BE STILL 
 THERE'S HEED F ME 
 
 WALTERK,!)/ 
 
 X CARRIE L
 
 THE STRAIGHT ROAD
 
 CALIFORNIA BAIRD
 
 THE 
 
 STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
 
 C. E. CHAMBERS 
 
 NEW YORK 
 GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1917, 
 BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1918, 1017, BY THE McCLURE PUBLICATIONS, INCORPORATED 
 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
 
 SRLH 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. THE DOOE I SHUT BEHIND MB ... 
 
 II. THE FLIGHT 35 
 
 III. THE DOOE THAT OPENED To ME . . . 48 
 
 IV. A STALLED Ox 59 
 
 V. HAEVEY WATKINS 76 
 
 VI. AT THE ROADHOUSE 97 
 
 VII. THE TUENING OF THE WHEELS . . .111 
 
 VIII. THE GAP IN THE HEDGE 132 
 
 IX. Miss CHANDLEE'S POINT OF VIEW . . 149 
 
 X. DELIA'S ADDEESS 160 
 
 XL A WOMAN'S JOB 181 
 
 XII. ADVICE 190 
 
 XIII. THE CHANCE I GOT 204 
 
 XIV. A BEEACH . 211 
 
 XV. CHLOEODYNE 224 
 
 XVI. A GEY FOB HELP 243 
 
 XVII. LAS PALMAS HOP RANCH 263 
 
 XVIII. THEEE DAYS . 279 
 
 XIX. THE COMMITTEE 289 
 
 XX. THE RIOT 305 
 
 XXL "SAFE" 319 
 
 XXII. MAN'S JUSTICE 327 
 
 XXIII. BELSHAZZAE'S FEAST 339 
 
 XXIV. A WITNESS . 348
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 CALIFORNIA BAIRD Frontispiece 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THERE WAS A HOARSE, STARTLED WHISPEB, " JOE !" 
 I SAW A YOUNG WOMAN STANDING JUST INSIDE 
 THE WINDOW LOOKING WILDLY AT ME ... 72 
 
 I SHOVED AT HIM DESPERATELY WITH MY DOUBLED 
 FIST, AND WITH THE OTHER HAND REACHED 
 BLINDLY OUT AND TURNED THE KNOB . . . 106 
 
 "TRUST YOU ?" SHE SAT UP SUDDENLY FROM HER 
 
 LOLLING POSITION. "WELL HOW ABOUT YOU ? 
 
 Do YOU FEEL THAT YOU CAN TRUST ME ?" . . 152 
 
 "HUH NOT MUCH OF A HAND," HE SAID IN A QUEER, 
 
 HUSKY TONE. "N"OT MUCH OF A HAND TO EARN 
 
 A LIVING WITH" . 184 
 
 I RAN AND GOT HOLD OF DR. RUSH'S ARM AND HE 
 
 SAID TO ME OVER AND OVER! "ALL RIGHT. I 
 WON'T HIT HIM AGAIN" 236 
 
 JOE ED AND I TOILED UP TO THE CAMP IN THE 
 
 BLISTERING HEAT 270 
 
 "HOW WAS IT WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN, JOE ?" I 
 
 ASKED. "WE'VE BEEN SO UNEASY ABOUT YOU" . 294
 
 THE STRAIGHT ROAD
 
 THE 
 
 STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE DOOE I SHUT BEHIND ME 
 
 IT BLEW to with a slam behind me. Only a few weeks 
 beyond my twenty-second birthday I was leaving my 
 husband's house, my only home since I came into it five 
 years before, a bride of seventeen. For a moment the shut- 
 ting of that door reverberated through all my universe; 
 then the child pulled at my hand and questioned in a small, 
 excited voice, 
 
 "Where we going, muvver ? Is f aver coming, too ?" 
 
 The answer I gave my four-year-old, there in the dark 
 of my little front yard, pungent with the keen odour of 
 the big eucalyptus trees by the fence, covered the case so 
 far as I, Callie Baird, then saw it. 
 
 "I don't know for sure, dearie. Way off on the railroad. 
 Father's not coming with us. You're mother's big man 
 now." 
 
 I spoke in a whisper, listening all the time for a sound 
 from inside the house. Had the slamming of the door 
 waked my husband? In the dark about me I could 
 scarcely see the bits of plants and vines I had put out; 
 the smell from my petunias from the honeysuckle at my 
 kitchen window made my heart all at once sick and 
 faint. 
 
 But the door was shut; the die was cast. The note in 
 there on the kitchen table told Oliver that I intended to 
 leave him and get a divorce. I felt a kind of pitiful pride 
 in this letter ; even yet it seems to ine a bit out of the com- 
 mon for a woman of my age and in my situation to write. 
 
 9
 
 10 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 It admitted with humility my sense of personal failure ; it 
 explained that I was going away because I felt our living 
 together to be immoral, and that I would take care of my- 
 self and the child if I were allowed a divorce in peace. My 
 trunk was left ready packed with my few precious books, 
 my own and Boy's clothes; I would send for it when I 
 knew how to answer that question of his. 
 
 The letter was the last of a number of such, which I had 
 thought over, agonised over, written, and then burned. 
 The definite intention to go took shape in my mind four 
 months earlier when I was crawling up from the desperate 
 illness that followed the birth of my little girl. The child 
 lived only long enough to show me what my marriage 
 meant from the point of view of motherhood. Boy had 
 brought me no such accusation. Boy was all mine. I 
 named him John Boyce, and I saw in him always my own 
 father; not the father an ignorant, childish mother had 
 given him. My father had always understood me, because 
 we were alike mentally; he would have equipped me for 
 life. If he had lived I should not have been afoot in the 
 night, unable to tell the child where we were going, 
 shabby, heartsick, with scarcely a cent in my pocket, and 
 only the prospect of eleven dollars and sixty-five cents 
 cream money that I meant to collect at Flegel's grocery 
 and butcher shop on my way to the station. 
 
 I was ten years old when father died. The cattle ranch 
 where I was born and raised, there in the Oregon hills 
 above Stanleyton, near the California state line, was a big 
 property, and my mother was no manager. By the time 
 I was fifteen we had nothing and were living down in the 
 village, her whole anxiety to see me old enough to marry. 
 She had been an uncommonly pretty girl; she had mar- 
 ried early, to become the petted wife of a strong man. 
 Her outlook on life was the sheltered woman's. All its 
 harsher, fundamental facts were indecent in her eyes; 
 she kept from me what she could and indeed that was
 
 THE DOOR I SHUT BEHIND ME 11 
 
 nearly everything. Peace be to the poor little pretty 
 mother who thought she had done her part so well by me 
 when she manoauvred me into the marriage I was now run- 
 ning away from, and saw that I went into it as ignorant 
 of what it meant, almost, as I would have been at seven 
 instead of seventeen. 
 
 I never could be quite sure as to whether or not she 
 understood the failure of that marriage. She lived right 
 there in the house with it till after Jacky-Boy was born, 
 and given father's name. On the small dairy ranch above 
 Meaghers, we two women worked hard together, but we 
 didn't talk much over our work. She seemed to be failing. 
 When the baby came she used to sit by the hour holding 
 him, rocking a little, never saying a word. Six months 
 after that we carried her back to the ranch to lay her be- 
 side father in the little family burying ground that had 
 been reserved there. And I attacked alone the problem of 
 life with a man I had not wittingly chosen at all. 
 
 Do not think I blame my mother. She could never 
 have married me to Oliver Baird if it had not been for 
 the shipwreck of a boy-and-girl love affair between me and 
 Philip Stanley. 
 
 A boy-and-girl love affair authority holds it cheap, and 
 speaks easily of "breaking it up" ; yet I believe that there 
 are men and women who go all their days, face over 
 shoulder, looking back to that place in the way where 
 real love, who had been of their company, left them. 
 
 It seemed to me when my time came that no item of 
 pain and humiliation was spared, no mercy was shown me. 
 They tore down my gossamer-spun dwelling of dreams as 
 an energetic woman, sweeping her house, drags down a 
 cobweb with the broom. Every least little detail stands 
 out in my memory ice and fire. For years I was burnt 
 or frozen whenever my mind touched a corner of it. 
 
 Philip was the only son of the richest people in the vil- 
 lage. Back in father's time when I, a small girl, used to
 
 12 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 ride my pony down to school, Philip was the terror of the 
 primary grades, his offences passed over because everybody 
 was afraid of his father. Fine-looking, fastidious gentle- 
 man that he was, L. C. Stanley's outrageous temper had 
 brought him into more than one fist fight on the public 
 street. People who were getting along with Mr. Stanley 
 admired him very much ; and I'm sure Philip, if he liked 
 you, could be very .kind ; when he loved you, he was sweet- 
 ness itself. But the place was full of gossip about the 
 Stanley home life, the continual clashes of father and son, 
 whippings that went on there, till the boy was a young 
 athlete big enough to turn on his tyrant, so that the mother 
 was frightened, and stood between them. I knew the 
 worst about all these things ; for from the first I had been 
 Philip's chosen, from whom he kept back nothing. And 
 on my part, I can't remember when I wasn't so in love 
 with him that it was like a religion, a conversion, an apoth- 
 eosis. The mere sight of him in the other classroom of 
 a morning making everybody else look cheap and poor 
 would leave me happy for all day. He was four years 
 older than I, but he had been so unruly, and so irregular 
 in his attendance that high school found us still in the 
 same Latin class. Nobody else knew it, but I was the 
 reason for Philip's being in that class. He was with a 
 tutor that year, getting ready for Stanford ; but he held 
 to this one period in the Stanley ton public school, because 
 it gave him a chance to see me every day, and carry my 
 books home. He didn't want anybody else to come 
 near me. It wasn't any trouble for him, a high school 
 boy, to send Harvey Watkins, a young man already 
 out in the village world attacking affairs of his own, to 
 the right-about when he tried to be a bit sentimental 
 over me. 
 
 And what a wonderful-looking boy he was a young 
 prince among the others! He wore his faults like orna- 
 ments; it just became him to be so haughty and harsh and
 
 THE DOOR I SHUT BEHIND ME 13 
 
 secretive. Nothing was too good for him; he was reck- 
 lessly extravagant, and I suppose his parents thought that 
 the only way to hold on to their formidable son was to 
 shut down on the money. He never had an allowance, so 
 that what he spent much or little could always be a 
 cause of quarrel. Philip had awful times with his father 
 over tailor and livery bills, and the expenses of his vaca- 
 tion trips. When the other boys were getting class pins at 
 two dollars apiece, he had his mounted in platinum and 
 with a real diamond, so that it cost seventy-five. The year 
 that he was twenty and I was sixteen, he made bills so 
 recklessly that his father threatened to advertise in the 
 paper that he wouldn't be responsible for them. That 
 didn't stop Philip. He justified himself said that his 
 father was rich and he the only heir that the money he 
 spent was really his. In a sense that was true. But then 
 he did something, I never knew just what, that made him 
 liable to the law, and they had the worst scene of all over 
 that. He didn't tell me a word of this till afterward 
 not because he was ashamed of it; Philip was never 
 ashamed of anything he did but because this time the 
 quarrel concerned me. 
 
 I realise now that mother hoped everything from that 
 childish attachment. She had begun asking me about 
 Philip if he had kissed me, if he said he loved me, and 
 if marriage had ever been mentioned between us. I was 
 overwhelmed with shame. It seemed like conspiring 
 against him to think of such things. 
 
 And yet, so curiously is the human heart made, I be- 
 lieve my mother's words precipitated matters, for the af- 
 fair between Philip and me came suddenly to flower. I 
 couldn't get away from the thoughts she had put in my 
 head, and it was as though he read them in my eyes and 
 took fire from their suggestion. I don't remember when 
 or where it began, but all at once he was talking to me 
 about being married to him, and we had kissed each other
 
 14 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 and knew that there could never be anybody else for 
 either of us as long as we both lived ! 
 
 First love, boy-and-girl love, is such a fiery, innocent 
 thing, unconscious of its real power, yet proposing to re- 
 build the whole world for its dwelling. In those days 
 oh, how few, how few they were! it was not merely 
 a look at Philip that set me trembling with happiness 
 for hours; if we could get a moment out of sight it was 
 a kiss a boy's kiss, snatched, clumsy, but with the 
 flame, the swimming ecstasy of youth in it. Oh, the mem- 
 ory of such a love ought to keep a woman from those 
 spiritual compromises which are the beginning of moral 
 death. 
 
 I didn't tell my mother, but of course she guessed. 
 She dressed me BO carefully, and told me again and again 
 how pretty I was growing. She knew what lit my eye 
 and painted a new bloom on my cheeks. 
 
 Then came a day when the first moment I looked at 
 Philip across the school room, I was conscious of a change, 
 of deep disturbance, in him. He whispered to me as we 
 were filing from study hall to recitation room for our Latin 
 that he must see me that evening. Silently, infected by 
 the hidden excitement of his mood, I walked beside him 
 out to Kesterson's pasture after school, where we sat nn- 
 der a big live-oak by the creek. He seemed strange, and 
 that made me feel strange, too. But he had never been 
 so openly my lover. He wanted to have me in his arms, 
 to kiss me every minute. I would have been crazy with 
 joy if I hadn't been so frightened all the time at the 
 chance of our being seen. 
 
 "What is it, Philip ?" I whispered, at last 
 
 "Callie," he said, taking hold of me again, "we've had 
 it out at last, up at our house. Father threatened to send 
 me to jail this time. I told him to go ahead and do it 
 and then he wanted to lick me." 
 
 The muscles of the best football player on the team
 
 THE DOOR I SHUT BEHIND ME 15 
 
 laughed under mj cheek as Philip said that. He shook 
 me a little in his arms. 
 
 "Mother put in her oar. We've compromised. I'm go- 
 ing to San Francisco Wednesday, to be gone for a month." 
 
 "To San Francisco for a month!" I clung to him. 
 "Oh, Philip why?" 
 
 "To get a job. If I had a job you and I could be mar- 
 ried," he said, unsteadily, and his heart plunged so that I 
 could feel it where my head rested against him. 
 
 Philip hunting a job so we could be married! One 
 idea was as bewildering as the other. I looked at him. 
 He had always poured out his heart to me; but now he 
 was keeping something back, and I dared not question him. 
 With his arms around me, his lips thrilling against mine, 
 I was afraid to be told. 
 
 Our parting had been so tumultuous that it was only 
 after he was gone I realised he had said nothing of our 
 writing to each other. This seemed strange, for we used 
 to exchange notes very often, living here in the same town. 
 But I thought of course he would write and send me an 
 address; then I'd get a letter every day and have the 
 chance to write to him daily. I waited in a tremor of 
 expectation for that first letter. Monday, Tuesday, Wed- 
 nesday by the middle of the week I was uneasy. Thurs- 
 day, Friday, Saturday I was wild with anxiety. My 
 nerves were jerking at every little start. I would jump 
 and scream at every sound. I could not keep from steal- 
 ing past the Stanley house, though it was a square out of 
 my way to and from school. That month was an age-long, 
 agonising strain. No letter came. I had nobody I dared 
 tell. My mother suspected, I suppose, and I was grate- 
 ful to her for not speaking out. Then, on the last Friday 
 morning, when I was slipping past the hedge by the Stan- 
 ley place on my way to school, furtively watching the win- 
 dows, Philip's mother stopped me and asked me to come 
 and see her the next afternoon. She seemed to have been
 
 16 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 working at her roses, with gloves drawn over her white 
 hands and a broad hat on; she offered me some flowers 
 as we talked. She was a fine-looking woman, always 
 perfectly dressed, and her likeness to Philip made me 
 ready to lay my face in the dust before her and worship 
 her. 
 
 The revulsion from despair to hope was almost more 
 than I could bear- I felt myself blushing hotly. I could 
 hardly speak. I had never exchanged more than a dozen 
 words with her before ; there was no social relation between 
 our little house and the Stanley place. My whole being 
 was tremulous with the thought that she had been watch- 
 ing for me her invitation must mean that everything 
 was all right. Oh, supposing Philip was expected home 
 the next day, and she wanted me to meet him! I got 
 through the Friday classes somehow. I was almost glad 
 that Philip had not written me during the month. The 
 outcome would be all the more splendid and rapturous for 
 the misery I had passed through. When I got home to 
 my mother, she, though she knew so much less than I did 
 of how far things had gone, jumped at once to the con- 
 clusion that Mrs. Stanley wanted to get better acquainted 
 with me because of Philip, and that she wasn't unfavour- 
 able. 
 
 Mother washed my white shirt-waist after ten o'clock 
 that night, and the last I knew as I went to sleep was the 
 sight of her sitting by the lamp darning a rip in my skirt. 
 Next day she fussed a long time over getting me ready. I 
 ought to look just perfect, but still I mustn't seem too much 
 dressed up. Mother kissed me when I left, and called me 
 by Philip's name in a whisper. It made my face flame 
 and that made her laugh a little shaky laugh that was al- 
 most like crying. 
 
 Mrs. Stanley met me with friendly courtesy, yet, in- 
 experienced village girl as I was, I missed something in 
 that reception. Its chill fell on me as we crossed the porch
 
 THE DOOR I SHUT BEHIND ME 17 
 
 she had been waiting for me on the front steps. I knew 
 before I was seated in the handsome parlour that things 
 were not going to be as my mother and I had hoped. 
 
 I can never go over that interview with Mrs. Stanley in 
 my mind completely ; I get confused before I come to the 
 end of it, and it is just one recollection of pain and hu- 
 miliation ice and fire, as I said. She began with real 
 feeling: Philip was their only son; she and Mr. Stanley 
 were very ambitious for him. I tried to answer with rea- 
 sonable calmness that everybody knew Philip was going 
 to be a great man, and there wasn't anything too good for 
 him. In my confusion I must have spoken as though that 
 brilliant future of his would be concerned with mine, for 
 the first thing I knew she was telling me that nothing could 
 be more ruinous to Philip than trying to tie him up now 
 with a childish love affair. She looked at me sitting there 
 twisting my handkerchief between my hands; I thought 
 she pitied me, for she said, hastily: 
 
 "I'm considering you, too, as well as my boy. I'm glad 
 you realise that Philip has the makings of a big man. I've 
 lived longer than you, my dear girl ; I've seen many a man 
 go ahead in the world, outgrow the woman he married too 
 young too young long for his freedom, or maybe take 
 it ; and then there's nothing but misery in it for both." 
 
 " Engagement " I choked. 
 
 "Oh," cried Mrs. Stanley, impatiently, "how little you 
 realise ! That would not be fair to you. I am not willing 
 to see my son absorbing all your attention during these 
 years in which you might be making a suitable match, only 
 to fail you in the end." 
 
 She seemed sure that he would fail me in the end. 
 
 "What do you want me to do?" asked a voice that I 
 hardly recognised as my own. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Stanley thinks that you ought, if you are a 
 right-minded girl, to return any signed letters you may 
 have of Philip's. The boy's not of age of course his sig-
 
 18 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 nature doesn't count but we feel that vou ought to do 
 that. The gifts you might keep." 
 
 "All I'll send them all," I said, in despair. 
 
 I was going ; I was giving up ; but through the window 
 I caught sight of Philip himself, walking in the side yard 
 under the trees, sending glances toward the house, as 
 though he were waiting for me. Instead of the rapture I 
 had looked forward to after that awful month, I felt only 
 a strange sinking of the heart longing, fear, pain. Yet 
 I turned and came back. 
 
 "Mrs. Stanley," I said, "did you know that Philip went 
 to San Francisco to get work so that we could be married ?" 
 
 She laughed out angrily. 
 
 "I should think that I did know: we sent him. If he 
 can support a wife, he may choose one for himself. If 
 we've got her to support, Mr. Stanley and I think we 
 ought to have something to say about who she shall be." 
 
 "And he and he " I faltered. 
 
 "Perhaps you'd better go and talk to him," she inter- 
 rupted. 
 
 I whirled and ran. I blundered down the steps, across 
 the trim, gravelled walks and brilliant, crowded flower 
 beds, my starved heart crying out for Philip. He did not 
 take one step toward me ; he had drawn back, and stood so 
 that we came together in a little alley of the grounds. 
 Tall trees walled in a seclusion overlooked only by the an- 
 gels of God from the sky ; yet my impetuous boy lover of 
 a month ago made no motion to touch me. His head was 
 up, but the face he showed was white. The month had 
 left him worn and hollow-eyed. I knew in the first mo- 
 ment that he hadn't wanted to see me; he had put me 
 outside the barrier. He didn't speak. I had to begin. 
 
 "Oh, Philip!" It burst from me, though I was des- 
 perately anxious not to offend. "Whv didn't you write to 
 me?" '
 
 THE DOOR I SHUT BEHIND ME 19 
 
 "Promised not to." His first word and in what a 
 strange voice ! 
 
 "Why didn't you let me write to you, then ? I'd have 
 been glad." 
 
 "Promised that, too." He was staring straight in my 
 face. I had seen him look at other people that way, and 
 wondered how they could stand it. "He wouldn't let me 
 have the money to go unless I'd give my word. I had to 
 
 have money. Even with it " He stopped a moment ; 
 
 an agony of crimson came up in his haggard, arrogant 
 young face "I couldn't get any job." 
 
 "Oh, Philip I didn't want you to Not for me 
 
 not for me !" 
 
 He didn't seem to hear me 
 
 "What did mother say to you in there ?" he asked, very 
 low. 
 
 "She made me promise to give you up for always. 
 But you won't If we After a while " 
 
 Philip stood and looked long on the ground. When his 
 gaze at last came up to mine, I wondered what I had done 
 to him to make him look so terrible. 
 
 "What's the use ?" he demanded, huskily. "We'll have 
 to give it up. They've got us. She didn't tell you. Cal- 
 lie, you know what I said about his sending me to jail ? 
 I tried to get enough that time for us to marry on and 
 he's got the proofs. Not that I'm ashamed or sorry he's 
 the one to be ashamed it's all his fault. But he's got 
 the proofs; and he'll send me to penitentiary he's just 
 mad enough unless I unless we " 
 
 "Oh, we will we will anything " It was all that 
 
 I could say. 
 
 Again he stood looking on the ground, bitter and piti- 
 ful, that haughty lip of his set hard to steady the trem- 
 bling. I ought to have gone then, but I couldn't drag my- 
 self away. I thought there would be something more
 
 20 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 some kind of good-bye. Suddenly he looked up at me and 
 burst out: 
 
 "They said it would be just like it was with Uncle Milt. 
 Huh, Milt's a boob! But, at that, he'd have done well 
 enough if they hadn't thrown him down. They wouldn't 
 have thrown him down if he hadn't married " 
 
 "Don't oh, please don't!" I whispered, covering my 
 face. 
 
 When Philip's Uncle Milton, Lucius Stanley's younger 
 brother, married a waitress at the Depot Hotel, it set every- 
 body talking about the poor thing's reputation, that had 
 never been very good. Of course, the family was furious. 
 Milt Stanley hadn't amounted to much. Now, with his 
 brother against him, he went down terribly. He worked 
 at such odd jobs as he could get about town; sometimes 
 he did house-cleaning. She was worse talked about than 
 ever, though it could be seen that more than half the time 
 she kept bread in their mouths. To this squalid village 
 shame a possible marriage with me was compared. 
 
 I had no heart for resentment. I wasn't the least bit 
 angry. Philip's only way of meeting this defeat and hu- 
 miliation was to put me outside and keep me outside, be- 
 cause the sight the thought, even of me now was still 
 more wounding and humiliating. But I could see that he 
 was suffering, in there where he would not let me come. 
 There was a dull wonder in my mind that he should not 
 care for even a good-bye kiss then a sort of terror that 
 this was so ! Was that all there would be to it ? Was love 
 like this? 
 
 I turned; I had to go away and leave him standing 
 there, looking strange and sort of desperate. All I knew 
 was that I didn't know anything about him any more. 
 
 I went out to Kesterson's pasture it was the only 
 handy place where I could be sure of being alone and 
 walked up and down and up and down in a dumb, blind 
 agony for a long time, looking away from the big live-oak
 
 THE DOOR I SHUT BEHIND ME 21 
 
 where Philip had held me in his arms and said he was 
 going to get a job and marry me, thinking how was I ever 
 to go home to mother with the story. Finally I started, 
 very slowly. When I came in sight of our little rented 
 house, there was mother at the gate, gazing up and down 
 the sidewalk for me, because in getting back from Mrs. 
 Stanley's I might come from either direction, according to 
 the cross-street I chose to take. I looked around me; I 
 would rather have died then and there than to keep on 
 and meet her questions. We got into the house some- 
 how, and there I broke down and cried so that I scared 
 her I even believe I screamed some. 
 
 Perhaps it was best so. She had to stop questioning 
 and soothe me; and I felt after a while that I must con- 
 trol myself for her sake. She got me to drink a cup of 
 tea ; she put my feet in hot water, and we two disappointed, 
 discredited things finally crept to bed. 
 
 When, next day, it came to making the little packet to, 
 send to Philip, she stood by protesting : 
 
 "I wouldn't do it, Gallic. I wouldn't do that, dear." 
 
 "I promised," I said, holding my head down. I couldn't 
 tell her that Philip himself had failed me. 
 
 "Promised!" she echoed with all a primitive woman's 
 contempt. 
 
 Poor little mother, she had no business sense; she lost 
 the ranch ; we owed bills in every direction. But she did 
 not lack instinctive womanly wisdom; she would have 
 fought for her hand; she would have tried tried des- 
 perately and at all costs to keep her lover. 
 
 I let him go. But when he was gone I couldn't have 
 been said to be disappointed in love I was disappointed 
 in life I was just killed, dead and buried. Nobody knew 
 my mother least of all as nobody had known how 
 dreadfully I was in love with him. There was a year be- 
 tween me and my graduation. At first mother had to get 
 me up and dress me and help me off to school as though I
 
 22 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 had been an invalid. But after a while I took hold of 
 my school work for comfort, and when the year had gone 
 by I was even not offended at mother's efforts to make a 
 match between me and a man who had rented one of 
 our rooms. He was a good deal older than I, and was look- 
 ing about for a little dairy ranch. 
 
 If Philip and I were not to marry, it didn't matter 
 what became of me. With him vanished out of my life, 
 for the time, not only love, but every gleam of girlish am- 
 bition. Mother couldn't bear the thought of my standing 
 in a store, or even teaching school. She craved for me 
 the woman's ancient heritage of husband, home and chil- 
 dren. And when Oliver Baird finally did ask me, and I 
 accepted him, she was so pleased; she was so proud that 
 the white dress I had for high school graduation should 
 also be my wedding gown. 
 
 I was seventeen; I took the man I could get or that 
 she got for me took him, I may say, thankfully, and in 
 whole-hearted ignorance of what I was really doing. I 
 told him honestly that I could not love him, that I be- 
 lieved love and I had parted ways forever. He was will- 
 ing to have me on those terms ! He had finally bought his 
 dairy ranch at Meaghers, just across the State line in Sis- 
 kiyou County; we were married and went to live there, 
 mother going with us. Crossing into California seemed 
 to me somehow like getting nearer to father ; he had come 
 from there, he always loved the State, and named me 
 for it 
 
 The reason that I could tolerate Oliver Baird in the in- 
 timacies of courtship and marriage seemed to be that he 
 was at all points the opposite of Philip. He was as apart 
 from that boy lover of mine as though they had not both 
 been human males. A man who had reminded me of 
 Philip I could not have married; but this one never 
 breathed that air of young love's region ; he never walked 
 there. Without ideals, or illusions; inert, negative; he
 
 THE DOOR I SHUT BEHIND ME 23 
 
 wanted only the lees of mating, and he resented the intru- 
 sion of a child that roiled those dregs and brought me 
 enough womanhood to feel that whatever such a marriage 
 might be to Oliver, to me it was an unhallowed, a wicked 
 thing. 
 
 It was John Boyce's birth that showed it to me first; 
 and after the little girl, who only lived long enough to let 
 me see that she had her father's loose mouth and ungainly 
 hand, I knew that my crime was not against myself alone. 
 I had never heard of eugenics. In my marriage I had 
 hugged the dream of children. Mine was always a hungry 
 heart. It was not alone being loved that could comfort 
 me ; I yearned always for something that I could love ; but 
 the tragic outcome of this meddling with the source of 
 humanity, this bringing children into the world who 
 should never have been born, ah 1 to medicine a heartsick 
 girl's pain, came to look to me almost as terribly wicked 
 as it is. I suffered. In those days if anybody had asked 
 me what was the matter, I should have answered like an 
 ailing child, "Everything." I ached in every member of 
 my life. There was nothing, it seemed, that did not hurt 
 me. 
 
 When we are young we wonder what our humiliations 
 and our agonies are for. Mine had driven me thus far. 
 Their whip was on my back that April night as I bent to 
 pull the gate shut after me, setting down the suit-case to 
 do it, hooking the chain over to make it fast, though it 
 came to me painfully that to-morrow there would be no- 
 body to care if the pigs and cows got in and destroyed all 
 the flowers I had worked so hard over. As I got Boy 
 through the gate there was a metallic clank. I reached 
 down to see what he had. 
 
 "Bud'n go 'long bud'n wants to go," he exclaimed, de- 
 fensively. 
 
 Bud'n the word was Boy's way of saying bug was 
 a brass paper-weight belonging to the child's father. Why
 
 24 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 Boy should have been so infatuated with it let the psychol- 
 ogist of childhood explain I never could tell. The thing 
 was clumsy, heavy, ugly a realistic representation of a 
 gigantic fly, whose wings lifted up, allowing the hollow 
 body beneath to be used for a pen box. Perhaps Boy's 
 determination to possess and play with this thing was 
 made so strong because his father ordered him to let it 
 alone. Certainly Oliver and his son remained strangers 
 to the last. This trumpery toy had been the cause of more 
 than one battle royal between them. I had meant to leave 
 it safe on the table ; but I could not for the life of me turn 
 back and carry it in now. I would drop it on the garden 
 walk. 
 
 "No !" Boy resisted when I attempted to take it away 
 from him. His raised, shrill little voice set my heart 
 thumping with apprehension. "No! I will carry my 
 bud'n. Bud'n wants to go, too." 
 
 "Sssh !" I cautioned, and we set out, Boy with his bud'n, 
 I with my suit-case. There had been a little new moon at 
 sunset, but it was gone now. The hills made a dark rim 
 all around the horizon; on their slopes I could see here 
 and there winking lights homes of small ranchers like 
 ourselves. Looking at them, my thought coloured by my 
 own experience, I wondered if any one of those roofs cov- 
 ered a sort of domestic inferno. It must be so. I couldn't 
 be the only one who had made a mess of life. But I knew 
 I was the only one who was escaping to-night. 
 
 Halfway down the hill Boy gave out. First he handed 
 me his bud'n, then took it back jealously, hugged it to 
 him, and insisted that I must carry them both. I argued 
 a bit, but the outcome was that I shouldered my baby, 
 picked up my suit-case and went on toward the valley, 
 Flegel's and the station. 
 
 I must hurry or the grocery would be closed, and the 
 Flegels gone upstairs for the night. I had to have that 
 money to take me and the boy to San Vincente in one of
 
 THE DOOR I SHUT BEHIND ME 25 
 
 the valleys of the California fruit belt. I had had a girl's 
 reason for selecting San Vicente. Nearly seven years be- 
 fore, Delia Rogers, from there, had visited our next-door 
 neighbours. She was a rather full-blown young lady, own- 
 ing to twenty-five, and bluntly announced by her aunt as 
 older, and I a little past fifteen. They were a childless 
 couple, and despite the disparity in our years, I was called 
 on to help Mrs. Rogers out when she wanted to entertain 
 young people for Delia. In those days I was poor only 
 in money. Delia soon spent most of her time at our house, 
 sleeping in my little bedroom more often than at her 
 uncle's. It was the year before Philip went east. "Down 
 at Callie Boyce's house" was the synonym for a lively 
 frolic among the Stanleyton young people, where all ages 
 gathered indiscriminately to make up a circle. Harvey 
 Watkins was so much older than the rest of the boys that, 
 till the San Vicente visitor came, there was no one any- 
 where near his age to pair him off with. Harvey was a 
 little set apart in our crowd, too, from the fact that he 
 was a widower. He had made a very young marriage, and 
 his bride had lived only five or six months. He showed 
 Delia Rogers a good deal of attention. He afterward went 
 to San Vicente himself, entered a law firm there, and mar- 
 ried her. I hadn't heard from either of them since the 
 marriage, yet I hoped they would both befriend me now. 
 
 It was hard work carrying that baby and suit-case down 
 the hill; I tried several times to get Boy to walk, but he 
 was very sleepy, though I'd given him an extra long nap 
 that afternoon. It got worse and worse; my arms felt as 
 though they would drop off. Again and again I had to 
 stop and rest; and when I finally got down to Flegel's I 
 was soaked with perspiration and shaking all over, glad 
 enough that my old grey sweater was a sleazy thing. 
 
 I could have cried when I found the store closed. 
 Everybody knew what Mrs. Flegel was; an ill-natured 
 woman with a bad tongue, and crazy jealous of her hus-
 
 26 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 band. Women being jealous of their husbands was a thing 
 that had never troubled me up to this moment. But when 
 I stood in front of the store and wanted to get that money, 
 I found that I dreaded to meet Mrs. Flegel. I knocked 
 half reluctantly on the store door, in hopes that Flegel 
 himself would answer. Nobody came. I knocked again, 
 louder. Boy roused and looked around wonderingly. 
 
 "Where are we, Muwer ?" he asked, drowsily. 
 
 "At Flegel's grocery store, dearie." 
 
 "You goin' to get Boy candy ?" He showed sudden in- 
 terest. 
 
 "Not just now." I walked around to the back stairs 
 and stood there looking up at the light, listening. 
 
 "Dear," I said, "will you be a brave boy and stay here 
 with the suit-case while mother goes upstairs? She can 
 look right down on you all the time." 
 
 "Will I get the candy if I stay ?" 
 
 "After we get on the train, Boyce, if you'll be a big, 
 brave boy." 
 
 "Uh-huh Boycie stay." 
 
 I left the little figure on the suit-case, and, shrinking 
 from the sound of my footsteps, from my shadow on the 
 stair, I dragged myself up to that back door. The burden 
 of dread and shame that was on me made the weight of 
 the child and the suit-case that I had been carrying seem 
 light. 
 
 It was ten-year-old Gusta Flegel who answered to my 
 knock. 
 
 "Could I see your father a minute ?" I spoke very low. 
 
 The child didn't answer me at all. She just turned her 
 head over her shoulder and bawled : 
 
 "Maw here's a woman!" 
 
 This was worse than I had expected. Gusta knew me 
 well enough. Mrs. Flegel came across the kitchen, wip- 
 ing her wet hands on her apron. 
 
 "I wanted to see Mr. Flegel," I said.
 
 THE DOOR I SHUT BEHIND ME 27 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 I couldn't get out a word. Choking, ready to cry, I 
 stood pulling down the cuffs of my sweater. 
 
 "Wellf" 
 
 Mrs. Flegel's broad form blocked the door. She and 
 Gusta were both staring at me at my dress, my hat, my 
 shoes. I was thankful that Boyce and the suit-case were 
 downstairs out of their sight. Finally, when I didn't say 
 anything, the woman spoke again: 
 
 "Is it anything I can tend to ?" 
 
 "No," I blurted. "Mr. Flegel the cream money I 
 need I've got to " 
 
 "You want to collect?" She came a step nearer and 
 dropped her voice. 
 
 "Yes. I've got to have it to-night." 
 
 "What's that you've got to have to-night?" It was 
 little old Flegel who spoke, coming from the sitting- 
 room, in his stocking-feet, pipe in hand. He looked at 
 me over his wife's shoulder. "Oh, it's Mrs. Baird," he 
 said. "Won't you come in? Why don't you ask her in, 
 Eosa ?" 
 
 "Thank you, I can't stop," I said. "I only wanted to 
 get the cream money. Can you let me have it to-night ?" 
 
 For a minute nobody spoke. Flegel looked a little 
 queer ; Mrs. Flegel shut her mouth tight ; she purpled, and 
 seemed to puff up as she stared first at me, then at her 
 husband. 
 
 "Sure!" he said. "It's eleven dollars and sixty-five 
 cents, ain't it ?" 
 
 Mrs. Flegel stuck her face up close to his. 
 
 "You going to give it to her ?" she demanded. 
 
 "Sure I am. Why not ?" 
 
 "You paid Baird yesterday. I seen you." 
 
 The first knowledge I had of what I was doing after 
 that was Flegel pushing his angry wife away and saying 
 kindly to me: "Now, I wouldn't cry. Don't you cry.
 
 28 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 I'll let you have what you need against next month's 
 cream." 
 
 "Next month's cream !" Would Oliver let next month's 
 cream go for a debt of mine ? If Mrs. Flegel hadn't been 
 there muttering insults about his never seeing the colour 
 of his money again, I should have told the kind little man 
 exactly how matters stood, and asked him plainly to lend 
 me the money. As it was, I couldn't think of anything 
 but my own necessities. 
 
 "I've got to have as much as ten dollars," I burst out, 
 scarcely knowing what I said. 
 
 "Well, I can let you have ten dollars," said Flegel. 
 "Rosa, be still." 
 
 Funny, square little old Flegel when I was a child at 
 home on the ranch, and we were comparatively rich, and 
 he was just starting his grocery and butcher shop, father 
 used to sell him beef on credit. I remember his coming 
 all the way to Stanleyton for a calf or a sheep that he 
 could get and pay for in his own time. I was inheriting 
 the goodwill of those days now. 
 
 I hoped he would go downstairs to the cash register to 
 get my ten dollars, and still give me a chance to explain 
 out of Mrs. Flcgel's hearing that I was leaving Meaghers 
 for good and would send the money back as soon as I got 
 work in San Vicente. But he put his hand in his pocket 
 and gave me a gold piece from his worn purse. 
 
 I took it without a word. As the door shut and I started 
 'downstairs, I could hear the quarrel still going on. To- 
 morrow, when what I had done Avas .known, Mrs. Flegel 
 would make the story twice as bad. She would say that 
 I had obtained money from her husband under false pre- 
 tences. I knew a person could be arrested for that. At 
 the foot of the stairs I had half a mind to turn back, but 
 loud voices still sounded above. After all, I had to have 
 the money, and they would know in due time why. 
 
 Boyce was sound asleep in a soft little lump, partly on
 
 THE DOOR I SHUT BEHIND ME 29 
 
 and partly off the suit-case. I picked him up and brushed 
 off his suit carefully it was the only nice thing he had; 
 I had made it myself from the cloth dress that was in my 
 wedding outfit. 
 
 I found the station all lit up and empty. The clock 
 showed nearly an hour till train time. Boyce slept 
 soundly. I made him comfortable with my cloak over 
 him on the bench in the women's room, got out the paper 
 and stamped envelope 1 had provided myself with for this 
 purpose, and, with the suit-case for a desk, wrote to Ben 
 Frawley, the expressman, to go up to the ranch and get my 
 trunk and bring it to the station. He was to show the let- 
 ter to Oliver as an order. I didn't think my husband 
 would make any trouble about the trunk. I enclosed a 
 silver fifty-cent piece from a very little hoard of coins I 
 had, and posted the letter in the station box. It was the 
 best arrangement I could think of. Anyhow, it was the 
 only one. After that I stayed outside, walking up and 
 down in the dark. I couldn't be still a minute. My own 
 face in the glass there in the waiting-room had looked 
 strange to me, excited and wild, with red spots like paint 
 on my cheeks and all the rest pale, the eyes big and black 
 they're only a sort of hazel. 
 
 I stayed outside but watched all the time for the ticket 
 window to be opened. A buckboard drove up while I stood 
 there. At the sound of the wheels my heart first stood 
 still, and then began beating till it seemed I would choke. 
 I don't know what I feared; my instinct was to get into 
 the station and to Boyce. I hesitated, afraid to cross the 
 light; then ran ahead and almost bumped into a man get- 
 ting down and having two dogs and some suit-cases handed 
 after him. Well-dressed, gloved just some stranger 
 nothing to be afraid of. 
 
 I went back to my walking up and down while the boy 
 carried the luggage inside and stayed with it. I soon for- 
 got all about the man, and it was not till a good while later
 
 30 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 that I realised he was walking up and down out there, too, 
 smoking, the dogs at his heels, and that he continually met 
 me, "accidentally," in the full light of the door or win- 
 dow. I took a good look at him with the light directly 
 on his face as he went in to put the dogs on leash and 
 leave them with the boy. I recognised him. In the hills 
 above Junction City there were several magnificent moun- 
 tain camps and bungalows belonging to rich people. A 
 year ago Alvah Pendleton's son had spent his honeymoon 
 in the finest of these, built by his father. The pictures of 
 bride and groom were in the papers, and a San Francisco 
 weekly came as near making open mention of various 
 scandals connected with Alvah Pendleton, Jr., the groom, 
 as it could without being sued. 
 
 I recognised the odd little forward duck of his sleek, 
 dark head as, coming back, he lifted his hat and said : 
 
 "It's a fine evening." 
 
 "Yes," I responded nervously, and turned in at the door. 
 
 He came in after me. I went across to the ticket win- 
 dow and stood there with my back to him. Then all at 
 once I was ashamed of the way I was acting. Why 
 shouldn't any man say to me that it was a pleasant even- 
 ing? When he spoke again I was ready to answer him 
 civilly. What he said this time was : 
 
 "Your ticket man at Meaghers doesn't open his win- 
 dow till just before the train comes." He threw his cigar- 
 ette away, strolled up and leaned an elbow on the little 
 shelf. "Not used to travelling ? You get over being ner- 
 vous about little things when you go as much as I do. 
 What's this ticket of yours going to be ?" He smiled, and 
 his dark eyes, lazy, yet keen, travelled over my shabbiness 
 and came back to my face. "A local or a through ?" 
 
 I drew back a little, hesitating. 
 
 "Why, what difference " 
 
 He laughed out now, but not unpleasantly; he didn't 
 seem to be making fun of me. Yet when a woman has
 
 THE DOOR I SHUT BEHIND ME 31 
 
 been for years continually called fool, openly or by im- 
 plication, she is shy of being laughed at. There is a sore 
 place where there used to be reasonable acceptance of 
 good-natured joking. 
 
 "It takes a short time to make out a local ticket, and a 
 long time to make out a through," he explained. 
 
 "San Vicente," I said. "Is that local or through ?" 
 
 "Local. That's where I'm going. I live there." 
 
 "Well," I looked at the clock, "he'll only have two 
 tickets to make out." 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "Not even that. I've got mine already. In fact," he 
 finished, on a lower tone, after a little hesitation, "it hap- 
 pens that I've got two tickets to San Vicente," and left it 
 at that. 
 
 I hardly knew what to say. I couldn't accept the ticket 
 outright; but if he would let me buy it at a reduction, it 
 would help ever so much. Even without a Pullman berth 
 that I did want for Boyce's sake my fare would be six 
 dollars. When I didn't speak, he pulled out his watch and 
 glanced at it. 
 
 "Anyhow," he said, "what's the use of hanging around ? 
 This old ticket window isn't going to be open for ten min- 
 utes." He smiled straight in my face. "It's awfully close 
 in here. You look warm and tired. Come on outside." 
 
 He took hold of my arm easily. It was as though with 
 the words and gesture he crossed over on to an acknowl- 
 edged footing of friendliness. There seemed nothing to do 
 but go with him. Yet at the door I held back. 
 
 "I oughtn't to leave the window now," I said. 
 
 He laughed, and pulled me along. 
 
 "Don't I tell you I've got two tickets to San Vicente I 
 If I make you lose the chance to get yours, what's the mat- 
 ter with your using this extra one of mine ?" 
 
 I was too confused, too inexperienced, to clear matters 
 between us. I knew fairly well that I ought to tell him I
 
 32 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 recognised him, yet if I did that, I should have to give my 
 own name and I was afraid to. He continued to hold 
 my arm as we walked up and down the long platform, 
 with its patches of light just in front of the station, the 
 abrupt darkness swallowing up everything beyond its 
 edges. He dropped the matter of the ticket as though it 
 were settled. As we threaded our way among baggage 
 trucks and piled boxes, and circled around the stack of 
 milk cans at the farther end, I tried in vain to find some 
 excuse for loosening that uncalled for hold on my arm; 
 and I could no more ask him, in so many words, if he 
 would sell me the ticket, and what the price would be, 
 than if I had been dumb. He talked right along in his 
 smooth, careless voice, not seeming to notice anything out 
 of the way about me. Finally he pulled up in the light 
 of the door, and suggested easily : 
 
 "Suppose we introduce ourselves ; here's my card." 
 
 "I haven't any card," I said, twisting the bit of paste- 
 board between my fingers, without looking at it. 
 
 He smiled suddenly. 
 
 "Of course you haven't nor any name, either! Oh, 
 I've got you spotted, kiddo. You're running away from 
 home." 
 
 "What" I gasped "What makes you say that ?" 
 
 He chuckled at my face of dismay. 
 
 "Why, it sticks out all over you, girlie! You'll just 
 have to use that extra ticket of mine. If you go to buying 
 one, the agent will spot you for a runaway, just as I did." 
 
 I couldn't speak. 
 
 "And when papa and mamma get on your track to- 
 morrow, the first thing they'll want to know is where you 
 bought a railroad ticket for." 
 
 Oh, the gulf between me and that foolish, headstrong 
 girl for whom he took me ! 
 
 "He knows where I've gone," I gulped. "I told him 
 in the note to San Vicente to get a divorce."
 
 THE DOOR I SHUT BEHIND ME 33 
 
 "Sa-a-aay !" he whistled softly, and took a new look at 
 me. "We-e-ell who'd have thought it ? a baby doll like 
 you!" 
 
 Without a word I began to edge away toward the sta- 
 tion door. A long step brought him in front of me. There 
 was a new look in his eye. He was flushed, voluble, like 
 a man who had taken a drink. 
 
 "See here," his voice was unsteady, "if there's an in- 
 jured husband on your trail, it's the extra ticket for yours. 
 Come now you'll have to !" 
 
 The whistle of the coming train cut short his speech; 
 next moment its thunders shook the little station. I 
 pushed past him and looked in. The ticket window was 
 open it must have been open for some time. Young 
 Pendleton held me back with one hand. He called to the 
 boy to bring the dogs and luggage. Then to me he 
 whispered : 
 
 "Honey, I hate to leave you, but I've got to run down 
 to the baggage car and see that these pups get on. Get 
 your things and follow my grips. It's all right it's all 
 right. Section 8, first Pullman. Run along quick. Be 
 a good girl." 
 
 This is a free country. Any citizen can accept or reject 
 the proposition of any other citizen. What is it then which 
 terrifies a woman so in a situation like this ? I tore from 
 his grasp as though it had power to harm me ; I ran from 
 him, dashed through the waiting-room, and gathered up 
 my baby. As I flew, money in hand, to get my ticket, he 
 met me at the inner door. 
 
 "What's the matter ?" he was beginning, when he 
 caught sight of Boyce! His astonishment and dismay 
 were almost comical. He stood there between me and the 
 window. "A a child!" he stuttered. "Is that 
 your " 
 
 "Get out of my way!" I cried, desperately. "Let me 
 buy my ticket."
 
 34 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 The boy with the dogs and luggage hung at the outer 
 door and stared. My persecutor backed off. 
 
 "Take those pups down to the baggage car, you fool," 
 he shouted and rushed away. 
 
 The throb and jar of that waiting train excited me un- 
 reasonably. No time to buy a ticket now. I would have 
 to pay on the train. I was beside myself. I turned and 
 ran to get the suit-case, and heard them call, "All aboard !" 
 while I was lifting it. When I got out to the platform 
 Pendleton was standing on the car step, the wheels 
 already beginning to grind. I saw his ungloved right 
 hand passing a coin down to the boy who had carried his 
 grips. The wheels moved faster. Alone, I might have 
 climbed on ; but with Boyce and the suit-case I was afraid 
 to attempt it. I stood there and saw the train leave me.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE FLIGHT 
 
 STUMBLED back into the station. This man noth- 
 ing to me nor I to him had come in my way with 
 his foolish overtures and lost me my train! Yet at the 
 moment there wasn't room in me for anger against him; 
 all other feelings were swallowed up in the tragedy of that 
 missed train. 
 
 Boyce slept like a log. I went and beat on the closed 
 ticket window. I could hear the telegraph instrument 
 clicking away in there, but I was afraid that with the 
 going of the train everybody had left the station. After 
 a long time the board shutter was jerked up; there was 
 the agent, his hat on a corner of his head, one arm in a 
 sleeve of the coat he was hunching into. He looked at me 
 very crossly. 
 
 "Missed your train ? There won't be another till five 
 o'clock to-morrow morning." 
 
 He was going to slam down the shutter, but I put my 
 hand in at the risk of having my fingers pinched. 
 
 "Wait a minute," Pbegged. "Isn't there a train that 
 comes through here at twelve? a train that goes to San 
 Vicente, California?" 
 
 "Yes, there is the Shasta Limited to San Francisco 
 through express. It doesn't stop." 
 
 Again he was going to pull the window down. Again I 
 stopped him desperately. 
 
 "Couldn't it be flagged?" 
 
 "No, it couldn't. Is that all ? It's after my hours, now. 
 Five o'clock to-morrow morning's the best you can do 
 unless you want to try walking to the Junction. Take 
 your hand away." 
 
 35
 
 36 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 With that, he slammed the window down, indeed. 
 
 For a minute I stood, holding to the shelf, staring at the 
 white painted boards of the shutter. I heard his heavy, 
 clumping step cross the floor, and the outer door shut, leav- 
 ing me alone in the station. I was like a person who has 
 had a blow on the head. No useful thought or suggestion 
 came to me. I just went and sat down by the suit-case and 
 the sleeping baby. There I sat, in a sort of stupor; and 
 when I tried to think of any plan, there only thumped over 
 and over in my mind the thought that it was all my fault 
 "If I hadn't spoken to that man if I hadn't let him speak 
 to me ! All my fault all my fault !" 
 
 There was a big clock, and it ticked very loud. I real- 
 ized that the wind had freshened, and was coming through 
 the open door. I covered Boyce mechanically. After all 
 that I had done and tried in these last months, after that 
 final struggle, there seemed nothing to do but sit and wait. 
 And that's what I did, for more than an hour. 
 
 What finally roused me like a slap in the face was the 
 sight of Flegel's gold-piece still clutched in my hand. The 
 Flegels five o'clock was the milk train they would be 
 down to it. Oliver would have had my note before that; 
 he might be there, too. I couldn't bear it. I got up and 
 lifted the suit-case. Six miles to the Junction. Out of 
 the question to walk that far. I looked at the clock; the 
 hands were close together at the top almost time for the 
 Limited. 
 
 I became suddenly aware of a queer trembling through 
 me yet I felt strong with it, not weak. My own efforts 
 had failed; now something from outside seemed to take 
 hold of me, and move me about quick, skillful, unhesi- 
 tating. The Shasta Limited, away down below the cut, 
 whistled for Meaghers. I caught up Boyce, took him out 
 and laid him, sleeping as he was, on a baggage truck close 
 beside the track, flew back for my suit-case, set it by him, 
 jerking down a poster from the wall as I passed, ran a
 
 THE FLIGHT 37 
 
 little way along the track to where the first tall electric 
 light would give the engineer a good view of my figure, 
 and stood there. When the train came out of the <mt at 
 the foot of the valley I began to wave my poster across the 
 tracks. It was half a mile away then, coming like a 
 cannon-ball, but I waved frantically, till they saw me, 
 and I could see and hear the speed slackening. Then I 
 threw down the cardboard sheet, turned and ran the few 
 rods back to the station, and was waiting there with my 
 baby and my baggage when the great train came to a 
 grinding halt at the platform and two or three men jumped 
 down demanding to know what was the matter. 
 
 In the confusion, I scrambled on, and was in the vesti- 
 bule of one of the Pullmans the train carried no other 
 kind of cars while they swore and hammered on the 
 station door, and tried to find who had flagged them, and 
 why. 
 
 For a minute they ran around like men fighting a fire ; 
 then I heard the shout, "All aboard!" and the conductor 
 came jumping into the vestibule where I was, grabbed the 
 bell rope and pulled it. The wheels were moving before 
 he saw me that saved me from being put off the train. 
 
 "Good Lord !" he snapped, stopping there with his arm 
 raised, staring down at me. "Was it you children that 
 flagged my train ? You ought to be whipped !" 
 
 I stood up meekly, and he saw the length of my skirts. 
 
 "A woman grown," he said astonished, "and don't 
 know any better than that ?" 
 
 "I'm sorry," I answered. "I just had to get this train." 
 
 "Had to get this train !" he spluttered. "Well, madam, 
 do you know that you have trifled with the lives of hun- 
 dreds of people ? We don't dare lose or gain a minute, 
 madam. The next time you run out and wave a petticoat 
 at a train because you want to ride on it, I wish you'd 
 choose the local." 
 
 The brakeman came up behind and stood listening with
 
 38 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 a boy's grin. He was a young fellow with reckless, light 
 blue eyes under his visored cap, and not enough chin to 
 warrant them. From behind the conductor's shoulder he 
 gave me a wink of encouragement. I let the angry man 
 scold me like a father or a Dutch Uncle. When he was 
 through, he seemed relieved, for^he turned all at once to the 
 brakeman and asked if there was any more comfortable 
 place than the vestibule for me to sit, adding : 
 
 "We can't afford to stop again. She's on here and going 
 to stay. You may as well look after her, Tipton. She'll 
 have to have some place to lay this kid, anyhow." 
 
 "Sure," and the boy ducked into the Pullman. 
 
 "I haven't the money for a berth," I said hastily ; "only 
 a little more than enough for my fare to San Vicente." 
 
 Good old conductor, whose name I never knew his bark 
 was so much worse than his bite ! 
 
 "I can't accept a money fare to San Vicente," he grum- 
 bled. "This is a through train got nothing but through 
 tickets. How'd a local money fare look in my accounts ?" 
 
 Something almost like a smile passed between us. 
 
 "I'd be perfectly willing to pay," I said. "I know it 
 was outrageous of me to stop your train. But I just had 
 to I'm going down to San Vicente to get work." 
 
 He gave me a long look ; I guess he "spotted" me, too, 
 as the man at the station put it. Then his eye finally set- 
 tled on Boyce. 
 
 "Fine boy you've got there. Going to get work, hey? 
 Well, if you show the nerve holding up San Vicente you 
 did in holding up my train, you'll make it." 
 
 He went on. I offer my thanks to him here. I hadn't 
 the wit to do it then, nor would he have wanted me to. 
 
 The brakeman came strolling back with that light- 
 hearted air of his, followed by a tall, broad-framed very 
 black man, who looked as though he had just been waked 
 up, and said airily. 
 
 "Bice'll let the kid sleep on the seat where he is."
 
 THE FLIGHT 39 
 
 The negro bowed to me gravely, his eyes fastening 
 themselves on Boy, who was awake now and standing be- 
 side me. He bent to pick the child up, and I got a blast 
 of whiskey breath that showed me why the man's eyeballs 
 were so reddened. I thought Boy would be afraid of him, 
 but he put up his arms instantly and cuddled down on the 
 broad hollow shoulder. We all started back into the Pull- 
 man, the young brakeman whispering to me as we went. 
 
 "Bice just got fired on the wing, as it were for drink- 
 ing." 
 
 "Oh," I said, looking at the big, kind creature carrying 
 Boy, "what a pity !" 
 
 "Yep," assented the brakeman. "He was a star porter, 
 but the railroad don't stand for John Barleycorn. He and 
 the brakeman smuggled in a bottle, and they fired 'em both 
 picked me up at Silver Hill to make the run back, and 
 grabbed a coon there to take Bice's place. They'll carry 
 him on to San Francisco and turn him loose." 
 
 The black man put my son down on his own folded over- 
 coat. He handled the child deftly ; the liquor seemed only 
 to make him more dignified, as it does some people. 
 
 "Will the lady wish this seat ?" he asked when Boy, com- 
 fortably placed, lapsed again into slumber. 
 
 His speech startled me. It was a big voice brought down 
 to a beautiful whisper (we were in the end of a Pullman 
 full of sleeping passengers), and the negro's pronunciation 
 was that of an English gentleman. He was offering me 
 the only place he himself had to sit. 
 
 "Oh, no, thank you," I said. "I'll take the camp-stool 
 out in the vestibule if it won't be too much trouble for you 
 to look after my little boy here." 
 
 "No trouble, madam," he said, then dropped into the 
 seat like a thing whose mechanism has run down, his head 
 went back, and he began to snore almost instantly. 
 
 I was loosening Boyce's shoes when the child suddenly 
 opened his eyes wide.
 
 40 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "We on train !" he exclaimed as though just realising it. 
 "Where's Boy's candy ?" 
 
 "Oh, Boy '' I began, but the brakeman took the words 
 out of my mouth. 
 
 "Sure," he said, "you're dead right, young man this is 
 a train, and your candy's in the next car. I'll get it for 
 you." 
 
 "Now?" 
 
 Boy's eyes were closing as he spoke; he was asleep 
 when I tucked his shoes in beside him. 
 
 I shook my hand to the brakeman, breathing softly: 
 
 "No need to get any candy. See. I'll buy some to- 
 morrow." 
 
 "Yes, you won't," was the whispered answer. "I'll 
 get the kid's candy. I don't want anything of his size 
 bawling me out for not keeping my promises. Gee, he's 
 a good looker ! Got eyes like his mamma." 
 
 He carried the stool out for me. After I was seated on 
 it in a corner of the vestibule, he stood looking at me a 
 minute, then reached over and tried the big brass lever 
 that lets down the floor to open the vestibule. I watched 
 him dully. 
 
 "Sometimes they throw themselves in front of engines," 
 he explained; "sometimes they throw themselves off of the 
 trains ; but either way, I'm ag'in it." 
 
 I smiled a little, and he went on, seeming rather relieved 
 in his mind. He was gone some time, and when he came 
 back brought the candy, and put it in my lap, suggesting : 
 
 "Have some yourself." 
 
 "Thank you," I said, "I couldn't eat but I'm awfully 
 thirsty." 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 "Sort of like me. If I had as good an appetite as I have 
 a thirst, I'd be bigger than Bice. Ain't he a whale ? West 
 Indian darkey from San Domingo ; been butler in me lud's 
 family down in those parts, and steward on a big mail
 
 THE FLIGHT 41 
 
 steamer; but he couldn't get it through his nut that when 
 the railroad said 'Nix on the alcohol' it meant nix." 
 
 "Is it all right to leave the child with him ?" I asked a 
 trifle anxiously. 
 
 "Sure it's all right. The poor old ginny's as gentle as a 
 kitten. Drink only makes him more polite. When I came 
 through there just now the kid had waked up and asked 
 for something. Bice was waiting on him like he was the 
 heir apparent to the throne. I tell you the tourists used to 
 feel as though it was a privilege to be allowed to slip him 
 a five-dollar tip." 
 
 "I I know so little of such things," I stammered. 
 "How much ought I to give him for letting Boy sleep on 
 the seat there ?" 
 
 "Nothing. He's down and out himself, you see he's 
 not the porter. It makes him feel kind of good to get a 
 chance to do something for somebody. Don't you offer 
 him money. He's not like the common run of darkies." 
 
 "He did look very different to me," I said ; "so big, and 
 so very black ; yet his features are almost sharp." 
 
 "He's a Kaffir," nodding. "I was born on a Virginia 
 plantation. Down there I used to hear them talk about 
 Kaffirs. Always said they couldn't use one in the fields 
 except for a boss. They won't mind anybody but a 
 white man, you see or a white lady but they made fine 
 butlers and stewards. Get one of 'em roused and he's got 
 all sorts of fool courage you could whip him to death 
 before he'd give up. I'll bring you that drink now I 
 guess it's time." 
 
 He fetched the water, and watched me drink. As T 
 handed back the empty glass with thanks, he remarked : 
 
 "I ain't asking what your sorrow was, but I am inquir- 
 ing if broken doses of conversation might relieve it. Yes 2 
 Introductions are in order. My name's Joe Tipton, of 
 San Vicente, California. Pleased to make your acquaint- 
 ance. Mrs. er er ump ump ?"
 
 42 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 He paused with raised eyebrows. I laughed and filled 
 in, "Mrs. C. A. Baird." 
 
 "And the C. A. stands for California, America." 
 
 "You pretty nearly guessed it." The boy's dare-devil 
 air would have disarmed anyone. "My father named me 
 California for the state he was born in, and rny mother 
 added Ann to it. Most people call me Callie." 
 
 "Nup," young Tipton shook his head. "I never should. 
 I've got a name for you. California's too long a handle." 
 
 He didn't say what his name for me was, and I didn't 
 ask. He kept coming back every once in a while, and on 
 one of these visits I questioned him concerning San Vi- 
 cente. 
 
 "It's a pretty good old burg," he said. "About forty 
 thousand give the Chamber of Commerce a couple of 
 drinks and they'll claim eighty, but forty's nearer the 
 figure. Got many friends there?" 
 
 "No," I said, hastily. "I only know two people in San 
 Vicente a Mr. and Mrs. Watkins." 
 
 "Well they'll meet you at the station, will they ? San 
 Vicente ain't London, but it's a kind of a wicked big town 
 for one little lone bunch of calico." 
 
 "Oh, no," I said, "they don't know anything about my 
 coming. I haven't seen either of them for nearly seven 
 years. I knew them back in Stanleyton." 
 
 "What are you going to do then ?" Joe asked. "Not 
 that I want to pry ; but I'm just determined to find out." 
 
 "Why, I must get an inexpensive boarding-house and 
 then look for work." 
 
 He stood silent, shaking his head. 
 
 "Oh, say," he began, hesitantly, "it would be too bad 
 for you to have to go to a beanery." 
 
 "I'm used to economizing," was all I said to that. 
 
 "But, you see, a dame with your looks all alone at a 
 place like that ; take it from me " 
 
 The engine whistle broke in on his speech with some
 
 THE FLIGHT 48 
 
 signal which sent him hurrying away. When he was gone 
 the memory of those silly, slangy words, "A dame with 
 your looks," kept me a kind of pleasant company. One 
 would have said they were as free and impertinent as 
 Pendleton's "a baby doll," yet Pendleton's speech had re- 
 pelled and scared me, and I got no feeling of offence from 
 what this boy said and did. He praised my looks. How 
 long, how long since I had given thought to them! Cer- 
 tainly not since mother died. I spread my hands out on 
 my threadbare skirt. They were still soft and little and 
 white the palms not much calloused. Through all the 
 slavery of the ranch I had kept up the care of them that 
 mother always made so much of, washing them in butter- 
 milk, protecting them from the rough work with old gloves 
 though there was nobody now to notice and approve, as 
 she used to do. Nights when she was so worn out that she 
 would fairly go to sleep on her tired feet she would stand 
 and brush my curls. She wanted me, even after I was 
 married, to let them hang, because it was good for the hair 
 she said, but I knew it was because she was so proud of 
 them. 
 
 Poor little mother, sleeping so quietly on the Oregon 
 hill there beside father, while her girl, with the curls all 
 tucked in under a cheap hat of two summers back faced 
 the world with just those two small, bare hands between 
 herself and starvation ! 
 
 We roared on through the night. That song of the 
 wheels, "Going away !" "Going away !" that always comes 
 to the unaccustomed traveller, was loud in my ears. I had 
 done it at last. I was off. How many years of slow 
 misery, what hours of frenzied revolt had gone to the mak- 
 ing of this moment! The speed of the train hurling 
 through the dark stimulated me. I shouldn't be any fur- 
 ther from Meaghers because I was going so fast, yet some- 
 how it seemed as though I should. 
 
 Mcaghers- I thought of the Flegels. I went over in
 
 44 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 my mind the scene at their house ; my trouble afterward 
 with young Pendleton at the station made it clearer to me. 
 That article in the weekly had given me hint enough about 
 Alvah Pendleton's son if it were needed, and I could see 
 how his manner had instantly changed when he found that 
 I was one of the women who can't come under the ordinary 
 rules ; not a wife with a husband to speak up for her, nor 
 a girl to be approached with some little indirection. I 
 must realise now that my position was anomalous; some 
 people wouldn't want to be mixed up with me, others 
 would think they could take liberties. Well, I hadn't 
 expected it would be easy. 
 
 A dreary^rospect ? My heart rose to it, shook its wings 
 like a poor cage-bird that has made escape, and yet has 
 no reason save the bare one of the existence of those 
 wings to believe that it can fly. I looked with a sort 
 of tragic amusement toward the great brass lever that Joe 
 Tipton had examined so uneasily. They threw themselves 
 tinder the engines and off the trains, did they? Not the 
 mother animal with its young to live for ! 
 
 The brakeman came loitering back and studied me 
 briefly with his casual, sidelong glance, before he inquired. 
 
 "Well, how's every little thing '?" 
 
 "Fine," I answered him, and really meant it. "It's 
 good that I get into San Vicente in the early morning. 
 I'll have all day to look for a place." 
 
 "Say." He hesitated, then cocked his cap to one side 
 and went on, "I believe I've got hold of the dandy scheme 
 for you. I want to send you to mother." 
 
 I had a vision of the widowed Virginia lady in her tiny 
 cot. 
 
 "Will she have room for me ?" 
 
 "Plenty. My two weeks' vacation starts when I leave 
 this train at Frisco." He fished out a card. "You can 
 take that to mother, and she'll let you use my room while 
 I'm away."
 
 THE FLIGHT 45 
 
 On the card he put in my hand was printed, "The 
 Poinsettia, Arbolado Street at Fortieth, San Vicente, Cali- 
 fornia. Mrs. Col. Joseph Edwards Tipton, late of Green- 
 briar Springs, Va., proprietress." 
 
 "It's a classy place," he assured me. "The handsomest 
 house on Arbolado street dago artist built it to look like 
 his ancestral castle at Bingen on the Rhine and went 
 broke on it. Mother gets it cheap, and she's got a bunch of 
 swell dames for boarders. It's the very hang-out for you." 
 
 "Oh, but I couldn't afford such a place !" 
 
 "Forget it," he waved a hand. "There's no money in 
 the deal. You're walking right back to the old homestead 
 this time with your che-ild in your arms, and the paper 
 snow coming down, to soft music. I won't be in San Vi- 
 cente for two weeks. That'll give you time to size up the 
 situation and see what you can do." 
 
 "You're very kind," I said. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know." He took the card from my hand 
 again, and began scribbling on it. "My room's a fright. 
 I'm telling mother to sort of hoe it out and let you into it." 
 
 "What will she think?" 
 
 "It doesn't pay to think, where I'm concerned Mother 
 knows that. I've brought her up right. Say I wish I 
 could be there to see when you drop in on the bunch at the 
 Poinsettia! Those dear old girls certainly are one grove 
 of nuts. I have some right good fun with 'em. I sure 
 would admire to be among those present when they get the 
 first view of you and the kid !" 
 
 "Why ?" I began, but he broke in on me rather 
 hastily : 
 
 "When you get to San Vicente you take the Arbolado 
 street-car on the corner northeast of the station, unless 
 you have the luck to catch a jitney. Give your check to 
 the baggage man. He'll look after your trunk." 
 
 "My my trunk isn't here," I said in some embarrass- 
 ment. "It's to come later."
 
 46 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "Who's attending to it ?" 
 
 "The driver at Meaghers. He'll send it on as soon as 
 I give him an address." 
 
 "I could save you the express on it," said the brakeman. 
 "The man that's taking my regular run could bring it down 
 to San Vicente without it costing you anything." 
 
 "I oughtn't to let you do that, but " 
 
 "You should worry ! It's not a cent out of my pocket." 
 I did love the neat way he freed me from all gratitude. 
 "I always enjoy making other folks work." 
 
 "Well then all right," I said, and began to add some 
 halting words of thanks. But he seemed not to hear them, 
 and only said, before he strolled away, and with that boy's 
 grin of his : 
 
 " 'Well, that chore's chored,' as the Yankee woman said 
 when she poisoned her husband. See you later." 
 
 So it came about that I climbed down from the Shasta 
 Limited at San Vicente in the blue coolness of dawn. I 
 was wearly from my sleepless night in the vestibule, yet 
 less frightened and shaken than I had expected to be. 
 There were some other passengers getting off, a family 
 group, with the regular porter of the car looking after 
 them. Joe Tipton had warned me that he would be busy 
 elsewhere, but the big black man, Bice, attended on me as 
 though I had been a queen. He wouldn't let me touch a 
 thing to carry it. He had washed and combed Boyce in 
 the Pullman dressing-room, and he brought the child out 
 riding on his arm with a stately air that made it look like 
 a ceremonial. I remembered Joe's caution about not offer- 
 ing him money. 
 
 "Thank you thank you ever so much," I said. "You 
 have been awfully good to my little boy and me." 
 
 "I was glad to do it for you, madam," his deep, cour- 
 teous voice answered. "The little gentleman is mighty 
 sweet. I hope I may be able to serve you and him again 
 some other time."
 
 THE FLIGHT 47 
 
 He had carried my suit-case to the station door. The 
 train began to move as he was setting it down. He re- 
 gained the platform with a very few long strides, and the 
 last view Boyce and I had of him, was standing big and 
 black and forlorn on the rear platform looking back to us.
 
 CHAPTEK III 
 
 THE DOOR THAT OPENED TO ME 
 
 DAWN in the streets of San Vicente. The roar of the 
 train was still in my head, its jar and movement 
 through all my flesh. Here it was still, cool, empty, under 
 the growing light. Boy pulled at my hand. 
 
 "Muwer are we there ?" 
 
 I tried to answer him, but tears stung under my eye- 
 lids ; my throat swelled. We were "there." The journey 
 was made that train had gone on. I was free. Freedom 
 a splendour but a terror. Freedom to do what? To 
 starve, maybe. No, no I wouldn't fail with Boyce, I 
 daren't. Here was a whole town full of people I'd find 
 friends a new start a new chance. 
 
 "What you crying for ? Where hurts ?" Boy swung 
 round in front of me, clutching my skirts, staring up into 
 my face, scared. 
 
 "Nothing I'm just so happy," I said, half scared my- 
 self to find tears on my cheeks. I wiped them away, and 
 smiled. Boy was quick enough to believe me and forget 
 them in the great adventure. 
 
 I didn't see any car with ARBOLADO on it ; no jitney 
 passed, though we stood a long time at the corner Joe Tip- 
 ton had described. I began to realise that I was very 
 hungry. I had been too excited to touch food at supper 
 last night across from Oliver, where I should never sit 
 again! For days before that I had scarcely eaten any- 
 thing. Now that I stood free, new-born in a world of my 
 own, I was one great hunger. 
 
 "Jackie-Boy," I said, "would you like to walk up to the 
 new place ?" and we started along the silent street. At 
 first everything was closed, except some drug-store or all- 
 night saloon ; then as we walked block after block, five, six, 
 
 48
 
 THE DOOR THAT OPENED TO ME 49 
 
 eight, ten of them, there began to be bungalows, with milk 
 bottles on their steps a woman sweeping the walk, a man 
 using the garden hose, a child running on an early morn- 
 ing errand. 
 
 "It's pretty far," Boy said. "Is breakfast there?" 
 
 "Yes, son," I laughed a little; "it has to be there." 
 And after that he timed his short steps to the phrase. 
 
 We were both tired enough before we reached the big 
 house which I recognised half a block away from Joe Tip- 
 ton's description. It certainly looked queer at the corner 
 of a city street, with its shingled towers, battlements, red 
 sandstone bastions, and a cloistered arcade. It seemed 
 there should have been a drawbridge and moat, instead of 
 the usual stone steps and a front doorbell. 
 
 A neat girl in a blue cotton maid's dress answered my 
 ring, and looked a little doubtful when I asked for Mrs. 
 Tipton. 
 
 "If she, isn't up yet " I hesitated, realising that I was 
 in town where people wouldn't be keeping ranch hours. 
 
 "She's up," the maid vouchsafed. "She's in the 
 kitchen," and I questioned : 
 
 "Could I go there and speak to her a minute? Or 
 would you give her this?" and I put forward Joe's card. 
 
 The girl took it, turned it over and read that boyish 
 scrawl: "Dear Mother: Making Shasta Limited run. 
 Hoe out my room, and let the little lady and the kid have 
 it. Won't be home for two weeks." 
 
 "Oh," she said, "Joe Ed sent you." 
 
 A fragrance of coffee began to diffuse itself upon the air. 
 My four-year-old wrinkled his button nose, demanding: 
 
 "Is this the place where we get breakfast, Muwer ? You 
 said it had to be." 
 
 "Huh," the girl lingered, muttering. "Joe Ed sent you 
 here with that kid the young devil! He knows better 
 than that. Well come in and sit down. I'll call Mrs. 
 Tipton."
 
 50 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 This was certainly a puzzling reception. I looked about 
 me. The hall was a big, square room with rugs on the 
 floor, a piano, and a great fireplace of rough boulders in 
 front of which, but not too close, there was a table with 
 books and magazines, a lot of rocking chairs drawn up 
 toward the hearth, and at one side a long seat with cush- 
 ions, swung by chains from the ceiling. There was an air 
 of homelike comfort a little different from what I had 
 expected in a fashionable boarding-house. 
 
 Over the mantel was a portrait of a man in Confederate 
 uniform. Below it a sheathed sword hung by its wide, 
 knitted, silken sash, and a colonel's hat, with its insignia. 
 
 "Mrs. Baird?" 
 
 The singular voice that spoke to me, technically a falset- 
 to, I suppose, yet had none of the forced, shrill quality 
 we associate with that word. It was like a little flute very 
 softly blown. I turned to see a woman whom I recognised 
 at once as Joe Tipton's mother. Though her eyes were 
 brown, they had something the same adventurous gleam as 
 his, and the short chin seemed less inadequate on a femi- 
 nine face. She looked to be under fifty, and must surely 
 have been the very young wife of her Confederate colonel. 
 I got up and went toward her, beginning to explain. 
 
 "Your son sent me. He thought I could have his room 
 for a day or two till I can get settled." 
 
 "Yes?" Again the soft little flute-like voice surprised 
 me. "Well, you might come up and look at it." She 
 smiled Joe Ed's own light-hearted smile. "I'm not sure 
 that you can get in Eddie has a way of leaving his things 
 scattered all over the place, and we never clean it till the 
 last minute before he's expected." 
 
 Boy and I followed her up the stairs. The room was at 
 the back of the house, on the third floor ; a kitchen chimney 
 came up close outside its one window, cutting off all the 
 view and most of the light. The room was full of man 
 young man wild, careless boy. It reeked of masculinity.
 
 THE DOOR THAT OPENED TO ME 51 
 
 Even my husband-accustomed senses felt it. Cigarette 
 butts and ash were everywhere. The half -open closet door 
 showed soiled shirts and collars pitched on the floor, kicked 
 into a heap but springing and rolling about as collars will. 
 The carpet was worn, faded and pieced, made over from 
 the leavings of a larger room ; the old articles of furniture 
 all more or less out of repair. 
 
