The New Mr. Howerson 
 
 Opie Read
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 "Ma" Crandtll
 
 The New Mr. Howerson
 
 The 
 
 New Mr. Howerson 
 
 By 
 
 Opie Read 
 
 The Reilly & Britton Co. 
 Chicago
 
 Copyright, 1914 
 
 by 
 
 The Reilly & Britton Co. 
 
 The New Mr. Howerson
 
 PREFACE 
 
 ' ' You Ve written on this book long enough to warrant 
 a preface," a friend remarked. " During four years 
 you have worked at it, writing it twice with a pen, then 
 turning it into a play, to catch at every possibility of 
 dramatic action then showing judgment by not pro 
 ducing the play. Now why don't you write a preface? 
 Somebody might read it." 
 
 " Yes. And I could say that I know these characters, 
 that I cannot believe otherwise than that they are living. 
 With them I have kept close company ' ' 
 
 ' ' Don 't believe I 'd say that. It would show that you 
 have associated with some rather desperate fellows." 
 
 " And so has every man who has known this town for 
 thirty years." 
 
 " But I'd leave it out. Take no reader into any 
 except a respectable confidence. . . . You might say 
 something about its being a departure from your other 
 books." 
 
 " Though not a departure from human nature, let us 
 hope." 
 
 THE AUTHOR.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I The Agents of Justice 9 
 
 II Electing a Martyr 14 
 
 III The Old Mr. Howerson 26 
 
 IV Old Calvin 38 
 
 V Hunting a Bed 47 
 
 VI The Torture Chamber 58 
 
 VII The Mission of the Bulldog 69 
 
 VIII The Chill of the Bulldog 85 
 
 IX The Cabin 102 
 
 X The Shrewd Mayor 120 
 
 XI The Ordinance 140 
 
 XII The Hide of the Wolf 149 
 
 XIII Another Mission 155 
 
 XIV A New Mr. Watkins 168 
 
 XV The Old Man's Letter 176 
 
 XVI The Amusing Follies of Life 191 
 
 XVII On the Real Stage 201 
 
 XVIII Chuckled Over It 211 
 
 XIX But God Said There Was a Devil 220 
 
 XX A Little Play 228 
 
 XXI Not the Printed Book 238 
 
 XXII A Piece of Gold 248 
 
 XXIII Millionaired Long Legs 256 
 
 XXIV The Inquisition 267
 
 8 
 
 Contents Continued 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XXV Slapped His Face With a Look 277 
 
 XXVI Wanted : A Model Home 284 
 
 XXVII She Couldn't Talk to Him 294 
 
 XXVIII Never Thought of Such a Thing 303 
 
 XXIX She Did Not Exist 309 
 
 XXX In a Creamy Envelope .' 315 
 
 XXXI The Two Knights 319 
 
 XXXII Might Live to Reach There 323 
 
 XXXIII Colonel Banstree 333 
 
 XXXIV Old Sam 340 
 
 XXXV A Dog Howled 348 
 
 XXXVI A Scrap of Paper 356 
 
 XXXVII Wanted His Poems 362 
 
 XXXVIII " Nigger Here Too ! " 369 
 
 XXXIX A Straggling Visit 376 
 
 XL The Power That Moves the World 392 
 
 XLI His Elder Sister 402 
 
 XLII Working His Scheme 416 
 
 XLIII And the Wretch Didn't Know It 422 
 
 XLIV Too Weak Now 433 
 
 XLV Stood With Her Head Erect 440 
 
 XL VI Where the Road Forked. . . 447
 
 The New Mr. Howerson 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 THE AGENTS OF JUSTICE 
 
 A cold northwest wind swept the streets. March, 
 scolding dame of the year, shrieked her complaint. In 
 the somber-clad throng that crowded the cobbled thor 
 oughfare, no countenance seemed illumined with happi 
 ness. Slaves emancipated for the night, and worse than 
 slaves, women of the sweat shops, struggled homeward 
 to sleep, to awake with the ever-just sigh against fate, 
 and then to return to the galleys of the soul. Dwarfed 
 and mirthless youth, disappointed middle life and old 
 age, victims of deadening toil and cheated of the balm 
 of philosophy, all struggling to pull apart from one 
 another, to be individuals, and yet each one but a type 
 in a vast herd of anxiety and discontent. 
 
 But just around a granite corner, a tide of a different 
 hue was sweeping, the tide of success in life: conscious 
 power in the legalized throat-cutting of trade, buttoned 
 up in cold and Puritanic dignity; vigorous youth, and 
 ashen-jawed age almost unable to walk but able to 
 make ten thousand strong men walk all night, dreading 
 the morrow anemia in glittering motor car that 
 seemed tremulous to break loose from all restraint and 
 to leave blood, broken bones and death in its wake ; men 
 athletic with hope; women with nurtured complexions 
 furred against the wind all bent for home, for cafe 
 
 9
 
 10 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 or for some place where amusement might be offered and 
 rejected with ostentatious yawn: the world's eternal 
 contrasts. 
 
 Through the drift of the mottled and cheaper throng 
 there bumped and dodged and bumped again a man 
 who elsewhere than in a human logjam would have 
 attracted notice. Villagers would have honored him with 
 speculations as to his identity, and the worthy post 
 master, boaster of unbroken political faith for forty 
 years, would have craned his neck to get a good sight 
 of him. Among this man's marks of time was a studied 
 mildness which seemed to whisper the lie unto itself, a 
 look which, in a way Americanized, still bore remem 
 brance of some half barbaric and smoky fireside far 
 beyond the sea. Long wear had robbed his silk hat of 
 its gloss; the tails of his frock coat hung far below the 
 skirt of his cloak, and his waistcoat, when the wind 
 exposed it to view, showed the stains of food forked up 
 hastily from a beer-monger's table. 
 
 Somewhere in the past a more prosperous day had 
 been his heritage. Adversity does not always stamp a 
 countenance with sorrow; misfortune has sometimes a 
 humorous trick, and sports with her unfavored child, 
 mottling his gravity. Thus it was with Professor Hudsic, 
 late of St. Petersburg, and later, it was said, from a 
 political hole in the ground, the frozen bowels of Siberia. 
 In Chicago he had lectured for the ' ' cause, ' ' grazing the 
 edges of the law. One of his meetings had been broken 
 up by the police, and he had been warned that the 
 penitentiary or even the gallows was waiting for him. 
 Then he essayed the chair of English and Mathematics 
 in a night school, in a slum district, and now, on this 
 blustery evening, he was on his way to attend a com 
 mittee meeting of an institution much nearer his heart,
 
 THE AGENTS OF JUSTICE 11 
 
 and of which he was president, the ' * Agents of Justice. ' ' 
 
 Occasionally a policeman, seeming to recognize his 
 blackish beard, would look at him as he bumped his 
 zigzag way through the crowd. In a jam waiting for a 
 bridge to swing back into position he was forced to halt, 
 and here he stood with his hand on a railing, worn 
 smooth with many a passing touch, and looked about 
 him slowly; at the thin visaged woman with a package 
 held close to her frail body, at the impatient boy, the 
 pale girl with a wilted rose in her hand, at the blackened 
 teamster sitting high on his load of coal, and at the old 
 man, tottering toward his home not only for the night 
 but for the rest not broken by the brazen bell. 
 
 " Poor, ignorant fools," the professor mused as upon 
 each one he bestowed attention ; and then, professor-like, 
 he revised his decision; " or rather, poor victims of a 
 succession of fools." 
 
 The bridge swung around. The crowd rushed for 
 ward, men, women and children leaping upon it before 
 it settled; and when with a jar the rusty socket was 
 found, the forward throng staggered as if the earth 
 had quaked. " Poor wretches, always in a hurry," the 
 professor mused, " always impatient to reach the scene 
 of their slavery of a morning and impatient at night to 
 return to the filthy desolation they call home. Time and 
 again they have had opportunity to listen, but will time 
 ever endow them with the spirit to act!" 
 
 He crossed the river and continued his way for a 
 short distance, now walking rapidly through the thin 
 ning crowd. Turning into an almost deserted and ill- 
 lighted street, he walked slowly, glancing upward as if 
 seeking out a number. Halting and for a time looking 
 about him, he pushed open the door of an en try way and 
 stood for a moment at the bottom of a dimly lighted
 
 12 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 stairway. A newsboy came through a side door and 
 offered him a paper, the latest sporting edition. The 
 professor smiled and shook his head but he gave the boy 
 a penny. 
 
 " No, I don't want the paper. Wait a moment; I 
 want to talk to you. Do you go to school ? ' ' 
 
 " Naw. Have to work." 
 
 " Why don't you go at night? " 
 
 " Have to sleep." 
 
 The professor smiled, the gas light nickering on his 
 beard. " Good reasons. But come to the night school 
 and I will teach you something." 
 
 " How to make money? " 
 
 The professor frowned. " Ah, you were born in this 
 miserable town." 
 
 " No, in Poland." 
 
 " How old are you? " 
 
 " Twelve in the summer. Can't remember when I 
 come here." 
 
 " I should hope not. But wouldn't you rather have 
 education wouldn't you rather know a great deal 
 than to have money ? ' ' 
 
 The boy shook his head. " My father knows a heap 
 of things and can read big books covered with wood 
 and play on the old harp when we bring it out of the 
 corner and put it by his chair. He 's all crippled up and 
 can't walk. He hasn't any money, and he says he'd 
 rather be dead than poor all the time. Huh, I guess he 
 would he tried to kill himself with a knife, and he 
 always says to me : ' You won 't never be happy 'less you 
 have money.' Huh, when I'm a man I ain't goin' to be 
 educated and crippled and poor and try to kill myself 
 with a knife. I'm goin' to have money." 
 
 " You're a bright little fellow," said the professor,
 
 THE AGENTS OF JUSTICE 13 
 
 looking down upon him. " And here is another penny 
 to help you on your way toward wealth. Wait a moment. 
 Do you know the policeman on this beat? " 
 
 " Yes. He's a fat slob." 
 
 " Good. German or Irish? " 
 
 " Mick." 
 
 ' ' Not so good. But is he too fat to climb stairways 
 three flights? " 
 
 " Gee! Him? He wouldn't climb one. He'd rather 
 ride in a patrol wagon." 
 
 " Thank you very much. You may go now." 
 
 The boy darted out as if released from a trap, and the 
 professor heard his cry echoing down the street. A 
 man came down the stairway, and after a quick glance 
 at him the professor stood aside to let him pass. Bits of 
 paper whirled in from the sidewalk, and somewhere in 
 the old building the wind howled like a hound. The 
 professor began to ascend the stairs, scraps of paper 
 eddying about his feet, the hound howling louder.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 ELECTING A MARTYR 
 
 In a room on the third floor several members of the 
 executive committee of the "Agents of Justice " had 
 come together, in response to a call from their presi 
 dent. Two rusty gas jets shed rusty light. Through 
 the broken transom the wind gusts came and sportive 
 shadows played goblin on the floor. Near the center of 
 the room was a table, and on it were scattered news 
 papers and pamphlets, which, with a half dozen chairs, 
 some of them crippled, carried out the appearances of 
 what a card on the wall declared to be the " Reading 
 Room." 
 
 In front of the table Oscar Henk and Otto Sengle 
 walked up and down, apparently in deep thought, pass 
 ing each other without speaking; Henk, dark, slender, 
 and aside from his all-night saloon eye, as evil a looking 
 rounder as ever pleaded " not guilty." Sengle was a 
 sort of nondescript you have seen such a fellow, 
 struggling to summon character that would not come, 
 easily and gratefully forgotten, an impotent snarl in 
 life's warp. At the table sat John Batterson and Emile 
 Zenicoif. Batterson, a big fellow with bursting " vest " 
 and greasy elbows, had given himself to many lines that 
 required no labor. His street preaching text, " The 
 Brotherhood of Man," had attracted some little atten 
 tion from the police. One night they called him down 
 from his barrel, knocked in the head of his rostrum and 
 told him to move on. Denied the right of public pulpit, 
 
 14
 
 ELECTING A MARTYR 15 
 
 he betook himself to the outskirts and solicited old 
 clothes, in a low and not unmusical whine, having once 
 been leading basso in a dive. 
 
 It was said in print that Zenicoff was of good family. 
 This bit of not over-useful information was brought out 
 at a time when he had been arrested for an impulsive 
 infraction of the law, hurling a brick at a legislative 
 candidate who in a speech from the tail end of a wagon 
 had declared that the country was on the high road 
 toward unprecedented prosperity. But personal appear 
 ance did not cast Zenicoff for the part. He seemed to be 
 of timid, not to say of shrinking character, with a solitary 
 look, like a sheep herder. But sometimes he talked, and 
 when he did you could well believe that he had hurled 
 a brick. And now, at the table he and Batterson were 
 engaged in conversation when Professor Hudsic entered 
 the room. They greeted him effusively, and Henk and 
 Sengle turned from their walking up and down, warmly 
 to shake hands with him. The professor waved each of 
 his friends to a seat and then sat down. 
 
 ' ' I am always glad to meet you, my fearless brothers, ' ' 
 he said, leaning over and placing his nap-shedding hat on 
 the table. 
 
 Batterson popped a slick button from his swelling 
 " vest " and replied to him: " We thank you for the 
 compliment, Mr. President. And permit me to say that 
 we feel it is deserved, for I believe that each one of us 
 has proved that he is fearless in the cause of " 
 
 " Justice," suggested Henk boldly enough, though 
 more than anyone else present he had cause to stand in 
 dread of an application of the term. 
 
 " Justice," said the professor with a gracious smile 
 that came slowly through his beard; " I love the 
 word. ' '
 
 16 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " Beautiful word," declared Batterson, " and with r 
 in mind I was just explaining to Zenicoff how easy ii 
 would be to remove all oppressors of the people and rui 
 no risk of discovery." 
 
 Henk sniffed like a dog. " Do you get your dream: 
 out of a short or long stemmed pipe? " Preparing t< 
 light his own pipe at the time he struck a match, se 
 fire to the tobacco and held up the burning match 
 ' ' The way to take life so. " He blew out the blazing 
 splinter. " No mystery about it; perfectly plain." 
 
 "And sometimes," said the professor, " it is just a 
 necessary to blow out a life as a match, to prevent a con 
 flagration in society." 
 
 " Industrial society, yes," Sengle argued and Hen! 
 looked at him with a leer. 
 
 " Industrial bosh! My idea is to wipe out everything 
 and start new. The world is too old; and the only wai 
 to establish justice and equality is to destroy and star 
 fresh. As to the taking of a fellow off without detec 
 tion what 's your scheme, Batterson ? ' ' 
 
 " Well," Batterson answered, looking from one t< 
 another and then returning to Henk, " my scheme, a 
 you term my discovery, is that I can force the authori 
 ties to think a man's death an accident. He would bi 
 found with no trace of poison about him, no marks o 
 violence." 
 
 For a second Henk's leer was illumined, promising t 
 end in an inspirational smile. " Oh, I see," he said 
 ' ' you would kill him with old age. ' ' 
 
 Batterson, the big butt of small jokes, was here ! 
 victim of the real or pretended laughter of all excep 
 Hudsic, who gestured his impatience. He addressee 
 Batterson. " To your point, if you have one." 
 
 " My point is that I can kill a man and not b
 
 ELECTING A MARTYR 17 
 
 detected, if you insist upon bluntness. I would seize 
 him and hold him under water till he drowns." 
 
 The others laughed and Hudsic turned away. Bat- 
 terson defended himself: " I don't see anything so 
 funny, unless you want to laugh at the truth. And 
 another good way is to secrete a time explosive bomb in 
 your victim's automobile." 
 
 Henk clapped his hands. " Good, and if he has no 
 automobile, buy him one for the occasion." 
 
 Sengle was ready with a suggestion. " And if you 
 have resolved upon a reduction of expenses you might 
 induce him to accept a motorcycle. ' ' 
 
 " Wait a moment," cried Zenicoff, breaking through 
 the environs of apparent timidity. ' ' To save all expense 
 you might drop him a post card, requesting him to kill 
 himself." 
 
 Hudsic arose and stood looking down upon them. He 
 spoke and his voice was deep with seriousness. " You 
 men have indeed become truly Americanized, to turn 
 everything into impotent levity. Hear me a moment. 
 What we have to discuss to-night is vital to our cause. 
 We have been called together to determine the best 
 means of removing from the scene of his brutal activity 
 one Calvin Whateley, capitalist, mine owner, street rail 
 way magnate and general crusher of the souls of men ; a 
 wretch gifted with so keen a sense of satanic or Ameri 
 can humor as to grow genial at the sight of distress and 
 to laugh at the wails of misery. It is not that we should 
 leave the world in doubt as to the cause or manner of his 
 taking off. That would rob just vengeance of its moral 
 force. Society must know the cause and the details of 
 his death. And the brother selected by us to take his life 
 must be willing himself to die for the cause. Shielding his 
 brothers, he must pay the extreme penalty of a martyr.
 
 18 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 Is this plain to you ? Bo you realize the deep portent of 
 this meeting ? Let me ask again : Is it plain to you that 
 the avenger must glory in his act while shielding this 
 Brotherhood, the Agents of Justice ? ' : 
 
 Everyone seemed moved to speak, but Batterson, the 
 street preacher, was readiest with his answer : ' ' Yes, it 
 is clear, for we, the Agents of Justice, must be left undis 
 turbed, to bring about other reforms." 
 
 The professor smiled upon him. ' ' Batterson, you are 
 British, but your grasp is not slow. And I have no 
 doubt that any one of us will be willing most cheerfully 
 to execute the commission if elected, you under 
 stand." 
 
 " If elected," several of them agreed, and Sengle 
 declared: " It will be a great opportunity for some 
 one." 
 
 " Yes," said the professor, " for some modern Naza- 
 rene willing to die for toiling man. The election will be 
 by ballot, of course, and every member is a candidate." 
 
 "And if he weakens," Henk found opportunity to 
 say, " he forfeits his own life to us." 
 
 " Most assuredly," the professor declared. " But he 
 will not falter. Ah, our priestess! " 
 
 Annie Zondish entered the room. When first she 
 appeared in Chicago, it was the elder Carter Harrison 
 who remarked: " She is a mere girl, but she has, with 
 opportunity, the making of the most dangerous woman 
 that has ever set foot on our shores." The years had 
 passed, and now she was mature, boldly handsome, 
 gypsy-like, sudden and swift in every movement. About 
 her plain and meagre apparel there was but a bit of red, 
 a bow at the throat, and yet, upon entering, she seemed 
 to have reddened the yellow light. Everyone shook 
 hands with her, spoke in compliment ; but to flattery she
 
 ELECTING A MARTYE 19 
 
 gave no heeding ear. She tossed her hat upon the table 
 and for a few moments she stood, arranging her wind- 
 tangled hair. Then she spoke to Hudsic : 
 
 " Do you deliberate with the door unlocked, leaving 
 any meddler free to walk in on you? " 
 
 Hudsic smiled upon her, nor was it a smile wholly of 
 gallantry. In anarchy women may be an achieving 
 inspiration but to man belongs the real executive power 
 of destruction; and in Hudsic 's casuistic " roundup," 
 woman's wisdom attained its height when calling forth 
 the superior wisdom of man. " When any meddler or 
 policeman can shove open a door and walk in at will, he 
 may know that the deliberations going on are well 
 within the law. But we have not as yet entered upon 
 serious deliberations. We were waiting for others; 
 notably for you and for George Howerson. " 
 
 " I thought that George Howerson had come." She 
 spoke to the assembly rather than to Hudsic. " I met 
 him not more than half an hour ago and he said he 
 would surely be here." 
 
 " I suppose," said Henk, " you are acquainted with 
 the object of our meeting ? ' ' 
 
 In answer she addressed herself to the professor. ' ' I 
 ought to, since I inspired it." 
 
 " That is true," the professor spoke up. " It was so 
 momentous a step that I hesitated, but she has convinced 
 me that it must be taken." 
 
 ' ' Then I am of the opinion that we ought at once to 
 get down to progressive discussion. But I wish all the 
 brothers were here." 
 
 " Only Howerson " began Batterson. 
 
 "An American failure," Henk interrupted. 
 
 ' ' Yes, ' ' said Annie meaningly, ' ' the only real Ameri- 
 *an here. He removes that stigma from our cause. His
 
 20 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 people have for generations lived in this country. The 
 newspapers and the pulpit cannot brand him as a crank 
 of foreign birth. His election, of all of us, I should hail 
 with joy." 
 
 " Shall we wait? " queried Hudsic gravely. 
 
 " It will not be necessary," came the imperious 
 rejoinder. " He will abide by our decision." 
 
 Here Henk interposed with a leer. " Why not elect 
 him by acclamation, Queen of Vengeance ? ' ; 
 
 " Each must take his chance," replied Annie coldly. 
 
 " No one must throw away his chance rather," 
 amended Hudsic. " For the Brotherhood, for mankind 
 for himself a glorious opportunity ! To write in 
 one glowing stroke his name on the enduring scroll of 
 fame, to seize one burning moment of immortality ' ' 
 
 " A flight worthy of Howerson himself," Batterson 
 avowed. " We vote how? " 
 
 " By nomination of the worthy ones, by election of 
 the one most deserving " 
 
 " By lot," declared Annie with an air of finality. 
 ' ' There must be no unselfish shirking of opportunity. 
 This is our first open assertion of our cause first 
 in action and there must be no slip. Fate has pointed 
 out the first to feel our condemnation ; fate must choose 
 the instrument. A card for every member ; one with the 
 word ' Justice ' written on it. We shall each draw ' ' 
 
 ' ' Each ? ' ' half sneered Henk, turning first to Hudsic 
 and then back to Annie. 
 
 " Each," Annie said simply. " I will draw first 
 you next, Henk." His face went chalky. 
 
 There was a rattle at the door. " Who's there? " 
 called Batterson. " Howerson? " 
 
 " Fool? " snarled Hudsic. " Save names for your 
 street preaching.""
 
 ELECTING A MARTYR 21 
 
 ' ' Me Moy, ' ' came from outside the door. 
 
 " The Chink," breathed Henk, with a sigh of relief. 
 The door opened and a grinning Chinaman came in. He 
 bore a clothes basket of great size, piled high with wash 
 ings. He set it down impassively, and turned to the 
 group with an air of apology. 
 
 " Me late," he ventured. " Heap clowd. Allee time 
 no gettee thlough. Big cop big machine gettee man 
 lun ove'. Allee same no see. I no can hurree, " he fin 
 ished, his English becoming clearer as he proceeded. 
 
 " Just in time, Moy," Batterson the irrepressible 
 vouchsafed. ' ' We are about to draw lots. ' ' 
 
 " No! " came from Annie Zondish and Hudsic at 
 once. 
 
 ' ' He is ' set aside, ' ' ' she added with finality, using a 
 cant phrase of their own. 
 
 The cards were prepared. With a flourish Hudsic 
 inscribed one with " Justice," unlike the current like 
 ness, rich with ornamentation. Hudsic brought forth 
 his silk hat, the cards were thrown in and he gave them 
 a shake that shuffled the pack. 
 
 " Will you draw? " he asked, holding the hat high 
 before Annie Zondish. 
 
 " Why not wait for Howerson? " Henk wanted to 
 know. 
 
 " Why? " asked Annie scornfully. " Why? Because 
 he will ask nothing better than to be chosen. I know 
 that he does not care to live. I know that he has tried 
 to throw away his life as a thing no longer of any worth 
 to him. I know that he is not only determined but des 
 perate. He is one of America's over-educated failures. 
 He was bred to the law and failed because he was a poet, 
 and then he failed as a poet because he was a lawyer. 
 But being a poet with a good share of what shall I
 
 22 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 say? Ah, a generous share of loud-sounding blank 
 verse in his nature, he will gladly give his life for a 
 cause. I will draw first for myself and then for him. 
 Your hat, Hudsic." 
 
 But even as Hudsic extended his arm, he paused. 
 There was a stumbling noise on the stairway, then down 
 the long hall. A body lurched heavily against the door. 
 The Agents eyed one another. " Howerson," ventured 
 one, " Drunk," said another, yet without curiosity or 
 surprise. It was Annie Zondish who sprang to the door. 
 It flew open and a man reeled into the room and fell on 
 the floor. 
 
 " You! " gasped Annie ; " this of all nights ! " Then 
 a sudden pity came over her and she stooped to the pros 
 trate man. " He's hurt," she exclaimed. " Here! 
 help me raise him! " 
 
 . " Hurt? " groaned Howerson. " Only my rage at 
 the manner of it kept me on my way. I have been struck 
 by an automobile a big red car with dragon eyes 
 that blinded me, a hellion driver who rode me down like 
 a hare at a hunt, a heartless wretch in the back seat who 
 spurned me contemptuously with his wheels ' ' 
 
 " I know," said Moy softly. 
 
 " There was an old man he sold pencils on the 
 corner. He was almost under the wheels, and I dragged 
 him out. The chauffeur saw us. I swear he laughed 
 the demon. And I I over my prostrate body he 
 plunged that snorting chariot of fire. I saw red that 
 minute. I could have killed " 
 
 " What? " asked Hudsic quickly. " A man? or the 
 representative of a class? " 
 
 ; ' I detest the whole damned tribe but him most. 
 Fur-coated, pampered, selfish greed and brutal ego 
 tism are his marks. He is fattened on the carcasses of
 
 ELECTING A MARTYR 23 
 
 starving humans and grown rich on the blood of children 
 yet unborn. Over the crushed bodies of his yet-quiver 
 ing victims he relentlessly urges the car of his money- 
 mad greed." He staggered to his feet. "He is the 
 Goliath of them all." 
 
 ' ' The Lord will raise up a David, ' ' quoted Batterson, 
 casting a significant glance at Hudsic. Howerson fol 
 lowed the glance, and stared in mystification. 
 
 " What "he began. 
 
 " We are going to act," nodded Hudsic. " Justice 
 will drop her scales and take up her sword. She may 
 be blindfolded, but she is not deaf; the cries of ravaged 
 innocence, of outraged toil, of unprotected honesty, 
 demand atonement blood atonement! There is one 
 who in himself comprises all our Cause abhors he is 
 marked for removal. His crimes cry to high heaven ; we 
 have heard humanity's call for vengeance upon him. 
 Distinguished brother ' ' 
 
 " Distinguished and by these seams and tatters! 
 Conspicuous at least. What has been done. You were 
 about to " 
 
 Hudsic smiled upon him. " Brother, we were about 
 to elect one of our brave number to " 
 
 ."Eternal fame!'" Annie broke in. "Fate lies 
 within." She pointed to Hudsic 's hat. " By lot shall 
 the fortunate one be chosen. We were about to draw. 
 Shall we proceed? " 
 
 " Proceed," came from Hudsic. 
 
 " First," interposed Howerson, " who is the one to 
 feel the avenging hand of the Brotherhood ? Who is this 
 outrager of humanity? " 
 
 " Of them all he is the deepest-dyed. He most richly 
 merits death. His removal means the most to our Cause 
 to the world's progress. It is Calvin Whateley."
 
 24 THE NEW ME. HOWERSON 
 
 ' What? " cried Howerson, starting. " But but 
 that can't be." 
 
 " Can't be what? " came in chorus. 
 
 " The man who sat in the car that rode me down was 
 named Whateley." 
 
 " It is the same," Annie Zondish asserted gravely. 
 
 " Allee same," Moy repeated, then shrank back into 
 inconspicuousness as he encountered the curious glances 
 of the Brothers. Howerson turned to Hudsic. 
 
 " What right has this heathen here?" he demanded. 
 Hudsic placed a protecting hand on the Celestial's 
 shoulder. 
 
 " He is one of our brothers, Mr. Howerson, and one 
 day we shall hear the name of Chi Moy cried out in 
 the streets of the world. On his faithfulness to the 
 cause I would stake my life. Years ago, our brave fore 
 runners who now sleep in beloved graves, blew oppres 
 sion to atoms in the Haymarket, and singing ' Annie 
 Laurie ' stepped forward to gaze undaunted into the 
 hollow eye of death. Our yellow brother would do the 
 same. ' ' 
 
 Moy merely nodded his head, but his narrow eyes 
 were gleaming. There was a long pause. Then he 
 spoke. " Me I see him, Mr. Whateley, in car. No see 
 Mr. Howerson, but know an accident been done. Him 
 Calvin Whateley same die ! ' ' 
 
 " Good! " exclaimed Howerson. " You were draw 
 ing lots to see who should be privileged to rid the earth 
 of such a reptile? A favor I crave," he declaimed 
 theatrically. " I ask the Brotherhood to allow me first 
 to try my fortune. It is granted? " His eyes, now 
 bright with excitement, swept the circle of eager faces. 
 They paused at Annie Zondish. A flush came to her 
 face, and added lustre to her eyes as she gave him a
 
 ELECTING A MARTYR 25 
 
 smile that brought a wondering "Ah! " from Hudsic. 
 
 " It is granted, ' ' she said at length. 
 
 Hudsic seized the hat and held it high above his head. 
 Howerson advanced and reached up his hand. For an 
 unaccountably long interval he groped about. Then his 
 hand reappeared, clenched. With a broken laugh he 
 threw it open. 
 
 Down upon the uncarpeted floor swept a flutter of 
 white cards the whole pack. One fell at the feet of 
 Annie Zondish. With an exultant cry she caught it up. 
 
 " Justice! " she cried. " Justice! " 
 
 Howerson made her a sweeping bow. " I salute its 
 queen ! I tried hard to love the world, and it kicked me 
 as I knelt at its feet. Through its favored ones it 
 spurned me when I asked only for life. Now, I hate the 
 world, and the central object of my venom is Calvin 
 Whateley. For all he has done for all others have 
 done in his name for all that the world has done me 
 and my kind through him and his kind, my blood calls 
 out for ' his voice rang out " for blood. I will 
 kill him! "
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 THE OLD MR. HOWERSON 
 
 It is not easy to get at the cause of the success of one 
 man and the failure of another, when both seem to be 
 equally equipped, and appear to employ the same 
 methods. " The man who does not make it an object to 
 save money never does nor can do anything notable," 
 says the Scotch master of steel, and you might tell him 
 and other commanders of commercial strife that such a 
 belief is a soul-dwarfing fallacy; you might speak the 
 truth that the world owes its real progress to men who 
 had not the temperament nor the time to hoard money ; 
 you might instance the fact that genius, poor as to 
 money, has made it possible for Carnegies and Rocke 
 fellers to become powerful. You might do this in verity 
 unalloyed and the average plodder seeking to keep his 
 footing in the rough highway of life would laugh at you. 
 A man, however, may be incapable of making money, of 
 making a living, of fixing in paint a visual mood of 
 nature, of evoking an opera from the bosom of the air, 
 of harpooning a thought with a pen. Then must he 
 indeed be an incompetent, and such a failure George 
 Howerson accounted himself. 
 
 His sister Pauline had broken the Puritan hearts of 
 father and mother, defied their authority and run away 
 to comic opera. In London her beauty caught a dis 
 solute title and she was blazed with pedigreed diamonds, 
 which she had to surrender when a divorce had been 
 decreed. Back to the footlights, and then she married a 
 
 26
 
 THE OLD MR. HOWERSON 27 
 
 sword, went to India, and a few years later when father 
 and mother had passed away, she wrote to her brother 
 George a letter in which were these words : 
 
 " They tell me that I have but little longer to live, 
 and I said to them, ' No flattery, please.' I have done 
 what ? Followed my temperament. Where did I get it ? 
 A reaction from generations of contempt for all art. 
 But to you who love me I will say that I have not been 
 
 very bad I am grieved, dear George, when you 
 
 assure me of your continuous failure. The poem you 
 sent me is full of heroic fire, and I can't understand why 
 the magazines won 't take it. But this is not a heroic age. 
 I would say ' have patience, ' but in your blood and mine 
 there is but little of that Christian quality. Our poor 
 father, God bless his memory, preached his simple gospel 
 year after year, always in little churches, and mostly to 
 women who pecked the life out of our poor mother. But 
 it was I who broke their hearts. Would it be virtuous to 
 say, ' I wish I had lived a kitchen maid ' ? Perhaps so, 
 but I am not that virtuous. George, the fact that you 
 would not permit me to help you at the time of my pros 
 perity proves that you have some strength of character. 
 Then why don't you compel success? I intend no 
 reproach, but you must remember that the family 
 resources were drained to educate you. They ' degreed ' 
 you at Ann Arbor and ' lawed ' you at Harvard, because 
 it would sound big, while I was ' graced ' by prudish old 
 maids who were afterwards horrified to know that my 
 voice had an ambition beyond Sunday morning anthems. 
 George, it is better to be dead than a failure." 
 
 Not long afterward the press dispatches spurted the 
 news of her death, and the newspapers printed a picture
 
 28 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 of her as she had appeared in a fluff of comic skirts, the 
 companion of an ugly bulldog, his head on her shoulder. 
 The insult of this picture was fresh in George Hower- 
 son 's mind ; a shivering newsboy on the corner still held 
 it under his arm. ' ' ' Better to be dead than a failure, ' ' 
 he mused, quoting his sister's letter on his way to meet 
 the Agents of Justice. For a long time the spirit of 
 failure had seemed slowly to creep in his blood, like a 
 disease, seeking the weakest spot ; and yet he had striven 
 hard, with study, with self-denial. *"But study and denial 
 are not within themselves constructive. An extravagant 
 blunderer may create while studious economy sighs out 
 its impotent breath. 
 
 Tall, straight, strong, black-haired and brown-eyed he 
 was, an athlete grown stale, a man who evidently had 
 banished thought and had given himself to brooding. 
 Without having acquired appetite for drink, he was not 
 always sober. Failure drinks fat on beer, digs deeper a 
 depth of melancholy, floats off a mind into sour vats of 
 stagnant speech. Howerson had made his hard luck 
 recital eloquent with alcoholic fervor, and then rendered 
 it appealing with physical remorse, thus endearing him 
 self to the Agents of Justice, who, ducking into 
 many places to avoid work, found many a drink coming 
 their way. 
 
 When Annie Zondish declared Howerson to be 
 afflicted with epitonic blank verse, she had struck one 
 of the notes of his character. When a youngster he 
 had stolen from home one night, tramped three miles 
 with the hired man and had seen John McCullough 
 play the Gladiator, and afterward had played it himself 
 in the barn; and since that time he dragged on his toes 
 in fancy's barn, never practical, always striving for 
 something he could not attain. It was natural for one
 
 THE OLD MR. HOWERSON 29 
 
 of his early friends to remark, " I guess George is a 
 little off. ' ' In time lie tried the stage tried it sorely, 
 some of his audiences may have thought. Failure cries 
 out for consolation, and in this instance the balm was 
 in the reflection that the day for real acting had passed. 
 
 " I '11 strike my gait one of these days, ' ' he often said. 
 " Every young fellow not a born plodder must experi 
 ment with himself until he finds out what he's best 
 fitted for. A man may dig energy up out of himself, 
 but all the energy that Grant could have dug up in a 
 hundred years wouldn't have made him. His comple 
 tion required the opportunity of war." 
 
 Such reflections were consoling enough, but required 
 to do service year after year, they sickened, lingered as 
 incurables and then died. Even then he was loath to 
 attribute his ills- to a 'weakness dominant in himself. 
 The world is always wrong, individual man right; and 
 fate, a clown posing as a grim Nemesis, laughs at the 
 outcome. And of late the laughter, so far as it was 
 inspired by Howerson, must have been boisterous, for the 
 poet, pentameter protagonist, Blackstonian blabber, gave 
 promise of a red-fire climax. 
 
 Now, stretching out tragedy-hungry hands to his 
 meager audience, again he declaimed loudly: " I will 
 kill him! " 
 
 Each one looked toward the door as if the elected 
 avenger had been too loud, and upon Howerson, Hudsic 
 smiled a gentle admonition: " Say rather that you will 
 remove him. To kill sounds harsh." 
 
 But the avenger did not accept the amendment. " I 
 like the word kill," he said. "It implies action, strength, 
 determination. And to confer upon me the office of 
 carrying the word to just and complete action is a
 
 30 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 compliment to one whose modesty declares ' ' and here 
 he bowed low, with his shabby hat in his hand ' ' one 
 whose self -modesty declares him to be undeserving." 
 
 Annie addressed herself to Howerson: " Of all these 
 men willing to die you are the most willing. You have 
 striven hardest to achieve distinction among your fel 
 low Americans, and therefore your failure, no fault of 
 your own, is the bitterest. The system under which we 
 live has been harder upon you than it could be on 
 the rest of us, when it should have been kinder, for 
 your fathers shed their blood to bring it about. Your 
 nature is of the purple, but they have compelled you 
 to wear the somberest of rags." 
 
 Howerson turned about and for a time walked up and 
 down slowly, in subdued and heroic measure. Then 
 he grasped Annie by the arm. '' Ah, it is because you 
 know that I tried to end my existence. You found me 
 in a miserable charity hospital, suffering from poison." 
 Then he brightened perforce. " But you gave me one 
 more hope-*- to die for a purpose, a cause. Now you. 
 present to me that opportunity. I await instructions." 
 
 Annie, her eyes beaming upon him, called him her 
 dear brother and sprang to him and would have put 
 her arms about his neck but he caught her by the wrists, 
 not ungently, and held her, looking into her eyes. 
 
 ' You are acquainted with the real character of 
 Calvin Whateley ? ' ' said Hudsic, more out of a desire to 
 dissolve a tableau than to acquire information; and 
 releasing the woman's wrists, Howerson turned toward 
 him, his countenance bright with the inspiration of a 
 picture alive and vivid in his mind. " Acquainted with 
 his character ! Is a man gazing upon an epileptic fallen 
 in the street acquainted with contortion? Acquainted 
 with Whateley 's character? Listen."
 
 THE OLD MR. HOWERSON 31 
 
 " We are listening," said Hudsic, " but I don't like 
 your interjection ' listen,' a word that Gypsy Smith 
 and his co-revivalists urge to the brink of offense." 
 
 " Pardon the offense," Howerson replied. " Your 
 rebuke is just. And now as to Whateley a man who 
 looks upon misfortune with contempt, one who regards 
 honest toil as a sentence imposed by avenging justice. 
 Driven by him to suicide, poor wretches in last agony 
 have frothed his name. Once during a strike among 
 his men, they sought to stop him as he drove in 
 his carriage, to talk to him; and he snatched the 
 coachman's whip and laid the lash over their thin-clad 
 shoulders; and young collegians on the slippery front 
 steps of journalism wrote it down as a heroic act 
 wrote it for disgraceful bread. Oh, yes, I know his 
 character. ' ' 
 
 " Oh, does he not know? " Annie Zondish cried. 
 " And, Oh, my brothers, have we not chosen wisely? 
 Has not the true spirit been educated into him? Has 
 not destiny marked upon him the sign of the cross? 
 Brothers, you have called me your priestess, your inspi 
 ration. Then bear with me a few moments and take 
 note of what I now shall say: Kings, presidents, rulers 
 are institutions. Remove one and another takes his 
 place. But capitalists, oppressive millionaires, are indi 
 viduals. Remove one and his peculiar place cannot be 
 filled, for no two individuals are alike." 
 
 " Very true," Hudsic agreed. " And now from gen 
 eral truths let us get down to specifications to the 
 best method of removing Calvin Whateley. We know 
 that of late he has become careful, has policemen in his 
 dooryard and in the corridors leading to his office; but 
 it is necessary that our Brother Howerson should gain 
 admittance to his place of business and ' '
 
 32 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 ' ' And kill him on the throne of his iniquitous power, ' ' 
 Howerson burst in, with swell of chest; and for a 
 moment his shabby coat gathered in some semblance 
 of a close fit, a coat plucked by Batterson in the suburbs 
 and contributed to the cause. Batterson cried out, 
 " Brave words, brother! " and Hudsic said, " Pre 
 cisely," and then continued: 
 
 " And now the question is, how, without exciting sus 
 picion, can our brother gain admittance ? To go dressed 
 as he is now would be foolish. He must go exquisitely 
 garbed, the very mark of fashion." 
 
 The brothers showed astonishment. Howerson laughed 
 bitterly. " Chesterfieldian philosopher," he said, " come 
 out of your speculative dream. I go as a fashion plate 
 when I can scarcely dress well enough to apply for a 
 job in a ditch? " 
 
 " But that is to be remedied," said Hudsic, and he 
 smiled upon the woman who stood smiling upon him. 
 ' With our present aim in view and with an industry 
 which the most of us might well emulate, our sister 
 has collected a sum of money quite sufficient for our 
 purposes. And we shall exploit you as a gentleman, 
 Brother Howerson." 
 
 " Gentleman," repeated the poet, the actor. " What 
 a masquerade! " 
 
 Annie shook her head. ' ' No, not a masquerade, brave 
 brother, for I can see you now as you shall be, hand 
 some and flashing." 
 
 " Yes," said Hudsic, " and to see you as we shall 
 send you will be to admit you without question. And 
 remember that you go as an ' Agent of Justice,' not 
 from a society of low and brutal ignorance but from 
 a brotherhood of educated men who have seen the world.
 
 THE OLD MR. HOWERSON 33 
 
 . . . Our sister, will you please administer the 
 oath? " 
 
 With a bow Howerson turned to her, and every one 
 stood in solemn mien, the avenger with his almost crown- 
 less hat in his hand. Annie bade him raise his right 
 hand, and up the tattered hat went with it, and shook in 
 the air, emblem of his poverty. Annie began to speak, 
 her voice unsteady, her lips trembling. " Do you swear 
 by all you hold sacred. to kill Calvin Whateley? " 
 
 " I swear by all that I hold sacred." 
 
 ' ' Do you swear that nothing shall turn you aside from 
 your purpose, and that you will, if needs be, go to the 
 scaffold as an ' Agent of Justice,' silent as to the other 
 members of the Brotherhood? " 
 
 M I swear." 
 
 " And do you swear that if you falter you will give 
 over your life to the Brotherhood to be disposed of with 
 out question? " 
 
 " I swear." 
 
 Down upon the floor fell the tattered hat. Annie 
 grasped the oath-taker's hand, and in turn they all of 
 them grasped it ; and the woman caught up the hat 
 from the floor and set it upon his head as a crown; 
 and he stood there pale in the yellow light. 
 
 The meeting stood adjourned. The woman was the 
 first to go, then silently the men took their departure. 
 On the stairway Hudsic said to Howerson : ' ' Come with 
 me to my lodgings and get the money." 
 
 On a corner not far away, Annie stood in the wind 
 and the sharp sleet. She turned about as the two men 
 approached and said to Howerson : ' ' When I meet you 
 again you will not be unknown. When I meet you "
 
 34 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " In prison," Howerson suggested. 
 
 ' ' Yes, in prison the walls will be radiant like a 
 fairy 's palace. Once more, good night. ' ' 
 
 She seized his hand, pressed it hard against her bosom, 
 and then, catching her shawl up about her head, she 
 ran across the street. For a time Hudsic and Howerson 
 walked along in silence, bowed forward against the sting 
 ing gale, the professor showing inclination to avoid the 
 light falling from street lamps and flooding out from 
 hilarious brothels. 
 
 " Annie ran to get away quickly, and now you are 
 afraid to be seen with me," said Howerson, almost bit 
 terly.- " My fame's growing fast." 
 
 Hudsie coughed and was ready with his reply: " It 
 is not from physical but moral precaution, for the pro 
 tection of the Brotherhood. Our institution ought not to 
 be wiped out in its infancy." He took hold of How 
 erson 's arm. 
 
 " You are right," admitted the avenger elect. " But 
 for a moment I seemed to have felt a slap, and I spoke 
 while my ears were ringing. It's all right. Let us 
 avoid the lights and not mention it again." 
 
 Hudsic 's room was up two flights in a thin- walled 
 structure put up in a rush after the great fire. It had 
 been condemned time and again but upon each occa 
 sion action was deferred by the discovery that its owner 
 was one of the political bosses of the ward. It was 
 tenanted by poverty. In its passageways was heard the 
 scuff of the down-and-outer 's old shoe, and on the stairs 
 was met the ghostlike girl with the beer pail ; and always 
 from somewhere within those grim and rotting recesses 
 came the wailing of a child. 
 
 Hudsic unlocked his door ; Howerson holding a lighted 
 match for him, opened it. Thus uncorked, there poured
 
 THE OLD MR. HOWERSON 35 
 
 forth a worse than kennel smell. Hudsic lighted his 
 lamp and invited his guest to a chair, an old rocker with 
 rheumatic joints. Hudsic sat down near a table spread 
 with a faded cloth, once pictured with East Indians 
 bringing in a captive tiger; and resting on his elbow 
 gave himself to silence while Howerson looked slowly 
 about him, at a shelf containing a few books, at the por 
 trait of a whiskered Russian, at an old trunk gleaming 
 with brass nails. In a corner was a couch whereon the 
 professor dreamed his dreams of the brotherhood of 
 all men, in another corner an oil stove, altar of garlic, 
 onions and a certain sort of beef-liver stew, the whole 
 when in full power capable of penetrating walls that 
 had never been condemned. 
 
 Howerson broke the garlic silence. " I don't wish 
 to keep you up, Professor, and if you will give me the 
 er appropriated fund, 1 11 bid you good night. ' ' 
 
 With a slight jerk of elbow Hudsic came out of his 
 reverie to say that there was no need for haste, that 
 he had a few ideas which he wished to communicate, 
 " concerning your arrangements," he said. " Let me 
 see. This is Thursday and you 
 
 " Ought to be locked up by Friday noon," Howerson 
 supplied. 
 
 " Yes, easily," Hudsic assented. " To-morrow you 
 can go to one of the big department stores and have 
 yourself fitted out. It is not wise to wait for a tailor 
 to make your clothes. You'll be easy to fit. Dear me, 
 but you are a fine specimen ; ancestry expressing itself. 
 How tall are you? " 
 
 " Six-three." 
 
 " Away out of the ordinary, but in this town of big 
 men they ought to fit you easily enough. The house 
 tailor can very soon make any needed alteration. Now,
 
 36 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 a bit of advice: You can get your outfit and pistol for 
 sixty dollars at most. Dress yourself, silk hat, gloves 
 and all before you buy the pistol. It will not be well 
 when they search you to find you broke, or the possessor 
 of only one shirt. Buy a suitcase, put several shirts 
 into it and take it with you to his place of business; 
 you can leave it down below. Other details I leave to 
 you. Have you any idea as to the sum of money our 
 sister succeeded in raising? " 
 
 " None whatever," Howerson answered, rocking 
 slowly. 
 
 " One hundred dollars." 
 
 ' ' What ! You astonish me. ' ' 
 
 ' ' So did she me. And she tells me that it did not take 
 her long, in the garb of a Salvation lass. She did not 
 go into saloons for the dimes of the drunkard and the 
 superstitious, but struck higher places, the breweries. 
 One old paunch, dying of submerged kidney, gave her 
 forty dollars." 
 
 " And she trusted you with all that money? " 
 
 The professor made a noise like a man in a barber's 
 chair blowing at a fly on his nose. ' ' Why, er assuredly. 
 She knows that I am honest. ' ' 
 
 " And she knows, too, that she would kill you if 
 you misappropriated the fund." 
 
 " As readily," agreed Hudsic, " as she will assassi 
 nate you if you fail to keep your oath. ' ' 
 
 " Never fear; no earthly influence and surely no 
 intervention of the gods can turn me from my oath. 
 The money, please." 
 
 " Yes, and a pledge in vodka." 
 
 He unlocked the trunk whose brass nails gleamed in 
 the lamplight, and took out a rubber tobacco pouch. 
 Then from the book-shelf he brought forth a bottle and
 
 THE OLD MR. HOWERSON 37 
 
 two medicine glasses, rusty with the stains of some by 
 gone tincture. He supposed that his guest would need 
 water, and brought it in a tin cup from a leaking tap in 
 the corridor. 
 
 " I don't think that 111 want much of that stuff," 
 said Howerson as the professor poured out the liquor. 
 
 ' ' A little of it, sublime ; too much ah, you can fancy. 
 Just a moment before we drink a toast. You need not 
 look toward the door. This end of the shell is, with 
 the exception of your humble president, untenanted. 
 To your success! " 
 
 They drank and bade each other good night.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 OLD CALVIN 
 
 About the city purple-jo wled ancients were motoring 
 a distinguished man from abroad. On the Lake Shore 
 Drive he called out suddenly, " Hold up a moment, 
 please." They halted abreast a great granite structure 
 surrounded by an iron fence brought from Germany and 
 exhibited at a world's fair. " Ah, who built this impe 
 rial prison? " 
 
 The purple-jowled ancients laughed. "It is not a 
 prison; it is the residence of Calvin Whateley, one of 
 our multimillionaires. ' ' 
 
 " Ah," and onward they sped. The distinguished for 
 eigner looked back at the somber brows of the house, 
 a dark f rown in stone ; and he thought this hemmed-in 
 Pomfret ought to have more ground about it, that the 
 monstrous gate should not be so near the portals; and 
 he strove to picture and to estimate the character of 
 the man who chose to live within those cliffy walls. 
 
 Nor would his task have been easier had he seen 
 Calvin Whateley come forth, to walk slowly up and 
 down the yard, leaning slightly forwards, hands looped 
 back behind him, deep in penetrative thought. A tall 
 and big-boned man, somewhat past sixty, with iron-gray 
 hair, he showed a vigor always marvelous to those who 
 knew that he had abused his strength. His mouth was 
 broad, and he had a way of smacking it that sounded like 
 a slap. To this man life was warfare and business a 
 battle. Men bowed low to him; he was smiled upon, 
 
 38
 
 OLD CALVIN 39 
 
 feared and hated. But he was admired, the natural 
 sequence of money greatness in America, in Chicago, 
 where a new world materialism bursts out in smut- 
 covered bloom. 
 
 There is nothing duller than the life story of the 
 average rich man. It is the ever droning homily on 
 economy and attention to details, but Whateley belonged 
 not wholly to this class. He was not a bookkeeper; he 
 did not look out for pennies to the extent of carrying 
 them in a purse. To him a dollar was not a sacred 
 thing, to be loved as by a Kussell Sage; it did not so 
 much mean starvation remote as it rang of power near. 
 In his big schemes there was strong imagination, and 
 a fruition was as a picture existent in the mind and then 
 painted. A fault was that he sometimes neglected the 
 proper tending of a fruit-bearing tree to graft an experi 
 ment. With him a difficulty was as a bit of algebraic 
 figuring to a man enamoured of mathematics ; and hard 
 ness of solution sweetened his interest. It was said that 
 in general he hated man, but this was not wholly true, for 
 the mind must dwell on the subject it hates, while 
 Whateley gave but little thought to his neighbor. He 
 loved the memory of a humorous and shiftless father 
 and worshipped the picture of an old mother, as he 
 had often seen her, carding bats in the light of a tallow 
 dip. 
 
 Born of Scotch-Irish blood, near the old battlefield of 
 Guilford Court House, North Carolina, with his infant 
 fists he had sparred with poverty. In the gawk of depart 
 ing boyhood, with brown jeans trousers too short for 
 him, he arrived in Chicago, penniless, to be mocked by 
 youngsters in the street and laughed at by men who 
 years afterward shivered in his presence. In rain and 
 in mud he rolled barrels of salt down upon the sailing
 
 40 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 vessels, the humorous butt of his rough fellows ; and" at 
 night in a sailor boarding house where brawls were 
 wont to break out and blood to flow, he studied the books 
 brought from the old schoolhouse where the red sedge 
 grass waved in the wintry wind. With his first savings 
 he bought a crippled hand cart, loaded it with apples 
 and went forth crying his wares. But Italians attacked 
 him and he fought them, breaking the nose of one, and 
 with a bit of scantling caught up from the ground, laying 
 another as senseless as death itself; but re-enforcements 
 came and his cart was demolished. For a time he was 
 laid up ; then he came out, not as a laborer or a peddler 
 of fruit, but as a speculator in land. In his nearest 
 approach to a suit of respectable clothes he bought a 
 bit of ground on time, sold it three days later, pocketed 
 two hundred dollars and went about seeking another bar 
 gain, found it and profited. Then he bought new clothes, 
 opened an office, and evoked from a down-easter a Yan 
 kee's most generous compliment: " That Whateley's a 
 damned smart fellow." With an occasional backset he 
 prospered, bought buildings, shaved notes, and crushed 
 the unfortunates whose names were affixed to them. 
 
 He saw the mighty fire sweeping from the west, saw 
 his buildings crumble, heard a city's wail of despair 
 borne upon the wind, and to an acquaintance he said, 
 " Stop your whining. It is not the death but the birth 
 of the town." By the time the ashes were cool he 
 was building again. Fortune came swiftly and some 
 times from unexpected sources. His far-exploring eye 
 saw a chance in Indian lands and he made three millions 
 within a year, with the national government as his 
 agent and his victim, some of his envious and 
 admiring enemies declared.
 
 OLD CALVIN 41 
 
 On one of his trips to his native neighborhood he met 
 a young woman with whom he had gone to school. No, 
 he had not carried her books, had not missed a word 
 perforce that she might spell him down. And she was 
 getting along apace when the thought came to him that 
 possibly he might be in love with her, wondering how 
 it was that he had overlooked her charm and her virtues, 
 and to her matured cheek he brought a blush when 
 suddenly he said to her: " By the way, Callie, I am 
 somewhat pushed for time, as I have just received a 
 telegram calling me back, but I have been thinking 
 about you, thinking that you ought to be my wife. ' ' He 
 looked at his watch. " Haven't much time to spare, as 
 my train ' ' 
 
 " I will marry you, Calvin," she broke in, and he was 
 greatly pleased with her readiness of decision. He 
 grew to be deeply fond of her, and when she died, years 
 later, leaving him a son and a daughter, his heart gushed 
 forth in a torrent of grief, to find solace, his enemies 
 said, in crushing a foe who suddenly had strayed too 
 far within the range of his power. 
 
 It was Whateley's hope that his son Daniel might 
 carry into another generation his own varied and diverg 
 ent work, but Daniel's mind had early shown dis 
 taste for the strain which to his father 's nature was like 
 strong drink. Daniel grew to be strong enough, was 
 sober enough, and in school and at college was inclined 
 to be studious, but he was not a second Calvin Whateley. 
 " I want to be a lawyer and then a politician," the 
 young man had said, and the father sat for a long time 
 without speaking, the ash falling from his cigar, the 
 fire dying out. He shifted his look over the character 
 izing features of his offspring, his sandy hair, his bluish
 
 42 THE NEW ME. HOWERSON 
 
 eyes inclined to squint in a strong light, at his mere 
 dab of a nose; and then came to him the anger-cooling 
 balm of humor. 
 
 " Dan, you were first announced to me one anxious 
 night as I walked up and down, and do you know what 
 the physician ought to have said? He ought to have 
 asked me if I could take a joke." 
 
 Whateley relighted his cigar, and a glow of red 
 mounted upward into the young fellow's hair. 
 
 " Father, I beg your pardon, but I am not a joke. 
 I am in earnest." 
 
 " No, not a joke, Dan, but a sort of cartoon of my 
 hope." 
 
 " But can I help it? Wasn't I born this way. You 
 have had a lot of men to work for you, men selected 
 by your judgment and experience, and you haven 't found 
 the right one yet. Then how can you expect me to 
 happen along and fill the bill? " 
 
 Whateley stood up, placed his hand on Daniel's 
 shoulder, patting it slowly. " You got me there, my 
 boy. Of course you can't help it." 
 
 " And am I to be a lawyer? " 
 
 ' ' Well, as to that I don 't know, but you may try. ' ' 
 
 In time he took the course, was admitted, a laughing 
 stock to Whateley 's enemies; and they gleed it about 
 that the old man had refused his devoted son a living. 
 Detraction shut its eye to the young man's peculiar 
 independence. Those somewhat acquainted with the 
 truth, materialistic to the marrow and commercial of 
 blood, termed a man degenerate who would turn from 
 the wielding of a mighty power to the sneezy dust of a 
 lawyer's library. 
 
 The Whateley home was never a social court, and 
 if the young lawyer was a toast among women, it was
 
 OLD CALVIN 43 
 
 as a sort of buttered toast. Among the young women 
 whom circumstances urged that he should meet was 
 a Miss Harriet Tarkwood, daughter of an extensive 
 dealer in fish. Her posed and rehearsed modesty was 
 fetching to Daniel. He nibbled her hook, found the 
 bait sweet, bit harder; and in her quiet waters she 
 played him, let him tug for a time amid the rushes, 
 landed him on a white-elovered brink and over his final 
 flop imparted the tearful information that she could not 
 live without him. To father's home he brought her, a 
 shrinking bride, threatening a time when from the world 
 and grosser flesh she would withdraw her mind and 
 center it on her nerves. After several years and about 
 the beginning of this chronicle, Daniel took a position 
 in the state's attorney's office, to fit himself for politics. 
 Old Calvin laughed with the crackle of Indian sum 
 mer leaves underfoot, and said: " Ah, I see. In order 
 to prepare yourself for politics you are going to take 
 a course in criminology. Go ahead." 
 
 " I am glad you don't object," Dan replied, grate 
 fully. " Harriet thought it was hardly the right thing. 
 But I am afraid that sometimes she judges too much 
 with her nerves. And by the way, they are just about 
 the same this morning." 
 
 This was a bit of news received by Whateley every 
 day, delivered by Dan or Harriet herself, and when 
 ever imparted by her the occasion was made impressive 
 with drawn mouth and lips too thin ever to have given 
 the kiss of physical love. 
 
 How different from brother was sister. In the girl 
 the old man saw himself repainted by a finer artist. In 
 her his strength of mind was more than suggested. 
 Opposed, she would have fought as her father had been 
 compelled to fight. Not in the business world and surely
 
 44 THE NEW ME. HOWERSON 
 
 not in social life are women necessarily gentler than men. 
 But the daughter, while having the temperament of her 
 father, possessed not his caustic harshness. " If she 
 did, ' ' said the fish dealer, father of Harriet, after striking 
 Calvin for extensive indorsements at the bank, " she 
 would make some poor fool a hell of a wife. ' ' 
 
 In Europe the princess is beautiful and in America 
 the heiress of millions cannot be otherwise than hand 
 some. But poverty could not have stripped Rose Whate- 
 ley of her charm. With lighter hues the sun had streaked 
 her amber hair, for bareheaded she played golf; and at 
 a country club men had for the moment forgotten the 
 old man 's wealth to watch her graceful swing, her drive. 
 Her complexion had in a way defied the sun, and it 
 was a joy to hear her laugh, deep from her bosom, rich 
 with life. A foreign nobleman, with a retinue of serv 
 ants and debts trailing him, thus poetized her eyes when 
 she smiled, " Olives illumined," and he thought that 
 for this she ought to marry him, and knowing that it 
 was not his soul that sought her, she laughed him forth 
 on his way across the continent. 
 
 To his daughter Whateley talked business, at home, 
 while Dan sat by and accepted gingerly the occasional 
 word addressed to him. At rare times the lawyer would 
 risk an opinion, nearly always met halfway by a resigned 
 smile from the old man; and in rebuttal tone Daniel 
 was wont to say, " Well, now, really I don't see why I 
 shouldn't know as much about it as Rose.*' 
 
 " I don't know either, my son, but you don't." 
 
 " By George, dad, I believe Rose is working you, just 
 as she was working you the other day when she said 
 she'd like to take a course in a business college. Why 
 don't you work him the same way, Harriet? ri 
 
 Rose laughed low mellow music, like lazy water lap-
 
 OLD CALVIN 45 
 
 ping a moss-covered rock. Two companion wrinkles 
 stood upright on Harriet's narrow brow, in answer to 
 her hurt, and she said that her nerves did not condition 
 her for such a strain; and as this talk chanced at the 
 breakfast table, the invalid proceeded upon the oblitera 
 tion of a third strip of bacon, a demure cast loitering 
 in her eye. Rose came smilingly to her own defense. 
 " Dad knows I'm not trying to work him. Of course 
 I don't care for dull business, but in big schemes there 
 is poetry, Mr. Daniel. It's not much to see a man trund 
 ling a wheelbarrow, but it is something to see a man 
 pull a lever and start a great railroad train. There is 
 enough thrill in a one night's dream launched into 
 reality at noon to serve a dozen poems, written by the 
 anemics of to-day." 
 
 The young lawyer said "Wow!" and with her 
 reproving eye his wife reminded him of her nerves. 
 
 " Dad," said Rose, " when are you going to learn 
 to play golf? " 
 
 " Shortly" 
 
 " Good! " 
 
 " Shortly after I am admitted to the Old Folks' Home. 
 They tried to put death on me in the form of whist and 
 now they want to cripple me with golf. Look at old 
 Callison. He used to have an idea or two, but now 
 he can't talk about anything but golf, a polly wanting 
 the eternal cracker. What's that? I need some sort 
 of recreation? Not if it is to boss me." 
 
 There was one other member of the family, at this 
 time upstairs asleep, Dan's boy, beautiful youngster, 
 Calvin Whateley junior; and upon him gushed forth a 
 grandfather's recrudescent love. 
 
 One morning in March a year later, when Dan, his 
 wife and son had lingered through a summer and winter
 
 46 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 abroad, Rose said to her father as pulling gently upon 
 his arm she walked with him down the hall toward the 
 front door : ' ' This will be a great day for you, dad. ' ' 
 
 " Yes," he replied. " Little Calvin returns. But 
 why the deuce didn't Dan wire as to what train he will 
 be in on? I do think he can neglect more important 
 things than any human being I ever saw. And I'll war 
 rant he '11 bring Calvin to the house instead of the office. 
 If he does, send the little fellow down at once." 
 
 ' ' Are you going to be very busy to-day ? ' ' she inquired 
 as they halted at the door. 
 
 1 1 Always busy ; but never too busy to see him. ' ' 
 
 " I know. But I may drop in sometime near noon. 
 I have some business with you. ' ' 
 
 " No recreation scheme, understand," he admonished 
 her, and she laughed, her head on his shoulder. ' ' There, 
 I must run along."
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 HUNTING A BED 
 
 With a hundred dollars in his pocket, the price of 
 his shroud, George Howerson came out from the pro 
 fessor's liver-scented roost and stood where the cold and 
 purifying wind swept down from the Dakota plains. 
 He gazed off across the river, toward blazing restaurants 
 where amid music and laughter, black-garbed men and 
 furred dames were feeding. Hunger, sharp as a puppy 's 
 tooth, bit him, for not since the day before had he 
 eaten, and then but a morsel caught up as by command 
 of red-armed barkeeper he moved along. " A strength 
 of purpose however strong must be fed," he mused; 
 " and must be slept," he added. "So to supper and 
 then to bed." From the woman's fund he took five 
 dollars, shifted it to another pocket, the only remaining 
 sound one, and strode onward toward the river, posing 
 in the dark. He felt that of late his mind had been 
 wandering but that now, with his great mission, it was 
 settled and strong. On a bridge he passed young Ger 
 mans singing a stem song, and to himself he said, " Ah, 
 before many hours you will have learned my name, but 
 you will not know that you sang to me to-night." 
 
 The propriety of rags, the modesty of a tattered hat, 
 pointed out the brazenness of attempting other than a 
 basement feed-trough, and into one of these he went, 
 careful on the sleety stairs; and here he ate, the pro 
 prietor eyeing him in the fear that he might not be 
 able to pay for so prodigal an order. But when the 
 
 4m 
 7
 
 48 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 five dollar note flashed forth, suspicion shut its eye and 
 became genial with the information that it was a cold 
 and blustery night. Now arose the bed question, simple 
 enough surely for one who has money, but rags and 
 tatters unfurled again their timid caution. Looking 
 about for a long time, passing one place after another 
 as too high up, he entered a " hotel " at whose door 
 the driver of a garbage cart might have hesitated. 
 
 " What do you want? " 
 
 " Beg your pardon, but I should like to have a bed. 
 I have the money to pay for it." 
 
 " Here, go on with you. What do you take us for? 
 A paper mill? Out! " 
 
 Out he went, and into another foul-smelling hole that 
 seemed in the violence of its stench to be more " mod 
 est " than the one before, but he was set again adrift. 
 His step quickened as if by an inspiration, and he 
 recrossed the river, headed for the purlieus of the ten- 
 cent lodging house. The first one was full. At the 
 second, still lower in all but price, the manager said, 
 " I think we are loaded to the guards, but come in 
 here and wait and I '11 go see if I can find you a bunk. ' ' 
 The floor of the room wherein he waited was covered 
 with tramps, a morgue of dead rags. One old roadster 
 rose up upon his elbow, as if out of a comic supplement, 
 and said, ' ' What, waitin ' to see if you kin git in amongst 
 the 'ristocrats? Where 'n hell did you git ten cents? " 
 
 The keeper returned and beckoning to Howerson, com 
 manded him to follow. He led the way into a passage, 
 and as Howerson was going out the soak called after 
 him: " So long, Rockefeller's son. Tell the old man I'll 
 answer his letter as soon as I get time." 
 
 The bunk was a mere slab, furnished with a bag of
 
 HUNTING A BED 49 
 
 straw for pillow and a strip of old carpet for quilt. The 
 room was not large but must have contained fifty bunks, 
 all occupied. 
 
 " Money in advance." 
 
 " Here you are." 
 
 Howerson took off his shoes, realizing that he had been 
 walking with one foot bare on the ground. Over him 
 he drew the dog-smelling cover and lay on his side, his 
 money pinned over his heart, pressed hard against the 
 board. The place was noisy with snore, cough, groan 
 of distressed dreamer; and through the thin wall there 
 came from a moving picture show the dinner-pail pathos 
 of a woman's song. With his head on the musty straw 
 he mused, ' ' To-morrow night I '11 not be afraid of being 
 robbed. These snoring wretches will nearly all of them 
 kill themselves, and serve no purpose except to rid the 
 encumbered earth, while I I shall die a martyr. In 
 my cell I will write poetry, and the damned hounds of 
 the press will snatch at it. Women will read it and 
 weep and write to me, to tell me of my great soul ; and 
 men of letters will marvel that their inspired fellow 
 could have done such a deed. They will call me a genius 
 genius, sweetest word in any language genius 
 and when I have metered his death groan and rhythmed 
 the terror of his glassy eye, the critics, vermin of let 
 ters ' ' This last figure so pleased him that he repeated 
 it over and over, until taking a tune to itself, it ran 
 in his mind like a song. " Vermin of letters " lulled 
 him to sleep, to dreams ; and he saw old Calvin Whateley 
 sitting in his office, laughing over a telegram which he 
 held in his hand. The avenger spoke and with a laugh 
 of victorious delight the capitalist threw him the dis 
 patch. " Here, read that," and catching up the paper
 
 50 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 the dreamer read, " The backbone of the strike is 
 broken. One hundred of the miners' children have 
 starved to death." 
 
 11 Good! " cried the avenger, " and now it is my 
 time to laugh," and with that he fired and jumped 
 out of bed. A door had slammed. The manager had 
 entered the room. " Come, turn out all of you," he 
 commanded. " Hurry up there, old daddy. What? 
 You can't get up? You've got to. I'm not going to 
 let you die here, I'll give you a pointer on that. Help 
 him up, some of you fellers, while I call the ambulance." 
 
 As Howerson was going out into the street someone 
 called to him: " Say, there, just a minute. He halted, 
 turning about, while toward him shambled a man too 
 young for such a gait, but outcasts soon acquire a physi 
 cal hypocrisy. ' ' Say, pard, you walk like a fellow going 
 to breakfast. For the Lord's sake let me go with you." 
 
 " All right, but you'll have to leave off that shuffle 
 and walk like a man." 
 
 Together they went toward the restaurant wherein 
 Howerson had feasted the night before; and looking 
 aside at his companion the avenger estimated that he 
 could not be more than old enough to sell a vote. 
 " Where are you from, youngster? " 
 
 " Out in Iowa. I went through the state university 
 there and " 
 
 " The devil you did." 
 
 " That's just about it the devil I did. I went back 
 home to our moral burg, got a job in the railroad office, 
 but at night a party of us would bunch around a jug 
 out in the weeds, and pretty soon it was all up with 
 my job. Then I came here, but my love for the jug came 
 along with me; and by the way, just give me ten cents 
 .and I'll let the breakfast go."
 
 HUNTING A BED 51 
 
 " Do I look like a man that could spare ten cents? " 
 
 " No, but you walk like one, and besides that you 
 slept up among the aristocrats last night. What do you 
 say?" 
 
 " No. You need something to eat." 
 
 " But it's not a question of what I need but of what 
 I want." 
 
 " Good enough, but I think it's a question of what 
 you'll get. But what is to be the final outcome? Did 
 you ever think of that? " 
 
 ' ' Oh, I guess I '11 brace up some day. ' ' 
 
 " That's the guess of most of us, but in the majority 
 of cases we guess wrong. (_A man may look forward and 
 fancy that he sees his reformation in the distance, but 
 as he goes forward it flees from him. Reformation comes 
 only out of an aim in life. Settle upon something that 
 you are determined to achieve, and reformation will 
 grip you."y 
 
 " Do you preach in the first or second Methodist 
 church? But don't walk so fast." 
 
 "I'm not preaching," said Howerson, holding up in 
 his pace. "I am talking facts." 
 
 ' You talk like a man that ought to have done some 
 thing yourself, but I don't know that I ever saw your 
 name on a billboard." 
 
 ' ' You don 't know my name, but you will, if you ever 
 hear the cry of a newsboy. My name is George Hower 
 son. Keep it in your mind until noon and then it will 
 stay there of its own accord. Here we are, down in 
 this stewing hole." 
 
 The boy was retched by the smell of soured 
 food, and drawing back from the counter he pleaded, 
 " Pard, give me a dime and let me go. I can't eat any 
 thing. Damn it, man, I need booze."
 
 52 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " Here's fifty cents. Go to a barrel house and drink 
 yourself to death. It's the best thing you can do." 
 
 The young fellow shuddered. "Go on," Howerson 
 commanded him. " There's no hope for you, and the 
 sooner you croak the better. You are a weakling and I 
 haven't any more time to waste on you." 
 
 The youth clutched the piece of silver until it was 
 almost embedded in his flesh, grateful for the question 
 able generosity, but with a lingering spark of spirit 
 resenting the grewsome admonition: " I'll not follow 
 your advice. I 'm going to reform right away, Jo-mor 
 row! " Howerson rhythmed his thoughts thus, " Every 
 day is a rivet of steel, and every moment a hammer's 
 stroke." Then of a sleepy-eyed girl with touches of 
 black about her eyes, he ordered his breakfast, the boy 
 continuing to stand at his elbow as if he had left some 
 vital thing unsaid ; and when the girl was gone he said 
 it: " If you think that way, I won't take your money. 
 I've got some little pride left. Here, take " but his 
 hand remained tight ; his spirit was willing but his flesh 
 was strong; and turning about quickly he ran up the 
 stairs. 
 
 " He'll not have nerve enough to do it," Howerson 
 mused. " His eye looks out of a weak soul. But then 
 he is not to blame. Fate has not decreed him a 
 mission. ' ' 
 
 The process of eating weakens or strengthens a resolve. 
 The cud-chewing cow is not so much given to quick 
 incentives as the horse, but she is more thoughtful, at 
 least more contemplative. Mastication extracts the final 
 taste of a thought; and Howerson swallowed the juices 
 of his mission and found them sweet. When he arose 
 he felt that his determination, if possible, was stronger,
 
 HUNTING A BED 53 
 
 clearer; and in his mind he heard the cry of his mar 
 tyrdom, a glory-anthem in the upper air. 
 
 It was still early when he came up out of the reek of 
 the " hash-trough," and for a time he walked about 
 waiting for the big department stores to open. When 
 the hour came he entered the portals of a world-known 
 establishment, and was confronted by a first or second 
 " walking gentleman " who commanded him to move 
 on, not inside but out. Then he realized, as he might 
 have been taught by his lodging house experiences, that 
 palaces of trade must be approached in gradation. Step 
 ping quickly, with the incentive of a suddenly inherited 
 relief fund of thought, he hastened to a place where 
 cheap secondhand clothing was offered for sale. 
 
 ' ' I want to rent a hat, a coat and a pair of shoes for 
 three hours." 
 
 " Rent 'em! " 
 
 " That's what I said." 
 
 The keeper of the place, an old man with patriarchal 
 beard but hawk-eyed, looked at him. ' ' Don 't you think 
 it would be safer for you if I'd make you a present of 
 the goods in the first place? Rent 'em! " 
 
 " I'll put up the amount of the price and take a 
 receipt, the money to be refunded when I return the 
 goods." 
 
 " Ah, you got money? " 
 
 " Enough for my purpose, I assure you. The fact 
 is that last night I was robbed and compelled to exchange 
 clothes with a tattered wretch." 
 
 " Then how have you money this morning? " 
 
 " I er had some loose money in my hand -as 
 I held it up, and it escaped their search." 
 
 Wag went his shrewd beard. But why should it make
 
 54 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 any difference to the patriarch? Had any such circum 
 spection ever entered into the preliminaries of his 
 trading ? 
 
 " All right, I rent you, but if you are not back in 
 three hours, the goods are sold. You hear ? ' ' 
 
 Howerson heard and agreed. 
 
 Not much time was required to make the selection. The 
 price was paid over, one hundred percent on the orig 
 inal investment, the receipt given; and now, some 
 what more presentable but not a great deal, Howerson 
 returned to the palace of trade. He was admitted and 
 conducted to the proper department ; but when he had 
 made known the extent of his prospective purchase, the 
 attendant stepped lively and called him " sir." He 
 insisted that pains should be taken in the fitting of his 
 long coat, of a pattern which in America they call a 
 " Prince Albert," and of which in England they say 
 " We don't know why." The other purchases were easy, 
 but the gloss of the silk hat mirrored his surprise at 
 its price. In his mind he counted his money and bought 
 the hat; and when he had adorned himself with it, the 
 "walking gentleman" who had ordered him to move 
 on, took polite occasion to smile upon him and to bow, 
 as he was passing down an aisle. 
 
 He bought two suits of cheap underwear, socks, neck 
 ties, and putting them into a suitcase purchased in the 
 basement, he was ready to go forth to return the rented 
 wardrobe. Then he thought of an overcoat and again 
 in his mind fingered over dollars and cents. But he 
 must have an overcoat and bought one, not of a family 
 with the " Prince Albert " and the mirroring hat, but 
 good enough, as he would take it off before entering 
 Whateley's private office, the death chamber. 
 
 A clock told that he had an hour to his credit, but
 
 HUNTING A BED 55 
 
 he lost no time in returning to the secondhand mart 
 of renovated rags; and the patriarch bowing low, 
 returned the money and hoped that his lordly patron 
 might prosper. Now for a bath and a shave, and when 
 the transformed man appeared at the door of a barber's 
 shop the manager of the place called out, " Come in, 
 Major." New and clean he came out, thrilled with 
 man's vanity when he caught the admiring eyes of 
 women as he passed along, deigning to smile upon one 
 of them, believing that she half-halted to loiter. He 
 hastened on toward a shop where pistols were for sale. 
 
 " Ah, good morning, sir. Can I serve you? " 
 
 " Yes, if you please. I am going out West and I 
 want a pistol." 
 
 The dealer, lately from that part of the country, 
 flashed a wink at a companion in arms who stood farther 
 down the counter. 
 
 " Well, sir, I think we can fix you up. About what 
 sort " 
 
 " Makes no difference so long as it carries a big ball. 
 What's this one? " 
 
 "That's a ' BuUdog, ' but it's only a very 
 cheap 
 
 " But would it kill a grizzly? " 
 
 " Yes, an elephant, for that matter." 
 
 " Go off every time? " 
 
 " Yes, it's a center fire. But I thought you might 
 want a " 
 
 " A politer one, eh? No, this will do. Some cart 
 ridges, please." 
 
 " Let me take the number of the brute," said the 
 dealer, meaning the " Bulldog." " And, by the way, 
 you are not allowed to load it on the premises. ' ' 
 
 But the work of inserting the cartridges was quickly
 
 56 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 performed behind an ash barrel, in an alley, and the 
 feeling that in his pocket was a deadly power, an agent 
 of the coroner, a speed to Eternity, incited him to a 
 near-cut toward Whateley's office. He turned into an 
 arcade wherein was wont to stand an old man in front 
 of his bookshelves laden with cast-off print, arithmetics, 
 geographies, tattered pamphlets and the purloined lec 
 tures of Ingersoll. Near by at a small table sat a card 
 writer and Howerson accounted himself fortunate, for 
 thus he was reminded of a detail overlooked. "Can you 
 write me a card that will look exactly like an 
 engraving? " 
 
 " Look better," the artist assured him. 
 
 ' ' Yes, I know that, but will it look like one ? I don 't 
 want any dove flying with an olive branch in his bill. 
 I want my name, and without a flourish. ' ' 
 
 " How many? " 
 
 " Only one." 
 
 " One? Why, that's a funny order." 
 
 " Well, write it and I'll give you fifty cents." 
 
 The eye of the artist brightened and he took up his 
 pen. But emotion incident upon the fall of sudden 
 fortune shook his hand and he spoiled two cards. With 
 the third attempt, however, he regained his knack and 
 produced a work to his liking. 
 
 " That's good," said the purchaser. " Here's your 
 money." 
 
 Passing through the archway out upon the street, 
 he saw several men who with ropes and windlass were 
 elevating a heavy iron safe into a third story window. 
 On the opposite side of the thoroughfare stood idlers, 
 gazing. Throwing a theatric look at the toilers the tragic 
 dreamer mused: " Ah, poor devils, I die for you." A 
 newsboy crying a noon edition thrust a paper toward
 
 HUNTING A BED 57 
 
 him, which he ignored, but he gave the boy ten cents. 
 ' ' Trumpeter of my fame, ' ' he said, hastening onward. 
 
 In his mind he took stock of his resources, and found 
 that in cash his estate amounted to twelve dollars and 
 twenty-five cents enough and his heart beat high 
 and his blood leaped as he caught the strains of a blind 
 man's fiddle. Boys, old men, solicited the favor of 
 carrying his suit case, and along the curb his ear was 
 saluted with the hackman's " Keb, keb, sir! " Around 
 a corner, and now toward the " Whateley Building," 
 its grim cornices in the clouds; and he knew that on 
 the tenth floor the dragon of finances had his lair. With 
 a cigar dealer below he left his suit case, and was shot 
 upward. 
 
 In the corridor on the tenth floor he passed a police 
 man and entered an anteroom wherein sat Big Jim, 
 said to have been a prize fighter who by a narrow margin 
 missed national fame, now serving as office boy to Calvin 
 Whateley. Jim bowed in the presence of Howerson, and 
 with a prize ring prance met him to take his overcoat. 
 
 " I wish to see Mr. Whateley," said the visitor. 
 
 " He's busy now, sir." 
 
 " Here, give him my card."
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 THE TORTUKE CHAMBER 
 
 Old Calvin always came early to his office, to tighten 
 the screws of the day, Big Jim said; but on this par 
 ticular morning he arrived somewhat earlier than was 
 his wont, to grapple and to choke the nagging life out 
 of new worries. He went through the departments of 
 his establishment, stirring things up with his eye, caus 
 ing more than one surprised idler to snatch suddenly 
 at his work; and growled his way into his own work 
 shop, known as the " torture chamber." It was a large 
 room furnished mainly with a big flat-top desk always 
 heaped with papers. On the walls, covered with dark 
 burlap, there were no pictures, but in one corner stood 
 a bronze bust of Cromwell. The floor was soft with a 
 thick carpet. The window shades were dark, and the 
 radiator was painted black. 
 
 Just as Whateley sat down, stirring among his papers, 
 Big Jim looked in upon him. " Jim," said the old man, 
 " you were drunk yesterday," and the giant gasped his 
 astonishment. " You needn't deny it. I could smell 
 you all over the building." 
 
 1 That's very strange, sir," Jim replied wonderingly, 
 as if striving to solve a problem. 
 
 ' Very. And you jammed the elevator boy 's hat down 
 over his eyes and told him you could whip any man in 
 America. ' ' 
 
 " That's very singular, sir." 
 
 68
 
 THE TORTURE CHAMBER 59 
 
 " Very. And do you think I'm going to permit you 
 to disgrace my establishment? " 
 
 " Admittin' that I was a little off, sir, not wishin' to 
 dispute your word, it was the first time in a year. A 
 man can 't stand everything, sir. I have trouble at home. 
 My wife cuts up, sir, and she threatens to get a divorce. 
 Not long ago I let her black my eye, somethin ' that very 
 few men could do, sir, and this ought to have satisfied 
 her but it didn't. Yesterday she got drunk and I had 
 to keep her company. I didn't know how else to be a 
 companion with her, sir; and we are told that a man 
 and wife ought to be companions." 
 
 ' ' Yes, but I '11 send for your wife and get her story. ' ' 
 
 Jim exhibited alarm. "I'd rather you wouldn't do 
 that, sir. I don't think you'd enjoy a conversation with 
 her. She's very thick of hearing, sir, and it would be 
 hard for you to make her understand what you wanted 
 with her." 
 
 " Ah, you don't want her to prove you are a liar." 
 
 " Well, isn't that natural, sir? " 
 
 Whateley coughed to conceal a smile. " Well, the 
 next time, Jim, down and out you go." 
 
 " I thank you, sir. I'll put up with everything for 
 your sake, sir." 
 
 Whateley waved him out, and proceeded to cut open 
 the letters piled on his desk, frowning, grunting, some 
 times leaning back in his chair to puff at his cigar and 
 to think. After a time he pressed hard on a button 
 as if the time for determined action had come. In an 
 adjoining room there arose not the ringing of a bell, 
 but a loud buzz like a riot call in a hornet's nest. Miss 
 Gwin, subdued stenographer, entered the " torture 
 chamber," bowed timidly, interpreted a two-section 
 grunt to mean " good morning," and in obedience to a
 
 60 THE NEW ME. HOWERSON 
 
 short nod, sat down. The old man cleared his throat, 
 a sound like a blacksmith's rasp on a horse's hoof, cut 
 ting into the iron shoe; and Miss Gwin quickened the 
 expression of her sad countenance to prove her readi 
 ness to serve an indulgent monster. Whateley dictated : 
 
 " To John Wherry, Eockdale, Mo. Do not yield a 
 single point. If the men continue to persist, close down 
 the works. Let it be known that I will set fire to the 
 establishment rather than give in." 
 
 " To Hefferon & Majors, Hamilton, Ohio. Your letter 
 is deeply eloquent of distress, and the composition of it 
 must have cost considerable pains, but eloquence in busi 
 ness is a wasted art, so far as I am concerned. Appar 
 ently you made no great effort to meet your obligations, 
 seeming to expect an extension of time. But without 
 waste of words let me assure you that you must toe the 
 mark or take the consequences." 
 
 He glanced in silence into the contents of letter after 
 letter. Some of the " offerings " he dropped into the 
 wastebasket; others he put aside to be taken up by a 
 lesser hand. Then he took up one, read it, knit his 
 brows, unraveled them and dictated: 
 
 " To Witherspoon & Eankin. 
 
 " I am somewhat astonished at the verdict for five 
 thousand dollars rendered in favor of Mrs. Nash, for the 
 death of her husband, alleged to have been killed by one 
 of my street cars. I should have thought that as money 
 is somewhat tight, common drunkards would be cheaper 
 this year. Of course you are to appeal the case. ' ' 
 
 He glanced at Miss Gwin, saw that she was striving 
 against emotion. " Eh, what's the matter? " 
 
 "I beg your pardon, sir, but Mrs. Nash is my mother, 
 and Mr. Nash, my stepfather, was not a drunkard, ' ' she 
 faltered.
 
 THE TORTURE CHAMBER 61 
 
 The old man frowned. " Why didn't you say some 
 thing about this before? " 
 
 " I was afraid I might be dismissed, sir. My mother 
 depends ' ' 
 
 " Yes, your mother needs the money. But is it my 
 business to supply every needy mother with money? Am 
 I to be a source of universal revenue? " 
 
 " I don't know, sir." 
 
 " You don't know. I am glad I can credit you with 
 that much information. Our witnesses testified that 
 Nash was drunk." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir, but witnesses don't always 
 tell the truth." 
 
 ' ' No, not unless it is to their interest. That 's all. ' ' 
 
 Miss Gwin arose and looked at him as he was busy 
 with his papers. Whateley shot a glance at her. " That's 
 all." 
 
 " Mr. Whateley, if you knew how hard Mr. Nash 
 had to work for a living, I am sure " 
 
 " And can't you be equally sure I said ' That's all '? " 
 
 As Miss Gwin turned to go, Jim came in, said that 
 Mrs. Nash and the old man roared. ''What the 
 devil did she want to come here for! Tell her I won't 
 see her." 
 
 Jim ducked back into the precincts of his own terri 
 tory, and in subdued hysteria Miss Gwin went out to 
 mingle distresses with her mother; and the poor old 
 woman in rusty black went away, to shudder in good cause 
 at the harshness of the world. Miss Gwin did not wear 
 the sealskin so soft and furry in the fancy of a country 
 girl practicing prospective stenography with one hand 
 and reaching languidly toward chocolate creams with 
 the other. At different times old Calvin had employed 
 many young shorthanders, and not a few of them, newly
 
 62 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 installed, had beamed blue-orbed upon him, but if any 
 of them ever wore polar hide they acquired its price 
 out of necessary economy or through the channels of 
 graces tossed off in some other direction. 
 
 With chilled fingers the stepdaughter of the ' ' drunk 
 ard who ought to have been cheaper ' ' hailed down upon 
 her keyboard, and the old man, sole audience of his own 
 occasional growl, sat over a big parchment bond which 
 a quickly entering and retiring understrapper had just 
 placed before him. He mused, his mind half on the 
 bond and half on the world in general : " Money, money ! 
 Everybody straining after it. Legislators with their 
 hands held out and their paws getting bigger all the time. 
 After a while it will be quite a luxury to own half a 
 dozen of them." His eye caught sight of a sheet of 
 paper that had slipped down from a pile of rubbish at 
 his elbow. " What's this? Lost his leg in a coal mine. 
 Demands that I shall furnish him with another. Loses 
 his own leg and wants to pull mine. " He tore the paper 
 and threw it into the waste basket. 
 
 Jim came in, ducking his turtle head, and thrust forth 
 a card. Whateley glanced at it. " Reverend Dr. Hen- 
 shaw. Money. Oh, yes, of course. But I'll just fight 
 it out with him. Show him in. ... I've paid exorbi 
 tant rent for that pew year after year and haven't 
 slept in it more than once in six months." 
 
 In came the reverend gentleman, with close-cropped 
 gray about the gills, rushed forward, overturned a pile 
 of papers and seized Whateley by the hand. " My dear 
 Mr. Whateley, my very, very dear sir, how are you 1 ? 
 You are the first one I call on after my return. ' ' 
 
 " Sit down, Doctor." 
 
 He shook Whateley 's hand again, with a gleam of 
 gold through the winter meadow about his mouth, and
 
 THE TORTURE CHAMBER 63 
 
 sat down. ' ' I thank you, sir ; I thank you very much. 
 And as I have just remarked, you are the first one I call 
 on, after my return, a great pleasure to me, I assure 
 you." 
 
 ' ' Have you been out of town, Doctor ? ' ' 
 
 At times in life we all of us receive almost a vital 
 blow; the overconfident candidate upon receiving news 
 of his impossible defeat is crushed, but the Rev. Dr. 
 Henshaw was mashed out flat, like the trick dummy 
 run over by the street roller, and it was some time before 
 he began to round out again. But Whateley waited 
 for him, stirring among his papers until the victim 
 of the catastrophe found wind to say, ' ' Out of town ! 
 Merciful Heaven, man, I have just returned from 
 Europe." 
 
