city, penniless, without a 
 friend. What on earth am I going to do ?" 
 
 "Do!" said Lenox. "Why, man, any one can see 
 that there s more work waiting to be done in this town 
 than there are men to do it. If you ve failed as clerk,, 
 get out and break stone or drive a grocery wagon, 
 and do it well." 
 
 "It isn t fair that Providence should spite me all 
 the time. I haven t done a single thing that was wrong 
 
92 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 except perhaps to listen to all that talk. And that 
 wasn t a crime, that it should ruin me. Any man would 
 have done it. And now I haven t the month s pay I 
 earned !" 
 
 "Or didn t earn," said Lenox to himself, but aloud : 
 "Didn t they pay you with a check ?" 
 
 "Yes, but I got them to cash it. I don t know any 
 body at the banks." 
 
 "Go out and advertise it in to-morrow morning s 
 papers, and see the police. It s possible you may get it 
 back." 
 
 Repburn buried his face and moaned. Lenox could 
 not help feeling sorry for the loosely-knit, abject crea 
 ture, so he clapped him on the back and spoke en 
 couragingly. 
 
 "Cheer up. A night s sleep will set you on your feet 
 again, and if the sky is as bright to-morrow as it is 
 to-day, you ll feel courage to begin all over again. 
 You can t feel blue in this air. It s like electricity. 
 There s plenty of work to be done, and I m sure you ll 
 find your place." 
 
 "It s all very well for you to talk. It isn t you that 
 have had bad luck." 
 
 "Well, I ll stand by you to the extent of my power. 
 I m not opulent, and I haven t any influence out here, 
 I know, but I ll try to be a friend. You must let me 
 
AN EPISODE 93 
 
 lend you something to see you through this emer 
 gency. Come, be a man." 
 
 "You re the only friend I ve got, Lenox." 
 
 He gave a sob or two. 
 
 "I know one thing that would do me good, and that 
 would be to lay out that infernal Harrison cold, and 
 Kemyss beside him. But I m just plumb discouraged. 
 Did you ever hear of such luck?" 
 
 "Now go home and go to bed/ said Lenox. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 LOVE BY NIGHT 
 
 In her own little parlor, Mrs. Lyell gathered a few 
 of her friends to listen to the reading of a tiny book 
 of hers, now on the eve of publication. In Paradise on 
 Earth she had unfolded, with charming variety of illus 
 tration, her philosophy. A basis of solid education had 
 served not to make this little lady a prig, but simply 
 to illuminate her world, and the sum of her reason 
 ings was this : fix your mind simply on what is noble 
 and beautiful, forget the sordid, the belittling, the 
 cruel, and it will be as though it did not exist. Your 
 universe shall consist of the harmony which you cre 
 ate. 
 
 Never was a planet considered entirely fitted up for 
 business without a satellite, and Mrs. Lyell had a per 
 fect nebula of such surrounding her. Yearning to 
 share her spiritual peace, with fluttering consciousness 
 of half-stifled aspirations, with the adoring love which 
 an humble-minded woman feels for the nobler of her 
 
 94 
 
LOVE BY NIGHT 95 
 
 own sex, they listened. While her words flowed like 
 honey, it seemed the simplest thing in the world to slip 
 off the fettering harness of care, and live that supernal 
 existence ; to let worry, like an outworn mantle, drop, 
 leaving celestial white linen to gleam in the radiance of 
 the sun. 
 
 Occasionally a listener for the little group was not 
 made up of the rich and fashionable women to whom 
 life is easy-going, but largely of those who must face 
 daily drudgeries and problems a listener would won 
 der dully how one shuffles off a colicky baby or a big 
 week s mending. But Mrs. Lyell, with her calm eyes, 
 was a proof visible that it could be done. Her lips 
 wore a smile almost as continuously placid as that 
 of a kindergarten teacher. When she did not rise 
 above the littleness of the world, she forgot the trivial 
 in the great, and many there were who would do 
 likewise, but few who attained. 
 
 Vera watched her, fascinated. Miss Windsor was 
 determined that life should be a problem whether it 
 wanted to be or not. She did not sympathize with 
 the simple-minded William Henry of beloved memory, 
 who said, "Dory s mother is teaching him to enter a 
 room. Why do you have to learn that ? Just walk in." 
 
 Within herself she found such a tumultuous self- 
 conflicting creature, that the sight of her friend s 
 
96 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 serenity lured her like waters in unruffled moonlight, 
 from the pure force of contrast. 
 
 And now they were all gone and Mrs. Lyell sat 
 alone. She was glowing from the sweet words of the 
 worshiping circle. Her nature, electric and vibrating 
 in response to the pulsating needs of her fellow women, 
 left her still quivering after her afternoon s effort. She 
 could not eat dinner, and the very room where she had 
 spoken seemed to her fragrant with adulation. She 
 would not leave it to drop to any lower plane. The 
 servant brought her a cup of coffee and a bit of toast, 
 and she lingered in the little parlor, from which the at 
 mosphere of delight gradually thinned and passed 
 away. It was not a luxurious room, but it fitted her 
 because it had the charm and austerity of herself. 
 Just now it was sweet with the perfume of roses with 
 which the visitors had marked their tribute^ 
 
 Here and thus Mr. Kemyss found her. The memory 
 of the softness of her hand the night before, when he 
 had kissed it, haunted and lured him, first to restless 
 ness, and then to seeking her. 
 
 "Mr. Lyell is out of town, but Mrs. Lyell is at home, 
 sir/ the servant said, and the information seemed too 
 good to be true. It fitted his mood to see her alone. 
 
 "How festive you are with all these flowers! Have 
 you been having great doings?" he asked. 
 
LOVE BY NIGHT 97 
 
 He became conscious, from her very smile, that she 
 was in some unusually high-strung condition, and this 
 again pleased him like a draft of wine. 
 
 "Nothing very exciting only a few friends to whom 
 I ve been reading my book. And now I am quite alone, 
 as you see, and the reaction, after the company of ap 
 preciative people, was a little depressing ; so I am par 
 ticularly grateful to you for coming this evening, 
 Cyril. Of course one ought not to be depressed, but 
 I was, just a bit. We always crave more than we get, 
 don t we?" 
 
 He looked at her curiously. 
 
 "I think you have every reason to be hungry," he 
 said. "You have never yet been fed." 
 
 "Why, what do you mean? My life is a great deal 
 richer than that of most people. What makes you 
 think I am starved ?" 
 
 "I don t know whether I dare to tell you what I 
 mean." 
 
 "Nonsense ! We are too good friends for you to talk 
 in such fashion. You may dare to tell me anything, 
 and now that you have roused my curiosity, I insist 
 that you be frank. I m woman enough for that." 
 
 She smiled at him again, and he surveyed her in 
 silence. Her dress was of soft gray, and her mouse- 
 colored hair had a peculiar curve, like that of Clytie, 
 
98 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 in the way it grew on her temples. Everything around 
 her was full and round and delicate. She was such a 
 dove-like creature, that it filled him with a certain 
 masculine rage that she should not be cooing, instead 
 of discoursing philosophy to a lot of silly women. He 
 could feel her presence and the opportunity to talk 
 to her alone as long as he pleased mounting to his 
 brain like the fumes of alcohol. 
 
 "Come," she said, "convince me that I am hungry. 
 It isn t often a man s duty to try to waken discontent." 
 
 "I don t need to stir it up. You ve only to ask your 
 self. Do you think yourself wholly satisfied ?" 
 
 "Sometimes, yes. Most of the time, no," she an 
 swered slowly, half-reluctantly. "But I suppose that 
 is universal human fate. We are all dissatisfied so 
 long as we are imperfect. I don t know exactly what 
 I long for." 
 
 "I do," he blurted out. 
 
 She looked at him suddenly, and a great wave of 
 color swept into her face. 
 
 "Tell me," she asked breathlessly. 
 
 "First tell me," he answered. "You married at 
 seventeen or eighteen, didn t you ?" 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 "Why did you do it?" 
 
 "Cyril, even you have hardly the right to tread on 
 
LOVE BY NIGHT 99 
 
 that ground," she said sadly; "but I will allow your 
 friendship its privilege. I was alone in the world, 
 and I married out of what I might call a sentimental 
 impulse." 
 
 "And you ve outgrown that?" 
 
 "Of course I have. It didn t last long. I learned 
 almost immediately that it was based on the senses ; 
 and no such love why, it wasn t love it was a mere 
 instinct unreasoning. I ve learned now what higher 
 love is." 
 
 "And what is it?" 
 
 "It is what I have for my women friends. It is 
 based on a sympathy ol souls and not the attraction of 
 bodies. It is placid and calm and satisfying." 
 
 "But you just told me it wasn t satisfying," he an 
 swered. 
 
 "Well, sometimes just for a few moments," she 
 laughed. "I admit you ve caught me, Cyril." 
 
 "But there are marriages that give content. How 
 do you account for them?" 
 
 "Oh, there are some people who never outgrow that 
 childish stage, and there are others and these I be 
 lieve are the really happy marriages where that is 
 all left behind, or a sympathetic companionship takes 
 its place." 
 
 "Is that really your thought about it all?" 
 
ioo THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 He waited for what seemed a long time for his an 
 swer, and then she said in very low tones : 
 
 "If it isn t, don t probe me any further. I refuse to 
 think deeper on that line." 
 
 He looked around and drew a deep breath. 
 
 "Now let me tell you what I believe," he said. "I 
 always think, when I come here, that this room is typi 
 cal of you. It is virginal. It is warm and glowing and 
 lovely, but it looks like the home of a woman who has 
 not learned what love is." 
 
 She half rose, but he waved her down with his hand 
 and went on. 
 
 "You asked me to tell you and now I have begun 
 you must hear me out. I don t mean the love which 
 you talk about as satisfying you the love of a horde 
 of women who adore in you that which they lack them 
 selves the superabundance of your nature. Why, that 
 is only a titillation, not love. It warms and tickles you 
 for a moment, and as soon as it has passed it leaves you 
 feeling cold and half-despairing, as I found you to 
 night." 
 
 She did not look up now, and after a moment of hesi 
 tation he went on. 
 
 "Look at yourself. You have the most splendid 
 great heart. You are full of the possibilities of emo 
 tions you never feel. If you drank the cup of love you 
 
LOVE BY NIGHT 101 
 
 would not just sip a little from the top, as most women 
 do, with their eyes on the world and their minds di 
 vided between the lover and the next new gown. You 
 would drink it to its glorious depths, and let it intoxi 
 cate you. You are capable of giving yourself to it 
 wholly, and yet you waste your life in communion with 
 a lot of women about poetry and philosophy. Why, 
 Jean, those are only the preliminaries to life. Life it 
 self is love, nothing but love. And you are letting it 
 slip! Pretty soon the power of feeling emotion will 
 fade out of you, and that lovely body of yours, which 
 is a thing for a man to dream of, will wither, and it 
 will be too late. Life will be gone, and you will be 
 nothing but the shriveled husk of a woman with no 
 sweet nut within." 
 
 "You are cruel cruel to say this; but I know it, 
 Cyril, God help me I know it, though I have tried 
 never to think it. But I can t help myself now. It s 
 too late ! Here I am. I am married !" 
 
 She threw out her arms despairingly. 
 
 Even while he spoke he cursed himself for his folly 
 and yet let himself be possessed by the impulse to 
 get a thing so sweet and lovely as this to taste pleas 
 ure for the moment and forget the days to come. And 
 it was more than interesting to penetrate into the re 
 cesses of a pretty woman s heart. He enjoyed it. 
 
102 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 "Married!" he answered scornfully. "Do you call 
 that marriage? I know you don t. Is Ned Lyell your 
 mate? Do you think he could ever abandon himself 
 to passion ? And if he did, would you respond ? I know 
 what he thinks. He admires you. What man wouldn t ? 
 No man could be near you without having some red 
 blood creeping into his admiration, and that, too, Ned 
 has experienced ; but his love is such a shallow weak 
 ling that all it amounts to is this. Thinking that you 
 do not love him, and that he has marred your life, he 
 feels it the act of chivalry to wipe himself out as much 
 as possible and demand nothing of you. If I despise 
 Ned Lyell for one thing more than another, it is be 
 cause he doesn t rise up and tread everything under 
 foot until he really owns you, that he has such a pos 
 sibility within reach, and that he is not man enough to 
 grasp it. He walks all around you and never touches 
 you. He is a coward." 
 
 She sat very still now, not even shrinking, as most 
 women would, from his home thrusts, and the sight of 
 her goaded him to still further loss of self-possession. 
 
 "If I were your husband," he said, "I would make 
 you love me, and even without being your husband, I 
 mean to make you love me, as I love you, with every 
 thing there is in me." 
 
 Now would she look up? Yes, she did, and there 
 
LOVE BY NIGHT 103 
 
 was a glow in her eyes that he had never seen there 
 before. It almost rewarded him for having got him 
 self into such a tight place. How lovely she was ! He 
 sprang impulsively to his feet, but quickly as he moved 
 she was swifter, and now stood with her chair between 
 himself and her, though she shook from head to foot 
 as she waved him imperiously back. 
 
 "No," she said. "No, Cyril. This has come as a bolt 
 out of a clear sky, and almost stunned me, but not 
 quite. I must have time to think, before either of us 
 acts. Is it really true ?" 
 
 "It s the truest thing in the world," he answered. 
 
 "Yes," she said musingly, "I have dreamed of it, but 
 it was nothing more than a dream. Do you truly offer 
 me the reality? If I knew that if I knew that how 
 infinitely alluring it would be !" 
 
 "Let me prove it!" and again he stepped forward, 
 but her eyes forbade him. Yet she seemed transformed 
 from the fragile dove-colored beauty to some glowing 
 oriental creature. The temptation to touch her cheek 
 and see if it was as soft as it looked surged in him. 
 So they stood gazing at each other, he seeing in her the 
 embodiment of warmth and passion, she with a vision 
 of some spiritual ecstasy in him. So solitary are souls 
 even when they think themselves most at one, that 
 neither of them could imagine the other s point of 
 
104 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 view. And yet when she broke the breathless silence, 
 her quiet, measured tones startled him. He could not 
 understand her self-control, when he was at white 
 heat. 
 
 "Cyril," she said, "whatever this is to mean to us 
 and I must have time to search myself and see if 
 there is anything in me that responds to your demand 
 but whatever is to be the result of all this, I thank 
 you for what you have said. I thank you for having 
 let me catch a glimpse, even through a half-shut door, 
 of love. The thing I most respect in you is what most 
 people would condemn. That is your superiority to 
 conventions. If my marriage is a sham, as we both 
 know it is, I reverence you for ignoring its unreality, 
 and abandoning yourself to the primal human in 
 stincts." 
 
 "If only you, too, would abandon yourself to them !" 
 
 "Not yet ! Not yet ! I do not dare to yield without 
 thinking, and so I must not look longer at your castle 
 in the air, lest it lure me beyond the power of my 
 reason." 
 
 "Then look!" 
 
 "No. To-morrow the next day you shall know. 
 And yet how can I refuse to yield ? I thought forgive 
 rne for even thinking it I thought you loved Vera." 
 
 He started as if a knife had pricked him. The heat 
 
LOVE BY NIGHT 105 
 
 of passion into which he had worked himself, lured by 
 his own very fluency of expression, seemed to fade in 
 an instant, leaving him clammy and faint. He had a 
 sense of nausea. What demon had possessed him ? Her 
 very beauty sickened him with apprehension, for this 
 was the very type of woman to give herself entirely to 
 a passion once awakened. Suppose he had opened the 
 flood-gates, was he not like to be drowned by the out- 
 rushing stream? Some reflection of his new mood 
 communicated itself to her, and she drew still farther 
 away from him, but, being herself honest, her doubts 
 did not take the same form as his. She leaned against 
 the mantel and covered her face with her hand while 
 he waited in speechless agony for his doom. Would 
 she compromise him? Why had her emotional nature 
 pulled out of him the semblance of a passion he never 
 felt, and never meant to feel ? Love the whole of life, 
 forsooth ! Love was a toy to amuse the idle hour, or 
 perhaps a ladder to help one in one s ambitions. And 
 he could think of no immediate way out of this. 
 
 "As I said, what this is to mean to you and me, Cyril, 
 I don t yet know. I am dizzy from the very idea of 
 its meaning anything. You must go, and let me think." 
 
 "Yes, dear, I realize that there is duty as well as 
 love." He managed to get this out, and congratulated 
 himself on its neatness as an entering wedge. 
 
io6 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 "Yes, there is duty as well as love ; but whether love 
 is not the highest duty we must consider," she said 
 softly. "Good night now." She put out both her hands, 
 and he kissed them, awkwardly he felt, agonized by this 
 first sign of melting. 
 
 And, out of doors, the stars were shining as serenely 
 as ever, the night air was as cool as though there were 
 no heated blood, and the distant chime of bells in the 
 city hall rang out the close of the hour in which he had 
 made a fool of himself. He cursed them and her as 
 he walked home. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 DAYLIGHT LOVE 
 
 It was in the common light of noontide of the next 
 day that Mr. Kemyss rang the bell of Mr. Windsor s 
 house, stepped into the library the room in which he 
 was most at home and waited. A statuette of the 
 Venus of Melos looked at him with her supercilious 
 head on one side. He felt uncomfortable, and shifted 
 his position, only to meet the stony glare and long 
 suffering contempt of a bust of Dante. There was no 
 avoiding the fact that everything in the world was 
 out of harmony. 
 
 When Miss Windsor came into the room in answer 
 to his summons, he could not help contrasting her in 
 his mind with the voluptuous creature of the evening 
 before. She looked so slender and girlish. Her beauty 
 seemed to him meager in its type. It did not appeal to 
 his senses. 
 
 "Miss Windsor," he said, "your father asked me to 
 come up and get some stones about whose re-setting 
 you spoke to him this morning. He forgot them." 
 107 
 
io8 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 "Isn t he coming home to luncheon ?" 
 
 "No; a couple of eastern men, looking after invest 
 ments, fell on him, and he said he would take them to 
 lunch at the club and drive them about a bit after 
 ward." 
 
 "He did not need to make such haste about the jew 
 els. I spoke of them, but I was in no hurry to have the 
 work done." 
 
 "Have you yet to learn that to gratify your slight 
 est desire is to him the most imperative business ? This 
 is the attitude of mind you extort from most men," he 
 said, smiling. 
 
 She frowned a little and turned to go up stairs. 
 
 "Since you were so good as to come for them, I will 
 get you the stones," she said, "but it really wasn t nec 
 essary." 
 
 As she came down again a footman was just enter 
 ing the hall to announce luncheon, and she turned to 
 Kemyss impulsively : 
 
 "Won t you come in with me? Father s place is set 
 for him. You may see if you can fill it. It quite takes 
 away my appetite to eat alone." 
 
 The instant she had spoken she regretted it, but, so 
 accustomed had she become to meeting this man fa 
 miliarly, that at times she forgot the new role of lover 
 which he had taken upon himself. But she colored 
 
DAYLIGHT LOVE 109 
 
 with annoyance when, by the instant lighting of his 
 eyes, he told her he had not forgotten. It was too late 
 now to recall her invitation, and she led the way to 
 the dining-room, resolving that the servants should 
 not leave them for a moment alone. 
 
 But his manner was so much that of the easy-going, 
 good comrade she had known for a year or two, that 
 she threw precautions to the wind, a little ashamed of 
 her own self-consciousness, and joined in his cheerful 
 chatter. 
 
 As they rose from the table, he said : 
 
 "Mr. Windsor told me he had some beautiful new 
 orchids. Will you show them to me ?" 
 
 "Yes, if you are not too busy to wait." 
 
 "Which means, I infer, that you think I ought to be. 
 Well, it so happens I am not, and I will not affect an 
 untruth even to live up to your ideals of duty." 
 
 "Come then, sinner. I shall tell my father on you 
 when he comes home." 
 
 The atmosphere in the conservatory was warm and 
 indolent, and the orchids suggested laziness and lux 
 ury. In the center stood a little pool where butterfly- 
 tailed Japanese goldfish darted about, and fascinating 
 little plants, that righted themselves every time they 
 were turned upside down on the surface, floated in 
 branchy masses. The two found themselves playing 
 
I io THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 like children with these toys, and trying to organize a 
 procession of fish through the miniature arch below. 
 Once their hands came in contact, and Kemyss seized 
 her fingers under the water. 
 
 "Let me go, sir," she cried. "You are trying to catch 
 goldfish, not me." 
 
 "On the contrary, I m trying to catch you. The fishes 
 may go where they please, for all I care." He lifted the 
 dripping hand, still holding it tight. 
 
 "I wonder if it will be mine some day," he said. 
 
 "I wonder, too. I m sure I haven t the least idea," 
 she answered, smiling. "Who do you think can tell 
 us? Cyril, I ve grown so accustomed to you as a friend 
 I really do not know whether you are necessary to me 
 or only familiar. And yet if I loved you, I should know 
 it, shouldn t I ? You see, I ve had no experience to tell 
 me." She was blushing and laughing at her own con 
 fusion. 
 
 "Well, as I have no doubts," he replied, "and am 
 having plenty of experience, couldn t you take me as 
 an instructor?" 
 
 "You are biased. No, I fear me I must learn the 
 lesson by myself, and as yet I have not begun its al 
 phabet. I m afraid even Eugenia Lyell can t help me, 
 though I would follow her advice about anything else." 
 
 Kemyss dropped the imprisoned hand and caught the 
 
DAYLIGHT LOVE in 
 
 tiled coping of the pool as if to steady himself against 
 his faintness. 
 
 "Vera," he said hoarsely, "for heaven s sake don t 
 consult Mrs. Lyell. Don t consult any one. Let this 
 be a sacred relation between you and me. It makes no 
 difference what any other mortal being thinks. If you 
 can learn to love me, the service and devotion of my 
 life are yours. Don t, I beg you, submit it to the reason 
 of an outsider as though love could be anything but 
 a spontaneous growth in your own heart. If you would 
 only yield to it, Vera the sweetest, happiest, most 
 natural thing in the world if you would only give 
 yourself to it !" 
 
 He watched her, tense with anxiety, as she dipped 
 her ringers again and again into the water and lifted 
 them, watching idly the drops that fell. Could it be 
 only last night that he had jeopardized everything? It 
 seemed ages ago. He had suffered the torment of years 
 since then. What devil made that woman so enticing 
 that he forgot all sense and all his future? Whenever 
 a man makes a fool of himself there is a woman behind 
 it. It is the woman s fault. He longed to curse the 
 woman aloud and rid himself of his terror and fury. 
 And now suppose Vera should drop the faintest hint 
 of all this to her philosopher and friend? One breath 
 would blow away his fabric of ambition, and even 
 
H2 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 alienate his business chief, and leave him helpless. He 
 must do something to quiet that other woman, but as 
 yet, he was too agitated to think what. And at last 
 Vera spoke. 
 
 "Cyril, I don t believe in hothouse wooing. And 
 really, after luncheon one ought to be having a siesta, 
 not playing with little fishes." 
 
 "I do not see that time and place make any differ 
 ence. It is the central fact that signifies, nothing else." 
 
 She sprang up and gave a quick little motion as if to 
 dismiss thought. 
 
 "Go away, now. I don t want you, and I don t want 
 to talk about this. You promised me that you would 
 not speak of it again till I gave you permission." 
 
 "You should not exact promises that are too hard to 
 keep," he said. "I think about this day and night. How 
 can I help it, if words will come ?" 
 
 "Well, I m not going to marry a naughty little boy 
 who doesn t keep his word. Good-by, Cyril ; you really 
 must go." 
 
 She still sat idly trailing her fingers, regardless of 
 the alarm of the fan-tailed fish. 
 
 "It must indeed be the sweetest thing in the world," 
 she thought, "if the mere thought of it is so entranc 
 ing." She leaned over and laughed at her own broken 
 image in the pool, and then the memories of her be- 
 
DAYLIGHT LOVE 113 
 
 ginnings came back to her. Again she wondered how 
 much they meant. A little more somberness, born of 
 ancestors who prowled the dark woodlands, a little 
 greater lack of conventionality descended from those 
 who wandered the prairies at will, a little lack of 
 humor left from those to whom the daily necessities 
 loomed big this was all there was of it. 
 
 "I believe I will give the whole subject some fresh 
 air. It s horribly hot and stuffy in here. A brisk can 
 ter will knock the atmosphere of love-making out of 
 me." 
 
 Still dreamily she went to her room, and Sophie, 
 her new little Swedish maid, came obedient to her bell 
 to twist the dark hair into a tightly braided knot, and 
 help to encase her in the close sheath of her riding 
 habit. Sophie was light of step and neat of dress, and 
 her soft light curls were piled in a coquettish puff upon 
 her shapely little head. Vera found herself thinking 
 how Sophie, too, had departed from the type of her 
 ancestors, slow and phlegmatic. 
 
 "Sophie," she said, "you certainly do my hair won 
 derfully well, considering that you must have learned 
 your art since you came over to this country." 
 
 "Oh, yas, Miss Windsar," answered the girl, with 
 a little toss of her head. "Ay navar did anny vork in 
 the or country." 
 
114 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 "You never did any work? Tell me about your 
 home, Sophie." 
 
 "Vail, my fader hay had big farm, and many ser 
 vants to do all the vork, so Ay navar did but little 
 sewing." 
 
 "Then why did you come away ? Don t you want to 
 go back?" 
 
 The girl hesitated a moment and then said slowly: 
 
 "Vail, you see, Miss Windsar, it vas das way. Ay 
 could navar go even away from the gate vithout Ay 
 ask my modar. Ay navar haf anny money for myself. 
 Ay vas always little girl vithout Ay gat married. No, 
 Miss Windsar, Ay rathar stay har and vork, and van 
 my vork is over Ay do vat Ay lak. And my broodar 
 and two sastars coom now, so Ay am nat lonely. They 
 lak be Americans, too." 
 
 "So you call yourself American already?" 
 
 "Ay hope so," answered the girl cheerfully. "As 
 your har right, Miss Windsar?" 
 
 "Quite right, Sophie. I m glad you like being an 
 American, and I hope you will be very happy here." 
 
 "Sure !" answered Sophie, for though the accent of 
 the United States may be slow to acquire, its slang is 
 as easy to get as its citizenship. 
 
 Vera laughed, gathered up her long skirts and went 
 down stairs. "After all, her fate is like mine," she 
 
DAYLIGHT LOVE 115 
 
 said to herself. "Two generations will see the work 
 complete. I see it going on all around me. Pole or 
 Italian, Swiss or Swede, we are all dipped in some 
 magic alembic and come out American. Our tradi 
 tions and our inheritances serve but as picturesque 
 memories, which are dominated by this newer and 
 more vital nature. Why should I think myself any 
 more exceptional than Sophie? My hair is dark and 
 hers is yellow. My eyes are black and hers are blue. 
 The country sets a new star in her flag for each new 
 state, and the new one blends into the same constella 
 tion as the old. So she takes in all races and mingles 
 them to make her new solar system, and our likeness 
 becomes greater than our differences." 
 
 Here Miss Windsor caught sight of her horse, and 
 ceased to care about the color of her eyes or the num 
 ber of stars in the flag. Only she rejoiced in her 
 young blood and the sunshine. 
 
 Mr. Kemyss, meanwhile, left the house in an un 
 enviable state of mind. He walked slowly cityward, 
 feeling every moment more and more how intolerable 
 was his position. When half-way to the office, he 
 turned and looked back at the hill. He must see Mrs. 
 Lyell at once within the hour and end this matter. 
 Anything was better than suspense, and if she in 
 tended to ruin him, the sooner he knew it the better. 
 
n6 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 A little later, on this same afternoon, Frank Lenox 
 found himself again at the office and deep in all its 
 mystic lore. All his preparations to start the next 
 morning were made, but he wanted a few last instruc 
 tions from Mr. Holton, and that gentleman, having 
 gone over, in outline, his policy, was now gathering 
 the scattered papers on his desk, while Lenox glanced 
 through the note-book in which he had gathered all 
 his new-found wisdom. The young man was a little 
 bored by the redundancy of his superior, but he lin 
 gered, because he had come down not really so much 
 to get information, as to see Mr. Windsor, partly for 
 the sake of the old man himself, and partly because 
 Miss Windsor did him the honor to call him father. 
 
 So, though Lenox was a little relieved to find Mr. 
 Kemyss absent, he was not so grateful for the Provi 
 dence which had suddenly called Mr. Windsor away 
 on some unknown business, and so deprived him of a 
 last encouraging hand-shake and a God-speed from his 
 great cousin. There was a cheerful self-confidence, 
 a belief in his own power, in Windsor, that commu 
 nicated itself to the younger men whom he gathered 
 about him, and made it easy for them to assure them 
 selves that old Windsor could do anything, even to 
 bringing about the millennium by this time next 
 month, if he only put his whole mind and strength to 
 
DAYLIGHT LOVE 117 
 
 it. The electric impulse he gave them pushed them 
 confidently along on their working highway with a 
 speed which they never thought of stopping to calcu 
 late, however hard they might be going. 
 
 "And by the way, Mr. Lenox," Mr. Holton finished, 
 looking over his spectacles, "it might not be a bad plan 
 for you to take a bicycle along with you. A good 
 many of our traveling men are in the habit of doing 
 so. It will often save you a half-day s wait for a train 
 at some out-of-the-way place, and " 
 
 The door opened and a somewhat perturbed looking 
 clerk appeared. 
 
 "Mr. Holton," he said, "Miss Windsor has rung up 
 her father s phone. She s somewhere out of town and 
 seems to be in trouble. I didn t catch exactly what. 
 Mr. Windsor and Mr. Kemyss are both away. Could 
 you come to the telephone, sir?" 
 
 Holton started up, and Lenox followed anxiously 
 to Mr. Windsor s private office, to listen to the dis 
 jointed ends of the colloquy. 
 
 "Miss Windsor? Yes this is Mr. Holton I m 
 sorry to say your father is out good heavens! 
 Yes No one but women in the house? How far 
 away is he? On the Nushka Lake Road, you say? 
 Yes, beyond the fountain I hope it is not so serious 
 as it looks Yes, I ll get Doctor Norris if it s possible 
 
ii8 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 We ll be there as soon as horses can bring us 
 Good-by !" 
 
 He turned to Lenox. 
 
 "It s Miss Windsor. Most unfortunate. She was 
 out on her horse alone on the outskirts of the city, 
 and she ran across a man very badly hurt. She thinks 
 some one must have attacked him. She got hold of a 
 telephone in a house not far distant, and she wants a 
 carriage and a doctor. I suppose I ll have to go out. 
 I have an important committee meeting at four-thirty, 
 but Mr. Windsor wouldn t consider any business that 
 ever was made in comparison with Miss Windsor s 
 needs. He s a little daft about her." 
 
 He took out his watch and looked at it in evident 
 perplexity, as he rang up again and ordered a carriage 
 from the nearest stable. 
 
 While this one-sided conversation was going on, 
 Lenox had been screwing his courage to the sticking 
 point, and he now spoke. 
 
 "May I not go out in your place, Mr. Holton? I 
 have met Miss Windsor, so I shouldn t be an entire 
 stranger, and my time is not so valuable as yours, 
 though I may be able to serve her equally well." 
 
 "Thank you, it would be a real favor if you would 
 do so, Mr. Lenox," Mr. Holton spoke with evident 
 relief. "Now I ll just arrange matters with Doctor 
 
DAYLIGHT LOVE 119 
 
 Norris, and if he s gettable you can stop for him on 
 your way out. The coachman will know the way. 
 The big drinking fountain on the Nushka drive is a 
 landmark." 
 
 A horse tied to a tree and a group of two or three 
 women near the road-edge marked the goal ; and Vera 
 stepped forward to meet the carriage as it came to an 
 abrupt stop, her eyes glowing with evident relief, and 
 her face tense with anxiety, but self-contained as 
 usual. 
 
 She spoke no word to Lenox, though the swift 
 glance and the extended left hand warmed him like 
 a caress, while she gave her right hand and her brief 
 explanation to the doctor. 
 
 "I heard this man moan in the bushes as I was 
 riding. His throat is cut and he can not speak, and 
 as there were no men in the house near by where I 
 went for help we made no attempt to move him. I m 
 afraid some one has tried to murder him." 
 
 They were moving together toward a clump of 
 small trees that lay between the gleaming roadway 
 and one of those innumerable lakes that star the up 
 lands of Minnesota. 
 
 "Murder! gammon!" said the doctor. "He s tried 
 to kill himself, and slit his windpipe by mistake." 
 
 Lenox looked over the doctor s stooping shoulders 
 
120 THE PRIZE TO THE .HARDY 
 
 at the inert form, lying with face half turned toward 
 him, and uttered an exclamation of dismay. 
 
 "Good heavens, it s Repburn!" 
 
 The doctor and Vera looked up together in surprise. 
 
 "You know him ?" she said. 
 
 "Yes, a little. He s a Winterhaven boy." 
 
 "And do you know why he should have done this ?" 
 asked the doctor. 
 
 "I don t, unless it was because he lost his position, 
 and was terribly discouraged." 
 
 He spoke with some embarrassment. 
 
 "I saw him yesterday, and he told me he was at his 
 wits end. He in fact he s had a long run of bad 
 luck." 
 
 "A man deserves bad luck who doesn t know the 
 difference between his trachea and his jugular artery. 
 He s a blamed fool !" growled the still kneeling doctor, 
 whose hands were busy. 
 
 "Here, Mr. Lenox, help me to carry this fellow to 
 the carriage and we ll get him into a hospital. It s 
 the business of us unfortunate doctors to force peo 
 ple to stay in the world when they don t want to, and 
 the world hasn t any use for them." 
 
 "Doctor Norris, you re a brute !" said Miss Windsor 
 vehemently. 
 
 "We re a set of pretty benevolent brutes, after all, 
 
DAYLIGHT LOVE 121 
 
 my dear young lady," the doctor answered with an 
 unruffled grin, as he bent his back to the load. 
 
 "Now then, steady. Here he goes. Lenox, I m 
 afraid you ll have to ride outside with the driver 
 to give this fellow more room." 
 
 ".Thank you, I think I can strike a car somewhere 
 within walking distance, if Miss Windsor will be 
 good enough to direct me. If you are going to a hos 
 pital, you won t need me, and I shall be more useful 
 off your load than on it, shall I not?" Lenox answered, 
 with the ready excuse a man always finds for doing 
 the thing he wills. 
 
 So the carriage rolled away, and the gathered 
 women returned to the near-by house, and Lenox 
 stood for an inestimable moment alone with Miss 
 Windsor. 
 
 The sky hung over them bluer than it had ever 
 been before in the history of the world, and the glory 
 of autumn, still too luxuriant and abundant to be 
 mindful of coming death, made the golden setting 
 that held this gem of a girl. 
 
 He felt the pressure of her foot in his hand as he 
 helped her to mount ; he smoothed a friendly wrinkle 
 from her habit, and still she lingered while his hand 
 stroked the glossy neck of the mare that had the privi 
 lege of carrying her. 
 
122 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 "I was so much interested in that poor wretch that 
 I forgot to be surprised that it should be you who 
 came. How did it happen?" she asked. 
 
 "I was in Mr. Holton s office," he replied, "and as 
 he was very busy, he was good enough to let me take 
 his place." 
 
 "You seem destined to come to my rescue now 
 adays." 
 
 "It is a gentle office." 
 
 "If you intend making a business of knight- 
 errantry, I wish you would do it with more manner. 
 I refuse to accept you as my permanent champion un 
 less you assume some pomp and circumstance. I want 
 you to arrive with prancing steed, full armor, big 
 plumes, instead of wearing tweeds and rushing up 
 with a livery-stable hack." 
 
 "I apologize for my inadvertence. Next time you 
 need a special rescuer, if you will kindly give me a 
 few hours warning, I ll astonish you by my get-up. 
 Meanwhile," he ventured with an air of seriousness, 
 "will you kindly advance your sleeve as a token which 
 your true knight may wear ?" 
 
 "Thank you, I decline to 1 cut off my sleeve until I 
 get home. St. Etienne s population might not under 
 stand." 
 
 "Then perhaps your glove will do as well." 
 
DAYLIGHT LOVE 123 
 
 "Here it is," she said. "Let it be on your helm- 
 not a soft hat, mind when I next summon you. Mr. 
 Lenox, how silly you are! It must be your fault 
 that I am so frivolous." 
 
 "Then you owe me most profound gratitude," he 
 replied. "One can hardly have too much caper sauce 
 to life." 
 
 "Do you think so?" 
 
 "I have no doubts on that score. Surely you like 
 to be frivolous!" 
 
 "I like it," she admitted, "but my mentor tells me 
 that is because I am an unregenerated young per 
 son." 
 
 "She is an unhealthy adviser then. Only when 
 you re unmitigatedly light-hearted may you be as 
 sured that your body and soul are perfectly well." 
 
 She looked at him fixedly for an instant, without 
 answering, but a quick movement made him afraid 
 that she was about to start, and he hastily anticipated 
 that catastrophe. 
 
 "Miss Windsor, to-morrow I am to go away for a 
 month s trip. May I call this evening to bid you good- 
 by and to assure myself that you are not wholly done 
 up by to-day s adventure?" He looked at her eagerly. 
 
 "I can reassure you on that point at once. I m quite 
 myself already." 
 
124 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 "Which is the best thing it is possible to be," he 
 said. 
 
 She flushed slightly, but went on. 
 
 "And I am going to be well enough to keep a dinner 
 engagement, and therefore not to be at home this 
 evening." 
 
 The color came a little more to her face as she saw 
 his look of disappointment, and she added gently : 
 
 "Let me show you the way to your car line. If you 
 aren t too proud to walk at my side, I ll keep my horse 
 back, and we can have our farewell call here and 
 now." 
 
 "With all my heart." 
 
 "Tell me about this man, Repburn. Was it was 
 it my father from whose employ he was discharged ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I thought so from your embarrassment." 
 
 She fingered the end of her tiny whip nervously and 
 her face clouded. 
 
 "Doesn t it seem cruel that one human being should 
 have the power to make the life of another intoler 
 able?" she said. 
 
 Lenox s hand involuntarily traveled toward the 
 neck of the mare, and her troubled eyes met his. 
 