 Bless the boy, with reckless kindness he had offered me 
 this frowsy, neglected place as confidently as though it had 
 been the best room in the house. And, oh, I was thankful. 
 
 "Well," with another edition of Joe Ed's smile Mrs. 
 Tipton repeated the soft, sliding monosyllable she had 
 used in the hall below, "do you think you could stay here T 
 
 For answer my suit-case fell thumping from my hand. 
 I sank on a chair and Boy instantly climbed onto my lap 
 with that boring in of hard little knees which tired mothers 
 know so well. 
 
 "Is this where we going to stay, Muwer ?" he demanded, 
 kneeling on my lap, a fist on each side of my neck, staring 
 straight into my eyes. "Will there be breakfast here ?" 
 
 Mrs. Tipton turned at the door with a graceful air of 
 leave-taking. She surveyed the room, me and my child, 
 making no comment on Boyce, as the servant-girl had done. 
 Her courteous silence somehow made me a little uneasy. 
 I felt that there was something back of the situation, and 
 I hastened to say: 
 
 "Your son only offered to let me stay in the room be- 
 cause he was not occupying it. I didn't expect to get my 
 meals here." 
 
 "Yes? You look tired and the little boy I think I 
 can spare Orma to bring you up a tray with some coffee, 
 and some oatmeal and milk." 
 
 When she was gone and the door shut I began auto- 
 matically to pick up things and put the room to rights, 
 when Boy called me from the window : 
 
 "Muwer, come look at little house."
 
 58 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 I went and stood behind his bobbing head. The back 
 yard down there was a beautiful, secluded place ; shut in 
 from the side street by a ten-foot cypress hedge, separated 
 from the other sides by tall board party fence covered with 
 vines and masked by shrubbery, and from the Poinsettia 
 itself, even in that limited space, by a thicket of bamboo. 
 In the midst, a tiny bungalow, wrapped, tied about, bun- 
 dled in a great wistaria vine, almost filled our narrow field 
 of vision. It was a little nest, a quiet, green hermitage. 
 Through its diamond-paned window Jackie-Boy's sharp 
 eyes spied out a man sitting at table. 
 
 "Me, too, Muvver Boycie's hungry, too," he instantly 
 began, on so loud a note that I had to hush him. But a 
 welcome knock on the door interrupted us, and the maid 
 came in with our tray. 
 
 "I brought your breakfast up here, because " she was 
 beginning when Boy turned with a shout and ran toward 
 it. "Lady, you'll have to keep him quieter than 
 that," she concluded. "Didn't the Mrs. speak to you 
 about it?" 
 
 "Why, no," I said, uneasily. 
 
 She put the tray on the bed, the only possible clear place 
 to set it down. I began to get Boyce's oatmeal ready as 
 fast as I could, making a seat for him of the suit-case and 
 using one of the chairs for a table. When you are pre- 
 paring food for a hungry child you pay very little atten- 
 tion to what is going on about you ; but with Boyce finally 
 settled, I noticed that the girl was still lingering, and evi- 
 dently had something more to say. As I glanced up at her 
 the servant girl in the house is always hungry for some- 
 one to talk to she began, a little deprecatingly : 
 
 "You know you're right over Mrs. Thrasher's room 
 here." 
 
 "Mrs. Thrasher?" 
 
 "Yes. She's the owner. She doesn't allow Mrs. Tip- 
 ton to take anjr children."
 
 THE DOOR THAT OPENED TO ME 53 
 
 "Mrs. Tipton didn't say anything about it to me," I 
 repeated rather blankly. 
 
 Boyce was spooning away in perfect contentment, while 
 I let my breakfast get cold. 
 
 "Ain't that just like her?" inquired the girl in an ag- 
 grieved tone. "Left it to me to tell you. Listen : my sis- 
 ter's little girl came in from the ranch last month to have 
 her eyes fitted with glasses good, decent kid, about eleven. 
 Could I have her stay with me? I could not. But the 
 Mrs. didn't say a word to me about it; she just turned 
 loose them old cats on me." 
 
 "Do you mean the boarders ?" 
 
 "The boarders and Mrs. Thrasher. That old woman sure 
 is one devil, esquire. She can't live with her husband. 
 She won't get a divorce from him nor let him have one. 
 She's got a separation, and half the money. She pinches 
 a nickel till the buffalo kicks. She made it so hot for me 
 while I had Fay here that I had to run the kid off between 
 two days and telegraph my sister." 
 
 "Do they all are they all like that ?" I was bewildered. 
 "What's the matter with them ?" 
 
 "The devil," said Orma. "They've got nothing to do 
 but sit around and kick. They complain to the Mrs. of 
 me, or of Addie's cooking talk to me when I'm doing 
 their rooms jump on Mrs. T. backbite each other." Her 
 eye glanced around the walls. "You ought to hear Joe Ed 
 set 'em up. He's got a nickname for every one of 'em." 
 
 So this was what young Tipton meant by saying that he 
 would admire to be there when the dear old girls got their 
 first view of me and the kid! A buzzer sounded from 
 below, two short calls. 
 
 "There's the only boarder in the house that ain't a 
 crank." Orma dived for her towel, which she had dropped 
 on back of Boyce's table-chair. "She's a lady. If you do 
 anything for her you get paid. You'd like Miss Eugenia 
 Chandler."
 
 54. THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 The door shut after her, and I heard her hurrying foot- 
 steps on the stairs. I turned to my breakfast. Whatever 
 the situation, I must eat. Boy was chasing the last drop 
 of cream round and round in the bottom of his oatmeal 
 bowl. He looked up to say to me with the satisfied, replete 
 air of a fed child. 
 
 " 'S good." 
 
 "Yes, dear, it is," I agreed. It was a beautiful meal 
 amber coffee, with cream; eggs, bacon, hot biscuits, all 
 exquisitely served. As I finished it I began to hear mov- 
 ing about on the floor below me, the opening and shutting 
 of doors. Boy, having slept and breakfasted, was ready 
 for play. He began to investigate things, promptly 
 knocked the hairbrush off the bureau, and it fell clattering. 
 
 "You must be quiet, dear," I cautioned. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "The people in this house aren't used to little boys." 
 
 "They can't hear me. I fink I play train-o'-cars." 
 
 "No, no, Boy ; you mustn't." 
 
 "Huh!" He squared up before me, full of resistance; 
 I looked about me for a sufficient argument. 
 
 "Mother's head aches. I didn't sleep any last night, 
 Jackie-Boy, you see. I want to sleep now." 
 
 "Can I cure your head ?" he bargained ; playing doctor 
 was at least something. 
 
 Once down on the bed, I realised how desperately tired 
 and sleepy I was. I lay there and let him dribble a sopped 
 towel over my forehead, where there began to be plenty of 
 ache. The water ran down my shirtwaist ; the feeling of 
 the cool moisture, on shoulder and arm, reminded me with 
 a sort of passive uneasiness that I had only one more clean 
 blouse in my suit-case. Men say that life presents itself 
 to women mostly as a matter of clothes. Well it is a 
 woman who gets the little garments ready for us before 
 we come here; it is a woman who struggles to have us 
 clean and properly clad as other people's children. A girl's
 
 THE DOOR THAT OPENED TO ME 55 
 
 pretty dresses may mean every opportunity in life for her ; 
 a woman can't go anywhere or be anybody unless she has 
 decent things to wear. A man is estimated upon what he 
 is, and a woman upon how she looks. As I lay there on 
 Joe Tipton's generously offered, tobacco-smelling bed, with 
 my head humming, and Boyce lovingly prodding the cor- 
 ner of a wet towel in my eye, I couldn't think of anything 
 much but the fact that I oughtn't to have lain down in my 
 suit, the only thing I possessed fit to be seen on town 
 streets and that it wasn't fit. 
 
 Yet I must have gone to sleep almost at once and slept 
 soundly. I wakened to the sound of the big stairway clock 
 striking eleven, and the murmur of Boy's little half-sung 
 play talk he was used to making his own amusements. I 
 lay there a moment thinking. I knew what I had to do. 
 I must get up and go over every stitch of my clothes, brush- 
 ing and cleaning, the same with Boy's, then wash and dress 
 us both with the unusual care that makes a great differ- 
 ence, even with shabby old things. When I got up and 
 began the work, Boy welcomed me as though from a long 
 journey. I was nearly done when Orma came in for the 
 tray. Boy hailed her as a relief. 
 
 "Who lives in little house ?" he demanded, twisting free 
 and running, to the window. 
 
 "Mr. Dale." Standing beside the child, she ran a finger 
 through one of his curls. "You going out with your mam- 
 ma to get lunch ?" 
 
 "Yep." Said Boyce. I stood pinning on my hat before 
 the bureau. 
 
 "There's a nice little dairy lunch just around the cor- 
 ner on Forty-third street," she suggested. 
 
 "Thank you, that'll be handy," I said, and we all went 
 together through the door, and down the first flight of 
 stairs. When we came to the second-floor landing, where 
 she would take the back stairs and we the front, she 
 glanced down into the hall with a sort of chuckle. A little,
 
 56 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 long-faced, dried-up looking old lady was fluttering around 
 the newel post, peering up at us. 
 
 "There's Miss Creevey," said the maid. "She gave Mr. 
 Dale her book that she wrote The History of Modoc 
 County in Rhyme." I was moving on when she caught 
 my sleeve to whisper, "She paid to have that book printed, 
 Joe Ed says. There's one of 'em on the hall table. Sure 
 nobody ever bought 'em." 
 
 She went on down the back stairs, and we faced front. 
 A sudden timidity fell on Boyce and me as we began to 
 descend. He caught hold of my hand, and pushed in 
 against my skirts. The little old lady let go the newel 
 post and backed away. 
 
 They were gathered in the hall waiting for the dining- 
 room to be opened for lunch. Mrs. Tipton sat at her little 
 desk near the foot of the stairs, and just outside of the 
 dining-room door. They all looked up at us. Conversa- 
 tion ceased abruptly. My son and I arrived amid utter 
 silence. It is impossible to see anything when you face a 
 roomful of people who are gazing at you. I got a confused 
 impression of eight or ten middle-aged women, well- 
 dressed, and one small white-haired, whiskered old man, 
 who seemed somehow almost as little like a real man as 
 any of them. They grouped around the fire, though it 
 was a fine, sunny day, continuing to stare at me and my 
 child as though we had been stray animals who had gotten 
 in by mistake. I nodded to them in general, and as I 
 passed Mrs. Tipton said to her : 
 
 "We are going out for lunch." 
 
 "Shall you be in to dinner ?" she inquired airily. 
 
 I was taken aback. There was no ignoring the hostility 
 of the others. 
 
 "Why" I stammered, "Shall I? I didn't know I 
 thought" 
 
 I broke off. Mrs. Tipton sat smiling her incorrigible 
 smile and saying :
 
 THE DOOR THAT OPENED TO ME 57 
 
 "Oh, I guess we can give you some dinner." 
 
 "Thank you. I'll be here," and I went on. But as I 
 passed through the swinging curtains at the vestibule and 
 began to fumble with the big front door latch, I heard 
 somebody inquire, in awful tones : 
 
 "Who was that?" And before any answer could be 
 made, another: 
 
 "A new boarder ?" Then most accusingly of all : 
 
 "Surely not with that child !" 
 
 I tried to get away without hearing more; but Mrs. 
 Tipton's clear, high tones brought me the answer she made 
 to them : 
 
 "Oh, just a poor soul that Eddie sent here. Lunch is 
 served, ladies. Eddie has a weakness for picking up oddi- 
 ties." 
 
 I jerked desperately at the door, turned the wrong way, 
 and heard a sudden flutter and scuttling in the room be- 
 hind the swinging curtains. 
 
 "There he is!" 
 
 "Mrs. Tutt, send Ermentrude out to ask him now." 
 
 "Quick he'll get away !" 
 
 A fat little squab of a woman and a tall bony one came 
 bolting into the vestibule, puffing the curtains apart so that 
 I had a glimpse of the rest of the women all running to 
 the big window at the south, staring out excitedly. As I 
 lifted Boyce down the front steps, my face stinging as 
 though it had been slapped, I saw the object of their ex- 
 citement. The driveway which led to the back yard and 
 the little bungalow was walled and roofed by a mat of 
 vines, that made it a shadowy green tunnel. At this tunnel 
 entrance stood a man a very marked figure leisurely 
 drawing on his gloves. The tall woman, running past me, 
 succeeded in encountering him. As I approached she was 
 delivering in breathless tones some invitation or message. 
 
 At the moment, I believe, I saw and heard none of this. 
 I was only in haste to get away from the scene of my
 
 58 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 humiliation. An oddity ? Well, I must look that way to 
 them these expensively-clothed, idle, respectable women, 
 in their well-furnished life-boat, chopping away at my 
 fingers when I tried not to drown. 
 
 "Wait, Muvver don't go so fast." Boy brought me to 
 myself as I was hurrying along Arbolado street.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 A STALLED OX 
 
 mother forgot, dear," I said, and almost with a 
 jerk brought my hurrying steps down to time with 
 his short legs. But my mind kept on at a gallop; why 
 hadn't I realised how things would look from the outside ? 
 Why in the world hadn't I gone straight to Delia Rogers ? 
 She had known me where I had some standing. Fifteen- 
 year-old girl that I was then, I had been able to do her 
 favours, and favours that she cared for. I was opposite 
 one of those quiet little neighbourhood drug-stores at the 
 moment; I hurried in on impulse and began feverishly 
 looking through the Ws in the telephone book. There, 
 one below the other, were two Harvey Watkinses. 
 
 "Boy's hungry," my son contributed to my confusion. 
 
 "Yes, dear we'll get lunch pretty soon." 
 
 "Here?" 
 
 "No. Be still a minute, please." 
 
 The first phone must be Harvey's office "The Cronin 
 Building, Market St." The second, his residence, had 
 "Las Reudas" prefixed to its number. 
 
 The operator who took my call repeated to me several 
 times, "I am ringing them." Then, after awhile her voice 
 came again over the wire, "They do not answer. Here's 
 your nickel," and the coin rattled down in the slot and 
 presented itself, though I should never have discovered it 
 there had not Boy spied and demanded it. 
 
 I gave up D.elia for the moment I oughtn't to burst in 
 on her unannounced just at meal-time, anyhow and 
 found Orma's little dairy lunch place on a side street where 
 I could get something suitable for Boy; I, myself, was 
 too anxious and disturbed to eat. 
 
 59
 
 60 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 Coming back to the street after his meal a big, heavy 
 street-car passed us with the name LAS REUDAS on it 
 the place must be a suburb. I would go out there. Even 
 if I didn't find Delia at home, it would be a nice ride and 
 occupy the time; I could shove a note under her door. 
 The encounter with the women at the Poinsettia kept re- 
 minding me rather quaintly of that interview with Mrs. 
 Stanley, whose searing, freezing memory had never left 
 me. With a sort of passivity I noted the difference in my 
 present attitude. Then my opponent had but to rouse my 
 foolish pride, and I flew to help her pull down my own 
 card castles. Now, disciplined by life and with a child 
 dependent upon me, I meant to go back to the boarding- 
 house and accept, at its surface value, Mrs. Tipton's invi- 
 tation for dinner. I was glad that I had come to that 
 resolution even before I found difficulty in reaching Delia 
 Rogers. Of course Delia would have interests, affairs, 
 burdens of her own; children, too, having been married 
 longer than I ; yet it seemed not too much to hope that she 
 might be able to put me at once in the way of helping my- 
 self. On the car Boyce readily gave up the telephone 
 nickel for the sake of making his contribution to the 
 stream of coins that the people were playing down into the 
 glass box it appeared you could have fun out of money 
 in town. 
 
 We rolled out along palm-bordered streets. I was glad 
 I had come. At Las Reudas, a little place up in the hills 
 above San Vicente, we got off at a tiny station smothered 
 in tall heliotropes and geraniums, a giant fuchsia with a 
 trunk like a small tree hanging coral and purple clusters 
 about the eaves. The wide, quiet streets and sidewalks of 
 old Devonian red sandstone of a soft, dull-rose tint were 
 beautiful against the green of smooth lawns, palms and 
 pepper trees. 
 
 When, after wandering about a good deal and asking 
 directions several times, we finally found the street that
 
 A STALLED OX 61 
 
 Delia's house was on, and began to come to numbers that' 
 were near the right one, I noticed a bungalow on the cor- 
 ner, set in such a way, with a pittosporum hedge cutting 
 it off from the house next door, and a vacant lot coming 
 up behind it, that it got an unusual amount of seclusion. 
 It was one of those lavish modern bungalows into which 
 rich people put as much money as would build a mansion. 
 Boyce and I stopped on the sidewalk to admire it. The 
 next house, a big, concrete place, with its broad plate-glass 
 windows all open, the curtains fluttering, was the one I 
 was looking for. With a good deal of excitement I went 
 up the front walk. Ranks of calla lilies bloomed at the 
 porch edge. A woman was just finishing the scrubbing of 
 the porch steps. 
 
 "Mr. Harvey Watkins lives here?" I questioned. 
 
 She paused in her work and surveyed me, a large, com- 
 petent-looking person, with an expression that made you 
 think of scoldings you had got when you were a child. 
 
 "Mr. and Mrs. Watkins are not at home," she said, and 
 went on with her work. 
 
 "They're out of town?" I exclaimed, blankly, as one 
 who has had a door shut in his face. "When are they 
 expected back ?" 
 
 "They're not coming home at the same time," the wom- 
 an relaxed a little. "He'll be here first." 
 
 I sat down on one of the low, flat balustrades beside the 
 steps, and looked at the woman's bent back. 
 
 "Well, when will Mr. Watkins get here ?" I persisted. 
 
 "To-night. I'm cleaning up and airing the house for 
 him now," not uncivilly, but in a tone that showed me I 
 was on trial under inspection. I suspected that she dis- 
 approved of my asking for Harvey, only, so I said : 
 
 "I'm quite an old friend of Mrs. Watkins. I used to 
 know her when she was Delia Rogers. I am Mrs. Baird. 
 Will she be away long, do you know ?" 
 
 "It's hard to tell. She goes and comes as she pleases.
 
 62 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 Your little boy won't pick the flowers, will he ?" for Boyce 
 had strayed over to the hedge and was down on his knees 
 there. 
 
 I shook my head, wearily, and just sat still, waiting for 
 energy enough to get up and go back to town. She glanced 
 at me once or twice, and finally suggested : 
 
 "San Vicente is not your home ?" 
 
 "No." Then I added, hall desperately, "But I'm going 
 to make my home here. I'm going to get a position." 
 
 "Oh, a position. Are you alone ?" 
 
 "Alone." 
 
 She sat back somewhat ponderously on her heels, and 
 gazed over toward the hedge. 
 
 "Who will tend to the little boy for you ?" 
 
 "I don't know yet," I said. "I'm at the Poinsettia at 
 present." 
 
 "The Poinsettia?" she repeated, and, taking another 
 and somewhat different look at me, rose from her knees 
 and sat down opposite, remarking, "My name is Eccles. I 
 have charge of things when Mrs. Watkins is away. Isn't 
 the Poinsettia satisfactory ?" 
 
 "They don't allow children there. They they " 
 
 I hesitated a moment, but she wasn't an ordinary scrub- 
 woman. The lonely need to talk to someone was upon me. 
 Out tumbled the whole story of my difficulties. 
 
 She listened in silence. 
 
 "Still," she said, pulling down her sleeves and button- 
 ing the wristbands, "you can't blame them. They've paid 
 their money and they have the money to pay. I don't 
 feel that way about children ; I like to have them around. 
 But you can't blame them." 
 
 "Blame them!" I said, choking. "I don't particu- 
 larly. But what in the world am I to do ?" 
 
 "I guess you'll have to get a place for the little boy to 
 board away from you." 
 
 A cold feeling began to settle around my heart. Send
 
 A STALLED OX 63 
 
 Boy from me deprive myself of the one thing that had 
 given me courage to climb out of the pit ? I could never 
 do it ! I got slowly to my feet, looking over to him at the 
 hedge. 
 
 "Well," I said, "we may have to come to that, but not 
 till I've tried my best to find some other way. We must 
 be going now." I wanted to escape. 
 
 "I see you came out the Chandler street line," she rose 
 weightily. "The Arbolado's more direct ; and it takes you 
 right to the door of the Poinsettia. Should you like to go 
 back by it?" 
 
 "Why, yes." It didn't seem to matter very much what 
 direction I went in I always brought up against some- 
 thing painful and wounding at the end of my going. 
 
 "Wait a minute, then, till I close the windows and put 
 my scrubbing things away I'm through here and I'll 
 show you where to take the car. It's just down past my 
 little house." 
 
 Boyce, squatting at the hedge, looked around, and, see- 
 ing me alone, came running across the grass whispering in 
 a shout, or shouting in a whisper, as children do : 
 
 "Come see, Muvver!" 
 
 He seized my hand and dragged me along to a gap in 
 the hedge. He approached it stealthily, Indian fashion, 
 pointing me to look. I leaned forward, to please him. 
 What I saw was the vine-embowered downstairs sleeping- 
 porch of the adjoining bungalow, built so close to the hedge 
 that I could almost have reached out and touched a man 
 who lay reading on the nearest of its two narrow, canvas- 
 covered beds. First I saw only the length of limb, the 
 slippered feet, and the newspaper held by a well-kept hand 
 with a broad, peculiar ring on the little finger. 
 
 Boyce, bursting with importance, nudged and pushed at 
 me without speaking. In the warm silence I could hear 
 the rustle of the man's paper, the indefinite small move- 
 ments of his body on the couch. Then all at once it rushed
 
 64 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 over me where I had before seen that hand with its curious 
 ring; it was reaching down to pass a coin to a boy 
 reaching down from the platform of that train that had 
 left me last night at Meaghers ! 
 
 I shook my head at bubbling, dancing Boy, caught hold 
 of him, backed silently away and straight into Mrs. 
 Eccles, coming out the side door with a small, fat black 
 spaniel. Boy instantly began to make friends with the 
 dog. I looked guilty. It was a relief to have Boyce sing 
 out: 
 
 "What's the doggie's name ?" 
 
 "Fairy," the woman was beginning to thaw a bit to 
 Boyce. "Mrs. Watkins always leaves Fairy with me when 
 she goes away, because railroads and hotels don't like 
 dogs." 
 
 "He likes me," shouted Boy, and he and Fairy trotted 
 on ahead of us, Boy with a hand buried in the soft coat. 
 
 The woman looked back once or twice, significantly, 
 toward the house next door. I saw she wanted to talk 
 about it. 
 
 "Are you acquainted with the Pendletons, too ?" she 
 asked finally. 
 
 "No," I answered nervously, "not that is, I met him 
 once at a railroad station, but " 
 
 I broke off ; I just left this splendid specimen of things 
 you would rather not have said, unfinished. The silence 
 that followed it was most uncomfortable. 
 
 "She's away from home, too." The woman's pronoun 
 evidently was meant for Mrs. Pendleton. "Gone to be 
 with her mother in Los Angeles till after the baby 
 comes." 
 
 "She's very pretty," I said. "I saw her picture in the 
 paper at the time of her marriage. It interested me be- 
 cause the Pendleton camp is up in the Oregon mountains 
 above Siskiyou county, California, where I was living 
 then ; ranch people haven't much to interest them."
 
 A STALLED OX 65 
 
 She glanced again at the beautiful bungalow. 
 
 "I suppose the land company thought they'd done a big 
 thing when they got Alvah Pendleton, Jr., to buy and 
 build out here. Well, he's got plenty of money or his 
 father has. But his doings are a disgrace to everybody 
 that owns near him." 
 
 I didn't want to gossip about Delia's next-door neigh- 
 bours, so I said nothing, but she went on, relishingly : 
 
 "Shame to the bird that fouls its own nest. Of course 
 men will cut up when their wives are away; but they 
 ought to keep it in its place, I say not bring their women 
 business right into their homes, like young Pendleton's 
 doing." 
 
 Our car came along, and cut short her unpleasant gossip. 
 
 When Orma opened the door to my ring, there was no- 
 body in the hall but the little long-faced, dried-up looking 
 old lady, Miss Creevey, who came fluttering forward in- 
 stantly I got the impression that she had been waiting 
 for us. 
 
 "Ith the child coming to dinner ?" she hustled out the 
 inquiry. I don't know why a lisp should seem ridiculous 
 in an old person. 
 
 "Yes," said Boy before I could answer, "an' my bud'n, 
 too he's hungry. Want to see my bud'n ? He's upstairs. 
 I go get him and show him to you. I feeds him in 'e 
 little box 'at's his tummy." 
 
 Miss Creevey looked scared. I saw she had meant to 
 be severe with us, and hardly knew how to go about it. 
 
 "I wanted to tell you, Mithith Mithith " 
 
 "Baird," I supplied. 
 
 "Well, Mithith Baird, you ought not to bring that child 
 into the dining-room. It ith not right. We we won't 
 thand it." 
 
 "She's not going to bring him to the dinner table." 
 Orma, still holding the knob, pushed the door a little to 
 make me come through so she could shut it. "I'll be taking
 
 66 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 his dinner up to the room. You can go and tell Mrs. 
 Thrasher that 
 
 The little thin old lady ruffled and tried to show a fierce 
 f rown to the maid-servant, to me, even to Boyce ; but that 
 was as far as it went. I hurried on to the stairs, and Orma 
 followed me, muttering : 
 
 "She needn't think she can run over me. I know who 
 put her up to it. She's old Thrasher's little dog Schneider. 
 Thrasher's been chewing the rag all day. She's laying for 
 you. She'll spring something on you at the dinner table 
 see if she don't. That's always their place for a row." 
 
 My head ached not to mention my heart, and my soul. 
 I was very hungry. 
 
 "Well," I said, "I am going to have my dinner, any- 
 how." 
 
 Boy was in his night clothes, washed and ready, by the 
 time Orma brought up his meal. He was so sleepy that 
 he almost dropped off over it, and I finally laid him on 
 the bed, with his bud'n clasped to the front of his pajamas. 
 
 All this made me late. When I got downstairs they 
 were in the dining-room, seated at the long table. The 
 front door stood open, a big, luxurious automobile was 
 drawn up at the curb and a young lady was getting out 
 of it. 
 
 "Gene," someone called after her from the car, as she 
 came up the step, "we'll stop here for you at six, then, to- 
 morrow. You must go. Everybody'll be there." 
 
 "At six to-morrow." The young lady paused on the 
 step and spoke, merely turning her head. She was no 
 one I had seen as yet in the house, not at all pretty, but of 
 a tall, exquisite, slenderly rounded figure ; and never be- 
 fore in my life had I seen anyone so elegantly smart. Of 
 course, my experience of fashion was limited, yet every- 
 body sees the magazines and the models in the Sunday 
 papers. I knew as soon as I looked at her that she must 
 be like the people on Fifth avenue in Paris. We went
 
 A STALLED OX 67 
 
 into the dining-room almost side by side, though I drew 
 back a little to let her pass me, and she acknowledged my 
 courtesy with a nod and smile the first friendly greeting 
 I had had from any of Joe Ed's "grove of nuts." Mrs. 
 Tipton sat at the head of her table with its old-fashioned 
 cut glass and thin family silver, and, as I came in, rose a 
 little in her place and said in her clear, high tones: 
 
 '"Ladies this is Mrs. Baird. Mrs. Baird Mrs. 
 Thrasher Miss Creevey Mr. Martin Mrs. Martin 
 
 Mrs. Tutt Miss Tutt " and so around the line till 
 
 she came to the young lady standing beside me, when it 
 was, "Miss Chandler Mrs. Baird." 
 
 I bowed to them all collectively. Mrs. Thrasher was 
 directly across from me, a woman with a curiously hard- 
 looking head and face, hair that I can only describe as 
 scrappy, and an aggressive jaw. It was almost grotesque 
 to see how well her name suited her. On one side of her 
 was Miss Creevey, on the other the Martins. Of this pair 
 the husband was the little, old, invalid-looking, white- 
 whiskered man I had noticed earlier; he seemed a per- 
 fectly suitable person to be included under Mrs. Tipton's 
 term, "ladies." 
 
 A stoutish girl in a maid's dress, with a handsome, sul- 
 len face, pulled out my chair for me, and then turned to 
 take Miss Chandler's motor coat and hood. She the 
 one person who attracted me sat on my own side of the 
 table, and, once in her chair, was out of my sight. I could 
 see for a moment that all the attention ran to her, a woman 
 at my left whispering to the one beyond her something 
 about, "That was the Hoard automobile," but almost at 
 once I got a peculiar understanding that comes to you on 
 entering a room full of people who have been discussing 
 you saying unpleasant things about you. 
 
 Orma came in from the kitchen with my soup. As I 
 took the first spoonful I caught a glance passing up and 
 down the table. It was as though they had supposed I
 
 68 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 wouldn't eat like a human being. I was hopping mad, 
 and hurt clear through. But it was good soup, and I 
 fairly starving. I took another spoonful. Then I ate, 
 swiftly, resolutely. With that sense of grewing hostility 
 about me, with the women opposite openly neglecting 
 their dinner Orma had already changed most of the 
 earlier comers' plates bobbing their heads forward to ex- 
 change signals, I made haste to give myself the courage 
 and support of some good hot food. Finally Mrs. 
 Thrasher, elected speaker of the occasion by the silent vote 
 of the eye, opened out as though she had stood on a ros- 
 trum: 
 
 "Mrs. Baird." 
 
 Orma took my soup plate at the moment. I leaned 
 back; the blood rushed to my head, and its dull ache in- 
 creased. Mrs. Thrasher stared straight across at me with 
 bulging eyes. The clinking of silver on dishes was the 
 only sound that broke an expectant silence. As I sat there 
 waiting, I glanced away at the others. I don't suppose 
 there really is a special sort of woman born and made to 
 live in a fashionable boarding-house and raise rows about 
 everything and nothing, but at the moment I thought so. 
 There was not a face within my view that held anything 
 for me. The powdered countenances, grey, barren, de- 
 vitalised, the bosoms over which their silk frocks fitted, on 
 which the bits of good lace were displayed were there 
 beating hearts in them? If there were, I got no indica- 
 tion of it. The little old Martin man scrabbled at his 
 plate, and paid no attention. Down at the foot of the 
 table chubby Mrs. Tutt I'd had some hopes of her 
 nudged her tall, angular daughter. 
 
 "Mrs. Baird, we've all been quite excited about you to- 
 day." The Thrasher woman fired her first shot. 
 
 The curious titter with which she ended most of her 
 sentences had no amusement in it, nor any nervousness; 
 it just seemed to be a physical habit. It was odd to hear
 
 A STALLED OX 69 
 
 Miss Creevey echo the half-jeering little sound, as though 
 she wanted to share it. 
 
 Orma set my dinner before me, and I controlled the 
 nervousness that shook me, and took up my knife and 
 fork before I questioned, as steadily as I could: 
 
 "Is that so ? And why ?" 
 
 "Itth the little boy," Miss Creevey put in. "I told her 
 children were not allowed in the houth." 
 
 "Liar !" Orma breathed in my ear as she picked up my 
 napkin from the floor and put it back in my lap. 
 
 Miss Creevey looked for approval toward her leader, but 
 got a scowl. 
 
 I had realised all day that the heavy throbbing in my 
 temples was a cry for rest and food. Appearances were 
 against my getting either one. It seemed too miserable to 
 have these women set on me at the table and spoil my 
 meal, while Mrs. Tipton at the head of it passed things 
 and directed Orma and affected to see nothing. Well, I 
 might not be up to Mrs. Thrasher, but I wasn't afraid of 
 Miss Creevey. My knife twittered against the plate edge. 
 I hastily laid it down and said : 
 
 "You didn't tell me that children weren't allowed in the 
 house. You told me they weren't permitted in the dining- 
 room. I don't expect to bring my little boy to the table." 
 
 "Good for you !" Orrna's whisper scared me more than 
 it reassured. The whole thing seemed nightmarish; the 
 beautifully set dinner table, the well-dressed diners, the 
 ugly spirit almost visible, the servant hanging around be- 
 hind the chairs like a boy at a dog-fight. 
 
 "But you were intending to keep him in the house ?" 
 Mrs. Thrasher's air was that of a clever lawyer catching 
 a lying witness. 
 
 "I only expect to be here myself a few days," I began, 
 but she broke in on me : 
 
 "Then you are not planning to make your home in San 
 Vicente ?"
 
 70 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "Yes. I'm going to live in San Vicente that is, if I 
 can find work here." 
 
 Work ! I could see that I had dropped definitely below 
 consideration in the opinion of every woman at the table 
 when I mentioned work. Plainly they were all above 
 that of the idle class, if not of the rich. I suppose most 
 of them had a bare little income just enough to live on 
 and despise women who work ! 
 
 "I take it you are a widow then?" Mrs. Thrasher de- 
 manded, as one who had a perfect right to question. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Ah! And when do you expect Mr. er Baird to 
 join you ?" 
 
 "I don't expect him at all." 
 
 Leaning forward to glance down the table in Mrs. Tip- 
 ton's direction, I caught the eyes of Miss Eugenia Chand- 
 ler, faintly amused, rather friendly ; she glanced from me 
 to the line of women across, then looked down at her plate 
 and went on with her dinner. 
 
 "You don't expect your husband to join you ?" Mrs. 
 Thrasher ejaculated. 
 
 I was just baited enough to be bewildered and unwise 
 after all, Mrs. Thrasher was nothing to me. She couldn't 
 eat me. 
 
 "I've left my Imsband," I told the whole tableful, hotly. 
 "I'm going to get a divorce from him. That's what I came 
 to San Vicente for." 
 
 "Oh !" A sigh, the most ridiculous sound I ever heard, 
 like the gasp of a collapsing bicycle tire, went around the 
 line. It was as though I had announced that I had come 
 to San Vicente to pick pockets. 
 
 "Aren't we wandering from the point ?" asked Miss 
 Creevey. "I tried to tell Mithith Baird kindly that chil- 
 dren are not allowed in thith houth. They are not. I 
 thpoke to Mithith Tipton about it, too. I athked her if 
 you had gone out to get other lodgingth, Mithith Baird.
 
 A STALLED OX 71 
 
 Mithith Tipon thaid maybe you had. Ithn't that what 
 you thaid, Mithith Tipton ?" 
 
 The lady at the head of the table nodded, but Mrs. 
 Thrasher gave her no time to reply. 
 
 "We have certainly not wandered from the point," she 
 snorted. "I should say we had wandered to the point. 
 Of course, Mrs. Baird will get other lodgings for her lit- 
 tle boy if she expects to remain in this house. There are 
 institutions that take care of the children of working 
 mothers. The Poinsettia is not one of them. It is this 
 later development that attracts my attention." 
 
 "Development later development ?" I echoed. 
 
 "Divorce. All the world .knows the stand I have taken 
 
 on this question. I haven't written any books " she 
 
 jabbed this in an ironical tone at Miss Creevey, who 
 cringed as though she had been prodded with a stick 
 "but I have spoken publicly before a number of assemblies. 
 I have a reputation to maintain, national, if not interna- 
 tional, and I should like to know what cause " 
 
 She paused, nailing me with those round eyes. I was 
 as furious as a hungry, thwarted, tormented animal. 
 Instead of saying "It's none of your business," I ex- 
 ploded : 
 
 "I'm leaving my husband and getting a divorce from 
 him because I felt that our marriage was immoral." 
 
 In how many sleepless nights, watching the blue-lipped 
 dawn in, had I agonised out that conclusion ! It had be- 
 come a commonplace to me the raw, fundamental truth 
 that sent me running away in the night. At its announce- 
 ment a hush fell upon the dining-room. You would have 
 thought I had blasphemed the Holy Ghost. 
 
 "Marriage immoral !" murmured Mrs. Tutt, feebly. 
 "Why, a marriage can't be immoral!" 
 
 "Er er ump !" little Mr. Martin began to creak un- 
 expectedly. "Er er hasn't this lady got a right " 
 
 But Miss Chandler's voice, mildly ironical, was raised
 
 72 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 for the first time since she thanked the maid for taking 
 her hat. 
 
 "Don't you think, good people, that these personal dis- 
 cussions are bad for the digestion ?" 
 
 The speech produced something the same effect of her 
 entrance into the dining-room. There was a straighten- 
 ing out of their faces ; an attempt to smile and be civil. 
 
 "I don't want to talk about my affairs at the table," I 
 said, abashed. "I'm sorry I allowed myself to do so." 
 
 "Oh, well, it can't matter as you're leaving so soon," 
 was Mrs. Thrasher's conclusion. "Ermentrude," she 
 spoke to Miss Tutt, "did you overtake Mr. Dale this morn- 
 ing ? What did he say ? I do hope he promised to come." 
 
 "Well," Ermentrude was almost sprightly, "he didn't 
 say he wouldn't come." 
 
 "He never does say he won't," lamented Mrs. Martin; 
 "he just doesn't come." 
 
 After a moment of depressed silence, Miss Creevey 
 asked with passionate concern whether Mrs. Tutt had 
 found the double-threaded canvas at a certain shop, and 
 then Mrs. Thrasher went into the discussion of some score 
 cards that would be needed at an approaching festivity. 
 The talk flowed toward what was evidently its usual chan- 
 nel; solemn, trifling arguments over the important ques- 
 tion of twilled or plain, the relative merits of some re- 
 cent novels, with a great deal of criticism on the new hat 
 of a lady not present. I and my unfortunate affairs were 
 let alone. I might eat now if I could. I sat through 
 the rest of the meal, silent, trying to steady my quivering 
 nerves and control my stung sensibilities. This boarding- 
 house was not all the world ; to-night was not all of time. 
 I never glanced up again. Without waiting for dessert, I 
 murmured "Excuse me" in the direction of Mrs. Tipton 
 and got away upstairs to the room and Boy. 
 
 I stood by the bed and looked down at him. He had 
 mounted the covers with that queer, plunging kick of a
 
 THERE WAS A HOAKSE, STARTLED WHISPER, "JOE !" 
 I SAW A YOUNG WOMAN STANDING JUST INSIDE THE 
 WINDOW LOOKING WILDLY AT ME
 
 A STALLED OX 78 
 
 sleeping child ; one foot was outside and one in. He lay 
 in a sort of galloping pose that brought out all the vigour 
 of his body. What had those women downstairs there to 
 be proud of, as I was proud of him? Besides the ache, 
 my head had a sort of spongy feeling as though it were 
 filled with cotton. One moment I saw the child as he 
 really was ; the next he shrank suddenly like a thing seen 
 through a reversed opera glass. I covered him. He 
 promptly kicked the cover off asleep or awake, my baby 
 man had no truck with doubt, hesitation or timidity. I 
 undressed, set the sliding window well ajar for air, and 
 lay down beside his rosy, courageous sleep, reaching up to 
 turn off the electric light that hung just above the bed. 
 
 On the instant my troubles rushed over me again. I 
 had been dead for sleep, yet with the stretching out on 
 my bed, the darkness and quiet, all power to command 
 it left me. It wasn't that I was wide awake. I seemed 
 almost as sleepy as ever yet I couldn't sleep. Things 
 that had been only mental worries in the daytime, in the 
 light, took actual form and came at me. I found that 
 I was going to cry. I was afraid of myself. If I began, 
 that I might wake Boy ; I might rouse the house. I strug- 
 gled to control the long, shuddering sobs that took me 
 and shook me from head to foot. Disappointment, fail- 
 ure, humiliation it had all begun back there back there 
 I felt the thought coming, and tried desperately, vainly, 
 to push it away back there with the ending of things be- 
 tween Philip and me, there in the side yard of his father's 
 house. For the moment I was that girl, suffering all she 
 had suffered, with the woman's added keen perception of 
 what it was going to mean. I tried to get up, and fell back 
 on my pillow, muffling my head in the bed-clothes, ter- 
 ribly frightened lest I should scream as I had that time 
 when I had to tell my mother. 
 
 Life disciplines us. I didn't scream. The crisis passed, 
 bringing almost unconsciousness at the moment, leaving
 
 74 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 me weak, shivering, spent, the tears slipping down my 
 miserable cheeks but I had made no disturbance. I lay 
 there, longing intensely for the boon of sleep, but it was 
 denied me. The clock on the landing of the stairway 
 checked off the hours and the half hours. There was no 
 wind and the house was very still. I heard it strike two, 
 and then I must have dozed, for it seemed almost instantly 
 that I was listening to it again. One-^-two three! I 
 counted the strokes, bewildered, not at first recognising 
 what sounds they were. There in the dark I slowly ad- 
 justed matters. I reached out and touched Boy, grad- 
 ually recollecting where I was. The smell of the room 
 helped me in that. It told my senses that I was not in 
 my home; it addressed something that answers very 
 quickly, and brought up the whole matter of this place, its 
 owner, and the way I came to be occupying it. Across 
 from me there was a long, narrow strip of dim illumina- 
 tion the window. At the foot of my bed the door would 
 be. On the instant there came a cautious sound from that 
 direction. I knew then that the clock had not wakened 
 me it was this little noise. A cold prickling ran over me 
 as the knob of the door was turned cautiously, tried, gently 
 rattled and then silence. 
 
 My heart plunged so that it almost choked me ; I opened 
 my lips to breathe more noiselessly. After all, it was an- 
 other person's room mightn't someone be just making a 
 mistake ? But it was no use. My heart was still pound- 
 ing up in my throat, and a cold wetness beginning to 
 gather on my forehead, when a new sound, over by the 
 window, went through me like an electric shock. With a 
 shaking hand I fumbled for the light switch above my 
 head. Somebody was pulling at the sliding casement, 
 which I had left ajar ! 
 
 I strained my eyes and made out what seemed to me 
 to be an arm across the lower part of the glass. Yes, there 
 was someone kneeling there on the kitchen roof and try-
 
 A STALLED OX 75 
 
 ing to slide the sash. It gave suddenly with a rasp, and 
 the figure stood up. I got the silhouette against such light 
 as there was a woman in her nightgown. 
 
 I couldn't make a sound. The intruder had climbed 
 through the window before my hand found the switch and 
 I snapped on the light. 
 
 As the room sprang suddenly into sight, there was a 
 hoarse, loud, startled whisper, "Joe!" I saw a heavy 
 young woman in a nightgown whose top was coarse lace 
 standing just inside the window looking wildly at me, at 
 my clothes on the chair, my sleeping child. 
 
 For a moment she halted so, her mouth open, her eyes 
 scared; then she groped back with her hand toward the 
 window sill, found it, whirled her bare feet up and over 
 it, and I heard them come down on the flat tin roof out- 
 side. I switched off the light. In the instant of its il- 
 lumination I had recognised the maid, Addie.
 
 CHAPTEK V 
 
 HARVEY WATKINS 
 
 IT seems strange that after such a visitation as that I 
 went sound asleep, and never knew anything till I 
 was awakened, late next morning, by a thumping noise. 
 There was Boyce, in pajamas, sitting on the floor leading 
 his faithful bud'n around him in circles. I leaped up 
 and ran across before I fairly knew where I was, calling 
 softly : 
 
 "Boy you mustn't hammer like that !" 
 
 "My bud'n taking a walk," he explained. I only got 
 him diverted by talk of breakfast. 
 
 I hurried with my dressing, then began to hustle Boy 
 into his clothes to go somewhere, to do something, I 
 didn't know where or what. He flinched from my chilly 
 fingers. 
 
 "Stand over here, dear." I lifted him into the strip of 
 sunshine that began to come through the half-obscured 
 window. 
 
 Dressing Boy always heartened me up. It's* the luxury 
 of motherhood to revel in the beauty of a child, as a little 
 girl with her doll and Boy was such a gorgeous doll ! 
 
 "Leave bud'n here, an' bring him some breakfast," he 
 offered generously, as I gave his curls a final tossing up, 
 and I realised that he had been watching my face for some 
 time, "being good" while I dressed him. 
 
 In the hall outside we came on Orma. She glanced up 
 and down ; then said, significantly : 
 
 "Have any visitors last night?" 
 
 I hesitated and floundered for the right reply. She be- 
 gan to laugh silently, whispering : 
 
 "Ssshhh! Needn't say a word. I know all about it. 
 
 76
 
 HARVEY WATKINS 77 
 
 Served Miss Ad right if you ask me. What'd I done 
 that she wouldn't speak to me all day? If she hadn't 
 been in one of her grand sulks and treated me so mean, 
 I'd have warned her that he didn't come home that there 
 was somebody else in the room. Huh ! Let her find out 
 by her own smartness !" 
 
 I was still trying to think what I ought to say when she 
 came close up and asked: 
 
 "Are you going to complain to the Mrs. ?" 
 
 "Oh, certainly not," I cried, then added hastily, "I 
 don't know what you're talking about." 
 
 She laughed out, flapped her hand at me, and scuttled 
 toward the back stairs. Boy and I went down the front 
 ones, to find the big hall empty, everybody at breakfast 
 in the dining-room. 
 
 We had our meal at a down-town bakery ; I ate slowly ; 
 I took my coffee in tiny sips, wincing from the plunge be- 
 fore me. Last night's experience had weakened my nerve 
 I wasn't so ready for a few thousand strangers as I had 
 been. Delia Rogers out of town, there was not a soul in 
 the place that I knew, yet something must be done to-day. 
 When I opened my purse to pay for our lunch, the first 
 thing I pulled out was the card on which I had written 
 the number of Harvey Watkins's telephone and his busi- 
 ness address. He would be back in San Vicente to-day. 
 I didn't like going to his office, yet he might be able to 
 suggest something helpful, quite as well as Delia. It 
 couldn't do any great harm to just speak to him and see. 
 This was Market street; I remembered the sign on the 
 electric-light post at the corner. I looked up and down a 
 bit, then saw the name "Cronin Building" on the big, 
 white, glazed-brick structure on the opposite corner. I 
 hurried across the street and was in the tiled hall, waiting 
 for the elevator to take me to the sixth floor, before there 
 was time to doubt or repent. 
 
 Word had come back to us that Harvey was prosperous,
 
 78 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 and I always understood that, while Delia Rogers her- 
 self had no money, her family was wealthy and influen- 
 tial, but the suite of offices occupied by McBride, McBride 
 & Watkins, with people at work in the outer room, from 
 which doors marked "Private" opened off, was much finer 
 than I had expected. The walls were covered with a heav- 
 ily embossed imitation-leather paper. Huge bookcases, 
 spaced at regular intervals, reached up to the frieze and 
 held row after row of large leather-bound volumes. An 
 oil 'painting hung above the clinker-brick fireplace. The 
 heavy brown art hanging curtains were of a kind I had 
 seen described in women's journals. The stiff chairs 
 about the room, of Mission oak, matched the tables, at one 
 of which, near the door, a tired-looking, middle-aged man 
 in seedy clothes clacked away at a typewriter. When he 
 paused and looked at me, I asked if I could see Mr. Wat- 
 kins. He seemed doubtful. Mr. Watkins had just re- 
 turned to town; was my business anything that could 
 wait ? Would I call to-morrow when Mr. Watkins wasn't 
 so much occupied ? 
 
 It was disconcerting, and it shifted my ideas bewilder- 
 ingly. Back home in Stanleyton, a light-hearted girl in 
 love with her Philip, I had known that you had to be care- 
 ful or you'd get a little more than you wanted of Harvey 
 Watkins ; I had never thought of his values. Now I per- 
 sisted : 
 
 "I want to see him this morning, if possible." 
 
 "We-ell," the seedy-looking old man hesitated, "I can 
 ask." 
 
 I scribbled my name, the word "Stanleyton" and the 
 date six years ago on the blank card he offered; he took 
 it and returned promptly with a much enlivened air, 
 saying: 
 
 "You can go right in. Hadn't you better leave the little 
 boy with me ?" 
 
 "Thank you." I hesitated, but Boyce seemed willing
 
 HARVEY WATKINS 79 
 
 enough, so I made my way alone to the door with Har- 
 vey's name on it. 
 
 The man who rose and stood beside the desk in that 
 inner room to receive me might well have been a stranger. 
 Harvey Watkins, in the six years since I had last seen 
 him, had made the step from young man to middle-aged 
 man and there was nothing in him now for me to re- 
 member. His straight, stiff black hair, sprinkled with 
 grey, lay close to a hard head ; the lines of face and figure 
 had set into the lawyer mould, and the excellent suit that 
 any business man might have worn seemed lawyer-like to 
 me, too. He looked prosperous a man to be put forward 
 in the affairs of his town ; but he held up my little slip of 
 paper, and when he glanced from it to me I got just a 
 gleam of the old Harvey Watkins. 
 
 "So this is California Ann," he said, shaking hands. 
 "Well it is six years since we saw each other in Stanley- 
 ton, isn't it?" 
 
 The boys and girls in school used to tease me with that 
 "California Ann." Here, among grangers, it seemed to 
 me that I could have hugged a hitching post if it had 
 been from the old village and had addressed me that way. 
 
 "Oh, I'm so glad you've got back to town," I cried, im- 
 pulsively, holding to his hand till I got the familiar 
 squeeze that reminded me again of Harvey Watkins who 
 was a little too old for our set, about whom we schoolgirls 
 used to exchange whispered confidences. 
 
 "Same here," returned Harvey, sprucing up I can use 
 no other phrase and beginning to take stock of me. "I'm 
 just back from the South. I went to take Delia to the 
 Jefferson Sanitarium at Santa Anita." 
 
 "Oh, that's too bad!" I murmured. "Is is it any- 
 thing serious ?" 
 
 "No." Harvey spoke with dry finality. "There's noth- 
 ing particular the matter with Dele. But the Lord only 
 knows when she'll be back if ever. She enjoys lazing
 
 80 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 around in those places. They wait on her and fuss her 
 up, and 'my dear' her. It's a change from card parties 
 and clubs. Are you in town for long, Calla ?" 
 
 "I've come to stay," I put forward with what courage 
 I could. 
 
 "That so ?" Harvey's side glance at the piled work on 
 his desk was natural enough; if I were coming to San 
 Vicente to live, there seemed no reason that I should take 
 up his whole morning telling him of it. 
 
 "Yes. I'm looking for work," I blurted. "I went out 
 to your house yesterday I thought Delia might tell me 
 something I could earn a living at." 
 
 "What's the matter with Baird ?" 
 
 "I'm leaving Oliver." 
 
 The words came with difficulty. It was the first time 
 I had said them to anyone who knew me well, who might 
 question or oppose. 
 
 "You're leaving " His tone was startled. "Take 
 
 a seat, Calla." He pushed a chair toward me and sat down 
 facing it. I stood a moment drawn up, one hand on its 
 back. 
 
 "Don't ask me anything, please, Harvey," I began. 
 "There's no hope of my changing my mind." 
 
 "That's what they all say at first," he commented. 
 
 "This isn't at first," I took him up quickly. "It's at 
 long, long last. I've been nearly four years coming to 
 it and I'll never go back." 
 
 "Nearly four years ?" Harvey repeated. "Then the 
 match was no good from the start eh ?" 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 "Hasn't he supported you?" 
 
 "Yes, yes that's not it." 
 
 "Thought you said you were looking for work ?" 
 
 "I am I've got just nine dollars and fifteen cents in 
 the world borrowed money at that. I got it of the grocer 
 we sold cream to borrowed it to run away on."
 
 HARVEY WATKINS 81 
 
 "Well," Harvey half smiled, "I guess you can borrow 
 some more from me to stay away on." 
 
 My face flamed, and I cried out : 
 
 "Oh, I didn't come here for that." 
 
 "No? Then what can I do for you? You see, with 
 
 Dele away from home Are you fixed for a place to 
 
 stay?" 
 
 "Why, I'm at the Poinsettia 
 
 "The Poinsettia !" Harvey laughed so widely that the 
 gold gleamed from his teeth. "By George! You're the 
 same little scatter-brained California Ann the same girl, 
 if your hair is done up different ! It took her to come into 
 a town with less than ten dollars in her pocket and go 
 to the Poinsettia!" 
 
 "Wait," I said. "You don't know how it is. I'm not a 
 regular boarder there. It's just a temporary arrangement. 
 A young man on the train from Meaghers lets me have 
 his room there for nothing while he's away in Santa 
 Cruz for his vacation. I don't know what I should have 
 done if he hadn't offered it to me." 
 
 I spoke rapidly. Harvey watched me with the puzzled 
 gaze of these dense people whose minds cannot follow 
 quick speech. I felt that I had lost him about halfway 
 through my statement. 
 
 "Go back to the beginning and say that all over," he 
 demanded. "Who's this man you left Meaghers with ? 
 One of the Stanleyton fellows ? Not Phil is it ?" 
 
 "Oh, Harvey !" I protested, almost in tears. "What an 
 idea!" 
 
 "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, Calla. But when 
 a woman runs away from her husband, it's usually an- 
 other man. I didn't mean any harm. By George, you'd 
 be a lucky girl if it was Phil. Old L. C.'s been getting 
 richer and richer; everything he touches turns to money. 
 Our firm's just bought a California property for him 
 that'll net a hundred and fifty thousand income in a good
 
 82 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 year. Seems a sort of pity you couldn't have hung on to 
 that don't it ?" 
 
 He glanced at my face, and pulled himself up short. 
 
 "Oh, all right all right, Calla ! Now, what about this 
 other fellow ?" 
 
 "He was just the brakeman on the train," I said, winc- 
 ing. "He was very good to me and said I could have the 
 room till " 
 
 "Where is he now ?" 
 
 "He went on with the train to his vacation in Santa 
 Cruz, as I told you. He won't be back for two weeks." 
 
 "Oh he's coming back, then ?" 
 
 "Why, his mother keeps the house ! Mrs. Tipton he 
 sent me to her." 
 
 "His mother. Um, I see. So you're settled for two 
 weeks ?" 
 
 "No, I'm not settled at all. They don't allow children 
 at the Poinsettia." 
 
 "Children !" Harvey echoed the word. "You haven't 
 any " 
 
 I had noted, right through the stress of our later talk, 
 a soft fumbling and bumping at the door. Now it swung 
 in ; Boy stood a moment on the threshold, his feet planted 
 wide, his eyes surveying the room; then marched to the 
 centre of the floor and announced: 
 
 "I'm John Boyce Baird. I'm come to live in San Vi- 
 cente now. I used to live on a ranch." 
 
 Harvey stared, mouth open. That wooden face of his 
 began to change. It was a new voice in which he said, 
 never taking his gaze from the child : 
 
 "Is this your boy, Calla? How time does fly! And 
 you've named him for your father. Come here and shake 
 hands, young man." 
 
 "Now you see why I've got to hunt work and lodgings 
 both to-day," I said. "I don't suppose you could put me 
 in the way of any kind of work?"
 
 HARVEY WATKINS 83 
 
 "I should think the mother of a son like this would 
 have her hands full." Harvey took my man-child by the 
 shoulders, gloating over him. John Boyce Baird looked 
 up in his face and opened a friendly conversation : 
 
 "Are you got any little boys ?" 
 
 Harvey lifted him to his knee. Across the turbulent 
 bronze curls he shook his head significantly. 
 
 "Delia won't stand for it," he said. "She can talk your 
 arm off about reasons why, but when it comes down to 
 brass tacks, Dele is just a plain shirk. Good Lord think 
 of having a boy like this !" 
 
 "I do think of it," I cried. "I think of it all day and 
 all night and put it in my prayers. It's what gave me 
 strength and courage to run away." 
 
 A slow grin spread over Harvey's unimaginative, law- 
 yer countenance. 
 
 "I guess California Ann ran away on her own strength 
 and courage. This young man didn't borrow the money 
 for you, did he ? or get you the room ?" 
 
 Boyce's small chest puffed instantly. He felt himself 
 criticised. 
 
 "Well, I'm going to work and earn money and take care 
 of my muvver," he spoke up bravely. 
 
 "Of course you are," agreed Harvey. "It's something 
 fierce the way we men have to work for the women, isn't 
 it, J. B. ?" 
 
 "Do you work ?" 
 
 "I should say so." 
 
 "Where's your overalls ?" 
 
 "Well," Harvey looked rather put to it, "I guess these 
 pants are overalls for my kind of work." 
 
 "Huh," said Boy, and he pinched disparagingly at the 
 tweed knee on which he sat. "They ain't the kind I 
 wear." 
 
 "Mine are 'Can't Bust 'Ems.'
 
 84 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "That's the right sort," agreed Harvey. He swung 
 Boyce down and stood him at arm's length on the floor, 
 keeping a tallying hand against his shoulders and arms, 
 hefting him, studying him, as he added, softly : "If I had 
 you out at my house, we'd get into our 'Can't Bust 'Ems' 
 and do some work wouldn't we?" 
 
 "I don't know if I could go to your house." Boy 
 scuffed one foot doubtfully against the other. "These 
 shoes I've got on are 'Steel Clads.' When I get bigger I 
 can wear 'Boy Scouts/ What does your little boy wear ?" 
 
 "I haven't any little boy." 
 
 "Not any at all?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Haven't you even got any little girl ?" 
 
 "No not any little girl, even." 
 
 "But you've got a wife, and you got a house to put 
 childrens in ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes the house is there all right a great big 
 house empty." 
 
 He appealed to me: 
 
 "Calla, J. B.'s the right stuff for a lawyer. Better let 
 me make one of him. That's the most luminous cross- 
 examination I was ever put through. I guess it gets the 
 case of me vs. Dele before you in a nutshell." 
 
 "It seems as though everybody's having trouble with 
 their marriage," I said, embarrassed. 
 
 The 'phone rang. Harvey answered it impatiently, and 
 put somebody off till to-morrow. 
 
 "Marriage is trouble," he grumbled, as he hung up. 
 "You may thank your stars you're getting out of it." 
 
 "And thank you for saying that for not trying to stop 
 me," I added. 
 
 "Huh, you've got nothing to thank me for, yet. But 
 there's one thing I can do. I can get your divorce." 
 
 "It's good of you to offer," I said. "But the first thing 
 I must do is to look for a job."
 
 HARVEY WATKINS 85 
 
 "That's right where you're mistaken." He leaned for- 
 ward and shook his finger at me. "You little gump ! Till 
 that divorce is got, you have no legal status. Baird could 
 come in and take this child from you any day." 
 
 "Could he ?" I questioned, startled. "But, Harvey, he 
 never loved the child." 
 
 I lowered my voice, yet Boy had heard. The round, 
 pink chin was thrust forward. 
 
 "I don't like Mm/' said Oliver's son. "He whips me 
 hard." 
 
 "There you've got it." Harvey looked from one of us 
 to the other. "Even if Baird didn't care for the boy 
 and I can't believe that he'll use him as a weapon to en- 
 force you." 
 
 I reached for the small hand that fumbled at my dress. 
 
 "He can take his son away, and exercise the parental 
 right of castigation unmolested if you, without a divorce 
 and a legal status, refuse to go back and live with him 
 and you say you never will go back." 
 
 I stood silent. Since I made the first plunge and got 
 away I had worried very little over Oliver. I thought I 
 knew about what could be expected of him. But wasn't 
 I liable to be entirely mistaken ? Mightn't an outsider 
 a lawyer coming to the case afresh, form a much clearer 
 estimate of it than I, who had been down under the tor- 
 ment of it for years? 
 
 "I don't know what to do," I whispered. "I haven't 
 any money to get a divorce." 
 
 "I'll get it for you. I don't want a cent nor a dollar 
 of your money." Harvey was explicit. "And I'll get you 
 full control of your son." 
 
 Relief and gratitude boiled up in me. 
 
 "Oh, Harvey !" I put both hands out. "How kind you 
 are ! If you can really do that ' 
 
 "Do it?" He had the hands in his. I realised I had 
 been over-impulsive. "Of course I can do it. It doesn't
 
 86 THE STRAIGHT HOAD 
 
 make any difference what kind of a case you've got, the 
 right lawyer can always get your decree ; and I'll go my 
 length for you, Calla." 
 
 The desk 'phone rang again, loud and long. I caught 
 up Boy's hat, and we started for the door. He halted me 
 with a gesture, then spoke into the receiver. 
 
 "Well ?" and, after listening a moment, "Tell you what 
 I'll call you up in half an hour. Will that do? All 
 right." He turned to me. "Calla, I am confoundedly busy 
 now, but I'd like to come around and have a good, old- 
 fashioned talk this evening. That's all right, isn't it? 
 Make it before J. B.'s bedtime, if you like." 
 
 "But I don't know where I'll be, Harvey," I said. 
 "I've got to go now and get a boarding place where I can 
 have Boy with me." 
 
 "Oh I forgot that point. Say Calla " he got up 
 
 and moved toward me, his face brightening "why not 
 let the kid come out and visit me for a while?" 
 
 "Why," I hesitated, "he isn't old enough to stay in that 
 big, empty house by himself." 
 
 "Huh, I'm ain't scared," Boyce remarked, and Harvey 
 argued : 
 
 "The house doesn't have to be empty. I'll get the cook 
 in to start things up, if you'll let me have J. B." 
 
 It was rather pathetic a borrowed child. 
 
 "I guess we can't, Harvey," I said. "He's never been 
 separated from me over night in his life." 
 
 "Now, don't make a sissy of him. He's a sure-enough 
 boy. I tell you, Calla, it's the very thing. Listen here 
 while I fix it." 
 
 He strode back to the desk, seated himself, took up the 
 'phone and called a number. 
 
 "No, don't do that, Harvey," I objected. "I'll see to 
 it myself. I'll make some arrangement. We must go 
 now. Come on, Boy." 
 
 He shook a hand at me.
 
 HARVEY WATKINS 87 
 
 <r Wait. I'm calling Mrs. Eccles at my house out at 
 Las Reudas the woman we leave the place with " 
 
 "Yes, and your dog," I laughed. "We saw her yes- 
 terday. But this is different." 
 
 "Sit down Calla." He had got his connection, and be- 
 gan to speak into the 'phone. I stood there and heard him 
 trying to arrange for the woman at the other end of the 
 line to keep his house for a while, and take care of a four- 
 year-old boy there. "No?" he said, finally. "Can't do 
 it? Well, then, would you board the boy at your own 
 house just for the present ? It would be a great accom- 
 modation. Oh, certainly that's not too much. I'll settle 
 these points when I see you." 
 
 He hunched a protesting shoulder at me, putting his 
 hand over the instrument and turning to say, "Be still a 
 minute, Calla. I'm tending to this," and concluded his 
 negotiations with: "All right, then. We'll be there some 
 time late this evening and leave the boy with you." 
 
 "Oh, Harvey, why didn't you let me stop you ?" I broke 
 out the moment he hung up the 'phone. "I know you 
 mean to be kind, but I don't see how I can let Boy go." 
 
 "Calla, that's no way to talk. You're not letting him 
 go." 
 
 Yet I wouldn't give up. He wrangled; the desk tele- 
 phone shrilled again and again ; the elderly clerk came to 
 the door and was put off with an irritable, "Get out, Bates ! 
 Don't interrupt me now." And all the while Boy, stirred 
 up to it by Harvey, was clamouring that he wanted to go 
 live at the house where the doggie was. 
 
 I was bound to be beaten why not ? arguing with a 
 lawyer. But the more Harvey insisted, the more stub- 
 bornly I refused to make a positive promise till five 
 o'clock, when he would be at liberty, and, as he said, ready 
 to take the boy out with him. 
 
 I got away from that building as though it had been 
 afire. "Hush, Boy !" I said, almost fiercely, when he be-
 
 88 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 gan again about the doggie out at the man's house. It 
 was seven hours till half past five o'clock strange if I 
 couldn't, in all that time, find among the thousands of 
 people in this town something to do, some place to go, so 
 that I could .keep my son with me. I was young and 
 strong; I was not without abilities; and I was keen to 
 hurl the whole of me into the attempt. 
 
 I couldn't just go up to people on the street and ask for 
 work, so I made a list of the employment agencies, and 
 visited them one after the other. At most of them I 
 might have known it would be so at this time of year 
 the regular business was almost lost sight of in the signing 
 up of hop pickers. It was work I knew well ; they used to 
 grow hops profitably up around Stanleyton ; I had picked 
 there once or twice, with other girls, when I was just a 
 big child. Later, the farmers around Meaghers attempted 
 the crop, not very successfully; Oliver himself was nurs- 
 ing along a small field. I knew the toil in the burning 
 heat, with the heavy, drowsy odour of the hops in your 
 nostrils. Even if Boy and I could have stood it, it was a 
 temporary expedient, and would take me away from town, 
 where my real chance lay. No it wouldn't answer. 
 
 "It wouldn't suit me," I said to the woman in charge. 
 "Have you nothing else, that would permit me to have 
 the child with me?" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "This is all," she said. "But at this you'll have steady 
 employment in the open air, and at good pay, for six weeks 
 every member of the family." 
 
 "No," I repeated, and every member of my family 
 walked out of the place hand in hand. 
 
 After all, why go into details concerning that miserable 
 day? God, who is its author, may be favourable to 
 motherhood, but it took me less than two hours to find out 
 that a civilised community has but one niche for mother 
 and child the home, with a husband and father to fend
 
 HARVEY WATKINS 89 
 
 for them. Everywhere I applied I was made to feel that 
 Boyce was a folly, if not a crime; the sort of luxury a 
 rich woman may indulge in, but for poor me little less 
 than a piece of impudence. 
 
 Yet I brought some bits of worth-while knowledge out 
 of my losing fight. If you go into an employment agency 
 and ask for "anything" to do, you will get nothing. Even 
 without a child, I was fitted for no regular wage-earning 
 position. With him, it must indeed be something special, 
 something out of the common, which it takes time to find 
 and fit into. And time was what I did not have. Work- 
 ing housekeeper meant a position in some labouring man's 
 home to fill the place of the wife who had been her own 
 servant. Even so, I found but one such open; and the 
 woman at the employment agency, after looking me up 
 and down, refused to consider me, objecting : "It's a hard 
 place, with a mess of little children. But that ain't the 
 worst. I sent one young woman there a nice-looking 
 girl and she complained. I'll not send him another." 
 
 Though it was failure all along the line, there was one 
 kind thing that cruel experience did for me ; it shed light 
 on, what happened to spoiled, high-spirited, twenty-year- 
 old Philip when his parents sent him unprepared to San 
 Francisco to get a position that would support a wife. 
 The keenest edge on my suffering then had been the belief 
 that he had not really tried ; that he had not cared enough 
 to make a genuine effort. To-day, as attempt after at- 
 tempt of mine seemed to bring me only humiliation added 
 to defeat, my heart went out to my poor boy lover who 
 had been through it all before me. The old bitterness was 
 clean washed away. 
 
 Boy's soft little feet were punished by the city pave- 
 ments ; his short legs grew so tired. Before I got back to 
 the Cronin Building at half past five o'clock, I had sat 
 with him to rest on the bench of more than one employ- 
 ment agency, and even carried him at the last. For the
 
 90 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 time at least I was done. I could see my way no further ; 
 I was glad and thankful that there was a safe place for 
 him, where he would be welcomed and made much of. 
 
 Harvey didn't crow over me. He was only nervous 
 for fear I should back out a't the last minute. He kept 
 hurrying me, as though he didn't want to give me time to 
 change my mind. 
 
 "You know Boy's got no clothes except what I brought 
 in my suit-case, Harvey," I sighed. "My trunk hasn't 
 come yet." 
 
 "Anything the matter with my going and getting what 
 he needs?" Harvey suggested. "I always did want to 
 buy boys' clothes." 
 
 "Oh, no," I said, hastily, "you mustn't do that. He 
 can wear what he has here till the trunk comes." 
 
 "All right," he agreed, and we went down to his waiting 
 car. Harvey got in and took the wheel, Boyce, mute with 
 interest, beside him. He turned to me. "You go up to 
 the Poinsettia and pack his things. J. B. and I'll drive 
 around town a little and then pick you up at that drug 
 store on the corner of Arbolado and Thirty-ninth." He 
 leaned closer to add: "!N"o need to set all the old hens 
 cackling by taking the machine down in front of the 
 house." 
 
 This was probably only good common sense, but some 
 how it grated on me. I stopped, undecided, on the run- 
 ning-board, fumbling in the child's pocket to make sure 
 he had a handkerchief. 
 
 "Go along, Calla. J. B. won't miss you." Harvey's 
 hand on the steering wheel twitched. 
 
 I looked helplessly at the two there in the auto. I was 
 already an outsider. Harvey grinned at me with a full 
 comprehension of his advantage. He might be dull about 
 some things, but this he understood. I was sure that in- 
 stinct told him what a hold on a child's fancy it gives one 
 to buy clothes for it.
 
 HARVEY WATKINS 91 
 
 When I got to the Poinsettia I was surprised to find my 
 trunk in the front hallway. Well, anyhow, Boy could 
 have his own things now. The trunk had already made 
 trouble; Mrs. Thrasher stood over it talking loud to a 
 straight, well-dressed young fellow whose back was to me, 
 but who turned at the sound of the door and there was 
 Joe Ed's lovable, quizzical, devil-may-care countenance. 
 My heart jumped; he'd have to have his room where 
 should I stay to-night? 
 
 He came up to me quickly. I felt sorry and ashamed 
 about last night as though I had spied. I tried not to 
 think, as I looked at Joe Ed, so attractive in his fresh grey 
 suit, what had hurried him back ahead of time, or that 
 there was plenty of explanation for the act of that poor, 
 foolish, sulky servant girl. 
 
 "Here's the lady now," said Joe Ed, in that soft Vir- 
 ginia drawl of his, advancing with outstretched hand. 
 "Howdy, Mrs. Baird," speaking exactly as though we had 
 been alone and there were no row going on. "Where do 
 you want your trunk ?" 
 
 "It isn't a question of where she wants it," Mrs. 
 Thrasher cut in. "But if she's got other lodgings and is 
 leaving, she surely will not expect her trunk to be carried 
 upstairs and then down again. Every trunk that is car- 
 ried up the stairs is just so much injury to the house. The 
 last one that went up scraped that place by the banis- 
 ter 
 
 I paid no attention to her as I shook hands with Joe 
 Ed, hesitating: 
 
 "I thought you were off on your vacation." 
 
 He grinned a little sheepishly and explained: 
 
 "I found I might just as well go back and get your 
 trunk for you." 
 
 "Oh, you oughtn't to have done that," I said, gratefully. 
 "Though I am glad to have it sooner. You'll want your
 
 92 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 room now." I tried to speak easily, but my tone was 
 anxious. 
 
 "Why, no." Joe Ed didn't look at me. "I'm going 
 right back this evening going on to Santa Cruz this time, 
 sure enough. And say" he lowered his voice "stay here 
 as long as it suits you. When I conie back I'm going to 
 bunk with a fellow down nearer the station for a while." 
 
 I knew better than I had the day before how valuable 
 his offering was not merely a stopping place, but the 
 guaranteed respectability of the Poinsettia behind me. 
 
 "I'll be glad to stay for a while," I agreed. 
 
 "Stay !" echoed Mrs. Thrasher, listening shamelessly. "I 
 thought we settled the matter of the little boy last night." 
 
 "It's settled ; I've only come for his clothes," I told her ; 
 then spoke to Joe Ed, who stood by waiting to do anything 
 I wanted of him. 
 
 "While I run up and get the key, would you mind pull- 
 ing my trunk over to the side of the stairs so I can open 
 it and get Boyce's things out ?" 
 
 It had been nearly nine hours since I passed through 
 the door of that room. I tumbled my own things out of 
 the suit-case, tossed in the few of Boy's that were upstairs, 
 and then turned for the last putting-to-rights look in my 
 glass. I caught up my one white silk scarf, drew it over 
 my small hat, knotting it at each ear and tying it under 
 the chin. Then I went down to find Joe Ed undoing the 
 trunk straps and snaps for me. He stood close a moment 
 as I bent for the unlocking and looked sidewise at me. 
 
 "They tell me you had a merry, merry time here last 
 night over the kid," he said in an undertone. 
 
 "Yes," fitting my key in and turning it. 
 
 "Well you're going to stay a while, anyhow." 
 
 He seemed a little uneasy at lingering while I might 
 wish to open up the trunk, yet he was plainly so anxious 
 to be reassured that I said heartily:
 
 HARVEY WATKINS 93 
 
 "Oh, yes I'm only too thankful to stay till I can find 
 a suitable place where I can have Boy with me." 
 
 He looked relieved and strolled toward the front door, 
 his hands in his pockets, whistling under his breath. 
 \ r aguely I noted something familiar about the little musi- 
 cal phrase he repeated over and over; and then forgot it 
 in getting out Boy's clothes. 
 
 Mrs. Thrasher had not Joe Ed's delicacy. She came 
 right up and watched me like a customs inspector. 
 
 "You, yourself, are going to stay a while, then ?" 
 
 "Why, cert, Your Highness," Joe Ed spoke softly over 
 his shoulder. "She couldn't get away from a house that 
 had you in it. Don't I just pine for a sight of you when 
 I'm out on my run? Ain't that what brought me back 
 here right at the beginning of my vacation ?" 
 
 An incredible, silly half-smile relaxed the line of Mrs. 
 Thrasher's iron jaw. 
 
 "Get along with you," she said. "You came to bring 
 another woman's trunk. You can't pull the wool over my 
 eyes, Joe." 
 
 I didn't hurry myself; I got out everything I wanted, 
 and packed the suit-case neatly. Mrs. Thrasher stayed by 
 me through the operation, and Miss Creevey came to join 
 her before it was done. At the front Joe Ed lounged in 
 the vestibule, still whistling. When I came out he took 
 the suit-case from my hand as though it had been what he 
 was waiting for. Mrs. Thrasher, following, watched us 
 leave the house together. 
 
 We passed an express wagon drawn up before that won- 
 derful leafy tunnel at whose entrance I had seen the ten- 
 ant of the back bungalow that morning. The driver was 
 unloading a large box labeled "Books." 
 
 "Seen the Big Noise yet ?" asked Joe Ed, evidently for 
 the purpose of making conversation. 
 
 "Do you mean the man who lives in the bungalow ?" 
 
 "Yes. Frank Hollis Dale. Look at it there on the box.
 
 94 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 Mark it well. Funny as a crutch to see those dames back 
 at the house run after him and get left and him a-stand- 
 ing still all the time." 
 
 "The name sounds familiar, but " 
 
 "Don't talk that way in San Vicente." Joe Ed shook 
 his head at me. "The town's so proud of having the Real 
 Thing in it that it believes everybody ought to know all 
 about him. You remember his being in the magazines so 
 long when they thought he was lost in Central America 
 and sent a searching party after him. That's where he 
 got his health broken down ; he's come to California to re- 
 cuperate lectures at the college here and every woman 
 in town that thinks she .thinks a thought is after him to 
 come to her pink teas." 
 
 We were getting pretty close to the corner; I began to 
 feel a little awkward. 
 
 "There's a reason," I blundered, "why I don't want you 
 to come any further with me." 
 
 "Just as you say, lady," he agreed amiably. "But 
 where do I take the suit-case then?" 
 
 "Just give it to me," I said, and reached out for the 
 suit-case. "I can carry it. It isn't very far." 
 