 " Oh, is that so? Have a cigar." 
 
 ' ' I thank you, sir ; I don 't smoke. I have never tasted 
 tobacco. Learned from my New England mother to 
 to hate rum and tobacco." 
 
 " Good enough. But my mother smoked by the cabin 
 fire, musing over the good she might do to some dis 
 tressed neighbor, and somehow I am of the opinion that 
 the Lord never held it up against her very hard." 
 
 The doctor rubbed his hands together. " Ah, pos 
 sibly not." 
 
 Whateley smiled. " Well, do you find everything all 
 right upon your return ? ' ' 
 
 The doctor coughed in a floating cloud of smoke, and 
 shook his head impressively. " Not as I could wish, Mr. 
 Whateley; not wholly as I could wish." 
 
 " Well," said the man of millions, " it's human 
 nature, you know, to wish for more than we can get. ' ' 
 
 Jim handed in a card. Whateley bestowed upon it a 
 quick glance. " Tell Mr. Ames I am not in."
 
 64 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 Jim pranced his pleasure. How he loved to turn away 
 the common herd. " But he says, sir, that he will wait 
 till you do come in." 
 
 " Tell him I'm out and will remain out permanently. 
 You're stronger than he is. Then see to it." 
 
 Jim retired delighted, and Whateley answered the 
 inquiring look of Henshaw's countenance: " A poor 
 devil of an inventor trying to mold a foggy thought in 
 brass. I have given him one interview and that's 
 enough. ' ' 
 
 " No doubt," said the doctor. " But inventors some 
 times have, I might say, unique ideas. I knew one that 
 got up a device for filing and keeping track of sermons, 
 and it was quite ingenious, I assure you. What sort of 
 an invention has this one ? ' : 
 
 " Well, that's just about what he's trying to find out 
 himself. Er did you wish to see me about anything 
 in particular, Doctor ? ' ' 
 
 Henshaw coughed, once as an experiment, then as the 
 revised and accepted achievement, and shifting his post 
 ure to one of more studied and conventional uneasiness, 
 gave his host an appealing eye. " Well, yes, in a way. 
 My dear Mr. Whateley, we I may say that while in 
 person you are not very active in our hah devoted 
 church, yet we, I might say, look upon you fondly as one 
 of the pillars that is " 
 
 " As one of the bolsters when you need money," 
 Whateley blew in upon him with a puff of smoke. 
 
 The doctor blinked, coughed and said: " Well, I 
 wouldn't put it exactly that way that is, not pre 
 cisely that way, but for the sake of that brevity wherein 
 lies our wit if not our witticism may in brief say 
 yes. Ahem! "
 
 THE TORTURE CHAMBER 65 
 
 11 And at present, Doctor, what peculiar phase of 
 financial distress are you trying to stare out of 
 countenance? " 
 
 Henshaw brightened and shifted into an uneasier and 
 therefore more righteous position. " Well, you must 
 know, my dear Mr. Whateley, that as a Christian organ 
 ization we have a certain honor to maintain; indeed, a 
 sacred obligation. Upon returning from my er 
 much needed rest abroad, I find that our people have 
 not been very active in subscribing our share of the 
 means for the proper and respectable maintenance of 
 foreign missions." 
 
 This was followed by a sonorous and completely suc 
 cessful " ahem! " and Whateley, with the cold- wave- 
 signal smile that so many men had learned to dread, 
 took up a newspaper. " I see here, Doctor, that one 
 denomination in this country has, this year, raised ten 
 million dollars for foreign missions." 
 
 The doctor's smile was one of assumed astonishment 
 turned sick. Experience, the exercise of ethical profes 
 sionalism, demanded that he should sink back into repose, 
 with hands outspread and fingertips pressed gently 
 together. This was accomplished without a bobble. 
 " Yes, a goodly, a very goodly sum." 
 
 " Very," said Whateley. " And in another column 
 I read that in New York fifteen thousand children are 
 aompelled to go to school hungry. ' ' 
 
 " Dear me," exclaimed the doctor, " you astonish 
 me." 
 
 " No doubt. Here it is. Read it." 
 
 The doctor took the newspaper, followed the direction 
 of Whateley 's finger and read the paragraph. Then, to 
 gain time, he pressed his glasses tighter upon his nose
 
 66 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 and gave a make-believe of reading more carefully. 
 " Ah, so it appears. Most distressing state of affairs, 
 I should think." 
 
 " Very," said Whateley. 
 
 " Yes, very," the doctor agreed, sighing as he placed 
 the startling information carefully on the desk. " Fif 
 teen thousand! Dear me. But possibly there may be 
 some exaggeration. Let us hope so. Ah, certain it is 
 that the poor we have with us noon and night as well 
 as morning. But, my dear Mr. Whateley, the hunger 
 of this world is as nothing compared with the never- 
 ending anguish of the world to come. The body is tem 
 porary ; the soul ahem is eternal. And as keepers of 
 brothers whom we have never seen, you and I are 
 responsible for the souls of men yet unborn. And 
 believing that your conscience must tell you that this is 
 true, I now ask you, Mr. Whateley, one of the most 
 successful and therefore one of the most responsible of 
 men I ask you as to what amount I may set down 
 opposite your name for foreign missions." 
 
 About the financier's lips the chill smile played, but 
 to the doctor, an estimater of words rather than a reader 
 of countenances, the frosty gleam was a light of encour 
 agement, and in his turn he smiled. . . . And on 
 the window ledge a cold sparrow fluttered. 
 
 ' ' Doctor, you may put me down for ' ' 
 
 " I thank you, Mr. Whateley." 
 
 " For one penny." 
 
 Ah, the smile had been a play of humor; and the 
 doctor laughed. " How fond of a joke you are, Mr. 
 Whateley. You must have inherited it, an atavistic trait 
 from some droll ancestor. But it is well that in the 
 midst of our worries and severer trials we should find 
 a relief, or I might more properly say, assistance if not
 
 THE TORTURE CHAMBER 67 
 
 a almost real consolation in the indulgence of humor. 
 And now you will raise that one penny to er one 
 thousand dollars? " 
 
 " One penny; no more. Hitherto, Dr. Henshaw, I 
 have helped to pour money into the bottomless rathole 
 of foreign missions, but I am done. I am willing to risk 
 money on an experiment, but when I find out that it is 
 always to be an experiment, I give it over to people that 
 are fonder of wasting money than I am." 
 
 " Mr. Whateley, it grieves me to hear you say that." 
 
 " No doubt. Not long ago I read the statement of an 
 English missionary in which he said that in his opinion 
 there had never been a hundred real conversions in 
 China." 
 
 " A grave error, sir; a most dangerous error. But 
 does he say that the missionaries have not planted and 
 fostered the growth of our ahem trade in heathen 
 lands? " 
 
 " Oh, shifting it over to a commercial basis, eh? 
 Well, granting that the missionaries are commercial 
 travelers in spiritual disguise, doesn't it strike you that 
 they soldier on the job? Did you wish to see me about 
 anything else, Dr. Henshaw? " 
 
 In the doctor's sigh there was the proper degree of 
 anxiety and distress. ' ' Why er a matter of very 
 small moment. There has been some little talk I may 
 say that it has been intimated to me that in considera 
 tion of my heavy expenses abroad indeed, some of my 
 friends think that I ought to have more salary. I trust, 
 sir, that you do not object. ' ' 
 
 " Not at all, Doctor. In whatever line it may be, 
 whenever you find an efficient and trustworthy man, 
 pay him. Nearly every man of affairs is looking about 
 for someone whom he can trust, someone who will not
 
 68 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 prove assassin to his interests to find someone who 
 would not for money murder his very soul. And some 
 how, my judgment of a man comes with the first flash 
 of him. But we are all more or less judges of char 
 acter until some fatal moment what is it? " 
 
 Jim presented a card. Whateley read the name. 
 " 'George Howerson,' I don't know him. What sort 
 of a looking man is he? " 
 
 " As fine a looking chap as you ever see, sir." 
 
 ' ' Tell him to write the nature of his business. ' ' 
 
 Jim pranced out. Whateley continued. " Yes, sir, 
 the first flash intuition, if you will; and it seems to 
 me that right there is where the most of you preachers 
 are lacking. Your faith is developed at the expense of 
 your perception." 
 
 The doctor arose to go. But he needs must linger to 
 speak a few more wise words: " I have never experi 
 enced any difficulty in reading character. It comes to 
 me in a most natural way, inherited, like your sense of 
 humor. But I do wish, Mr. Whateley, that you would 
 take a more hopeful view of foreign missions. I bid 
 you good day." 
 
 Whateley had turned again to an examination of the 
 bond. " Good day. But when the Lord wants China 
 men and Hottentots, He'll get 'em." 
 
 Henshaw halted at the door, looked back at Whateley, 
 who had not taken his eyes off the bond, sighed pro 
 fessionally, and went out, passing Jim. The " bouncer " 
 placed before Whateley a leaf torn from a tab. On it 
 was written : " I wish to see you about the construction 
 of a new system of waterworks at Glenwich." Whate 
 ley read the words and leaned back in his chair, musing 
 over them. Jim stood waiting. 
 
 " Tell him to come in."
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 THE MISSION OF THE BULLDOG 
 
 So intent was Whateley upon the broad sheet of paper 
 spread out in front of him that he did not look up as 
 Howerson entered. The visitor came forward, seeming 
 to feed upon him with hungry eyes; and near the desk 
 he stood, slowly taking off his gloves, as Whateley looked 
 up. 
 
 " Ah, sit down, sir. Pardon me just a moment." He 
 looked down again, leaning forward to read the close 
 writing on the bond. 
 
 " Thank you." 
 
 Howerson, gazing at him, slowly sat down. The 
 tyrant, the crusher of men, had not said enough, had 
 not revealed himself. The avenger would wait. There 
 was time enough. He would play with him, draw him 
 into an argument, penetrate the inner blackness of his 
 soul. Whateley glanced at him, searched him, then look 
 ing down again, muttered to himself. The avenger 
 yearned to hear those secret thoughts, for he knew that 
 they were dark and of evil threat to some poor wretch, 
 the determination to oust some widow from her home; 
 and he was glad that this drinker of misfortune's blood 
 after admitting him had almost ignored his presence, 
 thus giving his own blood a longer time to boil. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Whateley, putting the 
 bond aside. " Waterworks at Glenwich? Do you. come 
 as a representative from that city? "
 
 70 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " No one knows that I have come. But it struck me 
 that they need a new water system. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Rather vague. Have you examined the ground ? ' ' 
 
 " Not thoroughly, but it requires only one look to 
 reveal the truth. I have not spoken to anyone in author 
 ity. It will require money and influence, exactly where I 
 am short; and I thought perhaps I might interest you. 
 But I confess to you that I have had no experience in 
 this line. ' ' 
 
 Whateley grunted. Not yet had he spoken the vital 
 word; and the " Agent of Justice," with vengeance in 
 his heart uncooled, wondered at himself and his pliant 
 lying. How delicious a comedy, what a lead-up to 
 tragedy! It was too soothing to give over; he would 
 play it yet a while longer. He hungered for new expres 
 sions in those exploring eyes before death should dim 
 them. 
 
 " Why did you think that I would be interested? " 
 
 " Because there is money in it." 
 
 " Good enough. But why should I take up such a 
 proposition with a stranger? " 
 
 ' ' Because you are a judge of men. ' ' 
 
 " Ah, and because I am not likely to take up with a 
 mere dreamer." 
 ' " All achievement was once a dream." 
 
 Whateley grunted. " And so was all failure. But 
 there might be something in your undigested scheme. 
 I have in a way thought of it myself. I very often motor 
 around in that neighborhood. ' ' 
 
 And the avenger mused, " The old beast is already 
 planning a robbery." Had the cue been spoken? 
 Whateley looked down, stirring among his papers. How- 
 erson arose, his hand behind him; and at this moment 
 there came a joyous cry:
 
 THE MISSION OF THE BULLDOG 71 
 
 " Grandpa." 
 
 A beautiful boy came running into the room ; and the 
 old man dropped everything and sprang up from his 
 chair, with arms held out. 
 
 " "Why God bless his life," the tyrant cried, catching 
 up the boy with a tight hug. " Grandpa hasn't seen 
 him in an age. No, and everything has been going 
 wrong since you left me, but now everything will go all 
 right. God bless you! " Then he said to Howerson, 
 who had dropped down upon the chair : ' ' This is Calvin 
 Whateley, Junior, my son 's boy. But whose boy are you, 
 hah whose boy? " 
 
 ' ' Your boy, ' ' cried the little fellow. 
 
 The old man, his eyes soft and beaming, hugged him. 
 " Yes, my boy, God bless him. And here we are at home 
 again, seated on our throne, ' ' and he put the happy child 
 on the desk between himself and Howerson; and the 
 little fellow shook his head, color-caught from the sun, 
 and laughed, and Big Jim stuck his head in and winked 
 at him. Howerson sat dazed, in an emotion too new, too 
 strange for thought, feeling that it would be profane of 
 him to speak. Cold dew gathered on his brow, and he 
 shuddered, and he knew that it was icy murder melting, 
 trickling from his heart. 
 
 " Ah," said the old man, stroking the boy's hair, 
 " did you have a good time? " 
 
 With a clap of hands little Calvin cried, " You bet." 
 
 Old Calvin laughed, and the sparrow that had flut 
 tered cold on the window ledge, now seemed warm in a 
 ray of the sun. " Yes, we'll bet and we'll win. And 
 what did you see over there in those places where grand 
 pa has never had time to go? Hah! What did you 
 
 , e ? " 
 
 " Oh, a whole lot of things. Big castles where they
 
 72 THE NEW ME. HOWERSON 
 
 used to shut people up to starve to death, and a house 
 made out of glass, and a tower that leaned over, and 
 houses where the Romans used to live, mamma said ; and 
 h^aps of other things. And in the garden of the hotel 
 I met a boy that couldn't talk like us, and he didn't 
 know how to fight with his fists, and I showed him and 
 he bawled. Wasn't that funny? Oh, yes, and I saw 
 an an anarchist, papa said, and they were taking 
 him to jail because he tried to kill a king, and he had a 
 red handkerchief tied around his neck, and he looked 
 bad. Would an anarchist kill you, grandpa? " 
 
 " Yes," said the tender old dragon, "if he could 
 sneak up on me." Howerson shivered, the cold dew on 
 his brow, the words of Annie Zondish pulsing in his 
 ears. The old man spoke to him, startled him out of his 
 cold abstraction. " Isn't he a splendid little fellow? " 
 
 " Glorious! " cried the man with the pistol in his 
 pocket, and the old money wolf gave him a kindly look, 
 warming the dew on his brow. " I don't wonder that 
 you love him. ' ' 
 
 " Love him? Worship him! And kind-hearted little 
 deity, he doesn't take advantage of it. He is my own 
 youth brought back, my own boyhood idealized, for I 
 was poor, sir, and early I felt the cold breath of man; 
 and this child is more to me than all the business in the 
 world. Aren't you, Calvin? " 
 
 " You bet! " the boy shouted; and they heard Big 
 Jim in the anteroom humming a tune, for a visit from 
 the boy always meant emancipation from the rigor of 
 rule or the hard, cold eye of ill humor, 
 
 " And now, Calvin," said the old man, " I have a 
 piece of business for you to transact, ' ' and raking among 
 his papers he found a check book and began to write in
 
 THE MISSION OF THE BULLDOG 73 
 
 it, while the boy looked on, laughing. Then the little 
 fellow gave his full attention to Howerson, his eye glow 
 ing with a boy 's admiration. ' ' Gee, but I '11 bet you are 
 strong stronger than Big Jim. I '11 bet you could play 
 football, couldn't you? " 
 
 " I used to play, little man." 
 
 ' ' And did your side beat ? ' ' 
 
 " Not always." 
 
 " Here we are," said old Calvin, tearing out a check. 
 ' ' See ? Pay to the order of Anderson Baxter, secretary 
 of the Home Mission Society, one thousand dollars. Now 
 sign your name right here, ' Calvin Whateley, Junior.' " 
 
 The boy took the check and looked at it. " Have I 
 got this much money, grandpa? " and the old man 
 laughed. 
 
 " That much! Why, that's hardly a drop in your 
 bucket." 
 
 " But what's it for, grandpa? " 
 
 And the delighted old crusher of men cried out, ' ' Oh, 
 he's a sharp and inquiring little capitalist," and he 
 laughed, shaking his shrewd head, a shake that had 
 meant death to many a hope. The boy, with an old look 
 on his face, repeated his question, and seriously the 
 man of business answered him: " It is to be sent down 
 among little boys in the slums, to keep them from becom 
 ing anarchists, like the man you saw them taking to 
 jail." 
 
 ' ' And does money keep men from being anarchists ? ' ' 
 
 ' * Yes, enough of it will and sometimes make them 
 anarchists of another sort. ' ' The old man laughed, and 
 Howerson gazed at him, astonished, as man ever is when 
 he hears an unexpected truth. 
 
 Whateley pretending the strain of a heavy weight,
 
 74 THE NEW ME. HOWERSON 
 
 lifted the boy, stood him near the desk and gave him a 
 pen. " Now you are all right. Go ahead." The boy 
 looked at the check, lying in front of him. 
 
 " And if all the money that this will get was spread 
 out, it would look green like the sea, wouldn 't it ? But if 
 I didn 't know how to sign my name I couldn 't get any of 
 it, and that would make an anarchist out of me." He 
 wrote his name, and then looked at Howerson, the old 
 look gone from his countenance. " Do you like my 
 grandpa? " 
 
 " Oh, very much." 
 
 " And me too? " 
 
 " Yes, I like you ever so much. I think you are 
 great. ' ' 
 
 " And could you sign your name and get as much 
 money as I can ? ' : 
 
 "I'm afraid not, just at present." 
 
 " But if you hook up with my grandpa you can." 
 
 The old man laughed. " But Calvin you are keeping 
 us from 'hooking up,' as you term it. And now, Mr " 
 he looked about and found Howerson 's card ' ' And 
 now, Mr. Howerson, you must pardon me for this excur 
 sion off into sentiment, for I assure you that this little 
 fellow means more to my heart than all the business in 
 the world. I trust ' ' 
 
 " You can trust Mr. Howerson, can't you, grandpa? " 
 
 ' ' Ah, ' ' said "Whateley, * ' he has already caught your 
 name. Yes, Calvin, I think I can trust your friend How 
 erson," and the flint-hearted man of bonds laughed, and 
 the boy, echoing his grandfather's chuckle, bounded over 
 to Howerson 's chair. 
 
 " Will I be big and strong like you? " he demanded. 
 
 " Yes, bigger and stronger." 
 
 The boy clapped his hands. " Then we'll go every-
 
 THE MISSION OF THE BULLDOG 75 
 
 where with grandpa, for he'll be old then, and if any 
 body tries to hurt him we'll jump on 'em and beat 'em 
 up, and it'll be fun for us because we'll be so strong." 
 
 "Whateley sat with his eyes half closed, listening like 
 an old hawk, and when no longer he heard the music of 
 the child's voice, he started out of his dreaming and 
 looked about him as if he had been in a slumber. ' ' Cal 
 vin, Mr. Howerson and I must now get down to business. 
 Come over here to me." The little fellow obeyed, look 
 ing back with an admiring eye upon the strong man ; and 
 Howerson gazed at him, strange emotions pulling at his 
 heart ; and he heard the seeming of a muffled voice, call 
 ing upon him to run away and hide. 
 
 Whateley spoke : ' ' Now, Mr. Howerson, I hardly know 
 what to say to you. You come with merely a suggestion, 
 but, after all, that is what inspiration is, a suggestion. 
 A plodder can fill in details. In business a word 
 sometimes opens the door of great possibilities. I 
 remember " 
 
 Jim interrupted him with a card. He looked at it and 
 got up, " Senator Galvin. I must see him at once. 
 Show him in there." He gestured, and as Howerson 
 arose he added quickly, " Oh, no, don't go, Mr. Hower 
 son. I wish to talk over your scheme with you. Little 
 Calvin says I can trust you." 
 
 " Thank you, sir." 
 
 " Thank Calvin, Mr. Howerson," and the old man 
 hastened from the room. 
 
 " Grandpa can walk fast, but I don't think he can 
 run as fast as you can, Mr. Howerson." Little Calvin 
 came over to the visitor's chair. " I'll bet you've got a 
 big muscle, and when the summertime comes and we can 
 play on the grass, you'll show me how you can jump, 
 won't you? "
 
 76 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 And the muffled voice cried into the strong man's 
 heart, " Hide yourself, now! " And he got up to rush 
 from the room, but the boy clung to him. " No, you 
 mustn't go till grandpa comes back. Don't you know he 
 told you to stay ? ' ' And the muffled voice broke out in 
 soft laughter and breathed warm upon his heart. 
 
 " Oh," shouted the boy, " you were just playing like 
 you were going away! " Toeing an imaginary mark on 
 the carpet, he swung his arms and leaped as far as he 
 could; and then to his friend he said: " Now let me 
 see how far you can jump." Howerson began to beg 
 off, but the little fellow stroked him with persuasion in 
 his touch, as high up as he could reach. ' ' Please ! 
 Grandpa won 't care. Please ! ' ' Howerson got up, toed 
 the invisible mark drawn by the boy, and jumped as far 
 as he could, falling back upon his down-spread hands, 
 and the boy shrieked in glee, and Jim, looking in, shook 
 his big muscles with laughter. 
 
 ' ' Now you may sit down again, ' ' said the happy little 
 tyrant; and Howerson obeyed, his sunny-haired ruler 
 hovering near. " Do you know my Aunt Rose? " 
 
 ' ' I 'm afraid not. Who is your Aunt Rose ? ' : 
 
 " Why, she's just Aunt Rose, papa's sister. And if 
 you don't know her, you don't know why grandpa 
 named her Rose. It was funny. Long time ago, when 
 grandpa was about as big as me, there was an old black 
 woman, blacker 'n any black woman now, named Rose; 
 and she loved grandpa because he was poor and wasn 't 
 that funny and she 'd bake ginger cakes for him and 
 pick briars out of his feet when he didn't have any 
 shoes, and a long time afterwards, when the old black 
 woman was buried under the trees where grandpa used 
 to sit and watch her wash in a great big iron kettle 
 long time, and the doctor brought a girl baby and I 'm
 
 THE MISSION OF THE BULLDOG 77 
 
 glad I wasn 't a girl baby and grandpa named the girl 
 baby Rose, but she wasn't black, but just as red as she 
 could be, grandpa said ; and you ought to see Aunt Rose 
 now. She's a mink." 
 
 "A mink! What's a mink? " 
 
 " Why, a mink's a peach. She'll be down here after a 
 while. Have you got a pistol? " 
 
 Howerson started. ' ' Pistol ! What put that into 
 your head, little man? " 
 
 " 'Cause grandpa's got one; and he keeps it in this 
 drawer right over here." 
 
 He ran over, began to pull at a drawer of the desk, 
 and Howerson cried out, " Don't don't open it, 
 please. " 
 
 He came back from the desk, laughing. " But you 
 ain't afraid of a pistol, are you? " A question of some 
 anxiety, for he was not willing that his hero should be 
 afraid of anything; and when Howerson assured him 
 that he was not afraid, that once he had slept with a big 
 pistol beneath his pillow, the boy's countenance bright 
 ened, and he said in soothing tones : " I knew you wasn 't 
 afraid," and then he cried out, " Oh, here's Aunt 
 Rose! " 
 
 Howerson, in a broken dam-tide of dramatics, swept 
 himself from his chair and bestowed upon Rose Whate- 
 ley a ' ' leading man 's ' ' bow, and the boy, delighted with 
 the performance, cried out, " Aunt Rose, here's Mr. 
 Howerson," and the " leading man " bowed again and 
 said: " Miss Whateley, I gather from an innocent and 
 most charming introduction from my little friend, ' ' 
 and with a grace which he felt was purely natural but 
 which may have been an art far surpassing his own, she 
 accepted the overflowing cup of his courtesy : 
 
 " And I must say that you have a very impertinent
 
 78 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 friend, Mr. Howerson." To hear her pronounce the 
 syllables of his name gave music to them, tingled him in 
 meshes of forgetfulness of all missions save the desire to 
 be a gentleman in her sight. " As you doubtless know, 
 father spoils him. Where is father, Calvin? " 
 
 " In with a guy." 
 
 " A what? " 
 
 " A man." 
 
 " He is a most gracious little friend I assure you," 
 said Howerson. 
 
 " Didn't I tell you she was a mink? " the boy shouted. 
 
 Howerson laughed off his theatric embarrassment, and 
 Miss Whateley, picturesque in a confusion not much of 
 which she really felt, looked at him for explanation. 
 " In your absence, Miss Whateley, he has been paying 
 you figurative compliments. From man a compliment 
 may be prompted by self interest, but from a boy it is 
 generally sincere." 
 
 It was but natural that the quondam blank verse barn 
 stormer should feel grateful to himself for this speech, 
 and he was, waiting rather victoriously for her reply, 
 which came after a moment of graceful hesitancy : ' ' Yes, 
 unless too early the boy has begun to play the man." 
 
 To that his secret answer was, " By Jove, you would 
 have made an actor of me," but he spoke the lines that 
 occasion set down for him : ' ' Your observation is shrewd, 
 Miss Whateley, and, offered as an amendment, I accept 
 it." 
 
 1 ' Thank you, ' ' and this with a play of eyes, voice and 
 head that pauperized his dramatic resources. " In rare 
 instances modern gallantry on the part of man yields 
 without argument with a bow, a gracious glimpse of 
 the romantic past."
 
 THE MISSION OF THE BULLDOG 79 
 
 The actor mused, ' ' She is over-topping me. ' ' But he 
 came back with: " But perhaps modern man is as gal 
 lant and doubtless as romantic as modern woman will 
 permit him to be." 
 
 ' ' Yes, ' ' she admitted, ' ' but not so truthful as modern 
 woman might desire." 
 
 And the actor was thankful that to him was quickly 
 assigned the line, " Ah, the more truthful the more 
 brutal and therefore the less gallant." 
 
 Now he was more than willing to bow himself off the 
 stage into naturalness ; and so quick sometimes is grati 
 tude that he was thankful for the ring of little Calvin's 
 voice, before he had caught the meaning of his words: 
 ' ' Why don 't you shake hands with her ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' I shall most gladly, Calvin, if your suggestion meets 
 with Miss Whateley's favor." 
 
 Eose offered her hand frankly, and when Howerson 
 felt its warm and generous clasp, all posing was gone, 
 and a man and woman stood looking into each other's 
 eyes. ' ' I am very glad to meet you, ' ' she said. 
 
 " I thank you. You forgive offenses that you know 
 not of you are generous. I thank you. ' ' 
 
 Again Calvin: " I wrote a check for a thousand dol 
 lars, and Mr. Howerson is a heap stronger 'n me, but he 
 said he couldn't." 
 
 " I could write a check," said Howerson, " for a mil 
 lion but" 
 
 And Rose broke in: " Then you are not so different 
 after all from the average man who devotes his life to " 
 
 " But it would not be honored for ten cents." 
 
 Her countenance reflected a real interest in him, in 
 such a confession from a man in this atmosphere of com 
 mercialism ; and she said, ' ' Oh, how romantic. ' '
 
 80 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " Is it ? " spoke Howerson with a step back toward the 
 stage of old Colley Gibber. " Then I must be a troub 
 adour, bawling a ballad." 
 
 " Grandpa keeps his pistol in one of these drawers, 
 don't he, Aunt Rose? " 
 
 " Come away from the desk, Calvin," she commanded 
 him. He obeyed, ran to Howerson, took him by the 
 hand; and at that moment Big Jim bellowed: " The 
 nurse has called for Master Calvin." 
 
 " Oh, Gee," the boy protested, pulling at Howerson. 
 * ' But you '11 come to see me some time, won 't you ? ' ' 
 
 Howerson caught him off the floor, in his arms, 
 bowed over his radiant head. "I I hope to see you 
 again. You you don't know what you have done for 
 me. We will go fishing together." 
 
 As Howerson put him down the little fellow cried out, 
 "You bet! That will be great, won't it? " and running 
 to the door he looked back and shouted, " Ain't she a 
 mink? " 
 
 " He is dear, sweet and impudent," said Rose, fair 
 goddess named in commemoration of the blackest of 
 women. " Won't you sit down? " He sat down. Had 
 she said, " Won't you throw a backward somersault? " 
 he would have attempted it. He had come as his own 
 tragedian ; she could have made of him her own clown. 
 
 He gazed at her as she enthroned herself on her 
 father's chair, as she swept his papers aside, and leaned 
 with her arms on the desk; and he mused, " How easy 
 you are to get acquainted with," and this trite reflec 
 tion induced the fear that having out-acted him she was 
 now making him stupid. He was not to be obscured 
 by mere sex. He was acquainted with women, the too 
 lean or too fat missionary order who had visited his
 
 THE MISSION OF THE BULLDOG 81 
 
 father 's house ; the violet-scented set of the cheap stage ; 
 with simpering virtue, with brief dwellers in Hell's red- 
 lighted acre. But now he was eye to eye with worldly 
 grace, innocent shrewdness, unpretentious millions; and 
 he thought of the valkyric maiden who rejected the wooer 
 who could not throw her down; and he mused, " It 
 would take a husky caperer to trip you, my lady." 
 
 She spoke : ' ' You astonish me when you acknowledge 
 your " 
 
 " Poverty," he broke in. " But it is true."' 
 
 ' ' I don 't see how that can be. You are so well armed 
 to fight with the world. And success means fight. Do 
 you remember Isopel Berners? " 
 
 " Let me think a moment. Oh, a woman with a 
 donkey and a cart, one of old George Sorrow's char 
 acters. Yes, I recall her." 
 
 " Well, she said, ' The world has a white feather in 
 its tail.' And I should think, Mr. Howerson, that you 
 are amply endowed to pluck it out." 
 
 ' ' But perhaps I have been a coward too, Miss "Whate- 
 ley. Old Poverty has many cowardly children. ' ' 
 
 " Very true, but surely you aren't one of them. I 
 happen to know what poverty is. ' ' 
 
 " Yes, your kindly eyes have seen it in the street." 
 
 ' ' Not only that, but from experience. ' ' 
 
 " Know poverty from experience? Impossible, Miss 
 Whateley. Your father was a millionaire before you 
 were born." 
 
 ' ' But I have suffered, in rags. ' ' 
 
 In astonishment he gazed at her, waited for a smile 
 to make jest of her declaration, but her eyes were sad, 
 as if looking back upon a trouble. " Last night I was 
 clothed in tatters in a drawing room drama. . . .
 
 82 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 Oh, but let me assure you that on my part it was almost 
 desperately serious, and you mustn't laugh, mustn't 
 smile." 
 
 " I beg your pardon. I thought you were stringing 
 me on the skein of your art. ' ' 
 
 " But I'm not. I was playing the part of a ragged 
 and deserted woman ; and when I had put on those rags 
 and looked into a mirror at myself, imagination over 
 powered me and I hated society, despised civilization ; 
 and in the bitterness of my humiliated soul I wept, so 
 crushed was my heart; and as soon as the performance 
 was over I hastened to adorn myself in silks and laces, 
 to cure my bitterness. My eyes were opened then to the 
 soul-effect of clothes. I believe that rags would crush 
 the proudest spirit." 
 
 Howerson was on his feet. " Yes, clothes, outward 
 evidences of gentility, change us, turn us from our 
 deeply sworn obligations. But true character, justice to 
 the millions of toilers, must triumph over ' ' 
 
 Whateley entered. Rose got out of his chair. How 
 erson stood, a mute. The young woman spoke. ' ' Little 
 Calvin introduced his friend, Mr. Howerson, and we have 
 been talking about the effect of clothes." , 
 
 The old man smiled and remarked, " Yes, and learn 
 edly, no doubt. Mr. Howerson, I beg your pardon for 
 having detained you, and now to business. No, you 
 needn 't go, Rose. . . . Mr. Howerson, you come with 
 out recommendation, but little Calvin says I can trust 
 you, and I will. Go to Glenwich as my representative, 
 and see what can be done. Exercise your own judgment 
 and report progress to me. I am inclined to believe that 
 a prize ought to be waiting for us there. I haven't 
 information enough to discuss details, but these you
 
 THE MISSION OF THE BULLDOG 83 
 
 can furnish me, and you may call on me for any legiti 
 mate expense." 
 
 ' ' I thank you, sir, and I hope that I may prove worthy 
 of little Calvin's confidence. . . . Miss Whateley, I 
 shall not forget what you have said." 
 
 She offered her hand, and again he felt the warm clasp 
 of life. 
 
 With a familiarity that astonished his daughter, the 
 old man put his hand on Howerson's shoulder, walked 
 with him toward the door, telling him that all true 
 recommendations of character were written on the 
 receptive page of the countenance; and the strong man 
 beguiled of his sworn purpose drooped beneath the old 
 man 's gentle touch ; and into his brain a thought from 
 murdered Duncan burnt its way, " There's no art to 
 find the mind's construction in the face." Then came a 
 thought more burning, for at the threshold of his mind 
 there stood Annie Zondish, with flaming hair and words 
 that came forth like sparks; and he heard his oath and 
 saw death look from her eyes ; and behind her he saw the 
 bloody countenances of Henk and Hudsic ; and the voice 
 that had laughed warm upon his heart now sneered upon 
 it with freezing breath, and he heard the blizzard words, 
 " Cowardly fool, they are going to cut your throat if 
 you weaken. Die a martyr and not like a dog." 
 
 And Rose standing near the desk saw her father pass 
 out with him, and then from the corridor came a loud 
 cry, followed by a pistol shot. She sprang to the desk, 
 snatching open drawer after drawer, caught up a pistol 
 and rushed toward the door. 
 
 Whateley entered. " Only an incident in the life of 
 this tragic town," he said. " A poor old down-and-out 
 board of trade man has killed himself. ' '
 
 84 THE NEW MR. HOWERSQN 
 
 ' ' Horrible. ... I thought someone was trying to 
 kill you." 
 
 He laughed. ' ' Why, who was going to kill me ? Surely 
 not Mr. Howerson." 
 
 " No, not Mr. Howerson," she answered him, " for he 
 is such a gentleman."
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 THE CHILL OF THE BULLDOG 
 
 In the midst of the rush of the street, the roaring cas 
 cades of impetuous barter, Howerson stood, looking 
 dazedly about him. From his grasp the dreamer's suit 
 case was torn, trampled upon, stumbled over, but catch 
 ing it up, he sought a doorway and stood there, calling 
 for unity of his scattered mental self. 
 
 A newsboy cried at him, and he gave him silver, mo 
 tioning him away and saying to him : ' ' I thank God you 
 are not the trumpeter of any blood I have shed! " 
 
 To a mate the boy flashed his fortune, leaped in ecstasy 
 and cried out: " Dat guy over dare floppy in de 
 head." 
 
 Howerson caught the words, felt them shoot electric 
 through his nerves before he heard them, and to himself 
 he said : ' ' That is true, for like a fool I wait here to be 
 murdered." Thus the actor phase of his mind came 
 back to him, but his attitude was not all actor, for in his 
 sober and undramatic heart he knew that the wretches 
 who called themselves the " Agents of Justice " would 
 seek his life. 
 
 His mind flew back to the scenes in Whateley's office, 
 and thrilled him, like an emotional tune almost caught 
 but still in part illusive ; he heard the glad shout of the 
 boy, saw the soft and sadly glowing eyes of the woman 
 as she looked when she told of her rags and her poverty, 
 felt the old man's gentle touch upon his shoulder; and 
 then he heard himself, ' ' I swear ! ' ' and felt the blight- 
 
 85
 
 86 THE .NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 ing look of Annie Zondish fall glacial upon his heart. 
 A woman passed out near him, and he started, but she 
 was only a poor creature, with a basket of matches. Ah, 
 across the street in the mouth of the alley was it not 
 Henk? Yes. Could anyone mistake that sneaking 
 slouch, that footpad droop? No, it was not he; it was 
 a poor devil with pencils for sale. 
 
 Back from the many years gone by came again the 
 newspaper headlines shrieking out the final proof of a 
 world-noted tragedy : the finding in a sewer of the body 
 of a man who was charged with having played weakling 
 with his fellows. The time was long, far-reaching into 
 his boyhood, but now he saw the headlines, vivid before 
 his eyes. And then he mused: " But he stayed to be 
 murdered. I can run away and be a liar and a cow 
 ard, ' ' for again he heard little Calvin 's words, ' ' You can. 
 trust Mr. Howerson, can 't you, grandpa ? ' ' 
 
 He straightened, his mind cleared and he swore, " By 
 God, you shall not be deceived." With vigor in his 
 stride he joined the throng, going he knew not whither, 
 but going, striving to outrun a vague thought that had 
 shot out from his mind. He caught up with it and it 
 was, " I will go to Glenwich." This thought invited 
 companions, and one of them came in the form of mem 
 ory, that in the elevator going up two men were talking 
 and one of them had said, " We are badly in need of 
 waterworks at Glenwich. " This chance remark had in 
 spired his answer to Whateley's question. " What's your 
 business? " How ardently now he would have grasped 
 the hand of the Glenwich man ! His heart rose, and he 
 felt the gladness that youth feels when granted a joyous 
 liberty. 
 
 At the corner of an alley a dense crowd was gather 
 ing, and pushing his way through, he heard someone
 
 THE CHILL OF THE BULLDOG 87 
 
 say that a heavy truck had crushed a drunken man to 
 death. He saw the man lying there, halted, gazed; and 
 his heart so high a moment ago now fell like a bird 
 shot in the air ; and again he heard the voice that sought 
 to rule him : ' ' You gave him money this morning, com 
 manded him to get drunk and to kill himself." In 
 cold agony he stood, murmuring, " Even yet you are 
 a murderer. ' ' An ambulance drew up at the curb and a 
 policeman forced a passageway for the men with a 
 stretcher, but Howerson refused to move. " Who is 
 he? " 
 
 " Don't know," the officer answered. 
 
 ' ' See if you can find out where he is from. ' ' But as 
 the men were lifting the body, memory came with kindly 
 office and Howerson turned away. The young man who 
 had gone with him into the basement restaurant had red 
 hair. He could see it now, the light falling down upon 
 it. The dead man's hair was black. 
 
 With another cause for gratitude toward Fate he pur 
 sued his way, though not in such haste, for now had 
 come the time for cooler thought, for action groomed 
 with definite purpose. Would it not be wise to inform 
 upon the " Brotherhood " to protect himself against 
 assassination? No, for that would mean his own dis 
 grace. An old man, shrewdly suspicious of the world 
 but who in him had reposed a simple faith, would mock 
 his own stupidity; they would tell a glorious little fel 
 low that his hero was a murderer, life's first shock to 
 his confiding soul. Oh, and the eyes of that woman, so 
 kindly when she bade him good-bye, would read in the 
 red smear of evening print, his oath. No, Fate, now 
 friendly manager of the stage, had changed the cast 
 and he must play his part. 
 
 The villains were cowardly and might run away.
 
 88 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 But, suppose they should run away, and suppose that 
 by some strange efficiency he were to become useful to 
 "Whateley, would he not live in eternal fear that the 
 aim of his first visit to the office might be made known 
 to the old man, to the boy, the young woman ? How easy 
 and how natural it would be for Hudsic, at a distance, 
 to write that insane oath and send it to "Whateley. 
 " But," he mused, now walking slowly, " can't I prove 
 that his faith was so wisely placed, make myself so use 
 ful to him that he would look upon it as a liar's envy? 
 Yes." 
 
 Now he approached the bridge which he had crossed 
 the night before, when the young men passed him, sing 
 ing ; and he halted, with a shudder, for what was it now 
 that seemed to freeze him? The weather had changed, 
 and from the south a spring-like breeze was blowing, 
 but what made him shiver as if in a wind from a field 
 of snow ? It was that pistol in his pocket, a lump of ice ! 
 He touched it, and a horror of the thing seized upon him. 
 He must get rid of it, but caution whispered: " And 
 leave yourself defenseless ? ' : Then cooler reason spoke : 
 " If they intend to kill you it will be in a sneaking, 
 cowardly way, and a dozen pistols could not save you." 
 He stepped upon the bridge, walked close to the railing. 
 The footway w y as crow r ded, no one would notice him, 
 and taking the pistol from his pocket, hiding it as well as 
 he could up his sleeve, he hung his arm over the railing 
 and opened his hand, walking rapidly. He heard a splash 
 and hastened on, the breeze from the south warming 
 him. 
 
 Not far distant was a railway station, and toward it 
 he hastened, to the lilt of a tune that his lightened heart 
 seemed to beat. He bought a ticket for Glenwich, train 
 to leave within ten minutes. In a forward car he took a
 
 THE CHILL OF THE BULLDOG 89 
 
 seat, where he could smoke and think; he mused over 
 the long time it had been since he was able to make a 
 railway journey. He felt as one must feel when just 
 let out of a prison in which for many years he has been 
 immured he had been in a prison, in the cell of morbid 
 brooding, but now in his regained liberty he could not 
 make clear to himself the cause of it all. So far as he 
 knew there had not been in his family a victim of 
 insanity. His sister Pauline she had not been touched 
 upon the brain, touched only with the divine gift of mel 
 ody ; the evils that trailed her, overtook her, were hatched 
 in a Puritanic nest, sat upon by the old blue hen of 
 bigotry. If the gray-bearded fossils and the untempted 
 old maids had let her alone, had not broken the doors of 
 her modesty and niched her fair name, she might not in 
 despair have thrown away her life. ' ' But no more brood? 
 ing," he mused as the train sped along. " I am a new 
 man, a man with an aim, and I am not going to fail. 
 Father used to preach of the new spiritual birth, and I 
 have received a new psychic baptism." 
 
 At the Glenwich station he gave over his suit case to a 
 negro porter who assured him that the " Merchants' 
 Hotel ' ' had changed hands, taking him for a commercial 
 traveler, knowing shrewdly that among the wise men of 
 the road a tavern could have no stronger recommenda 
 tion than the assurance that it was no longer operated 
 under the former management. The appearance of the 
 town gave promise, at least to a hopeful heart, although 
 the season was depressing, just between the dark age 
 of winter and the renaissance of spring. The snow was 
 gone, and in vacant lots the earth seemed dead, as if 
 never again would it throb with pulsing sap. But 
 farther on in the business district the streets were 
 active.
 
 90 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 The dignity of representing great capital came upon 
 him as he stepped into the hotel, with not enough money 
 in his pocket to pay for a week's board. In a low but 
 authoritative tone he spoke to the clerk, and that minion 
 of arrogance toward the unnoteworthy wanderer, bowed 
 graciously, turned the register on its pivot and inked a 
 pen for him. Never had his name appeared as of so 
 much weight as now when with heavy hand he spread it. 
 Surely not when it had acknowledged the parentage of a 
 pamphlet of poems printed by a Chipago " jobber," 
 recalled now with a blush. ' ' Room with a bath ? ' ' 
 
 A look of astonishment. " Of course." Now he 
 turned to the cigar case where the tow-headed Miss stood 
 with elbows on the glass, ready to shake dice with million 
 aire gray-jaw or milky youngster whistling the waltz 
 air of the latest blizzard of skirts blown across the stage. 
 She smiled upon Howerson, touched her shapeless swab 
 of hair into a bulge in the opposite direction, and taking 
 him for granted, shoved forward the dice box. He shook 
 with her, beat her, rare victory; and picking out three 
 cigars, he in his turn smiled upon her as again she lifted 
 her mass of conglomerate headgear. But his imagination 
 was at work. He looked at the clock, saw that it was 
 too late for the noontime meal, and asked if there were 
 a good restaurant near. 
 
 " Just around the corner. But ain't you going to 
 shake again? " 
 
 " No, haven't time." 
 
 " Oh, stingy! Ain't you? Just once more." 
 
 " All right, just once." 
 
 The dice rolled, he lost, paid; and she strove to smile 
 him into further confidence in his luck. " No, some 
 other time. By the way, you 've got a fine river running
 
 THE CHILL OF THE BULLDOG 91 
 
 through this town, but isn't it rather too weedy in sum 
 mer for drinking purposes? " 
 
 " Yes, but we drink it all the same," she answered, 
 her elbows on the show case. 
 
 " But isn't there a lake near town? " 
 
 " Yes, Sand Lake, ten miles out. Haven't I met you 
 before? " 
 
 " Perhaps so. Ever in Paris? " 
 
 ' ' Come off ; what are you trying to put over me ? But 
 somehow I thought we'd met before. Shake again? " 
 
 ' ' Yes, some other time. Sand Lake, eh ? How do you 
 get there? " 
 
 " Trolley. You sell corsets, don't you? " 
 
 " No, garters." 
 
 " Come off! " 
 
 " Yes, sometimes. What time does the car leave for 
 Sand Lake? " 
 
 " On the half hour leaves here and passes there as 
 quick as it can. You can 't sell anything there. ' ' 
 
 ' Then there is a car in about ten minutes. 
 Good-bye." 
 
 He went out, pleased with his own flippancy, a proof 
 to him that his mind was alert, freed from brooding. He 
 sprang upon the car before it had stopped. A Greek 
 cadence came into his mind, singing back joyously from 
 the past, but after a few moments of indulgence he 
 smothered the golden melody lest it might lead him 
 away, to chase gauze-winged fancies. He was deter 
 minedly a representative of the unpoetic present. But 
 from the hilltop of the present he could not restrain his 
 mind's eye from a survey of the flowering orchards and 
 sweet, verdant dingles of the past. He saw the early 
 Yankee youth compelled to invent because war or pov-
 
 92 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 erty had placed the European toy beyond his reach ; and 
 he felt that imagination, which in the great, sap-flowing 
 age of Elizabeth had given itself to pageants and to 
 jousts, was now forcing itself into commerce. And he 
 mused : ' ' In all ages there have been buyers and sellers, 
 men who clip the coin of trade and shave a profit, but 
 the world owes its expansive progress to the visionist 
 who flashes a light out upon the desert." This reflec 
 tion set him on keen and thrilling edge, assured him that 
 he must succeed. But how? There came his doubt 
 again, the Satan not only of religion but of all achieve 
 ment ; and on the head he knocked the tempter and saw 
 his flinty horns fly into fragments. 
 
 At the call, ' ' Sand Lake, ' ' he got off and looked about ; 
 surely a desolate place, a landscape of scrub oak. There 
 was no station house, only a short strip of roofing, sup 
 posed to shelter travelers from the rain and the snow. 
 A questioned native pointed off farther toward the ter 
 minal of Howerson's wild-goose chase and said, " The 
 lake 's over there, ' ' and now on the native 's part silence, 
 but his manner said, " and what the deuce can you 
 expect to git out of that place, you plug-hatted fool! " 
 
 The explorer found the lake, a twenty acre sheet of 
 water in a stretch of sand, evidently the bed of an 
 ancient river. Nowhere near it were there any trees 
 nor any evidences of grass or weeds. At one end was an 
 abandoned ice house, sinking into ruin. Realizing that 
 he had been traveling up hill, he reckoned that the lake 
 must lie at least four hundred feet above the town, and 
 he argued that the wind, having uninterrupted sweep, 
 must, by almost constant agitation, keep the water pure. 
 
 Then came the thrill of something he had read, he 
 knew not how long ago, that the water remaining 
 " alive " the longest when put into a cask, was water
 
 THE CHILL OF THE BULLDOG 93 
 
 from the Nile, because its source was sand, without the 
 pollution of vegetable matter, and that next in order 
 came water from the Missouri River, for the same reason 
 taking rank of the Mississippi, as that river near its 
 head flows down through weedy lakes. Thankful for 
 this remembered bit, the adventurer set forth to find the 
 owner of the lake. 
 
 He found him in the person of a middle-aged man of 
 rustic though shrewd look, walking up and down in his 
 dooryard. He introduced himself and said that he wished 
 to speak a few words on business. As this promised 
 something to the shrewd rustic he led the way into his 
 home and motioned the visitor to a big chair, bottomed 
 with a sheep 's hide, wool side up and much worn. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Bice," said Howerson, " I understand 
 that for some time you have been trying to sell the tract 
 of land surrounding and including Sand Lake." He 
 had understood nothing of the sort, and the assertion of 
 it was bold, but might be true, a chance which shrewd 
 business must ever be ready to take. 
 
 " I can't say, sir, that I have tried very hard to get 
 rid of it. . . It's a valuable piece of property." 
 
 " But the ice plant failed," Howerson offered. 
 
 " Yes," said the old chap, " and so would the plan of 
 salvation if it hadn't been managed any better than that 
 ice plant was. "Who told you I had tried to sell it? " 
 
 " I can't recall his name. I am a stranger in this 
 neighborhood. How deep is the lake ? ' ' 
 
 " Never found any bottom in the deepest place; and 
 it could be stocked with fish and be one of the finest 
 resorts in the country." 
 
 " Yes," said Howerson, " just what I was thinking. 
 Now, I am representing Calvin Whateley and ' ' 
 
 " What! You don't say so? " Mr. Rice suffered him-
 
 94 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 self to cry out, looking at Howerson with the wide eye 
 of admiration. 
 
 " Yes, and Mr. Whateley could turn that desert into 
 a garden." Mr. Rice blinked. " But you must acknowl 
 edge that it is but little better than a desert as it now 
 stands. I don't know that he would want it, there are 
 so many other places offering better advantages . . . 
 Any neighborhood prospers whenever he becomes identi 
 fied with it, and therefore people everywhere are anxious 
 for him to come. Still, human nature sometimes asserts 
 itself and runs up the price on him. And he quits, right 
 there. You can't blame him for quitting, can you? " 
 
 Mr. Rice pondered for a few moments and acknowl 
 edged that he could not blame him. A man had the 
 right to dodge when he discovered some fellow trying to 
 gouge him; and Howerson thanked him and said that 
 he was evidently a man of fair dealing. Then he added, 
 ' ' Let me see. What was the price you offered it for 
 say, fifty acres, including the lake? " 
 
 ' ' Well, there 's something over sixty acres in the tract 
 that I offered." 
 
 " Sixty acres. The land of itself is worthless, of 
 course. It wouldn't sprout a mustard seed. What was 
 your price at the time you offered it for sale? " 
 
 " Twenty dollars an acre." 
 
 Howerson was astonished. " Why, you'd sell your 
 best land, your whole farm, for that price. Right 
 through here there runs a very poor strip, hardly good 
 for anything." He began to put on his gloves. " I am 
 in somewhat of a hurry and haven't time to discuss it 
 anyhow. The money market is too tight to consider your 
 valuation. Why, we could buy better land and dig a 
 lake for that price. ' ' 
 
 Old Rice knew that the money market was close; he
 
 THE CHILL OF THE BULLDOG 95 
 
 had never known it to be in any other condition. 
 " Don't be in a hurry, sir. I admit I offered it for less, 
 but the price of land has gone up since then. ' ' 
 
 ' ' But the price of water hasn 't, ' ' Howerson was quick 
 to respond. ' ' Tell you what I '11 do : I will agree to give 
 you fifteen dollars an acre, about what you asked for it 
 in the first place. That is, 1 11 give you an order on Mr. 
 Whateley for two hundred dollars, for a thirty days' 
 option, the money to be forfeited by us in the event that 
 the site, upon more extended consideration, fails to meet 
 approval. The order will be equivalent to Mr. Whate 
 ley 's check, to be held by you, and in case of our failing 
 to come to specified terms, to be presented, and, conse 
 quently honored, the forfeit money paid to you. ' ' 
 
 So many words caught the old fellow, and caught 
 Howerson, too ; and for a time they looked at each other 
 in silence, Howerson feeling that he had won and the old 
 man knowing that there was no possible chance whereby 
 he could lose. " All right, sir, I'll take your offer. 
 "We'll go right over to Parker, the notary, and draw up 
 the papers. I'm not up on this way of doing business 
 myself. ' ' 
 
 Speeding his return to Glenwich, with the option 
 in his pocket, Howerson hummed a tune, his first hymn 
 of achievement. But off the car in the street, and his 
 spirit no longer exhilarated with the sense of swift 
 motion, he began to question himself. In giving the 
 order for two hundred dollars on the vaguest of uncer 
 tainties had he not exceeded all implied authority ? But 
 confidence returned from its short flight, and he mused, 
 ' ' If I am to question every step I might as well acknowl 
 edge myself a catechism and have done with it. ' ' 
 
 Supper was on at the hotel, and quickened with 
 hunger he lost no time but rather forged ahead of decor-
 
 96 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 ous schedule toward the dining room; and " Martha 
 Washington," head waitress, catching at the importance 
 of his manner and the " business " in his look, con 
 ducted him to a large square table where sat three com 
 mercial travelers, guests of unquestioned honor. This 
 may have been their first assembly, but what cared they 
 for finical custom? Occasion with them made its own 
 rule, and their motto was good fellowship. Howerson 
 dipped into their talk, and felt that he was in the very 
 midst of active affairs. A big blondish fellow with a 
 smile as open as springtime, and a voice as genial as 
 June, spoke to Howerson and inquired his " line." 
 
 " I am here as the representative of Calvin Whate- 
 ley," Howerson answered, with a slight suggestion of his 
 actor air. 
 
 " Oh, the Big Jolt eh?" 
 
 " And yours? " 
 
 " Oh, I cap the climax of creation." 
 
 " You've got me." 
 
 " That so? Man is the climax of creation isn't he? 
 Well, I sell hats and caps." 
 
 ' ' That 's all right, ' ' spoke up a slim fellow with a big 
 collar and little neck, " but I am here to dispute your 
 claim. I sell women 's hats. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Foiled ! ' ' cried the big fellow. ' ' How 's business 
 with you? " 
 
 " Rotten. I've seen four customers to-day and 
 haven't done a thing." 
 
 Then a sad-looking man, verging upon the " stand- 
 aside " age, joined in. " There's one thing I can't 
 understand have asked many a man and he couldn't 
 explain. It's this: For instance, you are in the smok 
 ing room of a sleeper and in comes a little Jew so offen 
 sive in manner that hi a minute everybody is sore at him,
 
 THE CHILL OF THE BULLDOG 97 
 
 and you feel that he couldn 't sell you a gold dollar for 
 ten cents. But he goes into your town and beats you all 
 hollow. He can 't talk, he has no personality, no address. 
 How does he do it ? ' : 
 
 " With spirit," said the big fellow. " He never gets 
 tired. Not for a single moment does he put his employer 
 out of mind, be he Gentile, Turk or Hottentot. And he 
 takes more chances than other men. He convinces him 
 self that he's got the best line in the world, and this 
 means that his customer is already more than half con 
 vinced. It may be true that on ordinary subjects he's 
 not a good talker, but on the topic of his goods he's 
 supreme. And with it all he eliminates himself ; he cares 
 but little what you think of him as an individual; it's 
 what you think of his goods and his employer. ' ' 
 
 " Yes, I know all about that," the sad-faced man 
 responded, " and yet I don't understand it. What's 
 your opinion? " He addressed Howerson. 
 
 " Well, having had but little chance for observation I 
 don 't believe that my opinion would be marked with any 
 value. I believe, however, that our friend here, capper 
 of the world 's climax, is right. ' ' 
 
 The man who had sprung the trap of discussion 
 chewed meditatively. " That is all very well in its 
 way," said he, " but the question that interests me most 
 is, what 's to become of us old ducks of the road ? As we 
 grow older we prate on the subject of our experience and 
 look on it as the stock in trade of usefulness, and about 
 the time the stock is full, we are commanded to step 
 down and out. It 's tough, I 'm telling you ; and what I 
 want to know is, what can we do about it? " 
 
 ' ' We can croak, ' ' said the big blond. 
 
 " Yes, you can say that now," replied the serious 
 questioner. " You are going up the hill, but I've
 
 98 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 passed over the top. It's all right with you now, but 
 wait. And you ' ' again he addressed Howerson 
 ' ' you remember what I tell you : They say that experi 
 ence is wisdom, but I tell you not to put too much faith 
 in it. The blunders of youth are sometimes worth more 
 than the calculations of age." 
 
 " Good," cried the blond man. " Another cup of 
 coffee, sister; and say, brother, don't let the old-age 
 business worry you. I see you've got a good mind, and 
 that 's a straight flush, I tell you. ' ' 
 
 Quoth Howerson, and being representative of the Big 
 Jolt, everyone paid heed : "I remember having read of 
 a man past ninety who, when asked as to the most enjoy 
 able years of his life, answered, ' Right now.' Some 
 of the world's great men have thought that life's best 
 age was after the passions had cooled. I don't believe 
 it, but then of course I don't know. No matter how 
 sweet a regret may be, it is after all a regret. Success 
 in a financial way is necessary, it is true, but I believe 
 that if a man reads good books he fortifies his mind 
 against the melancholy of old age. I know that this is 
 an old-fashioned idea, but it has fallen within my obser 
 vation and I believe that it is true. . . Let me thank 
 you for warning me against too much faith in experience. 
 It encourages me, for I have had very little experience in 
 any useful line, and am therefore rich in virgin 
 ignorance. ' ' 
 
 The blond man's name was Sam Joyce. Good humor 
 steamed out of his warm nature. Trade to him was a 
 continuous " jolly," and many a country merchant had 
 been made to believe that hard times sneaked away at 
 his approach, that the return of prosperity was bugled 
 by his clamorous laugh. Howerson liked him, walked 
 out into the lobby with him and bought him a cigar.
 
 THE CHILL OF THE BULLDOG 99 
 
 ' ' Let 's sit down over here, ' ' said Joyce ; and they 
 deposited themselves in two big rocking chairs, mon 
 strous discomforts with broad, flat arms on which, 
 beneath plates of glass, were advertising cards declaring 
 the merits of a local feed and sale stable, the Crystal 
 Laundry and an undertaker's establishment set off with 
 the cut of a hearse drawn by two black horses showing 
 a mettlesome spirit out of character with their melan 
 choly vocation. Joyce fitted the end of his cigar into the 
 golden socket of a rabbit's foot pendant from his watch 
 chain, and with a snap bit off the pasty tip. ' ' That fel 
 low moaning in there at the table," said he, then paus 
 ing to light his weed " he may not know it, but he 
 is doing more than anything else to shove himself up 
 against it ; he 's making himself old before his time. He 
 has forgotten the great art of youth, that is to jolly 
 himself. Smart enough, yes, and that's his trouble; 
 he's getting on to too much truth. . . . How long 
 do you expect to be here ? ' : 
 
 ' ' I don 't know. The fact is, I am here under peculiar 
 conditions, as a sort of experiment unto myself. On the 
 stony road I'm a tenderfoot." 
 
 " You don't look it, brother." 
 
 " I hope not, but I am." 
 
 " What's been your business heretofore? " 
 
 " Well, to be frank with you, I thought I could act, 
 thought I could write poetry; but the sort of acting I 
 essayed is now a joke throughout the world, and the 
 spirit of Chicago looks on poetry as a crime. You must 
 know that in the Middle West the hero is the bucket- 
 shop man who by shrewd guessing has succeeded to the 
 banker's chair." 
 
 Joyce laughed, and a porter wheeling a truck looked 
 back at him with a grin. ' ' I may not know that, brother*
 
 100 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 but I know that a man isn't much of a hero anywhere 
 unless he 's got the price. But you look like ready money 
 to me, and I don't see why sharp old Cal should employ 
 a failure." 
 
 " I don't either. It must be because I staggered him 
 with the audacity of a proposition." 
 
 " Yes, but men with staggering propositions are not 
 failures. They are the fellows that capital is straining 
 its eyes trying to find. If it 's not asking too much, what 
 was your proposition? You can trust me, and I may 
 be able to help you." 
 
 Howerson felt that he could trust him. " To con 
 struct waterworks in this town." 
 
 " Well, that's all right. Do it. With old Calvin in 
 the background you can pry a nest of aldermen up out of 
 their seats." 
 
 " Do you know anything about waterworks? " 
 
 " At one time I knew a good deal about distilleries 
 and breweries, but can't say I know very much about 
 waterworks. But if they need new works here, and I 
 know they do, I should think it would be easy enough to 
 get at it. Have you called on the mayor? " 
 
 " No, I haven't had time yet. Do you happen to know 
 him? " 
 
 The peal of Joyce's laughter rang throughout the 
 lobby. ' ' Know old Bill Rodney ! Well I should say so ! 
 Classmates at Madison." 
 
 " Will you introduce me to him to-morrow? " 
 
 And quickly came the answer : ' ' Bet your life. ' ' 
 
 " I thank you, Mr. Joyce, and I assure you that I 
 don't expect any sort of recommendation, only an 
 introduction. ' ' 
 
 " That's all right, we'll fix it. But what sort of a
 
 THE CHILL OF THE BULLDOG 101 
 
 stab are you going to make ? Have you formulated esti 
 mates as to the cost ? ' ' 
 
 " Haven't advanced that far. The whole thing is 
 vague, in a way. Mr. Whateley told me to come out and 
 look the ground over, but I want to do more than that ; 
 I want to astonish him with well, with what I might 
 term a mysterious proficiency; and above all, I want to 
 astonish myself." 
 
 " Well you are rather in the dark," said Joyce. 
 " But Rodney is an illuminator and may turn on the 
 light. That old duck in the dining room said one thing 
 that struck me as rather wise ; not to hinge too much on 
 experience. I'm a believer in inspiration. If inspira 
 tion didn't play the most important part in the busi 
 ness world, you could train almost any plodder into a 
 millionaire." 
 
 They sat for a long time, pleased with the easy inti 
 macy drawing them together. An appointment was 
 made for the following forenoon, and Howerson went up 
 to his room, feeling that he had met a friend. Ah, how 
 different his bed from the slab whereon he had sought 
 repose the night before! And how different was his 
 morrow's aim! But he had ceased to wonder. He lay 
 listening to the town as it yawned itself to sleep.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 THE CABIN 
 
 Various affairs were discussed in WTiateley's office 
 on the day of Howerson's visit, and it was noted 
 mentally by Big Jim that the old man snapped off a 
 lagging transaction in haste to speed home to the boy. 
 The little fellow met him at the door, and the old man 
 taking him in his arms, carried him, both laughing, up 
 the stairs and into as strange a shrine as was ever built 
 in melancholy reverence for the past. 
 
 While workmen were hewing the granite blocks that 
 entered into the construction of Whateley's mansion, 
 there was on its way from North Carolina a log cabin 
 to be incorporated within those ponderous walls, the 
 cabin in which the old Scotch-Irishman had been born. 
 Every stick of timber, bit of flooring, hearthstone, had 
 carefully been numbered, and there it was, the same old 
 room, with its four small windowpanes, the old slab 
 mantel with the same clock, but silent, with a drunken 
 soldier's bullet hole through its vitals. 
 
 In one corner was a table that Whateley had seen his 
 father fashion with an axe and a saw ; and there by the 
 broad fireplace was the low rocking chair wherein his 
 mother had sat in the evening, year after year, looking 
 into the fire, dreaming of the rest to come, singing softly 
 her sweet hymn of praise. And the old man's chair was 
 there too, made of bent hickory, and the boy's stool 
 whereon he sat, dreaming his dreams, not of rest but of 
 strife. Over to the left of the fireplace and back against 
 
 102
 
 THE CABIN 103 
 
 the log wall chinked with yellow clay, was the old bed, 
 and shoved beneath it the trundle-bed wherein the boy 
 had slept, where his dreams of the coming fight with 
 men were prolonged, with his eyes open, watching the 
 shadows as the blaze of the dying fire rose and fell. 
 
 This room was called "The Cabin," but it was known 
 to be a sanctuary, whose threshold was never crossed by 
 a servant of the house, except old Paul, who kept the 
 shrine in order. This old man, officially a butler, was 
 a worshiper of the past, not only his own but anybody 's, 
 knowing that the present was a mistake. In the earlier 
 days of the board of trade he had made a curbstone 
 cleaning of a few thousand dollars. For a short time 
 he was the richest man in town, but he plunged, lost 
 and went whining to Whateley, who told him that he 
 was only an ordinary fool, which, after a mild protest 
 he accepted as a fact. Whateley asked him what had 
 been his business before taking upon himself the career 
 of a fool, and he answered that in Ireland he had been 
 a butler, but to an Orangeman, as he had inherited the 
 Protestant faith. 
 
 1 ' If I give you a job as butler I suppose you 'd be too 
 religious to lie for me," Whateley had said, and had 
 received in answer, " Well, sir, that may be your 
 opinion, but I have my own." And since that time he 
 had served in the Whateley home, contented enough with 
 his light work, but always with a sad eye turned back 
 upon the time when in a restaurant he had ordered a 
 meal regardless of the prices set forth on the bill of fare. 
 
 In this sacred fane Rose often spent an evening. Her 
 mind could grasp the tender sentiment attaching to 
 those homely things, and she was ever welcome, but for 
 her brother Dan, the lawyer, they held a weak and shal 
 low meaning. His wife Harriet, with her nerves, had
 
 104 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 been only once a visitor, and she had said, though not 
 within hearing of the old man, " Oh, what a dreary, 
 depressing place." Her cause to despise it was kin to 
 the cause of Whateley's reverence. She knew that her 
 mother had been born and reared in a log cabin on the 
 banks of the Ohio, that her father had sold catfish caught 
 on a trot-line, humble apprenticeship of one whom fate 
 had designed to smoke sturgeon by the shipload. 
 
 Paul had not expected his master at so early an hour, 
 and in the fireplace the logs had not been set ablaze. 
 But as nimbly as age would permit he hastened to dis 
 charge this office. " Take your time," said Whateley, 
 sitting down in the hickory rocker with the boy on his 
 knee. " This is a sort of preliminary visit, isn't it, 
 Calvin? Yes, and we'll sit here a little while and then 
 go down to the dining room and see the folks and make 
 a pretense of eating dinner with them, but you and I 
 all by ourselves will cook our dinner here on the fire 
 dinner, no ! Supper ! Dinner be blowed for us ! " 
 
 ' ' Yes, ' ' the boy cried out of happy experience, ' ' and 
 we'll broil long strips of bacon on the coals." 
 
 ' ' Won 't we though ! ' ' the old man laughed. 
 
 ' ' Uh-huh ! And, grandpa, we '11 pretend like the 
 soldier has just shot the hole through the clock ; and then 
 make like the wind's blowing hard and it's awful cold 
 outside, and I'll go to the door and look out and see the 
 cavalry galloping down the road, to fight somewhere just 
 at daylight, like they did when you was a boy not much 
 bigger 'n me won't we? " 
 
 " Yes, Lord bless you. And old Paul must stay out 
 side and watch that one sheep penned up in the stable 
 and shout loud if he sees those fellows from over the 
 creek trying to steal him. Yes, indeed, we '11 fix all that. ' ' 
 
 Old Paul was down on the hearth, blowing the fire,
 
 THE CABIN 105 
 
 and he looked up with a nod and a grin. He had played 
 in their drama many a time and had in wage received 
 many a gold piece. He knew that when his master crossed 
 this threshold he was a different man, with no grudge 
 against the men who had tried to crush him. ' ' You can 
 leave that sheep to me, ' ' the old fellow said. ' ' And I tell 
 you the bloke that takes him will have to take my skelp at 
 the same time. Mr. Whateley, sir, I was just 
 thinking that I never saw a six-year-old boy that can 
 talk as plain as Master Calvin. It's a marvel, sir," and 
 as old Paul got up he pocketed a piece of money, the 
 reward of flattery, but of truth at the same time, a rare 
 coincidence. 
 
 In the dining room Whateley greeted his son and 
 daughter-in-law with his emotions under perfect con 
 trol, if indeed he felt any. He asked a few questions; 
 Harriet as to the pictures she had seen, and Dan con 
 cerning any noted lawyer whom he might have chanced 
 to meet abroad. Harriet had gazed upon the genius- 
 colored walls of the Vatican till her nerves had warned 
 her to beware lest in ecstasy she might expire. 
 
 " In that event," said the old man, " I don't think 
 I'd risk looking at them very long." 
 
 " Oh, they might not have that effect on you," Har 
 riet cried. ' ' Your nerves are so strong. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Yes, maybe so. I hear now that art is an improve 
 ment on nature, that nature " 
 
 And little Calvin shouted, ' ' Nature 's a mutt. ' ' 
 
 " Just about what they say, Calvin," Whateley 
 laughed. " Rose, my dear, this reminds me that I never 
 heard you say much about the art of Italy." 
 
 " It was because I was not capable of judging it, 
 father," she replied. " I love it, as every soul must, 
 but it strikes me dumb. The most of my woman
 
 106 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 acquaintances are both art and literary critics, but I am 
 not." Harriet looked up in astonishment. " Why 
 should I be? " Rose continued. " Opportunity doesn't 
 make critics any more than it creates genius. ' ' 
 
 11 Familiarity compares," Harriet observed. 
 
 ' ' Very true and very good, ' ' said Rose. ' ' But famil 
 iarity with a school sometimes breeds contempt for 
 originality. And it seems to me that very few critics in 
 any line are capable of impartial judgment of anything 
 west of them. Paris and London smile at New York 
 art, and the New Yorker, especially if he has come out 
 of the west, knows that nothing good can come out of 
 Chicago." 
 
 " Old Chi," shouted the boy. 
 
 His mother sighed and looked at the old man. " I 
 wonder where in the world that boy can pick up so much 
 slang. It grieves me nearly to death. ' ' 
 
 " Father says Old Chi," said the boy. 
 i "Daniel!" Harriet telegraphed to him with her 
 nerves, reading out this dispatch, " I wish you wouldn't 
 bring such expressions home from the state's attorney's 
 office. They are shockingly vulgar." 
 
 The lawyer smiled good-humoredly, said that he did 
 not remember to have brought vulgar expressions home ; 
 and his wife, having now led herself to the top of accus 
 tomed ground, to the crest of her hillock of aesthetic 
 deprecation, uttered her expected complaint : "I don 't 
 see why you want to stay in that dreadful place. It 
 is suited to the dignity of only the average politician, 
 and ought to be shunned and shuddered at by a man 
 of your resources. Political aspiration indeed! " 
 
 The lawyer spoke: " It's the front steps leading to 
 the governor's office," he said, " and the governor's 
 office is the ante-room of the United States Senate. Look
 
 THE CABIN 107 
 
 at some of the richest men in the country ; their ambition 
 is to get into the Senate. Mere money doesn't satisfy 
 them." 
 
 ' ' And yet, ' ' said old Calvin. ' ' Ingalls of Kansas, one 
 of the keenest one of the great orators of his day 
 declared not long before his death that if he had his life 
 again before him he would devote it to money. All his 
 eloquence, all his sharp sarcasms had failed." 
 
 He turned his eyes not upon Dan but upon Rose, and 
 she spoke her opinion: " His sharp sarcasms couldn't 
 make him happy. ... I believe Dan '11 do something 
 one of these days." 
 
 " Good for you, Rose," cried the lawyer, and with 
 more fervor than his wife appeared to deem necessary. 
 * ' And store this up in summer along with your furs : I 
 am going to astonish the natives after a while." 
 
 Old Calvin indulged his scythe-blade smile. " I 
 believe they store furs to keep the moths out. Did you 
 say to put it among the furs, Dan ? ' : 
 
 " That's all right, dad," the lawyer replied. " Sis 
 is right and you'll see it. Why, I should think the fact 
 alone that I am not a snob ought to count for something. ' ' 
 
 Harriet looked at him. ' ' I don 't know what you mean 
 by snob unless you allude to persons who have nothing 
 and pretend they have. But there's something worse 
 than snobbery, and it's pretending to be plebeian when 
 you are not." 
 
 Rose caught her father's sly wink, and the boy, quiet 
 for so long a time, cried out, " The boy I play with in 
 the alley's named Pete, and we set a dog on a cat but 
 she got away, and I gave Pete my knife and he said, 
 * Bet your neck you ain 't no slob. ' 
 
 ' ' Speaking of plebeians, ' ' said Whateley, after having 
 chuckled over the boy's recital, " how many of us trace
 
 108 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 our lineage back to kings, and if we could, what of it? 
 I was born with a hatred for inherited cast. I believe 
 only in that greatness that a man creates himself, and I 
 have more respect for the man who has distinguished 
 himself as a horse doctor than I feel for the man whose 
 only claim upon the public's regard is that his father 
 was an able judge. We in America and especially here 
 in Chicago know that money can buy the countenance 
 of a king, and no questions asked as to how the money 
 was scraped together." 
 
 The lawyer's brow lighted up with an idea, and he 
 said: " I inherited more from you, dad, than merely 
 the prospect of money : the desire to be distinguished on 
 my own hook." 
 
 Little Calvin again: " Pete had a brass door knob, 
 and I asked him where he got it and he said he 
 hooked it." 
 
 " Out that nurse goes to-morrow," quickly followed 
 his mother. 
 
 ' ' I can 't blame you for that, ' ' Whateley replied to his 
 son. " But it was my hope that with the means I have 
 provided, you might go far beyond me and do such 
 great things that you'd not be known merely as my 
 son, but I as your father." 
 
 Rose laughed with good humor's silvery tinkle. " I 
 think he's rather got you, dad; and I say this in his 
 favor, knowing that he believes I'm always trying to 
 work you. Come," she added as they arose from the 
 table, " let us go into the library." 
 
 In this great room of heavy refinement, with its books 
 bound dark in leather, the girl's presence was as a spirit 
 lamp, casting a soft light. Great wealth does not read 
 many books, and old Calvin read not many, but he read 
 a few and guessed shrewdly at the meaning of others.
 
 THE CABIN 109 
 
 He was fond of Shakespeare, the tragedies because of 
 their magnificent clamor. His daughter read with him, 
 at first merely to keep company with his lonely mind, 
 and then out of pure delight, and where her father found 
 power, she was steeped in imagery. 
 
 Old Calvin had no liking for the dainty things of life, 
 and for the most part the furnishings of his home were 
 ponderous. For bric-a-brac not associated with his own 
 hard past he cared nothing; and among the pictures 
 which he suffered the appreciation of his son or daugh 
 ter to hang upon the walls, there was but one that 
 kindled his eye with admiration, the painting of a ragged 
 boy taking a rabbit out of a trap. It was a crude thing 
 done by some villager who knew his subject better than 
 his art ; but ingratiating neighbors ' ' loved ' ' it, and 
 many a financial favor had flowed through the channel 
 of its praise. 
 
 The old man was not set against business talk in the 
 library. Only in the Cabin was he freed from the 
 instincts and the language of financial conquest. In 
 the book room he liked to experiment with his mind, and, 
 as it were, to watch it gambol or work, himself a spec 
 tator of its moods. To no productive extent did he yield 
 to his creative faculty, except as it might harden into 
 material profit, though sometimes when alone he indulged 
 the thrill-dalliance of pure fancy, like an elephant pick 
 ing up one straw at a time, he said of himself. Here 
 in the atmosphere of the world's mighty past of letters, 
 he had mused fondly over the growth of his daughter's 
 mind, smiling to think that he had razed out the new 
 and flimsy notions of the school, and accepting as a 
 compliment to himself the reproach of a woman who 
 had fed a king, that Rose thought too much in an old- 
 fashioned way ever to be popular in London society.
 
 110 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 Dan and his wife usually kept clear of the library, 
 fearing the old man's cut and slash, but on this occa 
 sion, having been so long away from home, they fol 
 lowed Whateley into the room. The boy pounced upon 
 the chairs, hung about his grandfather, urging that it 
 was time to go up to the Cabin. But the old man, who 
 was saving the sanctuary for the " sweet of the night," 
 put him off tenderly. " Well go pretty soon, now. 
 Things are not quite ready for us yet. The fire's got 
 to burn down just right. You run along up there and 
 sit till I come." 
 
 " Yes, and I can play like you've gone to the mill 
 away over on the creek and are late getting back because 
 the bag of corn fell off the horse and you had to wait 
 a long time for somebody to come along the road and 
 help you lift it on again." And he ran away to the 
 theater of perfect art, the play-house that convinced 
 because it was simple and pure. 
 
 " So you didn't come in contact with many noted 
 lawyers abroad," said the old man. 
 
 " No, not many," the assistant state's attorney 
 answered. " We've got about as able lawyers in this 
 country as they have anywhere, but the courts in Eng 
 land put us to shame. And so do most of their institu 
 tions for that matter. Not in Parliament is there a man 
 elected by fraud, while our Senate is the gambling 
 house of statesmanship." 
 
 " Good. But I see that a naturalized American has 
 just taken his seat in the British parliament; and do 
 you mean to tell me it wasn 't money that put him there ? 
 Did you ever know any poor American to enter Par 
 liament through the back door of genius? Rose may 
 answer for you."
 
 THE CABIN 111 
 
 " Yes, dad," replied the lawyer, " because she knows 
 how yom want it answered. But blaze away, sis." 
 
 " Why should I know anything about it? " Rose pro 
 tested. " I've never known of many geniuses getting 
 into politics anyway." 
 
 ' ' Bunk and money, ' ' asserted the old man. ' ' In this 
 country if a man has money enough he can buy a sen- 
 atorship outright. In England the richest naturalized 
 American couldn't, in the market, buy a seat in Parlia 
 ment, but let him have one of the finest mansions in 
 the kingdom, the best horses and dogs, and he can get 
 there if he wants to." 
 
 Harriet was sure that the American in Parliament 
 must be a man of marked ability. He was of an old 
 and therefore a most respectable family. " I don't see 
 why he shouldn't go to Parliament if he wants to. Poor 
 men make poor laws, in my opinion. That's just the 
 reason we have so many inadequate laws in this country ; 
 they are made by such irresponsible creatures." 
 
 The old man coughed. Upon him his daughter-in-law 
 enforced the Christian duty of constant self-restraint. 
 The cold metal of a sharp thrust at her snobbery flashed 
 in his mind, but he blinded his eye with the scarf of 
 charity and knew her only as the wife of his son, the 
 mother of the boy dreaming by the fire in the cabin; 
 and he arose to go to him, but at that moment old Paul 
 announced Mr. R. Hampton Grule. " Show him in 
 here," said Whateley, telling Dan, Harriet and Rose 
 that they need not go, but they did, Dan and his wife 
 gladly enough but Rose regretfully, feeling that an even 
 ing had been spoiled. They knew Grule the banker, 
 knew him socially, as uninteresting an old cash bag 
 as was ever tied with a string. But Whateley knew him
 
 112 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 more than socially, knew him well enough to hate him 
 and to enjoy the fact. To the extent of this accommo 
 dation old Calvin was grateful to him. 
 
 The banker came in with an unctuous smile and 
 Whateley shook hands with him and dropped him into 
 a big leather chair, wondering as to what new grafting 
 scheme he might have up his sleeve. The light glistened 
 on the top of his polished head, and he smiled, his pig 
 eyes gleaming. How glad he was to find Whateley so 
 well and strong, in appearance far short of his actual 
 years yes ; and though time was swift in this hurried 
 life, how pleasant to note at least an occasional man who 
 who ahem ! And all this time old Calvin was look 
 ing for the scheme up his sleeve. 
 
 Whateley said that the day had been delightful, think 
 ing of the home-coming of the boy, but he did not express 
 the cause of the day's charm. Old Grule could not 
 have understood. Whateley waited for the shaking of 
 the sleeve. 
 
 " Ahem! Mr. Whateley, hasn't it often struck you, 
 sir, that the affairs of our city are very badly 
 managed? " 
 
 " Rotten to the core, if that's what you mean." said 
 Whateley. 
 
 " Ah, that's exactly what I do mean. And why? 
 Because they are under the control of politicians instead 
 of business men." The banker ahemed echoingly and 
 continued. " From no political party can we expect 
 reform, experience teaches us. Then what should be 
 our aim? A business administration of the city's 
 affairs." 
 
 " I see," said Whateley, meaning that he saw the 
 scheme halfway out of Grule 's sleeve. The old skin-a-flea 
 wanted to be mayor.
 
 THE CABIN 113 
 
 " Just a moment," lie continued. " Let us approach 
 the question with all possible care. Let us not in the 
 least be precipitous. Mr. Whateley, you or I could 
 operate our municipal government in " 
 
 ' ' You mean you could. ' ' 
 
 " If you desire to put it that way, yes, I could. Now, 
 you and I, being business men, get at the nib of a thing 
 in a minute. . . Listening to the council of friends, 
 I have about decided to submit "he paused impres 
 sively " myself to the people as a candidate for mayor, 
 making a short and swift campaign against vice and 
 corruption. And without self-flattery, sir, I think it is 
 to your interest that I should run. ' ' 
 
 "Yes? " 
 
 " I certainly do. As men of means well, as mil 
 lionaires, if I may employ the term, you and I have 
 much in common." 
 
 " That's true." 
 
 " I am glad to hear you say so, Mr. Whateley. And 
 you must know that even an honest campaign costs a 
 good deal of money. Ahem hem! Without any fear 
 that my directness may seem blunt, how much are you 
 willing to contribute toward this end? " 
 
 Whateley leaned back in his chair, the eyes of old 
 Grule glowing eagerly as he met them with a steady look. 
 Time is swift, but how long had been the coming of 
 this moment! And now that it was come, Whateley 
 would toy with it. Out of the deck of lagging oppor 
 tunity he plucked a trump card, a marked card, and 
 at his pleasure he would play it. 
 
 " What indorsement have you received, Mr. Grule? " 
 
 " Most ample indorsement, Mr. Whateley. I am 
 assured that the Commercial Association will issue a
 
 114 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 circular in my behalf. Then the churches will put forth 
 every possible effort ' ' 
 
 " In the interest of morality," Whateley forestalled, 
 with a smack of the mouth, swallowing a sweet juice. 
 
 " Precisely, Mr. Whateley. Exactly. And the news 
 papers will " 
 
 " Yes, the newspapers! What have you done with 
 them? " 
 
 " My dear Mr. Whateley, the newspapers are sick of 
 political corruption and will, as I was about to say, join 
 with the Commercial Association and the churches." 
 
 " Very good. Then you don't expect them to print 
 anything that might reflect on your character as a man." 
 
 " What! " Old Grule arose out of his chair. " What 
 did you say, Mr. Whateley? " 
 
 " Sit down." 
 
 Grule continued to stand. " Mr. Whateley, no man 
 dares to speak a word derogatory ' ' 
 
 " Won't you sit down? " 
 
 " Not until you have explained yourself, sir." 
 
 " Ah, then I will. How much property do you own 
 in the Red Light district? I happen to know of three 
 houses devoted to immoral purposes that belong to you. 
 How about it? " The long delayed card was played. 
 
 "It is false! " Grule snarled, taking a step toward 
 the door. 
 
 " Then I have good news for you. The Register's 
 office credits you with those three pieces of property, 
 and you are therefore richer than you thought. Oh, yes, 
 I know they are in your wife 's name cowardice added 
 to moral depravity but the rent money is paid to 
 you, as I have taken the trouble to find out, and is in 
 no way credited to her account. The ordinary eye would 
 be deceived by the Register's book; the ordinary eye is
 
 THE CABIN 115 
 
 not looking for truth. But in this instance mine was 
 not ordinary, and I found it. Ha, you helped to circu 
 late the lie that I had driven my son out to earn a 
 living or starve, didn't you? And how much will I 
 contribute to your campaign? How much? Grule, I'll 
 give you ten thousand dollars to run for mayor/' 
 
 " Sir, I am in your house," the banker panted. " I 
 should think that common decency ' ' 
 
 " How much common decency have you shown to 
 unfortunate devils that stood in your house ? Ten thou 
 sand dollars! Are you going to run? Twenty thou 
 sand? Your stock's going up. Ha, I see you'll not run. 
 Then walk and right out the way you came in. Here, 
 Paul, put this old bellwether of scandal out into the 
 road," 
 
 When the big iron gate had clanged at Grule 's 
 retreating heels, old Calvin turned with a laugh from 
 the door, laughed his way up the stairs to the door of 
 the Cabin, opened it; and over his cold countenance a 
 warm light crept, and softened was his revengeful heart 
 with love, for in the hickory chair by the log fire the 
 boy sat, asleep. 
 
 11 Calvin! " 
 
 The boy awoke and jumped out of the chair with a 
 glad cry, " Oh, you thought I was asleep but I wasn't. 
 I was just thinking how long it took you to get back 
 from the mill. Did the bag fall off the horse? " 
 
 " Did it well, didn't it ! " the old man answered. 
 " Now you take your stool and I'll sit in the big chair. 
 . . . . Now we're fixed. Bag fall off? Came in 
 one of falling into a mud puddle, and I had to wait a 
 long time, I tell you." 
 
 The boy was the stage manager, changing the play 
 and characters to please his own fancy; and sometimes
 
 116 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 his grandfather was a boy, too, but always a little older 
 than the master of the stage, this to " preserve the 
 unities" as the wise ones would write it down. 
 
 " And did you bring the meal home, Calvin? " 
 
 " Yes," said the old man, rubbing his hands as 
 if he had just come in out of the cold, " and I poured 
 it into the barrel out there in the smoke house." 
 
 Then the boy busied with his silent mind for a few 
 moments, gazing into the fire. " Now, grandpa, let's 
 play that I'm you and you are your father, and just 
 come from hunting. ' ' 
 
 This pleased old Calvin, for he loved to look upon 
 the boy as himself, away back in the pine woods. ' ' Yes, 
 we'll do that. Yes." 
 
 " And are you ready now? " and looking at the old 
 man he saw that he was ready to take the part, his eyes 
 were so soft and glowing and his smile was so full of 
 tender fun; but he waited till the old man had snuffed 
 the tallow candle on the mantelpiece. 
 
 ' ' Did you kill anything, daddy ? But don 't talk loud, 
 for you might wake mother over there in the bed. She 
 sat here and sung a long time, but when she saw you 
 was so late she went to bed, but let me sit up." 
 
 " Got the biggest buck you ever saw," said the old 
 man, speaking low; " bigger 'n either one of the two 
 that fought till their horns were locked, over in the 
 thicket. ' ' The boy shook his head, for he doubted that the 
 buck could be so big as that. " Yes, sure as you live," 
 the hunter assured him. " I heard the hounds over on 
 the hillside, heard old Drummer's loud mouth and old 
 Fifer's sharp cry, and I said to myself, ' There's some 
 thing big, ' and I stepped behind a tree and waited ; and 
 pretty soon here he come, thrashing through the under 
 brush. I didn't wait for him to get close, I tell you;
 
 THE CABIN 117 
 
 I brought up my rifle, and I says to her, ' Miss Betsy, 
 now 's your time, ' and she squealed like a filly. I rushed 
 out, and there about forty yards away was the buck on 
 the ground, with a red spot between his eyes, and the 
 dogs chawin' on him. "Well, he was so heavy I had 
 to go and borrow a horse from Judge Brentwood to fetch 
 him home; and to-morrow morning we'll skin him and 
 take one of his hind quarters over to the judge. ' ' 
 
 And the boy, thrilled by the oft-played play, cried out 
 in smothered voice, with an eye toward the bed in the 
 corner wherein his tired mother of the drama was asleep : 
 " The right hind quarter." 
 
 " Yes, and I'll take you with me, and let you see the 
 judge's big pistols that he used to fight duels with." 
 
