JOHN BUST
 
 "That's a portrait of Miss Garden Miss Jessie Garden 
 of Boston," said Blake.
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 By FREDERICK UPHAM ADAMS 
 
 Author of "The Kidnapped Millionaires" 
 "Colonel Monroe's Doctrine" 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP 
 
 PUBLISHERS :: :: NEW YORK
 
 COPYRIGHT, 190* 
 FREDERICK. UPHAM ADAMS 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1903 
 * A. J. DREXEL B1DDLB 
 
 ALL RIGHT1 BK3KKVSD
 
 JDcDicatcD to 
 
 2134117
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. The Prophet's Prayer, .... 9 
 II. Jessie Garden, 14 
 
 III. John Burt's Boyhood, . . . .26 
 
 IV. James Blake, 35 
 
 V. The Runaway, 41 
 
 VI. Summer Days, 50 
 
 VII. Arthur Morris, 64 
 
 VIII. Jealousy, 73 
 
 IX. The Tragedy, 83 
 
 X. The Parting, 93 
 
 XI. Exiled, 103 
 
 XII. Samuel Lemuel Rounds, . . . 115 
 
 XIII. Sam's New York Triumphs, . . 134 
 
 XIV. Lost in the Snow, .... 144 
 XV. The Sailor Mine, 156 
 
 XVI. The Quest for Gold, . . . .167 
 
 XVII. The Capitalist, 175 
 
 XVIII. Success and Failure, . . . .186 
 
 XIX. A Brilliant Campaign, . . . .197 
 
 XX. In Strict Confidence, . . . .206 
 
 XXI. Bad News, ...... 221 
 
 XXII. A Foreign Mission, . . . .238 
 
 XXIII. Diplomacy, . . '. . . .249 
 
 XXIV. Two Strange Interviews, . . .267 
 XXV. General Garden is Puzzled, . . .275 
 
 XXVI. Breaking Old Ties, . . . .288
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XXVII. Unreasoning Passion, . . . 305 
 
 XXVIII. Measuring Lances, . . .316 
 
 XXIX. Alderman Rounds, . . . 321 
 
 XXX. On Thin Ice, 334 
 
 XXXI. The Mantle of Charity, . . .347 
 XXXII. Hawkins Makes a Discovery, . 360 
 
 XXXIII. Sam Rounds Repents, . . .375 
 
 XXXIV. The Love of a Man for a Woman, 387 
 XXXV. Edith's Confession, . . .400 
 
 XXXVI. Tale of the Ticker, . . .405 
 
 XXXVII. Father and Son, . . . .420 
 
 XXXVIII. Blake's Sacrifice, . . . .426 
 
 XXXIX. Through the Heart, . . .441 
 
 XL. Shadow of Death, . . . .449 
 
 XLI. A Mendacious God, . . . 454 
 
 XLII. The End, 463 
 
 VI
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 "That's a portrait of Miss Garden Miss 
 
 Jessie Garden of Boston," said Blake Frontispiece 
 
 The next instant a bearded face appeared 
 from the folds of a heavy overcoat . 
 
 Facing page 149 
 
 With old school dignity General Garden 
 
 presented James Blake - Facing page 291 
 
 Like a column pushed from its base he fell 
 
 Facing page 448 
 
 VII
 
 John Burt 
 
 CHAPTER ONE :: THE PROPHET'S PRAYER 
 
 KNEEL, John. Take off your hat, lad. Let 
 us pray ! " 
 
 An old man and a boy clung like wreck- 
 age to a rock which marked the outer edge of Black 
 Reef. The flickering light of a lantern accentuated 
 the gloom of the night; a night famous in the annals 
 of New England for the storm which tore the coast 
 from Quoddy Head to Siasconset. Darkness fell 
 at three o'clock that murky November day, and the 
 half gale from the south waned, only to gain strength 
 for the blast which, at turn of the tide, roared 
 in from the northeast. 
 
 Black Reef is a jagged spur of the rock-walled 
 coast which holds the Atlantic at bay in the crescent 
 sweep of beach and cliff from Nantasket to Co- 
 hasset. Forty years ago the scattered houses of a 
 few farmers nestled among the hills well back from 
 the beach. 
 
 The lantern's light revealed two figures worthy 
 the pencil of a Hogarth. Bared to the gale, the 
 old man's scant white locks streamed back from a 
 forehead massive and unfurrowed. Wonderful eyes 
 of steel gray glowed with fires of fanaticism be- 
 neath dark, shadowing eyebrows scarcely touched 
 with the rime of years. The thin lips parted in a 
 line which suggested implacable tenacity of pur-
 
 JOHN B U R T 
 
 pose, not halting at cruelty nor stopping at 
 cunning. Above the mouth, the head was that 
 of a Greek god ; below it showed the civilized 
 savage selfish, relentless the incarnation of cour- 
 age, strength, and determination. The man's 
 frame was so broad that the legs seemed stumpy, 
 yet Peter Burt stood six feet four at three score 
 years and ten. 
 
 His companion on this night mission to hurri- 
 cane-swept Black Reef was a boy of eight. When 
 he removed his cap at the old man's command, it 
 released dark curls clustering over a high and well- 
 formed brow. No fear of the storm or of the 
 strange old man showed in the dark gray eyes of 
 the youth. He was garbed in a tightly buttoned 
 jacket and a pair of homespun trousers, securely 
 tucked into copper-toed boots. The ends of a 
 blue yarn "comforter" fluttered in the gale. 
 
 As the old man spoke, a wave dashed its icy 
 spray across the rock. 
 
 41 It's awful wet, granddad. Can't I stand up 
 and pray?" 
 
 " Kneel, my boy, kneel," replied the old man 
 in a deep but not unkind voice. " The Lord will 
 not harm His servants whether they approach Him 
 in storm or in calm." 
 
 Clinging to the projecting edge of the rock, 
 young John Burt knelt at the edge of a pool left by 
 the wave. Above the roar of the surf there came 
 to his ears the notes of a distant village clock toll- 
 
 10
 
 THE PROPHET'S PRAYER 
 
 ing the hour of ten. To the east, Minot's Light 
 glowed intermittently through the mist. Against 
 the black of sea and sky it burned a halo for an in- 
 stant, vanishing to make gloom all encompassing. 
 
 Twenty feet below, the surges of the Atlantic, 
 impelled by the rising gale and tide, dashed against 
 the rock with a fury unabated in a conflict which had 
 endured for centuries. A stone's throw away a reef 
 of low rock withstood the first impact of the waves. 
 Through the darkness it showed a ridge of foam. 
 The spindrift hurled landward by the wind was 
 salt to the lips, and stinging as the lash of hail. 
 
 Falling on his knees, the old man faced the sea, 
 raised his arms to heaven, and prayed to the God 
 who rides on the wings of the storm. The spray 
 stung his face, but he heeded it not. A giant 
 surge swept the lantern away, and its faint light went 
 out as it clattered along the rocks. The old man 
 prayed fervently that his sins might be forgiven. 
 There was one sin which weighed heavily upon him, 
 though he named it not in his petition. 
 
 The year was 1860, and on that November day 
 the news had come to Rocky Woods of Abraham 
 Lincoln's election to the presidency. 
 
 Peter Burt belonged to no religious denomina- 
 tion. He interpreted the Scriptures according to 
 the " light which was within him." He believed he 
 had received a revelation from God, and that he 
 was gifted with the spirit of prophecy. He made 
 no effort to win converts to his faith. On the con-
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 trary, he cherished it close as a personal heritage. 
 Sure of secret communion and partnership with 
 God, he was jealous of his intimacy with the Al- 
 mighty. On still, clear nights, from a lonely hiil 
 which served as an altar, the giant patriarch lifted' 
 up his voice as one praying in the wilderness. Dur- 
 ing the closing weeks of the Presidential campaign 
 his addresses to the Almighty were logical declara- 
 tions and arguments, presented as if to a reasonable 
 but influential opponent. And now that Lincoln 
 was elected, Peter Burt knelt before his God, 
 humble and submissive as a sinner, but esteeming 
 himself worthy to be treated as an equal in matters 
 of State or nation. 
 
 In the tempest which lowered when the election 
 was in doubt, and broke in fury when the triumph 
 of Lincoln was certain, Peter Burt saw an augury of 
 the storm which was soon to sweep the country. 
 An ardent Abolitionist, and a rabid advocate of 
 Unionism, he lifted his voice that November night 
 in a frenzy of eloquence which thrilled the child at 
 his side and left an impress years did not efface. 
 Amid the crash of waters, with no gleam of light 
 save the pulsing glare of Minot, his gray hair 
 streaming in the wind, his dripping arms stretched 
 over the foam, Peter Burt prophesied the four years 
 of desolating war then impending. He invoked the 
 curse of God on the enemies of his country, 
 returned thanks for the coming emancipation of 
 the slaves, and exulted in the glorious victory t<i be 
 ia
 
 THE PROPHET'S PRAYER 
 
 achieved by the Union arms. He ended with a 
 tender plea for the grandson kneeling beside him 
 'who is the heir," the old man declared, "not of 
 my worldly possessions, which are nothing in Thine 
 eyes, but of those gifts and that power of divina- 
 tion with which Thou hast graciously vouchsafed 
 me. John Burt shall be the chosen one of the 
 house of Burt. Withhold not, O Lord, Thy bless- 
 ing from him ! Amen." 
 
 The old man arose and shook the water from his 
 hair. The boy clutched at him for support against 
 the gale, now blowing with cyclonic force. The 
 prophet was gone, the New England farmer stood 
 in his place. The resonant voice which challenged 
 wind and wave sounded harsh as he exclaimed : 
 
 "Where's the lantern, John? See if you can 
 find it. We'll break our necks trying to get back 
 without it." 
 
 John found the lantern, and after many at- 
 tempts and muttered complaints the old man lighted 
 it. Laboriously they picked their way along the 
 slippery rocks until they came to a protected side 
 of the ledge, where the water swung in an eddy 
 but faintly disturbed by the thundering surf. Hold- 
 ing the lantern high over his head, the old man 
 walked cautiously along until he reached the weed- 
 strewn and surf-lashed beach. He looked into the 
 face of the boy who trudged beside him. 
 
 " You are a bra^e lad, John ; a brave, good lad. 
 It is beginning to rain. We must hasten home."
 
 CHAPTER TWO 
 
 JESSIE GARDEN 
 
 *'T DON'T care to pick flowers! I want to stay 
 
 JL right where I am. I hate those old yellow 
 
 flowers ; and besides, they're scratchy. Let 
 
 me stay and watch for one of those thingumbobs 
 
 in the water. Please, Govie !" 
 
 Jessie Garden clung firmly to an iron rod of 
 the old bridge, and spoke with the pleading 
 defiance of a spoiled child of twelve. The gover- 
 ness smiled sadly down upon the pouting lips and 
 rebellious eyes. There was tender reproach in her 
 look. 
 
 The clasp of the little hand on the iron rod 
 relaxed, and a smile chased the pout from the pretty 
 lips. 
 
 "I'm awful sorry; I didn't mean anything!" 
 she exclaimed as she threw her arms around her 
 companion. " You know I'm sorry, don't you, 
 Govie ? But please let me stay here while you pick 
 flowers. I'll be awful careful." 
 
 " Certainly, my dear," replied Miss Maiden as 
 she smoothed her dark curls, tossed in charming 
 confusion by an ocean breeze which tempered the 
 heat of the August afternoon. " Don't lean out 
 over the bridge, sweetheart, and keep away from 
 the creek. I shall not be gone long, and I'll bring 
 back a nice bouquet of flowers and grasses for the 
 dinner table. You will be very careful, won't you, 
 Jessie?" 
 
 4
 
 JESSIE GARDEN 
 
 "Just awful careful, Govie. There's one of 
 those spidery things now!" 
 
 Miss Maiden left Jessie in rapt contemplation 
 of a hard-shelled crab which had ventured so near 
 the bank of the creek as to render himself visible 
 to the keen eyes of that very young lady. The 
 governess took one anxious look as she entered 
 the wood ; saw Jessie toss a pebble in the direc- 
 tion of the crab, and heard her shout for joy as the 
 crustacean moved clumsily sideways into deeper 
 water. 
 
 Save for the fitful breeze which nodded the 
 marsh grasses and fluttered the leaves of the chest- 
 nut trees, nature seemed asleep in the heat of the 
 long summer afternoon. A few rods away the 
 beach lay like a bar of tarnished brass, lapped by 
 the languid surf of an outgoing tide. The sandy 
 road stretched to the east until lost in a curve 
 around a ridge of shrub-crowned rocks. Its ruts 
 were softened in the quivering waves of heat which 
 played above it. The monotonous tinkle of a cow- 
 bell, the occasional croak of an invisible frog, the 
 drone of insects, and the murmur of the waves as 
 they caressed the rocks and sands were the only 
 sounds. The deep blue of the ocean faded at the 
 horizon into the turquoise dome of a cloudless sky. 
 It was midsummer in New England. 
 
 The dark waters of the creek mirrored a fair 
 face, doubly youthful in its innocent beauty. The 
 dark brown hair, the soft brown eyes, and the 
 
 15
 
 JOHN HURT 
 
 parted lips gave promise of coming charms. The 
 delicately molded nose was perfect, and when Jessie 
 Garden smiled there were baby dimples in the sun- 
 tanned cheeks. The girlish figure was graceful in 
 the broken curves of spring ; the limned outlines of 
 a masterpiece, upon which the artist, Time, had just 
 begun his work of love. 
 
 Jessie was spending her first summer in the 
 country. For three weeks she had been living in 
 the Bishop farm-house. So many things had hap- 
 pened that the memory of the Garden mansion 
 in Boston had become a dream. The Bishops were 
 distant relatives of General Marshall Garden, the 
 banker ; and to them had been consigned the wel- 
 fare of his daughter, in special charge of a trusted 
 governess. 
 
 Jessie peered over the rail and watched the 
 waters in vain for another of the " thingumbobs." 
 She ran back and forth and threw sticks and stones 
 into the creek in a vain attempt to lure its denizens 
 to the surface. Then she spied a hoop-pole which 
 had fallen from a passing wagon. This slender rod 
 easily reached the water, and Jessie threshed the 
 surface with all possible vigor. A projecting 
 branch from the pole caught her cap, and it fell 
 into the creek, where the tide swept it under the 
 bridge. 
 
 With a cry of dismay, Jessie turned and dashed 
 across, almost falling beneath the feet of a horse. 
 
 "Whoa, Jim!" 
 
 16
 
 JESSIE GARDEN 
 
 Checked in a slow trot by a pair of taut lines, 
 an old farm horse stopped so suddenly as to rattle 
 the contents of the wagon. The driver, a boy of 
 seventeen, dropped the lines and leaped lightly to 
 the bridge. 
 
 "Did he hit you, little girl?" 
 
 Jessie Garden stumbled and fell just beyond 
 the horse's hoofs. Before the boy could reach her, 
 she was on her feet and peering over the bridge. 
 
 "There it is! There it is!" she exclaimed, 
 dancing in excitement and dismay. " Oh, what will 
 Govie say? Boy, get me my cap!" 
 
 The youth, startled at the imperious summons, 
 followed her gaze and caught a glimpse of the cap 
 as it was carried along by the tide. Looking up 
 the road, he placed his fingers between his teeth and 
 whistled shrilly. A large Newfoundland dog came 
 towards him, leaping in huge bounds. 
 
 " Hey, Prince, go get it !" He pointed to the 
 cap, now whirling in an eddy. 
 
 The dog braced himself with his front legs, 
 and hesitated for a moment, whining, not in fear 
 but in excitement. Next moment the water 
 splashed in Jessie's face as Prince struck the sur- 
 face. With lusty strokes he swam in the direction 
 of the cap. His master vaulted the fence and fol- 
 lowed along the creek. 
 
 Prince soon reached the cap, and, holding it 
 well above the water, turned for the bank. The 
 sides were steep and slippery, but the boy took firm 
 
 17
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 hold of the dog's collar, and after a struggle hauled 
 him to solid ground. Prince dropped the cap, fill- 
 ing the air with spray as he shook himself, wagged 
 his tail, and lolled his tongue in canine self-satisfac- 
 tion. A moment later the arm of a sailor blouse 
 was round the shaggy, wet neck, a tanned hand 
 caressed the heaving sides, and a sweet voice cooed: 
 
 " You are the best and dearest and bravest 
 old doggie in the world, and I love you 1" 
 
 " Here is your cap," said the boy, as he held a 
 much bedraggled piece of millinery gingerly at 
 arm's length. 
 
 "Thank you boy!" said Jessie, smiling through 
 tears which were welling in her eyes. With a little 
 sigh of relief, she noted that the governess was not 
 in sight. Jessie patted the dog on the head, and 
 with a roguish glance addressed her unknown com- 
 panion. 
 
 " It was the dog that did it, not you," she said 
 with a laugh which showed that all her sorrows were 
 chased away. 
 
 "What's his name?" 
 
 " Prince." 
 
 l "What is your own name?" asked Jessie, 
 with the direct frankness of twelve years. 
 
 " My name is Burt John Burt." 
 
 " Bert is a first name," said Jessie, looking the 
 boy in the eyes with an expression half of doubt 
 and half of surprise. " I have a cousin named Bert 
 Bert Hancock." 
 it
 
 JESSIE GARDEN 
 
 " Mine's spelled B-u-r-t." 
 
 " My name is Jessie Garden," said the young 
 lady as she crawled through the fence unassisted by 
 her new acquaintance. The courtesy expected by 
 a miss of twelve is the same as that extended by a 
 lad of seventeen, so neither suffered in the other's 
 estimation. 
 
 "What were you trying to do with that pole?" 
 asked John as they reached the bridge. 
 
 " I was trying to stir up those spidery things 
 down there in the water," replied Jessie, again 
 grasping the pole, which had remained erect, fast 
 in the sticky bottom of the creek. 
 
 " Spidery things?" laughed the boy. " Do you 
 mean crabs? Do they go like this ?" John placed 
 his hands together and wriggled his fingers in 
 accurate imitation of an active crab. 
 
 " Yes, that's the way they go 1" declared 
 Jessie. " Oh, how I wish I could catch one 1" 
 
 "That's easy," said John Burt as he climbed 
 into the wagon. " Wait until I hitch this horse, 
 and I'll show you how. Want some anyhow; you 
 can watch me." 
 
 | John Burt speedily returned with some scraps 
 of meat and a mysterious implement which con- 
 sisted of a pole with a stout dip net at the end of 
 it. Jessie regarded the preparations with keen 
 interest. Prince found a shady place beneath an 
 oak girder, and went sound asleep. The boy took a 
 piece of string from his pocket and securely fast- 
 
 19
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 ened a piece of tough raw beef to it ; then he low- 
 ered the meat into the water. In his left hand he 
 held the pole, with the meshes of the dip net but a 
 few inches above the surface. Jessie watched with 
 bated breath and wide opened eyes. 
 
 " Can I talk?" she whispered. 
 
 " Sure," responded John. " Nothing scares a 
 crab much. I've got a bite! Stand back!" 
 
 Jessie had crowded so close to the fisherman 
 that he had no room to manipulate the net. She 
 jumped to one side, but did not take her eyes off 
 the water. Slowly and carefully John raised the 
 string. At last the meat showed red in the murky 
 water of the creek. As it came to the surface John 
 thrust the net [below. Out of the swirl of water 
 it emerged, laden with the meat and a struggling, 
 writhing crab. 
 
 "Got him!" said John, as he lifted the drip- 
 ping collection over the side of the bridge. 
 
 Jessie screamed with delight. Prince awoke, 
 trotted across the bridge, and surveyed the crab 
 with much dignity; then returned with a look of 
 disgust that so ordinary an event had created so 
 great a furor. 
 
 " Isn't he ugly ! Look at his legs ! One, two, 
 three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven 
 no, ten I counted one of them twice. Does he 
 bite?" Jessie hovered over the net and stretched 
 her fingers towards the floundering crab. The little 
 beady eyes glittered, the claws clashed helplessly. 
 
 20
 
 JESSIE GARDEN 
 
 " You bet he can bite ! You get near enough 
 and he'll nip you good and hard," said John as he 
 unsnarled the crab from the twine and meat. " Run 
 over to the wagon and get the basket. I forgot 
 it." 
 
 Delighted to be of assistance in so famous an 
 undertaking, Jessie ran swiftly to the wagon, and 
 returned with a large wicker basket. John had al- 
 ready dropped the bait in the water, and the crab 
 was crawling around the bridge. Reaching down, 
 he deftly grabbed the crab and dropped him into 
 the basket. 
 
 For an instant Jessie was speechless with 
 wonder and admiration at such bravery. 
 
 "He didn't bite you?" 
 
 " Of course not. I didn't let him. You must 
 grab them back of the neck. Here, look out ! I've 
 got another 1" 
 
 There was a swish of water and a second crab 
 ended his aqueous career, joining his companion in 
 the basket. 
 
 "They're crawling out!" exclaimed Jessie. 
 " One of 'em's on the edge ! Stop him, quick 1" 
 
 John shook the basket and the crab fell to the 
 bottom. 
 
 " I'll tell you what to do," directed John. " Go 
 and get a stick, and when they try to crawl up, poke 
 'em back 1" 
 
 Jessie found a short stick, and for ten minutes 
 "poked. 'em back." The colony steadily increased,
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 and the joy of keeping them in the basket began to 
 pall. Jessie looked wistfully at her companion. 
 
 " Boy, let me catch and you poke," she ven- 
 tured in a plaintive note. " I never caught a crab. 
 Won't you please John Burt?" 
 
 " Why, certainly !" said John. " I'll show you 
 how." 
 
 Jessie left the squirming mass of crabs and 
 sprang to John's side. Her face was aglow with 
 the thrill of a new experience. Her hand trembled 
 as she grasped the wet, slippery pole, but determi- 
 nation showed in every feature. 
 
 " Reach down as far as you can," John directed. 
 " That's right. Now hold the pole in your other 
 hand like that. You're doing fine. When you feel 
 something pull or jerk, pull up slowly, though, or 
 you'll scare him. Do you feel anything?" 
 
 "The line kind of twitches," whispered Jessie. 
 
 " Raise it up slow. Be careful. There's one 
 on, sure ! Now jam the net under him !" 
 
 Jessie made a swing with the net, but dipped 
 too low. A huge crab dropped from the meat, 
 struck the edge of the net, and floundered back into 
 the water. 
 
 " I lost him ! What a shame ! Wasn't he big ?" 
 
 " Go on ; try again," said John good naturedly. 
 
 Jessie lowered the meat and waited patiently 
 for a minute. Then she slowly raised the line. With 
 much care she dropped the net below the meat and 
 raised it from the water.
 
 JESSIE GARDEN 
 
 " I've got one! I've got one! Take it quick, 
 or he'll get away ! There's two of 'em two of 
 'em I" 
 
 Jessie clapped her hands and danced with 
 delight. John grinned in sympathy as he shook 
 two crabs from the net. Prince growled. John 
 looked up the road. 
 
 " There's some one coming," he said. 
 
 Jessie turned and saw Miss Maiden approach- 
 ing. In an instant the many transgressions of 
 which she was guilty passed through her mind. She 
 looked at her muddy feet, her bedraggled hat, and 
 her splattered blouse and skirt. 
 
 " I'll get an awful scolding," she said, half to 
 herself and half to the boy. Then for the first 
 time she scrutinized John Burt. She noted that he 
 was well dressed ; that he was not barefooted, like 
 most farmer boys ; and that he was handsome and 
 self-possessed. 
 
 " Do you belong to the riffraff?" asked Jessie, 
 lowering her voice so that the approaching gover- 
 ness should not hear her. 
 
 "The what?" asked John Burt. 
 
 " The riffraff," repeated Jessie. 
 
 " Never heard of it," replied John Burt with a 
 puzzled smile. " What is it ?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Jessie; "but my papa 
 don't allow me to associate with the riffraff, and I 
 forgot until just now to ask you if you are a riff- 
 raff."
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 A look of pain came to the honest face of the 
 boy. Before he could speak Jessie turned to meet 
 Miss Maiden. 
 
 " Why, Jessie Garden, what have you been 
 doing?" With a cry of dismay the governess 
 dropped an armful of flowers and surveyed the 
 wreck of the sailor suit. " Look at your shoes, 
 Jessie, and your new cap, and your lovely dress ! 
 What will your auntie say? Oh, Jessie, how could 
 you do such a thing ?" 
 
 Jessie looked penitent indeed as she gazed at 
 the muddy shoes and the torn stocking ; but con- 
 trition is a feeble flame in the heart of a child. 
 
 " Never mind the old clothes, Govie," she said, 
 raising a face radiant in smiles at the thought of 
 the fun she had enjoyed. "Watch me catch a 
 crab ! I can do it just splendid 1" 
 
 " Jessie, lay that pole down and come away 
 with me," said Miss Maiden sternly. u How dare 
 you play with a strange boy 1 What would your 
 father say? Come with me at once!" 
 
 " He isn't riffraff, Govie !" said Jessie, with 
 a look at the boy which gladdened his heart 
 and took away the sting of her innocent words. 
 11 He is John Burt, and he and Prince saved my cap 
 when it fell into the water. I asked him how to 
 catch crabs and he showed me, and I caught two at 
 once, didn't I, John Burt?" 
 
 Thus appealed to, John Burt bowed to Miss 
 Maiden and answered in the affirmative. Miss
 
 JESSIE GARDEN 
 
 Maiden looked at him with all the severity of her 
 gentle nature, though she knew that he was not to 
 blame for the condition of her charge. She gath- 
 ered up the flowers and took Jessie by the hand. 
 
 "Good-bye, Prince! Good-bye, John Burt!" 
 Jessie waved her hand gaily at her fishing compan- 
 ion as Miss Maiden turned into the path leading 
 through the woods. 
 
 " He was real nice, and you're awful good, 
 Govie, not to scold him !" were the words that 
 reached John Burt as he carried his basket of crabs 
 to the wagon.
 
 CHAPTER THREE 
 
 JOHN HURT'S BOYHOOD 
 
 FOR two hundred years the Burt house had with- 
 stood the blasts of winter and the withering 
 heat of summer. Time had worked upon the 
 rough exterior until it seemed like a huge rect- 
 angular rock, weather worn and storm beaten. The 
 small plateau on which it stood sloped northward 
 to the sea. Rugged rocks to the west stood as a 
 wall, frowning at the quiet beauties of salt marsh 
 and cedar swamp below. To the south were 
 patches of meadow wrested from wood and rock 
 by generations of toil. Through this fairer section 
 a brook wandered between banks festooned with 
 watercress. Old settlers knew the locality by the 
 name of Rocky Woods. 
 
 The convulsion of nature which raised this 
 rugged coast as an eternal challenge to the Atlantic, 
 exhausted its strength in the upheaval of a crag 
 which reached its height a few hundred yards south- 
 west of the old farmhouse. Black at the base with 
 the gloom of fir and pine, its summit was bare 
 in primeval rocks. For generations the dismal 
 crest was called Burt's Hill, and in the time of this 
 narrative, Burt's Pulpit. 
 
 i At the base of its slope, and bordering the 
 road, a square of perhaps a hundred feet had been 
 hewn from the forest. Within this stone-walled 
 area, blackened slabs of slate stood as sentinels 
 above the ashes of eight generations of the house 
 H
 
 JOHN HURT'S BOYHOOD 
 
 of Burt. Some slabs had fallen, others leaned 
 weary of their sad task in the long flight of years. 
 Here and there, over newly-made mounds, the white 
 of a marble or the mottled blue of a granite seemed 
 garish in comparison with flaked and crumbled 
 slates, the crude letters on which were lost or 
 blurred pitifully eloquent in their voiceless testi- 
 mony of the mutability of the works of man. The 
 inclosing woods, as if anxious to efface the last 
 memento which linked the past to the present, 
 steadily encroached on the sleeping place of these 
 pioneers. The overhanging boughs and the creep- 
 ing vines seemed a repressed vegetal flood, eager to 
 overleap the barrier which for two centuries had 
 held it from its ancient own. 
 
 When Hezekiah Burt died, Peter Burt inher- 
 ited the hold homestead in Rocky Woods. He was 
 a young giant with the shoulders of a Hercules. 
 His feats of strength are legends which yet pass 
 from father to son in this part of New England. At 
 the age of thirty he took to wife the fairest maiden 
 of the surrounding country, and to them a son was 
 born and christened Robert Burns Burt. A year 
 later the mother sickened and died. The grief of 
 Peter Burt was terrible as his strength. For a year 
 he remained a prisoner in his house ; then returned 
 to work, and for two years labored with the energy 
 of a demon. His second marriage followed. He 
 led to the altar the daughter of a poor farmer, and 
 of this prosaic union seven children were born.
 
 JOHN BUR 
 
 T 
 
 After fifteen years of work and sorrow the 
 patient wife folded her tired hands, closed her 
 weary eyes, and sank into that sleep which awakens 
 not to toil. If Peter Burt loved his second wife, he 
 never told her so. If he loved her children, his ex- 
 pression of affection took a peculiar form. He 
 made no secret of his favoritism for Robert Burns 
 Burt, the only child of his first wife. 
 
 Robert was a boy of whom any father would 
 be proud. At twelve he was sent to school in 
 Hingham. At nineteen he entered Harvard, grad- 
 uating in four years with honors. After two more 
 years devoted to a law course, he began practice in 
 Boston, and his success was instantaneous. 
 
 His visits to Rocky Woods were events not to 
 be forgotten by his half-brothers and sisters. 
 When Robert came the father was another being. 
 The harsh note left his voice, his eyes were soft 
 and loving, and he spoke kind words to the chil- 
 dren. The table was heaped with all the delicacies 
 that Hingham afforded ; work was suspended for 
 the day, and in the evening Peter Burt climbed to 
 the dusty attic and brought back an old violin. 
 With the flickering glare of an open fire lighting 
 up his strong face, he sang the love songs of his 
 youth; and at times a quaver came into his voice, 
 and through the shadows tears glistened on his 
 cheeks. 
 
 Then Robert would play and sing a college 
 song, perhaps, or a fragment from some opera. 
 
 8
 
 JOHN HURT'S BOYHOOD 
 
 Those were sweet but rare events in the old farm- 
 house beneath the shadow of Burt's Hill. 
 
 For ten years after the death of his wife, Peter 
 Burt conducted the farm of his forefathers. One 
 after another of his sons and daughters, as they be- 
 came of age, left the old home, never to return. 
 One night after supper Peter Burt informed the 
 remaining children that he was going to sea. He 
 had bought an interest in a whaling vessel, and 
 would sail from New Bedford in a week. To Sarah 
 the eldest of the children he gave three hundred 
 dollars, together with instructions concerning the 
 management of the farm. He did not know how 
 long he would be gone it might be a year or it 
 might be five. With some tenderness he kissed the 
 weeping orphans, and tramped down the road in 
 the direction of Hingham, 
 
 Peter Burt was fifty-six years old when he 
 sailed from New Bedford harbor as captain of the 
 wealing ship Segregansett. Robert alone, of all his 
 children, stood on the pier when the ship weighed 
 anchor and stood out to sea. With tears coursing 
 down his cheeks, the father bade the young man 
 good-bye and gave him his blessing. 
 
 Five years later the Segregansett dropped 
 anchor at New Bedford. None of the crew that 
 went out with her returned. Peter Burt sold the 
 cargo, paid off his men, disposed of his interest in 
 the ship, and on the following day walked into the 
 Burt farmhouse. He was greeted affectionately by 
 
 29
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 his son Joseph, who for a year had lived alone in 
 the old house. A week later the boy was sent to 
 school in Boston, and Peter Burt began his solitary 
 occupancy of the ancestral home. 
 
 Shortly before Peter Burt's return, Robert had 
 married, and the old man was delighted when the 
 young couple made a visit to the old farm. The 
 following year John Burt was born, and Peter Burt 
 journeyed to Boston to witness the christening. 
 
 Two yfars later Robert Burns Burt and his 
 wife were instantly killed in a railroad accident. 
 The train crashed through a bridge. It was winter, 
 and bitterly cold. Of the fifteen passengers in the 
 car occupied by Robert Burt, but one escaped. A 
 child, two years old, was found warmly wrapped in 
 its traveling blanket, uninjured, on a cake of ice, a 
 few minutes after the car plunged beneath the water. 
 It was John Burt. 
 
 In the opinion of his neighbors, Peter Burt 
 was crazy from the hour the news came to him. 
 Strange stones were whispered concerning Captain 
 Burt, as he was then called. Belated travelers 
 along the lonely road saw lights burning through 
 all hours of the night. They heard the old man 
 talking or praying in a loud voice. 
 
 On two occasions Dr. Randall, returning from 
 nocturnal calls, drove past the Burt house long 
 after midnight. Once he saw Captain Burt walk- 
 ing slowly up and down in front of his house. The 
 night was intensely cold, but the old man was bare-
 
 JOHN BURT'S BOYHOOD 
 
 headed, his hair shining like snow in the moonlight. 
 His hands were raised. He was beseeching pardon 
 for some great sin. Dr. Randall spoke to him, but 
 in a voice of thunder Captain Burt ordered him to 
 drive on. On the second occasion, the doctor 
 heard the voice of the recluse from the top of the 
 great rock, and through the trees caught a glimpse 
 of his giant figure dim against a starlit sky. 
 
 A sailor who came from New Bedford to Hing- 
 ham told grim stories of Captain Burt. From the 
 tales of this drunken manner, the impression grew 
 that Captain Burt was the most merciless man that 
 ever trod a deck. The stranger insinuated that 
 there was one story of crime which would astound 
 all hearers ; but though garrulous when in his cups, 
 he seemed held in a spell of fear, and could not be 
 induced to reveal it. 
 
 Upon the death of Robert, Peter Burt went to 
 Boston and buried his dead. With tearless eyes he 
 saw the pride of his old age lowered into the grave. 
 Robert Burns Burt was a careful lawyer, and his 
 will covered every contingency. It appointed his 
 father executor of his small estate, and intrusted 
 him with the care of his son. Peter Burt placed 
 the boy in the keeping of a competent nurse, and 
 returned to his farm. 
 
 Save for the occasional smoke from the chim- 
 ney, there was no sign that Peter Burt existed 
 throughout the three months that followed. His son 
 Joseph called at the house, but was wot admitted. 
 
 3*
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 At the end of this period the old man emerged 
 and was seen in Hingham. For the first time in 
 years he spoke to his neighbors, who noticed that 
 his hair was as driven snow, and that his face shone 
 with a strange light. In the calm manner of one 
 controlled by an unalterable conviction, he stated 
 that he had made his peace with God, and was in- 
 spired by Him. He had received the gift of pro- 
 phecy and of understanding. 
 
 His language was figurative, and he talked in 
 parables ; but his predictions were plainly stated, 
 and, to the wonderment of those who heard them, 
 they were invariably accurate. He foretold the 
 weather for coming seasons, the condition of the 
 crops, the death of famous characters, the result of 
 elections, and described in advance the successive 
 political moves which were then leading up to the 
 conflict between North and South. 
 
 When John Burt was seven years old, his 
 grandfather brought him to the old farmhouse. 
 With the boy came his nurse and her husband, 
 William Jasper, the latter charged with the duties 
 of hired man. Thus John Burt began his life on 
 the farm. 
 
 Those old folks who remembered Peter Burt 
 in his childhood saw in John his living image ; the 
 boy's features being softened, though not weak- 
 ened, by the gentle beauty of his mother and 
 paternal grandmother. The child had no fear of 
 the old man, who for a generation had inspired 
 
 1*
 
 JOHN BURT'S BOYHOOD 
 
 terror or awe in all about him. Far from feeling 
 aversion, he was fond of the aged recluse and 
 fanatic. It was strange and almost uncanny to 
 witness this ill-assorted companionship. The 
 neighbors learned, however, from William Jasper 
 that Peter Burt became perfectly rational in his talk 
 with the child. 
 
 He permitted and encouraged John to become 
 acquainted with the few boys of his age in the 
 neighborhood, though he sternly denied them 
 entrance to his house. 
 
 With infinite patience Peter Burt explained to 
 the boy such natural phenomena as his young mind 
 was able to comprehend. The sprouting of grain; 
 the slow unfolding of a plant; the growth and 
 bursting of a bud ; the creeping of a vine ; the flow- 
 ing of a brook ; the falling of the rain ; the changing 
 of the seasons these and hundreds of other things 
 which puzzle a boy were made clear by Peter Burt. 
 John learned the names of grasses, of flowers, 
 shrubs, trees, vines, and weeds ; of birds, insects, 
 and the inhabitants of wood and field. On his 
 eighth birthday he began the study of the alphabet. 
 At that time he knew more of the physical world 
 in which he lived than do many professors of learn- 
 ing. 
 
 When John had mastered his letters and 
 primer he was sent to school in Hingham, taking 
 the regular course for five years. Then a private 
 tutor came from Boston. Five days in the week
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 the boy studied under this young man's direction, 
 and made rapid progress. With his stern old face 
 lighted with joy and pride, Peter Burt would listen 
 to the recitations.
 
 CHAPTER FOUR 
 
 JAMES BLAKE 
 
 JOHN BURT was fourteen years old when he 
 first met James Blake. The elder Blake had 
 purchased the old Leonard farm, and so had 
 become the nearest neighbor of Peter Burt. There 
 were several children in the Blake family, but this 
 narrative has concern only with James, the eldest, 
 a boy of John Burt's age. 
 
 The two farms were separated by a creek, 
 which, at a place called the Willows, widened to a 
 pool, famed as a fishing and swimming place. One 
 June morning John was seated on a log spanning 
 the narrow neck of this reach of water. He had 
 landed a bass, when the cracking of twigs and the 
 swaying of the underbrush on the farther side of 
 the creek attracted his attention. 
 
 A moment later a boy emerged from the 
 thicket. He surveyed John with an expression 
 more of contempt than of surprise. The new 
 comer was a tall, well-formed lad, straight as an 
 arrow, quick and graceful in his movements. He 
 also carried a rod, which he rested against the log ; 
 and for a few seconds he calmly gazed at John 
 Burt. 
 
 "Hello!" 
 
 " Hello I" answered John Burt. 
 
 " Fishin' ?" 
 
 " No ; swimming," replied John. 
 
 "Think you're smart, don't ye?" responded 
 
 35
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 the strange boy as he baited his hook. " Crazy 
 Hurt's boy, ain't ye? No objection to my fishin', 
 have you?" 
 
 There was a taunting sarcasm in his voice, and 
 defiance in his air. Without waiting for reply he 
 cast his line into the water. 
 
 "You can fish as long as you please on your 
 own side of the creek," said John sullenly. As he 
 spoke a two-pound bass struck viciously, and for 
 the next two minutes he was busy. With per- 
 fect skill he wore the fish down and landed him. 
 Jim Blake watched him, but for half an hour no 
 word was spoken. John caught four bass during 
 that time, while Jim hooked only eel grass. Then 
 he cast his line across the pool, dropping it a few 
 feet from John's line. 
 
 John Burt's face flushed angrily. 
 
 " Keep on your own side! " he commanded. 
 
 " I'll fish where I darn please ! This isn't your 
 creek! " retorted Jim Blake with a defiant grin. "If 
 it is, what are ye going to do about it?" 
 
 As he spoke John brought his hook near the 
 surface, and by a sudden twist " snagged " Jim 
 Blake's line. With a jerk he whipped the rod from 
 his opponent's hand. Young Blake was furious. 
 John calmly towed the rod across the pool, un- 
 snarled the lines, and threw the rod on the bank. 
 
 Obeying a boy's first instinct, Jim looked for 
 a stone, but found none. Then he jumped for the 
 log. Dropping his rod, John Burt also sprang for- 
 3*
 
 JAMES BLAKE 
 
 ward, and they met in the centre of the bridge. Jim 
 aimed a blow at John's head, which was parried. 
 John swung to the chin, and the next instant Jim 
 clenched and both fell eight feet into the water. 
 
 The pool was deep, and it seemed to Jim as if 
 they never would come to the surface. When he 
 did, and had gasped for breath, a pair of strong 
 hands gripped his neck and he went down again. 
 The water sang in his ears, the world grew black, 
 and a roar as of a hundred cataracts thundered 
 around him. Then it suddenly became light. The 
 cool and splendid air filled his nostrils, and a voice 
 sounded in his ears: 
 
 "Say 'enough,' or down you go again!" 
 
 "E-nough! E-e-e-nough! I'll quit " spluttered 
 Jim Blake, throwing his arms about wildly. 
 
 With one hand firmly gripping Jim Blake's col- 
 lar John Burt swam ashore with the other. ' It was 
 ten minutes before Blake recovered his breath. 
 With it he regained his courage. John had re- 
 sumed fishing. 
 
 " You had the best of me in the water, and I 
 cried quits," he said, springing to his feet, " but I 
 can lick you on land. Come on ; I dare you ! Take 
 a dare steal a sheep! There's a chip knock it 
 off!" 
 
 Jim Blake placed a twig on his shoulder and 
 threw himself on guard. 
 
 " No, I won't fight you to-day," said John Burt 
 calmly. " You're in no shape to fight. Your name's 
 
 37
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 Blake, isn't it? Well, I'll fight you on either side 
 of the creek to-morrow." 
 
 "I'll be here at nine to-morrow! " 
 
 " All right ; we'll have it out ; " and John went 
 on fishing. 
 
 Jim gathered up his rod, recrossed the log, and 
 disappeared in the brush. 
 
 John Burt was not quite as heavy as Jim Blake, 
 and was six months younger. He had not been in 
 Hingham school a week when he was the acknowl- 
 edged commander-in-chief of the two score or more 
 boys of about his own age. The result was attained 
 by physical force, and by the natural law decreeing 
 that some shall lead and others follow. Peter Burt 
 had no religious scruples against fighting, and 
 quoted the Bible to uphold his views. He taught 
 John many tricks of boxing and wrestling, and was 
 proud of the boy's strength and skill. 
 
 The two boys met the following morning, and 
 wasted little time in preliminaries. 
 
 " Are you ready ?" asked Jim. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 And the next moment they went at it. 
 
 Jim fought with fury and much skill, but was 
 no match for the clear headed, alert, and wiry lad 
 who confronted him. It was a " stand up " battle, 
 no blows being struck when either was down. Had 
 a referee been present he would have stopped the 
 fight at the end of the first minute and awarded 
 it to John. As it was, fifteen minutes claused he-
 
 JAMES BLAKE 
 
 fore Jim Blake went down and out from a cleanly 
 delivered blow on the point of the chin. One eye 
 was closed, his nose was bleeding, and his breath 
 completely exhausted. 
 
 Together they staggered down the bank to the 
 creek, washed the blood from their faces, and 
 bathed their swelling bruises. 
 
 " I thought you was a country Jake, and 
 couldn't fight," half sobbed Jim Blake, pulling at a 
 sprained thumb. " I was never licked before." 
 There was a gleam of pride through the tear in his 
 uninjured eye. 
 
 " I was born in Boston, but I guess I am a 
 country Jake," conceded John. " Say, I like you 
 shake!" 
 
 Jim extended a willing arm, and they shook 
 hands with the gravity of trained pugilists. 
 
 A week later John met Jim and was told of a 
 flogging he had received from his father, who was 
 notorious as the village drunkard. 
 
 Thereupon developed in John Burt and James 
 Blake that strong friendship so frequent between 
 boys of contrasting natures. They seemed to have 
 only two traits in common both were frank and 
 both generous. By nature and by reason of his 
 grandfather's training, John was analytical, and 
 arrived at his conclusions logically. Jim Blake 
 jumped at deductions, and was generally wrong. 
 He acted first and thought afterwards. John was 
 methodical ; Jim was careless. 
 
 99
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 James Blake was neither stupid nor dull. He 
 was bright as he was handsome, and a better 
 favored lad never gladdened a mother's heart, but 
 he lacked that indefinable trait which is variously 
 termed judgment, tact, or intuition. John Burt 
 combined all of these gifts, but loved the adventur- 
 ous spirit of his companion. 
 
 When Jim Blake was seventeen years old, he 
 decided to run away from home. The two boys 
 talked it over many times. To the scanty hoard in 
 Jim's possession John Burt added thirty-five dol- 
 lars all the money he had saved from sums given 
 him at various times by Peter Burt. So, with forty 
 odd dollars in his pocket, and with tears in his 
 handsome eyes, Jim Blake shook hands with John 
 Burt and went out into the world to seek his for- 
 tune. 
 
 Little did these two boys think, as they parted 
 that October afternoon, that their acts and passions 
 and lives would one day be woven by fate into a 
 web of marvelous workmanship.
 
 CHAPTER FIVE 
 
 THE RUNAWAY 
 
 years elapsed before Jessie Garden re- 
 turned to the Bishop farm. John Burt was 
 now twenty years old, and had successfully 
 passed the examination which admitted him to 
 Harvard. General Garden came with Jessie, de- 
 lighted with the prospect of a week's rest in the old 
 house. Miss Jessie, no longer a child, but a young 
 lady with the impressive dignity of fifteen summers, 
 was to spend the season with the Bishops. 
 
 General Garden was an enthusiastic horseman. 
 Jessie was still unpacking her trunks when her 
 father sent word that the carriage was ready, and 
 that she was to drive with him. A few minutes 
 later they were speeding down the old beach road. 
 The spirited bays had not been exercised for 
 several days, and for a time the general found it 
 difficult to control them. They drove for miles 
 along the winding, shaded roads. The breeze 
 came cool and salt from the ocean, and the air was 
 fragrant with the breath of summer. 
 , " Here is where the crazy man lives," said 
 Jessie, as they passed the old grave-yard, "and there 
 is the rock from which he prays at night. When it 
 is still we can hear him at our house." 
 
 A bit of the harness had become unbuckled. 
 Handing the reins to Jessie, General Garden 
 stepped to the ground to adjust it. The twelve 
 mile drive had " taken the edge " off the horses, as 
 
 4
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 he expressed it, and he had them under perfect 
 control. 
 
 His feet had hardly touched the ground when 
 a prowling hunter, a few rods away, discharged a 
 gun. The report was terrifying, and the affrighted 
 horses leaped ahead. Jessie was thrown violently 
 backward, the lines slipping from her hands. Gen- 
 eral Garden sprang for the horses' heads an instant 
 too late. He caught one glimpse of his daughter's 
 white face as she swept past him. The agony 
 of years was compressed into the succeeding 
 moments. 
 
 The frenzied team dashed down the steep 
 grade at appalling speed. At the base of the hill, 
 and almost in front of the Burt farmhouse, was a 
 sharp curve. Then the road skirted the cliffs for 
 a quarter of a mile. Beyond lay a crooked hill, 
 lined with ragged rocks the most dangerous slope 
 for miles around." 
 
 The carriage swayed as the horses thundered 
 madly forward. Paralyzed by a fear which diove 
 the blood from his cheeks, the brave old soldier^ 
 who had never faltered on a score of battle-fields, 
 stood helpless and trembling. 
 
 Through the cloud of dust he saw the team 
 as it passed the old house. A few rods beyond, a 
 man lightly vaulted a fence and darted towards the 
 road. General Garden's eyes were blurred, but he 
 saw a flash of blue and white, as if something had 
 been hurled in front of the maddened team- It
 
 THE RUNAWAY 
 
 clung to the head of the off horse, and was tossed 
 back and forth by the frantic animal. For an 
 instant the figure seemed beneath the hammering 
 hoofs. Could any human being hold fast in such a 
 position? 
 
 At the turn in the road the general distinctly 
 saw a man clinging to the horses' bits, bruised by 
 the swaying pole a pigmy who dared check the 
 flight of giants. They swerved sharply at the 
 curve. The off horse stumbled, lurched sideways, 
 and fell. There was a crash ; the sickening sound 
 of splintered wood and clanking steel; then a 
 silence, as the dust lifted and revealed the jagged 
 outlines of a mass of wreckage. 
 
