WITHOUT COMPROMISE
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 BY 
 
 LILIAN BENNET-THOMPSON 
 
 AND 
 GEORGE HUBBARD 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 THE CENTURY CO. 
 
 1922
 
 Copyright, 1922, by 
 THE CENTUBT Co. 
 
 PRINTED IN XT. 8. A.
 
 TO 
 HENRY GALLUP PAINE 
 
 WITH AFFECTIONATE REGARD 
 
 2135700
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE
 
 Without Compromise 
 
 FROM the narrow, scarred doorway of the ex- 
 press office, a fat youth emerged; he cast a 
 languid glance up and down the street, yawned, 
 cupped his hands about his mouth, and vociferated 
 shrilly : 
 
 "Dick! DickLeighton!" 
 
 "Ike Milliken's calling you, Dick," the pretty 
 young woman at the stamp window remarked; and 
 Leighton nodded. 
 
 "Thanks. I heard him, Norah. I '11 see what 
 he wants, in a minute." 
 
 "How 's the Judge to-day?" 
 
 "About the same. A little weaker, if anything, 
 the nurse told me over the telephone. I 'm on my 
 way up to the house now." Leighton glanced into 
 one of the numbered boxes, found it empty, and 
 went out of the post-office. "What do you want, 
 Ike*?" he asked, when he was half-way across the 
 street. 
 
 Milliken yawned again, prodigiously, closing his 
 
 3
 
 4 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 eyes and opening his mouth until it rounded out into 
 an enormous O. 
 
 "Pa'ka f'r Jugruch," he announced. 
 
 "What?' 
 
 "Package for Judge Randolph," Milliken re- 
 peated, somewhat more lucidly. "It come this 
 morning, and it 's marked 'Perishable,' so I thought 
 I 'd better tell you." 
 
 "But why the extraordinary haste?" Dick in- 
 quired pleasantly. "Surely it ought to take more 
 than six hours to send anything three whole blocks !" 
 
 "Well, I did n't have nobody to send," protested 
 Milliken, in an aggrieved tone, "and of course I 
 could n't leave the office. I figured I 'd see you go 
 by. And, anyways," he wound up, "I guess it ain't 
 hurt none. Do you want to take it now, or shall 
 I wait and " 
 
 "Get it !" Dick interrupted. "I '11 take it with 
 me. Perishable stuff! and lying around in that 
 cubby-hole since the nine train this morning!" 
 
 "Well, I didn't have nobody to send, I tell 
 you!" Milliken turned back into the small, dark 
 room that served as express and telegraph office, 
 and brought out an oblong box, the cover of which 
 bore the imprint of a Pennsylvania nursery. "How 
 was I to get it over, I 'd like to know? S'pose I 'd 
 left the office and somebody 'd wanted to send a 
 message? What 'd I 'a' done then, hey?"
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 5 
 
 "You could n't have telephoned the office, I 
 presume*? Or asked anybody to tell me it was 
 here? If these are ruined" Dick tapped the box 
 "the Judge will be quite likely to wonder why 
 you showed so much initiative." 
 
 "I tell you, I did n't have nobody to send," 
 Milliken argued. "I did n't think 't was worth 
 while to phone. You tell the Judge how it was. 
 I don't want him to be sore at me. You tell him 
 I did n't have nobody " He was still protesting 
 and explaining volubly when Dick shouldered the 
 box and set off up the street. 
 
 Main Avenue and its continuation, Upper Main 
 Avenue, ran the full length of the town. Its eastern 
 end was unpaved, and dwindled into an uneven 
 dirt road that followed the intricate windings of 
 Squatter Creek. Toward the west it stopped at 
 Border Street, on one corner of which the Grand 
 View Hotel reared its three rickety stories. Be- 
 tween the hotel and the Four Corners, three short 
 blocks away, was the business section, housed in 
 squat frame and brick, and huddled together close 
 to the narrow cement sidewalk. At intervals of 
 about a hundred feet apart, the red-brick paving of 
 the roadway gave out a hollow rumbling sound, 
 whenever the iron-shod wheels of a wagon passed 
 over it. Main Avenue was hot and dusty in sum- 
 mer, cold and slippery in winter, wet and chilly
 
 6 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 between seasons; always disagreeable. There were 
 a few small dispirited maple-trees lining the curb; 
 one large elm, directly in front of the confectioner's 
 shop known as "The Greek's," seemed to mark an 
 oasis. 
 
 The Methodist and Lutheran churches, severe in 
 dull-brown paint, led the -way into the residential 
 section, which had climbed up hill and down dale 
 with a blissful disregard for the systematically 
 geometrical destiny intended for it by old Simeon 
 Randolph, for whom the town had been named. 
 As if in revolt against the drab ugliness of Main 
 Avenue, the streets which branched off from it made 
 prompt promise of reform ; and the farther one went 
 from the Four Corners, the more effectively was it 
 carried out. 
 
 Summit Street, which ran along the top of a gen- 
 tle rise of ground some ten minutes' walk from 
 "down street," was all that its name implied. 
 Broad, tree-studded lawns of velvet smoothness 
 sloped down to precise pavements. The road was 
 of fine macadam, shaded by a double row of magnif- 
 icent elms, the grave branches of which crossed and 
 interlaced in an almost unbroken canopy of glossy 
 green. Jigsaw ornamentation was frowned on 
 here ; and only one iron deer dared to show its amaz- 
 ing antlers on the whole street. 
 
 The Randolph place was at the corner of Hill
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 7 
 
 and Summit streets. It had been old when Judge 
 Gordon Randolph was born. Long and low and 
 rambling, its wide, unpainted boards weathered to 
 a mellow gray, it seemed to -have sprung naturally 
 from the soil, to have grown in its place exactly as 
 had the fine old elms that sheltered it. 
 
 "The day they tote me up Cemetery Street, 
 Dick," Judge Randolph had said, about four years 
 before, "I want you to move into my house. You '11 
 keep Miriam on to do for you." Miriam was the 
 Judge's housekeeper. "Of course, she 's a vile 
 cook, and she 's the temper and vocabulary of a 
 Billingsgate fishwife, whatever that is; Miriam's 
 got 'em, anyway. But she '11 keep you from being 
 too comfortable, and that '11 be good for you. You 
 won't dare kick to her, so you'll go out and kick 
 to somebody else, no matter about what; you can 
 always find something to kick about in Randolph. 
 I 've pretty well stubbed the toes of my shoes on 
 one thing and another, but they 're still stout and 
 able. Maybe I 'd better leave 'em to you. There 
 comes a time in every man's life when he has to 
 take a stand ; and when that time comes he 's got 
 to kick to some purpose. If I have n't made a bad 
 mistake in you, you 're the man who will do it. I 'd 
 like to think you were going to step into my shoes, 
 Dick; you'd make much better use of 'em than 
 I 've been able to."
 
 8 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 At the time Dick had laughed and said he guessed 
 it would be a good many years before he or any 
 one else would step into Judge Randolph's shoes; 
 the idea of death seemed infinitely remote from the 
 man who was walking briskly along beside him. 
 Dick's own splendid shoulders, young and straight, 
 were no broader than those of the Judge, unbowed 
 by the weight of sixty-eight years. The crisp 
 brown head was barely level with the shaggy white 
 one. The gray eyes were no brighter than the 
 blue, but they were softer, less shrewdly calculat- 
 ing. 
 
 Despite careful teaching Dick had not then as- 
 similated the whole of the Judge's golden rule of 
 philosophy, which according to the old man's own 
 phraseology was: "Do unto the other fellow what 
 he 'd like to do unto you, if he had brains enough 
 to think of it." The mouth of the younger man, 
 too, although larger, was more tender, less stern. 
 In the contour of the lips there was something 
 almost feminine ; but this suggestion was more than 
 balanced by the aggressive chin and square, deter- 
 mined jaw. The nose, rather prominent, was well 
 chiseled, and the ears were set close back against 
 the finely shaped head. Dick Leighton was not 
 handsome, but he had a good face, a strong face; 
 and the build of his firmly knit young body was 
 that of an athlete.
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 9 
 
 "Yes," the Judge had repeated musingly, "I '11 
 be mighty glad to have you step into my shoes, 
 Dick. I '11 leave 'em to you, along with the house 
 and Miriam, if she lives longer than I do, which 
 is n't probable. She has a different kind of mis'ry 
 every other day." 
 
 But Miriam, stout, red-faced, and 'hearty, opened 
 the front door for Dick, when, the express package 
 balanced on his shoulder, he rang the bell; while 
 upstairs, in the great mahogany four-poster that had 
 been in the Randolph family for four generations, 
 Judge Gordon Randolph lay dying. 
 
 He was dying as he had lived exactly as he 
 wanted to. He argued with the doctor, and openly 
 defied the nurse. He would die in his own way, 
 undosed by any quacks, and unbossed by any young 
 hussy hired for the express purpose of harassing his 
 last moments on earth. 
 
 "Why, damn it all, sir," the old man rasped at 
 Dick, who was the only visitor he would allow to 
 be admitted, "she tells me I can't smoke, and tries 
 to take my cigar away!" 
 
 That the effort had not met with conspicuous 
 success, was evidenced by the black perfecto that 
 the Judge was puffing furiously. Through the 
 eddying swirl of pleasantly aromatic smoke, his 
 eyes, clear and bright as the eyes of a child, gleamed 
 steely blue. They and the bristling white brows
 
 10 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 seemed the only live things about him. His skin 
 had a strange grayish tinge; the flesh hung loosely 
 on his big frame. His cheeks were sunken, and 
 the hands that trembled against the counterpane 
 were mere bony claws, etched with purple veins. 
 He had never been a great smoker, and he had been 
 quite well content to do without tobacco until the 
 nurse told him he could have none. Thereafter he 
 smoked incessantly. 
 
 "I '11 teach her whp 's boss around here !" he 
 barked at Dick. "Can't a man die in peace, eh 1 ? 
 Jezebel!" It was his favorite expletive and had 
 no reference whatever to the young woman in 
 question. 
 
 "But, Judge, what she tells you is for your good," 
 Dick urged pacifically. "And Doctor Evans is 
 doing everything he can " 
 
 "To send me to the lunatic asylum before I get 
 to Cemetery Hill," the Judge cut him short. "Now 
 you begin and help along the good work. What 
 was that package you had 1 ?" 
 
 "From the nurseries, sir. Your order." 
 
 "Where did you get it? The four train isn't 
 in yet." 
 
 "It came on the nine this morning. Ike said he 
 didn't have any one to send over with it," Dick 
 explained with a twinkle in his eyes. 
 
 The Judge waved his hand.
 
 11 
 
 "Ike is the only human being ever born without 
 a trace of brains," he said. "Go get it, will you*?" 
 
 Dick brought up the package which he had left 
 in the lower hall, severed the string, and took off 
 the cover of the box. Within were nine dormant 
 rose-trees, the roots caked with earth and rolled in 
 newspaper. 
 
 "Good stock," grunted the Judge. " 'With 
 these nine columns round me, two and two, The odd 
 one at my feet where Anselm stands' " He 
 grinned at Dick. "You '11 have to see to planting 
 them. If they 'd come when I ordered them, I 'd 
 have done it myself; but I 've shown you where 
 they 're to go." 
 
 When Judge Randolph began his gardening 
 operations in the cemetery, the town had been 
 astounded and shocked. The idea that a man 
 should plant flowers about his own grave, order and 
 erect his own headstone, struck the conventional 
 little community as not only fantastic but almost 
 blasphemous. 
 
 Had the perpetrator of this remarkable deed been 
 any but Gordon Randolph, radical steps would un- 
 doubtedly have been taken to curb his abnormal 
 activities; but it had been a good many years since 
 any one had been able successfully to interfere with 
 any whim in which the Judge chose to indulge 
 himself. Visitors to the quaint little cemetery on
 
 12 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 the wind-swept hilltop were frequently diverted by 
 the sight of the Judge, coatless, hat tilted to the 
 back of his head, spade in hand, digging with a 
 vigor and energy that belied his years. 
 
 The headstone, peeping out like a stiffly starched 
 shirt front from between the lapels of the black 
 alpaca coat, made the announcement that this was 
 
 THE RESTING-PLACE 
 
 of 
 
 GORDON RANDOLPH 
 Bora, March 12, 1838 
 Died 
 
 "No, not the 'last resting-place,' " the Judge had 
 been wont to bark at any one questioning the ac- 
 curacy of the stone-cutter who had carved the in- 
 scription. "The resting-place. And I 'm going to 
 have it the way I want it." 
 
 But he had not been able to finish his work. 
 
 "You'll do that," he said to Dick. "Phlox 
 sublata over the top, with a border of sweet alyssum. 
 And fill in the second date line. That 's all you '11 
 have to attend to there." His keen eyes flickered 
 with a glint like sun on blued steel. "Pull up that 
 chair," he ordered abruptly. "This is the last 
 chance I '11 have to talk to you, and I 've got to 
 make the most of it."
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 13 
 
 Dick drew his chair closer to the bed, and the 
 Judge, temporarily discarding his cigar, turned his 
 head on the pillow so that he could study the young 
 man's face. 
 
 "It 's over three years since I took you into part- 
 nership, Dick," he began; "nine since you first came 
 to the office. In that time I 've come to know you 
 pretty well, and most of what I know, I like. 
 You 're clean, you 're clear-headed, you 're clever, 
 you 're loyal, and you 're honest enough. I like 
 your ambition, too. I have n't a mite of patience 
 with the fellow that sits around under the tree and 
 waits for somebody to come along and climb after 
 the fruit for him. You 've shinned up the trunk 
 and picked plums for yourself." 
 
 Dick smiled. 
 
 "Don't you remember telling me that the best way 
 for a man to get ahead was to use his boots, his 
 hands, and his brains and climb*?" 
 
 "It 's not alone the best way: it 's the only way 
 to get up the plum-tree," said the Judge. "But 
 you want to watch out for rotten limbs, and for 
 venturing out too far on small branches. If you 're 
 not careful, one of 'em '11 break, and break you. 
 Do you follow me*?" 
 
 Dick nodded. 
 
 "There was that matter of the railroad," the 
 Judge pursued. "It was a clear enough case; you
 
 14 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 knew when you took it that you were on the wrong 
 side. You won it, and you got a good fee, but you 
 were skating on mighty thin ice. That contract 
 you drew for Guinness 'had a joker in it. You put 
 it in deliberately and you got away with it. 
 Appleby's will was an outrage, but you were a good 
 enough lawyer to make it water-tight. And there 
 are other things " 
 
 The Judge reached for his cigar and puffed at it 
 for a moment. Then he put it down again. 
 
 "Yes, you 're a good lawyer," he said. "You 're 
 a mighty good lawyer. And you 've made a good 
 sheriff. That sink of iniquity downtown is cleaner 
 than I can remember it 's being since the mills were 
 built. But Jackson's place is still open. If 
 there 's any trouble, it always seems to happen 
 somewhere else. You 've closed two new saloons 
 owned by men who compared with Cory Jackson 
 are lilies of purity, and Jackson still flourishes." 
 
 "But, Judge," Dick protested, "you Ve just ad- 
 mitted that there 's never any trouble at Jackson's. 
 Why should I bother him without good and suffici- 
 ent reason? And you say yourself," he added de- 
 fensively, "that loyalty is a good quality to 
 cultivate. You wouldn't have me disloyal to my 
 friends'?" 
 
 The Judge shook his head.
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 15 
 
 "No," he said, "hardly. You stick by your 
 friends, my boy. Some of them may be an abom- 
 ination in the sight of the law, but they 're an 
 ever-present help in time of trouble. It was Jack- 
 son who first suggested that you 'd adorn the office 
 of sheriff, was n't it? Well, you could n't very 
 well bite the hand that fed you ; you can 't as long 
 as it keeps itself covered, of course; and if it shows 
 a bit of itself once in a while, you can be discreetly 
 blind, as long as no one else is likely to see it. But 
 that sort of thing is like the plum-tree, Dick. I 
 mean, you can't sit on a branch, with one leg hang- 
 ing on each side of it, and be sure somebody is n't 
 going to grab you by the foot and haul you down. 
 You 've got to stand square with yourself. 
 
 "You want to get ahead and you want to go 
 quick. Well, you 've made big strides in the year 
 since they elected you sheriff. You 're making 
 money; you 're making a name. But you 've done 
 some sailing that has been pretty close to the wind. 
 I 'm not implying that you 've been crooked," he 
 added at Dick's quick flush, "but you 've been 
 clever. Don't go out too far on that branch. Play 
 the game as hard as you like and hit the other fellow 
 first; but hit him don't trip him up in the dark and 
 hide behind the fence when the night watchman 
 comes running to see who yelled. That 's Dave
 
 i6 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 Ainsworth's game ; and besides, somebody 's liable 
 to turn a flashlight on you." 
 
 Dick nodded abstractedly, then cast a quick 
 glance at the Judge, who chuckled maliciously. 
 
 "Oh, I know you sized Dave up long ago, and 
 you know that I know you did," he said. "You 're 
 smarter than I was, a good deal. By the time 
 I realized fully what sort of man Dave is, it was 
 too late to do anything about it. We 'd let him 
 get too strong. It would have meant a big fight, 
 and there were reasons why I could n't go into it 
 then. And, after that I was too old. I was pretty 
 sure I could n't finish it, so I just let things drift 
 along, taking a kick now and then, with one foot 
 or the other, sometimes with both, but mostly 
 marking time. But that 's all right. What I 'd 
 like to know is how many trips business trips, of 
 course you've found it necessary to make to New 
 York in the last three years, eh? 
 
 "Well," as Dick, embarrassed at this unexpected 
 attack, made no reply, "that 's all right, too. 
 Jean 's a fine girl ; plenty of brains even if she does 
 let her ideals run away with her common sense. 
 She thinks right is right and wrong is wrong. Men 
 are good, or they 're bad, just all black or all white, 
 with no shades in between. She 's due for some 
 heavy bumps when she finds out that she 's color-
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 17 
 
 blind. But she 's worth while. I liked her grit, 
 too going to study and work in New York, all by 
 herself. For a youngster it 's a stiffish way; that 's 
 why Dave did n't raise more hell about her going. 
 He was n't any too well satisfied to have you see so 
 much of her. If he knew you were figuring on 
 marrying her some day, he 'd be mad clean through. 
 Still," the Judge looked out of the window reflec- 
 tively "I don't suppose that 's the only reason why 
 you should. She 's her mother's own daughter. But 
 you want to remember that she 's Dave's daughter, 
 too. What do you suppose she 's going to say to 
 you, eh?' 
 
 " 'Yes,' I hope," Dick said coolly. 
 
 The Judge snorted. 
 
 "Numbskull ! That 's not what I mean." 
 
 "Well, what do you mean, sir 1 ?" 
 
 The Judge picked up the stub of his perfecto 
 again, found that it had gone out, and regarded it 
 with some disfavor. 
 
 "Humph !" said he. "Cigars are n't what they 
 used to be." 
 
 "You mean, sir *?" Dick persisted. 
 
 "I mean, sir, that there are just three things on 
 earth by which Dave Ainsworth sets any store: his 
 position, his son, and his daughter. All of 'em un- 
 doubtedly because they belong to him. Any man 
 who tries to separate him from anything he regards
 
 i8 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 as his own and that 's anything he wants is in for 
 a good day's work." 
 
 "Then you think he '11 object very strongly to 
 
 "To your marrying his daughter? Certainly! 
 But not half so strongly as he will when he finds out 
 you want his seat in Congress." 
 
 "His seat in Congress*?" Dick echoed. "Oh, 
 that 's all in the air. I 've heard rumors, of course ; 
 but even if they amounted to anything, I 'd want to 
 talk to Jean first. I '11 have to get her point of 
 view, and I mean to speak to her before there 's any 
 chance of her hearing it elsewhere." 
 
 "Hm-m," said the Judge. "So you think there 's 
 no likelihood of her hearing about it at home, for 
 instance"? How long do you suppose it 's going to 
 take this breeze to blow up the street? You don't 
 suppose that young hopeful of Dave's is blind and 
 deaf, do you ? The only reason Dave lets him hang 
 around downtown is so that he can get a line on 
 what 's in the wind there. Quick as he catches a 
 scent he trots home with it. He 's done well for 
 Dave in a good many ways, but mighty badly for 
 himself. I tell you, Dick" the Judge's thin lips 
 were compressed "if I had a son like Tommy I'd 
 rather see him shovel coal for the devil than watch 
 him deliberately cross the bridge over Squatter Creek. 
 At least I 'd know he 'd reached the limit."
 
 II 
 
 OLD Simeon Randolph had possessed a me- 
 thodical soul. At his instance and insistence, 
 the streets of the town which he had founded had 
 been laid out in a pattern almost geometrically exact 
 in its regularity, and given numerals instead of 
 names. Old Simeon had believed sturdily in the 
 future of the town. Until the day of his death, he 
 had confidently predicted that it would one day be 
 a great manufacturing and trading center. His son, 
 Caton Randolph, the father of the Judge, had, how- 
 ever, cherished no such illusions. 
 
 "A poor imitation is worse than none at all," he 
 had repeatedly declared. "We're a town; we'll 
 never be anything else. Very well, then, let 's be- 
 have like a town, and stop trying to ape the cities." 
 He it was who had introduced and carried through 
 a resolution to name the streets, doing away with 
 the numerals. He jeered down a motion to change 
 the name of Squatter Creek to Silver River; "Ma- 
 laria Brook" would be more suitable than anything 
 else, he had declared. His one concession had been 
 in the matter of Main Avenue. 
 
 "Hifalutin nonsense; why not Main Street, like 
 
 19
 
 20 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 any other one-horse town?" he had grumbled, even 
 while yielding the point. And he had directed that 
 he be buried in the queer little out-of-the-way ceme- 
 tery on the Hill, "because the devil can't find me 
 there." 
 
 Your true native never spoke of the business sec- 
 tion of Randolph as "downtown"; it was "down 
 street." "Downtown" was used to designate that 
 portion of the town that lay to the south of Squatter 
 Creek, where the great steel-mills were. Some of 
 the better class of citizens had scarcely set foot down- 
 town; a good many mothers never thought of it with- 
 out a shudder, and when they said their prayers in- 
 cluded a petition that the Almighty would protect 
 their sons against its contaminating influence. 
 
 Its streets were narrow ; its houses were small and 
 jerry-built, most of them of the same ugly pattern. 
 They stood close together and close to the sidewalk, 
 the cheap paint peeling from their slate-gray fronts, 
 their steps and shutters sagging crazily. Some had 
 tiny gardens, where a few pinched flowers straggled 
 into anemic bloom; at some of the windows were 
 curtains, looped back with bits of bright ribbon. 
 But, for the most part, the only spots of color were 
 at the corners, where saloons, garishly bright with 
 plate-glass and mirrors, struck a note of gaiety that 
 served to accentuate the somber gloom of the sur- 
 roundings. Judge Randolph remembered when
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 21 
 
 there had been no buildings at all south of the creek; 
 when "the Flats" had been green with swamp-grass 
 and yellow with cowslips. Dick Leighton himself 
 remembered when "downtown" had been a clean, if 
 unprepossessing, part of the community. Now 
 
 The young man nodded soberly at the Judge's 
 words. 
 
 "I 'm rather fond of Tommy," he said, "and 1 5 ve 
 been sorry to see the way he 's going. He used to be 
 an awfully likable youngster. But ever since he 
 flunked out of college he 's run wild, and he 's gotten 
 pretty nearly insufferable. He needed careful dis- 
 cipline, good influences " 
 
 "And he got tyranny and the crowd around Cory 
 Jackson's bar," supplemented the Judge. "He 
 did n't want to go to college, and Dave made him. 
 He did want to go to work in New York, and Dave 
 would n't let him. Every sensible idea he had of 
 doing something for himself Dave warped and 
 twisted until Tommy had no interest in it. Dave 
 bossed him and bullied him until he lost what 
 little backbone God gave him originally. He 
 wanted to get out from under his father's shadow 
 somewhere where he 'd have a little light of his 
 own and the only place Dave would let him shine 
 was over on the Flats. Jezebel ! If Dave Ains- 
 worth had an ordinary eye in his head, instead of a 
 capital I, he 'd see what he did when he started an
 
 22 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 information bureau out of a boy's natural curios- 
 ity." 
 
 "It 's a rotten shame !" Dick declared warmly. 
 "I used to see him downtown once in a while, and I 
 thought then that he was n't the sort of boy to frater- 
 nize with the bunch that hangs around there. Then 
 he went off to college, and if he 'd stayed away he 'd 
 have been all right. But he seems to be pretty much 
 of a fixture now, and he 's more than just a sort of 
 spy for Ainsworth. He 's always been a good mixer 
 and a glib talker; he's worked up quite a bit of 
 influence. He calls all the boys by their first names, 
 and he can drink and swear with any of them. I 
 suspect that Jean will be a good deal more upset over 
 the change that 's taken place in him during the past 
 four years than over this Congressional business, 
 which may or may not amount to something. At 
 present it 's just talk downtown." 
 
 "Um-hm," rumbled the Judge. "Just talk down- 
 town. But in a couple of months, Jean or no Jean, 
 it 's going to let you in for the fight of your life, 
 catch-as-catch-can, and no holds barred. You '11 
 have to stand or fall by yourself, and you 'II need a 
 damn clean record!" He shot out the last words 
 sharply and then leaned back on his pillows, look- 
 ing frailer, grayer, more skeleton-like than ever. 
 Only his eyes still burned with clear, indomitable 
 fire. "I wish," he said almost regretfully, "that I
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 23 
 
 could stay and watch the thing out. It '11 be worth 
 seeing. But I 'm past patching up." 
 
 "A complete change, Judge sea air, might " 
 
 "It 's no use steering a ship for the open sea when 
 her boiler 's due to bust any minute," the Judge in- 
 terrupted grimly. "I 've got one leg in the grave 
 now, and the other is n't going gallivantin' to the 
 seashore or the mountains or anywhere, except up 
 Cemetery Hill. Never mind about me. I 'm go- 
 ing to die in my bed, as quietly as that fool of a 
 nurse will let me. I 'm well, I 'm pretty tired, 
 Dick. I've lived all the days of my years and a few 
 odd ones over, and I 've done my work. Sometimes 
 I think I 've done part of it too well." The bushy 
 brows converged and the furrow between them deep- 
 ened. "I mean, as far as you 're concerned, Dick." 
 
 "Sir*?" 
 
 "You 've been a pretty apt pupil, you know. 
 You 've got a good head on your shoulders, but I 'm 
 not altogether easy in my mind about you; I'm 
 afraid you Ve learned your lesson too thoroughly." 
 
 Dick shook his head smilingly. 
 
 "I 've never really confused your principles with 
 your sense of humor, sir," he said. "As a matter 
 of fact, very few people in town do. You 've 
 never succeeded in convincing them that you 're an 
 unscrupulous cynic; your practice hasn't trued up 
 with your preaching."
 
 24 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 The Judge's eyes fell away sheepishly from Dick's 
 whimsical glance. 
 
 "Well," he said gruffly, fumbling under his pillow 
 for a handkerchief, to cover his confusion, "it won't 
 hurt you to remember that honesty is the best policy, 
 although I suppose you 've never heard me say so be- 
 fore. It pays big interest, being honest. And," he 
 could not help adding, "a reputation for being honest 
 is better yet. You 've got the reputation. Hold on 
 to it. Stand square with yourself. When you 're 
 in the dark, keep still until you see light ahead. 
 Then travel straight for it, no matter who or what 
 gets in the way." 
 
 The door opened half-way; there was the glim- 
 mer of a white skirt in the hall. 
 
 "Get out!" shrilled the Judge. He grabbed a 
 fresh cigar and shook it threateningly at the nurse. 
 "Get out, do you hear*? And don't you dare come 
 back until I send for you!" He waited until the 
 door had closed before he continued : 
 
 "This being clever, Dick, affects you a good deal 
 the way liquor does: it creates an appetite. You 
 put over one smart trick, and then you want to see if 
 you can't turn one that 's just a little smarter. You 
 tell yourself that you can stop any time, but the first 
 thing you know, it 's got a hold on you that you can't 
 break; it 's just like drinking rum. And if you don't
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 25 
 
 use discretion, you can do for yourself either way." 
 
 "I understand, sir." 
 
 "When I 'm tucked away in that nice little bed 
 I 've made up for myself," the Judge said, "I can 
 rest comfortably if I know your eyes and ears are 
 open and that you 're taking an occasional squint at 
 McAllister and Dave Ainsworth. They '11 both 
 bear watching. Of course, McAllister 's just a 
 blatherskite. He winds up his mouth and it goes 
 off automatically, like an alarm-clock; the only way 
 to stop it is to put your hand over it. He 's a 
 nuisance, and he ought to be abated. He 'd be harm- 
 less enough, though, if it were n't for Dave. Dave 's 
 got to thinking he 's the town, the county, and the 
 State, all rolled into one bundle. Everybody ko- 
 tows to him, and McAllister bows and scrapes and 
 says, 'Yes, me Lord,' whenever he opens his mouth. 
 
 "Of course, he 's a strong man, Dick. He 's had 
 things his own way so long that he 's got the notion 
 there is n't any other way. When he finds out that 
 you think differently, he '11 go after your scalp. If 
 he can get anything on you, anything at all, he '11 
 use it for all it 's worth; and he won't sit up nights 
 worrying over ethics, either. He 'd run a steam 
 roller over his best friend if he could win by it. 
 That 's Dave's idea of a fight : win it somehow, any- 
 how. He 's all self. And if you ever lock horns
 
 26 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 with him, you 've got to remember that you can't 
 bend him ; you '11 have to break him. Make up your 
 mind to that before you start anything." 
 
 The Judge was silent a moment, rubbing the back 
 of one thin forefinger across his forehead. 
 
 "I 'm not leaving you any money, Dick," he said 
 presently. "There won't be much, and it goes to my 
 sister's children. If they 're anything like their 
 mother I '11 regret it ; but I 've got to take a chance 
 that they 're not. They won't want the house or 
 Miriam, and they won't get 'em, anyway. You get 
 'em and the shoes. Sometimes I think we made a 
 mistake when we sent Dave to Washington instead 
 of Miriam. Jezebel ! Put her in pants, and she 'd 
 make an ideal Congressman ! She has n't the brains 
 of a gnat, and she never hears anything she does n't 
 want to hear. But I 've taught her to leave my room 
 alone, and she hates cats and Dave Ainsworth." 
 
 The Judge reached out a withered hand and laid 
 it over the young man's firm brown one. 
 
 "You '11 make good," he said. "You 've got the 
 stuff in you to be a big man. They '11 send you to 
 Congress; I 'd like to be there to see it. It 's been a 
 joy to watch you growing growing. I " the old 
 voice faltered ever so little "I 'm mighty fond of 
 you, Dick; I've loved you like a son. You were 
 just the sort of boy I 'd always wanted the sort I 
 might have had if she had n't married Dave.
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 27 
 
 Maybe I 've done you more harm than good I don't 
 know. But " 
 
 The door opened again, wide this time, and the 
 nurse came briskly into the room. 
 
 "I am sorry to turn you out, Mr. Leighton, but 
 you 've already far over-stayed your time," she said. 
 "I '11 let you know what time you may come to- 
 morrow." 
 
 The Judge glared at her. 
 
 "He '11 come when he likes and stay as long as 
 he likes!" he sputtered. "You you Jezebel! 
 Whose house is this, anyway, yours or mine 1 ?" He 
 put out a hand to Dick. "You '11 come early, won't 
 you*?" 
 
 "Of course," Dick promised. "I '11 see you by 
 eleven, anyway." 
 
 But he was mistaken. It was barely eight o'clock 
 when Miriam, a weeping, swollen-eyed Miriam, ap- 
 peared at his rooms. She carried a brown paper par- 
 cel which she held out to Dick. 
 
 "The Judge, he says I 'm to bring you this as 
 soon as ever he 's gone," she said, between sobs. 
 "And he says you '11 be comin' to live at the house. 
 I '11 have it clean for you, Mr. Dick. I '11 oh, 
 God love him, why " She turned and fled, 
 lumbering down the path with awkward steps, her 
 apron to her eyes. 
 
 The parcel contained a pair of worn, square-toed 
 shoes.
 
 Ill 
 
 ALL that was conservative in the town of Ran- 
 dolph resented the Flats. In the first place, 
 the presence of the big mills brought little if any 
 revenue to the town. They were owned by outside 
 capital, and their operatives, while of necessity 
 resident, spent little or no money north of Squatter 
 Creek. The offerings of mail-order catalogues held 
 out a far more attractive lure than did the show- 
 windows of the Full Value Department Store; and 
 the Cooperative Grocery, receiving its stock in bulk 
 from the mill corporation, was enabled to undercut 
 local prices. The number of savings accounts at 
 the Merchants and Mechanics' Bank was negligible, 
 if not non-existent : the cash-register of Cory Jack- 
 son and his fraternity consistently absorbed any sur- 
 plus wages. For the last five years of Judge Ran- 
 dolph's life, the shallow marshy bed of the creek had 
 drawn as definite a line between the Flats and the 
 Hill as Jean Ainsworth, in her innocently crude 
 philosophy, drew between good and bad. 
 
 The two sections had, probably, but one mutual 
 interest: their common allegiance to the political 
 
 party which dominated that whole section of the 
 
 28
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 29 
 
 country and which was represented locally by David 
 Ainsworth. 
 
 Ainsworth owned a large number of houses on the 
 Flats, and was, perhaps, the only person in town not 
 connected with the mills (Cory Jackson always ex- 
 cepted) to derive any substantial income from that 
 source. He accepted the support of the workers in 
 the same spirit as that in which he accepted their 
 rents as due him at certain specified times. Which 
 was a very comfortable way of looking at it, but one 
 to which exception could undoubtedly be taken. 
 That Jackson himself had begun to question it, more 
 or less openly, might have been regarded as signifi- 
 cant if one took into consideration the fact that he 
 was not only the owner of a prosperous saloon, but 
 also that he and one or two others formed the hub 
 around which the wheel of life on the Flats revolved. 
 
 The most important of Jackson's henchmen was 
 Bill Murray, head teamster at the mills, and, next 
 to Jackson himself, easily the most influential man 
 downtown. Not even by the most ardent of his ad- 
 mirers had Bill ever been accounted handsome. His 
 features were lean and saturnine. His mouth had 
 a slant at one corner that gave his face a lopsided 
 appearance, emphasized by the absence of the lobe 
 of his right ear, which had been snipped off by a 
 bullet intended to end his career. 
 
 Bill was always getting hurt. His muscular body
 
 30 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 bore innumerable scars. He was known as a "trouble- 
 maker," a somewhat unjust classification, since he 
 himself never actually made trouble; he merely 
 watched for it and, when he found it, plunged into 
 it with joyous abandon. A fight, any kind of a fight, 
 was as meat and drink to him. He could not see 
 two school-boys scuffling, without edging toward 
 them in the yearning hope that somebody might take 
 up the quarrel of one or the other and thus give him 
 a chance to "mix in." 
 
 He drank hard and steadily, but this habit had 
 never once kept him away from his job at the mills. 
 It was only when he had indulged too freely in his 
 favorite form of recreation that he failed to punch 
 the time clock at the usual hour. 
 
 His most recent injury was a knife thrust that had 
 laid his left forearm open from elbow to wrist, nar- 
 rowly missing an 'artery. The resultant loss of 
 blood had weakened him a good deal, and the 
 doctor, fearing possible complications, had ordered 
 him to keep to his bed for a few days. 
 
 "Sure, I know who did it ! I '11 lay for him some 
 time when I 've got the use of my fin again and beat 
 his head off," he told Dick cheerfully. "He 
 had n't no call to use a sticker, anyways; it was 
 just a friendly little fight." The "friendly little 
 fight" had involved a dozen men, three of whom 
 had required medical attention; but Bill was an
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 31 
 
 optimist. "Doc says I can go back to work Mon- 
 day, so it won't be long afore I can fix the skunk," 
 he added. "Doc 's a good sort, Leigh ton. You 
 and him 's about the only reg'lar fellers on the other 
 side of the creek" he pronounced it "crick" "as 
 I can see. I could 've laid here till I rotted afore 
 any the rest of 'em 'd come over. He '11 be in 
 pretty soon. Jess, she 's gone home to see her 
 mother, and the doc 's been mighty white. He 's 
 a dam' good sort. The boys all like him." 
 
 It was not strange that Doctor Evans should be 
 popular downtown as well as in the better district 
 of Randolph. A homely little man, frank to the 
 point of bluntness, sturdy, resolute, he went un- 
 hesitatingly when and where he was needed, an- 
 swering the summons to attend a poverty-stricken 
 farmer or laborer from whom he would never 
 receive a penny, as promptly as he went to the house 
 of, for example, Squire Moore. Rich and poor 
 were all alike to him; his services were given as 
 gladly to one class as to the other. If a patient 
 could not pay for medicines, the little doctor had 
 them charged to his own account. He was quick, 
 resourceful, tireless. And he was afraid of nothing 
 and nobody. 
 
 Bill Murray had reason to be grateful to him. 
 On many occasions he had patched the teamster up, 
 freely dispensing medicine and good advice. Bill
 
 32 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 took the medicine and placidly disregarded the 
 advice. 
 
 "He told me yesterday, Jess and me 'd ought to 
 move. He says this place ain't fit for a pig to live 
 in. And" the crooked mouth twisted into a sar- 
 donic grin "I tells him we ain't aimin' to keep 
 pigs, Jess an' me ain't. Still, he 's more 'n two 
 thirds right about the place; it is lousy, ain't it?" 
 
 Dick admitted that he had seen more desirable 
 residences. Indeed, as he looked about him, he 
 wondered that human beings could live in such 
 abominable surroundings. There seemed to be 
 absolutely no reason or excuse for the squalid 
 dilapidation of the place. Built on the side of a 
 hill, the house was one of four "three families," 
 each less prepossessing than its fellows. Window- 
 frames and door-casings leaned awry; ceilings were 
 cracked and seamed; and great patches of plaster 
 had fallen from them and from the walls. The 
 sanitary conditions were shocking. 
 
 At the back the ground rose in a gradual slope 
 to the summit of the low hill, from which, during 
 every storm, the rain and drainage water ran down, 
 collecting in numerous depressions and forming 
 slimy mud that never really dried out. Refuse of 
 every description old clothes, broken bottles, tin 
 cans, decaying vegetable matter had been dumped 
 indiscriminately. The whole block was a breeding-
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 33 
 
 place for disease, and the slightest reference to it 
 was sufficient to arouse the ire of Doctor Evans, 
 who considered, and had no hesitancy in openly 
 declaring, that its existence was a disgrace to the 
 town. 
 
 "I 've walked into this pest hole for the last time, 
 Bill," he announced, when he appeared, just as Dick 
 was about to take leave of Murray. "I 've done all 
 the talking I propose to do; I mean to act." 
 
 "What are you going to do, Doc*?" Bill wanted 
 to know. 
 
 "You'll see," returned the doctor grimly; and 
 Cory Jackson, who had come in with him, grinned 
 sympathetically at Murray. 
 
 "Doc 's got his back up, Bill," he said. "You 
 an' Jess '11 have to hunt new quarters, I guess." 
 
 Evans turned to Dick. 
 
 "Have you ever seen such conditions in a sup- 
 posedly civilized community, Leighton*?" he de- 
 manded. "Why, they 're rotten just simply 
 rotten! The miracle is that an epidemic hasn't 
 started here long ago. If it ever does, it will wipe 
 out the town. I 've talked and argued until I 'm 
 black in the face, and not a thing has been done. 
 Why, good heavens!" the doctor was warming to 
 his subject "just suppose somebody came down 
 with typhoid or smallpox. How long do you think 
 it would take the contagion to spread? And how
 
 34 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 could we deal with it? No hospital nearer than 
 Cresston and they won't take contagious cases 
 there, anyway the worst sort of housing condi- 
 tions downtown here; no proper sanitation why, 
 the very thought of what may happen any day 
 makes my blood run cold!" 
 
 "Does n't seem to be runnin' none too cold now, 
 Doc," put in Murray, with a crooked smile. 
 
 The doctor whirled on him. 
 
 "If fellows like you would only help, instead of 
 hindering, it would be more to your credit! But 
 you 're away all day' and half the night, and you 
 don't care. As long as the place does n't fall down 
 around your ears you 're satisfied. There are plenty 
 of decent houses on the other side of the creek, 
 owned by men with enough self-respect to keep 'em 
 in some sort of repair; but you're too lazy and 
 slovenly to take the trouble to move! Suppose 
 Jess came down with pneumonia, from standing on 
 that damp, moldy kitchen floor. What would you 
 do then, eh?' 
 
 "Take her to Dave Ainsworth's new hospital," 
 returned Murray, promptly. "It '11 be done by the 
 time she gets home ; she 's goin' to stay in Cresston 
 another two weeks, she says." 
 
 The saloon-keeper brushed away a grin with the 
 back of his stubby hand. 
 
 ".That's what the hospital's for, ain't it, Doc 1 ?"
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 35 
 
 he inquired gravely; "to look after the folks that 
 have to live in Dave's rotten, houses'? Of course, 
 you 'd think it would be cheaper to fix the houses 
 and put in a drainage system; but maybe it 
 would n't be so philanthropic. / don't know. I 
 guess it 's a pretty wise guy that spends his money 
 on big things that show up well. 
 
 "Of course," he went on, affecting not to notice 
 the doctor's surprise, "most people think this block 
 belongs to the Bolton estate, but title was passed 
 to it six years ago. Dave mebbe has reasons for not 
 havin' the deed recorded, but he owns it, all right; 
 that 's why the agent for the estate don't mind your 
 writin' him you '11 raise hell if he don't fix it up." 
 
 Jackson's bland and child-like smile added to the 
 irritation of the doctor, who was aware that his 
 fulminations must have furnished considerable 
 amusement to those who knew him to be closely 
 associated with Ainsworth in the plans for the new 
 hospital. But his discomfiture lasted only a 
 moment. 
 
 "I 'm not going to start an argument with you, 
 Cory," he said. "It makes no difference who the 
 owner is ; it 's up to him to keep his property in 
 repair. Since he does n't do it, it 's up to his ten- 
 ants to teach him common sense, if not common 
 decency, by clearing out and leaving his houses 
 vacant. I '11 see Ainsworth to-morrow, and some-
 
 36 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 thing will be done here, or I '11 know the reason 
 why!" 
 
 "Oh, he'll have a reason, Doc," Jackson said 
 cheerfully. "Dave Ainsworth always has a reason 
 for the things he don't do. Ain't he got a fine 
 brand-new hospital just finished? Mebbe he don't 
 want to see it stand empty. Or, again, mebbe he 's 
 boostin' trade for you." 
 
 The doctor turned his back on him and again 
 attacked the delighted Murray. 
 
 "I warn you!" he said wrathfully, "you can get 
 chopped up as much as you like, and have every 
 one of the ten plagues of Egypt in succession, and 
 I won't set foot inside this place to save your life! 
 That goes! As for Dave Ainsworth," he nodded 
 fiercely over his shoulder at Jackson "he '11 fix 
 these houses, or I '11 have 'em condemned at the 
 next meeting of the Town Board of Trustees. And 
 that goes, too !" He stamped out. 
 
 "By jux! he means it, Bill," Jackson said, with 
 deep satisfaction. "He '11 speak his little piece, 
 and Dave '11 hem and haw and make excuses ; and 
 the whole thing will get an airin' that will cost 
 Dave some votes on the Hill. You 'd better see 
 about gettin' moved to-morrow." 
 
 "Have you found a place, Bill*?" Dick inquired. 
 
 "Oh, sure. Right nice house, above the bridge. 
 Jess, she 's buyin' new furniture for it in Cresston.
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 37 
 
 But we did n't want to move until the doc come 
 over and got mad. Things has been so kind o' 
 quiet, I was gettin' tired o' waitin' till we needed 
 to send for him. But it 's all right now. You 
 spoken to Dick, Cory 1 ?" 
 
