THE LIBRARY 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 A MAN of PURPOSE 
 
 BY 
 
 DONALD RICHBERG 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 "THE SHADOW MEN," ETC. 
 
 I shook the pillaring hours 
 And pulled my life upon me. . . . 
 FRANCIS THOMPSON 
 
 "The Hound of Heaven." 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1922 
 BY THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY 
 
 Printed in the United States of America
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 V 
 
 BOOK I 
 MYTH 
 
 I. "HE HAD A GOOD BRINGING-UP" . 3 
 
 II. PLAYTIME 9 
 
 III. A PURE YOUNG MAN . . . . 14 
 
 IV. LEARNING SOME LAWS .... 27 
 
 BOOK II 
 REALITY 
 
 V. STARTING TO WORK 47 
 
 VI. PLODDING AND DREAMING ... 67 
 
 VII. MOONLIGHT 75 
 
 VIII. FOG . . 81 
 
 IX. GETTING AND SPENDING .... 93 
 
 X. OPPORTUNITIES 112 
 
 XI. FAMILY SECRETS 123 
 
 iii
 
 iv CONTENTS 
 
 BOOK III 
 WOMAN 
 
 CHAPTKR PAGE 
 
 XII. ENTER IRMA 135 
 
 XIII. THE TRAP OPENS 148 
 
 XIV. THE TRAP CLOSES . . . . .162 
 XV. A RADICAL RE-BORN 182 
 
 XVI. SPEND AND BE SPENT .... 200 
 
 XVII. GLEAMS . .217 
 
 XVIII. GROPING 226 
 
 XIX. THE GOD WHO GREW .... 238 
 
 BOOK IV 
 PURPOSE 
 
 XX. POWER 249 
 
 XXI. REACTION 255 
 
 XXII. INTERMEZZO 266 
 
 XXIII. TRIANGLE 273 
 
 XXIV. CIVIL WAR 285 
 
 XXV. THE SPOTTED ROBE 301 
 
 XXVI. SALVAGE . . . , . . . .312
 
 FOREWORD 
 
 THE day after Merrill's disappearance I re 
 ceived by express a box containing a jumbled 
 mass of papers, some typewritten but evi 
 dently Merrill's composition, and some in his hand 
 writing. No explanatory letter accompanied this 
 manuscript. I have received no message from him 
 since. These papers I have studied carefully. They 
 do not solve the newspaper "mystery" of his exit. 
 They do explain his experience of living, so far as 
 a man can explain his life by conscientious self- 
 analysis and candid recording of his thought and 
 action. 
 
 Probably Merrill was not a great man, although 
 he sat high in the councils of state and many of his 
 enthusiastic friends thought that he might some day 
 reach the presidency. But his life was to my mind 
 a great life, a constant struggle for domination be 
 tween powerful mind motives vanities, idealisms; 
 and powerful body motives educated appetites, 
 flesh hungers. A strong mind and a strong body 
 fought together and against each other in a life-long 
 war against the world and a civil war within the 
 warrior. 
 
 In the pages that follow, Merrill will tell his own 
 story, arranged for the most part in chapters as he
 
 vi FOREWORD 
 
 wrote them. At times I have felt that the manu 
 script was too detailed or tiresomely technical to be 
 of general interest, and I have condensed it; and 
 there were gaps in the narrative where I have sup 
 plied a little history. 
 
 But it is clear to me that Merrill did not wish 
 to leave behind him a mere story of his life, as 
 such a tale is commonly written. He tried to write 
 down how his mind developed as his bodily powers 
 waxed and waned. Most of all he sought to make 
 comprehensible that elusive thing called the spirit, 
 which, he believed, supplies the motive power of 
 life. He had no liking for the mechanistic, chemical 
 idea of life. He came more and more to put his 
 faith in the existence of a spiritual force having no 
 dimensions, infinite in power, which energizes all life. 
 
 He makes this most plain in his chapter entitled : 
 "The God Who Grew" where he discusses the 
 dynamic power of sex in energizing men and women 
 to accomplish the sexless purpose of life. His story 
 of his life is really the story of The God Who Grew 
 in himself the development of that part of life 
 which he believed to be immortal. But since there 
 is so little of orthodox religion in Merrill's manu 
 script, and since the theme of his life is essentially 
 that of a man always seeking first to formulate some 
 purpose in life and then to accomplish something of 
 that purpose, I have thought it best to entitle his 
 work with a thumbnail sketch of what the author 
 tried to be: A Man of Purpose. 
 
 D. R.
 
 BOOK I 
 MYTH
 
 CHAPTER I 
 "HE HAD A GOOD BRINGING-UP" 
 
 UNTIL I was twenty-four years old I was being 
 brought up by my parents. I would not say 
 that I was being educated because at the age 
 of twenty-four I was not a well-educated person. Yet 
 my parents had done well the job which they set out 
 to do with the red-faced, helpless little animal who 
 yelled his resentment at the annoyances of birth on 
 June 30, 1875. So I shall use a homely phrase and 
 say that I had a good bringing-up. 
 
 They named me Rodney my mother's maiden 
 name. I have been grateful many times since for the 
 names they did not give me, names which decorate 
 some of my friends as pink ribbons adorn a bulldog. 
 They coddled me for six years in sickness and in 
 health. Then I was sent to school and was taught 
 things for eighteen years. I did not learn a great 
 deal from my teachers or my books, because during 
 most of my school days living had no meaning or 
 purpose to me. Therefore, I did not absorb or 
 digest much knowledge about how to live. 
 
 There is little real interest in being told how to
 
 4 "HE HAD A GOOD BRINGING-UP " 
 
 do a thing before one knows why he is doing it. 
 Hence, until I had some notion of why I was living, 
 I was not intensely interested in learning how to live. 
 
 As a result, between the ages of six and twelve I 
 declined from the proud position of a "star pupil" 
 to that of a "mischief-maker" whose scholarship 
 marks were only fair. If my teachers had sensed the 
 reason they probably would have told me that nobody 
 knew why he was living, and advised me to learn how 
 to live and then to live well and to wait patiently 
 until after death to learn why I had lived. The 
 hungry mind of youth is usually fed that sort of 
 chaff. 
 
 I remember well the joy of my first school days. 
 For two years I had studied my gayly painted blocks 
 and my highly illustrated linen books, with the 
 encouragement of a wondering and wonderful 
 mother. My early rapid progress convinced both 
 mother and father that their first-born was a prodigy. 
 Few parents require much convincing on this score. 
 Their praise stirred my vanity always a powerful 
 incentive and I redoubled my efforts to astonish 
 them. When I entered school I found a wider field 
 before me the astonishing of a large company 
 of children who did not know that c-a-t spelled 
 "cat," or still more marvelous achievement that 
 a-p-r-i-c-o-t spelled "apricot" which was a f-r-u-i-t. 
 
 It had been the delight of my parents to give me 
 the newspaper in the presence of admiring guests 
 who gasped and exclaimed while I read the news of 
 the day, spelling out carefully the unfamiliar words.
 
 "HE HAD A GOOD BRINGING-UP " 5 
 
 So on my fourth day in school I staged a little play 
 for public attention by bringing a newspaper with me, 
 which I read ostentatiously. The teacher, an acidu 
 lous maiden lady, whose methods of discipline were 
 always some form of humiliation, summoned me to 
 the platform with the announcement: 
 
 "Rodney Merrill will please come forward and 
 read to the class what he finds so interesting in the 
 newspaper." 
 
 Whereupon, amid giggles and whispers, a very 
 small, over-scrubbed boy, in the glory of a broad 
 white collar and blue bow tie, wabbled forward, 
 scared almost dumb with the success of his strategy, 
 and began to read in a quivering voice the leading 
 crime story of the day. The performance came to 
 an abrupt end. The principal of the school was 
 summoned and I was transferred to the second year 
 grade. 
 
 This success in passing through first year in four 
 days gave me an evil fame. I was branded preco 
 cious, although there was in fact nothing exceptional 
 in my intellectual powers. But I had to live up to 
 a reputation. I felt that I must be the brightest boy 
 in my class and for some years I was a zealous 
 student. I grew physically very slowly and, there 
 fore, was not successful in athletic games. So vanity 
 kept me working away at my books, whereby I could 
 excel my fellows. Year by year my small scholastic 
 triumphs grew. I recited on all state occasions: 
 "The Blue and the Gray" on Decoration Day, "The 
 Gettysburg Address" on Lincoln's birthday. I won
 
 6 "HE HAD A GOOD BRINGING-UP " 
 
 the school debating championship. I wrote a prize 
 essay on Patriotism an exquisite example of 
 bombast: "High on the mount of civilization stands 
 Patriotism. Flowers of peace, invention and pros 
 perity bloom about her, nourished by soil rich with 
 the blood of patriots." 
 
 Then came my last year in the elementary school 
 and, with the highest honors within reach, my intel 
 lectual stride weakened; I lost interest in the race. 
 It did not seem worth while. I dawdled through, 
 graduating easily but without special honor and not 
 caring much for the ruin of my early reputation. 
 
 Two things had happened. I had found the joy 
 of outdoor games. I had felt the lure of woman. 
 Woman as she appeared to me wore her hair in 
 braids; her skirts were short and her hands were 
 often dirty. But her scorn would chill and her smile 
 would thrill me as never since those years of blissful 
 ignorance. 
 
 My changed view of life was simply this: I be 
 came conscious of my body as a source of pleasure. 
 Hitherto my body had been a source of pain. My 
 youth was quite sickly. I had all the typical diseases 
 and a few extras. Toothaches and earaches and 
 headaches companioned me. When I was technically 
 well and played with the boys I was clumsy, weak 
 and inept. When I curled up in a chair with my 
 beloved books I was happy. Exercising my mind 
 brought me pleasure: I besieged Troy with Achilles 
 and wandered home through many lands with 
 Ulysses. I feasted with the gods upon Olympus.
 
 "HE HAD A GOOD BRINGING-UP " 7 
 
 I rode beside Caesar, William the Conqueror and 
 Napoleon across the battlefields of the world. The 
 great myth of history enthralled me. 
 
 For six years I lived in stories of a never-was 
 past and in dreams of a never-to-be future. Then 
 I awoke to the fact of the present, to the existence 
 of a body that tingled, that exulted in muscular emo 
 tion, that had queer pain-sweet sensations at the touch 
 of a girl's hands. 
 
 We stayed at a farm house the summer before I 
 entered high school and the farmer had a girl a 
 little older than I and much wiser. Her name was 
 Daisy. We romped together a great deal after I 
 overcame my first embarrassment at the unmanly 
 sport of playing with a girl. We rowed a boat; we 
 picked berries along the roadside; we did small 
 chores around the place. Daisy was a blue-eyed 
 girl with yellow hair. She was soft and rounded 
 without being fat. The girls I had noticed at school 
 were mostly brunettes and either thin or fat. At 
 least so it seemed to me, because Daisy appeared 
 entirely different from any girl I had ever known. 
 She seemed all pink and clean and ethereal compared 
 with darker, more earthy maids at school. 
 
 She wore her dresses fairly long, but she was quite 
 a tomboy and when we raced or climbed fences I 
 often observed what pretty legs she had. The fact 
 that I could not see them all the time somehow 
 increased their attractiveness to me and I caught 
 myself watching for glimpses of their hidden beauty. 
 
 I thought a great deal about Daisy when I was
 
 8 "HE HAD A GOOD BRINGING-UP " 
 
 away from her, and when I was with her I was quite 
 happy in a strange, scared way. After a while I 
 realized I was deeply in love with Daisy so deeply 
 in love that I dreaded to offend her by any familiari 
 ties which she might not like. I thought she would 
 appreciate the respect I thus exhibited. Perhaps she 
 did, but I have doubted it in later years. Particu 
 larly I doubted it when I remembered our parting 
 at the end of the summer. 
 
 Just before the carriage took our family to the 
 station I had a long talk with Daisy in the hay-loft. 
 I said much about writing and hoping she would 
 visit the city and talked vaguely about plans for the 
 future and how I expected she would see me come 
 back to the farm some day. She was a polite but 
 not an enthusiastic listener. Then I heard father 
 calling and we clambered down to the ground. At 
 the barn door I stopped and got hold of her hand 
 for a tremulous moment during which I stammered 
 something about hating to say good-bye. Then she 
 said: "Silly," and to my horror and joy suddenly 
 kissed me and immediately pushed me out into the 
 publicity of the barn-yard, where the carriage was 
 waiting. Five minutes later we drove away and I 
 never saw Daisy again. 
 
 All the way home I wondered if I had not made 
 a mistake in feeling that she would have resented a 
 less respectful adoration than that I had given her 
 all summer. A retrospect of lost opportunities sad 
 dened my reflections for many days. Such was my 
 first romance.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 PLAYTIME 
 
 A the unripe age of thirteen I entered high 
 school. I covered my thin, stockinged legs 
 with long trousers. I was addressed by my 
 teachers as Mr. Merrill. The boy Rodney was offi 
 cially a man. Nor did I dispute the official decree. 
 I had had whooping cough, measles and chicken pox. 
 I had learned reading, writing and arithmetic. I 
 had studied history, civil government and English 
 composition. I was prepared to study Latin and 
 algebra. In my training as a social being I had been 
 to dancing school for two winters. I had taken les 
 sons on the mandolin and I had made love to a pretty 
 woman. This last item had not been notable as an 
 achievement but it indicated to me a capacity for 
 amorous adventure, although I doubted whether I 
 should ever desire to achieve great success in this 
 phase of life. 
 
 Lest omission should reflect upon the godliness of 
 my parents, I should add to my qualifications for 
 manhood that I had attended Sunday school. In 
 religion my education had been eclectic and in 
 effective. As my parents were not members 
 of any church, they had allowed me to follow my 
 companions from year to year so that my instruc- 
 
 9
 
 io PLAYTIME 
 
 tion in the Bible had been received under Methodist, 
 Baptist and Universalist auspices. The theological 
 distinctions in Christian faith, therefore, made no 
 impression on me as a child and as a result have 
 always irritated me in mature years. I obtained not 
 the faintest understanding of the meaning of Chris 
 tianity during my Sunday school studies. The story 
 of the New Testament interested me greatly. Some 
 how Christ, the hero, caught my imagination, but 
 the divine element the philosophy of life made 
 no impression. My curiosity about the meaning of 
 life was not even excited. No belief in a hereafter 
 was generated. Indeed at this time I was desper 
 ately afraid of death not from any dread of a 
 specific hereafter but because of the feeling of a 
 black abyss of nothingness beyond the pleasant day, 
 wherein there would be no mother the one person 
 whom I felt indispensable to my happiness. 
 
 Thus I entered high school a true agnostic 
 religiously blank yet ethically a fairly conscientious 
 boy, for I believed my mother's statements of right 
 and wrong implicitly and wanted to merit her 
 approval. My father was a stern man full of 
 troubles which vexed his spirit. I feared him, but 
 I did not dislike him. In fact when he was in a 
 cheery mood I was happy with him, but always a 
 bit fearful, as one playing with a half-tame bear. 
 
 It might seem surprising that, with my newly 
 aroused and vivid interest in womankind, I did not 
 find any objects of adoration in my four years' 
 preparation for college. I think, however, that I
 
 PLAYTIME ii 
 
 was too young to merit the interest of the young 
 ladies and too conscious of my small size to play the 
 gallant. But my inability to hold my own with my 
 fellows did not dissuade me from playing games. 
 Indeed, when I peer back at them, my high school 
 days seem as one long romp. 
 
 There were hours in the gymnasium pulling 
 weights, leaping and swinging, boxing and wrestling; 
 there were hours of rough and tumble, scuffling and 
 running and battling with larger boys all over the 
 neighborhood and in and around our various homes. 
 I have vivid recollections of broken windows and 
 cracked glass doors, of scraped shins, torn hands 
 and lumpy foreheads. There was baseball in spring 
 and summer, football in the fall and skating in the 
 winter. All these joys were to be had in the park, 
 miles from my home. Always I seemed to be play 
 ing hookey. Always I was coming home late, pedal 
 ing along on my bicycle in desperate speed, hoping 
 to escape punishment. 
 
 There was a narrow trunk strap with which I was 
 beaten, when particularly guilty. The big red welts 
 on my short, shaking legs caused my mother more 
 pain than me and they hurt me sufficiently. As a 
 result mother and father decided not to use corporal 
 punishment on my younger brother and sister, a deci 
 sion which I approved, but somewhat resentfully, 
 as coming a trifle late. 
 
 Intellectually my "college preparatory course" was 
 blank of any achievement except that of graduating 
 on an irreducible minimum of mental labor. How-
 
 12 PLAYTIME 
 
 ever, there was one tour de force, reminiscent of 
 my lost days of grade school glory. A prize was 
 offered one Friday for the pupil who could recite 
 from memory the most verses of Macaulay's 
 Horatius. I played ball all Saturday; but Sunday 
 I sat in front of the fire from breakfast until bed 
 time and, just to be sure of winning, learned the 
 whole poem. On Monday morning when I recited 
 the seventy stanzes over five hundred and sixty 
 verses without a break, a long-forgotten thrill 
 stirred me into new ambitions. For a week there 
 after I was a person of note and in the resultant 
 elation determined to become again a model student. 
 
 "You can work, can't you," remarked one exas 
 perated teacher. "You see there is no excuse for 
 your poor marks except laziness." 
 
 But the spring buds soon called me, and when 
 the April rains ceased and the green grass of May- 
 time was covered with shouting boys, and the crack 
 of the baseball bat sounded through the open 
 windows, the books became dull things and I scam 
 pered out into the sunshine. I felt wicked very often 
 but nevertheless quite happy. I know my parents 
 and teachers were well meaning in trying to make 
 me feel wicked and my life is no such success as to 
 prove that they were wrong. But the more I see 
 of the narrow men and women, overeducated in 
 books and undereducated in play, who establish joy- 
 killing conventions and impose gloomy prohibitions 
 upon their fellows, the more I grow to believe in 
 play for the education of children, to lift up the joy
 
 PLAYTIME 13 
 
 level of a rather sad old world. Good play is highly 
 educative. The most backward boy at figures will 
 learn to keep a baseball score, and a game of hand 
 ball gives unforgettable demonstration that the angle 
 of incidence equals the angle of reflection. As an 
 education in social ethics few methods of instruction 
 equal playing outdoor games. It is usually possible 
 to pick out of one's business acquaintances the men 
 who have had no training in athletics by noting their 
 poor sportsmanship in dealing with their fellow men. 
 I played too much in school time. I am glad that 
 I played too much rather than too little. I have 
 played too much all through my life. I am glad that 
 I have played too much rather than too little. To 
 play too much is a sin against the abilities a cramp 
 ing of one's achievement. To play too little is a 
 sin against the soul a cramping of one's character. 
 It is my faith that the work we do and leave behind 
 counts for something but that the character we 
 build and carry on counts a thousand fold. I did not 
 feel this as a boy. I had no philosophy of living. 
 But I believe my instinct guided me in the right direc 
 tion, though I may have gone too far.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 A PURE YOUNG MAN 
 
 " T ~W OW can he be so dull about anything so 
 interesting?" exclaimed "Chuck" Dunham, 
 as we fled from a dismal lecture on Ethics 
 into the joyous sunshine. 
 
 It was a warm day in May during my third year 
 of college. The campus was sprinkled with little 
 gossiping groups. We sprawled on a sunny slope 
 and proceeded to a topic of constant controversy be 
 tween us: "Is there any abstract right and wrong?" 
 This is a subject no one would have thought of dis 
 cussing with Dunham on first acquaintance. Dunham 
 played football. He was a beautiful raging beast on 
 the field, leaping, twisting, tearing his way through 
 opposition. When I tackled him in practice, hitting 
 him hard with fifteen pounds more weight than he 
 carried, it always hurt me far more than him. He 
 was a ring-leader in student pranks. 
 
 In physical action he was always the full-blooded, 
 irresponsible boy. But mentally he was a brooding 
 pessimist, doubtful of all things good and certain 
 of all things evil; yet eager for discussion and alert 
 to challenge assumptions, forcing his friends either 
 to 'defend their opinions or to conceal them in his 
 presence. 
 
 14
 
 A PURE YOUNG MAN 15 
 
 The healthy boy often assumes cynicism, but true 
 pessimism is a rarity in youth and Dunham fascinated 
 me. At my suggestion we were rooming together 
 this year. I hated his philosophy, but he stirred my 
 mind and I loved his play-spirit. 
 
 "Coolidge is dull," I agreed, when we had lighted 
 our pipes and settled down for our customary "jaw" 
 after an Ethics lecture, "but he is right and you are 
 wrong. There are some fundamental ideas that per 
 sist in all times and among all races. For example, 
 murder is wrong." 
 
 "When it isn't legally approved," snapped Dun 
 ham. "A nice war murder is all right." 
 
 "Oh, there's no use going over that ground again. 
 You won't admit my distinctions." 
 
 "Yes I will," he countered; "your distinctions 
 prove my proposition every right and wrong is rela 
 tive." 
 
 "But I claim that there must be a goal of life 
 something better that we work toward, and abstract 
 right or wrong is that which seems or does not seem 
 to carry us forward." 
 
 "Always, the goal," jeered "Chuck," his dark face 
 flushing and his brown eyes gleaming with combat, 
 "the sentimental goal. Poor old life can't justify 
 itself so we must have an after-life the mirage 
 toward which we hurry along. You set up a God 
 the Forbidder, with a table of rights and wrongs, 
 things you must do, things you can't do. You cut 
 yourself off from all the joys of living real emotions 
 and so you seek your pleasure in the sentimental
 
 16 A PURE YOUNG MAN 
 
 emotion that you are living toward a goal. But then 
 you revel in diluted emotion anyhow, Rod. You took 
 Dolly Pitcher to the dance Saturday." 
 
 "What do you mean by that bright remark ? That 
 she hasn't any brains? I noticed you took Mabel 
 Johnson." 
 
 "Exactly the distinction. Neither of us chose 
 brains. We wanted to dance. You took Dolly, slim 
 little lisping Dolly and you held her gently for fear 
 she would break and you slid around the floor all 
 evening with her, drinking skim milk emotion. May 
 be Dolly let you hold her hand in the cab. You may 
 have had nerve enough to kiss her. If you did you 
 had a sweet little thrill and a slight taste of lip salve. 
 Now I took Mabel, who has no brains, but, ye gods ! 
 she feels things and she isn't afraid of showing what 
 she feels. I just swam around that dance hall with 
 her soft supple lovingness all wrapped in my arms 
 and in the cab going home did I make love to 
 that sweet young thing? Did I? My boy, the story 
 is not for these young ears and it would horrify 
 the dean but my boy, my boy, I lived, lived 
 gorgeously all Saturday evening; and you poor fish 
 you nibbled at life with pretty little Dolly." 
 
 "Oh, I won't attempt to vie with you as a Don 
 Juan," I began loftily, but was interrupted with 
 
 "There you go with your moral superiority. You 
 are a pure young man, guaranteed one hundred per 
 cent pure, the fond mother's delight. But you're 
 twice as dangerous as I am. I won't do any harm 
 to Mabel or any other innocent young maid. But
 
 A PURE YOUNG MAN 17 
 
 I'll learn my own emotions and some day I'll marry 
 some girl, knowing enough at least to guess what 
 kind of woman I can be faithful to if any. But 
 you with your moral nature you'll marry the first 
 girl you get courage enough, or encouragement 
 enough, to make love to and then Heaven help you 
 
 both I" 
 
 I recollect this talk with "Chuck" Dunham very 
 well. It is one of those peaks of memory that loom 
 higher and higher as one moves farther away. My 
 moral philosophy at this time was a shapeless thing 
 and to label my deity God the Forbidder, just when 
 life offered the prospect of a thousand pleasing 
 adventures, was disconcerting and gave me pause. 
 Was it wholly illusion that a curious sixth sense 
 seemed to register in a young brain stimulated by a 
 stein of beer? If it were wrong to experiment with 
 alcohol, if it were a sin in the sight of the Forbidder, 
 then I ought not to explore further for the answer 
 to that query. Was it wrong to make love to a 
 woman whom one did not wish to marry even if 
 one could? Should all intimate knowledge of the 
 other sex be comprehended in the knowledge of one 
 woman? Was this a full life, this life of prohibi 
 tions, this life of being good, not by instinct, but, 
 contrary to instinct, being good according to the rules 
 established by others, who either knew good from 
 having been bad or else knew it not at all ? Could 
 I ever learn to be good, except by knowing evil my 
 self and rejecting it? 
 
 Of course, I realized that it was not necessary to
 
 i8 A PURE YOUNG MAN 
 
 taste all things evil in order to know enough to shun 
 them. One could reason by analogy. One could 
 learn to recognize the danger of fire in the nearness 
 of heat although probably only after suffering a 
 few burns. But I had been taught by a Professor 
 of Psychology that imagination could only build upon 
 the known; that one could not imagine a thing utterly 
 outside of his own knowledge. Could life be com 
 prehended adequately and lived fully if a large part 
 of one's knowledge were to be obtained second 
 hand? 
 
 Older people often fail to discern the intense 
 curiosity of adolescence regarding right and wrong. 
 Sometimes in a dormitory room, or at the fraternity 
 house a group of a dozen boys would sit until two or 
 three o'clock in the morning arguing questions of 
 ethics, questions of individual and social psychology. 
 Lessons in dead languages and ancient history re 
 mained unlearned while we battled over world old 
 problems that were vivid and immediate, that 
 affected our conduct of yesterday and to-morrow. 
 Perhaps the debate would end in a physical tussle. 
 I remember with delight the spectacle of a short 
 muscular apostle of fatalism sitting astride a pros 
 trate lanky exponent of free will, inside a jeering 
 ring of debaters on the campus one moonlit night in 
 June. 
 
 "I pummel you for your soul's sake," declaimed 
 the victor, while we shrieked our merriment. "It 
 was ordained that my spirit should be intolerant of
 
 A PURE YOUNG MAN 19 
 
 yours. Exercise your free will and conquer Fate if 
 you can!" 
 
 The sweaty struggles of the football field taught 
 us lessons somewhat better learned than many 
 studied in the class rooms. 
 
 "Hit 'em hard" and "get your man," may sound 
 like brutal instruction, but it went hand in hand with 
 the doctrine of "play the game fair"; and failure 
 to learn all the lesson meant humiliation and the 
 scorn of one's fellows, the social taboo far more 
 effective than any written law or physical punish 
 ment. 
 
 Let me here write down my tribute to the great 
 teacher of my college days, the clean souled "director 
 of athletics," as he was described in the university 
 catalogue. He was known to the newspapers as the 
 football coach, to the students as "the old man," 
 and to all graduates of the university who had ever 
 come under his influence as a builder of men. He 
 had studied for the ministry, but with a vision and 
 an instinct for service, of extraordinary keenness, he 
 had abandoned the lesser opportunities of the pulpit 
 to give himself wholly to the task of training boys 
 to be men, through the conduct of athletic sports. 
 In his chosen work as a developer of the ideals of 
 youth, he was the most successful man I have ever 
 known. The faculty included men of deep learning, 
 men of true wisdom, scholars and pioneers in the 
 search for truth. They rendered full service for 
 a small money reward. Some have made an impress 
 on their generation; some will impress generations
 
 20 A PURE YOUNG MAN 
 
 to come. But "the old man" built character day in 
 day out, in the plastic minds of young men a price 
 less service to them and to the communities which 
 they must influence in their mature years. 
 
 As a result of such guidance the college athletics 
 in which I had a small part was something more 
 than the straining struggle for championships, which 
 the newspapers overadvertise. The restrictions of 
 training were rigidly imposed during most of the 
 year and voluntarily observed to a large extent dur 
 ing the rest of the time. I grew from a short sapling 
 into a fairly robust young man before the end of 
 my senior year, entitled to wear with obvious pride 
 my college letter, and possessing a transient impor 
 tance in the community. But even a star athlete, 
 which I was not, would not be permitted to lose his 
 sense of proportion under the old man's steadying 
 influence. I had no idea that I was fitted for world 
 conquest. In fact my main comfort during my last 
 year lay in the thought that I had three years in law 
 school ahead of me in which to prepare to earn my 
 living. 
 
 The desirability of being able to earn my living 
 had been impressed upon me particularly through a 
 young woman who had occupied a large place in my 
 thoughts ever since I had met her during my junior 
 year. Like most western universities mine was 
 coeducational. This condition may have many bad 
 effects upon the exclusively masculine idea of college 
 life, but it has at least one good effect upon the 
 average boy. Woman as a familiar object, as a part
 
 A PURE YOUNG MAN 21 
 
 of everyday living, loses some of the illusory charm 
 of the unfamiliar. Of course, youth must fall in 
 and^out of love, but the ease and variety of pos 
 sibilities in a coeducational college does cultivate 
 some sense of discrimination. 
 
 I do not believe that my attitude was exceptional 
 and while I always noted a score or more of girls 
 with whom I was sure I could fall madly in love, 
 if marooned on a desert isle, the variety of charms 
 offered somehow prevented me from surrendering 
 completely to any one attraction. Yet I was what 
 my mates called a "concentrator," always "rushing" 
 some girl violently for a few weeks or months and 
 then (usually because I met no violent interest in 
 return) veering away to some new discovery. 
 
 But from the day when Jeannette and I collided, 
 unintentionally, in the blinding rain; to be precise, 
 from the twelfth day of April in the year 1895, m Y 
 vague interests in woman became a definite desire 
 to be with one woman. For a long time this desire 
 was what a mother might call quite pure. As Dun 
 ham had said no mother need fear me. I courted 
 Jeanette assiduously. I felt always somewhat in 
 toxicated with the pleasure of her presence. When 
 I was away from her I dramatized myself as an 
 ardent wooer in a thousand different situations. But 
 when I was with her I was completely reticent as 
 to my amorous feelings. 
 
 Before that day in April I had observed her for 
 weeks in a lecture course which we both attended. 
 I was never absent from that class. I seated myself
 
 22 A PURE YOUNG MAN 
 
 where I could see her profile and I spent a goodly 
 portion of the hour studying her. She built her 
 masses of soft fine hair into a sort of golden aureole, 
 after the fashion of the day. Her face in this help 
 ful frame had the charm of a wild flower not 
 beauty but delicate vivacity and grace. Her eyes 
 were beautiful, more from their expression than from 
 any quality I could analyze. They were gray green 
 flecked with brown, a little startling in combination 
 with corn-colored hair, but altogether attractive, 
 alight with intelligence and humor, a trifle quizzical 
 and mocking it seemed, whenever I caught her look 
 ing at me. Only on rare and sweet occasions did I 
 note a ray of tenderness. Her lips were rather thin, 
 but lithe and full of expression. 
 
 To be honest, I must add to the description of her 
 charms that Jeannette Hull was a very shapely 
 person. It may be that the perfection of her figure 
 lent an attraction to her face that otherwise I should 
 not have seen. Yet in equal honesty I doubt that, 
 because, much as I have always appreciated beauty 
 of form in women, I was more swayed in college 
 days than since by the prevailing idea that a girl 
 must be pretty as a prerequisite to all other attrac 
 tions. Chuck Dunham, a severe critic, admitted that 
 Jeannette was "easy to look at," but he described 
 her figure with an indecent extravagance which I shall 
 not imitate. It will be enough to quote his conclusion 
 as amply descriptive : "She certainly is all there." 
 
 The collision in the rain occurred many weeks 
 after Jeannette began to absorb so much of my
 
 A PURE YOUNG MAN 23 
 
 thought. She had come into the University after 
 two years in a girls' school and she associated with 
 a group of girls whom I did not know, so I had not 
 been able to meet her in any ordinary way. But 
 when I hurried around the corner of a building with 
 my head down and had to retrieve her and her 
 umbrella out of the muddy roadway into which I 
 had flung them, it was natural that a future acquaint 
 ance should be presumed. I escorted her across 
 the campus watchful that no other ruffian should 
 buffet her. There was a yellow glow in the sky; it 
 was a sullen jaundiced afternoon until I met her. It 
 was the radiant morning of a new life as we splashed 
 along the paths and the pelting water tingled sweetly 
 on my face. Her amused eyes caressed me. Not 
 since Daisy had kissed me at the barn door had I 
 felt such an elation. 
 
 Two days later we took a long walk. I carried a 
 volume of Browning as fitted to my mood; also to 
 impress her with my culture. She knew that I was 
 a football player and I hoped to please her as a 
 dancer. But my main attack was intended to be 
 intellectual. On our next walk she countered with 
 Swinburne, of whom my previous knowledge was 
 small. I found to my surprise that he expressed my 
 exaltations better than Browning. 
 
 It was a delightful spring. We walked and boated, 
 and drove now and then into the country behind a 
 placid livery hack. This was before the automobile 
 era. We talked incessantly, courteously allowing 
 each other a fair division of time. I suspect that
 
 24 A PURE YOUNG MAN 
 
 she listened generously more than I. We discussed 
 religion, society, business, men and women, even love 
 with a certain reserved defiance. Always our ideas 
 were unconventional. Anything conventional was 
 inevitably ridiculous in our sight. We refused to 
 be sufficiently conventional to make love to each 
 other. Yet I was certain that I was deeply in love 
 with her, and she told me many years too late 
 that she thought I was quaintly young, but was sure 
 when I grew older she would care for me more than 
 anyone she had ever met. 
 
 The more I saw of Jeannette as the months 
 hurried by and graduation time drew near, the more 
 doubtful I became of the existence of that forbidding 
 deity I had once revered. It was no desire to sow 
 wild oats that brought about this change. It was 
 more the appreciation of the complexities of ethical 
 questions, the necessity of experience for personal 
 conviction, the determination to live fully, the growth 
 of youthful antagonism to all conventional restraints. 
 Indeed, far from seeking the promiscuous adventures 
 of a life of wine, women and song, I had come to a 
 definite resolve to maintain a quite unusual, I might 
 almost say a priggish, purity. 
 
 It appealed to me that some day I should either 
 marry Jeannette or some one whom I cared even 
 more about if that were possible. Yet I had time 
 and time again paraded before her my scorn of the 
 man about town, who, wearied with dissolute folly, 
 offers his soiled and threadbare passions to a pure 
 young girl, who would regard his offer as an insult
 
 A PURE YOUNG MAN 25 
 
 were it not for her innocent ignorance of what a gay 
 life really means. I had announced my firm inten 
 tion of presenting myself to my best beloved as clean 
 in body and soul as I expected her to be. The eco 
 nomic factors in the relations of men and women 
 received little consideration in my collegiate philoso 
 phy. In fact, my thoughts were just the raw and 
 unorganized ingredients of ideas mental food, but 
 inedible. I was just beginning to appreciate the de 
 sirability of mixing and cooking them, but the bread 
 and cake produced by my early efforts were highly 
 indigestible. 
 
 Jeannette was about my age in years and hence, 
 being a woman, was much older in wisdom. She 
 watched my experiments in mental cookery with in 
 terest, tactfully declining to swallow the results but 
 encouraging me to continue in my labors. She smiled 
 a little wistfully at my resolutions of purity, but sym 
 pathized more obviously with my resentment at the 
 commands of the Forbidder transmitted through 
 his self-anointed spokesmen. Through our discus 
 sion we came to a common thought, somewhat dimly 
 outlined, of the Great Builder. We tried to put 
 fragments of history together like a broken puzzle 
 picture and to find in it some design to make up a 
 blue print of some part of the eternal plan. 
 
 The more we discussed the possibility of such a 
 plan, the mistier the idea became and yet strangely 
 enough the more convinced we were that there was 
 a plan. 
 
 At the end of spring, 1896, Jeannette and I made
 
 26 A PURE YOUNG MAN 
 
 two in a long line that passed before the president 
 of the University. To each he gave a solemn parch 
 ment wherein the world was informed in glowing 
 Latin that the possessor had become one of the 
 educated elect, that he or she, the sex making no 
 distinction, was a Bachelor of Arts. In truth I had 
 little conception of art or of the arts in any sense in 
 which the words may be used. During my four 
 years in college I had learned a little about men and 
 women, about their motives and habits and how to 
 work with and sometimes to lead my fellows. Such 
 social knowledge as I had I was least conscious of. 
 Such bookish knowledge as I felt conscious of I pos 
 sessed the least.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 LEARNING SOME LAWS 
 
 THE first night after I had arrived in Cam 
 bridge I drew my chair up before the log 
 fire in my room in Oxford street, lighted a 
 pipe, stretched out my legs and puffed rapturously 
 at the buff-colored ceiling. At last I was a free man. 
 Home and family, dearly beloved but imprisoning, 
 were a thousand miles away. The petty restraints 
 upon boyhood were gone. I was acknowledged com 
 petent to rule all the hours of my days. College had 
 been for me a super-high school. True I had lived 
 on the campus for the last two years, but a score of 
 continuing obligations bound me to my family. 
 Worst of all I had no money freedom. Now I had 
 a fixed allowance, within which limitation desire in 
 stead of galling logic could determine extravagance 
 or thrift. 
 
 I was free. I had registered at the Law School. 
 I had dined in Memorial Hall. I was a full-fledged 
 graduate student. I was entering upon the serious 
 work of life a definite preparation to earn my own 
 living. I intended to work hard, to show that I 
 merited freedom. I felt exultant. Life was about 
 to become real and earnest. 
 
 27
 
 28 LEARNING SOME LAWS 
 
 There was a sharp knock on the door. I called: 
 "Come in." 
 
 A slender young man with a gaunt nervous face 
 stood in the entrance. 
 
 "My name is Halliwell," he said. "I room across 
 the hall. Princeton '96, doing graduate work in 
 English. Mrs. Colby said you were doing Law. I 
 thought we'd better meet to-night instead of to 
 morrow morning in the bathroom. I look better in 
 clothes." 
 
 He grinned amiably, showing a wide line of flaw 
 less teeth beneath a small mustache. 
 
 "Glad to meet you," I responded heartily. "My 
 name is Merrill. I've just arrived from Chicago 
 and I'm so glad to be here that everything looks 
 good to me. I don't think I should mind your 
 appearance in your bath." 
 
 "That's not the worst of me," said Halliwell. 
 "I shall probably come in sometimes very drunk 
 not regularly, you know but just now and then. 
 Hope that won't shock you. I'm a serious person, 
 but there are times when I just can't resist making 
 a fool of myself." 
 
 "I shall be happy to assist you," I said ambigu 
 ously. 
 
 Thus began my life-long friendship with that 
 strange genius who caused two South American wars, 
 who destroyed a great political movement, who 
 wrote a fairy tale for children which has no equal 
 for spiritual and verbal beauty, and then printed a 
 volume of poems so terrible in their stark, crude
 
 LEARNING SOME LAWS 29 
 
 passion that the book was forbidden the mails and 
 the author was ostracized by almost all his friends. 
 
 Eugene Halliwell was more sincere in insincerity 
 than any person I have ever known. Ke was deter 
 mined to exhibit his naked soul in all that he did, 
 resolved upon shameless candor, yet utterly unable 
 to distinguish between a mood and a motive, between 
 a whim and a purpose. If a night's carousing bred 
 pessimism, he insisted on voicing his despondency 
 and affirming it to be a conviction of his soul. The 
 lewd sensations that men of equal honesty suppress 
 he must shout from the housetops. He was in truth 
 as gentle and pure a man as I have ever known, 
 loyal and self-sacrificing by instinct. He has a world 
 wide notoriety as a man of debasing sensuality and 
 utter selfishness, a treacherous poseur, who brings 
 evil into all things he touches. 
 
 My anxious friends thought he led me astray in 
 Law School. If so, then I was ready for someone 
 to lead astray and at least he never cast a sneer 
 upon a single worthy aspiration that I expressed. 
 Yet throughout my life my good, conservative 
 friends have sniffed and scoffed at every wholly gen 
 erous, self-immolating thought that I have expressed. 
 It has been "radical" or "impractical" in their nar 
 row worldly view. Gene Halliwell's vision never 
 stopped at ant heaps. He would sketch mountains 
 into the background of the uplands of my dreams. 
 
 In Halliwell's company I met women unlike those 
 I had ever known before or with whom I have ever 
 associated since. I have heard them referred to as
 
 30 LEARNING SOME LAWS 
 
 "fallen women" by beautiful females who have 
 married scrawny old men whom they do not love, 
 or fat young men whom they despise. These beauti 
 ful females seldom have paid the price for which 
 they bought comfort. They have not made their 
 buyers happy and they have cheated in other ways. 
 Perhaps this was why they have spoken with scorn 
 of their sisters in the same profession, who always 
 paid the price. 
 
 If I asserted that I kept my vows of purity amid 
 such associations probably I should not be believed, 
 so I will only venture this much of the truth. I 
 found much pleasure and interest in the (discovery 
 that there is only one kind of woman, that there are 
 no classes of good women and bad women, save as 
 all human beings differ in value. I found cultured 
 women and vulgarians in "questionable company" 
 mixed in about the same proportions, as I have found 
 them mingled in homes of unquestioned social stand 
 ing. Perhaps I should make this distinction, that 
 often in the homes of wealth I have found a larger 
 percentage of inexcusable vulgarity. 
 
 For Halliwell's guidance through this part of my 
 education I am grateful. He was getting bored 
 with this phase of life and my fresh interest revived 
 his for a time and then our joint interest waned 
 rapidly. 
 
 "There's one comfort in our wickedness," yawned 
 Gene one evening, after we had pleaded another 
 engagement over the telephone and had sat down 
 before the fire for a long "pow-wow"; "we shaVt
 
 LEARNING SOME LAWS 31 
 
 have to go through this stage at the age of forty- 
 five. My dad has a flock of business friends who 
 make me ill. They have a three day round up on 
 business about once a month in New York and 
 they do one day of business and then start out for 
 two days of seeing the town. There are among 
 them some bachelors who kept their noses to the 
 grindstone all through their buck days. They're try 
 ing to make up now for what they lost. But the 
 worst of the lot are the married men who have 
 always lived so respectably that they have an 
 immediate interest in the sight of any chorus girl 
 out loose. They pride themselves on being gay old 
 dogs and like a baldheaded, gray-haired pack of 
 fools go loping down Broadway in full cry when a 
 whiff of musk comes on the breeze. There ought 
 to be a dog-catcher and a pound provided specially 
 for that kind." 
 
 At the end of my first year Halliwell finished his 
 graduate work and departed from Cambridge, re 
 appearing for a few days in my senior year and 
 then going out of my life for many years until he 
 returned to join me in an adventure which has more 
 public interest than our school-time acquaintance. 
 I should like to dwell upon him, but this is my story 
 and to include his would require another volume 
 so I will leave him only half revealed as he steps in 
 and out of my troubled life. 
 
 But it should not be thought that philandering
 
 32 LEARNING SOME LAWS 
 
 with Halliwell filled all my first year in Cambridge. 
 In fact, I studied very earnestly and I should delight 
 to pause and sketch one by one those high-minded 
 gentlemen of the law faculty who vividly and enter 
 tainingly inspired my interest in the scarlet and 
 golden threads of vital issues that ran in and out 
 through the dull stuff of the law, making a shifting 
 pattern of human hopes and rights and passions in 
 which I found continuous fascination. 
 
 Unworthy indeed would I have been of the in 
 struction which I received had I not found in it my 
 chief interest. My teachers had not merely a great 
 story to transmit, as the singers of ancient days 
 carried the epic poems down from generation to 
 generation. They had more to do than to inspire 
 me with respect for the principles of the common 
 law. They had set themselves the task of teaching 
 me to reason as generations of law makers had 
 reasoned before me, so that when I went out among 
 my fellows to tell them of the law, I would carry 
 on into the problems of my generation the established 
 wisdom of the past and with its aid build a super 
 structure for the new day that would rest fairly upon, 
 and would be a fitting addition to the house of yes 
 terday. 
 
 Since Harvard days I have found much cause to 
 doubt the worth of the law makers of to-day and to 
 criticize their work with bitterness. Indeed my fall 
 from a great height came through what men called 
 a defiance of the law which was in fact only the 
 defiance of a usurper who offended against a greater
 
 LEARNING SOME LAWS 33 
 
 law than that which he invoked. But I have never 
 swerved from my early admiration for those scholars 
 of Cambridge who devoted their lives with such 
 patience and fervor to impregnating succeeding gen 
 erations of lawyers with the principles, and inspiring 
 them with the ideals, of English jurisprudence. 
 Young and immature though I was, discursively 
 curious about a thousand aspects of life, they won 
 not only my respect and interest but my lasting affec 
 tion. Langdell and Ames and Thayer and Gray 
 God bless them all! They are gone along the path 
 that I some day must follow. I should feel assured 
 of the justice of a world beyond if I knew that there 
 the scales were weighted by those "stainless, gallant 
 gentlemen." 
 
 In every way my years in Cambridge were a time 
 of growth. My mind, my imagination, my social 
 information developed. Even my body grew in size, 
 in variety of appetites, in capacity for sensation and 
 valuation. I had for the first time an intense love 
 of life and with this came a desire to prosper so 
 as to be able to experience life in all possible phases. 
 An interest in public affairs was awakened. I dis 
 cussed politics with my father in letters and when 
 home during vacations. I became curious concern 
 ing his part in public affairs which gave him such 
 positive and cynical opinions about persons of 
 political notoriety and which provided me with rail 
 road passes to and from school at vacation periods.
 
 34 LEARNING SOME LAWS 
 
 Secretlveness was not one of his characteristics so my 
 inquiries brought forth a vast amount of entertain 
 ing and disquieting information. 
 
 Doubts had arisen in my mind concerning the in 
 fallibility of the law through the frank and vivid 
 criticisms of unsound law with which students and 
 faculty enlivened the lecture hours. To these doubts 
 was added assurance of the unreliable character of 
 the law makers and law enforcers through my 
 father's intimate revelations of politics. Clearly 
 there was ample opportunity in public life for a well- 
 educated young man of virtuous ideals to do a great 
 work and perhaps to earn a great reward. (Youth 
 is always sure that its ideals are virtuous.) Thus 
 developed the last phase of the unreal world in which 
 I, like the average American boy, was educated. I 
 created for myself a mythical ideal of the man that 
 I should be a nai've creature of some spiritual 
 beauty enveloped in a Roman toga thundering 
 truths in the market place or "the applause of listen 
 ing senates to command." 
 
 My visions of those days were not 'disturbed by 
 any acquaintance with South Water Street on a busy 
 day, nor were they made ridiculous through any 
 apprehension of the pleasant manner in which the 
 Senators of the State of Illinois receive the mes 
 sages of would-be deliverers who have only words 
 to deliver. 
 
 Yet, I repeat, during my years in the East I grew 
 perceptibly from boyhood toward manhood. I lived 
 still in a sheltered land, a world of myth, but I had
 
 LEARNING SOME LAWS 35 
 
 begun to sense that just beyond was a realm of bitter 
 cruelties, mean drudgery and persistent stupidities, 
 where the power I thought I possessed and the ideals 
 I hoped to cherish would meet real tests, where suc 
 cess and failure would be facts. I was impatient to 
 deal with facts. 
 
 [This chapter of Merrill's life is incomplete. There are 
 some disconnected notes, indicating an intention to write up 
 various incidents. A moot court argument. ... A Harvard- 
 Yale football game. Some trips to New York. . . . An 
 evening with the dean of the law school. . . . Long tramps 
 through the country are half-sketched. But these records 
 are inadequate for reproduction. There is a letter from 
 Jeannette Hull, which shows that she was teaching classes 
 in English literature in a girl's school near Boston during 
 Merrill's last year in Cambridge. Evidently they spent 
 much of their free time together. The only manuscript of 
 informative length which seems worth reproducing is on 
 yellowed paper, evidently written while at Harvard and 
 since revised. D. R.] 
 
 Rudolph insisted that I give a tea. It is an eastern 
 custom that I have never been able to accommodate 
 to my western ideas. But I wanted him to meet 
 Jeannette and also I had received a letter from 
 Halliwell saying that he would be here for three 
 days. The possibility of having Jeannette meet 
 Gene, and hear Rudolph play, converted me to the 
 tea party and it came off this afternoon. 
 
 Gene is calling on a friendly publisher this evening 
 in the hope of interesting him in some manuscript,
 
 36 LEARNING SOME LAWS 
 
 so I am going to record this meeting before I for 
 get. Maybe Gene will marry Jeannette some day 
 and I'll give them this manuscript for a wedding 
 present! I can't imagine two people more suited to 
 make each other unhappy so they ought to fall in 
 love. Confound Gene anyhow I I begged him to 
 restrain that wild tongue of his. I told him 
 Jeannette wouldn't mind; but Rudolph is a male lily, 
 a musical ascetic who plays in so clean a spirit that 
 he makes even the indecencies of Strauss sound pure 
 and holy. 
 
 But Gene was in one of his most affected devilish- 
 fellow moods and started chattering in exaggerated 
 enthusiasm about Maudie and Nellie and Kitty and 
 Petty Lamb ! 
 
 "Remember Petty Lamb?" he shouted, "dear old 
 Petty Lamb, of the Gay Girls Company, fourth from 
 the end, with a hole in her stocking. Always had a 
 hole in her stocking and a beauty spot on her face. 
 You asked her one night why she didn't put the 
 beauty spot on her stocking where it would be of 
 
 some use." 
 
 "I never said such a thing," I protested, "it was 
 one of your alcoholic witticisms." 
 
 "Beg your pardon," cried Gene, "you are right 
 as usual. Your action was far more delicate and 
 typical. You gave her a pair of silk stockings. Re 
 member what a time we had picking them out? The 
 little girl at Jordan's asked you what size and you 
 didn't know and you asked her what size she wore 
 and she got quite peevish and called the floorwalker
 
 LEARNING SOME LAWS 37 
 
 who was very superior and refined in a most un- 
 gentlemanly manner." 
 
 "That must have been about the time Richard 
 Mansfield was in town," I interjected, determined to 
 switch the conversation with brute force, if neces 
 sary. "What a corking lecture he gave at Sanders 
 Theatre. We sat up until four A.M. afterward argu 
 ing about Hamlet." 
 
 "Hamlet," repeated the irrepressible, "that was 
 the name I've been trying to remember for a month. 
 Portia Hamlet, formerly of the Kittie-Cat Chorus, 
 last seen behind the counter at the Old Oak Dairy 
 Lunch. I hadn't thought of her for years, the pret 
 tiest little vampire we ever met and our greatest 
 failure. You failed at reform and I failed at seduc 
 tion." 
 
 "Really, Gene," I began, somewhat wrathily 
 
 In a moment he was courtesy incarnate. 
 
 "A thousand pardons, Miss Hull," he said, bow 
 ing most contritely "and also Mr. Litny" bowing 
 with the faintest flicker of irony toward the indig 
 nant Rudolph. "I haven't seen this young reprobate 
 for nearly two years and he was always such a moral 
 sinner that I delight to shock him. But I did not 
 intend to go quite so far before others, particularly 
 before you, Miss Hull." 
 
 "You haven't injured Rodney's reputation with 
 me," answered Jeannette with a slight but effective 
 emphasis on my name. 
 
 "I'm so relieved," he murmured. "Mr. Litny, will 
 you show your forgiveness by playing that nocturne
 
 38 LEARNING SOME LAWS 
 
 that Rod has raved about in his letters? I'm sure 
 that will purify even the stale atmosphere I brought 
 in with me, out of the room with the bolted door 
 our naughty past." 
 
 So Rudolph played and even Gene, who had a real 
 love of music, forgot his malice; while Jeannette sat 
 entranced. For Rudolph was the rare amateur who 
 had mastered his piano. The mechanics imposed 
 no limitations on his expression and the emotions of 
 Beethoven and Chopin and Bach lived again in my 
 little room and swayed us all, sitting there, now 
 tense, now relaxed, each dreaming the dream in his 
 own way, but knowing that the others shared its 
 beauty. 
 
 Rudolph played again and again at our insistence. 
 Then I brought in the sandwiches and cakes, and 
 Jeannette made the tea and we gossiped on this and 
 that and everything. But eventually Gene came 
 around to his pet subject again. I knew he would 
 do this, if for no other reason than to justify him 
 self and to convince himself that he was perfectly 
 frank and had no hypocrisies. This time, however, 
 his mode of discussion was better chosen, although 
 once started on the theme his conversation was a bit 
 raw for the average palate. 
 
 "There is nothing more real and vital in life," he 
 announced, "than the relations of men and women, 
 particularly young people. Yet there is nothing less 
 talked about between them, except as a delicious 
 impropriety. For instance, I've been eating lunches 
 in New York at a small beanery where there is a
 
 LEARNING SOME LAWS 39 
 
 waitress who fascinates me, just the way I suppose 
 a snake charms a bird if snakes really do that. I 
 detest the girl ; I despise her. But there is something 
 about that girl's mouth that arouses in me a seeth 
 ing desire to kiss it. I wouldn't kiss her for a hun 
 dred dollars well let's be reasonable I wouldn't 
 kiss her for five dollars that is, when I have five 
 dollars I mean I couldn't put my arms around her. 
 I tell you I dislike everything about her except that 
 mouth. If I could amputate that mouth and put 
 it on a nice clean girl I'd ask it to marry me 
 to-morrow. 
 
