THE LIBRARY ' 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE B. GRIGGS 
 
 STATE SENATOR 
 
 HOUSTON, TEXAS. 
 J. V. DEALT COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
 1906.
 
 Cypyright, 1906. by GEORGE B. GRIGGS". 
 
 A II rights reserved. 
 
 Published March. 1906.
 
 -vj 
 
 TO MY FRIEND 
 
 Robert T. Daniel of Griffin, Georgia, 
 the silver-tongued orator of the South 
 -who is as gentle as a -woman; as 
 noble as a lord; as loving as a brother; 
 charitable toivard human frailties; loyal 
 to friend; generous, patriotic, true do 
 I dedicate this my poor effort. 
 
 The Author. 
 Houston, Texas, March isth, igo6. 
 
 751778
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 THE BIRTH PLACE OP TEXAS Frontispiece 
 
 THE LITTLE GOLDEN LOCKET 16 
 
 "I'LL SUE HIM TO-MORROW FOR THAT MONEY." . . . 128 
 
 "THE PEOPLE ARE ALREADY DEMANDING JUSTICE- 
 EQUAL JUSTICE To ALL ALIKE" 160 
 
 "OLD AUNT DINAH" 216 
 
 "THE ALAMO" . . , 296 
 
 "I CAME To TEXAS FOR No OTHER PURPOSE THAN 
 
 To WIN You, DOROTHY" 304 
 
 THE TEXAS COMMISSIONERS 364
 
 NORKOMA
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 "LITTLE NORKOMA." 
 
 "What yo' speck yo' is gwine ter be good fo', 'Koma, when 
 yo' is done growed to be a big man?" 
 
 "I don't know, mam " 
 
 "Now, doan call me dat. I'se Aunt Dinah, an' I haint bin 
 nothin' else sens long befo' de wah. 'Cose, I aint yo' Aunt, 
 an' I don speck yo's got an Aunt but its a fack, jes as sho's 
 yo' is bawn, yo's done got some relashuns of some kind what 
 is what is somebody." 
 
 "Have I, Aunt Dinah and will my mamma come for 
 me?" 
 
 "Fo' de Lawd sakes, chile! What will yo' be axin next? 
 I doan speck yo's got a mammy, nor a pappy nuther. Yo' 
 clar right out o' heah now go 'long and larn to sell dem 
 papahs, 'case yo' knows dis ole niggah caint spote yo' widout 
 yo' larn to do somethin' to help along." 
 
 With the delivery of this command, "Aunt Dinah" entered 
 the little cabin she was wont to call her home, her spacious 
 body sorely taxing the doorway as she passed through, leav 
 ing little Norkoma standing on the curbstone, a few stray
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 copies of daily papers grasped tightly 'neath his arm. His 
 childish face, surrounded by a bright cloud of tangled curls 
 from under which peeped deep, intelligent eyes of blue, wore 
 a look of perplexity, as if the weight of a first great trouble 
 was being felt. After a few moments' hesitation the little 
 lad of but five years was calling his papers and endeavoring 
 in the usual newsboy fashion to dispose of them, the expe 
 rience to be gained from the effort being by far the greater 
 consideration. 
 
 "Evening papers here, sir; papers, evening papers," he 
 called in his childish voice as he ran along, wistfully extend 
 ing a paper to the passerby and greeting each with a be 
 seeching look that meant far more than he was able to 
 convey in words. Success did not crown the child's efforts, 
 heroic as they were, to dispose of his supply of papers, and 
 the drooping eyelids and quivering lips told plainly the 
 disappointment that he keenly felt. But the memory of 
 "Aunt Dinah's" stern command lingered with him, and after 
 a few moments' hesitation he again started slowly up the 
 street, calling his papers even louder than before. 
 
 "Evening paper, sir?" he queried, and in his childish 
 way scrutinized the faces of those he met, as if among them 
 he hoped to find a friend someone who would share with 
 him the burden which was rapidly becoming too heavy to 
 be longer borne alone and mechanically held out a paper 
 as an inducement to a chance purchaser. 
 
 "Papers, evening papers," he called, as the pent-up tears 
 forced their way through the barriers which until now had 
 stubbornly held them in check. 
 
 "Why, hello, little fellow. Aren't you rather youthful
 
 "LITTLE NORKOMA" 
 
 to be in the news business ? And how about your papers 
 not all sold yet, eh?" 
 
 The kindly voice of the stranger, a tall, handsome young 
 man, of pleasant appearance and irresistible manner, in 
 stantly gained the confidence of the child. 
 
 "Oh, please buy a paper, mister!" begged the lad, man 
 fully choking down the sobs that threatened to drown his 
 words. 
 
 "Certainly I'll buy a paper I'll buy all the papers you 
 have. Here's your money, and you may keep the papers. 
 Now, tell me, won't you, where you live?" 
 
 "In that little house down there," answered the child, 
 pointing toward a diminutive dwelling situated in the next 
 block. "Aunt Dinah and me, we live there." 
 
 "And who is Aunt Dinah?" 
 
 "I don't know, sir, who she is, but I live with her." 
 
 "Have you no home but the one with Aunt Dinah have 
 you no father nor mother?" 
 
 "I don't know, sir, but I think papa and mamma are 
 dead. Aunt Dinah says I have no papa nor mamma." 
 
 "What is your name?" 
 
 "Aunt Dinah calls me Norkoma." 
 
 This brief conversation was sufficient to convince the 
 stranger that ISTorkoma was exceptionally bright and intelli 
 gent, and he thought of the success the boy might achieve 
 as he grew from boyhood to manhood, should Dame For 
 tune but firmly retain the hold of him that she undoubt 
 edly had during the early days and months of his exist 
 ence. He thought, too, of his own childless home, of the 
 infinite pleasure it would be to watch the growth and de 
 velopment of a child like Norkoma; he wished the boy were
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 his own. From appearances it was evident that the little 
 fellow received scant care; and he thought of what he 
 would be able to do for him how he would educate him 
 and prepare him to successfully fight life's battles. He 
 found himself combating every argument "Aunt Dinah'* 
 might make against his taking Norkoma, and calculating as 
 to the time it would take to prepare him for the journey 
 to his Southern home. 
 
 During this reverie, Norkoma stood gazing wistfully into 
 the stranger's face as if he partly understood what was 
 passing through his mind. The man gazed into the frank, 
 open eyes of the boy, and asked: 
 
 "Would you like to go with me, Norkoma, and live in a 
 nice, big house, with a great, green lawn where you could 
 run and play, and have nice clothes to wear and plenty of 
 good things to eat?" 
 
 "Yes, sir; but Aunt Dinah wouldn't let me go with you; 
 I am sure she wouldn't, because she wants me to sell papers 
 and earn money for her." 
 
 "I think she will let you go. Anyway, we will ask her," 
 and they passed down the street to where "Aunt Dinah" 
 lived. It took but a short, secret conference to make the 
 necessary arrangements with Aunt Dinah, and a few mo 
 ments later the stranger and the little boy were in one of 
 the largest stores in the city. It required but a brief while 
 to transform this street urchin into a handsome, well groomed 
 lad. During the exchange of clothing, the stranger noticed 
 a fine gold chain about the child's neck, from which wa> 
 suspended a gold locket containing the miniature of a young 
 and beautiful woman, together with a lock of hair. Upon 
 the. locket was engraved the word "Nor ma."
 
 "LITTLE NORKOMA" 
 
 The Limited Express south, that night, dashed with light 
 ning speed through ravines, tunnels and gorges, over cul 
 verts, bridges and broad prairies. The iron horse that pulled 
 it, shrieked and panted like a fiery demon, spitting forth 
 great clouds of sparks that gyrated through the dense black 
 ness of the night like so many fireflies. There was a vivid 
 flash of lightning, a deafening peal of thunder, a sudden 
 burst of rain and hail against the windows and upon the tin- 
 covered coach roof, and a shrill shriek of the locomotive as 
 it pierced the oncoming storm with a power almost incon 
 ceivable. The wind, arising to a mighty gale, rolled up 
 great clouds of dust and smoke in the wake of the train, 
 while it rushed on as if anxious to be free from the noise 
 and din it had encountered, and of which it was itself a 
 part. 
 
 In one of the Pullman coaches sat a man and a little fair- 
 haired boy. The child crept shyly into the corner of the 
 seat, protecting as best he could his eyes and ears from the 
 scene and noise about him. Trembling as if chilled by the 
 cold rain outside, at every peal of thunder, at every shriek 
 of the locomotive, the little fellow crept closer, if possible, 
 into the corner of the seat, but neither did he cry nor utter 
 a word of fear. 
 
 "Don't be afraid, Islorkoma, I will take good care of you," 
 said the man in kind, soft tones calculated to inspire con 
 fidence and affection, constantly assuring the child of his 
 love, care and protecting hand, until the storm and noise 
 soon lost their terror, and sweet sleep breathed her anaes 
 thetic breath upon him, bringing rest and repose as soothing 
 as a mother's loving kiss. 
 
 The stranger leaned tenderly over the sleeping child and
 
 arranged him comfortably in the seat. To him there was 
 something pathetic in the faith which the homeless boy had 
 shown by his readiness to leave "Aunt Dinah" and her 
 hovel, the only mother and the only home he knew. The 
 lights burned low, and all was still save the constant rumbling 
 of the swiftly moving train, and the "click-click, click-click" 
 of the rear trucks as they passed over the joints in the 
 track. 
 
 The train thundered on with seldom a stop. The first 
 streaks of the early dawn streamed in through the coach 
 windows, announcing the approach of day. The tops of 
 the tall pines waved in the early breeze as if bowing their 
 thanks to the god of light. The feathered songsters, aroused 
 from their morning nap by the passing train, spread out 
 their little wings, chirped, then flitted gayly to another 
 branch. The cattle in the barn yards slowly roused them 
 selves, stretched their limbs and mooed pathetically to one 
 another. The cheery milk-maid, in checked apron and sun- 
 bonnet, with her sleeves rolled high, and a bucket upon her 
 arm, could be heard singing as she tripped lightly along the 
 path to the pasture. The pale smoke, slowly curling up from 
 the kitchen chimneys, told of the preparation of the morning 
 meal. Daylight had at last come; all nature was awake. 
 The train reached the long trestle over Lake Pontchartrain 
 and the mad rush was now moderated as it crept along the 
 bridge that spans this great southern body of water. 
 
 The clouds of black smoke, ascending into the air from 
 the smokestack of the locomotive, cast fanciful shadows 
 upon the crystal surface of the waters below. At intervals, 
 schools of porpoise were seen frolicking in the placid waters, 
 as if in welcome of the new day. The great golden orb of
 
 "LITTLE NORKOMA" 
 
 light slowly lifted itself above the eastern line where lake 
 and sky seemed to meet, imparting its half transcript upon 
 the bosom of the transparent plane. The broad, peaceful 
 waves seemed like great sheets of silver spreading out to 
 meet the welcome beams of the king of day. The guilded 
 domes of the city in the distance, glittering under the sun's 
 bright rays, were like so many mountains of gold bestudding 
 the far-off southern sky, while the tall church steeples 
 and spires were as index fingers pointing the weary traveler 
 to a haven of rest. 
 
 The lake crossed, the quiet, peaceful scene changes like 
 magic as the train speeds along through the suburbs of the 
 city. There are stops for crossings, the passing of suburban 
 trains, the shrill whistle of locomotives, the hurrying of 
 passengers, the cry of newsboys, the rumbling of carts upon 
 the cobbled streets, the rasping release of the airbrakes, the 
 deafening din of the breakfast gong, the trainmen's shrill 
 cry of "New Orleans," and the passengers of the Southern 
 Limited Express are soon engulfed in the busy throngs of 
 the great Southern City.
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 "THE CEDARS." 
 
 "The Cedars" is one of the handsomest old homesteads 
 in the city of New Orleans, if not, indeed, in the whole south 
 land. Not that its original' cost was so great, nor because 
 it is so unique in design as compared with modern ideas 
 of architecture, but because nature has endowed it with a 
 magnificent beauty that the skill of the architect and artisan 
 cannot approach. If one were to attempt to describe this old 
 homestead with a view of portraying its beauty, he would stop 
 and ponder over the many things that go to make up the 
 whole, then begin again, and again stop and ponder, and 
 so on indefinitely, or at least until he must needs give up 
 in despair. 
 
 A slight conception may be had of its character and ap 
 pearance as viewed from the broad, well paved avenue run 
 ning along the front. The place consists of an entire block 
 of ground and is surrounded by, or fringed with a double 
 row of tall, healthy cedar trees. On three sides, leading 
 up from beautifully paved streets toward a central amphi 
 theatre-like plot where stands the building, are walks and 
 drives, which are also bordered with cedar and fir trees that 
 rear their tall heads far toward the sunny skies. The spaces 
 between the walks and drives are filled with shrubbery, 
 
 8
 
 flowers, pools and sparkling fountains, with "here and there 
 a cozy nook or rustic glen, where lovers oft are wont to 
 steal and for the while the world forget, and by the world 
 to be forgotten. 
 
 Rising out of the center of this plot of shrubbery and 
 blooming flowers is the palatial residence, overlooking the 
 placid water of Lake Pontchartrain. Supported by huge, 
 white marble columns, are broad galleries surrounding the 
 building, upon which open numerous large French windows, 
 leading from the various rooms, making a most inviting re 
 treat for the enjoyment of the balmy breezes of both lake and 
 gulf- 
 
 "The Cedars" was the home of LeBerte Marchand and his 
 young and beautiful wife at the time of the occurrence of 
 the incidents narrated in the foregoing chapter. This beau 
 tiful home came to LeBerte Marchand by inheritance, from 
 his father, LeRoy Marchand, who for many years before 
 the civil war was a wealthy planter. Like many of his fel 
 low countrymen, however, the greater portion of his vast 
 wealth was consumed by the ravages of the cruel conflict 
 between the states. The war also undermined his physical 
 vigor and energy, which condition soon invited disease and 
 hurried him to his grave. His depleted estate, consisting 
 chiefly of "The Cedars," therefore, fell to his only son and 
 heir, LeBerte Marchand. 
 
 Fortunately, the new owner, a lawyer by profession, was 
 possessed of a splendid law practice at the time of the 
 father's death, and was not only able financially to retain 
 this magnificent property, but with the small fortune that 
 came by his marriage, he was also able to re-establish and 
 maintain its old time hospitable reputation.
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 Not a few were they who were pleased to boast of having 
 shared the lavish hospitality of "The Cedars" in times gone 
 by, nor indeed were these all of the common herd. Keport 
 has it that "The Cedars" was the very center of Southern 
 hospitality, having frequently entertained some of the world's 
 best knflwn diplomats, as well as many foreign and domestic 
 celebrities. 
 
 Since it had come into the possession of the new owner, 
 "The Cedars" gradually assumed a different, although, per 
 haps, not a more pleasing appearance than that which had 
 marked it during its former period of prosperity. The old 
 and roughly fashioned stone posts which supported a low 
 picket fence that surrounded the grounds are replaced by 
 those of a neat iron design, while the wooden pickets have 
 given way to a fancy net-work of iron and steel. The grav 
 eled walks and drives were beautiful in former days, but the 
 smooth asphalt has rendered them even more beautiful. In 
 fact, the shrubbery, flowers, fountains, rustics and build 
 ings all have felt the artist's skillful touch, giving the 
 appearance of new life, new blood and new vigor, and in 
 Its new attire, under the management of the new master 
 and his estimable wife, "The Cedars" again makes its debut 
 before the societe elite of the Crescent City, regaining all 
 the popularity of its former days. 
 
 During the first three years of their married life LeBerte 
 Marchand and his devoted wife lived in this veritable para 
 dise, always planning, always adding something to make 
 their home more and more enchanting. In the happy, care 
 less moments of those three years devoted to beautifying 
 their home and arranging for the momentary pleasure of 
 their friends and the constant train of guests, they found 
 
 10
 
 "THE CEDARS" 
 
 no time to trespass upon the future upon the years to 
 come when gay youth has been mellowed by the possible 
 pangs of pain, or ripened into a blessed companionship that 
 forgets the gaudy toys of childhood days, encouraging more 
 sober thoughts and maturer ideas concerning the objects 
 of life. 
 
 The continual strain upon the constitution of those who 
 court the goddess of society is sufficient to demand a halt 
 in the social career of many who were far stronger than 
 was Mrs. Marchand, and that period had now been reached 
 in the social life of the mistress of "The Cedars." It brought 
 with it the opportunity for more sober reflections upon the 
 things that are not the vanities of life. 
 
 Sc it was that husband and wife found themselves, as 
 they sat upon the east gallery watching the silver rays of 
 the clear full moon playing upon the crystal waters of a 
 sparkling fountain near by. They had been conversing upon 
 matters more seriously than had been their custom in the 
 past, when the husband said : 
 
 "Helen, dear, do you realize that we have devoted three of 
 the best years of our lives to the beautifying of our home 
 and to the pleasure and entertainment of our friends ? But 
 at times I cannot get rid of the feeling that the home is 
 still incomplete that there is something lacking to give 
 us the happiness we have both been seeking." 
 
 "Yes," answered the wife, "the home is incomplete, but, 
 indeed, 'Berte, I do not know the cause. We have books, 
 music, paintings, beautiful surroundings, in fact everything 
 to make it complete, yet I must confess that I share the 
 feeling with you that there is something lacking, although 
 I am at a loss to know what it is. Do you know?" 
 
 11
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 "Yes, I think I do, but I may be mistaken. It may be 
 restlessness on my part, a desire to carry still farther my 
 efforts to beautify 'The Cedars.' " 
 
 "If I but knew what it is that our home lacks, I would not 
 let another day pass without making an effort to obtain it," 
 answered the wife. 
 
 Her simple purity of mind, her eagerness to please those 
 whom she loved were characteristics well known to her hus 
 band, but upon this occasion it seemed to him there was 
 something deeper in her bosom not meant to be wholly di 
 vulged. There was, however, a sympathetic chord struck, 
 the music of which they had never before jointly heard. It 
 was music rare and sweet, and they sat in silence and medi 
 tation like those who for the first time are enjoying "love's 
 young dream" until they were aroused by the great clock in 
 the hall striking the midnight hour. In silence, husband 
 and wife arose, and interlocked in each other's arms, entered 
 their rooms through the great French windows. It can only 
 be conjectured that the wife later succeeded in obtaining a 
 knowledge of her husband's unexpressed thoughts upon the 
 question of the one needed thing in their household. 
 
 About a week after the incident just narrated, Mr. Mar- 
 chand, upon his return home from a distant city, where he 
 had been upon important legal business, brought back with 
 him a great surprise for the mistress of "The Cedars." Re 
 turning by an early train he arrived at "The Cedars" before 
 it had taken on its usual activity and animation. The morn 
 ing was a perfect one clear, bright, cool and invigorating. 
 The early sun had just peeped over the neighboring house 
 tops and sifted its golden light through the foliage of the 
 trees, casting yellow spots upon the velvety green lawn. The 
 
 12
 
 "THE CEDARS" 
 
 birds sang their gleeful songs and chirped in the boughs and 
 branches of the great cedars. The faithful old watch dog 
 came slowly down one of the walks, wagging his tail in 
 friendly fashion, as the iron gates flew open to admit the 
 carriage conveying the welcome traveler. The old colored 
 servant stood in the doorway to welcome home the master of 
 "The Cedars/' to whom she addressed the following : 
 
 "De missus is not done got up as yit, but I specks she will 
 not be long 'bout makin' her 'pearance now dat de marse 
 has done come." 
 
 "Well, go tell your mistress, auntie, that two gentlemen 
 have arrived and are awaiting her presence in the morning 
 room. Then make haste with the breakfast, for we are as 
 hungry as wolves, aren't we Nbrkoma?" 
 
 "Yes, sah; yes, sah, Marse Berte, yo' old auntie will 'tend 
 to dat dis blessed minute," answered the servant, eyeing the 
 boy as she bowed and shambled out of the room in obedience 
 to her master's command. 
 
 The two gentlemen had not long to wait, for in a few 
 moments Mrs. Marchand appeared, robed in a dainty silk 
 morning gown, tripped lightly across the room to her hus 
 band, with open arms and upturned lips she extended such 
 a greeting and welcome as only true love and devoted affec 
 tion can give. 
 
 "Now, Helen, dear, let me introduce you to the other 
 gentleman little Norkoma, our own Norkoma, our son. 
 Norkoma, this is your mamma; won't you kiss her?" said 
 the husband. Mrs. Marchand stood at' first amazed, then 
 quickly comprehending the truth, she turned and caught 
 the words of the child as they fell from his innocent lips: 
 
 "Oh, yes, sir; I love my mamma," and he held out his
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 dimpled little hands and raised his bright face toward Mr?. 
 Marchand as she caught him in her arms and pressed him 
 close to her bosom. 
 
 "Oh, what a sweet child, our little boy, our Norkoma," she 
 cried, as she held the child's face near her own and rained 
 showers of kisses upon his lips, his bright blue eyes and 
 his golden hair. The husband turned hastily and brushed 
 away a tear that had forced itself upon his cheek. 
 
 LeBerte Marchand was at heart a good man a good 
 man in all the daily walks of life. This scene was one he 
 had witnessed all the night and all the morning in his mind's 
 eye, and it filled his heart to overflowing. The happy look, 
 the tears of joy that trickled down o'er her cheeks told him 
 more plainly than words could possibly have expressed the 
 happiness that he had brought to the heart of his wife that 
 morning. It was more than he could well bear, and, after 
 several attempts to speak, he quickly left the room, saying 
 in his heart: "God bless my dear wife God bless them 
 both." 
 
 After calming himself, Mr. Marchand instructed the ser 
 vant to prepare Norkoma for breakfast, which was accord 
 ingly done, although Mrs. Marchand seemed loth to give up 
 possession of the child for even so short a time. As the 
 servant returned and announced that breakfast was waiting, 
 the husband, in a kind and sympathetic voice, asked : 
 
 "\My darling wife, can you now guess what it was our 
 home lacked to make it perfect?" 
 
 "Yes," was the soft, sweet answer, and quickly throwing 
 her arms about her husband's neck, and looking into his 
 face with a pair of the happiest, brightest eyes, Helen said: 
 
 "Yes, my dear husband, our home lacked a child." 
 
 14
 
 THE GOLDEN LOCKET 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 THE GOLDEN LOCKET. 
 
 Happy had been the three years just passed to the mis 
 tress of "The Cedars," but not to be compared with the 
 happiness that now filled her heart, her soul, her very being, 
 since Xorkoma had been in their home. Late hours in social 
 circles had been abandoned, and early morning hours hours 
 that bring vigor, and paint roses upon the cheeks had 
 been instituted. Daily walks and drives in the fresh autumn 
 air, with Norkoma for a companion, proved not only ex 
 tremely pleasant, but health-giving and beneficial as well. 
 
 The husband, engaged with his numerous clients and their 
 "important cases," never allowed his business affairs to so 
 engross his attention as to estrange him from his happy 
 fireside and the tender, loving ties of home. Indeed, he 
 seemed to feel a renewed interest in his business as well as 
 in his home. Oft-times he would undoubtedly have been 
 found guilty of midday dreams dreams in which ho saw 
 in the future, a gentle, refined young man aspiring to the 
 profession of law, and probably arranging for a co-partner 
 ship in his own law office. How natural it is for the affec 
 tionate parent to picture in the mind's eye the hoped-for 
 successes of his child in life's uneven journey. It matters 
 not in what station in life born, possibilities of energetic 
 
 15
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 American boys and girls are unbounded. Tbey cannot be 
 circumscribed nor limited in their attainments to honor, dis 
 tinction, popular favor, or the acquisition of vast wealth and 
 worldly riches. 
 
 The day dreams and mental visions of doting parents are 
 no less restricted, therefore, in the richness and colorings of 
 those dreams than are the possibilities themselves. It was 
 but natural that LeBerte Marchand should occasionally map 
 out, mentally, the possible future course of his new-found 
 charge, and to paint the pictures thus drawn in the brightest 
 colors. But those dreams were sometimes disturbed by the 
 more sober reflections that the natural parents of Norkoma 
 might, sooner or later, appear to claim the custody and 
 right of possession. 
 
 Such reflections had disturbed his mind but a few times 
 when he began devising ways and means to avoid the pos 
 sibility of such an event, nor was there any unnecessary 
 delay in taking the steps deemed proper in the premises. 
 Therefore, a few days after the arrival of Norkoma at "The 
 Cedars," and before that fact had become known to many 
 people of the neighborhood, in discussing the matter with 
 his wife, Mr. Marchand said: 
 
 "I am not altogether certain that I was right in taking 
 the child as I did. Some people might care to cc-ntort the 
 act into one of abduction or kidnapping." 
 
 "Oh, Bertie, how can you suggest such a thing? Of 
 course, you did right in taking the child. The little fellow 
 was without a home, or the care of a father or mother. Be 
 sides, I love him I cannot tell you how much." 
 
 "Of course, the last named consideration would be suf 
 ficient warrant for me to take a whole regiment of home- 
 
 16
 
 THE LITTLE GOLDEN LOCKET
 
 less boys, but I am afraid, my dear, the court would not 
 consider it a sufficiently strong reason for refusing the 
 natural parents the guardianship, custody and possession of 
 ISTorkoma, if the court should be called 'upon to decide the 
 matter, and 
 
 "Oh, but I think it would go a long way in that direction, 
 for a mother who does not love and protect her child is not 
 a proper person to have its custody and care. Besides, we 
 are able to provide him a good home, to rear, protect and 
 educate him, and give him such advantages as will make 
 him a more useful member of society in general/' 
 
 "Hello, my little wife, who taught you so much about the 
 working of the law? I propose right now to take you into 
 partnership with me, and 
 
 "Oh, you forget that you married a lawyer's daughter,''' 
 cheerfully interrupted the wife. "I know, dear 'Berte, that 
 the parent is the natural guardian of a child, and, all things 
 being equal, that the parent has the preference in law to that 
 right, but the state and the public also have an interest 
 in seeing that children shall have such safeguards thrown 
 around them as will conduce to their best interests, and such 
 as will make them more useful to the state and to the public." 
 
 "But how can we say that we are better able than his 
 natural parents to give ISTorkoma those advantages?" 
 
 "Certainly we should never have allowed the child to be 
 found an outcast in the streets of a large city, and under 
 such circumstances as you found him. These facts are evi 
 dence of either the parents' inability to properly care for 
 him, or their lack of affection for their offspring." 
 
 "But, my dear, suppose the child had been stolen from his 
 
 17
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 parents and held for ransom. Perhaps you had not thought 
 of that." 
 
 "True, I had not. Were that the case, however, the news 
 papers of the country would have heen filled with sensa 
 tional reports of 'A Stolen Child/ and many people would 
 have heard of it. Besides, there seems to have been 'no at 
 tempt at secreting the boy from the public, or keeping hi.-- 
 identity hidden, for the little golden locket containing the 
 miniature photograph, evidently that of his mother, would 
 have readily led to his identity." 
 
 "By the way," interrupted the husband, having led the 
 conversation up to this point intentionally, ''speaking of the 
 little locket and the picture the thought has occurred to 
 me several times that with the memento always present to 
 remind him of other days, will the little fellow not be likely 
 to propound some perplexing questions regarding it?" 
 
 "Yes, it would be but natural, according to the law of 
 association of ideas, that the ever-present memento should 
 result in bringing about that unpleasant state of affairs. It 
 was but yesterday that the same thought occurred to me and 
 I resolved to remove the little locket when a good opportunity 
 presented, but when I made the attempt my heart failed me. 
 
 "Norkoma was sleeping at the time," continued the wife. 
 "We had been out in the grounds for an airing, the child 
 giving himself up to a vigorous romp, and when we re 
 turned, he was much fatigued. Taking him in my arms, 
 I hummed over an old nursery tune, and he was soon asleep. 
 He lay in my arms, the picture of sweetness, innocence and 
 purity. Oh, how I loved the little fellow mother never 
 loved her own son more. I must have fallen into a 'day 
 dream/ for I saw him growing into young manhood, the 
 
 18
 
 THE GOLDEN LOCKET 
 
 noblest, brightest, best in all the world. Presently I was 
 aroused by a servant passing through the room. My arms 
 had grown tired and I laid him upon the couch, drawing up 
 a chair that I might be near him and continue to feast my 
 eyes on his innocent face. 
 
 "Again I found myself drifting into dreamland, and I 
 did not try to prevent it. The picture of the child returned. 
 Again I saw him growing into young manhood as before. 
 How proud I felt, for I was his mother and he loved me as 
 such. One day he came to me in great haste; his face was 
 flushed, and he appeared greatly agitated. I was miserable 
 and felt that some great calamity or misfortune was about to 
 break upon me. In his hand Norkoma held that golden 
 chain and locket. When I saw him my heart sank within 
 me and my blood chilled, for I then seemed to realize that 
 they were connected in some manner with the pending dis 
 aster. I was to lose my baby, my darling boy, my beautiful 
 son. The door stood slightly ajar and uninvited there swept 
 into the room a tall, beautiful woman, spiritually serene 
 and calm. She seemed to float across the room until she 
 stood between ISTorkoma and me, and after a long, lingering 
 look into his face she interlocked her arms in his, then turn 
 ing to me with a sweet smile she said in a gentle voice but 
 the one word, 'XORMA,' and both turning, passed out of 
 the room. 
 
 "I remember no more, but at the first returning conscious 
 ness my earliest thought was for my child. He was brought 
 to me, and the knowledge that I had not lost him at once 
 soothed me, and a turn in the fresh air revived me and drove 
 away the overwhelming ennui that had seemed to almost 
 crush my life from me but a few moments before. I felt 
 
 19
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 aroused a blazing fire seemed to burn within me. I felt 
 indignant at the specter form that had seemed to sweep 
 majestically through my room and lead away my son. Al 
 though I knew it was but a fancy, a sort of 'day dream.' 
 I could not free myself from the vision of the locket. To me 
 it was the connecting link between the dream visitor and 
 Norkoma. 
 
 "I resolved to destroy the locket upon the first opportunity. 
 The opportunity came toda} r as the child again lay sleeping. 
 I could resist no longer for I feared the phantom might 
 return in reality, and finding the proofs take my baby from 
 me. I knelt quietly beside the couch where he was sleeping 
 and reached out to unclasp the locket from its fastenings. 
 My fingers grew cold and numb, and a doubt crossed my 
 mind. I prayed that God would give me light and guidance, 
 but my prayers seemed to fall from my lips to the floor, cold 
 and cruel. I tried to harden my heart and convince myself 
 that I was doing right. Selfishness sat upon her throne 
 in my heart and ruled with all the pomp of a wicked queen, 
 assuring me that my prayers had been heard and an 
 swered. Encouraged by this assurance, I again put out 
 my hands to remove the locket. The child smiled in his 
 sleep, his lips moved and faintly uttered the word 'mother.' 
 He raised his little, dimpled hand, and then languidly it fell 
 to his breast and innocently clasped the treasure as if di 
 rected by spirit influence. I started from my knees, and a 
 shudder passed over my bcdy. A breath of air swayed the 
 curtain at the window, and I glanced quickly around, half 
 expecting to see the specter form hovering nearby. 
 
 "The shadows of evening fell around me. The house cat 
 wandered into the room, as if looking for his playfellow, 
 
 20
 
 THE GOLDEN LOCKET 
 
 affectionately smoothed himself against my dress and purred 
 softly. The mournful, whining bark of old Tige reached my 
 ears and sent a chill throughout my body. I arose quickly 
 and left the room, half fearful that I should come in contact 
 with the phantom form as I we'nt. I went out in the grounds 
 and was relieved only when I met you upon your return 
 from the city. I could not then, and know I shall never 
 again make another attempt to take my baby's locket from 
 him." 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Marchand sat for some time in silence, the 
 husband mentally reviewing the question as to whether he 
 had brought to "The Cedars" the happiness he had first sup 
 posed. He realized that Mrs. Marchand had passed through 
 a mental and physical ordeal not common, and that it must 
 leave a telling trace upon her health. He at last broke the 
 silence by saying: 
 
 "I am under the impression that henceforward we should 
 abandon the name Norkoma. The child does not seem averse 
 to the name of Walter, and in fact I believe that is his cor 
 rect name. Do you approve of the change?" 
 
 "Yes, I would be glad to have the name changed, for 
 the experience of this afternoon seems to cling closely to 
 the name, Norkoma/' 
 
 "Then after today the little golden locket and the name 
 Norkoma shall be things of the past, and in their stead we 
 will have only our own dear son, Walter Marchand."
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 A FIRST GREAT SORROW. 
 
 Five years have elapsed since the occurrence of the inci 
 dents narrated in the preceding chapter the happiest years 
 in the lives of Mr. and Mrs. Marchand. Xot a shadow, save 
 a few visionary ones, in all those years crossed their paths. 
 Returning health had brought back to the mistress of "The 
 Cedars" a glow to the cheek and a sparkle to the eye akin 
 to her more youthful days. Walter, for by that name only 
 has the son been known during this time, is now a bright, 
 intelligent lad of ten years. Apt in his studies, he outranks 
 his classmates, and is the peer of them all in deportment. 
 In manner always refined, obedient to authority, earnest in 
 his application to his work, he suffers in no way when com 
 pared with youths of his age. 
 
 To Walter, Mr. and Mrs. Marchand are father and mother 
 he knows no other and he is to them their son indeed. 
 Different from many children whose parents are blessed with 
 wealth and abundant means, as well as afflicted with great 
 social position, Walter has not been left entirely to the doleful 
 care of the nursery. He has been more nearly the com 
 panion of his mother, who at the same time played the part 
 of preceptor and instructor. 
 
 This sort of program had, for some time, been interrupted. 
 
 22
 
 A FIRST GREAT SORROW 
 
 A little sister had made her appearance at "The Cedars." 
 and no one is more delighted over the presence of the new 
 comer than is Walter. Uo one is more tenderly fond of 
 the helpless little thing, as it lay sleeping upon its mother's 
 bosom than the son, and as the months and years go by no 
 one is more considerate of the desires, pleasures and well- 
 being of the child than is the brother. 
 
 Walter and Edith grew to be almost constant companions, 
 and as time rolled on an attachment and affection, each for 
 the other, sprang up, that in later years proved to be of 
 greater depth than they had ever thought possible. Walter 
 has nearly completed his high school course, and is anxiously 
 looking forward to his collegiate career. Edith was now in 
 her teens, and, being exceptionally bright, has kept well in 
 the wake of her brother's onward, intellectual march. But 
 the approaching separation, when Walter should enter col 
 lege,, casts a gloom over the young hearts of the brother and 
 sister, and they are often found discussing future arrange 
 ments with the apparent wisdom of older people. 
 
 But a deeper shadow threatens to cast a gloom over the 
 entire household of "The Cedars." The long winter, which 
 is now budding into spring, has been a severe one, and Mrs. 
 Marchand was the victim of a succession of colds that 
 quickly developed into a malady, the nature of which could 
 not be mistaken. 
 
 "Is there no hope, doctor?" asked the husband as he 
 accompanied the physician into an adjoining room, safe from 
 the hearing of the members of the family. 
 
 "I am afraid there is but little hope, Mr. Marchand. I 
 wish to be perfectly frank with you in this matter and must 
 say that I see no reason why I should encourage you to 
 
 23
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 build hope upon such an insecure foundation. It would 
 only be a castle to be destroyed by the winds of fate, any 
 moment. It grieves me deeply to tell you this, but I believe 
 it is best that I should do so." 
 
 Mr. Marchand sank limply upon a chair with an abject 
 look of pain and despair upon his countenance, murmuring 
 to himself, "Oh, God, can it be true ?" 
 
 "LeBerte," said the doctor, for they had been long-time 
 friends and associates, "this is to be your first great sorrow. 
 Let me counsel you to bear it with fortitude and courage. 
 Through my own experience I know the full meaning of it, 
 and it is one of the greatest sorrows that can possibly come 
 to man. But remember, the great giant oaks of the forest 
 have been made strong and sturdy by the biting frosts, the 
 hail and chilling rains, and by the sweeping winds that 
 almost uprooted them. The strong and noble soul is made 
 so by first passing through the fiery furnace of trial and 
 tribulation, coming out relieved of the dross and impurities. 
 Come, my" dear friend, be brave, and God will help you 
 through," and taking him by the arm the doctor led his 
 friend out into the cool, starry night. It was refreshing, in 
 deed, after his long watch in the sick room, and the two 
 men walked and talked for some time. In bidding his 
 friend good night, Mr. Marchand said : 
 
 "I thank you, doctor, for your kind and valuable words 
 of advice. I will, as far as is within my power, be guided 
 by them. But our poor, dear children ! How will they be 
 able to bear so great a trouble?" 
 
 "For a time their grief will be intense," replied the doc 
 tor, "but, unlike older persons, they more quickly form new
 
 A FIRST GREAT SORROW 
 
 associations and adjust themselves to new situations which 
 wear away the keen edge of their sorrow." 
 
 This was LeBerte Marchand's first great sorrow, but the 
 shadow fell, fortunately for him, long in advance of the 
 blow itself, thus preparing him, in a measure, to withstand 
 its mighty onslaught. He fully realized that it would re 
 quire all the courage and fortitude within him to bear up 
 under the burden that was to cast its full weight upon him. 
 
 Walter and Edith, not yet realizing the serious condition of 
 their mother, were, as usual, in the library engaged in their 
 studies, when the father entered. The pained expression of 
 countenance, despite heroic efforts to hide his sorrow, was 
 readily discerned by Edith, who at once put aside her books 
 and drawing near to her father affectionately said: 
 
 "Now, what is wrong with my dear papa that he looks 
 so sad and weary?" Then resting her face closely against 
 his and softly stroking his hair, she pleaded: "Won't you 
 tell your own little girl what troubles you? If you will tell 
 her, she will do anything she can to drive away the pain and 
 trouble." 
 
 "Oh, it is nothing, my dear little daughter I am not feel 
 ing well that is. all. Go back to your books, dear one, for 
 I must go to your mamma," answered the father, and quickly 
 kissing the child, he arose to go. It had cost him all his 
 strength to hide his emotion and keep back the tears that 
 were forcing themselves upon his cheeks. He dared not tarry 
 for he could compose himself no longer. Leaving the door 
 slightly ajar, he passed quickly into the hallway where he 
 waited, why or how long, he did not know. 
 
 Always obedient to her father's command, Edith returned 
 to her study, but the picture of her father's pained and 
 
 25
 
 troubled face remained before her. No longer able to con 
 centrate her thoughts upon the studies, she closed her books 
 with a sigh, and saidf 
 
 "Brother, what makes papa so sad tonight? I never saw 
 him look so troubled, and it makes me feel so badly I cannot 
 study." 
 
 "I don't know, little sister," returned the brother without 
 looking up from his book. But Edith was not to be put off 
 in this fashion, and, going around the table where Walter 
 sat, she placed her hands over the open book in a playful 
 way, with a serious air said: 
 
 "You shall not read another word until you answer my 
 question now there, Mr. Bookworm, do you hear?" 
 
 "Certainly I hear," said Walter, "and as I was just fin 
 ishing I will put aside my books and devote the remainder 
 of the evening to answering all sorts of questions that a 
 naughty little girl I know may please to ask." 
 
 "Who is the naughty little girl? Now, tell just who you 
 mean," said Edith, shaking her finger threateningly at her 
 brother as if to command the truth. 
 
 "Oh, she is not far away, and I know her well. Could you 
 guess who she is?" 
 
 "No, I cannot," answered Edith, with an innocent air, 
 then drawing her chair near to her brother, in a confiding 
 way she continued : "I would like to know what is troubling 
 papa. I know he is awfully worried." 
 
 W T alter immediately surmised that the mother's condition 
 was, perhaps, more serious than he had theretofore believed, 
 and a deep flush stole over his face as the thought entered 
 his mind. The change in Walter's expression was noticed 
 by Edith, and before he had time to formulate an answer her 
 
 26
 
 A FIRST GREAT SORROW 
 
 arms were around his neck and tears were streaming down 
 her cheeks. 
 
 "That is why they forbade our going into the room this 
 evening," sobbed Edith. 
 
 Walter was not the only listener, for the manner of Edith's 
 speech had aroused the father from his reverie, and from 
 his position in the hallway he could not only hear but could 
 see the occupants of the library. In a sort of stupor he re 
 mained as if fixed to the spot, while the brother and sister 
 continued : 
 
 "Of course, little sister, we know that serious illness, and 
 sometimes death, must be expected, but I trust mamma will 
 soon be well again/' said Walter trying to fortify the child 
 against the possibilities he knew existed. 
 
 "Oh, Walter, do not talk of death. Mamma is to live and 
 we are all to be happy together again. Without mamma 
 what would our home be, and what would papa do without 
 her?" 
 
 The listener in the hallway was nearly overcome upon 
 hearing Edith's words of loving sympathy and affection, yet 
 they brought inspiration, hope and courage, as well as heav- 
 ings of the breast, sighs and tears. 
 
 "Yes, Edith, dear," said Walter, "mamma's death would 
 be a great loss for you and me to bear, but ours would be 
 nothing in comparison with the loss our father would feel. It 
 has been truly said that a man may lose his wealth, position, 
 all he has in the world, but the greatest the loss that over 
 shadows all combined, is light compared with the loss of his 
 life companion, his friend, his wife. So it is not in our 
 power to even know how to sympathize with father in his 
 great sorrow, if our dear mother is taken from us, but we can 
 
 27
 
 do a great deal to help and strengthen him in his hour of 
 trouble. We know how to be kind and cheerful so as to 
 drive away his cares and heart-aches, and we can help to 
 lighten his load/' continued Walter in a fatherly way. 
 
 The silent listener was deeply affected by the words of 
 wisdom, love and affection, and could remain no longer 
 without disclosing his presence, for his orwn heart-beats 
 seemed so violent as to lead to detection. With tearful eyes 
 he made his way out into the grounds hoping to be again 
 refreshed by the cool night air. Walking back and forth 
 in one of the paths that led down through the shrubbery, 
 brooding upon his sorrow, he at length spoke aloud as if 
 talking to a friend: 
 
 "Why should I bow down like a broken reed in a gale while 
 my children courageously talk of being my staff and sup 
 port? Is it not my place, rather, to help them through the 
 dark valley of sorrow? God helping me, I will be brave 
 and strong, as the doctor advised, even thjough it kill me 
 to do so." 
 
 LeBerte Marchand had done hard battle with his sor 
 row. It had come to him in the bright, cheerful summer 
 when the harvest fields of his happy life were yet in their 
 bloom. Its presence was ever upon his soul, a heavy, blight 
 ing weight. Always at his side like a ghastly shadow, whis 
 pering in his ear the torturing words: "Your wife, your 
 companion, is slowly fading out of life." It made him feel 
 at times as if there were no mercy, no sympathy, no justice 
 in the ways of Providence; but fortunately, unlike many 
 others, he harbored not such feeling in his breast. Fate 
 was cruel to him, it is true, if we axe to pass judgment upon 
 the inevitable laws of nature and nature's God. But., on the 
 
 28
 
 A FIRST GREAT SORROW 
 
 i 
 
 other hand, fate had also been kind to him and his. Had 
 not he and his loving wife enjoyed a long season of supreme 
 happiness, while millions of the less favored had suffered 
 untold misery, misfortune, and even death? What right 
 had LeBerte Marchand to complain of this, his first great 
 sorrow, when his lot was compared with the usual lot of com 
 mon humanity? 
 
 Within a few weeks after it became apparent that the 
 mistress of "The Cedars" could not survive, the fair, hand 
 some face of the husband had grown pale and haggard; the 
 kindly eyes wore a wild, troubled expression; a deep furrow 
 extended across his brow ; the buoyancy of his step was gone. 
 Observing the changed condition of his friend, the physi 
 cian, knowing that Mrs. Marchand's life was nearing its 
 close, said : 
 
 "LeBerte, we have always been the best of friends, and 
 I want to talk frankly with you, as a father would talk to a 
 son, regarding the cloud of sorrow that is hovering over 
 you. It is a new experience for you, while I can speak of it 
 as one who knows. 
 
 "There are many ways in which men treat a great sor 
 row, but the majority of them follow one of three courses. 
 One class of sorrowers, and, by the way, they are the weaker 
 ones, resort to drink, thinking to drown their trouble 
 in dissipation and excesses. You, I know, have better judg 
 ment than to take that road. Another class withdraw them 
 selves from the world of friends about them, hardening their 
 hearts against all love and sympathy, become cynical, lose 
 interest in themselves and all around them, growing colder 
 day by day, until finally they disbelieve in the mercy and 
 goodness of God himself, and are virtually nonentities in 
 
 29
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 the end. You have too good a heart and too deep a nature 
 to take that road. The other class are those who look kind 
 ly, calmly upon their misfortunes and sorrows, taking them 
 as a sort of life discipline, bearing up under them with a 
 courage that is exemplary and praiseworthy. These are the 
 noble, generous, sympathetic souls that you will always find 
 plodding along life's highway, extending a helping hand 
 here, speaking a word of encouragement and cheer there, to 
 help the weary along. They are God's own beacon lights 
 that shine upon the rough, uneven pathway of life, mak 
 ing it possible for many struggling, fainting, weary souls 
 to reach a haven of rest. 
 
 "Our sorrows, my dear friend, should make us nobler, 
 better and purer, and they will if we but accept them from 
 God's hand as the lessons of life. They will prepare and 
 qualify us for that enjoyment of the pure, the good, the 
 royal things of this life that others cannot enjoy. They 
 will bring us to that altitude in life's journey where we may 
 look down the decline and over the valley covered with 
 fields of the richest, ripest harvest that mortal eyes can be 
 hold. To which class do you belong?" 
 
 Before Mr. Marchand had time to formulate an answer, 
 they were summoned to the sick room. The end was indeed 
 drawing nigh, and ere another day had dawned upon "The 
 Cedars" the soul of the affectionate wife and loving mother 
 had taken its flight to the spirit land. 
 
 30
 
 A LONELY MAN 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 A LONELY MAN. 
 
 It was all over. The family vault in the cemetery was 
 closed and sealed. The wide halls and spacious rooms at 
 "The Cedars" resounded no more with the happy voices of 
 love and the music of cheerful companionship. The family 
 was gone, and the dear old home was in the hands of serv 
 ants. The members of the once happy family could not 
 bear the idea of remaining at "The Cedars" after the wife 
 and mother had left them, so it was decided that the father, 
 son and daughter should spend some months traveling, and 
 after the keen edge of their sorrow had been worn away 
 Walter should enter college, and Edith be placed in a board 
 ing school nearby, that brother and sister might not be 
 wholly separated. 
 
 As soon, therefore, as the various arrangements could 
 be perfected, the Marchands bade farewell to "The Cedars" 
 and their immediate friends, and set out upon their jour 
 ney. 
 
 After devoting the summer months to sight seeing at the 
 places of note and importance in European countries, the 
 little family returned to the United States much benefited, 
 feeling that life still had charms for each of them. To Edith 
 and Walter, the journey had been like a panorama of beau- 
 
 31
 
 NQRKOMA 
 
 tiful sights and scenes., while the activity of travel occupied 
 their attention so they had little time or opportunity to brood 
 over their sorrow. They were not only willing and ready, 
 but really anxious to resume their studies. Mr. Marchand 
 himself began to note that sense of longing, that inexpressible 
 feeling natural to one long separated from the familiar ob 
 jects of home. 
 
 He knew that his return to "The Cedars" without the 
 company of his son and daughter would not be pleasant, nor 
 indeed would it be pleasant to remain at home without their 
 presence there. However, his duty to his children must not 
 be subverted to his own pleasures or whims, so according to 
 prearranged plans, Walter entered upon his collegiate course 
 
 at W , while Edith was comfortably situated nearby. 
 
 After having arranged matters so that brother and sister 
 should not be entirely separated, and having said many good 
 byes, the father departed for his home to take up the battles 
 of life again but alone. 
 
 Mr. Marchand arrived in the city in the evening. The 
 streets were ablaze with light, and thronged with merry, 
 laughing crowds of people. The pale, full moon but added 
 luster and brilliancy to the scene, as the lone traveler stood 
 upon the curb, undecided which way to turn or where to go. 
 He had a home and friends, and there were many place? 
 where he had been accustomed to retreat for pastime and 
 amusement, but he did not feel disposed toward them now. 
 He felt as a stranger in a strange city, although every street, 
 every building and many faces were familiar to him as he 
 stood there in the pale moonlight gazing abstractedly upon 
 the merrymaking throng. 
 
 After a short wait he involuntarily started towards the 
 
 32
 
 A LONELY MAN 
 
 Lawyers' Club, unconsciously selecting the side of the street 
 less frequented by the crowds of people. Going a short dis 
 tance he paused he had changed his mind, deciding that 
 the club would be but a bore to him. Across the street crowds 
 were Hurrying to the theatre. Should he go there to spend 
 the evening? No, he cared nothing for the opera tonight. 
 "The Cedars," his home? No, he would not go home to 
 night. He thought of numerous places of amusement, and 
 several times started to go to some one of them, always de 
 ciding before reaching the place upon some other course. 
 So he wandered disconsolately about his native city, selecting 
 the more secluded streets, his mind swayed with doubt and 
 uncertainty, selfish in his grief and sorrow, vain in his weak 
 ness, until tired nature asserted herself. Then the lonely 
 man entered a hotel and retired to his dismal room. 
 
 The sun was peeping over the tops of the neighboring 
 houses as LeBerte Marchand walked slowly up one of the 
 paths leading to his home. He remembered the time in 
 years gone by when he had returned in the early morning 
 with little Norkoma. The faithful old watch dog did not 
 now come down the path to meet him as he had done on the 
 former occasion. The old colored servant was not at the 
 door to welcome "de marse" home. The place seemed shroud 
 ed in gloom. He entered the parlor, where the housekeeper 
 soon had a comfortable fire blazing in the grate to dispel the 
 dampness from the room. He sat down and gazed vacantly 
 into the fire. Another chair stood on the opposite side of 
 the fireplace vacant. In the adjoining room, the door of 
 which stood open, the wife, companion and mother had passed 
 her last days. New draperies surrounded the bed and new 
 curtains were at the windows. The toilet articles and brie-
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 a-brac that betoken an air of occupancy had all been removed, 
 and despite the plain, rich furnishings, the room had a 
 desolate and deserted look. Brushing away the tears that 
 dimmed his eyes, he uttered a half audible prayer. The 
 closed secretarie stood in its accustomed place near the win 
 dow. He opened it. In one of the numerous receptacles was 
 a package of old letters neatly tied with a narrow pink rib 
 bon, slightly soiled by frequent handling. On the envelopes 
 he recognized his own handwriting. The letters had been 
 written in the happy days of long ago, and had been safely 
 kept and treasured by her whose presence he missed so sadly 
 on his home-coming. With tear dimmed eyes he left the 
 room, murmuring "God bless her dear memory." 
 
 The servant announced breakfast, but was unheard by Mr. 
 Marchand. "Oh, that I could recall the days gone by happy 
 days yes, the happiest of my life," murmured he as 
 he sat with bowed head, while memories of the past crowded 
 over him. There was the first home-coming, when the wife, 
 a bride, had turned to him as they entered the spacious old 
 room and said, "This shall be indeed a home to us, LeBerte, 
 if I can make it so." Then there was the second home-com 
 ing when little Norkoma had lifted his bright face to theirs 
 and said, "I love my mamma, and my papa, too." Then 
 later the baby Edith had made them happy beyond expression 
 then came death, and the home had been robbed of its 
 full glory. 
 
 The servant again announced that breakfast was wait 
 ing. Marchand started from his reverie and passed into the 
 breakfast room. He halted as he approached his accustomed 
 place the seat opposite was vacant. The repast, though 
 daintily served, was unrelished and almost untouched. The 
 
 34
 
 A LONELY MAN 
 
 largo Maltese cat gently stroked its fur and purred about 
 his feet. He shared his breakfast with it, contrary to for 
 mer custom but it was hers, she had loved it. 
 
 From the house he passed down through the grounds to 
 the stables. Ere he entered, Felix, the old family horse so 
 much driven and petted by Mrs. 'Marchand, began neighing 
 impatiently and pawing the ground viciously, seeming to 
 know that his master was near at hand. As the door opened 
 and the master entered, the noble animal stretched his shapely 
 neck across the manger, shaking his head and whinnying joy 
 fully, extending the only welcome he knew. 
 
 Going around into the stall he patted the horse's neck, 
 while the intelligent animal contented himself with resting 
 his head upon his master's shoulder. The horse soon became 
 restless and neighed several times, throwing his alert ears 
 forward and gazing persistently out of the open door. The 
 sorrowful man did not at first comprehend, but when the 
 reason for the horse's restlessness dawned upon him he burst 
 into a flood of tears, and, throwing his arms about the horse's 
 neck, he sobbed: "Poor Felix! Do you miss her?" Then, 
 passing around into the barn, he threw himself upon a pile 
 of new mown hay, and wept as man seldom weeps. 
 
 It was late in the day when LeBerte Marchand emerged 
 from the buildings, for, worn and weary, he had wept him 
 self to sleep. The sleep had not only refreshed him, but it 
 had also revived him both mentally and spiritually, so that 
 he felt altogether like a new man. In time, he learned to 
 look upon his sorrow as a black cloud of destiny and fate 
 which sometimes drops down before the vision of our hap 
 piest dreams. In this, his great sorrow, LeBerte Marchand's 
 soul became cleansed of its dross. His patient suffering 
 
 35
 
 became distilled into a holy incense which arose to drive 
 away the vain expectancies, the unholy hopes, the unhappy 
 fears, that burdened his soul. From it all he emerged with 
 a clear head, a lighter heart. Then, toward the eternal, ap 
 proaching future, he stretched out his prayerful hands of 
 hope, with a fixed belief that in the great beyond there is 
 something brighter and better.
 
 A FAMILIAR FACE 
 
 CHAPTER Vil. 
 A FAMILIAR FACE. 
 
 Walter's college days are now over, and he is a full-fledged 
 practitioner of the law in the city of New Orleans. The 
 office sign that adorns the entrance to the office building 
 reads: "Marchand & Marchand, Attorneys and Counsellors 
 at Law." 
 
 Edith has not finished her college education. Having 
 added music and fine art to her course of study, she is re 
 quired to remain a while longer. The loving brother and 
 sister saw little of each other during the last year or two 
 of Walters college life. So industrious with his books was 
 he, that whatever visiting between them there was, fell to 
 the lot of Edith. As expressed by Walter upon occasions 
 when Edith pleaded with him for a visit to her : "Now, sis 
 ter, you see I'm a man with great burdens to bear, or at least 
 I expect to bear them when I launch out into the busy world, 
 and I must learn here to economize my time in preparing 
 for the battle. With you girls it is different. Your battles 
 are all fought out in your colleges. When you leave your 
 Alma Mater you go out the victor, with no more battles to 
 fight. You depend upon us men to fight life's battles, and 
 that is why you need not be so anxious about a mere trifle 
 
 37
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 of time. Besides, I appreciate your visits to me more than 
 ever I could my visiting you," etc. 
 
 However, a regular system of tri-weekly correspondence 
 was kept up between Walter and Edith, thereby keeping in 
 close touch with each other in feeling, sentiment and mutual 
 interest. It had been well agreed upon that at the close 
 of Walter's course he would make up for the seeming inat 
 tention by an extended visit with Edith at her college home, 
 and of which contemplated visit both brother and sister lived 
 in glorious anticipation. 
 
 Edith's later correspondence became filled with glowing 
 accounts of her wonderful music teacher, whom the pupil 
 appeared to love very dearly. This apparent affection seemed 
 to leave a twang of pain in Walter's bosom, though he could 
 assign no reason therefor. He would, however, readily manu 
 facture excuses satisfactory to his own mind for the time 
 being. Indeed, he was almost wholly engrossed with his 
 college work, affording little time for other matters. 
 
 The teacher, according to Edith's description, was almost 
 a divinity. Using the pupil's language, the teacher was: 
 "The most lovely, angelic person I have ever met. She is 
 a woman of quiet, motherly, sympathetic nature, and a 
 charming personality. The word beautiful does not fully 
 express her face, her eyes, her very soul; but what word can 
 I find to use as a substitute? The few gray hairs give the 
 appearance of interwoven strands of silver, decorating her 
 head with a crown triumphant a victor over the perplexing 
 shadows of life." 
 
 No wonder that the brother occasionally felt a strange pang 
 perhaps of jealousy at this wonderful affection for the 
 
 38
 
 A FAMILIAR FACE 
 
 teacher. Edith and Walter had always been lovers, as well as 
 brother and sister. 
 
 But disappointments come when least expected. The date 
 of the Commencement, Walter was taken sick with symp 
 toms of protracted fever, so it was thought best that he should 
 hasten to his Southern, sunny home, where, after a few weeks 
 of rest and recreation, he became anxious to begin his "bat 
 tles of life" with the business world, and which he did by 
 entering into partnership with his father in the practice of 
 law. 
 
 The miscarriage of the contemplated visit was a great 
 disappointment to Edith, and upon learning of her brother's 
 illness, but a few days elapsed until the family circle that 
 is, what remained of it was again complete around the 
 hearth-stone of "The Cedars." It was a glorious reunion. 
 The sharp edge of the former great sorrow had been worn 
 off by the flight of time and the cares of life. The bright 
 and glittering star of hope and of youth's ambition was high 
 in its ascendency. Mirth, laughter and song again filled the 
 old home except an aching, gaping void in the bosom of the 
 father, who, however, jealously guarded the secret by his 
 every word and act. 
 
 Edith's cheerful nature and matronly care soon mastered 
 her brother's illness. They were constant companions, as in 
 their childhood days. Their mutual love and affection were 
 more than that common between brother and sister, but they 
 were not aware of the fact. It was a pleasure to the father 
 to witness this wonderful love and affection between his 
 children. He loved them as father never loved, so Mr. Mar- 
 chand thought, and he was in turn equally loved by Walter 
 and Edith. 
 
 39
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 But the family reunion must end for a period Edith is 
 to return to the college. The business cares of the office had 
 engaged Mr. Marchand's whole attention since the time he 
 returned to his desolate home and took up the battle of life, 
 alone. With the exception of a few short visits to Edith 
 and Walter, he had enjoyed no recreation or rest from his 
 daily routine of toil. Xow that Walter had blossomed into 
 manhood,, and had prepared himself to carry a part of the 
 burden, Mr. Marchand looked forward upon a brighter scene. 
 He could now devote more time to the comforts and pleas 
 ures of life. 
 
 Therefore, leaving Walter in charge of the office, with 
 certain plain, but simple instructions, Mr. Marchand, 
 with a lighter heart than he had for a long time en 
 joyed, accompanied Edith on her return to college. Since 
 the death of Mrs. Marchand, the only beam of joy he had 
 known was in the anticipation of his own Walter and Edith 
 growing into a beautiful man and womanhood that would 
 crown his declining days with satisfaction. But now that 
 his hopes were partly realized, the darker clouds seemed to 
 clear away, and there was promise of a brighter future than 
 he had thought. 
 
 No two persons could have been sweeter companions upon 
 that journey than were Edith and her father. Passengers 
 upon the train wondered for a spell if they were lovers, or 
 bride and groom on their honeymoon. And, when they were 
 discovered to be father and daughter, they at once became the 
 envied of all about them. The novelty of visiting class reci 
 tations with Edith brought back the old spirit of his college 
 days, and Mr. Marchand grew perceptibly younger day by 
 day. He talked with the teachers and faculty, visited the 
 
 40
 
 A FAMILIAR FACE 
 
 literary societies, and enjoyed the exercises. What a change 
 these associations and surroundings brought about in Mr. 
 Marchand, no one knew better than himself. He found 
 Editlrs music teacher even more charming and beautiful 
 than she had been pictured. He felt glad that Edith had 
 found so good and true a friend and associate. As teacher 
 and pupil were almost inseparable after school hours, the 
 father was necessarily made the third one of the party, and 
 this companionship was a pleasure to him. 
 
 But the pleasurable visit could not be indefinitely ex 
 tended. The call to duty by his son's side now began ringing 
 in Mr. Marchand's ears, and he made preparations to leave. 
 
 On the evening of his departure, while in the parlor await 
 ing the preparations of Edith and her teacher, who were 
 to accompany him to the train, Mr. Marchand was mechnic- 
 ally glancing through an album of old photographs. The 
 faces were all strange to him, and elicited little or no inter 
 est. As he was about to close the book, by chance his eyes 
 fell upon a photograph that at first attracted, then startled 
 him. It was an old photograph, but the face of the original 
 stood out in clear cut lines. The brows of Marchand be 
 came drawn, and he drew his hand across his face as if to 
 brush away a shadow that clouded the memory of the past. 
 Again glancing at the photograph, he exclaimed to himself : 
 "I have seen that face before." 
 
 His reverie was broken by the. sudden approach of his 
 escorts. The album dropped from his hands and was closed, 
 but the incident was one against which memory would not 
 close. With many happy good-byes and numerous messages 
 for Walter, Mr. Marchand departed for his home with a 
 light heart and buoyant spirits, but with a tinge of pain, or a 
 
 41
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 mysterious unforgetfulness of the photograph of a face he 
 somewhere, at some time in the dim past, had seen before, 
 the recollection of which was beclouded and shadowed. 
 
 On the sleeper, as the train plunged homeward, when he 
 closed his eyes the photograph continually presented itself 
 before his mental vision, however hard he tried to drive it 
 away and out of his mind. In his half sleeping moments, 
 he would find himself repeating the words, "I have seen that 
 face before." 
 
 42
 
 THE YOUNG LAWYER 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 THE YOUNG LAWYER. 
 
 When Walter Marchand entered his father's law office as 
 partner in the business, he realized that he was but beginning 
 the study of law; that from Kent, Blackstone and other 
 text writers he had only obtained principles, axioms and max 
 ims. But, here, in the office and in the court, he found the 
 law as it was actually practiced, by "precedent" rather than 
 by the principles laid down by the ancient writers. New and 
 ever changing conditions in the affairs of mankind required 
 modification of many of these ancient principles, and our 
 new lawyer soon learned to adjust them to harmonize with 
 the present conditions. The pleasure of being free, his own 
 master, independent, afforded him a pleasurable sensation 
 he had not before known. His cordial reception by the 
 members of the bar was, indeed, a great satisfaction to the 
 new lawyer, and tended in a great measure to remove the 
 feeling of uncertainty and embarrassment that is usually ex 
 perienced by the beginner in the practice of the law. 
 
 Being a student, an earnest, industrious man, Walter soon 
 found his equilibrium, and readily took high rank among 
 the younger practitioners. 
 
 Young Marchand had not practiced law a great length of 
 time when, upon a certain occasion, he was appointed by 
 
 43
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 r 
 
 the Criminal Judge to defend a person indicted for theft, 
 but who, by reason of poverty, was unable to procure coun 
 sel. After consultation with the defendant, wherein that per 
 son had freely and frankly admitted his guilt, Walter 
 returned to the Court and modestly declined to defend the 
 criminal. 
 
 "State your reasons for declining to defend this man," 
 roughly demanded the Judge. 
 
 "I could not do so, sir, lest I become guilty of a breach 
 of professional confidence," replied the lawyer. 
 
 "Then, sir, unless you can assign some good reason for 
 your conduct in this matter, you will stand subject to a 
 fine, and perhaps be disbarred from the practice of the 
 law," returned the Court. 
 
 "I appreciate the gravity of this seeming offense against 
 the Court, and I also realize that my lips are sealed against 
 making' known the conditions which give rise to my rebel 
 lion against defending the accused. I must say, however, 
 that it is a matter of conscientious scruple, a religious and 
 moral principle that must have been born in me at my birth, 
 and grown with my growth, and which, I hope, will cling 
 to me until I die. This dilemma is not of my own making. 
 I am indeed sorry that it has occurred, and without desiring 
 to be insubordinate, I cannot do otherwise than maintain my 
 position though I be fined, or even disbarred from the prac 
 tice of my chosen profession." 
 
 The dignity of the Court had been offended. The Judge 
 had always been a staunch friend of LeBerte Marchand, and 
 had taken a sort of pride in the son upon his admission to 
 the bar. Personal friendship, however, could not be al 
 lowed to interfere with the "dignity of the Court." To ad- 
 
 44
 
 THE YOUNG LAWYER 
 
 judge a fine or a jail sentence against the young lawyer would, 
 perhaps, break down his high-strung nature and lead to 
 unaccountable results, yet, whatever the result, the author 
 ity of the law must be maintained. The Judge turned to 
 the clerk and said : 
 
 "The clerk of the Court will enter up a fine of one hun 
 dred dollars against Mr. Marchand, and a judgment of com 
 mitment to jail. The Sheriff will take charge of the gen 
 tleman and keep him in confinement until he purges him 
 self of the offense against the court." 
 
 Walter gazed unflinchingly into the eyes of the Court as the 
 judgment was being passed. His face flushed and paled a? 
 the thoughts passed through his mind of the great mortifica 
 tion his confinement in jail would bring to his old father and 
 his sister. His heart and soul rebelled against this unjust 
 decree of the Court. Fired with indignation, he appealed 
 to the Court: 
 
 <f Your honor, I cannot understand how I am guilty of 
 contempt of the Court. The situation is not one of my own 
 making. The Court appointed me to defend an accused 
 person, and to do so without compensation for my services. 
 The defendant could not procure my services in his behalf 
 when he refused to follow my counsel, were he to offer me 
 a fabulous fee. But the Court, by its order, seeks to compel 
 me to do that which no amount of money could hire me to 
 do, and in my refusal, I am to be covered with humiliation 
 and disgrace. What for? To appease the whim of the 
 Court? Shall I lose my own dignity, suppress my con 
 scientious scruples, and outrage myself in my own estima 
 tion for the poor privilege of practicing law before the 
 Court? That I can not and will not do, and here and now 
 
 45
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 \ 
 
 tender my resignation as an officer at this bar, and with this, 
 abandon the practice of law, forever. I will pay the fine as 
 sessed against me, and, being no longer a member of this bar, 
 the Court has no right in the law to enter further sentence 
 against me." 
 
 "But the sentence was entered before you tendered your 
 resignation," said the Judge. 
 