 ' ' Oh, that will be fun ! ' ' and over him came a thought 
 ful change, and he said: "I am still you and you are 
 still the same, but they just came after mother to go 
 to see a sick woman, and we don 't have to talk so low. ' ' 
 
 " Yes," shouted the old man, " and we'll eat. Ah, 
 here's everything ready and after hunting all day 
 I'm as hungry as a bear. Now we'll just roast these 
 potatoes and broil the meat and bake an ash cake. And 
 how we will eat ! ' ' 
 
 The boy jumped up to help him with the work. In 
 a pan on the table old Calvin mixed corn meal, pouring 
 in hot water from the teakettle blubbering in a corner 
 of the fireplace, the boy raking out the coals and drop 
 ping the potatoes into the hot bed. Then the dough 
 was put to bake, cool ashes on top lest it might burn; 
 and the bacon curled on the red coals, threatening to 
 burn up ; but they were too wise to permit that disaster 
 to come upon them, these experienced cooks. The bacon 
 outstripping its neighbors, the bread and potatoes, was 
 soon done, and with a sharp pine stick the old 'man
 
 118 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 speared it off, and putting it on a tin plate he set it 
 near the fire to keep warm. 
 
 The potatoes were nearly ready to be taken out, and a 
 jab with the pine stick revealed that the crust on the 
 bread was hardening, when with an air of sudden atten 
 tion the boy said, ' ' Hush, I think I hear somebody hello 
 ing out in the road! " 
 
 Dropping everything, the old man hastened to the 
 door and pretended to open it and to thrust forth his 
 head, cried out, " Hello, yourself. Oh, is that you, 
 Biggs? Get down, hitch your horse and come in." 
 Then the imaginary Mr. Biggs crossed the threshold 
 and old Calvin shook hands with him and welcomed 
 him to the fire, knowing that he must be cold. 
 Old Calvin had now a double role, having to play Biggs 
 too, but he was equal to it. 
 
 ' ' All well over at your house, Biggs ? ' ' 
 
 " ' Yes, tolerble. Yo' folks well? ' 
 
 " All well, thank you, Biggs. Mother's gone over to 
 Purdy 's sent for her to-night. Old lady Purdy 's down 
 again with pleurisy and it's a question if she pulls 
 through. 
 
 " ' Mighty sorry to hear it,' " said the sympathetic 
 Biggs. " ' She ain't been right well for a long time. 
 What, that ain't yo' son Calvin there, is it? Why, he's 
 growed so I didn't know him bless me if he ain't 
 'most as big as his daddy right now.' ' 
 
 " And I fired off Wilson's shotgun all by myself and 
 it didn't kick me over, either," the boy cried out, and 
 Biggs whistled his astonishment. 
 
 " 'You don't say so! And I'll lay you'll be out bear 
 huntin' along with us fellers away over in the river bot 
 toms before long. Well, I just stopped in to warm
 
 THE CABIN 119 
 
 myself on my way from town and must be gettin' along 
 home to feed the hogs.' 
 
 " Won't you stay and eat a bite, Biggs? 
 
 " * No, 'bleeged to you. I eat some herrin's and oys 
 ters just before leavin' town, and ain't a bit hongry. 
 Well, good night.' " 
 
 And when Biggs was gone the old man said: " Now 
 we'll have our supper." 
 
 The table was spread with a cloth taken from a chest 
 of drawers, then from the cupboard came the pewter 
 plates, the horn spoons and the knives, the one with 
 the fawn shank-handle meant for the boy. And they 
 ate their supper, listening to the imaginary wind as it 
 howled about the rafters. The clock told no time but 
 they knew that the hour was late, and when the old 
 man had smoked his cob pipe, dreaming, he saw the boy 
 gown himself in a nightshirt woven of coarse flax. 
 
 Then he undressed and donned a shirt of kindred tex 
 ture, and drew the trundle-bed out from beneath the 
 big bed, the last preparation for the night; and he lay 
 where he could reach out and touch the boy. The tallow 
 candles were out and the fire was low, but the boy kept 
 " character " till he dozed into sleep, and then the old 
 man heard him mutter, " You can trust Mr. Howerson, 
 can't you, grandpa! "
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 THE SHREWD MAYOR 
 
 With premature warmth of an advancing season nature 
 not only entraps the farmer but sometimes she deceives 
 her nearer disciples, the birds; and about the eaves of 
 the house, and with nest straws in their beaks, the 
 sparrows were fluttering when Howerson awoke. His 
 sleep had been dreamless ; his mind had died, was buried 
 deep, and now with the bursting of the tomb it arose 
 into new and freshened life. As he dressed himself 
 he sang. Memories came, for without them, the unpleasant 
 with the pleasant, resurrection would be stripped of its 
 greatest joy, contrast with the former state. He sang 
 and down the stairs he whistled his way; and the tune 
 he whistled was caught down below and sent trilling 
 back to him by Sam Joyce. They shook hands, these old 
 friends of a night, chatted and laughed through break 
 fast and then, smoking in the lobby till Joyce called 
 the hour ripe, they took up their way to the city hall, 
 the traveling man steaming good humor along the street ; 
 and as they drew near the place, the " Big Jolt's " agent 
 mused, ' ' I am not going to fail. ' ' 
 
 Mayor Bill Eodney was a man comparatively young. 
 His schooling at the University of Wisconsin had been 
 good and, coming out, the refinement of learning was 
 shown in his actions with men, and not always to his 
 profit. Old men who had been made rich by holding 
 land that had cost them almost nothing, told him that 
 a collegiate training was a hobble to business, and in 
 
 120
 
 THE SHREWD MAYOR 121 
 
 their dealings with him they sought to prove it. But 
 after a while he began to knock his theories on the 
 head, and to study the methods of the experienced, 
 termed the uneducated. Then he found that his edu 
 cation enabled him better to sift and to sort out the 
 motives of his fellow creatures, that he was wiser for 
 having had ideals, though they had served only to mis 
 lead him. " It's better to be misled than to stagnate," 
 he argued. He beat the old timers at their own game 
 and afterward they did not like him so well but they 
 admired him the more ; and when he came out as a can 
 didate for mayor, they elected him. 
 
 Up a flight of stone steps, down a hallway and through 
 a door at the right, brought the visitors into the easily- 
 accessible presence of the democratic boss of the town. 
 At a desk behind a railing he was busy with his morn 
 ing's mail, having paid no heed to the opening and 
 closing of the door, when Joyce's cheery call broke 
 through his absorption and brought him up out of his 
 chair. " Why hello, Sam, old boy," he cried, springing 
 the brass catch and throwing open the miniature gate 
 of his restricted privacy. " Come in." 
 
 Heartily they shook hands, Howerson waiting on the 
 public's side of the railing, but he did not have to wait 
 long, for Joyce reached out and hauled him within the 
 enclosure. ' ' Mayor Rodney, shake hands with my friend 
 George Howerson, who comes to you as the representa 
 tive of Calvin Whateley." 
 
 The mayor said that he was pleased to meet Mr. How 
 erson and proved it by his manner, money's magic name 
 brightening the eye of welcome. There was an extra 
 chair and the hand of cordiality pressed Howerson down 
 between its accommodating arms, while Joyce looked on 
 in evident pleasure at having brought about so agreeable
 
 122 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 a meeting between politics and capital. ' ' I Ve got a good 
 deal to look after this morning and must trot along, 
 Rod," lie said. " Take care of my friend George. So 
 long," and he was out and gone in a moment. 
 
 " A fine fellow," said Howerson. 
 
 ' ' They don 't make 'em any better, ' ' the mayor replied, 
 leaning back in his chair so that the light from a window 
 fell strong on his face. Howerson sought to study him, 
 searching for features of encouragement to his scheme, 
 noted his high, thin nose turned slightly to one side, 
 saw that his forehead appeared to gather color as in two 
 prongs it mounted high into the scrub growth of his 
 reddish hair. His mouth appeared quick and decisive, 
 a fancy attributable no doubt to his rapid utterance. 
 
 Politeness, and you might say discretion, left them no 
 choice but for a time to " beat about the bush," and 
 this they did, one with the skill of a politician, the other 
 with the take-chance of a novice ; till presently they came 
 around to the point which gracefully they had seemed 
 determined to avoid. 
 
 " Mr. Rodney, Mr. Whateley believes greatly in the 
 future of Glenwich. Of course it is too near Chicago 
 and too immediately connected by easy transportation 
 ever to develop along ordinary commercial lines, but 
 Mr. Whateley sees in it the development of a great 
 manufacturing center. The frequent recurrence of labor 
 troubles in the larger cities is, more and more, tending 
 to drive big manufacturing concerns into smaller cities. 
 In the opinion of Mr. Whateley, Glenwich could, by 
 showing the proper spirit, distance every possible rival. ' ' 
 
 The mayor was interested. He leaned forward toward 
 Howerson. " Go on," he said. 
 
 " Whenever Mr. Whateley becomes interested in a 
 project, that project, even if hitherto a failure, soon
 
 THE SHREWD MAYOR 123 
 
 becomes a success. No one questions his judgment, and 
 his judgment pronounces a flattering opinion of your 
 city." 
 
 A clerk came in with a paper and the mayor tossed 
 it over on his desk. ' ' I am too busy to look into it now, ' ' 
 he said, and dismissing the intruder, he added: " Pro 
 ceed, Mr. Howerson." 
 
 " Thank you. But Mr. Whateley knows that certain 
 things must be done to attract the manufacturer; cer 
 tain improvements brought about. Rich coal fields are 
 near at hand, to say nothing of the advantages of your 
 river, but the would-be investor is confronted by the 
 fact that your citizens are not moved by the spirit of 
 advancement, that not until recently did they see fit 
 to elect a wide-awake mayor and a progressive board of 
 aldermen." 
 
 The mayor nodded his appreciation of this fact, fur 
 nished Howerson by Sam Joyce. " What you say is 
 largely true, Mr. Howerson, but in what manner does 
 Calvin Whateley propose an identification with our 
 city? " 
 
 This was a shorter cut than had been expected " In 
 this way, Mr. Rodney. But first let me put this ques 
 tion: What at present is your city's most vital need? 
 What is it that men who have visited Glenwich talk most 
 about when they go away? Your inadequate water sys 
 tem, your poison water drawn from a weedy river, when 
 not more than ten miles distant and high enough to force 
 a stream over a skyscraper in Glenwich is a lake of as 
 pure water as there is on the face of the earth! " 
 
 Then, without giving the mayor a chance to say a 
 word, he told of the live water of the Nile, of the Mis 
 souri River and then of Sand Lake, whose very name 
 signified purity. The noon bells rang and he took the
 
 124 THE NEW MB. HOWERSON 
 
 risk of " bluffing " for his hat, to go, but the mayor 
 held him. He held something else, vacant feet, front, 
 on quiet streets, and he knew that the city councilmen 
 were in the same fix. It was clear now that the " Big 
 Jolt " wanted to put in a system of waterworks. 
 
 " Read the history of nearly every city and you will 
 find it to be a record of short-sightedness," said How- 
 erson. " And especially so with regard to water sys 
 tems. The city outgrows them, one of the evils of your 
 present system, while the supply at Sand Lake is prac 
 tically inexhaustible, as you know." 
 
 ' ' Yes, ' ' said the mayor, ' ' and I know another thing, 
 and that is, as soon as old Rice suspects the city of 
 wanting his lake he will run up the price out of all 
 reason. ' ' 
 
 Howerson smiled indulgently. He did not tell the 
 mayor that in his pocket he had an option, but he said 
 that Whateley w r ould stand the expense. The mayor 
 arose and Howerson got up, though for a moment 
 he felt more like sinking lower down, his heart having 
 felt the smother of defeat, but relief came quickly. 
 
 " Keep your seat, Mr. Howerson. I am not done with 
 you yet. ' ' He walked up and down his narrow quarters, 
 went to the window, halted and stood there, looking 
 out. He whistled, and his education may have included 
 music, but his puckered lips were tuneless. He turned 
 toward Howerson. " Well, admitting that what you 
 say is true, what would be the cost of such an 
 enterprise? " 
 
 Howerson had not expected to be called so suddenly 
 down to the cost. But he was ready with a venture. 
 " For five hundred thousand dollars we will put in a 
 system that your city cannot outgrow." This was
 
 THE SHREWD MAYOR 125 
 
 doubtless true. " It will be a system to excite the envy 
 of neighboring cities. It will be the pride of your citi 
 zens, the health, prosperity and blessing of your 
 community. ' ' 
 
 For a time he was afraid to look at the mayor; he 
 waited, heard no sound and then he looked. The poli 
 tician was busy with a pencil and notebook. 
 
 " You would spend that much for a court house," 
 said Howerson. " Why, many a town not larger and 
 with not half the prospects of Glenwich puts that much 
 into a city hall. You could have a cheaper plant, of 
 course, but Mr. Whateley wouldn't install it." 
 
 The mayor put up his notebook, came over and sat 
 down. Howerson waited. 
 
 "It's a big expenditure, Mr. Howerson, but I'll be 
 frank to tell you that I am in favor of it." 
 
 For a few moments Howerson felt that in his breast 
 he had buttoned up a fluttering bird. 
 
 The mayor continued: " It's sudden, but so is every 
 thing, for that matter." Then at Howerson he cast a 
 sharp look. ' ' Is Mr. Whateley constructing waterworks 
 in any other cities? " 
 
 ' ' So far as I know, this is the only scheme of the sort 
 he has under consideration. Glenwich in this matter is 
 to have no rival." 
 
 The mayor thought, and Howerson, afraid of saying 
 too much, was silent. The politician spoke: "If we 
 do this thing at all it will have to be done swiftly. Too 
 much time for consideration in such matters is not likely 
 to be fruitful of a clearer view, but gives slower minds 
 the opportunity to hatch out obstructions. The council 
 will meet to-morrow night. To spring the scheme sud 
 denly as an ordinance would not be wise. Every mem-
 
 126 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 ber ought to be seen convinced. Then the measure, 
 drawn up by the city attorney under our instructions, 
 can in all safety be presented." 
 
 This was rapid. Howerson had not hoped for such 
 swiftness; and in the whirl of his emotions his head 
 swam, but he steadied it and said: " I should have to 
 submit the ordinance to Mr. Whateley ; but by to-morrow 
 morning we can have it drawn, and I can then run in to 
 the city with it and return in plenty of time." 
 
 " But I shall need you here every minute to canvass 
 the aldermen with me. You can phone him the gist of 
 the thing and he can advise you. The fact is, I have 
 very quietly had my mind on this subject, and your 
 proposition is timely. Meet me and the city attorney 
 here this evening at seven." 
 
 Out came the politician's hand, and with grateful 
 warmth Howerson clasped it; and in a dream, though 
 a vivid one, he hastened to the hotel to impart his news 
 to Joyce, but was told by the clerk that the drummer 
 had gone out into the country to land a cross-roads cus 
 tomer. Howerson was too active now to find quiet. He 
 couldn't read. The shouting headlines of a newspaper 
 were but a listless whisper. He must act. He called 
 up "Whateley, told him briefly what he had done and 
 heard the old man's gasp of astonishment. " Option 
 on the lake and mayor anxious to push the ordinance? 
 Mr. Howerson, you are not a business man; you are a 
 marvel. But I doubt whether they will go to the extent 
 of five hundred thousand. I happen to know the coun 
 try, and we can put in a fine system with a good margin 
 of profit, to say nothing of interest on the bonds, for 
 three hundred and fifty thousand, but strike them as 
 high as you can, bonds for four years at five percent.
 
 THE SHREWD MAYOR 127 
 
 Get two or three options on real estate, from aldermen 
 only. If the ordinance meets with favor I will run 
 out in my car day after to-morrow. And I will send 
 you a check at once, the money to be used as you may 
 deem proper. . . . The last thing little Calvin said 
 last night was that I could trust you. I do. ' ' 
 
 Instead of having a quieting effect this message made 
 Howerson more active, and out he rushed to look for 
 vacant land owned by aldermen. It was not hard to 
 find. " That lot over there? It belongs to Alderman 
 McCann. Where can you find him ? He runs the Holly 
 Saloon, just around the corner." Alderman McCann 
 was sitting at a table with a party of friends. Would 
 he talk business? Sure. Oh, that lot? Very valuable. 
 Vacant because no one wanted to pay the price. What 
 was the price? Well have a drink? Cigar then. 
 They sat down in a rear room. 
 
 " Who wants the property and for what purpose? " 
 
 ' ' I am not at liberty to name the purpose, ' ' Howerson 
 answered. 
 
 " Then you don't want it for yourself." 
 
 " No, I am only an agent." 
 
 " Whose agent." 
 
 " Calvin Whateley's. I don't know to what extent 
 you are interested in Glenwich, but was told that you 
 owned that lot, and " 
 
 " I am very much interested in the city, and more 
 than that, I have faith in its development. That lot 
 is liable to double in price in the next five years." 
 
 ' ' I don 't doubt it. I 'm not asking you what you will 
 take for it five years hence but right now. ' ' 
 
 " Well, but I must have time to think about it." 
 
 " But don't you know the price you've offered it
 
 128 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 for? What would you have taken for it yesterday? 
 What was it worth before Mr. Whateley wanted it? " 
 
 " Say, come around in an hour from now." 
 
 Howerson knew that his failure to get an option would 
 stimulate the spirit of speculation. " Well, I may see 
 you and I may not." 
 
 " But give me your word that you won't buy else 
 where till you've seen me again." 
 
 Howerson smiled upon him. " Buying other lots in 
 this city will not keep Mr. Whateley from buying yours. 
 But I'll see you again, anyway." 
 
 Howerson went forth to look for garbage-gathering 
 lots belonging to other aldermen, and McCann slipped 
 over to see the mayor. The mere suggestion of a coming 
 boom has its electric vibrations, and Whateley 's sudden 
 interest in Glenwich spread like a village scandal. Alder 
 men were seized upon by shrewd panic, and before night 
 fall real estate had gone up fifty percent. A reporter 
 for the Call waylaid the promoter and caught him as 
 he was going in to supper at the hotel. The reporter 
 began to ply him with questions, and Howerson, striv 
 ing to appear dazed with astonishment, said that he did 
 not see why he should be singled out as the repository 
 of information concerning the town. He was a stranger. 
 Why not call on the old citizen? The reporter smiled, 
 congratulating himself upon his shrewdness to detect 
 this man's trickery. How fortunate to possess both youth 
 and insight ! 
 
 " But will you please answer one question? " 
 
 " Oh, any number of them if I happen to know what 
 to say." 
 
 " You will undoubtedly know what you deem it best 
 to say," said youth, didactic from inexperience, " but 
 will you answer in a straightforward way? "
 
 THE SHREWD MAYOR 129 
 
 More astonishment on Howerson's part. " I will be 
 as straightforward as possible. ' ' 
 
 Then came the vital question : ' ' Why has Mr. 
 Whateley so suddenly become interested in the affairs of 
 Glenwich? " 
 
 " Ah! Perhaps I can answer that question better 
 when you have told me why Glenwich has become inter 
 ested in herself so suddenly." 
 
 Old age whines and youth may sometimes commiser 
 ate itself. " Mr. Howerson, I am a mere boy while you 
 are a great capitalist and " 
 
 Howerson put his hand on the reporter's shoulder. 
 " That's all right, young man. I appreciate your posi 
 tion. I know that the public's curiosity employs you 
 as its agent, and I grant you the right to ask questions, 
 but really I have nothing that I can tell you with any 
 degree of certainty. Mr. Whateley, a far-seeing man, 
 may become actively interested in your town, may invest 
 heavily here, and this you may print as a rumor ; but I 
 must request you not to mention my name, but refer to 
 me simply as an agent. ' ' He was thinking of the Agents 
 of Justice, of murderous Hudsic and of desperate Annie 
 Zondish. ' ' Will you treat me with that consideration ? ' ' 
 With alarm Howerson saw hesitation in the reporter's 
 countenance. " What would you think of a great news 
 paper disfiguring its columns with the names of all its 
 writers, a signature attached to every paragraph? Well, 
 in that respect Mr. Whateley is like a great newspaper; 
 and it would displease him if you should print my 
 name. In fact he might, if the whim seized upon him, 
 recall me and withdraw his interest from the town. ' ' 
 
 The reporter promised and Howerson shook hands with 
 him. What an escape ! If the Agents but he banished 
 them out into the barbaric territory of medieval dark-
 
 130 THE NEW MR. HOWEKSON 
 
 ness. Capitalist ! Ah, a few years ago how Howerson 's 
 blood would have sung had the press sought to interview 
 him, the Poet! 
 
 " Martha Washington " escorted him to his table, 
 drew out his chair, dusted it with a napkin. " Sister " 
 came forward smilingly to take his order and he asked 
 her if Sam Joyce had returned. He had not, a disap 
 pointment that " sister " could not smile away. After 
 supper he trod the minutes beneath his feet, walking up 
 and down the lobby, impatient of the hour of his appoint 
 ment at the mayor's office. 
 
 The mayor received him cordially and presented the 
 city attorney, a young man so serious that old age had 
 broken away from the future to totter back to meet him, 
 to mock him with a wrinkled brow and drooping shoul 
 ders. He shook hands with the towering, deep-voiced 
 promoter, his lips drawing tightly apart from gums 
 blued by cold blood. Howerson said that the weather 
 continued to be pleasant, and the city attorney who, 
 having taken a sheet of foolscap out of his pocket, was 
 looking at it, responded with, " How's that? " It is 
 dangerous for a promoter to repeat a trivial observation, 
 and Howerson cleared his throat impressively. 
 
 They drew up to the mayor's desk. The attorney 
 moved an inkstand, though it was not in his way, took 
 up a paper weight from whose crystal depths gleamed 
 the National Capitol, turned to Howerson with the "Cap 
 itol " in his hand as if he were about to smash his head 
 with it, and remarked: 
 
 " You have come with a big proposition, Mr. How 
 erson. ' ' 
 
 Howerson nodded. " Mr. Whateley's propositions are 
 generally big." 
 
 " Oh, I am not here to criticize it, I assure you. I
 
 THE SHREWD MAYOR 131 
 
 am here to draw up a bill, not of complaint but of com 
 mendation. ' ' 
 
 His air of awful responsibility was merely a play 
 to assure the mayor that no mistake had been made 
 in bestowing upon him the appointment of city attor 
 ney. No man is too serious or too grim wholly to sup 
 press a play for his own moral advantage; and when 
 the attorney had rung down his little curtain, he pleased 
 Howerson with the zest of his work, the keenness of 
 his suggestions doubtless himself the owner of a bit 
 of stagnant real estate. The ordinance was soon drawn, 
 Howerson 's points engrafted with solemn skill. It was 
 typewritten by a young man who waited in an adjoin 
 ing room, and with a light heart, a gong beating out the 
 high strokes of hope, Howerson hastened to the hotel. 
 There, waiting for him, was a special delivery from 
 Whateley's office. It was not a letter; it was a check 
 for five thousand dollars. He stood leaning against the 
 counter, gazing at the bit of magic paper, his heart 
 beating hard; and he heard the ring of a little boy's 
 laugh. ... A hand clapped him on the shoulder 
 and he turned about with a start, to face Sam Joyce. 
 
 " Hello, old boy; how did you get along with his 
 city hall nobs? " 
 
 " Fine, and I owe you " 
 
 ' ' Cut it. You don 't owe me a white chip. Say, come 
 out and eat with me. I 'm as hungry as a harvest hand. ' ' 
 
 "Eat with you? Not if I know it! You'll eat with 
 me and eat everything there is in this town, I'm telling 
 you. Wait." 
 
 He turned to the landlord who with caressing air was 
 smoothing out the receipts of the day. " Oh, by the 
 way, Mr. ' ' 
 
 ' Watts," Joyce suggested, lower of tone.
 
 132 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " Mr. Watts, a word with you, please." 
 
 " All right." He put his money to bed, locked it in 
 its steel dormitory and came over to the counter. 
 
 " Mr. Watts," said Howerson, " I have a check that 
 I can 't deposit and draw against until morning. ' ' 
 
 Watts let his jaw drop. 
 
 " I don't ask you to cash it, only to let me have a 
 few dollars until the bank opens." 
 
 " Ah! " Watts took the check, looked at it, and for 
 a moment appeared to be gazing into a sunrise. 
 
 " Whew! Cash it? I should say not! But I'll let 
 you have all the money I've got in the house. So that's 
 old Calvin 's signature, eh ? I 'd like to write out a check 
 and have him sign it. How much do you want to 
 night? " 
 
 " Come on," said Joyce, " you don't need any." 
 
 " Wait a moment. Let me have fifty. And you may 
 hold the check." 
 
 " Oh, no, not at all necessary, I assure you. I am 
 more than pleased to accommodate you. ' ' 
 
 He unlocked the steel dormitory, awoke fifty of his 
 precious children and gave them to Howerson. 
 
 As they walked out Joyce inquired as to the amount 
 of the check. As quietly as he could Howerson spoke 
 the figure which had been to him so startling, and the 
 traveling salesman said: " You speak of it as only a 
 mild sweetener of a jackpot." 
 
 Howerson laughed. "It's the first check for that 
 amount I ever saw, and if a prophet had come out of 
 Holy Writ, beard and all, a few days ago, and told me 
 that I should ever see one of that heft payable to me, 
 I would have said, ' You are a very kind old gentleman, 
 but you'd better get into your chariot of fire and honk
 
 THE SHREWD MAYOR 133 
 
 off the face of the earth.' Do you know of a good res 
 taurant? " 
 
 " Yes, around here there's a foolish joint, put up and 
 just opened by a fellow that wants to throw away his 
 money." 
 
 " Champagne dive? " Howerson laughed. 
 
 " Yea, and canvasback ducks refrigerated for the guest 
 that'll never show up.'* 
 
 " But he'll show up to-night, old fellow. You'll eat 
 his duck and drink his wine." 
 
 " I'll eat anything that ever wore hide, feathers or 
 shell," said Joyce, " but I look not upon the wine. I 
 haven't taken a drink since the undertakers' parade. 
 But don't let me queer you." 
 
 "I'm on the dust cart," Howerson declared. " I've 
 known what it is to wait in the morning chill for a 
 saloon to open, to breathe the sour air and put down a 
 last dime for a choke of hell-broth but I 'm done. 
 When drunkenness is caused by failure, prosperity cures 
 it. What 's that ? Don 't look as if I were ever a failure ! 
 Why, Sam, I was rank." 
 
 "We've all been that more or less," said Joyce. 
 " Here we are." 
 
 " Yes," Howerson assented, " more or less. But I 
 belonged to the more class." 
 
 They entered a place that flashed with mirrors set 
 in the walls. In the ceiling was a star, formed with 
 electric lights. In a corner plushed and hung with 
 silver tassels the men sat down at a table, inlaid, Chinese 
 fashion, with mother of pearl. 
 
 " Oh, it's a howl," said Joyce. " I give it six 
 months. Now look here ; I don't want you to blow your 
 self on my account."
 
 134 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " But, my dear boy, you don't know what you've 
 done for me." 
 
 " I haven't done anything but introduced you to a 
 friend of mine. If you put in a water system, why the 
 Lord knows the old burg needs it as badly as a kitten 
 needs milk. But I don't want duck. I want a 
 beefsteak about the size of a doormat." 
 
 " All right, you order. I'm not hungry. But don't 
 let the fact that I am under vital obligations to you 
 get out of your mind. I don't know that I can make 
 a success of this thing, but I do know that before com 
 ing out here I was as pitiable a failure as rags, whiskey 
 and despair could make of any man. I'm not going 
 to blow the self-depravity horn, but it is the truth." 
 
 " Yes? " said Joyce, scanning the bill of fare. " Go 
 ahead, I'm listening," he added, writing his order. But 
 Howerson was silent until the waiter had bowed himself 
 out of the stuffy nook, and then he said: " There must 
 be a God." 
 
 Joyce looked at him. " Bet your life there is! But 
 why ? Because you are no longer a failure ? That argues 
 all right for you, but what is arguing in favor of the 
 thousands that have not been able to jump out of their 
 rags into fine clothes? You've got to have a higher 
 and a more universal reason for your belief." 
 
 " I have." 
 
 "What is it? " 
 
 " A boy." 
 
 " Oh, yours? " 
 
 " No, God's. And I believe in the Father because I 
 have met the son." 
 
 " That's all right, I guess," said Joyce, " but it's 
 too spiritual for a hungry man."
 
 THE SHREWD MAYOR 135 
 
 From an adjoining room came the trill of a woman's 
 cultivated laughter. Over his shoulder Joyce gestured 
 with a fork. ' ' Some fellow in there with a merry skirt, ' ' 
 he said. " Risky business unless it's on the square, and 
 on the square it's tiresome. It's an infernal shame that 
 the keenest joy doesn't come out of the practice of the 
 virtues. Why couldn't the guzzling of champagne have 
 been made a virtue ? I want to tell you that Dame Nature 
 is an old Puritan." 
 
 "No; more often a wanton," Howerson declared. 
 
 Joyce threw back his head, filled his wide mouth with 
 oyster crackers and crunched them. The woman in the 
 near-by room rippled, and through the flimsy wall came 
 the low tones of a man's voice. 
 
 "Puritan and wanton by turns," said Joyce, spraying 
 out cracker crumbs. " But having just made the im 
 portant, not to say dangerous discovery that there is a 
 God, how can you say that Nature is a wanton? " He 
 speared a pickle into his mouth, crunched it, sounding 
 like choppy footsteps in frozen snow. 
 
 "Because in everything I do or say I am inconsist 
 ent," Howerson answered. " Because, like the majority 
 of men, I speak before I think. But Nature isn't God. 
 Let me say that Nature is the body of God but not the 
 soul. In its waywardness a man's body may do things 
 that his soul, his mind, does not approve. His body 
 shakes with ague. God's body shakes, a physical con 
 vulsion, and a city tumbles into ruin. Sap in the rose 
 is the blood of God, not his soul. The soul is behind 
 the sap, has created it. The " 
 
 Joyce broke in: "If you want to succeed in busi 
 ness, cut that out. If you talk like that they'll say you're 
 off. In business they'll sometimes stand for an atheist,
 
 136 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 but not for a man who presumes to define God. Ordi 
 narily you must believe in Him, but seek to run Him 
 off with a surveyor's chain and you're nutty." 
 
 Joyce laughed, but Howerson replied soberly: " You 
 are right, Sam; I know it, and I shall not only profit 
 materially but spiritually by what you have said. When 
 I awoke this morning I thought that my mind had been 
 completely regenerated, but I find that a certain relaxa 
 tion tends to turn it back toward confused metaphysical 
 gropings. Gratitude brings up for review the horror 
 from which we may have been rescued, but brooding 
 over the horror becomes weaker as time passes, and I 
 confess to you that I need time." 
 
 The waiter brought the meal. With his hands spread 
 out over the steak, Joyce pronounced a physical grace. 
 His eyes glowed. During a long time he said nothing, 
 a healthy animal feeding; and Howerson enjoyed him 
 as one enjoys the food eagerness of a lion. The woman 
 in the adjoining room shouted her laughter, and then 
 came a smothery gurgle and the explosion of an awk 
 ward kiss. Joyce put down his knife. " She's got a 
 novice, ' ' he said. ' ' Do you know what she 's responsible 
 for right now? For the degeneracy of the stage and 
 the disgrace of the novel. Debt-ridden genius lends itself 
 to to " 
 
 " To the slime that's kin to the sap in her veins," 
 Howerson suggested. 
 
 ' ' Nail on the head, ' ' Joyce declared. * ' And the devil 
 of it is that her taste is the taste of millions of women 
 physically pure. But what's the use! " 
 
 He resumed his feeding. The woman laughed, hummed 
 a tune, the man talked in a low tone. Into the main 
 dining room separated from the plush corner by looped- 
 back blue stuff, came running young fellows and girls,
 
 THE SHREWD MAYOE 137 
 
 the girls with their hats in their hands, having tried 
 to shield them from a sudden mood of the weather. 
 They shook sparkling drops of water from their hair, 
 playfully shrieking, and one of the young fellows pre 
 tended to run out from under the shower, as if from 
 beneath a rain-laden tree, shaken by mischief. 
 
 " Earning," said Joyce. Then he added: " There 
 are two coal grates in the council chamber, one on each 
 side; and, especially if it's raining, tell Rodney to have 
 a fire in each of them. They'll be eloquent in favor of 
 your bill." 
 
 " Sam, you're a psychologist right." 
 
 " Watch me," said Joyce. "A man is richest, not 
 down in his gold mine but at his fireside." 
 
 " You think in observations, Sam. Some men talk 
 words, but you talk visions. A fellow at a camp fire 
 at night owns a continent. Yes, I'll have the grates 
 lighted. Won't you be here? I'll need your congratu 
 lations." 
 
 " That's right; congratulation and not condolence, for 
 you 're not going to fail, you know. No, I '11 not be here ; 
 got to pull out on a freight early in the morning. But 
 I may see you in town before long. Here 's my card and 
 phone number. Call me up and we'll go out and start 
 something. Shall we hike on back to the kennel? " 
 
 Howerson took up the check, folded three-corner-wise 
 to give it an air of " swell " secrecy, and brightened 
 the waiter's countenance with a tip. As they passed 
 out into the large dining room Howerson heard the wit 
 of the inrush of youth remark: " There's the prize 
 fighter and his fat trainer. Look out for 'em," and the 
 girls, quick contributors to the demands of genius, smoth 
 ered their laughter. How far some of them were from 
 the woman in the side room, and yet, how near! How
 
 138 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 short-cut might be their road to unfortified opportunity ! 
 
 Warm rain pattered softly. On the stone pavement 
 pearls danced in the yellow light. There was no wind, 
 no chill. It was a night when in the motionless air 
 only sweet memories come back, always from happy days 
 a sunset long ago, the warm, timid pressure of a 
 glorified hand, the valley enchanted, the hill-top tem 
 pled by the wand of a boy's love, the world of holy 
 ignorance. Joyce must have felt it too, for he took 
 hold of Howerson's arm, and they walked in silence. 
 
 In the hotel parlor a coal fire was burning low, and 
 they sat down beside it, still mute; and they heard the 
 soft patter on the thawed earth, grateful, it seemed, for 
 the warm drops. 
 
 Joyce spoke: "I want to tell you that I'm wet." 
 
 "So am I." 
 
 " But it's fine." 
 
 " Baptism," said Howerson. 
 
 " Look here, George, you've got a theology shine on 
 to-night. But it's all right. Keep it as long as you 
 can, but base it on something deeper than prosperity." 
 
 " What little religion I've got, Sam, can't be taken 
 away from me, now. It is based on pure redemption 
 of soul. It is the religion of gratitude, but as I can 
 speak of it only in a vague way, I '11 say nothing. There 
 is such a thing though as saving a man's soul. Oh, I 
 was a materialist. I didn't believe in anything, got to 
 a point where I wouldn't read a book if it mentioned 
 Christ; but I won't talk about it." 
 
 " Go ahead while I'm drying out my baptism." 
 
 " No, I am not worthy yet to speak of it. I am too 
 much of a liar. I've lied all day, and enjoyed it, too. 
 I've deceived everybody, and yet it is a part of my 
 redemption. But I'm not going to deceive old Calvin
 
 THE SHREWD MAYOR 139 
 
 Whateley, and that is also a part of my redemption. 
 I am going to be the most faithful man he ever dealt 
 with, until the time comes when I shall be forced to make 
 a confession to him, and then you'll see old George with 
 his little kit of tools disappearing over the dim edge 
 of the landscape." 
 
 " Confession be blowed! What have you got to con 
 fess? Haven't stolen anything from him, have you? I 
 take it for granted you haven't. Going to serve him to 
 the full and untiring trot of your ability? I take that 
 for granted also. And now I don't see any kick coming 
 on his part. Whatever indulgence you may feel inclined 
 to grant yourself, old boy, never permit yourself to 
 get morbid. You'd better get drunk ten to one, for 
 out of a night's drunk there may come a mind-purifying 
 repentance, but nothing but evil can come out of mor 
 bidness. . . . Well, George, believe I'll turn in." 
 
 They arose and shook hands. " Sam, my friend 
 that's all." 
 
 ' ' That 's enough. Take care of yourself. ' ' 
 
 He went out, whistling, and Howerson sitting down, 
 heard him joking the sleepy night clerk. It was a long 
 time before the promoter went to his room. He sat 
 dreaming, listening to the soft patter of the rain.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 THE ORDINANCE 
 
 Howerson went early to the city hall but the mayor 
 was waiting for him. They shook hands with interested 
 warmth, one feeling that the value of his real estate, 
 covered with ash heaps and rusty tin cans, had risen 
 during the night, and the other in hopeful gratitude. 
 For a time they talked national politics, a subject on 
 which every villager is supposed to be enlightening;, 
 talked of the reformers four-flushing in different sec 
 tions of the country ; of the gradual though pronounced 
 changes in educational methods, arguing that vital errors 
 were the hardest to eradicate, such as the evil of permit 
 ting a woman to teach a boy after his twelfth year; of 
 the false morality of Tolstoy. Finally they spoke of 
 waterworks, whereupon both of them became natural. 
 Without further skirmishing they admitted it wise to 
 call at once upon the executive patriots of the city. 
 
 Alderman Baldwin was the first, a great quarter of 
 cold storage beef. He listened, coughed, walked up and 
 down with heavy tread, pondering over his duty to the 
 people, sat down, deploring the suddenness of so great 
 a project. He would think about it. In truth, wind 
 of the scheme had blown upon him the night before 
 and his calf-brain mind had arrived at a decision. 
 
 Next they called on "Doc" Black, the druggist, tall, 
 thin, awl-eyed. He cracked no knuckles over the prop 
 osition. He began to talk about a factory site which 
 just at that time happened to belong to him. Numerous 
 
 140
 
 THE ORDINANCE 141 
 
 offers had been refused, on account of his wife, who 
 was much attached to the property, but as he needed 
 capital wherewith to enlarge his business, she had at 
 last consented to part with it, gentle and pliant creature. 
 Howerson would take an . option, he said, though Mr. 
 Whateley objected to being the first victim of a " boom ' ' 
 brought about by himself. But contingent upon the 
 enactment of the ordinance he would take over the 
 factory site if the price were within reason. 
 
 The mayor was pleased, and out in the street 
 he brought it about that he owned most desirable " loca 
 tions, ' ' which he hoped that the ' ' Big Jolt ' ' would not 
 overlook, whereupon Howerson gave the executive's arm 
 a shrewd squeeze. 
 
 Now they went to the saloon of Alderman McCann, 
 and the statesman received them with hearty handgrip 
 and an invitation to drink of his strong waters, both 
 visitors wisely declining. But in a rear room they sat 
 down to burn Cuban tobacco with him. He was pleased, 
 he said, that Howerson had kept faith with him. A 
 man who would not honor his own word was not worth 
 a gentleman's consideration. His own practice of hon 
 esty as a policy had rendered his word a gold coin in 
 Glenwich. The mayor knew that. The mayor acknowl 
 edged that he did know it, lying without a squint; and 
 Howerson declared himself sure of it. McCann was 
 careful of the people's money, but he was considerate 
 also of their interests. The ordinance was all right. 
 Let's see now, about the lot that Howerson had spoken 
 of the day before. Ah, the price? But it was settled 
 upon, and this reminded the promoter that he must go 
 to the bank and make a deposit, which he did, both mayor 
 and alderman bearing him company. 
 
 By three o'clock in the afternoon the councilmen, all
 
 142 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 of them, had been ' ' fixed, ' ' not so much by direct prom 
 ise as by suggestion. Several options were put up, the 
 mayor, McCann and the druggist among the benefici 
 aries. And now Howerson was thankful to be alone in 
 his room at the hotel. He shook himself, wrote a check 
 for fifty dollars, summoned a bell boy and sent it down 
 to the landlord. Up he came, solicitously inquiring if 
 he could make his distinguished guest more comfortable, 
 and learning to his disappointment that he could not, 
 scraped himself out of the room. 
 
 The air was warm, the sky overcast, and now rain 
 began to fall. Yes, the two grates in the council cham 
 ber must be lighted. The mayor had said that it would 
 be well for the promoter to make a speech to the patriots 
 assembled, and now he set his hand to the writing of it, 
 but his mind did not respond, and tearing the paper, he 
 walked the floor. 
 
 " Why should they expect a speech? " he said. 
 ' ' Haven 't they got sense enough to know their own inter 
 est? But if they call on me I've got to speak, and if 
 I fail in my talk, I'm done for. I wish old Sam were 
 here. One word from him would start me off in the right 
 direction. That mayor ought to have had better sense, 
 and what was I thinking of to allow myself to be trapped ? 
 A little whiskey would set me off, a drink of brandy. 
 Champagne would sparkle me. I could write a speech 
 that would bead and bubble them into my own humor." 
 
 He walked up and down. Suddenly he faced about 
 toward the light. " And now, after your escape, your 
 soul's redemption, are you going to hold converse with 
 certain failure, your old enemy? " 
 
 The bell boy appeared. Wine had rung for him and 
 Howerson did not know it. " Ah, bring me a pitcher 
 of water, please. ' ' And then as he turned again to walk
 
 THE ORDINANCE 143 
 
 the floor, he mused: " No false morality here, old 
 George. It is the assertion of the spirit of self preser 
 vation. ' ' 
 
 He sat down and waited. The boy came, the poet 
 drank of the water and turned again to his work; and 
 now he thought to write a statement naked of adornment, 
 but it was too much stripped. He went out of the house, 
 into the rain, where the brown river laughed in the 
 open and shrieked beneath the stored ice; he went out 
 into the fields where thawed furrow sank soft beneath 
 his feet; and he came back, thankful to God that he 
 had not yielded to another god, the god of the heathen 
 vine. Still he could think of nothing to say. On all 
 other subjects how like a plant-bed was his mind, sprout 
 ing the seeds of ideas! How he could have talked on 
 art, literature, anything but the one vital subject. He 
 went in to supper still grateful for his victory over wine 
 but despondent over his oratorical defeat. 
 
 The time came and he sat near the mayor, looking down 
 into the mastered countenances of those hard business 
 men, and he hoped that they might not call on him, but 
 they did, and he arose with a feeling that he was to 
 deliver the funeral ode of his scheme. At first he fum 
 bled about for words, tossing one here, one there; but 
 after a time he forgot his fumbling, began to give way 
 to the mysterious suggestions of inspiration, and then 
 he astonished himself. Winged figures of speech flew 
 into his mind, like wild pigeons; and then came homely 
 things like barnyard fowls, flopping their short wings. 
 He sat down, feeling warm ooze on his brow. Something 
 gripped his arm, the mayor's hand, and a voice whis 
 pered, ' ' That settles it ; the thing 's done. ' ' And it was 
 done. All rules were suspended, and the ordinance 
 became a law.
 
 144 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 The mayor walked with Howerson to the hotel, and 
 the orator of the evening heard him talking, but did 
 not know what he said. They were now at the threshold 
 of the hostelry, and the mayor's hand was resting on 
 the orator's shoulder. " Mr. Howerson, you have made 
 our town! " The orator deplored the fact that he was 
 not deserving of such praise, set forth in emotional 
 words and impressed with a tight handgrip, but with 
 more of truth he could have said, " I don't know how 
 far I've gone toward the making of your town, but I 
 think I've gone quite a jaunt toward the making of 
 myself. ' ' 
 
 It was too late to call Whateley by telephone, but a 
 night letter of fifty words was sent by telegraph. 
 
 On the morrow the town jumped out of its dream 
 feeling that something had happened. An old-timer 
 whose boast was that he had shaken hands with Lincoln, 
 declaimed that the council had taken the law into its 
 own hands ; but a retired judge with lettuce and radishes 
 in a basket, and whose endeared homestead had during 
 ten years squatted on the market, appeased him with 
 the assertion that the people were the law and that it 
 was not the province of statutes to chloroform the nos 
 trils of the body politic. 
 
 The new life of the town hammered Howerson awake, 
 waited till he dressed, and gripping his hand, offered 
 him property that blindness had neglected but which 
 now was cheap at any price. The landlord overwhelmed 
 him with the obsequious palaver known to the trade as 
 courtesy. The cigar girl illumined him with a smile 
 as he tipped his silk hat to her, and " Martha Wash 
 ington " swept him a dance-house grace. The reporter 
 was waiting for him, and invited by kindly gesture, slid 
 into a seat at the table.
 
 THE ORDINANCE 145 
 
 " Have you read my write-up of your achievement? " 
 
 " Yes, and I thank you very much." He had not, 
 but it was well to begin the day with a soft and natter 
 ing falsehood. 
 
 " And I suppose you noticed that I didn't mention 
 your name. Did you like the get-up of the story? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, it was well put together. Why don't you 
 get a job on a city paper? " 
 
 11 That's what I wanted to talk to you about. You 
 know a fellow hasn't much to hope for on a newspaper 
 in a town of this size ' ' Had he been wiser to an unfor 
 tunate truth, Howerson could have added, " Nor in a 
 town of any size," but unacquainted with the truth 
 he merely nodded and waited for the young man to 
 proceed. " And I was thinking that you might help 
 me to get a job in the city. I suppose you know a good 
 many of the leading newspaper men." 
 
 " Well, no, not personally. You see, business and 
 literature I mean journalism don 't trot together. 
 Business, you know, is very busy. But Mr. Whate- 
 ley may be able to do something for you." 
 
 The youth's countenance reddened with hope. "I'm 
 sure a word from him would mean a great deal, and if 
 you'd be kind enough to call his attention to my article, 
 I'd deem it a favor." 
 
 ' ' Helloa, here. I 'm getting into it, ' ' Howerson mused ; 
 then as an inspirational shift he said: " But as this city 
 is now bound to go forward, why not remain here, and 
 make it your ambition to own a paper yourself ? I don 't 
 know a town that can offer more advantages than Glen- 
 wich. Ambition is all right, you know; fine thing, but 
 the great majority of men in a city have a boss, while 
 er developed ability ought to be its own proprietor. ' ' 
 
 The youth, his eyes on the cloth, was turning the salt
 
 146 THE NEW MB. HOWERSON 
 
 cellar round and round. Thirsting for the Golden Gob 
 let of encouragement, he had been offered the same old 
 cracked cup of advice. "I'm afraid I don't understand 
 business well enough to build up an establishment," he 
 said. " The truth is, my tastes are literary." 
 
 " Merciful Lord," thought Howerson. 
 
 " In fact, poetic." 
 
 No alasful deprecation was strong enough, and How 
 erson looked at him in pity as round and round he 
 turned the salt, a substance which his muse might never 
 enable him to earn. 
 
 " What's your name, young man? " 
 
 " Harvey Bruce." 
 
 " And when I first met you I thought you shrewd, 
 of the world. Is it possible that there is a poetic skel 
 eton in every closet? " 
 
 With a start the young man looked at him. " No 
 offense, Bruce. I spoke from a disappointed heart. I 
 know you now, and I'll help you in any way I can, 
 which may not be much, but you are free to command 
 me. If you are tainted, though, with a love for the 
 oldest of the fine arts, the gods weep for you and the 
 satyrs laugh." 
 
 The youth mumbled that it was a melancholy view to 
 take " of a soul's ambition," and then blurted out, his 
 face red, his eyes expressive of defiant appeal from the 
 world's unjust decision: " Poetry is not dead. It sings 
 on Olympus! " 
 
 / " No," said Howerson, " poetry is not dead, but the 
 poets are, or will be as soon as Commercialism attains 
 its complete ambition." 
 
 The reporter arose to take his leave, but lingered to 
 cast once more his line into dark waters, to hook per-
 
 THE ORDINANCE 147 
 
 chance a hope game enough to strike. " But if poetry 
 is dead, prose must die too." 
 
 " Luminous, soul-lifting prose, yes," Howerson 
 replied. " The future will demand that its literature 
 shall be written with the stub pencil tied with a string 
 to the telegrapher's counter. ' Eleven words? ' cries 
 the publisher. ' Your narrative is too long. ' Of course, 
 once in a long while the smoldering genius of an explor 
 ing age will blaze for a moment and the pale critics will 
 sneer; but the money-blinded public will not see the 
 blaze at all." 
 
 The youth cast his line once more. " Every age has 
 seen the death of art, but art lives on and never dies." 
 
 Coming from the average of men who champion the 
 trickeries played upon truth in the name of art, this 
 speech would have seemed mechanic, but this boy souled 
 his words with such feeling that Howerson arose and 
 grasped his hand. " Bruce you have a secret that you 
 must hide from even your friends." 
 
 " A secret, Mr. Howerson? " 
 
 " Yes, your emotions. Shut them up, or you may 
 see them tossed on the horns of a steer." Then he 
 smiled, not at the boy but in pitying memory of a pink 
 ribbon that once had bundled his own muse. 
 
 When the young man was gone, the " sage " 
 sat down to his egg and butter; and then he went out 
 into the street, knowing that the citizens whom he met 
 would more esteem the establishment of a glue factory 
 in the midst of them than the setting up of the furnace 
 from which might come forth the peach-blow vase in 
 rediscovery of all its erubescent beauty. For a time 
 he walked about, shaking an occasional hand, waiting 
 for the bank to open ; and when this expected but always
 
 148 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 great event took place, he bought a draft for one hun 
 dred and fifty dollars payable to Professor Hudsic ; and 
 returning to the hotel he wrote thus to that dangerous 
 educator : 
 
 " The constant and I may say persistent failure of 
 the newspapers to blaze forth a certain intention known 
 to you, has, no doubt, convinced you that the event has 
 not occurred. Permit me, therefore, to recall my foolish 
 oath and to return herewith not only the amount ad 
 vanced to me, but fifty dollars additional, the one hun 
 dred to be handed over to Miss Zondish, and the fifty 
 to be apportioned among the members of the Executive 
 Committee for sanitary purposes. Tell them to buy 
 clean shirts, and take a better view of society. To save 
 any of you the expense of a visit, let me assure you that 
 I leave this place at once for parts that need not con 
 cern the Agents." 
 
 He smiled as he enclosed the letter and the draft, feel 
 ing that the principal and the heavy interest ought to 
 appease the " brothers," and yet with a second and 
 more prophetic eye, catching a glimpse of the wrath 
 sure to break forth. Then he ceased to smile. 
 
 But what was this fresh excitement in the town? 
 Around a corner, into Main Street swept a great red 
 car, a chariot with blazing brass, with a goggled chauf 
 feur who looked as if he would have found delight in 
 running into a circus parade and knocking down the 
 elephant. With echoing honk and shudder that shook 
 the air, the mighty engine stopped at the portals of the 
 hotel. Old Calvin Whateley had arrived.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 THE HIDE OP THE WOLF 
 
 With the old man came little Calvin. When he saw 
 Howerson he held out his arms toward him, Howerson 
 helped him to the ground. Whateley got out, shook 
 hands with his agent, gave him a look, a slight smile. 
 Together they went into the hotel, the boy walking 
 between them. Whateley spoke: " I wanted a word 
 with you concerning the mayor, the manner of man. 
 Your night letter made the situation clear. Mr. Hower 
 son, I must say, sir, that you are possessed of shrewd 
 methods. ' ' 
 
 " The time was ripe, Mr. Whateley." 
 
 " Ah, but it takes shrewdness to discover the ripe 
 hour. Tell me about the mayor." 
 
 So vivid was the renegade poet's sketch, so quick in 
 simple stroke, with ambushed word springing out to 
 surprise a weakness, dodging back upon encountering 
 a strength, that old Calvin blinked his enjoyment of 
 an art which to him was not an accomplishment but 
 insight; and Howerson mused, " How the devil did I 
 do that! " Then humorously he deplored that he had 
 lied outrageously to oil the axle of his scheme, had 
 induced them to believe that a manufacturing boom for 
 small cities must come out of labor troubles in great 
 civic centers; and old Calvin assured him that in this 
 he had but uttered a truth. 
 
 " Only yesterday," said the capitalist, " I received 
 a letter from a barbed wire manufacturer in Pennsyl- 
 
 149
 
 150 THE NEW MB. HOWERSON 
 
 vania telling me that he was going to move his plant 
 and requesting me to recommend a location. Under the 
 circumstances I'll recommend Glenwich and will sell 
 him the land for his mill. Let us go over to the mayor 's 
 office." 
 
 Routine and prosaic man, unconcerned or rude in the 
 presence of modest greatness, treads on his own feet 
 to get full view of a money giant ; and Whateley 's walk 
 to the City Hall was a triumphal march. The mayor 
 caught breeze of his approach and came hastily down 
 the stone steps to meet him on the sidewalk. The vis 
 itor was conducted into a curtained apartment that 
 looked like a stage setting for " The Magic Flute," and 
 was urged to sit in a sort of a high priest 's chair in which 
 he appeared so uncomfortable that the boy, dancing on 
 the floor, cried out, " Looks like they are going to pull 
 your tooth, grandpa! " and the laugh thus raised so 
 changed the atmosphere that every one seemed more 
 human. And old Calvin laughed with the others, in 
 thorough understanding with himself that though teeth 
 might possibly be drawn, the jaw of his interest was not 
 to ache. 
 
 Soon the chamber was well filled with aldermen and 
 other citizens equally as ready to sacrifice themselves 
 for the good of the community; and money's politician, 
 the "Big Jolt," wreathed each one of them. He did 
 not speak many words, but each word was a wedge riv 
 ing timber for building in the future. 
 
 Every detail of every business has its throbbing artery, 
 and fabulous-handed, Whateley 's fingers seemed to press 
 upon every pulse. Every question was vital. There was 
 not the waste of a syllable, and looking on, raptly listen 
 ing, Howerson mused, " Despair of to-day's poetry, 
 unskilled of that stabbing diction." He recalled vaguely
 
 THE HIDE OF THE WOLF 151 
 
 an Emerson observation, two professors splitting polemic 
 hairs, stammering to find the right word, while two 
 blacksmiths talking about their work, phrased without 
 a waver their direct meaning. 
 
 Option givers were summoned. Old Rice of Sand 
 Lake was called by wire. "Whateley broke off suddenly 
 and said to Howerson, " Show little Calvin the town." 
 It was like " put up your books " in a country school. 
 The imaginative, the explorative part of the work over 
 with, the truant poet had begun to weary of the job, 
 and like a playful dog eager to be free, he felt the collar 
 slip from his neck and heard the chain fall upon the 
 floor. Down the stone steps he trotted, laughing with 
 the boy, holding his hand. Ah, and how warm was this 
 little paw of genuine friendship ! How true the heart 
 that warmed it ! And now the poet heard an expres 
 sion directer than the blacksmith's word, a shout of 
 gladness; and he felt the thrill of a spirit juice, sweet 
 from Nature's sapling. 
 
 ' ' My mamma cries a good deal, ' ' said the boy as they 
 walked along; " and my papa says he'll be blamed if 
 he knows what she's crying about, and he goes to the 
 window, and looks out and whistles ; but you bet my 
 grandpa don't cry, only sometimes his eyes get wet 
 when him and me sit by the fire and he looks too long at 
 the blaze without saying anything. But that would 
 make anybody's eyes water, wouldn't it, Mr. Hower 
 son? " 
 
 " Yes, even a little boy's eyes." 
 
 " You bet. But it would make a girl's eyes water 
 quicker 'n a boy's though, wouldn't it? Girls cry when 
 you pull their hair. But I wouldn't pull a girl's hair. 
 I tried to pull a boy's hair because he was mean to me. 
 It was so short I couldn't get hold of it, but I made
 
 152 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 him howl when I pasted him on the jaw. But why are 
 we going up into this place? " 
 
 "It's a bank and I'm going to take all my money 
 out" 
 
 " And are you going to sign a check for it like I did 
 the day you came in grandpa's office? " 
 
 " Yes, pretty much the same." 
 
 " But you couldn't sign your check for much money 
 then. And don't you know I said if you hooked up 
 with grandpa you could? " 
 
 " Yes, I remember, and I hooked up with him." 
 
 The boy watched him as he drew the check, but was 
 not much interested in the money; his attention was 
 caught by an adding machine which he had climbed up 
 to gaze at ; and when questioned, he said it was a funny 
 thing all right enough, but that he would rather have 
 a Gatling gun like the one they shot off so fast in the 
 vaudeville show. 
 
 They went out of the bank, Howerson telling the boy 
 about guns, and a dog he once owned, a creature so full 
 of sport that he would caper in delight when the squirrel 
 rifle was taken down from the wall. 
 
 " If I had a dog like that I'd love him, and I'd 
 sneak him into my bed at night, like I done once with 
 a dog the toughs were throwing stones at," little Calvin 
 cried. " I got him into a closet, and he shook there 
 in the dark and licked my hand, he was so scared. I 
 brought him something to eat on a silver plate Aunt 
 Rose give me Christmas, and in the night I sneaked 
 him into my bed and in the morning me and the dog 
 got spanked. My mamma don 't like dogs much reg 
 ular dog dogs, she don't, but once she had an old pug 
 dog that would wink when you said anything to him and 
 then go to sleep. I didn't like him because he never
 
 THE HIDE OF THE WOLF 153 
 
 was glad about anything. I like for everything to be 
 glad, don't you, Mr. Howerson? " 
 
 " Yes, birds and dogs and boys; and the buds are 
 glad to come out, and flowers to bloom, and I believe 
 that God is glad when we are." 
 
 They came abreast of a shop in whose show windows 
 were hung up overcoats made of the skins of animals, 
 and Howerson said, " Let's go into this place a moment." 
 He had caught sight of a wolf-hide coat that he fancied 
 would fit the boy. The dealer brought it out and Calvin 
 tried it on, trembling with delight, and a fear seized 
 him lest it might not be deemed a fit; but it was, and 
 he went out, wearing it, almost buoyed off the ground in 
 his happiness. 
 
 " Most too warm for that coat to-day though, Calvin." 
 
 " Oh, no; it's getting awful cold, Mr. Howerson. I 
 believe it 's going to snow. Just look how the wind blows ! 
 Gee ! And did a wolf gallop around with this skin on ? ' : 
 
 ' ' You bet he did, in the dark night ; and he sat on 
 the hilltop in the timber and howled when the moon 
 came up." 
 
 " And if I had come along there he'd jumped on me, 
 wouldn't he? " 
 
 " He would that." 
 
 " Then I'm glad I've got his skin. Woo, it's fine, and 
 won't you let me put my arms around your neck 
 like grandpa does? " 
 
 With a gulp in his throat this big tenderness so lately 
 a vagabond lifted the little fellow from the ground, and 
 about his neck he felt the wolfskin, tight; and there in 
 the street he could have sung a hymn, the words he 
 had spoken to Sam Joyce, " I believe there is a Father 
 because I have met the son." 
 
 They wandered about till the noon bells were striking,
 
 154 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 and then they returned to the city hall. When old 
 Calvin saw the boy clothed in the garment of a wolf, 
 he laughed loud, as few people had ever heard him 
 laugh. Taking Calvin in his arms, he said to Hower- 
 son. ' ' We thank you, don 't we, Calvin ? And now, Mr. 
 Howerson, let us go to the hotel, get a bite to eat and 
 then to town. You go in with me. Everything that 
 can be done here for the present, has been done. Mr. 
 Mayor, I shall expect to see you within a few days, 
 sir." 
 
 ' ' At your convenience, of course, Mr. Whateley, ' ' the 
 mayor replied, turning with his visitors toward the door. 
 " About how soon shall be we expect them to begin 
 work on that barbed wire factory? " 
 
 " I can't say exactly when, but very soon, I am con 
 vinced. Well, good day." 
 
 After the arrival of Whateley, Howerson could not 
 remain great in the eye of the mayor, but though in his 
 parting handshake there was not much of reverence, 
 there was considerable of fervor. He came down to the 
 bottom of the steps, doubtless in the hope that passing 
 citizens might see Whateley turn and wave him a fare 
 well, but the brisk old man did not look back. 
 
 " He calls you a great orator," Whateley said to 
 Howerson. " Said you made a wonderful speech." 
 
 " I think, sir, that he heard the tongue of his own 
 interest," Howerson replied, and the old man chuckled 
 shrewdly. 
 
 At the edge of the sidewalk slept the great red monster, 
 waiting to rush the old man to town. Little Calvin, in 
 his wolf-hide, was joyous to sit between his grandfather 
 and his friend. It was Howerson alone who waved 
 good-bye to a town not destined to become one of the 
 world's great cities but ever to hold place as the metrop 
 olis of his heart.
 
 CHAPTER XIH. 
 ANOTHER MISSION 
 
 Toward the city the panting dragon tore its exultant 
 way, bellowing on the hilltops. Whateley's photo 
 graphic eye turned its lens slowly upon the whirling 
 scene, taking motion pictures of it all, and Howerson's 
 mind made this remark unto itself: " That marvelous 
 gray orb will hold a darker shadow one of these days, 
 when I make a confession and the time must come." 
 
 The boy was singing his happiness, waving at somber 
 men, tired women and eager children who stood watch 
 ing the great machine pass by. 
 
 The old man spoke: " Mr. Howerson, we'll have to 
 figure up how much is due you out of this transaction. 
 We'll do that at the office." 
 
 " After paying our options I have something like four 
 thousand left out of the five thousand you sent me, Mr. 
 Whateley." 
 
 " Yes, but there is considerably more than that due 
 you. We '11 figure it out. ' ' 
 
 " No, sir, I am already overpaid. The fact is, I 
 haven't done much of anything. You must settle with 
 me as you would with any ordinary agent. It was your 
 name, sir your name and a little luck on my part 
 that did it all." 
 
 The old man laughed and the boy shouted. " Ability 
 makes luck," Whateley said. Then after a time he 
 added: " But there is such a thing as luck. We pride 
 ourselves on our judgment, but the better part of fore- 
 
 155
 
 156 THE NEW ME. HOWERSON 
 
 sight is luck. If you ask me what luck is, I must 
 answer that I don't know. But we all acknowledge 
 chance. Why, sir, I have known men to become rich 
 for lack of opportunity. Unable at a certain time to 
 sell, men have been forced to hold on to property that 
 afterward made them wealthy. No, Mr. Howerson, it 
 was your own ability, which you were lucky to possess, 
 that got the scheme through, and I congratulate you. 
 What do you intend to do now? " 
 
 " I am with you, sir." 
 
 " And with me, too," shouted the boy. 
 
 " I am pleased to hear you say that, Mr. Howerson," 
 said Whateley. ' ' I need you and I 'm sure we can come 
 to terms." 
 
 ' ' The terms are your own, ' ' Howerson replied. ' ' But 
 you must know that I am a man of no experience in 
 business. You may ask me why I have lived so long 
 without a definite aim, and I could answer that my aim 
 was unsteady and that I shot wide of the mark. I mis 
 took a mediocre cleverness in marshaling words for an 
 ability to write poetry, but I lacked a certain strategy 
 and I failed. But a man with not quite the imagination 
 for romance may be useful in certain business schemes, 
 and as such I offer myself, with this understanding: 
 that for a year I am to receive no stated salary. But 
 after a year of service you are to pay me what you con 
 sider me worth. Is this a fair proposition? " 
 
 Whateley put his hand on Howerson 's shoulder. 
 ' ' More than fair. I have trusted you, and now you may 
 trust me. At times you may find me hard to get along 
 with, but " 
 
 " No you won't," little Calvin cried out, snuggling 
 close to his friend. 
 
 " But bear with me," the old man continued. " and
 
 ANOTHER MISSION 157 
 
 you '11 find me disposed to make everything right. There 
 is one thing I demand and I believe you possess it: 
 absolute honesty. They may tell you that I have out 
 witted men for my own advantage, and I have; that 
 was business. But no one can tell you truthfully that 
 I have ever failed to keep my word. And now as to 
 a piece of immediate business : I have the offer of a sugar 
 plantation in Louisiana. It is an extensive estate, and 
 having just come through a long period of litigation, 
 is, I suppose, considerably run down. I want you to 
 see it and report on it, to determine whether in your 
 judgment it is worth two hundred and fifty thousand 
 dollars." 
 
 " I am more than willing to go, but my judgment 
 may not be worth anything. I have never seen a sugar 
 plantation." 
 
 " But in a roundabout way you can find out what 
 adjoining plantations are worth, and from such informa 
 tion form your own estimate. I am led to believe that 
 for cash they are willing to part with it at a sacrifice. 
 We'll enter into it more in detail at the office. Come 
 home with me to dinner to-night. ' ' 
 
 Howerson answered that he should be pleased to, and 
 the boy clutched his arm and cried out that it would be 
 fun. After this business talk "Whateley was silent. 
 With his coat collar turned up about his ears, he faced 
 grimly the wind now blowing hard from Lake Michigan. 
 
 In the workshop is a fitter place to study character 
 than in an automobile, but Howerson, making the most 
 of every opportunity to get at the soul of the man with 
 whose interest he was to be indefinitely linked, sought 
 to probe into his silence without disturbing it. Imagina 
 tion weaves its own story into the strains of music, 
 divergent from the romance intended by the composer.
 
 158 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 and in speculative mood ourselves, we may invest the 
 mind of a silent companion with a world of conjecture. 
 ' ' The Agents of Justice said you went about in a closed 
 automobile," Howerson mused. " They called you a 
 coward, but here you are in the open where anybody 
 could take a shot at you. That eye of yours, what a 
 study! And yet it was deceived, as the world is, by 
 the sham of clothes you could not see murder in a 
 heart behind a white shirt. Ah, but perhaps it was I 
 who thought I could see murder in that heart and did 
 not. His eye may have been truer to him than my insane 
 heart was to its tragic purpose." 
 
 When the car halted at the curb in front of Whateley 's 
 office, little Calvin made a motion to get out. " No, my 
 son," said the old man, " you must go on home." The 
 boy rebelled. " Yes, you must, and show your mother 
 your coat." 
 
 The boy yielded, but hung upon a stipulation. ' ' And 
 will Mr. Howerson come with you sure? " Howerson 
 assured him, and sitting back, he turned up the collar 
 of his coat, after the manner of the old man, and sped 
 toward home. For a time Whateley looked after him 
 and then turned toward the scene of his sharp transac 
 tions wherein his hired talent labored at its task, dread 
 ing to see him enter. , 
 
 " By the way," said Howerson, as they reached the 
 elevator, " if you don't wish to enter at once upon the 
 details of my trip South, I have some matters that I 
 should like to attend to. It's hardly safe to go around 
 with several thousand dollars in my pocket. I am not 
 er acquainted at any of the banks, and if you will be 
 kind enough to give me a word, I should be "by this 
 time Whateley had scrawled on an envelope. " I thank 
 you, sir."
 
 ANOTHER MISSION 159 
 
 " All right. It is now two thirty. Be at the office by 
 five fifteen." 
 
 "I'll be there." 
 
 To a bald-headed solemnity in a marble-slabbed house 
 of dollars Howerson gave the envelope, and a smile of 
 welcome spread broadcast over the financier's counten 
 ance and so far upward as to gleam on the crest of his 
 cranium. 
 
 It was so pleasant to have money in his pocket that 
 this new depositor kept back five hundred and went 
 forth with his suitcase to touch up his wardrobe and to 
 have his silk hat ironed. Then he bought a watch, won 
 dering as to who was now wearing a ticker of life's 
 seconds once the timekeeper of his father's sermons, a 
 proud possession, but long since entrusted to a stranger 
 over whose door hung a bunch of enormous grapes, but 
 only three in number. 
 
 Now arose the question as to what hotel would be 
 safest. He realized that at no time had his mind been 
 free from the dread of meeting an Agent of Justice, 
 and now that he had returned to the scene of his wasted 
 life and his oath, the dread grew heavier. In the 
 crowded streets he imagined that everyone in front 
 turned to look back at him, and that in the rear everyone 
 was dogging his footsteps. Suddenly he felt his heart 
 hang still between two beats, and then to strike like the 
 swing of a sledge. And what was it that had in an 
 instant damned up his blood and in a moment torn it 
 loose ? A red cap, an eye gazing through a window at him 
 Annie Zondish ! He stood still, unable to see clearly, 
 for a glimmer like the shake-air heat down the dusty 
 summer road seemed to dance before his eyes. In that 
 second standing still his thoughts were an hour long. 
 Boy companions had called him a game fellow, and he
 
 160 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 was as game as the victor of a cock-pit, and had been as 
 much disposed to crow over it; but who ever came off 
 crowing from an encounter with a woman? Roxey 
 Brooks, Queen of the Sand Lots of early memory, in 
 fair fist fight whipped more than a score of lusty men, 
 but when finally a little Irishman knocked her out, he 
 was voted a coward by " society " that had been con 
 quered. 
 
 Taking them one at a time or even all of them at 
 once, if desperate occasion demanded, Howerson would 
 have fought the brothers with dramatic heroism, but 
 the ' ' sister ' ' nothing had taught him how to face 
 her fury or to ward off the thrust of her blade. When 
 his strength came back to him he would have run 
 away, trampling down the bargain-counter shoppers, 
 but just at this moment his vision cleared and he saw 
 that the red cap was a hat trimmed in that clamorous 
 color, worn by a meek creature whose gaze had been 
 fastened not upon him but upon a bit of lace hanging in 
 the window. 
 
 "I'd like to make a bet with myself," he mused as 
 he turned away. " I want to bet that I'm not going to 
 be scared again. I'm going to let the past and future 
 take care of themselves; they always have. But we've 
 got to employ a little judgment as we go along, and I 
 believe I 'd be safer at a big hotel. ' ' 
 
 In a tavern where titles trotting about the earth are 
 wont to halt awhile to blow, he inscribed a book. Grimly 
 he smiled as out of smoky memory arose the stenchy 
 lodging house wherein he had reposed his rags upon a 
 slab, his fanatic heart almost beating the Zondish dol 
 lars down into the hard board. " But that was in 
 another life, ages and ages ago," he mused. 
 
 Later, and out on the pavement, he looked at his
 
 ANOTHER MISSION 161 
 
 watch, golden threshing machine of time, as leisurely 
 he walked along. Compared with an electric regulator 
 on a jeweler's wall, it was disposed to thresh too fast. 
 He halted and was setting it when a voice near him 
 called out : 
 
 " Is it possible that this is George Howerson! " 
 
 He started, as if he would leap away from his name, 
 but looked on the dodge, and there stood as ragged a 
 thing as ever caused frightened crow to caw warning to 
 a mate. With yellow whiskers as bushy as the tail of 
 a red fox, the thing yet had the voice of a man. He 
 took off a hat that threatened to shower down in pieces 
 upon the sidewalk, and said: " I've been watching you 
 for several minutes and I didn't think I could be mis 
 taken in that tragedian face. You don't mean to say 
 you've forgotten Yal Watkins." 
 
 Howerson thrust forth his hand. " You don't mean 
 it, Yal. Why" 
 
 " Never mind trying to pump up any unnecessary 
 astonishment, George. No matter what sort of a fix 
 you find a fellow in, you oughtn't to show surprise 
 unless he shows by his air that he wants you to," said 
 the tattered philosopher. " Take me down into that 
 den across the way they '11 let anybody in there and 
 watch me while I devour a few. Do this for old time's 
 sake and then I'll turn you loose. Don't ask me any 
 questions here, for paradoxical as it may seen, I'm 
 hungry." 
 
 Without a word Howerson took him by the arm and 
 led him across the street, down into a "dive" steaming 
 with kraut and stewed tripe. 
 
 " Now sit down, Yal, and tell me all about it." 
 ' Yes, but first regale me with a stein and some of 
 those savory dishes that feed the air. ' '
 
 162 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " You go ahead and order what you want, especially 
 in the line of something to eat. I Ve become leary of the 
 other stuff." 
 
 " All right, but smile your favors on me in the pres 
 ence of the waiter. He takes me for a humorist and 
 might look on my order as an old joke. Thank you, 
 George. One more sunbeam like that and I get every 
 thing on the bill." 
 
 While he was ordering, Howerson sat gazing rem- 
 iniscently upon him, and back to mind he came, a gay 
 comedian, working " stock " at the old Dearborn Street 
 Theatre. The stage may have been his early love but 
 offered not his early occupation, for when Howerson 
 first knew him he was salesman for a cigar house, comic 
 in saloons at night, with " take-off," song and story. 
 Then he sacrificed salary for ambition, out of which 
 course comes the art of the world. But drudgery, 
 rehearsing one play while playing another, with a 
 performance every night and three matinees a week, 
 wore hard on his mind, broke him down and he lost 
 his job. They said it was liquor, and perhaps largely 
 it was. Drudging labor may fail of its purpose when 
 its purpose is to wear one out, while liquor sooner or 
 later attains its aim, as you have often heard tell and 
 as you will continue to hear as long as you live. The 
 moralizing drinker will assure you of this fact, standing 
 at the bar, and you will agree with him as you take your 
 drink. Watkins recovered in a way, and found employ 
 ment together with Howerson in a dramatic company 
 traveling to Loon Lake, Beaver Dam, Hodge Center, 
 Lett's Corners and other seats of tragic art. He was 
 Grave-digger at Elsinore and Cobbler at Rome, and 
 howled with lusty lungs when Howerson Antonied the 
 mob; but at Beaver Dam the ship of drama went to
 
 ANOTHER MISSION 163 
 
 pieces on a rock; and as fruit was ripening in the 
 orchards, the Cobbler and the Antony of this unseason 
 able voyage picked their way back to Chicago. 
 
 Here they took a room, together with an ancient 
 scissors grinder known as Old Luke. Watkins was too 
 much crippled in habits to get back immediately into 
 any abandoned field of trade or of drama, and for a 
 time he let his whiskers grow out and bush at will. In 
 his household they called him " Yellow " then " Yel- 
 ler " and then "Yal." He had a knack of going out 
 and fetching in liquor, bottles with red stars on the 
 outside and long-tailed comets within. It was Old Luke 's 
 habit to get drunk every night, and as it appeared that 
 Yal's whiskers had some relationship with his ability to 
 " fetch," the increasing bushiness of his beard was, 
 looked upon as a hopeful ' ' sign of the times. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Yal ' ' struck a prosperous streak, and rented a room 
 opening into the family homestead; and he could well 
 afford it, being now installed as special agent for the 
 Wolf brand of coffee. After a time he enlarged the scope 
 of his business domain, added Tiger Tea, and one day 
 stepped into the homestead in a garb out-lilying the lily, 
 blushing it into a tulip. He had on white duck trousers, 
 a yellow " wescut " covered with red vines, and a blue 
 broadcloth coat. His beard was trimmed. You could 
 see yourself in his patent leathers, and his gloves smelled 
 like a Vassar commencement. Howerson whistled. The 
 old man looked round, dropped his pipe and sighed, 
 11 Good-bye." 
 
 Yal brought with him a bit of society news. ' ' Gentle 
 men," he said, " I feel that you are more or less 
 interested in my affairs, and I have therefore some 
 thing to impart to you, hoping that you'll pardon me 
 for not having sooner taken you into my confidence.
 
 164 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 Not long ago I met a most charming young woman, at a 
 boarding house where I was received with many marks 
 of favor, especially after I added tea to my repertory. 
 Romantic parents in a short-grass district of Kansas had 
 bestowed upon her the name of Lucile, and she showed 
 me the blue-bound book from which they had labeled a 
 greater poem. She had been a model in the cloak depart 
 ment of a department store, but as it was too conspicuous 
 for her modesty she resigned from the position, and at 
 the time of my introduction to her she was cashier in a 
 cheese house. Long story short, I loved, she loved. Long 
 story shorter, we are now living in a flat over on the 
 West Side." 
 
 ' ' Married ! ' ' groaned old Luke. ' ' You heard me say 
 good-bye, didn't you, Howerson? " 
 
 ' ' Married ? Just a little more of your valuable time, ' ' 
 Yal continued. " Don't believe I ever told you, but a 
 number of years ago I married what I conceived to be as 
 sweet a widow as ever dampened a black veil with her 
 tears. I stand now unshaken in my belief that after 
 this marriage the devil ascended the highest mountain 
 in his extensive territory and laughed to think that 
 in this marriage he had been relieved of the responsi 
 bility of looking after his twin sister. And, long story 
 continuing to be short, I withdrew myself from her 
 presence. Her brother, the devil, objected, and I was 
 not able to get a divorce. To spite me she held me as 
 much as she could by law, and so, legally I am still 
 married to her, but in soul, to Lucile. ' ' 
 
 He retained the room, keeping samples in it, and would 
 drop in every day to speak on the subject of his own 
 happiness. " I have found women in cantos of poetry 
 and chapters of romance," he said, " but none that 
 could light Lucile upstairs. When I used to go home
 
 ANOTHER MISSION 165 
 
 a little late, Elizabeth, my wife-in-law, would raise the 
 roof and let it fall on me. If I said anything, she'd 
 howl; if I didn't, she'd shriek. ButLucile! Let me tell 
 you something: When I go home now I find coffee and 
 slippers waiting and Lucile reciting poetry. Angel, 
 that 's all there is to it ; angel and can 't help it. ' ' 
 
 One day when he came in he tried to look sad but 
 failed. He told them that his wife-in-law was dead. 
 
 " That's worth a bottle," said old Luke. " Go out 
 and get it." 
 
 He did ; he brought a bottle that bore three stars, and 
 with a quart of cream stolen from a hallway they made 
 a milky way, and sang songs, the bereaved sometimes 
 joining in the chorus. 
 
 " Know what I'm going to do? " said Yal. " I am 
 going to marry Lucile. ' ' 
 
 " Good-bye," muttered the old man. 
 
 He married her. Then he gave up his room. . . . 
 One night he came in, tired and woe-worn in look. 
 
 " What's up now? " Howerson inquired. 
 
 " Everything. I can't live with her. As soon as she 
 got the law on me, she "he drooped his way out ; and 
 when he came again he told them that the hussy had run 
 away with a tax assessor. He drooped in a corner like 
 a dog that has been kicked, the spirit gone out of him, 
 and in the dark hours they heard him groan, but in the 
 morning he was not there; nor did the old grinder of 
 scissors ever see him again. Death issued a bench war 
 rant for the ancient philosopher and placed it for ser 
 vice in the hands of pneumonia, one of the most active 
 of deputies. As the poet was unable to keep up so large 
 an establishment, the old homestead was abandoned: 
 rent due, thirty-seven dollars and fifty cents. And now, 
 years afterward, this phonographic record played off as
 
 166 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 Howerson sat there, silent while Yal Watkins sat before 
 him feeding like a wolf. 
 
 ' ' Long time since I saw you, Yal since you disap 
 peared that night." 
 
 " Yep," He foamed his beard from the stein. 
 ''Good while." 
 
 " Did you ever see Lucile again? " 
 
 " Once, not a great while ago. Being the possessor 
 of five pennies I went into a moving picture show to 
 sleep, and I don't know how many performances I must 
 have slept through, when I awoke in the midst of a 
 pathetic scene, where the rich lady gets out of her car 
 riage to bestow a short coin on the heroic tramp who has 
 just jumped off a bridge into a river and saved her 
 beautiful little daughter from drowning. ' This is my 
 time,' I says to myself; and then I whispers to a lady 
 who sat beside me in the tearful twilight: ' Ma'm,' I 
 says, ' I am a poor tramp and I have saved girls from 
 drowning made a business of it. Won't you please 
 give me as much as ten cents, which imperious nature 
 urges me to invest in provender? ' Just then the light 
 leaped up and I recognized Lucile. Pride mastered me, 
 George. You may believe that a man can sink below all 
 pride, but he can 't. No, he has some left no matter how 
 low. So I said ' I beg your pardon, I cannot accept ten 
 cents from you. ' She fidgeted about to let me pass, and 
 I caught a whiff of her unmistakable perfume. That was 
 my last sight of her. . . . Lord, but you are festive. 
 What are you doing now, George ? ' ' 
 
 " Well, I'm not selling family albums." 
 
 " No, nor poetry either, from the looks of those duds. 
 I'm glad to see you doing well, but as for me, I guess 
 I'm down to stay. I used to light on my feet when I 
 fell on one foot anyhow but the last time I hit the
 
 ANOTHER MISSION 167 
 
 ground all over. Don't suppose you ever begged, did 
 you, George? " 
 
 Howerson shuddered. " Gods, no! But there was a 
 time and not so long ago in actual days but centuries in 
 the mind when I was ready for anything suicide, 
 murder. Then Fate 's eye twinkled a change and ' ' 
 
 " Run it down, George. Don't blank verse me; tell 
 me about it. ' ' 
 
 " Not now, Yal. But I'll tell you this, old fellow: 
 You are coming up again. I'm going to help you, and 
 the only way to help a man is to help him to help him 
 self; and a man sometimes succeeds best in a line he 
 happens on by accident, Yal." 
 
 "Some men, maybe so, George; but not me. I have 
 to know something about the works of a scheme before 
 I can do anything with it. I 'm down and out. ' ' 
 
 " Don't you believe it, Yal. Get through with your 
 snack and we'll make something happen." 
 
 Watkins shook his head. " You can come down and 
 talk clod when you try, George, and I appreciate your 
 faith in me, but it 's too late. ' ' 
 
 " No, not too late, Yal. Come with me."
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 A NEW MR. WATKINS 
 
 Tenderer of tread than one who minces merely on his 
 uppers, Watkins limped across the cobbles, holding tight 
 the arm of his friend. In the crowd hardly anything is 
 grotesque, for all you catch of it is a glimpse. But 
 among the leisurely gazers of a village where human 
 oddities laugh at things unseemly to them, what a snicker 
 would have enlivened the scene of a silk hat escorting 
 a bundle of rags ! 
 
 At the portals of a big department store Yal pulled 
 back, saying they would not let him enter, but Hower- 
 son urged him gently on, encouraging him, remembering 
 his own repulse from that great, crowd-swallowing door. 
 Coming without a protector Bags, would have fluttered 
 faster coming out than going in, but now they gave a 
 kindly smile to the protege of millionaire benevolence. 
 And not long afterward, when Howerson and Mr. Wat- 
 kins, Esq., came out of a bath parlor wherein the latter 
 had arrayed himself in shining raiment, the soul-search 
 ing eyes of his faithful dog, had he possessed one, might 
 not have recognized him. With beard trimmed to cav 
 alier point, with modest though fetching necktie, with 
 silk hat flashing in kindred to Howerson 's own, with 
 Easter in his step and a July glow of gratitude in his 
 eye, this man, new without and within, kept glad pace 
 with his old companion, new also in body and in soul. 
 
 ' c Where are you taking me now, George ? ' ' 
 
 "I'm leading you around, to accustom you to the 
 
 168
 
 A NEW MR. WATKINS 169 
 
 altitude. My shoot-up was as sudden as yours, and it 
 almost took my breath. The doctors say it's dangerous." 
 Howerson laughed. " The old scissors grinder would 
 call you a fetcher now, sure enough. Poor old chap 
 never could get together money enough to keep from 
 getting drunk." 
 
 " George, that might sound funny to some folks," 
 said Mr. Watkins; " but you and I know that poverty 
 is more the cause of drunkenness than drunkenness is of 
 poverty. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Yes, we feel it, and it takes strong evidence to prove 
 away a feeling. The spirit of reformation is the spirit 
 of responsibility. When a fellow is too proud to steal 
 we call him honest." 
 
 " That's right. . . . Old Thespian, you've spent 
 about a hundred on me and have given me ten dollars 
 besides. Now what ? What do you ask of me ? ' ' 
 
 " Not to pawn your coat." 
 
 " Same sententious old George. And which means " 
 
 ' ' That you are to go to work. ' ' 
 
 " Watch me, George," and slowly they walked along. 
 Suddenly Yal brought his friend to a halt, pointing to 
 a sign which at night broke out in electric bubbles across 
 the whole front of a building, the name of a cigar, and 
 said: " I used to work for the people who sell that 
 noxious weed, and I believe that if old John Cravier is 
 living and could size me up now, he'd give me a job. 
 Let's go over and see." 
 
 Old John Cravier was living, was at his desk in the 
 office, occupying a chair which during thirty years he 
 had left twice on vacation, once to attend a grand Con 
 clave of Templars in Los Angeles and once to give one 
 hundred and eight dollars for a ten minutes' fight with 
 a Minnesota muskellunge which, owing to the snapping
 
 170 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 of a line, did not now, stuffed and with sharp teeth 
 showing, occupy a place on the old man's wall. He 
 remembered Watkins who foolishly had quit a growing 
 business to chase shadows on the stage. Could it be 
 possible that this was the same Watkins? Yal assured 
 him that it was, and Howerson, who by this time had 
 been introduced, stood up straight and from the depths 
 of his important chest vouched for the fact. 
 
 " After all," said the old man, " there isn't so much 
 of a change in you except that you are well, even a 
 little more dressy than you used to be. And your friend, 
 Mr. urn-urn is he in the cigar business ? Won 't you 
 sit down? " 
 
 They sat down and Mr. ' ' um um ' ' spoke for him 
 self, glancing at his watch. No, just at present he was 
 not in the cigar business, but his friend Watkins thought 
 of reentering that particular branch of trade, after his 
 long vacation abroad. " Mr. Watkins," said the old 
 gentleman, " I think we need you. Call to-morrow at 
 nine o'clock." 
 
 Out in the street again and walking toward Whateley 's 
 office, Howerson said: " How easy it is for the pros 
 perous. ' ' 
 
 ' ' You bet you, ' ' laughed Yal, keeping quick step with 
 him. " It's a dark day when the flash don't fetch 'em. 
 That long vacation abroad was a deadener. Abroad at 
 night without a bed, you must have meant. Virtuous 
 is he who lies for a friend." 
 
 " Yes, Colonel Watkins, and as the poet hath it, or 
 ought to, ' thrice armed is he who finds his lying just.' " 
 
 " Verily, verily. And watch old Yal's smoke. I land 
 back into that business with a whoop." 
 
 " Well," said Howerson, " I must leave you here." 
 He held out his hand. For a moment or two Yal did not
 
 A NEW MR. WATKINS 171 
 
 appear to see it. He stood looking at something far 
 away. " I say I must leave you here." 
 
 Yal turned slowly and took Howerson's hand, looked 
 into his eyes, breathing hard through the nose; and 
 walked off stumblingly, without a word. 
 
 In the anteroom of Whateley's foundry of schemes, 
 Jim, the bouncer, looked up from a pink sporting sheet, 
 dropped it, rolled off his chair and bowed in that 
 restraint which with the powerful of muscle is nearly 
 always graceful. Was Mr. Whateley in? Sure thing. 
 Always in to Mr. Howerson. Step right in. Howerson 
 stepped into the " Swage-room," as a distressed manu 
 facturer in iron had termed it. Whateley looked up, 
 glanced at his watch, nodded toward a chair and said: 
 " The machine will be here in fifteen minutes. Sit 
 down. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Thank you. I can leave for the South this evening, 
 sir." 
 
 The old man looked at him with a nod of appreciation. 
 " No need. Leave to-morrow morning. The attorney 
 for the estate, now on his way from Washington to New 
 Orleans, will meet you at the St. Charles at noon, day 
 after to-morrow. He has full power to close with you, 
 and you with him. ' ' He handed Howerson an envelope. 
 " Your credentials." 
 
 Miss Gwin, stenographer, came in like a whisper, 
 placed letters upon the desk and escaped like a timid 
 sigh. Old Calvin took them up, slowly, one by one. He 
 opened one, two, on up to five, glancing at them and 
 casting them aside ; but one of them he read, smiled over 
 it, and put it into his pocket. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Howerson, if you are ready, we'll go." 
 
 Goggle-eyes, chauffeur, was waiting, grim in the twi 
 light. Life was but a twilight for this spurter through
 
 172 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 dawns, noons and evenings, and devoted to his trade 
 regardless of the master he served, his professional pride 
 was to keep as obscure as possible the number dangling 
 at the tail of his dragon. It seemed that Whateley never 
 spoke to him except under stress, regarding him as the 
 culminating evil of modern rush, different from all other 
 beings, a link between crime and necessity. 
 