 "It s pitiful, perhaps, but you mustn t blame your 
 father, because the man was utterly incompetent, and 
 
DAYLIGHT LOVE 125 
 
 besides that too much of a coward to conquer his own 
 fate/ 
 
 "Oh, it isn t so easy as all that, to dismiss the ine 
 qualities of life. It makes me feel wicked to be look 
 ing hopefully forward, when here right beside me 
 is a man who is wretched enough to choose death. 
 Imagine what that means !" 
 
 She shivered. 
 
 "Well, even suicide may have its humorous aspect, 
 especially where, as in Repburn s case, it fails to con- 
 nectf Will you allow me, Miss Windsor, to justify 
 your father in your eyes? I should like you hear the 
 tragedy of Henry Repburn s bad luck, as I learned it 
 from his own eloquent tongue last evening." 
 
 He watched the care-worn expression slip from her 
 face and the dimple appear and disappear as his story 
 went on. 
 
 "Isn t it a pity," he said, "that there was no pho 
 tographer at hand to catch your father s face when 
 Mr. Kemyss told him of the Rugg episode? I think it 
 must have been at the tail end of the hearing that I 
 saw Mr. Windsor s back. Even that was expressive. 
 Of course I didn t know him then, but it gave me the 
 shivers." 
 
 "And do you think you do know him now ?" 
 
 "I am sure of one thing, Miss Windsor, and that 
 
126 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 is that it was worth my while to come to St. Etienne 
 just to know him as well as I do. I had read of such 
 men and dreamed of them, but I never had a chance 
 to meet one. I m glad to have seen him while I m 
 young enough to have it influence me." 
 
 Her eyes kindled a little and she said : 
 
 "I wish you d tell me why you feel that way." 
 
 "It s pretty difficult to explain. But he makes me 
 feel that life is made hard on purpose to strengthen 
 the arm that conquers it." 
 
 "Yes, that is dad," she said. 
 
 "I want to feel the same way, before I begin, and 
 all the way through," he said ; "and your father is a 
 convincing argument." 
 
 "I m glad you see into him. There are so many 
 people who don t. Sometimes it hurts me." 
 
 She glowed and made the young man looking up at 
 her glow too. 
 
 "What are you to do? I infer that you are to work 
 for dad," she asked. 
 
 "Yes," and he flushed a little. "Perhaps you won t 
 be so ready to have me wearing your glove as I enter 
 the lists, when you know of my commonplace doom. 
 Your father is going to make a drummer of me, you 
 see." 
 
 "Not really." 
 
DAYLIGHT LOVE 127 
 
 "Yes, he s going to send me out into the country to 
 morrow to get trade." 
 
 "You re certainly not the type that one reads about 
 in the funny papers," she said dubiously. "I can t 
 imagine you making fat jokes. Please don t." 
 
 "No doubt, by the time I come back, I shall be an 
 excellent representative. But perhaps the newspaper 
 drummer isn t any truer than the newspaper Uncle 
 Sam." 
 
 "And I should think drumming if that s what you 
 call it would be very hard work." 
 
 "Come, after what we ve just said, you don t con 
 sider that a drawback, do you ? Your true American 
 likes things all the better because they re hard. Did 
 you ever notice that even the children coasting in win 
 ter despise a perfectly smooth hill to slide down? 
 They elaborately build bumps out of snow, in order 
 to give themselves the pleasure of some rough hand 
 ling. I shouldn t want your father to think me in 
 capable of anything but the easiest work, so you can t 
 frighten me that way. There are only two things I m 
 afraid of." 
 
 "And what are they ?" She looked at him closely. 
 
 "One is that you are so analytic that you will pick 
 me all to pieces. I don t want to be murdered and dis 
 sected in your opinion." 
 
128 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 "Well, then, I ll promise to think about you as a 
 whole. What s the other thing?" 
 
 The other is the stars out here. When I m out 
 alone at night, I m afraid that something has gone 
 wrong in the celestial region, they re so big." 
 
 "They are big here. I am always astonished afresh 
 every time I go away and come back. That oughtn t 
 to frighten you. Wherever the atmosphere mental 
 or material is as clear as it is in St. Etienne and 
 you, Mr. Lenox, the stars loom large. Insight and 
 outsight are clear, you know." 
 
 He looked a little silly, and seeing that he liked a 
 bit of flattery as well as the next man, a ripple of 
 amusement passed through her. 
 
 "Now here is your car line, and I must say good- 
 by. I hope your trip will be both pleasant and suc 
 cessful. When you come back you must tell me all 
 about it, and I shall have a laurel wreath ready to 
 crown my own knightly drummer victorious over all 
 other drummers. Really, Mr. Lenox, I shan t dare to 
 say such pleasant things to you when you do come 
 back. You don t know how idiotic it makes you look." 
 She laughed exultantly at his confusion. 
 
 "And please don t forget that you are to have your 
 first dance in St. Etienne with me!" 
 
 She leaned down and gave him her hand, nodded 
 
DAYLIGHT LOVE 129 
 
 with friendly emphasis, and was gone. He watched 
 with lifted hat as she appeared and disappeared and 
 flashed out again through the trees that edged the 
 lake-shore drive, but she did not look back. 
 
 "She s just that mixture of tease and angel that 
 keeps a man stirred up and contented at the same 
 time," he said to himself. 
 
 But though her eyes did not turn, her thoughts did. 
 
 "What a different type from Cyril!" she said to 
 herself. "I wonder which I like best. This man is 
 fresh and sane and healthy. I wonder if it is possible 
 to be healthy and think about health at the same time. 
 Perhaps Jean is wrong. At any rate she seems to keep 
 me turned inside out, and examining my internal 
 mechanism; and, after all, that isn t the natural way 
 of wearing one s mental anatomy." 
 
 In the evening, Lenox found his way to Doctor 
 Norris to commission him, a little awkwardly, with 
 a missive for Repburn. The physician looked quiz 
 zically at the fat envelope. 
 
 "Is the fellow a friend of yours?" he asked, rather 
 abruptly. 
 
 "Not exactly that," Lenox laughed. "But he needs 
 at least the semblance of friendship. I don t want him 
 to get well only to return to the same hopeless mood. 
 He s had a long run of ill-luck, and he s destitute." 
 
130 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 "Young man, if fail is to be left out of the bright 
 lexicon of youth, you ll have to leave out luck too." 
 
 "Well, make the dictionary to suit yourself, but give 
 him my letter." 
 
 "I hope it isn t much," said the doctor grimly. 
 
 "You needn t be afraid. Much would be an im 
 possibility to me," said the young man, smiling. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 LOVE LAUGHS 
 
 After leaving Miss Windsor, Mr. Kemyss hurried 
 down the hill, then half-way back again, a second time 
 down, and again up in haste, at the dictation now of 
 cowardice, now of resolve. At last resolution had its 
 way. 
 
 He found Mrs. Lyell sitting alone with a volume 
 of Keats lying open in her lap. 
 
 "Cyril !" she said, putting out her hand without ris 
 ing. "How delicious of you to come at this time of day, 
 and how unexpected !" He took her hand, held it apa 
 thetically, then stooped and kissed it, because he knew 
 she would expect it, and he always lived up to the 
 standard of what other people expected of him. 
 
 "I had to come. I couldn t stay away," he said. 
 
 "Come and sit down then," she said. "Take this 
 big chair by the fire. I am just in the mood to be very 
 comfortable, and I hope you are. I have been longing 
 for you. Did you know it, that you came?" 
 
 "Comfortable!" he thought. 
 
I 3 2 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 "Silence is the symbol of harmony," she said to her 
 self. But it may last too long. She looked up with a 
 
 start. 
 
 "Why are you so ill at ease, Cyril? You are in 
 
 distress. Tell me." 
 
 She leaned forward eagerly, and then drew back, 
 annoyed at the interruption as the maid brought her a 
 letter. 
 
 "It s it s a note from Ned," she said faintly; "I 
 won t look at it. I won t think of it now. Cyril, do 
 sit over here ; one can t be confidential at long range." 
 
 But he did not move. 
 
 "Tell me what is the matter." 
 
 "That is the matter," he said, pointing at the letter 
 which she still held. "I am in torture. I ve been in 
 torture ever since I left you last night." 
 
 "About Ned?" 
 
 "About you and your husband. After all, he is your 
 husband." 
 
 "Only in a limited sense, as you told me last even 
 ing," she said with abominable cheerfulness. 
 
 "I know it. I was crazy. I could not remember 
 anything in the world except you and my love for you. 
 Nothing else seemed real." 
 
 "Is anything else real?" She leaned forward once 
 more and sat looking at him fixedly. 
 
LOVE LAUGHS 133 
 
 "Yes, Jean. For you and me, duty is more impera 
 tive than happiness." 
 
 "But you told me " 
 
 "Never mind what I told you. I tell you I had lost 
 my reason. Since then I have done nothing but think. 
 It isn t easy to say this, and I would to God I didn t 
 have to, but we have got to face conditions as they 
 are; and the fact is you are the wife of another man, 
 and I beg your pardon for speaking to you as I did 
 last night." 
 
 She grew very pale and drew a long breath, as if 
 gathering her strength. 
 
 "Cyril, these are only the words of other people that 
 you are speaking. Then, you spoke spontaneously, 
 your own emotions. What is my marriage to such as 
 us ? You and I have reached a point where the things 
 that are mere words, without any reality behind them, 
 are hardly worth considering. We want only that 
 which is vital. As I am not married in spirit, I do not 
 care a straw for the marriage bond of form. I do not 
 care what the world calls it. You see I speak frankly, 
 because last night you broke down all the barriers 
 between us. Now that we both understand things, let 
 us both lay reserve aside." 
 
 "I mean to," he answered desperately. "You don t 
 understand at all yet, Jean. It is true, what I told you 
 
134 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 last night, that I love you, but the things we both for 
 got are true also. I wish I had not spoken. It would 
 have been better for me to have suffered alone and left 
 you in ignorance. As it is, love can bring nothing but 
 suffering to both of us." 
 
 "Is this what you came to say?" 
 
 "Look what would happen if even a whisper of our 
 relations got abroad. Mr. Windsor wouldn t have me 
 in his employ for a moment, and the mere question of 
 bread and butter would not be an easy one. We 
 should be outcasts." 
 
 "And what of that?" She did not look at him, but 
 her eyes glowed with some heroic vision. He grew des 
 perate. 
 
 "Well, to be an outcast, as I tell you, means more 
 than obloquy, though heaven knows that is unendur 
 able. It means starvation. I have an idea that love 
 and hunger are in inverse ratio, as even you would 
 find. I will not subject you to this." 
 
 "You do not force me to it. I freely choose it for 
 your sake." Her face was still radiant. "This is your 
 answer, Cyril." 
 
 He burst out: "Then you compel me to say that 
 you shall not subject me to obloquy. See here, I don t 
 want to be brutal, Jean, but I have had a hard time be 
 ginning life, and now at last I have a good business 
 
LOVE LAUGHS 135 
 
 opportunity and a social position. I can t afford to 
 throw them away for an impulse. Even if you don t 
 care for such things yourself, if you love me, you will 
 consider me." 
 
 She looked at him at last, with big startled eyes. 
 
 "We must steer our course in such a way that our 
 love shall not violate public proprieties," he went on. 
 
 "What is it that you do want ? You have been beat 
 ing about the bush, Cyril. Speak plainly." 
 
 "I love you, you know," he spoke awkwardly. "Let 
 me come here as your friend, if you will. Let no one. 
 but ourselves dream that there is between us anything 
 sweeter." 
 
 "Sweeter !" she said, and there was a tone of rising 
 scorn in her voice. "And I am to remain a wife! I 
 suppose you may with equal propriety become a hus 
 band?" 
 
 "Perhaps; why not?" It was a relief to have her 
 take it so quietly. 
 
 "And our love is to become an intrigue?" she went 
 on. 
 
 "You need never call love by such a name." 
 
 "Cyril Kemyss," she said, leaning forward, her eyes 
 burning with excitement, "I could throw everything 
 to the winds. I could suffer starvation and cold; I 
 could suffer excommunication and glory in it, if I had 
 
136 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 love, such love as you have made me dream of a 
 passion that should satisfy my soul, no matter what 
 miseries my body suffered. Such love might not be 
 what the world calls honorable, but it would at least 
 be honest. But one thing I will not do. I will not 
 pretend to be Ned s wife, and be in thought, if not in 
 -deed, your mistress. I will not belong to one in pub 
 lic, and to the other in secret." 
 
 There was a tense silence for a moment, and she 
 added : "I care little for the world s estimate of me ; 
 but I care much for my own sense of integrity." 
 
 "Very well, then," he said stiffly ; "since you put the 
 alternative before me, I, on my part, will not risk 
 scandal, or even gossip. My reputation means a good 
 deal to me, and yours ought to to you. Pleasure is 
 only for a day. One s good name is valuable for a 
 lifetime." 
 
 "And you call love tHe pleasure of a day?" 
 
 "Well, it belongs to youth and hot blood. You 
 can t expect passion to last when they are gone." 
 
 "Then I want no love of yours, Cyril Kemyss. 
 That is not my kind." He heaved a sigh of relief. 
 
 "What an escape I have had from a thing like you !" 
 she went on, in spite of her evident emotion speaking 
 calmly and firmly. "Last night I thanked you for 
 opening my eyes. Now I have to thank you for open- 
 
LOVE LAUGHS 137 
 
 ing them still wider. One may learn something from 
 everything that crawls. Last night you called my 
 husband a coward. Perhaps he is. But you are botli 
 a coward and a sneak." 
 
 She had risen now", and she made a swift motion 
 with her foot as though pushing something on the 
 floor. He took a step toward her when she called him 
 a coward, but changed his mind. 
 
 "You will understand me better sometime," he said 
 in his even tone. "You will learn that, of us two, I 
 am the braver 2 because I have the heroism to hold my 
 self to the right." 
 
 "Oh, I read you now through and through. You 
 worshiper of the god Reputation , go !" 
 
 "Most people would think you and I had no busi 
 ness to be talking about gods, after our ungodly self- 
 revelation," he said sneeringly. Her eyes dilated. 
 
 "No," she said; "because most people worship this 
 same god of yours, Convention, Reputation, whatever 
 you call it, and they think his name too awful to be 
 taken in vain by infidels who would live according 
 to light and not according to rule. Your god, too, 
 poor Cyril ! Your god, too. I can see you now. Last 
 night s vision was a dream of a hashish den." 
 
 He rose abruptly, scorning his own miserable pose, 
 and yet immensely relieved to have this over. He had 
 
138 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 half feared that he might turn traitor to his resolve 
 when he met her face to face. He congratulated him 
 self on his own heroism, and half believed that he was 
 actually sacrificing himself to duty. 
 
 "Good-by, Eugenia," he said. "You have yet to 
 learn the first lesson of love. Your love is utterly 
 selfish." 
 
 "You are mistaken," she answered. "I haven t any 
 love. Go!" 
 
 Left alone, Mrs. Lyell subsided into her chair and 
 stared at the crumbling logs of the fire. Poor Keats 
 lay with his crumpled leaves face downward on the 
 floor, like the dreamer that he was. At first she shook 
 with confused feelings, all of them numb, but at last 
 thought began to take on coherence. 
 
 "Only one day. Only one day, I lived, and I am 
 never to live again. To think that the craving for 
 love was so strong in me, that at the first touch, even 
 of such a one as he, it kindled to a flame. And I never 
 knew it. How could so vital a thing lie there un- 
 guessed ? To-day he seemed a different creature. The 
 sunlight was pitiless on him. He needed midnight 
 and roses and dim lamps to seem real. I could read 
 his littleness so plainly. And yet here in me is that 
 dreadful monster to which he has given birth. Here 
 after, all my life, I am to be hungry for such love as 
 
LOVE LAUGHS 139 
 
 I thought he could give me, and I am never to have 
 it. Always hungry!" 
 
 Absent-mindedly she tore open the envelope that lay 
 crushed in her hand. Her husband always sent her 
 these daily bulletins when he was away on his trips, 
 and half the time she did not trouble to read them 
 through. They were as commonplace as their writer. 
 She stared now at the lines that told of his where 
 abouts with a strange sense of the unreality of all ex 
 perience. This thing and that thing and the other 
 thing happen to us, and they are all meaningless. 
 People touch the outer rim of life, but I remain alone, 
 and solitude is the most dreadful of fates. 
 
 Suddenly the humiliation of being the plaything of 
 such a man as Kemyss swept over her, and she bowed 
 her head and moaned in impotent fury, while through 
 her there raged such storms as had never before 
 troubled her serene self-satisfaction. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 A FRIEND 
 
 October was still in its prime, warm and hazy with 
 morning, when Lenox boarded the train bound for the 
 Northwest, and walked through car after car of fusty, 
 ill-smelling people who bore every evidence of having 
 spent thej night in close quarters and positions of dis 
 comfort. He pushed past the two frowzy young 
 women occupying two seats apiece, past the heaped 
 peanut shells and orange peelings of a family group, 
 and found at last what he looked for a seat on the 
 left side, simply that, as the train steamed out of the 
 station, he might catch, between the freight cars, ele 
 vators and warehouses that lined its unlovely way, a 
 glimpse of the hillside far beyond, and of the big gray 
 stone house that had- the honor to shelter her. He 
 grinned sardonically, with full appreciation of his own 
 folly as he craned his head to see it. Just a gray 
 streak and it was gone again. He straightened him 
 self back in his chair. 
 
 With a mixture of delight and astonishment that 
 140 
 
A FRIENQ 141 
 
 so wonderful a thing could have taken possession of 
 him so suddenly, he kept repeating it to himself over 
 and over, "I love her ! I love her !" 
 
 "I used to think Shakespeare rather overdid the 
 business in the Romeo and Juliet affair, but I dare say 
 there was the same variety of lunatics loose in the 
 streets of Verona that is riding around in dirty plush 
 seats in the Northwest to-day. Wise or unwise, I 
 don t mean to give it up. It s the biggest possession 
 I ve ever had. Vera, Vera, Vera, ," he repeated 
 the name in the luxury of his private thoughts. Then 
 he thrust his hands deep into the recesses of his trous 
 ers pockets, because a man must have some outlet for 
 nervous energy. 
 
 "By the spirit of the Pilgrim Fathers, and as I am 
 a westerner, I will not begin by confessing myself 
 beaten by any private secretary that walks. Til. do 
 that business, and I ll do it well, and I ll do it in five 
 weeks if I have to haul the farmers out of bed and 
 w r ork them night as well as day." He spoke almost 
 aloud. A sudden sense of exultant power ran down 
 his spine. He felt like a war-horse going out to bat 
 tle. It should be a battle for love, for success, for all 
 that makes young life. The world became pictur 
 esque and vivid with interest. 
 
 A solitary railroad ride, when it lives up to its ideal, 
 
142 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 is a resting spot in our world of rush. Shut off from 
 duties past and duties to come, with no responsibilities 
 knocking at the gateway of the brain, it is easy to fall 
 into the serene and blessed mood when one loafs and 
 invites the soul. The world, from the flying window, 
 is indeed a fleeting show. One has time to think 
 things over, to readjust the relations, put the few im 
 portant affairs of life into a pile by themselves, and 
 consign the unimportant majority to the ash-heap 
 which is their eternal doom. 
 
 But Lenox s temper, just now, was not of this self- 
 indulgent kind. The tingling of his energies forbade 
 su,ch delicious obliviousness of time and space. His 
 senses kindled to keener activity ; and he turned from 
 his introspection to nature with a delicious freshness 
 of appreciation. 
 
 The train was winding up the river, and the land 
 scape unfolded itself in a long pennant before him, 
 captivating, not as hill country captivates, with 
 none of the snap and tang of New England, but with 
 a gently rolling richness of its own. The Father of 
 Waters, blue as the boasted Mediterranean, possesses 
 here a certain dignity which he loses when he gets 
 down among the poor whites and colored populations 
 of the South. The one lovely thing that perpetuates 
 the memory of the red man Indian summer, painted 
 
A FRIEND 143 
 
 as no impressionist ever dared, a whirling vision of 
 color the pale yellow of poplars, the dull red-orange 
 of oaks, the flame of the scarlet sumach, with gleams 
 of particolored birch and maple and beech, piled in 
 careless and impossible harmony. Like an accent, 
 man s handiwork helped nature s. The rich brown of 
 freshly plowed land on the hillsides^ the yellow stubble 
 and green pasture, the stocked corn where golden can 
 non balls of pumpkins glowed in consciousness of 
 their own mellowness, interrupted the woodland. 
 
 Here was the open meadow, with its racing shadows 
 and lights. Goldenrod, windswept and nodding, al 
 ready turned to a pale shadow of itself, perhaps in 
 envy of the coreopsis, whose splendor it had never ri 
 valed. An errant Scotch thistle shook his purple bon 
 net and spiky coat of mail, and the wild grasses reared 
 strong and high their dainty heads, that one of these 
 days they might raise their seeds above the winter s 
 snows, and provide a repast for the wandering snow 
 birds and hungry cotton-tails. Down close to the 
 ground lay the seed-vessels of wild buckwheat, a store 
 for the tiny mouse who would have his private tunnels 
 under the snow, two feet below the prowling fox who 
 would be on the lookout for such small gentry. 
 
 Lenox looked out and glowed with the beauty of it, 
 with his youth and his new-found purpose. "This is 
 
144 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 my home now!" he said to himself. He turned back 
 to his fellow men. The day was growing 1 warm ; and, 
 after the well known principle of physics, the people 
 around him seemed to expand under the influence 
 of heat, until they quite filled the car. One of the 
 frowzy girls had revived and was audibly chewing- 
 gum. A baby at the other end was low in his mind 
 and high in his register. Across the aisle a fat red 
 man with a stubbly scarlet beard had taken off his col 
 lar for comfort in his altercation with a thin neck- 
 tieless seatmate. 
 
 "Awh, don t give us any more of your western 
 lies !" said the tieless one. 
 
 "Lies ! Them ain t lies. I tell you the biggest yarns 
 you can tell out here ain t lies. They re only prophe 
 cies. You believe in the spirit of prophecy, don t 
 you ?" 
 
 "All men are not equal," said Lenox to himself. "It 
 would take a gallon of eau de Cologne to make some 
 of us equal." 
 
 Preferring the landscape of his new domicile to his 
 neighbors, he stared out of the window again and 
 saw, around a curve, the engine of his own train, a 
 big powerful locomotive seemingly conscious of its 
 own strength and the ease with which it whisked the 
 fast mail away northwestward. Parallel with the rail- 
 
A FRIEND 145 
 
 way ran a wagon road, along which painfully toiled a 
 threshing engine, pulling its "separator" and water- 
 tank. It lay far below the grade of the railroad, a 
 puny thing compared with the great, rushing, iron 
 horse ; but it was a well-bred engine, and evidently un 
 derstood the courtesies of the road, for, with a tiny jet 
 of steam from its whistle, its thin voice piped out a 
 greeting, "Clear track to you, brother !" To which the 
 great locomotive responded with a mighty shriek, 
 "Smooth be thy way, little one!" And the sun shone 
 brighter, hearing the cheerful greeting between those 
 of high and low estate. Lenox, on the dirty plush seat, 
 felt a surging sense of the democracy which was his 
 heritage. 
 
 "Coin far?" The red man across the aisle was 
 leaning toward him. 
 
 To Dakota," Frank answered pleasantly. 
 "Stranger in these parts?" asked the friendly soul. 
 "New-comer," corrected Frank. 
 "That s better. Shows you mean to stay. And we 
 all want you. Help out the next census. Now let me 
 give you a pointer. Don t you smoke bad cigars, nor 
 ruin your constitution with poor whisky; but learn 
 Swede and vote the Republican ticket, and in time 
 we ll be proud of you, my son." 
 Frank made no answer. 
 
146 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 "Say, all a man wants to succeed out here is horse 
 sense. Horse sense. You want to adapt yourself to 
 circumstances. Look at me!" 
 
 He spoke very loud, evidently desiring the attention 
 of the whole car. "I came out here, just six years ago, 
 sir, without a penny, and now I ve got a tidy bank ac 
 count and own my own house." 
 
 Frank restrained a lawless impulse to ask him 
 whether the house contained a bath-room. After all, 
 a snub was not the fitting answer to effervescent 
 friendliness. 
 
 "I have got the goods to suit every complexion. I 
 go on the road with two or three things, and every one 
 of them a seller. Look at these Bibles, now, illustrated 
 with nigger angels. I tell you, sir, every coon in the 
 Northwest is a customer. No discount. That s only 
 one of my winners. Now, lemme show you 
 
 The train slowed up at a station, and a loosely built 
 man with the appearance of a gentleman came down 
 the aisle, evidently looking for the least objectionable 
 spot to sit in. He chose the other half of Lenox s 
 seat, produced a magazine, and shut off the collarless 
 overtures from across the way. 
 
 There was an hour s silence ; then his neighbor laid 
 an open page on Frank s knee. 
 
 "Interesting article, that," he said quietly. 
 
A FRIEND 147 
 
 "Thank you ; the country is new to me, and I don t 
 care about reading while I can see a bit of it." 
 
 "Like to catch men in the act of westward hoeing?" 
 The stranger nodded gravely at a passing glimpse of 
 a farmer putting his strawberry bed to bed for the 
 coming winter. 
 
 Frank laughed and turned to survey the other s face, 
 an attractive and wholesome face, but with the self- 
 depreciatory look of a man who had been hit by the 
 world, and never quite recovered from the blow. 
 
 "The river is certainly worth looking at. Though it 
 isn t so big as it is in the South, it is more picturesque. 
 It gets brown instead of blue lower down." 
 
 "Why is that?" asked the tenderfoot. 
 
 "I don t know, unless it s the corrupting influence 
 of the muddy Missouri, which is enough after they 
 come together, to blacken even these waters." 
 
 "But why should the Missouri be dirty when the 
 Mississippi is clear?" 
 
 "I have always supposed," answered the stranger 
 solemnly, "that it was because the cow-boys washed in 
 it." 
 
 "Oh, I see." Frank meditated a few moments. 
 "But then, why aren t the cow-boys clean, if they wash 
 so thoroughly? I ve heard that they were not an im 
 maculate tribe, at least in the old days." 
 
148 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 "They aren t. How could they be, washing in such 
 a dirty river?" 
 
 This was a poser. Frank could only laugh his 
 answer. 
 
 The man promised well. 
 
 "Everything interests me out here ; it seems so big." 
 He gave himself a stretch as if he, too, would like to 
 grow. 
 
 "The country s big, but the people aren t," the other 
 man answered glumly. "Men of little minds are in 
 the majority everywhere, my friend. We re only 
 younger, not larger. Perhaps we have neither the bal 
 ance nor the sin of the East." 
 
 "Are you going far up the line?" 
 
 "A couple of hundred miles." 
 
 "Then we shall be companions for "a time." 
 
 "Dinner is now ready in the dining-car. First call 
 for dinner !" yelled a porter, walking down the aisle. 
 
 "Suppose we go in and get something to eat?" 
 
 "Meals on the train are goblins damned, but I ll 
 go you," returned the stranger. 
 
 Frank jumped at the chance of having a table-com 
 panion and lingering over his meal, instead of stoking 
 from the mere instinct of self-preservation. 
 
 On the principle that anything is fun at sea, so any 
 thing moderately human will do to talk to on a train. 
 
A FRIEND 149 
 
 Moreover, food loosens a man s tongue, even if it be 
 the cinder-bedecorated food of a "diner." Long be 
 fore the meal was over, the stranger knew that Lenox 
 was making his maiden trip on behalf of one of Wind 
 sor s minor concerns, and Frank knew that the other 
 was on a similar errand for another firm. But there 
 was this difference, that the one journeyed in the hope 
 of better things to come, and the other journeyed in 
 the sodden way of a man who has been doing the 
 same work for years and who sees no rosy clouds on 
 his horizon. 
 
 "It s a miserable life, spent mostly in waiting for de 
 layed trains, with brief intervals of intense activity 
 scattered here and there." Thus the older man sum 
 marized the situation; but the two talked on, talked 
 business to the monotonous rhythmic rolling of the 
 wheels. Lenox asked a hundred questions that he had 
 been half ashamed to put either to the cynical Kemyss 
 or the preoccupied Holton, and his companion an 
 swered with good-natured insight, unfolding a world 
 of new interests. Each was unconsciously revealing 
 himself to the other ; the elder looked at the clean face 
 of the young one, feeling his integrity, envying his 
 mixture of boyishness and manliness, and liking him ; 
 the younger fumbled with the question of why this 
 man, who showed human qualities, good sense, and 
 
T50 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 even a bit of philosophy now and again, should convey 
 such a pitiful sense of failure. Though his nose was 
 what the botanists call indeterminate, the chin was 
 strong enough. Frank s god just now was " Success." 
 What was success? What must one have to gain it? 
 And why had the other man failed ? "Hustle" seemed 
 to be the westerner s watchword ; yet hustling had not 
 availed him, but had left him, after years of ener 
 getic drudgery, still "a man on the road." 
 
 He certainly was not a waster of time. 
 
 "If you get on a train that lives up to its name of 
 accommodation, and lingers puffingly at the station 
 while you do your business and get back, you re all 
 right," said the man of experience; "but usually you 
 drop from the platform of an express before it fairly 
 stops, interview a prosperous farmer or two, measure 
 an elevator that belongs to your company, or address 
 a meeting of local celebrities who- generally can t talk 
 English well enough to answer you back, so they have 
 to listen to your oratory. Then you seize a hasty 
 lunch, notice that the freight train which followed in 
 the wake of the passenger has arrived and is about to 
 depart, cram a few fried oysters that are too hot to be 
 eaten in haste into an envelope in your pocket, to be 
 devoured later in the caboose, and make a sprint for 
 it. You catch on just as the train is beginning to make 
 
A FRIEND 151 
 
 speed, and so on to the next station, where you do it 
 over again." 
 
 "I don t see how you get time to do so much between 
 trains," Frank found himself saying in reply to the 
 description of his companion s rushing methods. 
 
 "Time! You don t expect to have time given to 
 you on this planet, do you ? Do it anyway ! After all, 
 when is there any time ? Not even in infancy, when it 
 is necessary to have ten or twelve meals daily, or later 
 when the absorbing manufacture of mud-pies gives 
 way only to the pursuit of gingerbread ; certainly not 
 in one s school-days when one is beset by a complica 
 tion of measles and whooping cough, alternating with 
 cube root ; and if any fellow thinks four years of col 
 lege life supply unlimited leisure why, let him try it 
 that s all. Yes, it s a voluminous world, and even here 
 in the primeval west, where man might be supposed 
 to live in aboriginal simplicity, civilization is more or 
 less complex. The world is a great deal with us, and 
 the flesh and the devil are hourly expected by the Chi 
 cago express. There is muchness out here not the 
 kind that the dormouse found at the bottom of the 
 treacle w?ll, but the kind that infests this century." 
 
 "So we shall have to leave out the element of time?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, we ve got a long row to hoe, and it s got 
 to be done in no time. Did you ever think that we ve 
 
152 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 got to do in fifty years, out in a new community like 
 this, what older places have taken two to five hundred 
 years about? I sometimes envy the Indian gentlemen, 
 since deceased, who lived about here in the blessed 
 days before there was any wheat grown in Minnesota. 
 Did you happen to notice them moving any houses 
 while you were in St. Etienne ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "That s part of it. The very homes are imbued with 
 the western spirit of unrest, which makes them unwill 
 ing to endure the dreary monotony of staying in the 
 spot where they are built." 
 
 "You aren t quite fair. They are only being re 
 moved because they occupy valuable ground, and must 
 give way to something better." 
 
 "Put it any way you like. But you want to go slow 
 if you can, for the longer you live here the greater 
 your impetus will come to be." 
 
 "Well, I was just going to remind you that we ve 
 been having a very leisurely day on this train," said 
 Lenox. "But I suppose you would say that we ve been 
 going along at a strenuous pace, something less than 
 fifty miles an hour, not to mention the thousand miles 
 an hour the earth is making on its axis, and the thou- 
 sand-miles-a-minute waltz around the sun, and the 
 thousand-miles-a-second rush in the orbit of the solar 
 
A FRIEND 153 
 
 system. How the old concern is sliding to its bases on 
 the home runs, when you come to think of it! It s a 
 swift place." 
 
 "Don t! I m a little car-sick already." 
 
 "I rather like the pace. It s glorious to get out and 
 see things." 
 
 "It might be," said the stranger, with a somber look 
 coming into his face, as if he were stabbing himself 
 with some inner misery of his own. "It might be, if 
 one could see the world without taking oneself along. 
 The worst about traveling is the eternal presence of 
 your own personality." 
 
 "What do you mean by that?" Frank felt himself 
 growing interested in what his companion had to say. 
 
 "Why, see here, I knew a man once who couldn t 
 find anything to enjoy during a winter in Italy, be 
 cause he couldn t get buckwheat cakes for breakfast. 
 That s what I mean. It s so with everything and 
 everybody. Our deepest experiences take the mold of 
 ourselves, and so we miss completeness. I dream of 
 some perfection in music, in art, in poetry, even in 
 love ; and when the time comes for that ideal thing to 
 touch my life, my own personality pops up and lays 
 its disfiguring hand on the faultless vision. All I get 
 out of it is a caricature of myself. I always stand be 
 tween my soul and the ideal." 
 
154 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 He sat silent a moment, and then shook himself as 
 if to forget it. 
 
 "I wish I were as young as you, and could do it over 
 again," he said. "How do you like Mr. Windsor?" 
 
 "He s fine. He s like an old oak-tree !" 
 
 "Let me see, Kemyss is in that firm too, isn t he? 
 What do you think of him?" 
 
 "I think I only need to know his opinion on any 
 subject to adopt the opposite," said Frank. 
 
 "You re all right. I m with you there, too. He s a 
 ladies man." 
 
 "I hope not. I ve too much esteem for women to 
 think so." 
 
 "Well, it s not their fault that they don t read char 
 acter very well. They don t see enough of the world 
 to know the difference between a man s pose and what 
 he is. And even Mr. Windsor seems to like Kemyss, 
 though that is largely a matter of tradition which 
 transfers the affection for the father to the son; but 
 perhaps you and I are mistaken. I haven t any right 
 to be asking you such personal questions." 
 
 Frank flushed shamefacedly. 
 
 "I had forgotten that we are comparative strangers," 
 he said. "Your comments on life have transformed 
 to-day s journey into a sort of essay of Elia." 
 
 "Look," said the other; "that s Lake Orono we re 
 
A FRIEND 155 
 
 passing. The wind is getting up and the nymphs and 
 mer-gentlemen are doing a rushing soda-water busi 
 ness along the shore. That s the nearest to surf you ll 
 find in these unsalted longitudes." 
 
 The glory of midday had slipped into the level 
 lights and shadows of afternoon. The stranger, now 
 a stranger no longer, pointed at the whirling landscape 
 that they had forgotten, as they had forgotten the 
 human atoms in the car. 
 
 "By the same token that is the last of Minnesota s 
 ten thousand lakes. We are getting to the prairies, and 
 I shall soon be leaving you to your own devices in a 
 land where never a tree or shrub belittles the West for 
 many a mile. You ll find it quite large enough to suit 
 even your expansive tastes; but I question whether 
 you ll find a big man in every village, unless you are 
 wise enough to take one with you. But here we part. 
 The next station is Venice, my lad." 
 
 Frank laughed, and the other man looked at him in 
 astonishment. It had ceased to be funny to him to 
 think of Venice on a boundless prairie. 
 
 "The West, as you remarked with singular original 
 ity, is extensive," he said. "We have to use up all the 
 old names, and invent a lot of new ones in order to 
 have enough to go round. So there you are!" 
 
 "Yes, but that does not make it the less ridiculous." 
 
156 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 "See here! It does not become a boy from Maine, 
 with Essiqualsagook and Anasagunticook still sound 
 ing in his ears, to make fun of any of our Minnesota 
 names." 
 
 "I hope we shall meet again," said Frank, putting 
 out his hand. "My name is Lenox." 
 
 "I shall certainly look you up in St. Etienne," replied 
 the other, clasping Frank s hand warmly. "Mean 
 while good luck to you. My name is Lyell." 
 
 "Ned Lyell ?" The words seemed to slip out, with all 
 that Windsor had told him crowding memory behind 
 them. 
 
 Lyell looked at him quizzically. "I m glad my name 
 is a household word," he said. "You seem very famil 
 iar with it." 
 
 "I met your wife a few nights ago at Mr. Wind 
 sor s," Frank explained. 
 
 There was no apparent reason for the little con 
 straint that fell on both of them. 
 
 "Ah ?" and Lyell turned about to gather up his bag 
 and umbrella. Frank followed him out to the plat 
 form, and looked at the three elevators, seven saloons, 
 two dingy hotels and water-tank that constituted 
 Venice. 
 
 "Is this the Grand Canal ?" he shouted, pointing to 
 the dirty ditch that skirted the track. Lyell gave him 
 
A FRIEND 157 
 
 a friendly nod and waved his hand by way of farewell, 
 but Frank saw that he looked tired and depressed. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE MAKING OF A DRUMMER 
 
 With a fine disregard for geographic probabilities, 
 the station beyond Venice proved to be Mexico, and 
 here Lenox made his debut on business life. 
 
 If one is but young enough, even the begging of 
 grain from Swede farmers looks like a roseate occu 
 pation. Lenox s budding westernism was like the en 
 thusiasm of a new convert ; but in spite of this, Mex 
 ico looked to him a discouraging place. Twilight was 
 depressing the world. The train shrieked away into 
 the shadows. The little wooden platform presented 
 pitfalls in the shape of loosening boards that sprang 
 tip at one end when his stalwart foot was placed on the 
 other. Not a tree was visible ; but an iron pipe, sticking 
 its ugly nozzle from under the sidewalk, disgorged 
 water from some unknown depth into the gutter, 
 down which it ran, providing a bath for a flock of 
 dirty and belated ducks before it lost itself in mother 
 earth. A sign-post, with an outstretched finger, sug- 
 
 158 
 
THE MAKING OF A DRUMMER 159 
 
 gested that it was a good thing to move on and added 
 the further information, "Fillmore St." 
 