 "But was not executed in whole or in part," returned 
 Walter. 
 
 "The sentence of the Court will not be modified, and the 
 Sheriff will take charge of you instanter," roared the Judge. 
 
 "And before the Sheriff or any other person confines me 
 in prison upon that order, there will be spilling of human 
 blood," replied Walter as he wheeled and hurried out of 
 the room before the bailiff had an opportunity to lay hands 
 upon him. 
 
 As Walter passed out by one door, his father entered by 
 another, and upon inquiry as to the apparent commotion, 
 ascertained all the facts. After a whispered conversation 
 with the Judge of the Court, the fine and jail sentence were 
 both remitted and the young lawyer fully restored to his 
 former standing, as appeared upon the record of the Court. 
 
 LeBerte Marchand took up the defense of the accused, 
 whom Walter had refused to represent, and in the course 
 of the day procured a verdict of "not guilty" from a jury, 
 which set the prisoner free. 
 
 When the elder Marchand arrived that evening at his of 
 fice he found Walter in a condition of absolute despair, al 
 though he had already learned of the Court's action absolv 
 ing him from the orders previously entered. He was grieved 
 
 46
 
 and hurt, because he had been unjustly held up to public 
 criticism, as he thought. 
 
 "What reasons had you for not defending the accused?" 
 asked the father, though he well knew in advance the an 
 swer. 
 
 "The man confessed his guilt to me, as his attorney, and 
 refused to either plead guilty before the Court or to allow 
 me to enter a plea for him. I would not stultify my con 
 science by defending a man whom I knew to be guilty of the 
 crime with which lie is charged. I could not be employed 
 to do so, nor forced so to do by the order of the Court. That 
 is why I refused," answered Walter. 
 
 "But," replied the father, "while the man may have been 
 guilty in fact, he was not guilty in law. That is, the State 
 could net establish or prove his guilt." 
 
 "If a man be guilty in fact, he is also guilty in law, for 
 his guilt, or crime, lies in violating the law. If self-confessed 
 criminals are to be turned free through the sharp practice 
 of the attorneys appointed by the court, then why make laws ? 
 Why not throw open the prison doors and abolish law mak 
 ing and the criminal courts? Ah, father, there is something 
 wrong' at the foundation of the system. The lawyer who, 
 knowing his client to be guilty of a crime, defends him and 
 seeks to set him free, is like the hired assassin he is par- 
 ticeps criminis." 
 
 "My son," said the father, "you must not overlook the fact 
 that a lawyer's first duty is to his client, the public after 
 wards." 
 
 "No, father," replied Walter, "the lawyer's first duty is to 
 uphold the sovereignty of the law; loyalty to his countr}' 
 and its laws, then his client. A lawyer is but an officer of 
 
 47
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 the law, the same as the Judge upon the bench whose counsel 
 and adviser he is. The lawyer who knowingly seeks to set 
 a criminal free at the expense of the laws of the State is 
 worse than the criminal, in my estimation. Others may be 
 employed or appointed who will, but I now serve notice on t lie- 
 bar and the courts, that I shall never defend a person act 
 ually guilty of a crime, either under his employment or by 
 the appointment of the Court, except upon one condition, 
 to-wit : That the defendant confess his guilt before the Court 
 and the jury, and plead for mercy." 
 
 It is true that the position thus taken by the young law- 
 JBT was not altogether in line with that presumed to be taken 
 by the profession. In fact, it was looked upon by the people 
 as an innovation in the practice of the law. The news 
 of the "honest young lawyer" spread over the city with great 
 rapidity. The morning papers came out with large head 
 lines detailing the incident accurately and commenting upon 
 the ability, integrity, honor and moral stamina of the "rising 
 young lawyer." 
 
 His friends flocked to his office to congratulate him. 
 Strangers also came to see this wonderful young man who 
 would rather abandon his chosen profession than to. defend 
 an actually guilty man would decay in the prison cell rather 
 than stultify his conscience. Letters came to him from 
 various parts of the State, and even from other States did 
 the young lawyer receive letters of congratulation and en 
 couragement. 
 
 At one great bound Walter Marchand came into promi 
 nence throughout his city and State. The political machine 
 was not long in recognizing his great popularity. The good 
 people of the city had long prayed in their hearts for an 
 
 48
 
 THE YOUNG LAWYER 
 
 honest administrator of the city's affairs. The machine 
 and the people both looked at Walter Marchand with a 
 covetous eye. The machine doubted its ability to control 
 and use the young man to its advantage should he be placed 
 in office. The people doubted their a&lity to put him into 
 office against the all-powerful machine. They did not doubt 
 the young man's absolute fidelity to every honest cause. 
 The young lawyer had never dreamed of entering the polit 
 ical field. He abhorred politics, at least what little he had 
 seen of the practice of "the game of politics." 
 
 Friends of the machine and friends of the people both 
 began courting the good graces of the young man. The 
 young man was not slow in deducing conclusions. He smelled 
 the battle from afar, and looked on with graceful placidity, 
 to the surprise of his friends who would have been glad 
 to jump" at the opportunity of procuring official position 
 and distinction. To his father, whom he made his steadfast 
 confident, he would say: 
 
 "I am but a boy; I am not capable of assuming official 
 position, even were I by nature inclined in that direction. 
 My desire is to become a good lawyer, but above all, to be and 
 become a good citizen. I have observed what public office 
 has done for some of our acquaintances. I learn that when 
 they entered public life they were prosperous and honored 
 citizens. Today one of them begged of me a dime to buy 
 a cup of coffee, but he bought poor whiskey instead." 
 
 "But," rejoined the father, "all people in public life are 
 not thus affected. Some of them are degenerate, it is true, 
 but I think the majority of them profit by it. My observa 
 tion has been that many of them have done real well, finan 
 cially/' 
 
 49
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 "Perhaps so," answered Walter, "but whence came the 
 finances, the wealth? Did the legal and honest emoluments 
 of the office make them rich, or was it what some people 
 call 'the perquisites'?" 
 
 "Oh, well, it migh^be said that it was both, in some in 
 stances," returned the father. "There are many instances 
 where the official position gives one a foreknowledge of 
 events and contingencies that afford an unexcelled op 
 portunity for profitable investment. For instance, a certain 
 street is to be paved, or a certain public improvement is to 
 be made in a certain locality which will greatly enhance the 
 values. That is but one instance -thousands might be men 
 tioned. Certain officials are in the possession of this knowl 
 edge and take advantage of it, make it profitable to them 
 selves. The people at large learn of these things when too 
 late." 
 
 "I am aware of the many advantages of that character 
 which puhlic life affords, but I am also aware of the many 
 disadvantages it entails. For the present I shall give my at 
 tention to my law practice and let the world 'wag along/' 1 
 
 50
 
 THE LITTLE MUSIC TEACHER 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 THE LITTLE MUSIC TEACHER. 
 
 Edith, in her Northern school home, read the news articles 
 of her brother's sudden bound into popular favor and no 
 toriety, and was delighted beyond expression. She devoted 
 hours, almost daily, writing letters of love and congratula 
 tion to her brother and father. Frequently those letters 
 would contain expressions of her music teacher, Mrs. Olcott, 
 regarding the father and brother. True, Mrs. Olcott had 
 never met the brother, but from her long companionship 
 with his sister, she felt that she already loved him as she 
 did Edith. One of the greatest desires of the motherly little 
 teacher was to meet her pupil's brother. 
 
 Letters full of prayers and pleading from Edith could 
 not draw the young lawyer away from his duties at the of 
 fice and the court. He was in love with his profession, and 
 its duties took precedence over all else. 
 
 The father and son agreed that Edith should have more 
 attention from them, and that a visit should be made her. 
 The suggestion by the son that the father should be the visitor 
 was not in the least opposed by the elder gentleman. It ap 
 peared to Walter that the father was really anxious to visit 
 the Northern school where Edith attended, but it was only 
 a passing thought. 
 
 51
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 Edith and Mrs. Olcott were greatly rejoiced when they 
 received word of the father's coming. No man was ever 
 more heartily welcomed than was Mr. Marchand upon his 
 arrival. There was a short vacation of three days, and they 
 were filled with genuine pleasure. It was in beautiful Oc 
 tober. The leaves of the trees were shaded with a golden 
 hue, and the chestnut burs were open. The bracing autumn 
 breezes mingled with the welcome sunshine to paint the 
 flush of health upon the cheeks, and to invigorate the body 
 and mind of him who roamed the open fields or tramped 
 the forest, carpeted with new fallen leaves. 
 
 Edith, a lovely, lithesome lass, overflowing with joy, mirth 
 and laughter; Mrs. Olcott, beautiful, queenly and lovable; 
 Mr. Marchand, handsome, gentlemanly, and with a nature 
 just ready to burst from a long confinement in sorrow's prison- 
 house, made up a little party ripe and ready to enjoy to the 
 fullest the freedom of the field, farm and wood. To the 
 two elder people of the little party, this outing brought 
 back, with full force, the memories of childhood's happy 
 days. How the images of long ago lingered in memory's 
 picture gallery! All, in the brightest of tints and colors. 
 They again, saw the sunshine, the birds and the flowers of 
 their youthful days. In the hard tramp of years they had 
 walked through the shades of forgetfulness, but now the 
 warm sunshine of memory sifted through the clouds of sor 
 row, bringing back to them the days when hills and valleys 
 were alike pleasant to the joyful tread of cheerful youth 
 when bumps and rills and gulleys and hills in the path of 
 life ahead are covered as with the soft, white snow that 
 covers the irregular contour of the mountain, peak and val 
 ley. Oh, it was a joy, a pleasure supreme to our little trio,
 
 THE LITTLE MUSIC TEACHER 
 
 no one of which drank of the pleasure more eagerly than 
 Mr. Marchand. It was to his mind and spirit as wine to 
 the stomach. No wonder was it that he and his daughter's 
 teacher were frequently observed as unconsciously drawing 
 together under some chestnut tree, gazing into each other's 
 eyes and relating the experience of their youthful days, until 
 they became wholly oblivious to all around them. 
 
 Upon such occasions, and with a roguish sparkle in her 
 eye, Edith might have been heard saying to herself, "I 
 think I smell a mouse." Then she would innocently find her 
 attention engaged at something a short distance apart from 
 her companions, so as to allow the situation to grow per- 
 plexingly interesting by her sudden reappearance and in 
 terruption. 
 
 Edith loved the little teacher with her whole heart. From 
 their companionship their lives almost became an open book, 
 each to the other. The warm affection was thoroughly mu 
 tual between them. With the coming of spring, Edith would 
 finish her course of study at the school, and would leave for 
 her Southern home. The thought of the separation was 
 equally distressing to both teacher and pupil. Edith did not 
 hesitate to frequently mention the subject in the presence of 
 her father, though she at first did not observe the passing 
 of sympathetic, or perhaps knowing, glances between the two 
 elder persons. 
 
 "You are really not jealous of your little teacher, are you, 
 Edith?" asked the father upon one occasion. 
 
 "Oh, indeed no, I would only be too glad to have a cause 
 for jealousy," answered Edith, as she coyly slipped her arm 
 around the waist of her companion-teacher. 
 
 Mrs. Olcott flushed a little and adroitly turned the con- 
 
 53
 
 versation to other subjects. True, she was not at heart 
 averse to changing her mode of life, and especially should 
 an opportunity afford, which would permit her to retain the 
 agreeable companionship of her pupil. Mrs. Olcott was as 
 discreet a little woman as she was lovable, and being the 
 soul of honor, she would not make use of any of the little, be 
 witching wiles, so exclusively the inheritance of the gentler 
 sex, so as to lead Mr. Marchand forward to the consumma 
 tion of the object which she believed was being formed in 
 his mind. No matter what her feeling may have been, or 
 how much her soul went out toward Mr. Marchand, it must 
 remain a sacred secret within her own bosom. Not even 
 Edith should suspect the truth; nor should she admit the 
 truth to herself. If, when the proper time came, should 
 that time ever come, she would frankly confess the truth 
 and thank God for His goodness to her. So ran her thoughts 
 as she sat one evening at the piano thrumming in a desul 
 tory sort of way upon the keyboard, and humming "The Lost 
 Chord." 
 
 Edith and her father were out walking, and as they ap 
 proached the house, the daughter was reminded of the fact 
 that she had promised to call upon a friend. She there 
 fore directed her father to go in the house, saying that she 
 would follow immediately after performing her errand. 
 
 Mr. Marchand stepped lightly upon the porch, unheard by 
 the singer within. He stopped and listened as if charmed by 
 the music. The music ceased for a moment, then began 
 again, a beautiful, plaintive melody that rose and fell like 
 the waves of the sea. Then with a sudden change, a fierce 
 storm of melody pealed forth from the piano with such mag- 
 nificent execution that Mr. Marchand could see before his 
 
 54
 
 THE LITTLE MUSIC TEACHER 
 
 mental vision the charging and retreating forces of an army 
 at battle. The thundering of the cannon, and the roar of 
 the musketry, mingled with the rhythmic strains as they 
 floated out upon the evening air, was plainly perceptible and 
 audible to the listener. Then came the after calm of battle, 
 the patter of the rain, the going into camp, the bugle taps 
 all with that marvelous and mysterious execution that 
 thrilled the soul of Mr. Marchand, and caused him to almost 
 doubt his senses. 
 
 The music ceased, the listener stepped to the door and 
 gazed in upon the wonderful musician who rested her reclin 
 ing head upon her arms, which were folded across the key 
 board of the piano-, as if in sorrow or in deep meditation. 
 "Shall I approach and arouse her from her dreams, what 
 ever they may be?" thought Mr. Marchand. He decided not 
 to disturb her. The shades of evening were gathering fast 
 about the scene. In the growing darkness of the room the 
 outline of the wonderful musician could scarcely be discerned. 
 Mr. Marchand retraced his steps to the gate, where he stood 
 and gazed at the starry canopy above, the following beauti 
 ful lines of verse running through his mind : 
 
 "Music ! how faint, how weak, 
 Language fades before thy spell ! 
 Why should feeling ever speak 
 When thou canst breathe her soul so well? 
 Friendship's balmy words may feign, 
 Love's are e'en more false than they; 
 Oh, 'tis only music's strain 
 Can sweetly soothe and not betray." 
 
 Moore. 
 
 55
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 How long he stood by the gate, musing or dreaming, Mr. 
 Marchand did not know, or how long he might have contin 
 ued to contemplate the starry canopy, had he not been in 
 terrupted by a passerby, was a problem difficult of solution. 
 Eecovering from his reverie, he discovered the room all aglow 
 with light. He again approached the door, and was welcomely 
 received by the wonderful little musician whose excellent 
 execution had driven him into dreamland a short while be 
 fore. Naturally, their conversation drifted to the subject 
 of music. 
 
 "I cannot refrain from complimenting you very highly 
 upon your rare musical skill/' said the gentleman. "It has 
 been my pleasure to listen to the efforts of many professional 
 artists, but permit me to say that I have never heard your 
 equal." 
 
 "I am pleased to accept the compliment in the same spirit 
 in which I feel sure it is given, but I fear you are inclined 
 to accept as conclusive the opinion of Edith, whom I know 
 overrates my poor abilities." 
 
 "Oh, no," replied Mr. Marchand, for he knew that the 
 musician was totally ignorant of his presence a short while 
 before, and he felt that he had been an eavesdropper. "I will 
 confess that upon approaching the house this evening, I 
 heard you singing, and I stopped to listen. It was beauti 
 ful. I would not interrupt you by entering. The song 
 ceased, and, as I was about to approach, the music began 
 again, and again I halted, entranced. I waited, heard it 
 through one of the most brilliantly executed masterpieces 
 to which I have ever had the pleasure of listening. I really 
 never knew that a piano could be made to produce such won 
 derful music." 
 
 56
 
 THE LITTLE MUSIC TEACHER 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Marchand, you are either jesting, or you do me an 
 injustice by overestimating my poor abilities," returned Mrs. 
 Olcott. 
 
 After further conversation along this line, Mr. Marchand 
 continued : 
 
 "Edith tells me you are a native of our beautiful South 
 land/' 
 
 "Yes, of dear old Tennessee, though I have not visited my 
 native state in a number of years/' 
 
 "You frequently visit your folks and friends, I judge?" 
 inquired Marchand. 
 
 "My folks are all gone," said the little woman, with a more 
 tender tone, casting her eyes downward. "None of them 
 are living, so far as I am able to learn. My father and 
 brother fell in battle during the war. Father was an en 
 thusiastic Southerner, and of course his fortunes went in 
 support of the cause he believed right." 
 
 "Certainly, certainly," interjected Marchand. "But if I 
 do not seem rude, may I inquire what was your father's 
 name ?" 
 
 "Of course. My father's name was Henry J. Wingate." 
 
 "And you are the daughter of Henry Jackson Wingate? 
 Your brother's name was Lee Wingate, and with whom I 
 marched side by side in the same company. Why, God bless 
 you, little woman," said Marchand as he clasped her out 
 stretched hand in both his own, then turned to brush away 
 a tear that trickled down his cheek. After a pause, he con 
 tinued : 
 
 "Lee and I were mere boys, but a braver, truer boy never 
 shouldered a musket than your brother. I was not with him 
 
 57
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 when he fell, but I heard of his death. He was a soldier, 
 every inch a soldier." 
 
 The two persons now, having crossed the line of cold for 
 mality, became close friends through that mystic tie con 
 nected with the history of the past, which sometimes has 
 made friends of strangers, and companions of new found 
 friends. Instead of wandering up and down the well beaten 
 path of formality, they loitered along the happy valley of 
 springtide, where rippling waters echo to the music of 
 joyous mirth, and where the warm sunshine of loving friend 
 ship brings pleasant scenes of continual summer. ' 
 
 "Poor little exile," thought Marchand, as his eyes, full 
 of sympathy, feasted upon the fair and beautiful creature be 
 fore him. There ran through his mind Mrs. Osgood's lines, 
 as follows: 
 
 "An exile, ill in heart and frame 
 A wanderer, weary of the way; 
 A stranger, without love's sweet claim 
 On any heart, go where (she) I may!" 
 
 There also ran through his mind the thoughts of his home 
 his almost desolate home, and the necessity of a mistress 
 there, now that Edith was soon to return, an educated and re 
 fined young lady. Visions of a queenly matron, a wonderful 
 musician, as gracing the old home, "The Cedars," ran through 
 his mind. What he might have next said to the little 
 woman may only be surmised, but whatever it might have 
 been was forestalled by Edith breaking pell-mell into the 
 room, with a merry, ringing laugh, begging her "dear dad's 
 pardon" for remaining so long, then adding: 
 
 58
 
 THE LITTLE MUSIC TEACHER 
 
 "But I know you were well entertained, papa, for teacher 
 is such splendid company." 
 
 "Oh, yes, indeed. We put in the time pleasantly, and had 
 really forgotten 
 
 "Oho, I caught you, daddy. You really forgot that your 
 little girl was in existence. Very well, the next time I shall 
 be in no very great haste to perform my errands," said Edith, 
 throwing her arms around he father's neck, and showering 
 kisses upon his forehead. 
 
 The trio whiled away the happy moments in social chat, 
 interspersed with music, and wondered that time had flown 
 on such rapid wings. All formalities between them had been 
 abandoned, and to an onlooker it would have appeared as a 
 happy little family. Mr. Marchand was to leave for home the 
 next morning by an early train, and after procuring Mrs. 
 Olcott's promise to visit his home with Edith during the 
 Christmas vacation, he bade them good night, and the little 
 music teacher and her pupil were again alone. 
 
 Long after Edith had retired for the night the little teacher 
 sat in her room, thinking. She pondered over her whole 
 life. Well did she recall the time when Wilkoma Olcott first 
 came into her young life. She was but eighteen, then. Her 
 mother was dead, and her father and only brother were in 
 the Southern army. Wilkoma Olcott was a handsome, genial 
 fellow, and, to all appearances, he was a gentleman. The two 
 met, fell desperately in love, and were married. 
 
 Olcott wore a soldier's uniform, of gray, and tarrying but 
 a short time after the marriage, his services were demanded 
 at the front, so he claimed. Again and again he went away 
 and returned. Finally, a son was born to them. His actions 
 were* strange, but his accounts of the war appeared to be 
 
 59
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 regular. He went away again as suddenly as he had come. 
 Again he reappeared, and his actions seemed stranger than 
 before. He begged his little wife to go with the child across 
 the lines into the Northern country, pledging her safe pas 
 sage. 
 
 After long and earnest pleading, with full confidence in 
 the man she loved, her consent was given. Taking full in 
 structions as to the manner and mode of travel, she to travel 
 alone, he to bring the child and meet her in Cincinnati, Ohio. 
 From that day forward, she had never seen nor heard of her 
 husband nor her child. What became of them she never 
 knew. For twenty-five years they were as much lost to her 
 as if they had been dead. For aught she knew they were 
 dead. But to know that they were dead would be a blessed 
 relief, which thought now impressed itself upon her mind 
 more than ever before. The thought that this uncertainty 
 might now prove a bar to the prospects of a happy ending to 
 her life of solitude and sorrow was galling, and against 
 which her whole nature revolted. Eising to her feet, she ex 
 claimed : 
 
 'TRight and justice shall prevail, as God shall be my 
 judge!" 
 
 60
 
 THE PROPOSAL 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 THE PROPOSAL. 
 
 The Christmas vacation was a royal holiday at the old 
 home, "The Cedars." Whatever had been the former disap 
 pointments between Edith and Walter they were not to be 
 repeated upon this occasion. Edith and her teacher had prom 
 ised Mr. Marchand that the vacation should be passed in the 
 old home. They required him, as a penalty for this pleas 
 ure, to come and fetch them home. The task was an exceed 
 ingly pleasant one for Mr. Marchand. Indeed, he had 
 looked forward to it for weeks, and was glad when the time 
 came for his journey. It might not appear necessary to 
 state that "The Cedars" had been recently renovated from 
 garret to cellar, but it is a fact, nevertheless. We may not 
 stop to inquire into the veriest cause of this trimming up and 
 the beautifying of the old home. Walter Marchand looked 
 on as the work progressed, but asked not a question of the 
 father who managed the affair. It was the father's house 
 and home, and if the father cared to "put on new fixings," 
 it need not cause the son to become inquisitive. 
 
 Walter knew that Edith was coming home for the holi 
 days and that she would have company. It was commend 
 able in the father to "spruce up" for his daughter, who, in 
 Walter's mind, was the very queen of all girls, even though 
 
 61
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 she was his sister. Walter was truly in love with his sister, 
 and Edith was as much in love with her brother. They 
 loved each other as only the greatest of lovers may love, but 
 they were not cognizant of the fact. They believed that 
 all brothers and sisters loved each other in the same 
 way. Their letters were full of expressions of love. A 
 stranger would have construed those letters as passing between 
 lovers that must soon meet and unite in wedlock, or die of 
 broken hearts. But they were letters between brother and sis 
 ter, where wedlock was prohibited. The knowledge of that fact 
 served as a sort of pacific antidote, and they lived on and 
 loved in contentment. To find a place in their hearts for the 
 love of another, such as they experienced each for the other 
 was impossible. They were satisfied. Would this holy sat 
 isfaction hold out against time with its allurements? Only 
 time can answer the question. 
 
 The nearest approach to a similar love was that of Edith 
 and her teacher, Mrs. Olcott. Happily, this affection was 
 not a one-sided affair. It was natural. The proposed visit 
 to "The Cedars" was to develop a still closer relation between 
 them, which each felt, perhaps, without the passing of words. 
 The thought and hope were almost too sacred to be the sub 
 ject of discussion between them. (Mrs. Olcott could read 
 the thoughts and desires of her pupil, and she did it in 
 silence and prayer. The time colild not come too quickly 
 for the little woman. Mr. Marchand's letters to Edith al 
 ways contained a few lines for Mrs. Olcott. Occasionally a 
 perfumed letter with the post mark of "Xew Orleans" came 
 for Mrs. Olcott. Edith knew the handwrite. She smiled, 
 but said nothing. She only hoped and prayed, and in her 
 hopes and prayers she was not alone. Another's heart beat 
 
 62
 
 THE PROPOSAL 
 
 with hope. Another's lips breathed similar prayers. Not 
 even a suspicious whisper did Edith relate to Walter, her 
 dearest brother, who knew her every other hope and ambi 
 tion. To Edith it was too sacred a hope to dampen with the 
 dew of gossip. 
 
 Whatever may have been the hopes and ambitions of Le- 
 Berte Marchand in the matter, he had guarded the same with 
 the secrecy of the grave. Walter may have had suspicions, 
 but if so he gathered them from the circumstances that came 
 under his observation, and not from any unguarded remarks 
 of the father. Upon one occasion, however, while the im 
 provements were being made at "The Cedars," Walter might 
 have been heard to remark that: "An old fox is mighty 
 hard to catch," but what he meant by the words can only be 
 surmised. Walter felt that if the father had any intentions 
 of changing his mode of life, there need not be such abso 
 lute secrecy about the affair. He believed that if Edith had 
 the least suspicion of such a thing she would have told 
 him of it ere this. To his mind there could be but one 
 person, and that was Mrs. Olcott, of and about whom Edith 
 always filled each letter to the limit. 
 
 Now, that the little lady was to visit "The Cedars" with 
 Edith, no doubt the "murder would out." It would be a 
 surprise to everybody, if such should happen. Walter was 
 not in the least opposed to his father's marriage. Indeed, 
 he would long ago have so advised if the father had signi 
 fied a desire for his counsel in that behalf. Walter 
 knew that the natural state of man is the married state; 
 that the man who goes through life without a com 
 panion simply exists awhile, then passes away without 
 having known the pleasures of life. Often did the young 
 
 63
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 man picture in his mind the happy fireside of a cozy Home 
 where the young wife meets the husband at the gate with 
 a loving kiss as he comes from his daily toil. Where, in 
 the morning, as he leaves for his labors, he carries with him 
 the loving impress of ruby lips upon his own, and a cheering 
 word of comfort in his heart, the parting words of a sweet 
 wife. A home where the one man loves the one woman, whom 
 he calls his wife, and where the one man, the husband, is the 
 beloved above all else by the one who hails him as husband. 
 
 The bonds of sympathy, love and affection in such a home 
 are so inseparable, that if misfortune come and sweep away 
 all earthly wealth, such true, loyal and companionable 
 souls may yet make their home in a poor tent, around 
 which the angry blasts of winter blow, but the fires of love 
 in their hearts always burning brightly will radiate against 
 the sides of the tattered tent, revealing pictures more beau 
 tiful, more sacred, richer and rarer than ever adorned the 
 halls of stately mansion or graced the palace of king. The 
 music of the infant's cry that comes from the home-made 
 cradle in the corner, is sweeter to the ear of the father and 
 mother than would be the Aeolian strains from the silver 
 stringed orchestra hidden in the palm-leaved bower of the 
 rich man's sumptuous dining hall. 
 
 True, Walter's father had, for many years, known the hap 
 piness of all that the words home and family meant, but 
 that was no reason for his being deprived of that happiness 
 in his old and declining years. His former happiness only 
 tended to increase the contrast between the past and the 
 present. Walter would, therefore, hail the day that could 
 bring back to his father even a semblance of the old, old 
 
 64
 
 THE PROPOSAL 
 
 days. As he thus mused, sitting in his office, he was startled 
 by a messenger who brought him the following message: 
 
 "Edith, Mrs. Olcott and myself will arrive on evening 0. 
 & C. train. Meet us. L. M." 
 
 "And now the social farce begins," said Walter to him 
 self. 
 
 "I am mighty busy these days, but I suppose I'll have to 
 make the best of it for the time being. I shall have Edith 
 with me, God bless her. I wonder if loving a girl you could 
 marry would be like the love I have for Edith. I don't 
 suppose I ever will love a girl so that I would want to marry. 
 The fact is, I've never loved any girl except sister Edith, and 
 somehow I don't care to. I'll swear if it isn't a puzzle. All 
 the other boys in college had sweethearts but me I didn't 
 care for a sweetheart. I was satisfied with my correspondence 
 with sister Edith, and longed for her visits just as if she 
 were my real sweetheart. And Edith seems to hold me in 
 similar regard. I wonder if she will likely fall in love with 
 some fellow, sooner or later? By thunder " 
 
 Walter was astonished to find himself rising to his feet 
 with clenched fist, the blood rushing to his face, at the same 
 time experiencing a bitter pang of jealousy. He quickly 
 drove the feeling from his mind by saying that Edith was 
 his sister, and that her life was her own to do with as best 
 suited her purpose. 
 
 The entrance of a client suddenly cleared his mind of all 
 relation to the subject, and he was kept busy until time to 
 meet the family at the train. He would have much rather 
 had "the folks" gone to "The Cedars" and met them there. 
 He knew that he would be literally covered with boxes and 
 bundles of all sorts, which Edith would be sure to bring 
 
 65
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 with her; and he detested the task of looking after hoi id a y 
 luggage. To make it more convenient, he engaged an extra 
 conveyance which he stationed at the nearest point to the 
 depot entrance. 
 
 At last the train came. Down the aisle he spied his visit 
 ors, and sure enough they were loaded down with band boxes 
 and packages. Walter laughed as he remarked, mentally: 
 "Sweet little Edith wouldn't know how to travel unless 
 she had a cart load of boxes." Edith did not see her brother 
 until she almost ran against him at the exit. Her load of 
 boxes flew in every direction as she freed her arms, only to 
 encircle them around Walter's neck in loving embrace, re 
 gardless of the passing throng. Some stared, others smiled 
 and passed on, but little did brother and sister heed the 
 curious world about them. Then came the formal introduc 
 tion of Walter and Mrs. Oleott, followed by the gathering 
 up of the packages, and proceeding to the conveyances. 
 
 "Father, you and Mrs. Oleott take this carriage and I will 
 take Edith and her toy boxes in this one," said Walter, as 
 they stepped out upon the curb. 
 
 "Oh, you need not speak so lightly of my luggage, Mr. 
 Walter, or you will not see Santa Glaus this Christmas," 
 petulantly cried Edith, as they entered the carriage and were 
 driven toward the dear old home, "The Cedars." 
 
 "How do you like the appearance of my teacher and 
 friend?" asked Edith the very moment they were ensconced 
 in the cab. 
 
 "Oh, I could not help admiring her long, long ago, from 
 the constantly employed compliments in your letters. I 
 felt that I had known her all my life, the moment I saw her. 
 I think she must be a lovelv woman."
 
 THE PROPOSAL 
 
 "Yes, and you shall love her more and more as you become 
 better acquainted. I think she took a fancy for you long 
 ago, for I have seen her sit and look at your picture for long 
 periods of time, especially the picture you had taken when 
 you were rather young.'' 
 
 "You and Mrs. Olcott are such inseparable friends, it will 
 be hard to part when you finish college in the spring." 
 
 ''Yes, indeed it will, if we have to part at all," said Edith, 
 glancing askance at her brother, which aroused his curiosity. 
 
 "I do not understand, Edith? Why do you subjoin the 
 doubtful mode?" 
 
 "Brother, I have only a slight suspicion that possibly Mrs. 
 Olcott might come to live with us. That is all." 
 
 "Now, Edith, be a good little sister and tell me something 
 more about those slight suspicions you have stored away in 
 that pretty little head of yours. I think you have a secret, 
 and you know it's wicked to keep a secret from a brother." 
 
 "We are at the gate now, and all I can say is, just keep 
 those eyes open and those lips closed, and you'll be as wise 
 as your little sister." 
 
 Passengers, bundles and all were delivered safely at the 
 portals of the beautiful old home, where a royal welcome 
 was extended to Mrs. Olcott, and where she was made to feel 
 as a member of the family. 
 
 The holiday week was wholly given over to pleasures 
 around the hearth-stone of the old home. Business at the of 
 fice was tabooed so far as the elder Marchand was concerned. 
 Walter could not wholly neglect the many duties, but he in 
 sisted on Edith spending a goodly portion of her time with 
 him at the office, or down town. This, of course, threw Mrs. 
 Olcott and the father together more than otherwise would 
 
 67
 
 have been the case. The theaters and operas were in the 
 heighth of their season, and afforded a splendid opportunity 
 for entertainment. 
 
 The vacation was altogether too short for Mr. Marchand, 
 as well as for the visitors. They all agreed upon that point, 
 
 If there had been any doubt in Walter's mind as to the pos 
 sible intentions of the elder Marchand, they were reduced 
 from a doubt to a rather well defined idea, regardless of 
 the absolute silence of the father. Edith and Walter both 
 felt that the father would, sooner or later, take them into 
 his confidence whenever he reached a favorable conclusion in 
 the premises. They were really anxious for the consumma 
 tion of the supposed project. Walter's good opinion of Mrs. 
 Olcott rapidly grew into a warm affection. He realized that 
 it was mutual. The brother and sister now freely discussed 
 the affair in secret, and became more and more anxious 
 about it. The day came for the departure of Edith and her 
 friend. The father was more than agreeable and willing to 
 escort them back to their Northern school. Some time after 
 his return, he broke the silence between himself and his son. 
 He began by drawing opinions from the son as to the qual 
 ities of their late visitor, which, of course, were all favorable. 
 Walter knew what would finally come out, and he would 
 wink in his sleeve and play the innocent. 
 
 "Of course, my son, I have about concluded that it will 
 not do for Mrs. Olcott and Edith to be separated. I see 
 that Edith is very fond of her, and having been constant 
 companions for several years, Edith would be entirely lost 
 and unhappy in our big home, so I thought if, in your judg 
 ment, it would be a wise plan to bring Mrs. Olcott to 'The 
 Cedars' permanently, I would see if it could be accomplished." 
 
 63
 
 "Now, father, have not you and the lady been keeping a 
 great big secret from your children for quite a long time?" 
 
 "No, indeed, my son, I have never directly asked the lady 
 a question upon the subject. Of course I could not, con 
 sistently with the ideas of a true Southern gentleman, broach 
 the subject to her while a guest under my roof. True, I 
 believe the lady would not be averse to the position of the 
 mistress of 'The Cedars,' and since it appears agreeable to 
 my children I will write Mrs. Olcott a proposal this very 
 day." 
 
 The fact was, that the proposal had already been penned, 
 but it had not been committed to the care of the post. Hav 
 ing ascertained that he had the hearty approval of his son 
 in the premises, and knowing that Edith would be filled with 
 delight, -the old gentleman carried the letter to the post- 
 office in person and tenderly dropped it into the receptacle. 
 It would appear to some people that an old man would look 
 upon a second marriage as a business proposition, but not 
 so with LeBerte Marchand. He was in love, deeply in love 
 with the little lady. To him, she was the dearest creature on 
 the earth, his children not excepted. He loved with a kve 
 that would have made a pygmy of Othello's love. Of course 
 Marchand did not roam the forest and cut his sweetheart/s 
 name upon the trees, but he did write the name of "Norma 
 Olcott" on the fly leaves of his books, and on scraps of paper, 
 and the like. It was also a fact that the business at the of 
 fice attracted him less, day by day, all of which Walter ob 
 served with a knowing smile, and wondered how an old man 
 could become so romantic. He was glad, however, that his 
 father's affections were bestowed upon the queenly Mrs. Ol 
 cott, whom Edith and himself already loved as a mother. 
 
 - 09
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 The family circle would be one of mutual love and affection, 
 a thing to be greatly desired. Walter looked forward to the 
 time when he hoped to be honored of the people by being 
 elected their City Attorney. He felt an inward sense of 
 pride at the thought that Edith and his mother might share 
 that honor with him. It would be a month after the elec 
 tion when Edith would return from college, and in all prob 
 ability Mrs. Olcott would then become Mrs. Marchand and 
 take up her permanent abode at "The Cedars." 
 
 When Mrs. Olcott received the letter of proposal from 
 Mr. Marchand she was alone in her room. She was not 
 greatly surprised. In fact, she rather expected something 
 of the kind. Now, it was a reality, and just how to frame 
 a reply, she was in great doubt. Was this not a gift of for 
 tune, after all the years of privation, toil and uncertainty? 
 Ah, that word, "uncertainty," caused her to start. 
 
 Again her mind quickly reverted to other days, and a shud 
 der shook her frame. Again, as frequently of late, a doubt 
 crossed her mind, and she cried from the depths of her soul : 
 "0 God, what shall I do? Why should this spectre of doubt 
 and uncertainty follow me through all my life? More than 
 twenty-five years have passed, and I am still haunted by un 
 certainty. Lord, how long, how long 
 
 The poor woman fell into a fit of bitter weeping from 
 which she had not recovered when Edith entered her room. 
 Edith noticed the letter which had fallen upon the floor, and 
 as quickly did she discern the handwriting. The thought 
 flashed across her mind, "Why sorrow, instead of joy?" Her 
 face flushed a livid hue as she stood a moment in silence, 
 glancing first at the letter, then at her friend. 
 
 70
 
 THE DILEMMA 
 
 CHAPTEK X. 
 THE DILEMMA. 
 
 The thought that possibly Mrs. Olcott had become of 
 fended at the probable proposal of marriage by her father,, 
 instantly aroused Edith's native pride, and a feeling of re 
 sentment at once possessed her. 
 
 "I beg your pajdon, Mrs. Olcott, for intruding. I will 
 leave/' said Edith, rather coldly. 
 
 "Oh, no, no, child. Please stay", for I need your help. Oh, 
 I need you so much. You will be a comfort to me. Come, 
 dear Edith, sit here by me, and let me tell you the story of 
 of my life." 
 
 Edith, obedient to the request, nestled down upon a stool 
 beside the elder lady, who, gently taking Edith's hands in 
 hers, began relating the story of her life, a brief summary 
 of which the reader has already gleaned from previous chap 
 ters. It was a pathetic story, indeed, leading up to the dis 
 tress and perturbation of mind in which the little music 
 teacher then found herself. Mrs. Olcott spake of her pleas 
 ant association with Edith and her father and brother. How 
 she had learned to love her little pupil in those years of 
 constant companionship, and how she dreaded the final sep 
 aration, if it should ever come. Then, too, of the happy days 
 that she enjoyed while in the company of Mr. Marchand and 
 
 71
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 his son Walter, with both of whom she was dearly in love, 
 and for both of whom she retained the highest personal re 
 gard and esteem. 
 
 "Oh, Norma, Norma, my sweet, good mother," cried Edith, 
 as she threw her arms around the neck -of her companion and 
 teacher, their unrestrained tears mingling together. 
 
 Having calmed themselves through their flood of tears, as 
 is often the wont of the fair and gentle sex, and as is often 
 her arms of offense and defense in battle, the two friends 
 settled down to a calmer view of the perplexing and intensely 
 interesting question. Mrs. Olcott invited Edith to read the 
 letter, assuring her that in so doing she did not intend a 
 breach of etiquette nor a lack of due respect and considera 
 tion for the feelings of the writer thereof. The letter was, 
 indeed, just what Edith had suspected a proposal of mar 
 riage to be consummated in the near future, if agreeable to 
 the recipient. 
 
 "Suppose," said Mrs. Olcott, after Edith read the letter, 
 "that after all these years it should be that my former hus 
 band is not dead, and that unfortunately he appear after my 
 marriage with your father ! Oh, horrors " the little wo 
 man cried, shuddering as she uttered those words. 
 
 "But must you wear your whole life away in a terrible 
 nightmare of doubt and uncertainty ?" anxiously inquired the 
 younger person. 
 
 "That is what has often occurred to me as so cruel and 
 unjust. It is too great a burden for me to bear. I have 
 done everything I could do to discover the truth, but with 
 out avail. I have waited and waited until now, the rich, ripe 
 harvest of my weary life is slowly passing by, and I am still 
 a wayside wanderer, unable to reap, to garner or to bring in
 
 THE DILEMMA 
 
 any of the golden sheaves. Oh, Edith, my child, what can I 
 do? Trust in me, little one, for I want your love and sym 
 pathy." 
 
 "I do trust you, and I love you, Oh, ever so much," said 
 Edith in a joyful, cheerful mood, that had its immediate 
 consoling effect upon her friend. 
 
 The matter TV as discussed pro and eon in all its phases by 
 the two friends without a settled conclusion having been 
 reached. True, Mr. Marchand would expect a prompt reply, 
 that is, within a reasonable length of time. He would cer 
 tainly look upon any unwarranted delay with the feeling that 
 his suit was not a welcome one. 
 
 Edith did not care to hazard the prospects by any undue 
 delay, and suggested that all these matters could be fully 
 explained after the couple had married, settled down in 
 their happy, comfortable home, "The Cedars." 
 
 Though she was as anxious as was Edith, Mrs. Olcott 
 looked beyond the engagement, beyond the marriage cere* 
 mony, beyond the "honeymoon," and saw the bare possibili 
 ties of casual thrusts of "a concealed past," and the ugly 
 inoods of "an irritable old man." She could not forbear th<? 
 thoughts of such possible side thrusts and side cuts, through 
 life. To her, such would be unbearable and wholly insup 
 portable. She would, therefore, follow the only course which 
 to her mind was thoroughly righteous and becoming to a 
 well-born lady of the "Old South," and a course which she 
 was sure would be appreciated by the honorable and upright 
 Mr. Marchand. That course was, to relate to Mr. Marchand 
 the full story of her life, her doubts, and fears, just as she 
 had to his daughter Edith. Then if, in his judgment, there 
 be nothing to fear, and he be willing to take her as his wife, 
 
 73
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 no blaine could thereafter attach to her. No side cuts of a 
 "concealed past" could then haunt her as a horrid nightmare 
 throughout her days. Besides, she knew that in Edith and 
 Walter she had good lieutenants, both of whom would help 
 her in this cruel struggle against fate. The more she pon 
 dered upon the matter, the more determined she became to 
 follow this course. 
 
 While at first Edith did not fully accord with the plan 
 to be adopted, because she feared the possibility of its fail 
 ure, her objections melted away before the righteous argu 
 ments of her older and more mature friend, and in the end 
 the two were in happy accord. Silently and secretly, how 
 ever, Edith resolved to ascertain, if possible, the legal status 
 of a case like that of Mrs. Olcotf s. She felt that were she 
 similarly situated, she would ascertain her legal rights and 
 would act accordingly, regardless of all other considerations, 
 though she did not intimate the same to her friend. She 
 would ascertain, if possible, what legal barrier there was, if 
 any, to prevent the consummation of her friend's marriage. 
 Consequently, the same mail that carried Mrs. Olcott's letter 
 to the elder Marchand also carried a letter from Edith to 
 her brother Walter. Edith's letter contained a plain and 
 succinct statement, as related by Mrs. Olcott, but without 
 disclosing the identity of the real parties at interest. The 
 letter also urged prompt, but very careful consideration of 
 the matter, and a plain, decisive reply at the earliest pos 
 sible moment. 
 
 "What the deuce is my little sister up to now?" thought 
 Walter, upon reading the letter. "Certainly she is not enter 
 ing the study -of law. Oh, well, the dear little girl has ap 
 pealed to me, and her appeal shall not be in vain. Generous 
 
 74
 
 THE DILEMMA 
 
 hearted, she is no doubt helping some poor soul to find the 
 light that will safely lead to paths of happiness and peace. 
 How glorious this world would be if all persons would seek 
 to bring sunshine and gladness to others. Well, my little 
 sister is the sweetest, dearest, best girl on earth, and I am 
 the proudest brother, I reckon, of any fellow who ever had 
 a sister." 
 
 Walter's meditations were interrupted at this juncture by 
 the father, who, holding a bit of tinted, perfumed paper in 
 his hand, entered the office, and seating himself near his 
 son, said: 
 
 "My son, I have heretofore confided in you upon the mat 
 ter of my desire to again enter the married state. In that 
 connection, I wish to further confide in you, and to avail 
 myself of your good judgment. I have a letter from Mrs. 
 Olcott in response to my proposal of marriage, in which she 
 relates a rather strange story, but the main facts of which 
 I had partially known through former conversations with 
 her. I think I am not betraying a confidence, nor showing 
 discourtesy to the lady, by asking you to read the letter, 
 before we discuss the situation." 
 
 As Walter followed the plainly inscribed statement of the 
 life story of the writer of the letter, he readily comprehend 
 ed the reason for his sister's solicitude. It was now as clear 
 as day to him, though he resolved to keep the matter a secret 
 within his breast. Having read the letter, he returned it 
 to his father, and with an expression of countenance be 
 tokening great interest, remarked: 
 
 "Well, and what now?" 
 
 "And what now? That is the question," returned the 
 father. 
 
 75
 
 "We'll see what the Statutes have to say on the sub 
 ject," said Walter, as he turned his office chair and 
 reached for the book of State laws. Being a young lawyer, 
 Walter made it a practice to consult the State laws upon every 
 question with which he had to deal, before he ventured to 
 reach a conclusion within his own mind. 
 
 "No use to look, Walter, there are no statutory laws upon 
 the question/ interrupted the father. 
 
 "Have you examined, to ascertain?" 
 
 "No, but I know it is so." 
 
 "Sometimes we are mistaken, you know, when we think 
 we are most certain." 
 
 "Oh, well, a young man won't learn by being told, so pro 
 ceed with your investigation," said the elder man, feeling 
 somewhat irritable. After a careful perusal of the indices, 
 Walter replied: 
 
 "No, father, I do not find statutory law covering the ques 
 tion, but there is a provision that where the statutory law 
 is silent, the common law shall be applied. Now the com 
 mon low is, that when a person has not been heard of for 
 seven or more years, he is presumed to be dead." 
 
 "Yes, I knew that. In this case, the first husband has 
 been presumed to be dead for twenty-five or more years." 
 
 "And properly so, for he was last seen and heard of in 
 the very heat of the war between the States, and he being 
 one of the participants in that war only strengthens the 
 presumption." 
 
 "You do not quite understand me, my son. I know that 
 to our marriage there is no legal obstacle. The legal pre 
 sumption that after a silence of seven years a man is pre 
 sumed to be dead had its inception and was founded in well 
 
 76
 
 THE DILEMMA 
 
 grounded reasons, based upon the good of society in times 
 long past, when the brawn and muscle of old England were 
 going to populate new countries and new worlds. Some of 
 her sons were afterwards heard from and others not. The 
 result was, there were many charming women left without 
 husband and many fair children without father. Many of 
 these were a care upon the people, upon society, and many 
 of them could have found the protecting hand of husband 
 and father but for the law against double marriage. Then 
 it was that the laws of England were enacted to the effect 
 that when a person has not been heard of for a period of 
 seven years, he is presumed to be dead. But that did not 
 vitiate the former marriage. Two things only legally vi 
 tiate a marriage, to- wit: legal divorce, and death." 
 
 "Suppose, in a case of this kind, after twenty-five or thirty 
 years' absence, the first husband reappears upon the scene." 
 
 "Well, suppose. What good does it do te suppose? The 
 jig would be up then, perhaps." 
 
 "Yes, I think it is a case of 'perhaps' more than anything 
 else. There's no possibility of the man reappearing in this 
 case. Besides, if he did, and he wanted to find his wife, he 
 would go to her old home in Tennessee. He could never 
 trace her, for all her people are dead or gone away. He 
 could never find her where she now is, and much less would 
 be his chances to find her, once she is under your roof as 
 your wife. No, father, it is absolutely out of the question. 
 You are trying to cross a bridge which you will never reach." 
 
 "I think you are right, my boy. You talk like a veteran 
 in the cause. You are really inspiring. If, in your judg 
 ment, I would be safe in consummating this union, I shall 
 be happy to follow your advice. What say you?" 
 
 77
 
 "In my judgment the step you are about to take is per 
 fectly safe. I will not advise you to take it, nor would I 
 advise any person to place a bet on a certain horse in a race, 
 or marry a certain person. It looks too much like intermed 
 dling. However, I am glad to know that you have set your 
 affections upon such a good, loveable character as I know 
 Mrs. Olcott must be, and as Edith declares her to be." 
 
 The son well knew that the father had decidedly made 
 up his mind to consummate the marriage, before he sought 
 consolation rather than advice from his son. Having been 
 enamored by so lovely a character as Mrs. Olcott, it was to 
 be expected that nothing should stand in the way to bar the 
 completion of the elder gentleman's plans. Walter knew 
 that. That is, he knew it as reasonably as one can judge of 
 coming events that appear within the horoscope of what may 
 be termed certainty. It pleased Walter, however, to study 
 the apparent cunning of the father, who affected a great 
 burden of doubt as to what course he should follow in the 
 matter. Walter knew just how to prolong the anxious "coun 
 sel" whi^h the father had sought, The fear that Edith would 
 advise against the marriage under the circumstances appar 
 ently filled the father's mind, with additional doubt. So 
 strenuously did the elderly gentleman dwell upon this phase 
 of the question, that Walter decided that the secret of the 
 sister's letter must be divulged. He deemed it best, now that 
 there was no longer any cause for secrecy. He therefore 
 handed the letter to the father for his perusal. 
 
 "Why, bless my life, the girl has cited this very case. To 
 be sure, Mrs. Olcott states in her letter that she acquainted 
 Edith with all the facts. Certainly my daughter would not 
 
 78
 
 hope to find a legal barrier to my marriage with Mrs. Olcott. 
 Do you think so?" 
 
 Walter purposely hesitated, well knowing that the father 
 \vould fret, without suffering any pain, which was really 
 amusing to witness. 
 
 "I say, my boy, do you think Edith could hope to bar my 
 progress in this matter?" 
 
 "Oh, no, certainly not. I take it that Edith is sincerely 
 anxious to know that there is no legal obstruction in the way 
 to your marriage and happiness. She evidently had hopes 
 for an answer before Mrs. Olcott should reply to your letter 
 of proposal. It is plain to me that Edith is as anxious for 
 the marriage to be consummated as you evidently are." 
 
 "Ah, my boy, it is treading on dangerous ground. Mar 
 riage is not what it used to be I can see that. Domestic 
 felicity is the exception these days, rather than the rule. 
 Why, my son, in my early practice of the law, divorces were 
 as scarce as hen's teeth. Divorces were looked upon with 
 disfavor, and we lawyers sometimes deliberated before tak 
 ing charge of a divorce case. It is not so of late years. You 
 have observed how these divorce cases increase. As you have 
 handled the most of them coming into our office of late, 
 you must have ascertained the prevailing cause of this grow 
 ing and lamentable evil." 
 
 "Yes, I have, father, but I can not see how you connect 
 this growing evil, for it is an evil, with your prospective 
 marriage. Certainly you do not anticipate a future dovorce." 
 
 "No, of course not. But one should look well before he 
 leaps into the matrimonial sea. Some people take the leap 
 just as a person leaps into the Gulf for a surf bath. For 
 tunately for some of them, they find domestic bliss, while the 
 
 70
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 great majority of that class find a living hell. That is what 
 it would be for a person of fine sentiment or nobility of char 
 acter. Eesult, divorce." 
 
 "Keally, father, I've not given any study to the question. 
 I've often heard it said that marriage is a lottery, but I care 
 little about that question so far as my personal interests are 
 concerned." 
 
 "Tut, tut, my boy. You will little know what life is un 
 til you have a home, with loving companion and prattling 
 babes. You will change your notion some of these days on 
 that score." 
 
 "No, father, not while sister Edith lives, for my love for 
 her is wholly sufficient, if non-effective and beyond marital 
 avail." 
 
 80
 
 "A DANIEL COME TO JUDGMENT" 
 
 CHAPTEK XL 
 "A DANIEL COME TO JUDGMENT." 
 
 Walter Marchand survived his sudden bound into notoriety 
 and popular favor gracefully, and with no undue degree of 
 vanity or self importance, which, of course, made him all 
 the more popular among those with whom he came in daily 
 contact. He remained the earnest student of his college days, 
 and became a zealous worker upon all matters entrusted to 
 his care. ' His success in his profession was not only fore 
 casted by his friends, but was realized as a fact from the 
 very beginning of his career as a lawyer. It soon became 
 commonly known that the young lawyer would take no case 
 except it be meritorious, in his judgment, and that he would 
 then throw his very soul into it to win. The courts readily 
 came to respect his opinions on law questions, and the juries 
 soon began to believe in the justness of his side of a case. It 
 was no trouble, apparently, for young Marchand to win his 
 cases. It was not an uncommon thing to hear it remarked 
 upon the streets, that "If young Marchand is in the case, he 
 is sure to win it." 
 
 When the elder Marchand returned from a visit, though 
 he had been away but a short time, he was pleased to note 
 his son's prosperity, and rejoiced in his success. His former 
 day dreams and visions of fancy, in this regard, were being 
 
 31
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 realized beyond his expectations. He was justly proud of this 
 noble son. The son had taken up the professional work of 
 the office and court with an aptness that was surprising 
 even to the father, who was now growing rather old, and 
 had long since lost the snap, vim and vigor of his earlier 
 days. "Walter came into the practice just at a time to save 
 his father's business from gradual decay. In fact, some of 
 the old time clients who had of late years gradually changed 
 their business into other hands, returned to the Marchands. 
 
 "That is what new blood and youth does, my boy," re 
 marked the father one day when one of those old time clients 
 returned with some extraoardinarily good business, and in 
 sisted on laying down a. large check as a retainer fee. "I have 
 realized for some time that I needed help in this office, and 
 I am more than proud that my own son comes to my aid 
 in the very niche of time." 
 
 "I have not noticed your powers decaying in any degree; 
 and you are certainly a better lawyer today than you were 
 ten or twenty years ago," answered the son. 
 
 "Oh, to be sure, I am more capable of handling a case in 
 the court when I have the facts and witnesses at my disposal, 
 but I have not the push, energy and tenacity of former years. 
 Our clients of today seem to want their legal affairs at 
 tended to promptly, without any delay whatever. In former 
 years, it was not so." 
 
 "Well, I think it is better so. If one keeps his business 
 matters right up to date, he knows just how he stands. If 
 a lawyer delays attention to his business, matters accumu 
 late and he loses interest in much of the business, therefore 
 neglects it, to the detriment of his client." 
 
 "No doubt you are right, my son, and I am glad to have 
 
 82
 
 "A DANIEL COME TO JUDGMENT" 
 
 you in charge of our business. Times have greatly changed 
 during my life. Of course, the results of the war forced an 
 altogether new system of business upon us. It brought in 
 its train the great problem of caring for the negro, a prob 
 lem that it may take years to solve. 
 
 "I am of the opinion that a serious mistake was made in 
 giving to the negro the right of suffrage. Their emancipa 
 tion was, no doubt, a remedy which time was bound to bring 
 about. I doubt not that in the future the question of negro 
 suffrage will give rise to the most serious and perplexing po 
 litical problems with which our country shall have to deal." 
 
 The elder Marchand recounted the many phases of political 
 history through which he had passed during the twenty or 
 more years immediately following the close of the civil war, 
 all of which were exceedingly interesting to the younger man. 
 It was evident that Walter was now becoming more or less 
 imbued with the political spirit, and that he would, sooner 
 or later, take a hand in the political affairs of the commun 
 ity. True, he had already been solicited to become a candi 
 date for the office of City Attorney, first by the one faction 
 and then by the other. The two factions in the city had 
 waged bitter war against each other for years, although they 
 both were members of the same political party and faith, in 
 national politics. Locally, their differences were the re 
 sult of personal ambitions, and local newspaper jealousies. 
 Their campaigns usually consisted in "mud throwing," 
 charges and counter charges of perfidy and unfitness for 
 public confidence and public trust. Neither of the two daily 
 papers could see any good in any member of the opposing 
 faction. 
 
 Good men who had never taken any interest in the local 
 
 88
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 political turmoil, men whose names were synonyms of honor, 
 fairness and integrity, once they entered the political arena 
 and allied themselves with one faction or the other, immedi 
 ately became a target for the opposing faction. Their names 
 were bandied about, coupled with reflections and insinua 
 tions not at all comporting with their former reputations of 
 honor and high standing. 'Many were the cases of mortal 
 combat and homicide resulting therefrom, but little did such 
 results lessen the relentless warfare. 
 
 Walter Marchand became well acquainted with the doings 
 in local politics, and resolved to take sides with neither fac 
 tion. He, with others, saw that the people, the plain people 
 of the city, had long been the dupes of both factions and of 
 the two daily newspapers. That, between the two factions, 
 the plain people had been tossed about, to and fro, as upon 
 the waves of a treacherous sea. They had been blinded, hood 
 winked, cajoled and deceived, while the best interests of their 
 city had suffered untold losses. For him to enter into part 
 nership with either faction was to run the gauntlet of crim 
 ination and scandal from the other side. To that he would 
 not submit. To refuse alliance with both factions might 
 bring down upon his head the fire of both factions. One thing 
 he had resolved upon, and that was, that he would make 
 the race for the office of City Attorney. He made known 
 his intentions to the elder Marchand, and the matter was gone 
 over thoroughly between them. The father deplored the idea 
 at the start, but reluctantly consented in the end. A daily 
 paper of small porportions and of smaller political influence 
 was the only organ to be looked to for a medium through 
 which he might reach the people the other two daily news 
 papers were the purchased organs of the respective factions. 
 
 81
 
 Not many days elapsed until a secret conference was held 
 in the Marchand offices. The members of that conference 
 were some of the most substantial business men of the city, 
 who not only had been long-time friends of the Marchands, 
 but who, also, had grown weary of the local political turmoil. 
 Kealizing that the best interests of the city were subverted 
 to the political whims of the factions at war, they decided 
 that a change must be brought about. They had supported 
 the two daily papers more through fear than from desire, 
 and longed for an opportunity to cut loose from both. The 
 little weakling, "The Daily Telegram," as it was called, 
 had never had the support of the business element of the 
 city. In fact, its subscription list was greater than either of 
 the other organs, though that fact had not been known; but 
 its advertising patronage was limited. 
 
 Walter Marchand, a staunch, honest, honorable young at 
 torney, who could not be induced to enter into partnership 
 with either political faction, was now to come before the 
 people for the office of City Attorney, and it became neces 
 sary that the Telegram should be revived and supported by 
 those who desired cleaner local government. One conference 
 led to another, always secret, and day after day there ap 
 peared evidences of renewed life, vigor and prosperity in 
 "The Daily Telegram." Walter had written to a friend who 
 had entered the newspaper world, and was making as great 
 success in his chosen field of labor as was Walter in his. 
 Joe Butler was the former college "chum" of Walter Mar 
 chand, and during the last two years he had exhibited his 
 special abilities upon the Mobile Eegister. Through Walter's 
 influence, Joe Butler was now in full charge of The Daily 
 Telegram. The effect of his management was magical. The 
 
 So
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 size of the paper was soon increased so as to accommodate 
 the rapidly growing advertising patronage. 
 
 The Daily Telegram announced its independence in local 
 politics, and for a cleaner local government, but took sides 
 with neither local faction. Space in the paper could not be 
 purchased by either faction at any price, and the statement 
 to that effect was printed in large, bold headlines. The ma 
 chines of both factions read the notice with fear and trepi 
 dation. The general expression among the people the com 
 mon people was : "A Daniel has come to judgment." 
 
 The new paper was hailed with delight by the common 
 people, who had become disgusted with the vituperation of 
 the two older dailies. The people throughout the whole 
 State became interested, for they, too, had deplored the rot 
 ten political condition into which the "Queen City of the 
 South" had grown. The State press predicted a brighter 
 future for the city if it could only rid itself of the political 
 factions, which had marred its fair name. 
 
 A new and independent party was predicted for the city. 
 The young paper 'took on the form of a prospective political 
 giant, though it had so far not named a candidate for any 
 office, nor had it even indicated that such was its intention. 
 The secret caucuses were not abandoned by any means, but 
 instead grew in point of membership and importance. The 
 city was in a state of suspense. The city election was but a 
 month ahead, and if anything was to be done, the time had 
 come. So the caucus agreed. The opera house was secured 
 for a stated time for a public meeting of the citizens. The 
 galleries were reserved for the negroes, alone. Then came 
 the announcement in The Daily Telegram. It came like a 
 peal of thunder from a clear sky to the ringleaders of both 
 
 80
 
 factions. It invited the good people of the city., ladies and 
 gentlemen, to attend the meeting at the opera house on the 
 evening stated. The object of the meeting was stated to be 
 for the betterment of local government and for purer local pol 
 itics. It recited the fact that the condition of the city was 
 a deplorable one^ and that each of the political factions 
 charged the other with the responsibility. Perhaps both fac 
 tions were to blame. jSTo charges were made against either, 
 but the people were left to judge for themselves. Something^ 
 would be done at the convention of citizens, no doubt, to re 
 lieve the city from its condition. If not, shame should ever 
 be the people's lot. 
 
 The day came, and with it the people turned out en masse. 
 Hundreds were unable to gain admission and were turned 
 away. The opera house was packed with people from dome 
 to pit. Upon the stage, when the curtain rose, were at once 
 recognized the leading business and professional men of the 
 city who had never been known to take an active part in local 
 politics. For a moment there was a deathly silence through 
 out the great house. Then of a sudden, as if by one great 
 impulsive wave, the clapping of hands and applause became 
 almost deafening. The handwriting was upon the wall. 
 The people saw it. Joe Butler saw it. Walter Marchand and 
 all his friends saw it. And the political allies of the two 
 factions saw it. They required no particularizing to under 
 stand it. Some of them quickly edged out of the house and 
 hastened to their political bosses to tell the news. Others 
 concluded to at once "get from under" and join in the war 
 cry of "purer politics and better local government." They 
 then and there forsook their old allies before a single speech 
 was made, and before they were even informed of a certainty 
 
 87
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 of the object of the convention. It appeared useless for any 
 one to state the object. N"o one asked of his neighbor the na 
 ture or object of the meeting. Without being told, the 
 least astute seemed intuitively to know. The wave of 
 applause was hard to .check. The editor and manager 
 of The Daily Telegram stepped to the front of the stage. 
 The cheering and applause increased. The brass band struck 
 up "Dixie." The audience ran wild. Hats, coats, women's 
 shawls and other loose articles filled the air. Order and 
 quiet could not be restored, for the people began to realize 
 that they were about to be led out of the wilderness, and that 
 the promised land was in sight. An accident restored order. 
 In the very height of the uproar and applause, a piece of 
 scenery dropped from above the stage and remained suspend 
 ed in full view of the audience. As sudden as the fall of 
 the scene, was the restoration of order and perfect silence in 
 the big house. The scene was a single setting and center 
 piece, showing a young woman clinging to the cross, under 
 neath of which was painted the familiar words : "Simply 
 to the Cross I Cling." 
 
 In the speeches that followed, reference was made to the 
 accident or incident as a good omen, and a signal of the 
 success of the people's new undertaking. Joe Butler was 
 the principal speaker. He referred to the local political do 
 ings of the past, and the present deplorable condition of the 
 city. He told of the secret caucuses of the better element 
 of the business men, and the object of the meeting. He de 
 clared that if the people, at that meeting, would resolve to 
 elect a bold, honest, fearless man for City Attorney, it would 
 prove the rising star of their hope and the city's prosperity. 
 ISTo sooner had he proposed the plan, than the audience, as
 
 "A DANIEL COME TO JUDGMENT" 
 
 with one accord, applauded their hearty approval. A wave of 
 silence followed, when a man far back in the audience shout 
 ed the name of Walter Marchand. Five thousand voices 
 cried back the answer, "Walter Marchand." 
 
 The young man was escorted to the front of the stage 
 amidst the greatest uproar of applause he had ever witnessed. 
 He raised his hand for silence, and it came as suddenly a? 
 when the scenery had dropped a moment before. It showed 
 the reverence and esteem in which he was held by that vast 
 concourse of citizens. He was expected to make a speech. 
 He knew that. He realized with grateful heart the honor 
 the people were conferring upon him in that deep hush that 
 fell over them, at the raising of his hand. He was embar 
 rassed what young man would not have been. He fully 
 realized the responsibility of the step he was about to take. 
 He was bold and fearless in every duty. He must not now 
 shrink or falter at the very threshold of this new duty. The 
 friends of his father and of himself expected great things, 
 but the people expected greater things of him. He paused 
 a moment, but in that moment he lived a century. Hi? 
 native courage siezed him, and he said: 
 
 "I am truly grateful, grateful beyond my power of ex 
 pression, for the honor you confer upon me, one of the hum 
 blest citizens among you. I am not a politician, and am 
 not acquainted with the fine arts or the science of politics, 
 if such there be. My highest aim and ambition is to lead an 
 honorable life so as to merit the good will and respect of 
 my fellow townsmen. Should I ever be selected to fill a posi 
 tion of public trust, I shall perform my duties without favor 
 to friends or fear of foes. I have been solicited by the man 
 agers of both political factions to submit my name for the 
 office of City Attorney, but I have declined both.
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 "I do not object to serving the people in that capacity, but 
 if I serve at all, it must be a service to the whole people, and 
 not to a faction. I may say that at the request of many of 
 the best citizens, some of whom surround me here, I have 
 consented to ask the people of the city to support me for thirf 
 office. I consented upon the condition that the people would 
 agree to support me regardless of their former political af 
 filiations. I now ask you, may I expect your solid sup 
 port?" 
 
 An affirmative response came from all parts of the house. 
 "I make you one pledge, to do my whole duty, without 
 fear or favor, and no other pledge or promise shall be made. 
 That is sufficient. Thanking you for this great test of loy 
 alty to honest government and feeling grateful for your 
 kind promises of support, I leave the future of the campaign 
 with you and all other good citizens of our beloved city." 
 
 Walter Marchand closed his short address amidst the great 
 est ovation ever before witnessed in the Crescent City. He 
 was hurried out by the stage exit and to bis office so as to 
 avoid the crush that waited to greet him. The excitement 
 was intense. Upon the streets the cry was heard upon every 
 corner: "A Daniel has come to judgment." It became the 
 war-cry of the campaign. The Daily Telegram made one 
 great headline across the title page, thus : "A Daniel Has 
 Come to Judgment," following with a full account of the 
 meeting, and giving the names of the prominent business and 
 professional men who held seats of honor upon the stage, 
 and who, it was understood, were backing the candidacy of 
 young Marchand with their moral and financial support. 
 A fine, large portrait of the candidate adorned the first 
 page of The Telegram. The article recited the many inci- 
 
 90
 
 "A DANIEL COME TO JUDGMENT" 
 
 dents of his courage, honor, honesty and integrity, and proph 
 esied his election by the people beyond question. The weak- 
 kneed of both old factions began to climb into the Marchand,, 
 or the people's band wagon. They left the old factions as 
 rats deserting a sinking ship. Citizens who had previously 
 paid little heed to the local conditions now awakened from 
 their apparent sleep and took up the cry of : "Marchand and 
 honest government.'' 
 