 "Not yet. Guess he don't need more 'n a hint, 
 though," drawled the saloon-keeper. "You know, 
 Dick, some of the boys 've been wantin' to know 
 if you 'd make a' good Congressman. Told 'em I 
 guessed you would. Like to talk it over when you 
 got time." He reached into his hip pocket, and 
 took out a villainous-looking pipe, the deep bowl 
 of which he proceeded to fill. He struck a match 
 on the leg of his trousers and applied the flame to 
 the tobacco. 
 
 "Ought to be easy enough," he said, be- 
 tween puffs. "And good thing for you mighty 
 good thing. Think it over. Or wait. I 'm 
 goin' back to the joint now. Suppose you walk 
 along with me." He gave Murray a breezy 
 good-by, and followed Dick down the rickety stairs 
 to the street. 
 
 "Of course," he went on, as he fell into step 
 beside the young man, "this ain't any real news 
 to you. It 's been in the air for some time now, 
 and I never heard there was anything the matter 
 with your nose. It 's a grand little chance, and 
 you 're not the man to let such slip. I s'pose it 's
 
 38 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 all right for me to see the boys and pass 'em the 
 word to go right ahead, eh?" 
 
 Dick shook his head. 
 
 "No, Cory," he said. "Not yet. I well, I 
 have n't quite made up my mind. You '11 have to 
 give me a little more time." 
 
 Jackson stared at him in undisguised amazement. 
 
 "More time"? Have n't made up your mind? 
 Why, man alive! what in the name of the sacred 
 ring-tailed monkey is there for you to make up your 
 mind about? You know, or you ought to know, 
 that you can lick Dave Ains worth, if you put your 
 mind to it. I ain't sayin' it won't be some scrap; 
 but you 're not afraid to buck him, are you?" 
 
 "Hardly!" said Dick, and laughed. No; he was 
 not afraid of the fight, bitter though he knew it 
 would be. Indeed, his blood fairly tingled at the 
 thought of it. It would be no simple, trivial 
 matter, but a real battle, in which brains and per- 
 sonality alone would count. Nor did he belittle 
 the magnitude of the opportunities opening up be- 
 fore him. 
 
 But it was one thing to run in opposition to 
 a man any man who was unsatisfactory to 
 the rank and file of the voters, and it was quite an- 
 other to come out against the father of the girl he 
 loved. 
 
 He must lay the matter before her in its entirety,
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 39 
 
 and ascertain her views, before he gave to his sup- 
 porters any definite decision. 
 
 "Well," prodded Jackson, "then what in the 
 devil are you hesitatin' for? It 's all plain, open 
 and shut. We 're goin' to fight Ains worth, that 's 
 sure ; but it 's a big question whether any one but 
 you can beat him. I don't know whether you know 
 it or not, but I had a bit x>f a talk with Judge Ran- 
 dolph just before he took sick. He never thought 
 much of me you know that but he talked to 
 me. He was satisfied you could win, if you had 
 the right backin'. He wanted you to win." 
 
 "Yes," said Dick, "I believe he did." 
 
 "Well, the Judge knew what he was about. He 
 worked over you and groomed you, and got you all 
 ready; and now you say you ain't ready! What 
 am I to tell the boys'?" 
 
 "Tell 'em what I 've told you : that I want a 
 little more time to think it over." 
 
 The saloon-keeper shrugged. 
 
 "Oh, all right! If you don't know your own 
 business, nobody else does, I guess. Only well, 
 never mind. Come on in a minute, will you*?" 
 
 They had reached the corner, near the lower 
 bridge, where the low brick building known as 
 "Jackson's place" -fronted the dirty street. Cory 
 Jackson had never gone in for the ornate decoration 
 with which unsuccessful rivals sought to lure his
 
 40 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 trade away from him. Plate-glass, glaring electric 
 lights, and brass trimmings were conspicuous 
 by their absence. "Comfort," was his motto. 
 "That 's what the boys want, and what I give 'em." 
 He had been in the business long enough to know. 
 
 The main room was of good size and well lighted. 
 The walls, done in an agreeable shade of green, held 
 a number of pictures, the subjects of which made 
 their appeal to a definite, if undiscriminating taste. 
 The bar itself stretched across the entire end of the 
 room opposite to the door; and there were several 
 small tables, one littered with papers and flanked 
 by easy-chairs. The floor was sanded. Jackson 
 held that this, too, made for the comfort of his 
 patrons. 
 
 As he and Dick stopped outside the swinging 
 doors, the sound of a sudden, commotion within 
 came to their ears: a sharp warning cry, a volley 
 of oaths, the thump and grind of heavy boots on the 
 grit of the floor. 
 
 "Hell !" ejaculated Jackson. 
 
 Dick pushed open the doors and stepped into the 
 room. At one end of the bar a crowd of men 
 ducked and jostled, each intent on getting behind 
 somebody else. The middle of the room was 
 vacant, save for the swaying figure of a huge Swede. 
 The man was waving a revolver back and forth 
 between the panicky crowd and the other end of the
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 41 
 
 bar, over which the close-cropped head of the bar- 
 tender, Bud McFee, showed at extremely brief in- 
 tervals, as he raised it up to express an instalment of 
 his unqualified opinion of the creator of the dis- 
 turbance. The Swede's eyes were filmed and hazy ; 
 his face was darkly red. He was very drunk in- 
 deed. 
 
 "Look out!" yelled the bartender, catching a 
 glimpse of the two men at the door. "He 's crazy 
 as a bedbug! He '11 plug you sure!" 
 
 The Swede swung unsteadily round and found 
 himself confronted by the sheriff. 
 
 "You ban get out!" he roared. "You " 
 
 "Oh, shut up, Olsen," Dick said pleasantly. 
 "You 're making a lot too much noise. And here 
 give me that pop-gun before you hurt somebody 
 with it." 
 
 The Swede blinked at himuncertainly ; the barrel 
 of the revolver wavered toward him. There was a 
 tense silence; no one moved; the crowd seemed 
 hardly to breathe. Then : 
 
 "Come across," Dick said, still pleasantly. 
 "You 're making an awful fool of yourself, you 
 know." 
 
 He held out his hand, and, after a second of 
 hesitation, the Swede meekly put the revolver into 
 it. Dick shoved the weapon into his hip pocket. 
 "Now go home and sober up," he ordered. "Don't
 
 42 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 stand there looking like a sick sheep; clear out! 
 You 're drunk." 
 
 "Ah ban all right," mumbled the man. "Ah ban 
 all right, Ah tell you." But he went, neverthe- 
 less, and a sigh of relief stirred through the room 
 when the doors swung shut behind him. 
 
 Dick turned to the bartender. 
 
 "What 's all this, McFee?" he demanded sharply. 
 "You know better than to sell liquor to a man with 
 a jag like that!" 
 
 "He didn't get it here; honest to Gawd he 
 didn't, Dick," protested the barkeeper anxiously. 
 "That was what all the row was about. He come 
 in here and hollered for booze, and I would n't sell 
 him none. Then he pulls a gun and says he 's goin' 
 to shoot up the whole works." 
 
 "That 's the truth, Dick," came in a chorus. 
 "It 's just like Bud says." 
 
 "All right. Next time he comes in, Bud, you 
 tell him I want to see him, will you?" 
 
 "I '11 do it. And, say," the barkeeper's eyes 
 went to Jackson, who nodded "I caPlate this calls 
 for a little' somethin' on the house. What '11 you 
 have, gentlemen 1 ?" 
 
 Under cover of the general move forward, Cory 
 Jackson spoke to Dick in a low tone. 
 
 "How about a few minutes in the den, eh, Dick?
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 43 
 
 One or two of the boys are in there, and this looks 
 like a good time to drop a hint or so." 
 
 But Dick shook his head decidedly. 
 
 "I want two weeks more," he said. "Then 
 I '11 know, and I '11 let you know. Leave it at that, 
 please." 
 
 Before two weeks were up he would have seen 
 Jean, talked with her. Until he knew just what 
 her views were, he could and would do nothing.
 
 IV 
 
 THE front door slammed. Heels clumped 
 noisily up the stairs and along the polished 
 parquet of the hall; and the door of David Ains- 
 worth's study was pushed: open with such force that 
 it swung back against the wall with a crash. 
 
 The Congressional Representative for the Second 
 District was tall and rather sparely built. He 
 carried himself impressively, as if aware of his 
 importance in the eyes of the townspeople. In his 
 younger days, there had been a certain hearty cor- 
 diality in his manner, a certain shade of benevo- 
 lence in his smile, which, as he became every year 
 more and more assured and self -centered, had 
 gradually disappeared, giving place to a stiffly dig- 
 nified bearing, an aloof reserve, which demanded 
 that he be regarded and approached with a degree 
 of deferential respect. His clean-shaven face, thin- 
 lipped, rather narrow at the cheek-bones, was 
 austere in color and expression. His eyes were a 
 cold, impenetrable blue hard surfaces that re- 
 flected no shadow of emotion. It was not his way 
 to show emotion. He regarded it an.d condemned 
 it as weakness. 
 
 44
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 45 
 
 At his son's noisy entrance, he looked up with 
 an annoyed frown. 
 
 "What do you mean by coming into my study 
 that way*?" he demanded sternly. "This is not 
 Jackson's saloon." 
 
 The boy's lips, parted for eager speech, com- 
 pressed. He slouched to a chair beside the desk 
 and flung himself into it. 
 
 "Oh, all right," he said sullenly. "I 'm sorry. 
 I was in a hurry." 
 
 Ainsworth was in no way mollified. He pushed 
 aside the papers on which he had been working, 
 and contemplated his son with cold displeasure. 
 
 "Tommy," he said, "do you know that you 're 
 drinking too much? I 've noticed lately that " 
 
 "Aw, rats!" Tommy interrupted roughly. "Of 
 course I've been drinking! Do you think I can 
 hang over a bar half the night and not drink*? 
 How much use would I be, do you suppose, if I 
 ordered ginger-pop and barley water*?" 
 
 "It 's not necessary to make a beast of yourself! 
 Understand me, Tommy; I won't have it. If you 
 can't drink " 
 
 Tommy interrupted again, rudely: 
 
 "Never mind the temperance lecture now, please ! 
 This is n't the time and I 'm not in the mood for 
 it, so stow it ! There 's something a lot more im- 
 portant than my -habits to be discussed."
 
 46 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 The insolence of the speech was so incredible 
 that, for a moment, Ainsworth was at a loss for 
 words. Then a second and more searching glance 
 at his son's face showed him that the boy was under 
 strong excitement and, further, that he was in no 
 condition to be reprimanded. 
 
 Tommy was not exactly drunk, but he was cer- 
 tainly not sober. There was a bloodshot glaze 
 over his eyes and a smolder under them. His 
 usually clear skin was darkly flushed, and here and 
 there mottled with hot patches of red. He kept 
 moving his hands nervously, twisting his fingers 
 together and every now and then running them 
 through the rumpled disorder of his fair hair. The 
 strong Irght -from the reading-lamp- on the desk 
 showed in his face lines that should not have been 
 in the face of a boy barely twenty-one ; showed, too, 
 the pouchiness of the flesh under the eye sockets, 
 and revealed the unsteadiness of the lips, the slight 
 muscular quivering of the weak chin. 
 
 "Well?" he demanded with a truculence born 
 half of the liquor he had drunk and half of his 
 excitement; "do you want to talk, or shall I?" 
 
 Ainsworth curtly motioned him to speak, and he 
 hitched forward, his eyelids snapping rapidly up 
 and down. 
 
 "Well," he said, "there 's a sweet-scented job on 
 foot, one that '11 make you anxious to finish the
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 47 
 
 hospital so that you can put a few picked patients 
 into it. That bunch down there" he jerked his 
 thumb over his shoulder "are planning to run Dick 
 Leighton for Congress!" 
 
 The tension of Ainsworth's pose relaxed; he 
 leaned back in his chair and smiled. 
 
 "My dear Tommy," he said, "that is a most 
 wildly improbable tale." 
 
 "Is it? Well, if the job comes off, don't say 
 I did n't warn you. If you 'd been in Jackson's 
 to-night and heard what I heard, maybe you 
 would n't be so easy about it." 
 
 "Just what did you hear?" Ains worth was still 
 smiling; the idea t'hat Dick Leighton or any other 
 man could be considered in connection with the 
 Congressional nomination, was too preposterous to 
 be taken seriously; but he felt that Tommy should 
 have a hearing. "Just what did you hear 4 ?" he 
 repeated, caressing his chin with his long fingers. 
 
 "Well, I heard Bud McFee say that when an old 
 cow stopped giving milk she was no use in a dairy 
 herd, and that it was time to -give her stall to some 
 promising young heifer; that's one thing I heard." 
 
 "And what," inquired Ainsworth, "has that to 
 do with me? What is the connection?" 
 
 "Also," Tommy proceeded, without answering 
 the question, "I heard that speeches did n't purify 
 a river, nor promises build a post-office."
 
 48 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 "Ah!" said Ainsworth. "But I explained" 
 
 "They seemed to think that explanations were n't 
 very effective dredges," interrupted Tommy. 
 "They 're sore, the whole bunch of 'em, sore as 
 scalded pups. It was six years ago that you 
 promised to get an appropriation for a new post- 
 office building, and they claim you have n't done 
 any more about that than you 've done about getting 
 the Squatter Creek proposition into the Rivers and 
 Harbors Bill and you were on the committee, 
 too." 
 
 "But these things can't be done in a minute," 
 Ainsworth said in annoyance. "They ought to 
 understand that it takes time " 
 
 Tommy interrupted again. 
 
 "You don't have to argue with me, you know, 
 Dad," he said. "I don't give a whoop in Hades 
 whether we get a new post-office or not, and the 
 creek can be solid mud for all I care; I don't have 
 to live on the Flats. I 'm just telling you what 
 Cory Jackson and his crowd think about it. Have 
 you seen 'The Banner of Red' lately?" 
 
 "Hardly. My time is too fully occupied for 
 me to waste it in reading trash calculated to appeal 
 only to the lowest intelligence. Tommy, I am 
 neither an ignorant foreigner, nor a citizen who 
 thinks that the world owes him a living for which
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 49 
 
 he is unwilling to work. The paper you mention 
 has no standing whatever." 
 
 Tommy shrugged. 
 
 "It hasn't?" he said. "Well, maybe not; and 
 maybe it is 'calculated to appeal only to the lowest 
 intelligence.' But damn it! isn't that the in- 
 telligence of the average voter? Dad, you 're 
 looking at conditions as they were here when you 
 first went to Congress. They 're different now 
 altogether different. And 'The Banner' has more 
 influence than Sam McAllister's paper will ever 
 have in this world. For one copy of 'The Regis- 
 ter' sold down the valley there are twenty of 'The 
 Banner.' I picked up a couple and looked 'em 
 over, the other night. There 's an editorial in the 
 last issue about the drainage business ; and there 's 
 a whole column about the post-office. They want 
 to know why, if Cresston gets forty-five thousand 
 dollars for a new building, Randolph gets nothing 
 but hot air. And all through the paper, stuck in 
 between paragraphs and among the advertisements, 
 there are cute little slams at you : 'If you 're afraid 
 of getting typhoid, don't bother your Congressman 
 about getting Squatter Creek dredged. He lives 
 on a bluff.' 'Do we send Ains worth to Congress 
 for his health, or ours?' things like that. And 
 then there 's one that reads : 'If a sheriff will fight 
 for the good of his county at home, would n't he
 
 50 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 fight for it in Washington?' or something of the 
 kind. 
 
 "I know those are just little things, but they 
 stack up; and they gave me a hint. I started to 
 nose around. And what they 're saying down at 
 Jackson's is just a sample of what they 're spreading 
 all over the district. But that does n't so much 
 matter. Randolph swings the county and the 
 county swings the district. What 's going on right 
 here in town is the thing to steer by. And I tell 
 you," Tommy slapped the arm of his chair with 
 his open palm "Jackson and his bunch have got 
 their little tomahawks out, and they 're going on 
 the war-path with the whole tribe behind 'em." 
 
 The smile had faded from David Ainsworth's 
 face. 
 
 "Tommy, are you sure of what you 're talking 
 about*?" he asked. "Granting that Jackson and 
 that roughneck crowd of his intend to make us 
 trouble, do you actually believe we have anything 
 to fear from them 1 ?" 
 
 "I don't believe it; I know it! If they don't run 
 Leighton next term, it will be because he withdraws 
 his name. Which is very likely I don't think! 
 Oh, he 's smart ! He 's got Murray and McFee 
 and Cory Jackson all the men with influence 
 downtown eating out of his hand. They think 
 he 's the only thing that ever happened, and they '11
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 51 
 
 do anything he tells 'em to. How much real 
 trouble has there been over there since he 's been 
 sheriff? Not a darned bit ! He 's got 'em all 
 buffaloed ! Why, did n't he walk right up to a 
 big drunken Swede who started to shoot up the 
 whole shebang, the other day, and take his gun 
 away from him 1 ? And didn't the Swede let him 
 doit?" 
 
 "If this is true," Ainsworth said with ominous 
 calm, "we '11 give Mr. Leighton something to think 
 about on his own account." 
 
 Tommy understood the implication. 
 
 "Oh, words won't make any difference to him," 
 he shrugged. "What does he care for 'The Regis- 
 ter"? Nobody downtown would believe anything 
 McAllister said against him; he's too popular. 
 And he 's pretty well liked around here, too. Squire 
 Moore told Clark Jenkins in the post-office the 
 other day that Leighton was by all odds the best 
 sheriff the county 'd ever had, and that he, for one, 
 expected big things of him. With the mill dis- 
 trict solid, and the Hill divided well how does it 
 look to you?" 
 
 Ainsworth's eyes had narrowed; his lips were 
 pressed tightly together. It was fully five minutes 
 before he spoke. Then: 
 
 "Has McAllister any idea of what is going on?" 
 he asked.
 
 52 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 "Sam McAllister never had an idea in his life, 
 unless somebody drilled a hole in his head and 
 blasted out some of the solid ivory. You 've had 
 everything your own way so long that all he thinks 
 he has to do is to talk wise and doll himself up to 
 look pretty to the ladies. A pink tea is about his 
 speed, and we 're in for a fight a fight, do you un- 
 derstand, Dad*?" 
 
 "We shall be ready for it." 
 
 "And that is n't all. There 's Jean." 
 
 "What 's that?" 
 
 "Oh, he 's been playing around New York with 
 her/' 
 
 "Jean?" 
 
 "Sure. One of the Cummings boys was there on 
 business for the old man, and saw 'em, Leighton and 
 Jean, strolling down the street together as chummy 
 as you please. I should think she would have more 
 sense. It 's a good thing the hospital 's about done," 
 Tommy added maliciously; "you '11 have her home 
 pretty soon where you can keep an eye on her." 
 
 Ainsworth ignored this. 
 
 "See McAllister in the morning," he ordered 
 crisply, "and have him come over here at eleven 
 o'clock. I 'm inclined to think that you 've ex- 
 aggerated the importance of this, but it will do no 
 harm to look into it. But if it is true, if Leighton
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 53 
 
 actually does contemplate such a trick, he '11 regret 
 it." 
 
 "We'll get his pelt," Tommy nodded, "but 
 we 've got to get busy. The gall of him ! Can 
 you beat it 1 ? Well " He yawned noisily, 
 stretched his arms above his head, and rose, a little 
 unsteadily. "Me for bed," he said. "Good night, 
 Dad." 
 
 Ainsworth detained him a moment. 
 
 "Tommy, you 've done a good piece of work to- 
 night," he said, "and I want you to know that I 
 appreciate it. Whether or not there is any foun- 
 dation for this seemingly improbable idea of yours, it 
 shows at least that you are keeping your eyes and 
 ears open. You are getting to be of real help to me, 
 my son, a valuable assistant." 
 
 High praise, this, and Tommy straightened up 
 with a thrill of gratified pride. 
 
 "I 'm awfully glad that you 're pleased, Dad," he 
 said earnestly. "And I 'm going to be of more help, 
 too; you '11 see. I 've got a bit of influence myself 
 downtown; the boys '11 listen to me now. Most of 
 'em seem to like me pretty well, too. If there 's any- 
 thing to be done, you can count on me." He started 
 for the door, paused, came slowly back. 
 
 "This business about Leigh ton seeing Jean in New 
 York," he said. "Jean 's my sister, and I 'm 
 mighty fond of her. I don't half like her meeting
 
 54 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 the pup. Of course, she doesn't realize what he 
 is" 
 
 "She will," Ainsworth assured him. "I should n't 
 worry about that part of it, if I were you, Tommy. 
 Probably the meeting was entirely accidental. Jean 
 is your sister, but" he smiled with true Ainsworth 
 arrogance "she is also my daughter. The idea that 
 she would ever consider Leighton except as an in- 
 ferior, is pure nonsense."
 
 IN a small town the lines of caste are often only 
 vaguely denned ; nevertheless, they exist. And 
 the Ainsworths had always been on a higher social 
 plane than the Leightons. 
 
 Dick's own people, while of good stock, had al- 
 ways been poor. He had been orphaned while still 
 in high school, and had found it difficult to complete 
 his course. Had it not been for Judge Gordon Ran- 
 dolph, he probably would have been unable to finish 
 it at all. But the Judge had taken an interest in 
 him, put him in the way of making a little money 
 from time to time, and upon his graduation had given 
 him a chance to read law in the dingy little office 
 with the stained and splintered floor where for three 
 generations the Randolph men had maintained the 
 prestige of the name on the small black-lettered sign. 
 
 At first Dick had swept out, dusted, run errands 
 answered the telephone and studied. Then he had 
 filed papers, typed letters and briefs, looked up ref- 
 erences and studied. Later, under the Judge's 
 tutelage, he had prepared a few cases, written a brief 
 or two, and assumed the full duties of confidential 
 
 55
 
 56 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 assistant. He kept on studying, and, after having 
 been nearly five years with the Judge, passed his bar 
 examinations. 
 
 "So far, so good," Gordon Randolph had said to 
 him when he presented the report of the examiners. 
 "You 've made a good start, Dick, but it 's only a 
 start. Don't get the notion that you know all the 
 law there is, just because a few muddleheads have 
 seen fit to license you to rob people legally. You 
 don't know a thing understand"? not a thing. 
 Go ahead on that assumption, and maybe you '11 get 
 somewhere." 
 
 Dick had continued to act as the Judge's assistant, 
 and he had kept right on studying. He had always 
 been ambitious, but until about his twenty-fifth year, 
 his desires had centered on no definite object; he had 
 possessed but the haziest conception of his ultimate 
 goal. Jean Ainsworth's departure for New York, to 
 take up a course of study in one of the large hospi- 
 tals, had stimulated him to more concentrated and 
 analytical thought, had brought home to him the 
 realization of how conspicuously she loomed in his 
 scheme of things. 
 
 He and the daughter of the Congressman had 
 grown up together, and habit has a treacherous way 
 of masking important things with a veil of the 
 commonplace. Jean, living in Randolph, within ten 
 minutes' walk of his own home, or even more quickly
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 57 
 
 accessible by telephone, had seemed altogether a dif- 
 ferent Jean from the girl from whom he was sepa- 
 rated by hundreds of miles. Different, and infinitely 
 desirable. It was then that the haze had cleared, 
 and he had recognized his ambition to be threefold : 
 money, position Jean Ainsworth. If he could se- 
 cure the first two, he would have at least a fighting 
 chance for the third, the all-important. Without 
 Jean nothing really counted. 
 
 Money? He knew that as Judge Randolph's 
 partner and successor, he could make money. Po- 
 sition 1 ? The word, to him, involved power, the 
 power to move men, to speak with the voice of au- 
 thority in public affairs, to be a leader rather than a 
 follower. He meant to succeed; and from the mo- 
 ment that he realized clearly what it was that he 
 wanted, his thoughts and energies were bent in that 
 direction and that only. 
 
 He was popular downtown; "the boys" all liked 
 him. His election to the office of sheriff had been 
 practically unanimous. David Ainsworth had re- 
 garded him in the light of an inoffensive young man 
 who, later on, might be useful and amenable to sug- 
 gestions, if rightly put ; and had therefore offered no 
 opposition to Dick's candidacy. In Randolph, the 
 residential section, known as "The Hill," was de- 
 cidedly conservative. It set its face against any 
 change that seemed at all radical, accepting, almost
 
 58 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 without question, the opinions formulated for it by 
 David Ainsworth. Ainsworth's dignity, his impres- 
 sive arrogance appealed to its habit of thinking, if 
 its sheep-like following of the Congressman's lead, 
 as indicated through the medium of McAllister's 
 newspaper, "The Register," could be called 
 thinking. 
 
 "The Register," owned, published, and largely 
 written by Samuel McAllister, wore the garments of 
 Esau, but its voice was unmistakably the voice of 
 Jacob. Nobody paid any serious attention to "The 
 Banner of Red." "The Banner" went in for sensa- 
 tionalism, and was notoriously careless in its state- 
 ment of facts. Its spelling, too, was apt to be orig- 
 inal, and in any difference of opinion "The Register" 
 made use of that most deadly of all weapons, ridi- 
 cule. 
 
 More than once, when "The Banner" had been 
 absolutely right and "The Register" wrong, McAllis- 
 ter had merely dilated on the absurd typographical 
 errors in the smaller paper, thus craftily calling at- 
 tention to the form and diverting it from the sub- 
 stance of the article. He had not even deigned to 
 comment on the paragraph which Tommy Ainsworth 
 had called to the Congressman's notice, and conse- 
 quently, the Hill, which regarded with lofty scorn 
 "The Banner," and all that was printed therein, re- 
 mained in more or less complete ignorance of the
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 59 
 
 growing state of unrest that existed throughout the 
 district, and more particularly "downtown." 
 
 In this section David Ainsworth was not well 
 loved. The disgraceful condition in which for years 
 he had kept his real-estate holdings there, had not 
 endeared him to his tenants, who, even if they were 
 too ignorant or too apathetically indifferent to rebel 
 openly, were far from regarding their landlord with 
 kindly esteem. They supported him at the polls be- 
 cause there had never been any organized opposition 
 to him, but they made no particular effort to con- 
 ceal their personal dislike of him, even from his son, 
 who, after the fashion of boys the world over, had 
 begun, coincidently with his accession to long trou- 
 sers, to visit some of the saloons where the mill- 
 hands congregated. 
 
 Tommy labored under the familiar delusion that 
 to indulge in dissipation is to establish one's right 
 to be styled a man ; and the mill workers, recognizing 
 the boy's eager desire to make friends with them, 
 good-naturedly accepted him. He did not attempt 
 to patronize them ; he was frankly interested in their 
 doings and almost pathetically anxious that they 
 should regard him as one of them. They tolerated 
 him ; they allowed him to mingle with them ; but only 
 as "Tom," a harmless youngster, and never as the son 
 of David Ainsworth. 
 
 Ainsworth, on his part, looked with scorn on all
 
 60 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 the workers of the -district south of Squatter Creek. 
 In his own mind he referred to them contemptuously 
 as "scum." And, while he was too shrewd to ex- 
 press his opinion, or allow it to be actually manifest, 
 some of them knew it, and every issue of "The Ban- 
 ner" was telling it to those who, while perhaps slow 
 to assimilate new ideas, are nevertheless tenacious of 
 opinions once formed. 
 
 There was more than one person in Randolph who 
 believed, and did not hesitate to state, that the hos- 
 pital nearing completion on the summit of Maple 
 Hill, and heralded by "The Register" as <(1 a magnif- 
 icent example of the princely philanthropy and al- 
 truism of our first citizen, the Honorable David 
 Ains worth," was being built, not because Randolph 
 needed a hospital, not because the poor and needy 
 could there receive aid, for the lack of which they 
 might otherwise have suffered and died, but solely 
 because David Ainsworth had seen an opportunity to 
 glorify himself while throwing a sop to those dis- 
 posed to criticize him. The Ainsworth Hospital 
 would be a lasting monument to the nobility of the 
 man who, in the greatness of his unselfish love for his 
 fellow-creatures, had erected it on a site formerly 
 occupied by buildings which a complaisant Town 
 Board of Trustees had reluctantly advised him it 
 would have to condemn as unfit for human oc- 
 cupancy.
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 61 
 
 Instead of being grateful to its "first citizen" for 
 his public-spirited benevolence, downtown Randolph 
 was inclined to be resentful. "The Banner" was 
 bitter. Dick Leighton was tolerantly amused. He 
 did not know exactly how Jean felt about her fa- 
 ther's project; but, at any rate, she was coming 
 home, and that was enough for Dick. She was com- 
 ing back to Randolph, where he could be with her 
 every day, instead of seeing her once or twice a year 
 for the briefest of brief periods.
 
 VI 
 
 TOMMY AINSWORTH was not exactly envi- 
 ous of his sister; but he was more than a little 
 aggrieved that she should have been allowed to go 
 her own way while he was obliged to submit to the 
 conditions his father imposed on him. Just before 
 his twentieth birthday he had returned home from 
 college; which is not to say that he had received his 
 degree. His sojourn in the halls of learning a- 
 mounted in all to something less than a year, and his 
 departure therefrom was regretted by no one save a 
 few boon companions .who lamented the loss of a 
 spirit peculiarly apt in the conception and practice of 
 various 'forms of undergraduate devilry. 
 
 At nineteen the average boy knows virtually all 
 there is to be known, especially if he has spent nearly 
 a year in college. There are few matters which he 
 does not feel himself competent to discuss, few dis- 
 coveries which he has not considered and dismissed. 
 Indeed, there is left in the world so little knowledge 
 of which he is not complete master, that he feels him- 
 self wearied of life and living. His chief wonder is 
 how he is going to get through the weary years 
 
 6a
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 63 
 
 ahead, when he has already exhausted every inter- 
 esting possibility. 
 
 Tommy Ainsworth was perhaps even a little more 
 cock-sure of himself than is the average boy. He 
 knew that he was blase, that life had really nothing 
 new to offer him in the way of sensation and ex- 
 perience. He was a man of the world; he felt that 
 he was rapidly becoming a cynic. 
 
 He himself was not in the least concerned, either 
 because he had "flunked out," or on account of the 
 not too flattering opinion the faculty held of his 
 habits, aims, and conduct an opinion expressed at 
 some length in a letter written by the Dean to David 
 Ainsworth. Tommy's own explanation of his fail- 
 ure to pass his examinations in more than one sub- 
 ject, was that it made his head ache to study. The 
 Dean seemed to feel that possibly young Mr. Ains- 
 worth's deplorable malady was due to causes other 
 than a too rigorous application to his books, and that 
 the knowledge acquired by him if any was not of 
 the sort prescribed in the curriculum of the uni- 
 versity. 
 
 David Ainsworth had been rather more lenient 
 with the boy than might have been expected in the 
 circumstances; but it was a lenity that was more 
 apparent than real. 
 
 "I can't say I think the past year has been a 
 credit to you, Tommy," he said. "But the mischief
 
 64 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 seems to have been done, and there 's no good go- 
 ing into it. The question now is, what of the 
 future? What do you propose to do*?" 
 
 Tommy's reply had been prompt and explicit. 
 
 "Go to work ! Masters's father has gotten him a 
 corking job in New York, and there 's an opening for 
 me with the same concern. Masters said it would 
 be a wonderful chance for me, if you 'd only use your 
 influence. That 's what I 'd like to do, Father 
 go to work in New York." 
 
 But to use his influence to get his son a position in 
 New York, or even to give his consent to Tommy's 
 going, was something that David Ainsworth had 
 flatly and uncompromisingly refused to do. There 
 were other universities. Tommy must matriculate 
 at one of these and study hard. Of course, it was 
 unfortunate that he had lost a year; still, if he ap- 
 plied himself earnestly, he could make up the time. 
 
 Tommy did n't want to go to any other university, 
 and he argued that if his father insisted it would 
 mean merely another wasted year. There was no 
 reason to suppose that his head would ache less if he 
 studied in one place than in another, was there*? 
 Well, then, why not let him go to New York*? 
 
 But Ainsworth was adamant. If Tommy wanted 
 to work, then let him work in Randolph. 
 
 Tommy accepted his defeat, and also the clerk- 
 ship his father found for him in the Merchants and
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 65 
 
 Mechanics' Bank. The exactions of the position 
 were not unreasonable ; but at the end of two months 
 Squire Moore, the president, was obliged, unwill- 
 ingly enough, to inform Ainsworth that he feared 
 Tommy was not fitted for the work. 
 
 "Took him a long time to find it out," was 
 Tommy's blithe comment. "I knew it the first day 
 I was there. Now will you let me go to New York, 
 Dad?' 
 
 "No," said his father, "I will not. You 're going 
 to stay in Randolph. We '11 find you something to 
 do here." 
 
 And Tommy had stayed. A suitable opening not 
 immediately presenting itself, he had idled about 
 and, having early exhausted the attractions of Main 
 Avenue, had in the natural course of events gravi- 
 tated downtown. He had a not unpleasing person- 
 ality; there was something infectious about his wide, 
 cheerful smile, something winning in his boyish 
 charm of manner. He renewed old acquaintance- 
 ships and formed new ones. He listened with re- 
 spectfully eager interest while the crowd around 
 Cory Jackson's bar dealt with and settled cosmic 
 affairs. Once or twice, when local matters were de- 
 scended to, he reported the discussions to his father, 
 who gave him an attention that surprised and de- 
 lighted him. Thereafter, as if by tacit agreement, 
 the subject of a position was relegated to the back-
 
 66 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 ground and finally dropped altogether. Tommy be- 
 came the finger by which David Ainsworth felt the 
 pulse of the Flats. 
 
 To the boy of twenty years, it was thrilling sport 
 to loiter about the mill district, ostensibly with noth- 
 ing on his mind but the killing of time in good 
 company, while he was really acting as the zealous 
 guardian of his father's interests. He would be the 
 unknown and unsuspected power behind the throne, 
 the wily god out of the machine. He was greatly 
 flattered that his father should impose so much trust 
 in him, charge him with so great a responsibility. 
 And, before very long, he came to have some little 
 influence among his associates. He knew it, and 
 was proud of it. What he did not know, however, 
 and what David Ainsworth for all his shrewdness 
 was too myopically self -centered to see, was that the 
 influence he exercised was, except superficially, over- 
 shadowed by that which was exerted over him. 
 
 Jean suspected that something was amiss. In his 
 letters she had detected a different note, a certain 
 cheap boastfulness that was not mere boyish swag- 
 ger. It troubled her greatly; but Jean had not seen 
 him for over three years, and did not understand 
 how great was the alteration in him; the only per- 
 son who really appreciated it was Mary Nestor. 
 
 Miss Nestor was Mrs. Ainsworth's only sister, 
 a quiet little woman, with soft brown hair plenti-
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 67 
 
 fully threaded with gray, and brown eyes, mild 
 and kindly. A capable, efficient manager, she had 
 administered the domestic affairs of the household 
 ever since the death of Alice Ainsworth, when Jean 
 was fifteen and Tommy ten years of age. She had 
 tried conscientiously to take the mother's place, and 
 in so far as it is possible for any one to do this she 
 had succeeded. 
 
 Jean's affection for her was deep and sincere. 
 Tommy was fond of her; indeed, he loved her in 
 an off-hand sort of way; but he was a little con- 
 temptuous of what he termed her "old fuss-cat 
 notions," nor was he always as courteous as he might 
 have been. To her gentle remonstrances in regard 
 to the increasing carelessness of his habits, his 
 coarsening speech and manners, he paid no attention 
 whatever; he was not so much indifferent as he was 
 impatient of her "interference." His return on 
 three consecutive evenings considerably the worse 
 for liquor, brought to a head her resolve to point 
 out to her brother-in-law certain facts to which he 
 seemed strangely blind. 
 
 She chose the middle of the afternoon, when 
 Tommy had left the.house for his usual stroll down 
 street. Then she descended to the library, where 
 Ainsworth sat glancing through the latest copy of 
 "The Register." The library was the pleasantest 
 room in the house. There was nothing pretentious
 
 68 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 either in its proportions or in its furnishings; but 
 there was about it an air of comfortable simplicity, 
 the air of a room that is lived in and enjoyed. The 
 walls were lined with open book-shelves, built 
 breast-high ; at one end yawned a deep-throated fire- 
 place, its bricks dulled to a mellow tone. A row of 
 French windows at the back afforded a glimpse of a 
 charming garden, in which all summer long old- 
 fashioned flowers made a riot of colorful bloom. 
 David Ains worth himself preferred the more lux- 
 uriously appointed study on the second floor, but 
 Jean had always loved the library. And everything 
 had been arranged just as she had been accustomed 
 to see it, even to the great bowl of long-stemmed red 
 roses on the mantel-shelf. 
 
 "By this time to-morrow afternoon Jean will be 
 with us, David," Miss Nestor began, drawing up 
 a low chair beside the table, and balancing her work- 
 basket on her knees while she got out her thimble 
 and darning-materials. "It will be so nice to have 
 her home again. And I 'm very glad Tommy is 
 looking forward to it. He spent hours this morn- 
 ing polishing up his roadster, so that it will look 
 nice when he drives to the station to meet her to- 
 morrow. I was relieved to notice how eager he is 
 to see her. She can do anything with him, you 
 know; and I feel that he really ought to be taken
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 69 
 
 in hand. You know, David, I 'm worried about 
 that boy." 
 
 "Eh?" Ainsworth glanced up. "Worried about 
 Tommy? Why, what 's the matter with him? 
 You mean he 's not well?" 
 
 "No; his health is all right now, as far as I know. 
 But if he keeps on drinking, and coming home at 
 all hours of the night, it won't be very long. It 
 seems to me that something ought to be done about 
 it. No less than three times this week he 's come 
 home after midnight, and once, at least, he was n't 
 himself. I 'm very much worried about him. Noth- 
 ing I can say does any good. He takes the atti- 
 tude that it 's none of my business, and the more 
 I try to reason with him the worse he gets. I wish 
 you 'd speak to him, David." 
 
 Ainsworth lowered his paper and frowned at her 
 over the top of the drooping pages. 
 
 "I don't quite understand your attitude in regard 
 to Tommy, Mary," he said, in a tone of suppressed 
 annoyance. "Suppose he does stay out late once 
 in a while, or take a social drink or two. It does n't 
 necessarily mean that he 's on the brink of the pit, 
 as you seem to think." 
 
 "I don't think so, David; that is n't what I meant, 
 at all. And I don't want you to get the impression 
 that I have narrow, prudish ideas about him. I
 
 70 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 love to see him happy and enjoying himself; and if 
 he did n't take more than one or two drinks oc- 
 casionally, I don't suppose they 'd hurt him. But, 
 David, Tommy has changed." Her sweet face was 
 very serious. "He's coarsened; his manners are 
 different. When he comes in, he 's rough and 
 boisterous. He behaves as if he were in a barn 
 instead of a house." 
 
 Ainsworth smiled, the tolerant smile of a man 
 who, seeing the absurdity of the argument, and 
 knowing that he has all the best of it, makes due 
 and generous allowance for his opponent's dullness. 
 
 "High spirits," he said. "You 're making a 
 mountain out of a mole-hill, Mary. Those are just 
 trivial things." 
 
 "In themselves, yes," she agreed. "But they 're 
 indications of a general lowering of his standards. 
 He seems to have lost something I can't exactly 
 define it, but something of that quality that made 
 him such an attractive, lovable boy." 
 
 "That 's just it, Mary; he 's not a boy." With 
 the tip of his forefinger, Ainsworth tapped the news- 
 paper. His toleration expanded into rare affability. 
 "You 've forgotten to let him grow up ! Tommy 's 
 a man, and he 's proving it more conclusively every 
 day. He 's of inestimable help to me. Why, I 'd 
 hardly know what to do without him." 
 
 Miss Nestor deftly turned a black silk sock wrong
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 71 
 
 side out and drew it over her hand, spreading out 
 her fingers in first the heel and then the toe. Find- 
 ing no work there for her needle, she picked up the 
 other one of the pair. 
 
 "But do you think it 's wise, David, to let him 
 help you the way he does'?" she asked. 
 
 "Certainly! Why not?" 
 
 "There 's his future to be thought of. He 's 
 twenty-one now, and he has n't any definite aim at 
 all. When you sent him to college, you were going 
 to have him study for the bar. Then he failed in 
 his examinations that first year, and you told him 
 he 'd either have to go to some other university, or 
 go to work here in town. He has n't done either 
 one. He" 
 
 "He 's gone to work for me; and he 's doing very 
 well indeed, Mary." 
 
 "But is he getting anywhere*?" she persisted. 
 "Is he accumulating any knowledge or experience 
 that is going to be worth anything to him later on 
 when he does go into business*? He seems to idle 
 around all day, just wasting time. He may be 
 able to help you a little, but he '11 never make a 
 secretary or a really able assistant." She knew 
 whereof she spoke. Tommy regarded a pen with 
 disfavor and a typewriter with contempt. He was 
 not of the timber from which efficient secretaries 
 are made. "You could easily hire some one to
 
 72 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 assist you, and have Tommy do something that 
 would at least start him in the right direction. 
 There really does r?t seem to be much for him here 
 in Randolph. Perhaps if you let him go to New 
 York he 's always wanted to, you know he 'd 
 get interested and be more ambitious." 
 
 "He 's not going to New York," Ainsworth said 
 shortly. 
 
 "You can't mean him to go on indefinitely this 
 way? Is n't he to take up a profession make 
 some sort of a career for himself 1 ?" 
 
 Never before had she ventured to prolong a dis- 
 cussion which her brother-in-law so obviously wished 
 to end. She was astonished at her own temerity; 
 but the point seemed of vital importance to her, and 
 she clung to it determinedly, in the face of Ains- 
 worth' s ominous frown. 
 
 The Congressman was irritated at her persistence, 
 the more because of the justice of her complaint. 
 Tommy was drinking too much, as he himself had 
 recently warned the boy. But his affairs in the dis- 
 trict were assuming an increasingly critical aspect; 
 and he regarded it as of vital importance that 
 Tommy should for the present be unrestricted. 
 When the crisis was over, he would take the matter 
 in hand. Meanwhile, he considered Miss Nestor's 
 apprehension unwarranted, and as something of a 
 reflection on himself.
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 73 
 
 "I have n't lost sight of anything, Mary," he 
 said. "Tommy's future will be properly taken care 
 of, all in due time. But just now I need him. 
 He 's the most dependable worker I have. I can 
 merely suggest a thing to him and know that it will 
 be done, and done right." 
 
 "But, David, the doing of it takes him downtown, 
 to places where he is brought into contact with the 
 very worst element." Miss Nestor let her darning 
 fall into her lap; she leaned forward, speaking very 
 earnestly. "He does n't spend a single evening 
 with the young people of his own class. He 
 doesn't go to their entertainments, or have any- 
 thing to do with them. Night after night he goes 
 downtown, to those low saloons. And I tell you, 
 David, it 's having anything but a good effect on 
 him. It 's coarsening his mental and moral fiber. 
 He needs different associates, different influences. 
 That 's one reason why I 'm glad Jean is coming. 
 He '11 want to be with her, and he '11 stay at home 
 more." 
 
 Ainsworth's face hardened. His tone took on a 
 chill incisiveness, as it always did when any one 
 radically disagreed with him. 
 
 "No one will be more pleased to see Jean than 
 I, Mary," he said. "But as far as her influence on 
 Tommy goes, he has always respected my wishes, 
 which is more than I can say for her. He is, as I
 
 74 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 have said, doing a very valuable work for me, and 
 I certainly do not purpose to interfere with him just 
 at present. By the way" he turned his opaque 
 eyes penetratingly on his sister-in-law "what is 
 this that I hear about Jean and young Leighton *?" 
 "But, David, about Tommy's drinking. He " 
 "I am asking you about Jean, Mary." 
 Miss Nestor sighed and took up her work again. 
 It was useless to try to open David's mind, she 
 thought, once he had closed it. And closed it he 
 had, with his characteristic imperiousness, as far 
 as the subject of Tommy and Tommy's associates 
 was concerned. She did not want to discuss Jean 
 or Dick Leighton; and it was not until Ainsworth 
 had rather sharply repeated his question that she 
 said: 
 
 "Why, I 'm sure I don't know what you Ve heard, 
 David. Jean's friendship for Mr. Leighton is no 
 secret, and never has been one." 
 