 The cold wind had blown away the premature spring. 
 On a half note the deceived robin had hushed his song, 
 and the sparrow, basker in hot dust or in snowdrift, 
 twittered his revengeful delight. 
 
 The old man turned up the collar of his Napoleonic 
 coat and permitted the wind to blow. How many rags 
 that wind fluttered rags of the old man, deplorable ; 
 but the rags of the child, a crime! Against the North 
 Shore sea wall, the waves were booming; to the Poet, 
 music, to the Millionaire, power. 
 
 Whateley spoke : ' ' Little Calvin 's wolf coat came in 
 good time." 
 
 " Yes," Howerson was glad to answer, " he said it 
 was going to turn cold. ' ' 
 
 A chuckle came up out of the collar of the great coat. 
 ' ' He wanted an excuse for wearing it. Ha ! in that lies 
 some of the world's shrewdest prognostications, whims 
 of older children." 
 
 Howerson would have been pleased to speculate with 
 him on this text, but still under the restraint of feeling 
 his way, he said : " I'm. glad to see that you have passed 
 on down to him your own rugged constitution, ' ' and his 
 senses conveyed to his nerves the intelligence that he had 
 made a hit. 
 
 "Ha, I hope so, believe so. As rugged as a cub bear. 
 We may love the weak, sir, but we love and admire the 
 strong. In this we are like Nature herself, only Nature
 
 A NEW ME. WATKINS 173 
 
 jumps on the weak without loving it, while she exults 
 in the strong. As for myself, Mr. Howerson, I've never 
 known a sick day, scarcely a day of weariness. And 
 why ? Not because I stood originally in Nature 's er 
 favoritism, but because I was forced into taking an 
 advantage of her; and she couldn't violate her own law 
 in order to help herself. Early poverty is a pretty 
 shrewd physician and prescribes a diet for health, I 
 tell you. 
 
 " My wife used to say, ' Calvin, you despise this poor 
 fellow because he is weak physically, ' and I used to deny 
 it, but for the most part she spoke the truth. Inclined 
 to be religious, especially of a Sunday morning when 
 the sun seems brighter than on other days, we try 
 to apologize for the truth that nature has hidden within 
 us. I am not much on novels, haven't read many, and 
 largely for the reason that as soon as a man well, 
 say an Englishman or an American soon as he takes 
 up a pen he begins to deplore naturalness in his brother, 
 and sometimes halts his story to er apologize for 
 the fact that he unintentionally became interesting. A 
 fellow with thin wrists and cuffs that rattle when you 
 shake hands with him, is made to represent intellectual 
 strength, and a subdued looking woman with a class- 
 meeting smirk, holds all the virtues of home. But 1 
 speak as a man who is drawn into light reading rather 
 late in life. I suppose, sir, you would regard Thackeray 
 as a novelist of the first class. ' ' 
 
 " One of the greatest artists of fiction," Howerson 
 answered. 
 
 " Ah! That is also my daughter's notion. I confess 
 to slim knowledge on such subjects, and it's rather a 
 queer time to discuss them, here in this wind, but coming 
 out of the office my mind looks about for relief in I
 
 174 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 might say, experimental things. I get more enjoyment 
 out of Mommsen's Rome, but my daughter wanted me to 
 read Thackeray, and I did. Wonderful observation, the 
 sharp side, but it strikes me that he is unnecessarily 
 delayed on his journey. He lets a score of vehicles pass 
 and then prefers to walk. Too slow for me. He does 
 too much fine-spun work between what one character 
 and another one says." 
 
 Howerson was encouraged to speak his mind. " Yet 
 he has a wonderful way of saying things ' ' 
 
 The old man interrupted him with a laugh. " True 
 but you and I, Mr. Howerson, are more concerned 
 with their doing. Not but that you seem to have proved 
 your proficiency in both lines." 
 
 " If I have proved competent, it was you who made 
 me so." 
 
 Whateley laughed again. " I think that in you, Mr. 
 Howerson, I have found a sort of genius. ' ' 
 
 " Or rather a disease, Mr. Whateley, which when 
 cured, may be found not worth the trouble. My hope 
 is that the medicine may not be expensive," and when 
 the old man laughed again as if pleased with his fight 
 against the wind, Howerson was silent. 
 
 The machine halted at the curb in front of the big 
 iron gate. Goggles got out and with a twist snatched 
 the door open, drooping to think that he had crippled 
 no one on the way. The big gate clanged shut. The 
 renegade Agent of Justice had entered the home 
 precincts of the man whose nod meant elation or distress. 
 And how simple it was, after all; and how simple is 
 everything when you are permitted to come up close and 
 look into its countenance ! 
 
 But no reading man could enter old Calvin's library 
 and look about him with the eye of indifference. There
 
 A NEW MR. WATKINS 175 
 
 were books not bound for show, sweet old poems in night 
 caps, and striding tragedies in jack boots. Beneath 
 modest hoods reposed religion, and in confident calf 
 science stood secure. 
 
 For a time the visitor was alone, and then a voice 
 called out: " I hope you haven't forgotten me, Mr. 
 Howerson."
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 THE OLD MAN'S LETTER 
 
 The Poet realized now that Rose Whateley had been 
 visual and spiritual in his mind during all the hour- 
 years of his resurrected life. And as he looked at her 
 he fancied that she illumined the twilight as she came 
 into the room. She held forth her hand, and again he 
 felt her warm and generous grasp, and he knew that 
 here was a woman who could be a friend. There was 
 none of the meaningless laughter of hypocritical 
 courtesy, none of the graceful lowering of conscious 
 dignity, no delicate patronage, but the frankness of a 
 true welcome. She turned away for a moment and 
 pressed a button on the wall near the door and a chan 
 delier threw down its light in weak rivalry of her 
 own, was the Poet's thought. Now laughing, not to 
 make herself more agreeable but because she really was 
 amused, she said that it looked as if business was pre 
 paring for a shady transaction, with the lights so low. 
 " Yes, I mean you," she added, speaking to her father, 
 who at this moment entered the room. He put his arm 
 about her, kissed her, laughing as tenderly and with 
 as simple a resignation under gentle rebuke as if 
 he were old Dr. Primrose himself. Not alone his voice 
 but his countenance bore out this resemblance, for the 
 mask of tragedy had been left at his office, and his eyes 
 were not the eyes that looked down in worry at the 
 letters on his desk. Sometimes care rode his broad 
 shoulders home, into the hallway, the library, to be 
 
 176
 
 THE OLD MAN'S LETTER 177 
 
 shaken off only at the Cabin door, but this was not one 
 of the times. She saw that something had pleased him, 
 something other than material things, and she asked him 
 what it was, hanging persuasively on his arm; and she 
 knew that he would withhold the telling of it, for he 
 always delayed the naming of his cause for pleasant 
 reflection, to tease her. 
 
 How much she looked like him as she stood so near him ; 
 his conquering eyes were her own, had they been softer, 
 and her mouth his, if harder with fight and determina 
 tion. With her strength, her fearlessness and her evi 
 dent persistency in the achievement of an aim, she would 
 have been a troublesome suffragette in the neighborhood 
 of Asquith's house. In her own country she had been 
 urged to lend ' ' her great personality ' ' to the cause. Her 
 brother declared that she encouraged these solicitations 
 for the humor she got out of them, and she was greatly 
 amused ; and when some attenuated spinster had endan 
 gered her robin ankles by walking away, she would 
 convulse old Paul and little Calvin with her mimicry of 
 those petticoated Websters. But to her father she often 
 said, " They are going to conquer, just as the Aboli 
 tionists conquered, by intelligence and persistency." 
 
 " Come now," she said to old Calvin, still hang 
 ing on his arm, ' ' you must tell me. ' ' 
 
 " Tell you what, my dear? " 
 
 ' ' You know. What has brought you such good humor, 
 that's what." 
 
 " Ha, always in good humor," the old man laughed. 
 " Nobody ever saw me out of humor." 
 
 ' ' Then you tell me, Mr. Howerson, ' ' and this appeal, 
 this persuasive melody, tingled the Poet's blood. 
 
 " I don't know, Miss Whateley, unless it was brought 
 about by a letter I saw him smiling over in the office."
 
 178 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 Old Calvin, instead of being displeased with so close 
 an observation of him as he had sat at his desk, laughed 
 louder than ever. " Yes, a letter," he owned. " Won 
 derful news for me. ' ' 
 
 " Give it to me this instant, sir. How dare you have 
 any secrets from me! Give it to me, I say! " He pre 
 tended to pull hard away from her. At this moment 
 old Paul announced : ' ' The Rev. Dr. Henshaw. ' ' 
 
 The doctor entered. He happened to be passing he 
 said, and trusted that his ah dropping in was no 
 intrusion. None at all, he was assured, for Whateley 
 gave him a cordial hand, and Rose gave him the regula 
 tion smile of the church, such as follows the presentation 
 of a pair of homemade slippers ; and for a moment she 
 warmed his cool hand with her own. How glad he was 
 to meet Howerson, when told that the Poet was con 
 nected with Whateley 's great establishment. He reached 
 for Howerson 's hand the second time when fully he had 
 realized the importance of the information. The name 
 seemed familiar to him, old family undoubtedly. He 
 had known a Dr. Howerton, of Dartmouth, most schol 
 arly man. 
 
 " Hower son, and not Hower ton," said Rose, 
 sharing sly merriment with the Poet. 
 
 " Oh, I see; very old Virginia name. Delighted to 
 meet you, sir, I am sure. I have er " 
 
 Here dinner was called and the doctor wheeled about 
 to Whateley with an apology for his thoughtlessness in 
 stopping at such an hour. At heart old Calvin had no 
 more ceremony than had been practiced in his father's 
 home, and he put his hand on the doctor's shoulder. 
 ' ' Come and eat a bite with us. We 're glad to have you, 
 and I am especially so on this occasion. That letter, 
 Rose. Ha!"
 
 THE OLD MAN'S LETTER 179 
 
 Sometimes out of a determination not to be astonished, 
 we hurt our sense of just appreciation ; and after leaving 
 this house the Poet had but a vague impression of some 
 of its ancient art treasures, the bronzes and marbles in 
 the great hallway, the paintings inviting the mind to 
 good cheer, the subdued splendor of the dining room. 
 An erratic architect, an Italian, had in this room repro 
 duced some old memory or indulged a free fancy of his 
 own, no one knew which. His " flight," as an American 
 rival termed it, was admired intrinsically by the average 
 critic until some one wealthy enough and traveled 
 enough to have weight declared it a " Cloister illumin 
 ated," and this, of course, brought about a division of 
 opinion. 
 
 In the dining room the Poet was presented to Dan 
 Whateley and to Harriet, his wife, of note as the mother 
 of little Calvin. The lawyer said that he was pleased 
 to meet Howerson, not suspecting that he was a poet; 
 and Harriet, believing that aestheticism was a nervous 
 synonym for physical weakness, surveying with quiver 
 ing eye the size and evident strength of the visitor, 
 breathed inwardly a hope that she might not regret the 
 meeting. The quality of physical power was a virtue to 
 the son, a vulgarity to the mother; but how fondly she 
 looked upon the Reverend Doctor Henshaw! He made 
 music of her prated ills, listened to her nerves and was 
 charmed with the faint beating of her heart. 
 
 When they all of them were seated, talking while 
 thinking of something to say, the boy bounded into the 
 room, still coated in the hide of the wolf. It had been 
 said that were the old man to dine the country's chief 
 executive, together with his cabinet and the decorated 
 plenipotentiaries of all nations, little Calvin would find 
 a place at the board. He shouted a welcome to Hower-
 
 180 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 son, and with a leap and a laugh, bounded upon his 
 chair next his grandfather, at the head of the table. His 
 mother had been rapt in attention upon the doctor, who 
 was telling her of the distress he had been put to by 
 eating a sausage in Antwerp, and did not for a moment 
 realize the youngster's garb, but when she gathered 
 fully, she cried out : 
 
 " Calvin, take off that hor that hot coat." 
 
 Hot was substituted for horrid out of respect for How- 
 erson, to whom she now turned with a smile somewhat 
 niggard of illumination. But to the boy she repeated 
 her demand, while the old man winked at Rose and How- 
 erson and chuckled. 
 
 " Must I take it off, grandpa? " the boy appealed. 
 
 " Yes," said old Calvin, " better take it off. Don't 
 you think so, Mr. Howerson ? ' ' 
 
 " Let me see," said the Poet. " Why, yes! Old Dick 
 Bluke, the hunter, always took off his wolf coat when he 
 sat down to eat." 
 
 By this time the boy's coat was off, but he hung it on 
 the back of his chair; and now, all threat of a family 
 row having passed, the doctor looked down into his soup 
 and remembered that he had not been called on to ask 
 a blessing. But Whateley was perhaps pardonable, he 
 mused. The spoiled and impudent youngster who ought 
 to be spanked and sent away, was the cause. Harriet was 
 speaking to him and the good man gave her his smiling 
 attention. She was talking about Art in the Vatican. 
 After beholding it in silent wonder one must feel that 
 all the ages had been robbed. Compared with it, think 
 of the poverty of England, of Germany and of even 
 France herself; and as for poor America, a pauper 
 indeed !
 
 THE OLD MAN'S LETTER 181 
 
 Over America the doctor sighed. " Ah, in this 
 country, my dear Mrs. Whateley, we have no autoch 
 thonous art." 
 
 " I hope not," Rose laughed. 
 
 Howerson caught her fun-loving eye, the old man 
 chuckled, Dan haw-hawed, and the impudent boy cried 
 out, " Got his goat, didn't she, grandpa? " 
 
 Wealth does not change human nature. There is more 
 of laughter in a palace than in a hovel, and mischief 
 may be rude anywhere. Whateley 's face grew red with 
 the mirth-blood that flew to his countenance, and slyly 
 with a napkin Howerson dammed up his own laughter. 
 Harriet sat back with a gasp, and Rose turned to the 
 doctor with eyes beseeching his pardon, and said: 
 
 " We are all the subjects of a spoiled little prince, 
 Doctor." 
 
 Henshaw smiled upward, ah-hahed and replied: 
 ' ' Dear, very dear little fellow, light of a devoted house 
 hold." But his heart said, " Pity I couldn't have lived 
 in Scotland two hundred years ago and had him and the 
 rest of you beneath my wing, the little ruffian." Then 
 aloud, " Charming innocence, gamboling on life's 
 doorstep. ' ' 
 
 " Calvin," said the old man, " behave yourself." 
 
 And his mother: " Father, he constantly humiliates 
 us all with his alley and back-lot expressions, and it is 
 high time to take him in hand. Please don't blame me, 
 Dr. Henshaw. He is quite beyond my control, I assure 
 you. The other day when we were getting him ready 
 for Sunday school he cried out that only ' rummies ' went 
 to such places. I ought not to repeat it, but his grand 
 father you know it, Rose, just as well as I do seems 
 to take delight in it. And as for his father ' ' the
 
 182 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 mother sighed, and her husband, disturbed in his medita 
 tions as one might be by the stopping of a clock, looked 
 up and inquired: 
 
 11 What is it, dear? " 
 
 " I say you do nothing to restrain Calvin." 
 
 ' ' Don 't worry about little Calvin, ' ' the old man spoke 
 up. " If there's a boy that's coming out all right, he 
 is the chap. Eh, my son ? ' : 
 
 ' ' You bet I mean yes, sir. ' ' 
 
 " Ah, please note the improvement already, my dear 
 Harriet," the head of the house requested her, and she 
 noted it with a dim smile and a sad shake of the head. 
 
 " I suppose every mother is anxious for her son, if I 
 may be permitted to speak," said the Poet. " On most 
 household subjects I am ignorant, but I know something 
 about boys; and I claim the freedom to say, not only 
 here but everywhere, that I am more indebted to this 
 little fellow than to all the rest of mankind living to-day. 
 It was his faith in me " 
 
 " Why, you astonish me," Harriet put in, not over- 
 pleased at the acknowledgment. 
 
 Howerson bowed to her. ' ' It astonishes me, madam. ' ' 
 
 " You give me a coat that a wolf used to gallop 
 about in and howl when the night was dark ; and a boy 
 that tried to take it away from me would get beaned, 
 wouldn't he, Mr. Howerson? " appealed Calvin, putting 
 his hand back upon the bristles of the wolf. 
 
 "He'd have to fight, I tell you," said the Poet. 
 
 The old man was immensely pleased and upon Hower 
 son he looked with a kindly eye; and Dan came out of 
 one of his legal abstractions to thank the visitor for the 
 interest he felt for " my great little cub," he said, and 
 added: " Ah, and, Mr. Howerson, father tells us that
 
 THE OLD MAN'S LETTER 183 
 
 you accomplished wonders out at Glenwich. You must 
 have had good business training." 
 
 Here the doctor saved Howerson the embarrassment 
 of confessing that he had received no business training, 
 that with him it was all lucky blundering. That wise and 
 experienced man spoke up with the declaration that to 
 achieve ah in no matter what line, we must have 
 been trained. Even piety itself required early training. 
 
 " Even then we don't always make a success of 
 it, ' ' old Calvin declared. ' ' But sometimes, to our great 
 surprise, we succeed in something that we haven't been 
 trained for. And now, Rose, this leads back to the sub 
 ject of why I seemed pleased. 
 
 " About six months ago, over in Michigan, I was 
 invited by a committee of inspection to go out to an 
 asylum for the insane. I don't take much pleasure in 
 going to such places and I would have passed it up but 
 for the fact that the chairman of the committee took 
 such pride in the place ahem together with a busi 
 ness scheme I had on hand with him. So I went along. 
 Lunch was served in a long hall and speeches were made 
 complimentary to the institution and the board of man 
 agement, and then the inspection began. I can stand a 
 great deal of hard work and exposure but I can't stand 
 having things explained to me, with the understanding 
 that praise is to follow; so I got away from the others 
 and started out on an investigation of my own. Out on 
 the lawn beneath a tree sat a most distinguished-looking 
 oldish man, with gold-rimmed glasses and a dignity 
 assorted to fit. I would have passed on, leaving him free 
 to pursue his communion with ' ' 
 
 " Exactly," said Henshaw. " Exactly, sir." 
 
 " With nature," continued Whateley, " but he got
 
 184 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 up, bowed and invited me to sit down. I did so and at 
 once he entered upon easy conversation, enjoyable to me, 
 I assure you; and I soon found that he was a man of 
 remarkable information. Not only this, but he was 
 evidently a scholar, so much so that I reached out, in 
 defense of my own er vanity, and drew him into 
 my own territory, but even here he was equally at home, 
 so, for the most part I sat back and let him talk. In 
 plain words he didn't tell me he was a philanthropist, 
 but from his tone I gathered that he had donated the 
 land for the asylum. His polished observations were so 
 shrewd that I thought he might be a member of the 
 United States Senate; he shifted to theology and I felt 
 that he must adorn some fashionable pulpit ; he got down 
 to farming, down into the subsoil, and I could fancy him 
 stepping out of the furrow into the Agricultural Depart 
 ment of a State University. 
 
 " He was, I thought, about the best balanced man 1 
 had ever met, and when after a time he told me his 
 name I was somewhat astonished that I had never heard 
 of him; and upon introducing myself, I was a little 
 nipped to see that my name was unknown to him. Well, 
 he talked about nearly everything within my range, and 
 getting up to rejoin the committee I shook hands with 
 him. He impressed me so deeply that I spoke to the 
 chairman of the committee, and the superintendent of 
 the asylum, standing near, answered my question. 
 
 " ' Oh, old Jacob Lusk. Yes, very interesting man. 
 He's been here ten years.' ' You mean in this neigh 
 borhood? ' said I, and he smiled and replied: ' In this 
 institution.' ' What,' I cried, ' you don't mean that he 
 is an inmate ! ' And he answered, ' Not only that, but an 
 incurable. ' So, like nearly every person who visits such 
 places, I had been duped. ' I don't think I ever talked
 
 THE OLD MAN'S LETTER 185 
 
 to a more intelligent man, ' I said to the superintendent, 
 and he replied, ' Yes, on all subjects but one. You 
 didn't happen to speak of the world, did you? ' ' No, I 
 believe not.' ' Well, if you had you would have come 
 away with a different opinion.' 
 
 " Now my curiosity was aroused sure enough. So 
 while the committee was busy inspecting the water 
 supply, I slipped back to the tree where on the bench 
 still sat Jacob Lusk. He smiled pleasantly and motioned 
 rue to sit down. I did so, and began to talk about the 
 swiftness of life as compared with years ago, and quietly 
 he nodded his agreement to all I said; but when I 
 remarked, ' This is a queer old world,' he jumped to 
 his feet. 
 
 "'This world!' he exclaimed; 'yes, I made it, 
 created it. Let me tell you: Millions of ages ago, I 
 stood with one foot in a mist and the other foot in the 
 black bosom of nothing, infinite space between them. 
 Suddenly I found between the thumb and index finger 
 of my right hand a grain of sand. For millions and 
 millions of years I had stood there, and never before had 
 I felt that grain of sand. It was interesting, this speck 
 of substance in a universe of nothing, and I began to 
 roll it about as you have seen men roll a bread pill after 
 dinner. Suddenly I was surprised to find that it was 
 growing larger and larger large as a hazelnut, a ball, 
 orange, cocoanut gods, a barrel ! But now I was whirl 
 ing it over and over, with both hands. Soon it was as 
 big as a house, and instead of my whirling it, it began to 
 whirl me. All this time it was getting bigger and bigger, 
 till at length I could walk upon it ; and gradually I lost 
 the sense of its swift motion. And, what was this! I 
 was getting smaller and smaller, and what had been 
 centuries, now become as minutes. I saw this great ball
 
 186 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 crack and an ocean of water surge into the crevice; I 
 felt a mighty shudder, and mountains rose up. Then 
 came trees, grass, the earth as it is now. And here I 
 stand, its creator, without credit for the mighty work 
 its creator who made it out of nothing ! ' 
 
 " ' No, not out of nothing,' I said, humoring him, 
 ' but out of a grain of sand. And let me ask you : "Where 
 did you get that grain of sand ? Who made it ? ' 
 
 " He looked at me I never before saw such an 
 expression of countenance looked at me and turning, 
 ran away, shouting: ' Who made the grain of sand 
 where did I get it! God, where did I get the grain of 
 sand! ' 
 
 " And now," continued old Calvin, " I get this letter 
 from the superintendent of the asylum." Then, taking 
 the letter from his pocket he read : 
 
 " ' My Dear Mr. Whateley: I suppose you remember 
 Jacob Lusk who thought he made the earth, and I know 
 that it would be pretty hard for me to forget the expres 
 sion of his countenance as he came running past me, 
 crying out, ' Where did I get that grain of sand ! ' You 
 told me that you just happened to ask him the question ; 
 but do you know what so simple a thing as the asking of 
 that question did ? It set him to thinking, took his mind 
 off himself and set it to speculating as to who made the 
 grain of sand, started the flow of stagnant blood, as it 
 were, and now he is completely cured, as sane a man as 
 you ever saw. He has returned to his home near Detroit, 
 and has again taken up the work that fell out of his 
 hands so many years ago, that of librarian. He cannot 
 recall who asked him the question, and importuned me 
 to tell him, but knowing that you did not care to bother 
 with the matter, I withheld it. I write this only to empha-
 
 THE OLD MAN'S LETTER 187 
 
 size an old truth how wonderful may be the ultimate 
 result of a simple cause. ' 
 
 " Bother with it? " commented Whateley before any 
 one had found aught to say. " Why it is a delight to 
 me to think of it ; and I am going to send that old gentle 
 man a check. ' ' 
 
 Rose cried out that he was the dearest and kindest 
 hearted of all men, so little she knew that Miss Gwin's 
 mother was weeping because the tender-hearted man was 
 fighting the verdict awarding her five thousand dollars 
 for the slaughter of her husband. Dan paid but little 
 heed, no question of law or politics arising ; but Hower- 
 son was aroused, showed it in his countenance, in his 
 voice when he spoke: " A soul poem," he said; " an 
 inspiration to revoke the order of tragedy, for what is 
 more tragic than a mind struggling to shift the weight 
 of a darkening blight ! Science is getting at the machine, 
 man ; but how far we are yet from an understanding of 
 man, the mind a creating creation, experimenting 
 universe, banished by self worry, poisoned like the snake 
 that bites itself, and cured with a spiritual balm, a 
 word." 
 
 " I pass," said Dan. 
 
 Dr. Henshaw did not quite gather ahem fully the 
 meaning of Mr. Howerson. Evidently, however, he made 
 a great mystery of the mind, and well enough, it was 
 true. " But man was created in the image of his Make? 
 and therefore er his mind, with all of its mystery, :3 
 explained. But your experience was quite remarkable, 
 Mr. Whateley very remarkable, I assure you. I have 
 had to deal with cases, well, not wholly but almost sim 
 ilar. It is not the I might say not the province of 
 science to reach the mind ; that blessed mission is reserved
 
 188 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 for religion. Oh, no, I have eaten sufficiently, thank you. 
 I find that as we grow older we ought to eat less, an 
 example set by Louis Canario, was it ? Famous 
 Italian who ate oftener and less as he grew older, and 
 in consequence lived to be a hundred and three, writing 
 at ninety-five an essay that found favor with Montaigne. 
 But as I was going to say " 
 
 " Beg your pardon," Rose in mischief interposed, 
 ' ' but was it science or religion that enabled him to write 
 essays at ninety-five? Didn't you say something about 
 his diet? " 
 
 " Ah, possibly assuredly. But it was the religious 
 health of his mind that prompted him to er devise 
 a salutary diet. Now then, as to the interesting case just 
 related by you, my dear Mr. Whateley ! Your question 
 concerning the grain of sand was not idly casual on your 
 part, but was a true psychologic incentive." 
 
 11 I pass," said Dan, and his wife looked at him with 
 rebuke in her eyes. Her nurtured anemia loved the talk 
 that savored of books, and nothing could be more 
 unsorted than her husband's criminal docket attempt 
 at humor; so she looked at him but caught not his 
 experienced eye. Then, upon Howerson, she bestowed 
 the grace of a rare smile. She had scented mystery in 
 what he had tried to say, and from this time forward was 
 likely to be more or less interested in him. He was not 
 so vulgar as his size had declared. Howerson felt that 
 he had cracked her thin ice, for he addressed a remark 
 to her and was rewarded with a gracious answer. Rose, 
 who had missed nothing of this peace treaty, looked on 
 with favor ; and the old man, catching the spirit of Har 
 riet's surrender, no doubt credited his new assistant with 
 an achievement superior to his Glenwich conquest. Dur 
 ing all this time the boy had kept quiet, but now he
 
 THE OLD MAN'S LETTER 189 
 
 wanted to know all about the grain of sand in the funny 
 old man's eye. 
 
 " Dear inquiring little fellow," said the doctor, 
 ' ' catching at the dripping cup of truth ! It was not in 
 his eye er, what is his name ? Ah, Calvin. Not in his 
 eye, Calvin, but between his fingers so! " The wise 
 man caught up a crumb of bread and between thumb 
 and finger pilled it in illustration. 
 
 " But it didn't hurt him, did it? " Calvin persisted. 
 
 " Oh, no, no, not at all." 
 
 "Then what made him run away, crying? " 
 
 " My dear Doctor," said Harriet, " please don't pay 
 any attention to him." 
 
 " Oh, yes, yes; it is a pleasure I assure you. He 
 didn't know where the sand came from, my little man; 
 he" 
 
 ' ' Got it out of his shoe, ' ' cried the boy, dismissing the 
 doctor and turning to Howerson, his hero; and the 
 doctor was glad enough to escape. 
 
 Then followed the congenial talk of better acquaint 
 ance. Rose, Harriet and Howerson talked not of the 
 theatre but of great drama, which neither of them would 
 have gone to see, and they wondered why there were no 
 real plays now, such as illumined a ruder age. Hower 
 son knew why, but did not explain. His experience 
 taught him that the public had conspired to head off 
 actors who bore the dangerous threat of future greatness. 
 
 At a length to him most charming, Miss Whateley dwelt 
 upon their meeting in her father 's office, their talk on the 
 effect of clothes. With little Calvin keen to do him 
 honor, and knowing that the old man looked on him in 
 faith, Howerson had been proud but for the secret rat 
 gnawing at his heart. Sometimes it would run away 
 as if frightened, only to return, to listen and to gnaw.
 
 190 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 Sometimes he fancied that he could hear it, felt that 
 when someone laughed it was still for a moment, scared, 
 but quickly returned to its work. " One of these days 
 I must open my bosom and let it out," he mused.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 THE AMUSING FOLLIES OF LIFE 
 
 Henshaw said that as the gentlemen doubtless were 
 going to withdraw themselves to the library to smoke, 
 he would ah virtue himself with the society of the 
 ladies. The gentlemen raised no protest, granting to 
 the church its inherited privilege of avoiding men on 
 account of the things that men do. But Rose demurred 
 with a laugh. " Not against your flattering preference, 
 Doctor, ' ' she said, ' ' but because we rebel against banish 
 ment. ' ' 
 
 The doctor said that he was pleased to know that the 
 ladies were ah so indulgent as to put up with 
 tobacco smoke. It was great liberality, he was sure. 
 Such was the charm of woman, her patience and her 
 ultimate power for good. Before his dear wife had 
 passed on to her reward, had he smoked, she would have 
 lighted his pipe for him. " Of course such a question 
 never arose, my dear Miss Whateley surely not ; but 
 I am certain she would, for her life was one continuous 
 sacrifice. But she had to go ; and I was not with her to 
 soothe her last moments, being abroad at the time on my 
 first European tour. Ahem." 
 
 Old Calvin winked at his daughter. He had crushed 
 the commercial life out of men, had made the coun 
 tenance of a rival corporation grin in yellow agony, but 
 he could not make harmony of the preacher's religion 
 and his selfishness. In the library he brought forth a 
 box of cigars such as toughened students burn to smoke 
 
 191
 
 192 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 out a mamma pet, fresh veal from the pasture. He knew 
 that Rose was proof against their strength; she had 
 lighted them for him; knew that Dan had cured Har 
 riet like a ham. The doctor avowed that a good cigar 
 did not distress him. He had known a bishop of the 
 Church of England who smoked while composing his 
 sermons; and Whateley declaring that he was glad to 
 know it, emitted smoke like a tar kiln of his native 
 commonwealth. The doctor coughed and Rose raised a 
 window. 
 
 Old Calvin grew genial, talked about the amusing 
 follies of life. On the subject of distresses he could 
 have given expert testimony. Henshaw, having chame- 
 leoned his color from society, reflected no hue with which 
 Whateley was familiar. The experiences of the 
 preacher were not interesting to the man of the world, 
 but every phase of Whateley 's life held interest for the 
 preacher: Whateley could build churches. Dan smoked 
 with his eyes half shut, dreaming of political leader 
 ship. When he was too sluggish to think, he dreamed. 
 His mind was not vivid enough to project a vision. The 
 boy sat on Howerson's knee and was quiet. His mind 
 was a cinematograph of pictures. Old Whateley still 
 saw visions and the soul of them was little Calvin. The 
 poet's conquest of this boy meant much. The preacher 
 was shrewd enough to see it, and warmed toward Hower- 
 son. 
 
 " It is, I might say, a little singular that I have not 
 met you before this, Mr. Howerson," he said. " But 
 I suppose you are a very busy man ; assuredly so. ' ' 
 
 " Well, of late I have been rather active." 
 
 " He can jump fu'ther than you can," cried the boy. 
 
 " Ah, I shouldn't wonder, my dear little man. My 
 jumping days are over. I should be much pleased to
 
 THE AMUSING FOLLIES OF LIFE 190 
 
 see you at my church, Mr. Howerson. Miss Whateley, 
 who is kind enough to take an interest in our affairs, 
 would no doubt show you the way. Next Sunday I am 
 to preach on ' The Modern Jew in Business. ' : 
 
 Howerson said that it would be pretty hard to find the 
 modern Jew not in business. He was waiting for Rose 's 
 offer to show him the way to the church door, and with 
 a kindly smile the offer came. Howerson thanked her 
 and then turned to Dr. Henshaw. " I should like to 
 hear your sermon on a subject so interesting, but I shall 
 leave the city early to-morrow morning. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Ah, too bad, ' ' said the doctor. ' ' May I expect you, 
 my very dear Mr. Whateley? " 
 
 The old man did not knock the leaves off the bush 
 with beating about it. " Hardly. The fact is I know 
 too much of the modern Jew in business already. I 
 have met the gentleman ; and I have had to set the alarm 
 clock in order to get there first. Ha, but when you find 
 out anything new about religion or even the church, let 
 me know and I'll be there." 
 
 " My very dear Mr. Whateley," said the doctor, " all 
 truths are as old as the universe, as the grain of sand 
 that the crazy man found between his fingers. But we 
 come upon new applications, and out of them come prog 
 ress and reformation. Ah, thank you." This was 
 addressed to Harriet who had raised the window higher. 
 She said that the smoke was thick enough to cut, and old 
 Calvin cut it with a gesture to remark : 
 
 " All of which is true, Doctor. Don't mistake me for 
 a critic. When a man appears to know his own game, 
 and he ought to, I acknowledge it ; I don 't play against 
 him. I don't care what a man thinks on subjects that 
 are beyond me. I grant him full scope and tell him to 
 make the best of it. It's what a man does that stirs up
 
 194 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 my interest. Somebody said that a man can't violate 
 his nature, no matter what he says that he thinks, and 
 in the main ' ' 
 
 11 You mean ' for the most part,' ' Rose laughed, 
 harping on one of his accustomed expressions. 
 
 He nodded. ' ' And for the most part this may be true, 
 but a man is often stimulated by a sudden whim to act 
 in a manner contrary to his recognized nature, do some 
 thing in a second and regret it all his life." 
 
 The doctor smiled. On his part a smile was set up 
 as evidence that he was not quite astonished but was 
 prepared to be at any moment. " Very, very true, Mr. 
 Whateley, but is it not consistent with ah certain 
 natures to be given over to sudden whims ? Society 
 
 " Society is something I know but little about," 
 Whateley cut in Math his sickle, accepting the word in 
 its narrowest meaning. " I know what it is for a man 
 to stand in his reception room and smile into coun 
 tenances he has a contempt for, to smile down his 
 ignorance of books that he never read, and to compli 
 ment an agony tortured out of a piano harmless enough 
 if let alone. Don't mistake me by believing that I dis 
 like company, for I don't. I like to have the neighbors 
 drop in, those not pretentiously rich, especially; for, to 
 tell you a truth that may seem a little queer, I don't 
 feel at ease among what you might call the high-flyers. 
 The days of my own poverty, though a long time ago, 
 are still too fresh in my mind. I know that men who 
 by their own shrewdness acquire great wealth are for 
 the most part snobbish, but I can't be one of them. To 
 make this confession perfectly free, and you know, Mr. 
 Howerson, we all sooner or later have to make confession 
 of ourselves let me declare myself a democrat, paying 
 tribute to no aristocracy except the aristocracy of the
 
 THE AMUSING FOLLIES OF LIFE 195 
 
 mind. I don't mean to education, for that may mean 
 industry and opportunity, but the mind which without 
 opportunity, creates. I don't know what your chances 
 have been in the past, Mr. Howerson, but out at Glen- 
 wich, sir, you created something out of almost nothing. ' ' 
 
 " Do tell us your side of the story," Rose cried out, 
 and the doctor smiled and was sure that it would be most 
 interesting. The boy looked up into the Poet's face. 
 " Tell 'em how you bought my coat," he said. Dan 
 was half asleep, his cigar between his fingers. Harriet 
 pretended to be interested, but her secret desire was that 
 the others might give her an opportunity to tell the 
 doctor that she had not eaten a sausage at Antwerp, but 
 that if she had it would not have agreed with her. 
 
 With his arms about little Calvin, Howerson drew him 
 close as he bent over him. Something that old Calvin 
 had said ploughed deep in his mind. It was not the 
 generous reference to his Glenwich work ; it was, ' ' We 
 all sooner or later have to make confession of ourselves. ' ' 
 They all of them were looking at him, waiting. Dan 
 had opened his eyes. 
 
 " Let my Glenwich work be passed over lightly, as it 
 deserves to be," he said. " Whatever it was, much or 
 little, it was due to this little fellow's faith in me. He 
 found me a failure and left me worthy of confidence. 
 I was a grain of sand, not between the thumb and finger 
 of a man whose mind was gasping for life, but between 
 those blessed little hands, and he rolled me into a uni 
 verse of gratitude." 
 
 ' You astonish me, ' ' Henshaw exclaimed, and in truth. 
 Rose leaned toward the Poet, and upon him old Calvin 
 turned an interested eye. 
 
 " Go on, Mr. Howerson," he said. 
 
 The eyes of the young woman gazed upon him with
 
 196 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 too much sympathy. He had been led into saying too 
 much. The time was yet too green. But it was difficult 
 to shift his ground ; it threatened to cave in. ' ' Tell on, 
 Mr. Howerson, ' ' commanded the boy. 
 y " Faith is the sire of inspiration, " he began, " scor 
 ing " for a start. " Calvin said, ' You can trust Mr. 
 Howerson, can't you, grandpa? ' and from that moment 
 I could safely have been trusted with a million dollars. 
 Faith inspired me to succeed. ... I cannot hope 
 now to make myself understood, but you will understand 
 when there comes that time for free confession. Miss 
 Whateley, it may interest you, and perhaps let me down 
 a little in your opinion, to know that I was one of the 
 worst actors that ever helped to improvise a stage out 
 of a horse trough and a barn door. Hugo says that 
 destiny is approached by crossroads, but it seemed to 
 have been demanded of me that I should scale fences 
 and tear my way through briar patches. My chart led 
 me through bogs, into the home of the Jack-o-Lantern. 
 The letters on my banner spelled ' Disaster.' But Cal 
 vin rubbed out ' Disaster ' and wrote ' Achievement.' 
 Didn't you, Calvin? " 
 
 " You bet. And you said you'd take me fishing and 
 you will, won't you? " 
 
 " Yes, unless they pump all the water out of the 
 rivers, and when they do that, we'll wander along the 
 sandy beds and pick up shells." 
 
 Calvin clapped his hands. " Pete, the boy in our 
 alley, found a shell and sailed it way over, and he said 
 he'd bet it would hit a policeman." 
 
 " I don't know much about the actor's trade, Mr. 
 Howerson, ' ', Whateley said, ' ' and know nothing about 
 the actor himself, but if many of them could learn to win 
 the immediate confidence and admiration of so shrewd a
 
 THE AMUSING FOLLIES OF LIFE 197 
 
 little audience as Calvin, I would advise the average 
 young man to make a study of the profession. I am free 
 to say that I did not inherit the Puritan's prejudice 
 against the actor. I read somewhere that at one time 
 in London it was quite a festival of the church to tie 
 him to the tail-end of a cart and whip him up the hill. 
 Good exercise for over-fed deacons, I should think, eh, 
 Doctor? I suppose my prejudice was reserved for the 
 fiddler, a man almost beyond the law's protection in my 
 old State of North Carolina. Only between religious 
 revivals was he looked on as a man at all, for then he 
 was needed to fiddle at dances when ' Amazing Grace ' 
 was lost to the tune of ' Old Bob Ridley. ' The drama is 
 older than the Jews and their religion. Am I not right, 
 Dr. Henshaw? " 
 
 The doctor began to ahem and old Calvin continued: 
 " But no matter. On more than one occasion Edwin 
 Booth stirred my very soul, and if that wasn't greatness, 
 then there was nothing great in Calhoun or Henry Clay. 
 Ha, I recall when Henry Irving first came to this town, 
 quite a while before he was er sirred. A wealthy 
 extractor of cold cream from rancid fat insisted upon 
 giving him a reception, and it was amusing afterward 
 to hear that he had taken that cultivated gentleman up 
 into ' our set.' ' 
 
 Henshaw was twitching to say something, evidently to 
 Howerson and Whateley combined, but the Poet was 
 listening to Miss Whateley. She said that it must have 
 been fun, sleeping under hedges after the manner of 
 immortal tinkers. If she had been a man, she said, and 
 not provided for, she might have been in olden days a 
 minstrel, but now a tramp, she feared. Her blood was 
 strong like her sinews, her nerves; noting her strength, 
 all must have felt that she spoke the truth of her feelings.
 
 198 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 How those eyes could have flared a passion ! Howerson 
 withdrew his eyes from her, tore them away, he felt; 
 and gave them to the doctor, ashened of their fire. 
 
 The minister was twitching to talk, and bored Harriet 
 was itching to hear him. For her the conversation had 
 been of so low a mental tone that her mind could scarcely 
 hear it. She had stolen the luxury of more than one 
 yawn. Howerson must improve or she could not grant 
 him the brimming measure of her patronage. He might 
 be intellectual but surely he was not thoroughly well 
 bred. He had given her no opportunity to tell him 
 about her ill health, how rare it was that she got three 
 hours' sleep. And as for her poor little appetite but 
 the doctor had begun to speak. 
 
 " My very dear Mr. Whateley, far be it from me to 
 take you to task for your I shall not say defense, but 
 for your palliation of that mimicry termed an art 
 begging your pardon, Mr. Howerson. Ahem! Nor is 
 it for me to take issue with you for your pleasantry at 
 the expense of a compounder or extractor of that neces 
 sary article, cold cream. But we must not forget, even 
 in the indulgence of our native humor, that America, 
 more than a democracy, is an industry, a trade, so to 
 speak. And if in any manner, in jest or otherwise, we 
 convey to the young the impression that we place a ques 
 tionable accomplishment above a necessary and creative 
 productiveness, we have borne, as it were, false witness 
 against the spirit of our country." 
 
 Whateley nodded, waiting for him to proceed. Har 
 riet, thankful that cold cream rather than fish had been 
 brought forth, looked upon the doctor as true champion 
 of American gentility, and smiled. Rose made a quick 
 swap of sly fun with Howerson ; and Henshaw, encour 
 aged by his own frankness, warmed toward greater
 
 THE AMUSING FOLLIES OF LIFE 199 
 
 liberty. " Of course you do not mean it, my very dear 
 Mr. Whateley, but those less acquainted with your nature 
 ahem and your business activity, would suppose 
 that you I might say sneer at certain honest occu 
 pations. Understand me, I do not mean ' ' 
 
 ' ' I think I understand, ' ' Whateley cut him off. ' ' And 
 I don 't know but you are right. It is not in me to sneer 
 at a man who earns a dollar. Ha, there are eminent 
 citizens who would like the opportunity to swear that 
 I am none too particular as to how I get a dollar myself. 
 But this is what I do sneer at, Doctor: the snobbery of 
 men who get money, by science, art, labor, commerce or 
 theft." 
 
 At the word theft the doctor raised his reverent eyes. 
 Old Calvin continued. " It may be what some snobs 
 might call un-American, but I confess respect for inher 
 ited money. It shows that there has been thrift in the 
 family, and though our hypocrisy may disclaim it, thrift 
 is the cornerstone of all the virtues." 
 
 Hereupon the doctor granted unto himself the luxury 
 of a shock. Howerson looked on and mused, ' ' Our char 
 acters are unfolding toward the plot, whatever it may 
 be." 
 
 Silent Dan, having figured out a future majority, made 
 excuse of papers waiting his examination, shook good 
 night with the two guests and withdrew, one character 
 of whom not much could be expected, Howerson thought. 
 Freed from the trammel of one unsympathetic ear, as 
 thinking woman often is when her husband quits the 
 scene, Harriet smoothed out the doctor 's crimps, received 
 anew the history of the Antwerp enemy, and accepted 
 thankfully for good measure the learned man's recital 
 of a hip-wrench in Liverpool, occasioned by kicking at 
 a vicious dog. Whateley joined in with the contribution
 
 200 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 of a rheumatic twinge, and when the doctor arose to 
 take his leave, he taxed his memory to bring back an 
 evening spent in more profit and enjoyment. 
 
 When he was gone out into the hall, Harriet following 
 him to the front door, little Calvin ran over to his 
 grandfather and whispered to him. The old man 
 changed countenance, coughed. The boy said, " Please, 
 grandpa," and the old man took him upon his knee, 
 pressed his face close against the little wooer's curly 
 head and replied, " Yes, my son, it shall be so. Rose, 
 my dear, he wants you and Mr. Howerson to go with 
 us into the Cabin. Ah, Mr. Howerson, let me explain." 
 
 Then he gave briefly the story of his sanctuary, and 
 simple it was, as if the boy himself had told it. Enrap 
 tured with this new phase of Whateley 's character, How 
 erson listened to the poem of the old log cabin in the 
 pine woods. He could hear the hum of the spinning 
 wheel, hear the low murmur of the fire, see the boy 
 gazing into it. He heard the wind moan in the forest, 
 the clatter of the cavalry down the road, the cry of the 
 night hawk. The picture of an old man and an old 
 woman arose in his wind, as strong as a reality ; and he 
 heard the old woman pray when the old man had covered 
 the fire and gone to bed. 
 
 Howerson looked at Rose, and her eyes were glowing ; 
 he looked at old Calvin, and his eyes were shut. And 
 when the tyrant got up to speak to old Paul about the 
 fire in the Cabin, the young woman said in low tones as 
 sweet as a melody half hushed to let us dream : ' ' You 
 can see how sacred it is to him, Mr. Howerson. And you 
 are the first one outside the family who has ever been 
 invited to cross the threshold. ' '
 
 CHAPTER 
 ON THE REAL STAGE 
 
 The soul of the Poet was touched with the spirit of 
 reverence. Into the old log cabin he entered as one 
 who has shaken off his sandals at the door of the temple. 
 He had seen the old man's character change its hue as 
 the sward is changed by shifting shadows. Now it was 
 illumined. Falling upon his countenance, the light from 
 the blazing logs seemed softer. On the wall in a corner, 
 the scoured pots and pans were gleaming. The white 
 pine floor was creamed with age. And what could it be 
 that so perfumed the air ? Was it incense of the virgin 
 woods, or was it that the Poet caught the sweet, rem 
 iniscent smell of poetry, Ben Jonson's " nard in the 
 fire"? 
 
 The savant who said " The drama would be great if 
 there were no actors," could not have had in mind such 
 actors as were come together on this stage of real play. 
 Master by indulgence elsewhere, the boy was master here 
 by right, by imagination, the genius of youth. " What 
 is your boy name? " he asked of Howerson. 
 
 " George." 
 
 " And grandpa's name is Big Calvin, and I'm Little 
 Calvin, and Aunt Rose's name is Eose. Call her Rose, 
 George." 
 
 George looked at her as she sat simple and radiant by 
 the hearth, and called her ' ' Rose, ' ' and she laughed, true 
 comedienne of the play ; and the ' * nard in the fire ' ' 
 
 201
 
 202 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 sputtered its sweetness on the air. The old man was as 
 much a child as the boy, for the Cabin was not a make- 
 believe but a real past ; and as all poets are of the long 
 ago, Howerson helped the illusion; and Big Calvin put 
 his hand on George's knee, and laughed with him. 
 
 Now afar off the long roll was beating, and they knew 
 that out in the dark the soldiers startled from sleep were 
 leaping to arms. ' ' The bugle ! ' ' cried the boy. ' ' The 
 cavalry is coming! "' Down the road the horsemen sped, 
 cutting the air with strips of moonlight, their sabers. 
 
 They halted and some of them came and knocked on 
 the door, to search the house ; and George met the captain 
 and assured him that no enemy was there. " No one 
 here but just us children," he said; and the cavalry 
 swept on, and the children laughed, for they knew that 
 over in the corner behind the spinning wheel, a Con 
 federate officer was hiding. He was grateful to them 
 for this protection, and when they let him out at the 
 door he called on the Lord to bless them. 
 
 At the whim of the boy, when one play was ended 
 another was begun, and in the speeches where exactness 
 was to be most observed, he told each one what to say. 
 The humorous lines he gave out with solemn brow, but 
 when pronounced after him and in appropriate place, he 
 would laugh and clap his hands, truest of all inspira 
 tion, unconscious of itself. And when the plays were 
 played, they told tales. The boy would not let them 
 say " stories " for story meant a thing not true. So 
 they told tales while Big Calvin was busy with an ash- 
 cake. The Poet told the story of a boy about the age 
 of Little Calvin, who killed the wolf whose skin was now 
 on Little Calvin's back. This was a delightful tale and 
 the poet had to tell it twice ; and then Rose began about a 
 little girl, but the boy did not want it.
 
 ON THE REAL STAGE 203 
 
 " Oh," she said, " but this is about a little girl that 
 was saved from the wolves by a little boy. ' ' 
 
 " Well tell it, but make the girl part short," he com 
 manded, and Big Calvin turned from his bread-baking 
 to look up with a smile. 
 
 ' ' ' Cause if you don 't, ' ' the boy went on, ' ' Pete in 
 the alley won't like it when I tell it to him. He don't 
 like girls; he calls 'em mutts." 
 
 " But you like nice little girls, don't you? " Rose 
 asked of him and he shook his head. " No, not the nice 
 ones, for they are afraid of the dirt. A girl named Kit 
 used to come into our alley, long time ago and rassled 
 with me and Pete, and she was strong and we liked her, 
 for she wasn't afraid of dirt and laughed at mud, and 
 she called Pete a liar just like a boy would; and once 
 she hit him in the nose and when he boxed her jaws she 
 didn't cry. She was good, you bet, but they ruint her." 
 
 Ruined her! This was getting to be serious, threat 
 ening, in fact, and with an idle remark which seemed 
 to smother the sweetness of the " nard in the in fire," a 
 change of subject was essayed. George spoke of another 
 wolf, but a wolf dragged in is not a good wolf, and the 
 boy would have none of him. Big Calvin was wiser, 
 had more confidence in the morals of the alley, and he 
 looked up and inquired, " How did they ruin her? " 
 
 And the boy answered: " Why, somebody gave her 
 some clean dresses, a pink one and a blue one, and 
 then she was afraid of the dirt and turned up her nose 
 at us and called us horrid, and went over in a lot to 
 play with a boy that had on a pink sash like her dress ; 
 and Pete said he could whip that boy, and he did ; and 
 I could 'er whipped him too, but I wouldn't whip a boy 
 that had just been whipped. Would you, George? " 
 
 George said he would not, and Big Calvin shook his
 
 204 THE NEW ME. HOWERSON 
 
 head and declared that none but a coward would do 
 such a thing. " Eh, what is it? " he inquired of old 
 Paul who, having entered unperceived, was now standing 
 on the edge of the hearth. 
 
 " You must pardon me, sir, but I couldn't get out of 
 it. He said it was so important he must see you, sir 
 as much as swore he would camp here till you came back. 
 I don't think I go too far in saying that camp was his 
 very word, sir ; but I tried my best to put him out, with 
 words, for you must know that I am an old man, having 
 been forced out of the wheat pit and then back from 
 the curb years ago. He ' ' 
 
 The character of Big Calvin fell off like a cloak, and 
 Whateley stood there, dazing with fearful eye the old 
 butler's countenance. 
 
 ' ' What what the devil do you mean ? You slob 
 bering old idiot, haven't I told you a hundred times 
 that you are never to interrupt me here with anything 
 from the outside? Out with you! " 
 
 " Oh, no, father," Rose protested, and she stood up 
 close against old Whateley old Whateley now sure 
 enough. She took his arm and put it about her neck, 
 like a boa. " Be patient, father. His offense is great, 
 but he is old. Hear what he has to say. What is it, 
 Paul? " 
 
 " You see, Miss Rose, and you, Mr. Whateley, I 
 couldn't help myself, for he walked right by me into 
 the library. He said they were fighting at the coal mines 
 in Missouri five men shot to-day. He is a newspaper 
 reporter " 
 
 " Go and tell him it's none of his infernal business. 
 Out with you." 
 
 " Ah, wait a moment, if you please, Mr. Whateley. 
 Let me see him," Howerson requested.
 
 ON THE REAL STAGE 205 
 
 ' ' Yes yes, I thank you. I leave it to you yes. 
 You will know what to say. Yes." 
 
 Rose took her arm from about her father's neck. " I 
 am going too, ' ' she said. ' ' We will make I was going 
 to say, a lark of it, George ' ' 
 
 His name on her lips, not in play, thrilled him. " I 
 beg your pardon Mr. Howerson. But come on. I am 
 going with you. I might make it easier." 
 
 " You will make it delightful," he replied. 
 
 A young man wearing rimless glasses and with a uni 
 versity countenance, walked slowly about in the library, 
 halting to look at the title of a book, glancing at his 
 watch, listening. It has been charged that the university- 
 ite does not do well except along lines strictly profes 
 sional, that the refinement of the classics robs one of a 
 persistent force thought to be inherently American. Old 
 Horace Greeley believed that the best reporters came 
 up with haphazard reading from the street, but the 
 " push " of to-day's college output might cause old 
 Horace to change his view. 
 
 The reporter turned about, bowed, and sat down when 
 Howerson gestured toward a chair. He looked at Rose, 
 at Howerson, both of whom had sat down for a visit. 
 
 ' ' I beg your pardon, but I wish to see Mr. Whateley. ' ' 
 
 " Yes," said Howerson, " so we learned from the but 
 ler. But Mr. Whateley is not in town. He is at this 
 moment in North Carolina." 
 
 " Why, the butler at first denied and then acknowl 
 edged that Mr. Whateley was at home." 
 
 " No doubt. But the butler is a very old man and 
 needed rest." 
 
 " I beg your pardon. Needed rest, you say? " 
 
 " Yes, from the ' third degree ' to which you were 
 subjecting him. He confessed to obtain relief."
 
 206 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " Oh, I see. And may I ask as to who you are? " 
 
 " With perfect freedom. I am John Gaboon, Mr. 
 Whateley's private secretary and adviser by stealth." 
 
 " I must confess that I don't quite understand that 
 position. Adviser by stealth, did you say? " 
 
 " Yes, advise him to sleep when he is sleeping." 
 
 " I see. But on an occasion so serious as this, secre 
 taries are usually less humorous. Beg pardon, but may 
 I ask who this young lady is? " 
 
 " My sister Jane, Mr. Whateley's confidential stenog 
 rapher." 
 
 They saw the reporter blink behind his glasses. He 
 bowed to Jane. " You very much resemble a picture 
 of Miss Whateley," he said. 
 
 " Do you hear that, John? " Jane cried. " He has 
 noticed it too. Our minister spoke of it this afternoon 
 and then asked me to auction off autographed books at 
 the Church Fair. John, dear, get the gentleman a 
 cigar. ' ' 
 
 " No, thank you. I am more liberal than even your 
 minister. I don't charge anything for discovering so 
 clear a resemblance. And I am grateful for pleasantry, 
 but I have been sent to ask several questions, Mr. 
 Cahoon, did you say? " 
 
 ' ' Yes, John Cahoon, late of the Chair of Agricultural 
 Economy, of the University of Sand Point, Idaho." 
 
 " A worthy chair that no doubt was amply filled, Mr. 
 Cahoon. It is not, however, of Idaho but of Missouri 
 that I wish to talk. Mr. Whateley recently closed down 
 his coal mines at Rockdale, on account of a strike among 
 the men." 
 
 ' Yes, a man has a right to shut up his shop." 
 
 " Those of the mine hi favor of the strike and those
 
 ON THE REAL STAGE 207 
 
 opposed are now at open war, and five of them were 
 shot to-day." 
 
 " Possibly. But that is the state's lookout. Mr. 
 Whateley is not a justice of the peace. I suppose you 
 know why the question of a strike came up? " Hower- 
 son did not know; he wanted to find out. 
 
 " Yes, on account of the dismissal of a man." 
 
 ' ' Of course, and not on account of wages. They came 
 forward with their bullying methods. Mr. Whateley lis 
 tened patiently, and then he told them that he must 
 be permitted to run his own business in his own way. 
 And I suppose you know that this is regarded as the 
 most brutal remark that a man can make. ' What, run 
 his own business in his own way ! He deserves to die. 
 Let us blow up his house! ' I suppose you know why 
 that man now, what is his name ? It was on the end 
 of my tongue this minute." 
 
 " Codowski, " said the reporter. 
 
 " Codowski. And I suppose you know why Codowski 
 was discharged." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Whateley 's superintendent out there says 
 that he was lazy and incompetent. The men say it was 
 because he expressed his opinions." 
 
 " Ah, left off work to talk. Now, we employ men and 
 pay them good wages. What for ? To express opinions ? 
 No, to work. We can form our own opinions, and when 
 we need assistance we can turn to the newspapers. Just 
 as soon as these men agree to let us operate our business 
 in our own way, they may go back to work, but until 
 they do, the mines will remain closed. You say the 
 men are now fighting on account of a dissention among 
 themselves. This shows that we have not tried to sup 
 plant them with men from the outside. I think, sir,
 
 208 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 the man to interview in this instance is not Mr. Whateley, 
 but the sheriff of the county. I have given you Mr. 
 Whateley 's views." 
 
 The reporter looked about for his hat, found it; and 
 Howerson went with him to the door. He expected Rose 
 to join him in the hallway, to go with him to the Cabin, 
 but she did not follow him; and he returned to the 
 library, glad of the chance to talk to her alone. As he 
 resumed his seat she looked up with a smile and said : 
 
 " We are fellow conspirators in a fraud." 
 
 " Pals," he replied. 
 
 This notion so pleased them that they laughed like 
 true companions. The companionship of idea may be 
 close, but not so close as that of laughter. ' ' Oh, I care 
 not what you believe," said a philosopher, " but if your 
 soul can laugh with mine own, I then shall know that we 
 are friends." They laughed, the bubbling of physical 
 natures pleased one with the other. They did not seek 
 for bright sayings, for wit, but laughed with the chum- 
 miness of kindred nerves. 
 
 " Do you suppose he really knew we were stringing 
 him? " she said. 
 
 " Oh, yes. And so does the fish, but he's strung just 
 the same." 
 
 " It will amuse father very much." 
 
 " I don't know. Wait till he sees the interview." 
 
 ' ' But you didn 't say anything I mean anything to 
 give offense." 
 
 ' ' I don 't know about that, either ; but almost anything 
 can be written into offense." 
 
 " I have often thought that I should like to go about 
 and gather up news," she said, and looked as if she 
 meant it.
 
 ON THE REAL STAGE 209 
 
 " Most women prefer the stage," he replied. " How 
 is it that you don't? " 
 
 " Because I would rather write lines of my own than 
 to have them set down for me, like a copy book. Some 
 time ago I wrote some letters from Montana went with 
 a woman who had mining interests out there just us 
 two. I didn't go as Calvin Whateley's daughter. I 
 think my name was Jane I'm sure it was. How did 
 you come to guess it just now? But it was not Jane 
 Gaboon, your sister, but Jane Barnes. Father said that 
 in my letters to a newspaper I developed a socialistic 
 tendency. You know a great many people do. It seems 
 to be the easiest way to write. Father laughed, for none 
 of our friends knew. He said, ' I guess, my daughter, 
 there is a good deal of the squaw about you.' And I 
 couldn't help thinking he was right. Sister Harriet was 
 dreadfully shocked; she always is. She ran to Dr. Hen- 
 shaw and begged him not to say a word about it, as if he 
 could have known anything about it unless she had told 
 him. "With great effort he restrained himself from tears ; 
 and when I came home he told me that I was a bird 
 of plumage, pecking at the foundation stones of society. 
 When greatly wrought up his figures of speech are not 
 always happily chosen. . . . Were you ever in Mon 
 tana? " 
 
 " Well, hardly. Once I was headed in that direction, 
 but our ghost was taken with rheumatism and couldn't 
 hobble. So we walked for him, back to our starting point. 
 Tell me about your letters." 
 
 " Oh, they were weak enough compared with the 
 scenes that inspired them; and when I read them over, 
 all together, I burnt them. And now I remember only 
 the pleasure of writing them."
 
 210 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " Inspiration's only reward," he said. 
 
 " Indiscretion's only protection," she laughed. 
 " Shall we go back to the Cabin? " 
 
 " Yes. I had forgotten it." 
 
 They went out into the hall. " Does your father go 
 into the sanctuary every night ? ' ' 
 
 " No. Sometimes not for weeks. The soul has its 
 humors. ' ' 
 
 " The soul is a Homer that nods. It is not always 
 sublime. ' ' 
 
 Silently they opened the Cabin door. The old man was 
 sitting in his hickory rocking chair, the boy in his lap, 
 both asleep. Rose and Howerson tiptoed out of the room. 
 ' ' I wanted only to bid them good night, ' ' said the Poet. 
 " I must go." 
 
 She went with him to the front door and held forth 
 her hand. " Good night, pal," she said.
 
 CHAPTER XVIH. 
 CHUCKLED OVER IT 
 
 Whateley sometimes broke fast at an hour so early 
 that none save his daughter joined him. At such times 
 he would tap lightly on her door, and nearly always 
 found her with a book in her hand. But on the morn 
 ing after Howerson 's visit he met her in the hall, reading 
 a newspaper. Never before had he detected in her so 
 sharp a zest for news, and he spoke of it laughingly, with 
 his arm about her, walking toward the dining room. 
 She told about the interview, the trick that had been 
 played, and the old man chuckled as he sat down. She 
 read to him the expanded statement of ' ' Mr. Whateley 's 
 representative, John Gaboon, a man so remote in nature, 
 education and experience from the laboring classes as 
 to have no understanding of them. ' ' In the heavy-headed 
 column there was no hint of the thread on which John 
 and Jane had thought to ' ' string ' ' the interviewer. His 
 mission was serious and his work was solemn. Whate 
 ley listened. 
 
 " Good," he said. " It's exactly what I would have 
 told him. But how did Howerson happen to know so 
 much? I didn't discuss it with him." 
 
 ' ' He found out from the reporter stole it, you might 
 say. It was the shrewdest play I ever saw," and she 
 believed it was. In her natural partiality she did not 
 place true estimate on the reporter's art; she did not 
 see it hidden slyly in the sketch. 
 
 211
 
 212 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " That's what I call rare judgment," said the old 
 man. "It is not possessed by more than one man in 
 ten thousand." 
 
 He was too ready to join in with her view. It robbed 
 her of argument, stripped off the adornment of the 
 advocate. " And yet your own judgment didn't select 
 him. He was chosen through Calvin's inexperienced 
 eyes. Still we are told that man is governed by reason. 
 There wasn't any reason in your selection, was there? " 
 
 She laughed at him and he laughed at himself. " No, 
 I can't say there was. But you must acknowledge that 
 I might have seen something in the man myself. I have 
 some little penetration into character, you know." 
 
 " Oh, wonderful," she cried. " Sometimes you are 
 a wizard. You have made fewer mistakes than any man 
 anywhere." 
 
 " But I might have been mistaken in Mr. Howerson, 
 eh? " 
 
 " Might have made a mistake in choosing him with 
 the eyes of a boy. ' ' 
 
 " Why, I thought you liked him." 
 
 ' ' I do ; very much. And when we like a man we say 
 he's different different from what? Well, different 
 from men we don't like. But really, father, don't you 
 think many a failure, if given the proper chance, would 
 be a success? " 
 
 " Possibly. But whose duty is it to go around seek 
 ing out proper chances for previous failures ? Not mine. 
 Now, I am of the opinion, as you must have gathered 
 long before this, that a man is to be or is not to be a 
 success. Never mind how; predestination has nothing 
 to do with it. Providence Nature doesn't give a rap. 
 But Nature or something selects, and there you are. 
 That's all been threshed over thousands of times. But
 
 CHUCKLED OVER IT 213 
 
 I '11 tell you something that hasn 't. It 's this : Some men 
 have too much judgment." 
 
 " I don't see how that can be." 
 
 " Perhaps not," he replied. " But some men have 
 so much judgment that it amounts to fear. I've had 
 men working for me that became so careful of my inter 
 est as to hurt that same interest by over-nursing. Many 
 a fellow has coddled a job to death. Howerson doesn't 
 do that. He takes a risky chance. Where some men 
 might feel their way along, he leaps. Of course this won 't 
 do with all men, but when you find one that it will do 
 with, why then you have found a winner sure enough. ' ' 
 
 " Yes," she agreed, " but experiment is rather dan 
 gerous; and how are you to know without a trial? You 
 remember we read Montaigne together ; and I remember 
 he declared his ability but acknowledged that his success 
 had been hampered by want of luck. Then why not 
 say that the whole scheme of life is largely luck, and 
 that as a boy is lucky that he wasn 't a girl why not 
 let him employ men for your important offices? " She 
 was laughing at him. 
 
 " Leave it to such boys as Calvin? Yes," he said. 
 ' ' Hah, but were you unlucky to find yourself a girl ? ' ' 
 
 " I was lucky to find myself your daughter, you dear 
 old tenderness." 
 
 Now his laugh was loud. Tenderness ! In the street his 
 heart was a joke and he knew it, humored it grimly 
 along. And it was grimness that now laughed out so 
 loud. Foreseeing a day of worry and struggle, he had 
 arisen early to be fresh and strong in grappling with 
 it. He pointed to the interview. " Bad business, Rose. 
 There'll be widows and orphans out there before it's 
 over with." 
 
 " But can't something be done to stop it? For the
 
 214 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 sake of peace why not yield a point and reinstate Codow- 
 ski? " 
 
 Old Calvin shook his head. " That wouldn't mean 
 peace, for they have forgotten him and are fighting 
 among themselves." Then, clearing his throat with a 
 sound like the grating of a harsh and heavy hinge, he 
 looked at her and said: " But if I knew that taking 
 Codowski back would bring peace and eternal pros 
 perity I wouldn't do it. And if I knew that my not 
 taking him back would result in the death of a hundred 
 men, I wouldn't do it. My scheme of life and business 
 may be all wrong, but I enter into no compromise that 
 calls my principles into question." 
 
 " But come now, dad, isn't it in your nature ever 
 to forgive? " 
 
 ' ' In my nature to forgive as Nature forgives just 
 about. Nature doesn't stop a snowstorm because a man 
 has pawned his overcoat." 
 
 " True enough, dad; but the man may have pawned 
 his overcoat to keep from starving." 
 
 " But it snows just the same," he said. 
 
 " Yes, snow r s just the same when little children are 
 cold and hungry. And among those miners' children 
 there are boys like Calvin, and these boys have grand 
 fathers who are working out their long sentence of 
 sorrow." 
 
 " Eh? " 
 
 " Yes, loving old grandfathers who live in cabins but 
 who don 't know how to play in them. ' ' 
 
 " Eh? But they know how to sit about their fires 
 and talk sedition against their own interests and mine. 
 Bad business. . . . And of course subscriptions will 
 be taken up for their relief."
 
 CHUCKLED OVER IT 215 
 
 " Yes, father." 
 
 " Hum! And I want you, in the most sneaking and 
 underhand way, to see that I give more than all the 
 rest of the public put together. Don't! Quit, I tell 
 you." 
 
 Now she was behind his chair with her arms about 
 his neck. " Dear tender-hearted dad! " 
 
 " Quit it. But if you let anyone find it out, I'll marry 
 you to old Henshaw." 
 
 ' ' Oh, good, and like the ancient pedant we could keep 
 a school in a church, and we'd buy us a sad little 
 melodeon, and you could come to see us in our cottage 
 at night, and sing hymns with us." 
 
 " Dreadful picture. . . . But I must run along 
 now." 
 
 She ran along with him, as he termed it, out to the 
 big gate where at the step the car was waiting. " Now 
 be very good to-day," she said, and kissed him. 
 
 At the office there were worries in thick plenty waiting 
 for him, their bulk puffing out the early mail. Money 
 has nerves to be racked, but money has also muscles 
 wherewith to be strong and to fight; and old Calvin 
 squared himself for combat. 
 
 One of the earliest callers was the mayor of the Mis 
 souri mining town. He said that the strike must be 
 settled. Whateley gave him a long look. " Oh, I see, 
 and you want to go to Congress on the strength of set 
 tling it. Well, what's your plan? " 
 
 " Beg pardon, sir, but I didn't say I wanted to go 
 to Congress." 
 
 " Oh, I thought you did. But perhaps it was your 
 manner that did the talking. You are one of these 
 reformers, I take it. They come up like mullen stalks in
 
 216 THE NEW ME. HOWERSON 
 
 your state, I believe, but go to seed somewhat earlier. 
 Hum. ... Is there anything else you wished to 
 say? " 
 
 ' ' Anything else I wish to say ! I haven 't said any 
 thing yet, sir." 
 
 " Ah, quite true. But would you mind giving me 
 some idea as to what you intend to say ? ' ' 
 
 " I will indeed; and when you permit me, sir, I will 
 tell you that this outrageous state of affairs must be 
 done away with." 
 
 " I see," said old Calvin, and then he called out, 
 " Jim! " The retired aspirant for honors of the prize 
 ring appeared in the door. " Jim, this unfortunate 
 gentleman has had a stroke. He has lost his memory. 
 He has forgotten the way to the elevator. Show him, 
 please. ' ' 
 
 In a moment the mayor's shoulder was beneath Jim's 
 mighty clutch. The politician shrugged and scuffled to 
 explain, but Jim picked him up, turned him about and 
 trotted him out- into the corridor. 
 
 At night when old Calvin went home he declared to 
 his daughter that during all the day he had been as 
 softly spoken and as gentle as the blind fiddler who, 
 on the corner, had drawn out his pleading strains. 
 
 For little Calvin it had been a busy day, begun in 
 eagerness to steal forth from beneath the eye of dele 
 gated authority, to strut wolf-clad in the envious gaze of 
 Alley Pete, and ending in the virtuous lamentations of 
 Harriet, his mother. About the house he had played 
 for a long time, humming the tune of obedience, his 
 wolf coat hidden in a corner of the yard. He told the 
 nurse that he would go upstairs where he could be 
 quiet, and he hummed up the stairway and she heard 
 him shut the door of his room. But she did not hear
 
 CHUCKLED OVER IT 217 
 
 him open it, did not see him sneaking down the stairs, 
 out of the hall, into the yard. Dodging about in the 
 shrubbery he got his coat and hid himself near a small 
 gate opening out upon a side street; and there he 
 awaited opportunity, for the gate, though small, was 
 heavy, and he could not open it. He heard Pete's cry 
 but was afraid to answer. It was long past the milk 
 man's time; it was time for the grocer's boy, but it 
 seemed that he would never come. The March air was 
 cold, and now his bristled coat was true servant to his 
 need. Peeping out he saw the nurse come down the 
 rear stair into the yard, watched her spread a hand 
 kerchief upon a bush to dry, heard her sing a plaintive 
 coster song. She came toward him and his heart beat 
 fast, for he knew that she stole sometimes to the gate 
 to talk with the policeman. But someone called her at 
 a moment most precious to the boy, and turning about 
 she left him there to wait. The gate latch clicked: the 
 grocer's freckled scout; and the boy leaped from the 
 thicket. 
 
 " Wait, don't shut the gate. I want to go out." 
 
 " Ho, you mean you want to sneak out. I know you, 
 kiddo. And I could get paid for givin' you away in 
 yonder." He shut the gate and planted himself in Cal 
 vin's path. 
 
 ' ' Let me out, please ; and if you don 't tell on me I '11 
 give you a whole lot of money when my grandfather 
 comes home." 
 
 " Ho, heap o' money you'll git from the likes o' him. 
 That woman in yonder would give me a quarter. About 
 how much you think you can git from the old guy? " 
 
 " Don't you call him a guy or I'll hit you." 
 
 " Well, the old man, then. How much? " 
 
 " Two quarters."
 
 218 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " Come off." 
 
 " Two quarters, and I'll give 'em to you when you 
 come to-morrow." 
 
 " Cross your heart an' hope to die? " 
 
 " See? " he crossed himself. " And I hope to die." 
 
 " All right, you can go out, but if you ditch me, the 
 devil will come in the night an' take you away on his 
 horns. He took my brother away 'bout your size an' 
 looked like you, an' he ain't come back, an' sometimes 
 in the night if we listen close we can hear him hollerin ', 
 an' it's awful. Do you believe me? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 ' ' Then go on, but don 't you f orgit. ' ' 
 
 He opened the gate and Calvin ran out. Pete was 
 walking up and down the alley, his hands deep in his 
 pockets. When he saw Calvin he cried aloud his aston 
 ishment and could not conceal his admiration. He 
 stroked reverently the wolf's bristles ; he whistled, and in 
 terms not to be found in the picture book he swore that he 
 had never before set eyes on anything so wondrous fine. 
 But then within him arose the critic, resentful of his 
 own unstinted praise. " Oh, yes, it's putty good, but 
 you ought to seen a coat my brother had, made out of 
 a lion's skin, an' wolves ain't nothing to lions. One 
 lion can whip as many wolves as can git round him. 
 Lions don 't pay no 'tention to wolves. They don 't know 
 they're there till they git sorter hungry-like an' want 
 to eat a few of 'em. When I first seen this 'ere coat 
 I thought it was a lion. ' ' 
 
 " You're a liar," Calvin cried, and struck him. And 
 Pete landed a fist on Calvin's nose and seized him to 
 throw him down. Just at this moment the nurse's police 
 man ran into the alley and seizing Pete, was dragging
 
 CHUCKLED OVER IT 219 
 
 him away, when Calvin cried out: " You let him alone. 
 He didn't do anything." 
 
 " He didn't, eh? Didn't he hit you on the nose? 
 Come on here, you beastly ruffian, you." 
 " No, he didn't hit me." 
 ' ' Then what made your nose bleed ? ' ' 
 " I fell down," said Calvin. " Turn him loose." 
 " Huh, then what made him grab you? " 
 " He took hold of me to wipe oif the blood. Turn 
 him loose." 
 
 The policeman released Pete. Calvin had aroused the 
 admiration of his Celtic nature. " Young laddiebuck," 
 he said, " you're as true a piece of grit as I ever saw, 
 and a month's salary against a tin whistle your people 
 came from the Old Sod." With this he walked off, 
 swinging his club. 
 
 Calvin had no handkerchief, and Pete tore his own 
 shirt to wipe away the blood. " Some folks say lion 
 skins are better 'n wolf, but they ain't," he said. " Oh, 
 a lion may whip a wolf. It's a lion's business to fight. 
 It's a wolf's business to furnish coats. An' this is the 
 puttiest one I ever seen. Does it hurt much? " 
 " No. I I think it would 'a' bled anyway." 
 " I 'm awful sorry, Cal. Do you know what I 've got ? 
 A policeman's club, an' I only play with it on Sunday. 
 But I'm goin' to give it to you." 
 
 " No, you keep it till you die and then you can leave 
 it to me. Do you like me, Pete? " 
 
 ' ' Like you, why I 'd fight my sister for you. I ' 
 But Pete wheeled about and took to his nimble heels. 
 The nurse had pounced upon Calvin.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 BUT GOD SAID THERE WAS A DEVIL 
 
 The incident of the alley, virtue shining through false 
 hood, was as important to old Calvin when from the 
 policeman he heard of it, as any piece of news that 
 had come to him within a month. When the youngster 
 drew on him for money to meet the grocer boy's levy, 
 the old man said : 
 
 " Ah, I guess this must be for the Sunday school." 
 
 He shot a shrewd glance into the eye of the youngster 
 and waited. The boy shook his head. 
 
 " Oh, for the Orphan's Home, then? " 
 
 The boy's ringlets danced about his brow. 
 
 " Then what's it for? Truth now. Always truth 
 with me, understand. Truth, Calvin." 
 
 Calvin told the story. The old man frowned. " Scared 
 you with the devil, eh? Haven't I told you there isn't 
 any devil? " 
 
 " Yes, gran 'pa, but you said there was a God and 
 God said there was a devil." 
 
 " Eh? But God didn't mean it as as they would 
 have you think. They slandered God. You believe me. 
 There is no devil and no hell." 
 
 They were in the library, and though they had not 
 perceived her, Harriet was standing near. Now she 
 came forward, her countenance aghast. " Father, 
 father, how can you say such things to him! Calvin, 
 you believe as I tell you. Remember I am your mother, 
 and nearly every great man has declared that his moth- 
 
 220
 
 GOD SAID THERE WAS A DEVIL 221 
 
 er's religion was good enough for him. There is both a 
 God and a devil, Calvin." 
 
 " Sit down," said the old man. She did not. To sit 
 down would have meant to reason. Standing, she had 
 delivered a decision from which appeal would be futile. 
 But she waited. " Good," said old Calvin, the boy 
 standing between his knees. " But if every man had 
 always found his mother's religion good enough for him, 
 every man would still be worshipping a mud god." 
 
 " Well I don't care whether that's true or not," she 
 declared, " but I do know that it is necessary for chil 
 dren to believe in the devil. Dr. Henshaw says a belief 
 in the devil is essential for most people; otherwise we'd 
 have anarchy." 
 
 " Hum! Then society is more indebted to the devil 
 than to God. Calvin, you take this fifty-cent piece and 
 give it to the boy, and you tell him you give it not 
 because you are afraid of the devil, but because you 
 are afraid to deceive yourself by not keeping your 
 word. ' ' 
 
 Harriet protested. " He ought not to be allowed to 
 give it to him. He is simply paying a scoundrel for being 
 a scoundrel." 
 
 The old man laughed. " Well, but don't we educate 
 men and then pay 'em for scaring us with the devil? 
 Calvin you pay that boy and thank him for the confi 
 dence he had in you, and tell him that when you get 
 big enough you'll thrash him; and mind that you keep 
 your word with him in that, too." 
 
 That some ill luck must fall upon such irreverence, 
 the boy's mother knew full well. Her religion was the 
 belief that the narrowest interpretation of the Book 
 would bring prosperity. Her father was devout, and 
 had he not been able to feed great multitudes, not indeed
 
 222 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 with loaves, but with fishes? At Dan's wife and her 
 belief, Rose was pagan enough to smile. But as a final 
 play, Harriet had a card to trump Miss Rose the pagan, 
 a scheme to bead the old man's brow with the sweat 
 of fear. This play was the stronger because it was 
 made but rarely: " I will take my child and live 
 apart from you." This made old Calvin play hypo 
 crite to her views. With it she could have led him to 
 the mourners ' bench ; and salting the slab with his eyes, 
 he would have swallowed Jonah and the whale. At 
 times the poor old tyrant was an abject slave. He did 
 not know that with a few words he could have iced Har 
 riet's blood. But Rose knew it, and one morning at 
 early breakfast she said to him: 
 
 " Tell her to take him." 
 
 " Merciful Lord, no." 
 
 " And that you'll cut the cloth of your will accord 
 ingly." 
 
 " Eh? Do you think so? Would that fetch her? " 
 
 " To her knees. I know. She used to scare me, on 
 your account, but I gave her a hint yesterday and she 
 turned pale." 
 
 " Ah, I'll send for her at once." 
 
 "Oh, no, let it come about naturally." 
 
 " Yes. Perhaps it would be better. Why didn't I 
 think of it? I must be losing my shrewdness. Can 
 it be that age is turning my edge? " 
 
 She laughed, reached over and pressed his hand, 
 unconscious of age, iron in strength. ' ' No, it was because 
 it was not in your heart to threaten Calvin 's inheritance 
 even though you didn't mean it." 
 
 " You are right," he agreed. " Yes. Affection while 
 it makes us think, keeps us also from thinking. But I 
 will threaten. I won't let her dwarf his soul. His mind
 
 GOD SAID THERE WAS A DEVIL 223 
 
 must be free. Ha, a new advantage. It does me good." 
 He laughed. 
 
 " How is the Missouri strike? " she inquired. " The 
 dispatches don 't tell much. ' ' 
 
 " About the same," he answered. " Continuous 
 threat, with serious trouble likely at any moment. I 
 am going to send Howerson out there. Oh, I haven't 
 told you about his Louisiana transactions. Well, he 
 bought the sugar plantation for fifteen thousand dollars 
 less than I had agreed to pay found that the heir of 
 the estate was in need of ready money and discovered 
 a strip of marsh that lowered the valuation. The old 
 house, he says in his letter, is beautiful, French chateau, 
 decorated in 1840 by artists from Paris. His letter made 
 me proud that I owned it. When I was a boy, to own 
 a sugar plantation was to be a king. . . . But there 
 came a telegraphic night letter. Here it is. ' ' He read : 
 " 'Have offer of seventy-five thousand above purchase 
 price. To make plantation yield profit must be on 
 ground. Not desirable as nonresident investment. 
 Experience required. Shall I sell? ' Ha, I telegraphed 
 him to sell. He did so, turning the strip of marsh land 
 to our advantage showed that tiling would reclaim it, 
 and being virgin soil, render it the most fertile field in 
 the entire tract. Wish I 'd brought his letters home with 
 me. You know he said he had received no business 
 training. Hum! But his letters prove his statement 
 too modest. The most concise and expressive bits of 
 writing I ever saw. Thoroughly business-like." 
 
 " But speaking of business letters," she said, " do 
 you think that as a rule they are models of conciseness 
 and expression? Business dictates its letters and busi 
 ness likes to hear the sound of its own voice, loves adjec 
 tives. ' Eeplying to your favor of the tenth instant, we
 
 224 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 beg to state.' They never ' say ' a thing. They always 
 ' state ' ' beg to state.' Perhaps Mr. Howerson's let 
 ters were so simple as to be literary." 
 
 " Maybe so," the old man smiled. " I'll let him put 
 some of his ' literary ' down on that strike." 
 
 His first attention to business that day was to send 
 a telegram to Howerson. Then he closed a transaction 
 for the immediate establishment of a barbed wire mill 
 at Glenwich. 
 
 In a lull Jim came in with the card of " the Rev. 
 Andrew Von Veigel. " 
 
 " "What about him? I don't know him. Beggar, of 
 course. ' ' 
 
 " He may be, sir," said Jim. " But he says he's Mr. 
 Howerson's uncle." 
 
 " That so? Let him come in." 
 
 Whateley looked down on a parchment spread on his 
 desk, and then looking up he met the quiet and specu 
 lative eyes of Professor Hudsic. Old Calvin swiftly meas 
 ured him, gathering in one quick glance his long black 
 coat, and the silk hat held deferentially in his right 
 hand. Whateley motioned toward a chair, bade him 
 sit down. 
 
 " So you are Mr. Howerson's uncle." 
 
 " Yes, may it please you, sir. Years ago, in Japan, 
 I met Miss ah Clarissa Howerson, sister of George 
 Howerson's father. She was in missionary work; so 
 was I. Our interests drew us together and we were 
 married. ' ' 
 
 " I see," said old Calvin, sniffing faintly a suspicious 
 rat. " And she's dead now, eh? " 
 
 " Oh, no, the dear soul has just arrived with me from 
 abroad, and we wish to give George a surprise." 
 
 As old Calvin looked at him and listened to him, he
 
 GOD SAID THERE WAS A DEVIL 225 
 
 mused, " This fellow may in some way be connected 
 with that strike." The professor smiled. 
 
 " Yes, I understand," said old Calvin. " How did 
 you know he was connected with my establishment, if 
 you have just arrived? " 
 
 " Hah, yes, a pertinent question, Mr. Whateley, and 
 one which you ask naturally. We er my wife and 
 I stopped at Glenwich, having property interests in that 
 place, and learned there that he was in your employ. 
 And now, sir, will you be so kind as to tell me where 
 we may find him? " 
 
 " He is not in town. Is there anything else you wish 
 to see me about? " 
 
 The professor coughed. " Of course it does not mean 
 much to you, with so many things on your mind, but 
 to his aunt and to me it is a matter of sentimental 
 moment. Therefore, would you mind informing me as 
 to what part of the country he is in at present and as 
 to when you expect him to return? " 
 
 If men could not look truth when they lie there would 
 be no business and no treaties among nations. Old Cal 
 vin looked truth and said : ' ' He has gone to South Amer 
 ica to look after a rubber plantation, and I don't know 
 as to when I may recall him. Good day." 
 
 The professor rose, lingering for a moment, rubbing 
 his hat with his elbow. " I take my leave, sir," he 
 said. 
 
 Not far away, at the opening of an alley, a woman 
 waited, and when the professor came along she stepped 
 forth eagerly to join him. With a look he enjoined her 
 not to speak, and in silence they walked a long distance, 
 crossed over the river and entered a small restaurant 
 through a grimy doorway leading to grimy tables. 
 Here they sat down. Before speaking she took off her
 
 226 THE NEW ME. HOWERSON 
 
 hat and gloves and put them on a chair beside her, Hud- 
 sic sitting opposite. Then she said, " Well? " 
 
 " Let us order a bite to eat, first," he replied; and 
 when the waiter had served them with spaghetti, she 
 leaned her elbows on the table and looked hard into the 
 eyes of her companion. " Well, where is he? " 
 
 " In South America." 
 
 " Hudsic, what a poor, miserable old fool you are. 
 He lied to you." 
 
 "I wonder if he did." 
 
 ' ' Wonder ! Of course you do. You Ve got just about 
 sense enough. You bungled. He suspected something 
 and lied you out of the house. How did you do it ? " 
 
 "As we agreed upon. But what cause have you to 
 believe he lied? " 
 
 "Your face." 
 
 Hudsic sat back in his chair and looked at her. She 
 wormed spaghetti about a fork and dismissed him from 
 her mind. He pondered, sitting back, pulling at his 
 beard. " Yes, I must have failed," he sighed. 
 
 " This is very good spaghetti," she said. " It was 
 not made by weaklings but by people that know how to 
 achieve. When they decide a man must die, he dies. 
 The law frowns but the man is dead. But we, better 
 educated and deeply read in the great book of justice 
 we fail. Why do you not eat? Do you not like spa 
 ghetti? " 
 
 " Annie, have some little consideration. I failed, yes; 
 but often men have failed. Annie, you don't know that 
 old timber wolf's eye." 
 
 " And with it he tricked your countenance. You let 
 him blister your face and draw out the inflammation. 
 What did you say? But no matter what you said. It 
 was what you looked."
 
 GOD SAID THERE WAS A DEVIL 227 
 
 " Then why didn't you go as his sister? " 
 
 " Now you drivel. I go I the photograph in the 
 family album of their fear? " 
 
 " True enough. They know you. But why didn't 
 you agree to let me kill him? I could have done it." 
 
 She dropped her fork, tossed back her head and 
 laughed. 
 
 " You kill him! Hudsic you could not have touched 
 him with your little finger. ' ' 
 
 He glowered upon her. " Who killed Tovowsky in 
 Moscow? " 
 
 She softened toward him ; with a purr she catted her 
 graces at him. " Yes, Hudsic, I know. Forgive me, 
 please. But Whateley must live till the traitor is dead. 
 And if he is not here now, he will be before long. ' ' 
 
 " Why do you think so? " 
 
 " Because by this time the fool is caught." 
 
 " I don't understand. Caught? " 
 
 " He is in love." 
 
 "Ah! But how do you know that? " 
 
 " Because I have seen her the Whateley woman. 
 That will make his death more bitter to him and sweeter 
 to us. He will be found hanging suicide with his 
 confession in his pocket. It will be written by Henk, 
 the wondrous scribe. We will watch for him, kidnap 
 him. We will taunt him with Cupid. It will all be 
 worked out. I snatched him from death. Now I demand 
 back my present his life. Ah, now your appetite 
 returns to you. This spaghetti is delicious."
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 A LITTLE PLAY 
 
 It was late in the night when Howerson arrived at 
 the mining town. Up and down the station platform a 
 soldier strode. The bayonets of the militia had come to 
 gleam for the law an interpretive and persuasive light. 
 In an old bus that threatened to shake apart its gouty 
 joints, the envoy of peace was hauled up to the Waldorf 
 Hotel, late the Commercial House, wherein was quar 
 tered the superintendent of the mines, John Wherry, at 
 this hour asleep. The night clerk, a poor, old down- 
 and-outer who papped and coddled his job, said that 
 Mr. Wherry could not be seen before morning. 
 