 As General Garden neared the fateful spot, he 
 saw an old man run from the Burt yard and plunge 
 into the wreck. A moment later he saw something 
 in the rescuer's hands. A crumpled blue hat above 
 dark curls showed plain in contrast to the white 
 hair of the aged giant, who handled the little figure 
 as if it were a feather, laid it gently by the side 
 of the road, and again darted into the twisted 
 mass. 
 
 General Garden breathed a silent prayer. He 
 was a few rods away when Jessie moved slightly, 
 lifted her head, and sprang to her feet. She stood 
 for a moment, dazed and wavering ; then her eyes 
 rested on her father. 
 
 "I'm not hurt, papa!" she exclaimed bravely. 
 "I am not hurt a bit. Oh, what has happened?" 
 
 41
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 " Thank God ! Thank God !" He caught 
 Jessie in his arms, gazed fondly into her eyes, and 
 tenderly embraced her. 
 
 " Come and help me, sir ! Is he dead ? Oh, is 
 he dead ?" The loud, harsh command of the old 
 man ended in a moan, pitiful in its anxious misery. 
 
 General Garden turned to the aid of Peter 
 Burt. Tangled in the harness, a horse was plung- 
 ing and struggling in an attempt to regain his feet, 
 The other horse was dead, and beneath his shoulder 
 was pinioned the leg of a young man. Blood was 
 trickling down his face, and he lay in the dust of 
 the road, limp and death-like. His right hand still 
 grasped the bit ; his head was near the hoofs of the 
 frantic animal. 
 
 " Hold that horse's head down 1" ordered the 
 old man. General Garden threw his weight on the 
 beast's neck. Jessie was hovering near, wringing 
 her hands in pity and excitement. The old man 
 looked towards the house and shouted Jasper's 
 name, but the hired man was not in sight. Then 
 his eyes fell on Jessie. 
 
 "When I lift that horse will you drag ray 
 boy's leg from under?" 
 
 "Yes, sir; oh, hurry sir!" 
 
 Crouching down, Peter Burt threw the head of 
 the dead animal across his shoulder. He grasped 
 the trace with one hand and the foreleg with the 
 other. In his prime he had raised twelve hundred 
 pounds, dead weight. The muscles of his neck 
 
 44
 
 THE RUNAWAY 
 
 stood out like whipcords. With a heave of his 
 massive shoulders he raised the forward part of the 
 horse clear from the ground, and Jessie quickly 
 released the pinioned limb of the motionless young 
 man. 
 
 The old man gathered the body in his arms, 
 and carried it to a grass plot by the side of the 
 road. He rested his gray head for a moment on 
 the young man's chest, and heard the faint flutter 
 of the heart. In accents which thrilled Jessie 
 Garden he exclaimed : 
 
 " He lives ! He lives ! Praise God, my boy 
 is not dead! " 
 
 At that moment Jasper appeared and was des- 
 patched for Dr. Randall. General Garden cut the 
 traces, and the uninjured horse regained his feet. 
 Mrs. Jasper brought a basin of water, and when 
 General Garden joined the silent group Jessie was 
 washing the dust and blood from the white face 
 and smoothing back the curling locks. 
 
 " Why, it's John Burt ! It's John Burt, papa!" 
 she exclaimed, tears starting to her beautiful eyes. 
 " Will he die, Mr. Burt ? Will he die ? Oh, papa, 
 is there nothing we can do?" 
 
 " He will not die, my child," said the old man 
 in a clear, calm voice. " It is written that he shall 
 live these many years." 
 
 As he spoke John Burt moaned slightly, as one 
 troubled in his sleep, and his eyelids fluttered. He 
 opened his eyes and gazed at Jessie Garden. He 
 
 45
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 passed his hand over his forehead, sighed gently, 
 and closed his eyes as in slumber. They carried 
 him to the old farmhouse. 
 
 Just as Dr. Randall arrived, John again re- 
 gained consciousness and begged a glass of water. 
 Jessie and her father waited anxiously in the sitting- 
 room for the physician's verdict. The old man 
 appeared first, and though he spoke not, his radiant 
 face told the story. 
 
 " He is badly cut and bruised in several places, 
 but no bones are broken," said Dr. Randall. Jes- 
 sie clapped her hands for joy. " He was stunned 
 by the fall and shock, but he has youth, health and 
 a magnificent physique. He will be up and about 
 in a week." 
 
 " Where is Mr. Burt?" asked General Garden. 
 A search was made for the strange old man, but he 
 could not be found. Had they gone to the great 
 rock, they would have found the patriarch in thank- 
 ful communion with his Maker. 
 
 They waited an hour or more, and then the 
 general said to Dr. Randall : 
 
 " When the young man has sufficiently recov- 
 ered, please give him the thanks of General Garden 
 and his daughter for his heroic conduct, and say to 
 him that we shall call and express our gratitude at 
 the earliest possible moment." 
 
 Jasper was ready with the Burt family carriage; 
 and, leaving a kindly message for the grandsire, 
 they returned to the Bishop house. Jessie found
 
 THE RUNAWAY 
 
 that she had a few bruises, but she laughed at her 
 aches, and talked only of the heroism of brave 
 John Burt. The next day she sent him a beautiful 
 bunch of roses, and another each succeeding day 
 until word came from Dr. Randall that the young 
 man was able to sit up and might receive visitors. 
 They drove to the farmhouse and were ushered into 
 the library John's study-room for seven years. 
 
 He was propped up in an easy chair, with the 
 old man beside him. As the general and Jessie 
 entered, John attempted to rise, but Peter Burt re- 
 strained him. 
 
 " That's right, Mr. Burt," said General Garden, 
 as he advanced and grasped John's hand. " These 
 young men do not like to obey doctor's orders, but 
 they must do so. My boy, God bless you ! I do 
 not know how to thank you. Jessie, have you noth- 
 ing to say to the young man who saved your life? " 
 
 "I never thought," said Jessie, placing her 
 hands in his, " that the boy who taught me how 
 to catch crabs would one day save my life. But you 
 know I always told Miss Maiden that you weren't 
 riffraff, and you see I was right ! " 
 
 John looked handsome as he lay back in the 
 great arm-chair. The slight pallor served to accent- 
 uate those wonderful eyes calm, reflective, and at 
 times dreamy in mazes of thought and introspection. 
 
 " I'm glad I had a chance to be of service to 
 one I had met before," he said, as Jessie took a 
 seat beside him ; " though I confess I should not 
 
 47
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 recognize you as the little girl who visited here 
 several years ago. You are a young lady now, and 
 I should hardly dare address you as Jessie, and that's 
 the only name I knew you by in those days." 
 
 " I am not yet sixteen, and you can call me Jes- 
 sie until I tell you not to. Can't he, papa? " 
 
 " I suppose so," said General Garden. " She 
 is a spoiled child, Mr. Burt," turning to the old 
 gentleman, " and I have ceased making rules, lest 
 she should break them." 
 
 "The Book says that children should obey 
 their parents," said Peter Burt, regarding Jessie 
 Garden with a searching glance. " She looks like 
 an obedient daughter. I trust that she may be the 
 joy and support of your declining years, General 
 Garden." 
 
 He rose abruptly and left the room, and did 
 not return while the visitors remained. Nor did 
 there seem anything rude in this action. In most 
 men it would have appeared as studied incivility; 
 but Peter Burt was not an ordinary man. 
 
 During the hour which followed, Jessie and 
 John talked of a score of topics, John deftly turn- 
 ing the conversation from the runaway accident. 
 When he said that he was about to enter Harvard, 
 General Garden was much interested. He himself 
 was a graduate of the famous class of '51, and re- 
 cited the glories of the fair old college until Jessie 
 interrupted him, and declared there were more im- 
 portant things to discuss.
 
 THE RUNAWAY 
 
 As John Burt looked into the face of the girl 
 beside him, it seemed impossible to realize that this 
 was the prattling child he first met in charge of her 
 governess. 
 
 How dainty, yet how healthy, Jessie looked ! 
 The July sun had begun its etching of tan. The 
 slender neck, where the brown tresses protected it, 
 was dazzling, shading away to cheek and brow in 
 blendings of cream, pink and tan, which defied 
 touch of brush or skill of words. The arched eye- 
 brows and the dark silken lashes framed eyes which 
 glowed with the smouldering fires of dawning wom- 
 anhood. The mouth was not too small, and the 
 lips were ruddy as ripe cherries. 
 
 And this was the being he had saved from muti- 
 lation against the cruel rocks ! As he looked at 
 her, heard the rippling music of her voice, and felt 
 the subtle inspiration of her presence, the thought 
 came that there was something selfish in his joy and 
 pride. 
 
 What was it? Is love selfish?
 
 CHAPTER SIX 
 
 SUMMER DAYS 
 
 JOHN BURT sprang into his saddle with an 
 ease that showed complete recovery from the 
 runaway accident, and cantered to Jessie Car- 
 den's side. They waved their hands gaily to Mrs. 
 Bishop, and galloped away under the arching maples 
 that formed an avenue before the old mansion. It 
 was John's fourth visit since Jessie's arrival, and his 
 suggestion of a ride to Hull had been smilingly 
 accepted. 
 
 " Which way shall we go? " asked John, as they 
 neared a fork of the road. 
 
 " Take your choice ; you are guide, John," re- 
 plied Jessie, reining in her bay. " We have the day 
 before us; let's take a long ride. You're host 
 you make the plans." 
 
 " Let's take Jerusalem road to Nantasket, and 
 follow the beach to Point Allerton," suggested John. 
 
 " Yes, but we can't get anything to eat there I " 
 
 " I know ; we'll have dinner in Hull. We can 
 get back to Nantasket in time for the concert. After 
 that, supper, and home by moonlight. Is it too 
 I ambitious?" 
 
 " I think it's jolly I Come on, let's gallop ! " 
 
 A chaperon might have vetoed such an excur- 
 sion, but the Bishops had known John since he was 
 a child, and counted him more son than neighbor. 
 General Garden's scruples on the question of ances 
 try had been speedily satisfied by his sister. 
 
 CO
 
 SUMMER DAYS 
 
 " He comes from as good stock as you do, 
 Marshall," she declared. "His paternal grand- 
 mother was a Stanley and his mother was a Win- 
 throp. Grandmother Endicott used to talk of her. 
 John Burt is a gentleman, and a gentleman's son. 
 I wish I had a boy like him! " 
 
 It never occurred to John or Jessie that there 
 was anything unconventional in the proposed out- 
 ing. An unusual but perfectly natural event had 
 once more brought them together. They liked each 
 other, and they were children of nature, unskilled in 
 the petty restrictions raised by a menacing propriety. 
 
 They cantered along the stone-walled roads; 
 through valleys curtained with foliage and fragrant 
 with the subtle perfume of the forest; up ridges on 
 whose crest they caught a glimpse of ocean, and 
 felt its healing breath upon their cheeks. From 
 the fields the incense of new-mown clover was 
 wafted to them. They eased a moment to watch 
 the toilers rhythmically swinging their scythes. 
 
 With light hearts they rode through the aisles 
 of the pine woods, past the hotels, until they 
 reached the seashore. The tide was out and they 
 loitered along the beach, hard and smooth as 
 asphalt. Their horses splashed knee deep in the 
 surf. They paused to examine the bones of a ship 
 which had been hurled to its death on the rocks 
 years before. Sixty lives had been lost in the 
 wreck, but children had made a playhouse of the 
 vessel's skeleton, and their careless laughter
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 sounded to the mourning accompaniment of the 
 waves. 
 
 An hour later they stood on the heights above 
 Point Allerton. Below, the wide crescent of Nan- 
 tasket Beach swung to the south and east ; within it 
 " crawled the wrinkled sea." Every foot of ground 
 was hallowed by history and legend. From that 
 point their ancestors watched the Chesapeake as 
 she sailed proudly out to fight the Shannon ; there 
 they had wept when they learned that the brave 
 Lawrence had gone to his death shouting encour- 
 agement to his crew. Thence Captain John Smith 
 first sighted the harbor. The red warriors of King 
 Philip camped where they stood. A short distance 
 away the Mary and John had anchored with her 
 freight of pioneers. A mile to the north stood 
 Boston Light, and they pictured Lord Howe's fleet 
 sailing past it, swelling disdainfully out to sea. 
 Near by a black beacon marked " Nix's Mate " 
 the lost island devoured by the sea in response to 
 a pirate's curse. 
 
 They rode quietly down the hill, followed the 
 shell road past Stony Beach, and climbed " Tele- 
 graph Hill." The little .village of Hull cuddled 
 snugly to their feet, and beyond the wealth of 
 Boston Harbor lay before them. 
 
 " This is where father recites poetry," laughed 
 Jessie as they rested on the site of the old French 
 fort. " You should see him ! He stands and looks 
 away over there to Boston just like Daniel 
 ca
 
 SUMMER DAYS 
 
 Webster on a pedestal then he recites a long 
 poem. Do you remember it? 
 
 " From cape to cape, search round our noble bay 
 No lovelier sight than here can eye survey ; 
 From yonder hill when sunset's blazing sheen 
 Sets in a golden frame the pictured scene, 
 Let the eye wander freely as it will, 
 Landward or seaward all is beauty still I " 
 
 "Lunt's, isn't it?" said John Burt. "Why 
 don't you quote Whittier? 
 
 "Broad in the sunshine, stretched away 
 With its capes and islands, the turquoised bay; 
 And over water and dusk of pines 
 Blue hills lift their faint outlines ! " 
 
 To the west lay the blue hills of Milton, the 
 tranquil Vesuvius of this American Naples. The 
 island-studded harbor gleamed in the September 
 afternoon. Out over the hungry Brewsters, past the 
 bluff profile of Marblehead, out to where in the 
 mellow distance was the faint outline of Cape Ann 
 the rugged sentinel of the fishing fleet they gazed 
 speechless and happy. The streaked ridges of 
 Nahant, the green elms of Apple Island, the ver- 
 dant terraces of Fort Warren, the bluffs of Long 
 Head, the hermit cliffs of Peddock's, the round, 
 green knoll of Bumpkins, the grassy hills of 
 World's End, the amethystine gleam of Quincy and 
 Weymouth, Boston's roofs confusedly hurled 
 these, set in a glorious backing of sapphire sea and 
 turquoise sky, made the gifts God gave those two 
 
 53
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 that afternoon. In the harbor of Hull rested a 
 fleet of yachts 
 
 So still the sails, they seemed to be 
 White lilies growing in the sea. 
 
 "Isn't it good to be an American?" asked 
 Jessie, as her hand stole into John's. Just then 
 a full-rigged ship, making from Boston Harbor, 
 spread her sails and stood out past them. Jessie 
 looked at her as Lohengrin might have looked at 
 the swan, and whispered : 
 
 " Wasn't it Longfellow who stood here and felt 
 with us : 
 
 " My soul is full of longing 
 
 For the secret of the sea ; 
 And the heart of the great ocean 
 
 Sends a thrilling pulse through me ?" 
 
 " Yes, Jessie, not only Longfellow, but Emer- 
 son, Hawthorne, Thoreau, and Channing dreamed 
 here," said John. " Lafayette built that fort, and the 
 Count D'Estaing and Rochambeau camped here. 
 Miles Standish fought Indians on that plain, and to 
 us loyal New Englanders every foot is sacred but, 
 Jessie, too much poetry makes poor feeding. I'm 
 hungry." 
 
 " So am I," laughed Jessie. " Come on, I'll 
 race you to the inn!" and she sprang to her saddle 
 before John could assist her. 
 
 Picking their way carefully down the steep hill, 
 they reached the hard roadbed. Then Jessie spoke 
 to her horse and dashed ahead. She was a good 
 
 54
 
 SUMMER DAYS 
 
 rider, and, though it was a close race, John gal- 
 lantly conceded defeat. 
 
 In the dining-room were many guests from 
 Boston, and they united to make a merry party. It 
 was three o'clock when they started again for Nan- 
 tasket. They trotted gently through Love Lane, 
 past the old Gushing place, until they came to the 
 ancient Hull turnpike, which has been compared to 
 the Appian Way. The next five miles they covered 
 at a canter. 
 
 As John helped Jessie from her horse at Nan- 
 tasket some one touched him on the shoulder. 
 John turned. 
 
 " Haou de ye dew, John?" exclaimed a strange 
 figure of a man, standing there all grins. " I swan, 
 I'm glad ter see ye up an' 'round agin I Haou de 
 ye dew, John? Haou air ye?" 
 
 "All right, Sam," said John shaking hands. 
 
 Sam was the country sport of Rocky Woods, 
 with a fame extending to Cohasset and not wholly 
 unknown in Hingham. He owned the only 
 thoroughbred trotting horse in the neighborhood. 
 Hitched to a wonderful sulky, this animal stood at 
 the curb, attended by an admiring group of boys, 
 to one of whom had been awarded the honor of 
 holding his head. It was Saturday, arid Sam was in 
 gala attire. He was tall and awkward. His large, 
 good-natured mouth, wide open, displayed rows of 
 white teeth ; his small blue eyes twinkled shrewdly, 
 and his ears stood clear of a mass of red hair. 
 
 55
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 He wore a white cap with a gold band and a 
 long, rakish visor; a checkerboard suit, with large 
 squares of brown and gray ; a high collar, which 
 did not conceal the elongated, freckled neck ; a 
 flaming red scarf, with a " stone " of startling size 
 and setting ; a double watch-chain, with a twenty 
 dollar gold piece as pendant ; yellow spats above 
 pointed shoes, the projecting soles of which were 
 milled with bright yellow threads. Such were the 
 more conspicuous features of Sam's attire as he 
 accosted John Burt. 
 
 John glanced again at Jessie, and the laughter 
 in her eyes was a sufficient hint. 
 
 " Miss Garden, let me present Mr. Rounds, a 
 schoolmate and neighbor." 
 
 Sam doffed his cap with a sweeping bow. 
 
 " Delighted ter meet ye, Miss Garden," he ex- 
 claimed, with a sincerity which did not belie his 
 words. He extended a huge hand. " Have often 
 seen ye ridin' by and heerd all erbout that air 
 runerway. I swan, that was a mighty ticklish shave 
 fer ye, Miss Garden I Good thing John was 
 around. Lucky fer John, too, I reckon!" Sam 
 grinned and looked at John, whose face flushed. 
 " Don't mind what I say, Miss Garden ! I say a 
 lot of things besides my prayers ; don't I, John. 
 Tell ye what let's do! Let's have some sody water 
 an' ice cream. It's my treat to-day ! Sold a hoss 
 this mornin' an' made forty-two dollars clean 
 profit on him. I'm great on hosses, Miss Garden. 
 56
 
 SUMMER DAYS 
 
 John, here, runs ter books an' studyin' an' all 
 that. But, as I say, my strong holt is hosses. 
 They say we all has our little weaknesses present 
 company, of course, excepted. Let's go an' git 
 that sody an' ice cream." And Sam led the way 
 to a pavilion and impressively ordered the sug- 
 gested refreshments. 
 
 Jessie engaged Sam in conversation, laughing 
 merrily at his odd remarks and stories. He pointed 
 to an old farmer who drove past in a rickety wagon. 
 
 " There goes old man Shaw," said Sam. " He 
 lives down the road from our house, an' he's a great 
 character. He's lived whar he does now fer sixty 
 year or more, an' he's the most regular man in his 
 habits anywhar near Hingham. John knows him. 
 He goes ter town every Saturday, an' he's comin' 
 back now. Never was known tew buy nothin', 
 though he did try tew buy one garter once, and 
 kicked because the clerk wouldn't sell him less'n a 
 pair. He's just got in the habit of goin' tew town 
 on Saturday afternoon, an' he can't break hisself on 
 it. He hitches that old hoss up tew a post, walks 
 'round town solemn like fer an hour er more, talks 
 ter the blacksmith, an' then climbs inter the wagon 
 an' goes back home. He had a great time yester- 
 day," and Sam's eyes danced with laughter. 
 
 " Tell us of it," insisted Jessie, though Sam 
 needed little urging. 
 
 " As I said afore, old man Shaw is very reg'lar 
 in his habits," continued Sam. " He lives near the 
 
 57
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 crossroads, where thare's a post office an' two er 
 three stores. Well, every mornin' fer forty years 
 back, old man Shaw has gone tew the post office, 
 an' asked if thare was eny mail fer him. Thare's 
 never been a letter fer him, an' it ain't likely thare 
 ever will be, but when a habit once gets sot on old 
 man Shaw, he can't git rid on it nohow. So he 
 keeps on askin' fer a letter, though thare's no one 
 in the world tew write him one. 
 
 " After he leaves the post office he walks down 
 tew Jones, the cobbler's place, which is in the base- 
 ment. Thare he meets Jones an' two other old fel- 
 lers, an' they plays seven-up all the forenoon. They 
 plays just fer fun, but they plays as hard an' gets 
 as excited as if they was playin' fer a thousand dol- 
 lars a game. When it comes noon they all quits an' 
 goes home. These four old fellers has been playin' 
 that air game of seven-up ever since I can remember. 
 
 "Yesterday mornin' Mrs. Shaw told the old 
 man the cistern orter be cleaned out. It hadn't 
 rained fer so long that the water was all gone, and 
 she 'lowed it was a good chance tew clean it out. 
 Old man Shaw 'lowed she was right, but said his 
 rheumatics was so all-fired bad it wouldn't dew fer 
 him tew go down intew no damp place like a cis- 
 tern ; so he lowered the old woman an' sent her 
 down a pail of water an' some soap an' a scrubbin' 
 brush. 
 
 "Til go down tew the post office an' see if 
 thare's a letter, an' then come back and pull ye out,' 
 5
 
 SUMMER DAYS 
 
 he hollered down the openin.' She said, 'All right,' 
 an' went tew work. Old man Shaw went tew the 
 post office, asked fer a letter, an' of course, thare 
 warn't none. He started back, an' was just passin' 
 the cobbler's place, when he met Jones. 
 
 " ' Whare ye goin' ? ' he asked old man Shaw. 
 
 "'The old woman's cleanin' the cistern, an' 
 I've got tew go home an' haul her out,' says Shaw. 
 
 '"She ain't got it done yet,' says this no- 
 account Jones. ' It takes a powerful long time ter 
 clean a cistern out proper. Bill an' Gus is down 
 stairs waitin' fer ye. Let's play 'em one game, an' 
 then ye can go home an' pull the old woman up. 
 The way them fellers beat us yesterday was shame- 
 ful. They're braggin' about it now. Let's lick 
 'em one game eny way.' 
 
 " Old man Shaw said he would play just one 
 game. He sot down an' they went at it. He an' 
 Jones lost the game by one point, an' then they 
 played 'nuther. That time they won, an' then they 
 played the rubber. It seemed so nat'ral tew be 
 playin' seven-up that old man Shaw just plumb fer- 
 got all about his wife bein' down in the cistern, an' 
 they kept on playin' until the clock struck twelve. 
 
 "As I said before, it's always dark down in 
 Jones' basement, an' none on 'em took any ac- 
 count on what was goin' on. You know how it 
 rained yesterday mornin'? It started in tew pour 
 'long about nine o'clock." Sam paused to laugh. 
 "When old man Shaw came out er Jones' base-
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 ment, the gutters was full of water an' the rain was 
 comin' down in sheets. For three hours it had 
 been rainin' cats an' dogs !" 
 
 "That poor old woman!" exclaimed Jessie. 
 " It rained dreadfully. You should be ashamed to 
 laugh, John Burt," she added, vainly attempting to 
 repress a smile. 
 
 " It was pretty tough on her, an' no mistake," 
 said Sam. " It was rainin' like sin, an' old man 
 Shaw was plumb scared ter death. He ran all the 
 way home. Every time he looked at a gutter-spout 
 he nearly fainted away. He come tew his place an' 
 ran 'round the back way. He looked down the 
 hole an' saw nothin' but water. 
 
 "'Sallie! Sallie!' he hollered. 
 
 " The old woman was standin' on top the 
 bottom of the pail, up agin the wall. The water 
 was up tew her chin, but she was mad all over, an' 
 she hadn't lost her voice. 
 
 "'Ye've come at last, Bill Shaw, have ye?' 
 she said. ' You haul me outer here quicker'n scat, 
 an' when I gets up I'll scratch yer eyes out! Ye 
 done this on purpose ! Ye haul me out, an' I'll fix 
 ye fer this day's work !' 
 
 "The old man lowered a rope, an' after a 
 hard tussle hauled her up. The neighbors say 
 she mopped him all over the yard, an' I say it 
 sarved him right." 
 
 Sam related several other incidents in the career 
 of the Shaws, ajid Jessie laughed until the tears ran 
 60
 
 SUMMER DAYS 
 
 down her cheeks. They bid Sam good-day, and 
 watched him until he disappeared with the famous 
 trotter in a cloud of dust. 
 
 The surf was dotted with bathers, and the 
 temptation to join them was too great to be re- 
 sisted. They spent an hour in the water, and 
 emerged refreshed and ravenously hungry. 
 
 After supper they waited for the rising of the 
 full moon. They saw the stately orb of night 
 break above the ocean's rim and blend its white 
 light with the pink afterglow of sunset. It silvered 
 a broad path which cut the sombre shaft of Minot's 
 Light. The curling breakers broke into phosphor- 
 escent flame, and the edges of the cliffs were frosted 
 with its pure glow. From a rocking yacht just 
 beyond the line of surf came the tinkling of guitar 
 and zither, harmonized with a rollicking song of 
 the sea. A great steamship, dotted with yellow 
 lights, swung majestically into the harbor. 
 
 The moon began her dizzy climb. Bathed in 
 her flood, they turned their horses homeward, rid- 
 ing through a shadowed and shimmering fairyland. 
 Touched by the magic wand of night, the dreary 
 huckleberry patches became Italian gardens. The 
 gnarled and wind-wrenched apple trees were etched 
 in lines of weird beauty against the sky. The 
 rugged stone walls were softened, and faded away 
 into dreamy perspectives. 
 
 They turned into the gloom of the maples, 
 and found Mrs. Bishop waiting by the old gate. 
 
 6i
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 "Did you have a good time?" she asked, 
 kissing her niece. 
 
 "Oh, glorious, auntie!" exclaimed Jessie. "I 
 never had so good a time in all my life!" 
 
 In the years which followed, how the scenes 
 and incidents of that summer came back to John 
 Burt! Under many skies he recalled the happy 
 hours spent with Jessie Garden. Again he drifted 
 with her in a boat, floating at will of breeze and 
 tide, her hand trailing in the water, and the mur- 
 mur of her voice in his ears. Again he stood 
 with her in the night shadows by the old well, 
 lowering the bucket into its cool depths. He 
 saw the water glistening in the cup as he handed 
 it to her; saw the soft light of her eyes; the 
 sheen of her hair; and felt the thrill of her 
 touch when their hands met. Again they walked 
 down the wooded path, while the black of the 
 night stood like a wall in front of them, and Jessie 
 clutched at his arm *when an owl sounded his 
 solemn cry. 
 
 Jessie was going to Vassar, and John had 
 passed the examination which admitted him to 
 Harvard. He found that he could study much 
 better under the shade of the Bishop trees than in 
 any other spot, and Jessie held the text-books 
 while he recited. The weeks glided by like a 
 dream. 
 
 One day in autumn he stood by her side on the 
 station platform in Hingham. As the train rum- 
 62
 
 SUMMER DAYS 
 
 bled in, something rose to his throat and a film 
 stole over his eyes. 
 
 " Good-bye, John !" 
 
 " Good-bye, Jessie!" 
 
 The train glided out from the station ; a little 
 hand fluttered a lace handkerchief from a window ; 
 a sunburned pair waved in reply. Jessie had gone 
 back to Boston.
 
 CHAPTER SEVEN 
 
 ARTHUR MORRIS 
 
 WHEN Randolph Morris had amassed a 
 couple of millions in New York banking 
 and stock manipulation, he decided to 
 establish a New England country place in keep- 
 ing with his wealth and station. He selected a 
 site near Hingham, overlooking Massachusetts 
 bay, with a distant view of the ocean. He pur- 
 chased and consolidated a number of small hold- 
 ings a few miles distant from Peter Burt's farm. 
 For years workmen were busy with the great stone 
 mansion. Terraces, verdant in turf, gave beauty to 
 the surrounding rocks now softened with vines. 
 Stables, conservatories, and lodges lent new distinc- 
 tion to the landscape. 
 
 The eldest of the Morris children was Arthur, 
 the heir to the bulk of the Morris fortunes. His 
 age was twenty-four, and his experience in certain 
 matters that of a man of forty. He was of medium 
 height and stocky build, with features of aristocratic 
 mould, but weakened and puffed as from habitual 
 excesses. He had recently attained the notoriety 
 of an unconditional expulsion from Yale. His 
 name had figured in New York prints in an esca- 
 pade with a foreign actress, but the story was de- 
 nied and suppressed before it reached the usual 
 climax. 
 
 No whispers of these and other bits of gossip 
 accurate or otherwise had reached the locality 
 64
 
 ARTHUR MORRIS 
 
 where he was to spend the summer. He proceeded 
 to dazzle the country folk and bewilder the staid 
 city people by the brilliancy of his equipages, the 
 speed of his horses, and the extent and perfection 
 of his apparel. His steam yacht, rich in mahogany 
 and resplendent in brass and lacquer, rode at anchor 
 in the bay, awaiting his pleasure. 
 
 Commencement days were past. One June 
 morning Jessie Garden arrived in Hingham, and 
 was met by Mr. and Mrs. Bishop in the old family 
 carriage. Arthur Morris also chanced to be at the 
 station. He was standing at the head of his tan- 
 dem leader, his heavy face gloomy with a bored 
 expression. He listlessly toyed with a whip, and 
 glanced at the arriving passengers as if faintly 
 expectant of seeing some one of his acquaintance. 
 
 The Bishop carriage was next to his trap. As 
 Jessie Garden ran forward and affectionately greeted 
 her relatives, Arthur Morris abruptly recovered 
 from his lassitude. He gazed at Jessie with a 
 scrutiny too close to be condoned as " a well-bred 
 stare." She wore a gray traveling dress, and looked 
 so charming that one might be pardoned for an 
 almost rude admiration. During the few minutes 
 which passed while the trunks were coming from 
 the baggage-room, Arthur Morris watched her as if 
 a radiant being from another world had appeared to 
 his enraptured vision. 
 
 " Gad, but she's a beauty 1" he exclaimed, as 
 Jessie stepped into the carriage. " Thank God
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 there's at least one good-looking girl in the neigh- 
 borhood ! Who the devil is she? Stranger, I sup- 
 pose. James," he said in a low voice, addressing 
 his tiger, " get in and be ready to take the horses 
 if I tell you." 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied the boy solemnly, raising a 
 gloved hand to his hat. Under a strong curb the 
 horses followed the Bishop vehicle. 
 
 Delighted to return to the country, Jessie Car- 
 den little suspected that her arrival had so aroused 
 the blase blood of the banker millionaire's son. It 
 was a long drive, but at last Arthur Morris saw the 
 carriage turn into the Bishop yard. He drove 
 leisurely past the place till he regained the main 
 road. 
 
 On the old bridge spanning the creek he met 
 a young man in a light road wagon. Morris halted 
 his team, and signaled the driver with a wave of 
 his hand. 
 
 " I say, who lives in the big house to the south, 
 on this side of the road ?" 
 
 "Mr. Bishop lives there. Mr. Thomas 
 Bishop," replied John Burt. 
 
 " Thanks," said Arthur Morris with a short 
 bow. "Any daughters? I'm a new comer in this 
 locality," he explained with a smile meant to be 
 confiding. 
 
 "Mr. Morris?" asked John, as he surveyed 
 the handsome equipage and its owner. 
 
 "At your service," smiled Arthur Morris, 
 
 66
 
 ARTHUR MORRIS 
 
 " My name is Hurt," said John. " The " 
 
 u Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Burt," 
 said Arthur Morris, extending a soft, fat hand 
 across the space which separated the vehicles. John 
 shook hands, and his face glowed with a pleasure 
 which Arthur Morris imagined was due to the 
 honor of meeting so great a man as himself. John, 
 however, was thinking of Jessie, and the words of 
 the stranger convinced him that she had returned. 
 John had been back from Harvard twenty-four 
 hours. 
 
 " Mr. Bishop has no daughter," said John, 
 proud to give information on a subject so dear 
 to him. " The young lady in their carriage was 
 probably Miss Garden. She spends the summer 
 seasons with them. She's expected to-day from 
 Boston." 
 
 "Garden? Garden?" repeated Morris, as if 
 the matter were merely of passing moment. " I 
 fancy I've heard of her people." 
 
 " Her father is a Boston banker." 
 
 "Ah, yes; I know. Lovely old place that of 
 the Bishops isn't it? Fine old gables, and an air 
 of age Pilgrim Fathers, and all that sort of thing, 
 don't you know. Think I'll try to induce the 
 governor to buy it. Lovely day 1 Delighted to 
 have met you, Mr. Mr. Brown. Git up, you 
 brute ! " and the tandem was lashed past John 
 Burt. 
 
 That evening after dinner Arthur Morris found 
 
 67
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 his father in the library. For some time both 
 smoked in silence. 
 
 "I say governor," said Arthur, as if the 
 thought had suddenly occurred to him, " do you 
 know any Gardens in Boston?" 
 
 " I know Marshall Garden, the banker," 
 growled the millionaire. "What about him?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing much," rejoined the son care- 
 lessly. " What's he worth ? " 
 
 " He's worth more than ever he'll be again," 
 said Randolph Morris grimly. " He's i L. & O. 
 stock up to his neck. If you knew as much about 
 stocks as you do about trousers, that would mean 
 something to you but it doesn't. Garden is sup- 
 posed to be worth half a million. When he gets 
 through with L. & O. some one else will have the 
 money and he'll have experience. What do you 
 want to know about Garden? Has he a daugh- 
 ter? " The old man looked sharply at Arthur 
 Morris. 
 
 " Yes, he has, and she's a beauty," he replied 
 with the air of one giving an expert opinion. 
 
 "Well, you keep away from her! " said the old 
 man gruffly, as he lighted a fresh cigar and paced 
 up and down the room. 
 
 " Let her alone. Don't you bother about any 
 daughter of Garden's. She'll never have a dollar. 
 Do you understand? not one dollar. Garden's 
 ruined right now, but he doesn't know it. I do. 
 What about this daughter?" he demanded, pausing 
 
 68
 
 ARTHUR MORRIS 
 
 in front of Arthur. " Is she stopping around 
 here ? " 
 
 "She is spending the summer at Bishop's a 
 farmhouse about five miles from here," replied the 
 son. " I saw her to-day, but didn't have a chance 
 to speak to her. She's a dream, governor ! I 
 don't care anything about your O. & U., or R. & 
 L., or whatever stock her father has been fool 
 enough to buy. I suppose you will get the money 
 you generally do. I want to meet Miss Garden, 
 and you must help me. She's a deucedly pretty 
 girl, and the Lord knows pretty girls are scarce 
 enough in this God-forsaken wilderness. Do you 
 wish me to be a monk in this old monastery? Say, 
 governor, you must write to Garden before that G. 
 and D. stock downs him, and say you've learned 
 that his daughter is here, and that you and your 
 family will be delighted to meet her socially, and 
 will try to make her stay in the country agreeable. 
 I'll represent the family in the entertaining." 
 
 "I'll do nothing of the kind!" roared Ran- 
 dolph Morris. He stormed and fumed for a 
 while, and then wrote the letter, as his son knew he 
 would from the beginning. 
 
 " There it is I " he said as he handed the enve- 
 lope to Arthur. " You'd better tear it up. But 
 you're a fool always were and always will be. For 
 God's sake, don't marry the girl I " 
 
 Arthur Morris leaned back in the chair and 
 laughed. 
 
 69
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 u I have never spoken to her, governor," he 
 said, putting the letter in his pocket, " and I cer- 
 tainly don't contemplate matrimony. Can't a man 
 have a summer flirtation without a marriage at the 
 end of it ? " 
 
 " I never could," said Randolph Morris with 
 the forced grin which was his nearest approach to a 
 laugh. He rang for a glass of brandy, drank it, 
 growled a good night to his son and heir, and 
 retired. 
 
 Jessie's father replied to Randolph Morris' 
 letter, thanking him for his courtesy, and accepting 
 it on behalf of the young woman. General Garden 
 added that he would be at the Bishop house on the 
 following Saturday, and would take pleasure in call- 
 ing on Mr. and Mrs. Morris and presenting his 
 daughter. 
 
 Jessie was greatly excited when a letter came 
 from her father notifying her of the invitation which 
 had been received and accepted. The general con- 
 sidered the incident a gratifying recognition of his 
 increasing importance as a financier. To associate 
 on terms of social equality with Randolph Morris 
 was an honor he thoroughly appreciated. Jessie 
 knew little of the business prestige such recognition 
 entailed, but was delighted with the opportunity to 
 meet the famous Morrises, and in despair over the 
 gown she should wear. 
 
 The day after she received the note from her 
 father John Burt called, and they took their first 
 70
 
 ARTHUR MORRIS 
 
 horseback ride of the summer. Each had many 
 things to tell the other, and it was jolly to compare 
 notes and recount their troubles and triumphs in the 
 college months which had sped. They galloped for 
 miles along the hard sand of the seashore, and dis- 
 mounted to rest and talk beneath the shade of 
 pleasant trees. 
 
 Jessie told him of the letter from her father, 
 and with some pride talked of the invitation from 
 Randolph Morris. At first John shared in her de- 
 light, but his face grew thoughtful, and indefinable 
 fear cast its shadow over him. Something seemed 
 to whisper that this invitation was fraught with 
 menace. 
 
 He looked at the slip of paper in Jessie's hand, 
 and it appeared like a wedge about to separate them. 
 And why should it not? What right had he to as- 
 pire to the love of Jessie Garden, the daughter of 
 a rich man ; beautiful beyond any woman he had 
 ever seen? The fear, which ofttimes became a cer- 
 tainty, that Jessie would pass beyond his reach, was 
 the haunting terror of his dreams by day or night. 
 She had everything youth, health, beauty, wealth 
 and position. He had youth and health so had 
 the average farm laborer. 
 
 " Let's climb Strawberry Hill and watch the 
 sunset," suggested Jessie. 
 
 John helped Jessie up the steep, winding path, 
 and they stood on the crest of the hill. The broad 
 Atlantic lay to the east, and the island-dotted bay 
 
 71
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 glowed in the colors of a glorious sunset. At the 
 horizon was a mass of clouds; above burned a bar 
 of red the red of blood. To the zenith were 
 spread the gorgeous tints with which the setting sun 
 tinseled the closing curtains of night. Delicate 
 greens toned through the shades of orange into rich 
 amethyst, and against this background a lacework 
 o* _iouds flaunted the thousand gradations of the 
 spectrum. But the bar of red above the dun cloud 
 dominated. It was reflected in the water of the 
 bay, shimmering in the rubescent glow. 
 
 They stood silent for minutes under the spell 
 of nature's grandest spectacle. The sun dipped 
 lower until its arc touched the line of the cloud. 
 Sharp as a knife, the black bank slowly obscured 
 the face of the sun, until a red hemisphere, weird 
 and unreal, glowered and quivered in the western 
 sky.
 
 CHAPTER EIGHT 
 
 JEALOUSY 
 
 JESSIE GARDEN'S reception in the Morris 
 mansion opened to her a new and an attractive 
 world. Accustomed from childhood to the 
 comforts and luxuries of comparative wealth, she 
 was awed by the magnificent sensuousness of the 
 millionaire's palace, and by the pomp and splendor 
 of its decorations and fittings. The massive granite 
 entrance, the grand stairway of gleaming marble, 
 the mosaic floors, the carvings and sculpture half 
 hidden by palms and ferns, the priceless tapestry 
 and paintings, bespoke affluence unbounded. 
 
 After formal introductions and a brief conver- 
 sation, the elder Morris invited General Garden into 
 the library for a business conference, and left the 
 young people to their pleasure. Jessie thought the 
 Morris girls charming, but Arthur contrived to 
 inveigle her away from them and to lead her through 
 the grounds. From a hill he pointed to his yacht, 
 the Voltaire, at anchor in Hingham Bay. He was 
 polite, attentive, and vivacious traits rarely exhib- 
 ited by this pampered young man, who at twenty- 
 four found many of the joys of life ashes upon his 
 lips. 
 
 Nevertheless, without attempting to analyze or 
 justify her feelings, Jessie was not favorably im- 
 pressed with Arthur Morris. There is a psycho- 
 logical barrier between vice and virtue ; an instinct 
 which places innocence on guard. The young 
 
 73
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 man's personality was of slight importance at the 
 moment, but Jessie did not like him why, she 
 neither knew nor cared. To a man of fine mental 
 and moral fiber this aversion would have been tele- 
 pathically apparent without spoken word or man- 
 nerly rebuff; but Arthur Morris was pleased and 
 satisfied with his supposed progress. Jessie tact- 
 fully eluded his further attentions, and spent the 
 remainder of the afternoon with his sisters. 
 
 After extending formal invitations for a call in 
 return, General Garden and Jessie drove slowly 
 homeward. The general was silent and depressed, 
 as with existing or impending trouble. 
 
 Three days later Arthur Morris called at the 
 Bishop house and found Jessie at home. They 
 chatted for an hour or more, and he secured her 
 consent to be one of a coaching party on the next 
 Saturday. Had it not been for his presence, she 
 would have enjoyed the expedition thoroughly. 
 
 Yielding to the repeated invitations of the 
 Morris sisters, Jessie agreed to accompany them on 
 a yacht cruise to Gloucester on the following Tues- 
 day. During this trip the attentions of Arthur 
 Morris became so insistent that she resolved to 
 check them at the earliest opportunity. An inkling 
 of the truth dawned upon the owner of the yacht, 
 muddled as he was with wine, but this suspicion 
 did not deter him from announcing that he would 
 call at the Bishops' place on Saturday to take her 
 on a drive behind a team of blooded steppers, 
 
 74
 
 JEALOUSY 
 
 recently arrived from New York. Jessie was silently 
 indignant at his cool presumption. When the 
 party landed at the pier, Morris was not a little 
 astonished at the curt refusal she gave to his proffer 
 of escort. 
 
 More than a week had passed since John and 
 Jessie watched the red sunset. From Sam Rounds 
 who knew of everything that happened for miles 
 about John heard of the yachting party, and 
 drank deep of the lover's first cup of suspicion, 
 bitter with the wormwood of jealousy. The great 
 Morris mansion became a wall which mocked his 
 ambitions. The Voltaire took on the shape of a 
 thing of evil, gliding out to sea with the one who 
 was nearest and dearest to him. He pictured young 
 Morris, surrounded by the trappings of wealth, 
 paying homage to Jessie. He heard suave compli- 
 ments ; saw the smile on Jessie's lips, and felt the 
 delicate flush on her cheeks. The thought was 
 maddening. 
 
 He decided to call on Jessie and learn his fate. 
 Invigorated by the ride, the thought occurred, as 
 he crossed the old bridge, that he had never said a 
 word to Jessie of love. It dawned on John Burt 
 that he was a jealous fool. 
 
 When he entered the shade of the Bishop 
 maples, he was once more in his right mind. His 
 heart leaped when Jessie came forward to meet him. 
 There was tenderness in her eyes and welcome in 
 the clasp of the warm little hand which nestled for 
 
 75
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 an instant in his. To her question concerning his 
 absence John made an evasive reply, and rather 
 abruptly asked how she enjoyed the visit to the 
 Morris mansion and the cruise on the Voltaire. 
 
 He was answered by a toss of the little head 
 and a tightening of the lips, eloquent and decisive 
 in their emphasis. 
 
 "Saddle my horse, John; let's ride!" she said. 
 
 Puzzled but delighted, John obeyed, and set 
 himself stolidly to enjoy her presence as they gal- 
 loped along the beach. 
 
 " Have you an engagement for Saturday?" 
 asked Jessie as they rested beneath the old willows 
 at the base of Strawberry Hill. 
 
 "I have none. Can I do anything?" asked 
 John eagerly. 
 
 " I have cousins who live near the beach twelve 
 miles south of here," said Jessie. " I want to spend 
 a day with them. They are lovely girls, and I know 
 you would like them. Uncle Tom and his men are 
 busy, and I thought perhaps you could drive me 
 over early in the morning. Do you think you 
 could endure the company of three foolish girls all 
 day, John?" 
 
 " I could enjoy the company of one wise little 
 girl forever," said John, with a fervor which 
 astounded him when the words were uttered. A 
 blush suffused Jessie's cheek, but her drooping 
 eyes expressed no rebuke. " I I shall be de- 
 lighted to be your escort," stammered John, far 
 76
 
 JEALOUSY 
 
 more confused than the subject of his ardent com- 
 pliment. "When will you be ready, Jessie?" 
 
 " You may call at 8 o'clock if you will," said 
 Jessie, without raising her eyes. 
 
 They rode slowly homeward in the glow of 
 the twilight. The barren country, with its sands, 
 marsh, shrubs and rocks, was a fairy realm to John 
 Burt. The sand was spun gold ; the marsh a wil- 
 derness of flowers; the shrubs pendent with dia- 
 monds ; the rocks turreted castles ; the fair girl by 
 his side a princess, and he a gallant knight whose 
 life was at her service. 
 
 It was ten o'clock in the morning when the 
 Morris trap stopped in front of the Bishop farm- 
 house. Tossing the reins to a groom, Arthur Mor- 
 ris sounded the old-fashioned knocker, and the 
 maid responded. Morris was looking his best. His 
 eye was clear, and his smooth, plump face was 
 ruddy. 
 
 " Present my compliments to MLiss Garden," 
 he said, offering a card. 
 
 " Miss Garden is not at home," replied the 
 maid. " She left early this morning with Mr. Burt 
 for a visit to relatives some miles from here, and 
 said she would not return until late in the evening. 
 Will you come in, sir?" 
 
 "No, thank you. Very sorry, I am sure." His 
 face grew dark, but his voice was quiet as he said : 
 " Tell Miss Garden of my disappointment, and say 
 I'll call some day soon." 
 
 77
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 The maid courtesied and watched Arthur ad- 
 miringly as he strode down the path and rode 
 away. 
 
 " Miss Jessie's a foolish little body to be run-( 
 ning around with John Burt when rich men's sons' 
 come knocking at the door ! " she soliloquized as 
 the glittering rig disappeared in the turn of the 
 road. 
 
 General Marshall Garden paid a visit to the 
 farm a week later. After dinner he invited Jessie 
 to a walk, and his manner told her that something 
 was impending. They paused to rest under an 
 arbor. The sun purpled the clustered grapes until 
 they glowed like rubies in settings of emerald. 
 For some moments both were silent. 
 
 " I have something to say to you, Jessie, which 
 I wish could be left unsaid," began General Car- 
 den, clearing his throat uneasily. Jessie looked 
 into his face with questioning eyes. "You are 
 nearly seventeen, Jessie, and are now a woman," he 
 continued, after a pause. " You belong to a good 
 family; and, God willing, you will inherit a modest 
 fortune. You are very beautiful, my pet, and it is 
 natural you should have admirers. It shall never 
 be said, when you come to an age when I must 
 yield you to another, that your father selfishly in- 
 fluenced your choice in the most sacred of all deci- 
 sions. But that, Jessie, is for the future. At 
 present you should willingly be guided by the 
 wishes and kindly advice of your father, who is de- 
 7*
 
 JEALOUSY 
 
 nied the loving aid of your mother, of sainted 
 memory." 
 