 He refused with a motion. Stepping nonchalantly 
 along, he glanced sidelong at me and began whistling again 
 under his breath the same phrase that had caught my at- 
 tention back there at the Poinsettia. As our eyes met I 
 recognised that it was from the thing they tried to make 
 the State song, and carried the words, "I love you, Cali- 
 fornia." 
 
 "Nobody could help it," he whispered, laughingly, when 
 he saw by my startled glance that I had got the hint. 
 "That little old white veil just puts the finishing touch. 
 Makes you look like the Light of the Harem, sure enough." 
 
 "Thank you," I laughed back. "A woman needs a com- 
 pliment now and then even if it is only the approval of 
 a small boy, it does her good."
 
 HARVEY WATKINS 95 
 
 "You're welcome," nodding, unruffled. "I've got a lot 
 more any time you have use for one in your business. By 
 the way, where is your sure-enough small boy ?" 
 
 There was no need to answer. At the moment Boyce, 
 sitting in Harvey's auto, drawn up to the curb on the side 
 street, caught sight of us through the plate-glass windows 
 of the corner. 
 
 "Muvver! Muvver!" he called. "Did you bring my 
 bud'n?" 
 
 There stood the car and Harvey with my son, evidently 
 waiting for me discreetly out of sight by appointment. 
 There was nothing for it but to go ahead then, and of 
 course the two men must be introduced. I hastily re- 
 minded Joe Ed that this was the Mr. Watkins I had 
 spoken of, and that Boy was going to stay out at Las Reu- 
 das for a while. Here it was that Joe Ed's breeding 
 showed. Apparently he was not in the least surprised at 
 our arrangements, though I instinctively knew that any 
 car he drove would have come up to my door for me 
 openly, though that door had been the front entrance of 
 the infernal regions themselves. He put the suit-case into 
 the tonneau, lifted his hat and took himself off like the 
 young Virginia gentleman that he was. 
 
 "Who's that ?" Harvey demanded as soon as his back 
 was turned. 
 
 "The boy I told you of that I met on the train." I was 
 getting into the front seat, taking Boy on my lap. "The 
 son of Mrs. Tipton who keeps the Poinsettia." 
 
 "I thought you said he was going on to Santa Cruz." 
 
 "He was, but he came back to to " 
 
 "Well ?" 
 
 "He came back to bring my trunk. It had just got 
 there. I was awfully glad, for it gave me a chance to get 
 all of Boyce's clothes together. I hope you didn't buy 
 anything for him. He doesn't need it."
 
 96 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 Harvey had started the car. We ran a block or two, 
 then he turned to say, dryly : 
 
 "Never you mind what we bought, Calla. I want to 
 get it clear in my mind about this young man." 
 
 "There's nothing to get clear," I said, irritably. "He 
 was the brakeman on the train, and he's offered me his 
 room temporarily." 
 
 "For two weeks," supplied Harvey, and guided the car 
 into a broad, tree-lined, quiet street. 
 
 "Well," I hesitated, "he says now that I can have it as 
 long as I want to keep it " 
 
 "Heh," said Harvey, and speeded up. "I'll keep J. B. 
 for you as long as you want to stay there."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 AT THE ROADHOUSE 
 
 WHEN it came to parting with Boy I was ashamed of 
 the scene I made. The youngster himself was all 
 taken up with the ducks and the garden, swaggering about, 
 Fairy at his heels, glorious in the belief that he owned her 
 now, as well as the house and Mrs. Eccles. 
 
 She stood looking on while I knelt where I had snatched 
 Boyce just by the door for a last good-bye, Harvey waiting 
 halfway down the path with his back to me, the motor at 
 the gate. Everything had been said. I saw she was used 
 to children, and would be entirely competent with him. 
 But the more suitable and reasonable the arrangement 
 seemed, the worse it hurt me. I hugged the little soft, 
 limber body to me in a way that I knew Boyce hated. He 
 was unusually forbearing, though he kept wiping off my 
 kisses and saying: 
 
 "Well, good-bye, then. Good-bye, Muvver." 
 
 "I wouldn't get him all worked up if I was you," Mrs. 
 Eccles remonstrated. "He won't sleep." And Harvey 
 called : 
 
 "Come on, Calla. J. B.'s all right. He's a man. He 
 doesn't care which woman darns his socks. Come on." 
 
 I hated him for the speech, but it stung me into allow- 
 ing one of Boy's "good-byes" to stand as final. I tore my- 
 self away, jumped up and ran, pulling down my veil as I 
 went, jostling against Harvey, passing him, blundering 
 into the auto ahead. 
 
 I got into the front seat because I had ridden there on 
 the way out. It never occurred to me till Harvey was 
 climbing past into the driver's place that I ought to have 
 
 97
 
 98 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 offered to go back to town on the street car. I said so, and 
 he answered promptly : 
 
 "Certainly not. I don't know how it is with you, but 
 I've got to have some dinner." 
 
 "I couldn't eat," I mumbled. 
 
 "Well, come along and see me eat, then," and he started 
 the machine. 
 
 In the car, with its lighted lamps, everything about 
 seemed dark, as though night had suddenly come. Slid- 
 ing along in that tunnel of brightness that went ahead of 
 us, I wondered helplessly at myself that I had ever agreed 
 to the arrangement which separated me from Boyce. Why, 
 that was what all the effort and agony had been for that 
 I should take the child away from Oliver, who was unfit, 
 and have a chance to be the right kind of mother to him. 
 Only that, it had long seemed, could restore my self-re- 
 spect. And here, at the first touch of difficulty and 
 partly to please Harvey, who knew nothing of the real 
 me and her aims I had given the child up. Tempo- 
 rarily ? At the moment our separation seemed eternal. 
 
 "Crying?" Harvey turned and tried to peer through 
 my veil ; then, as he'got the little catching of an indrawn 
 breath, he added softly, "Dear." 
 
 "No." I paid no attention to the familiarity. He 
 might have called me "dear" or damned me then I was 
 indifferent. 
 
 "I'll bet you are." 
 
 "I'm not." 
 
 "Why don't you put up your veil, then ?" 
 
 I laid the veil back, saying, as best I could : 
 
 "I oughtn't to have left the child. I know it now." 
 
 "It was the only sensible thing to do," Harvey declared. 
 "When you've had a good dinner you'll see it that way, 
 too." 
 
 "Dinner oh, just take me home, and then go and get 
 your own," I said, nervelessly.
 
 AT THE ROADHOUSE 99 
 
 "It'll be pretty late by the time we get back to town," 
 he objected. 
 
 "I'm sorry. What do you want to do ?" 
 
 "Why er there's a place on the way where we could 
 get a mighty good dinner the best crab Louis you ever 
 nto." He hesitated oddly. "Would you mind going 
 there?" 
 
 "Why should I ?" 
 
 "Well, it's a of course it's perfectly respectable but 
 it's a roadhouse. Still, nobody'll know us. We can have 
 a private room." 
 
 "I suppose I'd better. I'll need a cup of tea and some 
 little thing." 
 
 It was a very quiet place, secluded, almost sly looking, 
 behind its latticed front fence with a tall gate. We had 
 the private room that Harvey had suggested, and he or- 
 dered lavishly. 
 
 "Never mind about the toast and tea," he said. "Wait 
 till you see what the boy brings." 
 
 When the dinner came I realised my hunger, and ate 
 with appetite. As always, the good hot food began to put 
 heart into me. I found courage to look forward; I re- 
 membered the one helpful suggestion made me that morn- 
 ing. The woman at the Y. W. C. A. employment agency 
 had asked why I didn't take a few months at a business 
 college, and fit myself for an office position. I turned this 
 over in my mind now, watching Harvey, glad to see him 
 enjoying his dinner; glad enough that he'd had his own 
 way about that visit from Boy it was mean of me to 
 grudge him the child. It seemed we had travelled some 
 distance on the friendly road since morning, when I had 
 seen in him only a stranger with the name of the man I 
 once knew. I marked little characteristics remaining 
 which had been familiar to me in Stanleyton, and, whether 
 I had then liked them or not, they now appealed to me 
 simply because they were of old standing.
 
 100 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 There's something queer in the effect of long associa- 
 tion. It isn't a question of affection, or even of the most 
 ordinary liking. It's just familiarity. We simply do not 
 see the faults or failings we have so many times over- 
 looked. I had never cared for Harvey Watkins, yet now 
 Harvey, helping my plate, watchful to keep me supplied 
 with everything, dealing competently with the waiter, 
 finally piling a little heap of coins on the cloth beside the 
 dinner check, evidently ready for his settlement, was a 
 known quantity and a fairly agreeable companion. After 
 all, this was Harvey not just anybody I had chanced to 
 meet coming to the new town. When he got as far as his 
 coffee my dinner had been done some time I laid the 
 Y. W. C. A. woman's suggestion before him. 
 
 "Sounds good to me," he said. "The Phipps business 
 college is on the top floor of the Cronin Building. Sup- 
 pose you go there to-morrow morning and talk to Pop 
 Phipps about it. I'd stand for your expenses." 
 
 Without looking, he fingered a coin away from that lit- 
 tle pile on the cloth and pushed it forward till it lay di- 
 rectly between us a five-dollar gold piece. 
 
 "I took typing and stenography a few months in my last 
 high school year," I said hurriedly. "And they have 
 night classes there at the Y. W. C. A. Don't you think I 
 could brush up sufficiently that way ?" 
 
 "Too slow. You'd break yourself down at it." 
 
 "Well," I felt my face reddening; I was acutely con- 
 scious of that gold piece on the table, "she did say that 
 some of them borrowed the money for a business course, 
 and paid after they got a position. I shouldn't dare do 
 that unless I was sure of a place beforehand." 
 
 "That's what I'm figuring on," said Harvey, cutting 
 cheese in little strips and laying it with a water cracker. 
 "We've been chewing the rag for six months there in the 
 office about a private secretary for me somebody not con- 
 cerned with any other member of the firm."
 
 AT THE ROADHOUSE 101 
 
 "You're really going to have one ?" I demanded. "Can 
 you hold the position for me till I'm ready ?" 
 
 "The position's yours nobody else's," Harvey nodded. 
 "As it stands now, Bates hammers out the briefs and the 
 correspondence on that darned old threshing machine they 
 call a typewriter, and they're a disgrace to the firm. But 
 the main point is that any lawyer handling the sort of work 
 I do the McBrides have shoved all their dirty jobs off 
 on me from the first has got to have a private secretary 
 that he can trust. That's what's needed more than stenog- 
 raphy. You can get enough shorthand inside of three 
 months. Better put that out of sight the waiter's com- 
 ing. He might take it for his tip." 
 
 "I'll pay just as soon as I can," I said, huskily, cover- 
 ing the coin. 
 
 "Needn't hurry yourself." Harvey grinned a little. 
 "There's no interest charged on that sort of debt. Pay 
 when you get ready or never pay. Maybe I'll see a way 
 to square it for you in some item of the office expenses." 
 
 The waiter came and went. I sat pushing the coin 
 about under an uncertain palm. It seemed to me I 
 couldn't pick it up. 
 
 "Maybe I could get a place to work for my board," I 
 said, finally. 
 
 "You'll get on faster at the college if you give your time 
 and energy to it. The tuition and expenses together won't 
 amount to much. I'd advance the expense money person- 
 ally, you see." 
 
 The coin under my hand got some reasonable colour 
 with this, and I picked it up, held it a moment, turning 
 it over, then dropped it into my pocket. 
 
 "Oh," I said, "I'm sure I could live on three or four 
 dollars a week." 
 
 Harvey shook his head. 
 
 "You'll need about ten."
 
 102 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "Not so much " I was beginning when he inter- 
 rupted me: 
 
 "Well, split the difference," and added in another tone : 
 "That white scarf thing's very becoming." I glanced 
 over to find him looking steadily at me. As our eyes met 
 he smiled. "But I like to see your hair I always remem- 
 ber you with a lot of curls hanging down your back the 
 prettiest little schoolgirl that ever kept all the boys guess- 
 ing." 
 
 "I might have taken my hat off for dinner," I said. 
 "It's too late now. What time is it? Oughtn't I to be 
 getting back to the Poinsettia ?" 
 
 Harvey looked at his watch, and snapped it shut with- 
 out telling me the hour. 
 
 "That's all right," he said. "But while we're here alone 
 and have the chance, I want to talk to you about your di- 
 vorce case. It'll take three months to acquire residence 
 in the county. Meantime we don't want to slip up on any- 
 thing. I've got to have the facts, so I can be ready to meet 
 any movement of Baird's." 
 
 I sat silent, rolling some crumbs on the cloth. I suppose 
 I looked uncomfortable. There was a flicker of curiosity 
 in his eyes. Speech, at the moment, was beyond me. 
 
 "Don't be squeamish," he encouraged. "You know, 
 Calla, as a matter of fact, the real grounds are not gener- 
 ally the ones on which the decree is obtained. A lawyer 
 shields his client but he's got to have the facts." 
 
 He paused expectantly. I had a queer feeling, as 
 though my circulation were shifting the blood all away 
 from my head and to my pounding heart. Then, in an- 
 other instant, it all went there, making my cheeks burn 
 and the big arteries in my neck throb. 
 
 "You needn't mind me," Harvey gave me another lift. 
 
 "What do you want to know ?" I breathed. 
 
 He leaned forward. His eyes looked into mine in such 
 a way that I felt suddenly exposed, shamed.
 
 AT THE ROADHOUSE 103 
 
 "Say, Calla, have you the ground for divorce?" he 
 asked, "or has Baird ?" 
 
 "I why, I don't know what you mean," I halted out. 
 
 "Take it easy," Harvey said. "You'd be astonished at 
 the things a lawyer is told by people of the highest re- 
 spectability, too. Suppose Baird has got the grounds ? 
 We'll find a way to put the screws on him. I'll get a di- 
 vorce for you whatever the circumstances are. But I've 
 got to know I've got to know the ground facts the 
 truth." 
 
 At a loss, I made no answer, and he added : 
 
 "There's nothing in the matter of er this fellow 
 that's with you young Tipton that's going to handicap 
 our action, is there ?" 
 
 I stared at him angrily. 
 
 "Oliver never saw or heard tell of such a person." 
 
 "That's all to the good, of course, but if there's anything 
 there to furnish Baird with a cross-bill, we want to " 
 
 "For goodness' sake!" I burst out, my face flaming. 
 "That boy! Why, he he's like any child to me like 
 Boyce. Certainly there's nothing." 
 
 "Oh, all right. Glad of it. Then let's get back to our 
 real starting place. Give me the ground facts the case 
 exactly as it stands fully explicitly between you and 
 Baird." 
 
 The ground facts it seemed to me that I must descend 
 into a pit of slime to get them and bring them up to him ; 
 but this once it must be done. I put my hand up across 
 my eyes and began speaking. I stumbled along somehow 
 with things I had never intended to tell another human 
 being. Once launched, I made a clean breast of it, look- 
 ing down beneath my sheltering hand, blurting out one 
 statement after another, while Harvey let me alone I 
 suppose his lawyer's skill told him he would get more out 
 of me that way. 
 
 "That's all," I gasped, finally, when I had come to an
 
 104 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 abashed, humiliated completeness of revelation. "I'll 
 never speak of it again to you or anybody else, if I never 
 get a divorce." 
 
 Harvey hitched his chair forward, leaned across and 
 reached for my hand. 
 
 "Don't worry," he said. "That's plenty to go on and 
 a lot more than I expected to have. I can see where Baird 
 doesn't resist your suit. We can get money out of him, 
 too, if you're willing to bring these complaints into court." 
 
 I fairly withered at the thought. 
 
 "Oh, no," I said, hastily. "I promised in my note that 
 I'd never ask for a cent if he'd let me alone and let me 
 have Boyce." 
 
 "Maybe that's better," Harvey agreed. "He hasn't got 
 enough to be worth fighting for. Huh, after all, I envy 
 you. You can have a divorce for the asking. You're not 
 tied by the leg for life." 
 
 I .settled hat and veil, and picked up my gloves ner- 
 vously. 
 
 "Never mind those things." Harvey took the gloves 
 from me and put them in his pocket. "You needn't try 
 to shut me off that way." 
 
 "I wasn't," I said, "only I " 
 
 "Well, you needn't." He wagged his head. "I'm go- 
 ing to talk some. Don't think you made the only mar- 
 riage that looks pretty well on the outside and is a dead 
 misfit as far as fundamentals are concerned. Hold 
 
 on " He saw I was trying to interrupt him. "I was 
 
 a widower when I married Dele, was I ? Supposed to 
 know a few things ? Well, I'd been a decent kid I had 
 no women experience. That first marriage of mine 
 miserable affair! The poor little girl didn't know any 
 better than I did why she oughtn't to go through the form 
 of marriage with a healthy young man. I didn't really 
 know anything about sex. They're so darned decent that 
 they don't teach young folks what would be of the most use
 
 AT THE ROADHOUSE 105 
 
 to them. Now I suppose I can spend the rest of my life 
 paying Dele's sanitarium bills and looking at other men's 
 children. That boy of yours ought to have been yours 
 and mine, if things had gone right." 
 
 I didn't know which way to look. 
 
 "Maybe after a while when her health's better," I 
 began, shamefacedly, but he cut in on me: 
 
 "Oh, no. Dele's made sure of that. She was half sure 
 when she married me. Now she's gone for a second opera- 
 tion. We fought over it about a week. But of course the 
 doctor sided with her said it was necessary. So that's 
 settled." 
 
 I wanted to turn the conversation, but couldn't think of 
 anything to say. Harvey was chewing away at something 
 in his own mind. Now he began again : 
 
 "I suppose they all thought back there in Stanleyton 
 that I made a fine match good family, and so forth. 
 Huh ! When I came down here to San Vicente, Dele was 
 the only girl I knew. She and her mother went after me 
 strong, and they got me that's all. It was you I always 
 wanted. Calla, do you remember that time when we were 
 making fudge at your house, and you and I were in the 
 pantry pouring the stuff out into the platters, and I tried 
 to kiss you ?" 
 
 I laughed, between apprehension and nervous relief at 
 this childish turn he'd taken, and reminded him: 
 
 "You came pretty near getting yourself lamed for life 
 by having hot candy spilled on your foot." 
 
 "Sure," said Harvey. "You fought like a little tiger 
 and I didn't get my kiss." Then, suddenly: "I want it 
 now. This time I'm going to have it." 
 
 I jumped up and ran, but the door I tried opened into 
 an adjoining room and was locked. Harvey was on his 
 feet, and coming toward me. 
 
 "Behave yourself!" I cried, doubled, and flew around
 
 106 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 the table. We stopped with it between us and stared at 
 each other. 
 
 "Calla," whispered Harvey, "you can't put me off this 
 time. Oh, you know how to look at a man and just, drive 
 him crazy." 
 
 "I don't," I protested, though I dared not glance away 
 from him for a moment. "It isn't so. Harvey for 
 heaven's sake!" 
 
 "Don't raise your voice that way," he cautioned, un- 
 easily. "I'm right here the folks outside needn't be 
 taken into our confidence. Come on girl. Give me that 
 kiss." 
 
 I had got my bearings now and located the door. It 
 must be behind me. I whirled and had hold of the knob 
 before Harvey could get around the table and stop me. 
 As I turned it his hand closed over mine. 
 
 "You don't want to do that," he said, quietly. It seemed 
 as if the mere prospect of my opening the door had cooled 
 him. He was more like the man who had talked to me in 
 his office that morning. Still I clung to the knob, leaning 
 as far away from him as I could. After all, the scene was 
 not so very different from that one back in my mother's 
 pantry when we were pouring out the hot fudge and he had 
 tried to steal a kiss. 
 
 Harvey began to argue reproachfully. 
 
 "See here; I don't understand you. Of course, you 
 used to be a regular little touch-me-not. But now why, 
 I came mighty near having my kiss this morning when 
 you grabbed me there in the office only it wasn't the 
 right place. Seems to me you blow hot and cold. I don't 
 understand you." 
 
 "Stop talking that way!" I said. "There's nothing to 
 understand. I'm not any different from what I was back 
 in Stanleyton." 
 
 "Oh, yes, you are." Harvey drawled out the words,
 
 1 SHOVED AT HIM DESPERATELY WITH MY DOUBLED 
 FIST, AND WITH THE OTHER HAND REACHED BLINDLY 
 OUT AND TURNED THE KNOB
 
 AT THE ROADHOUSE 107 
 
 looking at me through narrowed eyes. "No woman goes 
 through what you've been telling me and isn't different." 
 
 "I .knew you'd never respect me again," I said, low. 
 "But you told me you had to know the ground facts. The 
 ground facts! I ran away from that. I went to any 
 length to get out of it. I think such a marriage is more 
 immoral than what the world generally calls immorality." 
 
 "And there's where you're dead right." Harvey tried 
 to draw me away from the door, but I kept my hold. "A 
 man and woman could live together comfortably without 
 marriage, and not half the harm no harm at all, in fact." 
 
 "I wasn't discussing anything of the sort." 
 
 "Well, I am. There's plenty of it going on, let me tell 
 
 you. If people are only careful of appearances Take 
 
 you and me, for instance ; we could " 
 
 "Harvey, hush!" I broke in. "What do you want to 
 talk about such a thing for?" 
 
 "All right," he said, slowly. "Then I won't." His eye 
 was on me. "Here are your gloves." 
 
 I let go the door knob and reached for them. He 
 grabbed me. I ducked. Hat and veil came between his 
 face and mine, were dragged down in the tussle, threaten- 
 ing to bring my hair about my eyes. I shoved at him des- 
 perately with my doubled fist, and with the other hand 
 reached blindly out and turned the knob the door was 
 opening when Harvey caught it. 
 
 "Hold on," he whispered. "Let's get straightened up 
 before we let the waiter see us." 
 
 I flung my head back, crouching away from him. He 
 took a look at my face, and his own changed. 
 
 "For God's sake, don't look so scared, child." He waited 
 with his hand on the knob. "Pull yourself together. I 
 apologise." He still breathed short. "Nothing's hap- 
 pened. You're all right. I'm all right. We're the best 
 friends in the world and always going to be." 
 
 Without a word I crowded toward the door.
 
 108 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "Steady. Turn round let me see if your hat's on 
 straight. All right." He opened the door. "We must be 
 getting home," he remarked, in a louder tone, apparently 
 for the benefit of the sleepy waiter behind the desk in the 
 office. "The folks will be wondering what's become of us." 
 
 Out at the car Harvey stopped me when I moved toward 
 the tonneau. 
 
 "Won't you sit beside me ?" he asked, penitently. 
 
 I made no answer, but got into the front seat. He 
 cranked up, stepped in, and for some time we drove in 
 silence. At last he began speaking. 
 
 "E"ow, see here, Calla, you don't want to be a foolish 
 little Puritan and quarrel with a good friend because he 
 chances to be a human man and not just a stuffed suit of 
 clothes." 
 
 I hadn't the heart nor the voice to answer. He 
 waited a minute, then said: 
 
 "I'm sorry. I'll promise never to offend you that way 
 again though if you ask me, I don't see why an old friend 
 that's willing to go his length for you shouldn't have a 
 kiss. Honest I don't, honey. It seems to me you're mak- 
 ing something wrong out of a thing that has nothing wrong 
 in it. Aren't you ? Isn't that so ?" 
 
 I sat hunched up, as far away from him as I could get, 
 looked straight ahead of me, and made no answer. That 
 gold piece was white-hot; it burned through and through 
 my consciousness. 
 
 "Calla," there was alarm in his voice, "what is the mat- 
 ter? What makes you take it like this? I didn't mean 
 any real harm honest to God, I didn't. I'm just that 
 way. You always knew it." 
 
 "I suppose I did." My voice was so husky that he had 
 trouble to hear me. I tried again. "It made me slow 
 about coming to you in the first place. And now you've 
 fixed it so that I haven't got a friend in San Vicente." 
 
 "You know better than that. I'm a good friend."
 
 AT THE ROADHOUSE 109 
 
 I cleared the choke from my throat, and cried : 
 
 "You can't do anything for me now ! I've got to go out 
 and get Boy back to-morrow, and : 
 
 My hand moved toward my pocket. Harvey caught the 
 wrist, exclaiming: 
 
 "You've no right to do that ! You're bound to consider 
 the child's welfare." 
 
 "Well, we'd both better starve in the street than that his 
 mother should " 
 
 "Oh, Calla, Calla !" Harvey threw up his hand in pro- 
 test. The car came to a sudden stop in the middle of the 
 road. "There, I've killed my engine. What can I say? 
 What do you want me to say ? I'm sorry to death I'm 
 just as humble as I can be. Will it fix it if I promise 
 never to give you the slightest offence again ? Why, we're 
 old friends, child. We've known each other all our lives. 
 I used to think everything of your father." 
 
 I couldn't answer him. After a moment he started up 
 the car. We rode on a while, then Harvey asked, quietly : 
 
 "How is it, Calla ? Are you going to forgive me ? You 
 have to be helped. You can't make it alone. I want to be 
 your friend somebody's got to. I can do it if you'll 
 give me a chance. I can behave to suit you." 
 
 "Well," I sighed wearily. 
 
 "And it's all right between us? We're friends if I 
 promise to be good ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then I'll push your divorce case ; and you'll let me go 
 ahead with the business arrangements for you ? Don't say 
 no. I'll turn it over to old man McBride, if you want me 
 to you won't have to deal with me at all, if you'd rather 
 not." 
 
 "Oh, you needn't do that," I allowed. "Harvey, this 
 has been a hard day. I I'm worn out. It's all right 
 but just let me go home and rest." 
 
 "I will," he said. "Poor girl, it's a shame to give you
 
 110 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 any more walking to do, but it will be best for me to drop 
 you out at the corner by the drug store again won't it ? 
 I only want to use care for your sake." 
 
 I just nodded. A minute later we drew up at the fur- 
 tive corner, and I got out in silence. He would have 
 driven on instantly, but I stopped him to say : 
 
 "You'll see Boy in the morning ?" 
 
 "Oh, certainly." 
 
 "If there's anything he needs maybe I'd better call at 
 the office and see." 
 
 He caught at it eagerly. 
 
 "That's right. You'll be starting in at the business col- 
 lege, anyhow. Come to the office on your way up. I'll 
 have the good word for you from J. B. Bye- bye." 
 
 He turned the car and drove quietly away. 
 
 Dead tired, I slept that night like an overdriven animal, 
 my empty arms thrown out across the place where Boyce's 
 little body should have lain.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE TURNING OF THE WHEELS 
 
 I AWOKE next morning with my soul all black and 
 blue; but I blamed myself more than Harvey for the 
 bruises. What a way to behave protesting, and pulling 
 away, girl fashion ! Of course it would only make him 
 worse. And in the end that gush of his about "being good" 
 "never offending again" was no practical basis for a 
 business relation. He was offering me much; he meant 
 to be kind. The only way was to have things out with 
 him calmly and definitely. All through my dressing, my 
 breakfast, and going down to the Cronin Building, to the 
 very minute I walked into McBride, McBride & Watkins's 
 office, I was nerving myself for the interview only to be 
 told that Mr. Watkins hadn't come down yet. 
 
 "But he 'phoned me to hand you our scholarship card," 
 said Bates, the clerk, when he saw how blank I looked, 
 and reaching it from a pigeon-hole, shoved it into my 
 fingers, along with an envelope that had my name type- 
 written on it and the memorandum, "Expense money; 
 $2.50, in addition to $5.00 in hand paid." Harvey had 
 made an open business transaction of the matter. I was 
 still a little bewildered, but I couldn't see why this wasn't 
 better than my idea of having a talk. Apparently he'd put 
 matters now on a basis that would answer. Bates was 
 explaining like a cash register. 
 
 "You're to get this weekly, or any way you prefer, at 
 my desk." 
 - I nodded. 
 
 "If I might offer a suggestion, Mrs. Baird," Bates's 
 imitation-lawyer tones were modelled a little on Harvey's, 
 but more on the older and more imposing McBride
 
 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 brother's, "I'd advise you to read law at night just a 
 handbook or so. They're right here in the office library. 
 You'll find it a big help in holding a position of this kind." 
 
 "Thank you, it seems a good idea," I said ; passed out, 
 got into the elevator, and went up. 
 
 The Phipps Business College occupied the entire top 
 floor of the Cronin Building, divided off by cheap, half- 
 high partitions, except the one to the typing room. When 
 the door of this opened a moment for "Pop Phipps" to 
 come out and speak to me, a perfect blast of factory-like 
 clatter came out with him. He received me in a little 
 glassed-in office. Down at the other end I could see some 
 rooms were used for housekeeping. A red-haired girl in a 
 bungalow apron was plainly visible through the open door, 
 washing dishes. Mrs. Phipps came out of the same place 
 and joined us in the office. 
 
 My card turned out to be a free scholarship, placed with 
 the McBride firm when the college was getting started, 
 supposed to cover any legal business that might become 
 necessary, but really given for the purpose of advertising 
 the school. The Phippses openly lost enthusiasm at sight 
 of it. Yet they proceeded to the routine questions. My lit- 
 tle bit of work in stenography and typing in high school 
 so long ago amounted to nothing. As a beginner I would 
 be in Mrs. Phipps's classes. While Pop nobody ever 
 called him anything else went after the books I was to 
 carry home with me, Mrs. Phipps took the opportunity to 
 size me up. I didn't wait for more than one plain, blunt 
 question to give her the practical points of my situation 
 quite as plainly and bluntly, and I finished by saying that 
 I still hoped to find a place where I could work enough 
 to cover my board. 
 
 "Yes," she glanced back toward the half-open door and 
 the girl in the bungalow apron, "we use student help, but 
 Miss Scott has the place now and there's always a wait- 
 ing list among the students."
 
 THE TURNING OF THE WHEELS 113 
 
 So I began at twenty-two, and with a child dependent 
 upon me, to do the thing that ought to have been com- 
 pleted when I was seventeen and in high school. If I 
 had ten daughters, they should all be given knowledge of 
 some useful occupation by which they might earn an hon- 
 est living at need. My mother had felt that her daughter 
 was too pretty and attractive ever to have that need. She 
 did not know that any beauty or charm a woman may have 
 seems to turn against her and hinder her when she it 
 pitched into the tide of unskilled workers. 
 
 Mrs. Tipton surprised me a little when I came to deal 
 with her. There was something fine in the way she ac- 
 cepted me, never taking the attitude of the others in the 
 house that I was a designing woman, an adventuress, a di- 
 vorcee worse, a would-be divorcee dangerous to her 
 boy ; but fluting at me like a little brown partridge mother : 
 
 "If Eddie likes to let you have the room while he's not 
 using it, why should I charge you rent ? It is certainly a 
 poor place. I couldn't offer it to a boarder. You're wel- 
 come, Mrs. Baird." 
 
 In my heart I forgave her for having called me "an 
 oddity," and I accepted the room for the two weeks that 
 Joe Ed had at first offered me. Beyond that, we finally 
 settled on a dollar and a half a week as proper rent. It 
 was ridiculously cheap for anything in the Poinsettia, of 
 course, and when I'd cleaned, swept, dusted, and got my 
 books and a few other things I'd brought with me in place, 
 it began to be home. 
 
 There was no guessing whether Joe Ed's mother had 
 any inkling of what had been thrust on my notice that first 
 night in his room ; but I knew, if she did not, that it would 
 be a good thing for her son to be out of the house just 
 then. In the cleaning and settling of my new quarters I 
 came up against Addie several times, with her smoulder- 
 ing gaze and red, sulky mouth a cheap personality, yet 
 not lacking a touch of the dramatic. Poor thing, she
 
 114 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 looked at me rather queerly that first day; but as time 
 went by and nothing came of the incident she ceased to pay 
 any special attention to me. 
 
 At five o'clock I couldn't stand it any longer, dropped 
 everything and went out to see Boy. There he was in 
 "Can't Bust 'Ems," all taken up with his own affairs over 
 in a corner of the garden. He wasn't interested in me un- 
 less I would come and help dig, and I finally went away 
 relieved. My last view was of his bright head bobbing 
 there under the acacias; the sound of his voice followed 
 me, singing like a giant bumble-bee, "Doomble, doomble, 
 doomble, doomble, oomble, oomble oomble." 
 
 How I revelled in the sense of individual responsibility ! 
 I, none other, was to make it or fail. Back at the ranch 
 I was part of an enterprise in no sense mine ; I had to 
 work it in a way I should never have planned in the first 
 place, or held to afterward, like a rower down in the 
 bowels of a galley, who can't see where he is going or why 
 he's trying to get there. 
 
 The week flew past in a hurry. I was so rushed and 
 so pleasantly rushed that I hadn't a minute to think, 
 much less to worry. Getting up early to study before I 
 left the house ; carrying a book along to the restaurant to 
 prop it beside my coffee cup for a last desperate go at the 
 lesson; sitting in a school desk, praised for a good recita- 
 tion, reproved for a poor one why, it was as though I had 
 wakened at a stroke from a dream, a nightmare of a miser- 
 able marriage and a ruined life, to find myself a school- 
 girl again ! 
 
 The hopes, the ambitions, of that schoolgirl roused, 
 hungry from that six years' sleep, it took all the anxieties 
 I had, burdens of my poor wardrobe and the care of my 
 room things that mother used to help me with to keep 
 my feet on the ground. They wanted to dance these days. 
 
 Oh, I knew I was like a girl again when the admiring 
 glances began to come my way from the classmates or
 
 THE TURNING OF THE WHEELS 115 
 
 young fellows who waited in the lobby of an evening to 
 walk home with some girl. If I didn't want such an es- 
 cort myself, I had need to look a bit prim and unapproach- 
 able. Well I didn't want one, of course, but it was a 
 luxury and a reassurance to be able tacitly to refuse again ! 
 Let the most correct and Puritanic gainsay me if she can ! 
 
 Curiously enough, the first memories of Philip Stanley 
 that didn't hurt swam in upon this insurging tide of girl- 
 hood. Always, up to this time, thought of him had come 
 knife in hand, stabbing at my self-respect ; but now I had a 
 glimpse of being able to cast back almost happily to 
 the days when the high-handed young outlaw had made 
 me his consort and confidante. It might have been only 
 the association of ideas, but whatever it was, it sometimes 
 carried me so far that it would scarcely have seemed 
 strange to have him walk into the classroom of the Phipps 
 Business College of a morning, making all those about 
 me look less than themselves ; and still mine, giving me the 
 sense of being an emperor's chosen. 
 
 I had dreaded Sunday a little, on account of Harvey; 
 it would be my one free day for Boyce and his, too. But 
 it seemed I need not have worried he was out of town 
 for the week-end. Boy and I took a picnic lunch and rode 
 as far as a little spur line, the San Vicente, Las Reudas & 
 Corinth, would take us. It wound up in a beautiful, still 
 canyon of the foothills. We had a long, happy day of it 
 there. 
 
 Then, back at the school work once more, I dug at it for 
 all I was worth ; it went fast ; what I had done years be- 
 fore was not altogether wasted. It was early in that first 
 month that Pop Phipps called me, the rawest beginner he 
 had, into the office to talk to Frank Hollis Dale. I had 
 seen the tenant of the back bungalow almost daily, as he 
 went and came, always fluttering Mrs. Tipton's "bunch of 
 dames" by his mere passing. It surprised me a little to 
 find his Eastern elegance and finish here at the Phipps
 
 116 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 school looking for the sort of student help that cost noth- 
 ing. But when he began to speak I forgot this. 
 
 He wanted his weekly lecture at the college typed ; Pop 
 Phipps had picked me out on account of my Latin, and 
 because he said I was the only one he "had on hand," 
 among those who would work for the practice and with- 
 out pay, with sufficient general intelligence to handle Mr. 
 Dale's matter. Perfectly superior and unabashed, the 
 great man explained that it would be mostly copying, 
 asked me if I could read a bad hand and very blind manu- 
 script, and suggested that he'd have to read the worst of 
 it to me; but if Frank Hollis Dale only said "two of 
 these," or "make them eight by twelve," or inquired, "Will 
 it be ten cents or fifteen ?" the power of a big, clear intel- 
 lect seemed to raise the value of the insignificant words. 
 Listening to him was like stepping into a large, quiet, well- 
 proportioned room that contained everything you wanted 
 to know. 
 
 It was my first contact with greatness in the flesh ; and 
 for once the maxim failed I was not disappointed. The 
 arrangement was for me to do the typing on Mr. Dale's 
 own machine at the bungalow, the work to begin that after- 
 noon. I think I carried as wildly beating a heart as Miss 
 Creevey would have had under similar circumstances 
 when, about three o'clock, I made myself as neat as pos- 
 sible, went out the front door of the Poinsettia, took the 
 leafy tunnel-way, and knocked at the entrance of the little 
 green hill in the back yard. 
 
 Mr. Dale opened the door to me himself ; I took a quick 
 look around. The cottage had been rented furnished; 
 there was nothing interesting except his books, which filled 
 the built-in shelves and overflowed on tables, chairs and 
 floor. One section of plate shelf by the door was crowded 
 with copper and sculptured stone things that I was sure 
 had come from the Central American explorations. But 
 he called me straight across to the typewriter, without
 
 THE TURNING OF THE WHEELS 117 
 
 giving me a moment to examine. He was behindhand 
 with his work, and in haste to begin. 
 
 He found me slow and drove me like a fire, seeming to 
 forget whether I was a human being or a clumsy, half- 
 made tool. Impatiently he repeated his phrases till I got 
 them down on the paper. His fingers twitched irritably 
 as they pointed me through the labyrinth of manuscript. 
 The lecture was on archaeology ; I knew nothing about the 
 subject, and would have said I cared less. But even amid 
 that breathless struggle to keep up I could see that he made 
 it fascinating. I panted and perspired. It began to grow 
 dark. I thought we weren't going to pay any attention to 
 dinner time, for Mr. Dale snapped on the current in the 
 goose-neck light that stood beside the typewriter table, and 
 went ahead, till he suddenly realised that he was hungry. 
 He was done with me that minute, though we had only 
 about one-third of the lecture in type. I got up quickly to 
 go; any decision that Mr. Dale had made so immediately 
 came out into the atmosphere around him that he could 
 almost make you obey without saying a word. 
 
 "What time will you want me to-morrow ?" I asked. 
 
 "A little earlier, please." 
 
 I did want to stay for a minute and look around the 
 room, though that goose-neck light, intended for nothing 
 but to show you the spot you were working on, didn't give 
 much chance to see anything, and Mr. Dale was excusing 
 himself brusquely: 
 
 "To-morrow at half past two, then, we'll say. Pardon 
 me will you close up things here ? I'm my own cook and 
 bottle washer. I'll be lighting the gas stove for my 
 dinner." 
 
 I went. In the days after that I was always looking 
 for a chance to become a little better acquainted with the 
 room and the man who dictated. The interest of both lay 
 partly in their refusing themselves to me. It was a charm 
 I couldn't get away from, and more purely of the intellect
 
 118 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 than anything which had yet come my way. My only 
 chance really to enjoy it was when Dr. Rush dropped in, 
 as he did sometimes while we were at work. Mr. Dale 
 wouldn't stop for any other human being, but the doctor 
 might stay as long as he liked which couldn't be very 
 long, for he had a big practice and was always on the 
 jump. The two had been classmates ; it was through him 
 that Mr. Dale had come to San Vicente. They were 
 physician and patient, yet I realised that there was no 
 question of money between them any more than there was 
 between Mr. Dale and myself, but that the overworked big- 
 brained physician, starved for mental companionship in 
 this material, rich, money-getting little city, prized above 
 money the contact with a first-rate mind. 
 
 A visit from the doctor always meant a bout. At it 
 they would go, hammer and tongs never discussing any- 
 thing less than world matters, always on opposite sides 
 the doctor with his warm, quick-grasping hands, his red- 
 brown eyes and hair and skin, vital, human, radical; the 
 other conservative, dispassionate, cold in his colouring as 
 his view of life. To sit mute and listen to them was an 
 intellectual awakening an education. I was reminded of 
 the ancient sage whose student fell asleep so that the il- 
 lumination of the teaching went past him to fall on and 
 glorify the intelligence of a little black demon squatting 
 unnoticed on the ground. Most often it was Dr. Rush's 
 words that enlightened me. Yes, and I sometimes got 
 them again almost verbatim in Mr. Dale's dictation 
 next day. 
 
 I secured a public library ticket. Crowded as I was 
 with school work, and Mr. Dale's typing, I used to go and 
 get out something that I'd hoard him and the doctor 
 wrangling over, and carry it home snuggled under my arm, 
 with just the gloating, guilty feeling a secret drunkard 
 has over his bottle. And oh, when I read them my dingy 
 walls would melt away ! I read Jean Christophe this way,
 
 THE TURNING OF THE WHEELS 119 
 
 stealing time for it, taking it in great gulps, daring to have 
 opinions about it. My shelf of old darlings looked down 
 at me rather reproachfully I was so crazy for the new 
 stuff ; I did want to know what people were thinking, feel- 
 ing, writing about this minute. Shaw with his breath-tak- 
 ing iconoclasm was like strong waters to me. His dancing 
 devil of wit could make a place of revel out of my little 
 back room. Maeterlinck's Mary Magdalen I read this 
 way, and Galsworthy's Dark Flower. Maurice Hewlett's 
 Open Country was to me like coming out into a free, beau- 
 tiful, idealistic world. 
 
 The people at the Poinsettia executed a quick right- 
 about face as soon as I began to do typing for Mr. Dale. 
 I was certainly no less a working woman than when my 
 statement of the fact had put me down in their eyes at my 
 first dinner ; yet being on any sort of terms with the great 
 man made me at once a person of consequence. They 
 even had an air of forgetting by common consent the odi- 
 ous existence of Boyce, and one after another, as by chance, 
 they waylaid me to make friends. I was willing enough 
 I never cared to quarrel. The insatiable curiosity they 
 had on this one subject was what Joe Ed would have called 
 "funny as a crutch." Why did Mr. Dale do his own 
 work? as if I could or would tell them anything 
 about him. They had the same chance that I had to know 
 that he did his own washing even, so far as socks and knit 
 underwear were concerned. They could see him hanging 
 these things to dry in the seclusion of that back yard. 
 They seemed to hope I would know and tell where his 
 salary as lecturer at the University of San Vicente went. 
 They all asked whether he had his wife's picture up any- 
 where. Did I notice whether letters seemed to be passing 
 between them ? What did he seem to like to eat ? Did he 
 black his own shoes ? There wasn't one of them that 
 wouldn't have been glad to come in with a bowl of food 
 as the Himalayan villagers did for their holy man in Kip-
 
 120 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 ling's story not one who wouldn't have felt it an honour 
 to restore the polish to those sacred boots! 
 
 About the most ridiculous of all these encounters was 
 when Miss Creevey found me reading her book, that I'd 
 picked up from the hall table through curiosity. She was 
 so pleased I felt such a hypocrite ! She told me breath- 
 lessly, her lisp tumbling the words heels over head, that 
 she had presented Mr. Dale with a copy, and that he said 
 it was very unusual ! 
 
 "He athked me if I wath ever going to write another," 
 she said. "I hadn't thought of it before ; but with hith en- 
 couragement I am conthidering the matter. I could get 
 him to critithise the manuthcript and I would thertainly 
 have you to type it." 
 
 So the poor old lisping thing caught step with the pro- 
 cession just as she had when I first came to the house and 
 Mrs. Thrasher was on the warpath after me. Then, Miss 
 Creevey got out her little hatchet and came along; now, 
 she brought her book and put it in my hands, as full of 
 pride as a young mother showing off her baby. "The His- 
 tory of Modoc County in Rhyme" was a deformed infant. 
 My sympathy for its satisfied, uncomprehending author 
 made us friends. When Mr. Dale handed the book to 
 Dr. Rush a week later, with one of his biting, brilliant 
 comments, I felt like defending it. 
 
 With Mrs. Thrasher herself the Battle of the Unde- 
 sirable Boarder and Her Impossible Child had given place 
 to the Siege of the Garbage Man. As owner of the prem- 
 ises she attended to the garbage; she said fiercely that he 
 had been systematically overcharging her, and her row 
 with him might have taken her mind off my affairs ; but it 
 was plain that the iron- jawed woman, no less than the 
 others, yearned toward Frank Hollis Dale, and hoped to 
 approach him, even through his typist. She transparently 
 made occasion to speak to me one day, and gave her formal
 
 THE TURNING OF THE WHEELS 
 
 sanction to my existence yea, even to my dwelling in her 
 house for a time. 
 
 So I thought, of course, when Miss Chandler, meeting 
 me in the hall, asked me in for a cup of tea, that she, too, 
 wanted to talk about the great man. I was none the less 
 flattered by the invitation, for I knew nobody else in the 
 house had ever received one. Eugenia Chandler, an or- 
 phan, about twenty-six years old, was by common consent 
 the leading figure at the Poinsettia. She belonged to what 
 was possibly the most distinguished family in San Vi- 
 cente. Chandler street and Chandler square carried the 
 name, and though it seemed there couldn't have been a 
 great deal of money left her, she was certainly a very in- 
 fluential person for so young a woman, admired, envied, 
 run after. 
 
 Her room, directly over the big downstairs hall, had a 
 great bay or oriel window that jutted out above the front 
 entrance. Its own passage cut it off from the main cor- 
 ridor, shutting it away behind two doors. It was like a 
 little separate residence within the Poinsettia. There was 
 a curtained alcove for bed and dresser, a private bath, and 
 a wealth of closet room. The old mahogany, good Turkish 
 rugs and concert grand piano in the corner were her own. 
 
 I was attracted by the tea table, with its embroidered 
 linen, Belleek ware and heavy, handsome silver, till I 
 caught sight of the books in her bookcase; then I flew to 
 them. There were French and German volumes in the 
 original, besides a lot of late books that looked like heavy 
 reading. I knew by this time that she had been educated 
 very finely at home, and studied music abroad under 
 teachers to whom you must have an introduction, who will 
 not keep you as a pupil unless you show a certain ability. 
 I knew, too, that she went all over the state, at the invi- 
 tation of women's clubs and musical organisations, to give 
 her parlour piano talks. The boarders took pride in her,
 
 122 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 her birth and station, her attainments, only a little less 
 gushing than that they felt in Frank Hollis Dale's celeb- 
 rity. I had once or twice heard her practising brilliant, 
 difficult stuff as I passed in the hall. I don't care for 
 that sort of thing, but as I went and sat down at the tea 
 table, feeling rather subdued, it occurred to me that it 
 would be polite to ask her to play for me before I left. 
 
 When I did so, she shrugged and laughed and said it 
 would be "such a bore." I didn't know whether she meant 
 to me or to herself. She answered my timid remarks 
 about books in a word or two. I saw the subject did not 
 interest her. 
 
 It wasn't that she had books about her which she hadn't 
 read, or kept them there for show. Her attitude toward 
 the world of print seemed to me that of a well-bred person 
 who had had all of that sort of thing she wanted all her 
 life, and saw nothing in it to talk about. I would have 
 said that she read a book and put it up on the shelf and 
 that was the end of it. It just seemed to be there, lying 
 without life in her mentality. My mental interests, 
 freshly roused, keen and unsatisfied, found no response 
 here. It seemed I might as well unpack my Frank Hollis 
 Dale budget of course that was what I was there for. I 
 had just come from my work at the bungalow, this time 
 not a college lecture, but a magazine article, a splendid 
 thing, whose statements were set forth like a martial ar- 
 ray, whose arguments came down so many marching col- 
 umns. But instinctively I chose to tell Miss Chandler a 
 little personal incident of the afternoon. 
 
 "Mr. Dale doesn't need distance to lend him enchant- 
 ment," I said ; "he always seems great to me. This after- 
 noon when I went in, I found him down on his knees with 
 a bucket of warm water and a soapy cloth wiping up the 
 kitchen linoleum. He wouldn't let me finish the cleaning 
 for him, either, but just went and sloshed out his bucket 
 and cloths in the sink while I was getting my machine
 
 THE TURNING OF THE WHEELS 
 
 ready, then came in and gave the most brilliant dictation 
 I've ever had from him." 
 
 There was a little silence. Miss Chandler poured me 
 more tea. I slowly realised that I had been mistaken ; here 
 was one woman not in the least concerned about Frank 
 Hollis Dale. 
 
 "I imagine that sort of thing scientific magazine stuff, 
 even the best of it doesn't pay very well," she observed, 
 as she handed my cup. "He's not a popular writer, of 
 course." 
 
 "Oh I suppose not," I said, a little dashed. "I wasn't 
 thinking of money. The play of such an intellect is some- 
 thing above and beyond money like the flare of lightning 
 in the sky." 
 
 Miss Chandler looked across at me curiously. 
 
 "How enthusiastic you are !" she shrugged. "You may 
 not think about money, but Hollis Dale married into a set 
 where he's got to." 
 
 "You know his wife ?" I questioned. 
 
 "Some of my friends do. It was an ambitious social 
 match, but he didn't get 'any money with her." 
 
 "Why, I thought it was her fortune that went into the 
 South American expedition," I said, "and that was the 
 reason why he was so determined to make good saving 
 every penny doing work not fit for him, as he does." 
 
 "Does he save ? Well, he'd better. She didn't have any 
 money; just a rich girl's tastes and nothing to support 
 them. Her relatives Boston people put up for that 
 South American venture. And they'll put up again. 
 Pride, you know a scientist in the family but they'll 
 get him just as cheap as they can." 
 
 It was pride matching pride, then, I thought, recalling 
 a lavish gift I had helped him pack to send home to his 
 wife on their wedding anniversary, an exquisite necklace 
 of carved Chinese jade, that never cost less than a hun- 
 dred dollars and he washing up his kitchen floor to save
 
 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 the fee of a Jap houseworker ; choosing rather to scold and 
 fret over my bunglings than to pay even the nominal 
 charge of a more advanced pupil. 
 
 When I described that jade necklace to Miss Chandler, 
 I quite innocently stumbled upon the Great Subject, so 
 far as she was concerned dress ; personal ornament. She 
 began to get out her own jewelry to show me. Soon the 
 top of her bureau was covered with rings and pins and 
 chains of one kind and another, some old pieces, but mostly 
 new. It was like a store. The conversational route from 
 jewelry to clothes was short and easy, and never had I seen 
 anyone with such oceans of them. The big closet with a 
 window in it that opened off her room, a smaller one cut 
 from the entry, even some extra hooks and shelves in her 
 bathroom, were fairly stuffed with shoes, hats, wraps, 
 dresses of rich material and special design. She was all 
 for what she denominated the dernier cri. Whatever was 
 fashionable was to her desirable, so she kept buying new 
 things all the time ; and though she gave away a great deal 
 to the servants, particularly Orma, who waited on her like 
 a personal maid, she had there more clothes than four 
 women could have used. 
 
 After that I was often asked into Miss Chandler's room. 
 She had spells of pulling out everything she possessed to 
 look over, when bed, couch, chairbacks, and even the floor, 
 would be piled and draped and hung with clothes. She 
 called me in one of these days as I was passing. There 
 she sat on the carpet in the middle of things, that limber, 
 graceful body of hers curled np in the loveliest attitude. 
 She wanted me to look at a blouse she had in her hands, a 
 combination of coffee-coloured Arabian lace over delicate 
 tissue of a curious raisin shade. 
 
 "Try that thing on," she said, and tossed it up to me. 
 
 I slipped it over my shirtwaist, and went to the glass. 
 What I saw there hurt me. As I stood staring, saying 
 nothing,
 
 THE TURNING OF THE WHEELS 125 
 
 "Do you like it ? Is it becoming ?" she called from her 
 place on the floor. "Turn around and let me see." 
 
 I wheeled, reluctantly, hesitating: 
 
 "People always look nicer in light things." 
 
 There was no use talking that way. I saw in her eyes 
 that she recognised instantly the transformation. That 
 rich, exquisite garment, made simple with such cunning 
 skill, gave me the look of stationed ladyhood which be- 
 longed to the woman for whom it was originally designed. 
 People would make way for the wearer of the raisin- 
 coloured waist as they had never made way for me in the 
 clothes I bought as cheap as I could, using my best taste 
 and judgment, keeping them clean but never having 
 had any margin for mere glory and dominance in my 
 wear. 
 
 "It's a wonderful colour combination," was all I could 
 say, as I turned again to the glass. 
 
 "It's out." Miss Chandler might have been a Roman 
 matron turning down her thumb in death sentence on a 
 vanquished gladiator. "Those pastel tints were just com- 
 ing in when I bought it they didn't last very long. I 
 suppose they're considered trying but it's certainly be- 
 coming to your warm, blond colouring and hazel eyes." 
 
 "I wonder if I could make " I slowly drew off the 
 
 lovely thing. 
 
 "Sew, do you mean? Can you sew?" Miss Chandler 
 inquired, with interest. 
 
 "Not enough to attempt a waist like this unless I 
 might copy it from yours," I hesitated. "Would you mind 
 that ? We never go to the same places." 
 
 "Why not take this one ? I'll never wear it again. It 
 was bought in San Francisco, and I found it bound me in 
 the armholes. I got another at the same time the olive- 
 green one you admired that I've worn a good deal; but 
 this one's laid by till it's utterly passe. If you'd care to 
 remodel it for yourself, take it along."
 
 126 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 Miss Chandler's idea of what was "utterly passe" was 
 very extreme. I .knew that not a stitch was needed on the 
 blouse, yet I hesitated, and finally asked : 
 
 "Haven't you got some plain sewing or mending I could 
 do in exchange for it ?" 
 
 "Oh, certainly !" she laughed, rose straight up, unfold- 
 ing herself without touching a hand to the floor, went to 
 a drawer and began to pull out silk stockings and under- 
 wear. I saw she would enjoy my visits much more after 
 she had set me to work on her things. "There's a skirt to 
 it somewhere under this stuff ; hunt it up and take it, too. 
 Throw your coat over them as you carry them upstairs 
 though nobody in the house ever saw them." 
 
 There were not only skirt and blouse, but a big, shady 
 hat, trimmed with dull grapes and vine leaves, and raisin- 
 coloured suede pumps with ecru silk hose the shade of the 
 Arabian lace. Oh, they were so lovely! dear as sweet 
 waters in a desert to me who had not had a pretty thing 
 for four years not since the bits of finery mother's love 
 had compassed for my wedding outfit disappeared. Yet I 
 held off from taking them till I had seen just what I was 
 going to do in exchange for them, and we had what seemed 
 to be a very enjoyable hour to Miss Chandler, going over 
 all her wear, hunting up odd jobs for me. Among other 
 things, I was to break in some shoes, my foot being smaller 
 than hers. There was a whole armload of her silk stock- 
 ings to darn. After I had them she picked out those that 
 she considered beyond repair, and I put them in order for 
 myself. 
 
 It was a pleasant little, feminine, material intimacy 
 that sprung up between us. Our subjects of discussion 
 were mostly confined to clothes and people. Miss Chand- 
 ler didn't feel about either as I did. I'm a good deal like 
 a setter pup; if I can't love folks a little anyhow I 
 hardly know how to get along. She was interested in them 
 mainly from a critical point of view. She was what you
 
 THE TURNING OF THE WHEELS 127 
 
 might call a confirmed knocker. She had the high-society 
 way of characterising persons and discussing the affairs of 
 others with the brutal freedom you expect from a day 
 labourer or washerwoman. There's no denying that her 1 
 outlook on life was cynical. And my outreaching for in- 
 tellectual food found no response in her. But this hungry 
 heart of mine did love her. Everything about her was so 
 beautiful, and generous why, I could hardly go down to 
 her room without being offered something. She had two 
 or three of all the articles that most people are glad to pos- 
 sess one of ; for instance, she pulled out a very pretty little 
 manicure set one day and insisted on giving it to me, say- 
 ing carelessly: 
 
 "I bought it when a party of us were on a trip unex- 
 pectedly. We went to some outlandish place where there 
 was no manicure in the hotel, and I sent down to the drug 
 store and bought that thing. Take it, child I don't even 
 know how much it cost. I didn't pay for it myself. 
 You're welcome to it." 
 
 It seemed to be by chance that this surface association 
 with Miss Chandler came to have any quality of real in- 
 timacy. I always found her competent, reserved when it 
 came to anything that really concerned her, a little jeer- 
 ing, and not asking favours from anyone rather giving 
 them. But one Saturday afternoon I had gone down to re- 
 turn some things to her room, tapped at the outer door, 
 got no answer, and went away, though I had felt sure she 
 was in. An hour after, I went back, passed through the 
 hall door, which was unlocked, and rapped at the inner 
 one. This time there came the faint inquiry : 
 
 "Is it Orma?" 
 
 "No Mrs. Baird," I answered, startled at a sort of 
 moaning quality there was in her voice. 
 
 I heard a little stir within the room, the key was softly 
 turned, and after a minute Miss Chandler told me to come 
 in. The shades were down, and at first, when I opened the
 
 128 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 door, I could see nothing. Then I made out dimly a limp, 
 drowned-looking figure propped on the piled-up pillows of 
 the couch. 
 
 "Oh," I said, "fdidn't know you were ill." 
 
 "I'm not," she sounded more as usual. "Come in. Shut 
 the door. Sit down and talk to me." 
 
 "Talk ?" I echoed awkwardly. 
 
 "Just sit down here by the couch and talk to me talk 
 of anything. I've got one of my blue spells. I have them 
 about once in so often." 
 
 A blue spell! What a way to meet depression! In 
 groping forward I knocked a book from the table and Miss 
 Chandler's voice said peevishly: 
 
 "I hate being read to;" then added: "There's nothing 
 in the world the matter with me but the blues they run 
 in our family. One of my uncles used to get so bad with 
 them that he'd actually go to bed and send for the doctor." 
 
 I pulled up a chair close beside her. The room was 
 stuffy, and heavy with incense. I couldn't see the expres- 
 sion of her face, but the lines of that beautiful figure of 
 hers under the clinging folds of the embroidered Oriental 
 robe fairly dripped with woe. Whoever did think of a 
 suitable word to say when suddenly told to talk? I sat 
 there, mum, trying to dig up a cheerful remark, till she 
 broke out: 
 
 "The game's not worth the candle. Do you think so ? 
 Are you satisfied with life as it is ?" 
 
 "Yes pretty well," I said, "and I've got something 
 better coming." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "A position and a salary." 
 
 "Ugh!" She moved with a flowing motion from one 
 side to the other. "Where ?" 
 
 "In an office." 
 
 "What's the man's name ?" Miss Chandler's voice had 
 a little life in it.
 
 THE TURNING OF THE WHEELS 129 
 
 "Harvey Watkins, of McBride, McBride & Watkins." 
 I could think of nothing interesting to add to that. 
 
 "A second-rate lawyer," she murmured, finally, in a 
 weary voice. "It seems to me you might do better than 
 that." 
 
 "Oh, I'll have to take the place as soon as I'm ready for 
 it," I said. "Harvey's an old friend. He's getting my 
 divorce for me, and advancing the money for me to pre- 
 pare myself." 
 
 "Of course," Miss Chandler accepted the financial state- 
 ment negligently, as people do who have always had 
 plenty, "but do you think you'll like office work ? I imag- 
 ine it's stupid." 
 
 "I don't see that I've got much choice," and I laughed 
 a little. "Anyhow, it's a great improvement on what I've 
 been doing for some years." 
 
 "Is it?" She lay staring up at the ceiling a moment, 
 then said, suddenly : 
 
 "I remember that Mrs. Harvey Watkins now. Bounder. 
 Thick, stubby, pale woman village-dressmaker clothes 
 belongs to improving clubs." 
 
 I had got used to her speech ; but because of her blues 
 she was slugging a little harder than usual to-day. 
 
 "We knew each other as girls," I said. "Delia's a good 
 sort. She's been away ever since I came here." 
 
 "Are they separated?" 
 
 "I don't know. I've wondered myself sometimes." 
 
 "Keeps you guessing, does he 2 But the idea in the 
 background is that he'll divorce her and marry you eh ?* 
 
 "Oh, no, nothing of the sort !" I cried, but to save my 
 life I couldn't keep my voice natural. 
 
 "An old dodge," she murmured, as though I hadn't 
 spoken. "A girl's got to play her cards pretty carefully 
 with a man who has a wife to get rid of before he can 
 marry her." 
 
 I had to laugh.
 
 130 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "I don't want to marry Harvey," I said. "Not if he 
 was divorced from Delia a thousand times. I've just got 
 to have a job and he's got one to give me." 
 
 She turned on her pillow and stared at me with those 
 light-grey eyes. 
 
 "See here, Gallic," she said. "You're a man's woman. 
 Every man that comes near you looks at you in just one 
 way. That's what you get whether you want it or not 
 What makes you sit there and talk as though you know 
 nothing about men ?" 
 
 "Well," I said, doggedly, "I can't pick and choose. I've 
 got to make the most of whatever genuine kindness I meet, 
 and put up with what I can't change." I did wish she 
 would get on to some other subject. Her cynicism was 
 depressing. "Do you think I ought to make friends more 
 with women ?" 
 
 I seemed to have said something amusing at last; she 
 laughed a little, silently. 
 
 "Women humph, they're worse than the men, hound- 
 ing an unprotected girl. Look at the way the women 
 treated you here in this house." 
 
 "They did make it hot for me," I said, "but since you've 
 taken me up, and I'm working for Mr. Dale, things are 
 different." 
 
 "Oh, you shine with reflected respectability from me, 
 do you ?" 
 
 "From you, the great musician," I added. 
 
 "Who said I was a great musician ?" 
 
 "Oh," I joked, "they've told me all about you down- 
 stairs they know, of course. They have the soothing fic- 
 tion that the reason you won't come down to any of their 
 card parties is because you're so wrapped up in your pro- 
 fession." 
 
 "My profession ?" 
 
 "Well, career of course, music's a career. They say 
 you're not like most rich girls contented to be a mere so-
 
 THE TURNING OF THE WHEELS 131 
 
 ciety butterfly. They despised me for having to earn a 
 living ; but they're tickled to death over the prices you get 
 for your piano talks." 
 
 "Much they know about it !" She rolled her head on 
 the cushions scornfully. "Those club lectures wouldn't 
 keep me in nail polish." Then, more to herself than to 
 me: "A rich girl I wish I were." 
 
 I sat back in silence. So this was it. I might have 
 known. What does anybody worry about ? Money, nearly 
 always. I had to admire her pluck in keeping up appear- 
 ances. Flattered, copied, run after it would all have 
 been over for her the moment they had suspected that she 
 was hard up pinched for means. I didn't doubt that I 
 had to be economical, but it seemed that Miss Chandler 
 had to be extravagant. Like an echo of my thoughts, she 
 spoke : 
 
 "I bought some new things yesterday afternoon a 
 chiffon scarf with fur on it and a smart turban in the 
 closet there let's have them out. I think I could stand a 
 little light now." 
 
 The scarf was a beauty; the hat that went with it, a 
 funny little thing like a stew kettle. Miss Chandler asked 
 for another pillow under her shoulders, and inside of five 
 minutes we had the upper closet shelf and half the hooks 
 cleared, and were criticising, trying on, planning more 
 purchases. It cheered her up so well that when Orma 
 brought up the tray, she sent the girl back for another, 
 and I stopped and had dinner with her,
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE GAP IN THE HEDGE 
 
 I GOT used to Boy being out at Las Reudas. Mrs. 
 Eccles called him Jawn, and treated me as a rather 
 undesirable candidate for their acquaintance. People who 
 actually don't care for you to like them always get me ; I 
 can't believe it, and keep coming back and trying them 
 again. She picked faults with everything I did for Boy. 
 If I took out some candy she said it was bad for his teeth 
 which I couldn't deny. If I made it a little new tooth 
 brush the next day, she told me coldly that she'd just 
 bought one. But he thrived so, and she took such good 
 care of him, that my heart was at peace, my energies all 
 freed for my work. 
 
 In point of time it was more than two weeks before I 
 saw Harvey Watkins again. Then, so much water had 
 gone under the bridge that, if I had wanted to, I couldn't 
 have got back to the helpless, scared little rustic of that 
 evening at the roadhouse. 
 
 I had done a lot of conscientious work to pay for the 
 raisin-coloured dress and its belongings, but they didn't 
 look like clothes that had been sewed for. I couldn't re- 
 sist wearing the outfit to Las Reudas to let Boy and Mrs. 
 Eccles see it; and, passing through the Poinsettia hall, I 
 had a foretaste of what it was going to do for me. The 
 Martins, Mrs. Thrasher, and some of the others were in 
 there. The whole bunch of them looked at me, and looked 
 again, with real respect. The clothes did it. They could 
 think no evil of the wearer of the raisin-coloured dress! 
 In the old blue serge, a haunter of bargain counters, buy- 
 ing only what was under-priced, I might have been the salt 
 of the earth and remained to them a suspicious character ; 
 
 132
 
 THE GAP IN THE HEDGE 133 
 
 but a woman who could afford negligently to put her 
 money where it would buy such quiet elegance as this must 
 have a quietly elegant, proper soul in her. 
 
 I went out on the car in high spirits, garnering admira- 
 tion all along the way. just as crazy for it as any girl, 
 carrying myself better, getting a better colour, I know, and 
 looking nicer in every way because I was admired. I had 
 gone by the Chandler street line ; to get up from its sta- 
 tion I had to pass the Watkins place. There was Harvey 
 just backing his machine across the sidewalk, and I caught 
 a quick breath. I don't think he knew me at once, but 
 when he did recognise me, he stopped the car, climbed 
 down from it and came up with his hat off to shake hands. 
 
 "Well, Calla," he said, pumping my hand up and down, 
 "I thought I never, never, never was going to see you 
 again !" 
 
 "I've been very busy," I said, with the kindly air men 
 have when they offer us that explanation. 
 
 "You don't look like a working person." He surveyed 
 me from the top vine-leaf and grape of my hat to the tip 
 of my raisin-coloured pumps. The inspection seeemed to 
 do something to him something that I might have 
 brushed the blue serge to pieces and never accomplished. 
 "You're like a sixteen-year-old," was as near as he came 
 to mentioning the dress. "What do you say to bringing 
 J. B. for a little spin in the car ?" 
 
 "Oh, I guess not, Harvey thank you. It's nearly 
 seven o'clock. He's always in bed at seven." 
 
 "That's what Mrs. Eccles just fought me to a stand- 
 still on," Harvey admitted. "Suppose we make it 
 earlier some evening would you come with J. B. and 
 me?" 
 
 He gave the invitation without looking at me. 
 
 "Why if I could get the time," I hesitated. "You 
 know, I'm working hard in school." 
 
 "I thought when a woman had a new dress," he said.
 
 134 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 baldly, "she always wanted to go somewhere to show it 
 off." 
 
 "This isn't a new dress." 
 
 "Well, it's mighty pretty and becoming. You look as 
 sweet and fresh in it as your lilies come on over and let 
 me get you an armload of them. I planted them here 
 where I could see them always they're the only callas I 
 got." 
 
 "Nonsense, Harvey," I laughed. "I've got to run 
 along," and I started in earnest. 
 
 "Say," he called after me, jocosely, "if you don't care 
 to take the time to go riding, you might sometimes let me 
 bring you out from town anyhow save you a nickel !" 
 
 I found Mrs. Eccles getting Boy to bed. She was none 
 too well pleased at his outburst over "pretty muwer" in 
 her new dress, though she herself took an almost human in- 
 terest in the way it was made. She knew at a glance the 
 cost of such clothes, and I could see that she was eaten up 
 with curiosity. But I had learned wisdom since that night 
 when I obligingly turned myself inside out for a tableful 
 of unsympathetic women. I let her hint and eye me side- 
 wise. I was aching to tell all about it, and crow a little, 
 yet I managed to keep still. She was bound not to show 
 her interest in the dress, so she went on complaining that 
 Mr. Watkins had just been past with his automobile and 
 wanted Jawn to go out riding with him. He got the child 
 all stirred up. She had agreed that they should go to- 
 morrow at a proper time. 
 
 "An' you, too, Muwer," Boy babbled from the crib he 
 was being bundled into. "You an' grammer" this was 
 the title Mrs. Eccles had provided him with for herself 
 "an' Fairy, an' me an' my bud'n." 
 
 I kissed him good-bye and went. Mrs. Eccles was so 
 relieved that she offered me some flowers from her garden. 
 I took quite an armload of those queer mauve and purple
 
 THE GAP IN THE HEDGE 135 
 
 things they call old maid's pincushions ; they just matched 
 the outfit. 
 
 It was neither daylight nor dark, but that sweetest hour 
 of the long twilight we have on this western coast. There 
 was a little new moon swimming in the pink and smoky 
 amethyst of the afterglow. I was as happy as a girl ought 
 to be wearing a pretty new frock and carrying an armload 
 of flowers. 
 
 Coming abreast of the Watkins place, I saw a taxi with 
 luggage on it at the curb by the Pendleton bungalow, and 
 a man coming down the long front walk. I quickened my 
 pace, then slowed up; unless I turned back, we should 
 meet squarely. In spite of my manoeuvres, this happened. 
 Though I looked straight ahead of me, I saw that it was 
 young Pendleton. He stared, stumbling at the curb be- 
 cause he failed to look where he was going, a hesitating 
 hand rose to lift his hat as he turned at the door of the 
 taxi and gazed after me. 
 
 I never in my life refused to speak to anyone, but I gave 
 him such a little acknowledgment that it could scarcely be 
 called a bow, or even a nod. I hurried past, got my car, 
 and was halfway to San Vicente and had forgotten him, 
 when I noticed a taxi with luggage on it running beside us. 
 I drew back from the window. From that time on I would 
 miss the machine, and then find it had only been travelling 
 on the other side of the car or taking some parallel street 
 for a short distance. When we got in town I thought I 
 had lost it for good, but as I was going up the steps of the 
 Poinsettia it came in sight. While I was unlocking the 
 door it passed slowly along in front. 
 
 I was at work in school next day when the red-headed 
 girl who helped Mrs. Phipps with the housework called me 
 to the telephone and stopped frankly leaning in the door 
 to listen while I answered. I knew why when Boy's ex- 
 cited little voice came over the wire.
 
 136 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "Muwer" I could feel the effort of his shouting "can 
 you go ride in our automobile ?" 
 
 "No, Jackie Boy," I said, "mother can't get time to- 
 day. You go ride in the nice automobile." 
 
 Boyce paused, apparently for consultation with some- 
 one. 
 
 "Say," said the girl beside me, "you're not turning down 
 a chance for an automobile ride, are you ?" 
 
 I nodded. Boy was beginning to go, "Uk uk well, 
 Muwer, say," at the other end of the line. His funny, 
 broken talk mixed with the girl's remarks when she spoke 
 again : 
 
 "Well, don't do it. What do you want to work like a 
 nigger for ? You are losing your colour already. Tell 'em 
 you're going go on tell 'em yes. Then get into your 
 glad rags and fly." 
 
 When she stopped, Boy's tune sounded almost the same. 
 
 " an' wear the pretty dress an' the new hat, Muwer. 
 We're a-goin' to be at your school when (when, Uncle Har- 
 vey?) going to be there when it's four o'clock." 
 
 That seemed to end it. I should have to get excused to 
 run home and dress but I could make up the work. 
 
 The trip up into the hills was enjoyable, and after that 
 I went out to Las Reudas in Harvey's machine occasion- 
 ally, for, unless I avoided him, we were apt to be starting 
 at the same time, since I now ate at the cafeteria in the 
 basement of the Cronin Building, and he dined at his club, 
 the St. Vincent, across the square. He never took the 
 street that led past Mrs. Eccles's place though I was sure 
 he went that way when he was alone and always stopped 
 at his own house and let me walk around to see Boy. It 
 was the drug store at the corner of the side street and the 
 Poinsettia over again. I despised and chafed at his cau- 
 tion yet was obliged to give it a low approval. Mrs. Ec- 
 cles was a good deal of a gossip ; she had told me stories in
 
 THE GAP IN THE HEDGE 137 
 
 plenty about the Pendletons by this time ; yes, I had to ad- 
 mit that he was no more than wise. 
 
 As a girl in Stanleyton I never had much of Harvey's 
 undiluted society ; there were always other people about ; 
 these trips together gave me the first chance to know him 
 really. I would be tired after my day's school work, think- 
 ing a good deal about clothes for myself and Boy; it was 
 very convenient to let him start on the inexhaustible sub- 
 ject himself and just make the proper responses now 
 and then to give him to understand I was listening. 
 
 He would talk about himself endlessly and with such 
 heavy earnestness ; about his miserable boyhood, his early 
 struggles, and the way he had, in his own opinion, met the 
 world single-handed and overcome it. He told me a good 
 many things about his cases business secrets, where he'd 
 conceal the name, only saying carelessly, "That's a thing 
 you mustn't repeat, Calla," occasionally adding, "Lord, 
 it's a comfort to have somebody to talk to that you can 
 trust. I've never had a soul." He never tired of describ- 
 ing to me how he downed all opponents. I suppose the 
 cave man used to go home to the cave woman and tell her 
 how he just tapped the bear on the back of the neck and 
 it fell dead, or how easy it was for him to whip a dozen 
 other cave men who came out after him. I am sure the 
 cave woman didn't fail to say "Oh" and "Ah" at the 
 right spots ; keep the masculine thing going with his reci- 
 tation of his own triumphs as seen through his eyes ! 
 
 However, I preferred this kind of talk to his complaints 
 of Delia ; but, sooner or later, these always came in. He 
 wouldn't be headed off from telling how she ran after him 
 before they were married, from describing the manceuvres 
 of her mother to land him. According to him, their mar- 
 ried life was a blank, a wilderness, a desert; they were 
 mismated strangers to each other. Though I might be 
 disposed to discount this sort of thing, I did realise that it
 
 138 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 looked significant for Delia to be remaining in another 
 county so long. Three months it would take me to ac- 
 quire residence in San Vicente County so that a divorce 
 bill might be filed. Could it be that Delia was gaining 
 residence in some other county for a similar purpose \ It 
 was none of my business ; I wished he wouldn't force it on 
 my attention ; but, of course, if he was going to be a wid- 
 ower for the second time, a man of his sort would be al- 
 ready "looking around." 
 
 He had that other pleasant little fashion of telling you 
 about meals he had just eaten. I know perfectly well that 
 the cave man used to say to the long-suffering woman, "I 
 found a bee tree honey yum-yum-yum !" Or he'd come 
 home when the poor thing was as hungry as a wolf and 
 tell her how he dug up a colony of lovely, fat bugs. I 
 realised what the cave woman's feelings must have been 
 when we'd go tooling along the pleasant road toward Las 
 Reudas, Harvey cataloguing steadily, exactly, relishingly, 
 every item of his elaborate St. Vincent Club dinner. If 
 I had dined at the basement cafeteria, choosing lamb stew 
 because it was cheap and filling, and finding an outcast 
 flavor of goat about the meat, it sometimes made me almost 
 too grumpy to put in the little responses that were ex- 
 pected. But one evening, when I had missed my dinner 
 entirely and he began to praise the St. Vincent chef and 
 talk about chicken a la King, I stopped him with : 
 
 "I wish you wouldn't talk so much about eating." 
 
