ROPE 

 
 '
 
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 OF CALIF. LIBRARY. LOS ANGELES
 
 ROPE 
 
 BY 
 
 HOL WORTHY HALL 
 
 Author of "THE MAN NOBODY KNEW," etc. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 
 1922
 
 COPTBIGHT, 1922, 
 
 BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, INC. 
 
 PRINTED IN U. 8. A. 
 
 VAIL-BALLOU COMPANY 
 BINOHAMTON AND HEW YORK
 
 ROPE 
 
 2130458
 
 ROPE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 AS Henry came blithely into the house with 
 a heavy suit-case in one hand and a 
 cumbersome kit-bag in the other, his Aunt 
 Mirabelle marched out like a grenadier from 
 the living-room, and posted herself in the hall- 
 way to watch him approach. There was this 
 much to say for Aunt Mirabelle: she was at 
 least consistent, and for twenty years she had 
 worn the same expression whenever she looked 
 at him. During that period the rest of the 
 world and Henry had altered, developed, ad- 
 vanced but not Aunt Mirabelle. She had 
 changed neither the style of her clothes nor the 
 nature of her convictions ; she had disapproved 
 of Henry when he was six, and therefore, she 
 disapproved of him today. To let him know 
 it, she regarded him precisely as though he
 
 2 EOPE 
 
 were still six, and had forgotten to wash his 
 face. 
 
 "I suppose," remarked Aunt Mirabelle, in 
 her most abrasive voice, "I suppose you're 
 waiting for me to say I hope you had a good 
 time. Well, I'm not a-going to say it, because 
 it wouldn't be true, and I wouldn't want to have 
 it sitting on my conscience. Of course, some 
 people haven't got much of any conscience for 
 anything to sit on, anyway. If they did, tney'd 
 be earnest, useful citizens. If they did, then 
 once in a while they'd think about something 
 else besides loud ties and silk socks and golf. 
 And they wouldn't be gallivanting off on house- 
 parties for a week at a time, either; they'd be 
 tending to their business if they had any. 
 And if they hqj^t, they ought to." 
 
 Henry put down the bag and the suit-case, 
 removed his straw hat, and grinned, with a 
 fair imitation of cheerfulness. He had never 
 
 learned how to handle Aunt Mirabelle, and 
 
 
 
 small wonder; for if he listened in silence, he 
 was called sulky; if he disputed her, he was 
 called flippant; if he agreed with her, she ac- 
 cused him of fraud ; and if he obeyed his natural
 
 EOPE 3 
 
 instincts, and treated her with tolerant good- 
 humour, she usually went on a conversation 
 strike, and never weakened until after the 
 twelfth apology. Whatever he did was wrong, 
 so that purely on speculation, he grinned, and 
 said what came to his tongue. 
 
 "Maybe so," said Henry, "maybe so, but 
 conscience is a plant of slow growth," and im- 
 mediately after he had said this, he wished that 
 he had chosen a different epigram something 
 which wasn't so liable to come back at him, 
 later, like a boomerang. 
 
 "Humph!" said Aunt Mirabelle. "It is, is 
 it? Well, if I was in your place, I'd be impa- 
 tient for it to grow faster." 
 
 Henry shook his head. "No, I don't believe 
 
 you would. I've read som^here that impa- 
 
 ^^ 
 
 tience dries the blood more than age or sor- 
 row." He assumed an air of critical satisfac- 
 tion. "The bird that v.rote that had pretty 
 good technique, don't you think?" 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. "All right, 
 Henry. Be pert. But I know what made you 
 so almighty anxious to sneak off on this house- 
 party; and I know whose account it was you
 
 4 EOPE 
 
 went on, too, and I don 't see for the life of me 
 why your uncle hasn't put his foot down." 
 She sighed, as though in deep mourning. "I 
 did hope you'd grow up different from these 
 other boys, Henry, but you're all of you just 
 alike. When you get old enough, do you pick 
 out some pure, innocent, sensible, young woman 
 that's been trained the way girls were trained 
 in my day? No. You go and make fools of 
 yourselves over these short-skirted little hus- 
 sies all powdered up like a box of marshmal- 
 lows. And as long as they're spry enough and 
 immodest enough to do all these new bunny 
 dances and what not, you think that's a sure 
 sign they'll make good wives and mothers. 
 Humph. Makes me sick/' 
 
 In spite of himself, Henry lost his artificial 
 grin, and began to turn dull red. "I wouldn't 
 go quite so far as to say that." ^ 
 
 "Well," retorted Aunt Mirabelle, "I didn't 
 hardly expect you would. But you'll go far 
 enough to see one of 'em, I notice. . . . Well, 
 your uncle's home this afternoon; long's he's 
 paying your bills, you might have the grace to 
 go in and say howdy-you-do to him." She
 
 EOPE 5 
 
 marched upstairs, and Henry, revolving his hat 
 in his hand, gazed after her until she was out of 
 sight. He stood, irresolute, until the echo of 
 her common-sense shoes died into silence; and 
 as he lingered, he was struck for the ten 
 thousandth time by the amazing mystery of the 
 human family. 
 
 First, there was his mother, a small and ex- 
 quisite woman with music in her heart and in 
 the tips of her fingers ; his memory of her was 
 dim, but he knew that she had been the maddest 
 and the merriest of all possible mothers a 
 creature of joy and sunshine and the sheer 
 happiness of existence. And then her sister 
 Mirabelle, who found life such a serious condi- 
 tion to be in, and loved nothing about it, save 
 the task of reforming it for other people 
 whether the other people liked it or not. And 
 finally, her brother John, bald, fat, and good- 
 natured; a man whose personal interests were 
 bounded by his own physical comfort, and by 
 his desire to see everyone else equally comfort- 
 able. Whenever Henry thought of this trio, he 
 reflected that his grandparents must have been 
 very versatile.
 
 6 ROPE 
 
 He drew a long breath, and glanced up the 
 stairway, as though the spirit of his Aunt 
 Mirabelle were still haunting him; then, with a 
 depressing recollection of what she had said 
 about his conscience, and with hot resentment 
 at what she said about his taste, he walked 
 slowly into the library. 
 
 His uncle John Starkweather, who had been 
 writing at a big desk between the windows, 
 sprang up to shake hands with him. " Hello, 
 boy! Thought Bob Standish must have kid- 
 napped you. Have a good party f " 
 
 ' ' Fine, thanks, ' ' said Henry, but his tone was 
 so subdued and joyless that his uncle stared at 
 him for a moment, and then went over to close 
 the door. Standing with his back to it, Mr. 
 Starkweather smiled reminiscently and a trifle 
 ruefully, and began to peel the band from a 
 cigar. " What's the matter? Mirabelle say 
 anything to you?" 
 
 ' ' Why nothing special. ' y 
 
 His uncle hesitated. "In a good many 
 ways/' he said, lowering his voice, "Mirabelle 
 puts me in mind of my father. When he was 
 a boy, out in the country, he'd had to smash the
 
 EOPE 7 
 
 ice in the water-pitcher every mornin', and he 
 was proud of it thought a boy that hadn't 
 earned some of his godliness with an ice-pick 
 was a dude. Thought what was good enough 
 for his father was good enough for him, and 
 sometimes it was too good. Didn't believe in 
 modern improvements like telephones and 
 easy chairs and three-tined forks ; didn't believe 
 in labour-savin' devices because labour wasn't 
 meant to be saved. Bible says for us to work 
 six days a week, and if he ever had any spare 
 time before Sat 'day night, he figured he must 
 have forgot somethin'. Business- well, he 
 called advertisin' a rich man's luxury, and 
 said an audit was an insult to his partners. 
 Said he'd welcome a sheriff sooner 'n he would 
 an expert accountant and in the long run, 
 that's exactly what he did. Involuntary bank- 
 ruptcy found his sanctimonious old cashier M 
 been sanctimoniously lootin' the till for 
 eighteen years." He paused, and eyed his 
 cigar. "Well, Mirabelle's cut more or less off 
 the same piece. Lord, I wish she could go 
 through some kind of bankruptcy, if 't would 
 shake her up like it did father."
 
 8 EOPE 
 
 "It shook him up, did it?" inquired Henry, 
 fidgetting. 
 
 "Well," said his uncle, "after the crash, I 
 don't recollect he ever mentioned the good old 
 times again except once ; and that was to praise 
 the good old habit of takin' defaulters and 
 boilin ' 'em in oil. No, sir, he wouldn 't so much 
 as add two and two together without an addin' 
 machine, and he used to make an inventory of 
 his shirts and winter flannels pretty near every 
 week. And Mirabelle's the same way; she's 
 still tryin' to live under the 1874 rules." He 
 came back to his desk, and sat down thought- 
 fully. "Well, she's been talkin' to me ever 
 since you went off on this party and as far's 
 most of it's concerned, I'm not on her side, and 
 I'm not on your side; I'm sort of betwixt and 
 between." He looked sidewise at Henry, and 
 discovered that Henry was peering off into 
 space, and smiling as though he saw a vision in 
 the clouds. "Just as man to man, just for the 
 information ; suppose you passed up everything 
 I've said to you, and went and got married one 
 of these days did you expect I'd go on sup- 
 portin' you?"
 
 EOPE 9 
 
 Henry came down to earth, and his expres- 
 sion showed that he had landed heavily. 
 1 1 Why what was that I ' ' 
 
 His uncle repeated it, with a postscript. 
 * * Oh, I Ve always told you you could have any- 
 thing you wanted within reason that I could pay 
 for. But from what I been told" his eyes 
 twinkled "wives ain't always reasonable. 
 And it does seem to me that when a young man 
 gets to be twenty five or six, and never did a 
 lick of work in his life, and loafs around clubs 
 and plays polo just because he's got a rich 
 uncle, why, it's a sort of a reflection on both of 
 'em. Seem so to you?" 
 
 Henry glanced up nervously and down again. 
 * ' To tell the truth, I hadn 't thought much about 
 it." 
 
 "Say," said his uncle, confidentially. 
 "Neither had I. Not 'till Mirabelle told me 
 you went off on this party because Anna Bar- 
 klay was goin' to be there. . . . Now I had 
 pretty hard sleddin' when I was your age; I've 
 kind of liked to see you enjoy yourself. But 
 Mirabelle Now I said before, I ain't on her 
 side, and I ain't on your side; I had the thing
 
 10 ROPE 
 
 out with you once or twice -already, and I guess 
 you know what my angles are. Only if Mira- 
 belle 's got any grounds, maybe I ought to say 
 it over again. . . . You been out of college four 
 years now, and you tried the automobile 
 business for two months and the bond business 
 for two- weeks and the real-estate business for 
 two minutes, and there you quit. You spent 
 five, six thousand a year and that was all right, 
 but I admit I don't like the idea of your 
 gettin' married on no thin' but prospects, 
 specially when I'm all the prospects there is. 
 Sound fair to you?" 
 
 Henry nodded, with much repression, 
 "You couldn't be unfair if you tried, Uncle 
 John." 
 
 "Well, you was always open to reason, even 
 when you was in kindergarten. . . . Now, in 
 some ways I don't approve of you any more'n 
 Mirabelle does, but she wants me to go too 
 blamed far. She wants me to turn you loose 
 the way my father did me. She wants me to 
 say if you should ever marry without my con- 
 sent I'll cut you out of my will. But that's old 
 stuff. That's cold turkey. Mirabelle don't
 
 E P E 11 
 
 know times have changed she's so busy with 
 that cussed Reform League of hers, she don't 
 have time to reform any of her own slants 
 about things." He rolled his cigar under his 
 tongue. 
 
 "Well, I'm goin' to compromise. Before you 
 get involved too deep, I want you to know 
 what 's in my mind. I don 't believe it 's the best 
 thing for either of us for me to go on bein' a 
 kind of an evergreen money-bush. And a man 
 that's earnin' his own livin' don't have to ask 
 odds of anybody. Don't you think you better 
 bundle up your courage and get to work, 
 Henry I" 
 
 Henry was twiddling his watch-chain. "It 
 hasn't been a matter of courage, exactly " 
 
 "Oh, I know that. I don't believe you're 
 scared of work ; you 're only sort of shy about it. 
 I never saw you really afraid of more'n three 
 things bein' a spoil-sport, or out of style, or 
 havin* -a waiter think you're stingy. No, you 
 ain't afraid of work, but you never been 
 properly introduced, so you're kind of stand- 
 offish about it. I've always kind of hoped 
 you'd take a tip from Bob Standish there's
 
 12 ROPE 
 
 one of your own breed that knows where the 
 durable satisfactions of life are. Just as good 
 family 's yours.; just as much money; just as 
 fond of games; and workin' like a prize pup 
 in my office and makin' good. He'll tell 
 you. . . . But if you go get married, boy, be- 
 'fore you show you could take care of yourself, 
 and what money I might leave you oh, I don 't 
 say you got to put over any miracle, but I do 
 say you got to learn the value of money first. 
 You'd do that by earnin' some. If you don't, 
 then you and me'd have a quarrel. Sound 
 logical to you?'* 
 
 Henry was frowning a little, and sitting 
 nearer to the edge of his chair. "Too darned 
 logical/' he said. 
 
 His uncle surveyed him with great indul- 
 gence. " What's the idea?" he asked, hu- 
 mourously. "You ain't gone off and got your- 
 self married already, have you?" 
 
 Henry stood up, and squared his shoulders, 
 and looked straight into his uncle's eyes. His 
 voice was strained, but at the same time it held 
 a faint note of relief, as if he had contained his
 
 E P E 13 
 
 secret too long for his own nerves. "Yes, 
 Uncle John. ..." 
 
 And waited, as before the Court of last 
 appeal.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE older man sat limp in his chair, and 
 stared until the ash of his cigar tumbled, 
 untidily, over his waistcoat. He brushed at it 
 with uncertain, ineffective motions, but his eyes 
 never left his nephew. He put the cigar once 
 more to his lips, shuddered, and flung it away. 
 
 "Boy " he said, at length, "Boy is that 
 true?" 
 
 Henry cleared his throat. "Yes, Uncle 
 John." 
 
 ' ' Who is it I Anna Barklay ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes, Uncle John." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 ' l Yesterday afternoon. ' ' 
 
 "Does Judge Barklay know it yet?" 
 
 "No, not yet. He's out of town." 
 
 His uncle drew a tremendous breath, and 
 pulled himself upright. "Boy," he said, "why 
 in the hell did you ever go and do a thing like 
 that? . . . Haven't I been pretty decent to you, 
 
 14
 
 ROPE 15 
 
 the best I knew how? . . . Why'd you ever go, 
 and have I been mistaken in you all this while? 
 Why, boy, I thought you and me were friends." 
 
 There was another heavy silence. "I don't 
 know. It just happened. The way things do 
 sometimes. We've always been crazy about 
 each other." 
 
 Mr. Starkweather was looking at and through 
 his nephew, who was man-grown and pre- 
 sumably a rational human being; but what Mr. 
 Starkweather actually saw was the vision of 
 a little boy dressed in Lord Fauntleroy velvet, 
 with silver knee-buckles and a lace collar; and 
 much as a drowning man is supposed to review, 
 in a lightning flash, every incident of his whole 
 life, so was Mr. Starkweather reviewing the 
 life of Henry, beginning with the era of black 
 velvet, and ending with the immediate present. 
 That history was a continuous record of dash- 
 ing impulses, and the gayest irresponsibility; 
 and yet, when the time came for an accounting, 
 Henry had offered only explanations, and never 
 excuses. In his glorious pursuit of the 
 calendar, he had paid his penalties as royally as 
 he had earned them; and even now, when he
 
 16 ROPE 
 
 was confessed of the most impetuous and the 
 most astounding act of all his unballasted 
 youth, he had nothing to say in defence. As a 
 climax, marriage had " happened" to him, and 
 he was braced for whatever might happen next. 
 Presently, Mr. Starkweather, coming out of 
 his daze, began to wonder if, by this very 
 climax, Henry hadn't prescribed his own 
 medicine, and at the same time taken out insur- 
 ance on his own salvation. For one thing, he 
 had selected the right girl a girl with no 
 money, and plenty of character a girl who 
 would manage him so skilfully that Henry 
 would think himself the manager. For another 
 thing, Mr. Starkweather believed that Henry 
 was profoundly in love with her, even though he 
 tried to conceal his seriousness by spreading it 
 with a generous helping of light manner, and 
 modern vocabulary. These facts, together 
 with Mr. Starkweather's control of the finances, 
 might possibly operate as the twin levers which 
 would pry Henry out of his improvidence. 
 The levers themselves were certainly strong 
 enough; it was a question only of Henry's re- 
 sistance. Mr. Starkweather winced to realize
 
 EOPE 17 
 
 that by the time the minute-hand of his watch 
 had gone twice again around the dial, he should 
 know definitely and permanently whether 
 Henry was worth his powder, or not. 
 
 He leaned his elbows on his desk, judicially. 
 "I'm pretty much knocked edgeways, Henry 
 but tell me one more thing; this wasn't any 
 bet, was it, or " 
 
 "Bet!" flared Henry, and all the youth went 
 out of his features. 
 
 "Yes. Nobody dared you to go and get mar- 
 ried it wasn't any kind of a put-up job, was 
 it?" 
 
 The younger man was righteously indignant. 
 "Uncle John, I admit I haven't won any medals 
 for for some things, and maybe you think I 
 am the kind of bird that would do this on a bet, 
 or a dare and if you do think that I guess 
 we're both mistaken in each other!" 
 
 His uncle's hand went up. "Hold your 
 horses! You've answered the question. If 
 you hadn't got mad, I'd have thrown you out 
 the window. Why did you do it, then ? ... No 
 never mind." He looked away. "7 know. 
 Spring, and impulse and no emergency brakes.
 
 18 E P E 
 
 / know. . . ." He looked back at Henry, and 
 smiled oddly. "And I was just goin' to tell 
 you, before you sprung it on me, that if you 
 cared two cents about that girl, and me, too, 
 you'd want to deserve her do somethin' be- 
 sides be a model to hang expensive clothes on." 
 
 "Yes,' 1 said Henry, also judicial. "I guess 
 I'm entitled to that wallop." 
 
 His uncle nodded. "That one and quite a 
 few more. Still, you never heard anybody ac- 
 cuse me of not bein' a good sport, did you?" 
 
 "No, Uncle John. I counted on it." 
 
 "Who knows this besides us?" 
 
 "Just Bob Standish. "We took him along for 
 a witness." 
 
 "So! Bob Standish! Hm. I 'd have thought 
 Bob'd had sense enough to try to stop it. I'll 
 have words with him," 
 
 "He did try." 
 
 Mr. Starkweather rose. "Where's Anna?" 
 
 1 'Out in the car. With Bob. ' ' 
 
 His uncle froze. "Out there? Waitin' 
 there all this time? For Heaven's sake, Henry, 
 she '11 be in a conniption fit ! You go bring her 
 in here and tell her to stop worryin'. I'm
 
 ROPE 19 
 
 sore as the devil, and I'm goin' to make an ex- 
 ample out of you, but that ain't any reason to 
 act like a grouch, is it? Sound sensible to you? 
 Bring her in here. Not Bob I'll see him 
 afterwards. J ' 
 
 She was small and intensely feminine, but 
 there was nothing fragile about her, and no 
 slightest hint of helplessness. She was pretty 
 enough, too, and her attractions were more than 
 skin-deep ; to the qualities which showed in her 
 eyes sincerity and humour and imagination 
 there was also to be added sweetness of dis- 
 position and sensitiveness, which were proved 
 by the curves of her mouth; and finally, there 
 was quiet determination, stopping just short of 
 stubbornness, which was evident in the mould- 
 ing of her strong little chin. 
 
 She came in slowly, questioningly, not in fear, 
 but merely poised so as to adjust herself to any 
 style of reception. Mr. Starkweather met her 
 eyes and laughed a fat, spontaneous, under- 
 standing laugh and blushing furiously, she
 
 20 E P E 
 
 ran to him, with both her hands outstretched. 
 "Well, my dear," said Mr. Starkweather, and 
 interrupted himself long enough to kiss her, 
 "I'll say Henry's got a darned sight better 
 judgment 'n you have. ... Go on and blush. 
 Make a good job of it. Ashamed of yourself? 
 So'm I. Sit down there and cringe. You too, 
 Henry." He himself remained on his feet. 
 "Funny thing," he said, after a pause. "Only 
 chance I ever had to get married myself was 
 somethin ' like this is oh, I wasn r t a gilt loafer, 
 like Henry is; I was workin' sixteen hours a 
 day, but I wasn't makin' money enough. Both 
 our fathers said so. And she'd have run off, 
 but I wouldn't. Thought it wasn't respectable, 
 I guess. Anyhow, it kind of petered out, and 
 I lost my nerve. Wish to thunder I'd taken a 
 chance when I had it. Worth it, sometimes." 
 He whirled on Henry, abruptly. "Well, you 
 took your chance. Now let's see if you think 
 it's worth it. If you're figurin' on any help 
 from me, you got to work for it first. If you 'd 
 waited, I'd kind of made things easy for you. 
 Now, I'm goin' to hand you the meanest job I 
 can think of. It won't be an insult and it won't
 
 E P E 21 
 
 be a joke, but maybe you'll take it for both 
 until you learn better. ' ' 
 
 "What is it, Uncle John?" 
 
 "I'll tell you when you get back from your 
 honeymoon. ' ' 
 
 The two young people stared at each other, 
 and at Mr. Starkweather. "From our 
 what?" asked the girl, incredulously. 
 
 "Honeymoon. Oh, you made a couple of 
 prize fools of yourselves, and if I did what I 
 ought to, I'd cut Henry off sharp this minute. 
 But guess I better make a fool of myself, so 
 you'll feel more at home." He coughed ex- 
 plosively. "Besides, you're awful young, both 
 of you and damn it, if you don't cash in on it 
 now, next thing you know you'll be wonderin' 
 where the time's gone, anyway. No sense in 
 robbin' you of the best months of your life, just 
 because you hadn't sense enough to rob your- 
 selves of it is there? Oh, I suppose I'm a 
 kind of a sentimental cuss, but must be I like 
 the feelin' of it." He jerked his head toward 
 Henry. "This is April. Take her off some- 
 where Italy? South of France ? 'till next 
 August. Then you report back here, all fixed
 
 22 ROPE 
 
 and ready to at crow. Sound fair to you?" 
 
 The girl rose, and crossed the room to him. 
 "Mr. Starkweather " 
 
 "Name's Uncle John," he corrected. "You 
 married it. ' ' 
 
 "Uncle John I I don't know how to " 
 She bit her lip, and he saw the depths of her 
 eyes, and saw that they were filling with tears. 
 She gestured imperatively to Henry. "You 
 know him better you tell him. ' ' 
 
 Henry had sprung across to join them. "Un- 
 cle John, you're a peach! I'll break rock on 
 the streets if you say so! You're a peach!" 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Starkweather, uncomfor- 
 tably. "If everybody else's goin' to bawl, I 
 guess it'll have to be contagious. . . . Only 
 when you get back, you're both goin' to pay the 
 piper. I'm goin' to make Henry earn his salt, 
 whether he's got it in him or not; I'm goin' to 
 make him crawl. That goes as it stands, too; 
 no foolin'. . . . Look here, don't you want me 
 to break it to the Judge? Guess I better. I 
 can put it up to him in writin' twice as good 
 as Henry put it up to me by talkin', anyhow. 
 . . . And I'll put an announcement in the
 
 ROPE 23 
 
 Herald that'll take the cuss off. Anna, you 
 hustle up some engraved notices to get around 
 to all our friends. You know what's in 
 style. . . . Oh, you're a couple of champion 
 idiots, and Henry's goin' to sweat for it when 
 he comes home, but God bless you, my boy, 
 and you too, my dear only how in blazes am 
 I goin' to get it across to Mirabelle? That's 
 what bites me the worst, Henry; that's what 
 bites me the worst!"
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 IN a small office on the third floor of the City 
 Bank Building Mr. Theodore Mix, broker 
 and amateur politician, sat moodily intent upon 
 Ids morning newspaper. For thirty years (he 
 was fifty-five) Mr. Mix had been a prominent 
 and a mildly influential citizen, and by great ef- 
 fort he had managed to keep himself excessively 
 overrated. A few years ago he had even been 
 mentioned as a candidate for Mayor, and the 
 ambition was still alive within him, although 
 fulfilment was never so distant. But despite 
 his appearance, which was dignified, and des- 
 pite his manner, which would have done for 
 the diplomatic corps, and despite his con- 
 nection with local charities and churches and 
 civic committees, Mr. Mix was secretly a bit of 
 a bounder; and although the past decade or 
 two he had made a handsome income, he had 
 contrived to get rid of it as fast as he con- 
 
 24
 
 ROPE 25 
 
 veniently could, and by methods which wouldn't 
 always have stood analysis. 
 
 Lately, for no apparent cause, his best cus- 
 tomers had edged away from him ; he was glid- 
 ing rapidly into debt, and he knew that unless 
 he clambered out again within six or eight 
 weeks, he should have considerable difficulty 
 in preserving his reputation, both financial and 
 ethical. And like all men in the same position, 
 Mr. Mix was fiercely jealous" of his prestige; 
 by long practice he had warped himself into 
 thinking that it belonged to him; and he was 
 ready to defend it with every conceivable 
 weapon. 
 
 For the moment, however, Mr. Mix was 
 querulous rather than defensive. He was try- 
 ing to place the blame for the past two sea- 
 sons of misfortune, and when he observed that 
 Pacific Eefining was twelve points up from Sat- 
 urday's close, he sighed wearily and told him- 
 self that it was all a matter of luck. He had 
 had an appointment, last Saturday at nine 
 o 'clock, with his friend John Starkweather, and 
 he had meant to borrow something from him, if
 
 26 ROPE 
 
 possible, and to risk a few hundred shares of 
 Pacific Refining on margin; but he had over- 
 slept, and Mr. Starkweather had left his office 
 at nine fifteen and hadn't come back again that 
 day, so that the profit which might so easily 
 have come to rest in Mr. Mix's pockets was now 
 in other quarters. 
 
 Luck! The most intangible of assets and 
 the most unescapable of liabilities. On Satur- 
 day, Mr. Mix had arrived too late because he 
 had overslept because his alarm-clock had been 
 tinkered by a watchmaker who had inherited a 
 taste for alcohol from a parent who had been 
 ruined by the Chicago fire and almost before 
 he knew it, Mr. Mix had trailed the blame to 
 Adam and Eve, and was feeling personally re- 
 sentful. It was plain to him that his failure 
 wasn 't in any sense his own fault. 
 
 As he resumed his paper, however, his 
 querulousness yielded to a broad sunny opti- 
 mism, and he turned to the sporting page and 
 hunted out the news from the Bowie track. 
 He had a friend at Bowie, and the friend owned 
 a horse which he swore was the darkest three- 
 year-old in captivity; he had wired Mr. Mix to
 
 ROPE 27 
 
 hypothecate his shirt, and bet the proceeds on 
 the fourth race, this coming Saturday. The 
 odds would be at least 10 to 1, he said, and he 
 could place all the money that Mr. Mix might 
 send him. 
 
 Mr. Mix leaned back and built a stable in the 
 air. Suppose he could borrow a couple of thou- 
 sand. Twenty thousand clear profit. Then a 
 quick dash into the cotton-market (the price was 
 certainly going to break wide open in another 
 month) and the twenty would unfold, and ex- 
 pand, and become fifty. And if a shrewd, cold- 
 blooded man went down to Wall Street with 
 fifty thousand dollars, and played close to his 
 chest, he ought to double his capital in four 
 months. To be sure, Mr. Mix had been losing 
 steadily for a dozen years, but he was confi- 
 dent that he had it in him to be a great and 
 successful plunger. He felt it. Heretofore, 
 he had been handicapped by operating on a 
 shoestring; but with fifty thousand dollars to 
 put his back against 
 
 His stenographer announced a caller, and 
 on the instant, Mr. Mix, put on his other per- 
 sonality, and prepared to silver his tongue.
 
 28 ROPE 
 
 The caller, however, came straight to Mr. Mix's 
 desk, and flipped out one sheet from a large 
 portfolio. "Say," he remarked brusquely. 
 "What's the matter with this bill? Ziegler 
 and Company. Two ninety two sixty dated 
 November. ' y 
 
 Mr. Mix laughed genially, and offered a ci- 
 gar. "Why, nothing's the matter with it. 
 "What's the matter with Ziegler and Com- 
 pany? Aren't they solvent?" 
 
 The visitor lighted his cigar, and mellowed. 
 "Well it ain't any of my funeral, but Ziegler 
 he says if you don't settle by the fifteenth, he'll 
 give it to his attorney." 
 
 For the third time in a week, an attorney 
 had been lugged into the conversation; more 
 than that, Mr. Mix had received four letters 
 from two different collection agencies. "In 
 the words of the Good Book," he said sooth- 
 ingly, "have patience and I will pay thee all." 
 
 "What say? Will I come in next week some- 
 time?" 
 
 "Now, that," said Mr. Mix, with a rush of 
 approval, "is a first-rate idea. That's first- 
 rate. Come in next week some time. ' '
 
 ROPE 29 
 
 "Right-o. Only Ziegler, he's pretty hard- 
 boiled, Mr. Mix. . . . Say, why don't you 
 gimme a check now, and save me from gettin' 
 flat-footed? Two ninety two sixty? Why for 
 you that's chicken-feed." 
 
 "Bill hasn't been audited yet," said Mr. 
 Mix, with all the grandeur of an industrial 
 chieftain. * ' Come in next week. ' ' 
 
 The visitor went out, and Mr. Mix scowled 
 at the bill, threatened to tear it, and finally put 
 it away in a drawer where it had plenty of 
 companionship. To think that after his life- 
 time as an important citizen generally sup- 
 posed to be well-to-do if not actually rich 
 he couldn't pay a trifling account of less than 
 three hundred dollars because he didn't have 
 three hundred dollars in the bank. Collec- 
 tion agencies and the warning of suits and 
 impertinence from young ruffians who were 
 hired to dun him! He scowled more heavily, 
 and then gave his shoulders an upward move- 
 ment of rancour and disgust. 
 
 And yet the lines receded from his forehead 
 and yet there was always John Starkweather, 
 and the friend at Bowie. Mr. Mix rose, and
 
 30 E P E 
 
 went out to the corridor, and down it to a 
 door which was lettered with Mr. Stark- 
 weather's name, followed by the inscription: 
 Keal Estate and Insurance, Mortgage Loans. 
 And as he entered, and remembered that thirty 
 years ago he and John Starkweather had oc- 
 cupied adjoining stools at the same high desk, 
 and broken their back over the same drudgery, 
 and at the same wage, he was filled with an 
 emotion which made his cheeks warm. Side 
 by side, only thirty years ago, and separated 
 now by the Lord knew what, and the Lord 
 knew why. Mr. Mix knew that he was brainier 
 than John Starkweather; he admitted it. 
 Brainier, smoother, quicker of wit, and more 
 polished. But Starkweather's office handled 
 the bulk of local realty transactions; it wrote 
 more insurance than all of its competitors in a 
 mass; it loaned almost as much money, on 
 mortgage, as the Trust and Savings. And Mr. 
 Mix, Broker, was on the verge of bankruptcy. 
 Luck ! No question about it. 
 
 At the swinging gate there was a girl-clerk 
 who smiled up at him, flirtatiously. "Want to
 
 ROPE 31 
 
 see the boss T He 's busy for a coupla minutes. ' ' 
 
 "All right," said Mr. Mix in an undertone. 
 "I'll stay here and talk to you." 
 
 ' ' The nerve of some folks I Think I 'm paid 
 to listen to your line of hot air? Not 'till they 
 double my salary. You go sit down and have 
 a thought. Exercise 's what you need. ' ' 
 
 Mr. Mix rolled his eyes heavenward. "So 
 young, and so heartless!" he murmured, and 
 went sedately forward to the reception room. 
 
 The door of the private office was not quite 
 closed; so that the voices of two men were 
 faintly audible. Mr. Mix cast about him, made 
 sure that he was unobserved, and dignifiedly 
 changed his seat nearer that door. 
 
 "Yes," said a voice which at first he couldn't 
 recognize. "The deed's recorded. So legally, 
 Henry owns the property now." Mr. Mix 
 nodded triumphantly ; the voice belonged to Mr. 
 Archer, a leading lawyer and Mr. Stark- 
 weather's closest friend. 
 
 "That's the idea." This was in Mr. Stark- 
 weather's familiar bass. "Now how'd you fix 
 the will!"
 
 32 E P E 
 
 "Why, it was very simple. Your point was 
 that you didn't want everybody to know what 
 was going on. So " 
 
 "No. And if I put a lot o' conditions like 
 that in a will, why just as soon as it was pro- 
 bated, Henry and Mirabelle 'd both get an awful 
 lot o' bum publicity. They'd both be sore, 
 and I'd look like a nut. . . . Naturally, I don't 
 plan to die off as soon as all this, but better 
 be safe. I just want to fix it up so Henry '11 
 get the same deal no matter what happens. ' ' 
 
 "Very wise, very wise, . . . Well, here's 
 what I've done. I've changed the will so that 
 the entire residuary estate is left to me in trust 
 for your sister and nephew to be administered 
 according to the trust-deed we're executing to- 
 day. They can probate that until they're black 
 in the face, but nobody's going to find out any 
 more than we want them to." 
 
 "Sounds all right so far, but don't you have 
 to take a trust agreement like that into Court, 
 too?" 
 
 ' ' Sooner or later, yes. But you '11 notice that 
 I've covered it so that unless Henry or Miss 
 Starkweather says something, nobody's go-
 
 ROPE 33 
 
 ing to know until the year's out, and I make 
 the accounting. Now for the trust agreement 
 itself if Henry demonstrates to me that with- 
 in a year " 
 
 "A year from August first. The lease don't 
 expire 'till then, and Henry won't be home *till 
 then. August to August's what I'm goin' to 
 put up to him." 
 
 "Correct. If he demonstrates to me that 
 within the calendar year he 's made a net profit 
 of ten thousand dollars from the property by 
 the way, isn't that rather steep?" 
 
 "No. Man's in there now's made three 
 thousand and manhandled it. Just horse-sense 
 and some alterations and advertising '11 bring 
 it up to ten." 
 
 "You're the doctor. If Henry makes ten 
 out of it, then he receives from me, as trustee, 
 the whole residuary estate, otherwise it goes to 
 your sister. And during that trial year, she 
 gets the whole income from it, anyway." 
 
 Mr. Mix was sitting motionless as a cat. 
 
 "That's right." 
 
 "Well, then, if you'll just read these over and 
 make sure I Ve got your meaning, and then get
 
 34 E P E 
 
 a couple of witnesses in here, we can clear the 
 whole thing up and have it out of the way." 
 
 Mr. Mix heard the scrape of chair-legs against 
 the floor, and hastily, on tiptoe, he crossed the 
 room to his original seat, and in passing the 
 centre table he helped himself to a magazine 
 which he was reading with much concentration 
 when the door of the private office opened. 
 
 "Why, hello, Mix," said Mr. Starkweather. 
 "Been waitin' long? Be with you in half a 
 second. ' ' 
 
 "Just got here," said Mr. Mix, as though 
 startled. He returned the magazine to the 
 table, and was still standing when his friend 
 came back, in convoy of young Mr. Robert Stan- 
 dish, his chief assistant. 
 
 "Come on in, Mix. Want you to witness a 
 will." 
 
 "Anything to oblige," said Mr. Mix, with 
 alacrity. 
 
 He spoke cordially to young Mr. Standish 
 and in another moment, to the lawyer. With 
 due solemnity he carried out the function which 
 was assigned to him; he would have loved a 
 peep at the body of the documents, but already
 
 ROPE 35 
 
 he was possessed of some very interesting in- 
 formation, and he kept his eyes religiously in 
 the boat. Mr. Mix believed that in business and 
 society, as well as in war, advance information 
 is the basis of victory; and even while he was 
 blotting his second signature, he was wonder- 
 ing how to capitalize what he had overheard. 
 No inspiration came to him; so that methodi- 
 cally he stowed away the facts for reference. 
 
 "Stay right here, Mix. That's all, ain't it, 
 Mr. Archer?" 
 
 "That's all.'* The lawyer was packing up 
 his papers. "Good-morning, gentlemen." He 
 bowed himself away; Standish had long since 
 vanished. 
 
 Mr. Starkweather mopped his face. "Hot, 
 ain't it?" 
 
 "You aren't looking so very fit," said Mr. 
 Mix, critically. "Feel all right, do you?" 
 
 Mr. Starkweather pulled himself together. 
 "Sure," he said, but his voice lacked its usual 
 heartiness. "I feel fine. Well, what can I do 
 for you?" 
 
 Mr. Mix, delaying only to close the door 
 (and to see that it latched) began with a fore-
 
 36 E P E 
 
 word which was followed by a preface and 
 then by a prelude, but he had hardly reached 
 the main introduction when Mr. Starkweather 
 put up his hand. ' ' To make a long story short, 
 Mix how much do you want?" 
 
 Mr. Mix looked pained. "Why, to tide me 
 over the dull season, John, I need let's see 
 He stole a glance at his friend, and doubled 
 the ante. "About five thousand." 
 
 Mr. Starkweather drummed on his desk. 
 "Any security?" 
 
 Mr. Mix smiled blandly. "What's security 
 between friends ? I '11 give you a demand note. ' ' 
 
 At length, Mr. Starkweather stopped drum- 
 ming. "Mix, I don't quite get you. . . . You've 
 had a good business ; you must have made con- 
 siderable money. You oughtn't be borrowin' 
 from me; that's what your bank's for. You 
 oughtn't be borrowin' money any way. You 
 been too big a man to get in a hole like this. 
 What's wrong business rotten?" 
 
 "Too good," said Mr. Mix, frankly. "It's 
 taking all my capital to carry my customers. 
 And you know how tight money is." 
 
 "Oh, yes. Well I guess your credit's good
 
 EOPE 37 
 
 for five, all right. When do you have to have 
 it? Now?" 
 
 "Any time that suits you, suits me." 
 
 Mr. Starkweather shook his head. "No, it 
 don't, either. When a man wants money, he 
 wants it. Wants it some particular day. When 
 is it!" 
 
 "Why, if you could let me have it today, 
 John, I'd appreciate it." 
 
 "Make out your note," said Mr. Stark- 
 weather, heavily, "Interest at six percent, semi- 
 annually. I'll have the cashier write you out 
 a check." 
 
 Ten minutes later Mr. Mix, patting his 
 breast pocket affectionately, bestowed a pater- 
 nal smile upon the girl at the wicket; and Mr. 
 Starkweather, alone in his office, drew a 
 prodigious breath and slumped down in his 
 chair, and fell to gazing out over the roof- 
 tops. 
 
 It was a fortnight, now, since Henry's last 
 letter. He wished that Henry would write 
 oftener. He told himself that one of Henry's 
 impulsive, buoyant letters would furnish the 
 only efficacious antidote to Mirabelle. And he
 
 38 EOPE 
 
 needed an antidote, and a powerful one, for 
 during the past two weeks Mirabelle had been 
 surpassing herself. That is, if one can surpass 
 a superlative. 
 
 Judge Barklay, of course, had taken the rev- 
 elation like a man. Like a philosopher. He 
 was fond of Henry personally; he had objected 
 to him purely for the obvious reasons. He 
 agreed, however, with Mr. Starkweather mar- 
 riage might awaken Henry to complete respon- 
 sibility. Indeed he had Mr. Starkweather's 
 guaranty of it. To be sure a secret marriage 
 was somewhat sensational, somewhat inde- 
 corous 
 
 " Humph!" Mirabelle had interrupted. "I 
 don't know who's insulted most you or us. 
 Still I suppose you've got one consolation 
 and that's if two young fools marry each other 
 instead of somebody else it only leaves just 
 the two of 'em to repent at leisure instead of 
 four." 
 