 Lenox could not refrain from smiling to himself 
 at the implied pun, the name seemed so apt. 
 
 The Mexico Hotel rose a hundred feet away, a 
 barn-like building with a false front that stuck up half 
 a story above its actual roof in a transparent makeshift 
 at importance. Lenox had in his note-book the name 
 of one Lars Hagenson, a gentleman quite unrelated to 
 the illustrious Porsena of Clusium, but the manager of 
 the Mexico Farmers Elevator Company, and a per 
 son from whom it was desirable that he should solicit 
 business. He sought the hotel in search of food and 
 information. 
 
 The outer office of the hotel was .full of ill-smell 
 ing threshers, gathered from all quarters to share in 
 the labors and returns of the great harvest fields, and 
 after weeks of drudgery and isolation from the temp 
 tations of the lively city to pour out the whole of 
 their hoarded earnings in a single night of orgy. As 
 yet that joyous time was not come. The resources of 
 Mexico were unequal to affording an adequate outlet 
 to uncivilized young blood ; and they contented them 
 selves with chewing tobacco and decorating the floor. 
 But perhaps, after the fashion of the laboring man of 
 romance, they were innate gentlemen. At any rate 
 
i6ol THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 when one inadvertently stepped on Frank s toes, he 
 said, "Excuse me !" 
 
 Escaping from their society, Lenox penetrated to an 
 inner room, about five feet by ten, where an old man 
 rocked feebly in an ancient chair whose half-dozen 
 upright spokes, since the head-board was gone, stuck 
 into his neck. A large blackboard in the back wall 
 bore the mystic characters, "Corn 5.00, Hay 6.25, Pork 
 6.50." Except for this decoration and a tiny counter 
 with a few boxes of cigars, the room was empty and 
 inhospitable. 
 
 The old man continued his futile rocking, and Frank 
 looked helplessly around. 
 
 "Can I get a room here ?" he asked at last. 
 
 "Hay?" said the old man loudly, and stopped his 
 rhythmic motion. 
 
 Frank repeated his question fortissimo. He found 
 himself seized by the collar, whirled around until his 
 face was in full light, and scrutinized at six-inch 
 range. 
 
 "Well, have you classified me?" he asked at length, 
 much amused. 
 
 "Yip, I guess so. You want a room to yourself. I 
 dunno whether there is one or whether you ll have to 
 share up with some one else." 
 
 "Not with a thresher, on your life !" said Frank. 
 
THE MAKING OF A DRUMMER 161 
 
 But the old man pushed the rocking chair toward 
 him, and made off in silence. Sitting gingerly on the 
 front edge of the chair, Frank absently picked up the 
 sole representative of literature, a green-covered cook 
 book in whose blank-paged latter end additional wis 
 dom had been inserted in a scrawling feminine hand. 
 Automatically he read the recipes for gingerbread, 
 throat wash for diphtheria, dandruff cure and snow 
 cake, and then the old man* came back. After he had 
 learned that the farm of Lars Hagenson was three 
 miles " cross prairie," Frank was glad to retire to a 
 stuffy bedroom, smelling of wall-paper paste, to wash 
 his be-cindered face and polish it with a towel of the 
 rough variety that needs no washing but is refolded 
 for each succeeding guest. As he lifted his face from 
 its unsavory depths he murmured : 
 
 "I wonder if Kemyss was ever in Mexico. I wonder 
 if this is part of a diabolical scheme." 
 
 He found himself in front of a neatly painted sign, 
 "Dining-room," where his healthy appetite faced a 
 shadowy steak, a baked potato, two diminutive rolls, 
 and one-eighth of a canned pear swimming in its 
 own gravy. It was vain to try to get a bit of extra 
 nourishment out of the potato skin, for the waiting 
 maid had her eye on him, and dignity forbade too 
 great an effort. He went out and wandered up Fill- 
 
162 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 more Street, in deepening gloom inside and out, be 
 fore turning in to go to a dubious bed, diversified by 
 hill and plain, promontory and table-land. 
 
 The next morning the world, if not more lovely, was 
 at least less gruesome, and the boy found himself 
 singing Marching through Georgia. This is a sure 
 sign that spirits are up. He ate everything on which 
 he could lay his hands for breakfast, took the bicycle 
 he had brought with him, and started in pursuit of 
 fortune. Away he sped in the unblemished sunshine, 
 with the treeless level around him. A distant speck 
 loomed bigger and bigger and became a small patched- 
 up, manure-banked, never-painted shanty. Half the 
 windows were stuffed with rags. Garbage and flutter 
 ing refuse lay around the door. All the surroundings 
 pointed to poverty and squalor in this prairie slum, 
 save the instruments of husbandry; for the sun beat 
 on an expensive self-binder, left where it had been 
 hauled at the completion of the last harvest. At the end 
 of the field the weeds grew rank through a new make of 
 seeder, which stood at the end of its last round, though 
 an uncut bit of crop was near the wheel top. 
 
 A stable built of poles, with crazy strap-hinged 
 doors, was thatched with straw and manure, the straw 
 part having been largely eaten away. On its floor two 
 forlorn husbandless hens pecked for flies, because the 
 
THE MAKING OF A DRUMMER 163 
 
 refuse, turned over many times, contained not another 
 grain. But even the flies had gone, migrated to a sore- 
 legged horse that basked hopelessly in the sunshine. 
 Lenox got off his wheel and stared. This was neither 
 the neat farmstead to which his Yankee eyes were ac 
 customed, nor yet that which his imagination had 
 painted as belonging to the rich and mighty West. 
 
 The door of the house opened and three great dogs 
 rushed at him, followed at leisure by a lank creature 
 with the expressionless face of country women. 
 
 "Is this where Mr. Lars Hagenson lives?" 
 
 "Huh ?" said the woman. 
 
 "Does Lars Hagenson live here ?" 
 
 "My no ! I sh d think not ! He s one of those rich 
 Swedes that takes the bread out of us folks mouths, 
 gettin all the best land from us. That s what he is !" 
 She spoke viciously. 
 
 "Where does he live?" 
 
 Bout a mile further cross prairie." She pointed 
 at a distant speck. 
 
 "What kind of a crop are you having this year?" 
 Lenox asked in friendly spirit. 
 
 "Crops, nothin ! We ain t hed nothin but bad luck 
 sence we struck this country. In fact we ve hed bad 
 luck in most every state from Texas up, but this is 
 the wu st we ever had," she said listlessly. 
 
164 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 Lenox looked at the stable, the hens and the rags. 
 
 "You seem to have some pretty good machinery/* 
 he observed. 
 
 " Tain t paid fur. And we hed to mortgage the farm 
 to get it." 
 
 "Then I should think it would pay you to build 
 some kind of shelter for it." 
 
 The woman looked at him in a kind of dull astonish 
 ment. 
 
 "What s the use ? We ll lose the farm on the mort 
 gage in a year or two anyway. Besides, it ain t rained 
 for two months. I never see such a dry season. Can t 
 you see the whole country s scorched up ?" 
 
 "I suppose it will rain sometime, and snow, too." 
 
 Lenox turned to his wheel with a deep sympathy for 
 the man who owned the mortgage. The woman sat 
 on the doorstep absorbed in contemplation of his dis 
 appearing back, and the flies moved from the dis 
 couraged horse through the open door behind her. 
 
 "Am I expected to earn my living by getting a com 
 mission on the grain these people raise ?" Lenox asked 
 himself, and his heart grew heavy within him, for in 
 deed the prospect was not encouraging. 
 
 There came a change. The fields were no longer a 
 thriftless waste. A big Swede and his wife were hard 
 at work stacking, as Lenox rode up and dismounted. 
 
THE MAKING OF A DRUMMER 165 
 
 "Can you tell me where I can find Mr. Lars Hagen- 
 son?" 
 
 The farmer turned, stopped his work, thought pro 
 foundly, spat out the mouthful of wheat he was chew 
 ing with great deliberation, and answered: 
 
 "Ay guess that vas me." 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Hagenson, let me take your wife s place 
 for a while. I want to have a little talk with you." 
 Frank tried to be as suave as the English language will 
 allow. "I understand that you are the manager of the 
 Farmers Elevator. I want to talk to you a bit about 
 the St. Pierre Company, which I represent." 
 
 The big Swede grinned agreeably. 
 
 "You are the ninth fallar thas veek," he said. "No, 
 Ay tank Ay no change pooty soon. Ay ban all right 
 lak Ay vas." 
 
 Stacking in the hot sun was not easy work, even 
 for the Maine country boy, but doing business with a 
 man who never heard of him and was manifestly in 
 different to that deprivation, proved still harder. 
 Frank 2 however, had enough of the blood of his an 
 cestors in him not to know when he was beaten. By 
 dint of imperturbable good humor and still more 
 through a kind of big human sympathy that was in 
 him, two hours of effort, physical and mental, and ora 
 tory that would have lent luster to the Lincoln-Doug- 
 
i66 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 las debates, resulted in the old man s saying, with the 
 air of a monarch graciously conferring a favor on a 
 subject: 
 
 "Vail, Ay send your damn company van car. Ay 
 try dam!" Further he unbent so far as to add: "Ay 
 go to town onny vay van Ay gat my dinner. You vant 
 to vait Ay drive you in." 
 
 Lenox was hungry himself, but Mr. Hagenson ex 
 tended no hospitable country invitation to his midday 
 repast, and in full view of the neat farmstead into 
 which Hagenson disappeared, our disconsolate hero 
 sat down in the shade of a stack, munched a handful 
 of wheat, and waited. The land about him was as 
 different from that of the preceding farm as though 
 it had lain in a remote country. Here the prodigality 
 of the crop looked like nature s own. The home that 
 lay before him was trim and freshly painted. Pots of 
 flowers stood in white-curtained windows. But it was 
 evident that the thrift of Lars Hagenson wasted noth 
 ing on the drummer within his gates. This Lenox could 
 endure with equanimity. Greater than hunger was his 
 appetite to see that first car, the fruit of his virgin 
 effort, shipped to St. Etienne the monster that waits 
 to devour all the food that a tributary country can pour 
 into its greedy maws. 
 
 Two freight cars stood on the track at Mexico. Sat- 
 
THE MAKING OF A DRUMMER 167 
 
 isfaction rayed from Lenox s face as he saw the. full, 
 one billed to the St. Pierre Company. 
 
 "Mr. Hagenson," he asked with a heartfelt sigh, 
 "isn t there some place where I can give you a glass 
 of beer?" 
 
 "Young fallar," Lars answered solemnly, "af you 
 vant beer, you gat to go back to Venice. Day are bad 
 people back dar in Meensota. You don t gat no beer 
 in Nort Dakotah. You vant to coom cross das street, 
 you can give me a cup of cold tea." 
 
 A roseate giant, blue-eyed and infantile, who was 
 superintending the loading of the other car, laughed 
 joyously. Lenox turned to him. 
 
 "Will you join us in a cup of cold tea?" he asked 
 cordially. 
 
 "Tank you. You bat Ay vill !" The giant s answer 
 came with alacrity. 
 
 Seated in a back room, behind the elaborate secrecy 
 of a cotton curtain, the three found three cans of ex 
 ceedingly bad beer, its extra vileness being a tribute 
 to the prohibition law. The blue-eyed giant grew so 
 mellow after the departure of Mr. Hagenson and a 
 second order of the evil mixture, that Lenox took 
 fresh heart, and in consequence of this manoeuver car 
 number two went not to the J. T. Thruman Company, 
 as it was originally destined. 
 
i68 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 "Ay guess dat odar fallar vill be mad," said the 
 giant meditatively. 
 
 As the afternoon freight stopped, picked up the two 
 cars from their siding, and pulled southward, Lenox 
 stood looking after them with a conviction that the 
 world was in truth his oyster, and with an elation to 
 be satisfied only by fresh effort. 
 
 In the gathering dusk he looked at his map. If he 
 could make his next town, Gracetown, that night, he 
 might gain several hours on the Kemyss schedule. 
 There was no train till the next day. Twenty miles! 
 Well, what were twenty miles on a crisp October even 
 ing, even over a rough prairie road? Besides, Grace- 
 town sounded as though the beds might be better than 
 in Mexico. He folded his map and pushed his wheel 
 up the platform to the little station. 
 
 "What kind of a place is Gracetown ?" he asked the 
 station agent. 
 
 "A six house, three elevator, one-horse town, with 
 a bad hotel," and the agent went whistling about his 
 work. 
 
 The wind was blowing in Frank s face as he started, 
 but a mile or two out it whirled with a roar around to 
 the south. The tumble-weeds, which had been piled on 
 the upper sides of the fences, when the change came, 
 started to race for the north pole. Hundreds of thou- 
 
THE MAKING OF A DRUMMER 169 
 
 sands of them rolled and jumped over plowed land and 
 stubble and prairie; and, as the daylight waned, they 
 looked like ghosts hurrying to some vast inferno, the 
 greater ones, often four feet in diameter, leaping along 
 and outstripping the babies. With them flew the bi 
 cycle. 
 
 It was dark and late for a country town where there 
 was no saloon, when Lenox came to Gracetown. The 
 wind howled across the prairie; not a light shone in 
 the dingy little street of a few scattered houses and 
 stores. Frank stumbled along until he came to the 
 legend, "Hotel." He pounded twice or thrice without 
 getting an answer. He tried the door, found it un 
 locked and walked in. The place smelled warm and 
 populous. He lit a match and found an old lantern, by 
 whose light he explored until, in a back room, he found 
 his hostess fast asleep. After retiring from the room 
 and knocking to awaken her, he explained politely that 
 it was his desire to procure a room for the night. With 
 some asperity, through a crack in the door, she an 
 swered : 
 
 There ain t a bed to spare in the house. There s a 
 populist convention goin on, and we ain t got an extry 
 bed, nor an extry cot. There s most of em sleepin 
 double as it is, anyhow !" 
 
 "But, madam," said Frank doggedly, "I can t sleep 
 
 
170 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 on the doorstep, and I can t get anywhere else to 
 night." 
 
 "Well, that ain t my fault," she said. 
 
 He waited, hearing her fumbling around inside, evi 
 dently hunting for her clothes and an idea. At last she 
 appeared. Frank considerately held his lantern on the 
 off side while she looked him over with the eye of a 
 connoisseur. He did not return her gaze, but her 
 survey evidently satisfied her. 
 
 "They s an old sofy in the dining-room," she said 
 at last. "Perhaps if we pulled it up clost to the stove 
 you could sleep on that." 
 
 "I should be grateful for almost anything," said 
 Frank wearily. 
 
 They joined in pulling the sofa out. She took the 
 lantern and disappeared to return with a pair of clean 
 sheets, or at least sheets that had been freshly ironed. 
 She spread them over the sofa. 
 
 "Now for blankets," said Mrs. Josephs, "I don t 
 know what to do." She looked helplessly at the young 
 man. 
 
 "Do you think the Populists are fast enough asleep 
 so that we might steal a few?" he suggested. Her 
 face brightened. 
 
 "No, not in that room." She laid a detaining hand 
 on his arms. "He s the chairman. But I don t like this 
 
THE MAKING OF A DRUMMER 171 
 
 feller, and I don t know as I care a mite if he does wake 
 up cold on toward morning." 
 
 "Now, madam," said Frank, "will you kindly let me 
 have a glass of milk and oh, almost anything else to 
 eat, while you make my bed ?" 
 
 The "sofy" was only four feet long, and Lenox 
 stood something over six feet, but he let his legs hang 
 over while the rest of his anatomy took naps. The 
 legs, however, soon went to sleep, too. Once, before 
 final unconsciousness, the humor of it struck him and 
 he laughed aloud. 
 
 "These are the sufferings of Miss Windsor s knight- 
 errant. By Jove though, I must be up betimes. I 
 shouldn t like the Populists to watch me shave while 
 they eat their breakfast. There must be an extra lot 
 of farmers in town. I will work them, as I am a true 
 son of Minnesota." 
 
 In Gracetown therefore he put in an ardent but 
 fruitless day s work. The farmers were evidently 
 hardened to all the wiles of a grain solicitor, and much 
 less susceptible to his admirable arguments than was 
 he himself. Moreover, the joys of political discussion, 
 for which the native American has a natural liking 
 only a little greater than has the adopted American, and 
 the vilification of both -Republicans and Democrats, 
 downed all other interests. 
 
172 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 Another night on Mrs. Josephs abbreviated sofa was 
 beyond human endurance. Slowing up at the water- 
 tank of Gracetown station, Lenox saw an interminable 
 train of flat cars, laden with gravel and pulled by two 
 monster engines. That which Lyell could do why 
 might not Lenox? He took his grip and his bicycle 
 and sought the freight. 
 
 "Nah, ye don t," said the conductor. "It s absolutely 
 against rules to let any one on." 
 
 "Can t I get a special permission from the agent ?" 
 
 "For way-freights, yes," replied the conductor; 
 "but not for gravel trains." 
 
 The conductor went forward and Frank waited 
 until the long snake got well under way ; then he flung 
 his wheel on one of the cars, swung himself on with 
 one hand, holding his grip with the other, and congrat 
 ulated himself on his cleverness. 
 
 "They can t possibly put me off until we get to the 
 next station," he said to himself with saturnine glee. 
 
 The sky was crystalline and warm; a stiff breeze, 
 pure and sweet from the harvest fields, filled his heart 
 with the joy of living and his lungs with champagne. 
 Once out of the little town, the broad teeming acres of 
 wheat spoke of peace and prosperity, and the cry of 
 wild geese came from nowhere up in the blue. 
 
 The engine crawled up a steep incline and Frank 
 
THE MAKING OF A DRUMMER 173 
 
 settled himself comfortably on his tiny platform and 
 was content with the day-dreams of youth. 
 
 And now the speed increased. The bicycle, lying on 
 the gravel, gave a preliminary hop and skip before a 
 livelier dance. Frank seized and fastened it over the 
 brake wheel to steady it. A down grade lay before 
 them and the engineer pulled the throttle wide open, 
 so that with long leaps the train flew through the air, 
 scarcely seeming to touch the tracks. Even the coup 
 lings were stretched to their utmost and the cars 
 pulled far apart through their descent. A fine drift of 
 pebbles and sand rose from the cars in front. The drift 
 became a cannonade, thicker, swifter, bigger, shot and 
 shell, all apparently aimed with unerring accuracy at 
 Frank s hands and face. It took all his muscle and at 
 tention to keep himself from joining in the stony rain 
 as it whirled backward. He had no extra strength for 
 self-protection. Every available crevice and opening 
 about him filled with sand. He closed his eyes and 
 shut his teeth. The train roared and pounded ever 
 faster and faster down the hillside and the bombard 
 ment grew to torture. There came a triumphant shriek 
 from the engine which rejoiced in its cruel puckish- 
 ness, the bumping and grape-shot grew less and 
 stopped. Frank opened one eye cautiously and saw 
 that he was at rest with a platform beside him. Tenta- 
 
174 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 tively he shook himself, gratified to find not a mass 
 of shapeless jelly, but a man intact. 
 
 "Gee whizz!" said a voice beside him. "Were you 
 on there all the time ?" 
 
 Lenox looked at the open-mouthed conductor and 
 smiled sadly. 
 
 "Do I look as though I had had the smallpox ?" he 
 said. "I m sorry I broke the rules of the road. I ll 
 never do it again." 
 
 "Oh, that s all right! That s all right," and the 
 conductor was obliged, as an outlet for his friendly 
 feelings, to shake hands and even to help unload the 
 bicycle. 
 
 "Thank heaven I ve got to a decent place, anyway," 
 said the culprit. 
 
 "Oh, Betterton is all right, but next time you want 
 to come in a Pullman. You ain t built for a tramp. 
 So long!" The conductor waved a cheerful good-by 
 and grinned. 
 
 An animated band without the least pretense at 
 classical aims sounded through the little streets and a 
 trim white hotel disported itself in patriotic bunting 
 for the benefit of an enthusiastic village crowd, who 
 had flocked to a fete-day by train, by bicycle and by 
 wagons decorated with branches of flaming autumn 
 colors. Fakirs, roulette wheels, cheers from a roped-in 
 
THE MAKING OF A DRUMMER 175 
 
 base-ball ground at one side mingled with the allur 
 ing "Lemo-lemo-lemonade" cry from temporary and 
 temperance bars along the gay highway. Every face 
 was glowing with soap and good nature. Every young 
 man had money in his pockets and every girl knew it. 
 Was not the harvest nearly over? 
 
 For a moment Lenox stopped to watch the truly 
 rustic sport of potato racing. A greased pole stood at 
 one side and a burst of applause rose for the small boy 
 who 2 with the wisdom of his Connecticut ancestors, 
 had treated his arms and legs to powdered rosin before 
 entering the contest, and now proudly waved his cap 
 above his freckled face at the top of his slippery emi 
 nence. 
 
 ."I wonder what rosin I can use for the pole I am 
 trying to climb," Lenox said to himself. "If I don t 
 succeed in scaling it I shall soon be up a tree." 
 
 He passed on to the joys of a clean towel, a clean 
 and abundant supper and, finally, of a clean bed. 
 
 So the days plodded by. A rough-and-tumble intro 
 duction to life was this, and often nauseating enough 
 when, as frequently happened, it meant the currying 
 of favor from the unwashed and ungrammatical. 
 
 Many kinds of men and many kinds of country he 
 saw. There was the broad prairie, tricked with rain 
 bow-colored flowers, continuous as the sea, and yet 
 
176 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 slipping by imperceptible grades into rolling country 
 where great forests fought with the small growth of 
 the plain for possession of the earth. Strong rivers 
 seamed this northland and marked a path of denser 
 green. Multitudes of lakes hung like a string of 
 sapphires upon the bosom of the mighty mother earth. 
 Desolate villages, with no seeming reason for their 
 existence, marred nature by their slovenliness, and 
 thriving towns sprang into being, full of energy and 
 hope, emulous of the growth of St. Etienne that 
 mushroom for rapidity and oak for sturdy sinews. 
 
 And various as were the types of nature, so various 
 were the types of men. There was the westernized 
 Yankee, bringing to bear his nasal humor and his 
 energy on the problems of a new country, and vital 
 with the same old force that compels new-come races 
 to remodel themselves to his form. There was pre 
 dominantly the Scandinavian, blond, hard-working, 
 shrewd and honest; there was the primitive and un 
 ambitious Lapp ; there was the colony of Englishmen, 
 trying to transplant to this wayward young savage 
 of a country the traditional exquisite country life of 
 the long-cultivated, tight little island ; there was even 
 the prosperous Jew turned farmer. 
 
 But everywhere there was the great army of the 
 shiftless, spawned by the very superabundance of these 
 
THE MAKING OF A DRUMMER 177 
 
 United States, and for ever looking for nature to lay 
 in their hands the bread and butter that they are too 
 lazy to harvest and to churn for themselves. Things 
 come so easily, say they, surely there must be some 
 where a land where they come still easier. Toward 
 every point from which there comes a rumor of pros 
 perity the shiftless wander, up from the southland, in 
 from the eastland, always selling the old home for a 
 trifle and moving on, for ever doomed to disappoint 
 ment. For though nature never did betray the heart 
 that loved her, neither the hand that labored for her, 
 yet to the improvident as to the unpoetic, she is a bit 
 ter taskmistress with a sardonic smile always upon her 
 mobile lips; and the farther north the do-nothings 
 come, the more mercilessly she stings them with sum 
 mer heats and lashes them with winter winds, as cru 
 elly as though she had forgotten the radiant smile that 
 she knows how to turn upon her more-favored ser 
 vants. 
 
 There were up days and down days, but on the 
 whole Lenox was aware that he was making no mean 
 record for a beginner. Moreover, a little at a time, he 
 gained on his schedule ; and as his first week drew to 
 a close, he had the satisfaction of seeing that he was 
 a whole day ahead of his time-table. He was back in 
 Minnesota by this time, on the border land where the 
 
178 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 level monotony of the prairie slipped into gentle un 
 dulations, broken by limpid lakes and the swift mur 
 mur of occasional streams. The fringe of virgin for 
 ests, solemn mighty pines, thrust their long spurs into 
 the open. 
 
 Here late one afternoon, Lenox rode into Minturn, 
 to be told that the subject of his next attack, Sven 
 Svenson, had gone to Pine Vale to look after some 
 lumber interests. The representative of a rival grain 
 firm, who stood on the platform, laughed sardonically 
 as Frank s face fell at this information. 
 
 "Guess there s two of us disappointed," he said. "I 
 was on his trail, too. He s a mighty potentate in this 
 section. And now we re stranded in this hole ; no train 
 out for twenty-four hours, and a beast of a hotel! 
 Hope you ve got a good novel." 
 
 He laughed again, strolled across the street, fol 
 lowed by his novice competitor, and halted before a 
 large placard meant to tempt inexperienced travelers 
 from the train to the eating-room. 
 
 " Warm meals and lunches ! Warmed up, they 
 mean ! Board by the day or week ! Not for me !" He 
 read and commented. " Cigars! Home grown! 
 Canned goods ! Part of Noah s stock ! Nuts ! War 
 ranted eleven years old! Fruits! Dried apples and 
 prunes ! Oysters in every style ! Very dead !" 
 
THE MAKING OF A DRUMMER 179 
 
 Thus spake the man of experience. Lenox left him 
 and went back to the station agent. 
 
 "How far to Pine Vale?" 
 
 "A matter of thirty mile." The agent was a man 
 of few words. 
 
 "Any town with a hotel between here and there ?" 
 
 "Well, there s Valkyrie. Not much of a town. Kind 
 of a place where nothing ever happens." 
 
 The night was coming on apace, but Lenox mounted 
 his wheel and started forth, rinding himself lulled into 
 a serene state of mind by the gentle witchery of the 
 moon, and feeling very friendly toward the gophers 
 who came out of their holes to wear out their clothes 
 by sliding down boulders. 
 
 At Valkyrie he took a short nap before breakfast, 
 and was off again just as the sun peeped into the valley 
 through tumbled pink clouds that proved to him that 
 the old masters were right in their representations 
 since, on close inspection, their billowy masses were 
 certainly made up largely of heavenly hosts and radi 
 ant cherubim. For a long distance the road wound 
 along a lake shore, with well-packed gravel under 
 wheel and trees meeting overhead. The tree shadows 
 extended out over the placid water. Moored boats lay 
 with their muzzles toward shore, and out in the center 
 was a curious circular ripple where a dozen turtles 
 
180 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 danced, moving rapidly around, across and back, with 
 heads raised above water. 
 
 An old mother muskrat and her little ratties were 
 diving in the reeds on the shore. Above sounded the 
 shrill cry of geese on their southward journey. The 
 road itself was alive with small game. Gophers scooted 
 hurriedly away, while over in a meadow some small 
 foxes quarreled over one of their number. Scared 
 rabbits, who failed to hear the silent wheel until it was 
 upon them, sat by the roadside with big eyes of alarm. 
 A skunk prowled through the sedges on the lookout 
 for frogs. A queer object at the foot of a hill turned 
 out to be a huge snapping turtle with great paws and 
 spiked tail. Lenox dismounted and gave him good 
 morning in spite of his surly vindictiveness of aspect ; 
 but when a hand came near his tail, his head shot out 
 an incredible distance with a vicious snap, and the 
 bicyclist bade him farewell and sped on, feeling that to 
 go a-Octobering is as good in its way as to go a-May- 
 ing. 
 
 Gradually the trees grew denser, and then came the 
 great woods, somber in the gray light which blotted 
 out the rejoicing dawn, morose, with the unsympa 
 thetic look of hermits whose life is spent apart from 
 men. These were the pines which waited in solitude 
 since time s beginning and resented any encroachment 
 
 
THE MAKING OF A DRUMMER 181 
 
 on their privacy by the all-invading creature of two 
 legs. 
 
 There came a clearing of melancholy log huts, where 
 unkempt stumps defied the native spirit of beauty, as 
 if they would say, "This is the miserable pass to which 
 we come when man enters our sacred silence !" Or it 
 might seem as if some of the chaos left over from the 
 time of creation lay here piled up, awaiting the hour 
 when it too should be absorbed by cosmos. 
 
 On, on, led the road, and with it exultant went 
 Lenox, speeding like the wind when it is late for a 
 waterspout appointment in mid-ocean, until his legs 
 were fairly out of breath. 
 
 And now there came a clearing of larger dimensions. 
 The straight polished steel of the railroad shot through 
 it, linking a city of the south to her sister of the 
 north, separated from her by this untamed woodland. 
 The crash of a waterfall made music on the serene 
 morning air, and the faithful bicycle slowed up in front 
 of the white little inn of Pine Vale. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 CARRYING THE TRUTH TO THE WOODS 
 
 One day, as Miss Vera Windsor sat at her desk, 
 there entered Mrs. Lyell who, with the curiosity of in 
 timacy, put her arm around the girl s neck and peeped 
 over her shoulder. 
 
 "What are you scribbling so fast?" she asked. 
 
 Vera pointed at the little stack of envelopes lying 
 addressed and stamped before her. 
 
 "I m dabbling in the froth and scum of the world, 
 Madam Mentor," she said. "These are my invitations 
 to the Thanksgiving ball." 
 
 Now it so happened that the topmost envelope of 
 the pile bore the name of Mr. Francis Lenox, and 
 Mrs. Lyell took it up and looked at it pensively. 
 
 "Don t you find this kind of thing insufferably 
 dull ?" she asked. "I mean putting on purple and fine 
 linen and spending an evening dancing with men 
 with whom you have not a thought in common. I 
 often wonder why you do so much of it." 
 
 182 
 
CARRYING TRUTH TO THE WOODS 183 
 
 "If you mean Mr. Lenox by that," said Miss Wind 
 sor, a little defiantly, "I am sure that if I knew him 
 better I should have a great many thoughts in com 
 mon with him. In the little I have seen of him he im 
 presses me as a clean, honorable man, and I like 
 him exceedingly." 
 
 "Is that the reason you talk with him the kind of 
 twaddle I heard you exchanging the other evening? 
 It evidently suited him. But surely you don t call 
 that thought in common/ do you, Vera?" 
 
 Vera laughed lightly. 
 
 "It was pleasant to watch you writhe, Jean. I doubt 
 if I can keep up to your standard." 
 
 "Mr. Lenox is a materialist." 
 
 "What is a materialist?" 
 
 "A materialist is a person who is sure that we are 
 superior to Saint Paul because he did not have buttons 
 on his underclothes and never used a telephone. That 
 is the standard from which a materialist measures 
 progress." 
 
 "And you think that is Mr. Lenox s type?" 
 
 "I think it soon will be. He is heading in that di 
 rection, and you are, or at least I hope you are, head 
 ing in the other." 
 
 Who shall say that there was not a tiny spark of jeal 
 ousy behind Mrs. Lyell s outbreak ? Of late she often 
 
184 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 felt very lonely. The admiration of women satisfied her 
 less than it had ever done, and sometimes she thought 
 of Vera different as were their experiences and fate 
 as her only friend. The girl, if less subtile, was 
 as strong, perhaps stronger, than herself. Shejeaned 
 on Vera a little. She must be growing old, it felt so 
 agreeable to lean on some one. She had always 
 thought that each individual should stand alone in that 
 little world which he was to create for himself, un 
 touched, uninfluenced by the vortex life of those 
 around him; yet now she dreaded that there might 
 be some loosening of the tie that bound her to this 
 girl, and she might be left lonelier than ever. So she 
 went on. 
 
 "And a materialist, my dear, does not generally find 
 that he has a soul until just about as it is getting ready 
 to slip out of his body. Then he begins to think on 
 heavenly matters. He sends for a minister and begs 
 to be shown some swift method of getting to the top 
 of Jacob s ladder. Modern invention has created 
 all kinds of rapid transit, but it never has and it never 
 will discover any way to get to the top of the celestial 
 ladder except by climbing. A man can t go down 
 toward materialism all his life and then find him 
 self, at eighty years of age, at the top, and just ready to 
 step off into the clouds." 
 
CARRYING TRUTH TO THE WOODS 185 
 
 "But for all that I am unconvinced that the best 
 way to smooth the transition from this world to the 
 next is to make this one an unhealthy miasmatic place. 
 Why, isn t a normal life now the best preparation for 
 the life to come?" 
 
 "It is," said Mrs. Lyell. "You know that is what 
 I strive for." 
 
 "And it is just that continual striving, always self- 
 conscious, always walking around its every experi 
 ence, that sometimes looks to me morbid. If you had 
 the making of clocks, Eugenia, they would never be 
 allowed to strike anything less than twelve. I have 
 recently begun to suspect that I am another of the 
 same kind as yourself. We do a great deal of think 
 ing about life, and comparatively little living. I am 
 afraid people will run us two extremists out of town 
 as a public nuisance. To prevent such a catastrophe, 
 this clock is going, once in a while, to strike some of 
 the lesser hours in the twenty-four, which, being in 
 terpreted, means I am going to dance with Mr. Lenox 
 and other young men who don t worry much about 
 their lungs, but just breathe. I like them, Jean." 
 Vera spoke with decision. 
 
 Mrs. Lyell clasped her hands before her, and walked 
 over to the fireplace. She stood for a moment look 
 ing into the blaze ; then she faced swiftly about and 
 
1 86 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 came to Vera again. Her face was pale and her eyes 
 were brimming. 
 
 "My dear," she began breathlessly, "I am going to 
 say to you what I have never whispered before 
 what I "have hardly confessed to myself. Once I 
 thought as you do, I thought that if a man was clean 
 and honorable that was enough. For such a man to 
 speak of love was Elysium. You know what my mistake 
 cost me. You know I live absolutely alone, although 
 I call Ned Lyell my husband. When all the new 
 ideas began to come into my life, I never even tried to 
 talk to him about them. Silence fell between us. I do 
 not know what he thinks about, and I am sure that if I 
 did know, it would not interest me. My relations 
 with him are only an interruption to my real life. We 
 eat and drink and sleep together, but to him all the 
 things that are dear to me are as though they were 
 not ; and to me he is one whose eyes are on the earth 
 and who never sees the stars. I remember the things 
 we used to talk about. Nothings. So our bodies move 
 along, side by side, and our souls have never, never 
 met." 
 
 There was a moment s silence. Vera rose and im 
 pulsively kissed her. 
 
 "I think I never minded it until lately. I did not 
 tniss love. I was too much occupied with other things. 
 
CARRYING TRUTH TO THE WOODS 187 
 
 Perhaps I might have tried harder to get it, if I had 
 known ; for lately I don t know why," a flush rose 
 to her cheeks, "life sometimes looks very empty. I 
 don t want you to make the same mistake. Now I 
 have done. Never remind me that I have said it. I 
 am afraid I have only made matters worse by formu 
 lating them. It is not easy for him, either. If he had 
 a wife who laughed and hadn t an idea, and thought 
 children were amusing playthings, he would be a hap 
 pier man. Nature punishes a mistake in marriage 
 more heavily than a crime." 
 
 She turned away and caught up a book any book. 
 It astonished her to find how all this tore and upset 
 her. She intended resolutely to thrust her recent 
 experiences with Mr. Kemyss into outer oblivion, and 
 to live as though they had never been ; but her mem 
 ory mastered her will. These things she could not tell 
 Vera. Her shame, her misery, worst of all, the un- 
 appeased hunger which increased upon her day by 
 day, she would keep to herself. They did not belong 
 to that serene-faced girl. 
 
 Vera, respecting her wish for silence, went back to 
 her desk, gathered her invitations and took them to a 
 servant to post, staring as she went at the unlucky 
 superscription, "Mr. Francis Lenox," the source of 
 all this outbreak. Fifteen minutes later, when she 
 
188 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 came back, Mrs. Lyell was moving about the room 
 with her usual placid smile. 
 
 "What I really came to speak of this morning, Vera, 
 is a new project of mine. Somewhere to the north of 
 us, among the big woods I should think, there is a 
 little town named Pine Vale. And it seems there are 
 fifteen or twenty women there who have formed a club 
 to study together. They have asked me to come up 
 and give them a little talk, to start them off, you know. 
 I propose to give them a lecture on modern poetry 
 next week, and I want you to go with me. It will 
 make the journey a delight if we can spend the time 
 together." 
 
 "Indeed and indeed, I shall be more than delighted 
 to go with you. How good you are to help people like 
 that, and what a dear you are !" 
 
 So it happened that, a week later, Vera walked im 
 patiently up and down the waiting room of the sta 
 tion, looking anxiously for Mrs. Lyell. A common 
 place man, who also walked the platform impatiently, 
 caught her attention, because they were evidently in 
 the same box, and she watched with interest a little 
 woman come hurrying in with a dress-suit case which 
 the man hastened to snatch as he eagerly kissed her. 
 
 "I knew you d get here in time," Vera heard him 
 say, with infinite satisfaction. 
 
CARRYING TRUTH TO THE WOODS 189 
 
 The train had long since been called, and a sonorous 
 "A-aw-awl aboard !" was echoing through the station, 
 as Mrs. Lyell came hurrying in with her hat a little 
 awry. Vera snatched her hand in silence and ran. A 
 friendly brakeman caught their arms and deftly jerked 
 them to the moving platform, and they found them 
 selves seated before they had exchanged a word. 
 
 The commonplace man Vera had noticed in the sta 
 tion sat in front of them. She could hear him volubly 
 conversing with another of his own type. 
 
 "Hadn t an idea of going north when I came down 
 town this morning, but I found a telegram waiting for 
 me. Only had twenty minutes to catch the train. I tele 
 phoned to my wife to pack my grip and meet me if 
 she could catch me before we pulled out. Well, she 
 got here. You bet she got here. She s a trump." 
 
 "It ain t any great thing to bring a bag to the sta 
 tion," said the other, unimpressed. 
 
 "No, it ain t anything great by itself; only it s just 
 like her. She s the kind that never fails a feller. She 
 never failed me yet in anything big or little. She is 
 the whole deck." 
 
 Vera began to take a real interest in the little 
 woman; but by this time she had gained her breath, 
 and she turned on Mrs. Lyell. 
 
 "It is fortunate I bought our tickets and seats in the 
 
190 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 Pullman. I thought you were surely going to miss 
 it." 
 
 Mrs. Lyell laughed easily. 
 