 The two old daily papers now had something to do rather 
 than that of besmirching the opposing faction. They saw 
 great danger in the ominous looking cloud arising in the 
 horizon. At first they each jeered at the puny stripling, as 
 they termed the young giant. 
 
 Next they scoffed and tried to belittle his infantile attempt 
 at reform, but the dark cloud rose higher and higher in the 
 skies. The more astute ones sniffed the breeze of battle 
 ahead.. The two old organs now began a joint attack upon 
 the young giant, casting slurs and insinuations. One by 
 one the large advertising patrons notified the managers to 
 cut out their advertisements. This opened their eyes. I't 
 required investigation. The advertising manager appeared 
 at the office of Jones, Brown & Co., a large advertiser, to in 
 quire as to the suspension of their patronage. The anxiously 
 sought information was readily acquired in a quiet but posi 
 tive manner, as follows : 
 
 "We cannot indorse the course The Daily Trumpet has 
 taken against Marchand, the people's candidate for City At 
 torney. He has not molested nor even referred to either of 
 his opponents, nor to the respective daily papers which sup 
 port them. Not until the Daily Trumpet changes its tactics 
 shall we again lend it our patronage." 
 
 91
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 The information, given to the managing editor, took his 
 breath for a moment. He remonstrated, and criticised Jones, 
 Brown & Co. with a whole column. The next morning 
 Smith, Lang, Burrell & Co., together with several" smaller 
 patrons, notified the much grieved daily of their withdrawal 
 from the advertising columns. 
 
 The election was but three weeks ahead, and the dark 
 cloud had mounted higher and higher until it hung almost 
 over the city. It looked portentous, and the occasional gusts 
 of wind that came from it appeared as the forerunners of a 
 genuine cyclone. The wise prophets of both factions now 
 got their heads together and planned as against a common 
 foe. They argued that their divided forces could not hope 
 longer against fate. The candidate of the McBride faction 
 withdrew from the race for City Attorney and bespoke kind 
 words for his opponent of the Wilkins faction. What was 
 intended as a strong and strategical move, proved a most dis 
 astrous farce. The storm cloud grew darker and more por 
 tentous, and in flaming outline against the black embank 
 ment appeared the livid likeness of Walter Marchand. It 
 drove consternation into the ranks of the McBride faction 
 and filled the Wilkins ranks with fear and trembling. The 
 old time herders could no longer handle the flocks. The 
 shepherd's voice no longer called the lambs into the fold. 
 The flocks scattered upon the hillsides and strayed into the 
 byways, highways and hedges. ISTo longer was the shepherd's 
 crook a sign of peace and fair weather amidst the grazing 
 herds. The dark cloud in the sky spoke in louder tones than 
 the pleading or commanding voice of the shepherds, and the 
 election was but two weeks off. 
 
 92
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 HONEST GOVERNMENT. 
 
 The McBride and the Wilkins factions, bitter as they were 
 against each other, had arranged a truce between themselves 
 so far as the office of City Attorney was concerned. 
 
 Young Marchand would be a thorn in the side of which 
 ever faction proved successful at the election. They each 
 knew that. They also knew that the political graves of past 
 administrations were not too deep nor too sacred to deter the 
 energetic young man from digging down to corpses, and 
 holding inquests and post mortems. Political post mor- 
 tems was one of the subjects that was most abhorrent 
 to the leaders of both the McBride and Wilkins fac 
 tions. That was one subject upon which the knowing ones 
 of both factions could admirably agree. The common people, 
 or "the herd," were expected to plant beautiful white flowers 
 upon the graves of past administrations. The leaders, the 
 bosses, would sing dirges, and pronounce eulogies. 
 
 But a change was rapidly coming over the common herd. 
 The leaders of both factions observed the rapid change, and 
 they marveled as they beheld. Many of the strong supporters 
 and blind followers of both factions now gave signs of weak 
 ness, while some of them frankly and openly declared their 
 preference for the honest young attorney and honest govern- 
 
 93
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 ment. They, many of them, could not be won back; they 
 were irretrievably lost to both the McBride and the Wilkins 
 factions. Pleading could not win them back. Threats could 
 not scare them ; cajolery could not move them ; nor could 
 promises of "good jobs" buy them. 
 
 The Marchand forces were daily increasing as certainly as 
 were the ranks of the factions decreasing. The fact was 
 plain to everybody, while the beating of the bushes and the 
 noise of the ward heelers only served to impress the truth 
 of that fact upon the minds of the lame and halting. The 
 Daily Telegram was growing stronger and more powerful 
 every day. The extraordinary advertising patronage now ac 
 corded it afforded a splendid revenue, which, in part, was 
 used to distribute several thousand extra copies among the cit 
 izen voters, gratis. The citizen voters read the paper with eag 
 erness, as a rule. The Daily Clarion and The Daily Trumpet, 
 the hired organs of the McBride and Wilkins factions, raged 
 and foamed. They had reckoned without their host. They 
 had rested secure in the assumption that, as always in the 
 past they had hoodwinked the .people, so in the future would 
 that task be an easy one. They foamed and fretted about the 
 welfare of the city. They abhorred distasteful local politics, 
 and accused the Telegram and its candidate for City Attorney 
 of being carpetbaggers, interlopers, experiments. At the same 
 time, every candidate in both factions was being unmercifully 
 fleeced and bled by those two organs. Their small spaced 
 announcements were substituted by flaming advertisements 
 and editorial articles, all of which was deemed necessary to 
 the success of the cause, but which also cost the candidate 
 double the usual and ordinary advertising rates. Political 
 campaigns in the City of New Orleans were the harvest times 
 
 94
 
 HONEST GOVERNMENT 
 
 for The Daily Clarion and Daily Trumpet. The harvesis 
 were not, however, legitimate nor honorable. The candi 
 date for public office was simply "held up," pilfered, robbed, 
 fleeced, by the two organs. Once his money went into the 
 organ's coffers he was thereafter at the organ's mercy. True, 
 his announcement continued to appear in the organs, but 
 occasional side-thrusts, anonymous suggestions, or editorial 
 praise of his opponent would seem to require "special men 
 tion" in the news columns at double advertising rates. These 
 "specials" were always suggested by intermediate friends 
 connected with the organ, perhaps the advertising solicitor. 
 The advertising solicitor during these campaigns was fre 
 quently a stranger, but who was thoroughly posted on the 
 local situation. He knew every tender, every weak spot of 
 every candidate. If one means did not bring results, he 
 would adopt another that would, and it always ended in 
 the complete separation and divorcement of the poor candi 
 date from his money. Such was the system of newspaper 
 pillage at that time in the fair Southern city as relating 
 to politics. 
 
 But this was not the greatest burden of a candidate's life 
 during a campaign in that fair city. A candidate for public 
 office was generally considered as a legitimate prey for a 
 certain class of the people of all parties. Certain societies, 
 clubs and organizations which failed, during a political cam 
 paign to hold one or more pay entertainments, picnics, balls, 
 barbecues, suppers, or other kind of thing, were considered 
 derelict of duty. Of course, no candidate for a public office 
 could afford to offer an affront to any one of those aggrega 
 tions by refusing to purchase one or more tickets for each
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 attraction, provided he had the money or could purchase on 
 credit, payable "before the election." 
 
 Every candidate knew that the simple purchase of those 
 tickets would not make him a single vote, because he was 
 expected to buy the tickets whether he attended the func 
 tion or not. If he attended the function, a thing none but 
 amateur candidates ever did, he was afforded an expe 
 rience "long to be remembered." To refuse to buy tickets, 
 however, was sometimes construed to be an affront to the 
 "society" or "aggregation," and frequently caused a candi 
 date the loss of many votes. So, the candidate usually 
 showed "his good will" and "helped the cause" by making 
 his purchase of tickets. 
 
 But this was in the circle of what was known as "polite 
 politics," and did not reach the "rank and file," the "faith 
 ful," the "ward heeler," the "floating element," nor the 
 "negro." All these elements had to be taken into account, 
 for they, each and all had their "political pull," their "polit 
 ical 'fiuence," and were a part of the machinery of a cam 
 paign. Xo candidate could expect this machinery to run 
 smoothly without fuel and plenty of "oil," and the candidate 
 was expected to furnish both, if he desired the benefit of 
 the political "pull" and " 'fluence" in his behalf. 
 
 Joe Butler, the college friend of young Marchand, and 
 the editor, manager and publisher of The Daily Telegram, 
 had charge of the Marchand campaign. The two men were 
 together a great deal during the canvass among the citizens. 
 Butler had been in politics before, and knew how to escape 
 the "all important" elements that "hang on" like leeches 
 :n every campaign. He knew, to a nicety, the modes, sys 
 tems and methods of the armies that swarm around the can-
 
 HONEST GOVERNMENT 
 
 didate in all political campaigns, and he knew as well how 
 to handle those political vipers. He did not shun them 
 nor keep out of their way. In fact, he mingled with them, 
 talked with them, introduced his candidate to them. He had 
 an object in doing so. He knew the whole thing was re 
 volting to his candidate and friend, but, at the same time, it 
 was an experience of invaluable benefit to young Marchand. 
 The system, or practice, was disgusting to honest, hon 
 orable men, and he knew that when young Marchand had 
 reached the limit of his patience, his revolt would be vol 
 canic in its nature. Butler was anxiously awaiting the reac 
 tion. For him it could not come too soon. , 
 
 Young Marchand earnestly began rebelling against inter 
 mingling with the "hobo" element. Butler, winking in his 
 sleeve, insisted that to be a politician, one must be a "Bo 
 hemian," a "good fellow," and in Home, "a Eoman." Ee- 
 plying, at last, young Marchand declared that he would not 
 submit to such practice for all the public offices in the 
 United States. 
 
 "Then," said Butler, "at a public meeting declare your 
 self from the stump. Announce your ideas upon political 
 campaigns, and let the people know where you stand. The 
 Daily Telegram will take pleasure in reporting your platform, 
 and will issue ten thousand extra copies to be placed in 
 the homes of the people." 
 
 "I'll do it, and the sooner you can arrange the public 
 meeting the better it will suit me," quickly responded the 
 young lawyer. 
 
 So said, so done. The Daily Telegram duly announced 
 a mass meeting and rally for the following evening, and 
 everybody was invited. The news spread around that the 
 
 97
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 young lawyer was to announce his platform of principles 
 and to declare what might be expected of him in the event 
 of his election. This morsel of news was read with as much 
 interest by the opposing factions as it was by the friends of 
 good government, for, if young Marchand were elected, he 
 was almost certain to drag forth the skeletons from the polit 
 ical closets of former administrations. 
 
 The time for the mass meeting came around. There never 
 had been witnessed in that quaint old Southern city such 
 a throng of citizens, men and women, as assembled around 
 the monument on Lafayette Square, on this occasion. A 
 plaftorm had been erected for the speakers and committee 
 men. The evening was beautiful, clear and moonlit. The 
 great mass of people surged like the waves of the sea; and 
 for a block distant many of them were trying to edge their 
 way closer to the speaker's platform, while the brass band 
 rendered several numbers, keeping the people in good spirit 
 until the speaking should begin. Although it lacked fifteen 
 minutes of the time to open the meeting, according to the 
 announcement, it was certain that no speaker could make 
 himself heard by half of those already present and anxious 
 to hear, so large was the crowd. Joe Butler was already 
 aware of that fact. He was equal to the occasion. He 
 immediately sent out several strong voiced men who climbed 
 high upon telegraph poles along the street where they could 
 make themselves distinctly heard. Then Butler mounted 
 the speaker's stand and announced that, as no speaker could 
 make himself heard by such a large audience, he had decided 
 to give a full report of the speeches in The Daily Telegram 
 the following day, and that the same would be distributed 
 among the people, gratis. That everybody who desired a
 
 HONEST GOVERNMENT 
 
 copy of the paper could procure same at all news stands 
 without pay and without price. Butler was then followed by 
 his assistants from the telegraph poles, each of whom repeated 
 the same statement, so that everyone present was informed 
 upon the matter. 
 
 The exercises opened in due form, and young Marchand 
 was introduced to the audience. He needed no introduction 
 that was a mere matter of form. As he appeared at the 
 front of the platform, the vast audience went wild with 
 enthusiasm. The air was rent with the shouts of the people 
 as by the peal of thunder. It echoed and reverberated from 
 street to street, until it rolled out upon the placid waters of 
 the Mississippi, where peacefully lay the great tramps of 
 commerce awaiting their cargoes of that fleecy staple, the 
 "king of the South." It was a mighty chorus of human 
 voices, such as was never heard before nor since in that 
 great city. There had been no practice, no drilling of voices 
 to produce this unison and simultuous outburst of the thou 
 sands present. It required no director with poised baton to 
 bring forth this instantaneous chorus from ten thousand 
 throats. The people were filled with the spirit of liberty and 
 freedom, and they now rejoiced that they had a leader who 
 would lead them out of bondage and set them free again. 
 The sight of their young leader, as he appeared upon the 
 rostrum, thrilled them and set their very souls on fire. No 
 wonder they shouted as one man. No wonder the welkin 
 rang as it had never rung before. Their enthusiasm wa^ 
 borne out upon the evening breezes until it permeated every 
 artery of that great and busy city. It echoed from a thou 
 sand steam whistles along the wharves and railroad yards. 
 The surging crowd knew the meaning. The spirit of free- 
 
 99
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 dom and liberty possessed them afresh, and their enthusiasm 
 knew no bounds. 
 
 More than a half hour had passed ere the great crowd 
 of people present contented itself to listen to the words 
 of its spokesman and leader. Young Marchand, in the full 
 flush of zealous, honest youth, began his address. We shall 
 content ourselves with but a few quotations therefrom, per- 
 initting the reader to draw upon his imagination to the 
 point of satisfaction. In part, 'the young orator said: 
 
 "I am expected to declare my principles and pronounce 
 my platform here tonight. It is useless to tell you that T 
 believe in honest government, for we all believe in that, and 
 if we, the people, would be honest with ourselves and honest 
 with our candidates for public office, we would elect honest 
 men and have honest government. But we don't do that. 
 We expect every other fellow to be honest, while we know 
 down deep in our hearts that some people are dishonest with 
 the candidate, and with the officer after he is elected. A 
 certain class looks upon a candidate for public office as a 
 shining mark to be robbed, bled, plundered and despoiled, 
 until they have made his campaign cost him more money 
 than the legitimate emoluments of the office afford. Not 
 satisfied with that, they seek personal favors of him as an 
 officer, and often such favors as they would not wish for 
 the public to know about. 
 
 "My friends, human nature is not overly strong. Men 
 are but human beings and liable to err, at the best; but 
 when a good, clean citizen has been induced to stand for a 
 public office, and, later, finds that he has been looted, hi? 
 good name bandied about, his reputation besmirched, his 
 nature revolts, and, sometimes, he might be tempted to come 
 
 100
 
 . HONEST GOVERNMENT 
 
 out of office with as small financial loss as possible. 
 
 "So far in this campaign, had I yielded to the numerous 
 attempts that were made to extract money from me, I would 
 have expended a sum much larger than are the honest emol 
 uments of the office which I seek. And should I be elected 
 to the office, I'm sure there will be a certain class of citizens 
 applying for certain favors which I promise you shall never 
 be granted by me. 
 
 "My friends, while we permit this deplorable practice of 
 despoiling candidates for public office to continue, how can 
 we expect honest government? Whenever you see a candi 
 date who is buying tickets for all the balls, concerts, picnics, 
 barbecues, and spending his money on the thousands of 
 schemes devised during campaigns with which to decoy and 
 rob candidates, you may rest assured that such a man i? 
 not the proper person to be elected to any public office. 
 
 "But there are extenuating circumstance^.. Few, if any. 
 candidates willingly lavish their money upon these things. 
 They feel constrained so to do under the pressure brought 
 to bear upon them from many quarters. They are entreated, 
 bantered, caressed, cajoled, frightened, and put through a 
 thousand 'grafting' processes, and by many people who have 
 not stopped to think that they are committing a wrongful act. 
 True it is, that many of these campaign 'grafters' ply their 
 nefarious trade through love of money gained by vile and 
 lecherous methods. That kind of people care little about 
 honest government they are worse than highway robbers 
 they don't want honest government. With an honest ad 
 ministration they would find no place their occupation 
 would be gone. 
 
 "Now, my friends, if you are in favor of an honest gov- 
 
 101
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 eminent, be honest with yourselves and with the candidate 
 for public office. Do not make it cost a man more than 
 the office is worth. Then be honest with him after he is 
 elected. Don't try to persuade him to favor you in some 
 matter and in some manner that you would be ashamed for 
 the people to know about. If the whole people will do this, 
 we will always have honest government. 
 
 "So far as I am personally concerned, I say to you that 
 I shall not, while a candidate for public office, allow any 
 person to sell me something I do not want. I shall treat 
 no person to a cigar or glass of beer while a candidate for 
 office. I shall not allow a single promise to be drawn from 
 me squinting at favoritism. And, as to my official conduct 
 if elected, I shall not grant a favor to any man on earth that 
 I would not have openly published to the world. If you want 
 that kind of officer, I ask your support. If not, I don't 
 want your votes. If there are not enough honest votes in this 
 city to elect me, I do not want the office. Anhonest govern 
 ment must be backed up by honest citizenship, and when 
 the citizenship becomes corrupt, there is no longer any hope 
 for honest government." 
 
 The following day, The Daily Telegram contained Mar- 
 chand's speech in full. The people read it over and over 
 again. True, it rebuked a certain class of the people, but 
 upon sober reflection they knew it contained the truth. His 
 plainly spoken truths settled down in their hearts, and 
 many of them who had been guilty, determined that the 
 d&y for reformation was at hand. Marchand's plain state 
 ment that a clean government could not be expected of an 
 unclean people was unanswerable. His election was now 
 conceded by both factions, unless there be some unfair 
 
 102
 
 HONEST GOVERNMENT 
 
 method of forestalling it. The factions held a secret caucus, 
 at which it was decided that, as Marchand had not been 
 nominated by a regularly organized political party, his name 
 could not legally be placed upon the official ballot. This 
 idea was too bright to be kept in the dark. It was too good 
 news to be kept from the anxious public. The joyous plan 
 was heralded broadcast as a great strategic move on the 
 part of the old "substantial" factions. It was glorious news 
 to the loyal members of the old guard, but it was doomed to 
 a short life. There were still courts of justice in the land. 
 Justice had not fled from the jurist's bench. The people 
 had some rights which the McBride and Wilkins factions 
 could not abridge nor subvert. Those rights were guaranteed 
 to them by the Constitution of the State. At first, the people 
 stood aghast at the brazenness of the old factions in thus 
 attempting to deprive them of their constitutional and inher 
 ent rights. 
 
 The Daily Telegram assured the people that their rights 
 should be sacredly preserved. And they were preserved. The 
 refusal of the authorities to print the name of Walter Mar 
 chand, the name of the people's nominee for City Attorney, 
 upon the official ballot was quickly followed by an order of 
 mandamus from the court. That settled it. Another order 
 followed, directing all election officers to allow said Walter 
 Marchand representation upon each official board at every 
 voting precinct in the city. It was the people's ticket, and 
 the people demanded that they have a "free ballot and a fair 
 count." The District Court granted the demand, and that 
 clinched the matter. There was no way now for the ring 
 bosses to defeat the will of the people, and they knew it. The 
 people also knew it. 
 
 103
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 ******* 
 
 The election was over, and ''the people'* were victorious 
 beyond their wildest anticipations and dreams. Marchand, 
 as sanguine as he had been, was confused at his overwhelm 
 ing majority. Nothing like it had ever before occurred in 
 that city. "Marchand and honest government" had won a 
 great victory in the first battle of the people. 
 
 104
 
 A MORAL AWAKENING 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 A MORAL AWAKENING. 
 
 The election of Walter Marchand by such an astounding 
 majority was but the beginning of a moral wave that for a 
 time swept over the whole country. It was a revival of those 
 periods when the people rule. Municipal and state gov 
 ernment had fallen into the hands of the few, and was no 
 longer the government of the people. 
 
 The "New South" had but begun to take on the energy of 
 a commercialism she had not experienced before. The people 
 were busy with the loom, the factory and the shop. New rail 
 roads were pointing their noses in the direction of the Gulf 
 of Mexico, and an era of commercialism had taken hold of 
 the people. New men, new enterprises, new industries, and 
 new money were seeking homes, locations, employment. A 
 new order of things was adjusting itself, replacing the old 
 habits, modes and customs. During this period of change, 
 the people forgot government, and forgot their duty as inte 
 gral parts of the government. Many there were who knew 
 that a day of awakening would sooner or later come. They 
 knew that when the municipality or the state is turned over 
 to the few, there soon develops a feeling that the "few" own 
 the government. The small official coterie becomes corrupt, 
 and as the corruption grows aggressive, patriotism goes into 
 
 105
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 decline. When corruption once seizes hold upon the govern 
 ment of the municipality, state or nation, the people are 
 to blame, for the government is of, for and by the people; 
 and if the corruption is to be eradicated, the people alone 
 can accomplish that end. Never can this be done, however, 
 until the individual citizen realizes and appreciates the duty 
 he owes to his city, state and nation, as a component part 
 of the government thereof. 
 
 Young Marchand was now looked upon as the great and 
 growing leader of the people in their battle against cor 
 ruption in public office. Many were the letters and mes 
 sages of congratulation received by the young leader from 
 all over the state. 
 
 <r What does all this mean?" Asked the young attorney 
 of the elder Marchand, one morning when his mail was 
 heavier than usual. "Do you really believe there is as much 
 corruption in our public offices as would seem to appear 
 from the contents of all these letters?'' 
 
 "Perhaps not," answered the father. "There seems to 
 be a lull in the business world just now, and the people are 
 taking the time to observe the manipulation of government. 
 It is only a case of history repeating itself. Your public 
 rebuke of the people happened at the proper time. Had you 
 done that two years ago, you would have been driven out of 
 town, scorned and derided." 
 
 "But, father, I merely told the truth. A matter of a 
 short space of time does not transform a vice into a virtue." 
 
 "No, certainly not. Public sentiment in politics, how 
 ever, is the all-ruling and governing power, and while a 
 few citizens may be aware of the existence of political and 
 
 106
 
 official corruption, it requires a public sentiment, backed b)' 
 the votes of the people, to eradicate the evil." 
 
 "Oh, I see," returned Walter. "But what about the indi 
 vidual duty of the citizen or officer, when he knows that 
 this corruption exists?" 
 
 "Well, that is a matter of individual conscience, I sup 
 pose. Occasionally, a citizen or an honest official tries his 
 hand at the 'cleaning up' process, and if public sentiment 
 upon the subject be not ripe, the citizen or the officer tires of 
 the attempt, becomes disgusted and falls back into the rut. 
 The laws, then, remain dead letters, while official corrup 
 tion runs riot until there is such an awakening among the 
 people as will back up the citizen or the officer in his 
 herculean efforts. Then it becomes a moral revolution, and 
 the people see how they have been plundered. They wit 
 ness the rottenness in all its intensity and energy, from one 
 end of the country to the other. They awaken to the fact 
 that there have grown up certain classes especially favored 
 and especially privileged under the laws, and by the officers 
 elected to execute and enforce the laws. They pass, as it 
 were, from a period of sordid, selfish commerce into a tempo 
 rary period of high ideals and high political standards, only 
 to relapse again, for a period, into a political comatose state, 
 that pillage and plunder may again grow rife. So it is, my 
 boy, and so has it been since this republic was founded." 
 
 "The people, then, deserve just what they get," eagerly 
 replied the younger man, his face flushing with the energy 
 of youth. 
 
 "Yes, I suppose so, since the government is of and by the 
 people. Don't you remember your statement that 'an honest 
 government must be backed up by an honest people ?" ; 
 
 107
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 "Yes, and that is true. But the people, as a rule, are 
 honest, and want honest government. Do you not think so ?" 
 
 "That is no doubt true, as a general proposition, so long 
 as you apply it to 'the majority' of the people. Usually, 
 'the majority' of the people that want honest government are 
 not the ones who seek 'special favors,' special privileges, 
 for the 'majority' comprise the common people, the employed, 
 the man without a business of his own. The men of large 
 business, large means, corporations, trusts and combines also 
 want honest government, but if their interests may be favored 
 in any manner at the expense of government, they certainly 
 prefer that. Of course, that may appear selfish, and per 
 haps it is." 
 
 "Well, father, when it conies down to human selfishness, 
 I can not see that the fellow with small means, or the man 
 without any means at all has any advantage over the man 
 with large means. Certainly, I made no such discovery I'D 
 my late campaign for City Attorney. iMost assuredly I met 
 people of both classes that were equally anxious to greatly 
 assist and use their influence in my behalf, all for varied 
 amounts and considerations." 
 
 "Oh, well, my son, you have a great deal to learn along 
 these lines, if you would remain in public life. It is a great 
 study, and many smart men have given their lives to it, 
 only to die disappointed and broken hearted in the end." 
 
 "What we need to perpetuate good, honest government 
 are men with civic pride and downright patriotism. Men 
 with a patriotism who, if need be, would give up their lives 
 for their city or state. There is as much patriotism in de 
 voting one's life to bettering the government by eradicating 
 the evil, electing good men, and purifying the ballot as there 
 
 108
 
 A MORAL AWAKENING 
 
 is in baring one's breast in battle to the fire of his country's 
 enemy." 
 
 "That is true, my son, and I am proud to know that, since 
 you appear to have been selected as the standard bearer of 
 the people, in their present battle against corruption, you 
 have the honesty, the integrity and the native Marchand 
 courage to withstand any onslaught that may be made upon 
 you. Look out for it, my son, it will come. You will 
 be subjected to all sorts of intrigue, perhaps death." 
 
 "Well," laughed Walter, "I will be a patriot in that event." 
 
 "Patriots are generally dead. Everybody loves dead pa 
 triots, while the live ones have the most bitter enemies. You 
 have entered upon a hard road, my son, and you must not 
 expect easy traveling if you would reach the goal you seek, 
 or accomplish what the people expect of you. Of all the bit 
 ter curses upon this earth, man's inhumanity to man is the 
 most bitter, and men in public life realize that fact more 
 than any other class." 
 
 "Certainly, father, you must have had some political dis 
 appointment in your lifetime, else you would not paint such 
 lurid pictures." 
 
 "jSTo, I never was even a candidate for a public office in 
 my life. True, I have been disappointed in some of my 
 friends who have been in public life. Sometimes I was not 
 as honest with them, as officials and public servants, a* I 
 should have been, but I presume I was not different, in that 
 respect, from others," said Mr. Marchand with a smile. 
 
 "That is the trouble with our system of government. If all 
 of the people would be honest there would be little oppor 
 tunity for the dishonesty of the officer. You, no doubt, as an 
 attorney for some client, sought favors or special privileges 
 
 109
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 and, while others may have succeeded, you possibly failed, 
 hence your dissatisfaction with the officer. Why were you 
 selected as the 'go-between' ? Because of your friendship 
 with the officer, no doubt. In that, you were merely a tool, 
 an instrument, and we might say, 'the hired assassin.' It 
 was wrong. Your employer knew that it was wrong, and 
 you knew it was wrong. Had the officer done your bidding, 
 he would have deserved the least blame of any of you, but 
 he would have been looked upon as the culprit and would 
 have been spurned by the people." 
 
 The conversation between the father and son was inter 
 rupted by the appearance of Joe Butler, their mutual friend, 
 and the publisher of The Daily Telegram. 
 
 "Pardon me, my friends. Let me first make it plain 
 that I did not come here seeking a job for myself or for any 
 other person. You have had several applications already, 
 Walter?" 
 
 "Oh, a few," replied Walter with a knowing smile. 
 
 "Well, don't be surprised if you have a few hundred in 
 the next few days," returned Butler. "If I can be of any 
 service to you, do not hesitate to command me. I am glad 
 I find both of you present, as I have a business proposition 
 to present, and a matter in which both might become in 
 terested. The question of incorporating The Daily Telegram 
 has been suggested by the owners, and in that connection, 
 it has been suggested that both of you gentlemen should 
 become stockholders. What do you think about it?" queried 
 Butler, looking directly at the younger Marchand. 
 
 "Is the plant operating at a loss or a profit, and what are 
 its future prospects?" inquired Walter. 
 
 "When I took charge of the plant it was worth little, as 
 
 110
 
 A MORAL AWAKENING 
 
 you know, but the present patronage is making it a paying 
 concern. The present owners believe that by incorporating 
 and distributing the stock among certain business men and 
 officials, the future of the plant would be certain. So far 
 as the legal business of perfecting the organization, preparing 
 and procuring the charter is concerned, I desired to turn that 
 into the hands of this firm, and that is my mission here 
 now. As to the question of stock subscription, I have nothing 
 to say, except that the parties interested seemed anxious that 
 the new City Attorney should own a nice block of stock in 
 the company." 
 
 The elder Marchand having been partially engaged with 
 some papers upon his desk, smiled as the son quickly replied 
 to Butler's last statement. 
 
 "Why do you people want the new City Attorney to become 
 a stockholder ? Certainly, that office will distribute con 
 siderable advertising, but it will be done upon purely bus 
 iness principles while I shall control it. Were I a stockholder 
 in one of the concerns bidding for the business, I might at 
 first unconsciously favor that concern. Later, I might do it 
 wilfully. That would be wrong. Most assuredly, the people 
 would not look favorably upon the proposition. In fact, T 
 do not look favorably upon it, since I come to think it over. 
 I speak for myself only, however." 
 
 "Well, Walter, I think you are right," Butler replied. 
 "Uncompromising honesty is a good asset, and a characteris 
 tic that is too frequently lacking in the official world. True, 
 it is not always an easy matter to practice it, I suppose, but 
 as you have thus begun, you will grow stronger in your 
 power to discern and overcome the evil that lies before you." 
 
 "Do you suppose the parties you represent in this matter 
 
 111
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 designed that, by having an interest in their plant, I would 
 use my office to advance that interest ?" 
 
 "I suppose they had in mind the idea of combining siii:li 
 forces as would likely attract business to the new organiza 
 tion. That would be natural in the organization of any bus 
 iness concern." 
 
 "You seem to have drawn considerable patronage away 
 from the Clarion and the Trumpet, recently," remarked the 
 elder Marchand. "I suppose you will be more or less drawn 
 into the continuous newspaper harangue, will you not." 
 
 "No," said Butler. "I never knew anything to be gained 
 by that kind of business. It hurts a town, and it's disgust 
 ing to all peace-loving citizens of a community. By the 
 way, Colonel Marchand, when will it suit you to meet with 
 us to arrange for the incorporation. I can arrange for it 
 this evening if convenient for you. We" will meet in my 
 office." 
 
 "That will suit me to a nicety, as I want to leave the 
 city for some time, by Sunday. Let me see today is Wed 
 nesday. Yes, that will give me time to complete the matter. 
 By the way, Butler, I may as well tell you, since you are 
 a close friend of Walter's, that I am about to enter the field 
 of matrimony, but this news is not for publication. Don't 
 forget that fact." 
 
 "The secret shall be well guarded, Colonel," said Butler, 
 slyly winking at Walter. 
 
 "Why, father, Mr. Butler had guessed the truth before 
 you really obtained your full consent to marry," laughingly 
 interjected Walter, returning Butler's jovial wink. 
 
 "Ah, you young rascals always think you know a heap 
 more than you really do," responded Mr. Marchand, in a 
 
 112
 
 A MORAL AWAKENING 
 
 good-natured manner, "but it takes more experience than 
 either of you have to keep up with us older fellows." 
 
 "That's what it does, Colonel. Now, I'll be going, and 
 will arrange the meeting for this evening," said Butler, as 
 he turned to leave. 
 
 "'Say, Butler," cautioned Mr. Marchand, "that bit of news 
 is to be a secret. My marriage, you know." 
 
 "Qli, not for the world, Colonel. Good day," returned But 
 ler, as he passed out of the inner office, leaving the father 
 and son alone together. 
 
 "That fellow Butler is a sharp, shrewd man," remarked 
 the elder Marchand, "and I am glad he is your friend, 
 Walter." 
 
 "Better than all, I think he is honest and upright," said 
 Walter in reply, "that is, in all his dealings with me. I have 
 the utmost confidence in his integrity and friendship." 
 
 "Yes, so long as he is your friend. But, Walter, remem 
 ber that in politics the friend of today may be the enemy of 
 tomorrow. A little caution, taken in broken doses, and mixed 
 well with the friendship of not only Butler, but every other 
 person, may sometimes serve you well and prevent a broken 
 heart over a case of love-at-first-sight, in politics." 
 
 "That is all right, father, but Joe and I were old school 
 boys together college chums, you know." 
 
 "Yes, my son, I know all about the 'schoolmate' and 'col 
 lege chum' friend, but simply speak for your good, generally. 
 By the way, have you heard from Edith recently ? I wonder 
 how my letter was received by my intended." 
 
 "Oh, finely. Here is Edith's letter. I received it this morn 
 ing. You may read it," said Walter, handing the letter to 
 the elder gentleman. 
 
 113
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 The writer spoke of the joy and delight that both letters 
 had given the two anxious inquirers. That the present month 
 would end their stay at the old college town, and that both 
 were laying great plans for their future happiness that was 
 sure to await them in the old home, "The Cedars." 
 
 After Mr. Marchaud had read the letter, he remarked: 
 
 "Well, my boy, there's going to be a new life for me, after 
 all these weary years. I am really anxious to be off, and I 
 can hardly wait for Sunday to come, when I am to depart. 
 The days will seem like weeks to me until I see my daughter 
 Edith, and" 
 
 "And , and , and ," teasingly interjected Walter. 
 
 "Yes, yes, you understand, of course, Mrs. Olcott, or Mrs. 
 Marchand to be," rejoined the father, with a pleasing smile. 
 
 1J4
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 A CONTENTED FAMILY. 
 
 "The Cedars" is, once more, the home of an unbroken, 
 happy, very happy family. The charming Mrs. Olcott, that 
 was, is now. the sweet and gentle mistress of the beautiful 
 old homestead. Surrounded by those who loved her with 
 an unerring love; who lavished upon her their warmest af' 
 fections; who vied with each other in exhibiting the highest 
 esteem for her, and their appreciation of her noble char 
 acter, Mrs. Marchand was, indeed, a truly happy woman. She 
 was now enjoying a happiness of which she had, in the past, 
 only hoped for but had not known. No dreadful nightmare 
 of doubt and fear was to shadow her life now. Henceforth 
 she would enjoy one prolonged dream of peace and rest. 
 What a recompense after all the years of toil, worry, doubt, 
 misgivings and fear. What a haven what a happy deliver 
 ance from the bondage of the past. 
 
 The master of the home was a happy, contented man. He 
 had known domestic bliss in the years gone by, but it was a 
 happiness with which was coupled a longing, toiling for 
 the future. Not so, his* present joy, for he had reached 
 the goal. Now, he basked in the sunshine of contentment. 
 Now, he looked down over life's decline and beheld the 
 beautiful valleys waving with the ripened grain. His plough- 
 
 115
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 ing and sowing over the harvest lay in rich expanse 
 before him. He had sown good seed and felt assured of 
 the fruits of the harvest. Ah, what a sense of restfulness 
 came to him now, as he stood, as it were, upon the summit of 
 life's journey. Back of him, a path of honest, honorable and 
 righteous conduct. Before him, a broad, rich expense, sloping 
 gently into the mystic Jordan, a seemingly dividing line, 
 where the mortal voice whispers "farewell," then joins in 
 the eternal Hallelujah chorus upon the farther shore. He 
 was satisfied. His halcyon dreams of youth were more than 
 realized in his supreme domestic happiness. Kind, loving 
 and affectionate, the master of "The Cedars" was dearly 
 beloved, honored and revered by the members of his house 
 hold. He was content. 
 
 Nothing more could man and wife ask for, than had Mr. 
 and Mrs. Marchand, to make their lives happy. Theirs was 
 all, and more if possible, that poets had ever sung or writ 
 ten of "Home." It was the hearthstone of their affections, 
 the altar of their communings, the shield of their noonday 
 lives, the refuge of their declining days. Happy retreat, 
 sacred temple, home, sweet home. 
 
 Edith, like a rosebud with petals gently unfolding, dis 
 closing a deeper, richer shade of coloring, was now bloom 
 ing into a rare, sweet and ripened womanhood. Her long 
 and constant association with the matronly Mrs. Olcott 
 tended, in a great measure, to earlier mature her natural 
 graces and queenly manners. Edith Marchand was more 
 than a queen; she was a typical American girl with the 
 characteristics, manners and charms of the "first ladies" of 
 the "Old South." Her return to her home, and the home of 
 her ancestors for nearly a century, served to bring back 
 
 116
 
 A CONTENTED FAMILY 
 
 to memory the early history of "The Cedars." Upon the 
 walls of the old home hung the portraits of the Marchand 
 family for several generations, some of them bearing the 
 French coat of arms, thereby evidencing the fact that the 
 Marchands, in the olden days, had high rank in the royalty 
 of the French government. As a matter of family lineage., 
 Edith took great pride in this royal connection. Not thai, 
 she desired to assume a semi-regal status. Not at all. Edith 
 was not in the least disposed to appear as being other than 
 she in fact was. She was not vain nor puffed up with false 
 pride. Edith loved her home and her family above all else 
 in the world. For the baubles of society she cared little. 
 An accomplished musician, she was much sought after at 
 all social functions, but held herself in queenly reserve. 
 Many were the admirers who sought the friendship and 
 society of the charming young lady, and all found an in 
 surmountable barrier at a certain stage. Some of them 
 fawned and dawdled at her feet, as it were, only to be 
 brushed aside as so many pesky flies. The usual silly, idle, 
 gossipy twaddle, found no abiding place with Edith. The 
 insincere, deceptive, painstaking hypocrisy, sometimes prac 
 ticed by over-zealous worshippers at Cupid's shrine, was all 
 lost on Edith Marchand. She despised hyprocisy; ignored 
 flattery; spurned insincerity. She was a woman. 
 
 Edith Marchand was a regular attendant of the church 
 services, but was not a member of any church. If a neigh 
 bor became sick, Edith Marchand was always depended upon 
 to render whatever services were within her power. In sick 
 ness and distress, Edith became the one ministering angel 
 of the neighborhood. If death came to the family of a friend, 
 Edith was there to comfort, cheer and point out the bright 
 
 117
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 way to those in the darkness of their sorrow. Upon her face 
 was a constant radiance, the reflection of the pure, spotless 
 soul within. Her ministerings were not coupled with red 
 lanterns nor pulpit advertisements. On her tours of charity 
 and mercy, she was never accompanied by a newspaper re 
 porter nor a brass band. She typified the true, the beau 
 tiful, and the good. She was a Christian. 
 
 No brother was ever happier than was Walter Marchand, 
 now that Edith was permanently at home. The charming 
 companionship of their younger days had lost none of its 
 sweetness by the flight of years. The brilliancy of the social 
 swirl could not distract it. The glamour of popular society 
 or political distinction could not lure it. The strenuous 
 activity of the business world could not weaken it. It was 
 unmovable, it was firm, it was fixed. The companionship 
 of brother and sister was often the subject of social gossip, 
 especially among those whose ambitions had not been grati 
 fied by being permitted to break into the family circle of 
 "The Cedars." To those, the comradeship of the brother 
 and sister was "downright selfishness " and a challenge to 
 the "quality" of the social circles of the city's "best citi 
 zens." The brother and sister expected the world would 
 gossip, but little cared they. The father and mother were, 
 unto themselves, all sufficient, and heeded little the doings 
 of the social world. The brother and sister often wondered 
 at the marvelous love they each bore the other, but it gave 
 them no great concern. It was a striking coincidence, but 
 it was not alarming. They had not even dreamed of a secret 
 cause for this wonderful, or rather, unordinaxy situation. 
 If there were a secret cause, they were not expected to know 
 the secret. The mother, being a stranger to the family 
 
 118
 
 A CONTENTED FAMILY 
 
 history and family connections, was, of course, not cogni 
 zant of the secret, if any there were. The father, the only 
 one who did know, had resolved that it should remain as 
 in the past. He, alone, did not wonder nor marvel at the 
 strange and intense love between his son and daughter. 
 He did wonder, however, at the growing affection of the 
 wife for his son Walter. There was no apparent cause, that 
 is, there was no cause other than an affectionate nature 
 with which both were endowed. But Edith was not different 
 in that respect. The father could not but feel an unspeak 
 able gratification that his household was one of peace, love 
 and affection. He could not wish it otherwise not quite. 
 Just a little speck had risen away out on the horizon, but 
 it would pass by, perhaps. 
 
 "The Cedars" was a happy little world within itself. Each 
 member of the household bore upon his countenance the radi 
 ance of peace and contentment. The music of the fireside 
 was never marred by a discordant sound. Every word 
 breathed a note of melody, and every response a whisper of 
 love. Every going out carried with it a God speed, and every 
 coming in was hailed with a joyous greeting. Such was the 
 home life of the little family at "The Cedars." 
 
 So pleasant and agreeable was the home life of young 
 Walter Marchand that it had, in a measure, lured him from 
 his official duties. The father had, recently, intimated to 
 the son the necessity of close application to the business of 
 his public office, but not until the suggestion was followed by 
 a similar one from Joe Butler, was it of any avail. Then the 
 young man pondered, examined himself, and recognized the 
 value of the suggestion. True, he had begun to drift into 
 a semi-carelessness that would, in time, .leave a telling effect 
 
 119
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 upon his official conduct. That could not be permitted 
 under any circumstances. He had promised the people faith 
 ful attention to the business of the office. He must con 
 scientiously perform his duties, thereby making good his 
 promises to the people. There could be no excuse for an 
 officer's neglect of public duty, except sickness or extreme 
 misfortune. He had suffered neither. One course alone was 
 left for him to pursue. He was young, energetic, honest, 
 and had the confidence of the people. He would, therefore, 
 shut his eyes to all the world, except the vigorous prosecu 
 tion of the business of the office which he held. Those duties 
 he would perform with justice and impartiality, let come 
 what may. His own conscience would be clear, and he, at 
 least, would have the satisfaction of having performed his 
 duty well. 
 
 Yes, he would do more. He would make a study of the 
 political system of the whole country. He would learn the 
 ways of government, the moving powers, the trend of devel 
 opment. 
 
 Not that he had been entirely blind to the recent revo 
 lution of commercial activity in the South. Not at all. He 
 had acquainted himself with her history, and had witnessed 
 the slow approach of the tide of improvement. He had also 
 observed the slowly changing checker board of commerce, 
 indicated by the building f North and South lines of rail 
 road; the appropriations by the national government for 
 the improvement of streams, harbors and ports along the 
 Gulf of Mexico; the renewed agitation for the construction 
 of an Isthmian canal. Over in Texas arose the agitation of 
 reciprocity and the extension of American commerce with 
 Latin-America. Europe controlled ninety per cent of the 
 
 120
 
 A CONTENTED FAMILY 
 
 trade of Latin- America, while the United States, a sister re 
 public, within a stone's throw, was permitted the poor privi 
 lege of controlling but ten per cent of that trade. Already 
 the people of Texas had discovered the cause and were pro 
 moting the establishment of a "Pan-American College of 
 Commerce." These matters would become a subject of inter 
 esting research and study for the young "politician." 
 
 ^'hat meant the increased investment of northern and east 
 ern money in new business enterprises, in new and perma 
 nent developments, and in various lines of trade and busi 
 ness ? It meant something, and young Marchand would ferret 
 out the meaning. He would awake from the dreams of the 
 past, buckle on his armor, and stride out over the busy world 
 like a great Goliath. He would not be a laggard in the 
 performance of the duties that devolved upon him, whether 
 they be official or private duties. In the new life that was 
 now dawning upon him he beheld visions of a great, throb 
 bing, pulsing theater of action, in which he had, theretofore, 
 played but a small part. Not so for the future. A new day 
 had dawned upon him. The instability of youth was suc 
 ceeded by the strength and soberness of manhood. The day 
 of insecurity and instability had passed. With the strength 
 of a Sampson he would burst his fetters and be a free man. 
 The awakening had come. 
 
 121
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 OFFICIAL INTEGRITY. 
 
 The machinery of the City Attorney's office now began to 
 run briskly and, albeit, more smoothly. The office force 
 became aware, without being told, that thenceforward there 
 would be no lagging nor holding back, but that the office 
 would be run on business principles. 
 
 Walter Marchand was the same genial, affable, pleasant 
 fellow as before, but firm. He did not assume an arro 
 gant nor over important mein, as the chief and head of the 
 department, but it was generally understood that he intended 
 to hold the reins in his own hands and do the driving. That 
 was necessary in order to prevent accidents and side excur 
 sions. He had not only the business of his office to care 
 for, but the ill-feeling of some of the city officials to contend 
 with. They were of the old factions, and he expected them 
 to obstruct the business of the legal department, if possible. 
 He was not far wrong in his surmises. He was an interloper, 
 according to the opinion of the official ring, and his official 
 path should be made as rough as possible. Again, his ene 
 mies reasoned without their host. They misjudged their 
 man. They trod upon dangerous ground. They camped 
 over a mine of explosives. 
 
 All was quiet "along the Potomac" now, but there was 
 
 122
 
 OFFICIAL INTEGRITY 
 
 a storm brewing. It would, sooner or later, burst over the 
 city in all its fury, leaving a trail of political wrecks in its 
 wake. The "storm king" was already growling in his lair, 
 but he would, later, arouse himself, stretch his loins, and 
 stalk forth with a bellow and roar, that would cause the 
 very foundations of the city to rock and tremble. The pre 
 ceding calm was on now. The elements had not gathered 
 their full quota of storm substance, but the barometer was 
 marking the effect. The knowing ones, only, could read 
 the barometer aright. They, and they only, knew that the 
 oncoming gale would sweep the decks and shatter the rotten 
 timbers of the old ship of state. 
 
 It was not strange, at least Marchand did not think it 
 strange, that some of his colleagues in office, whom he knew 
 were his bitter enemies, should suddenly become solicitous 
 about the city's welfare. They had heard, no doubt, the low 
 rumbling of the storm in the distance. He treated them 
 with official courtesy, but would not kiss their hands. Their 
 fawning around him failed to win his "good graces." They 
 had bad tbeir day, and he proposed to have his, but he made 
 no such announcement, as yet. It had not reached that stage. 
 
 The finances of the city were in bad shape. The city 
 was hopelessly embarrassed, and its script was hawked about 
 the streets, barely bringing fifty cents on the dollar. The 
 city laborers and employes were on the verge of despair. 
 The Mayor and Council could offer no relief, except to 
 officially demand of the City Attorney that the back tax 
 suits be vigorously reduced to available assets. The blame 
 rested upon the legal department. The City Attorney was 
 not unprepared for this move on the part of the ring. He 
 expected it and was waiting for it. He did not openly resent 
 
 123
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 the unjust accusations. He acted, however, and acted 
 promptly. He demanded of the City Tax Collector a cor 
 rect and duly certified statement of all back taxes due to 
 the city by the Mayor and each of the aldermen. It was 
 refused by that worthy official. He knew it would be, but 
 he was prepared for that emergency. The books had been 
 quietly examined by his deputy and a transcript duly pre 
 pared, except it lacked the signature of the collector. These 
 transcripts were presented for official certificate, but the 
 officer again refused. That also was expected, but the legal 
 department was not at its wits end. There was a remedy. 
 
 The council was to convene in regular session the follow 
 ing day and it had been noised about that it would likely 
 take some action with relation to the "dilatory tactics of 
 the legal department." The Daily Trumpet never failed to 
 cast insinuations at, and try to belittle the legal depart 
 ment. The Daily Trumpet "hoped the council would employ 
 a lawyer to help run the legal department." The Daily 
 Clarion, after the election, concluded to choose the saner 
 part, and it tuned its notes to a more harmonious key. The 
 Daily Telegram had little to say of the municipal situation. 
 It was watching the brewing of the storm. 
 
 The council convened, and the chamber and galleries were 
 filled with eager spectators, mostly of the friends of the 
 old factions. The proceedings ran smoothly through the 
 opening routine ceremonies, until the various "reports" by 
 the several committees and departments had been heard. 
 
 "Any further reports?" asked the Mayor. 
 
 "No other reports on my desk," responded the clerk. 
 
 "Is it not about time the City Attorney made a report on 
 
 124
 
 OFFICIAL INTEGRITY 
 
 the back tax suits?" said the Mayor, turning to Marchand, 
 then added, in a rather sneering manner : 
 
 "We've been waiting on you a long time to push the back 
 tax cases, and this Council will have to take some kind of 
 action, I reckon." 
 
 Walter Marchand respectfully addressed the Honorable 
 Mayor and Council, stating that he was ready to make report 
 of his progress, but he preferred to report verbally, if per 
 mitted by the honorable body. 
 
 "We don't want verbal reports here, we want written re 
 ports so that they may be made a matter of record," returned 
 the Ma} r or. 
 
 Alderman Jones of the Third Ward quickly arose, and 
 suggested that a verbal report on progress always had been 
 the rule in the Council, and that he could not understand 
 why that rule should not apply in this case. 
 
 "I beg j-our pardon, gentlemen,'' interjected Marchand. 
 "I have a written report, but I merely asked your kind in 
 dulgence that I might state it verbally with explanation, and 
 perhaps some embellishments. It may be some of you will 
 desire to ask questions, and I can the more readily answer 
 them. Besides, as you will observe, the report is quite lengthy 
 as it contains the description of property, the amount of back 
 taxes due, and the names of the debtors." 
 
 "Now, I move that the gentleman be permitted to report 
 verbally," said Alderman Jones. The motion was seconded 
 by Alderman Smith of the Seventh, and upon vote was car 
 ried. 
 
 "Now, I reckon you can proceed, since it appears to suit 
 the Council best," said the Mayor, petulantly. 
 
 "I thank you, gentlemen, and assure you that I greatly 
 
 125
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 appreciate the courtesy," said Walter in his usual pleasant 
 and courtly manner, while a ripple of applause ran along the 
 gallery. 
 
 "My report is prefaced," said Walter, "with a statement 
 of the condition in which I found the tax suit docket .when 
 I assumed the duties of the office, and may be explained 
 thus : 
 
 "Seven thousand and ninety suits had been filed by my 
 predecessors, and of that number eight hundred judgments 
 had been rendered, and two hundred and seven executions 
 had been issued under those judgments, while but seventy- 
 three of those executions were ever made effective by either 
 voluntary payment a/id satisfaction of the judgment, or by 
 sale of the property thereunder. You may have observed that 
 two dollars is allowed, by the ordinance, for the filing of 
 each suit, and one per cent additional is allowed upon the 
 face value of each judgment, as the attorney fee. 
 
 "The average amount sued for in these cases is eight 
 dollars and eleven cents, including penalties, interest and 
 costs of advertising, which would indicate that only the 
 small property owner had been Hauled up into court." 
 
 At this juncture a very decided and vigorous applause ran 
 along the galleries and dropped down among the visitors on 
 the main floor. A sense of uneasiness seemed to possess 
 the Mayor and several of the aldermen. 
 
 "I don't see what all that history has got to do with 
 your duties as the chief of the legal department. Let us 
 have what you are doing. That is what we want to know," 
 snarled the Mayor, as he twisted in his executive chair. 
 
 "Certainly, certainly," said Walter in a mild and pleasant 
 voice. "I am coming to that part of the report now, with
 
 OFFICIAL INTEGRITY 
 
 the exception of one other feature. Of the seventy-three 
 effective executions, forty-seven ejections from homes were 
 had. I have here the names of those who were ejected, and, 
 as a matter of history, I will read them if this honorable 
 body desires." 
 
 "We don't want them read. We don't care anything about 
 them. What we want is money to run the government and 
 pay off the poor city laborers/' roared the Mayor, which 
 was followed by a shadow of applause out in the hallway, with 
 a feeble shout of "Dat's de stuff! Hurrah for de Mayor!" 
 
 "Very well," returned Walter, "I will omit reading the 
 names as you prefer, and simply add, that oT the forty-seven 
 ejected families, nineteen of them were widows, and thirteen 
 are now" in almshouses and upon public charity at an aver 
 age yearly expense to the city of eighty-seven dollars, each, 
 or a total of eleven hundred and thirty-one dollars, while the 
 total tax collected from the sale of their houses amounted to 
 one hundred and four dollars, from which, if you deduct 
 costs, fees, etc., will leave to the city about sixty-nine dol 
 lars. This amount, deducted from the annual cost of sus 
 taining the paupers thereby created, leaves an annual loss 
 to the city, by the transaction, of one thousand and sixty- 
 two dollars, to say nothing of broken hearts and ruined 
 lives, through this unwarranted and cruel proceeding. T 
 now come to " 
 
 The speaker was interrupted, and his voice drowned by 
 the roar of applause in all parts of the room, except that 
 portion within the railing which was set apart for the Coun 
 cil. There was no applause in that portion it was as quiet 
 as an injured husband, except for the squeaking of the alder- 
 
 127
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 manic chairs as some of the occupants thereof nervously 
 swung back and forth. 
 
 The Mayor rapped for order with his gavel, and the ap 
 plause increased in volume. That enraged the Municipal 
 Chief. It also enraged one or two of 'the aldermen who 
 yelled for recognition by the Mayor. They wanted to try 
 their hand at speech-making. The Mayor, filled with vexa 
 tion, unable to restore order, recognized both of the anxious 
 aldermen, but the audience did not. The Council was about 
 to dissolve when Walter raised his hand in an appeal for 
 silence, and the storm ceased as suddenly as it had done in 
 the opera house at his command. 
 
 The Mayor, after lecturing the visitors, and warning them 
 that another demonstration of that character would result 
 in their ejection from the room, then turned in rage upon 
 the young attorney, and said: 
 
 "You must understand, sir, that this is no place for 
 moralists and preachers to whine and whimper about poor 
 widows and beggars. We are here for business. Now if 
 you have done anything for the city, out with it tell us 
 about it, but don't attempt any more of this tommy rot, for 
 we shall not submit to it. Now proceed, if you have any 
 thing." 
 
 "I greatly appreciate this marked generosity on the part 
 of the Executive and the Council," said Walter calmly, hi 
 face white with suppressed anger, "and as I shall not allow 
 any contemptuous conduct on the part of others, either 
 through fear, or for the purpose of punishment, to distract 
 me in my present duty, I will now proceed. I was about 
 to say, when interrupted, that no tax suits against poor people 
 for dribbles or small amounts would be filed by my office 
 
 123
 
 "I'LL SUE HIM TOMORROW FOR THAT MONEY.
 
 OFFICIAL INTEGRITY 
 
 until the more wealthy, and the large property owners had 
 either rendered justice to the city or had been compelled so 
 to do. More than that, as the city fathers should hold them 
 selves before the public as examples, each of them should 
 pay his just debts to the city before forcing others to do 
 so.'" 
 
 "We are not asking you for advice, nor a moral lecture, 
 Mr. City Attorney," roared the Mayor. 
 
 "I understand, Mr. Mayor," quickly retorted Walter, '*but 
 from now on it will not be what you may ask for, but what 
 is right and just before God and man, that shall govern my 
 official conduct. I do not want to do an injustice to any 
 person, and the way to do that is to do exact justice to every 
 body. It is but just and right that the official fathers of 
 this city should pay their back taxes every cent, and I shall 
 see that they do it." 
 
 "Oh, you oan't get a proper statement from the collector," 
 squeaked the little, frizzly-bearded, bean-eyed alderman from 
 the Eighth Ward, whose father was rated at a half million 
 dollars, but whose assessed values were something like nine 
 teen thousand. "No, sir; you can't get it, and of course, you 
 can't sue us." 
 
 Hisses were heard in the galleries, the Mayor rapped for 
 order, and the bean-eyed alderman from the Eighth Ward 
 crouched down in his chair and chuckled to himself, while 
 Walter ignored the remarks and proceeded : 
 
 "And now, I come to that part of my report which indi 
 cates the course I intend to pursue, and the way I am doing 
 it. I find that there is due to this city, in back taxes, a 
 sum estimated to be four hundred and sixteen thousand 
 dollars. The amount heretofore sued for by the seventy- 
 
 129
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 five hundred suits, is sixty thousand dollars, leaving a bal 
 ance of three hundred and fifty-six thousand dollars for 
 which suit is to be brought. It is estimated that a less num 
 ber of suits will be required to collect this large balance than 
 have heretofore been instituted for the small sum named. 
 
 " I have begun this work by filing suits against those per 
 sons who hold high offices in this city government. Even 
 now, the deputy sheriff is at the door of this chamber for 
 the purpose of serving citation upon those of our honorable 
 official family who owe to this city, in back taxes, an aggre 
 gate amount of twenty-nine thousand, six hundred dol 
 lars or more than sufficient to pay the 'poor city laborers/ 
 as suggested by our Mayor, one hundred cents on the dollar 
 for their hard earned wages. I hereby respectfully submit my 
 written report and ask that it be filed, as a 'matter of record/ 
 and in the mean time I trust you will give it due considera 
 tion." 
 
 The closing announcements of the City Attorney were re 
 ceived by the visitors and spectators with a storm of ap 
 plause. It fell upon the ears of the city fathers like a 
 deafening peal of thunder. As Walter Marchand handed 
 the written report to the City Secretary, or clerk of the Coun 
 cil, and calmly took his seat, he felt that he did so under 
 the scorching glare of his official brethren. He knew that 
 most of them hated him with a keen, cutting, malicious 
 hatred, the twin sister to murder, but that did not daunt his 
 courage. He crossed his legs carelessly, drew a cigar from 
 his vest pocket, clipped the end off with a pair of clippers, 
 lighted it carelessly, and twirled the burning match away, 
 as though he were at a base ball game. The burning match 
 fell upon the floor near the feet of the Mayor, The Mayor 
 
 130
 
 OFFICIAL INTEGRITY 
 
 kicked hatefully at the match and uttered an ugly grunt, 
 something similar to an undomesticated ' Arkansas "razor- 
 back." The audience tittered and giggled. That angered 
 the Mayor, 
 
 "I beg your pardon," said Walter Marchand. 
 
 "My pardon be damned," roared the Mayor, and he jumped 
 to his feet, gavel raised, which he brought down upon the 
 desk with a crash that splintered the little mallet, as he pro 
 claimed : 
 
 "This Council is adjourned, and you can all go home." 
 
 Joe Butler was instantly by the side of his friend Walter, 
 and, thought not heard, was seen to take him by the arm 
 as if requesting him to retire. They did retire, but it was 
 by walking right down through the Council chamber, eyeing 
 each alderman as they went, in a fearless, unconcerned 
 manner. As they came to the door they met the deputy 
 sheriff with his hands full of citations in suits against the 
 city fathers for back taxes. 
 
 "Shall I serve these citations now, Mr. Marchand?" 
 queried the officer. 
 
 "Certainly, and if you need help, I will be glad to aid 
 you," returned Walter, while Joe Butler tugged at the strong 
 young man's arm. 
 
 "No, thank you. I can manage the affair all right," re 
 plied the deputy. As the two friends stepped dovm upon 
 the street, Butler remarked : 
 
 "You've played the very old mischief, Walter." 
 
 "How is that, Joe?" 
 
 "Why, confound it, you have now got every one of those 
 c-ity officials to fight, and they will fight you hard, too. 
 
 131
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 They will throw every obstruction, possible, in the way of 
 your official success." 
 
 "Well, have they not been doing that for a year, or ever 
 since I took charge of the office? Have they not combined 
 to lay all sorts of blame upon me? I had nothing to gain 
 by peaceable means. Besides, I've got my duty to perform, 
 and I intend to do it." 
 
 "That is all right about your duty, but there are several 
 ways to do that. Besides, if you carry out your plans, sev 
 eral of the stockholders of my company, one of them espe 
 cially, will lose ten thousand dollars." 
 
 "How is that, Joe?" 
 
 "Why, dad burn it, he owes the city that amount in back 
 taxes, and more, too." 
 
 "Who is it whom do you mean?" 
 
 "Why, John Fletcher, of course. He is the president of 
 my company." 
 
 "All right, I'll sue him tomorrow for that money." 
 
 "You'll do nothing of the kind. You are going crazy." 
 
 "You are mistaken. I'm just going sane. It Pletcher owes 
 this debt to the city and does not pay, it becomes my duty 
 to bring suit against him." 
 
 "But, Walter, do you remember what the Telegram and 
 Mr. Pletcher did for you in your election?" 
 
 "Yes, I think I do. They helped to elect me. I was 
 running on a platform of ^honest government.' It was my 
 platform which the people voted for, not me. If Pletcher 
 and the Telegram wanted honest government then, why 
 'crawfish' now? ISTo, sir; I intend to make Pletcher toe the 
 mark." 
 
 "If you can not appreciate his services, can you not rec-
 
 OFFICIAL INTEGRITY 
 
 ognize my friendship? We have always been friends were 
 'college chums.' Have I no claim upon our friendship?'' 
 
 "Certainly. But if, by that, you mean that our friendship 
 shall sway me one iota from the faithful discharge of my 
 official duty, you have calculated by the wrong rule." 
 
 "But, friend Walter, you will place yourself and your 
 father in an unenviable light before the people if you pur 
 sue this policy." 
 
 "How is that?' 
 
 "Well, your father owes several hundred dollars back 
 taxes." 
 
 "How do you know he does?" 
 
 "Because, I've investigated the books and found it so." 
 
 "Well, if that is so, he must be among the very first ones 
 to pay up. If he does not do so voluntarily, I shall file suit 
 against him." 
 
 "Would you be so insanely honest as to do a thing like 
 that?" 
 
 "I should be sanely dishonest if I did not do just that 
 very thing." 
 
 "Walter Marchand, you are wholly incorrigible, and I give 
 you over. I think after you have a talk with your father 
 and sister, you may possibly see wherein you are rapidly 
 'going to the bad.' ' ; 
 
 "Oh, by the way, Joe, you must go with me to dinner. 
 I faithfully promised Edith that I would bring you this 
 evening, and they will expect you." 
 
 "It is very kind of you, I am sure, but 
 
 "But nothing no excuses today, please. I will drop by 
 your office on my way home and pick you up. So long." 
 
 "Adios." 
 
 133
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 A HOLY INSPIRATION. 
 
 Though warm friends, and very closely in touch with each 
 other in business and political matters, Joe Butler and 
 Walter Marchand had devoted themselves but little to social 
 pleasures. At least Butler had not been as frequent a visitor 
 at "The Cedars" as one would have surmised. Of course, 
 he was a friend of the family, and had occasionally been an 
 invited guest, courteously received and royally entertained, 
 but that was all. True, he had, on several occasions, joined 
 Walter and Edith at theater parties and social functions, but 
 that was no greater pleasure than other young men enjoyed. 
 
 Butler was an energetic, industrious man, always appar 
 ently engaged or absorbed with his business affairs, yet he was, 
 withal, of a social turn and greatly enjoyed the society of 
 his friends. He was an ardent but silent admirer of Edith 
 Marchand. He was aware of the constancy of the affection 
 between brother and sister, and was equally cognizant that it 
 was an unordinary affair. To Joe Butler it was a mystery, 
 but not more so to him than it was to other equally close 
 friends of the family. 
 
 Butler may have imagined that his friend Walter was not 
 overly anxious that Edith should encourage any particular 
 feeling of friendship that, perchance, might arise among her 
 
 134
 
 A HOLY INSPIRATION 
 
 friends for her. Not that there had occurred any such man 
 ifestation, but it might be expected that,, with such con 
 stant companions, such "college chums," such close business 
 and political friends, there would have been a closer, social 
 intimacy between Butler and the other members of Walter 
 Marchand's family. These chance suggestions presented 
 themselves to Butler as rambling thoughts, and for the 
 moment left a tinge of bitterness. But it passed away as 
 Walter Marchand entered Butler's office and jovially ex 
 claimed : 
 
 ''Come on, old boy; Edith is waiting in the carriage for 
 us. We will go with her." 
 
 "All right, Walt. I guess there is nothing for me to do 
 but come along, even though I'm in mighty poor attire. Sup 
 pose you and Miss Edith precede me, and I will go by my 
 room and 'make up' a little." 
 
 "We'll do nothing of the sort. Your apparel is better than 
 my own, besides, this is to be no swell social affair just a 
 little home party, and you the only guest. Come," and tak 
 ing Butler by the arm enforced his command in a friendly 
 manner. Of course, Edith was delighted to have Butler 
 with them, so she said, and Edith never prevaricated, not 
 even for "social" purposes. The trio of friends talked and 
 laughed on their way to "The Cedars" with such jolly 
 good fellowship and abandon, that whatever restraint Butler 
 may have theretofore felt or manifested had now disap 
 peared. 
 
 The Marchands were a hospitable family. Edith was a 
 queenly entertainer, but not more so than was Mrs. Mar 
 chand. They had the happy faculty of making their guests 
 feel perfectly welcome, perfectly at home. That was be- 
 
 135
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 cause there was no undercurrent of formal insincerity nor 
 upper layer of mock sincerity. Their guests basked in 
 the warm sunshine of honest good fellowship. If unwel 
 come guests, and that seldom occurred, they were not regaled 
 with the usual, "Simply delighted/' "Glad you called," 
 "Charmed with your company," and other apparently nec 
 essary "social extravaganzas." 
 
 Butler was a welcome guest, and, if he had ever ventured 
 a doubt upon that fact in the past, he now felt assured of 
 his status. He had often felt that lean, lank, hungering 
 desire for the comforts of a home and loved ones. Never 
 before had he felt it so intensely as now. Poor devil! He 
 was adrift upon life's tempestuous sea, with none to love him 
 for his noble worth; without a tender hand to temper his 
 fevered brow; without a gentle voice to soothe his aching 
 brain; without a loving soul to join with his in sweet com 
 mune. 
 