 " What medicine has he taken to render him invisi 
 ble? " 
 
 The clerk begged pardon. He had not quite caught 
 the gentleman's meaning. Would he come again? He 
 did. 
 
 " Here, take this card, wake Mr. Sleeper and give 
 it to him. He will understand." 
 
 " That may be, sir, but I don't." 
 
 " Perhaps not. And I don't know that it's essential 
 you should. If you don't let him know that I'm here 
 he will go out of your hotel to-morrow morning and 
 not come back." 
 
 The clerk reflected, suckled his job, yielded, and up the 
 stairs complained his way. He came down faster. Mr. 
 Wherry would see the gentleman. 
 
 The superintendent was so enormously fat that when 
 
 228
 
 A LITTLE PLAY 229 
 
 lie got out of bed he appeared to take up the remaining 
 space of his room. After a few moments' talk with 
 him it was found that he was no more inclined toward 
 pleasantry than a hippopotamus is disposed to caper to 
 a rag-time melody; and a fat man who has not jollity 
 is an adipose hypocrite. 
 
 " A very serious business, Mr. Howerson," said 
 Wherry, crushing his bed on which he now sat. 
 " Exceedingly serious," he added, giving to his night 
 shirt a dangerous strain. 
 
 ' ' Yes, ' ' Howerson agreed, ' ' and 'so is a musical com 
 edy. And what makes the tuneless comedy so serious? 
 The comedian. What adds to the seriousness of the 
 comedy here ? The broad landscape of your melancholy 
 countenance. Turn up your light, brighten. Laugh, and 
 then the men will see that it is more serious with them 
 than with you." 
 
 ' ' Laugh ! My Lord, man, the militia is on the ground. 
 Laugh, when there are new graves out on the hill? 
 Laugh when I hear the soldiers cocking their guns? " 
 
 " That's pretty good, Mr. Wherry. You've got in 
 you the poetry of despair. Not the best poetry but 
 better than none at all, perhaps. Now as to the tenants 
 of those new graves: Were they married men? " 
 
 " Fortunately not." 
 
 " Then laugh because they were fortunate." 
 
 " Mr. Howerson, my information from Mr. Whateley 
 is that you are to act on your own judgment, but in 
 all due respect to you and to Mr. Whateley 's apparent 
 confidence in you, I must say your judgment is peculiar, 
 waking a man at one in the morning and commanding 
 him to laugh." 
 
 " Better than to wake him at half past twelve and 
 command him to weep. As you are now wide awake,
 
 230' THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 I'll rehearse with you a little play I have constructed." 
 
 "Play! " 
 
 " A comedy. But please don't interrupt me. Busi 
 ness, like fiction, is a plot, a story. The characters in 
 our story are involved. We must straighten them out. 
 A happy phrase, an epigram, may save us." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said the fat man, the unbol- 
 stered tallow of his jaws hanging low, ' ' but did you con 
 sult personally with Mr. Whateley just before you came 
 away, and are you yourself quite certain you're in your 
 right mind. Business ' ' 
 
 Howerson broke in upon him. With honed, stropped 
 and edge-tried keenness he enjoyed this absurd drama in 
 the blinking morn. " Business I tell you is a plot and 
 when in its right mind loses sauce as poetry loses Attic 
 salt." 
 
 Much flesh regards itself as sane. The fat man now 
 was convinced of Howerson 's insanity; yet it might be 
 wise for a short time to humor a ridiculous fancy. 
 ' ' All right, then, Mr. Howerson. Draw your plot. ' ' 
 
 " Thank you, but I must first ask a few questions. 
 Is Codowsky, the trouble-maker, still here? " 
 
 " Yes, the scoundrel, and but for him the men would 
 return to work willingly enough. Half of them are 
 anxious to return. But the other half, the Codowsky 
 half, want trouble." 
 
 " I understand that you pay a little more than the 
 union scale." 
 
 " Yes. The question of wages doesn't enter into the 
 discussion." 
 
 ' ' All right. Along about noon I '11 meet the leaders of 
 the two factions, not as a Whateley representative but 
 as an agent from a Pennsylvania company that will buy 
 the mines in case I can induce the men to go back to
 
 A LITTLE PLAY 231 
 
 work. I will agree for my company to reinstate Codow- 
 sky, but will cut down wages to the union scale. About 
 this time you are announced. I insist on your coming 
 in. You are made acquainted with my proposition. You 
 haven't much to say; you are sullen. But you don't 
 see why the Pennsylvania company should cut down the 
 scale. It would be unfair to the men. I remind you 
 that we should be meeting all the demands of the union. 
 
 " Just about now a boy arrives with a note for you. 
 You read it and change countenance if you can. Then 
 you read the note aloud. It says : ' To My Friends : I 
 acknowledge that I was neglecting my duties. They 
 were right in discharging me. I am no longer interested 
 in the outcome here. I am off for other parts. ' Signed, 
 * Codowsky. ' Do you catch it? The men would rather 
 work under the old scale. With drum and fife the state 's 
 soldiers march down to the train. "Women rejoice over 
 back fences and children sing in the street. The strike 
 is settled." 
 
 Howerson waited. The superintendent mused for a 
 time and then said : ' ' Yes, fine plot, if it could be car 
 ried out. ' ' 
 
 " Ah, therein always arises a question. Over all the 
 plots in history men have wondered; but if they had 
 done nothing but wonder, the plots would have failed. 
 I think this one can be carried out. Let's rehearse it 
 again." 
 
 After rehearsing more than thrice the brief play, this 
 mime to rough it with a ruffian and then to make all 
 things smooth, Howerson measured off by alarm clock 
 three hours of sleep. He arose while yet the bell was 
 ringing and went forth to familiarize himself with exits, 
 entrances, and to induce the engagement of Codowsky, 
 the "heavy." Often in business life but rarely on
 
 232 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 the stage is the ' ' heavy ' ' a family man. But more rarely 
 is the stirrer-up of labor strife a man whose heart has 
 formed a home and for whom, in gathering dusk, soft 
 eyes look tenderly. Codowsky was found at his boarding 
 house, in a room where the smell of stale liquor searched 
 nook and corner to throttle the air. Howerson, assum 
 ing a privilege, raised a window. Codowsky, who with 
 no welcome in his voice had bade him enter, looked on 
 with a frown. But he could speak English, and this 
 was an encouragement, exposing his mind to persuasion 
 and attack. 
 
 " I suppose you are getting tired of this place and 
 are about ready to leave here." 
 
 " Naw," said Codowsky. " Who says I tired? " 
 
 " No one, but I thought you must be, since no good 
 to yourself nor to anyone else can come from your stay 
 ing here. Have you thought of it in that way? " 
 
 The trouble-maker shook his brutish head, and upon 
 the questioner's countenance fixed his rusty eyes in 
 sullen gaze. The Poet smiled as if encouraging a 
 maiden's timid glance. Codowsky blinked, and the Poet 
 fancied that he could hear his eyes grating in their 
 rust. 
 
 " What you come for? " Codowsky asked. 
 
 ' ' To talk with you to tell you something. ' ' Hower 
 son looked at his watch. "To tell you that a train will 
 leave here within forty-eight minutes." 
 
 Codowsky snarled, like a dog who, gathering up his 
 anger, raises his bristles and his lip. " What is that 
 to me? I stay here. You go out now." 
 
 " Yes, in a few minutes. But what I have to say 
 might interest you. The soldiers have to stay until the 
 strike is settled. They have orders to shoot. They will. 
 About half of the men are against you. When the
 
 A LITTLE PLAY 233 
 
 shooting begins, guns will be aimed at you. That does 
 not scare you. You are brave. But mark this: The 
 owner of the mines will never take you back. The state 
 and the soldiers will stand behind him. Who am I? A 
 lover of truth. How do I treat truth ? I give it money. 
 I would give no man a penny to tell a lie, but I pay him 
 to tell truth. We have not much time to lose. You 
 sign this and I will give you two hundred dollars and 
 go with you to the train. Let me read it to you." 
 
 Howerson read the words outlined in rehearsal with 
 Wherry. Codowsky leaned over, resting his arms on a 
 table. Howerson looked at his watch, said that the offer 
 would hold good for ten minutes, no longer. 
 
 " Within a few days you will be forced to go with 
 no pay for telling truth." He counted out ten twenty- 
 dollar gold pieces. The light fell upon them. He took 
 out a fountain pen, tried it on his thumb nail. The 
 paper lay beside the gold. He touched Codowsky 's hand 
 with the pen. 
 
 " Ah, I see. You can't sign your name. 
 
 11 lean." 
 
 " Good. Five minutes. Gold for truth. Then, lib 
 erty." 
 
 " I hate them all," Codowsky growled. " They care 
 if I starve ? No. I sign. ' ' 
 
 Howerson hastened with him to the station, saw him 
 buy a ticket for St. Louis. " With all the trickery of 
 the stage," the actor mused as he got into the old bus 
 to be shaken back up town. ' ' The holding of the watch 
 on him, tempting him to it with the glow of gold 
 all as ancient as a tallow dip." 
 
 As representative of the Pennsylvania company, How 
 erson had communicated with the heads of the Depart 
 ment of Antagonism, requesting a meeting, noontime, in
 
 234 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 the " parlors of the Waldorf." On arriving at the 
 hotel, the day clerk, as young and impertinent as the 
 night clerk was old and deferential, informed him that 
 four of " them mining guys " were waiting, " in there " 
 he directed, pointing. Howerson inclosed a slip of paper 
 in an envelope already addressed, and handed it to the 
 clerk. 
 
 "Mr. Wherry is coming pretty soon. Pay attention 
 to what I am saying. You take this envelope ' ' 
 " I'll give it to him as soon as he comes in." 
 " Now that's exactly what I don't want you to do. I 
 told you to pay attention. Wherry will be here pretty 
 soon. Say nothing to him about the envelope, but when 
 he has been in yonder fifteen minutes get that? 
 fifteen minutes bring it in to him. It will be worth 
 a dollar to you." 
 
 11 Now he understood. The young American when 
 finally he decides to put his mind on a thing, masters it. 
 In the parlor about a round table four men were sit 
 ting, in silence. When Howerson entered they got up heav 
 ily from frail chairs. He shook hands with them and they 
 sat down again, depositing their heaviness carefully. One 
 chair cried out in warning creak, and the heaviest of 
 the men, black with whiskers, flinched, arose and sat 
 down on a sofa. His spirit seemed to be the persuasive 
 if not the dominant force, and to him Howerson ad 
 dressed himself. Yes, he was ready to work for the new 
 company or for any company. Home, children love 
 had made him humble, and in him the Poet found a 
 soul. To something that was said, something in which 
 there was heart and tenderness, objection was raised by 
 one of the men at the table, the champion of Codowsky. 
 He cared not a snap for love, he said. What he wanted 
 was justice. No children, no wife, he was a free man.
 
 A LITTLE PLAY 235 
 
 Must the world cease to move on toward liberty because 
 some men were fathers? If marriage stood in the way 
 of the ultimate brotherhood of man, abolish it. 
 
 Without the education of heart the mind may be 
 shrewd and strong; but it can never be deep. This 
 fellow had all the set-pieces of controversy, and the Poet 
 smiled as he mused, "I'm glad my disposition of you 
 does not depend on argument." 
 
 The frail walls began to tremble. The plaster diver 
 standing on the mantelpiece, slim maiden in light 
 sweater, threatened -to jump off. Wherry had come. The 
 men nodded to him as he sat down, cracking the back 
 bone of a settee. In more than one conference the men 
 had met him and from him had nothing to expect. On 
 clock-timed cue the clerk entered with the necessary 
 paper, and with a jerk of fat intended for a start, Wherry 
 rolled his eye upon it. Then he read the will and testa 
 ment of Codowski. His champion, he of the brother 
 hood of man, burst out in blasphemous bellow. To him, 
 the Poet, shaking sadly the head of grave disappoint 
 ment, declared: 
 
 " Whoever may win by Codowsky's treachery, the 
 new company appears to lose. For, as I said, we will 
 pay the union scale and no more. Gentlemen, your dif 
 ferences appear to have been settled." 
 
 They were settled. Word flew forth that on the mor 
 row all work would be resumed. 
 
 Howerson went up to Wherry's room. "I think I can 
 safely say you are about the most peculiar man I ever 
 met," said the superintendent. 
 
 " Yes, but you must remember that the stage has 
 eccentric license and that we have just played a play. 
 If you came from a theater where you had seen a farce 
 you wouldn't worry much over the plot."
 
 236 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " Well, I might if I knew that the plot had been 
 copied from actual life." 
 
 V" All plots are caught from life, sometimes direct from 
 the object, often as if reflected from a mirror transported 
 in a May-day moving van. Cease to marvel at anything. 
 Nature pays as much attention to the construction, life 
 and character of a gnat as of an elephant; and the 
 swallowing of a frog by a bass means just as much to 
 Nature as the destruction of Napoleon 's army in Russia. ' ' 
 
 . " Atheist," muttered the fat man. 
 
 The Poet caught the word. " Ah, and when you fall 
 downstairs you don't make any more noise in the ear 
 of the Lord than the soft and feathery pat of the spar 
 row that falls from the telegraph wire." 
 
 " Now look here, Mr. Howerson, I have seen from 
 the first that you don't like me. You josh me and you 
 make a joke of life, of business, in fact you seem to be 
 stage struck." 
 
 " Very good. You added strength by adding ' busi 
 ness.' Business first, then comes life, if it can. Out 
 of a sort of moody and humorous fellowship I might 
 possibly ' josh ' you, but I could never deprave myself 
 so far as to make a joke of business, the sacred Ox." 
 
 ' ' Mr. Howerson, your peculiar settlement of this strike 
 hasn't convinced me that you're in your right mind." 
 
 " Well, I haven't set up any exaggerated claim. Let 
 me see. I can 't get out of your beautiful city until four 
 to-morrow morning. What to do between now and 
 bedtime is more serious to me than the sacred Ox. I 
 didn't happen to bring any books with me. By the 
 way, has Father Carnegie bestowed one of his benedic 
 tions upon this town? What, you don't understand? 
 I'm sorry you couldn't have given that countenance 
 to the reading of Codowsky's note. It might not have
 
 A LITTLE PLAY 237 
 
 added to the result but surely it would have enhanced 
 art." 
 
 " Look here," fumed the superintendent; " I want 
 you to understand I won't be made a butt for any man. 
 And I want you to know, too, that Mr. Whateley will 
 get a very decided report from me." 
 
 " I hope you do send a careful statement to Mr. Whate 
 ley, and if it be a true one, it might relieve you of all 
 future anxiety concerning these mines. I'm not threat 
 ening you, but in truth you are not a master but an 
 antagonizer of men. I notice that you pass them in 
 the street as if they were cattle. I see that the children 
 fall back from you. I felt this the moment I saw you, 
 and then I had but to observe to see the impression con 
 firmed. You may not have been the direct cause of 
 the strike but I believe you could have prevented it. 
 Above all, you could have shown those men and their 
 wives and their children that you had a heart, granting 
 to you such a possession. I am here in Mr. Whateley 's 
 interest. I don 't believe you are. Good day. ' ' 
 
 Howerson did not wait for a reply. He went out 
 to look for a friend, a book. Mr. Carnegie had not 
 showered on this intellectual desert. But there were 
 books at the drug store, any amount of them, the post 
 master said; and therein Howerson found a row of 
 novels running every inch of six feet on the show case. 
 He was looking at their titles, hoping that among them 
 he might find an old friend, when there came a shout, 
 " Well I'll be blowed! " He wheeled about, and there 
 stood an old friend, not bound in buckram but clothed 
 in flesh Yal Watkins.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 NOT THE PRINTED BOOK 
 / 
 
 Love with wings of ecstasy may whir the trembling 
 hours away, but friendship, love's second thought and 
 sometimes better judgment, walks companion with the 
 hours and is grateful that they linger in their pace. 
 Now the Poet no longer sought the printed book, for in 
 Yal Watkins he had mutual reminiscence and kindred, 
 observation, a manuscript kept ever fresh and free from 
 mechanic binding. The friends strolled for a time about 
 the town, but as the air was biting, they went to the 
 hotel and with the best cigars offered by the traveler's 
 sample case, quartered themselves in Howerson's room. 
 
 " Of all men I least expected to meet you here," said 
 Watkins, sitting down, standing and walking about in 
 expression of his enjoyment. " It was natural enough 
 that you should run across me, for this is a part of my 
 territory. But you! " 
 
 " Part of my territory, too, Yal. You've heard of 
 the earth, I suppose." 
 
 " Yes," drawled Watkins, " I've struck it a time or 
 two." 
 
 " Well, the earth is my territory. How are you 
 doing? " 
 
 He had some half a dozen times answered this ques 
 tion, but his friend wanted again to hear him say, " Tip 
 top. I picked up the old glove and put it on." 
 
 And now came a question not asked before : ' ' Any 
 disposition to booze? " 
 
 238
 
 NOT THE PRINTED BOOK 239 
 
 " Not a bit. Never a moment's temptation. Liquor 
 may be a disease, but it's a disease that the mind can 
 cure. Give me a light. . . . Thank you. As soon 
 as a fellow realizes that between him and liquor there 
 are no halfway measures, that he must be a slave by asso 
 ciation and a master only by abstinence, he's got the 
 dog choked." 
 
 ' ' That 's true, Yal. More drunkards gag over liquor 
 than smile over it. ' Poverty is the brother of drunken 
 ness and crime,' quoth aptly the scientist of the ancient 
 world. ' ' 
 
 " Don't know that I'm acquainted with the gentle 
 man, but it's a fact just the same. Happen to have his 
 name about you at present? I don't care who tells a 
 lie, but when a fellow tells a truth I like to get his 
 ' number. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Aristotle as far ahead of Plato when it comes to 
 truth and common sense as Darwin was of a lisping 
 child." 
 
 ' ' I see. I Ve about let all such things slip since I gave 
 up school teaching in the Black Hills." 
 
 " What is it you haven't done, Col. Watkins? " 
 
 " Let me see. I've milked goats in Mexico, canvassed 
 for the ' Royal Path of Life ' in the Klondike, run wild 
 cat whiskey down the Kentucky river in tin-lined coffins, 
 sold sassafras sprouts for Alberta peach trees in Okla 
 homa and most everything else. ' ' 
 
 " Enough to prove that you've made an effort to get 
 on in the world. Do you like the cigar business? " 
 
 " It's all right enough, George, but I don't like to 
 travel about and go nowhere as I once did. I am begin 
 ning to hanker for the luxury of staying in one place 
 at a time." 
 
 " How would you like to live here, Yal? "
 
 240 THE NEW ME. HOWERSON 
 
 "Me? You may laugh, but I'd like it. Did I ever 
 tell you I was born out on the pike about three miles 
 from this town? I was." 
 
 " Do you know anything about a coal mine? " 
 
 " Yes, it's a hole in the ground. But how can a fel 
 low be serious when you fire such questions at him? " 
 
 " Do you think you could manage these coal mines? " 
 
 " Manage 'em? You don't have to. They can't get 
 away." 
 
 ' ' Eoundly, roundly, mad wag. I want to know. Could 
 you? It is a position heavy with responsibility, but I 
 want to know and in all seriousness whether you feel 
 equal ' ' 
 
 1 " George, I could eat it up. My old man, when he 
 wasn't acting, used to operate a mine not ten miles from 
 here, and a coal mine was the darksome front door to 
 the ramshackle mansion of my experience. Manage a 
 mine? Tell me not in mournful numbers. But what 
 about it? " 
 
 " A good deal about it. I believe that by my advice 
 Mr. "Whateley for his own good is going to erect a derrick 
 and remove this man Wherry. I think the job is worth 
 from four to five thousand a year. And if you feel 
 
 ' ' Feel ! Why, George, I 'm tingling all over. Feel ! 
 If you can get the job for me I'll trot up the hill 
 side with it under my arm. You know I've always 
 been honest, when the opportunity offered. You know 
 I'd suffer my right arm to be cut off rather than stick 
 you. Without boasting, I tell you I can manage these 
 works better than they were ever managed." 
 
 " I believe you, old fellow. I know you are kind- 
 hearted, and without goodness of heart, tempered witli 
 judgment as it must be, no man ought to be set over r 
 number of men. In the street as we came along I
 
 NOT THE PRINTED BOOK 241 
 
 noticed what I have seen in you before, that you inspire 
 children with confidence. Without a similar faculty I 
 should now be but no matter. I believe I can get 
 this place for you, and you convince me that I shall not 
 make a mistake. You may think that I act out of friend 
 ship for you, and in a way this is true, but I am moved 
 mainly by another motive, the desire to do everything I 
 possibly can for Mr. Whateley's interest. If you were 
 my twin brother and I did not feel you to be compe 
 tent, I would get the job for a competent enemy rather 
 than for you. Yal, I am doing sentimental penance, 
 and one of these days when I explain to you, your eyes 
 will blink more astonishment than you were ever able 
 to make them express when on the stage Miss what 
 was that blonde's name? " 
 
 " Oh er Miss Hortense Ludwig, to the restricted 
 public, but Sadie Martin by divorce court register." 
 
 " Well, when Miss Ludwig as Lady Montrose threw 
 herself into your arms with the shriek that so far as 
 she was able to discover, the house was on fire. 
 Yal, I can 't get it out of my head that I am not playing 
 a part. Sometimes when I'm with Whateley I catch 
 myself saying, 'Let's see, what's my cue? ' And at 
 the close of the performance it will be a quick curtain 
 I fear me. 
 
 " We haven't got down to the question under discus 
 sion in a very business-like way, but we understand each 
 other, and that's the main point. I'll reach Chicago 
 to-morrow evening about eight thirty and shall go at 
 once to the Big Jolt's castle; and before I leave he'll 
 hear of a fellow named Watkins. He'll say ' Man of 
 experience? ' and answer the walking gentleman, 
 ' Experience ? Why he never had anything else ! ' 
 
 "111 go with you to Chicago. I've sold this town
 
 242' THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 and will instruct myself to go in, preparatory to an 
 attack in another weak quarter of the enemy. I was 
 going in anyway. George, the suddenness of my last 
 rise has left me bewildered. Lord, I couldn't have 
 believed it possible; and the very next day my rags 
 seemed ages ago." 
 
 " Misfortunes fly fast to overtake us," said Hower- 
 son, " and sometimes they fly fast leaving us. Yal, I'm 
 glad you came into the plot. You help me." 
 
 ' ' Help you ! Why you soulful simpleton ! I 'm the 
 squealing pig got out from under the fence. But what 
 will the fat man say to it? I met him in a drug and 
 cigar emporium the other day and asked him to have 
 a weed with me, now selling at five cents, and he told me 
 that it was not his intention to be turned into an adver 
 tisement. Won't he object to being turned into the 
 advertisement of his own failure? " 
 
 " Verily, verily he will; and he'll scrap for his job, 
 and in argument with Whateley he will log-roll his 
 weight against me." 
 
 " But see here," Watkins interposed, " I oughtn't 
 to build my hopes very high until we. see how much he 
 weighs. We must " 
 
 A rap on the door. ' ' Come in ! " and entered Wherry, 
 just as timely as if the talk had led up to his necessary 
 appearance. " Take this chair," but discretion sug 
 gested the bed. But discretion suggests sometimes an 
 opportune action and fails to inspire a timely thought. 
 It seemed that Wherry could not settle upon what to 
 say ; and when on such occasions you seek to help a man, 
 you help him inaptly. 
 
 " Rather a pleasant evening coming on," said How- 
 erson.
 
 NOT THE PRINTED BOOK 243 
 
 "It's cold," said Wherry. 
 
 " But I don't think we're going to have any more 
 frost," ventured Howerson. 
 
 " Maybe you don't," declared Wherry. 
 
 " Ah, just indicate as to what you'd like for me to 
 say and perhaps I'll say it," said Howerson. 
 
 " I guess we've got all the way around the stump," 
 Wherry replied, " and I'd like a few words with you, 
 alone." He looked at Watkins. Howerson spoke up: 
 " Go ahead. Never mind him. He's my secretary." 
 
 " He's a cigar dealer and was here before you came. 
 I guess you are playing another one of your little stage 
 skits." 
 
 " No, another act of the same one. It is a sort of 
 Chinese drama, and goes on and on. Actors drop out 
 and don't wait to see the happy round-up at the close." 
 
 " And I suppose you'd have me believe I've dropped 
 out. Well, it so happens that I haven 't ; and don 't you 
 believe Whateley is going to put me out of this job. 
 I've been with him too long." 
 
 "That's what I've been thinking," said Howerson. 
 
 " Oh, you have. We'll see about it. I know too much, 
 young man." 
 
 " And no library in your town, either." 
 
 " Know too much about Whateley 's affairs. Don't fool 
 yourself he won't put me out. And as for you 
 what do you suppose these men would do if I told 'em 
 of the trick you put over? " 
 
 " They'd call it a good trick." 
 
 " Yes they would. They'd walk out." 
 
 " Saying, ' After you, sir.' " 
 
 " Yes, they would. They'd walk out with me." 
 
 Howerson yawned. " Any suggestions? "
 
 244 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " Oh, I've offered my suggestions all right enough. 
 Whateley will know what comes next. My statement 
 will get to him about as soon as you do. ' ' 
 
 " I can take it with me if you've got it ready." 
 
 ' ' Yes, I 'd let you. It has gone by special delivery. ' ' 
 
 " Why not by special train? All right, our business 
 is settled. Col. Watkins, the supper bell, methinks." 
 
 " Wait a moment," Wherry snorted. " Can't you 
 drop that play-acting rot for a second and talk like a 
 human being? " 
 
 ' ' Ha, a Puritan, ' ' cried Howerson, turning to Watkins 
 in mimic fright. ' ' We shall be scourged to Tyburn ! A 
 wise one said, ' Satire is the sister of Elegy.' Here we 
 have 'em both in one. Behold them." 
 
 " Damned fool," Wherry growled. 
 
 " Mark, Col. Watkins," said Howerson, his hand on 
 the doorknob. ' ' He says ' damned fool ! ' Puritanism 
 turned desperado. Let us send him up a pot of tea 
 to soothe him back into the Quaker-hanging gentleness 
 of his ancestors." 
 
 " That's all right, gay buck but I'll hang your hide 
 on the fence. Mark that, too, Col. Watkins." 
 
 " Marked down to cost," Watkins grinned. 
 
 " My hide, buck-hide on the fence," moaned Hower 
 son, shuddering at the prospective sight. " And passers- 
 by will say, ' A fair hide, upon my word.' But when 
 your expansive skin hangs out upon the bending hedge, 
 some city journeyer through the lane will say, ' Club 
 house airing its carpet ! ' Col. Watkins, a strip of leather 
 called steak, a sugared puff ball, shovel-billed catfish 
 pinked and called salmon, muddy chickory called coffee 
 and jelly made of the once prancing foot of the bull- 
 calf of the green, wait for us below. Captain Wherry, 
 adieu."
 
 NOT THE PRINTED BOOK 245 
 
 The superintendent followed them out, muttering: 
 " Loon, if there ever was one. And if Whateley hasn't 
 suspected it before, a sight of you when you get back 
 will make it plain to him." 
 
 After supper the friends walked about the town, a 
 quiet though rollic stroll, burlesque philosophers at play, 
 their minds as idle as young dogs unchained and almost 
 as graceful. Other days flew back on gauzy wings, days 
 which once had circled bat-like about them, threatening 
 with clammy wing to slap their faces, days of hunger 
 and nights of distress, but now days of happiness because 
 they were of the past. 
 
 At a stall where were sold the news of the day and 
 the month's output of fiction, political abuses, public 
 opinion, illustrated with portraits of old men of the day 
 and young actresses of the moment, the idlers found 
 a treasure, a volume of native odes, sonnets and rhymed 
 protest against this modern and unappreciative life. 
 
 Upon this book they seized, and in that exultation 
 which only book lovers can feel, they took it to the hotel 
 to gluttonize over it. In Howerson's room, not long 
 before train time, they were still fresh in the enjoyment 
 of its " dank lush grass," when Wherry came for just 
 a word, he assured them, as he sat heavily on the bed. 
 
 ' ' Mr. Howerson, I have waited to see you just before 
 you go." 
 
 " All right, but I thought that our characters, we 
 three, so far as they relate one to another, had, for our 
 purposes, been sufficiently developed." 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, man, be natural. How can you 
 keep up that nonsense so long? " 
 
 " Natural? Don't dogs play? Don't horses kick up 
 their heels ? Natural ! "Why, you are the one determined 
 to live apart from nature."
 
 246 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " You are not natural, sir; you are simply unreason 
 able." 
 
 ' ' Thank thee for that cue. The poet sayeth that man, 
 being a reasoning creature, must get drunk ; and wedded 
 to temperance, I am unreasonable that I may keep sober. 
 You come in upon us when we are making the long hour 
 short reading over recovered letters to our lost love, 
 Miss Muse, and laughing because we find that our tribute 
 to her eyebrow was a ditty tuned up with heart throb and 
 sung to a smear of burnt cork. And we are wise to 
 laugh, for 
 
 * If all the year were playing holidays 
 
 To sport would be as tedious as to work, 
 
 But when they seldom come they wished-for come, 
 
 And thus nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.' 
 
 Thus spoke great Hal in deep soliloquy, 
 
 And thus upon John Wherry we enjoin, 
 
 That he should come as accident most rare. 
 
 We pay you grave tribute. Don't we, Col. Watkins? 
 Speak up, lad! " 
 
 " Yea, couple him up with greatness, let him loll 
 where flesh and genius lolled, while he brings only 
 flesh." 
 
 " Bravo, Colonel Watkins, the struck nail sinks to 
 the head. Now, sir, to you we yield the threatened floor. ' ' 
 
 Wherry puffed out his jaws. " I have been in an 
 insane asylum ' ' 
 
 But emboldened Watkins cut in upon him: " Natural 
 enough, the question being ' why away? ' 
 
 " Peace ye," cried Howerson. " Let him speak." 
 
 ' ' And I was going to say this : Have been in an insane 
 asylum and never saw such insanity. But I didn 't come
 
 NOT THE PRINTED BOOK 247 
 
 to tell you something you ought to have known already, 
 but to say in all fair warning that it would be foolish 
 in you to attempt to bring about a clash between Whate- 
 ley and me. I have been with him ten years. So let 
 us part on good terms. I am a useful man here and 
 Whateley knows it. I have no family; I have nothing 
 to look after but his affairs. Let us be serious." 
 
 " Mr. Wherry," said Howerson, " nothing would 
 please me more. But I am unfortunate in my composi 
 tion. I can't be serious at will. With me seriousness is 
 a disease, a dropsy of melancholy waters, cured by 
 humorous tapping. And now in bounding health, I'll 
 be as sick with you as I can. I am going to tell Mr. 
 Whateley that you have out-fattened your usefulness 
 here. As I said before, you are unkindly, and for the 
 grouch that believes itself a virtue, I give it entertain 
 ment while I hold my watch, to mark off its allotted 
 minute. Col. Watkins, the train."
 
 CHAPTER XXH. 
 A PIECE OF GOLD 
 
 Wherry followed the roisterers down the stairs and 
 out to the hack, where an old fellow whose boast was 
 that once he had owned a stable, now, with two bare- 
 boned horses, was waiting to haul off guests ever impa 
 tient to hear his " Git ep." Howerson regretted that 
 he had kept the superintendent out of his bed, assuring 
 him that his staying up was an unexpected, not to say 
 an unnecessary, courtesy. He was not one to depreciate 
 the early morning air; still it was wise that a very big 
 man, exposing more of pore surface than one of a less 
 generous expansion, should have a " shrewd care of his 
 health." Wherry told him not to worry. He ran no 
 risk in coming down. He was not afraid to venture 
 forth in the morning's raw air, especially when he could 
 be of service to a fellow creature : ' ' And that service, 
 sir, is to tell you this : Kemember that I know too much. 
 That's all." 
 
 The driver cried his sharp but welcome ' ' Git ep, ' ' and 
 Wherry's form was merged into the deep shade of the 
 dawn. A dog ran out and barked, snapping at the 
 horses' heels; and from a cottage wherein burned a 
 yellow light, came a Polish cradle song, the words for 
 eign, but the tender melody as universal as the 
 human heart. Some little sufferer was hushed of his 
 crying and soothed of his pain, and some poor creature 
 born to bear the burdens of love, was on the threshold 
 of another long day of toil. 
 
 248
 
 A PIECE OF GOLD 249 
 
 " Stop a moment," Howerson commanded. 
 
 " Haven't got much time," the driver growled. 
 
 " Stop anyhow." When the hack had halted, the 
 Poet leaped out, ran to the cottage and rapped on the 
 door. A woman came, a woman whose step was weary, 
 and she stood in silence. " For the little one," said the 
 Poet and catching her hand, he closed it on a piece of 
 gold and ran away. 
 
 Up and down the platform strode the roisterers, where 
 in the lamplight had gleamed the bayonet, but the sol 
 dier now was gone. 
 
 " Col. "Watkins, I charge ye, sir, behold God's cres 
 sets blazing in the sky, brightest just before Dawn, the 
 youngster, comes to snuff them. Mark them, Colonel, 
 and so order your life that it may harvest brightness 
 at the close." 
 
 ' Yea, verily, Poet; and croak resplendent." 
 
 " Col. Watkins, Montaigne's great pen records that 
 Thales was reproached for his poverty, and that there 
 upon he went out at night, and studying the stars 
 learned from them that there was to be an abundant 
 olive crop. Then what does he do? Mark him. At 
 small cost he gets an option on all the olive presses, 
 thereby gathering much gold. Because he wanted it? 
 Nay. But to show that a philosopher can make money 
 if he lends his mind to it." 
 
 " All of which means? " 
 
 " Lend your mind to it, Col. Watkins. Get hold of 
 some real estate here and after a while we'll joke it 
 into double value." 
 
 " You seem- to think I'm really going to get this 
 place." 
 
 ' Yes, I believe it up to the third degree of serious 
 ness. "
 
 250 THE NEW ME. HOWERSON 
 
 " But Wherry keeps on telling us he knows too 
 much. ' ' 
 
 " The more reason that he should be told to pack his 
 extensive wardrobe. Our caravan approaches." 
 
 Out from beneath the fading star the train rushed, 
 and on a frosted hilltop met the flashing blaze-tide of 
 the rising sun. 
 
 " Over yonder," said Howerson, humping his shoul 
 der toward a farmhouse, " lives the youth that longs 
 for the city. The tuning-fork has told him that he has 
 a soul for music, and mastery of the multiplication table 
 assures him of his fitness for business. Thus equipped 
 he feels the cruelty of the hand that holds him back 
 from conquest. And let me tell you that here's where 
 the conquerors come from. Out of disturbed Corsicas, 
 beneath banners of silk, march forth Napoleons to make 
 a dice-box of a throne and to shake out the destinies of 
 empires, but from such stagnant life as this about us 
 comes the boa constrictor of trade who, wrapping his 
 folds about a nation, crushes out a revenue such as would 
 have made great Nap blink like a horned owl." 
 
 " And you got in with one of them. How the deuce 
 did you do it? " 
 
 " I didn't. It was a part of the plot." 
 
 " Yes, of course, but, George, you don't mean that a 
 man's life is really marked out for him and that he is 
 compelled to follow it. You don't really mean that, do 
 you? " 
 
 " Suppose I say, my dear Colonel, that side trips 
 may be haphazard but that the journey is scheduled? " 
 
 " Suppose you should, and then I'd ask, ' Why hap 
 hazard side trips ? Why not go entirely on schedule ? ' 
 
 ' ' Then I 'd up and say, ' Why not ? ' In my own case 
 the prearranged plot is too plain and I can 't dispute it. ' '
 
 A PIECE OF GOLD 251 
 
 " George, you remind me of the founder of a religion: 
 afraid to make your doctrine commonplace by clearness, 
 you resort to mysticism. I used to know a street preacher, 
 big fellow named Batterson ' ' 
 
 " Yes, Batterson. Go ahead. I think I've heard of 
 him. Where is he now? Have you seen him lately? " 
 
 " Ah, see how interested you are in the obscure. Let 
 me see saw him only a few days ago. But it struck 
 me that he had reformed." 
 
 " How? " the Poet inquired eagerly. 
 
 ' ' Well, for one thing he had on a clean shirt. ' ' 
 
 " And the other thing? What about it? " 
 
 " He seemed to have a soberer determination than of 
 yore. ' ' 
 
 " Anybody with him? " 
 
 " Someone that might not in the least interest you: 
 a woman. Ah, but she might interest you now that Cap 
 ital is your stage-manager. Of course you've heard of 
 Annie Zondish, the anarchist. They accused her at the 
 time of having inspired the assassination of McKinley, 
 but this was not true. She is not after rulers but cap 
 italists." 
 
 " Yes, Yal " he did not call him Colonel Watkins 
 now ' ' but how does it chance that you know so much 
 about her? " 
 
 " Why, one night she picked me up out of an alley, 
 fed me on dried fish and commanded me to read her 
 book. It was a black thing had the scent of a mur 
 derer's paw. When she left me, I gave it a bath; I 
 threw it into the river." 
 
 " And the other day you saw her with Batterson. 
 Anyone else in the party? " 
 
 " Yes, an oldish undertaker of a fellow. He looked 
 as if he had just buried a buzzard, a member of his
 
 252 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 own family. In my recovered kingdom of togs and 
 prosperity Annie didn't recognize me, and I didn't care 
 to make myself known, afraid she might ask about her 
 book. But," continued Watkins with a wave of the 
 hand, " to sulphurous depths with 'em. They are not 
 in our plot. Ah, but soft me now, George, let me gentle 
 myself, as our poor old comedian used to say, but have 
 you ever met Whateley's daughter? Both morning and 
 afternoon editions call her handsome. What say you, 
 and how far does she go along with the plot ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' You look as if you expect me to answer with embar 
 rassment. Yes, I have met her several times. It 
 would be easy to say ' charming,' wouldn't it? Noth 
 ing easier than to say ' handsome, accomplished, thrill 
 ing, dazzling.' But ecstasy answers no questions nor 
 does praise set forth character." 
 
 " Are you thinking of something to say? " said Wat- 
 kins. 
 
 ' ' No, trying to keep from saying too much. You ask 
 if she is handsome. I could dismiss her looks by saying 
 yes or no." 
 
 " But you won't." 
 
 " No, for it would be like throwing away a rose while 
 the scent is still sweet. And by the way, her name is 
 Rose." 
 
 " Remarkable," said Watkins. 
 
 " Oh, not startling. The first impression she made on 
 me was that she must be game. Rather funny, wasn't 
 it? " 
 
 " Uproarious. But go ahead." 
 
 ' ' Game that was it. There was something about her 
 eyes that pronounced her fearless. In the wars of the 
 Hussites the Bohemian women fought in the ranks the 
 same as men, and looking at this young woman I have
 
 A PIECE OF GOLD 253 
 
 thought, ' Oh, but you would have been a gallant 
 trooper. ' And now I am going to say something foolish. ' ' 
 
 " I warrant you," said Watkins. 
 
 " I am going to say that she has a perfume of man 
 ner. She has. Did you ever smell a hickory sapling? 
 Did you ever see one waving gently in a soft breeze and 
 then catch a smell of its nodding buds, so delicate that 
 the girl who was with you laughed at you and said that 
 she couldn't smell anything? This hickory sapling is 
 almost a perfume for the soul ; the perfume of this girl 's 
 manner is a perfume wholly for the soul. Do you get 
 me? " 
 
 " Got you all right, George, but what does she look 
 like ? No goddess business. What 's her style ? ' ' 
 
 " Large gray eyes, with maple syrup hair, almost too 
 abundant; tall; a mouth of character, made handsome 
 by the kind words it has uttered; a voice so full of 
 melody as sometimes to rob her words of all meaning, 
 though she is wise in speech ; a real laugh and that 's 
 most rare a laugh whose music steals in upon your 
 dreams and wakes you and makes you sit on the edge 
 of your bed and say, ' Damn it, man, this won't do.' 
 Can you see her ? ' ' 
 
 " I have seen her, George, in an auto in front of the 
 old man's office; and I said to myself that she was as 
 well-finished a young woman as I had ever seen; and 
 while a fellow that has gone through the rolling mill 
 as I have is not given to sentiment, I thought that if I 
 had the gold topnot of a duke she could take it away 
 from me and pawn it if she wanted to. The fellow that 
 was with her ' ' 
 
 11 What's that? " 
 
 " The fellow that was with her got out, and the first 
 thing about him that struck me, was the enormous
 
 254 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 length of his legs. You remember that out on the road 
 we used to say of a long-legged fellow that he must have 
 served as a bell boy at a country hotel and acquired his 
 high split by running up the stairs." 
 
 " He, he," the Poet laughed, " a fellow with long 
 legs. Must have been exceedingly funny. Well, what 
 about him ? Haven 't you got anything else to say ? Do 
 you dismiss a man for all time simply because his 
 infernal legs happen to be long? What about him? " 
 
 " Well, he looked as if he might have owned a trust 
 or two. I was wondering whether your plot concerns 
 him." 
 
 " Can't possibly. I don't think we are ever to be on 
 at the same time." 
 
 ' ' You can 't tell, ' ' said Watkins. ' ' He may give you 
 some little annoyance, but of course it's in the forecast 
 that you are to marry this charming woman. How 
 about that, as you go along? " 
 
 " It can't be, Yal. You know that after all this is an 
 old-time play, with its jumble of comedy and tragedy, 
 and it is to end in murder." 
 
 "What! " 
 
 " In the murder of Hope. There will be a confession, 
 the devil arises and down through an up-pouring of red 
 light he descends with old George. And now my aim 
 is to put it off, to hold the audience as long as possible. 
 But it must come." 
 
 ' ' Confession be blowed. Tell her you love her. That 's 
 the only confession that counts with a woman." 
 
 ' ' But the confession is not to her, but to the old man. ' ' 
 
 " Nothing to it, George. Your confession is simply 
 the acknowledged parentage of certain follies, the stage 
 and a vagabond love for a trollop in rags, strayed child 
 of an almost respectable family, Miss Verse. I might
 
 A PIECE OF GOLD 255 
 
 add another weakness, straw-colored liquor held high 
 with a song and viewed through the light of the tran 
 som. But, old George, a fellow that could gather him 
 self up and then resurrect me, old broken-life me, can 
 do anything." 
 
 " Col. Watkins, enough. We'll now go into the din 
 ing car and eat a planked whitefish, old enough to be 
 the great grandsire of the minnows we used to catch on 
 a pin hook, and kept in chill storage ever since that 
 time. Come, roundly, roundly, and let me lead thee to 
 the feast."
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 MILLIONAIRED LONG LEGS 
 
 Upon arriving in town, Howerson, taking Watkins 
 with him, drove to the hotel where he still retained a 
 room, and where he expected to find certain garments 
 from the tailor's, paid for in advance. To his friend 
 he said that he was going out to the " Big Jolt's " house 
 looking as much as possible the smooth and easy victor. 
 He may not have realized it, but his mind at this moment 
 dwelt upon a certain man, name unknown, but possessed 
 of long legs. Yes, there were the clothes, together with 
 neckties that seemed to enjoy one another's bright 
 society. With a smile the Poet looked upon them, and 
 hastening to make ready he said to Watkins that he 
 would take a taxi and be back in a jiffy. Watkins was 
 instructed to remain. Oh, there was no need to be 
 anxious over the probable outcome. It was not probable ; 
 it was certain. In a mirror he caught sight of himself 
 and bowed. It was not vanity ; it was armament. 
 
 " Coat fits like the bark of a beech tree, eh, Col. Wat- 
 kins ? Thank you. . . f . Your opinion is of worth. 
 What the deuce is that phone ringing for? See who 
 it is." He turned about and waited. " Oh, the taxi. 
 Be ready in a minute. You'll find a book or so on the 
 table to while away the time. I won't be gone long. 
 I'm glad, old fellow, you are so interwoven in the plot. 
 But I don't think it a play, though, that women will like. 
 It can't be helped, however. A man can play only 
 
 256
 
 MILLIONAIRED LONG LEGS 257 
 
 what is in him. The highest art is to please one's own 
 soul with consciousness of truth. If virtue were as 
 tight as this damned glove, she'd burst her own hide. 
 It's without Sunday moral, this play, Colonel. Well, 
 I'm off." 
 
 In the taxi Howerson mused over Watkins' amended 
 ending of the play. The old man had accepted him as a 
 sort of prodigy, an opportune commercial inspiration, lis 
 tening amused to his confessions of un worthiness ; but 
 could even little Calvin's confidence and admiration 
 serve as shield against the discovery that while a trusted 
 servant he sought to be a thief? But was he ambitious 
 of so bold and exalted a robbery ? Had hope dared drink 
 itself so drunk? And in disclaiming it all, his mind 
 thought itself honest. In meshes of metaphor he tangled 
 himself, and laughed himself free. " Don't think, grim 
 dramatist, that I fail to catch your aim," he mused. 
 " It would serve as one of your sweetest and most 
 revengeful jokes to set my heart on fire and bid me 
 urn the ashes and weep over them. You know that with 
 all my vanities, I have galley-slaved for no woman, and 
 now " The taxi slowed, stopped, and he got out 
 among automobiles and carriages, in front of Whateley 's 
 house. Lights blazed from doors and windows. 
 
 At the door a squash-faced flunky inquired the Poet's 
 name. Never mind the name. He was not an invited 
 guest, but had come to see Mr. Whateley on urgent busi 
 ness. At the word business the flunky let fall his jaw. 
 He had heard the word, an American word, and though 
 the menial of it, held it in contempt. Old Paul caught 
 sight of Howerson, came forward, and requested him to 
 step into the library. Old Calvin was not a part of the 
 " function." Off from the library was an emergency 
 room for business that dogged him home, and in this
 
 25$ THE NEW MR HOWERSON 
 
 annex, known slyly as the " Inquisition,*' the master 
 was shut up with a man from South America. 
 
 " I will tell him you are here and he will see you as 
 soon as possible," said old Paul. 
 
 The hum of voices, music, laughter were borne from 
 the drawing rooms, and from the gridiron on which he 
 sat the Poet caught shifting sight of a dazzling scene. 
 He saw a very tall man swim slowly through a choppy 
 tide of white shoulders and Rose met him, took his 
 arm. What was that? They were coming toward the 
 library. They entered, and Howerson arose with a bow, 
 mastered under the tutelage of a stage-manager of the 
 old school. 
 
 " Why T Mr. Howerson ! " and she came forward with 
 such frankness, with grace so simple and sincere that he 
 felt ashamed of himself. " I didn't know you'd got 
 back. Oh, youVe just returned. Let me introduce Mr. 
 Smill." 
 
 And his legs were long. Having fallen into an argu 
 ment Smill and Rose had come to consult a book, to settle 
 it ; and it looked as if Mr. Smill could stand flat of foot 
 and pluck down the " highest-roosting nightingales." 
 Smill! Well, there was at least some comfort in the 
 name. The book, Petronius Arbiter. What the deuce 
 did he know about a book like that? What intellectual 
 right had he? But he did know, and won the argument. 
 He spoke of Europe, whence he had of late returned, 
 as if it were his playground, the Mediterranean as his 
 " Old Swimming Hole." 
 
 The worst of it was that Rose seemed pleased to hear 
 him talk. But surely she could not love him. And why 
 not ? Did not history come forward titteringly to prove 
 that many of the world's handsomest and most intel 
 lectual women have been enamored not only of physical
 
 MTTJJONATRED LONG LEGS 259 
 
 but of moral deformity I Not much condolence to be 
 eked from such speculation. But the name Smill, that 
 was soothing. Ah, but how stupid not to have recalled 
 a name so often headlined by the newspapers. Arthur 
 Smill, steel-maker of Pittsburgh and of Gary, son of a 
 father who when dying smiled upon the poor but not 
 until then; Arthur Smill, the origin of whose seventy- 
 five millions sprouted in the soil of grandadish antiquity. 
 Not always does great wealth hold with his brother, more 
 great wealth, contemptuous converse over illuminated 
 manuscript and the sacred inkhorn of God's sublime suf 
 ferer, the poet. The third generation, cleansed of sharp 
 bargain's grime, stands patron to tomb-forgotten genius 
 and invites his immortal children, old books, to the club 
 and to auction held in church. 
 
 " Yes," said Smill as Rose listened to his talk, " no 
 matter who the man may be, in the library he can always 
 reach up and take down his master." 
 
 In him Howerson no longer saw a man of only 
 money and long legs, but a balanced gentleman, a stu 
 dent; but to what degree the influence of seventy-five 
 millions entered into this estimate, he could not trust 
 himself to determine; and the Poet mused, letting fell 
 a hopeless look upon the woman: " He's flattening me 
 out on my own ground." 
 
 A poor part was the Poet, of late so confident and so 
 rollicking, now to play ; and lending his mind to drollery 
 he sought to trip up dignity, captivating to a fun-loving 
 woman when it succeeds. But it did not, for here he 
 was met with humor, not the millionaire's own, but of 
 the trust, and as in all matters of the syndicate, directed 
 with cunning force. Rose laughed and " millions " 
 chuckled with good fellowship. Then the Poet made the 
 discovery that in a way the steel man's mind was too
 
 260 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 well ordered, that in his criticism of creative thinkers 
 there was no insinuative newness, no original explora 
 tion, no metaphysical surprise in his whim or crisp 
 exactness in his observations; and now, accommodated 
 to his own egotism, the Poet counted victory at least in 
 some measure, when he caught a stammer in the mind 
 of this tall intruder into the plot. 
 
 Rose was so taken with the flavor of ' ' Pal 's ' ' courage 
 that she withheld herself from the tilt-yard of this 
 spirited though good-humored joust, but suspecting 
 that there was on the part of either knight a lag of 
 thrust, she would slyly warm him to it. 
 
 It seemed that of late she had been much in SmilPs 
 company, and had grown a bit weary of his learning. 
 With the poor there is some excuse for scholarship, an 
 ancient right; while the rich, robbing poverty of rags 
 washed at the sacred pool, add tatters to fine raiment 
 and make boast of it. The Poet caught her mood. 
 
 " With the rich," he said, " mind may be permitted 
 to go on unproductive journeys, if they be short, but to 
 them the real province of the mind is not to spin fancies 
 but to weave cloth. Carnegie buys books by the ship 
 load, but to him the book is not the mind's master 
 achievement, nor is it consistent with his nature and 
 experience that it should be. America offers over other 
 nations no advantage of books, and America is the 
 world's richest nation. Italy is rich in sentiment only, 
 and out from among marble hands, admired of the world, 
 is stretched a real hand, grimy and wrinkled, the hand 
 of poverty, begging. ' The mind's greatest and most 
 lasting achievement is to create wealth, ' says Mr. 
 Carnegie. ' ' 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Mr. " He could not get How- 
 erson's name and Rose in sly mischief refused to help
 
 MILLIONAIRED LONG LEGS 261 
 
 him. " Beg your pardon, sir, but I count Mr. Carnegie 
 as one of my closest friends, and I never heard him say 
 that." 
 
 " Oh, he may not have said it to you, but I can hear 
 his spirit shout it to the world. ' ' 
 
 " Ah, but you can sit back and make a man's spirit 
 shout anything you please; and I can say, ' I didn't 
 hear it,' and then you can reply, ' Probably not. You 
 are deaf.' ' 
 
 ' ' Yes, and you might be deaf. A man is always deaf 
 to any spirit shout he doesn't care to hear. But answer 
 me this : Do you regard Mr. Carnegie as a great man ? ' 
 
 " I surely do a wonderful man." 
 
 ' ' As great a man, for instance, as Edgar Poe ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' Well, but they are so totally different that you can 't 
 compare them. It would be unjust to both. But if you 
 ask me which one of these men has been of greater bene 
 fit to mankind, I shall say Carnegie; and, I believe that 
 a poll of the public would bear me out. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Undoubtedly. Poe wrote a few books ; Carnegie has 
 given millions of books to the public. You will admit it 
 is generous to build libraries." 
 
 " Admit it," laughed Mr. Smill. " Why, I proclaim 
 it." 
 
 " Of course. Now suppose I were possessed of five 
 hundred millions and should set aside one hundred mil 
 lions for Art. Would that be generous? " 
 
 " To the public, yes." 
 
 " And suppose that Art should consist of a monument 
 over my own grave. Would that be generous ? Wouldn 't 
 it be an expression of vanity? " 
 
 " Well, putting it that way, probably so." 
 
 " And yet you call it generous when in nearly every 
 town in the country Mr. Carnegie builds a monument to
 
 262 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 himself. Suppose Mr. Carnegie, upon deciding to give 
 away a certain sum of money, had assembled a number 
 of old men and said to them, ' You men have burnt out 
 your eyes with gazing into the bubbling metal of my 
 melting pots. You are old and poor. It is not for me to 
 say that you could have been rich. You didn't happen 
 to be constituted that way. But it is for me to say that 
 I had thought to establish a large number of libraries 
 throughout the country, involving an expenditure of 
 millions, but I have changed my mind. I am going to 
 apportion this money among you. You helped me to 
 acquire it. Don't say anything about it.' And now 
 Mr. Smill, wouldn't that have been more generous than 
 the building of a thousand brick and mortar monuments 
 unto himself? I have observed that people who really 
 want books can get them; and I've noticed, too, that a 
 million books will not induce some people to read. What 
 do you think of it? " 
 
 Hereupon Rose cried out: " I'll tell you what I 
 think, Mr. Howerson. I think you are right. Poverty 
 doesn't care for books, and the people for whom those 
 libraries are intended are able to buy them. The enjoy 
 ment and the profit of books require a sort of free mental 
 atmosphere, and the literary charity patient is rarely 
 benefited or grateful. It so happens that I know a great 
 deal about the working of the charitable machine, and I 
 know that books are not what a certain class looks to 
 for happiness. Mr. Carnegie's class has the books 
 already; and the only true intellectual charity that I 
 can see is to move the lower order up into the library 
 class." 
 
 Mr. Smill smiled with illuminative indulgence. When 
 a woman talked " wisdom " it was to him as prettily 
 ingenious as the doll that squawks when you squeeze it.
 
 MILLIONAIRED LONG LEGS 263 
 
 " How is all this to be brought about? " he inquired, 
 and what a tribute to her sex that from her he should 
 seek not amusement but information. 
 
 " Not by buildings with domes," she said. " And 
 never by any system of organized charity. You may 
 organize against the cause of poverty but not against 
 poverty itself. Seek out the individual and help him, 
 and in his turn the individual knows whom to help. The 
 guide to distress is not the man of millions but the fel 
 low who hasn't a penny. Take Dr. Henshaw, for 
 instance. Do you suppose he could find virtue in distress 
 outside of his own creed? In view of doing charity 
 work worth while, I have thought of employing some 
 woman from the slums to teach me, to go about with me, 
 to help merit find employment. ' ' 
 
 No light of indulgence now glowed forth from the 
 countenance of Mr. Smill. " And a fine reputation you 
 would have at the close," he said in a failing effort to 
 smile. 
 
 Now fell another opportunity for the Stage Manager 
 of the Old School. Howerson bowed to Miss Whateley 
 and gave to Smill a sort of dignified shudder. " Grace 
 may accomplish most when most she risks her reputa 
 tion," he said, and to himself he mused, " Old fellow if 
 you put this one over, you're good." And he did. Ail- 
 that Smill needed to do was to laugh, and this down-stage 
 trick would have lost its countenance. But he did not 
 laugh, that is, quickly enough, and a delayed laugh is as 
 much an acknowledgment of defeat as a timely guffaw 
 is a declaration of victory. Howerson 's blood warmed 
 his fingertips, his ears, and then he felt it leap like a 
 steel-head salmon. He had heard Rose whisper, " Pal." 
 Then came the thought that his too eager ear might in 
 its straining have caught an accent of its own creation,
 
 264 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 and in still water the leaping fish fell dead. Keen hope 
 gave her a glance and she smiled, but not with the 
 stolen slyness that his heart might seize upon as con 
 firmation of his thirsty ear. 
 
 And what could have been more unkeyed with his 
 tension than these her words addressed to Smill : ' ' What 
 were we talking about, anyway? " 
 
 The millionaire laughed a stupid laugh, and the 
 Poet mused, ' ' You have given to him your promise, and 
 like the wife who playfully takes sides against her hus 
 band, you are having sport with me." Then how easy 
 out of this Croesus to fashion an Apollo. True, his legs 
 were long, but were they not shapely? Was not his 
 face confident with the lofty brow of learning? Was 
 not his eye clear and strong? And while assuming the 
 air of modesty did not his bearing acclaim him one of 
 the powerful? Yes, what were they talking about? 
 Smill said he did not know, and in accommodation rather 
 than in interest looked to Howerson as prompter. The 
 Poet bowed himself out of such responsibility and looked 
 to the young woman for a fresh cue ; and in her smile 
 he read, " I did not call you ' pal ' just now. It was 
 impudent of you to think so. ' ' 
 
 " Oh, do you play golf, Mr. Howerson? " she cried, 
 as if it were a forgotten question she had longed to 
 ask. " I had Mr. Smill out to-day, but it was too early 
 in the season. The course was ' ' 
 
 " Frightful," said Smill. " The green would have 
 made an archbishop swear." 
 
 " And you did not," she spoke admiringly, " What 
 self-restraint. Do you play, Mr. Howerson ? ' ' 
 
 " I tried it one season when opportunity offered, and 
 in a way formed genial acquaintance with driver, brassy
 
 MILLIONAIRED LONG LEGS 265 
 
 and midiron, but the mashie made servile conquest of 
 me, and in acknowledged defeat I bowed to the sward. 
 No, I don't play, but I am glad that I tried, for it 
 gave me new views of landscapes; and to-night I 
 saw a star lying on the green of the heavens, just a good 
 putt from Jove's Silver Cup, the Moon." 
 
 Eose cried ' ' Good, ' ' and looked to Smill for confirma 
 tion. 
 
 Through the off corner of his mouth, that gentleman 
 muttered, " This fellow's a crank. I much prefer fenc 
 ing," he spoke out. " And even here Miss Whateley can 
 give me I might say cards and spades. ' ' 
 
 " But I can never reflect due credit on my marvelous 
 teacher," said Rose. " Mr. Howerson, you must have 
 heard of old Colonel Banstree." 
 
 " What, is he living? Heard of him! Why, before 
 going on the stage I took lessons of him. He was then 
 nearly eighty and that was five years ago." 
 
 " Oh, and you took lessons of him. Sometime we 
 will go to see him, you and I, for if he once knew you 
 he knows you now, and would be glad to see you. He 
 is one of the most interesting characters I have ever 
 known, and I am very fond of him. His armory, as he 
 terms it, is not far from our house." 
 
 With sincere invitation in her eyes she looked at How 
 erson, and the fervor with which he accepted and which 
 he had not been able to shield against the penetration of 
 Smill's quick eye, did not, he felt, advance him in the 
 estimation of the great capitalist. But in truth his 
 thought was but a bit of self flattery, for Smill, having 
 cast him out of his mind, had been surprised to find him 
 still standing there. 
 
 From the company of lesser moneyed weights the
 
 266 THE NEW ME. HOWERSON 
 
 * l multitudinous " capitalist must not long withdraw 
 himself. Eyes jealous for the favor of a glance from 
 him began to look uneasily about. 
 
 " Oh, where is Mr. Smill? " and " Oh, here they are," 
 and into the library came laces, jewels, society's buds, 
 blossoms, matured flowers ; and in the light of the great 
 chandelier flashed beauty 's nacreous smile. ' ' Here they 
 are, ' ' and Smill and Rose were borne away on a gladsome 
 tide, leaving the Poet to stand alone in a dazzled memory. 
 But for only a few moments. Old Paul came forward 
 with the word that Mr. Whateley was ready to receive 
 him.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 THE INQUISITION 
 
 Into a room that seemed close and tight with exactness, 
 the " Inquisition," Howerson was shown by the old 
 butler, who took at once to flight as if he had cause to 
 dread the eye that might be turned upon him. Whateley 
 was sitting with his back toward the door. He did not 
 look around; he said, " Come in," and his voice was 
 harsh. Ah, what leagues of dusty roadway and thorn- 
 bordered trail lay between this grim room and the Cabin 
 with its sentiment, its mellow light. The old man was 
 gazing at a letter lying on the desk before him. He 
 turned it over, seeming to pluck up with his eyes the 
 fiber of the paper, Wherry's special delivery, Howerson 
 conjectured. 
 
 " Sit down, Mr. Howerson." 
 
 He sat down. From the drawing rooms now so far 
 away, floated the perfect notes of laughter's music, and 
 then there came the bulging strains of a baritone song, 
 some calf ambitious to bellow into the ears of the select. 
 
 Whateley looked up. ' ' The dispatches have announced 
 the end of the strike and the withdrawal of the troops. 
 You did your work quickly, Mr. Howerson." 
 
 " It did not take long. It was simple. I suppose 
 Wherry in his special delivery, tells you all about it." 
 
 ' ' No. The last word from him said that the situation 
 was growing worse. How did you bring about the agree 
 ment? " 
 
 In telling him Howerson found it hard to restrain his 
 267
 
 268 THE NEW MB. HOWERSON 
 
 actor temptation, but he did, taking instead and by 
 happy recourse, the poet's shortcut for effect, a brevity 
 that business might well adopt. The old man smiled and 
 but for the traditions and future purposes of the " In 
 quisition," might have laughed. 
 
 " That was shrewd, very shrewd. It was what my 
 daughter would call art, and my son term the necessary 
 rascality of business. The two hundred dollars devoted 
 to art, or necessary rascality, shall be placed to your 
 credit" 
 
 For a few moments he was silent. Prom the drawing 
 rooms, now a little nearer, came the music of high spirits, 
 with one note sweeter than all the rest, Rose's note, the 
 Poet knew. He waited, yearning for more. The old 
 man spoke. 
 
 " I expected more trouble. I had faith in your 
 imagination, but didn't expect it to work so quickly." 
 He mused, and then " I should think. Mr. Howerson, 
 that the greatest achievement of the school is to enable 
 a man to explore his own imagination. The self-made*'' 
 man has imagination more, perhaps, than the scholar, 
 but it is irregular. In it there are eaves where great 
 images hide themselves. The trouble with our statesmen 
 is not commercialism, but want of imagination. The 
 cheese knife has no imagination, but the reaping 
 machine " He broke off abruptly. He was violating 
 the traditions of the room, and the Poet, wise enough to 
 understand, was silent. ... How was he to promote 
 the interest of Yal Watkins ? "Wherry had lied about the 
 special delivery. This might in some way offer an open 
 ing and while he was seeking to employ it, the old man 
 spoke: 
 
 " By the way, Mr. Howerson, the preacher who mar 
 ried your aunt the missionary, you know called on
 
 THE INQUISITION 269 
 
 me the other day." The blank look of Howerson 's 
 countenance brought a smile, another violation of 
 tradition. 
 
 " W w what! I have no aunt, Mr. Whatetey." 
 
 " Ha, an imposter. I thought so." 
 
 He told of the visit of Hudsic, and Howerson felt his 
 interest fly from Watkins and center upon himself. He 
 must at once contrive some excuse for getting out of 
 town, if for no longer than even a week. Beyond that 
 length of time he could not see himself. Other men 
 might lay plans that involved years, but the diagram of 
 his conduct must be drawn afresh, day by day. Sud 
 denly there came into his mind fragments he had Caught 
 of a conversation between two men at a hotel in New 
 Orleans. 
 
 " I suspected," said "Whateley, " that he might be in 
 some way implicated with the strike out yonder.'* 
 
 " One of the stirrers-up no doubt,*' Howerson replied, 
 with an artful carelessness. " By the way, Mr. "Whate 
 ley, while in New Orleans I chanced to overhear some 
 thing that might possibly be of interest to you. I 
 chanced to hear two men talking. Up in Ontario, Canada, 
 at Sturgeon Falls, about one hundred and fifty miles 
 north of Toronto, there is perhaps as complete a water 
 power as exists anywhere on this continent. A number 
 of years ago an English company harnessed the power 
 and established there a great paper mill, which, owing 
 largely to the handiness of all needed material, became 
 an immediate success. But after several years of pros 
 perity there came a strike. The Englishmen became 
 impatient with the men, closed down and returned home. 
 It appears that this great property can now be acquired 
 for less than one-half the original cost ; perhaps at one- 
 third. The material for pulp is practically inexhaustible.
 
 270 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 Capital, especially American capital, has closed its eyes 
 upon this great opportunity, and purely on account of 
 the tariff over here. But this barbaric wall cannot stand 
 always. It will be battered down by the progressive 
 guns of all parties, and then that water power will be 
 worth millions. The " 
 
 Whateley was looking down at the letter on his desk. 
 ' ' Proceed, Mr. Howerson. ' ' 
 
 " Thank you. I didn't know but you might be 
 interested. ' ' 
 
 ' ' I am, sir. It might be an immeasurable opportunity. 
 As you say, that tariff wall must come down. The party 
 that opposes it will die. Ah, suppose you take a run 
 over there and quietly look around. It is at least worth 
 investigation. ' ' 
 
 " I shall leave to-morrow morning, sir." 
 
 ''Very good." 
 
 Now Howerson 's interest returned to Watkins. " Mr. 
 "Wherry, I believe, has been with you some time." 
 
 ' ' Yes, quite a while. ' ' 
 
 ' ' I don 't think he is the proper man for the position. ' ' 
 
 "Eh? " 
 
 " He is harsh, and is devoid of sympathy. I saw a 
 little boy about Calvin's age, shrink back from him as 
 he passed along, and " 
 
 " Eh? " 
 
 " The children are afraid of him. I intimated, and 
 rather strongly, too, that he did not represent your 
 interest as he should, and I hinted that possibly there 
 might be a change." 
 
 " Ah, you did? " 
 
 ' ' And he laughed. He said that he knew too much. ' ' 
 
 " Eh? "
 
 THE INQUISITION 271 
 
 " Knew too much." 
 
 " Knows too much," said the old man. " That is 
 true. He does." 
 
 It looked bad for Watkins. Howerson could see him 
 walking up and down the room at the hotel, could see 
 his yellow beard, badge of gayety and of melancholy. 
 
 ' ' He knows ' ' The old man coughed. ' ' He knows 
 that he owes me five thousand dollars, overdrawn salary. 
 That is what he knows, Mr. Howerson. But he needn't 
 think I'll keep him on account of that five thousand 
 dollars. And you told him there might be a change. 
 You told him right. ' ' 
 
 The Poet could see Yal walking up and down the room. 
 His yellow beard caught the light and was not melan 
 choly. " Mr. Whateley, I know the man to take 
 Wherry's place." 
 
 Whateley looked at him. " Yes? What manner of 
 man ? Tell me about him. ' ' 
 
 " A man of good address, of executive sympathy " 
 
 " Of what? " 
 
 " A man who knows the value of imagining himself 
 the other fellow. He understands the workings of a coal 
 mine, his father having practically, you might say, 
 brought him up in that line." 
 
 " Yes? " The old man seemed to turn up the light 
 of his eyes into a searching glare. " How does it hap 
 pen that he is in need of a place now? " 
 
 Howerson was ready. ' ' He has for a time been away 
 from the mining business, has been traveling, in fact, 
 but knowing his fitness, wishes to return to it." And 
 then conscience plucked at him. " The fact is, Mr. 
 Whateley, he was unfortunate and " 
 
 " I don't like that."
 
 272 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " He was down, Mr. Whateley, but has arisen; and 
 the man who arises is sometimes stronger than the man 
 who has never sunk. ' ' 
 
 " Very true, sir." 
 
 ' ' And I hope that you will accept my my pawned 
 honor in his behalf, and give him an immediate trial." 
 
 ' ' On your recommendation, Mr. Howerson, I will give 
 him a trial, certainly. The salary is five thousand a year. 
 Let him see me at the office to-morrow morning at ten 
 o'clock." 
 
 The old man's countenance said " that ends it," How 
 erson said " thank you," and was out in the great hall 
 where chattering strollers amid illumined shrubbery 
 might have fancied themselves in an enchanted thicket. 
 There was the young woman from whose juicy lips slang 
 fell sweet, and the bald-headed Professor of Philology 
 who caught it ; and there was the young buck of prosaic 
 instinct, striving to adorn his talk with the trailing vines 
 of sentiment. Howerson did not look around, did not see 
 Rose, but he thought that he heard long-legged Smill 
 talking down to her, the confident edict of monstrous 
 wealth. 
 
 When he entered the room Watkins was dozing on the 
 bed. The colonel rose up, blinking, stared at his friend. 
 
 " Ah, Colonel Watkins." 
 
 Watkins leaped from the bed and seized Howerson 's 
 hand. 
 
 " But why this affecting scene, Colonel? In the 
 language of Sir John to all Europe, ' whose mare's 
 dead?' What's up? " 
 
 " Why that position is up, George up to me. If the 
 * Big Jolt ' had turned you down you'd have called me 
 Yal instead of Colonel. You don't ' Colonel ' me,
 
 THE INQUISITION 273 
 
 George, except as a guy, and you don 't guy a fellow when 
 he's down." 
 
 " Right you are, Professor." 
 
 " Professor! " 
 
 ' ' Of Psychology. He 11 give you a trial, which means 
 the job, salary five thousand. Call at his aerie at ten 
 to-morrow. Let go my paw." 
 
 ' ' But aren 't you going up with me, George ? ' ' 
 
 " No, I'm off for Canada, partly on business but 
 mostly for my immediate health. Sit down. ' ' 
 
 Watkins sat down. Howerson took a turn about the 
 room. " Immediate health, Colonel. I live from day 
 to day, respite granted by the hours. With me it is " 
 
 " So do we all, George. Ancient as he got to be, old 
 Parr lived only from second to second." 
 
 " Constant experiment with death, Colonel." 
 
 " Same with us all, old man." 
 
 ' ' With cold breath blowing at the ' brief candle, ' cry 
 ing, ' out, out.' But let hang-fire Pistol discharge him 
 self of his news : I told the old man that I 'd pawn my 
 honor in your behalf, and at the mention of honor he 
 didn't smile, but with gravity accepted my gaze, asked 
 questions, which I answered with a brevity almost to 
 the suppression of a syllable. So let me charge you, 
 be brief. Look your claim and don't word it. Busi 
 ness accepts silence as self-confidence. Wear your silk 
 hat, Yal. The plug hat is the four-flush of civilization, 
 but business hasn 't found it out yet is afraid to 
 ' call.' " 
 
 " I'll do as you advise, and land the job all right. 
 But, George look at me, please." 
 
 "All right. Go ahead." 
 
 ' ' George, it seems that you are in dread of something. 
 What is it? "
 
 274 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " That one of my poems might take fire by spon 
 taneous combustion, blaze up and attract attention." 
 
 ' ' Nonsense, George ; tell me. I might be able to help 
 you. I'm no weakling. I can face odds for a friend. 
 Confound it, are you to help a fellow always and never 
 let him help you? Look what you've done for me to 
 night. Look what you are always doing for everybody 
 and always have. "While a vagabond your soul was 
 unselfish I remember the night in the hay when you 
 swore you were too warm and by main force covered 
 me with your coat; and in the morning there was frost 
 on your hair. And now when possibly I might be able 
 to help you, to stand with you and face the mysterious 
 danger you've hinted at out with it, George." 
 
 On the foot of the bed Howerson sat down, resting an 
 arm on the brass railing. Upon his friend he smiled, 
 called him a dice thrower; and when Yal's look asked 
 him why, he answered that a dice thrower was always 
 suspicious. The Poet could lie to a friend as readily and 
 doubtless with as much zest as to a mere acquaintance. 
 
 " I am threatened with no mortal danger, Colonel, 
 except the remote danger of starvation, inherited enemy 
 of my ilk. And I am not yet far enough out of the briar 
 patch which I mistook for Arden to talk horse instead 
 of to bray. Braying is always more or less figurative 
 you know, for the Ass is one of our most aptly used 
 figures of speech. Ignorance often thinks in unhappy 
 allusions, and to the degree that I remain a poet, I am 
 ignorant. To the enlightened a word is a sound, to the 
 bard, a throb ; one is of the head, the other of the breast ; 
 so if I sometimes throb, and a little out of rhythm, pass 
 it up, Colonel. By the way, I saw his Longleglets. And 
 do you know that old hag Fate is playing the deuce with 
 our drama? "
 
 THE INQUISITION 275 
 
 " How so? " 
 
 " Going to marry Rose Whateley to Longleglets. " 
 
 " Impossible, George. That would ruin the play." 
 
 " I know that. But many a play has been ruined 
 many a play that promised well. You see, this fellow 
 is one who, favored by an all- wise government, has drawn 
 seventy-five millions out of the cradle of an infant 
 industry. He sells steel bridges in India cheaper than 
 in America. And he hands his iron words down to 
 her, and she takes them, tottering under their weight. 
 Oh, he's heavied her down and she can't get away." 
 
 " Impossible, George. As I read the script it says 
 that you are to marry her. Why, that is plain in act 
 one." 
 
 " I marry her! Don't be a fool, Yal." 
 
 " I'll try not. But you haven't seen all the lines of 
 the play, and how do you know she will surrender to 
 Longleglets? " 
 
 ' ' I 've seen as many of the lines as you have, Yal, and 
 didn 't I say something about seventy-five millions ? ' : 
 
 Yal nodded his acknowledgment of the fact that this 
 sum of money had been mentioned. 
 
 ' Very well then," Howerson proceeded. " And did 
 you ever know a woman to turn down an offer made by 
 seventy- five millions? " 
 
 ' Well, I 've never known very many women who were 
 exposed to that strong a draft. And I don't suppose 
 there are many poverty-stricken dames that would fail 
 to catch the tune when a multiplied millionaire sings 
 to 'em, but you must remember that the Big Jolt has 
 no slouch of a purse himself. Do you recall our great 
 Shakespearean revival over the market house in Janes- 
 burg, when you padded out for Falstaff ? "
 
 276 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " Yes, but what's that got to do with it? Yal, some 
 times you are as zigzag at the flight of a butterfly. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Ah-hah ; and you recollect old Sir John says, ' Hook 
 on, hook on. ' You used to put a mighty fetch into those 
 words, George. You let that steel man have his heavy 
 say, and when he's done, ' hook on, hook on.' ' 
 
 "Yal" 
 
 "Yes, George." 
 
 " You go to the devil. I'm going to bed."
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 SLAPPED HIS FACE WITH A LOOK 
 
 On his way to Whateley's office Watkins rehearsed 
 himself. With steady eye he would meet sharp look, 
 and with short and confident words beat down all sus 
 picion as to his want of aptitude for the job. Was not 
 his beard most shrewdly trimmed, and was not his plug 
 hat rich in harvest of the sun's luster? He wished that 
 old George were there to view his grand entry. It would 
 make the Poet proud, delight his sad sense of humor; 
 and to Yal, George's approving twinkle was a knight 
 hood, a gold-buckled garter of the heart. 
 
 In the waiting room Big Jim poured over Watkins 
 the lazy waves of a slow look, but Jim's slowness was all 
 mental, for with springy heel he ambled in to announce 
 the expected visitor. Watkins fidgeted with himself. 
 
 ' ' Step in, sir, ' ' said Jim. 
 
 He stepped in. Whateley glanced at him and with 
 one look slapped his face red. " Ah, Mr. Watkins, I 
 believe. Mr. Howerson has doubtless explained to you. 
 I have telegraphed Wherry. You will leave for Rock- 
 ville at once. Good day." 
 
 And without having had a chance to utter one of his 
 confident words, Yal was out in the anteroom, in the 
 corridor, pushing the button of the elevator. 
 
 " Confound him, what was the use of my coming? 
 Wouldn 't know me now if he 'd see me sitting on a stump. 
 Dazzled me with his lamps and told me to get out. 
 Didn't see my where is that damned hat? " He 
 
 277
 
 278 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 clapped his hand to his head, knocked his hat off; and 
 a messenger boy shouted his laughter down the hall. 
 
 But as Yal hastened through the street he mused: 
 " I've got the job, though, and nothing else counts for 
 much. ' ' 
 
 He took off his hat to mop his brow, and then he was 
 conscious that a woman had turned quickly out of the 
 crowd and was standing beside him. " I didn't know 
 you until you took off your hat," she said. 
 
 He felt elated, witty. A great financier had flattered 
 him with a look. ' ' When a man 's hat is off he has sur 
 rendered to a woman," he replied; and with a bow: 
 ' ' Begging pardon, but would you mind letting me know 
 who I am to you now that my hat's off? " 
 
 She looked up at him and he smiled at her, but her 
 lips were tight. " You have an ungrateful memory," 
 she said. 
 
 " Maybe so," he admitted, " but at least not a very 
 reproachful one. Let me see. You are are ' ' 
 
 " I am Annie Zondish." 
 
 ' ' Oh, I beg your pardon. ' ' 
 
 " Granted. Clothes not only disguise us but blunt owr 
 perceptions. ' ' 
 
 " Good. Wisdom cries out in the street but one man 
 does take heed, which cues us up to your pleasure, 
 Miss Zondish." 
 
 She wore a red cap not much larger than a saucer. 
 Her hair fell loose and the wind tangled it about her 
 face. With nervous hand she brushed it from her eyes. 
 
 ' ' Can you give me five minutes of your time ? ' ' 
 
 " Raise you five. Ten," he answered. 
 
 " Thank you. Down in here." 
 
 She led him down into a basement chop house, and 
 when they had sat down she ordered a pot of tea. He
 
 SLAPPED HIS FACE WITH A LOOK 279 
 
 asked her if she would not do him the honor of eating 
 something, and she shook her head. She told him that 
 he was her guest, smiling across at him, leaning on the 
 table. Silently he admired the gleaming whiteness of 
 her shapely throat. He would take nothing, he said; 
 he would sit by while she drank her tea. He wondered 
 what she could want with him. Doubtless she credited 
 his reformation to herself. He waited. . . . The tea 
 was poured for her and she sipped it slowly, from a 
 spoon, having much trouble with stray locks of wind- 
 tugged hair. She looked at the spoon, appeared not 
 to like it, wiped it with a corner of the table cloth. 
 He waited. 
 
 " Where is your friend? " she inquired, looking at 
 the spoon. 
 
 "Friend? What friend? " 
 
 " Didn't you go to a hotel with a man last night? " 
 
 She looked straight into his eyes. 
 
 " Yes, with George Howerson," and then flashed 
 through his mind the Poet's vague hint of coming 
 trouble. Ah, and this woman might be hidden some 
 where in the folds of its mystery. To gallantry, old 
 George was not unknown, and Zondish was possessed of 
 a wild berry lip. 
 
 " Charming fellow, isn't he? " she said. 
 
 " Prince, and as true to his own as a robber in 
 romance. ' ' 
 
 " Oh. And you have doubtless known him for a long 
 time? " 
 
 He nodded. " We used to turn one set of mules out 
 of the barn, advertise for another set and give 'em 
 Shakespeare. ' ' 
 
 " Ah, you were on the stage with him." 
 
 " Well, I was in the manger with him."
 
 280 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " The last time I met him Oh, quite a while ago, he 
 was thinking of going back to the stage. Is he still of 
 that notion? " 
 
 " I didn't know he had such a notion. Back to the 
 stage? " He gripped the edge of the table, gazing at 
 her, glaring in truth, for his spirit was aroused. 
 ' ' Stage ! There is no stage. There is a song and dance 
 called the stage, but the drama, the drama made glor 
 ious by the human voice in perfection, is dead. Shadows 
 that struck terror to King Richard have killed it; I 
 mean the motion picture. Once Art addressed the soul, 
 but now the jealous eye ' ' 
 
 With a gesture she reaped him from his theme. She 
 said that all art had its time to die and must die when 
 the time came. But who in the automobile weeps over 
 the oxcart stalled in the mire? Mr. Howerson was no 
 doubt wise enough to understand, and after all, why 
 should he think of returning to poetic poverty when he 
 could live in unpoetic affluence ? ' ' And I know he must 
 be prosperous now," she said. 
 
 ' ' Well, he 's not compelled to eat garlic in a windmill, ' ' 
 he declared, eyeing her shrewdly. 
 
 " As I say, it has been some time since I saw him. 
 Has he changed much ? What are his habits ? Tell me. ' ' 
 
 " Well, unless otherwise employed he does something 
 else." 
 
 She frowned at him, drank from the cup, had more 
 trouble with her hair. " You might at least answer a 
 civil question from one ' ' 
 
 " From one whom I have occasion to remember grate 
 fully. I beg your pardon. I haven't been with him 
 enough of late to know what his habits are, if he has 
 formed any, but if you wish to know whether he is true
 
 SLAPPED HIS FACE WITH A LOOK 281 
 
 to his old friends, I can tell you that he is. No nobler 
 heart beats." 
 
 Winsomely she smiled upon him. " I am glad to hear 
 you say that. But lest you think me too inquisitive let 
 me say that between us there was nothing more than 
 friendship. Do you believe me? " 
 
 " Your words, yes; but your eyes, your throat, 
 your ' ' 
 
 " No rubbish please," she broke in. And then she 
 asked : ' ' Where is he now ? ' ' She looked down into the 
 cup. 
 
 ' ' He 's gone abroad. ' ' 
 
 Her eyes flashed in his face. " Are you telling me the 
 truth? " 
 
 " Didn't you remind me just now that I had cause to 
 be grateful to you? Then why should I tell you an 
 untruth? " 
 
 The light of her eyes seemed to beat upon his face 
 with throbbing heat, and he felt that she held him in 
 scorn. 
 
 ' ' Grateful to me ! Man at some vague time may have 
 been grateful to man, but never to woman. Every man 
 that has ever lived has at some moment of his life been 
 a scoundrel to woman. That 's why you would lie to me. 
 It is your inheritance. It is in your blood." 
 
 ' ' Sorry you didn 't come to the stage before the drama 
 turned up its toes," he said. " Old John McCullough 
 would have gloried in you, and Booth, the Hamlet of us 
 all you wouldn 't suppose I 'd ever played Hamlet. I 
 know you wouldn't; but I have and it was a hit with 
 a potato. If it had been baked and a trifle of salt and 
 butter had been tossed with it, I " 
 
 " Answer my question. Are you telling me the 
 truth? "
 
 282 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 "To go abroad is to leave one's country, isn't it? " 
 
 ' ' Yes, ' ' she nodded without speaking, looking straight 
 into his eyes. 
 
 " Then on the honor of a man who has none to throw 
 away, he has gone abroad left early this morning. ' ' 
 
 " Will he sail from New York? " 
 
 ' ' On the honor of a man who knows what it is to smell 
 high fish in the Ghetto, I believe not." 
 
 And now her eyes held the dark glow of contempt. 
 " Lying is an American trait and they call it humor," 
 she said. ' ' You would lie to a distress, joke with Job. ' ' 
 
 ' ' I have joked with Abraham, and he ticketed my jest 
 and put it into his safe." 
 
 ' ' And with every word you are proving what I say. ' ' 
 
 " I talk, then, in the interest of truth." 
 
 " You illustrate a truth to enforce a lie." 
 
 " With your metaphysical mace you dent my helmet. 
 Come to Hecuba. What's it all about? Put yourself 
 to the strain of a little truth as you go along, and tell 
 me your real object in wanting to know where Howerson 
 is." 
 
 ' ' My object concerns me, and is not what you believe 
 it to be." 
 
 " All right. I'll swear to you that by to-morrow 
 night he will be out of the United States." 
 
 She got up, and as he arose she said: " It may be 
 possible that you are telling me the truth. Woman must 
 keep on believing man, though she may know better. 
 Civilization means man's enacted lie. You with the 
 rest are a traitor. You have sold yourself for a silk 
 hat." 
 
 " Hold on, Miss Zondish; don't leave out a clean 
 shirt." 
 
 She had a sense of humor, and she laughed, but
 
 SLAPPED HIS FACE WITH A LOOK 283 
 
 resented it instantly and turned it into a cough. She 
 lingered, adjusting her cap. " You are an ungrateful 
 wretch, ' ' she said. ' ' I gathered you up out of an alley. 
 Better had I let you die. Better, too, that I had let 
 someone else die." 
 
 ' ' Wait a minute, ' ' he spoke pleadingly and she turned 
 toward him. " Someone else. Then you saved old 
 George, too. For that piece of work I am deeply grate 
 ful. And as for myself I thank you, but with me it 
 didn't matter so much." 
 
 She looked at him, and he held forth his hand, but 
 she drew back, and without speaking, turned away and 
 left him.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 'WANTED: A MODEL HOME 
 
 In the Whateley mansion the drama spun by the 
 ancient spider was of a finer texture than the Poet, 
 traveling northward from Toronto, dreamed it to be. 
 The great ironmonger was there, talking down, and with 
 appreciative attention the young woman listened to him, 
 sometimes with a smile too delicate for him to discern 
 in the library's daylight mist, in the soft glow that old 
 books seem ever to shed. 
 
 He had come West on business, first of all things, 
 surely. At Gary he had " reviewed " the thundering of 
 creative monsters, the bellowings of earth-shaking blasts, 
 and had discovered that fewer noises were wasted there 
 than in any of the other steel mills of the smoke-belching 
 world. But during more than a week he had surrendered 
 himself not to the demands but to the occasion of 
 sentiment. 
 
 In the library, confident and thankful unto himself, 
 he talked of the things that he knew and brushed aside 
 the truths not yet honored with his acquaintance. He 
 sat leaning against a table and at his elbow lay some of 
 the old man's early friends, bound in heavy leather. 
 
 " I am indebted to you, Miss Whateley, for, I might 
 say, the pleasantest visit of my life." 
 
 " In saying so, Mr. Smill, you add to my pleasure. 
 I thank you." 
 
 He picked up a book, looked at it and put it down. 
 " Er I trust you will pardon my speaking frankly." 
 
 284
 
 WANTED: A MODEL HOME 285 
 
 " Yes," she said looking him in the eye. 
 
 " I was going to say very frankly." 
 
 Again she said " Yes," still looking him in the eye. 
 
 His hand wandered about in quest of another book, 
 found it, brought it around in front of him; then he 
 looked at it and put it aside. 
 
 " I have met you several times before the present 
 visit. Four times perhaps five. And I should think 
 that by now you have become pretty well acquainted 
 with my nature." 
 
 Not in the least was she embarrassed, and he seemed 
 rather taken aback that she did not blush a disguised 
 welcome of this marvelous and suggestive news. 
 
 " Natures are not short stories to be read at one sit 
 ting, ' ' she said. 
 
 He brightened, " Ah, but a deep book may be read in 
 five sittings." 
 
 " And then not understood," she protested. 
 
 " Oh, yes, if we read appreciatively," he declared, 
 pleased with his argument. 
 
 He was getting close, " warm " the children used to 
 say in the game of " Hide the Switch." She said that 
 appreciation ought to but did not always lend to one a 
 mind wherewith to understand. " And some books, like 
 some natures, are too deep ever to be wholly 
 comprehended. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Oh, but my nature is not one of them, ' ' he said, his 
 countenance brightening. 
 
 Of this truth she was keenly aware. He looked as 
 if he were about to pursue this pleasing thought, to 
 become better acquainted with it, and she waited. 
 
 " My nature is simple, Miss Rose. I have tried to 
 keep it such. I rejoice that I am practical. I "
 
 286 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 She could not let this pass. " Dreamers discover 
 worlds," she said. 
 