 "People shouldn t write such interesting books," she 
 said. "I was deep in Newness, and I meant to have 
 brought it with me, for I want you to read it, too 
 one of those books of pure inspiration. We are for 
 tunate in having so many of them nowadays. You 
 remember Xenophon or Herodotus or who was it ? 
 never mind telling of Xerxes remark that circum 
 stances rule men, and not men circumstances? Well, 
 this writer shows how the progress of civilization is 
 the conquest by man of the world outside of him 
 self, how more and more he rules circumstances in 
 stead of circumstances ruling him. It is just in ac 
 cord with my idea, that when we have wholly mastered 
 the material world it is to us as if it were not. We 
 can afford to ignore it. We are really the creators 
 of a new world." 
 
 "Goodness, Jean," Vera interrupted irrelevantly, 
 "what is the matter with your dress? It s all torn 
 around the facing." 
 
 "Dear me, so it is !" She looked down in amused 
 dismay. "You see I was reading up to the last mo 
 ment, and I quite forgot the time, so I had to dress 
 in a great hurry. And just as I was hastily packing 
 
CARRYING TRUTH TO THE WOODS 191 
 
 my bag, I ran a needle into my finger. I am afraid 
 that is what has made this horrid blood-stain on my 
 sleeve. And then I had to hurry for a car, and just 
 as I was getting in I found, to my dismay, that I had 
 forgotten my gloves. I hope you have an extra pair 
 with you that you can lend me ; and I suppose I must 
 have stepped on my dress and torn the binding." 
 
 "You ought to have let me call for you, as I pro 
 posed. Have you another dress in your case?" Vera 
 asked anxiously. "You can t get up and speak to 
 those women with your dress stained and torn." 
 
 "I m afraid I haven t. I brought only my night 
 things." 
 
 "Well, perhaps we can get your dress mended ; and 
 I have another silk waist that may do. If it won t 
 fasten around you perhaps we can pin it and put some 
 lace in front," said Vera sadly. Then she could not 
 restrain her laughter. 
 
 "Jean," she said, "don t you think you would have 
 mastered circumstances better this time, if you had 
 got ready a little earlier?" 
 
 Mrs. Lyell answered her laugh with unruffled good- 
 humor, which showed her self-poise undisturbed. 
 
 "You ve rather caught me, haven t you? But I 
 dare say I shall do very well." 
 
 "Perhaps, thanks to my extra waist," Vera an- 
 
192 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 swered laconically. But in her heart of hearts she 
 knew that her friend would do very well. What mat 
 tered a frayed skirt, when Eugenia faced her audi 
 ence ? Vera seemed to see the pathetic faces, as she had 
 seen them before, the faces of women whose lives had 
 been hard-worked and half-starved and who now, in 
 middle age, awoke to the craving that was in them 
 for something better. They were pathetic because they 
 could never get it because nothing that comes later 
 compensates for the atmosphere of childhood. 
 
 There was once a woman who sat down one after 
 noon and read, for the first time, the whole of 
 Macaulay s Lays, with the foot-notes and the prefa 
 tory chapters which explained their allusions and 
 pointed out their excellences. When she had finished 
 her task, she said, "Well, really I can not see how 
 these poems have gained their reputation. I find them 
 wearisome." And the man who, when he was ten 
 years old, had learned Horatius by heart, and stamped 
 up and down his room roaring it at the top of his 
 passionate young lungs, with swingings of arms and 
 legs, and with desperate lunges with unseen swords, 
 the man opened his lips to answer, but shut them 
 again. And there was once a little girl who lay flat 
 on her small stomach upon the grass under an apple- 
 tree, and saw Una with her lion, saw the host of false 
 
CARRYING TRUTH TO THE WOODS 193 
 
 Duessa, saw all those rainbow-hued creatures, half- 
 man, half-fairy, pass in shadowy beauty before the 
 thicket of greenery that hedged her in. She skipped 
 the words she did not know and it never even oc 
 curred to her to wonder which character represented 
 Queen Elizabeth, and which Sir Philip. But dragons 
 stained the grass with their blood, enchantresses 
 slipped their magic mantles and stood revealed in 
 unimagined hideousness, heroes fought and shouted 
 and clashed swords to rescue maidens with flowing 
 hair, right there where the little clenched hand could 
 have reached out and touched them. No college stu 
 dent, cramming his Spenser and analyzing the alle 
 gory, ever saw that aerial vision. 
 
 There is infinite pathos about those who, having 
 missed the vision splendid in their youth, are trying 
 to reproduce its misty elusiveness in the common light 
 of day. Pity those who did not get the luscious ro 
 mance of the Eve of St. Agnes while romance still 
 pulsed in their own blood, but now listen in a closed 
 room to a lecture on Keats. In mature years that be 
 comes a mere crust of information which to the child 
 is the heart of life. 
 
 So these women would look at this Eugenia, with her 
 big luminous eyes, her particularly soft skin and her 
 mobile tremulous mouth, with something between ad- 
 
194 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 oration and envy. She was an illumination, because 
 she was steeped in light, but somehow she made their 
 darkness more visible to themselves. They could 
 never attain to that wealth of thought and experience 
 that was second nature to her. To awaken this emo 
 tion was Mrs. Lyell s mission to her sex. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 PINE VALE 
 
 After the desolate villages thrown together on the 
 plain, Pine Vale looked fair indeed to Lenox s eyes. It 
 was a cheerful little town with a touch of New England 
 refinement and New England comfort brought west 
 ward with the village that had migrated in a solid 
 body from the old home, bringing with it the school 
 master and the minister along with wives, babies and 
 stock. It seemed better, after all, to feel a little 
 crowded, to live in a valley, cut by a stream that made 
 a great noise about its work of carving out rock and 
 stone, that splashed and laughed and surged, drown 
 ing out the softer swishing of the pines. 
 
 It rested Frank s spirit to light on a spot where 
 thrift mingled with repose. It was like a touch of 
 home after the indifference to beauty, the barn-yard 
 hugging the front door, of the average foreign-born 
 settler. That was a life where crops alone counted, 
 and where sweet content and home delight were not 
 
 195 
 
196 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 reckoned the peasant point of view, - imported and 
 Americanized by craze for the almighty dollar. And 
 yet, perhaps Lenox judged too quickly, mindful, as 
 men are apt to be, of the phase which he saw, and not 
 of that which lay before and of that which is to come 
 hereafter. In another generation, when the little Ole 
 and Christina are taking prizes in the schools for En 
 glish composition, new ideals of life begin to creep in. 
 
 Of all the wonderful energies of this good land, 
 there is none greater than that by which, in her vi 
 tality, she transforms men of all bloods of the earth 
 into Americans, whose children sing, "Land where my 
 fathers died," with the same confidence as those whose 
 ancestors fought at Bunker Hill. Be that as it may, 
 the voice of a woman singing John Brown s Body in 
 the kitchen of a tiny cottage next to the hotel, almost 
 brought tears to Lenox s eyes. The song seemed to 
 stand for all that was born in him, and lay nearest 
 to his heart. 
 
 Breakfast at Valkyrie was already a matter of an 
 cient history, and the appetite of the pines and the 
 plains combined was upon him, but even as he turned 
 toward the white-curtained door that bore the alluring 
 word, "Restaurant," a big wagon came whirling down 
 the street. Two horses, evidently just making up 
 their minds and spirits for a runaway, pounded wildly 
 
PINE VALE 197 
 
 along. A string of packages, a broken bag of flour 
 belching forth its unhappy contents, flying apples and 
 demoralized bananas strewed the road. Behind them, 
 rushing from the store, came a burly farmer, snorting 
 and puffing, and pouring forth a string of oaths meant 
 to appal the imagination of the steeds, whether they 
 considered themselves Swedish or American. Lenox 
 sprang at the horses heads and hung on. He was bat 
 tered back and forth, and banged behind and before, 
 but his grip held. Gradually the team slowed up and 
 he found himself glad to put one foot gingerly to the 
 earth. The puffing man of flesh drew near, waving 
 great red hands like the flappers of a windmill, but 
 his face now beamed with rosy sweat. 
 
 "Dam horses, Ay tank Ay kill dam !" he gasped ex 
 citedly. 
 
 "Why, man, they re splendid horses! It s the best 
 team I ve seen since I came to Minnesota. You don t 
 think any the worse of them for having some blood 
 in them, do you?" said Lenox. 
 
 "You bat! Ay gif more for dam horses dan anny 
 man in Minturn! Shake hands, young fallar. You 
 know a good horse van you sees him. An you stop 
 him too!" he roared with mingled appreciation of his 
 own wit and admiration of his horses. "Ay mooch 
 tank you. You coom vit me. You must ban tirsty." 
 
I 9 8 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 "Thank you, I m not so much thirsty as hungry. I 
 think I ll try for food rather than drink," said Frank. 
 
 "Foot ! Vat is foot ? A man only eats stuff so as 
 to keep hamself alife so hay can drink. Hay? You 
 bat!" 
 
 The amiable stranger gave Frank a ponderous dig. 
 
 "You are evidently a man who thinks," said Lenox. 
 
 "Ay know vat Ay know. You stop my horses ; Ay 
 gif you trink." 
 
 Frank, suspecting that this was the long-sought 
 Sven, followed in his steps. 
 
 "I wonder if your name happens to be Sven Sven- 
 son," he began as they picked up the parcels in com 
 pany. 
 
 "Coom now, young fallar, no yokin . You know 
 pooty well, af my name ban Ole Olson nor Petar 
 Petarson, it got to ban Sven Svenson. Don t you gat 
 funny." 
 
 The broad honest face now 1 wore quite a belligerent 
 look. No man likes to have his name bandied lightly 
 about. 
 
 "You are quite mistaken, Mr. Svenson. I m not in 
 clined to joke. I guessed it because I was told that 
 Svenson was the best farmer in Minturn, and I thought 
 by the looks of those horses of yours that you 
 must be the man I was looking for." 
 
PINE VALE 199 
 
 At the mention of the horses, good humor was re 
 stored. A ponderous hand slapped him on the back. 
 
 "Af dar ban annyting Ay lak, it ban a horse. Back 
 in ol country, Ay use look at anny man vat gat a 
 horse and vish Ay gat van too*. Dat vas van Ay ban 
 yoost leetle fallar. Ay nefer tank dan Ay afer own a 
 spankin big team lak dat." 
 
 The big Swede was so fresh and wholesome that 
 Lenox yielded to his charms at once. It was impos 
 sible to see him expand his wide mouth and show his 
 huge white teeth without smiling in return. He had 
 the shrewdness of the Yankee, but not his energy, for 
 this man s vigor was not nervous, but of the phleg 
 matic Norse kind that wins its way by doggedness, 
 Frank prolonged the drink he did not want, to listen 
 to his serene good sense and to learn many new things. 
 In half an hour they were old friends ; but Lenox so 
 entirely forgot business that it startled him when 
 Svenson rose, or rather lifted his huge person, and 
 returned to his muttons. Then the grain man reap 
 peared. 
 
 Before the interview closed, Svenson said: 
 
 "Vail, you ban pooty goot fallar. Ay ain t got 
 mooch use for most of dase man vat coom to me 
 about grain. Day are too slick. Day tank day know 
 all about business, and us farmers is yoost vaitin to 
 
200 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 haf dam pull vool ofer our eyes. Day know too 
 mooch. Ay lak to do business vit you because you 
 don t tank you know a whole heap more dan the naxt 
 fallar. You hold up my horses, perhaps you can 
 hold up price of my wheat." He particularly en 
 joyed Frank s appreciation of his wit. 
 
 "Ay ban shippin to van of dase big firms. Day gat 
 awful rich out of us farmers, dase fallars. Ay yoost 
 try a little firm lak yours, dat hasn t gat big-had so 
 mooch." 
 
 Lenox winked, lest in some way Svenson should 
 read the name of Windsor in his guilty eyes. 
 
 Half-starved, but happy, at noon he sought the 
 hotel with a feeling that Uncle Remus would describe 
 as "complacy." Svenson was not only the owner of a 
 bonanza farm, but also the president of a farmers ele 
 vator company that could pour thousands of bushels 
 into the open hands of the company of St. Pierre. 
 Lenox felt that he had this day done his first big 
 "stroke" of business so big that it insured the suc 
 cess of his whole trip. He was entitled to an hour 
 of repose and a serene smoke. He realized of a sud 
 den that an hour of quiet was a thing he had not had 
 since the train deposited him on the platform at Mexico. 
 He recalled with some amusement Lyell s description 
 of the strenuous life of the traveling man. And there 
 
PINE VALE 201 
 
 before him, by the commonest of coincidences, sat the 
 man to whom his thoughts were that moment return 
 ing. Lyell was contentedly eating true New England 
 baked beans, served by a lank, pleasant-visaged Ver 
 mont woman. 
 
 Lenox strode across the room with his face aglow. 
 The bean-devourer looked like an old friend. 
 
 "It does my heart good to see a man whose name 
 does not end in son, " he exclaimed. 
 
 "So, so, my lad, you ve exhausted the fascinations 
 of the Viking breed already?" 
 
 Ah, how good boiled beef and cabbage after the 
 leathern steak of the prairie, and how agreeable the 
 nasal twang of the waitress ! 
 
 "You and I are both a little out of our beaten track, 
 aren t we?" asked Lyell. "Have you gone into lum 
 ber instead of grain?" 
 
 "No, but I have gone after the lumber man !" Lenpx 
 laughed and opened up his most recent chapter of 
 history. Lyell watched his eager face and warmed to 
 him. 
 
 "I know your man," he said. "He s the good healthy 
 sort, whose blood strengthens our national sinews. 
 I m glad you ve got hold of him. I m glad you are 
 making a success of yourself. I might have known 
 you would," he added thoughtfully. "I might have 
 
202 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 known you would. You ve got the right mixture in 
 you." 
 
 "What do you think is the recipe for me?" Lenox 
 asked, amused. 
 
 "Pluck plus joy, my lad. It s all right. I m glad to 
 count you as a friend." He put out his hand and the 
 young man took it warmly, flushing with pleasure. 
 
 "Come now," he said, "return my confidences. Why 
 are you in Pine Vale?" 
 
 "If you knew, you d call me a fool, so I think I ll 
 keep it to myself." 
 
 "You just called me a friend. Do you think it is the 
 part of friendship to call another a fool?" 
 
 Lyell smoked in silence for a moment, then he 
 looked up with an expression of self-abandonment. 
 
 "I ll tell you, fool or no fool," he said. "I came to 
 see my wife." 
 
 "Why, is she here?" 
 
 "I picked up a copy of the St. Etienne News the 
 other day and saw that, she was to speak here to-day. 
 That s the way I hear of her movements," he said a 
 little bitterly. "And the sight of her name and the 
 thought of her set me crazy to see her. That s the 
 kind of an idiot I am, though she gave me her cheek 
 and not her lips to kiss when I came away." 
 
 There was another long pause. Lenox felt ill at 
 
PINE VALE 205 
 
 ease, and very inexperienced in the ways of husbands 
 and wives. 
 
 "She needn t see me," said Lyell at length. 
 
 "But why shouldn t she?" 
 
 "She thinks I am as indifferent to her as she is to 
 me, and her very coldness makes it impossible for me 
 to tell her otherwise. But she needn t know that I ve 
 crept here like a whipped dog, just to catch a glimpse 
 
 of her." 
 "Nonsense! Go and make yourself agreeable. She l 
 
 take it for granted that you re here on business, and 
 she ll be glad to see your familiar face. She ll like 
 it if you can do something to entertain her in this 
 dull little hole. That s what I d do," said Lenox. 
 
 "I dare say you would, though I believe every man 
 is desperately afraid of the woman he loves at least 
 until he is sure that she loves him. But it s your na 
 ture to make every hole that has an opportunity in it 
 a little larger, and it s my nature to make it smaller. 
 I m an onlooker and not a doer. I ought to be any 
 where except in the West soliciting grain, and I ought 
 to be anything and everything except the husband of 
 Jean Lyell." 
 
 "Well, try my method this time." 
 "Perhaps I will. It s done me good to talk to you 
 anyway. I have never managed to say so much be- 
 
204 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 fore. Everybody knows the situation too well, but 
 you well, it was easier to speak to a man who didn t 
 know." 
 
 The two men lingered long in the cleanly little 
 smoking-room, not saying much, but enjoying the 
 sense of companionship with their own kind. They 
 were startled by the entrance of a tall girl with a 
 lamp. She looked singularly gray and ghastly. Lenox 
 started in dismay. 
 
 "Is it so late ?" he cried. "I ought to have taken the 
 afternoon train. Have I missed it?" 
 
 "It s not late, sir." He saw by his watch that she 
 spoke truly. 
 
 "But it s so dark. I thought maybe you d like a 
 light. Do you suppose there s something wrong? Do 
 you think we re going to have a cyclone?" 
 
 Her voice sank to a whisper at the last words, and 
 she lingered, evidently glad of an excuse to keep near 
 to company. 
 
 Lenox and Lyell moved together to the window. 
 The whole world seemed to have turned to a somber 
 gray that was almost brown. A deep, deep hush lay 
 on everything. Only an occasional spurt of wind 
 licked up the dust and sent it flying in a long swirl 
 down the street. The silence of the outer world fell 
 on the two men and the girl. It was impossible to 
 
PINE VALE 205 
 
 speak. Their tongues dried to the tops of their 
 mouths, and their limbs grew tense and rigid, as they 
 stood at the window motionless. Terror, vague and 
 unreasoning, held them. Lyell swallowed a lump with 
 difficulty, and spoke with an effort, in a voice that 
 came from miles away. "There s certainly nothing 
 cyclonic about this." 
 
 The hush grew more oppressive, and the air murk 
 ier and heavier. Their heart-beats suffocated them. 
 A long shriek of wind rose and fell on the silence; 
 and behind it, with whirling gown and uplifted hand 
 that gleamed an unearthly white in the dusky air, there 
 blew a Roman Catholic priest. 
 
 "If you love your lives, save them !" His voice was 
 clear and steady as a bell, but instinct with terror. 
 
 "To the river ! To the river ! Leave all you have ! 
 The forest is on fire !" 
 
 The rapt heroic face swept on, and the sonorous 
 tones echoed back, "Run to the river! Leave every 
 thing!" 
 
 And now where had been silence was pandemonium. 
 A great tongue of flame leaped from the clouds and 
 lit the world in an instant s glare more hideous than 
 darkness. The sky which had been brown was of 
 blood. Then a blinding fog of smoke shut out the 
 universe. Another instant and the very firmament 
 
206 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 reeled and crashed. Great balls of fire shot out of 
 nowhere and exploded in a rain of lights as though 
 the heavens were cannonading the earth. With a 
 rumble as though an invisible express train were pass 
 ing overhead, the wind rose, roaring, shrieking, wail 
 ing; and off to the southwest, far to left and far to 
 right, an angry red glare flamed out its menace that 
 mighty army of fire, of which the snarling spheres were 
 but the van. 
 
 Before they knew that they had moved, the men 
 found themselves in the street. The horror had come 
 so quickly that it had almost taken away the power of 
 thought ; but, led by an animal-like instinct, the whole 
 population of the little town was out of doors, sweep 
 ing downward toward the river, a half-crazed train of 
 souls, like one of Dante s mournful bands, fleeing, 
 with cries that rose above the whirlwind, before the 
 din of storm. Women covered their eyes as they ran, 
 to shut out fate. Faces looked white, even in the red 
 air. Lenox seized a child, half-trampled by the mad 
 throng. Before an open door stood a tall man with 
 his hands in his pockets. He looked out coolly at the 
 hurrying figures and his calmness brought the fugi 
 tives to an instant s halt. 
 
 A frightened wife peered over his shoulder and 
 made some desperate effort to push him before her. 
 
FINE VALE 207 
 
 "Keep still, Hannah. We aren t in any danger. 
 There s plenty of water in the butts," he said. 
 
 "Howard," some one called, "ain t you goin to the 
 water? The town will be afire in a minute !" 
 
 "The town is perfectly safe. The country is cleared 
 all about us. Your own homes are the safest places you 
 can find." But his last words were screamed at the 
 backs of those who would not wait for argument but 
 were dashing madly on. 
 
 In the middle of the road the crowd divided around 
 a wagon, and on the farther side Lenox found his new 
 friend, Svenson, loosening his big team. The horses 
 kicked and plunged, but the good farmer willingly 
 risked his own life, rather than lose his most precious 
 possessions. 
 
 "Here, Lyell, take this baby!" shouted Lenox. 
 "Now, Svenson, whip off your coat and tie it over your 
 horse s head so that he can t see !" He was pulling off 
 his own as he spoke, and in an instant the two beasts 
 followed their master s guiding hand as he glanced 
 fearfully above him and behind him, but never re 
 laxed his vigilance, picking his way and theirs down 
 the rough bank, where men, women, and children were 
 slipping and tumbling into the blessed safety of cold 
 water. The banks were abrupt and jagged with stones, 
 they were slippery with moss and fern, but no one 
 
208 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 stopped to consider bruises. Here the stream lay in 
 smooth stretches, there in deep pools, and beyond it 
 whirled and eddied. It made no difference, so long as 
 one got into the flood. 
 
 Lenox was struggling under the weight of a second 
 child who clung, half-strangling him, about his neck, 
 and the mother beside him, carrying her baby, be 
 sought him in anguish : 
 
 "You won t drop him, will you, sir? I don t know 
 where my husband is. He would take the children. 
 But you won t let the boy go, will you, sir ?" 
 
 "If I get there alive myself, the boy shall get there, 
 too," he answered shortly. 
 
 A woman, whose strength had failed her, hung, a 
 dead weight upon his arm. She opened her eyes as 
 the chill of the waters struck her, and he dragged her 
 into midstream. 
 
 "Don t faint!" he shouted in her ear. "You may 
 drown !" 
 
 "Ah, but my children !" she moaned, "they were at 
 school when it came and I was afraid to go back for 
 them ! My little babies ! and my man !" 
 
 She stood rigid in the water, with eyes closed, lost 
 in intolerable anguish. Lenox pushed her up against 
 a stone, to shelter her against the strength of the cur 
 rent which swept along with considerable speed. 
 
PINE VALE 209 
 
 A man with two tots in his arms, and a third drag 
 ging at his coat, made careful haste down the bank, 
 but at the water s edge the child on foot halted and 
 let go her hold. 
 
 "Lena, Lena !" cried the father. "Come to the water, 
 come ! Look, I am holding little Jack and Nora to 
 keep them safe. I have not a hand to pull you in. Come 
 yourself." 
 
 But Lena sobbed and looked back, and feared the 
 rushing stream at her feet more than the fire that had 
 not yet reached her. 
 
 "Mind me, Lena. Come at once." The father s 
 voice was harsh with imperative, fearful love. 
 
 A gust of bitter smoke swept down, and the faces 
 peeping above the stream gasped and fought for 
 breath. They plunged under the flood for relief from 
 the sting, and came up again for relief from suffoca 
 tion. 
 
 A man came running from the opposite side of the 
 river, threw himself with a mad splash in midstream, 
 and, fairly gasping in the intensity of his fear, paddled 
 rapidly from one group to another. 
 
 "My wife! Has anybody seen my wife?" he asked 
 afresh, not waiting for the reply which his own hag 
 gard eyes could give him. He drew off by himself, 
 teeth chattering, eyes glaring, mouth set in rigid seams. 
 
210 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 A shout of something that sounded like triumph 
 rose from the miserable water-girded refugees. Look 
 ing shoreward, Lenox saw a young woman driving 
 before her a herd of children. Like silly sheep they 
 ran, without knowing why or where, crying, stum 
 bling ; and with arms outspread, she ran behind, while 
 a big collie bounded around, barking furiously as he 
 rounded in the flock and kept them in a compact mass. 
 The school-mistress face was that of a madonna. Oc 
 casionally she dashed at some burning scrap of dress, 
 and tore it from the running child. Sobs of ecstasy 
 rose from the stream, as eager hands reached out and 
 dragged the helpless children in. 
 
 The flabby creature, leaning on Lenox s arm, opened 
 her eyes and a flash of color swept over her face. In 
 an instant she was caressing, under water, the bodies 
 of two mites, whose faces, streaked with soot, were to 
 her eyes beautiful above those of the angels. "Nero! 
 Nero!" called the father, who plead in vain with his 
 little girl. The dog turned his friendly eyes. 
 
 "Bring Lena into the water ! Good dog !" 
 
 The faithful collie, with singed fur, made again f-or 
 the bank, caught the little dress, and dragged the child 
 to safety, keeping, after he got her there, a tight grip 
 on her clothes, while he blinked encouragement at her. 
 
 Farther up stream, near the waterfall, a man came 
 
PINE VALE 2ir 
 
 running out of the woodland, his hand laid on the 
 neck of a doe, which, in the hour of peril, had forgot 
 ten her natural fears, and sought companionship in 
 danger. Man and beast tumbled in together. 
 
 "Great heavens! Even the tamarack swamps are 
 afire. I thought they were safe. I ve been running over 
 burning logs as if they were sidewalks. I don t know 
 whether my feet are burned off or not." 
 
 "It is the Day of Judgment," said a solemn voice be 
 hind. "This isn t just a forest fire. Look at those balls 
 of light flying through the air. God is destroying the 
 world for its iniquities. This is our last hour on earth. 
 We shall soon be face to face with Him !" 
 
 A family huddled in a back eddy started a hymn in 
 high quavering voices. To most men God never seems 
 so near as when His hand is lifted in menace. 
 
 "There goes Howard s house !" cried a voice. "His 
 water-butts didn t save him !" 
 
 Sobs and prayers and cries for mercy rose from the 
 water, and the shrill hymn added a weird terror to 
 pain. 
 
 The smoke drifted in streaks, and when it came there 
 was silence, except for gasps. When it passed there 
 was air to breathe once more, though air that stung 
 and burned. 
 
 From the town, mingled with savage hissings, came 
 
212 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 the dying wails of those who, trusting to the clearing 
 around them, started too late, only to stumble and fall, 
 never to rise. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 CAUGHT 
 
 "The train look ! The train from the south !" was 
 shouted in Lenox s ear. 
 
 Instantly every eye was turned down stream to 
 watch a new drama in the fight between death and 
 man s courage and presence of mind. A skeleton-like 
 railroad bridge of steel spanned the river just where 
 the banks grew most narrow and precipitous. On the 
 south side there was no possibility of crawling down 
 the steep rocks. The roadway by which the villagers 
 had escaped their doom was too far from the track for 
 those in the train to hope to reach it in the face of the 
 flame, but on the farther northern bank a few ragged 
 projections made something like a pathway. The 
 northward-bound express, cut off from retreat by an 
 unexpected arm of fire, now sped forward, stopping 
 as long as it dared at each tiny woodland station to 
 pick up the frenzied wretches who rushed toward it 
 as their only means of escape. Now it was black and 
 
 213 
 
214 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 crowded, and the flames had gained upon it, until 
 further flight was out of the question. The whirling- 
 fire reached to heaven, and the earth seemed dyed in 
 blood. The very sides of the cars burst out here and 
 there with the red horror, or grew ominously black 
 and charred. 
 
 Inside those chariots of destruction reigned the an 
 guish of the damned : there were prayers and oaths and 
 frozen silences. Those on their knees were in danger 
 of being trampled upon by others whom fear drove to 
 pacing frenzy, like that of a tiger in a cage. If only 
 all the energy of the mad passengers could be put into 
 the engine, which already strained its every nerve in 
 the race ! 
 
 Amid smoke and cinders, with now and again a 
 glimpse of a great whirl of flame, the train plowed its 
 way through the stifling heat. Sometimes it quivered 
 and rocked as it passed over a shaking culvert ; some 
 times it lurched over a fallen branch of fire, righted 
 itself resolutely, and sped ever on. 
 
 The bursting of window-glass, the hungry lapping 
 of flames through the broken panes, the breaking out 
 of fresh fires, mingled with the screams and the re 
 coiling terror of the passengers. At each succeeding 
 station, some of those within cursed and pleaded with 
 the conductor not to stop, and some of those without 
 
CAUGHT 215 
 
 prayed him to wait yet a little longer for their loved 
 ones. To each and all he answered unmoved : 
 
 "I must save every life I can. I will not risk the 
 train-load by staying too long." 
 
 On which side was mercy, and on which side jus 
 tice ? Had he not waited too long ? He held at bay the 
 madness that dogged his responsibility. 
 
 Two brakemen, like the Great Twin Brethren, he 
 roic, if not so beautiful, stood holding their lanterns 
 on the tender, as the locomotive moved through the 
 unearthly dusky glare. The water in the engine began 
 to give out. And now the fiery cyclone was close upon 
 them. In the fierce screaming of the red whirlwind, in 
 the wild music of crashing forest trees k pseaned its 
 victory over the children of a day. 
 
 The Pine Vale bridge rose before them. If they 
 could reach the other side of the bridge, the freight of 
 humanity might tumble down the banks into the 
 stream. The engineer peered anxiously forward by 
 the light of the man-held lights. He knew that the ties 
 on the bridge must be on fire. Which was best, to 
 await the swift flame, or to be dashed to destruction 
 down craggy rocks and into whirling waters? At the 
 head of the bridge stood the little cubby-house of the 
 watchman, and the engineer saw his welcome lantern 
 wave the signal, "Bridge all right ! Go ahead !" 
 
216 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 The last bit of steam, the expiring breath of the 
 dying engine, breathed forth. Slowly, slowly, the train 
 moved across the shaking spider-web of iron, not 
 hastily, though death were tearing onward from be 
 hind. Safety comes to him who dares to take time. 
 The bridge swayed and trembled, but held for its last 
 service. 
 
 And the watchman what of him? Greater love 
 hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for 
 his friend. But what of him who lays down his life, 
 not for a friend, but for a multitude of fellow creatures 
 who are to him nameless, and who shall never know 
 his name? The watchman s charred body was found 
 next day at his post. 
 
 From below, the huddled wretches watched with 
 fascinated eyes the crawl of the train across the bridge 
 all except the mother purring over her recovered 
 babies, and the man with the chattering teeth, the one 
 absorbed in her joy, the other in his misery. 
 
 On the platform of the parlor car stood the colored 
 porter, beating down the flames on the outside of his 
 doorway with wet towels which some one inside dipped 
 in the water-cooler and handed to him in relays. The 
 flames scorched his black cheek and singed his curly 
 hair. It was a slender girlish figure that Lenox saw 
 through the smoke wreaths as she came out through 
 
CAUGHT 217 
 
 the door to hand the dusky hero a fresh batch of drip 
 ping cloths. Those two were doing what they could 
 while pandemonium reigned within and the steady 
 nerves of conductor and engineer guided their des 
 tinies. Those who could do something kept their self- 
 control; those with nothing to think of except their 
 own safety, jeopardized that. 
 
 "Those people are crazy! Half of them will be 
 killed, getting down this steep bank !" 
 
 Lenox heard the words. He turned and looked at 
 the speaker in a dazed way, and then moved toward 
 Lyell, startled at the new anguish in the face of his 
 friend. 
 
 "What is it?" he cried. 
 "My wife, she is there !" 
 
 "Come then ! We will go up and help her and the 
 others down!" 
 
 Lenox roughly shook him out of his torpor, and the 
 two men scrambled out of their cover and wrenched 
 their way up the rocks. A greedy hand of solid flame 
 stretched itself across the bridge toward the last car, 
 just missed its prey; and the spans of iron curled and 
 hissed and lost their hold on the shore. The train 
 was safely across. 
 
 On the platform, pushed to its edge by the crowd 
 behind her, stood the girl who had helped the porter. 
 
218 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 The train slowed to a standstill, and her eyes lit with 
 a sudden relief as the two wet men ran toward her. 
 
 "Mr. Lyell ! Your wife is in this car ! I am afraid 
 she has fainted. Can you get in to help her ?" She was 
 calling as the train still moved along, dragging its last 
 cars over the tottering bridge. 
 
 "Vera!" 
 
 It was an intimate way of addressing a young lady 
 whom he was seeing for the third time, but Lenox did 
 not think of that. 
 
 "Vera, you here! Jump quickly, I will keep you 
 from falling!" 
 
 "I am not afraid, Mr. Lenox," she said quietly, as 
 he steadied her and others came springing behind her. 
 "Ah, but do something to help these terrified people, 
 or they will dash themselves on the rocks !" 
 
 She stood beside him at the top of the craggy path 
 way which was soon lined by men handing to one an 
 other the frightened creatures descending. The sight 
 of the quiet girl at the head of the line acted like magic 
 on other women. They grew calm like herself. 
 
 Lenox motioned imperatively to her, but she shook 
 her head. Even while he worked, Lenox found time 
 to steal a look at her pale self-contained face and 
 to bless her for the order that she helped to create. 
 
 The flame caught her veil and she quietly tore it off 
 
CAUGHT 219 
 
 and threw it from her. Her dress blazed up in one 
 spot, and she smiled as Lenox sprang at it and crushed 
 it between his hands. 
 
 "For God s sake, Miss Windsor, go down now ! All 
 the women are down. Come, we may both go." 
 
 She heaved a great sigh, and put her hand in his to 
 be guided down into the bath of life. It had all taken 
 the briefest instant. Men wasted no time in words, 
 but the organization of the descent was as swift and 
 accurate as though it had bee n planned beforehand. 
 
 Meanwhile Lyell had been fighting at the car door. 
 There was no stemming the outrushing stream of peo 
 ple, yet he must go mad or get in to that one woman 
 who did not come out. His passion was impotent 
 against the struggling throng. He stepped back for 
 an instant, then caught the frame of a broken window, 
 and though the spars of glass tore his hands, swung 
 himself up and clambered in. The car was almost 
 empty, but alone, crouched in a corner, white, staring, 
 nerveless, cowered his wife. 
 
 "Ned !" she gasped. 
 
 "Come, Jean !" 
 
 He caught her hand and she rose unsteadily to her 
 feet. A long pennon of fire hissed in at the window, 
 and she drew back with a shriek. 
 
 "I can t ! I can t face it !" She clung to him. 
 
220 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 i 
 
 "One moment more may make it too late! Don t 
 throw away both our lives!" 
 
 "I can t go out into that sea of fire ! I would rather 
 die here!" Lyell looked around in a fury. Every one 
 else was in safety, and the flames were upon them. 
 The memory of Svenson s horses came to him with a 
 kind of bitter humor. He tore off his coat, still wet 
 from the river, flung it over his wife s head, and 
 caught her in his arms. 
 
 How he got out of the car, how the devil of anguish 
 wrapped his face and hands as he fought his way 
 through, he felt as in a nightmare. His eyes seemed 
 to boil in his head ; he heard the crackling of his hair ; 
 he heard his wife s moan inside of her damp prison 
 house. At least her soft flesh was not cooking on the 
 bones. 
 
 There was a lurch, a splash, a whirl of waters, a 
 feeling of lifting hands, and the intolerable anguish 
 of his burns. His eyes were covered now by the 
 scorched and aching lids. They had .lasted long 
 enough to win her safety. The voices of his wife, of 
 Miss Windsor, of Lenox, sounded far off and thin as 
 in a dream. Pain absorbed all his senses. He sat in 
 the water, and some one dashed it over the mass of 
 stings that had been his face. Some one was sob 
 bing. He gradually became aware of it. 
 
CAUGHT 221 
 
 "Ned!" he heard a low whisper. "Ned, you are a 
 hero and I am a coward ! I shall love and worship you 
 as long as I live if you care for the love of such a 
 poor creature as I am." 
 
 He forgot the pain and joined in her sobs. Their 
 hands met, two warm delicious spots, under the cold 
 flow of waters. With his charred face shapeless and 
 unhuman for the rest of his days, in the mud of the 
 river-bottom, chin deep in flood, Ned Lyell sat per 
 fectly happy. His wife beside him forgot terror in 
 the wave of love and humility that swept over her 
 for the first time. 
 
 "To think I never knew ! I never understood !" she 
 kept repeating. 
 
 Overhead long flames leaped the chasm of the 
 stream, burning branches blew through the dyed air 
 or fell hissing into the water, bursting balls exploded 
 into a thousand sky-rockets as though Titans were at 
 play with the elements. With groanings and crash- 
 ings the age-old forests passed through their death 
 agonies ; and the red whirlwind swept onward until 
 the blessed barrenness of the prairie should give it 
 pause for lack of food to feed on. Following the 
 hurricane there came a gentle rain of flame. Flecks 
 of fire like snow-flakes fell softly and unceasingly. In 
 the intense heat the houses nearest the river seemed 
 
222 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 not to burn but to melt. Their walls dropped to the 
 ground in a molten stream, showing for a flash the 
 rooms within with all their furnishings; then the 
 core disappeared too. Grateful for the greater cool 
 ness in the river channel, the wretches watched it apa 
 thetically, too tired to talk. They sprinkled water on 
 each other s heads and they crouched close together 
 to keep from dropping in exhaustion. 
 
 "You are the most wonderful girl I ever saw. I be 
 lieve you were not frightened for a moment," Lenox 
 said, watching, fascinated, the matted masses of Vera s 
 hair and the drops that trickled from his ringers over 
 her face. It was like a fairy tale that she and he 
 should be so closely bound in this common experience* 
 
 "Were you frightened ?" 
 
 "Oh, well, I am a man." 
 
 "I don t believe your sex has any monopoly of 
 bravery." 
 
 "Neither do I." 
 
 "Then I will confess to you that I was horribly 
 frightened," she said whimsically. "But you know I 
 have the blood of Indian chiefs in my veins. It would 
 be a pity if I disgraced them by losing my self- 
 control." 
 
 "Self-control, the Greeks said, is the highest of all 
 virtues, and comprehends all others." 
 
CAUGHT 223 
 
 "The idea of quoting the Greeks when we are soak 
 ing here !" she exclaimed. "Besides," she went on, "I 
 think there is something better than self-control, 
 such self-sacrifice, for instance, as a man may show 
 by leaving his own place of safety and coming to help 
 others in jeopardy. Such men deserve all the good 
 things of life." 
 
 She glanced at him half shyly, and her eyes traveled 
 on to Lyell, seared but blissful. 
 
 "Put your head down. Here comes the flame! 
 Look, here is a flat stone at just about the right depth. 
 Let me move you, so that you can sit on it and be not 
 quite so cramped. And the water is less cold over here 
 in this back eddy." 
 