 To him, how charming, how sweet, how beautiful, how 
 godly were the gentle words and the queenly movements of 
 Edith and Mrs. Marchand in that dear old home on this 
 occasion. What exchange price would he have offered, 
 were the world his own to give, for a permanent 
 place in that happy, peaceful, contented family. No amount 
 of money, no degree of self-sacrifice would be too great a 
 compensation. There had been days when he knew the 
 peace and tranquility of home and loved ones. He had tasted 
 the sweet nectar of a wife's ruby lips. His ears had tingled 
 with a. child's simple prattle. His soul had leaped at the 
 tiny lisping of a babe's "pa, pa." But that was all no more, 
 forever. The sweet nectar had passed, the simple prattle had 
 ceased, the tiny lispings were dumb. The cruel grave had 
 
 136
 
 A HOLY INSPIRATION 
 
 swallowed all, and with it all, the heart, the life, the soul of 
 Joe Butler. 
 
 But he would not let his poignant sorrow cast an outward 
 reflection of the raging storm within. That would not do. 
 The world should not know. It should not mock at his grief 
 nor rejoice at his sorrow, if indeed, such were the possibil 
 ities. Bright must be his days, joyful his nights, so far 
 as the world was concerned. And so, Joe Butler made his 
 life appear, but he did it under the stress of daily renewed 
 resolutions. 
 
 jSTo one of the little quintette was apparently more gay or 
 lively on the occasion in question than was the guest, Joe 
 Butler. He parried and sallied in the duel of wit, as grace 
 fully as a French nobleman wields the sword in defense of 
 honor. He advanced and retreated, in the battle of mirth, as 
 strategically as a column of infantry under the direction of 
 an experienced commander. Socially, he was interesting; 
 mentally, he was inspiring. As the evening faded into night, 
 the conversation and discussion drifted from one subject to 
 another, until music, nature, books, authors, men, and other 
 matters had received their just share of comment and criti 
 cism. And finally, by the mysterious hand of that mis 
 tress, the "Association of Thought and Idea," the little party 
 was unconsciously led to the discussion of governmental af 
 fairs which, in common parlance, is usually termed "politics." 
 In that, Joe Butler was equally at home. Walter's experi 
 ence of more than a year had certainly elevated him above 
 the ranks of the novice, while Mr. Marchand was the "sage"' 
 of the little party, though mostly silent. Edith and Mrs. 
 Marchand were the novices, though anxious pupils in the 
 science. After some discussion between Walter and Butler 
 
 137
 
 on the "general principles" of government, Edith inter 
 rupted their dialogue by saying: 
 
 "Why do you not come down to the plane of current local 
 politics, that all of us may understand. These high sound 
 ing terms which you two gentlemen have been employing 
 make it difficult for us women to understand, and of course 
 you know a woman is always interested in the affairs of her 
 friends, even though they be political affairs." 
 
 "Or political friends ?" queried Butler." 
 
 "Oh, yes, most certainly," returned Edith, "including the 
 friends of political relatives." 
 
 "Now, Butler, that will hold you for a while," exclaimed 
 Walter, laughingly. 
 
 "Speaking of political friends," said Butler, "I am some 
 times constrained to think that the term is a misnomer. That 
 as a rule in politics, there exists no such thing as political 
 friendship." 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Butler, how can you say that, when you witnessed 
 the rousing demonstration of the people, and the magnificent 
 majority they gave brother Walter in his race," said Edith. 
 
 "Walter reminded me this evening that it was not him 
 self, personally, but his platform of honest government 
 that the people battled for, and I have about concluded he is 
 right." 
 
 "Well, but did not his opponent shout Tionest govern 
 ment' also, and he was defeated. Certainly the friends that 
 so strongly supported Walter in his election are still, and 
 will continue to be his friends, so long as he does his duty." 
 
 "I am very doubtful whether all of them may be depended 
 upon. You see so many people have grown to believe that, if 
 they do anything to help elect a man to office, they thereafter 
 
 138
 
 have a claim of some kind or other upon him, and frequently 
 the occasion arises that their supposed claim on his friendship 
 is pressed. Sometimes the claim can be conscientiously rec 
 ognized by the officer, without the betrayal of a trust, and 
 sometimes it can not. If the officer, whether conscientiously 
 or otherwise, does not grant the favor, he has thereby made 
 a political enemy." 
 
 "Taking the last phrase of your statement, 'political ene 
 my,' contradicts your first proposition, for it must find its 
 opposite in the 'political friend/ " rejoined Edith, inter 
 estedly. 
 
 "Of course, Miss Edith, every rule has its exception; even 
 vice, its counterpart; and every virtue, its opposite. But in 
 politics you can not as a rule include the virtue or char 
 acteristic of constancy. The political friend of today has 
 combined with the opposition tomorrow. It may be for 
 selfish reasons only, and selfish reasons may mean a thousand 
 different things." 
 
 "Pardon me for the interruption," said Mr. Marchand, who 
 had just been in conversation with some one over the tele 
 phone, "but Mr. Fletcher would like to speak with Mr. But 
 ler for a moment." 
 
 During the time Butler was at the 'phone, the conversa 
 tion consisted of brief expressions and argument, pro and 
 con, over the discussion just had on the question of political 
 constancy. Upon Butler's return, Walter suggested: 
 
 "I trust your friend has not grown restless over the back 
 tax situation, Butler." 
 
 "No, not exactly restless, but he would like a consultation 
 with us in the morning, if you can arrange your affairs to 
 give us the time. 
 
 139
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 "Why, certainly , I'll be glad to do so." 
 
 "What is all this trouble about the back taxes, anyway, Mr. 
 Butler? I do not understand it," said Edith. 
 
 "Well, as I understand, a great many people have, through 
 one cause or another, failed to pay their taxes for years and 
 years. Some of them failed to assess a part, or all of their 
 property, from time to time, and naturally the taxes were 
 not regularly paid, leaving a large total amount of taxes 
 now due the city for those years, extending back for the 
 last quarter of a century." 
 
 "Why did not the city officers collect those taxes year by 
 year as they fell due instead of letting it drag along in that 
 manner?" queried Edith. 
 
 "I do not know," answered Butler, "but perhaps Mr. Mar- 
 chand does, he having lived here all the time." 
 
 "Well," began the sage of the little party, "there are 
 several reasons that might be assigned for the apparent laxity 
 in the collection of the taxes during those years. You will 
 readily understand that during the war there was mighty 
 little effort or opportunity on the part of our citizens to 
 maintain anything like a regular form of city government, 
 except during the prolonged visit of General Benjamin But 
 ler. It has been said since, that even his efforts to maintain 
 a form of government were not thoroughly appreciated by our 
 people at that time. My impression is, however, that his hav 
 ing thoroughly renovated the city of filth and dirt was, as a 
 sanitary measure, the greatest blessing that could have been 
 bestowed. It was also an object lesson in the conduct of 
 municipal government, but a lesson which seems, likewise, 
 not to have been appreciated by our people, since we must 
 
 140
 
 A HOLY INSPIRATION 
 
 always wait for frost to dispel our epidemics instead of pre 
 venting epidemics by and through sanitary measures. 
 
 "But our people were discouraged by the results of the 
 war, and they were afterward called upon to pass through 
 even greater struggles than the war itself. Consequently, 
 they dragged along half heartedly for a long period of years, 
 paying little attention to local government, except to see that 
 the government itself was not wholly turned over to an in 
 ferior and ignorant race of recently made citizens. So it was 
 that in many instances property was not assessed, and taxes 
 not collected, or, if done at all, done in a careless and neglect 
 ful manner. In these later years, with new life, new hopes, 
 new methods and new inspirations, we view the past and dis 
 cover the errors and irregularities, but, to us of the old school, 
 they are, many of them, entirely excusable." 
 
 "I had never thought of it in that way," said Walter, "I 
 can readily appreciate how the system of laxity originated 
 after the war, but can not find excuse for its continuation, 
 indefinitely. It has swamped and killed all civic pride, 
 especially in those ' who persist in the practice of 'dodging 
 taxes.' An examination, of the records will disclose the fact 
 that the extremely wealthy citizens have been guilty of 'tax 
 dodging,' far in excess of the less wealthy. But that is not 
 the worst feature of this system of official negligence. In 
 hundreds of cases where the records show non-payment of 
 taxes, the property owners hold good and valid tax receipts, 
 showing that they had paid the taxes." 
 
 "How can that be how can you account for that?" in 
 quired Edith. 
 
 "Well, I don't account for it," answered Walter, "but I 
 intend that the Grand Jury shall investigate the matter. I 
 
 141
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 believe our mutual friend, Mr. Fletcher, was a former Tax 
 Collector, was he not, father ?" 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Fletcher held that office about ten years ago. 
 He was afterwards elected Mayor and was always considered 
 one of the very best officers." 
 
 "I have in my office some tax receipts signed by him as 
 collector, that " 
 
 "Let us not discuss the subject further at this time," inter 
 rupted Mr. Marchand. "I see it is not interesting to our 
 lady folks." 
 
 "Oh, yes it is, father," rejoined Edith. "I like to learn 
 of the means and methods you men adopt to defeat the will 
 of the people. It is quite interesting, I am sure, only I 
 can not understand the motive for it all." 
 
 "Motive!" laughingly exclaimed Butler. "Oh, the jingling 
 of the guinea, I suppose." 
 
 "Oh, you selfish, selfish men. And we women have to drag 
 ourselves through mud and water, where there ought to be 
 good sidewalks, and paved streets, just on account of the 
 wrongful management of municipal government by you sor 
 did, selfish men. It is really shameful." 
 
 "Certainly you are not in earnest, Edith. Surely you 
 have not taken the situation so seriously," said Mr. Marchand. 
 
 "Indeed, I am in earnest. I have not overlooked the 
 thrusts and cuts at brother Walter by those, old newspapers. 
 I've read between the lines. There is good cause for their 
 perturbation and fear. I do hope Walter will not let up until 
 he drags the old skeletons out to the public gaze." 
 
 "Well, he made a good start at it today," said Butler, "and 
 
 142
 
 A HOLY INSPIRATION 
 
 I fear I shall have to report it truthfully as it was, however 
 much it would be preferable not to do so." 
 
 "Why preferable not to report it, Mr. Butler?" asked 
 Edith with feeling. "Is not the Telegram still willing to 
 battle for honest government? Is not the paper, and also 
 its manager, both friends of Walter? Why, what reason could 
 you now assign for not aiding and assisting my brother in his 
 heroic struggle for honest government? Why should those 
 who helped to elect him grow weary now, just when his 
 labors are about to bear fruit?" 
 
 Thus spoke Edith, and as she spoke the color rose to her 
 cheeks, and her eyes sparkled as they gazed into the eyes 
 of Joe Butler. 
 
 He had thought her sweet and beautiful before, but, as she 
 spoke, her face, her eyes lit up with the holy fires radiating 
 from within her ver}' soul, and she appeared to him ten 
 fold more beautiful. He saw her in a new light. Before, he 
 felt her powerful influence over him. Now, he would be 
 her slave forever, if she would but ask it. For a moment, 
 Butler was bewildered by the brightness, the beauty of her 
 eyes. He felt an effect similar to the tingle of electricity 
 passing through his body, or a poisonous drug as it rapidly 
 courses through the human veins, first to warm, then to kill. 
 It was a pleasant sensation. Her eyes were as magnets from 
 which he could not turn away. 
 
 Edith gazed steadily into the eyes of Butler as if waiting 
 for his answer. It was only a moment's space of time, but 
 it seemed an age to him. Then, as if from the effect of his 
 soul's awakening, he answered : 
 
 "I am for honest government, and, so long as I shall man- 
 
 143
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 age The Daily Telegram, it shall do loyal battle for honest 
 government, honest officials and honest citizenship." 
 
 "Thank God for your noble manhood," exclaimed Edith 
 as she extended her hand, which Butler grasped within his 
 own. 
 
 "You are a holy inspiration to a noble manhood," returned 
 Butler with choking voice. 
 
 144
 
 A NEW RECRUIT 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 A NEW KECEUIT. 
 
 When Joe Butler departed from the Marchand home that 
 evening, he felt that he had entered a new world, a new life. 
 Many times did he stop, turn, and intently gaze upon the 
 old homestead ere he had passed beyond the viewpoint. Noble 
 were the emotions that filled his heart, his mind. His soul 
 was revived with the hopes that voluntarily sprang up with 
 in him, created, perhaps, by that prince of artists, imagina 
 tion, as it presented rare pictures studded with precious 
 gems for his hungering and famished vision. 
 
 What inspiration had come to him? Wnat secret influ 
 ence had reformed his recent inclinations ? What power had 
 reversed his plans and started him again on the verdant road 
 of rigid integrity, where flowers bloom and birds sing the 
 whole year round? 
 
 "What care I," said he, as he walked sprightly along to 
 ward his apartments, "what Mr. Fletcher, Mr. Jones, or any 
 other person may think, so long as they shall and must know 
 that 'justice' is my watchword, and ^honorable conduct' my 
 guide. They may call me 'fool,' but they shall honor me in 
 the end. They may scowl at me for not being their 'catspaw,' 
 but they will call for me when they want honest men. They 
 can't buy me they can't scare me they can't force me to 
 
 145
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 became their tool of corruption; and, by the God of Heaven, 
 they shall not shake me in my resolve to stand for truth, 
 honesty and exact justice to all men in all places." 
 
 Butler had reached his rooms, and, as he entered, he dis 
 covered a note which had been inserted beneath the door. It 
 was from his assistant, or the city editor, requesting his 
 immediate presence at the office of The Daily Telegram. 
 
 "All right, Butler, I guess you can comply with this re 
 quest without overdoing yourself," said he talking to him 
 self, a habit which afflicts many newspaper writers. Arriv 
 ing at the office, he was informed by his assistant that Mr. 
 Fletcher had been there and left directions that the report 
 of the Council proceedings, as they actually occurred, should 
 not appear in tomorrow's issue of the paper. 
 
 "The Telegram must publish the matter fully and in de 
 tail," said Butler, "in tomorrow's issue, regardless of Mr. 
 Fletcher's directions or desires. It is the business of a news 
 paper to publish the news. That is what the people pay their 
 money for, and so long as I am the manager here The Daily 
 Telegram will be run according to my directions. Please 
 see that the matter comes out in tomorrow's issue, and printed 
 in full." 
 
 "Thank you, sir, I will see to it," was the only reply. 
 Butler passed on out, returning to his apartments where he 
 prepared to retire. But he knew he could neither rest nor 
 sleep. His whole being was awake. His mind was filled 
 with a raging battle 'twixt duty and policy. Duty won the 
 victory in a walk, and policy slinked away like a whipped 
 cur. The battle ended, the victory won, joy returned and 
 filled his soul to overflowing. 
 
 He redonned his attire and went out upon the streets. 
 
 146
 
 A NEW RECRUIT 
 
 The night air was apparently bracing, and Butler began a 
 brisk walk. Ere he had gone far, he was suddenly sur 
 prised, and his ears shocked by the most unearthly screams 
 that ever emanated from the throat of a human being. 
 
 He stopped, looked down the side street where a little 
 dingy hut, filled with squalor and filth, sat perched upon 
 stilts along the pavement and daily passed by thousands of 
 the city's "best citizens." From the hut came a human being 
 in the form of a woman, half-clad, throwing her arms wildly 
 about and uttering the most piercing and horrifying screams 
 that Butler had ever heard. 
 
 "Coke fiend/' muttered Butler, as the half-clad maniac 
 passed swiftly by him in her frenzy, only to run into the 
 yawning - clutches of a brass-buttoned blue-coat. 
 
 "Come, ye hag; its in the station ye'll go fer tonight, sure 
 it is," said the blue-coat, as he slipped the iron bracelets 
 upon her bony wrists and gave them a turn that threw the 
 semblance of a woman flat upon her back with a shriek of 
 pain, while the brute held to the iron chain, tittering with 
 ghoulish glee at the torture he had effected. 
 
 Butler had observed the proceedings, and, half-crazed with 
 anger at the apparent cruelty of the policeman, at once 
 started across the street to avenge the wrong, but it occurred 
 to him that the hour was late, the section of the city some 
 what shady in reputation, and that an altercation under the 
 circumstances with an officer of the peace might reflect, 
 unjustly, upon him, should it reach the public print. 
 
 He stopped he could not take the chances. He would, 
 however, through curiosity, the natural born trait of news 
 paper men and women, follow the spectacle to the station. 
 Taking another street so as to avoid the furor created by 
 
 147
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 the "cake fiend" and the "Americanized Shamrock'' along 
 their route to the station, Butler won out by a rod or so. He 
 regretted that he had come. Every sense of decency and 
 humanity within him was shocked and affronted. The poor 
 wreck of a woman had been dragged, and beaten with the 
 policeman's "billy," until she was covered with bruises and 
 blood. 
 
 "What a shame," remarked Butler as he gazed upon the 
 poor, frail, bleeding, accursed creature, "a rag and a bone 
 and a hank of hair." 
 
 "What's it to ye; may be ye'd like a taste o' it yerself," 
 retorted the "Shamrock" as he bristled up toward Butler with 
 his "billy" drawn. Butler stepped back a pace or two, then 
 turned into the chief's office, but, on finding no one there, 
 came out and passed on up the street to his own office. 
 
 The following appeared in The Daily Telegram the next 
 morning, under extra heavy, black headlines: 
 
 "The dregs of hell are bartered and sold in our fair city 
 by some of our 'respectable' druggists, with impunity. Dead 
 ly drugs are dealt out over their counters to men, women and 
 children without discrimination and without question so 
 long as the wherewith is produced in payment therefor. When 
 crazed with the poison, then the policeman begins his shame 
 ful clubbing and dragging, until the victim is almost beyond 
 human aid. If a respectable citizen dares think aloud of 
 the disgraceful scene, he is insulted and sometimes clubbed 
 by the policeman. 
 
 "Last night I witnessed one of these scenes. It will re 
 main upon my mental vision to my dying hour. It was a 
 little slip of humanity, a woman, crazed with morphine or 
 
 148
 
 A NEW RECRUIT 
 
 cocaine which she had openly purchased at some 'respect 
 able' drug store. On her pinched and pitiful face the hag 
 gard lines of dissipation were so plainly drawn that one 
 could not question the cause. From dark ringed sockets 
 her listless eyes gazed out without seeing. From her parched 
 and purple lips she emitted the vilest of words that, if she 
 heard them at all, seemed to her as sweet and beautiful as 
 a godly mother's lullaby. 
 
 "Poor thing, she did not know she was crazed by the drug 
 and almost dead from the policeman's cruelty toward her. 
 Her figure was emaciated and had lost the symmetry of its 
 former days. She had been a beautiful girl, but now she 
 was the very likeness of degredation itself. Poisoned by 
 the accursed drugs, she had lost all instincts of womanhood, 
 all sense of shame, and all memory of honor. 
 
 "As she lay upon the floor of the police station, bleeding, 
 bruised, and racked with pain caused by the policeman's 
 'billy,' I looked upon her with moistened eyes and bleeding 
 heart, and I said: 
 
 " Toor little thing. As sweet, radiant and beautiful as 
 you once were, perhaps, now your soul is polluted, your life 
 is cursed, and your very presence a reproach. Once you 
 romped and played in the sunshine of a mother's holy love. 
 Once you clung securely to a loving father's hand. Once you 
 walked contentedly, sheltered under a doting husband's pro 
 tecting arm. But alas ! Innocently at first, you quieted 
 pain with the poisonous drug. It was, you no doubt thought, 
 your friend, and was, indeed, not less a friend than was your 
 druggist. 
 
 " Toor girl ! A few more days, or months, or years, and 
 you will be sleeping peacefully beside babbling brooks and 
 
 149
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 rippling streams. Your thin, wan hands will be folded across 
 your sunken breast. No loved ones will press a farewell kiss 
 upon your brow. No tears, no sighs, no regrets that you 
 are gone/ But this is not an isolated ease. Hundreds of 
 such cases exist in this city. Will the good people awaken to 
 this awful condition? If there is no law to prevent both the 
 open and indiscriminate sale of poison and the brutality of 
 the police force, then let the people see to it that heroic ac 
 tion is taken to suppress both evils. In the name of human 
 ity, I pledge my honest, faithful efforts. Who will join, me? 
 
 "JoE BUTLER." 
 
 Hardly had Butler fallen asleep ere the newsboys were 
 upon the streets crying their wares to the early passerby. Oc 
 casionally, a citizen could be seen scanning the columns of 
 the Telegram by the aid of the early morning light. Some 
 times, passersby would hail each other with a reference to 
 the report of the Council proceedings and a suggestion that 
 "young Marchand is all right," or that "Butler was getting 
 after fake druggists." When the early risers picked up their 
 papers from the front porches or galleries, their eyes would 
 invariably rest upon the big headlines relating to the Coun 
 cil meeting or the "Coke Fiends," and the reports of both 
 were read with eagerness. The breakfast table talk was, 
 generally, confined to a discussion of these subjects, alone. 
 The business men, as a rule, paid little heed to it. Some 
 of them frowned or scowled and simply suggested that Mar 
 chand and Butler were fanatics. Others smiled, and praised 
 both men. The ladies of the various households, as a rule, 
 gloried in the nobility of the two men. Some of them de 
 termined to join the "cleaning up crusade." The ministers 
 
 150
 
 A NEW RECRUIT 
 
 of the city churches stared, and wondered that crime was so 
 rampant in their fair city. Some of them cared little about 
 it, others felt that an awakening must be brought about. 
 Here was a newspaper man, a non-church member, crying 
 aloud and inviting the good people to "come over into Mace 
 donia and help" him, while the godly church people went 
 about with their eyes closed to these evils. 
 
 Many there were who thought they saw a connection of 
 the whole moral movement with politics 1 . They could see, 
 they imagined, that the people, when fully aroused, would 
 come into their own rights. In that they were not wrong. 
 The people had made a beginning by electing Marchand, 
 and he was doing whatever was within his power to bring 
 about a better moral and political condition. He could ef 
 fect no permanent good without the aid of the people. The 
 government belonged to the whole citizenship, and it would 
 be just what the citizenship would make it. The Daily Tele 
 gram had been constantly placing these facts before the 
 people. They had begun to realize the truth of these facts, 
 and the time was rapidly ripening for a concerted movement 
 all along the line. 
 
 Long before the appointed time of the meeting of Fletcher, 
 Butler and Marchand, and long before Butler had ar 
 rived at his office, his telephone was kept in almost constant 
 use. Citizens, ladies and gentlemen, throughout the city 
 rang up to assure him of their aid and assistance in his move 
 ment for a better moral status. When Butler arrived at 
 his office he was, at first, surprised, then greatly elated at 
 the many messages from the good citizens. He had not 
 even dreamed that his little appeal would evoke more than 
 an occasional expression of regret. Upon the contrary, there 
 
 151
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 had already an army of good citizens joined him in his bat 
 tle for right. What would the day bring forth? As he 
 thus pondered, his 'phone rang. He responded in person. 
 joy, the message was from Edith ! That, alone, was suf 
 ficient to have repaid him for all his worry. The message 
 bore good news. In her quiet, Christian way, she would 
 arouse an influence that would greatly aid in the struggle. 
 
 The conversation had but ceased when the 'phone again 
 rang. Rev. Wilson would take the matter up with the Pas 
 tors' Asso<r : .at .en that very day, and would report results to 
 the Telegram. Mr. Johnson, the Secretary of the newly 
 organized Society for the "Prevention of Cruelty to Ani 
 mals," rang up and pledged the co-operation of that Asso 
 ciation. Butler suggested a change in the name, to-wit: 
 "Prevention of Cruelty by Animals" so as to apply to some 
 of the members of the police force of the city. 
 
 By the time of the arrival of Mr. Fletcher and Marchaiul. 
 Butler had the assurance of so many good citizens of their 
 willingness to join in the movement for a better moral con 
 dition of the city, that he was not only elated, but felt a 
 confidence in his position that could not be shaken. 
 
 Pletcher was not in the most pleasant mood when he en 
 tered Butler's office. In fact, he pretended to be in a bad 
 humor, at first, and began with: 
 
 "I thought I left directions that the report of the Coun 
 cil meeting should be published in a modified form." 
 
 "So I was informed last night," replied Butler. 
 
 "Well, why was not my order obeyed ?" replied Pletcher. 
 
 "Because you have no authority to direct what the Tele 
 gram shall or shall not publish. Besides, the Telegram is 
 not going to suppress the truth any longer, no matter what 
 
 152
 
 A NEW RECRUIT 
 
 others may want it to do. I trust you understand me, Mr. 
 Fletcher." 
 
 "I think I do. What do you want for your stock in the 
 plant?" 
 
 "Ten thousand dollars." 
 
 "Whew! But you never put in half that amount of 
 money." 
 
 "No, not one-fourth, but I've put something else into it 
 that's done more to make the plant what it is than your 
 money has ever done." 
 
 "Well, we will talk that matter over later. Here comes 
 Marchand." 
 
 "Good morning, gentlemen," said Walter, pleasantly, as 
 he entered the office. After taking a seat he turned to 
 Fletcher and said: 
 
 "I understand you wanted a conference with me, and I 
 have come here for that purpose." 
 
 "Well," growled Fletcher, "we may as well get right down 
 to business. I may as well tell you that I am greatly dis 
 pleased with the stand you have taken in regard to the 
 back tax matter. I, together with a good many of my 
 friends, think it is unjust and unfair to us to have you 
 bring up these old, stale matters that have been dormant 
 for so many years." 
 
 "Pardon me, Mr. Fletcher, but did you ever raise your voice 
 in behalf of those poor people who were sold out of house 
 and home through this back tax business?" 
 
 "N"o, I presumed the matter would die out of its own ac 
 cord, and that by putting honest, energetic young men like 
 yourself into office, we would start off on a new business 
 
 153
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 basis, and hereafter run the city government as it should 
 be run." 
 
 "You held the office of Tax Collector some years ago, 
 did you not, Mr. Fletcher?" asked Walter. 
 
 "Yes/ 3 answered Fletcher as he twisted around uneasily 
 in his chair. 
 
 "I have some tax receipts issued by you as Collector, but 
 the books of the Collector's office do not seem to show that 
 the money was ever accounted for to the city, or that the 
 taxes on the specific property were paid. The holders of 
 the receipts are defendants in tax suits, and of course they 
 have a good and valid defense. Can you throw any light on 
 the matter?" 
 
 "No, and I don't intend to try," answered Fletcher. 
 
 "But, my dear Mr. Fletcher, I am asking you in good 
 faith, for information that, if you can not now give, you 
 should proceed to acquire without delay. You are person 
 ally interested in the matter, while I am only interested on 
 behalf of the public. I must and will have the informa 
 tion, whether you furnish it or not." 
 
 "I think you fail to understand. I will look into the 
 matter, and if any error or mistake has occurred while I 
 was responsible for the conduct of the office, why, of course, 
 I will rectify it." 
 
 "That is all I would ask, Mr. Fletcher. I have no de 
 sire to cause you any unnecessary trouble. You must know 
 that when people are sued for taxes and they hold tax re 
 ceipts showing the taxes to be paid, they have a legal and 
 moral right to a full and free investigation of the whole 
 affair. The investigation I have already begun. I fear that 
 
 154
 
 the error or mistake rests with the Collector's office, and 
 during your incumbency." 
 
 "Well, it is not your official duty to dig up those old mat 
 ters, is it?" 
 
 "Not primarily. It is my official duty to not do injustice 
 to any one. These defendants who hold your receipts are 
 preparing to implead you in those tax suits, and I would 
 be powerless to prevent them, even if I desired. In that 
 event it becomes my official duty to 'dig up all those old 
 matters' and everything else bearing upon the subject, for 
 the enlightenment of the court and the jury. 
 
 "Is there any necessity of pushing these tax suits to a 
 speedy termination ? If given the time, I would like to make 
 a very thorough investigation of the matter you have men 
 tioned, and, of course, I would not care to have any uncalled 
 for publicity in the meantime." 
 
 "You understand, Mr. Fletcher, that so far I have not 
 filed a single tax. suit, except those against the city officials. 
 The suits now pending, except the ones mentioned, were all 
 filed by my predecessors. My plan is, however, to file suits 
 as rapidly as possible against the large property holders who 
 owe back taxes, and these suits I will push to a termination 
 in preference to the others." 
 
 "That would probably be all right, if there were any ne 
 cessity for it whatever, but I see none. Why not cut down 
 the running expenses of the government so that the income 
 will be sufficient to meet them?" 
 
 "I am not responsible for the bad management of the 
 city's affairs at present, nor in the past. I am responsible 
 for the conduct of my office, only. I intend to do my 
 
 156
 
 duty without favor to friend or fear of foe. No amount of 
 argument shall sway me from my purpose. You have been 
 my friend, and I assure you that your kindness has been 
 thoroughly appreciated. I would not expect you to presume 
 upon that friendship to the extent that I would blend it 
 with the unfaithful discharge of my official duty. Let us 
 fully understand each other. I need not remind you that 
 you owe a large amount of back taxes, or else the Collector's 
 books import a falsity. That many citizens hold tax re 
 ceipts signed by you, as Collector, some years ago, and still 
 the records show their taxes unpaid. With the latter ques 
 tion, I hope I shall not be called upon to deal. With the 
 former, my duty is plain, and you may as well prepare for 
 an early settlement, otherwise a suit will be filed." 
 
 "Well," sighed Fletcher, "you certainly make yourself 
 plain, and I commend you for it. If I am compelled to 
 pay up, I certainly shall hope to see every other citizen of 
 this town made to do likewise." 
 
 "Now, Mr. Fletcher, you have but repeated the words 
 spoken by hundreds of the poor people against whom those 
 tax suits were brought by my predecessors. You are not un 
 like all other human beings. You want good, honest govern 
 ment, especially when the other fellow is compelled to 'be 
 good/" 
 
 It was seen that no amount of argument or persuasion 
 could shake Marchand from his stand for "exact justice'' 
 in all things. It was evident that, if he could be moved 
 at all, other means would have to be employed. The friend 
 ship of Butler had at first been thought sufficient, but was 
 not. The friendship of Fletcher availed nothing. The con 
 duct of the City Council and the railings of his political 
 
 156
 
 A NEW RECRUIT 
 
 enemies ,could not sway Marchancl. The people were rapidly 
 acquainting themselves with the heroic struggle which Mar- 
 chand was making, and their faith and confidence in him 
 irvow stronger daily. His conduct was an encouragement to 
 those who wanted good government, and a menace to others 
 who did not. With some of them the "day of reckoning" 
 was near at hand. The golden orb of justice and hone-st 
 government was slowly rising to its noon-day meridian. 
 
 157
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. _, 
 
 MORE RECRUITS. 
 
 When Fletcher departed from the office of The Daily 
 Telegram, he proceeded to a pre-arranged conference with 
 some of his friends, who were likewise "interested," and to 
 whom he reported "progress." In that conference was the 
 father of the City Attorney, LeBerte Marchand, but he was 
 there by request and in the capacity of legal adviser an 
 employed attorney. As such, he had a legal right there. 
 In fact, LeBerte Marchand had not comprehended the full 
 import nor purpose of the conference, although he had ac 
 cepted a splendid "retainer" fee from the "Association," 
 with the prospect of something better in the way of regular 
 fees, to follow. 
 
 The Association was supposed to have for its object the 
 betterment of "Civic Conditions," or some other equally good 
 sounding purpose, and was, or was to be, composed of "the 
 best citizens" and those who had the real "interests of the 
 city at heart." No one could doubt that fact, for among the 
 membership there was 'Mr. Fletcher, a large property owner, 
 and interested in many of the largest enterprises in the city. 
 Then there was Mr. Jones, highly connected with the First 
 Presbyterian Church, a banker, and a director in several rail 
 roads with "allied interests." Mr. Brown, owner of one of 
 
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 MORE RECRUITS 
 
 the largest stores in the city,, was also there. He was like 
 wise connected with large corporate interests and owned 
 much property. And there was Mr. White, manager and 
 superintendent of the water-works. Among those present 
 was Mr. Johnson, son of the old and respected Rev. Johnson 
 of the Baptist Church. Mr. Johnson owned the large drug 
 store on Canal Street, besides other smaller "joints" 
 in the various parts of the city which he operated "for the 
 convenience" of the people. 
 
 The little assemblage was of the city's "most substantial" 
 citizenship, and it was to be expected that the general wel 
 fare of the whole people would be considered. True, it was 
 not proposed to "storm the citadel." They would, however, 
 bring about the city's greatest good in that quiet, deliberate 
 way, in which evil outraces virtue, every time. 
 
 The conference had proceeded along general lines until 
 it touched upon the official duties of the City Attorney. 
 Marchand had joined in the conference with that degree of 
 apparent interest, sufficient to warrant the feeling that he 
 was "earning" his fee. One suggestion led to another, until 
 LeBerte Marchand, rich in experience and acute of observa 
 tion, could see the fine "Italian hand" of the astute leaders. 
 He could discern the motive, could see to the very bottom 
 of the plan. He could see where the ff buck and gag" was to 
 be placed upon the City Attorney, and that he, the father, 
 was selected to do the job, as the "paid hireling" of those 
 whom he called his friends. He kept his own counsel for 
 a spell, fearing that he was in error he might be wrong. 
 He then entered more freely into the spirit of the confer 
 ence, that he might detect the real and ultimate object of 
 the leading members of the conference. 
 
 159
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 It soon developed that the collection of the back taxc? 
 was the seat of the trouble. All present were agreed that 
 the payment of these taxes was like paying for a dead horse. 
 True, the city was deeply in debt, and had been bonded to 
 the constitutional limit. No sinking fund had been creat 
 ed with which to pay off any of the bonds when they fell 
 due, as required by the State Constitution. It had been 
 criminal in the city officers to fail in providing a sinking 
 fund, and the bondholders might, if they ever became aware 
 of the fact, cause serious trouble, even to the extent of 
 criminally prosecuting the former city officials for such neg 
 lect. This suggestion by LeBerte Marchand caused a mo 
 mentary uneasiness on the part of some of those present who 
 had formerly graced the offices of the city. 
 
 "In justice to the bondholders, as well as the people," 
 suggested Marchand, "the back taxes should be paid. There 
 are other reasons. Every citizen of the city should bear his 
 equal and just proportion of the expenses of local govern 
 ment. When he fails to do that, it lays a heavier burden 
 upon his fellow citizen, and that is unequal and unjust. Take, 
 for instance, those cases where some of our citizens have 
 already had their home sold over their head for these back 
 taxes, while others still owe the city large amounts. Had 
 we, of the class considered somewhat wealthy, either volun 
 tarily or under compulsion contributed our just proportion of 
 the expenses of government, the injustice to those citizens 
 would not have occurred. 
 
 "Are there any among us that will n<>w insist that the 
 poorer class, against hundreds of whom legal action has al 
 ready been taken, should be compelled to pay their taxes 
 and costs, and the rest of us go free?" 
 
 160
 
 MORE RECRUITS 
 
 "But we have employed you, Mr. Marchand, to assist us in 
 finding a remedy/' interjected Smith. 
 
 "True, and if you will bear with me, I will direct you 
 aright ere my duties have been completed. The second rea 
 son is, that we have had the protection of the government 
 in greater proportion than the less wealthy class ; and in that, 
 the expenses of the government have been greater, per capita, 
 on our account than on theirs. Thus, the indebtedness of 
 the city is ours, more than theirs, and if we will be honest 
 with ourselves, we will not shirk our responsibilities. To 
 my mind there is but one of two courses for us to pursue. 
 We should all pay our just debts to the city, or we should 
 restore those who have been injured, to their just status, and 
 then dismiss all pending tax suits." 
 
 "But our city is in a deplorable condition, financially," 
 chirped 'Mr. Johnson, "and the tax collections must go on, 
 especially where suits have been filed, at least," 
 
 "I see that neither the logic of my argument, nor the sound 
 ness of my deductions, have availed anything. Let me ask 
 you, Mr. Johnson, one question. Are you willing to enforce 
 the thousands of suits for back taxes, and yourself escape 
 from paying what you owe?" 
 
 "The first law of human nature, you know, Mr. Marchand. 
 That is what we hired you to accomplish for us." 
 
 "You are mistaken, sir. You retained me for nothing of 
 the kind." 
 
 In his earlier days, LeBerte Marchand, like stfrne lawyers, 
 was willing to take employment, and if the compensation were 
 sufficient, was also willing to lead his client along the very 
 edge of the precipice over which honor and honesty some 
 times accidentally fall, only to be swallowed in the abyss of 
 
 161
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 fraud and corruption below. But in his later years, sobered 
 by sorrow, mellowed by misfortune, de-energized by old age, 
 and at last coddled into docile contentment by the sacred 
 influences of a loving family, he would not tread the danger 
 ous paths that might engulf his honor or taint his family 
 name, no matter how tempting the proffered fee. He real' 
 ized that there was something in life worth more than money. 
 He had learned that fact by experience. He had passed 
 through that period of frenzy when money-getting was his 
 sole ambition. How it had dwarfed his better nature. How 
 it had stunted his spiritual growth. How it had checkered 
 his moral pathway. His sorrows had been the greatest bless 
 ings that ever came to him, though in disguise. They stopped 
 his frenzied career. They put him in commune with God. 
 They gave back to him the purity of his childhood. They 
 gave him strength to retain that purity. 
 
 Old age had crept upon LeBerte Marchand ere he and his 
 friends were aware of that fact. As he stood before the 
 assemblage of his friends upon this occasion, as their legal 
 adviser and counselor, his white locks flowing down over 
 his shoulders, his form bended, his limbs atremble, he ap 
 pealed to his clients with more effect than could have done 
 a younger man. He spoke calmly, argued logically, deduced 
 clearly. Withal, his hearers expected something of him 
 which he would never give. At last, with his pride wound 
 ed, his spirit bruised, his anger aroused beyond his control, 
 the old man" continued: 
 
 "Gentlemen, I fear I can no longer serve you in your pur 
 poses, which are now evident to my mind. Permit me to 
 suggest to you, that while you are here planning and plot 
 ting for your own selfish and individual gain, a mighty 
 
 162
 
 MORE RECRUITS 
 
 storm is brewing around the city. It will soon burst over 
 your heads. Think you that the people will longer remain 
 pacified with your lullaby? If so, you are mistaken. The 
 people are already demanding justice equal justice to all 
 alike. In that demand the people are right. In your refusal 
 to do justice, you are wrong. Are you not willing to do 
 that which, in all common justice, is due to your city, to 
 your own people, and which you know to be fair and right, 
 between man and man, and between yourselves and the city? 
 
 "Some of you represent Eastern capitalists who own the 
 majority of the local corporate enterprises. Our people have 
 given them the rights, franchises and privileges they enjoy 
 in this city. The earnings of these corporations are made 
 up of the money which our people pour into their coffers. 
 What do the people receive in return? Poor, miserable ser 
 vice. 
 
 "Our people are a patient people, but there is a limit to 
 their patience. Is it any wonder that the Southern and 
 Western cities have raised the cry of 'Municipal Ownership ?' 
 The various cities have suffered so long under the repeated 
 promises of better conditions, better facilities, only to be dis 
 appointed, that their only salvation appears to be in 'Munici 
 pal Ownership.' The continuation of this practice will, 
 sooner or later, bring a change of masters throughout the 
 South and West, and I hope throughout the whole country. 
 
 "From this extreme laxity and indifference to the people's 
 rights will certainly come another extreme which will more 
 than bring justice to the people. One extreme follows an 
 other, as a rule. Your exorbitant rates may be trimmed 
 down, and the conduct of your business regulated by ordi 
 nances and the law. You will then realize that your sys- 
 
 163
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 tern has not been the proper method in dealing with the peo 
 ple. 
 
 "Pardon me, gentlemen. Perhaps I have not been war 
 ranted in thus speaking, but my spirit has been tortured, my 
 pride wounded. I regret that you have tried to coddle the 
 'old man.' I fear that through him you might seek to stifle 
 the official integrity of his noble son. If so, you have gone 
 a step too far. I do not charge you with so doing, but it has 
 that appearance, and I can serve you no longer. I therefore 
 bid you good-day." 
 
 When the old gentleman passed out from the conference, 
 the conferees stared blankly at each other, as though some 
 great calamity had befallen them. Pletcher was the first to 
 recover, but he had grown somewhat accustomed to surprises, 
 that day. As he recovered, his anger became somewhat 
 aroused at the "unpolitic" remarks which Mr. Johnson had 
 made to the old gentleman, and he let himself be understood 
 on that score. Johnson was hard headed and saw no rea 
 son why "the bunch could not take the bull by the horns" 
 and "do as they pleased." 
 
 "What! Defy the people at such a time as this?" shout 
 ed Pletcher. "It is sheer folly; nonsense. There is more 
 truth in what the old man said than you dream of." 
 
 "My opinion is," said Banker Jones, "that the matter 
 was not diplomatically handled. Marchand has always been 
 our friend, but he has a rather high sense of honor, and under 
 different circumstances we could rely upon him." 
 
 "Could not we arrange with the City Attorney," suggested 
 Smith, "for some sort of compromise on the back tax ques 
 tion, so as to afford temporary relief until this apparent 
 wave of fanaticism passes over?" 
 
 164
 
 MORE RECRUITS 
 
 "That was the object of this conference," returned Fletch 
 er, "and there was only one peaceable way of accomplishing 
 that result, to wit, through the father. But I doubt the 
 wisdom of pursuing that course further." 
 
 "Why can not the city council repeal the ordinance? 
 That would stop further proceedings in the matter," ven 
 tured White. 
 
 "That would be useless, for the authority rests in the 
 charter and not in the ordinance," returned Fletcher. 
 
 "But we could procure a new charter at the next session 
 of the Legislature," interjected Mr. Black. 
 
 "Perhaps! But our city election is held prior to the 
 state election," said Fletcher, somewhat irritated. 
 
 "What has that to do with it?" queried Jones, the dis 
 penser of drugs and cocaine. 
 
 "A heap," retorted Fletcher, his anger rising. 
 
 "Oh, well, if you are getting chicken-hearted on the mat 
 ter," snarled Jones, "I reckon the rest of us can look after 
 the matter." 
 
 ' "All right, Mr. Jones," returned Fletcher, angered to the 
 degree of calmness. "I shall hereafter follow my own 
 course." 
 
 "JTow is that ? What do you mean ?" quickly asked White. 
 
 "I mean just this : I will pay every cent of back taxes that 
 I owe to the city, and I'll see to it that every other citizen 
 shall do likewise. I have been playing into the hands of 
 those who have not proven to be my friends, long enough. 
 What are my profits ? Promises nothing but promises. I've 
 been a tool, a dupe, a knave. I've been permitted to pick 
 up a few crumbs that fell from the sumptuous table. Mar- 
 chand told the truth when he called us agents of Eastern 
 
 163
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 capitalists instead of representatives of our people. I admit 
 the truth. It has robbed us of our civic pride, if any we 
 ever had. We have devoted our best energies to making 'good 
 returns' to our masters, at the expense of our people, simply 
 for our personal, individual profit and gain. My share 
 has been mostly promises, and I am done. Having been 
 friends, let us remain so, but please count me out of further 
 deals along this line. So far as I'm concerned, we may as 
 well adjourn." 
 
 An earthquake would not have been more productive of 
 results in that conference than was Fletcher's announcement. 
 Those present had, for years, depended upon Fletcher to 
 manage the political end of their affairs. They had, years 
 before, elected him to office, and he had faithfully served 
 their purpose. Eetiring from public office, they had re 
 tained him in a sort of political way, at an unstated and un 
 certain compensation, and he was looked upon as a sort of 
 local political oracle. Now that he had cut loose from them, 
 they had cause to fear. It gave them opportunity to think 
 for themselves. They were as a political bark without a rud 
 der. 
 
 When Fletcher left the conference room, he went directly 
 to the offices of Marchand & Marchand. There he found 
 the father, the son, and Joe Butler in consultation. Fletcher 
 was a man who, when aroused, never minced words. If he 
 had his mind set, he went straight to the point. So he did 
 upon this occasion. For some days he had been rather brood 
 ing over what he termed the ingratitude of his former mas 
 ters for his slavish work in their behalf. It had rankled 
 in his bosom before, but had been smothered with platitudes 
 and promises, and thus he would put off the evil day. He 
 
 166
 
 MORE RECRUITS 
 
 knew he had sins of omission and commission to answer for, 
 and that always tended to quiet his anger. Not so, at last. 
 His sins, if sins they were, had resulted from his slavery to 
 the agents, or representatives of foreign capitalists, instead 
 of serving the hest interests of the community in which he 
 lived. He realized his knavery of the past. He recognized 
 the treachery of his companions. He saw them sitting at 
 the sumptuous table, gorging themselves, as he termed it, 
 while he was only permitted to pick up the poor crumbs from 
 the floor. He would no longer train in their political party. 
 Not only that, but, when he had gained his own consent to 
 do justice to the people, he determined that they also should 
 do justice. He had burned the bridges, there was no turning 
 back. The only course was, "forward." 
 
 And~ Fletcher did go forward. Upon entering the Mar- 
 chand offices, he frankly explained that he had come "for 
 business." He explained his mission, and assured the City 
 Attorney that he not only desired to adjust his indebtedness 
 to the city, but that he hoped every citizen should be made 
 to do likewise. He was assured by Walter Marchand that 
 it was a great pleasure to the City Attorney to take up the 
 matter in a spirit of fairness, and that they would, no doubt, 
 get along admirably. 
 
 The formality of the business announcement over, the 
 four friends dwelt upon the condition of civic affairs, all 
 agreeing that the very near future held in store a moral 
 awakening. 
 
 "And when it comes," warmly exclaimed Fletcher, as he ex 
 tended his hand to the City Attorney, "please remember, that 
 from this day forth, I am with you, heart and hand, for 
 honest government, and the best interests of our people.'' 
 
 167
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 CHAPTEE XIX. 
 THE STKANGE OLD MAN. 
 
 LeBerte Marchand did not divulge all that had transpired 
 at the caucus of the "best citizens/' as related in the preced 
 ing chapter. He deemed it best to withhold the informa 
 tion and deal with matters as his better judgment should 
 dictate. The day had been an eventful one, if we may judge 
 from the good results flowing from the efforts of those in 
 terested. 
 
 There was joy around the fireside of "The Cedars," when 
 Mr. Marchand and Walter returned from the city that even 
 ing and related the experiences of the day. Edith and Mrs. 
 Marchand had not been idle, but, upon the contrary, had 
 gone out among their lady friends, quietly and calmly talk 
 ing for a better moral condition of the city. All with whom 
 they came in contact appeared to realize that a change for 
 the better must come. Many had long wondered that some 
 thing had not already been done. They had been waiting 
 for others to take the lead. Some of them had kin-folk who 
 were connected with polities, or were employed by those in 
 terests that controlled the politics of the city, and on that 
 account they had remained inactive quiet. In other words, 
 their cowardice was stronger than their morality and cow 
 ardice was their master. Now that there were leaders, they 
 
 168
 
 THE STRANGE OLD MAN 
 
 would prick up their courage. They would, some of them, 
 venture to let it be known in a mild way that they loved 
 good government, morality and official integrity. "No one 
 could blame them for that," poor souls. Others expressed 
 their willingness to put on their armor and go into the bat 
 tle to do or die. So Edith reported. 
 
 "And who, what class of people did you observe, were will 
 ing to do such noble battle?" asked Walter. 
 
 "If my judgment be not in error, it was the less wealthy 
 class. I know that from those whom I consider wealthy, 
 and of the real 'smart set/ we received the least encourage 
 ment. They appeared more listless and unconcerned, or, if 
 not unconcerned, certainly less willing to lend encouragement 
 by their own exertions." 
 
 "ISTot all of your wealthy friends appeared that way, Edith, 
 dear," suggested Mrs. Marchand, "for, if I be not mistaken, 
 some of them appeared quite willing to join in the work." 
 
 "Oh, certainly, mother. I did not wish to be understood as 
 saying that none of the wealthy folk were willing, but rather 
 that, comparatively, fewer of them exhibited a willingness to 
 join, heart and soul, in the active work. But how goes the 
 business of my brother's office? I'm so anxious about every 
 thing that you and Mr. Butler have in hand concerning pub 
 lic affairs.' 
 
 "Indeed, my darling sister," returned Walter, laugliingly, 
 "and when did such remarkable interest arise touching the 
 affairs of my friend ?" 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha you naughty old brother. Did I not love 
 you so greatly, I would chide you for your bad behavior. 
 My remarkable interest in Mr. Butler was awakened when 
 he threw off. the galling yoke of his masters and came out 
 
 169
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 boldly as a valiant soldier for the cause in which my brother 
 was so manfully struggling. Whether it was because I loved 
 my brother more than I loved the cause, I am unable to say, 
 but certainly because I loved both the cause and my big, 
 manly brother." 
 
 "Three cheers for Queen Edith!" should the elder Mar- 
 chand, as he arose from his chair and gently stroked his 
 daughter's sleek, beautiful head of hair. "Edith, you 
 are indeed a noble, queenly girl, and happy the man who 
 shall be fortunate " 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha, daddy," laughed Edith, putting her pretty 
 little hand over the father's mouth, preventing his further 
 speech, "you are as naughty as, my big brother. You should 
 not tease your little girl, for I'm the only little girl you've 
 got, you know." 
 
 "Yes, Edith, and the very best little girl in all the world, 
 but I suppose we will lose you some of these days." 
 
 "No, I think not, papa, not the way you mean." 
 
 "Why not, my child ? Let me see, you are now twenty " 
 
 "There, now, daddy," and again Edith prevented further 
 speech by the ready application of her hand. "You should 
 never deliberate or figure on a woman's age, no matter how 
 old or young she may be. It is a real crime, you know, 
 and if we women were permitted to sit upon the jurist's 
 bench, and you should be charged with such a crime. Oh, 
 goodness, what a sentence ! Let's see what should I say, 
 brother, in such a case, I being the judge?" 
 
 "And your father the criminal ?" asked Walter. 
 
 "Why, certainly. Do you not see I am about to pass sen 
 tence?" 
 
 170
 
 THE STRANGE OLD MAN 
 
 "Oh, well, on account of his being your father, you should 
 make the punishment very light." 
 
 "Exact justice at all times and in all places/' mock-seriously 
 returned Edith, "and you shall be punished thusly." Edith 
 threw her arms around the old gentleman and kissed him with 
 real warmth and fervor, then continued: "And now, hav 
 ing been punished with a just and righteous punishment, 
 I trust you will let the advice of the court sink deep into 
 your heart, and never, never be guilty of that awful crime 
 again. So mote it be/' 
 
 "And I shall come to the rescue of the criminal by admin 
 istering like punishment upon the court," said Walter, as 
 he sprang forward, but Edith, darting under his arms with 
 the agility of a cat, was beyond his reach in a jiffy, and in 
 a playful mood sought protection at the mother's side, say 
 ing : "And the court will claim the protection of the Queen." 
 
 "And the Crown Prince will," said Walter, as he ap 
 proached, "manifest his loyalty to the Queen as fittingly be 
 comes a subordinate member of the royal family," then gently 
 and tenderly enfolding the mother in his arms, saying to 
 Edith at the same time, "and thereby ignore the court." 
 
 "You are fined for contempt of the court, and you shall re 
 main in durance vile until wholly absolved therefrom," 
 said Edith, mock-seriously. 
 
 "What is the fine? How shall I absolve myself, knowing 
 not the mind of the court?" 
 
 "The court knows its own mind, and transgressors shall 
 be doubly punished if they don't correctly guess what the 
 court really requires as the price of absolution." 
 
 "One, two, three, and away we go," said Walter, as he 
 sprang after Edith, overtaking her in the library, where, 
 
 171
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 after several attempts, he succeeded in paying the penalty 
 and absolving himself from the contempt of the court. 
 
 "Oh, how happy Edith and Walter are in each other's com 
 pany," said Mrs. Marchand to the father. "They are more 
 like ardent lovers, and, really, I don't believe that either of 
 them ever gives a thought to the question of marriage." 
 
 "No, I reckon not," answered the father. "Well, I sup 
 pose Edith will take a fancy to some one some of these 
 days." 
 
 "I doubt it. Edith has, at intervals, confided in me. She 
 loves Walter beyond our comprehension, strange as it may 
 eeem. And Walter likewise loves Edith. It is indeed a 
 strange affair. Of course, they can never marry each other, 
 and so long as they remain together as they are, neither of 
 them will ever take a fancy for another. I sometimes feel 
 that there must be some mistake about " 
 
 "Beg your pardon, mother, I must telephone to Mr. 
 
 about a little matter," interrupted the old gentleman, as he 
 suddenly arose and passed into the library. 
 
 "That is strange," thought Mrs. Marchand; "he has ap 
 parently evaded a conversation on that subject several times. 
 I do not understand it. Can there be some mystery con 
 nected with his family?" mused the wife. "If so, certain 
 ly the brother and sister are in complete ignorance of it. 
 Oh, well, I suppose it is just his way, and I will not allow my 
 mind to become beclouded with suspicion, for it would bring 
 nothing but unrest and discontent, and the Lord knows I've 
 had my portion of that." 
 
 Her soliloquy was interrupted by the return of Edith and 
 Walter, who, having adjourned court, as they said, had be 
 gun the discussion of economic questions and politics. Wal- 
 
 172
 
 THE STRANGE OLD MAN 
 
 ter had been, for some time, making a study of the trade 
 conditions of the United States with Latin-America, and 
 to him it became quite an interesting subject. 
 
 "Why do you devote your attention to that subject, my 
 son, while matters of local government, local affairs, are in 
 such deplorable condition as would, seemingly, demand your 
 whole time and attention," asked the father, who had just 
 entered the room. 
 
 "I suppose one might as well ask the Ben Davis apple why 
 it is red, or the mule why it has long ears. It is just the 
 nature of the brute, as the saying goes. But, to be more 
 serious, I would say that, when I first learned that the United 
 States enjoyed less than ten per cent of the La tin- Ameri 
 can trade, I was astonished and naturally began to search for 
 the cause." 
 
 "Now, why should such a question bother you, as you are 
 not an importing nor an exporting merchant?" replied the 
 father. 
 
 "Because Latin-America is very close to our Gulf ports, 
 and whatever increase of trade there may be with those 
 countries, the majority of it will pass through those ports, 
 thereby benefiting the Gulf coast country in the way of ad 
 ditional business enterprises, additional railroad facilities, 
 and the development of the country, generally." 
 
 "How would that benefit you, individually?" queried the 
 father. 
 
 "I am happy to state that I am able to eliminate self and 
 study the question from the standpoint of my country's wel 
 fare." 
 
 "What is the cause of our failure to capture the Latin- 
 
 173
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 American trade, since we are such close neighbors?" queried 
 Edith. 
 
 "There are several causes. One, and I think the most 
 formidable reason, is that our exporters have never sought 
 that trade in the proper manner. The Latin-American coun 
 tries, you know, were for centuries European colonies, and 
 were naturally compelled to do their trading with the mother 
 countries. When they threw off the yoke of bondage, their 
 merchants naturally clung to the old channels of trade to 
 which they had been accustomed so long. The rising gen 
 erations, one after another, were educated in the schools and 
 colleges of Europe, where they continually cemented the old 
 friendships and renewed the acquaintances of their fathers, 
 thus creating an influence that the American merchant would 
 find difficult to overcome." 
 
 "Yes, I should judge that the matter of their being edu 
 cated in Europe would be a strong influence in case any 
 large number of them were so educated," replied the father. 
 
 "From the most reliable sources I learn that about twenty- 
 five thousand Latin-American students are to be found, an 
 nually, in the schools and colleges of Europe. They are of 
 the wealthy class, and, of course, of those who do the busi 
 ness hi Latin-America, so you may well judge what an in 
 fluence it has upon the trade of those countries." 
 
 "What remedy can there be suggested for this condition, 
 if any?" queried Edith. 
 
 "As to that, I am not now prepared to say, but I have 
 noticed in the newspapers that over in Texas they are ad 
 vocating the establishment of a Pan-American College of 
 Commerce, and while I am not as yet fully acquainted with 
 the proposition, I would not be surprised if those Texans 
 
 174
 
 THE STRANGE OLD MAN 
 
 have solved the problem. I shall acquaint myself with the 
 details of the plan suggested by them. At any rate, the edu 
 cation of twenty-five thousand Latin-American students, an 
 nually, in the schools of Europe, appears to me to be the 
 greatest barrier to the progress of the United States making 
 inroads upon the trade of those countries." 
 
 "What is the nature of this propsed Pan-American Col 
 lege of Commerce, now being advocated in Texas ? I remem 
 ber reading something of it, but gave it no consideration. I 
 must confess that I am becoming somewhat interested," said 
 LeBerte Marchand. 
 
 "If I comprehend, it is to be an institution wherein there 
 shall be taught and exemplified the languages, habits, cus 
 toms, usages, wants and needs of all the Americas, and where 
 in there will be on permanent display and exposition all the 
 articles of commerce that would be interchangeable, or that 
 would be marketed in any of those countries." 
 
 "My boy, you are working upon a mighty big question. 
 It is one which is vastly important to our whole country, 
 and of particular benefit to our Gulf coast country. Here 
 after, I shall feel a deep interest in the subject, and will be 
 pleased to discuss it with you from time to time." 
 
 Further discussion of the subject was deferred, the servant 
 having announced the arrival of Mr. Butler. 
 
 "Tell him to come right on in here," said Walter, cast 
 ing a roguish eye at Edith, who, fleeing from the room and 
 looking pleasantly at Walter over her shoulder as she went, 
 said: 
 
 "You naughty old brother." 
 
 "I trust you will pardon my intrusion," said Butler, as he 
 entered, "but by a stroke of fortune, good or ill, I know not 
 
 175
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 which, some important business fell into my hands, which I 
 desired to turn to my friends, and, as prompt attention is 
 required, I thought it best to come directly to 'The Cedars.' '" 
 
 'Why, Mr. Butler, you are always welcome under this roof, 
 day or night, rain or shine. No intrustion, I assure you. 
 What is the nature of the business?'' replied Mr. Marchancl. 
 
 "It is about a strange old man who was brought in on a 
 tramp steamer this evening. He can not speak a word of 
 English, nor of any other language that is intelligible to the 
 various nationalities down on the wharves. It seems he was 
 picked up along or near the Florida coast after the storm, a 
 few days ago. Where he came from, or how he managed 
 to survive the storm on the waters of the Gulf in the wreck 
 of a craft to which he clung when found by the tramp steamer 
 is a mystery to those who rescued him, so they say. The 
 greater mystery, however, is the large collection of valuable 
 jewels, or pearls, which he had with him when rescued. 
 
 "One of the men on the ship told me that the market value 
 of the pearls would exceed a million dollars. And now to 
 the business part of it. I was at the wharf when the boat 
 came in. Immediately upon its being landed, this strange 
 old man was rushed down the gang plank by two big, burly 
 fellows, acting under orders of the Captain, and upon reach 
 ing the wharf, they tried to drive him away. 
 
 "Speaking no language recognizable or understood by any 
 one present, the old fellow protested against this harsh treat 
 ment in the only manner he knew, and by his actions indi 
 cated that he was being torn from some object most dear 
 to him. I approached him, thinking I might be of service. 
 He looked appealingly into my eyes for a moment, then 
 quickly placing one hand over his heart and the other hand
 
 upon his forehead, bowed almost to the ground. As he then 
 stood erect, he handed me this large pearl. I looked at it, 
 first thinking of its intrinsic value, then wondered what con 
 nection it could have with the distress of the strange old 
 man. Suddenly, pointing to the jewel in my hand, then 
 pointing to the ship, he indicated that a great many more 
 pearls were withheld from him there. 
 
 "I began to comprehend his meaning. I hailed one of the 
 men who came from the boat, and he told me of the old 
 man's rescue, and of the pearls, most of which the officers 
 of the boat had confiscated. Immediately I arranged an 
 understanding with this man, and then set about to re 
 cover the jewels for my poor old man. I went upon the 
 boat and- demanded the jewels. I was informed that it would 
 be safer for me on dry land, and I took kindly to the hint. 
 Then I came here to interest you gentlemen in the matter." 
 
 "What became of the strange old man? Perhaps he is 
 at the bottom of the river, now," said Walter. 
 
 "Oh, no, I put him in the - - private sanitarium, where 
 no one is to even see him except upon my direction. He is 
 safe." 
 
 "And your informer, your witness what became of him ?" 
 inquired the elder Marchand. 
 
 "He is at the home of one of our friends and will remain 
 quiet until further orders." 
 
 "And what about the officers of the ship ? They will prob 
 ably carry away and secrete the treasure during the night," 
 said W alter. 
 
 "I do not think they will, as there are a number of detec 
 tives on watch, and every move made on board the ship 
 will be carefully noted, while if any of them leave the boat 
 
 177
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 during the night, they will be followed and duly accounted 
 for." 
 
 "Butler, you are a wonder/' said LeBerte Marchand. "You 
 have the cunning of a detective, the tact and foresight of 
 a lawyer, and, above all, the moral courage to strike down 
 evil whenever and wherever you find it. Let me congratulate 
 you." 
 
 "I thank you, sir, for the compliment, though I do not 
 deserve it. I now place this matter in charge of your law firm, 
 and as a retainer fee, I tender this jewel," replied Butler, 
 handing the pearl to Walter, who, refusing to accept it, said: 
 
 "Why, bless you, generous old boy, I would not think of 
 accepting any kind of a fee from you. Besides, as you are 
 so averse to the wearing of jewelry and so fond of its dis 
 play by the fairer sex, I doubt whether you will be long bur 
 dened with that beautiful gem." 
 
 Having finished the business for which he came, Butler 
 departed, leaving the father and son to discuss the strange 
 incident in its various legal aspects, and to wonder what 
 could be the past history and the future of the "Strange Old 
 Man." 
 
 178
 
 MUNICIPAL POLITICS 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 MUNICIPAL POLITICS. 
 
 One morning., not long after the events last narrated, the 
 telephone in the offices of Marchand & Marchand rang vio 
 lently. 
 
 "Is Walter there?" questioned the speaker over the 'phone. 
 
 "Who is that ?" replied the office boy. 
 
 "None of your business ; I want to speak to Walter.'' 
 
 "Do you mean Mr. Walter Marchand ?" 
 
 "Yes, I mean Mr. Walter Marchand. If I had hold of 
 you I'd twist your head off." 
 
 "Oh, I beg your pardon. I'll see if Mr. Walter Marchand 
 is here." 
 
 Walter Marchand was present, and picking up the 'phone, 
 began : 
 
 "Hello, who is speaking?" 
 
 "Hello, Walter. Say, have you decided whether or not 
 you will stand for re-election?" 
 
 "Beg your pardon, but to whom am I talking? You have 
 not yet informed me." 
 
 "Why, dad burn it, I am Joe Butler. Don't you know my 
 voice ?" 
 
 "I thought I recognized your voice, but, but " 
 
 179
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 "But what? Can't you answer my question? I'm in a 
 hurry." 
 
 "Where are you?" 
 
 "I'm in my office. What's that got to do with it?" 
 
 "Well, I'll come to your office. So long." Walter hung 
 the trumpet in the receiver and started for Butler's office. 
 
 "Confound that fellow," said Butler to himself. "He takes 
 spells, at times, and closes up like a clam. I reckon he is 
 about to conclude that he has had enough of politics, and 
 throw us all down." 
 
 Butler, as has been previously noted, was afflicted with 
 the habit of talking to himself, or soliloquizing. He seldom 
 pursued this practice, or habit, at times and places where 
 he would probably be overheard, but, like the criminal, he 
 was caught when he least expected it. Like most newspaper 
 men, he began looking out for the harvest that was fast rip 
 ening. There was a political campaign about to open up, 
 and Butler was anxious to get his harvesting machinery in 
 trim for the reaping. While he thus talked aloud to him 
 self about the political situation, he had not observed the 
 appearance at the office door of his listener, who, after a 
 while, surprised Butler by saying: 
 
 "That's right, Butler. By Jove, there is no use letting 
 the other dailies take the cream, and the Telegram take 
 skimmed milk in this campaign. There's going to be a 
 merry time of it, I tell you, and you may as well make 
 hay." 
 
 "By George, Mr. Fletcher, you surprised me that time, 
 to a certainty. Well, since you caught me red handed, come 
 in and be seated. I want to have a word with you, anyhow, 
 before Marchand gets here." 
 
 180
 
 MUNICIPAL POLITICS 
 
 "All right, I am at your sendee. What is it?" 
 
 "You indicated to me some time ago that you would like 
 to have my interest in this plant. ISTow, if you are of the 
 same mind still, I would like to come to an understanding, 
 this very day." 
 
 "Why this very day ?" asked Mr. Fletcher. 
 
 "I have reasons that I do not care to mention. I might 
 say, however, that it is bad policy for a newspaper to change 
 mangement in the middle of a campaign, and, if there is 
 to be any change, I want it to be made now." 
 
 "Well, Butler, of course I was somewhat irritated about 
 the back tax matter when I made that suggestion, but Mar- 
 chand and I are getting on nicely now, and I am not certain 
 that there is any necessity for a change." 
 
 "Of course, you will support Marchand for re-election, if 
 lie seeks it?" 
 
 "I had not heard that he would seek to be re-elected." 
 
 "He may not. But if lie does, will you support him? 
 That is what I want to know." 
 
 "Eeally, I had not thought about the matter. However, I 
 think he has done real well. I should .think he would have 
 no trouble in being re-elected." 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha ! Fletcher, you are as slippery as an eel. 
 I'll say this to you, Fletcher, that if I remain with this in 
 stitution, the Telegram will support Marchand, first, last 
 and all through the campaign. Now, if that policy doesn't 
 suit you, let us get right down to a complete understanding. 
 I don't care to mince at the thing." 
 
 "Well, you have made a success of this institution, and 
 you are making good money. If you disposed of your in 
 terest, where could you better yourself?" 
 
 181
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 "Really, friend Fletcher, I believe I could manage to find 
 a situation somewhere in this city. Don't you think so?" 
 
 "No doubt, but you would not abandon newspaper work, 
 would you?" 
 
 "Not until after this campaign is over, certainly. In 
 short, I intend to follow Marchand's lead and support him 
 in whatever that lead may be, and in that I will not be 
 alone." 
 
 "Do you think the people will flock to his support as 
 they did before?" 
 
 "Will they? Who knows that they will, better than you? 
 Besides, we will have a full municipal ticket in the field, 
 this time." 
 