 "Now that seems to me interesting. I woncler if 
 other people have thoughts like that. But if I asked 
 any of you to compare experiences with me no one 
 of you would admit ever having anything but the 
 most conventional emotions and probably you 
 wouldn't talk about them." 
 
 He looked around invitingly. 
 
 "Probably not," said Rudolph, with unusual as 
 perity. It was plain that he disapproved of Halli- 
 well. The "Harvard reserve" had worked deep 
 into his Polish-German nature. 
 
 "It's more than a matter of good taste," suggested 
 Jeannette. "If the most intimate thoughts are 
 spread out in public they lose much of their value, 
 their delicacy. It's like the way the skin tans and 
 toughens in the sun and wind. I'll admit I'm curi 
 ous about other people's ideas and experiences, es 
 pecially in so-called sex problems. But I'm not 
 curious enough to pay the price of exposing my own.
 
 40 LEARNING SOME LAWS 
 
 "However," she concluded with a little malice, 
 "don't let that deter you from giving yourself away 
 if it is a free giving." 
 
 "Thanks," continued Gene unabashed, "thanks for 
 the permission. You seem to be almost broad- 
 minded, although I should say rather stingy." 
 
 "Have you see Robinson Smith lately?" I asked 
 abruptly; hoping to stop a flood of embarrassing 
 self-revelation. 
 
 "Last week," he answered. "You know he's 
 married. Has a sweet little wife, a trifle smaller 
 than the Statue of Liberty and twice as cute. Has 
 a fine baritone voice; the wife, I mean. I guess 
 Robbie will sing tenor all his life now. She will 
 prefer to carry the air; and, if she wants to, she will. 
 I asked them why on earth they married." 
 
 "You asked them what?" 
 
 "I asked them why they married. I couldn't see 
 why she would want a little thing like Robbie around 
 the house, and I should have thought he'd never 
 have had the nerve to ask her, though, of course, if 
 she wanted him she may have just told him so." 
 
 "Did you explain those reasons for your questions 
 to them?" asked Rudolph. 
 
 "Certainly," said Gene. "But they didn't give me 
 any very good answers. Robbie said something 
 weakly about it being no use to discuss tastes, and 
 Mrs. Robbie said that remark didn't compliment her 
 much. I was afraid they were going to have a row. 
 I might have to be a witness in a divorce case if she 
 got mad and hit him, so I changed the subject. I
 
 LEARNING SOME LAWS 41 
 
 talked about going soon and what a long trip I had 
 to make to get home. That's the only time during 
 the evening I made a hit. They discussed my going 
 very enthusiastically. So I left." 
 
 Jeannette was frowning perplexedly. 
 
 "Do you talk like that to be amusing, Mr. Halli- 
 well?" she asked, "or do you like to hurt people's 
 feelings? I've been trying to understand your real 
 motive; because despite your conversation I don't 
 think you're a fool." 
 
 "You probably think I'm posing." 
 
 "Yes a bit more than most of us." 
 
 "Now really I'm not. I have a tremendous 
 amount of curiosity about life and I hate to waste 
 time over unimportant things. Therefore, when 
 ever I talk seriously I try to find out something that 
 I want to know or to tell somebody something he 
 may want to know. Most people talk because they 
 like to narrate. They want to occupy the stage. 
 They keep silent and listen only the amount they 
 think necessary to acquire a lien on another person's 
 time, so that he will have to listen when their time 
 comes. I try to shape conversations so that I'll be 
 interested and not bored by what other people say. 
 
 "For example" he paused a moment, looking at 
 me mischievously. I braced against the coming 
 shock. "I've a great many questions about you, 
 Miss Hull, and my old friend Rod. You've known 
 each other quite well for some years. From my 
 knowledge of Rod and from what little I've seen of 
 you I can guess that you and Rod have never asked
 
 42 LEARNING SOME LAWS 
 
 each other why you went around so much together. 
 In simple words, what do you see in each other? 
 Now if you ever discussed this you might learn a 
 good deal." 
 
 He waved aside my protesting hand and con 
 tinued : 
 
 "Really I wish you would discuss it because if you 
 don't talk about it in cold blood, I'll tell you what 
 will happen. Some day circumstances will be pro 
 pitious and Rod will begin to make love to you 
 without knowing whether he is in love or not. But 
 having started out that way his conscience will get 
 to work and he'll convince himself that he is in love 
 with you and he may make you think you're in love 
 with him. Of course, if you people really are in 
 love or do honestly fall in love, it is no affair of 
 mine. But if you aren't or don't fall in love and the 
 event I'm afraid of comes to pass, I'll have two more 
 good friends turned into one bad couple. That's 
 happened to me four times in the last year. So don't 
 say that your affections are none of my business." 
 
 I was too amused to be embarrassed by this im 
 pertinence, especially as Jeannette took it in a quiz 
 zical spirit. 
 
 To tell the truth, the advice was good. Jeannette 
 and I had a good talk after tea. We walked all 
 the way into Boston. On Harvard bridge we paused 
 for a long time watching the great curve of the city, 
 topped with the gilded dome of the capitol, gradually 
 fade in the twilight until it lay misty and unreal 
 across the quiet water. We decided that there
 
 LEARNING SOME LAWS 43 
 
 should not be any love making for some time at 
 least; but that we were very fond of each other and 
 that we would wait and see whether time would 
 draw us still closer together. 
 
 She was staying that night with a friend who lived 
 in Newbury Street a few blocks from Massachusetts 
 Avenue. When I left her at the door of the house, 
 we shook hands as though sealing a compact. It 
 was the first time I had ever held her hand with any 
 feeling of intimate interest in the contact. I pressed 
 it quite tenderly and the small fingers that gripped 
 mine sent a new thrill through me not a gust of 
 passion, but a soft, warm affectionate feeling a 
 strong desire to do something for her that she 
 would like and to see her eyes smile at me. 
 
 I walked back toward Cambridge thinking many 
 new and interesting thoughts mostly about Jean- 
 nette. I'm going to stop scribbling now and think 
 some more.
 
 BOOK II 
 REALITY
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 \ 
 
 STARTING TO WORK 
 
 "r | ^HIS is my son Rodney," was the introduc 
 tion with which my father customarily de 
 manded, rather than requested, my admis 
 sion within the pale of his business associations. 
 
 No one responded more heartily to the demand 
 than Jack Emmet, the "Big Boy" in city politics. 
 
 "You're a bigger man than your dad," said he, 
 "but you'll have to go some to be a better one. Liv 
 ing at home? Whose precinct is that? Apperson? 
 He's too much of a statesman to run a precinct. 
 Why not work the boy in? We can use all the bright 
 young fellows who don't think they are too good 
 for the game?" 
 
 "I want to get into the real game," was my an 
 swer; "I've been going to school for so many years 
 that I think it's about time for me to do something." 
 
 "Don't worry about the time you've been to 
 school," said Emmet, with a slightly wistful look 
 in his narrow gray eyes. "Just so long as you don't 
 get swell-headed it won't do you no harm. I didn't 
 have much teaching myself, but my boy is going to 
 Yale next year. Glad to meet you, Rodney. Follow 
 your dad's advice. He knows what's what. And if 
 you want a boost some day, just call on me." 
 
 47
 
 48 STARTING TO WORK 
 
 He lumbered across the club dining room to an 
 other table a short, heavy, broad-shouldered man 
 with thin black hair brushed back from a weather- 
 beaten face which had no distinction except in the 
 sharp, cruel little eyes that belied the easy good 
 nature of his manner. 
 
 "He is a good friend of mine," said my father, 
 with some pride. "It would be a good idea for you 
 to take hold of the precinct work. Kenney, the ward 
 leader, is one of my clients. You could work up 
 rapidly in the organization. A little politics is good 
 for a young lawyer. I suppose you're a Democrat?" 
 
 "I don't know what I am. I thought I would be 
 independent until I had some ideas. However, prob 
 ably you know best. I suppose one must work with 
 some organization. Most of my friends are Re 
 publicans; but I'm not strong for the protective 
 tariff." 
 
 "That hasn't much to do with city politics, any 
 way," suggested my father dryly. "However, you 
 do just what you want to do." 
 
 This last sentence was usually father's final argu 
 ment. He would point out the way of wisdom. 
 Then if I chose to be a fool, that was my privilege ; 
 only he wanted me to understand clearly that he had 
 shown me what a fool I would be and of course he 
 did not care to have his son make a fool of himself ! 
 It was always very hard for me to stand against this 
 particular method of coercion. In my apprentice 
 days in the law office I made no effort to resist, hav 
 ing decided to follow advice implicitly until I had
 
 STARTING TO WORK 49 
 
 acquired at least convictions instead of mere doubts 
 as to whether my father's meat would nourish or 
 poison me. 
 
 Thus it happened that I put in many evenings in 
 petty political work, while my days were employed 
 with the mean detail which is unloaded on a fledg 
 ling lawyer. At the same time my spare hours were 
 absorbed largely in trifling social affairs with rela 
 tives and friends of the family. All in all, my first 
 year and a half of experience in being a grown man 
 and earning my own living was a most disheartening, 
 irritating, disillusioning period. My whole world 
 seemed petty, uninspiring and unimportant. The 
 only way out that I could perceive was the possibility 
 of making enough money to permit me to get out of 
 business, to get out of politics, to get out of the city, 
 to live someway, somewhere, somehow dissociated 
 from all the realities I had thought would be so in 
 teresting and had found so unutterably dull. These 
 were the most unhappy days which I can now rec 
 ollect. 
 
 With the desire for money as a means of release 
 came also the distressing knowledge that as a money- 
 making game the law offered very poor sport. Some 
 boys I had known in high school who had gone into 
 business were already far along the road to wealth. 
 On the other hand, my own father, regarded as an 
 exceptionally successful lawyer of twenty-five years' 
 experience, earned only a fair income. He main 
 tained that income only by unremitting labor through 
 long hours, with the fear of diminishing business al-
 
 50 STARTING TO WORK 
 
 ways goading him to additional work to acquire new 
 clients as the older ones dropped away. 
 
 Somewhat desperately I began writing whenever 
 I could find the time unconvincing stories and plat 
 itudinous essays, which were returned promptly by 
 uninterested editors. I exchanged a good many 
 letters with college friends, a large number with Jean- 
 nette full of fish hooks, poorly baited, with which 
 I hoped to catch some of the appetizing brain food 
 not found in my days of drudgery. Life was so dull 
 that I found occasional interest in playing poker, 
 a dull discomforting game for anyone who had so 
 little love of gambling. I even fell into one or two 
 sordid adventures with women until scared away by 
 the threatened development of one escapade into a 
 miserable tragedy. 
 
 Then came the city election of 1901 and I found 
 in the excitement of the campaign a new interest 
 and for the first time comprehended the meaning and 
 purpose of the political routine in which I had been 
 employed. A long smouldering public anger at the 
 street railway system flamed out under the blowing 
 of a popular politician the ''Honorable Richard 
 Courtney." The "Big Boy" did not like Courtney. 
 The Honorable Dick did not trot well in harness. 
 But Emmet never openly opposed a strong public 
 desire; so Courtney received the Democratic nomi 
 nation and started out "to clean up the traction 
 crowd." It was generally understood in the organ 
 ization that Emmet was luke-warm, but that rumor 
 only encouraged my youthful ambition to further
 
 STARTING TO WORK 51 
 
 efforts. If a new day were about to dawn I intended 
 to be present at the sunrise. , 
 
 As a filler-in I spoke at Courtney meetings 
 throughout the town, usually boring a large crowd 
 that was waiting for the headliners, or attempting 
 vainly to hold the slim audience that remained after 
 the stars had departed. I felt that a great battle 
 for principle was in progress and gave unreserved 
 support to our ticket, including all the incompetent 
 or disreputable lesser candidates who hoped to slide 
 into power behind the popular leader. Just before 
 election pretty definite word came from the "Big 
 Boy" to trade off the mayor for the small fry wher 
 ever possible. The excuse for this treachery was 
 found in the confident predictions of the influential 
 newspapers that Courtney would be beaten. Hence 
 the organization leaders advised us to save all we 
 could from the impending wreck. I went through 
 all the way for Courtney, with bitterness in my heart 
 but also a determination that my first big contest 
 should find me loyal even in defeat. As a result 
 my own precinct and others in my group were the 
 banner precincts of my ward. Courtney won by a 
 narrow margin. Emmet said that he was pleased 
 with my good work, though he expressed a fear that 
 possibly I had overworked myself. He raised his 
 bushy eyebrows at my father when he said that. 
 
 "It's lucky for you that Courtney won," said my 
 father afterward. "Because Emmet will wish to ap 
 pear friendly to you, although he doesn't like the 
 way you disregarded his orders. If Courtney had
 
 52 STARTING TO WORK 
 
 lost, the 'Big Boy' wouldn't hesitate to show you his 
 displeasure. Now don't act as though you knew 
 this, but don't give him a chance to discipline you 
 until he gets over being mad." 
 
 A month later I received an appointment as an 
 assistant city attorney. This did not drop upon me 
 from the skies. I had decided that I wanted it; 
 friends had suggested it to Courtney and I had called 
 on the "Big Boy" to give me the boost he had 
 promised. I knew that he wouldn't really help me, 
 but I could not appear to disregard him. I was 
 learning to be practical and took some pride in land 
 ing this position, although the idea of seeking it had 
 not occurred to me until after the election, which 
 fact shows that I was still far from sophisticated. 
 The first letter I wrote on the official stationery bear 
 ing my name was addressed to Jeannette. In my 
 exuberance I was somewhat indiscreet. It was not 
 exactly a love letter but it indicated pretty clearly 
 that she was likely to get a love letter in the near 
 future. I think that just then Jeannette must have 
 been somewhat weary with teaching pampered young 
 ladies the uses of the English language and she re 
 sponded to my announcement with a letter so affec 
 tionate that it startled me into a new self-examina 
 tion. 
 
 Was I really in love with Jeannette? Even if I 
 were, was it wise for me to think of marriage when 
 a career was just opening out before me? Would it 
 not be better to go some distance toward financial 
 success before I hampered myself with family
 
 STARTING TO WORK 53 
 
 responsibility? My next letter was somewhat more 
 discreet. 
 
 It was during this period of introspection that the 
 public and I N were equally startled by the announce 
 ment that the City Attorney had named me as his 
 assistant in charge of the traction case, under his 
 personal direction. Such an honor to a very young 
 lawyer might have inflated his egotism. However, 
 the opposition papers soon informed me that the 
 announced onslaught on the octopus was evidently 
 to be a sham battle, wherein Merrill as a mere tyro 
 would be overwhelmed by the eminent lawyers of the 
 street railway system. The City Attorney replied 
 that he would conduct the fight personally and that 
 he had appointed me because of the well-known sin 
 cerity of my opposition to the public utility and be 
 cause of the special study which I had made of public 
 service questions. Of course, I was more willing 
 than the general public to swallow this plausible 
 explanation. 
 
 After several months of extremely hard work on 
 this case an important question came before the 
 state court, and by good fortune the arguments were 
 made before a judge who, though notably conserva 
 tive, was an able and conscientious lawyer. The 
 traction lawyers were trying to stop the enforcement 
 of an ordinance of the city requiring better service. 
 The public interest was intense. This was the first 
 real test of the sincerity of Mayor Courtney's efforts 
 in behalf of the people who had elected him. 
 
 After the traction lawyer had made the opening
 
 54 STARTING TO WORK 
 
 argument the City Attorney presented the City's 
 case from the documents which I had prepared 
 through many days and nights of drudgery, grinding 
 away at the law books. For two days I waited 
 patiently for him to make the key point in our argu 
 ment. There was an obscure provision in the city 
 charter which supported our position perfectly. It 
 had never been considered by our Supreme Court. 
 But I had finally discovered a similar provision in 
 the charter of a city in another state which had been 
 construed by the Supreme Court of the United States 
 just as we wished our law construed. The reading 
 of this provision and the interpretation of its lan 
 guage by the Supreme Court was to be our irresistible 
 counter-attack. I sat trembling with eagerness for 
 the blow to be delivered. But the hours went by 
 and there was no reference to Section 186. The 
 city attorney, Mr. Calderwood, sat down. His 
 argument was ended. The attorneys for the com 
 pany arose for the final argument. I was too excited 
 to think of the proprieties. 
 
 "Just a minute," I cried, "just a minute; there's 
 another point." I seized my chief by the arm and 
 tried to remind him of the forgotten point. In my 
 agitation I talked too loud. 
 
 "Don't you remember Section 186?" I said, quite 
 distinctly. 
 
 A newspaper man dozing in the jury box had come 
 to life and was watching us intently. He was from 
 The Daily Times, the leading anti-Courtney paper. 
 
 Calderwood frowned and pulled me over to one
 
 STARTING TO WORK 55 
 
 side. He whispered that he had been studying that 
 point very carefully and had finally decided that the 
 section was not very important; also he had found 
 a reference to a certain decision in Massachusetts 
 concerning a similar law which he was afraid would 
 be used to make the point a boomerang if he raised 
 it. I was much abashed and slipped back to my 
 chair. 
 
 But the judge had caught my words and had turned 
 to that part of the city charter. 
 
 "Did I hear you mention Section 186, Mr. Mer 
 rill?" he inquired. 
 
 Then I was embarrassed. I half nodded to the 
 court, but did not rise. Mr. Calderwood hesitated 
 a moment and then made a quick decision. 
 
 "If your honor please," he said, "there is a pos 
 sible application of Section 186 to the present ques 
 tion which Mr. Merrill has been investigating. I 
 had intended to ask him to present the results of his 
 special study, which I have not had an opportunity 
 to check over myself. This slipped my mind at the 
 last moment. With the court's permission I will ask 
 Mr. Merrill to conclude the argument." 
 
 For the next five minutes I was too flustered to 
 bring credit to myself or to my proposition; but 
 then I got over my stage fright and managed to 
 drive my point home with some force. When the 
 opposing lawyer came forward to reply the judge 
 delayed him with a gesture. 
 
 "Please devote your attention to Section 186," 
 said his honor, "because it seems clear to me that
 
 56 STARTING TO WORK 
 
 if Mr. Merrill's construction of that section is cor 
 rect, there is no doubt of the city's power to pass 
 this ordinance. Therefore, there is no use consider 
 ing the other questions you have raised until this one 
 has been disposed of." 
 
 The victory of the city followed rapidly upon this 
 announcement. The shrewd attorneys for the com 
 pany dodged and twisted for nearly an hour, but the 
 judge harried them relentlessly. Finally, they asked 
 for a postponement of the decision until they had 
 time to prepare a special brief on this point. But 
 the judge was impatient. 
 
 "No, no, gentlemen," he said, "you have asked for 
 an injunction and all parties agreed that no action 
 should be taken by the city while this matter was 
 being presented to the court. When the public right 
 appears so clear I shall not be a party to tying the 
 hands of the public authorities any longer. The 
 motion for an injunction will be denied. Prepare 
 the order, Mr. Calderwood." 
 
 That evening my name was in the newspaper 
 headlines in many forms of embarrassing publicity. 
 One of the worst read: "Merrill Wins Traction 
 Case Young Assistant Saves City Attorney Calder 
 wood from Defeat." The Daily Times of the 
 next day contained a long editorial asking why Cal 
 derwood had failed to make the point upon which 
 the city had won, and calling upon the Mayor to 
 remove his City Attorney or else to confess that the 
 traction fight was a fraud which had been exposed 
 unwittingly by "a naive young assistant city attorney
 
 STARTING TO WORK 57 
 
 who didn't understand that he was not expected to 
 win." 
 
 For several days I was very unhappy in the City 
 Hall. At first I thought I should be discharged. 
 Then I realized that Calderwood would not dare 
 to discharge me when I was credited with winning 
 the case. Disgustedly I wrote out my resignation. 
 Then I saw that that would appear as a deliberate 
 affront to my chief. I did not know what to do. I 
 talked it over with my father. "Just sit tight," he 
 said, "and wait till the storm blows over. Above 
 all things don't talk so that anyone can quote you." 
 
 "Do you think Calderwood actually intended to 
 lose the case?" I asked, "or did someone just scare 
 him off the point at the last minute?" 
 
 "He intended to win," replied my father, grimly, 
 "but not right away. You see the .company would 
 win in the lower court and then the city would appeal. 
 That way for two years or more the city would be 
 blocked. But Calderwood would raise your point 
 finally in the Supreme Court and win on it. Great 
 victory for the people! Don't you see? Meanwhile 
 the company would have got by the present trouble 
 and maybe there would be a new city council 
 more friendly than the present one. Both Calder 
 wood and the Company would have won on their 
 program. Now nobody has won except the people 
 and most of them don't know it or they don't 
 
 care." 
 
 Father was somewhat disillusioned. He had been 
 a "reformer" once and still bore the scars. I had
 
 5 8 STARTING TO WORK 
 
 my scars to come; and when I imagined them I 
 thought of them as "honorable scars," with anticipa 
 tory pride. Now, as I write, I wear these scars. 
 They came according to schedule. There are more 
 than I expected. They are somewhat disfiguring. I 
 have not the handsome appearance of the well-known 
 citizen of flawless conventionality. If I had to live 
 my life over again I doubt whether the thrills of 
 pride which I have known would seem sufficient pay 
 ment for these deep, cruel, slow-healing wounds. Yet 
 I hope that I should have the same courage to make 
 the same fights again the courage of youth the 
 courage of illusion. Without the constant challenge 
 of youth how error would endure! It is a wise 
 death that takes us away when we are too disillu 
 sioned to be of service any longer. 
 
 Of course Mr. Calderwood issued a long "ex 
 planation" which convinced no one but his friends. 
 The mayor issued a statement expressing every con 
 fidence in Calderwood. Then an improvement pro 
 ject favored by all the large business houses was 
 launched by the mayor and his City Attorney. The 
 newspapers were quietly but effectively informed that 
 the big advertisers favored this activity of the city 
 administration and it would be well to stop pounding 
 the City Hall for a time. 
 
 Emmet dropped down beside me one day when I 
 was waiting for a friend in the living room of the 
 Democratic club. 
 
 "I've been wanting to congratulate you, my boy," 
 he half whispered.
 
 STARTING TO WORK 59 
 
 "What's that on? Winning the traction case?" 
 I asked. 
 
 "Good Lord, no," he answered. "That was a 
 blunder. But you kept your rnouth shut afterward. 
 That showed some brain. Aren't you wise to your 
 boss, yet? No? Well, here is a tip, my boy. If 
 you ever say I told you I'll say you're a damn liar. 
 But you mustn't be so innocent. Don't you know 
 that Kohler and Stein are on the traction Company 
 pay-roll at $20,000 a year?" 
 
 "Kohler and Stein?" I repeated stupidly. 
 
 "The firm was Calderwood, Kohler and Stein, 
 before Caldie became City Attorney. Why do you 
 think the traction people hire the City Attorney's 
 partners? I think he calls 'em his former partners. 
 Why does the Electric Company, the Gas Company, 
 the Telephone Company, the big stores, the big con 
 tractors, the taxi-cab companies, the hotels why do 
 they all suddenly rush to pay fat fees to Kohler and 
 Stein? Get wise, my boy, get wise. You're a nice 
 young fellow. But you've got a lot to learn. Why 
 didn't your dad tell you?" 
 
 "Perhaps he tried to," I suggested. 
 
 I had a sick feeling somewhere inside my chest. 
 Above all other sensations I felt conscious of having 
 appeared the fool in the worldly eyes of my associ 
 ates. Even my indignation at Calderwood did not 
 drown my own sense of shame. This was what my 
 father had tried to tell me one day at lunch early 
 in my public career. I had burst into a heated de 
 fense of Calderwood, who had not only appointed
 
 60 STARTING TO WORK 
 
 me but then had given me a chance at the biggest 
 job in the office. Whereupon my father had voiced 
 a few unkind truths about my rawness and self- 
 sufficiency and about the probable future of a boy 
 "who knew so much more in his first year than any 
 other lawyer had been able to learn in twenty-five 
 years." Lunch had ended in silence and gloom. We 
 had avoided each other for some days thereafter. 
 
 Emmet rose. 
 
 "Don't worry, my boy. You got by that tight 
 place pretty well. But the next time you see queer 
 things happening, drop in on me and maybe I can 
 put you wise to what's what." 
 
 Three months later I remembered the "Big 
 Boy's" advice. The traction question came to the 
 front again through a case which bondholders of the 
 company had brought in the United States Court. 
 The principal work of preparing this fight was given 
 to Milberry, a fat, stupid, sycophant who had had 
 two months' experience some years before as an in 
 vestigator for the United States District Attorney. 
 Therefore, he had been designated by Calderwood 
 as "our expert in charge of federal court litigation." 
 I was sometimes called into conferences and I 
 guessed the reason one day when I heard Calder 
 wood assuring a newspaper man that, "Merrill has 
 not been taken away from traction matters. That 
 report is not true. Merrill will be in the federal 
 case." Clearly Calderwood did not dare to drop 
 me. He needed me for background. But he did 
 not intend that I should have a speaking part.
 
 STARTING TO WORK 61 
 
 So I investigated the program which was being 
 worked out and soon convinced myself that the new 
 case was simply a way devised to relieve the street 
 railway company of the burden of the ordinance 
 which I had persuaded the State court to uphold, and 
 which Calderwood was rigorously enforcing in the 
 newspapers. Then came the question: Should I 
 stand by and say nothing or should I try to stop 
 the betrayal? I thought of the "Big Boy's" offer of 
 advice. But I knew what that advice would be. I 
 had learned a good deal about the "Big Boy." Un 
 less he had some cunning plan for his own benefit 
 and wanted to use me as a club, he would tell me 
 to keep quiet. Then he would slip around to the 
 traction crowd and tell them that he had stopped me 
 from making trouble. 
 
 Nor did I care for my father's cynical wisdom. 
 I felt that it was time for a big decision. Was I 
 going to "play the game" as the successful politicians 
 played it, never allowing public interest to interfere 
 with private advantage; or was I going to refuse to 
 play that game unless I could square it with my idea 
 of what public service should be? If I refused to 
 play that game, was there any other game I could 
 play more decently and achieve any personal suc 
 cess? I was far from sure that my ideals were at 
 all practical. And I did want to be practical. To 
 be sneered at as an "impractical theorist" hurt me 
 more at that time than any other condemnation. 
 
 In the midst of my perplexity there came a piece 
 of luck. Jeannette wrote me that she was coming
 
 62 STARTING TO WORK 
 
 west to spend a week's holiday with an old school 
 mate. I telegraphed her promptly to save at least 
 three evenings for me. She wired back: "Yours as 
 always." Again I felt a bit disconcerted by the 
 readiness of her response, yet quite pleased. It 
 would be so good to see her again and tell her about 
 my great problem a real problem of the real world. 
 
 We were sitting at a little table in a popular res 
 taurant. The pink glow of a small lamp harmonized 
 with my spirit. I had forgotten how lovely Jean- 
 nette was. Thinking of her for so long as a 
 schoolteacher and an old friend, the memory of her 
 physical attractions had been clouded over. I had 
 imagined that her only appeal to me was as an in 
 teresting companion one who might be a pleasing 
 and helpful wife but who would not inspire an unrea 
 soning passion that would lead me rashly into inti 
 macy. From the standpoint of the male hunter in 
 contest with the female huntress I had felt safe. 
 
 But in her immediate presence I suddenly became 
 conscious of a desire and a fear a desire to capture 
 her, anxiously mixed with a fear that she might cap 
 ture me! Ever since I had greeted her at the home 
 of her hostess I had felt awkward, eager and con 
 strained. She, on the contrary, appeared completely 
 at ease and altogether charming. 
 
 "Tell me how you enjoy the affairs of state," she 
 suggested. 
 
 "I'm .thinking of resigning," I answered, and then
 
 STARTING TO WORK 63 
 
 told her about Calderwood and the latest move of 
 the traction company, and my perplexity. She lis 
 tened with obvious interest. I did not disguise the 
 heroism of the action I contemplated. I think I may 
 have overemphasized it. I expected that she would 
 advise my martyrdom. Then I was prepared to 
 point out its hard consequences from the careful 
 viewpoint of a practical man of affairs. 
 
 But she promptly presented the practical argu 
 ments against my sacrifice of official position and its 
 ample compensation. As a result I was forced to 
 support the more romantic program with an enthu 
 siasm which I had not possessed at the outset of the 
 discussion. 
 
 "I have learned," she said, a little sadly, "that 
 we don't live in a world of good and bad people and 
 it is hard to classify most acts as good or bad. You 
 may do a wholly good act yet perhaps destroy your 
 possibility of doing even better acts. All the people 
 you respect will not approve of you whatever you 
 do. I think you should apply your force wherever 
 you can be most effective." 
 
 "But if I always take orders, regardless of what 
 I think right, would you respect me?" 
 
 "It's a matter of degree, I guess," she answered 
 with that little weary note sounding in her voice. 
 "Of course you must not do anything really wrong. 
 But is silence accepting the directions of your chief 
 is that wrong?" 
 
 "I think it is." 
 
 Her opposition had hastened my decision. I have
 
 64 STARTING TO WORK 
 
 since suspected that she knew it would. Like most 
 older men I think I know more about women now 
 than I did years ago. But I have a guilty suspicion 
 also that they know much more about me. Youth 
 is a bit mysterious but the man of settled habits is 
 as obvious as he is dull. Jeannette suspected my 
 desire to declare myself to challenge my elders and 
 to compel them to recognize me as an independent 
 force. 
 
 "I have decided to resign," I announced, firmly, 
 although a delicious touch of fear stirred me as I 
 spoke. She shifted to my mood at once. 
 
 "Then if you are going to fight," she said, "please 
 fight hard. I hate to see men just resign as though 
 they had given up the struggle." 
 
 "I'm going to leave like a thirteen-inch shell," I 
 answered, "with a big back-kick to let them know 
 that I am on my way." 
 
 For a while we talked about my futur^, romancing 
 pleasantly. Gradually it seemed to become our 
 future which I found myself discussing. Jeannette's 
 eyes encouraged me with amused and sympathetic 
 interest. Her mouth was very sweet and tender. I 
 became solicitous about her present days, full of 
 small and thankless tasks. I began to plan secretly 
 how I might bring about a change. Then came a 
 cooling thought. Did I want to help her, above all 
 other things? Was that my life ambition? The 
 ardent interest faded in my voice. Jeannette's color 
 lost its brightness. There were tired lines under her 
 eyes. She looked discontented, even a trifle fretful.
 
 STARTING TO WORK 65 
 
 Once more our hands had approached, the fingers 
 had touched, but somehow they did not clasp. We 
 were very fond of each other. But we were not 
 lovers. 
 
 My resignation was a forty-eight hour sensation. 
 The opposition papers made the most of it. But 
 Mayor Courtney stood by his appointee and referred 
 to my action as "the outburst of a young lawyer 
 deceived by public applause into believing that his 
 judgment is superior to that of the eminent and ex 
 perienced head of the city law department." 
 
 The head of the local bar association gave out 
 an interview affirming the complete confidence of his 
 brother lawyers in the integrity and ability of Mr. 
 Calderwood. I sent to the newspapers a vicious and 
 sarcastic reply to this interview, pointing out that 
 the president of the bar association had been repre 
 senting local public utilities for fifteen years and 
 naturally he and his clients approved of Mr. Calder 
 wood. But, I asked, did not this testimonial help 
 to prove my case? The only publicity grven to this 
 statement of mine was the following sentence which 
 appeared in three newspapers "Rodney Merrill, 
 former assistant city attorney, issued a long state 
 ment yesterday attacking officials of the bar associa 
 tion who have supported City Attorney Calderwood 
 in his recent controversy with his obstreperous 
 assistant." 
 
 "Better quit it," said my father, whose parental
 
 66 STARTING TO WORK 
 
 feeling had brought him unexpectedly to my support. 
 "Now that that crooked bunch has got over its sur 
 prise they'll block you at every turn." 
 
 He was right. They did. Inside a few weeks I 
 observed with some humiliation that a considerable 
 public opinion had been cunningly created wherein 
 I was catalogued as a somewhat radical, quite un 
 practical young man whose egotism and desire for 
 self-advertisement had carried him into active dis 
 loyalty to his political benefactor. 
 
 It is hard to convince the exploited voters that 
 anyone on a public payroll really desires to render 
 public service. But sad-eyed plodders who would 
 welcome catastrophe and even contemplate crime "to 
 get their names in the paper," will readily assume 
 that a public official will risk even his beloved job 
 to be a headliner for an hour. "He likes to adver 
 tise," brings the wisest nods from those who yearn 
 most hopelessly for one moment in the spotlight. 
 
 After hearing a good deal of comment of this sort 
 concerning my day of notoriety I was eager to retire 
 into the peaceful obscurity of private practice. I 
 ceased efforts to justify my conduct or to save the 
 public from its officially-chosen friends.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 PLODDING AND DREAMING 
 
 IT is nearly six months since I left the City Hall 
 and rejoined my father in the old offices of 
 Merrill and Merrill. Business has been brisk 
 and I have made more money than if I had retained 
 my public office. I have not been unhappy but I 
 must admit that a lifetime of such months would be 
 a dreary prospect. Have I done anything worth 
 while? I doubt it. But with my doubt comes a 
 much harder question: What can I do that is worth 
 while? 
 
 Most of my time has been spent in closing up the 
 Girling estate. Mrs. Girling is pleased with every 
 thing except the inheritance tax and our bill. She 
 has finally admitted that I couldn't prevent the tax 
 after a long suspicious period of sly investigation 
 to find out whether some smarter attorney could not 
 have saved her from this loss. But she is still fixed 
 in her opinion that we are little better than highway 
 robbers in our demand for fees. Theoretically she 
 may be right. But practically we asked for less 
 than our just dues, according to prevailing standards. 
 Mrs. Girling's money comes from her dead hus 
 band's steel mill. He could buy the work of a strong 
 man for one year twelve hours a day of heavy life- 
 
 67
 
 68 PLODDING AND DREAMING 
 
 destroying labor for less than a thousand dollars. 
 So when I charge five thousand dollars for part of 
 a few months of comfortable effort I don't wonder 
 that Mrs. Girling thinks I am a polite thief. I 
 gently pointed out, with casual immodesty, that she 
 was employing brains, the fees for which are higher 
 than the wages of brawn. I cited as evidence her 
 husband's profits. She looked at me with the pity 
 ing contempt of a well-done old woman for the con 
 ceit of a raw young man and said: 
 
 "I see more gall than brains in that bill. Do you 
 think I'd ever recommend a lawyer who made such 
 charges, to any friend of mine?" 
 
 "We saved you Ten Thousand in the Simpson 
 deal," I suggested. 
 
 "You mean you didn't lose me more than Five 
 Thousand," she countered. 
 
 In the end she agreed to pay in installments and 
 went forth to advertise us as "terrible chargers 
 but really very clever men." 
 
 Of course we could hardly ask for a better recom 
 mendation to a "high-grade clientele" but somehow 
 the whole business sickened me. 
 
 Old man Girling was a robber but he did make 
 steel. He was a slave driver but he made his slaves 
 produce useful things bridges, sky-scrapers, rail 
 roads, machinery of modern life. We lawyers 
 how little we build how much we destroy; and al 
 ways we are charging "fees for services." Whom 
 or what do we serve? I wish I felt sure that I am 
 serving any good purpose, a little dream at the end
 
 PLODDING AND DREAMING 69 
 
 of the day's work, of something done or to be done 
 tomorrow that may seem worth while to God. 
 
 Yes, I'm worrying about God again not about 
 The Forbidder but about The Builder. Am I 
 building anything? If not I have a feeling that I 
 am wrong. I wrote a long letter to Jeannette about 
 this. I'm not afraid of punishment in the old 
 Hell sense but I don't want to waste my life. I 
 think there must be some reason for my being. 
 There is nothing in this legal business which seems 
 to me worth the cost to mother of the pain and 
 sacrifice she underwent to produce a man. My pay 
 comes out of the aching arms and legs, the tired 
 backs, of such as Girling's "hunkies." Do I add 
 anything to life equal to that cost? 
 
 Jeannette writes me 
 
 "You are becoming too introspective again, Rodney. It is 
 unhealthy to spend too much time asking, why. We will 
 never answer the question. I don't know why 1 should 
 teach my girls .the things I've learned. But there is a terrible 
 must in living. We must carry on. We breed out kind 
 and teach the young the half-truths we were taught and so 
 
 the world goes on And why? We don't know. We 
 
 only know we must. The law of our being is motion. 
 Fortunately most of us must earn food and clothes and 
 shelter and we cannot spend much time in thinking. 
 
 "If I were not a spinster, presumably engaged in husband 
 hunting, I should tell you that you need more responsibility. 
 You are a little too free from burdens for the moment too 
 much your own master. If you had a wife and children
 
 70 PLODDING AND DREAMING 
 
 you would accept your job in life as a fact and not find 
 much time to discuss its theory. However, being a bachelor 
 maid, I shall refrain modestly from further discussion of 
 the marital road out of your perplexities." 
 
 Dear old Jeannette! Of course she isn't old she 
 is a wise young woman. I love to get her letters. 
 I wish I could talk with her quite often not every 
 morning at breakfast, but two or three evenings 
 during the week. At times I want to go and put 
 my arms around her and call her an "old dear" and 
 hear her say "you funny boy." But I don't yearn 
 to do this. I don't feel that life is incomplete with 
 out her. I don't want to wrap my life in hers, or 
 hers in mine. I only want her for part of my life 
 and that relationship is impossible. 
 
 A few nights ago I told Mary about Jeannette. 
 Mary is somewhat critical. She admires Jeannette's 
 independence and her intelligence but she thinks a 
 woman's natural career is in home-making. Mary 
 has been brought up to be a home-maker. 
 
 It seems strange that I have not written anything 
 before about Mary, because I have known her quite 
 intimately for a year or more. Her father, Christo 
 pher Belknap, is one of our best clients, not so 
 wealthy that my attentions to Mary should be re 
 garded as fortune hunting, but sufficiently well-off so 
 that my father's worldly judgment has approved my 
 apparent interest in Belknap's only daughter. 
 
 Mary is a very attractive young woman of medium 
 height and well rounded figure. She wears all clothes
 
 PLODDING AND DREAMING 71 
 
 well, but looks her best in evening gowns. The first 
 time I met her at a dance I thought she was the 
 most adorable girl I had ever looked upon with 
 her shimmering reddish brown hair, her exceptionally 
 deep blue eyes and, most of all, her expression of 
 happiness a radiant joy of living that quickened 
 the spirits of all about her. For that evening I was 
 quite bowled over. Indeed I was completely en 
 chanted several weeks during which I persistently 
 labored to establish myself in the position of most 
 favored suitor in a considerable group of young men 
 all bent on that accomplishment. 
 
 With success, however, the thrill of the achieve 
 ment suddenly faded. Somehow the Mary whom I 
 held in my arms for our first parting kiss was not 
 just the Mary of my dreams. There was a some 
 what unexpected flavor of passion in that caress, that 
 was not distasteful, but also there was, a lack of some 
 thing that I had anticipated. Perhaps it was a cer 
 tain spiritual I almost said intellectual elation, 
 that I had sought and had not found. In all honesty 
 I'm such a fool in my hopes of what a woman can 
 mean to a man, or a man to a woman, that I suppose 
 I never shall be satisfied. I'm sure at any rate that 
 no woman ought to be satisfied with me. 
 
 I walked home from Mary's house feeling like a 
 cad. I really meant all the things I had said, and 
 felt all the feelings I had described. (How a man 
 loves to tell a woman just how he feels ! Is she as 
 interested as she seems or isn't she much more 
 interested in how she feels?) Yet under all my
 
 72 PLODDING AND DREAMING 
 
 glowing words a queer cool little thought was run 
 ning in my mind about Jeannette. I felt sure that 
 if it had been Jeannette that I had held so close I 
 should have been much less incoherent much less 
 disturbed physically far more calm and yet it 
 seemed to me that my brain would have been racing 
 at higher speed, that my mental exaltation would 
 have carried me far above the clouds wherein I 
 floated with Mary. 
 
 In all these years I have never made love to 
 Jeannette, except at arm's length. Sometimes my 
 letters have gone rather far. I've never had any 
 maddening desire to snatch her away from all other 
 men and lock her in my arms as the joy of joys, 
 worth any cost. Yet she is fair to look upon and 
 easily stirs men pulses. I've always felt as though 
 it would be very sweet to know that she really cared 
 for me beyond all others and yet here's Mary, 
 whom I can consider quite calmly in absence, far 
 more calmly than I can appraise Jeannette but 
 when I see Mary I always want to run away with 
 her, away from all the others, to some favoring 
 obscurity where I can crush her yielding body against 
 mine and feel her soft cool arms around my neck. 
 I want to make love to her. I want her to make 
 love to me. She answers all my questions as to why 
 I want to be in love. With her I know why. 
 
 Yet . . . always I find myself asking, would love 
 with Jeannette be nearer to pure joy perhaps a 
 higher, thinner note, not so rich and full but with 
 a thrill almost of pain in its fine intensity?
 
 PLODDING AND DREAMING 73 
 
 Mary and I are tacitly, not formally, engaged. 
 She is not a coquette and I'm no philanderer. There 
 cannot be another for either of us while we talk 
 and act as we do in regard to each other. But I 
 have a strong feeling that I have no business marry 
 ing Mary, at least not before I have made love to 
 Jeannette and know more about her, and myself, 
 than I know at present. How can I do that now? 
 Yes, I am a fool. I should have made love to 
 Jeannette long ago, and then I should know. But 
 should I ? Probably I should have insisted on marry 
 ing Jeannette and if she would have had me we 
 would be married now. Then if I had met Mary, 
 or some other Mary, to heat my blood into this mad 
 ness, what would have happened? 
 
 One young delusion has left me. It is not the 
 "pure young man" who is the ideal mate I mean 
 the ultra pure, who has never known the giddy spell 
 of a common passion. May a kindly Fate save all 
 women, and all men, from marrying the first, or the 
 second, or the third love. Out of many loves may 
 come a lover. I am just beginning to realize that I 
 have loved, not too many, but far too few. But I 
 can't explain this to Mary. Mary has been adored 
 by a host but she, herself? Perhaps she is not 
 wholly frank she does not kiss like an amateur. 
 She sometimes speaks of that Captain who hung 
 around her last winter the man had a rotten repu 
 tation I'm surprised that father Belknap let him 
 come to the house. Sometimes her eyes are a bit 
 dreamy, almost wistful it seems to my jealous gaze,
 
 74 PLODDING AND DREAMING 
 
 when she speaks of him. She says he was misunder 
 stood, he had a very sweet side to him. I hate his 
 suave manners! When I meet him in the club he 
 always wants to be remembered to Miss Belknap. 
 
 Really I must see Jeannette although, of course, 
 it's too late. I couldn't make love to her now even 
 if she would let me. She has heard about Mary. I 
 wrote her that I might be coming east soon. She 
 answered by saying she would be glad to see me, but 
 perhaps I was planning a honeymoon and, naturally, 
 even old friends wouldn't expect to be favored with 
 a call.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 MOONLIGHT 
 
 IT won't do any good to call myself names. Any 
 how I didn't act deliberately. Pettigrew tele 
 graphed that I must meet him in Boston or the 
 new company would be captured by the enemy; so 
 I had to go. Then I was forced to wait Saturday 
 and Sunday with nothing to do while Pettigrew went 
 back to Portland to talk to our big stockholders. I 
 telephoned Jeannette and she said she could spend 
 the week-end with an old friend in Cambridge. I 
 took Pettigrew's car, which he had entrusted to me 
 in ignorance of my incompetence as a driver, and 
 Jeannette and I spent two glorious, days driving all 
 over that dear familiar countryside around Boston. 
 Any man or woman with a dash of romance in the 
 blood would have been affected by the situation. 
 
 It seemed that time had turned backward. I was 
 once again in Law School and Jeannette had just 
 come east to begin teaching. We were again an 
 avid boy and a dancing girl exploring the roads to 
 happiness that wound in and out through the Massa 
 chusetts hills. It was late in the fall and in the 
 Saturday afternoon dusk we climbed the well-known 
 road to Bald Pate, speculating on whether the Inn 
 had closed for the season. A single light in the 
 
 75
 
 76 MOONLIGHT 
 
 rambling old building cheered us as we topped the 
 ascent. 
 
 "Just closing up for the year," said the stout old 
 lady we met at the door. "But I guess John and I 
 can get you a bit of supper." 
 
 The fact is, that in half an hour they served us a 
 meal of surprising quality. In the dimly lighted liv 
 ing room in front of a great log fire they set a little 
 table and on the shining linen appeared, in delft blue 
 china, cold chicken, fried potatoes, a mysterious, 
 delicious salad, hot biscuits and jelly, and coffee with 
 thick yellow cream. At the last came a mince pie 
 of the kind that mother would have yearned to make. 
 When we had signified the impossibility of eating 
 any more, despite urgent offers of more coffee or 
 biscuits or pie, our cordial hosts cleared away the 
 table, told us to make ourselves comfortable and 
 stay as long as we liked and retired to the distant 
 kitchen. 
 
 I drew up a little divan in front of the fire, lighted 
 my pipe and then we talked. Real talk is after all 
 one of the greatest joys of life. Each wanted to 
 talk and each wanted to hear what the other had to 
 say an unusually fair arrangement. She told her 
 trials and disappointments and I told mine. Then 
 we pictured our dreams and our hopes. We drew 
 together almost insensibly as our ideas enmeshed. 
 My arm across her shoulders tightened as confidence 
 grew more intimate. She felt more frail than I 
 remembered from the dances of yesterday. A surge 
 of pity swept through me. She was so brave and
 
 MOONLIGHT 77 
 
 cheery in her struggle for independence. She pro 
 tested that she didn't really want independence. The 
 revelation came with a rush of words and a few 
 tears. People thought she liked to be free and self- 
 willed. She yearned for a proud dependence. She 
 had no illusion as to her destiny. It was no solitary 
 triumph her solitude meant loneliness on the road 
 and failure at the end. 
 
 " 'He travels the fastest who travels alone,' " she 
 quoted. "That wasn't written by a woman." 
 
 "A man may travel faster," I suggested. "But 
 it's usually a case of 'I don't know where I'm go 
 ing but I'm on my way.' ' 
 
 My right hand had found her two hands clasped 
 together. My left drew her head down on my 
 shoulder. A little laugh bubbled up from hidden 
 tears. 
 
 "I felt so tired yesterday I'm so comfy now," 
 she said, with an almost imperceptible snuggle into 
 my arm. 
 
 There was no sound except the crackle of the fire. 
 There was no world except the darkened room the 
 firelight Jeannette and I. As I bent down, her 
 drooping lids lifted in a glance of half-surprise and 
 half-expectancy. Then her lips met mine, unhesitant 
 and generous, and I held her long and close. It 
 seemed that somewhere I heard a song a song of 
 joy that would last while we two clung together 
 and I wanted it to last forever
 
 78 MOONLIGHT 
 
 Then I was kneeling on the floor. Somehow I 
 felt I must explain. 
 
 "I've waited so long," I said. 
 
 "But why?" she whispered. "Tell me, Rodney, 
 why?" 
 
 "I don't know," was all I could answer, but I 
 covered her hands with kisses. 
 
 She stood up. 
 
 "The moon is shining and the view must be won 
 derful." 
 
 We wandered out on the long veranda, moving 
 slowly with our arms about each other. Before us 
 lay miles of woodland and fields great dark patches 
 and pools of light under the full moon. Here and 
 there a yellow flicker showed that there were homes 
 and living people. But we didn't want them in our 
 world. 
 
 "If we came into this world to know such happi 
 ness," I began 
 
 "Then why should there be any to-morrow?" she 
 finished. 
 
 "If this isn't the end and aim of life then why 
 should we know such joy?" 
 
 I resented each little yellow light that reminded 
 me of a world of drudgery. 
 
 "Perhaps," she answered; "perhaps to give us 
 courage to go through." 
 
 "To go through to what end?" I persisted. 
 
 "It must be beyond our dreaming." 
 
 "Why is it that I feel as though I should like to 
 die in such a moment as this before the spell can
 
 MOONLIGHT 79 
 
 break, as though I might then go on from joy to 
 greater joy. Is it cowardice? Do I dread to pay 
 the price? Do I want to shirk life or is it instinct 
 to follow the light while it lasts?" 
 
 "It's your imagination, dear," she whispered, "the 
 spirit that leaps out of your body out of to-day 
 over the hills, across the centuries turns back from 
 the to-morrows and beckons you on. Our slow mov 
 ing feet have no wings." 
 
 "Then we'll stand on the magic carpet to-night 
 and fly away to to-morrow and to-morrow." 
 
 We drew still closer and there was no room for 
 even words between us. 
 
 Suddenly she wept, at first quietly, then with great 
 sobs that shook her in my arms while I tried with 
 stupid, broken phrases to comfort her. 
 
 And then she smiled. 
 
 "It's because I'm so happy," she explained. 
 "When you are happy you worry about to-morrow, 
 and / cry because of yesterday." 
 
 "Yes I hate to think how unhappy I may be " 
 
 "And I hate to think how unhappy / have been." 
 
 It must have been nearly midnight when I heard 
 the man, John, coming up the steps at the end of 
 the veranda. 
 
 "You must excuse us for keeping you up," I called 
 out to him. "I had forgotten that you might be 
 waiting. It is such a gorgeous night and these porch 
 chairs are so comfortable." 
 
 "Oh I don't mind," he said, slowly lumbering 
 toward us. "I had a sight of chores to do. Didn't
 
 8o MOONLIGHT 
 
 know but you and the missus maybe wanted to put 
 up for the night. Guess we could manage some 
 how." 
 
 I would say that according to his lights he was a 
 very tactful old gentleman. 
 
 "No, no thank you," I answered hastily, "we 
 should have started home before this. We've quite 
 a drive ahead of us. I wonder if you have any 
 extra gasoline. I may be a bit low." 
 
 "I can let you have a few gallons, I guess," he 
 said and we followed him down the steps and out 
 of cloudland. 
 
 There was a gray light in the east as I drove up 
 Brattle Street to the home of Jeannette's kind and 
 indulgent hostess who had given her a key and 
 remarked gayly, and wisely, "I shan't be sitting up 
 for you, even if you come in before twelve." 
 
 It was daylight as I crossed Harvard bridge 
 alone. The air was cold and wet with the rising 
 fog, but my blood was racing and my spirit still 
 soared. Oh, night of nights ! That long, long road 
 that ended all too soon! That tousled head that 
 pressed against my shoulder and the shining eyes 
 that pretended surprise when I stopped on the little 
 bridges over sparkling waters and insisted on one 
 
 more good-night kiss before she fell asleep . And 
 
 since she never did fall asleep there were a great 
 many pauses before we reached Harvard Square.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 FOG 
 
 THE persistent telephone bell woke me. 
 "You asked me to call you," she said. "It 
 is nearly noon." 
 
 "Oh yes, thank you," I answered, fumbling with 
 my thoughts. "Have you had breakfast?" 
 
 "Long ago, poor sleepy-head." 
 
 Her voice had a strange note in it a touch of 
 laughter and of fear. I became sufficiently awake 
 to realize that my greeting must have contrasted 
 poorly with my parting whispers of a few hours be 
 fore. 
 
 "Will you be ready to start if I call for you in 
 an hour, dear?" I ventured, clumsily. 
 
 "Oh, not in an hour, dear," she answered with 
 light mockery. "I'm all ready now, but I shall die 
 if I wait another whole hour." 
 
 "You old darling," I said, "I'm only half awake. 
 After I come out of the shower wide-awake, I won't 
 even think of stopping for breakfast. I'll be at your 
 door in thirty-seven and one-half minutes. I'm on 
 my way already. Good-bye." 
 
 I drove up ahead of schedule but she was stand 
 ing on the steps and looking twice as (ovely as my 
 thought had pictured her. 
 
 81
 
 82 FOG 
 
 "Confound you!" I protested, as she slipped into 
 the seat beside me, "if you had waited until I rang 
 the bell, I could have kissed you in the hall, and now 
 I may have to wait twenty miles." 
 
 "Maybe longer than that," she retorted. "I think 
 that I did very wrong last night to let an engaged 
 man make love to me." 
 
 Her lips were laughing, but her eyes were watch 
 ing me. 
 
 "I told you that I was not engaged. I told you 
 honestly that I was very fond of Mary and I also 
 told you that I didn't feel toward her as I thought 
 a man ought to feel toward the woman he was going 
 to marry." 
 
 "You don't feel toward her the way you feel 
 toward me?" she inquired quizzically. 
 
 "Is that a proposal?" I demanded, slowing down 
 the car. "Because if it is, I warn you that I may throw 
 myself into your arms right before all these people." 
 
 "Horrors, no!" she cried. "Drive on. I didn't 
 know you could be so nasty before breakfast. I 
 wouldn't have you now as a gift." 
 
