THE M I 
 
 OF T 
 
 1 i
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 THE MIRAGE 
 
 OF THE MANY 
 
 WILLIAM THOMAS WALSH 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 
 1910
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1910, 
 
 BY 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 
 Published August, IQIO 
 
 THE QUINN it BODEN CO. PRESS
 
 
 Wl 
 
 TO 
 
 MY PARENTS
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. THE ALTAR OF IDEALS . . . ..." I 
 
 II. A CITY OF LIGHT 22 
 
 III. WHAT HAPPENED ELECTION NIGHT . . . 38 
 
 IV. THE EVICTION . . . ... . . 65 
 
 V. A PECULIAR WELCOME ...... 82 
 
 VI. THE MARKHAMS COME TO TOWN . . . 99 
 
 VII. AT THE PELION . . . . . ... 108 
 
 VIII. AN ATTEMPT AT RECONCILIATION . . . 131 
 
 IX. SEEBAR MEETS WITH AN ACQUAINTANCE . 141 
 X. THE DISTURBANCE NEXT DOOR; THE DINING 
 
 ROOM OF THE AJAX iS5 
 
 XI. THE RED CARD 170 
 
 XII. MR. MARKHAM GOES TO THE STEEL MILLS 
 
 AND DOROTHY FINDS EMPLOYMENT . . 179 
 
 XIII. THE SHOP DIVIDED AGAINST ITSELF . . . 195 
 
 XIV. THE DOUBTFUL GIFT . . . . . 209 
 XV. MRS. TWESDEM OFFERS INFORMATION . . 219 
 
 XVI. A TERRIBLE THING HAPPENS . . . .230 
 
 XVII. DOUBT . . . .... . . .244 
 
 XVIII. IN THE LION'S HOUSE 257 
 
 XIX. THE STAMPEDE IN THE NEW AUDITORIUM . 269 
 
 XX. WHAT BEFELL IN THE STUDIO . . . .285 
 
 XXI. A NEW DAY . 3iS 
 
 1546359
 
 THE MIRAGE OF THE MANY 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 THE ALTAR OF IDEALS 
 
 " AND furthermore," added Faverall Mark- 
 ham, " you are scattering your talents to 
 the four winds like so much chaff." 
 
 The steel manufacturer half-rose from his 
 chair as he spoke, shoving the ash-tray angrily 
 across the library table, where it stopped on the 
 very edge. 
 
 " I am sorry my political opinions are so dis 
 tasteful to you," answered Seebar; " I can re 
 member when you seemed to find them highly 
 amusing." 
 
 The tone was almost bitter. 
 
 " Yes, but there is a difference now. When a 
 bear is a whelp it is a plaything its antics are to 
 be laughed at; when it is grown it is dangerous,
 
 2 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 and no longer to be humored. And I tell you, 
 young man " the words were edged like a steel 
 tool " I wouldn't have humored you, even as a 
 cub, had I not known your father." 
 
 "And Dorothy?" 
 
 " She thinks as I do." 
 
 " So that is why she hasn't answered my let 
 ters!" 
 
 " Very likely," said Markham uncompromis 
 ingly. " Remember, young man," he added, 
 " you are not the only one who can change." 
 
 " It seems not," came the retort. 
 
 Suddenly the stern, set lines in Markham's face 
 relaxed. He came half-way around the huge 
 mahogany table. Instinctively the other rose to 
 meet him. 
 
 " Mr. Seebar, Alfred, my boy," he said; " why 
 can't you see the folly of all this? It means 
 absolute ruin to every business man, and, ulti 
 mately, suffering for every misguided wretch that 
 casts his ballot for your party ; yes, and for every 
 one else, too, for that matter. If the Socialists
 
 The Altar of Ideals 3 
 
 win at the polls, what will be the outcome ? Ruin 
 and chaos. And you will find that those who are 
 your most enthusiastic adherents now will be the 
 first to curse you then. On the other hand, 
 should the Socialists fail to carry the election, 
 you are crushed destined to an obscure life for 
 ever. Oh, but you were mad, mad to make that 
 fire-brand speech; madder still to accept that 
 nomination of overseer for Chicago." The old 
 manufacturer banged his clenched fist on the 
 table. " But it isn't too late even now. Come, 
 do the sane thing, the right thing, and withdraw 
 your nomination. I can't bear to think the son 
 of my old friend Seebar a leader of the rabble." 
 
 From above, the single, shaded lamp threw a 
 disk of light upon the floor, and both were stand 
 ing within its circle. Markham had placed his 
 hand pleadingly on Seebar's arm. It was a 
 strong face that Seebar looked into, not the 
 " reckless, passion-writ face of the Fourth Gen 
 eration," to quote the Socialistic literature of the 
 time, but the intelligent, aggressive countenance
 
 4 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 of a man who had planned and executed big 
 things. It was of a mold that gave the lie to the 
 carelessly coined, carelessly spoken saying of the 
 day, that luxury and ease had undermined the 
 manhood of the rich. 
 
 And so Seebar, himself square- jawed, clean 
 cut, as erect and vigorous, and as pleasing to look 
 upon, as a sturdy young sapling, could not help 
 but admit to himself, as he noted the breadth of 
 forehead beneath the locks of gray, and the large, 
 wide-set eyes. The men who controlled the na 
 tion's wealth were giants in their day too, even 
 as their forefathers had been in the early days of 
 the twentieth century. 
 
 Seebar had no intention of yielding, however, 
 as he answered coolly and dispassionately : 
 
 " A rabble they may be, sir. The more reason 
 why they need sincere leaders. We're going to 
 place mankind on a higher level in this year of 
 1952. It's a mere matter of justice. That's what 
 Socialism stands for. It's been a platitude for 
 centuries that Capital is created by Labor and
 
 The Altar of Ideals 5 
 
 therefore belongs to Labor. You reproached me 
 a moment ago with changing my opinions. It is 
 true, a couple of years ago I looked at these 
 things in a merely speculative, not in a practical, 
 light. Since then I have seen things differently 
 seen things as they really are, and now I know 
 that, whatever may be my personal interest or 
 feeling, it is only right that I hold the position I 
 have taken." 
 
 " A bit of the demagogue right here in our 
 library; eh, Alfred?" 
 
 The open sneer brought a flush to the young 
 politician's cheek. He bit his lips in a vexed 
 way as if suppressing an angry reply. 
 
 " I see you refuse to understand me," he said 
 at last. " It's too late, anyway, to argue this 
 question," he added resignedly. " But if I had 
 known you would feel as strongly as this, I 
 believe I should not have come here to-night. 
 A little over a month ago, when I was here last, 
 you scouted all possibility of the Socialists' 
 carrying the election. That was before the Na-
 
 6 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 tional Convention had been held at the Stadium. 
 Now, with the election but two months away, you 
 know what the moneyed men have been doing 
 in La Salle Street. You know what they are 
 doing there to-night. They are winding up their 
 business affairs. Some of them are even now 
 making their last shipments of gold out of the 
 country, preparatory to following, themselves. 
 
 " Now I know, of course, what effect this 
 campaign has had upon business. There is no 
 bottom to prices. Farm-lands, city real estate, 
 railroad stocks all are selling for a song and 
 always in gold and silver. And I understand, 
 Mr. Markham, you have been plunging, using all 
 available cash to control certain industries, so 
 that if the Individualists should weather the 
 storm you would be, perhaps, the most powerful 
 financier in the country. But the Individualists 
 won't weather the storm. And at your age and 
 with your beliefs, frankly, I think the new regime 
 will be, for you, intolerable. 
 
 " I haven't seen you since the nomination,
 
 The Altar of Ideals 7 
 
 partly because I haven't had time in this campaign, 
 and for another reason also. But to-night I 
 thought I must come here and urge you to con 
 sider your daughter's welfare as well as your 
 own. If you can still secure enough ready money 
 to support yourself abroad, don't throw it away 
 in sheer wild-cat speculation, for that's what the 
 buying of all securities now means." The young 
 man broke off abruptly, but the older man was 
 quick to answer. 
 
 " And after affiliating yourself with this band 
 of thieves, this rabble of brigands, you have the 
 audacity to come here and advise me what to 
 do?" 
 
 " Yes," answered Seebar, " I have." His 
 features had taken on an expression of resolution 
 that unmistakably showed it was habitual. Quite 
 plainly he was holding his temper in leash, for his 
 eyes were flashing dangerously. 
 
 With anger and irritation in every stride, Mr. 
 Markham began to pace up and down the room. 
 Suddenly he stopped and touched a button on
 
 8 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 the wall, flooding the room with light. Then he 
 flung himself once more into the depths of his 
 chair. 
 
 " Sit down," he commanded imperatively, 
 pointing to Seebar's chair. He raised the lid of 
 a box that stood on the table, and tendered the 
 younger man a cigar. " We must come to an 
 understanding on this miserable affair, if pos 
 sible, though it takes all night," he said decisively. 
 
 " Thank you," said Seebar. The question of 
 Dorothy was included in the father's phrase. 
 
 " Now," went on Mr. Markham, angrily blow 
 ing little palpitating whiffs of smoke between 
 his words; " I'll concede every statement you've 
 made regarding the political situation, and my 
 own position, as well. A month ago I believed 
 we could swing the election in spite of the fact 
 that the Individualists your party calls them 
 Capitalists were divided. Then, as you well 
 know, the Republican and Democratic leaders, 
 becoming alarmed, united on one man. That 
 fact has shaken my confidence shaken it beyond
 
 The Altar of Ideals 9 
 
 repair. Like every one else, I have counted on 
 the extraordinary solidarity of the country vote. 
 Of course the population of the cities is greater 
 than that of the rural districts, has been greater 
 in fact, since 1940 but then while nearly every 
 farmer is an Anti-Socialist, the converse that 
 nearly every city dweller is an Anti-Individualist, 
 is by no means the fact. With the rural vote 
 supported by a portion of the city vote, I did 
 think we could squeeze through, for it was gen 
 erally conceded that the Democratic nominee 
 would scarcely get enough votes to lessen ma 
 terially the Republican plurality. Then came the 
 alarm. The Individualists felt that they could 
 not even spare these few votes. You doubtless 
 know better than I do the details of how the 
 leaders of the two parties got together and united 
 their followers under the name of the Individ 
 ualist party. Until then, I had confidence, and 
 I plunged heavily, as you were informed, on that 
 expectation. God only knows what is to become 
 of my daughter when the ' Great Change,' as you
 
 io The Mirage of the Many 
 
 people are fond of calling it, really does come. 
 And all of us realize that a grand crash is cer 
 tainly coming. The Constitution has been re 
 peatedly tampered with in the last two years so 
 that practically anything can be done from day 
 to day in the way of legislation. We Individual 
 ists, as you well know, fought, and fought hard, 
 the initiative and referendum, first as a State, 
 then as a Federal, act. Now the Constitution is 
 as flexible as a municipal ordinance. At this 
 election in November, by popular vote you 
 simultaneously alter the Constitution and elect 
 your officers in accordance with the change. 
 
 " I have tied up every dollar I could lay hands 
 on, so you see I could not leave the country even 
 if I wished. I am telling you exactly how I'm 
 situated, not because I think you can help me, but 
 just to give you an idea of the mischief you have 
 helped create." 
 
 Their eyes met, but Seebar did not flinch. : 
 ' You are a young man of most unusual 
 ability," continued Mr. Markham; "you would
 
 The Altar of Ideals 11 
 
 have made a mark in statesmanship had you not 
 deserted your own party. In the election of 1948 
 the Socialists showed an alarming strength. 
 Now in 1952, when they seem destined to sweep 
 everything before them, many of the natural 
 supporters of the present system, such as you, 
 strengthen the opposition enormously by going 
 over into their ranks as candidates for high 
 political office. Why, if you could have put half 
 the fire into a speech in support of Individualism 
 that you put into that famous speech in the 
 Convention, which brought you your nomination, 
 thousands upon thousands of votes would now 
 be saved to us. When men of talent, born into 
 our class, our natural defenders, desert us, where 
 are we to turn? " 
 
 He seemed for an instant to hesitate, then 
 looked up sharply. 
 
 " Considering all these things, Alfred, I can 
 not see that you have any right, unless you are 
 willing to withdraw your candidacy, to expect to 
 marry into my family."
 
 12 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 Mr. Markham paused; his abrupt conclusion 
 was in the nature of a bomb, but the explosion 
 was not unexpected. 
 
 " Why do you wish me thus to dishonor my 
 self and my love for your daughter?" asked 
 Seebar. 
 
 He was sitting upright, his strong hands 
 grasping the arms of his chair till the veins 
 swelled, his eyes flashing, his face surmounted 
 by an angry flush. Suddenly his words came 
 in a flood : 
 
 " You wouldn't have Dorothy marry a cur, 
 a whining, whimpering coward who had sold his 
 honor just for her love, would you? You speak 
 as if I could change principles and the enthusiasm 
 for them just as easily as I might put on or off a 
 suit of clothes. What sort of a man do you 
 suppose I am, anyway ? " 
 
 Both men again rose. Anger was blazing in 
 Seebar's eyes, but Markham was cold. 
 
 " I wouldn't ask you to quit that mob of in 
 sane revolutionists," said the manufacturer, " if
 
 The Altar of Ideals 13 
 
 I thought you were thoroughly in earnest. You 
 may think you are, but you are not. You have 
 taken up Socialism because its high-sounding 
 philosophy appealed to you. If you hadn't made 
 that incendiary speech in the Convention you 
 would have cooled down by this time. I ask 
 you to be reasonable; I ask you not to do that 
 for which hereafter you will have the keenest 
 regret, and you become red with rage. I do 
 not ask that you even support the Individualists. 
 But what I do ask is that you withdraw your 
 candidacy. Such a course would show that you 
 really do love my daughter, and, moreover, that 
 you have some respect for my opinions and feel 
 ings." 
 
 " But, Mr. Markham, you are asking me to 
 make a sacrifice that no man worthy of the name 
 would make." 
 
 " In that event you know the alternative." 
 " Oh, father, is it so bad as that ? " 
 In the door-way, the lights in the hall shining 
 through the loose strands of her hair in a soft
 
 14 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 golden glow, stood Dorothy Markham. One 
 arm, the loose wide sleeve of which had slipped 
 back, was raised above her head, and rested 
 against the casing. She was dressed in some 
 soft, reddish stuff that accentuated the lines of 
 her figure. As she stood thus, unconscious of 
 the free, graceful attitude she had assumed, her 
 eyes were alive with a look of anxiety. As the 
 two men turned toward her, she hurried across 
 the room to her father, and threw her arms 
 about his neck. 
 
 " Father, don't be so hard," she pleaded. 
 
 " Dorothy, child, what am I to do ? Here is 
 a man who is striking relentlessly at the whole 
 social fabric. He desires to bring down every 
 thing in one grand crash. His party is crying 
 out for the abolition of Capital, personal liberty, 
 everything, in fact, that we prize as civilization. 
 And worst of all he doesn't really believe in the 
 accursed stuff himself. He took it up as a whim; 
 he thinks he is sincere, but he is not. When a 
 man acts of set purpose as a fanatic, do you
 
 The Altar of Ideals 15 
 
 think for a moment I can make him welcome in 
 this house ? " 
 
 Seebar had stepped to the window and was 
 looking out into the night. Over Lake Michigan 
 a waning moon was tossing through rough 
 clouds. A breeze was blowing from the east, 
 and the waters of the lake could be heard boom 
 ing against the break-water. Through the open 
 window the summer air sifted, just pleasantly 
 warm. 
 
 There was a battle going on in Seebar's soul, 
 a battle which he hardly dared to acknowledge 
 to himself. Now for the first time did he begin 
 to realize just how much his affiliation with the 
 Socialist party was going to cost him. For social 
 position he cared nothing; and he was likewise 
 willing to forego all opportunities to acquire 
 wealth. But when loyalty to his political prin 
 ciples meant, as he could plainly see now, the 
 ultimate sacrifice of love, the terrible gulf that 
 suddenly opened at his feet made him draw back 
 aghast. He had not anticipated this. In the
 
 16 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 past few months he had thrown himself into the 
 game with the fiery zeal of an idealist. So en 
 grossed had he been that for several weeks past 
 he had seen nothing of his friends, the Mark- 
 hams. 
 
 Now, on this night, a brief respite had come, 
 and he had run out to Millionaires' Row along 
 the Sheridan Drive. Then Mr. Markham's 
 wrath had burst upon him for his active part 
 in the campaign. The steel manufacturer had 
 very plainly indicated how his course had all but 
 destroyed not only his own, but his daughter's 
 regard. 
 
 It was a terrible temptation, and while he 
 wrestled with it, he found his struggle doubly 
 hard, for suddenly he found Dorothy at his side, 
 looking up at him with pleading eyes. 
 
 " I didn't suppose it was so serious," she said. 
 " Alfred, won't you do this to please me ? " 
 
 The eyes looked very large and blue and 
 earnest, fringed with heavy dark lashes. 
 
 " It isn't as if you really believed in all this,
 
 The Altar of Ideals 17 
 
 is it, dear?" she went on. " It's just your am 
 bition forgive me for saying so but isn't it? 
 If you really love me you would you would 
 be willing to give up this this Socialism, 
 wouldn't you?" 
 
 She asked her question with almost the simple 
 confidence of a child. She put it as if it would 
 be a denial of his love to refuse. And as he 
 looked into her eyes, he was looking beyond, 
 into a future that was gloomy and sunless. If 
 only she could realize what it all meant ! 
 
 " You don't know what you are asking, child," 
 he answered. " I would cut off my right hand if 
 it would avail you anything, but I can't do this 
 thing: I simply can't betray myself." 
 
 " Not for me ? " she whispered softly. 
 
 The expression in his eyes became a look of 
 positive anguish. 
 
 Dorothy turned to her father. 
 
 " Perhaps " she began, hesitatingly. 
 
 Comprehendingly he moved toward the door. 
 On the threshold he paused, and seemed about
 
 1 8 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 to say something more; then, apparently recon 
 sidering, he slowly passed out into the hall. 
 
 " Alfred," said Dorothy, placing a small hand 
 on each of his broad shoulders, " do you re 
 member that night in the springtime, out there 
 under the trees, when you said you loved me? " 
 
 Her eyes were looking straight up into his, 
 serious and earnest and girlish. 
 
 " Yes," he answered very low. The tension 
 of features had relaxed, but the habitual firmness 
 of the mouth was still there. 
 
 " Well, why have you changed ? What have 
 I done to make you regret that night?" 
 
 " Dorothy ! I haven't changed ! Why do you 
 say that?" 
 
 " Because," she replied, with a touch of the 
 didactic, " a man, if he really loves a woman, 
 does what she asks of him without question. 
 You said a moment ago that you could not be 
 tray yourself. That's just a phrase out of a 
 book. If you really love me you will sacrifice 
 anything, everything for me. I would for you.
 
 The Altar of Ideals 19 
 
 But I'm not asking you to betray yourself. It's 
 neither duty nor honor that binds you to these 
 Socialists. It's vanity. You don't recognize it 
 as such, but it is. It isn't because the Socialists 
 are going to make us poor that I want you to 
 give this up, but because I want to feel that you 
 love me. Don't you, can't you see ? " 
 
 He was silent. 
 
 "Why don't you answer?" 
 
 " I can't say that I do see, dear," he replied 
 at last with slow reluctance. 
 
 Her hand slipped from his shoulder. 
 
 " It wasn't always so hard for you to under 
 stand." 
 
 She paused as if awaiting an answer. As 
 none came she continued, speaking almost as if 
 to herself : " Then perhaps it is best to do as fa 
 ther says." 
 
 She took a step toward the door. Seebar 
 wheeled about, his face as white as paper. 
 
 " Don't, don't go," he implored, his voice 
 trembling, " give me a moment, only a moment."
 
 20 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 It was very quiet there in the library. Some 
 where about the house a door closed with a 
 far-away distant sound; the clock ticked in slow, 
 methodical rhythm; a stray gust of the lake 
 breeze whistled low, as it was sucked into a 
 corner of the building, then whisked against the 
 screen in the window, with a soft, brushing 
 sound, and finally sighed itself into nothingness 
 in the distance. 
 
 Seebar broke the silence by blurting out, "If 
 you had ambitions, too, Dorothy, you would 
 understand." 
 
 "Ambitions! If I had ambitions! Alfred, I 
 am not a child. My years of art study were not 
 a pastime, my professional work was not 
 exactly the fad of a rich man's daughter. A 
 woman's ambitions are mostly toys, I know, to 
 be thrown away at marriage. But yes, I, too, 
 would have thrown them away gladly for the 
 love of a man a man such as I thought you to 
 be, Alfred." 
 
 Her voice caught.
 
 The Altar of Ideals 21 
 
 Seebar tossed his arms in a despairing gesture. 
 " Don't mind my words, Dorothy, I scarcely 
 know what I am saying. You should know that 
 I would not hurt you intentionally for worlds." 
 
 He put his hands on her shoulders and at 
 tempted to draw her toward him. She was sob 
 bing now. 
 
 " No, no ! " she exclaimed, pushing him away. 
 
 "Dorothy, dear, won't you please listen?" 
 
 " Not to-night, not to-night, please, please 
 don't. Perhaps to-morrow, perhaps next week, 
 but not now, oh, not now ! " 
 
 Faverall Markham re-entered the room pres 
 ently. He found Dorothy seated on the sofa, 
 with averted face, while Seebar was standing 
 at the window, looking out into the gloom. 
 
 The young man turned and held out his hand to 
 Markham. " I I think I'll bid you good-night," 
 he said.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 A CITY OF LIGHT 
 
 TT was the third day of November election 
 day. Seebar had taken a hurried supper at a 
 nearby cafe and then had quickly returned to his 
 offices in the Chamber of Trade Building. There 
 was little time for such mere trifles as bodily 
 nourishment; the returns of the election were 
 coming in. 
 
 Those several weeks following the night of his 
 call at the Markhams' had been a period of 
 fatiguing labor. His voice had been in every de 
 liberative council, his determination, his energy, 
 his enthusiasm had been felt in the arrangement 
 of the many details of the campaign. Speeches, 
 too, he had made by the score, and he was re 
 garded as a tower of strength by people and party 
 leaders alike. 
 
 Only a few months back an obscure lawyer, his 
 
 22
 
 A City of Light 23 
 
 brilliant, passionate speech in the Socialist Na 
 tional Convention had carried the delegates off 
 their feet. They had instantly recognized in him 
 a man for their purpose a man young, fiery, 
 magnetic, filled with the enthusiasm of high ideals, 
 steeped in the principles of Socialism, able to 
 present those principles with convincing, com 
 pelling force. Moreover, he was a fighter, bold 
 and dauntless; no wonder he was regarded as a 
 priceless acquisition to the cause. 
 
 Never in all these weeks had his faith wavered, 
 no, not for a single instant. His way had been 
 as clear and certain, as sure, as a white, hard 
 road gleaming in sunlight. 
 
 Up to the present, strangely enough, the break 
 ing off of his relations with Dorothy Markham 
 had been scarcely felt by him, after the first keen 
 pain of that night. His interests had. been too 
 single, too concentrated in the cause he cham 
 pioned. His minutes, his very seconds had been 
 too fully occupied for him to have leisure at 
 his disposal to reflect upon and realize in any
 
 24 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 degree the consequences of his estrangement 
 from her. 
 
 Besides, he had hopes in abundance, rich, 
 roseate hopes. The dawn, the magnificent dawn, 
 such as never yet had been seen by man, but only 
 dreamed of, was at hand. With the inauguration 
 of the new conditions, he felt that the men of 
 Markham's stamp, after the first anger and 
 despair had passed, would be inevitably recon 
 ciled. And as for Dorothy, he felt that with the 
 readjustment of society, gradually her love for 
 him would return. He had been sure of that. 
 
 He picked up a letter from his desk. It had 
 remained unopened since the afternoon mail. He 
 knew from the postmark that it was from his 
 uncle, Richard Tompkins, who lived on a small 
 farm some thirty miles beyond the city's limits. 
 
 MY DEAR ALFRED : 
 
 I have not concerned myself as much about this 
 Socialism as perhaps I should have done, but it 
 has indeed given me a feeling of pride that you 
 should have been chosen as one of the big leaders. 
 
 It never occurred to me, however, till quite
 
 A City of Light 25 
 
 recently what might be the result should your party 
 be victorious. All my neighbors declare that things 
 will not be well for us farmers. They say that 
 there will be a new apportionment of land ; that my 
 little farm will become still smaller, or else that it 
 will be absorbed with others and managed on the 
 basis of the great corporate system of commerce and 
 manufacturing. In either event, the result does not 
 appear promising, for will not the new arrangement 
 seriously interfere with my income, small as it is 
 now? 
 
 I am, as you know, in my sixty-fifth year ; I have 
 taken little interest for some time in politics, being 
 a quiet and domestic sort of man. These things 
 coming at my time of life worry me a bit. How 
 ever, I trust that all will be well. But you know 
 that the population of the cities, at least I am told 
 so, can outvote that of the country, and perhaps 
 the interests here in the country differ from those 
 of you people in the cities. 
 
 I am writing this not to trouble you, but to 
 relieve my own conscience. Much as I hate to do 
 it for your sake, I feel that I shall be compelled to 
 vote the way my neighbors will to-morrow, that is, 
 of course, for the Individualists. 
 
 Now, forgive me for the timid fears of an old 
 man. I feel that I must do my duty by my neigh 
 bors, but still wish that you may win.
 
 26 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 I hope that you may be able to visit us for a few 
 hours, at least, after the election. 
 
 Well, good-by, now, my boy. With best wishes 
 and luck, Y our loving Uncle, 
 
 RICHARD TOMPKINS. 
 
 PARKHURST, ILL., Nov. 2nd. 1952. 
 
 Martha sends her love. She also tells me to say 
 that she will send some more of her mince pies 
 soon, the kind you used to like so well. 
 
 A pang of regret, almost of accusation, gripped 
 Seebar for the moment. Good, kind old Uncle 
 Dick ! He had been a father, more than a father 
 to him. He had been father and uncle and 
 friend, all in one. In days gone by Uncle Dick 
 had money not a great deal, still a surplus over 
 and above his wants. It was due to him solely 
 that Seebar had been able to go through college. 
 Seebar's memory went back to that night his 
 father had come home from the stock exchange, 
 a broken man, the fortune of a life-time's labor 
 gone almost in a flash. 
 
 Brain fever had followed, and in his delirium 
 the poor harried financier had fought over again
 
 A City of Light 27 
 
 the terrible agonizing last few days he had gone 
 through before the actual crash came. And he 
 had raved, too, about Alfred's mother, dead then 
 some years. 
 
 When the end came, Uncle Dick was at the 
 boy's side to comfort him. Yes, when he thought 
 it all over, Uncle Dick had done a vast deal 
 for him. 
 
 What if and the thin wedge of doubt found 
 its opening what if the great Socialist program 
 should not work out successfully, and he should 
 thus have helped to bring nothing but ruin as a 
 reward for all his uncle's kindness ? 
 
 Somehow, this apparently slight incident of 
 the letter singularly disturbed him. Perhaps it 
 was the reaction after days and weeks of nervous 
 strenuousness and excitement, or perhaps it was 
 that the real import of the Great Change to 
 a multitude of people was for the first time 
 really driven home to him. 
 
 When worried or perplexed, Seebar was wont 
 to ascend to the tower of the building, ninety-
 
 28 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 three stories above the street, and lean upon the 
 railing of the circular balcony, with the air beat 
 ing about his head, clarifying his thoughts. To 
 night he went up to this tower. 
 
 Chicago, the hugest city in the world, 
 stretched, a vast blur of light, to an incredibly 
 distant horizon north, west, south a red en 
 compassing halo, extending to the farthest 
 reaches of vision. Lights ! lights ! lights ! Where 
 did they begin? Where did they cease? They 
 were flung out into space, seemingly interminably, 
 like one all-embracing milky way. Even where 
 Seebar stood, a wan radiance, more illuminating 
 than the star-light, was diffused. The calm 
 lights of the sky paled in comparison with the 
 elusive but insistent glow that pressed upward 
 from the earth. 
 
 As his glance fell straight downward, Seebar 
 saw, far, far below, bands of white and green 
 lights, in segments, pass in rapid succession. 
 These he knew to be the trains of the mono-rail 
 way, running on an elevated structure high
 
 A City of Light 29 
 
 above the level of the streets. As he watched, 
 train after train swung round a double curve, the 
 red and green lights of each, for the twinkling 
 of an eye, pricking out a great letter S, which, 
 even as it formed, dissolved as the train cleared 
 the curve. 
 
 Overhead, occasionally, a freight-laden air 
 ship, distinguishable by its gleaming yellow side- 
 lamps, passed swiftly, its searchlight cutting a 
 path ahead through the darkness; sometimes 
 throwing an oblique shaft downward upon the 
 city. 
 
 Westward, three squares away, rose a row of 
 needle-like structures, every window of each a 
 rectangle of light. As he shifted his eyes to a 
 similar row to the south, the buildings, a mass of 
 multiplied lights, seemed, with the turning of 
 the head, to rush skyward. To the east, over a 
 vast wall of sky-scrapers, a reddish glow lay, 
 gradually dissolving into the whiter light around. 
 These were the lights along the Lake Front and 
 Michigan Avenue, the latter the great theatre
 
 30 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 and restaurant district of Chicago. Far out, 
 over the waters of Lake Michigan hung this 
 glow; then still farther away, beyond, lay that 
 blackest of black walls, always, even on the 
 fairest of nights, suggestive of a vast bank of 
 storm-bearing mist, just emerging above the 
 horizon, where sky and water met, the one 
 really dark space in the vast reaches of sky and 
 city and water. 
 
 Nightly the lights came on in myriads of vast 
 winks, as the various circuits were brought into 
 play, and merged into one irresistible torrent of 
 illumination. In some sections of the metropolis 
 shades had to be drawn as tightly as if the sun 
 were in the zenith. Light was omnipresent, and 
 the ways of nature were beginning gradually to 
 change. Night work, where it did not involve 
 sales directly to people, was becoming more and 
 more prevalent. Some business men divided the 
 day into periods, working a brief time in the 
 morning, taking recreation in the afternoon, and 
 returning to their offices again at night.
 
 A City of Light 31 
 
 Light seemed to be the emblem, the symbol, of 
 man's conquest over nature. His architectural 
 structures were formed in outline of it by night; 
 his conquest of speed was indicated by light, 
 green and red, on the swiftly hurrying mono- 
 railways, bearing their multitudes hither and 
 thither at the easy speed of one hundred and 
 twenty miles an hour, and overhead, like a string 
 of floating stars, they indicated the traffic through 
 the air. In his service man now utilized light, as 
 he had never done before. Light had shifted 
 his point of view. He had come to interpret 
 life in terms of light and darkness. His vocab 
 ulary showed it, just as his eye, his brain, were 
 influenced by it. 
 
 Man in this environment was not quite him 
 self. That strangely penetrating power of light, 
 forcing itself upon him constantly, obsessed him. 
 And in spite of his wonderful, almost startling, 
 conquest over darkness, in one respect he was re 
 verting to the primeval that was in his dread 
 of darkness. Darkness was uncomfortable to
 
 32 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 the man of the city. Light to him meant se 
 curity, safety. He almost abhorred darkness. 
 He crept from it as a child does from a shadow. 
 
 Hence it was that Seebar was always filled 
 with a strange, compelling awe whenever he 
 stood thus in space, with the winds wrangling 
 about him, in this high twilight, as it were, of 
 the city's glare. Here were silence and isolation. 
 Here, alone in the night, unhampered by the dif 
 ferences and disputes of men, remote from the 
 pressure of their prejudices and their passions, 
 able to think as an individual and not as the com 
 munity thinks, doubt sorely beset him, as it never 
 had before. 
 
 Was it wise, after all, thus to overthrow the 
 wonderful structure that Capital had upreared? 
 The nation had a population of over two hundred 
 millions. The Mississippi Valley was the centre 
 of commerce, manufacturing, and agriculture. 
 Great canals criss-crossed the country, bearing 
 vast fleets of ocean-going vessels bound for the 
 ports of the world. The Mississippi River was
 
 A City of Light 33 
 
 the outlet for all this commerce, and New 
 Orleans, as a consequence, was the third largest 
 city on the continent, New York ranking second. 
 Strange and wonderful, almost as strange and 
 wonderful as the original peopling of the coun 
 try, had been the manner in which the centre of 
 life of the nation had been shifted to the Mississ 
 ippi Valley between the Allegheny Mountains 
 on the one hand, and the Rocky Mountains on 
 the other. 
 
 It was indeed a rich, wonderful civilization, a 
 materialistic civilization, perhaps, but no less 
 wonderful for that, which, centring in Chicago, 
 had been built up in the Middle West, this city 
 of Chicago, like the great cities of former civili 
 zations, like Memphis, Nineveh, and Babylon, 
 situated on inland water ways, in the heart of a 
 fertile valley. 
 
 The interior ship canal, connecting Chicago 
 with the Gulf of Mexico, had converted the 
 metropolis into a sea-port. She shared in the 
 trade with South America, Mexico, and the West
 
 34 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 Indies. The Panama Canal had brought her 
 nearer to the Pacific Coast, to the wheat fields 
 and mines of the Northwest, to Alaska and 
 eastern Siberia, to Japan and China. In the year 
 1952 the population of the Mississippi Valley 
 was a hundred millions. 
 
 But notwithstanding that this was the most 
 wonderful civilization that had ever been up- 
 reared, in spite of the fact that the people had 
 never before been so prosperous, the old slogan of 
 half a century earlier was in constant repetition, 
 " The rich are growing richer and the poor 
 poorer." Man's discontent was a paradox. He 
 was discontented because he had so little reason 
 to be. His wants were over-satisfied, over-satis 
 fied, at least, in proportion to his merits. Not a 
 single being suffered from lack of food, or cloth 
 ing, or shelter the primary human wants, no, 
 nor from a thousand accessories to these wants. 
 
 Man was spoiled by economic ease, and yet, 
 notwithstanding this, he craved for the still 
 easier life. A great reaction was bound to come.
 
 A City of Light 35 
 
 Inconsistently man hit at the keystone of his 
 prosperity his economic system, and Socialism, a 
 theoretic principle for many a decade back, was 
 demanded. Thought had revolutionized the 
 world, in science at least. Thought could like 
 wise revolutionize the social system. Such was 
 the fundamental argument of the Socialistic lead 
 ers of the day. 
 
 But to the reasons for this discontent Seebar 
 was as blind as his contemporaries. He could 
 see nothing but the benefits that he felt must 
 come with a change in the economic system. 
 Still, as his eye ranged over the vast area of city, 
 he could not escape the fact that Capital, as it 
 had been organized in the last half -century, had 
 accomplished the truly wonderful. His thoughts 
 ran to the accounts he had read of the city as it 
 had appeared in the first decade of the twentieth 
 century. It must have been a peculiar city then, 
 he reflected, a vast, rambling, loose-strung 
 place, full of dust and noise and dirt; a smoky 
 pall hanging over it by day and by night, through
 
 36 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 whose smudgy atmosphere the buildings, dis 
 colored, unsightly, loomed in squatty masses. 
 They designated their twenty- and thirty-story 
 structures " sky-scrapers " in all seriousness. 
 Smoke was everywhere. It discolored the 
 mucous membrane of throat and lungs. Medical 
 colleges were fond of displaying side by side, 
 preserved in alcohol, the pink " normal " lungs 
 of the countryman with those of the resident in 
 Chicago. In post-mortem examinations the dis 
 sector's knife was said to grit upon minute 
 particles of carbon as it cut through the tissue of 
 the lungs. 
 
 The city, two hundred square miles of it, with 
 2,000,000 inhabitants, was as if it had been 
 spilled out over the prairie. In many respects it 
 trailed in the wake of Eastern cities. In some 
 things it led. It was then, as to-day, the biggest 
 railroad centre in the world. It was a vast grain 
 market; it was in the vicinity of the iron mines. 
 In much the same manner, though not, of course, 
 in the same degree, as later, the city was the
 
 A City of Light 37 
 
 centre of the Nation's trade and commerce. But 
 after all, it was more like a huge village than a 
 city. 
 
 Seebar laughed softly to himself at the pic 
 ture. " A rum sort of place it must have been," 
 he mused. Capitalism had indeed since built up 
 a great materialistic civilization on that crude 
 basis, but could not Socialism do still better? 
 
 As the lake breeze blowing about his head 
 began to cool his blood and clear his brain, See- 
 bar's doubts vanished. Once more he felt abso 
 lute confidence in himself and in his purpose. 
 
 He took a final look at the far-flung lights. 
 
 Well, what of them? What if Capitalism had 
 created this city of cities, this miracle of light? 
 Socialism would create a greater city, or if not 
 a greater, a less materialistic, and, certainly, a 
 much happier one!
 
 CHAPTER III 
 WHAT HAPPENED ELECTION NIGHT 
 
 T T 7 HEN Seebar at last descended to his office, 
 he found three men awaiting him. They 
 were Henry Bornheim and Edgar Jeppels, 
 both candidates for office on the Socialistic 
 ticket, and Harry Thornton, managing editor 
 of the Daily Globe. 
 
 They had been receiving reports of the general 
 election by telephone, and as Seebar learned by 
 a question or two, these reports so far had 
 merely confirmed the expected that the cities 
 were going heavily Socialistic and the rural dis 
 tricts almost solidly Individualistic. Since the 
 old system of balloting for presidential electors 
 had been displaced by direct vote for the candi 
 dates themselves, returns by states had largely 
 lost their significance. 
 