 "Yes, I heard you telling yourself about it, when I came, 
 a while ago. But won't that weaken your forces?" 
 
 "No. It will add strength, instead." 
 
 "Suppose you can't get your men nominated by the party. 
 What then?" 
 
 "To thunder with the party. Who is the party? A few 
 political bosses have been the party, but there will be a new 
 deal this time." 
 
 "I imagine that you will find it a difficult matter to get 
 hold of the machinery of the party. Of course, you might 
 organize a new party, but you know the people won't take 
 well to that method." 
 
 "The people are more interested in good local government 
 right now than in local party lines. What have party lines 
 to do with local government, anyhow? The government is 
 of, for and by the people. If each citizen would take a per 
 sonal interest in our local government, then we would have 
 a government by the people. As it has been, only those 
 
 182
 
 MUNICIPAL POLITICS 
 
 who had an interest in the party took part in our municipal 
 politics, and the result was that our city was governed by 
 political party bosses." 
 
 "\Yell, I think you are right to a degree, only." 
 
 "Xo one knows the truth of that statement better than 
 you, Mr. Fletcher. Your own ears have, in the past, tingled 
 with the cry of 'Boss Fletcher.' }: 
 
 "Oh, yes, but that never scared me. People like bosses in 
 politics. The people could do nothing without bosses. They 
 have got to have a leader." 
 
 "Certainly, a leader, but not a boss with a big stick. Boss- 
 ism in municipal government results from a lack or a neglect 
 of the good citizens to do their duty." 
 
 "Well, how will you 'organize your new deal, as you call 
 it? You will necessarily have to organize a party, won't 
 you ?" 
 
 "In a sense, yes, But it will be the party of the whole 
 people. It will be of the citizens of our city who are for 
 honest government, for all our people, instead of government 
 for the few, as heretofore.'' 
 
 "I don't catch your meaning, Mr. Butler. Elaborate a 
 little, please/' 
 
 "All right. Heretofore, our city government was ap 
 parently operated by Fletcher, Johnson, Smith, Black, White, 
 and a few others. It was operated for the particular benr-Jit 
 of those who did the operating. You know that, don't you?" 
 
 "Well, proceed." 
 
 "To be a little more explicit, I might add that, when you 
 were an official, you entertained a particular fellow feeling 
 for Johnson, Smith, White, Black, and those same 'few oth 
 ers' that helped push the band wagon during the campaign. 
 
 183
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 That fellow feeling caused you to grant special favors to 
 those named, and their class, that were not granted to the 
 people generally. Is that not so, Mr. Pletcher?" 
 
 "Well, I am listening go ahead." 
 
 "You are a good listener, I observe. When I talk, I want 
 a man to agree with me or disagree. Of all the men in the 
 world, Pletcher, you are in a better position to agree with 
 me, or disagree and refute my statements. You do neither, 
 and I shall not waste my breath. Here comes Marchand." 
 
 "Good morning, gentlemen/' said Walter, as he entered the 
 office. "Hope I am not intruding." 
 
 "Not at all, old fellow. Have a seat," said Butler. "We 
 have been discussing political matters. I have ventured the 
 suggestion to Pletcher that the coming city campaign would 
 find an entire new ticket in the field." 
 
 'Indeed," said Walter, in a rather uninterested manner. 
 
 "What do you say about it, Marchand?" asked Pletcher. 
 
 "I know nothing about it, and can say nothing at this 
 time," replied Walter. 
 
 "Would you be willing to head the new ticket, say for 
 Mayor, if we could select suitable candidates right down the 
 line?" asked Pletcher, speaking to Walter. 
 
 "What do you mean, when you use the word 'we' ?" queried 
 Walter. 
 
 "W T ell, you might construe it to mean a committee of the 
 people." 
 
 "If the committee be appointed by the people, and after 
 the selection is made, the candidates are indorsed by the 
 people, I would not be averse to the proposition. But I 
 would never consent to any dark lantern arrangement," re 
 plied Walter. 
 
 184
 
 MUNICIPAL POLITICS 
 
 "The people do not all take an interest in the selection of 
 candidates for office/' said Butler, "but depend upon those 
 who put themselves forward for the purpose of bringing out 
 the list of candidates, then the people make their selection 
 from the list. If we were to call a mass meeting of the citi 
 zens for the purpose of making up a ticket, the people at 
 the meeting would be absolutely at sea, as it were, unless 
 there were leaders present to direct the proceedings, and, 
 in the end, do just what a few can do at a little caucus. At 
 any rate, whatever we do, if anything at all, must be more 
 or less 'cut and dried,' as the saying goes, until our party is 
 thoroughly organized. After that, we can arrange for gen 
 eral primaries for nominating purposes, in which every citi 
 zen may have a voice by the casting of his ballot." 
 
 "Now, you are beginning to get down to the rights of 
 the people. Whenever we have a public primary election for 
 the purpose of nominating our candidates for office, instead 
 of the corrupt convention method, the people who ought to 
 compose this government will then have a voice in the govern 
 ment," said Walter. 
 
 "I agree with you, Mr. Marchand," replied Fletcher; "be 
 sides, the convention system is too expensive for the man of 
 small means." 
 
 "Not alone that," said Walter, "but under the convention 
 system, a poor man can never hope to receive a nomination 
 for an office of any consequence. The convention system is 
 contrary to the primary principles of a democratic form of 
 government, wherein all the people are component parts. Be 
 sides, conventions and convention methods have become so 
 corrupt, so boss-ridden, so absolutely ruled and run by rings 
 
 185
 
 and bosses, that it has brought about the 'government by 
 the few/ instead of government by the people." 
 
 "But there must be first created a sentiment, and that 
 sentiment must be backed up by the votes of the people in 
 the election of the very men who will produce and bring 
 about the proper condition in the form of a law which will 
 give to the people the primary election system, in the place 
 of what we now have," said Butler. 
 
 "Certainly, there must be a beginning," returned Walter, 
 as he picked up a newspaper and began scanning its pages, in 
 a listless way. 
 
 "Well, are you not willing to join in the movement to 
 either get control of the machinery of one of the local fac 
 tions, or to put a new party in the field?" asked Fletcher, 
 rather irritably. 
 
 "No, not if I am to be one of the 'cut and dried' nominees 
 of the concern," replied Walter. 
 
 "Why, hang it all, man, the people expect you to take a 
 leading part in the politics and management of affairs. 
 They believe in you, they have confidence in your good judg 
 ment, your honesty and your ability. They will gladly fol 
 low your lead, as they have done and are doing. You can 
 be useful to them, if you will," said Butler, rather impa 
 tiently. 
 
 "You are working upon a proposition that is a great deal 
 harder to solve than you now imagine," replied Walter. "I 
 realize that a fight against bossism in city affairs, in order 
 to be successful, must be followed up by state laws, provid 
 ing for a straight-out primary election system for the nom 
 ination of all candidates for public office, coupled with all 
 the safeguards of a stringent election law. Without this, 
 
 186
 
 MUNICIPAL POLITICS 
 
 there will continue to exist the usual unfair and dishonest 
 caucuses, conventions, and 'cut and dried' proceedings in 
 which the people have but little, if any, part, but with which 
 the boss with the big stick will disappear to a greater or less 
 extent. I realize, also, that a condition, a real bad condi 
 tion confronts us, and that all the theorizing and preaching 
 we can do will amount to nothing without action. Action 
 must be taken if the people are to ever come into their own 
 rights, but can we make this plain fact understood?" 
 
 "Yes, by thunder, we can," roared Fletcher, who now saw 
 the glimpse of a new light, a new world. He saw a condi 
 tion where he would be the real leader of a new party, suc 
 cessful, perhaps, beyond his fondest hopes. A party stripped 
 of deception, drudgery, slavery and fear. He would then be 
 the master, whereas he had before been the slave. He would 
 stalk out among his former masters and crack the lash over 
 their backs. How they would wince and cringe at his feet! 
 How they would then lick his hand and whimper like little 
 puppies ! Yes, there was but one road for him to take. Now 
 was the very hour, the very minute to strike the hot iron and 
 weld to it the steel of Marchand and Butler, which would 
 be but the beginning. This was an opportunity now, and to 
 let the golden moment pass without improving would be folly. 
 Then rising to his feet, Fletcher continued: 
 
 "Boys, let me tell you what will win for the people, and 
 win easy. First, I will set myself aright before the world, 
 as a man convicted of wrong and converted to right. I am 
 ready and willing to settle with the city, paying any and 
 all just indebtedness I may owe, and shall use all due effort 
 to compel others to do likewise. On that score I am now 
 absolved from accusation. More, I want to see the city gov- 
 
 187
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 erned by the officers whom the whole people shall nominate 
 and elect. Walter is right when he says we must have law 
 to afford the people their rights in this respect, and that 
 there must be a beginning. Some two, three or more brave, 
 honest, fearless men must start the movement, and once 
 started, it will not stop if we use the proper methods. Some 
 times the. devil must be fought with fire. We may have to 
 use fire in the beginning, or at least sound discretion. The 
 Daily Clarion can be won over to our party, body and soul, 
 for I now virtually own the majority of the stock and can 
 procure sufficient of what remains to cinch that proposition. 
 
 '^You know what it would mean for the Claxion and Tele 
 gram to strike out boldly for the cause of right, and on the 
 side of the people. If you doubt my sincerity longer, for 1 
 see you were doubtful, please tell me what you require of 
 me to remove your doubt." 
 
 "No, Fletcher, you have convinced me that you are in 
 earnest. But bossism can not be subdued until the people 
 realize the power and influence of their own individual and 
 collective ballots. They can be made to understand this, it 
 seems, only in the school of calamity/' replied Walter. 
 
 "Oh, no," said Fletcher. "They can be made to see. The 
 campaign of education which we shall invoke through the 
 Telegram and the Clarion will do the work. We will then 
 carry our campaign into the State Legislature, and, if you 
 think it proper that I sacrifice myself upon the altar of my 
 country's welfare, I'll submit my name for ^Representative, 
 and, if elected, will strike a blow at bossism that will have 
 a telling effect." 
 
 "Now, I know you have your heart in the cause," said 
 Butler. "True reform can never come through the politi- 
 
 188
 
 MUNICIPAL POLITICS 
 
 cians, but must be forced by an awakened, conscientious pub 
 lic, acting through fearless, honest, intelligent and perse 
 vering public servants. Are you willing to join us now in 
 the effort of reform, of which thus far obtained you are 
 a part and parcel?" said Butler, directing the question to 
 Walter. 
 
 "Yes, I suppose there is no other way. I will admit that 
 I have become discouraged with the lack of interest on the 
 part of the people. They seem to feel that by taking a little 
 spurt and electing one man to office, that he will revolution 
 ize the whole world. But it takes more than the public of 
 ficer. It requires the constant backing up of the officer by 
 the people/' 
 
 "Well, old fellow," said Fletcher, "you have done more 
 good than you think for, even alone in your work, as you 
 thought. You have reformed me, and you have whipped the 
 Mayor and every Councilman into silent submission to the 
 payment of their back taxes. Your dogged tenacity and 
 fearless integrity in office have given the people the courage 
 to believe that there is some honor in public officials, if the 
 right man is selected. The ring leaders and political bosses 
 are nonplussed right now, so that they have not the courage 
 to take a bold stand against you or any other man who de 
 clares himself for honest government. JSTo, sir, my boy, you 
 little know the vast good you have done, and you probably 
 never will fully know." 
 
 "I am mighty glad we happened, by chance as it were, to 
 meet here and fall into this friendly compact," said Butler, 
 slyly winking on the side to Marchand. "But since it has 
 occurred, and has resulted so nicely, let us not lose any time 
 in extending our preparations. Suppose you acquire suf- 
 
 189
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 ficient stock in the Clarion, Mr. Fletcher, to make up a two- 
 thirds ownership, and I will relieve you of a part of it. Then 
 suppose we have a meeting tomorrow afternoon, inviting sev 
 eral of the strong, plain, honest people who have had little 
 to do with politics in the past. Afterwards we can extend our 
 circle by rapid degrees. When all is in readiness, then lot 
 the thunders roar and the lightnings flash." 
 
 "It is a go," replied Fletcher with delight, "and the Storm 
 King shall rage." 
 
 "Well," said Walter, rather amusedly, and with dry hu 
 mor, "don't you think a little earthquaking would help 
 the cause?" 
 
 190
 
 GUARDIAN OF THE ESTATE 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 GUARDIAN OF THE ESTATE. 
 
 LeBerte Marchand had not been as happy of late years as 
 he had hoped for, nor as he made appear upon the surface. 
 There was ample cause for his silent, inward grief. He had 
 seen his son and daughter grow to manhood and woman 
 hood., knowing there existed between them a unity of holy 
 love, not the love of brother and sisiter, and which, perhaps, 
 precluded a kindred relation between either of them and any 
 other living soul. Both were rapidly passing that stage in 
 their lives when they would most likely form an attachment 
 for another, if such could ever occur under the circumstances. 
 
 It was a strange case indeed. LeBerte Marchand had 
 looked on and hoped, year by year, that either Edith or 
 Walter would, form a close attachment for another, or that 
 something would occur to break the spell that held them 
 inseparably bound together. Poor old man! He eould not 
 be held accountable for the strange condition between the 
 two children, now grown up. He could not be expected to 
 announce to them and to the world that they were not broth 
 er and sister; that Walter was not his son. Even the closest 
 friends and neighbors of the old gentleman did not know the 
 facts as they truly existed. They believed, as they had a 
 right to believe, that Walter was the son, the blood and bone 
 of LeBerte Marchand. To announce to the contrary at this 
 
 191
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 late day would be to invite disbelief, suspicion, and rife spec 
 ulation as to his family affairs. That, he could not find in 
 his heart to permit. He could not now, after all these years, 
 face his children with the truth that they were not brother 
 and sister. They would scorn him for this deception. He 
 would lose their love; they would turn away from him in his 
 old age, and he would be left alone with his sorrow and their 
 curses to attend him on his rapid decline to the grave. 
 
 It was, indeed, a matter that afforded good grounds for 
 argument upon both sides. Edith and Walter were so 
 wrapped up in each other's love and affection that no bar 
 rier had, so far, made its way between them. They were 
 both well matured, and both realized that time was rapidly 
 passing by, time which both should be improving, perhaps, 
 around the hearthstone of their own separate firesides. Each 
 realized that fact, and frequently did they confidentially dis 
 cuss the question. But they could not, so intensely inter 
 esting were they, each to the other, obtain the consent of 
 their own minds and hearts to break the loving ties that 
 bound them. 
 
 Little did they dream that the same blood did not flow 
 in their veins. There had been moments in Walter's earlier 
 days when the faint glimpse of old "Aunt Dinah" flashed 
 across his memory, but it was only a fleeting glimpse. Yes, 
 and in a sort of dreamy, hazy manner did the shadow of a 
 little golden locket float before his vision, but it had been 
 only a passing shadow. As years swept on, those fleeting 
 visions and passing shadows grew less frequent, and finally 
 the curtain of forgetfulness dropped down over the events 
 of the past, blotting them from his memory forever, unless, 
 
 192
 
 per chance, they should be revived by a chain of circumstances 
 and incidents which the future might hold in store. 
 
 <r Who knows but that they are happier as brother and 
 sister than they ever could be as husband and wife?" said 
 LeBerte Marchand to himself, at intervals, as he witnessed 
 the loving tenderness between Edith and Walter. "However 
 much I might desire to reveal the truth, I would not dare to do 
 so now, for many reasons. Having grown up and lived togeth 
 er as brother and sister, they could never harmonize as hus 
 band and wife. There would be an entire lack of novelty 
 and romance in their lives. 
 
 "It would be beyond the bounds of reason to ever presume 
 upon their, mutual happiness as husband and wife. Then, 
 what explanation could be made to the public, to society? 
 Besides, Walter is in politics, and his enemies would con 
 tort the truth into ten thousand cruel, infamous lies. They 
 would ruin my children, my wife and myself, filling our 
 peaceful and happy lives with sorrow, sending me to my 
 grave, perhaps in disgrace. God, grant that my secrei 
 may be carried with me to the grave, and there be forever 
 hidden, as shall be my earthly body/' 
 
 Whatever may be the opinion of the reader as to the course 
 that should have been pursued, certain it was that LeBerte 
 Marchand followed the course which he deemed best. What 
 ever the distress of mind caused by the existing conditions, 
 certain it was, that to reveal the truth now would bring 
 greater mental distress, not only to LeBerte Marchand, but 
 to all concerned. Existing conditions were brought about 
 by fate. There was no planning, scheming or conniving on 
 the part of Marchand. The course of events was perfectly 
 
 193
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 natural, and 4 here could be no criticism offered to the con- 
 duct of those concerned, perhaps. 
 
 Sometimes fate is cruel; sometimes it is kindly. Fate is 
 something over which no man has the least control. If fate 
 had been kind to the Marchands in supplying their home 
 with the much needed child, why should Marchand, after 
 all these years, proclaim to the world that Walter was not 
 his son? Fate gave to him a noble son, and, if the son 
 were to ever be torn from him, it must be the work of fate. 
 On that point, Marchand had become well determined. Hav 
 ing finally and fully determined upon this course, he endeav 
 ored"^ free his mind from the oft recurring thoughts by giv 
 ing more attention to business affairs than had of late been 
 his custom. 
 
 When the case of the strange old man, as related in a 
 previous chapter, was brought to his firm, LeBerte Mar 
 chand became quite interested, and devoted himself to an 
 extended research into the mysteries of the affair, eo far 
 as was possible under the circumstances. It will be re 
 membered that his client could speak not a word of any 
 language that was understood by any one in the city pr 
 country around, though weeks were spent in searching for 
 some such person. One peculiar circumstance connected 
 with the strange old man's affair puzzled Marchand more 
 than one would have thought. Attached to the leathern belt 
 which surrounded his body was a brass button, bearing the 
 impress of an eagle and the letters, "IT. S.," all of which 
 characters were almost obliterated by the ravages of time. 
 The button was readily recognized as a United States army 
 button, but how it came into the possession of this strange 
 
 194
 
 GUARDIAN OF THE ESTATE 
 
 old man was as much a mystery as was the place whence 
 the man himself came. 
 
 The fact that the strange old man had been picked up 
 off the Florida coast, following a severe storm, did not bear 
 any significance to the average person learning that fact. 
 To LeBerte Marchancl it would not have borne the least 
 significance except for the fact that he had been some 
 what interested in a former report to the effect that a pe 
 culiar race of people inhabited the Everglades of Florida. He 
 had gathered such information as was obtainable and had 
 concluded that the report was without foundation. His 
 interest in the subject was revived, however, by the peculiar 
 ities of the case in question. 
 
 The fact that the strange old man spoke a language un 
 known to all classes and nationalities represented in and 
 about the City of New Orleans, was sufficient to stimulate 
 his former belief that it was barely possible that the Ever 
 glades were inhabited. True, no person had ever succeeded 
 in making a personal tour throughout these great swamps. 
 That was given up to be an utter impossibility. Many per 
 sons had ventured a short distance into the Glades but re 
 turned with the conviction that no human being could 
 thoroughly traverse them, while others who made the at 
 tempt were never heard from, and what their fate may have 
 been could only be surmised. 
 
 To LeBerte Marchand the mystery surrounding the old 
 man was of no greater interest than was the peculiar char 
 acter of the estate or fortune, consisting of a large collection 
 of the most valuable pearls. It appeared wholly incredible 
 that this strange being should be possessed of such an estate. 
 In value, there could be but the merest guess by any one 
 
 195
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 not veil versed in the jewelry market. Those who made pre- 
 tentions of knowing variously estimated the value up into 
 the hundreds of thousands of dollars. But such estimates 
 were merely guesses. 
 
 It was sufficient for the Marchands and Butler to know 
 that the strange old man was being deprived of a part of 
 his property, no matter what the value. They were not 
 prompted to defend and protect his rights by a spirit of 
 avarice. They knew, of course, that they would be compen 
 sated, but the work had been undertaken by Butler, prompted 
 by a spirit of fair dealing with the old man, and at a time 
 when there could have been no knowledge, upon his part, 
 of this untold wealth. 
 
 The Marchands were interested in the matter, first, on ac 
 count of their friend Butler, and would have rendered their 
 services gratuitously, had it appeared necessary. Such were 
 the feelings and friendship betwixt them. The develop 
 ment of the fact that in connection with the matter there 
 was great compensation, no doubt, stimulated the energies 
 of the Marchands. That would be natural. 
 
 It was to be expected that a long-drawn-out legal war 
 fare would be waged in the courts, touching the right to 
 the possession and the rightful ownership of the part of 
 the estate sought to be held, and claimed by the Captain 
 and the owner of the tramp steamer. True enough, had 
 the Captain discovered and captured the jewels upon the 
 high seas, alone, and without a claimant in possession of 
 them, he might have had a right to them. But the circum 
 stances were different. Indeed, had he not rescued the old 
 man with the jewels at the time he did, might not the old 
 man and the jewels both been lost forever at the bottom of 
 
 196
 
 GUARDIAN OF THE ESTATE 
 
 the sea? There were two sides to the question. The Mar- 
 chancls did not dispute that fact, but they did deny the right 
 of the rescuer to take more of the estate than in common 
 fairness would be equitable and just. 
 
 In consequence of the contention between the parties, the 
 court ordered that the portion of the estate in question be 
 turned into the registry of the court to await the results 
 of the litigation. Owing to the fact that the plaintiff could 
 not speak a known language, and that the defendant was 
 compelled to continue his trips across the ocean, there was 
 little promise of an early ending of the litigation. It might 
 be months, even years, before the matter would be finally 
 determined by the courts. In the mean time, the estate 
 should be cared for under orders of the court, and the 
 Captain could continue his business, while the strange old 
 man would remain an interesting character, a subject for 
 study, and, perhaps, a guide to a world of wealth greater 
 far, than of the fabulous Monte Christo. 
 
 But the old man was the special charge of Joe Butler. 
 Jt was only proper and right that Butler should take especial 
 interest in the old fellow whom he had discovered, and to 
 whom he was the first to offer protection. Nor was it an un 
 pleasant task for Joe Butler. He was of that tender nature 
 and kindly disposition that found pleasure in doing good unto 
 others. Of course, many there were who imagined, and even 
 remarked, that Butler was especially interested in the old 
 man, "just for the sake of his wealth," and, "that Butler 
 would get it all." Butler knew that such remarks would be 
 made, if for nothing but political revenge. But he cared little 
 about that. He knew there were very many people in this 
 world whose souls wore so pinched, warped and weazened, 
 
 197
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 that they woud envy any man the pleasure he found even in 
 the hope of reward beyond the grave. Butler had long 
 before learned that one's life is too short to lieed the vamp- 
 ings of those little poison-spitters, and he would stride 
 through an army of them with total disregard rather than 
 veer his course or check his speed. 
 
 Therefore, night after night, week after week and month 
 after month, Butler was to be found in the company of 
 the strange old man.- People wondered what he mennt by it, 
 but he had nothing to give out to the public. Besides, he 
 enforced a strict compliance with the rule, that no person 
 should be permitted to see the old man or to be admitted 
 to his apartments in the sanitarium, except upon Butler's 
 written permission or at a time when he was present. This 
 was a necessary provision for several good reasons, one of 
 which was that Butler was playing the role of teacher and 
 instructor, and to have permitted the curiously inclined 
 access would have made his efforts less effective. 
 
 Butler was not long in concluding that the old man had, 
 at some former time, been an educated and refined Amer 
 ican citizen, but under what circumstances and conditions he 
 had retrograded into his present state, was a problem which 
 time alone, perhaps, could solve. Butler persevered, how 
 ever, and by and by, the light of intelligence began beaming 
 in the old man's eyes. The evidences of the fact that he 
 began to understand Butler's speech were frequently ap 
 parent. This was encouraging to Butler, but he said little 
 about it to any one, except his close friend \Yalter Mar- 
 chand. 
 
 As time passed by, the elder Marchand deferred the active 
 work and practice to the other members of his firm, com- 
 
 198
 
 GUARDIAN OF THE ESTATE 
 
 posed now of his son Walter and several other young men 
 of ability whom the Marchands had, from time to time, ad 
 mitted, but the firm name of Marchand and Marchand was 
 still retained, while frequently the firm was referred to as 
 "The Marchands." The elder Marchand now restricted his 
 work to office consultation, seldom appearing in the courts. 
 
 The case of the strange old man, generally referred to as 
 the "Pearl case," had progressed by slow degrees, until it was 
 deemed expedient that a guardian be appointed to take care 
 of the valuable property comprising the estate. That would 
 insure the safety of the estate, while the litigation could 
 proceed at will and in no manner be affected by the guar 
 dianship. . Besides, there were other good and sufficient rea 
 sons for the appointment of a guardian, all of which were 
 presented to the court. But who should be the guardian? 
 That was the question with which Butler was greatly con 
 cerned. 
 
 It was not everybody who could give the bond that would 
 be required of the guardian, in this case. There could be 
 but few persons that to Butler would be acceptable. Cer 
 tainly he hoped that no guardian would meddle and inter 
 fere between the man and himself, for he was progressing too 
 nicely for such interference. After Butler and Walter had 
 gone over the situation thoroughly, they both agreed that 
 LeBerte Marchand would be an eminently fit and proper 
 person to be appointed as the guardian of the strange old 
 man's estate. 
 
 "He will be just the very person to have appointed, 
 Walter," said Butler, "if we can obtain his consent." 
 
 "We can obtain his consent, I think, for there will be 
 no work for him to do. We will look after all the details. 
 
 199
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 The estate is composed of jewels alone, and those can be 
 safely kept in a thorough burglar and fireproof safe, so 
 there will be no danger of loss. Here comes father now. 
 We will arrange matters at once." 
 
 For the sake of brevity, it may be simply stated that in 
 the due course of procedure,, LeBerte Marchand was duly 
 and legally appointed and confirmed as the guardian of the 
 estate of the "Strange Old Man." 
 
 200
 
 THE SECOND BATTLE 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 THE SECOND BATTLE. 
 
 The second battle of municipal politics, in which Walter 
 Marchand was a leading character, had now begun. The 
 good citizens of the city were encouraged by the course pur 
 sued by their fearless, honest and efficient City Attorney, 
 and they desired to show their appreciation by placing Walter 
 Marchand at the head of the executive department of the 
 city government. To this arrangement Walter consented, 
 011 the condition, however, that there should be placed upon 
 the ticket with him, good men for the heads of departments 
 and for the Council, or legislative department. He realized 
 how helpless the Mayor would be were that officer not sur 
 rounded by an official staff, all working in harmony. The 
 people also realized that the good work of the City Attorney, 
 unless followed up, would avail but little, and that the fu 
 ture would bring the direst of results. 
 
 Whatever the past, it had been sufficient to show to the 
 people of New Orleans one thing. It showed that there 
 was a necessity for individual interest in municipal politics, 
 manifested by individual energy. 
 
 The people had observed the bad effect of individual leth 
 argy in municipal politics. They had failed to exercise their 
 individual right in assisting to nominate men who would 
 
 201
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 make efficient, honesty public servants. That privilege was 
 left to the political bosses. With the selection of candidates 
 for public office, the people had little or nothing to do, and 
 that was a serious mistake. In refusing to exercise their 
 greatest American privilege, the people thereby turned the 
 government over to the political bosses who ran the govern 
 ment for the benefit of the favored few. Thus, in the course 
 of time, the government became corrupt, and, in the school 
 of calamity, the people learned the truth of the statement, 
 that : "The government will be just as bad as the people will 
 permit it to be, or just as good as the people will make it." 
 
 Ere the ring bosses knew what was going on, Fletcher, 
 Butler, Marchand, and a number of others of more or less 
 political influence, had the plans of the campaign well laid. 
 The bold and defiant announcement of a public mass meet 
 ing of the citizens for the purpose of nominating a munici 
 pal ticket that would insure better local government came 
 like a bolt of thunder from a clear sky to the old political 
 leaders and bosses. The greatest surprise was the fact that 
 The Daily Clarion had gone over into the ranks of the "re 
 formers," as they were called, body and soul. It had joined 
 hands with The Daily Telegram, and the struggle for a 
 cleaner government was, thereby, almost won. 
 
 "That was the greatest stroke of political policy that could 
 have been made," said the friends of the movement, while 
 the members of the old ring declared there was a "nigger in 
 the wood pile." 
 
 The announcement called for a meeting of the citizens, 
 regardless of party affiliation, stating that the best inter 
 ests of the city were above party fealty, and that nomina 
 tions should be made regardless of party affiliation. The 
 
 202
 
 THE SECOND BATTLE 
 
 only requirement, necessary to participation in the conven 
 tion, would be a declaration of sincere desire for a clean and 
 honest municipal government. Those who would not so 
 declare, were not expected at the convention. 
 
 The Clarion and Telegram also requested the citizens to 
 send in the names of those whom they preferred for Mayor, 
 all of which would be published for the information of the 
 people. The responses to this suggestion were a splendid 
 index to the sentiment of the people. There was no longer 
 any guessing at results. The two dailies were literally 
 swamped with telephone calls, postal cards and letters bear 
 ing messages of the people's preference for Mayor. The pref 
 erence of those who responded was almost unanimous for 
 Walter Marchaud, and the publication of this fact stimulated 
 the people to greater activity in the movement. 
 
 The ring leaders of the two old factions, the McBride and 
 Wilkins, were nonplussed. They had seen their political 
 power and prestige waning from day to day, and they ap 
 peared powerless to prevent it. They employed all the arts 
 to them known in politics, but without avail. They were 
 simply wrong, and they knew it. They had hoodwinked the 
 people for years. Now the people asserted their own indi 
 vidual rights and privileges, whereas, formerly they had 
 left political affairs in the hands of the politicians. The 
 old ring leaders found themselves in the midst of a period 
 when the rights of the people were to be observed and exer 
 cised for the common good of the community; when the 
 reign of special privileges would be brought to an end, and 
 the doctrine of equal rights would be fixed in the minds and 
 hearts of the citizens. 
 
 True, the McBride and the Wilkins factions, which had for 
 
 203
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 years, alternately, controlled the politics of the city, preached 
 the doctrine of equal rights, but practiced it little. The doc 
 trine of equal rights to all and special privileges to none was 
 a good platform to get into office on, and it was the slogan 
 of all former campaigns, back to the time when the mem 
 ory of the oldest citizen runneth not. But the doctrine was 
 never put into practice. This truth, the people well knew. 
 The more astute ones of the two old factions well reckoned 
 that the people had observed the situation. 
 
 Bitter as the leaders of the McBride and Wilkins fac 
 tions were against each other, they but exemplified the 
 truth of the old saying, that: "Politics sometimes make 
 strange bed-fellows." The movement for a people's ticket 
 became a very popular one, and there was no room for the 
 two opposing factions, so the two old factions buried the 
 hatchet, kissed, and made up, as the saying goes. This they 
 did, for the sake of the dear old party, so they said, and it is 
 fair to presume that some of their members really believed 
 it to be true. 
 
 The Daily Trumpet was not molested by the members of 
 the new combination. It was simply ignored by the other 
 two "respectable" daily papers, and the silent contempt was 
 more bitter than wormwood and gall. The Daily Trumpet 
 fretted, raged, appealed to the people in its frantic efforts 
 to retain its former political prestige. But it was all in vain. 
 It warned the people against the Marchand-Butler-Pleteher 
 combination, and predicted that, if the new combination 
 went into power, it would be the ruination of the city. More, 
 it would mean the domination of local politics by the nigger. 
 At all such extravagant assertions the people but laughed, 
 and, as they laughed, the Trumpet fretted the more. 
 
 204
 
 THE SECOND BATTLE 
 
 Xo one enjoyed the excitement of the battle more than 
 did John Fletcher. He knew the temper and the senti 
 ment of the people. He was out among the people all the 
 time, and he was in a position to judge of the situation. He 
 boldly talked of his conversion to the right, and how he want 
 ed to see others made to do justice. He had a just right to 
 talk, and the people believed him. He was running for no of 
 fice, wanted no office, but he did want honest, fearless men in 
 the offices. He took a special delight in calling on his former 
 bosses and political masters. They were not inclined kindly 
 towards him, but he cared little about that. In fact, he rather 
 enjoyed the attitude assumed by his former co-conspirators, 
 for it gave him a better opportunity to speak freely and 
 frankly - to them. If they recalled past deeds not wholly 
 commendable, they were reminded that he had reformed. He 
 admitted that his past record, in conjunction with theirs, 
 was not clean, but he had reformed, and hoped they would 
 do likewise. He suggested to his old-time political bosses 
 that those who would not reform voluntarily would do so, 
 later, involuntarily. John Fletcher was in earnest, and he 
 believed what he preached. The people knew that, and they 
 believed with him. 
 
 So earnest were Fletcher and Butler in their effort to obtain 
 a set of city officials that would guarantee a cleaner gov 
 ernment, that they had little trouble in procuring the con 
 sent of good men to allow their names to be placed upon the 
 ticket, and the selections so made, were made without re 
 gard to former party alliances. Each ward held its own 
 mass meeting and indorsed the aldermen so selected, the 
 results being published in the two friendly papers. When 
 the various aldermen were thus selected, they were called 
 
 205
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 together, and with their aid the selections were made for 
 the various heads of the departments. ' Then came the gen 
 eral mass meeting of the people of the whole city, that is, 
 the legal voters of the city, for those who were not entitled to 
 vote in the election were not permitted a voice in the mass 
 meeting. If there had been excitment and enthusiasm in the 
 previous municipal battle, the present campaign gave evi 
 dence of redoubled vigor and energy. The distinguishing 
 difference was, that in the present struggle, the whole citi 
 zenship was interested, whereas, before, it was a battle of 
 Walter Marchand against the politicians and political 
 hangers-on, the grafters, the ward heelers and the filchers. 
 
 As the forces lined up in battle array, there were observed, 
 unon the one side, Walter Marchand and his ticket, all of 
 whom were selected by the people in a plain, unostentatious 
 manner, and each man upon that ticket pledged to afford 
 equal rights to all citizens. This ticket was supported by all 
 the citizens who wanted that doctrine put into actual prac 
 tice. 
 
 The opposing hosts were headed by Charles McBride and 
 his ticket, composed of politicians selected from the two old 
 factions. This ticket was supported by those who had for 
 years received special favors at the hands of the govern 
 ment. Among the supporters of the McBride ticket were 
 also to be found the ward heelers, the grafters and filchers. 
 They intuitively knew where, by right, they belonged. There 
 was no boodle, no graft, no corruption in the new party. 
 and, of course, the army of campaign boodlers found no con 
 solation there, consequently they fell into the ranks of the 
 McBride-Wilkins combination. 
 
 No one knew these political pilferers better than did 
 
 206
 
 THE SECOND BATTLE 
 
 Fletcher, consequently they were refused admission to the 
 convention of the people. Not only they, but likewise the 
 special agents and pliant tools of the McBride and Wilkiiis 
 r>omhination who were sent to the .mass meeting for no good 
 purpose, were excluded. The convention, therefore, was 
 composed of the representative people of the cite regardless 
 of political parties, political alliances or party fealty. The 
 one object was honest government for the people. 
 
 There was but little speech-making at the convention. The 
 people knew what they were there for. No one needed in 
 struction on that point. It was a sort of family runion. 
 Each felt that his presence there was as important as that 
 of his neighbor, but not more so. Each felt that spirit of 
 community of interest which makes cool, calm, deliberate 
 action for the common good. Each felt glad that his neigh 
 bors were present and interested. There was no spirit of 
 envy, malice, hatred or spite exhibited. The political sore 
 heads and enemies were all in the ranks of the old factions. 
 They were not wanted in this, the people's convention. The 
 people realized what great harm is done to a city by sore- 
 headed, envious, spite-breeding political factions in munic 
 ipal government. They knew that many a promising young 
 city had gone to ruin and decay on that account. They 
 could look over the country and count such municipal corpse? 
 by the score, and they now felt rejoiced that at last their 
 fair and promising city was about to cast off her shackles 
 and fetters, so that when the convention was called to order ; 
 a spirit of common interest and common welfare permeated 
 the vast assemblage. 
 
 Joe Butler was in charge of the affairs of the mass meet 
 ing. It seemed natural that he should be in charge, for no 
 
 207
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 person had shown more zeal in the good cause, of which 
 Walter Marchand was the leader, than had Joe Butler. The 
 audience knew that, and the audience showed its apprecia 
 tion by loud and continued applause. Butler arose and 
 requested order. When silence had been restored, Butler 
 briefly reviewed the work of reform that had been begun 
 and prosecuted under the leadership of their friend, Walter 
 Marchand, and outlined the work that had been done up to 
 the time of the convention. He then stated: 
 
 "Now, fellow citizens, the furtherance of the good cause 
 is in your hands. Whatever action you may take, it will be 
 the act of our whole people. We, who have worked and toiled 
 to place the government of our city in the hands of the 
 people, here and now turn over to you the fruits of our toil. 
 What shall your pleasure be?" 
 
 No sooner had Butler finished speaking than calls for 
 Walter Marchand came from every part of the great as 
 semblage of citizens. Walter remembered how he had stood 
 before his first political audience two years previous with 
 scarceh r an idea other than that of official integrity. Two 
 years of actual warfare with political enemies had broadened 
 his views, had opened his political eyes. It had been a 
 great school, indeed, and Walter Marchand had been a close 
 student. He experienced no fear, no misgivings, no trepida 
 tion, now. In the fullest of confidence, Walter Marchand 
 began : 
 
 'My fellow citizens, I congratulate you upon the manifest 
 interest you have in the matter of a better government for 
 cur fair and promising city. I congratulate the people foT 
 Their timely advance to the rescue of our government from 
 the hands of the ring of politicians who nave made it a 
 
 208
 
 THE SECOND BATTLE 
 
 government for and by the few. A city is best governed 
 when that government is by the whole people; when in truth 
 and in fact there are special favors to none, and when all 
 have equal rights, and those rights are exercised. The poor 
 est among you is entitled to equal favors with every other 
 citizen, be he poor or rich, high or low, laborer or merchant. 
 The richest among you should be made to feel the lash of jus 
 tice in the same degree with his less prosperous neighbor, and 
 all should be willing to do exact justice to our government. 
 
 "It is the failure on the part of the people to see to it, 
 that these conditions are allowed to exist. I have before 
 stated the government of a municipality will be just what 
 the people make it, and, because of the truth of that state 
 ment, the people generally deserve just about what they get 
 in the way of municipal government. 
 
 "Whatever you may have deserved in the past, I am glad 
 to know that you have at last determined that a reform 
 shall be brought about. It will be but short-lived, however, 
 unless the whole people shall remain active and keep a 
 close watch. 
 
 "You have been informed of the work that has been done 
 to bring about the present movement. You are expected to 
 take charge of this meeting, nominate the men whom you 
 wish for your leaders, and elect them to the offices. For 
 my own part, I should like to see the following conditions 
 brought about in our city: 
 
 "Paved streets, good sidewalks, better sanitation, strici 
 payment of all city taxes, better moral restrictions, a cleaner 
 police department, the cessation of the miscellaneous sale of 
 poisonous drugs, a reasonable observance of the Sabbath, a 
 primary election for the nomination of candidates, in which 
 
 209
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 the people would have a voice, a strict practice of equal 
 rights to all and special privileges to none. 
 
 "Should I be so fortunate as to serve you further, I would 
 be pleased to know that each and every officer in our city 
 government shall stand for these principles, and, if they shall, 
 I promise you a government of, for and by the people. The 
 whole matter is now with the people." 
 
 The storm of applause that followed, as Marchand retired 
 to a seat, was indicative of the enthusiasm of the people. 
 Butler brought about the formal organization of the con 
 vention under cover of that enthusiasm with such tact and 
 grace as would do credit to the most artful politician. Then 
 turning the gavel over to the permanent chairman, Butler 
 gently bowed and passed out into the assembly in a manner 
 that plainly seemed to say: "Now, the people are at the 
 helm, let the old ship sail." 
 
 "The next thing in order is the nomination for Mayor," 
 said the chairman. 
 
 A motion was made, by a citizen who had been accustomed 
 to "railroading" in political conventions, that a nominating 
 committee be appointed. Butler at once obtained the atten 
 tion of the chairman and said: 
 
 "No doubt my good friend from the Sixth Ward means 
 well, but, if he will consider that this is a mass meeting of 
 the whole people and not of any particular party, he will 
 recognize the fact that nominations should be made openly, 
 upon the floor of this convention, and by any and every 
 one who wishes to make or second a nomination." This 
 statement was received with loud applause, and the citizen 
 from the Sixth Ward withdrew his motion.
 
 THE SECOND BATTLE 
 
 '''Are there any nominations for Mayor?" said the chair 
 man. 
 
 John Fletcher arose and began to speak as follows: 
 
 "I wish to place in nomination for the office of Mayor, a 
 man who has proven himself a fearless, honest officer. A 
 man - 
 
 "Walter Marchand," cried the audience as with one ac 
 cord. There was no use for Fletcher to make further at 
 tempt at speech : the audience had nominated Marchand. He 
 was the unanimous choice of the great assemblage, and he 
 would be the choice of the whole people of the city. 
 
 In rapid order were the other officers nominated, just as 
 had been planned by Butler, Fletcher and a few others, and 
 the mass meeting adjourned, the people feeling that they 
 had done a great work. And, indeed, they had. It was 
 the first time in many a year that the people, the common, 
 everyday people, had had anything to do with the nomination 
 of their public officers. Of course, some of the people had 
 attended the conventions, but they were not consulted and 
 did nothing more than look on. The political bosses did the 
 rest. 
 
 The battle royal was now on. The Daily Trumpet howled 
 and raged at the pretended convention of the people called 
 it a sham, makeshift, conceived and planned to fool the peo 
 ple. The people were satisfied, however, and laughed at the 
 antics of the Trumpet. The old political factions, now con 
 solidated, labored hard by day and by night, but little head 
 way could they make. The more abuse they heaped upon the 
 people's ticket, the more friends they made for it. The 
 friends of the people's ticket were confident, but they did not 
 
 211
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 lie down on their guns. They remained at the front and 
 did noble battle to the last ditch. 
 
 When the election was over, and the smoke of the battle 
 had cleared away, it was found that Marchand and his entire 
 ticket had been elected by a larger majority than that of 
 Marchand's election two years before, and thus, in the sec 
 ond battle of the people a great victory had been won. 
 
 212
 
 OLD AUNT DINAH 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 OLD AUNT DINAH. 
 
 A few days after the election, as related in the previous 
 chapter, Joe Butler was startled from a reverie by the ap 
 pearance at his office door of an aged and somewhat infirm 
 negro woman. At a glance, Butler recognized in her a species 
 of the old 'time darky, for which the true Southerner has 
 due and gentle respect. 
 
 "Come in, Auntie. What can I do for you?" 
 "Thank yo' sah ; thank yo', thank yo'," said the old darky, 
 as she bowed low and made due obeisance. "I'se bin look- 
 in for Marse Butler, but I doan 'specks I'se gwine to fine 
 him, 'kase its bin a mighty long time sence I seed him." 
 "What Butler are you Jooking for, Aunty?" 
 "Why, Marse WilFm Butler, my old marse, o' course." 
 "Where did your old master live, Auntie?" 
 "Oh, we all lived ovah in Alabama afoh de wah, but Marse 
 Butler done set all us niggahs free 'bout de breakin' out ob 
 de wah, den me an ? my ole man went to Tennessee. I 
 neber did know what b'come ob my ole man, so aftah de 
 wah I went back to my ole marse and lived thar a long time. 
 Den I done marrad a fool no 'count niggah, and we moved 
 heah to New Orleans. I'se bin hearing a heap 'bout Marse 
 Butler 'round heah, an' I didn't know it mout be my ole 
 
 213
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 marse, so I keeps huntin' fer him, 'kase I wants to see him 
 afoh I dies." 
 
 "Why bless your good old soul, Aunt Dinah, your old 
 master has been dead for many a long year." 
 
 "See heah, young man, how yo' knows my name's Aunt 
 Dinah yo' haint neber seed me afoh, has yo' ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. You are my old black mammy. You took 
 care of me when I was a little baby. I am Joe Butler, son 
 of your old master." 
 
 "Hallelujah ! glory, glory, glory, I done foun' my young 
 marse. Glory to de Lam'," shouted the old darky as she 
 clapped her hands for joy and shambled around the room. 
 
 "Well, Aunt Dinah, I am real glad to see you once more," 
 Slid Butler for the purpose of restoring quiet. "I sup 
 pose you are married and have a big family." 
 
 "Naw, sah; naw, sah. I doan pestah 'round wif none ob 
 dsse new f angled niggahs. Dey haint no 'count, no how. 
 I done had my sat'sfaction wif dem lazy, stuck up niggahs. 
 Naw, sah. I done bin married six times, reglar, an' none ob 
 'em wasn't no 'count, so I jes wo'ks 'roun' fo 5 myself. Dats 
 what I does, Marse Butler. Bless de Lawd, I sho' is glad 1 
 done foun' my young marse. I knows I'se gwine to git a 
 Chris'mus pres'nt now." 
 
 "To be sure, Auntie, and I will find you a good place to 
 work, where you will have a home and be comfortable, too. 
 I know you will like that." 
 
 "Yessah, Marse Butler, I suttenly will. I done los' my lit 
 tle ole home, 'kase I couldn't pay de taxes, an' sence den 
 I'se bin wo'kin' 'round f'um place to place, best I could." 
 
 "All right, Aunt Dinah, now you take this letter down to 
 the .Sanitarium on Carondelet street, and you will 
 
 214
 
 OLD AUNT DINAH 
 
 be shown what to do until I come. I will be there in a little 
 while. Xow, go straight there, Auntie, do you hear?' 1 
 
 "Yessah, yessah, Marse Butler, I sho'ly will go right dar 
 dis blessed minute. Praise de Lawd, bless de Holy Lam', " 
 said the old darky as she bowed and shambled out of the 
 office, going on her way, rejoiced that she had found her 
 old friend. 
 
 "Strange how bad pennies will turn up," said Butler to 
 Walter Marchand, who entered the office as the old darky 
 passed out. "That old darky was, before the war, one of 
 my father's slaves. She was my old nurse, and we all thought 
 a great deal of her. My father realized that in the end the 
 niggers would be liberated, so about a year after the war 
 broke out, he liberated all of his slaves of his own accord. 
 I was a mere baby, and this old darky was my 'black mammy' 
 as we called her in those days. Her husband was a trifling 
 fellow, and though Aunt Dinah vigorously protested leav 
 ing our plantation, the rascal carried her off to some town 
 in Tennessee, and we heard no more from her until about 
 six or seven years after the war was over, when she came 
 back to us, and we gave her a good home as long as she 
 stayed with us. 
 
 "After awhile, I went away to college. That was where 
 I first met you. I had been in college about two or three 
 years when you first came there. Well, old Aunt Dinah 
 finally picked up with some tramp of a nigger, got married, 
 and left. We never heard any more of her, and I thought 
 she had been dead years ago, but here she turns up, after 
 all these years, just like a bad penny. Strange, isn't it?" 
 
 ''Yes, it seems a little strange that the old darkey should 
 
 215
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 still be living, she seems a hundred years old. Well, it but 
 adds another care upon your hands." 
 
 "Certainly, but do you know, Walter, I am glad to see 
 her. Yes, and if necessary, I will work my hands off to take 
 care of the old darky. I never see one of those 'old black 
 mammy s' but that my heart goes out in sympathy for them. 
 I feel that it is my duty to care for Aunt Dinah as long as 
 she lives, and I'll do it, too. I suppose you still remember 
 your 'old black mammy,' don't you?" 
 
 "Why, really, Joe, I am not certain. It seems, at times, 
 I fancy that I can faintly hear a crooning lullaby and see 
 a kind, old, colored face bending over me, that was once a 
 reality, but when I try to recall it to memory, the image fades 
 away and is lost. I suppose my early life was so pleasant, 
 and so filled with happy incidents, except for a time at 
 my mother's death, that the recollections of my babyhood days 
 have slipped from my memory forever." 
 
 "If you were born and brought up in this city, the chances 
 are that you had the care of an 'old black mammy/ but 
 not, perhaps, to the extent that we of the country had. It 
 does me good, sometimes, to see an old colored mammy 
 singing and crooning over a baby. There seems to be some 
 thing in her voice that reaches the embryo soul of the infant, 
 and which brings peace and contentment when nothing else 
 will. There is something wierd about her crooning, a sim 
 plicity, a strangeness that is fascinating. Her lullabys are 
 always original in character and peculiar to the individual. 
 I shall never forget one of the lullabys which my 'old black 
 mammy' used to croon to me. It went something like this :" 
 
 Butler began a droll crooning, an excellent mimicry of 
 
 216
 
 
 "OLD AUNT DINAH."
 
 OLD AUNT DINAH 
 
 the old-time darky nurse, which at once arrested Marchand's 
 attention, then deeply affected him, as Butler proceeded. 
 
 "Go on, Joe, go on forever," said Walter, with a pained 
 expression on his face. "Go on, until the flood-gates of for- 
 getfulness are thrown wide and the tide of memory rushes 
 in upon me, bringing back the recollection of my childhood 
 days. I have heard that old lullaby some time and some 
 where, but where?" 
 
 "Oh, no doubt, your old black mammy sang it to you. 
 The imagery of those old darkies is wonderful, and their 
 lullabys are strikingly similar. Strange, though, that you 
 should so completely and utterly forget your nursery days. 
 Some time- the memory of those days will rush back upon 
 you like a flood. But it is of little importance, as your 
 life is before you, and nothing depends upon the events of 
 your babyhood days." 
 
 "Yes, I suppose you are right. Sometimes, though, I 
 don't feel that I am in a sphere where I, by rights, belong. 
 Sometimes I feel that I am not who I really am. Not that, 
 exactly, but I do not know just how to express myself." 
 
 "Well, old fellow, you are all right, but you have simply 
 over-worked yourself. That is what is the matter with 
 you. You should take a little trip out west, somewhere, 
 and relieve yourself of the strain you are constantly under 
 going. You take public life too seriously. You are too 
 easily annoyed at the common and ordinary political thrusts 
 and side-cuts in which many people indulge with the same 
 abandon as they do about the lawyer, as a lawyer. You 
 know everybody feels a perfect liberty to make side-thrusts 
 at lawyers, as lawyers. It seems to be a common practice, 
 
 217
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 now-a-days, and the people are falling into the habit of 
 referring to all public officials, in the same way." 
 
 "Well, it is wrong. It is a great injustice to refer to the 
 legal profession, as a profession, in any other than a re 
 spectful manner. As a class, the lawyers are as honest as 
 any other class on earth, the preachers, or ministers of the 
 gospel, not excepted." 
 
 "I thoroughly agree with you, old fellow/" 
 
 "It is as unjust to the public official to have the many 
 uncalled for remarks and insinuations made against him, 
 as a public officer, as it is against the lawyer. It ought 
 Hot to be so. It has, a very bad effect upon the morals 
 of the community. It not only impresses the young and 
 rising generation with the idea that all public officials are 
 scoundrels, but it discourages honest men from taking an 
 interest in the affairs of our government. Another phase of 
 the practice is, that when a good man has been elected to 
 office, and later he discovers that his good name is being 
 bandied about, and that he is suspected and accused of unholy 
 things, he sometimes becomes angered to the point of des 
 peration, and then seeks the unholy gains with which he is 
 unjustly suspicioned and accused."' . 
 
 "There is no doubt about the evil resulting from the un 
 warranted and pernicious habit of some of the people cast 
 ing insinuations and reflections against public officials. And 
 the more shame of it all is that some of our best citizens, 
 who really know better, have fallen into the practice. They 
 do not stop to think of the evil effect of it. They do it in 
 a sort of jesting way, as if the people expected every public 
 officer to turn rascal and thief as soon as he gets into office." 
 
 "Well, there is another class of people who make a practice 
 
 218
 
 OLD AUNT DINAH 
 
 of slandering public officials, merely for the love of the 
 practice. They are, as a rule, crooked curs, and can see no 
 good in anyone. They are disturbers, and slanderers by 
 habit, and damned rascals by nature. For them, there 
 should be placed in every honest man's hand a whip, 'to lash 
 the rascals naked through the world.' ' ; 
 
 "By the way, Walter, there appears to be considerable pro 
 testing against the 'Trilby Theater Band' parading our 
 streets, advertising the variety show and dance house." 
 
 "Yes, several of my friends have casually remarked to 
 me that there should be a stop put to the practice." 
 
 "Have you ever been in that place?" 
 
 "ISfo,. but I understand it is of a low order, and that the 
 morals of the place are very bad. You, being a newspaper 
 man, ought to know. How about it?" 
 
 "Thank you. I can not recommend the place. There are 
 some clever performances, poor singing, high-priced beer, 
 female costumes short at both ends, dancing, drinking, drunk 
 enness, robbery, pocket-picking, and everything that is cal 
 culated to send a man to hell as rapidly as is possible for 
 one to travel in that direction." 
 
 "Do you mean to say that the brass band is sent out upon 
 our streets to advertise that place, and to flaunt such inde 
 cency into the faces of our people?" 
 
 "Well, the band comes out twice a day to advertise the 
 'Trilby Theater.' It's been doing that for a number of years. 
 I suppose the place is a source of revenue to the city, as 
 well as to those connected with it." 
 
 "Revenue or no revenue, that public advertising of im 
 morality and indecency must be stopped." 
 
 "What are you going to do about it?" 
 
 219
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 "I am going to stop it at once. I will not only stop the 
 public advertising, but the immoral show must shut down. 
 These fellows shall not longer continue to flaunt their inde 
 cency and immorality in the faces of our women and chil 
 dren upon the public streets of the city." 
 
 "I presume a city license has been issued, under which the 
 show is beings operated." 
 
 "If so, the license shall be revoked." 
 
 "It might not be best to make too many reforms, right in 
 the very outset of your administration. This suggestion is 
 in pure friendship." 
 
 "Certainly, I understand. However, I shall look only to 
 my official duty. I care not for the carping of the critics. 
 When you deal with crime, you must not temporize, but 
 strike it down stop it. It is often different when dealing 
 with other matters. Every indecent show or immoral exhi 
 bition is an outrage upon the public morals of a community, 
 and should be immediately suppressed." 
 
 "I understand there is no way to suppress it, that the 
 power in the city charter is inadequate." 
 
 "That does not matter. The common law is adequate. 
 Whenever any public show or exhibition is of such character 
 as tends to corrupt society, it is subject to prosecution under 
 the common law, for the conduct of such show or exhibition 
 is, of itself, a breach of the peace. Any act or conduct on 
 the part of an individual or aggregation of individuals, cal 
 culated to corrupt the public morals, or outrage the sense 
 of public decency, are offenses against the public and are 
 subject to criminal prosecution. 
 
 "The suppression of crime, and of nuisances such as are 
 injurious to the public morals, is the first and most im- 
 
 220
 
 OLD AUNT DINAH 
 
 portant duty of government. A public officer is nothing 
 more nor less than a servant of the government, and if he 
 fail to perform that duty he is a traitor to the government, 
 and a menace to the people who compose the government. 
 As the Mayor of this city, I shall not sit idly and allow 
 such notorious outrages to continue." 
 
 "Well, Walter, you are eminently correct in theory. I 
 glory in your determination to put down vice and crime, but 
 I must remind you that our good friend John Bently is the 
 proprietor of that theatre." 
 
 "What difference should that make? I do not care who 
 the proprietor may be. John Bently shall have no more legal 
 right to operate a den of iniquity in this city than shall have 
 my bitterest foe." 
 
 "And there is our friend, the druggist, Mr. Johnson, who 
 owns the theater building and no dpubt draws a high rental 
 therefor." 
 
 "So much more the shame for our fair city. Johnson's 
 father is a highly respected minister of the gospel, and 
 Johnson himself, a rich and highly esteemed citizen. John 
 son has a few little drug joints down in the shady part of 
 the city, where there is dispensed poison without let or 
 hindrance, until there has grown up an army of 'dope fiends' 
 swarming our streets, the creation of Johnson's drug joints. 
 Every dollar he has thus obtained from those joints repre 
 sents so much life blood, moral stamina, man and woman 
 hood, that has been drained from the lives and souls of those 
 poor, miserable creatures, who fill the night with hideous 
 cries and unearthly screams while crazed with Johnson's 
 poisons. Shall I, as Mayor of this city, sit idly and let this 
 
 221
 
 horrible condition grow still more horrible? Not on your 
 life/' 
 
 "Old fellow, you are all right in principle, but you are 
 too impulsive, too hasty. You will accomplish better re 
 sults if you try to bring about these reforms by degrees. 
 It takes time to make these reforms effectual and perma 
 nent." 
 
 "Say, Butler, if you were to meet a poisonous snake in 
 the road, and you knew there were a lot of innocent chil 
 dren near by who were likely to be bitten by it, what would 
 you do?" 
 
 "I would kill the snake, of course." 
 
 "How would you go about it?" 
 
 '"Why, I would simply kill the snake. That's all." 
 
 "Why not just bruise its tail some, then sit down and wait 
 awhile, then bruise it some more, and kill the poor thing by 
 degrees, thereby making the death of the reptile more perma 
 nent and effective?" 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha, you rascal, I see the point. I guess you 
 have the best of the argument, so far as the snake story goes, 
 but do you know the snake story doesn't work in politics ?" 
 
 "It doesn't work in politics because the newly elected officer 
 too frequently turns politician and begins laying plans for 
 the next election. Too often, he is made to fear that in 
 doing his whole duty he will offend some John Bently, or 
 Druggist Johnson, who is feeding off the hard earnings of 
 the people by 'special favor/ or by taking the life-blood of 
 the poor and ignorant classes through 'permission' of the 
 government. The way to kill a snake is to kill it by cutting 
 off its head at one blow. The way to kill off vice and 
 crime in a community is for the people and the officials to 
 
 222
 
 OLD AUNT DINAH 
 
 unitedly strike it down with one blow, and if the Johnsons 
 and the Bentlys stand stubbornly in the way, strike them 
 clown also. There can be no temporizing with crime. The 
 community which temporizes with indecency and immorality 
 thereby becomes guilty itself, as a whole, and the morals of 
 that community will soon find a low level/'' 
 
 "A public officer must have public sentiment back of him, 
 if he would successfully battle with the various phases of 
 crime to be found in our cities. Do you think the public 
 sentiment of our city is sufficiently strong to warrant you in 
 making a vigorous attack upon the immoral theaters and 
 the sale of poisonous drugs? 1 ' 
 
 "Well, I will soon find out about that, by doing what I 
 conceive to be my official duty. I don't expect the politicians 
 to back up the effort. Not until they are thoroughly con 
 vinced that there are more votes on the moral side than on 
 the immoral side. Then, they will become the most inter 
 ested, and the least active, supporters of the movement." 
 
 "The people seem to forget, all too soon, the noble sacri 
 fices that a brave, honest officer makes in their behalf. That 
 is, the officer's friends forget, but the enemies he has made 
 in doing his duty never forget. They are right on the spot 
 when the next election rolls around, and they are there for 
 business, too. They never forget you. They stay right in 
 battle array, fighting until the last vote is counted." 
 
 "No, friend Butler, the people do not forget. They remem 
 ber the brave and honest public servant and will stand by 
 him so long as he keeps his helmet and shield bright, and 
 ready to do noble battle. True, the people sometimes do 
 not take as much interest in matters of government as they 
 should, otherwise they would kill off the political boosters, 
 
 223
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 grafters and bosses. But they do not forget. At any rate, 
 there is only one course for me to pursue, and that is to 
 do my duty as God gives me wisdom to discern it, and that. 
 I will do, regardless of all contingencies." 
 
 "Oh, well, old boy, you will never make a good politi 
 cian. I can see that." 
 
 "I thank you from the bottom of my heart for that state 
 ment. Now I know you have confidence in me.*' 
 
 "Oh, yes. I always had confidence in you, but you are 
 too headstrong." 
 
 "By the way, Joe, how is your 'Prince of Pearls' getting 
 on under his late tutor. Is he an apt student ?" 
 
 "Indeed he is. But it may be because I am an adept 
 teacher." 
 
 "Most likely, Joe. You are an adept at everything, with 
 one exception." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 "Killing snakes/ You bruise their poor tails. Ha, ha, ha." 
 
 "Oh, you villian. Come on, the cigars are on me."
 
 A STRONG RESEMBLANCE 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 A STRONG RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 Life at "The Cedars" continued in the same, gentle, even 
 manner as had always characterized the old home, and if 
 there were any heart-pangs, misgivings, breedings or disap 
 pointment within, the world without was none the wiser. 
 LeBerte Marchand, it is true, felt that sense of uneasiness 
 natural to one who carries a secret within his bosom which, 
 if once divulged, might bring pain, yet he had carried the 
 secret for so many years that he felt a more rigid injunction 
 upon him to guard it still more zealously, not for his own 
 protection alone, but for the protection of his loved ones, as 
 well. So LeBerte Marchand thought, and so he conscien 
 tiously believed. Therefore, as the years crept upon him, 
 leaving their silvery webs upon his brow, the more zealously 
 did the old man guard his secret. 
 
 More than once, of late, did he turn to the old iron safe 
 in his private room, a room just off from his bed-room in 
 the old home, and there spend hours in looking over busi 
 ness papers, presumably. He was never disturbed nor mo 
 lested while so engaged, a mark of respect religiously ob 
 served by the other members of the family. 
 
 It was in this little iron safe where, years and years be 
 fore, the little golden locket had been placed at the time it 
 
 225
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 was removed from the person of a child, and when little 
 Nbrkoma was transformed into Walter Marchand, the son 
 of LeBerte Marchand and his young and beautiful wife. 
 There, in the silent vaults of this old safe, it had remained 
 all those years, a secret from the whole world, itself having 
 faded from the memory of the child whose form it once 
 graced, now grown to manhood and middle age. 
 
 In the days when Walter and Edith were away from the 
 old home when the halls and rooms gave an empty sound 
 to the tread of his weary feet or seemed to mock at the tones 
 of his sorrowful voice, LeBerte Marchand found comfort 
 and consolation in the sacredness of this room where, alone, 
 he would fondle the little golden locket, and dream over 
 again and again the scenes of his happiest days. In this 
 little room, he would often go in those days to hold com 
 munion with the spirit of her who had been his life, his 
 soul, his everything. It was in this sacred little room where 
 LeBerte Marchand learned to forget the vain and fleeting 
 things of this world, and where his life, his nature began 
 to broaden and gather strength with which to fortify him 
 against the besetting sins of the world. It was in this sacred 
 room where, in holy communion with the hallowed spirits of 
 his loved ones and with God, Marchand found consolation, 
 light, rest, peace of mind and soul. 
 
 As the years passed by, and the uncertainty of life slowly 
 dawned upon Marchand, he deemed it prudent and wise to 
 attach to the little locket a written statement of its history, 
 so that in the event of his sudden death, his children should 
 know the truth, and thereupon act as their better judgment 
 might dictate. So it was, that in the days before Walter and 
 Edith had returned from their colleges, LeBerte Marchand 
 
 226
 
 A STRONG RESEMBLANCE 
 
 wrote a full and complete history of the locket, together 
 with a statement of Walter's life, so far as he then knew. 
 Then attaching the same to the golden locket, he placed 
 both in the iron safe, and, in so doing, LeBerte Marchand 
 felt that he had followed the wiser and better course, and 
 thereafter experienced a freedom of mind, always borne of 
 righteous deeds. 
 
 It was not, however, until recent years that Marchand 
 felt any uneasiness of mind with relation to the incidents 
 and history connected with the locket. How often, perhaps, 
 he was tempted to destroy the innocent, little, golden memoir 
 and its accompanying history, may well be left to conjecture. 
 As frequently, however, as Marchand went to the iron safe 
 with the intention of destroying the little locket and its 
 history did he stop and ponder ere he committed the deed. 
 The little thing seemed to possess a charm for him, and as 
 he would hold it in his hands, about to cast it to destruction, 
 his mind would revert to the days of yore, and the determi 
 nation would falter and pass away. Then he would settle 
 down in his big chair beside the safe and live over again, in 
 memory, the days when little Norkoma came to his happy 
 home. He would see, in fancy, the sweet young wife, as she 
 appeared when she attempted to take the innocent little 
 locket away from her baby boy. He would follow the pictured 
 dream on through the dark days of grief and sorrow, until he 
 would be aroused from his reverie by tired brain or aching 
 limbs, then placing the dear object back in the safe, he 
 would say to himself, "N"ot yet, not yet." 
 
 Having thus, temporarily, freed his mind from the con-. 
 flicting emotions, he would go forth again to enjoy the lov 
 ing companionship and cheerful sunshine of his peaceful 
 
 227
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 family. Upon one of those occasions, however, his strength 
 became overtaxed, and as he arose to leave the room, con 
 sciousness fled, the old gentleman falling to the floor, limp 
 and apparently lifeless. The keen ear of the good wife 
 caught the sound of the fall, and she was at her husband'? 
 side in a moment. In a short while the old gentleman was re 
 stored to his normal condition, but he mentally resolved 
 that thereafter he would exercise more prudence. This was 
 at a time when the family was enjoying a visit from two of 
 Edith's old schoolmates who resided in Texas. 
 
 Katherine Rathbone and sister Dorothy lived in New 
 York and attended the college which Edith attended. The 
 two sisters and Edith became warm friends, which friend 
 ship also included the little music teacher, now the matronly 
 Mrs. Marchand. Later, Katherine, the elder sister, mar 
 ried a Mr. Frederick Templet on, and they, with Dorothy, 
 moved to Houston, the railroad center and metropolis of 
 Texas. Edith and her friends, Katherine and Dorothy, had 
 kept in close touch with each other, and now, for the first 
 time since their school days, were realizing the extreme 
 pleasure of a visit which had, from year to year, been post 
 poned on account of one thing and another. 
 
 A merry household was 'The Cedars" indeed, during the 
 visit of Mrs. Templeton and Dorothy Rathbone, both of 
 whom were bright, intelligent, beautiful of face and figure. 
 Dorothy was not only beautiful and intelligent, but in music 
 was exceptionally accomplished. Though it be considered 
 rude to speculate upon a woman's age, as a rule, the truth 
 is that Dorothy was beyond the age of legal majority and 
 she was not the least averse to letting that fact be known, 
 an unusual thing for a young woman. 
 