 "But from reports, lately, I inferred that there 
 might be something more than a mere casual ac- 
 quaintance, or a sort of friendship that was the result 
 of their playing together as children. I never really 
 approved of it, but Alice saw no harm. Tommy, 
 too, has dropped several very broad hints. Just 
 what do you know?" 
 
 Miss Nestor, her eyes intent on the gaping rent
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 75 
 
 in the heel of one of Tommy's golf stockings, lifted 
 one shoulder in the suggestion of a shrug. 
 
 "I don't know anything, except that it is true that 
 Dick has been to see her in New York a number of 
 times, and that 's a long journey to make, simply 
 to call on a friend." 
 
 Ainsworth frowned. 
 
 "You 're right," he said shortly. "I wish I had 
 considered this before. I don't like it." 
 
 "I don't see why," said Miss Nestor. "And, 
 for that matter, Jean might go a good deal further 
 than Dick Leighton and fare much worse ! Has he 
 done anything to turn you against him, David ?" 
 
 With an "Oh, never mind, Mary; never mind," 
 the Congressman brushed aside the question, 
 exactly as all his life he had brushed aside any 
 question as to the fairness of his -autocratic pro- 
 nouncements. His wife had quickly learned that 
 it was useless to argue with him; it was almost 
 unprecedented for his sister-in-law to take a position 
 definitely opposed to him: David Ainsworth was 
 a domestic despot. With his daughter, however, 
 things had been different. 
 
 The Congressman had stood firmly upon the 
 platform that a daughter's place was in her father's 
 house until she left it to go to that of her husband ; 
 that there was neither necessity nor occasion for
 
 76 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 Jean's taking up nursing, settlement work, or any- 
 thing else; that "career" was a word used by flighty, 
 erratic women as a veil to cover up the misdirection 
 of their energies; that there were plenty of people, 
 differently circumstanced, to work in hospitals and 
 charitable institutions; and, as a final clincher to 
 his whole argument, that Jean was his daughter and 
 owed him absolute and unquestioning obedience. 
 He had flatly refused his consent to her plans. 
 
 But in Jean, Ainsworth's own unswerving will 
 had blended with her mother's gentle firmness and 
 fine strength of character. Whatever lure of ro- 
 mance there may have been in the idea of lending 
 her strength to the weak, her courage to the despon- 
 dent, her young optimism to the hopeless and un- 
 questionably there was such a lure back of it all 
 there had been the tug of a sincere and genuine 
 desire to do some real good in the world her share, 
 if possible, of the great mass of work that cried out 
 to be done. 
 
 Even in Randolph people were poor and helpless. 
 They suffered from poverty, from privation and 
 illness. She had never known want in any form. 
 Her father was wealthy, and always she had been 
 surrounded by every comfort. In his home, except 
 from the single standpoint of companionship, she 
 was superfluous. Her aunt administered the vari- 
 ous details of the household and managed the
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 77 
 
 servants. There was, literally, nothing for the girl 
 to do, and she had decided that if all work and no 
 play made Jack a dull boy, then all play and no 
 work would make Jean a useless member of society. 
 
 She had thought a good deal about it before she 
 broached the subject to her father, and his un- 
 sympathetic attitude, his obvious lack of any desire 
 to understand her point of view, had but braced her 
 determination. Where Tommy was weak, she was 
 strong; where he was readily influenced by specious 
 argument, she was not to be moved. She had 
 announced that she meant to go, either with or 
 without her father's sanction. 
 
 Had the question of money been involved he 
 would not have hesitated to use it as a club to beat 
 her into submission; but she had a few thousand 
 dollars of her own, and so was financially indepen- 
 dent of him, temporarily, at least. Therefore she 
 had got her own way, but it was, Ainsworth was 
 convinced, a way that would speedily cease to ap- 
 peal to her. In every letter that arrived he had 
 hoped and fully expected to trace some inkling of 
 failing purpose, to find some hint that she was 
 ready to give over her quixotic notions and return 
 to her home. 
 
 Understanding Jean far better than Ainsworth 
 ever had or ever would, Miss Nestor had expected 
 nothing of the sort. She was sure that the girl,
 
 78 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 having once put her hand to the plow, would go on 
 to the end of the furrow. Indeed, when the Ains- 
 worth Hospital neared completion, and the Con- 
 gressman wrote to Jean to ask her to take the 
 superintendency, Miss Nestor had been on tenter- 
 hooks lest she decide in favor of going on with her 
 work in New York. And now the little lady was 
 almost pathetically anxious that nothing should 
 occur to strain again the relations between father 
 and daughter; and her solicitude in this, alone gave 
 her the courage to press the question which Ains- 
 worth had dismissed. 
 
 "But, David," she said, "you never used to ob- 
 ject to Mr. Leigh ton. What is the matter 4 ?" 
 
 "I simply don't consider him a proper associate 
 for Jean." 
 
 "But" 
 
 He interrupted her brusquely : 
 
 "How far has this thing gone?" 
 
 "Well, Jean never confided in me," she began 
 cautiously. "I don't think there is any actual 
 engagement " 
 
 "Engagement !" Ainsworth ejaculated. "I should 
 hope not." 
 
 "But I do think," she finished, half defiantly, 
 "that there 's a pretty thorough understanding." 
 
 The sheets of "The Register" crackled under the 
 sudden pressure of Ainsworth's hand; in his voice
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 79 
 
 there ran an undercurrent of cold anger as he said : 
 "Well, if there is, it must come to an end, at 
 once! I shall have to talk to Jean about this! 
 She forgets what is due to me. Jean is headstrong 
 and inclined to be rebellious. I 've given her too 
 much latitude, and I 'm afraid it has n't done her 
 any good. But in this matter I shall expect 
 obedience." 
 
 He lifted the paper and leaned back in his chair 
 again. For him, the subject was closed, until it 
 suited him to re-open it. He meant to speak to 
 Jean at the earliest opportunity, and express his 
 wishes, or, if necessary, issue his commands. He 
 did not consider that it would be necessary, how- 
 ever. To him Jean was still a child, subject to 
 paternal authority. The significance of her demon- 
 stration of her right to be independent in thought 
 and action had utterly failed to impress him.
 
 VII 
 
 ANY unprejudiced observer would have con- 
 ceded, readily enough, that the town of Ran- 
 dolph needed a new post-office. On the other 
 hand, the dingy old brick building at the Four 
 Corners made a very acceptable lounging-place and 
 forum. Facing on Main Avenue, the low-browed 
 double doorway commanded an unobstructed view 
 of Bridge Street, along which all traffic to and from 
 the railroad station must pass. The square space 
 between the windows and the lock-box section was 
 fairly commodious; individuals of either sex, burst- 
 ing to express an opinion on such pregnant questions 
 as the price of feed, Len Dillon's unexpected sale 
 of The Full Value Department Store, or the airs 
 Mrs. Chauncey gave herself on the strength of her 
 husband's new automobile, found there an attentive 
 audience. Randolph possessed a carrier system of 
 sorts, but most people preferred to call for their 
 mail : the carrier was usually in a hurry and was apt 
 to be vague as to details, anyway; it seemed much 
 more satisfactory to glean information at first hand. 
 It was Tommy Ains worth's custom to stroll down 
 
 street about four o'clock every pleasant afternoon, 
 
 80
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 81 
 
 ensconce himself comfortably on a corner of the 
 wide sill of the window next the door, and there 
 await the arrival of the mail from the east and 
 south. If a brief and somewhat hectic six months 
 at college had done nothing else for Tommy, it had 
 taught him that the human male is the lord of crea- 
 tion, born to be admired; and that, having been 
 assigned such a role in life, he must fill it creditably. 
 
 Acting on this hypothesis, Tommy was wont to 
 deck himself out in the manner approved by the 
 least conservative of university freshmen; and 
 assuredly Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed 
 like one of these. The lilies of the field would 
 have bowed their heads in humiliation at being so 
 far outshone, could they have gazed upon young 
 Mr. Ainsworth when he had done full justice to 
 what he considered to be a fitting costume for an 
 afternoon's stroll. 
 
 He sauntered magnificently into the post-office 
 about half-past three, and bestowed on Clark Jen- 
 kins a bow that, for graciousness, was second only 
 to the masterpiece of condescension with which he 
 favored Dick Leighton. Dick, who had stopped in 
 to get a registered letter, nodded good-naturedly; 
 but the postmaster entirely ignored the salute, which 
 he pretended not to have seen. 
 
 "That boy of Ainsworth's sure gets my goat," hs
 
 82 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 confided to Dick as he pushed the return card under 
 the grating. "He comes in here, all dressed up like 
 a picture postcard, and acts as if he was Goddal- 
 mighty. If I 'm not doing anything much, he walks 
 by with his nose in the air ; but if I 'm all alone here, 
 and there 's a whole crowd waiting, he '11 stand at 
 the window and ask me forty-seven questions, by 
 actual count. He paraded in yesterday afternoon, 
 just after Norah went home, and I give you my 
 word he 'd have been talking yet if he could have 
 got anybody to listen to him. He makes me tired." 
 
 Dick laughed. 
 
 "Oh, Tommy 's just a boy," he said, "and he 
 thinks he 's lot more important than any one could 
 possibly be. All of us felt that way at his age, I 
 guess. Where's Norah to-day"? I haven't seen 
 her." 
 
 "She had a cold yesterday, and I told her not to 
 come in to-day unless she felt O. K. I can manage 
 all right without her; she's not absolutely indis- 
 pensable, you know." 
 
 "Poor Norah!" said Dick. Everybody was sorry 
 for Norah Foster. She had never had any real 
 chance. Her mother had died when she was a baby, 
 and her father, who owned a down-at-the-heels farm 
 on the outskirts of the town, never had and never 
 ' could amount to anything. Norah was pretty, in a
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 83 
 
 pink-and-white, babyish sort of way, but she was 
 quite as futile as her looks. She "helped out" at the 
 post-office because Clark Jenkins pitied her ; but if it 
 were possible to make a mistake she made it, and 
 a wary eye was always kept on her when she was 
 at the stamp window. 
 
 "I hear," Jenkins said, dismissing Norah from 
 the conversation, "that the hospital 's about done, 
 and that Jean Ainsworth is coming home to-morrow 
 to take charge. Wonder how the town will look 
 to her after four years of New York." 
 
 Dick had been wondering, too. Very small and 
 ugly and cramped, he supposed. But Jean was n't 
 the sort of girl to change much. Jean was well, 
 she was Jean. And in just twenty- four hours he 
 would be helping her down the steps of the Pullman. 
 His heart quickened its beat a little at the thought. 
 He nodded again to Tommy as he turned toward the 
 door. 
 
 "Hwaya Leigh ton," returned Tommy, languidly, 
 tapping his leg with the light stick he always 
 carried. 
 
 "Fine!" said Dick. "Fine! Any news?" 
 
 Tommy stared. 
 
 "News'? News in this mausoleum? Hardly!" 
 He withdrew his gaze from Dick and directed it 
 out of the window.
 
 84 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 "It will be nice to have Jean home again," Dick 
 observed. "I hope she has a pleasant day for her 
 journey, to-morrow." 
 
 Tommy's eyes, no longer supercilious, but frankly 
 hostile, came back to his. 
 
 "You seem to be remarkably familiar with the 
 plans of my sister." The stressed pause between 
 the preposition and the pronoun was intended to 
 convey a crushing rebuke. The deliberate turning 
 of the ultra-tailored shoulders, even more eloquent, 
 should have put Dick in his place at once; but 
 Dick was unaware that he had stepped out of it. 
 He understood both Tommy's dislike of him and 
 its causes, and he harbored not the slightest 
 animosity toward the boy. He fumbled in his 
 pocket for his tobacco pouch and brown papers, and 
 stood for a moment in the doorway while he rolled 
 a cigarette. 
 
 Main Avenue lay like a rusty red ribbon under 
 the hot, dry shimmer of the afternoon sun. There 
 had been no rain for several days, and a film of 
 dust covered its brick pavements and rose in slow 
 sulky clouds about the feet of passers-by, of whom 
 there were not many. The day's marketing had been 
 finished hours before, and the young people had 
 not yet begun the regular afternoon pilgrimage to 
 the Greek's, where daily a surprising quantity of 
 appetite-spoiling indigestibles was consumed.
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 85 
 
 Ike Milliken slouched in the doorway of the 
 express office ; on the steps of the telephone exchange 
 a short-sleeved, hatless young lady sat fanning her- 
 self with a folded newspaper. The windows of 
 "The Register" office next door glittered like a 
 row of huge yellow sardine tins. In front of the 
 drug store a lean, shaggy horse drooped between the 
 shafts of a ramshackle surrey, flicking a listless wisp 
 of tail now and again at the flies that buzzed over 
 its flanks. From the open basement door of Milt 
 Cummings's "High Class Billiard and Pool Parlor," 
 the clicking impact of the balls sounded plainly 
 on the still, drowsy air. 
 
 Dick scratched a match on the rough door-casing, 
 shielded the tiny flame with the palm of his hand, 
 and applied it to the end of his cigarette. But he 
 did not draw in that first satisfying inhalation of 
 smoke. Instead, he straightened up slowly, and 
 stepped out upon the pavement, the burnt match 
 still clipped between his fingers, his eyes fixed with 
 a curious intentness on a cloud of dust far up the 
 avenue. 
 
 "Now what the devil ?" he muttered, half 
 aloud ; and Tommy, in the embrasure of the window, 
 abandoned his attitude of haughty reserve and 
 craned his neck to see. 
 
 In wavering spurts of saffron the cloud rolled 
 nearer; and from its depths came a low throbbing
 
 86 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 hum, like the angry droning of a swarm of bees. 
 In the swirling dust veils, dark figures bobbed up 
 and down. The humming sound grew louder and 
 louder. A boy' on a bicycle pedaled rapidly -along, 
 shouting, waving frantically. Ike Milliken ran 
 down to the curb and stood staring. 
 
 "What is it 4 ?" demanded Tommy, at Dick's 
 elbow. "What's all the crowd?" 
 
 Past the Methodist Church, past Dr. Evans's 
 white-fenced garden, past Elm Street corner, swept 
 the gathering whirlwind of dust and humanity. 
 People were running in the street, on the sidewalks, 
 along the strip of grass that bordered the fences. 
 There were yells, shouts, shrill cries, all blended in 
 a confused crescendo. And over and above the 
 tumult, beating insistently from mouth to mouth, 
 throbbed the sinister word "murder!" 
 
 A shrieking woman rushed at Dick Leighton and 
 seized his arm. He shook himself free and shoul- 
 dered his way through the crowd that centered 
 about the figure of a man, who at the sound of 
 Dick's voice flung up both arms and lurched un- 
 steadily forward. His thin gray hair was matted 
 into a mass of clotted red at the base of his skull, 
 and the collar of his flannel shirt was stiff with the 
 blood that had dripped and dried on it. There 
 was blood on his face, smeared across the tear-
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 87 
 
 blotched cheeks and raddled into the straggling 
 beard. He clung, swaying, to Dick's arm. His 
 words, disjointed, incoherent, came between sobbing 
 breaths. The excited crowd pressed about him, 
 questioning, exclaiming, advising. A dozen men 
 tried to speak to Dick at once. He silenced them 
 with a curt: "Keep still! Let me talk to him." 
 
 The little man was nearly exhausted. His voice 
 kept breaking on a high, hysterical note ; in his eyes 
 stalked the stark terror of what he had witnessed 
 before the blow on his head had brought a brief 
 oblivion. Little threads of saliva trickled from 
 the corners of his loose-lipped mouth; his whole 
 face worked spasmodically as he babbled forth the 
 story he had run four miles to tell a story that 
 sent a sick shudder over Dick Leighton as, bit by 
 bit, he pieced it out. 
 
 "Take him over to the drug store," he directed 
 Clark Jenkins, briefly; and, brushing the crowd 
 aside, he started across the street. He did not seem 
 to be hurrying, but Tommy Ainswortli, close at his 
 heels, found himself running to keep up. 
 
 Outside the telephone exchange the folded news- 
 paper lay where the operator had dropped it. Dick 
 stepped inside the building. 
 
 "Call Jackson's," he ordered. He picked up the 
 receiver of an instrument that stood on a small desk
 
 88 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 beside the door. "Then get the Corbin farm, Mas- 
 terson's place, the Garvey mill, Henderson's, Cal 
 White's house, and the Berry place." 
 
 "Oh, isn't it awful, Dick!" The girl's hands 
 were trembling; big tears were rolling down her 
 cheeks. "I can't hardly believe it 's Norah that 's 
 There's Jackson's; go ahead." 
 
 "Cory? This is Leighton talking. Is Bud 
 McFee there? Cass Blake has murdered Norah 
 Foster. Tell McFee to hop into an automobile and 
 watch the upper bridge. Send Murray over to me 
 at my office at once; we'll need a dozen horses. 
 He '11 understand. Have Capron come with him. 
 That 's all." 
 
 "Here 's Corbin," announced the operator, and 
 the plugs on the switchboard clicked into the new 
 connection. 
 
 "Leighton talking. Have you seen anything of 
 Cass Blake 4 ?" 
 
 "Cass Blake? Not fer quite a spell," came the 
 farmer's slow drawl. "You want him?" 
 
 "We want him for the murder of Norah Foster. 
 Have Jimmy and Tec take their guns and see to it 
 that he does n't get by your place. If you find any 
 trace of him, report at once. Notify Phillips to 
 keep a sharp lookout. Good-by." 
 
 "Jack Masterson on the wire, Dick." 
 
 One after another, the calls went out. Railroad
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 89 
 
 officials were notified; every trainman was warned 
 to be on the alert, that no skulking figure might 
 glide from a sheltering patch of woods, or slip 
 aboard a slow-moving freight as it crawled slug- 
 gishly through the valley. Stalwart, grim-visaged 
 men shouldered their guns and hurried off to patrol 
 every road and bridge and trail within a twenty- 
 mile radius of the place Norah Foster had called 
 home. 
 
 Strand by strand, that crisp, clear voice at the 
 telephone wove the meshes of an invisible net, 
 meshes that reached from house to house, from 
 farm to farm meshes that spread and tightened 
 and grew stronger as afternoon faded into a star- 
 lit night.
 
 VIII 
 
 CASS BLAKE had long been known as a worth- 
 less character, with instincts undoubtedly 
 vicious. When he was not being housed and fed 
 at the expense of the taxpayers, he had worked inter- 
 mittently as a farm-hand, or done odd jobs for 
 whomsoever would employ him. His infatuation 
 for Norah Foster had never been taken seriously 
 by any one, least of all by the girl herself. When 
 he had stood for an hour or so outside the post- 
 office, waiting for her to appear, she had passed him 
 without even a nod; his clumsy attentions she had 
 repulsed one after another, and in no uncertain 
 terms. If she spoke or thought of him at all, it 
 was as "that drunken slouch, Cass Blake," precisely 
 as most of Randolph had characterized him. No 
 one had liked him; by all he was regarded with 
 suspicious aversion. The brutal bestiality of his 
 crime at the Foster farm fanned into sudden flame 
 the hatred that had long been smoldering against 
 him. 
 
 Just as a loaded shell, exploding in the midst 
 of a fire, scatters embers to the four winds, so the 
 news of the tragedy scattered over the whole 
 
 90
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 91 
 
 country-side parties of men intent on the capture 
 of the criminal. They went about the work quietly, 
 almost stolidly, yet with a certain grim determina- 
 tion that was more ominous than any display of 
 excitement. Bill Murray, the giant teamster from 
 the mills, whom Dick had sworn in as sheriff's 
 deputy, epitomized their set finality of purpose in 
 the three words he spoke to Norah Foster's father: 
 "We '11 get him." 
 
 Randolph slept little that night. It watched 
 the sporadic gleams of the lanterns that flickered 
 among the distant trees ; it listened intently to catch 
 the occasional shouts, now faint and far off, now 
 sounding nearer, as the man-hunt circled the town. 
 The breath of the vagrant wind was tainted with 
 the pungent smell of flaring torches, vibrant with 
 the deep-throated baying of dogs at fault over a 
 broken, illusive trail. Somewhere in the valley, or 
 among its girding hills, a wild beast lurked. He 
 must be found and driven from his hiding-place. 
 They meant to "get him." 
 
 And he knew it. The first bell-clear note that 
 echoed through the ravine caught him, quivering, 
 up from the ground where he had thrown himself 
 to get his breath. He could not tell from which 
 direction the sound had come. There was no moon ; 
 the pale starlight did not penetrate the thick leaves 
 and undergrowth. The woods were black, formless.
 
 92 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 The dog bayed again, nearer this time; another 
 and another took up the chorus. 
 
 He ran. . . . 
 
 To get away, somewhere, anywhere! To hide! 
 They must n't catch him. He must n't let them 
 catch him. If they did 
 
 Fear was everywhere. The darkness was peopled 
 by his enemies. The heavier shadows under the 
 trees were alive. The little night voices of the 
 woods beat in his ears and mingled with the voices 
 of the hounds, confusedly. He stumbled through 
 a birch thicket and out upon a well-defined trail. 
 There was water down there somewhere. The dogs 
 couldn't follow through water. But this trail 
 somebody might be watching 
 
 A partridge rose with a sudden thunderous whir 
 of wings. He screamed turned plunged back 
 through the thicket. 
 
 To get away ... to get away! Somewhere. 
 Anywhere. He must n't be caught God ! he 
 must n't be caugjit. 
 
 Blind, mad with terror, he stumbled on in the 
 darkness. Over ledges, where jagged spurs of rock 
 bruised and cut him. Through brambles, where 
 thorns caught and tore at his flesh. Invisible trees 
 rose up in front of him, striking him violently. 
 Trailing vines twined themselves around his ankles 
 and tripped him. A hundred times he fell. A hun-
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 93 
 
 dred times he struggled to his feet, and ran on, dodg- 
 ing, doubling, turning now this way, now that. His 
 coat was gone. The tatters of his shirt were 
 stripped from his shoulders. Bruised, bleeding, his 
 breath coming in short gasps that racked his aching 
 lungs, he ran and fell. And ran and fell again. 
 
 He had lost all sense of direction, all sense of 
 time. He must get away. He must n't get caught. 
 He knew nothing, was conscious of nothing but fear 
 and hate fear that held him in its panic grip 
 and lashed him with every twig that crackled under- 
 foot, every slightest sound that broke the silence; 
 hate, blind, aimless, all-embracing, for everything 
 that lived and moved and was free to follow after 
 him. All that had ever been human in Cass Blake 
 was swallowed up, obliterated, in those two emo- 
 tions. 
 
 When, just in the gray of the early daylight, he 
 staggered over the crest of a pine ridge, and half 
 crawled, half dragged himself to cover, the two had 
 merged into one. Hate. The same savage in- 
 stinct that turns a panther at bay when the pack cries 
 at its heels. Crouching, with bared fang and claw, 
 it waits its chance to spring and strike. And so Cass 
 Blake crouched, while the meshes of the net drew 
 ever closer and closer around him. He had killed 
 once ; he would kill again. He lay there in the dark, 
 his thick fingers twitching on the butt of his gun.
 
 94 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 Waiting. Watching. Listening to the hunt sweep- 
 ing down into the valley. 
 
 The rising sun caught up the streamers of mist 
 that veiled the dawn as Dick Leighton's posse 
 splashed through the bed of a shallow brook and 
 turned down-stream. Twenty years before, the 
 brook, pressed back into a deep pond, had foamed 
 and dashed over the rim of a primitive dam, from 
 which ran the flume that carried power to the iron 
 turbine of one of the most prosperous sawmills in the 
 county. Now the water trickled lazily through a 
 hundred openings in the shattered dam and mean- 
 dered on its peaceful way down through the valley; 
 the flume, its rotted boards rent and gaping, was 
 almost hidden under a rank growth of vines and 
 weeds. 
 
 The mill itself was rapidly falling into disinte- 
 gration. The boards were warped and weather- 
 bitten ; the foundations had settled, throwing all the 
 supporting beams out of plumb. The whole struc- 
 ture looked on the point of collapse. Up to the very 
 door, sagging on its rusty hinges, tall grass grew. A 
 mottled lizard, sunning himself on a rotting log, 
 scuttled away to cover at the approach of the posse. 
 
 "Think they 're barkin' up the right tree, Dick?" 
 Murray asked, reining in beside the sheriff, as the 
 dogs dashed around the side of the building and
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 95 
 
 bayed and clamored furiously about the flume. 
 "Kind o' too plain, ain't it?" 
 
 Dick shook his head. 
 
 "That does n't signify. The wonder is that he 
 has n't taken to cover before this. He has n't any 
 plan; his trail showed that. No man in his senses 
 would have left such tracks. He 's just an animal, 
 crazy with terror. ' He 's around here somewhere, 
 Bill." His eyes traveled frowningly over the sag- 
 ging mill structure, then across the shallow brook to 
 the meadows, lying green and peaceful in the early 
 sun. He tapped the ground with his heel. "He 's 
 here somewhere, Bill," he repeated. "Look at those 
 dogs. And look there !" 
 
 Directly in front of them ran the line of the old 
 flume. A little above and to the right, a narrow 
 streak of white in one of the mold-darkened boards 
 showed where a sliver had been broken out. The 
 sliver itself had fallen to one side and, caught across 
 the broad leaf of a shoot of milkweed, balanced up 
 and down as the top swayed in the wind, like the 
 slim needle of a compass pointing the way. 
 
 "Urn," observed Murray; "there's that. How 
 you goin' to get him out 1 ?" 
 
 Dick's reply was to draw his revolver and fling 
 one leg over the side of the flume. 
 
 Murray caught his arm. 
 
 "Don't be a damn' fool !" he exclaimed roughly.
 
 96 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 "No*?" Dick turned his head and regarded his 
 deputy gravely. "Do you think he '11 come out if I 
 whistle 4 ?" 
 
 " 'T won't do no harm to try." 
 
 Dick shrugged. "All right," he said. He raised 
 his voice to a shout. "Blake! Cass Blake! We 
 know you 're there. You may as well come out." 
 
 Silence. Only the musical gurgle of water slip- 
 ping through the ruined dam, the silken whisper of 
 wind among the leaves, and the droning of insects. 
 Dick turned an ironic smile over his shoulder at 
 Murray. 
 
 "Let go, Bill," he said. He shook his arm free, 
 and the deputy with a shrug stepped back. 
 
 "Um-m," he said. "Well, it's your funeral." 
 He made no further attempt to interfere. Had he 
 been in Dick's place, he would not have assigned to 
 some one else a dangerous piece of work: he would 
 have done it himself. The sheriff was merely doing 
 his duty, and the deputy accepted the fact ; but his 
 face was set in grim lines and his ringers gripped 
 the butt of his revolver, holding it ready for instant 
 use. 
 
 The bottom boards of the flume had long since 
 rotted to a soft, spongy mass, from which emanated 
 a disagreeable odor. Here and there the side walls 
 had given way altogether, or slanted obliquely to- 
 ward each other until they almost met. Before he 
 had gone a dozen feet Dick was obliged to drop to his
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 97 
 
 hands and knees in order to get ahead at all. Over 
 his head a heavy growth of briers wove themselves 
 into an impenetrable tangle, so densely matted with 
 wild morning-glory vines as almost to shut out the 
 light of day. A dirty white fungus, mottled with 
 leprous yellow spots, gave out a rankly pungent 
 smell. 
 
 At every movement Dick could feel the soggy 
 boards crumble beneath him. Once some slimy ob- 
 ject slithered away from under his fingers; he could 
 not see what it was. The place was filled with a 
 wan, ghostly twilight. It was like a tomb, damp, 
 moldering, repellent with its decay of death. Its air- 
 less silence was broken only by a slow drip drip 
 drip of moisture from sodden leaves to sodden 
 ground. 
 
 Dick felt his breath coming hard, not with fear 
 but from sheer physical disgust. Foot by foot, he 
 groped his way forward, eyes straining to pierce the 
 gloom ahead, every sense alert to catch the slightest 
 significant sound. Just in front of him the flume 
 dipped at a sharp angle into the penstock ; the shad- 
 owy gulf of the wheel-pit yawned dismally, its 
 blackness grayed by the vague outlines of some of the 
 broken uprights and the debris of the old wheel. 
 
 Beyond, it seemed that a darker shadow moved 
 swiftly, soundlessly. And vanished. 
 
 "BJake !" Dick's voice smote sharply against his
 
 98 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 own ears. "We know you 're there ! Come out!" 
 He leaned outward and downward, searching the 
 gloom. He could hear nothing, see nothing. There 
 was neither sound nor movement. "Blake!" he re- 
 peated. "Cass Blake!" 
 
 A bright yellow flame flashed; a streak of fire 
 darted up over the opening of the penstock; a bullet 
 sang venomously past his ear. He flung himself 
 flat on his face, and almost simultaneously the sound 
 of his own automatic woke the crashing echoes. 
 There was a scream, quivering, shrill, like that of a 
 wounded animal ; a rattling fall. And then a silence 
 that seemed to throb into low, strangled moans. 
 
 A trail of bluish smoke drifted out under the 
 tangle of vines and briers, and dissolved in the quiet 
 air. The group of men waiting beside the flume 
 watched it with narrowed eyes, fingering their re- 
 volvers nervously. 
 
 "There was two shots before Dick let go with his 
 automatic," Jack Capron said. "Don't you reckon 
 I 'd best go on down there, Bill?" 
 
 Murray held up his hand. 
 
 "Somebody 's comin'," he said curtly. 
 
 The matted vines swayed, heaved, parted. From 
 the clutching green tangle the stooping figure of a 
 man emerged, dragging after him a crumpled dread- 
 ful Thing, a Thing that might once have been hu- 
 man, but that was now a mere formless mass of torn
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 99 
 
 clothes and shattered flesh, drenched with blood, 
 smeared with mud and filth. 
 
 "Is he dead 1 ?" Capron demanded. 
 
 "No; he's still alive." 
 
 A sudden guttural murmur swelled through the 
 group; there was a movement forward. The sheriff's 
 fingers relaxed their grip, and his burden slumped to 
 the ground. 
 
 "That '11 do, boys !" he said sharply. His gray 
 eyes, steel-bright in the grimy mask of his face, 
 flickered from one to another of the men. "Put up 
 those guns and lend a hand here!"
 
 IX 
 
 WHEN, with a screeching of brake-shoes and 
 grinding of ponderous wheels, Number Sev- 
 enteen came to a standstill at the Randolph station, 
 only a single passenger alighted from the long string 
 of coaches, and stood glancing, in some surprise and 
 uncertainty, up and down the deserted platform. 
 Number Seventeen was the only through train that 
 stopped at Randolph, and its arrival was something 
 of an event in the daily lives of the town loafers. 
 Usually there were a dozen of them yawning on the 
 benches and cluttering up the doorways, gaping at 
 the occupants of the Pullmans as if the travelers 
 were rare and interesting curiosities. The ticket 
 agent could not remember when there had not been 
 at least one or two pairs of willing hands to help him 
 with the baggage. He trotted perspiringly down 
 the gravel sweep beside the tracks, wheeling the 
 truck and called back over his shoulder to Amos 
 Milliken, the driver of the stage, to "hurry up, will 
 you, Amos, and gimme a lift on these here things." 
 It was not until the two big trunks had been 
 
 loaded upon the truck and wheeled back to the bag- 
 
 100
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 101 
 
 gage-room that either of the men recognized the 
 solitary passenger. Then the old stage-driver 
 whipped off his battered straw hat and hurried 
 forward. 
 
 "By jux! I did n't know ye, Miss Jean!" he ex- 
 claimed. "Never dreamed it was you ! Did n't see 
 nobody to meet ye, and thought ye must 'a missed 
 the train, sure. I cal'late your folks must 'a' forgot 
 all about ye." 
 
 "It looks that way, doesn't it, Amos'?" Jean 
 Ainsworth shook hands cordially with the old man 
 and with the station-master, who had followed 
 close behind him. "It 's strange there 's no one 
 here," she said. "I 'm certain they expected me. I 
 telegraphed, yesterday. But maybe the message 
 went astray." 
 
 Amos shook his head. 
 
 "No; they got it all right. Ike told me it come, 
 and he took it up to the house hisself. They 've 
 forgot, that 's all." 
 
 "I '11 phone 'em right away, shall I 4 ?" volunteered 
 the station-master. " 'Twon't take Tommy more'n 
 a jiffy to run over with the car." 
 
 Amos Milliken straightened up. 
 
 "I 'd like ter know what 's the matter with my 
 takin' her up in the bus 1 ?" said he. "'Twon't be 
 the first time she 's rid in it. I kin drive slow, so 's 
 she won't be nervous."
 
 102 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 Jean smiled at him in friendly fashion. 
 
 "That will be nice, Amos," she said. "I 'm sure 
 you '11 take good care of me. Shall we start right 
 away? I see you 've no other passengers." She 
 stood talking to the station-master, while Amos 
 hobbled off to bring up the ancient relic that for 
 twenty years had done duty as a stage. She was a 
 tall girl, with a trim, slender figure that was set off to 
 advantage by the severe lines of her tailored suit. 
 From under the brim of her close-fitting hat, tendrils 
 of bright hair escaped, to curl alluringly over her 
 small ears, and ripple into rebellious waves across 
 her forehead. She carried herself well; there was 
 an alert grace about every move and gesture. 
 
 "I '11 send them trunks up the first thing in the 
 morning, sure," the agent promised, hoisting Jean's 
 suitcase up beside the driver's seat on the stage. 
 "Mebbe to-night, if I can get some o' them lazy 
 slouches on the job. They 're all so het up over 
 Norah Foster that it ain't likely they '11 show up, 
 though." 
 
 Milliken climbed rheumatically down from his 
 perch on the narrow front seat, and he and the sta- 
 tion-master gallantly assisted Jean into the vehicle, 
 one on each side of her. Then the aged driver 
 climbed back, flourished his whip, shouted wheezily 
 at the horses, and the start was made. 
 
 The macadam of Bridge Street was being re-
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 103 
 
 paired, and Milliken, in deference to the comfort of 
 his passenger, took the longer route across the upper 
 bridge. On the way he regaled Jean with a gar- 
 rulously circumstantial account of the Foster murder, 
 interrupting himself at frequent intervals to yell at 
 his team, which paid not the slightest attention to 
 him, but pursued their placid way at their customary 
 jog-trot. Ten minutes brought them to Hill Street. 
 They slowed down to a walk, and plodded up the 
 steep incline to Summit Street. 
 
 The old Randolph place on the corner was just as 
 Jean remembered it. Nothing had been changed. 
 Even the grass on the front lawn was a little over- 
 long. The Judge had liked and kept it that way. 
 Almost the girl expected to see him, bareheaded, 
 shirt-sleeved, pottering about in the old-fashioned 
 garden where he had successfully grown everything 
 from turnips to Jacqueminot roses. Some of the 
 roses were in bloom now, great splashes of crimson, 
 gorgeous among the rich green of the leaves. Most 
 of the windows were open, but Dick was nowhere to 
 be seen, although Jean peered eagerly about in the 
 hope of a glimpse of him. Indeed, the street, like 
 all the other streets through which the stage had 
 passed, seemed to be deserted. A beagle hound, 
 asleep in a sunny corner by some stone steps, was the 
 only living creature within view. 
 
 The first sight of the big white house on the cor-
 
 104 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 ncr of Mountain Avenue sent a queer, tingling thrill 
 over Jean. Home! 
 
 Amos drew up close to the curb. She paid him, 
 thanked him, and, declining his offer of assistance, 
 picked up her bag and walked slowly up the well- 
 swept walk, drinking in, with eyes that were a little 
 misty, every detail of the familiar scene that she had 
 so often reconstructed in memory. The garage was 
 new; it had not been built when she went away. 
 But there was the squatty little tool house, where 
 Ezra kept his precious garden implements under 
 rigorous lock and key; there was the old well, 
 picturesque as ever in its green moss velvet; there 
 was the inevitable bed of geraniums, a seven-pointed 
 salmon star; there was the summer-house, its roof 
 just visible beyond the sweep of the grape arbor. 
 Home. And after four years' absence there seemed 
 to be no one to bid her welcome back to it. There 
 had been some mistake, of course, some misunder- 
 standing. Nevertheless, Jean was unable, for the 
 moment, to banish the feeling of almost childish 
 hurt and disappointment that had come to her when, 
 on leaving the train, she had seen that long, empty 
 stretch of platform. 
 
 The front door stood wide. The screen was not 
 hooked. Jean opened it and stepped quietly into 
 the cool half-light of the hall. From the library 
 came a subdued rustling sound, as of the pages of a
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 105 
 
 newspaper being turned over. An undulating spiral 
 of cigar smoke drifted through the doorway. Jean 
 tiptoed forward and drew aside the portieres. 
 
 "Well," she said, "does n't anybody want to see 
 me? Shall I go away again*?" 
 
 "Jean!" Miss Nestor's sewing-basket fell to the 
 floor; spools and buttons rolled in all directions un- 
 heeded. Ainsworth dropped his paper and hurried 
 to the door. There was a flurry of excited greetings, 
 exclamations, kisses. Finally, Jean disengaged her- 
 self gently from her aunt's embrace, and slipped one 
 arm about the little lady's shoulders, the while re- 
 taining her warm clasp of her father's hand. 
 
 Looking up at her adoringly through wet lashes, 
 Miss Nestor thought how closely she resembled her 
 mother. There was the same proud poise of the 
 head, the same gracious line of the mouth and chin, 
 at once firm and tender. But there was this very 
 decided difference: Alice Ainsworth's eyes had been 
 quiet, heavy-lidded, patient; her daughter's were 
 quick, restless, sparkling with laughter one instant, 
 introspectively grave the next. They were what 
 Alice Ainsworth herself had called "seeking eyes." 
 Just now, they were brimming with gladness, yet 
 a shadow of wistfulness troubled their depths. She 
 said: 
 
 "I don't believe you 're a bit glad to see me, 
 any of you! I got off the train expecting to be
 
 106 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 welcomed with open arms, and there was n't a soul 
 in sight except Amos Milliken. I was so glad to see 
 a familiar face that I almost hugged him. I did, I 
 assure you, Father. Where 's Tommy?" 
 
 "Why, he went down to meet you," said Ains- 
 worth. "I should have gone myself, but he made 
 a point of driving you back in the new roadster. 
 I don't understand his not being there; he's been 
 gone some time." 
 
 "Probably he counted on the train being late," 
 Jean suggested. "But for the first time in the his- 
 tory of the road it arrived on the minute." 
 
 Her father smiled. 
 
 "Well, I tell you, Jean, things are improving 
 here! Even the railroad realizes our growing im- 
 portance and shows us consideration. The trains 
 are not nearly as late as they used to be. I 'm glad 
 yours was on time to-day; it's an irksome trip at 
 best." 
 
 "Come and sit down, dear," Miss Nestor urged 
 anxiously. "You must be very tired. Here, take 
 this chair, and I'll get you a cup of tea." 
 
 But Jean protested that she was not in the least 
 tired, and she had had tea on the train. She was 
 in high spirits; she talked rapidly, animatedly, 
 bubbling over with happy excitement. Her ad- 
 miring comments on the hospital she had 
 caught a glimpse of it from the train window
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 107 
 
 brought a glow of gratification to Ainsworth's face. 
 
 "I 'm very glad you 're pleased with the location, 
 Jean," he said. "And I think you will approve of 
 the interior arrangements, too. Naturally, the 
 building is pretty bare now ; there 's very little in 
 it, because I knew you would prefer to supervise the 
 equipment in person." 
 
 Jean nodded. 
 
 "It will be perfectly wonderful, Father. I 've 
 a headful of ideas that I 'm dying to try out; but 
 I shall want lots of advice and help." 
 
 "Doctor Evans is holding himself in readiness to 
 consult with you," Ainsworth said. "A very 
 worthy man, Evans. Of course, he has his limita- 
 tions, but within them he 's quite competent. I 've 
 told him you would let him know when you felt 
 sufficiently rested to begin the work." 
 
 "I feel sufficiently rested right now!" declared 
 Jean gaily. "And I '11 be awfully glad to work 
 with Doctor Evans. I like him immensely. I 
 thought I saw him just as I was leaving the station, 
 driving like a lunatic across the bridge, but the car 
 was so far off I could n't be sure. I thought per- 
 haps there might have been an accident downtown. 
 The bus came around through the upper road, but 
 it looked to me as though there were a big crowd in 
 the Square, and there was a lot of noise." 
 
 "Probably something to do with the Foster mur-
 
 io8 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 der, I should say. A particularly brutal crime was 
 committed yesterday, and the criminal is still at 
 large." 
 
 Jean's bright face clouded. 
 
 "I know," she said. "Amos was talking about it 
 on the way over. Poor Norah ! She never harmed 
 any one or anything in all her life. And Matt 
 Foster what on earth will he do, Father? He 's 
 always been such a useless, futile sort of man; he 
 depended on Norah for everything." 
 
 Miss Nester shuddered. 
 
 "It 's dreadful ! That such a thing could happen 
 in a civilized community! Every time I think of 
 that wretch, my blood boils. The whole town is 
 up in arms, and Mr. Leighton has had posses search- 
 ing for him since yesterday afternoon. Tommy was 
 with one of them." 
 
 "Oh!" Jean exclaimed. "Of course! That's 
 why Dick wasn't at the station to meet me! He 
 wrote me he 'd surely be there." 
 
 "Mr. Leighton wrote you he 'd meet you at the 
 station*?" Ains worth ignored Miss Nestor's warn- 
 ing glance. "Mr. Leighton?" 
 
 "Yes. He" 
 
 The front door was suddenly flung open, and 
 Tommy, hatless and out of breath, rushed into the 
 room. 
 
 "They've caught Blake!" he shouted. And
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 109 
 
 then, catching sight of his sister, he gave a loud, 
 joyous whoop. "Jean! oh, Jean!" There was 
 no doubt of the sincerity of his welcome. 
 
 Laughing, disheveled, she emerged from his bear- 
 like hug and held him at arm's length. 
 
 "You bad boy! What do you mean by not 
 meeting me? I had to come up all alone, like a 
 poor relation." 
 
 Tommy grinned sheepishly. 
 
 "Well, I started, all right," he defended himself. 
 "Honest, I did. I had all kinds of time. I was 
 going to make a big splash with the new roadster 
 and drive you up in style. But when I went 
 through the Square, Leighton's posse was just bring- 
 ing in Blake, and I stopped for a minute. But 
 only for a minute, Sis. Just as soon as I could get 
 clear of the crowd, I beat it for the station, but the 
 blamed train was on time, and you 'd gone. I 'm 
 no end sorry." 
 
 "Never mind ; it does n't matter a bit, not a single 
 bit. Oh, I 'm so glad to see you !" She hugged 
 him again, ecstatically. "And you 've really grown 
 up ! Tommy why, Tommy, you 're getting to be 
 a great big man!" She whirled him around in a 
 gay little dance, almost colliding with the maid, 
 Kitty, who had come to the door, and, after several 
 abortive attempts, had finally succeeded in attract- 
 ing the attention of the Congressman.
 
 110 
 
 "Mr. McAllister 4 ? Why, yes; of course. Tell 
 him to come in, Kitty." 
 
 "Ah! The great and only McAllister!" scoffed 
 Jean, softly. "Is he as big a fraud as ever, Aunt 
 Mary?' 
 
 "Worse, my dear!" 
 
 "And then some!" nodded Tommy. "When he 
 talks to a woman, you 'd think she had Helen of 
 Troy backed clean off the boards." 
 
 McAllister was a tall, heavily built man, gray of 
 hair, ruddy of complexion. He had a ready smile, 
 and his manners were elaborate. It was generally 
 admitted that he "had a way with the ladies." His 
 stock of compliments, carefully sorted and classified 
 to suit the generation and individual, had a strong 
 mid-Victorian flavor; but they were none the less 
 highly prized and coquettishly angled for by more 
 than one hopeful spinster, who thought it a sin and 
 a shame that such a fine figure of a man should be 
 alone in the world, and who cast secretly covetous 
 glances at the neat brick house a few blocks from 
 "The Register" office. 
 