 "Whyf The well-fed man looked around at me, sur- 
 prised that I failed to like this subject, so agreeable to him. 
 
 "Oh, nothing; only I haven't had a bite since twelve 
 o'clock." 
 
 "You haven't ?" He gazed at me as though I had been 
 a perishing survivor of an Arctic expedition. A man's 
 horror at irregular meals will always remain a mystery to 
 a woman. "Since twelve o'clock and you hard at work 
 in school ! WeTl stop at Burmeister's and take some stuff
 
 THE GAP IX THE HEDGE 139 
 
 up. You can fix a little dinner for yourself at my house, 
 can't you ?" 
 
 "Oh, I could," I hesitated; "but I'd better wait and 
 have something to eat when I get back to town." 
 
 Harvey was not listening. He stopped the car in front 
 of the beautiful little plate-glass-windowed Burmeister 
 branch store at the foot of the Las Reudas hill and, with- 
 out asking me what he should buy for my dinner, got down 
 and went in, coming back presently, a salesman follow- 
 ing to put a well-filled tray-box into the tonneau. Plainly 
 Harvey was an experienced marketer. 
 
 "You think that'll be all P the white-aproned boy asked 
 as we were ready to drive away. 
 
 "Yes it'll do for to-night," Harvey replied, and we 
 were off. 
 
 I love to cook it's one of my few little talents. And 
 Delia's kitchen was a dear delight of a place, with its 
 white tiling and every contrivance for making work light 
 and easy. Poor Delia ! As I handled her dainty little 
 saucepans, and watched Harvey solemnly peeling and 
 slicing and preparing things, I wondered acutely what she 
 was really planning to do. Would she come back to use 
 these clever kettles and patent beaters and cutters again ? 
 Or was she going to divorce Harvey ? It made me feel 
 almost as though I were trying to pry into her personal 
 affairs, and I put the question out of my mind. It was a 
 good dinner that we cooked. I don't know where I got 
 the impression that it was I who inspired Harvey's ef- 
 forts. A more suspicious person would have seen that he 
 showed plenty of practice. When it came to eating, he 
 joined me, and praised everything as though I alone had 
 been responsible for the excellence, repeating again and 
 again, "Say, you can cook for me !" 
 
 As we were cleaning up and putting things away, he 
 called my attention to the fact that there was plenty of
 
 140 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 stuff for another dinner ; before I knew it, I had let him 
 assume that we were going to cook and eat that dinner the 
 next evening. We did, Harvey adding a beautiful thick 
 steak, which he brought out from town for the purpose and 
 broiled himself in a fashion of his own. He was on his 
 very best behaviour; no possible exception could be taken 
 to anything he said or did or even looked ; but through it 
 all there was a sense of uneasiness at the back of my head. 
 In spite of this, we were quite gay as we washed up after 
 the meal, when a rap suddenly sounded on the kitchen 
 door. Harvey was at work at the sink, so I opened the 
 door. A Chinaman stood there looking at me. He was 
 a healthy, round-faced fellow, the pink showing through 
 the yellow on his cheeks. 
 
 "Hello !" he said, and grinned familiarly. 
 
 "What is it ?" I asked. "Who did you want to see ?" 
 
 Without answering, he pushed past and went over to 
 the sink. 
 
 "Hello, Wo Far!" said Harvey, looking up from the 
 skillet he was cleaning. "What do you think you want ?'' 
 
 The Chinaman just stood looking coolly about at every- 
 thing in the room with that odd, half-jeering air that they 
 have sometimes. He finally announced that he had come 
 to fetch Harvey's Oriental dressing-gown away to be 
 mended. 
 
 "All right, Wo you know where it hangs," Harvey 
 said, and the man went upstairs. He came back soon, 
 the robe across his arm, and stopped again in the kitchen. 
 
 "You cook ?" he asked ; and then, grinning, "No good, 
 I think." He gave me another look as he went out, laugh- 
 ing a look that made my face burn. 
 
 If Harvey noticed it, he didn't show it. I said nothing 
 to him, but got away as soon as I could, and when next 
 I had an invitation to go out in the machine, I told him 
 flat that I never would again. He didn't ask for any ex- 
 planation. What he said was :
 
 THE GAP IN THE HEDGE 141 
 
 "Oh if you feel that way. I think you're foolish 
 and some other things but you're the one to say." 
 
 I suppose the "other things" meant mostly ingratitude, 
 but I couldn't help it ; it was just that way. As long as I 
 didn't have any divorce and was in fear that Boy could be 
 taken away from me, I felt obliged to overlook things 
 his attitude toward me, his continual reflections on Delia 
 but with the approach of freedom and security in this mat- 
 ter, I began to feel independent. And I didn't dodge 
 meeting Harvey when I was going out to Las Reudas. I 
 would nod to him if I encountered him in the hall, or as 
 he stood cranking up his machine, and walk past him down 
 to the corner to wait for my car. He didn't seem to re- 
 sent my attitude ; he was just as friendly as ever. I think 
 he liked me all the better. 
 
 So the days went by. Harvey came back from those 
 week-end absences of his with a grudge at all the world, 
 and a belief that it was somebody's duty to smooth him 
 down. On two of these Sundays I had Boy in at the Poin- 
 settia with me. Nothing was said against it, and with the 
 friendlier footing there, he was even noticed pleasantly 
 and petted a bit by the Martins. The necessary term of 
 residence in San Vicente County was nearly over. Har- 
 vey had done some shrewd bargaining with Oliver, the 
 details of which I need not repeat ; got the understanding 
 that my husband would not contest the suit, and even the 
 promise of a little money, paid over for a cow my mother 
 had given to Boyce as a calf. She was a Jersey, and the 
 allowance was to be a hundred dollars, Oliver promising, 
 characteristically, to pay it as he could, twenty-five dollars 
 at a time. 
 
 Then, one Friday afternoon, when Harvey was due to 
 be leaving for the week-end, he unexpectedly called me on 
 the 'phone at school and asked me to stop in at his office on 
 my way out. His voice sounded so solemn and queer that 
 I asked him if there was anything the matter.
 
 142 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "I'd rather break it to you here," he said, in reply. 
 "Don't fail to come in." 
 
 I just grabbed my hat and ran, and I got into Harvey's 
 office all out of breath. 
 
 "Sit down, Calla," he said, in the muffled tones of an 
 undertaker. 
 
 I couldn't move after he spoke to me. I was rigid with 
 terror. It must be about Boyce. 
 
 "Tell me, quick !" I whispered. 
 
 A long, thick envelope lay on his desk. He picked it 
 up and held it toward me. 
 
 "It is my painful duty," he said, "to break the news to 
 you that that " 
 
 Things had begun to whirl. Was I going to faint ? He 
 reached forward suddenly, took me by the shoulders and 
 swung me into a chair. 
 
 " that your divorce is granted," he crowed, trium- 
 phantly. And this was Harvey's idea of a joke ! 
 
 "Did I scare you ?" he asked, as I sat there trembling, 
 trying to pull myself together, and not see things all jig- 
 gling and falling down around me. I hadn't a word to 
 answer him. I couldn't be angry. He thought he was 
 smart. He was laughing in the most heartfelt manner at 
 his own wit, and apologising, too, for having carried it 
 quite so far. 
 
 "Never mind," I said. "I'm so thankful. It's all 
 settled, is it, Harvey? Nothing can go wrong with it 
 now ?" 
 
 "This is the interlocutory decree," he explained. "It 
 isn't made final for a year. If you get married inside of 
 twelve months, you'll be committing bigamy." He was 
 still jocular. "I'm obliged to warn you. Otherwise your 
 decree holds in every respect." 
 
 "Boy?" 
 
 "You've got complete control of him," Harvey nodded. 
 "Nobody can touch him without your consent."
 
 THE GAP IN THE HEDGE 143 
 
 I sat and looked at the floor until I could get voice 
 enough to speak again; then said: 
 
 "Harvey, I thank you more than words can tell," and 
 jumped up and started for the door. 
 
 "Hey ! Where you going ?" he asked, wonderingly. 
 
 "Straight out to Las Keudas to have a look at my son," 
 I said. "I wish I hadn't promised to let him go with Mrs. 
 Eccles to her daughter's over at Corinth. I'll have to 
 hurry to catch them before they start." 
 
 "Say!" Harvey was suddenly natural and like him- 
 self. "I forgot all about celebrating this. Of course we 
 ought to and here's this banquet of the bar association 
 on my hands and a speech to make. If it wasn't for 
 that, we'd sure have a big time this evening." 
 
 I halted reluctantly near the door. He considered a 
 moment. 
 
 "Shucks!" he said. "I won't see you again for two 
 weeks. I'm leaving with that bunch of solons in the morn- 
 ing for their Yosemite trip." 
 
 "Then I'll bid you good-bye now," I said, stepping 
 back to offer my hand; "and oh, thank you again and 
 again." 
 
 We shook hands. Harvey looked at me rather wist- 
 fully, and hesitated: 
 
 "Say, Calla, as long as you're going to be out there this 
 evening, I wonder if it would be too much to ask of you to 
 stop in at my place and give me the once over. You see, 
 I've got that speech to make it's full dress and I'm no 
 good when it comes to an evening tie. Will you, Calla ? 
 I could bring you back to town in the machine." 
 
 Why hadn't I gone out quickly in the first place? I 
 just couldn't refuse him. 
 
 "Well," I agreed, reluctantly, "if I'm out there that 
 late." 
 
 "But I'm not going to be late," Harvey followed me to 
 the door to insist. "I'm closing up here right now. Please
 
 144 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 do come in you might give me a word of help about the 
 speech." 
 
 I still had to go up and put my desk in order, and get 
 some carbon paper to take home for Mr, Dale's Saturday 
 work. All through it I was swinging to a realisation of 
 this new thing that had come to me actual freedom. I 
 hadn't known how it would make me feel; how great the 
 difference would be. When I got out to Las Reudas late 
 and found Mrs. Eccles had missed a train waiting for me, 
 and was cross about it, for the first time she couldn't make 
 me feel reproved. I hugged Boy, whispered to him that I 
 loved him ten million bushels, and let him go. The San 
 Vicente, Las Reudas & Corinth trains ran an hour apart, 
 so that it was almost night when I got to the Watkins 
 place, and saw Harvey's car out in front. The house was 
 dark; the porch light not on; but the front door was ajar, 
 and at the sound of my step Harvey called from above for 
 me to come up. 
 
 I went slowly, feeling a fool, and stopped in the upper 
 hall, asking: 
 
 "Where are you ? Where do you want me ?" 
 
 "Out here." His voice came from the sleeping porch. 
 
 I went on through the bedroom, with its twin brass beds, 
 Harvey's business suit that he had taken off flung about, 
 the room flaring with light, and stopped in the door that 
 led to the sleeping porch. Harvey was getting a little par- 
 cel from the table that stood at the head of his bed there. 
 His blue silk pajamas lay on the foot of the cot, ready for 
 him when he should return from the banquet, late. He 
 was in his dress suit. 
 
 "I'd about given you up," he groaned, with his back to 
 me; then turned, pulling open the package, and drawing 
 out some white lawn ties. "I never could get one of these 
 things to look decent. You tie it for me, Calla." 
 
 "I don't know whether I'm an expert," I hesitated. 
 
 "You can do it better than I can," he urged.
 
 THE GAP IN THE HEDGE 145 
 
 Harvey Watkins was not the kind of man who can wear 
 evening clothes well or becomingly, but this was evidently 
 a secret from Harvey. I suppose he had them on three or 
 four times a year, for grand occasions, and they made him 
 feel as pretty and as worked up as a girl going to a party. 
 
 He handed me one of the new ties. I took it, and 
 glanced at the rumpled one that straggled across his broad 
 expanse of dress shirt-front. 
 
 "You'll have to have another collar," I said. "You've 
 mussed that one buttoning it." 
 
 He pulled one out of the parcel. 
 
 "I always spoil two or three. You button it, Calla," and 
 he hauled off the soiled one. 
 
 It was funny to see how helpless the sheer excitement 
 of getting dressed for his party made him. He took hold 
 of the lapels of his coat, gravely easing it back out of my 
 way, craning his neck a little as I stood on tiptoe for the 
 awkward job. I had finally got the collar on, the tie 
 around it, and was beginning on the bow when I realised 
 all at once that Harvey had shifted his interest. His eyes, 
 which had been wandering, so that I had felt sure he was 
 conning over his speech, were fixed intently on mine. The 
 hands that held his coat back were relaxing; one of them 
 let go entirely. 
 
 "Calla !" There was a tremor in his voice. 
 
 "Keep that lapel out of my way," I said sharply, and 
 hurried. What had made me maddest that night at the 
 roadhouse was the realisation that Harvey wasn't trying 
 to behave; that he had deliberately let himself go. Now 
 I could see the constraint he used, and it scared me. I 
 jerked the bow into hasty shape and backed off. 
 
 "There, that's all right," I said, and, with a sudden 
 inspiration, "I'll get you a flower for your buttonhole." 
 
 "What's your hurry ?" Harvey tried to speak jocosely, 
 as he half blocked my way to the door. 
 
 "I've got to get home," I said, shortly. "I'm doing
 
 146 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 some typing for Mr. Dale to-night," and slipped around 
 him, calling back as I ran down the stairs, "I'll wait with 
 the flower on the porch." 
 
 Out on the lawn in the moonlight I drew a free breath. 
 I crossed to where the gardenias grew near that gap in the 
 pittosporum through which I had once seen Pendleton ly- 
 ing on his sleeping porch reading. As I passed the 
 bungalow this evening it was all dark; he must still be 
 away. 
 
 It wasn't easy to find the gardenias; the moonlight on 
 the leaves made them look like blossoms ; and I wanted to 
 choose a nice, full-blown one. I was bent close down over 
 them when a sound in the Pendleton bungalow startled 
 me ; a door opened ; a step came out on the sleeping porch. 
 Every flower on the gardenia bush stood out in a blaze of 
 light as someone snapped on the electric there, and I pulled 
 one. But if I raised up I should be in plain sight of who- 
 ever that was. While I crouched, uncertain, almost ready 
 to drop on hands and knees and creep away, a man's voice 
 spoke on the porch and a woman's answered. 
 
 My muscles jerked me up straight; I stared through 
 the gap in the hedge, into the face of Miss Eugenia 
 Chandler ! 
 
 Yes, Miss Chandler, but as I had never seen her, 
 flushed, laughing, animated, all seductive feminine grace 
 and in negligee. Twisted alluringly around her slim 
 figure was a delicate, rose-coloured robe I had re-hemmed 
 and altered ; my fingers had sewed the little rosebuds down 
 by the ear on that boudoir cap that covered her charm- 
 ingly dishevelled head. 
 
 She saw me at the same instant; her face changed 
 frightfully ; with a look that pierced my heart she threw 
 up a sheltering arm between us. Her cry brought the man 
 around to stare at me, too. It was young Pendleton. 
 There we stood, I on my side of the hedge, wishing the 
 earth would open and swallow me; they on theirs dis-
 
 THE GAP IN THE HEDGE 147 
 
 covered exposed. Then Miss Chandler's other hand 
 went groping back and switched off the lights. 
 
 I crawled back to the house. I sat on the steps a while 
 to get hold of myself, cringing at remembrance of Mrs. 
 Eccles's fling about Pendleton and his loose women. In a 
 small town there are always two or three mysteriously 
 shameful women whom the village girls regard as of dif- 
 ferent flesh and blood, outcast beings with whom they 
 could have nothing in common. Even Milt Stanley's wife, 
 after her name got so bad, had been a person that my 
 mother could exchange a few words with, but I must just 
 dodge speaking to her if I could, or merely nod at her. 
 There I sat and held my head and tried to think. Miss 
 Chandler my Miss Chandler well-born, well-bred 
 cool and distainful with a lot of common, decent, uninter- 
 esting folks the girl who had been so lavishly kind to me, 
 was that! It was no use. I couldn't get any realisa- 
 tion of it. I almost forgot about Harvey till he called to 
 me from above, in what tried to be a very careless tone : 
 
 "That you, Calla?" 
 
 "Yes." Instinctively I guarded my voice. All at once 
 I was in a fever to be off, to get home where I could be 
 alone. "I've got the flower for your coat. Do hurry !" 
 
 He waited quite a while, hoping, perhaps, that I would 
 bring the flower up. Evidently he hadn't quite the face 
 to suggest that, for at last he came slowly down in the 
 dark. 
 
 Memories of a thousand little things all through my 
 companionship with Miss Chandler were starting up in 
 my mind, rawly significant. Terribly taken up with them, 
 I wasn't disposed to waste much worry on Harvey and his 
 actions. I rather hated to have him light the hall light, 
 but I told him to do it, kept outside till he had, then went 
 in quickly and put the flower on his coat. 
 
 "What's the matter ?" he asked, with a swift glance to- 
 ward the door. "What's happened ?"
 
 148 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 P 
 
 "Nothing," I answered, short and sharp. "Let's get 
 away from here." 
 
 "Did something frighten you?" Harvey was following 
 as I led the way out. 
 
 "No. It's nothing. I've got to get back to town." I 
 felt Harvey's breath on my cheek as he whispered close 
 to my ear : 
 
 "To Dale?" 
 
 "To my work." I hurried down the walk. At the curb 
 by the machine I faced him, and added, "Harvey, can I 
 ride home with you ? If not, there's the street car." 
 
 "All right all right." Harvey dropped his head. He 
 made no protest as I got into the tonneau. How easy it 
 would have been to do this at any time ! He cranked up, 
 got in, and there was hardly a word said between us till 
 he drove the car straight up before the Poinsettia and let 
 me out.
 
 CHAPTEK IX 
 
 MISS CHANDLER'S POINT OF VIEW 
 
 INSTEAD of going straight in when Haivey left me on 
 the steps of the Poinsettia, I turned off at a right angle, 
 went down the arbour and rapped on the bungalow door. 
 Mr. Dale yelled at me to come in; I realised that I was 
 late and he was mad about it. Well, he was due to be 
 madder yet; I stood there on the step till he came and 
 opened the door, and then said, without a word of preface 
 or apology: 
 
 "I can't work to-night." 
 
 "Sick ?" His tone was anxious, but I knew the anxiety 
 was all for the job in hand. 
 
 "No" I shook my head; "I just can't work." And I 
 went, and left him staring after me. 
 
 I didn't sleep that night. Miss Chandler had left the 
 Poinsettia Thursday evening; she would be back some 
 time at the first of the week ; when I tried to think how I 
 should meet her, what she would say, I just sort of went to 
 pieces I couldn't imagine it. In all the turmoil of my 
 thoughts the thing that continually came uppermost was 
 a wish to have her know that her secret was safe with me, 
 that I would as soon hurt myself as hurt her. I wanted 
 her to be assured of that, yet shrank from the idea of see- 
 ing her to give her the assurance. I thought of writing her 
 a little note to meet her on her return, but the things I 
 had to say weren't safe to put on paper. They'd have to 
 be said and forgotten. 
 
 Through it all I'd come back again and again to those 
 clothes hanging in my closet. I got up and switched on 
 the light to look at them. The sight put me at my wit's 
 end. I had got them for about a tenth of their value in 
 
 149
 
 150 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 sewing. They were in the nature of a gift. The little 
 manicure set was given me out and out, and now her care- 
 less description of the way it had been bought came back 
 to me with unbearable significance. By morning I knew 
 that I never could put on the raisin-coloured outfit again 
 and wondered how I was going to get along with- 
 out it. 
 
 I couldn't go back to the old blue serge I oughtn't to. 
 To succeed you've got to look successful. How about that 
 cow money ? Twenty-five dollars of it might come in any 
 time. On my way to school there was a big plate-glass 
 window with some very pleasing suits and blouses in it 
 and a card that said, "Your credit is good here." I got 
 on my nat, hurried down there, and found a better suit 
 than any I'd seen in the windows, a soft, dead-leaf brown, 
 delicately relieved with a touch of colour and lace in the 
 blouse. The price, of course, was more than it would have 
 been for cash. Then we came to the question of payment. 
 They asked me where I lived, where I worked, and what 
 my salary was. Well, if I had to be hung, it shouldn't be 
 for a lamb. 
 
 "The Poinsettia McBride, McBride & Watkins," I 
 said, calmly, and mentioned the salary Harvey had 
 promised. 
 
 I carried the suit home myself. 
 
 Mrs. Eccles was bringing Boy in to the Poinsettia at 
 noon. I found her in my room when I got back. She 
 was about the last person I should have chosen to see just 
 then, but when I had Boy striding around with his hands 
 in his pockets, shouting out the news of Fairy and the 
 ducks, I felt for the first time that all my world wasn't col- 
 lapsing and falling into chaos. I had to hurry them off 
 because I was due at Mr. Dale's. 
 
 My work with him went hard. He had a perfect right 
 to complain of me and made full use of it We finally 
 quit in a sort of squabble, he cross and I ready to cry,
 
 MISS CHANDLER'S POINT OF VIEW 151 
 
 barely two-thirds of the work done, the rest going over to 
 Sunday morning. 
 
 "We won't keep on/' h'e said, when it got so dusky I 
 could hardly see. "If you're this by daylight, God forbid 
 we should tackle it by electric ! We'll quit and pray for 
 better to-morrow." 
 
 Sunday morning I had prayed all right, but the work 
 went worse than ever. I could see it made him angry 
 enough to shake me that I didn't get down into the collar 
 and pull, as he put it. How could I concentrate on the 
 keyboard when my mind was flying off at a tangent every 
 two minutes ? Had Miss Chandler got back yet ? Should 
 I find her there in the house when I went in? How was 
 I going to meet her ? What was I going to do ? Could I 
 help her ? I was as reckless about trying to as a man who 
 couldn't swim and who jumps into the water to rescue a 
 drowning person. It never occurred to me that I might 
 be pulled down in the struggle. The impulse I had to 
 leave the Poinsettia, to get out now to-day and look 
 for new quarters, was sheer cowardice a shrinking from 
 seeing her hurt and humiliated by the sight of me. 
 
 It was about three o'clock when Mr. Dale and I stum- 
 bled to the place where he said shortly that he could finish 
 now himself, and I might go to the devil, I thought he 
 really wanted to add. I was halfway through the arbour 
 that led out front when I saw a taxi glide up. I held back 
 the vines; the driver got down, a suit-case in his hand, 
 opened the door, and out stepped Miss Chandler. They 
 went in ; I lingered there till the man came back and drove 
 away. Yet, when I finally did slip inside, her door still 
 stood open, and she called to me. I pretended not to hear, 
 and went past almost on a run. I had hardly got my 
 breath from the stairs when there was a tap on my door. 
 It was Orma, all of a smile, eating from an opened box of 
 candy. 
 
 "Miss Chandler's got back gee, she's one peach es-
 
 152 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 quire ! Have a piece of candy ? She said for you to run 
 down to her room a minute." 
 
 It had come. I shut my eyes and opened them again. 
 Around me were the shabby walls that had grown to seem 
 home. Downstairs was the one woman in all San Vicente 
 who had really cared whether I lived or died. Mrs. Tip- 
 ton was kind enough ; I liked her Oh, there's no use 
 
 trying to sort out the reason you feel bound to one person 
 and not to another. It isn't gratitude ; it isn't even having 
 tastes in common. Miss Chandler and I didn't have that ; 
 but some real tenderness there must have been, for I felt 
 myself fairly drowning in pity, anxiety, the helpless desire 
 to help to do something for her. 
 
 I got as far as the lower hall, facing her outside door, 
 and found it ajar. She herself, in the little entry, pulling 
 down a robe to replace her street dress, spoke to me with- 
 out turning her head : 
 
 "Come in I've got something to say to you." 
 
 She had something to say to me! That, and her tone, 
 stopped me like a shot. Then I followed her in, braced for 
 something different from what I had expected. We didn't 
 look squarely at each other, but I realised that I was the 
 scared one. She pushed toward me with her foot the chair 
 I liked a little mahogany rocker that had been her 
 mother's got into the robe, and went to the dress closet 
 for her slippers. I stood glancing about at the sober, rich, 
 luxurious furnishings. For two days, whatever I looked 
 at, I had been seeing this room seeing myself go into it ; 
 then breaking off in terror of what would be said when I 
 got here. 
 
 "Sit down sit down," her voice called, as her pumps 
 clattered to the closet floor. "What are you so solemn 
 about ?" 
 
 At the moment I couldn't; I laid my hand on the chair 
 back and with an effort faced her as she came out. Now 
 that I did look directly at her, I saw that a little dull red
 
 "TKUST YOU?" SHE SAT UP SUDDENLY FROM HER 
 LOLLING POSITION. "WELL HOW ABOUT YOU? 
 DO YOU FEEL THAT YOU CAN TRUST ME?"
 
 MISS CHANDLER'S POINT OF VIEW 153 
 
 glowed under her hard, defiant eyes; that slim, elegant 
 figure of hers was drawn up tense as she pulled the robe 
 around it. Oh, I wished she wouldn't take it like this ! 
 
 "Please don't," I choked. 
 
 "Don't what ?" 
 
 She dropped down sidewise, tucking one foot up under 
 her, leaning back over the great cushioned arm of her 
 chair, as I had so often seen her, posed like a Bacchante 
 just flung down from the dance. 
 
 "Don't tell me anything. I'd rather not know. You 
 can trust me without that." 
 
 "Trust you ?" She sat up suddenly from her lolling 
 position. "Well how about you ? Do you feel that you 
 can trust me ?" 
 
 A moment I gaped, stupid. Then in a flash I saw what 
 she was driving at. Yet, strangely, even this didn't seem 
 to matter very much. It was only human this trying to 
 pull another down, to make her own case look better. 
 
 "You're mistaken," I began. 
 
 Her teeth came together with a click. She leaned for- 
 ward and stared at me savagely. 
 
 "You're not going to put up a front with me with 
 me are you?" 
 
 "No," I floundered; "never mind about me. My little 
 boy boards out there, you know with Mrs. Eccles, just 
 back of on Fern street. I'd been to see him. I- ' 
 
 "Gallic Baird, do you mean to deny that you were at 
 the Watkins house when Al Pendleton and I saw you 
 through the hedge ?" 
 
 "I'm not denying anything," I said. "I really went out 
 to see Boy, and then I stopped in at Harvey asked me 
 I told you Harvey Watkins was an old friend and going 
 to give me a position. Friday evening I'd just " 
 
 Miss Chandler sank back with a little breath that was 
 half laughter, half relief. 
 
 "Oh," she said, "then you don't deny it ?"
 
 154 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 This was so different from anything I could have imag- 
 ined, it stung me to retort. 
 
 "I'm not answerable to you ; I don't have to justify my- 
 self to you if I tried, you wouldn't believe me. Orma 
 said you wanted me to come down here. I came because 
 I supposed you wanted " 
 
 "To beg you to keep still about what you'd seen eh \ 
 But when we come to what I saw nothing doing !" She 
 flung her hand round in front of my face and snapped her 
 fingers. I had never seen her do a coarse thing before. 
 "I was on one side of the hedge with a man you were on 
 the other with " 
 
 My face was flaming. Hers was pale, as always, except 
 for those two unsual spots of dull red. It was my turn to 
 interrupt. 
 
 "If you keep on talking to me that way I'll go." I 
 dropped my hand from the chair back and half turned to 
 the door. 
 
 "No, you won't !" She shot the words at me. "You'll 
 stay right here in this room till you and I come to some 
 sort of understanding. Sit down, why don't you ? Oh 
 too virtuous to sit down in my room ? Well, you certainly 
 have nerve!" 
 
 "Why are you so angry?" I said, stupidly. "I don't 
 set myself up to judge you." 
 
 "Cut that short !" she cried. "I can't take very much 
 of it from you." 
 
 "No," I said, in despair, "there's no use to talk. You'll 
 never have to take anything from me again." 
 
 She seemed to notice for the first time my new dress. 
 A sudden change came over her. She swallowed nervously, 
 and half whispered : 
 
 "I believe you're in earnest. Well, you're a fool to 
 quarrel with me, anyhow." 
 
 "Oh," I cried, miserably, "I'm not quarrelling with you. 
 I've been almost crazy ever since Friday evening scared
 
 MISS CHANDLER'S POINT OF VIEW 155 
 
 to death. Suppose someone else had seen what I did ? If 
 you think of nothing but the risk " 
 
 "That's so funny for you to say." Miss Chandler 
 laughed. When had I ever heard her laugh aloud! 
 "You're the most reckless creature I ever knew. If I man- 
 aged my affairs as you do yours " 
 
 "You have a right to criticise me there," I said. 
 
 "I guess I have coming here to the Poinsettia using 
 Joe Ed's room." 
 
 "Yes I know now that seemed suspicious to those 
 women downstairs." 
 
 Again Miss Chandler laughed. I seemed to be making 
 myself very amusing. 
 
 "Well, how about Joe Tipton ?" 
 
 "How about him ?" I echoed like an idiot. 
 
 "Yes how about him?" She spoke impatiently. 
 
 It would have been too silly to tell of the few little let- 
 ters I'd had from Joe Ed. I didn't want her making some- 
 thing wrong of them, and of his perfectly innocent, boy- 
 ish admiration. I just told her, as I had Harvey, that he 
 seemed like a child to me, and was wandering and maun- 
 dering on about my bitter experience making me feel 
 older, when she caught me up suddenly. 
 
 "Yes. Just so but I hardly think you're mothering 
 that Watkins man are you ?" 
 
 I made no answer. 
 
 "Or Hollis Dale 2" 
 
 "Frank Hollis Dale doesn't know I'm alive," I snapped, 
 "except that I'm a typist and not nearly as good a one 
 as he'd like to have." 
 
 For a long minute Miss Chandler leaned back silent. 
 Several times she shook her head; once she drew quick 
 breath to speak, but checked herself. Finally she jumped 
 up and stood staring at me angrily. 
 
 "Well, have it your own way ; suppose you have kept the 
 letter of the law so far ? It's only a matter of time with
 
 156 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 a girl of your sort pretty green as a gourd drifting 
 about from one man's office to another. You've got to face 
 life as you find it make the best of things as they are 
 not as the preachers tell us they are." 
 
 "Well, I'm trying to do that," I said, shortly. It did 
 seem a farce for her to lecture me. "I've got to consider 
 both myself and a child. A mother owes " 
 
 "Piffle !" she broke in on me. "You mean by that you'll 
 drudge like a dog through all your best years, lose your 
 good looks and attractions, never have anything for your- 
 self, all to raise another human being that isn't any better 
 or any worse than you are ?" 
 
 "A mother owes a clean record to her children," I said, 
 doggedly. "Boyce didn't ask me to be born. He's a four- 
 year-old baby with no say-so. Before he came I lived 
 every day and night of my married life with the thought 
 of suicide. I couldn't do that now I don't belong to my- 
 self alone." 
 
 "Ugh!" Miss Chandler shrugged disgustedly. "You're 
 a mush of sentiment, Gallic. I guess the child's got to 
 live, hasn't he? And have an education? A chance in 
 life ? Who's paying his board out there now ? What ails 
 you is that you won't face things. If the child's all, let 
 me tell you you could do a lot better for him than you 
 are." I tried to interrupt ; she silenced me with a motion. 
 "You could live nicely, stand better than you do now 
 and have him with you wait wait hear me out ! if 
 you'd show a little common sense. You'll inevitably at- 
 tract men the question is what are you going to do with 
 that attraction ? It's eat or be eaten. Are you going to 
 play the poor little shabby country girl just come to town 
 every man's prey or are you going to use such sense 
 as you've got and prey on them?" 
 
 "Nobody's going to prey on me," I said. 
 
 "Wait !" Miss Chandler flung the one syllable out 
 meaningly; then added, "Some you don't even have to
 
 MISS CHANDLER'S POINT OF VIEW 157 
 
 wait for. But they all come to it at last. Beat them to 
 it. And keep sentiment out of such affairs, or they make 
 a victim of you just as marriage does. Feeling I'm 
 done with it !" Her face was black. 
 
 "Don't talk that way," I protested. 
 
 She dropped into her chair and spoke quietly. 
 
 "Sit down and listen to me, Gallic. It won't hurt you. 
 I've got to tell you where I invested my feelings, and what 
 I got by it." 
 
 Without a word I took the little chair, and she talked 
 right on. 
 
 "When my parents died within a week of each other 
 I was abroad, with the first Mrs. Hoard; she'd gone for 
 an operation and I to study music. The judge was left 
 administrator and guardian. When I came home I lived 
 with them." She wheeled sharply on me. "You've seen 
 Judge Hoard ?" 
 
 I had, several times, at the McBride office. He was a 
 fine, haughty-looking man, such as you might expect to be 
 high-handed with a young girl's love affairs. 
 
 "Mrs. Hoard was an invalid. He's the biggest-brained 
 man I ever knew nearly as old as my father, yet I was 
 crazy about him, perfectly happy with his promise of mar- 
 riage when he should be free to marry." She flared a 
 sudden glance at me. "What do you think of the man who 
 seduced his eighteen-year-old ward, his dead partner's 
 daughter under such circumstances ?" 
 
 "Oh, dreadful!" I cried. 
 
 "Not so much worse than others," she said, coldly. 
 "You don't think that your friend Watkins would treat 
 you like that, maybe, or Hollis Dale ; but I'm here to tell 
 you that men are pretty much alike take them on the side 
 of sex. Judge Hoard's wife died when I was twenty-one. 
 Our affair had been going on more than three years. By 
 that time I was living with this cousin of mine ; Celia was 
 a rich widow. Our secret meetings slacked up a little
 
 158 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 it was as though he drew off before beginning openly to 
 court me. That's what he gave me to understand. He 
 was courting my cousin on the sly. I came back from a 
 little southern trip to find them married." 
 
 It was very still in the room. Outside the ting, 
 ting, ting, ting of a scissors grinder went slowly by. 
 Miss Chandler began to tap with her slipper on the 
 carpet. 
 
 "Well," she said, "I was finished. I was done with sen- 
 timent. I'd adored that man been as big a fool about 
 him as a girl could be. And I hated him now just as 
 thoroughly. I stayed right there in the house; Cousin* 
 Celia asked me, and it was a good way to get even with 
 him. He'd treat me like that, would he, and think he could 
 get by with it? I showed him. He hadn't much my 
 father was the money-maker of the firm. But I took what 
 he had, and I made his life a burden to him when it gave 
 out and he wouldn't go to Celia for more." 
 
 I thought of the clothes, jewelry, and all sorts of stuff 
 that I had seen brought into that room to crowd the places 
 of articles just about as good, almost as new it would be 
 impossible to keep Eugenia Chandler's pockets filled. I 
 had seen Judge Hoard and his wife together. Nobody 
 could doubt that he really loved the woman he had mar- 
 ried ; that the peace of his latter years was all in her hands. 
 I imagined his dread and hatred of this wild girl against 
 whom he had sinned, with her insatiable demands for 
 money. 
 
 "Oh, let them alone," I pleaded. "You only poison 
 your own life trying to punish him." 
 
 "No," obstinately, "I'm going to shake him down once 
 more." 
 
 Again the room was still. I sat with my head^down, 
 my hands gripped tight in my lap. What she had told 
 me of the judge was to set herself right in my eyes; in- 
 stead, it only put me in despair of her of everybody of
 
 MISS CHANDLER'S POINT OF VIEW 159 
 
 life. I couldn't hold back my tears any longer; sobs be- 
 gan to shake me. 
 
 "For goodness' sake!" there was a queer, new tone in 
 Miss Chandler's voice, "did I hurt your feelings some 
 way?" 
 
 "No," I choked ; "I'm just heartbroken for you." 
 
 "Well !" she said. Her hand went up to her lips, and 
 she eyed me. "Did you ever ! Is there anybody else on 
 earth that would take it like that that would care that 
 much ? Callie don't ! If you get me to crying, we'll 
 bring the house down ; I'm a whale at it. Do say some- 
 thing cheerful, child." 
 
 "All right," I gasped. I shook the tears from my face 
 and jumped to my feet. Miss Chandler got up the min- 
 ute I did. "We'll forget it." 
 
 "And you won't leave the Poinsettia because I'm 
 here ?" 
 
 "No no, not if you'd rather I'd stay." 
 
 "Poor Callie !" She laughed a little, but I saw her 
 mouth tremble. "I do want you to stay. I'll let you 
 alone but it'll be kind of well, nice, you know to see 
 your face in the halls,"
 
 CHAPTEK X 
 
 I KEPT out of Miss Chandler's room. When we'd meet 
 in the hall she seemed just as usual, except for a queer 
 little laughing devil in her eyes that made her look much 
 prettier and more fascinating. I had quite a lot of her 
 work, and my sewing things were all among her belong- 
 ings. I finally went down to straighten this up. And the 
 minute I got into her room she started talking right where 
 we had left off last time, going at it as if we'd been barely 
 interrupted by the shutting of a door. I was at a disad- 
 vantage with this elegant, polished woman of the world, 
 used to setting the pace in her circle, one who felt she had 
 sanction for whatever she chose to do. Rules and regula- 
 tions were for folks below her in understanding. She 
 seemed to think it a compliment to me not to be rated with 
 them. I didn't want to hurt her feelings by appearing to 
 preach or hold myself better than she was. Altogether it 
 was very confusing and painful. 
 
 I'd be down on my knees before her little sewing stand 
 trying to sort out spool silk or find my small scissors or my 
 tape line, and she'd stop me so as to get my undivided at- 
 tention and emphasise her points. The first time I was 
 so upset that I didn't get a thing I came after. I had to 
 go back next day. I did better then just said yes and 
 no and tried to keep my mind on my errand, and once or 
 twice afterward I managed the same way. Yet I never 
 saw her now that she didn't have something new and dis- 
 turbing to say about her revenge on Judge Hoard. 
 
 "He hasn't got anything left of his own ; I pretty well 
 cleaned him out," she remarked. It seemed strange to 
 hear her, whom I was used to see all generosity (yes, and 
 
 160
 
 DELIA'S ADDRESS 161 
 
 true affection toward me) go on, "but Celia's Alaska 
 properties have taken a jump. Nobody knows what those 
 mines will amount to yet half a million, maybe. Now is 
 my time. I'll have a hundred thousand of it, and the 
 Judge will give it to me." When she said that she glanced 
 at my face. I suppose I did look sort of sick, for she 
 wound up, good-naturedly, "I forgot that scared you. I 
 won't repeat it but you'll see!" 
 
 But what she spoke oftenest about was an auto trip four 
 of them were planning to make up to the Pendleton camp 
 above Meaghers. She wanted me to go. I wasn't answer- 
 ing or objecting to anything she said. I felt hopeless, but 
 she went on arguing as though I had. "It needn't make 
 any difference that the place is in the neighbourhood of 
 your old home, Gallic. We'll go in with a chauffeur and 
 cook from San Francisco, and none of the neighbours 
 need see anything of us." I took it she had made a good 
 many such trips before, but I didn't ask. I couldn't 
 preach to her ; I wasn't, in fact, prepared to meet her ar- 
 guments. 
 
 "Oh, Miss Chandler don't ! You promised you 
 wouldn't," I fairly whimpered at last. She only laughed 
 at me. And after that I just meekly said nothing, and 
 finally kept out of her way. 
 
 One thing remained to me from her talk as a light on 
 my personal affairs. She was no hypocrite, and I couldn't 
 defend Harvey when she called him one. But when she 
 spoke slightingly of Delia, I remembered Dele's coming, a 
 young lady from a larger town, and making so much of me 
 when a was a village high school girl; I remembered how 
 fond I'd been of her ; and I made up my mind to get that 
 address from Harvey as soon as he got back to San \ r icente 
 and write to her. Looking back, it seemed perfectly in- 
 explicable that I hadn't done this before. What could 
 she possibly think if I met her in after years and she knew 
 that I'd been in San Vicente so long, out at her house, go-
 
 162 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 ing about with Harvey though it might be at the time 
 they were separating and never once made any attempt 
 to communicate with her? Harvey was to get into San 
 Vicente on a certain Saturday night, or he might be de- 
 layed till the next Sunday. I rather thought if he did get 
 in, he'd ring me up, yet when Monday came and he hadn't 
 done so, I stopped in at the office and asked. 
 
 Yes, he had come. Mr. Bates, in the outer office, mo- 
 tioned me toward the private room and I walked right 
 through as had been my custom. He was at his desk with 
 a big pile of mail in front of him, and he looked up at me 
 with a queer kind of look, then glanced over my shoulder 
 at the door that didn't swing quite shut behind me. I 
 hardly waited to shake hands. I didn't sit down, or say 
 a word to him about his trip, but rushed straight to the 
 point. 
 
 "Harvey, I want you to give me " 
 
 Again he looked at the door, so significantly this time 
 that I hesitated. Someone was coming into the outer of- 
 fice. There were noisy greetings. Determined not to be 
 put off or interrupted, I bent down and spoke in a sort of 
 energetic whisper. 
 
 "Harvey," I said, "give me Delia's address now this 
 morning. I've got to write to her. It's none of my busi- 
 ness what how how things are between you two. I love 
 Delia. Why would I hold off from her ? I'm ashamed 
 that I haven't written before. Where is she? Give mo 
 her address." 
 
 Without taking his hands off of the work on his desk, he 
 sat, his head twisted around, and stared up at me. Before 
 he could say a word a voice sounded behind me : 
 
 "Well Forma Boyce Foncie !" 
 
 A stoutish, palish, much-dressed-up woman that I 
 couldn't thiuk I had ever seen before stood in the door 
 of the private office. I gaped at her. It came over me 
 that I must be looking at the Mrs. Harvey Watkins Miss
 
 DELIA'S ADDRESS 163 
 
 Chandler had described. Yes, I was right, for the woman 
 came and took me in a business-like embrace and kissed 
 me. 
 
 "Mr. Bates said it was you in here. To think of just 
 walking up on you this way when I haven't seen you for 
 why, it must be six or seven years !" 
 
 "Delia !" I hung on to the lapel of her coat ; it seemed 
 to me I never had been so glad to see anybody in my life. 
 The unexpectedness of her return made it only the more 
 welcome. Here was my refuge. Here was the one woman 
 friend I could count on in San Vicente. "Why, Delia," 
 I babbled, "how did you know me just like that ?" 
 
 What a speech ! The minute the words were out I saw 
 they implied that I'd not have known her that she was 
 awfully changed. However, it seemed she was just the 
 same as ever in one way not readily offended. She just 
 kissed me again and laughed. 
 
 "Oh, I knew you were in San Vicente, though, of 
 course, I didn't expect to find you here. Mrs. Eccles wrote 
 me she was taking care of a child for you." 
 
 "Mrs. Eccles !" I stood there, not daring to so much as 
 glance in Harvey's direction. 
 
 "Sure, Mrs. Eccles," Delia repeated. "She always at- 
 tends to things at the house for me, and when she wrote 
 about them she mentioned you and the child. Harvey 
 never would have thought of it." She had moved over to 
 him. Her hand was on his shoulder; he was looking 
 straight ahead of him. "That's a man for you writing to 
 me every day of the world, and never mentioned it !" 
 
 He had been writing to her every day! I stood posi- 
 tively stupefied, trying to make that fact fit in with any 
 other single thing I knew of the past months. He had 
 been writing to her every day. There they both were in 
 front of me, talking, and I had to answer this was no 
 time to get it straightened out he had been writing to Tier 
 every day!
 
 164. THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 Harvey bunched his letters in his hands, got up and 
 pushed his desk chair around with his knee. He hadn't 
 looked at me yet, but now I gazed hard at him as he 
 glanced toward Delia and spoke naturally enough, it 
 seemed to me : 
 
 "You've forgotten, Dele I certainly mentioned Calla 
 when she first came down to San Vicente. You've just 
 forgotten." 
 
 He went then. I can't say that he seemed embarrassed 
 or distressed, but as I looked after him it was as though 
 the Harvey Watkins I knew had been spirited away and 
 another man put into the good tweed suit. This was Har- 
 vey Watkins, the married man Delia's Harvey. As she 
 shoved in, smiling, to take his desk chair, and pulled me 
 toward the arm of it, facing her, I asked, stammeringly : 
 
 "When when did you get back ?" 
 
 "Came Saturday with Harve. Every week-end for a 
 month, when he'd start home, I've been having half a mind 
 to come along; and this time I just did it." 
 
 I held my eyes down and fumbled with my fingers, and 
 thought what an idiot I'd been never to guess where Har- 
 vey's week-ends were spent. Delia noticed nothing. She 
 was going on in her good-natured, practical, chatty 
 way: 
 
 "And I'm glad I came, too. I can get as good electric 
 treatment right here in San Vicente as I was getting at 
 the sanitarium, and the way they feed you at Mount 
 Pleasant is a disgrace. Give me my own house and my 
 own cook." 
 
 "You I raised my eyes with what I meant to be a 
 
 smile. "You've got such a lovely home " 
 
 "Oh, you've seen it?" she interrupted. "Of course 
 going out to Las Reudas where the child is. But wait till 
 I show you my things. We'll have some good times there 
 won't we ?" 
 
 I nodded, clawing desperately at the idea of telling her
 
 DELIA'S ADDRESS 165 
 
 how often I had been in her house. Then I heard myself 
 say: 
 
 "I'm attending business college now, but but of course 
 I'll be glad to come and see you when I'm out at Las Reu- 
 das some time." 
 
 "Business college!" Delia picked up my jacket edge, 
 her eyes on my face. "Say, Foncie, have you left your 
 husband ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 She pulled a bit, unconsciously, on the coat hem, and 
 squinted up her eyes. 
 
 "Uh-huh," she nodded. "Mrs. Eccles said she thought 
 you had. Are you getting a divorce ?" 
 
 "Yes. Harvey got it for me the interlocutory decree 
 just before he left on this trip." 
 
 "Well, did you ever ! Aren't men funny ?" She let go 
 of me and sat back to laugh. "They never think to tell you 
 the gossip. Of course, Harvey and I were on the go every 
 minute with the bar association this time ; but a divorce 
 poor Foncie ! 'Change the name and not the letter, 
 change for the worse and not for the better.' I'm awfully 
 sorry. Was was he mean to you ?" 
 
 "No yes I not now, Delia," I halted out. 
 
 "All right all right," Delia agreed, hastily. "But, 
 Foncie any alimony?" 
 
 "No. That's why I'm studying stenography. Harvey 
 thought it was the best plan. He got the firm to promise 
 me a position here." 
 
 "Here ?" screamed Delia, then laughed heartily. "Isn't 
 that just like Hoddy? He couldn't think of any other 
 place for you, so he let them stick you in here. Good- 
 ness, that'll never do ! We'll have to think up something 
 better for you, Foncie." 
 
 "But I've they advanced money for my course in the 
 business college," I said. "I'm to pay it back out of my 
 salary."
 
 166 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "Well can't you par it bade out of a salary yon get 
 from some other firm just as weflf demanded practical 
 Delia. "These folks 7 !! never give you what yon ought to 
 have with a child to support You let me manage it. 
 Hodd^s a fine lawyer, and a kind old dear, hut he's of no 
 account for a thing of this sort. I'm twice as good a 
 mixer. 7 ' She looked me over thoughtfully, patting my 
 shoulder. Til tell you what Pd do if I were in your 
 place. Fd try for a position on the 'Clarion. 7 You used 
 to write splendidly. You were sending articles to the 
 San Vicente 'Clarion' when I visited in Stanleyton." 
 
 Quite true. The clippings of those first attempts which 
 had actually been printed on a Woman's Page seven years 
 ago were among my things at the Poinsettia now, saved 
 along with other Tamable documents in a pasteboard box. 
 I would have said there was no one left in the world to re- 
 member them: it warmed my heart to Delia that she 
 should sit there and seriously recall them as of value, and 
 I cried out, almost as I might have done in the days when 
 those things were written: 
 
 "If I only could get a place like that !" 
 
 "Well there's no reason you shouldn't try," Delia en- 
 couraged. "Fix up nice, put on the prettiest dress youVe 
 got, and go and ask. Just stick to it. Don't let them say 
 *No? to you. Tell them you're an intimate friend of mine 
 that PD swing all the women's associations in town for 
 yoa. You've got to make every edge cut, Foneie a di- 
 vorced woman, burdened with a child poor girl !" 
 
 Harvey was coming back. He stopped in the doorway 
 when he saw that Delia had his chair. 
 
 "AH right," she said, getting to her feet and collecting 
 shopping bag, boa, gloves and veil, "I'll go. We can finish 
 our visit out home. Foncie's coming to dinner this even- 
 ing, so don't you f afl to be on time, Hod five o'clock, be- 
 cause you've got a lot of watering to do on that front
 
 DELIA'S ADDRESS 167 
 
 "Oh, Delia," I interrupted. "Really I don't believe I 
 could come this evening." 
 
 "Of course you can." Delia freed a hand and took hold 
 of me. "I'm just dying to show you my house. You get 
 there by five o'clock half past six, anyhow and we'll 
 have a real old-fashioned visit." 
 
 "I've seen your house it's lovely," I was beginning, 
 hurriedly. But Delia wasn't listening. She brushed me 
 aside with: 
 
 "Foncie, don't bring the little one with you this even- 
 ing. I want to have a nice long visit just with you. It 
 can come some other time." 
 
 While she said all this I couldn't see a flicker of change 
 on Harvey's wooden face where he stood by the door, the 
 knob in his hand, ready to let her out. When she got op- 
 posite him she halted, picking at an imaginary thread on 
 his coat, looking him over with a connubial intimacy that 
 would have been disconcerting to any outsider, but which, 
 under the circumstances, made my head go around. I 
 knew of old that what one got from Delia was always 
 plain facts. If there had been any real trouble between 
 her and Harvey she could no more have concealed it from 
 me than she could have written stories or acted on the 
 stage. It wasn't merely that she meant to be frank she 
 lacked imagination to be anything else. Delia had made 
 the kind of wife who cannot keep her hands off her hus- 
 band, before folks. She looked from him to me, from me 
 to him, and finally said, complacently : 
 
 "He's a pretty good old man, Foncie. But you have to 
 keep any of 'em busy. Make 'em useful, or they'll forget 
 you're alive won't they ?" 
 
 "All right, Dele give me your list." Harvey jiggled 
 the door a little, but his tone was the amiable common- 
 place of a satisfactorily married husband. 
 
 "There," crowed Delia, triumphantly; "haven't I got 
 him well trained ?" Then, to Harvey, "You only need to
 
 168 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 go past the electrical company's place and bring out my 
 vibrator. Just one errand but you'd better not forget 
 that !" She turned again to me. "Half past five, honey 
 and don't bring the child." 
 
 Harvey got a parting pull and pat. Delia looked over 
 her shoulder to nod once more brightly to me. Then he 
 shut the door behind her. We were alone together. He 
 came across to his desk. He didn't look at me. I tried to 
 think of something to say and couldn't get one word. 
 What was the use ? There he stood, just Harvey Watkins. 
 And, after all, he hadn't actually lied to me in words any- 
 where. He had just implied everything, and let me de- 
 ceive myself. No, there was no use talking to him about 
 it ; all I could do was to go ahead and be frank and honest 
 with Delia now. 
 
 "Well, Calla," as Harvey got into his chair, he sent a 
 sort of dodging glance at ine and attempted to take up our 
 conversation where it had been interrupted, "weren't you 
 asking me for something when she came in ?" 
 
 I laughed a little. 
 
 "Yes," I said ; "for Delia's address. But I've got it." 
 
 "All right." Harvey refused to see the joke. "What 
 else ?" 
 
 "I wanted to return the scholarship card," laying it on 
 his desk. "I'm done with it." 
 
 "Ready for work, do you mean?" He looked up, 
 startled. "Can you begin now? I wouldn't have taken 
 that stuff out to Bates if I had known that." 
 
 I stood before him, mute as a fish. What in the world 
 should I say ? I couldn't work for McBride, McBride & 
 Watkins now, and meet Harvey every day let alone hold 
 the position of his private secretary yet there was the 
 bargain. I'd had the money. 
 
 "Well ?" he prompted, impatiently. 
 
 "Delia and I were talking " I began, and broke off. 
 
 The stupid silence that followed made me mad why
 
 DELIA'S ADDRESS 169 
 
 should / have to feel all the embarrassment? Before I 
 knew it I had blurted out, "I'm going down to the 'Clar- 
 ion' office and ask for a job there." 
 
 "The 'Clarion' ?" Harvey swung around and stared. 
 "Who put that fool notion in your head ?" 
 
 "Delia " I began, but he broke out : 
 
 "Well, I'll be darned! If you leave two women alone 
 for a minute they can hatch up more mischief. Take this 
 week off if you like on salary and go to work here next 
 Monday morning. You let the 'Clarion' office alone it's 
 no place for you." 
 
 "What's the matter ? Don't you believe I can write well 
 enough to work on a newspaper ?" I asked, resentfully, and 
 added, "Mr. Dale thinks I have good writing ability." 
 
 "He does?" For a minute Harvey had a notion to 
 quarrel with me about Frank Hollis Dale. I could see it 
 in his eye. Then he went back to the first question. I 
 rather had him there, because he wouldn't say a word 
 openly and directly against Delia's advice. "That's not 
 the point," he shook his head. "Even if I should let you 
 throw up your bargain with this firm (mind, I'm not do- 
 ing anything of the sort; you're going to work for us as 
 you're in honour bound), it wouldn't be to see you go after 
 a place that would cost any woman her reputation. Every- 
 body knows what Stokes is. He doesn't let any of 'em get 
 by. You keep out of his office." 
 
 Yesterday Harvey's talk about my having made a con- 
 tract with his firm would have silenced me ; yesterday what 
 he said about the editor of the "Clarion" would have 
 weighed with me ; but after this morning I thought I was 
 doing pretty well to only say to him : 
 
 "Yes. Well, I guess I'll take Delia's advice this time, 
 Harvey. She thinks the 'Clarion' office is all right and 
 you were just making a place for me here out of good na- 
 ture. I can pay you back with what I earn there, and I'll 
 do it."
 
 170 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 Harvey exploded, but inarticulately. I left him furi- 
 ous ; yet I think he got off easy. 
 
 I did exactly as Delia had told me went home and put 
 on my best ; made myself look as nice as possible ; and was 
 downtown again while my courage still held. A frowsy 
 old flight of steps led up to the "Clarion" office. The 
 newspaper had the entire second floor. I could see when I 
 got to the head of the stairs, through little dingy corridors 
 and open doors in every direction, people moving about, 
 work going on. I asked a dirty-faced boy who came flying 
 past with his hands full of manuscript where Mr. Stokes's 
 room was. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward 
 the door he had come out of, mumbled something, and I 
 went ahead, scared to death. 
 
 I got my first view of my editor sitting at his desk. I 
 rapped again on the open door; he paid no attention; of 
 course he wouldn't, with all the clatter of the presses and 
 machines on that floor. I stood and stared at him and 
 trembled a big, loosely made, bearish-looking man, work- 
 ing away like smoke at galley proofs. I went in and stood 
 directly across from him. I had my name ready written 
 on a card. After a while I got up courage to reach out 
 and put it on the table beside his work. He glanced at it, 
 looked up at me without seeming to see me, and mumbled : 
 
 "Whadd'ye want?" 
 
 "A job:" 
 
 "What kind?" 
 
 "Why writing. I wrote these for the 'Clarion. 7 ' I 
 spread out my little bale of clippings, my faith in them 
 not quite so strong as it had been when I put them in my 
 purse. 
 
 He reached a great, hairy paw across, swept the bits of 
 print into the circle of his gaze, and looked them over. 
 Then he raised his eyes to me, apparently seeing me for 
 the first tima 
 
 "You wrote these for the 'Clarion' ? When? Good
 
 DELIA'S ADDRESS 171 
 
 Lord !" as he glanced down and caught sight of a date lino 
 on one of them which included the year. "These things 
 are seven years old outlawed !" He thumped them with 
 a sort of grunt. "Haven't you any better reason than that 
 for expecting to get a job on a newspaper ?" 
 
 "Yes," I answered; "you're going to give me the job 
 because you can see by looking at me that I'm a good 
 worker, and I'll obey orders. You're going to give me a 
 chance." 
 
 Up to this time everything Mr. Stokes did or said was 
 in the line of getting rid of me. Now he threw himself 
 back in his chair for a long survey. 
 
 "Sit down," he ordered. 
 
 I dropped into the chair instantly. His eyes never left 
 me. I felt the blood come into my face, because as soon 
 as I sat down, his foot touched mine under the table. I 
 would have thought myself prudish to notice this but for 
 what Harvey had said. 
 
 "What have you been doing since you wrote these 
 things ?" the editor of the "Clarion" opened up his inves- 
 tigation. "Are you sure you did write 'em ? You look to 
 me like a high school girl. I can't see you writing for the 
 papers seven years ago." 
 
 "I was in high school then," I said. "I had no assist- 
 ance on the work except one one friend, who criticised 
 them for me." 
 
 I sat looking down, suddenly overwhelmed it was 
 Philip who had listened, commented, praised. 
 
 "Huh so you wrote these things seven years ago with 
 somebody to help you and you'll walk in here to my of- 
 fice and expect me to turn a perfectly good society editor 
 out of her place and give it to you is that it ?" 
 
 It descended on me like a load of brick. He hadn't in- 
 tended to do anything but refuse. I jumped up hastily, 
 afraid I should cry, he had managed to make it so disap- 
 pointing and humiliating.
 
 172 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "I didn't know but you had a place vacant," I got out, 
 with fair composure. "I need the work. I have a child 
 to support and " 
 
 I turned my back and fairly ran. Mr. Stokes's voice 
 stopped me at the door. 
 
 "Hold on !" he bellowed after me. "Come back here ; I 
 want to take another look at you." 
 
 He swung around in his desk chair, a big bulk of a man, 
 pompous, overbearing, but not, so far as I could see, dan- 
 gerous in any way. I went meekly and stood before him 
 like a child while he put me through a catechism. 
 
 "How old are you ?" 
 
 "Twenty-two." 
 
 "Married ?" 
 
 "Divorced. My little boy is four years old. I have 
 him and myself to support." 
 
 "Eour years old!" Mr. Stokes worried the big, black 
 cigar he had stuck in the corner of his mouth and sur- 
 veyed my points at leisure. Itfow that he had begun to 
 look at me, he scarcely glanced away at all. I didn't mind 
 his staring very much. I felt toward him a good deal as 
 you do toward a big, shaggy dog that you aren't really 
 afraid of. "Four years old !" he repeated. "Married be- 
 fore you were seventeen, huh ?" 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 "Where did you live ? What does your husband do ?" 
 
 "At Meaghers, Oregon. A small dairy ranch." 
 
 "I see. A job on the 'Clarion' is likely to be easier than 
 the dairy, huh ?" 
 
 Again I nodded. Let him think what he would. All 
 I wanted from Mr. Stokes was a job ; so long as there was 
 any chance of my getting that, I certainly would not of- 
 fend him, or admit myself offended by him. 
 
 "Is there have you got anything for me to do any- 
 thing?" I asked. 
 
 "We-ell," his glance left me slowly and travelled around
 
 DELIA'S ADDRESS 173 
 
 the room, "I guess I'll let you go now, Sis. Come back 
 to-morrow late I'm busy up till five o'clock. You come 
 in after five and I'll see what I can do for you." 
 
 I thanked him and went. He was back at his proofs be- 
 fore I had crossed the room. I hadn't got the promise of 
 any job, but as I descended the stairs my spirits were 
 good. I had confidence in my ability to "manage" the 
 editor. 
 
 I went straight from the "Clarion" office to Las Reudas 
 and found Boy in a furious tantrum. My son stood in the 
 middle of the little garden at Mrs. Eccles's, his hazel eyes 
 black with rage, his cheeks burning red, his yellow hair 
 towsled by dirty, clutching hands. He had thrown bud'n 
 down and was kicking it, shouting: 
 
 "I won't have it old, ugly thing ! Muwer," he ran to 
 me as I came in and laid hold of my skirts, "I want my 
 Fairy doggie. Bring it quick." 
 
 "It isn't your doggie, Boy," I reasoned with him gently. 
 "Fairy belongs to Mrs. Watkins." 
 
 "Is my doggie!" He delivered a blow on my thigh 
 which may have been intended for emphasis, but seemed 
 more like chastisement. 
 
 "No, it's Mrs. Watkins's doggie," I persisted. "Mrs. 
 Watkins hasn't seen Fairy for a long, long time. She's 
 been way. She's been sick, honey boy. Aren't you sorry 
 she was sick ? Poor Mrs. Watkins !" 
 
 "No. She can't have my Fairy doggie." Then, with a 
 sudden crafty eye cast up toward me, "I'll give her bud'n. 
 I don't want bud'n. She can have him. I want my dog- 
 gie." And again the sobs shook him ; once more he mauled 
 the unoffending bud'n for not being what it was never in- 
 tended to be. 
 
 We had a great time over him, and I liked Mrs. Eccles 
 better than I ever had done. He hit us both, and she 
 didn't stand out for her first proposition that he should 
 be made to apologise. I told her he'd do that next day
 
 174 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 without any making. I'd never seen his will broken, 
 though I'd had to interfere when his father tried with a 
 collection of eucalyptus switches to accomplish that unde- 
 sirable thing. I was desperately eager to get to Delia's 
 I did wish I could be there before Harvey came from town, 
 so as to have a minute alone with her and set things right. 
 They weren't really wrong, but concealment would make 
 them seem so and there was nothing to conceal. Boyce 
 roared and charged till he wore himself out ; at last we got 
 him, snuffling, into bed, I promising to ask if Fairy 
 couldn't come over and see him the next day. 
 
 "Not see me," was his last, whimpering protest as his 
 eyes were going shut. "Come be my own doggie. Is my 
 own doggie." And he slept. 
 
 I was late. I found the Watkinses on the lawn, Har- 
 vey with the hose, being told just what to do with it, like a 
 true suburban husband and householder. Poor Boy's own 
 doggie lay on the porch and snored, till my step roused her 
 and she waddled out toward me yapping. 
 
 "She won't bite," Delia called, coming down the walk. 
 "Poor old Fairy, she hasn't got enough teeth left." She 
 reached mei and put an arm around me in schoolgirl 
 fashion, grumbling, "I believe a pet dog's a worse bother 
 than a child. Children do grow up and get out of the way 
 sometimes, but even when a spaniel's old and too fat and 
 half-blind and cross, you don't quite feel like having it 
 chloroformed or giving it away." 
 
 Harvey had nodded to me as I came in and gone on with 
 his work, but now we were within earshot, and I said, 
 rather at him : 
 
 "I've just come from somebody who doesn't think 
 Fairy's old or fat. Boyce cried himself to sleep this even- 
 ing for her. Won't you please let her go over and play 
 with him to-morrow ?" 
 
 "He'd better come here," Harvey spoke up quickly, and 
 Delia added, doubtfully:
 
 DELIA'S ADDRESS 175 
 
 "I suppose he might. We'll be all torn up to-morrow 
 anyhow, having the rugs out. A child around won't make 
 so much difference. Yes he'd better come. I can keep 
 an eye on him then. Fairy's a spoiled baby herself. Chil- 
 dren never understand getting along with animals." 
 
 She had no more notion of the feeling between Boy and 
 her dog than she had of the footing that Harvey and I had 
 been on. IsTo imagination helped her to guess what might 
 have been taking place while she was away. She seemed to 
 suppose we had all been standing on the shelf waiting for 
 her to come home and take us down and dust us and place 
 us in our proper relation to each other. 
 
 "Hoddy," she said suddenly, "before I go in I want to 
 see you watering those lilies. I'm crazy to show Foncie 
 the house, but I won't leave till I see you start on them. 
 They need a lot. You never did give them enough. I 
 believe you've got a spite at them." 
 
 "I've seen the house inside," I began hurriedly, deter- 
 mined that the mere statement of facts should not be lack- 
 ing. Delia ran to take the hose out of Harvey's hand and 
 regulate the spray. 
 
 "He's been mad about these callas ever since I planted 
 them here," she cried, half laughing, half angry. "He 
 says they're too common in California that they look 
 like scraps of dirty white paper somebody's thrown out of 
 the window." 
 
 Why is a woman concerned and embarrassed at such a 
 time ? The man in the case wasn't. 
 
 "Aw, you've got that wrong, Dele," he said over his 
 shoulder, hosing away at the callas. "I always claimed 
 these for mine. I wanted them around under the window 
 of my den." 
 
 "Was that it?" asked Delia carelessly. "I knew you'd 
 fought about having them planted in that particular bed. 
 But they're a flower that I love." 
 
 I was glad to follow into the house. Delia hardly let me
 
 176 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 get my hat off before she hurried me down the back hall, 
 pulled open the door of the kitchen and was for going in. 
 
 The range was covered with simmering, steaming sauce- 
 pans ; an odor of cooking came out to us ; a Chinaman in 
 blue cotton jacket stopped our way, demanding, 
 
 "What you want ?" 
 
 "Now, Wo Far " My heart jumped at the name. 
 " I only want to show Mrs. Baird your lovely kitchen. 
 Just a minute. We won't disturb you. You keep it so 
 clean I'm proud to show it." 
 
 The Chinaman stood back and regarded us with a half 
 derisive eye. Certainly he couldn't have failed to recog- 
 nise me. 
 
 "Missy Baird," he echoed. "Name Missy Baird ?" 
 
 "Yes, my friend Mrs. Baird. Look at the range, 
 Foncie, it's wrought steel and has all the very latest tricks 
 to it. It cost " 
 
 "She you flend?" Wo Far laughed a little, and my 
 cheeks were hot. "I think she see plenty kitchen you go 
 now I cook dinner." 
 
 "Oh, but she's never seen my kitchen before," Delia 
 coaxed. "I wanted her to see my kitchen once. There 
 we'll go." 
 
 We went. The Chinaman looked after us chuckling, 
 and repeating, "Never see you kitchen ! Now she see you 
 kitchen!" I would have explained to Delia then and 
 there, but she began to talk and fairly headed me off. 
 
 "Wo Far's always like that," she said. "Chinese cooks 
 never want you to go into the kitchen, but I put up with 
 Wo because he's the best I ever had, and he's been with me 
 so long. Come up to my room and let me show you the 
 sleeping-porch. You'll never know true comfort till you 
 sleep out of doors, Foncie." 
 
 It was Wo Far who put the crowning touch on my 
 discomfort that day. It seemed to me I had made an 
 honest effort to have Delia understand the intimate knowl-
 
 DELIA'S ADDRESS 177 
 
 edge I had had of her home, and how things had been 
 going on. It couldn't he done; there was too much of 
 Harvey's tacit deceit to explain. By the time we got to 
 the dinner table I fully realised that there was no use 
 trying. If it hadn't been for the Chinaman then, the meal 
 would not have been such a misery. Really nothing had 
 happened that amounted to a row of pins, yet whenever 
 Wo Far changed my plate or asked Delia a question, I had 
 a feeling of guilt. I was glad when Delia finally asked 
 
 me 
 it 
 
 Well, did you go to the 'Clarion' office?" 
 
 "Yes," I nodded, "and made an appointment for to- 
 morrow afternoon. I believe I'm going to get some sort 
 of a place there." 
 
 "All right for you," Harvey was helping my plate a 
 second time to lamb and mint sauce as he spoke, "but you 
 needn't say I didn't warn you." 
 
 "I haven't got the place yet," I said, laughing nervously. 
 
 "What's that?" asked Delia, adding mashed potato as 
 my plate passed her. "Didn't Hoddy want you to try the 
 'Clarion' ?" 
 
 "Well rather not!" There was a gleam in Harvey's 
 eye as he glanced across the table. "She went up to 
 Phipps's to fit herself for a place in my office. Then when 
 she's ready for it you get at her and persuade her to rush 
 out and hunt another job. Who would like it?" 
 
 "]STow, Harve you haven't got a place for Foncie in 
 your office." 
 
 "I need a private secretary bad enough," sullenly. 
 
 "Well, she can't afford to work for 'thank you.' There's 
 no future in your place. Foncie'll make a name for her- 
 self in newspaper work." 
 
 "She'll make a name for herself working in the same 
 office with Bill Stokes," Harvey laughed shortly. "But it 
 won't be the right kind of name." 
 
 "Now, Harve, just because you've got a high standard,
 
 178 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 and live up to it yourself, it doesn't do to condemn people 
 right and left, that fall a little below it. I know what 
 you mean but I don't see it the way you do. I know 
 there are stories about Mr. Stokes, but that's just what I 
 think they are stories. I've met him several times at 
 club receptions his wife belongs to the Laurel Wreath 
 and the Whist Circle, and I must say he always treated me 
 as a gentleman should. What did you think of him this 
 afternoon, Foncie?" 
 
 "I didn't think of him at all," I said untruthfully. "I 
 was so busy trying to get a job out of him that I hadn't any 
 time to." 
 
 "There you see," Delia nodded across at Harvey tri- 
 umphantly, "Foncie's not the little schoolgirl flirt she was 
 when you knew her back in Stanleyton. Poor thing 
 she's had trouble, and it's made a woman of her. She 
 could go anywhere and get along with anybody now." 
 
 "Well if she 'gets along 5 with Bill Stokes, it'll cer- 
 tainly be the worse for her. He's notorious. He takes 
 'em as they come. He's after 'em all. And there's not a 
 ghost of a chance for advancement in that office. Stokes 
 wouldn't have it. He'd be jealous of anyone that showed 
 ability. He'd get 'em fired from his dirty rag of a paper. 
 I think you might at least have spoken to me before you 
 put her up to going down there for work." 
 
 I made some sort of hasty interruption, and got the talk 
 diverted to something else for the moment, but we quar- 
 relled off and on about that miserable business all evening. 
 No topic could be started up that didn't get around to it 
 finally. Boyce was the only subject that disputed the cen- 
 tre of the stage with it ; when Harvey turned in to talk to 
 Delia about him, I didn't know which way to look. They 
 both got mad, and spoke more plainly than they had any 
 business to before a third person. You would have thought 
 there never had been such a child born into the world as
 
 DELIA'S ADDRESS 179 
 
 that son of mine. I'm foolish about him myself, but Har- 
 vey, trying to make Delia feel bad, raved about him beyond 
 all common sense and reason. And poor Delia, almost 
 crying, talked about her health and went into details on the 
 subject of her operations. I could see it was the one 
 point that Harvey let himself go on and got the best of 
 her about children their childless home. He felt he 
 had a genuine grievance there, and either she agreed with 
 him or else she .knew that all the rest of the world would 
 and was readier to make concessions. 
 
 Altogether it was a pretty stormy session, and it didn't 
 make me feel that I wanted to go back there very soon. 
 The question of my working for Harvey or getting the 
 place on the paper was not brought up again till just as I 
 was leaving. We had got as far as the hall, Delia called, 
 "Wait a minute," and dived into the hall closet for 
 something. Harvey seized the chance to ask in a 
 whisper : 
 
 "Was it true what you said at the table -about not 
 having closed the trade with that dirty dog till to-morrow 
 afternoon ?" 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 "All right. I'll see you again before that time. I'll 
 talk you out of it. I'll show you why " 
 
 I shook my head sharply. He took hold of my arm and 
 pulled me toward the front door, speaking hastily over 
 his shoulder. 
 
 "Dele I'll take Calla to her car." 
 
 "Of course." Delia got the scarf she was after, and 
 emerged, putting it on. "We'll all take her. Come on, 
 Fairy." 
 
 The three of us walked almost in silence to the corner 
 where the car stopped. When we saw its lights a block 
 down, Delia kissed me, urging, 
 
 "Now, Foncie, come out here to see me all you can. I
 
 180 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 know it's hard in a strange town, this way. You just 
 count Harve and me your own folks." 
 
 The car was near. Harvey came to help me on. 
 
 "Kiss her good-bye, too why don't you, Hoddy ?" Delia 
 demanded. "Poor, lonesome girl I don't mind kiss 
 her."
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 A WOMAN'S JOB 
 
 I ever a human being felt silly it was I, getting on the 
 car, starting back to town, Delia waving after me, 
 then turning to lead her husband away by the arm ! Silly, 
 and mad, too. 
 
 One thing certain I'd have that work on the "Clarion" 
 now even if Stokes was all that Harvey said. I would 
 make it answer for a few weeks, anyhow, till I could get 
 something else. The more I thought over my first inter- 
 view with Mr. Stokes the more I believed this possible. 
 And at five o'clock the next afternoon, having tucked a 
 spray of honeysuckle in my brown belt, I went groping up 
 those dark stairs without much concern as to the hour of 
 my appointment, or the wording of it. 
 
 The whole second floor was silent and apparently empty 
 as I stopped in the upper hall, getting my first chill from 
 the sight of open doors and vacant rooms in every direc- 
 tion. If Mr. Stokes had remembered the hour he set, and 
 was there, he must be the only soul in the place. Had I 
 mistaken the time ? Or was I possibly late ? I pulled out 
 the thin, old-fashioned gold watch I carried my father's 
 and managed there in the dim light to see the hands. It 
 was exactly five o'clock. Straight ahead of me was Mr. 
 Stokes's door, the only closed one in sight. I went and 
 knocked on it. Somebody inside got up, I heard a heavy 
 step ; the knob turned, and there he stood. 
 
 "Well you did come back," he said as though he had 
 hardly expected it, led the way in and over toward his 
 table, left me there staring while, without explanation, he 
 tramped across to the big front windows and pulled down 
 the shades. For a moment the room was almost dark, but 
 
 181
 
 182 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 as he returned he snapped on the lights, and still without 
 looking at me or saying anything, went back to the door 
 and turned the key in it ! 
 
 I can hear yet the click of that key as it shot the bolt. I 
 don't know what I expected, but it certainly was not to 
 have him come and roll into his own chair, motioning at 
 the same time toward that one whose back I was gripping 
 with rigid fingers, and say querulously, 
 
 "Sit down sit down!" 
 
 I dropped into the chair, weak with relief in spite of the 
 locked door and the lowered shades. His manner was com- 
 monplace ; I should have been more relieved by it if I had 
 not felt a pressure against my boot toe. 
 
 "Just a minute," he said, sorting, numbering, packing 
 up some sheets of paper on his desk. 
 
 I moved my feet, but it wasn't any use I couldn't get 
 them anywhere that his did not eventually follow and find 
 them. Presently he finished, pushed away the copy, tipped 
 back in his chair like a performing elephant and stared at 
 me. 
 
 "Are you figuring on a writing job here?" he asked. 
 Then, without giving me time to reply, "You're not going 
 to get it. Nothing doing, Sis." 
 
 "Well," I took him up, "what are you going to offer 
 me ? You didn't tell me to come here and listen to you 
 say that there was no place for me. You could have said 
 that yesterday. You could have told me over the tele- 
 phone. What are you going to give me ?" 
 
 He chuckled and rolled his head on his big shoulders. 
 