 228
 
 A STRONG RESEMBLANCE 
 
 In nature and general character, Edith and Dorothy were 
 almost identical. What the one loved the other also loved. 
 What were the dislikes of the one were, also, the dislikes of 
 the other. Plain, unaffected, honest simplicity was a strik 
 ing characteristic of both. Whatever interested their close 
 friends was, also, of interest to Edith and Dorothy. Edith, 
 already interested in municipal affairs, had not long to 
 wait until Dorothy was well under the influence of the 
 contagion. The general subject of politics was not altogether 
 a new field for Dorothy, for she had learned something of 
 the art over in Texas, where, she said, they sometimes had 
 politics served to them "right off the griddle." 
 
 Dorothy's bright, crisp, original style of dealing with a 
 subject under argument was exceedingly refreshing and inter 
 esting to both Walter Alarchand and Joe Butler. They were 
 both charmed with her, and Dorothy was equally interested 
 in the two men. One subject in particular which proved of 
 mutual interest to Dorothy and Walter was, that of the 
 proposed Pan-American College of Commerce, an institution 
 calculated to secure the trade and commerce of Latin- Amer 
 ica for the merchant and manufacturer of the United States. 
 "How came you to give your attention to such a huge and 
 ponderous enterprise, Dorothy?" asked LeBerte Marchand, 
 who, having fully recovered from the fatigue of his lonely 
 communion in the little room as above stated, was enjoying 
 the society of his family and guests. 
 
 "I hardly know how I first became interested in the sub 
 ject, but once interested, I pursued it because I felt that it 
 was the key to the solution of the problem: 'What shall be 
 the commercial future of the United States ?' " 
 
 229
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 "It seems a rather difficult study for a girl," said But 
 ler. 
 
 "Not at all. One needs but ask the question: 'Why are 
 the great trunk lines of railroad of the middle states making 
 such haste to reach the gulf ports' ; and what is the answer ?" 
 
 "Well, they want to be ready to reach the Orient through 
 the Panama canal when it is completed. Is that not the 
 reason?" asked Walter. 
 
 "Partly so, but not the sole reason. For the sake of argu 
 ment, however, admit it to be the sole reason. Why seek the 
 trade of the Orient and overlook a far better field of trade 
 right at our gulf ports Latin- America ?" 
 
 "I have given no consideration to the question," said 
 Butler, "although I have sometimes wondered why it was 
 that the trade of Latin-America was not more eagerly sought 
 after by the exporter of the United States." 
 
 "It has been eagerly sought after," replied Dorothy, "but 
 how? By sending out catalogues printed in the English 
 language, and by sending agents into those countries who 
 could speak neither Latin, Spanish nor Portuguese. Even 
 our government sends commercial agents, ministers and 
 diplomats to those countries who speak no other than the 
 English language." 
 
 "That, of itself, would be sufficient to check any progress 
 in the way of acquiring a commercial foothold in Latin- 
 America," suggested Walter, "and there can easily be found 
 a remedy for that evil." 
 
 "What would you suggest as a remedy?" queried the 
 elder Marchand, who was now warming up to the subject 
 under discussion. 
 
 "The very thing that has been promulgated for years over 
 
 230
 
 in Texas, to-wit, the establishing of a Pan-American Col 
 lege of Commerce. In such an institution, the future com 
 mercial agents for the Latin-American countries could be 
 trained and educated so that when they assumed the duties 
 of their respective stations, they could fluently speak and 
 write the language of the country in which they were sta 
 tioned; would know the wants, needs, habits and customs of 
 the people, also the topography and geography of the coun 
 try, just as they know that of the United States. Then, 
 they would be of some service to their mother country, 
 whereas, at the present, and always in the past, instead of 
 being a benefit, they were more of a drawback and a 
 hindrance." 
 
 "Now, you have spoken a whole lot of truth, Mr. Walter," 
 said Dorothy. "The situation you have given is true to life. 
 I have traveled some in several of the Latin-American states, 
 and have there met American traveling men, or agents, and, 
 truly, I never met but one who could speak any but the 
 English language. I have met many of our government 
 commercial agents and ministers, but never did I find one 
 that spoke Spanish." 
 
 "It would seem that our government should take more 
 interest in this matter," said the elder Marchand. 
 
 "Government never does anything until there is sufficient 
 pressure brought to bear upon it by the people, to stimulate 
 to action," said Butler. "The American merchant and man 
 ufacturer are, primarily, the ones to press upon our gov 
 ernment the importance of action." 
 
 "No, not necessarily so," said Dorothy, "for every citizen 
 of our country is, or ought to be, primarily interested in 
 the growth, importance and grandeur of our country. This 
 
 231
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 is a commercial age, and one of the chief functions of the 
 government appears to be, 'commercial expansion and ag 
 grandizement/ and to reach the acme, our people and our 
 government are running off to fields of commerce thousands 
 of miles away, while Europe smiles and retains peaceable 
 possession of the world's greatest and best commercial pas 
 tures right under our noses, which is Latin- America." 
 
 "What is the greatest factor in the process by which Europe 
 retains the Latin- American trade?'' asked Butler. 
 
 "From the most reliable sources, I am informed that 
 Latin-America educates between twenty and twenty-five thou 
 sand of her sons and daughters in the schools and colleges of 
 Europe, annually. That is the greatest factor." 
 
 "How so?" queried Butler. 
 
 "Because, those who are educated in foreign countries 
 are the children of the prosperous and wealthy class, that 
 means the class who do the commercial business of Latin- 
 America. Every student from those countries carries let 
 ters of introduction and credit to the commercial houses 
 and banks in Europe with which their fathers, uncles or 
 friends are doing business, and with which their grandfather? 
 and great grandfathers did business, thus keeping up the 
 line of social and business acquaintance of a hundred years, 
 perhaps." 
 
 "I think I shall have to come over into Texas and learn 
 more about this great project," suggested Walter. 
 
 "We would be glad to have you come, Mr. Walter," re 
 turned Dorothy. "We have plenty of room in Texas for 
 several big men like you, and they will be warmly welcomed 
 by our people, too." 
 
 232
 
 "Now, Dorothy, don't try to flatter me, you know it might 
 make me vain." 
 
 "Oh, the idea of Walter Marchand ever becoming vain," 
 interjected Butler. "I have been trying for two years to 
 make him understand that he is a big man, regardless of 
 stature, but he spurns my attempts." 
 
 "Oh, well, so much the greater, he," interposed Edith. 
 
 "Bless you, Edith, you have been so absorbed with some 
 serious thought all evening, you surprise me by budding out 
 so suddenly with such high compliments," rejoined Walter. 
 
 "Ah, we have heard a great deal of s you, Mr. Mayor, away 
 over in Texas. Your fame has gone out over the land more 
 largely than you think for," remarked Dorothy. 
 
 "We will run him for governor next time," said Butler, 
 laughingly. 
 
 "Now, Butler, don't get to 'killing snakes' again. You 
 know you only bruise their tails." 
 
 "By the way, Walter, did you speak to the ladies about 
 the opera? The box is at our service for tonight." 
 
 "No, I must confess the matter completely slipped my 
 memory. What a forgetful fellow I'm getting to be. But 
 we have time to get ready. What say you girls, mother and 
 father? Shall we all go?" 
 
 "Oh, to be sure," said Edith. "We will get ready at once. 
 Mother will be ready long before the rest of us, I am sure." 
 
 "Well, mother doesn't make so many primps as you girls. 
 Do you mother?" said Walter as he went over by the mother 
 and gently encircled his arm around her and reverently 
 kissed her cheek. 
 
 "No, my son, a mother must expect to grow old and ugly, 
 you know, for old father time is an artist whose tracings upon 
 
 233
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 the cheeks can not be painted out by human hands," replied 
 the mother. 
 
 "But time has not been unkind to my dear mother, for 
 there are no tracings in those fair cheeks. Yes, there is one, 
 and I am going to kiss it away. There, mother, it is gone, but 
 I'm sorry, for I think you were prettier with it." 
 
 "Oh, Walter, my son, you are so good and gentle in all 
 your conduct that I am sure I could not scold you." 
 
 "Why scold me? I love my mother too well to do any 
 thing that would call for her disapproval. There now, 
 mother, get ready for the opera, and we will go and all 
 be happy and young again/' 
 
 "Walter, old boy," said Butler when Mrs. Marchand had 
 left the room, "I'd give anything in the world if my mother 
 were living, to have the opportunity of doing what I have 
 just witnessed. You must certainly be happy, if for no 
 other reason on earth than the fact that you can and do 
 cause that dear old mother of yours so much joy by your 
 kind, loving conduct toward her." 
 
 "Well, no son ever loved a mother more than I love that 
 good, sweet mother of mine, and, of course, I take pleasure 
 in trying to make her happy." 
 
 "I could have been better to my mother. I was rather 
 young when she died, and I presume I was like most young 
 men, too smart, too self-willed, and too inconsiderate of the 
 blessings of a good mother." 
 
 "Say, Joe, you can make up for some of your youthful in 
 discretions by being good to old Aunt Dinah." 
 
 "I will certainly be good to the old darky. That is the 
 only thing that I have upon which to practice real charity." 
 
 234
 
 A STRONG RESEMBLANCE 
 
 "Oh, I don't know. You like to tease the snakes. Ha, ha, 
 ha." 
 
 "Say, old boy, I'll give you a birthday present if you'll 
 let up on that snake story. When is your birthday? 
 
 "I've forgotten, but here comes mother, she will know. Say, 
 my mother, dear, when is my birthday? I am about to re 
 ceive a present/' 
 
 "Keally, Walter, the record, as shown in the old family 
 Bible, appears to be uncertain about the date of your birth. 
 You know I am not your real mother." 
 
 "Of course, but no real mother could be sweeter, gentler 
 or more beautiful in heart and soul. Sometimes I feel like 
 you are my real mother." 
 
 "Yes, my son, and I often wish I were your real mother." 
 
 "No real son and mother ever resembled each other more, 
 I am certain," said Butler. "I never saw a stronger re 
 semblance." 
 
 "I never thought of that," said Walter. "Hello, here 
 come the girls, and here is father. Now let us be off: the 
 carriages await us." 
 
 "Lead on, McDuff, lead on," cried Dorothy with a bright 
 twinkle in her eye, "and last be he who shall first cry, hold." 
 
 235
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 A CURTAIN LECTURE. 
 
 Butler's remark, to the effect that there was a striking 
 resemblance between Mrs, Marchand and her son Walter, 
 left a deep and lasting impression upon the mind of the 
 mistress of "The Cedars." Why such should be the case, 
 she did not know. The remark that, "I never saw a stronger 
 resemblance," rang in the little woman's ears and preyed 
 upon her mind during the entire evening, the entertainment 
 being secondary only, for her. She could not drive the 
 thought from her mind, though she kept her own counsel, 
 and said nothing. When her head rested upon the pillow and 
 her eyes closed for sleep that night, neither rest nor sleep 
 came to the poor, troubled woman. She argued with her 
 self, thus : 
 
 "Why does this foolish thought cling to my mind with 
 such tenacity? There can be no possibility of such a dream 
 ever proving true. God, that it were a reality, or that in 
 some mysterious manner it might yet prove to be true. Why 
 did Mr. Butler make such a remark? He is an honest man, 
 and must have observed a resemblance between us, other 
 wise he would not have suggested it. I can not judge, for I 
 do not know how I look. No person knows how he looks, 
 as compared with some other person. But I know what 
 
 236
 
 A CURTAIN LECTURE 
 
 I shall do tomorrow. I shall compare our pictures. I will 
 use for that purpose a photograph I had taken when I was 
 a young girl, and of Walter I will use one he had taken 
 about the time he went to college. But, pshaw ! What good 
 will that do? He is LeBerte Marchand's son, so, of course, 
 there can be no possibility of Why has LeBerte Marchand 
 avoided a conversation with me as to the strange relation 
 ship between Edith and Walter, and and the family record 
 in the Bible? Oh, I must be going wild. Why do I not 
 becalm myself. Pshaw ! ]STorma Marchaud, you are a silly 
 little fool, that is what you are. There, now. But what 
 mother's heart would not be foolish if her mind be filled 
 with such ambitions, such perplexing hopes and fears? Well, 
 I will be quiet. I will force myself to forget, and go to 
 sleep. I will count one, two, three, four, five, six no, I 
 will imagine I see sheep jumping a fence, and I will count 
 them. There ! There is a bunch of sheep, and there is a 
 fence. Pshaw ! The fence is not high enough. There to 
 the left is a higher one, and the sheep are going that way. 
 Hold on, there, not so fast. Now, there one jumped, two, 
 three, fo-ur, f-i-v-e, s-i-x". The poor, tired, little woman 
 fell asleep. It was a troubled sleep, however a sleep that 
 brought rest to neither mind nor body a sleep filled with 
 fancies and dreams. 
 
 Morning dawned, and the sun rose bright and clear over 
 the eastern horizon. It was in the early springtime, and 
 the feathered songsters sang gleefully to their mates in the 
 boughs and branches of the tall trees that graced the grounds 
 surrounding the old home. Mrs. Marchand heard the silvery 
 notes of bird melody as they, with gleams of sunshine, floated 
 in through her half open window. 
 
 237
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 "How happy those little birds must be/' said she, with a 
 sigh. "Without a care for .the morrow, are they. And 
 their homes are in the trees, meadows, fields and woods, 
 while we human mortals toil and labor and aspire until we 
 acquire wealth, fame and power, thinking those will bring 
 us happiness and pleasure. When we have attained all that 
 our younger hearts believed was necessary to our complete 
 happiness, we then begin to realize that our lives are almost 
 spent, and that the power to enjoy has passed away. Oh. 
 that eternal, restless spirit which inhabits the human breast, 
 can it ever be satiated? It is like the waters of a troubled 
 sea. With all that I have around me, a kind and loving 
 husband, affectionate children, a good home, every need 
 supplied, every whim gratified, and, withal, my restless spirit 
 will not be quiet. It calls for my long lost baby, my child, 
 the child of my own blood. Yet, if he were to be found, 
 who knows what pain and sorrow the finding might bring. 
 The picture ! The pictures ! I will compare the photo 
 graphs !" 
 
 The little mother sprang excitedly from her couch, and 
 taking from a drawer an old album, turned to a picture, a 
 tintype, taken of her when she was about nineteen years of 
 age. In another album she found a photograph of Walter, 
 taken when he was a boy of about the same age. Then, sit 
 ting down upon the side of the bed, laid the two albums out 
 before her and carefully compared the photographs. 
 
 "I know I am foolish. Strangers might discern a re 
 semblance, but I can not. Just because Mr. Butler made a 
 chance remark that there was a striking resemblance, I have 
 tortured myself all night long. I must put a stop to this 
 foolishness, for there can be no such possibility that I am 
 
 238
 
 A CURTAIN LECTURE 
 
 the mother of Walter Marchand. Even if I were, we could 
 not love each other differently nor more strongly than we do 
 now. What could be gained if such were the conditions? 
 Our relations would remain as now. Oh, it has been very 
 foolish in me to act in this manner to torture myself over 
 an impossible condition. I hope I may have the strength 
 and bravery never to allow my foolish heart to dream of 
 such impossible things again. I will drive the thoughts 
 from my mind, and then I will be as happy as those inno 
 cent little birds out there in the trees. If people were not 
 tempted with foolish and sometimes unholy ambitions and 
 desires, they would be happy. The only ambition that it is 
 safe to harbor in the human heart is the ambition to live 
 an upright, honorable and honest life." 
 
 Having calmed herself, the little woman quickly donned 
 her robes and passed out into the beautiful grounds to enjoy 
 the fresh, balmy morning. She was somewhat surprised at 
 being hailed by Walter, who had risen early and gone into 
 the grounds to read or ponder over some perplexing problem, 
 as was his custom. 
 
 "Hello, little mother," said he. "Come over here and sit 
 with me upon this old rustic." 
 
 "Good morning, Mr. Early Bird. After the worms, I 
 suppose," answered the mother. 
 
 "Yes, appeasing the worm of unrest, the ambition for 
 knowledge. I have been reading a report made to the Texas 
 legislature by a committee, relating to the proposed Pan- 
 American College of Commerce. Do you know, it is a very 
 interesting subject." 
 
 "I suppose so, my son, especially to those who care to 
 wrestle with the great problems which, when solved, help 
 
 239
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 to shape the destinies of nations. I appreciate the great 
 benefit which such an institution would be to the whole 
 country, and especially to the Gulf States. I hope the project 
 may be consummated." 
 
 "Sometimes I feel that, when my term of office expires, I 
 shall then devote my whole life, if need be, to the promulga 
 tion of this great project, and especially to aid in procuring 
 its establishment somewhere upon the gulf coast. It seems 
 so plain to me, that with proper exertions upon the part of 
 the people in this behalf, the governments interested would 
 not hesitate in taking up and completing the matter. It 
 would mean that the trade of Latin- America would be trans 
 ferred from Europe to the United States, and that would 
 mean great things for the ports of the Gulf States." 
 
 "I fear you are overtaxing your strength. Do not be 
 too ambitious, but learn to take the labors of your life more 
 easily. Pardon me, my son, do you never feel that you should 
 have a home of your own, with wife and loved ones around 
 you?" 
 
 "W]hy, mother, you are not tired of me at "The Cedars, 
 are you?" 
 
 "No. no, no, my son. The natural state of a good man is 
 at the head of a family of his own. You are losing so much 
 of life, working, toiling and struggling as you are for the 
 people, alone, forgetting yourself. By so doing you are 
 losing the sweeter portion of life, which, by and by, you 
 will seriously regret. It seems that both you and Edith are 
 strangely unconcerned about the present and the future. I 
 speak of this matter, my son, only as a fond and loving 
 mother." 
 
 "Yes, mother, I know that, and I appreciate your kind 
 
 240
 
 A CURTAIN LECTURE 
 
 words. But there is something peculiar about our lives that 
 neither Edith nor myself understand. We are brother and 
 sister of one blood, yet we have that strange fascination for 
 each other that is born, of the wildest extremes. We love 
 each other, and have so loved from the time we were little 
 children. We were lovers in our nurseries, in our school 
 days, in our college days, and are still sweethearts, rather 
 than brother and sister." 
 
 "It is, indeed, strange. I often read the letters which 
 you wrote to Edith while she was in college, and sometimes 
 read the letters which she wrote to you. I remember how 
 you poured out your young and tender heart, and likewise 
 did Edith, in return. I never knew of a similar case, and I 
 doubt whether any there be. At any rate, it would appear 
 that each of you might find some other companionable heart to 
 love and cherish, since you are brother and sister." 
 
 "I do not know, I never expected to bear such a love for 
 another girl as I have borne for Edith, yet it might be 
 possible that I should. I realize the wisdom of your sug 
 gestions, and if Edith would only find some one whom she 
 could love and marry, perhaps I should take courage and 
 follow suit." 
 
 "I think Edith likes Mr. Butler" 
 
 "What? I beg your pardon, mother, I meant to say, do 
 you really think she loves Butler ?" 
 
 "I did not say, love. I really think she likes Mr. Butler. 
 I fear, however, that Mr. Butler is too much enamored with 
 Dorothy. Don't you think so, my son?" 
 
 "Well, now, I had begun to like Dorothy a little, myself. 
 But not enough to cause me* the loss of sleep. So Butler 
 likes Dorothy, eh?" 
 
 241
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 "Yes, I think he does, and I am not sure but that his 
 feelings are somewhat reciprocated. I think Dorothy really 
 likes Butler, too." 
 
 "Well, Joe Butler is a good, noble fellow, but Dorothy 
 must not stand in the way of my little sister, if Edith has 
 any heart for him. I had hoped, formerly, that Edith and 
 myself might live on forever as in the present and past, but 
 I now see that it is wrong, and that we are blind to our own 
 better interests. If Edith should ever marry, I would rather 
 she would marry Butler than any other person I know, for he 
 is noble, good and true. Besides, he is one of the best friends 
 I have ever had." 
 
 "Dorothy is a splendid little woman. I knew her well 
 while she was in college, and I knew -her to be all that man 
 can expect of woman. No two souls were ever more nearly 
 similar in all respects than are Edith and Dorothy. Who 
 ever could love the one, could not help loving the other, 
 also." 
 
 "Yes, mother dear, I believe you. Eeally, I think I could 
 love Dorothy equally as well as Edith, were it not for the 
 life-long companionship of sister and myself. From baby 
 hood days we have been constant companions, and, in a sense, 
 sweethearts." 
 
 "Certainly, but childhood days are gone, my son, and with 
 them the dreams, the glimpses of fairy land. You are now 
 looking back over a decade as you once looked back over a 
 six-months. Months and years are now passing by more 
 swiftly than did your youthful days. In your youth, you 
 looked forward along your future pathway, which was lighted 
 with the lamps of ambition and hope, and the days and weeks 
 dragged heavily along, all but too slowly. It is different 
 
 242
 
 A CURTAIN LECTURE 
 
 now. By and by the days of your strong and reliant man 
 hood will begin to wane, and you will then realize that your 
 bark is upon an eddying stream which is rushing rapidly 
 toward the grave. The outlines of your earthly sphere that 
 once lay in broad expanse before your hopeful vision will 
 then begin to draw closer and closer until you will be sur 
 rounded by great mountain peaks and ranges, through which 
 there is no passage, and within which you will be entombed 
 with ever narrowing limits, from which no human being 
 can aid you to escape. Then you will look backward and 
 ponder over what your life might have been. In fancy, will 
 you see what might have been your fair-haired boy and 
 your brown-eyed girl playing fondly around a happy father's 
 knee. You may see your good and loving wife standing at 
 the gate to welcome the husband home, and you will hear 
 the music of a happy fireside, by far sweeter than ten thou 
 sand stringed harps. Then, to awake from your fancy's 
 dream, a soul's sickness will possess you and hold you bound, 
 for you will then realize that it is too late. The sweets of 
 the life you should have enjoyed are passed from you for 
 ever. Then will come seclusion, loss of friends, decay, until 
 you walk in silence and alone, brooding, grieving, sorrowing, 
 with no one to love, and none to love and cherish you. At 
 last, you pass away from the busy throngs, and the world 
 moves on as before. Then you 
 
 "Hold, mother dear, your picture is too sad, I do not 
 wish to hear more, I do not care to follow." 
 
 "But it is a true picture, my son, and I trust you may 
 never experience the sadness of its truth." 
 
 "I know how true it must be, for as you drew the picture, 
 there came before my mind's eye several characters whom 
 
 243
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 I know, and who have realized its sad truth. I know that 
 sister and I have been wasting our lives, but the mystery, 
 the mystery of it all." 
 
 "Well, my son, waiting and postponing will not better 
 conditions." 
 
 "No, I presume not. But I have so much before me to 
 be done. It is duty, duty, duty. Duty is always staring 
 me in the face, whether I sleep or wake. I should never 
 find the time to devote to the question of marriage." 
 
 "If you find the girl and fall in love with her, there will 
 appear a way. Do you remember the song, 'Love Will Find 
 the Way?'" 
 
 The mother and son were taken by surprise when Edith 
 and Dorothy suddenly rushed upon them with : 
 
 "Well, well, our dear little children, we have been search 
 ing everywhere for you. We feared some wild animals had 
 actually eaten you." 
 
 "Yes, and we were also fearful lest some big bandit had 
 carried you off and would hold you for a ransom," added 
 'Dorothy. 
 
 <f Who would have ever paid the ransom to have recovered 
 us poor little children," laughingly suggested Walter. 
 
 "Oh, we would have gone to Mr. Butler and had him ad 
 vertise for you, the first thing. Then, we intended to take 
 up a public subscription, you know, for we did not intend that 
 an opportunity for excitement should escape us," said 
 Dorothy. 
 
 "I will warrant that if there were to be an opportunity for 
 excitement, the pair of twins would not overlook it," sug 
 gested Walter. 
 
 "We were intending to bring your breakfast out to you, 
 
 244
 
 A CURTAIN LECTURE 
 
 in case you were held for ransom and were hungry/' sug 
 gested Edith. '"'But seeing you were only detained by the 
 ties of nature and a beautiful morning, we cordially invite 
 you to join us at breakfast, for Katherine and father must 
 be starving, since we have been waiting so very long." 
 
 "Gracious sakes ! I had forgotten all about breakfast. 
 Mother's curtain lecture has been so absorbingly interest 
 ing, I quite forgot all else. And I had promised to be at 
 the office bright and early, too." 
 
 "There goes! That old office makes a regular slave out 
 of my big brother," cried Edith. 
 
 "What is that old saying, something like this? 'We are 
 slaves to a horde of petty tyrants.' That statement applies, 
 I presume, to such public officials as Mayors, does it not, 
 Mr. Whiter?" asked Dorothy. 
 
 "Indeed it does, and it applies with equal force to law 
 yers." 
 
 "Oh, the lawyers, the lawyers, they " 
 
 "Dear me, children, do not be so tardy, lest we starve 
 Katherine and father, while we stand here and argue so 
 cial, political, economical and nonsensical questions," said 
 Edith. Then taking the mother by the hand, preceded Dor 
 othy and Walter, who were left to follow at will. 
 
 The "curtain lecture," as Walter had termed the conversa 
 tion with his mother, left an impression upon his mind that 
 was not only lasting, but effective. As Walter mentally re 
 viewed the picture again, there came to him a half notion 
 that he would begin laying plans for his future home life. 
 He liked Dorothy, and for aught he knew, his feeling might 
 take a more serious turn if given an opportunity. Again, 
 Dorothy was a student of political economics, such as had 
 
 245
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 absorbed his very soul. That was one important point in 
 common between them. Dorothy also lived in Texas, which 
 State, at first glance, would appear to be the logical location 
 of a great International Exposition of Commerce for the 
 nations of the whole Western Hemisphere, because of its 
 being the very center of the Western world, therefore more 
 favorable for transportation by both land and sea. Walter 
 had resolved that, upon the expiration of his term of office, 
 he would visit Texas at all hazards, and there study the con' 
 ditions as to the proposed Pan-American College of Com 
 merce. And who, more than Dorothy, could afford him 
 better or more pleasant opportunities for that purpose ? Dor- 
 othy had acquainted herself with the entire situation in 
 Texas. She had traveled in Mexico, Peru, Chile, and other 
 Spanish-American States, and knew something of the con 
 ditions there; besides, she spoke the Spanish language as 
 fluently as she did the English. What an inspiring com 
 panion, should it so happen that their lives should be thrown 
 together in this great work of promulgating such an institu 
 tion, by and through which the merchant and manufacturer 
 of the United States should capture the trade of all Latin- 
 America. What teeming millions of commerce would then 
 flow through the ports of Galveston, Houston, New Orleans 
 and other Gulf ports. Mere rapidly than pen can describe 
 did these thoughts flash across Walter's mind, as did many 
 other inspiring conceptions of the future greatness of the 
 great Southwest, until he was wholly oblivious to all around 
 him, and until he was awakened from his reverie by a tug 
 ging at his sleeve, and a sweet, silvery voice saying: 
 
 "A penny for your thoughts, Mr. Walter. I would offer 
 more, but I am flat broke. Won't you make me a loan?" 
 
 246
 
 A CURTAIN LECTURE 
 
 "Certainly, certainly. How much money do you want?" 
 said Walter, half abstractedly. Then turning to his compan 
 ion, lie realized the true situation, and said : "I beg your 
 pardon, Dorothy. I was, for the moment, abstracted, t 
 hope there is no offense?" 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha! Oh, Mr. Walter! That curtain lecture 
 seems to have set rather hard upon you. Was it a lecture 
 upon 'official duty'?" 
 
 "No, Dorothy. Part of it consisted in praise of your 
 dear, good self. I must confess that, since you caught me 
 red handed, my present abstracted condition of mind in 
 cluded you within the dream, for dream it was. I had been 
 thinking of Texas. I had almost concluded to make a visit 
 to that" great State for the purpose of seeing the country, 
 and incidentally studying the situation as to the projected 
 Pan-American College of Commerce. In that event, will 
 you play the role of teacher?" 
 
 "I shall be pleased to afford you every facility at my poor 
 command," answered Dorothy, in a more serious mood. 
 
 ''And will you become a co-student of the question, also?" 
 
 "I could not lose interest in the subject now, for it means 
 a great deal to Texas and the Gulf States. Besides, the 
 consummation of the project is almost assured, either as a 
 government or a private proposition. Yes, I will be pleased 
 to join you in the furtherance of the project." 
 
 "Then, under those conditions, I shall come to Texas, and 
 I am sure we shall become great friends, and perhaps " 
 
 "Children, children, why in the world do you not come 
 to your breakfast?" shouted Edith from the dining room 
 window, nearby. 
 
 "We are coming, sister," returned Walter. 
 
 247
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 THE MAYOR'S TEOUBLES. 
 
 Municipal affairs were now moving along smoothly/ with 
 Walter Marchand as the chief executive head of the city 
 government. It had been prophesied by some that the new 
 administration would ruin the city by a system of radical 
 changes and reforms, but now, that almost a year had passed 
 and there had been no harm done, the more frightened ones 
 began to feel a greater sense of security under the Marchand 
 regime. True, he had put a quietus on high handed crime, 
 such as the indiscriminate sale of cocaine, morphine, and 
 other poisonous drugs. He had effectually put the disgrace 
 ful variety theaters and dance halls out of business, and the 
 public advertising of those places upon the streets of the 
 city had become a thing of the past. He had rid the city of 
 the many footpads, confidence men and bunco steerers, so 
 that the security of the citizens was assured upon the streets, 
 while the general air of the city caused a feeling of pride 
 in the government. 
 
 The Marchand administration had directed its efforts to 
 the correction of the many abuses and shortcomings of the 
 various public service corporations, but it had not overstepped 
 the bounds of reason and good judgment in the matter. It 
 had not sought to make a show, or play to the galleries, for 
 
 248
 
 political purposes. It went about the matter just as a busi 
 ness man would go about adjusting his business affairs with 
 a private corporation, or other business concern, yet those 
 concerns were made to understand that the city officials 
 meant business. There was no spleen to vent, no "bile" to 
 throw off, no venom to spew out, and no political debts to 
 pay. Consequently, official authority was not used to em 
 barrass local service corporations, nor was it permitted to 
 be used as a tool for the political purposes or gains of any 
 individual or set of men. i 
 
 Marchand and his associates used good judgment in the 
 exercise of their official functions, and when a public util 
 ity corporation was guilty of any wrong, or derelict to any 
 duty, it was called into consultation with the Mayor and 
 his associates. This was done quietly, without any blowing 
 of trumpets, and an understanding was had. It was always 
 arranged in such a manner that the abuse at once ceased, 
 and the wrong was remedied, but if the representative of the 
 corporation became stubborn and unwilling to submit to 
 what appeared to be just and right, he was given to under 
 stand that the Mayor and city officials were vested with 
 sufficient power and authority to enforce their just demands. 
 
 The administration was aware of the fact that there had 
 been permitted to grow up many abuses through the slack 
 methods of former administrations. That on account of non 
 interference of long standing, the abuses became so well en 
 trenched and firmly established that the plea of "vested 
 rights" was entitled to some show of respectability. Again, 
 the fact that, sometimes, the public was apt to be too ready 
 to criticise and complain upon grounds barely justifiable, 
 was not lost sight of by Marchand and his associates. Each 
 
 249
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 side of a case was well considered, and equal fairness and 
 justice to both sides was the object to> be obtained. 
 
 The local superintendants of the various public service cor 
 porations began to learn that, if they would do justice to 
 the people, there would be no vexaition, no harassing, no re 
 buking, and no humiliation. They also began to under 
 stand that, unless a spirit of fairness and justice to the 
 people was promptly exemplified and maintained, they 
 would, unquestionably, be forced to do right. 
 
 It was during the period when these managers and super 
 intendents of public service corporations were being fre 
 quently interviewed by the Mayor and city officials, that 
 Mr. White, the manager of 'the waterworks, felt aggrieved 
 because the citizens of White Oak Addition had been per 
 sistently appealing for a water connection with the main 
 part of the city. White Oak Addition was a neat, prosperous 
 suburb, though a part of the city proper, because it was with 
 in the legal city limits. The citizens of this suburb paid 
 their city taxes regularly, thus helping to support the city 
 government, and they felt that they were entitled to some 
 consideration at the hands of the city, at least to the benefit 
 of fire protection. 
 
 "Our company can not afford to lay a water main out to 
 White Oak Addition," said Mr. White to the Mayor, "be 
 cause there are too few residences along the street between 
 that place and where our mains now extend. We could not 
 hope to make a profit on that extension inside of a year or 
 two, should we make the improvement." 
 
 "Your company is making good profits now, is it not?" 
 asked the Mayor. 
 
 "Yes, it is doing well enough, but it wants to be let alone 
 
 250
 
 THE MAYOR'S TROUBLES 
 
 for the time being. If we are forced to put in extensions 
 to all the additions to the city, we can not hope to pay a 
 dividend. We certainly have a right to expect a fair return 
 upon our investment."' 
 
 "The extension to White Oak Addition would add to the 
 value of your plant, would it not? Men go into business 
 enterprises frequently not expecting the business to pay a 
 profit for a year or more. In this case, the investment would 
 prove a good paying one within a year, would it not?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, there is no question about that. It would pay 
 eventually." 
 
 "Do you ever consider the fact that those citizens are help 
 ing to sustain the city government by the payment of their 
 city tax'es, and that the city government pays your company 
 about forty thousand dollars per year for the public hydrants, 
 and charges you nothing for the use of the streets and alleys ? 
 Should not those White Oak citizens have some considera 
 tion at the hands of the city and your company? Is it not 
 due to them that they be afforded some relief at our hands ?" 
 
 "Well, I can not see what my company has to do with 
 that; we are not in the insurance business." 
 
 "True, Mr. White, but you are using the public streets of 
 the city for the transaction of your business. For this, the 
 city derives no compensation, and at the same time pays you 
 a high rate for the water that is used for public purposes, 
 while the citizens pay you a still higher rate for the water 
 used for private purposes. The rights you thus enjoy are 
 valuable rights, and they belong to the whole people, the citi 
 zens of White Oak Addition included. When the citizens 
 granted you the privilege to use the streets and alleys for 
 the conduct of your business, they expected you to treat 
 
 251
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 them with fairness and just consideration of their needs. 
 Now let me ask you, can you not make this much needed 
 extension, and still make a good profit upon the business 
 for the whole city?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, I suppose so. But we do not figure on the mat 
 ter that way. We figure on each extension making a profit 
 when the extension is completed. "We can not afford to build 
 up the various additions to the city by making extensions at 
 our own expense, thereby affording modern facilities to spec 
 ulators in real estate." 
 
 "Now, right there is where you local managers and super 
 intendents of public service corporations make a great mis 
 take. You fail to recognize the fact that you are virtually 
 in partnership with the city, and that the growth of the 
 city insures the growth and prosperity of your plants and 
 business. You overlook the fact that it is by the permis 
 sion of the people that you are operating your plant in the 
 heart of the city, where the service affords you enormous 
 profits. Whenjhe people ask you to extend your water mains 
 further out to the less thickly populated portions of the city 
 for their benefit, and where the service will not pay so great 
 a profit, you protest. You forget that it is out of the rights 
 and privileges which you enjoy that you make your profits. 
 Those rights and privileges are your most valuable assets, 
 yet in truth and in fact they belong to the people. You fel 
 lows will not see that fact, but persistently look at the mat 
 ter from the standpoint of your own, personal, selfish inter 
 ests, until the people are brought to the knowledge that you 
 are abusing thfe rights and privileges they have graciously 
 permitted you to enjoy, thereby causing a feeling of preju 
 dice against you. It is but a natural result, and that preju- 
 
 252
 
 THE MAYOR'S TROUBLES 
 
 dice is manifested in divers ways. You sometimes are made 
 aware of it by way of large verdicts against you for dam 
 ages in the damage suits brought against your companies. It 
 is probable that some of the large verdicts are just, and it 
 may be that some parts of the verdicts are the results of the 
 general prejudice that exists among the people against some 
 of the public service corporations. If that be true, may it 
 not be the result of your persistent refusal to do justice to 
 the people with whom you have entered into partnership by 
 accepting and enjoying the valuable rights and franchises? 
 My impression is, that if you fellows will always respect the 
 rights of the people, the people will treat you justly. But so 
 long as you fail to give the people a square deal, you should 
 no^ cry' if the people, through their officers, sometimes re 
 taliate/' 
 
 "The people expect too much of us. We should be permit 
 ted to make a fair return upon our invested capital." 
 
 "Certainly, I grant you that right, and the people expect 
 you to make fair returns. They will always be glad to 
 have you make fair returns. I assure you the people will 
 often make sacrifices for that purpose, if in turn you will 
 exemplify a willingness to do justice toward them. But you 
 must not, in exchange for the valuable privileges you enjoy 
 at the hands of the people, expect to be the only gainer in 
 the transaction." 
 
 "Our company is willing to make extensions and improve 
 ments as rapidly as the situation will warrant, but we do 
 not intend to bankrupt the concern." 
 
 "How would you like to submit your books to the scrutiny 
 of a committee of citizens, or officers, so that the condition 
 of your business may be known?" 
 
 253
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 "We take the ground that our business is our own affair, 
 and the public has nothing to do with it. We should be 
 opposed to such a proceeding." 
 
 "Again, you overlook the fact that, inasmuch as the pro 
 portion of your capital stock which is represented by the right 
 and privilege of using the streets and alleys of the city, be 
 longs to the public, you and the public are, therefore, part 
 ners. One partner has as much right to know the condition 
 of the business of the concern as the other partner. That is 
 the right of partners, by all that is fair and just between 
 partners; and, further, it is the right of a partner so as to 
 know whether he is getting a square deal. I want to tell 
 you this, that if the public service corporations shall ignore 
 the rights of the people in these matters, the people will 
 resort to the enactment of such laws as will make the entire 
 business of every such concern as open as a public record, 
 so that all people may read as they run. Now, the people, as 
 a rule, simply demand what is fair and just to them, but if 
 there is not exhibited a more liberal spirit of fairness by 
 you fellows, the people will not fail to resort to such methods 
 as will assure them security in their own rights/' 
 
 "Oh course, Mr. Marchand, you understand that I am not 
 the company. I am simply the ' local superintendent and 
 manager, with authority to do only the things which I am 
 directed to do by the company. I realize the truth of your 
 remarks, but I am powerless to act, except under instructions. 
 However, I will take the matter up with my superiors and 
 see what can be done about the White Oak extension.'' 
 
 "Have you not done that yet? Six months ago you told 
 me you would see what could be done along that line, and 
 after all this waiting you now inform me that you will take 
 
 254
 
 THE MAYOR'S TROUBLES 
 
 the matter up with your superiors. You knew you had that 
 to do at the very outset, but you have delayed until now. 
 That is not fair to the city administration, which has treat 
 ed you with all due courtesy. I shall not submit to that 
 treatment any longer. I now notify you that within ninety 
 days that extension must be completed and ready for opera 
 tion, otherwise you will have to deal with us in a way that 
 your company will not fully appreciate. This ends our con 
 ference, Mr. White." 
 
 "I shall do the best I can with my company, Mr. Mar- 
 chand." 
 
 A short time after White left the Mayor's office, a delega 
 tion of citizens appeared, complaining of the poor service of 
 the telephone company. The delegation was composed of 
 business men. Mr. Wharton, being the spokesman, began : 
 
 "Mayor Marchand, we have called upon you, as the Mayor 
 of our city, to ascertain if there is not some way of getting 
 better service out of the telephone company. We are pay 
 ing high rent for our 'phones, and the fact is, we get no 
 service worth speaking of." 
 
 "Have you complained to Mr. Black, the local manager?" 
 
 "Yes, we have telephoned to him several times, but he al 
 ways says that he will do all that is within his power to afford 
 us the best possible service. He has been making those same 
 promises for more than a year, yet the service grows no bet 
 ter. One of the greatest troubles seems to be the careless 
 and neglectful operators at the exchange. They are 'sassy' 
 and inattentive to business." 
 
 "Well, my friends, I have not observed any great amount 
 of impoliteness nor inattention among the exchange oper- 
 
 255
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 ators. Not have I had the least bit of trouble from them. 
 Suppose I try the 'phone right now, for example." 
 
 Marchand picked up the ear trumpet, and without any 
 waiting there came the question, "Xumber?" to which Mar 
 chand replied: "37, please.'' 
 
 "That is a rare exception," said one of the delegation. "I 
 am certain that would never occur in my store." 
 
 "Nor in mine, nor mine, nor mine," almost chorused the 
 members of the delegation. 
 
 "Well, gentlemen, you are not the first delegation to com 
 plain to me in regard to the poor service of the telephone 
 company. I have had conference after conference with the 
 manager, and he assures me he is doing all within his power 
 to bring about a better service. I find the service is far bet 
 ter than formerly." 
 
 "Yes, they are good on promises, but they do nothing but 
 make promises,. They should be forced to come to time, 
 right from the word go, and you are just the man to make 
 them toe the mark." 
 
 "In the telephone service there is this peculiarity," said 
 Marchand. "The exchange is not an automatic machine. We 
 have to depend upon the services of human operators. Those 
 operators are, generally, women and girls. Those young wo 
 men are mighty quick to detect a cross and crabbed voice, 
 the same as you would be if a person came into your store and 
 acted cross and ugly. The better way to get good service 
 through -the exchange is to speak gently and good naturedly. 
 It will not be long until the exchange girls will find it a 
 pleasure to serve you, and they will serve you promptly. Oth 
 erwise you may expect poor service." 
 
 "The management should not retain employes who resort 
 
 256
 
 THE MAYOR'S TROUBLES 
 
 to the practice of delaying patrons, just because one voice 
 is more pleasant than another. We business men have no 
 time to fool with silly exchange girls." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, gentlemen, but let me assure you that 
 a telephone girl is entitled to as much respect and ladylike 
 treatment over the 'phone as you gentlemen demand for your 
 lady clerks at your counters. Human nature is the same the 
 world over, and so long as the telephone is operated by hu 
 man beings, so long will the gruff, irritable and unpleasant 
 voice be superseded by the pleasant, genial and respectful 
 mannered applicant, whether the exchange operator be male 
 or female. Do not misunderstand me, however, for I am 
 |jot defending the telephone company. It has many faults, 
 which must be remedied, and I shall bend my every energy to 
 bring about a better condition, but I must have the co-opera 
 tion of the good citizens, lest I fail. I ask you gentlemen 
 to join me at this time in a conference with Mr. Black, the 
 manager." 
 
 "Oh, we have not the time to see him. We thought it 
 would be sufficient to see you about the matter." 
 
 "There is where you are in error. My continual conferring 
 with the managers of those concerns leads them to believe 
 that I am simply meddling into their affairs, whereas, if the 
 citizens would follow up my work by their own efforts, it 
 would be plain that I am seeking simple justice only in these 
 matters. Why not join me now, and lay the matter plainly 
 before Mr. Black, in person?" 
 
 "Well, you see, we are men of business, and we can not 
 afford to offend either Mr. Black or his employes, as it 
 would probably injure our business, you know." 
 
 "You are willing, however, to unload the burden upon me. 
 
 257
 
 NORKO1&A 
 
 I am in business here, too. I shall call Mr. Black over the 
 'phone, and have him here in a few minutes, if you will 
 wait." 
 
 "No, do not call him, as we are in somewhat of a hurry 
 and can not wait. In talking the matter over with him, you 
 need not mention our names." 
 
 "I see no reason for not telling the truth about it. You 
 pay your 'phone rent, don't you?" 
 
 "Certainly, certainly, but the same results may be ob 
 tained without mentioning names. We are certainly glad 
 you will help us out in this matter. Good day, Mr. Mar- 
 chand." 
 
 "Good day, gentlemen. Glad you called." 
 
 When the delegation of business men had gone, Walter 
 Marchand sank back into his big office chair with a feeling of 
 disgust. He had been accustomed to all sorts of appeals and 
 kicks against the various public service concerns, but he had 
 never dealt with a set of fellows who were so willing to make 
 trouble, and so unwilling to father their offspring. 
 
 "That kind of business is what makes it doubly hard upon 
 a public official," mused Marchand. "People will fre 
 quently try to throw their burdens upon the officer, whereas, 
 if they would practice a little common sense, and exhibit 
 the courage of an honest cause, they would have no reason 
 for complaint, at all. Eunning to the public officer, they 
 rage and froth when the officer refuses to carry their private 
 burdens upon his shoulders." While Marchand was thus 
 musing, he was pleased at the appearance of Fletcher and 
 Butler at his office door. 
 
 "Come in, gentlemen. I am sorry you did not come sooner, 
 so as to have heard the complaint of some of your friends 
 
 258
 
 against the telephone company. Though I doubt if they 
 would have made complaint in your presence. It was really 
 amusing." 
 
 ''Oh, well, Marchand, I sympathize with you. I was once 
 Mayor, you know, and I know how it is," said Fletcher. 
 
 "Give the people a chance to complain, for they have 
 enough cause, I am sure," replied Walter. "I have discov 
 ered one thing, however, and that is, when a fellow complains 
 but refuses to become identified with his own complaint, 
 there is little use giving any heed to him." 
 
 "Walter, old fellow," said Butler, "I must congratulate 
 you and your administration upon the fact that we are get 
 ting better service out of all the public utility corporations 
 than we ever did before. There is a marked change for the 
 better in all the departments of the city govrnment, too. In 
 fact, there is a marked change in the very appearance of 
 the entire city." 
 
 "I hope we shall have no fever here this coming summer," 
 said Fletcher. "And we will not have if we sanitate the 
 city." 
 
 "If we can once have the people to understand that they 
 should willingly and freely join in the movement to clean 
 up the city thoroughly," said Walter, "there would be. little 
 trouble in preventing fever." 
 
 "When you tackle the cleaning-up question, old fellow, 
 you will be up against the hardest job a Mayor ever has to 
 tackle," suggested Fletcher. "I tried that once, and I made 
 more enemies at it than I did otherwise in my whole official 
 career. I simply had to not only threaten the people with 
 arrest and punishment, but had to actually arrest many of 
 them and fine them before I could get them to turn a wheel." 
 
 259
 
 "If it require the entire police force of the city, I am 
 determined that the work of sanitation shall be accomplished, 
 and accomplished in a thorough manner," said Marchand. 
 "Butler, you may as well announce in the papers that fact. 
 I do not want anybody to misunderstand what I intend to 
 have done. We have passed an ordinance making it an 
 offense for any citizen to fail or refuse to thoroughly clean 
 and sanitate his premises within twenty-four hours after 
 receiving notice from the city government so to do. That 
 law will be strictly enforced." 
 
 "You had better never run for another office, if you en 
 force that law," said Fletcher. 
 
 "By thunder, I am not thinking about another office. I 
 am simply going to perform the duties devolving upon me 
 while I am Mayor of this city. I can not afford to allow 
 yellow fever to break out in this town, just because the people 
 don't like to clean up their premises. Our city must be 
 thoroughly cleaned up, and I shall see that it is done, regard 
 less of the howling critics, if any there be." 
 
 "Oh, you are eminently correct. That is the only thing 
 to do, and I trust you shall not falter when the howl sets 
 in," said Fletcher. 
 
 "I understand there is considerable agitation up the coun 
 try, looking to the enactment by Congress of a national quar 
 antine law," suggested Butler. "I see it is being agitated by 
 some of the interior States." 
 
 "That is a matter that must necessarily follow the ever 
 increasing negligence and laggardness of the coast cities. 
 I do not know that a national quarantine would be any 
 better than a state quarantine, but I do fear that under the 
 national regulation our coast country might be absolutely
 
 THE MAYOR'S TROUBLES 
 
 ruined, by having our Gulf ports closed six months out 
 of the year. It must not be forgotten that the Atlantic and 
 Pacific ports, together with the trans-continental railroads, 
 can care for all the export and import business of our coun 
 try, if necessary. And if there be half as much corruption 
 in the politics of this country as there appears to be, it would 
 not take long to bring about the closing of the Gulf ports 
 of trade. Xeither can the people of the interior of our 
 country be blamed for their uneasiness about contagious dis 
 eases. If the Gulf coast cities are too indolent, and lack 
 that civic pride which alone should warrant them in keep 
 ing their communities in thorough sanitary condition, so 
 as to prevent the origination and spread of contagions, the 
 interior portions of the country will be warranted in resort 
 ing to such means as will bring safety to themselves, whether 
 it result in closing the Gulf ports, or not." 
 
 "Suppose you put this matter straight before the people in 
 the columns of your papers, Butler," said Fletcher, "and I 
 am of the impression that the people will awaken to the true 
 situation." 
 
 "'I will be glad to do so, and I believe it will have a good 
 effect." 
 
 "Marchand, you have put this subject before me in a new 
 light. I shall make it the slogan of my campaign in my 
 race for the Legislature." 
 
 "I thank you, Fletcher, for your kind assistance. A good 
 city government should always be backed up by capable and 
 efficient representatives in the State Legislature. I am glad 
 you are a candidate, for I may now show my appreciation of 
 your many acts of kindness toward me in my struggle for 
 a better local government." 
 
 2G1
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 BREAKING THE TIES. 
 
 "Butler, for some time I have been wanting to have a con 
 fidential talk with you about a delicate matter, and that is 
 why I invited you to come here, at this time, where we will 
 be neither overheard nor disturbed," said Walter, one Sun 
 day morning, when Joe Butler came to Marchand's private 
 law office, at the request of his friend. 
 
 "All right, Walter, I am at your service. Proceed." 
 
 "You are not in a hurry, are you ?" 
 
 "No; no hurry." 
 
 "Have a cigar? These are made of Texas-grown Havana 
 tobacco, and are a present to me from a Texas girl." 
 
 "Oho, I see. Miss Dorothy Rathbone is Texas through 
 and through. She is for Texas first, in everything." 
 
 "I like that spirit in a person, and I think it is more suit 
 able to Dorothy than any girl that I know." 
 
 "By the way, you have not taken that Texas trip your 
 heart is so set upon." 
 
 "No, but I am going just as soon as we finish up this 
 work of sanitation, which will be in about a week from now." 
 
 "Walter, I do not usually speculate upon other people's 
 affairs, but I'll bet a new hat that I can guess who Dorothy 
 Rathbone's husband will be." 
 
 262
 
 BREAKING THE TIES 
 
 "You don't base your guess upon the gift of a box of 
 cigars, do you?" 
 
 "Xever mind about what I base my guess upon. I con 
 gratulate the man who captures that little prize, whoever he 
 may be. I was foolish enough, for a time, to dream a few 
 dreams, but I soon awakened to, the knowledge of a fact cer 
 tain, and I quit dreaming." 
 
 "Why, Joe, did you fall in love with Dorothy?" 
 
 "Not exactly. But I was mighty near to it. I suppose 
 conflicting emotions, circumstances, and a failure of dispo 
 sition on her part was about all that prevented." 
 
 "What conflicting emotions and circumstances prevented, 
 pray ?" 
 
 "Oh, I do not care to mention. It was only a temporary 
 dream, and secondary to a holier, higher ambition of which 
 I shall not now speak. Maybe, later, I shall confide." 
 
 "Well, Joe, I am frank to confess to you that I have been 
 thinking seriously of proposing marriage to Dorothy. What 
 suggestion can you make?" 
 
 "I would suggest that when you make the proposal, be on 
 the ground in person, so as to back up the proposal with all 
 arguments that may appear necessary." 
 
 "I don't understand you. What arguments are there to 
 make? She knows me, and if she loves me, she will accept. 
 If not, why " 
 
 "Yes, now you have it, 'why '? Well, a girl may have 
 other plans half matured, or perhaps wholly matured. It 
 is like trading horses, sight unseen. One owner may have 
 two or three trades on the string, and he might reject an 
 offer from the fourth fellow, for fear it would not be as 
 good a trade as one of the others." 
 
 263
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha, Butler. You have a strange way of putting 
 the matter, yet I can see some philosophy in your theory." 
 
 "If you have never indicated to the girl that you have 
 some intention of marriage, and that your mind is inclined 
 toward Texas, it would be the better plan to throw out that 
 hint before you make a cold-blooded proposition on paper. 
 Give her time to readjust any affairs needing readjustment, 
 in case she prefers you to some other person. A girl never 
 marries a man she doesn't love, except for cause, but she would 
 break a hundred engagements to marry the man of her 
 choice/' 
 
 "I have no reason to believe that the young lady loves 
 me, so I do not see where your theory can benefit me, should 
 I conclude to carry out the half intention." 
 
 "By being right on the spot to argue and press your claims. 
 If you make no better lover than you do a politician, your 
 chances to win Dorothy Eathbone are mighty slim, provided 
 some other fellow is in the race. Brace up, old fellow." 
 
 "Be careful, Joe, I fear you will have another case of 
 snakes. Ha, ha!" 
 
 "See here, Walter, you were to let up on the snake story.' 
 "But you never gave me that birthday present." 
 "That is true, but you never told me when your birthday 
 came around. You are at fault." 
 
 "Say, Butler, is it not strange that our family record does 
 not disclose the date of my birth? I have lately been puz 
 zled about it, but being so very busy with my duties, have 
 had no time to look into the matter. I'll do that, however, 
 immediately upon my return from Texas." 
 
 "Your father should be able to explain the family record, 
 
 264
 
 BREAKING THE TIES 
 
 I think. But I presume those things often occur, so it is 
 nothing to be worried about." 
 
 "Oh, no, I reckon not. I have spoken to you before about 
 the strange condition existing between sister Edith and my 
 self. We have been more like sweethearts than brother and 
 sister. It has long been a puzzle to me. On that account, I 
 suppose, I never before felt a desire to marry. But of late 
 I see that both she and I have made a serious mistake. I 
 dread to think of marrying while dear little Edith is single, 
 for I know she has had hundreds of opportunities which she 
 permitted to pass by, just because our lives were so mutually 
 pleasant and happy. 
 
 "If Edith knew that your intentions are to marry, she 
 would, perhaps, shape her course differently. Do you not 
 think so?" 
 
 "Perhaps so, but would the opportunity ever come to marry 
 the man she could love, and who would prove a good husband 
 to her? That is the question that disturbs me." 
 
 "Of course, that is an open question, and the future alone 
 can solve it. She would never marry a man she did not 
 love, I am thinking." 
 
 "That is a certainty. I know that little woman too well 
 to ever think otherwise. Whoever gains her consent to mar 
 riage may rest assured that he has the love and esteem of 
 one of the best girls that ever lived." 
 
 "Ah, well," sighed Butler, "if I could but hope to be that 
 man, my life would be happy, even in the hope." 
 
 "Butler, you and I have been the best of friends since our 
 college days. I know you to be a man who is worthy the 
 love, respect and esteem of any woman. I told my mother 
 some time ago that if Edith would be so fortunate as to marry 
 
 265
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 as good a man as you, I would be happy, and mother indorsed 
 those remarks." 
 
 "Walter, my dear, good friend," said Butler, as he grasped 
 the hand of Marchand, "I thank God for those kind words 
 from you, and if I but knew that Edith felt kindly toward 
 me, I would be the happiest man in the world." 
 
 Perhaps she does. In fact, I know she likes you above 
 all of her gentlemen acquaintances. Further than that, I 
 know nothing. I assure you that any word that I can say, 
 if you wish it, will be said in your behalf." 
 
 "Walter, again I thank you with all my heart. Oh, I 
 shall not dare to hope for such good fortune; it will set 
 my brain on fire." 
 
 "No, Butler, do not build up too strong a hope, unless 
 you are right on the ground. It is like trading horses, you 
 know." 
 
 "Please don't mention a horse trade in the same breath; 
 it is an awfully serious matter with me." 
 
 "You have not forgotten your horse trade in my case, have 
 you? I was only evening up with you. My case is serious, 
 too." 
 
 "Is it? All right, I forgive you." 
 
 "Hello, some one is unlocking the front office door. I'll 
 see who it can be." 
 
 Walter went into the front office, and after a few moments 
 returned with several letters in his hand, saying: "It was 
 Mr. Walton. He always goes to the postoffice on Sundays 
 for our mail. Pardon me for perusing the letters hastily, 
 will you ?" 
 
 "Certainly, certainly. I'll try another one of Miss Doro 
 thy's Texas cigars, and read The Daily Telegram while you 
 
 266
 
 BREAKING THE TIES 
 
 are engaged with, your mail. I see you have a tinted en 
 velope with a waxen seal, so I promise to become thoroughly 
 absorbed until you arouse me." 
 
 "Here's a letter from the old Captain's lawyers, and they 
 are willing to settle the case of your 'Prince of Pearls' on 
 the basis proposed. They say they shall expect a settlement 
 by Tuesday. How is that? I am mighty glad, for with that 
 case settled, I shall be practically free from worry about 
 court matters during my Texas visit." 
 
 "I am also glad they have accepted our proposition of set 
 tlement, for several times I feared the old man was about 
 to die. He is now recovering rapidly from his long spell 
 of fever, however, and is able to talk plainly and make his 
 wants known. Of course, he is not permitted to talk much, 
 though he seems anxious to do so. He apparently has some 
 great secret upon his mind, but I have cautioned him against 
 saying anything about it to any one but myself, and he 
 seems to recognize the importance of prudence and caution. 
 He will be delighted to leam of the settlement of his case, ' 
 I am sure/' 
 
 '"Have you any idea of the value of those jewels, Butler?" 
 
 "Not definite. I had Mr. Wilton, the jeweler, and Mr. 
 Joseph, his lapidist, examine them, and they roughly esti 
 mated their value at one hundred thousand dollars. You 
 know he has, besides, quite a large collection of the most val 
 uable pearls in the leather belt which he wears around his 
 body. I have disposed of some of those for expense money, 
 and the lowest price for which I sold a single one of them 
 was three hundred dollars. I presume, that after his legal 
 matters are settled, his estate will be worth one hundred thou 
 sand dollars." 
 
 267
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 "Has the old fellow any relatives, or have you ascer 
 tained ?" 
 
 "I have not. While delirious from the effect of his fever, 
 he would frequently talk, but the only words I could under 
 stand were, 'boy, my boy.' Since his fever has gone, I have 
 not permitted him to talk. Before many days, however, he 
 will be strong enough to tell his story. I would not be sur 
 prised if he should tell a story worth publishing." 
 
 "I shall be interested, and, if I am then in Texas and you 
 publish an account of it, send me a copy, will you?'* 
 
 "To be sure. Dorothy gets The Daily Telegram right 
 along. She sent in her subscription, and I returned it, stat 
 ing that the paper was being sent her as the compliments of 
 the Mayor of this city." 
 
 "You did? You're a wonder, Joe Butler. I did not think 
 that of you." 
 
 "Pshaw ! I knew you loved that girl all the time, and, if 
 I'd had a real good opportunity, I would have courted her 
 for and on your account. Don't let me disturb you longer, 
 you are anxious, I know, to read the letter in that tinted 
 envelope with a waxen seal, so go ahead." 
 
 When Walter had finished reading his letters, he arose 
 in a quiet manner and walked back and forth through the 
 room, his hands set deep in his trousers pockets, his head 
 bowed, and with an expression of countenance betokening 
 serious thought, all of which was observed by Butler from 
 behind the corner of the paper in which he was supposed to 
 be wholly absorbed. Butler suddenly dropped his paper, and 
 looking straight at Marchand, said: 
 
 "Well?" which arrested the dreamer's attention, and to 
 which he replied, in mockery: 
 
 268
 
 BREAKING THE TIES 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Is it so serious as all that?" inquired Butler. 
 
 "Why, was I so serious? 1 was simply wishing that this 
 work of sanitation was over with, for then I would go to 
 Texas, at once. That is all. Serious ? No, but I am getting 
 anxious." 
 
 "That is a mighty good sign that you are interested more 
 in seeing some person in Texas than you are in simply seeing 
 the country." 
 
 "You are right, old fellow, and I intend to go, just about 
 a week from today. I shall talk it all over with sister, and 
 lay my plans fully before her." 
 
 "I think you are taking the wiser course. I mn=t be going, 
 Walter, it is nearly the noon hour, and I was to meet Fletcher 
 at eleven o'clock. I'll see you tomorrow, so good day." 
 
 "Hold on not so fast, please. Miss Landon from up the 
 state is visiting at our house, and I arranged for you to go 
 driving with us at half past three, this afternoon. Be sure 
 to be on hand." 
 
 "All right. So long." 
 
 "That man Butler is a noble fellow," mused Walter, when 
 he was alone, "and I hope he will find favor with Edith, 
 bless the dear, sweet girl. It would be mighty mean in me 
 to go away and get married, leaving my dear little sister 
 with no companion, no one to love and cherish. I just can 
 not do it. By jove, I must go home, the folks will be waiting 
 for me." 
 
 There had been no break of confidence between brother 
 and sister, except for the lack of opportunity. The pre 
 vious winter season had been well filled with visitors, and 
 the summer and early fall were occupied by vacations, out- 
 
 269
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 ings, and what not, for those of "The Cedars'" who were 
 not required, per force of public life, to remain at their post 
 of duty, so that Walter and Edith were not afforded the op 
 portunity of each other's company and companionship, as 
 formerly. However, their strange attachment for each other 
 had not lessened one whit, and seeing more of others made 
 the strangeness of their situation appear more strange to 
 each of them. A few days prior to Walter's departure for 
 Texas, an opportunity was afforded the brother and sister 
 for an uninterrupted and confidential conference. Walter, 
 as usual, was seated in the old rustic out in the grounds, 
 at an early morning hour, scanning the daily paper, when 
 Edith came tripping out to him. 
 
 "I think you are awfully selfish, brother, to come away out 
 here by yourself every morning," said Edith. 
 
 "It is about the only opportunity I have of reading The 
 Daily Telegram. Do you know that fellow Butler has made 
 the Telegram the best paper in the state? He is a wonder, 
 that man." 
 
 "How so, brother?" 
 
 "Well, in almost any way one may take him. He is full 
 of energy, always hard at work, and makes a success of 
 everything he undertakes. I declare, it is marvelous." 
 
 "Well, a man who works as zealously as he, deserves suc 
 cess. Don't you think so?" 
 
 "Certainly. But why does he do it? He has no wife, no 
 children, no one to love or care for, and none but his friends 
 to love him." 
 
 "Perhaps he intends, some day, to have a family." 
 
 "No doubt. If I were a woman, I would envy the girl 
 who becomes his wife." 
 
 270
 
 BREAKING THE TIES 
 
 "Why, brother?" 
 
 "Because he is so gentle and kind by nature. He is so 
 noble of heart, so pure of mind, that he will make his wife, 
 whoever she be, the happiest woman in the world, if she 
 love him at all." 
 
 "I have often thought that, if I were to ever marry, T 
 would prefer a husband just like you or Mr. Butler." 
 
 "And I have often thought if I were to ever marry, I'd 
 prefer a wife just like you, or - 
 
 "Oh, I know a girl who, mother says, is my duplicate," 
 interjected Edith. 
 
 "Pray, who may she he?" 
 
 "Oh, . Walter Marchand, you can not play that smoothly 
 enough. Well, she writes a nice, bold hand, uses tinted paper, 
 and lives in Texas. There, now!" 
 
 "Oh, yes, you mean Dorothy?" 
 
 "Certainly. You knew whom I meant. Mother says you 
 like Dorothy a great deal. I am glad, if you do, for she is 
 a good girl, and we have been such dear friends." 
 
 "Dear, little sister, I am going to confide in you fully. 
 We have been such loving friends and companions ever since 
 we were children, that I dread to think of the future. But 
 the future is before us and we must face it. Now, dear, 
 please do not cry. I know it breaks your heart, and it breaks 
 mine also. Please, darling, don't." 
 
 "Oh, my dear, good brother, I know we must part. Mother 
 has told me several times that it must come to this, but oh, 
 how happy all those years have been. I wish they could 
 continue forever." 
 
 "We might have known, and had we not loved each other 
 
 271
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 so, we would have known that we should not thus continue 
 indefinitely." 
 
 "Oh, brother, how we talked of our future when we were 
 children. How proud 1 was in my love for you, and that love- 
 is stronger today than ever, since I must lose you. But I 
 will not stand in your way, dear. I will not cling to you 
 so as to darken your life and make you miserable." 
 
 "Please, darling Edith, do not say those words, for they 
 burn into my very soul. You do not know, except from your 
 own heart-pangs, how much I love you, and how I have 
 always loved you. 0, darling sister, that love will linger 
 within my soul unto my expiring breath and will fly with 
 my spirit to its eternal home. I may cherish another, but 
 to love as I have always loved you, is beyond all possibility. 
 Please, dear, don't cry. Listen to me, little sweetheart, for 
 I want to tell you what I think is best for both of us. If 
 we each shall find a person whom we may cherish and re 
 spect, it would be better that we take our separate ways. 
 But we will always be sweethearts, for since we are brother 
 and sister, we may love eternally." 
 
 "It is easy for a man to say that, but you know a woman 
 can not make her own selection, nor love more than one at 
 a time." 
 
 "No, sweetheart, I know that, but if you ever see a man 
 whom you think you could like, if you will confide in me, 
 maybe we can manage it." 
 
 "Please, Walter, do not speak of so holy a thing in such 
 fashion." 
 
 "Why, little angel, I meant no harm. I only wanted to 
 check those crystal drops upon your pretty cheeks by lead- 
 
 272
 
 BREAKING THE TIES 
 
 ing your mind from our sorrow. That was all. But, say, 
 sister, what think you of my suggestion?" 
 
 Oh, brother, let me have time to think. But I know it will 
 be best, for I have talked it all over with mother. She 
 thinks Mr. Butler rather likes me. Do you think he does?" 
 
 "Do you like Mr. Butler, Edith ?" 
 
 "You answer my question first." 
 
 "I will, if you promise to answer my question next. Will 
 you?" 
 
 "I promise." 
 
 "Yes, I think Joe Butler not only likes you, but thinks a 
 great deal of you. Now, your answer. 
 
 "I like Mr. Butler, of course. Who could help liking and 
 respecting- him ?" 
 
 "I am, indeed, glad to hear you say that, for now I will 
 tell you, I know he loves you with his whole soul." 
 