 We kept away from that dangerous subject until 
 late in the evening. All afternoon we drove north, 
 away from Boston and its far-flung suburbs. By 
 nightfall we had found unfrequented roads. We 
 loafed along, now chatting about inconsequential 
 things, now biting deep into some real problem of 
 daily living, sometimes consciously abstract in our 
 talk, sometimes intentionally personal in applying 
 our thoughts to each other.
 
 FOG 83 
 
 But whenever I drew close to that inner self that 
 she had unveiled to me so freely in the early hours of 
 this same day somehow she drew away. Our lips 
 met now and then, but it was the kiss of boy and 
 girl, the kiss of comradeship, with only a faint flavor, 
 not even a half-promise, of something more. I was 
 eager to reassert the mood of the preceding night, 
 and yet content to wait, unwilling to risk even a 
 momentary hesitation from her who had come to 
 my arms with a love that seemed all gift and no 
 demand. 
 
 About eight o'clock we ran into a village where 
 we found a little crumbling hotel that looked as 
 though it might have been a tavern in the days of 
 the revolution. A spare and dismal female agreed 
 to furnish us food and ushered us into a dingy dining 
 room, lit by one oil lamp, which was fortified by a 
 tin reflector. In our expectant mood the surround 
 ings lightened our spirits instead of depressing them. 
 I think each of us felt on the brink of revelation 
 and what is so cheering as the hope of self-revela 
 tion to a favoring audience? 
 
 To our surprise the mournful hostess eventually 
 returned to us with two small and quite tender steaks, 
 garnished with sizzling potatoes and accompanied 
 by some lonesome sliced tomatoes. Bread and but 
 ter were beyond criticism and the coffee was fresh 
 made, while the apple pie upheld the best New 
 England traditions. On our departure we were 
 favored with a thin, but evidently genuine, smile of 
 pleasure at our enthusiastic gratitude.
 
 84 FOG 
 
 A fog was drifting in from the ocean and, as we 
 drove easterly, into the marshy country, the road 
 became a mysterious highway into an uninhabited 
 land, while from far away we heard the murmur of 
 the sea. We tasted its briny flavor on our lips. A 
 vague moonlight showed us now and then wide 
 stretches of barren plain through openings in the 
 woodlands that flanked the roadway. Before long 
 we had left the trees behind and the fog grew 
 heavier. I drove slowly. The lights of the car re 
 vealed only a few feet of deeply rutted road. At 
 intervals the groaning note of a bell-buoy sounded 
 faintly above the increasing noise of the sea. 
 
 "I don't know where we are going," I said, "but 
 it's like life a little light here for you and me in 
 our brief hour darkness and mystery all around." 
 
 "Except that we can go back if we lose our way," 
 she whispered. "In life you can't go back. You 
 must find some way to go on." 
 
 "Then we'll make it life," I answered. "We'll 
 find some way to go on." 
 
 "I wonder," she said. 
 
 I stopped the car. 
 
 "What is the use evading?" I burst forth, unable 
 to restrain my insistent feelings. "The question is, 
 do we want to go on? If you do we will find the 
 way. I can't help it, Jeannette. I've tried to be a 
 reasoning being but I'm not. I can't think it 
 through. I only know what I want and I want to 
 have you." 
 
 For a moment I overwhelmed her with my desire
 
 FOG 85 
 
 for her arms, her lips, her cheek against mine, her 
 moist hair tingling across my forehead. 
 
 "But, Rodney." She finally stopped my eager 
 mouth with her hand. "There is that same 'but' 
 again. Last night you said you had waited so long, 
 and to-night you say you can't help it. Why did you 
 wait and why do you want to help it? Something 
 holds you back from the full giving. You want some 
 thing from me but you don't want to give." 
 
 "Yes, yes I do. I want to give you everything. 
 I want to make you happy. I want to see your eyes 
 shine. But a thousand ancestors have given me a 
 thousand fool ideas of what is good and wise and 
 right and I want to do what is good and wise and 
 right and I can't see clearly and when I start to 
 go ahead on a great decision a lot of these fool in 
 herited ideas tell me to go ahead and a lot of them 
 tell me to hold back. It's all those rotten ancestors 
 who bother me. All that I am to-day wants you. All 
 that I know to-night is that I am a wanting man 
 and you are the dearest, most wonderful woman 
 I've ever known and I don't want to lose you to 
 morrow." 
 
 "But to-morrow," she insisted, "your ancestors 
 will come back in the daylight and tell you that you 
 don't really care nearly as much for me as you 
 thought." 
 
 "No that isn't it." I was on the defensive. Sud 
 denly I had an inspiration. 
 
 "It isn't my ancestors after all, Jeannette. I see 
 it now. I was all wrong. It's you. You don't
 
 86 FOG 
 
 know. You don't know whether I am the man or 
 not. You don't call for me. You're not sure you 
 want me. If you wanted me you would take me. 
 I'm the humbler creature, like every man who is 
 really in love. And you are the woman, the woman 
 who always decides. Confess it now. You are my 
 uncertainty. You don't know." 
 
 "No, I don't know," she confessed. "And yet, 
 I feel that it isn't that I don't know what I want. 
 But I don't want any man who has any doubt as to 
 what he wants. So we come back to your doubts 
 at the end, my dear." 
 
 "Oh, now, 'I am the doubter and the doubt.' Why 
 should I try to match words with you? Brute force 
 is my best argument and the only one you really 
 respect." 
 
 For a moment she protested, and then again, as 
 in the firelit room at Baldpate Inn, she relaxed and 
 came into my arms with a passionate tenderness that 
 thrilled me through and through. The fog rolled 
 around us the breaking seas thundered in our ears 
 and clinging together we floated away, tempest 
 driven lost to all the world and madly happy. 
 
 She shivered. 
 
 "Are you cold, dear?" 
 
 "Not cold," she whispered. "I think I'm a little 
 afraid. The fog, the sound of the breakers I feel 
 as though I were drifting too far out to sea. We 
 must go back." 
 
 "Oh, not so soon." 
 
 "It's a long way home, dear boy. Don't forget
 
 FOG 87 
 
 that I must take a train at six-thirty in the morning 
 back to school." 
 
 Her voice broke a trifle. She released herself 
 and began rearranging her hair. 
 
 "I don't want you to go back to that school," I 
 began 
 
 "Let's talk about that on the way home. Really 
 I'm just a little frightened in this lonesome place 
 and with such a strange rough man" her eyes 
 twinkled "instead of that nice boy Rodney who 
 was always such a safe playfellow, until yesterday." 
 
 We were a long time finding our way back to the 
 Boston Road. When we were finally rolling along 
 the familiar way somehow we began to talk of the 
 past instead of the future. We reviewed all our old 
 times together, the long walks, the football games, 
 the dances, the theater parties, of my Law School 
 days. I realized with a shock as we crossed Harvard 
 Bridge that nothing had been said about to-morrow 
 the to-morrow that I had sketched in disjointed 
 phrases as I held her in my arms and told her how 
 I had dreamed and hoped and yet never dared to 
 believe that she and I would plan each for the 
 other and with the other always together. 
 
 I started to protest. I could not drive her directly 
 home. We had too much to say, too much that 
 must be said to-night. 
 
 "No, not to-night," she said. "Please, Rodney, 
 please. You must let me think. We have turned 
 a sharp corner, very suddenly. Don't make me 
 hurry on."
 
 88 FOG 
 
 "But you are going back to-morrow morning." 
 
 "This morning," she smiled, pointing to the big 
 white dial on the tower, which registered one o'clock. 
 
 "But I must go back to Chicago just as soon as 
 my work is done. I can't go back without seeing you 
 again." 
 
 "You must," she answered. "It is better that way. 
 Please don't even telephone before you go. We'll 
 say good-bye to-night and then we will go away from 
 each other for a while and try to think. We are 
 both a little crazy just now, you know." 
 
 "If this is being crazy, I don't want to be sane 
 again," I insisted. "Let's stay crazy." 
 
 "We can't," she said. "I know it to-night and 
 you'll know it to-morrow. But don't misunderstand 
 me, dear. Didn't I tell you that I loved you?" 
 
 "I believe you did." 
 
 "Then remember this: I meant it and I always 
 shall. No. No. Don't not just now I can't 
 stand it . Not until we say good-bye. But re 
 member: I meant it and I always shall." 
 
 It was not until Thursday morning that I reached 
 Chicago. In a heap of collected mail on my desk 
 was a square blue envelope that I seized at once. 
 Did it contain the solution of my problem? All the 
 long day of the journey I had sat staring out of the 
 window into a hidden future. At night I had lain 
 awake for hours in my berth. Finally it seemed that
 
 FOG 89 
 
 half an answer came to my great question. Not a 
 very heroic answer yet it seemed the right one. 
 
 The full answer would come from Jeannette 
 not from me. That was my solution. Perhaps it 
 was in this blue envelope. I had tried to face my 
 questions honestly not as a practical man making 
 a mean effort to calculate worldly advantage not 
 as a romantic boy foolishly playing fairyland in 
 everyday life. But honestly I had sought to measure 
 our chances of growth as a man and as a woman 
 together. Would each help or hinder the other? 
 In every mental way I felt sure that Jeannette would 
 stimulate and encourage me lift up my aspirations 
 and keep my mind alert. It was a craving for that 
 aid which I felt most satisfied even in a passionate 
 caress. And my doubting, my perplexity with life 
 she would share that at first a pleasant and then 
 a discomforting thought. Wasn't that a lack she 
 had found in me? She had said: "I don't want a 
 man who has any doubt as to what he wants." Her 
 questioning spirit sought a self-confident mate. My 
 friends thought me opinionated, too self-reliant 
 but her insight went deeper. She found me wanting. 
 
 Perhaps that was why I felt so comfortable with 
 Mary. Life was a much simpler thing to Mary than 
 to Jeannette. Mary's God had arranged for 
 churches, where Mary could go and hear divine wis 
 dom conveyed to her in ordinary human words 
 through regularly ordained preachers to whom had 
 been revealed eternal truth. In this way Mary was 
 provided with neat answers to all questionings as
 
 90 FOG 
 
 to good or evil. She always knew which way was 
 forward and which way was back. But Jeannette 
 and I were always puzzled and uncertain. Our God 
 was reticent, evasive not unreal, but always unreal 
 ized yet not comfortably remote, but very near and 
 most disturbing. I might say without irreverence 
 that Jeannette and I felt that we must take care of 
 our God but Mary's God took care of her. 
 
 I had done a good deal of thinking about children. 
 When I imagined a home with Jeannette the thought 
 of children seemed an intrusion. Jeannette herself 
 seemed so much more important than any child. I 
 did not like to think of any sacrifice of her and her 
 life for children. Her individual development would 
 be more important than the development of a family. 
 Toward Mary my attitude was different. Mary's 
 accepted destiny was motherhood. What an ideal 
 mother she would be just, patient, loving and 
 assured in her simple wisdom. 
 
 Out of all my guessing and dreaming had come 
 my half answer: The woman knows. Her instinct 
 is truer. Jeannette knows whether she wants me. 
 I doubt if Mary wants any one man. She only wants 
 a certain kind of man just as I want a certain kind 
 of woman like Mary for a certain kind of life 
 the conventional kind of life, which may be the wisest 
 kind of life for me. With Jeannette life will be 
 more of an adventure a greater hazard more 
 likelihood of failure and the chance of a greater 
 success.
 
 YOG 91 
 
 I opened the blue envelope in hope, and in fear. 
 This is what she wrote : 
 
 "My dear, dear Rodney you may never understand this 
 poor effort of mine but do believe that I mean exactly what 
 I am going to say and that I shall do what I am going to 
 do feeling certain that it is best for you and best for me. I 
 have decided to marry Jim. You didn't know there was 
 any Jim, which was unfair of me because you told me a 
 little, not very frankly, about Mary. I, too, had my doubts. 
 You and I have been such good friends so long you have 
 been, and always will be, so dear to me that it seemed as 
 though I could not marry Jim and never know what it 
 would mean to feel your arms around me, never know but 
 that if you had come to me some day and told me that you 
 loved me I should have known a joy greater than any other 
 joy in life. 
 
 "Into the very depth of my uncertainty came your voice 
 over the telephone. You may think I encouraged you to 
 make love to me, those two wonderful days. Perhaps I 
 did. I tried not to do so. But oh, I wanted so to know. 
 And now, am I disillusioned? Not at all. You are not 
 a clever lover, dear, as my small experience goes but I'll 
 whisper in your ear that you are the sweetest, tenderest lover 
 I shall ever know. Now I know that I have always loved 
 you and I always shall. But I am going to marry Jim. 
 
 "You and I are not good medicine for each other, dear, 
 at least not yet and 'not yet' means the same as 'never.' 
 We both need a steadying mate. We would wear each other 
 down, each of us bent on self-assertion, each fighting to pre 
 serve an individuality in a world of commonplace. You 
 were right in your doubt and I had my doubt too I'll 
 confess it. 
 
 "Jim has no doubts. He's a mining engineer. He'll pack 
 me up and carry me around the world with him, never
 
 92 FOG 
 
 questioning but that it is for my good to have my life follow 
 his, never doubting the supreme importance of his plans 
 any more than he doubts now the supreme importance of 
 having me to carry along with his other luggage. Really I 
 quite adore Jim. Don't let anything in this letter seem to 
 reflect on him. I shall be proudly dependent upon him. I 
 shall rebel at times and he will call out the troops to save 
 the union and my rebellion will be suppressed. 
 
 "One last word, dearest boy. Of course, you won't think 
 that I was playing with you any more than you were play 
 ing with me. We are both born doubters who must touch 
 wet paint and put fingers in the fire and investigate and 
 explore and suffer and keep trying to find truth. We 
 couldn't marry apart without first trying to find out whether 
 we wanted to marry together, could we? 
 
 "And I refuse to suffer for my happiness, Rodney. I will 
 not be sorry for those two days of rapture, though I have cried 
 a good deal but that is my way of being happy, you know. 
 I wish, oh how I wish, that I could be with you often, but 
 that cannot be. I think it will be better if a long time 
 passes before we meet again. But we must meet again. This 
 is not farewell. 
 
 "I hope yes, I believe you will understand. 
 
 "Please remember what I told you. I meant it and I al 
 ways shall."
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 GETTING AND SPENDING 
 
 IT is now over two years since Mary and I re 
 turned from our short honeymoon and estab 
 lished ourselves in that five-room section of a 
 huge, ugly apartment building which we call home. 
 As I look back upon our three weeks at White 
 Springs it seems like the last chapter of the myth 
 of youth. The unreal irresponsibility of the boy 
 Rodney had its full flowering in those days of 
 romance. I spent freely and luxuriously a consider 
 able sum out of the balance of my savings which 
 remained after paying for the furnishings of this 
 "home." For the time I banished from my mind 
 doubts of the past and worries of the future. 
 
 "We can't have but one honeymoon," said Mary 
 and I. "We will not skimp its pleasure." 
 
 We rode and drove together in the mild sweet 
 sunshine. We took long walks in moonlit trails that 
 wound around the hillsides. We played at golf and 
 'danced and loitered along through Elysian days. At 
 the end we started homeward with a certain dis 
 mayed feeling that we should have planned a longer 
 stay in this isle of enchantment to which we would 
 never be able to return. Yet this regret was soon
 
 94 GETTING AND SPENDING 
 
 lost in anticipation of all the strange pleasures of 
 making a new home and living a new life, which 
 awaited us there, in the city of dirt and noise, but 
 also of pleasant familiar ways and friendly faces. 
 
 Home-making did not prove exactly the easy 
 entertainment that we had expected. There were 
 differences of taste and judgment that seemed trifling 
 at the outset but which grew in importance as they 
 repeated themselves in discussion and planning. 
 There were financial difficulties in the way of ac 
 complishing a large number of our desires and we 
 found the phrase "we'll have to do without that" 
 so often in our life that the early sweet taste of 
 sacrifice soured very soon to the bitter flavor of 
 repression. 
 
 In Mary I discovered some baffling moods 
 illogical attitudes which lost the charm they wore 
 in days of courtship and became curiously irritating. 
 In me she found a stubbornness, which I deny all the 
 more vehemently because I fear she is right. I am 
 not going to set down a criticism of Mary because 
 she has behaved splendidly in all the trouble that 
 has come upon us. But this I will say. I must criti 
 cize her father and her mother for failing to give 
 her any idea of the relationship between money and 
 hours of work. Being a lawyer, every dollar I obtain 
 comes from a certain amount of time spent in doing 
 something. I cannot increase my income by digging 
 more coal, or selling more soap, or by advertising 
 bargains, or by absorbing competitors, or by any of 
 the various means whereby Brown and Smith and
 
 GETTING AND SPENDING 95 
 
 Jones may rise from poverty to affluence in ten years 
 or less. The legal path to riches is a long, narrow 
 way along the edge of the cliffs. Progress is usually 
 slow; and those who try to go on a run are likely 
 to fall exhausted, even if they avoid a fatal misstep, 
 before they have advanced very far. 
 
 As I write these words I know that only a small 
 number out of five thousand lawyers in this city are 
 earning as much money as I am. For ordinary 
 routine work it is impossible to charge at a rate which 
 will produce even what I make above my office ex 
 penses. It requires specially good cases, in addition 
 to the regular grind. But Smith and Brown and 
 Jones, the wholesaler, the manufacturer and the job 
 ber, whose sales may be expanded considerably 
 according to their abilities and energies are making 
 profits out of the labor of other men. Their annual 
 income is not limited by their hours of work, but 
 only by the ability with which they use their hours. 
 
 Mary cannot grasp this distinction between the 
 money-making ability of the lawyer and of the busi 
 ness man. Eventually I may become one of the 
 heads of a big law office and profit somewhat out 
 of the work of subordinates. But to the end of my 
 days my earnings out of the law will depend largely 
 on the charges which I can make for my own time. 
 Age and experience and prestige alone can materially 
 increase my earning powers. 
 
 I try to explain this to Mary. She answers that 
 Mr. Moulton, the lumber dealer, is reputed to have 
 made two hundred thousand dollars in the last three
 
 96 GETTING AND SPENDING 
 
 years! I stiffen my jaw and again point out that I 
 am selling my time and not lumber. She remarks 
 that Jethro Dean, who is a lawyer, is also a million 
 aire. I suggest that Dean is sixty-five years old, 
 that he made most of his money in the Independent 
 Steel Company and that he obtained a foothold in 
 that company through his wife's inheritance of a 
 block of stock from her father. Mary concludes the 
 discussion by remarking plaintively that all our 
 friends seem to be making more money than I am, 
 yet "I certainly think you have more brains than 
 most of them." In some way she suggests the idea 
 that I am perversely squandering my talents. She 
 indicates an opinion that an impractical idealism leads 
 me to waste time amusing myself with social and 
 civic problems whereby she is deprived of the luxuries 
 provided for their wives by more practical husbands. 
 At this stage I either become inexcusably profane 
 or else take refuge in unmanly sulks. 
 
 Let me say in defense of Mary that she has been 
 sorely tried for many months. Most unexpectedly 
 our first few weeks of comparative comfort were 
 changed into straining effort to carry an almost im 
 possible burden. It is not surprising that Mary, 
 who had prepared for economical luxury, as the wife 
 of a prospering young lawyer, was resentful at the 
 requirement of parsimonious living in a household 
 where even payment of rent has been a matter of 
 monthly anxiety. 
 
 The change in our fortunes came almost without 
 warning only a couple of months after the end of
 
 GETTING AND SPENDING 9 7 
 
 the honeymoon. My father came down to the office 
 rather late one morning. He stopped at my door 
 for a moment and remarked that he was feeling a 
 little queer, that he guessed he had eaten something 
 that had disagreed with him. There was a look of 
 worry in his eyes something like the shadow of an 
 approaching fear as he passed on to his room. I 
 leaned back in my chair shaken with a premonitory 
 dread of trouble near at hand. 
 
 A few minutes later I heard him shouting some 
 command to a hurrying stenographer, with accus 
 tomed vigor and impatience and, repressing my in 
 stinctive fears, I turned again to my work. It must 
 have been an hour later when his secretary hurried 
 into my room, her face pale and hands trembling. 
 
 "Something is wrong with your father," she stam 
 mered. "He can't talk. He looks very sick." 
 
 I ran into his office. He was leaning back in his 
 chair inertly. He looked like a drunken man and 
 apparently could not hold up his head. He tried 
 to speak to me, but only unintelligible sounds came 
 out of his loose lips. He raised his left arm and 
 attempted to show me that his right arm hung help 
 less. I had never seen anyone in his condition, but 
 the obvious thought exploded in my mind and left 
 me momentarily dazed. It must be a stroke of 
 paralysis. 
 
 "I'll call Dr. Nevinson," I said very loudly, feel 
 ing that I was speaking to a deaf person. 
 
 A flicker of relief of hope passed across his 
 face.
 
 98 GETTING AND SPENDING 
 
 An hour later he was lying in his bed at home and 
 mother and I were listening to the doctor's verdict. 
 
 "He may recover from this stroke. It's impos 
 sible to tell, but it's somewhat likely. The future 
 depends upon how far the blood clot in the brain 
 dissolves. He may even recover the use of the arm 
 and leg. But you may as well understand at once 
 that this is the beginning of the end. His work is 
 done. Careful treatment, easy living, absence of 
 worry and strain all these things may prolong his 
 life perhaps a year, two years, five years no one 
 can tell. But his working days are over. As soon 
 as he is able to hear the news you must tell him, so 
 that he will let you put his affairs in shape and not 
 begin a new series of worries. He must leave every 
 thing to you, Rodney. Make that very clear to him 
 and I will back you up. He must drop all his 
 responsibilities and understand that he cannot expect 
 to take them up again." 
 
 In a few days we told him. He received our 
 message in silence with a strange look of mingled 
 terror and relief. His terror harrowed me greatly 
 because I knew his dread of death. Life on this 
 earth was all that his philosophy accepted. He had 
 neither fears of future pain nor hopes of happiness. 
 As he saw it the door out of the warm, bright house 
 of life opened upon a black void. One stepped out 
 into nothingness a horrible anticipation, because in 
 his view apparently one stepped out alive, alert and 
 strong into nothingness. His imagination had not 
 pictured that gradual dissolution of his powerful bulk
 
 GETTING AND SPENDING 99 
 
 of flesh and blood into a worn-out discomforting use 
 less thing which the spirit would gladly and easily 
 leave behind when the time came to float out through 
 that door. 
 
 I could understand his terror, but the relief which 
 I could see plainly mingled with it, puzzled me until 
 I actually took over his affairs. Then I understood 
 why he was so glad to lay his burden down. I could 
 understand the comfort that would come to a man 
 who could think: "I'll never have to worry about 
 those things any more." 
 
 For a brainy, successful man he had managed to 
 tangle up his personal affairs remarkably. The busi 
 ness of his clients was reasonably well ordered, and 
 in shape to be taken up easily and carried forward. 
 But his personal business records were unintelligible 
 memoranda, incomplete correspondence, illegible 
 little half-filled diaries and account books, check 
 books balanced with his bank account by a system all 
 his own, evidently devised for the purpose of conceal 
 ing information. He had no clear record even of 
 notes or bills outstanding. It was evident to me after 
 a week's work that he must have carried on for some 
 years an elaborate system of self-deception whereby 
 he prevented himself from knowing his own financial 
 condition, in order that he might draw successfully 
 on his imagination in deceiving others, including his 
 own family, as to his prosperity. 
 
 As a result, his family had not taken seriously 
 occasional complaints of poverty in view of more 
 frequent and vehement assertions of the successful
 
 ioo GETTING AND SPENDING 
 
 character of all his business operations. So great 
 was his pride in being known as a successful man 
 that he could not bear even to destroy the illusion 
 in his own children but actually encouraged them to 
 make daily additions to the back-breaking load he 
 was carrying. 
 
 J could not believe that the situation was as 
 desperate as my investigation disclosed. There must 
 be some hidden resource on which he had counted 
 to meet all his obligations notes at the bank, over 
 due taxes, mortgage interest, bills and more bills 
 to come. I had never known his income because 
 we were not really partners. When I started to 
 practice he had paid me a salary for a time. More 
 recently since my return from public office we had 
 shared fees in cases that he asked me to work on. 
 But he did considerable work all alone, and was 
 always quite secretive about it. 
 
 With much hesitation I presented my gloomy re 
 port to him a statement of assets and liabilities. I 
 read them aloud to him. Yes, the liabilities were 
 all correct except he owed this and that. Alto 
 gether he added nearly a thousand dollars from 
 memory of scattering accounts. Also he was a 
 guarantor of some notes amounting to about eight 
 thousand dollars, but he though Markelby who had 
 made the notes would come into an inheritance within 
 a year or so, and would pay them. 
 
 "Well, I'm glad the assets are all right," said I, 
 trying to appear cheerful. "Have I missed any 
 thing?"
 
 GETTING AND SPENDING 101 
 
 I was sure he would say, yes. He must have some 
 thing concealed somewhere with which to pay this 
 long list of debts. 
 
 "No," he answered, with a mild apologetic smile. 
 "There is nothing more. But, Rodney, those rail 
 road bonds those aren't mine. Mrs. Gunderson 
 put them up to secure a note, which I paid off at 
 the bank last week, when I sold her old house. I 
 placed them in my box for safe-keeping. She's in 
 California, you know." 
 
 "Those aren't yours !" I exclaimed. "There isn't 
 much left in the assets when you take those away." 
 
 "Pretty bad, isn't it!" he whispered, with a repeti 
 tion of that wan smile. 
 
 "Well, I've some good news," I said hastily. "I 
 had an offer yesterday to become general counsel 
 of the Consolidated Motor Car Company so don't 
 let this bother you. Things are looking all right for 
 me. Only I want to get your matters in good shape 
 so I won't have to keep worrying you with ques 
 tions." 
 
 It was not hard to speak cheerfully when I was 
 with him. I saw him, who had always borne himself 
 so reliantly, who had covered his distresses with such 
 a show of confidence I saw him now, stripped of 
 all pretense, helpless, resigned. His pathetic mild 
 ness aroused an intense desire to accomplish some 
 incredible coup whereby it might be possible to show 
 him that after all he had done extraordinarily well 
 and could lie down to sleep in deserved content. 
 
 In truth as I dug deeper into the records, the con-
 
 102 GETTING AND SPENDING 
 
 viction came to me that he had done very well. 
 Money-making is not the test of all ability or success. 
 All his life he had fought to accomplish things which 
 seemed to him worth achieving. He had given him 
 self generously in unpaid service to the public. He 
 had held a high office for years that carried with 
 it no salary. He had given fifteen years to another 
 public work, where even his expenses came out of 
 his own pocket. He had not been willing to deny 
 his family the comforts they craved, in order that 
 he might fill these honorable positions. He had gone 
 into debt, straining his credit to the utmost to give 
 his children educational advantages and now it was 
 right that they should take up the burdens he had 
 assumed for their benefit. It was the least that I 
 could do now to lighten the load that rested on him 
 as he lay helpless. 
 
 A few weeks later when I came into the house in 
 the late afternoon for a little talk before going to 
 my own home, my mother met me outside the door 
 of his room. 
 
 "Dr. Nevinson is here," she said. "Father has 
 gone to sleep. He looks so peaceful so rested. 
 I know I ought to be glad for him." 
 
 This is the first time death has come so close to 
 me. I have never been able to imagine what life 
 would be without one of the two who have always 
 been a part of my life. From earliest recollection
 
 GETTING AND SPENDING 103 
 
 there have always been father and mother. Now 
 there is only mother. 
 
 The face of death is not so unkind when it comes 
 near. I see in it now, as in my father's face, the 
 answer to the question that I feared had no answer 
 the fulfillment of a promise that I did not know 
 had been made and yet had always relied upon. 
 
 Many times I have wondered why so little is writ 
 ten down in books about the everyday struggle to 
 get and the everyday necessity to spend. "Getting 
 and spending we lay waste our powers." In this 
 line of Wordsworth's there has seemed to me a text 
 for a great story of life. Yet most writers, even 
 the sternest realists, pass lightly over the detail of 
 how a man plans and drudges and acquires and how 
 the bills accumulate while creditors and dependents 
 insistently press their demands, until the weary 
 worker wonders how a world full of overdriven men 
 and women is not more insane even than it appears 
 in our moments of exceptional sanity. 
 
 But when I sit down to write of my recent months 
 I find there is little to tell that is worth the telling. 
 Like others who, I have felt, neglected their oppor 
 tunity to write a great story of ordinary living, I 
 shall merely sketch an outline of my days. 
 
 Somehow or other I have managed to keep the 
 ship afloat. For a time I was quite desperate. Es 
 pecially I remember the day when Mr. Belknap came 
 to see me about the possibility of getting aid from
 
 io 4 GETTING AND SPENDING 
 
 the law in his fight with his big competitor which 
 has been officially declared not to be a wicked 
 "trust." This was shortly after my father's death, 
 when I was trying to keep myself from seeking any 
 aid from my father-in-law yet feeling that I could 
 not let my pride hold me back much longer. 
 
 The revelation of Mr. Belknap's business situation 
 disposed of any thought of aid from that source. He 
 was moderately wealthy, but every dollar he could 
 raise was being used in the life or death struggle 
 either to remain in business as an independent manu 
 facturer, or else to force his great and ruthless com 
 petitor to buy him out at a fair price. In the course 
 of this business battle there was considerable work 
 for a lawyer, so that I did earn some good fees. 
 Eventually a deal was made whereby my father-in- 
 law was saved from financial ruin. But with his 
 health undermined he has been forced to retire from 
 active business upon an income which is not really 
 sufficient for his needs. 
 
 It has happened therefore that in my two years of 
 effort to take care of two families, I have had to 
 carry the load practically alone. One or two friends 
 have aided me temporarily in difficult places and I 
 have had some good luck in making and collecting a 
 few exceptional fees just in time to prevent the ruin 
 of such credit as I command. On the whole I have 
 been able to keep going by plodding, persistent work 
 day in, day out, supplemented by extra hours in the 
 evening at my office or at home. I have cleaned up 
 every old case in the office, working desperately to
 
 GETTING AND SPENDING 105 
 
 finish as much business as quickly as possible, so as 
 to get in every fee which would satisfy the obliga 
 tions that somehow must be met. Besides taking 
 care of mother and father and Mary and myself, 
 there was a year, while George, my younger brother, 
 was finishing his college course, in which the family 
 burden was heavier than now. 
 
 Edna, my sister, who had spent several years pre 
 paring for a musical career, gave up her studies with 
 considerable alacrity and announced her intention of 
 helping to nurse father. The exact amount of aid 
 which she has given to my overworked mother is 
 hardly worth estimation. I can, however, certify to 
 the fact that she has provided me with a peculiarly 
 distressing problem. To a young lawyer seeking to 
 support a bed-ridden father, a mother, a wife, a 
 brother finishing college and himself, the additional 
 expense of an able-bodied young woman of cultivated 
 tastes, has seemed quite large and somewhat unjusti 
 fiable. 
 
 Musically Edna has no talent above the level of 
 comic opera. To advise her to get a job as a chorus 
 girl would have indicated a callous unbrotherly at 
 titude toward her probable future. With her luxu 
 rious desires and somewhat reckless spirit her failure 
 in self-support would have been practically assured, 
 unless she should have achieved a certain apparent 
 success that would have been equally distressing. I 
 could not suggest any other employment with any 
 hope of satisfactory results. 
 
 "My private opinion," confessed my mother, "is
 
 io6 GETTING AND SPENDING 
 
 that Edna will probably marry Mr. Guernsey, that 
 young stockbroker, you know, who paid her so much 
 attention last winter. She didn't encourage him then 
 very much, because she was fascinated with that 
 crazy Hammersmith man who was always at least 
 half drunk." 
 
 "Yes, I remember," I answered. "She was going 
 to reform him. She said he had such a brilliant 
 mind, and he thought she was so original. They 
 were a good mutual admiration society. Neither of 
 them has any common sense. Thank heaven, he 
 has gone to California. Is this Guernsey person any 
 better?" 
 
 "Oh, he's really a very nice young man a little 
 superficial, but he's young." 
 
 "I wouldn't expect Edna to attract any two-ton 
 intellect," I suggested grumpily. "Of course, I can't 
 play the matchmaking game. I'll leave that to you, 
 mummie. I don't want to send sister out to stalk a 
 husband. Furthermore, it's hard for a brother to 
 see why anyone should want to marry his sister. 
 But although she doesn't seem to me very well fitted 
 to be a wife, I guess she's better equipped to be a 
 wife than anything else. The chances are also that 
 she'll capture some man who isn't trained to be a 
 husband; so it won't be an unfair bargain. They'll 
 both be stung. I suppose the best thing I can do for 
 her is to supply her with clothes and carfare and let 
 her go out on the trail." 
 
 "I don't blame you for feeling disappointed in 
 Edna," said mother, with a gentle smile, "but re-
 
 GETTING AND SPENDING 107 
 
 member she is young. She will settle down. I only 
 hope she meets the right man." 
 
 "If she does she'll be the wrong girl," was my 
 moody response. 
 
 So Edna played at being the daughter of ease 
 while I counted the outgoing dollars and tried not 
 to feel mercenarily hopeful whenever mother re 
 ported a new "heart interest." A few months ago, 
 just as the Guernsey attentions were wearing a cheer 
 fully serious aspect, that "Wild Bill" Hammersmith 
 returned to Chicago. He hadn't taken a drink in 
 three weeks, he averred, and he felt sure that if 
 Edna would marry him and go back with him to 
 California, where he had an interest in a prune 
 business, or something of the sort, he would settle 
 down to a virtuous and prosperous existence. 
 
 I was skeptical about this sudden reform but Edna 
 had no doubt of her great and saving influence; and 
 mother's reforming instincts rallied to her daughter's 
 support. They married. Edna is living in Cali 
 fornia. "Wild Bill" is sober intermittently and con 
 tributes at intervals to her support. At other times 
 she calls on me and I send half what she asks for 
 and postpone the payment of some of my less stale 
 bills. I must admit she is costing a little less married 
 and away than when single and at home. So I sup 
 pose I should feel a limited gratitude to Hammer 
 smith. 
 
 George is through college and already earning a 
 part of what he spends. He "borrows" the balance 
 from me and I enjoy a faint hope that some day
 
 io8 GETTING AND SPENDING 
 
 these loans may be repaid, in a time of special need. 
 I have cast a good deal of bread on the waters in 
 recent months. I am afraid most of it will be 
 pretty soggy from long immersion before the day 
 of its prophesied return. 
 
 As I sit writing to-day, looking back over a 
 wretched two years, uncertain of the future and yet 
 somehow confident that, with so many apparently 
 impossible tasks accomplished, the comparatively 
 ordinary difficulties that are before me can be over 
 come, my thought lingers on a black night many 
 months ago. Everything had gone wrong that day. 
 I had lost an important case. A client owing a large 
 bill had written that he would try to pay half of it 
 the next month. I had a note due the following day 
 at the bank. I had added up nearly a thousand dol 
 lars of pressing bills that must be paid immediately. 
 The mortgage interest on mother's vacant and un 
 salable house was three days overdue. I had come 
 home with frayed nerves and a discouraged spirit. 
 Mary was sick and harassed with household troubles. 
 We had quarreled quite bitterly. She had gone to 
 bed. I sat alone and tried to find some reason for 
 wanting to remain alive. Somehow I could not even 
 take a morbid pleasure in the thought of suicide. 
 
 If I were dead what would happen to mother and 
 Mary and Edna and George? Well, brother and 
 sister could or should take care of themselves. Per 
 haps Mr. Belknap could do something for Mary. 
 But that was my job. I had no business handing her 
 back to him. He was broken in health and over-
 
 GETTING AND SPENDING 109 
 
 burdened. Then there was mother. There was no 
 one to take care of her. It would mean for her a 
 miserable ending to a pretty hard life. No, I could 
 not even contemplate the cowardly relief of ending 
 my own life. I had to go through. 
 
 But, I thought, there must be some purpose in this 
 dreadful mess of work and pain and worry. The 
 purpose of my life cannot be merely to keep a few 
 other lives out of the worst of wretchedness. There 
 must be some individual purpose. I began to think 
 of old speculations and discussions of God the 
 Builder. What was being built with me or in me? 
 What would be built out of my humiliations, my 
 shame, out of the collapse of my worldly pretenses 
 of position and ability if to-morrow I defaulted 
 payments, was sued, became notoriously insolvent, 
 had to give up my offices, accept some minor posi 
 tion and then struggle along for months or years 
 trying just to provide meager food and clothing and 
 shelter for those who had relied on me who had 
 been proud of me once? 
 
 Why must I go through this torture ? 
 
 Then all at once it came to me that my torture 
 was self-torture. In plain fact, no matter what hap 
 pened, probably I could provide a minimum of com 
 fort for those dependent on me, and for myself. We 
 would not suffer physically, unless further misfor 
 tune assailed us. My anticipated pain would be 
 mental suffering. But suppose that I held my head 
 erect and said to myself, and that through my eyes I 
 said to all the world: I didn't weaken; I didn't give
 
 i io GETTING AND SPENDING 
 
 up; I did the best I could; I did all that I could; I'm 
 sorry I failed but I'm not ashamed. 
 
 Suddenly my tired, snarled brain became clear 
 and refreshed. I had discovered a truth old as 
 creation, yet new to me, new to anyone who has 
 only read it, but who has never known it, never un 
 derstood its meaning in himself. I had realized that 
 no one except me could touch my soul. No one 
 could impress a single phase of good or evil upon 
 that soul of mine, but me. When men sneered at me 
 it would not hurt unless I carried the sneer on into 
 my soul and sneered at myself. 
 
 I thought of how men reverenced that imperturb 
 able soul untouched by the revilings and scorn of the 
 rabble, that soul behind the lips that said: "Father 
 forgive them, for they know not what they do." 
 And then I understood how any man who held his 
 soul within himself could march ahead to carry out 
 the purpose of his being wounded, scarred, dis 
 figured perhaps but never beaten. I realized 
 that it is only when a man throws down the protec 
 tion of his own will and yields his soul into the 
 hands of others, that he can suffer the agony of 
 real defeat. 
 
 I remembered that I had read a poem long before 
 which had expressed that idea, although I had not 
 really understood it at that time. I hunted it up 
 and read it over and over again until I felt the words 
 had been engraved so deeply in my mind that I would 
 never lose the thought. I can quote it now from 
 memory :
 
 GETTING AND SPENDING in 
 
 SALVATION 
 
 Let me but hold my soul 
 
 Though stripped of pride and naked in its shame, 
 
 Blotted my name upon the scroll 
 
 Of passing honor and what men call fame. 
 
 Let me but hold my soul 
 
 Still warm within the scarred and withered flesh 
 
 And no cracked evening bell shall toll 
 
 For me the end when I set forth afresh. 
 
 Let me but hold my soul 
 
 And I shall find in every lie its truth, 
 
 In broken things the secret whole, 
 
 In gray and haggard age, oncoming youth. 
 
 Let me but hold my soul 
 
 Though naught of faith and hope and love be true 
 
 Steadfast, let me but hold my soul! 
 
 Beyond the last, lost cause I shall win through ! 
 
 I have repeated those lines to myself in many dis 
 tressing situations during the last year. They may 
 not be good poetry but they have been good medicine 
 for me. They carried me through my darkest hour. 
 They have given me a new sort of courage a cer 
 tain impenetrable pride in my own being and its pur 
 pose that I hope may stay with me to the end.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 THREE years have passed since I have written 
 down anything about myself. I have fought 
 my way up out of the chasm of debt into a 
 comparatively secure place. It begins to look as 
 though I might make something worth while out of 
 my life, something sufficiently notable to give my 
 story some day an interest to someone besides my 
 self. With this hopeful thought I take up my writ 
 ing again. 
 
 Just about the time I was emerging from insolv 
 ency two temptations came to me. I resisted the 
 worthier and yielded to the less worthy yet strange 
 to say it seems that I did right. Surely the issues 
 of right and wrong are difficult to determine. 
 
 My first temptation came in an offer to join a 
 group of congenial enthusiasts who were about to 
 launch a new magazine. They had secured a sub 
 stantial money backing and their program for The 
 Liberal appealed greatly to me. The editorial posi 
 tion offered carried a fair salary for the support of 
 one family. I could write as I believed, travel, in 
 vestigate interesting questions, feel that I was a 
 useful force in shaping public opinion. I could have 
 
 112
 
 OPPORTUNITIES 113 
 
 a good time and do something which seemed worth 
 doing. 
 
 What I could do was amply satisfying. It was 
 what I could not do that stopped me. I could not 
 provide those whom my income supported with the 
 amount of comfort which they felt to be necessary. 
 Family expenses must be cut in half. I must shut 
 my ears to the demands of all except my wife and 
 my mother. I must give up the struggle to save 
 some of mother's debt-burdened property; cease 
 straining to fulfill old obligations of my father. In 
 short I must start life afresh and primarily for 
 myself. I was convinced that this was my right. 
 Here was a chance to throw aside the drudging legal 
 work I detested and take up the joyous labor of self- 
 expression. 
 
 Someone once wrote, "the curse of the world is 
 joyless labor." I think it was Elbert Hubbard. It 
 is a profound truth. My opportunity had come to 
 escape from this curse. Yet somehow I could not 
 open the prison door. To free myself I must im 
 prison those whose freedom depended on my slavery. 
 Desire whispered to me that I might make a great 
 success and do more for those dependent on me by 
 following my inclinations. But worldly wisdom re 
 futed the sophistry of desire. I knew that I could 
 make more money by continuing to practice law. 
 
 My final decision was not heroic. Perhaps it was 
 dictated by cowardice. Perhaps I feared the hazard 
 of a change. I know that the motives in every hard 
 decision are manifold. The eulogist may select the
 
 n 4 OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 higher reason; the detractor may point out the 
 lower; the candid biographer should list them all. 
 In my case I did not boldly renounce or accept. I 
 procrastinated and while I wavered the opportunity 
 faded until I summoned up the courage to turn my 
 back on it and say to myself: It is gone. A little 
 later when I glanced around for one last look I 
 found that in truth it was gone. 
 
 The second temptation followed swiftly and I 
 yielded to it the more readily because I felt I had 
 just sacrificed my heart's desire and thus had puri 
 fied motives that might otherwise have seemed ques 
 tionable. For several days the newspapers had been 
 discussing an impending conflict between the govern 
 ment and railroads. Preparations were under way 
 for a joint demand by the transcontinental roads for 
 increased freight rates in the middle west. Power 
 ful shipping interests had brought pressure on sev 
 eral state governments to organize an opposition. 
 After an imposing inter-state conference it had been 
 determined that a committee of lawyers should be 
 formed to represent the principal states concerned, 
 in the forthcoming hearings before the Interstate 
 Commerce Commission in Washington. It was 
 generally assumed that political influence rather than 
 legal ability would determine the choice of the 
 lawyer who would represent Illinois and earn the 
 large fees and obtain the wide advertising attaching 
 to the job. 
 
 It had occurred to me that possibly I might 
 maneuver for employment as an assistant counsel in
 
 OPPORTUNITIES 115 
 
 this matter. Jack Emmet was very influential with 
 the governor and the "Big Boy" had been particu 
 larly friendly to me ever since my father's death. 
 They had had a respectful liking for each other, 
 despite many noisy disagreements. In days long 
 past when father was a major political power and 
 the "Big Boy" was fighting his way up from the 
 toughest ward in the city, father had done him sev 
 eral small but valuable services. Part of the "Big 
 Boy's" creed was that every favor carried with it 
 an obligation of repayment. During father's brief 
 illness, he had insisted on visiting him and had been 
 his only visitor from outside the family group. 
 
 Father always took an exorbitant pride in any 
 accomplishment of mine. I suspect his over-warm 
 praise of my efforts touched the sentimental side of 
 the "Big Boy," whose own chief pride lay in his 
 college-educated son. At any rate he was unduly 
 cordial to me thereafter and seemed really desirous 
 of giving me a boost whenever there was an easy 
 opportunity. 
 
 Such was the situation one hot July day when 
 Pillar Grayson came into my office. Grayson is a 
 character worthy of description for his own sake, 
 aside from the large influence he has exercised on my 
 life. His father, a Methodist minister, had named 
 him Pillar, in the hope, I believe, that he would be 
 a stalwart support of the House of the Lord in 
 which hope he must have been sorely disappointed. 
 Pillar's chief assets in life have been a rugged phy 
 sique, an imaginative mind, perpetual good humor
 
 n6 OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 and a genius for making friends. In college he was 
 a great athlete and a leader in all forms of student 
 life. He jogged through law school and jollied his 
 way into a semi-political law business, out of which 
 he might have become wealthy except for his incor 
 rigible generosity. He divided his Jarge fees .".-eely 
 with associates who contributed in small measure to 
 the results accomplished through his ingenuity and 
 popularity. 
 
 As he sprawled in a chair on the client side of 
 my flat-top desk, I marveled again at his persistent 
 youthfulness. He must be a little over fifty. His 
 dark hair is very gray, but luxuriant. His smooth- 
 shaven face has the pink of a boy of twenty. His 
 gray eyes sparkle and his laugh rings out, as he il 
 luminates what might be a dull business talk with his 
 radiant humor. No wonder men like to work with 
 him. It is a pleasure to have him around. He has 
 thrown off his coat and he slaps his billowing shirt 
 front. 
 
 "Getting fat," he chuckles. "Haven't played but 
 three games of golf this year. But in August, 
 oh boy, how I am going to punish that evasive little 
 pill!" 
 
 "What do you go around in?" I inquire. 
 
 "In a pair of knickerbockers that my wife bought 
 me," he parries. "She thinks I have such handsome 
 legs. I'm not telling my scores yet. I'll come in 
 and brag to you at the end of August. What do 
 you know about the Mid-West rate case? I hear 
 you are going to be Special Counsel for Illinois."
 
 OPPORTUNITIES 117 
 
 "Your hearing is better than mine. I haven't 
 heard such a thing even whispered." 
 
 "Well I'm shouting it now. It's my job, really, 
 but I'm going to give it to you." 
 
 Thereupon my entertaining visitor proceeded to 
 unfold a political plot and to present me with my 
 second temptation the one I did not resist. 
 
 It seemed that Grayson had arranged the political 
 cards so that he would be named Special Counsel in 
 the rate case. He had been a railroad attorney a 
 decade before, but had differed so bitterly with the 
 attitude of his employers toward the public that he 
 had been forced to resign. Since then he had been 
 representing shippers' organizations and had fought 
 their battles against the railroads with much success. 
 Naturally, when the railroad politicians had received 
 advance information of Grayson's plan, they had 
 pulled every wire to keep him out of this case. They 
 had finally obtained assurances from the Governor 
 that their most feared antagonist would not be 
 chosen to represent Illinois. 
 
 "But I intend to be there just the same," said he, 
 banging his fist down on my desk, "and that's why 
 I've come to you. That appointment is going to be 
 decided by the Governor, Jack Emmet and "Cash" 
 Pulsifer. You know Pulsifer? No? Well, he 
 won't count much anyhow. The Governor is really 
 for me but he's committed against me. I've sug 
 gested that he might choose you and, if Emmet ap 
 proves of you, he'll do it. Then he wouldn't be very
 
 ii8 OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 much shocked if you should choose me as your 
 associate counsel." 
 
 Grayson winked elaborately as he thus exposed 
 his plan to beat the railroad lobby. 
 
 "I don't know whether Emmet would go that far 
 for me," I suggested. "He has offered several times 
 to help me in any way that he could, but this is 
 going a long way. It's a pretty big job to present 
 to a political nonentity like me." 
 
 "Emmet will be all right if you ask him," declared 
 Grayson with his customary positiveness. Pillar 
 was a perpetual optimist. He always assumed the 
 best and his very confidence bred confidence in those 
 he sought to convince. 
 
 "Here's the game," he continued. "The Middle 
 West Shippers' Association wants me in this case. 
 They're a strong crowd, but I told them how the 
 roads had blocked me. Emmet wants to please 
 them. Now you see Emmet and tell him that the 
 shippers will be satisfied if you are chosen. Mean 
 while, I'll see them and fix things so that they'll tell 
 Emmet you are the man they want. Don't mention 
 my name to Emmet. Just tell him that the shippers 
 want you. It's a cinch, Rodney. We can put it over 
 before the railroad crowd knows what's happening. 
 But we must work fast. Emmet is going down to 
 Springfield to meet the Governor and Pulsifer to 
 morrow night. Is it a go?" 
 
 "Then if I get the job, I appoint you as associate 
 counsel is that the play?"
 
 OPPORTUNITIES 119 
 
 "That's the idea provided, of course, you think 
 I'm competent," he added with a grin. 
 
 "Oh, you're the best man in the state for this 
 work," I answered. "That doesn't bother me. But 
 I do hate to go to Emmet. He doesn't do favors 
 for nothing. There will be an implied obligation for 
 me to do something for him in return even if he 
 doesn't demand some express promise from me." 
 
 "Cross that bridge when you get to it," he sug 
 gested. "This is too good a chance for both of us 
 to worry about what Emmet may expect. Don't 
 forget: he won't do it for you. He'll be working 
 for his friends, the shippers. Let him look to them 
 for return favors." 
 
 After much talk and after stifling many misgiv 
 ings I agreed to go to see Emmet. To those un 
 acquainted with the mysterious atmosphere of prac 
 tical politics it may seem strange that I hesitated. 
 But politics is a peculiar business involving many 
 unspoken promises and unwritten obligations. 
 When you ask a politician for help you may not 
 agree, or even discuss, how you will pay for the 
 favor, but he expects payment of equal value to be 
 made sometime. The man who accepts aid and then 
 refuses to "come across" when he is called upon is 
 soon classed with the card player who does not pay 
 his debts. Men who know him will not play with 
 him. 
 
 If Jack Emmet obtained this appointment for me 
 he would feel that he should be allowed to exercise 
 some control over my conduct of the work. For my
 
 120 OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 part I should not acknowledge any right in him to 
 interfere with any action which I felt necessary to 
 protect my client, the public. Perhaps he would 
 never ask me to do anything that I would feel to 
 be improper. But I was fearful. Knowing how far 
 apart our ethical standards were, and considering 
 the many ways in which he might think he could 
 profit by controlling one of the attorneys in this im 
 portant case, I could see many chances for violent 
 disagreement with the "Big Boy" if I obtained this 
 job through his favor. 
 
 The "pure young man" of my college days would 
 have resisted Grayson's temptation. But the man 
 of more than ten years later, plodding along an up 
 hill road pulling the load of two families, did not 
 feel that he could afford the mental luxuries of 
 earlier days. I was forced to estimate my own value 
 less as a man, in order that it might be greater as 
 a draught horse. My final judgment was not cynical 
 but it had a bitter flavor. 
 
 "It appears to me," I explained, "that I am to 
 persuade Jack Emmet that it is to his advantage to 
 give me a good job; and then having obtained the 
 job, I must see to it that Emmet obtains no advan 
 tage. Sounds like a confidence game, doesn't it?" 
 
 "Not at all," roared Grayson. "The day you put 
 over a confidence game on the 'Big Boy' you can 
 hang your hat in the Hall of Fame. I tell you he 
 won't lift a finger for you. He'll only do this for 
 the shippers. He'll have no right to claim that he 
 did a thing for your sake."
 
 OPPORTUNITIES 121 
 
 "I'm going to make sure of that, anyhow," I 
 answered. "Pillar, I think you are a very tempting 
 devil and I'm going to say: 'Get thee behind me 
 Satan; you push and I'll pull; and if we win, asso 
 ciate counsel shall be your name!' When shall I 
 go to see Emmet?" 
 
 "Not before to-morrow," he said jumping up and 
 seizing his hat. "I'll see my shippers this afternoon. 
 Bye! Bye!" 
 
 My little strategy to test the extent of the "Big 
 Boy's" affection for me was quite successful. I met 
 him at the club after lunch and drew him away to 
 a quiet corner. 
 
 "Is there any chance that I might be considered 
 as attorney for the state in that Mid-West rate 
 case?" I inquired bluntly. "I have some friends 
 who would back me for the position if it were worth 
 while to ask them. You know I've a big burden to 
 carry since my father's death and I'd appreciate any 
 encouragement you could give me." 
 
 "My boy," he said very solemnly, "I'd do any 
 thing in the world I could for you for your own 
 sake as well as for your father's." He actually 
 simulated sufficient emotion to bring a faint mist over 
 his wise little eyes. "But you see the Governor has 
 his mind already made up on this matter. He hasn't 
 told me yet whom he is going to choose but, con 
 fidentially, I can tell you that I know it is a certain 
 man that the Shippers' Association has suggested. 
 You see the Governor wants to stand well with the 
 shippers. I wish I could help you. There's no one
 
 122 OPPORTUNITIES 
 
 I'd sooner see have the job. But I know I couldn't 
 do it. The Governor wouldn't listen to me." 
 
 "Well now that's very important news to me," I 
 answered, trying to appear quite naive and feeling 
 very foolish, "because I just heard to-day that some 
 of the big men in the Shippers' Association are for 
 me. If I could get them to speak to the Governor, 
 don't you think that would help?" 
 