 "Yes, papa," said Jessie, softly. "What have 
 I done to make you speak this way, papa?" 
 
 General Garden started to speak, but could 
 not find words. 
 
 " I will explain to you frankly what has hap- 
 pened," he said finally, determined to end an un- 
 pleasant task. " I received a call yesterday from 
 Mr. Randolph Morris. We are interested in a 
 business affair of much magnitude ; one which you 
 could not comprehend, and which I need not ex- 
 plain to you. In a casual way Mr. Morris spoke 
 of you and sent his compliments. He congratu- 
 lated me on having so lovely a daughter, and ex- 
 pressed regret that his family had failed in an at- 
 tempt to make your visit to the country more enjoy- 
 able. Of course this greatly surprised me, and when 
 I pressed him for particulars he said he knew noth- 
 ing, except that Arthur had called and that you had 
 refused to see him." General Garden paused. 
 
 "I don't wish to see him, papa," said Jessie 
 with much spirit. " I don't like him, and I hope 
 he will never call again ! " 
 
 "You don't like him? And why don't you 
 like him, my pet ?" 
 
 "I just don't like him," said Jessie with con- 
 clusive feminine logic. " He annoys me. He said 
 he would call Saturday and take me out riding, and 
 never so much as asked me if I cared to go or not. 
 
 79
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 So I went to visit Cousin Edith, and when he called 
 the maid told him I was out." 
 
 General Garden looked greatly relieved. Con- 
 flicting emotions were struggling for mastery. 
 Parental love contended with the stern exigencies of 
 finance. 
 
 " I am glad that Arthur has given you no more 
 serious cause for displeasure," he said. " He is 
 impulsive and headstrong, and your rebuke was 
 quite right. Do not misunderstand me, Jessie. It 
 is difficult for me to explain this matter to you. 
 You know little of business affairs, but you must 
 know that Randolph Morris is powerful ; a good 
 business friend, and a foe to be feared. At the 
 present moment I dread to incur his displeasure. 
 It is the trivial things which sometimes weigh most 
 in commercial affairs. Your slight of his son might 
 be of vast consequence in determining Randolph 
 Morris' decision in a matter most vital to our wel- 
 fare, Jessie, my darling. It might even " Gen- 
 eral Garden checked himself. His face was drawn 
 with a distress which Jessie was quick to perceive, 
 though not to comprehend, 
 
 " I do understand, papa dear," said Jessie. 
 " I will write and ask Mr. Morris to call, and will 
 treat him just as if nothing had happened. But I 
 know I can never like him, and I don't have to try, 
 do I, papa?" 
 
 " Certainly not, my pet," said General Garden. 
 He kissed his daughter affectionately, and seemed 
 80
 
 JEALOUSY 
 
 greatly pleased. Nothing more was said on the 
 subject, and on Sunday Jessie wrote a note to 
 Arthur Morris. Two days later he called, and 
 Jessie received him in the old-fashioned parlor. 
 Both ignored the incident of the preceding week, 
 and chatted gaily for an hour or more. Jessie 
 accepted his invitation to a reception in the Morris 
 mansion for Saturday evening, and went under her 
 father's escort. It was a grand affair, and scores of 
 guests were present from New York and Boston. 
 Arthur and Jessie danced several times, but Morris 
 had sufficient tact to avoid repeating his mistakes. 
 
 Two weeks passed, during which the rich New 
 Yorker was a frequent visitor at the Bishop farm- 
 house. These were weeks of torment to John 
 Burt. Though Jessie greeted him as of old, he 
 imagined he could see her slipping from his reach. 
 
 One evening John called when Arthur Morris 
 was present, and Jessie introduced them. Arthur 
 studied his country rival with ill-concealed con- 
 tempt. He treated him with that airy tolerance 
 which success grants to its vanquished. 
 
 " By the way, Mr. Burt," said Arthur Morris, 
 as he carelessly rolled a cigarette, " Miss Garden 
 has accepted my invitation to attend to-morrow's 
 clambake near Cohasset. It's the great annual 
 event, isn't it, of this vicinity ? I wish you would 
 join us. I must accompany a party of New York 
 friends who will spend the night on my yacht, and 
 attend the bake. We must start early in order to 
 
 81
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 make the long run past Boston Light and Minot's 
 Reef, so I can't offer to escort Miss Garden. If I 
 may presume on your acquaintance with her, I shall 
 ask you to drive with her to the grove, where I will 
 meet you with my friends." 
 
 !. "I shall be more than pleased if Miss Garden 
 will accept my escort," said John. 
 
 "Certainly I will I" laughed Jessie. "It will 
 be jolly to see who gets there first. We must start 
 early, Mr. Burt, and take care the Voltaire doesn't 
 beat us !" There was such a funny little accent on 
 the " Mr." that John did not know whether to be 
 hurt or pleased. 
 
 Arthur Morris remained a few minutes longer ; 
 then he gaily bade Jessie adieu, shook hands with 
 John Burt, and rode away. 
 
 A brilliant red sunset threw a glare on John 
 Burt's face as he lingered by Jessie's side at the 
 gate in parting. Long spokes of red light sifted 
 through the maple leaves, and earth and sky were 
 bathed in a ruddy reek.
 
 CHAPTER NINE 
 
 THE TRAGEDY 
 
 /CHURCHILL'S GROVE was famous for its 
 \^4 clambakes, and when John and Jessie drove 
 into it the scene was one to delight the heart 
 of a loyal New Englander. Years before, a 
 thoughtful pioneer had planted long rows of pines, 
 whose branches now interlocked, and whose taper- 
 ing tops swayed and soughed a hundred feet above 
 the carpet of cones and needle leaves. It was na- 
 ture's cathedral ; stately in long colonnades with 
 vanishing perspectives ; superb in gently undulat- 
 ing groined arches; glorious in the blendings of 
 color, light and shade, and fragrant with the in- 
 cense of balsam and fir. 
 
 Massed around the grove and the adjacent 
 hotel were vehicles of every description. To the 
 true Yankee, everything drawn by a horse or horses 
 is a u team," and as Sam Rounds greeted John and 
 Jessie he declared that he had " never seen so many 
 teams in his life." Churchill's Grove fronts on the 
 ocean, and a glance showed that the Morris yacht 
 had not arrived. They watched the cooks prepar- 
 ing the bake in a sixty- foot trench, lined with heated 
 rocks and covered with seaweed. In the steaming 
 embrace of the weed were arranged vast quantities 
 of clams, oysters, sweet potatoes, summer squash, 
 green corn, cauliflower, beets, eggs, lobsters, soft- 
 shelled crabs, bluefish, and the various fruits and 
 meats of land and sea<, 
 
 83
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 How savory it smelled ! The cool, salt breeze 
 from the ocean, the aroma from fir and pine, and 
 the odor from simmering clam and seaweed formed 
 a trinity ambrosial enough to make an Apicius of 
 an anchorite. 
 
 " My sailboat is anchored near by," said John 
 as they turned away. " The wind died out the last 
 time I was here, and I had to leave her and walk 
 home. Let's take a look at her." 
 
 John's eighteen-foot catboat, the Standish, lay 
 near the long pier, bowing to the slow surge which 
 swelled in from the Atlantic. For an hour or more 
 they walked along the hard, smooth sand, crunch- 
 ing the shells under their feet ; the song of the sea 
 in their ears, and its cool breath on their cheeks. 
 Then the great gong sounded the signal for dinner 
 and they turned to the grove. 
 
 " Mr. Morris must have been delayed," ob- 
 served Jessie as she glanced once more towards the 
 harbor. "Come on; we won't wait for him." 
 
 The careless note in her voice, and the evident 
 indifference with which she treated the other's ab- 
 sence, were particularly satisfying to John Burt, 
 and they had a merry time over dinner. As they 
 came out from the grove they saw the Voltaire at 
 anchor, her upper works glistening in the sunshine. 
 Her launch, crowded with passengers, was just 
 leaving. They were hundreds of yards away, but 
 their shouts and laughter sounded plain across the 
 water. 
 8 4
 
 THE TRAGEDY 
 
 When the launch approached, Arthur Morris 
 was seen in the bow. There were several richly- 
 dressed young women in the party. John Burt saw 
 at a glance that Morris and some of his com- 
 panions were under the influence of liquor. Jessie 
 guessed as much, and her suspicions became a cer- 
 tainty when Morris stepped unsteadily to the land- 
 ing, and came towards her, a vacant smile mantling 
 his face. His stocky figure did not show to the 
 best advantage in the white yachting suit, and his 
 round, red face glowed beneath the gold-trimmed 
 cap. 
 
 After shouting some unintelligible orders to 
 his boatmen, and waving to his guests to follow 
 him, Morris turned and addressed Jessie Garden. 
 He did not recognize John Burt. 
 
 "A thousand pardons, Miss Garden," he 
 said, his voice husky and his body very erect but 
 wavering. " A thousand pardons ! Detention un- 
 avoidable, assure you un'void'ble detention, assure 
 you ! Had devil of time beg pardon, Miss Car- 
 den had terrible time. Kingsley fell overboard 
 'pon m'word he did and struck the water. I tried 
 to steer yacht and ran 'er 'ground. Fact ! Ran 'er 
 'ground, and she's just got off. 'Sail right, though ; 
 'sail right now. Allow me, Miss Garden," and he 
 stepped forward to offer his arm. He had ignored 
 John Burt, who remained by Jessie's side. 
 
 "Do not dare to speak to me, sir!" cried 
 Jessie, shame and anger driving the crimson to her
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 face. "Don't let him come near me, John!" she 
 exclaimed, clinging to Hurt's stalwart arm. 
 
 "Stand back, Morris!" said John in a low, 
 clear tone, a glitter in his dark gray eyes. "You 
 are in no condition, sir, to meet Miss Garden." 
 
 The flashily-dressed throng of guests was 
 grouped behind Arthur Morris. One of the young 
 women cast a look of hate at Jessie Garden, and 
 then grasped Arthur Morris by the lapel of his 
 coat. 
 
 "Come on, you fool!" she said with a vindic- 
 tive little laugh. " Don't you see you're not wanted? 
 You haven't sense enough left to know your real 
 friends!" She turned him half round, and Kingsley 
 grabbed him by the arm. 
 
 " Come along, commodore," said that young 
 blood whose immersion had done much to sober 
 him. "You are in the wrong pew, commodore! 
 Cheer up, sad sea dog; we may be happy yet!" 
 And with laughter and taunts the guests of the 
 Voltaire led the yacht's befuddled owner along the 
 pier into the grove. 
 
 Jessie shed tears of vexation, but anger dried 
 her eyes. She turned to John with a wistful little 
 smile on her lips. 
 
 " Take me out in your boat, John," she said. 
 " Let's get as far as we can from those dreadful 
 people. Will you, John?" 
 
 No entreaty was necessary. In a few minutes 
 the Standish bobbed saucily at the landing, and 
 
 86
 
 THE TRAGEDY 
 
 Jessie stepped on board. The wind had scarcely 
 filled the sail when Morris came running down the 
 pier. He stopped as he saw the pair in the boat, 
 and glared at them as they glided away, brute rage 
 showing in every feature of his flushed face. His 
 friends followed and led him back. 
 
 Little was said between the two as the boat 
 moved swiftly along. Each was busy with thoughts, 
 and both seemed under the spell of threatened 
 trouble. John pointed the boat for Minot's Light, 
 and having passed inside followed the rocky shore, 
 avoiding the reefs and shoals, which were to him as 
 an open book. 
 
 When he came to the jutting rock where he 
 had knelt on that stormy night while Peter Burt 
 lifted his voice in prayer, John dropped the sail 
 and let the Standish drift in the quiet water. 
 
 Soft waves caressed the side of the boat, and 
 the water gurgled among the rocks as it rose and 
 fell to the deep breathing of the ocean. Minot 
 gleamed white against the sky. Circling gulls 
 skimmed the sea; the sun kissed the sails of an 
 outbound brig and turned them to gold; fleecy 
 clouds of spun silver floated in the blue dome, and 
 the fairest face in all the world met his eyes as he 
 looked into her's. 
 
 fr "Tell me a story, John, or anything! We're 
 both awfully stupid to-day. Don't you think so?" 
 
 "I will tell you a secret two secrets," said 
 John, gravely. 
 
 87
 
 JOHN B U R T 
 
 " Don't tell me secrets if you wish them kept, 
 John," laughed Jessie. " I'm a regular tell-tale ! " 
 
 "You will keep these secrets at least, one of 
 them," replied John. "I'm going away. That's 
 tne first secret." 
 
 "Going away?" echoed Jessie. "Where, John?" 
 
 "Out West to California." 
 
 "Going to leave Harvard? Going to Cali- 
 fornia? Surely you're joking! What does this 
 mean, John?" The little face was serious now. 
 
 "That is the second secret, Jessie." 
 
 There was that in his voice and in his eyes 
 which thrilled the girl by his side. The chords of 
 love when first struck, do not ring out the clear note 
 of the attuned instrument. When love's eager 
 fingers pluck clumsily at the strings, the heart 
 vibrates, but it knows not why. Jessie's soft brown 
 eyes opened wide, then dropped as they met his 
 fervent gaze. 
 
 "I am going away, Jessie, because I love you." 
 
 The little hand became imprisoned in a tender 
 clasp, and she listened as in a dream to the words 
 which clamored for her love. 
 
 "I must tell you this, Jessie! I love you, Jes- 
 sie, with a love which at times has seemed hopeless, 
 yet I proudly offer you that love. Why should I 
 not love you? What right has wealth to erect 
 a barrier around your heart and post sentinels 
 to challenge one who worships you unselfishly? I 
 know that the false laws of society mock my hopes, 
 
 88
 
 THE TRAGEDY 
 
 but in defiance of them I love you, Jessie I love 
 you!" 
 
 "Please don't, John, please!" The little hand 
 trembled as it attempted to escape, but John held 
 it fast. 
 
 "Listen to me, Jessie listen to me!" His 
 voice was commanding in its earnestness. "I do 
 not ask you to love me, now. I do not ask you to 
 promise to be my wife. I do not ask you to wait 
 until I have made the fortune which I hope to lay at 
 your feet. I only ask you to know that I love you ; 
 to know that this love is my inspiration; to know 
 that no woman on earth shall ever share it, and to 
 know that whatever befalls you be it sunshine or 
 rain, happiness or sorrow there is one man who 
 has no thought other than your welfare ; who cher- 
 ishes no ambition other than to see you showered 
 with all the blessings and honors which God can 
 grant to a good woman. That is my love, Jessie ! 
 If some day I have an honest right to ask your love 
 in return, I shall do so, making no claim on our old 
 friendship. May I love you that way? Say that I 
 may, Jessie!" 
 
 " I I want you to love me, John, but please 
 don't speak of it again, John!" said Jessie, raising 
 her eyes glistening with tears. " I mean not to 
 speak of it for years, John. I like you, and you 
 know I do, or you would not talk to me as you 
 have. I have not thought of love; at least, I I 
 don't think I have ! Please, John, promise me that
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 you will not say anything more about it until 
 things are different. Will you promise?" 
 
 John Hurt's face was radiant as he made the 
 promise. 
 
 The sail was raised, and they started back 
 towards the grove. The breeze had freshened, and 
 the little boat flew through the water. John talked 
 of his determination to go West. His plans were 
 indefinite, but he was determined to start as soon 
 as possible. Both were saddened at the thought. 
 
 John helped Jessie to the landing, and turned 
 to see Sam Rounds running towards them. 
 
 " Excuse me," said he breathlessly to Jessie. 
 " I want you, John!" He drew John aside. "Ar- 
 thur Morris and his friends are drunk in the hotel," 
 he said excitedly. " He says he's going to kill you, 
 and he's insulted Miss Garden half a dozen times. 
 He said " and Sam bent over and whispered in 
 John's ear. 
 
 John's teeth were set and his hands clenched, 
 but his voice was calm as he turned to Jessie. 
 
 " I must go to the hotel for a few minutes. I'll 
 meet you and Sam later," he said. "You'll excuse 
 me, won't you, Jessie?" 
 
 "Oh, John, for my sake don't get into 
 trouble 1" pleaded Jessie, who guessed something 
 of the truth. 
 
 John walked hurriedly away. Entering the 
 hotel, he saw Arthur Morris and five of his male 
 companions seated around a table loaded with 
 90
 
 THE TR,AGEDY 
 
 champagne bottles and glasses. Like many drunk- 
 ards, Morris seldom passed beyond a certain stage 
 of inebriety; and though he had been drinking for 
 hours, he was more sober, mentally, than when he 
 left his yacht. 
 
 John stood unobserved in the deepening 
 shadows of the room. Morris was attempting to 
 sing, hammering on the table with a cane to beat 
 time. In peremptory tones he ordered more wine. 
 Ranged around the rooms were groups of country 
 boys, gazing with open mouths at such unheard of 
 prodigality. 
 
 "You're a fine Lothario, commodore!" said 
 Kingsley, as he slowly filled his glass. " Byron was 
 a farmer compared with you. After all your boasts, 
 you let a yokel cut you out, shake his fist in your 
 face, and sail away with the fair maiden! Your 
 amours weary me ! " 
 
 "Hold your tongue, Kingsley! '"growled Mor- 
 ris. " You'll sing a different tune a few weeks from 
 now. As for this fellow Burt, I'll horsewhip him 
 the first time I meet him! You need not worry 
 about my success with the Garden! I have met 
 and won that type of amorette before ! That 
 peach will ripen and fall. I'll wager you that in 
 less than a year I will " 
 
 John Burt glided across the room, grasped 
 him by the shoulders, dragged him from the chair, 
 and with a grip of iron shook him as a dog does a 
 a rat. His wine-glass fell with a crash to the floor. 
 
 91
 
 JOHN 
 
 BUR 
 
 "Another word, you drunken insulter of 
 women, and I will beat your head to a pulp ! ' 
 
 Morris' guests threw themselves between the 
 two men, and John relaxed his grasp on Morris' 
 neck. Dazed for the moment, Morris recovered 
 himself, and his face became distorted with rage. 
 Seizing a heavy bottle, he hurled it at John's head. 
 The bottle missed its mark and crashed through a 
 mirror. Reaching into his pocket with a quickness 
 wonderful in his condition, he drew a revolver, and 
 before any one could interfere fired pointblank at 
 John Burt, who was not three yards away. 
 
 Like a panther, Burt leaped under the leveled 
 arm. A second shot struck the ceiling. In a 
 writhing, struggling mass, amid overturned chairs 
 and tables, and the flight of panic stricken specta- 
 tors, both men lurched heavily to the floor, John 
 Burt uppermost. As they fell, a third shot was 
 fired, the report being muffled as the shell ex- 
 ploded within their close embrace. 
 
 The smoking weapon fell to the floor from 
 the nerveless grasp of Arthur Morris. John Burt 
 seized it and thrust it into his pocket, but the pre- 
 caution was unnecessary. Morris lay on the sanded 
 floor of the inn, stark and deathlike, a frown upon 
 his face. On the white flannel shirt above his heart 
 was an ominous smear of red, slowly widening in a 
 circle with each respiration, before the eyes of the 
 men who bent over him. A froth tinged with 
 blood oozed and bubbled from his mouth. 
 
 9*
 
 CHAPTER TEN 
 
 THE PARTING 
 
 WRITHING bars of smoke nitric, pungent, 
 and sulphurous floated over the heads of 
 those whose eyes were fixed on the prostrate 
 figure of Arthur Morris. The afterglow streamed 
 through the western windows, tingeing the edges of 
 the smoke wreaths and scintillating with dust sparks 
 hurled up in the struggle. The glass-strewn floor; 
 the overturned chairs and tables; the blanched 
 features of the revelers awed and sobered by the 
 tragedy; the peering faces of country boys, wide 
 eyed and open mouthed, clustered at door and 
 window ; the aged tavern keeper, wringing his hands 
 at the sight of his wrecked belongings ; the deadly 
 silence, broken only by the long drawn and irregular 
 gasps of the wounded man ; the widening smear of 
 red on the garment above his heart ; the chill of the 
 darkening shadow of death such was the horror, 
 unreal but actual, in which John Burt found himself 
 the conspicuous figure. 
 
 He felt the touch of a hand on his shoulder, 
 and, turning quickly, faced Sam Rounds. 
 
 " Fer God's sake, git outer here, John, as soon 
 as ye can 1 " whispered Sam. John hung back 
 defiantly. "Jessie's waitin' fer ye, John; she heard 
 the shots, an' is scared most ter death I Ye prom- 
 ised, John, that ye'd come right back! He's a 
 goner, an' it ain't no kinder use stayin' 'round here. 
 Come on, John ; Jessie'" waitin' fer ye ! " 
 
 93
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 At the sound of Jessie's name a wave of agony 
 swept over John Burt. With a glance at the motion- 
 less form of Morris, he turned and followed Sam 
 Rounds. No hand was raised to stop him. The 
 witnesses of the tragedy, held in a spell, had eyes 
 for naught but its victim. 
 
 "Tell ye what ye do, John," said Sam Rounds 
 as they reached the open air, and faced the breeze 
 from the sea. "Jump on my horse an' git away 
 from here like lightnin'. Don't let 'em catch ye, 
 John! I'll drive her home you git out! " 
 
 " I shall do nothing of the kind," replied John 
 Burt, as they neared Jessie Garden. " Go after the 
 carriage and meet us here. Be as lively as you can." 
 
 "There it is!" said Sam, pointing a few rods 
 away. " I hitched 'em up while you was gone so's 
 ter have 'em waiting fer ye. But you'd better take 
 my horse an' make a run'fer it, John! I'll look 
 after Miss Garden. They'll git ye, sure ! " 
 
 John made no reply. Jessie ran forward to 
 meet him, her face white with fear. 
 
 "Oh, what has happened, John? What has 
 happened?" Her voice trembled and her lips 
 parted with a vague terror. "Are you shot? Are 
 you hurt, John ? Oh, tell me, John ! " 
 
 "I'm not hurt, darling," said John, looking 
 into the uplifted eyes. " Something has happened, 
 and we must leave at once. I will tell you about it 
 on the way home." 
 
 A minute later they were speeding through the 
 
 94
 
 THE PARTING 
 
 gathering darkness. For some moments neither 
 spoke. With appalling swiftness, a series of events 
 rearing like breakers in an angry sea had swept 
 over John Burt, and left him numb for the moment. 
 Was it a dream, a cruel phantasmagoria invoked by 
 fiends to torment a slumbering brain? Why had 
 fate thrust this cup to his lips? What sin had he 
 committed? The fair fabric of his ambitions crum- 
 bled before his eyes. 
 
 He turned and looked at Jessie. In the evening 
 light the pure profile of her face was drawn like a 
 cameo against the fading sky. The soft folds of 
 her hair, the tender brow, the penciled eyelashes, 
 the tempting lips, the firm little chin, and the slen- 
 der neck it was not a dream. 
 
 By a stern effort John Burt mastered his emo- 
 tions and calmly told Jessie what had happened. 
 He said no word of the shameful insults in which 
 her name had been bandied in a public drinking 
 place. He explained that a quarrel had arisen, 
 during which Morris had been shot with his own 
 weapon. Jessie listened breathlessly. It had grown 
 so dark that John could not see her face, but there 
 was a tremor in her voice when she asked : 
 
 "Will he die, John?" 
 
 " I fear so," replied John. 
 
 It might have been imagination, but he thought 
 that Jessie shuddered and drew away from him. 
 They heard the rapid beat of hoofs behind them, 
 and she clutched his arm. 
 
 95
 
 JOHN 
 
 BUR 
 
 "They are coming after you!" she exclaimed. 
 "Jump and run, John. I can drive home alone. 
 Please do, John ! Do not let them take you ! " 
 
 She grasped at the reins as if to stop the horses. 
 John checked the team and calmly awaited his pur- 
 suers. There was that in Jessie's voice and in the 
 touch of her hand which filled him with wild, unrea- 
 soning joy. 
 
 Out of the darkness a horse, madly ridden, 
 dashed forward, and was pulled back on his haunches 
 by the side of the carnage. A face peered in the 
 homely but welcome face of Sam Rounds. 
 
 " Drive on as fast as ye can, John," gasped 
 Sam. "I've thrown 'em off the scent. I ran the 
 Standish out inter the bay, set 'er tiller an' let 'er 
 go, an' come back an' told 'em you had given 'em 
 the slip that way. Pretty slick, eh ? You bet none 
 o' them dudes can get the best of Sam Rounds! 
 Git up 1 " 
 
 Sam gave the horses a cut of the whip which 
 sent them dashing down the road. A few minutes 
 later they reached the Bishop farmhouse. Sam 
 held the excited horses while John helped Jessie to 
 alight. 
 
 " Jump on my horse and git ! " said Sam in a 
 whisper. 
 
 John drew Jessie to the shadow of a maple, and 
 held her hands in his. 
 
 " Jessie, I am innocent, but the world will hold 
 me responsible for the death of that blackguard. 
 96
 
 THE PARTING 
 
 Sweetheart, I had dreamed of bridging the gulf 
 between us. I had faith that some lucky star would 
 smile on my ambitions ; that my youth and health 
 would one day make me worthy of the grandest gift 
 God gives to man L the love of the woman he wor- 
 ships ! That hope is not dead, but it has gone far 
 from me. I must endure either imprisonment and 
 disgrace at home or exile abroad. I can face either, 
 Jessie, if I have the support of your friendship, and 
 the knowledge that you hold me guiltless. Can you 
 give me them, sweetheart?" 
 
 " Both, John," said Jessie, softly. " I I shall 
 pray for your success. Go now, John ! Take Sam's 
 advice and mine. Good-bye, dear!" There were 
 tears in the sweet voice. 
 
 "Will you kiss me, Jessie?" 
 
 Two warm arms were clasped around his neck, 
 and a face wet with tears nestled for a moment on 
 his shoulder. The light from the parlor window 
 glistened in her eyes as she raised them to his, and 
 she kissed him twice, with the live kisses that come 
 from the heart of a woman whose affection has 
 passed the mysterious border that separates friend- 
 ship from love. 
 
 " It may be years, dearest Jessie, before we shall 
 see or hear from one another. But my love tells me 
 we shall meet again. Pray for me, darling. Good- 
 bye, sweetheart, good-bye ! " 
 
 " Good-bye, John ; God bless you and guard 
 you ! " 
 
 97
 
 JOHN 
 
 BUR 
 
 "Good-bye, Jessie; good-bye!" 
 
 He watched her as she faded away from him 
 and disappeared beyond the vines which shaded the 
 veranda. 
 
 "Come on, John!" said Sam. 'There's no 
 time tew lose. Which way are ye goin'? Better 
 take the Hingham road. Have ye got any money? " 
 And Sam produced a roll of bills. 
 
 "Thank you, Sam, I don't need it." John's 
 hand reached out to grasp that of his friend. " I'm 
 going home. Grandfather will advise me what 
 to do." 
 
 Sam told him to be careful, and with a hearty 
 handshake bade him farewell. 
 
 " You can bet I'm allers yer friend, John, first, 
 last, an' all the time," he said as the other vaulted 
 into the saddle. " You'll win, John Burt, an' don't 
 ye fergit that Sam Rounds allers said so. Ye're 
 clean strain and thoroughbred, an' they can't down 
 ye. Good-bye, John, an' good luck tew ye!" 
 
 Under the arched maples where he had walked 
 with Jessie so many times; over the old bridge 
 where first he met her, and down the sandy road 
 where they had loitered in summer days now gone 
 forever, John Burt urged the horse along. In the 
 western sky flashes of lightning heralded a coming 
 storm. It was two miles to Peter Burt's, and he 
 soon reached the gloomy old house. A figure stood 
 by the gate. No lights were burning, and the hour 
 when Peter Burt habitually retired long since had 
 98
 
 THE PARTING 
 
 passed. John rode forward and recognized his 
 grandfather. 
 
 "You did well to come home, my boy," said 
 the old man, whose deep, calm voice held an anxious 
 note. " Something has happened, and my soul has 
 been calling you since dusk. There is no time to 
 lose, my lad. Ride to the graveyard and I'll follow 
 you. It isn't safe to talk here." 
 
 In the far corner of the old graveyard John 
 Burt hitched his horse and turned to meet his 
 grandfather. The old man seated himself on the 
 grave of the pioneer Burt who, two hundred years 
 before, had dared the dangers of the wilderness. 
 Though the lightning flickered in the west and 
 north, the stars shone bright above, and their dim 
 radiance revealed the giant figure of the patriarch. 
 
 Eighty-three winters had marshaled their snows 
 since Peter Burt opened his eyes in the old farm- 
 house. Yet his step was. x as springy, his eye as 
 clear, and his voice as strong as on the day when 
 John Burt's father was born. He was in his shirt 
 sleeves, and the unbuttoned front showed a hairy 
 chest, massive in its strength. The uprolled sleeves 
 revealed the coiled muscles of his forearm, and the 
 slender wrist peculiar to men of enormous strength. 
 
 "Now we can talk," he said. "Tell me what 
 has happened." 
 
 Quickly John Burt related the incidents before 
 the tragedy. He told of his love for Jessie, of his 
 avowal in the boat, of Sani Rounds' information, 
 
 99
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 and of the fight in the tavern. The old man made 
 no sign during the recital, and was silent for min- 
 utes after John had ended. 
 
 " He deserved to die, and it was written that he 
 should perish by violence; but his blood is not on 
 your head," began the old man calmly. " You had 
 the right to kill him, and no sin will be charged 
 against you in the Book of Life ; but the laws of 
 men may hold you in part responsible. There is 
 no law but God's law, and the laws of men are pit- 
 falls for fools. They are the weapons of the strong 
 against the weak. If we transgress one of God's 
 laws he will exact the penalty, not only in this 
 world but in the hereafter. Murder, in the sight 
 of God, is in the heart not in the hand. I I 
 am " 
 
 Peter Burt's voice broke, and a shudder swept 
 over him; but he controlled himself, and con- 
 tinued : 
 
 ' My boy, will you take your grandfather's 
 advice? Will you heed his earnest admonition to 
 the one being on earth he loves, for whom his 
 prayers ascend to heaven ?" 
 
 "I will, grandfather I will!" replied John 
 firmly. 
 
 " It is written in God's word : ' If thou faint in 
 the day of adversity, thy strength is small; for a just 
 man falleth seven times and riseth up again,' " said 
 Peter Burt, laying his hand on John's shoulder. 
 " God has willed that you shall be His instrument in
 
 THE PARTING 
 
 great undertakings, and it is decreed that the events 
 of to-day shall not be a stumbling-block to your 
 feet. His ways are not our ways, and He reveals 
 Himself to few of His servants. I have prayed that 
 you be given the gift of understanding, and God 
 has answered my prayers. You are now to go out 
 into the world, and though you may know it not, 
 God will guide your footsteps. There will be times 
 when the ways are dark, but the light will appear. 
 Your ways will not be understood by men, and at 
 times may not seem in harmony with God's plan, but 
 He who directs the flight of a bird will not withhold 
 His guidance to the heir of Peter Burt. Hath He 
 not said : ' There is a spirit in man, and the inspira- 
 tion of the Almighty giveth them understanding.' 
 And, again, we are told : ' Happy is the man that 
 getteth understanding. She is more precious than 
 rubies, and all things thou canst desire are not to be 
 compared to her. Length of days is in her right 
 hand, and in her left hand riches and honor.' The 
 key to all human greatness, John, is found in God's 
 inspired words when He says : ' Wisdom is the 
 principal thing; therefore get wisdom; and with all 
 thy getting, get understanding. Take fast hold on 
 instruction; let her not go ; keep her; for she is thy 
 life.'" 
 
 The old man paused to let his words sink deep 
 into the being of the young man beside him. 
 
 " God speaks to His servants not by word of 
 mouth," Peter Burt said in a tone of unalterable
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 conviction, " but to those whom He selects as cap- 
 tains He gives an understanding heart. He who 
 has the gift of understanding reads God's plans in 
 the passing events which mean nothing to others. 
 That gift is your choicest heritage, John Burt. It 
 were folly to imagine that this unprovoked quar- 
 rel points to your undoing. It is the sign that you 
 are at once to depart from fields you have outgrown, 
 to take up your work in that broader sphere which 
 is waiting you. The fool would remain and measure 
 his innocence against the wealth and influence of 
 those who devour widow's houses and who despoil 
 the virtue of maidens. Something has whispered to 
 me that you should go to California. To-day's 
 event is the sign that you go now. It is plain as if 
 written on parchment. You will start to-night, my 
 boy, and God will be with you. Hush ! I hear the 
 hoofs of horses!" 
 
 In the silence of the night the muffled beat of 
 galloping horses was heard from the base of the 
 long hill. The old man jumped to his feet. He 
 looked in the direction of Sam Rounds' horse. 
 
 "Officers are coming I" he said in a low voice. 
 " I will meet them. Remain here till I return. Hold 
 that horse by the nose lest he whinny." 
 
 As John sprang to the horse's head, the old 
 man vanished in the darkness. 
 
 103
 
 CHAPTER ELEVEN 
 
 EXILED 
 
 PETER BURT entered the rear door of his 
 house, and was in his room when the tramp 
 of steps was heard, followed by loud knock- 
 ing. The old man waited awhile, as if dressing. 
 He then lighted a lamp and stood in the hallway. 
 The pounding had been repeated at intervals, and 
 gruff voices were heard in impatient conversation. 
 
 "Who's there?" demanded the old man. 
 
 "Open the door and be quick about it!" was 
 the response, with a kick and a pull at the latch. 
 
 "At this hour of the night my door opens to 
 none who refuse names and errands ?" replied the 
 old man. " Go about your business and do not 
 disturb honest folk!" 
 
 A mumbled conference followed. Peter Burt 
 placed the lamp on a table and waited. A light 
 knock sounded at the door. 
 
 "Is this Peter Burt?" 
 
 " I am Peter Burt." 
 
 "We are officers of the law, Mr. Burt," a 
 clearer voice declared. u We are after John Burt, 
 your grandson, who has killed a man." 
 
 " He is not here," was the calm reply. 
 
 "We must search the house, Mr. Burt," said 
 the officer. " I warn you not to resist the execu- 
 tion of the law." 
 
 <: Have you a warrant for his arrest, or a search 
 warrant ?" demanded the old man. " Show me one 
 
 103
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 at the window and I will open the door. If you 
 have none, begone, and let me rest in peace." 
 
 Another conference followed, and the gruff 
 voice rose in anger. 
 
 "Let us in, old man," it thundered. "Warrant 
 or no warrant, let us in, or by God we'll pound your 
 door down and take you along with your murderin' 
 grandson ! " 
 
 "Open my door at your peril!" said Peter 
 Burt sternly. "Show me your authority, and you 
 can enter my house. I know the law and will de- 
 fend my rights. This house is my castle, and no 
 man has ever entered it without my consent." 
 
 Growling threats, the men retired. In a minute 
 they returned, armed with a log. Used as a batter- 
 ing ram, it was hurled against the heavy oaken 
 door. For a time the stout frame resisted, but 
 with a crash the jamb gave way and the door flew 
 open. With an oath and a call to his companion, 
 the larger of the two rushed in. 
 
 Peter Burt stood behind the splintered door in 
 the dark hallway. As the man crossed the thresh- 
 old, the patriarch's left arm flew out, and the 
 corded fingers gripped the reckless intruder by the 
 throat. There was a gurgling cry as the fingers 
 buried themselves in the flesh. The second man 
 hit the old farmer a glancing blow with the butt 
 end of a revolver. With a catlike movement, Peter 
 Burt wrenched his opponent's forearm. With a 
 cry of pain the man dropped the weapon to the 
 104
 
 EXILED 
 
 floor. Before he could guard himself, Peter Burt 
 dealt him a hard blow on the face, and gripped 
 him by the neck as he reeled against the wall. 
 
 Holding the two men at arm's length, Peter 
 cracked their heads together, and then dragged 
 them into the room, where the lamplight fell on 
 their faces. The protruding tongue and the blood- 
 surged face of the one who had led the charge 
 caused Peter Burt to relax his hold, and the man 
 fell limp to the floor. A glance showed that his 
 companion was senseless, and the old man stretched 
 him out on the carpet. 
 
 He looked up. John Burt stood in the door- 
 way. The noise of the battle had reached him, 
 and, disobeying orders, he had run to his grand- 
 father's assistance. 
 
 " Stay outside, John ! " said Peter Burt with a 
 grim smile. " You must not resist an officer. I 
 will be with you in a few minutes. Don't be 
 alarmed ; they're not badly hurt." 
 
 There came to John's mind, as he waited in 
 the darkness, the legends of his grandsire's prow- 
 ess in the days of his prime. He remembered 
 hearing that Peter Burt had been waylaid by ten 
 men, and that with his hands and fists he had 
 stunned and maimed them, heaping them like cord' 
 wood by the side of the road. Yet to John he was 
 tender as a woman, and in all their years in the 
 old house his grandsire's hand had never been 
 raised in anger against another 
 
 105
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 Peter Burt produced a coil of rope from a 
 closet, and with the dexterity of a sailor bound the 
 senseless men. He searched their pockets for 
 weapons, and then proceeded to revive them. A 
 liberal application of cold water, followed by an 
 inhalation of smelling-salts, produced the desired 
 effect, and the men struggled back to conscious- 
 ness. 
 
 " I have not gagged you," said Peter Burt, as 
 he stood over them, " for the reason that your cries 
 would bring you no assistance, and for the second 
 reason that you are men of sufficient intelligence 
 not to speak again until you are spoken to. As 
 soon as convenient, I will give you more comfort- 
 able quarters. Now that you are here, you may 
 spend the night with me." 
 
 Seating himself at a desk, Peter Burt wrote 
 two letters, and sealed them. He then opened a 
 huge, iron-bound chest, and for half an hour was 
 busy with its contents. He was as cool as if casting 
 up unimportant accounts. When his work was 
 ended, he quitted the room without so much as a 
 glance at the silent figures on the floor. John met 
 him at the gateway. 
 
 " Here are your instructions, John," he said. 
 " Go to your room and select such trifles as you can 
 carry in your saddle-bags. You must make Plymouth 
 before daybreak, and it will be a hard ride when the 
 storm breaks. You know every foot of the way. 
 Take the back road and keep away from the vil- 
 
 106
 
 EXILED 
 
 lages. This letter is addressed to a man in Plymouth. 
 Here is a ring. Show him this ring with the letter. 
 Stay in his house all day, and start for New Bedford 
 about ten o'clock to-morrow night. You must 
 arrive in New Bedford before daybreak, and go to 
 the address on this second letter. When you find it 
 show Captain Horton the letter and the ring. He 
 will put you on board the Segregansett, which sails 
 for the South Pacific in three days from now. This 
 third package you will not examine until well at sea. 
 Here is money. Enter the house and make no 
 unnecessary noise. I will saddle your horse and 
 wait at the barn." 
 
 The sky was aflame with lightning as John 
 stood once more by the old man's side. The rum- 
 ble of thunder told of the near approach of the 
 tempest. \ 
 
 "John," said Peter Burt as he grasped the 
 boy's hand in his, u I feel no sorrow save the pain of 
 a temporary parting. This was decreed by One 
 wiser than ourselves. I shall see you again, my boy ; 
 I shall clasp your hand in the vigor of your man- 
 hood, when success has crowned your efforts, and 
 when your happiness is complete. Though I have 
 lived long past the allotted span, the scroll of my 
 days is not yet numbered. Do not write to me or 
 attempt to communicate with me, or with any one, 
 until you are rich and strong enough to meet your 
 enemies on equal ground. You have the love of a 
 woman I respect. She will wait for you. Do not
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 let the impatience of your love imperil your chances. 
 I speak with authority when I say these things to 
 you. During these coming years, let money be 
 your ambition. You live in an age when money is 
 the god of the material world. Understanding has 
 been granted to you, and when you apply yourself 
 to the struggle the thrill of knowledge will pervade 
 you. ' A prudent man concealeth knowledge ; the 
 heart of fools proclaimeth foolishness,' says Solomon. 
 Keep your own counsel, John, and ' buy truth and 
 sell it not.' You have received a ken of this world's 
 affairs, so that I can say to you in the language of 
 Isaiah: 'I will give thee the treasures of darkness 
 and the hidden riches of secret places.' Rest secure 
 in that promise, have abiding faith in it, and hold no 
 communication with those who love you until my 
 prophecy has come to pass. Do you promise me, 
 my boy?" 
 
 " I do, grandfather ! " said John, who was deeply 
 affected. "You have been so good " 
 
 "Never mind, my boy; thank God, not me. 
 Good-bye, John God bless you ! " 
 
 The first drops of the storm pattered on the 
 dusty roadway as the old man raised his hands and 
 gave John his blessing. Springing into the saddle, 
 the boy caught one last glimpse of Peter Burt in a 
 brilliant flash of lightning which glorified his heroic 
 figure, his white hair shining as a halo above his 
 brow. The trees guarding the old graveyard swayed 
 in the first gust of the tempest. John put spurs to 
 i og
 
 EXILED 
 
 his horse and fared forward on the wings of the 
 gale. 
 
 A strange exhilaration tingled in the young 
 man's veins as he swept along in the swirling 
 embrace of the storm. There stole over him an 
 exaltation, a sense of buoyant freedom, and a thrill 
 of power which was intoxicating. The crashing 
 artillery of the heavens ; the tangled skeins of light- 
 ning; the roar of the wind; the bending pines, dim 
 seen through lines of rain in the fitful glare; the 
 swift shifting panorama as the horse leaped to the 
 spur such was the stage setting of which John Burt 
 felt himself the central figure. The little New 
 England district in which he had played so dull a 
 part already faded beneath the horizon, and the 
 greater world reared its heights, beckoning him to 
 come and conquer. And of that t new and grander 
 world Jessie was the heroine her bright smile 
 encouraging him to victory. 
 
 It was four o'clock when he halted at a small 
 house on the outskirts of Plymouth. Years before, 
 with Peter Burt, he had visited the old sailor who 
 was spending there his declining years. After 
 repeated knocking, the old man opened the door. 
 John handed him the letter and showed the ring. 
 He read the letter and heartily greeted his guest. 
 
 " Enough said, my boy ! " he declared, as he 
 burned the letter. " You'll be as safe here as in 
 God's pocket. Make yourself comfortable and I'll 
 stow away your horse." 
 
 109
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 When the old man returned he prepared a 
 breakfast which John ate with relish, and then his 
 host showed him to a bed which, though hard, 
 seemed the most delightful place he had found in 
 years. The sun was low when John woke. After 
 supper breakfast to John the old sailor spun 
 yarns of the sea, though Peter Burt did not figure 
 in any of these narratives. He did not betray the 
 slightest curiosity concerning John's journey, and 
 at ten o'clock his guest bade him farewell with sin- 
 cere thanks for his hospitality. 
 
 The night ride to New Bedford was made with- 
 out incident. It was three o'clock when John 
 knocked at Captain Horton's door; and, much to 
 his surprise, that gruff old mariner was up and 
 dressed. 
 
 :^v- "Come in I I've been expectin' ye ! " he said 
 as he opened the door. " Glad to meet ye. Joe," 
 he said, turning to a sleepy-eyed boy, "take care of 
 this lad's horse." 
 
 John secured the contents of the saddle-bags, 
 and an hour later stepped on board the Segregan- 
 sett. Captain Horton showed him his quarters 
 ind advised him to " turn in." He did so, and 
 when he awoke the heaving and groaning of the 
 old whaler told him that she was on the open sea. 
 
 John Burt lay in his bunk in that deliciously 
 languid state which follows deep, refreshing sleep. 
 Against the background of boyish years the events 
 of recent hours stood forth vividly. 
 
 no
 
 EXILED 
 
 A light rap sounded on the door. He opened 
 it, and was greeted by Captain Horton. 
 
 " Haow air ye, me boy?" exclaimed the broad- 
 shouldered skipper. " Dinner'll be ready in a jiffy; 
 if ye've slept enough, throw on yer togs and have a 
 bite!" 
 
 "Thank you, Captain Horton," said John. "I 
 shall be ready in a minute, and promise justice to 
 your dinner." 
 
 It was one o'clock when he came on deck. The 
 day was clear and bright, and the Segregansett was 
 running south with all canvas set in the twenty knot 
 breeze. In the northeast the peaceful hills of 
 Martha's Vineyard rolled blue on the horizon, while 
 to the west the black cliffs of Block Island reared 
 defiantly. On the ocean's edge, to the north, a dim 
 bank showed dreaded Point Judith. John Burt 
 gazed fondly at these stern sentinels of New Eng- 
 land's coast, and wondered when he would see them 
 again. Before dusk the last trace of land faded 
 from sight. 
 
 Not until the Segregansett had left the Ber- 
 mudas did John open the package which had been 
 given to him by Peter Burt. It contained a long 
 letter from the old man, describing a spot in the 
 California mountains, of which a dying sailor had 
 told him years before. The poor fellow declared 
 that he had found a rich deposit of gold, and that 
 he was working his way back to Boston, hoping to 
 interest the necessary capital. In Peter Burt's letter 
 
 in
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 was enclosed a rough map which the sailor had 
 sketched when he realized that death stood in the 
 way of his dreams of wealth. 
 
 There was also a parcel with an outer covering 
 of oilskin. John unwrapped it and disclosed a 
 large, old-fashioned wallet, which he recognized as 
 having belonged to his grandfather. Years of use 
 had worn its sides to a gloss which no art can imi- 
 tate. In this wallet he found a layer of United 
 States Treasury notes of large denominations. His 
 fingers tingled as he handled the notes. Ten thous- 
 and dollars! He counted them again and again; 
 not as a miser counts his gold, but with the eager- 
 ness of an ambitious man who gazes for the first 
 time on the paper weapons of modern warfare. 
 Jessie seemed much nearer as John looked at those 
 bits of paper. 
 
 There was no memorandum in the wallet or in 
 the letter in reference to this money. John knew 
 that no such sum had been realized from his father's 
 estate. He knew little of Peter Burt's wealth, but 
 he was proud to think that he was deemed worthy 
 to be intrusted with so large a sum. 
 
 The scenes and incidents of that eighteen thous- 
 and mile journey around Cape Horn are worthy of 
 extended recital, but are not an essential part of 
 this narrative. One bright afternoon the Segregan- 
 sett sailed into the harbor of Valparaiso, and a week 
 later John Burt was a passenger on the steamer 
 Reliance, bound for San Francisco. 
 
 112
 
 EXILED 
 
 A thousand leagues away, Jessie Garden treas- 
 ured the secret of a sensation strangely akin to new- 
 born love. As the days sped away which meant 
 safety to John Burt, her spirits rose. He had van- 
 ished out of her life, but her faith in his innocence, 
 and in his success and triumphant return, was strong 
 and abiding. 
 
 On the walls of her class-room was a large map, 
 and she loved to look at it and wonder what spot of 
 land or sea held John Burt. Something told her 
 that he was on the ocean, and she found pleasure in 
 following his possible course through the tropics, 
 across the equator, past stormy Cape Horn, and up 
 the South American coast to California. 
 
 In the little college town there lived an old sea 
 captain, who kept a small candy and stationery 
 store ; and Jessie became his regula/r customer. To 
 the delight of this ancient mariner, she betrayed 
 keen interest in tales of the sea. She asked many 
 questions, which he answered, adding long narra- 
 tives of experiences in " rounding the Horn," and 
 of cruises in southern seas. 
 
 Thus, in fancy, Jessie accompanied John on 
 his long journey, until a day came when she felt that 
 he was in California, and that he had begun a strug- 
 gle for his fortune perhaps for her fortune. She 
 smiled proudly when this thought came to her. 
 