 "How do you know, brother?" 
 
 "Because, I overheard him talking to himself." 
 
 "Eavesdropping ?" 
 
 "No, but when I heard him mention your name, I could 
 not refrain from listening." 
 
 "What did he say, please?" 
 
 "Now, sister dear, I have said too much already. Perhaps 
 I should have remained silent." 
 
 "No, you should not. I am glad to know that Mr. But 
 ler thinks well of me, since I must lose you. Oh, Walter, 
 I can not bear to think of losing you." 
 
 "Now, darling sister, do not think of it. You will not 
 lose me. It is wrong, really, it is a sin for us to go on in 
 the same way, indefinitely. We are committing a crime 
 against ourselves. Now, let us both be strong, and resolve 
 
 273
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 to find happiness in a married life, where we may be sur 
 rounded with loved ones. Shall it be so, dear Edith?" 
 
 "Yes, brother, it shall be so. Henceforth, I will teach you 
 how to be strong, if I am your little sister. Now, you have 
 my full consent, if you marry the girl I shall name. Will 
 you?" 
 
 "I will, depending upon two conditions." 
 
 "Name them." 
 
 "One is, provided she will have me, and the other is, pro 
 vided you shall marry the person I shall name. Will you?" 
 
 "I will, under those same conditions.'' 
 
 "Very well, name the girl." 
 
 "I name Dorothy Kathbone." 
 
 "I could not have been better pleased. Now, brace up, 
 little sister, and let me name your husband, to be. Are 
 you ready?" 
 
 "I am ready, fire ahead." 
 
 "I shall name Mr. Joseph Butler, my dearest and best 
 friend." 
 
 "I am satisfied, if it so please God." 
 
 "Well, I know Butler will be pleased, whether " 
 
 "Don't, brother, it is too sacred." 
 
 274
 
 FORMING NEW TIES 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 FORMING NEW TIES. 
 
 When suit was instituted in the courts for the possession 
 of the valuable pearls comprising the estate of the strange 
 old man, it was necessary to employ some name by which 
 the plaintiff should be known in the law. The strange old 
 man could neither speak nor write any language by which 
 he could make known his name, if, indeed, he knew, conse 
 quently the name, John Hayes, was adopted for the pur 
 pose. Thereafter, the strange old gentleman was generally 
 designated by that name, except upon occasions, when he 
 was jocularly referred to as the "Prince of Pearls." Being 
 wholly incapacitated for the transaction of any business, or 
 to care for his own property, LeBerte Marchand was, by 
 the court, appointed the guardian of his person and estate. 
 Court matters dragged along in their usual dilatory way, 
 until now the litigation had ended, and John Hayes wa? 
 rapidly recovering his former condition of mind and intelli 
 gence, so that there appeared little necessity for the con 
 tinuation of the guardianship. 
 
 Butler had frequently consulted with the legal guardian, 
 and it was understood that Marchand should be relieved 
 of the burden and responsibility of the position at an early 
 date. It was realized that in the event of Marchand's sud' 
 
 275
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 den death, an event not beyond possibility, there might some 
 complication arise that would possibly entangle or involve 
 his own estate, or that of his family. Joe Butler was aware 
 of LeBerte Marchand's anxiety in the matter, and so in 
 formed the son, whereupon it was agreed that the matter 
 of the guardianship should be closed, the guardian fully 
 released, before Walter's departure for Texas, and the same 
 was accordingly done. 
 
 When LeBerte Marchand was informed by Butler that 
 the matter of the guardianship had been closed, the final 
 report approved by the court, and the guardian and his bonds 
 men fully discharged and released of all further responsibil 
 ity, he gave a sigh of relief and thanked Butler for his 
 friendly services in the matter. 
 
 "Now, my friend Butler," said LeBerte Marchand, "you 
 are deserving of a handsome reward for your services and 
 your conduct of this whole matter. I have had full and im 
 plicit confidence in your integrity and ability, throughout 
 the proceedings. You have the respect, esteem and love of 
 my entire household. You are entitled to more than that as 
 compensation for the noble and unselfish sacrifices you have 
 made in behalf of my firm, and of my son in particular. I 
 therefore beg of you to accept this check from me as a part 
 only, of the compensation to which you are justly entitled." 
 
 "Pardon me, my dear Mr. Marchand," said Butler, "my 
 poor services were not rendered with a view to compensation. 
 My honesty and integrity have no price. What I have done 
 for the poor old fellow Hayes, I assure you, was done in 
 the cause of justice and humanity. If what I have done 
 in my career in this city has benefited you or your family, 
 I shall feel well compensated in the knowledge of that fact, 
 
 276
 
 FORMING NEiW TIES 
 
 and could not be induced to accept a monetary consideration. 
 I thank you for the words you have spoken, and I assure you 
 they are worth more than gold." 
 
 "Butler, you are a noble fellow. I shall always hold you 
 as one of my best friends. We would all be pleased to see 
 you more frequently at 'The Cedars.' ' : 
 
 "And nothing would afford me more pleasure, I assure 
 you, Mr. Marchand, but you know how my time is occupied 
 with business matters. There is also another barrier, and 
 I feel that I should mention it to you. I fear to permit 
 myself too much in the very agreeable and charming society 
 of Miss Edith." 
 
 "Why so, Butler. Edith will not eat you, I am sure." 
 
 "Certainly, but I can not withstand the power of her 
 personal charms. The truth is, that I am already in love 
 with her, deeply in love." 
 
 "I am real glad to hear you say so. Knowing that fact, 
 I now more earnestly press you to let us see you more fre 
 quently in our home." 
 
 "I thank you for the generous expression. Did I dare to 
 hope that my love for your daughter was reciprocated, I 
 should beg your consent that I might prosper my ambition." 
 
 "Friend Butler, you have my full consent. I should be 
 proud of you as my son, and let me hope that your ambition 
 may prosper." 
 
 "I am indeed grateful for your goodness to me. I have 
 never intimated to your daughter the fact that I love her, 
 and would have never done so without her father's full con 
 sent. Xow, that you have granted it, I am very happy, in 
 deed." 
 
 277
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 "By the way, Butler, what have you done with the old 
 man Hayes? What are his future plans?" 
 
 "He is still at the infirmary and will remain for a few 
 weeks longer. I do not know, fully, his future plans. He 
 will, no doubt, begin to search for his family, when his full 
 strength returns." 
 
 "What family has he; do you know?" 
 
 "Keally, I have not questioned him about his past life, nor 
 have I as yet permitted him to tell his story. I intend to 
 have him give me a detailed statement, ere long, of his career. 
 I think he has an interesting past, and I shall be anxious to 
 hear it." 
 
 "Has he ever told you how he came into the possession of 
 that brass army button?" 
 
 "If I remember correctly, I think he indicated that he had 
 been a soldier." 
 
 "On which side?" 
 
 "The Federal side, I believe. But I paid little attention 
 to his mutterings, as I preferred to await his full recovery. 
 He has constantly talked about his boy, though so indis 
 tinctly, and I paid so little heed to it, that I only caught 
 the idea that he had a son, and was anxious to find him." 
 
 "Did he mention the name?" 
 
 "No, not that I know of. When he subscribed the court 
 papers in the closing of the guardianship matters, of course, 
 he was required to subscribe the name of John Hayes. He 
 hesitated before signing, and looked at me in a puzzled man 
 ner. I explained the situation to him, and he then signed the 
 papers, but said he was not signing his own name. I asked 
 him if he remembered his own name. He shook his head, 
 indicating that he was in doubt." 
 
 278
 
 FORMING NEW TIES 
 
 "I want to request of you, Mr. Butler, that when you 
 learn the man's past history that you give me an outline 
 of it before you make it public. I shall not now give my 
 reasons, but in asking this of you, I may be doing you the 
 greatest favor you could possibly ask." 
 
 "I shall be glad to make known to you the details of the 
 man's past life at the earliest moment, keeping the same 
 secret from the public, as you request." 
 
 "Again, I thank you, friend Butler, and with the hope 
 that I may sometime call you my son, I bid you God speed." 
 
 "I shall never be able to repay you for all your good 
 ness to me. And now, I shall leave you. Good day." 
 
 When Butler had gone, LeBerte Marchand sank slowly 
 back in his big easy chair, to think and muse. He had 
 not frequented his office of late on account of a feebleness 
 which had crept rapidly upon him during the last few years, 
 and when he did go to the office he preferred the quietude 
 and comfort of his private room and the large lounging 
 chair. 
 
 "I do not in the least suspect that this man John Haye& 
 is the former husband of my- wife," mused Marchand, "but 
 there can be no harm done by keeping a vigilant outlook for 
 possibilities. One can never tell what will happen. Every 
 year since the close of the Civil war, I have heard of one 
 or more strange incidents regarding the reappearance of 
 long lost husbands, sons and others. It is not beyond the 
 bounds of possibility that the first husband should turn 
 up, 'though it is wholly improbable. 
 
 "And I have been the legal guardian of this strange old 
 man. Would it not be a striking coincident if he were my 
 wife's first husband? Oh, well, there is no danger of that, 
 
 279
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 I am sure. But what if he should prove to be the father 
 of Walter? Well, I could deny that claim, for Walter re 
 members nothing beyond the date of his entering my home. 
 None of my family even suspect that Walter is not my son, 
 and the neighbors have always been in ignorance of the facts. 
 No, I need not fear along that line. The only possibility 
 I need provide against is the possibility of my wife's first 
 husband reappearing. I can not see how she should ever 
 be discovered, situated in my home as my wife. No one 
 here, except my own immediate family, is acquainted with 
 her life-story, and I am sure my family has never made the 
 facts known. Why, they even do not know that Walter is 
 not my son. I have kept that secret froru my family and 
 from the world. It is sacred from all, save and except as 
 it might be learned from the statement in my iron safe at 
 home. No one can ever know that secret until my lips are 
 sealed in death, or until I shall believe it for the best to 
 divulge it. If Edith were to marry Butler, I feel confident 
 that Walter would soon find a life-companion. In that 
 event, I could see no great harm in letting each of them 
 know the truth, for then the world need never discover the 
 fact that Walter and Edith were not brother and sister. If 
 my son and daughter knew the truth, I fear no power on 
 earth would prevent their becoming man and wife. Yet, if 
 they otherwise marry, they will be happier, the status of my 
 family will not be disturbed, and I shall go to my grave in 
 peace and quiet, bearing the respect of all who know me. Oh, 
 well, there is no use borrowing trouble. Everything is work 
 ing along finely, now that Butler is in love with Edith, and 
 Walter is likely to fall in love with that little Texas sprite. 
 My, but she is a bright little gem, is that Dorothy. I would 
 
 280
 
 dearly love to have Walter become her husband. She is just 
 the kind of a woman that has been the making of governors, 
 and even presidents. I hope for the best, anyhow." 
 
 Marchand's reverie was interrupted by the entrance of his 
 son. 
 
 "I have come to you, father," said Walter, "for a confer 
 ence and advice on certain matters about which you are, no 
 doubt, better able to judge than am I," 
 
 "What's wrong now, Walter? Something out of gear in 
 the political machinery of the city?" 
 
 "Not exactly, though there is considerable trouble in hav 
 ing the citizens clean up and sanitate their premises. I've 
 had to cause the arrest of several persons for their refusal 
 to obey the law in regard to sanitation. I have also had a 
 warrant issued for the arrest of Paul Jones, who is one of 
 your good friends. He absolutely refuses to obey the law, 
 and declares he will not be forced to clean up his premises." 
 
 "What are you going to do about it, Walter?" 
 
 "Have him arrested and put in jail, unless he cleans up his 
 premises as required by the city ordinance." 
 
 "That kind of treatment will appear a little harsh to a 
 good citizen, will it not?" 
 
 "He knows the law, and he knows that all of his neigh 
 bors have done their duty. He refuses, claiming that he 
 has a right to use his property as he sees fit. It is not fair 
 to all other good citizens to allow any one man, or any 
 number of men, to keep their property in a condition that 
 may invite or breed epidemic. I have instructed the officers 
 to arrest Mr. Jones unless he forthwith sanitates his prem 
 ises." 
 
 "That will make a bitter enemy for you, if he be ar- 
 
 281
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 rested. I do not see that you can do otherwise, however." 
 
 "I presume an officer is often called upon to make ene 
 mies in the faithful discharge of his public duty. I shall 
 be criticised by all good citizens if I fail to carry out my 
 work strictly. I will not falter, if I be required to arrest 
 even you, should you refuse to do your duty." 
 
 "You are right, Walter. There is no other course for you 
 to pursue. You may be criticised now, but should you fail 
 to use every facility within your power to rid the city of its 
 filth and put it in good condition, you would later be 
 condemned in stronger terms." 
 
 "I anticipate little further trouble in this work. Jones 
 is the only man of any prominence who has acted ugly about 
 the matter, and his neighbors are openly criticising him. 
 The people, generally, are aware of the necessity and are 
 showing the right spirit/' 
 
 "My observation has been that the people take an intelli 
 gent interest in matters of public welfare when they have 
 confidence in the officers at the helm. If they lack this 
 confidence, they take little interest." 
 
 "I have about concluded that when my term of office ex 
 pires, I shall retire from public life. That is, I shall not 
 hold any other public office. Public office to me, is nag 
 ging and irritating at times. I appreciate the honor, but I. 
 think one must have a thick skin and a dull conscience if 
 he be not disturbed by the uncalled for criticisms, insinua 
 tions and reflections. I think I should better enjoy the 
 simple and quieter life. Especially, should I ever marry." 
 
 "So you think you might marry? Well, I think that is 
 sensible. I wonder that you had not done that long ago." 
 
 "Oh, well, I thought I had reason, but I see I had not." 
 
 282
 
 FORMING NEW TIES 
 
 "Who is to be the happy bride?" 
 
 "Oh, goodness knows, father, I have not the least con 
 ception." 
 
 "I had thought that, perhaps, your contemplated visit to 
 Texas might not be altogether for the purpose of seeing the 
 country." 
 
 "The wish was not the father of the thought, was it?" 
 
 "I am not so certain about that. If I were a young man, 
 with no ties, I should 
 
 "Ah, there, father, be careful. You know it takes two 
 to make a bargain. There is many a slip, you know." 
 
 "Walter, pardon me, but when you came in here you indi 
 cated that you came for confidential purposes. If I have 
 kept you from your real purpose, you must forgive me. I 
 am now at your service." 
 
 "Pardon is granted, but we were getting along toward 
 the matter I had thought of consulting you about." 
 
 "Oh, were we?" replied the father, with a knowing smile. 
 "You see we old men are somewhat dull, at times, and so 
 I am again forced to beg your pardon for interrupting." 
 
 "Not at all. I think you are pretty good at divining one's 
 thoughts. I want to know your opinion of Dorothy Bath- 
 bone, if you care to express yourself." 
 
 "I had never really thought much about her. She is > 
 fairly good-looking girl, I think." 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 "Well, I don't exactly understand you, Walter." 
 
 "I mean, would she make a good wife, in your opinion?" 
 
 "Do you mean, would she make a good wife for Walter 
 Marchand ?" 
 
 283
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 l, if you must pin me down to it, that is exactly 
 what I mean." 
 
 "In all probability, Dorothy Eathbone would make you 
 the very best wife possible for you to obtain, provided that 
 you were a good husband." 
 
 "The latter goes without saying. I should be a good hus 
 band, I know." 
 
 "I think you would be, for you are old enough, now, to 
 know how to treat a wife. Some men don't know enough." 
 
 "That is true. If Edith and I were not brother and sis 
 ter" 
 
 "Ah, well, don't bother your head about that. You and 
 Edith do nicely as brother and sister, but as husband and 
 wife, you never would be happy. So please let us not men 
 tion that any more." 
 
 "You are not averse to talking upon the possibilities are 
 you, father?" 
 
 "There are no such possibilities. I do not understand 
 you, my son." 
 
 "Well, perhaps, I don't quite understand myself on that 
 matter, so I will not trouble you with it. If you are ready 
 to go home for the day, I will join you." 
 
 "Yes, I think I shall go home. Can you not call up But 
 ler and have him join us at 'The Cedars' tonight? I begin 
 to have a warm spot in my heart for that fellow Butler." 
 
 "Yes, I will telephone him from the house, upon our ar 
 rival." 
 
 When Butler arrived at "The Cedars" later in the evening, 
 he felt that he was with his friends, indeed. From the con 
 versations he had had with the father and son, he knew that 
 none were his more earnest well-wishers than were they. 
 
 284
 
 FORMING NEW TIES 
 
 He could not doubt the kindly feeling of the mother, as 
 reflected in her eyes and voice. In fact, he thought he could 
 discern a more tender expression in Edith's voice, but of 
 that he was not so sure. There was such graceful modesty 
 in the retiring nature of Edith that held in check the bold 
 approaches of men, which in her bore a double charm for 
 Butler. It was this gentle modesty that would make of her 
 a model wife. Butler recognized that fact as his thoughts 
 frequently drifted with the shadow of his ambition to the 
 home where she should be as a crowned queen. 
 
 He wondered whether Edith divined his thoughts and inten 
 tions, or whether she knew of the conversation between her 
 father, her brother and himself. If so, might she not feel 
 that a "mean advantage was being taken against her? Certain 
 ly, nothing of the kind was intended by either. They were all 
 her best friends. No, he would not allow his mind to become 
 filled with doubts and misgivings. He would conduct him 
 self as he always had done, and await developments. Over- 
 anxiety and undue haste might ruin his plans, altogether. 
 The consent and good will of the father and brother was all 
 very good, .but there was something more important. The 
 love and affection of a woman was not to be had for the 
 asking, nor by the consent of family, alone. Edith was a 
 woman with a mind of her own, a heart of her own, and 
 with a love of her own, that neither father nor brother could 
 presume to direct. 
 
 While Butler thus permitted his thoughts to ramble dur 
 ing intervals in the general conversation, he realized that 
 his disposition of mind was being observed^ but he was power 
 less to prevent it. He racked his brain for some topic or 
 theme of general interest, but the more he tried the more he 
 
 285
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 recognized his inability so to do. He had never found him 
 self in such a predicament before, and it was, under the cir 
 cumstances, distressing to him. He doubted the propriety of 
 suggesting anything political, but something, political or 
 otherwise, which would divert his thoughts from their pres 
 ent trend, must be suggested. Happily, he was relieved by 
 LeBerte Marchand. 
 
 "What do the papers over the country have to say, Mr. 
 Butler, about the probability of yellow fever?" said the old 
 gentleman. 
 
 "The general expression is to the effect, that if the coast 
 cities were more careful, and more attentive to the question 
 of strict sanitation, there would be little fear of epidemic." 
 
 <r Well, I am sure their belief is well grounded. I notice 
 the comment by the state press on the work being done by 
 the present city administration, along that line. It is grat 
 ifying to know that the people, generally, approve." 
 
 "I think the people of the interior have the moral right 
 to expect, and the legal right to demand, that all coast towns 
 and cities, or any other places where contagions may propa 
 gate or become epidemic, shall keep scrupulously clean and 
 in good sanitary condition," said Walter. "The interior por 
 tions of the country have an interest in our coast cities, but 
 their own lives, and their own security is of more impor 
 tance. The failure of the coast cities to give this matter 
 careful attention will, eventually, result in a national quar 
 antine law." 
 
 "Oh, yes, that recalls to mind the remark of Miss Bilby, 
 one of our neighbors," said Edith. "Her father felt indig 
 nant when he was served with notice to clean up his premises, 
 and I presume Miss Bilby obtained her fund of knowledge 
 
 286
 
 FORMING NEW TIES 
 
 upon the subject from her father. She argued that it was 
 the duty of the National government to look after and pre 
 vent epidemics, especially yellow fever, because it was al 
 ways brought into the coast cities from some ocean-going 
 vessel. Several of the party discussed the matter, but I said 
 nothing, owing to the fact of my brother being the Mayor. 
 I did not know that there was any disposition to criticise the 
 city authorities, or so I pretended." 
 
 "Well, you must expect people to complain," said Walter, 
 "even when they do the things they know to be for their 
 own personal good, especially if government directs them 
 so to do." 
 
 "For my own enlightenment on the subject," said the 
 elder Ma-rchand, "what objection should there be to a na 
 tional quarantine?" 
 
 "I am not a statesman nor a philosopher," returned Walter, 
 "but I will lay the premise that, a national quarantine is, 
 primarily, wrong in principle. From the standpoint of polit 
 ical science, or the science of government, the responsibility 
 for and the preservation of, the public health rests with 
 the state government. To illustrate, suppose I became af 
 flicted with insanity. What government cares for me? Does 
 the national government take charge of me? Does the city 
 government take charge of me? No, neither. It is the 
 state government which takes me in charge, protects me 
 against harm, and also protects the citizens against harm 
 from me. True, local authorities take the first steps in the 
 proceedings, but those steps are directed and authorizied 
 by state laws. Take the criminals, the forger, the murderer, 
 and all others who commit high crime. Are they not subject 
 to the police powers and regulations of the state? Why? 
 
 287
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 For the preservation of the safety, protection and peace of 
 the people. 
 
 "The safeguarding and preservation of the public health, 
 the protection of life, liberty and property of the people has 
 always been regarded as not only the absolute duty, but the 
 inalienable rights of state government. These rights and 
 duties can not be shifted, 'neither can they be alienated with 
 out changing the policy of our general government, and at 
 the same time robbing the people of the state of a precious 
 right and privilege that they should never lose. How any 
 man, who ever believed in the doctrine of state rights, could 
 voluntarily abandon the privilege of self-regulation of the 
 police powers of the state, I can not understand." 
 
 "Aside from the science of government,'' suggested But 
 ler, "the theory of a national quarantine might not be so 
 bad as would become the effects of its operation." 
 
 "How is that, Mr. Butler," queried Edith, anxious for his 
 words of wisdom. 
 
 "In theory, the first thing a citizen thinks of, perhaps, in 
 connection with the idea of a national quarantine law, is 
 the proposition that he will be relieved of the cost of the 
 quarantine, which amounts to about fifty thousand dollars 
 per year to each of the Gulf states, but to the individual citi 
 zen, the price of a cigar. He forgets the value to himself 
 and to his neighbors of local self-government, and the right 
 to regulate the police powers of the state. He thinks only 
 of the burden of the cost by way of taxes, overlooking the 
 fact that the individual cost is infinitesimal. 
 
 "Now, in the actual practice of a national quarantine, 
 there are several matters of which the people of the Gulf 
 States should carefully consider. Sea ports and transporta- 
 
 288
 
 FORMING NEW TIES 
 
 tion lines arc- always envious of each other, always zealous 
 for business. They are sometimes not so generous and kindly 
 disposed that they would not injure and destroy a com 
 petitor in order to gain for themselves. So, it might be 
 well to consider the future welfare of the Gulf ports before 
 clamoring too loudly for a national quarantine." 
 
 "I am quite interested in your defense of State Rights and 
 our Gulf ports, Mr. Butler. Won't you please illustrate 
 your deductions by a hypothetical case?" said Edith. 
 
 "If, by so doing, I shall the better explain my contention, 
 I shall do so. Take, for instance, the large cargoes of sugar, 
 coffee and other produce that you see every day brought 
 into our port, here. Now, let the port be closed 011 account 
 of an epidemic, and where would those cargoes land? The 
 answer must be, that they would go to the Atlantic ports, 
 such as Boston, New York and other places. While the major 
 portion of those cargoes were for New Orleans and the in 
 terior, say St. Louis, Chicago, Kansas City and other centers, 
 they must go via the Atlantic seaports, because the Gulf 
 ports are closed. The lines of transportation entering the 
 eastern ports are then thrilled with delight, for they will 
 thereby obtain a long haul in order for the goods to reach 
 their destination. 
 
 "Now, with a corps of young marine hospital physicians, 
 who had procured their positions more through the political 
 influence of their friends than by reason of their brains, 
 education and experience, in charge of the quarantine sta 
 tions along the Gulf, it would be a great streak of fortune if 
 our ports were not closed six months in the year. Mistaken^ 
 diagnoses often occur in all disease, and not infrequently 
 in yellow fever. A mistake in the diagnosis of one case
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 would close our ports and result in damage and injury to our 
 state and our people, amounting to millions of dollars. 
 Where then is the price of our citizen's cigar? I shall not 
 speak of the political phase of the question. Mistaken diag 
 noses afford sufficient basis for the illustration. It is pos 
 sible, however, that the Gulf ports, through a system of 
 political chicanery, could be permanently closed, but not 
 probable, even with the worst conditions of which we can 
 conceive." 
 
 "No, Butler," said Walter, "the people of the middle 
 states and the great west would never submit to such out 
 rages. The Gulf ports have already demonstrated to those 
 people that they are nearer the markets of the world by 
 thousands of miles than before the opening of these ports. 
 The people of the middle west will never submit to such 
 outrages upon the Gulf ports. The greatest enemies our ports 
 have at the present time, from an epidemic standpoint, are 
 the cities and towns of the Gulf coast. If they will continue 
 in their neglect and refusal to take the necessary precau 
 tions, they will learn the sad lesson which you have so forcibly 
 demonstrated."
 
 GREAT IS TEXAS 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 GREAT IS TEXAS. 
 
 With a heavy heart did Edith bid her brother good-bye 
 and God speed., as he took his departure for Texas. There 
 was some consolation for the poor girl, however, as" Joe But 
 ler was at the train to bid his friend good-bye, and to the 
 good care of Butler did the brother commend his sister. To 
 no other person could Edith have been better commended, 
 nor, in fact, could she have been better pleased. Butler was 
 the very soul of honor, and Edith really liked him better 
 than she knew. 
 
 Walter Marchand had two objects in visiting Texas. One 
 was to learn more about the state. The other object was 
 to enjoy the company of Dorothy Rathbone, and, probably, 
 ascertain whether she would be a suitable and agreeable life- 
 companion. He had, of late, been reading a great deal about 
 Texas, so that he visited the state as an ardent student of 
 the history, present conditions and future possibilities of 
 that great commonwealth. To Walter Marchand, a new 
 world was beginning to unfold before his mental vision. He 
 had lived within a narrow sphere, and had seen little of the 
 great world, although he had been quite a reader. His activ 
 ities had been confined to college life, the practice of law, 
 and local office-holding. He now became eager to step out 
 
 291
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 into broader fields wliere he could observe the great, throb 
 bing, pulsing world of human activity. His visit to Texas 
 would be the first step toward the fulfilling of that desire. 
 
 "Walter Marchand, you don't know how glad we are to 
 have you visit us. Why in the world did you not bring 
 Edith with you?" said Dorothy, when the visitor arrived 
 in Houston. 
 
 "Well, the pleasure is not all your own, I assure you," 
 returned Walter. "You must accord me a portion of the 
 pleasure in again meeting the fair and charming little friend 
 of my sister." 
 
 "Oh, you flatterer, you know you do not mean half you 
 say. I thought you a solemn, stern man of business, unused 
 to the graceful customs of the social world." 
 
 "Well, Dorothy, you see you have misjudged me. What T 
 was at home, I need not be in Texas. You have so much 
 room in this great big state, that the moment one crosses 
 the border line, he is possessed with a sense of freedom 
 which, to a new-comer, is liable to cause him to say all sort? 
 of extravagant things." 
 
 "I am glad your first impression of our state is not alto 
 gether a bad one. I am certain the more you see of it the 
 better you will be pleased." 
 
 "I am quite sure of that, and I am going to try to see 
 a great deal of it. At least I have so arranged my itinerary." 
 
 "Of course, you will see what there is at Houston and Gal- 
 veston first, following with a slight glance at the empire." 
 
 "I am quite anxious to see the San Jacinto battle grounds, 
 the birthplace of this great commonwealth. I presume it 
 has been transformed into a beautiful park, with great shaft? 
 of marble and granite erected to the memory of the heroes 
 
 292
 
 who sacrificed all they had, to gain their county's inde 
 pendence." 
 
 "No," said Dorothy, with head slightly bowed, a tinge of 
 color diffused upon her cheeks. "We have not, as yet, made 
 all the improvements upon those grounds which are to be 
 made. But in time, the birthplace of Texas will be made 
 one of the most beautiful spots in the whole country.'"' 
 
 "I am sure of that," said Walter, recognizing that his 
 friend felt a delicacy, for some reason, in speaking about 
 the present condition of that hallowed spot. "Few places 
 in our great country may boast of having given to the world 
 such men as Houston, Crocket, Bonham, Bowie, Travis, Fan- 
 nin, Lamar, De Zavala and a host of others equally great. 
 Certainly, your State is as rich in historic lore, of deeds of 
 bravery and love of country, as any place on earth. I shall 
 not fail to visit San Jacinto and the zilamo, before I leave 
 Texas." 
 
 As the days passed by, Walter began to realize that, to see 
 Texas as a state, he would be required to remain far longer 
 than he had calculated. He could not prolong his visit be 
 yond a month or, at the farthest, six weeks. He had already 
 enjoyed two weeks of his visit, yet he had barely gotten 
 ready to see the country. Marchand was studying conditions, 
 however, and that was a greater source of interest to him 
 than seeing the country, as a whole. It was upon his return 
 from a hurried trip through the coast country between Hous 
 ton, San Antonio and Brownsville, that the visitor fairly 
 bubbled over with enthusiasm. 
 
 "My goodness, what a country you Texas people have. 
 Certainly, the world can have no idea of the possibilities of 
 that great scope of country, lying between Houston and Mex- 
 
 293
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 ico, to say nothing of the country east of Houston. Oh, 
 it must have been a hard struggle the early Texans had in 
 obtaining their own consent to decide against imperialism 
 and in favor of joining the Union of the American States. 
 Their conduct in that matter, however, has meant more for 
 human liberty, the prosperity and progress of our country 
 than can ever be fully known. Certainly, the people of 
 the United States owe an everlasting debt of gratitude to the 
 early Texans, since they chose to become an American State 
 in preference to being an empire." 
 
 "I am really glad to note your enthusiasm about our coun 
 try and our people. It is really inspiring.'"' 
 
 "Why, bless you, Dorothy, it is of itself inspiring to a fel 
 low to come into Texas with its two hundred and seventy 
 thousand square miles of domain. Texas is far greater in 
 area than is the German empire or France. All of New 
 England, if set down in Texas, would fill but one corner of 
 the state. From El Paso to Texarkana is farther than from 
 Chicago to New York. The German empire has sixty mil 
 lions of people, and France forty millions. Texas, with her 
 rich soils, vast deposits of coal, iron, oil, salt, sulphur, marble, 
 granite, and precious minerals, together with her unbounded 
 pasture ranges, inexhaustible forests of timber, unnumbered 
 fields of rice, cotton, wheat, corn and other cereals ; the 
 largest local fruit growing belt in the world, with Italian 
 skies and salt-laden atmosphere as it sweeps up from the 
 Gulf, is well able to support, in luxury, a far larger popula 
 tion than either Germany or France. Would it surprise you 
 had the early Texans dreamed of empire? I am surprised, 
 though glad, that they chose the better part. Why should 
 not Texas have, in time, a population equal in numbers to 
 
 294
 
 cither Germany or France? She will have. The Gulf of 
 Mexico will be to the western world what the Mediterranean 
 Sea is to the old world, and Texas is and will be the center 
 of the new world. See the great ports and harbors upon the 
 Gulf of Mexico. See the mighty rivers, their sources near 
 the great lakes of the North, wending their ways down 
 through the vast trans-Mississippi country, emptying into 
 the Gulf. See the great railroads, now rapidly transposing 
 their systems so as to follow the trend of those rivers, that 
 both the railroads and the rivers may aid each other in 
 bearing to the ports of the Gulf the products of the greatest 
 and richest producing area of territory in the world. See, 
 then, the building of the Panama Canal, that will bring the 
 Gulf ports closer, by thousands of miles, to the world's mar 
 kets. Is it any dream to look a few years forward and witness 
 the Mediterranean Sea of the western world drawing to it the 
 population, commerce and facilities that shall make its 
 adjacent territory the very center of the business activities 
 of the western hemisphere?" 
 
 ''Mr. Marchand, you astonish me with your prophesies. I 
 did not know you had given so much thought to the future 
 possibilities of Texas. Even if one hundredth part of your 
 anticipations prove true, it should be enough to make our 
 hearts glad." 
 
 "From my point of view, one great fact in bringing about 
 the transformation which I have mentioned, will be a Pan- 
 American College of Commerce, to be located somewhere in 
 this part of the country. !S"ow, Dorothy, let us discuss the 
 question for a moment. What is your conception of what 
 the proposed Pan-American College of Commerce should 
 be?" 
 
 295
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 "Keally, Mr. Walter, I fear I have not given to that phase 
 of the subject the consideration that it would appear to 
 demand. What knowledge I have regarding it, I have ob 
 tained from the Texas commissioners, who were appointed 
 by the legislature for the promulgation of the project, and 
 also from the articles from time to time appearing in the 
 leading newspapers and magazines of the country. I believe 
 I handed you the report of the legislative committee, did I 
 not?" 
 
 "Yes, I have that. My idea of the project, from a purely 
 commercial standpoint, so far as the government of the 
 countries interested are concerned, would require the fol 
 lowing : 
 
 "First, to teach the Latin, Spanish, Portuguese and Eng 
 lish languages, as spoken in the Americas. Second, to teach 
 the customs, habits, wants and needs of the peoples of those 
 countries. Third, to have on permanent exposition, the 
 various styles of costumes and wearing apparel; samples of 
 the various articles of commerce, including utensils, tools, 
 instruments, implements, machinery and, in fact, everything 
 that is of common use or that would be salable or the sub 
 ject of interchange, in all the Americas." 
 
 "Goodness, gracious, Mr. Walter, that would mean an 
 exposition of mammoth proportions, would it not?" 
 
 "Yes, it would mean that, finally, but it would mean bus 
 iness of mammoth proportions for the countries interested. 
 Now, that comprises the commercial feature in the strictest 
 sense, but is not all. There should be carried along in this 
 connection, a vast college of engineering in all its branches, 
 such as shall be able to supply the demands for mining, 
 electric, construction, structural, railroad, irrigation and other 
 
 296
 
 "THE ALAMO." 
 
 N&ftf^tfi^-'^-M-WiM- '*' - * ^-^7 
 
 1836. 
 
 1906.
 
 GREAT IS TEXAS 
 
 classes of civil engineers, for the development work that is 
 but just beginning in the western and southwestern states, 
 Mexico, Central and South America. At this very moment 
 there is a demand for every mining, structural and con 
 structing engineer that may be found in our whole country. 
 The colleges of the United States that have departments em 
 bracing this character of engineering frequently find the 
 demand for such engineers greater than can be supplied. 
 
 "In this institution, and in this connection, perhaps, woulcl 
 be taken up the study of the geography, topography, mineral 
 deposits and all natural resources of the Americas. All this 
 would mean the unfolding and development of the Americas 
 beyond the dreams of the most enthusiastic. To this institu 
 tion would come the young men and women of the world, 
 who were commercially inclined, to be educated and devel 
 oped along lines that would fit them for governmental duties 
 as well as all lines of commercial activity in the Americas. 
 To this institution would also come the governments for their 
 commercial agents, diplomats and ministers. Here, the ex 
 porters, merchants, managers and officers of the great com 
 mercial activities of our whole western hemisphere would 
 come to select their agents, salesmen and other employes that 
 would be most suitable and thoroughly fitted for the special 
 lines and character of business in which and wherever their 
 services might be required. It would also furnish teachers 
 and ministers to all applicants therefor, until, by and by, 
 there would be brought about common systems, common in 
 terests, common welfare, common ideas and the common 
 good of the United States and Latin-America." 
 
 "Mr. Marchand, I am greatly enthused by your represen 
 tation of the subject. It is wonderful. Why, the possibilities 
 
 297
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 and future grandeur of such an institution are beyond one's 
 full comprehension/' 
 
 "Certainly, and what I have outlined is not all. I have 
 merely mentioned a portion of the functions of the institu 
 tion, so far as the governments of the Americas would con 
 trol. There is still another feature : In the course of time, 
 there would grow up, around this governmental institution, a 
 series of colleges and institutes of an international character 
 that, taken as a whole, would make it the greatest educational 
 center the world ever knew." 
 
 "How, and by what process, would those colleges and insti 
 tutes grow up around the Pan-American College of Com 
 merce ?" 
 
 "They would be the everlasting international monuments 
 to the memory of the philanthropists of the Americas. How 
 would this title sound? 'The Carnegie International Insti 
 tute of Literature/ or 'The Eockefeller International Col 
 lege of Science/ or 'The Diaz International College of Arts/ 
 and others that might be named. Once the philanthropists 
 should be afforded such an opportunity as would be here 
 presented to benefit the world and, at the same time, build 
 for themselves those everlasting international monuments 
 to their memory, they would not overlook nor let it pass." 
 
 "I had not thought of that, but it does not seem unreason 
 able when one thinks of it. Oh, how I would like to see 
 Texas the home of this great system of educational enter 
 prises." 
 
 "Why not Texas? Texas is the only natural gateway, 
 both by sea and land, to the southern republics, and through 
 which the interchange of commerce between the countries 
 of the western hemisphere should pass." 
 
 298
 
 "I presume there is no doubt about the practicability and 
 feasibility of the project, is there?" 
 
 "None whatever. I learn from your Texas commissioners 
 that the plan or project has been indorsed by the United 
 States government through the department of commerce. 
 It has been indorsed by conventions of the Trans-Mississippi 
 Congress, The American Cotton Manufacturers Association, 
 and other national associations. It has, besides, the indi 
 vidual indorsement of some of the greatest men of our coun 
 try, among them, several who signified their willingness to 
 assist in the promulgation of the work by liberal donations 
 to a fund for that purpose." 
 
 "I should think it required a vast amount of labor and 
 the expenditure of some money to promulgate this project, 
 it being of such mammoth proportions." 
 
 'No doubt about it. The Texas commissioners are en 
 titled to the everlasting gratitude of our whole people for 
 their earnest, faithful and unselfish devotion to this cause. 
 They have expended their time, labor, and their own indi 
 vidual funds in its promulgation, for I understand there has 
 been and can be no appropriation of public state funds for 
 the purpose." 
 
 "That is correct, as I understand the situation. I agree 
 with you that to those men is due the gratitude of the peo 
 ple." 
 
 "Their devotion to this cause is only another example of 
 the heroism, patriotism and public spirit which has ever 
 characterized the people of Texas. Great is Texas, great are 
 her future possibilities, and still greater are her people." 
 
 "I hope we shall, some day, number you among our Texas 
 people, Mr. Marchand." 
 
 299
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 "If my calculations do not fail me, I am certain you shall. 
 By the way, Dorothy, let me ask you why you have a pref 
 erence for red roses instead of other colors?" 
 
 "Why do you ask?" 
 
 "Because, I have observed that you always select that color 
 in roses, and still you prefer some other color in all other 
 flowers." 
 
 "Well, I do not know. You know we all have our pecul 
 iarities." 
 
 "I have observed that, in the many boutonnieres which 
 you have given me, never once have you made use of any 
 but a red rose." 
 
 "Perhaps there is some secret connected with that. If so, 
 I should not care to disclose it." 
 
 "Then I shall discover the secret, if I can." 
 
 Another week had passed by, and Walter Marchand was 
 more deeply interested in his observations and investigations 
 than ever. With each passing day, the tender attachment 
 grew stronger and stronger, until the former half intention 
 became a strong determination to change his manner of liv 
 ing and, if possible, to make Dorothy Eathbone his wife. 
 While in deep contemplation upon the subject, one day, he 
 received two letters from home. One was from Edith and 
 the other from Butler, as he well knew by the handwriting 
 upon the envelopes. The letters contained glad news, yet 
 caused a tinge of pain. Edith and Butler had improved the 
 opportunity by Walter's absence and were engaged to be 
 married. It was too good news to withhold from the brother, 
 besides, they believed it would stimulate him to more fer 
 vent and decisive efforts to win Dorothy's heart and hand. 
 
 There was no doubting the fact that the good news had 
 
 300
 
 GREAT IS TEXAS 
 
 the desired effect upon Walter Marchand, for he felt that 
 Edith would not now be left alone and disconsolate. He 
 would now make hay, as he suggested to himself, while the 
 sun shone, for the time of his departure for home was rapidly 
 drawing near. 
 
 "Why has Dorothy persistently presented me with a red 
 rose for a boutonniere? She says there may be some secret 
 in it. I wonder what the secret can be? What can be the 
 secret of the red rose?" 
 
 As Walter pondered and mused, he took his pencil and 
 began scribbling upon a blank page of Butler's letter. When 
 he awoke from his reverie, he found that he had written the 
 following stanzas: 
 
 "I've gathered sweet flowers from many fair climes, 
 And the mem'ries they bear fill my heart full of glee; 
 But the pretty red rose is the sweetest of all, 
 With your sweet little fingers you plucked it my lass, 
 'Twas plucked by your fingers and given to me." 
 
 "What meaneth the giving of the pretty red rose, 
 By your dear little hand presented to me? 
 Forgive me, my darling, your heart, only, knows 
 The meaning intended by the little red rose 
 It may be a message of true love from thee." 
 
 "But how shall I know, I wonder, my dear, 
 
 The meaning intended by it to convey, 
 
 When your lips are so silent, too silent, I fear, 
 
 To enlighten my mind in so modest a way, 
 
 While if speaking, might turn all the darkness 'to day." 
 
 301
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 "Speak you will not? Then to the red rose 
 I'll turn for my answer, and see? It reveals 
 The message intended for it to convey 
 The secret you've fostered from day unto day, 
 The secret of love which your heart surely feels." 
 
 "Ah treasure divine, here in my hreast 
 I'll foster and keep it, the secret it knows, 
 Protected by love, with kisses caressed, 
 Forever revealing her secret confessed 
 By giving to me the pretty red rose." 
 
 "Well, that is not so very bad," said Walter. "Let me see, 
 I shall give that a title. I will call it, 'The Secret of the 
 Eed Eose.' I think I had better hand it to Dorothy. I can 
 open up the subject of love and possibly marriage by that 
 means. I'll not put it off a moment longer." 
 
 A few hours later, Walter and Dorothy were together, 
 seated upon a rustic under the shade of a live oak in the 
 magnificent gardens of the Houston Turn Verein. Dorothy 
 had just read Edith's letter, or that portion of it which told 
 of her engagement to Mr. Butler. 
 
 "I am glad dear old Edith has concluded to marry, and 
 more, that she was so forunate as to select so good a husband 
 as I know Mr. Butler will be," said Walter. Dorothy re 
 turned the letter with a sigh. 
 
 "Yes, I am also glad, for I always thought Edith deserved 
 the best of husbands." 
 
 "I don't think Edith deserves any better husband than do 
 you, Dorothy." 
 
 302
 
 GREAT IS TEXAS 
 
 "Oh, I don't know. Perhaps I shall never marry. I know 
 I never shall unless I could marry the man I should love." 
 
 "By the way., Dorothy, I have been vain enough to make 
 a guess about the secret of the red rose. I scribbled it on 
 tliis paper. Will you read, it please?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 Walter watched his friend closely and witnessed a pink 
 tinge flashing and darting across her face and around her 
 ears, noting also the irregular rising and falling of her bosom, 
 all of which he well knew meant emotion, passionate emotion. 
 As Dorothy finished reading, a crystal dropped from her 
 lashes which she tried to hide from her friend, but was 
 unsuccessful. 
 
 "Have I "guessed it, Dorothy?" 
 
 "You had no business prying into my secret, Mr. Walter." 
 "Dorothy, did I not love you so honorably, nobly and in 
 tensely I should not have cared about the secret of the rose. 
 I reckon I was vain in presuming that you cared for me, but 
 I had long hoped for it to be so. Have I really offended 
 you, dear?" 
 
 "No, that is, I think not." 
 
 "May I hope to win your love?" 
 
 "Why do you wish my love?" 
 
 "Because I want to make you my wife." 
 
 Dorothy quickly reached over to her right and plucked a 
 red rose from a bush close at hand and, placing it upon the 
 lapel of his coat, said : 
 
 "You are the best guesser I ever knew." 
 
 "Do you love me, Dorothy?" 
 
 "Yes, Walter, I have loved you since long before I ever 
 
 303
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 saw you. I fell in love with you through the letters you 
 wrote to Edith while she and 1 wore in college." 
 
 "Thank God for your love. And will you be my wife ?" 
 
 "If you wish it." 
 
 "I came to Texas for no other purpose than to win you, 
 Dorothy. Having succeeded, let us walk down to the tele 
 graph office, that we may even up with Edith and Butler 
 hy sending them the news. What say you ?" 
 
 "I do not object. In fact, I shall enjoy the diversion." 
 
 "And you are mine, Dorothy," said Walter, putting his 
 'arm around her. 
 
 "Yes, after you ask sister for me," said Dorothy with a 
 jolly laugh. 
 
 "Suppose we see your sister first and send the messages 
 afterward." 
 
 "No, let us send the messages first, Walter," said Dorothy, 
 her upturned ruby lips slightly puckered, as if ready to be 
 kissed. 
 
 And they were immediately not disappointed. 
 
 304
 
 (FROM PHOTO BY J. MOOOY DWSON) 
 
 "I CAME TO TEXAS FOR NO OTHER PURPOSE THAN TO WIN YOU, DOROTHY,"
 
 THE OLD MAN'S STORY 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 THE OLD MAN'S STOEY. 
 
 When Butler and Edith received the messages announcing 
 the betrothal of Walter and Dorothy, their cup of joy was 
 well nigh filled. The messages, however, were sent as confi 
 dential, and the only regret was that the joyful tidings could 
 not be communicated to the father and mother. 
 
 LeBerte Marchand and the good little mother were happy 
 in the knowledge that Edith and Butler were to become hus 
 band and wife. Their happiness would have been complete, 
 had the additional news reached them of Walter's good for 
 tune. They each hoped, however, that the son would bring 
 good tidings from Texas, when he came home. With this 
 hope and with the knowledge that Edith's happiness was now 
 secure, the father and mother were enjoying the bliss of 
 complete contentment and entire satisfaction. 
 
 Joe Butler kept on at his work, as usual. He was more 
 zealous than ever, if that were possible. At all events, there 
 was more life, more vigor, more snap in all his movements. 
 Xow he had something for which to live, something to re 
 vive the drooping spirit. Much of his attention had been 
 given to the "Strange Old Man," of late. The old gentle 
 man, for such he now proved himself to be, having recov 
 ered from his long spell of fever, quickly developed his powers 
 
 305
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 and senses, evidencing the fact that he had, at some past 
 time, been a man of refinement and education. Butler per 
 ceived that fact long before, but awaited the full recovery, 
 as well as an opportune time for the revelation. At last 
 it came, and having fully prepared every convenience, in 
 cluding a stenographer to take down all that was to be said, 
 the proceedings were had in a business-like manner. 
 
 Joe Butler had previously talked over the matter, which 
 was to now become a detailed statement, with the old gentle 
 man, and of course was somewhat familiar with the facts to 
 be related. He regarded the story as somewhat interesting, 
 besides, he desired the statement for publication so as to 
 thereby aid his friend in his great and only object, the dis 
 covery of and restoration to his family, if the same were 
 possible. 
 
 "Now, my friend, we are ready for your story," said But 
 ler to the old gentleman. "Take your time, and whenever 
 I think you do not make a full and explicit statement of a 
 fact, or from which I can not gather the full import, I will 
 take the liberty of interrogating you. You may proceed." 
 
 The old gentleman leaned back in his big reclining chair, 
 closed his eyes, and began: 
 
 "Permit me to preface my story with the statement that 
 I realize my days upon earth are few, and that my great 
 desire is to discover my son, if he be yet living. My story 
 shall be short, though, perhaps, sad, as viewed from the 
 standpoint of common humanity, for I have suffered many 
 years of hardship and privation, during most of which time 
 death would have been fax more preferable. Yet, through 
 it all, one ray of hope sprang eternally from my breast and, 
 no doubt, prevented self-destruction. 
 
 306
 
 THE OLD MAN'S STORY 
 
 "That hope was to escape the barriers which held me, that 
 I might find my wife and boy. 
 
 "The beginning of my story dates back to my early man 
 hood. I was but a strip of a boy, barely out of my teens. 
 My father had fallen in battle, fighting for the Stars and 
 Stripes. My only brother had also sacrificed his life upon 
 the altar of his country's cause. My mother and myself 
 were all that were left of our family, and the loss of her hus 
 band and son so preyed upon her mind and body that she, 
 too, soon passed to the spirit world, while I, alone, remained. 
 
 "I cared little what became of me. There was a call for 
 volunteers, and I determined to sacrifice my life, if need be, 
 as nothing had been left me for which to live. I was re 
 jected by the examining board. A neighbor, who had been 
 drafted to serve in the army, and who had considerable 
 money and political influence, came to me and offered me 
 one thousand dollars if I would go to war as his substitute, 
 assuring me that he could have me accepted by the exam 
 ining board. I accepted the offer, and, after all arrange 
 ments were completed and I had been accepted as the sub 
 stitute, I was sent to the front. After my first battle, I 
 began to ask myself many questions. I wondered whether 
 I was a real soldier, fighting for my country, or whether 
 I was a cold blooded, hired assassin. I knew, or I thought 
 I knew, that I had killed at least one man in the first battle. 
 I then questioned whether that one man was not worth more 
 than one thousand dollars for which I had sold my services. 
 The thought became revolting to my mind. My conscience, my 
 very soul rebelled at the infamy of my position, but I was 
 bound with fetters stronger than steel. Desert? That meant 
 death, if caught. In my mind there was no doubt that I 
 
 307
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 had killed one man and, perhaps, many more in the only 
 battle in which I had thus far heen engaged, and I dared 
 not commit suicide with such stains upon my soul. I real 
 ized that I was no more nor less than a purchased assassin, 
 hired by a human coward to go out and slay my fellowman in 
 cold blood for a monied consideration. Yes, in cold blood, 
 for I was not engaged in the cause on my own account, lie- 
 cause I had been rejected. There was no relief, no hope 
 for me. I had been entrapped, ensnared, and led into this 
 awful business of crime by one of my father's friend?. My 
 father, mother and brother had all perished, and I, dupe 
 and fool that I was, could not even take revenge on my own 
 account, for I was the slave of a man who was too cowardly 
 to fight for himself. 
 
 "This condition of affairs made my burdens almost too 
 hard for me to bear. At last, I conceived a plan that gave 
 me a ray of comfort, a spark of hope, a shadow of relief. I 
 resolved that I would kill no more. I would remain at my 
 post of duty, and I would be a soldier to the core, but I would 
 not kill until I was enabled to do so upon my own account. 
 I went through several battles after that, but I am certain that 
 I was not guilty of killing anyone, as a hired assassin. 
 
 "We were in Southern Tennessee, and had been there for 
 some time. In one of my various foraging expeditions, I 
 saw a sweet, angelic-faced girl, or young lady that she was, 
 whose beauty and charm so fascinated me that in a few days 
 I began to care little whether my existence on earth were cut 
 short or extended. The picture of that sweet face, of that 
 lithe, slender, willowy form, remained before my vision, 
 whether asleep or awake. I had never been in love. I did 
 not know what love was. I did not know that I was then 
 
 308
 
 THE OLD MAN'S STORY 
 
 in love with this beautiful girl, but I wanted to see her, 
 to be with her, to take her in my arms and plant a thousand 
 kisses upon her ruby lips, and then, if need be, to die. But 
 I had not become acquainted with her, and, knowing her to 
 be a lady accustomed to the forms of social etiquette, there 
 appeared little favor for my prospective suit. However, there 
 seems to always have been, for such intense love as I bore 
 to the young lady, a means and a method for making that 
 love known and felt. So it was in my case, and, in time, it 
 proved mutual and effective. We married, and there was 
 born to us a son. It was as pretty a little babe as human 
 eyes ever feasted upon. Then the future welfare of the 
 mother and son became the one great object of my life. They 
 were all that the world held dear to me, and I resolved to 
 foster and protect them, as my best judgment and conscience 
 should direct." 
 
 "Pardon me, my friend," interrupted Butler, "but I fear 
 your story is not sufficiently specific as to how and when 
 you left the ranks of the Federal army, so as to court, marry 
 and protect the beautiful young lady. Did you finally de 
 sert?*' 
 
 "I thank you for the suggestion, Mr .Butler. While I have 
 but a short time to live on earth, I do not want my son, if 
 he be found, to rest under the suspicion that his father had 
 been a deserter from the army. No, I did not desert. I 
 served out my time as a substitute, but, before the time ex 
 pired, my employer had again been drafted, the draft to be 
 come effective upon the expiration of the sixty days of ser 
 vice which I was rendering. He besought me to renew my 
 contract. Having become somewhat acquainted with the 
 uncertain methods by which certain things were done in 
 
 309
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 the army, I suggested to his agent and to the officers in 
 charge that upon the expiration of my time I would either 
 enlist on my own account or would accept service as a sub 
 stitute. This apparently pacified both the agent and the 
 officers, but I had, in fact, no such intentions. I learned 
 from a comrade, who had overheard a conversation between 
 the officer and the agent, that, if I refused to renew my con 
 tract of service as a substitute, I would be drafted into the ser 
 vice anyhow, and by that means enforced to act as a substitute 
 for my father's former friend. On the day of the expiration of 
 my service, we were marching far to the east to join in some 
 campaign. During the march, I became lost from the main 
 part of the detachment and drifted off up into a mountain 
 ous part of the country, all by myself. It was after twelve 
 o'clock at night, on the day of the expiration of my contract 
 ed services, when I became lost from my detachment, al 
 though my services legally ceased at high noon on that 
 day. 
 
 "I saw no good reason to become excited. I had lost all 
 love for soldiering as a substitute, so I remained lost up in 
 the hills for several days before finding my way out. When 
 I did discover my whereabouts, I was not far from the home 
 of my little angel. Xo matter then, if my soul had been on 
 fire with the trumpet blast, the clanking saber, or the rattle 
 of musketry, the other flame, the flame of love for my little 
 angel, with whom I had never become acquainted, should 
 have consumed all else. 
 
 "So, having completed my service and being entitled to 
 an honorable discharge, but which would have been denied 
 me through the connivance and cowardice of officer and 
 friend, I asserted my manhood, relieved my conscience, and 
 
 310
 
 THE OLD MAN'S STORY 
 
 won the love of the sweetest and dearest creature it had 
 ever been my good fortune to know. Whether my conduct 
 shall be justified by human critics, I know not, nor care 
 I but little, except for the fact that no man shall say 
 of my son, that his father ever deserted his post of duty as 
 a soldier. I hope I have made that point clear, Mr. Butler." 
 
 "Certainly, perfectly clear." 
 
 "Knowing, however, that I would be in danger from 
 both sides of the conflicting forces, it became necessary for 
 me to play my part in the drama, so as to save my life and 
 preserve my freedom of action. Then, to win the love of 
 my angel and, afterward, protect her and our child. For a 
 while I was successful, but the time came when ill fortune 
 overtook me. It became necessary, for the safety and com 
 fort of wife and babe, to remove them into the Northern 
 country, and, though it was a very dangerous undertaking 
 upon my part, I managed very well for a time. I gave direc 
 tions to the wife how to proceed through the lines to Cin 
 cinnati, Ohio, and, once there, she would find safety and 
 the comforts of a home, with friends. I was to embrace the 
 first opportunity to follow with our babe, so as to make 
 sure of its safety. 
 
 ''The opportunity never came. I was cut off from my re 
 treat and was compelled to dodge from place to place, al 
 ways moving southward and eastward, finally falling in the 
 very front advance of Sherman's raiders in their famous 
 march to the sea. There was nothing left for me but to keep 
 in their front, advance with all possible speed, and finally 
 jump into the ocean, if necessary. It was my only means, 
 as I thought, of safety, and I adopted it. It resulted, how 
 ever, in a fate more cruel than death. I could not divine 
 
 311
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 the objective point of Sherman's army, so, when reaching 
 a point near the great cypress swamps in Florida, I fell in 
 with a stranger who was in somewhat similar straits, and we 
 became friends. We proceeded along the western side of 
 the swamps for a great distance until we came to what we 
 thought was the Gulf shore, but which we observed was full 
 of islands/' 
 
 "Yes," interrupted Butler, "those are what are known as 
 the Ten Thousand Islands." 
 
 "Well, to proceed with my story, neither of us knew when 
 nor where we would be free from capture, and, preferring 
 death to capture, my friend suggested that we prepare our 
 selves for a long respite within the Everglades which lay 
 near at hand. I had no knowledge of the Everglades what 
 ever, and it later proved that my comrade was little better 
 informed upon the subject. We wandered around for days 
 along the broken and irregular coast line until we came upon 
 a small river or stream that had its source in the direction 
 of the Glades. Fortunately, we were each in possession of 
 a good rifle, pistol, knives and other equipment necessary to 
 the hunter or other person who must subsist upon what he 
 finds in his trackless path. From the wreckage scattered 
 along the shore and around the many islands, we were not 
 long in supplying ourselves with whatever we needed to rig 
 out a respectable camping outfit. Among the flotsam, we 
 recovered a couple of small skiffs that had been washed 
 ashore from some wrecked boat, and these were appropriated, 
 proving most serviceable. After cruising around for several 
 days among the small islands, most of which seemed to be 
 floating islands, we started up the small stream to which I 
 have referred. To our surprise and delight, after wo had 
 
 312
 
 gone but a short distance, we came upon, some rapids, where 
 clear, cool, fresh, crystal waters dashed and played over 
 the rocks. We dragged our boats up over the rapids, and, 
 finding it so pleasant, we camped by the bank of the crystal 
 stream. Here we stayed for several days, resting and pre 
 paring for our further journey inward toward the unknown 
 Everglades. 
 
 "After we had prepared ourselves and had obtained the 
 much needed rest, we started on our cruise along an unknown 
 stream to unknown points, and with but one object in view: 
 security from official interference. Passing along the ever 
 narrowing confines of the stream, occasionally we stopped to 
 spear a fish or kill a terrapin for our next meal. We finally 
 came out into a broad expanse, to the end of which, in every 
 direction, the eye could not reach. It appeared to be a vast 
 plane, level as a floor, but with no limit except the horizon, 
 a*nd covered with a tall, three-cornered grass, the edges of 
 which resembled the teeth of a saw. 
 
 "Of course, there was no necessity to go farther into the 
 sea of tall grass, so we set about to return to our old camp 
 ing place and there erect permanent headquarters. Night 
 came upon us ere we knew it, and with the night came the 
 most terrific storm I ever witnessed. The earth shook and 
 trembled, the lightning flashed, the thunder pealed, and, 
 'midst lightning flashes, we observed the rapid rise of the 
 waters. Then seaward, we noticed a high bank of waters 
 rolling upon us. We each clung to our frail crafts with the 
 dread of doom upon us. We were gently raised with our 
 skiffs above the surrounding growth of trees and bushes, 
 picked up by the raging storm and carried, half sensible, we 
 knew not whither. We were, of course, separated, and I 
 
 313
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 saw my friend and comrade no more. I became stunned 
 and unconscious, but must have held on to my little boat 
 with a death grip, for, when consciousness returned, I found 
 myself still in the boat, but landed high and dry upon an 
 island far out in the dreaded Everglades, with tall grass 
 surrounding me. 
 
 "Upon examination of my effects, all were intact and 
 safely preserved, but there I was, God only knew how far 
 from the aid of human hands, death by starvation staring 
 me in the face. I had not long to wait, however, until 1 
 was awakened to the realization of the fact that I was not 
 the sole inhabitant of the island. Almost before I could 
 realize the situation, I was surrounded by a dozen or more 
 barbarous savages. They were half clad with the skins of 
 animals, and carried wicked looking clubs and spears. They 
 circled around and around my little craft, chanting and 
 going through many queer and, to me, wholly unintelligible 
 orgies, constantly repeating the words, 'Hat-ka-tee^ es-tee. mjc- 
 co-orlee a-pato-ya/ which, I afterwards learned, meant 'white 
 man chief.' 
 
 "Having ridden in my chariot upon the winds, and land 
 ing where the foot of white man had never trod, the ignor 
 ant and childlike aborigines believed me to have been the 
 representative of the Great Spirit, and the demonstrations 
 by them made upon discovering me were demonstrations of 
 love and obedience to my wishes, whatever the same might 
 be. I did not, at first, appreciate the real situation, be 
 lieving that I was to be immediately devoured. I therefore 
 picked up my rifle and began looking for the big chief of 
 the band, thinking I would settle accounts with him first. At 
 the sight of my rifle, the whole band fell upon their knee? 
 
 314
 
 THE OLD MAN'S STORY 
 
 and bowed their heads unto the ground, still chanting their 
 plaintive, though, unmelodious, song. Then I began to real 
 ize the situation. I felt my power and influence over my 
 new-found but strange and hideous companions. I arose 
 to my full height and, with uplifted hands, proclaimed peace 
 unto them. They evidently caught the meaning, for they be 
 gan a more lively circle dance, while an expression of pleas 
 ure and joy spread over their faces. Then came forth from 
 a cluster of bashes near at hand a tall, gaunt figure, clothed 
 in a full, long robe of white otter skins, bearing a large 
 pipe or calumet. Approaching to within a few feet of my 
 boat, he took a long draw at the calumet and, pointing the 
 stem upward, raised it arm-length three times. Then facing 
 the east, puffed some smoke upward from his mouth. Turn 
 ing to the westward, he repeated the performance. He then 
 handed me the calumet and, nodding, said, 'Eh-cho-chc/ 
 meaning to smoke. Knowing something of the customs of 
 the American Indians, and preferring peace to war under 
 the circumstances, I went through the same performance as 
 had done the big white prophet, whereupon I returned the 
 pipe and extended my open hand, which he clasped with 
 his own, the other members of the band continuing their 
 dancing and incantations. 
 
 "But I fear my story grows wearisome," said the old gen 
 tleman. 
 
 "Xot at all," replied Butler. "Upon the contrary, I fear 
 you will finish all too soon. It is absorbingly interesting 
 to me, and, since the world knows so little of the Everglades 
 of Florida, your story partakes of a historical interest, which 
 will, no doubt, be valuable on that account, if for no other 
 reason." 
 
 315
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 "In a short time the local inhabitants of the island and 
 myself became good friends. I recognized the importance 
 of my power over them, superinduced by their belief that 
 I partook of the nature of a man-god, and I constantly puz 
 zled my brain to maintain and hold my exalted position, 
 which I successfully did to the end. 
 
 ''For the benefit of history and science, I will state that 
 the great tract of territory known as the Everglades is mostly 
 covered by fresh, limpid water, rising from fissures in the 
 rock which overlay the vast area. In these waters abound 
 fine specimen of fish of a variety known as perch, or bass, 
 and grow to a large size. There are also to be found otter, 
 beaver and other furred animals. Terrapin and frogs of 
 enormous size are plentiful. Xear our island were to be 
 found unlimited quantites of freshwater oysters, or mussels, 
 a very palatable food when baked or boiled within the shell. 
 These mussels in large numbers contain most valuable pearls. 
 The collection which I brought out from tha place represents 
 the labor of many years in collecting. The natives use the 
 pearls for beads and also as a coin of exchange for com 
 modities, which practice is of no importance to them, as 
 all the property and possessions upon the island belong to the 
 tribe in common. I was king and ruler, hence I was per 
 mitted to have whatever I wanted, and my will was the law. 
 
 "In all the years I lived upon this island never a day 
 passed, except one day out of seven, that my effort was not 
 continued to find a way out from the Glades. Year in and 
 year out the work was kept up, but our progress against the 
 terrible saw grass was almost unnoticeable. At last I gave 
 up in despair, and for several years I contented myself to eat 
 and sleep, and for recreation would hunt otter and catch 
 
 316
 
 THE OLD MAN'S STORY 
 
 fish. Of coarse,, we raised many vegetables, corn ami coffee. 
 upon our desolate holdings, the island containing about one 
 hundred acres, covered with a rich, alluvial soil. 
 
 "Finally, a drouth came that appeared to dry up the very 
 fountains of the earth. The water disappeared from the great 
 flats by degrees, until they seemed as dry as a bone. A 
 strong wind began raging from the northeast, giving the 
 appearance of a change of weather. My chance for escape 
 had come. I went to the west side of the island and set fire 
 to the dried saw grass. What a blazing, seething, boiling 
 hell it made. The first flash of flame leaped and bounded 
 over the tall grass hundreds of feet a second, as if it were 
 covered with powder. Then it was followed by the roaring, 
 crackling, burning of the stalks that were as so many 
 splinters of fat pine. On and on it swept, the heavens filling 
 with billows of blackness, against which shone the bright, 
 lapping, curling flames of fire which shot high into the 
 air, resembling the forked tongues of monster serpents. On 
 and on it went toward the Gulf, and I comforted myself 
 with the thought that this, my passageway to freedom, was 
 certainly more spectacular, if less harmful, than was Sher 
 man's march to the sea, which had driven me to this ac 
 cursed spot. 
 
 "That night the rain came, but gently. It was the fore 
 runner, however, of a storm that followed a few days later. 
 Having made due preparations for my departure, the next 
 morning I selected two of the strongest young braves and 
 bade them accompany me, promising to show them the won 
 ders of 'Indian Heaven/ leaving the impression upon the 
 others that we would return at night, or within two suns. 
 
 "Taking such tools, provisions and other things as might 
 
 317
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 possibly be needed, secretly including my stock of pearls, 
 we set out on foot, proceeding in the direction and course 
 followed by the fire. By nightfall we found ourselves upon 
 the source of a small stream, which I thought was the 
 same stream or river by which I had originally entered the 
 Glades. The next morning, being footsore and tired, I sent 
 my companions on ahead to some timber, hoping to find a 
 tree sufficiently large of which to make a dugout, that I 
 might raft down the little stream. After a long absence, 
 they returned and informed me that they had found what 
 was wanted. 
 