 The "Big Boy" looked out of the window for a 
 very long minute. His eyes were almost shut. He 
 had the appearance of a man thinking rapidly and a 
 trifle afraid that his thoughts might become visible. 
 Then he spoke very slowly. 
 
 "If you have some friends among the shippers it 
 is barely possible that something might be done, al 
 though you have come to me pretty late. You had 
 better let me find out if this man I mentioned has 
 all the shippers back of him. If they are not too 
 deeply committed I might do something. You know 
 I'd be glad to help you if I could." 
 
 He turned abruptly and started across the room. 
 
 "There is a man I want to see," he tossed back 
 over his shoulder. "I'll telephone you later in the 
 afternoon if I have any news." 
 
 An hour afterward he called me on the 'phone. 
 
 "Drop over and see me about four-thirty"; his 
 voice was very friendly. 
 
 Pillar Grayson is a smooth worker. Jack Emmet 
 claims full credit for my appointment as Special 
 Counsel. But I do not feel that my obligation to 
 him is oppressively heavy.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 FAMILY SECRETS 
 
 MY intimate friends have been puzzled to un 
 derstand why the honor and profit of repre 
 senting the state in the now famous Mid- 
 West rate case came into my unworthy hands. They 
 have been still more puzzled to understand why, as 
 the sensational hearings in Washington progressed, 
 the young and comparatively unknown Rodney Mer 
 rill took such a prominent part in the proceedings. 
 Being unable to justify this as the result of any ex 
 ceptional legal ability they have finally arrived at 
 the conclusion that I had a desire for the spotlight 
 not shared by other more eminent attorneys engaged 
 in the same case and that I have exceptional capacity 
 for self-advertising. 
 
 The true explanation for the surprising publicity 
 which my work received was much simpler than this. 
 I found myself associated with a group of older 
 lawyers, none of whom had given any special study 
 to the questions presented and all of whom were 
 much more concerned with other business than with 
 this one case. On the other hand I had given several 
 years' special study to the problems involved in this 
 hearing and, seeing the great opportunity which the 
 
 123
 
 124 FAMILY SECRETS 
 
 situation offered me, I sacrificed all other work to 
 the one purpose of making this fight successful. 
 Furthermore, Grayson, although occupied with many 
 other matters, gave invaluable advice and immediate 
 aid at every critical time. With his customary gen 
 erosity he was always willing that the major credit 
 for our joint operations should be given to me. 
 
 It would be tiresome to recount the detail of this 
 long-drawn out controversy. To me it is a romance ; 
 but if I tried to translate the technique of a lawsuit 
 into a story that would interest laymen I am sure I 
 should be less interesting than my medical friends 
 who endeavor, with such wasted enthusiasm, to excite 
 me with tales of the wars of the wicked streptococci 
 and the noble anti-toxins. 
 
 There were, however, scattered dramatic events 
 that might serve to give some indication of the char 
 acter of the fighting waged by my opponents. One 
 of these seems worth relating, not merely for its 
 own sake, but also because it involves the intimate 
 beginning of my acquaintance with a woman who 
 may affect profoundly my future. In order to repre 
 sent fairly my attitude toward Irma Conway and to 
 give an understanding of the place she has come to 
 fill in my life I must write quite frankly regarding 
 Mary and me as a married couple. Certainly I do 
 not expect anything that I write down to be pub 
 lished if at all while either for us is living, so 
 why should I not be honest with anyone who may 
 take an interest in my story? 
 
 Perhaps I should explain that I have no sympathy
 
 FAMILY SECRETS 125 
 
 with the sentimentality that would draw a veil of 
 secrecy, or a tissue of pretty lies, over the lives of 
 the dead. Men and women learn from experience 
 and from knowledge of the lives of other men and 
 women. To tell only half the story of a life is to 
 lie about it and to sin most grievously against one's 
 fellows. The writing of veneered and varnished 
 lives of the great is part and parcel of that false 
 education whereby children are told that storks bring 
 babies, youths are told that passion is indecent, and 
 finally adults are told that an error in selecting a 
 mate is irremediable and any effort to repair the 
 error is the commission of an unpardonable sin. 
 
 The only value in my story of an ordinary man, 
 who has enough intelligence to know that he is not 
 a great man, must be found in the educational value 
 to others of a true story. Truth must be "the whole 
 truth." I shall endeavor not to offend against in 
 telligent good taste, but I shall not cover up impor 
 tant facts merely to avoid the criticism of prudes 
 and prigs. 
 
 Mary and I have done far better in the difficult 
 relationship of marriage than most of our friends. 
 We get more comfort and pleasure out of it than 
 discomfort and pain. That's doing pretty well. 
 Some of our friends say that we are the only happy 
 married couple they know. This indicates a pre 
 vailing low standard of happiness, because I should 
 describe our state more accurately by saying that 
 we are not unhappy. I bore Mary somewhat with 
 business detail and she bores me somewhat with
 
 126 FAMILY SECRETS 
 
 household trivialities. We dance together well, but 
 without enthusiasm. We dine at home without 
 argumentative or exhilarating conversation, quietly 
 grateful for the social custom that separates husband 
 and wife when they dine out. 
 
 Mary has catalogued my mentality and I have 
 labeled hers. To her I am a theorist whose con 
 versation is fairly interesting except upon subjects 
 in which she has a personal interest. Then I am 
 irritating. To me her ideas are safe, sane and banal. 
 I know her opinions in advance on almost all ques 
 tions and she discounts mine before they are ex 
 pressed. Thus we do not stimulate each other men 
 tally. 
 
 In the matter of physical attraction we have 
 passed through the period of romance and illusion 
 and have only the normal interest of a healthy male 
 and female for each other. This is a somewhat 
 comfortable condition from my point of view or 
 I should say that it was, until I met Irma. It is 
 unsatisfactory to Mary. She tells me that a woman's 
 nature craves a lover and that a devoted husband 
 should remain a lover. I respond, as is true, that 
 I love her dearly, but that without attempting the 
 impossibility of continually acting a part I cannot 
 maintain the fervid devotion of courtship. She 
 admits that I am fond of her but insists that I do 
 not love her. I find it impossible to corner her with 
 an admission that she is no more than just fond of 
 me. She always qualifies her statement with the 
 thought that the subsidence of my love fever is re-
 
 FAMILY SECRETS 127 
 
 sponsible for the negative character of her feeling 
 toward me. 
 
 The fact is that Mary and I have "settled down" 
 and we are both young enough to resent this pla 
 cidity. I suppose that if we had children we would 
 accept the congealment of our youth more gracefully. 
 We would feel a joint responsibility toward some 
 thing outside ourselves. Yet our married friends 
 with children do not escape discontent. The most 
 recent divorce in our acquaintance concerns a woman 
 of twenty-nine who has three charming children. 
 She wanted them and she loves them. But she has 
 been heard to remark that rather than bear a child 
 every two years for twenty years she would desert 
 the best man on earth. A sweet old grand-aunt 
 informs me that this attitude is one of the sad results 
 of the modern over-education of women. To her 
 faded vision the desire of this young woman to culti 
 vate and expand and exploit her own personality, 
 and her resentment at the continual necessity of 
 neglecting her own growth to nourish her young 
 appears all wrong. My aunt says she should grow 
 in her children. Our friend answers that she is not 
 growing; that she is going to seed before she has 
 attained her growth. 
 
 I have been rambling around this question because 
 I want to explain my conviction that the whole 
 trouble with Mary and me does not arise from the 
 lack of children. In truth even one child would 
 add so to my staggering load that, while we have 
 hoped for one, I, particularly, have mingled dread
 
 128 FAMILY SECRETS 
 
 with my hope. My responsibilities to adults are 
 wearing enough. An obligation to a helpless child 
 would add much to my cares. 
 
 Mary and I had a typical argument, which I well 
 remember one Sunday afternoon. We had attended 
 church that morning. Mary likes to go to church, 
 irregularly. She says it makes her feel surer men 
 tally. I usually object to going to church, partially 
 because it damages my religious illusions. The 
 teachings of Christ have given me the only phi 
 losophy of life in which I can hold faith. His Word 
 comes to me as the brightest light from outside my 
 own confusing experience of life. But the words 
 of most of the ordained preachers of official truth 
 disturb and irritate me with triviality of reasoning, 
 with ignorance or ignoring of scientific fact, and with 
 dogmatic assumption of wisdom which most obvi 
 ously is lacking. They "darken knowledge." 
 
 In the sermon of this particular Sunday morning 
 a very earnest and eloquent clergyman had dis 
 coursed upon the frivolous waste of life in pursuit 
 of pleasure. Pulpit attacks on the leisure class are 
 safe and popular. The financial support of the 
 churches comes, not from idlers of inherited wealth, 
 but from active masters of industry, whose wealth 
 depends on the general acceptance of a philosophy 
 that those who live dumbly and are belabored are 
 the salt of the earth, who will receive their reward 
 hereafter. Of course the lowly must be encouraged 
 to wait for the profit from their labors until after 
 death in order that their masters may use this profit
 
 FAMILY SECRETS 129 
 
 for their own benefit in this life. It is the problem 
 of a minister of the gospel to reconcile this working 
 philosophy with the doctrine of the Son of Man who 
 said: "Whosoever will be chief among you, let him 
 be your servant." 
 
 The reverend Mr. Falsinger developed eloquently 
 the contrast between the childless couple spending 
 their evenings in bridge or at the theater, or in the 
 various intoxications of wine, women and song; and 
 on the other hand the family circle where father and 
 mother and "Sissy" and "Junior" and "Toots" sit 
 around the lamp light. The contrast grew worse as 
 the years rolled by. Eventually a hardened old 
 sport sat in his lonely club room while a thousand 
 miles away a querulous, wrinkled, painted woman, 
 who was once his wife, quarreled with her third hus 
 band over whether to go to Florida or California 
 for another boresome winter. 
 
 In contrast to this picture was the happy fireside 
 of the thrifty, child-producing couple, with the oldest 
 boy home from college and the oldest girl just re 
 turned from her honeymoon with a noble son-in-law. 
 There was a sketch of younger children in the back 
 ground, and grandchildren anticipated, a thought 
 suggested as delicately indelicate and yet felt to be 
 quite proper. 
 
 Of course, there are large, useful, happy families 
 and there are small, useless, unhappy families. The 
 natural and most surely satisfying family includes 
 children. The ideal condition is obvious. But it 
 happens that of the two families of my most intimate
 
 130 FAMILY SECRETS 
 
 acquaintance, the childless household of Mary and 
 me is a far more sunny, cheerful place than the child- 
 crowded household in which I was reared. Honest 
 and interesting discussion of life should include 
 something beyond the normal or most desirable. 
 Also I insist that bridge-whist is a keener, better 
 brain developing exercise than charades. However, 
 my complaint against the sermon lay in the unfair 
 standard for judging life by externals which it in 
 culcated. The Great Teacher demanded considera 
 tion also of the inside of the cup. Mary, being 
 impressionable by such external standards, found in 
 this sermon a complete explanation of our underly 
 ing discontent. 
 
 "I don't suppose we can expect to be really happy 
 we haven't a right to be until we have children. 
 So many people have them who don't want them. 
 It seems so unjust that we can't have them." 
 
 "According to that doctrine," I retorted, "no one 
 can be happy unless married, because I suppose the 
 reverend Mr. Falsinger wouldn't approve of chil 
 dren without marriage." 
 
 "Of course not," said the literal Mary. 
 
 "Also," I continued, "he doesn't believe in di 
 vorce; so there must be one woman for every man. 
 But, since there are a few million more men than 
 women in this country, are all those extra men con 
 demned to unfulfilled lives?" 
 
 "That isn't fair argument," she replied. "If 
 people marry they marry to produce children. If 
 they have no children they fail."
 
 FAMILY SECRETS 131 
 
 "I grant you they fail in that very important mat 
 ter; but must their lives be failures? I'll tell you 
 what I object to in that sermon. It assumes that 
 life is a simple matter of maturing physically and 
 then sacrificing everything else to bringing a new set 
 of human beings to maturity who will then continue 
 that endless purposeless chain. My idea is that 
 human life is development not merely reproduction 
 that each human being has the job of improving 
 somewhat on the personality with which he starts. 
 If he does this, then the next generation ought to 
 start with a little better inheritance than his. Of 
 course this means that each of us must do his best 
 to reproduce. But it also means that reproduction 
 isn't the whole purpose.. Development is vitally 
 important to successful living. If you and I can't 
 have children, at least we can develop ourselves in 
 such a way as to add our infinitely small trifle to 
 the improvement of mankind. Maybe this will work 
 itself out in someone else; maybe we may carry on 
 an improved spirit, or soul, or something immortal 
 into a future phase of existence." 
 
 "But Mr. Falsinger didn't deny the value of self- 
 development. He criticised the waste of hours in 
 cards and dancing and other kinds of pleasure seek- 
 ing." 
 
 "Why did he call it waste, Mary? He assumed 
 it was waste; but he didn't explain what made the 
 difference between waste and useful living. He ir 
 ritated me because he talked about the obvious. Of 
 course a happy family is better than an unhappy one.
 
 132 FAMILY SECRETS 
 
 But I believe the problem of life is to find and to 
 achieve its purpose. Religion must be the guide to 
 the purpose. When I go to church and my official 
 guide ignores all my questions as to where and why 
 I am going, and devotes himself to telling me how to 
 go, I feel that I am cheated. Frankly, I think I know 
 more about how to live than he does. But if he has 
 studied the matter exhaustively I should like to have 
 him give me his ideas of the purpose and aim of all 
 this living." 
 
 "Perhaps if we had children we wouldn't have so 
 much time to speculate about why we are living," 
 suggested Mary. 
 
 "That's the work drug that is so well advertised 
 as the panacea for all mental ills. Work and play 
 are good medicine in reasonable doses. Too much 
 of either is a poison. But here is a question, Mary. 
 Ask Mr. Falsinger: 'If we can't have children, ought 
 we to be divorced and to try other mates?' ' 
 
 This speculation went too far. Mary took me too 
 seriously. The conversation became more personal, 
 then embittered. It ended in tears, hastily dried up 
 when some friends called on us to join them for a 
 walk through the park. Once more I resolved that 
 I would not go to church again. The whole disturb 
 ance was the fault of Mr. Falsinger! 
 
 For a time Mary and I had many talks of this 
 character. We tried to explore beyond the horizons 
 of everyday ideas. We not only lost our way but 
 we lost each other early in every exploration and it 
 took much patient searching to get us together again.
 
 BOOK III 
 WOMAN
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 ENTER IRMA 
 
 THE romantic beginning of my acquaintance 
 with Irma Conway resulted from Halliwell's 
 fantastic scheme. It is a queer story that I 
 find it hard to tell candidly without making myself 
 out to be either a hero or a fool. But first I must 
 explain how Halliwell reasserted his intoxicating 
 influence of college days in my later and more sober 
 years. 
 
 I had been working for some weeks in Washing 
 ton on the Mid- West case. My life was quite un 
 exciting. There were, intermittently, long dull hear 
 ings before the Interstate Commerce Commission 
 and in the days between I struggled through bales 
 of statistics and read and reread and analyzed and 
 classified innumerable confused and confusing opin 
 ions of courts, and prepared elaborate arguments to 
 ;.dd to the general confusion of legal thought. I 
 did not know many people in Washington and soon 
 came to remember the faces of a few who persist 
 ently passed before my eyes. Particularly I came to 
 recognize a sallow, thin-faced, snub-nosed young 
 fellow whom I often saw lounging in front of the 
 offices of the Commission when I emerged at the 
 end of the day's hearing. 
 
 135
 
 136 ENTER IRMA 
 
 One evening I took a cousin of Mary's to the 
 theater. She was in Washington for only two days 
 and Mary had written asking me to look her up. 
 I walked back to my hotel after leaving her at the 
 house of the friend with whom she was stopping. In 
 a moment of absent-mindedness I turned into the 
 wrong street at Dupont Circle and after walking half 
 a block suddenly turned back. Before I reached the 
 Circle I passed and recognized in the light of a 
 nearby street lamp that snub-nosed young man with 
 the thin sallow face. The idea popped into my head 
 that he might be following me. To test the notion, 
 after walking a few blocks I turned a corner and 
 stepped quickly into the door of an apartment build 
 ing. Within a few seconds this same young man 
 came around the corner and paused uncertainly, ob 
 viously speculating as to where I had gone. Then 
 he walked briskly ahead and I emerged from con 
 cealment, retraced my steps for a block, and returned 
 to my hotel by a roundabout route. 
 
 Until long after midnight, I sat up puzzling over 
 this new phase of my Washington experiences. 
 Clearly I was being shadowed. For whom? Dur 
 ing a few angry minutes I wondered if Mary were 
 doing this. Then I realized that that suspicion was 
 unwarranted. Mary wouldn't do it. Mary couldn't. 
 This man had been trailing me for many days. Evi 
 dently he was not alone. There must be two or three 
 employed to keep track of a man night and day. 
 The expense alone was so large as to eliminate all 
 suspicion of Mary, though in truth she had never
 
 ENTER IRMA 137 
 
 shown or had any cause for a jealousy likely to result 
 in such an action. The obvious answer was that 
 the railroads I was fighting had employed detectives. 
 For what purpose? Well, probably to know what 
 I was doing; possibly to see if I could be caught in 
 some discreditable episode. However, they had 
 exposed themselves to a counter-move. Suppose I 
 trapped their spies? An exposure of such practice 
 at some dramatic moment might be an effective move 
 in this game. 
 
 The next morning at breakfast I noticed a lean, 
 bearded man at the table just beyond mine. He sat 
 half-facing me and between his nervous sips of coffee 
 and incessant inhalations of cigarette smoke it seemed 
 that he was watching me closely. Just as I was 
 reproving myself for getting into an excitable frame 
 of mind where every glance would disturb me, the 
 man arose and walked over to my table. 
 
 "Of course you wouldn't recognize me," he said, 
 dropping into a chair without waiting for an invita 
 tion. "You think you know every flicker of the eye 
 lash of an old friend and then he grows a tender 
 little beard and you won't even respond to a hint." 
 
 "I know your voice just the same, you old fraud, 
 Gene Halliwell," I answered, "but when you wrote 
 me long ago that you had grown a beard I thought 
 you meant a nice civilized little trimming not a 
 great hedge like that. Besides I'm being followed 
 by detectives and you look just like a stage villain, 
 so I never suspected that I knew you." 
 
 "Are you being followed too?" he queried. "Isn't
 
 138 ENTER IRMA 
 
 that grand! I have two on my trail. They're 
 parked out in the lobby now. If we take a walk 
 together it will look like a procession. What high 
 crime have you committed?" 
 
 "None as yet. I think some of my friends are 
 hoping to catch me in an indiscretion. What is your 
 affair about?" 
 
 "It's an affair of state"' he chuckled. "I'm just 
 back from South America to make some confidential 
 reports to the State Department. Ever since I took 
 the Panama Canal our South American brethren 
 view my appearances in Washington with deep sus 
 picion." 
 
 "Did you take the Panama Canal?" I asked skep 
 tically. "I always thought that was Roosevelt's 
 responsibility." 
 
 "Oh, he got the credit and he's welcome to it. 
 But little Gene did the wicked work. Didn't you 
 know I was stationed at Bogota at that time?" 
 
 "You wrote me two postcards and one letter, if 
 I remember correctly, but they were mostly about 
 the poor quality of wine and women in that remote 
 capital." 
 
 "My private mail was always public property in 
 that charming country," he remarked. "I couldn't 
 tell of the idealistic villainy I was performing, but 
 I thought you might have guessed, when all the row 
 broke out, that I was in the thick of the trouble. 
 Those were wild times. But T. R. was absolutely 
 right. I knew that gentlemanly brigand Mr. Maro- 
 quin would double-cross us. You ought to have seen
 
 ENTER IRMA 139 
 
 the noble senate of the United States of Colombia 
 in session debating the treaty with the United States 
 of America. Every man made a speech on both 
 sides of the question so that when orders came from 
 the Dictator, the honorable Vice-President Maro- 
 quin, he could vote whichever way the Dictator told 
 him. It was an unholy farce. The only trouble 
 with Roosevelt was that he was too gentlemanly with 
 the robbers. If he had been willing to say the word 
 Panama would have had a perfect South American 
 revolution lots of noise and nobody hurt. As it 
 was, not being quite sure how the United States was 
 going to act, the revolution was somewhat of a mess. 
 One Chinaman and a rather nice dog were killed." 
 
 "What are you doing now?" I interrupted, "and 
 how long are you going to be here?" 
 
 "Can't answer either question. I don't know 
 what I'm doing. The State Department said to 
 come home and here I am. I thought it was about 
 my fuss with the Steel Corporation, but in a dozen 
 confabs with the chief that business hasn't been even 
 mentioned. So I guess that's what I'm here for. 
 It's a pretty story. I'll tell you all about it some 
 day. Main point is that our patriotic captains of 
 industry were engineering a nasty business between 
 Chili and Argentina out of which they expected to 
 land a huge contract for big guns. I wrote my chief 
 rather bluntly to inquire whether my job was to 
 keep good relations between the U. S. A. and South 
 American nations, or to act as a government sales 
 agent for the Steel crowd. The chief wrote back
 
 140 ENTER IRMA 
 
 that he would like an explanation of a report which 
 had been made to him regarding some social indis 
 cretions of mine involving, he believed, three poker 
 games and two ladies. It made me pretty hot." 
 
 "I suppose in your diplomatic way you advised 
 him to go to the devil, with assurances of your dis 
 tinguished consideration?" 
 
 "I did not. I wrote to the Senator, my patron 
 saint, explaining in detail about the poker games 
 even describing the hands. The Senator plays a 
 good game himself and I knew he would enjoy the 
 story. Also I referred to the question of the ladies, 
 explaining that I did not wish to make them the sub 
 ject of official reports, especially as one was the 
 Senator's cousin, whom he had asked me to look 
 out for. Furthermore, I explained to the Senator 
 about the Steel Company's game and expressed my 
 suspicion that its agents were poisoning the Depart 
 ment against me. The Senator loves the Steel 
 crowd! They have been against him in every elec 
 tion. I'll guarantee he had a warm interview with 
 my chief. Anyhow my next information was a call 
 to come home. Probably I'll be transferred to Siam. 
 Let's go out in the lobby and I'll show you my body 
 guard." 
 
 We lounged around the lobby for a few minutes 
 and Halliwell pointed out to me a swarthy man loaf 
 ing in front of the cigar counter and a hatchet-faced 
 dyspeptic who was sitting near the outer door. 
 
 "Those are my faithful trailers," he said. "I 
 don't know whether they are South American agents
 
 ENTER IRMA 141 
 
 or hired by the Steel crowd. They're both interested 
 in me. Maybe it's a joint employment. Where is 
 your fellow?" 
 
 "I don't see him," I said. "Probably a fresh man 
 is on the job." 
 
 "Suppose we take a walk out toward the monu 
 ment," suggested Halliwell. "We'll see how large 
 a crowd follows us." 
 
 We wandered away across the common toward 
 the Potomac and by taking unfrequented paths grad 
 ually identified three men who kept us company 
 at some distance : Gene's two satellites and a short 
 heavy-set man with a round face and little staring 
 eyes. Then we returned to the hotel and Gene came 
 up to my room. I had told him about my work and 
 he had begun to evolve his scheme for relieving me 
 of this annoyance. 
 
 "The chances are," he announced, after much 
 talk, "that these birds will try to frame something 
 on you even if they haven't orders to do so. A 
 detective must deliver the goods even though the 
 goods are counterfeit. They'll try to mix you up 
 in some sort of scandal. The easiest way to get rid 
 of a troublesome public official is to pull some private 
 disgrace on him in the newspapers. The great Amer 
 ican public will swallow a lot of rottenness from a 
 public man if he lives at the Y. M. C. A. and is kind 
 to his wife and mother. Witness the example of 
 one of your Senators. You know he lives at the 
 Y. M. C. A. down here. What if he does represent 
 he Meat Trust instead of the people? What if his
 
 i 4 2 ENTER IRMA 
 
 seat was bought and paid for? He lives at the 
 Y. M. C. A. ! He doesn't smoke or swear or drink ! 
 He must be a good man! But you, old top, you're 
 one of these fool idealists who want to serve the 
 people. You are just one of the romantic sort that 
 might take two drinks too many or pay too much 
 attention to a pretty girl and if the public ever 
 found that out why, good-night for you ! Off with 
 his head!" 
 
 "Oh I'm not going to do anything foolish," I pro 
 tested. "I'm respectably married. I love my wife. 
 I'm working hard." 
 
 "Yes, yes," he stopped me. "I know you are a 
 little lily-white angel but it's just lily-white angels 
 that fall into traps. Now here is my scheme. We'll 
 prepare the trap. You will fall into it. The enemy 
 will rush in to expose you photographers, news 
 paper men and all that and then we will set up a 
 loud ha ! ha ! and announce that it is all a fraud. 
 Then we'll tell these blackmailers to quit bothering 
 you or we'll expose the whole dirty business our 
 selves. If we once catch them they'll never dare to 
 pull anything on you afterwards even if they really 
 caught you redhanded in some naughty little game." 
 
 "The adventure appeals to me," I admitted. 
 "This work is a good deal of a bore. It makes me 
 hot to think of those smooth, oily lawyers arguing 
 so politely with me before the Commission and then 
 I suppose getting reports on my daily habits from 
 their hired crooks. I'd like to teach them a lesson. 
 But I must be sure first who is hiring my shadows."
 
 ENTER IRMA 
 
 "I'll bet I can find out in a hurry maybe by lunch 
 time," laughed Halliwell. "Can you stay here? I'll 
 call you in an hour." 
 
 But Gene had more trouble getting the informa 
 tion than he expected. It was not until I joined him 
 at dinner the next evening that he made good his 
 boast. 
 
 We met in the basement grill of one of the 
 smaller, less crowded hotels. We took a table re 
 mote from eavesdroppers and as soon as the waiter 
 had our orders Gene burst forth with the tale which 
 his sparkling eyes had promised. 
 
 "It's better than I hoped," he said. "I've got all 
 the inside story. There's a young fellow who acted 
 as a sort of secretary-valet to me when I was sta 
 tioned in Mexico. He is a Spanish-French-Italian 
 mixture with all the romanticism, trickery and per 
 sonal loyalty you might expect of the combination. 
 He's working for an agency here in Washing 
 ton. He speaks six languages, so is very useful to 
 them. He would do anything short of murder for 
 me. I never asked him to do that so perhaps I'm 
 unfair in limiting his devotion. I couldn't find him 
 yesterday. But I located him to-day. He was so 
 glad to see me I was afraid he'd kiss me and we 
 were in a very public place. 
 
 "His agency is following you. It's one of the two 
 big ones and I was sure it would be his or the other 
 big one, if the railroads were behind it. I have a 
 friend in the other who is just about as reliable, so 
 you see why I felt confident. Well, Maxy was on
 
 144 ENTER IRMA 
 
 you himself one day, taking the place of an operative 
 who was sick so he knows the instructions. Then 
 he's talked with the others so he knows about all 
 there is to know." 
 
 "Who's doing it?" I demanded. 
 
 "The reports on you go to a man named Jared 
 Thurman." 
 
 "The sleek old hypocrite!" I exclaimed. "He's 
 the local lawyer for the railroad group, General 
 Attorney for the Association. He was a Congress 
 man for years, then became a railroad lobbyist. He's 
 always sweet as cream to me." 
 
 "The instructions are," continued Gene "I'll wait 
 a minute till the waiter gets through. . . . The in 
 structions are to report where you go and what you 
 do, with particular care to find out with whom you 
 have any conversations and also to report carefully 
 on any meetings with women, and in case of any spe 
 cial interests in the female line to telephone the head 
 office at once for further instructions. Have you 
 a friend named Grayson?" 
 
 "Yes, he's my associate counsel." 
 
 "Well, whenever he's in town they furnish him an 
 escort also." 
 
 "So they think they'll get me mixed up with 
 women, do they?" I growled. 
 
 "Oh, Maxy tells me they pretty nearly had some 
 thing on you one day." 
 
 "They did not," I protested, feeling my face grow 
 red in front of Gene's grin. Why is it that an inno 
 cent man will look so guilty under unjust accusation?
 
 ENTER IRMA 145 
 
 "It seems that you picked up a girl in front of a 
 movie theatre on Ninth Street, one day when it was 
 raining, and rode off with her in a taxi. But the 
 operative couldn't get another cab in time to follow 
 and so he lost you." 
 
 Then my face must have shone red, for Gene burst 
 into a loud cackle of laughter. 
 
 "I remember that well," I explained. "If I had 
 known I was being followed I certainly would not 
 have done it. I was out for a walk and it began 
 pouring. I stopped a moment in the theatre entrance 
 for shelter. A taxi came up and I rushed out to it. 
 I got there just ahead of a girl and a pretty girl 
 too. She appealed to the driver to take her, but he 
 said I was there first. I didn't want to leave her in 
 the rain, in distress " 
 
 "And so beautiful" murmured Halliwell. 
 
 "Yes and so beautiful " I repeated dog 
 gedly, "so I told her that I had to get back to my 
 hotel for an appointment but if she was not going 
 too far and didn't mind my company I'd take her 
 home first. She gave me one searching look, evi 
 dently decided I was safe, told the driver an address 
 and hopped in. The address was that big apartment 
 hotel you know Stoneleigh Court. I didn't ask 
 her name and she didn't volunteer it. I left her 
 there and have never seen her since." 
 
 "Stoneleigh Court," mused Halliwell. "That's 
 where Irma lives." 
 
 "And a few hundred other people," I added. 
 "Who is Irma?"
 
 146 ENTER IRMA 
 
 "Irma? Irma is . . . You know that sounds like 
 the sort of thing Irma would do. Was this girl very 
 pretty?" 
 
 "The little I saw of her I should say she was." 
 
 "The kind you would like to see again?" he 
 quizzed. 
 
 "Yes I would," was my defiant reply. "She had 
 a lovely voice." 
 
 "By Jove!" exclaimed Gene. "Irma is just the 
 girl. I don't mean she's the girl you met. Probably 
 not. But she is just the girl for my scheme. Irma 
 shall be Delilah. I know she'd love to play the part. 
 Do you like dark hair and deep slumbrous eyes, half 
 hidden depths of passion and all that sort of thing?" 
 
 "Not particularly," I answered slowly. "I've al 
 ways rather fallen for blondes." 
 
 "Well, if anybody could change your taste it would 
 be Irma Conway," said Gene. "I gave up blondes 
 forever the night I met Irma. The blondes all 
 looked pale and feeble after Irma. And arms and 
 throat and shoulders ! Oh my dear, dear boy when 
 you see Irma in an evening gown perhaps it would 
 be more exact to say out of an evening gown 
 you'll be glad I picked her for the heroine of this 
 little drama. Really I don't know that it's fair to 
 your nice blonde wife for me to expose you to Irma." 
 
 "Don't you worry about my wife. I'll write her 
 all about this siren before you ever introduce me to 
 her." 
 
 "Yes, I know you will. The question is, will you 
 write her all about the siren after I introduce you?"
 
 ENTER IRMA 147 
 
 There is no use spoiling the story of Halliwell's 
 drama by giving in advance all the disillusioning de 
 tail of its preparation. I wrote down shortly after 
 ward the events of that memorable evening when we 
 acted it into history. I wanted to make sure of pre 
 serving an exact record. I might have found 
 immediate use for it but in any event it seemed worth 
 while saving as an entertaining episode in this ram 
 bling story of my life, which I find so much fun in 
 writing down from time to time and which may seem 
 so dull to those who, I fondly imagine, may care 
 some day to read it.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 THE TRAP OPENS 
 
 THE narrow three-story brick house, known as< 
 "Mama Rabou's" bears no sign to advertise 
 its hospitality. The cooking and the excellent 
 discretion of Madame and her never visible husband 
 have given it a reputation which has traveled far. 
 In the basement is a long thin dining room containing 
 a long thin table covered with oil cloth, on both sides 
 of which chairs are placed close together, thus mak 
 ing for early acquaintance among guests who may 
 arrive as strangers. At the end of the room, in the 
 front bay window, is a piano. This is the "bo- 
 hemian" part of the establishment. Impecunious 
 writers, musicians and other persons lacking the 
 commercial mind and its fruits, come here to enjoy 
 a limited but appetizing table d'hote, the quality of 
 which is (or was once) enhanced for the uncritical 
 'diner by a small bottle of "red ink." Dinner is 
 served promptly at six-thirty. At the end of the meal 
 it is probable that someone will play the piano and 
 those who sing, or enjoy the appearance of singing, 
 will gather around the piano and vie in harmonic 
 efforts. At nine-thirty, however, if any unacquainted 
 with the rules of the house show signs of lingering, 
 
 148
 
 THE TRAP OPENS 149 
 
 Mama Rabou will enter briskly and begin to turn 
 out the lights, saying pleasantly: "Good-night, ladies 
 and gentlemen. Come again, please." He would be 
 dull indeed who would not recognize in this a hint 
 that it is time to go. 
 
 Upstairs what was once a front parlor is now a 
 more select dining room. Here there are small tables 
 wearing table cloths; The young man whose com 
 panion shrinks from the publicity of the long table 
 downstairs, or who desires to monopolize her society, 
 will seek this room. But he will do well to come 
 early because Mama Rabou only serves once in an 
 evening and when the tables are full she will admit 
 no more. 
 
 "Come to-morrow, please," she suggests with 
 pleasant firmness. "Come early, please. Sorry, but 
 I cannot serve any more to-night." 
 
 However, these two rooms are not the limit of 
 Mama Rabou's accommodations. Behind the locked 
 double doors at the rear of the parlor dining room 
 is a sort of back parlor where private dining parties 
 of not less than four or more than ten will be enter 
 tained by special arrangement. This room is the 
 main cause of the reputation of the house for dis 
 cretion. Its closed doors never give a hint to the 
 common clientele of the character or personnel of 
 the party which has sought and paid for this privacy, 
 though sounds of their merriment may stimulate an 
 interest. Its two large windows look out upon a 
 blank wall so that on a warm evening they can be 
 left open without fear of publicity. A door at the
 
 ISO THE TRAP OPENS 
 
 rear allows the waiter to serve the meal quickly by 
 means of a narrow stairway leading down to the 
 kitchen. A special dinner of supreme quality will 
 be provided in this room, with wines suited to any 
 extravagance of taste. 
 
 One Thursday afternoon Halliwell and I acquired 
 rights to this private dining room for the following 
 Saturday evening. It was officially described as 
 Parlor A. Halliwell and Mama Rabou did all the 
 talking. They raced their French verbs and pro 
 nouns again each other for half an hour, while I 
 stood by and tried to smile intelligently whenever 
 madame glanced in my direction. In the end I laid 
 two twenty-dollar bills in her hand as an earnest of 
 the soundness of our intentions. A large share of 
 Halliwell's conversation I had guessed to be directed 
 toward insuring the presence of a particular vintage 
 champagne, which I judged from Mama Rabou's 
 persistent "mais oui" and acrobatic eyelashes might 
 be difficult to procure, so I watched her reception of 
 the money with some trepidation. I feared that 
 perhaps I should have brought along the family 
 diamonds. But she seemed satisfied. 
 
 "Now we'll put on our open-fronts," said Halli 
 well, as we walked back to the hotel, "and call upon 
 the fascinating Mrs. Conway. You're sure our body 
 guard have been following us." 
 
 "Yes, I've seen two of them at least. One is my 
 snub-nosed friend." 
 
 "Very good, very good," he chortled. "I had a 
 great time explaining to Mama Rabou that if any-
 
 THE TRAP OPENS 151 
 
 one tried to pump information out of her to be sure 
 to let him know that you, Monsieur Merrill, are giv 
 ing a little dinner Saturday. She was insulted at 
 first. She never talked about her patrons! That 
 was none of her business, and so forth. Discretion 
 is her habit of a lifetime. I told her we had a little 
 joke to play on someone and she must be a little 
 indiscreet, just this one time. She nearly wept but 
 finally promised." 
 
 "I'm somewhat embarrassed over Mrs. Conway's 
 part in this. It seems a rotten mess to bring a per 
 fect stranger into." 
 
 "Lord bless you! She's tickled to death. She's 
 no stranger to me. She and my sister were in the 
 same class at Smith. She visited in our home before 
 she married Conway. I made more love to her with 
 less effect than to any girl I ever met. She doesn't 
 care for my type. She likes a man big and broad 
 and husky, sort of literary pugilist looking. That 
 was Conway. He was about your build. Poor devil 
 he got pneumonia and went out in a hurry. That's 
 the trouble with you big fellows. Skinny hollow 
 chests like me live through everything. Hope you're 
 not susceptible to colds!" 
 
 "No, I'm not, old crepe hanger, and I exercise 
 all the time. There aren't two pounds of fat on 
 
 me." 
 
 "Well, anyhow you'll make a hit with Irma. May 
 be you have already." 
 
 "Did you ask her about the taxicab episode?" 
 "No, I forgot it completely. She always makes
 
 1 52 THE TRAP OPENS 
 
 me forget everything except how wonderful she 
 looks. Really it arouses my jealousy to cast you 
 for the hero of this play. I'd like to fill that part 
 myself." 
 
 "I don't feel like a hero. I feel like a fool or a 
 cad or a silly boy or something humiliating." 
 
 As I stopped at the taxicab desk in the hotel I 
 saw Maxy lounging within earshot. There was a 
 faint gleam of greeting in his dark eyes, but he gave 
 no noticeable sign of recognition. I ordered a car 
 for half-past-six in quite a loud voice. 
 
 When I returned to the lobby in my evening clothes 
 Gene was waiting for me. In a far corner I saw 
 my snub-nosed sleuth and Halliwell's dark-faced fol 
 lower sitting together. Evidently they had joined 
 forces. 
 
 We drove over to Stoneleigh Court, observing 
 with comfortable amusement that another car was 
 following us. In Mrs. Conway's apartment we met 
 a solemn-appearing middle-aged woman to whom 
 Halliwell introduced me. It seems that Miss 
 Stevenson, who lived with Mrs. Conway, had a posi 
 tion in the Department of Agriculture. She- wore 
 that look of hopeless content that seems to charac 
 terize the permanent members of the Government 
 service in Washington. They have no particular 
 fear or hope of the future. Their positions are 
 exceptionally secure. Promotion is either very 
 gradual from inferior pettiness to superior pettiness, 
 or else they get into a blind alley from which death 
 is the only exit. Really they seem to me the saddest
 
 THE TRAP OPENS 153 
 
 yet least pitiful individuals, I have ever met. The 
 Washington face ! If you once see it with an imagi 
 native eye you will never forget it. 
 
 Miss Stevenson excused herself shortly, with some 
 muffled excuse about "helping Irma." 
 
 After a short wait, Irma came in. She was far 
 more beautiful than I had imagined, also taller than 
 I had expected, although by no means a large woman, 
 just large enough to be called magnificent. She 
 wore a gown of soft caressing silk, almost black in 
 color. I think it was what is called midnight blue. 
 It was embroidered with sequins, giving a mermaid 
 like enticement to the smooth lines of her figure. 
 After one glance at her face I abruptly turned my 
 eyes downward to avoid a too obvious stare of 
 admiration. Then the grace of her white arm out 
 stretched in greeting and the lure of her half-revealed 
 bosom drove my glance back again toward the eyes 
 that had first confused me. Her hair was drawn in 
 thick waves away from a rather low forehead; but 
 although black and luxuriant it did not seem heavy. 
 There were reddish glints in the finer strands that 
 escaped around her ears and curled at the base of 
 her shapely head. Her white throat was flawless, 
 not a suggestion of surplus flesh yet fully rounded. 
 All these things I noted rapidly and then, with an 
 actual effort, again looked her in the eyes. They 
 were deeply set and shaded with long curling lashes. 
 The irises seemed almost black, but, as I drew 
 nearer, they appeared less forbidding, more of a 
 lustrous brown, sensitive and appealing eyes whose
 
 154 THE TRAP OPENS 
 
 wish it would be hard to deny and whose dis 
 pleasure it would be difficult to endure. 
 
 She was saying something and her voice was warm 
 and mellow like her eyes. 
 
 "I've seldom been so curious to meet anyone, Mr. 
 Merrill. Gene has planned such a charming series 
 of parties for two people who have never met!" 
 
 I heard myself speaking as though it were some 
 one else, a sensation that sometimes follows on too 
 much alcohol. For the moment I felt drunk and 
 wondered if I looked that way. But as I spoke my 
 mind grew clearer. 
 
 "Pardon me if I seem a little stunned. If I were 
 Gene I should say that you had overwhelmed me, 
 but not being good at pretty speeches, I'll explain it 
 another way. You said we had never met. But 
 I think we have. In fact I think I brought you home 
 in a taxi one rainy day. It was dark and I didn't 
 see you plainly and so I didn't realize" I fumbled 
 for words. 
 
 "You didn't realize what a goddess you had enter 
 tained," interjected Halliwell. "You are certainly 
 stunning to-night, Irma, and my little friend is 
 stunned. I don't think it fair to burst on poor Rod 
 ney in full blaze of glory that way. Venus rising 
 from the waves of a Paris gown. You should have 
 revealed yourself more gradually say come in first 
 in an apron, and wearing a veil!" 
 
 If my face was not burning red it felt that way. 
 Even Irma's cheeks flushed lightly. But a woman 
 can take strong praise without visible confusion,
 
 THE TRAP OPENS 155 
 
 especially one who is truly beautiful. She has had 
 plenty of practice. 
 
 "I'm not going to protest Gene's talk, Mrs. Con- 
 way," I said. "Protest would be useless for stop 
 ping him and anyhow I guess he's right. I feel a 
 bit confused, particularly because you have been 
 asked to play a part in such a ridiculous adventure. 
 Frankly, I should be less embarrassed with someone 
 less stunning. I'm afraid you would give a shock 
 ing appearance of reality to any pretense that I had 
 become infatuated. Also, I'm a little scared for fear 
 that under such a stimulus I may overact my part." 
 
 "And you said he couldn't flatter the ladies," she 
 remarked gayly to Halliwell. "He warned me, Mr. 
 Merrill, that you would probably try to reform me; 
 he said that was your idea of making love to a 
 woman. But then I knew he never told the truth 
 so I wasn't really afraid." 
 
 Gene met my indignation with a high pitched 
 laugh. 
 
 "You remember Portia Hamlet," he accused. 
 "When I tried to kiss her she said you had told her 
 that promiscuous kissing was all wrong, that she 
 should treasure her affections for the great gift to 
 the one she really loved. I never quite forgave you 
 for withering that young flower." 
 
 "Gene delights to remind me of all the raw ideas 
 that I annoyed him with, long years ago, Mrs. Con- 
 way. He got over some of his illusions earlier than 
 I did. But he still possesses the illusion that he is 
 the world's greatest lover," I added maliciously.
 
 i S 6 THE TRAP OPENS 
 
 "That is one illusion that I never had about either 
 him or myself." 
 
 "Touche!" exclaimed Mrs. Conway. "I think we 
 had better go and find Gene's alleged cousin before 
 you two get to quarreling." 
 
 "She's a real cousin," insisted Halliwell, "cross 
 my heart and hope to die !" 
 
 What Gene's cousin looked like I cannot tell. We 
 picked her up on the way to the Chevy Chase 
 Country Club. I have a vague recollection of a 
 small, thin, vivacious young woman, whose name was 
 Knowlton, I believe, who talked to Halliwell in an 
 undertone, with much giggling laughter, all through 
 the evening. After dinner we danced, and on the 
 rare occasions when I danced with her some sprig 
 always cut in before we were half around the hall. 
 Then I would slip away to a quiet corner where I 
 could think about Mrs. Conway or go through a 
 silly self-deception of pretending not to think about 
 her. 
 
 When I danced with her that is, with Irma I 
 talked very little. If I have a good partner I don't 
 care much about chattering through a dance arid I 
 soon found that she had the same idea. Fortunately 
 she was not acquainted with the young vultures who 
 clustered around the ball-room and continually cut 
 in the dances, whereby a popular girl never had more 
 than thirty seconds consecutively with one partner. 
 Never did that seem to me a more asinine method 
 of destroying the pleasure of a dance than that 
 evening when I feared at the outset that I should
 
 THE TRAP OPENS 157 
 
 be allowed very little time with my beautiful com 
 panion. I blessed the fact soon demonstrated that 
 she was a stranger like myself and I remarked upon 
 my good fortune. 
 
 "I've been in Washington only a few months," 
 she said, "and only once before at Chevy Chase. I'm 
 glad I don't know anybody because I'm northern 
 myself and I don't like the southern style of cutting 
 in any more than you do. I should dislike it espe 
 cially to-night because I want to get a little acquainted 
 with you, since we are to be disgraced together so 
 
 soon." 
 
 "Oh, that is all over," I answered. We were sit 
 ting out a dance in a secluded corner and I had just 
 come to the decision. "I couldn't think of dragging 
 you into an affair of that kind. Putting it bluntly 
 I like you far too well and I think you are far too 
 attractive a person to be mixed up in such a thing." 
 
 She did not answer, but sat looking at me out of 
 half-shut eyes with a questioning expression; and I 
 stumbled on. 
 
 "I might as well try to be frank, even though I 
 make myself ridiculous. When this adventure was 
 planned you were just a name to me and the idea 
 didn't seem so outrageous. But now two things have 
 occurred. You are a real human being, a beautiful 
 woman with a past and a future. I don't know much 
 about the past but I can't see how this business could 
 help your future and it might do you great harm. 
 A woman's reputation is nothing to trifle with. In 
 the second place I find it hard to say this but I'm
 
 158 THE TRAP OPENS 
 
 going to do it if I were not a married man I should 
 be head over heels in love with you already. Under 
 the circumstances I don't see how I can risk pretend 
 ing to fall in love with you. That part needn't worry 
 you, because I can assure you that your slightest 
 frown would stop me; but it worries me because I 
 really try to be respectable and even if all other 
 prohibitions failed me, I wouldn't care to make a 
 fool of myself." 
 
 I stopped, feeling particularly foolish. Still she 
 sat silent for a moment. Then she smiled, a lovely 
 smile, not mocking but very friendly. Impulsively 
 she put her hand on my arm and I tingled at the 
 light touch. 
 
 "I'm glad you don't know how to make love," 
 she said. "No great lover has ever flattered me as 
 deeply as you have just now, and several great lovers 
 have really exerted themselves to do it." 
 
 "Really," I protested, "I'm not trying to flatter 
 you 
 
 "That is just why you are so flattering," she in 
 terrupted. "You display an appalled dread lest 
 quite against your will I may charm you out of all 
 discretion. Now what could be more flattering to 
 a woman than to give her such a sense of power 
 and to pay such a tribute to her let's call it per 
 sonality? Of course if you were just a boy or a 
 weakling it would be different, but when a mature 
 man, who has earned scars, who has fallen in and 
 out of love, who has married an attractive wife
 
 THE TRAP OPENS 159 
 
 when such a stout-heart collapses on the doorstep 
 I have a right to be flattered." 
 
 "I'm feeling more foolish every minute," I de 
 clared. "The only wisdom I have left is in my legs 
 they're urging me to run away." 
 
 That made her laugh; and restored a little of 
 my lost poise. 
 
 "You are interesting me immensely," murmured 
 the siren, leaning a little closer. "You're such a 
 funny combination of sophistication and boyishness. 
 You seem to be stumbling around the tennis court 
 and yet somehow you manage to keep returning the 
 ball." 
 
 "Oh, it's an art," I replied with mock egotism. 
 "It's a great art!" 
 
 "I'm not entirely sure that it isn't," she said, 
 further heating my already fevered self-esteem. 
 "However, I'll promise you one thing. You are 
 not going to run away from your Delilah. You 
 agreed with Gene that I should be Delilah and 
 Delilah I am going to be. Talk it over with Gene. 
 He knows enough of my past follies and future hopes 
 to assure you that you will do me no harm." 
 
 I did talk it over with Gene in my room, to which 
 we returned at the end of the evening. He reassured 
 me considerably. 
 
 "Of course, you'd have scruples, old dear," he 
 taunted me, "especially when you found the lady so 
 beautiful. I notice the more beautiful they are the 
 more moral you get. Downright perversity it seems 
 to me. There's some sense in being moral with the
 
 i6o THE TRAP OPENS 
 
 homely ones. They need morality for comfort. But 
 how would you like to be a beautiful woman, all 
 fixed up by nature for a man trap, and then be sur 
 rounded with a bunch of self-blinded men? Sheer 
 waste of natural resources! 
 
 "However, about Irma she had a little money 
 of her own and Conway left her some more. She 
 doesn't nejd a husband to support her and doesn't 
 want one. Men have been flinging themselves at 
 her feet for so many years that she gets no thrill 
 out of adoration at all, at all. She had a gay young 
 life before she married and a pretty speedy one dur 
 ing that brief episode. Now she wants to do some 
 thing more amusing than to frivol. She has a wild 
 strain, Irish romanticism I guess. She wants real 
 adventure. She did a little very high-grade detec 
 tive work secret service is a nicer name in New 
 York city. Then there was a chance to land some 
 thing quite big in that line down here, so she came 
 to Washington. The head of the agency that is 
 following you had something to do with it. Like 
 many another he lost his head over Irma; worked 
 against her business career because he had other 
 plans for her. I don't know the whole story but it 
 would give her an inexpressible joy to make monkeys 
 of that crowd. You're offering her a chance that 
 she would give up six months of life to get. I didn't 
 know why she was so particularly keen to do this 
 until she explained." 
 
 "There isn't any chance that she is really working 
 with the agency, is there?" I suggested cautiously.
 
 THE TRAP OPENS 161 
 
 "No there isn't and your infatuated little heart 
 doesn't think so, either," laughed Halliwell. "You're 
 just trying to make me think you are not swept away 
 by Irma. But, believe me, I know the signs too well. 
 I've seen it happen too often. You are twenty miles 
 out at sea already and if I didn't know that Irma 
 would bring you safe back home I'd telegraph your 
 poor dear wife." 
 
 I used up a good deal of coarse language trying 
 to convince Gene that he was wrong but finally gave 
 it up and told him it was time for him to go home. 
 
 "I want to go to bed and dream about Irma," 
 I said with belligerent emphasis. 
 
 "Shameless!" he mocked me at the door. "Re 
 veling in his shame!" 
 
 He was wrong, however. I felt ashamed so 
 much so that before retiring I wrote a long letter to 
 my wife and told her all about Irma that is, all 
 the facts about our plan, our meeting and that Mrs. 
 Conway was a very good-looking woman of the 
 brunette type ; of course I never enthused much over 
 brunettes, but she was a distinctly handsome woman 
 of that type. I tried to make all the material ele 
 ments of the situation as clear as though Mary had 
 been in Washington herself. The spiritual elements 
 so to speak I could not analyze sufficiently to 
 discuss intelligently with myself. Naturally I knew 
 I could not explain them to Mary. So I did not 
 try.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 THE TRAP CLOSES 
 
 FRIDAY night saw Irma again. This time 
 I called on her alone although accompanied 
 at a discreet distance by my faithful sleuth. 
 I stayed rather late, ostensibly to intensify the in 
 terest of my follower and his clients. To be honest, 
 I was glad of the excuse. I have never enjoyed an 
 evening more. We talked a great deal. We sang 
 a few songs together. She plays the piano very 
 well and I am supposed to have a fairly good voice. 
 I only hope she had half as good a time as I did. 
 Certainly she seemed to enjoy talking over our plans 
 for Saturday. But I should be very conceited to 
 imagine that she found half as much pleasure in my 
 society as I found merely in listening to her voice 
 and watching the lights and shadows play over her 
 alluring eyes. I won't try to describe her eyes any 
 further because it isn't what they are but what they 
 do that is important. They fascinate and subjugate 
 me in a way that gives me an intense sensation of 
 pleasure mingled with positive terror. 
 
 There were times when were were sitting rather 
 near together, when she would give me a full sweet 
 look that was far more heady than the most power 
 ful liquor I have ever swallowed. I had a physical 
 
 162
 
 THE TRAP CLOSES 163 
 
 sensation of choking and an unreasoning impulse to 
 drag myself down before her, to press my cheek 
 against her satin slippers and to babble some sort of 
 adoring nonsense. 
 
 I wish I could make it plain that I, Rodney 
 Merrill, leaning back in a comfortable chair and 
 exuding ironic comments on attempted public service, 
 did not desire to do this thing. But inside this fairly 
 self-possessed individual had awakened an alien 
 person with whom I had only a faint acquaintance 
 a person dominated by a passion to serve passion, 
 by a desire to make himself a slave to an overpower 
 ing love a person who has been invisible and unfelt 
 through most of my years, and only half-visible and 
 half-sensed in brief intoxicated moments. 
 