 " You've got a cold hand to-night, Seebar," 
 38
 
 What Happened Election Night 39 
 
 said Bornheim. " I bet ten to one you've been 
 mooning up in that tower. Your crow's nest 
 seems to chill your blood." 
 
 " Yes," answered Seebar, slightly smiling; 
 though his dark eyes were a trifle sterner than 
 his lips. 
 
 Indeed his greeting of Bornheim had not been 
 more than polite, for despite the latter's outward 
 polish there was something about the man he had 
 always instinctively disliked. 
 
 " Oh, he's got a warm enough hand for his 
 friends, I guess," put in Thornton bluntly. 
 " Seebar's an orator, not a politician." 
 
 " No, not a practical politician," retorted 
 Bornheim. 
 
 "What's a practical politician?" asked See- 
 bar with mild insolence. 
 
 " Oh, come now, Seebar," broke in Jeppels, 
 the active ward heeler. " You big fellows make 
 a devil of a bluff at being ' clean-handed,' and all 
 that sort of rot; but all you do is talk a lot of 
 bunk about * civic virtue,' and let us little guys
 
 40 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 do the dirty work. If it ain't done though, how 
 you howl ! " 
 
 " I've never condoned dirty work," replied 
 Seebar with a show of warmth, " and I've put a 
 stop to it wherever I could. No one knows that 
 better than you, Jeppels," he added significantly. 
 
 " Oh, indeed," laughed Bornheim, tugging at 
 his short black mustache. " We're quite too 
 moral to condescend to mingle with the rabble, 
 are we? Just direct their puny efforts at a dis 
 tance like a god, eh ? " 
 
 Jeppels' dull gray eyes were beginning to gleam 
 in his flabby, wrinkled face. " Damn you fel 
 lows," he exclaimed, doubling up a heavy, hair- 
 covered hand ; " we drive the voters into line. 
 We browbeat and lie and coax, and then you big 
 guys have the nerve to take what we slip you, 
 and spit on us besides. You talk about the Cap 
 italists. By God, you're all alike ; just as bad ! " 
 
 " Oh, come, gentlemen, we don't want to 
 quarrel," said Seebar good-naturedly. "This 
 election must be getting on our nerves."
 
 What Happened Election Night 41 
 
 " All right, old man," Bornheim replied, slap 
 ping Seebar on the back. " We'll all be so kind- 
 hearted when we're in power that there'll be no 
 more quarreling, eh? Society is going to be 
 deliciously topsy-turvy. We're going to upset 
 everything, from the church to the home. We'll 
 live on the fat of the land, and our morality will 
 be as healthful, as primitive, as unaffected, as 
 Adam's and Eve's in the Garden of Eden. I'm 
 sorry that we weren't able to get that free love 
 plank in the platform." 
 
 Free love! In spite of his expressed desire 
 for harmony, Seebar could not quite conceal his 
 grimace of disgust. That was one of the tenets 
 of a wing of the party. In fact, as Seebar was 
 obliged to admit to himself, there was a curious 
 union of many diverse elements in the Socialist 
 party that were not brought into the ranks by 
 conversion to its economic principles. 
 
 Jeppels noticed the slight look of disgust. 
 " Ha-ha-ha ! " he laughed. " Seebar, you're a 
 good one. You're not in this game for what
 
 42 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 there's in it. Damn it, if I don't half-believe 
 you're working for the public good." 
 
 " Yes," answered Seebar with assumed ease, 
 " I believe I am." 
 
 At that moment he hardly knew which he de 
 tested the more, the smiling Jeppels, with his 
 face frankly coarse and voluptuous, or Bornheim, 
 with his cool, polished air, regarding with amused 
 contempt, scarcely veiled, the outburst of the ward 
 heeler. 
 
 For relief Seebar turned to Thornton. " So 
 you're really going to issue to-morrow, as 
 usual?" 
 
 Thornton nodded in his grave fashion. 
 " We're going to stand back of our statement 
 that, regardless of the results of the election, we 
 shall print the returns. Of course, if the Social 
 ists win, to-morrow will be the last time we go 
 to press. The paper passes, as does everything 
 else, into the hands of the government. And I 
 feel that the Socialists are going to win. Yes, 
 boys, I believe it's good-by, old Globe! After to-
 
 What Happened Election Night 43 
 
 morrow there will be but one paper issued in 
 Chicago, and that will be a government sheet." 
 There was just the hint of a tremor in his voice. 
 " But we're going to give the ungrateful public 
 the news right up to the last minute. We take 
 a pride in doing so. You may ask, why should 
 we stick to the helm after our ship is confiscated 
 by the state? It may appear theatrical in the 
 eyes of some, but we don't look at it that way. 
 I tell you, gentlemen," and Thornton's blue eyes 
 flashed in their earnestness, " we feel that the 
 newspaper is a public institution, and that we 
 owe it to the public to serve it up to the last 
 possible moment of our usefulness. The news 
 paper is a servant of the public. It must look 
 out for the public's interests first, its own 
 second. When you win, and every one sees the 
 fact fairly and squarely stated in the Capitalistic 
 press, then the Nation will at once know just 
 where it stands just what it has done. There 
 is nothing to be gained by questioning the re 
 turns. If we must have a new regime, let it
 
 44 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 come in as peaceably as possible. Henceforth, 
 the newspapers will be owned by the government. 
 They will have an identical policy. That may be 
 a good thing, or it may prove to be a bad thing. 
 But I believe it will be recognized that the news 
 papers under private ownership were more faith 
 ful to the public interests than they are generally 
 credited with being to-day." 
 
 " Idealists, idealists, every one," protested 
 Bornheim, his smooth cheeks wreathed in smiles. 
 " This sort of talk of yours and Seebar's makes 
 me uncertain as to the reality of things. If it 
 wasn't for Jeppels with his practical point of 
 view, I'd begin to feel a bit nervous," he added, 
 in an attempt at facetiousness. 
 
 " Well," retorted Thornton, " it's idealists that 
 are making this election possible for you Social 
 ists." 
 
 " Why, to be sure, that adds a sort of spice 
 to the thing " began Bornheim, but the tele 
 phone rang at that moment, and he stopped to 
 answer it.
 
 What Happened Election Night 45 
 
 As he listened, a smile again came to his face. 
 " A lot of the country districts in the South are 
 actually going our way," he explained; "why, 
 we've got this election in a walk-away. We're 
 going to sweep " Suddenly a frown dis 
 placed the smile. 
 
 " Humph," he commented, a moment later, 
 snapping up the receiver, " where do you suppose 
 the Capitalistic votes are cropping out at? in 
 Boston and Philadelphia." 
 
 "Boston and Philadelphia!" repeated Thorn 
 ton. 
 
 "How's it running?" asked Seebar. 
 
 " Well, their man Trumbull is giving Furst 
 something to think about, I guess. There's about 
 three hundred thousand Capitalist votes cast in 
 those two cities." 
 
 " There must be some mistake, surely," ex 
 claimed Seebar excitedly. " Why, man, we're 
 counting on the East to balance up with the 
 Rocky Mountain section! We were certain 
 Furst would practically get all the votes in Phila-
 
 46 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 delphia, and Boston, too. What do you think, 
 Thornton ? You were in on the straw vote taken 
 last month." 
 
 Thornton shook his head. " I don't under 
 stand it, at all," he replied. " Our canvass for the 
 Globe showed mighty few votes in those cities 
 for Trumbull." 
 
 " The Capitalists have been buying 'em up, I 
 bet ten to one," suggested Jeppels. 
 
 " Shut up, Jeppels," snapped Bornheim ir 
 ritably, much as he would speak to an annoying 
 child. His face had suddenly taken on a set, 
 anxious look. No wonder his usually complacent 
 manner and calm nerve were giving way before 
 the uncertainty of it all. When the polls had 
 opened that morning, he, with millions of other 
 Socialists, had been so confident of success. He 
 had felt power and the spoils of office already 
 in his grasp. He was unprepared for this seem 
 ing change in the tide. Worst of all, defeat 
 spelled not only political ruin, but even ignominy. 
 There were a thousand and one indirect ways the
 
 What Happened Election Night 47 
 
 Capitalists would find to punish those who had 
 frightened them so badly. 
 
 Seebar's first thought was for the multitudes 
 who had pinned their hopes of the future, some 
 of them their very destiny, on that day's ballot 
 ing. His second thought was for himself, but 
 not with reference to his own ambitions. The 
 success or failure of his party in the election, he 
 felt, was inevitably linked with his own personal 
 happiness. A Capitalistic victory would utterly 
 discredit him. He could not conceive the proud 
 Faverall Markham yielding to his wishes after 
 such a result. 
 
 The silence was broken by Jeppels' exclaiming, 
 "What's that?" 
 
 A flash of light had burst through the great 
 plate glass windows of the office, filling every 
 nook and corner with white, overpowering 
 glare. For an instant the intensity of the rays 
 blinded them. 
 
 'Then while they stood, staring and wonder 
 ing, again came that terrific flash, which, though
 
 48 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 the room was already brilliantly lighted, seemed 
 fairly to stab their sight, as with a sharp pointed 
 dagger. 
 
 As the glare, cut off as instantaneously as it 
 had shot through space, piercing and merging 
 into itself all other lights, disappeared, the four 
 men there in the room raised their dazzled eyes 
 to a square tower, pricked out by a mass of 
 illuminated windows, three blocks to the east 
 ward. It overtopped by perhaps one hundred 
 feet the sixty- and seventy-story sky-piercers that 
 stood, huge, formidable walls, on the oppo 
 site side of the broad thoroughfare. 
 
 Hanging about the head of the tower, a soft 
 glow, like a nimbus, appeared. Then once more 
 the great flood of light poured upon them, beat 
 ing down their vision in a constant succession of 
 waves, as the rays were rapidly turned off 
 and on. 
 
 Below, in the broad streets, could be heard, 
 through the closed windows, a sudden upburst 
 of voices, and a muffled roar, like the beating of a
 
 What Happened Election Night 49 
 
 tempest through a screen of trees, the beating 
 roar of a multitude of feet. 
 
 " It's the final returns from Washington," 
 said Bornheim, new hope lighting up his face. 
 The noise in the street had died away. Even the 
 throbbing of feet was stilled. The glare was 
 gone. With bewildered eyes they found their 
 way to the window, and raising the sash, looked 
 down into the street. 
 
 So far as they could see, from wall to wall the 
 mob was packed, silent, expectant. The faces 
 were partly upturned, strangely pale, oval things 
 under the white lights of the city set off by the 
 darkness of hair and hats and garments fore 
 shortened, they paved the street, blurring off in 
 the distance in a pallid mass. 
 
 These faces were all turned toward a vast 
 illuminated space on the front of a wedge-shaped 
 building, which, visible up the whole length of 
 the thoroughfare, stood where the street 
 branched out like the arms of the letter Y, the 
 building standing in the cleft.
 
 50 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 Flashed the words : " Furst making slight 
 gains in Pennsylvania and New York country 
 regions. Boston Individualistic vote surprisingly 
 heavy." 
 
 And then the words were gone, and only the 
 eye of white light lay upon the wall. 
 
 " I can't stand this," said Seebar, turning to 
 the others. " This way of awaiting our fate and 
 the Nation's is too cold-blooded. Let's get down 
 there where life is circulating and be a part of 
 the electorate." 
 
 Still half -blinded they found their way to the 
 elevator. 
 
 In the street it was chill and damp a raw 
 blast now and then sweeping in from the lake 
 to the eastward, which the broad thoroughfares 
 seemed fairly to suck in. At every gust, the 
 crowd shrank closer into itself, each man with 
 coat collar turned up, his hands down deep in 
 pockets. Chicago, the wonder city of the 
 twentieth century, had conquered darkness and 
 solved the problem of rapid transit, but the pene-
 
 What Happened Election Night 51 
 
 trating, chilling lake breezes were beyond the 
 control of the metropolis. 
 
 As they pressed into the fringe of the throng, 
 they heard a man directly behind them remark 
 to his companion, " Those rich bugs are having 
 a hell of a time over in La Salle Street. They 
 know the election's gone dead against them. 
 You ought to see them scramble to get that gold 
 under shipment. I wouldn't be surprised if the 
 crowd stops 'em before the night's over." 
 
 "Why," said the other, "I thought they 
 shipped it all long ago." 
 
 " Well, it seems they haven't. I guess they've 
 been holding it for business deals should they 
 pull through, but a sort of a panic seems to have 
 got 'em now." 
 
 Seebar turned to the speaker. " Under the 
 vote we've taken to-day," he said, " all citizens 
 have two months in which to remove their port 
 able property, if they want to." 
 
 " I know it, but you bet we're not going to let 
 'em fool us like that," chuckled the man. " No,
 
 52 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 sir, not much ! We're going to give these damned 
 Capitalists a taste of their own medicine. That 
 money belongs to the people, that's where it 
 belongs." 
 
 Bornheim smiled, in his provokingly knowing 
 way, and his smile seemed to say, " See what a 
 fine beast you have evoked. With me all is a 
 matter of mere policy, but with you " 
 
 " They're not all like that." Seebar was quick 
 in his defense of the people. " Besides, they'll 
 learn," he added. 
 
 Bornheim did not answer. His eyes were once 
 more upon the wall of the wedge-shaped building 
 where the letters were again flashing. 
 
 F-U-R-S-T E-L-E-C-T-E-D S-O-C-I-A-L- 
 I-S-T-S S-W-E-E-P C-O-U-N-T-R-Y B-Y 
 E-S-T-I-M-A-T-E-D P-L-U-R-A-L-I-T-Y O-F 
 5-0-0-00-0-0. 
 
 The thing had happened, and the crowd was 
 silent. It seemed stupefied by what it had done. 
 At a stroke the regime of centuries had been cast 
 aside a new order of things was to come in
 
 What Happened Election Night 53 
 
 with the morrow, for by their vote a Constitu 
 tional change had also been made that day, 
 abolishing all property in the instruments of pro 
 duction. As Seebar had said, two months' time 
 was to be given the Capitalists to turn their 
 property over to the state, but on the other hand 
 the new government which stepped into power on 
 the morrow was pledged to encourage a change 
 before that time, wherever possible. There was 
 to be no buying out of property by the state. 
 The people, by their vote, had confiscated all 
 property outside of a certain quantity of per 
 sonal effects to the use of the state. 
 
 In spite of the vigorous, indeed vehement, 
 manner in which the issues of the campaign had 
 been waged, and in spite of the fact that the 
 people were most keenly alive to these issues, 
 now that their wishes had been realized, they 
 seemed stunned, dazed, and they began to stare 
 at each other in a strange, half-interrogatory, 
 half-accusing way, as if afraid of what they had 
 done.
 
 54 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 And yet the millions in the huge city, stifled by 
 the vast civilization they had reared about them, 
 had gasped for liberty freedom, as they thought 
 from the tyranny of labor. The clerk behind 
 the counter, the mechanic at his bench, even the 
 general superintendent in his office, chafed at the 
 chains of restraint every high civilization must 
 inevitably forge for itself. The pleasures and 
 luxuries of the rich were at the door of the 
 wage-earner. Poverty, to him who cared to 
 work, was unknown, and work was to be had 
 for the asking. The spiritual side of life had 
 been largely lost. The ends of existence were 
 measured in terms of quantity and magnitude. 
 Men were constantly seeking escape from the 
 discontent that was destroying them, seeking it 
 in worldly goods and in worldly pleasures, and 
 craving always for more of them. In their hearts 
 they hated the wealthy classes, the conservators 
 and directors of the Nation's resources, who shut 
 them off from what they regarded as their just 
 share.
 
 What Happened Election Night 55 
 
 Seebar, too, had felt the same revulsion of 
 feeling that had swept over the crowd. Now, as 
 his eyes continued to range over the faces, again 
 he read a great reaction. 
 
 In the many days of whirlwind speech-making, 
 he had seen just such crowds, but on the faces of 
 its members there had never appeared quite the 
 look of rapt, wondering delight that he read now 
 on the multitude of faces tilted skyward. He 
 caught for an instant the crowd's vision of what 
 neither they nor he understood a great broad 
 highway, of which, contrary to the laws of per 
 spective, they formed the vanishing point, and as 
 they looked down this road it ever widened out 
 like a huge angle, only disappearing finally be 
 yond a wonderfully brilliant horizon. This was 
 the magnificent highway down which Socialism 
 was now to march unimpeded. 
 
 But there was something, also, on their faces 
 that Seebar did not quite like. It reminded him 
 of the faces of a winning crowd at a horse race. 
 
 As in such moods action of some sort must
 
 56 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 follow, there was not lacking the voice to give it 
 impulse. 
 
 He was only a bit of a lad that fired the train 
 that night perhaps thirteen years old, with a 
 head of red hair dimmed in the white light. 
 Bright-eyed, thin- faced, he was standing on the 
 broad ledge of a pillar that helped to support the 
 overhanging arch at the doorway of a huge 
 department store building. Seebar all at once 
 had noticed him, a conspicuous, if miniature, live 
 thing in a red sweater, a noticeable contrast with 
 the inert massiveness and colorlessness of the 
 pillar. 
 
 He seemed greatly excited, for his eyes were 
 round and big and shining, almost weirdly so in 
 so pale a face, and his feet beat restlessly. 
 
 As Seebar looked at him the boy leaned for 
 ward, almost to the point of falling, and from 
 his elevation ten feet above their heads he cried 
 down upon the crowd, his voice shrill and sharp. 
 
 Seebar could not understand the words, for at 
 that instant a spontaneous " hurrah," the shout
 
 What Happened Election Night 57 
 
 of victory and relief, was already beginning to 
 rise. 
 
 Still the roar of voices could not quite drown 
 the boy's thin cry. Its sharpness pierced the 
 greater, heavier sound. Men close by began to 
 laugh and point at the excited little figure, now 
 growing red in the face and gesticulating. 
 
 Then all at once in a partial lull his voice 
 piped through the din in a high-pitched cry that 
 could not be disregarded, " Le's go'n josh the 
 millionaires over in La Salle." 
 
 A great burst of laughter went up, laughter 
 that was contagious, drowning utterly the heavy 
 booming cheers in the distance. Those who had 
 not caught the words laughed too. Then the 
 cheering recommenced, still mingled with the 
 laughter, and all about Seebar the crowd was 
 pressing in closer, forcing him slowly, almost im 
 perceptibly back, inch by inch, as it tried to wedge 
 in still nearer to the boy. 
 
 He found himself with Jeppels, against the 
 base of the pillar, two or three steps up the flight.
 
 58 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 They could look out over the crowd, a field of 
 hands, shaking high in air, and of nodding heads, 
 curious to look upon. 
 
 "The kid wants sport; well, I'll give him 
 some," Jeppels bellowed in Seebar's ear. 
 
 As he spoke, he caught at the boy's legs, 
 almost like an animal snatching at its prey. See- 
 bar saw the boy totter and his feet give way 
 beneath him, and then he shot head-first, in a 
 regular dive, down upon the heads of the crowd. 
 He was seized by a score of hands and whirled 
 and cast about, a red-coated, squirming thing, in 
 a human whirlpool. 
 
 Suddenly this game stopped. As hands caught 
 at the boy and arms tossed him, a broad- 
 shouldered man, towering above his fellows by 
 nearly a head, reached out for the living play 
 thing, and held it above his head, free from the 
 crowd. 
 
 " Now," he thundered, " let the lad alone and 
 we'll go over and ' josh the millionaires/ as he 
 says." And he began to push forward.
 
 What Happened Election Night 59 
 
 Another cheer went up. The spirit of his sug 
 gestion seemed to radiate through the crowd. A 
 zigzag path began slowly to open up to let pass 
 man and boy. Those who had pressed aside fell 
 in again. Presently this little trickling stream 
 had started other little trickling streams. Bit by 
 bit the crowd melted, till from wall to wall the 
 faces flowed past Seebar, through the chasm- 
 like street, in a torrent. 
 
 Stepping from the stairs of the building to the 
 sidewalk, he felt himself drawn into this tor 
 rent like a bit of buoyant wood. Far ahead he 
 could see the read sweater bobbing up and down 
 like a strangely frail craft. He could begin to 
 grasp the humor of the situation now, though at 
 first he had felt nothing but indignation toward 
 Jeppels at his treatment of the boy. Jeppels, 
 sprawling against the pillar after his sweeping 
 stroke, and cursing to himself; the surprised and 
 startled look on the upturned faces as the 
 youngster came tumbling down; the wild catch 
 ing and tossing, and the whirlpool of heads and
 
 60 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 hands, the thought of these things brought an 
 amused smile to Seebar's lips. 
 
 What was their purpose or why they went no 
 one seemed to know, or even to consider. Of 
 Bornheim and Thornton, Seebar had lost track 
 some time before, and now Jeppels was gone, too. 
 
 After all the anxieties and worries of the many 
 weeks past, Seebar found it pleasurable to aban 
 don himself to the unconscious, non-personal 
 whim of the mob, which seemed as care-free as 
 a crowd of college boys out for a lark. He felt 
 that there was excitement, and adventure, too, in 
 going with the crowd. 
 
 Now and again as they marched, a long re 
 verberating cheer would break forth, starting 
 perhaps at the head of the column and rolling 
 back down the line. 
 
 Westward they continued, pouring into the 
 mouths of the streets that opened like vast gorges, 
 till at last the torrent rushed, with the laugh 
 ing boy on its breast, into La Salle Street, the 
 financial centre of the Nation.
 
 What Happened Election Night 61 
 
 In the early days of the century La Salle 
 Street had been a dark, narrow, canyon-like 
 place, dirty and rough-paved, with dingy, smoke- 
 blackened buildings of stone. At that time the 
 Board of Trade Building divided the street into 
 two sections. Where the thoroughfare began 
 again to the south, still narrower, was a region 
 of squalid tenement houses, printing establish 
 ments, and railroad freight depots. The clean, 
 broad, white, well-lighted roadway cutting right 
 through, was the dream then of only a few who 
 could see into the future more clearly than could 
 their fellows. 
 
 As it debouched into the broad thoroughfare, 
 Seebar felt as if the mob were spreading out 
 into a lake, pent up as it had been between the 
 walls of the more narrow street through which 
 it had been passing. 
 
 After nightfall, ordinarily, La Salle Street was 
 quiet, though brilliantly lighted. But to-night it 
 was a scene of feverish activity. The street was 
 jammed with automobile trucks; the windows of
 
 62 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 nearly every building blazed with lights; men 
 bearing compact, steel-bound boxes were hurry 
 ing down the broad, marble steps, and placing 
 their burdens in the automobiles. 
 
 Seebar could see that here, too, the results of 
 the election were known, and the last shipments 
 of coin were being made out of the country. 
 
 At one of these buildings, a hatless, gray- 
 headed man in a frock coat, with a fine, yet 
 strong face, stood, holding open the great door. 
 As Seebar saw him he had a vague feeling of 
 uneasiness almost of foreboding. 
 
 The automobile trucks partially impeded 
 progress, and the mob, overflowing pavement and 
 sidewalk, was rising up the steps of the building 
 like a tide. And step by step Seebar was borne 
 up with it, close to where the banker stood, 
 holding open the door. Momentarily the press 
 was growing thicker. Men were beginning to 
 struggle for room, and twisting his head around, 
 Seebar saw that the faces were still streaming in 
 endlessly.
 
 What Happened Election Night 63 
 
 The red-haired boy, who had started the rush 
 thither, had disappeared and been forgotten. 
 Men were beginning to ask themselves what it 
 was all about; what they were there for. This 
 crowding about a man standing against a pillar 
 and holding open a door was beginning to have a 
 tinge of the absurd in it. 
 
 The unexpected tragedy came quickly. Four- 
 men had appeared, struggling with a box, ap 
 parently of great weight. The dignified banker 
 stooped to assist, and as he did so the door swung 
 shut, sweeping the eyeglasses from his face. 
 Some one hooted, and in a spirit of mere idle 
 mischievousness others took up the cry, raising 
 a derisive shout. 
 
 In a sudden overwhelming rush of the crowd 
 that followed, Seebar found himself struggling 
 and gasping for breath. The horde of men 
 swarmed thick about the banker. They were 
 pushing him farther and farther back. Then 
 something obstructed progress in that direction. 
 But still the crowd pressed on. Suddenly the
 
 64 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 gray head seemed to bend back, and above the din 
 rose one awful, screaming cry. 
 
 The mob swung away, like the receding of a 
 wave. 
 
 And then Seebar beheld the horror. The gray- 
 haired man, forced against the side railing and 
 bent over backward, was now hanging across it at 
 the waist like a partially emptied sack. 
 
 Some one lifted the body and attempted to set 
 it on its feet. But eluding his grasp it slipped to 
 the steps, and lay, a huddled thing, face to one 
 side, with one hand sprawled out. Slowly a 
 bright red stream trickled from the mouth, down 
 the marble steps. 
 
 In sickening, helpless horror Seebar watched it. 
 
 Red! That was the color of the new national 
 flag, emblematic of the universal brotherhood 
 of man.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 THE EVICTION 
 
 TT was several months after that terrible 
 night to be exact, the twenty-ninth day of 
 March, 1953 that Alfred Seebar descended into 
 the mono-rail subway at State and Van Buren 
 streets, and took the train for the North Shore. 
 His destination was the home of the Markhams. 
 
 In spite of his hope that his relations with 
 Dorothy Markham would be renewed after the 
 election, he had neither seen her nor heard from 
 her since that summer night, now many months 
 back, when he had pleaded with her in her 
 father's library. As before the night of that 
 interview, his letters still remained unanswered. 
 He had not quite despaired, however, and it was 
 ever in his mind to see her again, and soon. 
 
 But it was not the hope of a reconciliation that 
 
 prompted him to make a visit this March morn- 
 
 65
 
 66 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 ing. It was a decree of the Supreme Court of 
 the United States, handed down but yesterday, 
 that had impelled him to this sudden resolution 
 and action. 
 
 Though the new Constitution adopted on elec 
 tion day in the previous November was by its 
 own terms to go into immediate effect, even with 
 nearly five months intervening the machinery of 
 the new regime was not, as yet, working at all 
 smoothly. There seemed to be endless confusion 
 and resistance to the new order. The courts had 
 been called upon time and again to pass upon the 
 constitutionality of certain seizures or threatened 
 seizures of property. The judges, elected by 
 direct vote of the people for limited periods, 
 leaned heavily toward governmental claims in 
 their decisions. 
 
 Only the day before, the question of the dis 
 position of houses occupied by their owners had 
 been settled. The new Constitution, through 
 oversight in its framing, had been ambiguous 
 upon this, as upon several other points. The
 
 The Eviction 67 
 
 decree of the Supreme Court had been sweeping 
 and final. All residential property still in the 
 hands of private owners must be vacated at once. 
 The age had gone mad over specialization, con 
 centration, and big-scale production. This had 
 spread even to the mode of living. It was esti 
 mated that families could live at a less cost, and 
 better, if they were housed under as few roofs 
 as possible. Individual dwellings required in 
 dividual heating plants, individual kitchens, in 
 dividual dining-rooms. Concentration in munic 
 ipal apartment houses or hotels would require 
 less labor, besides husbanding the Nation's re 
 sources. Individual family life must largely 
 vanish, but big-scale living, like big-scale produc 
 tion, was the Socialist ideal. 
 
 " There is room, plenty of it," ran the wording 
 of the Supreme Court decision, " in the huge 
 office buildings, empty stores, and hotels, to ac 
 commodate the entire population of the big 
 cities." 
 
 This was indeed practically true, and many of
 
 68 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 the sky-piercers, now necessarily abandoned by 
 business men, had been converted into municipal 
 apartment buildings. Faverall Markham had 
 been one of those most conspicuous in fighting 
 the confiscation of their homes by the state. But 
 the state had won. And now the state had 
 marked him out as among the first to be evicted. 
 Swift and summary action, it was declared, 
 would vindicate the strength and power of the 
 new government. 
 
 As " General Superintendent of Chicago and 
 Adjacent Suburbs," such was the title under 
 which he had been elected, Seebar and his sub 
 ordinates were called upon by the duties of their 
 office to oversee the removal of Mr. Markham 
 and several other conspicuously obstinate 
 thwarters of the government's plans. Seebar 
 feared the harsh measures that might be adopted 
 and dreaded the thought of the brusque treat 
 ment, which, in all probability, would be accorded 
 father and daughter. His presence, he felt, 
 would at least prevent that.
 
 The Eviction 69 
 
 It was some thirty miles that he had to go. 
 In his preoccupied state of mind it seemed but 
 the interval of a minute from the stepping into 
 the elevator that carried him down into the sub 
 way to his arrival at his destination, a little 
 beyond Highland Park. And all the way his 
 mind ran on but one thing that was his hope 
 that the Markhams had submitted to the in 
 evitable and departed, leaving the officials in full 
 charge of the removal. 
 
 He had telephoned ahead, and one of his sub 
 ordinates, Ransome by name, was awaiting him 
 with a motor car. 
 
 "How are things going?" asked Seebar, as 
 he took his seat. 
 
 " Oh, well enough, I guess," Ransome answered 
 indifferently, and then they shot away, and draw 
 ing in a long breath, Seebar grew silent, lacking 
 the courage to ask a more specific question. 
 
 How well he knew the details of that road! 
 How often had he passed over it in the old days! 
 Even then the tenets of the Great Change
 
 yo The Mirage of the Many 
 
 had already begun to fascinate him, the Great 
 Change, which, at that time only a possibility 
 of the future, he had always somehow instinc 
 tively felt to be a menace to Dorothy. 
 
 The road, hard, smooth, gleaming white in 
 the morning sun, followed the shore line of the 
 lake, the waters of which reached in a blue flood, 
 to-day varied here and there with purple and 
 green, and salmon-hued tints, out to a misty 
 horizon. Huge, black-hulled craft, engaged in 
 the commerce of the inland ports, shot over the 
 waves at a high rate of speed. To the west of 
 the drive, but visible through a screen of trees, 
 stood the residences of " Millionaires' Row." 
 
 Presently the car drove around a bend in the 
 road and they had come upon the Markham 
 home. 
 
 Seebar was not quite prepared for the scene 
 that met his eye. He had expected to find a few 
 idle onlookers, gazing curiously from outside the 
 premises, while the work of removing the furni 
 ture and other family effects should go quietly
 
 The Eviction 71 
 
 forward. Perhaps Mr. Markham would be giv 
 ing directions, and possibly Dorothy would be 
 somewhere about. If all seemed well, it had 
 been his intention to pass on; only in the event 
 of apparent need would he stop. 
 
 But as the lawn and buildings broke to view 
 through the trees, Seebar noted no signs of life 
 about the place. Already an air of desolation 
 seemed subtly to emanate from the old mansion. 
 
 He was about to ask Ransome what this meant, 
 but as the chauffeur brought the machine to a 
 stop directly in front of the walk that led up to 
 the veranda, for the first time Seebar had an un 
 obstructed view of the premises, and he under 
 stood for himself. 
 
 With a cry of amazement and indignation he 
 leaped out. 
 
 The grass was strewn with paper and bits of 
 rubbish, the flowers trampled upon, the furniture 
 piled in reckless confusion. Paintings were 
 mingled with kitchen utensils, and the delicate 
 leg of an ivory-carved table, he hastily noted,
 
 72 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 had been jammed through a canvas of immense 
 size. 
 
 He turned an accusing glance upon Ransome, 
 and the latter grew embarrassed beneath the 
 stern gaze. 
 
 "What sort of a pillage is this?" thundered 
 Seebar. " What do you mean by smashing up 
 the furniture in this fashion? Where are your 
 vans? Why aren't these things carted away?" 
 
 The man remained silent. 
 
 Seebar advanced a step. " Answer me," he 
 commanded menacingly. 
 
 " I can't help it," returned Ransome, sullenly. 
 " These movers are government employees. I 
 can't do anything with them. I can't fire them. 
 I guess they've gone over to old Morton's place 
 to take out the stuff there." 
 
 Without further word, Seebar, hot with in 
 dignation, strode up the walk leading to the 
 veranda. At the foot of the steps he paused and 
 surveyed for a moment the house and its sur 
 roundings. It was a fine old structure of marble
 
 The Eviction 73 
 
 and polished granite, for in spite of the fact 
 that even in the case of hotels and private dwell 
 ings, concrete, reinforced with steel, had, even so 
 far back as this, driven out all other kinds of 
 building material, the very wealthy still persisted 
 in using these older materials. The entrance 
 was guarded by massive double doors, brass- 
 studded. 
 
 As he turned his back toward the house for a 
 moment, his eyes ran over the bright-green turf, 
 set with rare shrubs, and over white wandering 
 paths, leading back to the pavement. Over and 
 beyond, the waters of the lake tumbled. 
 
 Starting again to mount the steps, he paused 
 at the thought that perhaps the Markhams were 
 about. Somehow or other, from the moment he 
 had first caught sight of the grounds to-day he 
 had taken it for granted that they had departed. 
 But why had he taken it for granted? If Doro 
 thy and her father were still within If at the 
 door of this sacked and desecrated dwelling he 
 should meet either of them The thought chilled
 
 74 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 him like a fear. To them it would appear a cold, 
 impertinent inquisitivenes, a coarse invasion of 
 the privacy of their grief. 
 
 Still as he looked down upon the littered steps, 
 and back again at the quiet, silent building, it 
 secerned absurd to think its owners should be 
 lingering there. Besides if he did not oversee 
 the removal of these goods, who would? If the 
 exterior of the house were an index to the con 
 dition of the interior, things there also must be 
 in a pathetic state of disorder. 
 
 He halted in indecision, and was about to call 
 Ransome, who was lingering sullenly on the side 
 walk, when the question was unexpectedly 
 answered for him. At that instant the big front 
 door began slowly to open, while he watched, 
 half-eager, half-dismayed. His suspense was but 
 for a moment, and then Faverall Markham ap 
 peared. 
 
 The strong, fine face of the old man was stern 
 and set. His cheeks were thinner than when 
 Seebar had last seen him, and there was an un-
 
 The Eviction 75 
 
 wonted grayish hue to the skin. Otherwise, high 
 hat, frock coat, cane and all, Faverall Markham 
 seemed himself. 
 
 As with firm step and erect carriage he passed 
 Seebar, his gaze was fixed ahead in a tense, 
 meditative stare. Seebar had seen such a look 
 but once before. That was upon the face of a 
 rescued miner who had faced death for three 
 days underground. The old millionaire did not 
 appear to be aware of the young man's presence. 
 Past him, his cane tapping upon veranda floor 
 and steps, down the walk he continued his way, 
 and then Seebar quietly opened the door and 
 slipped in. 
 
 Within, the desolation that met the eye outside 
 was repeated. The floor was stripped of its 
 rugs, the tapestries torn from the walls, one 
 alone remained, half-hanging in its place, now 
 presenting the reversed side of a mounted knight 
 turned topsy-turvey. And through the silence, 
 cutting it like a knife, ticked the great hall clock. 
 
 Seebar had but one purpose in mind: to see
 
 76 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 what there was left to do, and then, after making 
 sure his orders were carried out, to take his 
 departure. 
 
 He hurried toward the library. The door was 
 slightly ajar. Here was the last place he had 
 seen her. Softly, almost reverently, he pushed 
 open the door and looked in. 
 
 The window curtains were partly drawn, leav 
 ing the room in semi-darkness, and the busts and 
 big easy chairs showed indistinct in the partial 
 dusk. The great lines of books, massed shelf 
 above shelf, had no identity as volumes, but 
 shrank back into the walls. 
 
 There was the huge round table, at which he 
 and Mr. Markham had sat for that last time, 
 when the steel manufacturer had practically for 
 bidden the young politician his home. A sturdy, 
 noble piece of furniture it was, hallowed by 
 memories that reached back almost to the begin 
 ning of his love for Dorothy. Its polished sur 
 face was wont to reflect the shaded light, in a 
 soft, illuminating glow that brought out the
 
 The Eviction 77 
 
 curves and color of her cheeks and the brightness 
 of her eyes. 
 
 He took a step forward and then stopped. 
 
 Over near the window, where the light of day 
 sifted through, some one occupied a chair, with 
 forehead resting on the back. It was a woman. 
 And then it came upon Seebar with a rush that 
 the woman must be Dorothy. 
 
 Dorothy! His head spun, and his pulses beat 
 vengefully at his wrists. 
 
 And as he looked he could see the sheen of her 
 hair in the ray of light, as one long exhausting 
 sob shook her body. He longed to throw him 
 self on his knees at her side, to soothe her in his 
 arms, to beg her forgiveness. Thus he stood, 
 hesitating between his doubts and his desires. 
 
 As he stood and watched, suddenly she raised 
 her head, shook out a mass of disheveled hair, 
 and turned her eyes in his direction. Like a 
 thief he shrank back, hiding himself in the gloom 
 of the hall. He paused for a moment, trying to 
 gain courage to re-enter.
 
 78 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 Then as he thought he heard a movement with 
 in, as of a rustling of skirts, his tottering courage 
 crumbled, and he fled to the door and out upon 
 the veranda. 
 
 A buzz of voices greeted his ears, and Seebar 
 knew something untoward was taking place on 
 the sidewalk, against which three big automobile 
 trucks had been backed. The movers, eight or ten 
 in number, had reassembled, and Faverall Mark- 
 ham stood in their midst. Even as Seebar caught 
 the sound and looked, a hush fell, and then a 
 single voice, loud, insolent, taunting, rose: 
 
 " And so you want us to be more careful, eh, 
 Gov'nor? Hell, I can't help it if the piano does 
 belong to your daughter. I've seen lots of pianos 
 dropped and split in my time. ' Careful ! ' The 
 word was repeated with ineffable scorn. " Care 
 ful, he wants me to be careful! Look at him, 
 boys, the ex-millionaire, the man who had me 
 fired from his mills for criminal carelessness, 
 when it was the foreman's fault that the steel 
 exploded. Oh, you needn't frown at me, old
 
 The Eviction 79 
 
 plug hat, I ain't trembling at you. I can say 
 what I damn please and to who I damn please, 
 see?" 
 