 But to Samuel McAllister the shrines of love were 
 many. He worshiped at them all, floridly, openly, 
 yet with a wary discretion. Entirely satisfied with 
 his unregenerate bachelorhood, he had no mind to 
 exchange it for the doubtful blessings of matrimony. 
 Had he possessed a wife, he would undoubtedly
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE ill 
 
 have beaten her: he was a firm believer in the doc- 
 trine of the woman, the dog, and the walnut-tree. 
 As far as he was concerned, there was no God but 
 David Ainsworth, and Samuel McAllister was his 
 prophet which is to say that he recognized Ains- 
 worth's vast superiority of brain, and bowed to it 
 as he bowed to nothing else on the earth beneath, in 
 the heavens above, or in the waters under the earth. 
 He did what Ainsworth told him to do. Occasion- 
 ally, he offered an opinion or a suggestion; seldom 
 did he venture to criticize. He knew his own 
 power and prestige and that of his paper, but he was 
 shrewd enough to realize that he shone by reflected 
 light, rather than by any glory of his own. The 
 actual words that appeared in "The Register" edi- 
 torials were Samuel McAllister's; the spirit that 
 animated them was David Ainsworth's. 
 
 When he entered the library, McAllister's start 
 of pleasure at seeing Jean was not entirely feigned : 
 he had always considered her well worth looking 
 at. 
 
 "Well, well ! My dear Miss Ainsworth !" 
 "How do you do, Mr. McAllister?" 
 "Much better for seeing you!" He hurried for- 
 ward to take the hand she extended and bowed over 
 it effusively. "'How splendid you are looking, 
 is she not?" turning to the others for confirmation. 
 "Upon my word, what is the matter with the men
 
 112 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 in New York that they let you get away 1 ? Are 
 they all blind?" 
 
 Jean smiled. 
 
 "No wonder you 're a successful politician they 
 tell me you are, Mr. McAllister if you have such 
 pretty speeches on tap all the time !" 
 
 "If my success depended on that, Miss Ains- 
 worth," he stood a little away from her and lifted 
 one hand to his heart "if it depended on that, 
 alone, and I could have you for my inspiration, I 
 should be President !" 
 
 "Oh, you 're incorrigible !" 
 
 He turned to Miss Nestor. It was not his way 
 to neglect any one. 
 
 "Ah, my dear Miss Nestor!" he said blandly. 
 "How well you are looking to-day. I saw you in 
 the garden this morning as I was passing the house, 
 and I said to myself that no wonder the flowers 
 flourished. Roses would grow in a desert for your 
 smile!" 
 
 Miss Nestor blushed. 
 
 "Here, here !" she exclaimed, trying to cover her 
 confusion. "You 're not talking to Jean, Mr. 
 McAllister." 
 
 "I might almost fancy that I were," he said. 
 "You are as much alike as two of your own blos- 
 soms. One is the bud, the other the rose in full 
 bloom."
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 113 
 
 "Oh, gee!" Tommy threw back his head and 
 whistled at the ceiling. "This is sure some flowery 
 conversation, what*?" 
 
 "If that was meant for a joke, Tommy," Jean said 
 severely, "you ought to have provided it with a la- 
 bel." 
 
 "It's not a joke; it's an outrage," Ainsworth 
 declared, and joined in the laughter that followed 
 his own little pleasantry. He was in his most 
 cordial humor. Jean had come home. True, the 
 manner of her coming was far from his preconceived 
 idea: he had considered at some length the way in 
 which he would receive her, when, the glamour of 
 her romantic enthusiasm dulled by contact with 
 sordid realities, conscience-stricken at having acted 
 in defiance to his expressed wishes, she should return, 
 humbled and chastened, to his roof; and he had 
 been chagrined that at no time during her protracted 
 absence had she displayed the slightest indication 
 that she was either penitent or self-reproachful. 
 On the contrary, she had appeared to consider her 
 position and behavior entirely reasonable; she had 
 neither sought for pardon nor admitted, even 
 tacitly, that she had erred. 
 
 The suggestion that she return to Randolph as 
 superintendent of the new hospital had not been 
 made by her ; she had even hesitated about accepting 
 the appointment. Still, she had accepted it; and
 
 114 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 her father had convinced himself that her consent 
 constituted a victory for him. 
 
 As she had capitulated, then, he was disposed 
 to be affable. He deferred to Miss Nestor, and 
 paid Jean a very neatly turned compliment, to the 
 surprised perturbation of McAllister, who, con- 
 fronted by an unexpected rival in his own particu- 
 lar field, was spurred to fresh flights of metaphor. 
 
 Jean was amused and touched by her father's 
 unwonted unbending. She did not entirely follow 
 his psychological processes, but she surmised, and 
 rightly, that his pleasure in her home-coming was 
 sincere. Was it possible, she asked herself, that 
 she had underestimated his affection for her? Had 
 much of his seeming hardness come from a lack 
 of understanding, not so much on his part as on 
 her own*? Here was food {pr thought, indeed! 
 
 She looked at him with new eyes, instinctively 
 preparing to adjust herself to this new angle, men- 
 tally picturing the different and delightful relation- 
 ship that would be theirs in the future, a relationship 
 devoid of antagonism and based on mutual respect 
 and toleration.
 
 MUSING thus, but half hearing the ornate 
 peroration in which McAllister was indulg- 
 ing, Jean's attention was caught by Kitty's voice at 
 the door, announcing: "Mr. Leighton is here to see 
 you, Mr. Ainsworth." 
 
 Instantly the Congressman's manner changed. 
 His smile vanished, and his affability with it. 
 
 "Tell Mr. Leighton I can't see him, Kitty; I 'm 
 engaged," he said. 
 
 "But, Father, it 's Dick!" Jean exclaimed. She 
 half rose from her chair. Taken by surprise, her 
 hasty inference was that her father had failed to 
 grasp the identity of his caller. "It-'s Dick Leigh- 
 ton, Father !" she repeated, and Kitty added respect- 
 fully: "He said he wanted to speak to you most 
 particular, Mr. Ainsworth, but I was to tell you it 
 would n't take only a* minute." 
 
 Ainsworth hesitated, frowning. He glanced at 
 McAllister, but that gentleman was intent on the 
 view from the side window. The Congressman 
 made a gesture of impatience. 
 
 "Very well, Kitty. Show him in." 
 
 115
 
 n6 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 Tommy, his hands in his pockets, strolled over 
 to the side of McAllister. 
 
 "I '11 say he 's got his nerve with him !" he re- 
 marked in an undertone. "What do you suppose 
 he wants Father for"?" He half turned about, a 
 look of insolent curiosity on his face, as Dick Leigh- 
 ton, the mud scarcely dried on his riding-boots and 
 breeches, and followed by his deputy, Murray, 
 appeared in the doorway. He had hardly crossed 
 the threshold when Jean went swiftly forward to 
 meet him, both hands outstretched. At the sight 
 of her, the tense gravity of his face was illumined 
 by a smile of eager gladness. 
 
 "Jean!" In the name on his lips, there was 
 reverence and homage and adoration, and a sort of 
 keen yearning that swept them into a swimming 
 little world peopled with their two selves, bounded 
 and horizoned by that which welled up in their 
 hearts. So, for a momenj:, they stood there, with 
 hands and eyes that clung; oblivious to angry and 
 anxious glances alike, unconscious of the smoldering 
 antagonism' that needed but a breath to send it 
 crackling into open hostility. Neither spoke. 
 They had no need for words. But the message 
 that their eyes conveyed, each to the other, was plain 
 for all in the room to read. 
 
 Dick was the first to recover himself, to realize
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 117 
 
 that they were not alone. He released Jean's 
 hands and stepped back a pace, with a courteous 
 bow that included every one present. Miss Nestor's 
 pleasant if rather embarrassed greeting was in 
 marked contrast to the Congressman's icily formal 
 "Mr. Leighton," and Tommy did not acknowledge 
 the salutation at all. He leaned against the win- 
 dow-casing and clicked his heel on the wainscot, 
 pursing his lips in an insolent whistle. Dick felt 
 the sharp hostility now, and stiffened himself to 
 meet it. Jean felt it and bewilderedly sought for 
 its meaning. 
 
 It was McAllister who broke the tension. 
 
 "Well, I hear you got him, Leighton," he said 
 briskly. "I was coming along just as you brought 
 him in, but I did n't stop for details. Where did 
 you find him*?" 
 
 "Out at the old sawmill, beyond Watkins's farm," 
 Dick answered. 
 
 "You don't say! He gave you a real chase, 
 didn't he 1 ? Did he make you any trouble?" 
 
 "A little. But after we discovered just where 
 he was hidden, it was a simple enough matter to 
 drive him out." 
 
 Murray rumbled out a great guffaw. 
 
 "Simple?" he ejaculated. "My aunt!" 
 
 "Was he armed?" Jean queried. Except for one
 
 ii8 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 quick, puzzled glance about, her eyes had not left 
 Dick's face since he entered the room. 
 
 "You bet he was." 
 
 Miss Nestor leaned forward, her nervousness 
 eclipsed by her curiosity. 
 
 "And did he shoot, Mr. Leighton'?" she asked, 
 with breathless interest. 
 
 "Yes. He got in two shots, but he did n't hit 
 anybody; and then he got hit, himself, and every- 
 thing was all right." 
 
 "Urn! Then it was," Murray grunted. "That 
 cuss had crawled down the old flume an' hid in the 
 wheel-pit. Dick had to crawl down after him, 
 right into his gun." He swung 'round and pointed 
 a long forefinger. "If you had n't 'a' got him when 
 you did, son, there " 
 
 "Noble Six Hundred !" murmured Tommy, with 
 disagreeable irony. 
 
 "That '11 do, Bill," Dick interposed, as Murray 
 would have continued. "Nobody wants to hear 
 about it." 
 
 "But we do, Dick !" Jean insisted. "What hap- 
 pened then?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing, nothing!" he told her almost 
 curtly. "We both fired, and I was lucky, that 's 
 all. Blake wasn't." 
 
 "Urn. No; he weren't," agreed Murray. 
 "Looks like a sieve."
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 119 
 
 "Is he badly hurt 1 ?" Jean asked, and Dick nodded. 
 
 "Yes, he is. And" turning to the Congress- 
 man "that is what I came to see you about, Mr. 
 Ainsworth." 
 
 "In what way, may I ask, does it concern me?" 
 Ainsworth's tone was studiedly impersonal. He 
 had remained standing; nor had he indicated that 
 his callers should sit. 
 
 "Why, simply that when we were bringing Blake 
 into town, he was seized with a hemorrhage, and 
 we were obliged to take him to the hospital." 
 
 A spark glowed behind the opacity of Ainsworth's 
 eyes. He said angrily: 
 
 "What? To the hospital? It is n't open." 
 
 "Doctor Evans had a key, and one of the rooms 
 was in sufficiently good shape to serve the purpose." 
 
 "What was the matter with the jail?" 
 
 "There was no time to take him there. We had 
 to rush him into the first place we could find. I 
 should have consulted you, but we were obliged to 
 act quickly." 
 
 "You had your nerve with you," struck in 
 Tommy. 
 
 Dick wheeled on him. 
 
 "I am explaining to your father that it was 
 necessary," he said sharply. 
 
 The Congressman darted a silencing look at his 
 son, before he said :
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 "It may have seemed so, Mr. Leighton, but could 
 you not have made temporary arrangements for him 
 elsewhere?" 
 
 "I could not, sir ! He had to have proper medi- 
 cal aid and attention at once, or he would have died 
 from loss of blood. The hospital was the logical, 
 indeed, the only place for him." 
 
 Jean had been listening in puzzled dismay. Her 
 father's chill formality and Tommy's open malevo- 
 lence were no less incomprehensible to her than 
 was this cryptic attitude in regard to the hospital. 
 What was such an institution for, if not to receive 
 the sick and suffering*? To be sure, Cass Blake was 
 a criminal, but common humanity demanded that 
 every effort be made to save his life. And her 
 father both spoke and acted as if Dick had done 
 something reprehensible ! Of course, he really im- 
 plied nothing of the sort, but almost any one might 
 believe that he did. So anxious was she that Dick 
 Leighton should draw no such mistaken inference 
 that she stepped forward, saying with impulsive 
 cordiality : 
 
 "Why, of course, Dick ! Father does n't mean 
 that what you did was n't perfectly all right." 
 
 "I dare say you meant well, Mr. Leighton," the 
 Congressman went on, "but I think you acted 
 hastily." 
 
 "Prompt action was necessary if the man's life
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 121 
 
 were to be saved," retorted Dick. "I acted accord- 
 ing to my best judgment." His head went -up a 
 little, as he added firmly: "I regret that you feel 
 as you do, Mr. Ainsworth, but I was entirely within 
 the rights of my office. I merely stopped out of 
 courtesy, to acquaint you with what I had done." 
 For a moment his level eyes held the Congressman's, 
 coldly antagonistic. Then, with a slight inclina- 
 tion of his head, he turned to Jean. "I hope to 
 have the pleasure of seeing you soon, Jean," he 
 said. 
 
 "Of course, Dick! This evening 1 ?" 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "I 'm sorry, but I '11 have to be at the hospital. 
 Murray is going up to relieve the guard now, and 
 I shall relieve him as soon as I 've had my supper. 
 I '11 have to be there all night. May I telephone 
 you to-morrow 4 ?" 
 
 "Do !" She gave him her hand and he pressed it 
 warmly. Then, with a bow that included all in 
 the room, he turned to the door. 
 
 "Observe his modest bearing!" Tommy sneered. 
 He made no effort to lower his voice; it was dis- 
 tinctly audible to Dick, who turned a half-amused, 
 half-cynical glance over his shoulder at the glower- 
 ing youth. He was not in the least disturbed by 
 Tommy's churlishness, understanding as he did, and 
 to a certain extent sympathizing with, the spirit of
 
 122 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 fierce partizanship that lay at the root of the boy's 
 behavior. 
 
 But Jean had no such insight. She only knew 
 that her brother had acted in a manner which, to 
 say the least of it, was flagrantly discourteous. 
 The blood flamed in her cheeks, as she said clearly : 
 
 "I hope you '11 overlook my brother's lack of 
 breeding, Dick!" 
 
 Dick smiled at her, nodded, and was gone. The 
 door had hardly closed behind him and the deputy, 
 when Tommy rounded on Jean. 
 
 "You don't have to apologize for me, you know !" 
 he snapped. 
 
 "The occasion seemed to require an apology from 
 some one, and as no one else seemed inclined to 
 make it" her eyes, bright and a little strained, 
 flashed at Ainsworth "I did. What is the matter? 
 What does it all mean?" 
 
 "All what?" 
 
 "Why, to express it mildly, Dick was treated 
 with extreme discourtesy !" 
 
 "Well, what of it?" demanded Tommy, rudely. 
 "He 's nothing but a cheap, pettifogging lawyer 
 who 's wormed his way into politics, and " 
 
 "Never mind that now, Tommy," his father in- 
 terposed. "It is sufficient for Jean to know that 
 Leigh ton is not a desirable acquaintance." 
 
 "Why, Father!" The girl's eyes widened in
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 123 
 
 amazement. She could hardly believe that she had 
 heard aright. 
 
 "And I must request you to show him plainly that 
 you do not care to associate with him." 
 
 For a moment Jean did not speak. Surprised, 
 shocked, her first impulse was to spring to Dick's 
 defense, to insist on an immediate explanation of 
 an attitude that both amazed and bewildered her. 
 What was it all about? What was back of all this 
 unexpected and bitter antagonism"? She said: 
 
 "I can't accept generalities of that sort, Father. 
 Until I know " She checked herself, and finished 
 quietly: "But this is hardly the time to go into it, 
 I think." 
 
 But for McAllister, she would have gone into it 
 thoroughly, then and there; his presence definitely 
 forbade the opening of a debate that, if it conformed 
 to precedent, would lead to acrimonious dispute. 
 And she had thought that chapter closed ! She was 
 beset with a curious impulse to laugh, not at her 
 father, but at herself for her eager optimism in 
 believing that in her absence the leopard had 
 changed his spots. The brief vision that had been 
 full of such alluring promise, faded. She saw her- 
 self confronted with a renewal of the old struggle. 
 
 Was it for this that she had abandoned her work 
 in the city, where, as she knew she could admit 
 without egotism, she was of real use, where her
 
 124 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 efforts met with every encouragement, where she 
 was an individual, with an individual's right to 
 think and decide for herself? for this cold, de- 
 pressing atmosphere of arbitrary authority? The 
 prospect left her suddenly weary and dispirited. 
 
 "Had n't we better run away, Jean, dear*?" Her 
 aunt's hand touched her arm tenderly. "These men 
 want to talk business." 
 
 "Why, yes, Aunt Mary." The girl forced a 
 smile. "I I 'm tired, and I think I 'd like a cup 
 of tea."
 
 XI 
 
 WITH the departure of the ladies, McAllister's 
 mask of easy unconcern fell. He twitched 
 a chair up to the end of the table and sat down 
 heavily. 
 
 "Well," he said, "it 's more than a rumor, Mr. 
 Ainsworth. We 're not going to have any Sunday- 
 school picnic this year. When you sent for me the 
 other morning, I thought you were a little over 
 anxious; but confound it! it looks like a serious 
 matter! If Leighton gets much stronger, we're 
 going to have our hands full to beat him." 
 
 "We Ve underestimated him all along," said 
 Ainsworth. "I never had any feeling against him; 
 in fact, I did n't object to his being elected sheriff. 
 I thought that possibly he might be useful to us, and 
 I regarded him as at least trustworthy, until this 
 matter came up. The audacity of him ! trying to 
 oust me from my own ticket !" 
 
 "He 's got gall enough for anything," Tommy 
 said acidly. 
 
 McAllister shrugged. 
 
 "Well, he wants to be Congressman, not an also- 
 ran. He knows as well as we do that there 's just 
 
 125
 
 126 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 one party in this district, and his name on our 
 ticket elects him. And, I tell you frankly, Mr. 
 Ainsworth, I don't like the outlook. Leighton's 
 vote for sheriff was practically unanimous, and he 's 
 made good all along the line. He 's kept order 
 downtown, and the funny part of it is, the rough- 
 necks seem to like him for it. He 's stronger down 
 there than anywhere else. The Hill is pretty evenly 
 divided, from what I can make out. They 'd all 
 pick him for sheriff again, but that 's your Congress 
 bailiwick.'* 
 
 "It ought to be solid for us," said Tommy. 
 
 "Well, it 's got to be. If we could be sure of 
 it, we need n't worry so much ; but he '11 cut into 
 the vote, take it from me." 
 
 "He 's a strong man, McAllister," Ainsworth 
 said seriously; "a very strongman indeed." 
 
 "You 'd think so if you'd heard the crowd yell- 
 ing for him down in the Square to-day," Tommy 
 threw in. 
 
 McAllister nodded. 
 
 "I did. Everybody was wild over him. They 
 wanted to pull him off his horse and ride him 
 around on their shoulders; they 'd have done it too, 
 if he 'd let them. Shouting and cheering and howl- 
 ing like a tribe of Comanche Indians. This 
 damned Blake affair could n't have come at a worse 
 time for us."
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 127 
 
 Tommy flung himself back in his chair and gave 
 vent to a snort of disgust. 
 
 "Wouldn't it make you sick and tired? Just 
 gives Leighton a chance to pull off a grand-stand 
 stunt ! That play of his, going down the flume and 
 snaking Blake out desperate villian, armed to the 
 teeth, brave and handsome young hero, valiantly 
 facing death from the desperado's revolver oh, 
 great movie stuff! Just the kind of thing that'll 
 make a lot of idiots think he 's the only thing that 
 ever happened!" He snorted again, and dug down 
 into his pocket for his cigarettes. 
 
 "And just at the time when the whole affair would 
 ordinarily be forgotten," said the Congressman, "the 
 trial will come up, and bring everything freshly to 
 the public mind again" he paused, and finished 
 with stressful emphasis "just before the pri- 
 maries." 
 
 "I had n't thought of that," muttered McAllister, 
 blankly. He knew that he should have thought of 
 it, along with other disquieting matters to which 
 Ainsworth had called his attention and which he 
 had neglected on the comfortable hypothesis that 
 Tommy had discovered a mare's nest, in the exist- 
 ence of which he had induced the Congressman to 
 believe. McAllister had very little confidence in 
 Tommy. He knew that the boy was an idler, and 
 he had suspected him of deliberately dramatizing
 
 128 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 the situation, merely for the sake of enhancing his 
 own value as a henchman. 
 
 McAllister himself had been troubled by no mis- 
 givings. To him the nomination and subsequent 
 election of David Ainsworth as Congressional rep- 
 resentative had become a mere matter of form, 
 a routine which must of necessity be gone through 
 once every two years. It was part of the estab- 
 lished order of things, originally instituted by 
 Judge Gordon Randolph; no one had ever inter- 
 fered with it, and it was ridiculous to suppose that 
 any one ever would interfere, or even think of such 
 a thing. 
 
 Only because Ainsworth had given him what 
 amounted to a direct order, and with no remotest 
 idea that there was any foundation whatsoever for 
 it, had McAllister leisurely started out to investi- 
 gate the rumor that an attempt would be made to 
 substitute the name of Richard Leighton for that of 
 the regular Congressional nominee. 
 
 What he learned in a very short space of time 
 electrified and startled him. So far from being an 
 easy-running, well-oiled machine, their organization 
 stood in need of quick and intelligent attention. 
 Some one had been putting sand in the gears. Some 
 one, too, had been sowing the seeds of discontent in 
 soil paradoxically made fertile by years of neglect. 
 Promises unfulfilled, pledges ignored or else for-
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 129 
 
 gotten words, words, words, when Randolph 
 wanted and demanded deeds I 
 
 And the dissatisfaction was not confined to the 
 section south of Squatter Creek, where, of course, 
 nobody was ever satisfied with anything; it had 
 spread to the Hill. Squire Moore, whose opinions 
 carried considerable weight, made no bones about 
 saying that he, for one, was convinced that young 
 Leighton was the sort of representative who would 
 be a credit to the community that sent him to 
 Congress. 
 
 "Gordon Randolph believed in him and loved 
 him like a son," the old Squire had argued to 
 McAllister; "and Gordon Randolph never made a 
 mistake in a man but once when he backed Dave 
 Ainsworth. That was mostly on account of Alice 
 Nestor, too; Gordon set a lot of store by her. But 
 he took Dave's measure years ago, and it 's my belief 
 that he picked Dick Leighton to beat him, picked 
 and trained him just for that. You can tell Dave 
 I said so, if you like ; it 's all one to me. I 'm not 
 the only one who 's going to vote to suit himself 
 this fall, McAllister." 
 
 Which statement McAllister was constrained to 
 believe when he had pursued his investigation of 
 Tommy's mare's nest a little farther. Ainsworth 
 was a man of words ; Leighton was a man of action. 
 The district seemed to want action. The young
 
 130 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 sheriff's spectacular arrest of Blake, was, as Tommy 
 said, exactly the sort of thing best calculated to 
 build up his already strong position. 
 
 "It 's the very devil !" McAllister burst out 
 angrily. "The papers will be full of it: Leigh- 
 ton did this, and Leighton did that, and Leighton 
 did the other thing! He'll be all over the place! 
 There 's no use in our trying to fool ourselves ; 
 there 's nothing on earth we can say or do that will 
 turn people's attention away from the infernal 
 business. I 'd forgotten about the trial. Dog-gone 
 it!" He smashed his fist down on the table. 
 "Why did n't the boys string that fellow up when 
 they caught him?" 
 
 "For a Mexican bean they would have," said 
 Tommy. 
 
 "Pity they don't do it now, then! It would 
 save us a whole lot of trouble !" 
 
 "Yes; it would do more than that," Ainsworth 
 said slowly. "It would put Leighton permanently 
 out of politics." 
 
 "Whaddyemean put him out of politics?" 
 Tommy wanted to know. 
 
 "Simply that in every lynching there are people 
 for and against the sheriff, no matter what he does," 
 the Congressman replied. 
 
 Tommy turned in his chair and regarded his 
 father curiously; but after puzzling his brains for
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 131 
 
 a moment he shook his head and leaned back with 
 a shrug. 
 
 "Maybe I'm dull," he said, "but I don't see 
 what you 're driving at, Dad. What 's that got 
 to do with putting Leigh ton out of the running*?" 
 
 McAllister took it upon himself to explain: 
 
 "Well, suppose an attempt was made to string 
 Blake up, and succeeded. There 'd be a hue and 
 cry because the sheriff had failed to protect his 
 prisoner disgrace to the community, blot on the 
 fair name of the State, and so forth, ad libitum, ad 
 infinitum, ad nauseam. On the other hand, sup- 
 pose the attempt was n't successful." 
 
 "It would n't be," said Tommy, promptly. "Dick 
 Leighton may be a lot of unpleasant things, but 
 he 's no coward. He 'd nip any little play like that 
 right off the bat, believe me." 
 
 Ainsworth's eyebrows went up. 
 
 "You think so, Tommy'? Just how would he 
 do it?" 
 
 "Yes, how 4 ?" chimed in McAllister. "Defying 
 a mob works out beautifully in theory; but in prac- 
 tice there's just one way to stop a crowd of hood- 
 lums het up with whisky and excitement, and that 
 is to hurt some of 'em, and hurt 'em quick and bad. 
 At the next election the rest of 'em would express 
 their opinion of the man who did it. That 's what 
 your father means, my boy."
 
 132 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 iTommy nodded. 
 
 "I see," he said slowly. "It would be a divided 
 vote, anyway." 
 
 "And that," said Ainsworth, "is all we need. 
 If in any way the downtown vote could be split, we 
 are sure of enough support from the Hill to make 
 the issue absolutely certain. Or, if we could so- 
 lidify the Hill vote, the result would be a foregone 
 conclusion." 
 
 McAllister began to beat a staccato tattoo on the 
 table with his thumbs. 
 
 "If that crazy downtown bunch would only take 
 it into their heads to lynch Blake, it would be a 
 great bit of luck for us!" he said. "They'd go 
 after him for keeps, and the only way Leighton 
 could prevent it would be to shoot some of the very 
 crowd he 's strongest with. He 'd never do that. 
 He knows which side his bread is buttered on, I 
 guess ! He 'd make his roughneck friends a present 
 of Blake and throw a bluff of determined resistance 
 overcome by force of numbers, which would do him 
 a lot of good when we got after him !" 
 
 "There will be no attempt, of course," Ainsworth 
 added; "but if there were, we certainly should not 
 have to worry further about Mr. Leighton. And 
 we could make a powerful campaign slogan out of 
 the idea of fighting the man who would n't fight for 
 the honor of the State eh,. McAllister*?,"
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 133 
 
 "Bully!" the editor responded with enthusiasm. 
 "Corking! I'd condense it it could be done 
 and run it right across the top of the first page 
 of 'The Register.' Magnificent! Fighting the 
 man who would n't fight for the honor of the 
 State!" 
 
 "That's a grand little idea," Tommy conceded; 
 "but suppose he did fight. What then?" 
 
 "The man 's not a maniac !" McAllister retorted 
 impatiently. "I tell you, Tommy, Dick Leighton 's 
 nobody's fool. How do you suppose he 's got 
 where he is to-day? By using his head, that 's 
 how ! If he had n't had one, and a pretty shrewd 
 one, too, on his shoulders, do you think Gordon 
 Randolph would have nursed him along into a 
 partnership? Look at the things he 's done, and 
 then go back and figure out how he did 'em! 
 Friends? He 's got more friends right here in this 
 town than you or I, or even your father ! He makes 
 'em and he keeps 'em, because he knows they 're 
 the biggest asset he 's got. There 's hardly a man 
 downtown who does n't swear by him." 
 
 "That 's true," Tommy agreed. 
 
 "Well, do you think he 'd risk losing everything 
 he 's been working for, kick over the whole bucket 
 of milk, just for the skin of a dirty murderer? Not 
 much ! One bullet into that crowd, and he could n't 
 get the job of dog-catcher if they left him alive
 
 134 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 to try it !" He stopped for breath, glancing over at 
 Ainsworth, who nodded in approbation. 
 
 "I think, McAllister," the Congressman said, in 
 his cold, incisive voice, "that you have put it very 
 clearly. To resist is the one thing Leighton could 
 not, and would not, do. If he killed any one in 
 that crowd, the rest would make the town too hot 
 to hold him. On the other hand, if he did not 
 shoot, all right-thinking people would forever re- 
 pudiate him 'the man who would n't fight for the 
 honor of the State.' " 
 
 "Gee!" Tommy exclaimed enthusiastically. 
 "What a peach of a chance for us ! He 'd be be- 
 tween hell and the iron-works, would n't he ! And 
 I 'd like to see him squirm out!" 
 
 McAllister snapped his fingers impatiently. 
 
 "Well, let 's get down to business," he said. 
 "All this is very instructive, but it is n't getting us 
 anywhere. Blake 's locked uo under guard, and 
 the excitement downtown has all died away. No- 
 body 's going to stir it up again." 
 
 Ainsworth smiled slowly. 
 
 "There 's er considerable talk against Blake," 
 he remarked. 
 
 "Yes, talk," grunted McAllister. "And that's 
 all there ever will be. Nobody '11 do anything." 
 
 "A pity, is n't it*?" said Ainsworth, gently. "No 
 one to take the initiative."
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 135 
 
 "No*?" Tommy's quick glance went again to his 
 father. 
 
 But the Congressman was not looking at him. 
 The expressionless blue eyes were fixed on a beam of 
 sunlight that slanted through the western window 
 and lay like a narrow band of gold across the 
 polished mahogany of the table top. 
 
 "No; I 'm afraid not," David Ainsworth said, 
 still in the same gentle tone. He shook his head 
 regretfully. "And that Blake is a worthless wretch. 
 A trial would be nothing but a farce, anyway ; there 
 is no possible doubt of his guilt." He sighed. "It 
 is most unfortunate," he said. 
 
 Tommy pushed back his chair and got to his 
 feet. His eyes had not left his father's face. The 
 hand that held the lighted match to his cigarette 
 was trembling. He crossed the room and picked up 
 his hat from a chair by the door. 
 
 "If you don't need me for anything, I " he 
 gulped, swallowed, and finally managed, almost 
 naturally "I guess I '11 walk downtown and see 
 what 's going on." 
 
 Suddenly McAllister's jaw dropped; an ex- 
 pression of amazed incredulity swept over his face. 
 He slumped down in his chair. 
 
 "My God!" he muttered, half in fear, half in 
 sheer admiration. 
 
 With his hand on the door-knob, the boy turned.
 
 136 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 Ainsworth had risen. The eyes of the two, father 
 and son, met and held steadily for a moment. 
 Then the Congressman spoke, abruptly, decisively. 
 "Be careful, Tommy," he said.
 
 XII 
 
 DINNER was a rather silent meal. Miss Nestor 
 strove valiantly to keep the conversational ball 
 rolling, and Jean tried to do her part; but Ains- 
 worth had little to say, and when he did talk, it 
 was in a jerky, absent-minded manner that clearly 
 showed his preoccupation. Tommy did not put in 
 an appearance; but Ainsworth made no comment on 
 his defection and, as soon as the sweet was brought 
 in, excused himself and vanished into his study on 
 the second floor. 
 
 "Let 's have our coffee served in the library, shall 
 we*?" suggested Miss Nestor. "I've had the fire 
 laid there. The nights are still cool enough for it to 
 be agreeable." 
 
 Before the cheerful little blaze, the women talked 
 of a thousand and one commonplaces ; they had much 
 to tell each other after their long separation. But 
 Jean could not hold her attention to the almost 
 feverish chatter of the elder woman, who, knowing 
 the subject that was uppermost in her niece's mind, 
 tried in every possible way to steer clear of it. To 
 
 137
 
 138 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 the girl, however, it was too important to be long 
 avoided. She broached it abruptly. 
 
 "Aunt Mary," she said, "I want to know what is 
 the trouble between Father and Dick. They used 
 to be perfectly good friends. What has happened *?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Miss Nestor, honestly, re- 
 signing herself to the inevitable. "Of course there 's 
 something; I can see that. And it 's something 
 comparatively recent, because your father was pleas- 
 ant enough to him when we all met at the memorial 
 service for Judge Randolph. They shook hands, 
 and David told Mr. Leighton he wished him every 
 success, that he liked to see a young man forging 
 ahead. That was about six weeks ago, so it must 
 have been something that has happened since then." 
 
 "Do you know of anything that Dick has done? 
 Have you heard of anything, Aunt Mary*?" 
 
 Miss Nestor shook her head. 
 
 "Not a thing. He 's been getting on splendidly 
 with his law work. I dare say you know of that 
 big case he had against the railroad. Every one said 
 he had n't a chance, but he won it easily, and I un- 
 derstand he received a very large fee. Since then I 
 don't recall anything in particular ; at least, there 's 
 been no especial comment about any one case. But 
 both your father and Tommy seem to think Mr. 
 Leighton has done something dishonorable. They 
 disparage him whenever they speak of him, call him
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 139 
 
 a cheap shyster, and say he is n't a fit associate for 
 you." 
 
 "Did Father happen to be interested on the other 
 side of that railroad case Dick won*?" asked Jean, 
 with thin irony. 
 
 "Oh, no ! That was some time before the Judge 
 died. In fact, I believe David congratulated Mr. 
 Leighton on his clever speech to the jury. No, 
 Jean ; whatever it is, it 's something much more re- 
 cent than that. The first time I noticed that there 
 was anything wrong was yesterday afternoon. The 
 way David spoke surprised and troubled me very 
 much. I asked for an explanation, but" she made 
 an expressive gesture "well, you know your father, 
 Jean. He would tell me nothing." 
 
 "He will tell me," Jean said quietly. "I should 
 have had it out with him before dinner, if Mr. Mc- 
 Allister had n't been there. And with Tommy, too. 
 He behaved abominably. By the way, where is 
 Tommy*? Why didn't he come home to dinner?" 
 It was a perfectly natural question, asked in a per- 
 fectly natural way, but Miss Nestor sensed the hurt 
 that lay behind it. Jean loved Tommy; that the 
 boy should deliberately absent himself on the first 
 evening his sister was in the house both mortified and 
 distressed the little lady, who had been so anxious 
 that Jean's home-coming should prove everything to 
 be desired. She said hastily:
 
 HO WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 "Oh, Tommy is just like other boys and men, too, 
 for that matter. He thinks a house runs itself, and 
 does n't realize how much easier it makes things if 
 one knows how many to prepare for. He often 
 stays away for meals." 
 
 "But I don't often come home after being away 
 for nearly four years, Aunt Mary. One would 
 think he might have managed to be disengaged for 
 this one evening. And my father, too. Are his 
 affairs so pressing that he has to rush away from the 
 dinner-table and shut himself up in his study, with 
 hardly a word to me*?" 
 
 Miss Nestor looked on the verge of tears; her 
 lips quivered. 
 
 "Oh, please, don't mind me, Aunt Mary," Jean 
 exclaimed in quick contrition. "I 'm horrid. Only 
 I was a little hurt, I admit. It seems so unlike 
 Tommy. I thought both he and Father might have 
 been a little more cordial." 
 
 Miss Nestor nodded, blinking the tears from her 
 eyes. 
 
 "I I don't understand it, Jean," she confessed. 
 "There 's some mystery here." 
 
 "There is; and I mean to get to the bottom of it," 
 the girl said grimly. "But we can 't do it now, so 
 there 's no use talking about it. Let 's find a pleas- 
 anter topic. How is Squire Moore's wife*? I had 
 such a charming little note from her not long ago,
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 141 
 
 telling me that she was looking forward to my re- 
 turn, and asking me to come to see her, as she was n't 
 well enough to come to see me." 
 
 But their efforts to make conversation flow natu- 
 rally, were not very successful. Jean was perturbed 
 and uneasy; as the evening wore on, her restlessness 
 increased. She could not concentrate her mind on 
 Randolph's doings and sayings : her thoughts would 
 turn back to the unfortunate business of the after- 
 noon, to the inexplicable behavior of her father and 
 brother, not only toward Dick, with whom their 
 relations had hitherto been amicable enough, but to- 
 ward herself. She seemed unable to sit still. She 
 moved irresolutely about the room, picking up a 
 book here, an ornament there. Finally : 
 
 "Aunt Mary, would you mind very much if I went 
 for a little walk?" she asked. "I think perhaps the 
 exercise would make me sleep better." 
 
 "Why, of course not, child. Run along, if you 
 want to. I dare say the air will be good for you. 
 But remember you 've had a long trip to-day, and 
 don't tire yourself too much." 
 
 "Oh, I sha'n't be gone long," Jean promised. 
 She put on her hat, and slipped a long cape over the 
 plain white linen frock for which she had exchanged 
 her cloth traveling-suit. 
 
 It was warmer outdoors than in the house, but 
 there was a slight breeze, laden with the fragrance of
 
 142 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 spring blossoms, that swayed the boughs of the giant 
 elms, and stirred the heavy young foliage to a slur- 
 ring rustle. Jean lifted her face to it gratefully, as 
 she went along at a smooth, unhurried pace. It 
 seemed to rest her, to soothe her mind, beset by a 
 cloud of vague doubts and apprehensions. The 
 ominous portent, the dread of she knew not what, 
 allowed itself to be forced into the background. 
 Not banished altogether. It was there, hovering 
 like some baleful thing, and there it would remain 
 until all the mystery and uncertainty were cleared 
 up. 
 
 But to-night she would puzzle no more. She was 
 back in Randolph, in the town in which she had been 
 born. She loved every inch of it its crooked, in- 
 dependent streets, that seemed to have an individ- 
 uality each of its own; its uneven pavements she 
 remembered every depression and broken stone its 
 houses, its stores. There was a new blouse shop, 
 jaunty enough to light its narrow windows with 
 electric bulbs in tin reflectors. The dolorous In- 
 dian maiden in front of the tobacco and barber shop 
 had been replaced by a gaudy striped pole that re- 
 volved dizzily. 
 
 Jean's interested eyes took in the changes, great 
 and small. She saw a number of people she knew, 
 but she avoided speaking to them, a not too difficult 
 matter, since nearly every one down street seemed to
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 143 
 
 be attached to some group or other with an engross- 
 ing topic of conversation. The Greek's was crowded. 
 Jean crossed the avenue and turned off above the 
 market. She walked steadily, aimlessly, rounding 
 now this corner, now that, absorbed in her own 
 thoughts. 
 
 Minerva may have sprung, full-bodied, from the 
 brow of Jove, but a hospital does not similarly spring 
 full-fashioned from the brow of a hill. There are 
 architects to be consulted, plans to be conceived, 
 drawn up, and approved, bids to be advertised for 
 and contracts let a host of details, large and small, 
 that no incantations or wand-waving can settle in a 
 moment's time. All this and more before a single 
 shovelful of earth can be taken from the ground or a 
 single stone of the foundation laid. 
 
 And yet, to Jean, standing at the foot of the 
 gentle declivity known as Maple Hill, it seemed that 
 nothing short of wizardry could have brought into 
 being the long white building that rested on the top 
 of the slope like a splendid crown on the head of 
 some crouching giant. The full moon, just rising 
 over the distant tree-tops, thrust the mass out in 
 dark silhouette, tipping the roofs and chimneys with 
 cloudy silver. The thick Ionic columns, ranked a- 
 cross the front, stood tall and whitely nebulous, like 
 swathed ghosts in the uncertain, diffused radiance. 
 From an upper window a single spot of orange-red
 
 144 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 light glowed, intensifying the impression of some 
 huge Clyclopean monster brooding over the town. 
 
 For his eye was growing mellow, 
 Rich and ripe and red and yellow, 
 As was time, since old Ulysses made him bellow in the 
 
 dark! 
 Since Ulysses bunged his eye up with a pine-torch in 
 
 the dark! 
 
 The fragment of verse drifted vagrantly across 
 Jean's mind, and brought a little smile to her lips. 
 
 The hospital, so urgently needed, the gift of her 
 father's hand, outstretched in generous aid to the 
 town. He could give this way, magnificently, with 
 no thought of self, to Randolph; he was prodigal of 
 his money, of his time, expecting, asking no return 
 save the good of his fellow men. Surely, he could 
 not be hard, cold, autocratically domineering as he 
 seemed to be. And yet 
 
 Were they pines among the boulders 
 Or the hair upon his shoulders? . . . 
 
 With a rush, doubt, restlessness, aching uncer- 
 tainty were upon her again. 
 
 "I can't wait," she cried aloud to the shadowy 
 bulk above her. "I 've got to know." 
 
 Dick was up there, somewhere back of that bale- 
 ful red-and-yellow eye. She had not meant to come 
 to him to-night; unconsciously her steps had taken 
 her to the hospital. Perhaps the insistent desire 
 within her, the urge to solve this mystery had di-
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 145 
 
 rected them without her actual volition; but it did 
 not matter. She was here now. She would see Dick, 
 talk with him, ask him frankly the meaning of all 
 that perplexed and puzzled her. 
 
 The street was quite deserted; not a soul was in 
 sight. Below her the town lay, dark and still ; still 
 with a sort of uneasy silence that was, somehow, dis- 
 quieting. She felt strangely oppressed, a little ner- 
 vous. 
 
 She turned and walked quickly up the rough path 
 toward the porch, where between the columns gaped 
 the wide, empty doorway.
 
 XIII 
 
 IN the small white-walled room where Cass 
 Blake lay on a bed hastily carted over from the 
 jail, Doctor Evans had given the nurse minute direc- 
 tions as to what to do, and how and when to do it. 
 She said that she understood perfectly "Oh, yes, 
 indeed, Doctor Evans ; you 've made everything quite 
 plain" but the doctor's mind was not at ease. He 
 was frowning when he finally stepped out into the 
 big bare corridor where Bill Murray was on guard. 
 
 At the sound of the closing door the deputy 
 swung round on the low stool that was the sole 
 article of furniture visible. 
 
 "Well, Doc," he inquired, "has he croaked "?" 
 
 "Not yet," returned the doctor. The frown 
 disappeared, giving place to a pleasant smile, as 
 he added cheerfully: "Oh, I guess, barring acci- 
 dents, we '11 get him into shape." 
 
 "What's he doin' now?" Murray wanted to 
 know. 
 
 "He 's still unconscious." 
 
 "Urn." 
 
 "One shot went right through him; the other is 
 lodged somewhere in the left breast, but his heart 
 
 146
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 147 
 
 action is pretty weak, and I have n't dared probe 
 for the bullet. I '11 have to build him up a bit 
 first." 
 
 "Urn. I would," said Murray, darkly. "Say," 
 he demanded all at once, "what do you bother with 
 the skunk for, anyhow? Best thing to cure him 
 is the limb of a tree an' ten foot o' rope. Why 
 don't you leave him croak?" 
 
 Evans shook his head. 
 
 "The State will attend to that, Bill. It 's up to 
 me to get him well, if I can." 
 
 "Wish 't was up to me. / 'd build him up 
 high." 
 
 "I '11 bet you would," laughed the doctor. 
 "You're crazy about him, aren't you, Bill?" 
 
 "Urn!" grunted Murray. "Plumb. Goin' to 
 have a hard winter, Doc. Like to know he was 
 where he would n't suffer none from the cold." 
 
 "Well, you 're not the only one," the doctor told 
 him. 
 
 Nor was he. For once in its history there was 
 no division of public sentiment in Randolph. In 
 dining-room and drawing-room on the Hill, in 
 kitchen and saloon bar on the Flats, there was but 
 one topic and one opinion: the most severe penalty 
 of the law was too lenient a punishment for Cass 
 Blake. Family groups on comfortable screened 
 porches, neighbors in adjoining gardens, knots of
 
 148 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 mill-hands on street corners and in shop doorways, 
 discussed the crime and excoriated the criminal. 
 There had been other crimes in Randolph; there 
 had been none like this. In all the years of his 
 life there, the little doctor could not remember when 
 the town had been so shocked and outraged. 
 
 "There 's some one comin'," Murray said, lean- 
 ing forward to peer toward the stone stairway just 
 beyond the double doors. "Likely it 's Dick to 
 no, it ain't. It 's Miss Jean !" 
 