 But when this woman looked full into my eyes 
 it seemed as though her 'glance went clear through 
 Rodney Merrill into this inner person, awoke him 
 and summoned him to do her will. And if he gave 
 himself what would she do with him? That terri 
 fied me. I knew what she could do. She could 
 trample him under her pretty feet if she wished and 
 he would bless her and enjoy the pain. Somehow 
 that did not scare me. It seemed too sweet a humilia 
 tion to be feared. But I knew in the depths of the 
 vanity of Rodney Merrill that what I dreaded was 
 that she would scorn this slave gift of worship. The 
 alien I yearned to offer all, but the familiar I kept 
 whispering, "Fool! Fool! Fool!"
 
 164 THE TRAP CLOSES 
 
 Now I am going to stop right here and say some 
 thing in defense of my feeling this way and of my 
 writing it down. There are two kinds of people 
 who may criticise. There are those who have never 
 known the possible strength of human passion. For 
 them I am sorry, if they are now too old to learn. 
 If they are young probably they will not criticise. 
 There are others who have known, but are ashamed, 
 and add the sin of hypocrisy to the sin of being 
 ashamed that they have ever drunk deep of life. 
 There may be a third kind of critic, those who have 
 known, who profess not to be ashamed, but who 
 assert that such things shouldn't be talked about 
 publicly. These are not ignorant or hypocritical. 
 They are self-deceivers, for, though they deny it, 
 they are ashamed of knowing what they know. I'm 
 naturally a bit of a hypocrite and self-deceiver. I 
 am ashamed. But I am forcing myself, just as far 
 as my Puritan ancestors will permit, to write an 
 honest story of an honest even though a shameful 
 passion. Because honest though shameful pas 
 sions play a great part in a great many lives and 
 how can one seek the purpose of life as I am con 
 sciously seeking it as all of us consciously or un 
 consciously are seeking it, unless one faces the facts 
 of living? Surely if damnation waits for any man 
 it should wait for one who pretends to write of life 
 and thus in some measure influences the lives of 
 others, and who deliberately evades the facts. It 
 is bad enough to live shams. There is no excuse for 
 writing them.
 
 THE TRAP CLOSES 165 
 
 Let me make my motives clear, once and for all. 
 I do not seek to excuse or to palliate my wrong do 
 ings or my mistakes. Least of all would I glorify 
 my errors so as to give either the sinner or the sin 
 ning a romantic attraction. But what is right and 
 wrong; and where is the end of folly and the begin 
 ning of wisdom? Just because the pretense of such 
 infinite knowledge is ludicrous, I pray that I may 
 avoid sticking little labels on the pictures I try to 
 draw. I might see a noble life with a chapter of 
 sordid misery at the end. Should I call it, "The 
 Reward of Virtue," and earn the reputation of a 
 cynic? I might see a lying scoundrel accumulate a 
 fortune and live to a ripe old age surrounded by a 
 loving family. Should I call it, "The Wages of 
 Sin"? Perhaps the noble man was a fool and the 
 scoundrel full of wisdom. All I know is that label 
 ing lives is a futile bore but trying to understand 
 how and why men and women live and think as they 
 do is at least interesting. It isn't self-esteem that 
 makes me interested in studying myself. I'm not 
 worth studying as an exception but I am as a type. 
 It is because I'm sufficiently normal so that my ex 
 periences are common to millions of other men and 
 because I know so much more (and so much less) 
 about myself, that self-analysis interest me and may 
 at least amuse others if it is honest. 
 
 Therefore I confess the passion that Irma Conway 
 roused in me. Whether for good or evil it is a great
 
 i66 THE TRAP CLOSES 
 
 experience. Under its influence I wing my way to 
 heights of joy I had not imagined. I crawl into 
 depths of shame and pain that I had never suffered. 
 There is a glory in the sunshine, a tang in the cool 
 air, a lightness in my sense of motion, hitherto un 
 known. And I pay bitterly for this delight, in a 
 despair that there is so little of it, that there can 
 be so little of it in the long, long days before me. 
 The boyish illusions that might make this experience 
 all gladness, are gone. I have no impossible hopes 
 to cheer me, no thought that if somehow I were 
 free or could obtain freedom and lay siege to Irma 
 and capture her for my own, then life would be one 
 long sweet song. Of course if I were free the adven 
 ture would be a glorious one. Failure at the end 
 would not destroy the joy in having played the game. 
 Success might prolong it for a little while. 
 
 But I can't vividly imagine marrying Irma and 
 certainly I can't imagine her caring to be married 
 to me. I don't really desire to marry Irma. I only 
 wish to be in love with Irma, and to devote my days 
 to making love to Irma, and to have Irma want me 
 to be in love with her. I am quite convinced that 
 Mary and I live together more happily than could 
 Irma and I. Mary is real and solid and habitual 
 comfortable qualities in a partner for the every 
 day business of living. Irma summons me to dream 
 and to venture. She brings thrills never stirred by 
 wine or music. She brings hints of a purpose in 
 living, because she lifts me out of a body that I 
 know is growing old and is going to die, and relights
 
 THE TRAP CLOSES 167 
 
 the youthful fire of illusion that I once called my 
 soul. 
 
 I should like to write more about how Irma makes 
 me feel but I think it is time that I went back to 
 my story. 
 
 . 3 
 
 Pillar Grayson came to town Friday evening. 
 Late Saturday morning Gene and Pillar and I and 
 Irma drove to the Union Station and met a very 
 attractive young woman whom I shall call Grace. 
 She greeted Gene with marked affection and the five 
 of us made a very gay luncheon party in one of the 
 conspicuous hotels. I may mention that through 
 Maxy we had learned of the intense interest which 
 the two detective agencies were taking in my atten 
 tions to Irma. They had been informed of the 
 dinner arrangements made at Mama Rabou's and 
 had made plans for adding to the entertainment of 
 the evening. 
 
 Our jolly quintet played around Washington all 
 afternoon, not making it too difficult for the shadows 
 to follow our fool's progress. As daylight faded we 
 left Irma and Grace at Stoneleigh Court. Halli- 
 well and I went to our respective rooms to dress, 
 after which we called for the ladies at Stoneleigh 
 and escorted them to Mama Rabou's. In the mean 
 time Pillar Grayson "dolled up decollete," as he 
 described it, and sought out an obscure boarding 
 house where he acquired the companionship of a 
 dashing young woman well, young looking, at any 
 rate with vivid red hair and deep blue eyes, one
 
 168 THE TRAP CLOSES 
 
 who would attract notice in any company. If any 
 sleuth had made inquiries at the boarding house he 
 would have been informed that Miss McCarthy had 
 just gone out. Whether inquiry was made I do not 
 know. 
 
 As I surveyed this hilarious six around the invit 
 ing table set with the very best of the Rabou silver, 
 china and glassware, I observed how utterly un 
 worthy the men appeared to be of such companion 
 ship. 
 
 "I'll guarantee," I remarked, "that the waiter 
 will wonder how such a set of men ever managed 
 to acquire three such marvelous women. Here's 
 old Pillar Grayson with his gray hair and general 
 grandfatherly appearance, Gene Halliwell hiding 
 his haggard cheeks behind a moth-eaten beard, and 
 I, the youngest in the crowd, half bald and rheumatic 
 all of us imposing our middle-aged wits and our 
 renovated enthusiasms on three dreams of female 
 youth and beauty. It isn't right. We ought to leave 
 such charmers to the men of their own generation.' 1 
 
 "Nonsense!" roared Pillar. "The younger men 
 can't afford such companionship. A man must reach 
 years of indiscretion before he can provide for the 
 female of the species in the style to which she wishes 
 to be accustomed. Look at Miss McCarthy it took 
 years of hard labor in my profession before I reached 
 the place where I could afford to bring her half-way 
 across the country to take part, dad like an Egyptian 
 queen, in an evening such as this."
 
 THE TRAP CLOSES 169 
 
 "You shameless old reprobate!" cried the lady 
 addressed, laughing shrilly, "you didn't bring me half 
 across the country. I paid my own carfare and 
 furthermore I buy all my own clothes out of the 
 allowance which papa gives me." 
 
 The true identity of Miss McCarthy being known 
 to all present although not to any possible eaves 
 droppers outside the half-open windows this sally 
 aroused much laughter, above which Pillar could be 
 heard shouting: 
 
 "Aileen, Aileen, when you put on that baby pout 
 of innocence you make me forget all my dignity. 
 I shall really have to kiss you on the spot!" 
 
 This he did with considerable enthusiasm, whereat 
 Gene promptly embraced the somewhat shrinking 
 Grace. I turned with mocking inquiry toward Irma, 
 who was sitting on my right, and remarked: 
 
 "It seems to be your turn next." 
 
 "Must I?" she said leaning toward me with a 
 tantalizing smile. 
 
 The blood rushed to my forehead. The noise 
 in the room receded, though I could hear Pillar say 
 ing something. But all I really knew was the near 
 ness of dark eyes in whose caressing depths I might 
 be happily engulfed. 
 
 There was a knock on the door and the discreet 
 waiter slid in with a loaded tray. 
 
 "Saved," mocked Irma. "Saved by a waiter." 
 
 "That's only in the first act," I threatened. "In 
 the last act there will be no waiter."
 
 170 THE TRAP CLOSES 
 
 "Oh yes there will be," she retorted. "I shall 
 still be left waiting." 
 
 As dinner progressed and the glasses were emptied 
 and refilled persistently the merriment of our little 
 party rose dangerously. The incorrigible Gene de 
 voted himself more and more intensively to Irma, 
 taking an obvious, wicked pleasure in my dissatis 
 faction. This left Grace, his true partner, free to 
 entangle Pillar, who showed an increasing readiness 
 to engross himself with her, thus leaving Aileen to 
 me. Without rudeness I had to abandon efforts to 
 separate Gene and Irma and to try to be attentive 
 to Aileen. Not only was I annoyed at losing Irma's 
 society but I feared our actors were forgetting their 
 parts in the little drama now rapidly approaching a 
 climax. 
 
 When coffee and liqueurs were being served I 
 found an excuse to wander around the table and whis 
 per a few warning words, which, combined with the 
 coffee, had some effect in restoring the original com 
 bination to working order. Knowing the plans of 
 the detective agencies we were assured that they 
 would not spring their trap until they felt they had 
 their victims at the greatest disadvantage. After 
 dinner Grace played the piano and we danced a 
 little and sang a little. Then Gene loudly ordered 
 in more wine and we indulged in considerable 
 apparent drinking, although the imminent crisis had 
 a very sobering effect on all of us and there was 
 much less wine consumed than one would have 
 judged from the noise and the constant clink of
 
 THE TRAP CLOSES 171 
 
 glasses. It was probably about ten o'clock when we 
 set the scene for the last act. 
 
 Irma and I were sitting on the side of the table 
 opposite the windows. On my left sat Pillar Gray- 
 son with the dashing but now somewhat tousled Miss 
 McCarthy, lolling in his lap. With one arm around 
 his neck, her red hair tumbling about her ears and 
 a half-empty champagne glass in her hand, with 
 Pillar's gray hair falling over his forehead and his 
 crumpled shirt front bursting from its studs, they 
 were a pretty maudlin-looking couple. On Irma's 
 right was Halliwell, supporting in similar fashion 
 the high-spirited Grace. There was nothing maudlin 
 in their appearance, but as a living picture of Mr. 
 and Miss Bacchus about to smash the glassware and 
 dance on the table, they were a complete success. 
 
 "One last song," boomed Grayson, "and then we 
 must be going or Mama Rabou won't let us ever 
 come again." Then he began in a somewhat thick 
 voice to sing, "Good-Night, Ladies," and we all 
 joined in. 
 
 Irma and I sat close together but with our arms 
 before us on the table. There was not the slightest 
 appearance of impropriety in our position but our 
 companions amply supplied that element of the pic 
 ture. They certainly looked disreputable. As the 
 song began I waited for the footlights. This was 
 to be the last act, if our plans went right. Each 
 word rolled out slowly from Pillar and the rest 
 followed his time but nothing happened as we sang 
 the verse:
 
 172 THE TRAP CLOSES 
 
 "Good-night, ladies, 
 Good-night, ladies, 
 Good-night, ladies, 
 We're going to leave you now." 
 
 We began the chorus: 
 "Merrily we roll along, roll along, roll along- 
 
 Then came the crash! 
 
 There was a roar at the open windows as two 
 flashlights went off in succession. After the boom 
 of the flashlights the doorbell began to ring. We 
 could hear scurrying steps in the hall. A frightened 
 waiter thrust his face in at the door. He saw us 
 sitting as though frozen to our seats. Through the 
 window leaped a man, two men, three men four I 
 One ran out into the hall and, over the loud protests 
 of Mama Rabou, opened the front door, returning 
 with more men. 
 
 Now there were at least eight men in the room; 
 and behind them Mama Rabou and two servants 
 peered in from the doorway. We had finally jumped 
 up, the women shrinking back, the men smoothing 
 their shirt fronts and nervously brushing the lint of 
 napkins from their black clothes. 
 
 "Welcome to our party," said Grayson. "I don't 
 know who invited all you gentlemen, but someone 
 ought to welcome you, I'm sure. Is this a delegation 
 or just a mob? Have you a chairman who can ex 
 plain what this is all about?" 
 
 A broad-faced man with thin lips, a thin nose and
 
 THE TRAP CLOSES 173 
 
 narrow eyes, who was standing beside my snub-nosed 
 detective, stepped forward. 
 
 "You are Mr. Pillar Grayson?" he asked in a 
 twanging voice. 
 
 Grayson nodded. 
 
 "This is Mr. Rodney Merrill?" he continued 
 pointing to me, "and this is Mr. Eugene Halliwell?" 
 
 "That's correct," answered Grayson, "and now 
 suppose you introduce yourself and your friends." 
 
 "Just a moment," said broad-face importantly. 
 "I was about to ask the names of the ladies next." 
 
 "Well," said Grayson, slowly, "if the ladies will 
 excuse me I will state that that is none of your damn 
 business.' 
 
 "Took the words right out of my mouth," said 
 Miss McCarthy in a thin plaintive little voice. 
 
 Two or three of our visitors promptly made notes 
 on pads of paper they were carrying. 
 
 "Ah, we have gentlemen of the press with us, I 
 see," commented Grayson. "I'm somewhat sur 
 prised. Most newspaper men I know are gentlemen. 
 I wouldn't have expected to find them running around 
 with jail birds like Connery." 
 
 The broad-faced man was visibly upset. Our 
 party was equally amazed at this sudden turn. Gray- 
 son glanced at me. 
 
 "The leader of this little party is Mr. James 
 Connery, Rodney," he said. "The last time I saw 
 him he was on his way to jail for sending a black 
 mailing letter through the mails. That was years 
 ago. Now he calls himself a detective and works a
 
 i 7 4 THE TRAP CLOSES 
 
 safer line than individual blackmail. He blackmails 
 for big respectable institutions like railroads and 
 other public utility corporations." 
 
 Connery's newspaper aids noticeably shrank away 
 from him during this attack. Even the snub-nosed 
 man and the men I had seen trailing Halliwell looked 
 uncomfortable. 
 
 "Strong words," sang out Connery, with a snarl, 
 "strong words, Mr. Grayson, but you are trying to 
 get away with a lot yourself, I'd say. We got a 
 pretty little photograph of you a married man with 
 that lady there sitting on your knee. I don't have 
 to take your sass either. I've got nothing to say 
 to you. I'm not trying to get anything out of you. 
 I just wanted to identify you and your friends to 
 the newspaper boys, so they can get a good story 
 if they want it. I'm not working for any railroad 
 either. There's a reform organization that pays 
 for getting the evidence to put places of this kind 
 out of business in Washington. I'm working for 
 them. See?" 
 
 Mama Rabou in the back of the crowd began a 
 voluble defense of her establishment. 
 
 "Don't worry, Mama Rabou," called out Gray- 
 son. "There will never be one word of this in any 
 newspaper, or any evidence presented in any court, 
 unless we decide to send a few railroad men to jail 
 for blackmail ! You boys," he continued, turning to 
 the newspaper men, "have been brought here under 
 false pretenses. I know you wouldn't have taken 
 part in such a dirty business if you hadn't been
 
 THE TRAP CLOSES 175 
 
 lied to. There isn't a reputable paper in the whole 
 country that would print a pure blackmail story even 
 if it was good news. If any of you are unfortunate 
 enough to work for a paper that would print the 
 story, I'll tell you right now to tell your editors that 
 that paper will go broke in a year paying the damages 
 in six libel suits. There are six of us here, you see." 
 
 "Just a minute, Mr. Grayson," said a young 
 gloomy-faced fellow, who looked as though all his 
 meals for ten years had disagreed with him. "The 
 paper I work for isn't so darn particular as you 
 may think; and as for libel suits the day we don't 
 get any we know we got out a poor paper the day 
 before! You're a married man and Mr. Merrill's 
 a married man and this party doesn't look so good. 
 We boys haven't seen all the show, but the little I 
 glimpsed from outside that window didn't look like 
 a church sociable." 
 
 "Who invited you to come here?" I asked. 
 "Who tipped this off to you as a story?" 
 
 "That's my business," he said defiantly. 
 
 "You'll find its our business before the evening 
 is over," remarked Grayson. "But if you won't talk 
 to us we don't care to talk to you. Go ahead and 
 take notes until your hand is tired. You'll never get 
 one line in your paper." 
 
 "Let me say a few words," said Gene, stepping 
 forward. "I'm talking now to all you men as men. 
 Some of you detectives are working for one agency 
 and some for another. We know all about you. We 
 may as well tell you newspaper men that these
 
 176 THE TRAP CLOSES 
 
 agencies have been trying to ruin the three of us, 
 and all because we are working for the public. Mr. 
 Merrill and Mr. Grayson are fighting the railroads. 
 They represent the State of Illinois. I've been fight 
 ing the Steel crowd. I represent the United States. 
 We men have been doing our duty as we saw it. We 
 may be all wrong but we've been fighting honestly 
 for things we believe in and we've fought fair. 
 
 "The railroad men and the steel men may have 
 been fighting for things they believe in. They are 
 fighting for money. I know they certainly believe 
 in that. Maybe they believe in something better 
 than money though I doubt it sometimes. At any 
 rate they haven't fought fair. They call themselves 
 great business men and they fight with the weapons 
 of crooks. They fight like men of the underworld 
 of crime. They have used you men to follow us 
 not for information merely, but to get something on 
 us, to get us in a position where still dirtier tools 
 of theirs could blackmail us and try to make us be 
 tray our clients and become crooks like themselves. 
 We've proved that. We've got the goods on you; 
 and you haven't got them on us. If you gentlemen 
 will wait long enough I'll show you the photographs 
 you took, because we have them. We have copies 
 of all your instructions. We have copies of the bills 
 for this rotten work. We know who paid the bills. 
 We can prove attempted blackmail from start to 
 finish. 
 
 "We set a trap for you to-night and you walked 
 into it. We have you and your employers in the
 
 THE TRAP CLOSES 177 
 
 trap. Now you can go if you want. We're not 
 interested in you, even as witnesses." 
 
 "Well, now look here," began Connery with a 
 bullying bellow, "you try to carry things with a high 
 hand." 
 
 "Ah, the jail bird is singing again," said Grayson, 
 turning around from a whispered conversation he 
 had been having with Aileen while Gene was speak 
 ing. 
 
 "That's a lie!" shouted Connery. "I never was 
 in jail. You're trying to get away with that bunk 
 along with the rest of it. You've got a nerve. You 
 tvith a wife in Chicago and a red-headed woman 
 sitting on your lap in Washington. You try to play 
 the high and mighty!" 
 
 "Excuse me," interrupted a tall, thin young man 
 who had just pushed his way forward. He carried 
 the inevitable pad of paper that identified him as a 
 reporter. "Mr. Merrill, you don't know me, but 
 you know my brother in Chicago and I know about 
 you. My name is MacMillan. I've been standing 
 here feeling like a cad for twenty minutes. I don't 
 think you men are bluffing and I think we all ought 
 to be thrown out on our necks. I don't know what 
 story was told my city editor, but it must have been 
 a lie or he wouldn't have sent me out on this. If 
 you can just clear up one or two things for me I'd 
 like to leave and go back to the shop and tell them 
 what I think of this assignment." 
 
 "I suppose," I answered, smiling, "you would 
 like to know how Mr. Grayson expects to explain
 
 178 THE TRAP CLOSES 
 
 this situation to his wife, or whether I intend to 
 explain it to mine?" 
 
 "Well, not exactly that," he protested. 
 
 "It can be explained quite easily," I said. "Since 
 we have found there is a gentleman in this crowd 
 perhaps we can introduce him to the ladies." 
 
 "Wait a second," said Grayson, "before we in 
 troduce ourselves I want the name of everybody in 
 this room and anyone who does not care to give his 
 name can leave now." 
 
 "Well suppose anyone won't leave?" inquired the 
 gloomy-faced dyspeptic. 
 
 "Oh, we'll have him arrested and carried out," 
 answered Grayson. "I sent for the police some time 
 ago. Don't worry, Mama Rabou," he added in 
 answer to her wail. "I sent for a friendly police 
 man. I think I hear him coming." 
 
 Thumping steps in the outer hall were followed 
 by the entrance of a burly man in uniform in tow of 
 the small and very much excited Maxy. 
 
 "Which of you is Mr. Grayson?" rumbled the 
 policeman. 
 
 "I am," said Pillar. 
 
 "The chief told me this young feller would bring 
 me here and you might want help." He blinked 
 around at the strange gathering and I noted that 
 his glances lingered appreciatively on the ladies in 
 our party. 
 
 "I was just calling the roll, officer, when you 
 entered. These guests of ours were going to give 
 us their names."
 
 THE TRAP CLOSES 179 
 
 The roll call was quickly completed. 
 
 While Grayson was conducting it Maxy had been 
 showing the rest of our party a picture taken by the 
 detective photographer in the flashlight which had 
 opened this last act. It certainly made us out to 
 be a most disreputable crowd. Aileen and Grace 
 went into shrieks of laughter over it and Irma was 
 much amused. 
 
 "Now," said Grayson at the end of the roll call, 
 "we will show you your little photograph, Mr. Con- 
 nery. Your assistant Mr. Maxy has brought it to 
 you." 
 
 Connery glared at Maxy. 
 
 "You double-crosser," he snarled. 
 
 Maxy smiled. 
 
 "I've just resigned, Connery," he said, "but to 
 morrow I think you'll be fired. I took the plates 
 from Johnson just as you told me, and had them de 
 veloped right away. Only one was any good. Oh, 
 then I had an accident! After I had printed three 
 pictures I dropped the plates on the floor and they 
 happened to break, so I pounded them into small 
 pieces. But you see I have pictures for Mr. Halli- 
 well, Mr. Grayson and Mr. Merrill one apiece 
 and that was all they ordered. So it isn't so bad 
 that the plate was broken. The order has been 
 filled." 
 
 Connery's expressions during this sweet-natured 
 stabbing were most entertaining. 
 
 "Let me show the officer a photograph," said 
 Grayson. "Officer, these men, whose names I took,
 
 i8o THE TRAP CLOSES 
 
 watched our little party through the windows over 
 there and then took this picture of us." 
 
 The officer took a long look. 
 
 "Well it seems to have been quite a pleasant little 
 party," he finally announced judicially. 
 
 "Officer, you're married? I thought so. Suppose 
 you were entertaining a party of friends at your 
 home and your dear wife was sitting on your knee 
 and some Peeping Tom sneaked up and peeked 
 through the window and tried to take a picture of 
 you because he thought, and wanted to tell your 
 enemies, that it was. some woman who was not your 
 wife who was sitting on your knee. What would 
 you do to such a man?" 
 
 "I think I'd shoot the begging your ladies' 
 pardon I meant to say I think I'd shoot him ! May 
 I ask if this lady is your wife, Mr. Grayson?" 
 
 "You guessed right the very first time, officer, 
 which is more than this whole flock of detectives 
 could do in several hours." 
 
 'Tis a very handsome wife you have," com 
 mented the officer, gallantly; "and may I ask if the 
 other lady, sitting in the other gentleman's lap, is 
 his wife also?" 
 
 "Oh, no," answered Grayson. "That is Mr. 
 Eugene Halliwell, hiding behind the beard, and the 
 lady sitting in his lap has been sitting there off and 
 on, so to speak, for more than twenty years. She 
 is his sister, Miss Grace Halliwell." 
 
 "It seems to have been quite a respectable party," 
 remarked the policeman, with a faint sigh. Then he
 
 THE TRAP CLOSES 181 
 
 turned on our unbidden guests. "And how dare 
 you men butt in on a gathering of ladies and gentle 
 men enjoying themselves peaceably and in a proper 
 law-abiding way ? I ought to run you in, every one 
 of you." 
 
 The party broke up very rapidly after our blue- 
 coated friend had sized up the situation. The last 
 scene was played without the intruding chorus. A 
 cold bottle was brought in and eight glasses filled, 
 in order that we might drink a farewell toast to 
 (and with) "an officer and a gentleman."
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 A RADICAL RE-BORN 
 
 IT seems, as I look back upon the Sunday morning 
 following tlie evening at Mama Rabou's, that 
 I can trace in my "cold-gray-dawn" reflections 
 the revival of that earlier spirit of revolt which 
 recent years of money making and home making had 
 stifled. I awoke rather late to a dismal cloudy sky 
 and to a dull, cloudy mind. The after effects of too 
 much wine, tobacco and excitement were potent but 
 not all bad. One of the errors of the total abstainer 
 is the assumption that the pains of absorbing too 
 much alcohol are entirely unprofitable. In truth a 
 diseased body may mean a stimulated mind. Suf 
 fering is more likely to make one think hard, than 
 pleasure. I have no desire to treasure the semi-in 
 toxicated wit which has passed over my ears on a 
 hundred spongy occasions but I should hate to lose 
 out of my philosophy the thoughts of a hundred 
 mornings after. 
 
 Having been told often that I am a negative char 
 acter, I may assume that it takes a blow to make 
 me fight life. Without punishment I am inclined to 
 drift along the course of least resistance until resent 
 ment of opposition rouses me to make an attack. 
 
 182
 
 A RADICAL RE-BORN 183 
 
 Thus on this Sunday morning a growling headache 
 put a bitterness into the feeling against the railroads 
 which welled up within me as I realized to the full 
 the brutal, unscrupulous character of their methods 
 of fighting a lawsuit. 
 
 Of course, it would be easy to say that if I lived 
 a clean life I need fear nothing from such tactics. 
 But it would not be true. I have seen too much of 
 the use of detectives in industrial warfare between 
 employers and employees to think that virtuous living 
 would have thwarted the plotters. The agency had 
 been hired, not to find out whether I was a good 
 man, but to get evidence to show that I was a bad 
 man. If I had not produced the evidence, the sleuths 
 would not have hesitated to do so. It is really surer 
 to "frame up" evidence against any fairly decent 
 man than to get usable evidence of actual wrong 
 doing. When the trap is laid in advance a far 
 better case can be made out than if the trappers must 
 follow a long devious trail with little preparation 
 for taking advantage of a misstep by the hunted man. 
 
 That was the reason why Halliwell, Grayson and 
 I were so anxious to provide our own trap. We 
 wanted to catch our foes in a blackmail failure so 
 as to discredit any possible attack which might come 
 thereafter. [A later note by R. M. : "For the benefit 
 of any unsophisticated person let me remark that the 
 use of despicable methods of this character in fight 
 ing public officials is not the exception but the com 
 monplace in public life. My experience has been 
 duplicated in differing forms by most public servants,
 
 1 84 A RADICAL RE-BORN 
 
 of independent power with whom I have ever talked 
 intimately and I have talked with many, from 
 President down to policeman.] 
 
 With my rising wrath against the railroad men 
 surged up another anger one not so well justified 
 and as yet poorly defined an anger against the 
 Pharisaical attitude of the newspaper-reading public 
 which would have turned thumbs down on me if I 
 had been caught in a "woman affair." ... I fancied 
 myself defending Mrs. Conway from the leering 
 curiosity of the mob. Out of my imaginary heroics 
 came a warm glow of pleasure. What happy pain 
 it would be to bare my breast to the arrows shot 
 at her! The thought of the unhappiness of her as 
 sumed position did not disturb this musing for some 
 time! Then I spent another hour dreaming around 
 Irma. I did not deliberately fix my thoughts upon 
 her, but let them drift in her vicinity; after which I 
 decided that I ought to write to Mary and tell her 
 all about the dinner. This I did. 
 
 Duty performed, I went back to contemplation of 
 politics and Irma. The combination may seem 
 strange but the association is reasonable. There is 
 a natural desire in the male to strut before the female 
 of his adoration. Whether in business, society or 
 politics the phenomenon is constant. Individual 
 vanity, reinforced by the sex motive, is a perennial 
 breeder of ambition. My most successful strutting 
 had been political, with Jeannette and Mary as 
 conspicuous figures in the assumed audience. But 
 Jeannette had married and so had Mary! I had
 
 A RADICAL RE-BORN 185 
 
 undertaken heavy burdens and had lost interest in 
 the drama for a while. Now Irma Conway had 
 become at least a potential audience. My thought 
 flickered back and forth between Illinois and Wash 
 ington. 
 
 A few days before, I had received a letter from 
 Chuck Dunham, my college-mate who now lived in 
 Springfield. It was written in his persistent vein 
 of pessimism. 
 
 "Glad to see you are getting so much publicity in your 
 railroad fight," it ran. "Don't suppose anything can be ac 
 complished of permanent value. Whole system of private 
 ownership is wrong but public ownership with control in 
 these political hams would be worse. Speaking of politics 
 I heard your name mentioned recently as a possible candi 
 date for Governor also another rumor that you were going 
 to run for Congress. Don't know which place you would 
 fill worse, but I haven't heard of anyone who would do less 
 harm as Governor, so if you want a little boom launched 
 just give me a tip and I'll blow up a red, white and blue 
 balloon for you." 
 
 Of course, "Governor" appealed to me far more 
 than "Congressman." Yet I might be elected to 
 Congress! I had no chance to be Governor. That 
 I knew. Also if I came to Congress there would 
 be the Washington audience including Irma ! 
 Then came a prick of conscience or regret? There 
 was Mary. Was I forgetting her, belittling her in 
 my mind through a sudden infatuation? Another 
 reaction followed. Just because I was married, did 
 that mean that no other woman except my wife
 
 1 86 A RADICAL RE-BORN 
 
 should be allowed to influence my life? How absurd ! 
 A married man and woman can't deny the power of a 
 world of other men and women to affect their indi 
 vidual acts and their married existence. I knew all 
 too well that Mary's ideas of what I was and what 
 I was not were shaped largely by her likings for 
 other men. Just where I should draw the line in 
 letting my thoughts run to and with Irma I did not 
 know. But I knew they would run. That was a 
 fact. My only duty was not to let them run too far. 
 
 During the succeeding ten weeks I spent most of 
 my time in Washington and I saw a great deal of 
 Irma far more than I confessed in my letters 
 home. We became very friendly, but never a caress 
 passed between us, unless the unconcealed affection 
 in my eyes might be so regarded. We talked quite 
 frankly about our ideas of each other or at least 
 we pretended to do so. Of course, I lied when I 
 emphasized exclusively the mental delight I found 
 in association with her, and impliedly denied the 
 violent pulsing of my veins whenever I even antici 
 pated being in her presence. I hoped she lied to 
 me when she said: 
 
 "You're such a comfort to me, Rodney. Really 
 you are the first man who ever showed any interest 
 in me without making love to me. Please don't lose 
 that charm!" 
 
 "Do you ever seen any danger signs?" I suggested. 
 
 "Not exactly danger signs," she bantered. "No 
 signs of an irrepressible urge to be foolish. But 
 sometimes there are hints as though perhaps you
 
 A RADICAL RE-BORN 187 
 
 thought it discourteous to me to seem indifferent to 
 what Gene calls my 'venerable charms.' ' 
 
 "I shouldn't mind that form of discourtesy," I 
 replied abruptly. "I have always been discourteous 
 that way to women I didn't care for. But I'm not in 
 different!" 
 
 There was a considerable pause, while I shook 
 inwardly, feeling like a small boy who has defied 
 his teacher. She looked at me steadily from half- 
 closed eyes, the shadow of a smile coming to the 
 corners of her mouth. Finally, I flung up my hands. 
 
 "I surrender!" I called out. "I'll never do it 
 again. But that wasn't lovemaking. I just said I 
 wasn't indifferent and I'm not. I won't pretend 
 I am. I couldn't be self-respecting and indifferent. 
 I'd know there was something wrong with me if I 
 couldn't take pleasure in looking at you." 
 
 She pointed her finger at me as though aiming a 
 gun. 
 
 "Keep your hands up," she commanded, suddenly 
 rising. Naturally I also stood up. She walked 
 slowly towards me, approaching by small steps until 
 she stood directly before me with her face so near 
 that I could feel the light breath from her parted 
 lips. She put both hands momentarily on my shoul 
 ders and lifted herself on tiptoes, looking deep into 
 my eyes for a few maddening seconds while I strove 
 with myself to keep my hands above my head despite 
 an onrushing desire to seize her in my arms. 
 
 Then she stepped back quickly and clapped her 
 hands.
 
 1 88 A RADICAL RE-BORN 
 
 "Spell's broken," she announced, walking toward 
 the door. "You're as safe as a church on fire!" 
 
 Before I could say a word she ran out, returning 
 in a few minutes with Miss Stevenson and from 
 that time until some others arrived, who had been 
 invited to play cards, I, who had come early inten 
 tionally, had not another word with her alone. 
 Somehow I may be wrong I felt that she would 
 have been more flattered, even if not otherwise 
 pleased, if I had not been so docile. One of my 
 many weaknesses as a lady's man is my readiness to 
 assume that a woman wants what she apparently 
 indicates. Since it is a feminine characteristic to 
 accomplish purposes by indirect methods if possible, 
 I err continually by doing what I am asked to do 
 instead of stopping to figure out what is really 
 desired. 
 
 When the hearings before the Commission 
 reached the final week, I asked Mary to join me in 
 Washington, with the plan of taking a brief vacation 
 in the South before returning to Chicago. The 
 result was that Mary and I and Gene and Irma did 
 quite a little pleasuring in and around Washington 
 for a few days after the close of the work before 
 the Commission. The effect of Mary and Irma upon 
 each other was quite entertaining, though often a 
 bit uncomfortable. Of course, Mary had a very 
 clear conception of my interest in Irma and it seemed
 
 A RADICAL RE-BORN 189 
 
 by way of contrast that she adopted an extra con 
 servatism in speech and action. On the other hand, 
 Irma became far more unconventional than at any 
 time before Mary's arrival. 
 
 Under Irma's stimulation Gene's normal reckless 
 ness of talk became more pronounced, and it ap 
 peared to me that Irma took a malicious pleasure in 
 encouraging conversations which really shocked 
 Mary's sense of propriety and good taste. Despite 
 my quite honest harmony with Mary's feelings she 
 constantly accused me of having my judgment cor 
 rupted by previous association with them. My 
 assurances that Irma was deliberately exceeding her 
 own usual limitations for the purpose of shocking 
 Mary, met incredulous smiles. 
 
 "You must have been having quite a gay time with 
 your dark-eyed siren," said Mary late one evening 
 when we had returned to our room. 
 
 "Oh, it's exasperating!" I retorted. "You two 
 women are both being as unreal as possible. I 
 never had any such talks with Irma as occur in this 
 present foursome. In fact, she has always stopped 
 Gene very abruptly when his fool tongue began 
 wagging loosely. And you, who have always held 
 your own in any gay company, pour oil on the fire 
 by acting like a Sunday school teacher distributing 
 tracts to chorus girls. You simply incite Gene and 
 Irma to shock you all the more." 
 
 "I'm older than I used to be," she answered. 
 "Just as you are, only you seem to forget it." 
 
 "Well, we're going south day after to-morrow,"
 
 190 A RADICAL RE-BORN 
 
 I said, restraining myself from further debate. "So 
 after to-morrow night you won't have to suffer any 
 longer." 
 
 An hour later I was lying awake, cursing my weak 
 ness in taking coffee with our late supper, when an 
 arm came out of the darkness and drew my head 
 over to a warm face on which I felt traces of tears. 
 
 "You're not really in love with that woman, arc 
 you, Rodney?" she said. 
 
 "No, I'm not," I answered, not wishing to start 
 any discussion as to just what she meant by the 
 word "love." "I like her very much in certain ways, 
 but, if this answers your question, I haven't the 
 faintest desire to be married to her. I don't want 
 to be married to anyone but you. That is absolutely 
 honest and if you would only believe it, it would 
 save a lot of unhappiness." 
 
 "I do believe it," she whispered, "but I'm not sure 
 that is everything. You don't feel the same way 
 toward me as you use to. Of course, you can't help 
 it, but you use to take so much interest in little things 
 that now you take for granted. You use to do little 
 things, like bringing home flowers and massaging 
 my neck when my head was tired. It's the little 
 things that count with women, Rodney. They mean 
 so much. I'm not really jealous of Mrs. Conway. 
 I'm just jealous of your thought and interest. I 
 thought it would be all for me and now I'm not in 
 teresting to you. You wander away. Maybe Mrs. 
 Conway attracts you to-day, maybe someone else 
 will to-morrow. But what hurts me is that it isn't
 
 A RADICAL RE-BORN 191 
 
 I that I'm not first. I'm just someone around, 
 whom you like a little." 
 
 "No, a great deal," I interrupted. 
 
 "Perhaps even a great deal but not very in 
 tensely. When I think that you'll never care for me 
 again the way you used to care, it makes me very 
 blue!" 
 
 I protested as best I could. Of course, her feeling 
 was half true, half false. The wild thrill of opening 
 romance would not come again and could not come 
 again, any more than one could wish back the red 
 dawn, in the middle of the day. We had passed 
 that time. As the sculptor has graven it, Time 
 stands still. We pass on. We cannot hurry our 
 steps and catch up with our youth. It is behind us 
 and we have no power to go back. Mary and I 
 must go on to new thrills and different joys perhaps 
 higher but less rich inspirations and more placid 
 pleasures. I tried to make this viewpoint cheerful 
 to the doubting Mary, but still doubting she fell 
 asleep. 
 
 My mind kept on along the same path. Yes, we 
 must go on to new thrills. I realized that the fever 
 in my veins at thought of Irma was not the old thrill 
 such as I had felt for Mary or for Jeannette. For 
 one thing it had a flavor of wrong in it, which, philo 
 sophically, I would deny but which, emotionally, 
 persisted. It was not that I thought it wrong to care 
 for any woman except my wife. Nothing seems to 
 me more stupid than the theory that in a world of 
 millions each man and woman finds in the hazard
 
 i 9 2 A RADICAL RE-BORN 
 
 of marriage the best possible companion on earth, 
 the one to whom he has the most to give and who 
 has the most to give to him. But unless a marriage 
 prove utterly impossible it does seem reasonable to 
 believe that a man and woman can get more out of 
 one long intensive comradeship than out of many 
 transient associations. 
 
 Thus a married man and woman need to be on 
 guard against endangering their one great research 
 with other futile experiments. It is this guarding 
 sense that gives a true flavor of wrong to my strong 
 interest in Irma. My attitude may seem wicked and 
 sinful to orthodox moralists but I shall try to express 
 it candidly. If I thought that Mary and I were a 
 partnership failure and hence that there must be 
 sometime a new mating, or else that the possible 
 growth of our lives would be stunted, and if I 
 thought also that Irma and I might be a partnership 
 success, it seemed as though my desire for her might 
 lose entirely the flavor of wrong. But the fact was 
 that Mary and I seemed to me a fairly good team 
 and apparently Mary thought so too. The fact 
 was that I would regard marriage with Irma as a 
 distinctly hazardous experiment. I would be 
 tempted to risk the experiment, if she were equally 
 adventurous, and if I were free. But, not being free, 
 I regarded Mary as a very fortunate check on any 
 such/reckless venture. 
 
 There was a wild strain in Irma that was fascinat 
 ing in a playmate but probably would be most dis 
 comforting in a wife. My hand moved gently across
 
 A RADICAL RE-BORN 193 
 
 Mary's shoulder. She was such a comfortable com 
 panion. Really I was very fond of her. Our life 
 together was peaceful and soothing. I had enough 
 big game hunting to do in earning a living. To fight 
 business tigers was exciting work, but to attempt to 
 domesticate a tigress might be a most uncertain 
 pleasure. . . , About this time I fell asleep. 
 
 Mary and I, Pillar Grayson and his wife, Gene 
 Halliwell and Irma were dining together the next 
 evening at our hotel when a bell-boy laid a telegram 
 before me. It was a long message signed with 
 twenty-five names, some personally well-known to 
 me, others recognized only by reputation. They 
 were a committee of organization representing an 
 insurgent Republican movement that was spreading 
 across the country and had recently stirred up Illinois 
 politics considerably. I was informed in the usual 
 broad language of political announcements that the 
 progressive Republicans of Illinois desired me to act 
 as standard-bearer in the forthcoming fight and be 
 their candidate for the Republican nomination for 
 Governor. 
 
 I passed the message over to Grayson. 
 
 "You see I'm still stealing your laurels," I re 
 marked. "This is really your fight that we've been 
 making, but I am getting all the glory." 
 
 He read it carefully and responded with his usual 
 generosity and optimism.
 
 i 9 4 A RADICAL RE-BORN 
 
 "That's splendid," he answered. "You've been 
 doing a great job and here's a chance for a bigger 
 one." 
 
 "There isn't even a fighting chance to win," I re 
 marked. 
 
 "Maybe not," he said. "Of course, you can't be 
 sure, but I should say probably not. But think of 
 the chance to stir things up, to educate the people 
 to understand what is being done to them." 
 
 "Educational campaigns cost money," I suggested. 
 "Just good intentions and a loud voice won't do. 
 It would take a fortune to make a real campaign." 
 
 "One hundred thousand?" 
 
 "Nearer two hundred thousand, I think, to make 
 a real impression." 
 
 "Look at that list of names." He retrieved the 
 telegram from Irma who was reading it with shining 
 eyes. "There's McCanlif and Watterson and Peas- 
 ley. They could put up the whole amount and never 
 miss it." 
 
 "Yes, but would they? You know how it always 
 goes. Wealthy men don't like to throw their money 
 away. They might contribute Ten Thousand apiece. 
 Then they would watch and see how things were 
 going. The old politicians and their pals would tell 
 them we hadn't a chance; and they would shut up 
 their purses. Of course, if they thought we could 
 win they'd give us all the money we needed. But 
 they won't plunge heavily on losers." 
 
 "I don't understand all this money talk," broke in 
 Irma impatiently. "You don't buy votes, do you?"
 
 A RADICAL RE-BORN 195 
 
 "No," I answered slowly, "you don't buy votes 
 exactly but you can't even get your story to the 
 voters without money. Just think what halls and 
 bands and bill-boards and printing and letters cost, 
 when you are trying to reach a million voters. To 
 talk to one-tenth of them means a very expensive 
 speaking and advertising campaign. Just figure the 
 cost of one letter to a million men: Suppose it's one 
 cent for printing and another cent for getting lists, 
 addressing, mailing and so forth, and a two-cent 
 stamp on the envelope. That's four cents apiece, or 
 Forty Thousand Dollars. Then take newspaper 
 advertising. You could use Fifty Thousand Dollars 
 over the State of Illinois and half the voters wouldn't 
 even learn that you were running. You need money 
 first, last and all the time in a political campaign. 
 Without it your effort is a waste of energy." 
 
 "I don't see how you can even consider it," said 
 Mary plaintively. "You have to spend all you make 
 as it is, Rodney, and a campaign would stop your 
 work, wouldn't it?" 
 
 "Of course I can't afford it," I answered promptly. 
 "In fact, I'm not seriously considering it, for that 
 reason." 
 
 "Oh, woof! woof!" interrupted Irma, with the 
 light of battle in her eyes. "If a man never risks 
 anything he never wins anything. You wouldn't go 
 broke in one campaign, Rodney. Think of all the 
 money that the papers have said you are making 
 out of this railroad case! You showed me one ar 
 ticle where it said you were taking a fortune from
 
 196 A RADICAL RE-BORN 
 
 the people, and asked what they were going to get 
 back. Now here's the answer. The price is cheap 
 for one good Governor!" 
 
 I laughed and shook my head at her. 
 
 "You know perfectly well, young lady, that I 
 didn't get that money, because I bored you for half 
 an hour one evening telling you about the enormous 
 bills for engineers and accountants and statisticians 
 and other expenses which were included in that, 
 'One Hundred Thousand Dollars Paid to Rodney 
 Merrill' which the newspapers headlined." 
 
 "I'm just joking, you know," she replied, "and 
 Mrs. Merrill must excuse me for even discussing 
 your personal affairs. Of course you know what 
 you can afford to do, and I don't; but it does seem 
 to me to be such a splendid opportunity. Even 
 from the money point of view I should think it 
 would give you a bigger standing as a lawyer to be 
 a candidate for Governor. It just thrills me to talk 
 of it." 
 
 "Running for office isn't as good a professional 
 advertisement as you think. It might do some good. 
 It would be sure to do some harm. Worst of all 
 it would discredit my railroad work. The railroad 
 people would say that my fight on them was just 
 political that I had been attacking them as a means 
 of boosting myself into office." 
 
 The six of us argued the matter over through the 
 remainder of dinner. Then we went to the theater. 
 Between the acts Irma on one side and Aileen Gray- 
 son on the other urged me to go into the fight.
 
 A RADICAL RE-BORN 197 
 
 Every now and then I intercepted a pathetic look 
 from Mary who was feebly opposing Pillar and 
 Gene in their efforts to break down her opposition. 
 Poor Mary! Just as we were getting on sound 
 financial ground, where there would be more ease 
 for her and more of the little luxuries so dear to 
 her heart, she saw my friends persuading me to turn 
 back into the morass of debt. Furthermore, Mary 
 dreaded publicity. She shuddered when the news 
 papers attacked me. Even when I was praised she 
 shrank from the headlines and felt apologetic in the 
 presence of joking friends who rallied me no my 
 success as a self-advertiser. 
 
 When the evening was over and we had returned 
 to our room she prepared herself for bed in an 
 ominous silence. 
 
 "You needn't look so tragic," I said finally. "I 
 don't think I'll do it. I'm just taking time to think 
 It all over." 
 
 "You'll do it," she answered. "They all want 
 you to, and their opinions count for more than 
 mine." 
 
 "My dear, there isn't anyone whose opinion is 
 half so important to me as yours. In whatever I do 
 you must be a fellow-sufferer or a fellow-enjoyer. I 
 haven't any right to disregard your opinion and I 
 don't intend to do so. If you say 'no,' after think 
 ing it over and talking it over carefully, I'll tell you 
 right now that I won't do it. My own opinion is 
 so uncertain that I could not feel sure that you were 
 wrong. And so I could not possibly say 'yes.' If
 
 i 9 8 A RADICAL RE-BORN 
 
 I were positive as to what I ought to do I might feel 
 it necessary to oppose even you. But I'm not sure 
 and I can't be. So in the end you are going to decide 
 this question, old lady. You had better accept the 
 responsibility. It may weigh heavily upon you if 
 you decide against our best interest." 
 
 We talked interminably mostly ineffectively, in 
 speculations that arrived nowhere until finally 
 somehow we fell asleep. When I awoke in the 
 morning she was already half-dressed, sitting before 
 her dressing table and trying with great care some 
 new method of doing up her hair. Her eyelids 
 seemed a trifle red but she smiled cheerily as she 
 saw that I was awake. Then she danced over and 
 posed herself most charmingly at the foot of the 
 bed. In her delicate lingerie, decorated with little 
 bow knots of pink ribbon, with her pretty silk-clad 
 legs half curled under her and half-revealed, her 
 reddish brown hair artfully disarranged and her blue 
 eyes radiantly kind, she made an enticing picture. 
 
 "How is the Governor this morning?" she in 
 quired with a dainty affectation of solemnity. 
 
 "He isn't going to be Governor at all," I retorted, 
 lifting myself to a sitting position. "He has decided 
 that he would rather be Mary's good boy than any 
 thing else." 
 
 I put my arms around her and rumpled that new 
 coiffure recklessly. 
 
 "He shall be Mary's good boy," she announced, 
 disengaging herself for a moment and sitting up very
 
 A RADICAL RE-BORN 199 
 
 straight. "And also he shall be Governor. Mary 
 wants her good boy to be Governor." 
 
 Thus the great decision was made, although I put 
 it in somewhat different language in my reply to the 
 telegram from the eminent committee of insurgents.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 "SPEND AND BE SPENT" 
 
 MY campaign is ended. My vote was even 
 smaller than the pessimists expected. What 
 has been accomplished seems on the surface 
 to be trivial. Yet I have a feeling that great changes 
 are impending and perhaps we have builded better 
 than we knew. It would be tiresome to detail the 
 exhausting weeks during which I traveled up and 
 down the State of Illinois talking, shaking hands, 
 sitting in smoky conferences, sometimes discussing 
 strategies and principles but always carrying the 
 burden of money problems. I had pictured a 
 candidate as a man preparing speeches and state 
 ments and debating policies. I found that one of a 
 candidate's main duties is to assist in money raising; 
 and another is to settle disputes as to how money 
 shall be spent. 
 
 If Mr. Jones shows an inclination to give Five 
 Hundred Dollars he must be hurried in for a final 
 hypnosis by the candidate. If Jack and Jim are in 
 a row over their appropriate shares of funds, con 
 sidering the strength of their organizations and the 
 voting power of their districts, and the manager can 
 not harmonize them let the candidate decide ! Of 
 
 200
 
 "SPEND AND BE SPENT' 201 
 
 course, theoretically a candidate should have nothing 
 to do with these matters ; but in a raw political group 
 such as usually controls insurgent movements the 
 candidate is called on to do all the things he 
 shouldn't do as well as all the things he should. 
 
 Another excitement of campaigning was supplied 
 by our exceptionally inefficient speakers' bureau, 
 through which all public meetings were arranged. 
 For example, an enthusiast from Bloomington 
 promised a huge meeting, whereupon without check 
 ing up on his promises the largest hall available was 
 engaged, a brass band provided and an "automobile 
 parade" arranged. The meeting was set for a Sat 
 urday night when every possible counter-attraction 
 competed for attendance including a fraternal con 
 vention with a parade of its own. Our meeting was 
 atrociously under-advertised. Bloomington was a 
 difficult town for us anyhow because all important 
 local politicians were solidly against us. 
 
 The result of this blundering was a "parade" 
 which consisted of three automobiles and a brass 
 band followed by a crowd of jeering boys. The 
 local police kindly forced us to detour around the 
 principal street which was reserved for the fraternal 
 parade. So we "paraded" up a quiet side street to 
 a large hall where a reception committee of seven 
 glowered from the platform at a vindictive audience 
 of possibly fifty "fellow-citizens." Of course we 
 would have polled more votes in Bloomington if we 
 had had no meeting, because we must have lost 
 heavily by this fiasco.
 
 202 "SPEND AND BE SPENT' 
 
 At times there were pleasant surprises, meetings 
 that were a success despite all possible faults of 
 management. This was what occurred in Spring 
 field. The story is worth telling because the meet 
 ing, while a spectacular success from the public point 
 of view, was even more important to me as a per 
 sonal experience which is likely to have some lasting 
 consequences. 
 
 The afternoon before the evening engagement in 
 Springfield I spent in a dismal automobile tour 
 through nearby towns. We would drive into a small 
 village in our open car. Our cornetist would arise 
 and play "Baby Mine" or some equally appropriate 
 and inspiring tune, whereby we expected to gather 
 a crowd. I had tried in vain to persuade this musi 
 cian to attempt some gay or martial music. But he 
 was an old campaigner and could not or would not 
 change his technique. "Silver Threads Among the 
 Gold" and "Massa's in the Cold, Cold, Ground" 
 were his specialties and no upstart candidate could 
 tell him what to play! Once on my insistence for 
 military tunes he did consent to render "Just Before 
 the Battle, Mother." After that I was glad to 
 accept "Silver Threads Among the Gold." 
 
 Following the cornet selection our introducer, 
 whose sole qualification was a voice like a fire gong, 
 would inform the assembled multitude of Main 
 Street idlers that "the next Governor of Illinois" 
 would address them. Then I would torture my 
 weary and inflamed vocal cords for ten or fifteen 
 minutes for the benefit of a small, shifting group of
 
 "SPEND AND BE SPENT' 203 
 
 dull-eyed men whose interest in "the next Governor" 
 was obviously quite casual. Another member of the 
 party would mingle with the crowd, passing out 
 pamphlets which we hoped might lengthen the cam 
 paign discussion for a time after our departure. At 
 the finish of my speech there would be usually a 
 feeble burst of applause, artificially stimulated by 
 the cornetist, who always waved a small flag vigor 
 ously. Under cover of this enthusiasm I would 
 insist on shaking hands with a few reluctant auditors 
 who had come too near the car to escape my grasp. 
 Then the driver would toot the horn and drive 
 rapidly away while I stood bowing and waving my 
 hat to imaginary cheers from the populace. 
 