 There came a response too low for Seebar to 
 hear. 
 
 "Ah, I'm your good man, am I, and let you 
 pass? Well, maybe I will and maybe I won't. 
 Who are you that wants to get by, eh? I'm just 
 as good a man as you are. Why don't you get 
 out of my way and let me pass? " 
 
 " That's right, Jack, go for him," some one in 
 the crowd encouraged banteringly, and a laugh 
 followed. 
 
 Seebar, glowing with anger, started down the 
 steps toward the group. 
 
 The man addressed as Jack was a big burly 
 fellow, with a nasty ragged scar on his right 
 cheek that ran across the brow, giving a squint 
 ing appearance to his right eye. His hat was 
 pushed back, showing close-cropped hair, and his 
 ears stood out almost straight, large, flabby, 
 and shapeless. Just now his lower jaw was
 
 80 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 thrust forward in an insolent, impudent fashion, 
 that, had it been within arm's length, would 
 strongly have tempted Seebar to send his fist 
 crashing against it. 
 
 Mr. Markham's face, as he attempted to turn 
 aside, showed white and stern, in the midst of 
 the grinning group. The ugly leer was still 
 spread over the man Jack's countenance, and now 
 he thrust his palm, with fingers spread, jeeringly 
 before the eyes of the proud old man. 
 
 Seebar sprang forward. 
 
 But some one with eyes as sharp to see and 
 with sympathies quicker to feel was before him. 
 It was Dorothy. 
 
 Past him she sped, her hair, a chestnut cloud, 
 flying behind her. The men melted from her 
 path, and once at her father's side she threw her 
 arms about his neck and clung there. 
 
 But the brutal Jack, fatuous to a degree, not 
 noticing that the crowd was no longer smiling, 
 ripped out a coarse jest. Instantly a fist shot 
 out, a brown fist that struck with a resounding
 
 The Eviction 81 
 
 crash upon the insolent, protruding jaw, just as 
 Seebar's fist had longed to do, and the man went 
 down in a heap. 
 
 It was just a plain, ordinary young fellow, one 
 of the movers, who had struck the blow; the 
 kind of young fellow whose manhood redeems 
 in part the whole race of men. 
 
 Seebar gripped his hand and thanked him 
 warmly. Then he spoke to Ransome. " Put 
 this man under arrest," he ordered, pointing to 
 the half-senseless and wholly stunned bully. 
 
 He turned from giving his directions to Ran 
 some to meet Dorothy's accusing, tear-filled eyes. 
 " And this this is your Socialism," they seemed 
 to say. 
 
 Then her head dropped once more on her 
 father's breast.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 A PECULIAR WELCOME 
 
 T T 7HEN Seebar at length left the old Mark- 
 ham home he did not return immediately 
 to the city, for a new anxiety gripped his heart. 
 Up to that moment the question of the fate of 
 Dorothy and her father had absorbed all his 
 fears and sympathies. But now, after he had 
 seen the two safely aboard the train that was to 
 bear them to one of the newly improvised hotels 
 in the city, his mind was free for the moment to 
 turn to other things, and it reverted, as it had 
 often done in the past several months, indeed, 
 ever since the receipt of that letter the night of 
 the election, to the future of his Uncle Richard. 
 The country districts, voting almost as a unit 
 against the radicalism of the cities, had not only 
 lost in the elections, but they had also incurred 
 
 the ill-will of the city dwellers. Whatever the 
 
 to
 
 A Peculiar Welcome 83 
 
 merits of the issues may have been, it was, per 
 haps, just as well that the vote resulted as it did. 
 For it is doubtful if the metropolitans, almost in 
 sanely enthusiastic as they were over the Social 
 istic principles that had at last carried the citadels 
 of Capitalism, would have submitted to their 
 plans and hopes being thwarted thus. Civil war 
 might have followed. On the other hand, the 
 farmers had no thought of resisting. They 
 lacked the cohesion that the close-packed city 
 dwellers have always possessed. That little 
 resistance which did appear was as sporadic as 
 it was futile. 
 
 The new regime meant the shifting of families 
 to other lands, and in this redistributing, already 
 there was a mad rush for the soil such as was 
 wont to occur in the closing years of the nine 
 teenth, and the opening years of the twentieth, 
 century when reservations, lands that had been 
 set apart, usually for occupation by Indians, 
 were thrown open to public settlement. For, in 
 spite of the Socialistic principle of " public
 
 84 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 ownership in the instruments of production," 
 many persons evidently believed that land oc 
 cupation amounted very nearly to individual 
 ownership, and individual ownership of land, 
 even in a Socialistic state, was a thing not to be 
 regarded with indifference. That they were mis 
 taken in their understanding as to the methods 
 by which this land was to be occupied and culti 
 vated has nothing to do with the presence of this 
 feeling, this desire for private ownership in a 
 Socialistic state. 
 
 Seebar wondered how his uncle had fared 
 in the midst of all this change. He knew that 
 the work of farm consolidation had been going 
 on for some weeks now. Perhaps the removal 
 had already been ordered; perhaps might even 
 then be taking place. The thought brought him 
 out of his reverie. A word to the chauffeur, and 
 the automobile was turned into a road leading 
 westward. 
 
 It was a little past the noon hour when Seebar's 
 car ascended a long rolling swell in the prairie
 
 A Peculiar Welcome 85 
 
 over which the road now ran in its wanderings 
 through the fertile Illinois countryside. The 
 land, crop-sown, dipped and stretched away in a 
 great sweep of green. White roads led in 
 various directions, winding threads, criss-cross 
 ing each other like the lines of a map. At the 
 farther foot of the rise in the prairie lay the 
 little farm. Across the meadows a bit of creek 
 flashed its way, light-shot by the sun's rays. 
 
 Uncle Richard's house and farm buildings, 
 of white concrete, were conspicuous objects in 
 the black background of barnyard white and 
 black upon a great field of green. 
 
 Down the gentle slope the automobile rolled, 
 and came to a stop in front of the gate. 
 
 A figure was standing there, and in the first 
 glance Seebar recognized Jake, the hired man. 
 He was leaning on the gate, his hands on the 
 pointed palings, chin on knuckles. A wooden 
 pipe, from which at intervals he emitted a little 
 burst of smoke, was loosely held between the lips. 
 His eyes were curious and half-hostile.
 
 86 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 " Hello, Jake, how are you ? " was Seebar's 
 greeting, and he descended from the motor car, 
 stepping carefully across a little patch of water 
 in the road, trace of a recent rain, and reached 
 out his hand. 
 
 The man's lips began to set over the stem of 
 his pipe, and the lines of his open, sun-browned 
 face to grow hard. His eyes ranged coolly over 
 Seebar, and then with a calmness born of peaceful 
 days and well-slept nights, he leisurely removed 
 the pipe from his lips, knocked out the ashes on 
 the gatepost, and, with the words, " No, thank 
 you, you may be the boss's nephew, but I'll be 
 damned if I'll shake hands with a Socialist," 
 turned away deliberately, and calmly shuffled off, 
 leaving Seebar, surprised and a bit mortified, to 
 open the gate for himself. 
 
 He went around to the back door and paused 
 as he was about to knock. He could hear some 
 one within, moving about briskly, singing in a 
 high-keyed, feminine voice. 
 
 He half-smiled. " Martha," he said to him-
 
 A Peculiar Welcome 87 
 
 self, and the old housekeeper's hospitable, earnest 
 face, looking just as it was wont to do when she 
 was urging upon him another quarter of one of 
 her mince pies, came before him. 
 
 The sun shone warmly on the doorstep, and a 
 sleek black cat came and arched its back against 
 his legs, blinking at him with sleepy yellow eyes, 
 and purring enthusiastically. 
 
 This last Seebar took as an auspicious sign. 
 
 " Of course she'll be glad to see me," he em 
 boldened himself by saying. 
 
 From inside came the swish of water and the 
 rattle of dishes. Still the high-pitched song went 
 on. 
 
 He knocked; the singing stopped. Then came 
 a final swish. A moment's silence followed, and 
 all at once Seebar was looking up into Martha's 
 eyes. The smile of greeting half-formed froze 
 on the round, plump face. For a moment she 
 stared her astonishment. 
 
 " Well, of all the impudent " she began, 
 
 and then, apparently fully recovering herself,
 
 88 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 abruptly banged shut the door. Very distinctly 
 the key clicked in the lock. 
 
 " This beats me," muttered Seebar. He was 
 no longer amused, as he had been by Jake's atti 
 tude. He felt hurt. " What kind of a brigand 
 do they take me for, anyway? I hope Uncle 
 Dick " 
 
 But some one was rushing toward him with 
 outstretched arms, a look of eager, unfeigned 
 welcome on his face. " Why, Alfred, my boy," 
 exclaimed Uncle Richard, grasping both of See- 
 bar's hands in his, in a hearty grip, " how are 
 you? How does it seem to be a big man?" 
 
 " Well, I have my doubts as to whether I am 
 a big man. That depends somewhat on the point 
 of view. Now Jake there," and Seebar pointed 
 to where the hired man stood, loitering uncom 
 promisingly, in the shadow of the barns, " thinks 
 I'm wholly unworthy of his friendship, and as 
 for Martha, she seems to fear me as much as if 
 I were one of the tramps of the old days we read 
 about."
 
 A Peculiar Welcome 89 
 
 " I'm sorry, Alfred, my boy, sorry that you've 
 been treated like this, I am indeed." Mr. Tomp- 
 kins' gentle old face kindled with sympathy. 
 " But you mustn't mind it, my boy. They'll 
 come 'round all right. They're just a bit 
 prejudiced against the Socialists, because, well, 
 you see, the government has requested me to give 
 up my little place. We're going to have a general 
 home for a dozen families 'round here, a sort 
 of farmer's hotel, or country resort, you see. No 
 more loneliness on long winter evenings always 
 company, always cheerfulness and happiness. It 
 will sort of break the monotony of our lives." 
 
 Though his uncle spoke in a cheery, bantering 
 tone, Seebar caught the note of keen regret at 
 leaving the old place, and his heart went out to 
 him. But what could he say by way of comfort ? 
 Nothing! A leader of the movement which, as 
 one of its incidental consequences, deprived the 
 old man of his home, Seebar felt that any words 
 of sympathy were as the tears of the crocodile. 
 
 They were following a winding path out past
 
 9o The Mirage of the Many 
 
 plum trees in full, strong-scented bloom. As 
 Seebar stepped behind his uncle, he observed the 
 old man's broad back, somewhat bent, the slight 
 shuffle in his gait, the wrinkles of age creasing 
 his neck, browned by sun and wind, the little tuft 
 of hair on his bared gray head, fluttering in the 
 breeze in an oddly whimsical curl, and his sense 
 of regret became doubly poignant. 
 
 For Seebar was a sentimentalist and idealist, a 
 dreamer, full of quick sympathies, and yet a prac 
 tical dreamer. He was capable of putting his 
 dreams into execution, as his nomination and 
 election proved; likewise he was capable of sub 
 ordinating personal feelings to his dreams, as 
 when he broke off relations with Dorothy Mark- 
 ham. And now, while he reflected how his uncle 
 had paid for his education, and had done a thou 
 sand and one other kindnesses, not all material 
 kindnesses either, his conscience was perfectly at 
 ease. He felt the quick sympathy of the surgeon 
 for the suffering he was inflicting, but felt that 
 it was for the good of the body, the public
 
 A Peculiar Welcome 91 
 
 body. Accordingly, while his heart bled for his 
 Uncle Dick, he did not regret even so much as for 
 a single instant the success of the grand scheme 
 itself. 
 
 It seemed a pity, though, that the plan should 
 work such hardship in individual cases, and he 
 wondered if the drastic steps that were being 
 taken in reapportioning the farm lands were at 
 all necessary. It all smacked somewhat of re 
 taliation for the well-nigh complete Anti-Social 
 istic vote the rural districts had cast. 
 
 " I'm going to show you my chickens," said 
 Uncle Richard, stopping and facing about. " I've 
 had unusually good luck this year, and I'm 
 mighty glad of it, too. It won't do me any good 
 financially, but it makes a fellow feel sort of 
 pleasant to know that even the chickens seem to 
 appreciate it's their last chance to make a show 
 ing. Then, if the signs are right, we're going to 
 have a mighty big crop of fruit this year just 
 see those blossoms, just smell them! It's shady 
 here with them, and the leaves are only just be-
 
 92 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 ginning to shoot. And listen to how the bees are 
 humming. They're just drunk with the richness 
 of it. If Maria had only lived to see this, but 
 then, if she had lived, she'd have hated to leave 
 it all." 
 
 Somehow Seebar felt a tightness about the 
 throat. " When do you expect when are you 
 going to move?" he asked. 
 
 " Not till fall, at the very earliest, perhaps not 
 till next spring. As I understand it, they are find 
 ing it rather hard to make things operate." 
 
 They were at the poultry yard now, and Uncle 
 Dick had thrown open the gate to admit Seebar. 
 The place was full of clucking hens, each with 
 her little brood of black or yellow chicks, that 
 skurried and hung about her like a swarm of 
 merchant vessels about their convoy. 
 
 " Three hundred and fifty of them," said Uncle 
 Dick, proudly, " and I don't use incubators. I'm 
 a quarter of a century behind the times in this 
 respect; at any rate, so my neighbors tell me, but 
 the results are quite satisfactory."
 
 A Peculiar Welcome 93 
 
 Over his broad-brimmed spectacles he smiled 
 upon Seebar, all aglow with a simple pride. 
 
 " Three hundred and fifty of them," he re 
 peated; "yes, it's going to be a great year a 
 year of plenty." 
 
 Certainly the new order of things would take 
 much of the simple sweetness out of life. The 
 quiet country home soon would be a thing of 
 the past. In its place was to come a huge estate 
 to which were to be applied the principles of com 
 mercial big-scale production. The farmer was 
 no longer to be an independent man, planting and 
 reaping for himself in the old way, but was to 
 become a hireling, his individuality merged 
 largely into the interests of a group. 
 
 " The great economic changes have always 
 wrought temporary hardship," reflected Seebar. 
 " The English industrial revolution bringing in 
 the factory system, in the early years of the 
 nineteenth century, that threw multitudes out of 
 employment, the trust organizations of the nine 
 teenth and twentieth centuries, that crushed out
 
 94 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 the small competitor these, so terrible during 
 the transition period, ultimately proved bless- 
 ings." 
 
 And so he consoled himself with a mathe 
 matical proposition that the whole is greater than 
 any of its parts, and applied this to the welfare 
 of society as against the welfare of the individual. 
 
 Uncle Dick was now leading him back to the 
 house. " The one thing I don't feel quite right 
 about," he was saying, " is that they are going 
 to remove this house. It's a small affair, and 
 doesn't fit in with present economic plans. Now 
 that's all very well, but don't you think we Social 
 ists are getting a bit too materialistic ? Isn't there 
 something more in life than sweeping aside every 
 thing for material progress ? " 
 
 And then seeing the look of positive pain in 
 Seebar's eyes, he added, clapping his nephew on 
 the shoulder, " Well, never mind, my boy, you're 
 not to blame, so don't take it to heart. Come, 
 let's make friends now with Martha and Jake." 
 
 Already Martha had abandoned her attitude of
 
 A Peculiar Welcome 95 
 
 defiance; there was a softened light in her eye 
 as she turned her gaze upon the pair for an in 
 stant, and then quietly resumed her household 
 duties, interrupted for the moment by their en 
 trance. 
 
 " Martha, aren't you going to speak to Al 
 fred?" Uncle Dick inquired in solicitous tones. 
 There was a faint gleam of humor in his eye, 
 however, as he put the question. Evidently he 
 was thoroughly familiar with Martha's ways. 
 
 She did not appear to hear him. 
 
 "A little deaf at times, Alfred," said Uncle 
 Dick; "a little absent-minded, too. Sometimes 
 I'm afraid she's losing her memory. She's been 
 with me two years now, and when she came she 
 was that lively and chipper ! But she's aging fast, 
 now; yes, she's aging fast. It's such a pity, too." . 
 
 Martha raised the lids of her eyes just long 
 enough to shoot an indignant look at Uncle Dick. 
 
 He seemed unconscious of this. 
 
 " So you mustn't mind it, Alfred," he went on 
 smoothly, " if she seems to act queer. Memory
 
 96 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 for faces gone, you know just a wee bit scared 
 of strangers too, apparently." 
 
 Martha gave him another look, a look in which 
 fire danced. 
 
 Uncle Dick lowered his voice. " Not so deaf 
 as I thought, I guess. Might have heard that 
 last, don't you think? She's mighty sensitive 
 about her infirmities." 
 
 But Martha could stand no more. " Ain't you 
 ashamed of yourself, Mr. Richard Tompkins, talk 
 ing about me like that and me only thirty-eight 
 years old, and been a widow these three years, 
 going on four now, with little Josie there, ain't 
 you ashamed of yourself? " 
 
 Uncle Dick completely ignored the outburst. 
 He seemed absolutely unruffled. 
 
 " Of course, Martha, you remember Alfred," 
 he answered. " Says he didn't get that last batch 
 of mince pies we promised to send him. It's such 
 a pity, too, because you know how fond Alfred 
 has always been of your mince pies." 
 
 To Seebar's amused eyes it was evident from
 
 A Peculiar Welcome 97 
 
 Martha's hesitating, indecisive attitude that this 
 subtle flattery mingled with the undercurrent of 
 appeal had touched her; and that, moreover, she 
 was already ashamed of her outburst. 
 
 But she was not quite ready to " make up." 
 
 It remained for Josie, Martha's five-year-old 
 girl, to re-cement the broken bonds of friendship. 
 Coming dashing into the kitchen, round-eyed, her 
 head a mass of dark tangled curls, suddenly she 
 paused and then began to draw back, somewhat 
 fearfully, her finger in her mouth, with a look 
 of mingled wonder and dismay. 
 
 " Oh, he's a Soc'awist ! Jake says he is." And 
 then, having regained the door, she turned and fled. 
 
 Seebar laughed, while Uncle Dick burst into a 
 hearty roar. 
 
 Martha's eyes were alight with motherly love 
 
 and pride. " Now isn't she the cutest " she 
 
 began. 
 
 But a huge guffaw just outside the kitchen door 
 smothered all other sounds. And there stood 
 Jake, shaking all over with mirth.
 
 98 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 " Oh, you rascal, you rascal," exclaimed Uncle 
 Richard, " to put Josie up to such tricks. Come 
 forward now like a man and shake hands with 
 Alfred. He hasn't changed a bit, Jake, just the 
 same boy he always was to me. And you'll find 
 him the same, too." 
 
 Jake shuffled in, a trifle clumsily, but Seebar 
 could see that this was due to embarrassment 
 rather than to any ill-will toward himself. 
 
 An awkward pause was broken by Martha 
 saying timidly, " Alfred, I've got some mince 
 pies if you're a bit hungry." 
 
 She waited anxiously. 
 
 " Why, surely, Martha, thank you," Seebar 
 responded heartily. " And come to think of it I 
 haven't had anything to eat since early this morn 
 ing. But let's find little Josie, and make friends 
 with her once more, too." 
 
 It was a pleasant afternoon that Seebar spent 
 on his uncle's farm indeed for many a week 
 afterward whenever he reflected upon that after 
 noon it was with a sigh.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 THE MARKHAMS COME TO TOWN 
 
 TN spite of the defiant attitude that Dorothy 
 Markham had assumed toward Seebar, it 
 was with a pang of utter isolation and loneliness 
 that she saw his broad shoulders swing from 
 sight behind the pillars of the subway station 
 where he had left her and her father after con 
 ducting them thither. She felt that, regardless of 
 the part he had played in helping to bring about 
 the fatal new era, still he was the one connecting 
 link with the past. Seebar had offered to ac 
 company them to the city to see them safely 
 settled in the quarters assigned them, and Doro 
 thy already regretted she had not accepted this 
 offer. Yet she felt no gratitude toward him for 
 his assistance. Indeed, as she turned to her 
 father sitting so unwontedly silent and subdued, 
 she felt very certain that she hated Seebar. 
 
 99
 
 ioo The Mirage of the Many 
 
 The wheels of the car began to slip and turn 
 on the single rail, and as the speed increased, 
 they presently broke forth into a rich, vibrant, 
 penetrating purr. In the ride's brief duration, a 
 multitude of thoughts had time to crowd through 
 Dorothy's brain, and Seebar formed the nucleus 
 of them all. She remembered only too well the 
 first time she had met him. Her father had in 
 troduced him as a practising lawyer, the son of 
 his old friend, Henry Seebar, the financier. Aris 
 ing from his chair he had loomed up tall, of good 
 figure, with clear, earnest eyes. His was a com 
 pelling personality, and Dorothy had been drawn 
 to him as she had never before been drawn to 
 any man. His political doctrines had both in 
 terested and amused her. This, following the 
 suggestion of her father, she had believed to be 
 the one insincere note in the man. Why, she had 
 no particular reason for saying, except as she 
 had once naively admitted, it was incredible that 
 a man of his birth and position should be a So 
 cialist. If, however, she had asked herself why
 
 The Markhams Come to Town 101 
 
 this was incredible she could not have answered. 
 Many men of birth and wealth were in the ranks 
 of the Socialists. 
 
 He had, too, the dramatic instinct of the public 
 speaker. By Dorothy and her father, Seebar's 
 espousal of Socialism had been regarded merely 
 as a pose. His speech in the Convention and 
 subsequent nomination had come as a thunder 
 clap to both. It was this underlying sense of the 
 dramatic his egotism and vanity, Faverall 
 Markham called it, that Dorothy believed had 
 carried Seebar beyond his purpose. If he really 
 loved her, she reasoned, how could it be possible 
 that he would follow a course that must inevitably 
 wound and crush her ? She decided that he had 
 temporarily lost his head and that his ambitious 
 vanity would not permit him to recant. She too 
 had had her ambition, her ambition to be an 
 artist, and yet how cheerfully, even how gladly, 
 had she looked forward to abandoning a career 
 for the man she loved ! Looking back over it all, 
 she thought it strangely unreal that the Seebar
 
 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 she had known, despite his ambition, could have 
 acted as he had. 
 
 But dislike, hate him, as she believed she did, 
 still, as the train began to slow down, once more 
 she wished that she had not so summarily dis 
 missed him. She shrank from applying for the 
 quarters assigned them in the municipal apart 
 ment building, the Pelion. 
 
 Their station was just north of the Chicago 
 River, and to Dorothy's thinking they arrived 
 too soon. Presently they had stepped into one 
 of the many elevators that served the purpose of 
 conveying passengers to and from the mono-rail 
 subway, and were on the street level, in the station 
 building. 
 
 From the open side of the structure, facing 
 toward the river on the south, they could see the 
 same city, the city of uproar and seeming con 
 fusion. For the moment, sequestered as she had 
 been this many a day, Dorothy felt a leaping of 
 the heart at the stir of life about her. Then 
 again came the depression a feeling mingled
 
 The Markhams Come to Town 103 
 
 almost with terror, at the thought of becoming a 
 part of this life. 
 
 And still it was not the same city. There was a 
 leisure in the bearing of those who passed that 
 was perplexing. The tumult and hum that had 
 made Chicago famous for three-quarters of a 
 century as the city of incontinent speed had not 
 vanished. But the people themselves no longer 
 made haste. The absence of the stimulus of 
 competition had begun to show its effects in the 
 slowing up in speed. But it was the same old 
 throng, after all, the same faces of hope and 
 contentment, of care and anxiety. 
 
 Mr. Markham stood silent. The life streaming 
 before him apparently evoked in him but little 
 interest. Dorothy, timidly clutching his coat 
 sleeve, was becoming alarmed. Her father 
 seemed dazed, stunned by all that had happened. 
 Occasionally she addressed him, but his vague re 
 plies showed how heedless he was of her words. 
 She had always been sheltered, always protected 
 from the realities of life as only the wealthy, in-
 
 IO4 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 dulgent American fathers had known how to 
 weaken and spoil their daughters. And now her 
 father, who had always stood between her and 
 fact, had himself that morning suddenly become 
 as a child. He was not dejected, apparently. It 
 was a strange abstraction that seemed to have left 
 him helpless, like a lost bird in a hostile region. 
 And in the midst of her troubles and perplexities 
 Dorothy felt a pang of heart-ache, almost of ter 
 ror even, at the thought that perhaps her father's 
 spirit was already crushed. 
 
 For ten minutes perhaps did they thus remain. 
 Then Dorothy turned to one of the government 
 railway employees standing near, and timidly en 
 quired concerning an electric cab. 
 
 "Cab?" he repeated. "Oh, my dear young 
 lady, they're things of the past. It's either walk, 
 or take an overhead, or the local subway." 
 
 There was an easy familiarity in the man's 
 bearing that caused Dorothy to shrink back. In 
 the past, her quiet, well-bred manner had in 
 variably elicited deference. She could not bring
 
 The Markhams Come to Town 105 
 
 herself, as yet, to a realization of what their 
 new status with relation to society really meant. 
 
 On the edge of the sidewalk they halted, 
 Dorothy clinging closer still to her father. She 
 was afraid now to ask any one for directions. 
 Vaguely she remembered Seebar's saying that 
 the Pelion was in the old " Loop District." 
 That was immediately south of the river, in area 
 about a square mile. Once more how she did long 
 for Seebar! 
 
 People slowly eddied about them in a leisurely 
 holiday fashion, and still she feared to trust her 
 self in the slow-flowing current. 
 
 Then, almost before she knew it, they had 
 stepped from the friendly shelter of the station, 
 and they were walking toward one of the many 
 bridges that spanned the North Branch of the 
 Chicago River. 
 
 With a score of subways connecting, under 
 neath this river, the north and middle sections of 
 the city, Chicago was still obliged to employ the 
 old time bascule or " jack-knife " bridges in order
 
 106 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 to accommodate the enormous press of traffic that 
 found itself crowded out of the jammed subways 
 and overhead roads bridges that split in two 
 in the middle and heaved up to allow the huge 
 turbine-driven boats to find egress to the Great 
 Lakes, then down the Great Canal and Mississippi 
 River to New Orleans and the Gulf, outward 
 bound for the ports of the world. The pair were 
 obliged to stop for a few minutes while an enor 
 mous craft slowly and silently nosed her way 
 through, leaving behind a great swish of waves 
 that beat sullenly against the concrete-built 
 banks. Then the heavy floors of the bridge, low 
 ered into place, rattled together, and once more 
 traffic, still in the same bewilderingly easy-going 
 fashion, resumed its interrupted flow across, and 
 Dorothy and her father were slowly wafted with 
 the current. 
 
 It was a curious thing on passing shop after 
 shop to see them empty. Moreover, the pave 
 ments did not present their accustomed sight of 
 activity. The pleasure and delivery automobiles
 
 The Markhams Come to Town 107 
 
 were gone. Only motor trucks laden with build 
 ing material passed along. 
 
 As they entered into what had been the 
 heart of the business district, the way became 
 almost blocked with the piles of steel beams and 
 concrete material. The windows of the great 
 buildings swarmed with workmen. It was all 
 strange, puzzling, bewildering. 
 
 But where was the Pelion; in which street of 
 the many streets in that square mile; which of 
 the many buildings in that street? Then at a 
 street crossing, the two ran square into a tall 
 red-coated policeman. This was their salvation. 
 The officer's white-gloved fingers pointed out the 
 building they sought. The Pelion was close at 
 hand, but a square and a half away.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 AT THE PELION 
 
 /~\ N the morning of the particular spring day 
 on which these events were occurring, 
 Henry Bornheim lounged in one of the big public 
 waiting rooms of the Municipal Administration 
 Building. He had gone late to bed the night 
 before, as was his custom, and, as was his cus 
 tom also, he had breakfasted late, at the Pelion, 
 where he had his quarters. 
 
 An easy-going man was Henry Bornheim, a 
 firm believer in the luxuries, pleasures, and ir 
 responsibilities of life. In the campaign he had 
 worked hard, as politicians count work. Now he 
 was enjoying the fruits of his industry. He was 
 a handsome man, polished, as well read in life as 
 in literature, of considerable adaptability in his 
 intercourse with persons. 
 
 This morning he sat leisurely perusing a copy 
 108
 
 At the Pelion 109 
 
 of the government newspaper till such time as 
 he chose to repair to his office upstairs. 
 
 In the corner a telegraph instrument was click 
 ing briskly, and the clerk had sent a boy upstairs 
 with a message from over the wire. Presently 
 the boy returned. 
 
 " Mr. Lessing's not there," he announced. 
 
 Bornheim looked up. " What is it a telegram 
 for Lessing?" he asked. "I'll receive it for 
 him," and he reached out his hand. 
 
 He read the yellow slip of paper once hastily 
 and carefully a second time. 
 
 Meet Markham and daughter at North State 
 Subway Station at once. Conduct them to 
 
 Pelion. 
 
 SEEBAR. 
 
 " Humph," muttered Bornheim. " Seebar's 
 acting the Providential, and looking after the 
 fallen sparrows, is he? Lessing not being here 
 I might as well act the guardian angel myself." 
 
 Then he once more inspected the telegram.
 
 no The Mirage of the Many 
 
 " Dated nearly an hour ago. I guess I'll just 
 walk over to the Pelion." 
 
 And so it happened that, owing to their long 
 delay in the station, a moment after Dorothy and 
 her father had entered the Pelion, Bornheim 
 also had stepped in under the arched fagade of 
 the building. 
 
 Women were idling about on the easy chairs 
 and rockers that strewed the long hall and the 
 adjacent rooms that opened upon it, and children 
 played about everywhere. 
 
 As Bornheim's eye wandered over the scene 
 before him his attention was drawn to an elderly 
 man in company with a young woman of some 
 twenty-four or -five, who was engaged in earnest 
 conversation with one of the housekeepers, as 
 the male heads of the establishment were called. 
 He recognized the elderly man as Faverall Mark- 
 ham, and surmised that his companion must be 
 his daughter. 
 
 " I am sorry," Bornheim could hear the house 
 keeper say, as he drew nearer, " but if you
 
 At the Pelion in 
 
 haven't your ticket to present, I can't assign you 
 to your quarters." 
 
 " But but " and Dorothy turned about as 
 if for aid somewhere in that dawdling as 
 semblage. 
 
 " If this is Miss Markham perhaps I can help 
 you," began Bornheim. His eyes rested on her 
 erect, supple, yet somewhat full, figure. 
 
 " Yes," said Dorothy doubtfully, " yes." 
 
 " Well," continued Bornheim, " I have here a 
 telegram from Mr. Seebar, directing me to see 
 you safely established in the Pelion." And he 
 turned and whispered a few words to the house 
 keeper. 
 
 " It's all right, I guess, Miss Markham," said 
 that functionary; "we're giving you a pretty 
 good place on the third floor," and turning to a 
 safe behind him he threw it open and from a 
 great row of shining keys that dangled, jingling 
 tunefully as he tapped the row, he selected one 
 and passed it over the counter to Dorothy. 
 
 She drew a heavy sigh of relief. " May I
 
 iia The Mirage of the Many 
 
 not know whom I have to thank ? " she said. " It 
 has all been so terrible, this being driven from 
 one's home, and the insolence of the people. And 
 my father seems so different, and indeed every 
 thing is so different " 
 
 It was with difficulty she was keeping back 
 her tears. 
 
 When they stepped out of the elevator on the 
 third floor, and Bornheim had unlocked the door 
 to the apartments of father and daughter, it was 
 natural enough that Dorothy, in her isolation and 
 fear and gratitude, should ask Bornheim to stay 
 a moment. 
 
 The apartment that had been assigned them 
 was quite pleasant. There were four rooms in 
 all, and two of these looked out upon the street. 
 Bornheim told them there were a thousand 
 families in the building. 
 
 " The Pelion is really a great hotel ! " he 
 explained, inwardly admiring the girl's rich 
 beauty as he talked. " The cooking for all is 
 done in the kitchen, and one may have meals
 
 At the Pelion 113 
 
 served either in his own apartments or in the 
 common dining halls. Most people prefer the lat 
 ter. The government takes its pay for rent, cook 
 ing, food, laundry, services, etc., from the pay of 
 each head of a family." 
 
 " But all the shops seem to be closed. What 
 do people do for a living? " asked Dorothy. 
 
 Bornheim laughed, while heedful of the dark 
 blue of her eyes which in her earnestness took on 
 a violet tinge. " Why, we have shut down all 
 the small places. All retail selling is done on 
 the department store plan. The senseless com 
 petition of a multitude of small shops was a 
 crime, as, in fact, is all competition. Co-opera 
 tion and consolidation are the watchwords. 
 Think how men wasted their energies in useless 
 labor under the old regime. Why, we've got rid 
 of an army of traveling salesmen, clerks in shops, 
 advertisement writers, bill-board posters, office 
 forces, credit men, commercial buyers, cashiers, 
 drivers of delivery wagons, bankers, real estate 
 agents, stock exchange and board of trade men,
 
 U4 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 some doctors, all ministers, stenographers, ship 
 ping clerks, mail order houses, chauffeurs, well, 
 that's just a few, but it will give you an idea. 
 Now these men are turning their energies to 
 something really productive. We've an enormous 
 army of men at work turning the big office 
 buildings to their new uses. Every one is busy. 
 There is scarcely an idle man in Chicago to-day." 
 
 Dorothy recalled the unwonted building 
 activity that had puzzled her, and began to under 
 stand what it all meant. 
 
 " And and father," her voice lowered, as she 
 cast a glance toward the old man gazing abstract 
 edly out of the window, at which he was seated : 
 " will he have to go to work? " 
 
 Bornheim shifted uneasily in his chair. The 
 question was fired straight at him. Behind it 
 were leveled a pair of serious, truth-compelling 
 eyes. 
 
 " Miss Markham, I will be frank with you," 
 said he, with no attempt at evasion. " Under 
 the present system all men are expected to work.
 
 At the Pelion 115 
 
 Labor, even with the hands, is considered more 
 honorable than the idleness of the wealthy in the 
 old days. Personal worth, reputation, is to take 
 the place of money." 
 
 If Seebar had been there to hear these words 
 he would have smiled smiled derisively at Born- 
 heim, the skeptical materialist, talking in this vein. 
 
 But Dorothy, as women often are, was in 
 sistently practical. " Yes, but what can father 
 do? " she questioned. 
 
 " Yes, what can I do ? " And Faverall Mark- 
 ham had turned, from gazing out of the window, 
 in his old firm, aggressive way upon Bornheim. 
 
 Steeled as he had been for the adverse verdict 
 of the courts, the decree of expulsion, neverthe 
 less, had come as a severe blow. And then the 
 eviction itself following hard upon this judicial 
 decision had for the time being left him adrift 
 and bewildered. His business gone, his home 
 gone, a new and strange economic and political 
 system suddenly forced upon him, in which none 
 of his past experiences or achievements availed
 
 ii6 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 him aught all this left him as helpless as a 
 pauper in an alien land. The power to direct 
 men taken from him, his place in society now of 
 no more significance than that of the veriest 
 laborer, he temporarily crouched like a lion de 
 prived of his teeth and claws. 
 
 The readjustment was easier for Dorothy than 
 for her father. She was young, she was a 
 woman, unfamiliar with the intricacies of com 
 mercialism. She was indeed bewildered, but not 
 in the harsh, cruel way that the Great Change 
 bewildered her father. 
 
 This last hour and a half he had been reviewing 
 the situation. Time and again in the past he 
 had faced great crises in the business world. 
 Often these crises were of a character that had 
 never before confronted him. Still they were 
 only variations of the game the great game of 
 business. They were like new combinations in 
 chess, but with shrewd calculation could be suc 
 cessfully met by applying the knowledge of the 
 game learned in the past. But here the conditions
 
 At the Pelion 117 
 
 were different, the game itself absolutely new. 
 He could see no solution of the problem. His 
 mind was driven back upon itself, baffled. 
 
 And now as the old man felt himself helpless 
 and at bay, it was with a fierceness that was dis 
 concerting that he turned upon Bornheim, with 
 the question, " What can I do? " 
 
 Bornheim was silent. 
 
 "What can I do?" the old man repeated. 
 " What can any man do at fifty-nine?" 
 
 " All men of sixty-five are to be pensioned/' 
 Bornheim replied; "perhaps sooner," he added, 
 rather lamely. 
 
 " And until I can become a state pauper what 
 am I to do? Dig ditches, clean manholes? 
 What?" 
 
 " I should think your knowledge of the steel 
 industry would stand you in good stead." 
 
 " Knowledge of markets, knowledge of organi 
 zations, of the industry count for nothing, now, 
 no, not the snap of a finger. And I understand," 
 he went on, " that your superintendents and fore-
 
 n8 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 men are elected by the workmen of a plant from 
 among themselves. I must go to work as a com 
 mon laborer or a mere clerk. I built up the 
 Western Steel Company. I was a laborer to 
 begin with. I know what it is to swing pots of 
 molten steel. I discovered new methods in the 
 furnace processes. That was my start. It has 
 been the task of a life-time to build up this busi 
 ness. We have had a tremendous output, and a 
 magnificent foreign trade, and all without wrong 
 ing a single man. We did not crush competitors; 
 we did not cheat inventors. There were a score 
 of men in our mills on the Calumet River who 
 had risen to be stockholders and who were 
 drawing royalties on their patents in use by us. 
 