 "How good it is to cast all the responsibility on you ! 
 On the train I felt as if I were rigid from head to foot 
 with anxiety. Now it seems to be your business 
 whether we live or die, not mine ; and I am free to be 
 quite comfortable." 
 
 "I m glad you trust me to that extent. See here, 
 Miss Windsor, I used my coat for some one else, but 
 if you ll let me put this wet waistcoat over your head 
 it will keep your hair from scorching and save your 
 ducking so often." 
 
 He rose to his feet and began taking it off during a 
 lull in the red rain. 
 
224 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 "I will take out my pocketbook, however," he said. , 
 "Although I know no way of keeping it dry." 
 
 She was looking up at him and he could not resist 
 the temptation of opening the flat book and showing 
 her what lay within her glove. Mrs. Lyell looked 
 over from her watery post and saw some gleam in 
 the girl s eyes that matched the exultation in her own 
 heart. She wondered vaguely what the two young 
 people could be conversing about in such ordinary 
 fashion, while every one else was absorbed in the 
 world s tragedy. 
 
 "I didn t mean, Mr. Lenox, when I told you to come 
 with all pomp and circumstance, that you should 
 choose the lightning as your coursers and the prince 
 of the powers of the air as your squire." 
 
 "I was afraid you were going to find fault with me 
 for appearing in my shirt-sleeves !" 
 
 "I don t care what you wore so long as you came," 
 she said. 
 
 "There are worse things in life than sitting in a 
 river under a rain of fire," said Lenox irrelevantly, 
 and, as she looked at him startled, he added : Have 
 you ever been in a Dakota country hotel, Miss Wind 
 sor? If you have, you know why I am so contented 
 now." 
 
 It was a relief to see her smile. It struck him all at 
 
CAUGHT 225 
 
 once that he had forgotten that there was such a thing 
 as amusement in the world. 
 
 "Do you suppose the damned ever laugh in hell?" 
 he said. 
 
 "Of course not," she replied promptly. "There is 
 no hope there. Here we are in purgatory, not inferno, 
 and we have hope." 
 
 "Yes, we have hope," he echoed cheerfully. 
 
 It was impossible for him to keep his eyes from hers 
 as he spoke, and the slow flush that mounted to her 
 temples filled him with ecstasy. 
 
 "Is this thing never to end? I feel as if we had 
 been years, centuries, seons, in this flood. I have for 
 gotten that there is anything else in life." 
 
 "It can t possibly last much longer now. Almost 
 everything that can burn is gone, and flames can t 
 feed on air for ever." 
 
 "These flames can. They aren t like any other fire. 
 They are horrible demoniac creatures. They are devils 
 sent to torture us, not flames." 
 
 "You are getting dreadfully tired, aren t you ?" He 
 looked at her solicitously. 
 
 "Horribly," she said. "You see I am becoming weak 
 and losing my boasted self-control." 
 
 She smiled at him, but the tears came into her eyes. 
 
 "Lean up against me, and relax every muscle. Try 
 
226 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 to rest as much as you can. I ll watch, and see that 
 you get under water whenever the torment comes 
 worst." 
 
 He poured double handfuls of water over her ugly 
 head-covering and took possession of her with anguish 
 and tenderness. Now, indeed, the situation was grow 
 ing intolerable, if she could endure it no longer. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE NIGHT AFTER 
 
 Gradually the fiery flake-fall thinned flickered 
 faintly ceased. Only a great pall of smoke hung over 
 the desolate world. It was growing dusk as, from out 
 the flood that had saved them, the miserable throng 
 crawled like half-drowned rats up the roadway that 
 pierced the steep cliffs on the south. Now that the ex 
 citement was over, the horror of their position seemed 
 greater than ever. A cold October night was before 
 them. Their dripping clothes hung to bodies shivering 
 and utterly exhausted by the long bath and the terror 
 of death. Around, above, lay blackness ; the heat had 
 been so intense that it left little on which itself might 
 smolder, and only a few charred embers lighted the 
 gloom with their still more horrible glow. For these 
 fragments of humanity there was not a scrap of dry 
 clothing, not a mouthful of food, nothing but the 
 musical tinkle of the waterfall, and desolation; and 
 the uninterrupted splash of the stream but intensified 
 
 227 
 
228 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 i 
 
 the human silence. Men lay down on the rough baked 
 earth that bordered on the river edge, too tired for 
 further effort. 
 
 "Mrs. Lyell, you are better here in the gully than 
 you would be in the open, you and your husband. See, 
 here is a craggy projection of stone. It will give you 
 a little protection and something to lean against. I ll 
 lift you up, Lyell. Will you stay here, too, Miss Wind 
 sor, until I can find some better shelter for you per 
 haps a cellar? Surely there must be a cellar left, 
 though it does not look now as though human beings 
 had ever lived here." 
 
 Lenox talked rapidly, fighting inanition. For such 
 weariness there was nothing between feverish energy 
 and despair. 
 
 "Let me go with you," Vera pleaded. "I shall be 
 better moving about." He looked at her and saw from 
 the pale anguish in her eyes that she was in the same 
 mood as himself; and he gritted his teeth and held 
 out his hand. 
 
 "Come, then," he said. 
 
 She took his outstretched hand in silence. They had 
 kept up the show of cheerfulness in the river long 
 enough. It was impossible to pretend any longer. 
 
 Immediately in front of them passed the man with 
 the chattering teeth, staggering like a drunkard. He 
 
THE NIGHT AFTER 229 
 
 snatched eagerly at Lenox s proffered arm and pointed 
 mutely toward the spot where home once stood. It 
 was not easy to find the exact place, but at last they 
 halted before a roughly outlined hole, and stared 
 down through the twilight to where, amid the debris, 
 lay the huddled body of a woman, burned to naked 
 ness, her bare shapeless arms stretched over the baby 
 she would fain have saved. The man loosened his 
 hold on the supporting arm, but no words came to 
 any of them. At last the widowed husband raised his 
 head and turned it toward Vera. His face was like a 
 skull, with sockets in which the eyes were almost as 
 sightless as those of Ned Lyell. With the cry of a 
 madman he threw his hands upward and broke the 
 silence. 
 
 "Nothing to live for 1" he shrieked. 
 
 With unfaltering steps, now, he turned and ran back 
 to the river, the indifferent river, willing to act either 
 as savior or as murderer. With a sob, Vera caught 
 Frank s hand and held it nervously. They heard a dull 
 splash, but neither of them moved. 
 
 Around them people stood in speechless groups, 
 knowing that the charred lumps scattered here and 
 there were human bodies, but without comment to 
 make. Even tears failed. Almost naked, cold, wet, 
 hungry, they were nerveless and hopeless as well. 
 
230 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 "Mr. Lenox," Vera whispered, "can t you do some 
 thing? We shall all be maniacs before morning!" 
 
 Her appeal maddened him. It was so impossible to 
 think of any refuge or resource; but in the impulsive 
 movement which was his only answer, he stumbled over 
 a rough spot, stooped to push away the heaped ashes, 
 looked closer, and shouted aloud: 
 
 "Here are potato hills! Come, dig! We shall have 
 food!" 
 
 The spell of apathy broke. A score of hands were 
 scratching like wild beasts, exultant over the poor 
 possibility of supper. 
 
 Lenox caught at the arm of a sturdy old man, whose 
 two cows came with him from the water. 
 
 "Here," he said, "I m sure you are willing to help 
 the children out a bit. Let s gather them and see how 
 far the milk will go." 
 
 "That s right, bring em along! I guess the kids 
 have the first show," said the old fellow cheerfully. 
 "But you ll have to get some one else to do your milk- 
 in . I can t." He held up a hand puffed and shape 
 less. "Ain t it lucky it s the left? Anyway, I saved 
 the critters." 
 
 Another bonanza. Mothers who had lost their chil 
 dren gathered orphaned children around the font 
 where, on his knees, a volunteer milked into one after 
 
THE NIGHT AFTER 231 
 
 another of the little cups made by tiny pairs of black 
 ened hands. Ah ! The warm delicious milk ! 
 
 And now the reaction set in. Society asserted its 
 sway ; regular bands set to work to clear a little shel 
 ter in the cellars, where women and children were 
 bidden to huddle close together for warmth. Some 
 times enough half-charred wood was found to build 
 a little fire, where garments, ragged and scorched by 
 their rough experience, might be dried. 
 
 Vera pointed out a bigger hole, where a bit of stone 
 foundation rising above the ground and a few heavy 
 beams still stretching from side to side, gave fair 
 promise of shelter. 
 
 "Wait here, just a moment, Miss Windsor, while I 
 go down and clear out a little of the rubbish. There 
 is no reason why you should sit in such ashes." 
 
 Lenox caught the edge and let himself down, while 
 the girl and the group that gathered instantly around 
 her waited. Then he reappeared with muscles tense 
 and eyes set. 
 
 "Not there!" he said to Vera s questioning glance. 
 "Not there, in God s name ! Come away !" 
 
 He caught her almost roughly and drew her toward 
 another hole. She asked no questions, and if she had, 
 how could he have told her that the pit held a dozen 
 upright bodies, clasped in each other s arms in a last 
 
232 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 witness to the love which had bound them together 
 even in death. 
 
 But at last in one of these mean refuges, huddled 
 against other women and children, and glad of the 
 mutual warmth, Lenox left Vera, and went back for 
 Mr. and Mrs. Lyell. 
 
 A score of those who had outlived fire and flood 
 were now collapsing, and all that their fellow sufferers 
 could do was to lay them gently on the earth. The de 
 voted priest, himself in agony, shorn of his robes of 
 office, because he had taken them from his back to 
 soak in water and use for the protection of others, now 
 knelt by the dying, prayed, and pronounced absolution. 
 There was no question of creed. 
 
 Mrs. Lyell had been tearing to shreds her petticoat 
 to bind poultices of soft mud over her husband s 
 burns. She looked up quietly as Lenox approached. 
 
 "Mr. Lenox," she said, "a man just drowned him 
 self in front of us." 
 
 "Yes, his wife and baby were burned." 
 
 "He was wise," she said simply. "Now, Ned, let me 
 put my arm on this side. Don t try to hurry. Mr. 
 Lenox, is there any possibility of getting food for my 
 husband?" 
 
 "Miss Windsor is saving two or three delicious po 
 tatoes for you," Frank answered cheerfully. "To be 
 
THE NIGHT AFTER 233 
 
 sure, we do not serve them with salt, but they are done 
 to a turn by the natural method." 
 
 "That s my condition, too. They ought just to suit 
 me," said Lyell grimly. 
 
 "Cellars are admirable places in their way. I be 
 lieve they have never been half appreciated," Lenox 
 went on. 
 
 He settled his own particular charges as comfortably 
 as possible. 
 
 "And this is to-night. What will to-morrow be?" 
 said Vera. 
 
 "To-morrow you will see your father." 
 
 "Don t ! When I think of the grief he is in at this 
 moment, I can t bear it !" and she buried her face in 
 her hands. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," he said contritely. 
 
 "I have nothing to pardon, and everything to thank 
 you for," she answered. "And now are you not going 
 to try for a little rest yourself ?" 
 
 "Not just yet. There s plenty to be done yet." 
 
 "And of course you are one of those to help do it. * 
 
 "Well, I trust so." 
 
 Near the hole he met Svenson. 
 
 "Har your coat, young man," he said. "Ay tak ham 
 off van the horses gat in vater, but hay pooty vat. Ay 
 ban rubbin down the horses vit my own. Ay hope 
 
234 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 thay nat hart. Ay tank you mooch. Ay navar gat 
 tham down to the river, without you tall me poot dase 
 coats on. You vas pooty goot fallar. Say, vat is the 
 name of dat leetle farm you vant me to ship grain to ? 
 Ay ban tinkin about so many odar things, Ay forgat." 
 
 "Oh, we can t talk business now. There is too much 
 to do. If we ever get out of this place alive, I ll come 
 to see you, Mr. Svenson." 
 
 "Yas, af we ever gat back to a place vere there ain t 
 no damn trees. Ay tall you, a fallar vants to lif on 
 farm. Ay ban buyin lumber, an das fire, he hurt me 
 pooty bad." 
 
 Lenox looked at him curiously and passed on. 
 
 The wind rose with the night and flung a whirlwind 
 of dust and cinders over the holes where men and 
 women slept and shivered and slept again, hungry and 
 scorched, but forgetting all in blessed unconsciousness. 
 
 Three or four times during the night Mrs. Lyell 
 slipped away from her unconscious companions, and 
 crept to the river bank, bringing back fresh handfuls 
 of mud, to relieve the dried poultices. 
 
 "Jean," whispered her husband, "blessed as it is to 
 have you caring for me in this way, I don t want you 
 to lose the sleep you need so much. Don t keep me on 
 your mind any longer." 
 
 "Let me practise a tiny bit of self-denial on my own 
 
THE NIGHT AFTER 235 
 
 part. I believe it is the first time in my life. Do you 
 wish me to forget at once the lesson you have taught 
 me?" She stooped and kissed his blackened cheek. 
 
 "Ah, Ned, I am haunted by the old words about be 
 ing saved as by fire. When this is all over, and you and 
 I have begun to live, it will become, in memory, a holy 
 baptism. But, ah," she said, "will morning never come ? 
 I wonder if the sun has been burned out of the 
 heavens !" 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 HELP! 
 
 Meanwhile to east and south and west and north 
 had sped the telegraphic message : 
 
 "A forest fire is raging around Pine -Vale and sur 
 rounding villages. All communication is cut off. The 
 north-bound express probably lost! Fearful loss of 
 life !" 
 
 The excited "Extry! Extry!" of the newsboys, as 
 they rushed out with the first news of disaster, reached 
 Mr. Kemyss ears late in the afternoon, and he opened 
 the office window and beckoned. The impersonal hor 
 ror with which one reads of the misfortunes of others 
 gave way to startled apprehension. Did not Mr. Wind 
 sor say something about 
 
 He took the laconic words in big black type and laid 
 them on the desk before his chief. Windsor slowly 
 put on his eye-glasses and peered questioningly at the 
 head-lines for an instant. His jaw dropped and shut 
 again with a snap as he whirled around to his tele 
 phone. 
 
 236 
 
HELP ! 237 
 
 "Certainly the train would not have run into such 
 a trap !" he gasped up at Kemyss, as he waited one 
 horrible moment for his connection. 
 
 No, the railroad office could give no definite infor 
 mation. The express had passed the southernmost 
 point of communication, and probably gone safely 
 through. They were even now organizing a relief 
 train, which should repair the track sufficiently to get 
 at the point of distress. Medical assistance, trainmen, 
 food, clothes, blankets were being rushed together. 
 
 "See here, this is Nicholas Windsor," the old man 
 began very deliberately. "Do you hear? You let me 
 have an engine with a good crew and a hand-car in 
 half an hour, if it costs all outdoors. Don t keep me 
 waiting five minutes, or I I ll I ll wreck your old 
 road !" His voice rose to a perfect bellow, that might 
 have shattered the receiver. 
 
 "Now, Kemyss, you ll go with me. Telephone Doc 
 tor Norris to join us at the station with cotton and lin 
 iment and stuff. I believe we d better take some 
 canned soups and blankets. Can you think of anything 
 else?" 
 
 The puffing engine stood ready when the little party 
 reached the station, and the engineer gave Nicholas 
 Windsor a friendly nod. Everybody knew Nick Wind 
 sor. He was public property. An anxious official 
 
238 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 touched his hat and laid a detaining hand for an in 
 stant on his arm. 
 
 "I only want to say, sir, that a train will be off in a 
 very short time, and it is not necessary for you to go. 
 And you re taking your life in your hands, not only on 
 account of the fire, but even more from the danger of 
 being thrown from the track if your engine strikes a 
 bit that has been burned out." 
 
 "Well, you ve given me a good engineer. That s his 
 business." 
 
 "All his skill may not save you, sir." 
 
 "See here," said the old man solemnly, "my daugh 
 ter is up in that hell somewhere. If she s alive, I 
 mean to find her. If she s dead, I m willing to follow 
 her. She s all I ve got in the world !" All he had in 
 the world! And he a multi-millionaire! The official 
 put this statement away to be thought about. Aloud 
 he said: 
 
 "Very well, sir. I hope you may find Miss Windsor 
 safe. Pull out, Dick." 
 
 The engineer opened the throttle. 
 
 "Make time while you can, Dick. The track won t 
 be so smooth farther on," said Windsor. 
 
 It was a silent party that sped off to northward in 
 the hazy late afternoon. They rushed on and on, with 
 only an imperative shriek to clear the track, without 
 
HELP! 239 
 
 slowing up, through" one little country town after an 
 other. 
 
 Once in a while the old man would mutter, "But 
 she would have telegraphed !" and as promptly answer 
 himself with a groan, "But she couldn t telegraph." 
 
 The night fell, intensely dark, and bands of smoke, 
 dense, solid and greasy, like something tangible, lay 
 across the way. The big headlight shot its message of 
 safety only a little distance through the impenetrable 
 air, and when the smoke lifted, now and then, far to 
 northward lay a band of yellow light, sinister to watch 
 ing eyes. The yellow band grew wider and more un 
 earthly, and now a red spot flamed in front. The loco 
 motive came to a halt and a fireman ran ahead. Could 
 that possibly be the headlight of another train? 
 
 "Only a burning tree close to the track," shouted the 
 returning emissary, leaping up to pile more coal on the 
 furnace. 
 
 "Gentlemen, twist your arms all together, to steady 
 yourselves if she lurches," said the engineer. 
 
 On again they sped through the blackness, the whis 
 tle screaming its warning to any mysterious thing that 
 might lie across its track. And now tall columns of fire 
 resolved themselves, on approach, into pine trees that 
 loomed here and there; and ghastly spurts of blue 
 flame sprang from what looked like solid ground on 
 
240 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 either hand. The telegraph poles made a long proces 
 sion of signal fires. 
 
 Suddenly the engine swayed, staggered and came to 
 a standstill under the command of the imperative 
 brakes, while the little group was flung from side to 
 side. 
 
 In front of them lay a narrow strip where misshapen 
 masses of steel instead of tracks told the tale. 
 
 "I guess this is our limit, gentlemen," said the en 
 gineer. 
 
 "And no sign of the express yet!" Windsor 
 groaned. 
 
 No one tried to reassure him. There are times when 
 conditions give the evident lie to hope. 
 
 In silence the hand-car was dragged down and 
 pulled across the gulf to where the tracks resumed 
 their course. And now, with broad backs and narrow 
 backs rising and bending rhythmically, they hurried at 
 a slower rate, until, with a fierce whirl, they found 
 themselves on the ground over a sunken culvert. Then 
 it was up and at it again through the dreary night, 
 with infinite pains and maddening delays, sometimes 
 where a burning tree lay across the track, sometimes 
 where a tiny stream made them tug and sweat to get 
 their heavy wagon across, sometimes where the hot 
 earth compelled them to shovel a pathway before they 
 
HELP! 241 
 
 dared to cross it. Utterly forgetful of their pain and 
 weariness, but with hearts heavy with apprehension, 
 they toiled. 
 
 It was slow work at best, and the first gray of morn 
 ing was creeping upon them when, in the waste, they 
 came to the spot where a few twisted ropes of steel 
 marked the bridge of Pine Vale. There was no cross 
 ing that gulf. The engineer pointed across at the dis 
 abled engine lying in a charred heap. 
 
 " I guess that s all that is left of the express train, 
 he said. 
 
 Beside them, where once stood the country station, 
 a heap of coal was burning fiercely. No vestige of 
 a town remained. Even the dust of the streets was 
 turned to ashes, and mingled with the eddies of 
 smoke which hung over the scene of King Fire s de 
 vastating triumph. Sky and earth were a uniform 
 gray, without sign of color to prove that there was a 
 sun in heaven or life on earth. 
 
 A moment Windsor glared at the ruin, then he 
 raised to heaven a great cry like that of a maddened 
 bull. 
 
 And then, from nowhere, there rang out an answer 
 ing cry. So unreal it sounded that the cluster of men 
 on the hand-car gasped as though they were hearing 
 the wail of ghosts. But now human heads peered from 
 
242 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 the earth, and across the ashes a young man came 
 bounding. 
 
 "Mr. Windsor! Mr. Windsor!" cried Francis Len 
 ox. "She s here, perfectly safe! Thank God, you ve 
 come!" 
 
 The old man leaned on him a moment and fairly 
 trembled in his relief. 
 
 "Take me there," he gasped. 
 
 "Relief! Relief!" The joyous shout passed from 
 hole to hole. 
 
 Windsor and his daughter were sobbing in each 
 other s arms, surrounded by an excited and voluble 
 crowd, crying, laughing, clutching the new-comers in 
 an anguish of joy, hungry for a hand-clasp with the 
 dear world which had seemed so far away. 
 
 Windsor still held his daughter s somewhat sooty 
 face tight against his big shoulder while Lenox, with 
 many interruptions from the throng around, gave a 
 brief outline of their adventures. With her hand still 
 clasped by her father s, the girl turned shyly. 
 
 "It was fortunate for a good many of us, father, 
 that Mr. Lenox was here to help us. He came up to 
 the train. He didn t tell you that. Left his safe place 
 in the river to lift us down. Thank him, dad." 
 
 Windsor grasped Frank s hand in a tight grip, but 
 he said nothing. Only his eyes wore a satisfied expres- 
 
HELP ! 243 
 
 sion, as though he were saying to himself, "I told 
 you so." 
 
 "We were all in the same box. I did nothing," said 
 Frank. 
 
 "Nothings are all like ciphers," she answered, with 
 a kind of return of her usual gaiety. "How much they 
 mean depends on whether the man, like other units, 
 stands in front of them or behind them. There is a 
 dark saying for you." 
 
 She turned again to her father in a kind of ecstasy. 
 "I can t help it," she said, marking the half admira 
 tion, half amusement with which Frank watched her. 
 "I have to hug him. He is so beautiful. Don t you 
 think so, too?" 
 
 "He is as lovely as a seraph," said Frank. "At least 
 his clean face is a novelty in Pine Vale." 
 
 There was good comradeship in the way these two 
 spoke to each other that made Kemyss feel miles away 
 as she turned now to shake hands with him and to an 
 swer his questions about the fire. Those others had 
 thought of life and death in company. They were 
 bound by ties of common peril, as close as those of 
 common blood. He was a stranger to that new world 
 which they were entering together. 
 
 A thousand schemes began to revolve in his brain 
 at the moment of greeting her, but they were chiefly 
 
244 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 schemes that left her out. She had once been a possi 
 ble investment. Now she looked less desirable, and 
 her clothes were tumbled and ragged. 
 
 "Now come and see Mr. Lyell. He was horribly 
 burned in trying to save his wife. Ah, Doctor Norris 
 is with him already." 
 
 "Lyell! Great Scott! He, too? Was all St. Etienne 
 on this pleasure excursion?" Windsor exclaimed, as 
 she drew him away. But Lenox saw the two brought 
 to a halt by the solid Svenson. 
 
 "Say, as thas your boss?" he asked of Frank, as he 
 stretched out a friendly paw. "You gat a pooty goot 
 man har, old fallar." 
 
 "Your stock seems to be up to-day, Frank. You 
 ought to get a letter of recommendation from your ad 
 mirers. Glad to meet you, sir. Glad you think well of 
 my hired man !" and Windsor was gone. 
 
 "Hay as a quar ol duck. Vail, Ay guess Ay go 
 home now. My vife, she ban lookin for me." 
 
 The excellent Svenson shook Lenox s hand, mount 
 ed one of his horses and started placidly on his way. 
 
 Like the disordered visions of an anguished sleep 
 were the days that followed. The plain over which 
 Childe Roland traveled in mystery and darkness could 
 not appal the imagination as did this desolate waste 
 on which the pitiless sunshine beat. Half suspected 
 
HELP! 245 
 
 horrors were here turned to bald realities, and in the 
 midst of them were left a few fragments of human 
 life, shut off from all other human lives, but bound in 
 intimate ties with each other by their common needs 
 and common peril. When, at last, far off, the puff of 
 an engine rose skyward from the blank horizon, sig 
 naling the coming of help from the dear remote 
 world of happiness, men and women gazed at it with 
 awe, and sobbed aloud. A mile away it halted, and 
 poured forth its human stream ; then came soft merci 
 ful hands laid on aching burns, the carrying of the 
 maimed, like Ned Lyell, to the train and to waiting 
 hospitals, the burial of unknown dead in nameless 
 graves, the vision of a white-faced man, silently dig 
 ging, with his own hands, the long trench that should 
 contain the crumbled fragments of what had once 
 been his family, the childless mother snatching at the 
 waif, eager to get something that she might love ; and, 
 when the springs of emotion and the secrets of the 
 heart were laid bare, the reporters standing about and 
 jotting down the details, that the ends of the earth 
 might glut themselves with anguish. Always and 
 everywhere, with food and clothes and doctor, the gen 
 erous and kindly yet callous world must send the little 
 ticking machine of a temporary telegraph, whose every 
 metallic message rouses new generosity. 
 
246 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 Every able-bodied man and woman was at work 
 helping some one else, and waiting until there should 
 be room on the outgoing train for the uninjured. 
 Vera, like Lenox, had burns that at ordinary times 
 might have counted as ailments, but now they were 
 too busy to have any satisfaction in their maladies. 
 
 The first duty had been to care for the suffering but 
 still living. When the hospital train slipped back 
 to St. Etienne, it left behind it that other duty to the 
 dead. There could be no great ceremony about it. The 
 kindest office to those misshapen masses was to get 
 them out of sight as soon as possible, with rude mark 
 ings above that might hereafter serve to identify them. 
 Here a shattered family sobbed while the priest spoke 
 a few solemn words above the hasty grave; there lay 
 the unknown and unclaimed in a long row, to be put 
 away by strangers. 
 
 "Say, look at Windsor ! He s as husky a grave-dig 
 ger as any of us, ain t he? I tell you the old man 
 hasn t forgotten how to swing his arms, though I bet 
 it s a good many years since he quit cuttin down 
 trees." 
 
 Late in the afternoon, a man who was working side 
 by side with Cyril Kemyss nudged him and pointed 
 at the broad back in front. Kemyss looked, saw Lenox 
 helping at the gruesome task, saw Vera come across 
 
HELP! 247 
 
 the ashes to speak to them, and hated and envied them 
 all. He had been a long time in building up an inti 
 macy with Vera Windsor by the most approved meth 
 ods ; now it seemed vanished into thin air. There was 
 no reason why it should. The readjustments in hu 
 man relations are such intangible things that we can 
 not tell what or whence they are. Kemyss felt that, in 
 some way, neither father nor daughter was so much 
 his as before, and this other young man was to blame. 
 And yet his suspicion was nothing but the reflex of his 
 own budding disloyalty to them. Whatever its source, 
 there it was, gnawing, growing on his consciousness. 
 
 "Ain t the old man lucky?" went on his fellow 
 worker, unconsciously playing the role of Satan. "Tell 
 you, the rest of the world can burn up, but he s all 
 right. That is what it means to be born lucky the way 
 he is. Other people lose their children and wives, but 
 you can just bet he doesn t. It s always that way. 
 They say the fire hasn t touched the Windsor lumber 
 tract. Just went out of its way to let his timber stand, 
 as if he d built a barbed wire fence in the air to keep 
 the flames off. It begins two or three miles east of 
 here. You could most see the edge of it over there, if 
 the smoke wasn t so thick. Twouldn t have hurt him 
 to lose a little, and some of the rest of us, if we ve 
 saved our lives, that s about all we have got !" 
 
248 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 "Oh, well, Windsor doesn t hold much in that com 
 pany. They got him to give his name and take a little 
 stock in order to float it. It is nearly all owned by 
 small investors. So you needn t feel so badly about its 
 not being burned." Kemyss was half amused at the 
 small envy of the man, his mind being chiefly occupied 
 by his own affairs. 
 
 Just then Doctor Norris came up. 
 
 "Mr. Kemyss," he said, "we are in need of some 
 more medical supplies from the train. Would you be 
 willing to go for them?" Kemyss stared at him ab 
 sently for a moment, as though his thoughts were far 
 away, still lingering about those hazy tree-tops in the 
 east. Suddenly his eyes brightened. 
 
 "Certainly I ll go, Norris," he answered. "Just give 
 me a list of what you want." 
 
 The train lay over a mile to the south, as near as 
 it had been possible to bring it on the hastily-mended 
 tracks. The greater part of it had already returned 
 to St. Etienne, taking the wounded to the hospitals, 
 and only a box-car or two with supplies was left to 
 the helpers. At the end of one of these cars stood the 
 little machine by which an occasional message sped 
 back to the world. Just now it was deserted and un 
 guarded like the rest of the cars. Providence or the 
 devil was on his side. Kemyss looked around and 
 
HELP ! 249 
 
 saw only a solitary man tinkering at a disordered 
 wheel. 
 
 "Know where I can find the medical supplies?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "I think they are in there, sir." The man hardly 
 raised his head from his work. 
 
 Thank you." Kemyss swung himself up and stood 
 before the bit of brass work. 
 
 "Let me see, let me see," he said to himself. "What 
 is the name of that reporter from the Sun? Howard? 
 Howell? Howison? That s it, Howison. Luckily I 
 know how to operate the thing. That s one advantage 
 of banging around the world as I have. It gives a 
 man resources. It s hardly necessary to sign a name, 
 though. They re crazy for news from up here, and 
 they ll take anything. However, it s just as well to 
 cinch it." 
 
 Almost as he thought, his fingers began to play : 
 
 "Timothy Norton, 4 Sauveur Terrace, St. Etienne. 
 If any of our companies slump, buy like mad. You un 
 derstand. K." 
 
 The medical supplies lay heaped at the other end 
 of the car. He leisurely picked out the articles for 
 which he had come, and let half an hour slip by. Once 
 in a while he looked out from the car door. At last, 
 peering through the growing dusk, he thought he saw 
 
250 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 some darker spots moving over the ground, and again 
 he hurried to the sounder. 
 
 To the St. Etienne Sun : Entire tract of Windsor 
 Lumber Co. wiped out by the Pine Vale fire. Millions 
 of dollars loss. Howison." 
 
 "There, that will be in flaming head-lines with har 
 rowing details in the morning edition. It s a scoop/ 
 too. I need only give them a hint and they ll invent all 
 the circumstantial particulars themselves." 
 
 He laughed to himself at the exquisite humor of it. 
 How many people would chuckle at the thought that 
 old Midas was going to lose a big sum ! The misfor 
 tunes of the rich are a wonderful source of comfort 
 to the rest of us. He could hear the unctuous satisfac 
 tion with which heads of families would read this par 
 ticular piece of news aloud at the breakfast tables of 
 numerous homes, and add, "Well, it isn t only the poor 
 who are human. I m glad Mr. Windsor pays his share 
 of the bill." And the joke of it was that he wouldn t. 
 After all, he, Kemyss, was doing his employer no 
 harm. The stock would come back to its normal value 
 as soon as the truth was known, and if the small in 
 vestors were crowded out, why, small investors don t 
 count. Moving nimbly with the exhilaration of their 
 message, his fingers resumed their work. 
 
 "H. Millar, Secretary Windsor Lumber Co., St. 
 
HELP! 251 
 
 Etienne. Your woods, Pine Vale, wholly destroyed by 
 the fire. Burron." 
 
 "He won t know who Burron is, but it will give 
 the old rascal a night of nervous prostration before he 
 sees the morning paper. This is a real stroke of genius. 
 Millar s the kind of a man who has panic latent in his 
 brain all the time. I hope we ll get back to town in 
 time to see some of the fun. At any rate, there s no 
 possible means of detection that I can see." 
 
 The next moment he had leaped from the car and 
 met the on-comers. 
 
 "I don t know but I may have to ask one of you to 
 help me carry some of this stuff to the doctors ; there s 
 almost too much for one," he said. 
 
 "Well, I should say so. There s no use in your try 
 ing to carry two men s load," said the first new ar 
 rival. 
 
 "Oh, I guess everybody is trying to do a little more 
 than he can," Mr. Kemyss answered cheerfully. 
 "When people are suffering as they are here, a man 
 does not stop to think about himself." 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 DEPRESSION IN STOCKS 
 
 Other trains came and went; the dead were buried 
 and the living taken to homes far away, until a new 
 Pine Vale should spring up a Pine Vale not of the 
 sweet-smelling woodland, but of the desolate waste 
 where fireweed and unhappy brushwood only half 
 hid the blackened earth, a widowed village, rilled with 
 memories of the dead. The wound healed and the 
 world forgot it, but the ugly scar still marred the 
 banks of the rushing little stream. 
 
 And now, when it came their turn to go and the 
 train pulled off southward, Lenox came to the seat 
 where Miss Windsor and her father were. 
 
 "I must say good-by to you here," he said. "I am 
 going to change at the junction and go west in a few 
 moments." 
 
 "Why, Frank, won t you come home with us?" 
 Windsor looked up sharply. "You ve earned a bit of a 
 rest. Grave-digging is tiresome work, both for the 
 arms and for the heart." 
 
 252 
 
DEPRESSION IN STOCKS 253 
 
 "Thank you/ replied Frank. "I think I will go 
 back to work." 
 
 "Well," said the old man whimsically, "I must say 
 you are a shabby looking creature to be representing a 
 respectable firm." 
 
 "I think it is hardly becoming for you to jeer at 
 Mr. Lenox for his appearance when I am such a spec 
 tacle," Vera interrupted, smiling up at Frank. "What 
 do you think, Mr. Lenox, of the brute of a father who 
 permits his daughter to wear such a parody of a hat as 
 that?" She waved her hand toward the bedraggled 
 object that a day or two before had been a picturesque 
 sweeping affair, with soft plumes. 
 
 "Never mind, Vera, no one will look at the hat. You 
 are all right, whatever you wear," said the fond 
 parent. 
 
 "Well, with what I left in my dress-suit case at Min- 
 turn, and what I can buy, I hope I may at least live up 
 to the country standard, Mr. Windsor," said Frank. 
 "At any rate, I think it best to go on. I want to settle 
 things with Svenson. He has promised me all his 
 grain, and you know, sir, how much that will mean to 
 me. I think I d best bind the bargain while the fervor 
 is on him." 
 
 Miss Windsor nodded her approval of his decision, 
 and he was gratified that she should care. He felt re- 
 
254 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 paid for his heroism in declining to go south with 
 them. But her father said. nothing except: 
 
 "Want me to send you anything ?" 
 
 "Oh, I can probably get things of some kind in Min- 
 turn." 
 
 "You re optimistic," said Windsor. 
 
 "Well, I should be glad to have a bicycle shipped up. 
 And, Miss Windsor," his voice sank to a slight melan 
 choly, "I had hoped to finish my work and get back to 
 claim that promised dance. But with all this turmoil 
 and delay I am afraid there is no hope of that. Will 
 you pardon my failure to keep my engagement, pity 
 me, and give the waltz to some luckier fellow ?" 
 
 "I will certainly pardon you," she said, smiling. 
 "And I will sit out the dance in memory of the whirl 
 wind we have gone through together." 
 
 Their eyes met, and Frank suddenly bent and kissed 
 the hand that lay on the back of her seat. He glanced 
 at Windsor and blushed guiltily. 
 
 "Oh, don t mind me," said the old man. "I m used 
 to seeing boys make fools of themselves over Vera. 
 In fact, it s a sort of condition of citizenship in St. 
 Etienne. I don t think anything of it, and neither does 
 she, thank goodness. Good-by, my boy. Let me call 
 your attention to the very pretty Swedish girl there on 
 the platform. That s the kind we have in this country." 
 
DEPRESSION IN STOCKS 255 
 
 Back in St. Etienne, Windsor dropped from the car 
 riage, while his daughter went on. He wrote out a big 
 check for the Pine Vale relief committee, and turned 
 to his accumulated business. 
 
 A knot of expectant reporters stood or sat in his 
 anteroom, but the old man waved them off. 
 
 "Not yet, boys. Business first, pleasure afterward. 
 You ll have to let me take a whirl at my own affairs 
 before I indulge in the luxury of telling you all about 
 my adventures." 
 
 Just then a man came running in, haggard and 
 anxious. 
 
 "Well, this is pretty bad news for our company, Mr. 
 Windsor!" he exclaimed. "I suppose it does not hit 
 you so bad, but it s a serious thing for me, let me tell 
 you !" 
 
 Windsor tucked his arm through the other s and 
 drew him to the inner room. 
 
 "What s the matter with you, Millar?" he asked. 
 "You haven t lost anybody up there, have you? 
 Speak, man !" 
 
 "I d better have lost myself," Millar answered 
 hoarsely. "I ve lost everything else! Ruin s what s 
 the matter with me ! You know as well as I do that I 
 put every penny I could raise or beg into the lumber 
 company. And now every penny of it ll go." 
 
256 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 "Come, now, don t have hysterics. What s the mat 
 ter with the lumber company all of a sudden, Hiram ?" 
 
 "Didn t you send that telegram ?" 
 
 "I didn t send any telegram. I ve been busy earn 
 ing my living in Hades, and I don t recommend it as 
 a summer resort." 
 
 Millar gazed at him in speechless astonishment, over 
 come by his frivolity : then he slowly took a crumpled 
 piece of yellow paper from his pocket and spread it out 
 on the desk. The old man looked at it in silence. 
 
 "The morning editions are full of it, too." Millar 
 reached a trembling hand for the still folded paper 
 that lay on the window-sill, and laid it beside the tele 
 gram. 
 
 "Gee whizz !" ejaculated the old man. 
 
 Millar s face and hands twitched, and his eyes 
 twitched, following the deliberate tramp of Windsor 
 up and down the room. 
 
 "You don t know who sent that thing?" Windsor 
 asked abruptly. 
 
 "No, I supposed you told some one to do it." 
 
 "I didn t. What s happened?" 
 
 "They went crazy. There was a fearful slump this 
 morning. You know it s mostly small holders. Tele 
 grams coming in right along from the East, and fel 
 lows here wild." 
 
DEPRESSION IN STOCKS 257 
 
 "They bore with Christian fortitude the loss of life 
 up there, didn t they?" 
 