 It can be imagined that several hours of this sort 
 of thing during the afternoon following upon many 
 previous days of similar entertainment left me 
 somewhat frayed when we arrived in Springfield in 
 time for dinner. At the hotel I found a letter from 
 Mary which I laid open before me on the dressing 
 table to read while undressing for a much-desired 
 bath. 
 
 It was a plaintive message, full of household 
 troubles and personal worries 
 
 "Manson has telephoned twice about his account. ... I 
 know it seems like a lot of money for one month but I had 
 to have so many things just at this time. I didn't realize 
 how large the bill was getting. ... I told him you would 
 be back next week, but if I could get a letter to you you 
 might send a check sooner. . . . Father is not at all well. 
 It worries me so to think he has so little strength. He was
 
 204 "SPEND AND BE SPENT' 
 
 always so strong and robust looking. . . . I'm going to 
 dinner at the Fannings on Thursday. I'm almost ashamed 
 to go. I've nothing to wear but that delft blue that I've 
 worn to their house so often. . . . Another thing, I dread 
 to meet people. All our old friends make so much fun of 
 the insurgents. The Tribune had an editorial yesterday 
 which was very clever but very nasty about your 'Vote for 
 Yourselves' speech. ... I don't think it was fair to you 
 at all but it made me so embarrassed because the editorial 
 was funny and everywhere I went yesterday I felt as though 
 someone was laughing at me. . . . Oh, I do wish you hadn't 
 gone into this campaign. ... Of course I hope the meetings 
 are better now. . . . Are you making a new speech at Spring 
 field ? I think the 'Crusader' speech is better than the 'Vote 
 for Yourselves,' don't you? Will you really be home next 
 Friday? Mr. Brown told me over the 'phone yesterday that 
 they needed you very much at headquarters. Money is low, 
 I believe. Oh, there's never enough money anywhere, is 
 there? Best wishes for success at Springfield. . . ." 
 
 It was fortunate that I read the letter before bath 
 ing because I needed the relaxation of the hot water 
 and the stimulation of the cold to get my spirits back 
 to normal. Mary didn't realize how dreadfully her 
 letters hurt me. She wrote just as she would talk 
 if I were home, without art or conscious purpose. It 
 simply never occurred to her to help me with my 
 campaigning. Possibly if someone had suggested 
 to her that campaigning was very hard work at best 
 and that, under the conditions I had, it was very 
 depressing, she might have tried deliberately to write 
 cheery, inspiring letters. But I know that if I had 
 suggested this, she would have asked me if I wanted 
 her to be insincere with me.
 
 "SPEND AND BE SPENT' 205 
 
 Mary is not unkind or deliberately selfish. She is 
 simply thoughtless. She doesn't imagine situations 
 remote from herself. If she had actually seen me 
 stagger into the Springfield hotel, dusty, dog-tired, 
 with a feverish throat and half sick from poor food 
 and irregular hours of sleeping and eating, she would 
 have felt sorry and possibly might have concealed 
 her lesser troubles from me. Certainly if her imagi 
 nation had read my state of mind she would not have 
 criticised my speech, which I had made so many 
 scores of times with slight variations that it 
 simply nauseated me now every time I had to start 
 on the too-familiar phrases. 
 
 How I hated that speech ! When I first wrote it 
 I thought it quite good. Even old political writers 
 had said it was "good stuff." I had never delivered 
 it to a fair-sized audience of reasonably friendly dis 
 position without getting a real response. But oh, 
 how I had come to hate it! And now Mary cast 
 cold water on it because some editorial writer had 
 been funny about it! 
 
 I was dressing gloomily when Chuck Dunham 
 knocked on the door. 
 
 "Greatness in its BVDs," he remarked as I let 
 him in. "How's the voice ?" 
 
 "Doing pretty well," I said hoarsely. "After 
 about five minutes of warming up they'll hear me all 
 right. What am I in for a frost?" 
 
 "I think not," he answered, grinning wisely. 
 "Fact is that I pulled a little stunt off here that may 
 produce quite a crowd. See here!"
 
 206 "SPEND AND BE SPENT' 
 
 He opened a newspaper he was carrying and I 
 read with some amazement 
 
 Merrill to Expose Railroad Lobby 
 
 Who Put through Bill 776? 
 
 The Little Brown Bag with Fifty Thousand Dollars 
 
 "What the devil is this?" I asked. 
 
 "I have the whole story here," he explained, pro 
 ducing a manuscript. "One of my newspaper friends 
 unearthed it and came to me to supply some of the 
 details. When he found where the trail led he didn't 
 dare to spring it himself and agreed to let me give 
 it to you. This afternoon's story only hints at the 
 facts, but, believe me, if I know Springfield at all 
 it will bring a mob to the hall to-night." 
 
 Bill 776 is now historic so I'll only summarize the 
 exposure that Dunham presented to me. It seems 
 that a blunder had been made in a large issue of rail 
 road bonds and an act of the legislature was neces 
 sary to cure the flaw. So the railroad lawyers had 
 prepared an innocent-looking bill, apparently just 
 a harmless technical amendment to the railroad laws. 
 They had arranged with their friends to slip it 
 through both houses and it had passed the Senate 
 and had reached the final stage in the House before 
 any but a few insiders knew what was happening. 
 At the last moment, however, a group of pirates in 
 the House had scented an odor of graft and held up 
 Bill 776 until they could find out what was in it for 
 them.
 
 "SPEND AND BE SPENT' 207 
 
 Thereupon the railroad lobbyists had sent a call 
 for help and a special agent had hurried down from 
 Chicago with a large amount of money to be used 
 for immediately necessary cash payments. Mys 
 terious conferences had been held throughout one 
 evening between legislators of questionable reputa 
 tion and the man who had suddenly arrived with the 
 "little brown bag." The next day Bill 776 passed 
 the House. After weeks of patient delving one sus 
 picious newspaper man had put all the necessary 
 facts together and had all the proof necessary to 
 convince the public of what had been done al 
 though, as was afterwards shown, not enough proof 
 to convict anyone of a crime. 
 
 Dunham had taken some chance in announcing 
 that I would tell this story. But I guess he knew 
 me well enough to be sure that with the ample evi 
 dence he gave me I would carry out my part. 
 
 He was right about the crowd. The hall was 
 packed the biggest crowd of our downstate cam 
 paign. I used my regular speech as an opening, but 
 in the middle of it I said that I had a special message 
 to deliver that night to the people of Illinois, a mes 
 sage that it seemed appropriate to announce in 
 Springfield where the legislature made laws for the 
 people laws presumably for all the people but 
 laws which were very often only intended to benefit 
 a part of the people. Then I told the story of Bill 
 776 to a crowd so dramatically silent that the 
 strained attention gradually stimulated my own tired 
 nerves to a new enthusiasm. When I finished this
 
 208 "SPEND AND BE SPENT' 
 
 revelation, I had the curiously exultant feeling that 
 comes to anyone accustomed to audiences when he 
 knows that he has his crowd with him. The facts 
 were so overwhelming that no enemy would have 
 dared even a disapproving gesture. 
 
 I laid down the papers from which I had been 
 quoting and, leaving the speaker's table, walked to 
 the edge of the platform. 
 
 "I've made my speech," I said. "I've told you 
 who is running the State of Illinois. I've given you 
 some new proofs. Now I'm going to talk with you, 
 man to man, and ask you what we are going to do 
 about it. I'm going to tell you what I want to do 
 and I'm going to ask you if you will help me." 
 
 As I leaned out above the footlights, looking over 
 the crowd, my eyes found the eyes of a woman who 
 was sitting half-way down the hall just off the center 
 aisle. She was leaning forward, her face partly hid 
 den by the head of the man in front of her. As 
 our eyes met I knew her for one staggering 
 moment. Then the delusion passed. It couldn't be. 
 And yet I shook myself free. My long pause 
 had only intensified the dramatic feeling between 
 me and my listeners. 
 
 "Man to man," I began slowly, "let us ask: What 
 are we going to do about it?" Then I made my 
 "lost speech," so called because I had never made 
 it before and there was no stenographer to take it 
 down. I must have talked nearly an hour more. 
 I'm sure that not a person left the hall. For a time 
 there was no applause. Then the tension lifted
 
 "SPEND AND BE SPENT' 209 
 
 enough so that there came brief handclaps then 
 longer salvos with scattering shouts. At last I 
 stopped. I had no calculated ending but I remember 
 saying: "I didn't enter this fight expecting that this 
 first revolt against the old order would win. We 
 are talking man to man: I wouldn't try to deceive 
 you any more than I would try to deceive myself. 
 I came into this fight to strike a blow for the things 
 in which I believe, for the things in which you be 
 lieve. 
 
 "To-night you and I know that we have a com 
 mon cause. To-morrow I shall bear away from 
 here not my message but our message, not my faith 
 but our faith. I am only a torch-bearer, carrying 
 the flame of American ideals from one community 
 to another, seeking to kindle anew in hearts that have 
 been chilled by the selfishness and greed of false 
 public servants, the fire of faith in the honesty and 
 justice of democratic government. And in that faith 
 we shall struggle on through the night though the 
 night may be long and we shall fight as men have 
 had to fight throughout the ages against the powers 
 of darkness until at last victory 'cometh in the 
 morning.' ' 
 
 For a moment I stood silent, feeling utterly spent, 
 and then the storm broke. Never did I hear richer 
 music than the roar of that crowd. Think of the 
 feelings of a man who had shouted in village after 
 village to slim, unresponsive street gatherings, feel 
 ing like a quack medicine vendor, and wondering in 
 wardly if perhaps he were a faker, who had come
 
 210 "SPEND AND BE SPENT' 
 
 at the end of weary days into a city notorious for 
 its justifiable cynicism as to all public men, the state 
 capital, the scene of uncounted betrayals of public 
 trust, who had related an almost incredible story of 
 wrong to an audience wherein sat many of the wrong 
 doers themselves, who had thrown aside his safe, 
 prepared speech and risked the inspiration of the 
 moment and then at the end had carried his hearers 
 beyond even his own enthusiasm! It came to me 
 suddenly that I had saved myself as well as my 
 cause, that the doubters in Chicago, who had been 
 quietly laying the failures of the campaign upon my 
 weakness as a candidate, would be completely routed. 
 In the face of this triumph it would be hard to con 
 tinue to say, as some had been whispering, that the 
 candidate "made no popular appeal." 
 
 The next ten minutes was a swirl of faces. I felt 
 men slapping me on the back. I shook several hands 
 at once. I repeated the inane, "thank you" a hun 
 dred times. Several women embarrassed me with 
 actual embraces. Then suddenly I met that woman's 
 eyes again. In my semi-intoxication it seemed that 
 I saw only the eyes until I heard a voice that lifted 
 me above even the clouds wherein I was floating: 
 
 "Oh, Rodney, Rodney, that was wonderful!" she 
 said. 
 
 Yes, her arms were actually around me. Yet I 
 could not believe. I felt giddy, with the long nervous 
 strain and this super-exaltation at the end. 
 
 "It can't be Irma!" I stammered.
 
 "SPEND AND BE SPENT' 1 211 
 
 Then I saw Gene Halliwell's thin bearded face 
 over her shoulder and heard him say: 
 
 "A nice little surprise party you gave us! We 
 expected to surprise you, but you pulled the real 
 surprise. We expected to be bored to death and 
 we've been going through emotional agonies for an 
 hour. Irma cried for five minutes when you were 
 talking about, 'Abraham Lincoln and our tears, 
 Illinois!'" 
 
 "Did I do that?" I asked in bewilderment. 
 
 "No you didn't," said Irma. "But you did make 
 people cry once. I wasn't the only one." 
 
 More people pressed around, but as soon as I 
 could get free I went over to Irma and Gene. 
 
 "I'm sane again now," I said. "Tell me how on 
 earth you people happen to be here." 
 
 "We arrived last Monday for a house party," 
 explained Irma. "I was visiting Grace in St. Louis 
 and Gene has been home for a week making life 
 miserable for us. We had talked of going to hear 
 you when you went into southern Illinois. Then 
 this Springfield invitation came we are staying with 
 the Kendricks and we thought we wouldn't let you 
 know we were here. We brought the whole party 
 over to-night." 
 
 "Just made them come for fear you wouldn't have 
 a crowd," said Gene. "Say, boy, if you are gather 
 ing 'em in this way at every stop I'd say you're 
 elected." 
 
 "No chance," I answered quickly. "This is the
 
 212 "SPEND AND BE SPENT' 
 
 first good meeting I've had in ten days and Chuck 
 Dunham made this meeting. I want you to meet 
 him." 
 
 I wig-wagged to Chuck, who was chating with 
 some lingering members of the local committee. He 
 sauntered over and was introduced. Then we all 
 went back to the house party guests who were wait 
 ing in the rear of the hall. Mr. and Mrs. Kendricks 
 insisted that I come out to the house with them for 
 a late supper. 
 
 "I don't think my campaign manager will let me," 
 I replied reluctantly. "Probably I have a 5 145 train 
 to take in the morning, and very likely some sad 
 delegation is waiting at the hotel to tell me of its 
 woes." 
 
 "Your campaign manager has gone crazy," said 
 Dunham. "He has discovered that he has a real 
 candidate. He grabbed all your notes and went off 
 with the newspaper men to be sure they get the story 
 straight on the wires. He asked me to see that you 
 got back to the hotel all right. Nothing doing until 
 a train at 10:45 to-morrow morning, he said." 
 
 "Hurrah! Hurrah!" I cried. "I feel like a boy 
 out of school. If the presence of a cheerful imbecile 
 won't disturb the house party I'll be very glad to 
 join you, Mr. Kendricks. I warn you, however, 
 that I feel a bit light-headed after such an evening." 
 
 A couple of hours later I managed to have a little 
 talk with Irma in the ingle-nook in the billiard room, 
 while all the rest of the party were engaged else 
 where in dancing or card playing.
 
 "SPEND AND BE SPENT' 213 
 
 "The reaction is coming upon me, now," I re 
 marked. "I have a vague recollection of some 
 strong emotionalism in that speech of mine. I 
 imagine that I struck a religious note. I hope it 
 didn't ring false." 
 
 "Not at all, not at all," she asserted. "I don't 
 know how it would read, but you were so deadly in 
 earnest, Rodney, that what you said sounded wonder 
 ful. It was like some prophet of old thundering on 
 the mountain." 
 
 "I'm not a very aged prophet," I laughed. 
 
 "You didn't look young. Really you looked in 
 spired. I was quite carried off my feet." 
 
 "I'm so glad you were there." 
 
 "I wouldn't have missed it for anything in the 
 world. I thought I knew you but now I see that 
 I did not." 
 
 "Maybe I was unreal to-night." 
 
 "No, you were very real. I think that was your 
 true self speaking. Rodney, you are very self- 
 conscious ordinarily, aren't you?" 
 
 "Yes, I guess I am." 
 
 "You don't express yourself as you are. You 
 cover up. To-night you were well almost naked 
 I should say. You needn't be ashamed to expose 
 your soul. The revelation will bring people to you, 
 because you really want to do good." 
 
 "I'm glad you think so. I think so sometimes, 
 in secret. But there is so much cant and hypocrisy 
 that I dread misunderstanding." 
 
 "I believe that is your great weakness. Pardon
 
 2i 4 "SPEND AND BE SPENT' 
 
 me for being brutally frank. You dread misunder 
 standing and you insure it by pretending to be what 
 you aren't. You pretend to be a cynical man of the 
 world. You're a fanatic idealist and a boy at 
 heart." 
 
 "With all a boy's illusions," I suggested. 
 
 "What of it? Without illusions how would the 
 world go forward? Isn't the illusion of to-day the 
 reality of to-morrow? You said that to me once. 
 Do you recant?" 
 
 "No, I don't recant. Irma, I want to tell you 
 something. This meeting gave me a new lease of 
 hope to-night. Not a hope to win. I can't win. 
 It is probably better that I shouldn't. I'm only 
 fighting to prepare the way for others who may win 
 to-morrow. But you have done something more 
 than the meeting. You have given me a renewed 
 faith in life. Let me try to explain " 
 
 "Tell me," she whispered. Her eyes were wel 
 coming. She was very beautiful. I glowed with 
 the nearness of her loveliness. Again I felt that 
 impulse to kneel before her, to tell her that she was 
 a goddess and I her devout worshiper. I wanted 
 to touch her, not to caress, but merely to touch her 
 as though the touch would heal every trouble of 
 my spirit and put my soul at peace. Then she put 
 her hand on mine and said again: "Tell me." 
 
 I told her in a rush of words not well chosen but 
 intense. I told her that I had begun to lose faith 
 in happiness in my power to give happiness. No 
 one seemed happy and yet I worked hard with the
 
 215 
 
 hope of making someone happy. Everywhere I 
 found discontent and pain and unsatisfied longing. 
 Suspicion, jealousy and greed peered at me from the 
 eyes of people, from strangers in audiences, from 
 politicians, from friends, from my own family. Yet 
 I didn't believe that I wanted to take from anyone. 
 I wanted to give. It seemed to me that I had been 
 endowed with the power to give things to people. 
 But those to whom I tried to give more than they 
 gave to me were not made happy. They wanted 
 more or they wanted what I could not give. 
 
 Then to-night I had found I could give something 
 to a great hall-full of people something that stirred 
 them and made them happy for the moment. Then 
 she had come to me with shining eyes and I had 
 felt that I had made her happy for a moment, at 
 least. 
 
 "For a long time," she whispered. 
 
 Half unconsciously, but with a delicious sub-con 
 scious pleasure, I had been gripping her hand. 
 Suddenly I bent and kissed it. As I did so she 
 leaned down and her lips rested for one joyous 
 moment on my bowed head. 
 
 With that light caress it seemed as though all 
 my doubtings and perplexities, all the infinite vexa 
 tions of campaigning were lifted from me. A divine 
 sense of reason and purpose unsnarled the tangles 
 of existence. The thought of man serving woman 
 serving God came with that strange clearness with 
 which problems are solved in dreams. I can't ex 
 press the idea more plainly because the moment I
 
 216 "SPEND AND BE SPENT' 
 
 tried to put it into words it fled away. But in the 
 instant of apparent perception I was supremely 
 happy. It was as though I had seen Truth not a 
 truth but all that is true in a flash of inspiration. 
 
 Voices were heard in the hallway. We arose 
 and walked toward the door not very steadily, but 
 leaning each a little upon the other. Half-way 
 across the room we paused. 
 
 What I said may sound stupid, but she under 
 stood: 
 
 "We'll never be strangers again, will we?" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 I stood trying to get hold of myself, as a man 
 who realizes he is near to intoxication. Then I 
 laughed not with amusement but rather in self- 
 deprecation. 
 
 "Well, that's my naked soul. Do you wonder 
 that I try to keep it clothed?" 
 
 She smiled. 
 
 "Perhaps you are wiser than I thought," she said. 
 
 "But you didn't mind my being foolish for a few 
 moments to-night?" 
 
 "I loved it." 
 
 Chuck Dunham came to say that I should have 
 been in my bed an hour before. I agreed with him 
 but I thanked him for having allowed me that hour 
 of grace.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 GLEAMS 
 
 THERE is much more that could be written 
 about that campaign for Governor, but very 
 little which seems to me worth writing. In 
 my reaction after the hard struggle the details all 
 seem trivial and only the broad effects important. 
 Undoubtedly we did stir the state out of a long 
 political lethargy. We had had "good government" 
 for many years that is, respectable, sleek appear 
 ing government whereby those who had wealth and 
 power quietly profited at the expense of those who 
 had not. Imperceptibly the burden laid by the gov 
 erning class on the governed had increased and un 
 rest had grown. But the dull-minded and over 
 worked had only a sense of wrong. They had lacked 
 any definite hostility to those who were exploiting 
 them. 
 
 The stolid, yet somehow wistful, crowds that had 
 passed before my eyes had educated me, even if I 
 had failed to educate them. I had realized that 
 they were not ready for revolt. They were foot 
 sore and weary; but most of them had a humble 
 idea that it was ordained that they should be burden 
 carriers for other men and they had no vigorous 
 resentment at either the industrial system or its rulers 
 
 217
 
 218 GLEAMS 
 
 who provided them with their burdens. They were 
 inclined to believe that a man who offered them work 
 on the condition of reaping all their profits was con 
 ferring a favor on them in paying them enough 
 wages to keep them physically able to go on work 
 ing for him. 
 
 The trade union leaders combated this belief in 
 a crude way, but did not overthrow it. They sowed 
 discontent with the amount of the wage but very 
 few of them had vision enough to educate their fol 
 lowers to an understanding of the stupidities and 
 wrongs which they were asked to accept as wisdom 
 and justice. No political or social revolution of real 
 value could come out of such a blind citizenship. 
 A demagogue might arouse a foolish destructive 
 wrath that would tear down good and bad together. 
 But I had no desire to be such a leader or to achieve 
 such results. 
 
 Near the end of the campaign I had received a 
 letter from Jeannette. Her husband was trying to 
 run some mines in Mexico. They were living in the 
 danger zone between various bands of revolutionists. 
 They were being taxed to death by the so-called gov 
 ernment, for "protection," which they did not re 
 ceive. They were being preyed upon by every new 
 "General" who attained a local power backed up 
 by a looting band of brigands. But what was her 
 husband's own work? Jeannette saw things more 
 clearly than he. 
 
 "Jim is so exasperated," [she wrote]. "He says he is trying 
 to give these poor stupid people useful work at wages better
 
 GLEAMS 219 
 
 than they have ever earned, that he is trying to make the 
 country prosperous, bringing in foreign capital and develop 
 ing its wonderful resources. Then he is robbed by govern 
 ment and outlaws alike. Neither life nor property is safe. 
 If they force him to abandon his work they will simply de 
 stroy their own opportunities. 
 
 "In a way what Jim says is true and yet I wonder if 
 what Jim and his employers want to do is really the right 
 thing. They hire men for wages which you wouldn't think 
 would support a dog. Jim's employers expected to make 
 at least a thousand per cent on their investment. They 
 helped to put in power a government of thieves who would 
 steal concessions from the people and give them to Jim's 
 company. 
 
 "Sometimes it seems to me that Jim's friends just came 
 here to rob these people and now they object to being robbed 
 themselves. They say the people are stupid and ungrateful. 
 Maybe this would be a happy land if the people were meek 
 and peaceable and let themselves be worked for starvation 
 wages so that other men could build mansions on Fifth 
 Avenue. But when I read as I have read that hosts of 
 workers in the United States earn no more than Five Hun 
 dred Dollars a year for long hours of daily hard labor, I'm 
 not surprised that these Mexicans prefer their lawless, pov 
 erty-stricken freedom to the law and order slavery that the 
 foreign masters urge them to accept. 
 
 "They are very dull and ignorant and lazy and they don't 
 arouse my personal sympathy at all. I think they are prob 
 ably wrong-headed and would be better off if they accepted 
 'civilizing,' for a time at least. Yet I can't feel that our 
 educative methods are wholly admirable. 
 
 "Your campaign has interested me greatly, not only on 
 account of you, but because it brought home to me down 
 here that this civilization, which the Americans around us 
 talk of bringing into Mexico, is still a very greedy, cruel, 
 dishonest thing, even in the noble state of Illinois."
 
 220 GLEAMS 
 
 Jeannette overlooks one thing that appeals to me 
 the value and persistent effect of our ideals. Our 
 lives are so imperfect that it does seem at times as 
 though our professions of high purposes were 
 hypocrisies, used to give a false sense of security to 
 those from whom we intend to take. Yet the more 
 I see of men in large numbers the more I observe 
 the dominance of a desire to do for others things 
 which will make them respect, love or admire us. 
 Vanity, the wish to be well thought of, may seem a 
 mean motive but it is a powerful force for good. 
 Our yieldings to material, fleshly passions, at the 
 sacrifice of a greater accomplishment, are more often 
 the results of ignorance and short-sightedness than 
 of baseness of character. At least this belief is the 
 foundation of my optimism in humanity's progress. 
 It seems to me that the more we know, the better 
 the things we achieve as a rule. 
 
 Thus, out of this campaign, I have come to a 
 faith in education, in persistent sowing of seeds to 
 help every-day thinking. If I made another cam 
 paign I should attack, not the wickedness, but the 
 stupidity of leaders who exploit the people instead 
 of serving them. Think of the wasted ability of a 
 clever man who works hard all his life to dig him 
 self deep into a dishonored grave ! What a tragedy 
 for an immortal soul! It isn't posthumous fame 
 of which I am thinking. It is the posthumous judg 
 ment of a soul upon its own pitiful achievement in 
 the opportunity of life.
 
 GLEAMS 221 
 
 Mary was very comforting after the campaign. 
 She was so glad that it was all over and at the same 
 time so sure that I must be more disappointed than 
 I said, that she showered me with kind attentions. 
 In truth I was not unhappy, but rather I was more 
 relieved than Mary and particularly pleased to feel 
 that she and I were drawn closer together again. 
 Also I was seriously worried over the interest in 
 Irma that persisted in my thought. I could not 
 analyze my feelings but I suffered from them most 
 intensely. I had not seen her since the Springfield 
 meeting. We had exchanged a few short letters, 
 but they were only significant in their omissions and 
 in the fact that we wrote at all. 
 
 I wanted to write to Irma and I guessed that she 
 wanted to write to me. But I did not dare to write 
 anything that was real or important, and letter writ 
 ing otherwise is a futile proceeding. The reason I 
 made my letters to Irma so tasteless was because I 
 knew full well the danger I would run in starting 
 even a harmless intimacy of expression. Just to test 
 myself I sat down one day in an hour's lull during 
 the down-state campaign and wrote a letter "from 
 the heart out" a letter which I never sent. I am 
 destroying it as I write these words but I am going 
 to quote a few sentences in order to make clear my 
 state of mind: 
 
 "I shall not try to explain why I feel this way for, if 
 I knew, then I should be able to solve the puzzle of life. I 
 should know the 'why' of everything. Long, long ago I 
 learned that the end of all seeking is merely finding what
 
 222 GLEAMS 
 
 is and beyond 'what is' lies shoreless space that we must 
 cross before we shall learn any more. 
 
 "What is is that your presence thrills me and the 
 thought of you in absence lights up my day that to be near 
 you is like feeling a soft hand closing around the heart, a 
 pain that is danger-sweet. This yearning is made of the 
 same stuff as love of life. It comes with the exaltation of 
 a religious passion to sacrifice oneself for another. It domi 
 nates with the ruthlessness of hunger. But it is a hunger, 
 not to take, but to give." 
 
 I have quoted this letter because it states a feel 
 ing that I do not understand fully, and which I am 
 quite sure no one else would understand at all, un 
 less possibly Irma and of that I have some doubt. 
 The dull materialist may label it as passion and, if 
 he is conventionally moral, he may call it sinful. The 
 unbalanced aesthete may call it pure love. I know 
 that it is neither pure love nor pure passion. It is 
 too sacrificial and tender a feeling to be given a 
 brutal name. But on the other hand, I know that 
 only ignorance or hypocrisy would insist that it has 
 only spiritual significance. It is the imperfect love 
 of a man for a woman, but sufficiently idealistic so 
 that not for any passing pleasure would I risk soil 
 ing or cheapening it, by making an "affair" out of 
 it for gossips to pass around through unclean minds. 
 
 This is not an all-absorbing love, because it has 
 no diminishing effect upon my affection for Mary. 
 Possibly it has deepened my fondness for her. At 
 times I wish that I could tear it out of my thoughts 
 so that Mary might have that legal monopoly to 
 which she is supposed to be entitled. But to do this
 
 GLEAMS 223 
 
 would leave an open wound that would be long in 
 healing. In romantic moments I think that it would 
 never cease to bleed. 
 
 There is another loss that I should suffer in de 
 priving myself of Irma the constant stimulation 
 of an interest so vivid that life seems always worth 
 while. I find from time to time this same stimula 
 tion in Mary but it is not quite steady and keen 
 enough to conquer the depressions to which a tired 
 body and mind sometimes succumb. I am becoming 
 very curious about this effect of a woman upon the 
 god within a man. I say "the god within" because 
 if there be any divine element in human beings surely 
 it is felt in that urge to do things, to make some 
 thing of life, that illusion even of the pessimist that 
 there is some reason in ambition and some hope in 
 achievement beyond the mere sustaining of life and 
 the increase of physical sensation. 
 
 I was discussing this question with Mary one 
 evening, indulging in sweeping generalities with an 
 ingenuous assumption of abstract interest that was 
 pitifully futile to deceive a woman's intuition, when 
 she said: 
 
 "Is Mrs. Conway still visiting Miss Halliwell in 
 St. Louis, Rodney?" 
 
 "Really I can't say," I answered, aghast at this 
 sudden dragging in of the concealed object of my 
 thoughts. "The last I heard of her she was there." 
 
 "The last you heard," she repeated significantly. 
 "Was that recently enough so that I could safely 
 write to her there?"
 
 224 GLEAMS 
 
 "I think so." I was seriously embarrassed. 
 "Gene wrote me a few days ago and spoke of her." 
 
 "It occurred to me that she might care to run up 
 to Chicago and stay with us for a few days on her 
 way east or is she going back east?" 
 
 "Really, Marykins, I don't know what her plans 
 are. I am no confidant of hers. I didn't even know 
 that she had left Washington until she appeared in 
 Springfield with the Halliwells." 
 
 "Oh," she said. 
 
 Then there was quite a pause. 
 
 "Mary," I began belligerently, "you don't like 
 Mrs. Conway. Why on earth should you ask her to 
 visit us?" 
 
 "You like her, don't you?" 
 
 "Yes, of course I do. You know that. But that 
 is far from a good reason why you should invite 
 her." 
 
 "I thought,** she said slowly, choosing her words 
 carefully, "that perhaps the stimulation of her 
 presence might inspire you to great deeds. Per 
 haps you might be able to win Mrs. Girling's case !" 
 
 There was nothing to do but laugh. So I laughed 
 vigorously and lonesomely. 
 
 "Mary, you are the strangest mixture I ever knew. 
 In this suggestion and your wicked thrust at Irma's 
 supposed influence on me, you are just as unlike the 
 dear, sweet girl that you are nine days out of ten, 
 as you possibly could be." 
 
 "You find me interesting?" she remarked with a 
 gleam of battle in her eyes.
 
 GLEAMS 225 
 
 "Very interesting and exasperating." 
 
 "Stimulating?" 
 
 "Irritating, may be the better word." 
 
 "Failing again," she said with mock pathos, ris 
 ing and moving toward the writing desk. "I'll in 
 vite the genuine stimulator." 
 
 "You'll do nothing of the sort," I asserted. 
 
 "Oh, yes I shall," she replied. 
 
 And of course, in the end, she did.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 GROPING 
 
 THE pleasant nightmare of Irma's visit has 
 passed. I did not believe she would accept 
 the invitation, but I imagine that Mary 
 phrased it very cleverly. She is good at that sort of 
 thing. Irma sensed a concealed challenge which her 
 alert nature could not quite resist. It might have 
 pleased a cheap vanity if I had thought that Irma 
 cared enough for me to be willing to come, even 
 though in violation of her standards of good taste. 
 Unfortunately for vanity I felt quite sure that if 
 Irma really cared about me deeply she would have 
 declined to be our guest. So her acceptance de 
 pressed me considerably, despite the pleasure I antic 
 ipated in seeing her. 
 
 Mary certainly gave Irma a busy week. There 
 was some kind of party every evening, and luncheons 
 and teas scattered liberally through the days. The 
 superficial observer would have thought that "Irma" 
 and "Mary" were girlhood playmates. I heard 
 Mary arranging one affair over the telephone: 
 
 "You must come Thursday afternoon. You've 
 heard me speak of Irma Conway, my friend from 
 Washington? She is only with us a few days and 
 I know you will like her. If you think it's quite 
 
 326
 
 GROPING 227 
 
 safe, I'll invite you and Jack for dinner later, but I 
 warn you that Irma is a beauty and Jack is so sus 
 ceptible I thought you had better come Thursday 
 and tell me if you think it safe for me to ask him. 
 . . . Oh, my husband? ... I certainly should 
 worry if he weren't so deep in politics that he can't 
 think of anything else . . . Yes, you see he's in 
 love with the whole world . . . No, he has no time 
 to fall in love with just one woman . . . Well, wait 
 till you see Irma. You'll say that I must feel very 
 sure of him to have such a siren in the house . . . 
 Yes . . . Yes . . . Well, good-bye, I'll see you 
 Thursday." 
 
 Let it be understood that I listened to this sort of 
 thing, with variations, for several days ! Always 
 during that trying time I was in sight of and near 
 Irma and never with her. Furthermore, Mary in 
 vited the most interesting, effective men of our 
 acquaintance and commented enthusiastically on the 
 charm that Irma held for them all, regardless of 
 age, position or previous condition of servitude. I 
 found it rather hard to bear this. In fact, I con-| 
 ceived a mild dislike for many of my old friends. 
 
 In some adroit manner Mary made it quite impos 
 sible that Irma and I should ever be left alone for 
 more than a few minutes. Then Sunday morning 
 Mary apparently reversed her policy with one of 
 those sudden shifts always so surprising to me and 
 yet so essentially feminine. I think possibly the idea 
 occurred to her that Irma might think she did not 
 dare to leave us together.
 
 228 GROPING 
 
 We were sitting in the living room reading the 
 newspaper and chatting desultorily about the party 
 of the previous night when Mary walked in clad in 
 riding costume. 
 
 "I'm going for a ride," she announced. "I feel 
 the need of air and exercise. I called up the stables 
 and Joe is bringing Gypsy to the end of the bridle 
 path. I'll be back around noon. Bye, bye." 
 
 I read the paper with unseeing eyes for a few 
 minutes and then, glancing up, found Irma looking 
 at me with an amused smile. 
 
 "How well Mary looks in her riding clothes," 
 she remarked. "You have a very clever, attractive 
 wife, Rodney." 
 
 Twice I attempted to speak and each time stopped 
 something that sounded utterly inane, as it struck 
 upon the inner ear that is the remorseless critic of 
 the self-conscious. At the third effort I managed to 
 remark: 
 
 "Once upon a time in Springfield I foolishly 
 boasted that we would never be strangers again. 
 Yet now I feel as though you were very remote from 
 me." 
 
 "You don't understand women, do you, Rodney?" 
 
 "I'm quite convinced that I do not." 
 
 "You don't understand why Mary invited me 
 here. You don't understand why I came. Most of 
 all you don't understand why Mary suddenly leaves 
 us en tete-a-tete" 
 
 "I confess that all these things are largely mys 
 teries to me !"
 
 GROPING 229 
 
 "Would it help you if I suggested that nine times 
 out of ten a woman does what she most wants to 
 do, and that the tenth time she does just what she 
 doesn't want to do, in order to make people believe 
 that she does want to do what she doesn't want to 
 do?" 
 
 "It sounds too mathematically exact." 
 
 "Then let me add that there are a great many 
 exceptions to most rules and that exceptions are 
 more interesting to women than rules. However, 
 you should at least know the rules, so that you may 
 recognize the significance of exceptions." 
 
 "I'm afraid I'll never know which are the nine 
 times and which is the tenth." 
 
 "Then let me continue the lesson," she advised. 
 "You see I'm interested in you, Rodney, or I 
 shouldn't bother about your education." 
 
 "For those kind words many thanks." 
 
 I rose and bowed deeply. 
 
 "It's this way, Rodney: If I were interested in 
 a married man, or if he were interested in me, more 
 than his wife might approve, I shouldn't care to 
 accept his wife's invitation to be a house guest. Now 
 I have a suspicion that Mary thinks that such an 
 interest exists here, on one side or the other, or per 
 haps on both. She invites me practically as a test 
 as an unasked question. In a clever way she made 
 that clear in her letter. I think she wrote that she 
 was very anxious to have me come, unless circum 
 stances were such that I could not possibly see my 
 way clear to tarrying here during my trip east. I
 
 230 GROPING 
 
 may not have quoted the phrase correctly but the 
 possible double meaning was very neat and I got it ! 
 That note was to me like a challenge and it's al 
 ways been a failing of mine that I hate to be dared. 
 So I came. Perhaps I shouldn't have done it. But 
 I'm sure that my conduct since has been unimpeach 
 able." 
 
 "You are delightfully frank. That's one thing I 
 love about you. You grasp a nettle far more bravely 
 than I do. For a week I've been wanting to talk 
 with you alone. Here is the opportunity and I am 
 tongue-tied." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Really, Irma, I don't know. Despite the indica 
 tion I may have given in Springfield, it has not been 
 a desire to make love to you. I want to talk about 
 life with you what it's all about what we are try 
 ing to do with it because I want to know how you 
 feel about it because it seems that I can get so 
 much more out of a woman's ideas than I can out 
 of a man's. I know a lot about men's ideas many 
 things that I wish I didn't know. But I confess I 
 know very little about women. I've known so few 
 women at all well. I've had very little curiosity to 
 know many women well. So that when I find a tre 
 mendous desire to know you it seems to me a matter 
 of tragic importance. Yet I suppose Mary would 
 feel that such an interest in another woman reflected 
 discredit on her " 
 
 "And you don't wish to do anything during my 
 visit to reflect discredit on her."
 
 GROPING 231 
 
 "That's about it. Yet it isn't fair play, Irma. 
 Confound it! Women don't play their own rules. 
 But they demand that their men should." 
 
 "No exceptions for the men," she laughed. 
 "We make the exceptions, Rodney, for ourselves." 
 
 "Let me tell you something. Maybe you'll think 
 less of me for telling this, but I think that I have 
 a right. There's an old sweetheart of Mary's who 
 comes to town now and then and she insists on tak 
 ing lunch with him. She told me about it a few 
 times until it got on my nerves and I became dis 
 agreeable. Then she said that she could see that 
 she could not be frank with me. Now I don't 
 know whether she sees him or not, but naturally I 
 think she does. 
 
 "Don't think that I imagine this is a dangerous 
 interest. It doesn't worry me that way. It just 
 annoys me and at times I think it is wrong for me 
 to be annoyed. Whatever reason she may have for 
 breathing now and then on the old ashes is really 
 her affair. It's her privilege. Marriage shouldn't 
 be a slavery of the mind. What annoys me most 
 is the thought that if I wanted to spend a Sunday 
 afternoon talking with some old sweetheart of mine 
 Mary would be deeply offended." 
 
 "You forget, Rodney, that a woman has more to 
 protect than a man. A woman has her home to 
 safeguard. A man may make a passable home for 
 himself, without a woman in it. But the woman who 
 loses her man loses her home. When a woman risks 
 her home you may know that she is really in love."
 
 232 GROPING 
 
 "Or in sight of a better home." 
 
 "That wasn't nice of you, Rodney. It isn't like 
 you to be so nasty." 
 
 "I'm sorry I said that now. But there is a tigerish 
 cruelty in the way even apparently gentle women 
 play the game with men, that calls for bitter com 
 ment." 
 
 "And how about the careless cruelty of men?" 
 
 "At least it isn't calculated." 
 
 "But it hurts just the same." 
 
 "Tell me, Irma, do you think there's any good 
 reason why I shouldn't like you, and enjoy being 
 with you? Do you th?hk that my having such an 
 interest is disloyalty to (Mary?" 
 
 She half-closed her eyes with a kindly but tantaliz 
 ing smile. 
 
 "Just what is your interest in me, Rodney?" 
 
 "My dear lady, you know perfectly well how much 
 I enjoy your society." 
 
 "That doesn't answer me. I'll ask another ques 
 tion. Would you like Mary to enjoy another man's 
 society to the same extent?" 
 
 "That's very clever, because if I say, yes, it may 
 indicate that my interest in you is not very intense. 
 But I will say this: I think that, if Mary could 
 get as much enjoyment from association with an 
 other man, as much increased zest of living, as I 
 get from brief companionships with you, I should 
 have no right to deny that to her." 
 
 "Nevertheless you would object." 
 
 "Conventionally, perhaps, I should. I'm not
 
 GROPING 233 
 
 questioning Mary's conventional right to resent my 
 liking for you. It isn't quite comme il faut. But I 
 refuse to feel that I am morally wrong in having 
 an affection for you. It's a fact. I don't think 
 the fact is wrong." 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 "I was thinking," she said, "that a dirty face is 
 often a fact. But it ought to be washed." 
 
 "Do you think I should use soap and water?" 
 
 "I'd hate to have you lose your interesting com 
 plexion." 
 
 "Irma, I don't want to be sentimental, but, hav 
 ing found you, I should hate to lose you. You give 
 me a sense of certain things in life. I get feelings 
 about life from you. There's no disrespect in that 
 for Mary. I get many things from Mary, as I 
 hope she does from me. But I haven't the sublime 
 egotism to think that Mary can get everything from 
 me that any man could give her. So why should 
 Mary feel that I can realize all that there is in 
 womankind from her?" 
 
 I have tried to give a fair sketch of this talk of 
 ours. There was much more of it, all very intimate 
 and yet essentially not lovemaking just groping for 
 ideas about the parts men and woman can play in 
 each other's lives. Since Irma has left I have 
 thought a great deal about this. It seems to me that 
 here is one of the great questions. I resent 
 vehemently the "French novel" attitude toward it. 
 Of course physical attraction plays a large part in 
 the relationships of men and women. But if phys-
 
 234 GROPING 
 
 ical desire and satisfaction were all that there is in 
 it, what a cheap thing life would be a chemical 
 formula attraction, union, reproduction for what 
 purpose? Yet out of this mating instinct arise 
 greater instincts dreams of achievements dreams 
 of making life something better than it is. Ex 
 perience and control desire; and how the imagina 
 tion soars! Vision comes. Illusion blooms. God 
 grows. 
 
 At the end of all my thinking I return to that 
 thought the more I yearn, the more I seek to en 
 noble things often called base, the more I feel some 
 thing better than I am begin to stir within, begin to 
 rise out of me something too great, too clean, for 
 a small, earthy body the sense of a god within that 
 grows.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE GOD WHO GREW 
 
 IT is Saturday afternoon and I am alone in my 
 office. The door is locked and I pray that the 
 telephone will remain silent. I've been doing 
 some hard thinking and I'm going to attempt some 
 hard writing. The egoism which makes this writ 
 ing seem worth while does not assure me that any 
 publisher will ever think that what I have written 
 is worth printing. If it ever is printed I know that 
 I shall be criticised for having expressed myself so 
 frankly, and particularly for having written so inti 
 mately about those who are near and dear to me. 
 But I shall see to it that nothing is published until 
 anyone who may be hurt by candor is no longer liv 
 ing. I do not believe that truth can harm the dead. 
 
 Mary often remarks critically that I love the 
 whole world. Hence she suggests that I am in 
 capable of truly loving one person. Mary does not 
 understand. I cannot say honestly that I love the 
 world, that I am a lover of humanity. People in 
 mass seem to me short-sighted, dull, and alternately 
 exasperating and pitiful. Not that I feel particu 
 larly superior. On the contrary I find my own 
 actions shortsighted, dull, exasperating and pitiful. 
 I love neither the whole world nor myself. But I 
 
 235
 
 236 THE GOD WHO GREW 
 
 do feel that I am a freer human being than most of 
 my fellows. My parents let me develop without 
 strapping artificial supports to my legs to relieve 
 their fear that I might be unable to stand alone. 
 Fortunately no teacher fitted me with special mental 
 lenses through which to obtain a carefully distorted 
 vision of life. Therefore I have no inherited re 
 ligious dogmas and no educated prejudices. Of 
 course I am mentally shaped by inheritance just as 
 I am heir to the bodily characteristics of my an 
 cestors. But, as the world goes, I am unusually 
 free and have never provided myself with a strait- 
 jacket for my thoughts. A notable analyst of men 
 and women once told me that I had the credit of 
 my lack of convictions. 
 
 Now, lack of convictions is a distressful state of 
 mind. To relieve this distress I have acquired a 
 faith a faith in something which I have gradually 
 come to describe as The Purpose. I call this a faith, 
 but it is not a blind, assured faith. It is a changing 
 thing. Some days all things seem quite clear. At 
 other times I feel swept out into an ocean of doubts. 
 Yet the sense of Purpose In life persists and in this 
 sense my part in life seems to be to live fully and 
 deeply, to think hard and to write down my thought 
 and my life as the days go by, in the hope that in 
 this revelation I may help a little to set other souls 
 free from ancient taboos which may have had some 
 use in the dawning of intelligence, but which persist 
 beyond their vital years to repress and to confine 
 the modern mind.
 
 THE GOD WHO GREW 237 
 
 Let me attempt a dangerous example of this 
 thought. There is the ancient taboo about keeping 
 the Sabbath holy a very wise provision for a rest 
 from daily labor on one day in every seven a very 
 wise provision for a day for the soul, a day for good 
 thoughts and good works, a day for devotion to 
 God. But the taboo that one particular day is sacred 
 has lost much of its force in the expansion of modern 
 life whereby, on the one hand, many find in the 
 Sabbath a day of pleasure, a day of amusement and 
 sports, and on the other hand many find it merely 
 another day of toil. 
 
 Free modern thought rejects the ancient taboo, 
 rejects the idea of a divine will requiring a day of 
 worship, but accepts the divine law that man should 
 have one day in every seven for rest and change of 
 interest. Yet the taboo persists, constantly hamper 
 ing and confining a free, intelligent division of the 
 week and a free intelligent use of the day of rest 
 and change, with an arbitrary, unreasoning demand 
 for an arbitrary, unreasoning observance of an 
 ancient form. 
 
 From such bondage as this mankind must some 
 day work itself free. The so-called divine will which 
 issues a command through human mouths is an unreal 
 thing and its acceptance is mental slavery. The 
 divine purpose which persuades men through their 
 divine minds is very real and its understanding is 
 the obligation and the happiness of a free soul. 
 
 The "one day rest in seven" is at the moment a 
 part of the political creed of our insurgents. It is
 
 238 THE GOD WHO GREW 
 
 interesting to note how this demand meets response 
 through the masses of hard-working men and 
 women. They know that they need the day of rest. 
 But if we made our rallying cry "remember the 
 Sabbath day to keep it holy" these same masses 
 might give us the approval of their lips but their 
 hearts would not be stirred. Yet what could be 
 more holy than a day of lifted burdens, a day when 
 the weary back is straightened, the tired eyes rest 
 and the spirit is left free to contemplate life, to enjoy 
 living, a day of that true worship that comes from 
 love of life? I must believe that any God worthy 
 of worship would prefer that His children should 
 enjoy the life he gave them, rather than that they 
 should fear His wrath. 
 
 Time and time again I have attempted to make 
 some statement of my faith because it seems to me so 
 much more intense, vital and workable in my own 
 life than the creeds of many of my orthodox friends 
 are in their lives. Hence it seems that it should be 
 possible to express it in some way to meet the 
 common approval of others who feel as I do. 
 Finally, I have set down a few words which are not 
 a creed but rather a suggestion, a hint of a faith, a 
 religious motive for life that may be professed by 
 those who worship God under different names, 
 through different forms, but in a common trust that 
 life is good.
 
 THE GOD WHO GREW 239 
 
 MY FAITH 
 
 I have a faith, an unbounded faith, in the Purpose. I 
 believe in the gradual bettering of mankind. I believe in 
 the service of Truth and the futility of Falsehood. I believe 
 in that righteousness which is the essence of Christianity. 
 But I have no sense of personality about it. My thought 
 of any Guiding Power of the universe is inchoate. That 
 which I could call God must be so far above my finite con 
 ceptions that I cannot visualize Him at all. I think my 
 "God" is the God of all Christians, but I do not personify 
 Him. Therefore, I cannot appeal to him by words, but only 
 by actions, tacitly submitted for His approval, or, in more 
 accurate language, devoted to the service of the Purpose. 
 
 This is neither atheism nor agnosticism. It is a religion; 
 but it will not permit me in full honesty to take part in 
 the forms of worship prescribed by any particular church, 
 since in so doing I should be attempting to formulate, and 
 thus to delimit by narrow human ideas that which I believe 
 surpasses human imagination. 
 
 It appeals to me as a greater tribute to Deity than mere 
 love or fear, to acknowledge the simple truth, that the Uni 
 verse and Life so far overwhelm mortal reasoning that the 
 Source, the Power and the Purpose can never be identified 
 or understood by our tiny brains. 
 
 The finite cannot possibly comprehend the infinite. Finite 
 explanations of creation and its infinite purposes are usually 
 presumptuous and pathetic. I prefer, and to be sincere I am 
 required, to adopt that blind faith which seems to me a 
 nobler worship of the Divine than reverence for the dog 
 matic symbolism of a creed. I am not indifferent to the 
 invaluable service of the orthodox Christian churches. But 
 their formalism is more disturbing than satisfying to my 
 religious yearning to serve the great Concept, which has no 
 time nor place nor name, but simply is; whose Purpose must 
 be fulfilled and whose Glory is to be.
 
 2 4 o THE GOD WHO GREW 
 
 In what I have written there is no word of man 
 or woman. To my mind the purpose of life is sex 
 less. Yet in living life the relations of men and 
 women and their influence upon each other are all 
 important. The sex element is dynamic. Men and 
 women energize each other. 
 
 I have been drifting along writing generalizations 
 about religion, but when I stop, look and listen, I 
 know that the motive power of my thought comes 
 not from contacts with a world of men but from the 
 interplay of my thought with the thoughts of women. 
 Just now Irma and Mary and to a lesser degree, 
 Jeannette give me my mental grip on life. I feel 
 that if I lost contact with all three I should be like 
 one pole of an electric battery a dead thing. The 
 current that flows between these women and me is 
 a conscious, vital force. All else seems chemical, 
 mechanical, unconscious. 
 
 Most of my living has been a working with men 
 to do things in a world of men. I have enjoyed 
 somewhat the struggle for success. I have found 
 at times the same elation as when I ran races and 
 played football in college the zest of the game, the 
 physical thrill of matching one will against another. 
 But as in college, so in business, always when the 
 glow of competition has faded has come a feeling 
 that in itself the struggle was meaningless, that it 
 must be identified as a means to some end to give it 
 any lasting value. 
 
 Whenever I have sought some purpose which this
 
 THE GOD WHO GREW 241 
 
 striving might fulfill, my thought, groping, stumbling 
 and then leaping has found woman, or, let me say, 
 man and woman. In the effort of man and woman 
 to know each other I have found that they learn to 
 know themselves. I have found a struggle, an en 
 deavor, which seemed itself not a mere means but an 
 end itself an end which might be called in pedantic 
 phrasing, the development of character. And is this 
 not the purpose of the individual life, or at least the 
 immediate purpose, which is about as far as the 
 little human mind is able to explore? 
 
 Is not the great achievement of mankind through 
 all the ages the development of the power of 
 thought? The power of thought of the mass comes 
 from character development in the individual. Does 
 this not explain why the world in its lasting judg 
 ments pays tribute to greatness even though ma 
 levolent, pays tribute to its strong minds even though 
 they radiated their force from weak bodies? The 
 evil that the ambition of Napoleon wrought upon 
 his own and succeeding generations may far out 
 weigh any material benefits which he conferred. Yet 
 he has given mankind a dream, a vision of power, 
 that gives his name a glory even in the thought of 
 those who condemn utterly his deeds. While knowl 
 edge of the diseased, ignoble life of Oscar Wilde 
 remains it will furnish no bad example to lead youth 
 astray, but rather aid others to avoid his tragic 
 weaknesses. But the mind that could leave the 
 world even De Profundis alone, has given to man-
 
 242 THE GOD WHO GREW 
 
 kind the inspiration for soul growth that must live 
 and flower into times when the memory of one soiled 
 life has been wholly lost. 
 
 There is, of course, a danger in such philosophy 
 as this. One may regard his emotions as too im 
 portant, forgetting that all emotional experience may 
 not mean mental growth and that man has been given 
 a brain with which to value his emotions and to con 
 trol them. For example, my emotions might readily 
 deceive me as to Mary and Irma; and I might im 
 agine that that stimulation which comes to me from 
 association with Irma was potential with greater 
 experience of life than the less keen inspiration that 
 I find in Mary. Recently this possible error has 
 been made very clear to me. 
 
 Mary and I both have long desired children. But 
 gradually our hopes have dulled. Now we have a 
 renewed hope more than that an expectation. 
 Thus a new and very great interest has come into 
 our lives and one which is drawing us daily closer 
 to each other. I wish I could write down the spirit 
 ual change that this anticipation is making in both 
 of us. For the moment it seems to me profound, 
 but I must wait until I can look back upon the phase 
 through which we are passing and comprehend its 
 full meaning. 
 
 Long, dragging weeks have passed since I laid 
 down my pen at the ring of the telephone that 
 brought me that dreadful summons to come home.
 
 THE GOD WHO GREW 243 
 
 I have been beaten down by the "bludgeoning of 
 chance" and I take up the effort of writing again, 
 not because I wish to do so, but because I feel that 
 I must somehow work my way up and out of this 
 sodden depression. My other work does not interest 
 me. Perhaps this may. 
 