 "Now don't you get in a hurry," he warned. "You 
 won't like it when you hear about it. We need a roust- 
 about in the office someone to look after the cuts and clip- 
 pings and wait on me fetch and carry. A sort of office 
 girl. If you could do shorthand " 
 
 "I can," I interrupted. 
 
 "Why didn't you say so before ?"
 
 A WOMAN'S JOB 183 
 
 'Because you never gave me a chance. I'm just through 
 the Phipps Business College. I " 
 
 "A beginner," he cheapened my attainments. "Well, I 
 reckon you can take some letters for me, and um 
 maybe I'll try you out at reporting. I might have you 
 along now and then on an interview. Maybe I'll see 
 about that." 
 
 "The pay " I was beginning when he cut me short. 
 
 "Nine dollars a week. Big pay for what you've got to 
 do. You'll only be responsible for the cuts and clip- 
 pings in the library, keep the run of them so that you can 
 dig up anything that I or Mr. Mears or the reporters ask 
 for at a minute's notice ; you'll have plenty of spare time 
 for all the stenography I need, and you'll be ready to do 
 anything else that's asked of you roustabout rousta- 
 bout's what we call it." 
 
 His chair thumped down to the floor ; his foot met mine 
 with a stronger pressure. It was up to me. I looked at 
 the big, powerful , animal, with his bull neck, his thick 
 hands, the sensual mouth. I felt the secure atmosphere 
 of mastery that enveloped him. Every nerve grew still. 
 Could I take the job ? Could I cope with this man ? My 
 voice, speaking, startled me: 
 
 "Can I go to work in the morning?" was what I said. 
 
 He didn't answer. He was staring at my gloved hands 
 as they lay in my lap. He reached forward and picked 
 one of them up, holding it a moment looking down at it. 
 Suddenly he caught the wrist of the glove and stripped 
 back the kid. 
 
 "Huh not much of a hand," he said in a queer, husky 
 tone. "Not much of a hand to earn a living with." 
 
 It did look small and very white against his big, brown, 
 primitive paw. I didn't pull away, but got to my feet in- 
 stantly; he held on and kept looking at the bare hand as 
 he had looked at the glove. My wedding ring seemed to 
 catch his attention^ for he touched it with a blunt fore-
 
 184. THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 finger, appeared as though he would speak of it, then, with 
 an odd jerking up of his head, which tossed back the great 
 thatch of hair from his forehead, patted the hand a little 
 with a curious naivete, and dropped it. 
 
 I went quickly to the door. He trundled unconcern- 
 edly after, reached past me and unlocked it to let me out, 
 remarking, 
 
 "Got to turn a key here in this office if you don't want 
 everybody to know your business before you know it 
 yourself." 
 
 Was it going to be possible to hold this job? The 
 question seemed a pressing one when I went down to the 
 "Clarion" office next day ; it grew less pressing as the prac- 
 tical aspects of the mere work demanded pretty nearly all 
 of my attention. Mr. Stokes gave me enough for two peo- 
 ple to do. He was a hard driver, but not on that account 
 disagreeable to work for, and he was certainly an able 
 editor. The other girls and women employed about the 
 establishment got along with him the best they could, and 
 according to what they were. When their positions didn't 
 depend on him, some of them flared up. The red-headed 
 forewoman in the bindery was a tartar. 
 
 "You're not my boss," I heard her saying to him one 
 morning and she went into his own office to say it, too. 
 "You keep out of my department, Mr. Stokes. Let me 
 alone, and let the girls that work there alone." 
 
 I didn't know what he'd done, but he just laughed at 
 her. He didn't seem to mind my hearing, either. He 
 knew he was a town scandal and rather liked it. 
 
 As for me, I was among those he hired and fired. I 
 had to get along with him or leave. So did more than one 
 woman reporter during the time I stayed there. I don't 
 think I could have stuck it out even the first week, if it 
 hadn't been for Miss Bailey, who was the assistant editor, 
 and Mrs. Stokes's sister. Her desk was in Mr. Stokes's 
 room. She did all the editorial work that he did not cover ;
 
 HUH NOT MUCH OF A HAND, HE SAID IN A 
 
 QUEER, HUSKY TONE. "NOT MUCH OF A HAND 
 TO EARN A LIVING WITH"
 
 A WOMAN'S JOB 185 
 
 society, book reviews, exchanges, and licking into shape the 
 work of the reporters a sulky, dissastified, incompetent 
 cub of a boy, and some hard-faced, objectionable-looking 
 girls. As to these latter, it was none of my business; I 
 didn't set up to judge them I tried not to know but I 
 couldn't help seeing that all the favours, and any good 
 chance, went to someone whom Mr. Stokes could describe 
 as "a sensible little woman," or "a good friend of mine." 
 There was a continual coming and going among these 
 folks; Miss Bailey used to fairly curse over their miser- 
 able copy. Occasionally she'd get one of them discharged 
 that way. But Mr. Stokes wouldn't give me any real 
 newspaper work ; I soon saw that. 
 
 Miss Bailey Rosalie, and the name was sort of pathetic 
 for her had a withered left arm. That entire side was 
 slightly paralysed, and had been from birth, so that the 
 helpless hand was smaller that her other, that side of her 
 face affected, and she spoke rather indistinctly. She 
 might have been handsome if it hadn't been for this afflic- 
 tion. It was touching to see her so brave and active, man- 
 aging her work with queer deftness, giving that little 
 swinging hand things to hold, putting its glove on it with 
 the help of her teeth. Pessimistic, yet with a sort of hardy 
 good spirits, she treated her Editor, to whom she spoke as 
 little as she possibly could, with brief, dry contempt. 
 
 My work was mostly in a sort of lumber room that they 
 called the library, dirty, full of books, files, cuts and 
 clippings. My typewriter stood in a little cubby off the 
 place where the reporters worked. I acquired the knack 
 of keeping myself out of reach when I was in Mr. Stokes's 
 room, had the door open as much as possible, and did his 
 personal work largely when Miss Bailey was in. Always 
 overworked, she would have drawn me into her department 
 if he had not been determinedly against it. Yet she did 
 ask me to get some society items for her from Miss 
 Chandler.
 
 186 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "Got a place on the 'Clarion' ?" said Eugenia when I 
 went to her for them. She studied me a minute. "Well, 
 newspaper work isn't so bad. I'm sure I wish you luck," 
 and she gave me the items I'd asked for. My work on the 
 "Clarion" brought me in contact with her more than once 
 after that, and she never so long as I held my job made 
 any reference to what had earlier been said between us. 
 
 When I asked Mr. Dale what he thought about the 
 new position, he said it seemed a pretty good idea if I 
 could get any chance at what the cubs were doing police 
 court reporting, fires and murders stuff with life in it 
 and death outside of Rosalie's division. 
 
 Delia had a sort of comfortable automatic fashion of 
 scolding me for not coming to see her more, and once or 
 twice made an appointment to take me to a matinee or an 
 interesting club meeting in the afternoon. I explained to 
 her that I was keeping up some of my outside work, and 
 that I was pretty tired most of the time when I was out of 
 the office. Sundays and evenings when Harvey was there, 
 I would not go, but I always did run over for a few min- 
 utes at other times when I was out to Mrs. Eccles's. 
 
 I didn't care what Harvey thought about it, but one day 
 when I met him on the street he put himself squarely in 
 my way and stopped me with : 
 
 "Well, still at the 'Clarion' office?" 
 
 "Yes," I answered, "and I'm due there right now." 
 
 He turned and caught step with me, eyeing me sidewise, 
 getting ready, I could see, to quarrel. I didn't help him 
 to begin, and we were pretty nearly to the office when he 
 said, 
 
 "Calla how does Bill Stokes treat you?" 
 
 "Like a father." I looked squarely up at Harvey, and 
 he certainly was mad. 
 
 "Like the devil!" he retorted. "Here hold on," for 
 we had reached the foot of the outside stairs, and I was 
 about to go up without another word.
 
 A WOMAN'S JOB 187 
 
 "Well ?" I waited impatiently. 
 
 "Why don't you ever drop in at the Cronin Building 
 like you used to ?" he asked. 
 
 "I went there on business, Harvey," I said with a little 
 spurt of temper. "At present I haven't got any business 
 there so I don't go. And now while we're speaking about 
 it, let me say that you've made it so that I don't feel like 
 visiting at your house, either. I hate that, because Delia 
 and I are old friends, and " 
 
 But Harvey had walked on. He wasn't going to listen 
 to anything like that. Up to this time he had never been 
 in the "Clarion" office since I was there. Miss Bailey 
 said the firm had quarrelled with the "Clarion" manage- 
 ment, but now this appeared to be patched up, for he began 
 coming there frequently, and would be out and in most any 
 time. 
 
 One afternoon when I was working in the office alone 
 the 'phone rang, and when I answered I got Harvey's voice* 
 over the wire asking if Mr. Stokes was in. 
 
 "No," I said, trying to make my voice different; 
 "but if you'll leave your number I'll have him call you 
 up." 
 
 "Who is there ?" I could get the agitation in Harvey's 
 tones even through the telephone. "Calla are you 
 alone?" I didn't answer, and he spoke again, "Calla 
 it is you, isn't it ?" 
 
 "What number did you say ? I'll have Mr. Stokes call 
 you up when he comes in," I repeated. 
 
 "You can't fool me, honey," I knew that Harvey was 
 bending close to the receiver, almost whispering into it. 
 "Calla why don't you ever come in to see me in the even- 
 ings like .you used to ? I want to take you out for a little 
 spin in the car. We could go " 
 
 "What number ?" 
 
 "Come this evening" 
 
 "No."
 
 188 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "To-morrow, then." 
 
 "No. I'll tell Mr. Stokes you rang him up." 
 
 "Calla " 
 
 I hung up the 'phone. 
 
 That was the last I saw or heard of him. Month fol- 
 lowed month till three of them had passed. I was working 
 so hard that I had almost forgotten everything outside 
 when one day I heard a familiar voice in Mr. Stokes's 
 room, and then somebody came to the door and looked into 
 the cubby-hole where my machine stood. It was Harvey. 
 He stopped there and spoke rather loud, since I was using 
 the typewriter. 
 
 "How do you do, Mrs. Baird how goes the work?" 
 
 "Pretty well, thank you," I answered both questions. 
 
 I went on with my typing, and he seemed quite set back. 
 Finally he came in and stood very close, looking down at 
 my hands. 
 
 "Please Calla," he whispered. 
 
 "Please what?" 
 
 "You know what I want well enough." 
 
 "I don't," without looking up from my machine. 
 
 "Just a little visit with you the car five o'clock 
 please, Calla !" 
 
 "No," I said explosively, and looked straight into Miss 
 Bailey's face where she stood in the door behind Harvey, 
 grinning. 
 
 "Cal," she drawled with that queer little blur on her 
 words, "pitch the man out. I want to come in. There 
 ain't room for three of us in here." 
 
 She had some copying to give me, and Harvey left. As 
 he went she looked after him. 
 
 "All alike ain't they?" she said. Then, in a more 
 hopeful tone, as she faced the hooks behind the door where 
 my hat and jacket hung, "Where you catch'em lid ? Hats 
 ain't all alike, and that's a cinch." 
 
 She was edging up to my new straw sailor, swinging her
 
 A WOMAN'S JOB 189 
 
 good side around so as to be able to get it down for closer 
 inspection. 
 
 "The basement at Snow's paid two bits for it, and put 
 the band and quill on for myself," I said. 
 
 "I call that chicle!" She turned it slowly round 
 on her doubled fist. "Cal, you've sure got the touch." She 
 tilted her head on one side and narrowed her eyes. 
 "Darned if you haven't made the thing look like you, too. 
 I'd know that lid for yours, if I met it in Hong Kong."
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 ADVICE 
 
 BOY thrived. He was such a robust, turbulent little 
 chap I wished he might have playmates. But if 
 he wanted a romp with Fairy, even, he had to go over to 
 Delia's, and Mrs. Eccles grumbled because he was there 
 so much. I went out unexpectedly once, late in the after- 
 noon, and found her alone. 
 
 "Over at Mrs. Watkins's," she sort of sniffed, when I 
 asked for Boy. "Mrs. Watkins has got the idea that it 
 pleases her husband to have Jawn about. He wouldn't go 
 all the time if she didn't coax him." 
 
 "Well, I'm glad they're so fond of him," I tried to 
 smooth matters. 
 
 "You may be pleased," she said rather sourly, "but it's 
 not good for the child. Mrs. Watkins doesn't know a 
 thing in the world about the care of them. I had Jawn all 
 systematised, and they let him eat any time of day, and 
 feed him things no child should have." 
 
 "I'll run over there and see him," I said. 
 
 "Send him right back home," Mrs. Eccles called after 
 me as I was leaving. "I'm making waists for him out of 
 some old white linen dresses of Mrs. Watkins's. I want 
 him to try on." 
 
 I found Boyce playing with the dog in the back yard at 
 the Watkins house, tearing around looking mighty hand- 
 some in a beautiful waist no doubt the first of the made- 
 overs from Delia's frocks. He seemed very appropriate in 
 that place of watered flowers, shaven sod and trim brick 
 walls, like a little prince. As he ran toward me whooping, 
 Wo Far came to the kitchen door with a little cake he had 
 baked for my son. I had a guilty feeling that Mrs. Eccles 
 
 190
 
 ADVICE 191 
 
 might frown upon me for not interfering, but I thanked 
 the Chinaman myself as I started to lead Boyce away. 
 We were just getting around the side of the house when 
 Delia popped her head out of an upstairs window, her hair 
 all down, a curler in her hand, crying, 
 
 "Did I hear Foncie down there?" 
 
 "Yes," I answered, "Mrs. Eccles wants Boy. I'll be 
 back in a minute." 
 
 "Come and sit with me while I dress," Delia called as 
 the child and I rushed away. 
 
 I saw Boy past the only street he would have to cross, 
 and turned back to Delia, going in through the entry and 
 up the back stairs to her room. I found her with evening 
 clothes laid out on the bed, herself dressed as to her skirts 
 and feet, a kimono drawn over her corset cover and bare 
 arms, sitting at the dressing table doing her hair. 
 
 "It's a dirty shame I can't ask you to stay for dinner," 
 she said, reaching up to kiss me, the lock she was placing 
 still in her fingers. "Tell you what, Foncie, you come 
 Sunday after next. We're out ourselves next Sunday. 
 Bring Jack; Wo Far makes us eat at two o'clock, Sun- 
 days." 
 
 "All right," I said ; "and Boy will love it." 
 
 "Wish you'd let me know beforehand that you'd be out 
 here to-day I'd have had you this evening. But 
 Harve 'phoned a while ago for me to come in and have 
 dinner with him and go to see 'The Blue Bird.' Would 
 you like to go with us ? I expect he could get another 
 ticket." 
 
 "No," I said positively ; I had looked a good while at a 
 four-bit piece that would have let me into the gallery, and 
 decided that I could spare neither it nor the hours of sleep. 
 "No, Delia don't ask him. I heard before I left town 
 that the house was all sold out." 
 
 "Is it?" Delia returned to her hairdressing with re- 
 newed energy, and spoke part of the time with hairpins in
 
 192 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 her mouth. "Harve's crazy about it. He got the book 
 for Jack wanted to take him to see the play, too. Mrs. 
 Eccles put her foot down on that. Of course the child 
 couldn't stay awake." She got up and shook her skirts. 
 "I suppose now you're on the paper you don't see much of 
 Mr. Dale any more ?" She began to get into the theatre 
 waist that I was to hook up. 
 
 "About as much as ever," I replied. "I do his work 
 after I come back at night. Why ?" 
 
 Delia laughed self-consciously, and even her good, 
 honest face put on that curious, sickly, silly expression that 
 I had seen on the faces of so many women when they spoke 
 of or to Frank Hollis Dale. No wonder that he rather 
 despised the sex if this was the way he generally saw them ! 
 
 "The Laurel Wreath wants to give him a reception while 
 the State Federation's here," Delia explained. 
 
 "When will it be?" I asked. 
 
 "Next month the Federation; but I don't know that 
 the reception will be at all," Delia said plaintively. "Mrs. 
 Ballinger went with a committee of invitation to see if they 
 couldn't make sure of him and he put them off. They 
 had to see him at the college, because of that ironclad rule 
 of no visitors at the bungalow. Oh, Foncie, you don't 
 know how many women here in San Vicente would give 
 their eye teeth to have the privilege that you get paid for ! 
 Don't laugh they would." 
 
 "I can't help laughing," I said. "Besides, I don't get 
 paid for it." 
 
 "Foncie!" 
 
 "Well, I started doing practice work for Mr. Dale, and 
 I guess he's forgotten that I'm out of school now and 
 might expect to be earning something." 
 
 "Is he mean about money ?" 
 
 "He's well, your friends have to have their little fail- 
 ings, and " 
 
 "Think of being able to call such a man as that your
 
 ADVICE 193 
 
 friend! Delia broke in. "Foncie do you believe you 
 could get him to come to the Laurel Wreath reception? 
 Will you try ? I'd do anything on earth for you." 
 
 "You've done a great deal for me, already, Delia," I 
 said heartily. "I have a reason I broke off, con- 
 fused "I have every reason for wishing specially to do 
 anything you want of me. But I don't like to ask 
 favours of men." 
 
 "What do you mean by that? Are you hinting about 
 Mr. Dale ?" 
 
 "I certainly am not," I said explicitly; "but I don't 
 want to ask any favours of him either, Delia. My instinct 
 is against it." 
 
 "Oh your instinct," Delia looked so bewildered that I 
 was hurried into telling something I should have preferred 
 to keep. 
 
 "He thinks I can make a writer of myself. He's done 
 a lot for me in the way of advice, and he asked me to say 
 nothing about it because he's refused others." 
 
 "I should say he has !" exclaimed Delia. "Why the 
 
 t/ / 
 
 local Federation pretty nearly went down on its knees to 
 that man to get him to give one little, measly critical talk 
 to our literary section. We all took up Aztec art and his- 
 tory heaven knows it's the dullest thing any human being 
 ever studied hoping to get hold of him that way, and 
 we offered to pay anything he'd ask. Foncie, as long as 
 he's done you one favour why not ask another ? Get him 
 to come to our reception." 
 
 "You'd see that I can't," I said, "if you'd ever sat as I 
 have and heard him talking with Dr. Eush. He loathes 
 being lionised he says it in so many words." 
 
 "I don't care whether he likes it or not," Delia hung on, 
 "I want him anyhow. I think you might do this for me, 
 Foncie. Harve and I have been discussing something for 
 you real important it would give you a chance in the 
 world. I can't tell you about it yet, but it seems to me
 
 194 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 that asking a man to go to a reception would be a small 
 return. Mr. Dale's already had our note. All we want is 
 for you to speak to him about it and get a definite answer." 
 
 "I can't ask favours of men," I repeated conclusively. 
 
 "I suggested your going and asking a man for a place 
 on the paper," Delia said, with a shrug that nettled me. 
 "That worked pretty well, didn't it ?" 
 
 "Pretty well," I echoed her words dryly. 
 
 "You don't seem very enthusiastic. I'm afraid Hoddy 
 prejudiced you with his talk about there being no chance 
 to get ahead in the 'Clarion' office." 
 
 I was hooking her up, and I looked straight into her 
 eyes in the glass, as I said, 
 
 "Oh, yes, there is. There's one chance to get on in that 
 office." " 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Mr. Stokes could promote me if he wanted to." 
 
 "Well can't you keep on the good side of him ?" 
 
 "I don't think I'd call it his good side. There you're 
 done now. Does the girdle go over or under these loops ?" 
 
 "Through them. Foncie what is it about Mr. Stokes ? 
 Doesn't he behave to you as a gentleman should ?" 
 
 I laughed out. 
 
 "Never mind," I said. "I'm sorry I spoke." 
 
 Delia gave up her dressing, sat down and pulled me 
 down beside her. 
 
 "What's the matter ? I've a right to know I as good 
 as got you the place." 
 
 "I'm not going to say another word." 
 
 "Yes you are." Delia whacked for emphasis with her 
 hair-brush on the dresser. "I want you to tell me exactly 
 what's happened to make you talk that way about Mr. 
 Stokes." 
 
 "Oh nothing much," I said with a sense of irritation. 
 "Harvey was right about him that's all." 
 
 "Oh, Foncie, I did think you were too bright to keep up
 
 ADVICE 195 
 
 the silly, sentimental ideas you got in a little place like 
 Stanleyton. You've no business with them in a city." 
 
 "Sentimental what do you mean?" I demanded. 
 
 "Flirting with every man you meet ; thinking they're all 
 in love with you thinking about those things at all 
 that's what I mean. You'll find that sex and economics 
 don't mix, Foncie." 
 
 "I wish the men were of your opinion," I flared. "I 
 didn't bring my ideas to San Vicente. Trouble met me 
 on the way here." 
 
 "Trouble ?" 
 
 "Yes. Oh, you don't know anything about it. Men 
 who would treat you with perfect respect will walk up to 
 me and " 
 
 "Oh " Delia's voice made a little offended slide on 
 the syllable "do you mean that you're so much more 
 attractive than I am?" 
 
 "Attractive?" It burst upon me that she considered 
 this sort of thing a compliment. "For heaven's sake no ! 
 I suppose any woman thrown out into the world helpless 
 to earn her living, without family backing, finds just what 
 I've found." 
 
 "People find what they're looking for, Foncie." Delia 
 shook her head. "I'm never looking for anything im- 
 proper er off colour. I dislike to hear about it even. 
 What did you mean by saying that trouble met you on 
 your way to San Vicente ?" 
 
 I laughed so that it made Delia mad at last. I was 
 sorry for that, and hurried to say, 
 
 "The first man I met at the railroad station took me for 
 a runaway schoolgirl, and proposed to pick me up as he 
 would have picked up a woman off the streets." 
 
 "A man on the railway." Delia's eyes were round. 
 "Well, I know who that is. You told me yourself about 
 the Tipton boy 
 
 "Delia!" I cried aghast, "you mustn't it isn't fair.
 
 196 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 Poor Joe's been one of the kindest friends I ever had. 
 He's just a child " 
 
 "He's a little drunkard. Everybody knows that his 
 wildness is breaking his mother's heart. I notice you 
 haven't denied that it was Joe Tipton." 
 
 "Certainly I deny it. It wasn't Joe. Oh, I wish I had 
 never said such a word to you !" 
 
 "And he's a man that treats me respectfully?" Delia 
 was groping. 
 
 "I suppose he would of course." 
 
 "Does he live in San Vicente ?" 
 
 She saw by my look that she had guessed right, and 
 tried again. 
 
 "In Las Reudas ?" 
 
 My face began to burn. 
 
 "Right here near us? Yes yes, he does! I see it 
 you needn't deny it." 
 
 "Now, Delia, I never said " 
 
 "On which side of the street ? Across ? It couldn't be 
 Mr. Steffins ? He's a minister but he does travel a good 
 deal. Who was it, Foncie ? Don't be mean. Come on 
 tell me. Who was it ?" 
 
 Why couldn't I have kept my mouth shut ? Now Delia 
 would be eyeing every man on the block with suspicion, 
 trying to fit the story to him and ten chances to one never 
 thinking of the real culprit. 
 
 "Please let it drop, Dele," I urged. 
 
 "Maybe you were mistaken." Delia's tone was full of 
 disappointment. She grabbed up the powder puff and 
 began dusting her nose. "You always were that way, 
 Foncie, dear. You believed that every boy in town was 
 crazy about you. Of course it hadn't taken any morbid 
 turn in your mind then naturally it wouldn't, at that 
 early age but didn't you even tell me, when I was visit- 
 ing at Uncle Rob's, that Harve my old Hoddy had been 
 one of your admirers before I met him ?"
 
 ADVICE 197 
 
 "It's a long time ago, and not worth quarrelling over, 
 Delia, but the fact is I never said anything of the sort to 
 you. Anyhow there's quite a difference between a school- 
 girl's idea that somebody admires her, and a divorced 
 woman finding that most of the men she's thrown in con- 
 tact with regard her as of easy virtue." 
 
 "Foncie! What a vulgar phrase! I never heard it 
 spoken before in my life; you must have got it out of a 
 bad French novel. I'm afraid you just make up your 
 mind that the men mean something wrong, and behave as 
 if they did and there you are." 
 
 "Yes," I said, "there I am. I want to go around past 
 Mrs. Eccles's, so I think I'll take the other line. Good- 
 bye." 
 
 "Well, don't fly off like that," Delia dived for her hat, 
 gloves, opera glasses and motor wrap, since they would be 
 coming home in the machine. "Wait a minute and I'll walk 
 as far as the street with you." 
 
 Not another word was said till we got to the front door, 
 then Delia began, 
 
 "Foncie, I don't want you to get the impression that I'm 
 picking at you, but indeed and truly I feel you need a word 
 of advice. Look at me and the women I go with. We 
 take up subjects of study that develop the mind and keep 
 it from running on such things as you've been talking 
 about." 
 
 "Study," I echoed "Aztec art, for instance." 
 
 I knew it was hateful, but by this time I was too mad 
 to care. 
 
 "Yes Aztec art." Delia's voice wabbled a little, but 
 she wouldn't give up. "That sort of thing broadens a 
 woman. It makes her attractive to the right kind of men 
 in the right kind of way." 
 
 "But not attractive enough to get them to come to a 
 reception when you want them to," I snapped. "What's 
 the use, Dele I've got no time for courses of study."
 
 198 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "Well you need it or something. Your talk back there 
 in the room sounded like an oversexed girl one that 
 couldn't associate with a man on any other ground." 
 
 As we moved in angry silence down the walk, I stepped 
 on Fairy and she yelped frightfully. Delia glared at me, 
 as though I had tried to kill the little creature. When it 
 came to where our ways parted I stopped and faced her, 
 
 "Do you mean to say I'm that ?" I asked. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Oversexed." 
 Her face crimsoned. 
 
 "I never said such a thing," she protested tartly. 
 
 "You used the word." 
 
 "I said that what you said sounded like it," she quib- 
 bled. "It did. Just think a minute of the string of stuff 
 you told me why, you knocked every man you mentioned. 
 It's an awful habit to get into. I wonder " 
 
 She broke off and looked up and down the street. A 
 young fellow in knickerbockers and cap was crossing from 
 the direction of the country club, a couple of dogs at his 
 heels. I saw she was trying to make up her mind which 
 neighbour of hers I had accused. 
 
 "Oh, for goodness' sake don't begin on that again!" I 
 forestalled her. "It won't do you any good. I'm not going 
 to tell." 
 
 "Well, I " Delia began; then the young fellow with 
 the dogs came abreast of us. As I whirled, he pulled off 
 his cap; I saw the forward duck of the sleek dark head. 
 "Good evening, Mr. Pendleton," Delia finished. 
 
 He stopped to shake hands. Delia seemed pleased, and 
 flustered. "Let let me present you to my friend, Mrs. 
 Baird," she offered effusively. 
 
 Young Pendleton slid an amused glance my way. 
 
 "Oh, we're already acquainted," he said, shaking my 
 hand in turn. "I met Mrs. Baird on her way to San 
 Vicente."
 
 ADVICE 199 
 
 "Uh " Delia stared. "Uh why yes." Bewilder- 
 ment held her quiet. There wasn't anything I could do ex- 
 cept to cut it short and get away, though I did leave them 
 there together. Now she would have something to say to 
 me at that coming Sunday dinner ! I was prickles all over, 
 as I went around for my visit with Boy. Yet later, riding 
 home in the car, I laughed to myself half hysterically. 
 Things were in a foolish, foolish mess but it was funny. 
 I wondered if Delia would tell me next time I met her 
 that Al Pendleton had always treated her as a gentleman 
 should ! I was sorry to have set off a thing like that about 
 her next door neighbour, and yet I couldn't let poor Joe Ed 
 stand for it. 
 
 Joe Ed had taken to coming to the house a good deal 
 more than I wished he would, waylaying me in the halls, 
 sitting on the couch down there and strumming on his 
 ukelele and singing "I Love You, California." He said 
 "Cap" would want to know how I was getting on. He told 
 me of Bice, who hadn't been able to get steady work, and 
 was drifting from one San Francisco saloon to another 
 doing odd jobs. He brought a gift for Boyce from the 
 negro, a minute silk handkerchief of ferocious colouring, 
 which appealed so directly to my son's taste that it at once 
 became almost a part of his person. But the last time Joe 
 Ed was up, I thought that underneath the fun and banter 
 there was something like worry. 
 
 All this was on my mind as I got off the car, and it 
 seemed like an echo of my thoughts when I heard, very 
 guarded, sounding from the shadows of the little alleyway 
 that led to M'r. Dale's bungalow, that same old tune 
 whistled as nobody but Joe Ed ever whistled it. I stopped 
 in the light of the doorway. The whistle stopped too. I 
 took a step and got out my key. The whistling started up 
 again a little louder. I turned and called, 
 
 "Joe is that you?" 
 
 Eor answer there came a warning hiss, an arm waved
 
 200 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 from behind the vines, and I went down to find the boy 
 lurking there. 
 
 "Callie," he said hurriedly, "I want to ask a favour of 
 you. Come back here where it's dark. Could you pack 
 my extra things that are on the top shelf of your closet in 
 Billy's suit-case it's under the bed or around some- 
 where and sneak them out to me ? I hate to ask you, 
 but " 
 
 He broke off, and we stood together in the dark there 
 quite a minute. Then he reached out and caught both my 
 hands, whispering, 
 
 "You're a good little scout! I do hate to ask you, 
 honey !" 
 
 "Good evening. Oh, it's you, Mrs. Baird. I'd given 
 you up, and was going out. Are you intending to work 
 to-night ?" 
 
 Mr. Dale stopped and appeared to survey us. He must 
 have had that kind of eyes that can see in the dark, for I 
 noticed that the lift of his hat included Joe Ed. Then I 
 realised that coming from his end of the tunnel he had got 
 the silhouette of our figures against the light of the street. 
 "Yes, of course if you want me to." 
 
 "I'll be back in five minutes," Mr. Dale snapped his 
 watch he certainly did have cat's eyes to see it where we 
 stood. "I'll just go down to the drug-store and get a 
 cigar and be with you." 
 
 He passed on. The smoking was a new thing which 
 Dr. Rush had begun to allow him only a week ago, saying 
 that he was now a practically sound man. As soon as he 
 was gone I said to Joe Ed, 
 
 "I'll get the things right now if you'll wait here." 
 
 "Good girl," he detained me, holding to my hand. "She 
 doesn't ask why I daresn't go in the house. Just like her. 
 Don't bring the stuff out yet somebody might see you. 
 I'll go along now, and you meet me over in the square after 
 you're done with Dale."
 
 ADVICE 201 
 
 "It may be pretty late," I hesitated. "Sometimes we 
 work till after eleven." 
 
 "All the better," Joe Ed whispered nervously. "You'll 
 make sure that nobody sees you ?" 
 
 We had rather an extra amount of work on hand that 
 night, and I was so uneasy about Joe Ed that Mr. Dale 
 finally asked me what was the matter. Eor the sake of 
 having something to say I told him about Delia's plea. He 
 laughed in his usual half-sarcastic fashion, and made no 
 sort of answer. At last we were done; I got away at a 
 quarter past eleven. 
 
 It took me only a few minutes to pack the suit-case, for 
 I had sorted out everything that didn't belong to me weeks 
 ago. Then there was the question of getting it to Joe Ed 
 without being seen. I opened the door and cautiously 
 scouted the halls. There seemed to be no one in the front 
 one downstairs; but voices from the kitchen showed me 
 that I might meet the girls coming up. I covered the suit- 
 case with some loose garments as though it had been sewing 
 for Miss Chandler, took it up in my arms and ran breath- 
 lessly to refuge in her little passageway. I was there when 
 Addie and Orma went by up to their room. I dropped off 
 the garments and left them, slipping on down the big 
 stairway, finding a light in the front hall, but the portieres 
 were pulled in such a way that if there was a late lingerer 
 by the hearth, I could get past unnoticed. 
 
 Once out on the street I took a free breath, and walked 
 on, holding up my head. I found Joe Ed over in the little 
 square. He stepped out from beneath a palm tree and 
 took the suit-case from me, thrust an arm through mine 
 and hurried me along to the further end of the place 
 where a bench stood in the shadows. The minute he spoke 
 I remembered what Delia had said, for it was very plain he 
 had been drinking. He was flurried, excited, out of him- 
 self not at all like anything I had ever seen of him. He 
 spoke again about my being so good not to ask questions.
 
 202 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "Just because you don't I'm going to tell you," he 
 said. "I've got to skip. There are papers out after me. 
 Some shyster lawyer's got hold of Addie and I've got 
 to skip." 
 
 We had taken the bench in the shadows, but he couldn't 
 sit still ; he got up and pulled me with him, and we walked 
 back and forth. 
 
 "You've got troubles enough of your own," he went on, 
 "and here I'm dumping mine on your doorstep. I'll bet 
 you hate me for it all right." 
 
 "I'm very fond of you, Joe. I'm glad to do anything 
 to help." I said it sincerely. "I don't forget how good 
 you were to me. You've always been different from the 
 others. They " 
 
 "Different!" he broke in, turning to look down at me 
 from his tall height. "Different like hell I am! I've 
 been dead in love with you from the first minute I saw you 
 in the vestibule there Cap giving you what-for you 
 standing up to him like a soldier. I suppose this isn't a 
 very good time to ask a lady to marry you but you say 
 the word, honey, and we'll skip together. I've got thirty 
 dollars in my pocket. ~Not much but it'd keep us a few 
 days I can always get a job. What ?" 
 
 I laughed at him. Yet I don't suppose there ever was 
 the woman on earth who could receive any sort of a pro- 
 posal of marriage without a thrill. 
 
 "What's funny about it?" he demanded, pulling up 
 jerkily. "You've got your divorce haven't you ? We 
 could get married all righty. Come on. You don't think 
 so, but I'd take good care of you." 
 
 "Joe," I spoke solemnly, "how old are you ?" 
 
 "What's that got to do with it? I'm good and plenty 
 taller than you are see ?" He reached around and meas- 
 ured the height of my head against his shoulder. 
 
 "How old are you ?" I repeated.
 
 ADVICE 203 
 
 "We-el," reluctantly, in a tone of argument, "I'll vote 
 next Presidential election." 
 
 "I could have voted last election," I said, "if I'd regis- 
 tered for it. You're just a boy, Joe. I'm a divorced 
 woman, with a child dependent upon me. You want to 
 get it out of your foolish mind that you're in love with me." 
 
 "California," he sighed, dropping the suit-case he had 
 carried till now, putting both hands on my shoulders and 
 turning me to such dim light as there was, so he could 
 look full in my face, "you're no expert on the love game 
 I see that. My mind ? Folks don't fall in love with their 
 minds. As far as you and I are concerned, I fell in all 
 over. But let it pass, honey. Of course, you're dead 
 right. Here you are with the kid and the only helping 
 hand I give you is when I reach out and try to pull you 
 into my kettle of hot water. Kiss me good-bye and I'll 
 go."
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE CHANCE I GOT 
 
 I WAS glad that Joe Ed had asked me to sneak out his 
 runaway duds; glad I had been the one to spare his 
 mother that. The heart of such a woman is as im- 
 penetrable as a deep, deep pool ; but in the weeks that fol- 
 lowed Joe Ed's departure, she appeared to get thinner and 
 thinner, and that little fluting yoice of hers went up and 
 up till it was a mere chirp. I think nobody else noticed 
 it, and I only saw it because I had the key to the situa- 
 tion. I couldn't say that her manner toward me was 
 kinder ; it had always been suave courtesy itself, but I used 
 to fancy sometimes she lingered in my neighbourhood, not 
 as if she were going to speak, but as if being there was a 
 sort of communication. 
 
 I got one letter from Joe Ed calling himself names and 
 apologising; he seemed to feel that he had finally and 
 once for all done for any good opinion I might ever have 
 had of him. Yet he was an incorrigibly cheerful soul ; he 
 said nobody was to worry about him ; that he'd get along 
 he always had. There was no address. He thought he'd 
 keep on the wing for a while. At the end he told me that 
 he was ashamed of the way he asked me to marry him 
 but that he meant it all the same, and the offer was still 
 open. 
 
 My own affairs at the "Clarion" office had shaped them- 
 selves into a sort of routine ; I didn't trouble myself much 
 about Mr. Stokes now, except when I tried again to get 
 him to give me a really worth-while assignment. He al- 
 ways put me off but held out hopes. It kept me sitting 
 on the edge of my chair, and mad enough to bite. He 
 certainly was a bully. Rosalie said she knew men like a 
 
 204
 
 THE CHANCE I GOT 205 
 
 book. I suppose she did but, according to her view, the 
 story was a disagreeable one. I was always asking her if 
 she believed Mr. Stokes would ever let me have my chance, 
 and finally she said: 
 
 "I'll tell you what you do, Cal. The next time he goes 
 to San Francisco on a drunk oh, you needn't look sur- 
 prised; that's all he ever goes up there for; he doesn't 
 drink in San Vicente the next time he's fixing to start, 
 you ask him for an assignment, and I'll back you. He's 
 easy when he wants to get off for a spree." 
 
 But, to my surprise, it was Mr. Stokes himself who ac- 
 tually made me the offer. It was Saturday evening ; I was 
 sitting later than usual, hurrying through some letters he 
 had dictated at the last minute. I thought he had already 
 left the office, when I heard him get up, come to the open 
 door between the rooms; and I could see out of the cor- 
 ner of my eye that he stood there staring at me. 
 
 "Sis still got writing ambitions ?" he grunted. My 
 fingers on the keys stopped instantly. I looked up. 
 
 "Are you going to give me something ?" 
 
 "Do you think you and Bailey could handle local pol- 
 itics with me away?" He kept looking at me. "I 
 reckon I oughtn't to go up to Frisco and leave you two 
 light-weights to hold this down." 
 
 "What is it ?" I tried to be calm. 
 
 "I've just heard that Murphy and Turk Thompson have 
 got a little caucus on in the back room of a saloon out at 
 the edge of town on Millward street. There's to be slate- 
 making. They won't get together much before midnight. 
 The Frisco train that I want leaves at ten o'clock, but I've 
 got to stay over and cover the thing because you two fe- 
 males would be afraid to go out there." 
 
 "We wouldn't." My voice wavered a little. "Eosy's 
 never afraid of anything. You know it." 
 
 "How about you ?" 
 
 "Just try me." 
 
 I got up from the machine with my finished letters flut-
 
 206 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 tering in my hands, I was so excited. I was to sign them 
 with a rubber stamp and get them off. Mr. Stokes began 
 to back out of the doorway. 
 
 "If Rosalie'll go, I will," I said. "We'll be together. 
 Newspaper reporters have to go everywhere at all sorts of 
 times." 
 
 "All right you for it." He stumped back to his desk ; 
 I heard him slamming things around and whistling as he 
 made ready for San Francisco, and his spree. 
 
 ''Where do I meet Miss Bailey when ?" I called in to 
 him. 
 
 "Leave the car at the corner of Millward and Chandler 
 streets. She'll be waiting. I told you they wouldn't get 
 at it much before midnight," and he went whistling and 
 clattering downstairs like a big, clumsy boy let out of 
 school. 
 
 I found myself ridiculously excited, and had to calm 
 down ; Mrs. Eccles was to bring Boy to the Poinsettia that 
 evening not earlier than six o'clock. I intended to keep 
 him for the night, a thing I had managed twice before 
 without Mrs. Thrasher's knowing of it. She made no ob- 
 jection to his daylight visits, but I knew without asking 
 that she wouldn't give permission fqr his staying over 
 night. She'd think it was the entering wedge. I got my 
 pay envelope as I went out past the desk. I carried home 
 a pint of good milk and a delicatessen meal in little paste- 
 board cartons. Of course, I should be taking a risk to 
 go out and leave him alone in the room, but the appoint- 
 ment was so late that I thought he would be certain to 
 sleep or I might speak to Onna about him. 
 
 We had quite a joyful feast, making a funny game of 
 whispering and stepping very softly, and at half-past seven 
 I threw myself on the bed beside him and lay there till he 
 was fast asleep. I dropped off myself, and wakened with 
 a start to hear the clock on the landing strike eleven ! 
 
 I jumped up and grabbed my hat and notebook. Sup- 
 pose poor Rosalie got out there and waited for me ? Sup-
 
 THE CHANCE I GOT 207 
 
 pose I didn't arrive till after the meeting was over ? I 
 never gave a thought to telling Orma that Boy was in my 
 room I just ran down the steps and hurried ont to catch 
 the first Chandler street car I could. At that hour I had 
 the street car all to myself. It was a longer ride than I 
 had expected, but finally the conductor called me for Mill- 
 ward street. Was I too late ? Xo as I climbed down 
 from the car I saw a figure waiting in the shadow of the 
 eucalyptus. I went toward the curb; the car hummed on 
 without me. This figure detached itself from the dark- 
 ness and came forward. It was Mr. Stokes. 
 
 I'm not suspicious. I looked right past him for Miss 
 Bailey. 
 
 "Where's Rosalie?" I asked, jealously. "What made 
 you stay over ? She and I could look after it. What was 
 the use of my coming away out here if you were going to 
 do the work ?" 
 
 "You're late," he grunted. "I'd begun to think you 
 weren't coming at all. Here. This w 
 
 He took hold of my arm and steered me down the side 
 street, where a row of pepper trees dropped their green 
 laces so low that an occasional branch touched vou as vou 
 
 
 
 walked under. It didn't look the kind of place where 
 you'd find a saloon. I pulled back, demanding: 
 
 "Is Rosalie down ther 
 
 "Don't ask so many questions," lunging to take my arm 
 again. I sidled away. 
 
 "Am I to help you report the meeting ? I wouldn't have 
 come if you'd told me that." 
 
 I looked about, warily holding my distance from Mr. 
 Stokes. We were midway of a long, dark block as far 
 back as forward I'd better keep on with him. 
 
 "You needn't get sassy, either. I want to talk to you, 
 Sister. You don't give me any chance in the office.'' 
 
 "Talk, then," I said, getting ahead as fast as I could 
 almost running. I meant to dodge right down the other 
 street at the next corner, whatever he might think of me.
 
 208 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "Don't, be in such a darned hurry." He lumbered along 
 beside me. "You might as well be nice now you're out 
 here. Hold on ; it ain't going to hurt you to love me a lit- 
 tle. You'd get along better in the office if you did." 
 
 I'd kept as much of the sidewalk between us as I could. 
 But he was crowding toward my side so that it was either 
 to go off in the weeds or have him take my arm again. 
 Well, we were at the corner. I faced round on him. 
 
 "Love you !" I spluttered. "I wouldn't love you if you 
 were the last man in the world! You had no business 
 
 "Shucks !" he broke in, grabbing for me. "We needn't 
 split hairs over a word. You know why I gave you a place. 
 You know I think a lot of you. I do. I'd care more for 
 you than for any of them. You can't stay in the same of- 
 fice with me and keep standing me off." 
 
 "Stay in the same office with you !" I choked. "Do you 
 think I'll ever put my foot in the 'Clarion' office again 
 after this ? You can tell them so and why !" 
 
 I dodged past him and ran as I never knew I could 
 run. I heard him call after me, and flew the faster. I 
 thought I rounded the next corner toward Chandler street 
 and the car line, but the streets were cut differently here ; 
 no car line was in sight. I had lost my hat ; my hair was 
 down. I was glad that all about me was dim and silent. 
 I brought up suddenly with the knowledge that it must be 
 well past midnight and I didn't know where I was. 
 
 I tried to calm myself and take my bearings. Most of 
 the hairpins were gone from my hair ; I finally braided it 
 in a single plait down my back, trying all the time to get 
 back to Chandler street. I was thoroughly lost. Well, 
 anyhow, I didn't look fit to get on a street car ; I just took 
 the general direction by the tower of the Cronin Building 
 and started in to walk it. The steady movement did me 
 good. By the time I got in the streets I knew I was quite 
 steadied down. I pretty nearly went to pieces again 
 though when I reached the Poinsettia door, felt for my
 
 THE CHANCE I GOT 209 
 
 latch-key and found it wasn't there ! I'd lost it. Here it 
 was, after two o'clock; I was locked out, Boy up in my 
 room, and no one knew of his being there. I walked along 
 the two sides of the house, looking up at its windows ; all 
 black, except where they caught the reflection from the 
 street lamps. If I could have reached Mrs. Tipton but 
 her window was above the tunnel; no way to get at it. 
 Grotesquely enough, the only windows I could easily 
 reach would be those of Mrs. Thrasher and Mrs. or Miss 
 Tutt. I could fling a handful of gravel up to any of 
 these, and I giggled a little hysterically at the thought. 
 If I rang the bell to get hold of Orma, the house would 
 be roused and everybody would have to know the story 
 to-morrow. I stole down the tunnel to see if, by any 
 blessed chance, Mr. Dale should have been working late. 
 No his little dwelling was as black and still as the other, 
 the curtains drawn on his sleeping porch. I must have 
 prowled around there for a quarter of an hour, trying to 
 find some way to climb up to the kitchen roof once there, 
 I could easily get in at the window. I am light and active 
 for a woman ; but the thing was hopeless. 
 
 Twice I went and stood under the sleeping porch and 
 spoke Mr. Dale's name in a guarded tone, but it didn't 
 rouse him. Finally, as I was trying to clamber up on the 
 garbage can that stood by the kitchen steps, I felt sure I 
 heard Boyce in the room above cry out. I must get in 
 there. Of course, he often did call out in his sleep 
 and then make no further disturbance, but if he once 
 waked up and found himself alone, he'd raise the house 
 and then I should have to leave the Poinsettia in disgrace. 
 
 Half laughing, I ran back once more to the bungalow's 
 sleeping porch, called Mr. Dale's name sharply this time 
 with no result. Then I put a hasty hand through the 
 curtain, shaking them a little, fumbled forward, and be- 
 fore I knew it, touched his face. 
 
 "Oh!" I spoke louder than I had done yet. "Mr. 
 Dale!"
 
 210 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "Yes. What? Who is it?" His voice answered 
 promptly. 
 
 "It's Mrs. Baird " I got no further ; his feet struck 
 
 the floor, as he interrupted : 
 
 "Yes. Wait a minute. I'll open the door for you." 
 
 "I I'm locked out," I called through the curtains. "I 
 forgot my key. Boy's in my room. I must get in to him. 
 I thought ntaybe you could help me the window." 
 
 "Oh certainly." Mr. Dale's first replies had been in 
 that odd tone one gets from a person just roused from 
 deep sleep. Now he spoke like his normal self. "I'll get 
 something on and be with you in a minute," he said. 
 
 I went back to my hopeful garbage can, which was as 
 tall as a barrel, yet with an inhospitable, peaked top. Al- 
 most immediately he joined me there, sized up the situa- 
 tion, and went to his house for a step-ladder. The ad- 
 venture seemed to amuse him. 
 
 "I shouldn't need it for myself," he said, as he came 
 back with the easy way, "but I pay you the compliment of 
 supposing that this is out of the common for you. Up you 
 go no, I'll have to get there first and reach down for 
 you." 
 
 We whispered and laughed like truant children. He 
 went up the ladder, caught the roof edge and swung him- 
 self to it easily, then lay on its flat surface and reached 
 down for me. 
 
 "Come on," he urged. "Don't be afraid. I can lift 
 your weight. I used to be rather good at this sort of 
 thing." 
 
 "I don't know what I stiould Have done without you," I 
 whispered energetically, as he got me across the flat roof 
 to my window sill, and pulled the sash open for me. 
 "Thank you a thousand times." 
 
 "You're a thousand times welcome." Mr. Dale slid 
 back toward the roof edge and the ladder, and I went in 
 to Boy.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 A BBEACH 
 
 1WAS so worn out, and burnt out with the rage I'd 
 been in and the terror, that I just pulled off a few of 
 my clothes and crawled in beside Boy and slept like a 
 stoker. I'd lost my job; I had a horrid sinking feeling 
 that I wasn't a very good person to get and hold a job 
 but to-morrow was another day it would have to take care 
 of itself at the minute my mere physical exhaustion 
 brought me peace. 
 
 The first light waked me, showed me my dusty shoes in 
 the middle of the floor, and brought back the whole thing. 
 It was Sunday morning. Mrs. Eccles was spending the 
 day with her daughter at Corinth. Boy and I were due 
 out at Delia's for that two o'clock Sunday dinner. It 
 would be the first time I'd seen her since she walked away 
 beside young Pendleton, and now I had to tell her of my 
 leaving the "Clarion" and why. I lay there quite a 
 while ; the more I thought about it, the more I determined 
 to tell her and Harvey a? little as I possibly could. Let 
 them think what they pleased. The only thing that could 
 hurt me was self-distrust. 
 
 I went back over the months since I'd Jeft my husband. 
 It was nearly a year now. In a few weeks my decree of 
 divorce would be made final. A little more than three 
 months of the time had gone to my schooling at the busi- 
 ness college. I had done well there. My work since with 
 Mr. Dale had kept up my practice. I wondered if I dared 
 try San Francisco. Maybe it would be a good thing for 
 me to get away from San Vicente. The idea may have 
 been only cowardice a disposition to turn my back on 
 
 " 211
 
 212 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 the problem that was too hard for me but it certainly 
 seemed very attractive. Then Boy woke up and there was 
 no more thinking possible. 
 
 The worst I had expected was that Delia would look 
 terribly knowing when we met, and that as soon as she got 
 me alone, I'd be in for another lecture. But you know 
 how it is that sometimes you go to a friend's house and the 
 atmosphere is different all queer you feel as though 
 something had happened there since you last saw the 
 folks that had made a change, and you don't know what it 
 is, and keep trying to find out without asking. It was 
 that way at Delia's from the minute she met me in the 
 hall, and hardly waited to kiss me before she called in to 
 the living-room: 
 
 "Hod they've come." 
 
 Harvey came right out, and Boy ran to him to show his 
 new socks with blue plaid at their tops. It was kind of 
 funny to see Harvey and Delia stand there side by side 
 like people in a picture, or the President and his lady hold- 
 ing a reception. It struck me that I had never seen them 
 stand just that way, for this time it wasn't Delia who 
 reached out and took hold of her husband ; Harvey put his 
 hand on her shoulder to call her attention as he asked : 
 
 "Are those the ones you got for Buster, Deedie?" 
 
 It turned out that they were the ones. Delia pretty 
 nearly dressed Boy these days; she bent down now to 
 straighten up the socks of her choosing and purchasing, 
 and fluff out the tie that matched them, demanding: 
 
 "Don't they go perfectly together ? I had the greatest 
 time getting just that shade of Holland blue, but I would 
 have it because it washes so well." 
 
 We higgle-haggled through the dinner ; the conversation 
 bumped along like a wagon on a corduroy road. There 
 seemed to be nothing but contention in the air. Every- 
 thing that came up was disagreed about. It didn't seem 
 to me that I was the one who started it; I had made up
 
 A BREACH 213 
 
 mj mind that since the deluge was to arrive to-morrow 
 anyhow, I would try to be cheerful to-day and not think 
 about it ; but whether we spoke of the weather or the pos- 
 sibility of Judge Hoard running for Congress, I found 
 myself on one side, with Harvey and Dele solid on the 
 other. I was used to Harvey's almost abject laudation of 
 the judge he had cases coming up before him. And what 
 was it to me that Delia kept speaking of Miss Chandler as 
 "Gene" remarking that they hadn't been thrown together 
 much of late, but it was an old friendship. Yet I did find 
 it hard to hold my tongue when, failing to get a rise out 
 of me, she gave me a disparaging side glance and ob- 
 served, "Of course, Gene stands where she can afford to 
 be well select." 
 
 Boy was across the table from me; he kept feeding 
 Fairy, and Dele wouldn't let me stop him, though the dog's 
 noise pretty nearly broke up any sort of conversation, and 
 she complained of it herself. They seemed to have their 
 own ideas about my son, so I let his eating alone, though a 
 good deal of it went squarely against my rules. I could 
 see what Mrs. Eccles meant by saying it wasn't good for 
 him to be there so much. Well never mind maybe we 
 wouldn't stay in San Vicente much longer. They cer- 
 tainly had done a great deal for the child. 
 
 When we got up from the table Harvey proposed to take 
 Boy out with him in the car. 
 
 "We'll only be gone about half an hour, Deedie," he 
 said; "just to the Heights and back; you girls can have 
 your talk, and then come for a ride with us afterward if 
 you want to." 
 
 "You'd better make it an hour." Delia was very busi- 
 ness-like. "Fornia and I will want that much time any- 
 how." 
 
 I stared in surprise while Harvey got his dust coat and 
 cap, and he and Boy clattered away, the dog at their heels, 
 to the garage for the machine. He and Delia seemed to
 
 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 have it all arranged between them; how did they 
 know that there was anything special I wanted to say to 
 her? 
 
 "Shall we sit in the library ?" Delia asked. "Or would 
 you rather go up to nay room ? We'd be more alone up 
 there." 
 
 "I guess we'd better sit here, hadn't we?" I led the 
 way into the room they called the library. "It won't take 
 me long to tell you the news." 
 
 "News ?" Delia looked startled. 
 
 "Yes. I've left the 'Clarion.' Now, don't ask me why. 
 It wouldn't do a bit of good to tell you, because I'm never 
 going back there." 
 
 "What are you going to do ?" 
 
 I had got into a Morris chair and sat staring straight 
 at the hearth, where Wo Par's laid fire waited for the 
 match anybody might care to touch to it on a foggy day 
 or for a chilly evening, July though it was. 
 
 "I haven't made up my mind." I didn't glance at 
 Delia, but I knew just how she sat, looking sort of plump 
 and propped-up, in her own particular rocker across from 
 me. The air between us was full of accusation and re- 
 proof. 
 
 "What do you want to do ?" she asked, and I was re- 
 lieved that she did not instantly try to find out the reason 
 for my leaving the "Clarion" so suddenly. 
 
 "I don't quite know," I hesitated. "I sort of think I'd 
 like to go to San Francisco if I could get work there." 
 
 "You oughtn't to take Jack to the city." Delia spoke 
 very positively. 
 
 "Perhaps not. It's the thing that troubles me right 
 now." 
 
 "We'd keep him. We want to Poncie, that's what I 
 was going to talk to you about to-day." 
 
 I looked at her in surprise; her tone was so queer. 
 There she sat on the edge of her chair, sure enough
 
 A BREACH 215 
 
 staring at me with very round eyes and a kind of fas- 
 cinated curiosity, as if I had been some strange animal 
 she had never seen before. It came over me all at once 
 that what she and Harvey were fixing for had nothing to 
 do with my personal plans, but concerned something they 
 were arranging themselves. 
 
 "You wanted to talk to me ?" I echoed. 
 
 "Yes. When you told me that awful thing about Al 
 Pendleton I went straight to Hod with it." 
 
 "You did ?" (But, of course, I might have known she 
 would.) "Please remember that I didn't tell you any- 
 thing about that matter, Delia. You jumped to your own 
 conclusions. You may be entirely wrong. I'm not say- 
 ing anything." 
 
 "You don't have to. I know all about it, and " she 
 
 gulped "and the other, too." 
 
 "What other ?" 
 
 "Hod." 
 
 "What!" I half started up from my chair. Delia 
 reached to pull me back. 
 
 "Yes, Hod." She nodded palely. "He was so mad 
 about Pendleton that I knew there was something wrong, 
 and I taxed him with it." 
 
 "You " I broke in, but she ran right over me, ex- 
 cited, fluent. 
 
 "He didn't try to deceive me but there wouldn't have 
 been any use if he had. As soon as I got to thinking about 
 it, I saw the whole thing. I've forgiven him and I for- 
 give you, Foncie. I'm willing to take the little boy, just 
 the same." 
 
 "You forgive you're willing! Delia, there's been 
 nothing to forgive. You talk as though " 
 
 "We needn't go into it." Delia shut her lips hard to- 
 gether and shook her head. "I guess Hoddy gave me the 
 facts before he was done with it. He was on his knees at 
 the last, and pretty near crying. I'm not mad at you.
 
 216 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 I'm not the least bit jealous. I'm sorry for you but, of 
 course, after this we can't " 
 
 I jumped out of Delia's Morris chair as though it had 
 been hot. 
 
 "I'll get my things and stop Harvey before he gets 
 away." 
 
 Delia hung on to me. 
 
 "What about our offer to take the child ?" 
 
 I stared at her silently. 
 
 "Hod wants to adopt him keep him and educate him. 
 I'm willing." 
 
 "Dele, what do you take me for ? Did you think I'd 
 let you or anybody have my child ?" 
 
 "You're foolish if you don't. You could go up to San 
 Francisco and get a place in peace then. It would be 
 better for you and better for him. It seems to me a mother 
 should put her child's interests first." 
 
 I had laid my things off on Delia's bed. As I ran up 
 the stairs, she following, talking, panting, holding out her 
 hands in my direction but not quite touching me, as though 
 she thought I might burn or blow up if she laid 
 a finger on me, we heard the car roll out of the garage. 
 I grabbed up my hat, stuck it on and began jabbing the 
 pins through. 
 
 "You've got it on crooked!" Delia cried, as I dived at 
 my scarf and Boy's rolled-up pajamas. "Come back here 
 and see it in the glass. It's right over your ear. You 
 look awful." She came on, remonstrating all the way 
 down the stairs. 
 
 "I don't care how I look. Let me alone !" pulling away 
 from her. 
 
 "Oh, you're so reckless," Delia whimpered and neither 
 of us had sense of humour enough left to laugh. "A reck- 
 less, headstrong girl like you crazy about the men has 
 no business dragging a poor little child around in the sort 
 of things that she'll get mixed up with."
 
 A BREACH 217 
 
 "Hush !" I turned on her in the front door. She fal- 
 tered back from me a little, muttering: 
 
 "Harvey says " 
 
 "Don't you tell me what Harvey said," I interrupted, 
 fiercely. "If he's got anything to say he'd better say it 
 to me." 
 
 The machine was at the curb and waiting for us. Far 
 down the beautiful, broad, Sunday-quiet street people were 
 passing. The nurse was wheeling the Pendleton baby in 
 at the place next door. Harvey, looking a good deal sur- 
 prised, got down and opened the door of the tonneau. He 
 must have thought we had got through with our talk very 
 quickly. I almost ran down the walk. 
 
 "Come, Boyce," I called, as soon as I got within hailing 
 distance. "You're going with me." 
 
 Harvey seemed to notice then, for the first time, that 
 Delia hadn't a hat on. I went up close to the car and 
 reached for Boyce. 
 
 "No," said my hopeful, "I'm a-gonna ride on front seat. 
 You gurruls can get in back." 
 
 "Yes, yes," Harvey seconded him hurriedly. "Get in 
 get in, won't you? We've got plenty of time for a nice 
 ride." 
 
 "Boy come to mother this minute." I paid no at- 
 tention to Harvey or Delia. But Boy travelled swiftly, 
 sitting as he was, to the further end of the seat, beyond the 
 stretch of my fingers. He got behind the steering wheel 
 and defied me. 
 
 "Now, Calla, you don't want to " Harvey's voice 
 
 suddenly collapsed in a husky little break as I turned on 
 him, demanding: 
 
 "Will you get out of my way and let me around so I 
 can lift Boyce out ?" 
 
 As he stood hampering me, I saw his glance go past to 
 Delia, and she answered as though he had spoken : 
 
 "I don't see what I said, but Foncie's furious. That's
 
 218 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 the way; people do the most awful things, and then if a 
 word's said, they fly into a rage." 
 
 "Never mind, Delia," I spoke over my shoulder; "this 
 is the last time you'll be troubled with saying or not say- 
 ing words to me. Harvey lift Boyce out." 
 
 "You'll have to do it yourself if it's going to be done," 
 Harvey mumbled, looking off down street. "You're acting 
 against the child's best interests. I won't raise a finger. 
 If you think well to quarrel with an old friend a friend 
 of your parents and " 
 
 I stared at him where he stood, hostile, thoroughly 
 scared, in his eyes the terror of wtat I might have said or 
 would say against him. 
 
 "Do you have the face to hint that it isn't to my child's 
 best interests to be with me ?" I rounded on him. "That 
 certainly would be funny from you !" 
 
 "Foncie don't make a scene out here on the street," 
 Delia broke in. 
 
 "I'm not!" I cried. "It's you people. Harvey, what 
 have you been saying to Delia about me 2" 
 
 "Now, Eoneie," Delia rushed in again. "Hod didn't 
 blame you in telling me about it. He took all the blame 
 himself. He said that he, being a man and older, ought 
 to've warned you. He wouldn't admit that you were one 
 of these kind of women that go around trying to break 
 up families. He stuck to it that it was just because 
 you " 
 
 "Delia be still," I said. "I asked Harvey a question 
 and he hasn't answered it." 
 
 "Calla !" Harvey's voice was husky, but he seemed to 
 
 see he must speak up before Delia. "I you " He 
 
 cleared his throat and launched out desperately. "What's 
 the use of denying it? You know well enough that you 
 were at my office all the time, and came out here contin- 
 ually a man with his wife away you know what that 
 means ?"
 
 A BREACH 219 
 
 The lawyer impudence of him paralysed me for the mo- 
 ment kept me speechless. 
 
 "tlnh-hunh," said Delia. The sound seemed to cheer 
 Harvey on. He finished with considerable dignity. 
 
 "I never intended to tell Dele anything about it; I 
 wouldn't have, on your account, if she hadn't come to me 
 with these stories of yours on a lot of men." 
 
 He had been looking at the ground, scuffling with his 
 foot. He raised his eyes now, full of ugly anger. "When 
 it gets down to Al Pendleton yes I'm ready to say that 
 the child would be a lot better off with us with any re- 
 spectable married couple." 
 
 "A respectable married couple !" I looked from one to 
 the other of them. I think I never was so furious in my 
 life. At first it choked me; then, when the words began 
 to come, I couldn't think of anything bad enough to say, 
 and stuttered it over again, "A respectable married couple ! 
 How dare you, Harvey Watkins a dirty fellow like you 
 and such a fool as Delia hasn't sense enough to know 
 when an honest woman is being lied about ! I don't care 
 if he is your husband, Dele I don't care if he is your 
 husband ! You ought to have known better than to believe 
 that silly mess of lies about me !" 
 
 Delia gaped at me with eyes like saucers. Then her be- 
 wildered gaze fastened itself on the pasty pallor of Har- 
 vey's face. 
 
 "TJh uh " she began, stumblingly. "We've tried 
 
 to be good to you and the child " 
 
 I laughed loud like a crazy thing. 
 
 "Well, for pity's sake, don't try any more then," I said. 
 "This ends it. This wipes out every kindness, every favor. 
 Let you have Boyce ?" My face burned ; my eyes felt hot 
 in my head. I looked from one of them to the other. 
 "He'd better starve than be with such people." 
 
 I shoved Harvey aside since I couldn't knock him 
 down climbed into the auto and seized Boy. So far he
 
 220 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 had sat looking doubtfully at us all; I had been afraid 
 he would try to take a hand or cry. But no, my fury 
 seemed to cow him, for he came silently, and only spoke 
 when I had set him on his two feet on the sidewalk. 
 
 "Gramma's gone away," was what he said, and his voice 
 wabbled. Mrs. Eccles wouldn't be back till five o'clock. 
 
 "Never mind," I led him away, Delia and Harvey be- 
 side the machine staring after us; "we'll go down to the 
 movies." 
 
 Boyce was delighted. He forgot the strange scene, as 
 children do, or stowed it away in that queer little mind of 
 his, to bring out and ask questions about at some leisure 
 moment when there wasn't any motion picture show on 
 hand. 
 
 We walked down to the foot of the hill, where, beside 
 the Burmeister Grocery, there was a little photo theatre. 
 I paid my dime and sat in the darkened place while things 
 were flashed on the screen and a mechanical piano made a 
 noise that was intended for music; but I neither saw nor 
 heard anything that was about me. When Boy bounced 
 and chortled in his seat over something that pleased him 
 extra well, I squeezed his hand or answered his whispered 
 question, but the picture that raced before my mind, shut- 
 ting out everything else, was Harvey on his knees, his head 
 in Dele's lap, confessing tearfully that I had tried to lead 
 him astray! 
 
 When the show was over it was time to take Boy up to 
 Mrs. Eccles's. He ran right to her. I suppose I hadn't 
 been a very responsive companion. He wanted somebody 
 that he could tell about the pictures. While he was on her 
 lap, eagerly describing them, pulling her face around to 
 get her attention, I told her quietly, and in the fewest pos- 
 sible words, that he was not to go to the Watkins's any 
 more under any circumstances. I left it at that. Mrs. 
 Eccles was glad enough to accept the order, without asking 
 any questions.
 
 A BREACH 221 
 
 I kissed Boy good-bye and walked back to the head of 
 the hill. While I was waiting for the car in to San Vi- 
 cente, who should get off the outbound but Delia's warm 
 personal friend, "Gene Chandler," looking indeed select, 
 and extremely elegant, in an outfit I had never before seen. 
 
 "Why, Callie, what's the matter?" was her first word. 
 
 It touched me. Mrs. Eccles hadn't seen anything wrong, 
 but as I shook my head and said, "Nothing," Miss Chand- 
 ler caught my elbow, turned me around, and started off 
 with: 
 
 "Don't tell me that something's happened. You look 
 wretched. Let's go over to the tea-room. A good hot cup 
 of tea will help you, maybe. If there's anything I can 
 do just tell me." 
 
 The Country Club has a big shingle-and-boulder build- 
 ing out at Las Reudas overlooking the golf links and the 
 valley with the town in it. I had never been inside before, 
 but Miss Chandler seemed to be well known there. She 
 was treated with marked deference. As it was Sunday 
 afternoon, the place was full ; but a word from her to one 
 of the waiters got for us a private nook a little table out 
 on a balcony, all to ourselves. 
 
 "Now," said Miss Chandler, when we sat at last with 
 the steaming pot of tea, the rack of toast and the tiny 
 saucers of jam before us, "tell me all about it and you'll 
 feel better." 
 
 I couldn't hold away from her true kindness. I did tell 
 her all about it. She listened and nodded, and the names 
 she called Harvey were a great comfort to me. The way 
 she helped me most, however, was by saying, finally: 
 
 "Do you mind if I laugh ? Callie if it didn't make 
 you so mad, you'd see that it's one of the funniest things 
 that ever happened. Here you are, going against reason 
 and common sense to keep the very last limit of the letter 
 of the law and an old dub like that, who did his best to 
 bring you to his little way of thinking, can get scared for
 
 222 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 fear you'd tell on him, and run to his old dub wife and 
 sick her on you and bring in Al Pendleton, that you 
 snubbed unmercifully it certainly is one great big joke." 
 
 "Maybe I'll see the fun in it some time," I said. "Just 
 now you're right; I'm too mad. It comes on top of my 
 losing my place." 
 
 "On the 'Clarion' ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Anything else in sight ?" 
 
 "No." I hated to say that to her, but it was the truth. 
 "I'd like to go to San Francisco if I could, and try for a 
 position there." 
 
 My cup of tea and the pleasant surroundings, with an 
 attentive waiter and the feeling that I was somebody, had 
 done me good. I felt grateful to Miss Chandler. She 
 leaned back in her chair and studied me with an odd ex- 
 pression for some time before she spoke again. 
 
 "I'm glad I chanced to be out here to-day," she said, 
 softly. "I've got a duty call to make on an old friend of 
 mother's that's in Las Reudas from the East. Such a 
 bore but now I'm glad it happened." 
 
 "So am I," I echoed, heartily. 
 
 She still kept sending that odd, sidelong glance toward 
 me as she called the waiter, paid our check and added a 
 liberal tip ; but it was not till we were out on the street 
 and about to part that she spoke. 
 
 "What are you going to do now, Calla ?" 
 
 "Get home as quick as I can," I said, wilfully misun- 
 derstanding her. "I've got work for Mr. Dale to-night." 
 
 "Dale !" she echoed, with light scorn. "Don't you know 
 there's nothing there for you ?" 
 
 When I didn't answer: 
 
 "Callie," she began again, with a funny little defiant 
 air, "I don't suppose you'll pay any attention to it even 
 down and out as you are, with no job, and all your good 
 Pharisee friends lending you a kick instead of a hand up
 
 A BREACH 223 
 
 but I'm going to say it once more. There will be a 
 motor trip to the Pendleton camp in a few days. They 
 would be tickled to death to have you. I always wished 
 you'd go once. Seems to me you might now. Oh, 
 well," she threw her head back and laughed at sight of my 
 face, "I didn't say a word, did I? Good-bye." 
 
 "Good-bye," I answered, and watched her down the 
 block she was the most graceful thing this new dress 
 set off her figure to perfection. Then I turned, rested, re- 
 freshed, toward that straight road which was mine to 
 travel.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 CHLOKODYNE 
 
 THE first thing I did Monday morning was to ring up 
 the "Clarion" office and find whether Mr. Stokes had 
 gone to San Francisco. If he was out of the way, I wanted 
 to get my things. He was. When I went up, there were 
 two reporters in the main room clacking away at type- 
 writers, and Rosalie, inside at Mr. Stokes's desk. She mo- 
 tioned for me to come in and shut the door, crying, 
 guardedly : 
 
 "Lord, but it's a relief to see you here all right. Sit 
 down, honey. I believe if you hadn't come in for five 
 minutes more, I'd have had a fit." 
 
 She surveyed me from hat to shoes, then back again; 
 bent and pulled open the bottom drawer of the desk, and 
 took out my little black sailor. For a moment we two 
 women looked at each other across it ; then she whispered : 
 
 "Cal you don't know how I felt when I found that 
 thing out there." 
 
 "Were you out there ?" I cried. 
 
 "Course I was. I got on to what that fool was up to 
 and followed him. When I found your hat and him ly- 
 ing to me every jump I was so blind mad and scared 
 that I couldn't do anything but blubber like I'm doing 
 now." She wiped her eyes. "All day Sunday I wanted 
 to ring up. I'd have done it first thing this morning, but 
 I give you my word I was afraid to. I never knew Bill to 
 tear off any rough stuff before. He usually just takes what 
 
 comes easy. But after I found that hat Cal, are you 
 
 going to complain to the management ?" 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 "You're wise. It wouldn't do any good. They know 
 
 224
 
 CHLORODYNE 225 
 
 what he is about women. They keep him here because 
 they can get him cheap on account of his rep and his habits 
 and he does the work all right. A scandal wouldn't 
 hurt anyone but you and my sister. I don't see how she 
 lives with him. Of course, she's got his children. It's 
 her bread and butter, and theirs ; but I'd divorce him or 
 kill him if I was tied up to him. I knew the devil was to 
 pay when I found he'd stayed over on the sly. You see, 
 you'd held out against him. That's what made you so at- 
 tractive. Not but what you're pretty enough and sweet 
 enough but Bill generally sits tight and lets 'em fall into 
 his lap. This is kind of a new wrinkle for him. I'm glad 
 you're not going to the management about it." 
 
 "Well, I told him I was leaving. I'll get out now and 
 hunt another job." 
 
 "Oh, say, Cal, I hate that ! I'll miss you awfully. I'm 
 mortal sorry it happened, darn his picters !" Rosalie had 
 the air of a person who keeps a cross dog and is apologis- 
 ing for its having tried to bite someone. "Believe me, I 
 told Bill a few things when I found this hat. He swore 
 up and down that nothing really happened, only you got 
 mad when he sort of made a little love to you, and ran off 
 like a crazy thing before he could explain or apologise. 
 The monumental jackass! And me ageing a hundred 
 years a minute all day yesterday for fear you'd go to the 
 police as you've got a perfect right to do." She still 
 looked at me apprehensively. 
 
 "I'm not going to anybody about it," I repeated. "I've 
 enough to do hunting up another job. You don't know of 
 anything for me, do you, Rosie?" 
 
 "I wish I did, Cal," kind old Rosalie answered. "It's 
 the dull season. I'm afraid you'll have a hard time get- 
 ting anything." 
 
 She was digging down into her pocket with her good 
 hand, the little helpless member swinging. I knew what 
 she was up to.
 
 226 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "Now, Rosie, you can't lend me money," I said, "and 
 you needn't try. Really I don't need it." 
 
 "Honestly ? Cross your heart ? You would come to me 
 if you had to have it ? I could spare you fifteen bones as 
 easy as not." 
 
 Bless her gallant heart ! The shoes she had on were all 
 bulged at the side and shabby; and Rosalie had cause to 
 be vain of her pretty, small feet. 
 
 "Yes, yes," I assured her. hastily. "But I don't need 
 it and I'm not going to." 
 
 She eyed me wistfully as I did up the hat along with 
 the things I had come for, and to the last kept saying that 
 I was to come to her if I got in a pinch. I left my note of 
 resignation at the "Clarion" office and went up to the 
 Phipps Business College. They also reminded me that it 
 was midsummer, but they listed my name and promised 
 to throw anything my way that they could. I didn't 
 chance to see anything of Harvey while I was in the 
 building, but I was ready for him ; I was still so mad that 
 if I'd met him that morning, he'd have got a piece of my 
 mind. 
 
 I went on to the employment agencies, one after the 
 other, and found them, as I had a year before, overrun 
 with the signing up of hop-pickers. I began to be at- 
 tracted by the idea of just packing up some rough clothes 
 and taking Boy and going up into the Hopfields district 
 to pick. It was only a few hours' run; Corinth, where 
 Boy used to go with Mrs. Eccles, was right in the middle 
 of it. Mrs. Eccles's son-in-law had been a buyer and 
 shipper; she said he had worked in pretty nearly every 
 capacity you could imagine on a hop ranch. She thought 
 I could do it. Las Palmas, the biggest one there indeed, 
 the biggest in the world was the ranch I selected in my 
 own mind, because on a place of that size and wealth the 
 arrangements and accommodations would be sure to be ex- 
 ceptionally good. I definitely decided on Las Palmas as a
 
 CHLORODYNE 227 
 
 last resort. It would at least make a break get us out 
 of San Vicente for a while. 
 
 There was work for Mr. Dale that evening, and though 
 I hated to bring the question up because I thought it might 
 look like asking him to pay me, I decided to get from 
 him a letter of recommendation ; that ought to be valuable 
 to me in San Vicente anyhow. 
 
 He was now lecturing in the summer school, but the 
 work to-night was a magazine article. He met me dif- 
 ferently ; he was too much of a gentleman to allude to Sat- 
 urday night's adventure, but surely that was what made 
 the change. On my own part, so much had come and gone 
 since then that I had quit thinking about it till I saw 
 him, and something odd in his eyes when he looked at me 
 a kind of waked-up expression, as though he had just 
 discovered that I was a human being brought it all back. 
 
 The work went well ; we kept at it till after midnight. 
 Then, as he came close to the machine on one of his turns 
 back and forth through the room, he suddenly stopped, 
 picked up the cover and set it over the keys. 
 
 "There," he said, with unusual geniality, "I could finish 
 to-night but I won't quite kill you this time." 
 
 "I'm perfectly willing to go on if you want to," I of- 
 fered. 
 