 She pictured John Burt in the rugged wilds, 
 and saw his handsome face and stalwart form against 
 the background of snow-capped mountains. She
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 saw him amid dangers; saw him suffering privations 
 and all for her. Every printed line concerning 
 the land of gold was associated in some way with 
 John Burt. 
 
 Cupid had stolen upon her in the night. He 
 had fired an arrow and fled. She felt the delicious 
 tingle of the wound in her heart, and wondered if it 
 was love. 
 
 Perchance, again, the great world into which 
 John Burt had vanished held for him a destiny in 
 which she bore no part. The dark veil which fate 
 draws over the future yielded not to her small 
 fingers. Love and hope ask a thousand questions 
 which time alone can answer.
 
 CHAPTER TWELVE 
 
 SAMUEL LEMUEL ROUNDS 
 
 Roundses don't run much tew ancestry, 
 _L I reckon; leastwise our end on 'em don't," 
 Sam Rounds had explained to John Burt 
 on one occasion. u Course I've got a lot of ances- 
 tors back somewhar, but who'n thunder they are, 
 blamed 'f I know! When the old house in Reho- 
 both burned up some forty odd year ago the family 
 Bible went with it, an' our ancestral tree was pulled 
 up by the roots. There must 'er been a red-haired 
 Rounds sometime or nother, else heow dew ye 
 account fer me?" 
 
 Students of heredity must regret the Rehoboth 
 conflagration, since it destroyed the last evidence in 
 what would have been an interesting research. 
 Among the numerous branches 'of the Rounds 
 family Sam was sui generis. In appearance, traits 
 and temperament he was no more like his near rela- 
 tives than is a young hawk to a brood of chickens. 
 
 It is reasonably well established that a Rounds 
 settled in Rehoboth fully one hundred years before 
 Sam was born, but the latter's recollection did not 
 extend back of his father one Hiram Rounds. The 
 annals of Hiram Rounds and his family can be 
 epitomized in one word work. 
 
 There is a type of New England farmer to whom 
 physical labor is a religion, a passion and a mania. 
 The virus of toil inoculated in the blood of the 
 Puritans had been transmitted to them intensified 
 
 "5
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 by successions of drudging generations. Born of 
 moiling parents who have known no world other 
 than New England's rock-strewn fields and shrub- 
 topped hills, certain of her children have successively 
 taken up the struggle for a mean existence. Those 
 upon whom the curse was not laid have escaped to 
 the fertile prairies of the West or to the profitable 
 activities of the cities. The record of their suc- 
 cesses and the story of their triumphs arouse small 
 envy in the breasts of those who remain behind, 
 content to wring a pitiful harvest from a stubborn 
 soil. 
 
 41 Dad believed in work an' lots of it," explained 
 Sam. " He looked like an old man when I first 
 knew him, an' he wa'nt so old at that only about 
 forty when I was a kid of six or seven. Summer an' 
 winter he was up at half-past four, an' you can bet 
 the rest on us got up with him. We had a hired 
 man once, but he didn't stay very long. The old 
 man routed him outer bed at four o'clock one 
 Monday mornin' leastwise, so I'm told. 
 
 444 Git up, ye lazy, ornary hound!' says dad. 
 4 Do ye want to sleep all day? Here 'tis Monday, 
 an' ter-morrow's Teusday an' next day's Wednesday 
 with ther week half gone, an' not a darned thing 
 done. Git up, an' mow that air medder! ' 
 
 "Dad shorely was er hard worker an' no mis- 
 take," continued Sam, having settled the much-dis- 
 puted authorship of that New England legend. 
 "When thar wa'nt no work tew dew on our farm. 
 
 116
 
 SAMUEL LEMUEL ROUNDS 
 
 he'd hire out tew ther neighbors fer fifty er seventy- 
 five cents er day. And at night we'd all shave 
 hoops after supper, working 'til nine an' sometimes 
 ten o'clock. In the winter dad would haul logs tew 
 Newport. He had two relays of Bosses, an' he'd 
 make the trip an' back without sleepiri' forty-eight 
 or more hours at a stretch. Lots er times I've 
 knowed him work till midnight, mowin' er loggin', 
 an' he'd be up at four next mornin'. Every one 
 used ter brag how hard they could work, but they 
 all took off their hats tew dad. He shorely was 
 the champion worker 'round Rehoboth. Lots er 
 strong young fellers came up from Attleboro and 
 tried to mow a swath with dad, but he bushed all 
 on 'em." 
 
 " Killing himself to live," mused John Burt. 
 
 " Wall, I reckon he did leastwise Doc Rey- 
 nolds 'lowed so. Dad died when he was forty- 
 eight. He teamed all night three nights running 
 workin' out the poll-tax fer the neighbors, an' he 
 had 'er stroke. Doc warned him then tew let up 'er 
 bit, but dad just somehow couldn't, and he pitched 
 in ergain. He was shinglin' ther roof of ther barn, 
 erbout eleven o'clock one night, an' I guess he had 
 ernother stroke. The doctor couldn't exactly tell 
 whether he had er stroke, er whether he fell off and 
 broke his neck, er both enyhow he was dead when 
 they picked him up. I wasn't home at ther time I 
 was in Fall River workin' in the mills. When us 
 young ones got tew be twelve years old most on us 
 
 117
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 was packed off an' set tew work in ther cotton 
 mills er in the match factories. Five of my sisters 
 worked in ther cotton mills. Nowadays ther workin' 
 men are talkin' erbout er ten-hour day, an' some on 
 'em is strikin' fer an' eight-hour day. My sisters 
 an' thousands of other girls used tew work from 
 six o'clock in ther mornin' till nine at night, an' 
 they was mighty glad tew git ther chance. Where 
 air my sisters now? Two on 'em is dead, two 
 married, and one's in an asylum." 
 
 This recital of the history of the Rounds fam- 
 ily occurred shortly before the incidents related in 
 the preceding chapter. Sam was a great admirer 
 of John Burt, and though habitually reticent con- 
 cerning his personal affairs, did not hesitate to 
 make John his confidant. The latter recognized 
 in Sam sterling traits which escaped the ordinary 
 observer. Five years before, Sam had purchased a 
 small farm near Hingham, and had devoted it to 
 the breeding and raising of horses. The success 
 of this venture had aroused the sluggish jealousy of 
 neighboring farmers, who frowned on innovations 
 and predicted the ultimate failure of Sam's enter- 
 prise. 
 
 " I've done fairly middlin' well, but I want tew 
 dew better," Sam said. "None of the Roundses 
 ever amounted tew nothin', an' I'm going tew try 
 tew break er record. I never had much schoolin', 
 but I wasn't sixteen years old when I larned that no 
 man can git rich on a pesky little New England 
 
 118
 
 SAMUEL LEMUEL ROUNDS 
 
 farm. An' I've found out another thing, John, no 
 man can git rich by his own work. He must either 
 git others tew work fer him 'an pay 'em wages 
 smaller the better, of course er else he must buy 
 and sell things fer profit. Shore, he might dis- 
 cover a gold mine, but tew my thinkin' that's much 
 in ther way of gamblin'. But, as I said, nobody 
 can git rich on wages, nor by farmin' er loggin' 
 'round here. I don't reckon I'm mean enough tew 
 run a factory or a shop, so I've gone inter tradin'. 
 I knows bosses an' likes 'em, an' they likes me. 
 An' I've done fairly middlin' well." Sam's eyes 
 twinkled shrewdly. 
 
 " You never told me how you made your start, 
 Sam," John said, taking advantage of his friend's 
 reminiscent mood. 
 
 " Reckon I never would got started if I had 
 tew depend on wages," reflected Sam. "Worked in 
 er shop in Providence fer three years an' saved up 
 er hundred dollars. Then dad died an' left me 
 part of ther old farm. I sold out fer six hundred. 
 Went up ter Vermont and bought some hosses an' 
 brought 'em back an' sold 'em. As I said, I knows 
 a horse better'n he knows hisself. Then I kept on 
 buyin' an' sellin' 'em. When I had enough money 
 I bought that air strip of land I own now, and 
 I've been thare ever since. Good land fer hosses, 
 an' that's all 'tis good fer. I've got er hundred 
 head of good road hosses and four er five trot 
 ters, an' as many runnin' hosses. I've been down 
 
 119
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 ter New York, lookin' it over, an' have erbout 
 decided ter locate thare. That's er great town, 
 John, an' I knows more erbout hosses than most 
 on 'em down that-a-way. What dew ye think 
 erbout it, John? Dew ye think I'd better try 
 it, er let well-enough alone? They say, ye know, 
 as heow er rollin' stone gathers no moss, but 
 I don't want ter get mossy. Rollin' 'round sorter 
 polishes ye up, and makes ye smooth, an' I don't 
 go much on proverbs, noheow. What do ye think 
 erbout it, John?" 
 
 Sam looked anxiously into the face of his 
 friend. 
 
 " I should go," said John Burt decisively. 
 " There's a fortune waiting for you in New York, 
 Sam. Go, by all means." 
 
 This settled it with Sam. A month after the 
 Segregansett sailed away with John Burt, a Provi- 
 dence steamer carried Sam Rounds and fifty care- 
 fully selected horses to New York. Since the death 
 of his father Sam had provided for his mother, who 
 lived with him in a well-built house on his Hingham 
 stock farm. Next to his horses his great mission 
 in life was to restrain this estimable woman from 
 working. Like others of her class she was born 
 with her feet on the treadmill, and when Sam shat- 
 tered that instrument of torture Mrs. Rounds was 
 first dismayed and then dazed. Life without a 
 ceaseless round of exhausting toil was something 
 beyond her comprehension. 
 
 120
 
 SAMUEL LEMUEL ROUNDS 
 
 Mrs. Rounds was a faded little woman who had 
 reached her threescore of years. She looked frail, 
 but was seemingly incapable of physical fatigue. 
 She had reared a family of ten children, and for 
 more than forty years had averaged sixteen hours of 
 work a day. Her girlhood was spent in a factory, 
 and her honeymoon in a kitchen. 
 
 Her past was a blur of trouble and of toil. 
 Crying children, with ever-recurring attacks of 
 croup, measles and fevers, the heat and odors of a 
 kitchen, six solid years of wash-days, cows milked 
 morning and night, clothes fashioned and mended, 
 floors swept, beds made, fruit preserved, apples 
 dried, clothes to be hung on lines in^the bitter cold 
 of winter, school lunches prepared for the children, 
 whippings administered, the occasional harsh tem- 
 per of a husband to be appeased or endured forty 
 years of ceaseless labor and care, intensified at 
 periods by the birth, illness and death of children, 
 and crowned at last by the loss of the partner of 
 her slavery such had been the life-story of Mary 
 Rounds. 
 
 When Sam was able to build a house he de- 
 clared that it should be his mother's home. He 
 registered a vow that she should do no more work. 
 Mrs. Rounds had gone to live with one of her mar- 
 ried daughters, and there Sam found her. Her 
 position was that of a nurse and maid-of-all-work 
 serving without pay or praise. She had taken on 
 her bowed old shoulders the care of a second gen- 
 
 121
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 eration of Roundses. Four cross grandchildren, 
 reinforced by newly-arrived and vociferous twins, 
 had been confided to her care. At the age of sixty 
 she had begun anew the harsher part of the task 
 assumed at twenty. To the evident disgust of his 1 
 sister, Sam bore the old lady triumphantly away. 
 Mrs. Rounds had obeyed orders all her life, and 
 Sam being the oldest of her children, she did not 
 hesitate to acknowledge his authority. 
 
 "There's lots of work to do here, Samuel," 
 said Mrs. Rounds, a shade of regret in her quiet 
 voice when Sam delivered his ultimatum. "There's 
 lots of work here, and Sallie isn't very strong" 
 the daughter referred to weighed one hundred and 
 eighty pounds and had whipped the hired man 
 " but you know best, Samuel, an' I'll go with you." 
 And she did. 
 
 The good old lady was astonished and a bit 
 dismayed when she examined the modest house Sam 
 had erected. 
 
 "This is a nice place," she said pride of her 
 son and hereditary caution struggling for mastery. 
 "It must ha' cost a lot of money. I'm afraid 
 you're reckless and extravagant, Samuel. That picket- 
 fence, an' that there piazzer, and them green shut- 
 ters must cost like everything. Don't be extrava- 
 gant, Samuel. It's a besetting sin." 
 
 4 There ain't no commandment agin it ; least- 
 wise I never saw none in the Bible," said Sam, who 
 was a perpetual mystery to his mother. "To my 
 
 IM
 
 SAMUEL LEMUEL ROUNDS 
 
 way of thinkin', extravagance is erbout the only 
 thing worth livin' fer. I aims ter be the most ex- 
 travagant chap ever turned outer Rocky Woods." 
 
 The reproving look on his mother's face van- 
 ished when Sam threw his strong arms around her 
 and kissed her with a resounding smack. They en- 
 tered the house, and Sam escorted his mother to a 
 cozy room and told her that it was her own. She 
 looked at the tasteful furniture, the snowy linen, 
 the bright rugs, and the pictures, and tears stood 
 in her eyes. 
 
 " This is too good for me, Samuel," she said, 
 holding his hands and looking fondly into his eyes. 
 " But you must be hungry. I'll change my dress 
 and get dinner. Where's the kitchen, Samuel?'' 
 
 " Never mind erbout the kitchen," said Sam. 
 " There ain't no kitchen fer you. Dinner's all 
 ready, anyhow. Come on, Ma Rounds. I'll show 
 ye the cutest dinin'-room ye ever sot yer eyes on." 
 
 It was a pretty dining-room. A broad bay 
 window, framed with morning glories, looked out 
 on a well-kept lawn. An oaken sideboard, with 
 heavy brass trimmings and a French-plate mirror, 
 was resplendent with silverware. The table was 
 decorated with flowers, and the table linen was 
 flawless. To the old farmwife these modest com- 
 forts realized her dreams of prodigality. With the 
 exception of Squire Walker, no farmer near or in 
 Rehoboth owned a house with a dining-room separ- 
 ated from a kitchen. 
 
 113
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 Sam touched a bell, and a trim, white-aproned 
 maid responded. She placed a tureen in front of 
 the master of the house, and moved noiselessly 
 away. Mrs. Rounds gazed searchingly, first at the 
 young woman and then at Sam. She said nothing, 
 however, but bowing her head offered a fervent 
 blessing, which was more of a prayer than the usual 
 formal invocation. 
 
 " Seems like old times tew have you offer a 
 blessin'," said Sam, as he served his mother a por- 
 tion of the savory soup. " I must tell you erbout 
 old man Carter, down tew Hingham the head of 
 the firm of Carter & Company. He's a great 
 business man, an' shrewder'n a mink. A while ago 
 he got religion an' joined the Methodist church. 
 The other day he asked the preacher tew dinner, 
 an' when they was all sot down he motioned ther 
 preacher tew ask a blessin'." 
 
 '"You ask a blessin', Brother Carter,' said the 
 preacher, who wasn't any too sure that the new con- 
 vert was really saved. 
 
 " This sorter staggered old Carter for a minute, 
 but he's game as a pebble. He never had asked a 
 blessin', but he was a good business man and great 
 on correspondence, an' he warn't afraid. An' here 
 is what he said : 
 
 "'Thankin' Thee, O Lord, for this food and 
 for Thy many blessings, we remain, very respect- 
 fully, yours.' ' 
 
 "You made that story up, Samuel," said Mrs. 
 124
 
 SAMUEL LEMUEL ROUNDS 
 
 Rounds, who could not repress a smile. " Who is 
 that woman?" she asked in a whisper. 
 
 " Her name is Mrs. Fletcher. She's the house- 
 keeper here. She's a widow lady, an' a mighty 
 good woman." 
 
 "Of course you'll let her go now," his mother 
 said, when the housekeeper had served a roast of 
 lamb, a dish of green peas, browned potatoes and 
 some tender cabbage. " I can do the cookin' an' 
 all the work here now. What do you pay her, 
 Samuel?" 
 
 " Seven dollars a a month," said Sam, who 
 preferred the falsehood rather than the confession 
 of the appalling truth that Mrs. Fletcher received 
 that amount per week. " She's an awful good 
 cook, Ma." 
 
 Sam loved his mother, but ten years of life 
 away from the old farm, with frequent sojourns in 
 hotels in Boston, Newport, New York, and other 
 centers of civilization, had dulled his appreciation 
 of the Rehoboth cuisine. He yet retained a vivid 
 recollection of occasional beefsteaks, thin cut from 
 an aged and recently slaughtered cow, fried with a 
 piece of tallow, until the product resembled in taste 
 and texture the hide of that unfortunate animal. 
 
 He recalled the winter breakfasts of dried 
 herrings, greasy fried potatoes, and bread without 
 butter, the latter being served only on rare occa- 
 sions it having a market value. He could still 
 taste and smell those herrings. Strung through 
 
 125
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 the eyes on willow rods, hundreds of them hung 
 under the roof in the cramped and dusty old attic, 
 keeping company with hair trunks, broken spin- 
 ning-wheels, mink and fox pelts, and the jumbled 
 wreckage of four generations of Roundses. 
 
 The perennial table luxuries were pies and 
 doughnuts, apple and rhubarb pies in summer, 
 and dried-apple pies in winter with doughnuts 
 forever, breakfast, dinner and supper. The kettle 
 of lard in which they were fried was as much of a 
 fixture as was the old well with its sweep and its 
 cold, slimy bucket. Fresh fish were unknown, and 
 dried codfish was a tempting rarity. Once a year, 
 in "hog-killing time," the family revelled for three 
 or four days in fresh pork. No culinary crime can 
 entirely destroy the flavor of newly-killed pork. 
 The choicer parts were sent to market, and the 
 meaner salted down, to be resurrected from the 
 brine at intervals in the monotony of dried her- 
 rings and corned beef. No escaped victim of New 
 England farm fare and cooking of a generation 
 ago ever indited verse or prose to its praise. 
 
 " Seven dollars a month and her keep," mused 
 Mrs. Rounds. " That would be as much as twelve 
 dollars a month, or one hundred and fifty dollars a 
 year, Samuel. We can save all that. Let her go at 
 once, Samuel, and I will do the work." 
 
 "You'll do nothin', Ma Rounds," said Sam 
 decidedly. " You've worked nigh cnto fifty years, 
 an' that's enough. Now, I'm go'in ter dew ther 
 126
 
 SAMUEL LEMUEL ROUNDS 
 
 work, an' you're goin' ter dew ther playin' an' 
 restin'. Of course you can sew an' boss ther girl 
 an' putter 'round like, but you must keep outer 
 ther kitchen, an' fergit that brooms ever was 
 made. Don't you worry erbout money. I've got 
 enough money ter keep both on us er hundred 
 years, an' I'm goin' ter have more." 
 
 The good old mother made a feeble protest, 
 but Sam would not listen to her. For a week Sam 
 remained home and kept a close watch on her, and 
 congratulated himself on the success of his plans. 
 Once he caught her scrubbing the front steps, and 
 on another occasion she was detected chopping 
 kindling-wood, both of which tasks she postponed 
 on Sam's protest. He introduced his mother to 
 the neighbors, and they all liked the kindly-faced 
 old lady and welcomed her to the neighborhood. 
 
 Sam took his mother to Boston and superin- 
 tended the purchase of dress materials, a bonnet, 
 and various articles of apparel. On this occasion 
 he was guilty of a scheme of deception which 
 filled his soul with joy. He was acquainted with 
 Mr. Farnsworth, the merchant, and calling him 
 aside said : 
 
 " I want you tew wait on mother an' me, yer- 
 self, Mr. Farnsworth. Mother is the best woman 
 in ther world, but she thinks I'm extravagant, an' I 
 wouldn't hurt her feelins fer anything. Now, I tell 
 ye what ye can dew. When she picks out a cheap 
 thing, you multiply the price by four er five, an 1 
 
 IZ7
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 when ye show her somethin' bang-up an' good 
 enough fer a princess, put ther price way down. 
 D'ye understand ? An' when we gets through, 
 give me the true bill and show her the other one, 
 an' I'll make it all right fer yer trouble. An' mind 
 ye, I want the best in ther store fer Mother 
 Rounds." 
 
 The merchant smilingly agreed to this arrange- 
 ment and entered heartily into the deception. Mrs. 
 Rounds had never been in Boston until that day, 
 although all her life had been spent within an 
 hour's ride from the New England metropolis. 
 Occasional visits to the dry-goods shops of Taun- 
 ton formed epochs in her life, and she was dazed at 
 the contemplation of the sight before her. The 
 shelves, with their loads of fabrics, seemed endless, 
 and she crouched behind a marble column for fear 
 of being in the way of the chattering, laughing 
 throng of shoppers. 
 
 Reassured by the cordial manner of the pro- 
 prietor, she was escorted to a counter. No stress 
 of poverty nor strain of heredity can entirely 
 efface from the heart of a woman her love for per- 
 sonal adornment and her zest for bargaining. This 
 was before the day of fixed prices, and shopping 
 was then as much a contest between buyer and 
 seller as was the trading of land or swapping erf 
 horses. 
 
 " I don't want much, Samuel," she whispered, 
 as Mr. Farnsworth turned to take down a bolt of 
 128
 
 SAMUEL LEMUEL ROUNDS 
 
 dress goods. "We must be economical, Samuel. 
 Tell him to show us some ginghams." 
 
 "All right, Ma Rounds; watch me beat him 
 down," returned Sam, nudging her gently with his 
 elbow. 
 
 " Here is a stylish pattern, Mrs. Rounds," 
 said Mr. Farnsworth, displaying a neat gingham, 
 worth perhaps ten cents a yard. 
 
 " How much a yard?" asked Sam. 
 
 Mr. Farnsworth gravely consulted the cabalistic 
 price mark. 
 
 " The regular price is ninety-five cents a yard, 
 but," lowering his voice, and glancing about to 
 make sure he was not overheard, " I will make it to 
 you at eighty cents." 
 
 "Eighty cents a yard for gingham!" gasped 
 Mrs. Rounds. 
 
 "It's imported goods, Mrs. Rounds," explained 
 Mr. Farnsworth, critically stroking the print. " It 
 wears like silk. We carry no domestic ginghams. 
 Here is one at eighty-five cents, and this one is a 
 dollar and ten a yard. That would make you a fine 
 gown, Mrs. Rounds." 
 
 " Let's go somewhere else, Samuel," whispered 
 his mother, positively frightened. " I can buy 
 gingham in Taunton for eight cents a yard." 
 
 "Wait a bit," said Sam, reassuringly. "What 
 have ye got in silks, Mr. Farnsworth ? " 
 
 "We have a fine line of silks," replied that gen- 
 tleman, leading the way to another counter. " I 
 
 129
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 should recommend a heavy black gros grain silk for 
 Mrs. Rounds. We have them at all prices. Here 
 is one at a dollar and a half a yard." 
 
 He displayed a silk worth at least three dollars 
 a yard. The old lady looked fondly at the glossy 
 fabric. The temptation was great, but she closed 
 her lips firmly and put Satan behind her. 
 
 "Too much," said Sam decisively. "We're 
 not rich ner proud, Mr. Farnsworth. Show us some- 
 thin' cheaper." 
 
 " Very well. Here is one at a dollar a yard, 
 and here is one which is a bargain." He unrolled a 
 superb, heavy bolt of silk, lustrous black and a 
 delight to the eye. He examined the price mark 
 critically. It told him that the wholesale cost was 
 four dollars a yard and the upset retail figure four 
 dollars and seventy-five cents. 
 
 " I can let you have that at eighty cents a yard," 
 he said after a mental calculation. 
 
 "Now ye're gittin' down tew business," Sam 
 declared tentatively. " That's tew much, but it's 
 more like it. What do you think of the goods, 
 Ma Rounds? You'd look like a four-year old in a 
 gown made of that." 
 
 " It's very fine too fine for me, I'm afraid." 
 She was weakening. "And it's cheap, if it's real 
 silk. Is it really and truly silk?" She looked 
 timidly at Mr. Farnsworth, who assured her it was 
 silk beyond a doubt. 
 
 "Tell ye what we'll dew," said Sam. "How 
 130
 
 SAMUEL LEMUEL ROUNDS 
 
 many yards does it take fer a dress ? Fifteen ? All 
 right. We'll give ye sixty cents a yard cash. 
 Sixty cents. That will leave ye a good profit. 
 What d'ye say, Mr. Farnsworth? Is it a bargain?" 
 
 "Impossible," returned that gentleman, again 
 consulting the price mark. "I'll make it sixty- 
 seven cents, and you can take it or leave it alone." 
 
 Sam took his mother aside. 
 
 "What d'ye say, ma? You know more erbout 
 silks 'an I do." 
 
 " It's awful cheap, Samuel," she said weakly. 
 " I never heard of silk at such a price. But it's 
 too good for me. Let's go somewhere else and get 
 a gingham or some half-wool goods." But there 
 was no insistence in her voice. The sheen of the 
 silk had dazzled her eyes. 
 
 " Nothin's tew good fer you," said Sam affec- 
 tionately. He turned to Mr. Farnsworth. 
 
 " Mother says she can't afford to pay more'n 
 sixty-five cents a yard," he said. 
 
 " All right," groaned the merchant. " It eaves 
 me nothing, but I'll do it as a favor. Of course 
 you want some black lace for trimmings?" 
 
 " Sure," replied Sam. 
 
 " Something about twenty-five cents a yard," 
 suggested Mrs. Rounds. She felt like one who, 
 having fallen from grace, decides to go to perdi- 
 tion with flying colors. No one in Rehoboth ever 
 had possessed a black silk gown with lace trim- 
 mings.
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 " Here is something at thirty cents a yard 
 which I can honestly recommend," said Mr. Farns- 
 worth. He gave Sam a signal that it was the best 
 article in stock, and, though the latter had little 
 knowledge or appreciation of lace, he admired the 
 delicate and intricate pattern. After inspecting 
 cheaper qualities, on which Mr. Farnsworth fixed 
 higher prices, Mrs. Rounds consented to the pur- 
 chase of eight yards, though Mr. Farnsworth ad- 
 vised ten. 
 
 Delighted beyond measure over the success of 
 his villainy, the deceitful Sam and his fellow-con- 
 spirator lured Mrs. Rounds into the purchase of a 
 black-and-white cashmere dress. The purchase price 
 was four-and-a-half dollars, but Sam settled pri- 
 vately at twenty-six. 
 
 Sam's crowning triumph was the purchase of a 
 black lace shawl, listed at one hundred and fifty 
 dollars. After ten minutes of dickering with Mr. 
 Farnsworth, Sam succeeded in acquiring that treas- 
 ure for $11.25. Likewise he bought a twenty-five 
 dollar bonnet for three-and-a-half dollars. Hand- 
 kerchiefs, stockings, petticoats and shoes fell into 
 Sam's hands at ridiculous prices, until his mother, 
 with tears in her eyes, declared that she would not 
 consent to the purchase of another article. 
 
 Mr. Farnsworth presented an itemized bill for 
 $47.27, which Sam paid from a generous roll of 
 greenbacks. On the plea of arranging for express- 
 ing the goods to Hingham, Sam met Mr. Farns- 
 132
 
 SAMUEL LEMUEL ROUNDS 
 
 worth in his office and gave him a check for the 
 balance of $445.50. 
 
 "I swan, I havn't had so much fun in ten 
 years," said Sam, as he shook hands with Mr. 
 Farnsworth and thanked him. "I reckon Ma 
 Rounds will be the best-dressed old lady between 
 Boston an' Newport. If the Recordin' Angel keeps 
 track of all ther lies as is told down here below, I 
 reckon we've kept him pretty fairly middlin' busy 
 this mornin'. Good-day, Mr, Farnsworth, an' good 
 luck ter you. I've got another team of rattlin' 
 good road hosses fer ye, an' when ye gits time tew 
 run down tew Hingham I'll show 'em tew ye. 
 Good-day."
 
 CHAPTER THIRTEEN 
 
 SAM'S NEW YORK TRIUMPHS 
 
 IGNORING his mother's protest, Sam employed 
 a dressmaker and for two weeks Mrs. Rounds 
 found pleasure in assisting the seamstress with 
 her work. Sam had acquainted the latter with his 
 secret, and she agreed to protect it. But his pre- 
 cautions were in vain. 
 
 Sam was compelled to make a business trip to 
 Springfield. During his absence a married daugh- 
 ter, who lived in Boston, called and persuaded Mrs. 
 Rounds to spend Sunday with her. The black silk 
 dress was almost finished. It was a glorious crea- 
 tion, but the dressmaker's plans called for two extra 
 yards of lace. Sam had liberally supplied his mother 
 with money, and after a mental struggle she decided 
 to squander sixty cents for the necessary two yards 
 of lace. 
 
 On Monday morning her daughter escorted 
 Mrs. Rounds to the dry-goods establishment. She 
 had a small sample of the lace, but looked in vain 
 for Mr. Farnsworth. A clerk stated that Mr. 
 Farnsworth was busy, and offered to wait on her. 
 He quickly matched the lace, measured off two 
 yards and Mrs. Rounds tendered him a one dollar 
 bill. 
 
 " It is ten dollars, madam ; five dollars a yard," 
 said the polite clerk. 
 
 " Five dollars a yard 1 " The little woman 
 looked at the clerk with staring eyes. " Mr. Farns- 
 '34
 
 SAM'S NEW YORK TRIUMPHS 
 
 worth only charged me thirty cents a yard. There 
 he is now. Ask him, and he'll tell you so." 
 
 "He's trying to cheat you, ma," whispered the 
 daughter as Mr. Farnsworth approached. He recog- 
 nized Mrs. Rounds and greeted her pleasantly. 
 
 " Your clerk says this lace is five dollars a yard, 
 and you charged me only thirty cents," said Mrs. 
 Rounds timidly. 
 
 " How could you make such a mistake?" de- 
 manded Mr. Farnsworth with a meaning glance at 
 his employe. " I will wait on this lady. He is a 
 new clerk, madame, and not familiar with our price 
 marks," he explained to Mrs. Rounds as the puz- 
 zled young man bowed and turned away. " Thirty 
 cents is right, Mrs. Rounds. Never mind the 
 money; I'll charge it to your son's account. How 
 is Mr. Rounds? He's a boy to be proud of. Is 
 there anything else you need? Always ask for me> 
 when you call; I shall be delighted to serve you. 
 Good day, ladies." 
 
 But like other crimes less difficult to condone y 
 this one was destined to be revealed. The preacher's 
 wife let " the cat out of the bag," as Sam declared. 
 She called on Mrs. Rounds, and since they had 
 become very friendly, was shown the new gown and 
 the black lace shawl, Whatever of envy arose in 
 that good woman's breast was lost in surprise when 
 Mrs. Rounds innocently mentioned the price she 
 had paid for the silk. 
 
 " Sixty-five cents a yard for that silk ! " she 
 
 '35
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 exclaimed. "Why, my dear Mrs. Rounds, you 
 surely must be jesting. I had a dress like that when 
 I was married and it cost six dollars a yard. And 
 that lace at thirty cents ! It surely cost five dollars 
 a yard, and perhaps more. Farnsworth & Company 
 handle no laces worth less than three dollars. That 
 beautiful shawl must have cost more than a hundred 
 dollars. I understand now," she continued in some 
 confusion. "Your son intended to surprise you. 
 It was very good of him and very clumsy in me to 
 reveal his secret." 
 
 When the visitor had departed, Mrs. Rounds 
 was still bewildered. She looked with awe at the 
 garments spread out before her. She recalled the 
 interview with Mr. Farnsworth. The clerk was 
 right ; the preacher's wife was right. 
 
 A familiar step sounded in the hallway, and 
 Sam entered, his homely face rosy with a smile. 
 
 " I'm back ergain," he said, fondly embracing 
 his mother. " Admirin' yer new gown, eh? Go 
 an' put it on, an' yer bonnet an' shawl. I want ter 
 see how ye looks, dressed up as er real lady." 
 
 She held his hands and looked up, tears trick- 
 ling down her faded cheeks. 
 
 "You you told me an awful story, Samuel," 
 she faltered, " but but I don't think you meant to 
 do wrong, and and I'll pray for you. You are 
 very good to me, Samuel, if you did break one of 
 the commandments." 
 
 " That didn't break no commandment," said 
 136
 
 SAM'S NEW YORK TRIUMPHS 
 
 Sam with a contrite grin, "it only kinder bent it er 
 little. Them sorter fibs don't count. Don't ye 
 worry erbout ther cost of them clothes. I've made 
 enough money since I've been away ter pay fer three 
 more dresses like that air one. It's none tew good 
 fer ye, an' I want ye to wear it just as if ye wa'nt 
 afraid of it." 
 
 Despite this injunction, the silk dress and lace 
 shawl saw the light only on Sundays or on such 
 state occasions as funerals a/nd weddings. Being a 
 woman, Mrs. Rounds's appreciation of these treas- 
 ures naturally was enhanced by a knowledge of their 
 cost. 
 
 Sam's rapidly increasing business kept him 
 away from home much of the time. Mrs. Rounds 
 was busy for a month with her wardrobe. She then 
 knitted socks for Sam, until he had a supply suffi- 
 cient to last a lifetime. This task completed, she 
 effected a compromise with the housekeeper, by the 
 terms of which she was permitted to dust the rooms 
 and make the beds. In this crisis of a dearth of 
 work, the wife of a neighbor was taken ill with 
 typhoid fever. There were five small children in the 
 family, and they were too poor to employ a nurse. 
 
 An hour after Mrs. Rounds heard the news she 
 had taken charge of the case. Sam was away, and 
 the housekeeper was powerless to restrain her. 
 Hour after hour and day after day she fought the 
 attacks of the insidious disease. She cooked the 
 meals, soothed the crying children, spoke words of
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 comfort to the distracted husband, performed the 
 housework, and slept at such rare intervals as she 
 could find between her multitudinous duties. The 
 patient was convalescent when Sam returned home. 
 He at once employed a nurse to take his mother's 
 place. 
 
 She listened patiently and with a puzzled smile 
 to Sam's rebuking lecture. 
 
 "When folks are sick, some one must take care 
 of them, Samuel," she said, when he had ended. 
 "They are poor, and J had nothing else to do. 
 The Bible says you must visit the sick when they're 
 afflicted. You won't let me do any work here in 
 the house, and I must do something." 
 
 " Read, an' ride, an' rest, an' take things easy," 
 said Sam, who saw his plans crumbling before his 
 eyes. He was unable to exact any promise from his 
 mother, although he had his way as long as he 
 remained at home. 
 
 Mrs. Rounds was the first to learn of sickness 
 or of trouble in any family for miles around, and 
 first to respond. She officiated at childbirths, or 
 with tender fingers closed the eyes of the dead and 
 stitched their shrouds. When children had croup 
 or measles, the neighbors sent, not for the doctor, 
 but for Mrs. Rounds. She found relaxation in 
 sewing for any one who would accept her services. 
 
 She seemed to grow younger despite these 
 activities, and Sam finally accepted the inevitable. 
 Of the liberal allowance of money which he gave 
 
 138
 
 SAM'S NEW YORK TRIUMPHS 
 
 her, Mrs. Rounds spent little, and most of that 
 went for medicine and clothes for neighbors who 
 could not afford such expenditures. The remainder 
 was stored away against that "rainy day" made 
 inevitable by Sam's recklessness and extravagance, 
 as she saw it. 
 
 A woman with a heart more kind and a nature 
 more generous never lived, but she regarded money 
 with a sentiment which was almost veneration. For 
 generations there had been a money famine in her 
 family. She could imagine of no way to accumu- 
 late money other than by hoarding it. The crisp 
 new bills which Sam showered into her hands broke 
 a drought which had been transmitted from her 
 ancestors. When the first one hundred dollars had 
 been accumulated, she counted it over again and 
 again, like one in a dream. It represented affluence 
 and independence. She gazed at it, not as a miser, 
 but like one who has come into a glorious and 
 unexpected heritage. She showed her treasure to 
 Sam. 
 
 "Why don't yer spend it, Ma Rounds?" asked 
 that philosopher. "That's what money's fer. Buy 
 somethin' with it. Here's another hundred, all in 
 one bill," he said, extracting a yellow note from a 
 bulky pocketbook, and handing it to his mother. 
 "We're goin' tew New York before long, an' you 
 must git used tew spendin money. Go tew Boston 
 an' practice an' git yer hand in." 
 
 Mrs. Rounds considered this one hundred dol- 
 
 139
 
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 lar bill as so much money saved from the approach- 
 ing wreck of Sam's fortunes. She bought a pew in 
 the little country church for eight dollars, and expe- 
 rienced a keen thrill of delight when she gave five 
 dollars to the foreign missionary fund. She pur- 
 chased a pair of crutches for the crippled child of a 
 neighbor, and stored the rest away, adding to it 
 from time to time as Sam gave her money. She 
 could hardly believe her eyes when her funds counted 
 up to five hundred dollars. 
 
 Sam made several successful ventures in the 
 New York horse market, and decided to locate 
 there. He bought a cozy house on the East Side, 
 fronting a small park, and installed his mother as 
 mistress of the establishment. His business pros- 
 pered. Having firmly established his position as a 
 shipper and dealer in horses, he turned his atten- 
 tion to the commission business. Taking advan- 
 tage of a shortage in the cranberry crop, he bought 
 a large part of the available supply and cleared 
 thousands of dollars in consequence of his sagacity. 
 He then embarked in the produce and commission 
 business on a large scale and scored another suc- 
 cess. 
 
 Sam Rounds combined traits seldom found in 
 one individual. He was a shrewd business man, 
 quick to take a commercial advantage, but rigidly 
 honest. He was liberal almost to a fault. The 
 poor for blocks around became recipients of his 
 bounty. In the long years marked by business and 
 140
 
 SAM'S NEW YORK TRIUMPHS 
 
 financial depression which followed his advent in 
 New York, he distributed thousands of dollars' 
 worth of provisions among the poverty-stricken 
 people of his neighborhood. He perfected an 
 arrangement with other produce merchants by 
 which uncalled for perishable stock was thus dis- 
 posed. 
 
 Sam had a kind word and a joke for every one, 
 and became generally popular. In the dead of 
 winter he rented an old building on the East Side, 
 and made it a distributing point for provisions con- 
 tributed by himself and by his competitors. Mrs. 
 Rounds was delighted when she found that this 
 gave full sway to her activities. She hunted up 
 those deserving poor who were too proud to ap- 
 peal for aid. The supply of sick children and 
 troubled mothers was inexhaustible, and time no 
 longer hung heavily on her hands. She still clung 
 to her money and steadily added to it, but she 
 fully endorsed Sam's liberality in the matter of pro- 
 visions. 
 
 " They will not keep," she explained to herself, 
 "and money will." 
 
 It was a picture to watch Sam Rounds super- 
 intending the distribution of potatoes, carrots, cab- 
 bages, fish and other food forwarded to the East 
 Side headquarters. 
 
 " Help yourself," he said to an old couple who 
 entered from the long line in waiting. "Those 
 ain't ther best potatoes in ther market, but they're
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 pretty fairly middlin' good. They remind me of 
 old Uncle Toby Haines, who lived down East, 
 whar I cum from. They say as heow every man is 
 as lazy as he dares tew be, an' I reckon Uncle Toby 
 Haines was ther most courageous man that ever 
 lived. He wouldn't do nothin'. Once I went tew 
 his house in winter time an' found him in bed, cov- 
 ered with a fish-net. 
 
 '"What ye got that fish net over yer fer?' I 
 asked him. 'That won't keep ye warm,' I sed. 
 
 "'Wall,' he sed, as he rolled over an' yawned, 
 4 1 reckon it keeps out ther coarsest part of ther 
 cold.'" 
 
 "It's ther same with ther potatoes an' things," 
 laughed Sam, slipping a two dollar bill into the old 
 woman's hand. " They ain't ther best in ther world, 
 but they're good an' fillin', an' will stop ther 
 coarsest part of ther hunger. Don't be afraid on 
 'em. Take all ye want ther's two carloads more 
 comin'." 
 
 At the age of thirty-five, having amassed a com- 
 petency, Sam Rounds determined to improve what 
 he termed his " book education." Four winter 
 terms in the Rehoboth public school gave him all of 
 which he could boast in the way of erudition. He 
 therefore began a course of study in a night school, 
 which he attended four evenings in the week. He 
 joined a debating society, and became a member of 
 rarious social and political organizations in his dis- 
 trict. 
 142
 
 SAM'S NEW YORK TRIUMPHS 
 
 The corruption of the local politicians precipi- 
 tated a revolt against the party in power, and the 
 voter's of Sam's district held a meeting for the pur- 
 pose of nominating an alderman to stand against 
 an incumbent who had betrayed his trust. Sam's 
 name was proposed with cheers. He was nomi- 
 nated by acclamation, and escorted to the platform. 
 
 No introduction was necessary. Nearly every 
 man in the room knew and respected the homely, 
 awkward, freckled and red-haired man who stood 
 before them. Hundreds of them had reason to re- 
 member his generosity. Embarrassed for a moment, 
 Sam regained his self-possession and made a speech 
 direct and simple in its rude eloquence. It was 
 singularly free from the idioms which characterized 
 his conversation, and while purists might have criti- 
 cised his grammar, he held the rapt attention of his 
 hearers, who punctuated his sentences with applause. 
 
 " If honesty is good policy in business, as they 
 say it is," he declared, " it should be a good thing 
 in politics. Those who know me, know that I'm 
 not a politician, and those that don't know me will 
 mighty soon find it out. The only promise I can 
 make is that if I am elected and I calculate to be 
 is that I would no sooner think of cheating my 
 neighbors as an alderman, than I would of cheating 
 them in selling potatoes or cabbages." 
 
 Samuel Lemuel Rounds was triumphantly elected 
 alderman by the largest majority ever cast for a 
 candidate in his district. 
 
 '43
 
 .CHAPTER FOURTEEN 
 
 LOST IN THE SNOW 
 
 "T OOKS like more snow !" 
 I y At the sound of his master's voice a 
 shepherd dog raised his head inquiringly, 
 and followed the gaze of the speaker as he studied 
 the leaden sky and the crests of snowclad ridges 
 and mountains. This habit of voicing thought 
 develops in those who spend long periods in soli- 
 tude, and James Blake once a farmer boy in 
 Hingham, and now a California gold miner and 
 prospector was no exception to the rule. 
 
 " We are surely going to have another snow- 
 storm, old dog," continued Blake, as he plunged 
 his head into a basin of ice-cold water, dipped from 
 a mountain brook which brawled noisily a few rods 
 away. "Let 'er snow, eh, Dog! We were here 
 first, warn't we ? It won't snow in the tunnel, will 
 it, old fellow?" And he laughingly slapped the 
 dog with the towel, and shoved him into a snow- 
 bank as he leaped towards him. 
 
 "Are you hungry, Dog? Ready for break- 
 fast, eh? How about a chunk of deer meat? Have 
 it cooked or raw? Raw, did you say? Speak up, 
 Dog! Speak up for your breakfast!" 
 
 Thus appealed to, the big shepherd emitted 
 a yelp of entreaty which echoed and re-echoed from 
 hill to rock until the rarified air resounded with a 
 howling chorus. An encircling pack of wolves 
 could not have raised a louder or more menacing 
 144
 
 LOST IN THE SNOW 
 
 din. Blake laughed and cuffed his canine friend, 
 and then turned to his cabin, pausing to survey the 
 valley which spread out two thousand feet below 
 him. 
 
 At that moment the rising sun flamed through 
 a rift in the clouds. Broad splashes of light flashed 
 on the white peaks to the west, and a stray shaft 
 burned through the mist into the valley. The wind- 
 ing river and the pine-girt lake turned into gleam- 
 ing silver. The trees, with their burdens of snow, 
 glittered like diamonds. To the south the blue- 
 black shadow of Bear Peak wrapped all below in 
 gloom. 
 
 But the brightness was transient. A gray cur- 
 tain was slowly drawn over the distant range to the 
 west an advancing mantle of swirling snow. The 
 light faded from the valley, and died on the beet- 
 ling heights. As Blake watched, the gray fingers 
 of the clouds blurred the farther rim of the valley, 
 and the pines above his head soughed in the first 
 breath of the nearing storm. A few large flakes 
 fluttered softly down. 
 
 " Let's get breakfast, Dog," he said as he en- 
 tered the cabin. "I told you it was going to snow." 
 
 Blake's cabin stood well back from the edge of 
 a cliff half way up the slope of a valley in the Sierra 
 Nevadas of central California. In the late autumn 
 he had hewn the logs and constructed his .nountain 
 home. A few yards away a mound of red dirt and 
 fractured rocks marked the mouth of a tunnel, 
 
 145
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 which represented his faith in that fickle fortune 
 whom gold seekers worship. The edge of the 
 cliff, for a mile or more, formed a natural trail 
 which opened into the valley. Four or five thous- 
 and feet above the roof of the cabin rose a dome 
 of perpetual snow, pierced by bare ledges of rock. 
 The mountain torrent which tumbled past his door 
 hurled itself over the cliff and fell in mist and spray 
 hundreds of feet below. 
 
 The interior of the cabin was of a type familiar 
 to miners and mountaineers. The floor was of 
 beaten clay, hard as brick. In one corner was a 
 bed with a mattress of fir boughs, covered with 
 blankets, and with a bear skin this last by way of 
 counterpane. The walls were decorated with skins 
 and hides ; the splendid pelt of a grizzly bear 
 occupying the place of honor. A cooking stove 
 and an assortment of skillets, tin plates and pans 
 filled the side of the hut opposite the bed, while in 
 the center of the room stood a rude table with a 
 raised log serving as a chair. 
 
 Scattered along the walls were mining tools, 
 powder kegs, guns, fishing rods, and a miscellaneous 
 assortment of lumber and firewood. A small but 
 strongly-constructed ell was used as a storeroom. 
 Haunches of venison, the carcass of a brown bear, 
 and long strings of mountain trout were here 
 securely guarded against the depredations of wan- 
 dering animals. Bags of flour and oatmeal, some 
 potatoes, sides of bacon, and the remnants of a ham 
 146
 
 LOST IN THE SNOW 
 
 completed the more substantial portion of Blake's 
 larder. He often surveyed his snug storeroom with 
 much satisfaction. Nothing but a conflagration 
 or a serious illness could disturb his labors during 
 the long winter season. The brook gave him water ; 
 the forest supplied firewood; his work sharpened 
 his appetite, and the dog was an appreciative guest 
 and a loyal companion. And in the bowels of the 
 earth, in the direction of that long black tunnel was 
 gold, gold, gold awaiting the impact of a pick 
 swung by his brawny arms. 
 
 Breakfast ended, James Blake lit his pipe and 
 started for the mouth of the tunnel. The dog fol- 
 lowed him. This faithful animal had whined at the 
 door of the cabin one stormy night, and the lonely 
 miner had welcomed him. Blake gave him no 
 name other than Dog, and he seemed proud of the 
 title. 
 
 Though less than an hour had passed since 
 Blake entered the cabin, the snow already had 
 drifted across the path and blocked the door. 
 Those whose knowledge of snowstorms is confined 
 to localities where a foot or two of snow in forty- 
 eight hours is called a " blizzard," and esteemed a 
 meteorological event, have no conception of a snow- 
 storm in the Sierras. In Vermont, famous for 
 snowfalls, an inch an hour constitutes a heavy storm. 
 But when the warm vapor from the Pacific is driven 
 inland, until the crests of the "Snowy Mountains" 
 stand as a cold barrier against its progress, the pre-
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 cipitation is many times greater. In summer, cloud- 
 bursts sweep solid rocks down the mountain-sides; 
 in winter, the swirling flakes smother the air. Near 
 the timber line in the Sierra Nevadas there has been 
 recorded a fall of fourteen feet of snow in as many 
 consecutive hours an inch every five minutes a 
 swirling, writhing, choking maelstrom of flakes, 
 borne on the wings of a freezing gale. 
 