 "Miss Ainsworth!" The doctor's face lighted 
 up; he went quickly forward. "Well, this is a 
 pleasure ! I knew you were expected, but we 've 
 had so much excitement here to-day that I neglected 
 to inquire about your arrival." He beamed at her 
 over the rims of his round glasses. "Well, well! 
 And so you thought you 'd come right over and 
 see the new hospital ! Could n't wait to make sure 
 Randolph was as up to date as they are in the big 
 city, eh? Well, it is! We've got a mighty fine 
 building here; you can be just as proud of it as you 
 like." He had always liked Jean, "Alice's girl," 
 but he had never quite forgiven her mother for 
 accepting David Ainsworth when she might have 
 married Gordon Randolph. "Your father was 
 anxious to have you consulted before any equip- 
 ment was bought," he said. "He has promised us 
 the best of everything, and he wanted to have your
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 149 
 
 ideas carried out. In a short time Cresston will be 
 sending patients to Randolph, instead of the other 
 way round. Of course, there 's a lot to be done 
 before we can handle cases; this little matter to- 
 day is a trifle premature." 
 
 "Oh, yes; you mean Blake." Jean brought her 
 attention back to the doctor and what he was say- 
 ing; she concealed her disappointment at not finding 
 Dick. "He 's pretty badly hurt, is n't he, Doctor?" 
 
 "About as badly as a human can be and live. 
 It was touch and go for a little while, but I think 
 he '11 pull through now, with careful watching. 
 I Ve got a nurse on the job, and " He stopped, 
 as the door behind him opened noisily, and a young 
 woman in a stiffly starched white uniform stumbled 
 out. She was pale to the lips. 
 
 "I can't stand it, Doctor," she said, in a trem- 
 bling voice. "I I 'm going home." 
 
 "What*?" demanded Evans. "You're going 
 home? Miss Joyce " 
 
 "Oh, I know, Doctor. I said I'd stay, but I 
 did n't realize oh, it 's horrible ! horrible !" Her 
 chin was quivering; her fingers twisted in and out, 
 winding themselves in a corner of her apron. 
 
 "Here, here, this won't do, my dear," the doctor 
 said, advancing toward her in a businesslike manner. 
 "You 're a little hysterical, that 's all. You '11 be 
 all right in a few minutes. I '11 just give you "
 
 150 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 "I I'm not!" she interrupted vehemently. 
 "I 'm just just " She choked into a burst of 
 tears. 
 
 The doctor thrust his hands into his trousers' 
 pockets and scowled belligerently. 
 
 "But you can't leave the man without a nurse !" 
 he bristled. "What 's the matter with you, any- 
 way"? I know Blake isn't a pleasant object, but 
 he 's perfectly harmless. I '11 give you a little 
 sedative, and you '11 feel all right in no time." 
 
 "Of course she will," Jean added encouragingly. 
 Her training told her at once what was the matter; 
 it was not the first time she had seen a bad case of 
 "nerves" in an inexperienced nurse. "I 'm sure 
 Miss Joyce won't leave you in the lurch, Doctor 
 Evans; she'll stay." 
 
 "No, I won't! I I can't," sobbed the nurse, 
 hysterically. "I 'm going home." 
 
 "You '11 have to keep yourself better in hand, 
 Miss Joyce, if you 're ever going to be entitled to 
 that uniform you 're wearing," the doctor rebuked 
 her grimly. "You 've got to learn that there 's a 
 whole lot more to nursing than just looking pretty 
 and holding hands with a nice patient. Come now, 
 let's have no more nonsense about this!" Under 
 ordinary circumstances, he would not have argued 
 about her remaining; indeed, he would not have 
 waited for her to say she was leaving; he would
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 151 
 
 have packed her off at the first word. But there 
 was no one else to be had, and although annoyance 
 was fast giving way to exasperation he dared not 
 express himself as he wanted to. 
 
 There were at least half a dozen nurses in Ran- 
 dolph, properly trained and competent; but four of 
 them were unavailable, and, of the two whom he 
 had managed to reach, one was ill with tonsilitis 
 and unable to leave the house, and the other had 
 refused point-blank to take the case. He had 
 pleaded, argued, threatened ; in vain. 
 
 "I don't care if you never send for me again as 
 long as I live," she had told him over the telephone. 
 "Norah Foster was a friend of mine, and, ethics or 
 no ethics, I 'd starve in the streets before I 'd lift 
 a finger to help that filthy beast." Then she had 
 hung up the receiver ; and the little doctor, as a man 
 sympathizing with her, even while, as a physician, 
 he condemned her stand, had rung up somebody 
 else. 
 
 He had spent a full hour at the telephone before 
 he got into communication with Miss Joyce, who 
 had sent in -an application for a place on the nurs- 
 ing staff of the hospital when it should be opened. 
 She was not the nurse he would have selected; she 
 had had but little training, and her inexperience 
 showed in her over-confidence of her ability; but 
 the doctor had no choice.
 
 152 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 Jean stepped forward and laid her hand on the 
 weeping girl's arm. 
 
 "You know, my dear," she said kindly, "if you 
 want to be a trained nurse, you '11 have to forget 
 your personal prejudices. A patient, any patient 
 at all, must be 'a case/ as far as you are concerned; 
 you 've got to look at them all impersonally." Her 
 fingers closed gently over the arm she held. "Now, 
 won't you sit down, and try to remember only that 
 a life is in danger, and that you are there to save 
 it?" 
 
 "I won't ! I 'm not going into that room again !" 
 
 "But it is your work, Miss Joyce !" with a hint 
 of sternness. 
 
 "I don't care if it is!" gasped the nurse. She 
 wrenched her arm loose and backed away, dabbing 
 at her wet eyes with her handkerchief. "I don't 
 care if it is!" she repeated, looking from Jean to 
 the disgusted doctor and back. "It's yours too!" 
 she flared out excitedly. "You're a nurse; why 
 don't you stay with him*?" 
 
 There was a moment's pause before Jean said, 
 very quietly: 
 
 "Very well, Miss Joyce. If you '11 kindly let 
 me take that apron, I will." 
 
 "What*?" Evans exclaimed in amazement. 
 
 "Yes; certainly."
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 153 
 
 "But it 's not an agreeable task. Are you quite 
 sure you " 
 
 "It would n't be the first disagreeable thing I Ve 
 had to do, Doctor," Jean interrupted composedly, 
 "and it probably won't be the last. When I took 
 up my profession I understood that it was n't a 
 question of my preference, but of where I was 
 needed." 
 
 "There 's a sane, professional point of view for 
 you!" crowed the doctor, clapping his hands to- 
 gether. "Take my advice and think it over, Miss 
 Joyce!" 
 
 But if the young woman acted on the suggestion, 
 it was only during the time it took her to pull off 
 her apron and toss it on the floor. Then, without 
 a word, she marched out, her head in the air. 
 
 The doctor shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "Good riddance!" said he. "Think you'd like 
 to have her on the staff, Miss Ains worth?" 
 
 "I 'm afraid not, Doctor. She '11 never make a 
 reliable nurse. She 's too hysterical." 
 
 "Said she were n't hysterical," observed Murray, 
 picking up the discarded apron, to hand it to Jean. 
 "I once knowed a woman say she were n't curious." 
 
 "Just a moment," the doctor interposed, a little 
 anxiously, as Jean held out her hand for the apron. 
 "Don't you think you 'd better have a look at your
 
 154 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 patient before you definitely decide to stay, Miss 
 Ainsworth? I hate to practically force this case 
 upon you " He relaxed with a sigh of relief at 
 Jean's quietly reassuring smile. "A fine young 
 woman, Bill," he said in a low tone. "She takes 
 her work seriously. Maybe when she starts in here 
 she can hammer some common sense into these 
 dummies that call themselves nurses. I liked the 
 way she talked about her duty to her profession." 
 
 "Um," grunted the deputy. "Duty 's a fine 
 thing to a woman, when some one else has to do it. 
 Don't holler afore you're out of the woods, Doc; 
 she ain't seen him yet." 
 
 "That '11 make no difference," the doctor said 
 confidently. "If he were ten times as bad, she 'd 
 stick on the job. She 's a real nurse." 
 
 "Um. Too bad t'other one went." 
 
 "Too bad? What do you mean?" 
 
 Murray slowly shifted one leg over the other. 
 
 "She were n't no damn' good," he said. "She 'd 
 'a' cured him right."
 
 XIV 
 
 DOCTOR EVANS was not the only physician 
 in Randolph. There were two others 
 clever, progressive young men, careful and assiduous 
 in the care of their patients; but Mrs. Moore said 
 she would just as soon have a cat doctor her. 
 Though she was never the first by whom the new are 
 tried, she was, if not at the very end of the proces- 
 sion, at least among the last to lay the old on the 
 back of the shelf. For twenty years she had called 
 in Doctor Evans when she had one of her "spells" ; 
 she would have gone to her grave rather than permit 
 the Squire to summon somebody else. 
 
 Jean Ainsworth being installed as nurse to the 
 prisoner at the hospital, the doctor felt that with 
 a clear conscience he could leave her in charge while 
 he attended Mrs. Moore and another patient who 
 had sent for him. He went briskly off, promising 
 to return in half an hour, or an hour at most. 
 There being no telephone connection at the hospital, 
 he would, he said, ring up Miss Nestor from the 
 drug store, and explain the situation that had 
 arisen. 
 
 Jean removed her hat and wrap, donned the white 
 
 155
 
 156 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 apron discarded by Miss Joyce, and looked into 
 Blake's room to assure herself that he needed no 
 immediate attention. There was no change in his 
 condition; he still lay in a state of coma. There 
 was nothing to be done until he should regain con- 
 sciousness. The air was warm in the little room, 
 heavy with the odor of antiseptics. Jean went 
 back into the corridor, leaving the door partly 
 ajar so that the slightest sound would reach her. 
 
 Bill Murray, yawning over his pipe, glanced up 
 with a non-committal nod when she appeared. 
 
 "Surprise for Dick, findin' you here," he said. 
 "Ought to be along pretty quick now. Great feller, 
 Dick." 
 
 Jean was no less pleased at one bit of information 
 than at the other. Woman-like, she wanted every 
 one to think well of the man she loved; and there 
 had been real feeling in the deputy's comment. 
 
 "You like him, then?' she asked. 
 
 "Some !" Murray returned emphatically. "Don't 
 you?" 
 
 "Why, why yes, of course," she stammered, a 
 little confused by the blunt directness of the ques- 
 tion. 
 
 "Most of 'em do." 
 
 "Most what?" 
 
 "Most women." 
 
 "Oh !" she murmured blankly.
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 157 
 
 "But he ain't got no use for 'em. He 's all busi- 
 ness. Just tends to his knittin' and lets 'em play 
 by their lones. Is he" jerking his thumb over his 
 shoulder "built up any*?" 
 
 "Built up*?" Jean repeated, in mystification. 
 
 "I mean, is he cured yet 4 ?" 
 
 "He 's still unconscious." 
 
 "Urn. No luck." 
 
 * 
 
 "You were speaking of Dick," Jean reminded 
 him. 
 
 "Um. Dick. Ain't a smarter feller in town. 
 Got to get to the hen-roost mighty early to beat him 
 to it." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "Betcher ! He 's honest, but he ain't foolish. 
 An' if he sees anything he wants, he goes after it. 
 If it 's nailed down, he takes it anyhow, an' the 
 nail holes don't show. Great feller!" 
 
 The deputy was waxing eloquent. His admira- 
 tion for Dick Leighton was sincere and genuine; in 
 all Randolph, the young sheriff had no more stanch 
 supporter than Bill Murray, who never lost an 
 opportunity to sow a few seeds where in his opinion 
 they would do the most good. He had quickly 
 divined Jean's interest in Dick. He had long been 
 aware of Dick's own state of mind; and in praising 
 the young man, after his fashion, he conceived that 
 he was by way of assisting in a worthy cause. He
 
 158 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 went on enthusiastically, oblivious of the little 
 pucker that had appeared in Jean's forehead: 
 
 "O' course, some is suspicious of him; but that 's 
 because he knows a lot more 'n they do. 'Nough to 
 make a feller suspicious, that is. And smart! 
 Anybody that tries to knife Dick in the back wants 
 to look up his sleeve first. He believes in doin' 
 afore he 's done." 
 
 "You mean he fights the devil with fire?" 
 
 "Urn," nodded Murray. "Hot fire, too. Just 
 a leetle hotter 'n the other feller's ; not hot enough 
 to burn his fingers." 
 
 "I see," said Jean, slowly. She turned and 
 walked back into Blake's room. She did see, rather 
 too clearly. There iras something, then, there must 
 be something. A miserable sense of depression 
 came over her. 
 
 She heard quick footsteps on the stairs, and a 
 cheery : 
 
 "Hello, Bill! Where's the doc?" 
 
 "Gone out" in Murray's laconic tones. "Squire 
 Moore's wife got a mis'ry." 
 
 "You 're all alone?" ' 
 
 "Me an' the nurse. She 's in there, buildin' him 
 up. But he ain't cured yet." 
 
 Despite herself Jean smiled as she stepped out 
 into the corridor. 
 
 "Jean!" Dick exclaimed. "Well, for Heaven's
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 159 
 
 sake, what are you doing here? Surely you 're not 
 the nurse*?" 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 "Doctor Evans couldn't get any one else, so I 
 said I 'd help him out." 
 
 "Why, Jean, you oughtn't to have done that!" 
 
 "What I said!" contributed Murray, trium- 
 phantly. "Oughter kept t'other one." 
 
 "Why should you be mixed up with a case like 
 this?" Dick protested. "And after an all-day trip 
 why, Evans must be crazy to expect you to work ! 
 And this sort of thing " 
 
 She interrupted him. 
 
 "What do you suppose I 've been doing in New 
 York attending garden parties'? I 'm not tired, 
 and Doctor Evans didn't send for me, either. I 
 went out for a walk and came up here. The nurse 
 was just leaving, and I offered to take her place. 
 Now you know all about it." 
 
 "But what did they say at home?" he persisted. 
 
 "Nothing. They don't know it yet. Doctor 
 Evans is going to telephone the house so they won't 
 worry. Father was busy when I left, and Tommy 
 did n't get home for dinner. Aunt Mary and I 
 talked for a little while, but I wanted to get out 
 and see what the town looked like, and " 
 
 "And the hospital?" he asked, with twinkling 
 eyes.
 
 160 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 "Exactly. And here I am." 
 
 "Yes; here you are!" he echoed, smiling down at 
 her. 
 
 "So 'm I," remarked the deputy, dolefully. "An' 
 I ain't had no dinner nor supper, neither." 
 
 "Oh, that's a shame!" the girl exclaimed. 
 "Can't he go out and get something to eat, Dick*?" 
 
 "Why, of course he can. I came over to relieve 
 him. You go right along, Bill; and take your 
 time." 
 
 The deputy got up from the stool and edged 
 toward the door. 
 
 "Kinder hate -to leave you," he said with assumed 
 reluctance. "But I got to eat, I s'pose." He 
 looked from one to the other, slyly benign. 
 "You '11 see Dick ain't lonely, ma'am, won't you 4 ?" 
 he begged Jean. "An' take good care o' him in 
 there. Don't let nothin' happen to him. Whole 
 lot o' people 'd be awful upset if he was n't cured 
 proper the low-down cuss !" 
 
 "Is n't he a joy, Dick*?" Jean laughed, when he 
 had clattered down the stairs. "That funny way 
 he has of clipping his sentences. And no matter 
 what he says, he never smiles." 
 
 "He 's the finest fellow in the world," Dick said 
 warmly, "and one of the best friends I 've got. I 'd 
 bank on Bill Murray any time; and so would any 
 one who really knows him. The boys downtown
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 161 
 
 follow him like sheep ; and he 's a bad man in a 
 scrap. That 's why I swore him in as deputy : 
 when there 's any trouble I want him on my side. 
 But never mind about Bill now. I want to talk 
 about you. It seems ages since I saw you in New 
 York." 
 
 "Why, it was only a little over three months ago, 
 really a very short time," she said demurely. It 
 had not seemed a short time to her, but Jean, for 
 all her frankness and honesty, was very feminine 
 indeed. 
 
 "Only a little over three months!" he echoed. 
 "A quarter of a year, and more. Maybe you 'd 
 think it a long while if you 'd been in this town 
 all alone." 
 
 "Alone 1 ? But you weren't alone, Dick!" 
 
 "There was n't a soul in Randolph with you in 
 New York," he declared solemnly. "Jean, dear " 
 
 "It's really awfully good to be here!" she in- 
 terrupted hastily. "After all I know it sounds 
 trite, but it 's true there is no place like home, and 
 no folks like home folks." 
 
 "You 're right," he said, accepting the diversion 
 philosophically. "I 've always felt that way about 
 it. Most of the fellows in Randolph want to go 
 to the city just as soon as they grow up; but I 've 
 always thought that there were plenty of chances 
 right here. Of course, one has to hustle."
 
 162 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 "You seem to have hustled to some purpose," 
 Jean said. "That last letter Judge Randolph wrote 
 me, just a little while before he died, was full of 
 you and what you had done. Oh, he was so proud 
 of you, Dick! And every one speaks of how suc- 
 cessful you 've been." 
 
 Dick shrugged. 
 
 "Every one*? I 'm afraid there are some who 
 don't love me for my success, if you choose to dig- 
 nify it by that name." 
 
 Jean's face clouded again. She said seriously: 
 
 "I suspect that 's true, Dick, and it troubles me. 
 There there 's something I want to talk to you 
 about. You may think I 've chosen a strange time 
 our first talk together, and the beginning of 
 that but it worries me, Dick, and I want it cleared 
 up, at once." 
 
 "Why, my dear girl, anything that troubles you 
 must be cleared up and it shall be! Wait until 
 I get something to sit on, and then you shall tell 
 me what it is." He drew up Murray's stool for her, 
 and fetched an empty hardware box for himself. 
 "Now,then," he said, "fire away!" His smile was 
 so frank and open, the eyes that met hers squarely 
 were so clear and honest and candid, that her heart 
 smote her for allowing herself to entertain even the 
 smallest doubt of him.
 
 XV 
 
 IT was difficult to begin, harder even than she 
 had expected, to bring up against him what 
 amounted to a tacit accusation. But Jean Ains- 
 worth had inherited nothing of her father's subtlety 
 and diplomatic evasiveness. Straightforward, di- 
 rect, she struck without preamble, straight at the 
 root of the matter. 
 
 "I want you to tell me, Dick, why my father and 
 Tommy acted toward you as they did this after- 
 noon," she said. "I could n't ask them about it at 
 the time because Mr. McAllister was there and I 
 preferred not to discuss personal affairs before him. 
 There was very little said after you 'd gone, but it 
 was evident that both of them are under the im- 
 pression that some of the things you 've done are n't 
 just exactly well, honorable. Of course, I know 
 they 're wrong, but how did they get the idea?" 
 
 "They don't like me," returned Dick, promptly. 
 "The fact is, our relations aren't very friendly just 
 now. You see " 
 
 "No, that is n't it. Because Tommy and Father 
 are n't the only ones. Before you came in I was 
 
 163
 
 164 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 talking to Mr. Murray, and you say he is one of 
 the best friends you have." 
 
 "What did he say?" 
 
 "Oh, he was perfectly loyal to you!" Jean said 
 quickly. "Indeed, he thought he was praising you. 
 He was speaking about your success, and how much 
 he thought of you but there was the same im- 
 plication, Dick." 
 
 "That I 'd done something dishonorable?" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "No, not exactly that; and yet in a way, it 
 is. It 's a question of your methods, Dick, as if 
 they were n't quite what they ought to be; as if you 
 were inclined to sharp practice. / know it 's all a 
 mistake; but is there anything you could have 
 done to give any foundation for it, Dick*?" 
 
 The young man rose from the box, and stood with 
 knitted brows, his hands thrust into his trousers' 
 pockets. Finally : 
 
 "Jean, as far as I can see, I 've always run pretty 
 straight," he said. "You know, I was raised in a 
 hard school, where the motto was 'Every man for 
 himself, and the devil take the hindmost.' Some- 
 times a lot of us would want the same thing, and 
 we 'd all go after it, hard. When some one got 
 hurt on the way, it wasn't our fault; it was his 
 misfortune. We all took conditions as we found 
 them, and used the weapons at hand. Maybe the
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 165 
 
 ones who got hurt would say the weapons were n't 
 the right kind; but when you're in the midst of 
 a real fight you can't stop to pick and choose : you 're 
 too busy." 
 
 "Do you think they were the right kind of 
 weapons, Dick*?" she asked gravely. 
 
 "They were the same as the others used." 
 It was not a very strong argument. It savored 
 too much of that specious excuse that has been 
 called the first law of nature, and used as a defense 
 for ruthlessness ever since the world began. But 
 Jean understood its significance. While she pos- 
 sessed little intimate knowledge of the "school" 
 in which Dick Leighton Jiad received 1 his early 
 training, she knew Randolph conditions and Ran- 
 dolph methods. They were, perhaps, no worse 
 than and no different from those to be found in the 
 average small manufacturing town; they were the 
 outgrowth of a system wrong in its inception and 
 pernicious in many of its results. And all her life 
 Jean had known Gordon Randolph. Upright and 
 honorable himself, his personal example and its in- 
 fluence over Dick, when the boy's mind was at its 
 most malleable stage, could have been for nothing 
 but good. But what of the appeal of the cynical 
 philosophy he preached without practising*? Could 
 any one be intimately associated with him, and not 
 be swayed from black to white until a clear per-
 
 166 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 ception of either became impossible and both ap- 
 peared to be gray 1 ? 
 
 Jean was barely twenty-four years old; her own 
 philosophy of life was as untried as it was uncom- 
 promising; and, as earnestly expounded by her, was 
 likely to sound narrow and priggish; but she clung 
 passionately to the standards she had set up as the 
 proper ones. That Dick might have fallen short of 
 them disquieted her only because of the past. Of 
 the future she had no fear. He had made no 
 deliberate choice between right and wrong; he was 
 simply blind to the line of demarcation that to her 
 seemed sharp and clear. He had followed the trail 
 that other men had blazed ; the way was not of his 
 own making. 
 
 "I think I understand, Dick," she said slowly. 
 "But you are n't like 'the others' that you speak 
 of; you 're different. I know it, and I want every 
 one to know it, too. To me you 're too fine, too 
 worth while to give any one the slightest ground to 
 condemn you." 
 
 Dick laughed shortly. 
 
 "My dear girl," he said, "even if I were half 
 as good as you 're sweet enough to imagine, that 
 would be a large order. 'Ground to condemn,' 
 usually depends on whether or not you 're in the 
 other fellow's way. I think I 've played pretty 
 square. But I don't mind admitting," he added
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 167 
 
 candidly, "that sometimes I 've been so busy watch- 
 ing the goal ahead that I have n't paid as much at- 
 tention as I might to the path that led to it." 
 There came to him a mental picture of a high 
 Colonial bed, with a white-haired old man propped 
 up among lavender-scented pillows. "It was," he 
 said, "what Judge Randolph used to call being 
 'clever.' " 
 
 "And it 's what I don't want you to do, Dick," 
 Jean said bluntly. "We 've been friends for so 
 many years that I feel I may speak plainly without 
 the risk of giving offense. All my life I 've thought 
 of you as one who would n't even dream of con- 
 sidering a compromise with his conscience ; one who, 
 when he was confronted with an issue, would face 
 and meet it squarely. I 've never doubted you, 
 Dick, even in the smallest thing. I 've been proud 
 of you, proud because you were my friend. And, 
 Dick, I think there are a great many other people 
 who believe in you just as I do. Only a few, a 
 very few, have been misled by these 'clever' things 
 you 've done. I want you to set them right for 
 the future, to let them see you as the man I know 
 you really are. Will you do it, Dick?" 
 
 He had stopped beside her, looking down into the 
 earnest young eyes that were for him the eyes of 
 the world.
 
 168 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 "Oh, Jean, dear, I could be anything, do any- 
 thing, for you !" he said. He moved closer to her, 
 and there was that in his voice that called a slow, 
 soft flush to her cheeks. "You know what 's been 
 in my heart all these years, wfaat I 've longed to 
 say to you. There has never been any one but you 
 in my life; I 've never had a single thought except 
 for you. It 's what I 've been working for, hoping 
 for, planning for the day I could go to* you and 
 tell you that I loved you. I 've been proud of your 
 friendship ; but friendship is n't what I want, not 
 from you, Jean. I want your love and you. 
 Tell me, do you think you could care enough for me 
 to marry me*?" 
 
 She lifted shy, glad eyes to his. 
 
 "Yes, Dick," she said simply. And then she 
 was in his arms, and he was holding her as if he 
 would never let her go. 
 
 It was not as either of them had thought it would 
 be. At the back of the Ainsworth garden was a 
 little vine-clad arbor, where as children they had 
 played at keeping house, where in the first flush of 
 adolescence they had mutually confided their hopes 
 and ambitions, and discussed the weighty problems 
 the future presents to seventeen. It was there that 
 Dick had sometimes day-dreamed of telling Jean 
 of his love for her; there, too, that she had visioned 
 the scene that should mark the fruition of all her
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 169 
 
 girlish hopes. They were to have sat side by side 
 on the circular rustic bench, with the perfume of 
 roses and honeysuckle filling the air about them, 
 and the moonlight filtering in through the leaves 
 to dapple shadows on the earthen floor. 
 
 But if one has the time and the loved one, it 
 seems that the place does not so much matter. To 
 Jean and Dick the bare, white-walled corridor of 
 the hospital was transformed into an enchanted 
 garden, where in a miracle of silvered moonlight 
 cherished dreams came true. 
 
 In all the passion of his love for her there was 
 so much of tenderness, so much of reverence, fos- 
 tered, perhaps, by those years in which it had seemed 
 to him almost impossible that he should ever win 
 her. Even now, with her in his arms, her heart 
 beating close to his heart, he could hardly believe 
 that she was his. 
 
 "When did you know?" he whispered, his lips 
 against her hair. 
 
 "I don't quite remember," she whispered back. 
 "You see, it was so very long ago; I think perhaps 
 it may have been that day you kissed me in the 
 arbor do you remember*? And ever since then 
 I 've been waiting for you." 
 
 He did remember. Never since had he kissed 
 her until now. Yet it seemed to him, oddly, that 
 all the years between had been wiped from the slate
 
 170 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 of Time, and that those moments in the arbor were 
 of the present, and not of the past. 
 
 "Oh, Jean, Jean!" he said, very low, and caught 
 her to him again. 
 
 "You were such a funny little boy, Dick," she 
 told him. "Do you remember the night you as- 
 sured me that the moon was made of solid silver, 
 and that you were going to climb the cherry-tree 
 and knock it out of the sky for me with a clothes- 
 pole when you grew up? You were so sure you 
 could do it that you made me believe it, too, and 
 I was awfully pleased, because I liked that moon !" 
 She pointed out the window where, above the dis- 
 tant hills, the great luminous sphere swung high in 
 a pale sky, serene with stars. "I wonder," she said, 
 "how many other solemn little boys have meant to 
 knock down the moon with a clothes-pole !" 
 
 "It wasn't a- clothes-pole," he contradicted; "it 
 was a fishing-pole. And the name of the solemn 
 little fool is legion. But I meant to get the moon 
 for you, Jean, because you wanted it; I meant to 
 get anything and everything that you wanted, so 
 that I could give it to you." 
 
 "If that was your ambition, you 've succeeded in 
 it, Dick," she said softly. 
 
 He turned upward the paim of first one of her 
 hands and then the other, kissing each in turn. 
 
 "Dear!" he said. "But I haven't succeeded,
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 171 
 
 quite. My love for you is the very best there is 
 in me, but it is n't good enough. I 'm going to try 
 to make it so. The things you don't approve of 
 are in the past. I 'm going to make the future 
 different, if I can; everything straightforward, open 
 and aboveboard; no more dodging the issue, what- 
 ever it is." 
 
 "I don't believe you ever did dodge or evade, 
 actually, Dick. The real you did n't, anyway. It 
 was only when there was wrong on both sides, or 
 the outcome worked no downright harm to any one, 
 that you were 'clever.' Don't tell me I 'm not 
 right about you, Dick; I know I am."
 
 XVI 
 
 IT was wonderful, that trust of hers in him; 
 wonderful. With a feeling akin to awe he 
 told himself that come what might he would strive 
 to be worthy of it, and of her. 
 
 "I Ve been looking forward so to coming home," 
 Jean said, leaning her head back against his broad 
 shoulder as they stood together at the window. 
 " 'Home' meant seeing you. Those New York trips 
 of yours were always so brief, so soon over. It 
 seemed that I 'd hardly time to say a dozen words to 
 you before you had vanished, and then there would 
 be months and months before I saw you again ! But 
 now " 
 
 "But now," he caught up her unfinished sentence, 
 "neither of us is ever going away anywhere without 
 the other ! You ran away from me once, Jean, left 
 me here all alone. Now that I have you again, I 'm 
 going to hold you so and never let you go. My 
 Jean mine !" 
 
 She swayed to him ; her arms went up and around 
 his neck. 
 
 And then, across the silvered silence there struck a 
 low, quivering moan, a sound that made Jean draw 
 
 172
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 173 
 
 back and catch her breath with something like a 
 shudder. The radiance in her face dimmed into 
 troubled gravity. With swift, silent steps she 
 crossed the corridor and went into Blake's room. 
 Dick would have followed, but she shook her head, 
 waving him back. He sat down on the stool out- 
 side the door and waited for her to reappear. She 
 was absent but a moment. 
 
 "Is he conscious yet?" Dick asked, his face as 
 grave as her own. 
 
 "Not yet; he has n't stirred. But I think it won't 
 be long before he is." 
 
 "Anything I can do?" 
 
 "No. Doctor Evans should be here any moment 
 now. He said he would n't be gone more than an 
 hour, probably not so long." 
 
 Dick surrendered the stool to her, and pushed for- 
 ward the hardware box for himself; but he did not 
 sit down. He said seriously: 
 
 "Jean, before Evans gets back, there 's something 
 I want to talk over with you. You know, your 
 father is n't going to be pleased." 
 
 She smiled at him with the proud tenderness of the 
 woman to whom doubt has ceased to exist. 
 
 "That 's only because he 's gotten a wrong impres- 
 sion of you, Dick; he doesn't understand. Father 
 is over-quick to judge sometimes, I 'm afraid, and 
 after he 's made up his mind it 's not easy to get
 
 174 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 him to change it. But he has always liked you and 
 spoken well of you. When he finds out he 's been 
 acting on a mistaken hypothesis, I 'm sure he '11 be 
 glad. He just does n't understand now." 
 
 But Dick shook his head. 
 
 "No, it 's something more than just a personal pre- 
 judice. I dare say that in his place I might have 
 something of the same feeling, though I 'm not sure; 
 he and I don't look at things from the same angle. 
 However, there it is. There has been a development 
 during the past two months that I 've been wanting 
 to consult you about. I could n't very well write of 
 it ; it 's too long a story, and I thought we ought to 
 thresh it out together, pro and con. It 's nothing 
 that can be decided just off-hand; it has too impor- 
 tant a bearing on our future, yours and mine. You 
 see " He broke off, listening intently. 
 
 From the lower floor there came the sound of hur- 
 rying feet; they were running along the hall and up 
 the stairs. In another instant Doctor Evans burst 
 into view, breathless and panting. At sight of Dick, 
 he flung up his arms. 
 
 "Leighton!" he shouted, "they're going to lynch 
 Blake!" 
 
 "What? How do you know?" 
 
 "Bud McFee told me. I was just coming up the 
 steps " 
 
 "What did he say?'
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 175 
 
 "He said : 'Tell Dick to be careful. The boys 
 are coming right up to get Blake.' ' The little doc- 
 tor wiped the beads of perspiration from his fore- 
 head. "What are we going to do*?" 
 
 "We 've got to get Blake out of here!" 
 
 "But we can't move him, Leigh ton," Evans pro- 
 tested. 
 
 "If we don't the boys will and mighty quick! 
 Go get a car or a wagon run !" 
 
 "It will kill him, I tell you! The least thing is 
 liable to" 
 
 Dick interrupted him sharply : 
 
 "We'll have to risk that. Come, come! you're 
 wasting time ! Get a wagon and somebody to help 
 us. Hurry!" 
 
 With dark, dilated eyes, Jean watched the doc- 
 tor scurry off down the stairs. 
 
 "Dick," she said, "the man can't be moved. If 
 you try to lift him, the hemorrhage will start again. 
 You can't carry him down those stairs." 
 
 "We 're not going to try," Dick told her curtly. 
 "Evans won't get back in time, anyhow." 
 
 "Then why," she cried wonderingly, "did you 
 send the doctor off?" 
 
 He glanced at her quickly, abstractedly. 
 
 "I did n't want him around. And you must go, 
 too, Jean. I '11 have to handle this thing alone." 
 
 "No," said Jean; "I'll stay."
 
 176 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 "You can't!" 
 
 "Do you think I 'd leave you here alone to face 
 this?" She was pale, trembling a little with fear 
 and excitement; but she gave no sign of shrinking. 
 "Well, I won't. I 'm going to stay." 
 
 He went to her and caught her by the shoulder. 
 
 "Jean, Jean, I beg of you! You don't realize 
 yo must n't see a thing like this ! For my sake " 
 
 "I 'm not afraid, Dick; and I 'm going to stay!" 
 She spoke with a finality that admitted of no further 
 argument. "Now, what 's to be done?" 
 
 "Done? There 's nothing to be done." His 
 hand dropped from her shoulder, as his thoughts 
 swung back into the whirlpool where the doctor's 
 first shout had swept them. As clearly as if he had 
 sat in the Ainsworth library a few hours before and 
 listened to Samuel McAllister's lucid exposition of 
 what would happen in the event of an attempted 
 lynching, he realized what he had to face. 
 
 "But you can stop them, can't you, Dick?" 
 
 "How? I '11 hardly be able to make a show of 
 resistance ! That 's why I wanted that doctor out of 
 the way." 
 
 "You mean you can't defend him?" Dismayed 
 incredulity held her. "Dick," she whispered, "you 
 you 're not afraid?" 
 
 "Afraid?" he repeated scornfully. "Of what?" 
 
 "Then why why " Puzzled, shaken, she did
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 177 
 
 not know how to phrase the question; but Dick an- 
 swered it for her, even though, so concentrated were 
 his thoughts on the diabolically ingenious scheme 
 spelling ruin for him, he was scarcely conscious of 
 her presence. 
 
 "Why, it J s a trap, that 's what it is ! The boys 
 were all right this afternoon. They 've been stirred 
 up talked into this ! It 's a trick, a trap ; they Ve 
 put up a job on me, a dirty, rotten job to do me!" 
 Under the heavy arch of his brows his eyes were 
 blazing; he was beside himself with rage helpless, 
 impotent rage. "They 've got me right, no matter 
 what I do ! Oh, they 're clever, all right ! They " 
 
 "But who*?" Jean was more bewildered than ever. 
 His outburst brought no enlightenment to her. A 
 trap; a dirty, rotten job; "they" had got him right. 
 The phrases jumbled themselves into a meaningless 
 chaos in her mind. "What are you talking about? 
 Who, Dick?" 
 
 "Who? Why" In the nick of time, he 
 caught himself. Like a douche of cold water there 
 dashed over him the realization that it was Jean 
 Ainsworth to whom he was talking Jean, the 
 daughter of the man in whose crafty brain had been 
 conceived the appalling dilemma with which he 
 found himself confronted. He made a quick, sweep- 
 ing gesture with his hand. "Oh, I can't explain 
 now, Jean," he said. "It 's politics."
 
 178 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 She recognized the statement for what it was. All 
 her life she had been put off with evasions when she 
 had asked for explanations. From her father she 
 was accustomed to them; but, so far as she knew, 
 this was the first that Dick had ever offered her. 
 And she would have none of it. 
 
 "Do you mean to tell me," she began, "that any 
 man, or any number of men, would " 
 
 "I have n't time to tell you anything," he inter- 
 rupted desperately, "except that I 'm in a hell of a 
 fix!" He swung away from her, half-way to the 
 wide double doors at the end of the corridor and 
 back. 
 
 Jean watched the tall, striding figure with anxious 
 fascination. Never before had she seen Dick angry ; 
 the strength of his emotion seemed in a breath to 
 have changed him into another man, quite strange to 
 her; strange and rather terrible. She said with an 
 almost pleading deference : 
 
 "But I don't understand at all, Dick. Won't you 
 tell me? Won't you explain what is the matter?" 
 
 With a supreme effort he pulled himself together, 
 forcing himself to speak quietly. 
 
 "Can't you see, Jean? When the boys come up 
 here after Blake, they '11 mean business. If I let 
 them have him, I '11 be branded for the rest of my 
 life that I broke my oath of office, sullied the 
 honor of the State, and all that rot."
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 179 
 
 "But you 're not going to let them have him, 
 Dick!" 
 
 "If I don't, somebody 's going to get hurt!" 
 
 "Oh, Dick! I know; but even if they are " 
 
 He stared at her. 
 
 "Why, it 's my own crowd !" he said. 
 
 "But if they 're all your friends you can talk to 
 them, can't you"? reason with them." 
 
 "Reason with them*?" He laughed discordantly. 
 "The only argument they'll listen to is a gun! 
 They '11 come up here half drunk and wild with ex- 
 citement; and if I try to stop them, I'll have to 
 shoot, and shoot to kill ! They 'd never think I was 
 serious if I threatened them; they wouldn't un- 
 derstand. They 'd think I was bluffing to save my 
 face ; and then they 'd always believe that I tricked 
 them, that I went back on them. But" grimly 
 "I 'm not going back on them!" 
 
 "Dick! You" 
 
 He would not let her speak. He plunged on, 
 with edged irony: 
 
 "I '11 take my chances with the 'respectable ele- 
 ment' of the town! They 're not the ones who get 
 out and vote on election day! My friends, the 
 fellows they call the roughnecks, made me sheriff. 
 They 've stood by me all along, and now I '11 stick to 
 them!" 
 
 Jean's breath caught in her throat; an odd wave
 
 i8o WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 of faintness surged over her. She moved uncer- 
 tainly toward the broad, uncurtained window that 
 overlooked the street, and, lifting the sash, leaned 
 for a moment on the sill to steady herself. The 
 cool night air brushed the dizziness from her brain, 
 cleared to some extent the obscuring mental fog. 
 
 Directly in front of the lawn that stretched be- 
 fore the hospital was a small elongated square, 
 formed by the intersection of three streets, and 
 thickly bordered with trees and shrubbery. In the 
 middle of it was a single sputtering arc-lamp that 
 spread a small circle of dim, fluctuating light to the 
 center of the square and left the edges in deep 
 shadow. 
 
 A faint, creaking sound set Jean's taut nerves 
 aquiver; she stared anxiously out into the night, 
 hoping, praying with an agony of supplication that 
 Doctor Evans might have been successful in his 
 mission; but the sound died away in the distance 
 and silence descended that heavy, sinister silence 
 that had oppressed her before, and now filled her 
 with shivering dread. A little throbbing pulse beat 
 in her throat, chokingly. To her overwrought 
 senses it seemed that the dusky shadows on the 
 lawn beneath the trees were alive with vague, in- 
 tangible forms, flitting this way and that, dodging 
 from tree trunk to tree trunk. She could not see 
 distinctly, but surely that was not the wind stir-
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 181 
 
 ring the shrubbery*? There in the darkness, at the 
 left of the path was it was n't it a knot of 
 dim figures? 
 
 Behind her she heard the steady thud, thud of 
 Dick's heels as he paced up and down the length 
 of the corridor. She turned from the window, 
 holding her voice steady. 
 
 "Then you 're not even going to try to stop 
 them?" she asked. "You won't even try?" 
 
 "No!" He snapped out the monosyllable ex- 
 plosively. "I've nothing to gain and everything to 
 lose ! Let them have him. It 's the best way out 
 of it." 
 
 Her hands were clasped together to quiet their 
 trembling. Her eyes dark troubled pools in the 
 pale oval of her face were fearful, beseeching. 
 
 "Oh, Dick," she said, "how can you? How can 
 you talk about the best way out for yourself when 
 a man's life is at stake?" 
 
 "A man? You call that beast in there a man? 
 He deserves all he '11 get; and he '11 be hanged, any- 
 way, in a couple of months. He 's the last thing 
 to be considered. He 's nothing but a dirty, cow- 
 ardly murderer who " 
 
 "No matter what he is or what he 's done, he 's 
 entitled to a trial!" she interrupted. "But that 
 is n't the point. He 's in your charge, and you 've 
 sworn to protect him !"
 
 182 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 "I did n't swear to play into the hands of the men 
 who put up this job on me!" he retorted grimly. 
 "I 'm going to act as I think best, not as they 'd 
 like to have me !" 
 
 "I don't know what you 're talking about, but 
 I do know that it has nothing to do with this. 
 You 're the sheriff!" She took a step forward, and 
 hurled the words at him. "You 've got to stop 
 those men !" 
 
 "What 1 ?" he demanded harshly. "Ruin my 
 career, smash my future, shoot down my friends, 
 and all for the sake of a filthy murderer*?" 
 
 "Not for him, no! For yourself!" 
 
 "For me?" with fierce sarcasm. 
 
 "Yes, for you!" She was as fierce now as he. 
 She was trembling no longer. A hot color burned 
 in her cheeks; her eyes were flaming coals. White 
 wrath, a bitter, incredulous scorn, barbed her tongue. 
 "Have you no honor, no self -respect 1 ? You took 
 an oath to uphold law and order. You 're not even 
 making an attempt to keep it!" 
 
 He jerked his head in a gesture of exasperated 
 impotence. 
 
 "Oh, Jean, can't you see that 's all theory? 
 We 're facing facts now !" 
 
 "Yes, we're facing facts now!" she shot back 
 at him tensely. "The fact of whether you 're going 
 to act like a man or a coward! What did you
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 183 
 
 promise me a few minutes ago when you told me 
 you loved me"? That you were going to stand 
 on your feet like a man and face the issue, no matter 
 what it might be ! And you 've failed at the first 
 test!" 
 
 "You don't understand " 
 
 "I understand that right and wrong are squarely 
 before you, and you're choosing the wrong!" She 
 seemed fairly to tower as she stood there, straight 
 and slender, her lithe young figure drawn up to its 
 full height, her head flung back so that her great 
 eyes blazed into his. Tingling, on fire to her very 
 finger-tips, she was the embodied spirit of strength, 
 of pride, of fierce, indomitable courage; she was 
 primitive womanhood embattled, fighting with all 
 the weapons at her command for the honor of the 
 man she loved. 
 
 To Dick Leighton there was something almost 
 tragic in the passionate beauty of her; it gripped 
 him irresistibly, even while the futility of 
 making her understand rendered his plea almost 
 despairing. 
 
 "Jean, listen. You don't know what you 're 
 asking. It is n't just now, just to-night. You 
 want me to throw away everything I 've accom- 
 plished in the past, tear down all I 've built up, 
 utterly spoil every chance for my future our 
 future "
 
 184 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 "I 'd rather marry a man with a past than a 
 coward with a future!" 
 
 "You're not just, Jean; you're not fair to me! 
 These men you 're telling me to shoot down 
 they 're my friends ! They trust me trust me, do 
 you hear? And I'll not betray them." 
 
 She did not give an inch. 
 
 "There's just one right way, and you 've got to 
 take it !" she cried. "Your duty is clear. Do it !" 
 
 "Duty be damned!" His self-control snapped 
 like an overstrained cord; he swung his arm with 
 a gesture of savage impatience. "Jean, I 've " 
 He stopped abruptly; his arm dropped to his side. 
 "They 're here," he said.
 
 XVII 
 
 FOR an instant Jean could hear nothing. Then 
 she became aware of a low, confused murmur. 
 The open space about the arc-lamp was filled with 
 a mass of men, jostling this way and that. A single 
 voice shrilled out. The black mass undulated, 
 swayed; then, as a dense cloud of murky smoke is 
 vomited from the mouth of a cannon, it poured over 
 the lawn and into the building. 
 
 Shuddering, sick, Jean shrank back from the 
 window. Her lips moved, formed Dick's name, 
 but she did not utter it. He stood in the doorway 
 of Blake's room, his whole body rigid, his hands 
 clenched into fists. Then, with a bound, he was 
 across the corridor; the double doors slammed shut. 
 Where reason and argument had failed, instinct 
 rose irresistibly and took command. 
 