 "We proceeded along the narrow channel until nearly 
 noon, when the stream became wider and deeper, and the cur 
 rent swifter. We came upon a couple of skiffs, and, 
 stopping, wondered to whom they could belong. In them 
 there were provisions that gave evidence of recent owner 
 ship. We went out over the burned surface, looking for 
 some sign, when, suddenly, we beheld the charred remains 
 of three human bodies, all lying with head toward the stream, 
 evidencing the fact that they had been caught by the cruel 
 flames ere they found safety in their boats. We appro 
 priated their boats and effects and began drifting witli 
 the current, I in one boat, and my two companions in the 
 other. So we drifted during the day and the greater por 
 tion of the night, when we were brought face to face with a 
 sweeping gale from the northeast, which rapidly drove our 
 frail crafts out into what appeared to be a broad expanse 
 of water, as I could observe from the lightning flashes. T 
 realized that we were then in the Gulf of Mexico, and in 
 the presence of a certain death. I grabbed the leathern bag 
 of pearls and strapped it to my body, tying it with thongs 
 
 318
 
 THE OLD MAN'S STORY 
 
 so as to make it safe. I already had a leathern belt filled 
 with the more precious pearls strapped around my body, under 
 my clothing. In the storm our boats became separated, and 
 what became of my companion braves I never knew. On 
 and on swept the storm at mighty speed, as I judged in 
 passing the many islands. I lashed myself to the skiff, for I 
 knew that I must lose consciousness, and in this manner my 
 life might be saved. If not, perhaps the pearls might not 
 be lost to the world forever. 
 
 "Then all became a blank to me, until I was brought to 
 life and consciousness by some men releasing me from my 
 moorings. It was the men from the tramp steamer who 
 rescued me and brought me here. With the remainder of my 
 story you . are familiar. You are the first person, except 
 those who rescued me from a watery grave, who had the 
 goodness of heart to take an interest in my life, and I can 
 never sufficiently repay you for all your goodness to me. 
 Pardon me, I am growing faint/' 
 
 "There, now, my friend, you must rest a bit. I fear you 
 have overtaxed your strength," said Butler. The stenog 
 rapher was dismissed with instructions to transcribe his notes 
 and to give information concerning the same to no one. 
 
 When the old gentleman had been made comfortable, But 
 ler also departed, leaving his friend alone to dream over 
 again and again the sweets of a life that should have been 
 his but for cruel misfortune. 
 
 319
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 A FRUITLESS MISSION. 
 
 When the story of the strange old man had been reduced 
 to a neatly typewritten form, Butler conferred with LeBerte 
 Marchand, as had been agreed, and together the two men 
 read it over hurriedly. 
 
 "Well, Butler/' said Marchand, "I thank you for the cour 
 tesy thus shown me in this matter. I did not know but that T 
 might possibly have a special interest in the history of thie 
 old man, and of which I may later speak to you. Had this 
 man been a soldier in the Southern army, it would have 
 been of much more interest to me, and I am glad it has 
 turned out as it has. However, if you have no particular use 
 for this paper, I should like to retain it." 
 
 "Certainly, Mr. Marchand, it is but a copy; I have the 
 original. The old gentleman spoke about making his will. 
 I suppose you do not care to do that, do you?" 
 
 "No, you may as well call up Walton, who will attend to 
 the matter. I shall not go to my office for a few days, as 
 I am not well, neither are my services required there." 
 
 "Certainly ; I will have the matter attended to, however, so 
 that you need not bother about it. I presume Walter will 
 be coming home in a few days now?" 
 
 "Yes, he so wrote us, and he further intimated that he 
 
 320
 
 A FRUITLESS MISSION 
 
 uoiild probably make his future home in Texas. I hope 
 he and .Dorothy have taken kindly to each other." 
 
 "I think they have, Mr. Marchand. Of course, I am not 
 certain." 
 
 "Well, it is to be hoped they have." 
 
 When, during the day, Marchand sat on the gallery of the 
 fine old home, enjoying the balmy breezes, the typewritten 
 statement in his hand, he fell asleep, the paper falling to the 
 floor. By and by the wind carried it off the gallery and 
 around the corner of the house, where it was picked up by 
 one of the servants and handed to Edith, who began read 
 ing it. Ere she had read a great portion of it, the expression 
 of her countenance indicated much interest, then excitement, 
 and finally, great trepidation. She ran to her mother, who 
 was in the parlor, engaged with some household duty, saying : 
 
 "Oh, mother, the servants found this paper in the grounds 
 and handed it to me. I have read part of it, and it sounds 
 so much like the story you once told me about your first hus 
 band that I became fearful. Please read it. There is no 
 telling what great calamity might yet happen." 
 
 The mother began reading the statement hastily, the 
 color rising and falling upon her face, indicating excitement, 
 until at last the poor woman gave a scream of fright and 
 fell to the floor in a swoon. The house was in an uproar 
 within a short time, the servants hurrying about to bring the 
 husband to the scene. Marchand saw the paper, still clutched 
 in the hand of the unconscious wife, and he took possession 
 of it, saying to Edith : 
 
 "How did that paper fall into her hands?" 
 
 "I handed it to her to read, for I feared " 
 
 "Tut, tut, silence ! How came you in possession of it ?" 
 
 321
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 "One of the servants found it out in the grounds and 
 brought it to me." 
 
 "It must have blown out of my hand while I slept in my 
 chair. There is no cause for fright ; there is no necessity for 
 excitement. Let us quiet your mother's fears and give her 
 assurances that all is well." 
 
 Mrs. Marchand was tenderly laid upon a couch, restora 
 tives applied, and after a few moments she regained con 
 sciousness, but remained weak and nervous from the effect? 
 of the shock and fright. 
 
 "Do not be alarmed, mother," said Edith, "for father de 
 clares that the paper was one which he himself had, and it 
 dropped from his hands when he fell asleep out on the gal 
 lery. There, now, rest easy, my good mother, you have no 
 cause for fear whatever." 
 
 "How did your father come into the possession of that 
 paper ?" 
 
 "I do not know, I am sure, but there is nothing strange 
 or startling about it, since I come to think of it. Fve read 
 a hundred stories like that in the papers. It does not fit your 
 case, mother." 
 
 "Indeed, child, the part of it relating to my passing 
 through the lines to Cincinnati is identical with my case." 
 
 "But, mother, there were thousands of such cases. I am 
 told that a great many Southern ladies were sent to the 
 North during the war for their own protection and com 
 fort, and certainly there must be many cases with exactly 
 similar incidents and facts. You must not worry, mother 
 dear. Father bids you rest easy, and you know he would 
 not so advise you if there were any danger. Now. that is a 
 good mother, and after you have some sleep and rest, we will 
 
 322
 
 A FRUITLESS MISSION 
 
 take a drive. It is such a lovely day. I'll close the door, 
 mother, so you shall not be disturbed." 
 
 Edith passed on out upon the gallery, where her father 
 was sitting, and found him reading over again the typewrit 
 ten statement. 
 
 "There is nothing in this story to indicate that John 
 Hayes was the former husband of your mother. We must 
 quiet her and have her forget that she ever had any other 
 husband but myself." 
 
 "I am glad of your assurances, father, and I will do alJ 
 that I can to make her forget it all." 
 
 When Butler left the work at his office to call upon John 
 Hayes, he began pondering over the old man's story, and 
 recollected that it lacked detail with relation to the disposi 
 tion made of the child at the time the wife was sent North 
 to Cincinnati by the young husband. It would prove a much 
 easier task to trace the whereabouts of the son, were fuller 
 details given as to what disposition the father made of the 
 babe, and, if it were possible, the same must be procured. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Hayes, before we proceed with our other mat 
 ters of business, I would like you to give me a clear state 
 ment of your movements, and what disposition you made of 
 your babe, at the time you sent your wife through the lines 
 to the ISTorth. You say you were to follow her, bringing 
 the babe, at the first opportunity?" 
 
 "Let me think," said the old man, drawing his hand acros? 
 his brow. "Yes, I was to follow by a more westerly route, 
 so as to avoid the armies. Well, the opportunity for a suc 
 cessful escape never came. My plans failed, for I was forced 
 to seek seclusion. When I reached Memphis, I was compelled 
 to leave my babe with an old negro woman in whom I felt 
 
 323
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 I could place implicit confidence. I gave her plenty of 
 money and instructed her fully how and where to reach the 
 mother of the child, knowing that when the old colored wo 
 man found her, the mother would understand the situation. 
 Then I quickly sought safety by starting for my retreat and 
 hiding place back in the hills, to await a more favorable op 
 portunity for my escape through the lines. 
 
 "But, as I said before, I was cut off, and then followed 
 my enforced retreat to the dismal swamps. Of course, T 
 have never seen nor heard of either my wife or child since that 
 sad day." 
 
 ef Yon left your son with an old negro woman in the City 
 of Memphis, you say?" 
 
 "Yes, I could do nothing else. Of course, I was dressed 
 in a Southern soldier's uniform, and might have left the 
 child with a white family, but I wanted the babe carried 
 North to its mother, so I procured the services of an old 
 negro woman." 
 
 "What was the old darky's name?" 
 
 <f l cannot recollect. In memory I can see the little old 
 cabin where she lived, but her name is lost to mind. If I 
 could go upon the spot, I think it would all return to my 
 mind." 
 
 "That you shall do, just as soon as we can arrange your 
 affairs. What was your name under which you married?" 
 
 "I am not positive, but I think it was Wilkoma Olcott. Of 
 course, that was not my true name, for I was fearful of 
 the officers of the army discovering me, so I employed that 
 name." 
 
 "Do you remember the name of your son?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, I shall never forget it. My wife's Christian 
 
 334
 
 A FRUITLESS MISSION 
 
 name was Norma, and my Christian name being Wilkoma^ 
 we appropriated a part of each name, giving to our son the 
 name of Norkoma. We did that because, our respective 
 families being wiped out by the cruel war, we had no one 
 for whom our son could be a namesake, so we appropriated 
 part of our own names." 
 
 "That was rather a novel idea," said Butler. 
 
 "Yes; the mother of invention, they say, is necessity, and 
 this was a case of necessity. I request of you, Mr. Butler, 
 to not make known the facts of my story until we find my 
 wife and son, or until I am dead and passed away. Will you 
 do me that favor?" 
 
 "I will, Mr. Hayes. However, in making your last will 
 and testament, you will be required to employ both your 
 own name, Olcott, and your other name, Hayes, in order to 
 make same fully understood. Your affidavit to the state 
 ment, or life story, may be attached to the will, to be read 
 and made public, in case of your death. I have arranged 
 for Mr. Walton, partner of Mr. Walter Marchand, to come 
 and write your will this afternoon. I will caution him about 
 secrecy in the matter, and you should be perfectly frank in 
 matters with him. I have arranged, as you suggested, to 
 have those pearls transformed into money, and our agent 
 has gone to New York to consult about the same. He will 
 return tomorrow. If anything occurs that you need me, 
 send for me. I will see you this evening." 
 
 "Before we get matters all closed, I want to pay both you 
 and my lawyers for the great services you have rendered me. 
 I wish you would please ascertain and let me know the 
 amount." 
 
 "I. have ascertained from the Marchands, and they re- 
 
 325
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 fuse to render a bill, saying that their services were for my 
 account, and they will accept nothing, as a fee. For myself, 
 I have made no charge for my services; all expenses were 
 borne by funds received from the sale of pearls." 
 
 "That will never do. Both you and the Marchands must 
 accept a reward and compensation." 
 
 "We will discuss the matter later. Walton will be here 
 soon to write your will, so I must let you rest a bit. Good 
 day." 
 
 A few days later, the once strange old man, who could 
 neither speak nor understand a word of his native tongue 
 and who had spent the better part of his life in the undis 
 covered portion, of the Everglades of Florida, was ready to 
 start out in search of his wife and son. He would first 
 go to Memphis, thence to Cincinnati, on his hopeful mission. 
 Before going, however, he reduced his fortune of pearls to 
 legal tender of the realm, and had made, constituted and 
 appointed Joe Butler his agent and attorney in fact, with 
 full power to manage and control the same. He also car 
 ried with him letters of instruction, so that in case of sick 
 ness or accident, Butler should be notified of the fact with 
 out delay. 
 
 Some days afterward, Butler received a letter from the 
 old gentleman, dated at Memphis, stating that he had lo 
 cated the place where the old negro woman lived at the 
 time he parted with his child, and that her name was Aunt 
 Dinah, but her other name he could not recollect. One of 
 her former neighbors is still living, an old negro man, and 
 he had said that several years after the war Aunt Dinah 
 went back to Alabama, and he thought she took the boy 
 with her. The old negro remembered Aunt Dinah, but didn't 
 
 326
 
 A FRUITLESS MISSION 
 
 recollect her full name. He also said that he had heard that 
 she had gone from Alabama to live in New Orleans. 
 
 "Now that is strange," said Butler to himself. "It is 
 just barely possible that my old black mammy knows some 
 thing about the old negro woman. I'll ask her." 
 
 When opportunity presented, Butler incidentally asked the 
 old colored woman if she had ever lived in Memphis. 
 
 "Did I evah live in Memphis? I guess I did. Yes, sah, I 
 did dat verah thing." 
 
 "When did you live there, Auntie?" 
 
 "I lived dar durin' de wah, an' a good smart while aftah 
 de wah. Why yo' ax me?" 
 
 "Never mind why I ask you, Auntie. I think you are 
 liable to come into a fortune, perhaps." 
 
 "What yo' say? Umph, from dat little white boy, what I 
 done raised?" 
 
 "May be so. Where did you get the little white boy, 
 Auntie ?" 
 
 "White man done fling him to me, and tole me to take 
 him up North." 
 
 "How big was the boy when you got him?" 
 
 "Jes a tee-ny we-ny baby. I had to raise him en a bottle. 
 Dat's what I had." 
 
 "Do you remember anything about the baby that was pe 
 culiar, or by which he might be identified when he grew up 
 to be a man?" 
 
 "Yes sah, yes sah, Marse Joe, I 'member a heap. Say, 
 Marse Joe, what's yo' axin' me all dem questions about that 
 li'l baby boy fo ? I jes don't cac'rlate I'se gwine ter git 
 in trouble, is I?" 
 
 "Not at all; not if you tell me all about it. If you tell 
 
 327
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 me all about it, I will see that you are taken good care of 
 as long as you live. What makes you fear trouble?" 
 
 "Because, yo' see, I done sold the li'l boy to a rich white 
 man, den I left de place and kem to my old marse's over 
 in Alabamy. Dat was when yo' was a li'l boy yo'sef." 
 
 "Well, what do you remember about the baby?" 
 
 "Bat babe done had a li'l gold locket with his mother's 
 picture in it, and her name was on de locket." 
 
 "What was the name?" 
 
 "I jes don't rec'lect, but I rec'lects de boy's name. It 
 was 'Koma. Yes, dat's it, it was 'Koma." 
 
 "Do you mean iSTorkoma?" 
 
 "Yessah, yessah, Marse Joe, dat's what it was. How yo' 
 knows dat name?" 
 
 "Oh, well, I found it out. But say, what became of the 
 man who gave the baby to you ?" 
 
 "Don't know, sah. He jes axed me if I'd tek dat baby 
 and carry it up North to some place or other, I can't rec'lect ; 
 but he writ out a lot o' stuff and said it was the d'rections. 
 I done los' de papah, and den I couldn't tek de baby no whah, 
 so I jes stayed whah I wuz. I nevah did see de man any 
 mo'. A long time aftah dat, a fine, rich white man kem 
 along and sed he wuz de uncle ob dat chile, and he gin me 
 twenty dollahs fo' de keepin', so I let him tek de baby, de 
 locket an' de whole kerpoodle. Dat's all I knows 'bout it." 
 
 "Well, that is enough for my purposes. Are you sure the 
 boy was called Norkoma?" 
 
 "I sho' is. Dat's 'xactly what it was." 
 
 "Now, Auntie, keep still about this,- and say nothing until 
 I ask you more about it." 
 
 328
 
 A FRUITLESS MISSION 
 
 "Dis ole niggah ain't no fool, Marse Joe. Don't reckon 
 I done kep' still 'bout dis for all dese yers, and spit my 
 stummick out o' my mouf now, does yo' ?" 
 
 "I guess you'll do all right, Auntie." 
 
 "Say, Marse Joe, I is in pow'ful bad need o' some snuff. 
 Yo' ain't got a quatah loose change, has yo' ?" 
 
 "Certainly, Auntie, I always have some change for you." 
 
 "Bless yo', Marse Joe, bless yo'. Ain't no use talkin', de 
 ole marse and de ole marse's son sho' knows how to treat 
 a po' ole niggah bettah dan dese new grown up folks. Dat's 
 what dey do." 
 
 Butler was now somewhat excited, for he believed, in fact, 
 he knew, that old Aunt Dinah was the same old Aunt Dinah 
 who had taken care of his friend's son. 
 
 "But what became of the son?" mused Butler. "If John 
 Hayes should be apprised of the fact that the old negress had 
 not even attempted to carry the babe to its mother, as he had 
 directed, it would only become a source of more acute anxiety, 
 and it would be best, perhaps, to not inform him of that fact. 
 Not for the present, at least." 
 
 Butler could not disclose any further facts to LeBerte 
 Marchand, for he had promised Hayes he would keep the 
 secret until the mother and son were discovered, or until 
 he, Hayes, were dead. He would be in duty bound to keep 
 his word of honor. There was no possibility of Marchand's 
 knowing anything about this man, for he was a Federal sol 
 dier. 
 
 "Marchand might have known something if the man had 
 been a Confederate soldier," mused Butler. "So Marchand 
 said, and that settled the question. Who could have been 
 the rich white man that said he was the uncle of Norkoma? 
 
 329
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 That is a question. He might have been any one of a mil 
 lion people yes, or more. Perhaps he was some South 
 ern man who had lost his family in the cruel war. Seeing 
 the child had no home except with ihe negress, he took the 
 boy and adopted him. One might as well hunt for a needle 
 in a hay stack as to hope to find Norkoma in sueh event. 
 Ah, it will, I fear, prove a fruitless task. But the poor 
 old man may as well devote the balance of his days to the 
 work of love. He will be the better content if he never 
 know the facts with which I have 'this day become acquaint 
 ed. Knowing the facts, he would soon realize the utter 
 fruitlessness of his task, and end his days in a sorrow that 
 is without compensation or hope. No, I'll not inform him, 
 for, with hope springing constantly within his breast, it will 
 be a pleasant task for him, even unto the day of his death." 
 Butler had now reached his office, and the subject was soon 
 driven from his mind by the many duties and cares that de 
 volved upon him there. He was too happy in the knowl 
 edge that Edith Marchand was soon to become his wife. 
 He had lived in silent hope for a long time, struggling and 
 toiling, but at last the great prize was to be his. Now, he 
 had good cause to dream of a happy fireside and loved ones 
 about him. He had once known such happiness, but for a 
 short duration only. Now, he knew better how to employ 
 all the means possible to make home the husband's and 
 wife's haven of true and earthly happiness. His sorrows had 
 mellowed his nature. They had tempered his ambitions, they 
 had been as a holy incense burning upon the altars of his 
 soul. Well, the happy day was not far off, and others there 
 were, as anxious, perhaps, for the consummation of the 
 matter as was Butler. 
 
 330
 
 A FRUITLESS MISSION 
 
 While Butler was busily engaged at his desk, he was called 
 up by 'phone, and, responding, was surprised no little to hear 
 a sweet, silvery voice. It was Edith. After the usual f ormal- 
 ities, she said: 
 
 "Mr. Butler, father requests that you make no mention 
 of the strange story of John Hayes. He gives no reasons, 
 but desires that you do not make it public as yet. Not until 
 he has a conference." 
 
 "Why do you ask, Edith? You seem anxious?" 
 
 "Well, it is father's wish, and he is feeling rather poorly, 
 so if you will grant it I shall ; f eel ever so grateful to you." 
 
 "You dear little angel, I would be tempted to close down 
 the plant and never print another paper, if you so requested." 
 
 "Oh, my, what a fib ! You are becoming a little extrava 
 gant, are you not?" 
 
 "Well, my dear, when you are mine, I'll be the richest man 
 in all the world. I can afford to be extravagant, can't I ?" 
 
 "Extravagance is an evil, you know. And over a tele 
 phone it is sometimes more than that." 
 
 "Thank you, Edith, for the suggestion. Telephones are 
 a convenience, of course, but a perplexity at times., and I 
 think I could do better in person. I shall call at 'The Cedars' 
 this evening, if I may." 
 
 "I shall be delighted, I am sure." 
 
 During the afternoon, Butler received another letter from 
 Wilkoma Olcott, or John Hayes, by which name he was 
 more familiarly known to his friends in New Orleans. The 
 letter bore the news that Olcott had been unable to find furth 
 er trace of old Aunt Dinah and his son, and, that owing to 
 an over-tax upon his nerves and perhaps too much activity, 
 he was fearful of a recurrence of fever. He had taken the pre- 
 331
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 caution to go to the hospital "Mercedes," that he might 
 have good care and attention. 
 
 Immediately upon reading the letter, Butler telegraphed 
 the hospital as follows : 
 
 "Please afford patient Olcott every facility and the best 
 medical attention possible to be had in your city. Spare no 
 expense; cost is not to be considered. Draw on me for 
 necessary funds. Report condition of patient daily. 
 
 "JOE BUTLER." 
 
 332
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 A SUDDEN DEATH. 
 
 When Mrs. Marchand had fully recovered from the ef 
 fects of her fright caused by the reading of the typewritten 
 statement, she began thinking more calmly over the facts as 
 therein related. She felt quite certain that the person who 
 related the strange story was no other than her former hus 
 band. The poor woman was at a loss to know just what to 
 do or where to turn for counsel and advice. True, she had 
 told Mr. Marchand all that she knew about the unhappy 
 incidents of her early life. On that score she had no cause for 
 regret, for she had done all that an honest, honorable woman 
 could have done. Marchand could certainly not lay any 
 blame to her account, yet the poor woman was greatly dis 
 turbed in mind. She feared the discovery might in some 
 way bring odium upon her husband, or upon Edith and Wal 
 ter, for which the public would censure her. Certainly, there 
 should be some one in whom she must confide, for she could 
 no longer contain her emotions, her fears, unobserved by 
 her family. They surely must become aware of the strain 
 upon her. She had written Walter to come home at once, 
 it is true, without stating reasons. But he might not arrive 
 in time to be of service as an adviser. 
 
 333
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 She had always confided in Edith, but now she 'erroneously 
 felt that Edith was disinclined to be as lovingly loyal as in 
 former times. Of course, in that she did the daughter an in 
 justice. At last she confided in her husband. She assured 
 him of the cause of her fears, and of her belief that her fears 
 were well founded. 
 
 No argument of the husband could sway her from her 
 steadfast belief. The story of the incident compared with 
 the facts of her former life, and there could be no two 
 incidents exactly alike. 
 
 "Well/"' said the husband, somewhat irritated, "if such 
 be true, even then there is no need of alarm. How can you 
 be discovered, here in my home, and identified as the former 
 Mrs. Norma Olcott?" 
 
 "You overlook the fact that the notice of our marriage 
 was published in all the papers at the time." 
 
 "Yes, I had not thought of that. But it is barely possible 
 that the files of old newspapers should be resorted to in 
 the search for you. Besides, there may have been a dozen 
 others bearing the name of ISTorma Olcott. I remember that 
 the papers gave your name as Norma, leaving the impression 
 that you were a maiden. No one would ever discover you 
 here, unless, through your own fears or conduct, you lead to 
 that result. You are not to blame if your first husband is 
 not dead. Your conduct in the matter is beyond reproach. 
 It was honorable, honest and upright. I absolve you from 
 even the thought of wrong-doing. What more could you 
 wish?" 
 
 "Oh, husband, you don't know how your manly words have 
 given relief to my troubled soul. I feared that Edith and 
 
 334
 
 A SUDDEN DEATH 
 
 Walter might not feel as kindly toward me since this sus 
 picion has arisen." 
 
 "Dear wife, your mind has been filled with foolish fears. 
 "Kdith and Walter love you as always, and they will stand 
 as your firm defenders against the world, the flesh and the 
 devil." 
 
 "You have made me so happy, dear husband. I am sorry 
 I did not come to you at the start. I should have done 30. 
 But will there be any publication given to this story?" 
 
 "I think not, It is all in Butler's hands. He will not 
 permit its publication if I request him to suppress it." 
 
 "Oh, please do so at once, for I do not want it. It will 
 be as a nightmare to me." 
 "It shall be so, my dear." 
 
 With the last remark, Marchand directed Edith to request 
 Butler to suppress the story, which was accordingly done, 
 as indicated in the previous chapter. 
 
 Walter Marchand was expected home on the morning train, 
 but, having changed his plan, did not arrive until the evening. 
 He was anxious to again greet his family, and to impart the 
 good news to his father and mother, so he went from the 
 depot direct to "The Cedars," taking along Butler, who had 
 gone to meet him. It was a great pleasure to be home again. 
 Walter was thrilled with delight, with a hundred emotions, 
 as he sat in the rapidly-moving carriage beside his friend, the 
 incandescents in the show windows of the great stores making 
 the streets as light as the day. 
 
 "Say, old fellow, permit me to congratulate you again upon 
 your good fortune in winning sister Edith. I am now con- 
 
 3B5
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 vinced that little sister was in love with you all the time. 
 Gumps that we were, we should have known it long ago.*' 
 
 "No man is happier than am I, certainly," said Butler. 
 "I also congratulate you upon your good fortune in winning 
 Dorothy. I can tell you now that I was aware that she loved 
 you all the while." 
 
 "Here we are at the gates, and bless me, there stands sweet 
 little Edith in the door, watching for us. Bless the dear 
 girl." 
 
 The greeting of brother and sister upon the threshold of 
 the old home was, indeed, a tender and affectionate greet 
 ing. It was more tender and affectionate than is usually 
 observed between brother and sister, and while pleasant to 
 witness, Butler felt a slight tinge of pain or of sadness, 
 perhaps. Just why he felt so, he did not know. It was 
 but momentary, however, for as Walter rushed on into the 
 house to greet the father and mother, Edith turned to her 
 betrothed, and, taking his hand in both her own, pressed it 
 affectionately to her cheek, and, through her tears of joy, 
 whispered, "my love." 
 
 That was recompense to Butler for his momentary pang. 
 He pressed his lips upon the beautiful brow of his beloved, and 
 answered, "my darling." After the informal and joyous 
 greeting of Walter and his parents, he informed them that he 
 had some especially good news, which, he felt sure, would 
 please them. 
 
 "Don't keep poor mama and papa in suspense, Walter. It 
 is really mean in you," said Edith. 
 
 "Well, I have fallen a victim to Mis& Rathbone's charms, 
 and we are to become husband and wife," said Walter. 
 
 "Hurrah for you!" said the father. I knew that little 
 
 336
 
 A SUDDEN DEATH 
 
 sprite would bring you to your sense of the duty you owe to 
 yourself and your country. Walter, let me congratulate both 
 you and Dorothy." 
 
 "And have I not my good mother's congratulations, also?" 
 said Walter, as he gently stroked Mrs. Marchand's hair and 
 kissed her forehead. 
 
 "Yes, my son, you have my congratulations, for I think 
 Dorothy will prove all and more than you expect of her. 
 It is always a little hard, however, for a mother to part from 
 her children, even knowing it to be for the best." 
 
 "We will not part from each other, mother dear. If I 
 shall conclude to live in Texas, you can come and visit with 
 us, you know. But we may live right here, where we can 
 be together, an unbroken, happy family. Won't that be 
 nice?" 
 
 "I hope it may be so, my son. When is to be the con 
 summation of your plans?" 
 
 "Just so soon as my term of office as Mayor of this city 
 expires. That will be three or four months from now." 
 
 "I don't see what your office has to do with it, Walter," 
 said the father. "I always feel that when one fully makes 
 up his mind on the question of marriage, he should end 
 the suspense as quickly as possible." 
 
 "Oh, it will be pleasant to live in anticipation. Besides, 
 I want to work out a plan by which my successor in office 
 shall carry out the designs and projects of the present ad 
 ministration. You see, we have inaugurated many new ideas 
 for the betterment of our city, and we do not want them to 
 fall into the hands of persons who cannot be trusted to carry 
 them out. So I shall have plenty to do in laying the ground 
 
 337
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 work for a successful campaign and the future consumma 
 tion of the work already begun." 
 
 "Who will likely be your successor, brother?" asked Edith. 
 
 "Your husband, jny dear." 
 
 "What? Mr. Butler will be your successor, and he never 
 told me of it? "surprisedly suggested Edith. 
 
 "I knew nothing of it, Miss Edith. This is the first in 
 timation I have had of that important fact," answered But 
 ler. 
 
 "Butler, you are one man that we can certainly depend 
 upon to hold the city government at the present water mark 
 of prosperity and good standing. I shall confer with my 
 colleagues tomorrow, and I am certain you will be unani 
 mously agreed upon. You have nothing to do. but accept the 
 situation as you will find it." 
 
 "Have I no choice in the matter, whatever, Walter?" 
 
 "None whatever. You will have been married three or 
 four months, settled down to regular routine, the sharp edge 
 of newly married life worn off, and you will be in excellent 
 trim for the work before you. Besides, you can then learn 
 by actual experience about that snake story ; ha, ha. ha !" 
 
 "Walter, you are a brick. It certainly did you good to 
 take that Texas trip. But I shall not promise you that your 
 plans will prove altogether harmonious. I am not the only 
 one to be consulted in the matter." 
 
 "Oh, I see. Well, darling sister, will you consent to your 
 husband becoming my successor?" 
 
 "I shall first want to know some of the great plans you 
 have in store for the city." 
 
 "Well, we want sidewalks, and better streets, and "
 
 A SUDDEN DEATH 
 
 "That is enough. If you, agree that the city shall have 
 good sidewalks, you have my consent." 
 
 "All right, that is settled, and, Joe Butler, you are to be 
 the Mayor, because your wife says you may." 
 
 "Before we proceed farther, Walter, let me ask if the peo 
 ple are going to have anything to say about it? You remem 
 ber when a committee waited on you to notify you that you 
 were to be the next Mayor, don't you?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. But I am going on the presumption that the 
 people will nominate and elect you. I take it that the people 
 indorse my administration, and that they will refuse to 
 indorse any man who does not agree to carry out the ideas, 
 reforms and projected improvements of this administration. 
 If that be true, and you agree to do these things, I can see 
 nothing in the way to bar your progress. You have, besides, 
 two of the best newspapers in the city, which will prove a 
 sure medium by which you can reach the people. Another 
 thing is, you are somewhat of a politician, and are possessed 
 of an encyclopedia of political knowledge, as compared with 
 my primer." 
 
 "There is no getting around your argument, Walter, so 
 long as there is none to take the negative side of the ques 
 tion. But how about the sidewalk question? Many people 
 are already objecting and finding fault. They don't like the 
 idea of being compelled to build sidewalks." 
 
 "That is to be expected. I know what class of people are 
 howling about it. It is the speculator, the fellow' who buys 
 up cheap property, lets it lie unimproved, or if improved, 
 rents it, awaiting for his neighbors to improve the neighbor 
 hood and thereby make his property more valuable. The man 
 who rents has a vote, the same as the speculator who rents 
 
 339
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 him the house. The home-owner next door, who takes some 
 pride in improving and beautifying his home, has a vote 
 the same as the speculator. The poor devil who has no 
 home at all, and who lives in a bad tenement house just be 
 yond, walks along the street in mud and water where there 
 ought to be a sidewalk, and he has a vote just the same as the 
 speculator. From a voting standpoint, the sidewalk has 
 ten votes to one as opposed to it. But I was not thinking 
 of the matter from a politician's viewpoint. I was looking 
 at it in the interest of the whole city. What a shame it is 
 that right in the very heart of the business portion of our 
 city such miserable sidewalks are to be found. I have seen 
 women and children compelled to walk out into the street, 
 at places, to avoid almost impassable sidewalks in front of 
 high priced property; property, too, which the owner refuses 
 to sell at a reasonable price, and just as unreasonably refuses 
 to build a decent sidewalk in front of it. It is this class of 
 people who are a curse to a city. They do more to prevent 
 a city's growth, prosperity, and decent appearance than any 
 other class of citizens. I shall push the sidewalk law to the 
 limit while I am Mayor, and will oppose the election of any 
 and all persons for city officials who do not openly avow 
 their determination to carry this work bravely on until we 
 have something respectable in the way of sidewalks through 
 out the whole city." 
 
 "Well said, my brother," exclaimed Edith, clapping her 
 hands with delight. "I do hope we shall finally have more 
 and better sidewalks, especially in the business part of town." 
 
 LeBerte Marchand had previously gone into the library, 
 and, now returning, informed Mr. Butler that a telegram of 
 importance had been delivered at his office, but, upon inquiry 
 
 340
 
 A SUDDEN DEATH 
 
 over the 'phono, he 'had directed that it be sent to "The 
 Cedars." 
 
 "I thank you very much, Mr. Marchand," replied Butler. 
 
 In a few moments the telegram arrived, which Butler put 
 in his pocket, unread. 
 
 "Why don't you read the message, Joe? It may be im 
 portant. No, you need not go to the library to read it; you 
 are at home here, so you may as well begin to act at home," 
 declared Walter, teasingly. 
 
 "Ladies, I beg your pardon, and at the same time I will 
 read." * * * 
 
 "What, bad news?" asked Walter, as Butler paled and 
 looked surprised. 
 
 "Read," said Butler, as he handed the message to Walter. 
 
 The message read as follows : 
 
 "Memphis, Tenn : 190 
 
 "Joe Butler. K 0. 
 
 "Your friend Wilkoma Olcott died this evening at 6 o'clock. 
 Await your instructions. 
 
 "DR. W. 1 H. TAYLOR." 
 
 As Walter read the letter aloud, so that all present heard, 
 there was an audible whisper of, "Thank God," and it wa? 
 observed that the mother's head was sinking forward, a pallor 
 spreading over her face. The telegram fell to the floor as 
 Walter stood gazing in wonderment at his mother, while 
 Edith and the father went quickly to the rescue. With the 
 application of restoratives and proper treatment, the little 
 woman was soon relieved of her momentary affliction, al 
 though Edith remained by her side, the mother having been 
 at first carried to her room. 
 
 Walter and Butler were soon assured by the father that the 
 
 341
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 mother had only a slight heart weakness, and she would be 
 entirely well by the following morning. 
 
 "What instructions do you suggest that I send to Dr. 
 Taylor? Shall the body be interred at Memphis, or shall it 
 be brought here?" asked Butler, directing his question to 
 LeBerte Marchand. 
 
 "I presume there is no necessity of a reply tonight, is 
 there? The body will be embalmed, no doubt," replied Mar- 
 chand. 
 
 "Very well, I shall await your suggestions, in the morning. 
 When Walter comes down town he can make known your 
 wishes. I shall now return to the office as I have neglected 
 some important business matters. Please say good night for 
 me to Edith and her mother. I shall not disturb them." 
 
 "In the morning, then," said LeBerte Marchand, as he 
 accompanied Butler to the door in person. 
 
 "Yes, in the morning will do. Good night." 
 
 "Good night." 
 
 "Now, my son, you are aware of the fact that Mrs. Mar- 
 chand's first husband disappeared during the war, and that 
 he was never heard of by her afterward. She has been fear 
 ful, lately, that our friend, the old man John Hayes, as we 
 called him, was her said former husband. In fact, I had, 
 but yesterday, concluded that her fears were well founded, 
 and the telegram just received has convinced me of the truth 
 of that fact. It said Wilkoma Olcott had died. That was 
 the name of Mrs. Marchand's first husband. Now you are 
 in possession of the facts. What shall be done with the 
 body?" 
 
 "It should be interred at Memphis, where it now is, so as 
 to create as little disturbance as possible, I should judge. 
 
 342
 
 A SUDDEN DEATH 
 
 Of course, no one here knows?" 
 
 "Xo, and I trust the facts will not be known to any but 
 our immediate family. Of course, Butler will know, sooner 
 or later, but he will become a member of our family in a 
 few days, so it will be safe with him." 
 
 "I am mighty glad it is all ended. Mother will surely 
 feel a great relief now. She never need fear more." 
 
 "In a few moments I shall 'phone to Butler to direct that 
 the interment take place at Memphis, temporarily, but thfot 
 the body be well embalmed, so that it may be removed later, 
 possibly." 
 
 "Very well, father, that will save me time in the morn 
 ing, as I shall be 1 very busy. I will now go in and console 
 mother, poor soul." 
 
 "Yes, do that, Walter, for heaven only knows what the 
 poor woman has suffered in all these years. Draw her mind 
 away from the thought as quickly as possible, so that she 
 may be restful during the night." 
 
 After half an hour of comforting assurances from Walter 
 and Edith, the little mother became drowsy and fell asleep, 
 when brother and sister turned the light low and tip-toed 
 out of the room, drawing the door to, but not closing it. 
 When the brother and sister reached the library, they en 
 sconced themselves in a cozy corner and held a conference, 
 such as only Edith and Walter could hold. They each real 
 ized that the time for the parting of their ways had come, 
 and they were prepared for it. It was fortunate, however, 
 so they made themselves believe, that each had formed such 
 loving new relations, and, Oh, how happy they would all be. 
 The thought was glorious to them, yet they confessed to each 
 
 343
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 other that there was a tinge of pain. The old clock upon 
 the mantel struck off the passing hours, all unheeded or 
 unheard by the brother-sister sweethearts. Finally, the father, 
 startled between naps by the hum of conversation, feared 
 there were burglars in the hourse, and proceeded to investi 
 gate. He discovered his children in the library as fond and 
 loving as they were in years gone by, when they were pre 
 paring their school lessons in that same old room. His pres 
 ence aroused them, and they were reminded of the hour. That 
 was sufficient. The brother and sister retired to their rooms, 
 while the father sank down in a large chair to dream over 
 and over again the same old, old dreams in which the vision 
 of a beautiful wife, son and daughter had filled the old 
 home with light, warmth and happiness, years, long year?, 
 ago. 
 
 344
 
 NORKOMA, THE PRINCE OF PEARLS 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 t' 
 
 NORKOMA, THE PRINCE OF PEARLS. 
 
 As suggested to Butler .by LeBerte Marchand, the body 
 of Wilkoma Olcott, or John Hayes, was given burial at 
 Memphis. Marchand further suggested that, if possible, But 
 ler should go to Memphis and attend the funeral, as a mark 
 of respect for his friend, and, incidentally, that proof of 
 death might be made, so as to probate the will of the de 
 ceased. Whatever else Marchand may have had in mind was 
 not at the time made known, if, indeed, he had any other 
 object in view. When Butler returned, he brought with him 
 a photograph of the deceased, together with affidavits of 
 the attending physicians as to the death of the man, Wil 
 koma Olcott, otherwise known as John Hayes. These were 
 exhibited to LeBerte Marchand, resulting in the restoration 
 of perfect quietude, and driving away all fears from the 
 minds of the occupants of "The Cedars." 
 
 Once more the home of LeBerte Marchand was the scene 
 of joy, peace and happiness. No more were the members of 
 that happy family to bear the torturing fear of a possible 
 future exposure of some hidden skeleton. The little moth 
 er could now face the world with a smile and a light heart. 
 Not that she should have ever felt otherwise, for her con 
 science had always been clear, her heart clean, and her life 
 
 345
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 pure. It had been no fault of hers if, in the providence of 
 God, the knowledge of certain facts were withheld from her 
 during all those years. She followed the light which provi 
 dence had afforded her, and therefore felt the consciousness 
 of having done right. Withal, the fears, tte doubt had been 
 an ever fruitful source of mind and soul torture. Those 
 doubts and fears were now suddenly brushed away by the 
 natural death of Wilkoma Olcott, henceforth rest, peace, joy. 
 One thing more, however, the little woman desired, and which 
 would greatly add to her joy. If Providence would now re 
 store to her the son, her boy, she could ask nothing more. 
 But the little woman resolved to try and content herself 
 with the blessing she already enjoyed, dismissing the further 
 thought from her mind forever, as she believed. 
 
 LeBerte Marchand was, to all appearances, as equally con 
 tent and happy as were the other members of the household. 
 True, his mind was equally relieved of the doubt and fear 
 of the one possible family skeleton. Now, that both his 
 daughter and son were each to marry and settle down in 
 life, there was no further burden of soul. His life-long secret 
 regarding the little locket had, to some extent, lost import 
 ance owing to the recent developments. Yet he would, for 
 the sake of the old life, retain his secret and the little locket, 
 safe from the knowledge of the world. It had been his cus- 
 custom for years to seek the privacy of his little room, and, 
 with the locket in hand, dream over and over the old, old 
 'days. There was no necessity for violating this old custom, 
 thouht he. hence he would let matters rock alon in the old 
 
 It w*s but a few days until the marriage of Edith and 
 Butler should be solemnized, and Dorothy Rathbone was 
 
 346
 
 NORKOMA, THE PRINCE OF PEARLS 
 
 already at "The Cedars" to take part in the ceremonies as 
 bridesmaid. The old home fairly sparkled with mirth, mer 
 riment and good cheer. Midst all the anxiety and joyful 
 anticipations, Walter and Dorothy found occasion and op 
 portunity for consultation and discussion upon matters more 
 serious and problems more weighty, as they suggested. It 
 was at this time when Walter was absorbed in a research for 
 information relating to the conditions of trade between Lat 
 in-America and the United States, as compared with that 
 of Europe. 
 
 "From the most recent statistics," said Walter, "I have 
 ascertained that for the year 19 , the trade of Latin- 
 America with Europe was of the value of $669,000,000, 
 while the trade with the United States was but $306,000,- 
 000, or less than one-half that of Europe. Our country 
 exported to Latin-America trade of the value of $68,000,000, 
 and imported from the same countries for the same period 
 values of $238,000,000, leaving a net balance of trade in 
 favor of Latin-America of $170,000,000. Is not that a de 
 plorable condition of business affairs? Does this not show 
 that we, of the United States, are mercilessly neglecting 
 golden opportunities of trade with our next door neighbors? 
 Neighbors of whom we are, by the policy of our government, 
 the friend and protector against foreign invasion? Why 
 was the Monroe Doctrine established? Was not one of its 
 purposes, though perhaps concealed at the time, to protect 
 and encourage our trade with Latin- America ? Why will 
 our people persist in going to Oriental countries for trade, 
 where sooner or later the United States will become involved 
 in international wars that will kill off our young men and 
 create a pension list so large that it may engulf us beyond 
 
 347
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 possible recovery ? The doors of the Orient are rapidly closing 
 against the trade of the United States, while Europe is 
 stealthily fostering the trade of our American neighbors. 
 Why can we not begin to realize the actual conditions ex 
 isting in Latin-America which have permitted Europe to 
 enjoy the trade of those nearby neighbors? Why do we 
 not begin to realize that the world's greatest future develop 
 ments and progress will be found in the great Southwest, 
 Texas and Latin-America? Do we not see the building of 
 the isthmian canal, the interoceanic railroads and pipelines, 
 the international lines of railroads and steamships, the vast 
 industries forcing themselves into Texas, Mexico, Centra] 
 and South America ? These countries are already taking the 
 lead in development, and it means a future prosperity the 
 like of which the world never before knew. Is it not time 
 that the United States should take fewer chances of East 
 ern wars, and help build up the western world? It seems 
 so natural that the trade of Latin-America should belong 
 to the United States, that there is no excuse for the present 
 unsatisfactory conditions, nor the apparent apathy upon 
 the part of the American people." 
 
 "If, as you say," said Dorothy, "the lack of acquaintance 
 with the existing conditions of the Latin countries is the 
 cause, then certainly the remedy must be along educational 
 lines, such as are contemplated by the projected Pan-Ameri 
 can College of Commerce, is it not?" 
 
 "There is no question about it," replied Walter. "The 
 results to be obtained by the method to be adopted by the 
 college of commerce will prove more effective and speedy 
 than would all the steamship and railroad lines that will 
 
 348
 
 be established between the United States and Latin-America 
 within the present century." 
 
 While Walter and Dorothy were thus discussing the trade 
 conditions of the Americas, they were interrupted by Edith, 
 who reminded them that Mr. Butler and Mr. Walton had 
 come to open and read the last will and testament of the 
 late John Hayes, otherwise known as "The Prince of 
 Pearls." 
 
 "Your presence is urgently requested. Please come," 
 added Edith, then returned to her guests. When all had 
 assembled in the spacious room, Mr. Walton stated that he 
 had prepared the last will and testament of the late Wilkoma 
 Olcott, and that the same had been executed according to 
 the formalities required by law. That he would break the 
 seal and make known the contents and provisions thereof 
 in the presence of those assembled, according to the cus 
 toms of the country, in matters of this character. Where 
 upon, the seal was broken and the document examined. 
 
 "Before publicly reading the document," said Mr. Walton, 
 "I shall ask if there be any one present who desires first to 
 examine the document?" 
 
 "With your permission," said LeBerte Marchand, "I should 
 be pleased to inspect the document, not that I apprehend 
 there are any irregularities as to form, however," Eeceiving 
 the instrument from the hands of Mr. Walton, Marchand 
 began searching for his spectacles, but failed to find them. 
 
 "I presume you left your glasses in your room, papa," 
 suggested Edith, "I will bring them for you." Whereupon 
 Edith went to the father's rooms and finding the glasses 
 
 349
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 upon the old iron safe among other articles and papers, re 
 turned, saying: 
 
 "Here are your glasses, papa," Then going to her mother, 
 unobserved by the father, said: 
 
 "I suppose this is yours, mother, as I found it lying 
 upon the safe with father's glasses," handing to the mother 
 at the same time, the little golden chain and locket which 
 had, by accident, been left lying there by the father when 
 he was suddenly called to hear the reading of the will. The 
 mother gave a slight start at the first glance at the locket, 
 then adjusting her glasses she observed the inscription upon 
 the side, "Jfonna." Either by accident or by a deft and 
 unobserved manipulation, the locket was opened an'i the 
 mother gazed upon the picture therein contained, at the same 
 time uttering a scream of surprise and fright, bewildering 
 those present, all of whom sat looking at the mother with a 
 transfixed gaze. With an effort the little woman composed 
 herself in a measure, then straightened up as if nerving her 
 self for a personal affray with a foe, and fixing her eyes 
 steadily upon Edith, coldly said: 
 
 "How came you by this little locket?" 
 
 "I found it on papa's safe," replied Edith, excitedly. 
 
 "Husband, do you know how this locket came to be in 
 your possession, or at least in your room?" 
 
 "Yes, wife, I know all about it. Why do you ask?"' 
 
 "Because, this locket was my own. It contains the pic 
 ture of my girlhood days. It was worn by my only child, my 
 little Xorkoma." 
 
 "My God, woman, are you speaking the truth?" said 
 Marchand. 
 
 350
 
 NORKOMA, THE PRINCE OF PEARLS 
 
 "Yes, so help me God," replied the mother. "If you know 
 all about this locket, then you possibly know all about my 
 son. Oh, my God, tell me quick. Do you know?" 
 
 "If what you say is true, I do know about your son." 
 
 "Where is he, where is my son, for Heaven's sake tell me." 
 
 "There is your son ! Walter Marchand is your son, if you 
 speak the truth." 
 
 "You deceive me, he is your own son. Tell me, or I shall 
 go mad." 
 
 "No, Walter Marchand is not the child of my own blood, 
 but my adopted son. I tell you that, if what you have said be 
 true, Walter is your own son." 
 
 "Then thank God, my only prayer has been answered, my 
 only hope -has been realized. I felt all these years that you, 
 Walter, were the child of my own blood, else I could not 
 have loved you as I did. Thank God, my cup of joy is filled, 
 I am content." 
 
 "What does all this mean ?" excitedly inquired Walter. "I 
 am dumfounded, I do not understand. Father, you say I am 
 not the child of your own blood. I have the right to demand 
 of you an explanation. I have grown up in your family, 
 believing I was your son, the brother of your daughter 
 Edith. You must have had cause for this deception, this 
 silence." 
 
 "Do not be harsh, my son," said the mother, "for now I 
 must thank God that your young life fell into the hands of 
 so 'good and noble a man as LeBerte Marchand. Be calm, 
 and learn the story of your childhood days, then you will 
 have cause to be thankful that LeBerte Marchand has lived." 
 
 "Edith, my child,'' said Marchand, "go into my room, 
 and upon the iron safe, where you fond the little locket, 
 
 351
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 you will also find a written document tied with a red tape. 
 Bring it to me, please, for it is my story with relation to this 
 matter. I prepared it years ago, so that in the event of my 
 sudden taking off, my family would learn the true status of 
 my son Walter." When Edith returned the father added: 
 
 "Here it is, Walter, read it for yourself." 
 
 Walter hastily read aloud the plainly written document 
 which gave in detail the facts as to how and when the little 
 boy "Norkoma" was rescued from the old negress at Mem 
 phis, and followed on down to the time when he returned 
 from the college, a young man of whom his foster father 
 was overproud. There, Marchand's story ended, and Walter 
 looked around, first at one and then at another, finally say 
 ing: "It it incredible." 
 
 "Now, I understand the situation," said Butler. "You 
 have all read the portion of the old man's written statement 
 which I handed to Mr. Marchand, but which does not in 
 special terms connect with Mr. Marchand's statement. That 
 was not all of the old gentleman's story. There is a sup 
 plementary statement, made by Mr. Olcott, a couple 
 of days afterwards. It is attached to the will for the pur 
 pose of identifying his wife and child, in case they were 
 ever found. I was requested by him to not make the con 
 tents of his supplementary statement known until his wife 
 or son be found, or until his death. Being now absolved, 
 I ask Mr. Walton to read the supplementary statement." 
 
 Mr. Walton read aloud the statement last made by Olcott, 
 to the surprise of both Mr. and Mrs. Marchand, proving 
 almost beyond doubt that the little boy whom Marchand 
 recovered from the old negress was no other than Walter 
 Marchand, and the son of Norma Marchand's body. 
 
 352
 
 NORKOMA, THE PRINCE OF PEARLS 
 
 "Now, I have sent for the old negress who may be a.ble to 
 close the gap in the proof as to who Walter Marchand really 
 is," said Butler. "You realize the fact that the old negress 
 may have had a half dozen little white boys in her charge 
 at different times after the war, and, if so, Walter Marchand 
 may not be the son of Wilkoma Olcott." 
 
 "Oh, please, Mr. Butler, if there is any doubt about Walter 
 being my son, for God's sake, do not, do not take him from 
 me!" 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Marchand, there is no doubt. I will prove 
 it. May I bring the old negress in here?" said Butler. 
 "Certainly, certainly, let her come in," said Marchand. 
 "Let me first tell you that the old negress was my father's 
 slave, and during the war she was liberated, going direct to 
 Memphis, where she lived until some years after the war 
 closed, when she came back to our plantation. She lived 
 with us until after I went off to college, where Walter and 
 I first met. She then came here, and, by accident, she 
 found me. I have been taking care of her since. I beg of 
 you to show kindness to my old black mammy, so that we 
 mav get her full story." 
 
 When old Aunt Dinah was brought into the room, Butler 
 explainer] to her the purpose for which she was there, and 
 requested her to be careful and answer truthfully any ques 
 tion that might be asked her. Then handing to her the lit 
 tle locket and chain, asked : 
 
 "Did you ever see this little locket before, Aunt Dinah?" 
 After examining it carefully, she answered : 
 "Yessah, Marse Joe, I done seed that afoh." 
 "When and where did you see it, Auntie?" 
 
 353
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 "Long time ago when I lived in Memphis. Dat b'long to 
 my white baby, sho' as yo' live." 
 
 "What baby?" 
 
 "'Koma, my white baby, 'Koma. I done tole you all 
 'bout dat, Marse Joe, what you axin' me agin f o' ?" 
 
 "Because I want these friends of mine to know the truth. 
 What became of the white baby?" 
 
 "I done tole you a white man kem and got him. He sed 
 as how he was de uncle o' dat chile, and he giv' me twenty 
 dollahs for de keepin', den he tooked de chile, locket an' all, 
 away. Den I went back to Alabamy, to my ole Marse But 
 ler's. Dat's de Gawd's blessed truf. Dat's what it is." 
 
 "Did you ever have any other white baby in your keeping 
 while you lived in Memphis?" 
 
 "Naw sah, naw sah, dat's de onliest white baby what I 
 evah did have. Dat's sho's you live, Marse Joe." 
 
 "That is all, Aunt Dinah, unless some one present de 
 sires to ask you a question." 
 
 "I will ask her a question, Mr. Butler," said Marchand. 
 
 "What was the little boy doing on the day the white man 
 came and took him away?" 
 
 "Doin'? He was too little fer to do anything, I reckon," 
 said the negress. 
 
 "Did he ever try to sell newspapers?" 
 
 "Oh, yassah, yassah, I done tried to larn him to sell pa- 
 pahs, 'kase I wuz too po' fer to let him set 'round doin' 
 nuffin. Yassah, he done sole a few papahs, but he wasn't 
 big 'miff to do much of anyt'ing." 
 
 'That is all, I have no more questions," said Marchand, 
 and Aunt Dinah was dismissed. Then Butler turned to 
 Walter and said:
 
 NORKOMA, THE PRINCE OF PEARLS 
 
 "You know now where you heard those old nursery negro 
 melodies. Aunt Dinah was your old black mammy, as well 
 as my own." 
 
 "I am now convinced beyond all doubt, that Walter is of 
 the flesh and blood of my wife, Norma," said LeBerte Mar- 
 chand, "although I had never dreamed such to have been 
 possible. In the early days, I feared that he would be dis 
 covered and taken away from me, so I guarded my knowledge 
 of the matter as with the secrecy of the grave. So did I 
 love my adopted son, so jealous for his every advantage that 
 life could afford him was I, that I dared not breathe my 
 secret even to my present wife nor my children. I had 
 resolved to carry my secret with me to the grave if neces 
 sary, rather than to see my son torn from my bosom. Then 
 later, when I became aware of the passion of love existing 
 between my son and daughter, my heart bled for them, but 
 there was no remedy. Had they known, they would have 
 cursed my gray hairs to the grave. The people could not 
 have understood, and both my wife and I would have gone 
 to our graves in sorrow. Thank God that it has all ended so 
 beautifully, by each of our children finally choosing life 
 companions who will make their lives most happy." 
 
 "Father, foregive me," said Walter, for my cruel words a 
 moment ago. I did not then understand. I want to thank 
 you for all you have done for me, and, so long as I live, I 
 shall love you more and more, for I shall never be able to 
 repay the debt of gratitude I owe. And my dear little 
 mother, God bless you, I have loved you so much oh, I have 
 loved you more than I could have loved any one who was not 
 my real mother. Often my heart told me that you were my 
 own sweet mother. But there, be happy now, and I promise 
 
 355
 
 NORKOMA 
 
 you I will continue to love you only as a true son can love 
 his mother. And, my darling sister, what can I say to you 
 but words of love. We have been companions and sweet 
 hearts from our childhood days, and " 
 
 "Walter, Edith," said the father, directing their attention 
 to both Butler and Dorothy, who were each slowly drifting 
 with bowed heads and in silence into the library. 
 
 "Don't, brother. Say no more at present. It no doubt 
 causes an unpleasantness " 
 
 "Yes, yes, I forgot," interjected Walter, interpreting 
 Edith's mind. Then quickly overtaking Butler and Doro 
 thy, begged them to return, which they did, when Walter 
 continued : 
 
 "Now, sir, my friend Butler, let me place your hand in 
 that of your wife, the truest, best, dearest littl? sister in 
 all the world, and who will be as good a wife as she is a 
 sister." 
 
 "Walter," said Butler, "you are generous, but I shall insist 
 that Edith's desires shall be consulted in this matter." 
 
 "Old boy, I know how you love my sister, and I know 
 she loves you. Let her speak." 
 
 Then Edith, taking Butler's hand in both her own, said, 
 with eyes filled with tears of joy: 
 
 "Like one of old, I say: 'Whither thou goest, shall I go, 
 and where thou diest shall I die. Thy God shall be my 
 God, and thy people shall be my people.' ' ; 
 
 "God bless you, my little angel, all the days of my life 
 will I strive to be worthy of so good, so pure, so gentle and 
 loving a wife, as I know you shall be," said Butler in broken 
 voice. 
 
 "Well, folks, no one has the best of me," said Walter, as 
 
 356
 
 NORKOMA, THE PRINCE OF PEARLS 
 
 he held Dorothy's hand. "Let us cheer up, for Dorothy and 
 I have just agreed to make the affair a double wedding." 
 
 "God bless you, my children, you don't know how happy 
 it makes my poor old heart. I know mother shares my 
 happiness/' said the father. 
 
 In a few minutes quiet was restored, and the will was 
 read, which provided that for the legal services rendered by 
 Walter Marchand, and for the brotherly services rendered 
 by Butler, each were bequeathed one-tenth of the estate. In 
 the event the wife, Norma Olcott, was found and unmarried, 
 the balance of the estate should go to her, for herself and 
 son. But, if married and in needy circumstances, one-half 
 of the remainder should go to her, and the other half to 
 the son, Norkoma Olcott. Otherwise, the remainder was 
 wholly bequeathed to the son. But in the event that neither 
 wife nor son be found, the entire remainder should go to 
 Joseph Butler and Walter Marchand, to be employed by 
 them for charitable or individual purposes, as they might 
 dec! 11 proper. 
 
 "According to the unmistakable evidence," said Butler, 
 Walter Marchand is no other person than ISTorkoma Olcott, 
 and the sole and only heir to the fortune, as well as to the 
 title, the 'Prince of Pearls.' " 
 
 "All hail, the 'Prince of Pearls,' " joyously exclaimed 
 Dorothy. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 AUTHOR'S NOTE To create a widespread interest in the projected Pan- American 
 College of Commerce, is one of the objects of this book. Those who have become 
 interested are kindly requested to read the Appendix. 
 
 357
 
 APPENDIX
 
 APPENDIX 
 
 The idea of the projected Pan-American College of 
 (sometimes called Pan-Amerieam Trades College) was conceived mm * 
 originated by the author of this book. The lnfcrf^ miiilj of 
 some method or means by which the United States may bring about a. 
 better trade condition with Latin America two** man and ORB 
 apparent every year. The very fact that, fat the year 190^ lac trade 
 of the United States with Latin-Ameriea was $63,000, 
 
 one-half of Europe "s trade with the saaw qmnUjirK, is a condition tint 
 speaks volumes. Again, the exports from the United States to Lotm- 
 Ameriea for the same year were less than the imports to those conn- 
 tries by $170,000,000. leaving a net balance of trade in far 
 Latin-Ameriea by just that sum, as against the United States. Tins 
 condition needs BO comment. 
 
 On May 6th, 1905, a special committee, reporting to the Texas 
 Legislature, upon the conditions and trade relations of the United 
 States and Latin- America, in part, said: 
 
 The greatest field of trade in the world lies at the very doors 
 of the United States, while the American merchant and exporter 'lies 
 to distant climes' for an undiscovered field. A few fTjaipirn may 
 serve to illustrate our trade conditions with Latin-America, as tarn 
 pared with European countries: 
 
 ' ARGENTINE BEPUBLL . 
 
 * In 1S90, the imports of the Argentine Republic frost fire foreigm 
 countries were as foil 
 
 Great Britain =" 
 
 France 1: 
 
 Belgium 1 
 
 Germany I: 
 
 United States 4.<XOOO 
 
 361
 
 APPENDIX 
 
 "The trade of the United States with Argentine in 1890 was no 
 greater than it was twenty years prior. 
 
 "HONDURAS. 
 
 "The importations from the United States for the year 1892 were 
 $512,000. Exports to the United States for the same year were 
 $963,000; the balance of trade in favor of Honduras being $451,000. 
 
 "NICARAGUA. 
 
 "The imports into this country for 1890 from two foreign coun 
 tries were: 
 
 England $1,324,000 
 
 United States 811,000 
 
 "MEXICO. 
 
 "For the year 1898, Mexico exported into the United States com 
 merce of the value of $94,974,616, while the value of her imports 
 from the United States for the same year was $21,490,604. 
 
 "Many illustrations could be given to show the very unsatisfactory 
 commercial relations existing between the United States and our 
 Latin-American neighbors. The commerce of these countries should 
 have been ours, long ago. 
 
 "BARRIER TO OUR TRADE. 
 
 ' ' The great barrier is a lack of knowledge by the American ex 
 porter as to the wants, needs, customs, habits, languages and usages 
 of the Latin-American, and a lack of acquaintance with the people 
 of those countries. Some practical suggestions are to be found in a 
 letter written by a merchant in Honduras to the Bureau of Ameri 
 can Republics. An extract therefrom reads as follows: 
 
 ' ' ' The failure of the merchants of the United States to capture 
 the Latin-American trade is due to the fact that they do not send 
 out . reliable agents who can speak the language and who are ac 
 quainted with the habits, tastes, wants and needs of the people. 
 English and German houses avail themselves of the services of 
 such men, and the consequence is, they get the business. The great 
 requisites for such a man are, ability to speak and write the Spanish 
 language; to know the wants, needs, tastes and customs of the 
 people; to have a knowledge of the patterns and classes of goods 
 suited to the various markets here. I have never heard of an. 
 
 362
 
 APPENDIX 
 
 American agent visiting this country who was capable. All whom 
 I have personally met were in entire ignorance of the needs and 
 wants of the people. ' 
 
 "UNITED STATES CONSUL WOOD. 
 
 "United States Consul Wood, in Honduras, in a report to the 
 United States, among other things, says: 
 
 IC 'American exporters should make a careful study of these coun 
 tries. German and English exporters are, as a rule, more painstaking 
 in the selection of their representatives, securing only those who are 
 acquainted with the peoples of these countries, and who speak the 
 languages, know the habits, wants, usages and customs, and so win 
 a share of the trade where American goods are placed to a far 
 greater advantage.' 
 
 "THE EEMEDY. 
 
 ' ' If the United States shall provide some means whereby the 
 younger generations of the countries interested may come together, 
 intermingle, and become better acquainted with each other, as well as 
 to become co-educated, learn the languages, habits, usages and nccils 
 of the various peoples, it will bring about the much to be desired 
 trade conditions more rapidly than any other conceivable plan. 
 
 "AMEKICA'S OPPOETUNITY. 
 
 "As stated in the resolution, the United States is rapidly becom 
 ing a world-power. Her rightful position upon the Western Hemi 
 sphere should be, the ' Master of Commerce. ' Her governmental ac 
 tivities for years past have tended along the lines of commerce. 
 With Latin-American willing and anxious to enter upon more friend 
 ly trade relations, affords, we believe, America 's opportunity to quick 
 ly achieve her richly deserved commercial supremacy in the Western 
 World, by promulgating and fostering a Pan-American College of 
 Commerce, as herein suggested. 
 
 "A TEXAS COMMISSION. 
 
 "We suggest that a Commission be duly appointed by the Texas 
 Legislature, consisting of ten members, to be supplemented at any 
 time by the Governor, as may be required. We further suggest and 
 recommend that such Commission, patriotic in spirit, conduct the 
 promulgation of the projected Pan-American College of Commerce in 
 such manner as its best judgment shall direct. ' ' 
 
 363
 
 The report of the Legislative Committee was unanimously adopted, 
 and the following named persons were duly appointed, as the Texas 
 Commissioners for the Pan-American College of Commerce : 
 
 SENATOES. 
 
 George B. Griggs Houston 
 
 John G. Willacy Corpus Christi 
 
 Marshall Hicks San Antonio 
 
 A. B. Davidson Cuero 
 
 W. A. Hanger Fort Worth 
 
 EEPEESENTATIVES. 
 
 John F. Onion San Antonio 
 
 W. L. Blanton Gainesville 
 
 J. L. Peeler Austin 
 
 E. F. Harris Galveston 
 
 J. T. Canales Brownsville 
 
 INDORSEMENTS. 
 
 Hon. J. H. Metcalf, Secretary Department Commerce and Labor, 
 Washington, D. C., says: 
 
 ' ' I have no doubt that a trade school, established on the 'lines set 
 forth in the report of the committee, would be of incalculable value 
 in promoting the commercial, as well as the fraternal relations, witli 
 our sister Eepublics. 
 
 ' ' The Legislature of Texas is to be commended for taking the 
 initiative in this movement. * * The movement for establishing 
 
 a Pan-American College of Commerce is timely, and should receive 
 the earnest support of the whole people. ' ' 
 
 Dr. H. S. Lehr, of Ohio, one of the foremost educators in the 
 United States, says: 
 
 "There is much need for an institution such as your Commission 
 is promulgating. It would bring about a freedom of intercourse 
 between the American Eepublics, thereby encouraging trade and de 
 velopment. It would have a tendency to bring about the use of a 
 common language, which would be the English language, a com- 
 
 364
 
 THE TEXAS COMMISSIONERS.
 
 APPENDIX 
 
 mon system of weights and measures, a common currency, common 
 customs, and, in time, a common literature. In fact, the many 
 advantages of such an institution cannot now be enumerated, but 
 will grow as the school advances, and the countries interested de 
 velop. The possibilities of such an institution are so great that one 
 must stand in awe at its future possibilities and grandeur, as it looms 
 up in imagination." 
 
 St. Louis Globe-Democrat, April 29, 1905: 
 
 "By and through the methods of a Pan-American College of Com 
 merce, the United States could quickly double or triple its commerce 
 with Latin-America, and establish new ties to bind all those coun 
 tries with us. The project is excellent, and is worthy the attention 
 of the United States. " 
 
 American Exporter, June 29, 1905 : 
 
 11 Should this great college project be consummated, it will quickly 
 become the Mecca for the young merchants of the Western World, 
 who wish to become schooled in the needs of international trade on 
 the American Continent." 
 
 Further comment is deemed unnecessary, here. The Texas Com 
 mission desires the co-operation of every citizen of all the Americas 
 in this great work. In the United States, we wish to press upon 
 Congress the importance of this project, to the end that our National 
 government shall take the necessary steps to insure its early consum 
 mation. Upon behalf of the Texas Commission, I thank those good 
 citizens of our country who have interested themselves in this project. 
 I shall be pleased to receive communications from all who indorse the 
 ideas herein presented. 
 
 Respectfully, 
 
 GEO. B. GRIGGS, 
 
 President Texas Commission, Houston, Texas. 
 
 365
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 Form L9-100m-9,'52(A3105)444
 
 17 6U Norkoma. 
 G87lin 
 
 PS 
 
 176U 
 G87Un 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FAC LITY 
 
 A A 000033257 7
 
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 injli 
 
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