 Mr. Starkweather recalled, with chagrin, his 
 own and the Judge's futile attempts at tact. 
 Mirabelle was tact-proof; you might as well 
 try subtle diplomacy on a locomotive. He took
 
 ROPE 39 
 
 another deep breath, and gazed abstractedly out 
 over the roof-tops. He wished that Henry 
 would write. Henry had his defects, but the 
 house was not quite livable without him. Mr. 
 Starkweather was swept by an emotion which 
 took him wholly by surprise and almost over- 
 came him; he sat up, and began to wonder 
 where he could find some occupation which 
 would chink up the crevices in his thoughts, and 
 prevent him from introspection. Eventually he 
 hit upon it, and with a conscious effort, he 
 pulled himself out of his chair, and went over 
 to Masonic Hall to meet his sister Mirabelle. 
 She had been attending a conference of the 
 Ethical Reform League, and as Mr. Starjk- 
 weather 's car drew in to the curb, the reformers 
 were just emerging to the sidewalk. He sur- 
 veyed them, disparagingly. First, there was 
 a vanguard of middle-aged women, remarkably 
 short of waist and long of skirt, who looked as 
 though they had stepped directly from the files 
 of Godey's Lady's Book; he recognized a few 
 of them, and judged the others accordingly 
 these were the militants, the infantry, who bore 
 the brunt of the fighting. Next, there was a
 
 40 ROPE 
 
 group of younger women, and of young men 
 the men, almost without exception, wore spec- 
 tacles and white washable ties. These were the 
 skirmishers and the reserves. At one side, 
 there was a little delegation in frock-coats and 
 silk hats, and as Mr. Starkweather beheld them, 
 he lifted his eyebrows; some of those older 
 men he hadn 't seen in public for a dozen years 
 he had forgotten that they were alive. But 
 the majority of them were retired or retiring 
 capitalists; men who in their day, had man- 
 aged important interests, and even now con- 
 trolled them. Mr. Starkweather reflected that 
 life must have become very insipid to them; 
 and he further reflected that their place in this 
 organization must be as shock-troops. They 
 would seldom go into action, but when they did, 
 they had the power of consequence to give them 
 an added momentum. 
 
 His sister caught sight of him, and waved 
 her hand in greeting; and this astonished him 
 all the more, because since Henry's departure, 
 she had behaved towards him as though his 
 character needed a bath. 
 
 Mr. Starkweather made room for her.
 
 ROPE 41 
 
 * ' Thought I 'd give you a lift back to the house, ' ' 
 he said. 
 
 There was an unusual colour in her cheeks, 
 and her eyes were brilliant. "John, do you 
 know what I am?" 
 
 Mr. Starkweather didn't dare to hesitate. 
 "No. What?" 
 
 "I'm the president," she said, and her voice 
 was trembling with pride and bewilderment. 
 
 "President? Of the League?" 
 
 Transfigured, she nodded again and again. 
 "The nominating committee reported this 
 morning. I'm the only candidate. ..." She 
 stared at him and stiffened. "Of course, I 
 know you aren't interested in anything helpful 
 or progressive, so I don't expect to be con- 
 gratulated. Of course not." 
 
 Mr. Starkweather made a dutiful struggle 
 to be joyous about it, and succeeded only in 
 producing a feeble smirk. "I'll say one thing 
 you've got some money represented in that 
 crowd. Those old codgers. I didn't realize 
 it. ... Well, what's your program?" 
 
 She unbent a little, and began to recite her 
 platform, and as she skipped from plank to
 
 42 E P E 
 
 plank, her own enthusiasm was multiplied, and 
 Mr. Starkweather was correspondingly encased 
 in gloom. As a mere active member of the 
 League, a private in the ranks, Mirabelle had 
 made his house no more cheerful as a mauso- 
 leum; and when he considered what she might 
 accomplish as a president, in charge of a sweep- 
 ing blue-law campaign, his imagination refused 
 to take the hurdle. 
 
 Fortunately, he wasn't expected to say any- 
 thing. His sister was making a speech. She 
 didn't stop when the car stopped, nor when 
 Mr. Starkweather climbed down stiffly, and 
 held open the door for her, nor even when they 
 had reached the portico of the big brick house. 
 He told himself, dumbly, that if the world 
 would ever listen to Mirabelle, it would cer- 
 tainly reform. Not necessarily in contrition, 
 but in self-defence. 
 
 And yet when he sat opposite her, at lunch, 
 his expression was as calm and untroubled as 
 though she had fashioned for him an ideal ex- 
 istence. He was seeing a vision of Mirabelle 
 as a soap-box orator; he was seeing humorous 
 stories about her in the newspapers; he was
 
 E P E 43 
 
 shuddering at all the publicity which he knew 
 would be her portion, and yet he could smile 
 across the table at her, and speak in his nor- 
 mal voice. Physically, he was distressed and 
 joyless, but he found it easier to rise above his 
 body than above his mind. His smile was a 
 tribute to a dual heroism. 
 
 "Got a little present for you," said Mr. 
 Starkweather, suddenly. He tossed a slip of 
 paper to her, and watched her as she examined 
 it. "There's a string to it, though. I want 
 you to hold it awhile." 
 
 She looked up, sceptically. "Suppose it's 
 good!" 
 
 "Oh, it's perfectly good. Mix is all right. 
 Only I don't want you to press him for awhile. 
 Not for three, four months, anyhow." He 
 pushed away his dessert, untasted. "You 
 know why I'm givin' you these little dibs and 
 dabs every now and then, don't you! So if 
 anything ever happens to me, all of a sudden, 
 you'll have somethin' to draw on. Let's see, 
 I've put about forty in the little trust fund 
 I been buildin' up for you, and given you 
 twelve " He broke off abruptly; his own
 
 44 EOPE 
 
 symptoms puzzled him. As though somebody 
 had tried to throttle him. 
 
 His sister had already been sitting bolt up- 
 right, but now she achieved an even greater 
 rigidity. "Did you take my advice about your 
 will? I don't suppose you did." 
 
 "I made some changes in it this morning," 
 said Mr. Starkweather, uncomfortably. 
 
 "Did you do what I told you to about 
 Henry?" 
 
 He was struggling to keep a grip on him- 
 self. "Well, no not exactly." 
 
 "Oh, you didn't?" she said tartly. "Well, 
 what did you do?" 
 
 "Mirabelle," said her brother, "don't you 
 think that's just a little mite personal?" 
 
 "Well I should hope so. I meant it to be. 
 After the way Henry's acted, he don't de- 
 serve one bit of sympathy, or one dollar from 
 anybody. And if 7Ve got anything to say, he 
 won't get it, either." 
 
 Mr. Starkweather's round, fat face, wore an 
 expression which his sister hadn't seen before. 
 He stood up, and held the back of his chair for 
 support "Mirabelle, you haven't got a word
 
 ROPE 45 
 
 to say about it. I've made some changes in my 
 will, but it's nobody's damned business outside 
 of mine. ' ' 
 
 She reached for her handkerchief. "John! 
 To think that you'd swear at me " 
 
 He wet his lips. "I didn't swear at you, but 
 it's a holy wonder I don't. I've stood this just 
 about as long as I'm goin' to. Henry's my own 
 flesh and blood. And furthermore he wouldn't 
 waste my money a minute quicker 'n you would. 
 He'd do a damn sight better with it. He'd 
 have *a good time with it, and make everybody 
 in the neighbourhood happy, and you'd burn 
 it up in one of your confounded reform clubs. 
 Well, all I've got's a sister and a nephew, so 
 I guess the money's goin' to be wasted anyhow. 
 But one way's as good's another, and Henry's 
 goin' to get a fair break, and don't you forget 
 it." He took a glass of water from the table, 
 and spilled half of it. ' ' Don 't you forget it. ' ' 
 
 At last, she had perception. "John, you 
 don't know what you're saying! What's the 
 matter I Are you sick ? ' ' 
 
 He was swallowing repeatedly. "Yes, I am. 
 Sick of the whole thing." His eyes, and the
 
 46 ROPE 
 
 hue of his cheeks, genuinely alarmed her; she 
 went to him, but he avoided her. "No, I don't 
 want anything except to be let alone. ... Is 
 the car out there!" 
 
 "But John listen to me " 
 
 He waved her off. "I listened to you the day 
 Henry came home, Mirabelle. That's enough 
 to last me quite some time. I ain't forgot a 
 word you said not a word. Where's my 
 hat?" He rushed past her, and out of the 
 house, and left her gaping after him. 
 
 Half an hour later, young Mr. Standish tele- 
 phoned to her. 
 
 "Miss Starkweather? . . . Your brother 
 isn't feeling any too well, and I've just sent 
 him home. He looks to me as if he's in pretty 
 bad shape. Wouldn't be a bad idea to have 
 your doctor there, seems to me." 
 
 She had the doctor there, and before the night 
 was over, there was another doctor in consulta- 
 tion. There were also two nurses. And to both 
 doctors, both nurses and Mirabelle, Mr. Stark- 
 weather, who knew his destiny, whispered the 
 same message at intervals of fifteen minutes. 
 "Don't have Henry come back don't have
 
 E P E 47 
 
 Henry come back no sense his comin' back 'till 
 August. Tell him I said so. Tell him I want 
 him to stay over there 'till August." 
 
 And then, in the cool, fresh morning, Mr. 
 Starkweather, who hadn't stirred a muscle for 
 several hours, suddenly tried to sit up. 
 
 "Postman!" said Mr. Starkweather, with 
 much difficulty. 
 
 He was waiting for a letter from Henry, and 
 when they put it into his hands, he smiled and 
 was content. He hadn't the strength to open 
 it, and he wouldn 't let anyone else touch it ; he 
 was satisfied to know that Henry had written. 
 And after that, there was nothing worth wait- 
 ing for.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 IT never occurred to Henry, when he came 
 home in late July, to take his wife to the 
 big brick house which had been his uncle 's. He 
 didn 't know whether the house would go to Aunt 
 Mirabelle or to himself, and for the time being, 
 it was immaterial; Aunt Mirabelle was wel- 
 come to possession of it, undisturbed. Except 
 for his uncle, there would have been open war- 
 fare between them long ago ; now that the arbi- 
 trator was gone, war was inevitable, but Henry 
 wouldn't fight on sacred ground. He preferred 
 to accept the hospitality of Judge Barklay. The 
 Judge's house was a third the size, and not the 
 least prepossessing, and there really wasn't 
 room for the young Devereuxs in it, but as soon 
 as you stepped inside the door, you knew that 
 you were welcome. 
 
 He was sorry for his aunt, and he went to see 
 her immediately, but even in this new situation, 
 she let him know that she disapproved of him 
 
 48
 
 ROPE 49 
 
 thoroughly and permanently. She wasn't rec- 
 onciled to his marriage; she didn't care to re- 
 ceive Anna ; she implied that regardless of Mr. 
 Starkweather's express wishes, Henry was a 
 stony-hearted ingrate for remaining so long 
 abroad. To be sure, his presence at home 
 would have served no purpose whatsoever, but 
 Mirabelle was firm in her opinion. More than 
 that, she succeeded in making Henry feel that 
 by his conduct he had hurried his uncle into an 
 untimely grave; she didn't say this flatly, nor 
 yet by innuendo, but she managed to convey it 
 through the atmosphere. 
 
 1 'Of course," she said, "you've been to call 
 on Mr. Archer, haven 't you ? ' ' 
 
 Henry flushed indignantly. "I hadn't even 
 thought about it. ' ' 
 
 ' 'Well, when you do, you'll hear some fine 
 news." Her lip curled. "Your friend Bob 
 Standish's bought the business. Some of it, 
 anyway. Bought it on a shoestring's my guess, 
 but he 's bought it. ' ' 
 
 "I didn't know it, Aunt Mirabelle." 
 
 "Well, they only closed the deal a few days 
 ago."
 
 50 ROPE 
 
 ''Good for Bob!" He was thinking that if 
 honest toil were demanded of him, nothing 
 could be more pleasant than an alliance with 
 this same Standish. His uncle had always of- 
 fered up Standish, subtly, as an illustration of 
 what Henry himself ought to be. And it was a 
 tribute to the mutual affection of all three men 
 that Henry had never been irritated at Mr. 
 Starkweather, nor resentful towards his friend. 
 On the contrary, he admitted that unless he 
 were himself, he would rather be Standish 
 than anyone else. He wondered if his uncle 
 could have planned for him so delightful a pen- 
 nance as a year or two of happy servitude under 
 Bob. He must see Bob and congratulate him. 
 Only twenty-seven, and the head of the most 
 important concern of its type in several coun- 
 ties. 
 
 Aunt Mirabelle sniffed. "Good for nothing. 
 He's most as scatter-brained as you are." 
 
 Henry declined the combat, and after she 
 sensed his intention, she went on, with increas- 
 ing acridity. 
 
 "The rest of the whole estate's tied up for 
 a year in a trust, to see what you're going to
 
 EOPE 51 
 
 do with some piece of property he deeded to 
 you just before he died, but Mr. Archer 
 wouldn't tell me much about it 'till you came 
 home. I suppose it's part of the business 
 some department of it. If you can make ten 
 thousand dollars out of it, you 're to have every- 
 thing. All / get 's a few thousand outright, and 
 what John gave me in a little separate fund, 
 and a year's income from the whole estate. I 
 suppose you think that's perfectly fair and 
 right and just. Naturally, you would." 
 
 In his present mood, Henry was immune to 
 astonishment. "I don't believe it's up to me 
 to criticize Uncle John, whatever he did. ' ' 
 
 "Not under the circumstances, no. You've 
 got some piece of property I don 't know what 
 it is; he didn't tell me; 7'm only his sister 
 and he's fixed things so it's just a gamble for 
 you. You're going to do the gambling; and I 
 sit back and fold my hands and wait a year to 
 see whether you get everything, or I do. Even 
 this house." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 She made a deprecating gesture. "Oh, yes, 
 if you aren't a good enough gambler, then I
 
 52 E P E 
 
 come into everything. It puts me in such a 
 sweet position, doesn't it? So comfortable for 
 me." Her smile was bitter; she was recalling 
 what her brother had said to her at lunch, on 
 that final day that he wouldn't listen to her, 
 because already he had heard the worst that she 
 had to say. Originally, as she knew, he had 
 intended to bequeath Henry a fourth of his 
 property, and herself the remainder; and she 
 knew that by her too vigorous indictment of 
 Henry she had egged her brother into a state 
 of mind which, regardless of the cause of it, 
 she still considered to be unfathomable. The 
 memory galled her, and so did the possibility 
 of Henry's triumph. "Well," she said, "I 
 wish you every happiness and success, Henry. 
 I suppose you feel in your conscience you de- 
 serve it, don't you?" 
 
 When he left her, he was aware that the last 
 tie had been severed. 
 
 His friend Bob Standish was a young man 
 who in the past ten years had achieved many
 
 E P E 53 
 
 different kinds of success by the reason that 
 mere acquaintances, as well as strangers, in- 
 variably underestimated him. For one thing, 
 his skin was so tender, his eyes so blue and in- 
 nocent, his mouth so wide and sensitive, his 
 forehead so white and high, that he gave the 
 impression of almost childish simplicity and 
 ingenuousness. For another thing, he dressed 
 with such meticulous regard for the fashion, 
 and he moved about with such indolent amia- 
 bility, that his clothes and his manners dis- 
 tracted attention from what was underneath. 
 
 And so, at college, a full battalion of kindly 
 sophomores had volunteered to teach him 
 poker, and couldn't understand why the profits 
 went not to the teacher, but to the pupil. Im- 
 mature professors, who liked to score off idlers 
 and fat-brained sons of plutocrats, had selected 
 him as the perfect target, and some of them had 
 required several terms to realize that Stand- 
 ish, always baby-eyed, beau-attired and appar- 
 ently dreaming of far distant things, was 
 never lower in rank than the top twenty of his 
 class. Out on the Field, visiting ends and 
 tackles, meeting him for the first tkne, had
 
 54 E P E 
 
 nearly laughed in his face, and prepared: to 
 slaughter him, only to discover, with alarm 
 and horror which steadily increased from the 
 first whistle to the last, that Standish could ex- 
 plode his muscles with such a burst of dy- 
 namic energy that his hundred and sixty 
 pounds felt like two hundred and ten. It was 
 equally discouraging to learn, from breathless 
 experience, that when he was in his stri4e he 
 was as unpursueable as a coyote; and that he 
 could diagnose the other fellow's tactics even 
 before the other fellow had quite decided what 
 to do next. 
 
 In commerce, he had merely continued the 
 same species of career ; and by virtue of being 
 thoroughly depreciated, and even pitied, by 
 his customers, he had risen in six years from 
 the grade of city insurance solicitor to that 
 of Mr. Starkweather's principal assistant. 
 And now, as casually as he had ever raked in a 
 jack-pot from the bewildered sophomores, he 
 had bought the Starkweather business, and not 
 on a shoestring, either, as Mirabelle had sus- 
 pected.
 
 E O P E 55 
 
 He had roomed with Henry at college; he 
 had been his inseparable companion, out of 
 office hours, ever since; he knew him too well 
 to proffer any trite condolence. But his sym- 
 pathy was firm and warm in his fingers when 
 he shook hands and Henry got the message. 
 
 ''Thought probably you'd rather not have 
 me at the train, " said Standish, "so I didn't 
 come. Eight or wrong f ' ' 
 
 " Eight, Bob ... Allow smoking in your 
 sanctum?" 
 
 "Don't allow anybody not to smoke. "What 
 are you doing borrowing or offering?" 
 
 Henry glanced at Standish 's brand. "Nei- 
 ther one. Every man for himself and you've 
 got vile taste. Well, I hear you're the big 
 boss around here. Please, mister, gimme a 
 job?" 
 
 "Nothing I'd like better," said Standish. 
 "I've got just the thing for you. Sit over on 
 the window-sill and be a lily. Flowers brighten 
 up an office so." 
 
 "You basely misjudge me. Didn't you know 
 I'm going to work?"
 
 56 ROPE 
 
 Standish's eyes were round and guileless. 
 1 1 See any sea-serpents on your way over? I 've 
 heard there are such things." 
 
 "Fact, though, I am. And you know it, too. 
 I'm hoping it's here." 
 
 His friend shook his head. "Not here, 
 Henry. ' ' 
 
 "No?" 
 
 ' ' No, and I 'm sorry. I 'd make you clean ink- 
 wells and say 'sir,' and you'd get to be almost 
 as democratic as I am. . . . Haven't you seen 
 Archer ? ' ' 
 
 "Not yet." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 ' * Oh, just squeamish, I suppose. You sort of 
 hate to think of the cash end of it." 
 
 "That's right, too. But as long as you're in 
 the building, you 'd better drop in there. From 
 all the talk there is, you've picked up a mys- 
 tery. ' ' 
 
 "Mystery? In what way?" 
 
 "Not for me to say. Go find out. And say 
 you and Anna come and dine with me tonight, 
 will you? I just want to have you all to myself. 
 Mind?"
 
 ROPE 57 
 
 "Not noticeably." 
 
 "Good. Seven o'clock. Now get out of here 
 and <see Archer. 'Come back afterwards, if you 
 want to; but do that first/' 
 
 As if from pressure of business, he projected 
 Harry into the corridor ; and then, meditatively, 
 he returned to his desk. Young Mr. Standish 
 had watched his employer very closely, during 
 those last few days, and in witnessing Mr. 
 Starkweather's will, he had sensed, intuitively, 
 that it contained a stick of dynamite for Henry. 
 
 Mr. Archer, who had known Henry since the 
 Fauntleroy days, greeted him with the proper 
 mixture of repression and cordiality. "But 
 I'm afraid," owned Mr. Archer, "I'm afraid 
 you're going to be a little disappointed." 
 
 Henry shook his head. "Then you've sized 
 me up all wrong, ' ' he said, much subdued. ' * Be- 
 cause no matter what I get, I'm going to be sat- 
 isfied that Uncle John wanted me to have it. 
 Besides, I've apparently got to hump myself, or 
 I don't get anything at all. Aunt Mirabelle
 
 58 E P E 
 
 gave me some idea of it I'd thought it was 
 probably an interest in the business, but Bob 
 Standish says it isn't.'* 
 
 4 'No, it's a building. 361 Main Street. But 
 it's rather more than a mere building; it is a 
 business. It's leased until next Monday; after 
 that it's yours to operate. The deed's recorded 
 now. It's yours outright. Did your aunt tell 
 you what the conditions are ! ' ' 
 
 " All or nothing !" 
 
 "Yes. Oh, he made a separate provision for 
 Miss Starkweather ; she '11 never go hungry ; but 
 the bulk of the estate depends on what you do 
 with the business in the next year. And strictly 
 between ourselves, your uncle expected you to 
 finish with a bit to spare. " 
 
 "I know this much; if it's anything he doped 
 out for me, it's an even bet. It's to make ten 
 thousand dollars!" 
 
 "Yes, and without any outside help except 
 straight commercial loans if you can get 'em. 
 No favours from anybody, and no free keep 
 from your families.'* 
 
 "What building is it, Mr. Archer!" 
 
 The lawyer paused to wipe his glasses.
 
 K P E 59 
 
 "It's one your uncle took over on a mortgage 
 last winter. . . . You see, Henry, he'd figured 
 out what he was going to do with you, and it 
 would have been this same thing even if he'd 
 lived. He picked out what he thought would do- 
 yen the most good get you in touch with 
 different people break down some of your (ex- 
 cuse me for being blunt) class prejudice teach 
 you how many dimes there are in a dollar. 
 And for that reason he expressly stipulated 
 that you've got to keep your own books. 
 That'll give you more of a respect for money 
 than anything else would, I guess." 
 
 "Keep my own books?" 
 
 "That's the way Mr. Starkweather began 
 only in his case, he kept somebody else 's. But 
 I warned you to expect something out of the 
 ordinary." 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Henry. "I was all set for 
 some kind of a low-brow job. What is it a 
 garage 1 ' ' 
 
 "I'm afraid you'll think a garage is fash- 
 ionable, compared with it." 
 
 Henry looked serious. "361 Main? I don't 
 seem to What on earth is it, Mr. Archer?"
 
 60 EOPE 
 
 "Go down and look at it. Only don't be 
 shocked, Henry ; because it 's exactly what he 'd 
 have given you to do, anyway. And then let 
 me know what your plans are, will you? By 
 the way have you any money of your own ? ' ' 
 
 Henry looked pained. "I'm down to a 
 couple of hundred. Why?" 
 
 "Then you'd better not waste any time. Go 
 on down and look it over this morning, and let 
 me know. ' ' 
 
 "Why let you know what?" 
 
 "Whether you're going to take the dare." 
 
 Henry's lips twitched. "Nobody ever beat 
 me by default yet, Mr. Archer." 
 
 "Just the same, I wish you'd let me know 
 definitely won't you! Of course, if you 
 shouldn't feel inclined to go ahead on your 
 uncle's plan and that would disappoint me 
 you could simply sell out. I hope you won't, 
 though. I hope very much indeed that you 
 won't. But go look at it. And one last 
 thing, Henry; your uncle put the thing in this 
 shape so that too many people wouldn't be gos- 
 siping about it. I mean, if you and your aunt
 
 ROPE 61 
 
 don't tell nobody will. That's all but let me 
 know. ' ' 
 
 Obediently, Henry proceeded down Main 
 Street to the 300 block. His curiosity was 
 active, but he was warning himself to be on 
 guard, for his uncle's sentences, although in- 
 variably fair and invariably appropriate, were 
 also founded on a solid base of humour and sur- 
 prise. Henry remembered what Mr. Stark- 
 weather had said about coming home to eat 
 crow, and what Mr. Archer had said about the 
 comparative aristocracy of a garage, and he 
 prepared himself for a thunderstroke, and got a 
 laugh ready. That book-keeping provision was 
 really clever; Uncle John had palpably framed 
 it up to keep Henry on the job. But Henry 
 would outwit the provision. A few lessons in a 
 commercial-school, a modern card-system, and 
 he could handle the books of any small business 
 in no time at all, as per the magazine advertise- 
 ments. Of course, the crow and the garage 
 were merely symbols; but whatever the 
 business might be, and however distasteful, 
 there was only a year of it, and after that (so
 
 62 E P E 
 
 confident was Henry) there was a lifetime of 
 luxury. He was rather glad that his penance 
 came first; it would serve to make the enjoy- 
 ment of his wealth so much more zestful. He 
 should always feel as though he had worked for 
 it, instead of having it handed out to him on a 
 platter, regardless of his personal deserts. 
 Yes, he would work faithfully, and because the 
 task would be within his capabilities, (for Mr. 
 Starkweather was sane and practical, and Mr. 
 Archer had prophesied a finish with something 
 to spare) he would end his probation in a blaze 
 of glory, and Anna would be proud of him, 
 Judge Barklay would approve of him, and Aunt 
 Mirabelle would have to revise her estimate of 
 him. Altogether, it was a fine arrangement, 
 provided that his business, whatever it was, 
 wouldn't entirely prevent him from keeping up 
 with the procession, socially, and playing 
 enough golf to hold his present form. 
 
 He had passed 331 and 341 and 351 and his 
 heart began to beat more rapidly. This was 
 almost as exciting as a Christmas stocking in 
 the Fauntleroy days. His eyes were searching
 
 ROPE 63 
 
 among the numbers; there was a four-story 
 office building (335) and an automobile agency 
 (339) . . . and next to that . . . . Henry 
 halted, and the laugh dried up in his throat. 
 He had been prepared for anything but the 
 reality. The ark of his fortunes was a shabby 
 little motion-picture theatre. 
 
 Gasping, he looked up again at the number, 
 and when he realized that he had made no mis- 
 take, his knees turned to gelatine, and he stood 
 staring, fascinated, numbed. His eyes wan- 
 dered blankly from the crumbling ticket-booth 
 to the unkempt lobby and back to the lurid bill- 
 ing the current attraction was a seven-reel 
 thriller entitled "What He Least Expected," 
 but Henry missed the parallel. With trembling 
 fingers he produced a cigarette, but in his daze 
 he blew out two matches in succession. He 
 crushed the cigarette in his palm, and moved a 
 few steps towards the lobby. Great Heaven, 
 was it possible that John Starkweather had con- 
 demmed Henry the fashionable, Henry the 
 clubable, Henry the exclusive to a year of this? 
 Was this his punishment for the past? Was
 
 64 ROPE 
 
 this the price of his future? This picayune 
 sordidness, and vulgarity and decay! Evi- 
 dently, it was so intended, and so ordered. 
 
 His power of reason was almost atrophied. 
 He struggled to understand his uncle's pur- 
 pose; his uncle's logic. To break down his 
 class prejudice, and teach him the dimes in a 
 dollar, and put him on the level of a working- 
 man? All that could have been accomplished 
 by far less drastic methods. It could have been 
 accomplished by a tour of duty with Bob. To 
 be sure, Mr. Starkweather had promised him 
 the meanest job in the directory, but Henry had 
 put it down as a figure of speech. Now, he was 
 faced with the literal interpretation of it, and 
 ahead of him there was a year of trial, and then 
 all or nothing. 
 
 He succeeded in lighting a fresh cigarette, 
 but he couldn't taste it. Previously he had 
 paid his forfeits with the best of good-nature, 
 but his previous forfeits hadn't obliged him to 
 declass himself. They hadn 't involved his wife. 
 He hadn't married Anna to drag her down to 
 this. It would stand them in a social pillory, 
 targets for those who had either admired them
 
 ROPE 65 
 
 or envied them. It would make them the most 
 conspicuous pair in the whole community: 
 older people would point to them as an illustra- 
 tion of justice visited on blind youth, and would 
 chuckle to observe Henry in the process of re- 
 ceiving his come-uppance : the younger set 
 would quake with merriment and poor jokes 
 and -sly allusions to Henry's ancient grandeur. 
 Even Bob Standish would have to hide his 
 amusement ; why, Bob himself had made society 
 and success his fetiches. And Anna Anna 
 who was so ambitious for him how could she 
 endure the status of a cheap showman's wife? 
 And even if she had been willing to ally him- 
 self with such a business, how could he con- 
 ceivably make ten thousand dollars out of it in at, 
 single year? Ten? It would take a genius to 
 make five. An inexperienced man, with luck, 
 might make two or three. He couldn't afford 
 to hire a trained man to manage it for him : the 
 place was too small to support such a man, and 
 still to net any appreciable profit. Mr. Stark- 
 weather had undoubtedly foreseen this very 
 fact foreseen that Henry couldn't sit back as 
 a magnate, and pile responsibility on a paid
 
 
 66 E O P E 
 
 employe. To reach his quota, Henry would 
 have to get in all over, and act as his own 
 manager, and take the resulting publicity and 
 the social isolation. But the business was im- 
 possible, the quota was impossible, the entire 
 project from first to last was unthinkable. His 
 uncle, whether by accident or design, had 
 virtually disowned him. There was no other 
 answer. 
 
 His laugh came back to him, but there was no 
 hilarity in it. It was merely an expression of 
 his helplessness; it was tragedy turned inside 
 out. Yet he felt no resentment towards his 
 uncle, but rather an overwhelming, pity. He 
 felt no resentment towards his friend Standish, 
 who had bought out the perfectly respectable 
 business which Mr. Starkweather might so 
 easily have left to Henry. Mr. Starkweather 
 had schemed to bring about a certain reaction, 
 and he had overplayed his hand. Instead of 
 firing Henry with a new ardour for success, he 
 had convinced him of the futility of endeavour. 
 He had set a standard so high, and chosen a 
 medium so low, that he had defeated his own 
 object.
 
 ROPE 67 
 
 The next step why, it was to chart his life 
 all over again. It was to dispose of this ridicu- 
 lous property, and begin to make a living for 
 Anna. And there was no time to lose, either, 
 for Henry 's checking balance was about to slide 
 past the vanishing point. 
 
 He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to 
 meet the gravely sympathetic eyes of Mr. 
 Theodore Mix. 
 
 Mr. Mix was fresh from an interview with 
 Miss Mirabelle Starkweather. Her acquaint- 
 ance with him was slight, but from a distance 
 she had always esteemed him, partly for his 
 mature good-looks, and partly for the distin- 
 guished manner which had always been a large 
 fraction of his stock-in-trade, and was now to be 
 listed among his principal assets. Her esteem, 
 however, applied to him merely as an indivi- 
 dual, and not as a debtor. 
 
 "I wanted to see you about a note," she said, 
 primly. "A five thousand dollar demand note 
 you gave my brother four months ago. He
 
 68 E P E 
 
 endorsed it over to me, and I wanted to see you 
 about it. ' ' 
 
 Mr. Mix allowed his mouth to widen in a 
 smile which was disarmingly benevolent. The 
 horse at Bowie had proved dark indeed, so 
 dark that it had still been merged with the back- 
 ground when the winner passed the judge's 
 stand and thia colour-test had cost Mr. Mix 
 precisely two thousand dollars. Beyond that, 
 he had paid off a few of his. most pressing 
 creditors, and he had spent a peculiarly care- 
 free week in New York (where he had also 
 taken a trifling flyer in cotton, and made a dis- 
 astrous forced landing) so that there was 
 practically nothing but his smile between him- 
 self and bankruptcy. Yet Mr. Mix beamed, 
 with almost ecclesiastical poise, upon the 
 holder of his demand note, and tried her with 
 honey. 
 
 "Ordinarily, I'm embarrassed to talk busi- 
 ness with a woman," said Mr. Mix. "I'm so 
 conscious of the what shall I say? of a 
 woman's disadvantage in a business interview. 
 But in your case, Miss Starkweather, when your
 
 E P E 69 
 
 executive ability is so well known and so uni- 
 versally praised " 
 
 She nodded, and took it without discount, but 
 she wasn't distracted from her purpose. "I 
 hope it's convenient for you to pay it, Mr. 
 Mix." 
 
 1 'If it weren't convenient," said Mr. Mix, 
 soothingly, "I should make it convenient. 
 When the sister of my oldest friend a man 
 who once sat at the same desk with me, when 
 we were young clerks together when his 
 sister is in need of funds, I " 
 
 " 'T isn't that," she said, quickly. "I want 
 this money for some special reason." 
 
 He inclined his head slightly. ' * One of your 
 favourite charities, I have no doubt. But what- 
 ever the reason, the obligation is the same. 
 Now, let's see I'll have to sell some securities 
 when must you have it I " 
 
 "Next Tuesday." 
 
 Inwardly, Mr. Mix was startled, but out- 
 wardly he looked grieved. "Tuesday? Now 
 : -that is wait a minute." He created the 
 impression that he was juggling vast affairs, in
 
 70 E P E 
 
 order to gratify a whim of his old friend's 
 sister. As a matter of fact, he was wondering 
 what plausible ex'cuse he could give without re- 
 vealing any hint of the truth. "Is Tuesday 
 imperative ? ' ' 
 
 * ' Tuesday by ten o 'clock in the morning. ' ' 
 His face cleared, " You've shared a secret 
 with me," said Mr. Mix, and although he spoke 
 aloud, his attitude was as though he were 
 whispering. " Because I happen to know that 
 every Tuesday at ten o'clock there's a meeting 
 of a a certain organization of which you 're the 
 illustrious president. Needless to say, I refer 
 to the Ethical Reform League." He lowered 
 his voice. "I ask your pardon for the intrusion 
 of anything of such a delicately personal 
 nature, Miss Starkweather, but I must tell you 
 that when a person, such as yourself, even in the 
 midst of inconsolable sorrow, can't forget that 
 great principles and great institutions can 
 never perish, but are immortal, and go on for- 
 ever that's true nobility of character, Miss 
 Starkweather, and I honour you for it. ' ' 
 
 She touched her eyes with her handkerchief.
 
 HOPE 71 
 
 1 1 Thank you, Mr. Mix. Yes, I intend to make a 
 contribution to our League in memory of my 
 brother. You 're familiar with our League f ' ' 
 
 He gestured effectively. " Familiar with it! 
 You might as well ask me if I'm familiar with 
 the Emancipation Proclamation the Magna 
 Charta." And this was accurate; his knowl- 
 edge of all three was based on hearsay evidence. 
 
 "And are you at all in sympathy with it?" 
 
 "My dear lady! I was one of the pioneer 
 supporters of suffrage in this region. I " 
 
 "Yes, I know that, and I know your work in 
 the Associated Charities, and in your church, 
 but how did you vote on prohibition?" 
 
 He side-stepped with great agility. "How 
 would any man of my calibre vote?" 
 
 "True, true." She was becoming animated. 
 
 "But we've tremendous problems yet to 
 solve. . . . Do you believe in enforcing the 
 laws, Mr. Mix? The Sunday laws especially?" 
 
 Mr. Mix picked up his cue, and gave thanks 
 for the diversion. "Dear lady, I am a citizen. 
 As a citizen, I help to make the laws; they're 
 made by all of us for our own good. Show me
 
 72 E O P E 
 
 a man who doesn't believe in enforcing the laws, 
 and I won't argue with him I couldn't count 
 on his sincerity." 
 
 1 ' It's a pleasure to talk to a man like you," 
 she said. "I wonder if you agree with our 
 other ideals. Er what do you think about 
 dancing?" 
 
 He had a good phrase which he had been 
 saving up for six weeks. "Dancing," he said, 
 "is popular because it's so conspicuously inno- 
 cent, and so warmly satisfactory to the guilty. ' ' 
 
 "Good! Good! How about tobacco!" 
 
 This, too, he side-stepped. "It's a poison, 
 so the doctors say. Who am I to put any opin- 
 ion against theirs ! ' ' 
 
 She was regarding him earnestly, and a little 
 perplexedly. 
 
 "How is it, when in spirit you're one of us, 
 you've never joined the League!" 
 
 "I-Pve never been invited," said Mr. Mix, 
 somewhat taken aback. 
 
 "Then / invite you y " she said, promptly. 
 "And I know you'll accept. It's men like you 
 we need men with some backbone ; prominent, 
 useful citizens. You sit right there. I've got
 
 ROPE 73 
 
 an application blank in my desk. Bead it 
 over when you get home, and sign it and mail it 
 to me." 
 
 "I appreciate the distinction of your asking 
 me," said Mr. Mix, with supreme deference. 
 "And if you have time, I wish you'd tell me 
 what your aims are. I am very deeply inter- 
 ested." 
 
 He stayed another half hour, and the con- 
 versation never swerved from the entertaining 
 subject of reform. Mr. Mix was insufferably 
 bored, and cumulatively restless, but he was 
 convinced that he was making headway, so that 
 he kept his mind relentlessly on the topic, and 
 dispensed honey by the shovelful. When he 
 prepared to leave, he tested out his conviction, 
 and reminded her gently: "Now, in regard to 
 that note " 
 
 Mirabelle was blinded by her own visionings, 
 and deafened by her own eloquence. "Well, 
 we '11 have to take that up again But you come 
 to the meeting Tuesday, anyhow. And here's 
 one of our pamphlets for you to look at in the 
 meantime. ' ' 
 
 As he went down the steps, -she was watching
 
 74 ROPE 
 
 him, from the ambush of lace window-curtains, 
 and she was saying to herself: "Such a nice 
 man so influential, too. . . . Now if I could 
 get him persuaded over " 
 
 Mr. Mix, strolling nonchalantly downtown, 
 was also talking to himself, and his conclusions 
 would have astonished her. "What I've got to 
 do," said Mr. Mix, thoughtfully, "is to string 
 the old dame along until I can raise five 
 thousand bucks. But where 's it coming 
 from?" 
 
 Then, squarely in front of the Orpheum 
 Theatre, he met Henry Devereux. 
 
 "Good-morning, Henry," said Mr. Mix, 
 soberly. "First time I've had a chance to 
 speak to you since. ..." He coughed dis- 
 creetly. "I don't believe I need to say that if 
 there's anything I can do for you at any time, 
 all you've got to do is to say so." 
 
 Privately, Henry had always considered Mr. 
 Mix as a genial poseur, but he knew that Mr. 
 Mix belonged to the Citizens Club, which was
 
 ROPE 75 
 
 the local standard, and that for thirty years he 
 had been on rather intimate business relations 
 with Mr. Starkweather. This was sufficient 
 recommendation for Henry, in the swirl of his 
 agitation, to loose his tongue. 
 
 "All right," he said. "Tell me how soon I 
 can sell this overgrown magic-lantern outfit 
 and what I can get for it and where I can 
 put the money to bring in the biggest income 
 and where I can get a good job." 
 
 Now all this was intended to be purely in the 
 nature of a rhetorical question: for naturally, 
 if Henry decided to sell, he would want Bob 
 Standish to handle the transaction for him, 
 and to get the commission: and also, if Henry 
 had to find employment, he would go to his 
 friend, and be sure of a cordial reception. But 
 Mr. Mix took it literally. 
 
 Mr. Mix started, and his memory began to un- 
 fold. It was on the tip of his tongue to blurt 
 out: "And lose your shot at the estate?" but 
 he restrained himself. He wasn't supposed to 
 know the circumstances, and as a matter of fact, 
 as he realized with a thrill of relish, he was 
 probably the only outsider who did know the
 
 76 ROPE 
 
 circumstances. "Why," said Mr. Mix. "Do 
 you own the Orpheum ? Well, I should say off- 
 hand it's worth a good deal. Twenty thousand. 
 The land, you know: the building's no good." 
 