 ' ' Very true, but some humorous versifier forgotten 
 his name said there aren 't any worlds to discover just 
 now. I_ 
 
 11 Ben King," she said. " He did not awake one 
 morning to find himself famous, but died one night to 
 bring fame to his town. ' ' 
 
 He bowed. " Yes, I had forgotten. But as I was 
 going to say, I think but don't dream. The dreamer 
 visions happiness that never comes. The idealist lives 
 by ecstatic leaps and eventually falls in the dark. The 
 practical man possesses, and the owners of the earth are 
 more to be envied than the renters. ' ' 
 
 " The owners are more envied," she agreed, with a 
 smile too faint for him to see. 
 
 ' ' And by dreamers, ' ' he urged. ' ' There are men who 
 carp at Mr. Carnegie while envying him." 
 
 She caught the intent of this allusion. She could hear 
 Howerson's words, " burning out their eyes with gazing 
 into the bubbling metal of the melting pots," and now 
 this man saw her smile but mistook its meaning. ' ' Am 
 I not right, Miss Rose? " 
 
 " From your viewpoint, yes," she said. " But such 
 questions are not with profit to be argued. We all of us 
 seem to have made up our minds, we don't know when. 
 I know that to the practical we owe the gathering of 
 wealth, when the dreamer has made it possible, and that 
 wealth beautifies the earth; but the mountains arise in 
 their grandeur and upon them rest the blazing clouds 
 and" 
 
 " And but for the practical mind those of us who are 
 remote could not go to see them. I think you agree 
 with me."
 
 WANTED: A MODEL HOME 287 
 
 f ' 1 Let us say that I do. And then what have we 
 arrived at ? " She looked at him as if he were a trades 
 man offering to sell her something. He was educated, 
 learned in a way, wise ; but education, learning, wisdom 
 may be dry and awkward in " making love." She 
 resented his want of emotion. Why, a cane-mouthing 
 fop, floating back now from a summer's evening amid 
 vines and beside sleeping water, had shown more of soul. 
 She was waiting, knowing what was coming, half 
 angered by its foreseen dryness. 
 
 " We don't seem to be arriving at any definite con 
 clusion," he said, after a long pause. " And I was 
 wondering if I had started in aright. Perhaps not." 
 
 He paused again. " Miss Whateley, I am going to 
 be perfectly frank with you, perhaps blunt. As you 
 must know I am a man of large fortune; and, as I 
 believe, you are ambitious to do great good in the world. 
 I can enable you to realize this ambition I beg your 
 pardon. I am aware that your father is a man of large 
 wealth, and I " 
 
 ' You didn't mean to talk to me as if I were a 
 visionary pauper." She laughed. 
 
 " Oh, not in the least not at all. I am talking to 
 you in the full knowledge of what I know you to be, the 
 remarkable daughter of one of the most remarkable of 
 men. And I believe that nature, and opportunity, if 
 you will consent to permit it, design you for some note 
 worthy purpose. It has been remarked, and, indeed, 
 by some of my friends, that I have made the power 
 growing out of money the ambition of my life. But 
 this is not true. I have other ambitions ; and one of them 
 and I may say not the least, is to establish the model 
 home of America, graced by a handsome woman with 
 broad and cultivated intellect."
 
 288 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 With a smile she looked up at him as he talked down 
 to her. " A worthy ambition, I think," she said. 
 
 By bending slightly toward her he lowered the height 
 from which his words fell. " Thank you. I thought 
 you would agree with me. You know, of course, that 
 Europe casts upon us the reproach that we have no 
 homes. Well, that reproach shall be modified to the 
 acknowledgment that we have at least one home. Per 
 mit me to say, our home, for you must have er 
 surmised by my words that I ask you to help me make 
 it. You will help me to establish this home ? ' ' 
 
 Again he lessened his altitude, just a trifle, and waited 
 with a smile. 
 
 " Oh, I thank you very much for your compliment, 
 Mr. Smill ; it was very thoughtful and indeed most gal 
 lant of you, but I am so busy now that ' ' 
 
 Up he went to his wonted altitude, as Rose paused 
 trickily to give him the chance to interrupt her. " Is 
 it possible you do not comprehend me? Miss Whateley, 
 I have asked you to be my wife." 
 
 " Oh, I beg your pardon, Mr. Smill." 
 
 He gave her a three-inch bow, perhaps three and a 
 half. " Surely you must have understood me all along, 
 must have known why I lingered here in the pleasurable 
 neglect of most urgent affairs. Surely it can't be that 
 you have led me on merely for your own amusement. It 
 may be true that woman at times ridicules almost every 
 thing, but I have never known one to make sport of a 
 heart offering itself to her." 
 
 The light of mischief faded. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Mr. Smill, but I was not sup 
 posed to know your intentions ; at any rate, not to guess 
 at them in advance." 
 
 " I didn't mean that," he spoke up. "I can't very
 
 WANTED: A MODEL HOME 289 
 
 well say what I did mean except that you must know 
 that to cover an exposed ah tenderness, we catch 
 at an abruptness." 
 
 But embarrassment did not long remain upon him. 
 Modesty if poor of purse may splutter a long time, but 
 timidity possessed of millions soon finds its lost head. 
 
 " Miss "Whateley, I hope you will permit me to say 
 that I am greatly astonished." 
 
 He sat high, looking down upon her, with an air that 
 said, " I will hand back the decision handed up to me 
 from below. ' ' He resumed : "I am greatly astonished, 
 Miss Whateley, and I request you to reconsider. My 
 friends say that I am not sentimental, some indeed have 
 termed me peculiar, and in a measure both estimates of 
 my character may be true; but did you ever consider 
 what in my mind is a fact : that the sentimental tempera 
 ment ruins more homes than it establishes? You don't 
 like to think that ? No ; but I am convinced of its truth. 
 Passion is, I might say, a violence followed by repent 
 ance, and repentance of love means the disruption of a 
 household. Temperance, common sense applied to the 
 affairs of the heart, is the home-builder, the home-keeper. 
 Am I right? " 
 
 " Wisdom would ask folly for confirmation," she 
 said, mischief again in her eyes. 
 
 He shook his altitudinous head. " I am serious; and 
 how can you treat a serious subject so lightly? Please 
 be just with me, and with yourself. Estimate the 
 advantages of the position I offer you." 
 
 She smiled up at him. " If you were poor I could 
 listen with more distress, for then you would urge more 
 tenderly." 
 
 " Good gracious, Miss Whateley, does a woman wish 
 to be distressed? "
 
 290 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " Yes, "she nodded. 
 
 " I don't think so; I don't want to think so don't 
 see why she should wish to be distressed. Is it that she 
 likes to see the man distressed? " 
 
 " Yes, and catch distress from him. It is sweeter 
 when caught that way." 
 
 ' ' And, Miss Whateley, would you be moved by my 
 
 " I am sorry, Mr. Smill " she began in genuine 
 pity at the note of appeal in his voice. 
 
 " Then you refuse to be my wife? "he interrupted 
 with a return of his haughty manner. 
 
 " Let us say that I decline." 
 
 " Oh, what's the difference," he cried impatiently. 
 
 " Not much," she admitted, " except that one is more 
 delicate than the other." 
 
 " But what will your father say when he knows that 
 you have declined to be my wife? ' 
 
 He looked her in the eye, and steady-eyed she 
 answered: " He will say to me, ' Eh, what else have 
 you been doing to-day ? ' 
 
 " No he won't. I how that he will be disappointed. 
 Er he and I had planned investments. He will take 
 you to task." 
 
 ' ' As he did once in Florida when I hooked what must 
 have been the biggest tarpon of the season and let it 
 get away: ' Eh, he had a hard fight and a narrow 
 escape.' ' 
 
 " Ah, a new turn. Now you compare me to a fish." 
 
 " The biggest of the season. You might take some 
 comfort in that. No, I beg your pardon. But, Mr. Smill, 
 you won't let me be natural. Perhaps I am peculiar at 
 my best, but you put me at my worst. I tried to be sad 
 and sympathetic, but you wouldn't let me. Of all
 
 WANTED: A MODEL HOME 291 
 
 occasions it is the time when woman, educated or illit 
 erate, loves most to shed the sweet tear." 
 
 ' ' You are still laughing at me. Most unnatural. . . . 
 Miss Whateley, I must bid you good-bye. ' ' 
 
 They arose and stood facing each other, unnaturally 
 at ease. He held forth his hand and frankly she met 
 it with her own, permitted him for a brief time to hold 
 it, long enough to say, " You are a beautiful woman." 
 
 Gently she withdrew her hand. He lingered, spoke : 
 
 " But what can we expect in an age when woman 
 clamors for the ballot? Instead of accepting man as 
 her companion and protector, she spars with him for 
 supremacy ; and, Miss Whateley, if the real thinkers 
 among us did not see the grave consequences to which it 
 tends, it would be I might say, amusing. But why 
 should I wait to hear you speak again, since I know it 
 will be nothing in my favor? " 
 
 Again he sought her hand but it did not come forth to 
 meet his own. " But in favor of both of us," she said, 
 and then in solemn voice she added: " I could do you 
 and myself no greater harm than to be your wife. For 
 both of us it would mean unhappiness. The air of the 
 only home in America would be chill and comfortless. 
 You and I could never be companions in silence, and the 
 most serious quarrel is the quarrel when no word is 
 spoken. We ' ' 
 
 " Miss Whateley," he broke in, " who is it that has 
 staged your household? Begging your pardon, but I 
 think I know. I think I have met him, here ; and I shall 
 take occasion to say to your father that this phrase-maker 
 will if given the rein, run to ruin with his affairs. ' ' 
 
 Softly she laughed, and like the notes of the catbird, 
 deep in her throat. " Oh, you mean Mr. Howerson.
 
 292 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 But you have turned phrase-maker too. Did you catch 
 it from him? " 
 
 " I have caught nothing from him, except this sug 
 gestion, that I could in all honesty, and in modesty, too, 
 I hope, give you a word of warning." 
 
 "Which is? " 
 
 " Beware of him. I am not speaking as a rejected 
 suitor but as a man of the business world. I inferred 
 that he calls himself a poet ; and it is the pleasure of the 
 poet to feel that all established order is against him. 
 He makes the poet in general a showy virtue of 
 sneering at money, but in private borrows from men 
 he affects to despise and repays them in the coin of 
 ingratitude." 
 
 " What phrases! " she laughed. 
 
 He bowed. " And if he knows anything he knows 
 that the successful commercial man has a better library, 
 is better read and has seen more of travel than he can 
 in his poverty ever hope to see. Of all husbands, Miss 
 Whateley, poets are the worst." 
 
 She assumed astonishment. " Oh, is that true? I 
 thought Pittsburgh steel men were. ' ' 
 
 He was not offended. " I admit that our class is not 
 above reproach. But we are possible. Poets are not." 
 
 He turned toward the door, but she spoke his name 
 and quickly he faced about, eagerness fresh-born in his 
 eyes. " Yes, Miss Whateley." 
 
 She dropped him a courtesy in which there may have 
 been a sly mockery. " I did not wish you to go, Mr. 
 Smill " 
 
 ' ' No, ' ' came from him with the suddenness of a start. 
 
 "To go believing that I agree with what you say 
 about poets." 
 
 "Oh!" He drooped and waited.
 
 WANTED: A MODEL HOME 293 
 
 " You get from the poet the language in which you 
 denounce him. Without him and his kind there would be 
 no libraries for millionaires to buy, and no travel except 
 in an oxcart. Good-bye." 
 
 Thus she dismissed him, and at the same time dis 
 missed someone else, a listener whom she had not seen.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 SHE COULDN'T TALK TO HIM 
 
 Breathing low and sometimes almost fearing to breathe 
 at all, Harriet had heard Mr. Smill 's ' ' tender wooing. ' ' 
 She crept out from her curtained ambush, up the stairs 
 to her own apartments, where, angered in soul, she 
 brooded the coming of her husband. She yearned to tell 
 him how great a fool his sister had become, how criminal 
 indeed, since the richer Rose's alliance the more of the 
 old man's estate would be apportioned to Dan Whateley 
 and the boy. 
 
 Rose was not much given to song; in the realm of 
 pretentious vocal boredom she was a sufferer; but now 
 Harriet heard her singing, a melodious " simple," 
 Genevieve, and the angered woman felt that she hardly 
 dared trust herself at dinner, to see Rose smile at the 
 old man and lightly to joke with him. But she did 
 trust herself, as subconsciously all women know they 
 can ; and she outjoked Rose, so blithely had she schooled 
 her temper. Old Calvin beamed upon her, and more 
 than once Dan was moved to mutter that he was 
 ' ' blowed " if he understood it ; and in astonishment he 
 listened, wondering what had become of her nerves. 
 
 " Father," said Harriet, "I'd like to go into the 
 Cabin with you to-night and muse. ' ' 
 
 Harriet sitting in the Cabin, musing! Dan snorted, 
 the picture shot up so suddenly, but she did not fix upon 
 him her look of cultivated reproach; she sugared him 
 
 294
 
 SHE COULDN'T TALK TO HIM 295 
 
 with a smile and said, " I've been thinking about it all 
 day." 
 
 Dan muttered that some new-thoughtist must have 
 invaded his bailiwick; and little Calvin cried out, " Ho, 
 mamma, you wouldn't stay in there ten minutes, you 
 know you wouldn 't. You'd be scared of the mice. You 
 said all that old stuff ought to be thrown out, you know 
 you did. ' ' 
 
 Upon him she smiled and sweetly answered, " My 
 dear child, you do not know your own mother." 
 
 The old man sat nodding, smiling. "I'd like to sit 
 with you in the Cabin, Harriet," he said, " but unfor 
 tunately the fag end of an important matter has dragged 
 home after me." 
 
 ' ' Oh, I am so sorry, ' ' sighed Harriet, and treacherous 
 Dan winked at his sister. 
 
 ' ' Almost any other night, ' ' said the old man. * ' Rose 
 my dear, you appear to be particularly happy. You 
 must have done good deeds to-day." . 
 
 " Yes, father." 
 
 Harriet coughed to catch herself, to stay herself from 
 angered outcry. And there sat her dear child! How 
 could anyone, especially a kinswoman, rob him and call 
 the deed good? 
 
 ' You must have done something to please you ha 
 strangely well," said the old man. 
 
 "Yes, father." 
 
 And there sat Dan, ignorant that he and his son had 
 been robbed by one of the most gracious of women, a 
 sister and an aunt. 
 
 " What have you done to-day? " the old man asked. 
 
 " I have been true to your blood and my own," said 
 Eose. 
 
 Little Calvin cried with a wave of his fork, " Boy in
 
 296 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 the alley named Tonio, and Pete knocked the blood out 
 of his nose, you bet. ' ' 
 
 Harriet excused herself, went to her room and wept. 
 But she was not weeping when her husband came up, 
 later in the evening ; she was in too settled and stagnant 
 a humor for the emotional activity of tears. She was 
 still angry and at Dan. Why, she could not have 
 explained. He had laughed to himself and had mut 
 tered " Syrup " when she had been so determinedly 
 sweet that she was not supposed to have seen and 
 heard but she had worked up herself against him, if 
 for no other cause than his stupidity. Every woman 
 has the right, under the unwritten constitution of femi 
 nine whims, to buck in righteous anger against the dull 
 ness of her so-called lord. Why should he have so little 
 respect for his wife as to be stupid toward her? He is 
 not stupid toward business, or toward other women, 
 when it comes to that. Then what moral right has he 
 
 " Dan." 
 
 " Yes, dear." 
 
 The lawyer had slippered himself and was reading the 
 evening paper. Nothing had been said to warn him of 
 trouble, no look ; but from her opposite extremes he had 
 caught premonition, and so now he braced himself with 
 apparent carelessness, and waited. 
 
 " Why do you say ' yes, dear,' every time I speak? 
 Do you suppose everyone is like yourself, unacquainted 
 with the meaning of nerves? " 
 
 " No, dear." 
 
 ' ' Do you think it the proper answer to everything ? ' ' 
 
 " No, dear." 
 
 " Stop saying ' no, dear,' to me, Mr. Whateley." 
 
 " I thought it was ' yes, dear,' you objected to." 
 
 " I object to both."
 
 SHE COULDN'T TALK TO HIM 29T 
 
 ' ' All right, dear ; what is it you were going to say ? ' ! 
 
 " For one thing I was going to say that you've stood 
 by and have seen little Calvin and yourself robbed, and 
 without uttering a word in protest. Our little son, just 
 think of it, that dearest of all little boys. Well, are you 
 going to defend yourself " 
 
 " Let it go by default until I get through with this 
 paper." 
 
 " No, Mr. Whateley, this is no time for waiting. I 
 have waited and waited have done nothing but wait ; 
 and you see what's come of it." 
 
 " Come of what? " 
 
 " Mr. Whateley? " 
 
 " Present." 
 
 " Are you going to treat me with respect? " 
 
 " In a minute." 
 
 "Now, sir." 
 
 She crossed over to him, took his newspaper, folded it 
 and dropped it on a chair. Then she sat down with 
 sighful dignity, such as is often assumed by a weak 
 spirit cut to the hollow. There had been a time when 
 he tried to reason with her, and for his pains had learned 
 that when she struck upon a phrase distasteful to him, 
 that fetched him, so to speak, she would repeat it over 
 and over again, reading in the annoyance of his coun 
 tenance the proclamation of her own victory. Then he 
 had tried drollery, and he had some sense of it, and had 
 failed. . . . He waited, with a smile. She requested 
 him not to grin at her, and he turned out his light and 
 looked sad. He waited. 
 
 ' ' Did you hear me say that you and Calvin are being 
 robbed? " 
 
 " Yes, heard something of the sort, but I don't 
 gather. ' '
 
 298 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " I didn't expect you would. She has refused him." 
 
 " Beg pardon." 
 
 ' ' I say she has rejected him. ' ' 
 
 " Oh, is that so? . . . Who?" 
 
 And now she was pardonable for glaring at him, 
 and in silence seeking the window for a draft of cold 
 air. He waited, feet thrust out, hands in his pockets, 
 in the attitude of threatened whistle. She came back, 
 sat down, and he drew in his feet. 
 
 " Can you understand me when I say that your sister 
 has refused to be the wife of Mr. Smill? " 
 
 " Yes, perfectly. You mean she won't marry him." 
 
 " I am still praying for fortitude. . . . And do 
 you know what it means ? ' : 
 
 ' ' No wedding, my dear ; no bride 's cake for old maids 
 to put under their lonesome pillows." 
 
 She was silent, for several minutes, until the lawyer 
 reached over for his newspaper, and then with such 
 sharpness she cried " No ! " that he snatched back his 
 iiand as if he had touched something that burnt him. 
 
 " Let the paper alone. Listen to me." 
 
 He nodded that he would. 
 
 ' ' If she were to marry him with his more than seventy- 
 five millions, she could not accept any of the Whateley 
 estate. Is that plain to you ? ' ' 
 
 1 ' As Pike 's Peak. But if she has refused to marry him, 
 that settles it. And let me tell you, Madam, as we go 
 along, there's one woman that'll never marry for con 
 venience, position or money. If she has rejected him no 
 power could have forced her to act otherwise. Nobody 
 is robbed. The Whateley estate will be ample for us all. 
 And look here, you persistently forget that I am going 
 to do something on my own account. You don't believe 
 that, do you? "
 
 SHE COULDN'T TALK TO HIM 299 
 
 ' ' Oh, I ought to ; I Ve heard it often enough. ' ' 
 
 " Too often, maybe, but you must know that law 
 intended as a help toward politics takes time. I arn 
 going to be the mayor of this town, then governor of the 
 state, and who knows what may happen after that." 
 
 " A great deal will happen before that," she said. 
 " By the time you get ready to run for governor a 
 woman will have gobbled up the office. ' ' 
 
 " Then let us hope, my dear, that you'll be the 
 woman." 
 
 " Just as well hope that as to expect the office 
 yourself. ' ' 
 
 Little Calvin came in, lonesome wanderer, for of even 
 ings when the old man put schemes to torture in the 
 " Inquisition," the boy was robbed indeed, of story and 
 of play. He was possessed of a small swivel chair, pat 
 terned after the quick- turning chair in the old man's 
 office, and thus enthroned the youngster would sit, gaz 
 ing into the naming grate, pondering the mighty 
 problems of the universe. 
 
 " What have you been doing to-day, Calvin? " the 
 father inquired. 
 
 " School," the boy answered, his mind among the 
 stars; and his mother muttered, " Robbed." 
 
 Dan took up his newspaper. The boy gazed into the 
 grate. Harriet spoke. " We never can discuss a serious 
 question sensibly, as other people do." 
 
 Dan glanced up and down the out-spread page, 
 stripping the columns of their news. 
 
 " No wonder there are suffragettes," said Harriet. 
 
 " Humph," Dan grunted; " and they make consid 
 erable noise except in states where they are permitted to 
 vote. Men are busy passing laws trying to compel them 
 to dress decently, to keep them from exposing them-
 
 300 THE NEW MR. HOWEKSON 
 
 selves. They don't have to pass a law to keep a man 
 from exposing himself ; but given the rein woman would 
 make everybody blush, except herself. Woman suffrage ! 
 Do you know what it would mean ? Know what it would 
 do? It would foist into prominent politics two objec 
 tionable characters, the preacher and the gambler. The 
 preacher would vote the women of his church, and the 
 gambler would vote the women of the dive. Women! 
 Civilization based on a feather. ' ' 
 
 " Better on a feather than on whiskey," she replied. 
 
 " Oh, good, the climax of argument." 
 
 Calvin's mind swept down from the stars. " Aunt 
 Rose is going to marry Mr. Howerson, ain't she? " he 
 said, and his mother, shocked out of her chair, sprang 
 at him, to give him a shake for his inspired impudence, 
 but the father interposed : 
 
 ' ' Let him alone. Here, ' ' he called to the maid, ' ' put 
 Master Calvin to bed. ' ' When the little fellow had been 
 hustled away, his mother, shaking sadly her troubled 
 head, vowed that she did not know what on earth to do 
 with him. 
 
 " Let him sleep," said Dan. 
 
 " Yes, and that shows just about how much resource 
 you have," she declared. " But if you haven't any 
 resource, I have. I have found out something and when 
 I tell her, Mr. George Howerson will be only a hired 
 man. ... I say I have found out something. ' ' 
 
 " Doubtless." * 
 
 " But will you listen to me? " 
 
 He put down the newspaper. " Well? " 
 
 " Do you remember a comic opera singer who didn't 
 have even modesty enough to change her name when she 
 took to the stage, Pauline Howerson? "
 
 SHE COULDN'T TALK TO HIM 301 
 
 " Yes, and a devilish pretty girl, too, and could sing 
 like a top." 
 
 From the boy 's bedroom came the words, ' ' Tops don 't 
 sing ; tops hum. ' ' 
 
 Harriet closed the door, sat down, waited, angered to 
 feel that a recollection of the singer was pleasing to the 
 lawyer. " Handsome as a prize picture," he went on; 
 " and I remember that your brother John just about 
 went nutty over her. Oh, it 's a fact. ' ' 
 
 She was breathing hard at him. ' ' Why remind me of 
 it? " 
 
 "I'm reminding myself. I like to think of it. I 
 remember one night we had a little dinner after the 
 show; 'Gene Field, Dave Henderson, and others, poets, 
 critics, and an undertaker or so. Pauline was the thrill 
 of the occasion. Your brother John was then a theo 
 logical student just in the milk, you might say ' ' 
 
 " I won't listen to you. You never talk unless you 
 have something disagreeable to say. And you have pur 
 posely ignored the point of what I said. I tell you, she 
 was George Howerson's sister." 
 
 ' ' And I tell you your brother went nutty over her. ' ' 
 
 " Ah, but he is now a most respectable clergyman, 
 and what did she become? " 
 
 " The wife of a lord, I believe. Nothing so un- 
 American in that." 
 
 ' ' Yes, his wife for a time ! Then what ? ' ' 
 
 " I didn't keep up with her very well, I admit. She 
 died I believe, at the proper time." 
 
 ' Died, yes, but not at the proper time not until 
 she had broken the hearts of her parents. Is it possible 
 you're defending her? " 
 
 ' ' Haven 't been retained, no. But what about it all ? "
 
 302 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 ' ' Mr. Whateley, sometimes I actually believe ' ' 
 
 " But don't, my dear. So far, however, as my sister 
 and Mr. Howerson are concerned, there is nothing to it. ' ' 
 
 They heard Rose singing an old song. 
 
 " There is something to it, Dan. I believe she loves 
 him." 
 
 " Rot. . . . That girl had the most remarkable 
 hair I ever saw. And kick ! She could " 
 
 " I won't talk to you." 
 
 She went down the stairs and soon the song was 
 hushed.
 
 CHAPTER XXVm. 
 NEVER THOUGHT OF SUCH A THING 
 
 Rose ceased her song and turned from the piano as 
 Harriet spoke, but her reminiscent fingers still plucked 
 back among the chords, loath to let the melody sink 
 again to sleep. The lawyer's wife could not keep from 
 coming down, she said. The dear old song brought from 
 the past so many blissful memories. 
 
 ' ' Sing on, please, ' ' she requested Eose, but Rose knew 
 her. 
 
 " No, I have sung enough. I was singing only for 
 myself. ' ' 
 
 " We are happiest, dear, when we sing only for our 
 selves. And you must have been happy. ' ' 
 
 " Very," said Rose. 
 
 " Thinking of someone, Rose, dear? " 
 
 " Not thinking of myself, and that is sometimes a 
 cause for happiness." 
 
 Harriet sat down and Rose turned, facing her, wait 
 ing, elbows resting back upon the piano keys. Harriet 
 asked if Mr. Smill were gone from town. Rose thought 
 that he was, still waiting. A most remarkable man, 
 Harriet said, with a sigh, and without a sigh Rose agreed 
 that he was. And with all of his millions so learned, 
 Harriet ventured, and Rose nodded. Now Harriet 
 waited but Rose was silent. 
 
 " I know your father likes him," said Harriet. 
 
 " Maybe so. But why? " 
 
 303
 
 304 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " Oh, for many reasons. He's a great man, for one 
 reason." 
 
 ' ' Great man ? What has he done ? ' ' 
 
 " Why, ever so many things. He's immensely rich 
 and he 's traveled everywhere. ' ' 
 
 " That's nothing." 
 
 ' ' Yes, but it is something to be able to to do mighty 
 things." 
 
 " But has he done mighty things? " 
 
 " Perhaps not as you look at it, but he might, if 
 properly directed! " 
 
 " I thought that great men are properly directed." 
 
 " Oh, they are, of course; but you know what I 
 mean, ' ' 
 
 " You mean that my father likes him because of his 
 millions, and that I ought to like him for the same 
 reason. ' ' 
 
 " Rose, I didn't say that." 
 
 " I didn't say you said it; I said that is what you 
 mean." 
 
 " And suppose it is; what then? " 
 
 " Nothing that I can see. And suppose my father 
 should like him, think the very world of him, what 
 then ? Still nothing, so far as I can see. Sister Harriet, 
 I don't think we are talking to much purpose." 
 
 Rose got up and walked about the room, returned and 
 sat down in a chair of plushed and easy patience, ready 
 to have it out, whatever it might be. Giving to Harriet 
 an inquiring look she said: " You seem to suspect 
 something. ' ' 
 
 The lawyer's wife was astonished. " Suspect some 
 thing! Why I never thought of such a thing. What 
 could I suspect? "
 
 NEVER THOUGHT OF SUCH A THING 305 
 
 " That Mr. Smill has asked me to be his wife." 
 
 " Well, to be perfectly frank with you, Rose and 
 you know I can be to be absolutely frank, perhaps I 
 have suspected, or rather let us say divined that he has 
 you know. I say divined because I have no right to 
 suspect. ' ' 
 
 Her face was shrewd and her eyes gleamed. 
 
 " And even if you did divine it," said Rose, " still 
 what then? " 
 
 " What then, Rose? Much then, I tell you. If you've 
 declined to marry that man you have made your great 
 false step." 
 
 Rose smiled at her, a bright and feminine warfare 
 smile. ' ' There are two bad steps a woman may take : 
 one, declining to marry well, and the other, marrying 
 badly." 
 
 Harriet's eyes gleamed, and in her narrow soul she 
 would not have had to search long to find the words, ' ' I 
 thank you for that cue." She smiled, too, and did the 
 natural thing, spoke the words of apparent idleness: 
 " Yes I suppose so." And then with her sweetest air 
 she added: " But I hope, dear sister, you're not think 
 ing of marrying the wrong man." 
 
 11 Thinking of it? " Rose laughed. " What woman 
 ever thinks she is not marrying the right one? " 
 
 " How true," said Harriet with a successful sigh. 
 " How very, very true. And how blind a romantic 
 attachment may be! That is the reason poets never 
 make good husbands. And the more they fail as poets, 
 the worse husbands they become." 
 
 " Then true poets ought to make good husbands," 
 said Rose, the smile of warfare gone, mischief in her 
 eyes.
 
 306 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " Yes, I know, dear, but somehow they don't. Do you 
 remember Dr. Henshaw's saying that the truest of all 
 poets died when the writers of the Psalms passed away ? 
 A girl friend of mine married a poet. What was his 
 name? I can't think. But he wrote beautiful verses. 
 He wrote so well that the breakfast food people employed 
 him to write for them. But he didn't appreciate his 
 promotion. Afterwards he quarreled with his wife, 
 who really got him the job by sending the breakfast 
 food people a sample of his work; and now they are 
 divorced. Ruined her life completely for a time, till she 
 married the lawyer who got her the divorce, and now at 
 last she is happy." 
 
 ' ' And with no gratitude toward the poor poet who got 
 her the job," said Rose. 
 
 " Oh, well, if you look at it that way, perhaps not. 
 But he might have ruined her life for good and all." 
 
 " But as it was he chastened her for the pure happi 
 ness to come. All very romantic. And I am to take it 
 as a warning, which I accept gratefully, and assure you 
 that if I should find a poet who looks as if he might be 
 tempted into writing advertisements for breakfast foods 
 I will refuse to marry him." 
 
 " Thank you," said Harriet, trying to pump up a 
 laugh, but her pump had not been primed and the effort 
 was a dry failure. 
 
 Rose looked at her. " But when are you going to 
 say what you came down to say? " 
 
 " Oh, I have said it, dear. The truth is I didn't 
 come down especially to say anything, but to hear your 
 song. But come to think about it, I heard something 
 to-day that will amuse you very much." 
 
 "Yes? " 
 
 " Very much indeed. You remember that comic opera
 
 NEVER THOUGHT OF SUCH A THING 307 
 
 singer who used to be a sort of disreputable rage, Paul 
 ine Howerson? " 
 
 She shot a quick glance at Rose but the girl met it 
 with a smile. " Yes, I remember her? " 
 
 " Do you know who she was? " 
 
 " Yes, a comic opera singer." 
 
 " But do you know whose sister she was? " 
 
 " Why, yes, her brother's, of course." 
 
 Harriet's face sharpened. " And that brother is 
 George Howerson. You didn't know that, did you? " 
 
 " Oh, yes I did. He told me the first night he was 
 here; showed me a letter from the poor girl, perhaps 
 the last one she ever wrote." 
 
 Harriet sat back, shoulders drooping. " You didn't 
 say a word about it." 
 
 " No, and for the reason, perhaps, that he forgot to 
 caution me not to." 
 
 " Ah, and now you look on it as a matter of very 
 little consequence." 
 
 ' ' Well, not with as much concern as you do, Harriet. 
 Are you going? " 
 
 Harriet had arisen. " Yes, I have nothing more to 
 say. ' ' 
 
 " But perhaps you have." 
 
 Harriet had paused. " Why do you presume so? " 
 
 " Because you always have." 
 
 " I could say a great deal more, but you would 
 treat it lightly." 
 
 " I hope so." 
 
 "You hope so. And let the rest of us entertain a hope, 
 Rose the hope that you will not disgrace the family. ' ' 
 
 "I am going to sing now," said Rose. " Won't you 
 wait? " 
 
 Harriet was gone.
 
 308 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 Old Calvin, closing the door of his " Inquisition," 
 heard his daughter singing. He came to her, put his arm 
 about her. " Sing that again," he said. . . . And 
 in a room upstairs a little boy muttered in his sleep, 
 " Aunt Rose is going to marry Mr. Howerson, ain't 
 she? "
 
 XXIX. 
 
 SHE DID NOT EXIST 
 
 Collaborator with Fate, the dramatizer of histories 
 and of souls, the little boy was dreaming a play, but 
 the protagonist of his drama was not now buskin-bound, 
 striding in measured and heroic strut. Quietly he was 
 walking about, careless of manner and negligent of dress, 
 seeking information concerning the cost and estimated 
 worth of a monstrous water power plant. For a time 
 there seemed to be no one to tell him anything except 
 that the plant had cost an enormous amount, that with 
 proper management it might have paid, but that a pig 
 headed company refused to enter into arbitration, closed 
 down and let millions of dollars go to rust. The town 
 was small, a village with city aspirations nipped by 
 premature frost. But about it in all directions lay wild 
 beauty in repose or tumbled in swifts of tempestuous 
 water. There was a lake where a worn-out steamboat 
 dozed in old age, aroused occasionallly from afternoon 
 nappings to take the children and mayhap a stranger 
 down among the narrows. And here among these Rocks 
 of Ages cleft not for the soul of sinner but for the souls 
 of gods, earth opened the shy bosom of her hidden 
 beauty. 
 
 Down among those nature-castles, a Venice of eter 
 nity, Howerson loitered in a launch, the poet within him 
 alive and thrilled. But he was not neglecting his work; 
 he was putting himself into the channel of exact infor 
 mation. Soon he made a discovery important to him, 
 
 309
 
 310 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 that while the Canadian dislikes the American nation 
 and government, he likes the individual American, and 
 that out of his great admiration for Britain and British 
 institutions, there has grown no liking for the individual 
 Englishman. 
 
 At the northern edge of the town flowed a river and 
 it was here that the falls came tumbling down, to foam, 
 to whirl and to dart onward into the lake. Here, in 
 the lengthening twilight of the advancing spring, How- 
 erson would stand, musing. One evening he met a 
 man who seemed to know something, a caretaker, and 
 with him he walked about, into the mill. 
 
 " How long have you been here? " 
 
 ' ' ' Ow long ? Long enough, sir. I came over with 
 the Company, a mere hoiler of w'eels, sir; but w'en the 
 Company broke up and went aw'y, I was left 'ere to 
 look arfter things a bit. I thankee, sir," he added, 
 touching his cap. Howerson had tipped him. 
 
 " How did it all come about, anyhow? I mean the 
 trouble." 
 
 " Wy, the Canadian workmen wanted things their 
 own w'y, and struck because old Sir John wouldn't 
 accommodate 'em. Sir John wasn't any too willin' to 
 take up the matter of his own business an' talk it over, 
 an' you may be sure he was slow when they tried to 
 drive 'im. So we closed down, years ago, sir." 
 
 " That was Sir John Ferrill, I suppose. And is he 
 in England now? " 
 
 " Yes, in a w'y, sir. I mean he lives there, but 'e 
 comes over 'ere once in a w'ile an' just at the present 
 Vs in Toronto at the King Hedward 'Otel." 
 
 In old age plungers grow cautious. It is the old 
 gambler, grown timid, that is bluffed out of the pot; in
 
 SHE DID NOT EXIST 311 
 
 really big affairs, such as in battle, the boldness of youth 
 sometimes out-schemes the judgment of age and experi 
 ence. But not yet had Whateley shown a symptom of 
 poorhouse dread; in his footsteps toward chance there 
 was no doddering halt. This reflection on the poet's 
 part lent boldness, and he mused that it might be well 
 to bring about a meeting between Sir John and the old 
 man ; and after Howerson had received a letter from Yal 
 Watkins, the advisory musing became a determination. 
 ' ' Am settled down into the job all right, ' ' Watkins 
 went on to say; " and I guess pretty much everybody's 
 pleased. I know I am. Of course big "Wherry did 
 the expected amount of beefing, and he says that 
 no matter who may administer on your general affairs, 
 your ' goat ' belongs to him. I hesitate to tell you 
 of my visit to the ' Big Jolt's ' office. With my 
 plug hat as bright as a land scheme in the far West 
 viewed from a distance, I felt brave enough to strike a 
 dramatic syndicate for a job as star in an ' Uncle Tom ' 
 revival, but for some time after coming down I was 
 too humble to keep my tile on in the presence of a soft- 
 shell crab. I went in and he looked me out into the 
 corridor, looked the nap of my ' dicer ' the wrong way; 
 and there I was. But then I gathered that he had told 
 me to go out there, and here I am, with things straight 
 ening out every minute of the day and night. But say, 
 old fellow, you must have been pretty badly tangled up 
 with Annie Zondish. She spotted me, followed me and 
 cornered me in a restaurant. Then she gave me a 
 shower of questions concerning you, all leading up 
 toward where to find you ; and I lied, not like the devil, 
 for he told truth even on short acquaintance in Eden, 
 but like a tough to his tender sister. I told her you
 
 312 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 were gone abroad, swore to it on my honor, for aren't 
 you abroad? It is thus that we lie in intention to tell 
 a truth in fact." 
 
 Howerson wrote to "Whateley, wrote all day and by 
 lamplight, puncturing the bubble metaphor rising upon 
 the surface of his murky flow of words. Into a corner 
 of the room he threw his pen and went below, strolled 
 out to the river, to drown his own trickling rhythm in 
 the mighty rhythm of the falls; and through the roar 
 there came like a flying splinter the cry of a night 
 hawk, and then a screech owl's creepy call, the laughter 
 of Annie Zondish. Back to the inn he strode, the mists 
 rising from his mind ; and he wrote with crabbed clear 
 ness, read the letter over and over, astonished with its- 
 simple force. But he did not suggest a meeting with 
 Sir John; that was reserved for a future expedient, his 
 aim now being to spar for a few more days of safety. 
 
 Then he broke his handcuffs, kicked off his chains and 
 wrote to Watkins, and so long cramped with hypocrisy, 
 his pen now laughed over the page, until it came to 
 Zondish and then ' ' Now cough, ' ' the writer said to it. 
 
 " But get it out of your head, Yal, that I've ever 
 been tangled up with her sentimentally. Under some 
 half-insane excitement we might commit a desperate 
 crime with a woman whom we could not be induced to 
 kiss. Like you I am indebted to that strange creature. 
 Say that I owe her my life, that I am ungrateful, a thief ; 
 but don't think that I could ever have told that wildcat 
 that I loved her. Love is so glorifying, so truly the God- 
 image held in the soul, that even to whisper a lie about 
 it were a black and damnable crime." 
 
 But what was he doing now ? He was writing to Rose 
 Whateley; and free was his pen, for it seemed to know 
 that the letter would not be entrusted to the mails but to
 
 SHE DID NOT EXIST 313 
 
 the safest of all receivers of the Muse's purloined goods, 
 the flames. He sketched his surroundings, the waters 
 whose depths were as dark as the eyes of an Indian maid, 
 the great rocks whereon the playful gods with diamond 
 points of winter stars had etched fantastic images which 
 with his lightning the critic Jove had half singed out. 
 " But even mighty scenery, as if weary, slopes off to lie 
 flat and commonplace. Poets nod themselves fast asleep, 
 which we could o'erlook if they but dreamed and mut 
 tered music in their dreams, like birds, half awake, 
 twittering in the dawn. It seems to me, and surely in 
 my idlest moments here, that virgin songs are hidden in 
 the woods, peeping out, ready to flee, but lovingly in wait 
 for the true minstrel's coming. Logic, philosophy and 
 mathematics sentence the mind to unelastic work, but 
 art comes round as longed-for holiday ; and poetry is the 
 laughter and the tear of art, the orator of the soul. Let 
 me further ' silly ' myself: 
 
 " Oft when we wake the mind sleeps on 
 
 Or else looks up with only one eye ope. 
 
 'Tis then we speak the thing we would recall. 
 
 'Tis then we dream the dreams whose rosy tints 
 
 Turn thin with shame when light of day 
 
 Doth pale them weak and vapory. So bold 
 
 The mind when curtained by the dark, 
 
 So bright by contrast seems the dream we dream 
 
 That glamoured, we are wont to think 
 
 A poem of rare worth is wrought. Alas 
 
 The sunlight brings the blemish out 
 
 And, sneering, makes a mock of our poor skeleton. 
 
 " With plenty of time for thought and experiment I 
 possibly could do worse than this. But since you are
 
 314 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 never to see these lines, why make an apology? Then 
 why write them? To help the drama along, to let you 
 glimpse my mind, not sane beneath your father's com 
 manding eye, but at its most vagrant worst. Isn't it 
 happiness to be pen-free? No publisher's faddish whim 
 to serve, no critic 's jaded taste to offend, but to -write 
 for the appreciative childhood of self, and for you, 
 as you do not really exist while I write, except in 
 my own fancy. Thus may I talk to you with as much 
 freedom as I would muse unto myself. But, for you, 
 pliant child of my fancy, I shall show a considerateness, 
 laying you not beneath the contribution of inflated 
 words. How often adjectives are driven tandem with 
 no load behind them. Ah, but why be compact when 
 the leading ' seller ' proves the reward of looseness? 
 
 ' ' Reading anew these meditations I find them streaked 
 with vanity. Must man find it impossible to make com 
 plete subversion of artificial self? Must he ever ' prac 
 tice behavior to his shadow? ' . . . Old Fate with 
 brusque hand will strike these musings out of the drama. 
 I can hear the comment: ' Halts the progress; cripples 
 the interest.' And what can I say? Nothing except 
 to acknowledge truth, which unto ourself is not hard to 
 do. ... I listen to the far-off wings of the coming 
 dawn. The eagle of light is chasing away the owl of 
 darkness. Gracious lady, I thank thee for thy pa 
 tience. ' '
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 IN A CREAMY ENVELOPE 
 
 He laughed as he put the two other letters into envel 
 opes, laughed with deeper chuckle as he took up the 
 letter to Rose. Then came into his mind the play night 
 in the Cabin, and he said: " I am playing alone, in the 
 midst of this great wilderness; but I make two letters 
 real and of the other a plaything indeed. Here, pre 
 tender in art, carry the appearance of truth to the end, ' ' 
 and he directed the letter to Rose Whateley and stamped 
 the envelope. Then he laughed his applause, for the 
 curtain had come down at the end of the act; 
 and now to bed in the paling dawn. Until nearly 
 noon he slept; awoke and leaped out upon the floor, 
 refreshed and strong, whistling himself into his clothes, 
 recalling the most of the night as a dream of the night 
 before. Musing that he would hardly dare to read Rose 's 
 letter to himself, he approached the table. The letters 
 were all of them gone. And now he went leaping down 
 the stairs. 
 
 " By the way," he said to the landlord, striving to 
 be calm, " this morning when I went to bed I left three 
 letters lying on the table." 
 
 "Don't worry," the landlord replied. " They're all 
 right. About eight o'clock the watchman over at the 
 mill called to see you. I went up to your room and 
 tapped a time or two on the door. No answer, and I 
 turned the knob. The door opened and in I went 
 found you asleep, and as I didn 't think the watchman 's 
 
 315
 
 316 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 business important enough to wake you up, I was about 
 to come out, when I saw your letters lying on the table. 
 Thinking you would like to have them go off on the 
 early mail I brought them down, and they're gone all 
 right." 
 
 Howerson strode weak-kneed out into the street, turn 
 ing not toward the river, to seek the watchman, but 
 in the direction of the telegraph office. Arriv 
 ing there he seized upon a blank and wrote, ' ' Under 
 no circumstances open a letter postmarked this place." 
 Then he mused: " She'll think I'm a fool. She'll 
 show the telegram to the old man and he'll know I am 
 crazy. And both of them will hit it. This thing 
 would stimulate her to read the letter all the closer, 
 twice over. Old fellow, you've made a mess of it this 
 time." He tore up the paper, went out, walking slowly 
 toward the mill. "Why not write a simple letter of expla 
 nation. Yes, he would do that. Nothing easier than to 
 write a laughing letter guying this little play, all alone 
 in the forest. She could not take offense, for both letters 
 would then amuse her. " Great Caesar, I said that she 
 did not exist except in my own fancy ! Nothing to 
 her except what I imagine, the most real of God's 
 creations! " 
 
 The mill caretaker had nothing new, angled for 
 another tip, caught it and touched his cap. Now there 
 was naught to do but to wait, the hardest of all labors. 
 Wait for what? The letter from Whateley? That was 
 something his mind could forecast. " The letter from 
 her," he said. 
 
 Four days passed and Whateley 's letter came. " Make 
 thorough investigation." That was all; and no word 
 from Rose. He had insulted her, called her the shadow 
 of his fancy. He thought of the old Hebrews who on
 
 IN A CREAMY ENVELOPE 317 
 
 the desert and in despair, beat their breasts ; and he felt 
 that he ought to beat his own, not with his hand, but 
 with a hammer. He strode up and down his room, and 
 upon him came the truth, that he was acting, and he 
 laughed at himself, comedian tittering at tragedian. 
 
 On the following day a letter came, warm it seemed, 
 through the chilling mist. He had never seen the char 
 acter of her pen but he knew it, felt it thrill him as 
 he held the creamy envelope, and then he read. . . . 
 His letter had been so pleasant a surprise, so different 
 from other letters, so inventively free, that she read it to 
 gods, to the old man? No, to herself, many times. 
 " How novel your device, ' playing like ' you were not 
 to send it to me, but if you hadn't I should have been 
 angry with you. How few there are who can write in 
 the way of artistic friendship, in unconscious metaphor. ' ' 
 That made him blink. " How few who dream and do 
 not noon-tide their dreams with the dazzle of self-con 
 sciousness." He turned back to the first words, which, 
 he feared, in his eagerness he might have overleaped: 
 " Friend Pal." Then he continued to read: 
 
 " How rarer the friend than the lover, in fiction and 
 I suppose in life. Once I heard one of father's friends 
 say, ' I used to look at a woman and if she wasn 't hand 
 some enough for me to fall in love with, I was then 
 ready to study her and to acknowledge her worthy qual 
 ities, and to accept her as a companion.' Wasn't that a 
 heroic conceit ? Or was it only masculine ? And I wish 
 you could see that man: not possessed of a point on 
 which to hang friendship, no surface roughed with char 
 acter, but smooth with unvarying vanity. To me the 
 delight of your letter was its inspiring belief that you 
 did not really intend to send it. In this belief was a 
 charm which I feared might upon a second reading evap-
 
 318 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 orate like an elusive perfume; and I put the sheets of 
 paper aside, bidding them hold my delusion prisoner. 
 Then came curiosity to tempt me. I wanted to find out 
 whether the notion after all did not live wholly in my 
 own mind; I was dared, would not take a dare and 
 read again; and there it was just as before. . . . 
 You remember, don 't you, that I spoke of Col. Banstree ? 
 Recently I was at his armory and mentioned your name 
 to him, and his old eyes grew bright. He said that you 
 were one of his aptest pupils. You must go to see him, 
 with me, some time. . . . Little Calvin talks about 
 you every day, every hour, it seems. I think it is much to 
 win the admiration, the real love, of this dear little 
 feUow. The" 
 
 The words were blurred. Much to win his love! It 
 was life, the redemption of soul. He continued to read : 
 * ' Father says that your letter ' ' 
 
 "What's this? " 
 
 " To him is a model of straightforward statement, 
 shrewd with business insight." 
 
 Then came the end, a pleasant good night. But why 
 had she so harped on friendship ?
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 THE TWO KNIGHTS 
 
 Howerson suggested an appointment between Whate 
 ley and Sir John Ferrill. "Whateley urged an immediate 
 meeting, in Toronto. Howerson conferred with Sir John. 
 It was easy enough to meet him. Not much of cere 
 mony is insisted upon by the man who has something 
 to sell, and the details were quickly arranged. Whate 
 ley was to come at once to Toronto. Howerson was to 
 be there, to bring them together, and during an interval 
 of the preliminaries, to conduct Whateley to the Falls. 
 
 Within a few days the meeting took place in Toronto, 
 at the King Edward. Now Howerson sat off at the edge 
 of the play, studying the scene. Sir John was not red 
 and heavy ; he was frail, an anemic. He knew of Whate 
 ley, and was glad to meet him, he said, and perhaps he 
 was. 
 
 In the transaction there was much of the " sidestep 
 ping ' ' of men seeking to get at each other 's weaknesses. 
 One for business thrift had been knighted. The other 
 within himself was an original order of shrewd knight 
 hood. But until Whateley had seen the plant there was 
 not much of vital interest to discuss. He insisted on 
 going up to the Falls; the scene was shifted: exterior 
 view, marvelous background, rocks, mountains, water, 
 villagers agape, a threat of comic opera. Then followed 
 two days of walking about, the two old men apart from 
 all others, sometimes standing above the rushing water, 
 strange figures in the gathering dusk. And now, back 
 
 319
 
 320 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 in Toronto, talking apart from the rest of the world, 
 old friends exchanging confidences one might have 
 thought. Once they laughed, shook hands, and Howersou 
 fancied that they must have entered upon some sort of 
 decision. 
 
 One evening Whateley said, " "We leave for home 
 to-morrow morning, Mr. Howerson." 
 
 Home! The word startled him. " All right, sir. I 
 will go now and get the tickets." 
 
 That was all. There was no reference to any transac 
 tion, until the following day, on the train. Howerson 
 was splashing in the shallows of a magazine, wondering 
 how it was that such verses ever overtook a publisher, 
 when Whateley crossed over and sat down beside him. 
 
 " I thought you might like to know something as to 
 the outcome of our negotiations over here, Mr. Hower 
 son." 
 
 " I should indeed, sir." 
 
 ' ' I shall organize a company and take over that ha 
 wonderful opportunity. The site and resources in 
 the way of material render it the chance of a lifetime. 
 And the opportunity lay far beyond the possibility of 
 discovery on my part; it was seized upon by your 
 instinctive business grasp. Little Calvin will have cause 
 to remember you gratefully ha and now, sir, to you 
 shall be issued certain shares of stock in this great enter 
 prise. ' ' 
 
 Down fell the magazine. " No, Mr. Whateley, you 
 must not do that. Really, sir, you don't know how little 
 credit I am entitled to in the matter. You have done too 
 much for me already, and I refuse to accept the shares, 
 sir." 
 
 The old man laughed. " Mr. Howerson, you are too 
 modest, and it is only your lack of confidence in your-
 
 THE TWO KNIGHTS 321 
 
 self that has held you back from I might say a 
 commanding position in the world of finance. In a flash 
 you reach conclusions that take some of us a long time 
 to think out. ' ' 
 
 They reached Chicago in the forenoon. Instead of 
 going home and inviting Howerson to go with him, 
 Whateley betook himself straightway to his office, to 
 enter at once upon the organization of the Sturgeon Falls 
 Corporation. Howerson went to his hotel and after a 
 time to Whateley 's office, where he sat about, feeling 
 like the country boy who, having gone to a frolic, dis 
 covers amid neglect and the titter of heartless girls, that 
 his trousers are too short. Over the telephone the old 
 man was talking about millions. " Self-made " capital 
 ists with horny knuckles almost bursting through their 
 gloves came upon hurry call to confer with the " Big 
 Jolt." Howerson walked about, conscious that in this 
 heaviness of millionaire talk he was only a hired man. 
 But not feeling at liberty to go away without telling 
 Whateley whither he was going and that he stood upon 
 call, he re-entered into the atmosphere of eager enter 
 prise, wondering at the keenness of men already more 
 than rich, and some of them surely money-changing on 
 the verge of the grave. 
 
 He caught at a brief opportunity to speak to Whate 
 ley, and the old man started as if he had been called 
 down from an exalted flight. ' ' Why, yes, Mr. Howerson, 
 you are at liberty to come and go as you please. And 
 when I ha need you I will call you up. If you 
 have nothing else on hand come out to dinner with me 
 to-morrow evening at six." 
 
 Down into the street Howerson went, breathing de 
 licious air. It was heavy with smoke and black with 
 dust, but a few words spoken by the old man had made
 
 322 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 it sweeter than breezes blown from blooming plum trees. 
 Suddenly a flash of red from a woman's hat halted him 
 in his feather-foot speed toward the hotel, and upon 
 him came the weakening dread of Annie and the aveng 
 ing Agents. But in the big hotel he would be safe, for 
 a time at least, until after he had gone again to Whate- 
 ley 's house, had heard again a voice speak new salvation 
 to his soul.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 MIGHT LIVE TO REACH THERE. 
 
 As the evening crept on Howerson wondered how he 
 had endured the long time since the day before. He 
 could recall no impression save the continuous dread that 
 he might be killed before the hour set for going home 
 with Whateley. He argued that it would be his luck 
 to die just before that supreme moment. And about 
 the time when he had made himself ready to meet the 
 old man there came a rap on his door. " You have 
 garbed yourself for the long-expected guest," was the 
 thought which like a black swallow flew from the dark 
 through the murky light of his mind and out again into 
 the dark. But he did not hesitate. Dramatically he 
 threw open the door, and there stood a man, in appear 
 ance not unlike an avenger, but who inquired whether 
 there were any clothes for him to press. . . . After 
 all he might live to reach Whateley 's home. He did. 
 
 Little Calvin saw him enter the door, and ran to him 
 with a shout of joy. The Poet knew that someone else 
 was approaching, but he did not look up, hugging the 
 little fellow close; and then his nerves began to sing, 
 for he heard a voice, and as he put the boy down the 
 youngster cried, " You are cold, Mr. Howerson. You 
 shake like my dog when he shivers. ' ' Cold, he had been, 
 but now he burned. Full knowledge of all his weak 
 nesses took strong hold upon him, and he felt that all 
 honest eyes must read the bold print of his pretentious, 
 his self-flattery, the difference that lay between him 
 
 323
 
 324 THE NEW ME. HOWERSON 
 
 and men who had tallowed their way to fortune. But 
 when he felt the frank and friendly grasp of her hand, 
 heard the welcoming music of her soft laugh, he could 
 have cried another welcome, the return of his stronger 
 self. And her eyes looked him full of ease and confi 
 dence, and he wondered whether down through life he 
 was always to be weak when away from her. 
 
 At the table Whateley was full of jests, poked genial 
 fun at Dan, laughed over his recent trip " abroad," 
 mentioning objects and incidents of which Howerson had 
 not supposed he had taken notice. " And, Harriet, my 
 dear," said the old man, " when I told Mr. Howerson 
 I was going to issue him stock in the great concern which 
 ah he has brought about, he refused to accept, said 
 that if I did he would make over the shares to little 
 Calvin." 
 
 Hereupon Harriet turned from tea to give to the 
 Poet a grateful look ; and with a wave of his fork the boy 
 shouted. ' ' Ho, Mr. Howerson give me a wolf coat ' ' 
 
 " Gave, not give, Calvin," his mother corrected him. 
 
 " Pete says ' give.' Pete says ' gave ' is sissy. And 
 it is, ain't it, Mr. Howerson? " 
 
 "I'm afraid it is, sometimes." But not caring to be 
 put down as a false instructor, he added: " However, 
 Calvin, Pete may be wrong a part of the time, at least." 
 
 " Yes," the boy cried. " He said you couldn't lick 
 Fitzsimmons and I dabbed mud on his snoot." 
 
 Clatter went the old man's knife on his plate and he 
 threw himself back with a laugh. The boy's father 
 laughed too, but his mother surrendered herself to a 
 pinched look that remained long after the talk had wan 
 dered to other subjects. After a time, however, the more 
 engaging side of her nature revealed itself. She talked 
 to Howerson about poetry, asked him whether he did
 
 MIGHT LIVE TO REACH THERE 325 
 
 not think that when women were given an equal chance 
 they would take rank with men. 
 
 " Poetry is one thing that woman has had an equal 
 chance at with men," Rose spoke up. 
 
 ' ' Oh, I don 't think so, do you, Mr. Howerson ? ' ' Har 
 riet insisted. 
 
 As representative of the Muse, Howerson shifted and 
 said, " Woman herself is poetry. She doesn't have to 
 write it, you know. She ' ' He caught a mischief shaft 
 shot from Rose's eye. " She is the goddess of all inspi 
 ration," he went on, bowing to her. 
 
 Harriet had heard, she said, that their guest was a 
 poet, ah, so poetic. She would greatly like to hear him 
 give one of his own favorites. She said that at a recep 
 tion one night she had met a foreign poet. She had met 
 only a few American poets, and never a " home one." 
 Oh, yes, reminded by Rose, the one who developed such 
 aptitude for " ad " writing and another one, presented to 
 her at a dog show. " It was the time when Mrs. Sue 
 Huck's spaniel, ' Geraldine,' was awarded the prize," 
 she said, nodding to Dan; and then with generous con 
 tribution she added, addressing Howerson : ' ' This poet 
 at the bench show was introduced as Mr. Josiah Balch, 
 and when I asked him if that were his real name he 
 looked confused. But I never would have picked him 
 out for a poet. He looked more like a " 
 " A gentleman," Howerson laughed. 
 " Well, yes, but really I don't mean it that way. But 
 he was very well behaved. I asked him if he worked 
 for any of the newspapers, and I gathered from his 
 answer that his writing was too fine for such purposes. 
 We asked him to recite for us and he did, but the dogs 
 barked so we couldn 't catch his fine shadings. Will you 
 recite for us, Mr. Howerson? "
 
 326 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 Old Whateley's shoulders sank with a cowering droop, 
 but they straightened up again when Howerson began 
 to speak. ' ' My dear Mrs. Whateley, I '11 gladly rob you 
 a railway train and without compunction shoot the 
 express messenger between his startled eyes but ' ' 
 
 " Gee! " cried the boy. 
 
 " But I must humbly bow my determination not to 
 recite. Wait until we go to a dog show, Mrs. Whateley, 
 and I'll outbark the loudest, Geraldine the Spaniel or 
 Big Mike the Mastiff." 
 
 Now came Whateley's verdict from which there 
 must be no appeal, no cavil or exception : ' ' Mr. How 
 erson is a business man, a discoverer and a promoter of 
 the highest order. So far as I am able to estimate, there 
 have been but three or four poets at the most. The world 
 has been rich in ha great thinkers, but a poet not 
 only thinks; he sets fire to his thoughts. They blazed 
 in the midnight of poverty and ignorance. But when 
 the sun arose their flames were pale. The poets of 
 to-day are only striking matches in the sun." 
 
 " Better to be a firefly in the night," Howerson said 
 in a f unless laugh, for beneath the verdict he felt a cool 
 shudder creeping slowly over him. He could have cried 
 out that he did not believe it, that truth and beauty were 
 metered every day and would be until words, squeezed 
 dry, should be but husks; but he knew, also, that men 
 trained in universities for the commercial keennesses of 
 life would look on poetry as dear old nursery tales, all 
 of them told. 
 
 In the library old Whateley's talk seemed to tend 
 toward a " Cabin Night," and with that hope the Poet 
 was thrilled, but when the hour had grown soft with 
 jest and friendly confidence, there came an old man with 
 blue veins showing through the red of his jaws. His
 
 MIGHT LIVE TO REACH THERE 327 
 
 mission was to make further inquiry into the aims of 
 the new company. Howerson had the heart to crush the 
 fat and loathsome worm, but soon afterward to bless him. 
 Calvin was taken protesting off to bed, Dan and Harriet 
 withdrew themselves, the inquirer was conducted to the 
 Inquisition, and the Poet was alone with Rose. " God 
 bless the dear old soap boiler," he mused. 
 
 ' ' When I was here the last time, the night of a recep 
 tion, I met a Mr. what was him name ? A very tall 
 man, seemed to be exceedingly well informed. ' ' 
 
 " Oh," she spoke up after careful research of her 
 mind, " you must mean Mr. Smill." 
 
 " Smill? Yes, I remember now. "What has become 
 of him? " 
 
 " I think he has returned to Pittsburgh. He is very 
 busy. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Struck me as being a remarkable man. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Oh, he is cultivated and endowed with such com 
 mon sense." 
 
 Endowed ! That was a fine way to put it. ' ' And not 
 afflicted with too much sentiment," he ventured. 
 
 " Oh, no, not at all. He has the exaggerated sanity 
 of the age, no sentiment at all." 
 
 He could not keep back " Thank you." 
 
 She looked at him and he had not thought that lumi 
 nous eyes could narrow into a light so sharp. " Thank 
 you for so apt a figure," he said. 
 
 The light in her eyes was wide again. 
 
 " When he was here last he asked a question that 
 reminded me of the raillery in your letter, Mr. How 
 erson." 
 
 " Please don't speak of that silly screed." 
 
 " It wasn't silly. It was delightful. It was so so 
 unintended. You know that the letter not meant to be
 
 328 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 printed is always the best. Then how much more charm 
 attaches to the letter not intended to be read." 
 
 He bowed. " I deserve all this; but what was his 
 question? " 
 
 ' ' Why, he wanted to know who had staged our house 
 hold." 
 
 He looked at her steadily. " And you could have 
 answered ' Fate.' ' 
 
 She laughed and he was grieved to feel that she had 
 not received the hoary old word more seriously. 
 
 Old Paul announced the Rev. Dr. Henshaw. It would 
 have been a violation of polite custom and a slight infrac 
 tion of the civil code had Howerson taken the old gentle 
 man by his ears and hauled him out. Rose might have 
 been startled and Dr. Henshaw himself might have been 
 astonished, but in his soul the Poet believed that God 
 granted to him that right. 
 
 " My Dear Mr. Howard Howarton, I am delighted 
 to meet you again," and with a three-quarter turn from 
 the Poet he gave to Rose his light gray smile. He scoured 
 his palms together, washing his hands of the Poet's 
 presence, but turned slightly about when Rose addressed 
 a remark to the neglected one, and out of the corner 
 of his mouth gave to him the delayed remnant of a 
 smile. Then he leaned back in his chair, anchored for 
 the evening. He appeared so comfortable that Howerson 
 dared the hope that he might recall one of his own 
 sermons and drop off to sleep. But not the doctor; he 
 was too much given to talk. 
 
 " I think," said he, " that we may confidently look 
 forward to a very, very successful year. ' ' Then turning 
 about and presenting graciously one half of his coun 
 tenance to Howerson, he added, " Yes? " as if he 
 expected enthusiastic confirmation. Howerson knit his
 
 MIGHT LIVE TO REACH THERE 329 
 
 brows, dropping a stitch, and replied unconcernedly that 
 he supposed so. The doctor was a little annoyed that 
 he had not hoped so; and the man who made faith a 
 trade now looked an inquiry at the Poet. " We must 
 work to save souls, Mr. Howerson." He had hit upon 
 the name. 
 
 ' ' We must work, sir, to save bodies, and a saved body 
 may mean a saved soul." 
 
 Rose smiled and the doctor hemmed and hawed up a 
 platitude, sanctioned by old men looking for a soft spot 
 in eternity and women who take Gospel and scandal for 
 granted. " Ah, my dear sir, the body is for this world, 
 corrupt; but the soul is for God." And with this 
 squelcher he gave a gleam of gold set in a false tooth. 
 " Man is" 
 
 " Man is dramatized," said Howerson. 
 
 " Beg pardon." 
 
 " Dramatized and didn't dramatize himself. I 
 wouldn't give a whoop for all your free moral belief. 
 What, a moral agent for a few years, with eternity 
 behind and before you? " 
 
 " Ah, but such discussions are, I might say, fruitless. 
 Our dear Miss Whateley could never believe ' ' 
 
 But bolder than she had been if alone with the Poet, 
 Rose shut off the preacher with, " I believe my mind 
 is kin to Mr. Howerson 's. I have felt it all along, since 
 the first day I met him. He is my brother of the drama. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Ha, such skepticism of the real truth rolls across the 
 sea of life in waves, leaving on the distant shore no 
 echo of its ripple," declared the doctor. " I hope I am 
 to see Mr. Whateley this evening." Doubtless he was, 
 for at that moment they heard the old man and his 
 inquisitorial visitor talking down the hall toward the 
 front door. A few moments later the master of the
 
 330 THE NEW ME. HOWEESON 
 
 house came in. He shook the doctor's hand with his 
 usual warmth or rather his usual want of it, and hoped 
 that the good man was still strong in the fight. Henshaw, 
 rubbing his hands so vigorously to prove his strength 
 that he popped a knuckle, declared himself in better 
 form than he had ever been before. His mind was so 
 much clearer, his facts so much more abundant, that 
 he was able, he might say, to ring harder blows on old 
 Satan's mail than he could possibly have dealt in the 
 less equipped years gone by. Then suddenly he seemed 
 to recall a former impression, that in Whateley's estima 
 tion Howerson stood high. Toward the Poet he turned 
 the manner of repentence, spoke to him soothingly, was 
 glad that dear Miss Whateley had found in him a 
 brother; and from this bungler Howerson 's look was 
 quickly shifted to Whateley's countenance, but the old 
 man had been dull to the doctor's remark. 
 
 " My very dear Mr. Whateley," said Dr. Henshaw, 
 " I have just had a talk with the celebrated Mrs. Jane 
 Penobscot Barnes." 
 
 " Who is she? " 
 
 ' ' What, Mrs. Jane Penobscot Barnes ! She is the 
 world's leading suffragette, from England." 
 
 " What's she doing over here? " 
 
 " Why, my dear Mr. Whateley, she is furthering the 
 cause. Make sport of it as we may, one day that cause 
 will ride triumphant over the jeers of men." 
 
 "One day. And where will it ride the next day? " 
 
 " On the billows of eternal right, Mr. Whateley." 
 
 " Maybe so. And then good-bye to civilization." 
 
 ' ' Why, my dear Mr. Whateley, you astonish me 
 and in the presence of one of the most er charming 
 of her sex. Why, really, you almost shock me." 
 
 Eose laughed and Whateley crossed his legs. " I
 
 MIGHT LIVE TO REACH THERE 331 
 
 don't want to do that, Doctor. But perhaps some of 
 your beliefs might shock me my intelligence, for 
 instance. ' ' 
 
 The doctor winced but smiled and said " Yes? " 
 " Decidedly. Now I don't believe that man has made 
 a complete success of civilization, don't believe he ever 
 will, but" 
 
 " But with woman to help him," the doctor inter 
 rupted, while Howerson sat there wishing all discussions 
 sunk to the bottom of the sea. 
 
 ' ' Woman to help him make a completer failure. Doc 
 tor, the pretty little . duplicities of woman, her nature- 
 endowed defences against man ' ' 
 
 " She couldn't do worse, Mr. Whateley, than to buy 
 her way into the Senate." 
 
 " No, but she might try to flirt her way in." 
 " That wouldn't cost the state anything." 
 " Cost the world her romance and her sentiment," 
 Howerson protested, and Whateley gave to him a gra 
 cious nod. The doctor, now thoroughly girded, not only 
 stood braced for the shock of attack, but led an assault. 
 He fought for woman, blessed, trampled-on but still 
 gloried woman. And during the jolt and clamor of 
 strife Howerson plucked the chance-flowers of a few 
 words with Rose, but he felt that in Whateley 's gracious 
 nod there was a kindly dismissal and he arose to take 
 his leave. " The two old roosters," as he had mentally 
 termed them, were so rough- feathered of neck, and so 
 spur-whetting of heel that they scarcely took heed of 
 his departure. But Rose went with him to the front 
 door. 
 
 ' ' Such contention is not native to our play, ' ' he said, 
 lingering, looking back. " It slows the drama where it 
 ought to be swift. ' '
 
 332 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " Our drama," she laughed. " In our drama we 
 ought always to be made to feel that something vital is 
 about to happen." 
 
 ' ' Yes, in our our kin-drama, ' ' he said. 
 
 They heard the muffled strike and the fluttery rebound 
 of the old roosters. They heard the church cock crow 
 as if he must have torn a wattle, and then they heard 
 him squawk. But the real drama hung dreamily about 
 the front door. One word might have made it leap, but 
 that right word the grim old time-mocking Dramatist 
 withheld. . . . And mute they stood as if listening 
 to music lisping from some distant and lonely lover's 
 flute. 
 
 "Oh, in my letter I spoke of seeing old Col. Banstree 
 again and of his speaking so kindly of you." 
 
 " Yes, I remember." 
 
 ' ' Would you care to go over to his armory to-morrow 
 afternoon? " 
 
 " Nothing could give me more pleasure." 
 
 " Then I will meet you here, at two o'clock," she said, 
 with a kindly nod of dismissal.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 COLONEL BANSTREE 
 
 In his room the Poet mused: " If Yal were here I'd 
 wager him Arcadia against old Crusoe's isle that those 
 Dogs of Corinth mouth me before to-morrow afternoon. 
 I used to live from shaky hand to eager mouth, but now 
 from trembling heart to frightened soul. But let us 
 have no moribund rhapsody, old man." He sat down 
 to read, betting with himself he 'd find old Rousseau dull, 
 which he did. Sharper the bite and pinch of fear than 
 any book ever written, and heavy dread makes all books 
 seem the heavier. But now as he let the volume fall 
 he knew that it was not the fear, the dread of Annie 
 and the Agents that oppressed him. It was the ache of 
 being only a brother. " But, fool, you couldn't even 
 dimly hope to marry her, could you? " he asked of him 
 self, and answered, " Old Yal said it was in the drama." 
 
 Morning came and the sun at the window found him 
 alive but worrying again with the first wink of waking. 
 He spent the forenoon in looking for a room. In an old 
 building hidden among warehouses not far from the 
 river, he settled on a large apartment which years ago 
 might have served some bachelor of taste, for though 
 the walls were not free from grime, the design of painted 
 decorations could still be followed, a Spanish youth sing 
 ing beneath a window. From the ceiling hung a chande 
 lier so massive and so ornate, so out of atmosphere, as 
 to suggest that some old mansion had been drawn upon, 
 the bronze display of some owner or tenant coming after 
 
 333
 
 334 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 the sojourn of the tasteful decorator. Adjoining was a 
 small bedroom, in one corner a sheet of tin nailed pre 
 sumably over a rat hole. But the floor was sound and 
 reasonably clean except about the grate fireplace, which 
 bore marks of bohemian cookery. The main room had 
 also a fireplace, a black marble mantelpiece and 
 above it a forgotten portrait of an old man dream 
 ing by the fire, arm hanging limp and pipe gone 
 out. This room was on a corner at the intersection 
 of two corridors, with a door opening out into each 
 hallway. It was only one story up and upon the whole 
 was the secluded place pictured by the Poet. And now 
 for a special telephone wire. At noon he found Whate- 
 ley in his office and requested the permission to put in 
 the exclusive service. The old man looked sharply at 
 him. 
 
 " It is because I don't wish to be called up idly, Mr. 
 Whateley." 
 
 " Yes, a good idea, Mr. Howerson. Have it attended 
 to at once." 
 
 So that was settled ; and now, to wait for two o 'clock, 
 which surely could not come. All the clocks would 
 stop. Time itself would stagger and fall dead; and in 
 the street newsboys would cry " All about the death 
 of time! " Maids would weep and old men with notes 
 in bank would laugh and shake their winter heads. But 
 it was better to walk about in the neighborhood of the 
 Whateley home, to be near at hand in case Time should 
 survive ; and he hung about a tower on which there was 
 a monstrous clock, with a great bell that clanged out 
 " one " and moaned, for that was to be the last. But 
 the minute hand was still alive, convulsive after the 
 death of his brother, the heavier recorder. Soon it 
 would die too. What ? one thirty ? A miracle surely.
 
 COLONEL BANSTREE 335 
 
 Slowly he strode toward Whateley's house, and after 
 turning back occasionally as if he had lost something, 
 reached there just in time. Rose was ready, and uncon 
 cernedly she came out with him, little suspecting the 
 danger out of which the world had just emerged. 
 
 Old Col. Banstree's armory was not far off and of this 
 fact Howerson had been warned, but they came within 
 sight of the place without having said anything to 
 " advance the plot." In another moment there they 
 were, in Banstree's museum of swords, all sorts, hefty 
 slashers from the middle ages, boudoir splinters of death 
 from politer times, down to the sabers that flashed with 
 Forrest and with Sheridan. 
 
 There was the old man, past eighty, towering, with 
 a wrist of iron and an eye of blue steel. He gripped 
 Howerson by the shoulders and turned him about to 
 catch a better light; he laughed over him, and poor old 
 eighty years of human nature was here suspected of 
 exuberant gladness toward the Poet on account of the 
 company he was keeping, for surely in that former day 
 when the actor had come to receive a groat's worth of 
 skill, the colonel though kind had not made so much 
 of him. 
 
 In the presence of ladies the colonel would have set 
 a sixteenth century knight the task of looking to his 
 laurels, and as he regarded Miss Whateley as the queen 
 of all women, proving by notebook and memory that 
 he had met them all, he now was first gentleman in 
 the gorgeous court of self-conceit. Strange nomad of 
 fortune was this old man, choosing with mystery to 
 keep himself interesting, a book of adventure glimpsed 
 into but never read. Native of Norway, fencing master 
 in many lands, soldier for love of glorified strife, a com 
 panion of Maximilian in ravished Mexico, galloping in
 
 336 THE NEW MB. HOWERSON 
 
 the vanguard of revolutions through South America. 
 It was even hinted that he had stolen a princess from 
 the throne-room of the czar, but when asked directly he 
 would shrug his high shoulders. " Ah, my life has not 
 been free from episode." 
 
 Howerson stood by and watched Rose fence with him, 
 thorn tree and althea swept by a gale; but when this 
 figure had passed through his mind, leaving him saner 
 to judge of the picture, he knew that never before had 
 he seen such contrasts of grace. When the combat was 
 over, the colonel removed his silk skull cap and bowed 
 his hairless head almost to the floor. It may be hard, 
 as all stage managers believe, for bald-headed men to 
 be dignified, without a hint of comedy, but old Banstree 
 broke through the ruling and stood a statue of perfect 
 gravity, as long as he was silent; but when he talked, 
 and it must have been due to his animation, his scalp 
 appeared to glisten anew, to laugh. Then it was that 
 sceptics smiled and questioned his theft of a princess. 
 
 " I call her the wonder-lady, Mr. Howerson. Ah, 
 where can you find such grace? And with such skill! 
 I have taught her, I of the generations gone; and you 
 must know, my old time friend, that when man in society 
 unbuckled his belt and laid his sword aside, the true 
 gentleman departed forever. Come, take the foil and 
 assume your neglected accomplishment/' 
 
 ' ' I am more than rusty, Colonel, and I 'd be ashamed 
 for Miss Whateley to see my clumsiness." 
 
 " After having been charmed by her grace. Ha, yes. 
 But you will come and let me teach you. You were an 
 apt pupil. You would have made your mark. You 
 will come soon? " 
 
 " Yes, very soon, Colonel. I don't hope to make my 
 mark, but I like the exercise."
 
 COLONEL BANSTREE 337 
 
 " Ah, yes. You see what it has done for Miss I 
 mean what Miss Whateley has done with it. Have I 
 not a pleasant place here? " He turned about and 
 waved his hand toward a window looking out over a 
 vacant space toward an old-fashioned mansion now an 
 automobile club, and a barn that looked like a chapel. 
 
 " Here on the first floor, as you see, low, where the 
 smell of the sod reaches me when the rain falls. And 
 here, Miss Whateley, where your gracious kindness 
 enabled me to be installed, I expect, if permitted to 
 remain here, to live to be a may I say a hundred, 
 Miss Whateley? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, surely a hundred, Colonel. Why should 
 you expect to be cut oif in your prime? " 
 
 The old man bowed to her. " Prime? Ah, not quite 
 but almost. But for my my experience, I should feel 
 not the half of my years. Men have premonitions of 
 death, Mr. Howerson, but I have premonition of long 
 life. I shall not die before one hundred, and ha-ha 
 I shall then decide whether I desire to live longer. 
 Is not that a good joke, an epigram? Ah, I have a 
 present for you, Mr. Howerson. Look! " 
 
 From the wall he took down a broadsword of very 
 ancient make, and as he drew the blade from the scab 
 bard and flashed it in the air, he said, " Has it not 
 slain the Turk? And as bright as a mirror. My friend 
 of the old time, it is yours to take away with you. Put 
 it on your wall, and ha-ha when you look at it, 
 come to the old fencing master who shall live to be a 
 hundred, and take a lesson. Here, it is for you." 
 
 " Oh, no, Colonel," Howerson protested; " I should 
 feel that I had robbed you." 
 
 " Well, then I insist on being robbed. Ha-ha is
 
 338 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 not that another epigram? Ha, it all comes from my 
 activity. Miss Whateley, do me a favor: Tell him to 
 take it." 
 
 " Take it, please, Mr. Howerson, " she requested, see 
 ing that the offer was sincere, though perhaps she did 
 not know that her own friendship for Howerson had 
 prompted it. 
 
 Now it was time to go. At half past three Rose had 
 an appointment at home, she said. Again they were out 
 in the open, walking slowly, talking about the old swords 
 man who, loath to see them take their leave, had cere- 
 monied them to the street. She chatted lightly of little 
 things, and laughed the while, and he laughed too, 
 though neither could have told the reason. Love is some 
 times closest and dramas often speed the fastest when 
 with no thought there is only prattle. Hearts can some 
 times be fondest when lips are foolish. 
 
 They walked and laughed; and Cupid, the little fool, 
 did not snatch the prompter's book to interpolate a cue. 
 A corner turned, and there was the great house ready 
 to swallow up another opportunity. Suddenly the Poet 's 
 mind halted, though his physical self strode on in swing 
 with the long and slow stride of the woman. Oppor 
 tunity for what? To make dishonorable avowal of love 
 or honorable confession of an oath. That oath, how long 
 ago! Now, again it came out of the past like a remem 
 bered disease. But this was not the time for that con 
 fession. What was it the time for? Delay. The 
 glamoring mists cleared from his mind and he knew that 
 the soul-kin play could lead only from nothing to naught. 
 " Then what are you yearning for, you idiot? " his 
 heart inquired while his lips spoke out idly and in 
 laughter; and the answer was there before the question
 
 COLONEL BANSTREE 339 
 
 had been asked: " To tell her that I love her, to seize 
 her for a moment in my arms, feel Jove's lightning 
 strike, and then to run away." 
 
 And now they stood in front of the big iron gate, he 
 holding it open. " I have enjoyed our visit," she said, 
 her eyes smiling. " It was a rollic all the way home, 
 the freest journey I ever knew." She laughed, and 
 was gone.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 OLD SAM 
 
 Like two children coming home from school the 
 " pals " had parted, and with no word spoken in allu 
 sion to the future, no hint as to an early meeting. Poets 
 are adventurous, not to say sometimes presumptuous, but 
 he had not yet dared to call at the house, not invited 
 for the occasion and offering no other excuse than his 
 desire to see Miss "Whateley. They must continue to 
 meet, if to meet at all, by a sort of theft; and often 
 he was hurt by the thought, edged sometimes to the sharp 
 belief that in this theft might lie her enjoyment of his 
 society. 
 
 The room in the old building had been fitted up, the 
 special wire installed. The walls were washed, the floor 
 carpeted, and here with table beneath the chan 
 delier, the Poet sat down among books to read, to 
 muse and to plot. Sometimes he would take the old 
 broadsword down from the wall and with it make the 
 air shrill with the whistle of his stroke. A week passed 
 with no commission to go out of town. But now he did 
 not wish to go away. His heart yearned for another 
 invitation from the old man, and several times he hung 
 about the office, waiting; but Whateley was always busy, 
 and aside from a kindly and respectful greeting had 
 little to say to him. 
 
 One day as he was coming down out of the office the 
 notion to call on old Banstree struck him ; and he smiled 
 
 340
 
 OLD SAM 341 
 
 in pity of himself that he had so long put off the taking 
 of a lesson, for at the armory he might meet Rose. He 
 hastened along the street, wondering why he had not 
 sooner snatched at this chance, when there came a quick 
 clap on his shoulder ; and leaping about he stood facing 
 Sam Joyce, the old Sam of the vague but now happily 
 recalled ancient day at Glenwich. 
 
 " Your house afire? " Joyce said, laughing, as How- 
 erson gripped him by the hand. 
 
 " Sam I'm glad it's you." And he was. " How 
 are you, old man? How are you? " 
 
 " If I felt better I'd have to take something for it," 
 Sam said, shaking his friend's hand, holding it off to 
 one side, bringing it back and shaking it again, while 
 upon him the Poet poured the glow of friendship and of 
 gratitude. An onlooker might well have taken them 
 for twins of sentiment and of sacred purpose reunited 
 after many years. But friendship is sometimes as much 
 a matter of moments as of years. The years may be 
 fruitful in the discovery of the antagonisms of character, 
 while the hours may bring out congenialities. 
 
 Joyce was in for a time, he said, waiting for the 
 Western hat trade to halt and blow a while in its uphill 
 pull. ' ' I believe I told you before that about as unwise 
 a thing as a traveling man can do is to overstock his 
 customers. Recognize the truth with them that times 
 are dull and are likely to be duller. Don't wait for 
 your customer to compel you to see the handwriting on 
 the board fence. Seeing it before he does is good policy 
 in trade. Let's turn in here and get a bite to eat. I'm 
 as hungry as a shark." 
 
 They went into a restaurant, where amid the noon 
 time clatter Joyce resumed his commercial homily. 
 Some time elapsed before Howerson was sufficiently
 
 342 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 recovered from his shock to speak except in broken 
 rhapsody of his " delightful surprise." 
 
 " But why were you in such a rush, old boy? You 
 jumped like a movie when it strikes a gap in the film." 
 
 " I was thinking about " 
 
 " A footrace. I see. Say, but you did raise Cain 
 out at Glenwich. Every man that owns a patch of dog 
 fennel out there thinks he's a millionaire. You've made 
 the old burg hump and no mistake. Whenever you want 
 a banquet, drop off the train out there. And, by the 
 way, you've done me no end of good, for being a friend 
 of mine you've boomed my trade. The biggest merchant 
 in the town, one that I've been trying in vain for years 
 to land, came over to the hotel the other day and sur 
 rendered of his own accord. Why, it 's money in a fellow 's 
 pocket to be on speaking terms with you, George. What 
 are you going to eat ? ' ' 
 
 Howerson gave his order and then turned to his 
 friend. " What I owe to you it would be impossible 
 for you to understand. I hinted at an explanation, 
 could only hint at it, and am not going to do even that 
 much now. With a certain object in view I am going to 
 ask you a few questions. Are you tired of the road? " 
 
 Joyce cleared his throat. ' ' Was a harnessed dog ever 
 tired of a churn? Was an old knock-kneed mule catch 
 ing sight of a green pasture far way, ever tired of the 
 treadmill? Tired! Lord! Perhaps you don't know 
 what it is to put up with the snarls of an ignorant 
 grouch, sitting in his back room, hating all the world 
 and you in particular when you come in to extend your 
 trade. Maybe you don't know what it is to have your 
 education and your manhood continuously insulted. 
 You may not know what it is of a Christmas Eve to sit 
 in a miserable railway station away out on the snow-
 
 OLD SAM 343 
 
 covered plains, with your heart full of a beautiful 
 woman and two glorious kids at home. . . . This 
 meat pie's been near the fire.'* 
 
 Howerson's hand lay for a moment on his friend's 
 arm, an unconscious caress. " You have made me know, 
 Sam," he said. " And it must not be." 
 
 " Got to be for years yet, George." 
 
 " Until when? " 
 
 ' ' Until I can buy into the firm. ' ' 
 
 " How much? " 
 
 " Oh, not so very much, but it will take a long time, 
 for I'm not of a saving nature. Ten thousand dollars." 
 
 " You shall have the money to-morrow. 
 
 ' ' Look here, George, what are you trying to say ? ' : 
 
 " To-morrow. I will borrow it from Mr. Whateley." 
 
 " But good Lord, man, I couldn't pay it back in ' 
 
 ' ' You will pay it back when it is due : in one thou 
 sand years. You can't get away from it. I've thought 
 about it many a time. It 's in the drama. I have, let us 
 say, blundered into making good for Mr. Whateley. 
 And he is appreciative. It will be an advance on my 
 salary ; and after this year, old man, I shall be receiving 
 at least twenty-five thousand annually. Don't stare at 
 me, Sam. Steady yourself and take things as they 
 come. I've had to do it. What's that? I haven't 
 known you but a short time? Puck said what fools. 
 He ought to have added what liars. I've known you 
 all my life, or rather since my resurrection when my 
 life really began, but of course you aren't supposed to 
 understand. I shall have that money for you to-morrow 
 and you're going to take it.'" 
 
 Joyce was honest, a reason doubtless why he had not 
 been able to enter the firm years before. He steadied 
 himself as commanded, but with a protest, admitting,
 
 344 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 however, that Howerson had flashed before his eyes his 
 own bright dream. 
 
 " Lord, the wife would be tickled, and the kids 
 George, you've got to come out with me, as soon as you 
 can. ... I can see them all dancing around the 
 room, holding hands. I 'm not much given to sentiment ; 
 I feed more on crust than mush, but some things get 
 me and get me hard. ... I can pay that money 
 back. ... I'll take it, George." 
 
 Howerson sprawled back with a laugh so loud that 
 women stenographers, prim and circumspect over their 
 public coffee and pie, looked around at him. ' ' Take it ? 
 Why there has never been any question as to that fact. 
 It was recorded in the book with the first tick of time. 
 Come along with me," he added as they arose. " We 
 are going to see a character in a romance of many 
 nations. ' ' 
 
 As they walked along Howerson told him about old 
 Colonel Banstree. They got into a car, rode until near 
 the house of many swords, then proceeded to walk, 
 Joyce inwardly accounting himself the happiest man in 
 town. What a surprise for his wife and the kids ! No more 
 desperate Christmas Eves on the snow-shrouded plains. 
 Howerson was talking: 
 
 ' ' The old man says he 's going to live to be a hundred, 
 and I believe it. So will you believe it when you see 
 him. He has a premonition that he must round the 
 moss-covered corner of a century. ' ' 
 
 " But if he is already eighty it may be the vanity of 
 having lived so long that inspires his premonition," 
 said Joyce. 
 
 " Yes, it may be vanity," Howerson admitted, " but 
 nothing lives longer than vanity, you know. It has been
 
 OLD SAM 345 
 
 said that a man lives about as long as he cares to. In the 
 desire to live there is life." 
 
 " If that's true," said Joyce, " you may put me 
 down for a couple of centuries. I never was keener to 
 live than I am to-day. And you are the cause of it, old 
 man. That ten thousand I can hardly realize it; it's 
 a dream, and pretty soon I'll wake up out on the road. 
 There'll come a loud thump on the door and a gruff 
 voice will call out : ' Four fifteen ! ' and then 1 11 get 
 into an old bus and rattle off to the railroad station. 
 But I 'm going to live in my dream as long as I can. . . 
 Suppose Whateley won't let you have the money? " he 
 broke off suddenly. 
 
 " Don't worry. He won't refuse me." 
 
 " He might. A hope may open the door of a guy's 
 freedom and yet he 's half afraid it 's locked. Hope may 
 be brave, but it may also be streaked with yellow, you 
 know. It isn't often I'm a coward, George, but cow 
 ardice grabs me once in a long while. . . . We'll 
 make that note for a year. I can do better when I drive 
 down a stake to work up to. I'll pay some every year 
 and renew the note." 
 
 " Without interest," said Howerson. 
 
 " But don't you think it would strike Whateley as 
 being more businesslike if it should be an interest-bear 
 ing note? " 
 
 " My dear Sam, Whateley has nothing to do with it. 
 The thing is settled. But what you said about hope just 
 now is true. When we hope, the soul has turned gambler, 
 and sometimes the soul coppers its bet." 
 