 " And now you beat the whole system down 
 in a minute. And why? You have had a six- 
 hour day. Socialism can promise no better day, 
 can it? There has been no misery or want, has 
 there? Few accidents occur anywhere to-day in 
 the industrial field. Widows and orphans don't 
 suffer. Where the companies showed the slightest
 
 At the Pelion 119 
 
 reluctance to meet their just demands, the courts 
 promptly stepped in. I know that this was not 
 the case thirty, even twenty, years ago. Then the 
 workingman was too often at the mercy of legal 
 quibbles and technicalities. But common sense 
 has prevailed in our courts. Man has at last had 
 justice, has had it for the last quarter of a cen 
 tury. 
 
 "What do men want with this Socialism? 
 What does it offer them they haven't had before? 
 But " and Mr. Markham's voice lowered 
 " the thing has been done. Protest is useless. 
 And yet your leaders already are growing too 
 bold. They will overreach themselves. The 
 stopping of the private press was an act of re 
 pression, not an act of liberty. It was the first 
 step toward absolutism. Now this government 
 of yours publishes its own official sheet. The 
 people have no knowledge of what is really going 
 on, or how the new plan is succeeding. They 
 may not be able to tell even in their own special 
 field of employment. And with a worse than
 
 I2O The Mirage of the Many 
 
 muzzled press, dissatisfaction and discontent are, 
 on the surface at least, absolutely quelled. It has 
 no mode of finding expression. When it does 
 burst it will be as a volcano. 
 
 " Moreover, it's an absurd form of the grossest 
 materialism that you have instituted. You pro 
 fess to have provided for the finer forms of work, 
 yet authorship will become nil, and so will art. 
 It is true you are talking about appointing com 
 missions to select the best writers of the day, and 
 a limited number of young men and women who 
 show promise, to be kept at the expense of the 
 state. But how are those who have not been so 
 fortunate, writing in their leisure moments after 
 their day's work for the state is done, to find an 
 audience? There are no publishers. Literature 
 and art will die. Fame, you say, will be a stimu 
 lus to produce the very best work. Do you think 
 that fame is a sufficient stimulus for the artists 
 and writers of the day? You say you hope to 
 make it a sufficient stimulus. But can you? 
 
 " Your whole experiment is premature. You
 
 At the Pelion 121 
 
 have attempted to introduce Socialism by revolu 
 tion and not by evolution, by political methods, 
 and not by the law of natural growth. Economics 
 is not a matter of theoretical formula but of 
 everyday fact." 
 
 As Mr. Markham talked, a look of relief crept 
 into Dorothy's eyes. It was evident that his 
 spirit was not broken, after all, by the great 
 calamity that had befallen them. She knew him 
 so thoroughly as to understand that he was 
 already learning to adapt himself to the new con 
 dition, despite his vigorous protest. 
 
 Bornheim, too, seemed relieved at the turn the 
 conversation had taken. It was much pleasanter 
 to hear the Socialistic system arraigned than to 
 discuss Mr. Markham's position under it. 
 
 His relief was intensified by the sound of clear- 
 ringing electric bells. 
 
 " Lunch time," he explained. " When you 
 are ready to go down, may I escort you to the 
 dining room ? " 
 
 " You said meals might be served in one's
 
 122 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 rooms " Dorothy began. But Mr. Markham 
 
 broke in upon her words. 
 
 " We shall ask no favors," he said vehemently. 
 " We may as well accustom ourselves, first as last, 
 to things as they are. Why wait till evening, or 
 to-morrow, or the next day?" 
 
 Yes, it was better, perhaps, that they should 
 begin their new life at once, Dorothy agreed, 
 though she still felt dazed and humiliated after 
 the events of the morning. The immediate execu 
 tion of the court's judgment had left no time for 
 mental preparation. Had the severing of all ties 
 with her past life come gradually, the ordeal 
 might not perhaps have been so trying. Though 
 it might be best to do as her father willed, she 
 shrank from what lay before her. 
 
 Resignedly she began to make her few simple 
 preparations much simpler than they had been 
 a short time back when a maid attended upon all 
 her wants. Presently she was ready, and the 
 three descended together. 
 
 Dorothy had once spent an afternoon at one of
 
 At the Pelion 123 
 
 those summer resorts frequented chiefly by 
 transients, and the scene in the dining room ap 
 peared to her much like what she had witnessed 
 on that occasion. A stampede seemed to have 
 occurred. The place was in an uproar. Women 
 were dragging children, scolding, and calling to 
 them in high-pitched, querulous tones, and they 
 were sweeping down in confused groups, con 
 fiscating table after table. There was a banging 
 of chairs and an incessant clatter of tongues that 
 was bewildering. 
 
 Bornheim, however, did not seem at all to mind 
 the uproar, and clinging to him, in some be 
 wilderment, father and daughter were safely 
 piloted through the press and seated at a table 
 halfway down the dining hall, which seemed for 
 all the world, in that place, like a little island in 
 a seething sea. 
 
 Dorothy found herself seated between a rather 
 young and sprightly woman on her left, and a 
 heavy- jowled, coarse- featured man, of perhaps 
 thirty-five. Bornheim was seated immediately to
 
 124 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 the right of this individual, while Mr. Markham 
 had a position still farther down the board, for 
 by the time the three arrived at the table no two 
 adjoining seats were vacant. There were, in all, 
 ten persons at the table. 
 
 And then Dorothy was suddenly conscious that 
 Mr. Bornheim was introducing herself and father 
 to the others. 
 
 " Oh," said the sprightly young woman, in a 
 sufficiently impressed tone, " your father's the big 
 steel manufacturer." 
 
 Dorothy frowned. Why hadn't the creature 
 the decency to let her alone; to let them take 
 their places in the new social order quietly and 
 without notice, instead of dragging their mis 
 fortune into the light of vulgar curiosity and com 
 passion? Yet she must answer. She already 
 understood their new situation well enough to 
 recognize that to show resentment would avail 
 matters not at all. Resentment, or show of 
 delicacy, here would be wholly misunderstood. 
 She must answer.
 
 At the Pelion 125 
 
 " Was, you mean, don't you ? " said Dorothy 
 good-naturedly. 
 
 " Oh, of course," replied the sprightly one. 
 Her name was Twesdem. " Really, I don't see 
 how you can submit to so great a change. I'm 
 an aristocrat at heart myself, really, I am. The 
 people here, you know, are so common. Why, 
 they're just jammed together, ex-millionaires, and 
 politicians, and factory girls, yes, and laboring 
 men; think of that! My husband is in public 
 office, but I don't like things at all now, and so 
 I tell him, and everybody else, too, for that mat 
 ter. He used to be manager in a big engraving 
 plant, Ewell and Rockington- you've heard of 
 them, no doubt. And his salary was twice what 
 it is now. It's just dreadful, too, to think what's 
 happened to all those men that worked there. 
 They've been thrown out of their regular line of 
 work. There are no more engravings to be made 
 for catalogues, or magazines, or newspapers, and 
 they have to turn their hands to the building of 
 roads, or even to digging up the streets. And
 
 ia6 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 they don't get any more wages than when each 
 one of them had at least a chance to be in the 
 upper set." 
 
 Mrs. Twesdem sighed reflectively, turning her 
 vivacious eyes, and good-natured, but rather weak 
 face, toward Dorothy. 
 
 " I like intellectual people, don't you ? " she 
 ran on. " I'm quite interested in that new uni 
 versal language, Irgot. They say it's really going 
 to be a success, too. They used to study 
 Espanola, but they tell me that that was never 
 any good, anyway. And I'm a regular hero- 
 worshiper. I love great men. But do you 
 know, I think all great men immoral? Yet you 
 can forgive them for that, can't you ? " 
 
 And so she ran on with her chatter, which, to 
 Dorothy's abstracted mind, presently became only 
 a subconscious jingle of words. 
 
 Then suddenly her mind was brought back to 
 its surroundings. Who's name had been men 
 tioned? Seebar's? To Dorothy's ears Mrs. 
 Twesdem's words were chatter no longer; no
 
 At the Pelion 127 
 
 longer they jingled; they rang, and her heart beat 
 rapidly as she listened. 
 
 " And were you at the great Convention? Oh, 
 it was wonderful to hear the speakers. And then 
 one man got up. He was only a delegate, Alfred 
 Seebar. He stood there, so big and handsome 
 and impressive, and when he opened his lips his 
 words seemed to boom out away over the hall, 
 yet they were not loud or harsh. And then he 
 grew impassioned, and how his splendid eyes 
 flashed. He held them all, too, so quiet and 
 hushed, till he sat down. Then how they did 
 shout. I thought the very walls of the hall would 
 burst with the sound." 
 
 Dorothy was looking in surprise at Mrs. Twes- 
 dem. The latter's eyes were shining, her cheeks 
 were flushed, and she appeared surprisingly pretty 
 and animated. The words had thrilled Dorothy, 
 though she recognized that the speech was an 
 artificially prepared product, and probably not her 
 own. 
 
 Bornheim's handsome and slightly sensuous
 
 1 28 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 face was beaming as he leaned forward. 
 " Mighty well done, Mrs. Twesdem, mighty well 
 done," he complimented. " Seebar would have 
 reason to congratulate himself could he but hear 
 you. But I'll tell him, I'll tell him." 
 
 The heavy-jowled individual to the right of 
 Dorothy Edgar Jeppels who was holding his 
 spoon in a firm, determined grasp, while he 
 scraped the bottom of his dish of peas with great 
 strokes, alternating with gobbling gulps, now 
 broke in. " Seebar would be all right if he wasn't 
 such a blamed snob. Why " 
 
 But Bornheim had reached his ankle with a 
 swinging blow of his foot. 
 
 " Hell ! " exclaimed Jeppels, sullenly. " Beg 
 pardon, ladies, but he kicked me just now blamed 
 hard. It's so. I don't mean no harm to nobody, 
 but it's so. Seebar's a blamed conceited cad. 
 Why, he's a regular dyed-in-the-moss aristo 
 crat. You remember that night, Hank," turning 
 to Bornheim, " we was up in the Chamber of 
 Trade Building, the way he treated me, and you
 
 At the Pelion 129 
 
 too, for that matter. He's just nothing but a 
 blamed, caddish snob." 
 
 Bornheim cast imploring eyes eyes that be- 
 seeched forgiveness toward Dorothy. He failed 
 to notice that she was not at all offended, only 
 quietly amused. 
 
 " Come, come, Jeppels," he said sharply, " re 
 member this isn't your constituency in the First 
 Ward you're with now." 
 
 The ex-alderman was a bit ashamed. " Oh, 
 well, Hank," he began. 
 
 Dorothy had turned to him. " You seem to 
 have strong likes and dislikes, have you not, Mr. 
 Jeppels ? " she asked. 
 
 " Why, no stronger than other people, maybe." 
 He was evidently flattered by Dorothy's attention. 
 " But I'm honest, I am; I say what I think. Even 
 when I was in the polit game, I always handed 
 it straight to the boys. I don't pretend to like 
 a thing I don't like. I like what I like, and I 
 say so. I hate what I hate, and I say so, that's 
 me."
 
 130 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 For the moment all this was amusing enough, 
 now that her first distress was over. But as Dor 
 othy looked about the table and saw the friv 
 olous, insentient faces there, heard the noise in 
 the room, the loud talking over inconsequential 
 things, and remembered that among such peo 
 ple, in just such surroundings her life henceforth 
 was to be passed, her heart sank heavily once 
 more within her. 
 
 Aside from Mrs. Twesdem's outburst of en 
 thusiasm over Seebar, and the little side-play 
 with the ex-alderman, Jeppels, the lunch hour 
 was a painful time, indeed, and Dorothy was glad 
 when they were through and she and her father 
 once more were alone in the privacy of their 
 apartment.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 AN ATTEMPT AT RECONCILIATION 
 
 "V ~\ 7HILE during the many months past, since 
 that night in the library, Seebar's love 
 for Dorothy had not lessened, thought of her 
 had ceased to bring that keen, poignant regret 
 that at times had come to him in the lull of his 
 political activities. 
 
 He had been able to think of her, not with 
 out pain, it is true, but with the pain robbed of 
 much of its sharpness. Hope aided him some 
 what in this, but all unaware that such was the 
 case, Seebar was gradually becoming reconciled 
 to the loss of Dorothy. 
 
 Then he had seen her again seen her in her 
 grief and in her courage. At the station, whither 
 he had conveyed her and her father, she had re 
 buffed his attempts to say good-by. After that 
 first accusing glance, when she had raised her
 
 132 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 head from her father's shoulder, she had no more 
 deigned to notice him than if he had been a 
 porter had not deigned to notice him even as 
 much. 
 
 Great as he believed his love for Dorothy to 
 be, Seebar did not fully realize, till he turned 
 from the station that morning, the tremendous 
 void that had come into his life. All his slumber 
 ing passion for her returned with overwhelming 
 force. He would not, could not, let her go thus. 
 
 Dorothy's attitude had aroused in him all his 
 fighting blood. Mingled with his sense of loss 
 there was a feeling of resentment. He deter 
 mined to beat down her opposition, and carry her 
 love by storm, as he would carry a crowd with 
 eloquence from the platform. 
 
 As a result of this resolution, the second night 
 after their arrival at the Pelion, on returning 
 from dinner, Dorothy found Seebar awaiting 
 her in the hall outside the apartment occupied by 
 herself and father. 
 
 As the girl stepped from the elevator she saw
 
 An Attempt at Reconciliation 133 
 
 Seebar. One glance, and she was hurrying by 
 him. 
 
 But he stepped directly in front of her. 
 
 " Dorothy." It was almost a command. Then 
 more gently, he repeated, " Dorothy." 
 
 "Well?" she asked. 
 
 Her cheek had flushed, and her breathing came 
 quick. As he looked down into her eyes he read 
 defiance there. 
 
 " I must speak with you for a moment, Doro 
 thy." 
 
 But she broke in upon his words. " It is no 
 use, no use at all, Mr. Seebar. Please let me go." 
 
 "You are unjust," he replied; "unjust to 
 yourself, unjust to me, in not listening to what 
 I have to say." 
 
 " What can you have to say that is new ? 
 Things have not improved. They are only worse 
 more miserable than ever before." 
 
 She would have passed him, but he laid a de 
 taining hand upon her arm. 
 
 Indignation rushed into her eyes. " You can-
 
 134 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 not coerce me in this fashion. I will not talk 
 with you," she exclaimed angrily. 
 
 He dropped his hand, fixing her with a steady 
 and earnest look. " You are a child," he re 
 torted; " a mere child afraid to listen lest you 
 be convinced against your whim. Your pride is 
 hurt because I refused to give up my ambition at 
 your wish; because I have held my ideals 
 whether the ideals are right or wrong has noth 
 ing to do with the question; in the face of your 
 protest. You told me that night in your father's 
 library that for a woman's love a man should 
 sacrifice even his honor. You are not a woman, 
 but a child, and as such I must be forced to con 
 sider you. 
 
 " In spite of your silly, rebellious mood, you 
 are going to listen to what I have to say and you 
 are going to listen quietly and seriously." 
 
 Dorothy stared. No one had ever talked to 
 her like this before, certainly not Seebar. There 
 was little of anger in his voice. His tones were 
 cold and masterful.
 
 An Attempt at Reconciliation 135 
 
 And as he saw defiance give way to bewilder 
 ment, Seebar felt that if he had adopted his pres 
 ent attitude many months back instead of trying 
 to reason, to plead, with her, their alienation 
 would not have been possible. 
 
 There came a pause during which he still 
 quietly watched her. Then all at once her eyes 
 dropped beneath his gaze, and she drew in a deep 
 breath. 
 
 " Yes," she said, very low, and the manner 
 of her saying it implied even more than the word, 
 submission to his will. 
 
 Seebar's heart leaped; with her eyes drooping 
 and her head bent, she seemed very beautiful to 
 him in her apparent surrender. 
 
 But, even as he rejoiced, Fate played him a 
 trick. 
 
 Behind them footsteps sounded, coming up the 
 hall, and he turned to discover that the intruders 
 were Mr. Markham and Bornheim. 
 
 The latter scarcely allowed the pause that fol 
 lowed to grow awkward. He grasped Seebar's
 
 136 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 hand and shook it with all the warmth and en 
 thusiasm of a very dear friend. 
 
 " So, old man," he said quite heartily, " you've 
 condescended to reappear among us terrestrials 
 once more." 
 
 " I came to see Miss Markham and Mr. 
 Markham," Seebar rejoined shortly. 
 
 " Mr. Seebar," said Mr. Markham, " I cannot 
 say that I am pleased to see you. However, if 
 there is anything I can do " 
 
 He did not finish, but led the way into his 
 apartment. 
 
 " I think we shall be quite secluded and private 
 here," he continued, conducting Seebar into a 
 small room that opened from the larger one they 
 had first entered. 
 
 He closed the door upon Bornheim and Doro 
 thy in the outer room. " Now, what is it, Mr. 
 Seebar?" he asked. 
 
 Seebar bit his lip with vexation, but checked 
 any manifestation in words of the irritation that 
 possessed him.
 
 An Attempt at Reconciliation 137 
 
 " Mr. Markham, there is just one thing I wish; 
 that is, to be left alone with your daughter. I 
 had almost effected a reconciliation, I believe, 
 when we were interrupted." 
 
 The ex-steel magnate frowned. " Dorothy is 
 free in the matter," he answered. " She can do 
 as she pleases. She knows what my wishes are, 
 however." 
 
 " And yet you have no reluctance in having 
 her make the acquaintance of another Socialist 
 leader," Seebar retorted. 
 
 " Bornheim, of course you mean," Mr. Mark- 
 ham returned composedly. " But that is dif 
 ferent." 
 
 " And why, pray?" 
 
 " Well, it is not so much to the Socialistic 
 principles I object, but to the lack of sincerity 
 of those holding them." 
 
 " And Bornheim, you believe, is honestly a 
 Socialist?" 
 
 " That's it, exactly." 
 
 " And you still believe that I am not ? "
 
 138 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 " I still hold to that opinion." 
 
 " Well, I shall take you at your word of a 
 moment ago and try once more to speak with 
 Dorothy." 
 
 " Certainly," replied Mr. Markham. 
 
 Seebar rose from his chair. Mr. Markham 
 walked to the door and threw it open. " Doro 
 thy," he said, " Mr. Seebar would like to speak 
 with you alone. You know my wishes in the 
 matter." 
 
 There was an interval, really quite brief, but 
 to Seebar, waiting in the little room, of long 
 duration. Finally she spoke. 
 
 " Yes," her voice sounded cool and even, " but 
 tell him I do not wish to see him." 
 
 " Anything more, Mr. Seebar? " Mr. Markham 
 inquired, not unkindly. 
 
 Seebar was fighting the horrible chill that had 
 seized his heart. With an effort he mastered his 
 despair. 
 
 " Yes," he responded. " If you can do nothing 
 for me, perhaps I can do something for you."
 
 An Attempt at Reconciliation 139 
 
 He paused. 
 
 Mr. Markham's eyes were fixed expectantly 
 upon him. 
 
 "Well?" he asked at length. 
 
 " Mr. Markham, I was frank with you once 
 before on this same subject. I will be frank with 
 you again. I asked you, if the Great Change 
 came about, what you were going to do. It has 
 come about, and I again ask you what you expect 
 to do to live." 
 
 " I don't know," answered Mr. Markham very 
 slowly. " I am expecting the official notice daily. 
 1 suppose I shall have to do clerical work of some 
 sort." 
 
 "If you would but let me, I could assist you 
 very much, I could indeed." Seebar was all 
 earnestness. " I have influence " 
 
 Mr. Markham interrupted him. " Perhaps you 
 have," he retorted, " and it might have been 
 advisable to have used it sooner yesterday than 
 you did. However, don't think me ungrateful," 
 he presently added. " I know you saved me from
 
 140 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 considerable additional insult yesterday. But I 
 feel that I can accept nothing from you." 
 
 " I am sorry, very sorry," said Seebar. And 
 he meant it. 
 
 " I am sorry, too," replied Mr. Markham, with 
 an apparently equal sincerity.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 SEEBAR MEETS WITH AN ACQUAINT 
 ANCE 
 
 AS Seebar passed out into the glare of the 
 streets, never had his spirits been lower, 
 his heart more heavy. So long as the only rival 
 in his love had been his political doctrines, the 
 breach between him and Dorothy had not seemed 
 so hopeless of mending. But now this new fac 
 tor Bornheim entering into the situation, had 
 utterly upset his calculations. 
 
 He knew Bornheim to be at times quite pleas 
 ing, even fascinating. A frankly avowed 
 voluptuary among men, with women he could 
 be refined, and, certainly, ingratiatingly deferen 
 tial and gallant. The coarser fibre, which he 
 could skilfully veneer when he wished, though 
 usually palpable enough to men, to women showed 
 through as strong, masterful manhood. And
 
 142 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 Seebar could see no reason why Dorothy, shel 
 tered and protected since birth from the harsher 
 phases of life, should be able rightly to read the 
 character of such a man. Even men of the 
 world might be deceived in this crafty politician 
 and roue when he wished to mask his true nature. 
 
 Mr. Markham, too, had evidently been misled 
 by his suave pretensions, for, to all appearances, 
 the man had been unreservedly accepted as a 
 friend by the former steel manufacturer. Seebar 
 remembered how, in the old days, Dorothy's 
 father had been exactingly careful with refer 
 ence to the character of the men with whom she 
 associated. How had Bornheim managed so 
 quickly to break down the old man's native 
 caution ? 
 
 In asking himself this question, Seebar did 
 not take into consideration the fact that change 
 of circumstances might have affected Mr. Mark- 
 ham's decision in this matter. That father and 
 daughter, friendless, for the time being at least, 
 should find, in Bornheim, a guide and protector,
 
 An Acquaintance 143 
 
 did not occur to him. Nor, of course, did he 
 suspect the part his telegram gone astray 
 to Lessing, had played in establishing this con 
 fidence, and that Bornheim's position with the 
 Markhams was, after all, in reality an indorse 
 ment by them of their unexpressed faith in his 
 own integrity. 
 
 Understanding nothing of this, as he plunged 
 along against the wind, head bent low, eyes 
 unseeing, a despairing anger burned in his heart 
 that his absence seemed to be compensated for 
 by this other man. 
 
 In his course, instinctively he fled from the 
 lights and noise of the streets. His steps led 
 him across the quarter-mile of park that 
 separated the boulevard from the shores of Lake 
 Michigan. The balminess of the atmosphere, 
 unusual for so early in the year, which had pre 
 vailed for the several weeks past, had vanished 
 before a cold, penetrating wind out of the north 
 west. 
 
 For some time Seebar thus walked on, fol-
 
 144 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 lowing the shore-line, while at his right the 
 waters tumbled and boomed. Then, as the chill 
 of the night penetrated to his skin, abating the 
 fever of body but not of mind, he turned his 
 back on the wild dark lake, where the waves, 
 breaking against the sea wall, hissed in a foam- 
 spitting shower. 
 
 By the time he had regained the boulevard he 
 was trembling with cold. Still he would not take 
 shelter, for the fire within his mind would not 
 permit ease of body. Besides, the wind did not 
 here have the bold broad sweep it had on the 
 lake front. 
 
 Once he stopped. This was in front of the 
 Cafe Berton, where, in the old days, he had often 
 dined with Dorothy after the play. He had half- 
 turned into the broad corridor before he realized 
 that unconsciously his steps were leading him 
 to a place of old associations. The place, with 
 its fine stone carved front, and glare of lights 
 through richly stained glass, for the moment 
 seemed unbearable.
 
 An Acquaintance 145 
 
 Here it was that he had given Dorothy her 
 engagement ring. He had seated her in a quiet 
 corner of the dining room, himself at her left. 
 He recalled how, beneath the table, his own hand 
 trembling so that he feared he would drop the 
 ring, he had slipped the narrow band upon her 
 finger, and how she had first blushed and then 
 paled, and, finally, looking down at the stone 
 glittering its various tints underneath the bright 
 lights, she had half-met and then dropped her 
 eyes before his gaze. 
 
 As the contrast of the present came fully home 
 to him, he set his teeth as if to crush his despair, 
 and turned once more to fight his way against 
 the wind, welcoming its fierce buffetings as 
 something his still fiercer anguish could beat 
 itself against. 
 
 At last, half -exhausted and thoroughly chilled, 
 he did turn into a sheltering doorway, and found 
 himself within the corridor of the Ajax, one 
 of the many hundreds of municipal hotels that 
 housed Chicago's citizens.
 
 146 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 He had taken but a few steps down the passage 
 way, when he was accosted by a young man, who 
 extended his hand in greeting. In the square-built 
 figure, frank blue eyes, open countenance, See- 
 bar recognized the furniture mover who had 
 struck down the bully who had tormented Mr. 
 Markham. 
 
 His name was John Edgeington. 
 
 Seebar was genuinely glad to meet him once 
 more. Here was a link, remote it is true, but 
 nevertheless a link, serving to bring him in touch, 
 in a way, with the Markhams. 
 
 It was from this man that Seebar got another 
 picture of the workings of the new regime, that 
 hitherto he had not seen. 
 
 Edgeington had invited Seebar to his apart 
 ments, and the overseer of Chicago had accepted 
 the invitation. 
 
 " You won't find things here just the same as 
 you would in your own quarters, I expect," 
 said Edgeington, half -apologetically, as they 
 entered the apartment. " We have only three
 
 An Acquaintance 147 
 
 rooms. It's rather crowded for so many my 
 wife, two children, and myself." 
 
 " You don't mean " Seebar began; then 
 
 recalled the numerous complaints that had been 
 coming into his department of the inadequate 
 quarters that the municipal authorities were 
 assigning to many families. Up to the present, 
 however, he had not had a concrete case thus 
 directly brought to his attention. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I do," replied Edgeington, smiling 
 slightly. 
 
 " Why, I didn't realize " Seebar began 
 
 again. Then as he recalled rumors of " pull," 
 once more he grew silent. How different his own 
 quarters were at the Alexius; and he had cer 
 tainly used his influence to have certain rooms 
 assigned to old-time friends. 
 
 "If you'll sit down," suggested Edgeington, 
 " I'll call my wife and babies." 
 
 The room into which Seebar had been brought 
 was almost painfully bare. The walls were 
 rough finished. Cracks gashed the plaster. The
 
 148 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 furniture was cheap-made and scanty. The 
 Ajax was one of those office buildings that 
 had been hastily remodeled to meet the exigencies 
 of Socialism for housing families. 
 
 Seebar was standing at the electric heater, 
 which, however, failed to emit warmth, when 
 Edgeington reappeared with his wife, a dark, 
 slender, neatly dressed woman, and two boys, 
 the elder not over eight years, trailing timidly 
 behind her. 
 
 " You'll find it rather unpleasant and cold here, 
 I know," Mrs. Edgeington said, apologizing 
 somewhat in the same manner her husband had 
 done. " We haven't got very much light, even. 
 We've been dreadfully uncomfortable here all 
 winter, and this unexpected change in the 
 weather has, of course, taken us by surprise. 
 We're not finding fault with the government," 
 she hastened to explain; " my husband and I are 
 as ardent Socialists as any, but we've felt the 
 change so in our circumstances. The heating 
 system seems never to have been properly in-
 
 An Acquaintance 149 
 
 stalled in the building, and we did have such a 
 pretty little home in the suburbs," she added quite 
 wistfully. 
 
 " You see," she went on, " for one thing we 
 haven't got our own furniture. We're supposed 
 to have as much of our own as we need for 
 fitting up our new homes. The surplus goes to 
 the state. But here I am telling you things you 
 know far more about than I." 
 
 " No, go on," Seebar urged. " You're telling 
 me things that I have heard of, perhaps, but 
 which I didn't exactly understand before, at 
 least in the way you are telling me." 
 
 " Well," continued Mrs. Edgeington, re- 
 encouraged, " we didn't get any of our own 
 things, except some of our books. John took 
 special care of them himself and managed to 
 save them. But all our other little things are 
 gone the pictures we bought, and the little set 
 of blue china we started housekeeping with when 
 we were married everything is gone that we 
 treasured, and we can't find a trace. The order
 
 150 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 numbers, or the tags, or something, got mixed, 
 I suppose." 
 
 To Seebar, all this was of course quite painful, 
 but the subject of Socialistic maladministration 
 once started, he was determined to learn from 
 these people all they chose to tell him. 
 
 " You haven't always been a furniture mover, 
 have you ? " he asked, turning to the husband. 
 
 " No." The answer was almost curt. " I 
 used to be a frescoer." 
 
 " Oh, I see." The tone of which reply meant, 
 " That occupation's about gone out." " But 
 there's the common painting, of course. I sup 
 pose, though, you prefer the work you're in now 
 rather than that." 
 
 " It's hardly a matter of choice, I should say," 
 Edgeington answered somewhat gloomily; " I 
 can't get any painting to do. There doesn't seem 
 to be enough to go around." 
 
 There was silence for a moment. Then sud 
 denly Edgeington burst forth. " Mr. Seebar, 
 I'm sick of all this, sick of my surroundings, sick
 
 An Acquaintance 151 
 
 of my work, sick of this Socialism. It has swept 
 away pretty near everything that I and my wife 
 cherished. We've lost our home, our friends, our 
 possessions of every sort." 
 
 Edgeington, with a quick impatient shake of 
 his head, and a frown, disapproved the slight 
 protest his wife made with her eyes. " Jenny my 
 wife had her little circle of friends, in the 
 suburbs. She had her social affairs, her club 
 meetings, her little parties. Not a great deal of 
 this sort of thing, to be sure, because we are 
 simple people, and we lived simply, but perhaps 
 we enjoyed it all the more because we didn't 
 have too much. Besides there were the children 
 to look after. Now these same friends are scat 
 tered everywhere, and our little boys, also, have 
 lost their playmates. 
 
 " It isn't just the physical discomforts, you 
 see; it's the almost complete breaking up of our 
 home life that's hardest of all. Yet we had 
 visions of a bigger, broader life in the city. We 
 thought of the art museums and galleries. I was
 
 152 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 intensely fond of such things. Then there was 
 the charm of change itself. I sometimes think a 
 kind of insanity swept over this nation last fall. 
 I don't know, I'm sure, what to think of it all. 
 We should have been able to foretell a lot of 
 things. Of course the Capitalists correctly 
 prophesied events, but, then, who paid any atten 
 tion to the Capitalists ? " 
 
 Neither the wife nor Seebar made any attempt 
 at interruption now, as, leaning forward in his 
 earnestness, Edgeington went on. 
 
 " Only to-day I heard two men talking down 
 stairs in the dining room. One of them pointed 
 out how absurd the feeling against the wealthier 
 classes had been, after all. ' They hadn't spent 
 the nation's wealth,' he said. ' They had really 
 gathered together that wealth, concentrated it, 
 and invested it in such a way as to make good 
 use of the nation's resources. When we shouted 
 for Socialism, we were crying for a leveling 
 process. We didn't so much care to raise our 
 selves as to lower others.' I believe he was right,
 
 An Acquaintance 153 
 
 and if I had the chance to vote on the proposition 
 again, I think I'd cast my vote against Socialism. 
 
 " I hate the men I work with, hate and despise 
 them, vulgar uncouth brutes, who know nothing 
 of what is best in life the very commonest of 
 day laborers, who take pride, it seems to me, in 
 their very coarseness. I hate their foul talk and 
 dirty jokes. The foreman of our gang sets the 
 example. He's a full-necked, red- faced fellow, 
 who chews tobacco constantly, and spits it about 
 everywhere. It makes my blood boil to see him 
 wantonly spit upon the finest of white satins, as 
 he did to-day. 
 
 " I haven't had a bit of peace for the last two 
 days ever since that trouble at the Mark- 
 hams' " He, stopped abruptly. " I'm sorry, 
 
 Mr. Seebar, to have run on like this. A fine 
 thing for a man to do to invite you here and 
 then trouble you with conditions that are no 
 affair of yours. I guess I'm becoming moody. 
 I'm thinking so much of my own troubles that 
 I'm growing mighty selfish. I'm worrying my
 
 154 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 poor little wife to death, too, with this sort of 
 talk. All this is hard on her, I know, far harder 
 than it is on me." 
 
 Again he turned to Seebar. " Once more," 
 he said, " I cannot tell you how sorry I am." 
 
 " Don't apologize," protested Seebar. " I'm 
 glad you've spoken out as you have. There are 
 a thousand and one things in the new system 
 that are not perfect, and the more we learn about 
 them the easier they will be to rectify. And, Mrs. 
 Edgeington," he added, smiling and holding out 
 his hand, " we'll see if by next winter you won't 
 like the new conditions better than the old ones. 
 For I am still convinced that Socialism, rightly 
 administered, is the very best form of govern 
 ment." 
 
 His manner was so confident that, for the 
 moment, as they bade him good-night, the Edge- 
 ingtons were almost reassured. They could not 
 guess how far the wedge of doubt had penetrated 
 into Seebar's thoughts.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE DISTURBANCE NEXT DOOR; THE 
 DINING ROOM OF THE AJAX 
 
 RS. EDGEINGTON sat down beside 
 her husband. " Yes," she sighed, " it 
 does seem strange that things have changed like 
 this in less than a year's time. I can't tell you 
 how much I miss our little home, with the gar 
 den and the summerhouse set among the trees, 
 and that sunny little sewing room, and the chil 
 dren's white bed-room. Oh, John ! " 
 
 Presently she added : " But I don't care so 
 much for myself because we've lost these things. 
 It's for you and the children I care most, and 
 the change in your kind of work. Only to think 
 you should be nothing more now than a day 
 laborer oh, I didn't exactly mean that, I " 
 
 But her husband would not have the phrase 
 
 softened. " It's true, just an unskilled day laborer, 
 155
 
 156 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 a furniture mover. And it seems only yes 
 terday, too, that I was promoted as foreman of 
 that gang of frescoers who were decorating the 
 interior of Mr. Markham's house; yet the other 
 day I had to help plunder the place. I don't 
 quite understand why everything should have 
 gone wrong like this," he added, inclosing his 
 wife's hand in his large strong one. " There'll 
 be no frescoing for many a day to come. It 
 certainly was my misfortune to be given a place 
 as a furniture mover instead of as a painter." 
 
 " There are more painters than the govern 
 ment can find work for at the present time," she 
 suggested. 
 
 " I don't know about that, dear; look at these 
 walls. A coat of paint certainly wouldn't hurt 
 them. I'd paint them myself, only I can't get 
 the paint, and any way the government won't let 
 a man do things like that. 
 
 " Well, the hours are no longer, and the pay is 
 the same as in any other business, but that isn't 
 saying a vast deal, is it? for wages have been
 
 The Disturbance Next Door 157 
 
 reduced all around. I'm not getting half what 
 I got before, nor as much as I got even as a 
 common painter. And look at the sort of sur 
 roundings I have to provide for you. When I 
 voted for Socialism I certainly didn't vote for 
 this." 
 
 " Come, come, dear, don't ! " she pleaded. 
 
 But the dark mood was upon him, and he went 
 on, unheeding her remonstrance. " They 
 promised us all sorts of things, did these Social 
 ist leaders, and what have they given us? Cold 
 miserable quarters in place of a comfortable cot 
 tage; water too cold to take a bath in; children 
 in bed at seven o'clock, because it's too cold for 
 them to be about; no place for them to play. 
 Little Eddie is growing thin and pale, and even 
 John isn't as stout and robust as he used to be. 
 If the proposition was before me again I'd " 
 
 His speech was interrupted by a loud thumping 
 on the wall and the sound of voices, excited and 
 hurried. 
 
 " What is that ? " Edgeington asked.
 
 158 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 " It's that Italian, Pietro Cavani. He's come 
 home intoxicated again. I'm afraid he'll hurt 
 his wife sometime; he carries on so." 
 
 Her hand rested on her husband's shoulder, 
 and she was looking up into his face with that 
 peculiarly expectant look one has when listening 
 for something to happen. 
 
 Edgeington instinctively drew his wife in 
 closer to him. 
 
 There came a crash, followed by a muffled 
 scream. 
 
 " I'd better go and see what it's all about. 
 Maybe it's something serious." 
 
 She would have detained him, but he gently 
 released himself from her hold. " Now sup 
 posing it was I that was raising a row, wouldn't 
 you be glad if some one interfered? Of course 
 you would ! " 
 
 He was out in the hall now, with his hand on 
 the knob of the door leading into the adjacent 
 apartment. 
 
 All was quiet for the moment. Then a
 
 The Disturbance Next Door 159 
 
 woman's voice came through almost as distinctly 
 as though the door were open. 
 
 " Don't, don't break that, Pietro; it's the only 
 doll that Clara has left." 
 
 " Won't, won't I'll break the doll, anything, 
 you " 
 
 This was answered by another scream. 
 
 Edgeington brought his fist against the door, 
 a blow more than a knock. 
 
 " Here, here," he called out, " what's going 
 on?" 
 
 There followed a moment's silence, and then 
 the woman opened the door. Large dark eyes 
 shone in a pale face; her heavy black locks 
 
 were disheveled. " Why why' " Her lips 
 
 trembled. 
 
 Cavani tried to eye the intruder insolently, 
 but Edgeington disregarded him. " Mrs. 
 Cavani," he demanded, " has he been hurting 
 you?" 
 
 She tried to frame speech once more with her 
 trembling lips. " Not exactly," she finally enun-
 
 160 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 ciated, " only my heart," and she burst into a 
 flood of tears. 
 
 " But he's not to blame, indeed he's not," she 
 presently added, her marital loyalty trying 
 bravely to show itself. 
 
 A second knocking, this time timid, 
 sounded, and Mrs. Edgeington entered. 
 