 "Well, of course, every one s sympathy was very 
 much worked up." 
 
 "Yes, but this touched their pockets. We all know 
 a man is much more valuable than gold and precious 
 stones, but he s less easy to convert into negotiable 
 security. Oh, I m not vilifying the human race. I saw 
 some fine specimens up there at Pine Vale, Millar. The 
 Lord s hero-mill isn t a large one, but He is still turn 
 ing out a few of the genuine old brand." 
 
 "Great heavens, can t you talk about something more 
 to the point, when I am on tenterhooks? What about 
 this telegram?" 
 
 "It s a lie ! Hi, Kemyss !" 
 
 Kemyss appeared at the doorway, bland and fresh 
 as usual. 
 
 "Do you know anything about this reported de 
 struction of our property up at Pine Vale ?" 
 
 "Only what I have just read in the papers, Mr. 
 Windsor." 
 
 "You didn t hear anything of it when we were up 
 there?" 
 
 "On the contrary, I heard that your tract escaped." 
 
 "Just call up the Sun, will you, and ask them how 
 they got their information ? I d like to know." 
 
258 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 The two older men listened in silence to the one 
 sided conversation with its bur of metallic answering 
 voice through the telephone. 
 
 Kemyss turned with the receiver still in his hand, 
 and his face composed. 
 
 "The Sun says their special correspondent at Pine 
 Vale wired them the news." 
 
 "You just tell them to telegraph to their reporter on 
 my behalf and ask him how he knows." 
 
 Windsor thrust his head through the door. "Boys, 
 I ll be with you in about the time it takes to get cen 
 tral. I ve got some society news for you. Now, Mil 
 lar, I suppose folks have been trying to unload their 
 stock?" 
 
 "Unload!" groaned Millar. "They re giving it 
 away." 
 
 "Found some takers, did they?" 
 
 "Yes, a few." 
 
 "Well, we ll just find out who these buyers are, won t 
 we? But first I m going to give my friends, the society 
 reporters, a little talk in words of one syllable that the 
 public will understand. I guess it isn t too late to get 
 out some special editions to-night." 
 
 Kemyss listened to this rapid gun in growing dis 
 may. He had expected a little more time to cover his 
 tracks before the explosion came. What had Tim 
 
DEPRESSION IN STOCKS 259 
 
 done? How cautious had he been in his methods? 
 How soon would he get out of town ? 
 
 Windsor s sharp voice interrupted his thoughts. 
 "Here, my lad, I think you can attend to these letters, 
 if you re not too done up. You are looking a bit 
 seedy." 
 
 Kemyss took the batch of mail to his own room, but 
 his head buzzed with excitement. He would have given 
 anything for an hour s freedom. He dared not even 
 use the telephone to call up Norton, for a trim, big- 
 eyed stenographer, with an abnormal bump of inquisi- 
 tiveness, sat on the other side of the room, perfunc 
 torily drumming away at the letters he dictated to her. 
 Through the closed door, he heard the incessant ring 
 of Windsor s telephone, and now and then a disjointed 
 word. He heard the coming and going of feet and 
 voices ; and, though this was the normal condition of 
 things, it filled him with apprehension. What were 
 they finding out? If he himself but knew the real con 
 dition of affairs ! One hour, two hours, three hours ! 
 The stenographer snapped down her machine. Kemyss 
 sprang to the door to see Windsor humping himself 
 into his overcoat. 
 
 "I guess business is about over, Kemyss," he said 
 cheerfully. "Glad we ve a roof over our heads to 
 night. Beats sleeping in the open, doesn t it? Belongs 
 
260 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 to us to see that those poor wretches up there have a 
 roof as soon as possible, too." 
 
 "Have you found out anything?" Kemyss managed 
 to articulate. 
 
 "About the lumber fire? The story was a fake all 
 right. That s about all we know. Good night, my boy." 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 MRS. LYELL S NEW GOSPEL 
 
 Oh, the luxury of warm water and clean dainty 
 underclothes! To know it fully one must have 
 passed through flood and smoke, thought Vera. But 
 even to the physical delight of cleanliness she must 
 not yield herself too long, so goaded was she by the 
 desire to hear what a more leisurely medical examina 
 tion had to say of Ned Lyell. 
 
 The soft little woman who came to meet her was an 
 other revelation. How different she had looked when 
 they last met ! 
 
 Mrs. Lyell s face was a study of delightful lines. 
 
 "He s better ! He is really very comfortable, he 
 says !" she exclaimed, as she came into the room. 
 
 "And you, Eugenia ? It is a delight to see you look 
 ing like your own old self again !" 
 
 Mrs. Lyell stopped and picked at her skirts in a self- 
 conscious fashion. 
 
 "Do I really look just the same?" she asked. "Isn t 
 261 
 
262 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 that absurd? I was not quite sure that it was I. I 
 keep examining my petticoats, like the little old woman 
 in the nursery rhyme, to see if it is really I. My chief 
 reassurance is that my little dog up stairs seems to 
 recognize me, though he can t see me, poor dear !" 
 
 "You ridiculous woman, what do you mean?" 
 
 "Why, I mean that I m half dazed by all the new 
 things that have come over me. I am like a blind man 
 that suddenly sees. I ve been living in cloudland, 
 where everything was rainbow, and I find myself on 
 earth where trees are green, and sky is blue. I must 
 tell you about it, my dear, because I am so full of it. 
 I ve stopped philosophizing and begun to live. I hope 
 I have stopped looking inside and begun to look out 
 side. I have always thought the most interesting 
 things in life were ideas, and I find they aren t a patch 
 on love. So this is my final preachment to you ; don t 
 love your own soul too much ; love somebody else s." 
 
 "You dear old goose !" Vera exclaimed. "You were 
 always right. You have only turned away from one 
 noble side of yourself to another." 
 
 "But that is just it. Before, I insisted there was 
 only one side to things. Ned has been telling me that 
 I am a regular prism for sides. No, I am not going to 
 be a many-sided genius any longer. I will tell you 
 just one little thing more about myself, and then we ll 
 
MRS. LYELL S NEW GOSPEL 263 
 
 drop that subject for ever. I am only a woman who is 
 madly in love with her husband \" She threw out her 
 arms and looked radiant. Vera gave her a great hug. 
 
 "Now we ll talk about him," she went on. "Doctor 
 Harper came up as soon as we got home, and poor 
 Ned lies up there bandaged and waiting. It will be a 
 long time before we shall know whether he is ever to 
 see. Meanwhile we are getting acquainted as we never 
 did before. You don t know what an interesting man 
 my husband is !" 
 
 "Mr. Lenox talked to me a little about him," Vera 
 said with a soft blush. 
 
 But Mrs. Lyell did not see the blush. She sat with 
 downcast eyes and plump hands clasped after her 
 fashion. Suddenly she looked up. 
 
 "Vera Windsor, I made a confession about my mar 
 ried life to you about two weeks ago. No ! Was it two 
 weeks five hundred years ago ! Now I am going to 
 make another. I have discovered that I had literally 
 carried out my own theory and created a world for 
 myself, and a very unsuccessful world it was. I had as 
 sumed my own superiority and shut Ned out of my 
 life. I had even helped the rest of the world to believe 
 in his inferiority, which does not exist. I took for 
 granted that my marriage was a failure, and so I made 
 it so. Can I abase *myself too low? Ned and I have 
 
264 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 talked it all over with perfect frankness. He says all 
 my philosophy was good enough, only the opposite is 
 true, too. He says the world consists not only of 
 sweetness and light, but of coal-strikes and diphtheria. 
 There is a class of minds that think it is impossible to 
 believe in sunshine unless they deny shadow, and that 
 was my kind. I realize now that I lived under a con 
 tinuous nervous strain in trying to believe in myself. 
 Ned is so tender and respectful to all that is good in 
 me that I think we are going to begin to live the 
 higher life together, now." 
 
 There was a long pause, and Mrs. Lyell went on in a 
 lower, and less jubilant voice : 
 
 The thing that impresses me about all our experi 
 ence up in that dreadful place, Vera, is the heroism of 
 the common people. It was the fireman, the con 
 ductor, the porter, who played the fire-extinguisher 
 as if they were treating us to a sprinkling of cologne, 
 the men who stood in line till the last woman was 
 down the bank and I thought only of myself, and so 
 I was afraid." She looked up and laughed. "Isn t 
 it the irony of fate? When I got home I found a 
 letter from my publisher speaking of the tremendous 
 sale that my little book, Paradise on Earth, is having. 
 Paradise of Fools, I think I should call it now. How 
 ever, it is going to bring me in the money to take care 
 
MRS. LYELL S NEW GOSPEL 265 
 
 of that helpless lover of mine up stairs until we know 
 whether he or I am to be the bread-winner for the 
 
 family." 
 
 "But you surely do not intend to give up all your 
 public work, do you, Jean? You were always such 
 an inspiration to other women." 
 
 "Perhaps not. It seems to be my fate to instruct 
 my fellow women, whether I know more than they da 
 or not ; and I shall keep on, I fancy, to the end of the 
 chapter, being a little .Buddha. But I shall talk about 
 the glory of the commonplace now, instead of the glory 
 of the unthinkable. I shall try to make them want to be 
 themselves, rather than yearn for the remote." 
 
 Her eyes took on the luminous look the girl knew 
 and loved so well. 
 
 They kissed each other in silence. Vera felt that 
 she had nothing to say to this tumultuous bundle of 
 impulses. 
 
 Mrs. Lyell went back up stairs to where the bandaged 
 shape bore only a partial resemblance to a man. 
 "You are feeling more comfortable?" she asked. 
 "Very comfortable and very well, dear." 
 "You poor patient creature ! you d be sure to say so. 
 And one of these days you are going to see again." 
 "One of these days I am going to see you, Jean." 
 "As though I were the only thing to be seen !" 
 
266 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 "You are at least the chief thing for me." 
 She sat down on a footstool beside the bed, and 
 leaned her chin meditatively in her hand, until her 
 husband stirred uneasily. 
 
 "Is there anything I can do for you?" 
 "No, I was only afraid you had gone away." 
 She slipped her cool ringers around his neck where 
 the flesh was unburned and unpoulticed. 
 
 "Now you can feel that I am here. I was thinking 
 of something that happened a little time ago; and, 
 before you can see again, I want to tell you about 
 it. I am afraid that I should never have the courage 
 to tell you, if your eyes were looking at me. And yet 
 things can never be wholly right between us until you 
 know." 
 
 "Could you really ever be afraid of me, Jean?" 
 "Yes. At least I am afraid and ashamed that you 
 should know exactly what I am." 
 
 "I think I have known all along. If you have any 
 faults, they are like the tip in Pisa s campanile, and 
 serve only to make you more perfect in my eyes." 
 
 "Well, Ned, this bell-tower of yours once tipped 
 so far that it nearly lost its balance entirely. Even 
 you, I am afraid, wouldn t have admired it if it had 
 tumbled in a heap." 
 
 "You wouldn t be talking in figures of speech if the 
 
MRS. LYELL S NEW GOSPEL 267 
 
 danger were present. I believe I can endure anything 
 in the past, but nothing in the future. Go on." 
 
 Her fingers grew a little rigid as they lay upon his 
 throat, but she told him unflinchingly her miserable 
 little story. There was silence for a moment after the 
 tale was ended, and he gulped hard. 
 
 "Jean," he burst out, "for the first time you have 
 made it hard for me to lie here quiescent. It s cruel I 
 It s intolerable !" 
 
 "Of what account is the serpent to us, so long as, 
 instead of turning us out of Paradise, he has intro 
 duced us to it?" 
 
 "What do you mean by that?" 
 
 "I am deeply grateful to him. It was he who woke 
 the hunger in me which you are to satisfy. He made 
 me know that I needed love, and that I could give love. 
 It is a little humiliating, to be sure, to reflect that it was 
 his meanness and not my integrity that kept me on the 
 straight and narrow path ; but if my shame and anguish 
 were the birth-pangs of this, I think we can afford to 
 forget and ignore him." 
 
 "When I m about again, I ll ignore him in a way he 
 won t soon forget." 
 
 "What a revengeful, militant thing you are ! Lie 
 still, Ned. Don t thrash around so, or the doctor will 
 accuse me of tearing off your bandages. If you don t 
 
268 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 keep still, I shall go away and leave you all alone. Be 
 sides, I want to talk to you some more." 
 
 "Go on. What is it that you want to say?" 
 
 "Aren t we having a good time now ?" 
 
 "Yes, we are. But I would prefer to do it all over 
 again and do it differently, to woo you and win 
 you in the good old-fashioned way, and to be married 
 and live happily ever afterward." 
 
 "Pooh ! I think it is infinitely more romantic to be 
 able to hold each other s hands here, comfortably, be 
 side our own fireside, instead of seeking the cold 
 damp, rheumatic seclusion of some shadowy church 
 porch." 
 
 "Oh, you do, do you?" 
 
 "Yes, I do," answered his wife stoutly. "And I 
 am very glad that we can indulge in any amount of 
 affection without having to lock the library door for 
 fear some member of the family may burst in unan 
 nounced." 
 
 "Will you kindly indulge a little now?" 
 
 "Why, Ned, it s perfectly thrilling to be living to 
 gether. I don t care how uneventful it looks to an 
 outsider. I believe I have discovered a great fact." 
 
 "And what is that, most sapient lady?" 
 
 "I believe it is all a mistake to credit youth with 
 being the age of romance. Its sentiment is only tinsel 
 
MRS. LYELL S NEW GOSPEL 269 
 
 sentimentality. If you want the real gold, you must 
 get it in mature years, when all the good things of 
 life have been weighed and all, except love, have been 
 found more or less of a failure." 
 
 "I agree with you, little woman. Youth is self-cen 
 tered. Its idea of love means getting, not giving. But 
 there are a good many people who never make your 
 great discovery, even in all the wisdom of middle life." 
 
 "Poor things ! I m glad you and I aren t going to 
 be guilty of the sin of second-best any longer," said 
 Mrs. Lyell contentedly. 
 
 "Jean," said her husband, "have you ever given 
 Miss Windsor a word of warning about Mr. 
 Kemyss ?" 
 
 "No, dear." 
 
 "There is a general impression abroad that she is 
 to marry him. Don t you think you ought to give her 
 a hint as to his character?" 
 
 "No, dear," said his wife complacently. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Because I once saw her look at some one else, and 
 I know she is in no danger from Mr. Kemyss." 
 
 "What a tone of satisfaction ! You are exulting in 
 another love affair." 
 
 "Of course I am. Could I wish her anything bet 
 ter? Never mind Vera. She can take care of herself. 
 
2;o THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 I m going to give you your first curtain lecture. Be 
 fore, we were never intimate enough for me to lecture 
 you." 
 
 "It s lucky for me that I can only hear, and not see 
 your severity." 
 
 "I don t understand, now that I know you for what 
 you are, why you let things go on this way so long. 
 Why didn t you make me love you?" 
 
 "Little woman, you are still determined to look at 
 things from a one-sided point of view. Once you 
 thought me despicable. Now you can t remember that 
 I have a failing." He spoke sadly. "And yet it is 
 my curse through life that I never have the courage 
 to seize events and do what I like with them. Your 
 indifference, the slightest scornful word from you 
 seemed to make me numb. Again and again I tried; 
 but I never caught fortune s forelock. I always fail. 
 I m afraid I always shall fail in anything I under 
 take. I never clinch things." 
 
 "Do you mean that you are lacking in the self- 
 confidence that a man needs in order to make him 
 act at the critical moment?" 
 
 "I suppose that is it." 
 
 "We ll soon fix that," she said confidently. "For 
 the rest of your life you are going to succeed. Here 
 after I m going to praise and admire and generally 
 
MRS. LYELL S NEW GOSPEL 271 
 
 cocker you up so that you will be a monster of self- 
 approbation. I m only afraid that your vanity and 
 presumption and masterfulness will make you almost 
 unendurable." They both laughed like children. 
 
 In the carriage on her way home, Miss Windsor 
 too laughed softly at intervals. 
 
 But, though she laughed, one phrase of Her friend s 
 kept repeating itself to her own heart : 
 
 "Don t love your own soul too much; love some 
 one else s." 
 
 "After all, it would be worth while to be such an 
 other extremist as she is to feel the extreme of love 
 too, as she does," she whispered to herself. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 MORE LUCK 
 
 The village store at Minturn was chiefly remarkable 
 for its large electric lights, and the absence of any 
 thing that a rational mortal could eat or wear. The 
 brilliant red under-flannels with which Lenox was 
 obliged to eke out his diminished store gave promise 
 of enduring until their first wash, and seemed to 
 offer an explanation of the prevailing prejudice, in 
 those parts, against submitting garments to the wear 
 and tear of the tub. The village hotel proved to be a 
 place where the waiting maid shouted Swedish mys 
 teries into a hole in the wall, and returned bearing 
 dishes that filled Frank s mind with interrogation 
 points. He fell \vith a thud from the glorious region 
 where Vera Windsor irradiated peril and pain and 
 stirred the manhood within him, to the commonplace 
 earth, where, to adopt the vernacular, "a feller must 
 hustle for his living." 
 
 Being clothed and partly fed, he set out for the fa- 
 272 
 
MORE LUCK 273 
 
 mous farm of Sven Svenson. That big blond, serene 
 and unruffled as though his horses had never been in 
 jeopardy, received him with a welcome as broad as 
 his own breast. The farm was a thing to look at 
 and rejoice. Lenox was thankful to accept an invi 
 tation to spend the night, glad to sit down to the 
 wholesome profuseness of a good country supper. 
 All around him were gems of art of domestic and 
 factory manufacture. Here hung large crayon por 
 traits of all the family ; there stood brilliant blue and 
 gold vases, such as one sees only in suteh wholesale 
 houses of St. Etienne as cater for the country trade; 
 here was the overgrown upright piano that marks ris 
 ing gentility. Best of all there was Mrs. Svenson, 
 clean, rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed and plump, and there 
 were the little Svensons, clean, rosy-cheeked, blue- 
 eyed and plump, a long line of them, "every 
 smaller," as their father explained, with a descending 
 wave of his broad hand as he introduced them. 
 
 Lenox was always genuinely interested in the other 
 man, so, after supper, when there were pipes and leis 
 ure, he opened up. 
 
 "How did you come out here, Svenson?" 
 
 "Ah, Ay coom on a horse-car." 
 
 "Oh, that will do!" 
 
 "Ay mean Ay coom on a car vat you ship horses 
 
274 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 on. Me an me broodar Eric, ve vas ofar dar behind 
 the horses, an the conductor, an the brakeman, day 
 don t dar to coom in dar an gat anny fares from us. 
 Day couldn t gat anny fares annyvay, because ve don t 
 gat anny money. Dat s how ve coom." 
 
 "And what has become of your brother?" 
 
 "Eric? He vas about tray hondert mile nort of 
 har. Hay got big farm, Eric. Hay vas vort most 
 saxty tousan dollar. Ay tell you vat! Ay gif you 
 latter to Eric, an Ay guess hay gaf you some grain, 
 too. Hay vas goot fallar to know." 
 
 "You and Eric seem to get on a great deal better 
 than some of the settlers here." 
 
 "Ay tall you vat, young fallar, das vas de best coun 
 try in world for a fallar to gat rich in, van hay 
 don t gat any money to start vith. A man coom out 
 har, an af hay got nough brains to tank vit one 
 half-hour afery day, an hay as villin to work tan, 
 twelf hours afery day, dan hay tanks hay fount the 
 promised lant. Dan anodar fallar, hay har how dat 
 fallar gat rich, an hay coom too ; an hay ain t gat no 
 brains, an hay ain t gat no push, an hay sats down an 
 vaits. Vat does hay fint ? Hay fints ve got awful hot 
 dry summers, an awful cold vinters, an hay say at s 
 a damn bad country." 
 
 "I guess you ve sized up the situation. Is your 
 
MORE LUCK 275 
 
 brother Eric bringing up a fine family like yours, to 
 vote for a Swedish governor every time?" 
 
 "Yas, Eric, hay vas married, but hay don t ban 
 married so long as me, an has family, it ain t so big. 
 Ay vas oop dar var Eric lif van hay yoost got a 
 leetle dug-out an hay lif all alone. Dar vas a man 
 name of Anderson, Ole Anderson, an hay vas goin 
 avay, an hay vant to sail has furniture, an hay sail 
 her mighty cheap. At vas goot furniture. So Ay say, 
 "Eric, dat vas cheap furniture. You vant to buy that 
 furniture. Eric, hay say, Vat Ay do vit all dat fur 
 niture? Ay say, You ought to gat married. Das 
 vas goot chance. So Eric, hay buy furniture ; an hay 
 say, Ay vander who Ay batter marry ? So ve sat an 
 tank. Dan Ay say, Dat hired girl of Larson s shay 
 mak goot vife. Hay say, All right. Ay go out dar 
 now. Ay guess Ay gat license before we go. Dat 
 saf one trip. Because Mr. Larson, hay vas ministar. 
 Hay could marry dam right off. So ve go to gat a 
 license, an Eric say, Sven, vat you say har last name? 
 Ay know har front name vas Tilly, but Ay don t know 
 har last name. The man, hay say, Ay can t gif you no 
 license vitout you know her last name. So Eric, hay 
 say, Vail, put it down Petarson on chances. Ay 
 guess dat do annyvay. Veil, har name was Petarson, 
 so that vas vay Eric got married." 
 
276 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 I 
 
 Svenson put back his big head and gave a deep bel 
 lowing laugh. 
 
 "Hay vas a goot man, an hay got a goot vife," he 
 concluded. 
 
 Mrs. Svenson came in from her household tasks 
 and sat by the lamp to make a wonderful mat by 
 cutting red velveteen in long strips. Frank longed 
 to ask her what romance lay behind her matrimonial 
 venture, but he contented himself by taking a young 
 Viking on his lap and telling him the wonderful story 
 of how Brother Rabbit frightened his neighbors. Sev 
 eral other young Vikings stood around and listened 
 solemnly and pondered long on what they had heard. 
 And then came bed, between coarse linen sheets, fra 
 grant with cleanliness. 
 
 3 It was afternoon of the next day before the visit 
 and the business came to an end, and Frank said good- 
 by to all the little Norsemen. His bicycle had come 
 up on the noon train from St. Etienne, and with it a 
 letter from Henry Repburn, written the day before 
 the Pine Vale fire, an4 savoring strongly of ancient 
 history. 
 
 "My dear Lenox," it read. "At last I am strong 
 enough to write and thank you for your generous 
 gift, inclosed in the note which Doctor Norris gave 
 me a day or two ago. I appreciate your good advice, 
 
MORE LUCK 277 
 
 and, as you shall hear, I have reason to hope that I 
 shall be able to pay back the money some day. 
 
 "Miss Windsor came to see me yesterday. I did 
 not know till then that it was she who picked me up. 
 She is all right, if her father is an old pirate. She 
 brought me good things to eat and read, and was 
 thoroughly kind. In fact, I could not help telling her 
 my whole story, and she seemed very sympathetic with 
 my undeserved sufferings. I hope she will give her 
 father a piece of her mind on the subject. She fin 
 ished by offering to help me, but I told her that you 
 had already lifted me over a hard place, and she said 
 that was just what she would have expected of you. 
 I did not know you knew her so well. She is a peach. 
 
 "And now I must tell you what I had the pleasure 
 of telling her. My luck has turned at last. The very 
 day after I came to the hospital, a letter arrived from 
 my Uncle Henry, begging my forgiveness for his un 
 just treatment of me. He has had a paralytic stroke 
 that partly disabled him, and he implores me to come 
 back and take care of him during his old age. All he 
 wants is my company and my attentions, and he prom 
 ises to make me his heir. Of course this good for 
 tune makes me all the more ashamed of my recent 
 act, and more grateful to you and Miss Windsor for 
 saving me, I do not feel so grateful to Doctor Nor- 
 
278 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 ris, for, though he has done his duty to me as a phy 
 sician, he has spoken to me in a way that I must desig 
 nate as hateful. A doctor has no call to administer 
 morals. 
 
 "I do not wish to be un-Christian, but I can not 
 help regarding this visitation of Uncle Henry s as a 
 judgment. He probably brought it on himself by his 
 evil passions against me. He has a daughter who was 
 very impertinent to him years ago. He quarreled 
 violently with her, so that, as she inherits his bad dis 
 position, it is quite right that I should inherit his 
 property. 
 
 "Of course I shall not twit him with the evident 
 Providence shown in his misfortune, for it might turn 
 him against me if I did. I shall be as kind to him as 
 I know how. 
 
 "Your welcome gift will enable me to pay my fare 
 back to Winterhaven, whither I shall go in a few 
 days now, and I shall hope to return the money soon. 
 I should not think Uncle Henry would last long. But 
 I do not expect to return to St. Etienne. I do not 
 think the West suits me. 
 
 "May the same good luck that has at last befallen 
 me come to you. 
 
 Sincerely your friend, 
 
 Henry Repburn." 
 
MORE LUCK 279 
 
 As he folded up this epistle Frank could not Help 
 whistling softly to himself. 
 
 "Here is food for reflection," he said. "But being 
 a man on the road/ I have no time for reflection. T 
 will ride twenty miles north to Trondheim, and there 
 try to intercept to-morrow s express on to Eric Sven- 
 son." 
 
 Over the level prairie road, with the wind at his 
 back, he made the new wheel fly, but the road soon 
 narrowed and faded out into mere ruts, so that ever 
 his pace grew slower and slower. The gusts became 
 fitful, uncertain of their own intention, then whirled 
 around, bringing with them fierce sheets of rain, the 
 first rain for two months. Lenox s first thought was, 
 "If this had come three days ago, Pine Vale and her 
 people would not now be in ashes !" 
 
 Slipping, riding and walking in the steady down 
 pour soon brought back his thoughts to his own small 
 affairs. Again and again he fell from his wheel with 
 no injury except a soft coating of mud from heels to 
 head. Now and again the wheels blocked entirely, so 
 that he had to leave the road and take to the uneven 
 prairie, to stumble over the stubbly grass. 
 
 Every mile or so, a small stream crossed the road, 
 and bridges there were none. At first he crossed these 
 rivulets on the parallel railway, but soon, growing in- 
 
280 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 different to wetness, he shouldered his wheel and gal 
 lantly waded the currents. For two mortal hours, 
 with eyes full of damp real estate, plunging and lung 
 ing through the storm, he fought his way. Then the 
 sun came brilliantly to the fore again and baked the 
 mud picturesquely over him. 
 
 Thus decorated, he rode into Trondheim, to the 
 great delight of the little boys who lined up to watcti 
 him. Like a dog with its tail between its legs, Lenox 
 jogged his wheel between their loud-voiced ranks, 
 and gladly flung himself into the shelter of the hotel. 
 A portly German host, with discernment enough to 
 perceive his underlying respectability, cheerfully 
 proffered a suit of his own clothes, but to the wearied 
 bicyclist bed was the most alluring of images; and 
 to bed he went, handing his raiment through the door 
 to be dried and cleaned according to the dictates of 
 the German conscience. 
 
 But before the blessings of bed, there were new hor 
 rors to be endured. He discovered that, save for a few 
 pale streaks on his legs, he was dyed a brilliant, in 
 dubitable, glowing red. 
 
 "Never again will I buy under-flannels at Minturn," 
 he said, dejectedly surveying himself in the mirror. 
 And as he scrubbed in growing desperation: "Will 
 nothing but time and sapolio avail me? It s unrea- 
 
MORE LUCK 281 
 
 sonable that color that goes on so easily should stick 
 so fast." 
 
 With chattering teeth, and weary with a weariness 
 on which the unmeaning hotel supper, sent to his, 
 room, made no impression, he tried to settle himself 
 to sleep. He was disturbed to find his pulse running a 
 little wildly. No longer a youth out in pursuit of 
 fortune, he became a desolate, homeless, friendless 
 wanderer. He was without belongings. He wrote 
 his mother s name and address on a scrap of paper 
 and pinned it to the head of the bed, realizing, as he 
 did so, that she was too far off, in the Maine village, 
 to help him in case of illness. He thought of Vera, 
 passionately, longingly ; not, as he had hitherto loved 
 her, for her girlhood, but with keen appreciation of 
 womanly services. He envied Lyell the ministrations 
 of his wife. A home seemed the most desirable thing 
 in life. It is a threat of advancing middle life when 
 the world looks this way, when the beloved becomes, 
 not a lovely isolated image, but a representative 
 of household joys. But this he did not know. He 
 coveted even the crayon portraits of Sven Svenson, 
 in so far as they stood for home; and then he fell 
 asleep, to awake in glowing morning, as right as a 
 trivet, and with an enormous appetite. Middle age 
 held at bay, and youth was triumphant. While 
 
282 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 making a fresh attack on his dye, he indulged in schol 
 arly meditations. 
 
 "I am going to write an article that will electrify 
 the ethnographical world," he said, "and settle for 
 ever the question as to whether there is a tendency 
 on the part of settlers in America to revert to the In 
 dian types. Here, as soon as I come to the land of 
 the Dakotahs, I bloom out like a red man. I must 
 be full-blooded Sioux up to my collar. I wonder if 
 it will show. By Jove, I wish I had a collar to put 
 on. I wonder why that Deutscher does not bring my 
 clothes." 
 
 There was no bell, but he pounded on wall and door. 
 Finally, in desperation, he paraded the deserted cor 
 ridors to the very limits, but still no genial German 
 face, no responsive garments. Time, after its invari 
 able habit, went on, and the north-bound express 
 would soon be due. He flung open the window, knelt 
 beside it and hailed the first passer-by, who looked 
 wildly up and down, in response to his, "Hi!" 
 
 "Would you be kind enough to go in and ask the 
 landlord to send up my clothes ? I am very anxious to 
 catch the train. Thank you." And when at last he 
 got himself into the stiffened and creased-at-all-the- 
 wrong-places trousers, he muttered to himself: 
 
 "This is the greatest piece of luck I have had. Eric 
 
MORE LUCK 283 
 
 Svenson will take me for a backwoods farmer, and, 
 instead of vituperating me for a city dude, as most of 
 them do, he will fall upon my neck, and send me every 
 bushel of his grain!" 
 
 One may become quite as much of a philosopher 
 while on the hunt for wheat in North Dakota as when 
 searching for an honest man in classic Greece. 
 
 And after Eric, the physical duplicate of Sven, had 
 been seen and successfully interviewed, Frank pene 
 trated still farther up the Keewis Valley, which, being 
 off the beaten track, had devoted to its service the 
 oldest and shabbiest cars that the company owned, 
 cars now filled chiefly with farm-hands. 
 
 At each station the engine uncoupled to do switch 
 ing and the train crew loaded and unloaded freight 
 cars. There was plenty of time at each place for the 
 energetic grain man to attack a few prominent citi 
 zens, and get here and there the promise of a shipment 
 a promise generally unfulfilled while the bulk of 
 the passengers ran to the adjacent village to buy 
 luncheons with which they returned to the car and 
 held high carnival, littering the floor with broken 
 doughnuts and banana skins, and indulging in pon 
 derous jokes about the North Railroad s buffet car, 
 alternating with loud requests to the porter to make 
 up the berths, because they were tired of this delay. 
 
284 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 At Olga, Lenox decided to go no farther into a 
 hopeless region, but to await the down-coming train 
 and get back to the main line; and at Olga, accord 
 ingly, he descended. The place had not a cheerful 
 appearance, for the station doors were all boarded up 
 with old grain doors; but Frank met with a cheerful 
 welcome from Judge Higgs, whose aged dignity was 
 enhanced by the fact that he had the honor to be post 
 master, though, to judge by the collapsed state of 
 the mail-bag that hung awaiting the train, the po 
 sition was not an onerous one. At any rate, the judge 
 was delighted at the unusual spectacle of any one get 
 ting off at Olga. His face still bore traces of last 
 week s tobacco, and he was quite deaf. The whole 
 town came to its doors to listen to the conversa 
 tion that took place between its own dignitary and the 
 enterprising stranger within its gates. Frank 
 launched into a dissertation on the great benefits which 
 would come to a thriving town like Olga, if it would 
 start a farmers elevator, which, quite incidentally to 
 its sending a large amount of grain to the St. Pierre 
 Company, would prove an attraction to the entire 
 neighborhood, luring surrounding farmers to trade 
 in the vicinity, and thus rushing the town into that 
 vortex of "boom," for which it had been waiting for 
 years. The idea evidently intoxicated the citizens, 
 
MORE LUCK 285 
 
 and they were very cordial to Frank. The general 
 storekeeper even refused to accept payment for five 
 cents worth of prunes, from which the young man 
 made a frugal lunch. And then the train came, a 
 freight, which he determined to take in order to get 
 back to a real town before night, to avoid the country 
 hostelry, and to secure a good night s rest. He was 
 learning these things. 
 
 "Hello!" said the conductor, as he got aboard. "Got 
 off at Olga, did ye? Guess you must be green at it, 
 sonny. Never knew a traveling man to get off at 
 Olga before." 
 
 The ride was exciting to Frank s inexperienced eyes 
 because of the deeds of this same conductor, a true 
 Irishman, and a lover of a fight. The tramp was 
 abroad in the land, and the official was having his 
 little day. He would drop off, while the train was 
 climbing a grade, catch the truss-rods, swing under 
 the car, and deliver his personal compliments to the 
 ride stealers. One of the tramps threw a stone at 
 him while he was on the caboose, and the conductor 
 promptly returned fire with a revolver, but neither 
 of them hit. 
 
 "Say, there s a feller on those truss-beams. Watch 
 me make him happy," said the joyous scrapper. 
 
 He took a piece of heavy chain, attached it to a long 
 
286 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 rope, which he hung at the end of the box-car and low 
 ered until the great links dragged and sent the fine 
 gravel of the road-bed rattling and peppering the un 
 fortunate creature below. 
 
 "Hear him swear ? Naw, ye can t hear him, but he s 
 swearing, just the same," the Irishman exclaimed 
 rapturously. "Haw, crawl on to the brake-beams, 
 would ye? I ll fix ye, my beauty!" and he set the 
 brakes until they chattered, shaking the prisoned 
 tramp with continuous and intolerable jars. 
 
 "Now will ye get off?" he cried exultantly. "You 
 bet ye will !" 
 
 The conductor went his way, knowing himself vic 
 torious. 
 
 Happy is the man who can pound a fellow man, and 
 do his duty at one and the same time. That con 
 ductor would hardly have forfeited the proud privi 
 lege of fighting^tramps to be division superintendent. 
 
 And yet, after Lenox had finally descended and 
 stood a moment on the platform of the station, while 
 the train zooned past him, an undetected vagrant 
 waved a triumphant though ragged cap from the 
 doorway of an empty box-car, and Lenox paid him 
 the tribute of an elaborate bow, as they parted for ever. 
 
 And upon this these contrasts were unbelievable 
 there came an excellent hotel buzzing with conven- 
 
MORE LUCK 287 
 
 tional life, and with all the turmoil of civilization. 
 Frank took his appetizing dinner, chatted with a thor 
 oughly informed man of the world, spent a pleasing 
 evening at a pretty provincial theater, and went to 
 bed to wonder at the methods of nature and of man, 
 when between them they start in to "open up" a new 
 country. For these things alternated in streaks, like 
 the fat and lean of bacon. 
 
 Day after day, night after night, it went on. The 
 weeks passed, and now Lenox found himself far to 
 the north, near that, Canadian frontier where, it is re 
 ported, old Boreas keeps his blizzard factory. 
 
 A loud discussion on economics was raging in the 
 car. 
 
 "Reciprocity!" He heard the argument come to a 
 close. "I tell you there can t be no reciprocity be 
 tween God s country and Canada until we can equalize 
 things a bit, and send them as bad weather as they 
 send us. Look at this storm! This is the kind of 
 thing they make up there. I tell you the less we have 
 to do with anybody that is fool enough to live up 
 there, the better for us. If I was the gov ment at 
 Washington, I d swing the Rocky Mountains around 
 on a pivot, and string em along the border, and make 
 them Canucks keep their cold winds to theirselves." 
 
 Everybody was too depressed to answer this, and si- 
 
288 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 lence fell upon the car. It was Sunday night, and 
 the snow lay heavily across the northland. The train 
 waited to start from a tiny junction on its course up 
 a small branch line. Across the station, the great 
 south-bound express puffed nervously as it halted for 
 a brief instant. The lights of the comfortable Pull 
 mans gleamed warm and alluring through the oncom 
 ing storm. Frank looked longingly at it through the 
 windows of the mean, poorly lighted day-coach that 
 was good enough for the Meryton branch. Five hun 
 dred miles away to the south lay St. Etienne and 
 Vera Windsor. He felt the lump in his throat like a 
 homesick boy. This was a dog s life ; and it was only 
 three days now to the dance when, he had hoped, he 
 might see her and touch her. Five hundred miles ! 
 
 He had that buoyant courage which itself fights 
 half of every battle the first half and he had not 
 been afraid of this rough and tumble of a civilization 
 in the making. Each opportunity had opened out an 
 other, until the route originally planned had spread 
 in all directions. He was far from through with his 
 allotted task, though he had added to it frills on every 
 side, and from a business point of view he knew that 
 he had succeeded in making a goodly record. 
 
 Away to the south flew the big train, and the little 
 one waited and waited. Hour after hour passed. 
 
MORE LUCK 289 
 
 "Something wrong up the track," was all the satisfac 
 tion that impatient passengers could get out of taci 
 turn officials. Already eighteen inches of snow lay on 
 the ground, and all the afternoon the clouds had been 
 working up from that ominous northwest quarter. 
 Now the blast came. Starlight was wiped out in inky 
 blackness. The wind shrieked in at the casements of the 
 miserable car and howled about its eaves and those 
 of the station beyond. Snow filled every crevice. A 
 tired baby cried in a tired mother s arms and dropped 
 asleep. Lenox tried to read Jane Eyre by the light of 
 an evil-smelling lamp, and gave it up to stare moodilv 
 out at the storm and to fancy how horrible it would be 
 to be a belated traveler abroad on the prairie, especially 
 if one had taken too much "cold tea" before starting 
 on his journey. 
 
 The train gave a discouraged jerk, as though it, 
 too, wished that it could have gone south on the 
 through express. 
 