 Henry nodded impatiently. ' ' Yes, but who 'd 
 buy it?" 
 
 "Well, now, about that of course, I'm not a 
 real estate man but you could certainly trade 
 it." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 Mr. Mix caught the note of sincerity in 
 Henry's voice, and Mr. Mix thought rapidly. 
 He appeared to deliberate, to waver, to burn his 
 bridges. "Well say for a third interest in 
 Theodore Mix and Company. ' ' 
 
 Henry stared. "Are you serious?" 
 
 Mr. Mix almost fell over backwards. "Why, 
 yes. It's sudden, but . . . why, yes. I could 
 use more capital, and I want a crack salesman. 
 I '11 trade if you 're quick on the trigger. I 've 
 got two or three people interested so far, but 
 when it's you " 
 
 Henry took him- by the arm. ' ' Come on over 
 to the Citizens Club, then, and we'll talk about 
 it."
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 WHEN Henry went home to his wife and 
 his father-in-law, he was confident that 
 he had a very fine bargain ; when he told them 
 what he had heard from his aunt and Mr. 
 Archer, what he had seen with his own eyes, and 
 what he had done with Mr. Mix, he expected 
 first, sympathy, and afterwards, unqualified ap- 
 proval. "Within the next five minutes, however, 
 Henry was sitting limp and baffled ; and wishing 
 that he had Bob Standish to support him. 
 Bob, at least, would understand. 
 
 "Holy Smoke!" he said, weakly. "I didn't 
 suppose you 'd take it like that ! Why, I I feel 
 as if I'd been run over by a steam-roller with 
 Taf tat the wheel!" 
 
 Judge Barklay had long since forgiven his 
 daughter, but he hadn't quite forgiven Henry. 
 "Do you want my honest opinion? I should 
 say you're suffering from two extreme causes 
 exaggerated ego and cold feet. ' ' 
 
 77
 
 78 E P E 
 
 Henry flushed. He had the most profound 
 respect for Judge Barklay a man who had 
 preferred to be a city magistrate, and to be 
 known throughout the whole state for his 
 wisdom and humanity, instead of keeping up 
 his law practice, at five times the income and 
 Henry, like every one else, valued the Judge's 
 opinions. "You don't mean you think I'd run 
 the miserable little peanut-stand, do you ? And 
 keep books on it as if it had been the Federal 
 Reserve Bank?" 
 
 "It strikes me," said the Judge, "that both 
 of us would rather have you run a peanut-stand 
 than I 'm using your own analogy than spend 
 your whole life eating peanuts. Why, Henry, 
 your uncle wanted you to be shocked wanted 
 you to be mad enough to stand up on your hind 
 legs and fight." 
 
 Henry looked at his wife. "What are you 
 going to suggest t Hire a snake-charmer and a 
 wild-man-from-Borneo and an infant pachy- 
 derm and a royal ring-tailed gyasticutus, and 
 pull off a side-show after the main tent's 
 closed?"
 
 E P E 79 
 
 "Oh, Henry! Can't you see what a lark it 
 would be!" 
 
 "Lark?" he repeated, hazily. "Lark? 
 You've got the wrong bird. It's crow." 
 
 "No, but Henry dear, you aren't going to be 
 a quitter, are you 1 ' ' 
 
 "Wife of my bosom, do you realize what 
 you're talking about? It would cost a 
 thousand dollars just to make the place clean. 
 It'll cost three or four more to make it at- 
 tractive enough to get anybody inside of it. 
 And I haven't got the price." 
 
 "What's the matter with a mortgage?" de- 
 manded the Judge. "And you've got a car, 
 haven't you? You've got a saddle-horse. 
 You've got all kinds of junk you can turn into 
 money. ' ' 
 
 "On a wild gamble? Why, Anna, we 
 couldn't stay on here with the Judge that 
 would be getting help I 'm not allowed to have 
 we 'd have to go live in some cheap apartment ; 
 we couldn't even have a maid for awhile; we 
 couldn't entertain anybody; we couldn't 
 have any outside pleasures; I'd have to work
 
 80 ROPE 
 
 like a dog; you know what the crowd on the 
 hill would say and then I'm beaten before 
 I start anyway. Quitter! You wouldn't call a 
 man a quitter if he stayed out of a hurdle race 
 because he'd broken a leg, would you?" 
 
 "Well," said Anna, "I'm willing to live in 
 such a cheap apartment that the landlord calls 
 it a flat. And you can't get any servants these 
 days; there aren't any. And who cares about 
 entertaining? And for outside pleasures, why 
 couldn't we go to the Orpheum?" They all 
 laughed, but Anna was the first to stop. "I'll 
 work just as hard as you will, Henry. I '11 peel 
 potatoes and wash the sink ' She glanced, 
 ruefully, at her hands "and if it'll help you, 
 I I'd sell tickets or be an usher or play the 
 piano. Why, Henry, it would be a circus and 
 we wouldn 't need any snake-charmers, either. ' ' 
 
 " And an education," said Judge Barklay. 
 
 "And a gold-mine for us in just one little 
 year. We could do it; I know we could." 
 
 "And if the stupid fool who's had it this last 
 year could make money out of it," added the 
 Judge, "and you used any intelligence on it, 
 you'd come out ahead. John made up his
 
 E P E 81 
 
 figures very carefully. That 's the kind of man 
 he was." 
 
 Henry stared at them alternately. "But if 
 I did fall down" 
 
 "Henry!" The Judge was using a profes- 
 sional gesture. "What do you suppose your 
 time is worth, at its present market value? 
 Don't you think you can afford to risk a year of 
 it against half a million dollars?" 
 
 "But when I've practically closed with 
 Mix" 
 
 "Sign any agreement?" 
 
 "No, he's having one typed." 
 
 The judge breathed in relief. ''You're 
 lucky. You'd lose money if you took a third 
 interest for a gift, and if you took all of it as a 
 gift you'd lose three times as much. Because 
 you'd have to assume your share of his 
 liabilities. People think he's got money, but 
 he hasn't; he's broke. He must have picked 
 you for a life preserver." 
 
 Henry's jaw dropped. "What makes you 
 think so?" 
 
 ' ' I don 't think so ; I know so. Oh, he 's pretty 
 shifty on his feet, and he's got a good many
 
 82 ROPE 
 
 people hoodwinked your uncle always gave 
 him too much credit, incidentally but his New 
 York correspondents happened to be clients of 
 mine when I was practising law, and they've 
 both asked me about him and told me about him, 
 inside of the last six weeks." 
 
 Henry sat unblinking "Is that a fact!" 
 "And if you wanted to sell out," continued 
 the Judge, with a trifle of asperity, "why on 
 earth didn't you go to Bob Standish? Why 
 didn't you go to an expert? And why didn't 
 you have an audit made of Mix's company 
 why didn't you get a little information why 
 didn't you know what you were buying? Oh, 
 it isn 't too late, if you haven 't signed anything, 
 but Henry, it looks to me as if you need a 
 guardian!" 
 
 At the sight of his face, Anna went over to 
 him, and perched on the arm of his chair. 
 "That's enough, Dad. . . . 7'm his guardian; 
 aren't I, dear? And he's just upset and dizzy 
 and I don't blame him a bit. We won't say 
 another word about it ; we Ve told him what we 
 think ; and tonight he can have a long talk with
 
 E P E 83 
 
 Bob. You'd want to do that, wouldn't you, 
 Henry? Of course you would. You wish 
 you'd done it before. You're feeling awfully 
 ashamed of yourself for being so hasty. And 
 snobbish. I know you. ' ' 
 
 Henry looked across at the Judge. " Might 
 as well have my brains where my hair is, 
 mightn't I? She sees it just as easy. . . . All 
 right; we'll let the whole thing ride 'till I've 
 seen Bob." 
 
 His friend Standish, gazing with childlike 
 solemnity out of his big blue eyes, listened to 
 both sides of the story, and to Henry's miscal- 
 culation, at no time during the recital did he 
 laugh uproariously, or exclaim compassion- 
 ately, or indicate that he shared any of Henry 's 
 conclusions : 
 
 "Oh, yes," he said, " people might giggle a 
 bit. But they always giggle at a man's first 
 shot at business, anyway. Like his first pair 
 of long trousers. It's done. But how many 
 times will they do it? A thousand? Ten 
 thousand? A hundred thousand? At maybe 
 seven dollars a giggle? For less than that, I'd
 
 84 E O P E 
 
 be a comedian. I'd be a contortionist. I'd be 
 a pie-thrower. Henry, old rubbish, you do 
 what they tell you to. ' ' 
 * * Would you do it if you were in my place ? ' ' 
 " Would I lie down like a yellow dog, and let 
 people say I hadn't sand enough to stop a wrist- 
 watch?" 
 
 "I know, but Bob the Orpheum!" 
 "I know, but Henry don't you sort of owe 
 it to Mr. Starkweather? You wouldn't have 
 put on this milk-fed expression if he 'd soaked it 
 to you himself, would you ? ' ' 
 
 At this precise instant, Henry was required 
 on the telephone. It was his Aunt Mirabelle; 
 and even if he had been dining with royalty, she 
 would still have called him if she could have 
 got the address. 
 
 11 Henry," she said acidly. "I've just found 
 out what kind of a building it was your uncle 
 deeded you. Theodore Mix told me. I didn't 
 know your uncle was ever messed up in that 
 kind of a thing. He never told me. Good 
 reason he didn't, too. I certainly hope you 
 aren't going to spread this news around town, 
 Henry it's scandalous enough to have it in
 
 E P E 85 
 
 the family, even. Of all the hellish influences 
 we've got to contend with in this day and 
 generation " 
 
 "Well," said Henry, "it isn't any of it my 
 fault, is it?" 
 
 "That remains to be seen. Are you going 
 to run that dive ? ' ' 
 
 * ' Why, I don 't know. If I didn 't ' ' 
 
 "Oh, yes, you're probably thinking how 
 selfish I am. You wouldn't recognize a pure 
 motive if you met one in the street. But to 
 think of a Devereux almost the same thing as 
 a Starkweather " 
 
 "What's your idea? To have me be a jolly 
 little martyr?" 
 
 "There's this much to say, Henry at least 
 I'd put John's money to a nobler use than you 
 ever would." 
 
 Henry grimaced. "Your League?" 
 
 "Yes, what else?" 
 
 He was an impulsive young man, and some- 
 times he made up his mind by contraries. "I 
 wouldn't count too much on it," he said cheer- 
 fully. ' ' I might astonish you. ' ' 
 
 "You Henry Devereux ! Am I going to see
 
 86 ROPE 
 
 my own sister's son in a polluted enterprise 
 like" 
 
 ' ' You 're going to see your own grandfather 's 
 great-grandson make P. T. Barnum look a Kick- 
 apoo medicine man if necessary," said Henry. 
 "Only don't you worry about any pollution. 
 That 's where I draw the line. I 'm not going to 
 stage one single pollute." 
 ' ' You are going to operate that place t ' ' 
 "Why certainly," said Henry. "And speak- 
 ing of operations, I've got a hunch the patient's 
 going to recover. I've just been holding a 
 clinic . . . Well good-bye, Aunt Mirabelle." 
 He turned back to his wife and his friend 
 Standish. "So that's settled," said Henry, 
 and grinned, a trifle apprehensively. "We're 
 off in a cloud of dust. . . . Waiter, where 's 
 those two portions of crow I ordered four 
 months ago? The service in this place is 
 getting something rotten. ' *
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 ME. THEODORE MIX, sprawled in his 
 desk chair, gazed with funereal gloom at 
 the typewritten agreement which lay before 
 him, unsigned. It was barely twenty minutes 
 ago that Mr. Mix had risen to welcome the man 
 who was to save his credit and his reputation; 
 but during those twenty minutes Mr. Mix, who 
 had felt that he was sitting on top of the world, 
 had been unceremoniously shot off into space. 
 His creditors surrounded him, (and because 
 they were small creditors they were inclined to 
 be nasty), he owed money to his New York 
 correspondents, whose letters were becoming 
 peremptory, and his brokerage business was 
 pounding against the rocks. Quietly, over- 
 night he had located a purchaser for the 
 Orpheum, and as soon as Henry's name had 
 been safe on the dotted line, Mr. Mix would 
 have been financed for many months ahead. 
 And then came Henry and Henry, who had 
 
 87
 
 88 ROPE 
 
 been cast for the part of the lamb, had suddenly 
 become as obstinate as a donkey. Mr. Mix, 
 gazing at that agreement, was swept by im- 
 potent rage at Henry, and he took the document 
 and ripped it savagely across and across, and 
 crumpled it in both his hands, and jammed it 
 into his scrap-basket. 
 
 For the moment, he subordinated his 
 personal problems to his wrath at Henry. He 
 charged Henry with full responsibility for this 
 present crisis; for if Henry had simply scrib- 
 bled his signature, Mr. Mix would have made a 
 good deal of money. It never occurred to him 
 that in the same transaction, Henry would have 
 changed places with Mr. Mix. That was 
 Henry's look-out. And damn him, he had 
 looked! 
 
 "I'm going to get him for that," said Mr. 
 Mix, half -aloud. "I'm going to get him, and 
 get him good. Jockeying me into a pocket! 
 Conceited young ass! And I'd have been 
 square with the world, and paid off that in- 
 fernal note, and had four . . . thousand . . . 
 dollars left over." His lips made a straight 
 line. "And he'd have brought fifty thousand
 
 E P E 89 
 
 dollars' worth of business into this office he'd 
 have had to he'd have had to hold up his 
 friends to protect his ante. Yes, sir, I'm go- 
 ing to get him good." 
 
 Mr. Mix sat -up, and emitted a short, mirth- 
 less laugh. He frowned thoughtfully: and 
 then, after a little search, he examined the 
 pamphlet which Mirabelle had given him, and 
 skimmed through the pages until he came to the 
 paragraph he had in mind. Enforcement of 
 the Sunday ordinances . . . hm! . . . present 
 ordinance seems to prohibit Sunday theatrical 
 performances of all kinds, but city administra- 
 tions have always been lax. Want the law on 
 the books, don't dare to repeal it, but don't 
 care to enforce it. 
 
 Mr. Mix sat back and pondered. He knew 
 enough about the motion-picture business to 
 realize that the Sunday performances made up 
 the backbone of the week. He knew enough 
 about the Orpheum to know that Henry's quota, 
 which under normal conditions would require 
 only diligence, and initiative, and originality to 
 reach, would be literally impossible if Sundays 
 were taken from the schedule. The League's
 
 90 R FE 
 
 blue-law campaign, if it proved successful, 
 would make Henry Devereux even bluer than 
 Mr. Mix. * ' Three rousing cheers for reform ! ' ' 
 said Mr. Mix, and grinned at the pamphlet. 
 
 Another brilliant thought infected him. He 
 had long since passed the stage in which women 
 were a mystery to him: he had long since 
 realized that unless a man's passions inter- 
 vene, there is nothing more mysterious about 
 women than about men. It was all humbug 
 all this mummery about intuitions and unerring 
 perception and inscrutability. "Women are all 
 alike all human all susceptible to sheer, 
 blatant flattery. The only difference in women 
 is in the particular brand of flattery to which, 
 as individuals, they react. 
 
 Take Miss Starkweather: he had seen that if 
 he fed her vanity unsparingly not her physical 
 vanity, but her pride in her own soul, and in her 
 League presidency she blazed up into a flame 
 which consumed even her purpose in causing 
 the interview. Once already, by no remarkable 
 effort, he had been able to divert her attention ; 
 and it was now imperative for him to keep it 
 diverted until he had raised five thousand
 
 E P E 91 
 
 dollars. And if she were so susceptible, why 
 shouldn't Mr. Mix venture a trifle further? He 
 knew that she regarded him as an important 
 man ; why shouldn 't he let himself be won over, 
 slowly and by her influence alone, to higher 
 things? Stopping, of course, just short of ac- 
 tually becoming a League partisan? Why 
 shouldn 't he feed her fat with ethics and adula- 
 tion, until she were more anxious for his co- 
 operation than for his money? If he couldn't 
 play hide-and-seek for six months, if he 
 couldn't turn her head so far that she couldn't 
 bear to press him for payment he wasn't the 
 strategist he believed himself to be. But in 
 the meantime, where was he to get the money to 
 live on? Still, Mirabelle came first. 
 
 On Sunday, he fortified himself from his mea- 
 gre supply of contraband, ate two large cloves, 
 and went formally to call on her. He remained 
 an hour, and by exercise of the most finished 
 diplomacy, he succeeded in building up the situ- 
 ation exactly as he had planned it. The note 
 hadn't been mentioned; the League hadn't been 
 given a breathing-space; and Mirabelle was 
 pleading with him to see the light, and join the
 
 92 E P E 
 
 crusade. Finally, she leaned forward and put 
 her hand on his arm. 
 
 "Two weeks ago," she said, "I told the 
 League I was going to give it a real surprise 
 this next Tuesday. What I meant was money. 
 The money for that note. But I'd hate to have 
 you sell any securities when they're down so 
 low. And besides, anybody can give money 
 just money. What we need most is men. Let 
 me do something different. You're one of the 
 big men here. You count for a good deal. We 
 want you. I said I'd give 'em a surprise let 
 me make the League a present of you." She 
 bestowed upon him a smile which was a star- 
 tling combination of sharpness and appeal. 
 "I'm certainly going to keep my promise, Mr 
 Mix. I'm going to give 'em one or the other 
 you or the five thousand. Only I tell you 
 in all sincerity, I'd rather it would be you." 
 
 Mr. Mix sat up with a jerk. The climax had 
 been reached six months too soon. "Dear 
 lady" 
 
 "You can't refuse," she went on with an em- 
 phasis which sobered him. "We want you for 
 an officer, and a director. I've taken it up with
 
 E P E 93 
 
 the committee. And you can't refuse. You 
 believe everything we believe. Mr. Mix, look 
 me in the eye, and tell me if you're true to 
 yourself, how can you refuse!" 
 
 "That isn't it," he said, truthfully enough. 
 "I I wouldn't be as valuable to you as you 
 think." 
 
 "We'll judge of that." 
 
 He knew that he was in a corner, and he 
 hunted desperately for an opening. "And- in 
 any event, I couldn't become an officer, or even 
 a director. I " 
 
 "Why not, pray?" 
 
 "I haven't the time, for one thing, nor the 
 experience in " 
 
 She swept away his objections with a stiff 
 gesture. "You're modest, and it's becoming. 
 But either you 're with us or against us : there 's 
 no half-way about morals. If you're with us, 
 you ought to show your colours. And if you 
 are with us, you'll lead us, because you're a 
 born leader. You inspire. You instill. And 
 for the sake of the common welfare " She 
 paused : he was staring at her as if hypnotized. 
 "For the sake of the city and the state and the
 
 94 ROPE 
 
 nation " His eyes were wide, and filled with 
 a light which deceived her. "For the sake of 
 civic honour and decency and self-respect " 
 
 Mr. Mix cleared his throat. "Yes, but " 
 
 Again, she leaned out and touched his arm. 
 "Form?/ sake?" 
 
 Mr. Mix recoiled slightly. ' ' For your sake ! ' ' 
 he muttered. 
 
 "Yes, for mine. The sister of your oldest 
 friend." 
 
 He owed her five thousand dollars, and if she 
 demanded payment, he was a bankrupt. "Why 
 does it mean so much to you 1 " he asked, sparr- 
 ing for time. 
 
 "It would be an epoch in the history of the 
 League, Mr. Mix." 
 
 "You spoke about leadership. No one can 
 hope to replace yourself." 
 
 "Thank you I know you mean it. But no 
 woman can lead a campaign such as the one 
 we're just starting. It takes a strong, dominant 
 man who knows politics. Of course, when we go 
 after dancing and cards and dress-reform, I 
 guess I can do all right, but in this campaign "
 
 ROPE 95 
 
 "What campaign is this, Miss Stark- 
 weather?" 
 
 ' l Sunday enforcement. ' ' 
 
 Mr. Mix pursed his lips. " Really?" 
 
 She nodded. "Were going to concentrate on 
 one thing at a time. That 's first. ' ' 
 
 "Close all the theatres and everything?" 
 
 "Tight!" she said, and the word was like the 
 lash of a whip. "Tight as a drum." 
 
 Mr. Mix controlled himself rigidly. "You'll 
 have to pardon my seeming indelicacy, but " 
 He coughed behind his hand. "That might 
 bring about a very unhappy relationship be- 
 tween my family and yours. Had you thought 
 of it?" 
 
 "Henry? Humph! Yes. I'm sorry, but I 
 don't propose to let my family or anybody else's 
 stand in the way of my principles. Do you? 
 No. If Henry stands in the way, he's going to 
 get run over. Mark my words. ' ' 
 
 His expression was wooden, but it concealed a 
 thought which had flashed up, spontaneously, to 
 dazzle him. In spite of his age and experience, 
 Mr. Mix threatened to blush. The downfall of
 
 96 E O P E 
 
 Henry meant the elevation of Mirabelle. Mr. 
 Mix himself could assist in swinging the bal- 
 ance. And he couldn't quite destroy a picture 
 of Mirabelle, walking down the aisle out of step 
 to the wedding march. Her arms were loaded 
 with exotic flowers, of which each petal was a 
 crisp yellow bank-bill. He wanted to laugh, he 
 wanted to snort in deprecation, and he did 
 neither. He was too busy with the conscious- 
 ness that at last he was in a position to capital- 
 ize his information. He knew what nobody else 
 did, outside of Henry and his wife, Mirabelle, 
 Mr. Archer and probably Judge Barklay and if 
 he flung himself into the League's campaign, 
 what might he now accomplish? 
 
 He looked at Mirabelle. Her eyes betrayed 
 her admiration. Mr. Mix drew a very long 
 breath, and in the space of ten seconds thought 
 ahead for a year. The League was ridiculously 
 radical, but if Mr. Mix were appointed to direct 
 it, he was confident that he could keep Mira- 
 belle contented, without making himself too 
 much of a ludicrous figure. All it needed was 
 tact, and foresight. "If I could only spare the
 
 ROPE 97 
 
 time to help you but you see, this is my dull 
 season I have to work twice as hard as usual 
 to make an honest dollar " 
 
 "Would you accept an honorarium?" 
 
 " Beg pardon?" 
 
 "If you took charge of the drive, would you 
 accept a salary? And give us most of your 
 time ? Say, four days a week ? ' ' 
 
 Once more, his thoughts raced through the 
 year. "Now," he said, presently, "you are 
 making it hard for me to refuse." 
 
 ' * Only that ? Haven 't I made it impossible ? ' ' 
 
 To Mr. Mix, her tone was almost more of a 
 challenge than an invitation. He looked at her 
 again; and at last he nodded. "I think you 
 have." 
 
 She held out her hand. "I've always re- 
 spected you as a man. Now I greet you as a 
 comrade. "We'll make this city a place where 
 a pure-minded man or woman won 't be ashamed 
 to live. I tell you, I won't be satisfied until 
 we reach the ideal! And prohibition was only 
 one tiny move in advance, and we've miles to 
 go. I'm glad we're going the rest of the way
 
 98 EOPE 
 
 together. And it wouldn't surprise me in the 
 least if you came out of it Mayor. That's my 
 idea." 
 
 Mr. Mix, with the faint aroma of cloves in 
 his nostrils, backed away. 
 
 "Oh, no, I don't dream of that . . ." he said. 
 "But I feel as if I'd taken one of the most sig- 
 nificant steps of my whole life. I I think I'd 
 better say good afternoon, Miss Starkweather. 
 I want to be alone and meditate. You under- 
 stand?" 
 
 "Like Galahad," she murmured. 
 
 Mr. Mix looked puzzled ; he thought she had a 
 cold. But he said no more ; he went home to his 
 bachelor apartment, and after he had helped 
 himself to three full fingers of meditation, to- 
 gether with a little seltzer, he smiled faintly, 
 and told himself that there was no use in de- 
 bating the point a man with brains is predes- 
 tined to make progress. But he couldn't help 
 reflecting that now, more than ever, if any echo 
 of his New York escapades, or any rumour of 
 his guarded habits got to Mirabelle's ears or, 
 for that matter, to anybody's ears at all his 
 dreams would float away in vapour. Perhaps it
 
 E P E 99 
 
 would be wise to explain to Mirabelle that he 
 had once been a sinner. She would probably 
 forgive him, and appreciate him all the more. 
 Women do. ... It was curious that she had 
 mentioned him as a possible Mayor. It had 
 been his dearest ambition. He wondered if, 
 with his present reputation, and then with the 
 League behind him, there were a ghost of a 
 chance. ,
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THERE was probably no power on the face 
 of the earth which could have driven 
 Henry Devereux to the operation of a picture 
 theatre, strictly as a business venture ; but when 
 he once got it into his head that the Orpheum 
 wasn't so much a business as a sporting propo- 
 sition, he couldn't have been stopped by any- 
 thing short of an injunction. Immediately, his 
 attitude was normal, and from the moment that 
 he resolved to take possession of his property, 
 and operate it, he was indifferent to the public 
 estimate of him. The thing was a game, a game 
 with a great stake, and set rules, and Henry took 
 it as he once had taken his golf and his billiards 
 and his polo joyously, resiliently, deter- 
 minedly, and without the slightest self-con- 
 sciousness, and with never an eye for the gal- 
 lery. 
 
 He was inspirited, moreover, by the attitude 
 
 of his friends. To be sure, they laughed, but in 
 
 100
 
 E P E 101 
 
 their laughter there was no trace of the ridicule 
 he had feared. They took the situation as a 
 very good joke on Henry, but at the same time, 
 because gossip had already begun to build up a 
 theory to explain that situation, there were sev- 
 eral of them who wished that a similar joke, 
 with a similar nubbin, might be played on 
 themselves. They told this to Henry, they 
 urged him to go ahead and become a strictly 
 moral Wallingford, they slapped him on the 
 back and assured him that if there was jus- 
 tice in the Sunday-school books, he was certain 
 to finish in the money; and Henry, who had 
 provided himself with several air-tight alibis, 
 found them dead .stock on his hands. He had 
 known, of course, that he could count on Bob 
 Standish, and a few of his other intimates, but 
 the hearty fellowship of the whole circle over- 
 whelmed him. He knew that even when they 
 waxed facetious, they were rooting for him; 
 and this knowledge multiplied his confidence, 
 and gave him fresh courage. 
 
 And yet, with all the consciousness of his 
 loyal backing, he was considerably upset to 
 read in the Herald, on the very morning that
 
 102 ROPE 
 
 he took control of his property, a seven column 
 streamer headline which leaped out to threaten 
 him. 
 
 "SUNDAY THEATRES AND AMUSEMENTS 
 MUST GO!" MIX 
 
 Prominent Business Man Turns Reformer 
 
 THEODORE MIX CHOSEN TO MANAGE 
 CAMPAIGN OF LEAGUE 
 
 Pledges Enforcement of City Ordinances to the Letter 
 
 His first reaction was one of bewilderment, 
 and after that, one of consternation. His 
 friend Bob Standish tried to laugh it off for 
 him, but Henry hadn't a smile in his system. 
 
 "All right, then," said Bob Standish. "Go 
 see the judge. He'll tell you the same thing. 
 Mix 's nothing but a bag of wind. He 's an old 
 blowhard." 
 
 "Maybe he is," conceded Henry, soberly. 
 "But I'd be just as satisfied about it if he blew 
 in some other direction." 
 
 Henry took the paper to Judge Barklay, 
 who had already seen it, and made his own de- 
 ductions. "Oh, no," he said, "I'm not aston-
 
 EOPE 103 
 
 ished. When a man's in hot enough water, 
 he'll cut up almost any kind of caper to get 
 out. There's only two kinds of people who 
 ever go into these radical movements great 
 successes and great failures. Never any aver- 
 age folks. I'd say it's a pretty good refuge 
 for him, and you drove him to it.*' 
 
 "Well does he mean what he says there!" 
 
 "Not too much of it. How could he? If he 
 does half he says he will, he'll lose his job. 
 The town would be as pure as Utopia, and 
 there wouldn't be any League." 
 
 "How about the ordinance he quotes, 
 though?" 
 
 "Oh, that ... it's Ordinance 147. It's so 
 old it's toothless. The City Council doesn't 
 quite dare to repeal it nobody's sure enough, 
 these days, to get up and take a chance but 
 they don't want it enforced, and they haven't 
 for ages." 
 
 Henry frowned. "That's all right. But 
 suppose they did arrest somebody under that 
 Ordinance? What would you do?" 
 
 "Fine 'em, of course. I'd have to. But 
 I've never had such a case that I can remem-
 
 104 ROPE 
 
 her. There haven't been any arrests. It's an 
 understood thing." 
 
 "Yes, that's fine as long as everybody un- 
 derstands it the same way. But maybe Mix 
 doesn't or Aunt Mirabelle either." 
 
 1 'Oh, I shouldn't worry much." 
 
 Henry continued serious. "Oh, I guess I 
 can sleep nights all right without any pare- 
 goric, but what right have they got to butt into 
 the only day of recreation the working people 
 have? If their immortal souls hurt 'em as 
 much as all that, why don't they go off and 
 suffer where they can do it in peace and not 
 bother us? " 
 
 The Judge laughed quietly. "Whence all this 
 sudden affection for the working man, Henry!" 
 
 Henry reddened. "Strictly between the two 
 of us, I don't like the idea of Sunday business, 
 anyway. But unfortunately, that's the big 
 day. . . . But, if you had to work indoors, 
 eight hours a day, six days a week, maybe you 'd 
 be satisfied to spend Sundays picking sweet 
 violets out by the barge canal, but what would 
 you do when it rained?" 
 
 "Of course," admitted the Judge, "it's a
 
 E P E 105 
 
 poor policy to have a law on the books, and ig- 
 nore it. Both of us must admit that. A good 
 law ought to be kept ; a bad one ought to be re- 
 pealed; but any law that is valid oughtn't to 
 be winked at. And if pressure should be 
 brought on the Mayor to enforce that ordi- 
 nance, and any arrests are made, why I'll have 
 to do my duty." 
 
 "Yes and here I'm raising a mortgage and 
 spending the money on improvements that'll 
 hold us up for more than two weeks and here 
 Anna and I are going to live in a couple of 
 box-stalls (every time you take a long breath 
 in that flat you create a vacuum !) and here 
 I've been going to the City Commercial School 
 every afternoon for two solid hours, and study- 
 ing like a dog every night and here I've re- 
 signed from the Golf Club, and everything 
 else but the Citizens and if they do put the 
 kibosh on Sunday shows, why I'll be elected 
 to the Hohenzollern Club. And the cream of 
 that joke is that Aunt Mirabelle's outfit 'd get 
 itself endowed for putting me out of commis- 
 sion!" 
 
 "They won't do it, Henry. These organiza-
 
 106 EOPE 
 
 tions always make the same mistake. They go 
 too far. They aren't talking reform; they're 
 talking revolution, and people won't stand for 
 it. These reform crowds always start out 
 to be a band-wagon, and if they kept their 
 senses, they could do some real good and then 
 they march so fast that pretty soon they find 
 they've winded everybody else, and there isn't 
 any parade. All they need is rope. Give 'em 
 enough of it, and they always hang themselves. 
 That speech of Mix's has done more harm to 
 the League than it has good. You go right 
 ahead with your improvements." 
 
 In view of the Judge's official position, this 
 was in the nature of an opinion from head- 
 quarters; and yet Henry delayed for a day 
 or two before he signed his contract for the 
 alterations. In the meantime, he saw Mr. 
 Archer and got an interpretation of the will; 
 Mr. Archer was sorry, but if Sundays were 
 ruled out, there was no provision for reducing 
 the quota, and Henry would have to stand or 
 fall on the exact phraseology. He had another 
 session with the Judge, and three a day with 
 Anna, and one with the largest exhibitor in
 
 ROPE 107 
 
 town (who pooh-poohed the League, and of- 
 fered to back up his pooh-poohs with a cash 
 bet that nothing would ever come of it) and 
 eventually he was persuaded to execute the 
 contract. 
 
 Through Bob Standish, he negotiated a 
 mortgage which would cover the cost of the 
 work, and leave a comfortable balance. 
 4 'We 're not going to be as poor as I thought 
 we were," he said cheerfully to Anna who had 
 put in two hectic weeks on the apartment she 
 had chosen because it was the cheapest in the 
 market. " We've got something in the bank 
 for emergencies, and ten thousand a year is 
 two hundred a week besides." 
 
 Anna was horrified. "You didn't think we'd 
 spend what we make, did you?" 
 
 "Why not! Uncle John didn't say we had 
 to show them ten thousand in coin at the end 
 of the year; he said I had to make it on the 
 books. We can spend every kopeck of it, if we 
 want to. And I was about to say that with 
 six thousand dollars left over from the mort- 
 gage money, we '11 have a maid after all. Yea, 
 verily, even a cook."
 
 108 E P E 
 
 Anna glanced at her hands slim, beautiful 
 hands they were and shook her head obsti- 
 nately. "No, dear. Because what we save 
 now might be our only capital later." 
 
 "But we're going to win. We're going to 
 exert our resistless wills to the utmost. What's 
 the use of being tightwads?" 
 
 "But if we shouldn't win, look where we'd 
 be ! No, dear, we're going to save our pennies. 
 That's why I picked out this apartment; that's 
 why I'm doing as much as I can with it my- 
 self. It's the only safe way. And just look 
 around haven't I done wonders with almost 
 nothing at all?" 
 
 Henry looked around, not that his memory 
 was at fault, but because he was perpetually 
 dumbfounded by her genius. Originally, this 
 living-room had been a dolorous cave with var- 
 nished yellow-pine woodwork, gas-logs, yellow 
 wall-paper to induce toothache, and a stark 
 chandelier with two- anemic legs kicking out at 
 vacancy. She had caused the Orpheum electri- 
 cian to remove the chandelier; with her own 
 hands, she had painted the wood-work a deep,
 
 E P E 109 
 
 rich cream-colour; she had ripped out the gas- 
 logs and found what no one had ever suspected 
 a practicable flue ; and she had put in a bas- 
 ket grate which in the later season would glow 
 with cheerful coals. Over the wall-paper she 
 had laid a tint which was a somewhat deeper 
 cream than the woodwork. .She had made that 
 cave attractive with a soft, dull-blue rug, and 
 wicker furniture, with hangings of cretonne in 
 sunny gold and an echo of the blue rug, with 
 brass bowls which held the bulbs she had tended 
 on the kitchen window-sill, with bookshelves, 
 and pictures from her own home. Especially 
 by candle-light, it was charming ; and her great- 
 est joy, and Henry's unending marvel, was that 
 it had cost so little, and that so much of it was 
 her own handiwork. 
 
 1 'Yes, but pause and reflect a minute," said 
 Henry. "I've sold the big car and bought a 
 tin-plated runabout. I've sold my horse. I've 
 sold ten tons of old clothes and priceless jewels. 
 Financially speaking, I'm as liquid as a pel- 
 lucid pool in a primeval forest. And there's 
 another grand thing to consider; I'm keeping
 
 110 ROPE 
 
 my own books, so nobody's going to crack 
 the till, the way they did with grandfather. 
 Can't we even have a cook?" 
 
 "No, dear. Nobody but me. We've got to 
 play safe. It's all part of the game. Don't 
 you see it is ? ' ' 
 
 Eventually, he agreed with her, and went 
 back to the Orpheum, where a score of work- 
 men were busy remodelling the interior, and 
 patching up the faade. He stood for a mo- 
 ment to watch the loading of a truck with 
 broken-seats, jig-saw decorations, and the re- 
 mains of a battered old projector; he looked 
 up, presently to the huge sign over the entrance : 
 "Closed During Alterations, Grand Opening 
 Sunday Afternoon, August 20th. Souvenirs." 
 There was no disputing the fact that all his 
 eggs were in one basket, and that if the Re- 
 form League started to throw stones at it, they 
 would find it a broad mark. But Henry had 
 plenty of assurances that he didn't need to 
 worry, and so he sponged away the last of his 
 doubts, and set to work to learn his business 
 with all possible speed. 
 
 It was his first experience with the building
 
 ROPE 111 
 
 trades, and he was innocent enough to believe 
 in schedules and estimates. In less than a fort- 
 night, however, he came home to his wife in 
 a mood which she was quick to detect, no mat- 
 ter how carefully he disguised it. 
 
 "Oh, I'm just peevish," said Henry. "The 
 contractor says it'll take four weeks instead 
 of three, and cost six thousand instead of forty- 
 five hundred. But there's no use wearing a 
 long face about it. If I did, I didn't mean to.*' 
 
 Anna slipped out of her big apron, and re- 
 arranged her hair. "Of course you didn't. I 
 just knew." 
 
 "As a matter of fact," he said, "my face 
 feels long enough to fit in a churn. Only I 
 was under the impression that I'd put on a 
 mask of gaiety that was absolutely impene- 
 trable. . . . Well, what's happened in the an- 
 cestral home today?" 
 
 She had burned a steak and both thumbs; 
 there was a leak in the plumbing, and the 
 family overhead had four children and a phono- 
 graph. Henry kissed the thumbs, cursed the 
 kitchen range, and forgot his troubles. 
 
 "You're going to ruin your hands," he said,
 
 112 E P E 
 
 sympathetically. "Darn it, we can afford a 
 cook, Anna. Come on; be reasonable." 
 
 She shook her head. * * Oh ! And I meant to 
 tell you the wall-paper's peeling off in the din- 
 ing room, and the most awful smell of fried 
 onions keeps coming up the dumb-waiter 
 shaft." 
 
 Henry gathered her into his arms. "Dear- 
 est, in a year you can have a dipperful of 
 attar of roses for every fried onion. And 
 we'll be so rich you can mingle practically on 
 equal terms with the plumber's wife. . . . Now 
 let's go put on the feed-bag. And by the way, 
 I prefer my steak slightly burned it's more 
 antiseptic." 
 
 He never suspected that ninety-nine percent 
 of her difficulties were imaginary, and that she 
 had invented them as soon as 1 she saw his 
 face. 
 
 A week later, the contractor brought in still 
 another schedule, and another estimate; Henry 
 became Chesterfieldian in his politeness, and 
 wanted to know if a contract were a contract, 
 or merely a piece of light literature. The con- 
 tractor was apologetic, but wages were going
 
 ROPE 113 
 
 up materials were high labour was scarce 
 transportation was uncertain shipments were 
 slow 
 
 Henry was angry and disillusioned, but he 
 knew that belligerence would gain him nothing. 
 "In other words," he said, genially, " there's 
 something the matter with everything but the 
 Orpheum, and everybody but me. I congratu- 
 late myself. Well, when I do get the job fin- 
 ished, and what does it cost not to a minute 
 and a fraction of a cent, of course, but a gen- 
 eral idea what year, and '* 
 
 "Mr. Devereux!" 
 
 "And a guess that's within say, a couple of 
 thousand dollars of the real price." 
 
 "I hope you don't think 7'm making any 
 big profit out of this. To tell the truth " 
 
 "Oh, 7 know," said Henry. "You're losing 
 money. Don't deny it, you eleemosynary ras- 
 cal, don 't deny it. ' ' 
 
 The man felt himself insulted, but Henry 
 was smiling, and of course that strange word 
 might be something technical. "Well, to tell 
 the truth, we " 
 
 "Come on, now. I know you're an altruist,
 
 114 ROPE 
 
 but be a sport. You're losing money, and the 
 children are moaning with hunger in their little 
 trundle-beds, but when do I get the job done?" 
 ' ' The second week in September. ' ' 
 "This September? And the bill?" 
 11 Shaved down so close there's hardly 
 any " 
 
 " Shave it every morning; it's being done. 
 But what's your figure?" 
 " Seventy-six fifty." 
 