 Then the miserable story gradually was told. 
 The story was not so unlike that of the Edgeing- 
 tons, so far as previously happy conditions and 
 prosperity were concerned. Cavani had kept a 
 small fruit store, and was as joyful as any man 
 over the outcome of the elections. " No more 
 long hours waiting for trade," he had said. 
 " Short hours without heavy work, lots of going 
 out, lots of play. We've worked too hard, now 
 let's enjoy ourselves." 
 
 She readily convinced her sympathetic listeners 
 that indeed they had worked hard, building up 
 their little business. It had been slow work. 
 Pietro had pushed his cart. Later, he had money 
 enough for a small booth under the outside steps
 
 The Disturbance Next Door 161 
 
 of a building. Finally, he had moved into a 
 shop. Now everything was gone. 
 
 " Our little home, our little store all gone, 
 gone," concluded Mrs. Cavani. " And Pietro 
 has changed so much; but can you blame him," 
 she challenged in unflinching loyalty, " work 
 ing all day unpacking fruit, starting life all over 
 again, and with nothing ahead nothing ahead " 
 she repeated the words as if almost horror- 
 struck, their full meaning seeming to affect her 
 at that moment with peculiar significance. 
 
 She looked down at her husband, who by this 
 time was stretched full length on the sofa, 
 snoring peacefully. 
 
 She heaved a deep sigh as much as to say, 
 " Well, he's quiet at last." 
 
 Back in their own apartments, Edgeington and 
 his wife were silent for a little. 
 
 " Do you remember, dear," he said, speaking 
 at last, " how we, too, struggled along to buy 
 our little place? How you gave up all thoughts
 
 162 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 of a new hat at Easter that we might hurry the 
 payments ? " 
 
 " And how you made your overcoat last 
 another winter? " 
 
 " Yes, and how you and the boys grew vege 
 tables in the garden to lessen the cost for 
 groceries ? " 
 
 " And how you used to spade in the evenings, 
 and on Saturday afternoons; and don't you re 
 member when you frescoed the parlor Kitty fell 
 into the paint? " 
 
 Edgeington looked down at his wife, whose 
 eyes were shining and lips smiling. He recalled 
 the quiet summer evenings on the side porch 
 they had lived beyond the zone of brilliant light 
 the buzz of beetles in the dusk, the bumping 
 of these same stupid beetles against the screens 
 in the windows. He could even smell the warm 
 scent of the earth, mingled with the more subtle 
 odor of flowers. 
 
 Then he looked about the cold, cheerless room, 
 devoid of suitable furnishings, at the ugly, rough,
 
 The Disturbance Next Door 163 
 
 unpainted walls, heard the cough of little Ed 
 ward in the next room, and his heart sickened at 
 the change in their affairs. 
 
 " Little wife," he said sadly, " I must have 
 been mad, plumb mad, to think of changing the 
 life we led for any other on earth. Why, my lot 
 was happier than that of any millionaire." 
 
 Edgeington awoke the next morning with a 
 heavy heart. Little Edward's cough, which had 
 been distressing the little fellow several days, 
 was much better, but the depressing influences 
 among which he had lived were gradually taking 
 away his old-time blithe cheerfulness. 
 
 So consistent had he been with the principles 
 of his party that, at the time of its triumph, he 
 had not hesitated to be among the first to turn 
 his property over to the state, even before the 
 official demand had been made. 
 
 He had regretted, as much as did any man 
 under the circumstances, the necessity of aban 
 doning his home in the suburbs. This regret had
 
 164 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 been intensified ever since November, when he 
 had moved his family into the Ajax, where 
 they had since dwelt amidst its noise, suffering 
 not only its inconveniences, but its quite positive 
 discomforts. 
 
 In the morning light his wife looked far from 
 well. Her eyes, encircled by the marks of worry 
 and fatigue, burned in pale cheeks. 
 
 " I can't go down to breakfast with you this 
 morning," she said; " I must look after the chil 
 dren. 
 
 And looking down into her anxious eyes, 
 Edgeington found his conscience smote him as 
 though he were responsible for it all. 
 
 As he took his place in the large dining room, 
 the monotony and cheerlessness of the big place, 
 combined with his anxiety for the boy's welfare 
 and the recollection of his wife's weariness, de 
 pressed him unspeakably, and he grew heartsick 
 for the snug little cottage in the suburbs. 
 
 A half-dozen other men were seated at the 
 table with him.
 
 The Disturbance Next Door 165 
 
 " Hello, Edgeington," said the person seated 
 opposite him, of a stout build, with greasy face 
 and very ill-kept hands, " you seem to have a 
 grouch on this morning." 
 
 It was the same old story, the same old ex 
 perience. It was maddening: to eat with those 
 who noticed if one were quiet or merry, and to 
 have one's moods made a jest of. The only way 
 to escape this was to divert questions by asking 
 others. 
 
 " You're early this morning," suggested Edge 
 ington. 
 
 " Oh, I'm going to have some sport to-day. 
 I'm going out to a shooting match. I'm going 
 to work early this morning. Three hours a day, 
 you know, is all we can stand in the rendering 
 tanks at the stockyards. At least that's what the 
 government says. Same wages as you, too, and 
 you work six hours a day. Say, those fellows 
 who took clean work are blamed fools, that's 
 what they are. Now, I had sense enough to stick 
 to my trade. Tending to by-products has always
 
 166 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 been my trade. Lots of my friends thought 
 they'd quit. The more fools, them! Preferred 
 six hours a day heaving up concrete to nice quiet 
 work cleaning out rendering vats. Why, don't 
 you remember they said at first there was lots of 
 work too dirty for any man to do unhealthy, 
 they said. Pshaw! Wouldn't hurt any one 
 that's robust like me, nor lots of others, neither. 
 Lots of men have come to this three-hour job, 
 who never did work afore with their pretty 
 hands, and they're all growing fat on it. Re 
 member when we Socialists used to say this 
 work was too disgusting for any man to do? 
 Oh, Lord!" 
 
 And the man guffawed, half choking, and then 
 smacked his lips, as he bent his head over 
 the table and greedily helped himself to more 
 food. 
 
 Edgeington hurried through his breakfast. 
 This sort of man had, by 1953, almost passed 
 out of the skilled trades. This man eating away 
 so bestially, seemed an anachronism. Still, it
 
 The Disturbance Next Door 167 
 
 was surprising, with one's choice of associates 
 practically eliminated, what a surprisingly large 
 number of peculiarly unpleasant persons rubbed 
 elbows with one everywhere, in the most intimate 
 way. 
 
 A harsh-featured woman, with unkempt hair, 
 sat down at that moment next to Edgeington. 
 Picking up her napkin, she ran it over the plate; 
 then proceeded to wipe knife and fork with the 
 cloth. 
 
 " See here," she called sharply, to the waiter. 
 
 At first he openly disregarded her, but as she 
 insistently raised her voice, he reluctantly was 
 forced to heed her call. 
 
 "Well, what is it?" he snapped. 
 
 " The plates and things are not clean," the 
 woman protested, holding up the napkin, grimy 
 from its recent service. 
 
 " I can't help it. What do you people expect ? 
 If you don't like it you can go and kick to some 
 one in the kitchen. The girls'll most likely throw 
 you out, though, if you do," he added, grinning
 
 168 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 impudently. " They're on to you. They know 
 you're the worst trouble maker we've got. 
 That's why your things are so dirty, if you want 
 to know." 
 
 " I'll report you," the woman blustered. 
 
 "Report? Oh, yes," he yawned. "Who'll 
 you report to? You can't come that over me. 
 The super stands in well with the boss. He 
 knows enough not to monkey with his con 
 stituents, he does." 
 
 " Come, come," protested Edgeington, " why 
 can't you be half-civil, anyway ? " 
 
 " Ah, what are you talking about ? I'm civil 
 enough if people will only let me alone." 
 
 But Edgeington saw it was useless to try to 
 interfere here. 
 
 Certainly this day had had a bad beginning. 
 He did not relish the thought of the work before 
 him. This business of driving about from place 
 to place in vans, seizing furniture and ousting 
 tenants in spite of their protests, was not the 
 sort of thing he had bargained would be a part
 
 The Disturbance Next Door 169 
 
 of his duties. With misery everywhere, neither 
 at work nor away from it could he find happi 
 ness. 
 
 He was more depressed, more sick at heart, 
 more uncertain as to the future of himself and 
 family than ever he had been in the days of 
 " wage slavery." He was finding the state far 
 more of an oppressor than ever he had found 
 any private employer.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 THE RED CARD 
 
 S~\ N the very next morning the morning fol 
 lowing Seebar's call the official notice that 
 required Faverall Markham to report at the 
 Government Employment Bureau to have his 
 position as a " productive citizen," assigned to 
 him, came. It was a square, red envelope, stiff 
 and hard, that was delivered into his hands. 
 
 His fingers trembled as they fumbled in a 
 futile attempt to tear the tough paper. He was 
 obliged finally to use his pocket knife. It was 
 strange so he himself thought that he should 
 be agitated thus, for he knew just what were the 
 contents. The card, official summons to labor, 
 was also stiff and red red to denote the uni 
 versal brotherhood of man. 
 
 With a sigh, he dropped the card on the table, 
 
 and turned to gaze at himself in the glass. He 
 170
 
 The Red Card 171 
 
 saw there a pair of strong, gray eyes bearing 
 a defiant look, as if at bay, shadowed by gray 
 brows. The head was tossed back. 
 
 Himself scarcely conscious of the fact, he was 
 meeting fortune in his customary determined, 
 self-reliant way. He had no regrets for his 
 peremptory refusal of Seebar's offer of assist 
 ance. He sought not, neither would he accept, 
 pity or favors. 
 
 But he was glad that Dorothy was not present 
 just then. He did not wish to be softened. His 
 heart and will were hard and stern, and he was 
 thankful for it. 
 
 Carefully, as carefully as if he were about to 
 preside at a directors' meeting, he arranged his 
 toilet. Thrusting the red card into his pocket, 
 he set his silk hat upon his head, and, as a finish 
 ing touch, flicked away a bit of dust hitherto 
 overlooked. Then he descended to the street. 
 
 One could not be wholly unhappy that day. 
 The spring atmosphere lay upon the city, soft 
 and buoyant. The sun was beating in a mild
 
 172 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 warmth upon the pavements, the streets were 
 alive with people that holiday throng which at 
 first had been a marvel to Faverall Markham too, 
 as well as to Dorothy, so startling had been the 
 contrast with the city of what seemed but yes 
 terday. And still everywhere men were at work 
 upon the buildings, while the pavements and gut 
 ters were littered with materials. It was as if 
 all these sky-piercers had been erected simul 
 taneously and the finishing touches were now 
 being put upon them. 
 
 It was a ten-minute walk to the Employment 
 Bureau and in his interest in the scenes of the 
 street Mr. Markham had almost forgotten his 
 relation to the world of easy bustle around him. 
 For the time being he was as an alien viewing a 
 strange land. And then suddenly a section of 
 the government buildings loomed up before him, 
 and he had passed between the big swinging doors 
 into the corridor. 
 
 Instantly the cheer of the morning fell from 
 him. The air was stale and heavy, and the yel-
 
 The Red Card 173 
 
 low sullen glow of artificial light took the place 
 of the light of the sun. 
 
 The offices of the Government Employment 
 Bureau were on the third floor. He entered the 
 elevator with a step that had lost the buoyancy of 
 a few moments ago. 
 
 As Mr. Markham opened the door of the re 
 ception room, he was surprised at the large 
 number of people there, evidently on the same 
 mission with himself. The benches and chairs 
 were filled with men and women, and a host of 
 others found standing room against the walls. 
 There must have been some two hundred and 
 fifty ahead of his turn. 
 
 Behind a breast-high partition that ran the 
 length of the room, broken here and there to 
 make place for a swinging gate, stood a dozen 
 government clerks attending to the wants of the 
 visitors. 
 
 Mr. Markham presently discovered that the 
 great majority were not there in answer to a 
 summons to " productive labor," but that they
 
 174 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 were desirous of changing their particular kind 
 or place of employment. 
 
 It was not at all an anxious looking crowd. 
 Here, too, the holiday atmosphere prevailed. 
 None of the nervous toying with pencils, or beat 
 ing of ringers, or moistening of lips, or eager 
 scanning of the " want ad." columns such as Mr. 
 Markham might have observed in employment 
 bureau offices not so long ago. There was a 
 peace, a tranquillity, in the manner and on the 
 faces of men and women, that, speaking well as 
 it did for their trust in the new system, should 
 have been alarming rather than reassuring. 
 They were too satisfied, even in their discontent. 
 They were too manifestly throwing individual 
 troubles upon the state in a lump. No man's 
 troubles were his own. He felt that they were 
 the state's. 
 
 " So I said to the boss," one man was remark 
 ing confidentially to the clerk and to all others 
 within a range of twenty feet, who cared to 
 listen, " ' Now, look here, old man, we elected you
 
 The Red Card 175 
 
 superintendent because we thought you was a 
 good fellow and considerate, and not likely to 
 put on airs, and here you go ordering me to shift 
 them bolts as though I was a nigger under a 
 contract boss. I get my time right here,' I says, 
 and I did, too." 
 
 " Number 185," called the clerk, and then Mr. 
 Markham suddenly realized that he had not se 
 cured a number. 
 
 " Down there," answered one of those who 
 were waiting, in response to his question, point 
 ing to a uniformed individual lounging near the 
 door. 
 
 " Here, my man, you didn't give me a ticket," 
 Mr. Markham protested. A score or more of 
 persons had since followed his entrance. 
 
 "Well, why didn't you ask for one? I ain't 
 supposed to chase you fellows around handing 
 out tickets," and the man, with middle finger and 
 thumb, shot a card across the desk upon the 
 floor. 
 
 The flush that swept over the old man's face
 
 176 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 was not due entirely to the efforts of picking up 
 the bit of cardboard. 
 
 As he straightened up again the official smiled 
 half-insolently. " Can 4 got away from you that 
 time, eh, governor ? " 
 
 The flush on Mr. Markham's face deepened 
 as he turned away. 
 
 The world had indeed changed, changed in 
 credibly in the past few months. Such little 
 stings seemed to hurt him more than the more 
 vital results of the Great Change itself. 
 
 In spite of the leisurely, time-taking service of 
 the clerks, his number was called at last, and he 
 presented the red card he had received in the 
 mail that morning. 
 
 A blank was presented him to fill out. It was 
 a huge sheet of paper containing a multitude of 
 questions to be answered. There was a line for 
 his age, his residence, whether single or married, 
 his past occupation, what the income had been, 
 what occupation the applicant wished to take up 
 now, etc., etc.
 
 The Red Card 177 
 
 " As to the occupation I wish to take up now, 
 that is beyond me to state," said Mr. Markham, 
 appealing to the clerk. " Manager of a depart 
 ment, or even of one of the workshops of one 
 of the Western Steel Mills, is, I suppose, out of 
 the question." 
 
 " Why, yes, all such offices are elective now. 
 You were employed there once ? " 
 
 "Yes, once." 
 
 And then the clerk, looking once more at the 
 name written on the question blank, glanced back 
 to Mr. Markham. 
 
 " I think, Mr. Markham," he began in a gently 
 suggestive tone, " that you had better apply for 
 a clerkship in the office." 
 
 " I see no other way, myself." And Mr. 
 Markham picked up the pen and wrote opposite 
 the question " Position now wanted," the 
 words, " Clerk in the Western Steel Mills." Just 
 above was the question, " former occupation," 
 and the answer, " Manufacturer, owner of the 
 Western Steel Mills."
 
 178 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 In some subtle way the information had 
 reached the waiting throng that the gray-haired 
 man turning from the desk to the door was 
 Faverall Markham, the famous steel manufac 
 turer. 
 
 Some one said in a loud, penetrating whisper, 
 " I'm glad I never was a millionaire." 
 
 Some one laughed in answer. 
 
 And then the subject of their comment, with 
 an aching bitterness in his heart, closed the door, 
 with a feeling of relief, upon the vulgar curiosity, 
 and pity as vulgar, of those within.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 MR. MARKHAM GOES TO THE STEEL 
 
 MILLS AND DOROTHY FINDS 
 
 EMPLOYMENT 
 
 / T"*HE Western Steel Mills were south of 
 Chicago, beyond the corporate limits of the 
 city. By day they showed in the distance; a 
 great line of smoke-stacks against the sky-line, 
 with a huge cloud of murky vapors, of their 
 own creation ever streaming lakeward or in 
 land as the breezes chanced to blow. At night 
 the clouds above them flashed like heat lightning, 
 as from time to time flame shot up and quivered. 
 
 It was a strange, mysterious world of itself, 
 regarded with awe by those afar off, by those 
 who dwelt immediately at hand as a means of 
 livelihood. 
 
 On the eve of the Great Change, secret 
 
 processes were still employed in the manufacture 
 179
 
 180 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 of certain grades of steel, and all parts of the 
 huge plant were not open to the inspection of the 
 public. But most of the evils of the old days had 
 passed away the scalding of men in converters 
 of molten metal, the terrible burns and scars, from 
 contact with white-hot metal the blindness from 
 flying drops of liquid steel, or burning chips of 
 the " frozen " metal. These legends still per 
 sisted, though for over twenty years the most 
 effective safeguards had been provided, new 
 devices had been invented, and, according to 
 those who professed to know, a man was scarcely 
 able to receive an injury, unless with wanton in 
 tent of himself or another. 
 
 In addition to the manufacture of steel itself, 
 implements of various sorts also were made here. 
 
 In connection with these industries a business 
 office was of course essential. Even under the 
 Socialist regime, in addition to the workers en 
 gaged in the actual and immediate production of 
 the goods themselves, a force, merely clerical, 
 was necessary for their distribution.
 
 Dorothy Finds Employment 181 
 
 In these offices it was, then, that Faverall 
 Markham had applied for and secured employ 
 ment. 
 
 How strange it all seemed to him yet how 
 familiar, too the first morning he approached the 
 steel plant in the capacity of a mere employee, 
 instead of chief stockholder and president. It 
 was near nine o'clock, an hour later than the 
 men had come to work not yet a year back. 
 Already the working day had shrunk an hour. 
 The thousands of workers were arriving, bearing 
 down upon the hundred entrances in a vast, loose, 
 disorganized army. No dinner pails glistened 
 in the morning sun. The state furnished all 
 employees their noon-day lunch. 
 
 But a few rods away, Lake Michigan rolled 
 eastward in a green flood. The waves leaped 
 and flashed under the morning sun. In the har 
 bor lay half a dozen of the long black craft that, 
 ore-laden, could make their fifty miles an hour. 
 
 The huge buildings sprawled in a mighty clus 
 ter, their buttresses and angles and projections
 
 i8a The Mirage of the Many 
 
 like so many ill- formed and warped but powerful 
 muscles of a myriad-bodied monster. For all 
 this the blue sky formed a background showing 
 between the stacks, which resembled nothing so 
 much as a row of huge, ugly fingers outstretched. 
 
 Strange all this seemed to Faverall Markham 
 now as strange as it had seemed to him when, 
 a boy, he had first looked upon the Western 
 Steel Mills. He was but fourteen then, a scared, 
 shrinking youngster, with his little shiny dinner 
 pail clutched tight in his fist. His father had 
 died but recently before that, and he had been 
 called upon to help support his mother and 
 sisters. 
 
 He recalled how he had come as early as seven 
 o'clock and had stood outside the silent mills, in 
 the deserted street. He had tried timidly first 
 one door and then another, but had found all 
 locked. Then he had sat down to wait in the sun, 
 filtering the coke from the flooring of the yards 
 nervously between his fingers. Suddenly the 
 streets had been alive with the voices and feet of
 
 Dorothy Finds Employment 183 
 
 men, and then had come the rushing, jogging 
 throng, half-running, and he had been swept, 
 hardly more than a child, through the gates and 
 into the works. 
 
 Now, over forty years later, the act of his 
 boyhood was being repeated. Few men would 
 care to live their lives over a second time in the 
 way once lived. The zest of living seems to be 
 in the possibilities of the future. 
 
 As this morning Faverall Markham repeated 
 the act of nearly half a century back, the terrible 
 reality of his situation came home to him. Again 
 he was swept in through the gates, dazed this 
 time, not from the bewilderment of the unknown, 
 but by too close and too intent recognition of the 
 familiar. 
 
 In the general coat room on the second floor, 
 connected with the offices, he hung up his hat 
 like any other employee. In this same building 
 only eight months before he had presided at a 
 directors' meeting. That was at the time of the 
 semi-annual visit and inspection by these officials.
 
 184 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 Now he was a mere clerk, of far less importance 
 than any of the superintendents who then had 
 reported to him. Indeed, as he presently learned, 
 few of these old superintendents had retained 
 their positions. A vote of the employees had 
 swept them away. 
 
 In the department in which Faverall Markham 
 found himself placed, a young fellow, perhaps 
 twenty-seven years of age, named McDurgen, 
 was foreman. His hair was red, neatly parted in 
 the middle, and coming down over his forehead 
 in a sort of curl on either side. That was the 
 first thing Mr. Markham observed about the man. 
 It was the first thing any one observed about him. 
 Indeed, those two wisps of reddish hair stood out 
 on his pale forehead like horns of fire. 
 
 But this feature was presently obscured by 
 another one, more pronounced, more insistent, 
 even, if not at first so conspicuous. This was his 
 overbearing insolence. His eyes lighted up at the 
 name on the application card that was presented 
 him.
 
 Dorothy Finds Employment 185 
 
 " Humph," he said, picking up the card, " do 
 you think you can do the work? " He blew on 
 the edge with a sharp whistling sound while he 
 eyed the man before him in a domineering 
 fashion. 
 
 " Young man," replied Mr. Markham, sharply, 
 " I created this department." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I know that, " McDurgen began 
 
 to interrupt with impatient assurance, but Mr. 
 Markham went on : 
 
 " Neither am I accustomed to being treated 
 superciliously by underbred young upstarts." 
 
 McDurgen's eyes fell before the stern gaze of 
 the old man. He let the latter pass to his desk 
 without further word. Yet there was a look in 
 his eyes, when he once more raised them, that 
 presaged trouble. 
 
 There had grown up in the Western Steel Mills 
 a complicated system with reference to delays or 
 errors in the shipment of goods. When the data 
 were incomplete and a letter asking for particu 
 lars had been mailed the complainant, all neces-
 
 1 86 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 sary papers were filed for a period of from five to 
 fifteen days. The correspondence would be 
 marked, " Casket 5 days," " Casket 10 days," etc., 
 at the end of which time these data would auto 
 matically be produced. Some abuses, due to in 
 dolence and inefficiency on the part of the em 
 ployees, had crept in. Cases that should have 
 been disposed of at once were often consigned 
 to the casket. 
 
 With the coming of the Socialistic regime these 
 abuses ran riot, and though there were not so 
 many cases to handle as in the old days, the 
 caskets were filled with neglected ones. More 
 over, though the office force had been consider 
 ably augmented, little work was done. A man 
 could hardly be discharged. The government had 
 to find work for every individual, deserving or 
 otherwise. 
 
 Though ownership of the plant had passed 
 absolutely out of his hands, probably forever; 
 though the failure of the Socialist system tended 
 to his advantage, the reckless, inefficient methods
 
 Dorothy Finds Employment 187 
 
 of handling the business of the department grated 
 upon Faverall Markham's business ideals. 
 
 He brought the matter to McDurgen's atten 
 tion. 
 
 " Oh," said McDurgen smoothly, " so you're 
 determined to find fault with our Socialist ways 
 of doing things, are you? I thought you Capital 
 ists wouldn't keep quiet long without poking your 
 fingers about trying to discredit the new system. 
 No, sir," he continued, raising his voice so that 
 the men at the desks all around them could hear, 
 " I'll listen to no charges against any man here. 
 If you don't like the fellows here tell them so, or 
 get out. It's none of my business what your 
 relations are to the others here." 
 
 Mr. Markham drew back, incredulity and in 
 dignation in his eyes. 
 
 " But I am making no charges against any 
 one," he said; " I merely suggested " 
 
 " Keep your suggestions to yourself. I want 
 nothing from you." 
 
 And the young man went on writing one of
 
 1 88 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 the private letters he spent much of his time in 
 composing. 
 
 The veins swelled in Mr. Markham's forehead. 
 His lips tightened and his fists clenched. 
 
 McDurgen had turned the situation, turned it 
 cleverly. Mr. Markham could not help but admit 
 that. He had made it appear to all that he had 
 lodged some sort of a complaint against one, if 
 not more, of the men. What McDurgen's pur 
 pose was in doing this he could not imagine. It 
 showed him one fact, however, and a fact indeed 
 most startling that the government had every 
 man who might be considered its enemy, at its 
 mercy. A man could not be thrown out of em 
 ployment, but life could be made unendurable. 
 
 As Faverall Markham realized this, the anger 
 died slowly out, leaving his face a bit old and tired. 
 Silently he resumed his seat at his desk, and it 
 was with a trembling hand that he continued at 
 his work. 
 
 There have been practised innumerable methods 
 of persecution, some rough, some subtle, since
 
 Dorothy Finds Employment 189 
 
 the world began. The rougher methods often 
 merely irritate and render defiant the victims. 
 The finer methods insinuate themselves into the 
 soul and slowly eat the core away. 
 
 McDurgen in dealing with Mr. Markham now 
 adopted the latter method, in contrast with the 
 more open hostility of the men. The adjusting 
 office of the Western Steel Works now became 
 to the old man a living hell. Toward Faverall 
 Markham, McDurgen assumed a mock respect 
 and pity that in reality bordered on insolence to 
 the point of driving one mad. He professed to 
 consult the ex-owner on various points, asked his 
 advice on this and that, and in short, brought 
 home to him constantly the great gulf between 
 his past and present life. And then, when he felt 
 he had scored a point, McDurgen would shut his 
 thin lips down upon his large teeth in a sup 
 pressed grin as his eyes wandered for approval 
 over his constituents. 
 
 The policy of the men was different. The 
 majority of them left the ex-steel magnate
 
 190 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 severely alone. It was the silence of contempt 
 contempt for one who they believed had spoken 
 against them. There were several of the jackal 
 pack, however, who could not resist the oppor 
 tunity to bait the fallen lion. This they did by 
 the exchange between themselves of broad, jovial 
 remarks. And one young fool used to leer in 
 his face with a facetious gesture whenever he 
 passed the desk of the old man. 
 
 Though he said nothing of all this to Dorothy, 
 she quickly discerned that some heavy cloud lay 
 upon him. She made no comment, however, for 
 some time. Then one afternoon as he came home 
 unusually pale and heavy-eyed, she could no 
 longer forego questioning him. 
 
 " Nothing, nothing at all is the matter, dear," 
 Mr. Markham hastily answered, kissing her again 
 and again in his desire to stifle further interroga 
 tion. 
 
 Seeing that she only pained and embarrassed 
 him, she pressed the matter no further. Instead, 
 she introduced a new subject. " What do you
 
 Dorothy Finds Employment 191 
 
 think, daddy dear," she went on, her blue eyes 
 warming with a happy light, " I'm going to 
 work, too." 
 
 Mr. Markham turned still whiter. He saw a 
 picture of his child, always protected and guarded 
 like a delicate plant, thrown into some such heart 
 less atmosphere as he himself was compelled to 
 endure. The very thought of it wrung his soul 
 with anguish. 
 
 " Oh, Dorothy, I cannot let you go to work," 
 he exclaimed at last. 
 
 She was perplexed. " Why, father, what is 
 there so terrible about that? Something must 
 
 be worrying you awfully to make " and then 
 
 recollecting herself, she stopped. " Sit right 
 down here beside me and let me explain. Now you 
 know how very, very kind Mr. Bornheim has been. 
 Well, he has friends on the Committee of Art, 
 and this committee decides whom the state shall 
 support while paintings and statues are being 
 produced. And I've been appointed one of these 
 state artists. I'm to receive a salary or pension
 
 192 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 or whatever it is called, for six whole months. 
 Then there's to be an art exhibit and an award, 
 and the successful contestants are to be appointed 
 permanently now, then, what's so terrible about 
 all that, father? Why, you're trembling. Oh, 
 you poor, dear man! Come, come, daddy dear, 
 do tell me what is the matter." 
 
 But Mr. Markham repeated his assurances. 
 " It's nothing, Dorothy, nothing." 
 
 Later in the evening Faverall Markham sought 
 out Bornheim and thanked him for his efforts in 
 behalf of his daughter. 
 
 " I wish I might do something for you, also, 
 Mr. Markham," said Bornheim, " but in most 
 quarters I have little influence, very little influ 
 ence indeed." 
 
 If Mr. Markham had not been so wrapped up 
 in his troubles he might have been more careful 
 to note Bornheim's bearing toward Dorothy. 
 The girl also, at times, observed the man with 
 some uneasiness. It was not that he was not 
 respectful, most deferential, even, but there was
 
 Dorothy Finds Employment 193 
 
 something in his bearing toward her that had not 
 been apparent in the other men she had known. 
 She could not help contrasting this with the feel 
 ing of absolute security and trust she had felt in 
 Seebar's presence. 
 
 Security! The word had come to her un 
 consciously. What had she to be afraid of in 
 the man? He had been kind, more than kind. 
 He had done more for them, far more, than 
 Seebar had even attempted to do since they had 
 been evicted from Sheridan Drive. True, she 
 had not permitted Seebar but then why should 
 she permit him? to do anything for them. It 
 occasionally did occur to Dorothy that Bornheim 
 might indeed do more for her father than he had 
 done. His services were too much for her, too 
 little for him. And though she had appealed to 
 the politician to try to secure for her father 
 something better than the mere clerkship he held, 
 he showed a strange inability to make use of his 
 influence. 
 
 But relief came from another quarter. At least
 
 194 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 one man in the adjusting office of the Western 
 Steel Mills had a heart. 
 
 " I know you want to get away from here," he 
 said kindly, noting the old man's bent head and 
 the tired weary look in the eyes. " If I were 
 you I'd apply to the Employment Bureau for a 
 change of occupation." 
 
 It had been one of Faverall Markham's ideals 
 that the business should be thoroughly concen 
 trated, that even the offices should be situated in 
 the same group of buildings where the actual 
 manufacturing went forward. 
 
 And thus it was that he passed from the adjust 
 ing department of the Western Steel Works to 
 the shops of the plant, where bolts and screws 
 and similar bits of finished iron were turned out.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 THE SHOP DIVIDED AGAINST ITSELF 
 
 / T^HE smell of oil was in the air. The oil 
 oozed slowly in thick, viscid streams over 
 the lathes, turning so leisurely that they seemed 
 almost at rest. But overhead the smooth, worn 
 belts whirred briskly. 
 
 The building was a single-story one of con 
 crete and steel. Its glass-covered roof sloped 
 from a central ridge. In appearance it was not 
 unlike a hot-house. 
 
 In just such a place as this Faverall Markham 
 had served his apprenticeship. He remembered 
 with the vivid distinctness of but yesterday how 
 he had crouched at the door in half fear, half 
 wonder at the unaccustomed scene. 
 
 A big burly workman with a grizzled beard, 
 
 old Steve Harrington (he thought of the man 
 195
 
 196 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 now long since dead with a rush of gratitude) 
 had taken him kindly by the shoulder and initiated 
 him into his simple duties, and later taught him 
 to tend the machines. 
 
 Now he was back to this again an old, almost 
 a useless man, though as a manager, an organizer, 
 his services would have been invaluable. Cer 
 tainly Socialism, so far as concerned adjusting a 
 man to the right occupation, was a dismal failure, 
 at least up to the present. 
 
 Faverall Markham had been standing at his 
 machine for perhaps half an hour, listening to the 
 slight click, click of the parts, watching the rods 
 and sprockets slowly shift in their bed of thick 
 yellow oil, and the long steel shavings gradually 
 unwind, while at intervals, a finished nut would 
 drop into the receptacle prepared for it. Sud 
 denly he discovered a fellow-workman at his 
 elbow. 
 
 " Who are you for ? " asked he in a low voice, 
 glancing covertly around, as if fearful of being 
 overheard.
 
 The Shop Divided Against Itself 197 
 
 " I don't understand/' answered Mr. Mark- 
 ham. 
 
 His questioner was a well-built, vigorous look 
 ing fellow of perhaps thirty-five, with a quick, 
 sharp eye. His method of speaking was hasty 
 and impatient, due, probably, as much to his 
 native manner as to present circumstances. 
 
 " Oh, well," he said, apparently relieved, " I 
 was afraid you'd been tampered with already. 
 Remember, if the foreman asks you to make cer 
 tain promises, don't do it. Don't do it at least 
 till I've talked with you again." And he was 
 gone. 
 
 Mr. Markham's gaze followed the man won- 
 deringly, and then he looked around at the other 
 workmen. 
 
 The men in the shop were evidently no idlers. 
 They bent to their tasks as though they felt 
 responsibility, and were interested in their work, 
 too. As he stood, overalled, bare-armed, with 
 the steady whir of the machine sounding, the 
 click of the falling nuts, the swift flashing of the
 
 198 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 belts overhead, all these things began to get 
 into Mr. Markham's system. He felt almost 
 happy, as he had in the old days, over his task. 
 
 " Well, and so Pete Armstrong's been meddling 
 with you already, has he? " 
 
 The newcomer was the foreman, John Bether- 
 ing. 
 
 Mr. Markham looked at a splotch of grease on 
 the back of his hand, and deliberately wiped it 
 off on his new blue overalls before answering. 
 
 "Why, I don't know what you'd call it," he 
 answered slowly and guardedly. " I couldn't 
 make out at all what he was talking about." 
 
 " He's a trouble maker, that's what he is," said 
 the foreman fiercely. " He's dead sore because 
 I was elected foreman instead of him. I know 
 you've been a Capitalist and owner of these mills, 
 and all that, but we're not going to hold that 
 against you down here. I've heard something of 
 your troubles up in the adjusting department, and 
 the boys up there are pretty sore at you. Now, 
 if you'll promise to vote for me in the next elec-
 
 The Shop Divided Against Itself 199 
 
 tion I'll see to it that you get treated good and 
 white." 
 
 Bethering had a coarse, bulldog face set on a 
 thick neck. He was of powerful build, of 
 medium height, with a chest of great breadth and 
 depth. He was an evil-looking man, take him 
 all in all, and Mr. Markham was determined, if 
 he could possibly avoid it, not to thrust himself 
 into any rivalry that might exist in the shops. 
 He looked past Bethering and saw that every eye 
 in the place was fixed upon them. 
 
 " If you'd explain the situation," he began. 
 
 " It's just this way," said Bethering, leaning 
 against a pillar, and flecking with rapid, reckless 
 strokes of his hand a flying belt, " there's a lot 
 of fellows in here that's Anti-Socialists. I sur 
 mise you're one, but that don't cut any figure 
 just now. Then there are some of the boys that 
 don't quite like me. That fellow Pete Arm 
 strong's at the bottom of it all, damn him! " A 
 vindictive scowl passed over Bethering's face. 
 " He ran against me for foreman, and got licked.
 
 2oo The Mirage of the Many 
 
 He's sulking now, and so are some of the men. 
 We're sort of in two gangs here. Armstrong 
 won't give in. There's another election in about 
 two weeks and he hopes to beat me then, but I'm 
 going to make it hell for some of them fellows. 
 I'm going to make 'em quit. I won't have op 
 position. Now," suddenly concluded Bethering in 
 a tone dangerously alluring and inviting, " I want 
 you to promise me you'll vote for me when the 
 pinch comes. Give me your hand on it." 
 
 And he had grasped the limp and reluctant hand 
 of his listener in his short, strong fingers. 
 
 But Mr. Markham was not to be so entrapped. 
 " I can't promise you that, now, Mr. Bethering," 
 he answered with decision. " Anyway, why can't 
 I be a neutral? Why can't you fellows fight it 
 out among yourselves? " 
 
 " Because if you ain't for me you're against 
 me," answered Bethering doggedly, unconsciously 
 paraphrasing a famous utterance nearly two thou 
 sand years old. " I won't have any lukewarms in 
 my shop. You promise to vote for me or you
 
 The Shop Divided Against Itself 201 
 
 don't. If you don't it's going to be hell for you, 
 you can bet that," he concluded, and turned away. 
 
 At the noon lunch hour, Mr. Markham was 
 again approached by Armstrong. " Did the fore 
 man explain things to you? " he asked grimly. 
 
 " He told me there was trouble in the shop 
 and asked for my support." 
 
 " And of course you promised." There was 
 a positive fierceness in the words. 
 
 " No, not yet," sighed Mr. Markham. 
 
 To himself, he thought, " Why couldn't these 
 men leave him alone? He had enough troubles of 
 his own without becoming involved in the pettiest 
 of Socialistic politics." 
 
 " I told him," he continued, " that I wanted to 
 remain neutral." 
 
 " Now, I'll tell you just how things are," went 
 on Armstrong, unheeding the plea in Mr. Mark- 
 ham's last words. " I was a candidate for fore 
 man, and I fought fair. Now this fellow Bether- 
 ing, like a fool, began to gloat over us fellows 
 and tried to make life miserable for the Anti-
 
 2O2 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 Socialists who had voted for me. He's driven 
 some of the boys out, but he's afraid to do much 
 with the rest of them. He'd start in to complain 
 about our work, but there's been so much trans 
 ferring of men already, and they're getting tired 
 of it higher up. Some of Bethering's supporters 
 are getting sore at him, too. He'll be down and 
 out at the next election, and he knows it. The way 
 he's acting won't do him any good, either. He's 
 just digging the pit deeper for himself. We're 
 going to drop him in drop him good and hard, 
 too. You think over what I've told you," he 
 concluded, for the one o'clock gong was sound 
 ing, and the men were leisurely resuming their 
 places. " I don't ask you to promise to vote for 
 me. I know where your vote will go, though, if 
 you don't promise to vote for Bethering." 
 