 "No, no." He was more smiling than I had ever seen 
 him ; I realised how much better he appeared, physically ; 
 his colour was good now and his eye bright ; he looked a 
 sound, well man. "It's too late for any more work to- 
 night," he told me, as I continued to sit at the machine 
 rather helplessly. 
 
 "Is it too late for me to stay a little while ?" I began. 
 
 "I wanted to " I hesitated for a word, and he broke 
 
 in on me : 
 
 "Of course not. It isn't as late as Saturday night." 
 
 He was laughing as he spoke, but I saw he rather ex- 
 pected me to say something about my curious call on him.
 
 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 I didn't intend to explain how it happened Rosalie was 
 right; the less I talked about that, the better. A little 
 knot of manzanita roots smouldered in the open fireplace ; 
 the two chairs that he and Dr. Rush usually occupied sat 
 in their accustomed places before the hearth. As I re- 
 mained silent, trying to get my request into shape, Mr. 
 Dale came across, took me by the shoulders, and put me 
 into the doctor's chair. It was a kindly, cordial action, 
 and I remember thinking in a bewildered way that he had 
 never treated me the least bit like that before. 
 
 "There," he said ; "are you comfortable ? May I take 
 this one and smoke ?" 
 
 He got a cigar and established himself opposite me. I 
 sat and stared at him so long that he finally burst out 
 laughing. 
 
 "Well ?" he prompted ; and when I still didn't say any- 
 thing, it came once more: "Well what do you think of 
 this man now that you've met him for the first time ?" 
 
 "I think " To my own immense surprise, I choked 
 
 so that I couldn't go on. I felt the tears in my eyes, and 
 was desperately anxious that he shouldn't notice. I had 
 had a hard day, and this almost affectionate tone from a 
 person who had always treated me more like a useful piece 
 of furniture than a living creature upset me. I wanted to 
 pour out a heartful of thanks to him to tell him what 
 he'd been to me the mere kindling touch of his person- 
 ality, for his advice and suggestions had never been given 
 very lavishly or warmly. He just sat there with an unlit 
 cigar between his fingers and laughed at me. Suddenly 
 and I couldn't have been more surprised if the chair he 
 sat in had taken life and done something of the sort he 
 leaned forward and picked up my hand. 
 
 "Do they get tired ?" he asked, spreading my fingers out 
 on his palm. "I look at them sometimes and remember 
 that they've been doing the same thing all day and I 
 wonder how you can keep it up."
 
 CHLORODYNE 229 
 
 "That's what I wanted to stay and speak to you 
 about," I faltered, in some embarrassment. 
 
 "Oh it was something you had to speak to me about ?" 
 He repeated my words. He remained leaning forward, 
 and he looked even more alert; but he dropped my hand 
 and waited for what I had to say. 
 
 "I'm leaving the 'Clarion' " I began. 
 
 "Why?" He got up suddenly, reached to the mantel 
 for matches and lit his cigar. "I think you're making a 
 mistake." He threw his burnt-out match in the ashes. 
 He didn't wait for my explanation, but went right on. 
 "Nearly all beginners get the idea they can write because 
 they can appreciate what is written; they do some stuff; 
 their injudicious friends praise it; so they fly off in a 
 great flame of enthusiasm and try to get paid for work be- 
 fore they've learned the A B C of their trade. News- 
 paper training knocks that sort of notion out of young 
 idiots. You're making a mistake to leave the 'Clarion.' ' 
 
 "I had no choice in the matter," I said, chilled. 
 
 "That's too bad." His tone softened. I saw he thought 
 I had lost my place ; well let it go what difference did 
 it make ? 
 
 "So," I got around to it at last, "I wanted to ask you 
 for a written recommendation if you feel like giving me 
 one."- 
 
 "I certainly do." He was emphatic, but somehow he 
 had lost all the warmth of manner with which he had put 
 me in the doctor's chair. He seemed to question me with 
 his glance. I wondered what he wanted or expected of 
 me that was different. He turned to the little fireside 
 desk, pulled forward a sheet of paper, and began to write, 
 remarking : 
 
 "It had better be all in my own script. I believe that's 
 the etiquette for notes of the sort." 
 
 When he finished and blotted it I was on my feet. As 
 I held out my hand for it, he twisted round and stared.
 
 30 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "Is that all ?" lie asked, and his tone sounded angry. 
 
 "Why, yes," I faltered. "I had thought of going out 
 to the college with this. You wouldn't mind, would you ? 
 
 I if It's the dull season for business, and I thought 
 
 I might get some work out there." 
 
 With a slow motion he took up the cigar, which he had 
 been keeping alight by an occasional puff as he wrote. He 
 sat and smoked with his back to me. It was uncivil. 
 Finally he said: 
 
 "If you go around San Vicente College hunting a job, 
 you'd better leave my name out of it." 
 
 It came like a slap in the face. Bewildered, I reached 
 forward to put the note down on the desk beside him. At 
 my movement he whirled, but when he saw what I was 
 doing, got to his feet and stood drawn up, looking me 
 over. 
 
 "My recommendation won't do you any good out there," 
 he had the grace to explain, when he saw how he had hurt 
 me. "I'm leaving them. They call it breach of contract 
 it was only a verbal agreement and choose to be very 
 angry." 
 
 "Are you going East ?" I asked, mechanically not that 
 I had any interest in knowing. Something in the last 
 three minutes had told me that Frank Hollis Dale would 
 never be any further from me than he was at that minute. 
 Half the girth of the globe didn't matter. An inexplicable 
 something had come up that separated him from anything 
 in my world as completely as though I had never known 
 him and I had no idea what it was. I left the note on 
 the table and was starting to the door when he answered 
 my question. 
 
 "Going East ? Of course I am. Why would I stay here 
 when I've got my health again ? Ugh it will be a re- 
 lief to get back to where there are people with some sense 
 in their heads !" I wondered at the bitter energy of his 
 speech.
 
 CHLORODYNE 231 
 
 "Well," I said, feebly, "good-bye." 
 
 He had faced around toward the mantel, and was set- 
 ting a framed photograph in place there. 
 
 "Good-bye," he said, without turning his head. I went 
 out and shut the door. 
 
 Next morning I could see from my window that there 
 were open boxes and excelsior down by the bungalow porch. 
 While I was dressing I heard hammering from that direc- 
 tion. He had begun the first packing. Somehow it cut 
 awfully little figure with me. Even his disagreeable be- 
 haviour of last night seemed trivial at the side of the ques- 
 tion as to whether I could or could not get a place. I was 
 a little sorry I had gone away and left his letter of recom- 
 mendation. I wondered whether, when he got over his 
 ugly spell I couldn't yet decide what he had been mad 
 about he'd be good enough to mail it to me. I didn't 
 see why the college authorities shouldn't value his recom- 
 mendation, even if they were angry at him. 
 
 That day was more discouraging than the first. Still I 
 did find one or two places where they thought tKey could 
 do something for me in the course of a month or six weeks 
 when business picked up in the fall. I got on the track 
 of a stenographer's job at the Kalama mines, and thought 
 enough of it to run up there and investigate. I found the 
 position already filled. The trip kept me away over night. 
 
 When I got into San Vicente, about nine in the morn- 
 ing, I stopped at the Phipps school before going out to the 
 house. 
 
 I met Harvey in the hallway. His look in my direction 
 would have been funny if it hadn't been aggravating. He 
 sort of started forward as if he was going to shake hands 
 and try to talk to me ; then drew back, scared looking, and 
 finally stood while I went past him. Rather to my sur- 
 prise, I found that Pop Phipps had a day's work for me, 
 so I stayed right there. When I got home that evening 
 I found that Mrs. Eccles had been telephoning me since
 
 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 noon the day before, and had said she would ring up again 
 at five o'clock. It made me uneasy, so that I stayed down 
 in the hall with my hat on, waiting. At five sharp the 
 'phone rang. The first sound of Mrs. Eccles's voice would 
 have told me that something was the matter. She wanted 
 me to come right out to Las Reudas; Boy was sick; and 
 for a while I couldn't understand where he was. Finally 
 I made out that he'd been taken over to the Watkins's. 
 
 "Are you 'phoning from there?" I asked, and the an- 
 swer came back quickly: 
 
 "No, ma'am. I am not at Mrs. Watkins's. I am us- 
 ing Mrs. Pendleton's telephone. My goodness, Mrs. Baird 
 where have you been ? You want to get out here just 
 as quick as ever you can." 
 
 I didn't stop to find how Boy came to be at Delia's, but 
 got straight to Las Reudas. Mrs. Eccles was waiting for 
 me on the street; she had evidently been uncertain as to 
 which route I might take, and stood where she could see 
 me coming from either direction. She was so worked up 
 that, for the first time, I was really scared. 
 
 "Is he very sick? How is it that he is at the Wat- 
 kins's ?" I asked, as we almost ran along the sidewalk. 
 
 With a great deal of "I says to her" and "She says to 
 me," Mrs. Eccles began to explain how Delia had been 
 mad about the new orders that Boy wasn't to go there any 
 more, declaring such behaviour showed that I wasn't fit to 
 have the child. Boy would run away and go over there, 
 and Mrs. Eccles had fusses with Delia when she went to 
 bring him back. Yesterday he had eaten something there 
 that didn't agree with him. When Mrs. Eccles missed 
 him, and ran over, Delia had already got him into bed, 
 and was sending for her own doctor and for Harvey. 
 
 "Her own doctor?" I echoed. "You ought to have 
 called Dr. Rush when you couldn't get me." I ran across 
 the porch to ring the bell. 
 
 "There, that's right blame me!" said Mrs. Eccles, be-
 
 CHLORODYNE 233 
 
 ginning to cry. "I did my best to stop Mrs. Watkins from 
 sending for Dr. Ballard. I told her Jawn didn't need 
 strong medicine. Ballard always gives dreadful strong 
 medicine to children. And I've been telephoning and try- 
 ing to get you ever since. I've been nearly crazy." 
 
 "JSTever mind ; Fm here now," I said, punching at the 
 bell. 
 
 "Well, you're needed. Mrs. Watkins wouldn't listen to 
 a word from me. She'd hardly let me go in the room to 
 see him. Her and Ballard had it all their own way. I 
 know they've give him a lot of stuff; he just lays there 
 like a dead child, and Mrs. Watkins keeps pouring the 
 medicine into him I know she does. He wouldn't be 
 like that if she didn't." 
 
 "I wish I could get word to Dr. Rush," I said, and 
 jabbed the bell again. 
 
 "Why, my goodness ! He's right there at Mrs. Pendle- 
 ton's this minute, if he ain't left. She's got one of her 
 nervous spells, and they can't find Pendleton, and she 
 thinks the sun rises and sets in Dr. Rush." 
 
 Delia opened the door to us at the moment. She had 
 on an old bathrobe of Harvey's, her hair pugged up any 
 way, and she looked as if she had been losing sleep or 
 crying. She sort of flattened back at sight of me, as 
 though something had hit her on the forehead. 
 
 "Why Foncie!" she said, but she stood still in the 
 door and didn't ask me in. 
 
 "I came to get Boyce," I told Her, without any pre- 
 liminaries. 
 
 "He's asleep now. You wouldn't want to disturb him 
 when he's asleep," she said, still keeping the knob in her 
 hand. It was almost as though she would have shut the 
 door in my face. 
 
 "I guess he is asleep !" Mrs. Eccles cried, and her voice 
 began to be hysterical. "With all that stuff you're giving 
 him!" That reminded me.
 
 234 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "Run quick and get Dr. Rush," I said, as I pushed past 
 Delia. 
 
 "Do you want to insult Dr. Ballard ?" Dele called after 
 me as I was running up the stairs. 
 
 "Yes," I answered, not knowing at all what I said. 
 
 She made no move to follow me as I rushed straight to 
 her door. Inside, Delia's own bed had been pulled out 
 into the middle of the room, away from all draughts. The 
 shades were drawn so low that at first I could hardly see 
 what lay on it Boy, his eyes rolled up, his face sunken 
 and greenish, grayish white, his whole body rigid and mo- 
 tionless except for the two little thumbs, that were moving 
 rythmically, regularly. 
 
 When my eyes got accustomed to the dimness I saw that 
 Fairy lay at his feet, an old dress skirt of Delia's under 
 her to protect the white spread. I didn't disturb her as 
 I knelt there. Boy must be dying. I faced that thought 
 during the few moments before I heard Dr. Rush in the 
 hall below. He called to me to come down, and 
 when I stopped halfway on the stairs, he said, looking 
 up at me but speaking rather to Delia, who was beside 
 him: 
 
 "I can't interfere with a patient of Dr. Ballard's." 
 
 "He's not Dr. Ballard's patient," I cried. "I never 
 called Dr. Ballard. I've called you. Oh, come quick 
 I'm afraid he's dying." That brought Dr. Rush right up 
 the stairs. Delia and Mrs. Eccles came along with him. 
 We all stood around like frightened children. The first 
 thing he said was : 
 
 "Phew ! Open these windows, and take that dog away." 
 Then, as Mrs. Eccles was gathering Fairy off the bed, he 
 added, testily, "What in the world did you bring a dog in 
 here for ?" 
 
 "Ask Mrs. Watkins," she said, resentfully. "I didn't 
 have anything to do with it." 
 
 "I had the doggie in to see if Jack would know her,"
 
 CHLORODYNE 235 
 
 Delia defended. "And he did ; he knew her perfectly this 
 morning perfectly." 
 
 The shades were run. up now; Mrs. Eccles shut Fairy 
 out ; and the doctor went across and examined his patient. 
 He asked for the medicine that was being given, glanced 
 at the bottle Delia handed him, sniffed at it, gave her a 
 .keen look, and said: 
 
 "Where's the other one?" 
 
 "It's only there's hardly a full dose of the other left," 
 Delia babbled. "It was only to be given if he was restless. 
 He isn't restless any more." 
 
 "No," said the doctor, dryly, "he wouldn't be after 
 you'd administered the better part of a bottle of soothing 
 syrup." 
 
 "It was not soothing syrup." Delia tried to be dig' 
 nified. "It's a regular prescription." And she got the 
 bottle from the bathroom shelf. 
 
 "Huh !" grunted the doctor, smelling its cork ; "chloro- 
 dyne! How close did you give these doses? When did 
 you begin ?" 
 
 "Why, last night." Delia's air of authority was giving 
 way. "It worked splendidly ; he went right to sleep after 
 the first dose. But he didn't sleep long, and I was sure he 
 needed his rest, and so I so I " 
 
 "So you kept on giving it to him. How many times did 
 you repeat it ?" 
 
 "I don't know. I just till he slept sound. Dr. Bal- 
 lard told me not to wake him up to give him medicine, so 
 I Just till he slept real sound." 
 
 Dr. Rush's angry eye measured the distance down in 
 the bottle. 
 
 "Well, madam," he said, "you may thank your stars 
 you haven't quite killed this child." 
 
 "Sir!" Delia drew herself up. "Dr. Ballard's my 
 physician, and that's his medicine you've got in your hand. 
 I'll not stay here to "
 
 236 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "What makes the thumbs move that way? It's hor- 
 rible!" Mrs. Eccles burst out, uncontrollably, tears run- 
 ning down her face. 
 
 "Narcotic poisoning morphine, Indian hemp, and 
 prussic acid, with chloral," said the doctor, shortly. "This 
 stuff has all those in it." 
 
 "It has not ! I told you that was Dr. Ballard's medi- 
 cine you're talking that way about !" Delia whimpered at 
 him, took another look at Boy, then fairly ran out of the 
 room. 
 
 "Tell me the truth, Dr. Rush," I said, and my lips were 
 dry. "Is he going to die ?" 
 
 "No, certainly not." He scowled and shook his head. 
 "We'll pull him through all right. You'll have to see that 
 he gets no more chlorodyne." 
 
 He took out his pocket case and prepared a hypodermic, 
 explaining to me : 
 
 "I want to get this caffein into him as promptly as pos- 
 sible it's an antidote for the opium. He'll sleep but a 
 good deal more naturally for some time. Give him all 
 the water he'll take, keep the air in the room fresh. Use 
 a hot water bag if he's in pain and 'phone to me any min- 
 ute you need me." 
 
 I realised while he was speaking that I couldn't stay 
 there in the Watkins house and nurse Boy. 
 
 "Could he be moved ?" I asked. 
 
 Dr. Rush threw up his head and stared at me. 
 
 "Oh you're willing to move him ?" He nodded. 
 "That's good just the thing. A rush of fresh air in his 
 face is the very antidote for him. Get something warm 
 to wrap him up and I'll take the two of you in in my 
 machine right now." 
 
 At that, I said, blankly : 
 
 "Where shall I go? They won't let me keep him at 
 the Poinsettia." 
 
 "You can come to my house," said Mrs. Eccles. "I'll
 
 
 I RAN AND GOT HOLD Of DR. RUSH'S ARM AND UE 
 SAID TO ME OVER AND OVER: "ALL RIGHT. I 
 WON'T HIT HIM AGAIN"
 
 CHLORODYNE 237 
 
 sleep on a cot and give you my bed. I " But Dr. 
 
 Rush had already gone down to the telephone. He came 
 back in a few minutes, saying: 
 
 "It's all right. We're going to the Poinsettia." 
 
 "Foncie!" Delia overhauled us below as we were car- 
 rying Boy out, wrapped in one of her down puffs. "I feel 
 just awful about the way you're taking this. Hod and I 
 meant so well by the child, and you seem to think " 
 
 "Oh, Delia" I couldn't bear to listen any longer 
 "what difference does it make how I take it or what I 
 think ? If Boyce dies " 
 
 "I don't see that it will be my fault." Delia was finally 
 in tears. "We sent for the best physician in town as soon 
 as he seemed to be the least bit ailing. I was up with him 
 again and again last night and Hod, too. Then here you 
 come and drag him away from the house as if we were 
 murderers, and take him out and jounce him around this 
 way! You'll be the one to blame if if anything 
 happens." 
 
 Dr. Rush put me into the seat of his runabout and ar- 
 ranged Boy on my lap as exactly as if we had been alone. 
 Mrs. Eccles had cut across lots to get a bundle of clothes 
 ready for us to pick up as we passed. I never looked to 
 see if Delia was there, though the curt lifting of Dr. 
 Rush's hat hold me she was. I hadn't eyes or attention for 
 anything at the moment, for as we drove away the cool 
 air and swift motion roused Boy, and, to my unspeakable 
 relief, he looked up and knew me. He sank back immedi- 
 ately, but his face looked better. 
 
 "That caffein's getting hold," the doctor said. "The 
 drive's doing him good. I thought it would. We'll get 
 through all right. Dale said they'd have the room ready 
 for you at the Poinsettia." 
 
 "Mr. Dale ?" 
 
 "Yes. I got Frank to ask. I knew Mrs. Thrasher 
 wouldn't refuse him anything."
 
 238 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 We went ahead in silence for quite a while after that. 
 I was studying Boy's little pinched face, that seemed to 
 gather some colour from the warmth of a wonderful after- 
 glow that streamed on us out of the west. I don't know 
 why I should have said anything to the doctor, but all sorts 
 of things come boiling to the surface at such a time; I 
 found myself telling him, first, of Mr. Dale's seeming to 
 get mad at me the other night, and then of how good he'd 
 been to me when I was locked out. He listened, asking 
 an occasional question, curiously; and I ran on and on 
 about it; I hardly noticed what I was saying. Then Boy 
 opened his eyes again. This time he said, "Muvver," and 
 I forgot everything else in that. 
 
 The room was ready for us when we got to the Poin- 
 settia. Everybody was good to me. Miss Creevey brought 
 a hot water bag, because she said she was afraid I wouldn't 
 have any and the doctor would call for one. Mrs. 
 Thrasher herself came up to look at Boy and offer help, 
 while the Martins were as upset as if he'd been a relative. 
 It was really like coming home. Boy looked about and 
 appeared to know where he was when we got him into the 
 room. 
 
 Mrs. Tipton sat with me nearly all that first night. 
 Boy didn't need us, but I couldn't have slept anyway, and 
 we got to talking, so that it was after three o'clock when 
 she went downstairs. I got my first insight into the real 
 woman there was in this Virginia lady. Nothing was said 
 between us directly as to Joe Ed, but she told me a good 
 deal about his father, and his grandfather, and how some 
 money had been tied up for him when he was a baby. He 
 would get it now in a few months when he came of age. 
 She hoped it might start him in life. 
 
 Money oh ! I could see that was what Addie and her 
 lawyer were after. Mrs. Tipton knew it, and wanted me 
 to understand, but she made no plea or defence; she was 
 too proud and brave for that. I wondered if she had
 
 CHLORODYNE 239 
 
 heard from Joe Ed lately. I hadn't. As we two mothers 
 sat there in the small hours, I looked at my own son, and 
 wished I might be able to do something for her and hers. 
 Addie was gone from the Poinsettia this long time. She 
 was working at the cafeteria in the Cronin Building. I 
 used to see her handsome, sullen face there sometimes. 
 
 I could never forget Dr. Rush for the way he pulled 
 Boy through that terrible dosing there had been no real 
 illness to recover from. I know it was the doctor's faith- 
 ful work that put the child on his feet so quickly. It 
 was only three days that he lay there sick in my room. I 
 didn't give much thought to anything else. Dr. Rush 
 came in several times each day, always saying that he just 
 ran in because he was at Dale's anyhow. Mr. Dale him- 
 self I didn't see to speak to, though I got glimpses of 
 him from the window. And when the third day came, 
 and Boy seemed about as well as ever, I decided to put my 
 pride in my pocket, and get that letter of recommendation 
 before Mr. Dale left. I would try it out at San Vicente 
 College, and if I failed there, go on with the child to Hop- 
 fields. I left Boy in the front hall, with a lot of maga- 
 zines and a box of coloured crayons. As I went out the 
 door I saw Dr. Rush's machine and knew he would be at 
 the bungalow. I was glad. It would relieve any possible 
 awkwardness. 
 
 Before I got to the bungalow I could hear the two men's 
 voices, speaking loud quarrelling, it would have sounded 
 like, if I hadn't known their arguments of old. I stopped 
 on the porch why, surely they were quarrelling! As I 
 stood there, question and answer followed each other like 
 an exchange of shots. First Mr. Dale's voice soared out, 
 cold, bitter: 
 
 "Well, was it she that thought I'd ask favours for her ?" 
 
 "Don't make any difference. It's certainly up to you 
 to do her favours. Aren't you under plenty of obligation 
 to that poor thing?"
 
 240 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "Obligations obligations?" It was a stutter of rage. 
 "Not as many as she'd have put me under willingly 
 gladly." 
 
 "Don't tell me she ran after you it's not so," Dr. Rush 
 roared. "I don't meddle with any man's business but 
 that much I know. Wasn't I here with you evening after 
 evening ? Didn't I see the two of you together ?" 
 
 Could they be speaking of me ? I stepped into the room. 
 Mr. Dale was facing the door. His eye went through me 
 as though I had been thin air. He was positively shining 
 with fury. I had never seen him look so handsome. 
 
 "I don't know what you call it," he said, coolly. "Sat- 
 urday night she came down to my sleeping porch in the 
 small hours. If that's not so, she's here to deny it." 
 
 Dr. Rush never looked at me. What a mercy that I had 
 happened to tell him all about that miserable Saturday 
 night ! He walked up close to Mr. Dale and said : 
 
 "Frank I'll give you one more chance to do the decent 
 thing. What did she come to you for ?" 
 
 "At two o'clock in the morning ? What would you 
 suppose ?" 
 
 "Be careful I know all about it." 
 
 "Oh!" Mr. Dale stepped back a little and drew him- 
 self up, glaring at the other. "Oh you're the man she 
 was out with eh?" 
 
 "You're a liar!" 
 
 Word and blow came together. I had stood flattened 
 back against the wall by the door, helpless, staring; but 
 when I saw Dr. Rush's fist shoot out and Mr. Dale go 
 crashing down in the middle of the floor, I shut my eyes. 
 
 When I opened them again he was still lying there, full 
 length, but moving to get up. He hadn't been hard enough 
 hit to hurt him very badly, though I guessed he'd have a 
 black eye from it later, but he'd been caught in just such 
 a way that the blow overbalanced him. 
 
 Dr. Rush's face was a study. I think he was sorry, but,
 
 CHLORODYNE 
 
 most of all, he looked astonished. I ran and got hold of 
 his arm, and he said to me over and over : 
 
 "All right. I won't hit him again." Then, as he saw 
 Mr. Dale wasn't killed, "Come let's get out of here. My 
 Lord ! what a fool temper a doctor mauling his patients 
 around ! Come. Come." 
 
 We went as far as the tunnel, and then I had to run 
 back and get his hat. Mr. Dale was gone from the room ; 
 I could hear him in his bedroom beyond, bathing his face. 
 I never saw him again. I had forgotten the letter I came 
 after. 
 
 When I got back to the doctor I found him still so dis- 
 turbed that we walked up and down the tunnel a few 
 turns. Under the circumstances, I asked a question or 
 two. 
 
 "Don't you see ?" the doctor said. "It's a pretty plain 
 case. Dale's the most arrogant devil where women are 
 concerned that I ever knew. They do run after him and 
 make fools of themselves about him." 
 
 "Oh, yes," I said; "I've seen that, but did you think 
 that I " 
 
 He didn't let me finish. 
 
 "No. You behaved all right, and like a sensible little 
 woman, always." 
 
 "Then what " 
 
 Again he interrupted me. 
 
 "Oh, it just happened that that monumental egotist in 
 there got to feeling pretty good and would have liked some- 
 body to make love to him. You got him to help you in 
 through the window that night it suggested the idea that 
 you'd be the one." The red spark of fighting fire had died 
 out of Dr. Rush's brown eyes. He turned his hat in his 
 hands thoughtfully. "The evening you asked him for the 
 recommendation, he gave you the chance and you didn't 
 come across. I realised the whole situation when you first 
 told me about it. That infernal pride of his would make
 
 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 him say anything to save his face." He chuckled a little 
 ruefully. "I'm afraid I changed his map." He looked 
 down at his knuckles, shook his big shoulders, and sighed, 
 "There goes a lifelong friendship so far as I'm con- 
 cerned." 
 
 To think that I, by miserable chance, should have been 
 the wedge that split such a friendship ! I hadn't a word to 
 tell him how sorry I was. If I had known where to bor- 
 row a camping outfit or buy it outright, if it hadn't cost 
 too much I'd have been for starting up to the Hopfields 
 district the next morning. As it was, I made up my mind 
 not to be a bit longer about getting off than I had to.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 A CRY FOR HELP 
 
 A PPARENTLY luck was with me in this matter of 
 x\ getting away from San Vicente. As soon as I spoke 
 of the hop-picking plan to Mrs. Tipton she offered to lend 
 me what I needed from the Poinsettia's camping outfit. 
 We went down into the basement and selected the things 
 blankets, mattress bag, cooking vessels, agate dishes and 
 iron knives and forks, and a little camp stove. They all 
 packed neatly into the big bag, and I could check them on 
 my ticket. 
 
 It was a weight off my mind I felt fairly gay when I 
 took Boy downtown and bought him stout shoes, another 
 suit of Can't-bust-'ems, and a wide straw hat. He could 
 hardly wait to show the outfit to Mr. Martin, with whom 
 he was full partners these days. The old couple were en- 
 tertaining my son at dinner in their room that night; 
 she'd been having trouble with her foot and didn't come 
 down to the table. It was funny to see how much interest 
 the idle women in the Poinsettia took in this new enter- 
 prise of mine. I suppose it attracted their attention as 
 being something doing. They discussed it with me sol- 
 emnly ; it might have been the choice of a life career from 
 the weight they put on it. Several of them contributed 
 small gifts, and all of them gave good advice. 
 
 Late in the afternoon, when I'd pretty well got every- 
 thing done, I left Boy with the Martins and went down- 
 town once more. I must register my new address with 
 Pop Phipps in case anything turned up for me. I would 
 go around by the railway station after doing that, buy my 
 ticket for to-morrow's journey, and attend to the checking 
 of my baggage. All day luck held. Coming down in the 
 
 243
 
 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 elevator at the Cronin Building I met Addie with of all 
 people little Mr. Bates. Of course, they both worked in 
 the building, but it was funny to see them together, and 
 funnier still when he asked if they could have a word with 
 me if they could! I said, "Why, certainly," and we 
 turned into a little side hall where we were fairly private. 
 
 "I suppose you know I'm a member of the bar of San 
 Vicente County, Mrs. Baird ?" he opened up. 
 
 I hadn't known it, but I nodded. 
 
 "I'm handling Miss Schoonover's suit." He jerked his 
 head toward Addie, who stood at his shoulder, her feet 
 planted a little wide, looking like a thunder-cloud. "She's 
 just informed me and she ought to have done so at first 
 
 that you " He broke off significantly, and Addie 
 
 spoke without looking up : 
 
 "Aw, I told him about your ketchin' me that night." 
 
 "Yes," said Bates, "but, Mrs. Baird, you certainly 
 wouldn't you wouldn't " 
 
 When I failed to fill out his pause for him with an as- 
 surance of what I would not do, he finished hastily : 
 
 "In short, are the defendants aware of your knowledge ? 
 Are they going to call you as a witness ?" 
 
 I looked past him at the girl. She had reddened darkly, 
 and didn't meet my eye, but kept staring angrily at her 
 lawyer. 
 
 "I'm very sorry for you, Addie," I said, as though the 
 two of us had been alone. 
 
 "That's right that's right," Bates put in briskly. "I 
 told her your sympathy would be with her. Now er 
 could you, perhaps, help us to the whereabouts of the de- 
 fendant ?" 
 
 Again I spoke to Addie as though her officious lawyer 
 had not been present : 
 
 "Nobody knows where Joe Ed is. His mother doesn't. 
 He's knocking about the world somewhere, under a false 
 name probably, picking up a living any way he can. You
 
 A CRY FOR HELP 24,5 
 
 know what that means to a boy of his age and dispo- 
 sition." 
 
 "I can't help it," the girl burst out. She turned on 
 Bates when he would have spoken. "Shut your head!" 
 she ordered. "You put me up to this. When you was 
 trying to get me to sue you was mighty polite." 
 
 Bates cut a stealthy eye round in my direction before 
 he said sharply to his client: 
 
 "You talk too much. If I'm to handle your case, you 
 keep still." 
 
 "What's the use ? It was Joe Ed Tipton or nobody with 
 you; and anybody but a fool could see that Mrs. Baird 
 ain't on our side." 
 
 "Now you have spilled the beans !" cried Bates. "It's 
 good-night, nurse. Mrs. Baird, I beg you to believe that 
 I didn't know the nature of this suit when when 
 ah " 
 
 "That'll about hold you," Addie interrupted, fiercely. 
 Then, turning to me, "There won't be no suit. You can 
 tell the Mrs." And she walked away down the hall. 
 
 I left Bates in the middle of superfluous explanations 
 that this wasn't his case anyhow; that the firm merely al- 
 lowed him the handling of certain ah certain Had 
 
 him appear in business they would have been ashamed of, 
 I suppose. I got my car and went home. 
 
 There was a wonderful sunset that evening ; clear, glow- 
 ing, it welled from the west, flowed through the streets, 
 and seemed to drown out the city, since somehow a town 
 all flooded with sunset light is not a town any more. At 
 the house it was that quiet hour just before dinner. My 
 heart was at peace as I let myself into the Poinsettia for 
 what might be the last time. Once more luck was with 
 me ; I caught Mrs. Tipton in the empty hall, just getting 
 upstairs to change her dress for dinner. I gave her my 
 news in a very few words. She just stood there above me 
 and looked at me with swimming eyes, though her deli-
 
 246 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 cate, short-chinned little face still held its look of smiling 
 reserve. 
 
 "I won't thank you in words," she said, under her 
 breath, turned abruptly and went on up the stairs the 
 frail, brown reed of a woman, stoical as a big, strong, dig- 
 nified man, and as shy of making a scene, or showing any 
 emotion. I was fairly bubbling with gladness that it was 
 I who had been the one to bring her such relief as had 
 looked out of those swimming eyes of hers. There came 
 comically into my mind that ridiculous saying of Joe 
 Ed's : " 'Well that chore's chored' as the Yankee woman 
 said when she poisoned her husband." 
 
 Smiling to myself at the recollection, I glanced around 
 to gather any of Boy's scattered belongings, and was re- 
 trieving bud'n from under the desk, when the telephone 
 rang. Mrs. Tipton was gone; there was so much clatter 
 in the kitchen, where dinner was being prepared, that they 
 wouldn't have heard the bell there. I stopped, the toy in 
 my hand, and answered the call. 
 
 "Is that the Poinsettia?" The voice on the wire was 
 very faint. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Mrs. Baird if if Mrs. Baird is in the house, I wish 
 to speak to her." 
 
 "This is Mrs. Baird." 
 
 , "What"?" Silence for a moment; then, "Gallic is that 
 you? Callie!" 
 
 The voice sounded queer sort of strangled but I 
 thought I knew it, and answered : 
 
 "Yes, it's Callie." 
 
 "Are you are there people in the hall there with you ?" 
 
 "There's nobody, but I can " 
 
 "No, no! And don't use my name when you answer. 
 If anybody comes into the hall while you're talking, be 
 careful what you say. Listen." 
 
 "I'm listening."
 
 A CRY FOR HELP 247 
 
 "Go to Mrs. Tipton and get the key to my room. Tell 
 her tell her you need some sewing things or anything 
 you please. Get the key." 
 
 The voice failed. 
 
 "What what shall I do with it ?" I hesitated. "Bring 
 it to you ?" 
 
 "JSTo. Listen." The tone was more collected ; this was 
 plainly Eugenia Chandler, giving carefully thought out 
 directions. "Get a blue taffeta dress from the bathroom 
 hooks. It's an old one you never saw dark blue. The 
 little black hat that goes with it that's on the shelf above. 
 Put them in my light bag. Get them to me as quick as you 
 can. Wait. Listen. Shoes and stockings black. Not 
 shoes pumps. And hairpins a bunch of hairpins. Don't 
 forget them. Gallic you've not gone? You're lis- 
 tening ?" 
 
 "Yes, yes," I answered. "I'm to take them Where 
 
 are you?" 
 
 "At the Union Station. Bring the things here. Don't 
 tell anybody. Don't let anybody see you." 
 
 At the Union Station I had been there myself half an 
 hour ago, buying my ticket ! I raised my head and looked 
 around the hall. In ten or fifteen minutes the place would 
 be full of folks coming down to dinner. 
 
 "If you could wait till dark " I was beginning, but 
 
 the queer, choking voice cut in on me with quick terror : 
 
 "I can't wait. Gallic I can't more than hold out till 
 you get here." 
 
 "All right all right," I hurried. "I'll do my best. 
 I can be down there in twenty minutes." 
 
 "You'll find me in the women's room," came the last 
 word, just before I hung up and took the stairs at a run. 
 
 When I tapped on Mrs. Tipton's door and asked for 
 Miss Chandler's key, she took it off the ring and handed 
 it to me without a word, though she drew an odd, deep 
 little breath as she worked it free from among the others.
 
 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 I didn't say that about the sewing to her. It seemed sort 
 of unnecessary. 
 
 The blinds were down in Miss Chandler's room. At 
 first I thought I'd raise them, and then I used the electric 
 lights instead. As they flashed up I looked about me. I 
 had never been in the place before when she was out of it. 
 ^ow it was hard to associate that poor little, fugitive, 
 strangled voice that had sent me here wiUh this big, quiet, 
 elegant security. 
 
 I ran into the bathroom. Garments fell in heaps as I 
 clawed the blue dress and its wrap from back of them. 
 The light bag was small. I had to cram unmercifully to 
 get things in; but I couldn't carry that heavy suit-case. 
 All the time I kept listening for footsteps going down- 
 stairs. Could I make it ? Could I get back through the 
 hall before they gathered there ? I flew for the stockings 
 and pumps and knocked down a bottle of scented am- 
 monia. The smell followed me ; it was all over the place ; 
 but I couldn't stop. Dress, hat, wrap, shoes and stock- 
 ings had I everything ? Yes. Hairpins ! J grabbed a 
 box of them from the dresser. 
 
 As soon as I stepped outside the door I heard voices be- 
 low. The front way was cut off. I took the back stairs, 
 got as far as the turn at the kitchen door and reconnoitred. 
 Addie's place had been filled by a negro man, husband of 
 Julia, the laundress. It must have been Orma's afternoon 
 out, for Julia herself was helping dish dinner. As I stood 
 wondering what I'd better do, Mrs. Tipton came through 
 the swinging doors from the dining-room. Without seem- 
 ing to glance toward the stairway, she spoke instantly in 
 her little fluting voice : 
 
 "Julia, go in and finish setting the table." 
 
 "I done set " the negress began. 
 
 "Change the napkins." 
 
 "I done changed " Julia tried again, but her mis- 
 tress interrupted:
 
 A CRY FOR HELP 249 
 
 "Put the plain satin damask ones on. Be quick. It's 
 time to ring the bell." 
 
 The woman went, looking bewildered. Mrs. Tipton 
 turned to her cook. 
 
 "Everett, serve that meat on a larger platter. Come, 
 reach the big one from the top shelf of the pantry." 
 
 With that uncanny intuition of hers, she had cleared my 
 way. As soon as the man's back was turned, while Mrs. 
 Tipton herself stood in the pantry door looking after and 
 directing him, I slipped through the kitchen and was out. 
 
 I took a street car down it would be quicker than to 
 walk. Once among people going about their every-day 
 affairs, the whole thing seemed like a dream. If I hadn't 
 had the bag in my hand, I should have believed that it 
 was one. I ran from the car into the station. It was all 
 quiet. The last train must have come in nearly an hour 
 ago. The place was almost deserted. My footsteps 
 sounded loud as I crossed to the women's room. The 
 janitress, at work in a little cubby where brooms and 
 brushes were kept, looked out at me and then went on with 
 whatever she was doing. 
 
 The women's room was vacant. No a heap of gar- 
 ments on a chair over in its further corner stirred. I 
 went halting across. It was a woman, sitting humped, 
 bowed, sort of fallen-together-looking, in a motor cloak and 
 hood. She raised her head slowly. 
 
 I can feel yet, whenever I think of it, the shock that 
 went over me. I don't know what I had expected. I 
 ought to have been prepared, it seemed. Yet I came near 
 crying out. This was Eugenia Chandler. She looked 
 ten years older. The flesh seemed sunk in on the bones of 
 her face, withered, somehow, as though a blast of destruc- 
 tion had blown on it; her carefully tended skin was a 
 dirty grey with big black circles around those strange 
 light eyes of hers that fixed themselves on what I had 
 brought.
 
 250 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "Is everything in there ?" she whispered, without using 
 my name. 
 
 "Yes I- 
 
 "Don't speak so loud. Is the maid noticing ? Did she 
 see you come in ?" 
 
 "She saw me. But she's not looking now; she's busy 
 at her work." 
 
 Miss Chandler came up a little out of her chair. While 
 she seemed to be neither standing nor sitting she took the 
 bag from me. 
 
 "You wait here/' she breathed. "Don't stir. I won't 
 be long." 
 
 She moved then, going forward very slowly, and 
 "scrooched," as the children say. I stood and stared. It 
 was like a nightmare. Why didn't she stand up -and walk ? 
 Wliat was the matter ? 
 
 She passed behind the little shuttered door which would 
 give the only security possible in such a place ; I heard its 
 fastenings click. Then, for a moment, in the open space 
 below the shutter below the edge of the big motor coat 
 I saw her feet bare thrust into a dirty pair of pink, 
 quilted-satin bedroom slippers. 
 
 After that I stood rigid, my face turned away, hearing 
 the sound of her swift movements as she dressed in the 
 things I had brought. I couldn't think. I didn't want to 
 try. I only ached to get out of this nightmare. Suddenly 
 the little quick sounds of her dressing stopped for an in- 
 stant. There was a listening silence ; then came her voice, 
 startled, yet guarded : 
 
 "Callie ! Are you there ?" 
 
 "Right here. I haven't moved." 
 
 "Well, don't. I'm nearly ready." 
 
 Again silence, except for the click of pump heela on 
 the floor, the continuous rustle of clothing. Then : 
 
 "Callie ! Is the maid looking 2" 
 
 "No ; she's not in sight."
 
 A CRY FOR HELP 251 
 
 At that she opened the door and came out, changed be- 
 yond recognition, wearing the blue taffeta, carrying the 
 bag (into which she must have crowded the motor coat and 
 hood), her motor veil tied over the small black hat so that 
 no one would have known her except by her figure. Even 
 that didn't look as usual, and when she saw me noticing 
 she said, whisperingly : 
 
 "I ought to have told you underwear and corsets. 
 Never mind. We'll get home." 
 
 I hadn't brought any gloves, either. It seemed very 
 strange to see her in street wear with bare hands. She 
 drew them up in the sleeves of the wrap, and I carried the 
 bag. 
 
 I hope never again to experience the feeling that grew 
 stronger and stronger in me as this muffled figure and I 
 left the women's room. I gave one scared glance at the 
 janitress, and thought she seemed surprised. We went 
 across the main room, and so to the street. 
 
 I got to feeling afraid of the thing that walked beside 
 me. I couldn't see its face. It didn't speak. Terror 
 came out to me from it. It went along feebly, as though 
 it had hard work to get one foot before the other, and try- 
 ing to hide its bare hands. When I wanted to get a taxi 
 there came but the single word : 
 
 "Street car." 
 
 We went and stood on that corner where I had waited 
 in the dawn with Boy, my first morning in San Vicente. 
 There were more people in the street than in the station, 
 she had spoken at last ; I was a little relieved. Then, as 
 we waited, she caught my arm and whispered : 
 
 "My stocking's coming down. Stand in front of me." 
 
 I sheltered her with my own skirts and the bag. We 
 were beside the woman who sells papers on that corner. 
 Bending down so, Miss Chandler must have read a head- 
 line through her veil, for she said, as she straightened up : 
 
 "Buy one. Don't look at it. Eold it. Bring it along."
 
 252 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 Our car came. I helped her on. The conductor was 
 one I rode with often. He said good-evening as I paused 
 to pay our fares. I wished he hadn't recognised me, but 
 there was nothing to do about it. She sat beside me, seem- 
 ing scarcely able to hold up her head. I thought she 
 wasn't noticing, but when some folks got on a few blocks 
 further uptown, she whispered: 
 
 "Gallic, I know those people. They know me. Sit 
 forward a little. Keep between us." It seemed an age 
 before we got to our stopping place. 
 
 There was the good old Poinsettia just where it had 
 been, on the corner of Arbolado and Fortieth, the very 
 porch light lavishly lit so soon the shine from the din- 
 ing-room windows, the sounds that showed people were 
 in there at table, helped to bring a sense of reality. Why, 
 this was really Miss Chandler here beside me. At the 
 moment she pulled off her veil, and took the bag from 
 my hand. 
 
 "Mustn't be seen together," she motioned. "Go in 
 ahead." 
 
 "You can't carry it." She was already swaying on her 
 feet. 
 
 "I can. Go on. Don't look back Don't seem to be 
 with me." 
 
 I went, very reluctantly. She staggered after, getting 
 up the steps one at a time. The hall was empty. There 
 was nobody to see our poor little comedy. I ran back, took 
 the bag from her and got her up the stairs as quickly as 
 I could. She was about at the end of her strength. Now 
 that the brace of facing the street was gone, she seemed all 
 relaxed, as though she would fall. I was afraid to let go 
 of her while I unlocked the room door. 
 
 Inside, she made straight for the couch and fell on it 
 face down, just as she was. She lay there breathing in 
 long, shuddering sighs while I switched on the lights and 
 got her hat off. She was ghastly her very hair looked
 
 A CRY FOR HELP 253 
 
 dead. I saw she was in a chill, and ran to the bathroom 
 for a hot-water bag. When I took off the shoes and stock- 
 ings to put it to her feet I could have cried with pity to 
 see the white flesh of her delicate ankles all scratched and 
 broken, a great swollen bruise on one. Under her suit 
 there was nothing but a silk nightgown, drabbled to the 
 knees, torn, hitched up to make it short enough not to show 
 below the dress edge. As I worked over her she spoke in- 
 distinctly, her mouth against the pillow: 
 
 "Lock the door." 
 
 I hurried across and had it open in my hand, getting 
 at the key, when her voice came again : 
 
 "Listen. Do you hear anything down there ? Is it all 
 right?" 
 
 There were the sounds usual to the house during dinner ; 
 that was all. I told her so over my shoulder, locked the 
 door, and then she said in a stronger tone than she had yet 
 used, 
 
 "The paper." 
 
 I picked it up from the table where I'd thrown it, spread 
 it out and saw in a great black headline across the front 
 page, "ALVAH J. PENDLETON, JR., AND FINLEY 
 BOGGS UNDER ARREST," with a sub-head, "ANTI- 
 VICE WORKERS MAKE USE OF MANN WHITE 
 SLAVE LAW TO TRAP OFFENDERS." 
 
 For a minute I didn't see anything more just stared 
 and stared. But she kept calling, "Well ? what is it ?" and 
 I went over and held it out to her at arm's length. She 
 wouldn't touch it, but caught at me and dragged me down 
 a little so she could see. 
 
 "Read it read it read it!" she groaned. 
 
 There wasn't anything else to do. I stood there sort of 
 cramped over in such a way that she might have seen the 
 words if she had chosen, and read to her about the anti-vice 
 campaign, the praises of our active prosecuting attorney, 
 and how he'd got the best grand jury that San Vicente
 
 254. THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 County had had for a long time, and the biggest thing 
 they'd done so far was to trail a party of law-breakers to 
 the Pendleton camp and arrest young Pendleton and this 
 other man, Boggs, for offences under the Mann White 
 Slave Act taking women across the state line for immoral 
 purposes. 
 
 She would have it. I read on desperately through a lot 
 of stuff about the woman companion of Boggs being held 
 as a witness. She was spoken of as the gay wife of a San 
 Francisco dentist, already co-respondent in a notorious 
 divorce suit. Miss Chandler held to my wrist, and when- 
 ever I'd stop she shook it. Finally, far down the column, 
 I came to mention of the other woman "Pendelton's 
 woman," they called her. She had got away mysteri- 
 ously escaped apparently at the very moment of the raid. 
 
 The grasp on my wrist slim and cold, like a metal 
 clamp relaxed. With a sigh Miss Chandler sank back 
 on her pillow. Her lids closed. What should I do ? Call 
 someone ? Get water and bathe her face ? As I hesitated 
 her eyes flashed open for a moment and stared up in mine. 
 
 "Read the rest of it all." 
 
 I began again. When I came to the statement that the 
 detectives had got their information for the raid through 
 an anonymous letter received by Mrs. Boggs, she said, 
 lying there with those closed eyes, 
 
 "Judge Hoard." 
 
 "Do you mean that he wrote it ?" I asked. 
 
 "Yes. Or had it written." She made the assertion in a 
 strange, tired way as though it scarcely concerned her. 
 
 I hurried on through the details of Mrs. Pendleton's 
 being in a nervous collapse, in the hands of her physician, 
 unable to see anyone from the newspapers. Miss Chandler 
 never opened her eyes, but I knew she listened. There was 
 one paragraph that told how every move of the party had 
 been watched from the first, how it was known that they 
 came in with their Chinese cook and chauffeur from San
 
 A CRY FOR HELP 255 
 
 Francisco two days before the raid, kept indoors with the 
 blinds down in the daytime and lit up and held high jinks 
 at night, and on the night of the raid the detectives were 
 hidden in the brush close around the camp from dark till 
 the time they made the arrest. It brought from her the 
 shuddering sob, "Oh, God!" That was all. I tried to 
 stop then, but she just reached up and touched the paper, 
 and I knew I had to go on. 
 
 She was stung into some sort of life when she heard 
 about the chauffeur being in the pay of the detectives. He 
 had kept in close touch with them by 'phone, watched the 
 garage so that there could be no get-away in the machine, 
 and was posted at the back door while two others forced 
 the front door. 
 
 "The hound ! I never trusted him," she whispered, and 
 lay awhile looking straight before her. 
 
 I didn't move. The room was very quiet. 
 
 "Premonitions," she said abruptly. "I was sick all the 
 evening couldn't eat at dinner. I must have felt those 
 devils out there in the bushes. I lay and listened to the 
 others at their singing, and ragging to the phonograph. 
 Then, afterward in the dark broad awake hour after 
 hour waiting for something. When it came, I jumped 
 got hold of my slippers motor cloak hood. Purse 
 under my pillow. They hammered the front door. Chen 
 So was coming from his room by the kitchen to let them 
 in. I ran past in the hall, dragging the coat on. He had a 
 candle. He saw me." 
 
 She straightened herself on the couch. Her feet were 
 beginning to get warm. The icy tension was relaxed. 
 
 "God bless that old Chinaman," she whispered. "He's 
 a man ! He looked at me with a perfectly wooden face, 
 and said, 'I think one p'leece he stand at back door. 
 Mebbe you go cellar way out. That way, p'leece he not 
 see." 
 
 "I was on the cellar stairs when the detectives went in.
 
 256 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 I heard the men over my head stamping and cursing, and 
 that woman screaming. I ran up the side steps and 
 stumbled out among some bushes. I was so near the back 
 door I could see the man standing there. I dropped to my 
 knees and crawled away." 
 
 She had crawled away on hands and knees, in her night- 
 gown, a motor coat and bedroom slippers. Through what 
 had those slippers gone before I saw them on her bare feet 
 there in the station ? What fierce courage had brought her 
 in such a rig, from the Oregon mountains to lie here on her 
 couch in San Vicente, nearly dead, to be sure, but here 
 safe? The chill had left her. Her cheeks began to 
 flush and her eyes to gleam with fever. She raised 
 herself on her elbow, and, catching at my skirts, said, 
 bitterly : 
 
 "This is Judge Hoard's doing from first to last. He 
 thinks he's got me that now, if I attempt to tell the truth 
 about him I'll be discredited. Oh, when I think of it, I 
 could tear him to pieces with my fingers !" 
 
 Her violence scared me. Certainly this was a sick 
 woman. Oughtn't she to have a doctor ? Dinner was over. 
 People were in the halls, but Miss Chandler didn't mod- 
 erate her tone; she spoke loud. I was at my wits' end, 
 hungry and worn out myself. 
 
 "You must be starved," I tried to divert her attention. 
 "Let me get you something to eat." 
 
 She acted as if she hadn't heard. I thought I'd go any- 
 how and get her something, but when I opened the inner 
 door there came a little tapping on the outer one, and there 
 stood Mrs. Tipton with a covered tray, as steady a light 
 in those brown eyes of hers as though we'd sent for her 
 in the most ordinary way. 
 
 She walked in without the least explanation or question, 
 set her tray on a stand, and while I locked the door she was 
 beside Miss Chandler, laying hands on her, feeling her 
 forehead with the born nurse's practised touch.
 
 A CRY FOR HELP 257 
 
 "Should we send for a doctor?" I whispered at her 
 shoulder. But Miss Chandler heard and flamed out at me, 
 
 "Are you crazy ? I don't need anything but a dose of 
 morphine and my dinner." 
 
 I looked across at Mrs. Tipton and raised my eyebrows 
 inquiringly. She nodded. 
 
 "Get it for her, if you know where it is." And when I 
 brought the vial of tablets from the bathroom medicine 
 closet, she took it to the light and read the label, with Miss 
 Chandler fretting at her, 
 
 "It's all right. I'm used to it. I take one when I can't 
 sleep." 
 
 "You run down stairs and eat your own dinner, Mrs. 
 Baird." Mrs. Tipton, having administered the tablet, was 
 deftly spreading out the tray, and I saw from the look on 
 Miss Chandler's face that she was going to eat. "Run 
 along. Julia will give you something. Come back as soon 
 as you're through." 
 
 I went then. Coming out of that room was like stepping 
 from one world to another. There were the pleasant, 
 mildly festive sounds of an evening at bridge being ar- 
 ranged. A door at the further end of the hall was open, 
 and Miss Creevey called to Mrs. Tutt that she was bring- 
 ing her new cards. Probably no one knew yet of Miss 
 Chandler's coming, but I dodged down the back stairs so 
 as to have to answer no questions. 
 
 In the kitchen Everett and his wife were at their meal, 
 but they got up with that beautiful, smiling readiness 
 that often astonishes me in servants, and brought mine 
 to me in the dining-room. Julia at once agreed to go up 
 and get Boy as soon as she could and put him to bed for 
 me. She would have no trouble. He liked her. The 
 hot food was comforting. I ate with unexpected ap- 
 petite. 
 
 Back in the room once more, I found Mrs. Tipton had 
 Miss Chandler all straightened up, put into a fresh gown,
 
 I 
 
 258 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 lying in her bed, and was just finishing the braiding of 
 her hair. 
 
 "I'm glad you were so quick," she chirped, composedly. 
 "I'll have to go downstairs for half an hour. Then I'll 
 relieve you." She packed her tray of emptied dishes 
 deftly. "Did you like those timbales so well ?" she cooed 
 to the patient. "I'll have Everett make them for you 
 again." 
 
 With her free hand she straightened the edge of Miss 
 Chandler's pillows, then touched my shoulder so that I 
 went with her to the door. There she spoke to me in a 
 lowered tone as I was letting her out. 
 
 "Don't let her take another of the tablets. A quarter 
 grain is all she ought to have. Keep her as quiet as you 
 can. If she gets started talking the morphine will stimu- 
 late instead of putting her to sleep. It's better for her not 
 to talk." 
 
 In this Virginia lady's colourless, detached manner 
 there was neither curiosity nor indifference ; it was simply 
 and marvellously commonplace. I went back and sat down 
 by Miss Chandler's bed. The minute we were alone she 
 began to speak, rapidly and strongly, like a talking mech- 
 anism wound up to go just so long, a thing that couldn't be 
 etopped except by violence. 
 
 "Callie listen Callie ! I went on my hands and knees 
 till I got out of that oak thicket. They were ransacking the 
 house for me I could hear them. I climbed the fence 
 and ran. Up the canyon their machine was in the road. 
 I stumbled and fell. I fell and rolled. I got into a wood- 
 road and ran and ran. I don't know how far. You can't 
 tell running in the dark that way. But I thought I'd 
 gone miles when I heard bells and saw a light. A dog 
 barked. It was a Spanish wood wagon from up in the 
 hills, going across the range to the hotel so I knew it 
 must be nearly morning." 
 
 "Mrs. Tipton said you oughtn't to talk, dear." I drew
 
 A CRY FOR HELP 259 
 
 the covers smooth. "Could you just try to close your eyes 
 now ?" The stare of them made my heart ache. 
 
 "No. I want to tell you this. I'll sleep afterward. The 
 dog found me. It found me ; so I thought I might as well 
 get the boy to take me to the railroad. There couldn't be 
 much risk. He was a stupid Portuguese, with hardly any 
 English. He let me climb up to the high seat beside him ; 
 but when we got to the Meaghers highway he began slew- 
 ing his horses to go north. That would take us back past 
 the camp. 'Stop/ I said, and when he wouldn't, 'I'll give 
 you a hundred dollars to take me down to the station.' 
 
 "I oughtn't to have offered so much. It just scared him. 
 He pulled his team back hard. 'Get down off my wagon,' 
 he said, and I had to get down he would have shoved me 
 off. I almost believe he would have struck me. While his 
 four horses were all across the road and I was trying to 
 argue, we heard the sound of a machine, and then a 
 roadster came around the turn, its lights full on me ! 
 
 "I thought the end had come, yet the moment the man 
 spoke and asked, 'Is anything the matter ? Have you had 
 an accident, Madam ?' I knew he wasn't one of the detec- 
 tives. The Portuguese wagon-driver would have been 
 the safe one, if I could have got him to take me to the 
 station. He hadn't English enough to tell anything; but 
 he whipped up and left me there face to face with this man 
 in the roadster." 
 
 Poor thing, I was glad then she had made me read the 
 paper. She hadn't seen where, on the second page, there 
 was a later dispatch telling how the detectives had rounded 
 up the driver of a wood wagon who admitted that he had 
 carried the mysterious woman some distance and been 
 offered a hundred dollars to take her to the station ! 
 
 "Callie have I already told you about this man that 
 gave me the lift in his machine? Did I mention him 
 before? He said he knew you. Called you Mrs. Oliver 
 Baird."
 
 260 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "Yes yes." There would be neighbours who remem- 
 bered me. 
 
 "He was coming from the hotel back there ; he'd started 
 at four o'clock so as to make the early train over at Stan- 
 leyton. He didn't ask any questions. He would take me to 
 the station with him. I thought the worst of it was over. 
 That was when we talked about you. He hadn't known 
 but that you were living at Meagners. I told him you were 
 in San Vicente, in the same house with me. He seemed to 
 have been away a good while, and not to remember the 
 roads very well. We saw a lantern and a man down in a 
 cow lot at his milking, and he left me in the auto while he 
 went to inquire." 
 
 Somehow I knew what was coming. 
 
 "Oliver Baird that's your husband's name, isn't it?" 
 I nodded. 
 
 "That was the man milking. He came to the fence, and 
 held up his lantern and talked. I saw both their faces. 
 He pointed, explaining about the route. I heard, coming 
 on the road above, the racket of a motorcycle, and a car 
 with a Klaxon horn. I scrambled out of the auto, got 
 through the fence and was in a little shed, burrowing down 
 behind some hay, when the men came up first the one on 
 the motorcycle, then two others, in the car, with Louis, the 
 chauffeur, driving." 
 
 Her voice had been strong, rapid, monotonous ! now it 
 broke with a kind of shudder and she was silent for a mo- 
 ment, evidently going back over that scene. 
 
 "What beasts such men are!" she burst out finally. 
 "How they relished their job ! How they enjoyed telling 
 of the arrests they'd made and the woman they were after ! 
 She was wanted in a white slave case as a witness. I had 
 my eye at a chink in the shed wall ; it chanced that I could 
 see the face of the gentleman who had brought me in the 
 roadster. I wondered if he'd glance toward his machine 
 in such a way as to make them suspicious. He didn't. He
 
 A CRY FOR HELP 261 
 
 let them do the talking. He kept still while Baird told 
 them he hadn't seen or heard of the party they were after. 
 They didn't trust the silent man. When he came back to 
 the road, they followed. They searched his roadster. 
 They apologised said the woman might have slipped un- 
 der the rugs while his back was turned but when he drove 
 away the man on the motorcycle followed him close, while 
 the two others finally went off toward the Meaghers sta- 
 tion." 
 
 She closed her eyes at last. I was edging out of my 
 chair when she opened them and asked, 
 
 "Gallic would you mind getting me some water ?" 
 
 I brought the glass, and she drank, almost smiling as she 
 looked up over the tumbler rim to say, 
 
 "Your husband gave me a drink out of one of the milk 
 bottles before daylight this morning. I went down to the 
 railroad in his wagon on the seat beside him. Isn't that 
 queer ?" 
 
 Queer ! I set the glass back and looked at her, trying to 
 get the grotesque fact through my head that she had been, 
 at dawn this morning, out in the cow lot on the ranch, with 
 Oliver ! 
 
 "I had to ask him for help," she went on. "He was my 
 last hope. I didn't say I was the woman they were after, 
 and he didn't mention their being after anyone. I had 
 waited in the shed, afraid, till he was through milking, and 
 it was when we were going down the hill that he spoke, 
 'Stanleyton and Meaghers are both watched,' and offered 
 to take me on to the junction if I'd wait at somebody-or- 
 other's store till he came back. 'Not at any house,' I said. 
 I waited in some bushes at the edge of a field while he went 
 on and shipped the milk. I thought probably he'd not 
 come back. Why should he ? It was getting light. And 
 there I was skulking in the bushes in that open field, like a 
 rat in a trap. If he didn't come if he didn't come I'd 
 better have stayed and faced them at the front door. O God,
 
 262 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 to fail after all I'd gone through ! I hadn't even anything 
 to kill myself with and if I'd had it to die there dis- 
 graced " 
 
 "But you're all right now," I said, and coaxed her. 
 "Don't talk any more about it. You must go to sleep." 
 
 "In a minute," she murmured. "But he did come back. 
 He came back " and she went on feverishly to tell me all 
 about the miserable slow train she got at the Junction, the 
 hours of waiting at Cascade, the changing cars, the final 
 securing of a Pullman and being able to pass for a sick 
 woman who had lost her luggage. Mrs. Tipton came back 
 while we were in the thick of it, and put a stop to the talk- 
 ing. 
 
 I got up to say good-night, and then I had to tell Miss 
 Chandler that I was leaving for Hopfields early next 
 morning, to be gone at least six weeks. 
 
 "Well that's better," she agreed on a sort of falling 
 note. And then : "Poor Callie !" 
 
 She threw out a hand and caught mine. For awhile she 
 lay and looked at me. There were no apologies or explana- 
 tions, but I saw how she felt. 
 
 She was still holding onto my fingers, her eyes on mine, 
 detaining me, as Mrs. Tipton went into the bathroom to 
 renew the hot-water bottle. 
 
 "That man that helped me away in his auto," she re- 
 peated vaguely, "did I tell you his name ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "He gave it to the detectives. It was Stanley Philip 
 Stanley."
 
 CHAPTEE XVII 
 
 LAS PALMAS HOP RANCH 
 
 IT'S strange how we agree that the things we can see and 
 hear and touch are real, and call the invisibles that 
 take hold of our feelings imaginary. When Miss Chand- 
 ler, lying there on the bed in her room, holding my hand 
 for good-bye, told me casually that just the night before 
 she had seen Philip sat beside him, talked to him, spoken 
 my name to him something somewhere swung open like 
 a door, and the past marched on me. A door it was a 
 floodgate ! What came in the tide that it let loose threat- 
 ened to drown out the present. 
 
 Since that day of parting in the side yard of his father's 
 house, when I felt Philip had definitely shut me out, my 
 struggle had been always to forget, unless I could think of 
 him as of any other childhood friend. When my first 
 frantic rebellion and longing began to die down into the 
 dull ache that is known as resignation, it seemed that I 
 might accomplish this. And now Miss Chandler, staring 
 at me from the pillow, babbling because the relief and the 
 dose of medicine she'd had made her want to talk, told me 
 of some stranger who had been kind to her, adding as an 
 unimportant detail that it was Philip Stanley. And with 
 the knowledge that he had been last night in the road in 
 front of our ranch and got his first word of me from a dis- 
 graced fugitive, a woman in her shameful position, the 
 pang that went through me was as disproportionate, as 
 absurd, as the supersensitiveness of the very young girl 
 who would almost rather die than appear at a disadvantage 
 before her sweetheart ! 
 
 Well I couldn't set out on that sort of thing at this 
 age. Philip had passed, so far as I was concerned, into 
 
 263
 
 264. THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 the region of mystery, the world of the unguessed, one of 
 the things that will never be understood, and therefore 
 never forgotten; yet before he went he had so wrung my 
 heart that mere common sense put me on the defensive 
 against his very memory. Instinctively I got out of Miss 
 Chandler's room and up to Boyce as quickly as I could. 
 Here was one thing right in my life, anyhow. I switched 
 on the lights and stood looking down on him asleep there. 
 
 It was a blankety, foggy, hot August night; I felt 
 oppressed, and finally went to the window and tried to 
 push it a little wider open. Down yonder in the dark of 
 the back yard was Mr. Dale's bungalow closed, black, 
 empty. Anything in my life that concerned him was just 
 like that, too closed, black, empty. I turned back to the 
 lighted room, to Boy in his blue silk pajamas, made over 
 from the very suit I had seen one night on the sleeping 
 porch at Harvey Watkins's house. I smoothed the little 
 breast pocket which I had noticed as the cut-and-basted 
 garments lay in Dele's work-basket. Dele had meant well, 
 in her way; and Harvey had meant ill enough in his 
 and both of them were as completely nothing to me as 
 though they had never existed. On my table, packed up to 
 be left behind, for use when I came back ready to try for 
 another job, were some notebooks and office things stuff 
 I had acquired with my new trade. It might have seemed 
 that they, concerning the future as they did, would have 
 had some substance, some reality ; but at that moment they 
 were as dreamy and unreal as the rest. 
 
 Boy mumbled a word in his sleep, threw his doubled 
 fists up on the pillow and yawned, squirming away from 
 the light. I stooped and kissed his little open mouth. To- 
 morrow he and I would be starting out together. I must 
 go to bed and get some rest like a sensible person. 
 
 Boy and I had to get up while all the rest of the house, 
 except the kitchen, was asleep; but there was no trouble 
 with him after I mentioned "the cars." Orma served our
 
 LAS PALMAS HOP RANCH 265 
 
 breakfast and had a big lunch already put up for us, 
 explaining, 
 
 "The Mrs. told me to. She's in bed now, trying to get 
 a little sleep. Said she was up nearly all night toothache 
 or something. Say, Miss Chandler's home." 
 
 I glanced up at her unconscious face; no, she hadn't 
 meant to imply a connection between the two statements. 
 
 "Oh, yes," I said before I thought. 
 
 "How'd you know?" Orma looked at me in surprise. 
 "She got in at three o'clock this morning, the Mrs. said." 
 
 "I was awake a good deal in the night myself," I 
 evaded. 
 
 " 'Fraid you'd miss your train," Orma was sympathetic. 
 "I'm always that way. You've got plenty of time. Say, 
 I wish you'd look what's in this morning's 'Examiner' " 
 
 "I saw it in the 'Clarion' last night," I put in hastily as 
 she turned to the sideboard where the San Francisco 
 papers lay. From where I sat my eye caught the heavy- 
 faced type MANN WHITE SLAVE " 
 
 "Let's go to the cars now," Boyce was fed, ready to play 
 the man's part of hustling everybody along. 
 
 It was "All right, dear; we're off. Good-bye, Orma 
 tell them all good-bye again" and I was relieved to be at 
 last out in the cool, morning street, the poor old Poinsettia 
 with its festering secret behind me, something new and 
 clean if it was only hop picking ahead. I could even 
 share Boyce's enthusiasm for "the cars." 
 
 I didn't have to go down to the central station ; the little 
 branch line to Corinth may be picked up at several points 
 in San Vicente and its suburbs. We left from the shed 
 three blocks back of the house. I gave Boyce the window- 
 seat, and, with most of him waving outside in splendid 
 excitement, while I hung on to the slack of his clothes, we 
 got started. As the little local train joggled along, and 
 stopped at its stations, as I held automatically to the tail of 
 Boyce's blouse, or as auomatically answered the occasional
 
 266 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 questions he turned to shout at me, I began to drift back 
 into old remembrance. Little things I hadn't thought of 
 for years came to me there, things that had been said about 
 dresses I had worn, places I had gone, the very look of the 
 weeds by the pathside on certain evenings walking home 
 from school. I lost track of where I was and woke with a 
 jerk when the conductor demanded my ticket. He must 
 have been used to it, for he merely repeated the demand, 
 chucked Boyce under the chin, said it wouldn't be long 
 until I'd be paying fare for him, and went on. 
 
 Despite the motion of the train, the heat soon began to 
 be oppressive. Our car was full of folks going up to pick 
 hops, and of talk about it. They called to each other back 
 and forth, things related to the work, comparing notes of 
 the ranches on which they had picked the year before, or 
 the year before that. Some of them were rather glum over 
 the prospect at Las Palmas, grumbling that they'd heard 
 they'd already more pickers than would be needed. 
 
 I listened, but asked no questions, and didn't join in the 
 talk at all. What would have been the use ? I must go on 
 now ; I couldn't go back. If I felt any doubt on the point, 
 I had but to glance across where in the seat opposite me 
 they were passing around the "Examiner" that Orma had 
 offered me with my breakfast, enjoying, as people do, the 
 scandalous details of the Boggs-Pendleton case. Oh, no, 
 no, I must get away from San Vicente. Working folks 
 always do a great deal of grumbling about a job like hop- 
 picking, I said to myself, and if others could stand it Boy 
 and I could, for awhile. 
 
 As we ran into the outskirts of Corinth, Boy waved and 
 squirmed as though he would go entirely through the win- 
 dow. I clutched his blouse-tail tight while he shouted back 
 to me, 
 
 "Now, Muwer now we're coming to Aunt Emma's 
 house ! Watch, and you'll see it." 
 
 When we did pass the place where Mrs. Eccles's daugh-
 
 LAS PALMAS HOP RANCH 267 
 
 ter lived he was dreadfully disappointed because there was 
 no calf in the side yard, as there always had been when he 
 was there. He landed back on the seat against me with a 
 thump, and jolted out, 
 
 "Where you s'pose it's gone? What you s'pose those 
 folks have done with that calf ?" 
 
 The only suggestion that came to my mind a butcher 
 wouldn't have pleased Boy. 
 
 "It was a red calf, Muvver," he explained. "It would 
 dest shake its head and holler 'Maah' ! It chased me ; 
 Aunt Emma said it was dest playful." 
 
 "Well, I expect it's gone away somewhere to play with 
 other little calves," I offered, as I wiped his earnest, per- 
 spiring face. "Come, dear here's where we get off." 
 
 The train stopped ; all those who were pickers piled out, 
 Boy and I with- the rest. Bundles of bedding were thrown 
 from the baggage car. It was sweltering. We were sticky, 
 and gritty with dust. The burning heat of the boards in 
 the platform scorched through the thin soles of my shoes. 
 
 The Hopfields district lies in a valley so broad that the 
 saw-tooth mountains on one side and the far-away buttes 
 on the other, make a merely irregular horizon. Between 
 them is a flat, or only slightly rolling country now at the 
 height of its dry season. Corinth, a supply town for the 
 great hop ranches about, had been a village fifty years ago, 
 when they built in the Spanish fashion, of grey stone, with 
 two-story porches that arcaded the sidewalks. Now that 
 the railroad had come in, and the hop business, these few 
 old houses looked out of place among the great square 
 frame store buildings and preftty little bungalows. 
 Corinth was half asleep and half awake; the old part 
 drowsing in the sun, the new elbowing it. Everything 
 looked breathless and parched. This was the rush time of 
 the year when the normal village and ranch life was over- 
 flowed with a motley, despised tide of seasonal workers. 
 I knew enough about such things to understand the posi-
 
 268 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 tion I was taking in life when I went with the hop-pickers. 
 The road that ran by the station platform was ankle deep 
 in yellow dust. The train went on and left that platform 
 full of people and baggage. 
 
 There were wagons, one of them backed up to the boards 
 had the name Las Palmas painted on it. It was a good 
 team with a negro driver. Down at the other end of the 
 platform the pickers, noisy and perspiring, were getting 
 their rolls, shouldering them up and tramping away in the 
 heat. There were women and children among them, but 
 I couldn't go like that. I'd see if I couldn't get my stuff 
 taken out in that Las Palmas wagon. I had to leave Boy 
 in the broiling sun with my suit-case while I went to ask. 
 I was at the pile of luggage and thought I'd got sight of 
 my own sack when a familiar voice sang out, "Don't tell 
 me this is the little lady from the Red Leaf Inn ?" 
 
 It was the name Joe Ed Tipton sometimes gave the 
 Poinsettia, and there was Joe Ed himself, his face peeling 
 with new sunburn, as shabby and irresponsible looking as 
 anyone in sight. 
 
 "Oh, Joe Ed," I cried, "it's awfully good to see you ! I 
 wonder if you could help me get my stuff out here. I 
 want to find if they'll take it over in the Las Palmas 
 wagon." 
 
 "Sure !" he cried promptly, though he looked a bit puz- 
 zled. "I'm from Las Palmas myself. I'm captain of that 
 wagon to-day in to see about some freight. You going up 
 to our ranch? Well, you don't want to do much fooling 
 around in the hotness of this heat. Let's get into the sta- 
 tion, and I'll 'phone and tell the folks you're here. It's a 
 wonder they wouldn't meet you they send the car over 
 for guests. You couldn't walk it." 
 
 "Wait, Joe," I pulled back as he drew me toward the 
 door, "I don't know the folks at Las Palmas; I'm not a 
 visitor. I came here to pick hops, and I've got to see about 
 my bedding roll."
 
 LAS PALMAS HOP RANCH 269 
 
 "Heh you " Joe Ed whirled on me in blank amaze- 
 ment ""you're joking." He studied my face. 
 
 "No, if there's any joke it's on me," I said. "My outfit 
 is in one of those bundles there. I've come to stay." 
 
 He stood a moment in a sort of slacked attitude, hands 
 deep in pockets, while the crowd jostled us. I saw now 
 that he was thinner than I had ever known him not much 
 left of him but skin and bone and those high spirits that 
 nothing seemed to quench. Suddenly he threw up his 
 head with a laugh, demanding, 
 
 "Why not ? It's all in a lifetime. What would you be 
 doing anyhow but the most unlikely thing in the world? 
 and getting by with it, too. Gimme your check." 
 
 He plunged at the pile of baggage, and discovered mine 
 with a shout, 
 
 "If she ain't got the same old outfit we took to the 
 Yosemite ! Look who's here, Bice," he spoke to the negro 
 driver. "Here's the little lady that held up our train at 
 Meaghers last year." 
 
 "Why, how do you do, Bice?" I said. The big black 
 man on the wagon seat turned and touched his straw hat to 
 me, then, looking above the heads of the crowd to where 
 Boy stood by my suit-case, asked, "Won't you and the little 
 gentleman ride over with us ?" 
 
 "Sure they will," said Joe, who had got the bedding roll 
 into the wagon. As he and I went down the platform for 
 Boy, he added, jerking his head a little backward toward 
 the wagon and its driver, "I brought the poor old ginny 
 along with me to the ranch to get him away from the booze. 
 I have him on an allowance. He's playing square with me. 
 When he's all straightened up and things are so I can go 
 home again I'll present him to mother for a butler. You 
 ought to see him buttle!" 
 
 "Joe Ed," I began, a little embarrassed, "you could go 
 home to-morrow to-day any time." I realised with 
 a sinking heart how awfully I'd hate to have
 
 270 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 him do so. "There's nothing They the suit's 
 been dropped." 
 
 "It has?" he stopped and looked at me, then down at 
 his shabby clothes, his blackened, scarred hands. "Hello,, 
 old timer," he said absently to Boy, picked up my suit- 
 case, then turned and without another word let through the 
 crowd toward the wagon. Bice lifted my son to the seat 
 beside him, we found a fairly comfortable location on the 
 load, I put up my umbrella and we started. 
 
 "You'll go back home, won't you?" I asked, as we 
 jolted down the road, facing back toward the tail of the 
 wagon, glad to be high enough to be out of some of the 
 dust. 
 
 "I don't know," Joe Ed said slowly. "Somehow I can't 
 see myself doing any Prodigal Son act." He lowered his 
 tone and spoke under cover of the umbrella and the noises 
 of the wagon. "And here's Bice ; he'll be in fine shape by 
 the time picking's over, if I stay by and I'll have a little 
 something to the good myself." 
 