 There was nothing for Henry to do but to 
 have a new date painted on the sign, and to 
 draw on his reserve fund, but at bottom he 
 was vastly perturbed. He had counted on a 
 running start, and every week of delay was 
 a vicious handicap. If he had remotely imag- 
 ined how elastic a contractor 's agreement could 
 be, he would certainly have thought twice 
 about ordering so many changes he would 
 have steered a middle course, and been satis- 
 fied with half the improvement but as it was, 
 he had put himself in a trap. Now that the 
 work was partly done, it would have to be com- 
 pleted. There was no way out of it. And from 
 day to day, as the arrears of labour heaped up,
 
 K P E 115 
 
 and cost was piled on cost, Henry began to 
 lose a trifle of his fine buoyancy and optimism. 
 
 Also, it was amazing to discover that Anna 
 was much less self-reliant than he had thought 
 her. Almost every night she displayed some 
 unsuspected trait of helplessness, so that he 
 simply had to shelve his worries, and baby her 
 out of her own. He adored her, and there- 
 fore he never questioned her ingenuousness ; he 
 didn't see that by monopolizing his thoughts, 
 and turning them entirely upon herself, she pre- 
 vented him from wasting his energy in futile 
 brooding, even if he had inclined to it. 
 
 He planned to open in mid-September, but a 
 strike among the carpenters added a few days 
 to the time, and, by virtue of a compromise, 
 a few dollars to the account. The building in- 
 spector wouldn't pass the wiring, and the elec- 
 tricians took a holiday before they conde- 
 scended to return. When the last nail was 
 driven, the last brushful of paint applied, the 
 final item added to the long statement, the day 
 was the last Friday in the month, and the total 
 bill amounted to more than nine thousand dol- 
 lars.
 
 116 E P E 
 
 "Anna," said Henry, reflectively, "it's a 
 lucky thing for us this world was all built be- 
 fore we were born. Know that? Because if 
 they 'd ever started it under modern conditions, 
 there wouldn't be anything to it yet but the 
 Garden of Eden and Atlantic City and maybe 
 Gopher Prairie. . . . Well, I wonder .what's 
 next?" 
 
 "There won't be any next, dear. Nothing 
 can happen now. And aren't you glad I've 
 made us economize? Aren't you? Say your 
 prayers! Say 'bless Anna'!" 
 
 "Not Anna Polly anna. Glad we econo- 
 mized ! Why don't you say you're glad it took 
 two months to do two weeks ' work because that 
 gave me so much more time to study the game, 
 and find out how to run the theatre? No, it 
 goes back farther than that. I'm glad you 
 caught me while I was so young." 
 
 "Henry!" 
 
 "What? Don't you remember how you pur- 
 sued me, and vamped me, and took away my 
 volition, so I was helpless as a babe " 
 
 "Oh, Henry!" 
 
 "Sure you did. Funny you don't remember
 
 ROPE 117 
 
 that. Or else was it the other way around?" 
 
 "Well " 
 
 "Well, anyhow," he said, in a slightly lower 
 key. "I'm glad it happened. . . . And you 
 stick to me, and you'll wear diamonds yet. 
 Great hunks of grit, strung all over you. I'll 
 make you look as vulgar as a real society 
 woman. That's the kind of man I am. A good 
 provider that is, of course, providing." 
 
 And on Saturday morning, the Herald told 
 them that a committee from the Reform League 
 had waited on the Mayor for the third time, 
 and delivered an ultimatum. 
 
 "Oh, bother!" said Anna. "There's been 
 something in the paper every two or three 
 days. It doesn't amount to a row of pins. Dad 
 says so." 
 
 Henry inhaled deeply. "Did you see who's 
 on that committee? Mix and Aunt Mirabelle, 
 of course, and if they've got it in for anybody 
 special, I'm it. Bob says Mix is a grand little 
 hater; he's seen him in action, and he says to 
 keep an eye on him: says Mix had lined up a 
 buyer for the Orpheum, so naturally he's sore 
 at me. . . . And then a flock of old men just
 
 118 ROPE 
 
 under par I'd say they average about ninety- 
 seven and a half but they're a pretty solid 
 lot; too solid to be booted out of any Mayor's 
 office. And if they should get the Mayor 
 stirred up, why, we wouldn't have the chance 
 of a celluloid rat in a furnace. ... I wish the 
 Judge were where I could get at him. He'd 
 know what's going on." 
 
 " Couldn't you ask the Exhibitors Associa- 
 tion?" 
 
 "They don't know. The Judge is on the in- 
 side. Do you know when he's coming back 
 from his vacation?" 
 
 "Not for two or three weeks yet. But IVe 
 an intuition, dear " 
 
 "Sure. So have I. A year from now we'll 
 be eating our golden pheasants off our golden 
 plates with our gold teeth. But in the mean- 
 time, you better keep your eye on the butcher's 
 bill. . . . They tell me hash is a great nerve- 
 food."
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 IN years the Mayor was no chicken, but in 
 politics he had hardly chipped his shell, 
 so that he was still susceptible to delegations, 
 and sets of resolutions, and references to his 
 solemn oath of office. Furthermore, he had 
 been secretly awed by Mr. Mix's eloquence; 
 for Mr. Mix, as spokesman of the committee, 
 had delivered a speech which was a brief his- 
 tory of both common and statutory law from 
 the time of Solon and Draco up to the most re- 
 cent meeting of the City Council. Then, in 
 addition, the Mayor had been mightily im- 
 pressed by the personnel of that committee 
 chiefly old men, to be sure, but men of immense 
 dignity and considerable weight in local fi- 
 nance; and also, for a counterpoise, there was 
 Miss Starkweather. He hadn't liked the way 
 Miss Starkweather looked at him. She had 
 looked at him with the same rigid intensity 
 
 119
 
 120 ROPE 
 
 with which his wife looked at a fly in the din- 
 ing-room. 
 
 As the door closed behind the last of the com- 
 mittee, the Mayor drew a prodigious breath, 
 and walked over to the window, where for sev- 
 eral minutes he remained in deep thought. He 
 tried to remember Mr. Mix's peroration : 
 
 " Thousands of years ago, Mr. Mayor, when 
 the race of man was still dressed in skins, and 
 domiciled in caves, and settling its differences 
 with clubs and brickbats, there was no insti- 
 tution of law, there was no written language. 
 But as civilization advanced, men found the 
 necessity of communicating their ideas ; so that 
 they devised a form of speech which would 
 enable them to exchange these ideas such as 
 they were about life, and law. And later on, 
 it was plain that in order to perpetuate these 
 ideas and pass them to posterity, it was neces- 
 sary to write them down ; and so there was de- 
 veloped a written language, and by this method 
 civilized men through all the ages have written 
 down the laws under which they are willing to 
 live. It would be impractical for all of us to 
 meet together to pass our laws, and therefore
 
 EOPE 121 
 
 we elect representatives who make our laws 
 for us. These laws are binding upon all of 
 us until they are set aside by still other legisla- 
 tors, still acting for the whole people, who 
 have chosen them as their legislative repre- 
 sentatives. The duty of the executive branch 
 of our government is to enforce those laws, 
 whether made yesterday, or made fifty years 
 ago, or five hundred years ago, and written 
 down in our law-books. . . . This is our third 
 conference with you, Mr. Mayor, in regard to 
 one of those laws. I therefore have to inform 
 you, in behalf of our committee and our League, 
 and our whole city (whose representatives in 
 City Council passed that law for our common 
 good) that you stand today at the parting of 
 the ways. You must choose whether to up- 
 hold your sacred oath of office, or to disre- 
 gard it. And iwithin forty-eight hours you 
 will have made that choice, and we shall know 
 where our duty lies. ... I thank you for your 
 patience. ' ' 
 
 The Mayor was one of those who, without 
 the first atom of sustaining evidence, had long 
 been vaguely suspicious that Mr. Mix wasn't
 
 122 E P E 
 
 always as pious as he appeared in church. He 
 had noted, too, that although Mr. Mix's name 
 was frequently listed on committees, yet it 
 never bobbed up in connection with an ob- 
 scure cause, however worthy, or among the 
 names of unimportant citizens. He was con- 
 vinced that Mr. Mix had an ulterior motive 
 political, social, financial but the worst of it 
 was that Mr. Mix had come with support which 
 couldn't be sidetracked. 
 
 The Mayor shook himself, and went over to 
 his telephone ; a few minutes later the Chief of 
 Police strolled in, and grinned at the disordered 
 semi-circle of chairs. "Been holdin' a prayer- 
 meetin', Mr. Rowland!" 
 
 The Mayor was biting his moustache. "Sit 
 down, Chief. I want some advice. . . . Lord, 
 I wish Barklay wasn't off on his vacation. . . . 
 Why, I've just had a threat from this Reform 
 League. ' ' 
 
 "Threat? What kind of a threat?" 
 
 The Mayor didn't reply immediately; he con- 
 tinued to chew his moustache. ' ' You know that 
 fool Sunday law was passed 'way back in the 
 year One?"
 
 E P E 123 
 
 1 'Sure. 147. Dead letter." 
 
 "They say it's got to be enforced/' 
 
 The Chief laughed boisterously. "That's a 
 big order." 
 
 "I know it is. The mass of the people don't 
 want it never did. But in these days there 
 isn't a Councillor I know'd put a motion to re- 
 peal it, or amend it. Probition's scared 'em. 
 They don't know what the people want, so 
 they're laying mighty low. . . . Same time, this 
 League 's getting pretty strong. Mix, and John 
 Starkweather's sister, and ex-Senator Kaplan, 
 Richards of the First National, Dr. Smillie of 
 the Church crowd, old man Fredericks of Na- 
 tional Metal know what they handed me to- 
 day!" 
 
 "Let her come." 
 
 The Mayor snorted with disgust. "Hinted 
 if I didn't begin enforcement day after tomor- 
 row they'd appeal to the Governor. . . . Lord, 
 I wish Barklay was here." 
 
 The Chief grinned again. "I know what 
 Barklay 'd say." 
 
 "What!" 
 
 "Give 'em rope."
 
 124 E P E 
 
 "We-11 . . . that's easy enough to say." 
 
 4 'Easy to do, too." 
 
 "I can't see it. But if they go up to the 
 Governor, with a petition to investigate and 
 the state law's pretty rough and start im- 
 peachment proceedings " 
 
 The Chief spat contemptuously. ''Shucks, 
 give 'em rope." 
 
 "Well how?" 
 
 "Why, enforce the damn' law just once. 
 Spike Mix's guns he's only doin' this on a 
 bluff. Guess he wants the reform vote for 
 Council, or somethin'. Keep it under our bon- 
 nets, and send out a squad of patrolman Sun- 
 day afternoon to raid every theatre in town. 
 Bat 'em over the head before they know it. I 
 wouldn't even tell my own men 'till I lined 
 'em up and give 'em their orders. Then listen 
 for the public to holler." 
 
 The Mayor had broken into a high-pitched 
 laugh; he stopped abruptly. "How many 
 people 'd there be in all the houses put to- 
 gether?" 
 
 ' ' Six thousand. Five of 'em at the movies. ' ' 
 
 "They'd start a riot!"
 
 ROPE 125 
 
 "Oh, I wouldn't pinch the audiences; just 
 the managers, and bust up the shows. Then 
 you'd find out if the people want that law or 
 not. We say they don't, but how do we know? 
 Let's find out." 
 
 The Mayor sat down at his desk, and began 
 to chuckle. "Chief, that's a bully idea but 
 what'd happen on Monday?" 
 
 "Happen? When, five, six thousand voters 
 got put out in the street and their Sunday after- 
 noon spoiled? Fellows with girls Pa takin* 
 the family out for a treat factory hands? 
 They'd be a howlin' mob in the Council chamber 
 on Monday mornin'; that's what'd happen. 
 And one damn fool law'd be fixed so's the Po- 
 lice Department 'd know how to handle it." 
 
 "It's passing the buck!" murmured the 
 Mayor, ecstatically. "It's passing the buck 
 right to the people, by George ! ' ' 
 
 "Sure. Do we go ahead with it? Want 
 anybody tipped off?" 
 
 The Mayor was hugging his knees ecstati- 
 cally. "No, we'll make a clean sweep. No 
 favourites. The bigger haul the better. All the 
 boys '11 understand. Keep it dead under your
 
 126 K P E 
 
 hat. We'll talk over the details tomorrow." 
 Chuckling, he leaned back and opened his arms 
 wide, his fists closed. "Rope!" he said. 
 "Rope! Chief, we'll give 'em a hawser!" 
 
 On Saturday evening, Henry gave a special 
 invitation performance, to which only his per- 
 sonal friends and Anna's were bidden, and if 
 he had cherished any lingering doubt of his 
 place in society, it must have been removed that 
 night. His friends didn't know the details of 
 the Starkweather trust fund, but they knew that 
 Henry's future was lashed to his success with 
 the Orpheum, and they came to help tie the 
 knot. Naturally, since the auditorium was 
 filled with young people who had grown up to- 
 gether, and with a few older people who had 
 helped to bring them up, there was plenty of 
 informality indeed, a large part of it had been 
 scheduled and rehearsed in advance. Henry 
 didn't have to ask any questions; he knew that 
 Bob Standish was responsible. 
 
 With Anna beside him, he had stood for
 
 ROPE 127 
 
 thirty minutes in the foyer, to receive his 
 guests, and as smile after smile encouraged him, 
 and he heard the steady stream of sincere 
 good-wishes, Henry began to grow curiously 
 warm in the region of his heart, and curiously 
 weak in the knees. Anna moved closer to him. 
 
 "I told you so," she whispered. "I told you 
 so. Everybody loves you." 
 
 1 'It isn't me," he whispered back, with un- 
 grammatical fervour. "It's you." 
 
 They stood together, then, at the rear of the 
 house, to watch the high-jinks going on in front. 
 Standish had ousted the three-piece orchestra, 
 and taken over the piano; two other volun- 
 teers had flanked him, and the revelry began 
 with a favourite ditty to proclaim that all re- 
 ports to the contrary notwithstanding, Henry 
 was style all the while, all the while. 
 
 Then, suddenly, there were loud shouts for 
 Henry and Anna, and they were seized and 
 dragged to the top of the centre aisle. Stand- 
 ish swung into the Mendelssohn Wedding 
 March, and through a haze of rose-leaf confetti 
 and paper streamers, the two Devereuxs were 
 forced down to the orchestra-pit. The house
 
 128 E P E 
 
 was on its feet to them, and Anna, half -laugh- 
 ing, half-crying with happiness, was sorting 
 confetti out of her hair when Standish clam- 
 bered up on the stage, and waved for silence. 
 "Listen, everybody. . . . Old Hank Dever- 
 eux and wife tried to save the price of a ca- 
 terer, last spring, and they got away with it. 
 Alas, Hank's a jealous bird, and he was afraid 
 somebody 'd kiss the bride. Furthermore, Anna 
 didn't want to get any wedding presents, be- 
 cause they clutter up the house so. And when 
 most of your friends live in the same town, 
 it 's hard to get rid of the stuff you don 't want. 
 So they buncoed us out of a party. Well, so 
 far we've given 'em Mendelssohn and confetti. 
 Any lady or gent who now desires to kiss the 
 bride, please rise and come forward. . . . 
 Hey, there ! This isn't any Sinn Fein sociable ! 
 Ceremony's postponed! . . . And finally, 
 dearly beloved brethren and sistren, we 
 come to the subject of wedding gifts." He 
 turned to look down at the Devereuxs, and 
 some of the levity went out of his voice. "We 
 thought we'd bring you a little something for 
 good-luck, old man. It's from all of us. Hope
 
 ROPE 129 
 
 you like it. If you don't, you can swap it for 
 a few tons of coal. . . . There she comes!" 
 
 It was a magnificent silver tea-service, 
 borne down the aisle by the two men who, 
 next to Standish, were Henry's best friends. 
 
 Anna was utterly speechless, and Henry was 
 coughing diligently. The service was placed 
 on the piano; Henry touched the cool smooth- 
 ness of a cream-jug, and tried to crystallize his 
 thought into coherence. 
 
 The applause had died away; the house was 
 quiet, expectant. From the rear, a man's 
 voice said: "It isn't like a golf champion- 
 ship trophy, old man you don't have to win 
 it three times it's all yours." 
 
 In the shriek of laughter which followed, 
 Henry, with Anna in tow, fled to shelter. 
 "Lights!" said Henry. Abruptly, the audi- 
 torium was dim. And with Anna holding tight 
 to his fingers, he sat down in the furthest cor- 
 ner, and trembled. 
 
 For the next two hours, Standish, who was 
 on one of his periodical fits of comedy, stuck 
 to his piano, and dominated the evening. He 
 played grotesquely inappropriate melodies, he
 
 130 ROPE 
 
 commanded singing, once he stopped the show 
 and with the assistance of a dozen recruits put 
 on the burlesque of an amateur night at a 
 music-hall. He made the occasion a historical 
 event, and when at last it was over, and the 
 guests were filing out to the lobby, he came 
 to Henry and held out his hand. 
 
 ' l Big-time, Henry, big-time, ' * he said. ' ' See ? 
 They're all with you." 
 
 Henry cleared his throat. " You 're a peach, 
 Bob. You got it up." 
 
 1 'Oh, it wasn't anything." Standish's cloak 
 of comedy had fallen away; he looked as lazy, 
 and as innocent and childlike as ever. "Be- 
 fore I go I had a letter today from one of the 
 big movie circuit crowd. They'll pay you 
 thirty-seven thousand five hundred cash for the 
 Orpheum. I've got a certified check for a thou- 
 sand to bind the bargain. Want it?" 
 
 Henry didn't even glance at it. "Put it 
 back in your pocket, Bob. I wouldn't sell it 
 for ten times that not after tonight." 
 
 His friend smiled very faintly. * * It 's a good 
 price, if you care to get out from under. Be-
 
 ROPE 131 
 
 tween you and me, I think it's more than the 
 Orpheum's worth." 
 
 " Don't want it," said Henry gruffly. 
 
 Standish gazed with vast innocence at Anna. 
 "Third and last chance, Henry. Otherwise, 
 I'll mail it back tonight. Just a few hours 
 from now this place, right where we're stand- 
 ing, '11 look like a sardine-can come to life, 
 and you'll be taking in money hand over fist, 
 and you'll be branded forever as " 
 
 "Oh, shut up," said Henry, affectionately. 
 
 Through the jostling, good-natured crowd 
 which blocked the sidewalk in front of the Or- 
 pheum Theatre, that Sunday at two o'clock, 
 a policeman in uniform pushed his way to the 
 ticket-booth. "Where's the manager?" 
 
 The ticket-seller boblx 1 her head backwards. 
 "First door on the left." 
 
 The policeman stalked through the lobby, 
 and found the door; knocked belligerently, and 
 stepped inside. "You the manager? Well,
 
 132 ROPE 
 
 there ain't goin' to be no show today, see?" 
 
 Henry jumped to his feet. " What's that?" 
 
 "You heard what I said. No show. Close 
 up your theatre and call it a day. ' ' 
 
 Henry turned, for moral support, to his wife : 
 she had already hurried to his side. "What's 
 all this, Mr. Officer?" she asked, unsteadily. 
 
 "It's police orders; that's what it is, young 
 lady." 
 
 She seized Henry's hand. "But but when 
 we've why, you don't really mean it, do you?" 
 
 He dug into his pocket, and produced a tat- 
 tered, dog-eared pamphlet, folded open at one 
 of the early pages. He read aloud, slowly: 
 " 'Whosoever shall fail in the strict observance 
 o ' the Lord 's Day by any unseemly act, speech, 
 or carriage, or whosoever shall engage in any 
 manner o' diversion or profane occupation for 
 profit' " 
 
 Anna, holding tight to Henry's hand, knew 
 that argument was futile, but she was a woman, 
 and she had a husband to defend. Her heart 
 was leaden, but her voice was stout with indig- 
 nation. 
 
 "But Mr. Policeman! Do you know who I
 
 E P E 133 
 
 am? I'm Judge Barklay's daughter. 7 know 
 all about that ordinance. Nobody's ever " 
 
 He held up his hand in warning. "That's 
 all right, young lady. If you're his daughter, 
 you oughter keep on the right side o' the law. 
 It won't do you no good to bicker about it nei- 
 ther you go in there an' tell your audience to 
 get their money back, an' go on home." 
 
 Henry picked up his cigarette. He had no 
 craving to smoke, but he didn't want Anna to 
 see that his lips were trembling. "Well," he 
 said, "there goes the old ball-game. And we've 
 sold every seat in the house, and thrown away 
 three hundred dollar's worth of souvenirs, and 
 the sidewalk's full of people waiting for the 
 second show. . . . Knockout Mix beats Battling 
 Devereux in the first round." He did his best 
 to smile, but the results were poor. "And 
 when we held off three days just so we could 
 start on Sunday with a grand smash ! ' ' 
 
 "Get a move on, young feller. If the show 
 begins, you're pinched, see? You go in there 
 and do what I told you." 
 
 From within there was a sudden rattle of 
 applause. Anna gripped her husband's arm.
 
 134 E P E 
 
 It's ... it's begun already," she said, breath- 
 lessly. 
 
 The policeman stepped forward. "You 
 heard me tell you to stop it, didn't you? What 
 are you tryin* to do play horse with me I Now 
 you go in there an' stop it, and then you come 
 along with me an ' explain it to the Judge. See ? 
 Now, get a wiggle on."
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 FROM the moment that he went out upon the 
 little stage of his theatre until he came 
 wearily into his own apartment at five o'clock, 
 Henry lived upon a mental plane so far re- 
 moved from his usual existence that he was 
 hardly aware of any bodily sensations at all. 
 A brand-new group of emotions had picked him 
 out for their play-ground, and Henry had no 
 time to be self-conscious. 
 
 In the first place, he was too stunned to re- 
 member that he hated to be conspicuous, and 
 that he had never made a public speech in all 
 his life. He was paralyzed by the contrast be- 
 tween last night and tod^y. Consequently, he 
 made a very good speech indeed, and it had 
 some acrid humour in it, too, and the audience 
 actually cheered him although later, when he 
 reviewed the incident in his mind, he had to 
 admit that the cheers were loudest just after 
 he had told the audience to keep the souvenirs. 
 
 135
 
 136 ROPE 
 
 Then, when in the custody of the patrolman, 
 he went out to the street, his mood was still 
 so concentrated, his anger and depression so 
 acute, that he was transported out of the very 
 circumstances which caused him to be angry 
 and depressed. He realized, with a hazy sort 
 of perception, that a tail of small boys had at- 
 tached itself to the lodestar of the policeman's 
 uniform; but even at this indignity, his reac- 
 tion was curiously impersonal. It was as 
 though the spiritual part of him and the ma- 
 terial part had got a divorce ; and the spiritual 
 part, which was the plaintiff, stood coldly aloof, 
 watching the material part tramping down 
 Main Street, with a flat-footed policeman beside 
 it, a voluntary escort behind, and rumour flying 
 on ahead to all the newspapers. He was actu- 
 ally too humiliated to suffer from the hu- 
 miliation. 
 
 To be sure, this wasn't by any means his 
 first entanglement with the law, but heretofore 
 his occasions had been marked by a very dif- 
 ferent ritual. He recalled, phlegmatically, 
 that whenever, in the old days, a member of the
 
 ROPE 137 
 
 motorcycle squad had shot past him, and 
 signalled to him to stop, the man had always 
 treated him more or less fraternally, in recog- 
 nition of the fellowship of high speed. The 
 traffic officers had cheerfully delivered a sum- 
 mons with one hand, and accepted a cigar with 
 the other. There was a sort of sporting code 
 about it; and even in Court, a gentleman who 
 had been arrested for speeding was given the 
 consideration which belonged to his rank, and 
 the fine was usually doubled on the assump- 
 tion that a gentleman could afford it. But 
 this was different. A Devereux which was 
 almost the same thing as a Starkweather was 
 haled along the highway like a common pris- 
 oner. And if the Devereux hadn't been en- 
 gaged in that two-for-a-cent, low-class, revolt- 
 ing business, and if Aunt Mirabelle hadn't 
 been Aunt Mirabelle it couldn't have hap- 
 pened. The spiritual part of him looked down 
 at the material part, and wondered how Henry 
 Devereux could be so white-hot with passion, 
 and yet so calm. 
 What would his friends say now? What
 
 138 K P E 
 
 would Bob Standish say, and Mr. Archer and 
 Judge Barklay? And what would Aunt Mira- 
 belle not say? This was a grim reflection. 
 
 During the journey he spoke only once, and 
 that was to say, brusquely, to his captor: 
 1 1 Court isn't open today, is it?" 
 
 "Nope. But we're goin' to a Justice o' 
 the Peace. Might save you a night in the hoose- 
 gow. Can't tell. Orders, anyway." 
 
 The Justice of the Peace (or, as he took some 
 pains to inform Henry, the Most Honourable 
 Court of Special Sessions) was a grizzled 
 dyspeptic who held forth in the back room of 
 a shoemaker's shop, while the rabble waited 
 outside, flattening their noses against the win- 
 dow-glass. The dyspeptic had evidently been 
 coached for the proceeding ; on his desk he had 
 a copy of the ordinance, and as soon as he had 
 heard the charge, he delivered a lecture which 
 he seemed to have by heart, and fined Henry 
 twenty-five dollars and costs. Henry paid the 
 fine, and turning to go, stumbled against two 
 more policemen, each with his quarry. "Just 
 out of curiosity," said Henry, speaking to no 
 one in particular, and in a voice which came so
 
 K P E 139 
 
 faintly to his ears that he barely heard it, 
 "Just out of idle curiosity, when the justice 
 gets half the fine, isn't this court open on Sun- 
 day for godless profit, too ? ' ' And in the same, 
 enduring haze of unreality, he paid an addi- 
 tional twenty dollars for contempt, and went 
 out to the sidewalk. 
 
 He emerged as the focus of interest for a 
 large, exuberant crowd of loiterers. A cam- 
 era clicked, and Henry saw that the man at the 
 shutter was one of the Herald's staff photog- 
 raphers. A youthful reporter caught up with 
 him, and asked him what he had to say for 
 publication. "Say for publication?" repeated 
 Henry, dully. "Why, you can say " He 
 walked half a block before he completed the 
 sentence. "You can say if I said it, you 
 couldn't print it anyway." 
 
 And although the reporter paced him for a 
 quarter of a mile, Henry never opened his 
 mouth again. He was curiously obsessed, as 
 men under heavy mental pressure are so often 
 obsessed, by a ridiculously trivial detail. How 
 was he going to enter that forty-five dollars 
 on his books?
 
 140 E P E 
 
 He had intended to go straight home to Anna, 
 but automatically his steps led him to the Or- 
 pheum, where he went into his tiny office and 
 sat down at his desk. There were two enve- 
 lopes on his blotter; he slit them, diffidently, 
 and found a bill from the novelty house which 
 had supplied the souvenirs, and a supplemen- 
 tary statement from the decorator. 
 
 He opened a fat ledger, took up a pencil, and 
 began to jot down figures on the back of one of 
 the envelopes. Already, by remodelling the 
 the theatre, he had lost two month's headway, 
 and spent three times too much money, and 
 if Sunday performances were to be eliminated. 
 . . . He threw down the pencil, and sat 
 back spiritless. The good-wishes of all his 
 friends, last night, had turned sour in his pos- 
 session. To reach his goal, he should have 
 to contrive, somehow, to fill nearly every seat 
 at nearly every performance for the balance 
 of the year. It was all well enough to have 
 self-confidence, and courage, but it was better 
 to look facts in the face. He had oome to an 
 impasse. Not only that, but overnight his 
 property, by virtue of this Sunday enforcement
 
 E P E 141 
 
 and its effect upon the trade, had seriously 
 depreciated in value. If it had been worth 
 thirty-seven thousand five hundred yesterday, 
 it wasn't worth a penny more than twenty to- 
 day. And he could have had Standish's certi- 
 fied check, and got out from under. And he 
 had thrown away in improvements almost every 
 cent that he had borrowed against the original 
 value. He was hardly better off, today, than 
 if he had carried through his first bargain with 
 Mr. Mix. 
 
 He would have to go home to Anna, and con- 
 fess that he was beaten by default. He would 
 have to explain to her, as gently as he could, 
 that the road which led to the end of the rain- 
 bow was closed to traffic. He would have to 
 admit to her that as far as he could see, he 
 was destined to go on living indefinitely in a 
 jerry-built apartment, with the odour of fried 
 onions below, and the four children and the 
 phonograph overhead. And Anna would have 
 to go on pinch-hitting for cook, and waitress,! 
 and chambermaid, and bottle-washer she 
 would have to go on with the desecration of 
 her beautiful hands in dish-water, and the ruin
 
 142 ROPE 
 
 of her complexion over the kitchen-stove. The 
 clothes that he had planned to buy for her, the 
 jewels, the splendid car the cohort of servants 
 he had planned for her the social prestige! 
 And instead of that, he was nothing but a frag- 
 ment of commercial driftwood, and he couldn't 
 afford, now, to buy her so much as a new hat, 
 without a corresponding sacrifice. 
 
 And yet involuntarily, he stiffened and 
 yet he'd be hanged if he went back and acted 
 like a whipped pup. No, he was supposed to 
 be a man, and his friends and Anna believed in 
 him, an he'd be hanged if he went back and 
 confessed anything at all, admitted anything. 
 It was all well enough to look facts in the face, 
 but it was better still to keep on fighting un- 
 til the gong rang. And when he was fighting 
 against the cant purity and goodness of Mr. 
 Mix, and the cold astigmatism of Aunt Mira- 
 belle, he'd be hanged if he quit in the first 
 round. No, even if Henry himself knew that 
 he was beaten, nobody else was going to know 
 it, and Anna least of all. 
 
 At five o'clock, he came blithely into his liv- 
 ing-room: and as he saw Anna's expression, his
 
 E P E 143 
 
 own changed suddenly. He had thought to 
 find her in tears; but she was coming to him 
 with her usual welcome, her usual smile. 
 
 Henry didn't quite understand himself, but 
 he was just the least bit offended, regardless 
 of his relief. You simply couldn't tell from 
 one minute to the next what a woman was going 
 to do. By all precedent, Anna should have 
 been enjoying hysterics, which Henry had come 
 prepared to treat. 
 
 "Well," he said, "you'd better cancel that 
 order for golden pheasants, old dear." She 
 stopped short, and stared at him curiously, as 
 though the remark had come from a stranger. 
 
 "We've got lamb chops tonight," said Anna, 
 with whimsical relevance, "and fresh straw- 
 berry ice-cream. And pheasants are awfully 
 indigestible, anyway. ' ' 
 
 Henry returned her stare. "What have you 
 been doing all the afternoon reading Marcus 
 Aurelius?" 
 
 "No, I haven't been reading anything at all. 
 I tidied up the kitchen. What happened to 
 youf" 
 
 There were two different ways of present-
 
 144 E P E 
 
 ing the narrative, and Henry chose the second. 
 He made it a travesty : and all the time that he 
 was talking, Anna continued to gaze at him in 
 that same curious, thoughtful fashion, as if she 
 were noting, for the first time, a subtle varia- 
 tion in his character. 
 
 "And aren't you even mad?" she de- 
 manded. "I thought you'd be furious. I 
 thought you'd be tearing your hair and and 
 even/thing." 
 
 Henry laughed explosively. "Impatience, 
 as I've pointed out so often to Aunt Mirabelle, 
 dries the blood more than age or sorrow. Yes, 
 I'm mad, but I've put it on ice. I'm trying to 
 work out some scheme to keep us in the running, 
 and not give Mix too good an excuse to hoot at 
 us. No they say it's darkest just before the 
 dawn, so Pm trying to fix it so we'll be sitting 
 on the front steps to see the sunrise. Only so 
 far I haven 't had a mortal thought. ' ' 
 
 "As a matter of fact," she confided, "I 
 loathed the idea of our running the Orpheum on 
 Sundays. Didn't you!" 
 
 "Naturally. Also on Thursdays, Saturdays, 
 Mondays, Fridays, Wednesdays and Tuesdays.
 
 ROPE 145 
 
 But Sundays did sort of burrow a little further 
 under my tough hide. And you know that's 
 quite an admission for anybody that was 
 brought up by Aunt Mirabelle." He smiled 
 in reminiscence. "She used to make virtue so 
 darned scaly and repulsive that it's a wonder 
 I've got a moral left. As it is, my conscience 
 may be all corrugated like a raisin, but I'm 
 almost glad we can't run Sundays. That is, I 
 would be if my last remaining moral weren't 
 going to be so expensive." 
 
 "Don't you think they'll probably change 
 that ordinance now, though? Don't you think 
 people will insist on it? After today?" 
 
 "Guess work," said Henry. "Pure guess- 
 work. But my guess is that we're ditched." 
 
 "Well, why don't you join the Exhibitors 
 Association, and fight?" 
 
 He shook his head. "No, because that's just 
 what Mix and Aunt Mirabelle expect me to do. 
 This campaign of theirs is impersonal towards 
 everybody else, but it's slightly personal 
 towards me. I mean, Aunt Mirabelle 's sore on 
 general principles, and Mix is sore because I 
 wouldn't come up and eat out of his hand and
 
 146 E P E 
 
 get myself sheared. We won't fight. We'll 
 outwit 'em." 
 
 "But how?" 
 
 "Now that question," he said reproachfully, 
 "was mighty tactless. 7 don't know how. 
 But I know I 'm not going to stick my head over 
 the ramparts for 'em to shoot at. I'm no 
 African Dodger I'm an impresario. Maybe 
 they'll hit me in the eye, all right, but I'm not 
 going to give 'em a good cigar for it."" 
 
 "I know, dear, but how are we going to make 
 up all that tremendous loss?" 
 
 "Sheer brilliance," said Henry, easily, 
 "Which is what I haven't got nothing but, of. 
 So I'm banking on you. . . . And in the mean- 
 time, let 's go ahead with the orgy of lamb chops 
 you were talking about. I'm hungry." 
 
 They spent the evening in a cheerful discus- 
 sion of ways and means, during which she was 
 continually impressed by Henry's attitude. 
 From earlier circumstances she had gathered 
 that when he was under fire, his rash impulsive- 
 ness would remain constant, and that only his 
 jocular manner would disappear; furthermore, 
 she knew that in spite of that manner, he was
 
 E P E 147 
 
 a borrower of trouble. And yet Henry, who 
 had a pretty legitimate reason to be bristling 
 with rancour', sat and talked away as assuredly 
 as though this hadn't been his doomsday. 
 
 She left him, once, to answer the telephone, 
 and when she came back, she caught him off 
 guard, and saw his face in repose-. Henry 
 wasn't aware of it; and when he heard her 
 footsteps, he looked up with an instantaneous 
 re-arrangement of his features. But Anna had 
 seen, and Anna had understood ; she sensed that 
 Henry, for a generous purpose, had merely 
 adopted a pose. Secretly, he was quite as tor- 
 mented, quite as desperate, as she had ex- 
 pected him to be. 
 
 Her heart contracted, but for Henry's sake, 
 she closed her eyes to the revelation, and 
 resumed the discourse in the same key which 
 Henry had set for it. Far into the night they 
 exchanged ideas, and half -blown inspirations, 
 but when Henry finally arose, with the remark 
 that it was time to wind the clock and put out 
 the cat, they had come to no conclusion except 
 that something would certainly have to be done 
 about it. "Oh, well," said Henry, indulgently,
 
 148 K P E 
 
 "a pleasant evening was reported as having 
 been had by all, and nothing was settled so it 
 was just as valuable as a Cabinet Meeting. ' ' 
 
 The sight of the silver tea-service, however, 
 sent him to bed with renewed determination. 
 
 In the morning, he dreaded to open his news- 
 paper, but when he had read through the story 
 twice, he conceded that it wasn't half as yellow 
 as he feared. No, it was really rather conser- 
 vative, and the photograph of him wasn't 
 printed at all; he read, with grim satisfaction, 
 that another culprit, somewhat more impetuous, 
 had smashed the camera, and attempted to 
 stage a revival of his success upon the photog- 
 rapher. 
 
 He had been fully prepared to find himself 
 singled out for publicity, and he was greatly 
 relieved. To be sure, there was a somewhat 
 flippant mention of his relationship to Mira- 
 belle, but it wasn't over-emphasized, and alto- 
 gether, he had no justification for resentment 
 that is, at the Herald. The Herald had 
 merely printed the news; what Henry resented 
 was the fact.
 
 EOPE 149 
 
 He turned to the editorial page and found, as 
 he had imagined, a solid column of opinion ; but 
 to his amazement, it made no protest of yester- 
 day's event on the contrary, it echoed Judge 
 Barklay. It said half a dozen times, in half a 
 dozen different ways, that a bad law ought to be 
 repealed, a good law ought to be preserved, and 
 that all laws, good or bad, as long" as they were 
 written on the books, ought to be enforced. 
 Henry was mystified; for the Herald had 
 always professed to be in utter sympathy with 
 the workingman. 
 
 Later in the day, however, he saw the leading 
 exhibitor in town, who winked at him. ' ' Clever 
 stuff, Devereux, clever stuff. 'Course, if we 
 put up a roar, they'll say it's because we've got 
 an ax to grind. Sure we have. But the 
 Herald wants the people the people that come 
 to our shows to get up and blat. Then it 
 wouldn't be the League against the Association 
 it 'd be the people against the League, and the 
 laugh 'd be on the other foot." 
 
 "What's the betting?" 
 
 " Search me. But Mayor Eowland told me if
 
 150 E P E 
 
 we got up a monster petition with a thousand or 
 two names on it, he '11 bring it up to the Council. 
 We're puttin' up posters in the lobby." 
 
 Henry's heart jumped. "But suppose the 
 people don't sign?" 
 
 "Well then we'd be out o' luck. But there's 
 other ways o' goin' at that damn League, and 
 we're goin' to use all of 'em. And that re- 
 minds me, Devereux ain't it about time for 
 you to join the Association!" 
 
 "I'm afraid not. I ought to, but you see, 
 you're going to make things as hot as you can 
 for the League personalities, and all that, and 
 when my aunt is president of it " 
 
 "But great guns! What's she done to 
 you?" 
 
 "I know, but I can't help that. You go 
 ahead and rip things up any way you want to, 
 but I'd better stay out. It may be foolish, but 
 that's how I feel about it." 
 
 "It's your own affair. / think you're too 
 blamed easy, but you suit yourself. . . . And 
 about the big noise, why I guess all we can da is 
 wait and see what happens. ' ' 
 
 Miss. Starkweather, who met him on the
 
 ROPE 151 
 
 street that morning, told him the same thing. 
 "Some people," she remarked, altitudinously, 
 ''are always getting their toes stepped on, 
 aren't they? Well, there's another way to 
 look at it the toes oughtn't to have been 
 there. ' ' 
 
 "Oh, give us time," said Henry, pleasantly. 
 "Even the worm turns, you know." 
 
 "Humph!" said Aunt Mirabelle. "Let a 
 dozen worms .do a dozen turns! I never 
 thought I'd see the day when a Devereux 
 almost the same thing as a Starkweather 'd 
 figure in a disgrace such as yours. You've 
 heaped muck on your uncle's parlour-carpet. 
 But some day you '11 see the writing on the wall, 
 Henry. ' ' 
 
 He was tempted to remind her of another city 
 ordinance against bill-posting, but he refrained, 
 and saved it up for Anna. 
 