 As he returned to his lathe, Faverall Markham 
 could not help contrasting the lack of discipline 
 and the change of spirit in the shop since he had 
 known it. Were all places equally bad? In one 
 department of the Western Steel Works he had
 
 The Shop Divided Against Itself 203 
 
 found a shameless inefficiency and waste of labor, 
 with a domineering foreman. Here in the shop 
 he had found a place divided against itself, with 
 open hostility between a large portion of the 
 workmen and the foreman. Here, too, he had 
 found a foreman who was coarse, insulting, and 
 incompetent. 
 
 It hurt, hurt more than he cared to admit even 
 to himself, the lack of consideration he had re 
 ceived. So far as his influence was concerned, 
 Faverall Markham was dead and buried. Even 
 Armstrong, whom Mr. Markham felt that he 
 could like, looked upon him only as a creature for 
 his own individual ends. And these were the 
 very men he had kept employed paid them their 
 wages in full, three or four years back, when 
 there had come a temporary business crisis 
 these were the men for whom he had provided a 
 pension fund, for disability, temporary or per 
 manent, and for old age these were the men for 
 whom he had built model cottages, which could 
 be purchased at cost and without interest.
 
 204 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 He felt that the men were ungrateful, shame 
 fully so. He did not care so much for that, how 
 ever. It was the lack of respect and consideration 
 that hurt. 
 
 The days went on and he grew to know the 
 men. He knew them better than they knew them 
 selves. Why shouldn't he? He had been raised 
 in the shops. He could readily read, from his 
 past experience, their views and opinions. He 
 began presently to feel that he was becoming 
 liked. A respect that he had longed for was 
 growing. If he had refused to mingle with them, 
 if he had even indicated that his position had 
 once been superior to theirs, the men would 
 promptly have manifested a resentment, keen and 
 effective. Only his quiet speech and natural 
 dignity marked him as being different from them 
 selves. He had no complaints to offer, no re 
 grets. 
 
 Themselves scarcely aware of the feeling, 
 gradually the men began to understand the 
 tremendous tragedy of this man's life. In quiet
 
 The Shop Divided Against Itself 205 
 
 ways, with little touches of delicacy, they made 
 him realize this. Life to him began to grow not 
 only tolerable, but even hopeful. 
 
 But still there was a thorn, pricking, irritating 
 his side Bethering. The ease with which Mr. 
 Markham seemed to have entered into the good 
 graces of the other workmen apparently annoyed 
 him. Moreover, he had not yet received the 
 promise of the vote. Day by day his manner be 
 came more insistent, more threatening. 
 
 " Look here, Markham," he said one day, clap 
 ping his heavy palm on the older man's shoulder, 
 and staring him fixedly in the eye, " you're pretty 
 thick with that man Armstrong and his crowd. 
 Are you, or are you not going to vote for me ? " 
 And he jerked the shoulder impatiently with his 
 hand. 
 
 Mr. Markham flushed and disengaged himself 
 from the detaining clutch. " That's my business," 
 he responded angrily. " Certainly, you're not 
 adopting the best procedure to get it." 
 
 Bethering raised his fist. A wild light gleamed
 
 206 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 in his eye, and for the moment it seemed as though 
 he would strike. 
 
 Then, with a harsh laugh not pleasant to hear, 
 his fingers slowly relaxed. " You'll regret this," 
 he said. 
 
 At that moment Armstrong walked up. 
 
 " Go back to your machine," commanded 
 Bethering. 
 
 " Oh, I don't think I will," laughed Armstrong, 
 with insolent nonchalance. " I'll be boss here in 
 a few days." And he laughed again, but the light 
 in his eye was not altogether of amusement. 
 
 Bethering swallowed the insult with hard- 
 staring eyes. He did not answer, but turned 
 away as if in doubt. 
 
 " Why do you irritate him ? " asked Mr. 
 Markham. 
 
 " I can't help it. I like to draw that devilish 
 glare in his eye. If he provokes me sufficiently, 
 I'll knock him down." 
 
 Mr. Markham looked after the broad heaving 
 shoulders of the foreman and shook his head
 
 The Shop Divided Against Itself 207 
 
 doubtfully. " I don't know," he commented; 
 " I've seldom seen a more powerful man." 
 
 " My reach is longer, and I'm quicker," Arm 
 strong returned confidently. 
 
 " Are all shops like this ? " 
 
 " Why, this is a model," answered Armstrong. 
 " Over on State Street three gangs of men quit 
 work on a building there because they didn't like 
 the foreman they'd elected. They demanded that 
 they be impeached and removed, and they were. 
 The government is helpless. It's afraid of the 
 people. And the people are working less and less 
 and getting sore because they don't have all the 
 luxuries the rich had before the Great Change. 
 I'm told, too, that the farmers are not planting 
 much of a crop. They're all Anti-Socialists in 
 the rural regions, you know. Things are going to 
 come to a pretty pass, I tell you. I'm a Socialist, 
 but I believe a mistake was made in forcing the 
 system upon the country at this time or at any 
 other time, for that matter. You can't force an 
 economic system. It's got to grow. Politics
 
 2o8 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 should have little to do with it. This thing," he 
 added very earnestly, " is going to end in revolu 
 tion, but I haven't time to think of that now. 
 My chief end in life," Armstrong concluded 
 lightly, " is to effect the overthrow of the 
 usurper." 
 
 Reflecting upon what Armstrong had told him, 
 Mr. Markham was troubled. But chiefly was he 
 troubled by Bethering's threats.
 
 HP HAT afternoon Dorothy met her father with 
 her usual smile and kiss, but there was a 
 happier glow than ordinarily upon her face. 
 
 " Father," she said, shoving him into his large 
 easy-chair the quarters provided for them by 
 the government were certainly very pleasant 
 and seating herself on the arm, " what do you 
 think ? I have a studio." 
 
 "A studio?" 
 
 " A real studio. It's on the top floor of the 
 old Russian Exchange Building. It's 'way, 'way 
 up, I know," she said hastily, " but then it is easy 
 to reach by elevator. Mr. Bornheim is so kind 
 Why, father, what is the matter ? " 
 
 "Nothing, nothing, child; did I look dif 
 ferent ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed you did. You scowled most 
 209
 
 2io The Mirage of the Many 
 
 positively, when I mentioned Mr. Bornheim. 
 Now, what have you against kind, good-hearted 
 Mr. Bornheim? " 
 
 Mr. Markham did not answer the question. 
 Instead, he put one himself. " I am to under 
 stand that it is through the good offices of Mr. 
 Bornheim that you secured this studio ? " 
 
 " Why, yes." 
 
 " It is indeed very kind of Mr. Bornheim, 
 but " 
 
 "But what?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing, Dorothy. I have no doubt that 
 Mr. Bornheim may be all that you think he is. 
 Now, go on?" 
 
 " Well," resumed Dorothy, still, however, with 
 a half-dubious look. " It's a little room oh, such 
 a cute little room. It's so quiet and still and re 
 mote. There's one thing I wish, though," she 
 added in a tone of regret. " I wish that some 
 of the other artists had studios up there, too." 
 
 "Dolly!" The sharpness in the tone half 
 alarmed the girl. " Excuse me for the question,
 
 The Doubtful Gift 211 
 
 but don't you think Mr. Bornheim is doing a 
 little too much for you ? " 
 
 " Because he's obtained the little studio for 
 me?" 
 
 " Partly because of that, and partly because of 
 other things." 
 
 "Well, but, father, why shouldn't he do this? 
 He evidently takes an interest in me." 
 
 " No doubt," replied Mr. Markham dryly. 
 
 Dorothy was silent. 
 
 " Now, why should he take an interest in you ? 
 Either he's in love with you or he's doing this 
 because of friendship for Seebar. Presuming, of 
 course," he added slowly, " that he's of good 
 character. I should like to see this studio. To 
 night, if you don't mind." 
 
 Dorothy had been standing, her head partly 
 turned away, the back of her hand to her lips, in 
 an attitude of doubt. " Do you want me to give 
 up this this work ? " she said. 
 
 " Why, bless your heart, no, dear. But things 
 have changed so that I am becoming very cau-
 
 212 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 tious, overcautious, perhaps. But we'll look at 
 your studio, anyway, won't we?" And with a 
 smile he looked deep into her earnest eyes and 
 kissed her. 
 
 Dorothy was grave, unusually so, even for her, 
 at dinner. She understood that her father dis 
 trusted Bornheim. Still, why should he distrust 
 him? The man was respectful, deferential, and 
 then she remembered how more than once in the 
 past she had felt a slight uneasiness, she still did 
 not know why, with regard to his attentions. 
 Was it because of Alfred Seebar, a sort of prick 
 ing of conscience? For in her heart she began 
 to believe that neither she nor her father had 
 been quite just to him; and unaware of the fact, 
 she repeated her father's reflection: she would 
 have liked to ask Seebar what he thought of 
 Bornheim. But what difference did it make, 
 anyway? She was not on intimate terms with 
 Bornheim. He was little more than an acquaint 
 ance. No matter what the man's character might 
 be, it could in no way affect her.
 
 The Doubtful Gift 213 
 
 And so she professed to convince herself and 
 dismiss the subject from her mind, but the ap 
 proaching visit to the studio kept it fresh before 
 her. 
 
 It was almost dusk when Dorothy and her 
 father left the elevator on the thirtieth floor and 
 ascended by a flight of stairs to the floor above 
 the top story of the building. The waning day 
 light cast a pale glow through the roof of ground 
 glass, guiding their steps, as they pattered down 
 the otherwise silent hall. 
 
 A turn to the right and Dorothy was fumbling 
 at a door with her key. In a moment she had it 
 open, had touched a button, and the place became 
 brilliant with light the light that was almost as 
 cheap, as universal, as air or water. 
 
 Mr. Markham could not survey the room with 
 other than a pleased eye. It was a neat room, 
 rather small, yet well suited to its purpose. The 
 windows were large, opening out to the south 
 and east. Already, drawing tables and easels and 
 stools had been provided.
 
 214 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 " And see, father," said Dorothy, who had been 
 observing him keenly, noting with silent pleasure 
 his manifest approval of the place, " isn't this a 
 dear little room? " 
 
 She led the way through a door, which, at 
 first glance, one might judge led into a closet. 
 Easy-chairs, a bit of a table, with some fragile 
 tea things upon it, a picture or two, a fireplace, 
 and a huge Davenport all lent an atmosphere of 
 comfort. It was beautiful, cosey, and remote. 
 Its only entrance was through the studio. 
 
 " There is only one thing I don't like about the 
 room," said Dorothy, opening one of the win 
 dows, " and that is, this scaffold out here. 
 They're adding something to the building be 
 yond. See how incomplete it looks with that 
 great hole in the wall, and the girders all showing 
 like the bones of some huge skeleton, and the 
 concrete so white and ragged. But they're not 
 working on it just now, so I'll not be disturbed." 
 
 As they stood, leaning out of the window, their 
 heads close together, the girl's arm around her
 
 The Doubtful Gift 215 
 
 father's shoulder, there came a great burst, a 
 huge flash, of light noiseless, but with all the 
 abruptness of an explosion. It was only the 
 lights of the city being turned on, yet the two 
 started, bumping their heads together in conse 
 quence, and then laughing at their own surprise. 
 
 After that brief little laugh they were silent 
 again. 
 
 " Look," said Dorothy presently, " there conies 
 the moon." 
 
 A wan bit of light it seemed just above the 
 illumination of the city. A black cloud loomed, 
 its huge shoulder up against the pale disk. The 
 moon seemed to scurry along the edge, then sank 
 behind the cloud, revealing the latter's irregular 
 jagged shape in golden outline. And then the 
 cloud raised its shoulder still higher and the light 
 in the sky vanished. 
 
 " It's gone," said Dorothy. 
 
 " Yes, gone," repeated her father softly, 
 " gone." 
 
 They sat down upon the Davenport. It was
 
 216 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 cool and quiet and restful, up there in the little 
 studio. They felt for the first time since their 
 removal from the old home on Sheridan Drive 
 that they possessed real privacy. It was weari 
 some, night after night, to come to the table 
 and listen to the same useless idle chatter. What 
 a contrast with the quiet, well-ordered dining 
 room they had known with the noiseless, in 
 telligent service of the butler, with nothing what 
 ever to interfere with their free exchange of 
 thought. 
 
 How monotonous Dorothy's life must now be, 
 thought Mr. Markham. He was thankful she had 
 her art work to interest her, to take her mind 
 from the otherwise absolute vacuity of existence 
 that otherwise would have confronted her. 
 
 Then once more they began to talk. 
 
 Dorothy spoke of the art contest which was to 
 be concluded in four months. " If I am success 
 ful I shall receive a really munificent income from 
 the state," she said. " I shall work, oh, work so 
 hard, and perhaps, then, you can retire."
 
 The Doubtful Gift 217 
 
 " Nonsense, child, why should I retire ? It is 
 better that I have something to do." 
 
 " Really now, father, what sort of work are 
 you doing? You have never answered my ques 
 tions whenever I have asked you about it. You 
 look so very, very tired at nights, and your hands 
 are getting hard. Father, I wouldn't have men 
 tioned this, but everything seems so different 
 here to-night. I feel more myself. I feel that 
 we are away from all those dreadful people. I 
 feel that we are as we used to be, confiding in 
 each other. So don't be angry, father." 
 
 Mr. Markham kissed her softly on the cheek. 
 " I'm not angry, dear," he answered huskily. 
 " If I seem troubled it's for your sake, Dolly. I 
 do wish I knew more of this man, Bornheim, 
 though, I do indeed. I trust you absolutely. 
 Don't misunderstand me for a single instant. 
 But then you're only a child, only a child." He 
 sighed. 
 
 At that moment he felt most keenly how un 
 protected his daughter was. In case of accident
 
 218 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 to himself what would become of her? He placed 
 no confidence in Bornheim's professed friendship. 
 
 Thought of Bornheim brought to his mind 
 another man. He no longer wondered if he had 
 not made a mistake with regard to him; he knew. 
 Socialist or Individualist, he felt Seebar to be a 
 man of honor a man to be trusted implicitly. 
 
 And Dorothy's thoughts, too, were running on 
 the same theme. She would have broached the 
 matter to her father, only somehow she could 
 not quite screw up her courage.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 MRS. TWESDEM OFFERS INFORMATION 
 
 TA AILY, Dorothy shut herself up in her studio 
 for hours at a time, working hard, and 
 hoping as zealously. Sometimes in the evening 
 she talked with Mrs. Twesdem, with whom she 
 could converse more freely than with her father, 
 about her progress in the task she had under 
 taken; for so much hung upon these hopes, these 
 endeavors, that Dorothy did not wish to rouse in 
 Mr. Markham's mind an enthusiasm akin to her 
 own. New disappointment she could bear far 
 better than he. 
 
 Success meant an opportunity to release the 
 ex-millionaire from the irksome grind of daily 
 employment. From her father, Dorothy had 
 never been able to learn just what his duties at 
 the steel mills were. It had come to her as a 
 
 shock when, through real kindness of heart, Mrs. 
 219
 
 22O The Mirage of the Many 
 
 Twesdem had at length yielded to the daughter's 
 pleadings and told her a portion of the facts. 
 
 The truth had one immediate effect: it crys 
 tallized, most definitely, Dorothy's purpose. 
 Hitherto, she had striven largely, if not chiefly, 
 for herself. The dreariness of the new life had 
 driven her with an intensity, almost feverish, to 
 the one thing she knew she could do whether 
 that doing were well or ill. But now she felt 
 that perhaps she could help her father. From 
 that moment a new spirit entered into her work. 
 
 In spite of the most apparent atmosphere of 
 pseudo-culture that enveloped Mrs. Twesdem, 
 Dorothy had grown to like her. Aside from an 
 occasional display of tactlessness, that produced 
 situations a bit embarrassing, the woman proved 
 herself to be whole-hearted and sometimes even 
 delicately sympathetic. Moreover, Dorothy 
 found in her a shrewd interpreter of many of the 
 phases of the Great Change, as people still con 
 tinued to call the new system inaugurated by the 
 Socialist regime.
 
 Mrs. Twesdem Offers Information 221 
 
 But it was Mrs. Twesdem, who completely un- 
 foreseeing the mischief that the innocent remark 
 would cause, suddenly took almost all the heart 
 out of Dorothy with regard to her artistic am 
 bition. 
 
 " I've heard," said Mrs. Twesdem casually, 
 " that our friend, Mr. Jeppels, is to be a member 
 on the committee which is to judge the paintings." 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Twesdem, you don't mean it ! " 
 Dorothy's tone was as if she were protesting 
 against a sacrilege. " Why, surely he would 
 have said something about it himself, if he were." 
 
 " No doubt, but he was appointed only to-day, 
 to take the place of some one who has resigned." 
 
 " Jeppels an art critic ! Oh, it can't be, I 
 know it can't! It makes it all seem so common 
 and tawdry." 
 
 " Well, well, Dorothy, it's nothing to worry 
 over. Really, he likes you very much, and I have 
 no doubt he will vote for your work " 
 
 " Mrs. Twesdem, please don't ! That makes it 
 all the worse. To have a lot of ignorant men
 
 222 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 passing upon something that ihey cannot under 
 stand something that is the creation of one's 
 very best in thought and feeling, is bad enough, 
 but to think of winning through favoritism. Oh, 
 I hope, I know, Mr. Jeppels will use his judgment, 
 wrong though it may be, rather than do such a 
 thing. He's a rough, coarse man, but Mrs. Twes- 
 dem, you know he wouldn't do such a thing as 
 that, don't you?" 
 
 " Why, I suppose not," replied Mrs. Twesdem 
 hesitatingly, looking somewhat puzzled; " but the 
 decision, of course, doesn't rest with Jeppels 
 alone. There are other members on the com 
 mittee, you know." 
 
 " I never really thought before about the mem 
 bership of this committee. The names haven't 
 been published, have they? I naturally thought 
 everything would be as it was in the old days. 
 I just thought that this one thing art was left 
 to me. I should have known that they wouldn't 
 leave me that, either. Oh, Mrs. Twesdem, I 
 looked forward to this award with such interest
 
 Mrs. Twesdem Offers Information 223 
 
 and such hope and now " There was a 
 
 hopelessness in her tone. 
 
 " Dorothy, everything is all right really it is." 
 Mrs. Twesdem was genuinely distressed. " You'll 
 not feel this way, I'm sure, when you win one 
 of the prizes " 
 
 "Oh, I don't want to win any prizes; they're 
 not worth while now. The Socialists don't care 
 for art at least those in power don't' or they 
 wouldn't have such men as Jeppels pass upon it. 
 And I have been working so hard upon that paint 
 ing, and I did try to do my best. Oh, it seems 
 almost like exposing one's soul it's desecration 
 to put a painting on exhibition now." 
 
 Mrs. Twesdem was beginning to recover her 
 self. " There must have been a mistake some 
 where when Jeppels was appointed," she sug 
 gested. " Some of the officials are very able men. 
 I know nothing so absurd as this would be done 
 intentionally. Surely it is carelessness on the 
 part of some one. But don't feel so badly over 
 the art side of it. Don't you remember you told
 
 224 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 me you wanted so much to help your father? 
 You know how much your position as state artist 
 would do toward that. Then once the position 
 is yours you can paint what you please. Surely, 
 some persons will still be able to appreciate good 
 work. There are lots of persons who couldn't 
 appreciate art last year; but, on the other hand, 
 those who could tell a good from a bad painting 
 last year can do the same still. Please don't be 
 downcast; it makes me feel horribly blue, too." 
 
 Dorothy was recovering her spirits. " Thank 
 you, Mrs. Twesdem, for mentioning father. I 
 mustn't forget him. I'm growing very selfish, 
 I'm afraid. My appointment would mean so 
 much to father. I mustn't forget that." 
 
 " Things are different with all of us now," sug 
 gested Mrs. Twesdem gently. " Some feel it 
 more than others. It's hardest on those, I know, 
 who have been wealthy. But, in some other 
 cases, the change has proved itself almost as hard, 
 too. There's the instance of my friend Katherine 
 Grady. She's twenty- four and has supported
 
 Mrs. Twesdem Offers Information 225 
 
 herself for the last eight years ever since her 
 parents died. She's a kind, good-natured Irish 
 girl. She used to be very popular with the other 
 girls where she worked. But she hasn't got many 
 friends now. She worked in one of the labeling 
 departments at the Stock-yards, was forewoman 
 in fact. When this Socialism came, the girls 
 were almost unanimous that Katherine should be 
 elected over them. Now there's scarce one in 
 that whole department that has a good word for 
 her; who doesn't hate her. Poor child, she's 
 done her best, too, to please the girls. I guess 
 that's where a good deal of the trouble rose. 
 Then there were others, two or three, who 
 wanted the place. They were awfully jealous of 
 Katy. They did all they could to destroy her 
 popularity. 
 
 " By and by she began to notice that the girls 
 didn't seem as friendly as they had in the past. 
 They began to hint to her indirectly their change 
 of opinion of her. Whenever she approached a 
 group who were talking among themselves they
 
 226 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 would stop, or else say ambiguous, but cutting 
 things. 
 
 " Then one day there was a regular quarrel, 
 and one of the girls slapped Katherine in the face. 
 She wept over that and the other girls just 
 laughed some of those who had been her dearest 
 friends, too. She resigned shortly after that and 
 one of the women who sought the position got it 
 but Katy never has regained the friends she 
 lost." 
 
 " Poor little Katy ! " sighed Dorothy. " Do 
 they act that way toward all the forewomen? " 
 
 " Yes, unless the forewoman knows how to 
 make the girls in the shop split up into factions. 
 But don't think it's always the forewoman that's 
 in trouble. Sometimes it's the poor girl who's 
 just a plain worker, it's made so hard for. 
 There's Jessie Harding, who's a skilled lacemaker. 
 She's very pretty, too. Prettier than a working- 
 girl ought to be. That's one of the worst things 
 about this Socialism. A girl is no more protected 
 than under the old system indeed, often less.
 
 Mrs. Twesdem Offers Information 227 
 
 One of the chief men in the Chicago Employment 
 Bureau, Oscar Thompson, happened to see her 
 and fell in love with her but not in the right 
 way, not in the way we understand love, though 
 you've heard, I know, how loose the marriage 
 relation is held to be by many nowadays. In 
 fact, you know how many would abolish marriage 
 entirely. Well, this Oscar Thompson won her 
 confidence. He is a big man, handsome, and 
 gentle with women. Then, when at last she 
 understood his purpose, she would have nothing 
 more to do with him. But he tried to use in 
 direct means. In some way he won over the 
 forewoman in the shop where Jessie was em 
 ployed, and when this forewoman broached the 
 matter to her and the girl wouldn't yield, fault 
 was found with her work. This forewoman 
 managed the thing so cleverly that the antagonism 
 of the other lacemakers was not aroused. Jessie 
 Harding was practically driven to seek other em 
 ployment. She tried to get transferred, but all 
 they would offer her was the roughest and
 
 228 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 hardest kind of work. She's in the kitchen now 
 at the Pelion. Of course they've got to give her 
 work and pay her standard wages, but still they 
 find all sorts of methods of persecuting her. 
 Thompson holds out the most tempting promises 
 to her, too." 
 
 " Oh," cried Dorothy, her eyes burning with 
 indignation, " the monster ! " 
 
 After a pause she added : " But, Mrs. Twesdem, 
 there still are left some good people. There's 
 Mr. Grant, our old minister. It seems so strange 
 to see him in the entry department over in the 
 Central Distribution Building. He's still the same 
 kind, patient man he always was. And his 
 sermons every Sunday are just as wholesome and 
 as earnest as they used to be. Indeed, he seems 
 to be more earnest, for he is absolutely free to 
 speak from his own heart. Of course he gets 
 nothing for it. That was a wicked law which 
 prohibits any lecturer or minister from receiving 
 money by gift or subscription. Think of it, all 
 the churches, all the private schools, all the great
 
 Mrs. Twesdem Offers Information 229 
 
 endowed universities confiscated by the state, 
 along with our homes. Sometimes I can scarcely 
 believe that I am not dreaming. Every morning 
 when I wake up I go over many of the events of 
 the several months past to make sure that it is 
 not a dream, always hoping that I will find some 
 inconsistency in the events. But everything fits 
 in too well, and I know then that it's all only too 
 real. 
 
 " I suppose I ought to feel thankful that father 
 and I are so much better off than we might be, 
 but I can't help thinking, too, of the things I 
 used to take as a matter of course, but which, 
 I fear, have gone out of my life forever."
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 A TERRIBLE THING HAPPENS 
 election of foreman in the machine shop 
 
 of the Western Steel Mills took place early 
 in September. No specified date was set by the 
 Constitution for these industrial elections, as they 
 were called. The only requirement was that 
 they be held in September not later than the 
 fifteenth of the month. While in all the depart 
 ments of the steel mills considerable friction 
 existed, nowhere was there anything equal to 
 the bitterness of the quarrel that had put Arm 
 strong and Bethering at sword's points. The 
 rivals, whenever they chanced to meet, were 
 insolently hostile. No two men, the workers de 
 clared, had ever harbored such bitter, open 
 hatred without its leading, sooner or later, to a 
 test of physical strength. 
 
 On this morning, the men in Bethering's de- 
 230
 
 A Terrible Thing Happens 231 
 
 partment came to the plant earlier than usual. 
 Notwithstanding the unmistakable threats of 
 Bethering, and the more subtle insinuations of 
 his rival, there were still several men who had 
 not avowed themselves. This unknown vote held 
 the balance of power. 
 
 It seemed curious that the overbearing Beth 
 ering should have commanded the following he 
 did, but he had the bluff, hearty manner that 
 attracts many men. Moreover, there were some, 
 who, in the event of his success, did not care to 
 suJer his mean, petty vengeance. 
 
 There was a striking difference in the methods 
 employed by the two candidates in soliciting 
 votes. " Now, my man," Bethering would say, 
 dropping his broad red hands to his hips and 
 surveying his prospect with just the trace of a 
 sneer on his face, " you're going to climb into the 
 band wagon before it's too late, ain't you? It's 
 going to be rough riding for those who ain't in 
 my band wagon." 
 
 Armstrong would throw his arm in a friendly
 
 232 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 clasp over the shoulder of the man he solicited. 
 " Brother," he would say, " it's a choice between 
 a low-down browbeater and myself. I'll frankly 
 admit I think I am the better man. If you don't 
 think so, well, then some one's a poor judge. 
 We'll all be happier, though, if you elect me." 
 
 This morning the men were standing or sitting 
 in groups around the shop. The oil was oozing 
 from the machines as usual, overhead the belts 
 snapped by, but no man was at work. Some one 
 apparently had thoughtlessly turned on the 
 power, and no one seemed to consider a saving to 
 the government, by shutting it down, worth while. 
 The election had got into the blood, as elections 
 have got into the blood of men since that day 
 ages ago, when the two factions of some tribe, 
 wearying of cutting one another's throats, de 
 cided to test by ballot which side was numerically 
 the greater, and hence, the stronger. 
 
 There were about a hundred men who worked 
 in the machine shop. This matter of the election 
 had suddenly grown more important in their eyes
 
 A Terrible Thing Happens 233 
 
 than it had been deemed a week ago. As the 
 evenness of the contest became more apparent, 
 every vote took on a new value. 
 
 Three men were selected to count the ballots. 
 Bethering chose one, Armstrong another, and 
 these two fixed upon a third. 
 
 It was a crude, antiquated system they em 
 ployed in their voting. A plain white card was 
 passed around to each man and upon this he wrote 
 his choice. Then he walked up to the ballot- 
 box, also hastily improvised for the purpose, and 
 dropped the bit of cardboard through the opening. 
 
 Bethering and Armstrong, with keen, alert eyes 
 watched jealously over the proceedings. Once it 
 seemed as if Bethering would interfere with a 
 voter, even by force. He seized a depressed, sad- 
 eyed-appearing man by the shoulder. " Now 
 look here, Jack," he said ; " you know a damn 
 sight better than to vote the way you're going to. 
 Tear that up and do it right." 
 
 His words were as rough as his grip, and the 
 man paused doubtfully.
 
 234 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 " No interference here," said Armstrong 
 harshly; "every man votes as he pleases." 
 
 For a moment the two candidates glared at 
 each other. Then Bethering's hand dropped, and 
 the balloting went on. 
 
 It was over in a few minutes, and they were 
 counting the votes, one of the three judges of elec 
 tion reading each name aloud, as the card passed 
 through his hands, and marking down the result. 
 
 " Armstrong Bethering Armstrong 
 Armstrong Bethering," ran on the voice, in a 
 jerky, sing-song tone. 
 
 There came a brief pause to add up the totals. 
 Then another moment of silence followed, to 
 verify the result. 
 
 Presently one of the three judges stood up, 
 looking from the slip of paper he held in his 
 hand to the men in front of him, and then back 
 again to the slip of paper. 
 
 " There's no use in going through any prelimi 
 naries, I guess," he said. " You're all anxious 
 to know what the result is. There's ninety-nine
 
 A Terrible Thing Happens 235 
 
 votes in all cast divided as follows : Armstrong, 
 fifty; Bethering, forty-nine." 
 
 " There's been cheating here dirty, low-down 
 cheating!" Bethering had leaped forward, his 
 fists waving, his teeth set in an ugly clinch. 
 " There's only ninety-seven of us. There's two 
 votes too many." 
 
 "Well, if there are, who cast them?" Arm 
 strong put the question with provoking coolness. 
 
 The voters had gathered in a close mass, half- 
 circling about the three judges of election, stand 
 ing beside the table and the two candidates facing 
 each other. There was an expectant look on their 
 faces as they waited for developments, apparently 
 pleased at the exciting turn affairs were taking. 
 
 " Who cast them? " snarled Bethering; " why, 
 who would cast them ? I bet the losers didn't." 
 
 " Oh, I don't know," answered Armstrong, 
 still irritatingly cool, " that doesn't necessarily 
 follow. It looks to me rather as if the losers 
 underestimated their strength by a couple of 
 votes, and were careless in not making up the
 
 236 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 deficiency to the right amount. Why didn't you 
 add four ballots instead of two? It would have 
 been just as easy, I should think." 
 
 It was the sneer on Armstrong's face and the 
 smile of many of the onlookers that now almost 
 completely destroyed Bethering's always uncer 
 tain self-control. Things began to spin before 
 his eyes. The primitive instinctive desire to 
 crush that sneering face, to stop that insolent 
 voice, came to him. 
 
 Still the words sounded : " I think we'd better 
 have another vote. What do you say, boys?" 
 
 " Damn you, you've cheated, any one can see 
 that," almost screamed Bethering. " Why in hell 
 should we take another vote so you can stuff 
 the ballot-box once more so you can intimidate 
 some of the men, hey? " 
 
 His fist shook within a few inches of Arm 
 strong's eyes. He was nearly insane now with 
 passion. The hot blood flooded his head. He 
 seemed scarcely to see or to be able to breathe. 
 Still he did not strike.
 
 A Terrible Thing Happens 237 
 
 Armstrong disdained to answer his words. 
 " What will you have, boys," he repeated, 
 "another ballot?" 
 
 And then Bethering lost all sense of reason. 
 The uproar about him stimulated him to a greater 
 frenzy, as it might a madman. Without a word 
 of warning suddenly his fist shot out, aimed 
 straight between those insolent, mocking eyes. 
 Still, Armstrong had time to dodge and fend off 
 the blow with his right arm, almost with the same 
 movement hitting back at Bethering, and landing 
 on his jaw with a force that stopped him. It had 
 been a short jab, but not quite quick enough to 
 injure seriously the foreman. 
 
 And then the two men went at it more warily. 
 
 To Mr. Markham a fight of this sort was an 
 extraordinary spectacle. In the early days of his 
 life in the shops he had known men to spring at 
 each other in just such fashion as Armstrong and 
 Bethering now fought, but cooler and wiser 
 heads, backed by powerful arms, had always in 
 terfered, and brought hostilities to an abrupt and
 
 238 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 tame termination. Moreover, he had forgotten 
 the rougher life of his younger years. His tastes 
 had been softened and refined by the larger 
 atmosphere his wealth and position had placed 
 him in. It was with a sense of shrinking, a half- 
 fearful thrill, that he watched the combat. But 
 the spectacle, if repugnant, still seemed strangely 
 to fascinate him, and he found himself pushing 
 forward to get a better view. 
 
 Both were active men, muscular and powerful, 
 but Armstrong had the finer physique. He was 
 erect, sinewy, long of reach. Bethering stooped 
 awkwardly, in a half-crouching posture, but with 
 a compactness of build and a force of blow that 
 Armstrong could not equal. 
 
 What the fight was for no one paused to con 
 sider. It could have no bearing on the election; 
 but the principals and their following evidently 
 seemed to think that, somehow, their interests 
 were staked on the outcome of this battle. 
 
 For a little while the combatants manoeuvered 
 about, neither apparently having an advantage
 
 A Terrible Thing Happens 239 
 
 over the other, Armstrong's remarkable reach 
 offsetting Bethering's greater strength. Then 
 the men clinched, and Bethering, while holding, 
 struck his antagonist two short blows in the 
 stomach, and, groaning, Armstrong fell to the 
 floor. He lay, gasping for breath, his eyes closed, 
 while Bethering, his face gleaming with sweat, 
 stood over him, ready to strike again. 
 
 There came a moment's pause, and then the 
 wild shout of delight that burst from the throats 
 of Bethering's supporters was met with an angry 
 roar from the defeated fighter's following. More 
 fiercely excited than before, even, the men pressed 
 in closer. 
 
 A tall, gaunt man, overtopping his fellows by 
 half a head, struck out at Bethering with a short 
 heavy iron bar. It slipped from his fingers, fall 
 ing to the concrete floor. A shrill yell rising 
 above the din of other voices told that it had 
 crushed a foot. 
 
 Some one from behind in the swirling throng 
 drove a fist into the foreman's back. Furious, he
 
 240 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 wheeled about, his face savage and drawn, like a 
 beast's. 
 
 Straight against the table he flung himself, in 
 his effort to get at his assailant, sending it smash 
 ing on its side. Blows were aimed at his head 
 and face, sinewy hands gripped at his body, but 
 he buffeted his way through with the strength 
 of one gone mad. Terrified by the insane fire 
 he saw in Bethering's eyes, the man who had 
 struck the blow was fleeing toward the door lead 
 ing into the furnace rooms, where the steel itself 
 was manufactured. 
 
 With the fall of Armstrong, Mr. Markham 
 had detached himself from the ring of spectators, 
 and as the imminence of a general fracas became 
 evident, had retreated in the direction of this 
 furnace room. When the rush, following the 
 overturning of the table, was made in his direc 
 tion, he passed through the door, and stepped to 
 one side, the fugitive, with Bethering at his heels, 
 and the whole mob close behind, dashing after an 
 instant later.
 
 A Terrible Thing Happens 241 
 
 In the furnace room work was going forward 
 as usual. Flame and sparks leaped upward from 
 the huge converters, filled with their molten steel. 
 The place was partly clouded with smoke, and 
 the pungent vapors from the metal caught the 
 nostrils sharply. Overhead the traveling crane, 
 operated by a workman, who, suspended, rode 
 with it, was sweeping along, a ladle of the liquid 
 metal hanging from the hook and chain of the 
 crane. This much Mr. Markham almost un 
 consciously noted above the hiss and clamor that 
 filled the air, the heavy rattle and groan of car 
 wheels, as a string of mono-rail freights was 
 slowly switched and brought to a standstill with 
 in the works. 
 
 At the sudden eruption from the machine- 
 shop, the steelworkers, amazed, paused at their 
 tasks. For the moment the operator of the 
 traveling crane forgot his duty, to watch the 
 scene below. He saw two men running around 
 to the right, farthest from himself, to clear the 
 freight cars, a shouting angry horde of others at
 
 242 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 their heels. But the old man, closer to him, 
 standing against the end of the nearest car, he 
 did not notice. He saw the fugitive fly across 
 the track and his pursuer stumble and fall over 
 a projecting obstacle, probably a spike. But to 
 that he paid no more heed. 
 
 A jar had brought him back to his duty. The 
 ladle, carried forward, unheeded, by the traveling 
 crane, had struck against the end of the train, 
 toward which the operator and his charge had 
 been slowly carried, and the white stream was 
 tumbling to the floor like a miniature mountain 
 cataract. As the hot, fiery stuff, so deceptively 
 pale, dashed upon the ground, a shower of sparks 
 flew up. Then in the shadow of the cars, he saw 
 a man, catching at his eyes and swaying about, 
 as if in intense agony. Still not quite compre 
 hending, he stared. The next instant he realized 
 fully what had happened, as he caught a glimpse 
 of the man's face. Those tiny sparks were drops 
 of liquid steel, and he knew the eyes of the man 
 who so silently writhed and twisted, were as sight-
 
 A Terrible Thing Happens 243 
 
 less and seared as if burned by hot irons. With 
 complete awakening, he brought the machinery 
 of the crane to a stop. 
 
 Afterward he learned that the man's name was 
 Faverall Markham.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 DOUBT 
 
 / T*HE third of November, 1953, will ever be 
 remembered as one of the most terrible days 
 in the history of this country. Looking back 
 upon it now, it seems incredible that such things 
 could possibly have happened as actually did oc 
 cur on the night of that day and the early morn 
 ing hours of the fourth. 
 