 "How long do you think it will take us to get to 
 Meryton at this rate?" 
 
 "Dunno," growled the conductor shortly. 
 
 The train stopped and waited another hour. People 
 went to sleep in various attitudes of discomfort, to 
 doze and wake and doze again while the wind rocked 
 the lonely car like a cradle. And the final wakening 
 
 \ 
 
2QO THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 came to a world still white with eddying snow-drifts 
 and hemmed in with gray .wilderness. 
 
 On the platform Lenox found a brakeman who vol 
 unteered the information: "By the time they get 
 the darned old bridge mended, we ll be blocked by 
 darned old snow-drifts. What s the use of kicking 
 anyhow ?" 
 
 All day the train stood still with that impenetrable 
 whiteness accumulating like a wall in front of it. So 
 ciety organized itself by the natural methoci ; the pas 
 sengers thus flung together by fortune were all on 
 speaking terms, even speaking of each other to each 
 other behind his or her back. 
 
 The passengers read and re-read the directions on 
 the backs of the telegraph blanks, the only literary 
 pabulum to be found. Occasionally the engine gave 
 a heavy bull-like bunt at the drift and retired more 
 discouraged than ever. 
 
 Once excitement rose to a fever heat. A small, 
 much-be-muffled boy appeared at the car door, pushing 
 before him a basket many sizes too large for him. He 
 spoke into the monotony : 
 
 "Anybody want milk or pie?" 
 
 He was almost upset in the onslaught. Hands be 
 gan to grab while the new Ganymede looked on in 
 tearful impotence, until Lenox seized him and put him 
 
MORE LUCK 291 
 
 in a corner, saying, "Use this ledge for a counter, my 
 lad, and I ll see that you get fair play." 
 
 "That s square !" 
 
 "Give the lady with the baby a whack at the milk, 
 can t you?" 
 
 "I ll auction it off for you. Ladies and gentlemen, 
 what am I offered for this remarkable piece of pie, 
 guaranteed like mother used to make, or money re 
 funded ? It goes to the highest bidder." 
 
 So little Ole trotted back and forth from the farm 
 of the Olsons, and reaped a golden harvest. 
 
 "Say, let s have a christening ceremony for this 
 car," remarked the witty philosopher, who is found 
 wherever two or three are gathered together. 
 
 "What do you want to name it ?" asked the accom 
 modating person who always asks what is expected 
 from him. 
 
 "Well, it s painted on the outside, Kankakee, but 
 I d sooner call it the Steadfast. " There were several 
 ponderous but hollow laughs, and humor s stock ebbed 
 low. 
 
 Toward evening the train began to move slowly 
 back, with heavy groans from the wheezy locomotive. 
 Lenox sought the nonchalant conductor in frank dis 
 may. 
 
 "Aw," said that functionary, " taint no use. The 
 
292 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 bridge ain t safe and the snow blocks us anyway. We 
 can t get through." 
 
 "When is the next train to start?" Frank was in 
 clined to be insistent. 
 
 "This train, sir," the conductor replied, with official 
 humor, "runs every day except week days and most of 
 the winter. Aw, they can t clear the track for as little 
 traffic as there is on this branch. Mebbe twon t be 
 open till spring." 
 
 Thus, when more than twenty-four hours had 
 elapsed from the time of starting, the "accommoda 
 tion," routed, returned to Leveret Junction. Lenox 
 sent a telegram to Mr. Holton. 
 
 "Have covered all the ground proposed, except 
 Meryton Branch, which is blocked by snow. Where 
 do you wish me to go ?" 
 
 He pretended to himself that he was quite indiffer 
 ent to the answer to this message, but when it came, 
 "Come back to St. Etienne," the leaping of his pulses 
 gave the lie to the flimsy deception. 
 
 After another long period of waiting, he heard, far 
 off through the stillness of the early morning, a 
 sound of joy he heard the distant whistle and then 
 the arriving roar of an express, making a symphony 
 of triumph. The black porter in the sleeping car 
 looked like a guardian angel; and, after he was laid 
 
MORE LUCK 293 
 
 away on his shelf, between the starchy sheets, the 
 rhythmic thump-thump sang a lullaby, as the train 
 rushed southward through the night. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 A WALK AND A DANCE 
 
 The day was young, the air was crisp, the sky of a 
 primary blue, as Vera Windsor, buoyant from the 
 crown of her head to her feet, too buoyant for the 
 prosaic inside of a carriage, started to walk down 
 town. The sound of brisk footsteps behind reechoed 
 her own joy in activity, and she turned with a radiant 
 greeting, as Mr. Kemyss joined her. To him, too, the 
 world looked fair. He was square with Timothy Nor 
 ton, and no one was the wiser as to their relations. 
 The wretched old debt that had been rolling up like a 
 snowball for the past two years was canceled. He had 
 even a thousand or two to spare. He could face the 
 world with freedom. He and his fellow conspirator 
 had not even met face to face, so simple a thing had it 
 proved to hoodwink the dull old world. He even began 
 to take an interest in other people s affairs, and Mrs. 
 Lyell had for him the fascination that the scene of 
 his crime is supposed to hold for the murderer. 
 
 294 
 
A WALK AND A DANCE 295 
 
 "Do you know how Lyell is getting on ?" he asked. 
 
 "I have just come from there. It is quite certain 
 now that he will regain his sight. Of course, his wife 
 is exultant. But his face, Mr. Kemyss, is like a gar 
 goyle. It has hardly a human semblance. He will be a 
 monster for the rest of his life, and she does not seem 
 to know it. She is so devoted that she has lost all con 
 sciousness of how he will look to other people. Of 
 course she would love him all the more, since he paid 
 that price for her." 
 
 Now, knowing what he did, this naturally amused 
 Mr. Kemyss very much, and it also greatly relieved 
 him. 
 
 "Then perhaps he was a lucky fellow to get a chance 
 to prove himself a hero in the eyes of the woman he 
 loves. Life is usually so humdrum that most men never 
 have the opportunity to show that side of themselves." 
 
 "Oh, I believe there is a good deal of genuine man 
 liness in the world in spite of our sophistications. It 
 shows in little things as well as in great ones." She 
 spoke softly, even tenderly, and Kemyss looked at her 
 with a glow of something almost warmer than admira 
 tion. It was plain to him that she regarded him in a 
 favorable light. 
 
 "Still Lyell is rather a dull fellow," he went on. "I 
 wonder how it will be in years to come when Mrs. 
 
296 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 Lyell has recovered from her present spasm of admira 
 tion. She will always be superlative, you know. She 
 may end as a Roman Catholic, or she may end as a 
 Buddhist, but, whatever she is, it will be with all her 
 might." 
 
 "Yes, I admit that is true. It took me a long time 
 to find it out. I used to think her enthusiasm was a 
 testimony to the truth of her ideas." 
 
 "No, it is merely a matter of temperament." 
 
 "Well, one is always inclined to believe what some 
 one else believes very hard. You were clever to read 
 her so clearly." But Vera spoke as though she did not 
 like his diagnosis. "Really, though," she said, bright 
 ening, "Mr. Lyell is not stupid. I suppose he has fallen 
 into a habit of reticence through all these years. Mrs. 
 Lyell says he used never to talk. But now he has 
 opened up, and I assure you he is a delightful com 
 panion. I think his ideas have grown fine through his 
 very genuineness. Perhaps, if one lives the truth, one 
 can not help knowing the truth." 
 
 "It is a great pity, Miss Windsor, that you can not 
 enter the pulpit." He could not resist giving her this 
 thrust for the thing in her that he least liked. 
 
 "Do you think I am preachy?" 
 
 "I think it is a great pity that a girl so young and," 
 he hesitated a moment, and then as if it would come 
 
A WALK AND A DANCE 297 
 
 out, added, "so beautiful as yourself, should be regard 
 ing the world chiefly as a lesson in ethics." 
 
 "And what is it, then?" 
 
 "A place to have a good time in, at least while you 
 are young. And Mrs. Lyell is having a great deal 
 more fun than you are, at present, because she is play 
 ing with love and not with morals. That is the great 
 game, Miss Windsor." 
 
 She did not look up, but a warm glow spread over 
 her face. 
 
 "Mrs. Lyell is playing with the combination of love 
 and morals at last, I think," she said. "I have an er 
 rand here. Good morning, Mr. Kemyss." 
 
 And Kemyss strode on to the office with a happy 
 and supercilious expression, betokening that he had 
 just made a great hit, and was superior to the grubbing 
 humanity through which he passed. Everything was 
 coming to him. 
 
 In the early evening of late November, Lenox s 
 train steamed into St. Etienne. It was the through 
 train from the Pacific, delayed by northern snows until 
 it was exactly twenty-four hours late, and so could 
 conscientiously be posted as "on time." 
 
 How delicious was this rush of city life, after the 
 unmitigated nature of Leveret Junction! The abrupt 
 glares and shadows of the electric lights, the dashes 
 
298 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 of color in lighted shop-windows, the rush and mur 
 mur of home-returning crowds, the cry of newsboys, 
 and the imperative whizz of heavily laden electrics, 
 made harmony for Frank s eyes and ears. The almost 
 strange city looked like home; even the impersonal 
 hotel room looked like home. Waiting on his mantel 
 shelf was a pile of letters, the dear missives from his 
 mother, the gossip of old friends, the signals from 
 other boys, who, like himself, had gone out from the 
 New England home to leaven the land with Puritan 
 blood. He seized them eagerly, and uttered an excla 
 mation of impatience as there came a rap at his door. 
 
 "They told me down stairs that you was just back 
 this minute," said Repburn s drawl. "It seemed too 
 good to be true, after all I ve been through, to think 
 you was really here. Upon my word, I need a friend." 
 
 Lenox laid down his letters and tried to assume a 
 hospitable air. 
 
 "Sit down," he said. "What s up now? So you ve 
 come back to St. Etienne after all ?" as though the 
 question were unnecessary, still less the lengthy an 
 swer. 
 
 "Yes, I m back. I m back. I ve come back to St. 
 Etienne, and I hoped to goodness I d never do it again. 
 But I might have known all that good luck was too 
 good for me. It just had to turn. Say, If there s any 
 
A WALK AND A DANCE 299 
 
 such thing as a goddess of fate, she d ought to be 
 throttled." 
 
 Lenox now resigned himself altogether. After all, 
 it was several hours before the ball, and he had to put 
 in his time in some fashion. Repburn crossed his legs 
 and took a comfortable position, preparatory to aban 
 doning himself to the luxury of rehearsing his woes. 
 
 "This is how it was. Uncle Henry was just too de 
 lighted to see me. Poor old feller, he was all laid up, 
 and mighty lonely, I can tell you! You d a thought 
 nothing ever happened between us. All he wanted to 
 keep him contented was just for me to sit around and 
 read to him and tell him about the great wicked West, 
 and what an old reprobate Nick Windsor was. It is a 
 real satisfaction to think that, when some of us ain t 
 gettin our fair show, still some of these men that seem 
 to be havin everythin in the world are such old sin 
 ners that they are sure to get their come-uppance when 
 they cross Jordan. Uncle Henry was tickled to death, 
 and so was every one else. So we had a very pleasant 
 time for a few days, and I was gettin really fond of 
 the old boy, when, of course, it had to go and happen." 
 
 "What had to happen?" 
 
 "Let s see. To-day s the twenty-fourth. Well, it 
 was just twelve days ago to-day, I was helpin him 
 across from a sofy to his chair, and some one had been 
 
300 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 careless enough to leave a kind of a hole in the carpet. 
 Darned if I don t think it was a piece of spite on some 
 one s part." 
 
 "Why, he didn t blame you for it, did he?" 
 "Blame me? Why, he never got the chance. As I 
 told you, I was liftin him, and, sir, if my foot didn t 
 catch in that hole, and down I went, and him under 
 me. If you ll believe me, he never spoke again, and 
 two days afterward he died. And the trouble was, he 
 had not made his will. The old villain, after he d got 
 me to go clear on there, and after me taking care of him 
 and everything he had to go and die without makin 
 the will he promised !" 
 
 "He probably intended to, but hadn t time." 
 "Well, I hope so, for the sake of his immortal soul. 
 I hope his intentions were better than his acts; but it 
 was a mean trick to play on a feller." 
 
 "Why, you come in for the money anyway, don t 
 you?" 
 
 "Don t you remember," asked Mr. Repburn in a 
 grieved voice, "don t you remember that I wrote you 
 that Uncle Henry had a daughter? She is an unre- 
 generate, I can tell you, if one ever lived on this earth. 
 She came postin up to Winterhaven, she and her hus 
 band, almost before Uncle Henry was cold, and just 
 as sassy as if she had a right there." 
 
A WALK AND A DANCE 301 
 
 "She did, you know," observed Lenox. 
 
 "Legally, I suppose, but not by any higher law. I 
 represented to her in the strongest terms I knew how 
 what was her duty, but it didn t do no good. I told her 
 that as Uncle Henry intended I should have every 
 thing the least she could do was to divide even. And 
 do you know, sir, her husband had the audacity to tell 
 me to leave the house. He said that I was answerable 
 for the old man s death, and I d ought to be thankful 
 that they didn t have me arrested for murder. Yes, 
 sir, that s the way they talked to me. They won t have 
 any good come to them with the money they get, and 
 thank the Lord, they didn t get it all." 
 
 "Then y^our uncle did make some will ?" 
 
 "No, he didn t make no will. But I had lived there 
 in the house with him, and I knew his ways. I knew 
 he had some money hidden somewheres ; and just as 
 soon as I realized that he was dead, I turned to and 
 hunted. I ve had more bad luck than any man I know, 
 but for once, I had my turn. I found it in an old sofy 
 cushion before ever she turned up. I suspected that 
 cushion, because uncle was so particular about always 
 havin it under his head. And you can just bet I didn t 
 say a word to her about it. By everything that s right, 
 I d ought to have clost on thirty thousand, and do you 
 think I was called on to give up that little bit, and 
 
302 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 leave myself penniless ? No, siree ! It would have beert 
 wicked for me to do so." 
 
 "How much was it that you stole ?" 
 
 "Stole! Why, what do you mean?" Repburn 
 looked perturbed.- 
 
 "I have an idea that is what the law, and Uncle 
 Henry s daughter, would call it," said Lenox. 
 
 "Oh, come, you re jokin ! This was equity, and 
 that s higher than law, ain t it? Well, sir, it amounted 
 to clost on two thousand dollars, and it s goin to be 
 the making of me. I tell you, in a country like this 
 there s lots of opportunities to make money, and I ve 
 begun my career already." He swelled out his chest 
 and grew important. 
 
 Frank choked a moment, then laughed. After all, 
 what was the use in his interfering? He might only 
 make matters worse, so he said : 
 
 "And what are you going to do ?" 
 
 "I ve gone into business with a feller here. I see an 
 ad in one of the papers the day after I got here and 
 that s four days ago saying that there was a good 
 business opportunity for a man with a small amount of 
 capital ; and I says to myself, That s me ! So I looked 
 it up, and it s all right. My partner is a smart kind of 
 a man, and I ll bet he knows how to make money. I ll 
 tell you all about it." 
 
A WALK AND A DANCE 303 
 
 "You ll have to wait until some other time," said 
 Frank. "I ve just come back to town, and it s late, and 
 I ve had no dinner. It s time I got a bite and dressed." 
 
 "Undressed, you mean. What do you want to dress 
 for at this time of night ?" 
 
 "I m going to a dance." 
 
 "You re going to a dance ? Gee whizz ! Who invites 
 you to a dance ?" Frank could not help laughing at his 
 impertinence. 
 
 "Your benefactress." 
 
 "Miss Windsor? Is Miss Windsor inviting you to 
 a dance? Say, Lenox, you re jokin again. You ain t 
 that thick with them." Then he added, enviously : 
 
 "You just wait till I ve made my everlastin fortune 
 the way I m bound to with this new scheme of mine, 
 and I guess the Windsors 11 be sweet on me, too." 
 
 "Repburn, will you be good enough to clear out of 
 here, and give me a chance to take a bath ?" demanded 
 Lenox, at the end of his rope. 
 
 Two or three hours later he shook hands with an im 
 posing line of receiving ladies, who mumbled inarticu 
 lately in palpable ignorance of his name, and pushed 
 on boldly through the crowd. His eyes lighted at last 
 as he saw her standing amid a bevy of friends near the 
 dancing-room door. He felt that till now he had not 
 appreciated her beauty. It needed the background of 
 
304 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY, 
 
 lovely faces and shoulders, and the glimmer of silks 
 and laces to reveal her. 
 
 The musicians were going through their usual pre 
 liminary anguish before striking up the first two-step, 
 and people screamed to make themselves heard. Before 
 her stood two or three men, and as he neared them, he 
 found that she was saying : 
 
 "No, no, that is final. I have positively vowed not 
 to dance this except, why, there he is now !" 
 
 She had turned her face toward him, and she put 
 out her hand. 
 
 "Mr. Lenox, I did not expect and hardly recognized 
 you. Really, how you have changed! The last time I 
 saw you I was under the impression that you combed 
 your hair with a match, and your collar " She gave a 
 little gasp. "I am ashamed of myself, that I can laugh 
 at any memories of that dreadful time. What must 
 you think of me ? And how do we dare to do this kind 
 of thing, when such horrors are in the world ?" 
 
 "Because we can t afford to let the shadow of death 
 darken all life, nor can we dress in perpetual black. 
 We must take the world as we find it in all its various 
 moods. I ve been seeing several of them of late, Miss 
 Windsor." 
 
 "And so have I. I ve been working on the relief 
 committee for the people who were left destitute by the 
 
A WALK AND A DANCE 305 
 
 fire. I wish you could have seen the poor creature in 
 rags, who refused to take a jacket because the sleeves 
 were last year s cut. She said there had been such a 
 change in this season s styles that she would be 
 ashamed to be seen in it." 
 
 "Well, isn t it lucky that there is some comedy 
 leavening every tragedy?" 
 
 "And often I think there is some tragedy leavening 
 every comedy, and redeeming it from "the common 
 place." 
 
 "Are you thinking now of Pine Vale or of Rep- 
 burn ?" 
 
 "Perhaps I am thinking of myself." 
 
 "You are neither comedy nor tragedy." 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 "Lyric poetry. But, come," he added quickly, "we 
 are here to play to-night, are we not ? The two-step is 
 well under way." 
 
 "Yes, dance. I love it!" she exclaimed, and he put 
 his arm around her waist, as blissfully happy as any 
 right-minded boy could be. 
 
 Ah, that rhythmic movement over gleaming floors 
 and under mellow softened lights ! How it sets the 
 pulses in tune ! The swirl of silken skirts, the glimpses 
 of lustrous eyes, the couples, self-absorbed, speak to 
 the senses of the mating that has gone on in the good 
 
306 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 old world since the morning stars sang together. The 
 serene older pairs look on, as if ready to assure the 
 young things that, having tried him, they have found 
 Love a fulfiller of all his promises. Dancing was in 
 vented that soft breaths and snowy shoulders should 
 repeat the same story. 
 
 At least, this was Francis Lenox s interpretation of 
 the spiritual meaning in a two-step, on that November 
 evening in St. Etienne. 
 
 And then the dance was over, and another man 
 claimed her. After all, the ball was the usual ordinary 
 assemblage of assorted humanity, and some of the 
 women had on too much powder. He waited eagerly 
 until his turn might come again, and although he dared 
 not speak or hint of all that was in him, yet every com 
 monplace sounded to his own ears like the most ardent 
 love-making. When a man is in this fine electric con 
 dition, obtuse indeed must be the maid who does not 
 thrill responsive to his passion. Vera was not obtuse to 
 the song without words. 
 
 Frank followed her and Mr. Windsor to their car 
 riage, to receive a cordial hand-shake from her father, 
 whom he now regarded with almost reverential awe. 
 
 "If this weather keeps up," the old man said, as a 
 cold blast struck them at the door, "we shall be having 
 ice-yachting in a few days. Vera, you must get up a 
 
A WALK AND A DANCE 307 
 
 party. Lenox, you d like to get a taste of it. It s great 
 old sport." 
 
 Vera went home too strangely excited to sleep, and 
 Frank rather envied the belated gamin whom he saw 
 hanging on behind her carriage as it rolled smoothly 
 over the asphalt. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 ICE-BOATING 
 
 In front of the club-house, fluttering on the glassy 
 surface of Lake Imnijaska, stood a group of ice-boats, 
 poised like sea-gulls impatient for flight. Occasionally 
 a gusty breeze, catching a sail, set it tugging and utter 
 ing quick moans of protest at the delay. Even the 
 runners moved uneasily, as though they were aerial 
 things longing to spurn the glittering solid below, and 
 lift themselves in an ecstasy of motion. The sky over 
 head dazzled the eyes by its intensity of blue not the 
 pink liquid blue of the south, but an unadulterated 
 passion of blue which found its reflection in great 
 stretches of almost equally intense ice. The wind had 
 swept bare the ice, but on the shores the snow was 
 piled in blinding whiteness against which naked trunks 
 of the birch-trees looked almost dingy. 
 
 The white oaks, clinging in miserly fashion to their 
 crumpled dead leaves, gave one the impression of care 
 less countrymen who had gone to bed with their clothes 
 
 308 
 
ICE-BOATING 309 
 
 on. Here and there a summer cottage peeped sheep 
 ishly and chillily from out the bleak trees, a little 
 ashamed of itself to be found in undress, flowerless 
 and hammockless, its wide piazzas bare of lounging 
 chairs and inviting pillows, and the broad lawns only 
 a smooth expanse of snow in the place of green velvet. 
 
 But little recked the group of gay young people 
 laughing on the ice, of anything save the brilliancy of 
 the day and the steely exhilaration of the crisp dry air. 
 Dancing blood, like tugging sails, called out for move 
 ment. Every one was bundled up to the ears, and each 
 was half-amused at the appearance of the other. 
 Kemyss was there, dressed as became a practised ice- 
 yachtsman, but looking bigger than ever from his 
 waist upward; Windsor, because of the more frigid 
 blood of older years, stamped to keep warm, in long 
 fur overcoat and cap with ear tabs. Others, less pre 
 pared for emergencies of this kind, wore anything and 
 everything, as regardless of appearances as the average 
 football player. Of the feminine half, be it said, that, 
 though the swathing furs might wipe out all distinc 
 tions of figure, they formed always a piquant and be 
 coming background for faces whose heightened com 
 plexion and brightened eyes paid tribute to the day. 
 
 "Your color is a delight! You are like a spot of 
 vivid human interest in this world of dazzling white." 
 
310 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 Kemyss spoke approvingly to Vera, who, in short- 
 skirted toboggan suit of scarlet, with high gaiters and 
 fluttering tasseled toque to match, and with big collar 
 and gloves of fur, looked the embodiment of vitality. 
 She was ready for anything. When he saw .her flash 
 a pleased glance at Kemyss, Lenox cursed himself for 
 not being the first to say the words that a moment be 
 fore he had thought better unsaid. Frank felt a hand 
 on his arm and whirled around. 
 
 "I want to introduce you to Miss Preston, Mr. 
 Lenox," said Windsor, and the young man found him 
 self bowing to a mass of furs, a glint of fair hair and a 
 pair of large blue eyes that looked at him coquettishly. 
 
 "The IVabasso is waiting for us. Do you think you 
 can hold Miss Preston in, Frank ?" 
 
 "You know it is my first experience in ice-boating, 
 Mr. Lenox !" The voice was plaintive and the big eyes 
 looked appealing. 
 
 "Then we will live and die together, Miss Preston ; 
 I m only a midshipmite myself." 
 
 He began gallantly to help her into the big net that 
 swung between the pulsing rudders and to heap rugs 
 around her, while internally he was wondering why 
 the Lord made blonde girls, and watching from the 
 corner of his eye the laughing embarcation of Vera and 
 Kemyss on the Polar Star, that fluttered near them. 
 
ICE-BOATING 311 
 
 "Lucky it s freezing ! It s not so pleasant ice-boating 
 when there are pools of water on the ice," said Wind 
 sor. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Well, if a fellow gets thrown off, he goes scooting 
 across the surface, and like as not the water that goes 
 into his trousers legs comes out at his neck. Hold on 
 tight, now !" 
 
 Miss Preston shrieked in dismay. 
 
 An ice-boat does not, like everything else that moves, 
 get up speed. One instant it is at rest, the next it moves 
 on the wings of the wind. 
 
 "Are you ready ?" Windsor s hand was on the tiller, 
 and only his eyes showed through a narrow crevice 
 above the collar and below the cap. Some one behind 
 caught the IVabasso, and threw her around. Miss 
 Preston gave a cry and a lurch. Frank gasped, caught 
 her hand, and carried it to the railing. He was glad 
 to fly, more than fly. Not only conversation, but even 
 thought was out of the question. There was nothing 
 in the world but the rush of blue above, the rush of 
 white below, and the scream of rigging. 
 
 Miss Preston, huddled among the rugs, gave con 
 stant moans of mingled rapture and terror. She wholly 
 forgot the agreeable things she had intended the good- 
 looking young stranger to say. Suddenly there was a 
 
312 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 long scraping sound that jarred after the smooth flight 
 and the Wabasso whirled up into the wind. 
 
 "There, look back and see where we have come 
 from !" Windsor spoke as calmly as if the flight of an 
 eagle was an every-day experience. The two young 
 people peered back over the great stretch to where 
 some microscopic figures dotted the whiteness. 
 
 "Good heavens, doyou mean to tell me that we ve 
 come all that distance ?" exclaimed the girl. 
 
 "It s great !" said Frank. 
 
 "About four miles in about four minutes," Windsor 
 said proudly. "They ll have to get up early if they 
 want to beat the Wabasso. Look out for the boom, 
 now, we ll be coming about !" 
 
 Lenox ducked his head automatically, but his mind 
 and eyes were fixed about a mile away, on a skimming 
 sail, with a bit of black and a dash of red beneath. He 
 would have liked to eliminate the bit of black. 
 
 "Let me take the tiller," Vera had asked imploringly 
 of her companion. "I ve always wanted to, and I be 
 lieve I can beguile you into letting me." 
 
 "You must keep a steady hand, and not lose your 
 nerve for a moment," said Kemyss. "One instant s 
 hesitation, and we should find ourselves climbing a 
 tree on the shore." 
 
 "Are you afraid to come with me ?" she laughed. 
 
ICE-BOATING 313 
 
 "I am very much afraid lest some accident should 
 happen to you." 
 
 He looked gravely at her, and for one wild instant 
 she wished that she had not come off with him alone. 
 At the club-house every one had taken for granted 
 in the most abominable manner that they would go to 
 gether. There was no time to think of that now. She 
 must mind her course. 
 
 Kemyss watched her eyes, steady and resolute, and 
 gleaming with physical delight. No man with red 
 blood in him, he thought, could help admiring her. 
 The yacht slowed in a narrow bay under her guidance. 
 "Did you need to ask me whether I was afraid to go 
 anywhere anywhere, with you?" he asked. 
 "Please don t !" 
 
 "Well then, I won t yet. How are Mrs. Lyell and 
 her husband getting along? You ve had rather a sever 
 ing of that tie, haven t you ?" 
 
 "I think I love Jean more than ever," she said 
 sharply. Something hopeful in his tone irritated her. 
 "You used to say that you fully sympathized with her 
 thought. You couldn t express enough on the subject. 
 And now, whenever you speak of her it is with a slur." 
 "In a certain way, yes." He felt this was a crisis. 
 Could he let her down from her foolish fancies without 
 tumbling into the abyss himself? He spoke with de- 
 
314 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 liberation. "I am an idealist in my views, as you know, 
 but I think Mrs. Lyell has hardly learned the proper 
 application of her philosophy to life. We live among 
 real people, you know, and we have to adapt ourselves 
 to them." 
 
 He looked at her to see how she took it so far. 
 
 "I don t care a button whether you or I are any kind 
 of ists or not," she said frivolously. "If you are trying 
 to be all things to all men, I don t want to think about 
 it. I want to ice-boat !" 
 
 She put out her hand to the tiller to start the boat 
 again, but he laid a stronger detaining hand on hers. 
 
 "You shall not accuse me of double-facedness, Vera. 
 I am not trying to be all things to all men, and you 
 know it. I do want to be all things to you, though, and 
 I have tried to be sympathetic with everything that 
 interests you, dear !" 
 
 She did not respond to the eager voice and out 
 stretched hand, but sat meditatively, with the rudder 
 in her grasp, ready for instant flight. 
 
 When a man is not devoured by passion, it is not 
 easy to invent passionate words with any great ra 
 pidity. He thought hard for a moment. She seemed to 
 be waiting for him. 
 
 "Vera, I told you long ago that I loved you, and you 
 bade me wait for your answer. Haven t I waited pa- 
 
ICE-BOATING 315 
 
 tiently? You don t know how patiently, for you don t 
 know how much harder it grows every day to keep my 
 love under control. Aren t you ready yet, sweetheart ?" 
 
 "Did you think it was only a matter of time when I 
 should be?" she answered, and she went on almost 
 dreamily. "Once it did actually seem possible, but not 
 now. When you call me, Vera, and sweetheart, then 
 I know. Then I am sure. I wish you would never 
 call me that again." 
 
 An eddy of wind caught the sail, and her hand tight 
 ened on the tiller. The next instant they were skim 
 ming swiftly toward the club. Anger surged in 
 Kemyss breast and blinded him like the rush of the 
 yacht. He would have liked to strike her. She had 
 cheated him of the future that he believed to be his. 
 Windsor s son-in-law and partner ! It had never looked 
 so fair a vision as now, when it began to take on the 
 semblance of a mirage. 
 
 The hot smell of luncheon, the big blazing logs in 
 the club-house hall, how comfortable they were ! Were 
 there ever such appetites as those created by ice-boat 
 ing and youth? Few chefs are fortunate enough to 
 have their reputations so seconded by hunger as is that 
 of the excellent cook who presides at the club. 
 
 Miss Preston, recovered from her wild experiences, 
 secure in becoming array now that her enveloping 
 
3i6 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 layers were off, was making mild running. She looked 
 very pretty and inviting. Lenox felt as though he was 
 a mechanical toy, wound up to flirt, and bound not to 
 disappoint the winder. Other people came trooping in, 
 all cold as to toes and fingers, all hungry. 
 
 Then came Vera; and Lenox forgot that he was 
 wound up, and sprang to offer her a chair near the fire 
 surely an innocent thing for a young man to do, yet 
 Miss Preston s pretty lips pouted and became sullen, 
 and the anger in Kemyss grew more scalding. 
 
 "I thought better of Mr. Lenox, but I see he is like 
 the rest of you, a worshiper of the golden calf." The 
 girl spoke in a sneering half-whisper to Kemyss, tak 
 ing a real satisfaction in seeing his black face grow a 
 shade darker; and Vera, hearing, turned heavy-eyed 
 and tired. The exhilaration of the sweet morning out 
 of doors was gone. Was that what it always meant? 
 She so tried to forget that she was different from other 
 girls, and that men hovered around her for the sake of 
 her money. The unconscious Lenox, on the other side 
 of her chair, waited in vain for her to look up in re 
 sponse to his efforts. 
 
 After luncheon Vera missed her father. She slipped 
 away from the group again gathered around the open 
 fire, chattering, preliminary to their afternoon s storm 
 ing of the domain of the ice-king. A long piazza gir- 
 
ICE-BOATING 317 
 
 died the club-house, and she walked slowly down its 
 length, looking outward until she saw him, standing 
 with his back toward her on a little knoll, and gazing 
 toward the north. 
 
 The world of youth in by the fire seemed out of har 
 mony with her. She longed for some one to trust and 
 comfort her. 
 
 Her father did not turn as she approached, and when 
 she reached him there was a look in his face she had 
 never seen there before, and something approaching 
 tears in the good-humored unimaginative eyes. 
 
 Every man, who is more than half a man, is a warm 
 creature at heart, but he grows so used to hiding him 
 self behind a mask of stiff commonplace from the in 
 quisitive world that the mask comes to seem like his 
 natural face. But the more consistently concealed is his 
 "dear secret greenness," the more he delights in get 
 ting a glimpse of it in his hours of solitude. Windsor 
 was inspecting his now, but his daughter s eyes ques 
 tioned him. 
 
 "I felt upset and restless. I don t exactly know why. 
 A good many little things trouble me. I must be get 
 ting old. It never used to disturb me, if things were out 
 of joint. I thought it was all the more fun to set them 
 right." 
 
 He gave a long sigh, and patted the fur-cased hand. 
 
318 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 "There s really nothing. What I was thinking of 
 now was a pathetic letter I got this morning from a 
 wretch of a woman who lost everything she had when 
 that fire-rumor knocked the bottom out of our lumber 
 company stocks. And her all was so little, Vera. It 
 kind of upset me. And to tell you the truth, you, too, 
 trouble me." 
 
 "I, father? What have I done that can possibly 
 trouble you, you dear old dad ?" 
 
 "You have grown up. You aren t my little girl any 
 longer. When I see all those puppies dangling around 
 you and eager to snap you up, I want to murder the 
 whole outfit." 
 
 "You needn t be afraid, dad. There ll never be but 
 one you to me. If any new affection comes, it shall 
 never wipe out the old. When I build a new chamber 
 to my heart, it shall go off in a different direction, and 
 not encroach on your room." 
 
 Her father caught her in a great bear s hug, and 
 blurted out : 
 
 "Then you aren t going to take that infernal 
 Kemyss? Perhaps I ll begin to like him, if I know 
 there s nothing to be jealous of." 
 
 "But, father, when the right man comes, you mustn t 
 be jealous," she said, with some misgiving. 
 
 "I hate him!" said her father vindictively, and she 
 
ICE-BOATING 319 
 
 laughed again and kissed him. They stood hand in 
 hand in silence. 
 
 The old man raised his finger and pointed. 
 
 "Do you see that point of land? Really and truly, 
 that is what I came out here to see, though looking 
 at it doesn t make it any more credible. That s where 
 I first saw your mother, she in a canoe, and I on land. 
 The tepee she lived in was a couple of hundred yards 
 farther on. She must have known every inch of this 
 ground. Sometimes it seems as if I d give heaven to 
 get her back and return to the good old time when we 
 worked together, and could do all the cookin we 
 wanted in a fryin -pan. People were to be trusted in 
 those days, and you d as soon have thought of cutting 
 off your hand as locking your door." 
 
 "Don t you think we are to be trusted now, 
 father?" 
 
 "You are, I know. I am glad I ve got you, or I 
 might have lost my grip. But she was a good woman, 
 and you needn t be sorry that you are like her. Her 
 white blood was always stronger in her than her red. 
 All that did for her was to make her more faithful 
 and more patient; and those are qualities that are 
 good in any woman, be she red or white. You ain t 
 got any call to be ashamed of your mother, Vera. 
 She was a good woman. That s about the highest 
 
320 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 praise. I wish she was alive to-day. I d treat her like 
 a princess." 
 
 Vera had never heard her father speak half a dozen 
 words of her mother before, and now the emotion 
 seemed to be too much for him, for he turned and 
 stumped down the hill, leaving* her standing alone. 
 The crisp brown leaves, clinging to the oaks, rustled 
 to each other, not in the soft tones of summer, but 
 with bitter defiance of the power of the frost, and 
 with sharp foreknowledge that, in spite of their per 
 sistence, their death would come in spring, when the 
 rest of the world was preparing for new birth. 
 
 She gazed wistfully toward that stretch of ice of 
 which she could catch a glimpse beyond the point. 
 Like her father, she felt a longing for some half- 
 savage condition of primitive integrity. With all her 
 young pleasure in the attentions that came to her, the 
 thought that men sought her for her money had never 
 been a very insistent one, for most of the eager west 
 ern wooing that she saw about her was of the genuine 
 kind. Where there is no leisure class, and nothing for 
 the non-worker to do with his time, the difference 
 between wealth and mere competence is not so great. 
 In this new land the rich man is not the idler, but, on 
 the contrary, the hardest worker. 
 
 But now, suddenly, Kemyss looked to her like a 
 
ICE-BOATING 321 
 
 monster, and he Lenox was he, too, of this type? 
 Mrs. Lyell had called him a materialist, and perhaps 
 Miss Preston had let a true word drop. If so, it was 
 fime to forswear the world. Were all men like this? 
 Was she to be shut off from the heritage of simple 
 love that is a woman s first right? 
 
 She shut her eyes and saw his clear-cut face, and 
 when she looked again at the lake it was through 
 tears. Surely her mother s tepee and frying-pan were 
 better than her own abundance. Then she fell to long 
 ing to see the spot where that mother had once lived, 
 and to feel the simple emotions her mother had felt. 
 Below on the ice the groups were breaking about the 
 yachts, and the sound of light voices came to her. 
 She would have none of them. Her sport should be 
 solitary. 
 
 In the club-house she met the steward. 
 
 "Have you a pair of snow-shoes that I could wear ?" 
 
 "Yes, Miss Windsor, snow-shoes or skees, which 
 ever you wish, but they re no use on the ice, you 
 know." 
 
 "I know. I want to use them on the shore a bit. 
 The snow is deep enough, isn t it ? I believe the skees 
 would suit me best." 
 
 He brought the long slender runners of wood, 
 slipped her feet under the thongs and handed her the 
 
322 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 pole with which the expert guides his swinging move 
 ment up hill and down. 
 
 She thrilled with solitude and the day. Across the 
 unflecked snow and through the scattered woods, here 
 and there, lay wandering tracks; the two broad, two 
 long, where a rabbit had loped softly by, the scratchy 
 footprints of young master squirrel, and here the marks 
 of a slowly trotting fox, with the occasional swirl of 
 his tail left in the snow. She loved them all. In the 
 woods there is sweet sanity. 
 
 The wind was rising and tossing the lighter surface 
 drifts in long blinding eddies, and over to the north 
 west a sullen bank of gray threatened the blue. 
 
 The ice-boat enthusiasts became less numerous. 
 
 "Believe we ll soon have more snow," said one. 
 "I have an idea that we shall be glad enough to get 
 back to town before long. It looks as if it might be a 
 wild night." 
 
 "Oh, take me back ! Take me back !" moaned a girl 
 in fright, as the wind drove swifter and swifter, speed 
 ing the ice-boat to frenzy. 
 