 It was not long at a time that the great engine of 
 health pumping within would permit Joyce to be low 
 and anxious of spirit. The man who glamours other 
 men can nearly always glamour himself. The man who
 
 346 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 sells gold bricks of cheerfulness is likely to reserve one 
 of them. Like a lark, Sam's spirit arose and sang. 
 
 The Poet 's hope was that at the armory he might meet 
 Rose. Herald of this hope was a robin's song. And in 
 Rose's treatment toward Joyce, his friend, he might see 
 reflected her regard for himself. " Tricky art thou in 
 thy sublime selfishness, Love ! " he mused and thought 
 himself wise. " And for the most part thou art shrewd, 
 but sometimes thy devices are as glaring as the paint on 
 Harlequin's jaw." 
 
 Upon coming to the armory they found the janitor 
 standing on the steps, smoking his pipe, while in the 
 hallway his wife was scolding a boy for tracking the 
 floor with mud. Recognizing Howerson as a companion 
 of Miss Whateley, the janitor took off his cap and bowed 
 himself aside to let the visitors enter. 
 
 ' ' Is the colonel at home ? ' ' Howerson inquired. 
 
 " I think so, sir. I'll see." Along the hallway he 
 came with the visitors, talking for a tip. ' ' Fine weather 
 we are having, sir, especially for the time of year." 
 
 ' ' Anybody taking a lesson ? ' ' 
 
 * ' There might be someone a lady, perhaps, you 
 know, sir. I thank you, sir. ' ' Howerson had tipped him. 
 
 By this time they had reached the fencer 's door. How 
 erson listened for the click of the foils, his heart beating 
 hard. Out in the open the robin was singing. " He 
 knows that we are to meet here," the Poet mused. He 
 knocked on the door. No sound within. He knocked 
 again. No stir. The robin sang. The janitor's wife 
 came forward, halted, smiled at the Poet. " He must 
 be out, but I've been down here pretty much all day 
 and didn't see him go," she said. 
 
 " It ain't locked," the janitor declared, turning the 
 knob. The door opened part way. The janitor peeped
 
 OLD SAM , 347 
 
 in and sprang back " Good God! " The woman, 
 quicker than Joyce or Howerson, looked in and drew 
 back, screaming, her hands pressed to her eyes. The 
 door now stood wide open, and the two friends gazed 
 upon a horrible sight. The old man sat with his arms on 
 a table in front of him, and with his head split straight 
 down between his eyes, a great gash like a smear of red 
 paint. His eyes were open, startled ; and in one of them 
 a drop of blood, a crimson tear.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 A DOG HOWLED 
 
 The body was not yet cold, and when by accident a 
 chair was overturned, the slight jar caused the wound 
 to bleed afresh. The room was orderly, the swords all 
 in their places. The windows looking out across the 
 stretch of lawn were all of them down, the catches 
 fastened. These observations were taken quickly by 
 Joyce, who was cooler and calmer than the others. Then 
 he turned to the janitor and commanded him to tele 
 phone to the police. 
 
 The screams of the woman called down sojourners 
 from the upper floors, and they stood about the door, 
 whispering their horror. A dog came and stood with 
 them, and when he saw the bloody sight, threw up his 
 head and howled. A woman drove him out. She had 
 heard him howl the night before, she said, and knew 
 then that something awful was going to happen in that 
 house. Near a window Howerson stood, pale and shaken. 
 This one time mimic was looking now upon the smeared 
 features of a real tragedy, but it was not this alone that 
 racked him; his heart had beat cold with Sam's words 
 " telephone to the police." These words meant the 
 publication of his name. They meant that he was to be 
 summoned by the coroner, that the " Agents of Justice " 
 would find him. He heard the janitor talking over the 
 telephone. There was no escape. 
 
 348
 
 A DOG HOWLED 349 
 
 The janitor came back from the telephone booth. 
 " They'll be right over," he said. " And I'd like to 
 see how they'll go about finding out anything. Why, 
 gentlemen, as God is my judge I see the colonel walking 
 in the hall not an hour ago, and see him go into his room, 
 and I know I wasn't away from here across the street 
 more'n ten minutes; and my wife says she didn't see 
 anybody come into the building while I was gone. ' ' 
 
 ' ' I wonder, ' ' said Joyce, ' ' if anyone could have been 
 fencing with him and split his head by accident." 
 
 " No," said Howerson. " There's not a man in the 
 world that could have come down across his head. He 
 could foresee an accident as well as a design. And he 
 couldn't have inflicted such a wound himself." 
 
 They heard the gong of the patrol wagon. ' ' George, ' ' 
 said Sam, " the poor old colonel ought to have played 
 his premonition with a copper." 
 
 " Yes. But his premonition was only a part of the 
 game, the mocking jugglery of Fate. That," he con 
 tinued, with his eyes fixed upon the old man, " does not 
 weaken my unfortunate conviction but adds to it, and 
 before long you may see something that I cannot see, 
 and then you will recall these words." 
 
 The police entered the room. Everyone was com 
 manded to remain until all names were taken; and 
 when Howerson had given Whateley's office as the place 
 where at any time he might be found, his questioner 
 eyed him sharply, and forthwith treated him with more 
 respect than in gruff haste he had set out to show. Now 
 the Poet's blood tingled with a sudden thought: To 
 Whateley's home he would be the bearer of this dis 
 tressful news. He would see Rose. Then he explained 
 to Sam, " I am going over to Whateley's for a very 
 short time. I feel it my duty to go, but an unpleasant
 
 350 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 one, I assure you. Miss Whateley was very much 
 attached to the poor old colonel but you understand, ' ' 
 he broke off, hoping that Sam didn't. 
 
 " Certainly," said Sam. 
 
 Thus assured that his friend did not understand, 
 Howerson continued: " Stay here, Sam, till I come 
 back. Of course I'm not going to bring her here; 
 I'm going over there only because but you can 
 understand." 
 
 Sam said that he could, and Howerson hastened away 
 with winged spirit though with clod-stumbling heels, he 
 felt. When he had rung at the door and stood listening 
 for old Paul's slippered shuffle, he could hear nothing 
 save the beating of his own heart ; and he thought of an 
 imprisoned hawk fighting its cage. Paul opened the 
 door, looked at Howerson, drew back. " What has hap 
 pened, sir? " he inquired with a gasp. 
 
 ' ' Oh, nothing that is to say, nothing has happened 
 at the office. I wish to see Miss Whateley for a moment. ' ' 
 
 " She is not at home, sir. She hasn't been gone long, 
 sir went out with a party of ladies and a gentleman 
 in the auto. Any word you wish to leave ? ' ' 
 
 " Well, perhaps not. The evening papers will inform 
 her that her old friend Colonel Banstree has been 
 murdered." 
 
 ' ' Is it possible ! Very unfortunate, I 'm sure. Board 
 of trade man, sir? " 
 
 ' ' Good Lord, no. The old fencer. ' ' 
 
 " Ah, yes, I might have thought so, but you see, sir, 
 I never heard of him. Anything else, sir? " 
 
 "Nothing. Good day." 
 
 Sam was waiting and together the two friends strode 
 slowly back toward the car line, interviewed on the way 
 by reporters. Sam was voluble, Howerson reserved ; and
 
 A DOG HOWLED 351 
 
 to those who write the local history of the hour, restraint 
 on the part of the questioned is sometimes a food more 
 stimulating than loquacity. Suggestion is richer than 
 explanation. 
 
 " I notice," said Sam, " that you didn't tell them 
 where you live. Surely yon don't sleep at Whateley's 
 office." 
 
 ' ' No. I have a sort of monastery all my own, and for 
 reasons same old story, can 't explain I don 't want 
 a certain part of the public to know where I live. As 
 yet I have confided the secret of my abode to no one, 
 but I 'm going to take you with me now. ' ' 
 
 " That's a compliment all right." 
 
 " It's a confidence, anyhow; and if anyone should be 
 interested enough to ask you if you know where I live, 
 lie like a friend and say you don't." 
 
 " I'm an oyster," said Sam. " They may swallow 
 me, but I peach not." 
 
 When they entered Howerson 's apartments Sam called 
 the place a hillside cave. " With a club I suppose you 
 slew the former possessor and dragged him out. Or with 
 that blade up there, ' ' he added pointing to the sword on 
 the wall." 
 
 " Sit down and fill a pipe. That sword was given to 
 me the other day by the old colonel." 
 
 " Yes? Well, let it hang there. I haven't much 
 interest in swords. Give you this old pipe, too ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' No, I picked that up hi Canada. Try this one 
 and some good tobacco." 
 
 Sam smoked, mused and said: " George, I am still in 
 my dream." 
 
 " I am not the one to call ' four fifteen ' at your door," 
 Howerson replied lightly, though his mind was busy with 
 dreams of a darker hue.
 
 352 THE NEW ME. HOWERSON 
 
 Sam filled his pipe again, seeming loath to leave the 
 Poet, the embodied presence of his hope. For a long 
 time they talked, Sam in his pleasurable dream, How- 
 erson in his nightmare. 
 
 " A part of our dream to-day was red, Sam," said the 
 Poet, a vision of the old man rising before him. 
 
 " Desperate. But do you know that while looking on 
 that poor old fellow's blood, the blood of your friend, 
 I couldn't help thinking of what you were going to con 
 tribute toward my welfare ? Blood and death mur 
 der, yes; but you were going to help me. George, we 
 are woefully selfish creatures." 
 
 " We make blood our agent," said Howerson; "an 
 excuse to further our desires. I wanted to go to Whate- 
 ley 's house, and made murder my excuse. But of course 
 you can't understand." 
 
 " Maybe not. But you'll let me be selfish and dream 
 for a moment longer, won't you? " 
 
 " Yes, but let us hasten the plot. It drags." There 
 was a smoky silence, broken by Sam. 
 
 ' ' When shall I meet you to-morrow, George, about the 
 note, you know? " 
 
 " Yes. I had been thinking of other things, but I 
 hadn't forgotten that. See your people, then meet me 
 here to-morrow afternoon at one o 'clock. ' ' 
 
 When Sam was gone, the Poet sat musing: " I'll get 
 a pistol and prepare to defend myself. Those devils will 
 see my name in print, follow me to the inquest, track me 
 here, hack out my blood as some other devil hacked out 
 old Banstree's." 
 
 The sight of the murdered man arose afresh, more 
 ghastly visioned now in the twilight of a room which 
 no blaze could have made cheerful. . . . He did not 
 sleep well that night, and in dozes he dreamed a dozen
 
 A DOG HOWLED 353 
 
 times that he snatched down the broadsword to slash off 
 the heads of his enemies. 
 
 He went early to Whateley's office, and while waiting 
 for old Calvin, cringed and coughed over those wretched 
 newspaper interviews. One server of the morbid public 
 called him " George Howerson, the Actor-Poet " and 
 printed one of his poems. Where had that thing been 
 dug up? But there it was in double column, together 
 with a sketch of the Poet " whose peculiar imagination 
 induced him to turn promoter, and who of late has 
 engineered some of Whateley's biggest deals." Where 
 had the scoundrel got that information ? 
 
 He heard Whateley coming, not through the ante 
 room guarded by Big Jim, but through the adjoining 
 apartments. He heard him following his blazed-trail 
 of ill humor, heard bookkeepers begging his pardon for 
 being alive, and thought that he caught the timid accents 
 of Miss Gwin's fright. Taking hasty stock of himself, 
 he found that he was not so brave about that note for 
 ten thousand. 
 
 " Ah, good morning, Mr. Howerson. You are rather 
 early. ' ' 
 
 " Good morning, Mr. Whateley. But isn't it you, sir, 
 who are rather late ? ' ! 
 
 This was so bold that Miss Gwin, who had appeared 
 just within the door, shrank back to avoid the storm; 
 and the Poet, whose lines descriptive of ' ' The Maid Who 
 Danced in the Barn ' ' were now spread on the old man 's 
 desk, was startled at his own want of tact, so much so, 
 in truth, that he was groping for the fitting words of 
 apology when Whateley snapped his watch. 
 
 " That is true, sir. I am at least twenty minutes 
 behind my usual time." He sat down. " Anything 
 special, Mr. Howerson? "
 
 354 THE NEW MR. HOWEKSON 
 
 " I should like to speak to you privately," said How- 
 erson glancing toward Miss Gwin, who had entered the 
 room, the old man no doubt having commanded her to 
 follow him. Whateley looked at her and she disappeared. 
 
 " Proceed, Mr. Howerson." 
 
 It was natural that he should speak of the murder and 
 of those wretched newspaper yarns. He began with the 
 murder, and the old man tapped on his desk. " Yes, a 
 very sad affair." 
 
 " And those interviews: Mr. Whateley, I assure you, 
 sir, that I didn't say a word about being a poet, and 
 for no inducement would I have taken the credit of " 
 
 Tap, tap, on the desk. ' ' Yes, I understand, Mr. How 
 erson," and with a harder rap and a wave of the hand 
 he dismissed the murder and the interviews and looked 
 an inquiry as to what might be the question of real 
 interest. Howerson hesitated. 
 
 ' ' You wished to see me in a moment, Miss Gwin, I 
 shall want you about some matter in particular ? ' ' 
 
 Now it meant go forward or back out. He plunged: 
 " Mr. Whateley, I want to lend a man ten thousand 
 dollars." 
 
 "Ah! What collateral ? " 
 
 " The collateral of friendship," he answered. Whate 
 ley winked his shrewd old eyes and coughed. 
 
 " Friendship? " 
 
 " Yes, sir. This man made it possible for me to suc 
 ceed at Glenwich. ' He ' ' 
 
 " Oh, a service. That's a different thing. It is well, 
 Mr. Howerson, to reward your friends. I admire that 
 trait in your character. Yes, sir," and now he struck 
 the desk with his fist, " reward your friends and punish 
 your enemies. It is all very well to talk about forgiving 
 your enemies; it sounds well in hymns, but for the most
 
 A DOG HOWLED 355 
 
 part, whenever you really forgive an enemy you make a 
 mistake. He possesses the same unchangeable nature, 
 and believes that your forgiveness is due more to his 
 deserving than to your generosity. You shall have the 
 money, Mr. Howerson."
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 A SCRAP OF PAPER 
 
 To make a generous promise and courageously to keep 
 it, put the Poet into pleasant humor with himself. It is 
 so easy for a man to say that he has done his best to 
 keep his word. It is so natural to overdraw our account 
 of courage ! Down to the street Howerson went, elated ; 
 but not for long, for dread of violent death soon fell 
 chill upon his heart, and at the same time jealousy like 
 a hungry rat was nesting in his vitals. 
 
 Again occurred the notion that he must better fortify 
 his " hillside cave," and he bought a pistol, another 
 " Bulldog " declared the lettering stamped in steel. 
 Concerning the murder he had read nothing save the 
 interviews and his own poem. Now he gathered another 
 set of newspapers, returned to his ' ' cave ' ' and sat down 
 to wonder over the keen observation of those swift chron 
 iclers of life and death. 
 
 " The work must have been done by a skillful and 
 obedient hand, with the sharpest of instruments, doubt 
 less a sword ground to a razor edge, the blow evidently 
 struck from behind while the victim was sitting, the 
 murderer standing, as the cut ran deeper in front, 
 between the eyes." One reporter found the slight but 
 sharp heel marks of a woman's shoes in the sward, close 
 to one of the windows, and a strong magnifying glass 
 brought out the fact that there were finger marks on the 
 window ledge. It was hardly probable that the owner 
 of the sharp heels could have got in at a window fastened 
 
 356
 
 A SCRAP OF PAPER 357 
 
 on the inside, to say nothing of inflicting a cut that a 
 surgeon might admire. But there were the marks for 
 what they were worth, several inches of speculative print 
 at least; and there on the floor was a bit of brownish 
 paper, not more than half an inch square, with a black 
 spot on one edge, appearing to have been torn, leaving 
 not enough of the black spot to give a clue as to its 
 purpose. But why, at the scene of a murder, should a 
 spot be black instead of red? This was a question that 
 wisdom did not try to answer, except so far as it might 
 be the sign of some secret brotherhood, proclaiming that 
 the murder was an act of organized vengeance. 
 
 All the reports agreed that it was one of the most 
 mysterious murders known to the " history of eccentric 
 crime." More than this, it was international in char 
 acter, Col. Banstree being known in all the lands of 
 civilization. No arrests had been made, all as yet resting 
 with the coroner. 
 
 Then it flashed back to Howerson that he and Joyce 
 had been summoned to give evidence at the inquest, to 
 be held at three o 'clock in the afternoon. 
 
 Promptly at one o'clock there came a rap and How 
 erson opened the door with his left hand, his right ready 
 to unchain the " Bulldog." But it was Joyce, as the 
 Poet expected, and in he came with a face as long as a 
 dachshund. 
 
 " "Why, confound it, Sam, what's wrong? " 
 
 " You couldn't get the money." 
 
 " How do you know I couldn't? " 
 
 " Because I heard two chaps talking at a lunch 
 counter, one of them evidently from Whateley's office; 
 and I heard him say that he had never seen the old man 
 in worse humor, and that according to a stenographer's 
 story he had turned on Mr. Howerson and said, ' I'll let
 
 358 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 you have no money, sir, on the collateral of friendship.' 
 And of course he wouldn 't give it to you. ' ' 
 
 Howerson laughed. " Sit down, Sam. I happen to 
 have the check here, made out by the old man himself. ' ' 
 
 Possibly there will come a time when Joyce may be 
 happier than he was at that moment. He sank back 
 into a chair, after trying in vain to master the quaver 
 ill his voice. 
 
 " Let me get myself together, as it were," he ventured 
 at last. " I tell you, my dear friend, that the fear of 
 not getting this piece of paper made a shameful coward 
 of me. But it caught me where I am weak, my love for 
 Laura and the kids." 
 
 ' ' Caught you where you are strong, you mean. ' ' 
 
 " No, weak I tell you. When I went home I didn't 
 have the courage to say a word about the loan. It didn 't 
 seem possible that I could make my wife understand 
 how I could borrow that much money. It's a miracle! " 
 
 Howerson was walking up and down the room, halting 
 at brief moments to look with kindly countenance upon 
 his friend, and then from the window to gaze out into 
 the smoke belched by tugboats on the river. " Every 
 thing is a miracle, Sam, ' ' he said, coming away from the 
 window, and seating himself on a corner of the table. 
 He had stolen an attitude, and kept it until he found 
 that the pistol in his pocket was hurting him. Then he 
 shifted, drew forth the " dog " and thumped him down 
 upon the table. 
 
 " That thing is, surely," said Sam. 
 
 " Is what? " 
 
 " A miracle. You say everything is." 
 
 * ' Yes, everything : the sunrise, the spark of fire, the 
 ocean, the drop of dew, the elephant, the cricket, the
 
 A SCRAP OF PAPER 359 
 
 penny, the ten thousand. But let us have done with it. 
 There can be no true companionship where one feels 
 under debt to the other. Do me a favor. Forget it. By 
 the way, do they search a fellow when he goes before the 
 coroner ? We Ve got to go to that inquest, you know. ' ' 
 
 "Search him? Why?" 
 
 " Because I was thinking of permitting the bull pup 
 to bear me secret company. ' ' 
 
 " I wouldn't take it with me. What possible need 
 could you have for it? " 
 
 " None, of course. Well, we'd better be sauntering 
 on toward the office of old Death and his secretary, the 
 coroner. ' ' 
 
 At the inquest nothing was brought out that had not 
 been set forth by the reporters. The field for observation 
 was small, for speculation, large; but the fitness of a 
 coroner is not supposed to lie in the endowment of 
 imaginative qualities. 
 
 In the gloom of an ill-lighted street corner Howerson 
 bade his friend good night and sought the gloomier 
 precincts of his own ' ' home ' ' he mused and smiled 
 grimly at so fantastic a twist of the sacred word. He 
 lighted all the jets of the chandelier, but into corners 
 and out again black shadows scurried like noiseless mice. 
 The evening newspapers heaped mystery upon mystery. 
 They all gave Howerson 's testimony, and one of them 
 presented to the public a pencil sketch of him, gracing 
 him with the bearing and the countenance of a pugilist 
 stricken with grief ; and merciless gods, here was another 
 one of his poems, ' ' Juno 's Eyes. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Blast the eyes of the grave-robber that dug it up, ' ' 
 the Poet groaned. 
 
 Suddenly he broke off his musing and got out of his
 
 360 THE NEW MR. HOWEKSON 
 
 chair to listen. Surely lie had heard tiptoeing feet halt 
 at his door. He took the pistol out of the table drawer, 
 shuddered with the cold touch of it, and stood waiting. 
 No sound; yes, the tiptoeing again. Slowly he opened 
 the door and peered out. A newspaper rising and falling 
 in the draft, was borne along the hall; and he laughed 
 like the boy who finds that it was not a ghost but a 
 tablecloth on a clothesline. 
 
 Again he sat down to read, " Bulldog " at his elbow, 
 but his thoughts kept harking back to the newspapers, 
 his resurrected verses. How those inartistic trills 
 reproached him. His " Juno's Eyes," indeed! And 
 thus he bewailed. " Now what the deuce do I know 
 about the lamps of that exalted myth? Better to write 
 advertising sonnets to ' Jane's Hat.' Better to write 
 about the little things of earth, specks that escape the 
 notice of the great. After Homer, Dante and Milton 
 the gods, heaven and hell have been pretty well covered. 
 Juno 's sick cat ! But I can stare truth out of countenance 
 and hope to burn if I wrote it." 
 
 When he went to bed he put " Bulldog " beneath his 
 pillow, and dozing off was growled awake. Since the 
 first day when he entered Whateley's office he had 
 shuddered at the sight of a pistol, and now he harbored 
 one in the only place he could call his home. It was too 
 chill a reminder of the dark night of his soul ; he could 
 not sleep with it in the room. He took it into the other 
 room and put it into the table drawer, but this brought 
 no relief. He dozed again, to reawaken with a start ; to 
 his morbid senses and straining eyes the pistol was still 
 before him. Like Macbeth 's dagger, it made mock of his 
 senses. He wondered if from the window he could 
 throw it over the projecting corner of a warehouse into
 
 A SCRAP OF PAPER 361 
 
 the river. He would try; and he threw it as far as 
 he could, and heard no splash, but he heard a tug's 
 hoarse whistle and felt the damp breath of the river. 
 Now that the second " Bulldog " had joined its mate, 
 he felt that he could sleep.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVil. 
 WANTED HIS POEMS 
 
 The following few days brought with them no develop 
 ment to simplify the " International murder." In the 
 newspapers there were many pictures and columns of 
 shrewd writing, painting darker the mystery; hut 
 interest began to lag. This old fellow was not a 
 millionaire. 
 
 At the office Howerson received a note from Rose. 
 " I thank you for thinking to bring to me the distress 
 ful news. But really I am not sorry I was absent. Let 
 our friends bring nothing but good news. Our enemies 
 will see to it that we get the bad. But I know that in 
 your excitement you didn't think about it in this way, 
 and I am grateful that you thought of me." 
 
 Why did that one word " friends " seem to stand out 
 in such boldness ? Yes, it was plain enough that he must 
 regard himself as only a friend. . . . And no wish 
 that soon she might see him ! Herein lay cause enough 
 for brooding as he sat in the office when loneliness and 
 dread drove him forth from the silence and the throb of 
 his own abode. Often he would study the play of feel 
 ing, of anger, of ripening revenge in Whateley's coun 
 tenance, wondering sometimes if this man could ever 
 again boy his heart and play beside blazing wood in 
 the Cabin. But not always was he silent and grim; 
 sometimes for brief periods he would light a cigar, lean 
 back in his chair in a cloud of smoke and talk about busi 
 ness and the political phases of the day. 
 
 362
 
 WANTED HIS POEMS 363 
 
 " Ah, our new Canadian company is complete, Mr. 
 Howerson. Each man who has visited the Falls has 
 come back filled with wonder that the site escaped gob 
 bling up so long. Soon we'll begin active and productive 
 operations worth a great deal of money, I don 't need 
 to assure you. Twenty thousand dollars worth of stock, 
 or shares, as our Canadian friends term it, has been made 
 over to you. You said that in this matter you were 
 determined to make Calvin your ha beneficiary, 
 but I command, sir, that this shall not be done. Not a 
 word of protest. I will not entertain it. ' ' 
 
 And Howerson sat there musing, " Why the devil 
 doesn 't he invite me to dinner ? ' : 
 
 ' ' There is something that I wish you to do while you 
 are not otherwise actively engaged," Whateley continued. 
 " Not long ago one of our street cars killed an old man 
 named Marsh, stepfather to Miss Gwin in there," he 
 nodded, indicating the adjoining room. " The court 
 passed upon the affair, but I want you no hurry, mind 
 you to investigate it quietly. The judge who tried 
 the case is a political scoundrel. He hates me, and ha 
 and as soon as possible I '11 give him cause to increase 
 the volume of his bitterness. When he comes up for 
 reelection he'll find a lively compaign." 
 
 " I shall go about it at once, Mr. Whateley." 
 
 " No hurry; do it very quietly." 
 
 " Er how is little Calvin, Mr. Whateley? " 
 
 " Ha, you ought to have heard him at dinner last 
 night." 
 
 The Poet mused, " I wish I had." 
 
 ' ' Kept us in a roar. Why, he 's the best during-dinner 
 talker I ever saw. He declared that his father was going 
 to find out who murdered old er old What's-his- 
 name, and, sir, he proved it to me. I know very well
 
 364 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 that if there is a man in this town who can't unravel 
 that ha sock of mystery, it is my son Dan. But 
 when little Calvin said he could I agreed, and, sir, do 
 you know, the shrewd little rascal turned on me and 
 wanted to know why I thought so? He did; and my 
 daughter laughed at me. ' ' 
 
 " I should have liked that little comedy." 
 
 " No doubt, Mr. Howerson, no doubt. And I must 
 confess that I was somewhat stumped. ' ' 
 
 " I might have helped you out by saying that you 
 knew it because Calvin said so." 
 
 " Ah, very true, perfectly true. I wish you had been 
 there." 
 
 The Poet's heart beat, " the deuce you do ! " The old 
 man leaned forward to his work, spreading out upon his 
 pad figures now green but which the future would ripen. 
 
 That afternoon there came to Howerson something 
 that mocked his present and fool-capped his past. A 
 magazine, having seen his poems printed in the news 
 papers, wrote to ask whether he would not contribute to 
 its pages ; and a representative of a monthly exploitation 
 of household economies, a frilled thing that bore no more 
 kinship to letters than a shimmering nightdress bears 
 to the garb of an Arctic explorer, called to solicit from 
 him a soft and gentle story. The representative was 
 answered by the old man, before the Poet could speak. 
 " Mr. Howerson is a business man, sir, a thousand 
 degrees removed from your paper. ' ' 
 
 " Magazine," the representative corrected him, bow 
 ing, and with a smile as mildly reproving as the pale 
 illumination of a maiden lady rather than of a man six 
 feet high. 
 
 ' ' Same thing, ' ' said Whateley, ' ' not worth a moment 
 of a busy man's time. . . . How is it, sir, that you
 
 WANTED HIS POEMS 365 
 
 expect to put woman on the same intellectual plane with 
 man, and continue to print special things for her as if 
 she were a child? We wish you good day, sir." 
 
 Howerson realized that this was unjust, and was bold 
 enough to bear the visitor company as far as the 
 elevator. 
 
 When the elevator had come up, out stepped Sam 
 Joyce. He had come to foreclose a mortgage on Hower 
 son 's evening; and grappled upon, the poet was hauled 
 a long distance, in the jostling home-hurry of dusk, out 
 from the alternating blaze and darkness of electric 
 signs, through a park where lights twinkled like stars 
 hanging low ; up two nights of stairs ; and now he was in 
 Sam's home, shaking hands with a slight woman whose 
 good humor shone through her household fluster. Here 
 came forward a boy, not a spiritual master like little 
 Calvin, but a master of ruggedness, with a fist as hard 
 as a nut. Hanging back was his sister, younger, just 
 old enough to catch the tail-ends of her brother 's boister 
 ous observations and lispingly to repeat them. The boy 
 sat on Howerson 's knee, looked up into his eyes and said : 
 
 " Boy tries to run over me I fight." 
 
 " Fight," the girl lisped, peeping around the corner 
 of a sofa. 
 
 " Must I? " the boy inquired. 
 
 " Yes," Howerson answered. 
 
 " Ho, I'd like to go to your Sunday school," the 
 youngster cried out. 
 
 " Day school," lisped his sister. 
 
 " Mamma, Mr. Howerson 's got brown eyes, ain't he? " 
 the boy shouted in sudden and sensational discovery. 
 
 11 Why, I don't know, Robert." 
 
 " Bet you do," came another shout. 
 
 She laughed becomingly, but Sam roared his way out
 
 366 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 to the telephone, whither he had just been called. The 
 boy jumped down and ran out with him. The little girl 
 came out from her peeping-place and found safe refuge 
 on her mother's lap. The woman glanced toward the 
 door leading to an adjoining room where Sam was talking 
 over the wire. ' ' You don 't know how patient he is with 
 me when I 'm worried with the children, ' ' she said. ' ' I 
 know I'm fretful at times. There are so many things to 
 worry women, more than men have any idea of, I some 
 times think. Women that have no children to muss 
 things up, come with their fine clothes and put it 
 over me, Sam says. He gets a good salary, but somehow 
 I can't feel free to buy much of anything for myself. 
 One of my friends charged me with being old-fashioned, 
 and I said, ' Yes, I am in love with my husband.' Sam 
 is nearly always so full of hope, and when I'm tired he 
 always makes it a point to be rested. Then that rests 
 me." 
 
 " I trust," said Howerson, " that some day I may 
 marry such a woman as Sam's wife." 
 
 She laughed, like the ringing of a silver bell, and then 
 came a tinkle, the little girl, in echo. 
 
 " Oh, thank you, Mr. Howerson." She blushed, the 
 softened color of a rose when evening has subdued the 
 glare of day. " Thank you. Tell Sam that. It will please 
 him. He says I make his atmosphere. God bless him, 
 he makes mine." 
 
 ' ' He helped make mine at Glenwich. ' ' 
 
 " We can never thank you enough, dear friend. You 
 have given us the chance to be somebody. I can hardly 
 realize that Sam is a member of the firm. It is a great 
 victory. The people in the flat just across from us are 
 horribly stuck up, the woman especially. Her husband
 
 WANTED HIS POEMS 367 
 
 cans peas; and she told my children they mustn't play 
 up and down the hall. The idea! But it is a big firm 
 her husband is in with and I didn't say anything. But 
 now I'll say something, and I won't get out of the way 
 when she sweeps in front of her door. She doesn 't sweep 
 inside at all, her maid does that ; but she makes it a point 
 to grab up a broom and run out to sweep just as I come 
 along the hall, to show her maid how I hate that word 
 that she would sweep me down the stairs if I didn 't 
 get out of the way. ' ' 
 
 Sam came back and she said to him: " We've been 
 talking about you. Sit down, please, and entertain our 
 dearest friend while I see about dinner. Sam wouldn't 
 tell me what you like to eat, Mr. Howerson, so I had to 
 guess at it." 
 
 " You bet she knows what's good to eat, George. I 
 tell her there's no restaurant on the face of the earth 
 that can serve such meals as she does, and she thinks 
 I'm guying her." 
 
 " My papa saw a man with his head split open," the 
 boy shouted, and his mother turned about from her 
 journey toward the dining room : 
 
 " Robert, if you make another remark like that I'll 
 strip you and put you to bed, and you know I'll do it." 
 
 When she had gone out, the boy said, " I know you 
 won 't ! " Had Howerson been called on to speculate as 
 to which of them had spoken the truth he would not have 
 needed a suggestion from Sam. 
 
 No one in the Poet's state of mind could have spent 
 a happy evening, but Howerson 's friends thought that 
 he enjoyed himself. So he would have, here in this 
 soft retreat, but for the nesting rat in his heart. When 
 he bade them good night, lingering in the hall for one
 
 368 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 more glimpse into a household that he had made so 
 happy, he went forth, walking slowly and in heavy medi 
 tation through the park, toward the car line. 
 
 To reach his home he had to pass the Criminal Court 
 building; and there in the entrance way stood Dan 
 Whateley talking to someone obscured in shadow. 
 "Whateley did not see Howerson, and for a time the 
 Poet loitered along as if he half expected Dan to rush 
 forth, seize him by the hand and say, " Oh, come home 
 with me." But Dan did not rush, and the Poet moped on 
 to his desolate " cave," wherein he sat down to a 
 midnight snack of morbid fancies. 
 
 But what was Dan Whateley doing there at that hour 
 of the night ?
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 " NIGGER HERE TOO ! " 
 
 With Dan Whateley it had been a busy evening and a 
 night not free from activity. About four o'clock in the 
 afternoon he was sitting in his office when a bailiff 
 entered and announced that a young mulatto woman 
 wanted to see him on most important business. She was 
 admitted, and when she came in she looked around, at 
 a clerk writing and at the bailiff, standing just within 
 the door. 
 
 " I want to talk to you by yourself," she said to 
 Whateley, coming up close to him. 
 
 Dan looked at her. " What is it you wish to say? " 
 
 ' ' I don 't want to say it to anybody but you. Tell 'em 
 to go out." Then, leaning toward him she whispered: 
 ' ' I saw old Banstree murdered. ' ' 
 
 Dan wheeled about and motioned to the two men to 
 get out, and when the room was cleared he said, " Sit 
 down there." 
 
 She obeyed, making a motion as if to put back her 
 kinkish hair. 
 
 " What's your name? " 
 
 " Mrs. Chi Moy. My husband is a Chinaman, and I 
 come to you instead of going to the police because I feel 
 that I am better acquainted with you. I am your wife's 
 special laundress." 
 
 " And you say you saw the murder." 
 
 " Yes I did. My husband Chi Moy killed him." 
 
 " Go ahead." 
 
 369
 
 370 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " I saw him, I did. I married him and I was a good 
 wife to him, but now I hope they '11 hang him ; he 's done 
 neglected me for another woman and me a good wife to 
 him. When I done called him for it he called me 
 nigger and " 
 
 " But tell me what you saw. Quick." 
 
 " I can't tell you any quicker 'n I can talk, can I? 
 Called me ' nigger ' and I said ' I'm going to watch you, 
 I am, ' and I followed him to the laundry where he works, 
 and then I followed him when he took old Col. Banstree 's 
 washing home. I thought his woman lived in there, for 
 it was the only place where he delivered any ; and I went . 
 over into the lot and peeped in along the windows, and 
 at last I come to the room where he was and saw the old 
 man come in and sit down, and Moy moved around 
 counting out the shirts and collars, and he put them into 
 a drawer, and got behind the old man, and then I saw 
 him take a sword out of his clothesbasket ; and all this 
 time I was standing out by the window, with my hands 
 on the sill; and that scrap of paper with a black mark 
 on it that they made such a fuss over was only a piece 
 of a wash list; and since then I found out the woman 
 wasn 't in that building but across the street and ' ' 
 
 " Go on with your story. Hurry up." 
 
 " Goodness alive, ain't I hurryin' as fast as I can? 
 And I want you to arrest Moy and that woman, too, for 
 if you don 't do something to her I will. ' ' 
 
 ' ' You say he took the sword out of the basket. Then 
 he must have brought it with him." 
 
 " Yes, a funny old sword that used to belong to his 
 father, as sharp as a razor." 
 
 " Where is Chi Moy now? " 
 
 " Over at the laundry where he works. Here is the 
 number," and she gave him a piece of paper. He looked
 
 " NIGGER HERE TOO ! " 371 
 
 at it for a moment and then arose. " You stay right 
 here," he said, and went out and was gone nearly half 
 an hour. "When he returned he said to her : ' ' A warrant 
 has gone to bring Chi Moy." She arose. " Sit down," 
 he commanded. 
 
 " But what for you want with me here any more? I 
 don't want to stay here, less you bring that woman. 
 Will you bring her ? ' : 
 
 " We have nothing to do with her. Sit down, I tell 
 you." 
 
 " I've done what I come to do and I'm not going to 
 stay. I haven 't done no crime and you can 't hold me. ' ' 
 
 " Sit down or you go to jail." 
 
 She sat down. " That's a funny way to do business. 
 What you going to do with me ? Do me this way and I '11 
 take back all I said." 
 
 They waited a long time, the woman restless and 
 talkative, the lawyer silent, listening, going sometimes 
 to the door, looking out into the corridor. The woman 
 became indifferent, hummed an old time tune rem 
 iniscent of Kentucky. Night fell, the lights were turned 
 on and still they waited. 
 
 " Maybe he's in some opium joint and they are hunt 
 ing for him," she said. " Well, I don't care. What I 
 said is true, anyhow. Look here, it's gettin' late and I'm 
 hungry." 
 
 He ordered supper for her, and with great relish she 
 ate it, and then was seized with remorse. " I did love 
 that man even if he is a Chinaman. Mr. Whateley, I 
 want to go home and let all this thing drop. I'm sorry 
 I come. Oh, I wish I hadn't. And if they hang him 
 they 're coming ? ' ' 
 
 She sprang up from the chair. Dan motioned her 
 back from the door, stood waiting, and then sat down.
 
 372 THE NEW MR. HOWEESON 
 
 The alarm was a late jury tramping toward the court 
 room. The woman began to whimper. " It ain't true, 
 Mr. Whateley. Every word of it is a lie; and I'd tell 
 you that with my last breath. I'll get up in court and 
 swear it ain't true. The law won't believe what a jealous 
 woman says nohow. You let me go home. Man, I've 
 got my work to do. You're interferin' with me right 
 now. ' ' 
 
 Footsteps, and this time not a false alarm. In came 
 two plain-clothes men bringing with them Chi Moy. The 
 woman threw herself upon him; they pulled her away. 
 She caught back at him and seized his sleeve. He looked 
 at her and laughed. ' ' Nigger here, too ! ' ' For a second 
 she stood glowering upon him, anger in bronze she 
 looked; then she collapsed upon the floor, the rubbish of 
 remorse. They gathered her up, placed her on a chair, 
 fanned her with a newspaper. Moy grinned at her, 
 yellow venom in his eyes. She came to, and shrieking 
 that it was all a lie, demanded his release. Laughing at 
 her he said, " Liar. I killed him. He-he." 
 
 She dropped upon her knees and wept with her head 
 and arms on the chair, and Moy, after smiling down 
 upon her as if in great amusement, turned to the 
 astonished men. " I more American man as you, you, 
 you ! You born on 'Merican soil, I in Frisco, down deep. 
 Come up out of 'Merican soil. See? " 
 
 They told him to wait, that they wished to take his 
 confession, and he sat down and waited while a messen 
 ger scurried forth to find some belated stenographer. 
 They found one and he came in swiftly, the leaves of his 
 pad fluttering. 
 
 " Now you will please go ahead? " said Whateley. 
 " Repeat how and where you were born."
 
 " NIGGER HERE TOO ! " 373 
 
 He did so. The woman looked up at him, red-eyed, 
 and then her head sank again on her arms. 
 
 " I go to school in Frisco, learn much but not to sing 
 school song. Damn foolishness; but I read and write 
 and make many figures. Long time I come here, bime-by 
 in restaurant where I work. Long time marry this 
 woman. Bad business, hell life. But I laugh, he-he! 
 Hope she die. She won't." 
 
 She looked up at him. " Oh, Moy, Moy, don't talk 
 that way." 
 
 " You hush," he commanded. She sobbed and her 
 head sank again. He withdrew his eyes from her, dis 
 missed her with a shrug, his head lying over toward one 
 shoulder like a man hanging. The stenographer's pencil 
 waited. "Whateley gestured. Chi Moy began again: 
 " To the restaurant come old man, come much and I 
 wait on him long time, no trouble, but sometime he get 
 mad, sometime cuss me. I laugh, he-he! One night 
 very bad, nothing suit, cuss. Order more tea. I bring 
 it, pour out cup. He taste and throw cup in my face. 
 Down go cup and break on floor, and 'prietor Yang Gee 
 run up. Old sword man lie, say I insult him with cold 
 tea. Heap good customer and I beg pardon. Yang Gee 
 frown at me and tell me look sharp or I discharge. 
 People all laugh. Good joke. I laugh too. Old man 
 call me yellow dog. Yes, and I growl as I go home. 
 The hell comes up in me. I can't sleep. Me born under 
 'Merican soil. I think long time till day. Then I go 
 back to Yang Gee and tell him I work no more for him. 
 He say ' get out.' I go. I have plan. I find out where 
 old man has wash. I go there work cheap. Carry his 
 wash home. All good now. I say to my father ' ' 
 
 " Is your father living? " Whateley inquired. 
 
 " No. But I say to my father, ' I 'venge the insult
 
 374 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 of your son and then I come to you. ' I have his sword, 
 thousand year old, keen more than shave with. My 
 father, his father all jugglers. He throw up cherry 
 and the sword cut it in two, seed, all. I carry home his 
 wash. I don't say washee. I carry it home, two, five 
 times. He don't know me. All Chinaman alike to him. 
 All this time I in love ' ' 
 
 The woman looked up. 
 
 " With my Venge. I call it sweetheart. I wake up 
 talking to it." 
 
 " Look out," cried an officer. 
 
 The woman had fallen over on the floor. Moy did not 
 look at her. They raised her, fanned her, sprinkled her 
 face. They put bundled coats beneath her head and 
 let her lie there. Someone spoke of a doctor, and with 
 a moan she shook her head. 
 
 " Proceed, Moy," Whateley commanded. 
 
 ' ' Wake up talking. Then I get clothes and put sword 
 in basket. The sun shines; I laugh. I go. Nobody in 
 hall. Push open door. Nobody in room. Bime-by he 
 come. He growl at me. I laugh. I put shirts in drawer. 
 He sit down. Think. I think too. All the shirts in 
 drawer, drawer shut. I stand behind him. Sword shine 
 in basket. Swords on wall dull, not bright. I look on his 
 head; it shine too, blue vein on top. Hi, I cut cherries, 
 too; I practice much. I measure. Little red bump in 
 center of head. H-a-h! I split it. Out come sword. 
 Quick, go in basket, so quick no blood. Old man bleed 
 slow. He shudder, then still. I go out. Nobody in hall. 
 I laugh." 
 
 His eyelids were growing heavy. With dreamy hate 
 he looked upon the woman. " Nigger! " he said. 
 
 She scrambled to her feet. ' ' Let me go ! " she cried. 
 Whateley opened the door and she ran out of the room.
 
 " NIGGER HERE TOO ! " 375 
 
 They led Moy away, down to the jail. Whateley went 
 with the prisoner, his own yellow leap into public notice 
 the fulfillment of little Calvin's prediction. When the 
 Chinaman had been locked up, Dan remembered that he 
 had left an important paper lying on the table in his 
 office. He returned to get it, and just as he reached the 
 entrance from the street, a man halted and began to 
 question him, about nothing of consequence, it seemed, 
 but Dan in good humor with the world, his eye moist 
 with gazing at his own rising star, halted for a moment 
 to talk to him. Another man was approaching, Hower- 
 son, walking slowly. He passed, and the questioner 
 stepped out from the shadow and followed him. When 
 Howerson loitered, the figure, seeking the shadows, moved 
 with more caution. It was Hudsic.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 A STRAGGLING VISIT 
 
 The first sleepy blinker at the morning 's news saw Dan 
 Whateley's name. The Chinaman's confession, good 
 breakfast food; but who had done it up into packages, 
 shipped it ? " Surely, ' ' said the honest voter, ever look 
 ing for reform and ever voting as he was told, " surely 
 such ability ought to be rewarded with the states 
 attorney's office, and then the governor's chair. Young 
 "Whateley is one of the people. Hurrah for him! " 
 
 Old Whateley chuckled and at breakfast he said to 
 Eose, " Yes, your brother is now a great man. Little 
 Calvin" 
 
 " But give Dan his due, father. He has more ability 
 than you credit him with." 
 
 " Ability, yes, I acknowledge it. Didn't the woman 
 go to him? Didn't the Chinaman confess to him? I 
 assure you I 'm delighted. ' ' 
 
 ' ' But you would rather he had ' ' 
 
 " Put through one of Howerson's schemes? Yes, I 
 confess it. Yes, it would mean more, and sometimes 
 when Howerson is in the office I feel myself almost angry 
 with him on my son's account." 
 
 " That isn't just to Mr. Howerson." 
 
 " I know it; and hardly anything is just to anybody 
 when our dearer interests are concerned. Of course I 
 am glad Dan is to come up, and really that is what this 
 thing means," and he nodded down at the newspaper. 
 " Success in life turns on a mighty little pivot, I tell 
 
 376
 
 A STRAGGLING VISIT 377 
 
 you. ' ' Then, after reflection : ' ' Through life there runs 
 a crooked hair-line: on one side, achievement; on the 
 other, failure." 
 
 " That sounds like Mr. Howerson," she laughed. 
 
 " Yes, that's a fact," he admitted. " I am not 
 inclined to imitate, but once in a while I catch myself 
 putting things in his manner. To me he is a peculiar 
 sort of a book, and occasionally some of his lines come up 
 in my mind. I never met a man before who affected me 
 in that way. And I have seen all along that he is not 
 trying to stamp himself upon me. He never talks about 
 himself. He doesn 't seem to care for money ; his pleas 
 ure comes from achievement, and that's all that really 
 counts for anything. Civilization is always busy with 
 the solving ha of problems, but no solution amounts 
 to anything unless it builds up something else to be 
 solved. I believe that Howerson will make his mark. 
 His earlier experiments with himself have left kinks in 
 his character which time, I believe, will straighten out. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Kinks ? ' ' she repeated, looking up at him. 
 
 " Yes, his dabbling in little puddles, his trying to 
 write poetry, let me say. ' ' 
 
 Smiling, she took a sort of half musing issue with 
 him. " But didn't his dabbling teach him to swim in a 
 heavier sea? I think I heard you say that what he has 
 done was due to his imagination." 
 
 " Ha, yes; but not to ditties. Not to the maids that 
 danced in the stable loft." He looked at his watch. 
 " But I must trot along. When Fame knocks at Dan's 
 door and routs him out of bed, give him my congratula 
 tions. Ha, ha." Joining in his merriment she laughed 
 with him to the front door, kissed him, beseeching him 
 not to work too hard. 
 
 To the Poet the night had not been kind. Again he
 
 378 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 heard tiptoeing in front of his door. He had listened 
 a long, heart-beating time, and when at last he opened 
 the door to peer out, he saw nothing, saw no explaining 
 paper blown down the hall. The air was warm and he 
 had raised his window, but the wind moaned among the 
 hulks on the river, rising at times to the keenness of a 
 woman 's cry, a Zondish cry, and he closed it ; but now at 
 the casement the wind labored, talking in hollow tones, 
 like Hudsic. With bits of paper he plugged the sash to 
 keep it from rattling, and went to bed ; and when after 
 many a breath-holding listen he dozed, he dreamed that 
 he saw himself lying there, and yet another self sitting 
 there, ready on the first alarm to seize the sleeping self 
 and to shake him awake. The morning came with a 
 mottle of clouds and a wind blowing thunder out of the 
 warming west. 
 
 Now, in the quieting daylight, having sneaked his 
 breakfast at a restaurant so famished of customers as 
 to threaten the proprietor with disaster, Howerson was 
 sitting in his room staring at the scare-headed account 
 of the latest turn of the Banstree case. Ah, that was 
 what Dan Whateley had been doing so late at night, 
 hanging about the tenement of justice, talking to some 
 one obscured in shadow. 
 
 He read the confession, the " skill " with which it 
 had been obtained and then the paper grew black 
 before him and the blood sang in his ears lines stand 
 ing out from the rest, halfway down the page: There 
 can be no doubt that Moy did the killing; but his con 
 fession is too simple, say some. " I am an agent of jus 
 tice," Moy declares repeatedly; and the police think he 
 is merely the tool of some sinister organization. 
 
 " Agent of justice! " There was a pencil sketch of 
 the prisoner, a villainous caricature, but crude as the
 
 A STRAGGLING VISIT 37y 
 
 drawing was, it carried likeness to Howerson 's eye. 
 Chi Moy and with a shudder there leaped into How- 
 erson 's mind a picture of Hudsic, his hand upon a China 
 man 's shoulder. 
 
 Howerson was keyed to high tension that broke in a 
 wild leap as the telephone bell rang. It was only the 
 old man, calling him to the office. 
 
 Whateley greeted him cordially. " Ah, good morning, 
 Mr. Howerson. Sit down. Ha, and so little Calvin was 
 right. His father has indeed not only found out the 
 murderer, but is getting at a nest of black-handers or 
 anarchists. Fame comes in devious ways to the Moys 
 and Dans of this world. However, we're not much con 
 cerned with them this morning. Mr. Howerson, I have 
 a very important commission for you. I want you to 
 negotiate the right-of-way for a traction line from Rock- 
 dale, Missouri, thirty-five miles across the country, tapp 
 ing a line projected from Des Moines, Iowa. I need not 
 emphasize the fact that you will have to go about it very 
 adroitly. You will no doubt find the farmers suspicious 
 and difficult to deal with. Employ a local lawyer, select 
 ing him not for what you conceive to be his ability, but 
 as much as possible because of his resemblance to a 
 farmer. ' ' 
 
 " Some retired Populist judge defeated for re-election 
 because he was too honest for politics," Howerson sug 
 gested at a venture. 
 
 " You catch the idea precisely, Mr. Howerson," and 
 upon his diplomatist he cast a quick look of esteem, but 
 in it there was no invitation to dinner. " Exactly. I 
 have here a plan drawn up, which you will follow as 
 nearly as you can, depending at all times on your own 
 judgment. As I say, the work will take time and 
 patience. You will leave for Rockdale ' '
 
 380 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " To-night," said Howerson. " The morning train, 
 I should think, is gone." 
 
 " Leave to-morrow morning. I want you to take the 
 day train and stop for an hour or so at a station called 
 Hoopgood, look into a coal-mining property there and 
 report on it." 
 
 ' ' I shall do so, sir. Rockdale ; that 's where my friend 
 Watldns is manager of your interests. ' ' 
 
 ' Yes, and he is proving himself an invaluable man. 
 I haven't had even a suggestion of trouble since he took 
 charge. Moreover, the output of the mines has been 
 greatly increased." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it, I assure you." 
 
 " Ha, naturally. You will of course demonstrate to 
 the farmers that this road will be a blessing to them. It 
 is sometimes easier to effect a treaty with the most bar 
 baric of nations than to put through a simple deal with 
 the most civilized of farmers. The trouble with the 
 American farmer is that he thinks he's a statesman." 
 
 " I think the trouble is," said Howerson, " that he 
 knows he's sharp." 
 
 " Eh? Perhaps so. It may be advisable in some 
 instances to sell a share or two of stock to some of the 
 more influential of them and ahem they can be 
 dealt with afterwards by me. Oh, in a perfectly hon 
 orable manner, you understand," Howerson had looked 
 at him searchingly. " In nearly every neighborhood 
 you can enlist the active interest of the preacher, with 
 assurance of annual passes for himself and family. Our 
 road will help him to spread the Gospel, or himself, 
 which to him is the same thing. If you strike a place 
 where they are building a church, contribute to the 
 fund. ... I believe that's about all. Here are 
 your more serious but not more important instructions. ' '
 
 A STRAGGLING VISIT 381 
 
 He handed over a big envelope and shut Howerson 
 out of his mind. 
 
 During the day the Poet employed himself with look 
 ing into the death of old Marsh, to whose widow the 
 court had awarded five thousand dollars, and found that 
 the verdict, though rendered by "Whateley's enemy, was 
 a just decision. Late in the afternoon he went over to 
 the hat house to call on his friend, new member of the 
 firm, and found him sitting in the office, dictating to a 
 thin maiden, joyous in his fresh importance. Sam 
 rushed out to bring in the two other members, Mr. Clung, 
 easily a millionaire, and showing he felt the importance 
 of that fact by the throat-clearing introduction of his 
 partner, Judge Brose, who, years ago, stepped down from 
 his pine bench as justice of the peace to dispose of 
 blankets and whiskey to the Indians at the mouth of the 
 St. Joe River. But he had atoned for all that, having 
 sent hymn books to Booker Washington's school, and 
 having attached his name with broad swipe of gold pen 
 to a prohibition petition. Harvester of more experience, 
 he was the talkative member, and he assured Howerson 
 that he was very glad to meet him, very. ' ' I read your 
 poem written for the paper the other day, and my wife 
 thought it was very good indeed. I don't write poetry 
 myself, but my wife does. I married a schoolteacher the 
 last time, sir, and that may account for it." 
 
 Howerson seized upon the chance to whisper to Joyce, 
 " Let's get out of here." 
 
 They went out, but Howerson, perceiving that his 
 friend was anxious over the letters he had to get off, 
 halted and said: " Go on back, Sam. I know you are 
 busy." 
 
 " Oh, no, George, not at all. The letters can wait." 
 
 " How many have you got to dictate? "
 
 382 THE NEW ME. HOWERSON 
 
 " Oh, fifty, perhaps. But " 
 
 " But you'll go back and get at it, and if you're 
 through before all the sparks go out, come over to the 
 * cave.' I leave to-morrow morning to be gone I don't 
 know how long." 
 
 " All right. If it's not too late I'll come over. I'll 
 see you at the station anyhow. Where are you going 
 and what time does your train leave? " 
 
 Howerson told him, turned him about toward his pur 
 chased opportunity to overwork himself, and bade him 
 " beat it back to the cage." Then the Poet, his heart 
 hungry, sought the neighborhood of Whateley's house, 
 passed once in front of the gate, wandering about in the 
 dusk and the storm-blowing wind from the west. 
 
 He went to his " cave," to wait for Joyce, and he sat 
 bookless and brooding, but not in silence, for the jolting 
 thunder-cart drove over the town and the driver whipped 
 up his horse with lashes of rain. It was a night to fit 
 into Howerson 's mood. At each crack of the whip from 
 the driver of the thunder-cart he started; at each creak 
 of the floor, of a rusty hinge, of a loose casement, he 
 cringed. The Agents of Justice were cowards, he had 
 said; but Moy gave him the lie. Colonel Banstree had 
 played them false; he was dead. 
 
 A knock at the door, and with hand on the knob How 
 erson called out, " Who is it? " 
 
 " Sam Joyce," the answer came, and laughing his 
 heavy dreariness to flight he flung the door open. 
 " Come in." 
 
 In came Hudsic, and shoving close upon him, Sengle 
 and Batterson. Howerson fell back, swept for a moment 
 into dismay. But it was not a time for fright, for weak 
 ness ; and looking upon Hudsic, standing there in a sort 
 of satanic grace and coolness, he said :
 
 A STEAGGLING VISIT 383 
 
 " Sit down." 
 
 Hudsic bowed, smiling, and turning toward his friends 
 motioned them to seats on an improvised davenport 
 along the wall near the door. He took a chair, placing 
 his hat, red handkerchief in it, beside him on the floor. 
 " Will not our dear brother please to be seated? " he 
 said. Howerson sat down, leaning back against the 
 table. He waited, puffy Batterson breathing hard. 
 
 Hudsic began slowly to speak: " Ah, so forgetful is 
 sudden prosperity of its old and less fortunate friends 
 that you neglected to ahem apprise us of your new 
 place of abode." 
 
 ' ' Yes, you ' ' Sengle began, but Hudsic gestured 
 him to silence and continued. 
 
 " But brothers left in the struggle are persistent of 
 friendship, and thus it was that we I found you, fol 
 lowed you home last night from the Criminal Court 
 Building, but was er too modest to intrude upon 
 you at that late hour, supposing that you might be at 
 your newly-acquired devotions. And you will now 
 please pardon our little device, the method we had of 
 obtaining ingress. "We have seen your name coupled 
 with that of Mr. Sam Joyce, and presumed that a visit 
 from him, if not directly expected, might not be unwel 
 come. Sorry to have disappointed you." 
 
 Howerson leaned back against the table. " I trust 
 that smoking is not offensive to you," he said. 
 
 " Oh, not at all." 
 
 Howerson lighted his pipe. Great Julius said that men 
 fear most the evils that are furthest from them ; and 
 now, looking into the countenance of his long dread, it 
 did not seem so fearful. He waited. Hudsic went to 
 the door, looked out, came back slowly and resumed his 
 seat, leaving the door slightly ajar.
 
 384 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " We heard that you were abroad and were much 
 aggrieved." Out of his hat he took his handkerchief, 
 wiped his face and dropped the red rag back into its 
 place. " Ahem and were much pleased to see your 
 name in the newspapers. But surely you have written 
 better poems." 
 
 ' ' To the point, Professor. ' ' 
 
 " Point indeed. Our worthy brother Chi Moy came 
 to the point, eh? Ah! " he cackled, noting Howerson's 
 start as confirmation of his fears shot home. ' ' You saw 
 between the lines of the Chinaman's confession. From 
 him the hounds of the law will catch no scent. Banstree 
 defied us long; he was bold. But Moy was true to his 
 oath a heathen. I suppose you remember having 
 called him a heathen, Mr. Howerson, the night when you 
 dedicated your life to a holy work." 
 
 " I remember the brute." 
 
 " No doubt." Hudsic paused to listen. " Not lux 
 urious but rather pleasant quarters you have here, Mr. 
 Howerson." 
 
 " Beats the cellar I once found him in," spoke up 
 Sengle. 
 
 " Or the garret where he swallowed poison," said 
 Batterson. 
 
 Howerson smoked. " Well, what is it you have come 
 to demand? Money? 
 
 " My dear Mr. Howerson," said Hudsic, " we are 
 not tax collectors. ' ' 
 
 " Then what do you ask of me? " 
 
 ' ' Ask ? We ask nothing, Mr. Howerson. We demand 
 that which is our own, by oath. ' ' 
 
 " Oh, I see. Then you want - 
 
 " Please do not say want, Mr. Howerson. Say rather
 
 A STRAGGLING VISIT 385 
 
 that we are ready to receive our just due, your life, Mr. 
 Howerson. ' ' 
 
 " Ah, anything else? " 
 
 Sengle sprang up. " Let me shoot him, Professor." 
 
 " Sit down. We are not here to be brutal. Do not 
 forget that in the presence of so perfect a gentleman 
 as our host, you too must be gentle." 
 
 " Are we to play a farce? " Howerson inquired. 
 
 " That depends upon you," Hudsic answered him. 
 * ' And before we proceed further toward the accomplish 
 ment of our mission, let us express our gratitude to you 
 for the hem remoteness of the neighborhood, and to 
 nature for thunder that will swallow up lesser noises. 
 However, I do not anticipate any disturbance. Ah, 
 Sengle, you might stand out in the hall to serve as guide 
 to the other Brothers. We have had some little difficulty 
 in getting together, Mr. Howerson, but you must know 
 that the time has been short. 
 
 " Er we could on numerous occasions have shot 
 you down, Mr. Howerson, but that would have left no 
 moral, and an act without moral effect is but wasted 
 energy. We could have pardon me for a blunt word 
 killed Whateley, too, but after your lapse, our thought 
 was not of him, but of you, Mr. Howerson. One of our 
 men was near you when, having come from the office of 
 your new master, you shudderingly dropped your pistol 
 into the river; then we knew that you were a man too 
 weak for just vengeance. But there are men who are 
 not too weak." 
 
 Thunder rumbled, rain lashed the window, and from a 
 skylight somewhere in the building came the noise of 
 desperate revel, pigmy furies dancing a clog. 
 
 " You have no regret to express, Mr. Howerson? "
 
 386 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " For having been aroused from a nightmare? No." 
 " Do you call a most solemn oath a nightmare? " 
 " The oath I took in your presence I call an insanity. 
 
 I violated that insanity by becoming sane. Do I owe 
 you or your so-called brotherhood anything? Didn't I 
 more than return the money? Didn't that square 
 accounts? " 
 
 Hudsic smiled. " To square accounts with a poet is 
 to give the fretful child the toy it cries for. But justice 
 sometimes demands that a child shall be punished. , L . 
 And you refuse even to explain." 
 
 " No, I don't refuse to do that. In desperate faith I 
 took that oath, and entered Whateley's office determined 
 to kill him. But I caught sight of myself in a mirror, a 
 man, a gentleman, if you please, and not a ragged 
 assassin. . . Even then I might have murdered him, 
 still insane though shaken, but in ran a little boy, and I 
 saw the hard capitalist melt into love and pour it forth, 
 the love of. a simple old man. Then there seemed to fall 
 upon me a dream, and out of that dream a music never 
 heard before, and there arose the vision of " 
 
 " Let us have done with this rhapsody, Mr. 
 Howerson. ' ' 
 
 Batterson spoke up : "A very touching story. Print 
 it in a woman's magazine." 
 
 With his head thrust in at the door Sengle snarled, 
 
 II Write it on curl papers." 
 
 " Since then, Mr. Howerson," Hudsic proceeded, 
 " you have become prolific of enterprises. You were 
 dazzled and you fell." 
 
 " I was dazzled and I arose." 
 
 " Yes, you arose and flew away from the most solemn 
 obligation that mortal man could take. In the exu 
 berance of your flight you did not think of that."
 
 A STRAGGLING VISIT 387 
 
 " I have thought of everything. You are therefore 
 saved the trouble of reminding me." 
 
 " Ah. And you deem your apology sufficient? " 
 
 ' ' I deem it at least conclusive. ' ' 
 
 " So far as it serves the unities of your eccentric 
 drama. I see. But eccentric drama is usually distorted 
 comedy, Mr. Howerson, while the drama of justice may 
 call for tragedy. And you try to deceive us and explain 
 it away with the love of an old man for a boy and per 
 haps your own love for a woman." 
 
 Hudsic laughed, a cold sneer, and Batterson snorted 
 his contempt. Howerson put down his pipe and sat 
 looking at them. Hudsic spoke: 
 
 " But there is another woman who has upon you a 
 prior and a more sacred claim, Mr. Howerson. Surely 
 you have not forgotten Annie Zondish." 
 
 ' ' I remember her as one remembers ' ' 
 
 " Eyeless justice with her scales," the Professor 
 interrupted. 
 
 ' ' A nightmare. With a brass spoon she fed my delir 
 ium, poisoning my soul with verdigris." 
 
 ' ' Ingratitude, Mr. Howerson. She snatched you from 
 the jaws ah, she is here! " 
 
 Noiseless, and slow, like a cat, Annie Zondish came 
 into the room. She shook the raindrops from her hair 
 and stood gazing. Howerson did not flinch. 
 
 ' ' And so we find you, ' ' she said. 
 
 " Yes. Won't you sit down? " 
 
 Her face darkened with contempt. " Oh, I wish I 
 could make you feel how I despise you ! ' ' 
 
 " Imagine that I feel it and let us get through with 
 this farce." 
 
 " Farce! Oh, yes, it w r ould be a comedy to strangle 
 an ape."
 
 388 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 Howerson bowed mockingly and then addressed him 
 self to Hudsic: " Well, you haven't as yet proved the 
 object of this straggling visit." 
 
 Hudsic looked toward the door, listening. ' ' The proof 
 lags but will come, Mr. Howerson." 
 
 " You needn't pronounce my name every time you 
 speak to me." 
 
 ' Tired of hearing your name," said Annie. " In 
 that sensitiveness we sympathize with you to the extent 
 of promising complete relief. ' ' 
 
 " Why not speak English? " said Howerson, slowly 
 shaking his head. Annie, with gesture, requested from 
 Hudsic the privilege to reply. The professor smiled his 
 acquiescence. 
 
 " Wet straw smokes much before it burns," she said. 
 Then she advanced, stood within touch of him, looked 
 him hard in the eye. " We have come to demand our 
 due. Do you recall your oath ? Do you remember that 
 in the event of the betrayal of your trust you were to 
 surrender your life? Is your memory so very short? " 
 
 Hudsic spoke. " You gave us a judgment note, Mr. 
 Howerson. ' ' 
 
 " I shall not pretend longer to misunderstand you," 
 said Howerson. " After his night-school manner Pro 
 fessor Hudsic made it clear before you came, Miss 
 Zondish. But it is silly. Let me remind you that this 
 is America. When I first met you I was abroad, a tramp 
 in the land of dementia. I left you and returned home. 
 Professor, the majority of your brotherhood are Rus 
 sians, and Miss Zondish, you are from the czar's country, 
 I believe." 
 
 " Yes, and it was for such as you that I came to this 
 wilderness of wolves and weakness, where you read the
 
 A STRAGGLING VISIT 389 
 
 old Jew book, listen to the divine right of gold and call 
 yourselves educated and moral." 
 
 " Now you are getting away from ordinary farce," 
 said Howerson, and then he added : ' ' Professor, in her 
 most speculative dreams Russia could not see the vision 
 of a democracy such as you found here. Offered every 
 advantage, it would take your class in Russia five hun 
 dred years to spell out the difference between anarchy 
 and republicanism." 
 
 Again Hudsic looked toward the door, listening. 
 Then with a wave of his hand he silenced Annie who 
 had begun to speak, and spoke himself : ' ' We have but 
 little time to spare, but I demand a moment, sir. In 
 Russia we are oppressed by a political power, but here 
 it is a money power which will grow into the most heart 
 less of all oppression. I have but to call your attention 
 to the sweat shops, and to thousands of men, who, driven 
 to despair by the trusts, are forced to murder 
 themselves. ' ' 
 
 Annie had stepped back. Now she moved forward 
 again, waved Hudsic to silence arid spoke: " Such a 
 discussion at such a time! I can hardly conceive of it. 
 Mr. Howerson, we demand your life. In our hearts 
 there might be mercy, but the advancement of our cause 
 cries out for vengeance." 
 
 " Mr. Howerson," said Hudsic, "it is a matter of 
 history that in this city a man who had betrayed his 
 brothers was found in a sewer, with his throat cut. The 
 newspapers still shudder over the sad fate of our 
 one time brother, Col. Banstree. You found him. Ah, 
 come in, brothers. We had to turn this affair into a 
 social visit in order that you might get here in time. ' ' 
 
 Henk and Zenicoff, the two other Agents of Justice
 
 390 THE NEW MB. HOWERSON 
 
 present when Zondish administered to Howerson the 
 death oath, now came in, with drunkard bluster. When 
 in Henk's red eye Howerson saw the murder-look, he 
 shuddered, knowing now that though the play began 
 in farce it must have a bloody ending. 
 
 ' ' What ! ' ' Henk cried ; ' ' are you giving him a 
 chance to argue ? Foolish! String him up. Ah, there's 
 his gallows," and he pointed to the chandelier. " Up 
 with him or he'll talk you out of it! " From beneath 
 his coat he uncoiled a rope. 
 
 Hudsie, arising, waved him to silence. " Brothers, 
 justice should never be boisterous. ' ' He bowed to How 
 erson. " It wa's Lord Bacon who said that revenge is a 
 sort of wild justice. But our justice must not be wild, 
 for it is not revenge." 
 
 " Professor," said Howerson, " I can't help admiring 
 you." 
 
 " I thank you, sir. Your compliment reminds me of 
 an incident when I was in Siberia. We had tunneled 
 to escape prison, and just before entering the trench one 
 Imligoff sank to his knees and began to pray, whereupon 
 I was forced to admonish him, ' Into the tunnel, Imli- 
 goff ; this is no time for flattery. ' I could tell you many 
 amusing episodes but you ha ! could not remember 
 them. As I say, we could have shot you, but that would 
 have been immoral I mean without moral. But found 
 hanging to the chandelier, with a chair kicked out of the 
 way, and with a note on your table wherein our apt 
 Brother Henk, marvelous penman, has perfectly imitated 
 your hand, telling why you committed suicide that 
 will be a moral for all men who think to betray a sacred 
 brotherhood. ' ' 
 
 Henk was making a noose. Zenicoff locked both doors, 
 and took out the keys. Hudsie spoke to Henk: " It may
 
 A STRAGGLING VISIT 391 
 
 be necessary to wait for a clap of thunder and to shoot 
 him." 
 
 They rushed upon him. Howerson leaped from his 
 chair. In a flash he jerked the old sword from the 
 wall. Before they could bat the eye of astonishment, the 
 ancient blade was whistling in a circle of fire about his 
 head. " Out! " he cried advancing upon the drunken, 
 Henk, who fright-eyed fell back, fumbling with his pistol. 
 * ' Unlock the door, Zenicoff , or I '11 pin you to the wall ! ' ' 
 The coward flew to the door, and with the key was 
 chattering at the lock when upon the other door there 
 came a loud knock. Into a corner Hudsic and the rest 
 had retreated, and now in panic they fell apart. 
 
 ' ' Who 's there ! ' ' Howerson cried, and in deep tone 
 the answer came : 
 
 " The police! " 
 
 Open flew Zenicoff 's door, and out into the north and 
 south corridor the brothers rushed, sweeping the sister 
 with them. Howerson laughed, a cry of delight, for his 
 blood was singing. Into a corner he flung the sword, 
 caught up the key that Zenicoff had dropped, unlocked 
 the other door and threw it open: " Come in! " Then 
 came from without the music of a merry laugh ; and into 
 the room like the romp of a child, someone leaped, still 
 laughing; and dazzled he stood, gazing upon Rose 
 "Whateley.
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 THE POWER THAT MOVES THE WORLD 
 
 Howerson stood gazing, his lips apart, unable to speak. 
 Rose resplendent in raindrop diamonds, still laughing, 
 halted in her merriment to imitate in deep voice her 
 answer at the door, " The police! " Laughing again, 
 all in a moment, while the Agents of Justice could 
 still be heard scampering down the stairs, " Pal," she 
 said, and held forth her hand. 
 
 " In the name of God! " 
 
 She raised a protesting finger, and now with no laugh 
 ter in her countenance, shook her head. He made a 
 motion as if again to seize her hand. ' ' Is it possible ' ' 
 
 " Quite," she broke in, and now she laughed again. 
 
 " I don't don't understand." 
 
 " Nor I. But we shall? " Her eyes and her voice 
 questioned him. 
 
 " Yes, when it becomes possible. But now I am 
 benumbed. My senses tingle like a foot asleep." 
 
 ' ' What were they going to do ? Kill you ? ' : 
 
 He pointed to the sword. " I was going to kill them." 
 And then as she smiled, his pent-up blood shot through 
 him, and he laughed. " They were going to kill me. 
 You saved my life." 
 
 " Please let me think so, for a little while, anyhow." 
 
 " For all time. But you must tell me how you hap 
 pened to come here, alone." 
 
 " Oh, that can be made plain enough. But first I 
 must know why they were going to kill you." 
 
 392
 
 THE POWER THAT MOVES THE WORLD 393 
 
 He could not find in his heart the courage to tell her. 
 But some sort of explanation must be offered : 
 
 " A gang of anarchists seeking to assassinate me 
 because I am employed by your father. But he must not 
 know anything about it," he added quickly. " Be 
 patient with me and when I come back from a journey 
 which I must make to-morrow, it shall all be clear. But 
 now I must beg of you to keep secret all you know 
 even what you have done to-night. This may seem 
 ungenerous on my part but I implore it of you. Your 
 father is in no danger. If he were I would save him at 
 the expense of my own life. ' ' 
 
 " A woman would like to know why she is a heroine," 
 she said, and the humor and the sadness mingling in her 
 voice smote his heart. 
 
 ' Yes, I know, my my dear ' ' 
 
 ' ' Friend, ' ' she suggested. 
 
 He bowed. " Yes, I know, but you will wait a short 
 time, won't you? " 
 
 " Oh, I am not so very curious," she said. 
 
 ' ' You are a goddess. ' ' 
 
 " No, not that inhuman. I am a little more curious, 
 for I must ask a few questions: Will they make any 
 further attempt to assassinate you? " 
 
 ' ' No. They will all be out of town by to-morrow. ' ' 
 
 " Then you will not try to have them arrested." 
 
 ' ' No ; not even if I knew where I could lay hands 
 on them. But I shall leave them to think they are in 
 danger. At present," he added bending upon her an 
 entreating look, " everything must be kept quiet. I 
 know it is asking a great deal " 
 
 She smiled, sadly, he thought; but he did not adven 
 ture himself now to speak further, for in deep emotion 
 he realized the wildness of the storm she had defied, saw
 
 394 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 the rain and the wind in her tangled hair; and his 
 knees of a sudden were weak as if he felt himself 
 impelled to kneel to her. But she spoke in the kindly 
 grace of her inherited humor, and laughed his weakness 
 into grateful strength. Then he had the steadiness to 
 remind her that she had not explained how she knew 
 the place of his secret abode or why at this time she had 
 come through the wind and the rain. 
 
 " Why, I was returning from down-town in the auto 
 and it broke down. There was no cab handy and as it 
 was raining, I hastened across to another street and got 
 on a car." Now she was serious. " Near me, in a cor 
 ner sat two mean-looking men. They appeared to have 
 been drinking. Suddenly I became conscious of what 
 they were muttering. I had caught your name. One 
 of them took out a slip of paper and in a smothered 
 tone but loud enough for me to hear, read the number of 
 your office. I gathered, though I couldn't catch their 
 exact words, that they were going to punish you for 
 failing to keep some sort of obligation. When they got 
 off I followed them. I wouldn't call the police because 
 I didn't want any publicity. It was all simple enough. 
 It was a lark and I enjoyed it. And now I must get 
 home. Company is waiting for me." 
 
 ' ' For a heroine, yes, it was simple enough, ' ' said How- 
 erson. " It was safe enough for a woman with a great 
 shielding soul to " 
 
 ' ' Mr. Howerson, I forbid you. Why, women do thou 
 sands of things more heroic every day." She looked at 
 him, smiling in the fullness of her radiant being, and it 
 seemed that the air grew suddenly aglow, paling the 
 lamps overhead, for all other lights are dim when the 
 light of the soul burns high. " Good night." 
 
 " Wait, I'll get a taxi. It has begun to rain hard
 
 THE POWER THAT MOVES THE WORLD 395 
 
 again, but there's a stand not far from here and I can 
 run over there very quickly." 
 
 " Why, you needn't go out in the rain. You can 
 telephone." 
 
 " I can't. That wire connects only with the office. 
 Wait here, please." Snatching his hat he rushed out, 
 grateful to the rain for beating upon him, and with hat 
 off he bared his head to it. 
 
 Rose walked about the room, looking at the dingy 
 designs on the wall, seeing fantastic pictures where 
 none was intended: a bearded hermit sitting in front 
 of his door, an ancient castle with bowmen on the bat 
 tlements. Hearing the door creak she looked about, and 
 in came a woman, wearing a red cap. Slowly and for 
 a time without speaking the two women advanced toward 
 each other, one as calm as if she were in her father's 
 house, the other biting back the emotion that surged 
 outward to her lips. 
 
 The agitated woman was the first to speak. " Do you 
 know who who I am ? ' : 
 
 With the not ungracious smile of perfect self-posses 
 sion came the answer. " I don't believe that I have 
 ever had the pleasure of meeting you." 
 
 " Oh, you don't. Quite remarkable, is it not? But 
 let us have done with your society hauteur and get 
 down to common sense. I have seen you before. From 
 a lofty perch many times I have looked down upon you 
 at the opera. You are Rose Whateley. I am Annie 
 Zondish." 
 
 " I am pleased to meet you, Miss Zondish." 
 
 Zondish flashed her scorn. " From society banter to 
 downright lying." 
 
 Old Calvin's hot blood flew to her face, but ebbed 
 back, cooling ; and Rose stood, calm, smiling. ' ' Yes, I
 
 396 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 am really glad to meet you. I like to meet individuals. ' ' 
 
 " Specimens, you mean." 
 
 " Women who count," came the quick reply. 
 
 A defiant look. " I don't believe it. You would 
 rather have met any other woman in America. . 
 But may I ask why I find you here in a man 's room ? ' ' 
 
 " In a man 's office ? Yes. Perhaps I came to " 
 
 " To frighten cowards," Annie Zondish broke in. 
 " But one of them, cowardly and weak only for a 
 moment, has come back strong. ... I expected to 
 confront the son of perfidy, and not the daughter of a 
 beast." 
 
 Old Calvin's eyes shot forth their lightning. " I do 
 not wish to quarrel with you, but I am younger and 
 stronger than you, and I shall not permit you to call 
 my father a beast." 
 
 * ' He is fattened on the blood of innocence. ' ' 
 
 " You do not know my father. Why do you hate 
 him? " 
 
 * ' Why ? I hate his kind. He represents the greed of 
 power that ' ' 
 
 ' ' That you and your kind envy. ' ' 
 
 " I envy no man." 
 
 " Your followers then. You are the high priestess of 
 destruction. Your disciples are the votaries of avarice. 
 Which one of them would you trust with a million 
 dollars? " 
 
 " Money means nothing to me." 
 
 " Which one of your followers would you trust? 
 None! You hate my father for what you think him 
 to be I love him for what he is. But why should 
 your hatred go out to George Howerson? " 
 
 ' ' Because he has betrayed our cause. He ' '
 
 ' ' He has found the good iu my father. You, too 
 
 " I do not sell my soul my principles." 
 
 " Nor he. George Howerson is as fine a man as ever 
 breathed. ' ' 
 
 " So, too, I thought once." 
 
 " You will think so again when you understand." 
 
 " I understand everything. He has sold himself for 
 sentiment." There was a sneer in her tone. 
 
 ' ' He has redeemed himself with loyalty to truth to 
 himself. You hate him. He loves you as his sister 
 who would do him wrong." In Rose's voice there was 
 a tone of so warm and sincere an earnestness that the 
 anarchist started with an emotion which she was not 
 accustomed to feel, and she gazed at old Calvin's daugh 
 ter, her eyes not now so hard. 
 
 Rose, giving her no time to re-heat her anger, con 
 tinued, in a softened voice : " I would be the last woman 
 in the world to hurt you; I have read several sketches 
 that you wrote, when you turned from violence to gen 
 tleness, and there was heart in them." 
 
 Annie Zondish looked at her. Rose continued : ' ' And 
 I said to myself, ' I should like to meet that woman. 
 She has a soul.' ' 
 
 "I I don 't want to believe you. Your class ' ' 
 
 " I have no class, Miss Zondish. Like you, I am an 
 individual, and differently environed, I might have 
 fought society as you are fighting it. So after all, we 
 are but sisters, estranged." 
 
 " Impossible. We can never be other than implacable 
 enemies, and I am astonished at myself that I stand here, 
 pretending to reason with you." 
 
 " Enemies! Why should you and I not understand 
 each other better? Then there could be no enmity, for
 
 398 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 then you would see that my dearest aim in life is to 
 help the weak and the sorrowful. I have done a great 
 deal of settlement work and ' ' 
 
 " Settlement work," Zondish repeated scornfully, 
 " is " She snapped her fingers. 
 
 " Yes, largely," Rose admitted, "for society makes 
 a fad of it. Much of it is done for mere show, and the 
 best things of this life are not the show things. And 
 do you suppose that I would spend my life talking about 
 trifles, weeping over silly stories? Do you think that 
 I would seek to establish myself as a leader of an idle 
 society? Miss Zondish, the instinct of usefulness was 
 born within me. And you could never guess the dearest, 
 the tenderest story told to me by my mother. It was 
 this: As a girl down in North Carolina, a poor girl 
 in a log cabin, with only two books in the house, she was 
 out in the yard, doing the family washing, when my 
 father came and asked her to come home with him." 
 
 Annie Zondish had looked down, but now she looked 
 up. " Then how did you escape being a snob? " 
 
 " That is a very natural question. But the germ of 
 snobbery was not in my blood." 
 
 " That is all well enough, but we are off the subject 
 off from what I intended to say when I saw you stand 
 ing here, on a spot where justice had just been 
 strangled. ' ' 
 
 " Oh, no, Miss Zondish, we are not off the subject so 
 long as we talk of truth and sympathy. I told you I 
 was glad to meet you, and I meant it, and for this rea 
 son: You can teach me how best to help certain people, 
 not in the way of postponing their need, but ' ' 
 
 " I could teach you but you would give me no ear. 
 I could tell you to remove the cause to exterminate 
 the oppressors. Don't you see that you and I can only
 
 THE POWER THAT MOVES THE WORLD 399 
 
 be enemies. . . . But I am not so heartless as not 
 to to appreciate the interest you have shown in me. 
 Kindliness from a woman is something novel to me. 
 Women educated me, marked it down to their credit 
 and set me adrift." 
 
 " No, we must not be enemies," and now they stood 
 closer together. " We shall have a common aim, and 
 common aims make brothers and sisters. Miss Zondish, 
 come to my house, be my friend, and let us organize a 
 practical system for the betterment of the wretched. 
 Your experience ' ' 
 
 " My experience teaches me that we must kill. Miss 
 Whateley, I thank you for but I must go. ' ' 
 
 " No," Rose cried out, catching at her hand. " You 
 must not put such a disappointment on me, for within 
 the past few moments I have built up a high hope. 
 Don't go, please. Promise me that you will come to 
 my house." 
 
 " Oh, no. You ask me to throw aside in a moment 
 the aim of a lifetime. Miss Whateley, your drama is too 
 swift." 
 
 " Every great drama is swift, and let us play swiftly 
 in the drama of life." 
 
 Annie bit her lip. " Somebody has dramatized you. 
 . . . . You ask too much of me, Miss Whateley. It 
 cannot be. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Oh, but it must be. I feel that you will not withhold 
 your hand when it can be of such help. Think of the 
 little children we can save, you and I. Think of the 
 glowing lamps we can light where now all is darkness. 
 Miss Zondish Annie nothing can be accomplished 
 by violence. Sympathy is the greatest power that the 
 world has ever known ; and I know that your great and 
 passionate heart is full of sympathy. There is only one
 
 400 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 step between violence and gentleness, and I beg of you 
 to take that step. Teach me out of your great store 
 house of wisdom. Help me, a really lonely woman who 
 longs to do good in the world. Please ' ' 
 
 " Let me go. You are a hypnotist. You would make 
 me weak. I hated you and now you reproach me with 
 your heart." 
 
 " No, I do not reproach you. In the name of stricken 
 humanity I implore you to come to my house, and 
 together we will make many a poor heart glad." 
 
 "I I didn 't know that there was such a woman in 
 this great wilderness of greed and cruelty." 
 
 11 Then you believe me? Say that you do. Say that 
 you will come to my house. Say that we shall be sisters 
 of sympathy." 
 
 And now old Calvin's daughter caught the woman's 
 hand, pressed it to her bosom, and from the anarchist's 
 eyes the tears were flowing. "I I will come," she 
 said, and Rose's arms were now about her. 
 
 " Yes, my estranged sister now come back to me, and 
 in the grateful eyes of old men and of children we shall 
 read our happiness." 
 
 " I will come but I must go now. I am going to say 
 something that I had forgotten how to say: God bless 
 you. . . . Let me go." 
 
 " Yes, you may go in a moment, but you must do 
 as I beg of you. It has begun to rain harder and your 
 shoulders are almost bare. I am going home in a cab 
 and shall not need my cloak. You must take it." 
 
 " No, no," Annie Zondish cried, drawing away, " I 
 cannot do that." 
 
 " Yes, from one sister to another; and you don't know 
 how sweetly I shall sleep if you will do me this favor ; 
 and when you come we will laugh over this night, but
 
 THE POWER THAT MOVES THE WORLD 401 
 
 tenderly, because now is sealed our vow to do good ; and 
 we shall hear music where there were only sighs, and in 
 windows where black rags fluttered bright flowers shall 
 bloom." 
 
 And old Calvin's daughter took off her cloak, and 
 about the woman's drooping shoulders she wrapped it, 
 laughing her joy and her sympathy.
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 HIS ELDER SISTER 
 
 When Howerson returned he found Rose alone, dream 
 ily gazing, not upon the battlement and the war 
 ring bowmen, but upon another scene penciled by a 
 kindlier fancy, a troop of happy children, playing. He 
 had been longer than he expected, he said, and hoped 
 that she had not grown impatient. His real hope was 
 that she had found the time of his absence long and 
 wearisome, and his heart landed him a heavy blow when 
 with the smile of truth she declared that she had never 
 spent a season of purer happiness. 
 
 " The taxi is waiting. But where is your cloak? " 
 
 " Oh, did I have a cloak? " 
 
 " Why, I thought so. What became of it? " 
 
 " Someone must have taken it away," she laughed. 
 " But no matter. I shall not need it." 
 
 " But who could have taken it? " 
 
 " You can't explain your mystery and I can't explain 
 mine," she said, enjoying his perplexity. 
 
 " A punishment, and after you had agreed to wait? " 
 He looked distressed. 
 
 " Let us call it a joke, and forget it. . . I am 
 going." 
 
 " Not without some protection from the weather," he 
 declared, and begging her to wait he hastened into the 
 bedroom and brought forth his overcoat, and in it envel 
 oped her as she stood, humorously submitting to his will. 
 His hand was stricken with palsy as he strove to gather 
 
 402
 
 HIS ELDER SISTER 403 
 
 her loosened hair from beneath the collar, and when she 
 turned slightly about to make fun of his awkwardness 
 he was in the act of branding her tresses with a kiss, the 
 thief; but she pretended not to know it, deceitful crea 
 ture ; and down the stairs they went, both talking at once, 
 neither catching a word. The big eyes of the taxi bored 
 the rain-streaked air, and all else was dark, in the wet 
 patter. 
 
 " Your coat," she said, handing it out to him, and 
 with it feeling for him in the dark. 
 
 " No, no, you'll need it," and she laughed gleefully 
 and told him that it would be easier to explain the 
 absence of a cloak than the presence of a coat. " Take 
 it, please," and he took it, and with it moped up the 
 stairs. He called himself a fool, proved it by his soul, 
 ready enough to give testimony, and sat down looking 
 about the room, darksome now with all the lights turned 
 on. Out of dull objects his eyes plucked the sword, lying 
 in a corner, and he took it up and stood with it in his 
 hand. He saw the vision of cutthroat men, and was 
 thrilled as again he saw frightened countenances falling 
 back from his circle of fire, but another countenance 
 arose, that of Zondish, and he felt a tingle of shame, 
 forgetting the murderous men, to realize that with a 
 sword he had rushed upon a woman. Thinking it 
 all over, it seemed, and how strange, that the woman 
 in her sudden fright had cast toward him a look more 
 of appeal than of hate ; and over that he brooded for a 
 long time. Then on the wall he replaced the old sword, 
 put on his overcoat and went down into the street. Walk 
 ing fast he crossed a bridge, searching for some place 
 the number of which he did not know, for he looked not 
 for figures above doorways but at the shapes of grimy 
 old buildings, forbidding enough in daylight but now
 
 404 THE NEW ME. HOWERSON 
 
 gruesome and ghostly. At a narrow stairway he halted, 
 entered upon it, felt his way up one flight, struck a 
 match, hastened down a hall, struck another match and 
 blew it out as he stood in front of a narrow door. Upon 
 the door he knocked, and a voice that came like a moan 
 bade him come in. He entered, and in front of a fire made 
 of a box knocked to pieces, hovering over it with her 
 face in her hands, sat Annie Zondish. She did not look 
 up, but she said, " I am ready to go with you to jail, 
 and I left the door unlocked so you could come in. Let 
 me think just a moment longer and then I will go with 
 you." 
 
 " Annie." 
 
 She looked up. She rose. She gazed in mute aston 
 ishment. 
 