 "I'll watch for it," he said. 
 
 "Well, you better. All I've got to say is 
 this: you just wait and see what happens." 
 
 And then, to complete the record, he got 
 identically the same suggestion from Bob 
 Standish.
 
 152 E P E 
 
 "I suppose," said Standish, "maybe you're 
 wishing you 'd taken that check. ' ' 
 
 "Not that, exactly but I've thought about 
 it." 
 
 "Strikes me that you're in the best position 
 of anybody in town, Henry. You've got a 
 following that'll see you through, if it's 
 humanly possible. 
 
 "Sounds like passing the hat, doesn't it?" 
 
 "Oh, no. And the side that scores first 
 doesn't always win the game, either I dare 
 say you've noticed it. It'll come out all right 
 you just wait and see what happens." 
 
 Henry waited, and he saw. And to Henry 's 
 dismay, and to the Mayor's chagrin, and to 
 Miss Mirabelle Starkweather's exceeding com- 
 placence, nothing happened at all. 
 
 The public petition, which had been adver- 
 tised as "monstrous," caught hardly five hun- 
 dred names, and two thirds of them were Mr. 
 A. Mutt, Mr. O. Howe Wise, Mr. O. U. Kidd, 
 and similar patronymics, scribbled by giggling 
 small boys. The blue-law was universally un- 
 popular, and no doubt of it, but the citizenry 
 hesitated to attack it; the recent landslide for
 
 EOPE 153 
 
 prohibition showed an apparent sentiment 
 which nobody wanted to oppose Why, if a 
 man admitted that he was in favour of Sunday 
 tolerance, his friends (who of course were go- 
 ing through exactly the same mental rapids) 
 might put him down in the same class with 
 those who still mourned for saloons. Each 
 man waited for his neighbour to sign first, and 
 the small boys giggled, and filled up the lists. 
 Besides, there was a large amusement park just 
 beyond the city line, and the honest workingman 
 proceeded to pay his ten-cent fare, and double 
 the profit of the park. 
 
 The Exhibitors Association put up its fists 
 to the Mayor, and the Mayor proposed a pub- 
 lic hearing, with the Council in attendance. 
 At this juncture the Reform League sent a 
 questionnaire to each Councillor, and to each 
 member of the Association. The phraseology 
 was Socratic (it was the product of Mr. Mix's 
 genius) and if any one answered Yes, he was 
 snared : if he said No, he was ambushed, and if 
 he said nothing he was cooked. It reminded 
 the Mayor of the man who claimed that in a 
 debate, he would answer every question of his
 
 154 ROPE 
 
 adversary with a simple No or Yes and the 
 first question was: "Have you stopped beat- 
 ing your wife?" 
 
 The Exhibitors held a meeting behind closed 
 doors, and gave out the statement that nothing 
 was to be gained by a public hearing. But 
 they launched a flank attack on the Council only 
 to discover that the Council was wide awake, 
 and knew that its bread was buttered on one 
 side only. 
 
 "We are listening," said the Chairman, with 
 statesmanlike dignity, "for the voice of the 
 people, and so far we haven't heard a peep. It 
 looks as if they don't want you fellows to run 
 Sunday's, don't it?" 
 
 The spokesman of the Exhibitors cleared his 
 throat. "Statistics prove that every Sunday, 
 an average of six thousand people " 
 
 ' ' That 's all right. We 've seen your petition. 
 And Mr. Mutt and Mr. Kid and most of the 
 rest of your patrons don't seem to be registered 
 voters. How about it?" 
 
 The Council burst into a loud laugh, and the 
 spokesman retreated in discomfiture. 
 
 For several days, Henry was fairly beseiged
 
 E P E 155 
 
 by his friends, who joked him about his arrest, 
 and then, out of genuine concern, wanted to 
 know if his prospects were seriously damaged. 
 To each interrogatory, Henry waved his hand 
 with absolute nonchalance. As far as he knew, 
 only six people were in the secret himself, his 
 wife, Judge Barklay, Standish, Mr. Archer and 
 Aunt Mirabelle and he wasn't anxious to in- 
 crease the number. His aunt might not have 
 believed it, but this was more on her account 
 than on his own. 
 
 "Lord, no," said Henry, casually. "Don't 
 worry about me. I'm only glad there's some 
 news for the Herald. It was getting so dry you 
 had to put cold cream on it or it'd crack." 
 
 By the time that Judge Barklay returned 
 from his vacation, the subject had even slipped 
 away from the front page of the newspapers. 
 The flurry was over. And out of a population 
 of fifty thousand, ninety-nine per cent of whom 
 were normal-minded citizens, neither ultra-con- 
 servative nor ultra-revolutionary, that tiny 
 fraction which composed the Ethical Reform 
 League had stowed its propaganda down the 
 throats of the overwhelming majority.
 
 156 ROPE 
 
 The Judge shrugged his shoulders. " Or- 
 ganization," he said. "They've got a leader, 
 and speakers, and a publicity bureau. That's 
 all. I hear they 're going to use it to boom Mix 
 for a political job. But you wait wait, and 
 keep on paying out the rope." 
 
 "That's all I've got left to pay out," said 
 Henry, amiably. 
 
 "Aren't you doing pretty well, considering?" 
 
 Henry nodded. "We're doing great busi- 
 ness I mean, anybody else would think so. 
 About a hundred and fifty a week net, for the 
 first three weeks. And Anna's salting away a 
 hundred and ten of it. Every morning I draw 
 a clean handkerchief, and a dime for dissipa- 
 tion, and she keeps a clutch on the rest." 
 
 "Hm! A hundred and fifty. That's good 
 money, Henry.*' 
 
 "Well, that's the only kind we take. But 
 you can see for yourself what this thing's done 
 to us. We ought to be averaging two twenty- 
 five. And we'd have done it, too." 
 
 The Judge appeared contrite. "I'm afraid 
 you're blaming me for bad advice, Henry." 
 
 "No, sir. If I blamed anybody, I'd just
 
 E P E 157 
 
 blame myself for taking it. But I don't. You 
 see, even if I fall down on the first prize, I've 
 got a pretty good business under way. Eight 
 thousand a year." 
 
 "Would you keep on with it?" 
 
 "I'd think it over. It isn't particularly joy- 
 ous, but it sure does pay the rent. Oh, I sup- 
 pose I'd try to sell it, if I could get a price for 
 it, but Bob says I couldn't expect a big one, be- 
 cause so much of the trade sort of belongs to 
 its and wouldn't necessarily patronize the 
 chap that bought me out. He tells me it was 
 worth twenty when I took it, and thirty now, 
 and if it weren 't for this law, it would be worth 
 fifty. That 's all due to the improvements, and 
 you advised me to put 'em in, and you engi- 
 neered the mortgage. So I'm not huffy at you. 
 Hardly." 
 
 "Still, you want the big prize if you can get 
 it. ... Notice what Mix is giving out to the 
 papers ? He '11 hang himself yet, and if he does, 
 you won't be too far behind to catch up. 
 That 's a prophecy. But by George, I can 't help 
 feeling that Mix isn't in that outfit for his 
 health. It just don't smell right, somehow."
 
 158 ROPE 
 
 The Beform League had jubilantly explained 
 to Mr. Mix that he was a liberator and a saviour 
 of humanity from itself, and Mr. Mix had 
 deftly caught whatever bouquets were batted 
 up to him. He had allowed the fragrance of 
 them to waft even as far as the Herald office, to 
 which he sent a bulletin every forty-eight hours. 
 Mr. Mix's salary was comforting, his expense 
 accounts were paid as soon as vouchers were 
 submitted, he was steadily advancing in Miss 
 Starkweather's good books, and he considered 
 himself to be a very clever man indeed. 
 
 At the very least, he was clever enough to 
 realize that his position was now strategically 
 favourable, and that as long as he moved 
 neither forward nor backward, he was in no 
 danger from any source. He had a living 
 salary, and he was saving enough out of it to re- 
 duce his indebtedness ; in a year he could snap 
 his fingers at the world. Furthermore, he 
 could see no possibility of legislating himself 
 out of his job before that time certainly not if 
 he played his cards craftily, and didn't push 
 his success too far. And by the end of the
 
 B P E 159 
 
 year, he could select a future to fit the circum- 
 stances. 
 
 For the time being, however, it seemed advis- 
 able to Mr. Mix to make haste slowly; he had 
 turned an impending personal catastrophe into 
 a personal triumph, but the triumph could be 
 spoiled unless he kept it carefully on ice. The 
 failure of the public to rise up and flay the 
 League had lifted Mr. Mix into a position of 
 much prominence, and conveyed the very 
 reasonable supposition that he was individually 
 powerful. When a man is supposed to possess 
 power, he can travel a long distance on the 
 effect of a flashing eye, and an expanded chest ; 
 also, it is a foolhardy man who, regardless of 
 his reputation, engages to meet all-comers in 
 their own bailiwick. 
 
 He had committed himself to the preparation 
 of an amendment to the ordinance, which should 
 be more definite, and more cerulean, than the 
 original, but he knew that if he pressed it too 
 soon, it might topple back and crush him. The 
 people could be led, but they couldn 't be driven. 
 And therefore Mr. Mix, who had naturally
 
 160 ROPE 
 
 made himself solid with the reactionaries and 
 the church-going element (except those liberals 
 who regarded him as an officious meddler), and 
 who had actually succeded in being mentioned 
 as the type of man who would make a good 
 Mayor, or President of Council, followed out a 
 path which, unless his geography of common- 
 sense was wrong, could hardly end at a 
 precipice. 
 
 He became, overnight, a terror to the boys 
 and young men who rolled dice in the city parks, 
 and on the alley sidewalks in the business dis- 
 trict; and this was held commendable even by 
 the church-goers who played bridge at the 
 Citizens Club for penny points. He headed a 
 violent onslaught upon the tobacconists who 
 sold cigarettes to minors, and this again was 
 applauded by those who in their youth had 
 avoided tobacco because it was too expensive 
 and smoked sweet-fern and cornsilk behind 
 the barn. He nagged the School Board until 
 there went forth an edict prohibiting certain 
 styles of dress ; and the mothers of several un- 
 attractive maidens wrote letters to him, and 
 called him a Christian. The parents of other
 
 ROPE 161 
 
 girls also wrote to him, but he didn't save the 
 letters. He made a great stir about the 
 Sanitary Code, and the Pure Food regulations, 
 and although the marketmen began to murmur 
 discontentedly and why, indeed, should the 
 grocery cat not sleep in a bed of her own 
 choosing; and why should not the busy, 
 curious, thirsty fly have equal right of access 
 with any other insect! yet Mr. Mix contrived 
 to hold himself up to the public as a live re- 
 former, but not a radical, and to the League as 
 a radical but not a rusher-in where angels fear 
 to tread. It required the equilibrium of a 
 tight-rope walker, but Mr. Mix had it. In- 
 deed, he felt as pleased with himself as though 
 he had invented it. And he observed, with 
 boundless satisfaction, that the membership of 
 the League was steadily increasing, and that 
 the Mayoralty was mentioned more frequently. 
 He was aware, of course, that a reform candi- 
 date is always politically anemic, but he was 
 hoping that by the injection of good-govern- 
 ment virus, he might be strong enough to catch 
 a regular nomination, to boot, and to run on a 
 fusion ticket. From present indications, it
 
 162 ROPE 
 
 wasn't impossible. And Mr. Mix smirked in 
 his mirror. 
 
 Mirabelle said, with a rolling-up of her mental 
 shirt-sleeves : ' * Well, now let 's get after some- 
 thing drastic. I've heard lots of people say 
 you ought to get elected to office ; well, show 'em 
 what you can do. Of course, what we've been 
 doing is all right, but it's kind of small 
 potatoes." 
 
 Mr. Mix looked executive. " Mustn't go too 
 fast, Miss Starkweather. Can't afford to make 
 people nervous." 
 
 " Humph! People that don't feel guilty, 
 don't feel nervous. I say it's about time to 
 launch something drastic. Next thing for us 
 to do is to make the League a state-wide 
 organization, and put through a Sunday law 
 with teeth in it. That amusement park's got 
 to go. Maybe we'd better run over to the 
 capital and talk to the Governor." 
 
 Mr. Mix was decisively opposed, but he 
 couldn't withstand her. He had a number of 
 plausible arguments, but she talked them into 
 jelly, and eventually dragged him to an inter-
 
 ROPE 163 
 
 view with the Governor. When it was over, 
 she beamed victoriously. 
 
 "There! Didn't I tell you so? He's with 
 us." 
 
 Mr. Mix repressed a smile. "Yes, he said if 
 we draft a bill, and get it introduced and passed, 
 he'll sign it." 
 
 "Well, what more could he say?" 
 
 He wanted to ask, in turn, what less could be 
 said, but he contained himself. "You know," 
 he warned her, "as soon as we put out any 
 really violent propaganda, we're going to lose 
 some of our new members, and some of our 
 prestige." 
 
 "Good! Weed out the dead-wood." 
 
 "That's all right, but after what we've done 
 with the food laws and stopping the sale of 
 cigarettes to boys, and so on, people are looking 
 at us as a switch to chastise the city. But we 
 don't want them to look at us as a cudgel. And 
 this state law you've got in mind hits too many 
 people." 
 
 "Let it hit 'em." 
 
 "Well, anyway," he pleaded, "there's no
 
 164 ROPE 
 
 sense in going out and waving the club so every- 
 body 'a scared off. We ought to take six months 
 or a year, and do it gradually. And we ought 
 to pass a model ordinance here first, before we 
 talk about statutes. I'd suggest a series of 
 public lectures, and a lot of educational 
 pamphlets for a start. I'll write them my- 
 self." 
 
 She was impatient, but she finally yielded. 
 "Well, we'll see how it works. Go ahead and 
 doit." 
 
 "I will I'll have the whole thing done by 
 late this spring." 
 
 "Not 'till then?" she protested, vigorously. 
 
 Mr. Mix shook his head. "Perfect the or- 
 ganization first, and begin to fight when we've 
 got all our ammunition. It'll take me three 
 months to get that ready. So far, all we Ve had 
 is a battle, but now we're planning a war. I 
 want to be prepared in every detail before we 
 fire a single more shot." 
 
 She regarded him admiringly. "Sounds 
 reasonable at that. You do it your own way. ' ' 
 
 He was feeling a warm sense of power, and 
 yet he had his moments of uncertainty, did Mr.
 
 ROPE 165 
 
 Mix, for even with his genius for hypocrisy, he 
 sometimes found it difficult to be a hypocrite on 
 both sides of the same proposition. His status 
 was satisfactory, at the moment, but he mustn't 
 let Mirabelle get the bit in her teeth, and run 
 away with him. As soon as ever she got him on 
 record as favouring the sort of legislation 
 which she herself wanted, Mr. Mix's power was 
 going to dwindle. And Mr. Mix adored his 
 power, and he hated to think of losing it by 
 too extravagant propaganda. 
 
 There were moments when he wished that 
 Henry were more belligerent, so that special 
 measures could be taken against him, or that 
 Mirabelle were more seductive, so that Mr. Mix 
 could be more spontaneous. He knew that he 
 was personally responsible for the present 
 enforcement; he believed that because of it, 
 Henry Devereux didn't have a Chinaman's 
 chance; he knew that if Mirabelle got her 
 legacy, she would have Mr. Mix to thank for it. 
 But Henry was too cheerful, and Mirabelle was 
 too coy, and the two facts didn't co-ordinate. 
 
 Certainly there was no finesse in hailing 
 Mirabelle as an heiress until Henry's failure
 
 166 ROPE 
 
 was more definitely placarded. To be sure, she 
 had plenty of money now, and she was spending 
 it like water, but he knew that it included the 
 income from the whole Starkweather estate. 
 She probably had oh, a hundred thousand or 
 more of her own. And that wasn't enough. 
 Yes, it was time for Mr. Mix to think ahead ; he 
 had identified himself so thoroughly with the 
 League that he couldn't easily withdraw, and 
 Mirabelle still held his note. Of course, if the 
 League could furnish him with a stepping-stone 
 to the Mayoralty, or the presidency of Council, 
 Mr. Mix didn't care to withdraw from it any- 
 way; nor would he falter in his allegiance as 
 long as he had a chance at an heiress. He 
 wished that Henry would show fight, but Henry 
 hadn't even joined the Exhibitors Association. 
 It was so much easier to fight when the other 
 fellow offered resistance. Henry merely 
 smiled; you couldn't tell whether he were de- 
 spondent or not. But if he wouldn't -fight, 
 there was always the thin possibility that he 
 might be satisfied with his progress. And that 
 would be unfortunate for Mr. Mix.
 
 ROPE 167 
 
 There was something else ; suppose Mirabelle 
 got her legacy, and Mr. Mix volunteered to 
 share it with her. He was reasonably confident 
 that she would consent; her symptoms were 
 already on the surface. But how, in such 
 event, could Mr. Mix regulate the habits which 
 were so precious to him? How could he hide 
 his fondness for his cigar, and his night-cap, his 
 predilection for burlesque shows and boxing 
 bouts and blonde stenographers? It was diffi- 
 cult enough, even now, and he had eaten enough 
 trochees and coffee beans to sink a frigate, and 
 he had been able only once to get away to 
 New York "to clean up his affairs." How 
 could he manage his alternative self when Mira- 
 belle had him under constant and intimate 
 supervision? 
 
 Still, all that could be arranged. For twenty 
 years he had gone to New York, regularly, on 
 irregular business and not a soul in town was 
 any the wiser; it was simply necessary to dis- 
 cover what "business" could summon him if he 
 were married, independent, and a professional 
 reformer. Mr. Mix, who was always a few
 
 168 ROPE 
 
 lengths ahead of the calendar, procured the ad- 
 dresses of a metropolitan anti-cigarette con- 
 ference, and a watch-and-ward society, and 
 humbly applied by mail for membership. An 
 alibi is exactly the opposite of an egg; the 
 older it is, the better.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 WHEN Henry told his wife that he was 
 counting on her for brilliant ideas, he 
 meant the compliment rather broadly; for he 
 couldn't imagine how a girl brought up as Anna 
 had been brought up could supply any practical 
 schemes for increasing the patronage of a 
 motion-picture theatre. Indeed, when she 
 brought him her first suggestion he laughed, 
 and kissed her, and petted her, and while he 
 privately appraised her as a dear little 
 dreamer, he told her that he was ever so much 
 obliged, but he was afraid that her plan 
 wouldn't work. 
 
 "You see," he said, "you haven't had very 
 much experience in this business " 
 
 "Methuselah!" she retorted, and Henry 
 laughed again. 
 
 "That's no way for a wife to talk. When I 
 mention business you're supposed to look at me 
 with ill-concealed awe. But to get down to 
 
 169
 
 170 K P E 
 
 brass tacks, I Ve watched the audiences for four 
 or five weeks, and I am beginning to size them 
 up. And I don't believe you can put over any 
 grand-opera stuff on 'em." 
 
 "It doesn't make the least bit of difference 
 whether it's grand-opera or the movies, my 
 lord. It'll work." 
 
 He shook his head dubiously. "Well, even 
 suppose it would, I still don't like it. You 
 don't make friends simply to use 'em for your 
 own purposes." 
 
 ' ' Why, of course not. But after you Ve made 
 
 'em, you're silly not to let 'em help you if they 
 
 can. And if they want to. And if they don't 
 
 then they aren't really your friends, are they? 
 
 It's a good way to find out." 
 
 Henry frowned a little. "What makes you 
 think it would work?" 
 
 "Human nature. . . . Now you just think it 
 all over from the beginning. All our friends 
 come to the Orpheum some night, don't they? 
 They'd go to some picture, anyway, but they 
 come to the Orpheum for two reasons one's 
 because it's a nice house now, and the other's 
 because it's ours. And sometimes they're in
 
 E P E 171 
 
 time to get good seats, and sometimes they 
 aren't. Well, we aren't asking any special 
 favour of them; we're just making sure that if 
 they all come the same night, they'll have the 
 same seats, time after time. And they'll like 
 it, Henry." 
 
 1 'But to be brutally frank, I still don't see 
 where we get off any better. ' ' 
 
 "You wait. ... So we sell for just one 
 particular performance say the 8.45 one, one 
 night a week season tickets. Boxes, loges, 
 and some of the orchestra seats. And it would 
 be like opera ; if they couldn 't always come, they 
 couldn't return their tickets, but they could 
 give them to somebody else. And that night 
 we'd have special music, and " 
 
 "Confirming today's conversation, including 
 brutal frankness as per statement, I still don't 
 see " 
 
 "Why, you silly. It'll be Society Night! 
 And I don't care whether it's movies or 
 opera, if you make a thing fashionable, then it 
 gets everybody the fashionable ones, and then 
 the ones who want to be fashionable, and finally 
 the ones who know they haven't a ghost of a
 
 172 R P E 
 
 chance, and just want to go and look at the 
 others ! ' ' 
 
 Henry laboured with his thoughts. "Well, 
 granted that we could herd the hill crowd in 
 there, and all that, I still don't " 
 
 "Why, Henry darling! Because we'd make 
 it Monday night that's our worst night in the 
 whole week, ordinarily and have all reserved 
 seats that night, and then of course we'd raise 
 the prices ! ' ' 
 
 "Oh!" said Henry. "Now I get it. I 
 thought it was just swank." 
 
 "And it's true it's true that if you get 
 people to thinking there's something exclusive 
 about a shop, or a hotel, or a club, or even a 
 theatre, they '11 pay any amount to get in. And 
 our friends don't care when they come, and 
 they'll love all sitting together in the boxes, or 
 even in the orchestra." 
 
 "Who was Methuselah's wife?" asked 
 Henry, irrelevantly. 
 
 "Why, he had several, didn't he?" 
 
 "Cleopatra, Portia, Minerva, Nemesis, and 
 the Queen of Sheba," said Henry, "and you're
 
 E P E 173 
 
 all five in one package. I retract everything 
 I said. And if I may be permitted to kiss the 
 hem of your garment, to show I'm properly 
 humbled, why in plain English, that idea has 
 a full set of molars ! ' ' 
 
 He left the mechanics of it to Anna, who 
 merely conferred with Bob Standish, and then 
 with one of her girl-friends, and sent out a little 
 circular among the high elect; but even Anna 
 was amazed at the prompt response. The re- 
 sponse was due partly to friendship, and partly 
 to convenience, but whatever the reason, Anna 
 brought in checks for a hundred season-tickets, 
 and turned the worst night of the week into the 
 best. As she had sensed, because the insiders 
 of society were willing to commit themselves to 
 Monday, the outsiders would have paid four 
 times, instead of merely double, to be there, too. 
 It was socially imperative. 
 
 "That boosts us up another fifty a week," 
 said Henry appreciatively. "And we must 
 have a thousand in the bank, haven't we? ... 
 Say, Anna, this bread and cheese racket is all 
 right when you can't afford anything else, but
 
 174 EOPE 
 
 honestly, won't you just get a cook? I don't 
 care if she's rotten, but to think of you giving 
 those dishes a sitz-bath twice a day " 
 
 "Not yet, dear. We aren't nearly out of the 
 woods. Society Night's helped a lot, but we 
 aren't averaging over two hundred and twenty 
 yet, are we? That's eighty a week short. So 
 if we don't think up some more schemes, why, 
 what we're saving now '11 have to be our capital 
 next year." 
 
 "But when a man has this much income " 
 
 "Yes, and you owe ten thousand on a 
 mortgage, and the tax bills haven't come in yet, 
 and you'll have an income tax to pay. . . . 
 We '11 save awhile longer. ' ' 
 
 It was greater heroism than he realized, for 
 she had never lost, for a single instant, her ab- 
 horrence of the kitchen ; nor was she willing to 
 cater to her prejudice, and work with only the 
 tips of her fingers. She had two principal de- 
 fences she wore rubber gloves, and she sang 
 but whenever she had to put her hands into 
 greasy water, whenever she scrubbed a kettle, 
 whenever she cleaned the sink, a series of cold 
 chills played up and down her spine as fitfully
 
 ROPE 175 
 
 as a flame plays on the surface of alcohol. She 
 detested every item which had to do with that 
 kitchen; and yet, to save Henry the price of a 
 cook now seventy dollars a month she sacri- 
 ficed her squeamishness. There were nights 
 when she simply couldn't eat she couldn't 
 draw a cloud over her imagination, and forget 
 what the steak had looked like, and felt like, un- 
 cooked. There were six days in seven when the 
 mere sight of blackened pots and pans put her 
 nerves on edge. But she always remembered 
 that Henry was supposed to be irresponsible, 
 and that a penny in hand is worth two in pros- 
 pect; so that she sang away, and tried to 
 dispel her thoughts of the kitchen by thinking 
 about the Orpheum. 
 
 It was in early December that she conceived 
 the Bargain Matinee, which wasn't the ordinary 
 cut-price performance, but the adaptation of 
 an old trick of the department stores. The 
 Tuesday and Friday matinees were the poorest 
 attended, so that Anna suggested and Henry 
 ordered that beginning at half past four on 
 Tuesdays and Fridays, the fifty-cent seats were 
 reduced at the rate of a cent a minute. In other
 
 176 K P E 
 
 words, the Orpheum challenged the public to 
 buy its entertainment by the clock; a person 
 who came a quarter hour late saved fifteen 
 cents, and the bargain-hunter who could find a 
 vacant seat at twenty minutes past five could 
 see the last two reels for nothing. It didn't 
 bring in a tremendous revenue, but it caught 
 the popular fancy, and it was worth another 
 thirty dollars a week. 
 
 And Anna discovered, too, that the unfinished 
 second story of the theatre had possibilities. 
 She had it plastered and gaily papered, she put 
 up a frieze of animals from Noah's ark; she 
 bought toys and games and a huge sand-box 
 and for a nominal fee, a mother could leave her 
 angel child or squalling brat, as the case might 
 be, in charge of a kindergarten assistant, and 
 watch the feature film without nervousness or 
 bad conscience. There was no profit in it, as 
 a department, but it was good advertising, and 
 helped the cause. 
 
 In the meantime Henry, who at this season 
 of the year would ordinarily have gone to Lake 
 Placid for the winter sports or to Pinehurst 
 for golf, was watching the rise and fall of the
 
 ROPE 177 
 
 box-office receipts as eagerly as he would have 
 watched the give and take of match-play in 
 tournament finals. He kept his records as 
 perfectly, and studied them with as much zest, 
 as once he had kept and studied the records of 
 the First Ten in the tennis ranking, and of all 
 teams and individuals in first-class polo. To 
 Henry, the Orpheum had long ceased to be a 
 kitchen; he had almost forgotten that a few 
 months ago, his soul had been corrugated with 
 goose-flesh at the prospect of this probation. 
 Since August, he had done more actual work 
 than in all his previous life, and the return from 
 it was approximately what his allowance had 
 been from Mr. Starkweather, but Henry had 
 caught the spark of personal ambition, and he 
 wouldn't stop running until the race was over. 
 He wouldn't stop, and furthermore he wouldn't 
 think of stopping. But now and then he 
 couldn't help visualizing his status when he did 
 stop, or was ruled off the track. 
 
 He hadn't quite recovered, yet, from his 
 surprise at the continuing reaction of his 
 friends. He was deeply touched by the realiza- 
 tion that even those who were most jocular were
 
 178 E P E 
 
 regarding him with new respect. Instead of 
 losing caste, he seemed to have risen higher 
 than before ; certainly he had never been made 
 to feel so sure of his place in the affection of his 
 own set. And almost more satisfactory than 
 that, the older men in the Citizens Club were 
 treating him with increasing friendliness, 
 whereas in the past, they had treated him 
 rather as an amusing young comedian, to be 
 laughed at, but not with. And finally, he was 
 flattered by the growing intimacy with Mr. 
 Archer. 
 
 "A year ago," Mr. Archer once said to him, 
 "I used to think you were a spoiled brat, Henry. 
 Now I think you're rather a credit to your 
 uncle." 
 
 Henry grinned. "And I used to think some 
 very disrespectful things about you, and now 
 I 'd rather have you on my side than anybody I 
 know. I must have been a raw egg." 
 
 * * You '11 win out yet, my boy Ted Mix to the 
 contrary notwithstanding." 
 
 "Oh, sure!" said Henry, optimistically. "I 
 don't gloom much only fifteen minutes a day 
 in my own room. I got the habit when I was
 
 ROPE 179 
 
 taking my correspondence course on efficiency." 
 Even in these occasional sessions of gloom, 
 however, (and his estimate of time was fairly 
 accurate) he never felt any acute antagonism 
 either towards his aunt or towards Mr. Mix, 
 he never felt as though he were in competition 
 with them. He was racing against time, and it 
 was the result of his own individual effort 
 which would go down on the record. As to his 
 aunt, she had been perfectly consistent; as to 
 Mr. Mix, Henry didn't even take the trouble to 
 despise him. He carried over to business one 
 of his principles in sport if the other fellow 
 wanted so badly to win that he was willing to 
 cheat, he wanted victory more than Henry did, 
 and he was welcome to it. After the match was 
 over, Henry might volunteer to black his eye 
 for him, but that was a side issue. 
 
 Mr. Mix had said to him, sorrowfully, at the 
 Citizens Club: "One of the prime regrets of 
 my life, Henry, was that you the nephew of 
 my old friend should have suffered should 
 have been in a position to suffer from the 
 promotion of civic integrity." 
 
 Henry laughed unaffectedly. "Yes," he
 
 180 E O P E 
 
 said, "it must have raised perfect Cain with 
 you." 
 
 "I don't like your tone, Henry. Do you 
 doubt my word?" 
 
 "Doubt it I After I've just sympathized 
 with the awful torture you must have gone 
 through? . . . Tell me something; what's all 
 this gossip I hear about you and Aunt Mira- 
 belle? Somebody saw you buggy-riding last 
 Sunday. Gay young dog ! ' ' 
 
 Mr. Mix grew red. "Buggy-riding! Miss 
 Starkweather was kind enough to take me out 
 to the lake in her car. ' * 
 
 "That's buggy-riding," said Henry, affably. 
 "Buggy-riding's a generic term. Don't blush. 
 I was young myself, once." 
 
 Mr. Mix fought down his anger. "You're 
 very much of a joker, Henry. It seems to run 
 in the family. Your uncle '* 
 
 "Yes, and Aunt Mirabelle, too." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Henry. "Aunt Mirabelle 's 
 a joker, too. She advised me not to run the 
 Orpheum in the first place; she'd rather have 
 had me trade it and go into something more re-
 
 E P E 181 
 
 spectable, and profitable. Doesn't that strike 
 you as funny? It does me." 
 
 Mentally, Mr. Mix bit his lip, but outwardly 
 he was ministerial. "I'm afraid you're too 
 subtle for me. ' ' 
 
 "I was afraid of that myself." 
 
 "Isn't business good?" His voice was so- 
 licitous. 
 
 Henry was reminded of what Judge Barklay 
 had twice expressed, and for a casual experi- 
 ment, he tried to plumb the depths of Mr. Mix's 
 interest. 
 
 "Oh, with a few new schemes I've got, I 
 guess I'll clean up eleven or twelve thousand 
 this year." 
 
 Mr. Mix shook his head. "As much as that f ' ' 
 
 Henry inquired of himself why, to accompany 
 a question which was apparently one of mere 
 rhetorical purport, Mr. Mix should have shaken 
 his head. The action had been positive, rather 
 than interrogative. 
 
 "Easy," said Henry. "Come in next week, 
 and see how we're going to turn 'em away 
 I've got a new pianist ; you'll want to hear him. 
 He looks like a Sealyhan terrier, but he's got a
 
 II 
 it 
 
 182 ROPE 
 
 repertoire like a catalogue of phonograph rec- 
 ords. I dare the audience to name anything he 
 can't play right off the bat songs, opera, 
 Gregorian chants, sonatas, jazz and if he 
 can't play it, the person that asked for it gets a 
 free ticket." 
 
 "So to use a colloquialism you're going 
 very strong?" 
 
 To use another colloquialism," said Henry, 
 we fairly reek with prosperity, and we're go- 
 ing to double our business. That is, unless you 
 Leaguers stop all forms of amusement but tit- 
 tat-toe and puss-in-the-corner. " 
 
 Mr. Mix smiled feebly. "One expects to be 
 rallied for one's convictions." 
 
 Henry nodded, engagingly. "I certainly got 
 rallied enough for mine. That justice of the 
 peace rallied me for twenty-five to start with, 
 and followed it up with twenty more. . . . But 
 if you want my opinion, Mr. Mix, you '11 lay off 
 trying to promote civic integrity with a meat- 
 ax. All you did with that Sunday row was to 
 take a lot of money away from the picture 
 houses, and give it to the trolley company and 
 the White City white when it was painted.
 
 E P E 183 
 
 And if you don't behave, I won't vote for you 
 next election." 
 
 Mr. Mix ignored the threat. "Come to a 
 meeting of the League some time, Henry, and 
 we'll give you a chance to air your views." 
 
 He reported the interview to Anna, and she 
 seemed to find in it the material for reflection. 
 She asked Henry if he thought that Mr. Mix 
 was deliberately making up to Mirabelle. 
 Henry reflected, also. 
 
 In January, Henry had an interview with Mr. 
 Archer, who went over his books with a fine- 
 tooth comb, and praised him for his accomplish- 
 ment. 
 
 "But it only goes to show how the best inten- 
 tions in the world can get all twisted up," 
 said Mr. Archer, gravely. "Here you've done 
 what you were supposed to do you've done it 
 better than you were supposed to do it and 
 then because of that cussed enforcement that 
 neither your uncle nor I ever dreamed about, 
 you 're liable to get punished just as badly as if
 
 184 E P E 
 
 you'd made a complete failure. It's a shame, 
 Henry, it 's a downright shame 1 ' ' 
 
 ''We're packing 'em in pretty well," said 
 Henry. "I figured out that if we sold every 
 seat at every performance we 'd collect fourteen 
 hundred a week gross. We're actually taking 
 in about eight fifty. That's a local record, but 
 it isn't good enough." 
 
 "No, you seem to be shy about three thou- 
 sand to date. You've got to make that up, and 
 hit a still higher average for the next seven 
 months, and I'm blessed if 7 can see how you're 
 going to do it." 
 
 ' * Oh, well, I '11 have the theatre. That 's some- 
 thing." 
 
 "Yes, it'll bring you a good price. But not 
 a half of what you should have had. One 
 thing, Henry, I wish your uncle could know how 
 you 're taking it. As far as I know, you haven 't 
 swung a golf club or sat a horse for six months, 
 have you?" 
 
 "Oh, shucks! . . . When Uncle John went to 
 a ball game, he always liked to see a man run 
 like fury on a fly ball. Nine time out of ten 
 an outfielder 'd catch it and the batter 'd get a
 
 E P E 185 
 
 big hoot from the grand-stand. The other time 
 he'd drop it, and the batter 'd take two bases. 
 That's all I'm doing now. Playing the percent- 
 age. And golf takes too much time even if 
 there weren't snow on the ground and stable 
 feed's so high I can't afford it. The fool horse 
 would cost more to feed than I do myself." 
 
 "And even if the percentage beats you, 
 you've got something you never had before, 
 Henry, and that's the solid respect of your 
 community. Everybody knows you hated this 
 job. Everybody's back of you." 
 
 "Up on the farm," said Henry, thoughtfully. 
 "There was a field-hand with a great line of 
 philosophy. Some of it was sort of crude, but 
 one day Uncle John was saying something 
 about tough things we all have to do, and this 
 fellow chimed in and said: 'Yes, sir, every 
 man's got to skin his own skunk.' " 
 
 Mr. Archer smiled and nodded. "Your year 
 won 't have been wasted, Henry. And when it 's 
 over, if you want to get out of the picture busi- 
 ness, you'll find that you can get a dozen first- 
 rate jobs from men who wouldn't have taken 
 you in as their office-boy a season ago. . . .
 
 186 ROPE 
 
 Give my love to your wife, Henry, and tell her 
 for me that I 'm proud of you. ' ' 
 
 "I'll tell her," said Henry, "but 7 won't be 
 proud until I 've nailed that skin over the barn- 
 door.'* 
 
 On his way out, he dropped in for a moment 
 to see Bob Standish. Bob was at his old tricks 
 again ; and while his competitors in realty, and 
 insurance, and mortgage loans, made the same 
 mistake that once his classmates and instruc- 
 tors and the opposing ends and tackles had 
 made, and argued that his fair skin and his in- 
 nocent blue eyes, his indolent manner and his 
 perfection of dress all evidenced his lack of wit 
 and stamina, he had calmly proceeded to chase 
 several of those competitors out of business, 
 and to purchase their good-will on his own 
 terms. It was popularly said, in his own circle, 
 that Standish would clear a hundred thousand 
 dollars his first year. 
 
 He winked lazily at Henry, and indicated a 
 chair. ' * Set ! ' ' said Standish. ' ' Glad you came
 
 ROPE 187 
 
 in. Two things to ask you. Want to sell? 
 Want to rent?" 
 
 "If you were in my shoes, would you sell, 
 Bob?" 
 
 "I can get you twenty-eight thousand." 
 
 "That's low." 
 
 "Sure, but everybody knows you've got a 
 clientele that nobody else could get. Are you 
 talking?" 
 
 "I guess not just yet." 
 
 "Want to rent? I just had a nibble for small 
 space ; you could get fifty a month for that attic 
 you 're using for a nursery. ' ' 
 
 "I hardly think so, Bob. That's a pet 
 scheme of Anna's, and besides, we need it. It's 
 good advertising. ' ' 
 
 His friend's eyes were round and childlike. 
 "Made any plans for the future, Henry? Know 
 what you '11 do if you stub your toe ? ' > 
 
 "Sell out and strike you for a job, I guess." 
 
 "Don't believe it would work, old man." 
 
 "Don't you think so?" 
 
 "One pal boss another? Too much family." 
 
 Henry looked serious. "I'm sorry you think 
 so. 7 wouldn't have kicked."
 
 188 ROPE 
 
 "No, I'm afraid I couldn't give you a job, 
 old dear. I like you too well to bawl you out. 
 But maybe we'll do business together some 
 other way." 
 
 As he drove his tin runabout homeward, 
 Henry was unusually downcast. He didn't 
 blame Standish Standish had showed himself 
 over and over to be Henry's best friend on 
 earth. But it was dispiriting to realize how 
 Standish must privately appraise him. Henry 
 recalled the justification, and grew red to think 
 of the ten years of their acquaintance ten 
 years of continuous achievement for Standish, 
 and only a few months of compulsory display 
 for himself. But he wished that Standish 
 hadn't thrown in that last remark about doing 
 business together some other way. That 
 wasn't like Bob, and it hurt. It was too infer- 
 nally commercial. 
 
 He found the apartment deserted. His shout 
 of welcome wasn't answered: his whistle, in the 
 private code which everybody uses, met with 
 dead silence. Henry hung up his hat with con- 
 siderable pique, and lounged into the living- 
 room. What excuse had Anna to be missing at
 
 E P E 189 
 
 the sacred hour of his return? Didn't she 
 know that the happiest moment of his whole 
 day was when she came flying into his arms as 
 soon as he crossed the threshold? Didn't she 
 know that as the golden pheasants fled fur- 
 ther and further into the thicket of unreality, 
 the more active was his need of her? He won- 
 dered where she had gone, and what had kept 
 her so late. Was this a precedent, and had the 
 first veneer of their companionabilty worn off 
 so soon for Anna? 
 