 "Well, we re two miles out already, but I can get 
 you back in a jiffy. Hold on for dear life," shouted 
 her escort. With set teeth she clung to the ropes for 
 the mad return. One after another drifted back to 
 shelter and glowing firelight, until few adventurous 
 
ICE-BOATING 323 
 
 spirits were left on the ice. Lenox peeped once in at 
 the warm hall, saw she was not there, and preferred 
 to stay outside in spite of the fact that she was proba 
 bly far afield with one or another of the flying specks. 
 
 "I believe I d like to try a turn by myself, if you 
 don t mind lending the Wabasso to me, Mr. Wind 
 sor," he said, as the older man began to confess him 
 self played out. Miss Preston had long since aban 
 doned them and sought more promising fields. 
 
 "Go ahead, but don t steer her up a windmill. Re 
 member you have to make up your mind before you 
 think, or it s too late. Here, Kemyss is an expert. He 
 can give you a pointer or two." 
 
 Frank would have smashed the Wabasso and him 
 self to pieces before he would have asked help from 
 that quarter. The two boats started on their twin 
 flight in apparently amicable relations, while Lenox 
 was still thinking with no cordiality of the man she 
 had sailed with all the morning, though she snubbed 
 himself. Kemyss storm of indignation was beginning 
 to grow cyclonic in shape, with its twisted tail turned 
 toward this intruder. Nothing had gone right since 
 Lenox came to St. Etienne. It outraged the private 
 secretary s sense of justice that the structure he had 
 reared with such attention to details should be threat 
 ened by a fellow of no diplomacy. There are certain 
 
324 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 minds so constructed as to be unable to see that a 
 straight line is the shortest distance between two 
 points. 
 
 Back and forth, here and there, sped the sails. Oc 
 casionally the Polar Star came close enough for Ke- 
 myss to shout some piece of advice to the inex 
 perienced navigator, until up in a lonely bay, Lenox 
 began a series of short tacks, in experiment with his 
 new-found toy. 
 
 Vera plodded along over the few inches of light 
 snow, halting now to look at a fantastic seed-vessel 
 piercing the drift, now to trace strange characters on 
 a bit of birch-bark torn from a tree, now to peer 
 curiously at the rounded heap of a muskrat house and 
 to wonder what kind of social life was going on in 
 side its spiky shelter. On that level stretch of shore 
 that her father had pointed out she paced back and 
 forth, speculating in what spot her mother had lived. 
 The very long reeds, piercing the ice, were the de 
 scendants of the plants through which the half-savage 
 girl had pushed her canoe. And now all was white and 
 cold and death-like, where once had been that vivid 
 life. What a strange country was this, that in three 
 generations had brought her out from the wilderness ! 
 People bewail the slowness of nature s methods. The 
 very rapidity of the mighty mother s fate-loom dizzied 
 
ICE-BOATING 325 
 
 her, and she shut her eyes and shivered at the thought 
 of it all. 
 
 The blue day was gone now, and a great grayness 
 had swallowed up the world. A fine soft snow, driveii 
 in long slanting lines by the wind, began to fall. 
 
 "It would not take me long to freeze to death if I 
 sat still. This wind carries the cold right in through 
 everything. I must be getting back to the club-house," 
 she said to herself. 
 
 And still she sat idly for a moment looking down 
 on the misty beautiful world of ice below. Her eyes 
 fastened on the one dark spot on its bosom, a great 
 barrel racing-buoy, crowned by a miniature pine-tree. 
 Near it, a mile away from her, a solitary boat was beat 
 ing back and forth. She watched its meaningless 
 manoeuvers with half-awakened curiosity. Then an 
 other boat, swift and direct, came flying from behind 
 the point, making straight across the course of the 
 first. 
 
 She started to her feet. "I wonder if they see each 
 other!" 
 
 The original sailor swerved suddenly and crashed 
 against the buoy. It seemed to her that she could hear 
 the blow and the long scream of the rudders. A black 
 speck flew from the boat and lay still upon the ice. 
 The second sail whirled up into the wind, came to a 
 
326 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 standstill, and an ant-like creature leaped from it and 
 ran toward the motionless bit of blackness. Vera 
 leaned forward in excitement. Her breath came fast, 
 and she gasped. 
 
 "No! no!" she cried aloud, for the moving figure 
 seemed to touch its injured companion, hesitate a mo 
 ment, then turn and hurry back to its own craft, climb 
 aboard and seize the tiller. The next instant the yacht 
 sped away to the south while the wind hooted and 
 cheered it on its course. 
 
 Vera was running down the bank now. The skees 
 were loosened from her feet and slung over her shoul 
 der. She needed no thought for that ; all her thoughts 
 were whirling about other matters. 
 
 "Why did he go? Did he go for help? But the 
 man will freeze to death long before he gets back! 
 And why should he leave him, anyway ? It would have 
 been easy enough to get him on board and carry him 
 to the club in no time." The pronouns were getting all 
 jumbled up in her unuttered sentences, but her thought 
 was clear enough, as she slipped and ran and stumbled 
 over the glassy surface, catching her breath when an 
 occasional wild gust swept the snow into her eyes. 
 The speck grew to a heap, and the heap began to take 
 on the semblance of a human form. He was lying 
 on his back as though he had been deliberately turned 
 
ICE-BOATING 
 
 so, and already a light film of snow blurred the out 
 lines. She fell on her knees, with teeth shut and never 
 an outcry, and brushed the tiny drifts away from the 
 face she lifted. She pushed back his glove and felt 
 his pulse with her bared fingers. Seizing a handful of 
 snow she began with a kind of desperation to chafe the 
 forehead, and then she laid her own warm cheek 
 against his cold one. 
 
 "Ah, if I could only send some of my glow into 
 him !" 
 
 Then she felt a convulsive movement and drew 
 away half startled to meet his eyes. 
 
 "Vera!" he gasped, and shut the eyes again as 
 if dazed by the light that leaped into his face as he 
 spoke. 
 
 Some glowing spot within her cried out words of 
 congratulation to her heart. "There was no pretense 
 about that," it said. "He loves me !" 
 
 "You how did you come?" He had now gained 
 self-possession enough to think. 
 
 "Never mind how I came. The question is how are 
 you to get away. You were just a little stunned, that s 
 all. But you would have frozen. Do you think you can 
 get up now ?" 
 
 He tried to struggle to his knees, moaned and caught 
 her hand as if to save himself from fainting. 
 
328 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 "I I am afraid something is broken." His face was 
 white and drawn. 
 
 "Stay here a moment. Don t lose consciousness 
 again!" She ran to the half-overturned ice-boat and 
 stamped her foot in dismay. One runner lay hopeless 
 ly smashed. What should she do ? The snow and wind 
 grew wilder every moment. 
 
 "Have you a knife ?" She was back by his side. 
 
 "Somewhere in a pocket if I can only get it." He 
 began to turn painfully, but her hand was quicker than 
 his. 
 
 "You are suffering dreadfully." 
 
 "Never mind that. But you you must not stay here 
 in this storm, Vera," but she had already run away 
 again. From the yacht she cut rope after rope, and 
 loosening the skees from her back she bound them 
 side by side with the long steering pole she had car 
 ried to guide herself across them in front. She threw 
 some rugs on top of them, and hitched a rope to the 
 bar. Her pulses were bounding exultantly now. 
 
 "Look !" she cried, drawing up near him. "Here is a 
 sledge fit for a king. If I can help you to roll on, we 
 shall be back in no time. Isn t it fine ?" 
 
 "And you drag me? Is thy servant a dog? It must 
 be two or three miles." 
 
 "Supposing it is, what else is to be done?" 
 
ICE-BOATING 3 2 9 
 
 "You must make your own way back and tell some 
 one to come to my help." 
 
 "The some one who helps you is going to be the 
 some one who is here now," she answered in a tone of 
 determination which would not be thwarted. "You 
 would be frozen long before aid could come. There 
 is nothing for it but for you to submit." 
 
 "Nonsense, I can t. You I I love the very 
 ground you walk on. Do you think I can use you like 
 a beast of burden ?" 
 
 She knelt beside him. 
 
 "Do you love me?" she said tenderly. For an in 
 stant they forgot broken leg and sledge and whirling 
 snow as their eyes met in a long embrace. She stooped 
 and kissed him. 
 
 "I am glad you love me," she said, "because then 
 you will let me do it. There is nothing love will not 
 give and receive. Come, now, a few moments ago I 
 was playing squaw over there on the bank. Do you 
 know how you braves treat us poor wretches? 
 You make us pull your great lazy heavy weights like 
 the poor dogs that we are, and we submit to it humbly 
 because we love you, brutal as you are. Come, roll on. 
 We have not much daylight left us. Did you really 
 think I would go off and leave you? On the march 
 the braves often go on and leave the squaws to strug- 
 
330 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 gle along as best they can; but the squaws leave the 
 braves? Never!" 
 
 He drew her face down again. "Forgive me for ac 
 cepting so much," he said. 
 
 "I ll forgive you if you mind quickly, not other 
 wise." She tugged and pulled and stopped now and 
 then for an instant to get her breath and laugh and 
 sob with happiness and terror ; and he cursed himself 
 for his impotence and hugged himself for joy though 
 the pain grew worse and worse. The wind from be 
 hind did all in its power to help the course of true love. 
 
 In one of the halts, she came back to the sledge and 
 half knelt by his side. 
 
 "Are you keeping the rugs around you, and are you 
 warm enough ?" 
 
 "Warmer than I have ever been before in my life. I 
 begin to believe in slavery as an institution." 
 
 "Why did he do it?" 
 
 "Who ?" he said, not meeting her eye. 
 
 "Oh, you know perfectly well. It was done deliber 
 ately. Why should you try to shield him ?" 
 
 "It was my own lack of skill that brought me to 
 grief." 
 
 "That may be, but he left you to freeze, if he did not 
 think you already dead. There was murder in his 
 heart, if not on his hands." 
 
ICE-BOATING 331 
 
 "What did you see?" He looked at her frankly now. 
 
 "I saw him go and leave you." 
 
 "He has always hated me for some reason of his 
 own." 
 
 "Because I always loved you," said she, with as 
 much conviction as though this were true. No doubt at 
 this stage of affairs she thought it was. 
 
 "Vera, if what you say is true, leave me to deal with 
 him, when when I am strong enough. This is my 
 battle, not yours, sweetheart." 
 
 She looked down at him quizzically. 
 
 "So you are issuing commands to your squaw al 
 ready, are you? Very well, my lord and master, you 
 shall be obeyed, but permit me to give him one look, 
 only one look, if ever we get there." 
 
 Then suddenly she realized that his face was grow 
 ing whiter, and his strength, kept up by excitement, 
 was ebbing, and she went back to her dray-horse work 
 with desperation. As she turned the last corner before 
 the club-house came in view, and saw her father, now 
 anxious from her long absence, come running toward 
 her through the storm, she fairly sobbed from very 
 weariness. 
 
 "Good heavens, Vera!" he shouted as he ran. 
 "What are you doing?" 
 
 She laughed breathlessly. "I am not sure whether 
 
332 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 I am hauling a captor or dragging a captive. It 
 doesn t make much difference. But, oh, he is hurt; 
 and you ll see that he is well taken care of, dad, for my 
 sake!" 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE SUBJUGATION OF A PARENT 
 
 That was an exciting night, a night when even 
 Nicholas Windsor, who had known the vicissitudes of 
 bears and bulls, and hung a dozen times on the verge 
 where a tumble meant failure, found himself unable to 
 sleep. After he had seen the now utterly collapsed 
 Lenox safely back to town and comfortably ensconced 
 in his own room with a trained nurse and an optimistic 
 surgeon, Windsor returned to his own home, thinking 
 that his agitations were over. The first glance at his 
 daughter s face, as she sat tensely awaiting him, upset 
 him more than all that had gone before. For, after all, 
 one can endure with considerable equanimity the bro 
 ken leg of a distant cousin, even if that cousin be a fine 
 likable boy. 
 
 "You ought to be in bed, Vera," exclaimed the old 
 man testily. "You are utterly exhausted by hauling 
 that worthless fellow so far, and if I had dreamed 
 that you would be so foolish as to sit up and wait for 
 
 333 
 
334 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 me, I would have brought you home, and seen you 
 tucked up before I lifted my hand for him." 
 
 "Then I am glad you did not dream. There are 
 so many things I want to talk to you about, I simply 
 couldn t go to bed. Don t be savage. And first tell me, 
 how is Frank?" 
 
 Her father s jaw dropped. "Frank!" he exclaimed.. 
 "Well, I do think ! Frank ! And since when has he 
 been Frank to you? Frank !" 
 
 Vera stamped her foot. "Tell me how Frank is!" 
 she said. 
 
 "Oh, of course, Frank ! Well, he s as well as you 
 could expect. Why shouldn t he be? Why, when I 
 was his age, and as strong as a young buck, I shouldn t 
 have thought anything of a broken leg. But he used 
 you like a pack-mule. He isn t half so much done up 
 as you are, the ungrateful villain! I will say, I never 
 saw a man take things with more grit. I wonder how 
 much he smashed the Wabasso, confound him ! Now, 
 are you ready to go to bed ?" 
 
 "Not yet," she said quietly. "I am going to have my 
 say first." 
 
 As she told him the story of the pretty drama she 
 had watched from the hilltop, her father s face grew 
 more and more glum, but he waited silently until it 
 was all told, and all he said was : "I liked him once, 
 
THE SUBJUGATION OF A PARENT 335 
 
 and now it looks as if he was a rascal. This is my 
 funeral, little girl. You do not need to worry your 
 head about his punishment. Now, are you ready to go 
 to bed ? Because I am." 
 
 "Not yet, father, there is more still." 
 
 But this time she could not sit quietly in her chair 
 to rehearse her little tale. She must needs squeeze 
 down beside her father in his hospitable chair, and 
 steal a cajoling arm around his neck and hide her face 
 against his breast. And this time her father did not 
 listen in silence, but with constant explosions of what 
 ever expletives came nearest to hand. 
 
 "It s perfect nonsense !" he blurted out at last. "You 
 don t know the creature at all never saw him till a 
 few weeks ago!" 
 
 "We knew each other better after two days at Pine 
 Vale than if we had met at a thousand dances and din 
 ners. And haven t I heard you say time and again 
 that, however well people thought they knew each 
 other before marriage, they had to get acquainted all 
 over again afterward ?" 
 
 "Yes, and I believe I once recommended you to 
 marry a drummer, but I didn t mean a drummer like 
 this fellow, with no experience and no prospects." 
 
 "Oh, you re quite mistaken on that score, dear. His 
 prospects are of the finest. He s not going to stay on 
 
336 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 the road, you know. You are going to find something 
 a great deal better than that for your son-in-law. And 
 if you don t, why you yourself told me that the only 
 really desirable life to be lived was with a tepee and a 
 frying-pan. I feel a little inclined to try it, with 
 Frank." 
 
 "Much you do !" said her father, with a groan. 
 
 "Come, you ve been giving me my own way too long 
 to hope to do anything else now. You may just as well 
 give in gracefully and promptly. You won t have to 
 feel sullen so long. And you know well how very un 
 happy you will be if you quarrel with me. It won t be 
 pleasant, will it, dear?" 
 
 Her arm was very tight around his neck, and he 
 groaned again. 
 
 "And if you don t consent to this, I shall insist on 
 marrying an Italian count, with a palace of three hun 
 dred rooms, and an income of a hundred and fifty dol 
 lars!" she said threateningly. 
 
 "See here!" her father exclaimed fiercely. "You 
 have got to keep on living right here in this house 
 with me." 
 
 "Very well, dear," she laughed triumphantly. "That 
 question is settled. I think I can venture to pledge 
 Frank to it. You shall be allowed to live in this house 
 with us. And now, remember you are to go to see 
 
THE SUBJUGATION OF A PARENT 337 
 
 him to-morrow, and tell him that the fondest dream 
 of your life is realized. You will, won t you, dear ?" 
 
 "I m an adept at lying !" said her father glumly. 
 
 Then make it the truth." 
 
 "Oh, I ll try to be decent to him, for I know I ll get 
 into hot water at home if I m not. I really pity that 
 young man if he s going to come under your thumb." 
 
 "Nonsense! You are lucky to get such a son. And 
 you know you like him yourself." 
 
 "I may have a slight taste for him, but I m not really 
 hungry. Besides, I don t see that it makes any differ 
 ence whether I like him or not. My course is all laid 
 down for me. Vera, are you the girl who was consult 
 ing her old dad not long ago on the subject of matri 
 mony ?" 
 
 "Oh, that was different." 
 
 "Yes," said her father whimsically, "it was." But 
 he patted her cheek and kissed her, and said : 
 
 "God bless you, little girl." And then he kissed her 
 again. "Now," he said, "can we give Frank and our 
 selves a rest, and go to bed ?" 
 
 The carriage stood outside the door as Mr. Wind 
 sor came down the steps the next morning, and a man 
 who had been scuffing up and down, eyed suspiciously 
 by the coachman, came quickly forward. 
 
 "Mr. Windsor?" he said with an air of bravery. 
 
338 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 The old man looked at him with lowering brows. 
 
 "If I m not mistaken, your name is Repburn." 
 
 "Yes, sir ; I want very much to speak to you a mo 
 ment." 
 
 "From all I can recollect, sir, it cost me a cool hun 
 dred thousand to speak to you before. I am feeling 
 poor this morning. I can t afford it." 
 
 "Mr. Windsor," said the other desperately, seeing 
 his chance slipping from him, "I must see you. I 
 know all about the fire rumor." 
 
 Windsor turned with his hand on the carriage door 
 knob. 
 
 "You scurvy knave, were you in that, too ?" 
 
 "That is not the way to address a man who has 
 come to do you a favor. I have nothing with which to 
 reproach my conscience, sir." 
 
 "I d swear that you haven t brains to invent any dev 
 iltry. What do you want with me ?" 
 
 "I can t tell you here, sir." 
 
 "Well, come back to the house, then." 
 
 Vera came forward, a little surprised by her father s 
 return, and Repburn made her an elaborate bow. He 
 was the central figure in a dramatic situation, and he 
 meant to live up to it. 
 
 "Miss Windsor, I trust, by the revelation which I 
 am about to communicate to your father, in some slight 
 
THE SUBJUGATION OF A PARENT 339 
 
 degree to make amends for the kindness which you be 
 stowed on me an obligation which I do not owe in 
 equal amount to him ; nevertheless " 
 
 But Mr. Windsor seemed to have no delicate appre 
 ciation of the occasion, for he beckoned the young man 
 abruptly into a back room. 
 
 "Now then," he said with decision, "out with your 
 yarn." 
 
 But Mr. Repburn was not to be hastened. He sat 
 down with deliberation and began once more his tale, 
 dropping his lofty demeanor and becoming more and 
 more colloquial as his woes appealed in their total sum 
 to his imagination. Windsor listened patiently. The 
 bushy eyebrows moved up and down, and the corners 
 of his mouth twitched, and he forgot the letters 
 marked "Personal," which were sure to be accumu 
 lating on his desk. 
 
 "Well, we ve got you so far. Your uncle left you 
 two thousand dollars by his earlier will." On this 
 point Mr. Repburn had judged it wise to depart from 
 the strict path of truth. "All this has nothing to do 
 with the lie about my lumber company. Are we get 
 ting near the denouement ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, as I told you, I put this entire sum, all I 
 had, sir, into a little business that I thought would set 
 me up. And now darn it ! I wisht I was a swearing 
 
340 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 man that s gone, and I haven t a penny between me 
 and starvation." 
 
 Mr. Windsor instinctively put, his. hand in his 
 pocket, but he drew it out again empty, and his anger 
 flared up. 
 
 "See here !" he said. "You brought me back to the 
 house to tell me something of importance, and you ve 
 taken fifteen minutes of my time to impart what I knew 
 before, that you re not safe running the streets alone. 
 Now will you give me your information in short order, 
 or will you leave ?" 
 
 "At once, sir. You see, I paid this two thousand 
 dollars to enter into partnership with this Timothy 
 Norton. He seemed a very smart man, but, sir, that 
 fellow is a scamp. I hadn t been with him but a day 
 or two before I began to have my suspicions. He kep 
 me busy all the time, but somehow I didn t seem to be 
 doin nothing; and he got me all muddled up about 
 what the business was anyhow. I commenced to pre 
 tend that I was not payin any attention, but I tell you, 
 I kept tab on everythin that took place and everybody 
 that came in. I read every scrap of paper, and I lis 
 tened to everythin I could hear. I made pretty sure 
 that all he wanted was my money, and that those big 
 docyments he made me sign all about the partnership 
 and everythin was so much waste paper. Don t be 
 
THE SUBJUGATION OF A PARENT 341 
 
 impatient, sir, I m comin to it. Well, I found out that 
 he had a lot of your lumber company stock. Of 
 course, I didn t think much of that, but I was findin 
 out everythin I could, you understand. Day fore yes 
 terday, Norton was out, and there come a ring at the 
 telephone, and a feller says, Is that you, Tim? Yes/ 
 I says, tryin to imitate his voice. Well, this is 
 Kemyss ,- " 
 
 "What?" shouted Windsor, taking a step toward 
 the cowering youth. 
 
 "Don t strike me, sir, I ve got the proof. I ve got a 
 telegram from Pine Vale. I ve got private notes I 
 found in Norton s desk." 
 
 He stopped, for Mr. Windsor sat down heavily, and 
 motioned to him to be silent. Then the old man rose 
 again abruptly and shut the door on the rest of their 
 interview. 
 
 When they came out, Mr. Repburn was effusive. 
 
 "Of course, Mr. Windsor, you understand this 
 hasn t been pleasant work for me, but I owed Mr. 
 Kemyss one, for I felt sure that he must have misrep 
 resented me to you, or a man of your character would 
 never have treated me as you did. So it was my duty 
 to right myself." 
 
 "I think I understand you, and I ll see that you are 
 paid for your dirty work," said Mr. Windsor glumly. 
 
342 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 Late as he was at the office, Mr. Windsor stood tap 
 ping his desk with absent-mindedness while his pri 
 vate secretary communicated a matter of importance. 
 The private secretary himself was ill at ease. He had 
 taken the first train in from the lake after returning 
 to the club-house the night before, and he had seen 
 neither of the Windsors. But rumor had already in 
 formed him of Lenox s rescue, and he did not know 
 how much more was known. He cursed himself a hun 
 dred times for yielding to the sudden impulse of ras 
 cality. He had meant the man no evil until he saw him 
 lying there on the ice. Then hate seemed to enwrap 
 him. An instant and the thing was done. Now how 
 much of this was known? Already the idea of flight 
 had suggested itself, but flight would make it look 
 worse than it really was, for his wrong was only one 
 of neglect. And perhaps Lenox himself did not real 
 ize the circumstances. There was the chance. Still he 
 was distrait, while his chief listened absently. 
 
 Windsor broke in, and the attack came from an un 
 expected quarter. 
 
 "Kemyss, when my private secretary uses his in 
 formation and his position to trick the investors who 
 have trusted to my name, it puts me in an uncomfort 
 able position, and him in a bad light." 
 
 Kemyss 7 lips grew white, and his body rigid. 
 
THE SUBJUGATION OF A PARENT 343 
 
 "I really don t understand you at all, sir." 
 
 "Oh, you understand, fast enough." 
 
 "Mr. Windsor," Kemyss straightened himself 
 "you have no right to make an unfounded accusation 
 against me." 
 
 "I m not going to beat about the bush, Kemyss, and 
 I m not making accusations for fun. Do you think I 
 enjoy it?" The old man s mouth snarled like a wild 
 beast s. 
 
 The cleverest scoundrel that ever lived may be 
 tripped up by a fool, Kemyss, and that s what you 
 were. It s no use in bluffing. I know the whole story. 
 I understand it a great deal better than the poor buf 
 foon who told it to me. There is the telegram you sent. 
 I don t often dirty my ringers as I did in taking this 
 from a sneak ; but this time it had to be done." 
 
 Kemyss moistened his lips and tried to speak. 
 
 "Well?" said Windsor. 
 
 The young man looked square in his eyes. 
 
 "What are you going to do about it?" he asked in 
 solently. 
 
 "If you ask me what legal measures I am going to 
 take, I tell you frankly, none." Windsor s face grew 
 quite pitiful, for the simplicity of old trapper days still 
 clung to the corners of his heart. "It s a tough experi 
 ence to watch confidence and friendship decay and rot 
 
344 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 and smell bad. I have not the heart to kick them, even 
 when they are dead. If you mean to ask me what I am 
 going to do about the men you have pushed to the 
 wall, I ll tell you I am going, in some way, to make 
 good the wrong done by my private secretary. I can do 
 it by indirect ways, and I do not intend to publish your 
 infamy to the world. I ve let you off pretty easy ; but 
 when I remember that your father helped me to bury 
 my wife, I m not sorry I ve showed leniency to his son. 
 Now, leave St. Etienne. It may console you for some 
 of the evil you have done to know that your machina 
 tions have hastened the happiness of two young peo- 
 pie-" 
 
 Kemyss turned without a word and walked out of 
 the room. He swore at himself for a fool, but not for 
 a knave. 
 
 The old man put his head down on the desk for a 
 moment. 
 
 "Good Lord!" he said, as he raised it. "I m glad 
 I ve got something more cheerful to think about. Com 
 pared with that, losing your daughter is sport. The 
 minx! Getting up a full-blown romance without con 
 sulting her dad! Frank s a lucky fellow, and I may 
 be able to make something of him if I am bear 
 enough at the office to overcome the coddling she ll 
 give him at home. And now, like the well-trained par- 
 
THE SUBJUGATION OF A PARENT 345 
 
 ent that I am, I ll go and tell that unmitigated rascal 
 that he is the apple of my eye." 
 
 An hotel room is not an ideal place in which to be 
 ill, but Lenox showed a countenance of cheerful sub- 
 missiveness to his elderly relative. Windsor noted that 
 a bowl of violets stood on a table at the bed-head and 
 that a note lay beside them. 
 
 "The minx !" he said to himself. It seemed to be the 
 only expression that covered the ground. 
 
 "No, nurse, I m not going to say anything exciting. 
 I don t want to drive him into a fever any more than 
 you do. Why, I couldn t excite a baby. Pshaw! 
 Lenox, there ain t a thing the matter with you. The 
 nurse is making it up to keep her job. The doctor 
 hasn t given you up, he tells me. Got to keep pretty 
 flat, though, and take what s given to you for the next 
 few weeks. It s a pity. I m afraid you ll have to give 
 up your job on the road." 
 
 Frank nodded weakly and closed his eyes. He found 
 it impossible just now to concentrate his attention on 
 Mexico and Trondheim. The old man got up and 
 wandered around the room surveying absorbedly the 
 few pictures on the walls. Then he came back to the 
 bedside. 
 
 "Well, I came here to talk business, pure business, 
 if you feel up to it. I am glad that nurse has cleared 
 
346 THE PRIZE TO THE HARDY 
 
 out. She might think it was too exciting, or some 
 thing of that kind. 
 
 "Kemyss is going away, and as soon as you are 
 about again, I want you to get into training for his 
 place. I shall want some one to take more and more of 
 the burden from me as I grow older, and I m not sorry 
 to think that some one may be a man of the same blood 
 as myself." 
 
 Frank felt distinctly bored, and showed it by nod- 
 cling with his eyes still shut. The old man stood look 
 ing down at him quizzically. T,hen his tone grew dis 
 tinctly belligerent. 
 
 "As a preliminary, I may as well tell you at once 
 that there is one rather unusual duty that I always re 
 quire of a private secretary, and I couldn t even offer 
 you the position unless you feel that you can perform 
 it. I require my secretary to make love to my daugh 
 ter. It saves her from feeling neglected, you know." 
 
 He buried his nose in the violets as Frank opened 
 his startled eyes. A big bear paw was extended, and 
 the young man found strength to grasp it warmly. 
 The two men grinned at each other. ( 
 
 "I shouldn t wonder if Vera came down to see you 
 to-day. I wish the nurse would shut her out as too ex 
 citing/ " said her father. "She hasn t a touch of maiden 
 modesty or of filial obedience ; but I m fond of the girl, 
 
THE SUBJUGATION OF A PARENT 347 
 
 and perhaps I ought not to blame you, if you feel the 
 same way. If she wants you or any other little thing: 
 that pleases her, I m not going to stand in her way." 
 
 THE END 
 
A LIST of IMPORTANT FICTION 
 THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY 
 
A NOVEL OF AMERICAN CHIVALRY 
 
 THE LAW 
 OF THE LAND 
 
 BY EMERSON HOUGH 
 Author of "The Mississippi Bubble" 
 
 "Totally unlike any preceding literary pro 
 duction in plot, style, and treatment, The Law 
 of the Land stands preeminently superior to any 
 literary creation of the day." 
 
 New York American 
 
 " The Law of the Land will be one of the 
 most successful novels of the year, for a stronger or 
 more ruggedly told tale has not come from the press 
 this fall." Newark Advertiser 
 
 " This stirring novel is at once a love story and 
 a study of the race problem in the South, and Mr. 
 Hough has succeeded as admirably in one as in the 
 other." Baltimore Herald 
 
 With six drawings by 
 
 Arthur I. Keller 
 Cloth, izmo, $1.50 
 
 The Bobbs- Merrill Company, Indianapolis 
 
"WORTHY AN AMERICAN BALZAC" 
 
 ZELDA 
 DAMERON 
 
 BY MEREDITH NICHOLSON 
 Author of "The Main Chance." 
 
 " When you see a novel by Meredith Nicholson, 
 get it and read it ; you will be repaid a hundred 
 fold on your investment." New York American 
 
 " In his novel Zelda Dameron Mr. Nicholson 
 keeps up the good work begun in * The Main 
 Chance, turning out a rattling tale of social and 
 commercial tractions. The reader regrets the 
 advent of the last page." Washington Star 
 
 (t Mr. Nicholson s colloquy is bright, natural 
 and of the strictly modern type, his characters well 
 drawn and auspiciously introduced. His arrange 
 ment of plot and incident are admirably designed 
 to excite and sustain the reader s interest and 
 sympathy." Philadelphia North American 
 
 With pictures in color by John Cecil Clay 
 Cloth, i 2mo, $1.50 
 
 The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Indianapolis 
 
MR. MAcGRATH S NEW GAY ROMANCE 
 
 THE MAN 
 ON THE BOX 
 
 BY HAROLD MAcGRATH 
 Author of "The Puppet Crown" and "The Grey Cloak. * 
 
 " Had Harold MacGrath s story of a Washing 
 ton escapade, The Man on the Box, been written 
 for the stage it would have been voted a clean, 
 spirited and clever society comedy, and in book 
 form it deserves no less complimentary rating." 
 
 Life 
 
 " The Man on the Box is the blithest little 
 story that has come to us in many a day. It 
 begins well and ends better ; a story to warm the 
 cockles of one s heart." New York Press 
 
 " The situations in The Man on the Box are 
 
 clever and natural, and above all it is a love story 
 
 of the kind we are all glad to read. The most 
 
 enjoyable of all the books from Mr. MacGrath s 
 
 pen." Chicago Inter-Ocean 
 
 With seven drawings by Harrison Fisher 
 
 Cloth, izmo, $1.50 
 
 The Bobbs- Merrill Company, Indianapolis 
 
A splendid new novel by the author of " The 
 Strollers " and " Under the Rose." 
 
 BLACK FRIDAY 
 
 BY FREDERIC S. ISHAM 
 
 " The love story is handled with infinite skill. 
 The characters are strongly drawn ; the romance 
 is stimulating and the pictures of * the street 
 drawn with rare power." Boston Herald 
 
 " There is much energy and much spirit in 
 Frederic S. Isham s story of Black Friday. 
 Distinctly an opulent and animated tale." 
 
 New York Sun 
 
 < ( Black Friday is a novel that fascinates by its 
 compelling force and grips by its human intensity. 
 No better novel has been published in a decade." 
 
 Newark Advertiser 
 
 " < Black Friday is a genuine American novel, 
 and one that arrests interest at the beginning and 
 holds it to the end." Nashville American 
 
 Illustrated by Harrison Fisher 
 Cloth, I2mo, $1.50 
 
 The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Indianapolis 
 
FULL OF DAINTY CHARM 
 
 THE GIRL AND 
 THE KAISER 
 
 BY PAULINE -BRADFORD MACKIE 
 
 " An amusing love story, which is certain to win 
 instant favor. Fresh, enthusiastic, and daintily 
 lyrical." Philadelphia Item 
 
 * A charming little book, artistically made, is 
 The Girl and the Kaiser ; one that can be recom 
 mended for pleasing entertainment without reserve. " 
 5/. Louis Globe-Democrat 
 
 Here is a beautiful and delightfully seasonable 
 volume that everybody will want. The story is a 
 bubbling romance of the German imperial court 
 with an American girl heroine. 
 
 Decorated and illustrated in color by 
 
 John Cecil Clay 
 izmo, cloth, $1.50 
 
 The Bobbs- Merrill Company, Indianapolis 
 
A GOOD OLD-FASHIONED LOVE STORY 
 
 THE 
 HAPPY AVERAGE 
 
 BY BRAND WHITLOCK 
 
 Author of "The I3th District," and "Her Infinite 
 Variety" 
 
 " A most delightful romance that is as fresh as 
 the flowers of May. The Happy Average will 
 amply repay the close perusal of all who are fond 
 of a good old-fashioned love story." 
 
 Pittsburg Leader 
 
 " < The Happy Average touches the chords 
 that are most certain to find response in the breasts 
 of the great majority of people. " 
 
 Washington Star 
 
 ft Mr. Whitlock is equally facile in describing 
 the mild diversions of the country town or the 
 kaleidoscopic changes of Chicago, handling a picnic 
 and a railroad strike with ease and sympathy." 
 
 Philadelphia Item 
 
 Bound in cloth, izmo, $1.50 
 The Bobbs- Merrill Company, Indianapolis 
 
WANTED: 
 
 A COOK 
 
 BY ALAN DALE 
 
 An uproariously funny comedy -novel of a self- 
 conscious couple in contact with the servant cjues- 
 tion. Their ludicrous predicaments with their 
 cooks are described with a light, farcial quality and 
 a satire that never fail to entertain. 
 
 " A good story well told. In every sentence a 
 hearty laugh and many an irrepressible chuckle of 
 mirth." New York American 
 
 Bound in decorated cloth, I zmo, $1.50 
 
 The Bobbs- Merrill Company, Indianapolis 
 
A BOOK TO MAKE THE SPHINX LAUGH 
 
 IN THE BISHOP S 
 CARRIAGE 
 
 BY MIRIAM MICHELSON 
 
 i : rom the moment when, in another girl s chin 
 chilla coat, Nance Olden jumps into the unknown 
 carriage, and, snuggling up to the solemn owner, 
 calls him "Daddy," till she makes her final bow, 
 a happy wife and a triumphant actress, she holds 
 your fancy captive and your heart in thrall. 
 
 If jaded novel readers want a new sensation, they 
 will get it here. Chicago Tribune 
 
 For genuine, unaffected enjoyment, read the ad 
 ventures of this dashing desperado in petticoats. 
 
 Philadelphia Item 
 
 It is beguiling, bewitching, bristling with origi 
 nality ; light enough for the laziest invalid to rest his 
 brain over, profound enough to serve as a sermon 
 to the humanitarian. San Francisco Bulletin 
 
 Illustrated by Harrison Fisher 
 i zmo, cloth, price, $1.50 
 
 The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Indianapolis 
 
A ROMANCE OF THE DOLLAR MARK 
 
 THE COST 
 
 BY DAVID GRAHAM PHILLIPS 
 
 Author of Golden Fleece 
 
 A masterly novel, interesting to the point of fas 
 cination, analytic to the point of keenness, thor 
 oughly well written with complete understanding, 
 and entirely committed to advocacy of the best things 
 in life. Wallace Rice in Chicago Examiner 
 
 Rapid and vivid, sure and keen, light and graceful. 
 
 New York Times 
 
 It is a story full of virile impulse. It treats of men 
 of hardy endeavor, battling for leadership in the world 
 of commerce and politics. If you want a novel that 
 is intensely modern and intensely full of speed and 
 spirit, you have it in The Cost. 
 
 Bailey Millard in San Francisco Examiner. 
 
 With sixteen illustrations by Harrison Fisher 
 I zmo, cloth, price, $1.50 
 
 The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Indianapolis 
 
LOVE, POLITICS AND PELF 
 
 THE 
 
 GRAFTERS 
 
 BY FRANCIS LYNDE 
 
 Author of The Master of Appleby 
 
 One of the best examples of a new and distinctly- 
 American class of fiction the kind which finds ro 
 mance and even sensational excitement in business, 
 politics, finance and law. The Outlook 
 
 Its sweeping sentences fire the blood like new wine. 
 
 Boston Post 
 
 Telephone, telegraph, locomotive, skirl, click, 
 thunder through the pages in a way unprecedented 
 in fiction. It is an amazingly modern book. 
 
 New York Times 
 
 Virile, with the rugged strength of the West, The 
 Grafters is like the current of a deep river, vigorous 
 and forceful. Louisville Courier-Journal 
 
 Illustrated by Arthur I. Keller 
 I zmo, cloth, price, $1.50 
 
 The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Indianapolis 
 
ART AND ARIZONA 
 
 A GINGHAM 
 ROSE 
 
 BY ALICE WOODS ULLMAN 
 
 Author of Edges 
 
 The author has a strange power of looking into 
 the workings of her own mind and heart, and of setting 
 down what she finds there with freedom, humor and 
 justice. The result is ^something new under the 
 sun" a book with the tang of originality. Nothing 
 could be more refreshing than this story of a girl 
 who turned a cad into a man and a man into a hero. 
 
 Bizarre, fantastic, intensely individual, bright and 
 interesting, with characters that have a trick of saying 
 and doing unexpected things. Washington Times 
 
 A remarkable book, sustained in power and inter 
 est, strong in its characterization and picturesque in 
 its treatment of life. It is human, palpitating with 
 reality, tensely alive. Harper s Weekly 
 
 Frontispiece by the author 
 I zmo, cloth, price, $1.50 
 
 The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Indianapolis