 It was such a storm that Blake faced when he 
 opened the cabin door and plunged through the 
 drifts into the tunnel. 
 
 "This is an old snifter, isn't it, Dog?" he ex- 
 claimed as he stood in the mouth of the shaft and 
 shook the snow from his blouse. "No rabbits or 
 chipmunks today, eh, Dog!" 
 
 Blake lit a lantern, and wormed his way into the 
 dismal hole. A few minutes later he was hard at 
 work, pausing now and then to examine the rock 
 with eager eyes. He had been toiling for three 
 hours or more when tne dog's sniffling attracted his 
 notice. As he turned, the animal raised his head, 
 barked sharply, and growled in a peculiar manner. 
 
 " What's the matter, Dog ! " said Blake, patting 
 his friend. "What a cursed shame the creature 
 can't talk I What's up, old boy? Seen a bear? 
 Don't bother with him let him alone. Go away. 
 Dog, I'm busy," and Blake returned to his task. 
 
 Leaning back against the wall of the tunnel, 
 with his paws hanging in a most doleful fashion, the 
 dog sounded a long-drawn wail, so pitiful in its 
 14*
 
 LOST IN THE SNOW 
 
 intensity that Blake dropped his pick and gazed at 
 the animal in amazement mixed with terror. The 
 animal sprang forward and fastened his teeth in the 
 leg of Blake's trousers, pulling gently but firmly, 
 growling and whining. 
 
 "This is a new freak!" muttered Blake, grab- 
 bing the lantern. " Something has happened. Per- 
 haps the hut's afire." 
 
 He moved quickly towards the mouth of the 
 tunnel. The dog gave a joyful bark and led the 
 way. Blake reached the open air, and floundered 
 through the drifts until the cabin was visible through 
 the blinding snow. The dog went past it, and 
 howled dismally when his master paused. Rushing 
 into the hut, Blake secured a long rope, one end of 
 which he tied to the leg of a bench near the door. 
 Paying out the coil, he dashed sturdily forward. He 
 had no difficulty in keeping up with the dog, who 
 was half buried in his struggles. 
 
 Two hundred feet from the house the dog 
 paused and sniffed the air. Then, with a yelp, he 
 plunged to the right, made for a rock which showed 
 dim through the snow, and burrowed frantically 
 into a drift on its leeward side. In the white mass 
 Blake saw a dark object, and as he reached the 
 rock it moved. The next instant a bearded face 
 appeared from the folds of a heavy fur overcoat, 
 and a man struggled unsteadily to his feet. 
 
 "Can you walk?" shouted Blake grasping him 
 by the arm. The man was dazed, but full of pluck. 
 
 149
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 "I think so," said the stranger, as he grasped 
 the rope. " How far is it?" 
 
 " Not far," replied Blake encouragingly. " Pull 
 on the rope. It will help you." 
 
 Once in the cabin, the stranger seated him- 
 self near the stove, while Blake produced a flask 
 and heaped fuel on the fire. 
 
 " Keep your hands and feet away from the 
 stove, if they are frozen," cautioned Blake. "Thaw- 
 ing them out by putting them in the snow is the 
 best way." 
 
 " I'm not frost-bitten," was the stranger's re- 
 ply, as he clapped his hands vigorously and pinched 
 his ears. " I was completely done for, and took 
 shelter behind that rock, which was the only place I 
 could find. If you hadn't found me when you did," 
 he said with much feeling, as he extended his hand, 
 " I should never have left there alive ! " 
 
 At the sound of the man's voice James Blake 
 started and gazed intently at him. When the 
 bearded stranger raised his eyes and offered his 
 hand the recognition was complete. 
 
 "John Burt, or I'm a ghost!" Don't you 
 know me, John?" 
 
 "Jim Blake I" 
 
 The New Englander is not demonstrative in 
 his emotions or affections, but the joy which danced 
 in the eyes of these reunited friends as they shook 
 hands and slapped each other on the back was more 
 eloquent than words. The dog yelped in sym- 
 150
 
 J 
 
 The next instant a bearded face appeared from the folds 
 of a heavy fur overcoat.

 
 LOST IN THE SNOW 
 
 pathy, and the storm with a wilder shriek raged 
 at the escape of its prey. 
 
 "This seems too good to be true, Jim!" ex- 
 claimed John, his hand on Jim's shoulder. " But 
 for you, old chum, my California experience would 
 have been ended. How small the world is, that we 
 should meet here, of all places on earth! " 
 
 "Take off your clothes and get into bed, 
 John," directed Blake, as he pushed John into a 
 chair and tugged at his frozen boots. " Do as I 
 tell you, and you'll be all right. When you are 
 warm and rested, I'll give you a suit of dry clothes. 
 In the meantime I'll cook you a dinner that'll make 
 you glad you are alive. I'm running this hotel, 
 and guests do as they are told or get out ! " 
 
 "I shall obey orders," said John, as a blast 
 shook the hut and a pine tree crashed to the rocks. 
 " I'm all right, Jim, but dry clothes won't hurt me, 
 and your bed looks inviting." 
 
 "You mustn't go to sleep; it's not safe, after 
 exposure," cautioned Blake, as he wrapped the 
 blankets around John Burt. " Take another pull 
 at that flask, old man, and lie there and watch the 
 best cook in the Sierra Nevadas prepare a dinner 
 that will make your hair curl. Lie quiet and rest. 
 Don't talk, but keep awake." 
 
 Several times, during the next two hours, John 
 fell into a drowse, but by force of will he roused 
 himself. The reaction after the awful struggle in 
 the drifts was severe, but he mastered it and was
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 himself again. Blake exhausted the resources of 
 his larder in a dinner which John enjoyed as never 
 before in his life, and Dog did not go hungry. 
 
 Then pipes were produced, and, seated near 
 the red-hot stove, the two friends recounted some 
 of the events which had marked their lives during 
 the preceding six years. It seemed ages to both of 
 them. The striplings of seventeen were now stal- 
 wart men. 
 
 James Blake, at twenty-two, was strikingly 
 handsome. Manhood had generously developed 
 the graces of face and figure which compel the ad- 
 miration of a friend and entrance the eye of a 
 woman. Wavy black hair clustered above a well- 
 shaped forehead. His eyes were large, dark and 
 magnetic; his nose bold, but perfectly formed; his 
 chin square and powerfully molded. It was impos- 
 sible to resist Blake's smile, and his laugh was 
 wholesome and contagious. Clean limbed, broad 
 shouldered, graceful, active and muscular, he stood 
 six feet tall and looked every inch a manly, gen- 
 erous and chivalrous Apollo. 
 
 John Burt was lacking in that physical exact- 
 ness which distinguished his boyhood companion, 
 though he too would have been a commanding 
 figure in any assemblage. But he possessed some- 
 thing that Blake lacked. When the other looked 
 into John Burt's eyes and heard the calm, even 
 accents of his voice, he felt himself in the presence 
 of a dominating influence, and realized that the 
 '5*
 
 LOST IN THE SNOW 
 
 years had not torn the scepter of leadership from 
 the hands of the boy he once loved to follow. 
 
 And Blake was glad to reaffirm his allegiance 
 to John Burt. He tendered it silently and without 
 loss of self respect, and John Burt accepted it in- 
 tuitively, without a shade of arrogance. 
 
 Blake listened eagerly to his friend's recital of 
 the events leading up to the quarrel with Arthur 
 Morris. John told of his studies in the old farm- 
 house, and of his admission to Harvard. He spoke 
 of meeting Miss Garden at the Bishops', but made 
 no mention of the runaway accident that served to 
 renew their childhood acquaintance. He told of 
 escorting Jessie to the clambake, of Morris' condi- 
 tion and conduct when he arrived from the Voltaire, 
 and of the sail with Jessie in John's catboat, the 
 Standish. 
 
 John said nothing of his avowal of love on that 
 occasion, but Blake was not slow to note the change 
 in his voice and the expression of his eyes when he 
 referred to Jessie Garden. Jim clenched his hands 
 and leaned excitedly forward when John told of the 
 struggle with Morris in the old tavern. John then 
 described the interview with Peter Burt, the old 
 man's advice, the night ride to New Bedford, and 
 the long voyage of the Segregansett. Blake had 
 listened breathlessly. 
 
 "I have sometimes thought," said John, "that 
 I should have remained and faced the charge of 
 murder which might have been made against me. 
 
 'S3
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 That was my first impulse. I did not kill Morris, 
 and it is only by chance that he did not kill me. 
 The revolver was still in his hand when he fell, 
 though I had bent his wrist so that he could not 
 turn it against me. It was one of those new self- 
 cocking weapons and Morris shot himself. But I 
 had no witnesses, and Grandfather Burt and and 
 others advised me to put myself beyond the reach 
 of a prosecution in which all the money and influ- 
 ence would have been against me." 
 
 "Your granddad was right," asserted Blake 
 with prompt fervor. u Your future would have 
 been ruined had you stayed there and stacked up 
 against those millionaires. California is full of men 
 who really are murderers, and most of them seem to 
 be getting rich. You are innocent, your conscience 
 is clear, and you'll win out and go back if you want 
 to. Then you can meet them as an equal. The old 
 man's head is level. I remember him, John, and he 
 always was a great man. But I can't place Miss 
 Garden Jessie, you said her name was. Did I ever 
 see her, John?" 
 
 " I think not, Jim. You left before she visited 
 with the Bishops. She was a child when you went 
 away." 
 
 " Is she pretty, John?" 
 
 It may have been only a reflection from the 
 ruddy flame that suddenly flared from the smoulder- 
 ing logs, but James Blake thought that John blushed 
 when he asked the question= 
 
 '54
 
 LOST IN THE SNOW 
 
 " I should not call her pretty; I should describe 
 her as beautiful," replied John, after a pause, as he 
 looked into Jim's face. 
 
 " Then she's more than pretty," laughed Blake,~ 
 grasping his friend's hand. "I congratulate you, 
 old man, and wish you all kinds of success and joy. 
 I only wish we had something here worthy to be 
 drunk as a toast in her honor." 
 
 "I have no claim to congratulations," said 
 John, releasing his friend's hand. "You have 
 assumed too much from my narrative. But tell me 
 of yourself, Jim. I have been doing all the talking, 
 and have inspired you to most generous castle 
 building in my behalf. Let me do as much for you. 
 What have you done in California, and what has the 
 Golden State done for you?" 
 
 S5
 
 CHAPTER FIFTEEN 
 
 THE SAILOR MINE 
 
 " TT would take me a week, Joha, to tell my experi- 
 
 JL ences of the last five years," said Jim Blake, 
 
 tossing another log mto the fire. " Most of 
 
 them would not interest you, some might amuse 
 
 you, and others would make you mad. I've been 
 
 rich three times, John, and in love twice no, three 
 
 times." 
 
 "How rich, and how badly in love?" 
 " My strokes of fortune and my love affairs are 
 all jumbled together," explained Blake, laughing 
 heartily. "You'll have a bad opinion of me, John, 
 but I've reformed, and am going to lead a better 
 life. I made my first strike on the Little Calaveras. 
 Talk about luck! That was a funny thing. I broke 
 my neck and discovered a gold mine and a sweet- 
 heart in doing it! " 
 
 " Broke your neck? Surely you're jesting! " 
 "It's a fact, just the same," asserted Blake, 
 thoughtfully rubbing the back of his neck, which 
 showed no signs of fracture. "I was a greenhorn 
 then, and my prospecting expeditions were the joke 
 of the old stagers. I bought a horse and a Mexi- 
 can saddle, and prowled through all the mountains 
 and foothills back of the Little Calaveras. One 
 afternoon I was following a trail that skirted along 
 the side of a mountain. It was near the upper 
 edge of a slope about as steep as Doc Stevens' 
 barn you remember that barn, John? There's 
 156
 
 THE SAILOR MINE 
 
 a lot of woodchucks in those hills, and in bur- 
 rowing around one of them loosened a rock, which 
 came rolling down in my direction. My horse 
 saw and heard it, and shied off the trail. It was 
 like stepping off the ridge pole of a barn. The 
 slope was covered with loose slate, which looked 
 for all the world like shingles. He slid about 
 twenty feet and then fell; and as he went my right 
 foot went through the stirrup. He rolled over 
 me, and we started down that slope. Sometimes 
 I was on top, and sometimes he was on top. 
 
 "You can bet I was doing some lively think- 
 ing about that time," continued Blake. " Four or 
 five hundred feet below I saw a thin row of trees, 
 and I knew they marked the edge of a cliff. For 
 some reason there's 'most always a fringe of trees 
 at these jumping-off places. We were going like 
 lightning. Just as we neared the edge the horse 
 rolled over me again. As I came on top, I saw 
 that we were going to pass between two small 
 trees. A big rock slewed the horse around, and 
 he went down head first. I grabbed at a tree, and 
 by the merest chance threw my free leg around it. 
 I held like grim death to a coon, and heard the 
 leather snap as the horse went over the precipice. 
 If it had been a first-class saddle I wouldn't be 
 here to tell the tale. I was hanging out over the 
 cliff. It was eighteen hundred feet down to the 
 first stopping place, and I saw that horse, all sprad- 
 dled out, turn over and over in the air. I closed
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 my eyes so as not to see him strike. Then I 
 crawled back a few feet and sat down behind a 
 rock. That's the last thing I remember until I 
 woke up in bed. An old doctor, whose breath 
 smelled of liquor, was bending over me, and near 
 him was one of the prettiest girls I ever saw. She 
 and her father were approaching me when I started 
 to slide down the mountain. Her name was Jenny 
 Rogers." 
 
 Jim sighed and paused. 
 
 " This is growing romantic, but how about the 
 broken neck ?" asked John. 
 
 " It was broken, or dislocated, which is about 
 the same thing," continued Blake. "Jenny's father 
 knew of an old Spanish doctor, about forty miles 
 away, and went for him. He was a wonder on 
 bones. He was black as an Indian and uglier than 
 sin. He felt around my neck, swore softly in Span- 
 ish, rolled me over on my face, climbed on my 
 back, jabbed his knees into my shoulder blades, 
 and grabbed me by the jaws. He gave my head a 
 quick wrench. I saw a thousand skyrockets ; some- 
 thing cracked and I became senseless. When I 
 awoke he had my neck in splints, and was jabber- 
 ing Spanish to Rogers. He said he was the only 
 white man in the world who could set a broken 
 neck, and I guess he was. He had learned the 
 trick from an Indian medicine man. I met a 
 learned medical sharp lately who said the old chap 
 is what they call an ' osteopath ' a bone and muscle 
 158
 
 THE SAILOR MINE 
 
 specialist. He charged me twenty-five dollars, and 
 told me to lie quiet for a week. Jenny Rogers 
 nursed me, and of course I fell in love with her. 
 I was in their cabin, and near by Mr. Rogers had 
 located some valuable claims. 
 
 " Here is the most remarkable part of this 
 story," Blake went on. "When I was able to dress 
 I picked up that cursed Mexican stirrup to see how 
 the leather happened to break. It was a steel 
 affair, and I noticed some bright yellow spots in the 
 crevices. Blamed if it wasn't gold ! I didn't say 
 a word, but when I was strong enough I went 
 back and climbed slowly down the place where my 
 horse fell. It was easy to follow it. Near the edge 
 of the cliff I found an outcropping of gold-bearing 
 ore, and the mark of where the metal part of rny 
 stirrup had scratched it. I staked out a claim and 
 sold it to Jenny's father for a hundred and twenty- 
 five thousand dollars. He's made two millions out 
 of it. I made love to Jenny, and I think she would 
 have had me, but I went to San Francisco and 
 dropped the hundred and twenty-five thousand on 
 the mining exchange. I went back and asked Jenny 
 to wait until I made another fortune. She said she'd 
 think about it. I guess she did. A year later she 
 married a man who is now a United States Senator. 
 So I broke my neck, lost my fortune and my sweet- 
 heart all in less than a year." 
 
 "And the second fortune?" questioned John, 
 joining Jim in a laugh at his multiplied misfortunes.
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 "Then I made a strike on the Mariposa River. 
 Sold my interest to an English syndicate for ninety- 
 five thousand. I went to San Francisco and fell in 
 love with Lucile Montrose. Did you ever see her, 
 John? No? Well, you've heard of her, of course. 
 She's an actress, or rather she was an actress. Ah, 
 Lucile, Lucile! She was a dream, John. Such 
 eyes, such pearly teeth and golden hair! And her 
 voice was like well, it was great. And I loved her 
 and she loved me, and we were engaged to be mar- 
 ried. I bought her diamond rings and sunbursts, 
 and a carriage, and all kinds of things until my 
 ninety-five thousand had dwindled to fifty thousand. 
 I argued with myself that no such sum of money 
 was sufficient to enter upon a matrimonial career 
 with Lucile, so I decided to double it by making an 
 investment in Golden Fleece mining stock. I lost 
 the fifty thousand. With tears in her beautiful 
 eyes, Lucile said she was sorry, and would wait for 
 me to make another fortune. She did not say how 
 long she would wait, and not hearing from me for 
 three weeks while I was plugging away in the 
 mountains, she married a one-legged old millionaire, 
 and wrote me a letter saying she would never cease 
 to love me." 
 
 "You certainly have been in bad luck," said 
 John. " How about the third fortune?" 
 
 "Grass Valley bequeathed me that," replied 
 Blake. A shade of regret swept across his face as 
 he spoke, but the humor of his disasters brought a 
 
 160
 
 THE SAILOR MINE 
 
 smile to his lips. " I located some claims near Yuba 
 City, and cleaned up forty thousand dollars in two 
 months, selling out for two hundred thousand. 
 Then I decided to invest my money where I couldn't 
 lose it; so I built a hotel. It was a fine hotel, John.^ 
 I will show it to you some day. For a year I was 
 the most popular boniface in California. No hotel 
 in the world was run on so liberal a plan. Guests 
 could cash checks, borrow money, and settle their 
 bills when they pleased. I suppose, John, that I'm 
 the easiest mark that ever wore a diamond in a shirt- 
 front and stood back of a marble counter. To 
 recoup my losses in this palatial hostelry and it 
 was a dandy, John, if I did build it, I took a flyer 
 with Katy D. You needn't look so solemn, John; 
 Katy D. is a mining stock or, rather, it was a 
 mining stock. I've got sixty thousand shares of it 
 yet, and I'm thinking of papering the walls of this 
 cabin with it. After the hotel was sold, I had 
 enough left to buy a set of mining tools and to grub- 
 stake myself." 
 
 "And the third sweetheart?" asked John. 
 
 " She was a young widow and rich," replied 
 Blake. " She was the widow of old Colonel Worth- 
 ington, and her first name was Pauline. They were 
 guests in my hotel, and the colonel died there. He 
 left her over a million, and we were discussing the 
 wedding day when Katy D. wiped me out of finan- 
 cial existence. Pauline was true to me in spite of 
 this disaster, and offered to take me as I was, but I
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 don't want a woman to support me. So I bade her 
 a tearful farewell, started out to make my fourth 
 fortune, and here I am." 
 
 "And what have you now?" 
 
 "This mountain chateau," replied Blake with a 
 lordly sweep of his arm, " and a hole in the ground 
 back of it. Then I have a fine view of the valley, a 
 good appetite, a slumbering conscience, and and 
 Dog, here, who never upbraids me for being seven 
 kinds of a fool." 
 
 "You needn't fear that I shall lecture you," 
 said John Burt. "It's no crime to be liberal, and 
 from your account your reverses were caused by too 
 much generosity and not enough caution. But 
 we're both young, Jim, and a few knockdowns won't 
 hurt one who has health, vigor and ambition. I 
 want you to look at a map I have in my overcoat 
 pocket." 
 
 John told the story of the dying sailor and his 
 map, and read an extract from Peter Burt's letter. 
 Then he produced the map, and they spread it out on 
 the table and examined it by the ljght of the lantern. 
 It was roughly drawn, but Blake soon got the lay 
 of it, and placed it so as to conform to the points 
 of the compass. 
 
 "I followed the trail all right," explained John, 
 "until the storm set in, and then I had to feel my 
 way. Before I lost my bearings I was about two 
 miles from the point where this sailor claims to 
 have found gold. I kept near the edge of the cliff 
 162
 
 THE SAILOR MINE 
 
 until I could go no further, and then curled up 
 behind that rock in the hope that the storm would 
 cease." 
 
 Blake studied the map with growing interest 
 and excitement. With a splinter from a log as a 
 marker, he traced the trail. 
 
 "I know every foot of it! " he exclaimed, rest- 
 ing the point of the splinter on a round spot on the 
 map. " Here is Fisher's Lake. Every one knows 
 where that is. You came that far by stage. Here 
 is the creek which you follow for seven miles until 
 you come to the old Wormley trail. You take that 
 to the cliffs, and go along the cliffs until you cross 
 four brooks and come to the fifth one. You were 
 were within a hundred yards of that fifth stream, 
 John. Now let's see the key to this thing." 
 
 John handed him the letter. 
 
 "'From the east face of the square rock, on the 
 north bank of the brook, at the edge of the cliff,'" read 
 Blake. " I know the rock well. Let's see. ' Thence 
 east along the bank of the brook in a straight line four 
 hundred and twenty-two feet, and then north at right 
 angles, sixty-seven feet to the base of the tallest pine in the 
 neighborhood." 
 
 Blake rushed to the door, forgetful of the 
 storm, to verify his suspicions. He pushed it open 
 an inch, but a solid bank of snow blocked the way. 
 
 "Where do you suppose the base of that pine 
 tree is?" he demanded. Without waiting for a 
 reply he found a hatchet and tapped the clay floor 
 
 163
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 until he located a spot which gave a deadened 
 sound. Then he chopped away a few inches of 
 packed dirt and sank the blade into a solid sub- 
 stance. 
 
 " There's the base of the big pine tree described 
 by your dead sailor, and I'll bet my life on it!" he 
 snouted. "And here are sections of the tree," he 
 continued, pointing to the logs which formed the 
 foundation of the cabin. " I'm dead sure of it, 
 John. It's about a hundred and forty yards from 
 here to the edge of the cliff. I know, for I meas- 
 ured it. And its about twenty yards to the brook. 
 What is more conclusive, this was by far the largest 
 tree anywhere around. That's why I located the 
 cabin here. Let's see what comes next !" His eyes 
 glistened with excitement. 
 
 The instructions were to measure three hun- 
 dred and eighteen feet north from the base of the 
 tree and thence east to a carefully described rock, 
 which Blake remembered. This was at the base of 
 the incline. Within a hundred yards of this rock 
 the key located three gold-bearing quartz ledges. 
 
 11 I've been past it a hundred times. I've 
 ^ struck a pick all around there and never found 
 ore," said Blake reflectively, "but that proves noth- 
 ing. A thousand people walked over the Little 
 Calaveras before I found the gilt. There's no use 
 worrying about it ; if it's there it will stay there, and 
 we must wait until the storm is over before we can 
 find it out. Wall, John," he concluded, relapsing
 
 THE SAILOR MINE 
 
 to the familiar Yankee drawl, " ' don't this beat 
 time,' as Uncle Toby Haynes used to say?" 
 
 " It certainly is remarkable," said John Burt, 
 folding the map. " How did you happen to select 
 this particular spot, Jim ? " 
 
 " Just happened to that's all," was the laconic 
 reply. " I've trailed up and down the river several 
 times, and this ridge struck my notion, so I thought 
 I'd try it. I took a little good quartz out of 
 the mouth of my tunnel, but the lead disappeared, 
 and I've been boring in for months trying to strike 
 it again. I laid out claims all along here, but this one 
 seemed the most likely. As a matter of fact, I've 
 depended on my luck, and so far it has never failed 
 me." 
 
 " I suppose your claims cover the ground 
 indicated on this map, don't they?" asked John. 
 
 " It don't make a bit of difference whether they 
 do or not," asserted Blake with much vigor. "If 
 you find ore, the claim is yours, John, and 
 don't you forget it! If this old tunnel of mine 
 failed, I should never have begun another one. So 
 go ahead, and good luck to you ! You can share my 
 cabin and have anything I've got." 
 
 " Suppose we go partners in the Sailor Mine," 
 suggested John. " I have a tidy sum of money 
 that we can use if necessary, and I'll offset that and 
 the map against your claim and experience. That 
 strikes me as fair, old man. What do you say, 
 Jim?" 
 
 165
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 " It's not fair to you, John, but I'll gladly accept 
 and here's my hand on itl " 
 
 Thus was formed the mining firm of Burton & 
 Blake, John assuming the name of Burton for 
 reasons apparent enough. 
 
 During the night the white flakes turned to 
 sleet and rain, and cleared ofF with zero weather, 
 leaving a heavy crust on the snow. After breakfast 
 they set about locating the sailor's vein. In less 
 than an hour Jim Blake sunk his pick into a quartz 
 rock which showed free gold. John's knowledge 
 of mineralogy was theoretical, but the subject 
 was part of his course at Harvard, and he had 
 studied his text-books assiduously during the long 
 sea voyage. While Jim was gloating over his find, 
 John appeared from behind a ledge. He handed 
 Blake a nugget which weighed fully ten pounds, 
 and a glance to say nothing of the weight 
 showed it to be almost solid gold. Blake grasped 
 it, devoured its dull gloss with sparkling eyes, and 
 hurled his hat high in the air. 
 
 "We are rich! We are rich!" he shouted 
 until the rocks resounded. "Monte Cristo was a 
 beggar compared with Burton & Blake ! Hurrah 
 for the Sailor Mine ! Hurrah for the Sailor Mine 
 and John Burt ! You can't keep a good man 
 down ! Hurrah 1 " 
 
 166
 
 CHAPTER SIXTEEN 
 
 THE QUEST FOR GOLD 
 
 THE location of the Sailor Mine was an ideal 
 one. The brook was fed by perpetual 
 snows, and furnished plenty of water. The 
 broad edge of the cliff formed a natural road with 
 an easy grade to the Wormley Trail. This led into 
 the valley, and connected with the stage road, which 
 wound its way to Auburn. John Burt studied the 
 situation and grasped its topographical advantages. 
 He conjured a village in the valley below, and men- 
 tally crested the ridges with mining mills and ma- 
 chinery. 
 
 The two young giants performed wonders in 
 the three weeks which followed their discovery of 
 gold. Glowing with health and strength, and in- 
 spired by ambition, they gnawed ragged holes into 
 the side of the mountains with their picks and 
 drills. No storm was wild enough to call a halt. 
 John Burt made rough tests of the quartz, and 
 after generous allowance for all possible errors it 
 showed results which surpassed their highest expec- 
 tations. Several nuggets were found, but these 
 were of small value compared with the broad 
 stratum of ore which opened out from the spot 
 selected by John Burt. The claim chosen by Blake 
 soon exhausted itself, and he turned his attention to 
 the third, expressing a fear that he was a "hoodoo." 
 
 " But ' there's luck in odd numbers says Rory 
 O'Moore,' " sang Blake as he poised on a shelving 
 
 167
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 ledge and vigorously drove a crowbar into a crevice. 
 Ere the sun dropped below the range he had un- 
 covered another wide, deep vein of gold-bearing 
 quartz. 
 
 Turning towards the cabin, he saw over his 
 right shoulder the thin white rim of the new moon, 
 hanging like a silver sickle in the deep blue of the 
 sky. The line of the opposite horns of this gleam- 
 ing crescent was perpendicular to the horizon. To 
 the farmer this is the " wet moon," the harbinger 
 of abundant harvests. The adventurer, gambler, 
 or miner looks on Luna, when thus seen for the 
 first time, as the sure augury of luck. Blake was 
 possessed of that buoyant, elastic type of super- 
 stition which affirms faith in favorable portents 
 and spurns all others as unworthy of credence. As 
 a schoolboy the fables of mythology made more 
 impression on him than did historical facts, but he 
 worshipped none but propitious gods. Singing in 
 a voice which awoke the echoes, he made his way 
 between the rocks, his fine face lighted by the last 
 glow of the twilight. A battered sledge was thrown 
 across his shoulder, and his figure seemed magni- 
 fied in the uncertain light. Graceful in his strength, 
 he looked like a follower of Vulcan returning from 
 a quest for metals demanded by that immortal 
 craftsman, or like some mountain god yielding 
 proud allegiance only to Jupiter himself. 
 
 The spring rains set in, and the brook became 
 a foaming, thundering torrent. Avalanches tore 
 
 z 68
 
 THE QUEST FOR GOLD 
 
 down the mountain-sides, plowed their way over the 
 cliff, and, with a roar which shook the cabin, hurled 
 themselves into the valley. The pine trees lost their 
 plumes of snow, and sang in a higher key the refrain 
 which told of relief from burdens carried complain- 
 ingly for months. The magic of drenching rains 
 and warm south winds checkered the snow-clad foot- 
 hills with patches of brown. Nature was shrouded 
 in warm, clinging mist ; ten thousand rivulets spurted 
 into life as the sun beat upon the hills ; and winter 
 vanished from the valley as clouds fade from a sum- 
 mer sky. 
 
 Piled in gray heaps near the tunnel was ore 
 worth not less than forty thousand dollars. With 
 the flight of the snow and the birth of spring, Blake 
 wearied of his task and longed for its rewards. 
 
 "Tell you what let's do, John," he said one 
 night after supper. " Let's go to Auburn and 
 negotiate for the sale of these mines. We can't 
 work them ourselves. I'm all right when it comes 
 to prospecting and opening up a mine, but I've no 
 taste for sticking to it. My plan is to realize what 
 you can, and let some one else do the hard work. 
 We ought to get big money for the Sailor, John." 
 
 "How much?" asked John after a moment's 
 pause. 
 
 "Half a million," replied Blake positively, with 
 a loving accent on the " million." " Half a million is 
 dead cheap. Don't you think so, John?" 
 
 "I shall not sell my interest at least, not at 
 169
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 present," said John Burt, "and I advise you not to. 
 We can handle this property without trouble, and 
 make more in developing it than by selling it. I 
 have nearly ten thousand dollars in cash. In a few 
 months we can convert the ore already extracted 
 into gold. I believe the mine will yield three hun- 
 dred thousand dollars profit the first year. That's 
 the wiser plan, Jim. Besides, I doubt if we can get 
 an offer of half a million." 
 
 "We can try, John," said Blake hopefully. 
 "Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars is a lot 
 of money. I would take it in a minute if I could 
 get it." 
 
 They discussed the matter for hours, but Blake 
 would not recede from his position. John did not 
 urge him to the contrary, but calmly presented the 
 facts as he saw them. Dangling before Blake's 
 eyes was a purse containing two hundred and fifty 
 thousand dollars, to be obtained without further 
 work or worry. It meant pleasure, affluence, ease, 
 liberty it was enough. Not so with John Burt. 
 When the rock crumbled beneath the first blow of 
 his pick, and the ten pound nugget gleamed in the 
 shale, he recalled the parting words of Peter Burt 
 quoting the language of Isaiah: "I will give thee 
 the treasures of darkness and the hidden riches of 
 secret places." 
 
 Superstition, in the ordinary sense, had no hold 
 on John Burt ; but he had an abiding faith in his 
 destiny. The dying sailor and his crude map was a 
 170
 
 THE QUEST FOR GOLD 
 
 part of it. His stern old grandfather was the oracle 
 of his fortunes, and the lonely rock behind the 
 graveyard was the Delphi from which the message 
 was delivered. 
 
 With a faith sublime as that which inspired 
 Orpheus, he believed that Jessie Garden was linked 
 to him in ties which time and distance could not 
 sunder. Fate also had created Arthur Morris, not 
 as a stumbling-block, but as a stepping-stone to his 
 advancement. He looked on Morris not with 
 hatred, but with pity. 
 
 But why had James Blake been thrust into his 
 career? Surely it was not an unreasoning chance 
 that decreed that Blake should rear his hut on the 
 very spot marked by the trembling hand of the 
 sailor. John read his partner as he read his own 
 thoughts. He fathomed the man's weaknesses, and 
 while he could not admire them, he thought none 
 the less of the companion of his boyhood. But he 
 could not allow Blake to stand in his way. The 
 mining partnership so strangely formed could be 
 nothing more than a temporary arrangement, but 
 John Burt was determined that in its sundering no 
 advantages should be sacrificed. He was resolved 
 to protect Blake's interests, and equally resolved to 
 conserve his own. 
 
 "We'll talk no more abcut this matter to- 
 night, Jim," he said, when Blake had finished tell- 
 ing of the great things which could be accom- 
 plished with a quarter of a million dollars. "I'll 
 
 171
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 think it over for two or three days, and then we'll 
 take the question up and decide it. We could not 
 reach Auburn now if we tried. Wait until the 
 floods subside. The more we dig, the more the 
 mines will sell for." 
 
 Blake curbed his impatience and worked and 
 waited. He knew John Burt well enough not to 
 mention the topic during the days which followed. 
 
 One evening, after supper, John spent an hour 
 or more figuring in an old note-book. Jim smoked, 
 and the dog dozed by the fire. 
 
 " I suppose you are still determined to sell your 
 share in these mines, Jim?" said John, putting the 
 book in his pocket and lighting his pipe. 
 
 " I am, if I can get an offer of a quarter of a 
 million," replied Jim. 
 
 "You're making a mistake, old man," said 
 John Burt, laying his hand on his friend's shoulder, 
 " but you have as much right to your opinion as I 
 have to mine. So we will call that settled. I told 
 you I would make you a proposition, and here it is. 
 There are two mines, and they look equally promis- 
 ing. I propose that you take one and I take the 
 other. We will call the south one ' Sailor A,' and 
 the north ' Sailor B.' You can have your choice." 
 
 "That's not fair! " said Jim. " I'll play you a 
 game of seven-up for the first choice ; three games 
 of ten points each best two out of three to take 
 first choice." 
 
 "All right," responded John, as Blake pro- 
 17*
 
 THE QUEST FOR GOLD 
 
 duced a well-worn pack of cards and shuffled them. 
 " But before we play, let me finish my proposition. 
 You wish to sell your claims for two hundred and 
 fifty thousand if you can find a purchaser. Will 
 you give me an option on your claim? You should 
 be able to get along for sixty days with five thousand ' 
 dollars in cash. I doubt if you can close so large a 
 deal in less time. I'll give you five thousand in 
 cash for the following option on your claim you 
 to deed me all your rights in consideration of one 
 hundred thousand dollars, payable in sixty days 
 from this date ; one hundred thousand payable in 
 six months from date, and one hundred thousand 
 payable one year from date. And " 
 
 " You bet your life I will," interrupted Blake, 
 extending his hand. " For your sake, John, I 
 hope you'll win, and I believe you will. I'd rather 
 see you make money out of these mines than any 
 one in the world ; but doggone it, John, I haven't 
 the patience or ability to run a mine. Guess I'm 
 lazy. Make it two thousand in cash, John. That 
 will be enough. I can get along on a thousand a 
 month if I let the mining exchange alone, and I'm, 
 going to. Make it two thousand and I'll go you." 
 
 "We will call it twenty-five hundred, and you 
 can have the other twenty-five hundred if you need 
 it," said John smiling. " But I had not finished. 
 You shall have one-half of the proceeds from the 
 sale of the ore already mined. That should net 
 you $25,000. You need not shake your head. In 
 
 173
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 any arrangement I may make with outsiders, you 
 shall have ten per cent, of all profits payable to me. 
 There's no use protesting. That clause goes in, or 
 the deal is off. There's nothing generous about it. 
 It's a pure matter of fairness. I may fail in my 
 efforts, and thus prevent your negotiating an advan- 
 tageous sale. If I succeed, ten per cent, will give 
 you a steady revenue for years. I wish to feel that 
 you will always have an interest in the Sailor Mine." 
 
 "All right, John," said Jim, finally. " You're a 
 stubborn man to do business with. Now we'll play 
 that game of seven-up." 
 
 Blake won the first game and John the second. 
 In the third game John had two to go, and Blake 
 lacked six points. It was his deal. He turned two 
 jacks before the trump was selected, and then made 
 high, low, jack, and the game, and won the rubber 
 and the first choice. 
 
 " Lucky in cards, unlucky in love," laughed 
 Blake as he arose from the table. " Sailor A is 
 mine subject to your option, John." 
 
 John drew up an agreement and an option, 
 which both signed, and the firm of Burton & Blake 
 was dissolved. Blake accepted twenty-five hundred 
 dollars in cash, and three days later both arrived in 
 the little mining town of Auburn, from which they 
 sent a trustworthy man back to the cabin, to remain 
 on guard until John Burt returned. 
 
 Bidding Blake adieu for a week or more, Burt 
 proceeded to San Francisco.
 
 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 
 
 THE CAPITALIST 
 
 JOHN BURT was without experience in financial 
 affairs; a stranger in San Francisco, lacking 
 
 endorsements or credentials ; a fugitive under 
 an assumed name ; yet he faced the situation with 
 confidence. He believed that the Sailor Mine was 
 destined to be the basis of his fortune. The exist- 
 ence of the quartz veins was a physical fact his 
 realization of wealth from them was a question of 
 generalship, judgment and strategy. 
 
 He engaged rooms in the Palace Hotel regis- 
 tering under the name of John Burton and made 
 inquiries concerning the leading mining experts of 
 the city. He learned that one of them was a grad- 
 uate of Harvard. John Burt had passed only a 
 year within the walls of the great university, but he 
 had absorbed its traditions, and looked upon it as 
 his alma mater. He therefore decided to present 
 his case to David Parker. He wrote the famous 
 expert a brief letter, and was duly accorded an 
 interview. 
 
 David Parker was a man of forty, who had 
 secured a commanding position in his calling. He 
 was of medium height and of sturdy figure. A well- 
 shaped head; pale blue eyes beneath shadowing 
 lashes; a smooth face; thin, straight lips; a project- 
 ing jaw, scarred as from a knife thrust; a careful 
 smile, a grip of iron, and a cautiousness in speech 
 which amounted almost to an impediment such is 
 
 17S
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 a crude sketch of David Parker, mining expert and 
 civil and mechanical engineer. 
 
 During the brief preliminary conversation, John 
 Burt studied David Parker and decided to trust 
 him. Then he related the story of the discovery of 
 the Sailor Mine. 
 
 "I have always believed that those hills that 
 those hills contained gold," said David Parker 
 hesitatingly. He paused and idly scrawled geo- 
 metrical figures on a paper pad. " Why why do 
 you come to to me, Mr. Burton?" he asked, look- 
 ing up. "I am not an an investor. I'm an expert 
 at least, an an alleged expert." 
 
 "I wish you to refer me to an investor," replied 
 John Burt. "As I have told you, I'm a stranger in 
 San Francisco, and have no time to spend looking 
 for an honest investor. You are an expert in metals 
 and should be in capitalists. You know them; I 
 don't. I'm willing to pay your rate for expert in- 
 formation on the subject of trustworthy capital." 
 
 "Go and see John Hawkins," said David Par- 
 ker, as a faint smile froze on his face. " This is 
 hardly professional, you know, Mr. Burton, but I 
 will do it. Do not use my name. Mr. Hawkins 
 will see you and and talk with you. If he says he 
 will do a thing he he will do it. He may he may 
 do a thing if he says he won't. He is honest but 
 hard hard as granite. I hope you may succeed 
 with him Mr. Burton. My fee? Nothing not a 
 dollar. This is strictly strictly unprofessional, 
 176
 
 THE CAPITALIST 
 
 Mr. Burton. We will charge it charge it to the 
 old college. Good day, Mr. Burton. Let me know 
 how you succeed. If you and Mr. Hawkins can- 
 not come to terms, I I might refer you to others. 
 Good day; good day, sir and good luck!" 
 
 As David Parker predicted, John Burt had lit- 
 tle trouble in securing an interview with John Haw- 
 kins, millionaire mine owner and investor. 
 
 There was a democracy pervading the Hawkins 
 office not in keeping with its palatial fittings. The 
 walls above the carved mahogany wainscoting were 
 hung with tapestry and adorned with paintings set 
 in massive gilt frames. In the public reception- 
 room was a marble fountain, and the musical splash 
 of its water was soothing. The eye was greeted 
 by palms, ferns, bits of bronze, and expensive bric- 
 a-brac. The air was heavy with tobacco smoke, and 
 from an inner room came the sound of voices and 
 boisterous laughter. 
 
 John Burt wrote the name " John Burton " on 
 a card, and gave it to an attendant. Two burly 
 men stood in the doorway, pausing to make some 
 parting remark, which was followed by roars of 
 merriment. The attendant brushed past them as 
 they closed the door. 
 
 "Tell him to come in," was the order given in 
 a voice sonorous through the heavy partition. 
 
 Seated at an oak desk was one of those men 
 whom nature occasionally designs for the purpose 
 of keeping the present in touch with the dim past, 
 
 17?
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 when giants communed with mortals. No artist 
 could look on John Hawkins and deride the fables 
 which tell of the proportions of Hercules, or depict 
 the physical majesty of the bearded gods of Olym- 
 j pus. The great oak chair in which he sat groaned 
 beneath his weight, as he turned and looked at John 
 Burt. Above a bulging forehead was a mass of iron 
 gray hair which fell nearly to his shoulders. The 
 long, full beard was of a tawny shade, and the 
 mouth was hidden by a sweeping moustache of the 
 same cast. Steel-gray eyes rested beneath bushy 
 masses of eyebrows, and were parted by a nose which 
 once might have belonged to Odin. The thought 
 of this stern old Norse-god came to John Burt as 
 he looked into those eyes eyes which had in their 
 depths ceaseless ambition, relentless energy, merci- 
 less courage, and that calm mastery which comes 
 from complacent introspection the confidence born 
 of justifiable egotism; the consciousness of general- 
 ship by birthright. 
 
 So striking was Hawkins' resemblance to Odin 
 that John would have been little surprised to have 
 seen perched on his shoulders the ravens Hugin and 
 Munin, whose fabled duty it is to fly every day over 
 .the world and report to their master all they have 
 seen and heard. But a stock ticker at his right hand, 
 and telegraph instruments in the outer room, were 
 the modern message bearers, more rapid and accur- 
 ate than the mythological ravens, and cruel at times 
 as the wolves Geri and Freki, who sit at Odin's feet 
 178
 
 THE CAPITALIST 
 
 The modern knight, in these degenerate days, 
 is the one who boldly shies his castor into a count- 
 ing-room, or faces with unlowered eyes and unruffled 
 mien those moneyed gods who rule mankind and 
 launch the thunderbolts of gold. 
 
 John Hurt's education in the etiquette of ser- 
 vility and in adulation of material things was singu- 
 larly defective. This may have been due to his 
 country training. The year spent in the democracy 
 which permeates Harvard had not lessened his self- 
 reliance. It never occurred to John Burt that he 
 should stand in awe of the Hawkins millions. He 
 was impressed by the leonine head and gigantic 
 proportions of the magnate, as an artist is when he 
 contemplates for the first time some stupendous 
 work of nature. He returned the great man's gaze, 
 before which most strangers quailed and faltered, 
 with an answering look which calmly asserted an 
 equality, yielding deference only to a seniority of 
 years. 
 
 John Hawkins threw his head back, and for a 
 moment silently surveyed his visitor as a foe meas- 
 ures his opponent. This attitude is as instinctive 
 to the man of wealth as is the crouch of the tiger 
 when hungry rivals approach his slaughtered quarry. 
 
 John Hawkins looked on no stripling. The 
 bronzed and bearded man who faced him stood erect 
 in the symmetrical proportions of two hundred 
 pounds of bone, sinew, and muscle. 
 
 "How do you do? What can I do for you, 
 
 179
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 sir? Take a chair." Mr. Hawkins glanced again 
 at the card, tossed it on his desk, and wheeled and 
 confronted John Burt, who had accepted this gruff 
 invitation. 
 
 " I own or control some recently discovered 
 gold mines, and am in San Francisco for the pur- 
 pose of interesting capital in their development," 
 said John Burt. u I am informed that you are an 
 investor in mining property. I am in a position to 
 submit propositions which may result to our mutual 
 advantage." 
 
 "Where are they?" growled Mr. John Haw- 
 kins. 
 
 For an answer John stepped behind the capi- 
 talist and placed his fingers on a point indicated on 
 a large map of California which hung on the wall. 
 
 " They are located on the west slope of the 
 Sierra Nevadas, at an altitude of about two thous- 
 and feet above the river, five miles south of the 
 Wormley Trail," said John. " Here is a rough 
 detailed map of the surroundings." He handed 
 the chart to Mr. Hawkins. 
 
 "There's no gold there not an ounce," de- 
 clared the magnate. " You have found a mare's 
 nest, young man. I looked that country over ten 
 years ago. There's no gold there." 
 
 " My partner and I have extracted forty thous- 
 and dollars' worth of high-grade ore there in three 
 weeks," said John Burt quietly. " Here is a speci- 
 men of it. Here is sc.nething else." He placed a 
 
 180
 
 THE CAPITALIST 
 
 sample of ore and the ten-pound nugget in Haw- 
 kins' outstretched palm. 
 
 At the sight of the ore, and of the dull gloss of 
 the nugget, a wonderful transformation took place 
 in John Hawkins. The air of bored indifference 
 vanished. He gazed at the ore with the rapt look 
 of an enthusiast. The weight of the nugget told 
 its own story. 
 
 For two minutes he poised them in his hands 
 and said nothing. 
 
 Then he turned and studied the map on the 
 wall, tracing with his huge forefinger the thin line 
 of the brook to its juncture with the river. He 
 then consulted a colored chart, humming the while 
 a nondescript air in a tone which sounded like the 
 purring of a Bengal tiger. 
 
 " Go ahead and tell me about this," he said 
 abruptly. "You look like an honest man, and it's 
 a waste of time to lie to me. How did you hap- 
 pen to strike ore in those hills? They say that 
 gold is where it's found, and I'll be darned if this 
 don't look like it! What have you got, and how 
 did you get it?" 
 
 In a matter of fact way John Burt related the 
 story of the discovery and development of the 
 Sailor Mine. He named the terms of the Blake 
 option, and answered without hesitation the pointed 
 questions asked by John Hawkins. 
 
 "This may be worth looking into," said the 
 capitalist, as he ran his hand through his tawny 
 
 181
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 gray hair. " I'll send an expert to investigate it 
 and make a report." He rang a beil and a boy 
 responded. " Go and tell David Parker I want 
 him," he ordered. 
 
 51 Until we have arrived at some tentative 
 agreement or understanding, I don't care to have 
 your expert examine this property," said John 
 Burt, when the boy had closed the door. 
 
 Mr. Hawkins glared at him in amazement. 
 
 " Your expert will find one of two things 
 either that my estimate of these claims is accurate, 
 or that it is not," continued John Burt calmly. "In 
 the latter event you would drop the matter. If, on 
 the contrary, your expert confirms my estimate as 
 he will it then becomes necessary to act under a 
 definite understanding. The terms of such an 
 agreement should be settled before your expert be- 
 gins his work. In brief, the question is this. 
 What agreement will you make, assuming that your 
 expert confirms my statements? We can settle 
 that matter now as well as in two weeks from now, 
 and it will save time and avoid friction." 
 
 "That sounds like business," roared John 
 Hawkins, a gleam of admiration for an opponent 
 worthy of his attention showing in his eyes. 
 " That's the way I like to hear a man talk. Make 
 your proposition. You're selling; I'm buying. 
 What's your terms? Let's have them." 
 
 " You will assume the payments on the Blake 
 
 option, which amount to three hundred thousand 
 182
 
 THE CAPITALIST 
 
 dollars," said John, noting the amount on a memo- 
 randum pad. " In addition to that, you will ad- 
 vance the money necessary for the development of 
 the property and for the handling of the ore. 
 Fifty per cent, of the net profits will revert to you 
 until the money paid to Blake is refunded. In con- 
 sideration of the capital thus advanced, your inter- 
 est in the property will amount to forty per cent, 
 and mine to sixty per cent. These are my terms, 
 and the only ones on which I will part with my in- 
 terest in the Sailor Mine." 
 