 A new apprehension seized him, and he hur- 
 ried from room to room to see if instead of 
 censuring Anna, he ought to censure himself. 
 There were so many accidents that might have 
 happened to her. Women have been burned so 
 severely as to faint: they have drowned in a 
 bathtub: they have fallen down dumb-waiter 
 shafts: they have been asphyxiated when the 
 gas-range went out. And to think that only a 
 moment ago, he had been vexed with her. The 
 sight of each room, once so hideously common- 
 place, now so charming with Anna's artistry 
 and the work of her own hands her beautiful 
 hands which ought to be so cared for filled
 
 190 ROPE 
 
 him with contrition and fresh nervousness. 
 
 No, she had escaped these tragedies yet she 
 was missing. Missing, but now half an hour 
 late. And downtown there were dangerous 
 street-crossings, and dangerous excavations, 
 and reckless motorists. . . . Once in a while a 
 structural-iron worker dropped a rivet from the 
 seventh story; and there were kidnappers 
 abroad. . . . The key turned in the lock, and 
 Henry dropped noiselessly into a chair, and 
 caught up day-bef ore-yesterday's paper. 
 
 He greeted her tenderly, but temperately. 
 "Well, where 've you been?" 
 
 She had to catch her breath. "Oh, my dear, 
 I've had the most wonderful time! I've oh, 
 it's been perfectly gorgeous! And I've got it! 
 I've got it!" 
 
 He had never seen her keyed to such a pitch, 
 and manlike, he attempted to calm her instead 
 of rising to her own level. "Got what? St. 
 Vitus' dance?" 
 
 "No! The scheme! The scheme we were 
 looking for ! ' ' 
 
 Henry discarded his paper. ' ' Shoot it. ' ' 
 
 She waved him off. "Just wait 'till I can
 
 E P E 191 
 
 breathe. ... Do you remember what you told 
 me a long time ago about a talk you had with 
 your aunt? And she said bye-and-bye you'd 
 see the writing on the wall?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, I've seen it I" 
 
 "Whereabouts?" 
 
 "Wait. . . . And remember your talking to 
 Mr. Mix, when he said you ought to go to a 
 League meeting and air your views ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, I went!" 
 
 He gazed at her. "You what?" 
 
 She nodded repeatedly. "It was a big pub- 
 lic meeting. I was going past Masonic Hall, 
 and I saw the sign. So I went in ... oh, it was 
 so funny. The man at the door stared at me 
 as if I'd been in a bathing suit, or something, 
 and he said to me in a sort of undertaker's 
 voice: 'Are you one of us?' And I said I 
 wasn't, but I was thinking about it, and he 
 said something about the ninety and nine, and 
 gave me a blank to fill out only I didn't do it: 
 I used it for something lots better: I'll show 
 you in a minute and then I sat down, and
 
 192 ROPE 
 
 pretty soon Mr. Mix got up to talk, and you 
 should have seen the way your aunt looked at 
 him; as if he'd been a tin god on wheels and 
 he bragged about what the League was doing, 
 and how it had already purified the city, but 
 that was only a beginning and what a lot more 
 it was going to do oh, it was just ranting 
 but everybody clapped and applauded only 
 the man next to me said it was politics instead 
 of reform and then he went on to talk about 
 that ordinance 147, and what it really meant, 
 and how they were going to use it like a bludg- 
 eon over the heads of wrong-doers, and all 
 that sickening sort of thing and the more he 
 talked the more I kept thinking. . . . My dear, 
 all that ordinance says at least, all they claim 
 it says is that we can't keep open on Sunday 
 for profit, isn 't it ? " 
 
 Henry was a trifle dizzy, but he retained his 
 perspective. "Yes, but who'd want to keep 
 open for charity?" 
 
 She gave a little cry of exultation. "But 
 that's exactly what we want to do! That's 
 what we are going to do. And they can't pre- 
 vent us, either. We're going to keep open for
 
 ROPE 193 
 
 a high, noble purpose, and not charge a cent. 
 And the more I thought, and Mr. Mix bragged, 
 the more I ... so I wrote it all down on the 
 back of that blank the man gave me and there 
 it is and / think it's perfectly gorgeous 
 even if it is mine. Now who's Methuselah's 
 wife?" 
 
 On the back of the blank there was written, 
 in shaky capitals, what was evidently intended 
 as the copy for an advertisement. She watched 
 Henry eagerly as he read it, and when at first 
 she could detect no change in his expression, her 
 eyes widened, and her lips trembled impercep- 
 tibly. Then Henry, half-way down the page, be- 
 gan to grin: and his grin spread and spread 
 until his whole face was abeam with joy. He 
 came to the last line, gasped, looked up at 
 Anna, and suddenly springing towards her, he 
 caught her in his arms, and waltzed her madly 
 about the living-room. 
 
 When he released her, her hat was set at a 
 new and rakish angle, and she had lost too many 
 hair-pins, but to Henry she had never looked 
 half so adorable. 
 
 "Of course," he panted, "everybody else '11
 
 194 K P E 
 
 do it too, as soon as we 've showed 'em how 
 "What what difference does that make!" 
 "That's right, too. ..." He fairly doubled 
 himself with mirth. "Can't you just see Mix's 
 face when he sees this writing on the wall of 
 the Orpheum?" 
 
 "I I've been seeing it all afternoon. 
 When can we start ? ' ' 
 
 "Bight away. Now." He stopped, rigid. 
 "No, we won't either. No we won't. First, 
 we've got to see the Judge we've got to make 
 sure there's no flaw in it. And then we won't 
 let anybody copy us ! " 
 
 "But how can you stop them?" 
 Henry was electric. ' ' What 's a movie theatre 
 worth on Sunday? When they can't give a 
 show anyway? I'll rent every house in town 
 for every Sunday from now 'till August! I'll 
 have to go slow, so nobody '11 suspect. It may 
 take a month, or two months, but what do we 
 care? We'll play it sure. It won't cost too 
 much, and we've got the cash in the bank. 
 We've " He paused again, and looked down 
 at her, and his voice fell a semi-tone. "I don't 
 know where I get all this we stuff. I'd have
 
 E P E 195 
 
 spent two-thirds of it by this time. You 're the 
 one that's saved it and earned it too, by gosh ! " 
 He lifted her hands, and while she watched him, 
 with shining eyes, he deliberately kissed the tip 
 of each of her ten fingers. "That's where the 
 money's come from/' said Henry, clearing his 
 throat. "Out of dish-water. Only tonight 
 we're going out to a restaurant and eat our- 
 selves logy, and you won't wash a damn dish. 
 It's my party."
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 MISS MIRABELLE STARKWEATHER 
 lifted up her cup of tea, and with the little 
 finger of her right hand stiffly extended to Mr. 
 Mix's good health. Mr. Mix, sitting upright 
 in a gilded chair which was three* sizes too 
 small for him, bowed with a courtliness which 
 belonged to the same historical period as the 
 chair, and also drank. Over the rim of his cup, 
 his eyes met Mirabelle's. 
 
 " Seems to me you've got on some kind of a 
 new costume, haven't you?" asked Mr. Mix gal- 
 lantly. " Looks very festive to me very/' 
 
 For the first time since bustles went out of 
 fashion, Miss Starkweather blushed ; and when 
 she blushed, she was quite as uncompromising 
 about it as she was about everything else. It 
 wasn't that she had a grain of romance in her, 
 but that she was confused to be caught in the 
 act of flagging a beau; to hide her confusion, 
 she rose, and went over to the furthest win- 
 
 196
 
 E P E 197 
 
 dow and flung it wide open. The month was 
 February, and the air was chill and raw, but 
 Mirabelle could think of no other pretext for 
 turning her back and cooling her cheeks. And 
 yet, although she would have perjured herself a 
 thousand times before she would admit it, she 
 felt a certain strange, spring-like pleasure to 
 know that Mr. Mix was only pretending to be 
 deceived. 
 
 "Oh, my, no," she said over her shoulder. 
 "I've had this since the Flood." 
 
 Mr. Mix had also risen, to hand her back to 
 her seat, and now he stood looking down at her. 
 She was wearing a gown of rustling, plum-col- 
 oured taffeta, with cut-steel buttons ; and at her 
 belt there was a Dutch silver chatelaine which 
 had been ultra-smart when she had last worn it. 
 Vaguely, she supposed that it was ultra-smart 
 today, and that was the reason she had attached 
 it to her. From the chatelaine depended a sil- 
 ver pencil, a gold watch, a vinaigrette with gold- 
 enamelled top, and a silver-mesh change-purse. 
 At her throat, she had a cameo, and on her left 
 hand, an amethyst set in tiny pearls. Mr. Mix, 
 finishing the inventory, seated himself and be-
 
 198 E O P E 
 
 gan to tap one foot on the floor, reflectively. 
 He was a man of perception, and he knew war- 
 paint when he saw it. 
 
 " Makes you look so much younger," said 
 Mr. Mix, and sighed a little. 
 
 "Don't be a fool," said Miss Starkweather, 
 and to dissemble her pleasure, she put an extra- 
 sharp edge on her voice. "I don't wear clothes 
 to make me look younger; I wear 'em to cover 
 me up." 
 
 ' ' That 's more than I can say for the present 
 generation." 
 
 "Ugh!" said Miss Starkweather. "Don't 
 speak of it ! Shameless little trollops ! But the 
 worst comment you could make about this pres- 
 ent day is that men like it. They like to see 
 those disgraceful get-ups. They marry those 
 girls. Beyond me." 
 
 Mr. Mix sneezed unexpectedly. There was 
 a cold draught on the back of his neck, but as 
 Mirabelle said nothing about closing the win- 
 dow, he hesitated to ask permission. "I've 
 always wondered what effect it would have had 
 on your public, career if you hadn't pre- 
 ferred to remain single. "
 
 B P E 199 
 
 "My opinions aren't annuals, Mr. Mix. 
 They're hardy perennials." 
 
 "I know, but do you think a married woman 
 ought to devote herself entirely to public af- 
 fairs I Shouldn 't she consider marriage almost 
 a profession in itself ?" 
 
 "Well, I don't know about that. Duty's 
 duty." 
 
 "Oh, to be sure. But would marriage have 
 interfered with your career? Would you have 
 let it? Or is marriage really the higher duty 
 of the two!" 
 
 "There's something in that, Mr. Mix. I 
 never did believe a married woman ought to be 
 in the road all the time." 
 
 "It was a question of your career, then?" 
 
 Mirabelle put down her cup. "Humph! No, 
 it wasn't. Bight man never asked me." 
 
 Mr. Mix's mind was cu tiptoe. "But your 
 standards are so lofty naturally, they would 
 be." He paused. "I wonder what your stand- 
 ard really is. Is it unapproachable? Or do 
 you see some good in most of us?" 
 
 Mirabelle sat primly erect, but her voice had 
 an unusual overtone. * ' Oh, no, I 'm not a ninny.
 
 200 E P E 
 
 But good husbands don't grow on goose-berry- 
 bushes. If I'd ever found a man that had the 
 right principles, and the respect of everybody, 
 and not too much torn-foolishness a good, 
 solid, earnest citizen I could be proud of ' 
 
 Mr. Mix interpolated a wary comment. "You 
 didn't mention money." 
 
 She sniffed. "Do I look like the kind of a 
 woman that would marry for money ? ' ' 
 
 "And in all these I mean to say, haven't 
 you ever met a man who complied with these 
 conditions ? ' r 
 
 She made no intelligible response, but as Mr. 
 Mix watched her, he was desperately aware 
 that his moment had come. His next sentence 
 would define his future. 
 
 He was absolutely convinced, through his pri- 
 vate source of information, that Henry was due 
 to fall short of his quota by four or five thou- 
 sand dollars; nothing but a miracle could save 
 him, and Mr. Mix was a sceptic in regard to 
 miracles. He was positive that in a brief six 
 months Miss Starkweather would receive at 
 least a half million; and Mr. Mix, at fifty-five, 
 wasn't the type of man who could expect to
 
 E P E 201 
 
 have lovely and plutocratic debutantes thrown 
 at his head. He believed and his belief was 
 cousin to a prayer that Mirabelle was ab- 
 sorbed in reform only because no one was ab- 
 sorbed in Mirabelle. Indeed, she had implied, 
 a few moments ago, that marriage would cramp 
 her activities; but it was significant that she 
 hadn't belittled the institution. Perhaps if she 
 were skilfully managed, she might even be 
 modernized. Certainly she had been content, 
 so far, to be guided by Mr. Mix's conservatism. 
 He hoped that he was right, and he trusted in 
 his own strategy even* if he were wrong. And 
 every day that he continued moderate in his 
 public utterances, and in his actions, he was a 
 day nearer to the golden ambition of an elec- 
 tive office. 
 
 He was threatened with, vertigo but he mas- 
 tered himself, and drew a long, long 1 breath in 
 farewell to his bachelorhood. 
 
 "You have heartened me more than you 
 know," said Mr. Mix, with ecclesiastical sober- 
 ness. " Because it has been my poverty 
 which has kept me silent." He bent forward. 
 " Mirabelle, am I the right man?" Almost by
 
 202 K P E 
 
 sheer will-power, he rose and came to her, and 
 took her hand. She shrank away, in maiden 
 modesty, but her fingers remained quiescent. 
 Mr. Mix sneezed again, and stooped to kiss her 
 cheek, but Mirabelle avoided him. 
 
 "No/' she said, with a short laugh. "That 
 don't signify I don't approve of it much.'* 
 She wavered, and relented, "Still, I guess it's 
 customary Theodore. ' ' 
 
 Before he left her, they had staged their first 
 altercation it could hardly be called a quarrel, 
 because it was too one-sided. Mirabelle had 
 asked him without the slightest trace of shyness, 
 to telephone the glad tidings to the Herald; and 
 of a sudden, Mr. Mix was afflicted with self- 
 consciousness. Unfortunately, he couldn't give 
 a valid reason for it; he couldn't tell her that 
 illogically, but instinctively, he wanted to keep 
 the matter as a looked secret and especially 
 to keep it locked from Henry Devereux until 
 the minister had said : Amen. He admitted to 
 himself that this was probably a foolish whim,
 
 E P E 203 
 
 a needless precaution, but nevertheless it ob- 
 sessed him, so that he tried to argue Mirabelle 
 away from the Herald. His most cogent argu- 
 ment was that the announcement might weaken 
 their position in the League the League might 
 be too much interested in watching the romance 
 to pay strict attention to reform. 
 
 " Humph!" said Mirabelle. "I'm not 
 ashamed of being congratulated. Are you? 
 But if you're so finicky about it, I'll do the tele- 
 phoning myself. ' ' 
 
 Whereupon Mr. Mix went back to his room, 
 and drank two highballs, and communed with 
 himself until long past midnight. 
 
 In the morning, with emotions which puzzled 
 him, he turned to the society column of the 
 Herald; and when he saw the flattering para- 
 graph in type, with the veiled hint that he 
 might be the next candidate for Mayor, on a re- 
 form ticket he sat very still for a moment or 
 two, while his hand shook slightly. No back- 
 ward step, now! His head was in the noose. 
 He wondered, with a fresh burst of self-efface- 
 ment, what people would say about it. One thing 
 they wouldn't accuse him of the truth. No-
 
 204 E P E 
 
 body but Mr. Mix himself knew the whole truth 
 unless perhaps it were Henry Devereux. 
 Henry had developed a knowing eye. But 
 Henry didn't count Henry was beaten al- 
 ready. Still, if Henry should actually come out 
 and accuse Mr. Mix of why, what could Henry 
 accuse him of? Simply marrying for money? 
 If it didn't make any difference to Mirabelle, 
 it certainly didn't to Mr. Mix. And what booted 
 the rest of the world ? Why should he concern 
 himself with all the petty spite and gossip of a 
 town which wasn't even progressive enough to 
 have an art museum or a flying field, to say 
 nothing of a good fight-club? Let 'em gos- 
 sip. . . . But just the same, he wished that 
 Mirabelle had been willing to keep the engage- 
 ment a secret. Mr. Mix: was sure to encounter 
 Henry, once in a while, at the Citizens Club, and 
 he didn't like to visualize Henry's smile. 
 
 He was in the act of tossing away the paper 
 when his 1 attention was snatched back by a half- 
 page advertisement; in which the name of the 
 Orpheum Theatre stood out like a red flag. Mr. 
 Mix glanced at it, superciliously, but a moment 
 later, his whole soul was strung on it.
 
 ROPE 205 
 
 THE ORPHEUM 
 
 Educational Motion Pictures 
 
 FREE ! FREE ! FREE ! 
 
 Every Sunday afternoon and evening 
 
 ESPECIALLY HIGH-CLASS ENTERTAINMENT 
 
 of instructive and educational features 
 
 With Sacred Music 
 ABSOLUTELY FREE 
 
 to all those who present at the door ticket-stubs from 
 the previous week's performances (bargain matinees 
 excepted) showing a total expenditure of Three 
 Dollars. 
 
 IN OTHER WORDS 
 
 Two people coming twice during the week, in 75 cent 
 seats, come FREE Sunday 
 
 Three people coming twice during the week, in 50 
 cent seats, come FREE Sunday 
 
 A PURELY VOLUNTARY COLLECTION 
 will be taken up and divided between 
 
 The Associated Charities 
 
 The Starving Children of Belgium and 
 
 The Chinese Famine Fund 
 
 This Sunday
 
 206 E P E 
 
 THE SWORDMAKER'S SON an absorbing drama 
 
 of Biblical days 
 
 Next Sunday 
 
 BEN-HUR, in seven reels 
 
 NO ADMISSION FEE BEING CHARGED, AND 
 ALL VOLUNTARY CONTRIBUTIONS BEING DE- 
 VOTED TO CHARITY, THIS ENTERTAINMENT 
 DOES NOT FALL WITHIN ANY CITY ORDI- 
 NANCE PROHIBITING SUNDAY PERFORM- 
 ANCES 
 
 THE ORPHEUM 
 Motion Pictures 
 
 Mr. Mix, goggle-eyed, jumped for the tele- 
 phone, and called the City Hall, but as soon 
 as the Mayor was on the wire, Mr. Mix wrestled 
 down his excitement, and spoke in his embassy 
 voice. " Hello Bowland'/ This is Mix. I want 
 to ask you if you Ve seen an ad of the Orpheum 
 Theatre in this morning's paper? . . . Well, 
 what do you propose to do about it?" 
 
 The Mayor answered him in a single word: 
 Mr. Mix started, and gripped the receiver more 
 tightly. "Nothing! . . . Why, I don't quite 
 get you on that. ... It's an open and shut
 
 ROPE 207 
 
 proposition No, I most certainly am not try- 
 ing to make a pun ; I 'm calling you up in my of- 
 ficial capacity. That's the most flagrant, bare- 
 faced attempt to evade a law Why, an idiot 
 could see it! It's to drive the crowd into the 
 Orpheum during the week, so that " 
 
 He listened, with increasing consternation. 
 "Who says it isn't a violation? Who? The 
 City Attorney?" Mr. Mix was pale; and this 
 was quite as uncommon as for his fiancee to 
 blush. "When did he say so? ... What's 
 that? What's his grounds? . . . Repeat it, if 
 you don't mind Practically a charitable per- 
 formance by invitation " 
 
 "Why, sure," said the Mayor. He realized 
 perfectly that Mr. Mix had the League and 
 another thousand people of small discernment 
 behind him, but the Mayor didn't want to be 
 re-elected, and did want to retire from politics. 
 "The Orpheum doesn't say a fellow that comes 
 Sunday has got to prove lie spent the money 
 for the tickets, does it? Anybody that's got 
 the stubs can come. They're just as much in- 
 vitations as if they were engraved cards sent 
 around in swell envelopes. If you've got one
 
 208 E P E 
 
 whether you paid for the invitation or not, or 
 if you got it in the mail or picked it up on the 
 street, you can go on in. And as long's no 
 money's taken in over the counter, the City At- 
 torney says it's 0. K. Of course, you can peti- 
 tion the Council, if you want to." 
 
 Mr. Mix was licking his lips feverishly. 
 "I'm obliged to you for your advice. We will 
 petition the Council I'll have it signed, sealed 
 and delivered by noon today. . . . And if that 
 don't do, we'll apply for an injunction. . . . 
 And we'll carry this to the Governor before 
 we're done with it, Rowland, and you know 
 what state laws we've got to compel a Mayor 
 of an incorporated city to do his duty! . . . 
 This is where we part company, Rowland. 
 You '11 hear from me later ! ' ' He slammed down 
 the receiver, rattled the hook impetuously, and 
 called Mirabelle's number. 
 
 "Mirabelle . . . good-morning; have you 
 .... No, I 'm not cross at you, but Oh ! Good- 
 morning, dear. . . . This is important. Have 
 you seen the Orpheum's ad in the Herald? 
 Isn't that the most barefaced thing you ever 
 saw? Don't we want to rush in and "
 
 ROPE 209 
 
 She interrupted him. "Why, no, not when 
 it 's for charity, do we V ' 
 
 Mr. Mix nearly dropped the receiver. 
 "Charity! Charity your grandmother ! It's a 
 cheap trick to attract people during the week, 
 so they'll have a show on Sunday in spite of the 
 law!" 
 
 "Oh, I don't doubt there's some catch in it. 
 That's Henry all over. But if the League went 
 out and interfered with an educational and sort 
 of religious program with a collection for 
 charity, we'd " 
 
 "Yes, but my dear woman, would we sanc- 
 tion a dance for charity? A poker-party? A 
 wine-supper? We " 
 
 "But there won't be any dancing or drinking 
 or card-playing at the Orpheum, will there?" 
 
 He lost his temper. "What's the matter 
 with you? Can't you see " 
 
 "No, but I can hear pretty well," said Mira- 
 belle. "I'm not deaf. And seems to me " 
 She sniffled- "Seems to me you're making an 
 awful funny start of things, Theodore. ' ' 
 
 "My dear girl " 
 
 "What?"
 
 210 E P E 
 
 "I just said 'my dear girl.' I " 
 
 * ' Say it again, Theodore ! ' ' 
 
 To himself, Mr. Mix said something else, but 
 for Mirabelle's benefit, he began a third time. 
 "My dear girl, it's simply to evade the law, 
 and" 
 
 "But Theodore, if we lift one finger to stop 
 the raising of money for the poor starving chil- 
 dren in foreign countries, we'd lose every scrap 
 of influence we Ve gained. ' ' 
 
 "But this means that all the theatres can 
 open again ! ' ' 
 
 "Well, maybe you'd better get to work and 
 frame the amendment to Ordinance 147 we've 
 been talking about, then. And the new statute, 
 too. We've wasted too much time. But under 
 the old one, we can't go flirting with trouble. 
 And if all they do is show pictures like Ben- 
 Hur, and The Swordmaker's Son, why . . . 
 don't you see? We just won't notice this thing 
 of Henry's. We can't afford to act too nar- 
 row. . . . And I'm not cross with you any 
 more. You were all worked up, weren't you? 
 I '11 excuse you. And I could just hug you for 
 being so worked up in the interests of the
 
 ROPE 211 
 
 League. I didn't understand. . . . When are 
 you coming up to see me? I've been awfully 
 lonesome since yesterday." 
 
 Mr. Mix hung up, and sat staring into va- 
 cancy. Out of the wild tumult of his thoughts, 
 there arose one picture, clear and distinct 
 the picture of his five thousand dollar note. 
 Whatever else happened, he couldn 't financially 
 afford, now or in the immediate future, to break 
 with Mirabelle. She would impale him with 
 bankruptcy as ruthlessly as she would swat a 
 fly; she would pursue him, in outraged pride, 
 until he slept in his grave. And on the other 
 hand, if certain things did happen at the Or- 
 pheum how could he spiritually afford to pass 
 the remainder of his life with a militant re- 
 former who wouldn't even have money to 
 sweeten her disposition and Mr. Mix's. He 
 wished that he had put off until tomorrow what 
 he had done, with such conscious foresight, only 
 yesterday.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 NOW although Mr. Mix had shaken with con- 
 sternation when he saw the advertisement 
 of the Orpheum, Henry shook with far different 
 sentiments when he saw the announcement in 
 eulogy of Mr. Mix. It was clear in his mind, 
 now, that Mr. Mix wasn't the sort of man to 
 marry on speculation; Henry guessed that 
 Mirabelle had confided to him the terms of the 
 trust agreement, and that Mr. Mix (who had 
 shaken his head, negatively, when Henry esti- 
 mated his profits) had decided that Henry was 
 out of the running, and that Mirabelle had a 
 walkover. The guess itself was wrong, but the 
 deduction from it was correct ; and Henry was 
 convulsed to think that Mr. Mix had shown his 
 hand so early. And instead of gritting his 
 teeth, and damning Mr. Mix for a conscience- 
 less scoundrel, Henry put back his head and 
 laughed until the tears came. 
 
 He hurried to show the paragraph to Anna, 
 212
 
 E P E 213 
 
 but Anna wouldn't even smile. She was a 
 woman, and therefore she compressed her lips, 
 sorrowfully, and said: "Oh poor Miss Stark- 
 weather ! " To which Henry responded with a 
 much more vigorous compression of his own 
 lips, and the apt correction: "Oh, no poor 
 Mr. Mix!" 
 
 He carried his congratulations to his aunt in 
 person; she received them characteristically. 
 "Humph! . . . Pretty flowery language. . . . 
 Well, you don't need to send me any present, 
 Henry; I didn't send you one." 
 
 "When's the happy event to be?" he in- 
 quired, politely. 
 
 "June. Fourth of June." 
 
 "And do you know where you're going for 
 your honeymoon ? ' ' 
 
 "I don't like that word," said Mirabelle. 
 "It sounds mushier than a corn-starch pudding. 
 And besides, it's nobody's business but his and 
 mine, and I haven't even told him yet. I'm 
 keeping it for a surprise." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Henry. * ' That 's rather a novel 
 idea, isn't it?" 
 
 "Humph!" said Mirabelle, dryly. "The
 
 214 ROPE 
 
 whole thing's novel, isn't it? But I'm obliged 
 for your coming up here, Henry. I didn 't sup- 
 pose you had enough interest in family matters 
 to be so nosey, even." 
 
 Later in the week, Henry encountered Mr. 
 Mix, and repeated his congratulations with such 
 honeyed emphasis that Mr. Mix began to stam- 
 mer. "I appreciate all you say, Henry but 
 come here a minute." He drew Henry into 
 a convenient doorway. ''I'm sort of afraid, 
 from the way you act, there 's something in the 
 back of your mind. I've thought, sometimes, 
 you must have lost sight of the big, broad prin- 
 ciples behind the work I'm doing. I've been 
 afraid you've taken my work as if it was di- 
 rected personally against you. Not that I've 
 ever heard you say anything like that, but your 
 manner's been . . . well, anyway, you're too 
 big a man for that, Henry. Now about this 
 new scheme of yours. It's my feeling that 
 you're dodging the law by sliding in the back 
 door. It's my official duty to look into it. Only 
 if we do have to put a stop to it, I want you 
 to realize that I sympathize with any personal
 
 ROPE 215 
 
 loss you may have to suffer. Personally, I'm 
 grieved to have to take this stand against John 
 Starkweather 's nephew. You understand that, 
 don't you?" 
 
 Henry nodded assent. "Why, certainly. 
 Your motives are purer than the thoughts of 
 childhood. The only thing I don't understand 
 is what all this has to do with my congratulat- 
 ing you?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing whatever. Nothing at all. It 
 was just your manner." 
 
 "Let's come out in the open, then. How do 
 you think you could put a stop to it? Because 
 if you could, why, I'll save you the trouble." 
 
 Mr. Mix hesitated. "You were always an 
 original young man, Henry. But if it's my 
 duty to stop your show, why should I give away 
 my plans? So you could anticipate 'em?" 
 
 "No, I've done that already." 
 
 "Now, Henry, that sounds too conceited to be 
 like you." 
 
 "Oh, no, it's only a fact. But here I'll run 
 through the list for you. Have me pinched un- 
 der the ordinance? Can't be done; the City
 
 216 K P E 
 
 Attorney's said so, and I saw the Chief of Po- 
 lice was in on it. Get an injunction? You can't 
 do that either, because- " 
 
 "Why can't we?" 
 
 "Because I've got one already." 
 
 Mr. Mix's jaw dropped. "What's that? 
 How could you " 
 
 "Oh, I got Bob Standish just as a citizen 
 tax-payer to apply for a temporary injunc- 
 tion yesterday, to test it out. It's being argued 
 this morning. Don't you want to come over 
 and hear it ? If I lose, I won't open next Sun- 
 day at all; and if I win, then the League can't 
 get an injunction later. . . . What else can you 
 do?" 
 
 "We may have other cards up our sleeves," 
 said Mr. Mix, stiltedly. 
 
 "Just the place I'd have looked for 'em," 
 said Henry, but his tone was so gentle and in- 
 offensive that Mr. Mix only stared. 
 
 He shook hands with Henry, and hurried over 
 to the Court House, where he arrived just in 
 time to hear the grey-haired jurist say, dispas- 
 sionately: "Motion denied." 
 
 Mr. Mix swabbed his face, and thought in
 
 E P E 217 
 
 lurid adjectives. He wouldn't have dared, in 
 view of Mirabelle's opinion, to ask for an in- 
 junction on behalf of the League itself, but it 
 had occurred to him that he might arrange the 
 matter privately. He could persuade one of 
 of the old moss-backs that Mirabelle might be 
 swayed by her relationship to Henry (this 
 struck him as the height of sardonic humour), 
 and the moss-back could go into Court as an in- 
 dividual, to enjoin the Sunday performance as 
 opposed to public policy. But Henry had out- 
 stripped him; and furthermore, there was no 
 question of judicial favour. The Judge who 
 had refused the application was no friend of 
 Henry, or of Judge Barklay. And Bob Stand- 
 ish's attorney, who by a fiction was attacking 
 Henry's position, had claimed that the Sunday 
 show was designed for profit, and that the price 
 was merely collected in advance. This would 
 have been precisely Mr. Mix's thesis. Henry's 
 own lawyer had replied that since there was no 
 advance in the price of tickets during the week, 
 there was no charge for Sunday. A ticket dur- 
 ing the week included an invitation. To be 
 sure, one couldn't get the invitation without the
 
 218 ROPE 
 
 ticket, but where was the ordinance violated! 
 Would the Court hold, for example, that a gro- 
 cer couldn't invite to a lecture, for charity, on 
 Sunday, every one who had patronized his shop 
 during the previous week? Would the Court 
 hold that an author couldn't invite to a public 
 reading on Sunday, every one who had bought 
 his book on Saturday? 
 
 The Court wouldn't. 
 
 And Mr. Mix, who knew Henry's income to 
 the nearest dollar, went home and got a pencil, 
 and covered sheet after sheet with figures. 
 
 Presently, he sat back and laughed. Why, 
 he had had his hysterics for nothing! Henry 
 couldn't overcome his handicap unless he 
 jammed his house to capacity from now until 
 August. No theatre had even yet accomplished 
 such a feat. And it wasn't as though Henry 
 had a monopoly on this scheme; in another 
 week, all his competitors would be open Sun- 
 days, too, with strictly moral shows, and no 
 money taken at the door, and he would have the 
 same competition as always. And yet, to be 
 perfectly safe, (for Henry was fast on his feet) 
 Mr. Mix had better frame his amendment to the
 
 ROPE 219 
 
 ordinance, and set the wheels in motion. With 
 good luck, he could have Henry blanketed by 
 April. 
 
 That evening, Mirabelle found him more ani- 
 mated than usual; and more lavish with com- 
 pliments. 
 
 Since he had first seen Henry's advertise- 
 ment, Mr. Mix had been as uncertain of his 
 prospects as a child with a daisy; he had fore- 
 seen that it was only a part of a very narrow 
 margin of fortune which would determine 
 whether he was to be a rich man, poor man, beg- 
 gar man or jilt. Now, however, his confidence 
 was back in his heart, and when, on Sunday aft- 
 ernoon, he placed himself inconspicuously in 
 the window of an ice-cream parlour, squarely 
 opposite the Orpheum, it was merely to satisfy 
 his inquisitiveness, and not to feed his doubt. 
 
 He had to concede that Henry was clever. 
 Henry had introduced more fresh ideas into 
 his business than all his competitors in bulk. 
 What a customers '-man Henry would have 
 been, if he had entered Mr. Mix's brokerage of- 
 fice! Yes, he was clever, and this present in- 
 spiration of his was really brilliant. Mr. Mix
 
 220 ROPE 
 
 could see, clearly, just what Henry had devised. 
 He had devised a rebate: from a book-keeping 
 standpoint he was cutting his own prices during 
 the week (for of course the Sunday perform- 
 ance was costly to him) but he was cutting them 
 in such a subterranean manner that he wouldn't 
 expect to lose by it. Palpably, he thought that 
 Orpheum stubs would become negotiable, that 
 they would pass almost as currency, that when 
 people hesitated between the Orpheum and any 
 other theatre, they would choose the Orpheum 
 because of the Sunday feature. But did Henry 
 imagine that his scheme was copyrighted f Mr. 
 Mix had to smile. Across the street, there were 
 fully a hundred people waiting for the doors 
 to open . . . the doors had opened, and the 
 crowd was filing past the ticket-booth. The 
 house would be packed solid from now until late 
 evening. But when next Sunday came, and all 
 the other houses, relying upon Henry's triumph 
 over the City Attorney and the District Court, 
 stole Henry's thunder. ... It was to laugh. 
 Week-day business would be spread thin, as al- 
 ways; people could suit their own choice, and
 
 ROPE 221 
 
 have the same Sunday privilege. And this 
 would knock all the profit out of it. 
 
 Mr. Mix retired, in the blandest of good- 
 humour, and on Monday he visited the manager 
 of the largest picture house in town. 
 
 "I suppose," he said, " you 're going to follow 
 the procession, aren't you?" 
 
 The manager looked at him queerly. "Well 
 no." 
 
 "Beally?" 
 
 "No. That bird Devereux put it all over us 
 like a tent. ' ' He snorted with disgust. ' * Man 
 from Standish's office come round here a while 
 back and asked for a price for the house for 
 Sundays up to August. We thought it was for 
 some forum, or something ; and the damn place 
 was shut down anyway; so we made a lease. 
 Next twenty Sundays for four hundred and 
 seventy-five beanos, cash in advance. Then it 
 turns up that Standish's office was actin' for 
 Devereux." 
 
 The bloom of apoplexy rose to Mr. Mix's 
 cheeks. "You mean he do you know if he 
 leased more theatres than this one? Did he?"
 
 222 ROPE 
 
 "Did he! He signed up the whole damn Ex- 
 hibitors' Association. There's twenty-two 
 houses in town, and he's tied up twenty-one 
 and he owns the other. Far's I can find out, 
 it only cost him about six thousand to get an 
 air-tight monopoly on Sunday shows for the 
 next six months." 
 
 Mr. Mix drew breath from the very bottom 
 of his lungs. "What can you do about it!" 
 
 "Do? What is there to do? All we can do 
 is put on an extra feature durin' the week, to 
 try and buck him that way and it won't pay 
 to do it. He's got a cinch. He's got a graft. 
 And all the rest of us are in the soup." 
 
 Mr. Mix was occupied with mental arithme- 
 tic. "Tell me this is it going to pay him?" 
 
 "Pay him!" echoed the manager scornfully. 
 "Six thou for twenty weeks is three hundred a 
 week. Fifty a day. Twelve-fifty a perform- 
 ance. Twelve-fifty calls for about twenty-five 
 people. Don't you think he'll draw that many 
 new patrons, when he can give 'em on Sundays 
 what nobody else can? And everything over 
 twenty-five '11 be velvet. He'll clean up two, 
 three thousand easy and maybe more. What
 
 E P E 223 
 
 beats me is why he didn't get leases for the next 
 hundred years. We wouldn't have had the 
 sense to block him." 
 
 "I'll tell you why," said Mr. Mix, choking 
 down his passion. " Because there's going to 
 be a new ordinance. It'll deal with Sunday en- 
 tertainments. And it's going to prohibit any 
 such horse-play as this." He surveyed his 
 man critically. "Does Henry Devereux belong 
 to your Association?" 
 
 "No, he don't. And he won't either. We 
 don't want him." 
 
 "Then as long as you people can't keep open 
 Sundays anyway," observed Mr. Mix care- 
 lessly, "maybe you'd find it to your advantage 
 to support the Mix amendment when it gets up 
 to the Council. It'll kill off any such unfair 
 competition as this." 
 
 The manager shrugged his shoulders. "If 
 it wasn't for your damn League we'd all be 
 makin' money." 
 
 "I'm sorry we don't all see this thing in the 
 same light. But as long as the rest of you are 
 out of it " 
 
 "Oh, I can see that. . . . And you and me
 
 224 E P E 
 
 both understand a little about politics, I should 
 imagine. ' ' He grinned wryly. ' ' Never thought 
 I'd link up with any reform outfit but why 
 don't you mail me a copy of your amendment, 
 and I'll see how the boys take it." 
 
 Mr. Mix agreed to mail a copy as soon as 
 the final draft was completed, and he was as 
 good as his word. On the same evening, he 
 read the masterpiece to Mirabelle with finished 
 emphasis. 
 
 "It's perfect," she said, her eyes snapping. 
 "It's perfect! Of course, I wish you'd have 
 made it cover more ground, but just as a Sun- 
 day law, it's perfect. When are we going to 
 offer it to the Council?" 
 
 "Mirabelle," said Mr. Mix, "we've got to do 
 some missionary work first. And before you 
 can do missionary work, whether it's for re- 
 ligion or politics or reform, you've got to have 
 a fund." 
 
 "Fund? Fund? To get an ordinance 
 passed? Why don't you walk in and hand it 
 to 'em?" 
 
 He shook his head. "I was in politics a good
 
 ROPE 225 
 
 many years. We Ve got to get out printed mat- 
 ter, we've got to spend something for advertis- 
 ing, we Ve got to approach some of the Coun- 
 cillors the right way." 
 
 She sat up in horror. "Not bribe them!" 
 
 "Oh, dear, no! You didn't think that of 
 me!" 
 
 "No, but when you said " 
 
 ' ' I said they had to be * approached. ' I didn 't 
 mean corruption; I meant enlightenment." 
 He rubbed his nose reflectively. "But the cost 
 is approximately the same." 
 
 "Of course, I trust your judgment, Theodore, 
 but . . . how big a fund do you suppose we'll 
 want. ' * 
 
 "Oh, I should think five thousand would do 
 it." 
 
 "Five ! Theodore Mix, how could you 
 spend five thousand dollars for such a thing? 
 There isn't that much in the treasury ! There's 
 hardly one thousand." 
 
 "My dear, if I were in your place, I'd pro- 
 tect my ante. I'd " 
 
 "What's all that gibberish?"
 
 226 ROPE 
 
 "I said,' 7 he corrected hastily, "we've got 
 too much at stake to risk any failure when a 
 little money would guarantee success. ' ' 
 
 "Would five thousand dollars guarantee it!" 
 
 "If I had that much in cash, to spend here 
 and there as I saw the need of it take one type 
 of man out to dinner a few times, where I could 
 get close to him loan another type fifty dollars 
 if he asked me for it( and some of 'em would) 
 hire detectives to shadow another type " 
 
 "Detectives!" 
 
 "Yes. To check up their habits. Suppose 
 we found a man gambling on the sly; we'd 
 hold that over his head and " 
 
 ' ' Humph ! I don 't like it much, but in a good 
 cause it may be justifiable." 
 