 The telephone bell called me home to find that 
 scented, chintz-hung room of Mary's turned into a 
 hospital. A doctor and a nurse imperatively sum 
 moned were working over the white form stretched 
 out on the gay enameled bed which was covered with 
 a rubber sheeting. The trembling maid met me in 
 the hall and began an unintelligible explanation of 
 what had happened. I pushed her aside. The sur 
 geon waved me back as I entered the bedroom. I 
 stood irresolutely in the doorway until finally he 
 straightened up from his task and motioned me into 
 the next room. 
 
 At first I could not understand him. Then I began 
 to get the simple facts behind his professional terms. 
 Conception had occurred in the wrong place, and 
 with growth had come the inevitable hemorrhage. 
 It was too late. She could not live. Yes, I could 
 be with her. Nothing could injure or help her. 
 
 I knelt beside the bed with intolerable anguish, 
 tortured with a hundred futile regrets. A pathet 
 ically weak arm slipped over my head. I tried to 
 whisper comfort but could only give voice to tears. 
 Once her eyes opened for a momentary stare of 
 terror that struck into me like a knife. Then her 
 gaze softened tenderly and she moved her hand
 
 244 THE GOD WHO GREW 
 
 gently on my head. A wonderful light of peace came 
 upon her white face. That was the end. She 
 seemed to drift out of my arms. I was holding a 
 body that was no longer her. 
 
 I can't write of the days that followed. I did not 
 live through them. I merely moved through a series 
 of meaningless events. Everything real had ceased. 
 Then slowly the real world reasserted itself. But 
 it was a new world, wherein all the old values seemed 
 to have changed. I found myself sitting in the office 
 one morning looking at a large check that had just 
 arrived in payment of a long overdue account. 
 
 I thought: "Now I can pay up those bills that 
 Mary has been worrying over." Then I realized 
 that Mary had ceased to worry, that I could never 
 again relieve her of any trouble. Suddenly her little 
 extravagances took on a new appearance. They 
 were opportunities for me to do things for her. 
 There would be no more of those opportunities. I 
 had the feeling that I had nothing left to work for. 
 There was no one who needed me. What a deaden 
 ing thought: "no one who needed me." The un 
 reality of the past days broke into a terrible reality 
 of loss and I burst into a flood of tears. I was back 
 in the world again no longer a world of doubts 
 and vexations, a world of sorrow. Sorrow is the 
 most intense reality of life. In suffering there is 
 truth. 
 
 Now I know many things. Now I know that I 
 loved Mary. It was not for what she could give 
 to me, but for what I could give to her. She was
 
 THE GOD WHO GREW 245 
 
 my opportunity and I never realized it until she was 
 gone. Through her I caught a glimpse of the 
 Purpose and yet in my blindness I often thought that 
 she stood between me and self-realization. I had 
 believed that I knew Christ's teaching. But only 
 now did I understand that one can only find his own 
 soul through losing it in the soul of another. 
 
 Still dimly and yet more clearly than ever before 
 I see the Purpose. To work toward it through one 
 other life has now been denied to me. But of this 
 much I am sure, that, at least for him to whom there 
 is any vision given, there is an obligation to serve; 
 if through one life it should be a happy service; if 
 through many lives there may be less joy in the 
 labor but perhaps the hope of greater achievement 
 in the end.
 
 BOOK IV 
 PURPOSE
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 POWER 
 
 THERE is too little of politics in what I have 
 written to make it thoroughly represent my 
 experience. But I have been much impressed 
 with the triviality of political detail. Its importance 
 is exaggerated by those engaged and its narration is 
 certain to bore everyone not immediately concerned. 
 All that I need say now is that after many years 
 of petty work full of disappointment and disillusion 
 ment I came finally to the achievement of a certain 
 position and influence in the presidential campaign 
 of 1916. 
 
 My prominent position in the Republican party 
 made my final decision to support Wilson against 
 Hughes a matter of some national interest. This 
 decision, I may remark, was one of the most difficult 
 and I think one of the least self-regardful that I 
 have ever made. All my affection and respect for 
 Colonel Roosevelt urged me to follow him in sup 
 port of the Republican nominee. Furthermore, I 
 expected confidently that Hughes would win. Even 
 if Wilson should win I had no anticipation of any 
 personal profit from espousing his cause. He was 
 more noted for ignoring faithful supporters than for 
 
 249
 
 2 5 o POWER 
 
 rewarding them, as some of my closest friends in 
 his camp had assured me with much bitterness. 
 
 Yet, as the campaign progressed I felt more and 
 more repelled by the forces gathering behind 
 Hughes. During the summer I found it necessary to 
 travel half across the country to expose a mean en 
 deavor by the Republican campaign management to 
 put Roosevelt himself in the position of truckling 
 to men whose purposes he detested but whose votes 
 were desired for Hughes. 
 
 While listening to my leader's cyclonic wrath 
 against those whom he was doing his best to aid and 
 who had met his generosity with this treachery, my 
 decision was made. When peace had been restored 
 and he had gone forward on his hard mission to aid 
 in the election of the man he regarded as the lesser 
 evil, I left him without a statement of my purpose 
 but resolved that such strength as I had should be 
 exerted for the candidate who at least expressed and 
 inspired the higher ideals, even though his perform 
 ances had not equaled his professions. 
 
 The election result gave me considerable prestige. 
 I found, somewhat to my surprise, that I had some 
 real influence in Washington. The government po 
 sition which was offered me came with so slight an 
 effort on my part and was pregnant with so many 
 opportunities for doing something worth while that 
 I accepted with little hesitation. I wondered when I 
 did so if the fact that Irma was living in Washington 
 affected my judgment. Ever since Mary's death I 
 have been curiously sensitive to admitting to myself
 
 POWER 251 
 
 any interest in Irma. Somehow it hasn't seemed 
 quite fair to Mary that I should allow my thought 
 to go to any other woman. 
 
 While Mary was alive I resented the idea that she 
 had any right to monopolize all my interest in 
 womankind. Yet it has seemed as though a respect 
 for her memory required me to grant this monopoly 
 to her after she had given her life in the effort to 
 carry our lives forward into another generation. 
 This feeling has kept me away from Irma since I 
 have come to Washington. I have seen her a few 
 times but she has answered my constraint with a 
 seeming indifference which has hurt me, has made 
 it easier for me to absorb myself in work and has 
 prevented my loneliness of spirit from seeking con 
 solation in her companionship. 
 
 As I write these words, I am sitting in my hotel 
 room in the late evening. Over a jumbled mass of 
 government buildings I can see the Washington 
 monument, strongly illumined. Like the answer to 
 a prayer it points steadily upward, seeking to direct 
 the earth-walking leaders of a nation to turn their 
 thoughts on high. We are on the verge of war a 
 plunge of one hundred million people into the great 
 est and most terrible conflict of all the ages of human 
 knowledge. Tasks are imminent of heavier respon 
 sibility than ever assumed by any men of this or of 
 probably any previous generation. Of what impor 
 tance is my individual comfort or happiness or that 
 of any other man charged with any part of this re 
 sponsibility?
 
 252 POWER 
 
 Soon we shall be separating husbands from wives 
 and sons from mothers, some for a long time and 
 some forever. We shall be destroying deliberately 
 a host of lives and countless human aspirations; we 
 shall be spending recklessly the accumulated treas 
 ures of business and family life with a ruthless de 
 mand that all individual happiness shall be sacrificed 
 in a common adventure for the common welfare. 
 We believe that we are utterly right in doing this, 
 yet in our hearts we know that, as in every great 
 human decision, we may be utterly wrong. And 
 there beyond the window is that great, white finger 
 pointing upward. Whether we do right or wrong, 
 at least our purpose must be high, our endeavor 
 must be lofty or else we must be self-condemned 
 beyond all forgiveness. 
 
 Surely it is no time for me to be thinking of the 
 love of a woman unless perhaps of the love of one 
 whose spirit has followed that great white finger into 
 the Unknown. All the love that I can give to that 
 woman will be free from any small passions that may 
 weaken the hand or dim the eye that are called upon 
 for utter service to the Purpose. 
 
 From the street below come the confused sounds 
 of ordinary night life in a busy city. Street cars, 
 automobiles, voices, the patter of many feet all 
 tell of people going about their customary business 
 and pleasure seeking. I think of them as careless 
 people, yet probably in every mind there is some 
 thing of the thought which is in mine. Men who 
 know that they must fight are wondering how long
 
 POWER 253 
 
 a span of life is left for them; men who will not fight 
 are speculating on their possibilities of sacrifice or 
 profit. Women are clinging a little closer to their 
 dear ones who have suddenly become more precious, 
 more indispensable. Men of responsibility are walk 
 ing less lightly, are thinking ahead with less confi 
 dence, are clenching their mental grip on a few ideas 
 that seem to have fixed value in a time when most 
 values are in flux. 
 
 While I have been writing I have been waiting for 
 a summons. This afternoon I was informed that 
 the President might wish to see me late in the 
 evening and I stated that I would remain in my 
 room until called. 
 
 The telephone bell rang. It was Irma. She said 
 she would like to see me. She wanted to talk about 
 some war work that she had in mind. She is living 
 with the Grinsmores, acting as secretary to Mrs. 
 Grinsmore, who has already organized two national 
 women's aid societies which may find some usefulness 
 in the coming struggle. Irma is skeptical but I have 
 assured her that almost any organization may serve 
 some good end even a Grinsmore society. I told 
 Irma that I must remain here, but I promised to 
 see her to-morrow evening if possible. Her voice 
 was very friendly. It gave me something of a thrill 
 to hear her speak. But I cannot, I must not, allow 
 myself the pleasure of seeking that thrill.
 
 254 POWER 
 
 Now I have heard from the White House. In 
 half an hour I am due for my appointment. In the 
 work I see crowding before me there will be little 
 time for writing. Perhaps this story will have no 
 end, in which case I doubt if there has been any use 
 in setting it down. If I find that I am to undergo 
 any of the great hazards, in which I hope I may 
 play some part, I shall arrange that this manuscript 
 shall be destroyed in the event that I am not left to 
 finish it. Up to the present moment I feel that my 
 living has had little significance unless it has been the 
 introduction to a life in which there shall be some 
 real achievement, something to indicate that it is 
 worth while to have faith in the Purpose.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 REACTION 
 
 IT is December n, 1918. For one year and a 
 half I have been swinging into war work every 
 ounce of energy which I could create. I have 
 been inordinately busy, often working for weeks 
 with no sense of accomplishment, then finding a thrill 
 in a few vivid days that more than repaid for all 
 the drudgery. War is horrible but it is high adven 
 ture. Even little moves in the great game are played 
 with a stake of lives and fortunes that must give 
 them tragic importance. 
 
 Once I acted as a special representative of the 
 President in preventing the spread of a strike of 
 freight handlers. As I sped north from Washington 
 I chafed at every slowing down of the express train. 
 A few hours' delay in reaching my destination might 
 mean a loss of days in providing men to load the 
 huge steamships whose cargoes were desperately 
 needed "over there." A halt of days in delivery 
 of supplies to the battle lines might mean a weakness 
 at some vital point in a crucial moment. If the men 
 filling those lines could not hold them until more men 
 could be sent the whole war might be lost. That 
 one inconspicuous man traveling north from Wash 
 ington should not be delayed an hour seemed a mat- 
 
 255
 
 256 REACTION 
 
 ter of vast consequence. Yet when I arrived it took 
 me three days even to get the necessary leaders into 
 one room where we could fight out differences of pur 
 pose and opinion across a small table. Three weeks 
 passed before the trouble had been ironed out and 
 I returned to Washington, utterly weary with the 
 nervous strain, to be congratulated on the excep 
 tional speed with which a difficult negotiation had 
 been brought to a successful end. 
 
 All through the war work the contrast was forced 
 upon me persistently between men who wore them 
 selves down with the pace they set themselves and 
 those placid official tape-weavers, to whom depart 
 mental rules and customs were a sacred ritual whose 
 meticulous observance was of more vital interest than 
 the smashing of the Hindenburg line. There was 
 a continual contest wherein we irreverent civilians 
 fought day and night to slash and pound our way 
 through entanglements of red tape and barriers of 
 official regulations which met us everywhere when 
 we attempted to hurry anything through the govern 
 ment offices. 
 
 In various trips to the other side I found that 
 conditions in some parts of officialdom were better 
 and in some much worse than at home. Through the 
 costly lessons of four years' fighting many lines for 
 direct action in matters of military necessity had been 
 laid out and were kept open. But in all political 
 matters I found that our problems in America were 
 refreshingly simple and our methods comparatively 
 honest, when contrasted with the complicated in-
 
 REACTION 257 
 
 trigues of the politicians of the old world. In justice 
 to our President I must say that he kept a spirit of 
 high endeavor glowing as a radiant force, which 
 welded separative desires and ambitions into a 
 common national purpose of extraordinary strength*. 
 
 Now the great national adventure is ended. Al 
 ready I can see and feel the reaction that has come 
 from straining idealisms beyond their normal power. 
 Men and women alike show signs of weariness with 
 being painfully good and sacrificingly noble and 
 utterly brave. The most earnest war-workers have 
 begun to look about them with a discontented feeling 
 that somehow their pain and sacrifice and bravery 
 has not profited them greatly for their futures. 
 They observe the selfish and the greedy flaunting 
 new fortunes in public places. They turn back to the 
 old pre-war work and find it disorganized, worri 
 some and also very dull. 
 
 Last evening I had a long talk with Irma. We 
 were both quite unhappy and much disillusioned. It 
 is the first time that I have seen her since her mar 
 riage. The announcement reached me in Paris and 
 the name of her husband, Captain Edson Fairfield, 
 meant nothing to me. Last night she showed me his 
 photograph and told me his story. He was a fa 
 mous football player at Princeton, I believe some 
 ten years ago. At the outbreak of the war he was 
 working for a bond house in New York City. He 
 came out of the first officers' training camp with the 
 rank of captain a fine figure in a uniform, strong, 
 rough-hewn face, in every way appearing a natural
 
 258 REACTION 
 
 leader. In war as in football he was in his element 
 and showed to best advantage. 
 
 Irma had met him several times in New York and 
 Washington where her work with Mrs. Grinsmore's 
 societies brought her into frequent contact with fledg 
 ling officers of some social prestige. She had been 
 much attracted to him. His genuine desire to get 
 across as soon as possible had appealed to her par 
 ticularly. She was sickened with the desk-chair 
 officers who crowded into Washington. Captain 
 Fairfield had evidently quite rushed her off her feet 
 so that when he had been finally assured of over 
 seas service and had pleaded with her to marry him, 
 she was really incapable of the same sort of con 
 sideration she would have given the question in 
 normal times. Apparently he was giving so much 
 and asking so little. Like most men of the young 
 officer class he had acquired the attitude that he 
 would not come back. He wanted only to realize 
 for a short time the dream of his life, marriage to 
 his ideal, and then he would gladly give his all to 
 his country. So they were married. 
 
 Fairfield had fulfilled all her expectations as a 
 soldier. He had made a distinguished record, had 
 been decorated three times and was now a colonel. 
 But her brief married experience and his letters ha"d 
 given Irma full knowledge that although Colonel 
 Fairfield might be a husband of whom she could be 
 proud, Mr. Fairfield was going to be a difficult hus 
 band with whom to spend the rest of her days. The 
 banality of his interests in life had been a sad dis-
 
 REACTION 259 
 
 covery. Even as a money-maker his ten years' 
 performance since leaving college was not impres 
 sive. He, himself, realized his limitations and, 
 worst of all, seemed willing to accept them. He had 
 even discussed with her the possibility of remaining 
 in the army. 
 
 "I am not at all sure," she said drearily, "but 
 what that would be the best career open to him. 
 But I don't believe he would rise very far in the 
 service. You know the requirements for higher 
 command in the modern army are pretty severe." 
 
 "Perhaps he has never tried to develop himself," 
 I suggested. "Life has not called upon him heavily. 
 This new responsibility as a married man. . . . You 
 might inspire him to broaden his capacities." 
 
 "Rodney," she answered, "I hate to say it, but he 
 hasn't the ambition. He likes adventure, but not 
 hard work. He rejects drudgery and he hasn't the 
 imagination to go ahead by leaps." 
 
 "But he loves you," I said; "that must inspire him 
 to some effort." 
 
 "He loves me, in his way, yes, he loves me now. 
 He has loved many times before. It is that kind of 
 love. He wouldn't love a taskmaster. I can't be 
 that and hold his love. Is it wrong for me to talk 
 this way? You're an old friend. I must talk to 
 someone." 
 
 Her eyes were heavy with tears and her voice 
 trembled. I rose and walked across the room. I 
 had to move somewhere away from her as I suddenly 
 felt myself drawn to kneel beside her chair and put
 
 2 6o REACTION 
 
 my arms about her. Standing at a safe distance I 
 began to speak. 
 
 "Irma, I've been trying to be of a little service to 
 my country in a time of war. Maybe I've been of 
 some use, but there is no one who can tell me so 
 and give me the thrill of personal appreciation. It 
 is all very impersonal. I even know that I was not 
 indispensable. If I had not done my job another 
 man would have done it just as well or better. I 
 should like to feel that I am of some real use to 
 someone that I can do for someone what no one 
 else can do. Perhaps you might give me that chance. 
 If I could help you and see in your eyes something 
 that told me that I was of real service to another 
 human being I should be quite happy. So if you 
 care to confide in me it will be a favor to me." 
 
 "I want to confide in you," she said. "But I don't 
 want to be unfair to him. He is fine and true and 
 I have been proud of him I am proud of him as 
 my soldier husband. But as Mr. and Mrs. Fairfield 
 we will grow apart, not together. Our ambitions, 
 our interests are so different. It was part of the war 
 madness that we married. Even he understands 
 that. We both knew it before he sailed, but we 
 pretended to each other." 
 
 When I returned to my room last night I was 
 sore in spirit. I had kept myself from saying any 
 thing of what I felt, but I knew the full bitterness of 
 Irma's mistake and of mine. In the old days when 
 I denied to myself my love for her I did it in self- 
 protection. I pretended to be doubtful of the
 
 REACTION 261 
 
 extent of my love for her in order to make life with 
 out her more tolerable. I deceived myself to such 
 an extent that when the war came on I did not tell 
 Irma anything of my hidden thought, in order that 
 I might be wholly free to do what seemed to be my 
 appointed task. 
 
 Perhaps Irma did not love me but I feel that she 
 deceived herself somewhat as I did. I am not sure 
 that she loves me now. I must go on repeating what 
 I said to myself so many times in the past, that I am 
 not sure that we would be well mated. But this I 
 do know, that each has an appeal for the other, that 
 we are helpful to each other, that we should have 
 known each other better, that we should have come 
 closer long ago in order that we might know the 
 value of what we could do for one another. This 
 intimacy might have saved us both from what I feel 
 is much impending unhappiness. 
 
 Self-denial has been made a virtue in itself by 
 much of that religious teaching which gives us our 
 moral traditions. To deny oneself an action that 
 one desires may be necessary or wise or righteous. 
 But, to deny the existence of a desire that one feels, 
 to deny its contemplation, consideration and valua 
 tion is a denial of actual experience. It has been 
 well said that "to deny one's own experiences is to 
 put a lie into the lips of one's own life." 
 
 While I was married, I insisted so far as I could, 
 on denying the existence of a strong interest in Irma, 
 lest by admitting it to myself this should interfere 
 with a proper fulfillment of my obligations to Mary.
 
 262 REACTION 
 
 Then when the war came on I put this lie into my 
 lips again, partly as a tribute to Mary's memory 
 and partly to keep myself free for a full devotion of 
 all my energies to governmental work. In all this I 
 denied to myself that inspiration which thought of 
 Irma has always given me, that aspiring desire which 
 drives men to do their best, which lifts the imagina 
 tion beyond the immediate task and gives vision. 
 
 Now I am mentally clouded through lying to my 
 self, uncertain of my feeling for Irma as well as of 
 her feeling for me. Yet these feelings are real 
 forces in our lives and both of us should know them 
 as they are, their power and their value. 
 
 Another month has passed and my work in Wash 
 ington is nearly finished. I have seen much of Irma. 
 The more I see of her, watching the interplay of her 
 thought and her emotion, the deeper is the devotion 
 which I feel, the more intense is my exaltation in her 
 presence and the more powerful is her attraction 
 for me in absence. The day without sight of her is 
 empty, but even her voice over the telephone stirs 
 music in my heart that carries me happily through 
 succeeding hours. There is a light in her eyes that 
 gives me her thought of me more plainly than any 
 words. I should not dare to say that she loves me 
 but at least I know that I bring her good cheer. 
 
 In a literal way I have not made love to Irma. 
 I have not said that I adore her, that I wish to be 
 with her in every hour. We have simply been to-
 
 REACTION 263 
 
 gether so much and have talked ourselves out to 
 each other so completely, that we know quite in 
 tensely how we care for each other. According to 
 bell, book and candle ritual I suppose this intimacy 
 must be labeled a wicked thing, yet we who have felt 
 it know that it is not at all wicked, but very good and 
 beautiful. 
 
 When Irma's soldier husband returns next month 
 I shall have returned to Chicago and nothing of my 
 presence will disturb this reunion. But if she thinks 
 of what we have been to each other and in so think 
 ing gives less value to what she and her husband can 
 be to each other, is that knowledge a wrong to him? 
 If this is a wrong then should the right relationship 
 between husband and wife be a consecrated decep 
 tion? Should each feel bound in honor to put a 
 false undervaluation on every interest in any other 
 man or woman, in order to maintain a fictitious value 
 for their interests in each other? To substitute such 
 an agreed falsity for truth, as the foundation for 
 success in marriage, seems to me to insure unhappy 
 homes. 
 
 For a woman of Irma's intelligence any permanent 
 false appraisement of her husband would be impos 
 sible. She will value their marriage according to her 
 standards of what a marriage should be, rather than 
 by any comparison with what it could be with anyone 
 else. If she believes that it cannot be made to ap 
 proach what marriage should be to her she will rebel 
 against its bondage. Whatever others might think 
 I feel assured that she will consider only Colonel
 
 264 REACTION 
 
 Fairfield and herself in passing judgment. I shall 
 not be in the picture. Superficial men and women 
 may compare their mates with other possible mates, 
 but those who have brains as well as emotions will 
 judge their mates by their ideals. 
 
 It seems a bit foreign to my mood to speak of 
 ideals. For the time I feel as though mine were in 
 the dust. I have given up my official position to take 
 the position of general counsel for a company in 
 Chicago, which, as I know very well, regards rriy 
 Washington connections and influence as a larger 
 asset than my legal ability. On all sides I see men 
 scrambling out of public work into opportunities for 
 private advantage. Patriotic fervor seems to have 
 reached its climax on Armistice Day. With the 
 morning after, came the realization that the wonder 
 ful common adventure had ended and that the ol'd 
 life of every man for himself was about to be reas 
 serted. 
 
 On every hand I have heard men talking of their 
 duties to their families and to themselves, expressing 
 sentiments in themselves laudable and yet combined 
 with a certain cynicism as to their future duties to 
 society in general. I have a hard feeling that I have 
 sacrificed what might have been a great love and 
 possibly an ideal home, that I have deprived my 
 mother of happiness which she deserves richly, that 
 I have denied myself the money gains that would 
 mean ease and pleasure, that I have lived frugally, 
 that I have made myself oblivious to simple and not 
 dishonest means of self-enrichment, and that in the
 
 REACTION 265 
 
 days to come I may wonder what I accomplished 
 worth all these costs. I am sure that this is only a 
 temporary reaction. I believe that I should choose 
 the same course again under the same conditions. 
 But there seems no justification for continuing this 
 course now. 
 
 Therefore, I am going back to Chicago, intent on 
 making money, determined to attain a strong ma 
 terial position in a materialistic world. Already in 
 Europe are beginning the quarrels over the spoils 
 of their victory of our victory it seems to me. 
 Hard voices are rising throughout the nation de 
 manding that we seize our share of the spoils. The 
 idealists have had their day inspiring sacrifice, and 
 now the plunderers are rising again to resume their 
 ancient leadership. They will show us how to har 
 vest golden fruits from the fields of death. 
 
 I don't intend to join the plunderers but I intenH 
 to establish myself in the class of those who will not 
 be their victims. And I perceive that the near future 
 is going to be a hard time for the humble. The 
 burdens of this mad cataclysm must be loaded upon 
 some shoulders, and the humble folk have ever been 
 the burden-carriers in times of the reckoning for the 
 madness of their masters.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 INTERMEZZO 
 
 THE summer is nearly over. I have had some 
 playtime after several months of absorbing 
 work. In a business way I have been quite 
 successful. I have acquired a substantial interest in 
 the Fanning Company and aided to make that in 
 terest a valuable one. Our oil operations put me 
 in the way of several opportunities for private in 
 vestment out of which I have been able to turn over 
 sufficient safe bonds to provide a fair support for 
 my mother regardless of what may happen to me. 
 This has lifted one worry from me and made me 
 feel freer from pressing obligations to anyone else 
 than I have felt for many years. 
 
 In the spring an unexpected event affectecl deeply 
 the current of my thought. Jeannette's husband was 
 killed in an outlaw raid on the properties in Mexico 
 of which he had charge. Jeannette herself barely 
 escaped the same or a worse fate. My first informa 
 tion of the tragedy came in a telegram which she 
 sent me from El Paso, asking me to telegraph funds 
 so that she could come to Chicago where she expected 
 to collect Jim's life insurance. After her arrival 
 there was considerable delay and some difficulty in 
 getting the money. 
 
 266
 
 INTERMEZZO 267 
 
 She stayed in Chicago nearly a month and I 
 learned all about her situation. Appreciating the 
 hazards of his work Jim had carried twenty-five 
 thousand dollars of life insurance, and this with some 
 small savings was about all she had for the future. 
 She was practically alone in the world except for an 
 uncle in Boston, with whom she had never been very 
 friendly and who was a man of small means. 
 
 When I first met Jeannette the change in her was 
 shocking. She seemed much older than I, her hair 
 was quite gray, her face haggard and her eyes des 
 perately weary. As the days went by I grew more 
 accustomed to some of these appearances and ih 
 many ways she changed. As the strain of recent 
 years wore off under peaceful living in a quiet up 
 town hotel, her old vivacity returned. Her eyes 
 brightened, color came back into her cheeks and she 
 even took on flesh. Still the impression of a beau 
 tiful life deeply scarred remained to make its con 
 stant appeal to my sympathy. 
 
 I really wanted to persuade her to make her home 
 in Chicago. I wished to urge her to stay so that 
 we could be together. I saw her almost every day 
 and enjoyed being with her immensely. Yet I had 
 no desire at all to ask her to marry me. In fact, 
 I was devotedly interested in Irma and chafing at the 
 delay in some business which I expected would take 
 me to Washington. Nevertheless, companionship 
 with Jeannette was full of charm and I hated the 
 thought of her establishing a new home near Boston 
 as she was planning.
 
 268 INTERMEZZO 
 
 One of her oldest and dearest friends was the 
 head of a girls' school, the one in which Jeannette 
 was teaching at the time of her marriage. This 
 woman had asked Jeannette to come and live with 
 her for a time with a view to taking up her teaching 
 again in the Fall if she felt inclined to do it. It 
 seemed the most natural and, in fact, the only open 
 ing for starting a new life which was presented to 
 her. 
 
 It was not until the night before she left Chicago 
 that it even occurred to me as a possibility that Jean 
 nette and I could ever be anything to each other 
 except very dear friends. That evening we went 
 out for dinner to one of the open-air gardens that 
 had just started the summer season. It was a soft, 
 warm evening. There was a full moon that gave 
 even the tawdry surroundings a magic beauty. The 
 music was good and the dance floor was not crowded. 
 
 "I haven't had a chance to learn any of these new 
 dances," she said, with a sad smile, "and I don't 
 feel like dancing anyhow not that I should not, 
 you understand. Jim didn't believe in that sort of 
 mourning. But I don't feel like hopping around. 
 Perhaps if they ever play a waltz, a slow one, I 
 might like to try, to see if I've forgotten." 
 
 Eventually a waltz was played an old familiar 
 tune we had danced to it in Cambridge oh, how 
 many years before! And as we waltzed the years 
 dropped away. The lights around the dance floor 
 had been turned off and the moonlight showed a 
 sweet young face with shining eyes under the droop-
 
 INTERMEZZO 269 
 
 ing hat. It was Jeannette of the empty inn at Bald 
 Pate, Jeannette of the fog on the marshes, that I 
 held again in my arms, Jeannette of the unquench 
 able spirit of pure love, that gives itself for the joy 
 of giving. I held her a little closer and her hand 
 moved lightly across my arm, like the ghost of a 
 caress. 
 
 We walked back to our table arm in arm but 
 without speaking and sat silent for some time. Then 
 I spoke, clumsily: 
 
 "It's the same old moon a-shining, isn't it? Do 
 you remember that song?" 
 
 "Yes," she said, "I remember, same old moon, 
 same old tune, but it's not the same old girl!" 
 
 "Disregarding superficials," I remarked, "I should 
 say that it was very much the same girl." 
 
 "Oh, no, no! It's a very different girl, Rodney. 
 That was a girl of dreams. This a girl who knows, 
 who knows what life can be how dreadful a thing 
 life can be!" 
 
 "But, knowing how dreadful life can be should 
 also make one appreciate life when it is good." 
 
 "I wasn't thinking of terrible things in them 
 selves," she answered. "I was thinking of how a 
 bad start, or a series of unhappy events, can destroy 
 all life's good possibilities, leaving one to face years 
 of empty living. That is how dreadful life can be !" 
 
 I could think of nothing comforting to say so I 
 remained silent, and after a little time she spoke 
 again : 
 
 "Nothing of my thought of Jim is bitter. It is
 
 270 INTERMEZZO 
 
 all very sweet. We had much happiness even though 
 we lived amid alarms. Now he is gone and I am 
 once more alone. I felt lonely before we were 
 married but now, now I feel oh, so utterly alone! 
 I had my chance to choose a life companion. I 
 wanted companionship for life. A few years pass 
 and it is done. I don't wish that I had chosen 
 someone else. But fate seems so unkind. Some 
 women only want a man for a few years; but one 
 thing that drew me to Jim was the certainty that Jim 
 wanted me for life and that he would never change. 
 Perhaps that is why I decided to give you up, 
 Rodney." 
 
 "Did you think I would change?" 
 "I knew you would change. Perhaps we might 
 have changed together and so remained the same 
 to each other. But I wasn't sure that I would and 
 I knew that you must change." 
 
 "Why? Why? Did you think I was fickle ?" 
 "Oh, not light minded, but just impossible minded. 
 You had mental attitudes that could not last. You 
 did not know yourself. You were essentially a boy 
 who must grow up. Perhaps you always will be. 
 You haven't stopped changing yet. You were inter 
 esting, I might say quite lovable, but a most uncer 
 tain partner for a life journey." 
 
 "You think that I am still that sort." 
 "You have settled down somewhat, but rather 
 from necessity than desire, I should guess. I know 
 that you are still experimenting with yourself and
 
 INTERMEZZO 271 
 
 you would undoubtedly continue the experiment in 
 marriage." 
 
 "Suddenly I see myself as a most unstable person. 
 Evidently you would advise me never to marry for 
 the sake of the wife whom I should make unhappy." 
 
 "No. I should advise you never to marry a 
 woman who wants to settle down and be comfort 
 able. I doubt if you will ever settle down or become 
 comfortable." 
 
 "And you, Jeannette, you want to settle down and 
 be comfortable?" 
 
 "Yes, I do. You see I am rejecting you again, 
 although this time I wasn't asked!" 
 
 "But you realized that you might be?" 
 
 "No, I think your interest is located elsewhere. 
 Too bad the lady is married." 
 
 "Why did you think that?" 
 
 "Because you have talked so much lately about 
 the proper attitude for a man in love with a married 
 woman, that I knew it must be your most recent 
 and unsolved problem in life." 
 
 "Jeannette, you are almost malicious. The great 
 problem I am really studying now is how I can know 
 and fulfill the purpose of my being, my turbulent 
 mind having the present obsession that there is some 
 purpose in every being." 
 
 "But there's a woman in your purpose, Rodney; 
 a very attractive woman I am sure; which, of course, 
 makes this purpose also attractive." 
 
 "You are playing with my serious, although un 
 stable, emotions," I said with mock severity.
 
 272 INTERMEZZO 
 
 "You ought to have someone play with them, 
 now and then," she suggested. "I think you take 
 them far too seriously." 
 
 "Would you be willing to stay in Chicago for a 
 few weeks longer to lighten my ponderous spirit? 
 I don't know how to state my suggestion respectably 
 but I assure you that I make it most respectfully." 
 
 "I would not be willing!" she retorted, with a very 
 friendly laugh. "Nor am I willing to stay in this 
 garden any longer this evening. In another hour 
 you'll be making love to me and as I'm not the 
 woman of your purpose I'll show you that at least 
 I'm a purposeful woman. I'm going home."
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 TRIANGLE 
 
 IT was some weeks after that dinner talk with 
 Jeannette when I put the question which she 
 had suggested to Irma. We were sitting in that 
 tiny apartment which she and Colonel Fairfield 
 called "The Cell." 
 
 "If you were planning an ideal marriage, Irma, 
 would it be to settle down with a congenial compan 
 ion and be comfortable?" 
 
 "Heaven protect me! No!" she exploded. "I 
 never want to settle down, or be comfortable. That 
 means to stop growing and I want life to keep on 
 growing even after it begins to decay if you can 
 imagine such a combination." 
 
 "I somewhat guessed your answer. How about 
 the Colonel? What would he say?" 
 
 "Let's not talk about Ed because if I start I 
 know I shall say too much. When he said he was 
 going out to-night I told him I should ask you to 
 come up, and he was quite unpleasant about it." 
 
 "You never told me before that he objected to me. 
 He has always treated me in a friendly fashion. In 
 fact, he told me that he was very glad to have me 
 here, because he said you liked to talk about books 
 and things that he had never taken much interest 
 in, and he was glad to have someone around who had 
 
 273
 
 274 TRIANGLE 
 
 those interests. He has been very nice about it 
 except that his self-depreciation has embarrassed me 
 somewhat. He is quite genuine." 
 
 "He is genuine in that," she said. "But he has 
 been getting a little jealous and I've been thinking 
 that we were seeing so much of each other that it 
 was really unfair to expect him to continue to be 
 pleased. To-day, however, was the first outward 
 sign of his feeling. It has disturbed me and made 
 me think." 
 
 "Does Colonel Fairfield expect to re-establish him 
 self in New York?" I asked irrelevantly. 
 
 "Probably," she answered. "His work here with 
 the department will be over in a few months, unless 
 he should be assigned to the historical section and 
 decide to stay in the service. That would mean 
 years of very useful work, in a way. But it would 
 only confirm Edson in his weaknesses. I told hirh 
 flatly the other day that if he decided to stay in the 
 service I should leave him. It would be utterly im 
 possible for me to tolerate such a life for a year. 
 Therefore, why should I begin the hopeless effort?" 
 
 "And he said?" 
 
 "He said that he had practically made up his mind 
 to stay in the service until I delivered my ultimatum 
 but that he could not think of giving me up he 
 would prefer to give up his chosen career he would 
 go back to New York and resume his old work 
 again. His company has written him that he can 
 come back to his 'former position this Fall, if he 
 wishes. So that is what he expects to do."
 
 TRIANGLE 275 
 
 "I see the position you are in." 
 
 "Of course you do; it is the worst possible one. 
 He gives up his desires in order to have me. Then 
 how can I do anything except go through with him? 
 But, Rodney, Ed and I are so very badly mated, 
 we can't make a success of our lives so long as we 
 stay together. Each of us drags the other down. 
 It may be that this War Department service would 
 be just the thing for him steady, useful work, mak 
 ing no special demand for great talent yet carrying 
 with it the accomplishment of something worth 
 doing, an endless task wherein even a man of 
 limited ability might work himself into an authori 
 tative position that would broaden him almost ih 
 spite of himself. 
 
 "On the other hand, if Edson goes back to New 
 York he will slip into his place with the easy getting, 
 easy spending crowd, most of whom really do very 
 little to earn a living a crowd in which a man with 
 his lack of ambition will never rise very far and yet 
 never be forced to work very hard to keep going. 
 Our lives will drift along until I go frantic with the 
 monotony and futility of living. Some day I shall 
 explode. I won't be able to stand it many years. 
 Then I shall be responsible for having spoiled his 
 best chance for himself. I can read the story to the 
 end and it is all wrong, because we started wrong, 
 because we shouldn't have started at all." 
 
 "Do you think that you ought to stop, now?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "I know that I should," she answered quickly. "It
 
 276 TRIANGLE 
 
 isn't that I don't dare. You know, Rodney, that 
 I'm not afraid. I haven't even the worst fear of 
 all the fear to begin. Perhaps that is a great 
 weakness, that I do not fear to begin. But I feel 
 that perhaps I'm shirking my appointed task. Per 
 haps I undervalue him. Perhaps I could 'do what 
 he says that I could do: inspire him to achieve. I 
 don't believe it. I don't believe it. But he does. 
 I dread to break his hope. I feel it would be wrong." 
 
 "Irma, do you think that a man who feels that he 
 must lean on a woman, will ever get far so long 
 as he has a woman to lean upon?" 
 
 I should not have said that, but the words seemed 
 to come out ahead of my thought. 
 
 "He doesn't lean on me," she said, in quick de 
 fense. "He looks upon me as a reason for doing 
 things which otherwise he would not care to do. He 
 hasn't many illusions or dreams. He has a material 
 view of life. He'll fight for his country in time of 
 war and give all he has. But he has no special 
 desire to serve the people in time of peace. 
 
 "In time of war the nation becomes a reality to 
 him; it has an honor to protect, a flag which must 
 go forward. He loves the men in his regiment. He 
 loves the army as a great fighting force. He loves 
 the game of life when it is a physical fighting game. 
 But in time of peace the nation is to him a conglom 
 eration of selfish individuals leading separate lives, 
 each for his own pleasure. The game of daily living 
 becomes an indoor task, as uninteresting to him as 
 his college courses. He has no desire to play any
 
 TRIANGLE 277 
 
 conspicuous part in this game. Service to society 
 is quite an empty phrase. He is at his best as a 
 soldier. He recognizes this. He should remain a 
 soldier. I am dragging him back to civilian life 
 for what? for our common unhappiness." 
 
 She stood up abruptly and walked through the 
 door into the little bedroom, just off the living room. 
 I sat for some miserable minutes crumpled in my 
 chair. I felt as sick at heart as she. I knew that 
 she did not want me to voice my vain regrets that 
 intertwined with hers. Yet it was intolerable to 
 remain silent. I walked across the room, turned 
 back and lighted a cigarette. It tasted bitter and I 
 put it out. 
 
 Should I be dumb and let her fight out this con 
 flict alone? That would be the worldly judgment. 
 She was married. She belonged to someone else. 
 No, she did not belong to anyone. She was simply 
 married to' another man, a man who loved her. 
 Well, I thought defiantly, I love her too. The mere 
 fact of his love gives him no greater right than my 
 love gives me. But this man had given himself to 
 her, was standing ready to continue to give up his 
 own ambitions to serve her. I had given up nothing 
 for her. Nevertheless my failure to give had not 
 been selfish, because for years I had wanted to give 
 her anything that I had that she might need or de 
 sire. 
 
 Now she was facing a most critical decision. If 
 my attitude could have any bearing on that decision 
 was she not entitled to know it? Yet if she decided
 
 278 TRIANGLE 
 
 to separate from her husband must it not be on the 
 basis of failure in that marriage rather than on any 
 thought or prospect of success in another? Finally 
 it came to this: Would she wish me to speak out? 
 Would it make her problem easier or harder? 
 Should I not suggest my thought and be guided by 
 her response? I began to put my feeling for her 
 into tentative phrases. The moment I did so it rose 
 within me and overflowed my self-control, as irre 
 sistible as the tides. 
 
 I stepped over to the closed door and as I raised 
 my hand to knock, she opened it. 
 
 "Excuse me," she began. Then she must have 
 read in my eyes all that I would say, for her voice 
 broke and, with a quick, revealing look that showed 
 how her thought had met mine, she turned back, 
 swayed uncertainly and then dropped down upon a 
 couch at the foot of the bed and buried her face in 
 her arms. For what followed I feel no more respon 
 sible than if I had seen her sinking in deep waters 
 and had leaped in to save her. All that I was con 
 scious of, was that the woman I loved had need of 
 me. Nothing else in the whole world seemed to 
 exist except her distress and my desire to serve her 
 need. 
 
 I knelt beside her and told her that I loved her 
 and that there was no purpose in living to be com 
 pared to the desire for her happiness, no joy in living 
 except in the thought that my living might bring her 
 joy; that if I must live alone, I should live for her; 
 that she must not think of my love as demanding
 
 TRIANGLE 279 
 
 anything of her, but as an offering of all that I migh't 
 be to her, as she might be able to use me. 
 
 It seemed that for the first time in my life I was 
 utterly sure of my feeling and my purpose and that 
 it was all inevitable and right. I think that in the 
 unrestrained madness of declaring my long pent-up 
 emotion I found my greatest certainty in life. Even 
 in sub-conscious wonderment at my own conviction, 
 I had the sense that it was final and unshakable. 
 At last I knew. This was my dream come true, my 
 dream that there was a Purpose, which when re 
 vealed would banish doubt. 
 
 "This may be utterly wrong of me," I whispered, 
 "by every test that I have learned. But every atom 
 of my being assures me that it is right, tells me that 
 you must know, tells me that my love would be a 
 weak thing if it did not smash through every barrier 
 between us, in the hour of your need. Perhaps you 
 don't want me, but I know that you want my love 
 and it is all yours without a condition I'm asking 
 nothing in return." 
 
 She had not spoken. But she had not turned away 
 as I had put my arms around her and drawn myself 
 nearer and nearer to that hidden head. Then some 
 how her arms slipped over my shoulders, bringing 
 my eager lips close to her white throat. For a long 
 time we remained motionless save as her bosom rose 
 and fell against my cheek. Then I ventured to look 
 up and saw her eyes shining down upon me. And 
 as I looked their expression underwent a terrible 
 change from love to fear, a fear, I felt, not for
 
 2 8o TRIANGLE 
 
 herself but for me. Her arms relaxed. I turned, 
 following her gaze, and through the open door of 
 the bedroom saw the outer door of the apartment 
 swung open and Colonel Fairfield standing there. 
 
 I stood up as he slammed the door behind him 
 and crossed the narrow room. Midway he stopped. 
 
 "By God!" he began, and then seemed at a loss 
 for anything else to say. There was nothing for 
 me to say, so I waited for him. After a long pause 
 he began again: 
 
 "You damned " 
 
 "Stop it!" cried Irma, rising and brushing by me 
 before I could hold her back. "This isn't going to 
 be a bar-room brawl. There isn't going to be any 
 deception either. You have seen all there is to see. 
 You know all there is to know. So let's face the 
 facts as two decent men and a decent woman should." 
 
 "Decent?" he repeated glaring at me over her as 
 she stood between us. 
 
 "Edson," she said sharply. 
 
 He looked at her long and intently. He laid his 
 hands on her shoulders. 
 
 "You're on the square," he said a little thickly. 
 "I believe that, even after what I saw. But this 
 snake " 
 
 He pushed her to one side and took a step toward 
 me. 
 
 "Are you stricken dumb?" he demanded. "Have 
 you anything to say before I throw you out of here?" 
 
 "Yes, I have a great deal to say. But will you 
 listen?''
 
 TRIANGLE 281 
 
 He had come very close to me and from the look 
 in his eyes as well as from his breath I knew he had 
 been drinking heavily. He was not drunk, but very 
 dangerous. It was a great tribute to Irma that he 
 had not attacked me already. His jaws were set 
 and lips drawn back like those of a bull-dog ready 
 to spring. Irma touched his arm. 
 
 "You must listen, Edson. If you care anything 
 about me you must listen and be just." 
 
 "I'll give you five minutes," he said, plunging into 
 a heavy chair. "But you remain standing, you don*t 
 sit down in my house again." 
 
 I waved back Irma's protest. 
 
 "You are absolutely right, Colonel. I'll stand. 
 Please sit down, Irma." 
 
 She walked over beside me. 
 
 "If the culprits are to stand, then I must stand," 
 she said. "We two culprits will stand together, in 
 your house. I understand it is no longer mine." 
 
 He half rose. His face grew purple red. I saw 
 the veins stand out at the temples. Then he flung 
 himself back in the chair. 
 
 "By God, you're magnificent!" he muttered. "Sit 
 down, both of you. Sit down and let's get this over. 
 But don't you try to defend my wife." He shook 
 his finger at me. "She needs no defense with me. 
 You speak for yourself." 
 
 "I never thought of questioning that," I answered. 
 "Nor shall I defend myself. I wish only to explain. 
 I haven't allowed myself to fall in love with your 
 wife, Colonel Fairfield. I was in love with her long
 
 282 TRIANGLE 
 
 before she knew you. You may think that I tried 
 to win away your wife when you were serving your 
 country, making my offense worse than in ordinary 
 times. But I want to tell you that you won away 
 from me the woman I loved when I was doing my 
 best to serve my country, and I hold that was no 
 wrong. It was your right. But you have made me 
 suffer, so don't think you are the only injured one. 
 
 "Then when I came back home and found that 
 you had married the woman I loved, I did not try 
 to break up your home. You will believe Irma, if 
 not me, and she will tell you that I never made love 
 to her, that I never asked her to leave you. You 
 know that she wouldn't have tolerated that." 
 
 Irma broke in. 
 
 "Edson, I've been unfair to you in one thing. I 
 did tell Rodney that our marriage had been a mis 
 take, just as I have told you. It seemed that I must 
 talk with someone. I couldn't think this all out 
 alone. But there has been no love-making. That 
 is true. You saw all there ever was to-night, when 
 I became overstrained and broke down and Rodney 
 tried to comfort me. 
 
 "Quite comforting, I'd say," he sneered, his face 
 growing very hard. 
 
 "I'm not trying to lie out of this," I said hastily. 
 "I lost my self-control and told Irma for the first 
 time in my life that I loved her. I intended not to 
 do that; but the fact is that I did. She made no 
 answer to me. If you and she go on together, of
 
 TRIANGLE 283 
 
 course you would not tolerate my presence and she 
 would not want to see me." 
 
 "We are going on together," he said grimly. 
 
 "You may know that I shall not try to prevent 
 that. That decision lies with you two. But in con 
 sidering it you must know that what you have seen 
 to-night came entirely from my feeling and my lack 
 of self-control. All that which should not have been 
 said and done, was said and done by me. I owe 
 Irma as well as you my deep apologies. I don't 
 blame you for wanting to throw me out, but a row 
 of that sort would punish Irma as much as me. If 
 you would like to meet me somewhere to take it 
 out on me, I'll give you the opportunity. But I think 
 you will prefer not to have that episode here." 
 
 "A very pretty speech," he said roughly. "Why 
 don't you applaud, Irma? It was made for your 
 benefit. Very noble. Now if that's all you have 
 to say, please get out, with this understanding 
 if you ever speak or write to, or attempt to see my 
 wife again, I'll settle the whole score with you, as 
 soon as I can get at you, no matter where I find you. 
 That's all." 
 
 I had my hand on the door knob, when Irma 
 spoke. 
 
 "Wait a minute, Rodney. That isn't quite all. 
 I've something to say to you and I'll say it now 
 when Edson can hear me. I am a married woman 
 and I shall fulfill every obligation to my husband 
 that I recognize. But I am no man's property. You
 
 284 TRIANGLE 
 
 may speak to me or write to me or see me as you 
 see fit. If my husband will not permit that in his 
 house, then his house will not be mine. Wherever 
 I have a home you will be welcome. There is noth 
 ing that I am ashamed of, or that I regret, in any 
 thing that has ever passed between us. I'm sorry 
 for this unpleasant scene at the end of the evening, 
 but I want to thank you for coming over." 
 
 She crossed the room and held out her hand with 
 a cheery little, "good-night," and as I closed the 
 door behind me I saw her turn back to where Colonel 
 Fairfield sat leaning forward in his chair with a 
 puzzled glare wherein anger and admiration were 
 strangely mingled.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 CIVIL WAR 
 
 IT is spring in the year 1920 as I start on the 
 final chapters of my story. After what has 
 occurred in the last few months I am sure that 
 it is worth writing, because I feel that I have 
 achieved something. I see now that I have failed 
 to use my life to its largest possibilities. But the 
 apparent wreck which I have made of it deserves 
 explanation. At least to a few people who think, 
 it may be made clear that even a life such as mine 
 has a purpose, and that I have fulfilled a part of 
 that purpose. 
 
 When the warning signs of the great miners' strike 
 appeared at the end of summer last year I must 
 admit that I was unsympathetic. In common with 
 the opinion of my associates I thought that labor 
 had been treated pretty generously during the war 
 and that now in reconstruction days labor should 
 give capital a chance to get our industries back on a 
 profitable peace basis. Some of my labor leader 
 friends soon disabused me of this prejudice. They 
 brought me proof of the outrageous profits which 
 the mine owners had made during the war, and of 
 the miserably low average wages of the miners, 
 wages on which they could not supply their families 
 
 285
 
 286 CIVIL WAR 
 
 with even necessities for wholesome living at the high 
 post-war prices. 
 
 Then I had a coal operator on the witness stand 
 in a case I tried in September. His testimony showed 
 that his company, one of the larger national enter 
 prises, was making from five to ten times what he 
 admitted was an ample profit per ton of coal. He 
 told of mines closed down, of coke ovens shut down, 
 while the price of coal and coke mounted higher. 
 He gave the explanation that many of the operators 
 had made so much money during the war that they 
 did not care for the trouble of operating at moderate 
 prices. So when the total demand decreased they 
 lessened the total supply. He insisted there was no 
 combination of operators, that these things just hap 
 pened; decreased demand, decreased supply, thus 
 maintaining excessive prices. 
 
 I voiced my indignation loudly before newspaper 
 reporters but none of this testimony got into the 
 papers. A strike was imminent and the powerful 
 coal operators already were preparing a press cam 
 paign to arouse public sentiment against the miners. 
 So this information on the other side must be kept 
 from the public. And it was. 
 
 As the strike drew near, some of the national 
 labor leaders, with whom I had come into friendly 
 relations in the railroad rate battle, invited me into 
 various conferences. A strike on the Steel Corpora 
 tion was also imminent. All union officials realized 
 that a long struggle between organized labor an'd 
 organized money was about to begin. During the
 
 CIVIL WAR 287 
 
 war there had been a truce, an era of almost good 
 feeling. But labor had made some gains that the 
 financial powers had deeply resented and these 
 powers had resolved with the coming of peace that 
 the increased authority of the unions should be chal 
 lenged. The supremacy of the ruling class was not 
 yet menaced but it had been threatened and the more 
 intolerant of the influential controllers of industry 
 had decided that the time was ripe for a reassertion 
 of their former mastery. I did not believe in all 
 the talk which I heard of a "Wall Street con 
 spiracy" to destroy union labor, but there were 
 enough evidences of concerted action to make the 
 solidification of the labor opposition an obvious 
 necessity. 
 
 "Wilson is against us," I was told; "that is, the 
 government is against us. We don't know whether 
 there is any Wilson, since his illness. No one can 
 see him and no one knows just who is running the 
 White House. You could see him during the war. 
 Will you try now?" 
 
 "I'll try," I said, "although from what I've heard 
 I doubt if I shall get anywhere." 
 
 So I went back to Washington on a fruitless quest. 
 I stayed there a week, but I did not see the Presi 
 dent, nor could I find out who was running the 
 administration. Everything was covered with mys 
 tery. Presidential politics, in anticipation of the 
 1920 election, were adding to the disheartening con 
 fusion of a government whose chief magistrate was 
 mysteriously ill and unapproachable. I did get con-
 
 288 CIVIL WAR 
 
 vincing information that the Attorney General was 
 a candidate for the democratic nomination and was 
 playing the game for support from the anti-labor 
 interests. This meant that the full force of the De 
 partment of Justice and, through it, the power of 
 the courts would be thrown against the wage-earners 
 in the impending struggle. 
 
 During these days of quiet investigation and wait 
 ing I had several unhappy talks with Irma. She was 
 living again with Miss Stevenson. Despite her 
 earnest protests Colonel Fairfield had resigned from 
 the army and had gone back to his old work in New 
 York City. The more she had tried to persuade 
 him to follow his strong interest and stay in the 
 service, the more resolved he had been to prove her 
 judgment all wrong and to show her that he could 
 do great things in New York. He clung obstinately 
 to the idea that her feeling that he would not be 
 successful was the real reason why she wanted to 
 be free from their marriage. He insisted that when 
 he had "made good" she would see things differently. 
 He would not even discuss a divorce. He was not* 
 going to let her cast him aside just because she 
 thought he was going to be a failure and that "that 
 damned Merrill has a great career ahead of him." 
 