 " I won't do it ! " thundered John Hawkins, 
 slamming down the cover of his desk. " I must 
 have control when I invest. Make my interest fifty- 
 one per cent, and I will talk to you. Fifty-one per 
 cent, or nothing." 
 
 " Very well," said John Burt, rising ; " it is im- 
 possible for us to agree, and well we should know 
 it in advance. In case I am unable to exercise my 
 option, you may be able to purchase the Blake 
 interest outright for two hundred and fifty thous- 
 and. I shall be glad, if that time comes, to put you 
 into communication with him. You will find it a 
 good investment. You could not purchase my 
 share for ten times the amount. Good-day, Mr, 
 Hawkins. I am stopping at the Palace Hotel, and 
 letters sent there will be forwarded when I leave 
 the city. Good-day, sir." 
 
 Two days later John Burt received a message 
 from David Parker, asking him to call at his office. 
 
 183
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 Scientific tests had shown a much higher percentage 
 of gold than those indicated by the crude experi- 
 ments made in the cabin by John Burt. 
 
 "I had an interview with Mr. Hawkins this 
 morning," said David Parker, after greeting his 
 visitor. " Mr. Hawkins is a very peculiar man 
 very peculiar as I have told you. But he is honest 
 honest as a dog. He is from Maine and he 
 likes to dicker. He made his start in California by 
 trading a horse and a mighty poor horse it was 
 for a mine and it proved one of the best mines 
 one of the best mines in the State. He says you 
 are the hardest man to deal with he ever saw a 
 great compliment for you, Mr. Burton, I assure you. 
 He has had his lawyer draw up a provisional agree- 
 ment in conformity to your terms as he understood 
 them and instructs me to say to you that we are 
 invited to dine with him at his club this afternoon, 
 when the matter may be finally arranged. If so, I 
 am to accompany you to the mines to-morrow." 
 
 Though not greatly surprised, John was pleased 
 as he listened to the slowly delivered decision 
 announced by the expert. He thanked Parker, and 
 arranged to meet him with Mr. Hawkins at a later 
 hour. He then called on an attorney and submitted 
 the agreement to his inspection. After making a 
 few minor alterations, the lawyer assured John that 
 the agreement fully protected his interests. 
 
 Over a dinner such as is possible only in San 
 Francisco the agreement was ratified. At the table, 
 184
 
 THE CAPITALIST 
 
 the crusty veneer with which the great capitalist 
 protected himself melted away. He proposed a 
 toast to John's health and to the success of the 
 Sailor Mine. The magnate disappeared, and the 
 big, whole-souled pioneer sat in his place. He told 
 tales of early California; of his trials, triumphs, and 
 reverses ; laughing at his early disasters with a voice 
 which rattled the glasses. There was humor and at 
 times pathos in these fragments of a wonderful 
 career, but through them all ran a vein of rugged 
 honesty. 
 
 ts
 
 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 
 
 SUCCESS AND FAILURE 
 
 DAVID PARKER'S report on the Sailor Mine 
 was submitted to Mr. Hawkins ten days 
 later, and it more than confirmed the state- 
 ments made by John Burt. Upon receipt of it, the 
 magnate proceeded to the mine with Burt and 
 Parker, taking several miners in whom he had abso- 
 lute confidence. New claims were located on the 
 mountain-side, and in the valley below in anticipation 
 of possible placer deposits. 
 
 Jim Blake, meanwhile, cheerfully informed every 
 one that his winter's work had been thrown away. 
 He lounged about Auburn for a week, cursing his 
 luck and "lying like a gentleman," as he subse- 
 quently explained. Then he left for San Francisco, 
 passing John on the way. They met at a stage 
 junction, and arranged to see each other in 'Frisco 
 on John's return. Blake was delighted when in- 
 formed of John's progress. 
 
 " Hope you make millions, and am betting you 
 will," said Jim as they shook hands and separated. 
 
 Mr. Hawkins, David Parker, and John Burt 
 spent three nights in the cramped quarters of the 
 log cabin, and thoroughly enjoyed themselves. In 
 those three days were planned the improvements 
 which a few weeks later threw the surrounding re- 
 gion into a fever of excitement, and started a stam- 
 pede for the new Golconda. 
 
 On their return to San Francisco a formal 
 
 186
 
 SUCCESS AND FAILURE 
 
 agreement was signed, and John Burt and John 
 Hawkins became partners in the Sailor Mine and in 
 the scores of claims surrounding it. 
 
 For eighteen months John directed the efforts 
 of an army of men, swarming like ants on the 
 mountain-side. A village sprang up in the valley 
 and clustered about the stamp mills of Hawkins 
 & Company. Day and night the fractured ore fed 
 the thundering maws of the crushers. Churches, 
 gambling houses, stores and saloons contended for 
 patronage. Thousands of claims were staked out; 
 but nature had ceased from her gold sowing when 
 she finished the -broad layers of the Sailor Mine 
 and its outcroppings. Jim Blake's tunnel proved 
 to have missed the ore at three points by a few feet ; 
 another week's work would have tapped one of the 
 more productive veins. Blake visited the mines 
 and smiled grimly when he saw how fortune had 
 sported with him. 
 
 The mines produced eight hundred thousand 
 dollars in gold the first year. After deducting 
 Blake's price, John's share in the profits was more 
 than a hundred thousand. His dividends in the 
 following six months were three hundred thousand, 
 and for the year nearly seven hundred thousand. 
 Following Mr. Hawkins' advice, he so invested his 
 profits as to become a millionaire before he had 
 been in California two years. 
 
 Having placed the mining property on a per- 
 manent footing, and in charge of competent mana- 
 
 187
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 gers and superintendents, he transferred his head- 
 quarters to San Francisco. He still made periodi- 
 cal visits to the mines, where he had an office in the 
 old log cabin; orders having been issued not to 
 destroy it under any circumstances. 
 
 When Jim Blake received his first instalment 
 of a hundred thousand dollars, he gave a dinner in 
 John Burt's honor in the Occidental Hotel. Twenty 
 guests were present, including John Hawkins and 
 David Parker. This social function cost Blake a 
 thousand dollars, and he was more than satisfied 
 when the newspapers declared that it was the most 
 elaborate gastronomical affair in the history of the 
 California metropolis. 
 
 "You would be a long time in Rocky Woods 
 before you had a dinner like that," said Blake the 
 next day, as he looked lovingly at a newspaper 
 headline which read " Fifty Dollars a Plate ! " 
 
 Ten days after this famous feast Blake was 
 without a dollar. 
 
 " Mining stocks," he explained to John Burt. 
 11 1 plunged on Robert Emmet, and they trimmed 
 me. I was sixty thousand ahead at one stage of 
 the game, and I pressed it for a slam. Robert 
 Emmet hasn't stopped going down yet. The stock 
 looks more like a liability than an asset. A man 
 caught with it on his clothes is liable to be arrested. 
 If I had struck it right, Mrs. Worthington would 
 now be Mrs. James Blake." 
 
 John advanced Jim ten thousand dollars, and 
 
 188
 
 SUCCESS AND FAILURE 
 
 gave him advice which was worth more than the 
 money. Blake followed the advice for a month. 
 When his second instalment was due, he had drawn 
 so heavily against John that he had a balance of 
 only forty-five thousand. Two months after he 
 had received a check for the final payment, which 
 terminated his original property rights in the 
 mines, he admitted to John Burt that his total 
 assets did not exceed five thousand dollars. 
 
 "As a Napoleon of speculation and finance," 
 laughed Blake, deftly rolling a cigarette, " I run 
 largely to Leipsics and Waterloos. When it comes 
 to sustaining defeats and reverses, I can give the 
 immortal Corsican cards and spades, I did fairly 
 well with that last hundred thousand ; had it up to 
 nearly four hundred thousand on a tip from Haw- 
 kins. That was only a hundred thousand from a 
 swell wedding. Then I cut loose from amateur 
 advice, and relied on my own keen judgment. Lost 
 all of it in two weeks." 
 
 Blake was silent for a few moments, and an 
 expression of disappointment showed in his eyes. 
 The next instant it was gone. 
 
 " Tell you how you can make a barrel of 
 money on me, John," he exclaimed. " I'll inform 
 you what stocks to buy you sell 'em. I'll advise 
 you to sell a stock you buy it. Copper all my 
 bets and get rich. An infallible hoodoo is as 
 good a guide as a sure mascot. By systematically 
 shunning my opinion, any man can make money. 
 
 189
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 Between the Scylla of what I say and the Charybdis 
 of what I do is the safe passage which leads to 
 fortune. This is not a kick, John, but merely a 
 few disinterested financial observations;" and Blake 
 lay back in his chair, smiled complacently, and blew 
 rings of smoke towards the ceiling. 
 
 " I've a better plan than that," said John after 
 a moment's silence, " and one which will give full 
 scope for your talents. You have not made a suc- 
 cess in speculating on your own account, but that is 
 not to your discredit. It indicates that your ener- 
 gies have been misdirected. I've been thinking for 
 some time, Jim, of making a proposition to you. 
 I recently purchased seats on the mining and stock 
 exchanges, and wish to become a silent partner in 
 an investing and brokerage firm. Mr. Hawkins 
 will have no financial interest in the proposed house, 
 but he has promised to support it by his patronage 
 and influence. I will furnish most of the capital; 
 but for reasons that you will appreciate, I prefer to 
 remain in the background." 
 
 " It will win, John ; you always win," declared 
 Blake, "but what can I do? At this moment I 
 could'nt finance a boot-black stand." 
 
 " Let me finish," said John. " How would you 
 like to become the nominal head of such a concern, 
 under the title, we will say, of ' James Blake & 
 Company'? In order that you may have a sub- 
 stantial interest in the firm, I will advance you a 
 hundred thousand dollars on your future profits
 
 SUCCESS AND FAILURE 
 
 from the Sailor Mine, and invest with the firm four 
 hundred thousand of my own money. I intend to 
 conduct some rather extensive stock operations, 
 but they will be on personal account. I believe you 
 can do far better by confining your attention to the 
 executive work of such a concern and letting specu- 
 lation alone. What do you think of my proposi- 
 tion ?" 
 
 u Are you in earnest, John? " 
 
 " I mean just what I said." 
 
 " Nothing would suit me better, but I'm afraid 
 I'm not qualified for such a position," said Blake, 
 delighted beyond measure. Once more the path to 
 wealth opened out before him. 
 
 "I know your qualifications," said John. 
 "You will become the most popular and capable 
 broker in San Francisco. Dine with me to-night, 
 and we'll arrange the details and drink a toast with 
 Hawkins to the success of James Blake & Com- 
 pany." 
 
 Announcement of the establishment of the new 
 firm was made the following week. Mr. Hawkins 
 refused to confirm or deny the popular rumor that 
 he was the banker of the concern ; and no one sus- 
 pected that John Burton had any financial interest 
 in it. That quiet gentleman was unknown to fame 
 in San Francisco. He took possession of a private 
 office inaccessible to customers, and lived in 
 secluded apartments. 
 
 Blake & Company first attracted speculative 
 
 191
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 attention by its masterly handling of the corner in 
 the stock of Don Pedro Smelting and Mining Com- 
 pany. In that campaign the affrighted " shorts ' ; 
 trampled each other under foot in efforts to meet 
 their contracts. The profits of the firm were esti- 
 mated at a million and a half. John Hawkins was 
 publicly named as the manipulator and principal 
 winner, but James Blake was hailed as the daring 
 operator whose brilliant generalship had crowned 
 the success of the deal. In the speculative firma- 
 ment he suddenly blazed forth as a star of the first 
 magnitude. 
 
 Those who had laughed at Blake's numerous 
 failures were the first to congratulate him. The 
 fawning followers of success hastened to declare 
 their allegiance. Customers flocked to the new 
 firm and gazed with awe at the majestic figure of 
 Mr. Hawkins, who occasionally visited the offices 
 and held mysterious conferences with James Blake, 
 or with the unknown and silent Burton. Those 
 few who knew John Burton by sight considered 
 him a possible customer, or more likely a plodding 
 lieutenant in the employ of Blake. 
 
 James Blake suddenly developed traits which 
 bewildered his friends and surprised himself. 
 Under the guidance of John Burt he mastered the 
 details of the business, displaying ability in dealing 
 with the intricacies which formed the daily routine. 
 Incapable of acting for himself, he could follow a 
 chartered course with the precision of a pilot. - 
 192
 
 SUCCESS AND FAILURE 
 
 Nature had denied to James Blake that spark 
 of genius which inspires the leader, but he pos- 
 sessed in a high degree those traits which leader- 
 ship attracts and invests with power. He grasped 
 Burt's plans of campaign with the intuition of a 
 Bernadotte, and executed them with the dash and 
 skill of a Murat. He made several speculative ex- 
 periments on his own account, some of them at 
 considerable expense, before becoming convinced 
 that " he could not bet his own chips," as he ex- 
 pressed it. He then decided to become rich by 
 following the advice of the quiet man who occupied 
 an inner room in the luxurious offices. 
 
 In the two years which followed, wealth poured 
 into the coffers of James Blake & Company. Blake 
 became a bank director and an investor in mines, 
 railroads, and other properties. Burt did not hesi- 
 tate to place his millions in the hands of his friend. 
 No word of anger or shade of doubt arose between 
 them during these eventful months. 
 
 Blake's name figured in great financial transac- 
 tions, and his opinion was eagerly sought in matters 
 of commercial moment. Handsome as Apollo, and 
 the reputed possessor of a large fortune, he became 
 a society lion, a popular club man, and the target 
 of matrimonial archers. 
 
 But Blake's heart was true to the charming 
 Mrs. Worthington. 
 
 "A man who respects himself cannot marry a 
 wealthy widow on less than a million," he said to 
 
 193
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 John. "If I follow your advice I'll be a Benedict 
 in a year or so. And Pauline, dear girl, is worth 
 waiting for." 
 
 Blake accepted his honors with dignity and 
 modesty. He was willing and proud to shine in 
 the reflected light of John Burt. He would have 
 endured unmerited disgrace as serenely as he wore 
 unwon honors. 
 
 From the moment when Peter Burt stood with 
 uplifted arms in the lightning's glare and gave him 
 a blessing, John Burt had no doubt of his financial 
 future. With his eyes fixed unwaveringly on an 
 immediate purpose, he had boldly commanded for- 
 tune to do his bidding. Sternly repressing the 
 desire to taste the fruits of early triumphs, he had 
 immured himself from the world and the ones he 
 loved, content to await the time appointed by destiny 
 for the crucial contest, and at last that hour was at 
 hand. 
 
 A profile portrait of Jessie Garden rested on an 
 easel which stood near the desk in his library. It 
 was the work of an artist of local fame, drawn from 
 a tintype photograph his sole memento of the 
 woman he loved. The pink paper frame, with a 
 design in hearts and roses, which surrounded the 
 photograph, was frayed and torn, but Jessie's sweet 
 face was revealed on the glossy surface of the metal 
 the face which had looked into his one summer 
 day when they rode to Hingham, and Jessie pro- 
 posed they should " have their tintypes taken." 
 194
 
 SUCCESS AND FAILURE 
 
 A wandering photographer had pitched his 
 tent near the old churchyard. Large frames, con- 
 taining innumerable samples of his skill, stood in 
 front of the tent photographs of country swains 
 hand in hand with laughing, blushing girls; blissful 
 couples, with the groom resting his hand on the 
 bride's shoulder, as if fearful she would escape, 
 rustic sports with tilted hats and cigars in their 
 mouths ; members of secret societies with dangling 
 swords and impressive regalia; sombre old maids, 
 with Niagara Falls showing in the background 
 these and others like them testified to the versatility 
 of his art. 
 
 Jessie was in her sixteenth year when the pic- 
 ture was taken, but the long riding-habit and the 
 queenly pose of her head against the plain back- 
 ground added dignity to the nascent charms of face 
 and figure. The San Francisco artist had taken 
 this crude print as his subject, and by rare chance 
 had caught the spirit and transferred it to canvas. 
 
 John would sit for hours during the long even- 
 ings and gaze at this portrait. It was the one visi- 
 ble connecting link between the past and the present, 
 the ocular inspiration for his future. He regretted 
 a thousand times that the face was not turned 
 towards him, that he might look again into those 
 eyes and force the canvas to convey his thoughts. 
 
 Again and again he attempted to picture the 
 Jessie Garden of the present. With his eyes fixed 
 on the portrait, and his mind centered on its origi- 
 ns
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 nal, he struggled to span the void of miles and years 
 which parted them, and to hold communion with 
 her. At times he imagined the message was received, 
 and that a loving answer came, bidding him to have 
 faith and to persevere. Surely such correspondence 
 was not in violation of his promise to Peter Burt ! 
 Then he would turn to his books, and with a light 
 heart toil far into the night. In this room he mas- 
 tered the secrets of finance and of commerce. With 
 himself as tutor, he took a postgraduate course 
 in business. No detail was too slight, no problem 
 too intricate, to escape his attention. The world 
 was the chessboard of his future operations, and he 
 explored its past and studied its present with zeal 
 unflagging and faith unbounded. 
 
 But when slumber fell upon him, and his soul 
 wandered into unknown regions, he dreamed 
 dreamed not of millions nor of triumphs over master 
 minds. He dreamed of Jessie Garden. 
 
 196
 
 CHAPTER NINETEEN 
 
 A BRILLIANT CAMPAIGN 
 
 JAMES BLAKE yet longed for speculative 
 laurels. His one ambition was to achieve some 
 sweeping coup, and taste the inward joy of 
 triumph sweeter far than the undeserved fame 
 which had been thrust upon him. He esteemed the 
 financial spoils of such a victory as nothing compared 
 to the pride he would feel in justifying John Hurt's 
 confidence in his abilities. 
 
 Blake lived in an atmosphere of chance. Day 
 after day he witnessed the success of men who had 
 sought and followed his advice, and it was madden- 
 ing to reflect that fortune seemed to avert her face 
 whenever he himself petitioned at her shrine. But 
 no rebuff can entirely shatter that yearning faith 
 which nerves the hand of the votary of chance, and 
 Blake still believed that the time would come when 
 the fickle goddess would smile on him. He was not 
 so vain as to compare himself with John Burt, nor 
 so unkind as to attribute the latter's success to luck; 
 but he did believe that the fates had strangely 
 requited his abilities! 
 
 " For an unlucky man I am probably the lucki- 
 est person in the world," he said to himself as he 
 pondered his odd situation. "I am fate's freak 1" 
 When he had amassed half a million of dollars 
 the temptation to risk it was too strong to be 
 resisted. John Burt had just terminated a campaign 
 which had netted him nearly a million in profit, and 
 
 197
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 John Hawkins had been equally successful. Blake 
 saw a chance and took it. With nerve and skill he 
 forced a stock to a point where victory seemed cer- 
 tain; but an unforeseen event ruined his chances at 
 the moment when the spell of ill-luck seemed broken. 
 The market turned, but by a series of moves, bril- 
 liant as if inspired by success instead of disaster, 
 Blake saved himself from a complete rout, and 
 emerged with one-half of his capital. 
 
 For the first time in his life Blake was discour- 
 aged. He was too much cast down to inform John 
 Burt of this disaster. He felt that his defeat was 
 undeserved, and for a while he remained moody and 
 despondent; but he finally recovered his spirits, and 
 grimly decided to make another effort at the first 
 opportunity. 
 
 A few days later he held an interview with John 
 Burt an interview destined to mark an epoch in his 
 career. 
 
 " Can you arrange your affairs so as to go to 
 New York for me, starting on Saturday?" asked 
 John Burt. 
 
 "I can start to-night if necessary," replied 
 Blake. 
 
 "Saturday night will be better," said Burt. 
 "Two important railroad stocks will decline heavily 
 next week. They are now buoyant, and the public 
 is eager to buy them. I shall have disposed of my 
 interest in them before you reach New York. Two 
 million dollars will be placed there to your credit. 
 198
 
 A BRILLIANT CAMPAIGN 
 
 Proceed at once, on your arrival, to sell short one 
 hundred thousand shares of each of these stocks. 
 You should be able to do this in three days without 
 seriously breaking the market. Wire me the moment 
 you have sold these amounts. You hold in your 
 name between five and six million dollars' worth of 
 stocks and bonds, which are listed on the New York 
 Exchange. Express them to New York at once. I 
 propose to convert them into cash. When I wire 
 you, throw them on the market and sell more of the 
 railroad stocks. I have designed a special cipher 
 code with which you must become familiar. This is 
 our introduction to the Eastern market. We'll dis- 
 cuss the details before you leave, and I have absolute 
 faith in your ability to conduct the campaign." 
 
 For a moment the magnitude of the proposed 
 operation, and its weight of responsibility, almost 
 crushed James Blake. He was worth but a paltry 
 amount, with a long record of speculative failures, 
 yet John Burt proposed to intrust him with millions, 
 without the scratch of a pen for security. More 
 than that, he was deemed worthy to conduct one of 
 the most colossal operations in the history of specu- 
 lation. 
 
 It was a proud moment for Blake. There was 
 no shadow of envy or jealousy in his thoughts as he 
 looked into the face of the companion of his boy- 
 hood, and heard him speak calmly of millions and 
 of launching them against the giants of Wall Street. 
 
 " I can do it ! I will do it ! " he exclaimed. " I 
 
 199
 
 JOHN B U R T 
 
 see your plan, and it's magnificent, John, magnifi- 
 cent ! It will win win beyond a doubt. But you 
 took my breath away at first, John." 
 
 "Your special commission will be the profits on 
 fifty thousand shares," continued John Burt. " Un- 
 less I am much mistaken this will more than recoup 
 your recent loss. You deserved to win in that ven- 
 ture, Jim, and I congratulate you on the splendid 
 way in which you retreated. A masterly retreat is 
 more creditable than a haphazard victory. How 
 did I learn of it? I'll tell you some time. There 
 are other matters in which I am much interested, 
 and of which I have not spoken in years. 
 
 John was silent for a moment, and a far-off look 
 came to his eyes. 
 
 "I have two important personal commissions 
 for you, Jim," he said, looking into the face of his 
 friend. 
 
 "While in New York ascertain for me if Arthur 
 Morris is alive. Find out what he is doing, and 
 learn what you can about him. The second task is 
 a more delicate one. It concerns Miss Garden. I 
 wish to know " 
 
 "I know exactly what you want," interrupted 
 Jim Blake as John hesitated. " You want to know 
 all about her; and you shall have a full report when 
 I return. You want to know where she is, how she 
 is, if she yet loves you, and " 
 
 "You need not attempt the latter task," said 
 John rather shortly. "You are likely to under- 
 
 200
 
 A BRILLIANT CAMPAIGN 
 
 take too much. For the present I do not care to 
 acquaint Miss Garden, or any one in the East, with 
 my whereabouts, or even with the fact of my exist- 
 ence. Be careful in this matter, Jim. Of course 
 you will go to Hingham and visit your kinsfolk. 
 You can easily learn all I care to know from the 
 Bishops, or perhaps from Sam Rounds. If not, go 
 to Boston; but get the facts without calling on 
 Miss Garden. You understand, don't you, Jim?" 
 
 " Certainly I do, old fellow," said Jim heartily. 
 " I'll be as cautious as a dime-novel sleuth. I won't 
 spoil your little surprise party. But honestly, John, 
 I'd much rather have the privilege of meeting Miss 
 Garden and telling her that I knew a man named 
 John Burt ; that he's very much alive, healthy, and 
 handsome; that he's worth more millions than her 
 father ever saw, and that she's the luckiest little 
 maiden in all New England to have the love of 
 such a man." 
 
 " She might not agree with you, Jim," laughed 
 John Burt. " I certainly haven't said anything 
 which would lead you to suppose that that " 
 
 "Of course you haven't, but I know you love 
 her, and I'll bet she loves you. I can read a lover 
 as you read a stock ticker. I take off my hat to 
 you, John, on all other subjects, but we are peers 
 when it comes to affairs of the heart. But you 
 needn't worry about my discretion. I hope to bring 
 back news that will make you the happiest man in 
 California." 
 
 201
 
 JOHN B U R T 
 
 After repeated conferences every detail of the 
 Wall Street campaign was agreed upon, and James 
 Blake set his face towards the East. 
 
 "John Hurt's a strange lover," mused Blake as 
 he lounged back in a chair in John Hawkins' private 
 car, soothed by the rhythm of the rolling wheels. 
 " It's more than four years since he has spoken her 
 name to me. Come to think of it, he never said 
 that she loved him or that he loved her. Well, John 
 loves her. A man don't shoot up young millionaires 
 on account of passing friendships. John won't 
 even admit that the portrait in his room is Miss 
 Garden, but I know it is. Of course it is ! I hope 
 she's good enough for John. He's a royal fellow; 
 a royal good fellow is John. Eight million dollars 
 and I'll bet he has two millions more ! His mines 
 are paying him a million and a half a year. If he 
 has made a mistake in stocks in two years I've not 
 heard of it. The ticker tells him all its secrets. 
 And what has he gotten out of it? I have most of 
 his money and all of his fame. Talk about your 
 plots and romances and fiction; they're like coun- 
 terfeit money compared with this I I suppose I'm 
 the champion counterfeit of the universe. Suppose 
 I should drop dead ? Well I won't drop dead. If 
 such a minor catastrophe had been decreed, John 
 would know of it in advance. He knows everything ! 
 But this Miss Garden problem may down him. They 
 say every man has some weak point some Achilles' 
 heel. Perhaps John's weak point is woman. Here's
 
 A BRILLIANT CAMPAIGN 
 
 where I may help him out. God knows he's done 
 enough for me ; perhaps this is where I pay part of 
 the debt. Miss Jessie will marry John if I have to 
 commit murder that is, if John wants to marry 
 her, and it's a sure thing he does. I wonder if she's 
 as pretty as that picture! Ah, well; love is a tough 
 proposition. Eight million dollars in the keeping 
 of a pauper! The thought of it drives me to 
 drink!" 
 
 Blake rang the bell and instructed the steward 
 to bring him a pint of Mr. Hawkins' favorite 
 wine. He smoked a cigar, sipped the wine slowly, 
 dropped into a doze, and dreamed of a furious 
 conflict with Wall Street bulls and bears, who were 
 struggling for possession of Jessie Garden. Aided 
 by Peter Burt he charged into their ranks and res- 
 cued the fair maiden, who smiled and greeted him, 
 and handed him a check for eighty millions of 
 dollars. 
 
 "That's an easy way to make money," reflected 
 Blake as he awoke and rubbed his eyes. "If that 
 brand of wine holds out until I reach New York, 
 1 can pay off the national debt." 
 
 He arrived in New York on Friday evening. 
 Eurly the following morning he appeared in Wall 
 Street and presented letters of introduction to the 
 banks and brokers who had been selected by John 
 Burt as agents in the pending operations. 
 
 Blake found that his fame had preceded him. 
 Invitations to dinner and proffers of club privi-
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 leges were showered upon him, but he pleaded 
 fatigue and sought the seclusion of his hotel. 
 
 On Monday morning he opened accounts with 
 brokers and began selling small blocks of the two 
 railway stocks. The market was strong, and all 
 offerings were eagerly absorbed. 
 
 Never for a moment did Blake lose his head or 
 betray his hand. In three days he had sold one 
 hundred thousand shares of each stock, and the 
 market was stationary. He wired the fact to John 
 Burt and received instructions. The following day 
 he began the cash sale of the stocks and securities. 
 When half of them were sold the market began to 
 weaken. 
 
 On Thursday morning he received a cipher 
 telegram which, when translated, read as follows : 
 
 " Sell remainder of securities at market price, and then offer 
 railroads A and B in five thousand lots. ' ' 
 
 J. B. 
 
 Beneath the weight of these offerings the mar- 
 ket trembled and then broke sharply. Late in the 
 afternoon came the news of the resignation of power- 
 ful directors on railroads A and B ; the organization 
 of a competing line, and the passage of a resolution 
 for enormous bond issues. On Friday there came 
 the news of a general railroad strike, and the stam- 
 pede became a rout. 
 
 When James Blake went to bed late Saturday 
 night it was after fifty hours of work without sleep. 
 He had practically concluded one of the most deci- 
 204
 
 A BRILLIANT CAMPAIGN 
 
 sive campaigns ever waged on the Street. Before 
 turning out the lights he again read a telegram 
 received a few hours before, and his handsome face 
 flushed with pleasure as he read : 
 
 "Accept my congratulations on your superb handling of our 
 campaign. Mr. Hawkins joins in salutations and we drink your 
 health." 
 
 J. B. 
 
 "'Our' campaign?" said Blake, half aloud. 
 "That's the highest of compliments. I would like 
 to plan and win the fruits of one campaign such as 
 this. John must have won fortunes, and I'm a mil- 
 lionaire at last. Wonder if I can sleep. Here 
 goes." 
 
 He dropped into a slumber deep and untrou- 
 bled as that of a child.
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY 
 
 IN STRICT CONFIDENCE 
 
 LIKE disturbed and enraged hornets, Wall 
 Street buzzed the name of Blake for a while, 
 and again swarmed angrily about its stand- 
 ards. Nothing makes a lasting impression on the 
 collective Wall Street intellect. Should the Street 
 survive a cataclysm, the event would be ancient his- 
 tory in a week, and of less moment than the mor- 
 row's bank statement. 
 
 To arouse Wall Street one must send a shock 
 through the nerves of the financial world ; he must 
 retard or accelerate the speed of the Titanic balance- 
 wheel of commerce. Great events produce this 
 phenomenon individuals seldom do. Few men suc- 
 ceed in riveting on themselves the concentrated gaze 
 of Argus-eyed Speculation. 
 
 James Blake found himself the Wall Street 
 hero of the hour. He was acclaimed the young 
 financial giant from the Pacific Slope a market 
 Ivanhoe who had driven his lance through the armor 
 of famed knights and warriors. 
 
 He drank deep of the glorious nectar of vic- 
 tory. The day had dawned when he could accept 
 honors fairly won. While admitting that John Burt 
 was the master-mind of the campaign, Blake knew 
 that he had played no small part in its consumma- 
 tion. He had invested every dollar of his own. He 
 had carried his stock to the bottom of the market 
 and covered in time to profit on the reaction. In 
 206
 
 IN STRICT CONFIDENCE 
 
 a week of furious conflict he had not made a mis- 
 take. 
 
 It requires superb will-power to withstand the 
 intoxicating fumes of success. The average man 
 easily resists the poison of adversity. Defeat is 
 deadened with the languor of laudanum. Success 
 staggers with the stimulation of strychnine. 
 
 New York threw open her gates as to a victori- 
 ous general, proud to be looted in honor of his 
 fame. She became the opulent and willing mistress 
 to his pleasures. She fanned his fevered brow and 
 whispered soft words of praise into his ears. 
 
 He banqueted with money kings in staid old 
 clubs ; he met as an equal the dashing young scions 
 of wealth around the boards in fashionable cafes; 
 he drifted through drawing-rooms brilliant in light, 
 and looked into the admiring faces of radiant 
 women ; he mingled with the jeweled throng in play- 
 house and opera ; he read his name and the story of 
 his fame in the public prints and he forgot John 
 Burt. 
 
 He spent an evening in a Fifth Avenue Club 
 the guest of a young banker and broker who had 
 profited from the coup. Blake was faultlessly 
 dressed, and his fine face was more handsome than 
 ever. Three years spent in the cosmopolitan atmos- 
 phere of San Francisco had smoothed the rough 
 edges without making him dully conventional. He 
 goodnaturedly declined to discuss his triumphs in 
 California, but told with spirit, frankness and humor 
 
 207
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 the tales of successive reverses, and modestly attrib- 
 uted his recent run of success to luck. 
 
 14 You must transfer your activities to New 
 York," advised young Kingsley, who had been 
 willed several millions and a banking business. 
 44 San Francisco is too small and provincial for you. 
 A man who can handle a deal as you did belongs 
 near Wall Street. Ah, here comes a fellow you 
 must meet! " 
 
 A thick-set young man had entered the room. 
 He stood and listened with a bored expression to a 
 friend who was enthusiastic over some matter, and 
 persisted in repeatedly shaking hands. 
 
 44 That's Morris Arthur Morris," explained 
 Kingsley. u Son of old Randolph Morris don't 
 you know. Pere Morris retired from business 
 two weeks ago and turned everything over to 
 Arthur. He was a wild one, but he's settled 
 down. The Morris millions won't shrink in his 
 hands. I want you to know him, Blake. When 
 that idiot Smalley breaks away I'll call Morris over 
 here. He'll be glad to meet you. You helped 
 him make a winning last week. He happened to 
 be on the right side of the market, and when you 
 exploded that bomb he had sense enough to profit 
 by it. Here he comes." 
 
 When Morris's name was mentioned Blake 
 started and gazed intently at the stolid face and 
 heavy figure in the far corner of the smoking-room. 
 With shame he recalled that he had made no inquiry 
 208
 
 IN STRICT CONFIDENCE 
 
 concerning this man, whose death or existence 
 meant so much to John Burt. 
 
 For a moment his nerves tingled, and he longed 
 to walk across the room and choke Morris for 
 John's sake, but he reflected that this was folly. It 
 was enough to know that Morris lived. John Burt 
 was dead so far as Arthur Morris was concerned 
 and Blake, as John's reincarnation, threw himself 
 on guard, determined to profit to the utmost by 
 the incident. The easy air of polite interest which 
 he assumed when the young millionaire approached 
 was worthy of a Garrick or a Booth. 
 
 "Glad to see you, old man!" exclaimed Kings- 
 ley, rising to greet Morris. " I want you to know 
 my friend, Mr. Blake Mr. James Blake, of San 
 Francisco Mr. Arthur Morris. You certainly have 
 heard " 
 
 " 'Pon my word this is unexpected luck ! " 
 Arthur Morris thrust forward a soft hand and 
 winced as Blake clasped it with simulated hearti- 
 ness. 
 
 " Delighted to meet you, Mr. Blake ! " Morris 
 exclaimed. "Been looking for you everywhere! 
 Sent my card to your apartments this evening. By 
 Jove, you're a corker, don't you know, Mr. Blake! 
 Waiter, a bottle of Perier Gouet, '54. I want to 
 drink your health, Mr. Blake. Had a small share 
 in your victory trailed along behind your triumphal 
 car. A mere trifle of a few thousands, don't you 
 know, but a fellow never goes broke taking profits;
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 eh, Mr. Blake? Deuced lucky I happened to be 
 on the right side. Sheer chance, I assure you!" 
 
 "Glad to meet you, Mr. Morris! " said James 
 Blake, looking him full in the eyes. "I've heard of 
 your father, and the famous old firm, and learned 
 only to-day that you've succeeded him in business." 
 
 John Burt had told him little concerning the 
 man who sat by his side. From the first night spent 
 in the old log cabin on the mountain-side until the in- 
 terview which preceded Blake's departure for New 
 York, John Burt refused to discuss the events which 
 had made him a refugee. After one or two attempts 
 to revert to these incidents, Blake wisely refrained 
 from pressing the subject. By no word or sign 
 did John display interest in Morris. 
 
 At times Blake was inclined to believe that the 
 stern and successful pursuit of wealth had dulled 
 John's hatred of Morris. The parting interview 
 did little to solve the riddle. 
 
 Two years spent by Arthur Morris in an 
 apprenticeship to the trade of money grasping and 
 holding had seamed the puffed, round face with 
 hard lines. The once dull eyes glowed with the 
 'newly-lighted fires of avarice. The sensuous lips 
 dropped at the corners with a cruel curve. The 
 former air of indifference was replaced by the alert- 
 ness of defence and aggressiveness. The handling 
 of money had quickened those mental and physical 
 forces which respond to the clink of gold. 
 
 Close observers predicted a great career for 
 
 tio
 
 IN STRICT CONFIDENCE 
 
 Arthur Morris. His father was delighted with the 
 transformation and did not hesitate to give to his 
 heir the keys which unlocked the Morris treasure 
 vaults. 
 
 The hours glided by to the music of clinking 
 glasses and the rising clatter of conversation. The 
 twenty or more men who had clustered around the 
 mahogany table segregated into smaller groups. 
 Some discussed Wall Street, others declaimed on 
 the issues of the pending election. Some waxed 
 eloquent over art, music or amusements. Others 
 recounted society triumphs or their successes in 
 affairs of the heart. Yet others, under the egoistic 
 spell of the grape, delivered monodies on that most 
 engrossing of all topics themselves. 
 
 And as James Blake talked and listened and 
 drank, his aversion to Arthur Morris relaxed. 
 Bacchus fires the passions of certain of his devotees 
 and subdues them in others. Surely these were royal 
 good fellows ! Success and power were stamped on 
 their faces. He loved John Burt and was eager to 
 espouse his cause, but John had not commissioned 
 him to quarrel with Arthur Morris. Perhaps the 
 affair of the years before was only a boyhood dis- 
 pute? 
 
 He glanced at the white expanse of Morris's 
 shirt front and wondered if the scar of John's bullet 
 showed over his heart. Morris lived, and the 
 thought came to Blake that the score was even 
 between John and the young millionaire. The feud 
 
 211
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 had made John rich why should John complain? 
 And Arthur Morris did not seem to be such a bad 
 sort of a fellow after all. 
 
 Thus reasoned Blake as Morris took his arm 
 and led him away from the noisy club men. The 
 old-fashioned clock slowly chimed the hour of mid- 
 night. 
 
 "Say we get out of this? " said Morris, proffer- 
 ing a cigarette case. " Smalley is making a nuisance 
 of himself as usual. Your friend Kingsley is nearly 
 asleep. You'll be my guest to-night, Blake. Won't 
 listen to a refusal, my dear fellow ! I've bachelor 
 apartments, and anything you ask is yours. I want 
 to have a quiet chat with you. Let's make our 
 excuses and stroll to Delmonico's for a bite of sup- 
 per. Then we'll go to my rooms." 
 
 Blake accepted the invitation, and after supper 
 they drove to the Morris apartment. Nothing had 
 been omitted in the furnishing of these rooms. 
 Rare old paintings and statuary vied with other 
 adornments at the command of unrestricted fancy. 
 
 " I'm rather fond of these quarters, don't you 
 know," said Morris, as he showed his guest through 
 a suite worthy of a Lucullus. " Picked up some of 
 this stuff abroad, and the governor contributed 
 the rest of it. Rammohun, serve us that 1809 
 brandy!" 
 
 The Indian servant bowed and moved noise- 
 lessly away. Morris opened a writing-desk and 
 glanced at a number of unopened letters. 
 
 Ml
 
 IN STRICT CONFIDENCE 
 
 " Excuse me for a moment, will you, old man?" 
 he said. "This reminds me that I must write a 
 short letter and have it posted to-night. It will take 
 only a minute or two. This is my private den. 
 Look it over or make yourself comfortable. In 
 the meantime try this brandy. I can recommend it." 
 
 While Morris was writing, his guest strolled 
 around the sumptuous "den." Three sides of it 
 were lined with carved ebony cases enclosing rows 
 of richly bound books and priceless prints. No 
 student would have been deceived by this array. 
 There was an ornate, orderly air which told not of 
 learning. Imprisoned within the uncut leaves was 
 the romance, wit, poetry, philosophy, and research 
 of a hundred generations, swathed like mummies in 
 gilded cartonnage. On the walls were specimens of 
 Hogarth's cartoons, side by side with recent pro- 
 ductions, whose sensualism lacked the questionable 
 sanction which age gives to indecency. 
 
 In an alcove, partially formed by a bay window, 
 stood an easel, upholding a large frame. The 
 light struck the canvas in such a way that Blake 
 did not recognize the subject until squarely in front 
 of it. He saw a portrait of a young woman, 
 garbed in a dark riding habit, a spray of golden rod 
 fastened to her dress, and a whip carelessly held in 
 the little hand. Folds of dark hair fell from the 
 jaunty cap, and crowned the queenly pose of the 
 head. 
 
 It was a portrait of Jessie Garden not the 
 
 213
 
 JOHN B U R T 
 
 Jessie Garden drawn by the San Francisco artist 
 from the faded tintype but the Jessie Garden of 
 later years, whose face and figure had taken on the 
 perfect grace of womanhood. Yet the pose was 
 exactly the same as that of the portrait Blake had 
 admired so many times in John Hurt's study room. 
 
 Amazed and lost in thought, Blake did not 
 hear Arthur Morris as he approached and stood 
 back of him. He flushed when Morris touched 
 him on the shoulder. 
 
 " By Jove, that portrait must have great attrac- 
 tion for you ! " laughed Morris. " You've been 
 staring at it five minutes." 
 
 An inspiration came to James Blake. Always 
 impulsive, he did not hesitate to act on the spur 
 of the moment. 
 
 "Why, I know her! " he exclaimed. "I'm sure 
 I know her that is, I used to know her, years 
 ago!" 
 
 " You know her? You're dreaming, old chap! 
 You never saw her in your life ! A box at the opera 
 you cannot tell her name! " 
 
 "Done!" said Blake. "That's a portrait of 
 Miss Garden Miss Jessie Garden, of Boston." 
 
 An expression of dumb surprise swept across 
 the face of Arthur Morris. With half-opened 
 mouth and staring eyes he gazed at James Blake. 
 The sealed letter in his hand fell to the floor. 
 
 "Well, I'll be-. Well, of all things I" He 
 sank into a chair and laughed feebly. "I say, old
 
 IN STRICT CONFIDENCE 
 
 fellow, you took me off my feet! How the devil 
 did you guess that name? What are you a wizard? 
 By Jove, that's the most extraordinary thing I ever 
 heard of!" 
 
 "Nothing wonderful about it!" said Blake, 
 who by this time had perfected his course. " I met 
 Miss Garden years ago, I tell you, and I at once 
 recognized the portrait. That's all there is to it." 
 
 "You met her? Where?" 
 
 u In the country, near Hingham, Massachu- 
 setts." 
 
 "How? When? By Jove, old fellow, this 
 beats me! What were you doing in Hingham?" 
 
 " I lived on a farm near there," replied Blake. 
 Morris leaned forward. For an instant fear had 
 possession of him. Who was this man who lived 
 on a farm near Hingham, and who once was ac- 
 quainted with Jessie Garden? Was he John Burt? 
 
 Morris's recollection of the country boy who 
 had brought him near death's door was vague and 
 uncertain. He had met him only three times, and 
 until the day of the clambake deemed him worthy 
 of no more notice than the average country lout. 
 But there had been burned into his mind a grim 
 vision of certain cold gray eyes and of a firm set 
 mouth; a flashlight of John Burt as he leaped 
 under the revolver and grappled him in the old 
 inn. 
 
 No, those were not John Burt's eyes, nor did 
 the graceful moustache conceal the implacable Burt 
 
 215
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 mouth. Arthur Morris breathed an inward sigh of 
 relief and leaned back in his chair. 
 
 "From the time I was thirteen until I ran away 
 from home," Blake had continued, with noncha- 
 lance and confident mendacity, "I lived on a farm 
 about three miles from the old Bishop mansion. 
 Miss Garden used to visit there in the summer 
 seasons and I saw her frequently. I don't sup- 
 pose she would remember me. I was the son of 
 a poor farmer, you know, and not in her class, 
 though she was kind enough to speak to me on 
 several occasions picnics, country celebrations and 
 affairs like that. You city folks stoop to address 
 us common clay during the vacation period, and as 
 I recall Miss Garden she was more than usually dem- 
 ocratic, and therefore popular. The last time I saw 
 her she cantered past our house with a friend of mine. 
 That reminds me dear old John I must look him 
 up when I go to Rocky Woods." 
 
 Blake threw back his head and reflectively 
 exhaled a wreath of cigar smoke. Morris looked at 
 him with an expression of mingled fear and curi- 
 osity. 
 
 " Miss Garden was about fifteen years old then," 
 Blake added, " and she wore a riding suit much like 
 that. I recognized the portrait instantly. Does 
 this explain the mystery? I don't see anything 
 wonderful about it except that you have her por- 
 trait, and that is probably easily expla-'ned. I'm not 
 prying into your affairs, old man?" 
 ai6
 
 IN STRICT CONFIDENCE 
 
 "Not at all not at all! Rammohun; brandy 
 and two bottles of soda," ordered Morris, mopping 
 his forehead. " By Jove, this is remarkable ! Gad, 
 but this is a small world ! You don't understand, 
 old man, what I'm talking about, but I'll explain 
 after a bit. You speak of a friend of yours John, 
 you call him what was his last name?" 
 
 " Burt." 
 
 "Where is he now?" Morris leaned eagerly 
 forward, his face gray and his lower lip twitching. 
 
 " Sure, I don't know! He was with his grand- 
 father on the old Burt farm in Rocky Woods when 
 I left Massachusetts. I've not been there since, 
 you know. None of my people live there now, and 
 I've been too busy or lazy to write. Why; do you 
 know John Burt?" 
 
 "Confound it, man, he shot me!" exclaimed 
 Morris springing to his feet and pacing up and 
 down the room. " He shot me, I tell you, and all 
 but put me out for good! And he did it on 
 account of the girl whose portrait you're admiring. 
 The blasted cad was crazy jealous over Miss Garden, 
 who had been so foolish as to tolerate his company. 
 When I pushed him aside and it was not difficult, 
 I assure you he picked a quarrel with me in a 
 tavern and shot me through the left lung. Laid me 
 up for three months. That old desperado of a 
 grandfather of his nearly killed two officers and 
 aided him to escape. He has not been heard of
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 "John shot you; John Burt?" Blake seemed 
 speechless from astonishment. 
 
 " By Jove, old chap, you gave me a start, don't 
 you know ! " said Morris, with a long drawn sigh of 
 relief. " It's ridiculous, of course, but for a moment, 
 don't you know, I thought you were John Burt." 
 Morris laughed nervously. 
 
 " No, I'm not John Burt," asserted Blake, with 
 a smile that faded into a frown. 
 
 " Of course not ; why, certainly not ! It's absurd, 
 and all that sort of thing!" stammered Morris. 
 " Beg pardon, old fellow, for working myself into 
 such beastly excitement, but it is so confounded odd 
 that you know two persons who have played so 
 large a part in my life though it's a shame to men- 
 tion them in the same breath." Morris looked lov- 
 ingly at the portrait of Jessie Garden. 
 
 Blake plied Morris with questions. The latter 
 took large draughts of brandy and recited the suc- 
 cessive chapters which led to the tragedy. Except 
 that he made himself the hero of the tale, his ac- 
 count agreed with that told by John Burt. Blake 
 partook sparingly of the brandy, but Morris fed his 
 aroused hate and recollection with the fiery fluid. 
 
 With the skill of a practiced lawyer, Blake led 
 his host back to the subject of the portrait. For a 
 time Morris parried these indirect questions, but 
 under the spell of Blake's pretended sympathy and 
 the subtle inspiration of an intoxication both mental 
 and physical, he became garrulously confidential. 
 218
 
 IN STRICT CONFIDENCE 
 
 Mixed with a torrent of invective against John 
 Burt were the fragments of a narrative which 
 astounded and pained James Blake, but Morris had 
 reached a point where nothing but the sound of his 
 own voice held his attention. After hours of end- 
 less repetitions and maudlin self-laudation, he told 
 a story which can be condensed in a few words. 
 