 "Get into that room!" he ordered, over his 
 shoulder, while he jammed the bolts into place. 
 "Quick!" 
 
 She found her voice. 
 
 "Dick! Dick! what are you going to do 1 ?" 
 
 "I'm not going to let them take that man !" He 
 had to shout his answer, above the uproar on the 
 
 185
 
 i86 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 stairs. The whole building seemed to shake to the 
 rush of trampling feet. 
 
 "Oh !" breathed Jean. "Oh !" 
 
 A smothered cry came from the prisoner's room. 
 
 "He 's awake now, all right !" Dick muttered 
 grimly. "He knows what they're after!" 
 
 Some one seized the door-handle and rattled it 
 violently, shouting: "Open up, there ! Open up !" 
 A blow smashed against the panels another and 
 another; and with every shock the furious voices 
 rose to a roar. 
 
 "Get into that room, I tell you!" Dick ordered 
 Jean again. "Hurry!" 
 
 She did not move. For the first time fear for 
 his personal safety gripped her. 
 
 "Oh, Dick, you'll be hurt!" she gasped. 
 "They'll kill you!" 
 
 Without another word he leaped toward her, 
 caught her arm, and swept her into the prisoner's 
 room. On the threshold he wheeled, with drawn 
 revolver. 
 
 And now the blows rained fast and furious on the 
 doors. They strained, groaned, shivered and 
 flew open with a crash. The aperture was choked 
 with men, men whose faces, only partly visible 
 beneath rude masks of cloth, or knotted handker- 
 chiefs, were distorted with rage and hate and the 
 lust of blood.
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 187 
 
 "Stop!" Dick's voice rang out harshly, like the 
 warning clang of an alarm bell. "What do you 
 want?" 
 
 "We want him!" came the answer in a gruff 
 chorus, to which an agonized shriek from the pris- 
 oner's room made a hideous obligate. 
 
 "Well, you can't have him!" Dick's eyes, hard 
 and penetrating, darted from one to another of the 
 crowd; but the grotesque masks made an effectual 
 disguise for every face. "You can't have him!" 
 he repeated. 
 
 "The hell we can't!" growled a deep voice. 
 "Don't you make no trouble, Dick; you 're all 
 right, but we want that cuss an' we're goin' to have 
 him!" 
 
 There was a yell of approval ; but Dick shook his 
 head. 
 
 "Hold on, boys," he said sternly. "You 're 
 going too fast. You just listen to me for a 
 minute." 
 
 "We '11 listen to nothin' !" rumbled a tall man 
 with a slouch hat pulled down over his forehead. 
 "We mean business !" 
 
 "So do I! The first man that starts anything 
 is going to get hurt ! That goes! There is n't 
 going to be any lynching to-night !" 
 
 Some one laughed out excitedly; the crowd 
 shifted, jostled.
 
 i88 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 "Cut the comedy, Dick!" advised the tall man. 
 "We 're all friends here." 
 
 "Friends?" Dick caught up his cue. "Friends'? 
 A fine lot of friends you are! Can't you see this 
 is a dirty job to do me?" He was crouching a 
 little, his head thrust forward between his hunched 
 shoulders. The round black barrel of his revolver, 
 pointing straight into the crowd, never wavered. 
 "Well, it 's not going through ! I mean it ! Now 
 clear out before somebody gets hurt !" 
 
 Again the crowd shifted, but this time uneasily. 
 A murmur rose. 
 
 "Aw, he's only stalling, fellows!" A man in 
 the outer corridor began to push his way forward. 
 "Don't let him bluff you ! Go on !" 
 
 "Stop!" There was no indecision, no wavering 
 of purpose in that voice. Here was no longer Dick 
 Leighton, politician, plausible casuist, anxious to 
 win and hold the favor of the men before him, but 
 Dick Leighton, sheriff of the county, keeping his 
 sworn oath to protect the prisoner in his charge. 
 With the issue squarely before him he faced it in- 
 stinctively and unflinchingly. He did not speak 
 loudly, but there was fearlessness and power in every 
 note of his level voice. 
 
 "This is a put-up job, boys," he went on, "and 
 you've been tricked into it. Who talked you
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 189 
 
 into this? Who 's going to profit by it? I '11 tell 
 you ! It 's " 
 
 "You liar!" The hesitating group in the door- 
 way was thrust aside ; a roughly dressed man leaped 
 forward, brandishing a revolver. "Come on, boys !" 
 he yelled; and leaped straight at Dick. 
 
 The sheriff fired. In the cloud of acrid smoke 
 that swirled from the barrel of the revolver the man 
 spun slowly around, fell to his knees, and then 
 collapsed in a crumpled heap. 
 
 For a breath there was silence, thick, suffocating 
 silence, pregnant with awful possibilities. Across 
 it flashed Jean Ainsworth's white-clad figure. 
 
 "Stop oh, stop!" Her hands, red-stained, 
 were outstretched; her face was gray with terror. 
 "It's no use! Blake is dead!" 
 
 Silence again, broken only by the hissing indrawn 
 breath of the crowd. Then the tall man stooped 
 over the huddled figure on the floor, fumbling with 
 the gaudy handkerchief that concealed the face. 
 
 "Well, then, Leighton," he said, "you 've done 
 a hell of a fine job for nothin' !" 
 
 The handkerchief fell at Dick's feet. 
 
 "Christ!" he whispered. 
 
 Jean stumbled to her knees beside the body of 
 her brother. She lifted his head; it lolled limply 
 back across her arm. There was no pulse-beat in
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 the loose wrist, no flutter of breath between the 
 lips. 
 
 On the floor a slow stain spread and widened. 
 
 David Ainsworth had lost his most dependable 
 worker. Tommy would carry no more news from 
 Jackson's place to the study in the big house on the 
 hill.
 
 XVIII 
 
 MARY NESTOR set the coffee-tray on a little 
 table in the hall outside Jean's room and 
 tiptoed downstairs again. She opened the door of 
 the library and went in, walking very softly, as if 
 some one were asleep whom she feared to waken. 
 No one was asleep in that house; she herself had 
 not closed her eyes all night. But the stillness, the 
 heavy, oppressive stillness that broods under the 
 shadow of the wings of death, had invaded every 
 room, muffled every footstep, every spoken word. 
 A chill rain beat against the window-panes; the 
 closely drawn curtains swayed a little in the draft 
 that breathed through the cracks. On the hearth 
 the charred logs lay blackened and cold, among the 
 ashes. In the wan, wet light that filtered through 
 the storm-splashed panes the furniture loomed 
 strange and oddly different, taking on dubious 
 shapes, like the furniture of a familiar room seen 
 in a dream. 
 
 It was all like a dream, indeed a phantas- 
 magoria of impossible horrors. Mary Nestor's 
 harassed brain could not weld the details of the 
 night's happenings into a unified whole. There was 
 
 191
 
 192 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 only a series of pictures, a throng of jumbled im- 
 pressions, set in motion by the vague telephone 
 message of an "accident" at the hospital, and mo- 
 mentarily becoming more confused and terrible : 
 the bare, white-walled room, the crowd of curious 
 faces, queerly distorted in the uncertain light; the 
 still, motionless form on the floor; Jean, stricken, 
 disheveled, her white gown streaked and stained, 
 her eyes dry pools of despair; Dick Leighton's pale 
 face, set and awful in its dumb horror. 
 
 And through it all, like some gaunt spirit re- 
 curring in the dream, stalked the figure of David 
 Ainsworth, silent, spectre-like. Mary Nestor shud- 
 dered away from the memory of the look that had 
 come into his face when he bent over the body of his 
 son. But there was no trace of that look when he 
 came to the doorway of the library; his voice held 
 its customary ring of curt authority. 
 
 "We '11 have some lights, please, Mary," he said, 
 and pushed the electric wall button. "Did you 
 telephone for McAllister again ?" 
 
 "Yes. He was n't there. His assistant said 
 they would try to find him, but he had left the 
 house early, and he had n't come to the office." 
 
 The Congressman walked over to the fireplace 
 and stood looking down at the heap of strewn ashes, 
 his hands clasped behind him. He was frowning. 
 
 "It 's outrageous, his taking himself off in this
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 193 
 
 fashion !" he said, more to himself than to his sister- 
 in-law. "He must know that I need him! He 
 ought to have come without being sent for!" His 
 fingers twitched. "Did you impress it on them at 
 'The Register' office that I must see him without 
 delay, Mary?" 
 
 "Yes." Mary Nestor knew that the brief 
 affirmative was all that he required or desired from 
 her; it was not her part to comment or question. 
 But she could not help feeling that his apparent 
 interest in everyday matters, his persistent attempts 
 to reach Samuel McAllister a man, who, no 
 matter what his business connections, had never 
 been a close friend of the family showed a callous- 
 ness, a lack of consideration for the ordinary pro- 
 prieties that was almost indecent. She asked 
 gravely: "But, David, at such a time, is it neces- 
 sary?" 
 
 He made a gesture of impatience. 
 
 "My dear Mary, of course it is necessary," he 
 said, without turning. "I should hardly make a 
 point of it if it were not. I '11 give him another 
 half-hour. Have you talked to Jean this morn- 
 ing?" 
 
 "Just a word. I took some coffee up to her a 
 few minutes ago. She said she 'd be down in a 
 little while." 
 
 "Then you have n't questioned her?"
 
 194 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 Miss Nestor shook her head. 
 
 "No; I felt that she wasn't in any condition to 
 be questioned. I 've heard her stirring about in 
 her room all night. Poor child! poor child! what 
 a terrible experience for her!" 
 
 The tears started afresh; Miss Nestor tried to 
 blink them back, and turned her head away, so 
 that her brother-in-law should not see. He had 
 always hated tears, holding that they were a sign 
 not only of weakness, but of mere surface emotion ; 
 and her grief for Tommy was anything but super- 
 ficial. Much as the boy had tried her, severely as 
 she -had at times disapproved of and censured him, 
 he had been very dear to her; she had loved him 
 almost as much as if she had actually been the 
 mother whose place she had so sincerely striven to 
 take. 
 
 "Oh, David!" she burst out suddenly, "if only 
 Tommy had stayed at home last night, this 
 would n't have happened ! He was so excitable, so 
 easily led. I 've been so afraid he 'd get into some 
 trouble. They 're always drinking and fighting 
 downtown there. If only we 'd kept him home!" 
 
 "Mary, this can do no good," Ainsworth began. 
 
 "No; nothing can do any good now. It's too 
 late. But if you 'd only listened to me, David " 
 
 He wheeled quickly. 
 
 "What do you mean?"
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 195 
 
 "You know, I 've asked you again and again not 
 to let Tommy go over there, and you not only let 
 him, you encouraged him. I pleaded with you to 
 keep him home more, and you made light of every- 
 thing I said. You were so sure he was all right; 
 but he was only a boy, and all the things he saw 
 and heard in those low saloons were leaving their 
 marks on him:" All the restraining barriers built 
 up by years of repression were swept away in the 
 tumultuous flood of her grief. She rushed on, deaf 
 to Ainsworth's smothered protest, blind to the gray 
 pallor that had settled on his face:. 
 
 "He was n't the same. He was n't my dear, 
 lovable Tommy. I was so worried! I didn't 
 know from day to day oh, this is what I feared 
 would come, some terrible thing " 
 
 "You 're talking wildly, Mary," he interrupted 
 her hoarsely. "The boy was all right, I tell you ! 
 He was doing good work for me." 
 
 "Yes, but I warned you, David, about the in- 
 fluences the associates. What were they doing 
 last night? Trying to commit murder! And 
 Tommy why, it may even have been that he was 
 there on your account, and got swept away by the 
 excitement before he realized what he was doing!" 
 
 "Silence!" In one stride Ainsworth was beside 
 her. "How dare you say such things? You don't 
 know what you 're talking about !"
 
 196 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 "I feared it oh, I feared it!" She beat her 
 hands distractedly together. "And now it 's 
 brought him to his death such a death " 
 
 He seized her violently by the shoulders, thrust- 
 ing his face, convulsed and haggard, within an inch 
 of hers ; there were streaks of blood across the balls 
 of his eyes. 
 
 "Silence, I tell you ! Do you want Jean to hear 
 you 1 ? Be still, woman!" 
 
 The reference to Jean did more to check her 
 outburst than his violence. She tottered to a chair 
 and sank weakly into it, covering her eyes with her 
 hands. He stood glaring down at her, his shoulders 
 heaving with his stertorous breathing, his fingers 
 opening and shutting jerkily, claw-like. It was a 
 full moment before he could command his voice at 
 all; when he did speak again, it was in a labored, 
 unnatural fashion. 
 
 "There was no question of murder involved, none 
 at all. Blake was a criminal, of the lowest, vilest 
 type, who deserved no more consideration than a 
 mad dog. He would have hanged inevitably in a 
 few weeks." 
 
 Miss Nestor managed to control her sobs, but 
 the tears still coursed down her cheeks as she lifted 
 her face. 
 
 "Even so, David, it was wrong." 
 
 "Not necessarily." Outwardly, at least, David
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 197 
 
 Ainsworth was himself again. He went over to the 
 fireplace and stationed himself with his back to it. 
 "Not necessarily, at all. Looking at it from a 
 rational point of view, imtinged by any sentimen- 
 talism, the community would have been bettered by 
 the death of a scoundrel, and an example of prompt 
 justice would have been shown that would have a 
 restraining effect on others of his kind." 
 
 "But, David," protested Miss Nestor in amaze- 
 ment, "that 's mob-law ! It 's directly opposed to 
 everything you 've always stood for ! It 's not 
 right. You can't mean you think it 's right, or 
 that Tommy could have thought so? Oh, he never 
 did, David! It was wrong, absolutely wrong! 
 Blake would have been executed; he wasn't going 
 to escape justice. But they couldn't wait; they 
 wanted to take the law into their own hands. They 
 have no regard for it; they never have had. 
 They 're always drinking and shooting and killing 
 one another downtown there. Until this past year 
 there was some sort of fight almost every night. 
 Most of the disorder has been stopped by Mr. 
 Leighton; but " 
 
 "Leighton!" At the name the dark blood 
 whipped into Ainsworth's cheeks. 
 
 "Yes. He 's done more than any one else has 
 ever been able to ; he 's had more influence. But 
 even he can't control their evil and lawlessness alto-
 
 198 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 gether. And then last night oh, the poor boy! 
 How must he have felt When he found out who it 
 was he had shot !" 
 
 "When he found out?" sneered the Congressman. 
 "He knew well enough who it was ! That 's why 
 he did it damn him!" 
 
 "My God !" White-lipped, appalled, she started 
 to her feet, drawing away from him as if he had 
 struck her. "David, how can you say such a thing? 
 He didn't know who it was, and he had to 
 shoot. He did n't know Tommy was there." 
 
 "He did, or he never would have fired ! Do you 
 suppose he 'd have shot one of his own crowd and 
 queered his chances of election? Not he! But 
 when he recognized Tommy, he saw an opportunity 
 to make a parade of his courage, to uphold the law ! 
 Know who it was?" He laughed bitterly, sar- 
 donically. "Of course he knew!" 
 
 "But but it's impossible, David!" she pro- 
 tested, in blank incredulity. "Why, he he liked 
 Tommy; he told me so. And he oh, it's too 
 utterly insane! Dick Leighton? He wouldn't 
 hurt any one, if he could help it, not even his worst 
 enemy. I 've known him all his life. And what 
 could he possibly gain by it in the election? Every 
 one wants him for sheriff " 
 
 "Sheriff? He's not going to run for sheriff! 
 He 's after my seat in Congress." Ainsworth took
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 199 
 
 a step forward; his jaw quivered under the tension 
 of the tight-drawn muscles. "He 's been scheming 
 and working for months. I 've only just found out 
 how he 's been steadily undermining me." 
 
 "It 's impossible!" she gasped. 
 
 "No chicanery is impossible in politics. Leigh- 
 ton wants to go to Congress in my place my place, 
 I tell you !" he struck the table in front of him a 
 crashing blow with his fist "the place I have held 
 for years, that I have made rightfully my own by 
 faithful service, and that should be mine as long 
 as I live ! He means to have it ! He 's left no 
 stone unturned to rob me of it. He did n't even 
 stop at taking the life of my son !" 
 
 "Oh, David, David! I can't believe it!" 
 
 Nor did it seem even remotely credible. Dick 
 Leighton, the frank, straightforward boy of whom 
 she had been so fond, the boy whom Gordon Ran- 
 dolph had loved as a son? Impossible! 
 
 "It's true!" said Ainsworth; and conviction 
 swept over her icily. "Cory Jackson, Murray, that 
 scurrilous sheet they print over there they 're all 
 behind him. It 's a systematic effort. But all 
 this is a waste of time. I 've got to see McAllister 
 I don't know what the man 's thinking about not 
 to be here!" 
 
 Miss Nestor sat down collapsed, rather in her 
 chair, and closed her eyes. The horror of the night
 
 200 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 before, that nightmare horror, was upon her again, 
 in all its fantastic hideousness. Was there to be 
 no end to it? First Tommy and now Jean. She 
 shivered as if with cold. 
 
 "David, this will kill Jean. After the shock of 
 Tommy's death, to learn that Dick Leighton " 
 Somehow, she could not finish; the words "mur- 
 dered him," simply would not come. She kept 
 saying inwardly that she did not believe it; it was 
 impossible. And yet it had happened. 
 
 Plastic, submissive, she had not lived for many 
 years in close association with David Ainsworth 
 without being mentally dominated by him. The 
 opinions she held could not be said to have been 
 colored by his; in all essentials, and with the ex- 
 ception of a few trivial modifications, inevitably 
 the result of her gentle, kindly nature, they were 
 his. He dictated them in effect as he dictated the 
 policy of "The Register," and they became her views 
 after a metamorphosis no more extensive than that 
 which sufficed to transform a statement by David 
 Ainsworth into an editorial by Samuel McAllister. 
 
 Probably but twice in her life had she adopted 
 a definite view-point of her own, or dared to 
 formulate it: when she had upheld Jean's deter- 
 mination to leave Randolph, and when she had 
 taken issue with her brother-in-law in regard to 
 Tommy's associates and habits. In those two
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 201 
 
 instances alone, perhaps because the principles 
 involved vitally stirred the mother love within her 
 and quickened her protective instinct, she had risen 
 superior to mere assertion, and had unerringly de- 
 tected the sophistry in arguments that would or- 
 dinarily have seemed unanswerable; in those two 
 alone. 
 
 She had never questioned David Ainsworth's 
 right indefinitely to continue in the office of Con- 
 gressman, any more than he himself had questioned 
 it. That he was a public servant and, as such, 
 subject to the will of the people, to be retained in or 
 removed from office according to their dictum, was 
 a proposition to which she had given no attention 
 whatever. The place was his; it belonged to him. 
 His right to it was inalienable. An attack on that 
 right, then, an attempt to deprive him of it, was as 
 unprincipled as it was treacherous and dastardly. 
 The man who could conceive it and carry it out 
 would scarcely stop at anything. 
 
 And Jean loved him, believed in him! 
 
 "Oh, David," said Mary Nestor, "she must never 
 know never!" 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "She '11 have to know, Mary, and the sooner 
 the better for her. It 's for her own good. I shall 
 tell her at once. Do you say to her, please, that 
 I should like to speak with her."
 
 202 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 "But" 
 
 "At once, if you please! You 're wasting time, 
 and time is precious just now. Damn McAllister!" 
 he rasped out sharply. "Why isn't he here? I 
 need him ! Mary, call Jean immediately !" 
 
 "You '11 be careful, David? Remember, she 's " 
 
 "Yes, yes! Go and get her, please!" He 
 impatiently waved her to the door. As she dragged 
 her unwilling feet up the stairs, she heard him at 
 the telephone, his voice hard, curt, commanding : 
 
 "This is Ainsworth talking. Where 's McAl- 
 lister? . . . Well, find him! ... I don't care; 
 find him, I say !"
 
 XIX 
 
 TO a man less hag-ridden than was David Ains- 
 worth, the wanton cruelty of cross-examining 
 a woman on the verge of collapse would have been 
 obvious. Shock and exhaustion had hollowed 
 Jean's eyes, painting dark circles under their sockets 
 and etching a sharply defined line of white about 
 the tender mouth. She was listless, languid, as if 
 all the vitality and resiliency of youth had gone 
 out of her. Mary Nestor, hovering anxiously in 
 the background, cast a glance of urgent appeal at 
 the Congressman. He nodded briefly, and went to 
 Jean's side. 
 
 "I 'm sorry I had to send for you, daughter," 
 he said, as he took her hand and bent to touch his 
 lips to her forehead. "I know how unstrung you 
 feel, and I hate to trouble you with questions about 
 last night, but I must." 
 
 "I told you all there is to tell, Father." She 
 sat down in the chair he placed for her, leaning 
 her head wearily back against the cushions. 
 
 "Not in detail, Jean. You did n't even explain 
 how it was that you came to be at the hospital in 
 the first place. What prompted you to go there?" 
 
 203
 
 204 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 "I did n't intend to go when I started out. I 
 felt restless, and I went for a walk. Then, when 
 I got over by the hospital, I remembered that Dick 
 was there, and I went in to see him." 
 
 "After what I said to you before dinner yester- 
 day*?" Ainsworth hitched his own chair a little 
 closer to hers. "Had you forgotten that, Jean*?" 
 
 "No. But I wanted to talk to him. He was n't 
 there, but Doctor Evans was. And then the nurse 
 insisted on leaving, and I told the doctor I 'd take 
 her place. So I stayed." 
 
 "I see. Then you were tnere some time. With 
 whom?" 
 
 "Why, just Doctor Evans and Dick. Bill Mur- 
 ray was there for a while, but he went home to get 
 his supper." 
 
 "Then you three were alone in the building with 
 the prisoner when the mob came?" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "No; only Dick and I. Dick sent Doctor Evans 
 after help." 
 
 "Help for what?" 
 
 "To get Blake away. A wagon or something. 
 He was unconscious." 
 
 "Ah, yes," nodded Ainsworth. "But what made 
 you think that it was advisable to move him?" 
 
 Jean brushed her hand across her eyes. So much 
 had happened since then; it was so hard to remem-
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 205 
 
 her; and she was very tired. Her head ached and 
 swam dizzily. She wished that her father would 
 not make her answer all these questions; she was 
 so very tired. She said slowly, striving to recall 
 the scene aright: 
 
 "Why, some one told Doctor Evans that they 
 were going to lynch Blake. He rushed upstairs and 
 told us; and Dick sent him right out after help." 
 
 "Some one told Doctor Evans, you say*? Who*?'' 
 
 "I don't remember the name, but it was some 
 one he knew." 
 
 "Ah!" Ainsworth leaned forward imperceptibly 
 in his chair; his narrowed eyes were fixed on the 
 girl's face. "A rather extraordinary proceeding, 
 was it not, for the mob to send a messenger to warn 
 the sheriff?" 
 
 "Oh, but the man was a friend of Dick's," Jean 
 said, with something more nearly approaching ani- 
 mation than she had yet shown. "He said so." 
 
 "Indeed!" observed Ainsworth, dryly. "Then 
 the doctor didn't get back in time, and you and 
 Leigh ton were there alone?" 
 
 "Yes, Father." She relapsed into her attitude of 
 apathetic lassitude, her hand shielding her half- 
 closed eyes from the light. She answered his queries 
 obediently, submissively following the leads that he 
 gave her, without in the least realizing his object. 
 She did not know why he was questioning her so
 
 2o6 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 closely; she was for the time being incapable of 
 analysis. Her sole wish was to be left alone, in 
 such peace as she might find in the quiet of her own 
 room. "I am so tired, Father," she murmured. 
 "Mayn't I go upstairs now*?" 
 
 Miss Nestor started forward impulsively, but 
 Ainsworth stopped her with a peremptory gesture. 
 
 "In just a moment. There are one or two more 
 things What was Mr. Leighton's attitude when he 
 realized what was about to happen*?" 
 
 "Why why " she hesitated a little "he was 
 very angry at first. He wanted to get Blake out, 
 but there was n't time, and he did n't know quite 
 what to do." 
 
 "What did he say?" 
 
 "He said that if he defended Blake, some one was 
 sure to get hurt; and he didn't want to shoot his 
 friends." 
 
 "No; of course not!" 
 
 She did not sense the irony in her father's remark. 
 
 "He said Blake was n't worth it." 
 
 "Quite so. Blake was n't worth defending, at 
 the risk of hurting some good friend of his. Is 
 that right?" 
 
 "Yes, Father." 
 
 "Then " the Congressman's fingers clutched the 
 arms of his chair "then he made no preparations to 
 resist?"
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 207 
 
 "Not at first." She was quite unconscious that 
 this was the admission into which her father had 
 been carefully and shrewdly drawing her. "When 
 we heard the men running through the building, he 
 locked the corridor doors." 
 
 "Ah ! Then he had decided not to interfere with 
 his friends, who had thoughtfully notified him in ad- 
 vance of their intentions, until the mob broke in and 
 he recognized Tommy!" Brutally plain, the ac- 
 cusation burst from his lips. His face was suffused, 
 and the veins on his temples were thick and con- 
 gested. 
 
 Miss Nestor gave a frightened cry and started 
 forward again. 
 
 "Oh, David take care !" She ran to Jean, who 
 looked up with a little puzzled frown. 
 
 "Recognized Tommy*?" she repeated vaguely. 
 It was clear that she did not understand the signif- 
 icance of her father's words. 
 
 "He would n't shoot one of his own friends, but 
 he did n't hesitate to kill the boy whose death would 
 work no injury to him!" 
 
 For a moment Jean stared at him, blankly, un- 
 comprehendingly. Then, as his meaning was slowly 
 borne in upon her and she realized the enormity of 
 the charge, her face blanched; sheer horror gripped 
 her. 
 
 "No! No!" she cried out. "He did n't know!
 
 208 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 They were all masked. He could n't tell one from 
 another!" 
 
 "He could and did! If he hadn't, he never 
 would have fired!" 
 
 "No! No!" She struck her clenched hands to- 
 gether in frantic denial. Speech poured from her 
 lips in an incoherent flood. "He did n't know it 
 was Tommy! No one dreamed that Tommy was 
 there. He had to fire to stop them ; they were rush- 
 ing at him! He didn't know who they were; he 
 could n't tell ! He thought they were all his friends ! 
 He did ! I know he did ! That 's why he said he 
 would n't shoot when I told him he had to defend 
 Blake! He didn't know! He" 
 
 "You told him? Why? What for?' 
 
 She tried to answer and could not. Her breath 
 came in labored gasps; she was holding hysteria at 
 bay by sheer force of will. 
 
 "Why did you tell him that?" demanded Ains- 
 worth fiercely. "Answer me!" 
 
 "Because " she faltered, choked, then plunged 
 on blindly "because I did n't want the man I love 
 to betray his trust, to fail " 
 
 "The man you love !" 
 
 "I'd promised to marry him; it was only last 
 
 night, before before it all happened. I love him 
 j
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 209 
 
 "Oh, Jean!" moaned Miss Nestor. "Oh, my 
 poor dear child !" 
 
 "I warned you!" Ainsworth rasped harshly. "I 
 told you he was n't fit for you to know ! He 's a 
 vile, unprincipled scoundrel, a treacherous hound " 
 
 "But it 's not true ! It 's not true !" 
 
 "It 's true that he murdered your brother!" 
 "No! No!" Her voice rose shrilly. "He did n't! 
 He did n't ! He was only trying to do what was 
 right ! It 's a lie, I tell you ! it 's a lie !" She was 
 swaying back and forth, her body rigid, stiff from 
 head to foot. Her eyes rolled convulsively. 
 
 Ainsworth was a little frightened at the wildness 
 of her appearance. The fury of his paroxysm 
 passed ; he mastered his rage with a supreme effort. 
 
 "Jean, you must be mad! You're beside your- 
 self," he said sternly. "We '11 let this matter rest 
 until you are in a condition to think and reason 
 clearly. But one thing you must understand: you 
 are through with Leighton. You are my daughter, 
 and I order you to obey me !" 
 
 "Oh, Father" 
 
 He interrupted her brusquely. 
 
 "I 'm not going to argue with you, Jean. I have 
 other and more urgent matters to attend to. When 
 you are yourself, we will go into it again. But un- 
 derstand me : you are to have nothing further to do
 
 210 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 with this man. I forbid it !" He turned and went 
 out of the room. A moment later the slam of the 
 front door attested to the fact that he had left the 
 house.
 
 XX 
 
 JEAN AINSWORTH was not of the clinging 
 type of woman. Clear-headed, sturdy, well 
 poised, self-reliant, she had created favorable notice 
 and comment among her associates in New York. 
 She had borne herself splendidly, meeting more than 
 one crisis with a clear-headedness worthy of an older 
 and far more experienced woman. Her hand was 
 always sure, her nerves steady. She made no costly 
 mistakes. "Let me have Miss Ainsworth, please," 
 had been a sort of set formula adopted by the hos- 
 pital surgeons whenever they had an especially diffi- 
 cult or complicated case. They would not have re- 
 cognized her in the distraught girl who clung to 
 Mary Nestor as a frightened child clings to its 
 mother. She permitted her aunt to lead her up- 
 stairs to her room; but she would not lie down; she 
 would not rest. 
 
 "Oh, Auntie, what shall I do? What shall I do?" 
 she moaned, over and over. "Father 's so bitter, 
 he's so unjust, so terribly unjust! I don't know 
 what to do, Auntie; it 's all so ghastly." 
 
 "There, there, dear," crooned Miss Nestor, strok- 
 ing the girl's tumbled hair. "Don't cry so. It 
 
 211
 
 212 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 will be all right. You know how your father loved 
 Tommy. The poor boy's death has been a fright- 
 ful shock to him. It 's only natural that he should 
 be bitter and resentful." 
 
 "But can't he understand? How could he accuse 
 Dick of such an awful thing? How could such a 
 thought even enter his mind? Why, Dick was ab- 
 solutely horror-stricken when he saw who it was! 
 And Father" 
 
 "There, there, dear," her aunt interposed sooth- 
 ingly. "Wait until you 're calmer. We 've all 
 been so upset that everything is distorted. It will 
 all come out right." 
 
 "I tell you, Auntie, Dick could n't have known 
 Tommy!" Jean persisted excitedly. "He was be- 
 hind two or three others. I came out of Blake's 
 room just as he pushed them aside and burst through, 
 and / did n't recognize him my own brother. His 
 face was covered up with a handkerchief and he had 
 an old slouch hat pulled down over his forehead. 
 His clothes were rough, too, much too big for him. 
 They were n't at all like the ones he had on yester- 
 day afternoon. ; They were working-men's clothes. 
 He looked like a laborer of the commonest sort, not 
 in the least like himself. You saw him, Aunt Mary; 
 you would n't have known him if his face had been 
 covered up, would you?" 
 
 "Now, Jean, don't try to talk about it any more,
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 213 
 
 You 're all worked up, and overwrought. Just try 
 to rest, won't you*?" 
 
 The poor lady was at her wits' end ; torn between 
 her affection and pity for Jean and her perfectly 
 natural desire that the girl should realize how utterly 
 base was the man to whom she had given her love. 
 But Jean was not to be soothed into silence or di- 
 verted from the subject. She went on, speaking 
 rapidly, feverishly: 
 
 "I don't understand how Tommy came to be with 
 those men, anyway. They were n't his friends ; they 
 looked like mill-hands the rough ones that are al- 
 ways making trouble. They must have come from 
 downtown. I don't see how Tommy came to be 
 with them at, all." 
 
 "Perhaps he was working downtown," suggested 
 Miss Nestor, unguardedly. "Somebody may have 
 made a speech that influenced him." 
 
 ' 'Working downtown *?" 
 
 "Yes. He knew a number of the men there. 
 Every one was so horrified at poor Norah Foster's 
 death, it 's quite possible that Tommy " 
 
 "I don't understand, Aunt Mary," Jean inter- 
 rupted. "You said Tommy might have been work- 
 ing downtown. What kind of work?" 
 
 "Why, I don't know exactly. Something to do 
 with politics. David told me he was very helpful. 
 He was over there a good deal."
 
 214 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 "Helpful* To whom?" 
 
 "Why, to your father, of course. I really know 
 nothing about it, except that he used to go around 
 to the different places and get information." 
 
 "But was n't there any way you could keep him 
 home, or at least on this side of the creek 1 ?" 
 
 Miss Nestor answered the question with another: 
 
 "I keep him home, Jean, when your father was 
 willing that he should go, and praised him for what 
 he did?" 
 
 "I see," Jean said gravely. She meant, of course, 
 that she understood how her aunt was powerless to 
 interfere in any matter on which David Ainsworth 
 had set the seal of his approval; what she did not 
 see was how her father could have allowed Tommy, 
 impulsive, impressionable, weak of will, to be ex- 
 posed to influences that might easily have affected 
 for the worse a far stronger character. He had not 
 lacked initiative, but he had never had a sense of 
 proportion. His mind was chameleon-like, assum- 
 ing the coloration reflected from the opinions of the 
 last speaker. To Jean there seemed something 
 cruel in David Ainsworth's blindness to those 
 characteristics that had been obvious to her ever 
 since Tommy's childhood. "You could n't do any- 
 thing, Aunt Mary?" 
 
 "I did my best, Jean, indeed I did ! I thought 
 it could n't be good for Tommy to go downtown so
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 215 
 
 much, and I said so, more than once. But David 
 seemed to think it was all right. He said it was 
 nonsense my idea that Tommy was being 
 coarsened and spoiled; there was no use arguing 
 with him." 
 
 "No," Jean agreed; "there never was, Aunt Mary. 
 And so that 's how Tommy came to be there !" 
 She could see it all, now: some hot-head passion- 
 ately declaiming against Blake, working up the 
 crowd to a pitch of blind fury; and Tommy, ex- 
 citable, as easily swayed by his emotions as a leaf in 
 a gale, caught up and carried beyond all control, 
 reason, and sanity, a futile human drop in a tidal 
 wave of primitive barbarism. 
 
 She did not, could not, blame Tommy. As well 
 hold culpable the tinder that ignites at the touch 
 of a lighted match. 
 
 A timid knock sounded at the door. 
 
 "What is it?" Jean asked. 
 
 Kitty's voice answered her : 
 
 "Oh, it 's Mr. Leighton, ma'am, and he wants to 
 see Mr. Ainsworth." 
 
 Miss Nestor was visibly startled. 
 
 "Mr. Ainsworth is n't at home, Kitty," she called 
 out quickly. "Tell him " 
 
 Jean raised her hand. 
 
 "Ask Mr. Leighton to wait, please, Kitty; I'll 
 see him."
 
 216 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 "But, Jean," Miss Nestor remonstrated, as the 
 maid retreated downstairs, "you mustn't. You're 
 not well enough to see any one." 
 
 "I 'm all right, Auntie." 
 
 "You '11 only upset yourself again. And your 
 father you know what he said " 
 
 "Yes, I know; but he did n't mean it. He was n't 
 responsible. No man in his right senses would have 
 talked as he did. He '11 probably be angry with 
 me, but I can't help that. I 'm not a child any 
 longer." 
 
 Miss Nestor rose in agitation. Jean might be- 
 lieve that her father's bitterness and rage were but 
 temporary emotions ; she, Mary Nestor, knew better. 
 If ever implacable hate had burned in a man's brain, 
 it had blazed out from the eyes of David Ainsworth 
 when he had uttered his denunciation of Dick 
 Leighton. 
 
 "Oh, Jean, Jean, you don't know what you 're 
 doing!" wailed Miss Nestor, wringing her hands. 
 "You don't realize how your father feels. If you 
 disobey him in this " 
 
 Jean interrupted her. 
 
 "I am going down to see Dick, Auntie, no matter 
 what happens. I must." 
 
 "Then I '11 go down with you. You are n't well 
 and you must n't excite yourself." It was the old 
 instinct of protection at work, the mother instinct,
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 217 
 
 the desire to shield the young, at no matter what 
 cost to herself. Mary Nestor had always been 
 afraid of her brother-in-law. Without knowing it 
 she had lived for years in daily, hourly fear of him. 
 To incur his displeasure -was something to be re- 
 garded with dread; the mere thought of his anger 
 filled her with a feeling akin to panic. But Jean 
 quietly put away the pleading hands that would 
 have detained her. 
 
 "Aunt Mary, I don't want to hurt your feelings, 
 but will you please not try to interfere? You 
 need not worry about me; I shall be perfectly all 
 right. But I prefer to talk to Dick alone." 
 
 It was no use. With impotent tears streaming 
 down her cheeks, Mary Nestor went slowly out of 
 the room.
 
 XXI 
 
 THE average small town belongs to the family 
 Felid& and is of the typical genus Felis. Its 
 characteristics are those of the common house cat. 
 Watchfully suspicious under the appearance of aloof 
 indolence, it moves stealthily, with padded tread. 
 Its claws are smoothly sheathed; its short, pointed 
 jaws do not show their power. Under the caress 
 of flattery it purrs. It fawns at the feet of the 
 recognized master and rubs itself against his legs, 
 even while it keeps a careful eye on him, lest he 
 strike first. For the small town is distrustful of 
 every one; and he who is up to-day may be down 
 to-morrow, within reach of claws and jaws that 
 are alike sharp and merciless. It is incapable of 
 forbearance, of pity, mercy, or forgiveness. It is 
 ruthless in its judgments, implacable in its resent- 
 ments. Its vengeance is a thing to be dreaded by 
 him who cannot flee it. 
 
 With nothing in particular over which to be con- 
 sequential, it is enormously, incredibly conceited. 
 It imagines itself to be a very great number of 
 things that it is not. It struts. And woe may well 
 betide the man who offends it. But the man who 
 
 218
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 219 
 
 wounds its vanity and belittles it in the eyes of the 
 world about, is given short shrift indeed. With 
 all the sinuous strength of its animal prototype it 
 strikes; it seldom misses. 
 
 Although he had been born and brought up in 
 Randolph, Dick Leighton did not possess the small- 
 town mind; but he knew it and he knew what to 
 expect from it. For the abortive attempt at lynch- 
 ing the criminal Cass Blake a sacrifice would be 
 exacted. 
 
 Popular sentiment seemed inclined to accept 
 (Tommy Ainsworth. Would it demand others'? 
 Just how greatly outraged did Randolph consider 
 itself? 
 
 Had the lynching been successful the town could 
 have climbed back to its proper eminence only by 
 the path of "rigid investigation," that would amount 
 to nothing but that would enable it to hold up its 
 head again and declare its escutcheon cleansed of 
 blot and stain. 
 
 But there had been no lynching. There had 
 been merely the threat of one by a mob, the body 
 of whose recognized leader lay on a sheeted cot at 
 the Ainsworth Hospital. Tommy had paid in full 
 for the indignity he had offered the community. 
 It seemed probable that his payment would be ac- 
 cepted in total discharge of the debt of the others
 
 220 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 as well, and the account marked closed as far as 
 Randolph as a whole was concerned. 
 
 But what of David Ains worth*? What of his 
 responsibility, tacit and active"? Those were the 
 questions that hammered at Dick Leighton's brain, 
 and kept him tramping up and down the floor of 
 his bedroom through the long black hours before the 
 dawn and through the dull gray of the morning that 
 followed the ghastly termination of the scene at 
 the hospital. 
 
 Twice Miriam had peered cautiously in through 
 a crack in the door, watching the tall figure that 
 paced the distance between the four-poster and the 
 shaving-stand, exactly as Gordon Randolph had 
 been wont to pace it. Once she had spoken to him, 
 as she had often spoken to the Judge when he 
 failed to appear below-stairs at half-past seven. 
 
 "Your breakfast 's gettin' cold," she said, severely 
 matter-of-fact. 
 
 "Never mind it." He did not even turn his head, 
 and she tiptoed away, nodding. Except for the 
 brown hair and the material of the coat Mr. Dick 
 never wore alpaca he might have been the Judge 
 threshing out some knotty problem. Seven paces to 
 the foot of the four-poster; seven paces back to 
 the shaving-stand . . . 
 
 What of David Ains worth"? 
 
 Legal proof of the Congressman's complicity
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 221 
 
 would not be necessary to damn him in the eyes of 
 his fellow townspeople. Enough if they believed 
 in his complaisant foreknowlege of Tommy's act. 
 He would forfeit their friendship, their support, 
 their confidence and respect. He would no longer 
 be Randolph's great man; he would be a pariah. 
 Shame would be cried upon him, the finger of scorn 
 pointed at him. He would be held up to public 
 contempt and revilement, until he betook himself 
 to some place where a decent oblivion could de- 
 scend on him and his. 
 
 Yet Randolph might forever remain in ignorance 
 of the fact that Tommy Ainsworth had in reality 
 been a puppet moved by his father's hand, and Ran- 
 dolph would be well content as long as it remained 
 unaware that it was being kept in the dark. It 
 would censure Tommy, sympathize with his father, 
 and send Dick Leighton to Congress. 
 
 Then why tell what he knew? 
 
 Seven paces to the foot of the four-poster, on 
 which the carefully smoothed pillows bore plump 
 witness that no head had pressed them the night 
 before ; seven paces back to the shaving-stand, where 
 the oval mirror showed the reflection of a face 
 stamped with sudden lines of trouble and anxiety. 
 Seven paces to the foot of the four-poster . . . 
 
 Why not let the matter rest where it was*? To 
 reveal his knowledge would do him little if any
 
 222 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 good. True, it would put an end to the power and 
 prestige of David Ainsworth, definitely settle the 
 nomination; but would it not be equally likely to 
 put an end to something which to Dick Leighton 
 meant more than anything else in the world his 
 hope of marriage to Jean Ainsworth? The death 
 of Tommy, tragic and terrible though it had been, 
 had not changed and would not change her love for 
 him. He was an officer of the law, and he had 
 killed her brother when the latter was engaged in 
 a desperate attempt to commit a crime. And 
 Tommy had sprung at him, had in effect attacked 
 him and urged others to do the same. To shoot 
 had been the only course open to Dick. Jean had 
 understood that. Her attitude toward him after 
 the tragedy had shown conclusively that she held 
 him guiltless. 
 
 But how would she regard an attack on her 
 father, an attack which if successful would bring 
 him to ruin and disgrace*? Would she look upon it 
 as necessary, even justifiable, or would she turn in 
 detestation and repulsion from the man who had 
 instigated it"? If he, Dick Leighton, made public 
 the facts in his possession, would filial loyalty claim 
 her allegiance or would she cleave to him? 
 
 And aside from all this there was the considera- 
 tion of the effect on Jean of the knowledge that 
 the mob had not been the spontaneous flame sprung
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 223 
 
 from the passions of men temporarily crazed by 
 rage and hate, but a fire deliberately kindled and 
 blown to a blaze and by the brother she had so 
 loved, who had been incited to the deed by his 
 father. Already burdened as she was by grief, how 
 would she bear a further shock? Would it not be 
 cruel, inhuman, even, to subject her to it? 
 
 Then why do it? Why should he tell what he 
 knew? 
 
 Seven paces to the foot of the four-poster, seven 
 paces to the shaving-stand . . . 
 
 Why tell? What was the good of telling? 
 What were the benefits to be derived from it, com- 
 pared with the harm?t And yet 
 
 In the polished mirror of the little mahogany 
 shaving-stand Dick Leighton looked at his own 
 face with wonder and bewilderment in his eyes. 
 What had happened to him that he should thus 
 debate over a question that a month, a week, a day 
 before he would have answered without a moment's 
 hesitation? 
 
 What was this force within him that compelled 
 him, against his inclination, against his practical 
 judgment, against his will, to go on, be the conse- 
 quences what they might? The force was there; 
 he felt, almost irresistibly, the driving impulsion 
 of it, urging him not to suppress his knowledge 
 but to blazen it forth, to use it, at no matter what
 
 224 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 cost to himself. But for what? To what end? 
 
 And then suddenly, like a burst of sunlight 
 through murky clouds, he knew. The issue before 
 him was not private, not personal. The good or 
 the harm that would follow as the result of his 
 decision could not be scaled by the effect on him, 
 on David Ainsworth, on Jean; its measure must be 
 the measure of the effect on mankind. 
 