 "And leaflets and circulars and one thing and 
 another. . . . But if I have to go out and get 
 permission from a finance committee before I 
 can let go of a dime, I can't do anything. I'd 
 have to have the money so I could use it exactly 
 as I needed it. And if I did, I'll bet I could get 
 support you never dreamed of. Get outside 
 people to bring pressure on the Council." He 
 gazed at the ceiling. "Why, with a leeway of
 
 ROPE 227 
 
 five thousand, I 'd even have the Exhibitor 's As- 
 sociation with us. I'd have " 
 
 "Think so?" 
 
 "I know so." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "Because long before I was in the League, 
 I was in politics. When I say I know, I know. 
 Of course, the Association's help would only 
 go to show that they see the light in respect to 
 their own business it wouldn't cover all the 
 whole scope of the amendment, but even so " 
 
 "Theodore, you know politics and I don't. 
 But both of us know the proverb about what 
 you catch flies with. So we '11* try both methods 
 together. You can put out the molasses, and 
 I'll put out the vinegar; and between us, we 
 ought to get somewhere." 
 
 "We can't fail," said Mr. Mix, sitting on 
 needles. 
 
 Mirabelle went over to her desk, and searched 
 the pigeon-holes. "I've been told, Theodore, 
 by people I consider very reliable that in 
 August, dear John's money will be coming to 
 me. ' ' This was the first time that she had ever 
 broached the delicate subject. "I always
 
 228 E P E 
 
 meant to use some of it for the League." She 
 had unearthed her check book, and was 
 writing words and figures as angular as 
 herself. "So really, this is on account." 
 She came over to hand him the check, and after 
 a slight hesitation, she stooped and pecked him 
 on the forehead, but immediately afterwards 
 she relapsed into her consistently, non-roman- 
 tic character. "You better give me an item- 
 ized account of how you spend it, though, Theo- 
 dore. You better give me one every day. 
 We've got to be businesslike, even if we are 
 engaged/ 1
 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII 
 
 FOR two-thirds of a year, Henry Devereux 
 had lived contrary to his independent 
 taste, and to his education. He had virtually 
 cut himself adrift from the people he liked 
 and the pleasures he loved ; his sole luxury had 
 been his membership in the Citizens Club ; and 
 he had laboured far more diligently and with 
 far less respite than his uncle had ever intended. 
 He had overcome -great difficulties, of which 
 the most significant was his own set of social 
 fetiches, and he had learned his weaknesses 
 by exercise of his strength. He had made new 
 friends, and brought the old ones closer to him 
 and this by virtue of honest plugging, and de- 
 termination. He was unassumingly proud of 
 himself, and he was prouder yet of Anna; he 
 knew that the major portion of his accomplish- 
 ment and especially that part of it which had 
 taken place within himself was to be put down 
 to Anna's credit. But the spring was coming 
 
 229
 
 230 ROPE 
 
 towards them, and Henry winced to think of 
 it. Heretofore, the message of spring, in 
 Henry's estimation, had been a welcome to new 
 clothes, golf, horseback parties, and out-of-door 
 flirtations; this season, it meant to him a fall- 
 ing-off in the motion-picture business. 
 
 The spring was calling to him, but Henry 
 had to discipline his ears. His working hours 
 were from eleven in the morning until mid- 
 night; he sat, day after day, in his constricted 
 office, and glued his mind upon his problems. 
 The Orpheum was still a sporting proposition 
 to him, but even in sport, there come periods 
 in which the last atom of nerve and will-power 
 are barely sufficient to keep the brain in motion. 
 Henry's nerves were fagged, his muscles were 
 twitching, the inside of his head felt curiously 
 heavy and red-hot ; the spring was calling him, 
 but he didn't dare to listen. The spirit of his 
 Uncle John Starkweather was waiting to see if 
 he came to the tape with his head down, and 
 Henry was going to finish on his nerve. 
 
 As a matter of fact, he could easily have 
 spared an hour of two each day for exercise and 
 recreation, but he wouldn't believe it. He
 
 ROPE 231 
 
 wouldn't yield to Anna when she implored him 
 to get out of doors, to freshen his mind and 
 tame his muscles. 
 
 The atmosphere of his office almost nause- 
 ated him; the endless parade of petty details 
 was almost unbearably irksome ; the book-keep- 
 ing part of it alone was sx>ul-disintegrating ; 
 but to Henry, ambition had become a mono- 
 mania, and to it he was ready to make every 
 conceivable sacrifice, including if necessary 
 his health. There were days when he told him- 
 self that he would pay a thousand dollars 
 merely to have green turf under his feet, blue 
 sky above, and no worries in his soul but he 
 wouldn't sacrifice an hour of supervision over 
 his theatre. There were days when he felt that 
 he would give up his chance of salvation 
 if only he could go away with Anna, up into 
 the wooded country, for a week's vacation 
 but he wouldn't sacrifice a week from the Or- 
 pheum guardianship. The spring was calling 
 him the golf course, the bridle-paths, the lake, 
 the polo but Henry had put himself in high 
 speed forward, and there was no reverse. 
 Then, too, he was constantly thinking of Anna,
 
 232 ROPE 
 
 who without the daily stimulus that Henry had, 
 was cheerfully performing the function of a do- 
 mestic drudge. One of his most frequently re- 
 peated slogans was that if Anna could stick it 
 out, he could. 
 
 While the winter favoured it, his monopoly 
 had brought him a splendid return, but the 
 first warm days had signalled a serious loss of 
 patronage, and Henry couldn't successfully 
 combat the weather. The weather was too glor- 
 ious; it called away Henry's audiences, just as 
 it tried in vain to inveigle Henry. And then 
 the monopoly had been double-edged; it had 
 been a good risk and without it, he wouldn't 
 have had the slightest chance against the re- 
 quirements but it had been too perfect, too 
 prominent. In the beginning, everybody had 
 hailed him as a Napoleon because he had van- 
 quished his little world of competitors ; but now 
 that his laurel was old enough to wilt, he was 
 receiving the natural back-lash of criticism. 
 Naturally, his personal friends were still de- 
 lighted, the older men at the club were still con- 
 gratulating him for foresight and ingenuity, 
 and Mr. Archer was still complimentary and
 
 E P E 233 
 
 confident : but the great mass of theatre-goers, 
 and the mass of self-appointed arbiters of 
 business ethics, were pointing to him as a 
 follower of the gods of grasp and gripe. More 
 disquieting than that, however, were the indi- 
 cations of a new crusade, led by Mr. Mix, and 
 directed against the Council. The Mix amend- 
 ment, which was so sweeping that it prohibited 
 even Sunday shows for charity, would auto- 
 matically checkmate Henry; and the worst 
 of it was that money was being spent with 
 some effectiveness. Of course, the amendment 
 wouldn't ever be adopted in toto it was too 
 sweeping, too drastic but even a compromise 
 on the subject of Sunday entertainments would 
 be fatal. 
 
 Despite the strain, he was outwardly as blithe 
 and optimistic as usual. When Anna pleaded 
 with him to take a vacation, he either laughed 
 her off in his most jovial manner, or riposted 
 that she needed a vacation far more than he 
 did, which may have been true; when Judge 
 Barklay attempted to reason with him, he re- 
 sponded with respectful humour. He had seen 
 victory slip within his grasp, and slip out of it,
 
 234 ROPE 
 
 so often that he was on the verge of complete 
 demoralization, but he thought that he alone 
 was aware of it, and because of his pride, Anna 
 didn't disillusion him. 
 
 Nor did Bob Standish disillusion him. 
 Standish tried to bolster him up with under- 
 graduate slang, and to convey to Henry the fact 
 that all the hill-folk were solidly behind him, 
 but he knew better than to come out flat with 
 commiseration. Then, too, Standish was con- 
 scious of a vague cloud which had come up to 
 blur their relationship. He didn't suspect for 
 an instant the true cause of it, which was his 
 remark, some months ago, that he wouldn't 
 employ in his office a friend such as Henry; 
 but he felt it, and was keenly concerned about 
 it. Nevertheless, his own unselfish interest 
 never faltered, and he waited patiently, because 
 he knew that between himself and Henry there 
 could be no permanent misunderstanding. 
 
 Nor did Mr. Archer, Henry's firm friend and 
 ally (insofar as Mr. Archer could separate his 
 personality into two separate entities, one of 
 which was ally, and the other was impartial 
 trustee) disillusion him, although Mr. Archer
 
 ROPE 235 
 
 had also eyes to see with. On the contrary, Mr. 
 Archer put out numerous remarks which he in- 
 tended as lifebuoys. 
 
 " There was a directors' meeting of the Trust 
 and Deposit the other day, Henry, and somehow 
 they got talking about your account. I 
 shouldn't wonder if you ever wanted to 
 change your business if they wouldn't give 
 you the opportunity; and if they did, it wouldn't 
 be so very long before they'd invite you on the 
 Board." 
 
 Henry disparaged it. "What as deputy 
 assistant splinter?" 
 
 "You've made rather a hit with the older 
 crowd, Henry. And even if you aren't a rich 
 man by inheritance next August, I'm not 
 worrying about your future." 
 
 "Neither am I. Not while I've got Anna to 
 think up my best thoughts for me." 
 
 The lawyer nodded. "A girl in a thousand, 
 Henry. ' ' 
 
 "That's the worst insult I ever heard! 
 The population of the world's over two bil- 
 lion!" 
 
 Mr. Archer laughed, but his eyes showed ap-
 
 236 E P E 
 
 proval. "It's simply something for* you to 
 keep in mind, my boy about the bank. It's a 
 possible career, unless you want to go on with 
 the Orpheum. Of course, you'd have to start 
 pretty low, at first, but you know as well as I 
 do that nobody's asked to come into that bank 
 unless he's well thought of." 
 
 Henry didn't repeat this conversation to Bob 
 Standish, because he thought it would sound 
 too much like saying "Yah!" nor did he re- 
 peat it to his wife, because he thought it would 
 sound too egotistical; but on the same day he 
 collected another item of news which he un- 
 hesitatingly shared with her. 
 
 He said to Anna: "I saw something down- 
 town that'll amuse you. Cigar store with a 
 sign in front: Trading Stamps, Premium 
 Coupons, and Orpheum Theatre Stubs Bought 
 and Sold. If that isn't a footprint on the 
 sands of time I'm going to get measured for 
 glasses." 
 
 She laughed a trifle recessively. "I'll be 
 glad when it's all over, though. Won't you!" 
 
 Inspecting her, he realized with a little thrill 
 of self -accusation, that Anna had worn herself
 
 ROPE 237 
 
 out; she hadn't had a day's freedom from 
 housework, and she had worked twice as hard 
 as he thought necessary. She was very tired, 
 and she showed it; but he knew that when 
 she wanted the year to be over, she wasn't 
 thinking of herself, but of him. He paid her 
 the compliment of accepting what she said, 
 without tossing it back as though she had meant 
 it for herself. "Well, I told you I'd drag in 
 the bearded lady and the wild man of Borneo, 
 if I had to. What's the matter; don't you like 
 the show business ? ' ' 
 
 "Of course, we didn't exactly go into it for 
 fm." 
 
 "I seem to remember your calling it a lark, 
 though." 
 
 "I didn't know it was going to be quite as 
 awful as this." 
 
 "Awful?" 
 
 "You know what I mean you're worn out, 
 and you look dreadfully and I didn't know 
 we'd have to do so much " She fumbled for 
 the word. "What is it when a man stands out- 
 side, and tries to make people come in and look 
 at the snake-charmer!"
 
 238 E P E 
 
 4 'Ballyhoo. Would you have wanted me to 
 stay out of it, if you'd known?" 
 
 She deliberated. "It's funny but I don't 
 think I would. In a way, it's been good for 
 both of us. I'll just be glad when it's 
 over. . . . What sort of house did you have?" 
 
 Henry put on his best smile. "Not too good. 
 Fair." 
 
 "If we should fall down, after all we've done 
 oh, we can't! Henry, we just can't!" 
 
 "I used to know a poem," he said, "that kept 
 asking the question 'Where are the snows of 
 yesteryear?' Well, if I could find out, and 
 have 'em shovelled back in the street, we'd be 
 in a good position. But as soon as the snow 
 melted, so did the big crowds. I'll never look 
 a crocus in the face again. They've croaked 
 us out of a couple of hundred a week, gross." 
 
 "If we should fall down, do you know who 
 I'd be sorry for? The managers of the other 
 theatres. We'd just have been dogs in the 
 manger. And every time I think about it, I 
 don't feel nearly as smart as I did last January. 
 Of course, I suppose it was fair enough, but 
 
 "Fair? Oh, yes. That sort of thing '11
 
 ROPE 239 
 
 always be fair as long as there's any business. 
 Queer, though, when you come to think of it. 
 We hadn't any grudge against the other 
 fellows; but they'd have stolen our idea, so we 
 had to protect it. If they'd stolen our ten 
 dollar bill, they'd have had to go to jail for it; 
 but they could have stolen an idea worth ten 
 thousand, and we'd just have had to stand back, 
 and gibber. As long as that's fair, then we 
 were fair. ' ' 
 
 "I wonder," she said, "if all monopolists go 
 through the same thing first, they get such a 
 wonderful scheme that they hardly dare to go 
 to bed for fear they'll talk in their sleep: 
 then they 're crazy for fear it won 't work ; then 
 it does work, and they think they're the Lord's 
 anointed; and bye-and-bye they look around 
 and feel sort of apologetic." 
 
 "Oh. Do you feel apologetic?" 
 
 "I'm looking around, anyway." 
 
 "You'd better save your energy. Mix's 
 amendment 's coming up pretty soon, and even 
 if it doesn't pass, I don't see how we're going 
 to compete with this weather. It's so abomi- 
 nably beautiful that it 's sickening. ' '
 
 240 ROPE 
 
 "Oh Mix!" she said, scornfully. "It gives 
 me the creeps just to hear his name ! He 's a 
 nasty hypocrite, and a sneak, and a How long 
 do you suppose he'll be hurrying around with 
 that pious air after he gets his money? Why, 
 he won't even stay in the League !" 
 
 Henry grimaced. "You're wrong. If he 
 gets his money, he will stay in the League, and 
 I '11 bet on it." 
 
 There was a short silence. "Henry," she 
 burst out, "everything considered, I believe he 
 wants your uncle's money more than we do!" 
 
 "Whichever one of us gets it, " said Henry 
 grimly, * ' He '11 earn it ! " 
 
 When he recalled his previous years of 
 irresponsibility, he was staggered to realize 
 how little a fifty dollar bill had meant to him. 
 It had *neant a casual request across the break- 
 fast table; now, it meant that seventy five or 
 a hundred people were willing to pay him a 
 few cents apiece for the result of his head- 
 aches ; and the absence of those people, and the
 
 ROPE 241 
 
 failure of those receipts, meant the difference 
 between achievement and bitter downfall. 
 
 He had risked everything on his monopoly, 
 and added six thousand dollars to his quota. 
 For two months, he had carried the double load, 
 and beaten his schedule; in early May, he was 
 falling behind at the rate of fifty dollars a 
 week. With twelve weeks ahead, he faced a 
 deficit of a paltry six hundred dollars and 
 the Mix amendment was peeping over the 
 horizon. 
 
 He shaved down his expenses to the utter- 
 most penny; he ruthlessly discarded the last 
 fraction of his class pride, and in emergency, 
 to save the cost of a substitute, acted in place 
 of his own doorman. He rearranged the 
 lighting of the auditorium to save half a dollar 
 a day. When the regular pianist was ill, he 
 permitted Anna, for an entire fortnight, to 
 play in his stead; and during that fortnight 
 they ate three meals a day in a quick-lunch 
 restaurant. There was no economy so trivial 
 that he wouldn't embrace it; and yet his re- 
 ceipts hung steadily, maddeningly, just below 
 the important average. Meanwhile, the sub-
 
 242 E P E 
 
 ject of reform crept out again to the front page 
 of the morning papers. 
 
 For nine months, Mr. Mix and Henry had 
 occupied, mentally, the end seats on a see-saw, 
 and as Henry's mood went down, Mr. Mix's 
 mood went up. By strict fidelity to his own 
 affairs, Mr. Mix had kept himself in the public 
 eye as a reformer of the best and broadest type, 
 and he had done this by winning first Mirabelle, 
 and then the rest of the League, to his theory 
 that organization must come before attack. 
 Needless to say, he had found many impedi- 
 ments in the way of organization; Mirabelle 
 had often betrayed impatience, but Mr. Mix had 
 been able, so far, to hold her in check. He had 
 realized very clearly, however, that Mirabelle 
 wasn't to be put off indefinitely; and he had 
 been glad that he had a readymade ruse which 
 he could employ as a blinder whenever she 
 began to fidget. This ruse was his amend- 
 ment ; and although he could no longer see any 
 value in it for the purposes of his private feud, 
 yet he was passing it for two reasons; Mira- 
 belle was one, and the public was the other. 
 Even a reformer must occasionally justify his
 
 ROPE 243 
 
 title; and besides, it wasn't the sort of thing 
 which could injure the majesty of his reputa- 
 tion. 
 
 On this, then, Mr. Mix had laboured with un- 
 ceasing diligence, and he had spent Mirabelle 's 
 money so craftily that thirty five hundred 
 dollars had done the work of five thousand (and 
 the balance had gone into his own pocket, and 
 thence into a disastrous speculation in cotton), 
 but as the year came into June, he told himself 
 cheerfully that amendment or no amendment, 
 he was justified in buying Mirabelle a wedding- 
 ring. And when a belated epidemic of influ- 
 enza rode into town, on the wings of an un- 
 timely spell of weather, and the Health Depart- 
 ment closed all theatres for five days, Mr. Mix 
 told himself, further, that the end of his career 
 as a reformer was in sight, and that the begin- 
 ning of his career of statecraft was just over 
 the hill. Once the minister had said "Amen," 
 and once his bride had made him her treasurer, 
 and helped him into the Mayor 's chair, the Re- 
 form League was at liberty to go to the devil. 
 
 Mirabelle had persisted in keeping the 
 wedding-journey a surprise from him. She
 
 244 ROPE 
 
 had hinted at a trip which would dazzle him, 
 and also at a wedding gift which would stun 
 him by its magnificence; Mr. Mix had visions 
 on the one hand, of Narragansett, Alaska or the 
 Canadian Rockies, and on the other hand, of a 
 double fistful of government bonds. Mr. Mix 
 didn't dare to tease her about the gift, but he 
 did dare to tease her about the journey, and 
 eventually she relented. 
 
 1 i I'll tell you," said Mirabelle, archly. 
 "We're going to the convention." 
 
 Mr. Mix looked blank. "Convention?" 
 
 She nodded proudly. "The national con- 
 vention of reform clubs, in Chicago. Aren't 
 you surprised?" 
 
 Mr. Mix swallowed, and made himself smile, 
 but it was a hazardous undertaking. "Sur- 
 prised? I I'm I'm knocked endways!" 
 
 "You see," she said, "we'll be married on 
 the fourth and be in Chicago on the sixth and be 
 home again on the fourteenth and the Council 
 won't vote on the amendment until the six- 
 teenth. Could anything have been nicer? 
 Now, Theodore, you hadn't guessed it, had 
 you?"
 
 E P E 245 
 
 " Guessed it?" he stammered. "I should 
 say not. I don't see how you ever thought of 
 it. It 's why, I 'm paralyzed ! ' ' 
 
 11 You could be a little more enthusiastic with- 
 out hurting yourself any," she said sus- 
 piciously. 
 
 "I was thinking. I used to fancy I was 
 pretty good at making plans myself, but this 
 beats me. The way those dates all dovetail like 
 the tiles on a roof. I never heard of anything 
 like it. Only well, if you will be so quick at 
 reading my mind, I was wondering if we ought 
 to leave town before the Council meets. ' > 
 
 "That's mighty unselfish of you, Theodore, 
 but you said only a couple of days ago you'd 
 done all you could. And the Exhibitors '11 still 
 be working " 
 
 "I don't believe they'll work any too hard. 
 It's taken too long to get under way. If the 
 amendment passes, you see they'll only have 
 the advantage of six weeks of fair competition. 
 I mean, Henry 'd lose only six weeks of his un- 
 fair competition. And then we've got to see 
 about getting new quarters for the League, 
 when our Masonic Hall lease runs out, and "
 
 246 E P E 
 
 "But our advertising '11 be running just the 
 same, and the League '11 still have its public 
 meetings, and all. And everywhere I go I hear 
 the same thing; the people really want this 
 passed. And anybody can find us a new hall. 
 I'll appoint somebody. No, you're just as un-* 
 selfish as you can be, but we'll be back in time. 
 Truly, Theodore, didn't you guess!" 
 
 Much of the jauntiness had gone out of Mr. 
 Mix, but he consoled himself with the certainty 
 that in another two months, he would be in a 
 position to become masterful. The week in 
 Chicago would bore him excessively, but after 
 all, it was only a small part of a lifetime. He 
 reflected that to any prisoner, the last few days 
 before release, and freedom, are probably the 
 hardest. 
 
 "How could I, my dear?" 
 
 "No, you must have thought I'd want you 
 to traipse off on some perfectly aimless, non- 
 sensical trip like a pair of sentimental idiots." 
 
 "Oh, you know me better than that," he mur- 
 mured. 
 
 "Yes, but I didn't know how well you knew
 
 ROPE 247 
 
 me. Sometimes I've been afraid you think I'm 
 too gushing." 
 
 "Oh, Mirabelle!" 
 
 "Just because I chatter along to you as any 
 innocent young girl might " 
 
 She continued to chatter for some minutes, 
 but Mr. Mix was absent-minded. He had 
 chewed the cud of his own virtue for too long a 
 time, and it had given him a sour stomach. He 
 was thinking that if her gift to him were in 
 money (and from her hints he rather ex- 
 pected it) he might even manage to find, in 
 Chicago, a type of unascetic diversion which 
 would remove the taste of the convention from 
 his spirit. But it was better to be safe than 
 sorry, and therefore Mr. Mix decided to make 
 a flying trip to New York, for his bachelor cele- 
 bration. 
 
 To Mirabelle he said that he was going to 
 confer with his friend, the head of the Watch- 
 and-Ward Society. Mirabelle promptly volun- 
 teered to go along too, but Mr. Mix told her, as 
 delicately as he could, that it wouldn't look 
 proper, and Mirabelle, who worshipped pro-
 
 248 ROPE 
 
 priety as all gods in one, withdrew the sug- 
 gestion. 
 
 "But before you go," she said, "You've got 
 to do something about the state-wide campaign. 
 You've got to write the literature, anyway." 
 
 Mr. Mix felt that he was protected by the 
 calendar, and promised. 
 
 Before he went to New York, he wrote three 
 pamphlets which were marvels of circumlocu- 
 tion, as far as reform was concerned, and 
 masterpieces of political writing, as far as his 
 own interests were concerned. He had 
 borrowed freely, and without credit, from the 
 speeches of every orator from Everett to 
 Choate, and when he delivered the manuscripts 
 to Mirabelle, and went off on his solitary 
 junket, he was convinced that he had helped 
 his own personal cause, and satisfied the 
 League, without risking the smallest part of his 
 reputation. 
 
 On his return, he stopped first at the Citizens 
 Club, and when he came into the great living-
 
 ROPE 249 
 
 room he was aware that several members 
 looked up at him and smiled. Over in a 
 corner, Henry Devereux and Judge Barklay 
 had been conversing in undertones; but they, 
 too, had glanced up, and their smiles were 
 among the broadest. 
 
 Mr. Mix had an uncomfortable intuition that 
 something had blown. Could he have been 
 spotted, in New York, by any one from home! 
 
 1 1 What's the joke?" he inquired of the 
 nearest member. 
 
 "Got a new name for you Pitchfork Mix." 
 Mr. Mix spread a thin smile over his lips. 
 "Supposed to be funny, is it?" 
 
 "Some folks think so." 
 
 " Where 'd it originate? Let me in on the 
 joke.'" 
 
 "Where would it originate? You're some 
 strenuous author aren't you? Didn't know 
 you had that much acid in your system. ' ' 
 
 "Author? Author?" 
 
 From the table at his side, the man picked up 
 three pamphlets. One was entitled The Model 
 Statute, the second was Local Problems, and 
 the third was Reform and Regeneration. To
 
 250 E P E 
 
 each of the three, Mr. Mix's name was signed. 
 He took them up, and scrutinized them closely. 
 
 "Why, what's so remarkable about these?" 
 
 "Well, that one on Local Problems isn't so 
 bad, but you know, Mix, when you come out in 
 print and tell us that sooner or later you're 
 going to stop the manufacture and sale of play- 
 ing-cards, and " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "And stop all public dancing, and " 
 
 Mr. Mix looked moonstruck. "Who ever 
 said thatt" 
 
 "And hand us out sumptuary laws regulate 
 the length of women's skirts and " 
 
 Mr. Mix caught his breath sharply. 
 * * Where 's that f Where is it ? Show it to me ! 
 Show it to me!" 
 
 Obligingly, the member showed him; and as 
 Mr. Mix stared at the pages, one by one, the 
 veins in his cheeks grew purple. Mirabelle 
 had edited his manuscript, thank Heaven she 
 hadn't tampered with the Mix amendment of 
 the blue-law ordinance, which Mr. Mix had so 
 carefully phrased to checkmate Henry, without 
 at the same time seeming to do more than pro-
 
 ROPE 251 
 
 vide conservative Sunday regulation, but in 
 the other articles Mirabelle had shovelled in a 
 wealth of her own precious thoughts, clad in her 
 own bleak style, and as soon as he had read two 
 consecutive paragraphs, Mr. Mix knew that the 
 worst wasn't yet to come it had arrived. 
 
 The other man was amusedly calm. "Well, 
 you 're not going to deny you wrote it, are you ? 
 Too bad, in a way, though. Oh, I don't blame 
 you for getting it off your chest, if you really 
 mean it a man might as well come out in the 
 open but I'm afraid too many people '11 think 
 it just funny." 
 
 Mr. Mix produced a smile which was a sickly 
 attempt to register nonchalant poise. "What 
 do you hear about it ? " 
 
 1 1 Oh, what I said. Say Mix, do you honestly 
 mean all that blood-and-thunder ? ' ' 
 
 Mr. Mix smiled again, and hoped that his ex- 
 pression was taken to be non-committal. To 
 save his life, he couldn't have helped looking 
 towards the corner where Henry and Judge 
 Barklay sat, and his fury and chagrin were 
 multiplied when he saw that they were still af- 
 fected by humour.
 
 252 HOPE 
 
 He went out, with vast dignity^-even the 
 doorman had a twinkle in his eye and made 
 for Masonic Hall. Mirabelle was there, in the 
 committee room, and at sight of him, she had a 
 temporary fit of maidenly diffidence. He 
 wanted to slap her; but he didn't even dare to 
 use a tone of voice which was more than disap- 
 proving. 
 
 " Those pamphlets " he began, censori- 
 ously. 
 
 "Oh, yes, Theodore, I took the liberty of 
 making a few slight changes." 
 
 ' ' Slight changes ! Sleight of hand changes ! ' ' 
 
 Mirabelle drew herself up. "Do you mean 
 to say you criticise what I did? 7 couldn't see 
 the sense of being milk-and-watery, even if you 
 could. All I put in was what you've said to 
 me a hundred times over. We've wasted too 
 much time already. I thought we'd better 
 show our true colours." 
 
 Mr. Mix stood and gaped at her. Under- 
 ground politician that he was, he knew that 
 Mirabelle had utterly destroyed the half of his 
 ambition. She had made him a laughing-stock, 
 a buffoon, a political joke. To think that his
 
 E P E 253 
 
 name was connected with a crusade against 
 short-skirts and dancing Ugh! Not even the 
 average run of church-goers would swallow it 
 "Mayor!" he thought bitterly. " President of 
 Council! I couldn't get elected second deputy 
 assistant dog-catcher!" 
 
 Aloud, he said slowly: "I'm afraid it was 
 premature, that's all." 
 
 "Oh, no, it wasn't! You've no idea how 
 people are talking about it." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I have," said Mr. Mix, but he 
 hadn't the temerity to put a sarcastic stress on 
 it. He was wondering whether, if he issued a 
 statement to assure the public that what was 
 in those pamphlets was pure idealism, and not 
 to be taken as his outline of any immediate 
 campaign, he could remove at least the outer 
 layer of the bad impression, and save his 
 amendment from the wreck. He had thought, 
 earlier, that he wouldn't need that amendment 
 as a personal weapon against Henry, but the 
 value of it had appreciated by the possibility of 
 losing it. As to the state-wide law, Mr. Mix 
 was totally unconcerned. "Oh, yes, I have," 
 he said.
 
 254 E P E 
 
 "Don't get too conceited, though, Theodore. 
 The best part of it was mine." 
 
 Mr. Mix's eagle eye saw a loophole. "You 
 don't think I'm going to take praise for what 
 belongs to you do you ? " he demanded. 
 
 "Why" 
 
 "No, sir!" said Mr. Mix. "Not exactly. 
 I'm going to tell the truth about it at our next 
 meeting, and I'm going to send a statement to 
 the Herald." 
 
 "Oh, it doesn't matter." 
 
 "It matters to me. Maybe I'm too finicky, 
 but that 's the kind of man I am. ' ' 
 
 "You're too generous," she murmured. 
 
 Mr. Mix wiped away a stray bead of perspir- 
 ation, and breathed more freely. With Mira- 
 belle's money to back him, and the stigma of 
 those two pamphlets removed, perhaps he had 
 a fighting chance for the mayoralty yet. 
 
 It was a house-wedding, with very few guests, 
 no decorations, and perfectly digestible re- 
 freshments. When the last of the party had
 
 ROPE 255 
 
 gone down the steps, Mirabelle, in a travelling- 
 suit which was new in comparison with the rest 
 of her wardrobe, approached the bridegroom. 
 
 "Theodore, I want you to have your gift be- 
 fore we start. I don't want you to feel too de- 
 pendent on me. Maybe after next month I'll 
 make some kind of a settlement on you, but 
 that's neither here nor there. So ... take it, 
 and I hope it 's what you wanted. ' ' 
 
 He took it, and his fingers trembled. A 
 check? And for what generous amount? 
 
 "Well aren't you going to thank me?" 
 
 Mr. Mix tried to speak, but the lump in his 
 throat prevented him. She had given him what 
 was the legal equivalent of five thousand 
 dollars, but it wasn't in the form of a check. 
 It was his own demand note, payable to John 
 Starkweather and endorsed by him to Mira- 
 belle. The word "Cancelled" was written, in 
 Mirabelle 's angular hand, across the face of it.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 AS Henry and his wife went down the steps, 
 they exchanged glances and smiled 
 faintly. " First time I've been in that house 
 for seven months, ' ' said Henry, half to himself. 
 "It's a bully old shack, too. I lived in it ever 
 since I was six/' 
 
 "Still, we're pretty comfortable right where 
 we are, dear." 
 
 Henry lagged a little. "That does hurt my 
 feelings. Of course, I'm so busy I could live 
 in a dog-kennel and hardly notice it, but when 
 you have to camp day in and day out in that 
 measly little joint, and smell everybody else's 
 corned beef and cabbage, and dig like a general- 
 housework girl and cook, and manicure the 
 stove, and peel the potatoes and dust off the 
 what-not and so on not that you haven 't made 
 it a mighty pretty place, because you have 
 without one day's vacation since last 
 August " 
 
 256
 
 ROPE 257 
 
 "But I've told you so often, dear, I'm glad 
 to do it if it helps you." 
 
 "It helped a lot. If you hadn't done it in 
 the first place, I wouldn't have had the cash on 
 hand to tie up the rest of the picture houses. 
 But that time's gone by. I don't see why in 
 thunder you won't hire some servants. And at 
 least you could pike up into the country for a 
 week. Why don't you?" 
 
 She hesitated, for temptation was strong, and 
 she was really very tired. "Maybe it's just 
 because I want to play the game out, too. It's 
 only two months more." 
 
 "And after that," he said firmly, "we're 
 going to move. I'll have enough to buy a 
 young bungle-house up on the hill, even if I 
 don't get anything from Archer. And then 
 I 'm going to make up to you for this year see 
 if I don't." 
 
 "Would you sell the Orpheumf" 
 
 "Sell it!" he echoed. "I'd sell it so quick 
 you'd think it was a fake oil-well! I could, 
 too. Bob Standish sends me a proposition 
 from somebody about once a week."
 
 258 E P E 
 
 ' ' Don 't you believe there 's any chance of our 
 catching up, then?" 
 
 "Looks pretty black," he admitted. 
 "They've got us eight down and nine to go, but 
 if this amendment holds off we've still got 
 eight weeks left to think up some wild scheme/' 
 
 She squeezed his arm. "I'm not afraid of 
 the future, no matter what happens. We can 
 take care of ourselves." 
 
 "Sure we can," he said, easily. "Maybe I 
 could get a job keeping the books for the 
 League! . . . Seriously, though, I've had two 
 or three different propositions put up to me 
 over at the Club . . . but Lord! how I hate 
 to be licked! Well let's train our gigantic 
 intellects on the job, and finish out the heat, 
 anyway. ' ' 
 
 She went back to her hated housekeeping, and 
 Henry went back to his hated theatre, and for 
 another week they laboured and pinched and 
 saved, each in a specific purpose, and each in 
 desperate support of the other's loyalty and 
 sacrifice. 
 
 He brought her, then, the morning edition of 
 the Herald, and pointed out a telegraphic item
 
 ROPE 259 
 
 on the first page. "They must think it's a sure 
 thing," he said, "and the devil of it is that I 
 guess they're pretty nearly right." 
 
 Anna glanced at the headlines, and gasped. 
 "Mix elected second vice-president of the 
 national organization and pledges twenty-five 
 thousand dollars to the national campaign 
 fund! Oh! ... I wish I could say what I 
 think!" 
 
 "If a hearty oath would relieve you, don't 
 mind me," said Henry. His chin was squarer 
 than usual, and his eyes were harder. "You 
 can see what happened, can't you? Aunt Mira- 
 belle railroaded him through and the pompous 
 old fool looks the part and she let him promise 
 money she expects to get in August. And I'll 
 bet it hurt him just as much to promise it as it 
 does me to have him!" 
 
 She threw the paper to the floor. "Henry, 
 can't we do something? We're only a few 
 hundred dollars short! Can't we make up 
 just that little bit?" 
 
 "It's a thousand, now," he said. "A 
 thousand, and we're falling further behind 
 every time the clock ticks." He retrieved the
 
 260 ROPE 
 
 Herald, and abstractedly smoothed out the 
 pages. "That was a great spread-eagle speech 
 of Mix's. wasn't it? Talking about his model 
 ordinance, and what he's going to do next 
 year ! . . . Nothing I 'd love better than to give 
 that fellow a dose of his own tonic. But that's 
 the deuce of it I can't think how to put it 
 over. . . . Even if I'm licked, I wouldn't feel 
 so badly if I just had the personal satisfaction 
 of making him look like a sick cat. Just once. ' * 
 "Yes," she said, sorrowfully. "Dad's 
 prophecy didn't seem to work out, did it?" 
 "What prophecy was that?" 
 "Don't you remember? He said if Mr. Mix 
 only had enough rope " 
 
 "Oh, yes. Only Mix declined the invitation. 
 He's handled himself pretty well; you've got 
 to grant that. There's a lot of people around 
 here that honestly think he's a first-class 
 citizen. Sometimes I'm darned if I don't think 
 they will elect him something. And then God 
 save the Commonwealth! But if they ever 
 realized how far that League '11 go if it ever gets 
 under way, and what a bunch of hocum Mix's
 
 E P E 261 
 
 part of it is " He stopped abruptly, and 
 froze in his place; and then, to Anna's amaze- 
 ment, he turned to her with a whoop which 
 could have carried half-way to the Orpheum. 
 ' * Henry ! What on earth is it ? " 
 Henry snatched up his hat and made for the 
 door. "More rope!" he said, exultantly, over 
 his shoulder. "Lots more rope I'll tell you 
 tonight!" 
 
 He arrived at the City Hall before the record 
 room was open, and he fretted and stamped in 
 the corridor until a youthful clerk with spats, 
 pimples, and an imitation diamond scarf-pin 
 condescended to listen to his wants. In twenty 
 minutes he was away again, and he was lucky 
 enough to catch Judge Barklay before the 
 bailiff had opened court. 
 
 "Hello, Henry," said the Judge. "Did you 
 want to see me about anything!" 
 
 "Bather!" said Henry, who was slightly out 
 of breath. "It's about a comma."
 
 262 ROPE 
 
 "A what?" 
 
 "A comma. Where's your copy of the 
 ordinances f ' ' 
 
 "On my desk. Why?" 
 
 Henry ran through the volume to the proper 
 place, inserted his thumb as a marker, and held 
 the book in reserve. " Judge, do you suppose 
 the voters want any of these fool blue-laws 
 passed?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Well, who does, then, outside of the 
 League?" 
 
 "Nobody. All we want is a decent city." 
 
 'It's simply that the League's got the Coun- 
 cil more or less buffaloed, isn't it?" 
 
 "That's what I've heard, Henry." 
 
 "And the first thing we know, the League '11 
 have put in such a big wedge that it'll be too 
 late to get it out. If this amendment gets over, 
 Mix '11 have a show in the fall, and then the 
 League '11 run wild. Just as they said in those 
 pamphlets that Mix published, and then 
 squirmed out of. Isn't that so?" 
 
 ' ' Very likely. Very likely. ' ' 
 
 "And yet everybody's afraid to stand up
 
 E P E 263 
 
 against it, for fear they'll be called names t" 
 
 * * It looks so, Henry. ' ' 
 
 "But if the people once started a back fire " 
 
 The Judge shook his head. "Mobs don't 
 start without a leader. " 
 
 "I know, but if they ever realized what a 
 ghastly farce it would be not even using any 
 of the League's new notions, but taking what 
 we've got on the books right now " He 
 opened the volume of ordinances, and read 
 slowly: " 'Whosoever shall fail in the strict 
 observance of the Lord's Day by any unseenly 
 act, speech or carriage; or whosoever shall en- 
 gage in any manner of diversion ' " Here 
 he paused impressively. " ' or profane oc- 
 cupation ' He slung the volume on the 
 desk, and faced the Judge. "Don't you get 
 it!" 
 
 "I'm afraid I don't quite." 
 
 "Why," said Henry, with a beatific grin. 
 "Why, there's a comma after that word 'diver- 
 sion.' I've just come from the City Hall. I've 
 seen the original copy. There is a comma. 
 'Any manner of diversion' that's one thing: 
 'or any manner of profane occupation for
 
 264 ROPE 
 
 profit ' that's something else again, and dif- 
 ferent entirely. And the Reform League has 
 been shrieking to have that ordinance enforced 
 to say nothing of the amendment. Well, why 
 not enforce it once. 'Any manner of diver- 
 sion I' He began to laugh, helplessly. "Oh, 
 come on, Judge take the pins out and let your 
 imagination down. Any manner of " 
 
 The Judge was whistling softly. "By 
 George, Henry " 
 
 "Can't you see it working? I'm not sure 
 anybody could even take a nap ! And 
 
 The Judge stepped past him. "That's all 
 right, Henry. Stay where you are. I'm just 
 going to telephone Eowland. . . . Hello: May- 
 or's office, please " He motioned to his 
 son-in-law. "Make yourself comfortable I 
 shouldn't wonder a bit if these blue-laws 
 weren't going to get just a little bit bleached.'* 
 
 On his delirious way to the Orpheum, he 
 stopped in to see Bob Standish, not to share the 
 joke with him, for Judge Barklay had laid great
 
 ROPE 265 
 
 stress on the closest secrecy, but in answer to 
 a recent message asking him to call. 
 