 According to Morris he was madly in love 
 with Jessie Garden from the moment he saw her. 
 Before he recovered from his wound she was sent 
 abroad by General Garden to complete her educa- 
 tion in Paris and Berlin. Morris corresponded 
 with her, and called on her in Berlin. Two years 
 later General Garden failed in business, his private 
 fortune being wiped out in the crash. Jessie came 
 back from Europe and remained a year with the 
 Bishops. Arthur had induced his father to place 
 General Garden in a salaried position with the 
 Morris bank in New York, and he persuaded Gen- 
 eral Garden to accept a loan sufficient to defray 
 Jessie's expenses in a second trip abroad. She 
 was in Paris, but had completed her studies, and 
 would return in a few weeks. He was engaged to 
 the dear girl, but the date of the wedding had not! 
 been set. The portrait had been painted for him, 
 with Jessie's consent, by a famous Parisian artist. 
 
 "I've told you more'n any man living," half 
 sobbed Morris, as he leaned on James Blake's 
 shoulder. " Even the governor dear old gov- 
 ernor don't know it I "
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 Tears stood in his inflamed eyes and trickled 
 down his red, blotched cheeks. 
 
 " You'll keep my secret, won't you, old chap ?" 
 he pleaded maudlinly. "You're the bes' frien' 
 I've, got in the world ! People don't like me ; they 
 don't know me. You know me, Blake, old fel', 
 don't you? I'm sen'mental that's what makes me 
 cry. By Jove, you'll be my bes' man at weddin' 
 bes' man at my weddin' won't you ? " 
 
 He lurched into a chair. The trained and 
 alert Rammohun appeared, deftly undressed him, 
 and solemnly conveyed him to an inner room. 
 
 " Poor John I " sighed Blake a few minutes 
 later as the Indian servant showed him his room 
 and softly closed the door. " Poor John ! Love's 
 a tough proposition, and I'm afraid John's on a 
 dead card 1 He has waited too long." 
 
 22C
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 
 
 BAD NEWS 
 
 WHEN Blake arrived in Hingham he felt like 
 a stranger in a foreign land. His parents 
 were dead and his relatives scattered. The 
 village looked smaller than when he was a boy. 
 The three-story business blocks, which once typi- 
 fied monumental architecture, were wonderfully 
 shrunken, and the old church seemed a toy house. 
 The only natural feature was the group of loungers 
 on the depot platform. He recognized many of 
 the familiar figures, whose faces and postures were 
 unchanged in the flight of years. 
 
 "Old Bill Rawlins," the drayman, leaned against 
 the same corner, and aimed tobacco juice, with 
 deadly accuracy, at the same spot. Hiram Jones, 
 the retired cobbler, and Ross Taylor whose source 
 of income had been a Hingham mystery for gen- 
 erations were still discussing the slavery question 
 with a fervor unabated since Blake's earliest recol- 
 lections. The same baggage-man was there, his 
 cropped beard a shade whiter, and his shoulders 
 slightly more bowed. 
 
 None of them recognized Blake, nor had they 
 learned of his fame. He felt himself in a living 
 graveyard. 
 
 Securing an open carriage and a driver from 
 a livery stable, he rode through the quiet streets 
 and out into the country. The old farmhouse, 
 where he had spent a miserable boyhood, looked 
 
 221
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 meaner than ever. The Norwegian woman who re- 
 sponded to his knock, peered at him doubtfully. 
 In broken English she declared that she did not 
 want to buy any sewing machines, and closed the 
 door in his face. A mangy dog snapped at his 
 heels and escorted him to the carriage. 
 
 "The hero's home-coming !" muttered Blake, 
 with a grim smile. " Drive to Thomas Bishop's 
 house," he ordered his man. 
 
 The drawn and dust-covered shutters of the 
 old mansion told their own story. From a passing 
 farmer Blake learned that the Bishops had moved 
 to New York months before. Half an hour later 
 he knocked on Peter Burt's door. 
 
 Blake had been commissioned to obtain all 
 possible news concerning Peter Burt, but John 
 cautioned him not to inform the old man even of 
 his existence. John briefly explained that he had 
 promised his grandfather not to communicate with 
 him or with any one in the East until certain 
 objects had been accomplished. What these ob- 
 jects were John did not specify, but instructed 
 Blake to carefully guard his secret. 
 
 As a boy, Blake stood in awe and fear of the 
 strange old man, but the years had obliterated this 
 feeling. His knock sounded hollow on the great 
 oaken door, and he wondered if the aged recluse 
 yet lived. Mrs. Jasper, the housekeeper, opened 
 the door, and Blake at once recognized her. 
 
 "How do you do, Mrs. Jasper? My name is 
 
 122
 
 BAD NEWS 
 
 Blake James Blake. I lived near here when a 
 boy. Don't you " 
 
 " Little Jimmy Blake ! Well, of all things ! I 
 never would have known ye. Come right in Mr. 
 Blake." 
 
 "Is Mr. Burt here?" 
 
 " Y-e-s, but I don't know if he'll see ye," she 
 said, hesitatingly, wiping her hands on her apron. 
 " He don't see nobody, ye know." 
 
 " Tell him who I am, and say I'm from Cali- 
 fornia," said Blake, who could think of no other 
 introduction. 
 
 They stood in the old-fashioned parlor where 
 Peter Burt had bound the officers the night John 
 Burt left Rocky Woods. As Mrs. Jasper hesitated, 
 the door leading to the sitting-room opened and 
 Peter Burt entered. Blake could not see that he 
 had changed a whit. Perhaps the broad shoulders 
 were a little more bowed, but the eyes glowed with 
 their former fire. Age had not ravished the strong 
 face nor robbed the massive figure of its strength. 
 He advanced to the center of the room, his eyes 
 fixed searchingly on the face of his visitor. 
 
 Beneath the spell of those eyes James Blake 
 millionaire and master of finance became a boy v 
 with all his boyish fear of Peter Burt. 
 
 "What have you to say to me, Blake? Be 
 seated, sir." 
 
 He motioned him to a chair, but did not offer 
 to shake hands. Blake took a seat in an antique 
 
 223
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 rocker and shifted his legs uneasily. His self-pos- 
 session evaporated. What was he to say to this old 
 man? How was he to lie to him? He felt that 
 those cold gray eyes were reading his secret thoughts. 
 He had posed so long as the financial and intellec- 
 tual representative of John Burt that a dual exist- 
 ence had become second nature, but in the presence 
 of Peter Burt he was only James Blake. 
 
 The audacity of his deception and the gro- 
 tesqueness of his position appalled him. Wearing 
 the honors and holding the fortune won by John 
 Burt, he had dared face the old man with lies poised 
 on his lips. The carefully-prepared story vanished 
 like mist before a gale. He would have given a 
 fortune to be once more in his carriage. But he 
 must say something. 
 
 "I just called to pay my respects, Mr. Burt," 
 he said. His voice sounded unnatural. His chair 
 was strangely uncomfortable. "I used to live near 
 here, you know, Mr. Burt, and I remember you 
 when I was a little boy. I used to play with your 
 grandson, John Burt. I " 
 
 "Where is John?" i 
 
 The old man straightened up, his huge hands 
 clasping the opposite arms of his chair. Blake 
 dropped his eyes and again crossed his legs. His 
 mouth was parched and the air seemed stifling. 
 
 "Where is John?" repeated Peter Burt in the 
 same inflection. "Answer me, sir I " 
 
 "John John I don't"
 
 BAD NEWS 
 
 " Do not lie to me, Blake. Tell me what you 
 know of my grandson." 
 
 "He is in California, sir!" exclaimed James 
 Blake. When these words were uttered he felt a 
 sensation of relief which was positively exhilarating. 
 "He is alive and well! John is rich, Mr. Burt! 
 He is a millionaire many times over!" 
 
 A grave smile lighted the features of Peter 
 Burt. He closed his eyes and lay back in the chair. 
 
 "Go on; tell me about it," he said, as Blake 
 paused. 
 
 For an hour or more the head of the firm of 
 James Blake & Company recited the history of 
 John Burt's career in California, and the result of 
 the recent speculative campaign in New York. 
 Once in a while the old man asked a question, but 
 he made no comment until the narrative was ended. 
 
 "Your heart dominates your judgment, but 
 that is a trait and not a fault," he said as he arose 
 and offered his hand to James Blake. " God gives 
 us emotions and faculties ; from them we must de- 
 velop character. Do not charge yourself with a 
 broken promise to John. Say to him that I ordered 
 you to give this information. He has kept his pact 
 with me. I send him my blessing. Say to him 
 that I am strong and well and happy. Say to him 
 that his future field of work is in New York city." 
 
 Peter Burt released Blake's hand. 
 
 " You have done well to respect the confidence 
 which John has placed in you," he continued. " You
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 love money, yet money has not tempted you to 
 swerve from the path of honor. Take heed lest 
 that which money often commands may cause you 
 to betray your friends. There are temptations and 
 lusts more alluring than the craving for wealth. 
 You are nearing a crisis, Blake. Be warned by 
 this admonition. Give my love and blessing to my 
 grandson, and say to him that I shall see him when 
 his fondest hopes are realized. Good-day, Blake." 
 
 Peter Burt stood in the doorway and watched 
 until the carriage disappeared beyond the old 
 graveyard. 
 
 "I'm glad that's ended!" said Blake to him- 
 self. " I wonder what I told the old man? Every- 
 thing, I guess. Feel as if I'd been in a trance, 
 I'm nearing a crisis, am I? Well, I'm used to 
 crises and guess I can stand one more. Who's 
 coming ? His face looks familiar. It's Sam Rounds ! 
 Stop, driver! Hollo, Sam ! How are you?" 
 
 Seated in a stylish road cart, behind a rangy, 
 high-stepping trotter, was one of the companions 
 of Blake's boyhood. Sam checked his horse, and, 
 with a puzzled grin, looked into the speaker's face. 
 
 " Haou de ye dew?" he drawled, slackening 
 the lines. " Ycr face looks fee-miliar like, but ye've 
 got the best of me, an' I don't regular forgit a 
 face nohow. An' yer voice don't sound strange 
 like, either. I believe I know ye ! It's Jim Blake ! 
 Haou air ye, Jim? Well, well, well! Who'd a 
 thunk it ; who'd a thunk it ? " 
 226
 
 BAD NEWS 
 
 Sam reached across and shook hands with a 
 vigor which nearly pulled Blake out of his car- 
 riage. 
 
 " Air ye the James Blake I've been readin' 
 erbout? The one that's been givin' them New 
 York sharps a whirl in stocks?" asked Sam. 
 
 Blake smiled and nodded his head. 
 
 " Is that so ? Well, well, well! Say, I'm plumb 
 glad to hear it 1" and Sam's smiling face showed it. 
 " I'm mighty glad Rocky Woods has turned out 
 somethin' better'n clam diggers, hoss dealers an' 
 circus riders. Say, you trimmed 'em up right an' 
 proper, didn't ye ? Shore, ye did ! Ain't never 
 hearn of John Burt, have ye ? No ? Well, he'll 
 turn up on top some day, an' don't ye fergit, Sam 
 Rounds allers said so. John is clean strain an' a 
 thoroughbred, if thar ever was one. That's right ! 
 Well, I'm glad ter meet you ergain, Jim. Where 
 be ye goin' to, Jim?" 
 
 " I'm going back to New York to-night," re- 
 plied Blake. " From there I return to San Fran- 
 cisco, 1 but expect soon to make New York my 
 home." 
 
 "Is that so? I'm livin' in New York now," 
 said Sam, handing Blake his card. " Moved there 
 several years ago. Started in ter sell horses, an' 
 then branched out an' went intew the provision an' 
 commission business. Mother an' I are here on a 
 visit fer a few days. I've been doin' fairly middlin' 
 well in New York, Jim. When you write me, be 
 
 2*7
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 shore an' put ' Hon.' before my name," and Sam 
 laughed until the rocks re-echoed his merriment. 
 
 "How is that?" asked Blake, gazing blankly 
 at the card. 
 
 " Read what it says," insisted Sam. " I'm 
 alderman of my deestrict, an' have just been re- 
 elected tew a second term. Fact ! " 
 
 " I congratulate you, Sam," said Blake, heartily. 
 
 " Sorry ye haven't time tew wait over an' go 
 back with us," Sam said. " But if ye are goin' tew 
 locate in New York, I'll see lots of ye. You must 
 let me know when you git there. I know mother 
 would like tew see you. We was wonderin' the 
 other night if you was the Blake of James Blake 
 an' Company." 
 
 " I certainly will look you up when I'm in New 
 York," said Blake. " My regards to your mother, 
 and say I'm sorry I didn't have time to call on her. 
 Are you married, Sam ? " 
 
 " Nop, but I has hopes," laughed Sam, gather- 
 ing up the lines. " Good-bye, Jim, good-bye, an' 
 more luck ter ye ! " 
 
 " Same to you, Sam ; good-bye ! " 
 ***** 
 
 Ten days later James Blake arrived in San 
 Francisco. His train was delayed, and the hour 
 was late, but he drove to John's apartment, and was 
 greeted by him in the old study room. Blake sat 
 where he looked at the portrait of Jessie Garden. 
 His heart sank within him. How could he break 
 228
 
 BAD NEWS 
 
 the news to his friend ? John heartily congratu- 
 lated Blake on his masterly generalship. 
 
 " We will talk business to-morrow, Jim," he 
 said. " I am more anxious to hear of other mat- 
 ters. Now, tell me the news. Did you hear of 
 Miss Garden? Is my grandfather alive?" 
 
 " Peter Burt is alive and well," said Blake, glad 
 to bring some good tidings. 
 
 " Alive and well," repeated John Burt. " May 
 God bless him ! You saw him, did you, Jim? How 
 I long to meet him again! That is good news. Go 
 on, Jim." 
 
 "Arthur Morris is alive," said Blake, without 
 lifting his eyes. 
 
 " The local papers contained that news," ob- 
 served John, carelessly. "The day after you left for 
 New York announcement was made of his succes- 
 sion to the management of the business of Ran- 
 dolph Morris & Company. Did you see him, Jim? 
 How does he stand in New York? What's the 
 matter, old man? You're pale. Are you ill?" 
 
 " I'm all right, John." 
 
 The portrait of Jessie Garden filled his vision, 
 and he turned so that he could not see it. 
 
 " I've bad news for you, John," he said, 
 desperately. " I may as well tell you and be over 
 with it. Miss Garden's engaged to be married!" 
 
 John's lip tightened and a red spot burned on 
 his cheek. 
 
 "To whom?" Hs hands clutched the arms
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 of his chair, and his attitude was the same as that 
 of Peter Hurt's when he demanded news of his 
 grandson. 
 
 "To Arthur Morris, John." 
 
 "It's a lie an infamous, damnable lie!" 
 
 John Burt sprang to his feet, hurling the chair 
 backward with a crash as his hands relaxed their 
 tension. He strode forward, his eyes blazing with 
 fury and his features convulsed with passion. 
 
 " It's a lie, Blake it's a lie, and you know it's 
 a lie!" 
 
 He towered above his astonished friend. His 
 fingers were clenched and his lips twitched. Turn- 
 ing abruptly, he walked across the room with his 
 hands pressed over his forehead. For a moment he 
 stood silent, then abruptly turned to Blake with his 
 hands outstretched. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Jim! Forgive me, old 
 man ! I didn't know what I was saying. Forgive 
 me, Jim, will you?" 
 
 "Certainly, John, but there's nothing to for- 
 give," replied Blake heartily as he grasped his 
 friend's hands. " It's my fault, anyhow. I'm a fool. 
 I always blurt things out. Perhaps it is a lie. Let 
 us hope so, John." 
 
 For moments no word was spoken. John Burt 
 stood by an opened window, with his back to his 
 friend, and gazed out into the darkness. 
 
 "Tell me all about it, Jim." he said, breaking 
 the silence. The grave face and deep gray eyes 
 230
 
 BAD NEWS 
 
 betrayed no trace of the storm which had swept 
 over him. 
 
 Blake related the details of his introduction to 
 Arthur Morris and told of the night spent in the 
 latter's apartment. He repeated the conversation 
 as nearly as he could recall it. He had seen Mor- 
 ris again for a few minutes on his return from 
 Hingham. 
 
 " He didn't revert to the subject except to 
 apologize for drinking too much," explained Blake. 
 " He asked me what he had said and I assured him 
 my mind was a blank on that subject, and that I 
 couldn't even remember how or when I retired. He 
 was pleased at this and we parted great friends. I 
 sounded his chum Kingsley, and also a chap named 
 Ridgway. Morris has told them substantially the 
 same thing, and I judge under about the same cir- 
 cumstances. It seems to be a case of in vino veritas 
 which is the only Latin quotation I know." 
 
 John abruptly changed the subject and ques- 
 tioned Blake about his interview with Peter Burt, 
 and smiled quietly when he related his experience 
 with the old man. He was not displeased that 
 Blake had been forced to reveal his secret. 
 
 " I have anticipated his advice about going to 
 New York," said John. "My plans are made, and 
 if you are willing, we will make New York the 
 future headquarters of James Blake & Company, 
 with the San Francisco establishment a branch house. 
 Matthews is capable of handling the business there. 
 
 231
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 Think it over, Jim, and let me know your decision 
 as soon as possible." 
 
 " I've thought it over," said Blake. " I'm ready 
 to go to New York the minute you say so." 
 
 "Very well, we'll go this month," said John 
 Burt. 
 
 It was long past midnight when Blake drove 
 away and left John Burt to the harrowing society of 
 his thoughts. For hours he sat before the portrait 
 of Jessie Garden. He recalled the day when she 
 had laughingly placed the cherished tintype in his 
 hand. And now she was in Paris, by the grace and 
 under the bounty of Arthur Morris the one man 
 in all the world he hated. And her portrait fairer 
 than the one before him adorned the rooms of this 
 man. In his vision he saw her glorified by the lov- 
 ing touch of the years; radiant in face and figure, 
 and enhanced by the charms of a cultured mind 
 Jessie Garden his Jessie Garden the affianced 
 bride of Arthur Morris! 
 
 "It's a lie an infamous, damnable liel" he 
 repeated as he paced up and down the room. "It 
 is not so it shall not be so ! " 
 
 But the black clouds of doubt again obscured 
 the rift made by vehement hope. What reason had 
 he to doubt the statement made by Morris ? Mar- 
 shall Garden's fortune had been swept away, and he 
 was practically a pensioner on the Morris fortunes. 
 Arthur Morris had succeeded to the management 
 of his father's affairs. Was it not natural that
 
 BAD NEWS 
 
 General Garden should look with favor on the 
 young millionaire's suit? Had not Morris wealth, 
 influence, social standing? Was not Jessie under 
 obligations to him ? 
 
 And what of Jessie? What valid, lasting claim 
 had he on Jessie Garden ? A few words spoken 
 under the stress of great excitement, a promise of 
 her friendship and of her prayers nothing more. 
 
 She had given him no assurance of her love. 
 When last he saw Jessie she was in her teens a 
 laughing, careless schoolgirl, who enjoyed his com- 
 pany, but whose heart knew nothing of love. True, 
 she had thrown her arms around his neck and kissed 
 him as they parted in the night-shadows of the old 
 maples, but but that was years before. Tears 
 came to his eyes as again he lived those sweet 
 moments. 
 
 No word from him had come to her during 
 these years. For all she knew he was dead. What 
 right had he to expect that she should play the part 
 of Penelope to a silent, untrothed Ulysses who 
 refused to return from exile? Doubtless her life 
 had been shadowed by her father's misfortunes. 
 Doubtless her love for him was such that she was 
 willing to make the sacrifice if sacrifice it were 
 of a marriage with Arthur Morris. This suggested 
 a train of bitter conjecture. 
 
 Why had he not been content with a modest 
 fortune? Why had he devoted years to the amass- 
 ing of wealth which now mocked his love? Why 
 
 233
 
 JOHN B R T 
 
 had he despised the pretensions of Arthur Morris? 
 Why had he failed to take steps to positively ascer- 
 tain the result of Morris's wound? Why had he 
 relied on the prediction of a half-crazed old man? 
 Again, why should he aspire to the love of a woman 
 who was ready to throw herself into the arms of a 
 besotted millionaire? The clock on the mantel 
 angrily ticked, "Why?" "Why?" "Why?" 
 "Why?" 
 
 The brain of an intelligent man sits as a judge 
 and listens to the evidence presented by the passions 
 and prejudices, and weighs it against the calmer 
 pleading of the judgment. No human being can stifle 
 the voices of evil or unjust thoughts, but a just mind 
 can ignore them with a decision which leads to 
 action. The raucous notes of jealousy died away; 
 the strident assertions of selfish hope were stilled, 
 and with open heart and calm brain John Burt 
 sought the path he should follow. 
 
 The words of Peter Burt came back to him: 
 " It is written in God's word : ' If thou faint in the 
 day of adversity thy strength is small ; for a just 
 man falleth seven times and riseth up again ! ' ' Had 
 he fallen seven times? From the hour he left the 
 old man's side until that night, no shade of disap- 
 pointment had come into his life. Success had fol- 
 lowed success and triumph had succeeded triumph. 
 Every prophecy made by Peter Burt had been more 
 than fulfilled. 
 
 As he recalled the past he remembered with 
 
 34
 
 BAD NEWS 
 
 keen joy the parting words of the old man: " You 
 have the love of a woman I respect. She will wait 
 for you. Do not let the impatience of your love 
 imperil your chances." 
 
 The sense of coming victory stole over him as 
 he stood before the portrait and repeated the words: 
 "She will wait for you; she will wait for you." 
 That which is not menaced; that which does not 
 demand the danger and turmoil of a battle, is not 
 worth struggling for. 
 
 The thought came, as he gazed at the pure pro- 
 file of the face in the portrait, that fate had strangely 
 reversed their positions. Jessie Garden was no 
 longer an heiress. She was dependent on the 
 patronage of others. He could not believe her 
 capable of marrying Arthur Morris for money. 
 Would she wed John Burt for money ? He had as- 
 pired to meet and win her as an equal. In a monetary 
 way their stations A were now farther removed than 
 ever. 
 
 He imagined the scorn of this penniless girl 
 when he laid his vulgar millions at her feet. She did 
 not wish a purchased love; he did not desire a bar- 
 tered triumph. 
 
 The edges of the drawn curtains were tinged 
 with the deep blue light of dawn. He raised them, 
 opened the windows, and drank in the cool, pure 
 air of a California morning. Birds twittered in the 
 trees, and the idle babble of a brook sounded 
 musical as an accompaniment. Leaping lightly to 
 
 ass
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 the lawn, he strolled to an open space and saw the 
 sun scale the distant range and melt the thin clouds 
 
 into a perfect sky. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Four weeks later John Burt stood on a ferry- 
 boat and gazed for the first time on the matchless 
 water front and the ragged but impressive sky-line 
 of New York city. 
 
 John Burt approached New York as an un- 
 heralded conqueror. Within the guarded vaults of 
 the metropolis his millions reposed. His unseen 
 hands had shaken Wall Street, and his secret influ- 
 ence helped to shape the financial map of a continent. 
 
 Yet he was unknown. In that swarming mass 
 of people only one human being knew that John 
 Burt lived. 
 
 Blake had preceded him, and had installed the 
 permanent headquarters of James Blake & Com- 
 pany. He met John as he stepped from the train. 
 The two old friends greeted each other with un- 
 feigned cordiality. Blake was in high spirits. 
 
 "I'm glad you're here, John," he said, as they 
 were seated in a carriage. "I've been in an awful 
 fix for a week or more. What in thunder is my 
 opinion on the new currency bill, John? Ten re- 
 porters and a hundred financiers have asked me 
 that question, and I have refused to commit my- 
 self. New York and Washington long to know 
 how James Blake stands on this burning issue. 
 What shall I tell them, John?" 
 
 1J6
 
 BAD NEWS 
 
 "We'll discuss that over dinner," laughed 
 John. He gazed at Blake earnestly, and asked : 
 "Do you know if Miss Garden has returned?" 
 
 " I have been unable to ascertain that," said 
 Blake. "I haven't seen anybody anybody who 
 would know. I've been awfully busy, John." 
 
 " I know you have," returned John, in his old, 
 cordial manner. " Have you secured a hut for me, 
 Jim?" 
 
 " I have fitted up a dream of an apartment for 
 you, and have ordered your favorite dinner." 
 
 The following day John Burt began his New 
 York career.
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 
 
 A FOREIGN MISSION 
 
 IN the world of finance Arthur Morris was a 
 trapper. With instinctive cunning, he set 
 
 snares and dug pitfalls along the paths trod 
 by the unwary. The legitimate profits of plain 
 dealing had no attraction for him. He lacked the 
 courage of the Nimrod who meets his unfettered 
 prey in the open, and who experiences a keen de- 
 light in the resistance of his quarry. He pre- 
 ferred to work in the dark, and to shoot from am- 
 bush. He had at times the patience of the fisher- 
 man, who relies on a well-baited hook, or of the 
 hunter, who, behind a blind, waits for flying ducks 
 to mingle with his painted decoys. 
 
 Arthur Morris was a firm believer in the innate 
 dishonesty of mankind. He held that all the world 
 was in a conspiracy to despoil him ; and affirmed 
 that any means of reprisal were justifiable. His 
 favorite motto was : " Everybody and everything 
 has a price get the price." He weighed fellow- 
 ship, sentiment, friendship and love in the same 
 scales with gold, and found many who applauded 
 his system. 
 
 In this hurried sketch of Arthur Morris no 
 attempt is made to depict an abnormal character or 
 to create an imaginary villain. He was no better 
 nor worse than thousands contemporaneous with 
 him, or who exist to-day, and who will live in the 
 future. Like others of his class, he inherited
 
 A FOREIGN MISSION 
 
 wealth without culture, and selfishness without sen- 
 timent. 
 
 When a hog is bequeathed the strength of a 
 Hon he uses it as a hog. If the massing of wealth 
 in the hands of a few individuals be decided neces- 
 sary for the future good of society, its holders 
 should be selected by civil service examination, and 
 not by the whims of heredity. 
 
 By no use of that much abused word " love " 
 was it possible for Arthur Morris to love anything, 
 much more a woman. That fine selfishness which 
 longs to make sacrifices for others ; which gives for 
 the pleasure of giving, and which suffers for the 
 happiness of suffering, was foreign to Arthur Mor- 
 ris. Devoid of introspection, and unskilled in the 
 exact use of words, he thought that he loved Jessie 
 Garden, when in fact the sensation was that of 
 covetousness. He wanted her. He was ambitious 
 to add her to his possessions. He was annoyed 
 that his infatuation was so great that he was willing 
 and in fact eager to give her his name. This 
 was a sacrifice, a concession, and he hated to yield 
 a point, but he realized that it was necessary. 
 
 "Marriage is such a beastly conventional 
 thing, don't you know," he observed to Blakely, on 
 one of the few occasions when he discussed other 
 than material questions. " By Jove, old chap, I 
 sometimes think, don't you know, that a gentleman 
 never should marry. Loses his independence, and 
 all that sort of thing, don't you know. That
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 French chap Monte Monte what's his name? 
 or perhaps it was some one else ; anyhow, he had 
 the right idea, don't you know. Marriage is all 
 right for the lower classes. It's good enough for 
 them and more than they deserve, but it restricts a 
 gentleman, don't you know, Blakely." 
 
 "Never thought of it before, commodore," 
 said Blakely with a smile. "You think it's bad 
 form, eh? Perhaps you're right. Why don't you 
 write a book about it? Call it 'Morris on Mar- 
 riage.' Corking good title ! Euphonious and allit- 
 erative. 'Morris on Marriage; or Musings on 
 Mediaeval and Modern Matrimony' how is that 
 for a warm title? You might have your French 
 friend Monte, what's his name, write the introduc- 
 tion. It would make a hit, commodore." 
 
 Before Morris had recovered from his wound, 
 Jessie Garden had left for Europe. During his 
 convalescence he was consumed by two passions: 
 first to arrest and punish John Burt, and second to 
 see or hear from Jessie Garden. Yielding to his 
 demands, the elder Morris spent thousands of dol- 
 lars in a fruitless attempt to locate John Burt. The 
 officers had followed him to Peter Burt's, but no 
 trace of him was found after that night. The old 
 man was arrested, and though vigorously prose- 
 cuted, was discharged by the judge, who repri- 
 manded the officers for attempting to enter his 
 house without a warrant. 
 
 Morris had no difficulty in obtaining from 
 140
 
 A FOREIGN MISSION 
 
 General Garden the continental address of his daugh- 
 ter. She was studying in Berlin, and Arthur Mor- 
 ris wrote a long letter informing her of his complete 
 recovery. He calmly ignored the events which led 
 to the shooting, and seemed to have forgotten the 
 rebuff he had received at her hands. The letter 
 read as if their last meeting had been under the 
 shadow of the maples on the Bishop lawn. 
 
 "Every effort is being made to locate that 
 young desperado John Burt," he wrote, " but thus 
 far he has evaded the officers of the law. Though 
 the affair resulted seriously to me, I cannot help but 
 laugh at the presumption of this countryman, who, 
 it seems, was insanely jealous over our friendship. 
 With his usual fofesight, my dear father effectually 
 suppressed any mention of your name. I doubt if 
 either of us ever see this fellow Burt again, and I am 
 sure we can endure his absence with complacency. 
 I am thankful that his homicidal mania was not 
 directed against you. As you may have heard, 
 there is a taint of insanity in his family, and they 
 say that his grandfather has killed a score of men. 
 But this is enough on a mutually disagreeable sub- 
 ject, and I promise you, Miss Garden, not to refer 
 to it again. I wish you could have been present at 
 our closing reception," etc., etc. 
 
 Morris waited a month for an answer to this 
 letter and then wrote a second one, which was re- 
 turned unopened. In a towering passion he went to 
 his father and unbosomed the story of his treatment. 
 
 241
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 "You told me once that old Garden would go 
 broke onL. & O.," he declared, pacing up u id 
 down the room. "I didn't pay much attention to 
 i what you said at the time, but I know all about it 
 now. I've been looking over your books, gov- 
 ernor. You've got him long on a rotten stock. Go 
 ahead and squeeze him! You can do it. Put the 
 screws to him ! Then when he comes whining 
 around for mercy we'll see what Miss Independence 
 Jessie will do! I'll bet she'll answer my letters 
 then! I'll make her pay for this some day. You've 
 got to do something, governor ! " 
 
 " If you think I'm going to run my banking 
 and Wall Street business so as to promote your 
 correspondence with a doll-faced girl, you " 
 
 "She's not a doll-faced girl!" declared Morris, 
 turning fiercely on his father. 
 
 "Well, she's a girl, and they're all alike," 
 growled Randolph Morris. "The prettier they are 
 the more trouble they raise. I thought you told 
 me you wasn't going to marry her? Didn't I tell 
 you she won't have a dollar not one dollar? You're 
 an ass." 
 
 The old banker lay back wearily in his chair 
 and regarded his son and heir with an expression of 
 deep disgust. 
 
 " I'll marry her if I want to," said Morris, dog- 
 gedly. "I suppose I've got to marry somebody 
 and she's as good as any one. What the devil has 
 old Garden's money got to do about it ? When he 
 
 4*
 
 A FOREIGN MISSION 
 
 loses it you get it, and when you die I get it, and if 
 she marries me she quits even. It's the only chance 
 she's got. Go ahead and squeeze him, governor!" 
 
 " You talk like a fool," said the fond parent. 
 "You know a lot about stocks, don't you? I 
 couldn't bear L. & O. now if I tried, and wouldn't 
 if I could. I'm interested in other stocks besides 
 L. & O. You attend to your own business, if you 
 have any, and keep your nose out of my books. If 
 you're bound to marry, why don't you marry 
 Thompson's daughter. He'll die in a year and 
 leave her four millions." 
 
 " I don't want her," said Morris loftily. "You 
 need not worry about my matrimonial alliances. 
 Let me have five thousand dollars. I'm going to 
 Europe." 
 
 Randolph Morris stormed and fumed and then 
 wrote a cheque for the amount demanded. 
 
 Six weeks later Arthur Morris was in Berlin. 
 He had perfected his plans, and after securing 
 apartments in Leipziger Strasse set about their 
 execution. 
 
 He was too shrewd to announce his arrival by 
 a letter to Jessie, having good reason to suspect 
 that it would meet the same reception as had the 
 others. He retained a capable valet and commis- 
 sioned him to obtain information concerning Miss 
 Garden's daily and weekly routine. He had no 
 trouble in influencing a servant to tell all she knew 
 of Miss Garden's regular engagements.
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 It rained the following day, and Morris's valet 
 brought word that Miss Garden would not venture 
 out in the storm. His master was pleased to learn 
 that Miss Garden was in the habit of going alone, 
 and that if the weather permitted, she proposed to : 
 visit Count Raczynski's gallery on the morrow. 
 
 Berlin is dreary on a rainy day, and Morris 
 spent the hours nursing his impatience and prac- 
 ticing the phrases he proposed to deliver when he 
 met Jessie face to face. He paced up and down 
 his room, doffed his hat, smiled and bowed to an 
 imaginary Miss Garden. He conjured her in vari- 
 ous moods, and framed responses to meet all con- 
 tingencies his limited imagination could invent. 
 
 The famous Raczynski gallery is on the Exer- 
 cierplatz, outside the Bradenburg gate, and con- 
 tains a splendid collection of modern German 
 paintings. The day dawned bright and warm after 
 the storm, and Morris was in fine spirits when he 
 stepped into his carriage and rode down the ave- 
 nue. He entered the gallery and roamed through 
 the halls to make sure Jessie had not arrived. He 
 then stood near the entrance and waited. 
 
 His patience was rewarded. He recognized 
 Jessie as she crossed the street. She was alone, 
 and Morris stepped into the dark of the vesti- 
 bule and followed when she entered the main 
 hall. Jessie carried a sketch book under her arm, 
 and took a seat opposite one of Schinkel's master- 
 works. Opening the book, she proceeded to work
 
 A FOREIGN MISSION 
 
 on an unfinished sketch, and in a moment was 
 oblivious to everything except the superb painting 
 before her. 
 
 This was a situation for which Morris had not 
 provided, but he deemed it singularly propitious. 
 There were only a few persons in the hall. Two 
 students were hard at work in the opposite quar- 
 ter of the room. A near-sighted Russian, with 
 enormous glasses, was bent in a half-circle as he 
 leaned forward to study the works of art. An 
 Italian, with half-closed eyes fixed intently on a 
 Rauch statue, was motionless as the marble figure 
 which held his rapt attention. A subdued, even 
 light filled the room. 
 
 Under no circumstances could these cherished 
 heirlooms of genius have appealed to Arthur Mor- 
 ris. This atmosphere of symbolism, this Parnassus 
 of art, meant nothing to him, nor did he have the 
 tact to realize that he could not have chosen a mo- 
 ment more intrusive and inauspicious for the plead- 
 ing of his cause. He only knew that the oppor- 
 tunity he had awaited for months was at hand. For 
 this he had traveled thousands of miles, spurred 
 on by impatience and lashed by wounded pride. 
 
 He stood a few steps back of Jessie and de- 
 voured her with his eyes. With wistful gaze he 
 studied the perfect profile of her cheek as she 
 turned her head to look at the canvas. He noted 
 the soft folds of her hair, the rounded curves of 
 her neck, and as one spell-bound watched her deft 
 
 245
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 fingers as they glided over the surface of the 
 sketch book. 
 
 With a little sigh of disappointment Jessie 
 dropped the folio on her lap. Not in months had 
 she drawn with less skill. The perspective was 
 wrong, and the draughting atrocious. And she 
 had been so sure of her subject. She would not 
 dare show so sad a botch to Professor Riedesel. 
 What could be the matter? She felt oppressed 
 and under some malign influence. Instinctively she 
 turned and looked squarely into the ardent eyes and 
 eager face of Arthur Morris. With an involuntary 
 cry of surprise, fear and vexation, she sprang to 
 her feet, the sketch book falling to the floor. 
 
 "Why, Miss Garden!" exclaimed Morris, with 
 simulated astonishment. " Really, this is an unex- 
 pected pleasure. I am delighted to meet you. Per- 
 mit me ." And he picked up the sketch book, 
 bowed, and extended his hand. 
 
 In these brief seconds Jessie had regained her 
 self-possession. By an effort she withstood the 
 wave of indignation which swept over her. As the 
 sound of Morris's grating voice broke the accus- 
 tomed quiet of the room, the Italian awoke from 
 his reverie, and directed an annoyed look at the 
 speaker. The students glanced curiously in his 
 direction. Jessie's lip trembled and two crimson 
 spots burned on her cheeks, but she spoke calmly. 
 
 'You have surprised me, Mr. Morris," she 
 said quietly, ignoring his proffered hand. "You 
 146
 
 A FOREIGN MISSION 
 
 must be aware that this is not a public reception- 
 room. We can talk without disturbing any one in 
 the lobby." 
 
 A minute later they were in the comparatively 
 deserted outer hall. 
 
 " My carriage is at the door and at your ser- 
 vice," said Morris effusively as Jessie paused near 
 the entrance. " Really, Miss Garden, you cannot 
 imagine how delighted I am to meet you." 
 
 " You have no right to follow me here or to 
 annoy me by your attentions," said Jessie Garden, 
 confronting him with flashing eyes. The smug, 
 complacent smile died on his lips. He fumbled 
 nervously at his watch charm. 
 
 "It was purely accidental, I assure you," he 
 stammered. " I was strolling around and was as 
 much surprised to see you as you were to see me." 
 
 " Your arrival was announced in the Berlin 
 papers," said Jessie coldly. " I learned this morn- 
 ing that you bribed my servants, and realized that 
 an interview with you was inevitable, but I did not 
 think you would presume to intrude your presence 
 during my study hours. You take an unfair advan- 
 tage of an. accidental acquaintance. That acquaint- 
 ance was terminated last summer by your acts and 
 conduct, and I have no desire to renew it. You 
 have had the education and opportunities of a gen- 
 tleman and must respect my wishes." 
 
 She turned and entered the gallery. Morris 
 stood as if riveted to the floor dazed, ashen-faced 
 
 >47
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 and speechless. Obeying a wild impulse he rushed 
 after her, but halted at the door. With a smothered 
 oath he retraced his steps, and hailing his coachman 
 drove through Unter der Linden. The matchless 
 beauties of this famous boulevard, with its giant 
 trees and enclosing palaces had no charms for him. 
 
 For the second time in his life the fact had been 
 forced upon him that there were ambitions beyond 
 the reach of his money. The thought envenomed 
 him. Again he made a vow that Jessie Garden 
 should be his. His admiration for her was en- 
 hanced by her resistance. Never had she looked 
 more beautiful than on that afternoon when she 
 spurned his addresses. Here was a spirited subject 
 for bit, whip and spur his bit, his whip and his 
 spur. His heavy lips parted in a sullen smile as he 
 pictured Jessie Garden's surrender. The longer it 
 was delayed the sweeter would be his triumph. 
 
 The morning train for Paris had Arthur Mor- 
 ris for a passenger. There he found congenial 
 friends, and plunging into the saturnalian current of 
 the gay metropolis found respite from his sorrows 
 and solace for his defeats. 
 
 J -; It was months before he returned to New York 
 to become a junior partner in the firm of Randolph 
 Morris & Company.
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 
 
 DIPLOMAC Y 
 
 AFTER an absence of two years Jessie Garden 
 looked forward with pleasure to a home- 
 coming. Her studies in Berlin were ended, 
 and Professor Reidesel departed from his estab- 
 lished rule and openly praised her work. Charmed 
 by her beauty, the famous Steinbech craved and 
 obtained permission to paint her portrait, which he 
 presented to her on behalf of her tutors and fellow- 
 students. General Garden was a proud and happy 
 father when he received the portrait, and gave it 
 the place of honor in his drawing-room. 
 
 Jessie had bidden her instructors and friends 
 adieu, and was about leaving Berlin for a brief visit 
 to Paris, when she received a cablegram from Gen- 
 eral Garden, requesting her to return home at once. 
 The message was so worded that Jessie was mysti- 
 fied, but not alarmed. 
 
 After a stormy voyage, the liner steamed into 
 Boston harbor, and General Garden clasped his 
 daughter in his arms. At first glance she hardly 
 recognized him. His face was drawn, and the dark 
 hair and beard had turned to silver-gray. The 
 color left Jessie's face as she looked into his. 
 
 "You will be brave, my pet," he said, his voice 
 choked with emotion. " I have sad news for you, 
 Jessie." 
 
 " There can be no very sad news, papa dear, so 
 long as you are alive," said Jessie. With a woman's 
 
 249
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 intuition she guessed the truth. Like a flash the 
 interview in the old grape arbor came back to her. 
 
 "lam ruined, Jessie! My bank has failed, 
 and my fortune is swept away. That is not all. 
 Our old home is in the hands of creditors and I am 
 a bankrupt a bankrupt at the age of fifty." 
 
 Jessie smiled bravely through her tears. 
 
 "I am distressed on your account, papa dear, 
 but you must not worry in the least over me. I 
 have money, papa ; lots and lots of money. I have 
 saved nearly two thousand dollars out of my allow- 
 ance. We shall get along famously. I can more 
 than earn my own living, and I shall see that you 
 grow young again and regain all that you have 
 lost." 
 
 That evening, in the modest apartments he had 
 rented, General Garden told Jessie the story of his 
 downfall. The unexpected depreciation of a certain 
 stock, coupled with heavy demands on his bank, 
 had forced him to the wall. Randolph Morris was 
 his principal creditor, and negotiations were then 
 in progress by which he hoped to transfer his L. & 
 O. stock to Mr. Morris, in consideration of a loan 
 which would enable him to settle with his minor 
 creditors. 
 
 " If Mr. Morris refuses to extend this accom- 
 modation I shall be in lasting disgrace," faltered 
 General Garden. " Your Aunt Helen and her hus^ 
 band, Thomas Bishop, have large sums depositelr 
 with me. Many of my personal friends and old
 
 DIPLOMACY 
 
 army comrades have trusted me with every dollar 
 they possessed. If Mr. Morris consents to make 
 this loan I can meet these obligations, face the 
 world, and begin the fight anew. Arthur Morris is 
 now a member of the firm, and the matter has been 
 placed in his hands. I regret this exceedingly. 
 Arthur seems to have conceived a dislike for me, 
 and, while he has not rejected my proposition, he 
 treats me coldly. We will talk no more of it, 
 Jessie, my pet. Let us hope for the best. I never 
 thought, my little girl, that a time would come 
 when you would have to worry over my financial 
 affairs." 
 
 Jessie Garden had listened quietly. Until that 
 day she had given little thought to the problem 
 which ever confronts the great mass of mankind 
 how shall we live, wherewithal shall we be fed, 
 clothed and housed ? She knew, or at least thought 
 she knew, what poverty meant for others but it 
 never had occurred to her that a day could come 
 when the springs of affluence would run dry. 
 
 She looked at her father's pale and anxious 
 face, and saw him run his hand nervously through 
 his whitened locks. The little room in which they 
 sat looked mean and want-haunted. The faded 
 carpet, the cheap wallpaper, the tawdry decora- 
 tions, the low and marred ceiling, the wailing of a 
 sick child through the thin partition, the odor of a 
 kitchen, the rumble of traffic over a cobblestone 
 pavement surely this was a dream from which she 
 
 251
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 would awaken to find herself in the stately mansion 
 on the great boulevard. 
 
 The dear*old home was as vivid to her as on 
 the day she left for Europe. She could see her 
 room looking out on the Charles River; the climb- 
 ing ivy softly seeking an entrance the green lawns 
 with their fountains, the gentle voices of the old 
 servants who loved and petted her, the great brown 
 eyes of the horses, as they lifted their heads when 
 she entered their stables, the quaint homestead with 
 its hallowed recollections of three generations, the 
 fashionable calm of an exclusive neighborhood 
 surely these had not gone from her forever. 
 
 Yet it was not a dream. At the sound of the 
 name of Arthur Morris the past and the present 
 stood before her in glaring colors. She must be 
 brave; she would be brave. She realized that she 
 was no longer a girl ; she was a woman, and would 
 play a woman's part. But how ? She thought of 
 Morris and shuddered. 
 
 With that superb insight which nature gives to 
 woman, the plot devised by Arthur Morris lay bare 
 before her eyes. Her father was enmeshed in the 
 net which had been set for her. To release him 
 must she be caught in the toils ? 
 
 The gentle doe at bay will fight. The most 
 docile of God's creatures arouses at times to resist 
 the hand of cruelty. The dormant faculties of 
 defence which are planted in every woman's heart, 
 spring on guard when the gentler traits are trampled
 
 DIPLOMACY 
 
 under foot, and when those she loves are threatened 
 with defeat or suffering. 
 
 The Bishops had purchased a residence in New 
 York, and there was waiting for Jessie a letter from 
 her aunt inviting her to spend April and May with 
 them in the metropolis, and to be their guest in 
 Hingham during the summer. 
 
 " Your uncle Thomas and myself will be de- 
 lighted if you make our home yours until General 
 Garden has settled his affairs," wrote her aunt. "I 
 have asked your father and he gladly gives his con- 
 sent, though I know it to be a sacrifice for him. 
 You will like New York and will thoroughly enjoy 
 yourself." 
 
 General Garden advised her to accept the 
 invitation, but Jessie had at first declared that her 
 place was with him, and would not listen to his 
 arguments. 
 
 "I have changed my mind about aunt Helen's 
 invitation," she said, later in the evening. "You 
 must not think me undutiful, papa, but I have 
 decided to go to New York for a few weeks at 
 least. I believe I can sell some of my sketches 
 and paintings there, and and well, I think it best 
 to go." 
 
 "You are a wise little girl, Jessie," said Gen- 
 eral Garden. " I shall be in New York nearly as 
 much as in Boston, and you will be much happier 
 there." 
 
 A week later Jessie was fondly greeted by her
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 aunt. Her charming cousin, Edith Hancock, was 
 also a visitor in the Madison Avenue mansion. 
 Thomas Bishop belonged to an old New York 
 Ifamily, and was proud to introduce his beautiful 
 'nieces to the exclusive society circles in which the 
 Bishops had been welcomed. He would not listen 
 to Jessie's plan of selling her pictures, and in the 
 maze of receptions, balls and theatre parties, which 
 followed her arrival, Jessie postponed that doubt- 
 ful project. 
 
 It was at the Cregier reception that she again 
 met Arthur Morris. Not until the hostess had 
 pronounced Jessie's name in presenting Morris did 
 that dazed young millionaire fully recognize her. 
 He had thought her interesting in Hingham, and 
 fascinating in Berlin even though gowned in the 
 quiet habit of a student but not until that night 
 was the matchless beauty of Jessie Garden set in a 
 frame which did it justice. Her ball gown was of 
 soft, white silk, and around her neck were the famous 
 Hancock pearls, once worn by her mother, and by 
 her grandmother before her. 
 
 The mass of dark brown hair lay in glossy 
 folds above the perfect brow. The dark eyes 
 glowed with that beauty which comes from a cul- 
 tured mind. The clinging fabric of her gown re- 
 vealed the slender, graceful and rounded outlines 
 of virile youth no longer the broken curves of 
 spring, but the rare symmetry of nascent summer. 
 
 For a moment Morris was unable to speak, 
 *S4
 
 DIPLOMACY 
 
 and gazed blankly, first at Jessie and then at Mrs. 
 Cregier. 
 
 " Really why, really why why, don't you 
 know, Mrs. Cregier, Miss Garden and I have met 
 before ! " he exclaimed. " In fact why, in fact we 
 are old acquaintances; are we not, Miss Garden?" 
 
 " I recall having met Mr. Morris," said Jessie, 
 addressing her hostess. Her voice and manner in- 
 dicated polite lack of interest. 
 
 " I am always making the stupid blunder of 
 introducing old friends," laughed the busy and 
 preoccupied Mrs. Cregier. At that moment her 
 daughter announced arriving guests, and smilingly 
 excusing herself, Mrs. Cregier turned to greet the 
 new comers. 
 