 All his life Richard Leighton had been an oppor- 
 tunist. While he had never committed an act that 
 was fundamentally wrong, his point of view had 
 been eminently a practical one: he had done that 
 thing which seemed to promise the greatest benefit 
 to himself or to those whom he desired to serve. 
 His methods had differed from those of David 
 Ainsworth not in kind, but only in degree. He 
 saw it all now, saw it with a luminous clarity that 
 amazed and startled him. 
 
 And he saw, too, that except in detail the issue 
 he now faced differed in no wise from that which 
 he had faced the night before. Right and wrong 
 were squarely before him. He could choose the 
 right, and risk the loss of everything he held most 
 dear. Expediency, common sense, love all were 
 ranged on the side of wrong. Opposing them was 
 a mere abstract principle, his duty. It was his 
 duty as a man and a citizen to tell what he knew.
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 225 
 
 The crime that David Ainsworth had committed 
 was one for which the possibilities of prosecution 
 and conviction were very remote. At bottom it 
 was actually the crime of expecting and counting 
 on an equal moral laxity in others. If Ainsworth 
 had for one moment dreamed that the sheriff would 
 fight in defense of his prisoner, he would never have 
 conceived the idea that had resulted in Tommy's 
 .death. He had simply seen an opportunity to 
 triumph over his enemy, at no greater cost than the 
 premature execution of a criminal whose life was 
 already forfeit to the State. 
 
 "Ruin my future, shoot down my friends, for 
 the sake of a filthy murderer who deserves to be 
 lynched." Different words but essentially the same 
 argument that David Ainsworth used, the same 
 argument that thousands of men used when their 
 ambitions or their desires conflicted with decency 
 and honor and right. Thousands of men, so many 
 that it had become a reasonable assumption that all 
 men accepted the same point of view; no one was 
 expected to do his duty if a sufficient number wanted 
 to swerve him from it. 
 
 When the cry of "Lynch him !" arises, it is under- 
 stood that an annoyed sheriff is, in all probability, 
 already making plans, not to uphold his oath of of- 
 fice, but to save his face; not to fight to the last
 
 226 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 ditch to protect the life in his charge, but to get out 
 of a nasty situation with as little damage to himself 
 and his adherents as possible. 
 
 A crime is committed. A man is arrested for it. 
 If public sentiment be sufficiently aroused against 
 the offender, somebody cries, "Lynch him !" A mob 
 forms. A mob is created very easily. Any crowd 
 of excited, overwrought men can be turned into a 
 mob by the appearance of a leader. "Lynch him !" 
 "String him up!" He may be innocent; he may be 
 guilty. Why wait to prove him either*? Lynch 
 him first, and try him afterward! 
 
 A mob has no reasoning power, no sense of jus- 
 tice, no brain. It has only a voice and a lust for 
 blood. It listens to no arguments, for there is only 
 one argument it can understand and that is very 
 seldom used against it. It is resistless because it 
 knows that it will meet with no opposition worthy 
 of the name. That is why it is born; that is why 
 it is so terrible. It has no fear, because there is 
 nothing of which to be afraid. 
 
 The law*? Who's going to uphold the law*? 
 Not the sheriff and his deputies. Nobody expects 
 them to fight; nobody dreams that they will. They 
 might get hurt if they did, or they might hurt some 
 useful supporter. And for the sake of a scoundrel 
 who deserves to be lynched 1 ? What 's Hecuba to 
 them?
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 227 
 
 No; no need to worry about the sheriff. He has 
 other things to consider; his friends, his own skin, 
 his chances for reelection. He '11 talk, but he won't 
 shoot; it isn't done. "Come on and get him, 
 boys!" And the mob goes on and gets him. 
 Nobody 's hurt, except the prisoner. Nobody is 
 punished, because it 's quite likely that the leaders 
 are men of importance in the community, and it 
 would never do to implicate them. Think of the 
 scandal ! 
 
 Oh, it J s perfectly safe, for everybody, and every- 
 body knows that it is. Every individual member of 
 the mob knows that it is. 
 
 But if every potential murderer knew that detec- 
 tion and conviction were inevitable, the percentage 
 of murders would be enormously decreased'. If 
 every violence-breeding, law-defying adherent of 
 ochlocracy knew that he would meet well-aimed 
 bullets, instead of shrugs and time-worn excuses, 
 there would be no mobs. There would be no 
 leaders. The David Ainsworths who sit in com- 
 fortable libraries or offices would find that the game 
 they had for so long played in perfect security was 
 become hazardous in the extreme. Self-preserva- 
 tion would demand that they cease to break laws 
 or to incite others to break them in that particular 
 way, at least. 
 
 It might even be possible to awaken a self-satisfied
 
 228 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 section of the national community to tihe realization 
 that the lynching of any human being, regardless 
 of color or creed, is a crime of a particularly bar- 
 barous and cowardly sort; and that the majority 
 of decent men and women regard it with horror, and 
 its advocates and apologists with abhorrence and 
 shrinking disgust. 
 
 But the awakening of the public conscience is 
 not always a simple matter. The public, as a 
 whole, exhibits the natural characteristics of its 
 component parts. It is not the affair of a moment 
 to spur it to definite and drastic action against a 
 criminal or a number of criminals, if the crime has 
 been committed against an individual who has 
 aroused it to indignation and disgust. It deplores 
 the crime of lynching, inveighs against it, wonders 
 why nothing is done, and itself does nothing. But 
 it is virtuously convinced that somebody ought to 
 do something; somebody ought to start a movement 
 against the ominously spreading menace; somebody 
 ought to point and lead the way. 
 
 Seven steps to the foot of the four-poster; seven 
 steps back to the shaving-stand . . . 
 
 "But why should I do it? Why should I be the 
 first 1 ?" Dick Leigh ton demanded of the haggard 
 man in the mirror. 
 
 Seven steps to the foot of the four-poster . . . 
 
 The pillows on the bed were laid flat and smooth,
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 229 
 
 but he seemed to see them piled one behind the 
 other, and propped up on them, a thin, white-haired 
 old man; an old man with eyes that, clear and 
 bright, flickered under the bristling white brows 
 with a glint like sunlight on blued steel. What 
 was it the Judge had said 1 ? "Stand square with 
 yourself. When you 're in the dark, keep still until 
 you see light ahead. Then travel straight for it, 
 no matter what or who gets in the way." 
 
 Seven paces back to the shaving-stand . . . 
 
 On one of the mahogany uprights was the straw 
 hat Dick had hung there a few hours before. He 
 picked it up and went out.
 
 XXII 
 
 THROUGH the curtained windows of the 
 library the flat, anemic daylight crept, 
 struggling with the light from the electric globes 
 and, worsted, achieving the petty triumph of mak- 
 ing it appear too bright, too glaring, so that it 
 sharpened everything in the room with a hard bril- 
 liance of detail. 
 
 To Dick Leighton, coming in from the rain- 
 drenched grayness of outdoors, it seemed garish, 
 like a flourish of brass trumpets in a confined space. 
 He went over to the French windows and, pulling 
 aside the curtains, looked out into the achromatic 
 blur of the garden. The wet fingers of the fog 
 painted every tree and bush and shrub with the 
 same neutral tint; the grape arbor crept away out 
 of sight into a veil of gray vapor, trailing behind 
 it long streamers that billowed out, around and 
 above the low-roofed garage, and piled themselves 
 one on another like a puffy blanket. Globules of 
 water, thick and oily-looking, formed constantly, 
 and ran down the sloping eaves, dropping off in 
 a little trickling stream that splashed, metallically 
 monotonous, on the running-gear of a red roadster 
 
 230
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 231 
 
 that stood just outside the half-closed doors. 
 Tommy's new roadster of which he had been so 
 naively proud. It must have stood out there, for- 
 gotten, in the rain all night. 
 
 Dick pulled the curtain across the window and 
 turned away, a tightness at his throat. He recalled 
 the first day that Tommy, elaborately indifferent to 
 the world, had driven the red car down street. 
 Tommy, wearing the very latest thing in motor 
 coats, with a peaked cap tilted aslant, lounging non- 
 chalantly behind the wheel and sounding a blast on 
 the horn at every crossing. He had blown it loudly 
 at Dick, and given him a stiff salute. 
 
 The driving-gloves he had worn lay on the table 
 now, beside the lamp: lemon-yellow gauntlets with 
 large black buttons. Between the first and second 
 fingers on one of them a brown scorch showed where 
 a cigarette had burned down too close. There was 
 a pile of stubs in the glass tray; a fine film of drab 
 ash had settled over the table top. On the back 
 of a chair near the door a turtle-necked sweater had 
 been tossed; a striped cap had fallen to the floor 
 beside it. Tommy had worn both cap and sweater 
 when he joined one of the posses in the search for 
 Cass Blake. On the mantel-shelf was Tommy's 
 favorite pipe; a worn tobacco pouch; an automobile 
 catalogue he had borrowed from Cory Jackson. 
 Tommy had spent but little time in the room, yet
 
 232 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 it seemed that nowhere could Dick turn his eyes 
 but something reminded him vividly, insistently of 
 the boy who had been. 
 
 Regret gripped him anew; regret and a sort of 
 bitter resentment at the utter futility of it all. 
 How the wanton gods of malicious destiny must 
 have laughed ! The boy whom he had known since 
 childhood, the brother of the girl he loved ! 
 
 Dick had steeled himself to meet David Ains- 
 worth; he had not thought to see Jean. She came 
 slowly into the room, while he stood uncertain what 
 to say or do. The pallor of her drawn face, the 
 pathetic droop of her mouth smote him. He felt 
 that he would give anything in the world to be able 
 to undo last night's work. Perhaps not for the 
 first time the doubt stabbed him there had been 
 some other way out; perhaps he had acted too 
 hastily, fired too quickly. Yet he knew that he 
 had not, and that there had been no other way. 
 
 "Dick," Jean said unsteadily, and held out both 
 her hands to him. Her lips were trembling; the hot 
 tears started again to her eyes. 
 
 He took her hands and pressed them. She 
 swayed to him, and he drew her into his arms, look- 
 ing down through a mist of tenderness at the dark 
 head bowed against his shoulder. 
 
 "Dear," he said, and in his voice there was all 
 the depth of his reverent love for her, infinite sym-
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 233 
 
 pathy for the sorrow that had aready come to her, 
 infinite pity for that which was yet to come. 
 
 It was such comfort to her to rest there, in the 
 circle of his arms. She seemed to draw strength 
 from his strength, calm from his calm, healing from 
 the quiet, grave power of him. She was nearly 
 spent. Body and mind and spirit alike were 
 plunged in a profound weariness that seemed to 
 have drained her of all emotion. Little by little, 
 the tension of her body relaxed. Like a tired child, 
 she laid her head on his breast. 
 
 "It 's so good to be with you," she murmured. 
 "I felt that I just had to see you." 
 
 He drew her to an easy-chair that, standing near 
 the fireplace, was a little shielded from the glare of 
 the lights, and sat down close to her. still keeping 
 her hand in his. 
 
 "You 're worn out, dear," he said gently. 
 "You 've been under a terrible strain. I hoped 
 you were resting this morning. I did n't expect to 
 see you, as a matter of fact. I asked Kitty for 
 your father." 
 
 "I know; she told me. But he isn't at home. 
 And- and" she hesitated, flushed painfully 
 "you must n't see him, Dick. He he 's very bitter 
 against you." 
 
 "That 's only natural, Jean. After all, no matter 
 what the circumstances, I fired the shot."
 
 234 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 "It 's not only that. He blames you for every- 
 thing; he won't listen to a word of justification." 
 She pushed back her hair from her forehead and 
 averted her face a little; she could not meet his 
 eyes and repeat the monstrous thing to him. "He 
 he says that you would n't have fired on one of 
 your own friends, but that you recognized Tommy 
 and and killed him deliberately." 
 
 "Good God! Jean, you don't believe that?" 
 He knew that she did not; the question was purely 
 impulsive. But the enormity of the accusation was 
 such that her swift declaimer brought with it a 
 sense of relief from an emotional fear as gripping as 
 it was groundless. 
 
 "No, no! I tried to tell Father that it wasn't 
 true, but he would n't listen to me. He really 
 thinks it is true, and he 's forbidden me ever to 
 speak to you again. You must n't let him know 
 that I 've seen you to-day; and you must keep out 
 of his way for a while, until he 's himself again. 
 He 's gone down street now, and you must go before 
 he gets back." 
 
 'When do you expect him?" 
 
 "I don't know exactly. He told Auntie he 
 wanted to find Mr. McAllister." 
 
 "Then he won't be long," Dick muttered, his 
 lips compressed in a straight, hard line. 
 
 Jean cast a look of apprehension over her shoul-
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 235 
 
 der, as if she half expected to see her father stand- 
 ing in the doorway. 
 
 "Then you must go right away. It would n't do 
 for him to find you here. Perhaps I ought not to 
 have seen you at all to-day, but I I felt that I had 
 to. I wanted to tell you that, no matter what he 
 says or thinks, I understand and believe in you." 
 Now her eyes met his, squarely and honestly. "I 
 love you, Dick. What what happened last night 
 is n't going to make any difference. Tommy was 
 my brother and I loved him, but it 's not your fault 
 that he died. I had to tell you that, Dick. I 
 could n't let you think that perhaps I perhaps it 
 had changed me toward you." 
 
 "Dear," he said again, and bent to touch reverent 
 lips to her fingers. 
 
 "I I thought I might not have another chance 
 for some time," she went on tremulously. "It 
 would n't be wise for us to oppose Father now. 
 A little later I can reason with him, and make him 
 see how terribly unjust he is, but if I tried now, 
 I 'd only antagonize him. He 'd be furious if he 
 knew that I had disobeyed him. And so we must n't 
 see each other just yet; we '11 have to wait until he 
 is less bitter toward you." 
 
 "He never will be, Jean." 
 
 "Oh, yes, Dick!" She put her hands against 
 his broad chest, looking up into his face with plead-
 
 236 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 ing eagerness. "I 'm certain that he will. Only 
 give him a little time; he was so fond of Tommy; 
 it 's been such a blow to him. Just give him a 
 little time and he '11 realize that he is wrong. Just 
 avoid him, keep out of his way for the present." 
 
 Dick shook his head. 
 
 "I 'm afraid I can't, Jean," he said miserably. 
 "I 've got to see him to-day." 
 
 "But why?" she urged. "Why must you? It 's 
 quite useless to reason with him now. He won't 
 listen to you, any more than he would to me. 
 He '11 just threaten and accuse." 
 
 "I realize that, Jean; but " 
 
 "Then wait a little while. If you talk to him 
 now, it will only harden him; perhaps it might 
 estrange him from us forever. And that must n't 
 happen." 
 
 There was, perhaps, nothing she could have said, 
 no protestation she might have made, that would 
 have touched Dick Leighton as did her unconscious 
 use of that plural pronoun. It told him, more 
 plainly than actual words could have that her 
 faith in him was absolute and unshaken, that she 
 stood with him for better or worse. "Estrange him 
 from us." Not from him, Richard Leighton, but 
 from Richard Leighton and Jean Ainsworth, to- 
 gether. Tenderness, gratitude welled up in him; 
 and mingled with -them was a recurrent surge of
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 237 
 
 passionate pity and regret that he must hurt her 
 still more than she had already been hurt. He said, 
 very gently : 
 
 "You misunderstand, dear. I have no hope that 
 your father will ever feel any more kindly toward 
 me. I don't want to talk with him about personal 
 matters; I 've come to see him on business." 
 
 "Business?" 
 
 "I 'm going to tell you, Jean. It 's only fair 
 that you should know now, before this goes any 
 further. I started to explain to you last night 
 when Evans burst in, and then, of course, there 
 was n't time. The fact of the matter is, I 've been 
 asked to run for Congress." 
 
 "Against Father?" 
 
 He nodded. Rising, he began to pace slowly up 
 and down the rug. 
 
 "For the past two or three elections a sentiment 
 of opposition to your father has grown. I believe 
 it was mostly downtown at first, on account of his 
 failure to do anything about the Squatter Creek 
 drainage proposition; but a good many people 
 seemed to be dissatisfied because Cresston got an 
 appropriation for a new post-office, and Randolph 
 was n't mentioned at all. Anyway, for several 
 years the idea has been floating around that this 
 district ought to have another representative, pref- 
 erably a younger man; but it didn't crystallize
 
 238 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 until this spring. I was approached as a possibility, 
 and my friends took it for granted that I would run ; 
 but I wanted to talk with you first and see what 
 you thought about it." 
 
 He paused, considering, in some perplexity, how 
 best to continue. It seemed brutal to add to her 
 distress now, but she must know the truth before 
 very long. Then better from him who loved her, 
 and who could perhaps soften its harsher aspects, 
 than from others in all its ugly reality. 
 
 "Go on," she said. "I understand so far, Dick." 
 Almost from his first words she had understood one 
 thing, at least : the reason for the antagonism which 
 Tommy and her father had displayed toward the 
 young sheriff the previous afternoon; there was no 
 mystery about that now. 
 
 "I had never consented to be a candidate for the 
 nomination, you know, Jean," Dick resumed; 
 "never authorized the use of my name. But there 
 were rumors, of course. We tried to keep it quiet, 
 but 'The Banner' printed some editorials, and of 
 course there was bound to be talk. Tommy got 
 hold of it, and it made him pretty hot. He had 
 a good deal to say about it downtown expressed 
 his opinion of me pretty freely and, naturally, it 
 all came back to me. He seemed to have the notion 
 that I had n't any right even to consider accepting
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 239 
 
 the nomination; that your father was entitled to 
 it by a sort of divine law. And your father and 
 McAllister appeared to agree with him. McAllis- 
 ter was so sure of it that he told two or three friends 
 of mine it was preposterous for them to attempt to 
 nominate any one but your father. But when 
 they 'd looked the situation over a bit they began 
 to find out that there was considerably more oppo- 
 sition in the district than they had supposed. Mind 
 you, they considered it as settled that I was going 
 to run. 
 
 "McAllister scuttled around, trying to get the old 
 organization in line, and when it did n't pan out 
 to suit him he began to get worried. There were 
 two or three conferences and a good deal of nosing 
 around to see if anything I 'd done could be dug up 
 and used against me something discreditable, of 
 course, that would make effectual campaign material. 
 Tommy poked about downtown and McAllister on 
 the Hill, but, as far as I could find out, they did n't 
 unearth anything that was worth using. And then 
 this Blake affair happened." 
 
 "Yes," said Jean. She was sitting bolt upright 
 in the chair now, her fingers spread out over the 
 arms, closing and unclosing nervously. There was 
 a look of dread in her eyes. Something in Dick's 
 voice, in the repression of his manner, in the care
 
 240 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 with which he chose his words filled her with 
 apprehension. 
 
 He went on : 
 
 "You know, Jean, the average voter is a good 
 deal of a sheep; he follows the bell. If it happens 
 to be pretty loud he just makes a blind dive for it, 
 without stopping to look around and make sure 
 whether it 's really on the right neck or not. Blake's 
 trial, which would have come off just a little while 
 before the primaries, would have been a big noise 
 for me. In the natural course of things I 'd have 
 been a fairly prominent figure in it. It appeared 
 to be mighty unfortunate for them that Blake had 
 been caught at all, because if he had n't they might 
 have made a little capital out of it talked about 
 the sheriff's failure to get him, inefficiency and all 
 that, and so on up to my general incompetence for 
 any kind of office whatever. But Blake had been 
 made a prisoner, and he 'd have to be tried at a 
 time that would give me a still greater advantage, 
 because I'd be mentioned; I'd be more or less in 
 the public eye, as it were." 
 
 Dick paused again, glancing sidewise at Jean. 
 She had not moved from her position. Only her 
 fingers had ceased their restless twitching, and were 
 gripping the chair arms. Dick moved over in front 
 of the fireplace and stood there, head bent a little, 
 hands deep in his pockets.
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 241 
 
 "From the point of view of every one who was 
 opposed to my candidacy," he said slowly, "Blake 
 came pretty near being a catastrophe, and the only 
 way to avert it seemed to be to find some method of 
 discrediting me. For instance, if the crowd in the 
 Square when we brought him down from the mill 
 had been a little more excited and taken him away 
 from the posse, it would have helped a lot. Or, if 
 some of the hotheads stirred up a riot and staged a 
 lynching-bee, that would put an end to any trouble 
 that I 'd ever give, politically. 
 
 "The fly in the ointment was that the crowd had 
 cooled off, more or less; and while everybody hated 
 Blake and was thoroughly roused against him, no- 
 body, except possibly old Matt Foster, had enough 
 direct personal interest to stir it up again. There 
 was n't any leader for a mob, and without a leader 
 there would n't be any lynching and I should n't 
 be discredited. 
 
 "Well, the leader was found an impulsive, ex- 
 citable boy, who thought that he was doing a very 
 heroic and splendid thing. And that 's what I came 
 to talk to your father about, Jean, why I 've got to 
 see him to-day." 
 
 Jean was white to the lips. 
 
 "There 's no mistake"? no chance of it? You 're 
 sure?" 
 
 "Absolutely sure, Jean. Do you think that if
 
 242 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 there were the remotest doubt I should tell you 
 this? I feel like a brute and a cad to hurt you so; 
 but the truth has got to come out, and you 'd have 
 to know it anyway." 
 
 She drew a long shuddering breath. 
 
 "I could understand how Tommy might have 
 been carried away by excitement, influenced by 
 older men; but to lead them and for a sordid, 
 selfish purpose Dick, must you tell Father now, 
 at once"? He's had so much to bear; and if he 
 learned now that Tommy was killed while he was 
 trying to help him in such a way I think it 
 would kill him, too. Must you tell him, Dick*?" 
 
 He looked down at her with grave, pitying eyes. 
 He did not answer at once. Somehow, he could 
 not force his lips to utter the words that should 
 strip bare this last ugly detail. 
 
 "Why do you look at me like that*?" she de- 
 manded. She started from her chair and took a 
 swift step toward him. Then her hand flew to her 
 throat; horrified comprehension dawned in her face. 
 "You mean that it was Father who planned it? 
 That he sent Tommy down there to stir up the men, 
 to incite a murder " 
 
 "He did n't look at it that way, Jean," Dick in- 
 terrupted quickly. "He simply wanted to dis- 
 credit me, and he thought it could be done if an 
 attempt were made to lynch the prisoner that I
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 243 
 
 was guarding. He had n't any idea I 'd resist; he 
 thought he had me fixed so that I could n't get out 
 without doing for myself. Why, if he 'd dreamed 
 that there was going to be any trouble he 'd never 
 have let Tommy go downtown !" 
 
 "But the lynching " 
 
 "That was only an incident, Jean, just a move 
 in the game. Nobody had any pity or sympathy 
 for Blake; he didn't deserve any. Your father 
 knew that he 'd killed Norah, and that a jury would 
 give him the same sentence that the mob wanted to 
 execute. You mustn't judge your father too 
 harshly, Jean. His methods aren't new; they're 
 the same that other men are using nearly every 
 day. Why, you can't prck up a daily newspaper 
 without reading how a mob has stormed a jail or 
 a court-room, or held up an automobile and taken 
 a prisoner away from the sheriff ! 
 
 "Sometimes there are just whisky and rage back 
 of it, but more often there 's some other motive. 
 Half the time the yellow newspapers are to blame; 
 they print lurid articles, with just enough basis of 
 truth so that they '11 get by; they try the prisoner 
 and condemn him in print and get everybody all 
 worked up into a frenzy. They consider it per- 
 fectly legitimate, good business. They want to 
 get a big 'news story' out of it and increase their 
 circulation; or maybe they have a political ax to
 
 244 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 grind. Some one is going to profit, that 's all, and 
 the end justifies the means. Your father used 
 'practical' methods, Jean, as I might have done 
 myself if I had been brought face to face with the 
 same set of circumstances." 
 
 She made a quick gesture of dissent. 
 
 "I say I might have done the same. Why not*? 
 Is there any very vital difference between your 
 father's point of view and mine 4 ? You know that 
 last night I was going to let the mob take Blake; 
 I 'd made up my mind not to resist. Then you " 
 
 "Nothing I said made any difference, Dick. 
 You 'd have done exactly the same if I had n't been 
 there." 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "I don't know," he said honestly. "When you 
 talked to me, I saw your reasoning, all right; but 
 it seemed to me that you were just theorizing about 
 something in the abstract, while I was up against 
 the concrete. It was blurred and foggy then; I 
 could n't think; it was all such an appalling muddle; 
 I could n't see ahead at all." 
 
 "It 's terrible," she said. "It 's hideous. What 
 are we going to do, Dick? What can we do?" 
 
 "There 's just one thing to do, Jean." 
 
 "Oh, yes !" she agreed feverishly. "We 've got 
 to plan for Father. Because if it should become 
 known "
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 245 
 
 "It 's got to be known, Jean," he told her gravely. 
 "All of it." 
 
 "Oh, no! Isn't there any way we can stop it, 
 Dick?" 
 
 "Yes; we can stop it. But " he drew a long 
 breath between his shut teeth "but we must not." 
 
 "Must not? We've got to!" Fear sharpened 
 her voice. "We Vc got to stop it, Dick! Do you 
 realize what it will mean? how all the papers will 
 feature it? A Congressman implicated in a lynch- 
 ing, encouraging it. Why, the whole country 
 would be pointing the finger of shame at us! 
 We 'd be notorious, infamous!" 
 
 "That is just why it must be known, Jean. 
 Can't you see, it 's only by making exposure inevi- 
 table that these things can be stopped? They 've 
 been glossed over and made light of too long. It 's 
 gotten to the point where lynching has become a 
 kind of popular sport. I know that sounds flippant, 
 but is n't it a fact? Men who consider themselves 
 law-abiding citizens and who would be righteously 
 indignant if any one accused them of a trifling 
 misdemeanor, argue to themselves that they 're 
 doing the State a service when they help to tie 
 a rope around the neck of a prisoner, drag him out 
 of the county jail, and hang him to the limb of a 
 tree. They 're 'saving the taxpayers the expense 
 of a trial,' 'making an example of him that will
 
 246 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 have a restraining effect on others of his kind.' 
 That's their reasoning; and it's false, every bit of 
 it. Lynch law never had any restraining effect on 
 anything or anybody. It lets loose all the worst 
 passions, turns sane men into maniacs and maniacs 
 into fiends. 
 
 "Men have never taken the law into their own 
 hands without doing tremendous harm. In Re- 
 construction days the Ku Klux Klan went mad 
 with the lust of blood and unbridled power, and 
 degenerated into a band of cowardly murderers. 
 Every time a life is taken without sanction of the 
 law civilization is pushed back one step toward 
 barbarism." 
 
 "But, Dick, my father" 
 
 "There 's always somebody's father, Jean; that 's 
 just why these things go on." 
 
 Somebody's father or brother or son or friend or 
 neighbor or employer or associate. Somebody who 
 must be shielded, whose part in the dirty, cowardly 
 business must not become known, lest he get into 
 trouble : the vicious circle, in which immunity from 
 punishment begets further recklessness, which spurs 
 on to fresh excesses, and which spreads and widens, 
 like the ever-widening ripples that spread across the 
 surface of a pond when a stone has been cast into 
 the water. 
 
 In the light of his new understanding it was all
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 247 
 
 so plain to Dick Leighton the deadly poison that, 
 subtle in its influence as it was malignant in its 
 action, permeating the whole body politic, attacking 
 the healthy tissues laboriously built up by the evo- 
 lution of civilization, breaking out into ulcers of 
 which lynching is only one symptom; the poison of 
 the mob spirit, virulent, dangerous, contagious, in- 
 oculating laborer and capitalist alike, individually 
 and collectively, breeding dishonesty, corruption, 
 and anarchy. 
 
 But to Jean there was only the terrible fact of her 
 father's guilty complicity, and of all that the public 
 revelation of it would mean to him and to her. 
 She could not believe that Dick really meant it; 
 she did not grasp the significance of his attitude, 
 nor realize on what foundation rested his resolution. 
 She said piteously : 
 
 "Is n't it enough that Tommy is dead*?" 
 
 "Is Tommy's death to go for nothing? Can we 
 turn back now? Or are we to go on and try to 
 make others see the menace of it as we see it*?" 
 
 "But, Dick, don't you see what it will mean to 
 me, to you, to both of us?" She caught at his arm 
 appealingly. "It 's our future, our happiness, all 
 our life together. Oh, I beg of you, don't, don't 
 do it ! It 's all true, what you say, but why should 
 we be the ones to be sacrificed? Oh, Dick, for my 
 sake, give it up !"
 
 248 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 He took one quick, impulsive step toward her, 
 then as quickly turned away, his hands clenched at 
 his sides. 
 
 "I can't," he said; and she knew that, do or say 
 what she might, she could not move him. He 
 groped for words. "Jean, you said last night that 
 there 's only one right way. Because I saw it dimly 
 then, I staked my career, my future, the lives of 
 my friends. And to-day, when I see it clearly, I 
 can't turn aside from it, even for you. I 've got 
 to go on." 
 
 Slowly she turned and went back to her chair. 
 There was a long silence. Then : 
 
 "You are right, Dick," she said, speaking with 
 difficulty. "I 've known all along that you were 
 right. But oh, Dick, it 's so much harder to do 
 right than to talk about it when it comes home! 
 It all this means that we '11 be separated." 
 
 "But, Jean" 
 
 "Father 's never needed me before. Don't you 
 see he 's lost Tommy ; he 's going to lose the position 
 he values above everything. His name will be a 
 byword. And I 've got to stay with him. I 'm all 
 he has left." 
 
 "I need you, too, Jean. Are you going to ask 
 me to give you up*? We love each other. Jean, 
 this thing can't come between us. You 're light 
 and hope and happiness to me. You 're too fine,
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 249 
 
 too big, to urge me to turn aside from what we both 
 know to be right. Tell me you won't let it 
 that you 're going to stand by me." 
 
 "I 'm not asking you to turn aside, now, Dick ; 
 but I can't desert my father. You have your duty 
 I see it now and I have mine. One is just as 
 plain as the other. We " her voice broke, but 
 she steadied it and finished bravely "we 've come 
 to the end of things together, dear." 
 
 "No ! I 'm not going to let you go, Jean. I " 
 He stopped abruptly. The library door had opened. 
 David Ainsworth stood on the threshold.
 
 XXIII 
 
 THERE is a certain type of mind in which the 
 moral status of an act is determined by the 
 direct consequences of the act itself, and not by 
 any conception of abstract right and wrong. It 
 is likely to arrogate to its possessor a sense of his 
 own infallibility, based on the illogical conviction 
 that whatsoever he does is right because otherwise 
 he would not do it. When harm ensues, directly 
 or indirectly, as the result of an act of his, he 
 promptly disclaims all responsibility, reasoning from 
 the ingenious hypothesis that no evil could possibly 
 be inherent in the act itself or in the motive that 
 prompted it, and that therefore some one else is 
 at fault. 
 
 He is righteously incensed at the stupidity or 
 deliberate knavishness of whomsoever he pitches on 
 as the scapegoat; and the more unpleasant the con- 
 sequences of what he has done, the greater the need 
 of quieting the qualms of a conscience that he re- 
 fuses to admit is troubling him. 
 
 Probably there is not a man or a woman in 
 the world who has not at some time invented a 
 plausible excuse for shifting to some one else the 
 
 250
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 251 
 
 responsibility for his own fault. With David 
 Ainsworth the practice was habitual. If his plans 
 were successful the credit belonged to him; if any- 
 thing went wrong it was not his fault. In Ran- 
 dolph, Samuel McAllister had always made a 
 convenient and easy burnt-offering for errors of 
 judgment or tactical blunders; at the capital there 
 was a meek and self-effacing secretary who never 
 resented being sneered at or reprimanded for mis- 
 takes he had not made. 
 
 But the disastrous outcome of Tommy's walk 
 downtown to "see what was going on" could not be 
 charged to the secretary or to McAllister. The 
 responsibility lay elsewhere. Deep down in his 
 heart, David Ainsworth knew where ; but the knowl- 
 edge was something he dared not face. He turned 
 from it, smothered it, buried it beneath the blazing 
 pyre of his rage against Dick Leighton. From the 
 inescapable sense of guilt, from the agony of remorse 
 and regret that tormented him he instinctively took 
 refuge in his hatred. It consumed him. But as he 
 stood in the doorway of the library, an erect, com- 
 manding figure, there was no trace of emotion in 
 either face or voice. 
 
 As Dick caught sight of him he came into the 
 room. 
 
 "What are you doing here, sir?" he asked. 
 "You '11 oblige me by leaving my house at once."
 
 252 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 Jean started toward him; he waved her aside 
 peremptorily. "Less than an hour ago I forbade 
 you to see this man," he told her sternly. "Is this 
 the way you obey me*?" So might he have spoken 
 to a child of ten who had defied parental authority; 
 he merely glanced at her and then turned back to 
 Dick: "Mr. Leighton, I am waiting." 
 
 The young man flushed in resentment at the tone ; 
 but he answered quietly : 
 
 "I am here on official business, Mr. Ainsworth." 
 
 "With my daughter?" the Congressman inquired 
 ironically. 
 
 "Unfortunately, it must concern her, although 
 I came to see you." 
 
 "Nothing with which you are connected can 
 concern my daughter in any way whatever, nor 
 necessitate a personal interview with me." Ains- 
 worth inclined his head toward the door. "I have 
 requested you to leave, sir." 
 
 But Dick did not move. 
 
 "I said my business was official, Mr. Ainsworth," 
 he pointed out calmly. "I 'm afraid I must trouble 
 you for a few minutes longer." 
 
 "Very well, then. Jean, will you kindly leave 
 us? Mr. Leigh ton's business has nothing to do with 
 you." 
 
 "But it has, Father," the girl said gently. 
 "Won't you let me stay with you?"
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 253 
 
 "You already know what it is, then*?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The Congressman's brows flattened. 
 
 "Oh," he murmured. "As long as you came 
 ostensibly to see me, Mr. Leighton, it might appear 
 reasonable that you state your errand to me, as well 
 as to my daughter. May I ask what you have told 
 her'?" 
 
 Despite the sneer that underlay the formal civility 
 of the words Dick's manner was unruffled. He 
 spoke quietly, but his answer was straight to the 
 point: 
 
 "I told her that you were at the bottom of that 
 attempt to lynch Cass Blake last night; that you 
 not only knew Tommy was going to try to stir up 
 a mob, but suggested the idea to him in the first 
 place!" 
 
 Ainsworth still sneered, but his lips were white. 
 
 "A manly and honorable course, that," he said. 
 "To come to my house when I was not at home and 
 malign me and my dead son, to my daughter! 
 What chivalry ! What noble consideration to show 
 a woman!" And to Jean: "I told you, Jean, that 
 this fellow was unfit for you to know, but you 
 wouldn't accept my judgment; you had to see for 
 yourself. Well, you have seen. I have to thank 
 you, Mr. Leighton, for proving to my daughter that 
 you are a contemptible scoundrel !"
 
 254 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 "Dick told me nothing that I should not have 
 learned elsewhere, Father." 
 
 The dark blood flooded to Ainsworth's forehead, 
 then receded, leaving his face deathly. He spoke 
 in a voice of cold fury : 
 
 "In the face of my express commands you re- 
 ceive this man. You listen to his calumnies against 
 your dead brother and against me listen to them 
 and believe them! What are you, that you stand 
 there flaunting your shame, your abandonment of 
 all decency and self-respect " 
 
 "One moment, Mr. Ainsworth!" Dick thrust 
 forward between them. "You " 
 
 "I am not talking to you, sir !" 
 
 "But I 'm going to talk to you !" The attack 
 on Jean had been so sudden, so vicious, that the 
 young man could not contain himself. "How dare 
 you speak like that*? Jean is the woman I love, 
 and" 
 
 "Yes, you 've shown that ! You 've shown her 
 what the thing you call love is. And if she had 
 not utterly lost all sense of shame " 
 
 "Shame !" Dick interrupted sternly. "The shame 
 should be yours, sir!" 
 
 The Congressman pointed a shaking finger at the 
 doorway. 
 
 "Leave my house!" he commanded. "Not an- 
 other word! I won't listen to you, the man who
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 255 
 
 has corrupted my daughter and murdered my son!" 
 
 Dick moved, but not toward the door. One 
 quick step brought him to the table; he rested his 
 hands on it and leaned forward, his fingers gripping 
 the mahogany rim. 
 
 "You talk of corruption and murder!" he said in 
 a low tense voice. "You who corrupted your own 
 son by sending him out to do your dirty political 
 work, who subjected him to one evil influence after 
 another, and who finally sent him out to commit the 
 crime that resulted in his death ! David Ainsworth, 
 you and no other murdered that boy!" 
 
 From head to foot the Congressman stiffened, 
 like one who has received a sword-thrust through 
 the body. 
 
 "Damn you!" he snarled. "You stand there 
 and say these things to me " 
 
 "They're true, and you know it! You wanted 
 a lynching last night, and you sent your son to see 
 that there was one!" 
 
 "You lie! And the people of this community 
 are going to know that you stop at nothing to 
 further your schemes! You've been pretty clever 
 heretofore, but you 've gone too far now ! I'm 
 going to have you indicted for murder. I '11 make 
 your name a stench in the nostrils of the State. 
 I '11" 
 
 Dick cut him short curtly, quietly:
 
 256 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 "I Ve proof of what I say, Mr. Ainsworth. I 
 have the evidence of men in the mob last night, 
 their sworn statement as to what your son said to 
 them" 
 
 Ainsworth laughed raspingly: 
 
 "Conclusive proof! The evidence of a crowd 
 of ruffians seeking to shift the responsibility from 
 themselves to a boy who is dead and unable to 
 speak in his own defense ! How far do you think 
 that sort of 'proof will take you*?" 
 
 "That is n't all, sir. I went to some one nearer 
 to you. I showed him the situation in which you 
 had placed yourself by your defiance of every moral 
 and legal restraint that seemed to stand in the way 
 of your ambition. And when I charged him with 
 being a party to the conspiracy which I know was 
 hatched here in your library yesterday afternoon, 
 he was only too anxious to talk. McAllister has 
 told me everything that took place here yesterday 
 exactly how you put it into that poor boy's head to 
 go downtown last night and start trouble." 
 
 "McAllister?" Ainsworth muttered. "McAl- 
 lister?" 
 
 "McAllister. That," Dick added grimly, "is 
 why you could n't reach him this morning." 
 
 It was a long time before Ainsworth could rally 
 his scattered forces sufficiently to make reply. 
 Jean, standing rigid with fear and suspense, watched
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 257 
 
 the silent struggle he made to pull himself together. 
 Finally : 
 
 "Then we shall see which the public will be- 
 lieve," he said hoarsely, "you, a treacherous, cow- 
 ardly schemer, or me, the man who has for years 
 honorably fulfilled his public trust." 
 
 "Very well, Mr. Ainsworth," Dick said quietly. 
 "I 'm willing to leave it to the public, if you are." 
 
 "I '11 show you up for what you are," the Con- 
 gressman went on, his voice thickening; "I '11 let 
 people know how you struck at me in the dark, 
 worked to undermine my position; how you used 
 every low and dishonorable device, even defaming 
 me to my daughter, after you had foully murdered 
 the innocent boy who " 
 
 Jean's cry of protest interrupted him; he turned 
 on her : 
 
 "You defend him now! Less than an hour ago 
 you convicted him out of your own mouth. You 
 proved he had murdered your brother !" 
 
 "I did not ! And it 's not true !" 
 
 "It 's true enough for my purpose !" 
 
 Dick caught up the phrase. His eyes flashed; 
 there was a clear, ringing note in his voice. 
 
 "Yes," he said, "it 's true enough for your pur- 
 pose. Anything is 'true enough' for men like you. 
 You 're like the mob, blind with hate and prejudice. 
 You don't care what happens to any one else as
 
 258 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 a result of your acts; you want your own way, and 
 it 's of no consequence to you who suffers while 
 you 're getting it. Last night you turned a crowd 
 of men loose against a criminal. To-morrow 
 you 're planning to turn loose a swarm of lies and 
 calumnies against an innocent man." His eyes met 
 Ainsworth's fearlessly, challengingly. "Guilty or 
 innocent," he said, "it does n't matter to you, if it 's 
 to your interest to destroy him." 
 
 The Congressman had recovered his poise; his 
 manner was self-contained, incisive. 
 
 "I repeat, I shall fight you with every weapon in 
 my power!" he said. "And I '11 get you, Leighton; 
 remember that ! I '11 " 
 
 "Father, don't!" Jean broke in desperately. 
 "You can't go on this way. See what it has brought 
 us now. It will only lead to more misery and un- 
 happiness." 
 
 He went on as if she had not spoken : 
 
 "I '11 make the State too hot to hold you. When 
 I 've done with you you '11 be branded as the cow- 
 ardly murderer that you are. There are laws to 
 deal with you and your kind " 
 
 Again Jean broke in, this time compelling his 
 attention : 
 
 "Then, if you 're determined to do this thing, 
 I can't stay with you, Father." 
 
 "What!" he demanded.
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 259 
 
 "I Ve tried to be loyal to you, but you won't 
 let me. I wanted to stand by you; I meant to, 
 even through all the disgrace that is bound to come 
 to us when people find out how and why Tommy 
 was killed. But I can't stand tamely by and see 
 you deliberately commit another crime. I can't be 
 a party to it, and I should be, if I stayed here." 
 
 "You " Ainsworth checked himself as the door 
 swung suddenly open, and Miss Nestor came into 
 the room. Her lips were quivering and her face 
 was wet with tears. 
 
 "David," she said timidly, "they 've brought 
 Tommy home." 
 
 Jean uttered a choking cry. Mary Nestor's arms 
 went out to her. 
 
 For a moment Dick stood silent, irresolute. 
 Then with a little hopeless gesture he turned away.
 
 XXIV 
 
 THE Phlox sublata had blossomed and faded, 
 but the sweet alyssum formed a border of 
 fragrant white, and the nine tall rose-trees were 
 in full bloom. From the arbor at the back of the 
 garden Jean could see the double rank of four, 
 marching toward "the odd one at the foot," could 
 catch the glint of sunlight where it played on the 
 marble headstone between the swaying branches. 
 
 The resting-place of Gordon Randolph was on 
 the sunny slope of the hill, separated by a fringe 
 of willows and slim white birches from the broad 
 plateau to which Cemetery Street climbed from the 
 west. The grass was rich and green there, the 
 earth a friendly brown, so different from the raw 
 redness of that other mound beyond, where the grass 
 had been crushed and trampled by the feet of the 
 morbidly curious. 
 
 It was the contrast that hurt Jean. She tried 
 not to think of it, but the picture kept coming back : 
 the muddy ground, steaming under the low- 
 hanging branches of the trees ; the long grass, matted 
 into a tangled mass of slippery green; the 
 solid circle of wet umbrellas that moved only to 
 
 260
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 261 
 
 press closer, and to reveal round white faces, blurred 
 behind the curtain of rain. It kept coming back. 
 
 There were other pictures, too. For days they 
 had flitted, bat-like, through her consciousness; 
 now this one, now that, in no ordered sequence, 
 but coming and going aimlessly, as if they darted in 
 out of the dark and circled 'round and 'round the 
 lamp of memory. Faces. Tommy's face, white 
 and terribly still; her father's face, set like a stone 
 mask in which the eyes were glazed with red hate; 
 Dick's face, haggard, despairing as the little hope- 
 less gesture he had made when he turned to pass 
 Miss Nestor at the door of the library. 
 
 And always the sound of the scuffle and tramp of 
 hurrying feet. They were running up the stairs 
 of the hospital; they were shuffling along in front 
 of the house. They were trampling across the 
 sodden grass and splashing through puddles. They 
 were scurrying from around corners and stopping 
 suddenly just behind one. 
 
 Night and day, in her waking moments and 
 through all her dreams, the faces had watched 
 and the feet had followed. It was only out in the 
 little arbor, away at the back of the garden, that 
 she could get away from the nagging torment of 
 them. There in the fragrant summer stillness, little 
 by little the jangled discord of her mind had re- 
 solved itself into something like harmony. From
 
 262 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 the quiet peace that brooded over the sweep of hills 
 and sky she seemed to draw the strength and courage 
 that had been drained from her. 
 