 We left Corinth and soon began driving along beside 
 hop fields. On and on we went ; there seemed to be miles 
 of it, the "rows" making interminable lanes of arbour-like, 
 garlanded green, all pretty and fresh-looking in the midst 
 of the golden-tan California summer landscape. As our 
 wagon came opposite each opening we would glimpse pick- 
 ers down that row, just dabs of moving colour; bending 
 backs of those who worked low, lifted arms of the ones who 
 pulled down the upper hops. At the near end of a row 
 there was a woman in a gay head-handkerchief kneeling by 
 a great open sack, with two little girls helping her strip 
 hops into it from a green pile of vines beside them. 
 
 "Boy, are you seeing this ?" I called. "That's the way 
 we'll work." 
 
 "Harmon ranch," Joe Ed waved a hand. "Las Palmas 
 hops don't come down to the road on this side." 
 
 It was a long, hot ride in the springless wagon. But I
 
 JOE, ED AND I TOILED UP TO THE CAMP 
 IN THE BLISTERING HEAT
 
 LAS PALMAS HOP RANCH 271 
 
 could hear Boy, up on the seat beside Bice, having a great 
 time. We were at least better off than those who h; d to 
 tramp it, whom we passed in little fagged, red-faced, per- 
 spiring squads, throwing our dust on them in addition to 
 that which their own feet raised. 
 
 As we finally came to the big lower gate that led in to 
 the camp ground and working portions of Las Palmas 
 ranch, we got a view of the ranch house itself further on, 
 with its own private entrance, and the avenue of tall palms 
 that gave the place its name. Over there things were beau- 
 tifully green and still and shady, the grounds about the 
 big, dignified, secluded brick house handsomely kept up 
 by irrigation. Turning in at the workmen's gate we lost 
 sight of it for a moment, our view cut off by a big frame 
 building with "Las Palmas Store" painted on the weather- 
 boarding above its door in black letters a foot high. There 
 was a smaller building beyond ; the office, where I would 
 have to sign up and get my picker's ticket. There were 
 quite a number ahead of me ; we saw we might be delayed ; 
 so Bice went on with his wagon and Boy went with him. 
 
 "Put her stuff down in that vacant place between the 
 Pochin shack and the Monroe tent," Joe Ed gave direc- 
 tions. "We'll be up to look after them." 
 
 I signed the books. There was no tent to be had for me, 
 but there would be plenty next morning. As Joe Ed and 
 I toiled up to the camp in the blistering heat, he, with an 
 encouraging hand under my elbow, made light conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 "I see the Hotel Van Stack is still running," he indi- 
 cated a couple of straw stacks, with some blankets and 
 bedding tossed in against them, that stood off a bit from 
 the track we were following. "Bice and I slept there the 
 first night, along with forty or fifty other extinguished 
 guests. We're with the stags, now, in one of the bull-pens. 
 It isn't so bad. Ventilation's fine, both places ; fire escapes 
 adequate, too."
 
 272 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 It was after eleven o'clock. Everybody was in the field. 
 The fifty or sixty shelters board shacks and tents scat- 
 tered hit-or-miss on the top of the slope, the big "bull- 
 pens" as Joe Ed had called them mere enclosures with 
 flimsy fences of stretched gunny sacks looked as deserted 
 as a raffle of ill-smelling waste thrown out and bleaching in 
 the sun. Away over yonder we had a glimpse of Bice's 
 wagon moving off toward the drying kilns; Boy and my 
 things were left in the little strip of shade on the north side 
 of one of the shanties. 
 
 'llight there's where your tent'll be," Joe Ed told me. 
 "The folks in that house are good people the Pochins 
 Polish Jews ; a little nutty on the I. W. W. subject that's 
 all." 
 
 "But you know I'm just from a grove of nuts, Joe," I 
 joked back rather feebly. 
 
 "That's so," he agreed. "But this has got the old Pom- 
 sett' skun a mile. Little of everything here. See those 
 Persians ?" nodding after a group of dark-faced, turbaned 
 men who had been on the train, and were now straggling 
 away with their bundles toward a dry slough that lay off 
 beside the camp. "They'll flock with another bunch of the 
 same sort that came up yesterday and fixed a roost for 
 themselves in the tules. Catch them paying seventy-five 
 cents a week for a tent. There are Syrians, Hindus, Jap- 
 anese, Chinese, some Islanders, plenty of Mexicans ; we've 
 even got a few Indians, and every kind of European that 
 Noah let out of the ark, as well as Bice and you and me. 
 Ain't she a gay old mix ?" 
 
 "Yes," I agreed. "I had no idea what it really was like. 
 The worst you can say of it, it's awfully interesting." 
 
 "And at that it'll be more interesting the further we get. 
 Yes, ma'am, there's going to be something of a hoo-roosh on 
 Las Palmas ranch before the picking's over." 
 
 "What do you mean by a hoo-roosh ?" I questioned a bit 
 nervously.
 
 LAS PALMAS HOP RANGH 273 
 
 "Strike," explained Joe Ed. "I'm blest if I see how in 
 the old cat they can organise one got no labor union back 
 of 'em abont forty-seven varieties and languages to work 
 with. The man who could pull it ofFs a wiz. But nervy 
 little Barney Monroe, and Paul Cluett, and some of the 
 others are sure going to buck the proposition." 
 
 "Strike !" I echoed, coming to a standstill. "'What are 
 they going to strike for ?' 
 
 "Oh, for a-plenty !" Joe Ed pulled a bit at the elbow he 
 held. "Come along, you'll hear all about it this evening. 
 When we're not picking hops, we're holding meetings. 
 You can't keep out of it. You'll be asked to join the 
 I. W. W. before you're five hours older." 
 
 "The I. W. W. what's that ?" I had a vague notion 
 that I ought to know. 
 
 "Industrial Workers of the World the only or-gan-isa- 
 tion (I quote from our distinguished speakers) that em- 
 braces all labouring people, as sich folks without trades 
 see?" 
 
 "Muvver, I'm hungry!" Boy hallooed, as we came up. 
 
 It was a heavenly relief to get into the shade where he 
 stood. The little house was fast closed, and on its door a 
 square of pasteboard, like the top of a shoe-box, had the 
 name Pochin. 
 
 "You'll like Sonya and Vera Pochin," said Joe Ed. 
 "They've got pep. Young and good lookers, both of 'em 
 and can dance all night. But they'd rather lead a Votes 
 for Women procession in the hot sun like this, or go to one 
 of their I. W. W. meetings." 
 
 "Muwer, I'm hungry," Boy repeated without the slight- 
 est variation. 
 
 "Yes, yes," I hushed him, "we'll eat now, before we go 
 to the field. There's plenty for you, too, Joe Ed. Oh, 
 dear" as I turned my suit-case over sideways and began 
 pulling things out, "I forgot to get condensed milk at the 
 store for Boy!"
 
 274. THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 Joe Ed straightened up and sighted around, announcing 
 offhand, 
 
 "I'll borrow a can for you." Most of the tents and 
 shacks were posted with scrawled notices: "Keep out!" 
 "Let Things Alone!" but he hailed a short, dark, active 
 man who came ploughing at an amazing pace through that 
 fiery heat up the way we had just travelled. "Hello, 
 Barney! Got a can of milk to lend us? five-cent size. 
 (Mrs. Baird, Mr. Monroe.) If she opens a ten-center in 
 this heat it'll spoil before she can use it." 
 
 "Yep, glad to oblige." The little man didn't halt till he 
 was in the shade of the tent beyond us. There he checked 
 and wiped the streaming sweat from his darkly flushed 
 face. Joe pulled open the camping kit, got a tin bucket 
 and ran over to the well. Barney Monroe brought the 
 small milk can and stopped to punch it for me, setting his 
 own lunch bucket and water jug down to do so. 
 
 The first thing I did when Joe Ed fetched the water was 
 to wet a towel-end and cleanse the dust from our hot, sticky 
 faces and hands. I had the milk in the tin cup, Boy was 
 nudging my elbow thirstily with his, "Now, Muwer," 
 when I glanced over and saw blue flies whirling above the 
 sump hole around the well from which that water had 
 come. 
 
 "My goodness !" I said, startled. "I can't let Boy drink 
 that. It ought to be boiled for a child, anyhow." 
 
 "It ought to be boiled for a hog!" flamed out Monroe, 
 mopping his streaming face again. "This in my jug 
 hasn't been boiled, and I've got two kids out there in the 
 field with my wife, that'll have to drink it glad to get it. 
 We can't afford to buy from that infernal stew-wagon." 
 
 " 'S all right, Muvver 's all right. I'm so-o firsty!" 
 Boyce protested. But I lit my lamp stove. 
 
 "Can't you work that stew-wagon girl, Barney?" ban- 
 tered Joe Ed, as he set the water on for me. "I get a 
 drink from her, whether I buy or not."
 
 LAS PALMAS HOP RANCH 275 
 
 "No, I can't." Monroe suddenly showed a flash of 
 white teeth. "I've not got your beauty and winning ways." 
 He glanced at my sterilising operations. "Lady, that may 
 be a pretty bad well over there, but let me tell you, by eight 
 of a morning it and the other one are all pumped out. 
 They stand in line then to fill their jugs, and lose the time 
 from the picking. Better get what you need now. There 
 ain't any to be had in the field, except what you carry 
 there. You can take enough to do you, or you can perish 
 for it, or you can buy some mean stuff you don't want from 
 the stew-wagon and get a glass of good ice water thrown 
 in." 
 
 "Business as she is bizzed at the present moment on the 
 hop ranch of Las Palmas in Chavez county, California," 
 Joe Ed contributed, as I was silent, laying out the lunch. 
 
 "They've really got more pickers now than they can 
 properly take care of, haven't they ?" I ventured. 
 
 "Of course they've got too many folks here !" Monroe 
 looked at me in a sort of helpless fury. "It's what they 
 wanted. For what else would they advertise all up and 
 down the coast and five miles out to sea, 'Light work in the 
 open air, good pay, a job for every member of the family' ? 
 And every pound of human flesh on this ranch will pay 
 them toll before it gets off. Sventy-five cents a week for 
 a tent there's good money for 'em in that alone." 
 
 "But I couldn't get any tent," I objected. 
 
 "Don't worry," he said. "The tents will be here. Any- 
 thing that they sell you at five hundred per cent, profit will 
 be here. They won't let a grocer's delivery wagon on the 
 place; you'll buy from the ranch store what they've got, 
 not what you want. Another thing: the going price for 
 hop-picking in California this year is a dollar a hundred. 
 The cheque that Las Palmas gives for a hundred pounds of 
 clean hops, you can cash for only ninety cents. They hold 
 back the rest they say they'll give it to you as a bonus 
 if you stay the season out. But they see to it that condi-
 
 276 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 tions are so bad that you can't stay; there's a stream of 
 people leaving all he time and leaving behind 'em ten 
 per cent, of the pay they've slaved for. That's the arrange- 
 ment you put your name to when you signed for your 
 picker's ticket. Ten per cent, bonus yah !" 
 
 "Have any luck with the boss this morning?" Joe Ed 
 edged in quietly. "He going to do anything about high- 
 pole men for these women, and someone to load the heavy 
 sacks for 'em?" 
 
 "Got plenty more promises/' said Monroe, scowling. 
 "They promised tents to-morrow and tents'll come ; high- 
 pole men to-morrow; some cleaning up of this stinking 
 camp to-morrow. God knows if we'll get either." He 
 snapped his fingers, snatched up jug and bucket. "We're 
 in a hell of a fix here ; but if we stand together maybe " 
 
 He whirled and went steaming away. 
 
 Joe Ed and I scarcely looked at each other all through 
 lunch. Boy was the only one who ate his food with ap- 
 petite children haven't much sense of smell. He wanted 
 to know all about the queer things he saw, and Joe Ed 
 kept giving him funny answers, and seemed to take no 
 notice of my having nothing to say. When we had eaten, 
 I didn't see anything else to do but go on out to the field ; 
 he had to get back to his work; there was no use being 
 scared away before I had even tried. 
 
 It was a mile from the camp to the picking. We passed 
 the drying kilns, the stables, a group of small scattered 
 houses, some of them pretty little places, white-painted 
 and with front yards full of flowers. These were the dwell- 
 ings of the permanent employees on Las Palmas. It took 
 a lot of them for the year-round ranch work; they made 
 another class of people, holding themselves very much 
 above the pickers. I realised this when a small girl 
 doubled over one of those neat fences shouted to my son, 
 "Hello, boy!" and an exasperated voice called from the
 
 LAS PALMAS HOP RANCH 277 
 
 cottage, "Come in here, this minute, Winona, and let those 
 folks alone." 
 
 We followed a trail through a great stubble-field where 
 barley had been cut for the horses, skirted a pasture with 
 cows; by the time we got to the field we were walking 
 pretty much in silence ; even Boy's talk had run out ; Joe 
 Ed was too hot to joke. We had eaten so early that we now 
 passed hundreds of pickers taking their lunch, sitting 
 around in the shade of the rows near the driveway, tired- 
 looking, hot, streaked with sweat and dust. There was 
 Barney Monroe, with his wife and children two pretty 
 little black-eyed things he had spoken of. As we came 
 up he made a grim gesture with the tin cup into 
 which he was pouring that water that had not been 
 boiled. 
 
 "This is Mrs. Baird that I told you of, Lucy," he said 
 to his wife. "She and the kid are going to be neighbours 
 to us in camp." 
 
 I had never thought of finding anybody there that I'd 
 known before, but the Clarks, a poor family that lived in 
 back of the Cronin building on Chico street, spoke to me as 
 I passed. Further down an old man who used to do odd 
 jobs out at Las Reudas hailed Boyce, waving an arm. 
 And so, when somebody called, "Hello, how d'ye do, Mrs. 
 Baird," I wasn't greatly surprised to discover in the big, 
 grimy-faced fellow who spoke, slab of cheese in hand, Ru- 
 dolph Flegel, old Flegel's son by a first wife. Dolph 
 couldn't get on with his stepmother just drifted around 
 from orchard to orchard, from packing place to cannery, 
 in the seasons. 
 
 "Hello, Rudolph," I said, and was for Hurrying forward 
 to our place; but he got up and came blundering along 
 with us, like a friendly stray pup. Joe Ed went a little 
 way down the row to some folks there, Boy at his heels. 
 
 "Goin' to pick ?" questioned Rudolph eagerly. 
 
 I nodded.
 
 278 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "When d'you leave Meaghers? Was you there when 
 them swells at the Pendleton camp ?" 
 
 Dolph could eat and talk (after a fashion) at the same 
 time. 
 
 "I've been away from Meaghers more than a year," I 
 tried to divert him. 
 
 "Oh," he looked disappointed. "Well, you seen it in 
 the papers, didn't you ? Funny, about that woman huh ? 
 I bet I could 'a' found her for 'em, if I'd 'a' been there. 
 You know she couldn't get away in her nightgownd !" 
 
 "Dolph," I interrupted, "I'm in a hurry," and went 
 after Joe Ed and Boy. I left him standing there, uncouth, 
 at a loss as to how he had offended, muttering, 
 
 "Well, see you later, mebbe." 
 
 The people Joe Ed had stopped beside were the Pochins, 
 a great tribe headed by a meek, stooped, long-bearded old 
 man whom everybody called Father Abraham, and his 
 wife, married sons and daughters with youngsters of their 
 own, the two girls Vera and Sonya, and a whole fry of 
 smaller children, the second and third generation all 
 open-eyed, clever, high-strung, temperamental looking 
 public school products. In spite of sunburn and hard liv- 
 ing, the grown daughters were very handsome ; Sonya in 
 a thin, fiery fashion, her sister Vera with the broad-browed 
 Madonna beauty. When Joe Ed explained that I was to 
 have a tent next theirs in camp, the little withered old 
 mother at once offered, 
 
 "Might you should throw in with us for supper to-night, 
 so you wouldn't be lonesome ?" 
 
 "Thank you. I'll be glad to," I said. Then we found 
 my row ; Joe Ed went on to his and out of my sight.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THREE DAYS 
 
 THOSE arboured green aisles of Las Palmas hop ranch 
 that had looked so cool and peaceful from the train 
 simmered in a heat that ranged day by day from one hun- 
 dred and six to one hundred and twenty. There was 
 always a dry rustle there, whether the wind blew or not, 
 and the dusty, sleepy smell of hops. I stood in that smoth- 
 ering lane of vines, face to face with the job I had under- 
 taken, my bridges burned behind me. The salt moisture 
 ran down my face; I looked round uneasily at Boy. He 
 was squared away beside an empty hop sack, red-faced, 
 gazing with screwed-up eyes at the scratchy, dangling pen- 
 dant of vine with its thick-set, papery hops, that swung in 
 front of him. 
 
 "You can sit down and rest, Muwer, if you want to," 
 he offered. "You show me I'll pick 'em." 
 
 "Pooh the idea ! I'm not tired. We'll both pick." 
 
 At it we went. The old gloves I wore saved my hands 
 from being scratched and then smeared with the black, 
 sticky sap of the vines. There was no use attempting to 
 keep Boy's hard, stubby little paws out of it. He worked 
 like a tiger; his only complaint was of the tepid, boiled 
 water in our bottle. So when a light covered wagon passed 
 the end of the row, I called and stopped it, intending to 
 buy him a cool drink. As I went toward the outfit I saw 
 that the driver was a mature woman, dressed girlishly in 
 ready-made middy and outing skirt, with tennis shoes and 
 silk stockings ; but I was right up to her before I realised 
 that it was Milt Stanley's wife. 
 
 "Hello, Gallic," she said easily. "Milt swore he found 
 your name on to-day's list. How d'ye do ?" 
 
 270
 
 280 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "Milt !" I echoed. "Is he at Las Palmas ?" 
 
 "Yep, we're all here." She slid me a sidelong look. 
 "That's no news to you, is it ? Milt's manager." 
 
 "Manager of this ranch?" 
 
 "Why, sure. Callie, he hasn't drank a drop for six 
 months and he's manager. I'm so doggoned thankful 
 that I'm willing to drive round and peddle grub, or any- 
 thing, to help out." 
 
 "Is that your horse and wagon ?" Boyce spoke up, hands 
 in overall pockets, squinting judicially at the turnout. 
 "Are you got ice-water to sell ?" 
 
 "Hello ! I know whose kid you are." Luella took him 
 up. 
 "He wants a cool drink," I said. "Can I buy one?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't sell water," she began, just as Joe Ed's 
 lean, perspiring young face thrust itself around the green 
 shoulder of my row. 
 
 "Ko, you don't, Louisiana Lou you give it away !" he 
 jeered. He had an empty fruit-jar in his hand, and he 
 came on with a perfectly businesslike air. 
 
 "ISFow, you Joe!" Luella's features, inexpressive as 
 though they had been cut out of a raw potato, changed just 
 as I had seen Mrs. Thrasher's wooden countenance do. 
 She smiled at Joe Ed. "Take what you want; but don't 
 you tote off any of that water for them other people." 
 
 He went to the back of the wagon, and proceeded to help 
 himself. Luella handed a tilled glass to me for Boyce, 
 saying,^ 
 
 "This is on me, too, Callie." Then as she noted the 
 hand in which I took the tumbler, "Gloves !" she simpered. 
 "Careful of your looks as ever. My, but you were a pretty 
 little thing when Phil and you used to go together back in 
 Stanleyton !" 
 
 "I want anower !" Boyce had wolfed down his one glass. 
 
 "Sure, kid." Then in a lower tone, passing it out, 
 "Ever hear from Phil these days ?" .
 
 THREE DAYS 281 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 "What ! You didn't know he'd cut loose from the old 
 folks entirely ?" 
 
 "~No" I was brief. "Thank you for the water. Come, 
 Boyce, we must get to work." 
 
 "Well, wait a minute till I tell you," she persisted. 1 
 tried to stop her with, 
 
 "I know he's back on the coast. I heard that." 
 
 "Oh, but I'm telling you he ain't with his folks, nor 
 liable to be with 'em any more. Did you know he never 
 showed up for the whole four years he was in college ? 
 stayed right through vacations said the climate agreed 
 with him and they footed the bills. Hold on, Callie 
 don't rush. They paid and paid you know Phil's a 
 spender and as soon as he got his diploma he walked in 
 on 'em, the swellest looking thing you ever seen, and began 
 givin' 'em his views laying the law down to 'em and 
 there was one grand split. Phil just as good as kicked 
 himself out of the house. Milt's It with them now. 
 I guess Phil's gone right down, got to be just a sort of 
 tramp. Have a glass of lemonade on me, Callie, you and 
 Joe." 
 
 "N"o thanks, we'd rather live longer," Joe Ed came up 
 and declined for us both light-heartedly. "Say, Louisiana 
 Lou, is it acetic acid or Prussic, that you murderers use 
 for that wassail ?" 
 
 "You young devil !" she grinned at him as she drove off 
 and he turned to me instantly with, 
 
 "Who's Phil?" 
 
 "Oh a boy I used to know when I was in school." 
 
 "An old sweetheart," Joe went straight to it. "Was she 
 talking about Philip Stanley?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And little Dewdrop Auntie who drives the busy stew- 
 wagon says newey's gone down in the world got to be a 
 tramp ?"
 
 282 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "Oh, I shouldn't pay any attention to Luella's talk about 
 him," I said impatiently. 
 
 "Eight you are," Joe Ed agreed. "He was in San 
 Francisco two weeks ago. The Pochins know him got 
 acquainted with him when he was doing that tramping that 
 little Lulu mentioned. He went into it to get first-hand 
 information. He's a Capital-and-Labor sharp, Sonya told 
 me. I saw him once in Frisco. He looks a fat lot more 
 like a plute than a tramp. So long; see you at dinner." 
 Joe Ed went back to his work, and I turned to mine. , 
 
 I had risen unusually early that morning after an 
 almost sleepless night, and made a railway journey; and 
 I had met some pretty hard setbacks. As the afternoon 
 went on I felt the effect of this. The heat told on both 
 Boy and me. After awhile he curled down and went to 
 sleep, but I kept at it the best I could till we heard the 
 whistle over at the drying kiln. Women had been drop- 
 ping out and starting for the camp for some little time, 
 going ahead to get supper, leaving their men to finish up. 
 The last wagons were on their rounds. My afternoon's 
 picking was not so heavy but what I could drag the sack 
 down to the driveway and load it without much trouble; 
 but the little frail-looking woman in the next row, who had 
 been at work all day, was having a terrible time to handle 
 a sack that would weigh a hundred pounds or more. I 
 went to help her, and we were pulling at it when Joe Ed 
 came whistling along and loaded it for us. 
 
 "Hey, old timer, you're soldiering on the job," he said, 
 picking Boy up. We joined the steady, scattering stream 
 that was moving from the hop fields toward that gaunt, 
 forlorn, ill-smelling slope where the camp was. 
 
 The terrible sun had gone down clear and red in a cloud- 
 less sky, with promise of another burning day. The camp 
 full of people, every tent and shack lighted by its candle, 
 lamp or lantern, the little outside cooking fires seeming to 
 make the general heat intolerable, was like a big, poor,
 
 THREE DAYS 283 
 
 dirty street fair. Down the line somewhere a phonograph 
 was playing, a ten-year-old boy jumping up and running, 
 hunk of bread and meat in hand, to change the records. 
 Everybody was trying to keep cool. There were both men 
 and women barefoot. The children had as little on as 
 possible. Lights winked over in the tules where the Ori- 
 entals were. 
 
 I ate with the Pochins and Monroes that first evening. 
 We all helped to get the meal, and then sat around on the 
 ground to eat it. Joe Ed came over with a glass of bacon 
 and a bottle of jam, and joined us. Boy, fresh after his 
 long nap, was delighted to be with all those children. 
 Tired little souls, they were well behaved, like weary men 
 and women, but nice as could be to him. As I sat there, 
 the guest of honour, I had a sudden, ludicrous recollection 
 of that first meal of mine at the Poinsettia, and how differ- 
 ently I had been treated. 
 
 Now I saw Barney Cluett for the first time, a broad, 
 bench-legged, round-faced man, with two deep dimples 
 that played in his brick-red cheeks when he spoke. He was 
 after Monroe to go over and talk strike, through an inter- 
 preter, to the Hindus and Persians. The first thing he said 
 to me was, 
 
 "Are you going to join the I. W. W. and strike with 
 us?" 
 
 "Sure we are," Joe Ed, as usual, answered for me, and 
 I let it go at that. 
 
 I'll say here that I stuck it out and picked hops on Las 
 Palmas ranch for three days. My memories of those days 
 are all of parching thirst and flies, of stenches and despair 
 and the lamentations of the people. The temperature ran 
 frightfully high ; the housing was inhuman ; the sanitary 
 arrangements something you couldn't talk about. The best 
 I could do, working hard, was about ninety cents a day. 
 Some of the men, keeping at it from dark to dark, doubled 
 that; families, all picking into one sack, had the hopeful
 
 284 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 feeling that they made a good bit. But in the field there 
 wasn't even an attempt at the ameliorations and decencies 
 of civilised life. The humiliations, the cruel, needless ex- 
 posure of a day there almost outweighed the physical dis- 
 tress of sweltering heat and underpaid hard work. 
 
 When Luella Stanley would come driving that execrated 
 stew-wagon through the fields, I used to wonder how even 
 she had the face. When she showed a disposition to hang 
 around a bit and try to draw me out, I would just put the 
 nickel in Boy's hand, and send him down the row by him- 
 self to get what he wanted. I never went to the office and 
 seldom to the store, so that I only saw Milt once, and that 
 time there wasn't a word said about things on the ranch 
 here. He asked me, almost in Luella's exact words, if I'd 
 seen or heard from Phil lately. 
 
 Of course the individual protests and complaints must 
 have been pouring in steadily on the ranch management; 
 while Monroe Cluett and four or five of the other men 
 were putting every minute they could get from their pick- 
 ing into organising work. Little groups of moving men, 
 stripped to their undershirts and trousers, their faces shin- 
 ing with sweat, were always at it of an evening. They'd 
 sent for I. W. W. literature, and "Wobblies," as Industrial 
 Workers of the World agitators are called. They were 
 trying to get up a big, representative meeting and make a 
 formal protest, so that the owners would have to take no- 
 tice of them, though to an outsider the uniting of that 
 great, drifting, groaning, suffering crowd, that spoke in 
 nearly thirty different tongues, in an effective strike, 
 seemed hopeless. 
 
 As Wednesday and Thursday went by with no cleaning 
 up of the camp nor any sanitation in the fields, dysentery 
 broke out. The Pochins had two children actually down, 
 and several others of the tribe weren't fit to be at work. 
 Little Ida Monroe was very bad Friday night. Of course 
 her mother was taking care of her, but with her crying,
 
 THREE DAYS 285 
 
 and the groans of a thirteen-year-old girl in a tent further 
 down, nobody in our neighbourhood got much sleep. 
 
 The truth is that the place, with its smells and dirt, and 
 lack of all decent conveniences, had become a man-made 
 hell. Yet under the pressure of a misery that might have 
 been expected to make devils of them, these poverty- 
 stricken, seasonal workers were considerate and forbear- 
 ing. Human nature, at the breaking point, didn't show so 
 badly. I saw beautiful, compassionate, impersonal, clean 
 kindness shown by ignorant, driven, harried men to the 
 more harried and driven women about them, and this with- 
 out the hateful suggestion of what we agree to call gal- 
 lantry. It was a contrast to the behaviour of the Harvey 
 Watkins and Stokes sort ; in its light Mr. Dale showed a 
 poor thing indeed. 
 
 Right through the worst of it the young folks wanted 
 to I'ave a good time. Joe Ed and his ukelele were in con- 
 stant demand. That inextinguishable spirit of his was like 
 a flash of sun, moving about in the dull misery of the Las 
 Palmas situation. He was always ready to play, to dance ; 
 he struck up a comradeship with an English lad whose 
 name I never knew because everybody just called him 
 "English." This boy had a soaring young tenor, and the 
 two of them generally led the I. W. W. songs that were 
 liked best. Of an evening they used to carry a phonograph 
 over to the dance platform and dance, though the older 
 women sighed, "How do they get the strength !" 
 
 Each evening Sonya took the San Erancisco papers and, 
 sitting under the lantern that hung on the front wall of 
 their shanty, read out the news. A crowd gathered to lis- 
 ten to her. There was a lot of the Boggs-Pendleton case to 
 make me wince with its "drag-net," and "sleuths" and 
 "clue" and "mysterious missing woman witness." It kept 
 me well reminded that whatever the state of things here, 
 I didn't want to go back to San Vicente. 
 
 I came on Wednesday; on Saturday evening, at last,
 
 286 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 they got together a sort of meeting. There wasn't any 
 dancing that night, or any singing. Sonya's papers lay 
 unread below the lantern. Down near the driveway 
 because there was a rumour that the proprietor of Las 
 Palmas had motored into Corinth and would come back 
 past there they gathered in the summer dusk, a few 
 hundred bewildered, discouraged men and women. 
 
 I left Boy with the Monroe and Pochin children. I'd 
 have to go back and put him to bed pretty soon ; but I did 
 want to hear some of the speaking anyhow. It had begun 
 when I got there, and I stood on the outskirts. There were 
 all sorts of people fathers and mothers of families with 
 their children about them; hoboes and revolutionaries, 
 some plainly as much scared as I was, and others keen for 
 the fight, all looking shadowy and unreal in the twilight. 
 Dark, timid, puzzled faces and foreign costumes showed 
 here and there ; turbaned heads were among those craned 
 forward to listen to the speakers. 
 
 That tired, hot, dirty crowd could look far up to where, 
 in the brilliant electric light streaming from the windows 
 of the owner's big brick house a tantalising sight the 
 gyrating arms of the automatic sprinklers tossed bright 
 water to keep the lawn fresh and green. The temperature 
 had run up to a hundred and five in the shade of the vines 
 that day ; we could smell the camp from where we stood ; 
 the Saturday night pay in our pockets was a reminder of 
 its shortage. I can't see yet anything unreasonable in the 
 demands they were talking of free drinking water, a 
 cleaning up of the camp, and the same pay other ranches 
 were giving. 
 
 I was saying this over and over to myself, a lump in my 
 throat while I listened and looked about. Right behind 
 me a Klaxon horn snarled out startlingly. I screamed 
 and fell back with the rest. Moving as silently as a big 
 shadow, a powerful, handsome automobile was almost on 
 us. I looked directly up into the face of the man at the
 
 THE COMMITTEE 287 
 
 wheel. It was a fellow by the name of Brockaw, who used 
 to be a teamster in Corinth, and was now constable at Las 
 Palmas, a sworn county officer, but paid by the ranch. A 
 lady and gentleman sat on the back seat. 
 
 "The owners," whispered a woman near me. The car 
 had come to a stop ; our speakers turned and surged right 
 up to it; the press wedged me in so that where I stood 
 now the headlights blinded me, and I could see only the 
 faces of that miserable crowd all raised to those who sat in 
 the machine. 
 
 Above the throbbing of the engine I heard Paul Cluett 
 saying, "We want to ask you, sir " and then a curiously 
 familiar voice broke in from the auto, "Who are you ? 
 What's all this ?" I pushed desperately around to the side, 
 got the light out of my eyes, and saw that the lady and 
 gentleman there in the car were Mr. and Mrs. Stanley ! 
 
 I suppose that Paul Cluett went on with what he was 
 saying ; indeed I know he must have done so, for the first 
 thing that was clear to me after that was Mr. Stanley's 
 voice again: 
 
 "Hah ! You can't take snap judgment on me, Cluett 
 stop my machine and try to hold me up for extra pay and 
 drinking fountains. I've got nothing to say to you." 
 
 "I guess you'll have to give us an answer. Our com- 
 mittee " 
 
 "Committee !" Mr. Stanley snorted at him. "Who are 
 they?" 
 
 "Well, we haven't got yet. Say if we get 'em to- 
 gether, will you meet us ?" 
 
 There was a strained silence, then, slowly, grudgingly, 
 
 "Well . . . I'm not recognising any organisation 
 by this, but 
 
 "Where'll you met us ? When ?" Barney Monroe was 
 not to be held out of it any longer. 
 
 "At the office the proper place," savagely. "To-morrow 
 morning ten, sharp. Four of you no more. I'll give
 
 288 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 you five minutes to say your sa TT in then ; that's as far as 
 I'll go." 
 
 "In writing to-night, yet, we send the paper," Father 
 Abraham's voice was raised. 
 
 All this time Mrs. Stanley's eyes had been on me where 
 I stood. Now she was pulling her husband's sleeve to call 
 his attention. 
 
 "Who ?" he blurted out impatiently, then as she pointed 
 and whispered, "Where?" He saw me at last, glared at 
 me for a moment, then, 
 
 "Clear the road there !" he shouted, and as they scuffled 
 back they hissed him. "Brockaw, drive on." 
 
 With a roar the car leaped away, leaving behind it 
 curses and shaken fists.
 
 CHAPTEK XIX 
 
 THE COMMITTEE 
 
 THE big, shining car went roaring on into the warm 
 dusk, driven by a hired bully, carrying the angry 
 old man and his contemptuous lady wife, leaving behind 
 rage, misery, dirt and unseemliness, leaving me with the 
 other undersirables. 
 
 I stood and looked after them. What an irony of fate 
 that out of all the hop ranches in California I had blun- 
 dered upon the one owned by these people! I ought to 
 have known when I found Luella and Milt in positions 
 here. They had both thought I did know; that was what 
 they meant by asking me if I'd heard from Philip lately. 
 They took it for granted I'd come to Las Palmas 
 because of him. Of course they had hurried at once 
 to Mr. and Mrs. Stanley and told them I was among 
 the pickers she wouldn't have recognised me to- 
 night if she hadn't been looking for me. It stung all 
 over my consciousness like nettles; and I was as keen 
 to get away from the ranch as though it had been a nettle 
 patch. 
 
 People pushed against me, and passed me. I looked 
 around; the crowd was moving, leaving that trampled, 
 dusty spot at the edge of the road, with its rebuff and dis- 
 appointment, going with a rush toward the dance platform. 
 Joe Ed bobbed up at my shoulder. 
 
 "Come on," he exulted. "Now we'll have it. This'll 
 put pep into the limpest of 'em. By to-morrow they'll 
 be solid." 
 
 I went with him in silence quite a way, edging toward 
 the outskirts as we moved. Finally when we were almost 
 opposite my tent, 
 
 289
 
 290 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "Don't come any farther with me, Joe," I said. "You 
 go on to the meeting." 
 
 "Aren't you coming, too ? What' up ?" he halted, sur- 
 prised. 
 
 "No, I've got to pack and get ready. I'm going to 
 leave here in the morning, just as soon as I can." 
 
 "Scared of the strike?" solicitously. "Oh, there's not 
 going to be any rough " 
 
 "It's not that," I broke in. "I'll tell you some other 
 time, Joe." 
 
 "Sure sure that's all right," he turned me toward the 
 tent. "Course you ought never to have been here, any- 
 how." 
 
 Over yonder we could hear the young folks shouting 
 half-joking objections to having their dance platform 
 taken away from them. I distinguished Cluett's nasal, 
 "Gwan gwan, you kid's. Got xeal business on hand 
 here." Then Barney Monroe's fog-horn voice yelled for 
 singers. Joe turned and ran. 
 
 Putting Boy to bed, I mechanically pulled out my slim 
 purse and counted my money. Not enough to take me far. 
 Well, it was only a question of living for a few weeks ; I 
 was up here now ; maybe I'd better stop in Corinth and see 
 Mrs. Eccles's son-in-law about a job on some other hop 
 ranch till the season was over that would carry me into 
 the fall and the time of business chances in the cities. 
 These hadn't looked so bad when I heard of them back in 
 San Vicente ; yet now they shrank to nothing. My spirit 
 was still prostrate from that encounter with the Stanleys. 
 I couldn't summon a bit of pride or hope. Lying there 
 afterward in the dark, thinking it over, with the noises and 
 the nauseous smells of the camp about me, it seemed that 
 I had gone steadily down in the world since the time of my 
 first defeat at the hands of these people, and that here and 
 now I had about reached the bottom. If I had made any 
 success breaking away from a degrading marriage, get-
 
 THE COMMITTEE 291 
 
 ting legal freedom, keeping my child and gaining a profes- 
 sion that would support us both not in the dejection of 
 that hour was I able to realise it. I just lay there and felt 
 like the dust under the wheels on the Stanley motor as it 
 had rolled past down yonder on the drive. 
 
 The meeting didn't hold very late. Its speaking and 
 singing ceased about half -past ten; and then squads and 
 bunches began to straggle past my tent, talking loud. Joe 
 was right ; they were in earnest now. They meant to make 
 a stand for it to-morrow. They shouted and sang snatches 
 of I. W. W. songs ; those in the shacks and tents who were 
 asleep, or trying to get to sleep, yelled at them fretfully, 
 and were j erred for slackers. Altogether, it was a strange 
 sort of night ; for when that had quieted, and the camp 
 like a big, sick, suffering monster trying to get bedded 
 down seemed to be turning and moaning half conscious, 
 a queer screeching that might have been laughter, or 
 screams, or a fight, broke out over by the slough. Then 
 someone ran past my tent in the dark with a pad, pad, pad 
 of bare feet, and a whistle of loud breathing. 
 
 At dawn Boy waked me, fretting for a drink. When I 
 looked at him his cheeks too red, his tongue coated I 
 came to my senses with a jump. Here was my real rea- 
 son for leaving Las Palmas ranch and its wretched con- 
 ditions. One touch of anxiety for the child made me 
 wonder at and despise last night's mood a mood that 
 could give any importance to what the Stanleys might 
 think of my coming or leaving. 
 
 I didn't go back to bed, but dressed then and there 
 putting on my street clothes and laying out Boy's best 
 things, too. The whole camp seemed to be waking early 
 that Sunday morning. Before I was finished there were 
 women out at the cooking fires getting breakfast. The 
 calling back and forth from tent to tent, and, later, from 
 one breakfasting group to another, sounded different from 
 what it ever had before. There was a new tone to the noise
 
 292 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 and clamour; the spirit of last night's meeting was in 
 it. 
 
 By nine o'clock the pace was a babel, people stream- 
 ing up and down in the dust and heat, talking, gesticulat- 
 ing, arguing over appointments, directions, the strikers' 
 plans for the day. I was packed and ready. Boy and I 
 dressed, everything finished and closed up. I went over 
 to the Pochins to see what I could find out about getting 
 someone to take Boy and the baggage. Some friends of 
 theirs had gone to the Harmon ranch the day before I 
 came. 
 
 "How did the Salinskys move?" I asked Father 
 Abraham. 
 
 "Tramped it," said he. "Mother, give me those tracts 
 in Yiddish. I shall be off." 
 
 "Tramped !" I repeated. "Well, I can't do that." 
 
 "Off ! You shaU be off !" cried Mrs. Pochin, blankly, 
 straightening up from the pallet she was spreading on the 
 shady side of the shack for little Leo, the sickest of her 
 grandchildren. "Who gets me, then, the arrowroot and 
 magnesian for this child ?" 
 
 "Mother, I'm on the committee." The old man spoke 
 like a soldier who goes to the firing line. 
 
 "The committee! And Barney, too his children can 
 die, just so well, while he works by the committee." 
 
 "You women must tend to such things. Send the girls 
 for what you need." Father Abraham moved off deter- 
 minedly. "If the committee doesn't meet Stanley yet, 
 mother, then we're all sick and we all die." 
 
 "Girls!" his wife wailed after him. "My girls ain't 
 girls any more." She looked around to me with angry eyes 
 full of tears. "My man goes ; the boys, they went first ; 
 Vera and Sonya, long ago they chase off about somebody 
 that comes for statistics on the Bureau of Labor at Wash- 
 ington. Dear God, what can I do ?" 
 
 "Well," I hesitated, "I've got to go down to the store
 
 THE COMMITTEE 293 
 
 anyhow and see about some way of getting moved. I'll try 
 to get the things for you." 
 
 "Mrs. Baird," Barney Monroe's wife called from her 
 door, "while you're trying, I wish you'd see if you can get 
 some Jamaica ginger, or even some brandy that I could 
 burn for Ellie. Poor Barney," she said, coming out to 
 fetch me a fifty-cent piece ; "I'm as sorry for him as I am 
 for myself and the children working like a dog over this 
 strike ; and, like enough, the most he'll do is to get himself 
 out of a job and when he's been fired, maybe the rest of 
 'em will stay right on and pick the hops. You can't get 
 folks like this to stand together." 
 
 "All right," I said, putting the coin in my purse. "I'll 
 do the best I can. May I leave Boy here ? I hate to take 
 him with me in this heat." 
 
 "You shall leave the boy by me," Mrs. Pochin put in. 
 "And I hope you get it, that magnesian and that arrow- 
 root." 
 
 I went back into the tent for my parasol, and to tell Boy. 
 I hadn't got halfway down the slope before I saw that I 
 had done well not to bring him ; the bend of my arm across 
 which the jacket lay was wet with perspiration; I was 
 afraid it would come through my clean shirtwaist, and I 
 must save a decently fresh appearance for the trip. I 
 shifted the coat to the other arm. That morning the path 
 from store to camp was travelled by scores of restless, 
 aimless-seeming figures, and every foot that was set down 
 raised a puff of dust. I found them weaving about in 
 front of the store, while on up the line toward the office, 
 where the committee was to meet Mr. Stanley at ten 
 o'clock, the crowd was still thicker. Everywhere dust set- 
 tled on little dingy-white Persian and Hindoo turbans, 
 Syrian and Italian head handkerchiefs, the faded blue 
 coolie jackets of Chinese, torn straw hats from the five- 
 and-ten-cent counters, men's overalls, the lank, patched 
 folds of women's gingham dresses; but the perspiring
 
 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 faces, white, brown or yellow, young and old, all wore the 
 same expression of anxiety and half-nourished hope. I 
 felt almost like a sneak to be leaving them in such an hour. 
 
 "Bice !" I called, as I caught sight of a tall form ahead 
 of me. The big man turned, and touched his hat. His 
 black face was streaming, but he looked more wonted and 
 contented in the heat than any white man could. "Bice, 
 is there any chance for me to get over to Corinth with my 
 baggage to-day ?" 
 
 "Not to-day, madam. It's Sunday. But we have to 
 meet the nine o'clock train to-night, if that will do." 
 
 "Nine o'clock. Well, that will have to do," I said. 
 "Can you call for me and the things, up at the camp ?" 
 
 "Yes, madam. I surely will." 
 
 Nine o'clock that night! If it hadn't been so hot, I 
 should have tried walking over. But I couldn't do that, 
 with Boyce already droopy. Anyhow, I must get on to the 
 store now for Mrs. Pochin's errand. My foot was on the 
 step of the porch when I heard my name called, and turned 
 to see Sonya Pochin ducking through the crowd toward 
 me, panting: 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Baird, wait a minute. We want you to meet 
 
 we told him " She caught up to me. "He's been 
 
 over every ranch in the district now except Las Palmas, 
 and he's going through it to-day. Wait. Here they come. 
 See there by Vera." 
 
 I put down my parasol. There were others with Vera, 
 pickers in their Sunday clothes, but the tall figure nearest 
 her ; immaculate in all that heat and dust, a light coat over 
 the silk-shirted arm, a straw hat carried, looked like a 
 visitant from Coronado. This must be the man from the 
 Bureau of Labour at Washington. As we waited, he 
 stopped at a low roadster that I had noticed standing be- 
 side the way, stowed some papers in its pockets, and turned 
 to come on. Then, at a flash, in spite of time and change, 
 I saw who it was. I stood there, just blunt and stupid.
 
 "HOW WAS IT WHEKE HAVE YOU BEEN, JOE f I 
 ASKED. "WE'VE BEEN SO UNEASY ABOUT YOU "
 
 THE COMMITTEE 295 
 
 Sonya's "Joe said you went to school with him. We didn't 
 want you to miss him. Oh, he's so wonderful! Should 
 you have known him again \ Of course not," came vaguely 
 to my ears. 
 
 Should I have known him again ? Yes, instantly, in 
 this world or any other this could be nobody but Philip. 
 The next dizzy moment I was shaking hands with him, 
 and he was saying that he had seen Boyce up at the camp 
 and the child looked like me. 
 
 There isn't anything to tell about such a meeting as that. 
 I don't know what I said, how I acted, or much about how 
 anybody else there acted. The poor little instant of time 
 had enough to do to bridge the gulf between this steady- 
 eyed man and the battling, outlawed boy I had last seen. 
 
 There came to me trying to get hold of myself and ap- 
 pear reasonably composed a curious, fleeting remem- 
 brance of Frank Hollis Dale at his haughtiest, charging 
 up and down the room, spitting out those scornful criti- 
 cisms of our western crudeness. Well, here was no crude- 
 ness. This was a man to stand comparisons. 
 
 Looking at him, I knew in what spirit he had demanded 
 and taken from his parents those four lavishly supplied 
 years of eastern culture. And, man or boy, a successful 
 figure on his own, or a son in rebellion, Philip was not the 
 kind of person you'd enjoy exhibiting your failures be- 
 fore. Back there in Miss Chandler's room, how I had 
 winced to hear that, after all these years, he had got his 
 first direct word of me from so discreditable a source. But 
 here I was now face to face with him a hop picker on his 
 father's ranch ! It seemed to me that his own manner was 
 perfect, unconscious, exactly right just the way he should 
 have treated an old friend whom he had not seen for years. 
 Perhaps his very composure and Tightness it was that first 
 choked me past speech and then set me off saying : 
 
 "Fm leaving Las Palmas. Boyce isn't well. We're 
 going as soon as we can get away."
 
 296 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "Oh," cried Vera, "we'll miss you awfully! But, of 
 course, you ought to go if you can." She stole a side glance 
 at Philip. "Children have got no business in a place like 
 this. They're all getting sick." 
 
 "Leo's worse," Sonya broke in. "When we came past 
 the house mother said you were going to try to get 
 some things for him, Mrs. Baird. Did you have any 
 luck?" 
 
 "I was just going to try," I said, glad of the interrup- 
 tion. We faced around toward the store, and there was 
 Milt Stanley stepping out, pulling the big doors together 
 preparatory to locking them. 
 
 "Did you want Milt ? Is there anything I can do ?" 
 The courteous helpfulness of Philip's manner reproved the 
 jerky coldness of mine and increased my confusion. With 
 an incoherent "Never mind," I left him standing there 
 with the Pochin girls, the idle, uneasy, waiting crowd 
 watching me as I went toward the store door. 
 
 "Stop a minute, please, Milt," I said. "I want to 
 get " 
 
 Milt checked the key he was about to pull out and looked 
 over his shoulder, past me, to Philip. You never saw a 
 man so staggered. 
 
 "Well!" he said, blankly. "Where'd you drop from, 
 Phil?" 
 
 "Good-morning," came the perfectly colourless response. 
 "Gallic wants something, Milt." 
 
 "Gallic wants " Mr. Stanley's brother and the 
 
 manager of Las Palmas ranch turned his nervous atten- 
 tion to me. "Well, what is it ?" 
 
 "Things for some sick children up at camp." Still 
 flustered, he unlocked and threw open the door. "Have 
 you got arrowroot and magnesia ?" 
 
 "Nuh." He kept looking past me at Philip. 
 
 "Let me use the 'phone, then. I'll see if I could get 
 them in Corinth."
 
 THE COMMITTEE 297 
 
 The grinning, observant crowd in the store porch li- 
 tened while he quibbled: 
 
 "It's Sunday. Groceries wouldn't be " 
 
 "The store I'd want would be open on Sunday," I said, 
 impatiently. "I'll just see if I can get these things." 
 
 "What good'll that do?" Plainly the crowd worried 
 him. "Say, come in just you and Phil," he suggested. 
 
 I drew back ; Milt stood uncertain in the middle of the 
 doorway ; Philip passed over an awkward moment by say- 
 ing, easily: 
 
 "Can I do the 'phoning for you, Callie ? Give me your 
 list; I'll attend to it." 
 
 Here was the test. The crowd stopped grinning as Milt 
 made his declaration: 
 
 "Not over the store 'phone. I told her it wouldn't do 
 any good. Even if it wasn't Sunday we don't allow the 
 Corinth storekeepers to deliver on the ranch." 
 
 "Yah!" came a voice from the roadway. "Now you 
 got it !" 
 
 "You don't what!" Philip ejaculated, coldly. 
 
 "Don't let any grocer's wagon from Corinth or any- 
 where else on this ranch," repeated Milt, doggedly. 
 "Those are the orders," he added, trying to speak with dig- 
 nity, but breaking down into a hurried, "I'll get the stuff 
 for them some way, Phil. Give me that list." 
 
 "A doctor, too," I put in, and they cheered me. It made 
 Milt mad. He forgot Philip for the moment, and began, 
 querulously: 
 
 "Now, see here, Callie Boyce; you're taking too much 
 on yourself. There's no sickness in the camp. I can't call 
 a doctor for folks that'll never pay him. Ten chances to 
 one, if I did call him, he wouldn't come." 
 
 I was a little surprised that Philip answered that; his 
 tone was low, but those in the porch kept very still to hear 
 him. 
 
 "Your position's not legal, Milt," he said. "You can't
 
 298 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 do that. You'd better let her order what they need 
 over your 'phone or you order it for her, here and 
 now." 
 
 "ITA better ?" Milt spluttered. "I've got no author- 
 ity. Talk to your father about it." He came out, pulled 
 the door shut, locked it, and dropped the key in his pocket. 
 He held his head down and wouldn't look at anybody. 
 "Talk to your father," he repeated. 
 
 "Where'll I find him at this time of the morning?" 
 asked Philip. "Have they gone to church yet ?" 
 
 "No. That da the pickers' committee's to meet him at 
 the office at ten. He'd be there by now." 
 
 "Stanley's meetin' the committee !" Instantly the whole 
 crowd surged up the line toward the office in a solid mass. 
 Somewhere along the way I lost sight of Milt; when we 
 got to the foot of the steps the Pochin girls were not near 
 me. Our numbers, added to those already in front of the 
 little frame building, made a jam. Philip got halfway up 
 the steps, and turned back for me. I could see through the 
 open door and windows Father Abraham, Paul Cluett, 
 Barney Monroe and the others inside there, looking dread- 
 fully strung up and excited. 
 
 "No no," I called to Philip ; "I'll not come. I'd only 
 be in the way." 
 
 He held out his hand toward me, and was speaking. I 
 couldn't hear what he said for the talking and moving all 
 about. But those back of me pushed me on. I was inside 
 the office when Mr. Stanley's car finally came down the 
 drive, stopped at the steps, and he and his constable got 
 out. Brockaw, ahead, was between Philip and his father. 
 The elder Stanley, as fine-looking as ever, and as care- 
 fully dressed, his hair a little greyer than when I had last 
 seen him, was almost at the doorway when, looking across 
 Brockaw's shoulder, he saw his son. He stopped short in 
 his tracks, and seemed to forget about the committee that 
 was waiting for him.
 
 THE COMMITTEE 299 
 
 "Well, Philip," he said, "this is a surprise. Have you 
 been up to see your mother yet?" 
 
 "Good-morning, sir." There was no offence in Philip's 
 tone, but I could see Mr. Stanley stiffen as that uncom- 
 promising "sir" came out. Then his eye reached me, and 
 lighted fierily. He hardly seemed to hear as his son went 
 on: 
 
 "I didn't come to see mother, or yourself, this time. 
 I'm not on your ranch as a visitor. I came " 
 
 "I can see what you came for," the older voice cut him 
 off; "I don't need to be told," pushing past him toward 
 Barney and the others. "These gentlemen friends of 
 yours, too ?" over his shoulder, sarcastically. "You mixed 
 up in this business ?" 
 
 Waiting for no answer, still with his back to Philip, 
 confronting the committee with angry contempt, he jerked 
 a long envelope out of his side pocket and tossed it over 
 on the desk by the window. 
 
 "There's your paper," he said. "I've read it." 
 
 Dead silence. Then: 
 
 "What are you going to do for us?" Paul Cluett 
 asked. 
 
 "Do ?" Mr. Stanley had plainly studied that despised 
 list of demands, for he named and answered them in order. 
 "Free drinking water !" he snorted. "The wells are free. 
 A clean camp! How's any employer to get it or keep it 
 for a herd of tramps ? I'll do my part toward cleaning up 
 the camp. We'll see what you'll do. More pay?" His 
 voice sharpened. "Las Palmas is giving the right rate for 
 picking. You'll not get another cent out of me not a 
 cent." 
 
 It seemed to me I couldn't bear to stand there and look 
 on at the defeat and humiliation I saw coming to the com- 
 mittee that poor, bent, old Father Abraham had left a help- 
 less, scared wife and sick children to serve on. I turned 
 and tried quietly to get out. By the time I brought up a
 
 300 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 little nearer the door, but wedged in tighter than ever, 
 black little Barney Monroe was demanding: 
 
 "That's the word we get, is it? We've asked three 
 things ; two of them you turn down cold, do you ? We can 
 tell our people that, huh ?" 
 
 "If you was to clean up, when would you do it, any- 
 how?" Cluett asked. "When would we get the common 
 human decencies for that camp and for the fields ?" 
 
 "When I can get the lumber and the workmen," snapped 
 Mr. Stanley. 
 
 "That's no more than you promised me three days ago 
 that's nothing," said Monroe. 
 
 "Your camp's in a hell of a fix for garbage service," 
 Cluett went steadily on, as though no one else had spoken. 
 "You could give us that to-morrow to-day if you 
 wanted to. The sump holes around the wells are swarm- 
 ing with blue flies " 
 
 "Blue flies ?" Mr. Stanley checked himself in the mo- 
 tion of putting on one of his auto gloves. He dragged it 
 off and stood with it grasped in his hand, repeating, "Blue 
 flies ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," Cluett answered. "Some of 'em butchered 
 a sheep up there day before yesterday; the offal's lying 
 yet in the sun. The entrails " 
 
 "Butchering ! in camp ! Making a slaughter house of 
 the place!" broke in Mr. Stanley. "I'll not have that. 
 I've put men off the ranch for less." 
 
 "They've been pickin' your hops at ninety cents a hun- 
 dred," Cluett said, heavily. "They had to keep at it from 
 dark to dark to earn a livin' wage. J N yet we like to eat 
 meat once in a while, same as you do. They butchered. 
 'N you didn't give us any garbage service or camp boss. 
 ~Now you seem to think it's funny we'd strike." 
 
 Mr. Stanley stood breathing hard, surveying the com- 
 mittee he had agreed to meet. To me, the very seams in 
 the back of his coat showed an acute consciousness of
 
 THE COMMITTEE 301 
 
 Philip there within hearing ; his son at hand to criticise his 
 methods, perhaps to see him worsted. Again silence an 
 aching silence waited on what he would say when he 
 spoke. 
 
 "Strike !" He jumped at the word as though it were 
 what he had been watching for. "Do you fellows think 
 you can stay on this place and stir up a strike, right before 
 my eyes ?" 
 
 "Sir, already we have " 
 
 It was as far as Father Abraham got. 
 
 "You're discharged," Mr. Stanley bellowed at him at 
 the entire committee. "Get off my ranch." 
 
 "You can't make that stick," said Cluett. "We've all 
 paid our rent. We can live here as long as we " 
 
 "We can die here!" cut in Monroe, fiercely. "The 
 camp's a hell. We'll have a run of typhoid inside a week. 
 We've got half a dozen sick children up there now." 
 
 "That's a lie, Barney, and you know it," Milt Stanley 
 whooped in from the roadway. Through the window I 
 could see his thin, red, anxious face raised subserviently 
 toward his older brother in the office. "It's a lie," he re- 
 peated, but there was no confidence in his tone. "There's 
 nobody sick in the camp." 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Baird!" Sonya Pochin's clawing fingers 
 were at my shoulder. "Tell 'em tell 'em quick you 
 were down at the store for medicine and the doctor. Get 
 him to speak for us." Her big black eyes flashed to Philip, 
 who was just out of her reach. "You can. He's an old 
 friend." So far she had whispered ; now, in despair, her 
 voice soared out, "Mr. Stanley, your son knows there's 
 sickness in camp. He's been through this morning and 
 seen the sick ones." 
 
 The owner of Las Palmas wheeled to the new issue. 
 The furrows of his face began to purple. Once more he 
 seemed to forget everything else in rage at his son. Philip 
 stood with an expressionless countenance, braving him as
 
 302 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 I knew he had always braved him in the past while his 
 father raged: 
 
 "Don't you attempt to tell me what you saw ! On my 
 ranch with no permission been through my camps with- 
 out a word to me!" 
 
 "See here, sir !" Philip spoke with a detached air, but 
 his voice had deepened a bit. "You know, and every hop 
 grower in your district knows, that I couldn't accomplish 
 what I came for by giving notice and asking permission. 
 It's my business to see these camps as they are and make 
 my report " 
 
 "Your business!" Mr. Stanley fumed. "Your only 
 business on Las Palmas ranch is to meddle and make me 
 trouble. You've been nothing but trouble to me since the 
 day you were born. I never want to see your face again. 
 If you've got any self-respect, you'll get out of here." 
 
 Philip looked straight back at him. 
 
 "That might suit you," he said, "but I can't leave the 
 biggest labour camp in the district out of my report be- 
 cause it's on your place. I can't report on it without go- 
 ing through it. I did about half my work this morning; 
 I expect to finish this afternoon." 
 
 "You expect " Mr. Stanley choked on his own 
 
 rage. "Brockaw " 
 
 "Look out, Lucius Stanley," came Cluett's taunt. "You 
 ain't talkin' to a committee of poor devils of strikers 
 now. You're buckin' Washington !" 
 
 "Brockaw," Stanley wheeled on him, "these men here, 
 that are making trouble ; if they don't leave the ranch, any 
 or all of them, arrest them as as trespassers." 
 
 It sounded as though he included his son with the 
 others. Brockaw, uncertain, pushed forward, bringing up 
 shoulder to shoulder with Philip. 
 
 "Uh uh arrest now?" he blundered, stupidly. 
 
 Philip's attitude was still one of entire unconcern. He 
 looked his father in the face half pityingly, suggesting:
 
 THE RIOT 303 
 
 "Well not without a warrant. You don't run things 
 quite that way on Las Palraas ranch, do you ?" 
 
 At the check the old jeer broke out between the con- 
 stable and the pickers he was hired to intimidate. 
 Brockaw's dull face reddened to cries of, 
 
 "Watch him crawfish now!" 
 
 "Hey, Brocky, better go back to skinning mules !" 
 
 With an awkward flourish of the arm the constable 
 jerked out his pistol. It caught in my sleeve. 
 
 "Stop him!" screamed Father Abraham. "He'll shoot 
 the girl !" 
 
 "Look what you're about, you fool be careful with that 
 gun !" Philip said to him, contemptuously. My heart 
 leaped when he put himself between me and the 
 constable, but afterwards I wasn't sure he noticed 
 whether it was I or Sonya Pochin who had been in 
 danger. 
 
 Brockaw, cowed, confused, went straight on past, a way 
 opening for the weapon in his hand, and letting him 
 through the door. This left Philip and his father con- 
 fronted. We all watched, fascinated, while Mr. Stanley 
 tried to speak, and couldn't for fury. Then suddenly a 
 kind of convulsion went over his features; his arm shot 
 up, and the heavy auto glove he held slapped Philip across 
 the face. 
 
 "Get out of my way!" It was hardly more than a 
 strangled whisper. They couldn't hear it from the road- 
 way ; they couldn't see what had happened ; but they yelled 
 as he came out to them on the heels of his constable and 
 got into the car. They were yelling still as the car made 
 speed down the road, both occupants turning once and 
 again to look back. 
 
 Philip put his hand to the red mark on his cheek. He 
 glanced about sharply, saying: 
 
 "I'll ask those who saw that kindly not to mention it 
 outside this room. It could only do harm."
 
 304 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 Monroe had sprung on a chair and was craning his neck 
 to watch the automobile off. 
 
 "All right, sir. You heard that, boys. Keep your 
 mouths shut. Gawd, we'll have our hands full, anyhow 
 they've gone down the Corinth road!" 
 
 "Pave they?" 
 
 "Lemme see !" 
 
 "Look, that's their dust at the turn there." 
 
 "Gone for reinforcements. They'll have the sheriff and 
 his deputies on us before the day's over !" 
 
 "We're in for it. Get busy, boys. We've got a right to 
 strike. We'll stand solid on that."
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE EIOT 
 
 WELL it was fight now ! The strikers didn't know 
 what to expect ; as Cluett had said, they could only 
 "get busy." They poured out of the little office like wasps 
 from a nest that's been shaken, Sonya Pochin right up at 
 the front, talking furiously. In the road they scattered, 
 going from group to group, gesticulating, shouting out 
 just what had happened to the committee, begging, be- 
 seeching the pickers to stick together. 
 
 "We'll get what we're after, yet," was Monroe's slogan. 
 
 "We'll catch hell if we lay down now," Cluett warned. 
 
 "Be men. Stand up for your women and your sick 
 children !" Sonya's voice rose shrill above them. 
 
 "But no violence no violence, daughter," Father Abra- 
 ham came in timorously. "They have gone for the con- 
 stabulary." 
 
 "Sure, no violence !" they jeered all around him. "But 
 not another pound of hops picked till Stanley does the 
 decent thing." 
 
 This suddenly left Philip and me practically alone in 
 the office. Certainly nothing could have been further from 
 my intention than to speak as though Philip had done 
 something to save my life. But in the agonising em- 
 barrassment that descended on me I found myself doing 
 just that, and in my frantic efforts to flounder out I wound 
 up, "I'm afraid my being here made your father 
 
 angrier " and then just choked down to silence in a 
 
 blind passion of chagrin. 
 
 Philip had been looking at me as though he didn't see 
 me. The red mark showed up plain on his cheek, but the 
 fighting glare with which any spirited man will meet a 
 
 305
 
 306 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 blow in the face was dying out of his eyes. He even 
 smiled a little as I limped to my miserable, abashed con- 
 clusion. 
 
 "Oh, no," he said, "you're not to blame, Gallic. That's 
 nothing new in the Stanley family. Nice bunch of wild 
 animals I should think you'd admire them. Well, for- 
 get it I do." 
 
 It was one of those wretched moments when the only 
 things that come into your head to say are the things you 
 mustn't say. We moved down the office steps together, 
 Philip starting back for his work as though nothing had 
 happened. We walked side by side as far as his machine 
 he was off for the fields and the outlying portions of the 
 ranch. I was glad when he lifted his hat and left me. 
 
 I went on up to Boyce and the camp, trying feverishly 
 to forget my own inward disturbance in the immediate 
 crash of the affairs of those about me. I couldn't get away 
 from the place till night, and might as well make myself 
 of use and do what I could for those who were worse off 
 than I was. 
 
 I had to take Boy with me on some of my errands ; about 
 two o'clock he went to sleep, which was a relief, though 
 he woke up cross and feverish. There was nothing to be 
 got for the sick children ; we had to do the best we could 
 with thickened milk and browned flour. Joe Ed, who said 
 he was "no sea-lawyer," did not take part in the arguing 
 and agitating, but worked like a nailer helping us women. 
 Philip had got back and was evidently giving the camp a 
 final going over. Now and again we got sight of him, a 
 crowd always at his heels, an interpreter beside him when 
 needed. Quietness and confidence and strength went with 
 him wherever he was. I couldn't get over the wonder of 
 it that this should be the spoiled, irresponsible boy I had 
 last seen. 
 
 As we worked, I began to realise that Joe Ed had some- 
 thing on his mind, and at last it came out.
 
 THE RIOT 307 
 
 "I'm glad I got my tip from Louisiana Lou about the 
 man in the case. It's duly filed for reference." He set 
 down the bucket of water I had asked for, glanced at me 
 swiftly, then looked away. "I don't suppose you've been 
 losing any sleep considering that dazzling offer of mine, 
 made in good faith and in the public square at San Vi- 
 cente some months ago, but I've been kind of hanging on 
 to that idea at times. I'll drop it now." 
 
 "Oh, Joe Ed, don't be ridiculous," I remonstrated, my 
 face stinging with the humiliation I had been trying to 
 forget. "There's no man in the case. Of course, I knew 
 you weren't in earnest that evening. You were just ex- 
 cited " 
 
 "And a drink ahead," he supplied. "Say it. You 
 thought, as Barney says, 'it was the liquor talking,' did 
 you? Well, it wasn't. When you're hanging up your 
 scalps, you can count mine. I don't say I ever had any 
 hope but it just wasn't in me to resist the impulse." 
 
 All day, off and on, there had been singing and speaking 
 at the dance platform. Now, about five o'clock, the big- 
 gest crowd they'd had was gathering. Everybody who 
 wasn't over there seemed to be on the way. 
 
 "Let's us go bring the kid and come on," said Joe. 
 
 "I want to go," Boyce put in, fretfully, and we started. 
 Halfway there we overtook Bice. I stopped to speak to 
 him. The strike had tied up his wagon, as well as every- 
 thing else. 
 
 "I can carry the things over for you," he offered. 
 
 "Yes," Joe Ed settled it, "we can pack your stuff to 
 Corinth it'll be cool after dark if we're not all in jail 
 before that time." 
 
 Bice went on with his great swinging stride ; Joe and I 
 followed more slowly. Boy caught sight of a child up on 
 the platform that he knew, let go my hand, and before I 
 could stop him had dodged under elbows and worked his 
 way till he stood just in front of the speaker.
 
 308 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 When we got into that crowd of two thousand hop 
 pickers, nearly half of them women and children, who 
 knew nothing about going on strike, I felt the queer thrill 
 that made it different from any other gathering of people. 
 Barney Monroe's hoarse, tired voice slugging away with 
 undiminished passion, the nervous strain of those who lis- 
 tened, it was like a revival meeting. 
 
 "If we're men," Barney yelled, huskily, "we'll strike; 
 we'll refuse to pick these hops till Stanley's met our con- 
 ditions; we'll take care of our women and children. If 
 we're mice, we'll give up to let them work in this kind of 
 a hell. See here" he reached down suddenly, swung 
 Boy up and held him high "it's for the kids we're strik- 
 ing. It's for them." 
 
 "Joe," I whispered, catching his arm and shaking it, 
 "if they bring in officers on these people, there'll be blood- 
 shed." 
 
 "Sure not," he cried; "not in a hundred years. Don't 
 you go getting scared again. Nobody here's armed. 
 There's no talk of fight." 
 
 "I'm not scared," I said, still speaking low. "I wasn't 
 scared last night." 
 
 "Then what was the matter ?" 
 
 "Oh I'd just found that Lucius Stanley owns this 
 ranch. That was the first time I'd seen him and 
 his wife. It upset me. Long ago when I was living 
 in Stanleyton we had there was something un- 
 pleasant " 
 
 "I understand," said Joe Ed. "By the way, where is 
 He? Gone?" 
 
 We both looked around, and Joe answered his own ques- 
 tion, with: 
 
 "There he is." 
 
 Coming along the well-path, some papers and books in 
 his hand, moving with the air of a man whose work is 
 completed, I saw Philip.
 
 THE RIOT 309 
 
 Again I experienced that curious stoppage of the fac- 
 ulties. The big crowd seemed unreal. The noises dwin- 
 dled. Vaguely I knew that there was a call for singers, 
 and that Joe Ed had left me to respond to it. A voice up 
 there cried out: 
 
 "Sing sing 'Mr. Block/ " 
 
 I saw Joe Ed spring high on the musicians' bench, 
 beckoning and calling to the English boy drawing a bucket 
 of water over at the well. For the first time I had an 
 overwhelming impulse to run away. I looked around for 
 someone to bring Boyce down. On the instant Philip 
 came through the fringes of the crowd and spoke to me. 
 
 "I'm glad I found you, Callie. I didn't want to go 
 without saying good-bye." 
 
 "Good-bye," I said, mechanically, and put out a limp 
 hand. 
 
 "Where's the boy ?" he asked, like any other friend. 
 
 "Up there." I indicated the platform. "I was look- 
 ing for someone to get him down for me." 
 
 "I'll go and fetch him," and he was pushing his way 
 up the steps. 
 
 When he was gone I became aware of a curious stir and 
 grumbling among the people back of me. I twisted around 
 to look. At first I couldn't see anything for the crowd. 
 Then I caught a glimpse of an automobile coming across 
 the field. There were men in it. The sawed-off barrels of 
 repeating shotguns showed above their shoulders. 
 
 "For God's sake, look at the pump guns!" yelled a 
 voice. The crush about me swayed; I saw a second car, 
 also full of men. It seemed ridiculous, impossible, but 
 one of the figures beside Mr. Stanley on the back seat was 
 Harvey Watkins. Milt and Brockaw were in front. I 
 turned toward the stand. When I finally could see any- 
 thing of Boy, Philip had him, and waved reassuringly. I 
 looked back in the direction of the motors. They had 
 stopped at the edge of the crowd ; the men in the first one
 
 310 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 jumped down and tried to make their way in to the plat- 
 form. Two of them drew clubs and began striking right 
 and left into the press as they came. 
 
 "Look at that damned sheriff and his deputy," groaned 
 a voice beside me, as the man ahead shouted : 
 
 "I call upon this meeting to disperse!" The crack of 
 his club on someone's head emphasised the words. 
 
 The full terror of the situation came to me where I 
 stood wedged in, unable to get either forward or back. 
 Then a shot roared out fired, they said afterward, by an 
 officer on the outskirts, over the heads of the crowd, to in- 
 timidate them. 
 
 Intimidate? It maddened them. It was the opening 
 crash of a horrible bedlam. I was shoved along in the 
 yelling rush toward the platform steps, up which the of- 
 ficers were fighting their way. Back in Mr. Stanley's 
 automobile somebody was standing up shouting, "Keep 
 the peace, boys keep the peace !" I got sight of Philip 
 bringing Boy, arms clutched tight around the neck of his 
 rescuer, face burrowed in against him. They were get- 
 ting across toward me when, with a splintering crash, the 
 singers' bench broke down, and those who had jumped on 
 it to see better were thrown to their knees in the midst of 
 a howling, fighting mob. My struggle in the direction of 
 the steps had brought me right to the elbow of one of the 
 officers. At the instant I got a second glimpse of Philip's 
 bare head and Boy's little towsled poll, this fellow shouted 
 to Brockaw: 
 
 "There's your man. You've got the papers now. Ar- 
 rest him !" And he lifted his gun and pointed it straight 
 at those two heads! 
 
 I threw myself toward the man as well as I could for 
 the hampering bodies of those about me, clutched at the 
 pointing weapon, came short, clawed for his arm. He 
 cursed me, and turned the gun on me. But I was past 
 terror. Let it be that, then let it be that ! My eyes were
 
 THE RIOT 311 
 
 closing when a great black arm reached down from the 
 platform across me, caught the gun barrel, wrenched it 
 away, and, as I crouched there staring, there came a roar 
 in my ears like the dissolution of earth, and the man who 
 had threatened me crumpled down the steps among the 
 trampling feet. 
 
 Bice dropped the gun and reached for me to lift me up 
 to safety. There was another roar back of me, and a 
 charge of buckshot, fired close at hand, tore open his great 
 brown breast so horribly that, for a moment, the quiver- 
 ing, beating heart was seen. Then he rolled over and 
 over, down out of sight. 
 
 Where was Philip ? Where was Boy ? 
 
 With a rush the officers had finally gained the platform. 
 There they fought and stamped, jerking Father Abraham 
 from the box he had been standing on, hustling him for- 
 ward to the steps. They got handcuffs on him and on 
 Monroe. Again and again shots sounded. At one of them 
 the man who had been standing up in the Stanley auto, 
 with his futile "Keep the peace, boys keep the peace," 
 fell headlong. 
 
 Then suddenly the whole crowd on the platform seemed 
 to surge forward and down the steps, stumbling on the 
 dead men that lay there. Somebody caught me round the 
 waist and hauled me to one side. It was Sonya ; Philip 
 was behind her with Boy. The three of us went with the 
 running mass till the press thinned a bit and we could 
 halt. 
 
 "Muvver! Muwer!" Boyce was crying. 
 
 "Yes, young man, mother's here." Philip shifted the 
 child in his arms as we stood and looked. 
 
 The officers, with their prisoners, were fighting a way 
 back to the empty auto. Paul Cluett came running from 
 down the road somewhere he had not been at the meeting 
 at all. They met him, handcuffed him, and took him 
 along.
 
 312 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 The Stanley car with Mr. Stanley and Harvey Watkins 
 in it, and Milt driving, had instantly picked up their man 
 who had been shot, and, backing swiftly out of the crowd, 
 speeded away up toward the palm avenue. Half a dozen 
 were down, on the steps of the platform and near there. 
 Men, women, children, were crouching, screaming, or run- 
 ning and nursing wounds. 
 
 "Oh, look!" wailed Sonya. There in front of us on 
 the well-path the English boy lay, his pail of water over- 
 turned beside him. She stooped to see. "They've killed 
 him," she cried. "He's dead." 
 
 The camp was a wretched place, but it was the only 
 refuge those who had been at the meeting had. Some ter- 
 rified souls were running toward the fields; a few dis- 
 tracted figures flying right down the open road; but most 
 of them turned instinctively to their shacks and tents. We 
 moved in that direction, Philip still carrying Boyce. The 
 tents were emptying out every living thing in them except 
 those too sick to move. They came screeching, mad with 
 terror. Little old Mrs. Pochin, her grey hair flying, ran 
 up to us. 
 
 "Where is your father and Bernie and Ambrose ? 
 Have they killed your father ? Have they taken him ?" 
 
 "Yes they took father." Sonya caught hold of the 
 little shaking creature and steadied her. "But our men 
 are not done fighting yet see there." 
 
 Down the road toward the store, at the plunging run 
 of a very scared man, went Brockaw, a half-dozen strikers 
 after him. 
 
 "Oh, they've got nothing but sticks and stones. What 
 can they do against guns?" 
 
 Brockaw reached the store, scuttled around to its back, 
 ran in and barricaded himself. The strikers battered at 
 the doors and windows. 
 
 Among those that came with us or streamed past us 
 toward the camp were a great many men, women and
 
 THE RIOT 313 
 
 children with gunshot wounds. They dragged them- 
 selves along, were helped, or carried. One man, his whole 
 arm torn off by a bunched charge of buckshot, was bleed- 
 ing frightfully. When those who carried him came up 
 with us, Philip passed Boy to me and stopped them. I 
 left him there helping to rig a tourniquet. The whistling 
 breath and great wrenching groans of the wounded man 
 sounded after us as we went on. 
 
 Meek, quiet, efficient little Mrs. Pochin was like a crazed 
 thing. Those of us who kept some remnant of our wits 
 about us had our hands full. Nobody that I asked knew 
 anything of Joe Ed ; the last seen of him was just before 
 the singers' bench went down. When we looked back to- 
 ward the scene of the riot, there was the second auto- 
 mobile getting away, with its one dead man, and the re- 
 maining officers. Our dead Bice and the English boy 
 were being carried past the Pochin shack and to the stock- 
 ade. We heard the strikers hallooing to those who still 
 hammered at Brockaw's stronghold, yelling at them to 
 come and help, and let the constable go. 
 