 That there was a twofold plot against the 
 government was afterward proved. How wide 
 its ramifications were will never be known, but it 
 is doubtful if either of the two separate organiza 
 tions of conspirators was at all aware of the 
 plans, or even the existence, of the other. 
 
 However, that may be, events proved there 
 was widespread hatred of the Socialist regime, 
 and an alert eagerness on the part of the masses 
 to seize any opportunity to strike against it. One 
 
 244
 
 Doubt 245 
 
 thing is known for certain, where and how the 
 trouble actually started. 
 
 The third of November was the anniversary of 
 the election which established the Socialist regime. 
 The press, the government press, for, of course, 
 there was none other now, spoke in enthusiastic 
 terms of the wonderful interest that was being 
 manifested by the whole country over the ap 
 proaching national celebration. Speaking edi 
 torially, the Chicago Republic had said: 
 
 Even the farmers are more than satisfied with 
 present conditions. The sun has shone, the rain 
 has fallen, the grain has ripened, and cattle and 
 hogs have waxed fat, as they always have. Every 
 man who but a year ago was a farmhand, now 
 shares the bounty of the soil with him who for 
 merly was his employer. And this with in no wise 
 depriving the latter of any of his accustomed wants, 
 or even luxuries. The farmer ever has been the 
 backbone of the Nation, and with him not only sat 
 isfied and contented, but supporting the Constitu 
 tion with an eager enthusiasm, the success of the 
 Great Revolution is assured. The universal broth 
 erhood is established and every man has at last 
 come into his own.
 
 246 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 About this time Seebar received the following 
 letter from his Uncle Richard. One part, in par 
 ticular, interested him: 
 
 As I predicted, I have had an unusually heavy 
 crop this year. Conditions have been excellent for 
 the best results. In spite of all this, however, if 
 I am to judge by my neighbors, the acreage this 
 year has been very light. This is due to one thing 
 solely : neglect of the growing crops, and indif 
 ference and carelessness in harvesting them. The 
 confiscation of the lands and herds, the excessively 
 heavy government tax on the present crop to meet 
 the extraordinary expenses of putting the new sys 
 tem into operation, and the division with the hired 
 men, as well as the knowledge that next spring hun 
 dreds of thousands of men plan to migrate to farms 
 already occupied, to take a share of the profits, 
 have removed all incentive. Moreover, every man 
 feels that no hardship will come to him; the gov 
 ernment provides homes, and even if he has a crop 
 failure the nation is back of him. If we continue 
 to prosper here in the country, it will be despite 
 ourselves. 
 
 The newspapers declare that there will be a bum 
 per crop this year. It is not true. There will be 
 an unusually heavy shortage, for reasons I have 
 pointed out.
 
 Doubt 247 
 
 I have moved into the government hotel that has 
 been provided for two dozen of us farmers and 
 families. I must admit that conditions here are, 
 on the whole, agreeable. 
 
 If there was discontent in the country, Seebar 
 knew there was more of it in the city. Whether 
 or not time would bring about a satisfactory ad 
 justment of vexing problems, he did not know, 
 but he hoped and believed it would. Men, he 
 felt, were too impatient and were demanding im 
 possibilities. 
 
 Still he was beset with a host of doubts, and it 
 was not with a very great deal of enthusiasm that 
 he assisted in the plans for the anniversary cele 
 bration at Chicago. Following a great parade, 
 a number of speeches were to be capped by a 
 hundred banquets held simultaneously in as many 
 different parts of the city. And, finally, there 
 were to be more speeches. 
 
 It was up in his old office in the Chamber of 
 Trade Building, which had been converted to 
 government administrative uses, that on this
 
 248 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 evening of November third, Seebar was alone with 
 his friend, Harry Thornton, formerly managing 
 editor of the Globe, but now a reporter on the 
 Republic. 
 
 Seebar was to speak at the main banquet that 
 night in the New Auditorium, and Franklin S. 
 Furst, President of the United States, was to 
 speak there also. Five thousand people were to 
 be present. 
 
 A twelvemonth back, Thornton had seemed 
 younger than his years. His face had been 
 fuller, and the lines about his mouth were scarcely 
 visible then. Now there were streaks of gray 
 over the temples. Since the night of the election, 
 when he and Seebar, together with Bornheim and 
 Jeppels, had awaited the returns in that same 
 room, the man had grown older in thought. 
 Always earnest, his earnestness had become a 
 settled seriousness. 
 
 " There's an undercurrent in public opinion 
 that I don't at all understand, Fred," he said to 
 Seebar. " I'm thirty-eight now, and I've lived
 
 Doubt 249 
 
 the atmosphere of the city, that only a newspaper 
 man can get, for sixteen years. I've assisted in 
 unearthing gangs of blackmailers. I got on the 
 inside in that big anarchist plot ten years ago, 
 when it was planned to assassinate the President, 
 and the Governor of every state, simultaneously. 
 We exposed in the Globe the big labor con 
 spiracy, and our paper was the first to print the 
 secret pact of Mexico and the South American 
 republics to make war on the United States. 
 Our paper has forecast correctly nine out of 
 ten times the results of city, state, and national 
 elections, but there is something in the at 
 mosphere now that totally bewilders me. 
 Whether it is to be an uprising of the Capitalists, 
 or of the Socialist malcontents, I can't say; I can't 
 lay my finger on anything definite either, but my 
 instinct tells me there is something brewing." 
 
 Thornton struck a match and held his half- 
 burnt cigar, which had gone out, over the blaze, 
 slowly revolving it between his fingers. Then he 
 replaced it in his mouth, and, with a whiff or
 
 250 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 two, to get it drawing once more, settled back 
 in his chair. 
 
 Seebar made no reply. He was sitting with 
 his eyes on the floor, drumming the table with his 
 forefinger. 
 
 " This celebration to-night," went on Thorn 
 ton, " should mean a tremendous outburst of en 
 thusiasm for the government. It should 
 strengthen it. The promises the speakers will re 
 new at the various banquets cannot help but have 
 their effect. They are certain to give new hope 
 to the people for a time at least." 
 
 Seebar raised his eyes. " You speak as though 
 the government has failed to keep its promises," 
 he said ; " in what respects has it failed ? " 
 
 Thornton came straight back without a 
 moment's hesitation. " Why, what man is con 
 tented with his present lot ? What man feels that 
 he receives the just share he is entitled to for his 
 labor? Every workman looks askance at his 
 fellows in other trades, as much as to say : ' You 
 are robbing me of the just rewards of my time
 
 Doubt 251 
 
 and toil.' How do the government commis 
 sioners regulate, for instance, the value of the 
 labor of dressing the raw leather, of tanning it, 
 of making it into shoes, of transporting it in the 
 form of shoes to the salesrooms, and of dis 
 tributing these shoes? Under the Individualistic 
 regime the law of supply and demand regulated 
 all this. All occupations you declare to be equally 
 productive. Your commissioners therefore de 
 creed that the man who sweated in the stench of 
 the tannery should receive no more than the cut 
 ter who shaped the leather for shoes. Result: 
 few wanted to work in the tannery, and the hours 
 there had to be shortened. Of these shorter 
 hours the cutter is jealous. So is it with every 
 craft and business jealousy everywhere. The 
 commissions are openly accused of favoritism. 
 Lucky for them that there is no private press to 
 open fire. 
 
 " Men cried for years like children for the 
 moon, for the ideal of Socialism, for an unselfish, 
 universal brotherhood of man. Now that they
 
 252 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 have got their Socialism, human nature is still 
 the same old selfish thing unchanged. 
 
 " Socialism may, or may not, have been coming 
 in the course of evolution. If it was, then it was 
 a mistake to force it arbitrarily. If it was not, 
 it was equally a mistake. Either way, you are 
 on the horns of a dilemma; you have an impos 
 sible system of government that cannot, by any 
 chance, last." 
 
 " All these matters were thrashed out in the 
 course of the campaign, and I am not going to 
 attempt to justify Socialism now. Socialism is 
 with us, and to stay, I believe." Seebar spoke 
 with decision. " You have forebodings that 
 something is about to happen. An outbreak may 
 occur, but I do not believe it will be made by 
 either Individualists or Socialists. If at all, it 
 will be by anarchists, and then I believe there will 
 be nothing more harmful than a demonstration, 
 for anarchy only survives as a theoretic principle. 
 With the establishment of Socialism, the excuse 
 for it has passed. Thornton, old man, don't be
 
 Doubt 253 
 
 offended by my attitude, but I cannot allow any 
 doubt to harrow me just now. If, as one of the 
 leaders, I am to see this thing through I must 
 have full confidence in my cause." 
 
 " Yes," said Thornton, " I understand." 
 " I have given up a great deal," went on See- 
 bar; "given up everything worth while in life 
 for this Socialism a woman's love. When I 
 broke with her I didn't realize at the time just 
 what it meant. My head was full of other things. 
 Besides, I thought everything would be all right 
 in a few weeks, but she remained obdurate. She 
 asked me to choose herself or Socialism, and I 
 chose Socialism. You know the story, though 
 I've never mentioned anything of this to you be 
 fore. Been common enough talk everywhere 
 though, I dare say. 
 
 " And so when any one questions the success 
 of the movement for which I rightly feel that I 
 have sacrificed so much, it makes me almost 
 beside myself with despair. I have learned that 
 the greatest thing a man can renounce is a
 
 254 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 woman's love. Renunciation of ambition is 
 nothing nothing compared with it." 
 
 Seebar rose and stepped toward the window. 
 " And a few hours from now," he said bitterly, 
 " I must wax eloquent on the subject of my own 
 and man's material happiness." 
 
 Thornton was surprised. Never had he heard 
 the reticent Seebar open his heart thus. He had 
 gradually in the last year and a half come to 
 learn Seebar's worth come to consider him as a 
 friend, well worth the having, but, until that 
 afternoon, the latter had never confided in him 
 in this manner. 
 
 The dusk of early evening was already begin 
 ning to penetrate the room, and the outlines of 
 furniture and objects were growing indistinct. 
 How quiet it was there ! The whir of the mono 
 rail, and the beat of feet on the pavement 
 were as the distant murmur of the wind. How 
 their relative positions had changed in the last 
 eighteen months, Thornton reflected. He had been 
 the managing editor of the Globe; Seebar a strug-
 
 Doubt 255 
 
 gling young lawyer. But Seebar was now a big 
 man in politics, and he well, he was almost as 
 obscure as when he was a cub reporter. Yet, who 
 was the happier now ? 
 
 " Thornton," said Seebar, turning from the 
 window, " I have over-exaggerated the im 
 portance of materialistic comfort, or perhaps I 
 am not in a normal state of mind to reason. I 
 used to think,- it was my philosophy of life, 
 that where the material wants were supplied and 
 the body healthy, man should be happy and 
 normal. I used to express it thus : ' Morality is 
 only a question of economic and physiological 
 well-being.' But I find that with spirituality 
 gone out of life life is worth nothing. With 
 spirituality, man may be sick or poor, or both, 
 and still be happy supremely so. 
 
 " Thornton, I don't regret that I sacrificed love 
 to conscience and duty; what I feel is, that per 
 haps I have made a mistake, made a wanton sac 
 rifice for a principle that may not, as time may 
 prove, be worth the snap of a finger."
 
 256 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 He began to walk about the room in the deep 
 ening dusk, talking as he did so. 
 
 " I have tried to speak with her more than 
 once, but she will not hear me. I wish I could 
 help her, help her and her father. Oh, it was 
 awful the way he was blinded ! That seems to 
 have strengthened her against me more than 
 ever. I believe, though, that she is so deter 
 minedly unforgiving because I was present the 
 day of the eviction from their home on Sheridan 
 Drive." 
 
 He stopped again at the window. " Oh, well, 
 what's the use," he said, sighing deeply. " There 
 are other things to think of, at least I suppose 
 there are." 
 
 And then the city lights, brilliant, refulgent, 
 flashed up. 
 
 Seebar wheeled about and faced Thornton. 
 " Come," he said, " let's go."
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 IN THE LION'S HOUSE 
 
 T N the street a nipping, fog-bearing wind, 
 sweeping in from the lake, was driving the 
 throngs into a quickened pace. 
 
 " It gets to the skin," remarked Thornton, 
 drawing the collar of his coat more closely about 
 
 his throat. 
 
 They were walking east, facing the gale. 
 
 " Yes, it's a nasty night," agreed Seebar. 
 " Let's go into the Lion's House, and warm up 
 a bit before the banquet. Besides, we're too early, 
 anyway." 
 
 Presently they had come to Michigan Avenue. 
 They got the full force of the breeze here, for 
 only the strip of park here separated them from 
 the lake. The street pavement was all ashine 
 with the glint of lights. 
 
 From the east, over the naked trees of the 
 257
 
 258 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 strip of park, burying them from sight, the heavy 
 wet fog was drifting in. The gleam of lights 
 was turning to a ghastly reddish glow. The 
 mist was crawling now over the shining pave 
 ment. 
 
 Yet in spite of wind and fog, the boulevard 
 was swarming with human life. It was a grand 
 holiday. The doors of the cafes, the restaurants, 
 the saloons were open to the throng of pleasure 
 seekers, for the government maintained all these 
 institutions, as hitherto under private owner 
 ship. 
 
 " Here we are," said Seebar suddenly, elbow 
 ing his way to the right with Thornton close at 
 his side, and presently the two had passed 
 through the softly swinging doors of the Lion's 
 House. 
 
 The corridor was magnificently decorated, and 
 no wonder. This had formerly been the Im 
 perial Hotel, generally acclaimed by travelers as 
 the finest in all America. 
 
 The interior was of marble, inlaid with gold
 
 In the Lion's House 259 
 
 and green and ruby red, and one could see stained 
 glass windows of rare design and wonderful 
 coloring and figures. 
 
 But in spite of the beauty and magnificence of 
 the place, it was not what it had formerly been. 
 Splendid as all appeared, the Imperial now the 
 Lion's House was little better than a great wine 
 hall. 
 
 Seebar and Thornton passed into one of the 
 dining halls, where an orchestra was playing 
 and where women and men, most of the former 
 in gay-colored gowns, and great hats, were 
 seated, eating and drinking, chiefly drinking, 
 however. 
 
 " H'm ! " said Thornton glancing about him, as 
 they were seated at a table. 
 
 The scene was quite common to him. In the 
 old days he had often dined here, and since his 
 declension to the reportorial ranks, in the course 
 of his newsgathering he had frequently had oc 
 casion to visit the place. 
 
 " What is it? " asked Seebar.
 
 260 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 " Oh, nothing," answered Thornton. He re 
 called in time the sacrifice that Seebar had made 
 for the cause of Socialism. His friend, he re 
 solved, should never again hear an unsolicited 
 criticism of the system from his lips. 
 
 "Come, what is it?" urged Seebar. 
 
 " Well," replied Thornton with evident reluc 
 tance, " did you observe the man who just passed 
 us?" 
 
 " Why, not beyond noting you spoke to him." 
 
 " He's been most unfortunate. His wife is 
 recovering very slowly from a severe attack of 
 pneumonia, and last spring his little boy died of 
 some throat trouble." 
 
 " What's his name ? " asked Seebar with sud 
 den intuition. 
 
 " Ed Edge Edgeington, yes, Edgeington," 
 Thornton repeated with full assurance that this 
 time he had the name correctly. 
 
 But Seebar wished complete establishment of 
 the man's identity. 
 
 "What's his business?" he inquired.
 
 In the Lion's House 261 
 
 " Furniture mover, I believe. Did you know 
 him?" 
 
 Seebar nodded. He remembered the manliness 
 of the husband, the gentleness of the wife, and 
 the cold dreariness of their surroundings. What 
 a contrast was that little family circle, warm with 
 affection at least, with the scene now before 
 them, which was a refutation of the party 
 promises more amusements, more diversions for 
 the people, hence, less immorality. Many of the 
 women in the place now would not have been 
 admitted under private management. And there 
 was more of a care-free, reckless atmosphere than 
 was manifest even in the Bohemian and more 
 questionable places in the old days. 
 
 " I came to this cause full of ambition, full of 
 hope, of energy, tremendous energy," said See- 
 bar. " Frankly, I can't see that mankind is hap 
 pier or better. Old man, my heart is heavy 
 to-night. I have given everything, everything, 
 for a cause that is worthless, and so have thou 
 sands of others."
 
 262 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 He hung his head despondently. 
 
 Presently he raised it, with a cynical smile. 
 " But nevertheless, my defense of it all is going 
 to make a sensation to-night." 
 
 " What, Seebar," exclaimed Thornton, alarmed 
 at the peculiar tone of his friend, " you won't at 
 tack Socialism? " 
 
 " Bless you, no! I simply will prove to myself 
 and you that oratory is a hollow and insidious art 
 that really means nothing." 
 
 He paused for a moment. 
 
 " I strongly suspect what I have been saying is 
 a lot of rot. I certainly am not myself to-night. 
 Please forget all this. Maybe it's the story you 
 told me about Edgeington. I used to know the 
 man, or perhaps it's just that world weariness 
 that comes over all of us at times. Let's forget 
 it. Here's your health, old man," and he slowly 
 raised the glass to his lips. 
 
 Suddenly he turned pale, his eyes staring at 
 something beyond Thornton; the glass slipped 
 from between his fingers, falling shattered on the
 
 In the Lion's House 263 
 
 table, the wine flowing unheeded over the white 
 cloth. 
 
 He rose to his feet, and as his fingers clutched 
 the back of his chair he grew steadier, the color 
 returned to his face, and with a glint in his eye, 
 he made his way toward a couple who had just 
 entered and were seating themselves a short dis 
 tance away. 
 
 In some perturbation Thornton watched him. 
 Then as Seebar's purpose became evident to him, 
 he scrutinized more closely this pair. The man 
 was Bornheim, and from his friend's excited man 
 ner, Thornton judged who the woman must be. 
 His doubt was removed by Seebar's outburst of 
 speech. 
 
 " Dorothy, what does this mean ? Bornheim, 
 I am surprised." The young man was turning 
 from the one menacingly to the other. 
 
 " You have no right to address me thus, sir," 
 exclaimed Miss Markham, a flush of anger and 
 embarrassment sweeping over her face, and she 
 sought Bornheim's aid.
 
 264 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 The politician laughed, though a bit uneasily. 
 
 " Why, really, Seebar, I don't know what you 
 mean. Miss Markham knows the Imperial Hotel. 
 She has been here scores of times, I have no 
 doubt. And besides, my dear man, what business 
 is it of yours, anyway? I hardly think Miss 
 Markham claims your acquaintance. But sit 
 down, we are attracting attention." 
 
 But Seebar paid no heed to this unwelcome 
 invitation. 
 
 " Miss Markham may have been here scores of 
 times when this place was known as the Imperial 
 Hotel," he said, " in fact I know she has, for I 
 have been in this room with her several times 
 myself." 
 
 " Sit down," reiterated Bornheim. 
 
 " You know, yourself, Bornheim, just as well 
 as I do," went on Seebar, as he slipped into a 
 chair, " that the Imperial Hotel is not the same 
 as it was eighteen months ago. Bornheim, if you 
 were anything of a gentleman, you would not 
 bring her here."
 
 In the Lion's House 265 
 
 " Seebar, if this were another time and place, 
 I'd knock you down." 
 
 " Mr. Bornheim, please, " interrupted 
 
 Dorothy, laying a protesting hand upon his arm. 
 Then turning to Seebar she said : " I wish to 
 tell you that you gratuitously insult Mr. Born 
 heim, and indirectly me. If this place were 
 managed by private individuals, I might, perhaps, 
 believe 'that there was some slight foundation 
 to your insinuations, and that Mr. Bornheim had 
 inadvertently brought me to a place where the 
 conventions were different from mine. But since 
 the Socialists have taken charge of the Imperial 
 Hotel, such a thing, of course, must be absolutely 
 impossible." 
 
 Seebar ignored her attempt at sarcasm. His 
 blood was up, and he was resolved that she 
 should no longer deny him a hearing. 
 
 " I am sorry you take my words in the spirit 
 you do," he said; " I would give the same ad 
 vice to a complete stranger. You show, too, a 
 wonderful inconsistency in refusing acquaintance
 
 266 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 with me, because I am a Socialist, and yet you 
 seem to be able to affiliate with others mighty 
 easily. However, let that pass." 
 
 Then almost before she was aware of the fact, 
 Dorothy had begun a defense of herself. " Mr. 
 Bornheim was very kind," she declared. " He 
 was the only friend of father and myself when 
 we were turned out of our home." 
 
 " And yet your father worked as a factory 
 hand, though I begged to be allowed to use my 
 influence " 
 
 But he had stopped short. " I I beg your 
 pardon," he said humbly, " I didn't mean " 
 
 There were tears in the girl's eyes. 
 
 " You brute " exclaimed Bornheim in low 
 
 tones, glancing toward Dorothy to make certain 
 she had heard his words. 
 
 Seebar's answer was a look of withering con 
 tempt, and the sight of the man steeled him in his 
 purpose. 
 
 " I am sorry, Miss Markham," he went on, " but 
 for nearly a year and a half now I have vainly
 
 In the Lion's House 267 
 
 attempted to speak with you. I have my oppor 
 tunity now, even if there is present a third per 
 son, a person most offensive to me. However, 
 one must take opportunities as he finds them. 
 
 " The proposition in the beginning was simply 
 this, Miss Markham: I loved you and I was a 
 Socialist. I had secured leadership. You asked 
 me to abandon either it or you. What course 
 could an honorable man have pursued? You 
 wronged me in " 
 
 " And what about the day you turned father 
 and me out of our home? " 
 
 " I didn't turn you out. I was merely so un 
 fortunate as to be present." 
 
 " You came to gloat over our misfortune." 
 
 " Dorothy, you are unreasonable." 
 
 " Will you cease to annoy me, sir? Either you 
 or I must withdraw. Mr. Bornheim, will you 
 be so kind as to escort me " 
 
 But Seebar was on his feet, white to the lips. 
 
 Leaning over the table, with his arms support 
 ing him, he almost snarled out the words, " Very
 
 268 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 well, Dorothy. But I shall yet say to you what 
 I mean to say. Moreover," he added, " you will 
 regret that you have acted as you are doing now. 
 Look around you upon the faces of the women 
 you see here, and in your own heart answer your 
 self whether I, or this man, is right." 
 
 And Seebar had turned back to where Thorn 
 ton was awaiting him. 
 
 Without so much as looking around to see 
 what action Dorothy and Bornheim were taking, 
 Seebar led the way to the door.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE STAMPEDE IN THE NEW 
 AUDITORIUM 
 
 OEEBAR'S speech that night was a triumph 
 for the Socialist leaders. It was bold, ag 
 gressive, decisive. The real purpose of the great 
 national celebration that day was to quiet the 
 criticism which had so persistently been directed 
 against the government for these many weeks 
 back. It was to rouse enthusiasm, to make the 
 discontented believe that, in the midst of the ap 
 parent general loyalty, they alone were dis 
 satisfied. 
 
 At the hundred and more banquets, held in 
 various quarters of the city, the same ideas were 
 persistently dwelt upon that there were unhappi- 
 ness and wrong under the Capitalistic system; 
 that there were peace, plenty, content, under the 
 
 Socialist regime. No reference was made to the 
 269
 
 270 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 covert hostility that was manifestly present to 
 those who used their eyes and ears and who 
 thought at all seriously. 
 
 But from the program Seebar's speech dif 
 fered radically. He recognized the condition that 
 existed boldly and openly he recognized it. 
 There were starts of surprise, uneasy shifting 
 about in the seats, covert glances of dismay into 
 one another's eyes, on the part of the leaders, 
 when Seebar, in the course of a few minutes of 
 speaking, reverted to his old style of oratory, 
 the style that had made him famous at a bound, 
 the style of oratory that had helped win the cam 
 paign. He referred frankly and freely to the 
 evils that existed at the present time, and then 
 boldly challenged his auditors to deny that worse 
 evils had not existed only a year back. He did 
 not stand on the defensive. He recognized that 
 there were enemies of the administration, ad 
 mitted that there were many of them, and then 
 proceeded to attack them with ruthless vigor. 
 
 Yet, it was with a listless lack of interest that
 
 The Stampede in the New Auditorium 271 
 
 he had begun his speech. Two other men had 
 preceded him, and the applause that had greeted 
 them had been obviously perfunctory, as indeed 
 had been their speeches. 
 
 It was after the long tables had been cleared, 
 the cigars served, the speakers of the evening as 
 sembled, owing to the vastness of the hall, on a 
 platform especially constructed for the purpose, 
 at one end. 
 
 Of the five thousand people there, none could 
 have been more disheartened than was Seebar. 
 Low as his spirits had been before, the scene in 
 the Lion's House had depressed him unut 
 terably. The cause he had championed he began 
 to see now in its most unfavorable light. Worst 
 of all, he had quarreled with Dorothy. All hope 
 of reconciliation with her now seemed lost. 
 
 His predecessor had finished his timidly con 
 servative speech, and Seebar came to the edge 
 of the platform, anxious for but one thing to 
 get through in not too indecent haste and sit 
 down. In front, and to right and left, the long
 
 272 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 tables stretched away, mechanically measuring 
 off the audience seated around them, in^D rect 
 angles. These geometrical figures reminded See- 
 bar of a multitude of garden plots. Somehow, all 
 these people seemed to him curiously unpersonal. 
 They formed merely a living mass, hardly exist 
 ing to him as made up of distinct personalities. 
 Only, well to the middle of the gallery, in the 
 front row, three men seemed to stand out to 
 Seebar as individuals. Why this was so, he did 
 not think to ask himself. They were far away 
 too far away for him to note them in any detail, 
 even had he so desired. Neither were their ac 
 tions such as to call for special comment, except 
 for the fact that one of them had lowered a red 
 flag' the flag of the Socialists over the parapet 
 of the gallery, and occasionally wafted it back 
 and forth with a slow, gentle motion. 
 
 Then as Seebar began to speak, down in that 
 blur of faces, one that he knew stood out, the 
 partly wondering, partly curious face of Dorothy 
 Markham. Almost at the same instant, side by
 
 The Stampede in the New Auditorium 273 
 
 side with hers, he recognized the round full 
 features of Bornheim. 
 
 His listlessness was gone. Surging, raging 
 anger came into his soul. She had never heard 
 him- him, the great Seebar, speak, the man 
 whose words swayed audiences. No, never would 
 it do to belittle his own powers, now. The in 
 centive was bigger than ambition, more tre 
 mendous than the inspiration of woman's love: 
 the incentive was defiance. 
 
 His voice strengthened, his lips set, his eyes 
 blazed, and with them looking straight into hers, 
 he rose to his flights of oratory. 
 
 The assemblage thought he was talking to it; 
 he was not. The assemblage thought his elo 
 quence was directed toward the crushing of the 
 enemies of Socialism. It was not. For Seebar 
 there was but one auditor, and for the greater 
 part of the time he looked into that one auditor's 
 eyes. Not for Socialism, not for the administra 
 tion, not for the safety of the state, he pleaded, 
 but for himself.
 
 274 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 For a time Dorothy sat with a half -defiant 
 look. Then presently her eyes grew fixed and 
 commenced to shine, and color was upon her 
 cheeks. But Seebar, too intent upon his purpose, 
 a torturing fire within his breast, noted nothing 
 of this, or if he did, failed to read the meaning. 
 
 His words fairly seemed to crackle with the 
 old class hatred, and yet he marshaled his argu 
 ments despite all his impetuosity and fire with 
 a consummate skill. And then Seebar turned 
 from his attack upon the opponents and critics to 
 a defense of Socialism. 
 
 For the moment he had even forgotten Doro 
 thy. The spell of his own magic was upon 
 him. " We must have patience, we must have 
 confidence in the administration. Can we afford 
 to believe that the economic principles upon which 
 this government is founded are false? Failure 
 for every new form of government has always 
 been predicted. When the thirteen colonies as 
 serted their independence as a nation, old world 
 critics scoffed at their presumption."
 
 The Stampede in the New Auditorium 275 
 
 At these words he paused, and raised his eyes 
 from Dorothy to the gallery. 
 
 Those were the last words Seebar was ever 
 destined to utter as a Socialist leader, from the 
 platform. For the terrible thing had happened, 
 the terrible thing that Thornton had felt to be in 
 the air. 
 
 As Seebar uttered the words, " We must have 
 confidence in the administration," the man with 
 the red flag cast the bunting from him and rose 
 to his feet. From his bosom he drew forth a long 
 strip of silk, also red, but criss-crossed with blue 
 lines the flag of the anarchists the blue to dis 
 tinguish it from the new national flag. 
 
 Leaning far forward, he whipped it with a 
 menacing snap out over the heads of the audience. 
 
 Seebar's eyes were fixed on the fluttering, 
 flame-like strip. 
 
 Then before he could adequately begin to 
 realize what was happening, the man's two com 
 panions had also leaped to their feet. 
 
 He saw their right fists shoot in air and two
 
 276 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 black objects come hurtling over the heads of 
 the crowd. They fell to the floor, midway be 
 tween gallery and platform. 
 
 There was a deafening report. The audience 
 were on their feet, an oscillating mass falling 
 away from the centre of the hall. 
 
 As yet there were no sounds of voices. Noth 
 ing but the rush and beat of feet. 
 
 The centre of the hall, from which the people 
 were fleeing, seemed to open up like a crater. 
 Then from this crater's edge came one long, 
 piercing shriek of agony and fear. 
 
 It was a heartrending cry, a cry to chill the 
 blood. It seemed for the moment to calm the 
 panic. Then, as the cry died away to a low 
 agonized moan, the silence of the crowd was 
 broken by a woman's hysterical screams of terror. 
 
 The battle for life was on again the fierce 
 unreasoning battle, wild and uncontrolled as the 
 stampede of a herd of cattle. The brute instinct 
 for self-preservation that thousands of years 
 could not eliminate, was uppermost. Men fought
 
 The Stampede in the New Auditorium 277 
 
 and struggled and bellowed like bulls, striking 
 and crushing down, with fist and heel, the weaker 
 and those that stumbled. 
 
 The gallery, too, was emptying with a roar 
 like a prolonged roll of thunder. 
 
 Still the three men remained as they had risen, 
 the red flag, lined with blue, still fluttering. But 
 no one thought to arrest them where they stood. 
 They were fled from as if plague-stricken. 
 
 And then Seebar, who had been standing as 
 one stunned, awoke to a thought most horrible. 
 It was down toward the centre, where the bombs 
 had been exploded, that Dorothy had sat. He 
 looked at the mass of broken chairs, overturned 
 tables, mingled with bodies and fragments of hu 
 man flesh, and the possibility of the utter awful- 
 ness of the situation to him caused him to turn 
 his gaze away in horror. 
 
 Where were Dorothy and Bornheim? Some 
 where in that mass? God he could not endure 
 the thought! 
 
 He half-started to leap from the platform down
 
 278 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 into the hall, then paused in doubt as to what 
 were best to do. 
 
 At his elbow some one was standing, shouting 
 to the people, but his words were swallowed up 
 in the din. Others of the leaders already had 
 made their escape through exits immediately 
 back of the platform. 
 
 If Dorothy had escaped the bombs, she was 
 somewhere in that struggling crowd, and what 
 hope was there of his discovering her? If by 
 some miracle he did chance to catch sight of 
 her, it would be utterly impossible to reach her 
 side. 
 
 There was but one way to satisfy himself of 
 her safety that was to slip out of the little door 
 immediately to his rear, and place himself at the 
 one big exit through which the crowd were now 
 tumbling in mad, terror-stricken frenzy. 
 
 And turning from the frightful scene before 
 him, he rushed across the stage and down a flight 
 of narrow steps which led through the little door, 
 to the street.
 
 The Stampede in the New Auditorium 279 
 
 Outside, it was as if half the inhabitants of the 
 city were there, so dense was the throng, for the 
 news of the bomb-throwing had spread with the 
 speed of light. The street and all the thorough 
 fares leading to it were jammed. It was only by 
 sheer breadth of shoulder that Seebar was able 
 to fight his way, inch by inch, through the mass, 
 and force his way opposite the main exit. 
 
 The wide doors were disgorging their human 
 contents. The people shot forth, a literal tor 
 rent, eyes wide-staring and unseeing, faces 
 ghastly pale, gleaming with perspiration, hands 
 thrust out before them, upon the solid wall of 
 spectators, who stood gazing in silent horror at 
 the scene. 
 
 Women, safe, shuddered and wept and 
 fainted, and men stood, trembling, weak, and un 
 nerved, after their terrible ordeal, scarce able to 
 support themselves. Still the horde thundered 
 and plunged to safety. 
 
 A line of red-coated police from time to time 
 renewed their efforts to force back the crowd of
 
 280 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 onlookers, but they could do no more than hold 
 the mass from further encroaching. 
 
 And then, to all this the police, the crowd, the 
 confusion Seebar became oblivious, his atten 
 tion completely concentrated on the faces of the 
 women who were being swept in the panic out 
 to safety. Surely, Dorothy would, must, appear 
 soon! 
 
 Then all at once his heart seemed to stop beat 
 ing. A face it might be hers; he could not be 
 certain, half hidden as it was by the strands of 
 her disheveled hair, had flashed pale and terri' 
 fied, up among the sea of other faces, for an 
 instant, and then was gone. She had fallen, and 
 half a dozen others had stumbled and fallen with 
 her. 
 
 He sprang forward, but was met by that line 
 of policemen. He struggled, but in vain, for they 
 forced him back roughly. 
 
 Up peered another face, round and pallid, the 
 dark hair sticking to the hot pale brow. It was 
 the face of Bornheim!
 
 The Stampede in the New Auditorium 281 
 
 Seebar's last hope vanished. So close behind 
 her, it must have been she! Again he tried to 
 break through the line, only this time to be struck 
 back violently. 
 
 Then another woman's face came to view, chin 
 thrust forward, eyes and nostrils distended, hair 
 tumbling about her ears, a little stream of blood 
 coursing down the right cheek. 
 
 Seebar's heart gave one great leap. There was 
 no mistaking it this time it was Dorothy Mark- 
 ham. He could see now that Bornheim had a 
 firm hold upon her arm, was leading her and 
 breaking the way, and for the first and last time, 
 he felt a thrill of thankfulness that Bornheim 
 was with her to protect her. 
 
 Seebar had forgotten the quarrel, forgotten 
 that his relations with Dorothy Markham were 
 ended; he knew only that the girl he loved with 
 an intense passionate love stronger than life 
 itself had been in the greatest danger of death, 
 death in a most horrible form. 
 
 As the pale, weary face, bloodstained, emerged
 
 282 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 like a broken flower, his heart went out to her 
 as to a child. " Poor little girl," he thought, and 
 his outstretched arms had closed around her. 
 For a moment he held her close, and she in her 
 bewilderment did not heed him. Overcome with 
 fright and exhaustion she had let her head sink to 
 his shoulder. She was gasping dry, panting sobs. 
 Her arms clung to him as if for protection. 
 
 " There, there, dear," he said, heedless of his 
 surroundings, " it's all right now. You are safe." 
 
 But she did not seem to hear him. 
 
 Presently she grew calmer, and looked up. A 
 half-puzzled, half -wondering look came into her 
 eyes. Then she took a step back. " Dorothy," 
 Seebar began, " Dorothy ! " 
 
 But she had turned to Bornheim. 
 
 " Oh, take me away, take me away," she 
 begged. 
 
 Already Bornheim, with his arm about her in 
 support, was forcing his way through a narrow 
 lane that had been opened up for the fleeing 
 banqueters.
 
 The Stampede in the New Auditorium 283 
 
 For a moment or so Seebar stared after them, 
 the old despair gnawing at his soul. Apparently 
 she had made a choice a choice between him 
 and Bornheim, in favor of the latter. Then 
 almost mechanically, he followed, without a 
 thought as to why he did so. Perhaps it was 
 because he could not bear thus to have her leave 
 him, perhaps it was because he felt that from 
 what he had observed in the cafe she was no 
 longer quite safe with Bornheim. 
 
 They were a long time in getting clear of the 
 crowd, but they were clear at last. 
 
 For a distance of three blocks Seebar followed 
 them, and then they turned aside into one of the 
 municipal hotels. In the rotunda they separated, 
 taking elevators to the right and left. It was a 
 long time, perhaps an hour, that Seebar waited, 
 seated in the depths of a big easy-chair, well 
 hidden behind a huge, square pillar. 
 
 Few people were entering the building, but 
 many were hurriedly leaving it. On the faces of 
 many of these anguish was written, and Seebar
 
 284 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 could guess with a sympathetic pang that they 
 had friends or relatives at the great jubilee ban 
 quet at the New Auditorium. 
 
 Through the windows he could look out into 
 the street. A constant stream of people was hur 
 rying by in the direction from which he had 
 just come. 
 
 He thought of the affair of the bomb-throwing 
 only as a single isolated outbreak. In no way did 
 he connect it with a conspiracy primarily caused 
 by the unsatisfactory manner in which the So 
 cialistic principles were working themselves out. 
 
 Just as Seebar little dreamed what would be 
 the far-reaching effects of the bomb-throwing of 
 that night, so did the anarchists themselves ap 
 parently have no conception of the widespread 
 results their outrage would produce. It created 
 the upheaval of the discontented of all beliefs, 
 that struck Socialism such a terrible blow. The 
 anarchists, the disaffected Socialists, the In 
 dividualists, were one in the terrible insurrection 
 in Chicago that horrified the world.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 O EEBAR had sat for a long time, perhaps an 
 hour, when the heavy-set and dignified 
 Bornheim stepped out of one of the elevators 
 descending on the right. In spite of the life-and- 
 death rush and struggle in which he had so 
 recently been engaged, he appeared as fresh, as 
 well groomed, as complacent as ever he had. He 
 was drawing on a pair of gloves, and a cigar 
 was between his lips. 
 