 On the bench beside her chair lay the book she 
 had been pretending to read. It served as an ex- 
 cuse for slipping off by herself. As long as she was 
 apparently absorbed in it she could be sure of being 
 left alone for a little; otherwise Miss Nestor was 
 sure to send Kitty, or Ezra the gardener, with a 
 message, or come herself on some transparent 
 pretext. 
 
 Jean appreciated her aunt's solicitude for her, 
 and was grateful for the affection that lay behind 
 it; but she was impatient of the interruption. She 
 wanted to be alone, to think; and though her 
 thoughts had presented themselves more as a series 
 of impressions some vivid and distinct to the 
 point of brilliance, others vague, distorted, mere 
 meaningless trivialities gradually she had achieved 
 some sort of coordination; slowly there had grown 
 on her the realization that she was confronting a 
 problem and that no one could help her to settle 
 it. The solution, if real solution there were, she 
 must find for herself. 
 
 She had not communicated with Dick since the 
 day nearly three weeks before when Tommy's body 
 had been brought home from the hospital, and in 
 blind, voiceless grief she had turned from him and
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 263 
 
 from her father to the mothering arms of Mary 
 Nestor. He had not come to the house and she had 
 not even tried to get in touch with him. At first 
 she had been too dazed, too confused ; one emotional 
 crisis after another had literally shocked her into 
 a condition of mental inertia. She did only those 
 things that presented themselves as absolutely 
 necessary to be done ; the slightest exertion required 
 an effort that left her almost exhausted. 
 
 But as she gradually rallied to a state more nearly 
 normal she found that, despite her unchanged love 
 for Dick Leighton, despite her passionate desire for 
 his happiness, she shrank from the thought of meet- 
 ing him. 
 
 She had seen him once only, one morning when 
 an errand had taken her down street. He had 
 stopped to talk to Squire MJoore, just outside the 
 shop she had entered. She had purposely dallied 
 over her purchase until he finished his conver- 
 sation and moved away. Before she reached home 
 she had been seized with a sinking fear that he 
 might have seen her inside the shop, might have 
 divined her intention of avoiding him. She almost 
 ran back to Main Avenue, but Dick was nowhere in 
 sight. She stopped at the corner a moment, looking 
 up and down the street. 
 
 Victor Rivers, the young proprietor of the station- 
 ery store, came out to the sidewalk and, pleasantly
 
 264 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 enough, inquired if there were anything he could 
 do for her. "The Register," he suggested, was 
 just off the press. She had thanked him, given him 
 five cents for the paper, and carried it home, leaving 
 it, still folded, on the library table. 
 
 An hour later she found it, crumpled and twisted, 
 flung into the grate. She took it out, smoothed 
 out the pages, and read it. 
 
 That same night she had a talk with her father, 
 the first to exceed the barest exchange of formal 
 civilities since the morning after Tommy's death. 
 It could not have been called a satisfactory inter- 
 view, except in so far as it made clear to Jean the 
 anomalous position in which she stood, and spurred 
 her, for very shame of her own vacillation, into 
 decisive thought and action. For David Ains- 
 worth had made it quite clear that he had not 
 altered his expressed intentions with regard to Dick 
 Leighton. 
 
 Cold, hard, implacable, he had turned a deaf ear 
 to her plea for justice, for common, open-minded 
 fairness. He had closed his mind against every- 
 thing but hatred and the desire for revenge upon 
 the man whom he asserted to be guilty of the 
 foulest treachery. He was not to be moved from 
 the stand he had taken ; and it was with a miserable 
 sense of the utter futility of her arguments that
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 265 
 
 Jean left him. As well reason with the twisted 
 pear-tree that whipped itself frenziedly every 
 time the wind blew ! Its fury served only to injure 
 it; the branches had lashed one against the other 
 until the whole stem was bent and warped. But 
 no amount of props and braces and judicious prun- 
 ing could change its habit. 
 
 Curiously enough, the comparison suggested it- 
 self to Jean, although she saw only the similarity 
 of the results. She saw the deepening of the lines 
 about her father's mouth, the added arrogance in 
 the poise of his head, the cold opacity of his eyes; 
 she became more and more conscious of the vicious, 
 consuming selfishness of his whole attitude. She 
 did not suspect the warfare that was being waged 
 in David Ainsworth's soul. 
 
 Jean had never loved her father very deeply. 
 He was not the sort of man to inspire in his children 
 any but the sterner emotions. Respect and admi- 
 ration she had given him, and a loyalty that was as 
 much inherited as it was the result of early training. 
 But now it seemed to Jean that he was deserving 
 of nothing so much as scorn. Whatever claims 
 he might have had upon her he had forfeited, and 
 deliberately, since only by deliberately refusing to 
 see was he blind to the infamy of his course. To 
 her there could be no question that he was simply
 
 266 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 shutting his eyes to it; the way in which his ac- 
 cusations against Dick had been received in the 
 town was proof enough of that. 
 
 First incredulity, then derision, then open hos- 
 tility or contempt, according to the temperament 
 of his audience. Eve*n Squire Moore, a lifelong 
 friend and neighbor, had called him a "vile, filthy 
 slanderer, sir!" at a public meeting, and thereafter 
 cut him dead. Others had followed the Squire's 
 lead. "The Register" printed guarded and cau- 
 tious editorials, in which reference was made to 
 "actionable statements," and counseled moderation 
 "The Register," which for twenty years had been 
 but the voice of the king who could do no wrong. 
 Small boys jeered in the streets. They paraded 
 past the house and committed sundry trivial annoy- 
 ances. Ezra complained that two of his choice 
 rose-beds, planted on the lawn near the end of the 
 walk, had been denuded of every bud. One enter- 
 prising youth, apprehended in the act of prying the 
 black enamel number from the bottom step of 
 the veranda, had explained that he wanted it for 
 a souvenir. 
 
 "But I give him what fer!" Ezra chuckled 
 triumphantly to Jean. "I sooveneered him, right 
 and proper, you bet!" 
 
 Jean did not inquire in just what form the 
 punishment had been administered, although she
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 267 
 
 knew that Ezra was tingling to tell her. It was 
 all part of the incredible nightmare of the past few 
 weeks. 
 
 Ezra shifted from one foot to the other and 
 brushed an imaginary spider-web from the trellis 
 at the side of the arbor. 
 
 "Is there anything you 'd like to have me 'tend 
 to, Miss Jean?" he asked. 
 
 "Nothing, thank you, Ezra." 
 
 "Miss Nestor, she said she guessed maybe you 
 might want something fixed different, maybe. I 
 thought I 'd just ask " 
 
 "No, there's nothing now, Ezra. When there 
 is, I '11 let you know." She took up the book from 
 the bench, and the gardener, dismissed, went off, 
 shaking his head. As soon as he was out of sight 
 Jean put the book down again, and, leaning her 
 head against the back of her chair, let her eyes rest 
 on the sunny hillside. 
 
 Up there, under that smooth green counterpane 
 fringed with white, lay all that was mortal of Gor- 
 don Randolph, the last of his name and race. The 
 love he had borne her mother was no secret to Jean. 
 Nor was the contemptuous distrust in which he had 
 held her father; this had been the one speck in the 
 clear amber of the girl's whole-hearted affection for 
 the shrewd, vigorous old man, whose sardonic tongue 
 clove sharply to the heart of things, and whose
 
 268 WITHOUT COMPROiMISE 
 
 cynical philosophy went no deeper than the tarnish 
 that conceals but does not detract from the sterling 
 purity of the metal beneath. 
 
 If Gordon Randolph had had a daughter, she 
 would never have had to face such a problem as 
 Jean was facing. And what would he have thought 
 of this hesitation, this drifting indecision on the part 
 of the daughter of the woman he had loved? Jean 
 knew very well that he would have said: "It's the 
 Ainsworth in her, not the Nestor." He had told 
 her once, bluntly, that her father could n't see the 
 woods because of his own trees and she had been 
 very angry with him, for as long as any one could 
 be angry with the Judge. If he could speak to her 
 now, he would say the same thing of her; and she 
 acknowledged it with a burning sense of shame and 
 self-disdain he would be right. 
 
 Abruptly she got to her feet and went into the 
 house. The door of her father's study was closed. 
 She drew a long breath and unconsciously squared 
 her shoulders before she knocked. 
 
 "Come in," said Ainsworth's voice. He was 
 sitting at his desk, pen in hand ; but he had not been 
 writing, for there was no paper before him. He 
 looked at her inquiringly. "Well, Jean 1 ?" 
 
 "I 've come to tell you, Father," she said, "that 
 I 'm going back to my work in New York Monday 
 morning."
 
 XXV 
 
 AFTER dinner Saturday night, Mary Nestor 
 carried her mending basket into the library 
 and put it down on the center table beside the lamp. 
 Jean looked up from her book, smiled, and moved 
 a chair forward a little. 
 
 "That 's all right, dear; don't disturb yourself," 
 her aunt said. "I can see perfectly well here." 
 She slipped the darning-egg into the toe of a white 
 lisle stocking, and threaded her needle. Then she 
 leaned across the table to Jean. 
 
 "Must you go, dear?" she asked tremulously. 
 "I can't believe that you '11 be here only one more 
 evening. When I see you sitting there, and try to 
 realize that after to-morrow you '11 be gone, it just 
 does n't seem possible. You why, you 're really 
 not able to go back to work, dear ! You '11 break 
 down again. I do so wish you would n't try, Jean." 
 She reached for Jean's hand and lifted it to her 
 face. The girl felt the warmth of tears upon it. 
 She turned her lips to the soft wrinkled palm. 
 
 "Don't worry about me, Aunt Mary," she said. 
 "Physically I 'm perfectly well. As for the rest, 
 I 've been through it all and come out on the other 
 
 269
 
 270 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 side." It was no mere empty assurance. She had 
 struggled along her dark road, through the valley 
 of self-questioning and vacillation; and light had 
 come to her, even as it had come to Dick Leighton. 
 She meant to follow it. The decision had brought 
 to her a sense of strength, a calm of spirit such as 
 she had not known since her return to Randolph. 
 
 "I 'm glad of that, Jean," Miss Nestor said. 
 "I 'm glad, even though it takes you away. But 
 does your work in New York mean so much to you 
 that you can't stay with us?" 
 
 "No; you know it isn't that, Aunt Mary, al- 
 though I want to be busy. I could n't just sit and 
 do nothing, you know." 
 
 "You could be busy here, couldn't you*?" 
 Miss Nestor advanced the suggestion tentatively. 
 "There 's the hospital." 
 
 The girl made a gesture of repugnance. 
 
 "No. That 's out of the question. I simply 
 could n't do it. I 've thought it all out, Aunt Mary. 
 The best thing, the only thing, is for me to go back 
 to New York." 
 
 Miss Nestor withdrew her hand from Jean's, 
 and picked up her darning again. She ran the 
 needle back and forth a few times before she said, 
 rather hesitatingly : 
 
 "You know, dear, I don't mean to belittle your 
 work in New York. I understand how much you
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 271 
 
 liked it, and how well you succeeded. Perhaps in 
 a way it 's the sort you are best fitted for, but of 
 course I don't pretend to know about that. What I 
 do know, though, Jean, is that there 's another sort 
 of work for you here; and to me it seems more im- 
 portant to you than anything else possibly could 
 be. I mean," she said as Jean looked at her in- 
 terrogatively, "your father. He needs you, needs 
 you more than your surgeons or your patients or 
 your social-settlement people, or anybody in the 
 world." 
 
 Jean shook her head slowly. 
 
 "No; you 're mistaken, Aunt Mary. I thought 
 he did, too, at first. I thought I could help him, 
 and that my first duty was to him. But I was 
 wrong. He does n't need me. He does n't need 
 anybody. He 's quite sufficient unto himself. I 've 
 talked to him, tried to make him see my point of 
 view, or at least to admit that I have a point of view. 
 I might as well have saved my breath. And I 
 said my last word to-day." 
 
 "But, Jean," pleaded Miss Nestor, "is it really 
 any wonder that he 's bitter? Why, his very suf- 
 fering makes him so ! Think just a moment. Two 
 weeks before you came back to Randolph he had 
 everything. Even the little breach between you 
 and him was healed over. You were coming to 
 take charge of the hospital that he 'd built and was
 
 272 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 so proud of. He was proud of your ability to do it, 
 proud of Tommy, proud of the fact that every one 
 looked up to him and respected him. He was the 
 biggest man in the county, and he was proud of that, 
 too. 
 
 "And now what has he now? Tommy is dead; 
 and because of of the way he died, your father's 
 oldest friends are turning their backs on him; some 
 of them go out of their way to avoid speaking to 
 him. Downtown, people simply hoot at him on the 
 streets. He hasn't mentioned the hospital once, 
 nor been there. The newspapers have said cruel 
 things about him. Just because his pride has kept 
 him outwardly much the same, you think he has n't 
 suffered; but I see further than you do. He has 
 terribly." 
 
 "And yet he keeps right on doing everything he 
 can to insult the intelligence of decent people. 
 After the way he talked to Squire Moore, is it very 
 surprising that the Squire won't speak to him? Or 
 that the mill-hands hoot at him when he sard pub- 
 licly that they were a crowd of blackguards, trying 
 to shift responsibility from themselves to an inno- 
 cent boy who was worth a thousand of them? Is n't 
 it possible, just barely possible, Aunt Mary, that 
 Andy Murray is just as dear to Bill, as Tommy was 
 to Father? There are some things, you must know, 
 Auntie, that a man can't say, no matter how he feels,
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 273 
 
 if he 's going to keep the respect of his fellow men." 
 
 Miss Nestor admitted that this was so. 
 
 "But it 's not the general public sentiment against 
 him that has hurt your father most, Jean," she added. 
 "No, nor even the way his friends have turned 
 against him. It 's your attitude, more than any- 
 thing else." 
 
 "My attitude?" 
 
 "When he comes into the room you almost shrink 
 from him." 
 
 Jean knitted her brows. 
 
 "Why why, no, Aunt Mary," she said. "I 
 don't do that." 
 
 "Perhaps you don't do it consciously, but I 've 
 noticed it, and so has he. He feels it most keenly, 
 my dear." 
 
 "I 'm sorry," Jean said. "I was n't in the least 
 aware of it. If I 've shrunk from Father, as you 
 say, the action must have been purely instinctive, 
 because I have shrunk from the abominable course 
 that he has been taking. He can't be sincere in 
 what he says; it seems to me to be a hypocritical 
 pose, a kind of corrupt strategy to cover the des- 
 perate weakness of his own position." 
 
 "Jean !" Miss Nestor raised her hand in protest. 
 "You mustn't say such a thing; you mustn't let 
 yourself believe it, because it can't possibly be true. 
 You 're too hard, dear child. You ought not to
 
 274 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 be so quick to judge. I tell you that David has 
 suffered greatly. He he 's really a sick man, Jean, 
 and if you go away and leave him now, when he has 
 lost everything else that he values, it will go hard 
 with him. He needs you more than he ever did 
 before." 
 
 But Jean shook her head, unconvinced. 
 
 "No, he does n't," she said stubbornly. "And if 
 it 's really true that I seem to shrink from him, 
 and he 's noticed it, then it 's only one more reason 
 for my going away Monday morning. Because as 
 long as I stay here I shall continue to feel toward 
 him just the way I do now." 
 
 "But you told him you 'd stay if he withdrew 
 entirely from this campaign and retracted the 
 charges he had made." 
 
 "Yes; I could respect him then, at least. I 
 could forgive him for for what he did to Tommy. 
 I can't forgive him for what he 's doing now 
 deliberately distorting the truth, trying to make 
 people believe what he knows to be the foulest of 
 lies. I can't forgive him, Aunt Mary," the girl's 
 clear eyes met her aunt's squarely "for trying to 
 offer Dick Leighton up as a sacrifice on the altar of 
 his pride, and as a scapegoat for his own wicked- 
 ness. He himself put it into Tommy's head to 
 go downtown that night to stir up a mob against 
 Cass Blake. He knows that when Dick fired he
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 275 
 
 was simply doing his duty and that he had no other 
 motive. Whatever Father may have believed at 
 first, under the shock of his grief and horror, he 
 knows now that Dick is innocent ; and he still keeps 
 declaring that he is guilty. That 's what I can't 
 forgive. And I can't forgive myself for staying 
 here in the same house with him while he has been 
 doing this thing. The way I 've acted is very 
 nearly as little excusable." 
 
 "The way you've acted, Jean*?" repeated Miss 
 Nestor, in puzzled astonishment. "Why, what do 
 you mean*? How else could you have acted 1 ?" 
 
 "I could have done what I knew to be right, in- 
 stead of sitting down and feeling sorry for myself!" 
 Jean told her with fierce bitterness. "I talked a 
 lot very fine-sounding talk, too about 'duty' and 
 'honor' and 'right.' I called Dick a coward because 
 he wavered for a moment, when he was facing the 
 biggest crisis of his life. But when it came home to 
 me, did / face it? No, I didn't. I wasn't big 
 enough. I just stood out of the way and cried and 
 wrung my hands, and let Dick fight all alone." 
 
 "But, Jean dear, you were frightfully shocked 
 and overwrought. Dick could 'nt expect " 
 
 "He expected nothing, and that 's what he got!" 
 flashed the girl. "He needed me. He was the 
 only one who did need me ; but I thought only of our 
 Joss, our trouble, never of what he had to bear,.
 
 276 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 He staked everything he cared for on earth for the 
 sake of a principle; when he fired into the mob that 
 night he believed he was putting an end to his whole 
 career. He came here the next day and told me 
 that he was going on, that he was going to do the 
 right thing, as he saw it, no matter what it might 
 cost him." 
 
 "It must have been very hard for him," mur- 
 mured Miss Nestor, sympathetically. 
 
 "Hard!" Jean laughed excitedly. "Oh, no, 
 Aunt Mary, it wasn't hard. And I made it so 
 much easier! I tried to get him to give it up, 
 pleaded with him that it was going to hurt me if 
 he kept on. I begged him not to make the facts 
 public, for my sake. I did n't want to suffer. It 
 was all right for him to hurt his friends or himself, 
 you see, but I must n't suffer, my family must n't, 
 althcfugh we were responsible for the whole thing. 
 Oh, yes; I made everything very easy and simple 
 for him ! 
 
 "And, then, I not only let him go away without 
 a word, but I 've stayed here while Father 's been 
 making these attacks, on him. I 've let everybody 
 think I believed them justified. I 've virtually 
 countenanced them. I told" Dick I believed in him, 
 loved him. And how have I shown it? By fail- 
 ing him in every possible way ! I 've failed every- 
 body, including myself, of course. Just at first, I
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 277 
 
 thought I could help Father. That was my excuse 
 for staying here. But I haven't it now; I've 
 known for days that it was just an excuse; self- 
 deception, if you like, perhaps unconscious self-de- 
 ception, but all wrong, just the same. And when 
 I think of the way I talked to Dick, and then com- 
 pare the way he acted with the way I 've acted, 
 I 'm ashamed to look at myself in the glass." 
 
 Miss Nestor shook her head helplessly. 
 
 "You do exaggerate things so, Jean," she said. 
 "Half the time I can't understand you." 
 
 And then she made what was perhaps the 
 shrewdest observation she had ever made in her 
 life: 
 
 "You don't make enough allowance for human 
 nature, dear. You build impossible ideals out of 
 people, and then when the poor things fail to* live 
 up to them you condemn them out of hand. You 've 
 no toleration, not even for yourself. You can't 
 set the world right in a minute ; you 've got to wait 
 for the good to grow. Now, you just act sensibly. 
 Stay here, and do what you can to comfort your 
 father. Send for Dick, and explain to him " 
 
 "Explain to him?" echoed Jean. "Explain that 
 I 'm a weak, selfish coward, whose boasted 'nerve' 
 deserted her at the first real test? Send for him? 
 Aunt Mary, I would n't send for Dick Leigh ton to 
 save my life! He cares for me now or he did,
 
 278 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 before I showed so plainly the miserable stuff I 'm 
 made of but he '11 get over it, and he 's a hundred 
 times better off without me. He 's a real man, and 
 he deserves a better woman than I shall ever be. 
 There 's just one thing left and that 's for me to 
 go back to the sort of work that I 'm fitted for, the 
 sort where I can help and not hinder. I 've done 
 Dick enough harm already."
 
 XXVI 
 
 JEAN spent Sunday morning packing. She gave 
 the task her undivided attention. She packed 
 thoroughly and efficiently, taking as much time over 
 it as possible, because as long as she could concen- 
 trate on the problem of how to get into one trunk 
 articles that obviously were intended to occupy two*, 
 she believed she could keep from thinking about 
 Dick. 
 
 When the dinner-bell rang she sent down word 
 that she had a headache and did not want anything 
 to eat. The truth of the matter was that she did 
 not want to sit through a meal with Miss Nestor's 
 wistfully sad eyes reproaching her silently for a 
 stand the justice of which her own conscience ab- 
 solutely acquitted her. Nor did she care, as long 
 as it was avoidable, to face the ordeal of a family 
 Sunday dinner with her father. 
 
 So she shut herself in her room and kept on 
 working, in the stubborn determination not to rest 
 until she had put Dick Leighton completely out of 
 her mind. But what she actually did, at last, was 
 to toss a handful of handkerchiefs into the till of 
 the trunk, slip down on the floor beside the chaise 
 
 279
 
 280 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 longue, and bury her face on her folded arms, while 
 she let the image of the man she loved come as it 
 would into her thoughts. 
 
 Dick as a laughing, curly-headed boy her 
 school-books tucked under his arm, trudging sturdily 
 along beside the small girl in starched gingham who 
 was her prim little self. Dick, contrite, consoling, 
 flinging his knife, most cherished of all his pos- 
 sessions, over the box hedge because the blade had 
 cut her finger. Dick in his first long trousers, pains- 
 takingly instructing her in the mysteries of paddling 
 a canoe up Squatter Creek. Dick, tall, handsome, 
 a cavalier of whom any girl might feel proud, 
 hurrying out of the office for a word with her as 
 she passed on her way down the street. Dick grow- 
 ing from childhood into boyhood and from boyhood 
 into manhood, developing, changing, yet always the 
 same Dick. Her Dick. For he had always been 
 hers. She knew that. And no matter what might 
 come to either of them in the years that stretched 
 ahead, there was that part of him that would always 
 be hers. 
 
 Scantily as she had rewarded his devotion, igno- 
 miniously as she had failed him, she believed that 
 somehow he understood, and that never would he 
 shut her entirely away from him in spirit. They had 
 been so close, had seemed so much a part each of 
 the other. She had only to shut her eyes to feel
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 281 
 
 him with her. And his imagined presence, instead 
 of disturbing, brought her comfort, relaxation. 
 Her head weighed heavier upon her supporting 
 arms . . . 
 
 When she awakened, the clear late light of the 
 afternoon streamed through the windows. The 
 hands of the ivory clock on the dressing-table marked 
 the hour of five. She could not have been asleep 
 more than two hours, at most, but she felt as if 
 she had slept a long time. A deeper slumber, it 
 must have been, than any she had had in weeks. 
 Her arms and legs ached from inaction and from 
 her cramped posture. She got up stiffly, and went 
 to the dressing-table, picking up the brush to smooth 
 her hair. 
 
 She heard some one moving in the hall, foot- 
 steps outside her door, a knock. 
 
 "Yes?" she asked. "Who is it?" 
 
 Her father's voice answered: 
 
 "I wish you 'd spare me a few minutes in my 
 study, Jean, if your head is better." 
 
 "I '11 come at once, Father," she said. 
 
 "Thank you." 
 
 In a moment she followed him. 
 
 The study was a room she seldom visited. It 
 was understood in the Ainsworth family that when 
 the head of the house entered there he was to be 
 left undisturbed. Usually the door was kept shut.
 
 282 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 It was a large room, so that the furniture, of which 
 there was rather too much, did not clutter the 
 floor space. 
 
 There was a handsome leather couch, broad and 
 deep, between the west windows. Three or four 
 easy-chairs were set about. The massive desk faced 
 the door; flanked on each side by a tall filing-cabinet, 
 its ink-well and fittings of heavily carved bronze, 
 it was distictly impressive. On the open space in 
 front of it the dull hues of a fine Oriental rug toned 
 in with the rich red-brown of the floor stain. There 
 were a great many books, in open cases built against 
 the walls. But except for the desk the room bore 
 no stamp of Ainsworth's personality. 
 
 When Jean tapped at the half-open door the 
 Congressman rose and came forward with the me- 
 ticulous politeness he customarily observed with his 
 family. He was wearing a suit of white flannels, 
 with a soft-collared shirt turned back from his 
 throat. The coat fitted badly; it looked too large 
 for him. 
 
 "I hope," he said, "that you are feeling better." 
 
 "Yes, thank you ; I am." 
 
 "Will you sit down?" 
 
 She took the nearest chair. He selected one out 
 of direct range of the strong western light; but even 
 though he seemed at some pains to keep his back to 
 the windows Jean noticed that his face was thinner;
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 283 
 
 the skin was drawn tight over the high cheek-bones 
 and there were hollows under them. Mary Nestor 
 was right : there was no doubt that he had suffered. 
 
 "I wanted to know if you had changed your mind 
 about going, Jean," he said. 
 
 "No, Father." 
 
 " You expect, then, to leave to-morrow morning*?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "There 's nothing I can say, nothing I can do, 
 to induce you to reconsider?" 
 
 The interview, it seemed to Jean, was resolving 
 itself into the usual cross-examination, with her- 
 self in the witness-box and her father as prosecuting 
 attorney. She answered, as patiently as she could: 
 
 "I 've already explained, Father, that I should 
 be willing to stay here if you would withdraw en- 
 tirely from this campaign." 
 
 "And I 've already told you that it is impossible." 
 
 "Then I 'm afraid there 's no more to be said." 
 She half rose, but Ains worth stayed her with a 
 gesture. 
 
 "There 's a great deal more to be said, Jean. 
 You lay stress on a point which, however important 
 it may seem to you, has at least nothing to do with 
 the hospital. The building is completed, and needs 
 only the equipment. You are the only one quali- 
 fied to take charge of the work there " 
 
 "Doctor Evans is perfectly capable," Jean inter-
 
 284 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 rupted. "He 's not a very young man, but he has 
 kept abreast of modern methods. You '11 find him 
 both practical and efficient." 
 
 "But I built the hospital for you !" 
 
 Jean stared at her father in astonishment, not 
 so much because of his statement as because of the 
 way in which he made it. It was almost a cry, 
 helpless, protesting, as if the words were wrung 
 from him against his will. 
 
 "I built it for you," he repeated. "So that you 'd 
 come home. I wanted you, Jean. You said you 
 would n't give up your work. I thought perhaps if 
 you could go on with it here, to a certain extent 
 anyway, that you 'd be willing to come back." 
 
 In the infrequent letters that Tommy had written 
 her during her last year in New York he had more 
 than once asserted that the Ainsworth hospital was 
 expected to accomplish what all other means had 
 failed to effect, the return of Jean to Randolph. 
 "A pretty high bribe, too," he had called it; nor had 
 he hesitated to express his- opinion of the whole 
 transaction. But Jean had paid little attention to 
 his outbursts, putting them down to pique over his 
 failure to persuade his father to let him go and' 
 work with young Masters. By Ainsworth's own 
 admission, Tommy had been right. 
 
 "It is very difficult for me to talk to you, my 
 dear," the Congressman added, as she did not speak.
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 285 
 
 "We express ourselves in different terms." He 
 sat hunched a little forward in his chair, his fore- 
 arms resting on his knees, the finger-tips of his right 
 hand pressed against those of his left. "Because 
 I 'm not naturally demonstrative you think I have no 
 affection for you. I have. A great deal." He 
 swallowed and went on jerkily: "You and Tommy 
 were both very dear to me. I 've lost him. I 
 don't want to lose you. I want you to stay here 
 with me." 
 
 Jean was silent. A new and strange pity for 
 her father tugged at her heart; but she instantly 
 hardened again as he said brusquely: 
 
 "It 's because of Leighton you 're going, Jean." 
 He got up from his chair and stood before her, look- 
 ing down with the frown that as a child she had 
 dreaded. "Do you still love him*?" 
 
 "Yes," she answered simply, directly. 
 
 "In spite of Tommy*?" 
 
 She, too, rose, facing him. Her color was high, 
 her breath a little quick. She was no longer a 
 child, no longer subject to that old childish fear of 
 him. She was a woman grown; and if David 
 Ainsworth had never realized it before, he must 
 have known it then. The light from the setting sun 
 poured through the wide windows and fell full on 
 her face. It was a very lovely face. There was 
 no defiance in it, no bravado; the lips were firm,
 
 286 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 the eyes steady and gravely accusing. In the poise 
 of the head there was courage and self-possession, 
 hard-won and not easily to be shaken. She said 
 very quietly : 
 
 "There is no possible way in which that could 
 make any difference in my love for Dick, Father. 
 You know that the responsibility for my brother's 
 death lies elsewhere." 
 
 Ainsworth turned from her abruptly and walked 
 over to the window. 
 
 She went on: 
 
 "You 've had plenty of time to think. You 
 know exactly why Tommy went downtown that 
 night. You know what it was that made him dis- 
 guise himself in that old suit of somebody's else 
 clothes and mask his face. You 've heard you 
 could n't very well have helped hearing the things 
 he said to the men downtown : it 's all public 
 property now. You know how the whole idea got 
 into his mind in the first place. And you know in 
 your heart that the charges you 've made against 
 Dick are absolutely false. He was the sheriff and 
 he had sworn to protect the prisoner in his charge. 
 He was doing only his duty when he shot Tommy. 
 I know it; everybody in Randolph knows it. You 
 know it, whether you '11 admit or not." 
 
 Ainsworth spoke without turning around. 
 
 "I I do know it, Jean," he said with difficulty.
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 287 
 
 She fell back a step, catching her breath. 
 
 "Yes, and you knew it the day after Tommy 
 was killed! You as much as admitted it then, 
 when I told you the charge you made was false, and 
 you said it was true enough for your purpose ! You 
 accused and threatened. You knew then whose 
 methods were corrupt and unscrupulous, but you 
 hated Dick and you wanted revenge. You did n't 
 care how you got it. 
 
 "I did n't understand. I thought you were 
 sincere, even if you were terribly mistaken. I 
 stayed with you because I was sure that when you 'd 
 had time to realize what a wrong you were doing 
 an innocent man you 'd be quick to right it. Well, 
 you realize it now! You know that your accusa- 
 tions are all false, and you keep right on making 
 them ! You pile one dishonor on another, until it 
 is our name, not Dick's, that you 've made a stench 
 in the nostrils of the State! You've made me 
 ashamed of it, ashamed that I bear it !" The man 
 at the window winced away from the bitter scorn 
 in the clear young voice. 
 
 "You 're still accusing," she said, "still threaten- 
 ing. Truth and decency and self-respect are just 
 meaningless words to you. You admit that you 
 know the charges you make are false, and you told 
 me a moment ago that you won't abandon your 
 stand!"
 
 288 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 "Jean, I" 
 
 She did not heed him. 
 
 "You '11 keep on ! You let Tommy go to his 
 death ; you 've done your best to ruin Dick Leighton. 
 It 's no fault of yours that you have n't succeeded ! 
 You 're going to keep on trying. And you ask 
 me to stay here and countenance this this crime, as 
 I 've tacitly done all along. I can't do it. I won't 
 do it. If I had n't been an arrant coward and 
 weakling I should have left you before!" 
 
 "Jean" 
 
 "No ! I can't talk any more about it. It 's no 
 use. Goodby." 
 
 She turned quickly to the door. Ainsworth did 
 not try to detain her. As she went out she had a 
 glimpse of his profile, silhouetted against the opal 
 light beyond the window, the features sharpened 
 and angular, the chin bowed down over the shrunken 
 throat. 
 
 She shut the door behind her and went back along 
 the hall to her own room.
 
 XXVII 
 
 CORY JACKSON admired extravagantly the 
 house at the corner of Hill and Summit 
 streets. He had been in it only once during the 
 lifetime of Judge Randolph, but he had a tenacious 
 memory and he recalled every detail of the big 
 library with an accuracy that struck Dick Leighton 
 as almost uncanny. 
 
 "I see Miriam 's finally got away with Buddy," 
 he remarked, pointing the stem of his pipe toward 
 a small triangular shelf in the corner behind the old 
 desk. "She was always bent on doin' it. Three 
 or four times she sneaked him off, the Judge told 
 me. She said Buddy was n't decent, and it was n't 
 respectable to have no false gods in a Christian 
 house; but the Judge allowed he had a sneakin' 
 fondness for the old fellow and made her fetch him 
 back. That 's the only thing that 's different, 
 though; you haven't had much time for change, I 
 s 'pose." 
 
 "Nor inclination," said Dick. "I like the room 
 just the way it is. I rather grew up with it this 
 way. I '11 speak to Miriam to-morrow and tell her 
 to put the old fellow back where he belongs. I 've 
 
 289
 
 290 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 a sneaking fondness for him myself. For a 'false 
 god,' he said a good many things that are true." 
 
 "Oh, you know about him, then. Well, I never 
 heard nothin' but his name, and that struck me as 
 kinder chummy; but he don't pretty much, does he 1 ?" 
 
 Dick agreed that he did not. 
 
 "Well," pursued Jackson, "between him and 
 Miriam you 've got a handsome household. I did 
 think you was goin' to have somebody in it that 
 would brighten it up some, but I s'pose that 's all 
 off. I 'm not tryin' to nose into your private 
 affairs, you understand," he added quickly. "I 'm 
 just well, I 'm just interested, if you don't mind 
 my puttin' it that way. Me an' Bill" he nodded 
 toward the gaunt teamster who sat on the other 
 side of the table, puffiing stolidly at his pipe 
 "think pretty well of you, Dick, and we 'd like to 
 know things was all right for you. Which I s'pose 
 they ain't." 
 
 "Thanks; I understand, Cory," Dick said simply. 
 "Things are n't as I 'd like to have them, but it 
 can't be helped." 
 
 Jackson sighed. 
 
 "Too bad. A woman would do a sight for this 
 place the right sort of a woman, I mean. Not 
 that there 's much the matter with it as it stands ; 
 only well, she 'd make it comfortable. You know, 
 Dick, I 'm strong on things bein' comfortable.
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 291 
 
 Now, a man can make a bar-room comfortable; I 've 
 done it myself; but it takes a woman when it comes 
 to home." 
 
 "That 's why you ain't married, I cal'late," 
 drawled Murray. "If you had a missus you 'd be 
 more comf table home than you would be behind 
 the bar and then you 'd quit the saloon business." 
 
 "Likely to do it anyways. Prohibition 's comin' 
 soon. If it was n't" he grinned cheerfully "I 'd 
 have to get busy and fight Dick. He 's got his 
 reform boots on and he '11 likely go stampin' all 
 over the place. When he gets to Washington he '11 
 sure raise blazes. And he 's goin' ; that 's one sure 
 thing." 
 
 "You think so, too, Bill 1 ?" Dick asked. 
 
 Murray removed his pipe from his lips, ejacu- 
 lated, "Cinch !" and put the pipe back. 
 
 "Of course it 's a cinch," Jackson said. "He '11 
 poll the biggest vote in the history of the district. 
 Dave Ainsworth will be buried under the land- 
 slide, clean out of sight. If," he added signifi- 
 cantly, "he ain't buried elsewhere before that time." 
 
 Dick swung himself about in his chair. 
 
 "What do you mean, Cory*?" he asked sharply. 
 
 "If you did n't look the other way when he went 
 a-past you on the street you would n't need to ask 
 me. He 's a sick man. Pity for him he ain't a 
 bit sicker. Then he 'd have to stay in the house and
 
 292 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 keep quiet. Every time he opens his mouth he 
 puts both feet and an umbrella into it. He 's talked 
 around until he 's as popular hereabouts as a skunk 
 at a garden party. But at that," he added honestly, 
 "I can't help feelin' sorry for the poor devil." 
 
 Murray snorted. 
 
 "I am, I tell you," persisted Jackson. "It 's 
 just like somebody 'd kicked the bottom out of his 
 world, an' he 's hangin' on the edge with his teeth, 
 an' clawin' the air. He 's all in, down an' out. 
 He 's been high water around here for more years 
 than I like to remember, an' it must be some bitter 
 dose to see the dam go out overnight. Granted, 
 it's all his own fault; that don't help him none. 
 He was fond of that wild youngster of his, too." 
 
 "He ain't to be trusted," growled Murray into his 
 pipe. 
 
 "Well, who 's sayin' anything about trustin' him? 
 You can be sorry for a burglar, can't you, without 
 leavin' the safe door unlocked?" 
 
 "He 's a bad actor. Always has been. You 
 ask Dick. He knows. Could n't work with Judge 
 Randolph and not know." 
 
 "Oh, the Judge never liked Ainsworth," Jackson 
 conceded readily. "No more he did me. Said he 
 hoped he 'd live long enough to see Dick put us 
 both out of business. Well, Dick 's done for Ains-
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 293 
 
 worth already, and I guess my joint's on the list 
 for a clean-up. Well, politics is: politics." 
 
 "Politics is hell," amended Murray, and reached 
 for the tobacco jar. "Let's go, Cory." 
 
 The telephone on the desk at Dick's elbow 
 shrilled peremptorily. He took up the instrument. 
 
 "Hello!" he said. "Yes, this is Mr. Leighton 
 speaking." A look of puzzled surprise went over 
 his face. "Why, yes, I think I can," he said 
 slowly. "In half an hour, say? Very well." He 
 hung up the receiver and turned to Jackson : "That 
 was Ainsworth calling. He says he wants to see 
 me on a matter of importance." 
 
 "Comin' here 1 ?" Murray asked. 
 
 "No. He wants me to 'go to his house." 
 
 "Well, don't," the teamster advised. "Make 
 him come to you. Give him an inch an* he '11 pirli 
 it out to a foot to trip you with. He's a bad one, 
 Dick. Don't go." 
 
 "I 've already told him I would, Bill." 
 
 "All right. Your business. Watch him, though. 
 Comin', Cory*?" 
 
 At the door Jackson turned. 
 
 "Bill's right, Dick," he said. "He'll bear 
 watchin', even now, when you 've got him on the 
 run. Likely he '11 have some 'compromise' to sug- 
 gest. Well, don't you make none, you hear me*?"
 
 294 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 "I'm not going to, Cory; you needn't worry. 
 I have n't the ghost of an idea what Ainsworth 
 wants; but if it's a 'compromise,' there isn't any. 
 Good night." 
 
 It was a walk of but four or five minutes along 
 Summit Street to the Ainsworth house. As Dick 
 turned up the walk the sun was just sinking out of 
 sight beyond the rim of the western hills. The 
 flat beams lay like broad gol-den bands across the 
 lawn, and were flung back blindingly from the glass 
 roof of the little conservatory that was Mary Nes- 
 tor's especial care. 
 
 The windows of Jean's room were closely shut- 
 tered the first time that Dick had even seen them 
 so. For a moment he was halted by the fear that 
 she might be ill, dangerously perhaps. That would 
 explain why he had not seen her, why But he 
 refused to entertain the thought. Resolutely he had 
 put all speculation and conjecture from his mind; 
 he would not let them enter now. 
 
 Kitty answered his ring at the bell. Evidently, 
 she had been told to expect him, for she said at 
 once: 
 
 "Mr. Ainsworth is in the library, Mr. Leighton. 
 Please go right in." 
 
 The shades had been partly drawn, to temper the 
 heat of the sun; the room was full of a diffused 
 yellow light, shot through with brighter gleams
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 295 
 
 where the last rays slipped in between the swaying 
 folds of the curtains. David Ainsworth stood on 
 the hearth in one of his characteristic attitudes, his 
 feet a little apart, his hands clasped behind his 
 back. He took two steps forward, bowing with stiff 
 formality. 
 
 "Good afternoon, Mr. Leighton," he said. "I 
 appreciate your courtesy in coming." 
 
 Dick's bow was quite as non-committal as his 
 "Not at all, Mr. Ainsworth"; but it was with 
 difficulty that he repressed an exclamation of 
 shocked surprise. The Congressman's face was the 
 color of parchment and as lifeless. His dull eyes 
 lay far back in their hollow sockets. When he 
 moved toward the chair opposite the one to which 
 he waved Dick he seemed to move with difficulty. 
 
 "There is a matter* of which I wished to speak 
 to you privately before it is made public," he said. 
 "I preferred to make an oral statement directly to 
 you, in advance of the one over my signature which 
 I have prepared for the press and which I intend 
 to give out to-morrow." 
 
 He paused an instant, then went on, speaking 
 precisely, and with almost painful slowness: 
 
 "While my feelings toward you personally have 
 undergone no change whatever, while I still feel 
 that your conduct in the matter of this nomination 
 has been entirely unscrupulous, I have become con-
 
 296 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 vinced that you are not morally responsible for my 
 son's death." 
 
 Dick flushed. This was the last thing on earth 
 he had expected. He said lamely : 
 
 "I I thank you, Mr. Ains worth, I " 
 
 "No thanks are necessary, sir. Nor under- 
 stand me does this retraction mean that I shall not 
 continue in my opposition to you." 
 
 "I understand that, of course," said Dick. 
 "But " he hesitated, groping for the right ex- 
 pression for the confusion of his feelings "but I 
 hope you will let me say that your personal convic- 
 tion means more to me than your public retraction." 
 
 "My intention is not to do you a favor, Mr. 
 Leighton," Ainsworth said haughtily. "And I am 
 not looking for any favors in return." 
 
 "You mean that you do not expect me to alter 
 my attitude*?" 
 
 The Congressman bowed. 
 
 "Precisely that. I do not want you to get the 
 idea that I am asking you, even in a roundabout 
 way, for clemency. You are at perfect liberty to 
 proceed as you see fit. And, furthermore, I am 
 frank to tell you that if it were not for another 
 factor it is extremely doubtful that I should have 
 taken this course. I " He stopped; his fingers 
 went to his collar, pulling at it as if its soft folds
 
 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 297 
 
 constricted his throat unbearably. There was sud- 
 denly that in his face that made Dick look away, 
 so like it was to spying on the innermost secret of 
 a naked soul. 
 
 Twice Ainsworth essayed to speak, before he 
 succeeded. Then : 
 
 "My daughter is leaving Randolph to-morrow 
 morning," he managed. "I should like to have her 
 understand before she goes that I acknowledge 
 my error." 
 
 It was surrender. Surrender complete and final. 
 Surrender unconditional. The walls were down; 
 the gates were wide ; the way lay open for the march 
 of a triumphant victor. But Dick Leighton ex- 
 perienced no feeling of triumph. Rather, he was 
 filled with an immense pity. 
 
 The grim tragedy of it gripped him that this 
 man should have been forced to beg him, Dick 
 Leighton, whom he hated with a bitter, implacable 
 hate, to keep for him the one precious thing that was 
 left in the waste he had made of his life. For it 
 was quite clear now what was that "other factor"; 
 the last straw that had crushed his pride and brought 
 him, a supplicant, to the feet of his enemy. 
 
 Stripped of prestige, position, power, his son 
 dead as a consequence of his own act, his name 
 besmirched, his friends and adherents alike in arms
 
 298 WITHOUT COMPROMISE 
 
 against him, he stood alone, with only Jean between 
 him and chaos. It was to keep her that he had 
 done this thing. 
 
 "I think I understand, Mr. Ainsworth," Dick 
 said gravely. "I shall tell her gladly if she will 
 see me." 
 
 Ainsworth looked at him quickly, furtively. It 
 was such a look as a condemned man might give to 
 one who had the power to commute his sentence. 
 
 "I thank you," he said thickly. "I will call 
 her. If you will excuse me *?" 
 
 He bowed again, rose, and went out of the room, 
 a feeble old man with haunted eyes and shoulders 
 bowed under an intolerable burden of pitiless re- 
 morse. Gordon Randolph had been right when he 
 said that nothing could bend David Ainsworth. 
 He had not bent ; he had broken. 
 
 It was growing dusk in the room. In the 
 twisted pear-tree just outside the window, a bird 
 chirped once, drowsily. A cool breeze stirred the 
 curtains, and wafted in a breath of honeysuckle. 
 Dick heard Jean's soft, swift footsteps as she came 
 down the stairs to him.
 
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