 " Annie, I have come to beg you to forgive me. You 
 dragged me back from death. Like a tender mother 
 you cared for me. And to-night with a sword I turned 
 upon you. I violated my oath, for I would have died 
 rather than to keep it. Those who knew men's souls 
 said that we may be born again in the twinkling of an 
 eye. Thus it was that I was changed. But I am here 
 before you now and I have no sword." 
 
 Her hands went up and he thought that she was going 
 to strike him and he shut his eyes and stood motionless. 
 "When he looked, her hands were pressed to her face, and 
 between her fingers, tear-streams caught the light. Word 
 less, he stared his astonishment, and then he turned away, 
 to bend his look upon the crackling fire, wondering at 
 this new mystery in a night of mysteries. 
 
 " George." 
 
 He turned about and she held forth her hand. With 
 out a word he drew her toward the fire, and they sat 
 down, she on a low chair, he on a box. He took her
 
 HIS ELDER SISTER 405 
 
 hand, silent, and upon her palm, wet with her weeping, 
 he pressed a roll of bank notes and closed her fingers. 
 She strove to pull her hand away, with what would have 
 been an outcry but for its huskiness, but he held her 
 wrist hard, pressing down her fingers tight; and then 
 slowly he spoke : 
 
 ' ' I have seen you give not half a loaf, but all. . . . 
 I heard you sing a childhood song to an old Polish Jew 
 who prayed that he might die with the melodies of his 
 mother in his soul." 
 
 Against his arm she leaned her weary head, and lightly 
 now her hand lay within his tender clasp. She did not 
 try to draw it from him. " To-morrow I am going 
 away, to be gone several months, perhaps. And when 
 I come back, I am going to confess. A dream into which 
 beautiful visions sometimes arose, will end; but money 
 will come to me out of that dream, and I am going to 
 share it with you, money honestly earned. We will go 
 among the stricken in body and in heart. We will 
 atone." 
 
 " Yes," she whispered. 
 
 " You are to be you are my sister." 
 
 Pie felt her head shake on his arm. " Your mother, 
 George. I am old." 
 
 He laughed softly. " Oh, no, you have the strength, 
 the color, the looks and the black hair of your prime. 
 You are my elder sister. The younger, poor wayward 
 genius, sleeps in India." He fell into silence, brood 
 ing, and then burst out: " Ha, but let us be cheerful. 
 The drama " 
 
 She clutched hig arm. " It was glorious," she said. 
 " I have seen Salvini, Booth, but nothing like that. 
 There will never again be acting like it. Down flew the 
 sword from the wall, and "
 
 406 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " It was only a desperation." 
 
 " Only! And is not that what great dramatic art 
 has tried in vain to be ? . . . What a night ! ' ' 
 
 He got up, she with him, her hand on his arm. " I 
 will find you when I come back. Good night. I " 
 and then he stood cut off from speech, gazing. On a 
 trunk against the wall lay Rose Whateley's cloak. 
 
 He looked into the woman's eyes, standing back from 
 him, and with head not in humiliation bowed, she said: 
 " Yes, it is her cloak. She compelled me to take it. I 
 couldn't resist her. I thought that there must have 
 been some sort of trickery, and as the other cowards 
 were running over each other down the street, I stole 
 back, and there she stood. I knew who she was, but 
 pretended not to. If she had started in at first with 
 soft words I would have hardened against her, but she 
 didn 't. I don 't know what she said, but I felt the balm 
 of her presence, George ; felt that this beautiful creature 
 of health and strength and grace wanted to be my friend, 
 my sister. Yes, I heard her say it; and then her arm 
 was about me and there lies her cloak. ... I 
 have always had my soft moods. Often when they 
 thought I was sneaking about with a dagger, I was in my 
 room heartbroken because I had just looked upon dis 
 tress that I was not able to relieve. But now it seems 
 that my vengeance mood has gone from me to stay. I 
 tried to call it back as I sat here alone, but it would 
 not come and I know that it will not come again. I am 
 getting old, George." 
 
 " You are young and beautiful, your soul; and down 
 the leafy road, at the turn where wild roses glow upon 
 the bank, sly-eyed happiness, a boy with fingers stained 
 with berry juice, peeps out to leap forth with a shout 
 and give you joyous chase."
 
 HIS ELDER SISTER 407 
 
 She smiled sadly, taking his hand to bid him good-bye. 
 
 ' ' Good night, sister. ' ' 
 
 She bent toward him and reverently on the brow he 
 kissed her ; and he left her standing there in the twilight 
 of the fire. Now swiftly back to his room he went, 
 muttering, ' ' What a night ! In this grim commonplace 
 of greed, what a night ! ' ' 
 
 Out he came on the morrow, into the flashing pearl of 
 the sun's first wink of morn, the fading stars seeming 
 to drip with the cool rams of the night. 
 
 In the station Joyce was waiting for him. " "What, 
 dawn-hawk, are you here? " Howerson cried, grasping 
 his friend as if a year had droned between the evening 
 and the day. 
 
 " Of course. Where did you think I'd be? By the 
 way, I rushed through with my work, and about eleven 
 last night hustled over to your cave, and found it dark. 
 I hammered on the door, and heard rats scampering, 
 but no other evidence of life; and so I came away." 
 
 ' ' I should hope so. But why the deuce did you come 
 out so early this morning? There was no need of it." 
 
 " That's my business. Say, but you look fine this 
 morning, old fellow; like a winner. You used to look 
 every once in a while as if you expected bad news in 
 the next mail; but now the news seems to have been 
 good. How about it? " 
 
 " Wasn't bad. At any rate it didn't announce bank 
 ruptcy. ' ' 
 
 " Good old dame after all, George the world." 
 
 " Yes, cracks you on the head with her crutch, and 
 if you smile, she anoints the wound." 
 
 ' ' Maybe if we laugh she won 't hit us at all. ' ' Shaking 
 hands as Howerson 's train was called out, they laughed 
 and parted.
 
 408 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 Following his instructions, Howerson got off at Hoop- 
 good, spent a day in the coal mines, telegraphed a 
 favorable report, wired a message to Yal Watkins and 
 resumed his way toward the West. On the platform 
 at Rockdale, there amid the excitement of the one great 
 thrill of the day, the handling of three mail sacks, the 
 cries of the bus driver, the rush of the telegrapher 
 to speed onward the news that the train had arrived; 
 there amid the heart tremors of girls stolen from home 
 to view this halted plunge from the world of dreams 
 whence one day would come romance with lovelight in 
 eye and diamond in shirt; there where the corpse of 
 the old man was shoved into the car to be baggaged away 
 to a distant grave; there in the steam and the smoke 
 blown back from the stewing engine; there in the last 
 glimmerings of the day, was Col. Watkins, most impor 
 tant man in town. Tripping over a leash wherewith a 
 boy reined in his cat-excited dog, Watkins reached the 
 Poet. 
 
 " Help me, George, to hold my dignity unruffled till 
 we get away from this crowd." 
 
 " Dignity! Where did you ever find it? Our car 
 riage of the Old Regime, Colonel, does it await? " 
 
 " Ah, verily, not like the fretful but the dozing porcu 
 pine. This way to the Tuilleries. ' ' Off they darted for 
 the hack, Watkins grabbing at Howerson 's ' ' grip. ' ' The 
 old busman ambled forward and took the suit case, 
 shoved it up, raking its yellow hide with the head of a 
 nail, and then announced the promise of a swift depar 
 ture by calling " Fare please." Ready enough came 
 forth coin from pockets of passengers eager to proceed, 
 but progress was balked by a fat madam with an Angora 
 cat in a cage big enough for a leopard. Couldn't find 
 her purse, couldn't have lost it, never did such a thing,
 
 HIS ELDER SISTER 409 
 
 preposterous. Cat reaches out to pluck souvenir of 
 fleece from a woolly poodle, innocently musing in the 
 lap of Miss Tabitha row. Fat madam admonishes 
 Angora to be more choice in selection of associates, but 
 can't find purse. 
 
 " How late do they have supper? " a hungry wretch 
 inquires of the universe at large; and fat madam 
 answers, ' ' It makes no difference how late or how early, 
 I'm going to find my purse." Wretch says, " I hope 
 so." Angora makes another motion and the poodle 
 howls, whereupon Miss Tabitha gives it a tender coddle, 
 wondering why the woman over in the corner doesn't 
 keep her brat from squawling. " I know I had that 
 purse," fat madam declares, and an old sinner man 
 mutters, " Bet you did." 
 
 ' ' Go on ! " someone cries. 
 
 But the busman shakes his head. " My orders are 
 to collect fare before turning a wheel." 
 
 Then Col. Watkins says, " Drive on," and without a 
 word he mounts his perch and drives, passengers, cat 
 and dog looking with gratitude upon the most impor 
 tant man in town. 
 
 Suddenly fat madam cries out, " Stop, stop, I say! 
 I have found it." 
 
 "Onward! " shouts the colonel, and up to the hotel 
 they rattle, everybody laughing. 
 
 After supper the two friends shut themselves up in 
 Howerson's room, to throw off their dignity, they said. 
 " When it comes to characters," remarked the colonel, 
 " we've got 'em here. You know they skipped thrifty 
 Iowa and came here where they could be shiftless with 
 out reproach. These were mostly poor whites from the 
 South, afraid of nothing on earth except work. Why, 
 they'd laugh at a gun, when a hoe would scare 'em to
 
 410 THE NEW ME. HOWERSON 
 
 death. But we've got all sorts here. Some I want you 
 to meet, particularly a shrewd old Jew who swears he 
 made fifty thousand dollars playing poker and lost it 
 all in the clothing business; but more particularly I 
 want you to know Father Ben, an old Belgian priest. 
 He and I are great friends ; we sit and talk some nights 
 till twelve. But tell me why you are here, and then I'll 
 make a confession, my talk about Father Ben having led 
 up to the same." 
 
 " I am here, Colonel, to cheat the few for the good 
 of the many." Then he explained the project. " And 
 now your confession." 
 
 With a loud crack the hip of the Colonel's rocking 
 chair flew out of joint. He got up, set the bone, sat 
 down with care and was about to begin his recital when 
 Howerson said, in allusion to the recent feat of surgery, 
 " If you need any lint, Doctor, I'll scrape my shirt." 
 
 " Ha," retorted the anatomist, rocking carefully, " I 
 know that in the interest of science you would not only 
 contribute the lint from your shirt but the nap from 
 your overcoat, but my dear patron of arts I object to 
 being called ' Doctor.' When you were here the first 
 time somebody heard you call me Colonel Watkins and 
 in that title I am established and, as you may have 
 observed, influential. Out here there are two sorts of 
 doctors, man and horse, both saluted as ' Doc.' And 
 that reminds me of an incident. There came from the 
 state university the boss L.L.D. of the shop, to address 
 the high school here, and one of our staunch citizens 
 hearing him called ' Doctor,' asked him if he were a 
 horse or just a man doctor ; and you may know the starch 
 of the great man had suffered when he answered, ' Sir, 
 I am a Doctor of Laws.' 
 
 " The staunch one pricked up his ears like a livery
 
 HIS ELDER SISTER 411 
 
 stable bulldog. ; That so? I knowed the law was 
 damn sick but I didn't know they'd called in a doctor.' 
 There are numerous ' docs ' here, but I'm the only 
 colonel, as my rival was shipped off in a baggage car 
 this evening. Grasp? " 
 
 " Yea, Colonel, and I beseech pardon for my slip, 
 but ' impart,' said the Dane." 
 
 " You may not play-act when I get down into it," 
 said Watkins; and then for a brief silence he was 
 serious as if an unhappy memory were passing through 
 his mind. But he brightened. 
 
 " List thee. One night about two weeks ago, after 
 a day of worries to me and to my well-earned military 
 title, I went into our ' Gentlemen's Cafe,' sat down at 
 the large square table, shoved from in front of me the 
 pickles eaten by acid till they looked like the prohibi 
 tionist's diagram of a drunkard's maw, greeted the 
 widowed celery, sighed over a bowl of tear-stained crack 
 ers, wondering what I could eat, when I noticed by the 
 spread of a napkin, the positions of knife, fork and 
 plate, that the place just in front of me was taken. 
 
 " About this time in came a big Scotchman who in 
 broad tweed said to the waiter that he would have it 
 now, evidently his meal, ordered some time before. The 
 waiter brought in a beefsteak about the size of an ele 
 phant's ear, and placed it before him. Then from a cool 
 chest he got out two pint-bottles of old ale. These he 
 uncorked and into a big pewter mug poured the foamy 
 garner of both bottles, filling the mug, and the beads 
 burst like the glad laughter of youth. All that I had 
 ever read of the old inn, with dovecote, spreading tree 
 genial landlord all the poetry and romance I had 
 ever read or heard my bookish old father talk about, and 
 he was an English actor all came back to me. This
 
 412 THE NEW ME. HOWERSON 
 
 tantalizing Scot busied himself with the steak, and I 
 sat there breathing beneath my belt, ' Why the devil 
 don't you drink?' But when he had eaten about a 
 third of his meat, and when I had waved aside my own 
 object in coming into the place, he took up that pewter 
 loving cup with both hands and and fetched a pull 
 such as Martin Luther would have envied; and he put 
 it down with an ' Ah-ha-ha,' right at me, and the cling 
 ing beads were bursting on his red lips. Right there I 
 slipped, George. I " 
 
 " Yal! " 
 
 ' ' Slipped and grabbed about me to keep from falling, 
 and couldn't lay hold. But at this moment down came 
 a grip on my shoulder. I looked up and there stood old 
 Father Ben, the priest. * Walk out with me, ' he said ; 
 and I went out with him, drooling like a horse grazing 
 on white clover. I had given the old man my history, 
 George, and he knew that you had picked me up after 
 I 'd been, down so long. As we walked he said, ' My boy, 
 there are some of them that can do it, and there are some 
 of us that cannot.' He didn't lecture me, just reminded 
 me of a truth that I knew so well. Then I went back 
 alone, and a thousand pewter mugs couldn't have made 
 the ground slippery for me. That was my last 
 temptation. ' ' 
 
 Howerson had been alarmed, but now he smiled. ' ' You 
 are all right, and you may well believe, as I do, that it 
 was your last temptation. Let me tell you, my dear 
 Colonel" 
 
 The colonel bowed. 
 
 ' ' Let me tell you that if it had not meant sure down 
 fall of your prosperity and hence your respectability, 
 all the advice and moral lecturing in homily 's inexhaust-
 
 HIS ELDER SISTER 413 
 
 ible storehouse couldn't have kept ale beads from burst 
 ing on your lips that night. I know you, Colonel." 
 
 " Ah, as the devil knows a handbook." 
 
 " And mind you, I don't mean to detract from old 
 Father Ben. He saved you for the moment, but for 
 your own strength old Father Time instead of Father 
 Ben would just about have had you by now. But the 
 priest, how well he knows the weakness of ' mortal 
 mind,' as Mrs. Eddy calls it. He is the indulgent 
 elder brother of the wayward ; and there is a reason why 
 he should know more of human nature than the average 
 preacher can possibly know." 
 
 ' ' Beats him to it, ' ' said the colonel. 
 
 " Yes, in a walk. Catholics take their shortcomings to 
 the priest, but from the preacher we hide our foibles." 
 
 " Right, George, and it's because the preacher lives 
 apart from men." 
 
 ' ' Yes, ' ' said Howerson. ' ' Watch a party of men talk 
 ing, joking, laughing. Preacher comes up; subject 
 changed, sissified out of hypocritical deference to the 
 preacher's cloth." 
 
 ' ' Duly acknowledged. . . . Well, how 's the 
 drama? " 
 
 Howerson settled back in his chair as if at last he had 
 surrendered to the encroachment of a mood which with 
 forced gayety he had vainly fought. 
 
 ' ' The love interest, ' ' Watkins persisted. 
 
 " A kindly and unconscious mockery, I'm afraid. Yal, 
 woman has progressed until she can step out of romance 
 into friendship. They have schooled and suffragetted 
 her until she is a companion instead of a sweetheart. 
 But our drama demands old-fashioned love." 
 
 " Got it, hasn't it? " the colonel inquired.
 
 414 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " On one side, yes." 
 
 ' ' Well, that 's as it should be to sustain interest among 
 those who insist upon love's speculative misery, and 
 which I think is quite as essential as I'm balled up. 
 Toss me a line." 
 
 ' ' Quite as essential as love 's reciprocal joy I under 
 stand. But coming to the Hecuba of sad truth, I am 
 gaffed past floundering while in violet waters she plays 
 unhooked. ' ' 
 
 "I'm not on the ground, but I have a notion that 
 she is waiting for you to overpower her with your 
 strength. Inheriting much of the old man's character, 
 she is fighting you, which is herself, in this instance, 
 and" 
 
 " But the old man never surrenders, Yal. " 
 
 " Ah, but he'd acknowledge it if you knocked him 
 down, wouldn't he? When did you see her last? Tell 
 me about it." 
 
 Without infringing upon his determination to make 
 his first confession to Whateley, alone, Howerson per 
 mitted a vaporous vision to gather itself into the dew 
 of words: " And there I stood, agued in an ecstasy, 
 with the gnarled gold of her tresses in my hand, this 
 hand that does not look as if once it had held the 
 universe, and when I would have kissed " 
 
 " I see, you fell down," said the colonel. " You 
 wanted to kiss her hair, and your knees knocked you 
 out. You thought she wouldn't like it, but at that 
 moment, George, she would have been mightily tickled. 
 In one of the intense minutes to be ticked off in the 
 future, she'll forget her own strength and rejoice in 
 yours." 
 
 " Let's go to bed." 
 
 There in the dark, the glimpse of a star revealed by
 
 HIS ELDEK SISTER 415 
 
 the gaping of a window shade, there with the frail house 
 shaking in a wind that blew not thunder from the west 
 but breaths of coming summer from the south, Howerson 
 lay wondering if shrewd old Yal were right, that she 
 would have liked it had he kissed her hair.
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 WORKING HIS SCHEME 
 
 On the following day Howerson began operations 
 which were active enough but which, reviewed at night, 
 appeared to have been aimless and without accomplish 
 ment. All the arts and devices which in past " pro 
 motion " he had stumbled upon, now needed to be 
 resharpened and redecorated like the feathered troll 
 designed for waters whipped foamy by persistent fishers. 
 And as the days filled out the first week the promoter 
 may not have been able to specify progress, but knew 
 that it had been made. Acquaintance with the ground, 
 organization and the systematizing of schemes, moved 
 forward his campaign ; and by the time the second week 
 drew to a close, he had acquired signatures from pens 
 doggedly suspicious,, but which yielded finally under 
 the moral spell of the farmer's ancient tempter, 
 cupidity. 
 
 The influence of Watkins was of great and imme 
 diate advantage, and his active shaking of the branch 
 brought down the fruit, red and yellow, on the ground. 
 On brief notice he could appear as innocent a lout as 
 ever gulped the delights of a brass band or gazed in 
 awe upon a camel's hump. He now took up gladly 
 as his mission the conversion of the smaller land owner, 
 while the Poet spread his own endeavors among the 
 larger fry, housed with them over Sunday, gave rhymes 
 to maids, talked sanctity of marriage to matrons, and 
 
 416
 
 WORKING HIS SCHEME 417 
 
 permitted the booted " Hector, tamer of horses," to 
 beat him in religious argument. In village halls he 
 addressed meetings; at a " sociable " he auctioned off 
 a pair of blue socks adorned with red heels, the devo 
 tional product of a dame from whose tongue, sweetly 
 bred to scandal, no handsome girl was safe; and in a 
 barn he umpired a cock-fight. 
 
 In his room at the hotel he laughed with the colonel 
 and called himself the most scoundrelly chameleon that 
 ever changed its hue. Often at night they had com 
 pany, Father Ben, the priest, and Gus Wormsier, the 
 Jew who in the clothing business had lost fifty thousand 
 dollars hard-earned at poker. Father Ben's soul was 
 as rare as a June bird singing on December's crest. 
 He had turned sixty, but his heart was a warm 
 melody, chanting him to his work; and his great 
 dark eyes were soft, as if holding in endearment the 
 picture of many a tender scene. But Watkins said 
 that justice sometimes roused him to acts of quick chas 
 tisement, and this may have been true, but surely when 
 he knocked two rebellious heads together he did it to 
 save the breaking of a hundred bones. 
 
 "Wormsier was of a Hebrew family from the old 
 South, and would speak of Yankees as if he had never 
 turned a trick himself. He would not have made an 
 acceptable vaudeville Jew, with " sure " and "belief 
 me." He knew no gallery Yiddish, but his mind was as 
 acutely Hebraic as if, expelled from Spain along with 
 eight hundred thousand others of his race, he had writ 
 ten that history-noted letter from Portugal to a friend 
 left behind: " The climate is good, the people idiots, 
 and we shall soon own everything." 
 
 Nothing seemed to afford Wormsier so keen an enjoy 
 ment as an argument with Father Ben, into which the
 
 418 THE NEW ME. HOWERSON 
 
 old man sometimes humorously but never in seriousness 
 suffered himself to be drawn. 
 
 " The intellectual trouble with the Jew," said Father 
 Ben one evening, " is that he regards himself as the 
 history of the world ; and his religious belief is that suc 
 cess is sufficient atonement for everything." 
 
 " No," declared Wormsier. " We take back the 
 goods, and what more atonement can you ask for? " 
 
 " That is well enough for the evil actually committed, 
 but you have no atonement for intended evil, and that 
 is nearer to the purification of the soul. Did you ever 
 confess an intended evil? " 
 
 Howerson was listening intently. He thought that 
 Yal was about to speak, and with his hand laid upon 
 the colonel's knee he whispered, " Hush." 
 
 " Don't know that I understand what you mean by 
 intended evil," Wormsier replied. " But I'll tell you 
 this: If I had made up my mind to sell a man a coat 
 for ten dollars and saw by his face I could get twelve, 
 and I got it, do you think I would tell him he might 
 have had it for ten ? Not me. And suppose I had made 
 up my mind to punch a w r eak-looking fellow in the nose, 
 but saw him lick two men as big as I am, do you think 
 I would go to him and say, ' Forgive me, I was going 
 to punch your nose? ' Not me. But wait a minute. 
 You spoke about the Jew and history. Why, all the 
 religion you've got you stole from the Jews, except 
 purgatory. ' ' 
 
 Father Ben sat in a big chair, rocking, enjoying his 
 cigar. " All but purgatory. But say that we are willing 
 to make atonement, Gus. Say that we keep purgatory 
 and give the Jews the station farther south." 
 
 " Ha," cried Wormsier, " we could trust you to give 
 the Jews the worst of it. Atonement! How can we
 
 WORKING HIS SCHEME 
 
 atone for an intention? By confession to the one we 
 intended to injure ? Imagine our friend Howerson here 
 making a confession like that." 
 
 " He would, I am sure," said Father Ben. " Sup- 
 po'se that if by any possibility he had been wrought upon 
 until there was murder in his heart, do you think his 
 heart could ever be pure again unless he confessed it? 
 And that, too, before he had, by some good and repentant 
 turn, laid his intended victim under such obligation as 
 would seem to insure forgiveness. Do you believe he 
 would smother his confession? " 
 
 " No! " came from Howerson in utterance almost a 
 cry, and then he turned it into a laugh. " Of course 
 not. By the way, Father, over in the Spring Valley 
 neighborhood the majority of the land owners are com 
 municants of your church, and I wish you could see 
 your way clear toward helping me there." 
 
 " I can if you prove to me that by so doing I shall 
 serve their interest as well as yours." 
 
 " I can do that. The road will increase land values 
 from ten to fifteen percent." 
 
 " Wait," cried Wormsier. " Wait a day or two, 
 Father, till I go over there and get a few options. Wait. ' ' 
 
 Then the colonel spoke up. ' ' And if we wait till you 
 have had a few more business failures, Gus, you can not 
 only put up money for options on land but buy the 
 entire road for cash." 
 
 Father Ben roared out an appreciation in which there 
 was no malice, and with a genial grin Gus ducked his 
 head. A clock began to strike, Wormsier counting. 
 " What's that? Nine? Eight now I go to a christen 
 ing, my friend Stramm, Lutheran, sausages and beer. 
 Good night." 
 
 Father Ben soon took his leave, and Howerson went
 
 420 THE NEW MR HOWERSON 
 
 with him, walking with him out beneath the stars. When 
 they had come to a corner of a street near the old man 's 
 home, the dark spire of his church catching with its 
 gilded cross a beam from pagan Venus, the Poet halted. 
 
 " Won't you come in and stop a while, Mr. Hower- 
 son? I have some old books that I have not yet shown 
 you, some rare and curious pages, executed by Philip 
 Pigouchet in 1487. Come in." 
 
 " No, I thank you, not to-night." Yet he lingered, 
 gazing upward at the pagan light glinting the cross. 
 . . . " Father, I have often wondered if priests, so 
 intimate with the weaknesses and the misfortunes of 
 man "he hesitated. 
 
 " Yes, my son." 
 
 " I have often wondered if they did not believe that 
 upon the conscience of the Protestant, the man of the 
 world, there did not lie a canker, a something that a 
 Catholic would confess to his priest." 
 
 " We are supposed to confess everything." 
 
 " I know. But you spoke of atonement for an evil 
 not committed. Doesn't the priest believe that every 
 Protestant man lives and perhaps dies with such an evil 
 in his heart? " 
 
 " My son, we are not that narrow. Every good Prot 
 estant must confess to God." 
 
 " Yes, but God already knows, and confession to one 
 who knows requires no courage. Don't misunderstand 
 me. I am not worried over my soul. But I may worry 
 over a sense of weakness on my part. I am talking to 
 you the man and not the priest. ' ' 
 
 " But would you have brought up this subject if I 
 had not been a priest? " 
 
 " It was something you said that brought it up, and 
 if you hadn't been a priest you might not have said it.
 
 WORKING HIS SCHEME 421 
 
 , . . As you are a man whom I believe to be thor 
 oughly good, let me say that I am soon to make a con 
 fession to a hard mortal, and to me it may mean a 
 lifetime of desperate unhappiness. The woman I would 
 give my soul to possess will shudder and hate me, and 
 the man, her father ' ' 
 
 " You must tell me no more. I cannot advise you, 
 other than to counsel you to be true to your conscience, 
 your soul." 
 
 With warm handclasp they parted ; and when Hower- 
 son returned to his room where Watkins sat waiting 
 for him, the Poet said: " My dear martial companion, 
 walking homeward just now from a stroll with reverend 
 and ancient theology, I wondered as to how many 
 varieties of fool a fairly active man can play."
 
 CHAPTER XLIH. 
 AND THE WRETCH DIDN'T KNOW IT 
 
 Eight weeks passed and but little more remained for 
 Howerson to do. The contractor had arrived with a 
 force of men. Construction was about to begin, and 
 Whateley, informed every day as to progress, had 
 dictated his congratulations, " Very good." 
 
 The Poet had written to Rose, a humorous letter, but 
 in among the lines his spirit stole; for humor, heritage 
 of the poet and the prophet, is truth softened with the 
 glow of romance. . . . Then there were days of 
 anxious waiting, but not many, for one morning there 
 came a large square packet that seemed to laugh 
 loud his name, and out of the town he walked with it 
 unopened, wondering whether the villagers whom he met 
 did not know that he had it. 
 
 Out across a vacant place he walked, where a tethered 
 calf left off his browsing on dewy grass to look at him 
 with guying up-turn of lip, down a briary lane beneath 
 swift-growing saplings in tender leaf; down over low 
 sward to a rivulet, overturing upon shining gravel the 
 opera sung by nesting birds. 
 
 Here beneath an elm he sat down to read: " Dear 
 Pal." How else could she begin? " Did you expect 
 her to throw herself into your arms, you fool? " 
 he mused. But after all how frank she was, and 
 humorous too, with friendly truth. Friendly, yes. But- 
 read it : How long he had been in writing, and she was 
 tempted to shame him for his silence, but wouldn 't. She 
 
 422
 
 THE WRETCH DIDN'T KNOW IT 423 
 
 understood. " It was because you fancy yourself under 
 an obligation to me and didn't want me to think that 
 it was on this account that you wrote, as one who 
 acknowledges a debt after having been forbidden to 
 mention it. I admit that I don't make this very clear. 
 Why do you say that I am the most wonderful woman in 
 the world? Don't you know that I shall be tempted, 
 after such extravagance, to look with suspicion on every 
 thing you say? I know that I am not a remarkable 
 woman. If I were, and with my opportunities, I should 
 achieve something. As it is, I say to myself, ' What can 
 I do? ' Genius you called me a genius, don't forget 
 that genius never asks itself such questions. Genius 
 finds itself forced to do things. Genius is not a self- 
 enforced industry; it is more often a dreamy laziness 
 compelled. I don't know what it is, but I know that I 
 am not it. I don 't like to be called a genius. You seem 
 to think it the greatest of all praise, and it may be to 
 a man but not to a woman. But when you call me 
 wonderful shall I confess that I like it? Yes. How 
 we love " scratched out "like to be glamoured 
 over with error. Dr. Henshaw Oh, I must tell you 
 of an outing. 
 
 " Little Calvin had to go fishing out at Fox River. 
 Pete had gone there once, so father decided or rather 
 had to decide to take Calvin. No, Calvin didn't want 
 Pete to go; he had not gone with Pete. But he would 
 not hear to going in the auto. Anybody could go that 
 way. Pete had gone on an excursion train, and so must 
 he, and we had to convince him that the train we were to 
 take was an excursion. That was settled. Now came 
 the question of lunch, not luncheon. Pete said that 
 luncheon meant cake and jelly and was fit only for 
 girls. The right lunch consisted of dried beef, wieners
 
 424 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 
 
 and kraut, the wieners and kraut to be cooked near the 
 river bank in a tin can, oyster or tomato, the latter some 
 what preferred. Father rebelled against the kraut, and, 
 oh, how determinedly ! He declared that it would drive 
 all other excursionists off the train. Then Calvin: 
 ' Pete 's kraut didn 't. If I can 't have the kraut I won ? t 
 go.' Then Father: ' Paul, get the kraut/ 
 
 " Arrived at the station, Paul with the basket, tin 
 cans rattling, there was another hitch. Pete had traveled 
 forward in the smoking car. Father: ' I positively 
 forbid you to ride in the smoker. Turn about, Paul, and 
 we '11 go home. ' Calvin : ' All right. If I can 't go like 
 Pete I don 't want to go. You said I might. Aunt Rose, 
 gran 'pa won 't keep his word. He 's a ditcher. ' Father : 
 ' Go into the smoker, Paul.' And I had to go too, but 
 the windows were up and I didn 't mind it. 
 
 " Out in the country the air was one great slow wave 
 of perfume, with little thrilling scents for spray ; and I 
 wished that you might have been with us, for I know 
 you would have enjoyed it. Calvin spoke of you, time 
 and again, and he had insisted on wearing the wolfskin 
 coat, in defiance of the warm weather, until reminded 
 that Pete had worn no wolf's hide, and this point he 
 surrendered. . . . What a delight it was to gather 
 up brushwood to make a fire down near the river's edge 
 where the ripples whispered their music among the 
 rushes. And the lunch! Father ate like a boy and I 
 like a heathen ; and how happy we all were ' ' Hang 
 it, why should she be happy! Couldn't she have said 
 that under the circumstances they did fairly well? 
 Happy ! But read on : 
 
 ' ' And then Calvin caught a sunfish ! I wish you could 
 have seen him. He buttoned it up ugh ! fluttering 
 in his pocket, wore it home and would have slept with
 
 THE WRETCH DIDN'T KNOW IT 425 
 
 it that night had not warm weather asserted its argu 
 ment. After lunch Paul and father dozed beneath the 
 trees. Calvin spied a gopher, chased him to his 
 hole in the ground, and I had to sit there with him and 
 watch. ' Jiggers, he 's coming ! ' he would cry whenever 
 I'd move. . . . Yes, we wished that you had been 
 there. 
 
 " And now I have something to tell that may interest 
 you, but you must not ask me any whys or wherefores. 
 Two days after you left, Annie Zondish came to see me 
 and since then comes often, known to old Paul, the only 
 one who sees her, as Miss Evans. We are carrying out 
 a dark and desperate scheme, that of going among the 
 wretched, not with advice but with food and clothes. 
 Not in a hundred years could you guess whom we have 
 taken into our confidence and who goes with us. Guess ! 
 You can't. Dr. Henshaw. There, I told you so. And 
 you would be amused to observe how human he is getting 
 to be actually human. At first he protested, declared 
 that his work lay among the intellectual, but I told him 
 that if Peter 's and Paul 's work had lain in that field the 
 seeds of the gospel never could have sprouted. 
 
 " At first he thought to inquire into the religious 
 belief of those starving dwellers in hovels, urging old 
 men who could hardly understand a word he uttered to 
 beware of the dark error of popery. We found an intel 
 ligent old man, an American, ' down and out,' not on 
 account of any fault of his own, but because he was old. 
 We set him up at an advantageous corner, in the news 
 business, adding cigars and tobacco. The doctor objec 
 ted. He said that the Lord would not prosper a man 
 who sold tobacco. ' Well, He may not but something 
 does, ' said Annie, and she reminded him of the wealth of 
 the tobacco trust. So, generally he has given in, and has
 
 426 THE NEW ME. HOWERSON 
 
 become quite companionable as well as useful. It is sur 
 prising how much Annie knows. She is acquainted with 
 every phase of misfortune, and is wonderfully patient. 
 She rarely speaks of herself, but she acknowledged 
 yesterday that while it was not possible for her to be 
 happy, yet she was more contented now in her work 
 than she had ever been before. I have not asked her 
 any questions concerning herself, or as to why she and 
 the others went to your room that night. Isn't that 
 wonderful patience on my part? Several times she has 
 spoken of you. She says you have a great soul. And 
 what did I say? I won't tell you. . . . " 
 
 Almost a love letter and the wretch didn't know 
 it. ... Up the rivulet he went, sat down and read 
 again, seeming to fancy that a change of scene might 
 bring out new meanings. He walked about till the court 
 house bell hammered out the hour of noon, then went 
 back to the hotel and entered the dining room just as 
 Col. Watkins was in the gracious act of smoothing out 
 his napkin over his knees. 
 
 During the afternoon Howerson had no chance to read 
 his letter again, but in the evening while in his room 
 he sat with it, and was musing over it when he heard 
 the town 's most important man, in the corridor, assuring 
 the big blonde from Sweden that unless his acute recol 
 lection played him a scaly trick she was the handsomest 
 thing that ever jollied his eyes. The letter was too 
 sacred to be discussed with even an old friend, and the 
 Poet hid it away in his coat pocket where his heart could 
 beat against it. 
 
 " Yal, after I've returned to Chicago, if by any 
 peculiar chance you should lose your job, promise that 
 without losing confidence in yourself, you will come 
 straightway to me. Will you? "
 
 THE WRETCH DIDN'T KNOW IT 427 
 
 Latterly when Howerson called him Yal, the colonel 
 was suspicious of something serious. " I promise ye, 
 soothsayer of the muses, but why this sudden reduction 
 to the ranks? Why do you pluck off my colonel's star? 
 Have I failed to draw sword in the presence of the 
 enemy? Do I leap behind a tree when ordered to lead 
 the charge? ' Impart,' said the Dane." 
 
 " Colonel, I beg your pardon. Your star is as secure 
 and as fixed as if gleaming in the Milky Way. Mis 
 fortune can not pull you down to the ranks from which 
 you have so valiantly risen. But your field of campaign 
 might be shifted." 
 
 " You mean, George, that Whateley might fire me? " 
 
 " I mean that if by any freak on his part he should, 
 you must come in all haste to me." 
 
 " But didn't he tell you I was an invaluable man? " 
 
 " He did. But suppose I should fall and bring you 
 down with me." 
 
 " You would find me dusting myself, thankful for 
 past favors. But I'd continue to remain here, George. 
 It's pretty hard for some men to move their titles to a 
 new community, and I 'm afraid I am one of them. With 
 very little cash I have managed to get in on a few things 
 in this town. The wisdom tooth may be a good thing, 
 but about the best thing a fellow can do is to cut an 
 age-tooth. Then he'll have something to chew with. 
 Liquor prevents the cutting of this tooth, but it pops 
 through the gums like the coming up of a toadstool, in 
 a night, when we know that we have given to booze its 
 final pass-up. ' ' 
 
 " Good, Colonel, I hold your stirrup. ... If 
 there should be a shake-up, I'll come out to see you." 
 
 " Yea, and on my wall you'll find an emblem, the 
 pen and the sword crossed. I am free again, George, to
 
 428 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 shove out my bark upon the hitherto choppy frith of 
 matrimony. I may not, but of late a certain widow has 
 come into my wide-awake dream. She has a bit of land 
 shouldering up pretty well against the town, with a fair 
 house and a garden where I have seen cabbages growing 
 in the promise of rare development. I saw her first in 
 this manless Eden of vegetables, searching with gloved 
 hands for cutworms hidden among the clods. I halted 
 and offered her the benefit of my experience. This 
 appealed to her. Doubtless no man had ever before 
 that day engaged her on a subject so stripped of life's 
 insipid vanities. From cutworms we turned, as acquaint 
 ance ripened, to the small bug that makes a cabbage leaf 
 look like a lace handkerchief. I could see she was 
 thrilled, and my own emotions arose. "We passed lightly 
 over grasshoppers and in due time came to the cricket, 
 the insect of sentiment, harming no cabbage but filled 
 with heaven 's dew, singing, for poets and novelists who 
 know all things except nature. But am I giving you 
 too much at one sitting? " 
 
 " My dear Colonel, no sitting is too long for love," 
 the Poet laughed, glad that travesty could offer relief 
 from brooding, from wondering if the letter against 
 which his heart was beating could mean love. 
 
 " You are an honor to your muse, my dear Poet. . J 
 From the cricket we strolled by natural sequence to 
 domestic joys, to firesides; and she invited me into her 
 house, where boughs still in fresh bloom were heaped up 
 in the fireplace. Since then I have happened along at 
 times, and the fact that she always seems to look upon 
 my coming as an event er " 
 
 " Falling in the nick of convenience," the Poet sug 
 gested. " When we chance upon a woman and don't 
 put her out in any way, we are welcome indeed."
 
 THE WRETCH DIDN'T KNOW IT 429 
 
 ' ' Ha, ' ' cried the colonel, ' ' your head, though young 
 to behold, yet is saged with the wisdom of many winters. 
 .... No matter when I called, I was there at the 
 right time. And her accomplishments would astonish 
 you. Her butter takes the premium at the county fair, 
 and her plum preserves let me tell you about 'em: 
 They made the ancient professor of a school for young 
 ladies forget his dignity and stalk off down the road 
 smacking his mouth with a pop like a mule driver's 
 whip. Of course it is natural that with all these virtues 
 there should be at least one drawback, and there is one. 
 She has a daughter whose occupation it is to hang over 
 the front gate." 
 
 " But the gate can be removed," said the Poet. 
 
 ' ' George, you have wiped out the only obstacle. But 
 understand that I don't intend to call on this kind soul 
 for help in the way of marriage unless compelled by 
 er sentiment or misfortune. And if you should lose 
 that girl but you can't. It's impossible. You are 
 going to marry her. The cards are dealt. The old man 
 may fume, but she will walk away with you. Why 
 should fate construct the play if it were not intended 
 you should marry her 1 I tell you it 's a cinch. ' ' 
 
 In the colonel's positivism there was encouragement. 
 He knew old lank-jawed Madam Fate, pale in black robe 
 and decrepit to look upon, but in action swift and pow 
 erful, a murderess of weak children, a flatterer of strong 
 men, a genial joker when she chooses to be with her 
 bony fingers writing undying verse, drama, signing mar 
 riage contracts, penning sermons, scoring music a 
 nymph, a slut. Old Yal had carried water for her, and 
 many a time had she kicked him down the stairs into the 
 filthy cellar and shrieked in wild laughter as his head 
 knocked upon the stones. But now she had punished
 
 430 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 him till she was tired, and in her weariness she mumbled 
 to him her secrets. 
 
 The Poet slept better for having talked with Yal, and 
 in the early night when day has died its always melan 
 choly death, and when in hope most men are weakest, 
 he now was strongest, listening to the dogmatism of his 
 friend, inspired jargon, slang of the kindly gods: " It's 
 a cinch." But sometimes his heart smote him with its 
 old questioning. A week passed and he had not written- 
 again to Rose. He was afraid of his pen. 
 
 One evening he sat in dark reverie, wondering in 
 reproach why Yal had not come, when there came Father 
 Ben, his broad good-natured face like a full moon rising 
 up red through the brush. 
 
 " I have come to tell you," he said as he sat down, 
 " that to-day I visited the Spring Valley neighborhood 
 and that there will be no further opposition in that 
 quarter. ' ' 
 
 " I am most grateful, Father. Is there any possible 
 way I can serve you ? ' ' 
 
 " No way, my son, except to remember me when you 
 are gone away and sometimes to send me a book, some 
 little thing forgotten of the world." 
 
 " I thank you, Father. You add a new pleasure to 
 old book stalls. "Whenever I come across anything I 
 think you'd like, I'll send it." 
 
 " Ah, yes, if you please. ... At different times 
 I have heard you and the colonel hint at some sort of 
 drama, glanced at by both of you. Send me a copy if 
 you can get it handily." 
 
 " Oh, we were talking about our own lives, written 
 by Fate. It is one of our grim jokes." 
 
 " Grim it may be, my son, but not a joke. It all has 
 a purpose, and not as a joke to be laughed at in the
 
 THE WRETCH DIDN'T KNOW IT 431 
 
 end. We may strive, scoff, but we cannot make a jest of 
 our own unhappiness. Great history has her broad high 
 way laid out, and down it she must march; but not the 
 little histories, the narrow, personal path we must choose 
 for ourselves. So it is well that we follow good counsel 
 and choose wisely." 
 
 "Ah," said the Poet, " I often think along that line. 
 But we choose and don't know that we have chosen 
 wisely. We grope in continual experiment." 
 
 " If we choose without the right counsel, yes; if we 
 listen only to the voices of earth. When you travel your 
 path as far as I have traveled mine, you then can know 
 the little value in the most of the things you have been 
 taught. There is but one great knowledge God. And 
 that knowledge you seem to ignore when you talk of your 
 drama written by Fate. Let not your play be written 
 by so whimsical a pen. ' ' 
 
 " Ha, but I can't help myself. I am not in a position 
 to dictate, to refuse or to accept. What I would most 
 abhor might be thrust upon me. If the world has her 
 broad highway laid out and which she is compelled to 
 take, man, being a part of the world, to himself the 
 whole world in fact, is shoved into his path and sent 
 stumbling onward, up hill or down as the way may lead. 
 We" 
 
 He was glad that Yal came in to break into his fruit 
 less talk, and Father Ben appeared rather pleased, for 
 nearer akin to his humor was simple human nature, 
 rarely giving his speaking self to subjects which no 
 metaphysic wrestler can gather on his hip and land 
 squarely on the ground. 
 
 Colonel Watkins wore a rose, pinned on his coat by 
 fingers gently deft when not grabbling for cutworms 
 among the clods, and his newly-trimmed beard gleamed
 
 432 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 sharp-pointed in the light. He laughed at their sober 
 faces with a jollity that floated out to cheer the night 
 air. Ha, no metaphysics now, sighing lover and learned 
 priest. 
 
 And when the night was old, and the two friends were 
 alone, the Poet's hungry heart cried out for food. " Yal, 
 tell me, old man, if you really think that she ' ' 
 
 " Oh, it's a cinch, George. You can't get away from 
 it." 
 
 "You really feel it? " 
 
 11 I would bet my immortal crown," the colonel swore, 
 which might not have seemed a rash wager, but it was 
 mellow bell music to the Poet, and soothed him with its 
 chimes.
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 TOO WEAK NOW 
 
 On the following evening, when Howerson had walked 
 forth to muse alone, pacing a restless beat through the 
 early dusk, he was startled by a light touch on his 
 shoulder. Involuntarily he squared himself as he wheeled 
 about to confront Yal. 
 
 " You might as well kill a man as scare him to death. 
 "Why this stealthy footpad tread and fearsome touch? " 
 
 " An experiment, George." 
 
 " More than that! He tempts fate who creeps up 
 stealthily behind ' ' 
 
 " An experiment, George. Why start so? Why 
 mouth your fear ? There is something you dread and 
 expect." 
 
 " Nay, Colonel, the bolt has shot. This was but the 
 recoil. ' ' 
 
 " So you might have said on many occasions. What 
 do you fear? " 
 
 " I fear no man." 
 
 " Nor woman, I suppose. Out with it, George." 
 
 "Now, Yal" 
 
 " I know there is something you still dread; you show 
 it every day. And when I find those who show an undue 
 interest in your whereabouts ' ' 
 
 " Ah! " 
 
 " I wonder if the two parts link together to make a 
 chain of truth. There was Annie Zondish, and now 
 Hudsic." 
 
 433
 
 434 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 ' ' Hudsic ! ' ' For the life of him, Howerson could not 
 forbear the cry. 
 
 " He is here. The town marshal has done me the 
 favor of putting a man to watch him. You don't fear 
 him, George? " There was wonder as well as inquiry 
 in his tone. 
 
 " Why, Yal? " 
 
 " He's a goner, George. He looks bad. He looks like 
 a man in the last stages of " 
 
 " Of desperate resolve. I must find him. Do you 
 know where ? ' ' 
 
 " The Preston House. The hang-out of palmists, 
 clairvoyants, book agents ' ' 
 
 ' ' Let us go there. ' ' 
 
 Howerson went with him to a desolate shack, to find 
 the marshal standing within the shadows of a tumble 
 down shed next the alleyway. 
 
 " He's a sick man, Colonel Watkins," he said to Yal. 
 ' ' How-do, Mr. Howerson. Friend of yours Hudsic ? ' ' 
 
 " Yes, I want to see him." 
 
 Up a creaky stairway, down a drafty hall, they came 
 to a warped, blistered door, agape on one hinge. With 
 out ceremony the marshal pushed it open. There on a 
 cot lay Hudsic, now past fearing indeed. Toward the 
 poet he turned his rusting eyes and in a weak voice bade 
 him sit down, eyeing Howerson in silence until Watkins 
 and the marshal had stepped out, and then the professor 
 said: 
 
 ' ' I am too weak to kill you now, Mr. Howerson. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Yes, Hudsic, and you always were. ' ' 
 
 " Ha, perhaps. But I shall be stronger," and with his 
 bony hands he fingered at the blanket on his breast. ' ' I 
 shall be stronger, as strong as Moy, the Chinaman." 
 
 " He was the only one among you that had nerve."
 
 TOO WEAK NOW 435 
 
 The professor fingered at the blanket, plucked a ravel 
 ing from it. "A sublime character, Mr. Howerson." 
 He rolled the raveling into a woolly pill and dropped it 
 on his breast. 
 
 " Batterson, Henk where are they? " 
 
 " Batterson and I went to Milwaukee, where, as a 
 street preacher he gathered five dollars at one emotional 
 meeting ; a fortune in our hungered condition, Mr. How 
 erson. But to Batterson money meant gin enough to 
 kill him. A three days' drunk put him in prime con 
 dition ; then he tried to sober up. The next day he was 
 dead. The other members of the executive committee 
 were headed for California when I last heard from them. 
 But this information possesses no interest for you, Mr. 
 Howerson. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Not much, Professor. But no matter in what direc 
 tion they are headed, they will meet justice." 
 
 " A fallacy, Mr. Howerson, if you mean punishment, 
 and that is the only justice that the law knows anything 
 about. But I am taking your time, Mr. Howerson. ' ' 
 
 The poet turned toward the door, but halted and said : 
 " Professor, I will see to it that you are made as com 
 fortable as possible, and that your wants are supplied." 
 
 The marshal was walking up and down, to keep guard 
 over his suspicious character. " I want you to see that 
 this man is well taken care of," said Howerson. u Get 
 a pleasant room for him, employ a nurse, and if I am not 
 here, present the bill to Colonel Watkins who will send 
 it to me." 
 
 At the hotel Howerson found waiting a letter from 
 Whateley, penciled on the soft leaf of a pad, bold in 
 the old man's grasping hand. " As your work there is 
 done, stop off on your way back and look into the 
 resources of a struggling electric line at Grapley, 111."
 
 436 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 He did not say, " Come in to dinner"; did not say, 
 " We shall be delighted to see you." Howerson, with a 
 low and melancholy droop of eye, handed the scrawling 
 mandate to Watkins. The colonel gave it as his opinion 
 that Whateley's meaning was clear enough, Howerson 
 answering that in its clearness lay the cause of present 
 worry. 
 
 Nothing remained but to pack up and this Howerson 
 proceeded to do, compressing into his suit case more 
 sighs than " materialistic accouterment, " the observant 
 and sympathetic Watkins declared. When the final sigh 
 had been thinned out on top of the cargo, along with 
 some leaves of Missouri tobacco, the lid forced down and 
 the lock sprung, the traction promoter of the grassy 
 slope was ready to appraise thinned-out electricity in 
 Illinois. 
 
 In the evening the two friends went to the railway 
 station, and in the early moon, " silvering the distant 
 hem of night," they walked up and down the platform 
 waiting for a train which the agent said was on time, 
 lying with placid ease. 
 
 ' ' In order that I might give you a final report, ' ' said 
 the colonel, " I slipped over to the widow's this after 
 noon. ' ' 
 
 " She's well, I hope." 
 
 " Yes, middling. But in the dewy flash of morn, as 
 nearly as she could calculate by signs, a ravenous worm 
 had raised I suggested hell, but she reproved me 
 with her tomato plants. Aside from this she was rather 
 chipper. Upon the whole, however, the time may not 
 have been well sorted." 
 
 " Well sorted for what? " 
 
 " Toward that point I drift. There is always one
 
 TOO WEAK NOW 437 
 
 more atrocity for the reformed rapscallion to commit, 
 marriage for convenience. Savvy? And sitting in the 
 cool parlor, the scent of the bloomed boughs in the fire 
 place dying away in a faint and melancholy sniff, I said 
 to myself, ' Colonel, this is love's nesting time.' 
 
 " She seemed to think so too, for her lip quivered as 
 she cleared her throat of a rising lump of trouble, the 
 still green memory of the tomato worm. ' Mrs. Goebek, ' 
 says I, recalling her poetic name and without much 
 effort, ' this is a beautiful world.' ' Tolerable,' she 
 answers, gazing out at her daughter Iphigenia, hanging 
 over the gate. ' Mrs. Goebek, it is woman that makes 
 the world so charming.' ' Oh, git out with your soft 
 soap,' she says. ' Mrs. Goebek, I speak from a heart 
 struggling with its emotional self. Don't be shocked. 
 Be my wife.' 
 
 " Slowly withdrawing her eyes from Iphigenia, she 
 bent them on me, broke 'em, in fact, for they flew into 
 fragments of astonishment. * Why, Colonel,' she says, 
 ' how you skeer me. But I can't marry you, for I am 
 going to marry the mayor. He asked me first, even went 
 so far as to pay my taxes. Why didn't you ask me 
 sooner? ' ' Madam,' says I, her name no longer poetic, 
 ' I asked you as soon as I could catch my breath after 
 our first meeting. Not knowing your address not 
 being aware of your existence, in fact I couldn 't tele 
 graph my intentions before I arrived here.' And so I 
 left her to work out her own bugological destiny. ' ' 
 
 " Everything considered, you acted wisely," said the 
 meditative Poet. 
 
 Watkins said that he had been led to think so, although 
 the edge of disappointment had been honed sharper on 
 the fact of a more recent discovery, the truth coming
 
 438 THE NEW MR. HOWEESON 
 
 from the mayor himself that his suit had been granted 
 by telephone only a few minutes before the colonel 
 sought to file his claim. ' ' Ah, ' ' said the most important 
 man in town, feeling that by an inferior he had been out 
 witted, " there opens up no avenue of reprisal. But, 
 George, I'm hamstrung if I ever read another book writ 
 ten for women. I will no further pay tribute to the 
 scribbler who makes a study of feminine whim and who 
 smirks his dribblings among women who flutter about 
 him to ooze their appreciation of his ' art.' After this, 
 man-books for the colonel." 
 
 " A desperate revenge," said the Poet. " But for my 
 own throes of nympholepsy I might applaud. I might 
 say that in literary art woman is a fashion, man eternal ; 
 but to me now, Colonel, all art, music, science God 
 mean only a woman. And, wise old yellow Yal, do you 
 really believe ' ' 
 
 " It 's a cinch, ' ' the wise one swore. 
 
 Just as the train was pulling in, the town marshal 
 came up : " Mr. Howerson, that old man Hudsic is dead. ' ' 
 
 In his Pullman bunk, a curtained smother, the traveler 
 lay, nor needed he the cry of a child, the fat man 's snore 
 to keep him awake. From clacking ribs of steel Yal's 
 words rang out, "It's a cinch a cinch, cinch," and 
 he mused over the millions of distresses and of joys 
 rhythmed by the wheels, year after year, minute after 
 minute as man has rushed and is always rushing with 
 impatience toward his end. Yielding to the insistent 
 balm of the colonel's dogmatic foresight, he pictured 
 himself in ecstasy, his hands full of the gnarled gold 
 that wreathed Rose Whateley's head, her heart beating 
 against his own, so tired with long aching. " A cinch 
 cinch ! ' ' He would trust old Yal. An exaggerator, an
 
 TOO WEAK NOW 439 
 
 eccentric? Yes, but truth was always borne lapon the 
 tide of his whimsey rill. And in this midget comfort 
 the Poet dozed, to awake with the feeling that he was 
 racing to the disastrous end of his " sentimental 
 journey."
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 STOOD WITH HER HEAD ERECT 
 
 In the Whateley library the evening lights were ablaze, 
 and deep in thought the old man sat alone, one arm rest 
 ing on a table where lay his few favorites, old books in 
 big print, old friends of simple countenance. No busi 
 ness worry had dogged him home, and now he could sit 
 in the ripest of all luxury, the indulgence of impersonal 
 thought. But not for long. Old Paul slippered softly 
 in to say, " Dr. Henshaw is very anxious to see you for 
 a few moments, sir." 
 
 " Tell him to come in." 
 
 The doctor entered, smiling with a light not too glar 
 ing but chastely regulated, and held forth his hand. ' ' I 
 trust, my dear Mr. "Whateley, that in coming to offer 
 my poor congratulations I do not at this hour intrude. ' ' 
 
 " Not at all. Sit down." When the doctor had seated 
 himself, Whateley added: " But congratulations 
 what about? " 
 
 The Doctor said that he was astonished at such an 
 inquiry. What about, when it was known that Mr. 
 Whateley had become possessed of the richest railway in 
 the West? Whateley told him not to worry, and then 
 asked humorously, " Well, how do you find yourself? " 
 
 " Meaning as to health, I presume. In the bestowal 
 of the crown of all blessings, health, the Lord is good to 
 me." But not yet reassured as to the railway, the 
 doctor suffered his smile to burn low. Whateley seemed 
 to perceive foreign or domestic levy, and ahemed depre- 
 
 440
 
 STOOD WITH HER HEAD EEECT 441 
 
 catingly of the success of Howerson's trip. The doctor 
 pressed the tips of his fingers together, after the manner 
 of men who have not the employment of tobacco. 
 
 " I had hoped," he began. 
 
 " By the way, Doctor," Whateley interrupted, for- 
 seeing the touch, " there is something I have wanted for 
 several days to speak to you about. Annie Zondish 
 dropped out of the newspapers a month or so ago, and 
 then, of all places, bobs up in my house. Not only this, 
 but my daughter goes about with her, on mysterious 
 journeys of mercy an excellent thing and accom 
 panied by one other, yourself." 
 
 The doctor began to fidget about in his chair. 
 
 " No reproof, I assure you," Whateley went on. 
 " But I should like to know how it all came about. I 
 have asked my daughter, and she declares that she is 
 not as yet at liberty to tell me. I didn't know but that 
 you might be able to ha shed some light." 
 
 " Not a ray, my dear Mr. Whateley. I was admitted 
 into your daughter's confidence, and requested to accom 
 pany her and Miss Zondish. But as to the cause that led 
 the woman to your house I am in ignorance. Let me 
 say, however, that I have seen her prove herself a kindly 
 and most worthy person. And I am free to admit that 
 my association with her has greatly opened my eyes. 
 My journeys of late into places which I have in the 
 past preached about but of which I was in total 
 ignorance, have been of great heart and soul value to me ; 
 I may be neglecting my books, but I have found greater 
 books in the library of human action, human distress. 
 Mr. Whateley, it was not merely to congratulate you that 
 I call here this evening, but for a higher and nobler 
 purpose. My life is not all composed of narrow creed ; 
 I always possessed a heart, preoccupied in study, it is
 
 442 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 true, but of late it has been quickened; and I am here 
 to talk to you on business, Mr. Whateley." 
 
 " Good enough, Doctor. And what you say reminds 
 me that your sermons have strengthened within the past 
 few weeks. Keep on talking blue shirt instead of blue 
 stocking and you'll have a house full every Sunday. I 
 know that men in my position are charged with enmity 
 toward the laboring classes, and in some instances this 
 is true, but as for myself, I rate a man according to his 
 brain. The poor man is not my adversary. I am fight 
 ing my battle with the rich, and the colors to be cap 
 tured money. But I have led myself off. You say 
 you wish to talk business. Foreign or domestic ? ' ' 
 
 " Domestic. Mr. Whateley, in a neighborhood which 
 I have visited lately there is a vast deal of what I might 
 term er vicious ignorance. The people ' ' 
 
 ' ' You want me to build them a church. Is that it ? ' ' 
 
 " Oh, no, no. They have churches." 
 
 ' ' And live in vicious ignorance ! But perhaps they 
 won't go to church. . . . What is it you want me to 
 do? Drive them in? " 
 
 " My dear Mr. Whateley, you persist in anticipating 
 me the wrong way. Bear with me, please, for a brief 
 time. The older ones of this neighborhood are practic 
 ally beyond our reach ; and what Miss Zondish and your 
 daughter suggest, and which I most heartily approve, is 
 to build a large manual training school ; indeed, the Cal 
 vin Whateley Institute. Do you follow me ? " 
 
 Old Calvin leaned back in his chair and scratched his 
 head. " Yes, I follow, and most willingly, down to 
 where the road forks." 
 
 " May I ask, Mr. Whateley, where the road forks? " 
 
 " At my name. If I should endow this school and 
 give it my name, my motives would be misconstrued.
 
 STOOD WITH HER HEAD ERECT 443 
 
 The public would look on it as an advertisement, or as 
 a pretentious prayer, imploring the Lord to forgive as 
 many of my sins as He could consistently. The school, 
 however, shall be built by unidentified money, and splen 
 didly equipped. But we'll have to settle on some other 
 name. What is it, Paul? " The butler had entered. 
 
 " Why, sir, the woman I knew as Miss Evans but 
 who now says her name's Zondish is out here, sir. She 
 says you wished to see her." 
 
 ' ' Yes, ' ' said Whateley ; ' ' yes, to be sure. Show her 
 in." 
 
 When Annie Zondish entered the room the two men 
 rose, the doctor performing the office of introduction ; 
 and it was an office, a speech, in fact, delivered in unct 
 uous grandiloquence, settling for all time the differences 
 of opinion held by capital and labor. 
 
 " Miss Zondish," said Whateley, " I can say truth 
 fully that I wanted to meet you. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Your daughter said you wished to see me, and 1 am 
 here." 
 
 She stood with her hands clasped in front of her, head 
 erect; but in her eyes there was not the fire that Rose 
 had seen blaze and then die down to softened glow 
 not the blaze now but still the glow. She was dressed 
 with exceeding modesty, but not in the studied misfit 
 of repentance; and in old Calvin's eye there was a 
 look of compliment. " Won't you please sit down? "'he 
 said. 
 
 " No, I thank you. You wished to see me? " 
 
 " For no special reason, Miss Zondish. Only to tell 
 you that I am much pleased to hear of the work you are 
 doing." 
 
 " And not to reproach me." 
 
 The old man laughed but more in tenderness than in
 
 444 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 mirth. " I reproach you! I could not find it in my 
 heart to do that." 
 
 " But they told me your heart was hard." 
 
 He did not laugh now. " Miss Zondish, report will 
 always exaggerate the bad and the good. No man ha 
 lives in true estimation. "Won't you please sit 
 down? " 
 
 Slowly she shook her head. Her old life, old ideas and 
 principles still made faint protest against banishment. 
 The two men remained standing. "Whateley continued 
 the subject, smiling: " I am not a saint, Miss Zondish. 
 If I were, I 'd not be in business. Men strike at me, and 
 warding off their blows the best I can, I strike at them. 
 Sometimes in my heat I may hit the wrong man, and it 
 is the wrong blow that is always advertised. Down in 
 North Carolina, when I was a boy, there lived an old 
 fellow named Jackson. For the most part he spent his 
 life doing good. When the widow's cow was about to be 
 sold by the law, he was always there to buy the cow and 
 give it back to her. But one day, in the village, celebrat 
 ing the home-coming of an old friend, he took too much 
 liquor, fell off his horse and was crippled; and ever 
 after that he was known as Old Drunken Jackson. . * 
 Miss Zondish, I hope you won't mind my asking you a 
 few questions." 
 
 " Not at all, Mr. Whateley." 
 
 ' ' Ah ! Miss Zondish, not long ago you were the avowed 
 advocate of the knife and the fire-brand. Then, all was 
 violence. Now, among the lowly you are an agent of 
 gentleness and mercy. Let me ask you what brought 
 about this sudden change. How did you happen to meet 
 my daughter? " 
 
 Until this moment Annie had stood motionless, hands 
 clasped in front of her ; now she turned, looked about as
 
 STOOD WITH HER HEAD ERECT 445 
 
 if searching for something on the floor, on the walls. 
 But before she answered she stood motionless again, 
 hands together. " I found the weak too weak and the 
 strong too strong," she said. " I found that I was one 
 of the weakest of the weak, because I had wasted my 
 force in emotional violence. I have not surrendered; I 
 have entered upon a compromise. The world is not 
 ready for brotherhood. . . . Have you not asked 
 your daughter how she chanced to meet me ? ' ' 
 
 " Yes, but she won't tell me." 
 
 " Then why should you think that I am at liberty 
 to tell ? Do you think so mean of me as to suppose that 
 I would betray her confidence? " 
 
 " Doctor," said Whateley, " as little Calvin would 
 say, she has put it on me. No, Miss Zondish, I didn't 
 think that ill of you. In fact I think highly of you. I 
 believe you are doing as much good as anybody in this 
 town. And the real honor of it is that there's no cant 
 about your work. You are not decorating poverty with 
 the trinkets of pretentious salvation. Wait a moment, 
 Doctor." The good man was clearing his throat. " I 
 am not going to say a word against the home work of 
 your church. But Miss Zondish labors in the name of 
 man, and when man finds man, man will find God. Don 't 
 worry about that, Doctor." 
 
 ' ' My dear Mr. Whateley, ' ' the doctor protested, ' ' you 
 fire your rifle before the quail is flushed. You ' ' 
 
 ' ' Rifle ! Doctor, right there is one of the troubles of 
 your class. You employ false illustrations and lose 
 influence among men of the world. Rifle for flushed 
 quails ! Do you think that the Apostle Peter would have 
 angled for minnows with a clothesline? " 
 
 ' My dear Mr. Whateley, we are told that Peter 
 employed a net."
 
 446 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " All right, Doctor; good enough. . . . Then, Miss 
 Zondish, I suppose I shall have to wait for time and my 
 daughter 's whim to unfold the mystery. ' ' 
 
 " Perhaps it may be made clear after Mr. Howerson 
 has returned, ' ' she said. 
 
 " Oh, you know Mr. Howerson? Then you know a 
 most remarkable man." 
 
 " He is a genius, and an enemy might not wish him 
 worse. He has a great heart for the world to crush. 
 Are you through with me, Mr. Whateley? " 
 
 She turned to take her leave. " Don't go yet, Miss 
 Zondish. My daughter will be home pretty soon, I think, 
 and no doubt she has plans she would like to talk over 
 with you." 
 
 " I should like to ask you," said the doctor, " why 
 the world should seek to crush the heart of genius. The 
 world rewards genius, with its wreath and often with its 
 happiness. Was it not a reward for Luther to know that 
 he had accomplished a great reformation? Must not 
 John Calvin have felt that he had revealed a great 
 system of truth ? ' ' 
 
 Miss Zondish stiffened, and bent upon the preacher a 
 look almost of contempt. " It is hard for your church 
 to recognize genius except within the white-washed 
 palings of its own parsonage. But these men, measured 
 by their own ambition, were both of them failures. The 
 great Reformation is yet to come, the Christ of the mine, 
 the loom and the forge." 
 
 At this moment a commotion arose in the hall. They 
 heard little Calvin shout. . . . And Howerson 
 entered, bearing the boy in his arms.
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 WHERE THE ROAD FORKED 
 
 It was not within conjecture that on an occasion of 
 even so acute an excitement Dr. Henshaw could exhibit 
 himself as one possessed of active foot, dignity being the 
 censor of haste; but he was the first to reach Howerson 
 and to seize upon him, before the Poet had even the 
 chance to put the youngster down or indeed to respond 
 to Whateley's cordial hail. And with this exuberant 
 stir of atmosphere Annie Zondish came out of her stat 
 uesque reserve, to hang for a moment on Howerson's 
 arm, when more than once Whateley had clapped him on 
 the shoulder. Now she sat down. 
 
 Old Calvin laughed louder than any of them ever 
 heard him laugh before, but the boy was there to turn 
 off the hydrant of excessive spouting. On achievement 
 along commercial lines he set no store; his friend, the 
 strong man, had returned, and that meant more than 
 bannered triumph proclaiming the conquest of distant 
 empire. He sat on the Poet's knee. 
 
 " My papa had a Chinaman but they wouldn't let 
 me see him; and they're going to take him and hang 
 him; and to-day me and Pete tried to hang a cat, and 
 you ought to seen him. He done this way with his 
 hind feet. Look, grandpa." 
 
 The old man looked while the boy showed him. 
 
 " And Pete's shirt was nearly all tore off, and you 
 bet we didn 't hang that cat. He got up on the low shed 
 on the other side of the alley, and grinned at us. Then 
 
 447
 
 448 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 Pete's dog come and barked and howled because he 
 couldn 't get up there. But the milkman come along and 
 put him on the shed, and the cat spit at him and he 
 jumped off and pretended like he wanted to get back 
 on the shed; but he didn't want to, did he, Mr. 
 Howerson? " 
 
 " You bet he didn't," said the Poet. Dr. Henshaw, 
 feeling that this was not the proper wording for an 
 opinion delivered to a boy, came forward with euphemis 
 tic revision, setting forth that the dog, like over-zealous 
 men, sought to establish a reputation for courage which 
 it had been proved he did not in reality possess. 
 
 The boy looked at him and said, ' ' You bet he didn't ! " 
 and old Calvin laughed. 
 
 ' ' Tell Mr. Howerson what you did out at Fox River. ' ' 
 
 " Oh, yes; and I caught a fish and grandpa didn't; 
 and he pulled and pulled but I brought him out. Wasn 't 
 that fine, Mr. Howerson? " 
 
 ' ' That was great, ' ' said the Poet. 
 
 " An exciting event," Dr. Henshaw offered mildly as 
 a substitute. 
 
 " Great," the boy would have it, and then proceeded 
 to relate the gopher hunt. ' ' And Aunt Rose are you 
 cold, Mr. Howerson? " 
 
 Howerson caught a kindly glance from Annie's eyes, 
 a sympathetic smile from her lips, and then quickly he 
 cast a look on Whateley's countenance, and found relief 
 from the fear that the old man had wisely interpreted 
 the youngster's words. He was talking to the doctor; 
 but shortly afterward he bade the boy come to him and 
 whispered, lips almost touching the little fellow's hair: 
 " We have some business to talk over, and I want you 
 to go to the Cabin and wait there for me." 
 
 Drawing the old man's head down closer, with arms
 
 WHERE THE ROAD FORKED 449 
 
 about his neck so that no one else might hear, he whis 
 pered, " And will Mr. Howerson come, too? " 
 
 " Yes, after a while. There is an apple tree stump 
 in the fireplace. Tell Paul to set it afire, and it will 
 sparkle. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Just like when you was a boy ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' Yes ; and if you get sleepy, lie down on my bed, and 
 the bugles will wake you up when the cavalry comes. 
 Now run along." 
 
 He ran away, laughing ; and they heard him shouting 
 to the old butler, heard them both going up the stairs, 
 imitating the bugle's call. 
 
 Annie arose to take her leave. " Wait," said Whate- 
 ley. " We haven't yet taken Mr. Howerson into our 
 council about that manual training school." 
 
 Here the doctor came forward with plans which How 
 erson feared might run into specifications for the guid 
 ance of the architect. And when with the bulbs of his 
 fingers pressed together he had finished, nothing 
 remained for settlement except the name. It was unfort 
 unate that Mr. Whateley was determined to withhold 
 his own identity from so munificent an endowment. This 
 was concluded with an " ahem " so suggestive of argu 
 mentative resources shunted for the moment but to be 
 coupled up again upon call, that Whateley ought to 
 have yielded, but he did not. He looked at Howerson, 
 and without hesitation the Poet said that the name sug 
 gested itself, the " Annie Zondish Institute." 
 
 Whateley declared it an inspiration, and the doctor 
 nodded, smiling ; and yet shrewdness if inclined toward 
 mischief might have deducted a mild protest against a 
 feminine name for so masculine an establishment. 
 Indeed, why not the " Henshaw Institute "? But the 
 doctor said nothing. Like a politician forced by " love
 
 450 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 of country " to second the nomination of his rival, he 
 ate with a sickly smack his dish of patriotic crow. 
 
 For a moment Annie looked frightened. " Surely, 
 you don't mean that," she said to Howerson, to Whate- 
 ley, appealing from one to the other. 
 
 ' ' The school is named, ' ' said Howerson. 
 
 " Named," said Whateley. 
 
 " Yes, ah a hem ! ' ' from the doctor. 
 
 " I shall not try to conceal my pride in the name," 
 the woman was quick to acknowledge. " I know I do 
 not deserve such honor, but I shall make myself worthy 
 of it. Mr. Whateley, charity as we continue to practice 
 it, is more a crime than a virtue. I read in history that 
 the monasteries were the cause of poverty during the 
 Middle Ages, and if indiscriminate giving was bad then, 
 it is worse now. The proper education of the youth of 
 to-day will prevent the poverty of to-morrow. Doctor, 
 your book says cleanliness is next to godliness. Let the 
 future book say that industry, knowing how to do a 
 thing well, is godliness. Mr. Whateley " 
 
 Miss Gwin, Whateley 's stenographer, was shown into 
 the room. She looked about in fright as falteringly she 
 advanced, an indecisive chicken, " shooed " gently by 
 old Paul. Whateley spoke to her kindly, and Howerson 
 offered her his chair, but she seemed afraid to sit down. 
 
 Whateley spoke : ' ' Miss Gwin, you didn 't come to the 
 office to-day. ' ' 
 
 ' ' My mother wasn 't well enough for me to come, sir. ' ' 
 
 " And I expressed a wish to see you," the old man 
 continued. " But I didn't expect you to come away out 
 here. Er I suppose your mother knows that the 
 Superior Court has reversed the decision in her case 
 against me? "
 
 WHERE THE ROAD FORKED 451 
 
 She drooped. " Yes, sir, she knows it, and it was a 
 hard blow. And now you are going to discharge me, 
 sir? " 
 
 ' ' Let us stick to the matter in hand, Miss Gwin. The 
 Superior Court says that I don't owe your mother five 
 thousand dollars. But Mr. Howerson investigated the 
 case and says that I do." He turned to the table and 
 took up a slip of paper, held it out to her. " So here 
 is a check for six thousand, one thousand for you. You 
 are a good girl, Miss Gwin." 
 
 She could not take the check. She reached forth her 
 hand, but powerless it fell, and she sobbed. Howerson 
 took her gently by the arm, put the check into her hand 
 and hushed her as he would a child. When she could 
 speak, she said: 
 
 " Mr. Whateley, mother and I will pray for you." 
 
 " Yes, that's all right," said the old man. " But not 
 in public. Damn it beg your pardon, ladies, and Dr. 
 Henshaw. " And then he laughed. " I don't want it 
 noised about that I am easy, but after all one of man's 
 greatest consolations is to feel that he is an agent of 
 justice." 
 
 Miss Gwin murmured that she must go, and Whateley 
 nodded his approval. " Yes, you'd better go home at 
 once," he said. " The check will do your mother more 
 good than medicine." 
 
 ' ' A goodly, a very goodly sum, ' ' the doctor spoke up, 
 his mouth slightly watering. When Miss Gwin had 
 taken her grateful leave, turning at the door meekly to 
 give Whateley a tearful look, Annie Zondish said that 
 she too must be on her way. With swift motion she seized 
 old Calvin's hand. " Mr. Whateley, I hope you will 
 forgive me for the evil I thought of you."
 
 452 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " Miss Zondish, I am unfortunately not of a very for 
 giving nature, but as I don't believe you ever intended 
 me any real harm, I can easily say I forgive you. ' ' 
 
 Before he reached the end of this speech she had 
 looked at Howerson, caught his eye, foreseeing the trial 
 through which he was soon to pass; but in his coun 
 tenance she saw no weakness. And when he had gone 
 with her to the door she said : ' ' You will find me at the 
 old place, George." He held her hand and was silent. 
 1 ' I have waited a long time for you to come back. . . . 
 You will not falter. ' ' 
 
 "No. . . . And I wiU shield you." 
 t " I forbid. Why should you? " 
 
 ' ' To save the name of the school. ' ' 
 
 " Spare nothing in the way of truth. . . . Come 
 to me early to-morrow." 
 
 " Perhaps to-night." he said. 
 
 Meanwhile the doctor was taking his leave. Old Cal 
 vin was cordial, laughed over him, told him to " drop 
 in " whenever he felt disposed. They heard him bid 
 old Paul good night, heard the door close, and then with 
 bright and confidential countenance Whateley turned to 
 Howerson, both standing. " Ha, no matter how liberal 
 we think he is, the atmosphere is sometimes clearer when 
 the preacher's gone. Mr. Howerson, George " 
 
 " But Henshaw seems to be kind-hearted," Howerson 
 interrupted. 
 
 ' ' Oh, yes, he is improving, but is held back from com 
 plete reformation. That would put him out of his 
 church. We may be freethinkers ourselves, in private, 
 but we demand that our preacher shall be more or less 
 of a poser. Sit down and let us talk." 
 
 " But first I must tell you of something that is of 
 heavier importance to me," said Howerson.
 
 WHERE THE ROAD FORKED 453 
 
 " Ah, some favor to ask? Don't hesitate. You could 
 hardly ask a favor I would not grant." 
 
 " Mr. Whateley, I have a confession to make to you, 
 one that " * 
 
 ' ' Yes ah, by the way, I gave employment about a 
 week ago to a man you recommended. He presented 
 your letter, and as he didn't appear to be capable of 
 any kind of office work, he is now on duty here about 
 the house." 
 
 " Letter from me, Mr. Whateley? I gave no one a 
 letter." 
 
 " Not to a man named Everharte? " 
 
 " To nobody." 
 
 " That's strange." 
 
 He went to the door and called to the old butler. 
 " Find Everharte and tell him to come here." Return 
 ing to his chair he stood beside it, looking at Howerson. 
 ' Very strange. He has asked repeatedly as to when 
 you might be back. I didn't like his looks much, but 
 as he had a letter which I would have sworn was in your 
 handwriting, I employed him." 
 
 Howerson moved over toward the door listening, 
 alert. ' ' I think I understand, ' ' he said. 
 
 " Ah, soon we shall both understand, no doubt." 
 
 ' ' Yes, very soon. ' ' 
 
 Howerson stood waiting, Whateley wondering; both 
 silent. Footsteps sounded down the hall, quickening as 
 nearer they drew, almost running; and into the room 
 came Henk. Upon seeing Howerson so close to him he 
 drew back, but Howerson moved toward him. " You 
 infamous scoundrel! " 
 
 Henk sprang back, clapping his hand to his hip, but 
 his courage failed, and he cowered, a pistol half out of 
 his pocket. Howerson seized upon him, crushed him
 
 454 THE NEW MB. HOWERSON 
 
 writhing to the floor, snatched away his pistol, and with 
 one hand at his throat, raised the weapon to strike him. 
 
 " Don't please don't. I give up." 
 
 Howerson let him up. Whateley was still standing 
 beside the chair, wondering, frost in his countenance. 
 Howerson, holding Henk by the collar, looked toward the 
 old man. He came forward a few steps, halted and 
 spoke; and his words came cold: " Drag him out and 
 turn him over to the policeman at the corner. Be as 
 quiet as you can ; I don 't want anybody to know. ' ' 
 
 " Come on," Howerson commanded; and with his 
 hand on the wretch's collar he dragged him out, down 
 the walk and through the gate, and outside, stood him 
 against the fence. 
 
 " Don't choke me. I won't try to get away." 
 
 Howerson released his collar, but stood confronting 
 him. The moon was shining and he could see the wretch 
 trembling. Henk spoke : ' ' We were brothers once. ' ' 
 
 " Don't call me your brother. I'll choke the life out 
 of you." 
 
 " Yes, you could do it. You are strong. But I am 
 weak in every way. I would have shot you, but you 
 looked at me and it killed the liquor in me, and my heart 
 stopped. I am not a man of blood. I think so till the 
 time comes and then I am not. I ought to have known 
 that I couldn 't shoot you. I tried to the night you came 
 at us with the sword, and my heart weakened on me. 
 This time I thought I could brace myself and die a 
 martyr, but it's not in me. I saw Annie Zondish come 
 here, but I didn 't let her see me, for I knew that she too 
 had deserted us. But I never had murder in my heart 
 except when I was in liquor. Mr. Howerson, let me go, 
 and you will never hear of me again. The whole scheme
 
 WHERE THE ROAD FORKED 455 
 
 is a failure we have all found that out. You are to 
 be rich and respected and I am to go to the penitentiary. 
 Let me off. I will go away somewhere and work at my 
 trade. I am a bricklayer and a good one. I will let 
 liquor alone, too. I have done it years at a time before 
 my home was broken up and I fell back into drink. But 
 I won 't do it again. Let me go. ' ' 
 
 " What you tell me may be true," said Howerson. 
 " I don't know. But I do know that when I try to 
 stand in judgment over you, the ground is slippery 
 beneath my feet. Just now you were planning to harm 
 me, no one else, and in that belief I can forgive you. 
 Go away somewhere and work. Here." Into Henk's 
 hand he thrust a roll of bank notes. ' ' About a hundred 
 and ten dollars, I think. My scheme may fail, five times 
 out of ten, but I am going to see it through." 
 
 Henk was now tall against the fence. " Mr. Hower 
 son," he said, " if I believed in a God, I would call on 
 him to bless you." 
 
 " Whether you believe it or not He exists, and this 
 night infused me with His mercy or I would have killed 
 you. Here, take your pistol." 
 
 " No, no, I don't want it." 
 
 ' ' Take it and throw it into the river. ' ' 
 
 He took the pistol, shuddering as he touched it. He 
 turned away but looked back. ' ' If there is a God, I say 
 God bless you." 
 
 The old man was walking up and down the room. 
 Seeing Howerson enter he went quickly to his chair and 
 sat down. " We shall hear nothing further from him," 
 said the Poet. 
 
 The old man sat looking down at the floor. " Why
 
 456 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 did he want to kill you? " he asked, still looking down. 
 Howerson halted not far from Whateley's chair, and 
 remained standing. 
 
 " I told you that I had a confession to make." 
 
 " Yes, and I begin to suspect that it is a desperate 
 one." 
 
 " It is." 
 
 ' ' "Why have you waited so long ? ' ! 
 
 ' ' Let us call the delay a want of courage. ' ' 
 
 " No." The old man looked up. " In that quality, 
 sir, you are not lacking." 
 
 ' ' Then let us say a want of moral courage. ' ' 
 
 " Very well. Go ahead." 
 
 "Mr. Whateley " From the hall there came a 
 voice, a bit of song, a heart song without words, and the 
 old man looked down again, and Howerson, stricken 
 dumb, stood with head bowed in silence. When he 
 raised his eyes Rose Whateley was coming toward him, 
 a melodious hush of welcome on her lips, in her eyes; 
 and then " Oh, Mr. Howerson! " She held out her 
 hands, englorying him with a look. He caught her 
 hands, trying to laugh. He strove to speak, but his 
 heart bent back his words. 
 
 The old man 's chair creaked. ' ' Mr. Howerson has 
 something to say to me." 
 
 ' ' Oh, ' ' she laughed, ' ' something that I mustn 't hear ? 
 I beg your pardon." 
 
 " Wait, please," Howerson cried. "It is something 
 that you must hear something due you something 
 no other woman would have waited for so patiently. ' ' 
 
 " I will stay," she said, and- sat down near the table, 
 to the right of her father. The old man lighted a cigar. 
 Howerson stood off a few paces, and about him now there 
 clung no barn-storming air. Ah, it had been easier to
 
 WHERE THE ROAD FORKED 457 
 
 rush upon those avenging agents, making the air whistle 
 with his sword. 
 
 They waited, the old man smoking, Rose leaning 
 forward, her arms folded upon the table. Howerson 
 saw her but dared not to look into her eyes. He looked 
 at the old man. 
 
 ''Mr. Whateley " 
 
 The old man looked at him, through thin smoke, and 
 in the fog his eyes glinted cold. ' ' Go ahead, sir. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Mr. "Whateley a failure, morbid, a would-be sui 
 cide, I became a member, I don't know how, of a des 
 perate brotherhood calling itself the ' Agents of 
 Justice.' ' 
 
 " Anarchists! " the old man interrupted him. 
 
 Howerson nodded his head. " Murderers without 
 nerve, who believed that they had a mission. ... I 
 was elected to kill you. ' ' 
 
 Slowly the old man blew smoke upward. Howerson 
 glanced at Rose. Her head had sunk down upon her 
 folded arms. 
 
 " In rags, with right hand uplifted, I took an oath 
 to assassinate you or to forfeit my own life I from an 
 old Puritan family, I the son of a man who feared God. 
 In rags and in that condition I could not come near 
 you. So they put fine clothes on me and sent me forth 
 on my mission of murder. I felt as one who was 
 appointed to kill and then to die a martyr to truth and 
 justice. In the disordered state of my mind I looked 
 upon myself as a true Christian. The first clear view 
 I had of my altered outward condition I caught from a 
 mirror in the waiting-room of your office. I looked not 
 like an outcast but like a gentleman, and I was startled. 
 Still I was a martyr and would execute my mission. My 
 card came back from you with the demand that I must
 
 458 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 name my business. Then I remembered having heard 
 some men talking in the elevator, about waterworks at 
 Glenwich, and this gave me a desperate cue. I seized 
 upon it and was admitted. I would have shot you on 
 sight, but conscious of the power I held over you, the 
 ability to kill you in a moment, I was prompted to ask 
 you some vital question, to hear what defence you would 
 make, but I could summon no question. And I would 
 then have shot you, but at this moment in ran little 
 Calvin." 
 
 Whateley looked at him, smoke slowly issuing from 
 his mouth. 
 
 " Then you were called out, and then came 
 came ' ' 
 
 He looked at Rose. She had raised her head, and she 
 seemed in a struggle to keep down a sob. 
 
 " You returned, and before I could realize what I 
 was doing, I had accepted a commission from you. I 
 was inspired to execute that and other commissions; 
 and I am not asking or expecting pardon when I tell 
 you that of gain for myself I have had not a thought. 
 There could have been no sacrifice of self that I would 
 not have made. ... During a long time I lived in 
 constant dread of being shot down, and one night ' ' 
 
 The voice of old Paul broke in upon him: " Judge 
 Brockworth says he must see you at once, sir says 
 he's in a hurry to catch a train and can't wait." 
 
 Old Calvin got up. " Show him in there," he com 
 manded, motioning toward the Inquisition. Without 
 looking at Howerson he strode out, strong and cold, 
 Howerson 's sad eyes following him. 
 
 " And they were trying to kill you." 
 
 He started. Rose was standing near him. 
 
 " Yes, when you came to save my life."
 
 WHERE THE ROAD FORKED 459 
 
 ' ' Then I was of some service to you. I have tried 
 to believe so. Sometimes I was tempted to ask Annie 
 Zoudish, but I "remembered my promise." 
 
 " I don't feel now that I was worth it all," he said. 
 " Perhaps it would have been better if they had killed 
 me." 
 
 She shook her head, the gnarled gold of her hair 
 lustrous in the light. " You must not say that." 
 
 " Then you have in your heart at least some forgive 
 ness for me! " She was not looking at him now. He 
 came nearer, glancing quickly toward the door through 
 which Whateley had passed ; and it was not the hope of 
 man 's forgiveness that was spurring his heart to gallop ; 
 it was the hope that his soul might not die. He spoke 
 low. " To stand one moment at that door, as we I 
 stood that night, was worth a thousand years of toil and 
 of dread." She was trembling, looking down, her 
 wonderful poise broken. Nearer he stood. " To-day 
 while my train was on a sidetrack, I went into a garden, 
 long ago given over to neglect and to weeds. But in the 
 midst of the wilderness there grew a rosebush, and on it 
 bloomed a lone rose, the last of its race. I have brought 
 it to you, its namesake." 
 
 Into his bosom he thrust his hand and drew forth a 
 rose, the glory of a summer, and held it out to her. She 
 took it, looking into his eyes; she held the rose to her 
 lips, to his lips, the rose fell to the floor and their lips 
 touched and in his arms he enfolded her, with the 
 shouting of his heart deafening him; and the gnarled 
 gold was on his bosom. 
 
 " Our play," he said. " It was written for us." 
 
 " For us," she repeated. 
 
 " It had to be it was woven from the threads of 
 our lives. Come with me."
 
 460 THE NEW MR. HOWERSON 
 
 " Yes, I come. . . . From the first I knew that I 
 should come when you called me." 
 
 They heard old Calvin bid the judge good night, heard 
 him coming, and stood apart. Howerson, took up the 
 rose, gave it to her, and she put it into the shimmering 
 gold of her hair. 
 
 The old man did not resume his seat. He did not seem 
 to know that anything had chanced during his absence, 
 that the world had been created anew. He spoke and 
 his voice was low. " Mr. Howerson, you say that I was 
 saved by a little child. Out there at the edge of the 
 sidewalk to-night a drum beat, women sang, and the 
 light of a torch fell upon the soft countenances of men 
 countenances once hardened by dissipation and crime. 
 These men were turned toward gentleness by the story 
 of a little child. . . . The man to trust, Mr. Hower 
 son, is the man that has been tried. You have been 
 tried. You did not save me, but you yourself were 
 saved. I do not forgive you because you have been of 
 value to me, but because you are the most unselfish and 
 honorable man I have ever known. I understand it all." 
 
 ' ' Do you understand everything, father ? ' ' Rose 
 asked of him, while Howerson stood as if beneath the 
 balm of a benediction. 
 
 He looked at her, at the Poet. ' ' Often I was at a loss 
 to make you out, Mr. Howerson and then I read you 
 with Calvin's eyes. . . . Yes, Rose, I understand 
 everything. ' ' 
 
 They heard the boy calling. Clad in his wolfskin coat 
 he stood in the door. " Grandpa, please come on." 
 
 ' Yes," said the old man ; " yes, we are coming now." 
 He turned to Rose and to Howerson : ' ' Come, and let us 
 go into the Cabin and play with little Calvin."
 
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