 "He thinks it is all a matter of ambition with me, 
 Rodney," she explained. "He thinks that I am at 
 tracted to you because you have held a big office 
 and have made a good deal of money, and that I 
 am anxious for a position of wealth and influence. 
 He thinks I am contrasting a small, poor life with
 
 CIVIL WAR 289 
 
 him against a big, rich life with you. He is sure 
 that if he can make a lot of money, I will turn back 
 to him. What a low estimate to place on me ! Th*e 
 truth is that my greatest worry in the thought of 
 marriage to you is that we might both be too imprac 
 tical to give worldly success its full value, the thought 
 that perhaps you need a more practical mate than 
 I should be." 
 
 "Do you think he will succeed under this strong 
 stimulus?" 
 
 "Oh, I do wish he could make a million in a year. 
 The fact that it didn't change me might prove 
 to him how wrong he is. Also I'm sure that if he 
 had plenty of money he would find other things 
 in fact, other women so attractive that he would 
 soon want to be free from his stubborn and unappre- 
 ciative wife. But that isn't what will happen. He 
 will drift along, expecting from year to year to make 
 a fortune, growing more resentful of my attitude 
 and more determined not to set me free. And think 
 of it! There is nothing I can do. As long as he 
 chooses he can hold me, hold me to the form of 
 a marriage that has no substance in it. Think of 
 it! The world talks and talks of freedom as the 
 most priceless thing in life, freedom to develop one's 
 own life, to live out one's own ideals; and yet a man 
 or a woman can use marriage as a chain with which 
 to hold another person in slavery and do it in the 
 name of morality and worst of all, in the name of 
 love !" 
 
 "Irma, must you stay in Washington?"
 
 290 CIVIL WAR 
 
 "Yes, yes, Rodney, I must. Don't try to tempt 
 me away. Perhaps his resolution may break down 
 sooner than I dare to hope, if I give him a chance. 
 I know what you are thinking of and I should love 
 to live in the same city with you, but I must not. 
 Here I have my little foolish work to do with Mrs. 
 Grinsrnore; something to occupy my mind. If I 
 went to Chicago, I should have nothing to do except 
 to be with you and we would be together far too 
 much. To be together and yet apart would be too 
 great a strain. 
 
 "Then my going to Chicago would harden Ed's 
 will beyond all breaking. He's not a weak man, as 
 you know. He might come out there and make a 
 dreadful row. But if he stayed away he would set 
 his mind against all reason and hold me tied for 
 life. No, that would be madness. I must stay away 
 from you and just hope and pray." 
 
 The return trip from Washington was full of dis 
 comforting thoughts. I felt at outs with all the rul 
 ing forces of society. Political forces seemed bent 
 on crushing the aspirations of a great mass of men 
 struggling against working conditions that were 
 essentially slavery. Social forces seemed bent on 
 crushing the aspirations of one woman struggling 
 against living conditions that were essentially slavery. 
 The desires of the workers were no more than the 
 natural, righteous desires of free men to obtain a 
 value in their lives fairly equal to the value to other 
 lives of their labor. The desire of the woman I
 
 CIVIL WAR 291 
 
 loved was the natural, righteous desire of a free 
 woman to obtain a value in her life fairly equal to 
 the value to a man's life of what she had to give 
 to him. 
 
 The managers of the coal industry were not giv 
 ing the workers anywhere near the living value of 
 their work to others. What right had the political 
 forces of a government of free people to deny these 
 workers freedom to give or to withhold their service 
 at their own will? The present husband of this 
 woman could not give her anywhere near the value 
 of what she had to give a husband. What right 
 had the moral forces of a society of free people 
 to deny her freedom to give or to withhold her 
 service at her own will? 
 
 I appreciated thoroughly the hopeless wrath of 
 the exploited worker who was faced at every turn 
 with moral and legal barriers against his effort to 
 exercise, not a privilege, but a fundamental right, 
 to those who believe in liberty and democracy. I 
 felt the same hopeless wrath with the moral and 
 legal barriers against Irma's free right, to choose 
 with whom she would or would not live as a wife. 
 
 A man in the smoking compartment loudly as 
 serted that the workers should live up to their con 
 tracts. 
 
 "What contracts?" I asked. 
 
 "Their contracts to work for an agreed wage." 
 
 "Has anybody agreed to furnish them work?" 
 I inquired.
 
 292 CIVIL WAR 
 
 "Of course not; you can't guarantee a man work, 
 when you can't tell how much work there is going 
 to be." 
 
 "Then the contract you speak of is just an agree 
 ment on one side to sell something for a price, but 
 no agreement of the other side to buy." 
 
 "Well isn't that a good contract?" 
 
 "I think if you ask any lawyer he will tell you 
 that a man isn't bound to go on selling to another 
 man who hasn't agreed to buy. As a business man 
 would you care to be bound to sell to another man 
 who didn't agree to buy? Pretty one-sided, isn't it?" 
 
 A long wordy discussion ensued with much mean 
 ingless talk of right and wrong and loyalty and 
 obligation. That night, lying in my berth, I puzzled 
 much over the loyalty and obligation of employer 
 and employee, of husband and wife. Were we not 
 much inclined to demand only loyalty on one side 
 and the fulfillment of a one-sided obligation? The 
 basis of a true obligation must be mutual interest. 
 The employer of fifty thousand men wanted them 
 to be loyal to what he pleasantly called, in after din 
 ner speeches, "their common business." But if busi 
 ness were dull or prices were falling he might decide 
 to lay off five thousand men without even discussing 
 the matter with them. What was their attitude 
 toward a business from which they might be 
 separated, and thereby deprived of a livelihood, on 
 a few days' notice? No wonder they didn't feel 
 much obligation or loyalty to that business. 
 
 Colonel Fairfield claimed that his love for Irma
 
 CIVIL WAR 293 
 
 imposed on her the obligation to devote herself to 
 his happiness. But his love for her was a desire for 
 what he wanted from her not a desire to give her 
 what she wanted. Why should not the obligation of 
 his love bind him to sacrifice, rather than bind her? 
 But, perhaps he asserted that it was the obligation 
 of marriage, not of love, upon which he insisted. 
 She had made a contract and must keep it. Again 
 I thought of my labor union friends, who fiercely 
 insisted that there was no moral force in any wage 
 contract, that if men through economic pressure or 
 by mistake bound themselves to wages upon which 
 they found that they could not support their families 
 decently, they could not be held morally bound by 
 such agreements. They denied that there could be 
 a moral obligation to sacrifice lives to fulfill a money 
 obligation. 
 
 Could there be a moral obligation to make a futile 
 sacrifice of the possibilities of two lives to fulfill a 
 marriage agreement to protect and cherish each 
 other's lives? Was there a moral obligation to bring 
 children into the world without love and to develop 
 them to maturity in a loveless home? There is a 
 legal principle that a contract engendered in fraud 
 is not binding. Was there not a moral principle 
 which should be given legal sanction that a con 
 tract on becoming a fraud should be no longer bind 
 ing? 
 
 My thought ran on in this fashion: 
 
 Men and women in civilized countries cannot make 
 legally enforcible contracts which require servitude.
 
 294 CIVIL WAR 
 
 Great judges have held that it is "an invasion of 
 one's natural liberty to compel him to work for or 
 to remain in the personal service of another." Hence 
 men and women may not be compelled to give per 
 sonal service, save in the one instance where forced 
 personal service is the most degrading of all servi 
 tudes in the fulfillment of the marriage contract 
 My laboring friends are fighting an ancient battle 
 over again, the fight for human freedom against 
 tyranny in its ancient character, but operating with 
 new devices. To-day as yesterday it is the tyranny 
 of economic power, the power to say: serve or suffer. 
 Irma's struggle is a part of the same warfare and 
 her tyrant says: serve or suffer. I would give my 
 all to battle for her, but she must fight it out alone. 
 At least I feel that I can fight in the same cause for 
 these men who are looking to me for aid. I can 
 give them the best that is in me and feel as though 
 in a way I were striking a blow for her. 
 
 This soliloquizing will show the state of mind in 
 which I returned to Chicago. It may explain some 
 what the violence of my subsequent revolt. When 
 a man gets a thwarted love for a woman mixed up 
 in his motives for giving battle to an entrenched 
 evil, his spirit may take on that fanaticism which is 
 dangerous alike to the foe and to the fighter. I 
 was desperately inspired to grapple with some 
 "hydra-headed wrong" and the opportunity came 
 upon me very soon.
 
 CIVIL WAR 295 
 
 As the day of the great strike drew near, the law 
 officers of the government announced their intention 
 to obtain a sweeping injunction which would paralyze 
 the activity of every important union official. They 
 were to be forbidden to communicate with each other 
 in any way in order to carry on the strike, forbidden 
 to use the union funds to pay strike benefits to keep 
 the strikers' families from starving, not merely for 
 bidden to carry out all their duties to their organ 
 izations but actually ordered to violate their instruc 
 tions and to sign orders directing the men who had 
 voted to strike, to stop striking, required to order 
 men to work who had decided to refuse to work. 
 Every constitutional guarantee essential to preserve 
 human liberty was to be ignored. The rights of 
 free speech, free press, free assemblage, and free 
 dom of labor were to be disregarded. Trial by jury 
 was to be denied; for if these men refused to obey 
 the court they would be sent to jail for contempt of 
 court, their offending and their punishment to be 
 determined by a single judge, without any trial by 
 a "jury of their peers." 
 
 It was hard to believe that these advance notices 
 of tyrannical abuse of power could be reliable. Yet 
 we were informed that they were. A group of 
 higher union officials with a staff of lawyers sat in 
 practically continuous session for thirty-six hours de 
 bating the best course of action to meet this assault 
 on their liberties. At the outset the labor leaders 
 were recklessly belligerent They would rot in cells 
 for months or years rather than bow to such orders !
 
 296 CIVIL WAR 
 
 They would call upon all organized labor for a gen 
 eral strike ! They would stop the wheels of private 
 industry and public utilities so the cities should be 
 in darkness at night and silent in the days! The 
 railroads, the telegraph and telephone lines should 
 be dead until the "Wall Street gang" in terror told 
 their political puppets at Washington to call off the 
 courts and end the civil war! 
 
 But the worried lawyers sapped this courage, hour 
 by hour. National leaders of other trades sent 
 hesitating, fearful messages, advising "no hasty or 
 violent action." It was pointed out that, with their 
 treasuries sealed, their leaders in jail, the newspapers 
 alienating public opinion from "law-breakers" and 
 "hot-headed radicals," the union organizations 
 would be smashed. Every weak or doubting worker 
 would be taken away from the ranks. Other unions 
 dreading like injury would hesitate to risk their 
 organization strength in such a drastic fight. An 
 "attack on the courts" was always a dangerous pro 
 cedure, sure to antagonize a great share of public 
 opinion. Even the great Roosevelt had lost most 
 heavily in popularity when his opponents could claim 
 that he was destroying respect for the courts. 
 
 As I saw the courage, I might almost say the man 
 hood, oozing out of the conferees my heart grew bit 
 ter. It was after many hours that one of my friends, 
 noticing my long silence, stood up and said: 
 
 "We have heard from several of the lawyers, but 
 one man, I've been waiting for, hasn't spoken. I
 
 CIVIL WAR 297 
 
 think we would all be interested to know how he 
 feels. I'd like to hear from Rodney Merrill." 
 
 I stood for a few minutes looking over my 
 audience. I saw for the most part men of rugged 
 faces, some kindly, some wistful but all rather hard, 
 the faces of men for whom life had been a battle 
 and who wore the scars on their cheeks. But also 
 I saw another look that I did not like, a shade of 
 fear, not the fear of a fight, but the fear of unknown 
 forces, foreheads lined with worry over a grapple 
 with superior powers. That was what I resented 
 most, a silent acknowledgment of the superiority of 
 the powers against them. I did not blame them for 
 this feeling but I resented it as a self-depreciation 
 in men who often talked arrogantly and yet seemed 
 in their hearts to admit an unworthiness for the 
 rights they demanded, which made their cause seem 
 unworthy, whereas I felt it was great and righteous. 
 In this reaction I began speaking: 
 
 "I think that men who are willing to be slaves, 
 will always be slaves!" 
 
 There was a confusion of assent and antagonism. 
 I waited for quiet and then went on: 
 
 "I agree with all that has been said of the dangers 
 of revolt. These dangers will always be present 
 and tyranny will use them to check every timid soul 
 that yearns for freedom but dares not fight its way 
 free. I should like to stand up before a judge who 
 dared to issue such an order and to defy not the 
 court but the man who attempted to use his judicial
 
 2 9 8 CIVIL WAR 
 
 office in violation of his oath of office, to destroy 
 the constitutional rights he is sworn to preserve, the 
 natural rights of the free men of this democracy. 
 With four hundred thousand men back of me I be 
 lieve I could enforce the law even against a lawless 
 judge." 
 
 A burly leader arose and shook his fist at me. 
 
 "You say you'd stand up," he shouted. "But you 
 lawyers just talk. Your skin would be safe. We 
 fellows would have to stand up and take the punish 
 ment." 
 
 They tell me that my face turned very white. I 
 know that I was shaking with rage. In that moment 
 I made my decision, the quickest, most important 
 move of my life, the one of which I am most proud 
 and most ashamed; proud, because it was the gift 
 of all I had for an ideal; ashamed, because I made 
 it without thinking. I acted on pure emotion. I 
 should feel so much more worthy of my own ap 
 proval if I had decided in cold blood. And now I 
 am not sure that in reflection I should have had the 
 vision and the courage. 
 
 "My friend," I cried, "I'll stand up all alone. 
 You can decide to bow to the court if you will, but 
 before you do that, if you people will give me the 
 chance, I will stand up and tell that man who usurps 
 a power never granted him that he is a law breaker 
 who has violated his oath to defend the Constitu 
 tion. You give me the chance and I'll take your 
 punishment." 
 
 Then the battle of words began anew and no
 
 CIVIL WAR 299 
 
 decision had been reached when adjournment was 
 voted from sheer weariness long hours afterward. 
 
 A few days later another all-night session was 
 held. In the meantime the hateful injunction order 
 had been served on all the labor leaders. On the 
 following day they were to appear before the judge 
 and sign telegrams canceling the strike orders and 
 directing the miners to return to work unless they 
 decided to defy the court. I had prepared a state 
 ment denying the power of the court to override the 
 Constitution. If the men voted to refuse to obey 
 the injunction this would be their statement. If they 
 voted to obey, I stood ready to make the statement 
 alone as a declaration by their attorney of their legal 
 rights. 
 
 The other lawyers present all agreed that my legal 
 position was correct but they all advised against any 
 attempt by the men to stand on their legal rights. 
 They could see nothing but ruin for the unions in 
 a contest with the government. They predicted 
 disaster for trade unionism, if its leaders ever al 
 lowed their organizations to defy the law. In debate 
 they admitted that the injunction was not lawful 
 but insisted that to refuse to obey an order of court 
 meant to defy the law in the eyes of most people. 
 They would not understand that the judge who 
 issued an order beyond his power was the one who 
 was defying the law. 
 
 It was nearly five o'clock in the morning before 
 the final vote was taken and the decision was made 
 to bow to the will of the judge. Then my burly
 
 300 CIVIL WAR 
 
 friend who had attacked me in the previous meet 
 ing arose and demanded of the weary, resentful 
 group that they should authorize me to make my 
 protest before they announced their submission. In 
 his bloodshot, heavy-lidded eyes I saw a bitter desire 
 to hear the judge defied and to see me crucified, as 
 some compensation for the humiliation of those who 
 must accept defeat. I think this was the prevailing 
 spirit. They passed the motion with a whoop. 
 Then, after another resolution that no advance in 
 formation should be given to the newspapers, the 
 crowd of worn and angry men staggered out of the 
 meeting room. Inside two hours the newspapers 
 were on the streets with the headlines: "Miners 
 will protest and submit."
 
 THE SPOTTED ROBE 
 
 A~^ ten o'clock in the morning the leaders of the 
 mine workers were assembled in the federal 
 court room. The gavel banged and the judge 
 ascende'd the bench. He looked, as he was, the ideal 
 instrument for the enthronement of tyranny in the 
 name of democracy. He was no debased mercenary 
 tool of the invisible government. In his cold, clean- 
 hewn, narrow face was shown the zeal of the man 
 who does wrong because he believes it to be right. 
 He was completely corrupted, not by money, but 
 by prejudice. He was the perfect product of a 
 system for obtaining judges, which insures in nine 
 cases out of ten at least, that they shall be human 
 but bloodless scales that will always show false 
 weights, whereby property rights will outweigh 
 human rights, whereby the rights of those who ex 
 ploit will outweigh the rights of those who serve, 
 and whereby precedent and security will outweigh 
 progress and liberty, in every crucial test. 
 
 The case was formally called. 
 
 "Are the respondents present?" said the judge in 
 a thin, crisp voice. 
 
 301
 
 302 THE SPOTTED ROBE 
 
 One of the lawyers stepped forward. 
 
 "All those who have been served are present in 
 person or represented by counsel." 
 
 "Are the orders prepared for these officials to 
 sign instructing the men that they are not to strike?" 
 
 "They are," answered the assistant attorney 
 general who had come from Washington and ob 
 tained the injunction. 
 
 The labor lawyer, a gaunt, kindly old man named 
 Merton, raised a nervous hand and announced with 
 feeble resolution: 
 
 "We have a motion to present to set aside the 
 injunctive order. We desire to be heard." 
 
 "I have gone into the question very thoroughly," 
 said the court. "I shall not vacate the injunction." 
 
 "But you will not deny us even an opportunity 
 to be heard?" gasped Merton. 
 
 "I'll give you one hour if you insist," answered 
 the court ungraciously. 
 
 For three-quarters of an hour the lawyer strug 
 gled to present his case against a continual fire of 
 assertions by the court: 
 
 "Don't waste time on that point ... I disagree 
 with your interpretation of that decision . . . Don't 
 quote the Constitution to me. I'm familiar with it. 
 . . . That law is not binding on this court . . . No 
 use reading that opinion. I shouldn't follow it if 
 it supported you, but it doesn't." 
 
 Finally Merton's voice stuck in his throat. He 
 started a sentence three times and then gave up the 
 hopeless effort to argue.
 
 THE SPOTTED ROBE 303 
 
 "I see your honor is against me," he said thickly. 
 
 "You might have seen that some time ago," re 
 marked the judge harshly. 
 
 The lawyer stumbled to his seat. 
 
 "Motion is overruled," came with machine-like 
 precision from the bench. "Are the respondents 
 prepared to obey the order of the court?" 
 
 It was my time. The judge eyed me sharply as 
 I arose. Doubtless he had been informed in advance 
 of my intentions and had determined that they should 
 not be fulfilled. 
 
 "If your honor please," I began, "I have a state 
 ment to present in behalf of all the respondents." 
 
 "I don't wish to hear any statements," snapped 
 the judge; "nor to hear from any more lawyers. 
 Let the respondents stand up and answer, yes or no. 
 Do they intend to obey the order of this court?" 
 
 "This court has issued no order," I said, my voice 
 rising with my anger. "No court in this nation has 
 power to issue any order depriving men of their 
 constitutional rights. The courts are the servants, 
 not the masters, of the Constitution." 
 
 "Mr. Merrill," snarled the judge, rising to his 
 feet, "if you attempt to reargue a motion I have 
 overruled I shall commit you to jail forthwith for 
 contempt of court." 
 
 "I am not arguing a motion now, Mister Hen- 
 drickson," I replied fiercely. "I am not addressing 
 a judge. I am speaking to a man who without a 
 shadow of authority has dared to sign his name as 
 a judge of the United States District Court to an
 
 3 o 4 THE SPOTTED ROBE 
 
 order which no judge of that court, or any other 
 court in this land, has any power to issue. That 
 order is utterly void and no one is bound to obey it. 
 You signed that order as a man, not as a judge, and 
 I am here to tell you, man to man, that the violation 
 of that order is not a contempt of court. It is only 
 the contempt of a free man for a destroyer of 
 liberty." 
 
 "Take that man into custody!" cried the judge. 
 But as the deputy marshal hurried toward me I fired 
 my last shot. 
 
 "There is the statement which you would not per 
 mit me to read," I said. "The people will read it, 
 if you will not." 
 
 I flung the typewritten statement on the table and 
 tossed a bundle of printed copies to the newspaper 
 men. 
 
 "Seize those papers !" called out the judge. "And 
 let me inform every newspaper man in this court 
 room that I shall hold in contempt of court any paper 
 which prints any of the statements made orally or 
 in writing by this man, which I hold to be contempt 
 uous. I'll read this statement now to myself." 
 
 As I stood before the bench with the round-faced, 
 self-important deputy marshal at my side, I had con 
 siderable satisfaction in watching Judge Hendrick- 
 son's face. He was really an able lawyer, and I 
 knew that the statement with its cold, cutting analysis 
 of his usurpation of power would hurt him far more 
 than even my previous scornful rage. He would 
 know in his brain that he was utterly wrong, even
 
 THE SPOTTED ROBE 305 
 
 if his perverted emotions still assured him that it 
 was his duty to crush the miners' strike. 
 
 Paragraph by paragraph I could follow his 
 thought as he read: 
 
 "The Constitution of the United States is the 
 Supreme Law of the land. The decisions of the 
 Supreme Court of the United States are final 
 authority in interpreting the Constitution. The fed 
 eral judges are sworn to support the Constitution, 
 and are required to follow the decisions of the 
 Supreme Court. Congress cannot grant a judge the 
 power to disregard the Constitution. 
 
 "The Constitution provides: 'Congress shall 
 make no law abridging the freedom of speech or of 
 the press or of the right of the people peaceably to 
 assemble.' The Constitution provides: 'Neither 
 slavery nor involuntary servitude shall exist within 
 the United States.' 
 
 "The Supreme Court has held that under these 
 provisions workers have the right to strike, and has 
 held that no court can compel them to work against 
 their will." 
 
 Then he read the quotations from the Supreme 
 Court, the statement of the law that his injunction 
 violated, and his eyes narrowed and his jaws set 
 obstinately; for this is what he read: 
 
 "The right of a person to sell his labor upon such 
 terms as he deems proper is in its essence the same 
 as the right of the purchaser of labor to prescribe 
 the conditions upon which he will accept such labor 
 from the person offering to sell it. So the right of
 
 3 o6 THE SPOTTED ROBE 
 
 the employee to quit the service of an employer for 
 whatever reason is the same as the right of the 
 employer for whatever reason to dispense with the 
 services of such employee." 
 
 Then he read the stalwart words of one of the 
 great judges of that Supreme Court: 
 
 "It would be an invasion of one's natural liberty 
 to compel him to work for or to remain in the per 
 sonal service of another. One who is placed under 
 such constraint is in a condition of involuntary servi 
 tude a condition which the Supreme Law of the 
 land declares shall not exist in the United States or 
 in any place subject to their jurisdiction." 
 
 But I could see in the impatient shake of his head 
 the thought that general principles could not control 
 this exceptional case; the welfare and prosperity of 
 the country demanded that coal be produced even 
 though labor be temporarily enslaved. And then 
 he read again from the Supreme Court words writ 
 ten only a few years before : 
 
 "There is no more important concern than to safe 
 guard the freedom of labor, upon which alone can 
 enduring prosperity be based." 
 
 Then he passed on to the Act of Congress which 
 specifically prohibited him as a judge from issuing 
 the injunction which he had issued. He read this 
 plain language: "And no restraining order or in 
 junction shall prohibit any person or persons, 
 whether singly or in concert, from terminating any 
 relation of employment, or from ceasing to perform 
 any work or labor, or from recommending, advis-
 
 THE SPOTTED ROBE 307 
 
 ing or persuading others by peaceful means so to 
 do." 
 
 I watched his face grow shadowed as he read the 
 charge that he had violated the Constitution and the 
 Act of Congress which he had been sworn to en 
 force, that he had refused to follow the Supreme 
 Court, his judicial master, that he had used his power 
 of enforcing the law as the means for breaking the 
 law, that his order was entitled neither to obedience 
 nor to respect, that it was not the act of a judge 
 but the lawless act of a usurper exercising power 
 without right, that he was using the forms and in 
 stitutions of our government, which was established 
 to preserve liberty, as a means to destroy liberty. 
 
 He read the long statement through to its end, 
 an appeal to the American people to array them 
 selves behind the workers who were fighting for 
 something more important than coal, for something 
 which the founders of the republic had held to be 
 more important than life itself. They were fighting 
 for human freedom. 
 
 He flung down the typewritten pages. 
 
 "Let the government prepare a further injunc 
 tion," he announced, "prohibiting the circulation, 
 printing or publishing in any form whatsoever of any 
 part of the oral or written statements made by Rod 
 ney Merrill in this case or of any similar statements 
 made by him or any other person seeking to incite 
 opposition to obedience to the orders of this court. 
 It is also the order of this court that you, Rodney 
 Merrill, stand committed to jail I'll fix the place in
 
 3 o8 THE SPOTTED ROBE 
 
 the warrant of commitment for the period of three 
 months, for contempt of this court. I trust that con 
 finement may bring you a calmer judgment and some 
 sense of respect for the law and the courts, so that 
 before the expiration of the term of imprisonment 
 I may have the pleasure of hearing your application 
 to purge yourself of the most flagrant and insolent 
 contempt which I believe can be found in the records 
 of the American courts." 
 
 I smiled grimly as this sentence was passed upon 
 me, because I was recollecting that my statement 
 had been telegraphed confidentially just prior to the 
 opening of court to every leading newspaper in the 
 country, and that it was now printed in all the after 
 noon papers and that his latest injunction could not 
 possibly prevent nation-wide publicity. If he had 
 known this he would have sentenced me probably for 
 at least six months. But, the sentence now having 
 been imposed he would be powerless to increase the 
 punishment. So I smiled at my little secret jest, 
 although it may have appeared that my cheerfulness 
 was mere bravado. 
 
 Indeed I felt rather cheerful, although the looks 
 that followed my departure from the courtroom 
 might have warned me of the coming hostility of 
 the public attitude, which I had not fully anticipated. 
 Somehow I had great confidence in the fundamental 
 soundness of my legal position, which I felt would 
 meet with quiet sympathy among lawyers, and I had 
 confidence in the fundamental appeal to public sup-
 
 THE SPOTTED ROBE 309 
 
 port which I felt lay in such an obvious personal 
 sacrifice for the supreme American ideal. 
 
 The happenings of the days following quickly de 
 stroyed this mistaken confidence. Lawyers and lay 
 men alike responded generally to the note of horror 
 which the newspapers struck in noisy unison horror 
 that a lawyer of national reputation, a man who had 
 been honored with high office, had suddenly become 
 a "red radical" and defied the majesty of the law! 
 All fine distinctions between what was the law and 
 what the judge said was the law, were swept aside 
 by this outrageous fact. I had advised a refusal to 
 obey the courts. I had advocated rebellion. And 
 then I had crowned my sin with infamy in denounc 
 ing a judge to his face while he was sitting on his 
 own bench. I had even dared to call him "Mister!" 
 
 Horrors upon horrors ! I had called His Honor 
 a Judge enthroned upon the bench, all wrapped 
 up in a silken robe I had called this sanctified 
 person, "Mister!" One friendly editor suggested 
 that I had gone insane from overstrain in war work 
 followed by intensive labor in preparation for this 
 important hearing. This was the kindliest comment 
 which I can recall. I was most amused, however, to 
 observe that all the papers printed copious extracts 
 from my written statement and quoted in full my 
 oral castigation of the judge. It was evident that, 
 since the early papers had carried all the important 
 parts of my attack, the other papers had come to a 
 common decision to disregard the judge's injunction
 
 3 io THE SPOTTED ROBE 
 
 against printing my statements. Of course Judge 
 Hendrickson never punished any one for this con 
 tempt. It must have galled him to have my justifi 
 cation of my contempt spread broadcast. But he 
 would have been most ungrateful and impolitic to 
 have punished men who only printed my remarks 
 in order to demonstrate to their readers what a 
 wicked person I must be and how generous the judge 
 had been merely to send me to jail for three months 
 and not to order me hanged on the spot ! 
 
 I am writing these words in prison. In all the 
 imaginings of the course of my life, which came 
 before me while writing this autobiography, it never 
 occurred to me that my story might end in jail. Yet 
 now I see that this is a fitting place for it to end. 
 The desire for real achievement in life is a very 
 dangerous one. Progress must be forced against 
 the opposition of the powers that be, whose selfish 
 interests are in the maintenance of things as they are. 
 Thus there is always a warning to the impatient 
 reformer in the cry that echoes down from an older 
 day: "Right forever on the scaffold; wrong forever 
 on the throne." 
 
 My defiance of the court may have been rash and 
 unwise, but it was an expression of an ideal that 
 uplifts mankind, the love of freedom. The court 
 order against me expressed the fear and cruelty of 
 the oppressor who beats down the aspirations of 
 humanity. In the just judgment of after years I 
 feel that the apparent stain on my life will be washed
 
 THE SPOTTED ROBE 311 
 
 away and that the ermine which enwraps the judicial 
 despot will be seen as a spotted robe. Yet I do not 
 approve of my own conduct as the best use which 
 I could have made of my life opportunity. I have 
 spent many hours reviewing my motives and my acts, 
 and I find much to regret in what I have done and 
 much to revise in opinions that I have held quite 
 stubbornly. These who have the patience to read 
 my story through will find in it, I trust, not excuse 
 or justification but, let me say, a confession of blind 
 ness, an inability, I hope, rather than an unwilling 
 ness, to see the guiding lights that might have shown 
 me a better road to a worthier goal.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 SALVAGE 
 
 IN the first place, why am I in jail? Men who 
 are sentenced to prison usually stay outside the 
 bars for some time. There are bonds and 
 appeals and habeas corpus proceedings, through 
 which the evil day may be at least deferred. But 
 it is particularly hard to evade a commitment for 
 contempt of court in the presence of the court, and 
 in this instance I had little heart to attempt post 
 ponement of my punishment. My whole world fell 
 about my ears in one day. 
 
 Francis Thompson has expressed perfectly what 
 happened to me: 
 
 I shook the pillaring hours 
 
 And pulled my life upon me; grimed with smears, 
 I stand amid the dust o' the mounded years 
 My mangled youth lies dead beneath the heap. 
 My days have crackled and gone up in smoke. 
 
 The day after my revolt I received a letter from 
 the President of the Fanning Company stating that 
 the Board of Directors at a special meeting had 
 voted unanimously to accept my resignation as gen 
 eral counsel. I did not know that I had resigned but 
 I did judge from the letter that my services were 
 
 312
 
 SALVAGE 313 
 
 no longer desired! Various other clients took their 
 business elsewhere with more haste than courtesy. 
 Certain organizations of lawyers to which I belonged 
 took prompt steps to eliminate me from their mem 
 bership. Inside a week it was clear that my profes 
 sional career was ended. An old personal enemy 
 instigated disbarment proceedings. Of course, I had 
 still some money with which I could have fought 
 official and unofficial punishment. A few a very 
 few friends volunteered services to aid me. But 
 the uproar in the newspapers made opposition quite 
 hopeless. The chief political, social and financial 
 powers of the community were bent on my destruc 
 tion as a warning against all radicalism. I saw that 
 I might as well bow before a storm which I could 
 not breast. 
 
 Therefore, I have made no effort to prevent or to 
 postpone my ordained penitence. By good fortune 
 I have a kindly jailer and much opportunity to think 
 and to write. What more could I ask? 
 
 The leaders of the mine workers formally sub 
 mitted to the court's decree, as I was being led away. 
 The process of "digging coal by injunction" is now 
 being tried with indifferent success, I understand. 
 Indirectly messages come to me that I have a few 
 hundred thousand friends among the workers and 
 that makes up considerably for the loss of a number 
 of friends I once had among people who do no 
 useful work at all. Yet I do not feel that I have 
 served these people, whom I really desired to serve, 
 as well as I might have served, had I chosen my
 
 3H SALVAGE 
 
 course more carefully. But of this I shall write 
 later. Now let me speak of Irma. I had a long 
 letter from her yesterday reading in part as follows : 
 
 "My dear, dear boy 
 
 "Of course it was magnificent and folly. I can't quite 
 understand such youthful recklessness in a man of forty-five. 
 I love you for it because it was young and brave. But it is 
 all so misunderstood and you are so misunderstood that you 
 must feel terribly discouraged. And so I comfort you by 
 calling it folly? Oh, you know what I mean. It's a divine 
 sort of folly. I really believe you have fulfilled a Purpose. 
 Yet, I feel that if you were capable of such a deed perhaps 
 there was even more for you to do some greater stroke. 
 Perhaps this is only your first blow. There may be others 
 for your arm to strike. Let us believe so. 
 
 "I am glad that Gene came to see you and it was very 
 thoughtful of you not to write me directly when the news 
 papers might have learned my name and brought me into 
 the story. Now that you can write freely I am watching 
 every mail. 
 
 "Edson writes as obstinately as ever. He will never give 
 me up, he says. Somehow that doesn't worry me as it did. 
 Since I have seen what the law has done to you, I'm afraid 
 I've grown very lawless. His little legal chain on me seems 
 very brittle. I feel that I could break it with my own hands. 
 You and I seem to be forced outside the law and I am 
 happy in the thought of such exile with you.
 
 SALVAGE 315 
 
 "You asked me to try to express just why I cannot tol 
 erate the thought of living with Edson. Truly it is not 
 because of you, my dear. Long ago, when I had no assurance 
 that you cared for me, I knew that I could not go through 
 life with him. Some men and women have aspirations in 
 life. Some have only appetites. I don't pretend to say that 
 every life should have aspirations. Perhaps some souls need 
 materialistic lives to give them their destined development. 
 The material things of life must have purpose in themselves 
 or they would not be all of the apparent end and aim of so 
 many lives. 
 
 "But other lives are starved with mere materialism. If 
 you or I had nothing to look forward to from day to day 
 except our food and drink and sleep and the pleasures of 
 satisfying body appetites we would be utterly miserable. Yet, 
 for thousands, millions, of people those things seem to be 
 enough. They do not care to give up any of them for what 
 we call ideals or spiritual desires. They think your search 
 for the Purpose is either a delusion or a pose. Yet, it is 
 a real thing to me. It is my own search. 
 
 "Edson is a pure materialist and not even ambitious for 
 greatness in material gains. He does a day of work so as to 
 be able to have a good time, as he calls it : to play a game, to 
 see a show, to flirt with a pretty girl, or to drink and gamble 
 with some 'good sports.' He has no desire to grow mentally 
 or spiritually. This is a living death to me life is just 
 one long decay. He is so utterly unable to understand the 
 reality of intangible things to me that he thinks I imagine 
 these desires just to explain why I like another man better 
 than him. Discussion is hopeless, but it completely convinces 
 me of the impossibility of calling this tie between us a 
 marriage. 
 
 "He floats on the surface of living. I cannot float. I 
 must swim to get somewhere or else I shall sink. The meta 
 phor may sound silly, but you know my meaning. Perhaps 
 I'm not heavy enough to dive deep into the waters or strong
 
 3 i6 SALVAGE 
 
 enough to swim far, but I know that I'm not light enough 
 just to float. 
 
 "Miss Stevenson asks me why I should not continue 
 married to Edson and yet seek in my individual life the ful 
 fillment of my desires. She doesn't understand why I can 
 not grow mentally alone, even if my husband does not share 
 my aspirations. Of course, one can grow somewhat in 
 spiritual solitude even despite an unsympathetic physical 
 companionship. But I cannot explain to Miss Stevenson, 
 who has always been so much alone, that I think a single 
 life is less than half a life. I don't believe that the only 
 necessity for the association of men and women is in order 
 to reproduce our kind. 
 
 "You and I had a talk once about the dynamic force pro 
 duced from contacts between men and women as electricity 
 is produced by uniting opposite elements. That cleared up 
 my ideas considerably. I am sure that neither of us can 
 realize the full purpose of our lives alone. We won't gen 
 erate the right kind of energy except out of a companionship 
 that stimulates us both to the highest use of our powers. 
 Now life with Edson would not only fail to stimulate me 
 but it would actually work against my efforts to energize 
 myself. 
 
 "It is very hard for me to exprsss these ideas clearly so 
 that they will appear actual and not visionary, but I feel them 
 intensely. The force of a mental intrusion that cuts my 
 thought in two is just as real to me as the snip of a pair of 
 scissors that cuts a thread. To step into a warm or cold 
 mental atmosphere is just as real to me as to step under a 
 hot or cold shower. 
 
 "Edson asks me what this love is that I am seeking. He 
 says I once loved him and I may again, but that even if I 
 may not, why should I seek another love which may also
 
 SALVAGE 317 
 
 fade? My answer seems quite insane to him. My feeling 
 is that a lasting bond between a man and a woman must be 
 woven of passionate longing and spiritual longing, inter 
 mingled desires for intimacy of body and soul ; and that one's 
 mental yearning is not so much a love for the other person 
 as a love for the ideals to be realized through spiritual com 
 radeship. Thus if our ideals are not realized love fades and 
 only passion remains. And passion dies young without love's 
 constant nourishing. 
 
 "Recently I found some verses that stirred me deeply. It 
 wasn't that they spoke my exact thought but that they gave 
 me the cheer that others in the world shared my vision 
 our vision that others glimpsed the same light and knew 
 it was no will-o'-the-wisp, but a true guiding star." 
 
 The verses in Irma's letter I had not seen before 
 and I regret that I cannot give their authorship. But 
 they have a part in this story so I shall copy them 
 into my manuscript: 
 
 THE WOMAN SPEAKS 
 
 I do not know this God to whom they pray, 
 
 By whose decree the truth shall count as naught 
 
 And I should live this lie throughout my day 
 And call this bitter thing the love I sought. 
 
 For they have said my heaven was a hell, 
 The place where he and I lived once in love, 
 
 That dizzy height to which they said we fell 
 All earth below and only stars above!
 
 3 i8 SALVAGE 
 
 Sometimes at night when I am left alone 
 I seek again the path that once we found; 
 
 The marks are gone, the way is overgrown, 
 I listen for a voice and hear no sound. 
 
 Then comes a thought, that after all these years 
 With clumsy, brutal feet have trod me down 
 
 And when at last there can be no more tears 
 
 When even their strange God will cease to frown, 
 
 I may return to that dear place and find 
 You! and I think you will be waiting me 
 
 And we shall marvel that our lives were blind, 
 Then we were given love by which to see! 
 
 That last line haunts me. It speaks the solution 
 of more problems than those of marriage. I catch 
 a vision of humanity stumbling along in the dusk 
 between the darkness of birth and the darkness of 
 death, eyes half-closed and blinded with hates and 
 greeds, yet holding within and rarely used the power 
 of "love by which to see." Surely I have been blind ! 
 Even in my revolt I acted in hatred of enemies more 
 than in love of friends. My wrath aroused a 
 counter wrath. I sought to invoke force against 
 wrong, not to inspire love of right. I drew a sword 
 and met a stronger sword. I did not put my full 
 faith in the ideal which I sought to uphold. Men 
 cannot be forced to think right or compelled to be 
 good. They can only be persuaded. I have simply 
 proved again that "he who loses his temper loses
 
 SALVAGE 319 
 
 his cause." I don't feel like apologizing to the 
 judge. He was more wrong than I. But I regret 
 my own weakness whereby I destroyed my own 
 power in misusing it. 
 
 When I leave this place I must begin life anew. 
 Yet what can I accomplish, compared with what I 
 might have done had I treasured my ideals instead 
 of wasting them in one mad adventure? Is it worth 
 while for me to try to go on? That is a question 
 which I cannot answer. Being unable to answer 1 it I 
 must follow my instinct which tells me that each life 
 must live itself out to do all that can be done to 
 fulfill its hidden design. But there is one problem 
 which I must face. Have I not done with Rodney 
 Merrill? Have I not ruined Rodney Merrill so that 
 this name and personality will stand in the world 
 for a life which I no longer desire to live? 
 
 The failures of our lives have drawn Irma and 
 me so closely together that I feel we could never 
 be contented with any lesser intimacy of companion 
 ship. Yet Irma Conway and Rodney Merrill can 
 not join their lives successfully without another revolt 
 against forces too powerful to be challenged. That 
 lesson at least has been taught me by my revolt. 
 Irma and I were impatient souls and now I see 
 that such impatience is a deadly error in one who 
 seeks a purpose in his living, the impatience that 
 thinks intention is assurance of achievement and 
 demands the reward in advance of the service. One 
 must serve in faith. One must work and trust, or 
 else be unworthy of being given trust.
 
 320 SALVAGE 
 
 Irma and I were given love by which to see our 
 possibilities in life with each other. In this illumi 
 nation we sensed the happiness of giving our lives 
 to the service of something outside ourselves. Then 
 the war came. There is some comfort in feeling that 
 the world madness blinded so many that it is not sur 
 prising that our visions were obscured and we lost 
 the light of love in the great glare of hate. 
 
 In war work I saw a quick road to greatness. I 
 thought it was greatness of soul that I sought. I 
 fear it was only the illusion of vanity and pride. 
 Irma also sought the short path. I really believe 
 that she married in that mistaken theory of sacrifice 
 from which so many women marry men whom they 
 do not love, but to whom they feel that they can 
 make a great gift. They marry drunkards to reform 
 them, marry disillusioned men to bring back their 
 ideals, and, heaven help them! they marry remorse 
 ful widowers to give them a chance not to spoil an 
 other woman's life. Irma found a splendid animal 
 lover of life, bravely ready to give up his life for 
 his country and gently soulful with self-pity for the 
 sacrifice. She saw a chance to give him her life in 
 compensation, a chance in a way to give her life 
 for her country, a short-cut to achieving a noble 
 purpose. 
 
 Now we are both paying bitterly for our impatient 
 spirits that gambled with life and lost. We have 
 had to learn an old lesson, that a gambler never 
 wins. It is this realization that the road to real 
 success is long and progress is slow that makes me
 
 SALVAGE 321 
 
 dread to begin again at forty-five. Yet what else is 
 there to do? 
 
 Since I wrote down my first reactions three weeks 
 have passed and once more I find my viewpoint 
 changed. But I am not disturbed by this mental 
 uncertainty. I am beginning to see that my lack of 
 convictions, about which my friends have jested and 
 I have worried, is not just mental weakness. In 
 fact, I am ready to assert that there is real strength 
 of character in this questioning. The fool is often 
 brave because he is ignorant of danger. The dullard 
 is often self-assured because he lacks imagination. 
 
 As suited to my mental and physical state Gene 
 Halliwell sent me a copy of De Profundis and I 
 have been rereading it with most intense pleasure. 
 Particularly I found comfort in these sentences : 
 
 People whose desire is solely for self-realization never 
 know where they are going. They can't know. In one sense 
 of the word it is, of course, necessary as the Greek oracle 
 said, to know oneself: that is the first achievement of knowl 
 edge. But to recognize that the soul of a man is unknow 
 able, is the ultimate achievement of wisdom. The final 
 mystery is oneself. When one has weighed the sun in the 
 balance, and measured the steps of the moon, and mapped 
 out the seven heavens star by star, there still remains one 
 self. Who can calculate the orbit of his own soul? 
 
 Thus I have come to a new judgment concerning 
 my revolt. I still believe that I might have made
 
 322 SALVAGE 
 
 more of my life if I had held my place in the world 
 and built power on power until I could have fought 
 a greater battle for the things in which I believe. 
 Yet in the end there would have been defeat per 
 haps a greater defeat that would have meant a 
 greater achievement. But it would have been 
 defeat for this particular man who is labeled 
 ' Rodney Merrill. 
 
 Individual victories in the progress of humanity 
 are rare and insignificant. Those who have any 
 large purpose to fulfill must ever ride to defeat. I 
 hesitate to compare my little life with any of the 
 great lives that stand out in the world's chronicles. 
 But I have been rereading much history since I have 
 been in jail and I find that its great stories are those 
 of great defeats. Those who have served mankind 
 have died, on the cross, at the stake, and in chains. 
 They have been hissed in assemblies and jeered at 
 as they passed along the street. Their truth-telling 
 has been proclaimed a lie; their virtue denounced as 
 vice; their revelation scorned as false prophecy. It 
 is the unforgivable sin to think more deeply and to 
 see more clearly than one's generation. 
 
 Yet, the course of evolution is so manifest to one 
 who cares to study the past and then is able to fling 
 his imagination ahead to glimpse the future, that 
 eager spirits are ever impatient to hurry their fel 
 lows toward the dawn of a better day. This eager 
 ness is their personal tragedy. But surely they play 
 a part in quickening the step of the great, slow 
 masses of mankind in whom there is implanted a
 
 SALVAGE 323 
 
 sullen instinct to move toward the light. I am only 
 a little dreamer but I have lived for my dream, and 
 that is something better than to have had no dream 
 or to have denied it. 
 
 I have puzzled much over this freedom for which 
 I felt ready to wreck my fortunes. What is the lib 
 erty which we rightly crave? Certainly it is not 
 release from obligation. Now I think I have it. It 
 is freedom from obligations which are not self-im 
 posed. Every duty owed to one's family, to one's 
 companions, or to society, which has final sanction, 
 is a duty to oneself. It is a duty, which if not ful 
 filled will cost oneself more than the price of fulfill 
 ment. The one obligation which all must acknowl 
 edge is self-realization. The one right which includes 
 all natural rights is the right of self-development. 
 
 Of course, when a man is a member of any group, 
 from the small intimate group of man and wife to 
 the larger, more remote association of citizenship in 
 a nation, he assumes group obligations which he must 
 fulfill and which must be fulfilled for him, in order 
 that he may develop within the group wherein he 
 exists. I do not suggest that one should feel free 
 from such obligations. They may be often unfair 
 and hampering, but they are facts which must be ac 
 cepted just as one must accept the fact of being 
 born with weak eyes or clumsy hands. 
 
 But there are certain group obligations which 
 appeal to me as quite intolerable, because they harm
 
 324 SALVAGE 
 
 both the individual and the group. They are what 
 may be called obligations imposed without authority. 
 No one by joining any group or even by being born 
 into a group should be held to have authorized 
 the group to limit his freedom to think, to exchange 
 ideas or to give his personal service. One may have 
 wrong ideas and attempt to spread them, but wrong 
 thinking is just as necessary for self-development as 
 right thinking. The man or woman who has never 
 thought wrong does not know why his right thinking 
 is right and has no srund basis upon which he may 
 be relied upon to do right. 
 
 Freedom to give or to withhold personal service 
 is, of course, necessary for physical expression of 
 the self-found purpose of the individual. Any inter 
 ference with this freedom means arrested self-de 
 velopment and in a very real sense a denial of the 
 right to live. 
 
 These freedoms of thought and speech and labor 
 have been gradually accepted as natural rights after 
 a struggle of centuries. They are the foundations 
 of the political ideals of the twentieth century, and 
 have been written in plain words into the basic law 
 of our country. For the sworn guardian of that 
 law to deny them, was to commit a high crime against 
 human progress. So I have come at the end of my 
 study to the conviction that I was utterly right and 
 that the judge was utterly wrong, and that rny revolt 
 was fully justified. 
 
 When I say that my revolt was justified, I do not 
 mean that it was the best use for me to make of my
 
 SALVAGE 325 
 
 opportunities. I still doubt that. But I am certain 
 that it was at least a good use, which has given the 
 living of my life some value. 
 
 I have sought diligently to determine the motives 
 that caused me to act as I did. Here again I 
 glimpse the dynamic power of the relations of men 
 and women. I deeply resented the legal obligations 
 imposed on Irma, whereby she was required either 
 to live with a man with whom she did not wish to 
 live, or else to live alone. This was not a self-im 
 posed obligation because every woman entering 
 marriage does not commit herself to such slavery. 
 There is many a man in the world who would scorn 
 to contend that a woman had made such a contract in 
 marrying him. Even the marriage vows taken at 
 the altar do not impose that obligation, despite their 
 ancient phrasing, because modern law and custom 
 have qualified them to permit the right of separation 
 for causes which vary according to geography, rather 
 than from differing standards of morality. 
 
 Therefore, Irma found herself held to an obliga 
 tion which was not self-imposed. When she 
 married, if she had considered her marriage as 
 a bond, she would have assumed that in accordance 
 with its unwritten terms she would be entitled to 
 release whenever its conditions became intolerable. 
 She was marrying "an officer and a gentleman," 
 part of whose creed was supposed to be chivalry 
 toward women. She had the right to expect that 
 such a one would not invoke an empty legal form 
 to deny her freedom from a marriage that had lost
 
 326 SALVAGE 
 
 the substance of love. Yet he had used the laws of 
 a government dedicated to human liberty as a force 
 with which to imprison her body and to cramp her 
 soul. 
 
 My spirit was hot in revolt against this denial of 
 Irma's natural right when I came west to take up 
 the legal battle for the mine-workers. Here I found 
 the same abuse of power, the use of community force 
 to enslave the individual, when the only value of 
 community life is to afford the individual broader 
 and free opportunity to develop himself. The nat 
 ural rights of the miners had been written down in 
 our fundamental law and thus had been made legal 
 rights. Yet they were to be denied in the name of 
 the law! Every throb of Irma's pain increased the 
 bitterness of my wrath against the enemies of lib 
 erty with whom the everlasting battle must be fought 
 the warfare between the Takers and the Givers, 
 the individual and universal conflict between the 
 brutish creed of conquest and force, and the human 
 faith of service and love. 
 
 Service and love may not be compelled. There 
 must be a free will and a free giving if men and 
 women are to use their lives for the development of 
 all life. This at least comes to me as the vision of 
 the Purpose and the means for its achievement. 
 Thus for every free soul there is an obligation to 
 do its little task in the great work of freeing man 
 kind from the bondage of its brute inheritance. 
 
 Year by year and era by era the evil that primitive 
 thought and savage tradition impose on the world
 
 SALVAGE 327 
 
 becomes more visible in the light of deeper knowl 
 edge and higher faith. The necessity for attack 
 upon entrenched error becomes more apparent and 
 the forces of progress increase until the time comes 
 for revolt. Then the slow process of evolution is 
 quickened to the rush of revolution. Humanity 
 leaps ahead. But before this hurrying day arrives 
 there are always many ineffective but significant 
 revolts, wherein impatient souls seek to lead an un 
 ready and unwilling host. The swift defeat of the 
 rash idealist seems a futile sacrifice, yet along the 
 track of broken lives of men who sought to serve 
 them, the unready and unwilling host moves on. 
 Thus we, of the company of untimely and lonely 
 revolutionists, impelled by the God who grows 
 within, serve the purpose of our little lives. 
 
 To-day I received a disturbing letter from 
 Colonel Fairfield. He writes that a week ago Irma 
 packed her things and moved out of Miss Steven 
 son's apartment without leaving either an explana 
 tion or a future address. He learned this upon 
 telephoning to find out why she had not answered 
 an urgent letter. He assumes that I know where 
 she has gone and demands that I inform him. In 
 deed I do not know any more than he. 
 
 A few days ago I did receive a letter from her, 
 but this is all she wrote :
 
 328 SALVAGE 
 
 "I am considering a very important step. If I take it do 
 not expect another letter. This note will explain that I 
 have not changed my feelings toward you in any way. For 
 the rest I must ask you to have faith in me and to know 
 that I have a purpose which is our purpose. I love you as 
 you love me." 
 
 I have raced through a hundred hopes and fears. 
 All that I know is the dreadful fact that Irma has 
 disappeared. All of Colonel Fairfield's threatenings 
 cannot give me any greater knowledge. I must 
 remain here a few days more. Then I shall be 
 free free for what? I must think this out all over 
 again, hoping that I may hear from her before I go, 
 yet fearing that I shall not. 
 
 It is the day before my release. I have been very 
 busy with my writing. I have gone over my whole 
 story with painstaking care. As I was writing it I 
 sought to alter many things so that it might not 
 reveal to strangers intimacies which should be kept 
 sacred. I have made many new revisions to insure 
 this protection. Therefore, my manuscript is not a 
 photographic picture of my life. Those who know 
 me well will recognize this. They will find that 
 events and characters do not check with their knowl 
 edge. Curious minded strangers will find no satis 
 faction in trying to identify the persons, places and 
 happenings with actualities. The true and the false 
 have been carefully intermingled. But in essentials
 
 SALVAGE 329 
 
 here is a candid story of the life of a man who tried 
 to find a purpose in living and to comprehend and 
 have faith in the God who Grew in him. It is a 
 story of a search for revelation in the deep and sig 
 nificant influence of women on his life. It is com 
 pletely honest in its analysis of thought and motive 
 that make up the inner life, an analysis which has 
 seemed worth while because I know that my develop 
 ment has not been eccentric or exceptional, but has 
 its counterpart in a multitude of lives. It is probably 
 futile to attempt any further explanation of why I 
 have lived as I have, and why I have written the 
 story down. 
 
 A few more words and I shall be done. 
 
 I have heard nothing from Irma and my decision 
 is made. Irma has disappeared and to-morrow I 
 shall disappear. Somewhere, somehow, sometime, 
 I shall find her if not Here then I shall seek her 
 There. 
 
 THE END
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 Form L9-37m-3,'57(C5424s4)444
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 A 001 247511 7