 The sun went down on that bare, desolate, low hilltop ; 
 the shadows gathered over the blood and tears and dismay 
 of a beaten, leaderless horde. It seemed that doctors must 
 be got for these wounded; yet there wasn't a man among 
 the strikers who would dare show his face in Corinth that 
 night. Mountains rolled off my heart when Philip, who 
 had stayed so far to help these poor creatures, came in 
 where Mrs. Monroe and I were bandaging the bullet- 
 shattered hand of that ten-year-old boy who used to put 
 records on the phonograph of an evening, and told us that 
 he would send medical help from Corinth. 
 
 "Will they come to us f rom Corinth ?" Mrs. Monroe 
 asked, without looking up. 
 
 "I'll find someone who will," he answered, as briefly, 
 "whether it's from Corinth, or further on." 
 
 He went out, and the sounds of his motor slowly died
 
 314 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 away. The dark hours that followed didn't seem like a 
 night at all. They were full of activity strange, furtive 
 activity scared creatures stumbling about the camp, 
 afraid to have you offer them a lantern, skulking like 
 guilty things to hunt up their belongings and their people. 
 They didn't know who they'd run against a friend or an 
 officer of the law. The wounded moaned ; every now and 
 then a frightened woman would scream out, startled, or 
 there would be a muttered masculine exclamation and the 
 sound of shuffling feet. Through it all was the fretful 
 cry of sick children who had to be neglected. 
 
 There were more than two thousand pickers on Las 
 Palmas ranch; nearly all of them had been at the meet- 
 ing. Now the timid ones, who had never had any hope in 
 the strike, who were willing to make any sort of terms, 
 anxious to stay and hold their jobs in whatever conditions, 
 came creeping in from the fields, or wherever they had 
 harboured during the riot, crawled into tents and shacks, 
 shut the doors or pulled the flaps together, and lay there 
 breathlessly silent, taking no part in what we had to face. 
 
 The worst of our work was our ignorance; we didn't 
 know whether what we did was right or wrong. The boy 
 with the shattered hand was motherless; his father had 
 been arrested. The child soon became delirious; then he 
 screamed till I thought I should go out of my mind. Mrs. 
 Monroe was keeping Boy with her children. Sonya Po- 
 chin and I were down at the further end of the camp, try- 
 ing to see if we could do anything for the man who had 
 lost his arm. It seemed as though he would die of shock. 
 
 "Would you go look again, Mrs. Baird ?" Sonya whis- 
 pered. "I thought I heard a motor quite a while ago." 
 
 I went and stood at the tent door. There was no wind, 
 but a queer little whispering, moving sound kept up 
 through all the camp. Here and there the dimly luminous 
 walls of a tent showed where the sick were. In one of the 
 stockades a match would flash up behind the burlap walls, 
 and be put out quickly; but there was never a gleam in
 
 THE RIOT 315 
 
 the big black shadow over by the tule shelters beside the 
 dry slough where the Orientals hid themselves from this 
 war of an alien race. 
 
 I saw a light moving along from the direction of the 
 dance platform. As it came nearer I could make out 
 Dolph Flegel, carrying a lantern in front of three men 
 Philip and a stranger, with Joe Ed, white and sick-look- 
 ing, his left arm in a sling, walking between them. 
 
 "Is that the doctor?" Sonya called, softly. "Here's 
 where he's wanted." 
 
 "Yes and Joe Ed!" I cried. 
 
 As they came up, I stepped aside to let the stranger 
 pass in and Philip went with him. Joe Ed dropped down 
 on a soap box at the tent door and sat there a moment, 
 panting. 
 
 "Wounded on the field of battle," he said, looking down 
 at his bandaged arm with a ghost of his old jauntiness. 
 
 "How was it where have you been, Joe ?" I asked. 
 "We've been so uneasy about you nobody seen you." 
 
 "Got pitched off the platform when the bench broke 
 down. Five or six fell on top of me, busted this wing, 
 and kicked me plumb back out of sight in the scramble. I 
 didn't know anything for quite some time. Stanley and 
 the doctor found me sitting up trying to remember who I 
 was, and what had happened." 
 
 "A broken arm that's pretty bad out I'm glad it's no 
 worse. Does it hurt very much ?" 
 
 "Not very feels sort of funny. My head's a little 
 queer yet. I'll be all right in the morning. I'm going 
 to take you and the kid home to-morrow and that's a 
 cinch." 
 
 "Sonya!" somebody hissed from the dark, and Mrs. 
 Pochin's haggard little face showed up suddenly in the 
 shine of Dolph's lantern. "Ah-h !" She shrank a little ; 
 then, seeing who we were, "Is Sonya here ?" 
 
 For answer I pointed inside. 
 
 "Tell her, please, we go now. I get at last Ambrose
 
 316 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 and Bernie, and all the children. Vera and I, we pack 
 up. We go just walking away on our feet down the 
 road in the dark. We carry it that things what we got. 
 Tell Sonya she shall come." 
 
 I stepped inside, beckoned Sonya, and Philip came out 
 with us. Mrs. Pochin was speaking to Joe Ed. 
 
 "Best is you stay in our house to-night. That boy can 
 bring your blankets over. It is, anyhow, better than the 
 stockade with no roof the dew falls heavy to-night 
 the dead are laid out there." 
 
 "Heh Bice and English !" sighed Joe Ed, heavily, get- 
 ting to his feet. "Thank you, ma'am. I reckon I had bet- 
 ter get down," and the four of them started ; Philip walked 
 quietly beside me. 
 
 "Callie," he spoke in a lowered tone, "I suppose you 
 realise that we'll all be detained here as witnesses?" 
 
 "Oh!" I pulled up in dismay. "Shall we? I hadn't 
 thought of anything like that !" 
 
 "Yes," he said ; then, indicating the group ahead, "It's 
 what they're running away from. It's a bad move on 
 their part poor things; they'll only be dragged back 
 and jailed." 
 
 "You're sure " I began, haltingly "but, of course." 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Philip. "The man that was killed in 
 father's auto was the district attorney and popular 
 had been father's lawyer. Chavez county's wild. I talked 
 to Watkins over at Corinth. His firm's acting for Las 
 Palmas now." 
 
 "Yes ; I saw Harvey in the car this afternoon," I said. 
 
 "Well, the inquest's set for ten o'clock to-morrow morn- 
 ing. I hope you folks can give your testimony and get off 
 on the noon train. Watkins was inclined to be accommo- 
 dating. I think he'd even take depositions, if the inquest 
 was delayed." 
 
 "I do hope we can get off at noon," I said. "It would 
 be miserable to be kept here." 
 
 "Miserable," he repeated. "And, of course, you'll be
 
 THE RIOT 317 
 
 brought back for the trial. So shall I. It's hard luck 
 that I have to testify ; of course, father will hold it a per- 
 sonal attack on him. My report hits him hard and then 
 my being there at the moment of the outbreak. Well, it 
 can't be helped." 
 
 I was silent a long time, and finally just said : 
 
 "It's too bad." 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," he threw it off sharply ; "it's better 
 for me that I couldn't get on with father. Look what he's 
 made of Milt. His idea of discipline was always a club." 
 
 "Don't you think he he saw to-day?" I suggested, 
 hesitantly. There was no hesitation in Philip's, 
 
 "]STo, they haven't learned anything. They were taken 
 by surprise they didn't think that seasonal workers 
 could get up a genuine strike but they haven't learned 
 anything. Watkins was there at Corinth, 'phoning to the 
 governor to have the militia called out." 
 
 "Soldiers !" I cried, and looked around at the darkened, 
 furtive camp, scared to death, with its dead, its sick and 
 wounded. 
 
 "Yes, soldiers," he repeated. "Watkins said they were 
 pretty badly shaken up over there you notice the house 
 hasn't shown a light yet. They're jolted, but they haven't 
 learned anything. They're still for the strong hand. 
 When they get the militia here they'll run things about as 
 they have been running them. Mother has more brains, 
 but she trusts father's plans because he's got rich by them ; 
 she's seen them succeed so far. After all, she belongs to 
 the old generation." 
 
 I didn't say anything ; after a moment He went on : 
 
 "Chavez county is dominated by the Hop Growers' As- 
 sociation; Chavez county has had a deputy sheriff and a 
 prosecuting attorney killed by seasonal workers on Las 
 Palmas to-day. Chavez county will support the Stanleys 
 and their methods. But this is the point that may weigh 
 with mother : Chavez county isn't the whole world, or even 
 the state of California, to her. I can't believe but that
 
 818 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 she'll writhe under the criticism they've certainly brought 
 on themselves when all the facts are known. I'm not en- 
 joying it myself. It's my name, too, you see. They're my 
 parents." 
 
 Ten chances to one Philip wouldn't have encountered 
 his father on Las Palmas to-day at all but for me. He 
 wouldn't have been struck in the face; he wouldn't have 
 been at the dance platform when the killings occurred, ex- 
 cept that he was trying both times to do something for me. 
 He hadn't tried to avoid me he was showing himself most 
 kind but surely he must feel that I had never brought 
 him anything but ill luck. I would have liked to say 
 something of this, but I couldn't find the words. There 
 was silence till we came up with the others. Mrs. Pochin 
 and Sonya hardly stopped for whispered good-byes, and 
 went straight on. Joe Ed, without a word, walked into 
 their house and lay down; Dolph Flegel started over to 
 the stockade for Joe's blankets. 
 
 "Well, Callie," said Philip, when it came to good-night, 
 "I'll do anything I can to help out to-morrow. I hate to 
 see you let in for all this, just because you chose the Stan- 
 ley ranch to pick hops on." 
 
 "I didn't !" I cried. "I never knew till last night who 
 owned Las Palmas and I was trying to get away this 
 morning." 
 
 There was a brief silence ; then, 
 
 "I see," he said, slowly. 
 
 "I didn't pay enough attention to where I was going 
 when I left San Vicente," I said. "I was just sort of 
 running away, I guess, from something. The Poinsettia 
 you know she was there." 
 
 "Oh !" His tone was startled. "That poor thing. She 
 did make it, then. Well, I'm glad she's safe." 
 
 He went on down toward where the round eyes of two 
 machines his and the doctor's stared through the dark 
 in the vicinity of the dance platform. I was to remember 
 afterward that word of his "safe."
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 SAFE 
 
 I WENT and got Boy from Mrs. Monroe's tent and 
 carried him over to mine. He'd had his scare and his 
 big cry at all the shooting and excitement, and, after it, 
 was sleeping soundly. I had got undressed and pulled on 
 the wrapper that I slept in in the camp, when there came 
 a shaking of my tent curtains and a mumbling of my 
 name. It was Dolph Flegel. He cringed as I parted the 
 flaps. 
 
 "Don't let that light on me," he said, and his voice 
 shook. "I just come a-past to tell you to get out of here 
 quick as you can. There's going to be an inquest to-mor- 
 row. They'll have us all hauled up. That's what the 
 Pochins run away from. Over't the stockade they've been 
 telling me." 
 
 "Of course there'll be an inquest to-morrow, Dolph," I 
 said. "It's better for us to stay and give our testimony." 
 
 "Huh!" choked Dolph, huskily. "That nigger killed 
 his man right acrost your shoulder. 'F I's you I'd run 
 I'd never quit running. D'ye want to see the inside of a 
 jail?" 
 
 "There's no use running," I said. "We'll only be 
 wanted as witnesses; but, if you run, you're liable to be 
 arrested. Philip Stanley says " 
 
 "Huh !" he broke in on me. " 'Course the old man ain't 
 goin' to do anything to him! I'll trust to my own legs." 
 
 "Dolph, you'll be caught," I said. "And it'll be the 
 worse for you." 
 
 "I won't never be caught in the world. I think you're 
 a fool for stayin'. Well, I've warned you," and he went 
 blundering away in the dark, with a clumsy pack on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 319
 
 320 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 After that, for some hours I slept the sleep of dead 
 weariness. I waked suddenly in the grey dawn to the 
 clink of metal, the sound of marching feet. I stole to my 
 tent door and peered out. Down at the big gate the militia 
 were coming in, wheeling from the road in formation, 
 guns over their shoulders, marching knee-deep in a slug- 
 gish layer of fog. 
 
 An hour later, when I was making some sort of break- 
 fast for Boyce and Joe Ed and myself, they were pitching 
 their tents on a nice little hill back of the ranch house, 
 within easy reach of those better wells which had been too 
 far away for the use of the miserable pickers. Strange 
 how little visible reminder there was of yesterday's riot. 
 The people were very quiet and watchful, cooking their 
 breakfasts ; the empty tents and shacks showed up now ; 
 yet it was still a labour camp, and those in it were listen- 
 ing for any sound that would tell us that the engine had 
 started at the drying kilns, looking for any movement of 
 wagons toward the field. It was significant that there was 
 no staring over at the soldiers, no loud mention of their 
 presence. 
 
 Down around the office men in khaki uniforms changed 
 the look of things more. Milt, the only Stanley in sight, 
 was directing some lumber wagons toward the camp; a 
 few men with hoes, rakes and shovels marched after. They 
 were hustling round to do a little bit of hasty cleaning. 
 Philip hadn't come over from Corinth yet. Harvey made 
 a favour of taking our depositions for the coroner, though 
 I knew that Philip had asked it. I thanked Harvey; he 
 never once looked straight at me ; Boyce, rather to my sur- 
 prise, paid no attention to him. We gave our addresses, 
 so that we could be summoned for the preliminary hear- 
 ing, and were allowed to go. There were quite a number 
 of persons leaving just as we were ; the big stage that had 
 been sent over was almost full. 
 
 It seemed queer to be regarded as dangerous or crim-
 
 SAFE 
 
 inal, but all Corinth was in a bubble of terror over what 
 had happened at Las Palmas that Sunday afternoon, and 
 when our stage got to the station it was rather like the 
 Black Maria arriving with prisoners. I saw Mrs. Eccles's 
 son-in-law with his entire family in the round-eyed crowd 
 that had gathered to gape at us. Boy saw them, too ; they 
 didn't half enjoy his hallooing to them, and answered with 
 cold repression. 
 
 T suppose Joe Ed, with his wounded arm, figured as a 
 particularly dangerous outlaw. They stared after us when 
 we went into the station to telegraph the Poinsettia. It 
 made quite a sensation when, just before our train got in, 
 Philip drove up in his roadster, shook hands with us, and 
 stayed to see us safely aboard. 
 
 We got into San Vicente about two o'clock, Joe, his 
 coat off the left side, drawn so as to cover and protect the 
 bandaged arm, trying still to make a joke of everything. 
 I was ashamed that there wasn't a smile left in me to an- 
 swer his gallant effort. It was like getting back home 
 after a war. It seemed strange that the town should be 
 just as I had left it last Wednesday ! Boy was lively ; he 
 noticed everything. It was he who, when the taxi we had 
 to have on Joe's account turned into Arbolado street, called 
 out: 
 
 "Oh, see the funny wagon at our house. What kind of 
 wagon is that, Muvver ?" 
 
 It was an auto hearse drawn up in front of the Poin- 
 settia. Other motors ranged down that side of the street. 
 The doors and windows were open ; people stood about on 
 the sidewalk, and there was quite a crowd gathered across 
 the way, watching. 
 
 "Oh," I gasped, "it it's a funeral !" 
 
 Joe Ed was very white, leaning forward and staring. 
 His impudent, irresponsible young countenance looked all 
 at once older. 
 
 "What'll I do ?" our chauffeur asked, in a lowered tone. 
 "You don't want to go in on her funeral."
 
 322 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 He brought his car to a stop and added, "It won't be 
 but a minute now they're coming out." 
 
 A man who sat beside the chauffeur of the hearse got 
 down and went with a sort of solemn briskness toward 
 the front door. Through that front door there emerged, 
 rolling slowly on its wheeled truck, a casket banked and 
 buried in white flowers. The pall-bearers walked on either 
 side ; the hand of each man dropped to the massive silver 
 handles of the great box. Two of the undertaker's assist- 
 ants were following, arms piled with more floral offerings. 
 
 "Who " Joe's voice shook. "Have you any idea 
 
 who it is?" 
 
 "I think Look at the pall-bearers," I whispered 
 
 back. The heavy steel casket was being manoeuvred across 
 the sidewalk. At what would have been the right hand of 
 whoever they were carrying walked Judge Hoard, his un- 
 covered grey head bent. Across from him was the senior 
 McBride brother; back of him Chester Lawrence, prose- 
 cuting attorney of San Vicente county. The eight men 
 were all members of the local bar. Mrs. Hoard, in black, 
 and others whom I knew by sight as distant relatives or 
 old friends of Miss Chandler's, were taking the first car 
 behind that of the pall-bearers. 
 
 "What they doin', Muvver?" Boy's voice recalled me 
 to myself. "Why don't we go into our house ?" 
 
 "We will, in a minute," I answered, mechanically. "Be 
 still, dear." 
 
 The undertaker and his assistants were getting people 
 into the waiting cars. We sat where we were while they 
 all came out Mrs. Thrasher, Mrs. Tutt and Ermentrude, 
 little Miss Creevy, all tremulous and shaken-looking ; Mr. 
 Martin alone (I suppose his wife wasn't able to walk yet), 
 and, finally, Rosalie evidently "covering" the occasion 
 for the "Clarion," her face the only one in sight that did 
 not wear that curious air of make-believe and super-solem- 
 nity with which we helplessly confront death. She turned
 
 SAFE 323 
 
 to speak to Mrs. Tipton, who followed and stood bare- 
 headed on the top step. 
 
 "There's mother!" Joe Ed drew a great breath of re- 
 lief. 
 
 "There's Orma, too," Boy prompted. I could see even 
 from this distance that the girl's face was reddened and 
 swollen by tears. 
 
 The hearse started on slowly; the other cars fell in be- 
 hind; the crowd lingered, looking after, staring over at 
 the Poinsettia, twos and threes of them with heads close 
 together exchanging comments. A huckster's wagon 
 turned the corner back of us; he was passing the house 
 calling, "Watermel-loons! Watermel-loons ! Watermel- 
 loons! and nice, fraish canteloups!" as we finally got to 
 the curb and Mrs. Tipton and Orma came down to us. 
 Our telegram had arrived ; we were expected. They knew 
 of Joe Ed's injury and supposed that we had known of 
 the funeral, seeing it in the papers. 
 
 I hadn't thought Joe Ed could move like that, with a 
 broken arm. He was on the sidewalk before the wheels 
 had well stopped turning, had the one good arm around 
 his mother, and had fairly lifted her off her feet. I didn't 
 hear a word between them; I don't believe any was 
 spoken ; but their faces were enough. 
 
 "Howdy, Cal." It was Rosalie who poked up a hand 
 as I was getting out of the taxi. "Say it's a relief to 
 see you here alive after what we've been hearing about the 
 Hopfield riots." 
 
 The house seemed very strange, all emptied and solemn 
 and silent that way. I noticed with a little contraction 
 of the heart a pale face looking from an upstairs window 
 Miss Chandler's window. As I glanced up, Mrs. Mar- 
 tin bowed slightly to me ; Julia, brown and solemn, looked 
 over her shoulder. She had evidently helped the old lady 
 to that point so she could see the departure of the funeral. 
 
 "You're to have the bungalow, Mrs. Baird," Mrs. Tip-
 
 324 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 ton said. "Let the man take your snit-case round there 
 for you. Orma can carry Eddy^s things up to his room." 
 
 The chauffeur had already started down the tunnel 
 with my bag, Boy at his heels, when a huggy came lather- 
 ing up with two women in it Mrs. Eccles driving; be- 
 side her, Delia, a monstrous floral pillow in her lap. 
 
 "Oh am I too late?" she demanded, hardly seeming 
 to notice who we were. "Did Mr. Watkins get here? 
 Well, of all things to be late for a funeral !" 
 
 "How do you do, Mrs. Baird V 9 Mrs. Eccles pronounced, 
 in her reproving tone. It drew Delia's attention to me, 
 and she fluttered: 
 
 "Oh, Foncie I didn't see you at first. Did you come 
 back for Gene Chandler's funeral?' Then, without 
 waiting for any answer, <f WeM have been in plenty of time 
 if that old florist hadn't kept us waiting or we'd had 
 Harvey with his car to bring us when we did get the pil- 
 low. Isn't it a beauty ?" she reared it a bit in her lap so 
 we could see the word "Peace" on it. The fantastic 
 thought crossed my mind that it ought to have been "Safe" 
 instead. 
 
 "Why not follow on down Fortieth street?" Mrs. Tip- 
 ton's little silvery tones suggested. "A funeral procession 
 moves very slowly. I should think you could easily over- 
 take them." 
 
 "I believe I will," Delia debated. "I can't bear to not 
 have it used." She lowered her tone. "It cost " 
 
 Mrs. Eccles started the old horse with a jerk. I don't 
 know to this day what Delia's pillow cost her. 
 
 We saw mother and son shoulder to shoulder going up to 
 the front steps of the Poinsettia, then Rosalie and I started 
 for the bungalow. 
 
 "You look sort of bowled over," Rosalie began in that 
 familiar drawl of hers as soon as we were alone. "This 
 the first you heard about it f 
 
 "Yes," I said.
 
 SAFE 325 
 
 "I guess you've been too busy to read the papers," she 
 was diving into that reticule which she called her war bag 
 as she spoke. "We ran her picture yesterday." She 
 brought out a copy of the usual Sunday "Clarion," folded 
 to show a cut of Miss Chandler on the front. 
 
 "An overdose of medicine taken by mistake has fatal 
 results," she read from the opening paragraph below it. 
 
 "Oh," I said, "that was it" 
 
 Rosalie looked at me, her head on one side, her fine 
 dark eyes a bit derisive. 
 
 "Sounds better than suicide. She fixed it so her friends 
 could say the other, anyhow. Saved her face. It's what 
 I'd do. If ever I get to where I can't go on, Cal, you just 
 look for me to fix up a plausible theory for the coroner 
 it's only decent." 
 
 "Rosalie " I began, after a moment's hesitation 
 
 "what makes you think that she'd got to where she couldn't 
 go on?" 
 
 "Used to lots of money," said Rosalie. "Been spending 
 her capital. It's all gone. Life isn't worth living to that 
 sort of folks without money, and plenty of it. It's her 
 affair. She had the right to quit anyway she wanted to. 
 Say tell me about the riots." 
 
 I paid the chauffeur; we went in to where Boy was 
 coasting about the rooms in mute admiration of our new 
 quarters. I gave Rosalie the main points of what I had 
 seen at Las Palmas. 
 
 "Gosh Almighty!" she kept ejaculating. "Gosh Al- 
 mighty !" Then, "That's big stuff, Cal. Lord, that's big." 
 She sniffed contemptuously. "Doen't sound much like the 
 slop we ran in the 'Clarion.' But of course we're always 
 on the side of the dirty sneaks. Your friend Harvey 
 Watkins husband of the lady with the pillow that 'cost' 
 is attorney for the Stanleys. He got Bill on long dis- 
 tance Sunday night and filled him up to the nock. You'd 
 have thought the hop pickers were cannibals. Well, so
 
 326 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 long, honey. It's awfully good to have you back here safe 
 and sound and this young'un of yours he grows like a 
 weed." 
 
 She swooped down on Boy near the door, pulled him 
 around and gave him a little thump which he liked instead 
 of the kiss a small boy is apt to be dodging when an admir- 
 ing woman grabs him. "I'm going to come some afternoon 
 and get you two and take you to a movie," she declared 
 as she left. 
 
 How good and usual and commonplace it all seemed ! 
 
 And Miss Chandler was safe.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 MAN'S JUSTICE 
 
 RIGHT there in that little wistaria-wrapped bungalow 
 of Frank Hollis Dale's, the lovely place I had stared 
 at so wistfully from my one window the first morning in 
 San Vicente, I lived for the next six months. When the 
 rains came, Boyce tracked in mud over that kitchen lino- 
 leum I had seen our celebrity washing up. My typewriter 
 sat where his used to sit ; I plugged away at its keys, facing 
 the historic spot where Dr. Rush had knocked him sprawl- 
 ing. 
 
 For now that I didn't try so hard, success came to me. 
 To put it in a few words, long ago I had suggested to Dr. 
 Rush popular articles on medical subjects, written just in 
 the vivid, spontaneous way that he talked. He took up the 
 idea, dictated the stuff to me, let me get it into the form 
 I had planned for him, made a hit with it, gave me lots of 
 credit, and I soon had the job of helping him revise, recast, 
 and make ready the manuscript for a book publisher. I 
 was to read the proofs. Dr. Rush was as pleased and ex- 
 cited as a boy over this success in a new line. He treated 
 me like a partner, telegraphed me twice about the matter 
 while I was up in Corinth at the trial. 
 
 My work with him led to other work. I was offered 
 a part-time position at the Normal visiting secretary 
 that paid very well indeed. It was easy for me to keep 
 Boy with me, in kindergarten for the mornings, and with a 
 schoolgirl to look after him when I couldn't be at home 
 afternoons. A year and a half ago, when I faced the ques- 
 tion of running away, as I stood in the dark in the dusty 
 side yard of the ranch up at Meaghers, and felt as though 
 I were about to jump over a cliff, I should have thought 
 
 327
 
 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 such a situation as this heavenly. I had pulled through, 
 on the straight road. I was modestly successful, respected 
 by my immediate world. 
 
 At Las Palmas, we heard how the hops were picked, 
 with militia to overawe the pickers. No inquiry was made 
 into the death of the English boy. He was buried in the 
 potter's field at Corinth, and nobody knew any name to put 
 on the pine headboard above him. Money was spent like 
 water on private detectives who raked and combed the 
 country about for fugitive strikers. The entire legal ma- 
 chinery of Chavez county, dominated by the Hop Growers' 
 Association, seemed to have been turned over to the enter- 
 prise of getting them to trial, putting them behind bars. 
 
 They caught poor Dolph early. Very quickly the 
 Corinth jail was crowded with witnesses and suspects, who 
 sweltered there through months, and shivered there 
 through later months, many of them to be dismissed in the 
 end, discovered to know absolutely nothing about the riots. 
 From the first the eager detectives had a free hand with 
 them, and beat and tortured in the cells to extort confes- 
 sion. Later, when it was all over, a deputy got a year in 
 San Quentin for mauling Dolph almost to death like this. 
 There were several attempts at suicide among the helpless 
 creatures ; Father Abraham did kill himself. 
 
 Joe Ed and I had to go back to Corinth to testify at the 
 preliminary hearing ; later we were up there nearly all of 
 January at the trial that was nationally reported and dis- 
 cussed. For they had made the indictment against Mon- 
 roe and Cluett murder, and tried to get the same against 
 two others, but failed ! Socialists worked with the I. W. 
 W. in a defence league, and retained as lawyer Arnold 
 Llewellyn from San Vicente, devoted, eloquent, a famous 
 fighter in big labour cases on the coast. Independent of 
 this, and just to show what sort of people were on trial, the 
 I. W. W. established what they called a "Jungle" in an 
 old barn in Corinth. Forty youngish men, they lived
 
 MAN'S JUSTICE 329 
 
 there, cooking their own food, one of them who was a tailor 
 putting in his time mending and pressing their clothes so 
 that they could make a good appearance when, day by day, 
 they marched into the courtroom, clean, attentive, serious, 
 a friendly, moral support. Corinth and Chavez county 
 didn't know what to make of it. Even the fact that the 
 "segregated district" never saw one of these men during 
 that time, while the public library was fairly overrun 
 by them, didn't keep the little town from looking at them 
 as a mysterious threat, some new kind of outlaw band. 
 
 But what could be done where there was no question of 
 human justice, even of legal justice ? Every summer this 
 district had trouble with its seasonal workers ; here was its 
 chance to show these drifting hordes, once and for all, that 
 they dared not organise and strike. 
 
 The whole experience was to me like walking on hot 
 ploughshares. There were the Stanleys every day in court, 
 having it their own way. She nearly always came, superb- 
 ly dressed, and sat by her husband, looking on at every 
 thing with that slight smile of hers the proud, handsome 
 face, the lip of quiet defiance, that repelled me in her, and 
 that I had fairly worshipped in her son. I had to go on 
 the stand, there before them, knowing that my testimony 
 would make them furious at me, proving as it did that Bice 
 had killed both the officers for whose murder Monroe and 
 Cluett were being tried, one when he was attacking me, the 
 other by a wild shot from his gun as he fell. I saw in their 
 faces as I swore to it that they hated me for every word. 
 Eor from the opening day, when the big city papers very- 
 where began to print reports, the outside criticism of the 
 Stanleys was free and bitter. Yet in the end they were 
 able to send Barney and Cluett to San Quentin for life, 
 convicted of murder in the face of all testimony. And 
 there was poor, little, shattered Mrs. Pochin, Sonya with 
 her, a ghost of her beautiful self, the rest of the family 
 driven and scattered; Mrs. Monroe worse than widowed,
 
 330 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 Barney's two little black-eyed children disgraced orphans 
 there was plenty to wring my heart. 
 
 Even so, why should I have come back from that trial 
 down in the depths, ready to cry all the time? Why 
 couldn't I put its bitterness behind me, and go as I ought 
 with my own affairs. Well, I couldn't ; I just drove my- 
 self to work that should have been a delight. The minute 
 I was free from it and alone, I'd be fairly drowned in the 
 old misery that I thought I was done with when I married 
 Oliver Baird at seventeen. 
 
 Constancy is very much praised; but it seemed to me 
 that I was to be pitied when the sight of Philip in the 
 courtroom, the sound of his voice there, thrilled my heart 
 just as it used to in the Stanleyton schoolroom. Then, I 
 had been made happy by it for all day ; but that was more 
 than seven years ago; I had gone through a great deal 
 since that time and got some very bitter knowledge. What 
 had made a poor, ignorant child happy only made me 
 suffer. 
 
 Up at Corinth I was on such an emotional strain that I 
 couldn't be natural in Philip's presence, and I would have 
 avoided him. But his testimony was a sensational fea- 
 ture of the trial, and one of the hardest things the prosecu- 
 tion had to meet; under the circumstances, we couldn't 
 help being thrown together, and when we were I was like 
 an intoxicated man, trying to walk straight and talk 
 straight, and hide his condition. I knew I was behaving 
 strangely, because I could see it react on him and puzzle 
 him. Continually on edge, I'd say something curt almost 
 hateful to him whenever we met, and then be in an agony 
 to see how he drew back from me and held off from me for 
 awhile. 
 
 Each time, I thought surely it was the end. And then 
 we'd be together again, and he would seem to have forgot- 
 ten his resentment entirely ; he would talk to me look at 
 me oh, the see-saw of feeling had me nearly crazy !
 
 MAN'S JUSTICE 331 
 
 When the trial was over at last, when I could come 
 home, sick at heart, but at least assured that I hadn't been 
 betrayed into any humiliating revelations, the city papers 
 got hold of the complete story of the early affair between 
 Philip and me, and printed it with all the sentimental 
 flourishes, the cuts of us that they'd run during the trial, 
 placed side by side, and below them such phrases as, 
 "Early romance Beautiful girl Cruel parents More 
 light on the attitude of L. C. Stanley's son in the Chavez 
 county industrial struggle." 
 
 I shall never forget the evening that I saw that paper 
 for the first time. I felt so helpless. I read every word 
 as though Philip were reading it. Now it certainly would 
 appear to him that contact with me meant intolerable an- 
 noyance and misfortune. 
 
 And everybody in the house took it up, congratulated 
 me wanted to know when the wedding was to be ! I could 
 see my denials were not believed, yet I reiterated them 
 frantically. If I ever met Philip again and I almost 
 wished I never might I'd at least clear myself; I'd tell 
 him I had nothing to do with letting the story 
 get out. 
 
 It wasn't very long after this publication, I was down at 
 Snow's, buying some valentines for Boy, when Delia Wat- 
 kins came up to the counter and began pulling over the bits 
 of pasteboard with their verses and pictures. I'd made up 
 my mind that I wasn't going to say a word to her beyond 
 how do you do ; but she offered a wavering hand, and the 
 moment I accepted it, dashed right into congratulations on 
 my capposed engagement to Philip Stanley. 
 
 I stopped her short with a flat contradiction. She was 
 easy to convince, and said over and over, 
 
 "Well I'm sorry it isn't so, I'm sure." Then, "I 
 Foncie, I'm a true friend still whether you believe it or 
 not." 
 
 "That's all right," I agreed hastily. "Never mind!"
 
 332 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 The saleswoman brought my package. Delia saw I was 
 going to leave, and put in, 
 
 "Well, Foncie or would you rather I'd call you Mrs. 
 Baird now ? there's something I have to see you about 
 I was going out to your house, if I hadn't met you here. 
 Come on up to the ladies' parlor or the restaurant 
 where we can be to ourselves, won't you ?" 
 
 I know I looked reluctant, but before I could think of 
 any way out of it, Delia had me back to the elevator. Go- 
 ing up she began nervously, 
 
 "Oh, I miss Gene so Gene Chandler." 
 
 I looked at her startled. Was she getting me off to 
 herself to ask something about Eugenia Chandler? We 
 stepped out into Snow's Pompeiian Court restaurant, quite 
 a wonderful place, where big meetings were often held. 
 To-day, at three o'clock, there was scarcely anyone in it; 
 but Delia led the way to a secluded corner under the mez- 
 zanine, talking as she went, 
 
 "Gene and I and Celia Mrs. Judge Hoard, you know 
 were all girls together. Celia's older she was in High 
 when we were in Grammar but those girlhood ties 
 Did you notice the pall bearers ? All members of the bar. 
 One of our firm Walter McBride." 
 
 There was no need for me to answer ; Delia ordered nut 
 sundaes for us both, and when the girl went to fetch them, 
 put her elbows on the table and remarked with a sigh, 
 
 "Wasn't it funny how the Boggs-Pendleton prosecution 
 slacked up ?" 
 
 "Slacked up ? I didn't know that it had. Since when, 
 do you mean ?" and I watched her face. 
 
 "Well, outsiders wouldn't know. Judge Hoard just 
 stopped taking any interest in the Anti-Vice committee 
 after being the main one almost. Why, it was through 
 him that our firm was engaged. I hated that r too, with 
 poor little Mrs. Pendleton right there next door. I think 
 I'd die if my troubles were all in the papers like hers are."
 
 MAN'S JUSTICE 333 
 
 She caught my eye, and was suddenly silent. It dawned 
 on me with a great light that she hadn't meant a thing by 
 her allusions to Miss Chandler ; there was no connection in 
 her mind between Miss Chandler and the Boggs-Pendleton 
 case. She was just talking against time, working around 
 to her own affairs. Ten chances to one, she had no errand 
 with me but to rake up the trouble there had been between 
 us, go all over it again and sort of patch it up. What she 
 next said sounded that way: 
 
 "Men haven't a bit of sense. I had to put my foot down 
 hard to keep Harvey from wading right into the middle of 
 that prosecution never seemed to think of what the de- 
 fence might dig up about him." 
 
 She stopped significantly. I said nothing. She had to 
 goon, 
 
 "I've learned a lot since I talked to you last, Foncie. 
 They aren't all you think they are when you marry them. 
 I've had my eyes opened. Oh, it wasn't you only I came 
 onto plenty. And I told him what I thought of him ; we 
 had it up and down Foncie, you've been revenged, all 
 right." 
 
 "I'm not looking for revenge," I said. "Don't feel that 
 you have to tell me anything about it." 
 
 "No but while we're on the subject," Delia hung to it. 
 "See here, Foncie, I've been hoping you wouldn't talk 
 you know about Harvey." She glanced up from the 
 menu she was twisting, then her eyes dropped in a shame- 
 faced way. "I always thought it was so perfectly awful to 
 be talked about ! Some people don't seem to mind it, but 
 I just couldn't bear to go into a room and feel that all 
 the women in it had been cat-hauling my private affairs. 
 More than once I've had my hat on to come and beg you 
 not to say anything for my sake." 
 
 I shouldn't have thought that Delia's plump, solid, self- 
 satisfied face could look so doleful. When I didn't answer 
 at once, she almost whimpered.
 
 334 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "I never told anybody about Harvey and my quarrel 
 with you people," I said. Then with a sudden recollection 
 of that Sunday afternoon and Miss Chandler, "Well 
 never but one person ; and she " 
 
 "She ?" Delia sat up in her chair ; her eyes were round 
 as she fixed them on me I saw that she would much 
 rather it had been "he." 
 
 "Yes, I met her after I left you and your husband that 
 Sunday so mad I couldn't see. She knew right off some- 
 thing was the matter. She cared enough about me to 
 notice." 
 
 "You went straight from our house to Mrs. Eccles's," 
 Delia breathed heavily. "I thought that woman had been 
 looking at me awfully queer. Well " 
 
 "You've forgotten," I said. "Mrs. Eccles was at Cor- 
 inth that Sunday. I had to wait around with Boy till she 
 got back. It was afterward at the Country Club." 
 
 "The Country Club oh, Foncie !" The very name of 
 the place hit Delia below the belt. "To have it get out 
 in that set ! Was was this somebody who would be likely 
 to repeat what you said ?" 
 
 "No," I answered, with a little choke, "you needn't be 
 afraid. She'll never tell on you. It was Eugenia Chandler." 
 
 "Gene oh, goodness! I'd rather anyone else in the 
 world " Delia was beginning. Then with a great wave 
 of relief: "But she's dead!" 
 
 "Yes," I said bitterly, "your dear friend, Eugenia 
 Chandler that you miss so, is dead isn't it handy ?" 
 
 "Well, there's no use being sarcastic. It's everybody for 
 themselves in this old world. Anyhow, you've taken a 
 weight off my mind. I thank you for that, just the same." 
 She rummaged for her handkerchief in the little velvet 
 bag at her wrist, and scrubbed her nose absently. "If 
 nothing's been said, in so many words but of course it's 
 been noticed that we're not friends any more. Mrs. Eccles 
 must have suspected. She's a good deal of a talker in her
 
 MAN'S JUSTICE 335 
 
 way. Foncie, you could fix that easy just dropping a 
 word here and there to show that there's perfectly good 
 feeling between us all again." 
 
 "I wonder at you," I said, "asking me to go around fix- 
 ing up a story to shield a man like Harvey Watkins ! Do 
 you think I kept still out of any consideration for him 
 or for you either ? Why, Delia, when we were quarrelling, 
 you were worse than he was !" 
 
 "I don't see how you can say that," Delia argued. "I've 
 been for peace, always, and for everybody's best good. I've 
 tried to think of of something I could do, ever since the 
 split. I'd have sent Jack a Christmas present if I'd 
 dared." 
 
 She waited, but I didn't see why I should help her out. 
 
 "Well," she said, like a person turning over distasteful 
 things with a stick, "sometimes I almost wish I'd had 
 children. I suppose I might as well. Bringing a child 
 into the world wouldn't have been so much harder than the 
 operations I've gone through; and after all we've got the 
 home to keep up. Things might have been different; per- 
 haps it would have held Harve but it's too late now." 
 She looked at me dismally, saw how I fidgeted with my 
 gloves, and wound up. "You're in a hurry, aren't you ? 
 I oughtn't to take up your time talking of my troubles." 
 
 I didn't contradict. I only reminded her, 
 
 "You said you wanted to see me about something." 
 
 "Yes, it's about the banquet. I told them I didn't be- 
 lieve you'd think of going." 
 
 "Banquet?" I was glad to change the subject. "I've 
 not been invited to any banquet." 
 
 "Oh, it isn't an invitation affair," she spoke slowly. 
 "If you ask me, I think it ought to have been but it 
 isn't. Here in the Court next Saturday night a dollar a 
 plate. Anybody that's a mind to pay for their dinner can 
 come. I told them that way they'd get a lot of folks they 
 wouldn't want. I offered to see you."
 
 336 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "About what ?" I asked. 
 
 "Listen, Foncie; it's this way; the Local Federation's 
 giving it. Well, the entire Federation's behind it State 
 and all but it's under the direct auspices of the Women's 
 Civic League. Mrs. Judge Hoard will preside. There's 
 to be speaking a discussion. The idea is to have both 
 sides get a fair hearing, as they couldn't in court." 
 
 "Both sides of what?" 
 
 "Oh, didn't I say ? The riots up at the Stanley place." 
 
 The Stanley place. I began to see light. She hurried 
 on, 
 
 "Mrs. Stanley feels all this misrepresentation they've 
 had in the newspapers more than he does ; a woman would. 
 She does certainly take it hard wants to leave California 
 go to Honolulu they've a lot of property down there 
 in the Islands. But first, she wants them to have this 
 chance to give their side of the case properly, before nice 
 people. She's president of the State Federation. She 
 planned the banquet with some of the most prominent club 
 women we've got. The Stanleys will motor down and stop 
 at the Richelieu. You see I'm on one of the committees, 
 Gallic, and so " 
 
 "See here," I stopped her, "are you asking me to come 
 to this thing, or not ?" 
 
 "Well er sort of not." Even Delia felt that this was 
 pretty raw, for she faced me red and embarrassed. 
 
 I jumped up, and reached across for my gloves and 
 parcel. 
 
 "So you're on the nice people's committee," I said. 
 "And you undertook the job of seeing that I stayed away. 
 That's what you brought me up here for. Well, you might 
 have saved yourself the trouble." 
 
 I walked straight to the elevator. Delia had to stop and 
 pay the cheque, but she caught up with me there, and stood 
 waiting beside me. 
 
 "Foncie," there was that old trick of plucking at my
 
 MAN'S JUSTICE 337 
 
 jacket edge, "you won't hold spite against me for any- 
 thing I've said ? You wouldn't if you knew how miserable 
 I am and scared, for fear we'll lose our standing. If 
 anybody so much as looks crossways at me, I think it's 
 come. Days when I'm blue, I just imagine that every- 
 body's talking already behind my back. I know then how 
 Mrs. Stanley feels. I'd be glad to get out of San Vicente 
 Las Eeudas, anyhow. And we've got that lovely home 
 out there, and all." 
 
 "You make me tired," I said, looking sidewise at her. 
 "I've been around with people lately that wouldn't believe 
 you've got a trouble on earth, with your fine house, your 
 good clothes, your money, and three square meals a day." 
 
 Next minute the elevator came. I thought this would 
 be the end of it. But Delia kept right with me to the store 
 entrance. 
 
 "Good-bye," I was beginning there, when she stopped me 
 with, 
 
 "Foncie, what did you mean back at the table by 
 saying I might have spared myself the trouble about the 
 banquet, you know ? Are you coming ? Or did you mean 
 that you won't ?" 
 
 "Delia Watkins," I said, "you beat anything I ever saw. 
 Suppose you wait and find out!" And I flounced away 
 and left her. 
 
 And after all, I went to the banquet. There was no 
 getting out of it. I couldn't have asked for kinder friends 
 than I had in these days at the Poinsettia. Those idle 
 people at the house, with a little money and no real 
 interests in life, would naturally have been on the side of 
 capital against labour. But when we got home from Las 
 Palmas, Joe Ed was carrying a broken arm in a sling. 
 They welcomed the excitement, and worked themselves into 
 a perfect lather of sympathy with the strikers. Our going 
 back to the trial kept up the agitation. And now there 
 was nobody but me. Joe Ed was away. He had bought
 
 338 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 in, last fall, with a man who made Arctic voyages, scien- 
 tific fur gathering, but mainly for the producing of Arctic 
 motion picture films for educational use. It suited the 
 boy ; there were both adventure and money in it. He was 
 in San Francisco now, working with his partner at the out- 
 fitting. If the Poinsettians were to feel themselves of 
 any importance at this banquet, it had to be on account 
 of me. 
 
 And besides that, Mrs. Thrasher, who always had a few 
 club rows simmering on the back of the stove, was now 
 leading a faction of the Federation which wanted to be 
 sure it wasn't being "used" by Mrs. Stanley just because 
 Mrs. Stanley happened to be State president. 
 
 "Go ? You've got to go !" she said to me that evening, 
 after we'd all argued for an hour by the fireside in the big 
 front hall. "Every one of us will go. I consider it a 
 duty." 
 
 "I think Fd go if I were you, Mrs. Baird," Mrs. Tip- 
 ton's little high voice came in, and when I turned to her, 
 surprised, "I believe I'd go and wear my prettiest dress. 
 If you don't, there may be those who will think you're 
 ashamed to." 
 
 "Hah ! Well put !" said Mrs. Thrasher, in triumph. 
 
 "I'll pay for plates for the whole crowd," little Mr. 
 Martin clinched it. "Two, five, seven, eight," counting 
 with sprightly pokes of his forefinger; "oh, eight dollars 
 wouldn't break anybody." 
 
 It seemed to be settled. Miss Creevey, Mrs. Martin and 
 Mrs. Tutt to say nothing of Ermentrude dashed right 
 into discussions of what I was to wear, as though it had 
 been my coming out party. There was no chance for me to 
 go dressed inconspicuously in street clothes; my recent 
 extravagance, a white crepe de Chine evening dress that 
 I'd never worn yet, was the only thing they would agree to.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 BELSHAZZAE'S FEAST 
 
 THE banquet was for Saturday night. Days before 
 that the advance fringes of the Army of the Un- 
 employed which was that winter wandering up the coast 
 from Los Angeles had been drifting into town. By the 
 middle of the week we had a whole detachment. They 
 were on their way to Sacramento, then for Washington, 
 as Coxey's army once went. San Vicente, more merciful 
 than other towns where they had halted to recruit, did not 
 warn them away, arrest their leaders, or drive them out 
 with fire hose. 
 
 Among them were lots of seasonal workers. I saw a 
 good many who had picked hops on Las Palmas ; and Fri- 
 day afternoon I met Sonya Pochin on the street with one 
 of her little brothers. She was fearfully thin, her big black 
 eyes were like coals. 
 
 "Is there something I could do for you, Sonya?" I 
 asked. And she answered, 
 
 "Yes come to the mass meeting we're getting up 
 Fairyland rink, next Monday. And say to everybody you 
 talk to, 'Not another pound of hops picked in California 
 till Cluett and Monroe are free !' ' 
 
 "Oh, Sonya" my heart did ache for the girl "I want 
 to do something for you yourself." 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "Never mind me there are plenty of others worse 
 off." 
 
 I had to leave it at that. 
 
 When, on Saturday evening, the eight of us started 
 down to Snow's in the street-car, we passed what the 
 Army called bivouac fires near the curb, where the police 
 
 339
 
 840 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 were allowing them, on Clarke street, which was wider, 
 cobble paved, and less used. At some there was music; 
 they had marched that day, carrying placards with Sonya's 
 exact words about picking no hops till Cluett and Monroe 
 were free; I saw it was a slogan. They huddled now 
 around their fires, chilly and pitiful. We turned into Main 
 street and left them behind us ; ahead was the long line of 
 motors already standing in front of Snow's. 
 
 When we got upstairs, we found the Pompeiian Court 
 almost full. Hundreds of guests were getting seated at 
 the twelve or fifteen long tables. The eight places reserved 
 for us were in line, side by side, where we would get a 
 good view of the whole room. As we worked our way in to 
 them, I saw many faces I knew. Dr. Rush and his wife 
 signalled greetings to me, and that drew Delia Watkins's 
 attention my way. Very grand in her mauve and paradise 
 aigrette, she was just being seated between the two Mrs. 
 McBrides, but the look she gave my white crepe de Chine, 
 and my company the perfectly good Poinsettia crowd 
 was as though something hurt her feelings. Well, she had 
 waited and found out. 
 
 All the rushing about and whispered consultation 
 seemed more than would have been necessary to get the 
 people seated ; anyone could see that something besides a 
 banquet was being prepared for. There was a sort of 
 thrill running through everything. While the last arrivals 
 were coming in and finding chairs, we had a chance to 
 look about and exchange comments. At the long table 
 across the head of the room, for speakers and press, I 
 recognised a man from the San Francisco "Examiner," a 
 young woman from the "Bulletin," caught sight of Mr. 
 Stokes's big bushy head, and got the light-blue gleam of 
 Rosalie's one evening frock. She wig-wagged to us, then 
 came sidling over with that odd little shuffle of hers, the 
 good shoulder a bit advanced. Her air was strictly busi- 
 nesslike, but she only bent and whispered in my ear,
 
 BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST 341 
 
 "Gosh, Cal, you're swell to-night! I just had to come 
 and bring you the good word. Prettiest thing in the room, 
 bar none you ol' hop picker !" 
 
 She thumped my shoulder affectionately. Mrs. Thrash- 
 er, next to me, reached out, took hold of her and began to 
 talk in a lowered tone. 
 
 Delia's "nice people" were certainly here. The Court 
 held what I knew Rosalie was going to call "a representa- 
 tive gathering of San Vicente's best." They were tubbed 
 and scrubbed and dressed up, properly behaved, each with 
 his afflictions if he had any stowed in the bottom of his 
 own heart. They sat waiting for their meal at white- 
 spread tables, with shining water-bottles and tumblers full 
 of clinking ice, the fountain sounding through a murmur 
 of low-toned, well-bred talk. How could Las Palmas camp 
 with its dirt and drouth, its thirst and smells and uncouth 
 sufferings be brought here ? I kept asking myself this all 
 through the banquet, and I didn't get any answer until 
 the banquet was over and we were ready for the real busi- 
 ness of the evening. 
 
 Then the chairs rasped noisily as they were dragged 
 around to get us all seated facing the upper table, at the 
 centre of which Mrs. Hoard already sat, Milt Stanley at 
 her left, Harvey Watkins, the frock-coated, solemn-faced 
 prosecutor from Chavez county, and both McBrides. The 
 Stanleys were at a little table by themselves almost in 
 front of her ; and on her right Arnold Llewellyn, who had 
 so gallantly conducted the losing fight for the pickers, sat 
 alone. Where were his people ? What was he depending 
 on? 
 
 There was a curious new sound at the rear of the room 
 a stir and shuffling of feet. I half rose and looked over 
 the heads. 
 
 "What is it? Who's coming? Can you see?" whis- 
 pered Mr. Martin. 
 
 Next moment there was no need to ask ; he could see for
 
 342 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 himself. Our dollar-a-plate respectability was being 
 invaded from the street below. They came up by elevator 
 and stairway, and poured into the restaurant, quiet and 
 orderly, as I had seen them pour into the courtroom at 
 Corinth the I. W. W. crowd a delegation from the 
 Army of the Unemployed. I could have cried to see how 
 every one of them showed the effort to be clean and decent- 
 ly tidy. The first comers packed in a solid wall along the 
 back ; others moved past and crowded quietly in behind our 
 chairs ; then they began streaming up the steps and filling 
 the long musicians' gallery. There were dozens that I'd 
 known at Las Palmas, many who had testified at the trial 
 afterward. The attention of the whole room was caught 
 by the white face and burning eyes of a girl in the front 
 row, against the balcony rail, leaning down, so that those 
 behind could see. 
 
 "How odd looking!" whispered Mrs. Martin. 
 
 "Yes and sort of terrible," added Mrs. Tutt. 
 
 "She's awfully handsome," said Ermentrude. 
 
 It was Sonya Pochin. 
 
 The answer to my question had walked in on our aston- 
 ished gathering of comfortable, well-off people; Las Pal- 
 mas Labour Camp was here. This move Llewellyn must 
 have been keeping to himself ; I was sure it was a surprise 
 to the chairman, and that as she got up and stood to 
 formally open the meeting she was a little nervous. 
 
 "One point," she said emphatically, "one point is to be 
 borne in mind ; speakers must not be personal. We are all 
 friends here, met to discuss a painful matter in a friendly 
 way. The Civic League of San Vicente has undertaken 
 this meeting in the belief that through it a clearer under- 
 standing of what happened at Las Palmas ranch can be 
 reached. But we cannot do this if personalities are 
 allowed to heat and cloud the discussion. Speakers must 
 not be personal." She introduced Mr. Milton Stanley. 
 
 Milt Mr. Stanley had as usual put hiiu forward to
 
 BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST 343 
 
 bear the brunt opened the argument, reading in a low, 
 husky, frightened voice affidavits and resolutions from 
 some Chamber of Commerce, and other public associa- 
 tions, showing that the owner of Las Palmas was a man of 
 the highest standing, a valued member of the community, 
 a public-spirited citizen. The gallery, except for Sonya's 
 tragic face, was soon one broad grin. It was a bad begin- 
 ning. Someone standing behind my chair whispered 
 hoarsely, 
 
 "Say your say, my little man. What we'll do to you 
 when our side gets the floor'll be a-plenty." 
 
 Milt had a great stack of the stuff, and he read on and 
 on. Mr. Stanley listened, I suppose, though he never 
 looked up, and his wife kept leaning over and whispering 
 to him. It was the well-bred banqueters who got restless 
 and bored. Llewellyn made no move to interrupt or an- 
 swer till Milt got on to the Corinth fruit dealer's receipt 
 for lemons bought by Las Palmas this was to clean up 
 the record of that chemical lemonade that Luella had 
 peddled. Llewellyn hopped up and shouted, 
 
 "Yes, sir, and we've got a copy of a receipt from a Cor- 
 inth druggist's books for the acetic acid you folks bought 
 on August 3rd enough of it to turn San Benito creek 
 sour. Didn't need many lemons after that, did you ? Just 
 enough to float some slices on the top of the barrel hey ? 
 How many have you got a receipt for ?" 
 
 "Tut tut two boxes," quavered Milt, and a titter 
 went over the whole room. After that Harvey and the 
 McBrides and the attorney from Chavez took the argu- 
 ment out of Milt's helpless hands, and we saw with what 
 skill Arnold Llewellyn was going to use these hop 
 pickers who had chanced to come into San Vicente with 
 the Army of the Unemployed. In the discussion that fol- 
 lowed, where Mrs. Hoard had to bring both sides up short 
 again and again with, "If you please if you please we 
 mustn't be personal," he kept using these living presences
 
 344 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 against the windy generalities of the other side. Some- 
 times in speaking, he'd just point to them, sometimes they 
 were called on to answer, to deny assertions. 
 
 I glanced around; certainly those who heard would 
 never be able to forget it. The Stanley cause was going 
 from bad to worse; what the newspapers had said was 
 nothing to this ; and here they had it face to face. I never 
 before saw Lucius Stanley seem dashed. Mrs. Stanley 
 kept braiding the trimming of her wrap with nervous 
 fingers. Their paid lawyers did the best they could with a 
 bad case; Mrs. Hoard interposed several times to enforce 
 her rule against personalities. 
 
 "Quite right quite right," Llewellyn cheerfully 
 agreed. "And now we'll close with the most impersonal 
 thing we've got a government report." 
 
 "You have the floor, Mr. Llewellyn," in evident relief. 
 
 "Ladies and gentlemen, I won't bore you. I'll not be 
 long. Just a few brief passages from the government report 
 on labour camps in the state of California last fall 
 where it touched Las Palmas ranch, I mean. After that I 
 don't think we have anything more to say. If the other 
 side has after that I shall be surprised. Ladies and 
 gentlemen, I read from the report of the government inves- 
 tigator, an authority on these matters Mr. Philip Stan- 
 ley." 
 
 I can't be very clear about what happened after that. I 
 know that Mrs. Hoard was on her feet, trying to make 
 some sort of protest, and then she couldn't properly, and 
 sat down. I only wanted to keep a straight face I felt 
 everybody in my party was watching me. I stared across 
 the room above the heads of the people, but I saw out of 
 the side of my eye how Mr. Stanley, his hands on the top 
 of his cane, looked straight at the floor, while she sat 
 frigid. 
 
 Up at Corinth, Philip's testimony had been heard in a 
 court of law. Here was a room full of their own sort of
 
 BELSHAZZARJS FEAST 345 
 
 people, at a social function, sitting to listen while the word 
 of their own son condemned them. The room was still 
 as death as Llewellyn read. He just took little bits from 
 the report those that would hit hardest and cut deepest. 
 I could fairly feel that crowd of people freezing toward 
 the Stanleys with every word. And they felt it, too. 
 Harvey jumped up and came around the end of the table 
 to them. The three heads were close together, and he was 
 whispering energetically, when Llewellyn rounded up his 
 extracts with, 
 
 "There! Now you know why these people have been 
 parading your streets with the slogan, 'NOT ANOTHER 
 POUND OF HOPS PICKED IN CALIFORNIA 
 TILL CLUETT AND MONROE ARE FREE !' You 
 wouldn't blame them if they said 'not another hop picked 
 on Las Palmas ranch.' ' 
 
 "Your threats do not reach my clients," Harvey 
 straightened up from his consultation. "They are no 
 longer interested in hop raising or hop picking. Las Pal- 
 mas ranch doesn't belong to them it's changed hands. 
 Your people can riot all over it next year the new own- 
 ers will have to meet the situation as best they can." 
 
 New owners for Las Palmas? Chavez county was 
 interested in the ranch and so in them. The attorney 
 spoke up for their cause, with, 
 
 "I still question that point about the drinking water. 
 That's hearsay. The investigator who made the report was 
 never on the ranch till the day of the riot." 
 
 Mrs. Hoard, on her feet, put out a silencing hand 
 toward him. 
 
 "Pardon me. Haven't we had enough personalities? 
 Can't we close this meeting now with the feeling that both 
 sides to this discussion have been given a sufficient hear- 
 ing?" 
 
 "I suppose you can," said the Chavez coumty man 
 ungraciously. "And the last thing that'll stand against
 
 346 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 us is the hearsay gatherings from the notebook of a man 
 who probably doesn't know how hop picking is " 
 
 At that point there came a startling interruption. Mrs. 
 Thrasher had been nudging me and gurgling, "You know 
 all about that. Get up, why don't you, and answer him ?" 
 But it was Sonya Pochin's voice that soared out from the 
 gallery. 
 
 "What's the matter with hearing from somebody who 
 was there and knows?" 
 
 They all stared up at her. She had straightened from 
 her bending position, and stood looking down at the room 
 almost as if she didn't see it, a desolate figure, with her 
 thin face and burning eyes, the clean decency of her black 
 calico mourning dress. 
 
 "I picked hops on Las Palmas last August," she cried. 
 "Water? The dirty stuff from those foul wells would 
 give out before the day was half over. I've seen the time 
 in those fields that I'd almost have sold my soul for the 
 clean water you folks had in your finger bowls to-night. 
 What do you know about it ? Up at the grand house where 
 the Stanleys people of your sort lived, they were throw- 
 ing away gallons on the lawn, with their sprinklers and 
 little sick children over in the camp crying for just one 
 cool drink!" 
 
 Mrs. Stanley's head for the first time drooped. I saw 
 her fumbling for a handkerchief, turning aside, edging 
 it up to her face. Here was something that reached her at 
 last. 
 
 "We mustn't be personal, the lady says," Sonya's big 
 tones went on. "I am not personal. I've been in your 
 jail not for any crime just because I was a witness. 
 My father, Abraham Pochin, killed himself in your jail- 
 under your torments. Yet what are you to me ?" she 
 included us all with a gesture. "A handful of dry leaves 
 shaken in the wind. You sit there and think it will always 
 be this way always this way with you always this way
 
 BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST 347 
 
 with us. You listen to our cause, and do not know what 
 you have heard. Those rich people there think they can 
 sell their ranch and run away from what they have done. 
 They can't do it. We remember God remembers and 
 their own son testifies against them I" 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 I don't know whether I cried out, or someone near me ; 
 I was never sure whether the shock I felt went all through 
 the room, or was just the clutch of my own heart, at 
 Sonya's words. But, anyhow, the next moment we were 
 all on our feet and Mrs. Hoard was dismissing the meet- 
 ing. The instant she finished, people began hustling about 
 to get their wraps and leave. They pushed in between us 
 and the head of the room, so that we couldn't see what 
 was going on up there, but there seemed to be some hand- 
 shaking between the two factions. I got one glimpse, as 
 the crowd divided a moment, of Mr. and Mrs. Stanley 
 drawn together, apart from the others in close consultation 
 with Harvey Watkins. A second glimpse showed their 
 places vacant, and Harvey, hat in hand, elbowing his way 
 down the room like a man on an urgent errand. My peo- 
 ple didn't get toward the entrance very fast, because they 
 stopped to talk with everybody. The mildest of them was 
 fairly crowing over what had happened. I thought we'd 
 never get off. Then I saw one of the maids squeezing her 
 way through in our direction. She touched my arm and 
 offered a card. I took it hesitatingly, and read the en- 
 graved name, "Mrs. Lucius Cincinnatus Stanley." Below 
 it, written in pencil, "Will you please come to the writing- 
 room for a few moments ?" 
 
 I looked at the girl bewildered, and was beginning, 
 
 "Why we're going now I couldn't " when Mrs. 
 
 Thrasher, who had been frankly reading across my 
 shoulder, jerked my wrap from Mr. Martin's arm and 
 threw it over my own, saying, 
 
 "Go right along with the girl. We'll wait Here for you."
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 A WITNESS 
 
 THE little writing-room toward which the maid led 
 opened off from the head of the Court. Up here it 
 was all deserted, everybody crowding out toward the ele- 
 vators. As we got near, I could see by the one small drop- 
 light Mrs. Stanley sitting there at a desk; her eyes fol- 
 lowed her husband, who paced up and down the small 
 place. 
 
 For a moment that was all I saw. I twisted the card 
 in my hands. They don't kill people twice; that woman 
 in there had sent for me once, and when I went to her she 
 had murdered my youth, my joy of life, my faith, my 
 pride in my lover. Well, I had nothing left that she could 
 take from me now. I went forward and stopped in the 
 doorway, with my head held high. From the shadows 
 there came toward me a tall girl in white, dark-eyed, 
 flushed, excited looking. Mr. Stanley rose and was speak- 
 ing. He half wheeled at the end of the room and looked 
 at me from under lowered brows, before I realised that the 
 tall girl in white was myself, reflected in a long mirror 
 that faced the entrance. 
 
 "It was very kind of you to come," Mrs. Stanley said 
 formally. "We're waiting Mr. Stanley and I have sent 
 for Would you just sit over here ?" 
 
 I saw the chair she meant, the only other in the room, on 
 the further side of the desk. But I stood where I was 
 and said, 
 
 "Mrs. Stanley, what do you want of me? My people 
 are down there, they'd like to go home." 
 
 She looked out through the doorway, then glanced 
 toward her husband and suggested, 
 
 348
 
 A WITNESS 349 
 
 "We could see that you get home." 
 
 "Oh, they'll stay," I said quickly. "But I don't like 
 to keep them too long." I went over and sat down. She 
 moved at once to her husband's side. They stood between 
 me and the door. 
 
 "I hope it will only be a few minutes." I thought she 
 spoke as much to him as to me. "We're waiting ourselves. 
 We've sent for Oh, here he comes." 
 
 I shrank together on my chair. I had walked in con- 
 fident that there was nothing more the Stanleys could do to 
 me ; I had let her keep me, till there in the doorway, the 
 only exit, stood Philip. He didn't see me, back in my 
 shadowed corner, for the minute he made his appearance 
 his father jumped at him with, 
 
 "Well, you got here at last. Did Harvey tell you ?" 
 
 It was like iron on iron when Philip answered, 
 
 "I didn't ask Watkins what it was you wanted of me 
 now. I was surprised to hear from you at all. I thought 
 the thing was settled when I refused the trade you offered 
 me through him this morning." 
 
 "Trade !" Lucius Stanley snapped at the word ; but his 
 wife put in hastily, 
 
 "Philip, tell us just what you understood this morning's 
 offer to be." 
 
 "That if I'd come and behave like a son, I'd be treated 
 as a son." He nodded backward toward the Court. 
 "Show up with you here to-night." 
 
 "What was the matter with that ?" his father demanded. 
 "It seems to me very generous. What's the matter with 
 it?" 
 
 "Everything," said Philip shortly. "This is no affair 
 of mine. You, not I, have made the name of Stanley stink. 
 I suppose you both hate just as I do to put it on a hotel 
 register." 
 
 Still nobody oioticed me, although ithey had moved 
 slowly inward as they talked. At his son's words, Lucius
 
 350 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 Stanley wheeled and charged toward the curtained door- 
 way as though to leave, but stopped there, his back to us. 
 His wife glanced at that back, then toward her son. 
 
 "You're a hard man, Philip," she said. "When you 
 were a little boy " She paused. "And afterward 
 when you were older " 
 
 She broke off entirely and stood looking at him. 
 
 "Mother," her son answered the look, "we're what we 
 are. If I'd been soft, instead of hard, you and father 
 would have flattened me out pretty thin, wouldn't you? 
 Children grow the necessary weapons for their family 
 environment. It doesn't seem to me you ought to com- 
 plain." 
 
 "Well, well, let that pass. We're making a new offer 
 one that I think will certainly please you." 
 
 They stood there at the end of the long battle, which 
 must have begun in Philip's very babyhood. Father, 
 mother, son, they knew nothing but the struggle they were 
 in. What should I do when Philip finally noticed that I 
 was there that I had been there, hearing it all? 
 
 "Mother," there was a startling thrill of passion in his 
 voice, "I say no, before I hear what it is you are offering. 
 No ! Ever since I can remember, my life at home was a 
 succession of explosions beatings, then bargainings, 
 threatening to send me to jail offering me a chance to 
 save my hide by giving up the girl I wanted. You and 
 father would have traded the boy's soul out of my fool 
 young body if you'd had your way." 
 
 My face burned. Why had I been dragged in to listen 
 to this ? Before I knew what I was doing I had jumped 
 up and was making for the door. Then they wheeled and 
 stared at me. 
 
 "Gallic !" Philip cried out. 
 
 "I'm going!" I was getting past them. "I've got no 
 business here." Down by the stairhead at the other end of 
 the Court, I could see Mrs. Thrasher and the others.
 
 A WITNESS 351 
 
 "No, no. I forgot you. I'm sorry. Wait a minute." 
 Mrs. Stanley put herself in front of me and stopped me. 
 "Lu," to her husband, "go tell those people that we'll see 
 to taking Mrs. Baird home." 
 
 He bolted out, glad enough to go. Philip, watching my 
 disturbed face, suggested, 
 
 "I could take you home, Gallic. My machine's down 
 there. How would that do?" 
 
 Mrs. Stanley glanced at us oddly, then went to the desk, 
 and stood there fingering a paper that lay on it. 
 
 "Why, I guess so," I answered Philip. "It doesn't 
 make any difference." And I couldn't conceal a little 
 nervous shiver that went over me. 
 
 Instantly he lifted the wrap from my arm and put it 
 around me. And just then Mr. Stanley got back, breath- 
 ing a little short. He took us in at a look, and inquired 
 sharply, 
 
 "Well, have you told him ?" 
 
 "Why, no, Lucius, we waited for you," said his wife. 
 
 "Waited for me to say it, heh ? Well, Philip, I judge 
 from that report of yours they read this evening that you 
 believe you know better than I do how to run a hop ranch. 
 You think if you had Las Palmas there would have been 
 no labour troubles on it." 
 
 "There would be no labour troubles on any ranch I had 
 the management of," came the answer. 
 
 "All right, sir you'll get a chance to try that out. 
 Your mother and I have about made up our minds to offer 
 you " 
 
 "Milt's position? No, thank you." 
 
 "Your father doesn't mean that," Mrs. Stanley 
 came in between them. "He doesn't mean anything 
 of the sort. Las Palmas stands in my name, Philip. 
 I never want to see the place again. Will you take it 
 over ?" 
 
 "I'm sorry, mother." Philip spoke with more deference ;
 
 352 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "but really, I can't see iny way to managing the property 
 for you." 
 
 "Would you manage Las Palmas if you owned it? I 
 don't want to give the ranch to you and have you sell it. 
 It wouldn't bring its value now. If it belonged to you, 
 would you go ahead with it keep it for the present, any- 
 how? 
 
 "Do you mean an outright deed of gift ?" 
 
 "I should think " Mr. Stanley was beginning, when 
 Philip interrupted, 
 
 "Let mother answer, if you please, sir. In this matter 
 of property you know that I feel that I have some 
 rights" 
 
 "And plenty of wrongs," snorted the older man. 
 
 Philip didn't flare up at the taunt. But again it was 
 iron on iron as he answered coldly, 
 
 "Well, if you and mother want to give me the ranch 
 without a string to it I'm willing to take it. We might 
 shake hands on so much." 
 
 And they did. It was a strange thing to see. Again 
 Mr. Stanley stepped to the door. 
 
 "Watkins !" he called. "We're ready for you now." 
 
 Harvey must have been prowling right at hand He 
 came instantly. 
 
 "Oh, bring your wife," Mr. Stanley added. "We've 
 only got one witness here." And Mrs. Stanley turned to 
 me with, 
 
 "That's what I sent for you for. I have the deed 
 ready ; and I thought you might care to witness it." 
 
 "Certainly," I said, and my voice was steady. 
 
 Harvey and Delia came in; the formality was gone 
 through of signing and witnessing a deed of gift for Las 
 Palmas ranch, in Chavez county, from Adelaide Fielding 
 Stanley to her son Philip Stanley, "in consideration of 
 love and affection." 
 
 Harvey bore it better than Delia. As a lawyer he would
 
 A WITNESS 353 
 
 have often to meet people where the circumstances were 
 or should have been embarrassing to him. Yet he never 
 once looked me squarely in the face. At my knuckles as I 
 wrote, at my elbow, the fringe of my wrap that swept 
 across the table but never in my face. Delia, hushed, 
 subdued, in spite of her mauve, her paradise aigrette, put 
 her name down as witness, looked from one to the other of 
 this impossible group of people, and said doubtfully, 
 
 "Foncie I I'm sure I'm glad that it was true, after 
 all. I congratulate you." 
 
 I stood there, not a word said; Mrs. Stanley lingered. 
 
 "Well," said her husband impatiently, "Adelaide, are 
 you coming?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, Lu," she answered, still with that puzzled 
 look from her son's face to mine. 
 
 I tried to say something, but couldn't think of a thing 
 that would be reasonable in this perfectly unreasonable 
 situation. Mr. Stanley caught his wife's arm and started 
 on ; Delia gave Philip a frightened glance and decided not 
 to offer him any congratulations, but followed the Stan- 
 leys immediately, Harvey walking beside her. 
 
 Without a word, Philip, facing me, his eyes on mine, 
 stowed that deed in a breast pocket. We went down the 
 stairs the elevators had stopped running and out 
 through the darkened store, its counters piled with goods 
 and covered. The only words spoken between us were the 
 few that concerned his putting me into his machine which 
 stood at the curb. The other cars that had stood there 
 when we came in were all gone. 
 
 "The Poinsettia," he said as we started out. "Arbolado 
 and Fortieth ?" 
 
 "Yes," I answered very low. (If I could just get 
 home!) "I have the back-yard bungalow there." 
 
 We whirled through the business part of town, all silent 
 now, with darkened shop windows, past the dying bivouac 
 fires on Clarke street, a few humped figures around them.
 
 354 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 "Poor devils !" said Philip absently ; then, as I shivered 
 again, "Cold ? We'll soon be there now." 
 
 "Yes no it doesn't matter," I halted out. He didn't 
 appear to notice. He drove fast, staring straight ahead 
 of him, plainly in a hurry to get me home where I would 
 have to thank him, and bid him a civil good-night. I 
 braced myself for that moment ; I thought I was ready for 
 it when he brought the wheels to a stop at the opening of 
 the green alleyway, got out and reached to help me. 
 
 "This it ?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 I wanted desperately to say that decent good-night there, 
 and make an end. But the words wouldn't come. I let 
 him walk with me back to my door. Orma, who had been 
 sitting with Boy, heard us coming, and called, "Good- 
 night, Mrs. Baird," as she slipped out the side way. 
 
 And there, in the shadow of the vine, where his face was 
 hidden from me, Philip didn't say a word left it all to 
 me. A sort of rage against him rose in my heart; the 
 despairing rage that tears so because it is against the one 
 we love. I spoke abruptly. 
 
 "I would ask you in but " 
 
 "You needn't," he said. "I'm coming." 
 
 "Oh, don't!" I cried out. "Haven't I had enough to 
 bear to-night?" 
 
 His answer was to catch my wrists and pull me with 
 him into the lighted house where he could see my face. 
 His own looked grim and pale. 
 
 "What?" he said, "what? Callie, just what do you 
 mean by that?" 
 
 "You know well enough." I was afraid I'd break down 
 and cry. "Oh, if you'd only go away ! You needn't think 
 you have to " 
 
 I couldn't get any further; I stood mute and looked at 
 him, there in my little sitting-room after all these years 
 Philip. Philip, with his faults and virtues upon him
 
 A WITNESS 355 
 
 I had seen them both in full display to-night and after 
 all, the only man in the world for me. I felt a dreary 
 certainty that it would always be so. In the old days he 
 had been like a young prince; yet he was helpless, too, 
 when it came to our parting; I had never held bitterness 
 against him for that. But now a rich man, and free 
 that he should throw me a crumb of civility in saying 
 good-bye that he should insist on doing so ! I couldn't 
 keep up I couldn't carry it through. I lifted the hands 
 that he still held by the wrists and put them over my 
 face. 
 
 "Callie." 
 
 I dared not believe what I heard in the tones of his voice 
 as he spoke my name. I dared not look up. And he said 
 it again. 
 
 "Callie, listen to me I'm going to make you listen." 
 
 Oh, it bridged the seven years. Love, what has it to 
 do with time ? When he caught me to him, I was a girl 
 again in Philip's arms, under the oaks in Kesterson's 
 pasture. Gently he pushed one of my hands away, slipped 
 his own in about my cheek, and stood looking down at me. 
 
 "How many times I've dreamed of you like this," he 
 said huskily. "Never good dreams, Callie. They couldn't 
 be. I'd behaved like a dog to you. When it was too late 
 when you were married I'd have crawled on my knees 
 to get you. And then when you were free again I knew 
 the first minute I saw you standing there on the store porch 
 at Las Palmas that you'd got over loving me that part of 
 the time you pretty well hated me " 
 
 "I don't! Philip, I 
 
 "I'm not blaming you. I didn't blame you even that 
 first day, when you gave me such a broadside without ever 
 meaning it. I saw you trying to be decent to me. You 
 didn't like to look at me never spoke to me if you could 
 help it. It was hard to take; but I did take it. You 
 notice I always came back for my licking. Callie, I walked
 
 356 THE STRAIGHT ROAD 
 
 in here to-night to ask you to marry me. No to tell you 
 that you've got to do it." 
 
 "You needn't tell me any of those things ! I failed you 
 once you can't trust me you don't love me ? I'll never 
 fail you again, dear I'm going to trust myself and / 
 love you" 
 
 He held me a minute just looking at me. 
 
 "I intended this from the first, when I had anything to 
 offer you, and now would I let you slave alone when I'll 
 have plenty plenty?" A little shake of my shoulder. 
 "I tell you we'll be married to-morrow. I'll take my 
 chances on teaching you to love me again." 
 
 He stopped, then added softly, 
 
 "Say something to me, dear." 
 
 I reached up and put my arms around his neck, whis- 
 pering, 
 
 "I wanted to say it all the time, but you wouldn't 
 let me." 
 
 THE END
 
 M'
 
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