 " What's the excitement, Bob?" 
 
 His friend regarded him with the innocent 
 stare which had made his fortune. "Remem- 
 ber I spoke to you some time ago about renting 
 that space over the Orpheum?" 
 
 "The nursery? Yes." 
 
 "Well, it's come up again. Different party, 
 this time. Of course he hasn't seen it yet, but 
 it's a chap who wants about that much space 
 might want to enlarge it a little, but we'd ar- 
 range that; he'd do it at his own expense and 
 he'd pay fifteen hundred a year." 
 
 Henry deliberated. "It's so near the fin- 
 ish. ... I don't much care one way or the 
 other. Who 's the party ? ' ' 
 
 1 'Bird named McClellan." 
 
 "I don't know him; do I?" 
 
 "I don't know why you should; never met 
 him before, myself. Well, do you want to 
 trade?" 
 
 ' * I don 't much -care what I do. " 
 
 Standish surveyed him closely. "You're 
 very peppy this morning, seems to me."
 
 266 K P E 
 
 "I've got an excuse to be." 
 1 ' For publication ? ' ' 
 * * Not yet. You '11 see it soon enough. ' ' 
 Standish's eyes dropped back to his desk. 
 "Well, let's get this lease question off our 
 chests. If you'll let me handle it for you, I'll 
 guarantee you'll be satisfied. " 
 "Would you do it if you were in my shoes?" 
 "Absolutely provided you were in mine." 
 Henry laughed. "Well, Mr. Bones, what is 
 the answer?" 
 
 "Why this may do you some good. That is, 
 if you let me manage it for you. But suppose 
 it's immaterial. Suppose you run out your 
 string, and win or lose, you know what 's on the 
 docket for you, don't you? If you want it?" 
 
 "I haven't thought that far ahead. IVe had 
 one or two things put up to me. ' ' 
 
 1 ' Forget 'em. ' ' Standish pointed at the wall. 
 "Nice new mahogany flat-topped desk right 
 there." 
 
 Henry's mouth relaxed. "Why Bob." 
 As Standish gazed at him, no observer would 
 have said that this immature-looking boy was 
 rated in the highest group of local business-
 
 E P E 267 
 
 men. To a stranger, the offer might have 
 seemed insignificant, even humourously insig- 
 nificant; but to Henry it was stupendous, and 
 for two widely varying reasons. 
 
 "Just to think over," said Standish. "In 
 case." 
 
 Henry's fists were doubled. "It isn't so 
 much the . . . the commercial side of it, Bob, 
 but when I know you've always had me down 
 for such an incompetent sort of " 
 
 "That was before the war. To tell the truth, 
 old rubbish, last August I couldn't have seen it 
 with the Lick telescope. Thought you were a 
 great scout, of course good pal all that but 
 business; that's different. A friend's one 
 thing; but a partner's a lot of 'em." 
 
 Henry was staring fixedly at him. "I 
 wouldn't have any money to speak of " 
 
 "Then don't speak of it. I'll name the price. 
 The price is your year's profit on the Or- 
 pheum." 
 
 There was a little silence. "When did you 
 get this hunch, Bob?" 
 
 "Oh, about last February." 
 
 "But it was about then that I came in here
 
 268 E P E 
 
 one day, and and you said you you said one 
 pal couldn't boss another. You said " 
 
 "Oh! . . . But as I recall it, you were talk- 
 ing about a job." 
 
 "Yes, and you said you wouldn't give me 
 one ! And ever since then I've been ' ' 
 
 "Idiot!" said Standish. "Is that what's 
 been gnawing at his tender heart! Why, you 
 astigmatic fool why. . . . Stop right there! 
 Certainly I wouldn't have you for an employe, 
 but as a partner that's different. If you 
 apologize, I'll slay you. Shake hands and 
 wipe it off your brain. . . Now let's get back 
 to business. We 've got to have quick action. ' *
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 AS the train slowed for the station, and a 
 score of other passengers began to as- 
 semble wraps and luggage, Mr. Theodore Mix 
 sat calm and undisturbed, although inwardly 
 he was still raging at Mirabelle for making a 
 spectacle of him. It was fully half an hour ago 
 that she had prodded him into activity, ignored 
 his plea of greater experience in ways of travel, 
 and compelled him to get the suit-cases out to 
 the platform (she didn't trust the porter), to 
 help her on with her cape, and to be in instant 
 readiness for departure. For half an hour she 
 had sat bolt upright on the edge of her seat, 
 an umbrella in one hand and an antique satchel 
 in the other, and her air was a public procla- 
 mation that no railroad, soulless corporation 
 though it might be, was going to carry her one 
 inch beyond her destination. 
 
 By a superhuman effort, Mr. Mix removed 
 his eyes from Mirabelle 's convention badge. It 
 
 269
 
 270 ROPE 
 
 was a chaste decoration of three metal bars, two 
 sets of supporting chains, and a half foot of 
 blue silk ribbon, with white lettering, and Mira- 
 belle continued to wear it for two reasons : she 
 was proud of it, and Mr. Mix had made his ini- 
 tial attempt to be masterful, and told her twen- 
 ty-four hours ago that it looked as though she 
 belonged to the Third Ward Chowder Club. 
 Since then, she had reproached him afresh 
 whenever she caught him looking at it. And 
 inasmuch as it could hardly be avoided by any- 
 one who cast the briefest glance in her general 
 direction, he had been in hot water from Chi- 
 cago to the present moment. He couldn't even 
 escape to the smoking room. 
 
 When a man is telling himself that a woman 
 has made a fool of him in public, and that every 
 one in the neighbourhood is amused to watch 
 him, he finds it peculiarly difficult to carry on a 
 conversation with the woman. But Mr. Mix 
 saw that Mirabelle was about to converse, and 
 glowering at a drummer across the aisle, he 
 beat her to it. 
 
 11 Seems to me the League had an almighty 
 gall to wire you for that three thousand dol-
 
 E P E 271 
 
 lars, Mirabelle. If it had been my money, I'd 
 have hung on to it until I knew what they 
 wanted it for." 
 
 She straightened her lips. "Well, it wasn't, 
 was it? So I didn't, did I? ... If I can't 
 have faith in my own associates, who can I 
 have it in? And it isn't a gift; it's a loan. 
 Treasurer said he needed it right off, and there 
 wasn 't anybody else to get it from in a hurry. ' ' 
 She caught his eyes wandering towards her 
 gorgeous insignia, and her own eyes snapped 
 back at him. "And I hope at least I'm to have 
 the privilege of doing what I choose with my 
 own money. Don't forget that women are 
 people, now, just as much as men are. After 
 the first of August, maybe I'll " 
 
 "Mirabelle. Sh-h!" 
 
 ' ' No, I won 't either, ' ' she retorted. ' ' I don 't 
 care to shush. After the first of August, may- 
 be you'll have your share, and I won't presume 
 to interfere with you. So don't you interfere 
 with me. If the League had to have -money, it 
 was for some proper purpose. And it wasn't 
 a gift; it was a loan. And if I couldn't 
 trust"
 
 272 EOPE 
 
 ''Oh, give it a drink!" said Mr. Mix, under 
 his breath; and while he maintained an atti j 
 tude of courteous attention, he barricaded his 
 ears as best he could, and shut Mirabelle out of 
 his consciousness. 
 
 Even in Chicago, he had received bulletins 
 from the seat of war; they had merely con- 
 firmed his previous knowledge that Henry was 
 beaten, thoroughly and irretrievably. A few 
 more weeks, and Mirabelle would be rich. Half 
 a million? That was the minimum. Three 
 quarters! That was more likely. A million 
 dollars? It wasn't in the least improbable. 
 And Mirabelle had told him more than once, and 
 in plain English, that she planned to divide 
 with him not equally, but equitably. She had 
 said that she would give him a third of her 
 own inheritance. Hm ... a hundred and 
 fifty to three hundred thousand, say. And what 
 couldn't he do with such a benefice? Of course, 
 he would have to profess some slight interest in 
 the League for awhile, but gradually he could 
 slide out of it and he hoped that he could engi- 
 neer Mirabelle out of it. Mirabelle made her- 
 self too conspicuous. But even if Mirabelle
 
 E P E 273 
 
 stuck to her colours, Mr. Mix needn't hesitate 
 to drift away that is, after he had received his 
 settlement. Late in August, he would make a 
 trip to New York on business reform business 
 and in the glare -of the flaming-arcs, he would 
 compensate himself for his years of penance. 
 Mirabelle was sharp, but (he smiled reminis- 
 cently) in Chicago he had once managed to 
 hoodwink her; and what man has done, man 
 can do. 
 
 "It's nothing to laugh at, Theodore !" 
 He came to himself with a start. "I wasn't 
 laughing. " 
 
 1 1 Did you hear what I said ? ' ' 
 "Yes, dear. Certainly." 
 "Very well. We'll go out, then." 
 "Out where?" 
 
 ' ' Out to the vestibule, just as I said. ' ' 
 "But Mirabelle! We're more than a mile 
 from the station!" 
 
 "We're going out to the vestibule, Theodore. 
 I don't propose to get left." 
 
 A moment ago, Mr. Mix had been arguing 
 that the smiles and sympathy of his fellow-pas- 
 sengers were cheap at the price, but when he
 
 274 ROPE 
 
 rose and escorted Mirabelle down the aisle, he 
 was telling himself that the old-fashioned prin- 
 ciple was best the wife's property ought to 
 pass under the absolute control of the husband. 
 He was strengthened in this conviction by the 
 fact that two fashionable young men in the cor- 
 ner were snickering at him. 
 
 "Home again," said Mirabelle, with a sigh of 
 relief. "Home again, and time to get to work. 
 And I'm just itching for it." 
 
 Mr. Mix said nothing : he was wondering how 
 soon he could get to his private cache, and 
 whether he had better put in a supply of young 
 onions in addition to cloves and coffee beans. 
 He hadn't yet discovered whether Mirabelle 
 had a particularly keen scent : but he would take 
 no chances. 
 
 "Stop staring at those girls, Theodore!" 
 
 "I may be married," said Mr. Mix, defen- 
 sively. "But I'm dashed if I'm blind. . . . Im- 
 modest little hussies. "We'll have to tackle 
 that question next, Mirabelle." 
 
 The train eased to a standstill : he helped her 
 down to the platform. The big car was wait- 
 ing for them : and as the door slammed, Mr. Mix
 
 E P E 275 
 
 sat back luxuriously, and beamed at the chauf- 
 feur. Yes, virtue had its compensations; and 
 as soon as he had money to his own credit, he 
 would figuratively take Mirabelle by the scruff 
 of the neck, and he would tell her just exactly 
 how to behave, and he would see that she did 
 it. But for the present soft diplomacy. 
 
 Mirabelle clamped his arm. "Why, what's 
 that policeman stopping us for, right in the 
 middle of a block ! ' ' 
 
 "Search me. . . .'' He opened the door, and 
 he leaned out, imperially. "What's wrong, of- 
 ficer? We weren't going over twelve or thir- 
 teen " 
 
 The policeman, who had brought out a thick 
 book of blank summonses, and an indelible pen- 
 cil, motioned him to desist. "What name!" 
 
 Mr. Mix swelled, pompously. "But, officer, 
 I" 
 
 "Cut it out. Name?" 
 
 "Theodore Mix. But" 
 
 "Address?" 
 
 Mr. Mix gave it, but before he could add a 
 postscript, Mirabelle was on active duty. "Of- 
 ficer, we've got a perfect right to know what all
 
 276 E P E 
 
 this fol-de-rol is about. I'm the president of the 
 Ethical Reform League. ' " She flirted her badge 
 at him. "I'm Mrs. Theodore Mix used to be 
 Miss Starkweather. My husband is a personal 
 friend of Mayor Rowland, and the Chief of 
 Police. I demand to to know the reason for 
 this insult!" 
 
 The policeman tore off a page at the perfora- 
 tion, and handed it to Mr. Mix. "Judge Bark- 
 lay's Court, Tuesday, 10 A. M. . . . Why, 
 you're violatin' City Ordinance 147. " 
 
 Mirabelle turned red. "Now you see here, 
 young man, I know that ordinance backwards 
 and forwards ! I ' ' ' 
 
 "Try it sideways," said the unabashed po- 
 liceman. "Ordinance says nobody can't en- 
 gage in no diversion on the Lord's Day. That's 
 today, and this here limousine's a diversion, 
 ain't it?" 
 
 Mr. Mix cried out in anguish, as her grip 
 tightened. "Ouch! It's a damned outrage! 
 Leggo my arm." 
 
 "No, it isn't! Oh, Theodore, don't you see 
 what it means* "
 
 E P E 277 
 
 "Leggo, Mirabelle! It's a damned out- 
 rage ! ' ' 
 
 "No, it isn't either! Theodore, don't you 
 see? The Mayor's weakened they probably 
 read your speech at Chicago they aren't wait- 
 ing for the amendment ! They're enforcing the 
 ordinance better than we ever dreamed of! 
 And that means that you're going to the City 
 Hall next autumn ! ' ' She leaned out and bowed 
 to the gaping officer. "We beg your pardon. 
 You did perfectly right. Thank you for doing 
 your duty. Can we go on, now ? ' ' 
 
 The man scratched his head, perplexedly. 
 
 "What are you tryin' to do kid me? Sure; 
 go ahead. Show that summons to anybody else 
 that stops you." 
 
 In the two miles to the hill, they were stopped 
 seven times, and when they arrived at the 
 house, Mirabelle was almost hysterical with 
 triumph. Without delaying to remove her 
 hat, she sent a telegram to the national presi- 
 dent, and she also telephoned to a few of her 
 League cronies, to bid them to a supper in cele- 
 bration. Mr. Mix made three separate essays
 
 278 E P E 
 
 to escape, but after the third and last trial was 
 made to appear in its proper light as a subter- 
 fuge, he lapsed into heavy infestivity; and he 
 spent the evening drinking weak lemonade, and 
 trying to pretend that it belonged to the Col- 
 lins family. And while his wife (still wearing 
 her insignia) and his guests were talking in a 
 steady stream, Mr. Mix was telling himself that 
 if Ordinance 147 was going to prevent so inno- 
 cent an occupation as riding in a car on Sun- 
 day, he was very much afraid that life in this 
 community was going to be too rich for his 
 blood. That is, unless he were elected to be 
 chief of the community. And in this case, he 
 would see that he wasn't personally inconven- 
 ienced. 
 
 At half past seven in the morning, Mirabelle 
 was already at the breakfast table, and semi- 
 audibly rating Mr. Mix for his slothfulness, 
 when he came in with an odd knitting of his fore- 
 head and an unsteady compression of his mouth. 
 To add to the effect, he placed his feet with stud-
 
 ROPE 279 
 
 led clumsiness, and as he gave the Herald into 
 Mirabelle 's hands, he uttered a sound which 
 annoyed her. 
 
 "For the cat's sake, Theodore, what are you 
 groaning about T ' ' 
 
 "Groan yourself," said Mr. Mix, and put a 
 trembling finger on the headline. As he re- 
 moved the finger, it automatically ceased to 
 tremble. Mr. Mix didn't care two cents for 
 what was in the Herald, but he knew that 
 to Mirabelle it would be a tragedy, and that he 
 was cast for the part of chief mourner. 
 
 "Well, what's that to groan about? I'd call 
 it a smashing victory just as I did last night. 
 And our being caught only shows " 
 
 "Rave on," said Mr. Mix lugubriously, and 
 stood with his hands in his pockets, jingling his 
 keys. 
 
 "Certainly! It shows they meant business. 
 It shows we did. We'll take our own medicine. 
 And the amendment " She broke off 
 sharply; her eyes had strayed back to the 
 smaller type. "Good grief!" said Mirabelle, 
 faintly, and there was silence. 
 
 Mr. Mix came to look over her shoulder.
 
 280 K P E 
 
 LEADING REFORMERS ARRESTED 
 
 FOR VIOLATING OWN PET LAW 
 Police Issue Over 2800 Summonses to Golfers, Pick- 
 nickers, Canoeists, Cyclists, Hikers and Motorists 
 including Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Mix 
 
 MAYOR PUTS OVER UNIQUE REFERENDUM 
 TO SEE WHAT PEOPLE REALLY WANT 
 
 Special Meeting of Council Called This Morning 
 
 Entire City Roused to Fight Blue-Law-Campaign: 
 
 Mix Amendment Doomed: Ordinance 147 Sure to be 
 
 Modified 
 
 Mirabelle collected herself. "What are you 
 standing around gawking like that for? Find 
 out what time that meeting is. Telephone 
 every member of the committee. They won't 
 have any meeting without us, not by a long, long 
 row of apple-trees!" 
 
 "Save your strength," said Mr. Mix, with a 
 spiritual yawn. 
 
 "Save my strength! Well, what about sav- 
 ing my five thousand dollars for for mission- 
 ary work!"
 
 E P E 281 
 
 "The missionary fund," said Mr. Mix, 
 "seems to have fallen among cannibals. Save 
 your energy, my dear. This isn't reform; it's 
 elementary politics, and Rowland's used the 
 steam-roller. As a matter of fact, we're 
 stronger than we were before. If they 'd passed 
 my amendment, a lot of voters might have said 
 it wouldn't do any good to elect me Mayor; 
 when all my best work was done beforehand. 
 Now I've got a real platform to fight on. And 
 the League '11 have a real fund, won't it? You 
 put up forty or fifty thousand, and we'll stage 
 a Waterloo." 
 
 "Atfd you can stand there and oh, you 
 coward ! ' ' 
 
 He shook his head, with new dignity. "No, 
 you're simply lucky Rowland didn't think of 
 it a year ago. If he had, and " Mr. Mix 
 broke off the sentence, and turned pale. 
 
 "What's the matter, Theodore?" 
 
 Mr. Mix slumped down as though hit from be- 
 hind. "Mirabelle listen " His voice was 
 strained, and hoarse. "I may have to have 
 some money today four or five thousand " 
 
 "I haven't got it."
 
 282 E P E 
 
 He stared at her until she backed away in 
 awe. "You you haven't got four or five 
 thousand ?" 
 
 Mirabelle began to whimper. "I've been so 
 sure of of August, you know I've spent all 
 Mr. Archer sent me. I " 
 
 As he stepped forward, Mirabelle retreated. 
 "You've got something of your own, though?" 
 It wasn't an ordinary question, it was an agon- 
 ized appeal. 
 
 * ' Only a separate trust fund John set up for 
 me before he died fifty thousand dollars I 
 just get the interest sixty dollars a week. ' ' 
 
 Mr. Mix sat down hard, and his breath- 
 ing was laboured. "Great Jumping Jehoso- 
 phat!" He wet his lips, repeatedly. "Mira- 
 belle listen if they modify that -ordinance 
 so Sunday shows are legal again those other 
 fellows '11 want to buy back their contracts 
 from Henry. There 's only a few weeks but if 
 Henry only raised a thousand dollars he'd be 
 so close to his ten thousand " He reached 
 for a glass of water and drank it, gulping. 
 "Henry '11 see that he's got his eyes open
 
 E P E 283 
 
 every minute. . . . We've got to cut inside of 
 him. Prevent those fellows from buying their 
 Sunday leases back. Get hold of the man that's 
 the boss of the Exhibitors' Association. Tell 
 him we '11 buy a second option to lease the whole 
 string of theatres for six weeks, subject to our 
 getting a release from Henry. As- if the 
 League wanted 'em or something. Offer a big 
 enough rent so they'll have to accept so they'd 
 get more out of us than if they opened up. 
 Then they can't buy back from Henry and 
 he 's over a thousand short. I know he is. And 
 if you don't do it " His gesture was dra- 
 matic. 
 
 Mirabelle 's expression, as she wiped her eyes, 
 was a pot-pourri of sentiments. "Humph! 
 Can't say I like the idea much, kind- of too 
 tricky. ' * 
 
 Mr. Mix played his last card. "Don't the 
 ends justify the means ? You and I 'd be philan- 
 thropists, and Henry " He watched her 
 quiver. "And with a fund such as we'd have, 
 we'd begin all over again, and next time we'd 
 win, wouldn't we?"
 
 284 E P E 
 
 ' * Theodore. I 've got fifty one hundred in the 
 bank. It has to last 'till August. If you took 
 five thousand more " 
 
 He snatched at the straw. "You bet I'll take 
 it. It's for insurance. And you telephone to 
 Masonic Hall and see what's left of the three 
 grand you wired *em from " 
 
 "The what!" 
 
 "The money you sent from Chicago. Get 
 what's left. Soon as I find out, I'll hustle down 
 town and get busy." 
 
 Mirabelle wavered. "The Council's going 
 to" 
 
 Mr. Mix gave her a look which was a throw- 
 back to his cave-man ancestry. "To hell with 
 the Council!" 
 
 For an instant, her whole being rebelled, and 
 then she saw his eyes. "A-all right," she fal- 
 tered. "I I'll telephone!" 
 
 Inside of five minutes, she told him that of 
 her loan, there was nothing left at all. The 
 money had been wanted for the two-year rental 
 of a new hall, at 300 Chestnut Street ; the owner 
 had made a marked concession in price for ad- 
 vance payment.
 
 E P E 285 
 
 " Never mind, then," he rasped. " That's 
 cold turkey. .Give me a check for every nickel 
 you've got. . . . And I'll want the car all day. 
 I want a cup of coffee. And you wait right 
 here until I get word to you what to do next." 
 
 11 Couldn't I even" 
 
 " You stay here ! Far's I know, I'll have you 
 making the rounds of the hock-shops to cash in 
 your jewelry. But " He relaxed slightly. 
 "But when it's for reform, my dear when it's 
 for civilization the League isn 't it worth any 
 sacrifice f ' ' 
 
 A spark of the old fire burned' in her eyes. 
 "Humph! Good thing one of us has got some- 
 thing to sacrifice, if anybody asked me. But 
 here's your coffee. . . . Don't make such a 
 horrid noise with it, Theodore." 
 
 At noon, he telephoned her two pieces of 
 news. The Council, fairly swamped with hun- 
 dreds of outraged voters, had promptly modi- 
 fied the existing ordinance, and rejected 
 unanimously the Mix amendment. And Mr.
 
 286 E P E 
 
 Mix, who had spent three hours in conference, 
 and in battle, had emerged victorious. 
 
 "Thank Heaven, we're safe! . . . And it 
 only costs thirty-nine hundred. (Five of this 
 was Mr. Mix's self -granted commission.) I've 
 bought a second option on every last house in 
 town. And I'll need the car all afternoon. 
 I've got to run all over everywhere and close 
 these deals. . . . What are you going to do?" 
 
 "Why," she said with a rueful glance at her 
 check-book. "I guess I'll go down and see how 
 soon I can get that loan back. I'm not used to 
 putting off tradesmen's bills, Theodore. I 
 wasn't brought up to it."
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 NOW after prolonged debate, and a trial of 
 irresistible force (which was Henry's 
 logic) against an immovable body (which was 
 Anna's loyalty), she had finally consented to 
 run up into the country for a week's respite 
 from the hot weather. Before she left, how- 
 ever, she was first sworn to* secrecy, and told 
 of the discovery of the lurking -comma, and of 
 the plan for a militant referendum; she was 
 properly convulsed, but a little later, when her 
 practical instincts had had a chance to assert 
 themselves, she inquired of Henry where there 
 was any benefit to the Orpheum. 
 
 'Not a bit,'" he -assured her cheerfully. 
 
 "Not even in the Council " 
 
 "Dearest, it doesn't -make the difference of 
 the billionth part of a counterfeit Russian 
 rouble. ' ' 
 
 She regarded him curiously. "Are you as 
 cheerful as all that just because you're getting 
 
 287
 
 288 ROPE 
 
 back at Mr. Mix I And maybe spoiling his boom 
 for Mayor?" 
 
 Henry said that he was all as cheerful as 
 that; yea, more so. He was merely snagging 
 the rope which had already been paid out ; and 
 it was glory in his pocket, because so many 
 people before him had found the rope twitched 
 out of their hands. She thought that this indi- 
 cation of a vengeful spirit was out of place in 
 his character, but she forgave it, because at 
 least it was founded on humour. And when 
 he took her to the train, she forgave it on 
 another score, because she realized that not 
 since last autumn had she seen him so funda- 
 mentally boyish and irresponsible. She was 
 glad that so much of his spontaneity had come 
 back to him, but at the same time she was 
 puzzled, for it didn't seem altogether like 
 Henry, as she had analyzed him, to gloat so 
 thoroughly over mere retaliation, humourous 
 or not. 
 
 On Monday, he met her at the station, and as 
 soon as she saw him, she remarked again the 
 extraordinary uplift of his mood. She had read 
 the Herald, and taken deep enjoyment from
 
 K P E 289 
 
 it; but Henry had a hundred unpublished inci- 
 dents to tell her, one of them concerned his 
 own escape from possible complications by clos- 
 ing the Orpheum, issuing passes good for the 
 following week; and spending the day in the 
 library of the Citizens Club and in her amuse- 
 ment, and also in her happiness to be back with 
 him, she didn't notice that Henry was driving 
 her to the Orpheum instead of to their apart- 
 ment. 
 
 * ' Why, what are we stopping here for, dear ? ' ' 
 
 Henry's laugh had a pronounced overtone. 
 "To meet Mr. Archer. I thought you'd like 
 to be in on it." 
 
 "In on what?" She caught his arm. 
 "Henry! Has something happened ? Has it?" 
 She stared at him, and as she recognized what 
 might be hidden behind his expression of ex- 
 quisite, unreserved joy, she was almost as 
 frightened as if he had looked despairing in- 
 stead of joyful. 
 
 "It wasn't settled until last week," he said, 
 still with that wide, speculative smile, like a 
 baby's. "It really wasn't settled until Satur- 
 day. And it won't be positively settled until
 
 290 K P E 
 
 we've seen Archer. . . . And there he is wait- 
 ing for us ! I couldn *t get him before he was 
 in the country for the week-end." 
 
 With no clear recollection of how she got 
 there, she was sitting in Henry's tiny office, 
 and Mr. Archer was sitting beside her, and 
 Henry was standing at his desk, pawing over 
 a heap of ledgers and cash-books. To Anna, 
 there was something commanding in his atti- 
 tude, something more of crest than she had ever 
 seen in him, even during the early period of 
 his intrepid youth. And yet she could see, too, 
 that his hands were a trifle unsteady, and that 
 his lips betrayed an immense excitement. 
 
 "Mr. Archer," he said. "There's no use 
 waiting until the first of the year. Either 
 we've made good by this time, or we never will. 
 Here's the books. They'll show a net profit, 
 including Saturday's deposit, of ten thousand 
 five hundred. " 
 
 Anna turned weak and faint, and she wanted 
 to laugh and cry in the same breath, but she
 
 K P E 291 
 
 gripped the arms of her chair, and clung fast 
 to what was left of her poise. If Henry had 
 a miracle to report, Anna must hear it. 
 
 1 'It's a matter of interpretation," he went 
 on, with his voice shaking for an instant. 
 "And you're the interpreter. It came up so 
 suddenly last week that I couldn't get hold of 
 you. But I took a chance, anyway. . . . Does 
 a lease count?" 
 
 The lawyer looked very sober. "A lease!" 
 
 "Yes. If I leased part of the theatre to 
 somebody, would the income from that count?" 
 
 During the resultant silence, Anna distinctly 
 heard her own heart beating. She looked at 
 Mr. Archer, and saw that his brows were drawn 
 down, and that his eyes were distant. Fear- 
 fully, she hung on his reply. 
 
 "That's a delicate question, Henry. You 
 were supposed to make your profit from the 
 operation of the theatre." 
 
 Henry was tense. "I don't mean if I leased 
 the theatre. I mean if I leased some part of it 
 some part that wouldn't interfere with the 
 show." 
 
 Anna closed her eyes. Mr. Archer's brows
 
 292 E P E 
 
 had risen to normal. "Why, in that case, I 
 should certainly say that the income would 
 count, Henry. Let's see the lease?" 
 
 Anna wished that Henry would come over to 
 her, and hold her in his arms while Mr. Archer, 
 with maddening deliberation, glanced through 
 the long typewritten document but Henry had 
 turned his back, and was gazing out of the 
 window. 
 
 ' ' Peter McClellan ? What 's he want so much 
 space for 1 ' ' 
 
 Henry made no response. There was a long 
 hiatus, broken only by the rustling of the pages. 
 
 "Just a minute, Henry. Some of this is all 
 right and some isn't. The space you mention 
 is what you 're using now for the 0r nursery, 
 I take it. And the privilege of the lessee to 
 enlarge the upper story at his own expense is 
 all right." His brows had gone down again, 
 and Anna shivered. "But even if you've got 
 your whole rental in advance, you aren't 
 entitled to claim all of it belongs to this year's 
 income. As a matter of fact, you actually earn 
 a twenty-fourth of that whole payment every 
 month for twenty-four months."
 
 E P E 293 
 
 Henry spoke over his shoulder. "You 
 haven't read far enough." 
 
 ' ' Oh ! " Mr. Archer laughed, but his voice was 
 no lighter. "Why, how on earth did you 
 persuade anybody to execute such an agree- 
 ment as that!" 
 
 Henry faced around. "Bob Stand^sh 
 engineered it. Told this chap as long as he 
 paid in advance anyway, to get a bargain, it 
 wouldn't make any difference to him, and it 
 made a lot to me. Nine hundred and fifty a 
 month for July and August and fifty a month 
 for the next twenty-two months. ' ' 
 
 "But my dear boy, you still don't earn more 
 than a twenty fourth of the whole rental each 
 month. That's ordinary book-keeping. I 
 should have thought you'd have learned it. It 
 makes no difference when the lessee pays. All 
 you can credit yourself in July and August 
 is" 
 
 "Oh, no, Mr. Archer. There's a considera- 
 tion. You'll find it on the next page. I'm to 
 keep the theatre closed every afternoon in July 
 and August so the lessee can make his altera- 
 tions to the second story. And the extra price
 
 294 ROPE 
 
 for those months is to pay me for loss of 
 revenue. So it does count on this year's in- 
 come. Maybe I'm no impresario, but by gosh, 
 I can keep a set of books/' 
 
 Mr. Archer nodded briskly. ''That is dif- 
 ferent. "Why, Henry, as far as I can see . . . 
 what's this? 300 Chestnut Street? But the 
 Orpheum's on Main." 
 
 "300 Chestnut is the back entrance," said 
 Henry. He smiled across at Anna, and she 
 stood up and came a perilous step towards 
 him. "Well, old lady," said Henry, and the 
 same wide, foolish smile of utter joy was on 
 his lips. "I guess this fixes it. I " 
 
 He was rudely interrupted by the violent 
 opening of the door. His Aunt Mirabelle 
 stood there, dynamic, and behind her, in a 
 great fluster of dismay and apprehension, 
 stood the chairman of the Quarters Committee 
 of the Reform League. 
 
 "Henry! Henry Devereux! You you 
 swindler!" Her speech was seriously impeded 
 by her wrath. "You you you." She flung 
 a savage gesture towards the little man in the
 
 ROPE 295 
 
 background. "You had an agent show him 
 show Mr. McClellan this place through the 
 back door! He didn't know I Henry Dever- 
 eux, you've got my three thousand dollars, and 
 you're going to give it straight back to me! 
 This minute! Do you hear?" 
 
 Anna stared at her, and at Henry, and sat 
 down plump and cried into her handkerchief, 
 from sheer hysterical reaction. 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Henry. "Through the back 
 door, if you say so. But that's the regular 
 business entrance. I suppose the agent thought 
 it looked better, too." 
 
 ' ' The agent ! That Standish man ! You con- 
 spired. You " 
 
 Henry's chin went up. "Excuse me, Aunt 
 Mirabelle, but I didn't know the first thing 
 about it until Bob Standish told me he had a 
 client ready to close, and to pay in advance. 
 I didn't even know your man by sight. I'd 
 have rented it to anybody on earth on the same 
 terms." 
 
 The little chairman edged forward. "Miss 
 Starkweather Mrs. Mix I knew how you feel
 
 296 E P E 
 
 about motion pictures, of course, but how could 
 7 know you wouldn't even want to be in the 
 same building with " 
 
 "Oh, dry up!" She whirled on the lawyer. 
 "Is that fair? Do you call that fair? Do 
 you?" 
 
 Mr. Archer put his hand on Henry 'a shoulder, 
 and nodded benignly. "To tell the truth, Mrs. 
 Mix, I can't see where this concerns you per- 
 sonally at all. It's a straightforward commer- 
 cial transaction between Henry and Mr. Mc- 
 Clellan." 
 
 "It isn't, either! Mr. McClellan had author- 
 ity from the League to get us a hall and sign 
 a lease in his own name. I had the directors 
 give it to him, myself. And it was my money 
 that paid for it! Mine!" 
 
 Henry grinned at the lawyer. "I didn't 
 know it until last Saturday. Bob told me if I 'd 
 make a dirt-low rent I could get it in advance, 
 and up to Saturday I didn't even know who 
 I was dickering with." 
 
 His aunt was menacing. "Henry Devereux, 
 if you try to cheat me out of my rightful prop-
 
 EOPE 297 
 
 erty by any such flim-flam as this, I ... I 
 . . . I don't know what I'll do!" 
 
 "Oh, don't, Aunt Mirabelle," said Henry 
 compassionately. "You know I won't be a 
 hog about it." 
 
 Some of the fury went out of her expression, 
 and Mirabelle was on the verge of sniffling. 
 "That's just exactly it. I knoiv you won't. 
 And the humiliation of it to me. When you 
 know perfectly well if I'd " 
 
 She stopped there, with her mouth wide open. 
 They all waited, courteously, for her to speak, 
 but Mirabelle was speechless. She was think- 
 ing partly of the past, and partly of the future, 
 but chiefly of the present the hideous, unneces- 
 sary present in which Mr. Mix was motoring 
 serenely about the city, paying out good money 
 to theatre managers. Mirabelle *s money, not 
 to be replaced. And thenj she nearly col- 
 lapsed! the unspeakable humiliation of re- 
 tracting her pledge to the national convention. 
 Her pledge through Mr. Mix of twenty-five 
 thousand dollars. How could she ever offer an 
 excuse that would hold water? And how could
 
 298 E P E 
 
 she tell the truth? And to think of Mr. Mix's 
 place in the community when it was shown as 
 inevitably it would be shown that he had acted 
 merely as a toy balloon, inflated by Mirabelle's 
 vain expectations. 
 
 " Humph!" she said at length, and her voice 
 was a hoarse, thin whisper. "Well you just 
 wait) 'till I get hold of him!" 
 
 The door had closed behind her: the door 
 had , been closed behind Mr. Archer, whose 
 kindly congratulations had been the more af- 
 fecting because he had learned to love and re- 
 spect the boy who had won them: Henry and 
 his wife stood gazing into each other's eyes. 
 He took a step forward and held out his arms, 
 and she ran to him, and held tightly to him, 
 and sobbed a little for a postscript. 
 
 He stroked her hair, gently. "Well Archer 
 says it's going to be about seven hundred thou- 
 sand. And I deserve about thirty cents. And 
 you're responsible for all the rest of it. ...
 
 E P E 299 
 
 What do you want first? Those golden pheas- 
 ants, or humming-birds ' wings ?' ' 
 
 She lifted her face. "Both b-because I 
 won't have to cook 'em. Oh, my dear, my dear, 
 I Ve 1-loved it, I Ve loved it, I 've loved working 
 and saving and being poor with you and every- 
 thing b-but look at my h-hands, Henry, and 
 don't laugh at me but I'm going to have a 
 cook! I'm going to have a cook! I'm going to 
 have a cook!" 
 
 He kissed her hands. 
 
 "It's all over, isn't it? All over, and we're 
 doing the shouting. No more wild men of 
 Borneo, no more dishes to wash, no more Or- 
 pheum. Remember what Aunt Mirabelle said 
 a year ago? She was dead right. Look! See 
 the writing on the wall, baby?" 
 
 He swung her towards the door ! she brushed 
 away her tears, and beheld the writing. It was 
 in large red letters, and what it said was very 
 brief and very appropriate. It said: EXIT.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 IN the living-room of an unfashionable house 
 on an unfashionable street, Mrs. Theodore 
 Mix sat in stately importance at her desk, com- 
 posing a vitriolic message to the unsympathetic 
 world. As her husband entered, she glanced up 
 at him with chronic disapproval; she was on 
 the point of giving voice to it, not for any spe- 
 cific reason but on general principles, but Mr. 
 Mix had learned something from experience, 
 so his get-away was almost simultaneous with 
 his entrance. 
 
 "Mail!" said Mr. Mix, and on the wing, he 
 dropped it on his wife's desk, and went on out 
 of the room. 
 
 The mail consisted of one letter; it contained 
 the check which Henry sent her regularly, on 
 the first of each month. 
 
 She sat back for a moment, and stared out 
 at the unfashionable street. Mr. Mix was al- 
 ways urging her to live in a better neighbour- 
 
 300
 
 ROPE 301 
 
 hood, but with only her own two hundred and 
 fifty a month, and four hundred more from 
 Henry, she could hardly afford it, certainly 
 not while she gave so generously to the Eef orm 
 League. 
 
 She thought of the big brick house on the 
 hill and sighed profoundly. She would have 
 made it a national shrine, and Henry Henry 
 was even worse than his uncle. He kept it full 
 of people who were satisfied to squander the 
 precious stuff of life by enjoying themselves. 
 It made her sick, simply to think of Henry. 
 People said he and Bob Standish were the two 
 cleverest men that ever lived in town. Doubled 
 the Starkweather business in two years. Di- 
 rectors of banks. Directors of the Associated 
 Charities and trustees of the City Hospital. 
 Humph! As if she didn't know Henry's capa- 
 bilities. Just flippancy and monkey-tricks. 
 And married to a girl who was a walking ad- 
 vertisement of exactly what every right-minded 
 woman should revolt against. That girl to be 
 the mother of children! Oh Lord, oh Lord, if 
 Anna were a modern specimen, what would the 
 next generation be?"
 
 302 ROPE 
 
 She sighed again, and went back to the lec- 
 ture she was composing. "The Influence of 
 Dress on Modern Society/' Suddenly, she 
 cocked her head and sniffed. She rose cau- 
 tiously, as one who is about to trail suspicion. 
 She went to the side-window, and peered out. 
 From a little grape-arbor on the lawn, there 
 floated to her the unmistakable odour of to- 
 bacco yes, and she could see a curling wisp 
 of smoke. 
 
 "Theodore!" 
 
 A pause. "Yes, dear." Mr. Mix's voice 
 had taken on, some months ago, a permanent 
 quality of langour; and never, since the day 
 that he was laughed out of politics, had he re- 
 gained his former dignity and impressiveness. 
 
 "Is that you smoking again?" 
 
 "Why" 
 
 "Are you? Answer me." 
 
 "Why yes, dear I " 
 
 "Come in here this minute." 
 
 Mr. Mix emerged from the arbor. "Yes, 
 dear?" 
 
 She brandished her forefinger at him. "I 
 told you what would happen next time I caught
 
 E P E 303 
 
 you. Not one single cent do you get out of me 
 for many a long day, young man. . . . Come 
 in here; I want you to listen to what I've writ- 
 ten." 
 
 Mr. Mix's shoulders sagged, but he didn't 
 stop to argue. "Yes, dear," he said, pacifi- 
 cally. "I'm coming." 
 
 THE END
 
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