 He crossed the rotunda halfway, paused, and 
 then began pacing slowly back and forth. 
 
 Seebar studied him intently. 
 
 What was it that Dorothy Markham saw in 
 this man? he wondered. Or did she see anything 
 in him, after all ? Handsome, virile, and master 
 ful, he certainly was characteristics that are sup 
 posed to appeal to every woman. But he was 
 285
 
 286 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 not Dorothy's kind. Of that Seebar's intimate 
 acquaintance with his old sweetheart absolutely 
 assured him. 
 
 What were their present relations? Was 
 Bornheim received merely as a friend, or as a 
 lover? Lastly, what was Bornheim' s attitude of 
 mind toward her? Seebar would have stricken 
 ten years from his life to have had these ques 
 tions answered. 
 
 As he gazed and pondered, from the long, red- 
 lined hallway, to the left, Dorothy herself ap 
 peared. The cloak she had worn in the cafe had 
 been lost in the flight from the New Auditorium, 
 and her gown had been badly torn. These finer 
 garments had been replaced by much plainer and 
 simpler ones evidently secured at the hotel. 
 Her hair had been rearranged, and except for a 
 slight pallor, she had never appeared to greater 
 advantage in Seebar's eyes. 
 
 He almost groaned aloud as she took Born- 
 heim's arm in a manner that indicated absolute 
 assurance of protection, and the two came down
 
 What Befell in the Studio 287 
 
 the broad corridor, past where Seebar was seated, 
 and out into the street. 
 
 In an instant Seebar was on his feet and after 
 them. 
 
 Through the ever thickening throngs, the two 
 threaded their way for several blocks. At first 
 Seebar hung back, fearing detection, but as 
 neither at any time turned to look back, he gained 
 in confidence, and, drawing closer, he was pres 
 ently walking directly behind them. 
 
 It was not out of mere curiosity, or through 
 jealousy that he had taken upon himself this task 
 of detective. Always uncertain of Bornheim, the 
 fact that he would take Dorothy to such a place 
 as the Lion's House, brought Seebar to believe 
 she was no longer safe with the man. He felt 
 fully justified in following them. 
 
 Suddenly the pair took an unexpected turn to 
 the left and came to a dead halt at the entrance 
 to a building; and Seebar, before he also 
 could come to a stop, almost stumbled against 
 them. But they did not heed him, as he slunk by.
 
 288 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 There followed a moment's earnest conversa 
 tion, and then Dorothy entered the building, 
 which Seebar now recognized as the old Russian 
 Exchange. Bornheim went on slowly to the 
 corner, paused, apparently hesitated for a 
 moment, and then came walking back briskly, and 
 also entered the building. Seebar was but a 
 moment behind him. 
 
 Only one elevator was running. The indicator 
 showed that it was somewhere near the top of 
 the building. But at last, after what seemed to 
 Seebar an inexpressibly long time, the cage de 
 scended. 
 
 " On which floor did my friend get out? " See 
 bar asked carelessly of the old man in charge. 
 
 " The top," answered the man. He eyed See 
 bar intently, as if he would fathom his character. 
 Then he added, " We don't run quite to the top, 
 you know. People get out on the thirtieth floor, 
 and walk up to the last." 
 . " Thank you," replied Seebar. 
 
 The man began to talk further as the elevator
 
 What Befell in the Studio 289 
 
 ascended. " Mr. Bornheim comes here often in 
 the daytime." 
 
 " Yes ? " answered Seebar. 
 
 " Miss Markham's a fine young lady." He 
 spoke as if feeling his way. 
 
 " Indeed she is." Seebar's words were of un 
 mistakable warmth. 
 
 " You won't mind, will you you won't take it 
 as an offense, now, will you, if I say that " 
 
 The elevator had reached the top, the door was 
 open, but Seebar stood looking into the old man's 
 half -doubtful, half -deprecating eyes. 
 
 "If you say what?" 
 
 " Well," said the old man slowly, " I can see 
 that you're the right sort, sir, and I can see that 
 Miss Markham is the right sort, too. She always 
 has a smile and a word for me. But I think she 
 I don't understand Mr. Bornheim's coming up 
 this way. She told me she was in a hurry 
 had come up to find something but no doubt 
 it's all right," he added, again growing apologetic, 
 " though no one else is up here to-night. It must
 
 290 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 be because of that awful explosion. Can you 
 tell me just what did happen? " 
 
 But Seebar already had found his way to the 
 stairs indicated, and was climbing them rapidly, 
 but quietly. 
 
 He had not thought to ask the elevator man 
 the number of Dorothy's suite of rooms, and at 
 the head of the stairs he paused a moment, un 
 certain whether to go to the right or to the left. 
 But down the hall some distance, a solitary light 
 showed through the glazed glass transom of the 
 door, and with a few rapid, silent strides, Seebar 
 was before it. 
 
 He had got beyond the point of reflecting now 
 why he was there. If he had thought to hesitate, 
 to chide himself for being an officious fool in 
 thrusting himself to the fore as a protector where 
 no protector was needed, the broad hint of the 
 elevator man had caused all doubt to vanish. 
 With his love of Dorothy still as strong, as un 
 quenchable as ever, with his knowledge of Born- 
 heim's reputation and character, he might even
 
 What Befell in the Studio 291 
 
 now have set his suspicions down as being over- 
 edged. But when the eyes of the old man saw 
 danger, too, he was thankful he had put himself 
 there. 
 
 Inside he could hear the sound of voices, and 
 occasionally a slight exclamation, then a little 
 laugh. 
 
 The minutes passed and still the sound of voices 
 continued. More than once Seebar was sorely 
 tempted to try the door, but each time better 
 judgment prevailed and he waited. It was a 
 slight affair, even were it locked, and if she 
 needed help he could easily force it. There was 
 no doubt that if aid were required she would cry 
 aloud for it. 
 
 Seebar was all on edge. Indignation, too, was 
 mingled with his excitement. In any event, what 
 did Bornheim mean by compromising Dorothy 
 in this manner? But as time went on, the 
 muscles of his legs began to grow weary, and 
 the first fever of his excitement had cooled down. 
 Still alert, he waited.
 
 292 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 Now and then the voices sunk to low mur 
 murs, or died away, for brief intervals, altogether. 
 Suddenly, after a longer pause than usual of this 
 kind, there came a sort of gasping, choking cry, 
 which was instantly smothered. Then a woman's 
 voice rang out, " Oh, how can you ? " 
 
 And then as Seebar, hearing a hand on the 
 knob, shrank back close against the wall, the 
 door was thrown wide open, and Bornheim and 
 Dorothy stood to view. He had the girl's left 
 hand clasped firmly in his right, his other arm 
 about her waist. Evidently it was she who had 
 opened the door, for she still clung to the knob, 
 and Bornheim's attitude was that of one who 
 had captured her in flight. 
 
 She was looking up at him with distressed face. 
 " Don't," she said quite gently, " please don't, I 
 don't love you. I'm sorry, but I don't. I can't 
 marry you " 
 
 And then she stopped, as if something she sud 
 denly saw in Bornheim's eyes alarmed her. 
 
 But his hold only tightened. " I didn't say
 
 What Befell in the Studio 293 
 
 anything about marrying," he answered. " I 
 asked you if you loved me. What do I, what 
 do you, want to marry for? To-night every in 
 stitution of the past falls. Why, the city is rife 
 with anarchy. Socialism only took halfway 
 measures. To-night comes the cataclysm. Every 
 civil institution will vanish. Man has fretted for 
 ages under the curse of wedded life. Now to 
 night will begin a new era the era of free love, 
 where each may claim for himself his mate for 
 how or when he pleases. So you see I did not 
 ask you to marry me. Come, dear, we are alone 
 here together, all alone ! " 
 
 His eyes were glowing into hers like coals of 
 fire. 
 
 " Don't, don't touch me," she cried, " let me 
 go," and she began to struggle, " oh, please let 
 me go." 
 
 " You might cry yourself hoarse," was his 
 answer. " We are alone here, absolutely alone. 
 No one is on this floor, no one is in this building, 
 except that decrepit old fool who runs the eleva-
 
 294 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 tor. By God, you shall love me, whether you 
 will or no ! " And he gathered her in his arms in 
 a crushing embrace, and forced kiss after kiss 
 upon her lips. And then drawing back, holding 
 her by the wrists at arms' length, he looked down 
 into her terrified eyes and laughed. 
 
 " You beast ! " she cried, and with a strong ef 
 fort she jerked away one arm and threw her body 
 against the doorpost, struggling there, while he 
 still held her, laughing at her futile efforts. 
 
 " Oh, God, God help me," she cried. 
 
 Bornheim had one glimpse of a fierce, white 
 face, of eyes big and black with passion, set jaws, 
 and then, even as he slipped his hold from the 
 girl, a fist came crashing against his shoulder, 
 and he spun back and down. 
 
 Dazed, a bit shaken, but apparently not hurt 
 a particle, he was on his feet. 
 
 " I'll kill you," he exclaimed, and made a 
 motion toward the pocket of his trousers. 
 
 Seebar struck at him again, and then as he felt 
 the man's hands come up toward his throat he
 
 What Befell in the Studio 295 
 
 closed with him. They swayed together around 
 the room for a moment, neither able to obtain a 
 grip that was decisive, or to shake the other's 
 hold. 
 
 There came a jar and a crash, and Seebar felt 
 himself falling. Withal, he could hear, in a dim 
 sort of way, a woman's shrill scream. Then he 
 struck something hard and cold, and found him 
 self on his back, with a strangely horrible pain 
 shooting through his spine and a heavy weight 
 on top of him. 
 
 Opening his eyes he discovered the weight to 
 be Bornheim. He lay motionless, collecting his 
 thoughts. The pain in his back was not so severe 
 as it had been a moment ago. The cold air was 
 beating around them, and as he looked straight 
 up he could see the clear brightness of the stars 
 through broken masses of clouds, slowly stealing 
 along in the night. Black and gaunt, partly ob 
 scuring the view of the heavens, naked steel 
 girders were reared above him. 
 
 Later he understood what had happened. They
 
 296 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 had fallen against the window, and had crashed 
 through and down upon part of the structure 
 where the building was unfinished. 
 
 The fall had been a matter of but a foot or so, 
 for there just above his head was the window, 
 with its great jagged gap made by their fall, 
 showing sharp against the light of the room, into 
 which Seebar could see, and there Dorothy 
 crouched, too, staring out into the semi-gloom. 
 
 Seebar wondered how much support there was 
 to right or left. They had evidently alighted on 
 some sort of a workman's platform. As Seebar 
 still lay motionless, Bornheim's face pressed hard 
 against his shoulder, and his breathing sounded 
 heavy in his ear. 
 
 Seebar put out his right arm. From the shoul 
 der down it fell away into space. Startled, slowly 
 he rolled his head to one side. He gasped and 
 his body seemed to shrink. He was lying at the 
 brink of space itself. Thirty stories below lay 
 the vast burst of city lights. How wide was the 
 support that sustained them?
 
 What Befell in the Studio 297 
 
 The position in which Bornheim was lying 
 prevented Seebar's turning his eyes to the left, 
 but he was able to reach out his hand. For the 
 little distance he could stretch his fingers he found 
 solid plank. They were lying upon a platform 
 several feet at least in width. At most, how much 
 more? 
 
 He turned again to the right. The lights 
 blurred his vision, and closing his eyes, it was as 
 if he were swirling round and round in space, 
 while an infinite field of dark red seemed to shift 
 and glide endlessly. 
 
 Then he looked up again at the cool stars, 
 twinkling through the broken masses of clouds. 
 A cold gust of wind chilled his face, and space 
 above, and space below, and blowing winds, over 
 whelmed him with the ineffable terror of his 
 position. 
 
 He strove to shift his body to get away from 
 the abyss at his right, but Bornheim's weight 
 pressed him down. Then for the first time he 
 wondered what ailed the man. Why did he not
 
 298 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 get up? Why did he remain motionless ? Except 
 for his heavy breathing he gave no sign of life 
 whatever. 
 
 Again Seebar strove to rise and then, with a 
 fierce strength that alarmed him, he felt the 
 other's arms gather around his body in a strong, 
 resistless hold. Bornheim's head was raised, too, 
 and Seebar found himself looking into a pair of 
 staring, unseeing eyes. The grip of the arm was 
 not the grip of aggressive battle; the look in the 
 eyes was not the look of hatred. The grapple, 
 the stare, were those of the subdued animal not 
 the man in fighting mood. 
 
 And then Seebar understood that the man was 
 laboring under fear a fear as unreasoning as 
 that of a drowning man that made him clutch 
 wildly, as if, by sheer strength, he would steady 
 the support that moved under him. The terrible 
 falling fear was upon the man. 
 
 Seebar knew vaguely there was such a thing, 
 had heard of structural steel workers on the lofty 
 heights of skyscraper or suspension bridge, be-
 
 What Befell in the Studio 299 
 
 coming possessed of this appalling, unreasoning 
 horror. 
 
 He lay still for a little, thinking what to do, 
 Bornheim meantime slowly sinking into his 
 former posture. 
 
 To the left the platform probably did not reach 
 far. It is true, Seebar could not touch the edge 
 with his fingers. But an arm's length is a very 
 short distance. Again he rolled his head to the 
 right, and as he looked downward he had once 
 more the sensation of floating in air. It was a 
 sensation that made his body shrink. 
 
 His single, his overwhelming desire in life was 
 to get away from the edge of that abyss, coupled 
 with anger against the man who prevented his 
 doing so. 
 
 He braced himself at shoulders and heels, and 
 stiffening his back and using his elbows as jacks, 
 suddenly heaved with all his strength. 
 
 He could feel Bornheim's arms tighten around 
 him like the coils of a serpent. The man's weight 
 was a fearful incubus. But they had moved
 
 3OO The Mirage of the Many 
 
 half-lifted, half-rolled by Seebar's convulsive ef 
 fort, to the left. 
 
 Now for the first time Seebar could really take 
 in the significance of the situation. It was a most 
 narrow platform they were upon separated 
 from the window, from where they had fallen, 
 by a gap of perhaps a yard just a mere bit of 
 a raft in the vast circumambient ocean of at 
 mosphere. 
 
 Raising his eyes to the window again, he saw 
 Dorothy leaning forward in alert, intent pose, 
 with hands tightly folded. Even in his own dis 
 tress he had time for a flashing thought of pity 
 for her. She could not, of course, understand. 
 To her the two firmly clasped in each other's 
 arms must present a picture of physical combat. 
 He found himself wondering at his thus imagin 
 ing and analyzing her introspection. It was like 
 a dream within a dream. 
 
 Once more the feeling of anger, replacing these 
 thoughts, surged through him. He experienced 
 a mad, fierce desire to tear this clinging mass of
 
 What Befell in the Studio 301 
 
 flesh from him and hurl it down, down to the 
 streets where the light lay like white fog. 
 
 He began to work his arms to a freer position. 
 Gradually he got them over his head. Then his 
 fingers felt for Bornheim's throat, and with a 
 savage, ruthless clutch they closed upon it. 
 
 The man gagged and struggled, fighting hard 
 for his breath. His arms fell away from around 
 Seebar's shoulders, and he began to work his 
 hands in a strange pushing sort of action, to 
 shove away the thing that choked him. Then his 
 grasp sought Seebar's wrists, but Seebar let go 
 the throat and his fingers closed around his 
 antagonist's wrists, instead. Bornheim was no 
 longer on top of him. Both were now lying side 
 by side. With a quick, adroit motion, Seebar 
 suddenly let go, and sprang upon his feet, with 
 only a bit of a platform, five feet wide by twice 
 its length, to sustain him above a gulf five 
 hundred feet deep. 
 
 As he stood, half-giddy, measuring the gap that 
 separated him from the window and safety, he
 
 302 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 felt himself seized around the knees with a force 
 that well-nigh threw him. It was as mad a thing 
 to let this man, fear-stricken, cowering, grapple 
 with him as it would be were he drowning in the 
 sea. 
 
 For the second time that night Seebar struck 
 him struck him a swinging, glancing blow that 
 put him again on his back. Then he turned, 
 running along the narrow steel beam to the 
 window, where he placed his hands upon the sill. 
 In ordinary mood he could not have done that, 
 though his life depended upon it. But he was not 
 in ordinary mood. He was fresh from the strug 
 gle of freeing himself from a man possessed of 
 the terror of a child and the strength of a giant. 
 To get away from that, for the instant, was his 
 one thought. 
 
 Dorothy, quick-witted girl, was already 
 fumbling at the catch. Then up shot the sash, 
 and Seebar had lifted himself into the room, 
 and was leaning against the wall for support, 
 pale and trembling.
 
 What Befell in the Studio 303 
 
 " Oh," cried Dorothy, pointing with out 
 stretched fingers at his arm, " you are hurt ! " 
 
 Her face was absolutely colorless, and she half- 
 reeled as she pointed. 
 
 A gash, as if made by the single stroke of a 
 huge shears, was in his left coat sleeve near the 
 shoulder, and through this the blood was oozing 
 into the dark cloth. 
 
 He patted it softly with his right hand, and 
 the cloth felt wet and spongy to the touch. As 
 he drew his hand away the palm showed a bright 
 deep red, and as he gazed upon it wonderingly, 
 for he felt no pain, Seebar half-sickened at the 
 sight. 
 
 And then Dorothy did the very natural thing 
 the thing that many another girl would have done 
 long ago fainted. She fell before Seebar could 
 reach her side, but she fell lightly, her shoulders 
 striking the soft edge of the couch that stood 
 against the wall, and thence she slipped quietly 
 to the floor. 
 
 He lifted her gently, very gently, and laid her
 
 304 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 on the sofa, with a cushion under her head. She 
 was very pale and still, and her hand was cold 
 to his touch. Her breathing, to his anxious eye, 
 seemed fearfully light. 
 
 Seebar, for the moment, was nearly beside him 
 self. What if this final shock had been too much 
 for her ? Suppose she were to die ? 
 
 The perils, the events of the night were all 
 forgotten forgotten the great gash in his arm, 
 from which the blood was now shaken unheeded 
 on the green rug, as he paced back and forth in 
 his anxiety; forgotten the wild din and up 
 roar in the city; the battle with the man still 
 lying out there, fear-helpless, on the bit of plank 
 in space. 
 
 Then he thought of outside aid and sprang to 
 the telephone. But no response came from the 
 operator. If he had known at that moment the 
 condition of affairs in the city, he would not have 
 wondered why. He waited a minute, while each 
 second seemed that length of time. Then with 
 a gesture of despair he threw down the receiver
 
 What Befell in the Studio 305 
 
 and rushed for the elevator shaft. He rang 
 again and again, stamping with impotent im 
 patience, but the single elevator that was running 
 some time before did not respond. 
 
 He could wait no longer. If help were to be 
 worth while it must come at once. Down the 
 stairs he dashed, two and three steps at a 
 time. At each landing he seemed to gain a new 
 impetus. 
 
 When finally he did reach the street he was 
 breathless and dizzy. Then for the first time was 
 he aware of the tremendous upheaval in the city. 
 The people seemed possessed by some strange 
 excitement. They swept through the streets, all 
 bent apparently for the same destination. From 
 wall to wall of the street was a mass of heaving 
 heads and shoulders. 
 
 Seebar in vain attempted to face this sea. 
 Again and again he strove, but was flung back 
 each time and once he nearly went down. And 
 then he realized that his efforts to breast the tor 
 rent were absolutely futile, and that if he would
 
 306 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 seek a doctor for Dorothy it must be in the 
 direction in which the mob was going. 
 
 " What does all this mean, what's the matter ? " 
 he yelled in the ear of a man who had reached 
 down grasping his collar to save him, the last 
 time. 
 
 " It's a revolution," the other shouted back 
 above the thunder and roar of feet. Then 
 he added, bringing his lips closer to Seebar's 
 ear: 
 
 " We've had altogether too much of this 
 damned Furst." 
 
 The next instant the shifting torrent swept the 
 two apart. 
 
 A revolution a revolution against Socialism! 
 Was it possible, was it credible? Seebar's 
 memory swung back a year to the night when 
 he had been borne, as he was being borne to 
 night, by a mob down into La Salle Street. He 
 remembered the boy the mischievous, red- 
 haired boy whose high-keyed voice had sent the 
 mob, first laughing, then more serious, into the
 
 What Befell in the Studio 307 
 
 banking section of the city. The mob that night 
 had been possessed by a different spirit than now. 
 It had been light-hearted, relieved after a great 
 political campaign, in which it had won, and in 
 which the issues had appeared more vital than 
 in any previous campaign in the country's his 
 tory. Yet that night its good nature had turned 
 to license and bloodshed. If the spirit of revolt 
 had really set in Seebar shuddered at thought 
 of the turn this spirit might take. He knew that 
 there was discontent, bitter, savage discontent, 
 with the condition of things he had heard com 
 plaints on every side during the past several 
 months. But these complaints had not been 
 directed against Socialism, as a practical working 
 principle, so much as against the government of 
 ficials themselves, the men who were putting the 
 Socialistic principles into execution. Yet he could 
 not believe that there was a wide-spread con 
 spiracy to overthrow the government. The bomb- 
 throwing, he knew, was the expression of neither 
 disaffected Socialists nor Individualists. The
 
 308 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 flaunted flag, red with blue stripes, had been that 
 of anarchy. 
 
 Still he was rocked and swayed with the crowd 
 onward, ever onward. 
 
 Through all this train of thought, another more 
 pertinent idea was running also, like the beating 
 of a nerve in pain. Not once was Dorothy absent 
 from his mind. First it was in a kind of frenzied 
 anguish, and then in an almost mad despair, that 
 he found himself being carried farther and far 
 ther from the studio in the Russian Exchange 
 Building. 
 
 At times his fears became positive terror. 
 Dorothy lying alone there in the studio, thirty 
 stories from assistance, was dying perhaps, 
 perhaps even now was dead. Then, in another 
 swirl of fear, Seebar thought of Bornheim. If 
 the man should recover his nerve, if he should 
 return to the room he fought the thought, 
 flung it from him as if it were one that 
 would damn his soul eternally. Bornheim 
 would not dare, would not dare, would not dare
 
 What Befell in the Studio 309 
 
 he kept repeating to himself. Like a child 
 saying its lesson over and over by rote, he 
 reiterated the phrase till it became blurred and 
 meaningless. 
 
 If he could but escape from this persistent 
 throng of madmen ! 
 
 Then all at once the crowd came to a halt at 
 an intersection of streets, leaving Seebar wedged 
 between sidewalks, with the way open to his 
 sight in four directions. In front, several blocks 
 away, the white walls of the great government 
 printing building loomed up, barring the way like 
 an enormous citadel. To the left, to the right, 
 to rear, the heads extended, seemingly unending, 
 beyond vision. 
 
 What did it all mean? Was it indeed the 
 mighty revolution that the man, shouting in See- 
 bar's ear, had declared it to be? If so, where 
 were the leaders, and what was the present 
 purpose of this enormous concourse? 
 
 Even in his bewilderment, however, Seebar 
 had thought for wonder at the apparent order-
 
 310 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 liness of the multitude. Yet when he put a ques 
 tion to the men around him, it was received in 
 stolid silence or with shakes of the head, indicat 
 ing either impatience or ignorance. Did they 
 really know what they were there for? 
 
 Suddenly a shout arose in front of the great 
 white building a shout that was taken up and 
 borne back. Out through a score of windows 
 of the government printing building shot white 
 bundles, scattering over the heads of the crowd 
 and resolving themselves into a shower of news 
 papers. As the sheets whirled, a thousand hands 
 reached for them, and in an instant the air 
 grew thick with the fragments. 
 
 Seebar understood now. The people were 
 wrecking the government printing offices. They 
 were weary of the half-truths and fabrications 
 that daily rilled the columns of the press. 
 
 But Seebar's eye had caught that which made 
 hope leap high in his breast. The wrecking of 
 a government printing plant at once took on but 
 slight significance. He no longer was a helpless
 
 What Befell in the Studio 311 
 
 atom, big only in despair and anguish, im 
 prisoned by a countless horde of other hostile 
 atoms. He was a man who saw a chance to es 
 cape from what to him was a meaningless chaos. 
 
 He began to work his way toward the left, 
 for in that direction there was a space, scarcely 
 a foot wide, that broke the solid wall of build 
 ings, and beyond this space Seebar remembered 
 there ran a court thence a short subway beneath 
 the streets. And farther beyond that he hoped 
 for unobstructed passage back to the studio. 
 
 Slowly he began to force his way through the 
 mass. Now cheer after cheer was ringing out; 
 all eyes were turned upward, and somehow 
 drawn to follow the general gaze, in spite of his 
 anxiety to get away and return to Dorothy, See- 
 bar beheld the old national flag of Stars and 
 Stripes, suppressed this year back, flying in its 
 accustomed place on the dome of the white 
 building. The red flag was gone. 
 
 The cheers were short-lived. They had sud 
 denly turned to a howl of indignation. Seebar
 
 312 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 felt the great mass quiver and then there was a 
 brief attempt at a forward movement, followed 
 by a recession, as those toward the front of 
 the crowd began to surge back. He did not look 
 to see what it was all about. His private affairs 
 that night were more vital than the welfare of the 
 whole nation. He no longer felt himself a part of 
 the people of this city. That he had been a leader 
 seemed as far away and dim as a troubled dream. 
 He had nothing to do with aught of this rabble, 
 either Individualist or Socialist. To get away 
 from it, to find his way back to the studio, was 
 his sole thought. 
 
 He had reached the curbstone, had worked his 
 way across the sidewalk, and was slipping into 
 the gap in the wall when the thing happened 
 happened with all the suddenness and all the hor 
 ror of the deed in the New Auditorium. 
 
 What it was that caused Seebar to turn and 
 look up just as he was about to plunge into the 
 narrow gap between the buildings he never knew. 
 Across the street at an open window, four stories
 
 What Befell in the Studio 313 
 
 above the pavement, stood a man, balancing a 
 ponderous weight over his head. The motion 
 and attitude were much like that of a man 
 lifting a heavy tray. Suddenly, as Seebar 
 watched, he released his left hand, balancing the 
 heavy weight for an instant on his right, and 
 then with the movement of an athlete putting the 
 shot, hurled the mass down and out upon the 
 heads of the crowd. 
 
 The flash, the roar, the jar, seemed simul 
 taneous. 
 
 Seebar felt himself lifted off his feet and 
 thrown violently. He seemed to be a long time 
 coming to earth. Then he felt a sudden shock, 
 as if something had leaped up and struck him. 
 Presently he realized that he was lying on his 
 side, on the ground. As he strove to sit up 
 another roar and earth-trembling followed. 
 
 A silence of a moment's duration was broken 
 by a crying out of wild, terrified voices. 
 
 Seebar did not even look to learn more. He 
 staggered to his feet and ran. Through the
 
 314 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 length of the gap, across the courtyard, and 
 then down into the subway for pedestrians he 
 plunged, where the quiet, after the horrid roar 
 above, was almost bewildering. 
 
 In another ten minutes he found himself again 
 in the streets, racing hatless toward the building 
 where he had left Dorothy. 
 
 Streams of people still were swirling in the 
 direction from which he was fleeing. Only the 
 streams were much thinner no longer torrent- 
 like and irresistible.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 A NEW DAY 
 
 'T^O Seebar that long climb up thirty flights of 
 stairs ever afterward seemed a nightmare. 
 His anxiety for Dorothy's safety had carried 
 him through the streets as rapidly as lung power 
 and impeding obstacles would permit. The last 
 square he had covered at top speed. He was badly 
 winded when he began his climb up the stairs, 
 and yet with every step that he took, lessening 
 the distance between him and Dorothy, he strove 
 to go still faster. 
 
 Had she recovered from her swoon? He up 
 braided himself that he had deserted her to go 
 in search of assistance. What if for want of a 
 little water dashed in the face, a bit more air, 
 or some such simple restorative, she had died 
 alone while he was off on his bootless errand? 
 Of Bornheim he would no longer allow himself 
 
 to think. 
 
 315
 
 316 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 Breathless and dizzy, his heart pounding, See- 
 bar finally staggered into the little studio. Then 
 the sudden reaction that came to him rendered 
 him more weak and unstrung than had even his 
 haste and anxiety. 
 
 Dorothy was sitting up, her face in her hands, 
 as if to shut out something from sight. 
 
 Seebar watched her for a moment. It came to 
 him as he sank trembling into a chair, that in just 
 such manner he had watched her in the springtime 
 in the half-darkened library the day of the sacking 
 of the old mansion on the Sheridan Drive. 
 
 But it was with a different feeling that he 
 watched now. Then he had felt himself to be 
 an intruder. Here he could boldly and rightfully 
 assume the role of protector. 
 
 She must have heard him, for she was looking 
 up at him now, as he sat quivering with the 
 violence of his breathing. 
 
 She gave a cry of mingled surprise and joy, 
 and stretched forth her arms. " Please, please, 
 don't leave me," she said.
 
 A New Day 317 
 
 In an instant Seebar was on his knees at her 
 side, and her arms were about his neck with her 
 head resting on his shoulder. 
 
 Presently she looked up. " I have been so 
 frightened," she said. " Oh, I am so glad, so 
 very glad you have come back ! " Then with a 
 turn in the thought she continued : " I always 
 wanted you to come back. I always had faith in 
 you; I always believed in you, even when I acted 
 as if I didn't. I am sure now that you were 
 sincere in your beliefs. Forgive me for ever show 
 ing doubt." 
 
 For answer, Seebar pressed his lips first to her 
 forehead, then to her lips. In that moment all the 
 bitterness and pain of the many weary months 
 past vanished. 
 
 " You warned me of Bornheim in the Lion's 
 House. I was so puzzled at the time, because 
 you sent him to meet me and father when we 
 first came to the Pelion." 
 
 Seebar looked perplexed. " I don't under 
 stand," he said. " I never sent Bornheim to look
 
 3i 8 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 after you. That day you were evict left your 
 home, I telegraphed my friend Lessing to meet 
 you " 
 
 " It was Bornheim who met us. He said you 
 had sent him. That is why we were so ready 
 father and I to make friends with him, because 
 we thought him a friend of yours. Don't you 
 see, Alfred, how we always trusted in you? " 
 
 " What an unconscionable liar " Seebar be 
 gan. Then he broke off abruptly. " Have you 
 seen anything more of Bornheim?" 
 
 Dorothy shook her head. Seebar rose and 
 stepped to the window and looked out upon the 
 platform, where he had struggled for life against 
 his adversary's terror. 
 
 It was bare. 
 
 Seebar drew in a deep breath. " I'm glad he's 
 safe," he thought. 
 
 There was a movement behind him, and Doro 
 thy was at his side. 
 
 " He has escaped ? " she asked almost in a 
 whisper.
 
 A New Day 319 
 
 " Yes," responded Seebar in the same low tone 
 in which she had spoken. 
 
 " I am glad," she answered, " we'll feel better 
 so." 
 
 But Bornheim had not escaped, as Seebar 
 learned many hours later. A shapeless mass, once 
 a human being, was found, in the morning, on 
 the hard concrete courtyard, directly beneath the 
 platform. 
 
 Totally ignorant of this, however, at the time, 
 silently they looked out upon the city. How 
 could they know what dreadful things were 
 going on there that night? The tumult seemed 
 to have died away. The myriad lights cast their 
 glare heavenward as they had always done. 
 
 "What is that?" Dorothy suddenly asked, 
 clutching Seebar's arm like a frightened child. 
 
 From a distance there had been borne to their 
 ears a strange roar, followed by a slight jar of 
 the building. Then a second boom followed, and 
 again the floor shook slightly beneath them, as 
 if an earthquake were rumbling by.
 
 320 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 And then a strange thing happened strange 
 to the inhabitants of that twentieth century city, 
 who had not known the like before; as though a 
 wave of darkness had passed over the city all 
 the lights went out. 
 
 The lights in the room also went out with 
 them, and Dorothy crept still closer to Seebar. 
 The primitive fear of darkness, of the strange 
 and the unknown, was upon them. 
 
 Away to the south the sky was suddenly shot 
 with red light. To right and left of this pres 
 ently other red lights began to flicker and dance 
 across the darkness. 
 
 " They are firing the city," said Seebar. 
 
 Fascinated, they watched the flames. 
 
 Then the strange booming sounds recom 
 menced. 
 
 "We must get to your father," Seebar ex 
 claimed suddenly. 
 
 "Oh, Alfred, how could I forget him! We 
 must get to him at once. Come ! Come ! " 
 
 And hand in hand they threaded their way in
 
 A New Day 321 
 
 the dark through the outer room of the studio, 
 to the stairs in the hall, and descended to the 
 street. 
 
 Outside it was as twilight. The fog had long 
 since lifted. The air was filled with noises. The 
 whole city hummed with a mysterious, unaccount 
 able activity, that was as a portent of further 
 evil and disaster. Few persons were in the im 
 mediate neighborhood, but such as they saw were 
 hastening in the direction of the lights leaping 
 up against the sky. 
 
 Silently Dorothy and Seebar hurried on. 
 Presently they had turned to the left, and ahead 
 they could see an endless throng passing. Still 
 without exchange of speech, they hastened, and 
 a few moments more brought them to the Pelion. 
 Some feeble lights, generated by a small motor 
 on the premises, rescued the place from absolute 
 darkness. 
 
 Below it was quiet enough, but in the upper 
 corridors women were rushing about, sobbing 
 hysterically, children were crying, and men were
 
 322 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 gathered in groups at the windows, and talking in 
 eager, excited tones. 
 
 As Seebar and Dorothy turned into the Mark- 
 ham apartment the voice of the ex-steel magnate 
 greeted them. 
 
 " Is that you, Dorothy ? I am glad you are 
 back. I feel far from well, and the noises out 
 side are very upsetting. Whom have you with 
 you?" 
 
 " Alfred, father." 
 
 There were no lights in the room and they 
 stood together by the bedside in the darkness. 
 Dimly against the white of the pillow, and be 
 neath the counterpane, they could make out the 
 form of Mr. Markham. A heavy roar, not three 
 blocks distant, sounded at that moment, and a 
 burst of light flashed for an instant. The empty 
 eye-sockets, so hideous, of the man lying there, 
 were revealed under the raised lids. 
 
 "What does all this mean?" went on the 
 voice from the bed. " Is it a revolt ? " 
 
 " I think it is a revolution," answered Seebar
 
 A New Day 323 
 
 gloomily, " whether of Socialists or anarchists I 
 cannot tell, though the latter, I know, started the 
 trouble." 
 
 Aye, it was a revolution one of the most ter 
 rible in the history of the world. What, after all, 
 were the horrors and atrocities of the uprising of 
 1793? France was still medieval. The vast bulk 
 of her population were as ignorant and bigoted as 
 though they lived in the Dark Ages. The atroci 
 ties of the religious wars following the Protestant 
 Reformation, the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, 
 even the rising of the Commune in 1871 what 
 were these? The madness of ignorance and 
 fanaticism. 
 
 Who could fancy, with the death penalty 
 abolished, men surrounded with all the luxuries 
 the greatest material civilization the world 
 had ever seen, with the masses educated, enlight 
 ened, that bombs could be thrown into crowds of 
 helpless human beings, among women and chil 
 dren? Who could have believed that Individual 
 ists as well as Socialists, Socialists as well as
 
 324 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 anarchists, could have taken part in the fury, the 
 butcheries, the rapine, that followed hard upon 
 the first outbreaks of that terrible third of No 
 vember, 1953? 
 
 And yet that night men were as demons. 
 Every man's hand was raised against his fellow. 
 Women were outraged and murdered, children 
 despatched with fiendish ingenuity. It was as if 
 the city had been taken by Huns of the fifth 
 century. 
 
 Once, underneath the window of the room in 
 which Mr. Markham lay, there was a loud out 
 cry, and Seebar could discern three men strug 
 gling there in the dim light. One fell with a loud 
 groan, and then the remaining two attacked each 
 other like madmen. 
 
 Seebar turned away. His faculties were 
 awhirl. What did it all mean? What sort of a 
 Frankenstein was this Socialism to have thus 
 created so terrible a monster ? 
 
 He heard Mr. Markham's voice calling to him 
 as out of a dream. " Mr. Seebar, I don't quite
 
 A New Day 325 
 
 understand, but I find you with my daughter. It 
 is of her own free will, I trust?" 
 
 " Oh, father," interposed Dorothy. " He more 
 than saved my life to-night. We have been so 
 very unjust to Alfred, and I love him so I do 
 indeed." 
 
 And she was on her knees at the bedside, her 
 fingers resting lightly on her father's face. 
 
 " Mr. Markham," said Seebar, " I find you 
 were right. I have made a mistake. I thought 
 Socialism could do the impossible. I believed it 
 would revolutionize the world spiritually as well 
 as materially. I believe now that all good in 
 government and economics, as in all other things 
 in life, must come from within ourselves. I have 
 no remorse for the part I have taken in the move 
 ment which led to the Great Change for my in 
 tentions were serious and honest I have only 
 regret. Henceforth I shall devote myself to re 
 claiming this country from the curse of Socialism, 
 to bringing it back to its former constitutional 
 government."
 
 326 The Mirage of the Many 
 
 The old man's hand reached out till he had 
 found Seebar's, and placing it firmly on his daugh 
 ter's hand, held it there. 
 
 A faint light began to show through the east 
 window. 
 
 " See," said Dorothy softly, " it is morning." 
 
 THE END
 
 WILLIAM DE MORGAN'S JOSEPH VANCE 
 
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