 It was a trying moment for Jessie Garden. Be- 
 fore her stood the man she hated. Why had fate 
 cast him as a reptile ever crawling across her path? 
 She longed to crush the serpent's head with her 
 tiny heel, yet she knew that the snake had cunning ; 
 she knew that her father was caught in his coils. 
 Never until that moment did she realize the damn- 
 ing power of money, or sound the depths of a 
 woman's hatred. 
 
 To spurn Arthur Morris, to satisfy her pride, 
 and to feed her revenge were the desires which 
 flamed in her mind, burned on her cheeks and trem- 
 bled on her lips. In that moment it required all of 
 her self-possession to restrain this impulse. But 
 the careworn face of her father, and the thought of 
 
 *ss
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 his humbled pride, came back to her. She would 
 fight his battles with a woman's weapons. For his 
 dear sake, she would act a distasteful part. 
 
 " May I say something to you, Miss Garden?" 
 ventured Morris. " I've wished to talk to you for 
 a long time, or rather to write something, but 
 but let's get out of this crush so I can explain 
 myself." 
 
 "I do not care to listen to you, sir." 
 
 " I beg of you, hear me for a moment ! " pleaded 
 Morris, as Jessie turned haughtily from him. 
 
 " Since you seem determined to create a scene 
 in which I am to be involved, I prefer the less 
 conspicuous disgrace of listening to you," she said, 
 bitterly. " Here is a quiet corner. What have you 
 to say to me, sir?" 
 
 "I want to apologize for what I did in Berlin, 
 or rather for coming to Berlin," he began. "I 
 know I had no right, after you returned my letter, 
 to intrude the way I did, but I wished to see you 
 awfully, Miss Garden, and was ass enough to think 
 that well, to think that you wouldn't care. I was 
 wrong, and I beg your pardon." 
 
 "That is not the offence for which you should 
 crave forgiveness," said Jessie Garden. Scorn was 
 in her voice and a warning flash in her eyes. " Your 
 intrusion in Berlin was insolent, but it was in har- 
 mony with a greater affront which preceded it, and 
 one of which no gentleman would be guilty. If it 
 has passed out of your recollection, I shall not recall 
 256
 
 DIPLOMACY 
 
 it. If you have nothing more appropriate to say, 
 leave me, sir ! " 
 
 "I have; I have!" cried Morris, cowering 
 before her gaze. " Pray be seated, Miss Garden, 
 and and give me a chance I " 
 
 "I should not," she said coldly. 
 
 "I know the time you mean, Miss Garden." 
 His face flushed a deeper red and he looked at her 
 with appealing eyes. "You mean that affair at the 
 clambake. I was intoxicated, Miss Garden. It's 
 a hard word, but I'm going to be honest and throw 
 myself on your mercy. I drank too much wine, and 
 I don't know what I said or did after I came ashore 
 from the Voltaire. But I couldn't have said any- 
 thing against you, because, don't you know well, 
 because I thought too much of you. I wanted to 
 explain this in Berlin, but you wouldn't let me. If 
 you'll forgive me now, Miss Garden, I promise you 
 that I will never be in that condition again. If we 
 were alone I would get on my knees and ask your 
 pardon, but I can't do it here, don't you know. I 
 am very, very sorry ; really I am, Miss Garden, and 
 I want to be your your friend." 
 
 She longed to spurn his prayers and to ask him 
 to take back the white locks from above her father's 
 brow and remove the stain of his disgrace. She 
 longed to demand of him the return from exile of 
 the man who had resented his insults; who had 
 risked his life and imperiled his future in her 
 defense. She realized that the man who had crushed 
 
 *57
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 her father was now in her power, and felt that 
 triumphant joy which only a woman can know. But 
 it wounded and tortured her pride to think that 
 Morris dared aspire to her love. She charged the 
 sacrifice she was about to make against the account 
 of a future revenge, and turned to him with a softer 
 light in her eyes. 
 
 "I should not forgive you," she said. "When 
 a man who pretends to your position so far forgets 
 himself, he should first obtain his own pardon. He 
 should then seek to redress the wrongs caused by 
 his offense. Are you prepared to do that, Mr. 
 Morris?" 
 
 "I don't exactly understand what you mean, 
 Miss Garden." 
 
 "I will make myself plain," said Jessie. "You 
 attempted to murder a young man who resented 
 your insults in a public place, and in the encounter 
 you were injured. For years you have had a stand- 
 ing reward for the arrest of this innocent man. 
 Believing that you were dead, or having good reason 
 to fear the power of your money and influence, and 
 preferring not to blight his career on account of it, 
 he has remained in exile, with an unjust charge 
 hanging over him. Are you willing to take steps to 
 absolve him? John Burt has been the greater vic- 
 tim of your conduct." 
 
 "But my dear Miss Garden, I haven't the 
 slightest notion of where he is, don't you know," 
 said Morris with a puzzled expression. " Ton my
 
 DIPL OMACY 
 
 word, I don't. We had a beastly row in which I 
 "got shot, and all the fellows who were with me say I 
 started it, and that the pistol went off in my own 
 hand. I assure you that I don't remember a thing 
 about it. The governor offered the reward. I can 
 get him to withdraw it, and put a notice in the 
 papers promising that no prosecution shall be made. 
 I haven't anything against that chap Burt, 'pon my 
 word I haven't. He was out of our class, and all 
 that sort of thing, don't you know, Miss Garden. 
 He might be a very decent sort of a fellow, after 
 all, and it's thoughtful of you to remind me of this. 
 I'll do anything you say, Miss Garden." 
 
 " Publicly announce the withdrawal of the re- 
 ward and state that he will not be prosecuted," said 
 Jessie, as if the matter was merely one of abstract 
 justice. " It seems to have been decreed that we 
 shall be thrown into one another's society, and if 
 you are confident that I shall not again be embar- 
 rassed by your indiscretions I will try to overlook 
 the past." 
 
 "You are very good 1" he exclaimed, effusively. 
 " It's more than I deserve, but you will not regret it, 
 Miss Garden. My governor and yours are mixed 
 up in business, and it's a beastly shame, don't you 
 know, that we should be at odds. By the way, I'm 
 awfully sorry about the general's financial troubles. 
 Hope he pulls out of them all right, and think he 
 will. I'm trying now to make a deal which will 
 help him out. And you're not angry with me now,
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 are you, Miss Garden? Let's shake hands and 
 call it square?" 
 
 Morris extended a clammy hand, and Jessie, 
 with an inward shudder, permitted him to clasp, 
 her's for a moment. Her cousin, "Bert" Han- 
 cock, approached and claimed her for a dance. 
 
 For weeks Morris contrived to be present at 
 most of the social functions attended by Jessie 
 Garden. He apparently so far reinstated himself 
 in her favor as to be permitted to call at the Bishop 
 residence. His habits during this period were be- 
 yond reproach, and his friend Kingsley asserted 
 that he was growing good-looking. 
 
 "You must be in love, commodore," he de- 
 clared. " It's either love or lithia perhaps both. 
 By Jove, you're looking fine, old man! Think I'll 
 quit myself." 
 
 Morris grinned his pleasure and revelled in the 
 soft impeachment. 
 
 The summer season was at hand, and Jessie 
 was looking forward with pleasure to a sojourn in 
 Hingham. Arthur Morris had been devoted in his 
 attentions, and Jessie felt a thrilling wickedness at 
 the tacit encouragement she had given him. He 
 was her escort to theatres and receptions. She had 
 permitted him to monopolize her company. Edith 
 Hancock returned to New York, and Jessie made 
 of her a confidant. 
 
 " I never dreamed I could be so deceitful," she 
 admitted to Edith, who had bluntly asked if she 
 
 *6o
 
 DIPLOMACY 
 
 were engaged to Morris. " I feel so wicked that I 
 hardly dare look papa in the face. You know papa 
 really thinks I like Arthur Morris, and it almost 
 breaks my heart to know he is willing I should 
 marry him. It's horrible, Edith, horrible ! " 
 
 The expression of contrition died out and the 
 dark eyes flashed defiantly. 
 
 " I suppose I should imitate the timid maiden 
 of fiction and submit to the scheming of a monied 
 villain, until rescued by some adventitious hero," 
 declared Jessie, bitterly. " But it is in no sense 
 likely that a hero will come to my relief. I shall 
 hot wait for one, and must wage my own bat- 
 tles. It is modern and accordingly drearily unro- 
 mantic. Mr. Morris is holding his wealth as a 
 weapon over papa's head, and in their commercial 
 transactions I am rated as having a certain collateral 
 value. I am to fold my hands, close my eyes and 
 tacitly assent to the terms agreed upon. Papa has 
 debts, Mr. Morris has money, and I am alleged to 
 have beauty. I hate money. I hate Arthur Mor- 
 ris, and I intend to punish him for his insolence. 
 He has deceived and swindled us, he holds posses- 
 sion of our home, has smirched our good name, and 
 now I am to be thrown in to make full the measure 
 of his profit. And he really thinks I should be de- 
 lighted with the bargain! This is my romance, 
 Edith, but I do not intend it shall be a tragedy. 
 You are the one person in the world to whom I 
 can tell my troubles or come for sympathy." 
 
 261
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 Edith kissed away the two mad little tears which 
 glistened in Jessie's eyes. 
 
 That evening Arthur Morris called on Jessie. 
 Of her favorable answer to his suit he had not the 
 slightest doubt. He had carefully rehearsed his 
 avowal. After critically reviewing his campaign 
 since quitting Paris he decided that he had made no 
 mistakes. 
 
 " It has worked out like the moves on a chess- 
 board, and I have captured this queen," he mused 
 triumphantly on his way to the Bishop residence. 
 " She wouldn't listen to me as long as old Garden 
 had money, and the governor took that away from 
 him. That crippled her fight. Money's the thing ! 
 Love is all right in its place, but money pays the 
 bills. I own the fastest horse on the track, the 
 swiftest yacht on the Hudson, and now I am to have 
 the prettiest bride in New York. She's a bit high- 
 spirited just now, but she will wear well. By Jove, 
 I'm almost in love ! " And to the extent of his sel- 
 fish, material nature, he was. 
 
 He made his declaration confidently, but with 
 more of feeling than Jessie thought him capable. 
 For one moment she thought to end a scene which 
 was distasteful, by a positive refusal of his suit. But 
 only for an instant did she hesitate to assume the 
 part upon which she had determined. 
 
 " Mr. Morris," she said with an earnestness 
 which almost tricked herself, " I owe a duty to my 
 father which I cannot forego. He is alone and in 
 262
 
 DI PLOMACY 
 
 trouble, and I cannot leave him. You know little of 
 the pride of the Gardens if you imagine that the 
 daughter of General Marshall Garden will give her 
 hand in marriage so long as the shadow of bank- 
 ruptcy hangs over his name." 
 
 " But, Jessie," interposed Morris eagerly, " that 
 can all be fixed, don't you know. Your father is 
 not really bankrupt, and all that sort of thing. He 
 has assets, stocks and securities which will more than 
 meet all claims against him. That can all be arranged. 
 Don't you worry your pretty head about business 
 affairs but leave them to the men." 
 
 " That is what my father says," said Jessie 
 demurely, but with a growing indignation. " Still I 
 know he is in trouble, and I cannot think of mar- 
 riage until he no longer fears to look any man in 
 the face. I know little of business affairs, but I do 
 know that he is in debt. He is confident that he 
 will be able to meet all of his obligations, and talks 
 gaily of sending me to Paris to complete my studies, 
 but I fear his hopes are unfounded. Aunt Helen 
 has offered to meet my expenses abroad, and it is 
 likely I shall go to Paris in the autumn. Beyond 
 that I do not see my way clear, only I cannot marry 
 now." 
 
 Morris again assured Jessie of his absolute 
 confidence in General Garden's financial future, 
 and attempted to secure some conditional promise 
 from her. 
 
 "I am willing to wait, don't you know," he
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 said. " I'm sure General Garden will come out all 
 right. Go abroad if you like, but promise to 
 marry me when you return." He gazed longingly 
 at her. 
 
 "No. I will promise not to marry within the 
 next two years. Will that satisfy you?" 
 
 Morris left Jessie's presence wild with delight 
 over his fancied success. 
 
 A few days later General Garden arrived from 
 Boston, and held several conferences with Arthur 
 Morris. One night he greeted Jessie with unusual 
 tenderness. The old proud light was in his eyes. 
 His shoulders were thrown back and his step was 
 elastic. 
 
 " I am no longer a bankrupt, Jessie, my dar- 
 ling," he said, when they were alone. " I have so 
 disposed of my securities to Mr. Morris that I 
 am able to pay all of my debts and have enough re- 
 maining to send you abroad, my pet. And Mr. 
 Morris has given me a position in his bank, with a 
 chance to work into a partnership." 
 
 "Oh, that's splendid ! " exclaimed Jessie. "Are 
 you sure you will not be disappointed ? Is it all 
 arranged beyond any doubt?" 
 
 "Here is the check," said General Garden, 
 with some surprise. "Why do you ask, Jessie?" 
 
 Because I wish to go to Paris as soon as 
 possible," was the answer. "I am just crazy to 
 take up my painting and music. And now I can 
 go, can't I, papa?"
 
 DIPLOMACY 
 
 " But I thought you intended to spend the 
 summer in Hingham. Mr. Morris goes there 
 next month." 
 
 "Aunt Helen, Edith and uncle Tom are going 
 day after to-morrow," said Jessie, after a moment's 
 reflection. " I would like to spend a week or two 
 in Hingham with them, and then sail for Paris from 
 Boston. I will be an old woman before I finish 
 my studies, unless I make haste. Besides, it's lovely 
 in Paris in summer. I can go, can't I, papa?" 
 
 " Certainly, my pet." 
 
 Arthur Morris called that evening, and vainly 
 attempted to persuade her to spend the summer in 
 Hingham, and postpone her trip abroad until 
 autumn. He seemed much disappointed when Jes- 
 sie positively refused to modify her plans. Morris 
 felt an added sense of proprietorship in Jessie, but 
 this he had not the tact to conceal. 
 
 " I told you that General Garden would come 
 out all right," he said, with a meaning smile. " Our 
 bank was willing to extend the accommodation." 
 
 " Papa has told me none of the details, and, if 
 he had, I wouldn't have understood them," said 
 Jessie. " I thought it was a regular business trans- 
 action. You don't mean to say that my father 
 General Garden is the recipient of a favor an 
 unfair accommodation at any banker's hands?" 
 
 " Not at all ; not at all," stammered Morris, 
 lowering his eyes before her searching gaze. " The 
 affair was strictly a business one. I only wish to
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 point out that everything has turned out just as I 
 predicted. The securities were in such shape that 
 our bank could handle them and we handled 
 them. That's all." 
 
 Morris asked permission to write, and Jessie 
 granted it, but warned him that she was going to 
 Paris to work not to write letters. 
 
 He bade her an effusive farewell, and Jessie 
 gave a happy sigh of relief when the train rolled 
 out from the station.
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR 
 
 TWO STRANGE INTERVIEWS 
 
 IT was delightful to be again in the old-fashioned 
 country house overlooking the ocean. Jessie 
 
 confessed to Edith Hancock that her anxiety 
 to return to Paris was assumed. 
 
 "I would be perfectly happy in this dear old 
 place all summer were it not for one discord," she 
 said to Edith as they galloped along the beach the 
 first evening after their arrival in Hingham. " Yon- 
 der is a suggestion of what is driving me to a for- 
 eign land." 
 
 Jessie pointed with her riding-whip at the red- 
 tiled roof of the Morris mansion, seen several miles 
 away through a cleft in the hills. 
 
 " Do you mean that you are flying from Arthur 
 Morris?" Edith's dark eyes opened wide. 
 
 " I do. I prefer the society of strangers abroad 
 rather than to tolerate his occasional presence here,'* 
 answered Jessie, biting her lip in vexation. 
 
 "That's a strange way to speak of one's be- 
 trothed," observed Edith, with an arch look at her 
 cousin. 
 
 "You should not say that, Edith! Do not 
 make me angry by so absurd an insinuation. You 
 know very well you have no cause to say such a 
 thing." 
 
 " But Mr. Morris thinks so, cousin dear," per- 
 sisted Edith. " He as much as told me that you 
 were engaged to him, and asked me to congratulate
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 him. That impossible Kingsley told me the same 
 thing, and had the impudence to suggest that it was 
 a rare chance for a double wedding. You must 
 have flirted outrageously with Mr. Morris. I 
 really feel sorry for him, Jessie. Most girls would 
 esteem him a splendid catch." 
 
 "Please do not tease me, Edith," pleaded Jes- 
 sie, tears brimming her eyes. " It is bad enough as 
 it is, without making it worse, and then then twit- 
 ting me about it you, dear cousin, the only one in 
 all the world to whom I can tell my troubles. I 
 have not deceived Mr. Morris; if he imagines such 
 a ridiculous thing he has deceived himself. In his 
 overweening conceit he has assumed a prerogative 
 which shall never be his ; never, Edith, never, never, 
 never! " 
 
 " I'm delighted to hear you say so," declared 
 Edith, with a mischievous laugh. " The only rea- 
 son I had for teasing you was to make you tell 
 me the truth. You have not said a word to me for 
 weeks about Arthur Morris, but I know you are not 
 a flirt, Jessie." 
 
 " I shall never flirt with Mr. Morris," asserted 
 Jessie, a smile chasing away the tears and bringing 
 the dimples to her cheeks. " There's a great differ- 
 ence between a financial campaign and a flirtation. 
 I am a commercial diplomat, Edith. So is Mr. 
 Morris. So is papa a very unfortunate one, re- 
 cently. I have been taking part in a triangular 
 engagement, and have secured a temporary advan-
 
 TWO STRANGE INTERVIEWS 
 
 tage. The spoils of my victory have been turned 
 over to papa, who does not know that I have been 
 his ally. The most remarkable thing about the out- 
 come is that Mr. Morris imagines he has won ; papa 
 is certain that he has achieved a notable triumph, 
 and I am so satisfied with the result that I'm going 
 abroad for two years to rest on my laurels." 
 
 "What under the sun are you talking about?" 
 asked Edith. 
 
 " I could never explain it to you," laughed Jes- 
 sie. " It's all about stocks and bonds, and bulls and 
 bears, and shorts and longs, and margins and equi- 
 ties, and lots of other things which you could not 
 understand without weeks of study. But I've not 
 been flirting, Edith; I've been what is it they call 
 it ' plunging in Wall Street.' " 
 
 " That's worse than flirting, and not half so 
 much fun," declared Edith. 
 
 "But I've reformed," said Jessie, gaily. "Let's 
 turn up this road and take the old turnpike back 
 of the house." 
 
 They cantered in silence until they came to the 
 old bridge where Jessie first met John Burt. There 
 she reined in her bay. 
 
 "We'll let the horses rest here a moment," she 
 said. " I always liked this spot. Isn't the view 
 charming across the level of the marsh to the rocks 
 and the dark fringe of pines beyond?" 
 
 "It's much better at the top of the hill," in- 
 sisted Edith, and wondered what Jessie could find 
 
 269
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 to admire in the prosaic surroundings. " Come on, 
 Jessie," and she touched her roan with the whip. 
 
 Jessie remained behind. Back through the 
 swiftly-flying years her fancy wandered to the* 
 summer day when, under the tuition of a sturdy 
 farmer lad, she fished for crabs over the side of the 
 bridge. She noted that an ornamental iron rail had 
 been substituted for the great oaken timbers, and 
 resented the improvement. But the creek was un- 
 changed, and the tide swirled in eddies, which 
 brought back the hour when her cap fell into the 
 water, to be rescued by the dog " Prince," at John 
 Burt's command. 
 
 A few rods away the road turned to the old 
 Burt farmhouse, and she could almost imagine that 
 John was again by her side, as in those happy sum- 
 mer days when it was heaven to live those long, 
 blissful days ere love came to temper joy with 
 sorrow. 
 
 Did John Burt yet live? Did she yet hold the 
 place in his heart she occupied on that night, when, 
 under the old maples, she rested against his breast 
 and bade him a sad farewell? Would he return? 
 When? The little brook, flowing towards the 
 ocean on the outgoing tide, seemed the sole con- 
 necting link between the past and the future. 
 
 The clatter of hoofs aroused Jessie from her 
 reverie. She looked up to see Edith coming towards 
 her. 
 
 "What attraction has that muddy old creek?"
 
 TWO STRANGE INTERVIEWS 
 
 demanded Edith. " Come on, Jessie ; uncle Tom 
 has sounded the horn for dinner." 
 
 On the morrow Edith and Mrs. Bishop went 
 to Boston on a shopping expedition, but they could 
 not persuade Jessie to accompany them. In the 
 afternoon she ordered her horse saddled, and, de- 
 clining an escort, soon disappeared in a turn of the 
 road. Half an hour later she stopped in front of 
 Peter Burt's farmhouse. 
 
 She had not dismounted when the great oaken 
 door swung back and Peter Burt came towards her. 
 There was a kindly gleam in his eye as, with a 
 courtly air, he bowed and greeted her. 
 
 " It is thoughtful of you to remember me, my 
 child," he said, as he gave her his hand and helped 
 her to dismount. u Jasper, take care of Miss Car- 
 den's horse ! We will sit in the shade of the trees; 
 it is cool and pleasant here." 
 
 He left her for a moment and returned with 
 chairs. Mrs. Jasper followed with glasses and a 
 pitcher of delicious cold cider. 
 
 "It is very refreshing," said Jessie, who had 
 regained her courage. "Are you not lonesome 
 here, Mr. Burt?" 
 
 " I am never lonesome so long as I can com- 
 mune with the Creator of all good things," said 
 Peter Burt. " How is your father, my child?" 
 
 " He is very well," answered Jessie. " Since you 
 saw him he has had financial trouble, but his affairs 
 are in better shape now. He lives in New York."
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 The old man made no reply and an interval of 
 silence followed. She felt that his eyes were upon 
 her, not unkindly, but searching, friendly and mag- 
 netic. Almost unconsciously she addressed him: 
 
 " Have you received any word or heard anything 
 from John, Mr. Burt?" 
 
 She thought afterwards that the question was 
 bold, but it did not seem so at the time. 
 
 " You are the only one in the world who has a 
 right to ask me that question, or to whom I would 
 return an answer," he replied. He paused for a 
 moment as if to weigh his words. 
 
 " I have heard from him," he said deliberately. 
 c< He is alive and well." 
 
 "Alive and well! " she exclaimed, her eyes glis- 
 tening with excitement. 
 
 " He is alive and well," repeated Peter Burt. 
 This strange interview took place more than two 
 years before James Blake returned from California, 
 and as has been narrated inadvertently gave to Peter 
 Burt his first verbal information concerning John 
 Burt. 
 
 "Listen to me, my child," said Peter Burt, im- 
 pressively, " and have faith in every word I say to 
 you. Do not feel disappointed when I tell you that 
 I have received no letter from him, and no facts con- 
 cerning him from any human being. Yet I say to 
 you that I know he is alive and well, and blessed 
 beyond most men with the favors which God be- 
 queaths to those for whom the prayers and interces- 
 272
 
 TWO STRANGE INTERVIEWS 
 
 sions of his servants ascend. John is in a far-off 
 land, and there he shall remain until the time 
 ordained for his return. Seek not to call him away 
 from fields not yet harvested. I am four-score and 
 more years old, yet shall I live long after his return, 
 and he and his shall be the joy of my closing days. 
 Youth is impatient, but it is powerless to check 
 God's plans. Do you believe what I have told you, 
 my child?" 
 
 " I do," answered Jessie Garden, and her voice 
 and the confident look in her eyes added emphasis 
 to her declaration. 
 
 Peter Burt abruptly changed the subject, nor 
 did he return to it. He questioned Jessie about her 
 studies and listened as she told him of her two years 
 spent abroad. To her surprise he was conversant 
 on modern art and literature, and discussed the 
 various conflicting and converging schools with an 
 exact knowledge which astounded her. He threw 
 off his austere manner as a traveler sheds his cloak 
 under the warming rays of the sun. His conversa- 
 tion was not without a quaint wit, and for the time 
 Jessie was oblivious to the void of years which 
 separated them. He spoke with the direct positive 
 enthusiasm which made John Burt so delightful a 
 companion. 9 
 
 For nearly three hours they talked on various 
 topics, and never once did Peter Burt lead the con- 
 versation in a direction not entertaining to his fair 
 young visitor. Not until the great rock to the west 
 
 *71
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 of the house threw its long shadow over them did 
 Jessie look at her watch. With an exclamation of 
 surprise she arose to go. 
 
 "You have made this afternoon a very happy 
 one for me, my child," he said, as he lifted her to 
 the saddle. He bowed his gray head and raised his 
 powerful arms. 
 
 "May God bless and keep you, my daughter." 
 
 Jessie rode home in the fading sunlight, a great 
 joy in her heart. "He is alive and well!" she re- 
 peated, time and time again. Edith met her as she 
 entered the gateway, and noted the rapt look on 
 her face, but little did she divine the reason. 
 
 A week later Jessie sailed for France. It was 
 nearly two years before she completed her studies, 
 and again entered Boston harbor. Several weeks 
 before her return to New York, Arthur Morris had 
 acquainted James Blake with the "secret of his en- 
 gagement," as has been related. 
 
 Thus after many years, the several figures in 
 this strange drama had been drawn, as by magnets, 
 within the confines of the great metropolis, whose 
 ever-moving shuttles weave so many mysteries.
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE 
 
 GENERAL GARDEN IS PUZZLED 
 
 FERE are the papers, papa dear. And here 
 LjL are cigars and matches. I found your 
 glasses on the writing-desk. You are care- 
 less as ever, papa dear. Isn't it nice to have some 
 one who knows just what you wish and where to 
 find it?" 
 
 "It is, Jessie, my pet!" And General Garden 
 placed his arm around his daughter's waist, drew her 
 fair face down to his and kissed her fondly. 
 
 " I shall not let you read all the evening, papa, 
 because I have so many things to tell you," said 
 Jessie, smoothing back the scant gray locks. "Now 
 I will agree to be quiet as a mouse for an hour and 
 let you read, and then you must talk to me or 
 rather, let me talk to you." And Jessie Garden 
 opened a book and drew a chair near her father's 
 side. 
 
 " Let me look over the market reports and read 
 the editorial on the President's special message," 
 said General Garden, and a moment later he was 
 deep in the statistical mysteries known only to those 
 whose fortunes are centered in Wall Street. 
 
 They were in the cozy drawing-room of Mr. 
 Bishop's New York residence. Thomas Bishop 
 was born in New York City, and spent his early 
 manhood in that metropolis. His father willed to 
 him the old farm near Hingham, and when he won 
 the hand of Helen Garden the only sister to Mar- 
 
 75
 
 JOHN HURT 
 
 shall Garden he took his bride to the old country 
 mansion and passed the honeymoon beneath its 
 broad gables and amid the typical New England 
 surroundings. He held fast to his New York real 
 estate, and managed his farm with a skill not sur- 
 passed by his neighbors. As a consequence he 
 waxed rich not only in Massachusetts but in New 
 York. 
 
 Obeying an instinct which has all the effect of 
 a natural law, Thomas Bishop had drifted back to 
 his birthplace, retaining the old Hingham mansion 
 as a summer residence. The age of sixty found him 
 hale and hearty, the owner of a brownstone residence 
 in Madison Avenue, New York City, and delighted 
 to share its comforts with Marshall Garden and his 
 daughter. In deference to the general's pride the 
 Bishop's accepted a nominal stipend for the accom- 
 modations furnished. No wreck cast against the 
 rocks of speculation ever stranded on a shore more 
 pleasant or in waters more quiet. 
 
 " It is remarkable how easily a new concern can 
 establish itself in Wall Street," said General Garden, 
 laying aside his paper and slowly wiping his glasses. 
 Jessie raised her eyes with dutiful interest. "It was 
 not so in the old conservative days. It then took 
 years to establish standing and credit. Now an 
 unknown man can come out from the West and have 
 the Street by the ears in thirty days. For example, 
 take this man Blake, who has established the firm of 
 Blake & Company. He suddenly appeared here 
 276
 
 GENERAL GARDEN IS PUZZLED 
 
 from San Francisco and conducted a campaign which 
 swept two old established houses off their feet. 
 His profits were estimated at millions. Since then 
 we have heard of nothing but the doings of James 
 Blake. You cannot pick up a paper without being 
 compelled to read of what James Blake has done, 
 what James Blake is about to do, what James Blake's 
 opinion is on this question or on the other. Here 
 is an article." continued General Garden, picking up 
 a paper, "which gives an account of a conference 
 between this upstart and the Secretary of the Treas- 
 ury of the United States. They say Blake is only 
 twenty-seven years old. Jessie, my dear, it is a great 
 thing to be born fortunate. You were not wise, 
 darling, in your selection of a father." General 
 Garden smiled sadly. 
 
 " I've the best and dearest father in the world 1" 
 exclaimed Jessie, placing her hand in his. " But I'm 
 not going to let him read the papers any more this 
 evening. Let's forget all about the old stocks and 
 the wonderful Mr. Blake, and talk of those we 
 know. Papa, dear, I wish to ask you a question." 
 
 "What is it, my pet? They say that children 
 must not ask questions." 
 
 She hesitated a moment, the color mounting to 
 her cheeks. She had returned from Europe the day 
 before and this was her first evening with her father. 
 
 " Has anything been heard of John Burt? I 
 I thought perhaps Mr. Morris would know as soon 
 as any one."
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 General Garden's lips tightened. He pulled 
 nervously at his beard, and the military moustache 
 bristled aggressively. 
 
 " Answer me, papa ! I have a right to know 
 this." 
 
 There was a flash in the tender eyes and a warn- 
 ing curve in the pretty lips. The crimson left her 
 cheek and she looked frankly into her father's face. 
 There is in innocence the bravery of truth and the 
 calm modesty of virtue. General Garden was dis- 
 armed. 
 
 " Nothing has been heard from Mr. Burt so 
 far as I can learn, Jessie," he said. " Possibly his 
 grandfather may have news. I am reasonably sure 
 Mr. Morris has none. Let us talk of something 
 else, Jessie." 
 
 The door opened and Mrs. Bishop entered. 
 
 " Here is your evening mail, Marshall," she 
 said, handing her brother a number of letters. 
 " And here is a letter for you, Jessie." 
 
 Jessie opened and read a note from Arthur 
 Morris. It congratulated her on a safe return from 
 abroad, and closed by asking permission to call on 
 the first evening which would suit her convenience. 
 The letter lay idly in her hand, and her thoughts 
 were far away when the General uttered an excla- 
 mation. 
 
 " A most astounding coincidence I Really, this 
 is quite remarkable ! " 
 
 "What has happened, papa?" 
 278
 
 GENERAL GARDEN IS PUZZLED 
 
 "You remember that I was speaking of the 
 striking success of a western man, named Blake? 
 Well, here is a letter from him ! This is what he 
 writes." And General Garden read, with evident 
 pride, the following letter : 
 
 JAMES BLAKE & COMPANY 
 WALL STREET 
 
 New York, June 2. 
 Dear Sir : 
 
 I am informed that you hold an equity 
 in ten thousand shares of the L. & O. Rail- 
 road Company. I have customers who 
 are interested in this property, and repre- 
 sent them in negotiations now pending. 
 It is possible your interests may be con- 
 served by conferring with me on this mat- 
 ter. I shall be pleased to meet you at 
 your earliest convenience. To a gentle- 
 man of your experience an injunction to 
 secrecy is unnecessary. 
 
 Awaiting the pleasure of a conference in 
 my office, and trusting that it may result 
 to our mutual advantage, I remain, 
 Very truly, yours, 
 
 JAMES BLAKE, 
 President, James Blake & Company. 
 
 To General Marshall Garden, 
 . Madison avenue, 
 New York City.
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 "That is odd, isn't it?" said Jessie. The 
 general's face glowed with pleasure. " Do you own 
 ten thousand shares of stock in a railroad, papa?" 
 
 " I own an equity in that amount of stock in an 
 alleged railroad," he said, with a grim smile. " They 
 didn't teach you about ' equities ' when you was 
 abroad, did they, little girl? An equity is some- 
 thing you think you own, and hope you will realize 
 on, but do not expect to. It is generally the pos- 
 sible salvage from a mortgage. Do not bother your 
 head about it, pet. From whom is your letter?" 
 
 " From Mr. Morris. He wishes to call some 
 evening this week." 
 
 " Ah, um m." The general cleared his throat 
 and appeared to be concerned only indirectly. 
 "Let's see; this is Friday; Edith is coming to- 
 morrow. Suppose you invite Mr. Morris to take 
 dinner with us Wednesday evening. Edith will be 
 here and we will have a little party of four for a 
 rubber of whist. Is that agreeable to you, pet?" 
 
 "If it suits you, papa," was the quiet response. 
 
 " I have nothing to say about it, Jessie." 
 
 "I have no engagement for Wednesday even- 
 ing," said Jessie, carelessly, " I will write and ask 
 him to call at that time." 
 
 "I have not told you of the change in Mr. 
 Morris's affairs," said General Garden, with some 
 eagerness, " nor have I mentioned my good fortune 
 in consequence of that change. Randolph Morris 
 has retired, and transferred the bulk of his vast 
 280
 
 GENERAL GARDEN IS PUZZLED 
 
 property to Arthur, who has greatly changed in the 
 last eighteen months. The responsibilities of his 
 new position have obliterated that fickleness which 
 was his youthful fault. Arthur Morris is one of 
 our future generals of finance. He is a recognized 
 power in Wall Street, and a factor in local politics 
 and enterprises." He paused, and regarded his 
 daughter intently. 
 
 "And your good fortune is what, papa?" asked 
 Jessie, without lifting her eyes. 
 
 " A much more important position has been 
 awarded to me, with a corresponding increase in 
 emolument," replied General Garden with more of 
 dignity than of pride. Jessie well knew that no 
 salary or position in the gift of Arthur Morris 
 could compensate the lost freedom of an indepen- 
 dent fortune. She threw her arms around her 
 father's neck and spoke tender words of congratu- 
 lation. 
 
 "We will talk no more of money and other 
 gloomy things," she declared with a laugh which 
 brought the roses to her cheeks. " I am going to 
 play for you." 
 
 "Listen to this, papal" She ran her fingers 
 over the keys of the piano. The liquid notes 
 swelled into the intoxicating melody of a gypsy 
 dance and quivered with the trilling of birds among 
 the trees. Then followed the pulsing rhythm of a 
 martial march which fired the blood of the old sol- 
 dier and kindled the war light in his eyes. For 
 
 281
 
 JOHN HURT 
 
 half an hour Jessie played. Then she began a 
 spirited recital of her experiences abroad. She 
 mimicked the staid old German professors and imi- 
 tated the mincing French dancing-masters, and the 
 general laughed until the tears coursed down his 
 cheeks. 
 
 General Garden made an early appointment 
 with James Blake, and was promptly admitted to the 
 private office of the famous operator. 
 
 "If you have no objection, general," said James 
 Blake, after the usual commonplace remarks which 
 preface business transactions, "explain the exact 
 status of this block of L. & O. stock." 
 
 " There is no secret about it," replied the for- 
 mer banker. "A number of years ago I became 
 convinced that the L. & O. railroad had a brilliant 
 future. In .my opinion it occupied a strategic posi- 
 tion. I purchased fifteen thousand shares on specu- 
 lation. After a small rise the stock began to de- 
 cline and I sold five thousand shares at a slight loss. 
 Then the panic swept the country. Not dreaming 
 that my bank would be involved, I decided to pro- 
 tect my L. & O. stock and accordingly bought it 
 in at fifty, paying the sum of $500,000 in cash. 
 Then the crash came and my bank went under with 
 others. Randolph Morris was my principal creditor. 
 To meet his claims I sacrificed my Boston residence 
 and all of my personal property. In the meantime 
 L. & O. had severely declined. After several con- 
 ferences, Mr. Arthur Morris consented, as a per- 
 282
 
 GENERAL GARDEN IS PUZZLED 
 
 sonal favor, to lend me two hundred thousand dol- 
 lars on the stock. It was therefore hypothecated to 
 him for this amount. This was about two years ago. 
 Interest and other charges have since accumulated 
 until Mr. Morris has now a claim of $248,000 
 against the stock. It was quoted to-day at 27. At 
 this figure, assuming that so large a block could be 
 liquidated, my equity amounts to less than $22,000. 
 The money advanced by Mr. Morris was sufficient 
 to meet all claims against me, and I was honorably 
 discharged from bankruptcy." General Garden 
 drew himself up proudly. 
 
 "At what price does Mr. Morris propose to 
 sacrifice the stock?" asked Blake. 
 
 " At twenty-six. He has a purchaser who will 
 take it at that figure, though I have an option on it 
 at the same price under our contract. I have no 
 such sum of money, nor one-tenth of it. I have 
 long since abandoned hope of realizing anything 
 from my original investment of half a million." 
 
 James Blake made a rapid calculation on a 
 writing pad. 
 
 " I have a proposition to make you, General 
 Garden," he said. " I will advance you the money 
 to exercise your option, on the condition that you 
 do so when it drops to 26. You will deposit the 
 stock with me and place it in a pool to be handled 
 at my discretion. As an evidence of my good faith 
 I now offer you 35 for your stock eight points 
 more than the market price. After meeting the
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 Morris claim this will leave you a balance of $100,000. 
 I advise you to reject this latter offer, General Car- 
 den, and to accept my first proposition to take up 
 the stock when it drops to 26, pool it with me and 
 rely on my judgment that it will rise to a point which 
 will net you more substantial profits." 
 
 General Garden looked into the handsome face 
 of the young man who calmly made this proposition. 
 Of his sincerity he had no doubt, but the tempta- 
 tion to grasp the competence dangling before his 
 eyes was almost irresistible. The weight of years 
 and the blows struck by untoward fortune had 
 weakened his spirit and all but shattered his confi- 
 dence. For some moments he was silent, but the 
 old hopes awoke and the courage of youth came 
 back. 
 
 " I will follow your advice, Mr. Blake," he 
 said, firmly. " My one ambition is to insure the 
 happiness of my daughter. Perhaps I have no right 
 to again risk money now within my reach, which 
 rightfully belongs to her, but I will make one more 
 attempt to regain a hard-earned fortune. I shall 
 not ask you to explain your remarkable offer, in 
 which you practically tender to me a gift of one 
 hundred thousand dollars. We are strangers, and 
 I certainly have no claim on your liberality. You 
 must be sure of your ground, and I am content to 
 rely on your judgment. I therefore accept your 
 original offer, Mr. Blake, and will sign an agree- 
 ment to that effect." 
 284
 
 GENERAL GARDEN IS PUZZLED 
 
 Blake called a legal subordinate and, in General 
 Garden's presence, dictated the terms of the con- 
 tract, duplicate copies of which were signed and 
 witnessed. A clerk entered with a slip of paper. 
 Blake glanced at it and passed it to General Garden. 
 
 " Here is a certified check on our bank for 
 $250,000," he said. "When L. & O. drops to 26, 
 cash the check, make a settlement with Mr. Mor- 
 ris, and deposit the stock with me. I take this pre- 
 caution so that there may be no chance for delay, 
 and a cash transaction will acquaint no one with the 
 principals. Do not have the slightest anxiety as to 
 the future movement of the stock." 
 
 General Garden examined the check, folded it 
 and carefully placed it in his wallet. 
 
 "I should be pleased and honored," said Gen- 
 eral Garden, as he arose to go, " to have you accept 
 the humble hospitality of my temporary home. For 
 obvious reasons," he continued, smiling, "it would 
 be impolitic for us to dine in public places while 
 this financial matter is in progress, but within the 
 seclusion of my rooms I should like to testify, in a 
 social way, my appreciation of your generosity." 
 
 "I accept with pleasure," replied Blake. "I 
 have lived so many years in hotels and clubs that 
 such an invitation promises a genuine treat." 
 
 "If you have no other engagement, dine with 
 as on Thursday evening." 
 
 " I have none, and shall do myself that pleas- 
 ure. Until then, adieu, General Garden. Again, 
 
 **s
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 let me caution you not to disturb yourself over the 
 movements of L. &. O. Good afternoon, sir?" 
 
 James Blake shook hands with the general, and 
 turned and entered John Burt's private office. 
 
 "It's all right, John!" he exclaimed, with the 
 enthusiasm of a boy. " You couldn't have man- 
 aged it better yourself. Garden hesitated for a mo- 
 ment, and then refused a bonus of a hundred thous- 
 and, just as you said he would. I made a straight 
 out business deal with him, and he need never know 
 that you had a thing to do with it. I have his op- 
 tion and a contract which gives us absolute control. 
 He's a dignified and at times a crusty old gentle- 
 man, but he stood in proper awe of the famous firm 
 of James Blake & Company." 
 
 Blake laughed and then his face grew thoughtful. 
 
 " I wonder, John," he said, " what he would 
 have thought had he known that a proper title for 
 the firm would be ' John Burt & John Burt ? ' 
 What would he have done had he known that you 
 were not fifty feet away when, as your proxy, I made 
 that generous offer?" 
 
 " Did General Garden say anything about his 
 daughter?" asked John, with anxious eagerness. 
 " Has she returned from Europe ? " 
 
 " I think the fair Jessie is in New York at this 
 very moment," said Blake, smiling as he noted the 
 flash of joy in the other's eyes. " I did not have a 
 good chance to put the question squarely to him. 
 I'm not supposed to know that he has a daughter, 
 286
 
 GENERAL GARDEN IS PUZZLED 
 
 and you cautioned me to be very careful to say 
 nothing which might arouse his suspicions. But he 
 invited me to dine with him at the Bishop residence 
 on Thursday evening. Isn't that great luck? He 
 said to me: 'If you have no other engagement dine 
 with us on Thursday evening.' He would hardly 
 invite me to dine with the Bishops without saying 
 something about it, and that little word ' us 1 means 
 the charming Jessie. Don't you think so, John? " 
 
 U I hope so. Of course you accepted, Jim?" 
 
 "I should say I did," laughed Blake. "If 
 General Garden hadn't been so excited over my 
 glittering offer to make him rich, he might have 
 noticed the prompt energy with which I said I 
 would come. How would you like to take my 
 place, John?" 
 
 " Very much, Jim." There was a wistful, far- 
 away expression in the deep gray eyes. " I must 
 wait a time yet not long, I hope." 
 
 " Never mind, old man," said Blake, heartily, 
 " I hope you may live to dine with her a million 
 times, and that in future years an old chap named 
 Blake may occasionally be permitted to have a seat 
 at the table, and that he may be surrounded by a 
 new and increasing generation of sturdy young 
 John Burts and fair and radiant little Jessie Burts." 
 
 "Thank you, Jim," returned John Burt, his 
 expressive face aglow with pleasure. " When that 
 happy day comes you must bring Mrs. Blake and 
 the children with you."
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX 
 
 BREAKING OLD TIES 
 
 ON the Thursday afternoon following his inter- 
 view with General Garden, Blake strolled 
 into his favorite club. Handsome, dashing 
 and popular, deemed the possessor of millions, with 
 a prestige such as seldom comes to men of his years, 
 the doors of exclusive clubs opened to him influen- 
 tial members finding ways to circumvent the exac- 
 tions of waiting lists. Scores of new friends and 
 admirers were scattered through the rooms. He 
 was chatting with Kingsley when Arthur Morris 
 arrived, and at the first opportunity led Blake to a 
 secluded corner. 
 
 " Pardon me, old chap, I don't often talk busi- 
 ness after hours," apologized Morris ; " beastly bad 
 form and all that sort of thing, don't you know, and 
 you will excuse me for mentioning a little stock 
 matter, won't you ? " 
 
 "Certainly, Morris. What's up?" 
 Morris looked cautiously around and dropped 
 his voice to a whisper. 
 
 " Once in a while I get hold of a good thing, 
 and I've got one now," he began. "We can help 
 each other out now and then by exchanging tips, 
 don't you know! There's going to be a boom in 
 L. & O. ! " 
 
 "Yes? What makes you think so, Morris?" 
 " Caw'nt go into explanations, old chap, but 
 you buy a little L. & O. When it drops below 26 
 288
 
 BREAKING OLD TIES 
 
 it will take a jump of eight or ten points. That's 
 straight! The road's in great shape! Good busi- 
 ness, good crops, and and a coming meeting of 
 the stockholders. Something's going to happen! 
 They're going to cut a melon. You're safe to buy 
 five or ten thousand shares. Take my word for it, 
 old chap!" 
 
 "Much obliged to you, Morris." Blake took 
 out his memorandum book and carefully made a 
 note of the proffered advice. " Nothing moves so 
 fast as the stock of one of these little roads, once it 
 gets started. I imagine you've got control of the 
 stock. You needn't tell me, old man I'll do my 
 own guessing. We Yankees are great on guess- 
 ing." 
 
 Morris looked at him shrewdly, chuckled, 
 slapped him on the back, and arm in arm they saun- 
 tered down the room. 
 
 " Don't buy until it drops below 26," he warned 
 Blake as they parted. 
 
 "All right; I'll watch it. Thousand times 
 obliged to you." 
 
 Blake ordered his coachman to drive to the 
 Bishop residence. He lay back on the cushioned 
 seat and laughed softly. 
 
 " Wall Street is the only place in the world where 
 a truthful man can get a deserved reputation as a 
 liar," he soliloquized. " Morris would save many a 
 dollar by following his own advice. What a scoun- 
 drel he is ! To think that such a hound is engaged
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 to Jessie Garden 1 I fear Miss Garden is too fond 
 of money. Well, money's a good thing, but if I 
 were a woman I wouldn't marry Morris if he had a 
 billion. And John's got enough to buy and sell 
 him." 
 
 The carriage drew up at the Bishop residence. 
 General Garden greeted Blake in the drawing-room. 
 It was restful to contemplate this abode, to breathe 
 the air of domestic luxury, and to contrast it with 
 the frigid elegance of the bachelor apartments where 
 his recent years had been spent. While chatting 
 with his host, Blake found himself wondering if a 
 day would come when the magic of a woman's hand 
 and the inspiration of a woman's love would create 
 for him a place worthy the name of home. 
 
 In an opposite corner of the room he noticed 
 a portrait of Marshall Garden in the uniform of a 
 United States general. When it was drawn, the 
 beard and moustache had not been touched by the 
 gray of years. Blake's eyes wandered along the 
 walls until they rested on another portrait that of 
 Jessie Garden. At first he would have sworn it was 
 the canvas he had seen in the apartments of Arthur 
 Morris, but the one before him was mounted in a 
 heavy gold leaf frame, while its duplicate was sur- 
 rounded by an oaken border ornamented with silver 
 filigree. He paused in the middle of a sentence, 
 his eyes riveted on the canvas, and his mind dazed 
 at the thought that this portrait had confronted him 
 three times first in John Burt's study room, then
 
 With old school dignity Genera] Garden presented James Blake.
 
 BREAKING OLD TIES 
 
 in Arthur Morris's library, and now the same pro- 
 file, pose and figure adorned the walls of the Bishop 
 residence. 
 
 " A portrait of my daughter Jessie one of 
 Steinbach's best productions," exclaimed General 
 Garden, with fatherly pride, mistaking Blake's 
 amazement for polite admiration. " She returned 
 from abroad only a few days ago. You can get a 
 better light from this point," he continued, rising 
 and conducting his guest to a spot where the work 
 of the artist showed to advantage. 
 
 " It was painted nearly three years ago," added 
 General Garden. " Ah, here she comes now ! " 
 
 As he spoke Blake heard the faint rustle of 
 silk and the music of laughing voices. The por- 
 tieres parted, and Mrs. Bishop entered with Jessie 
 and her cousin, Edith Hancock. With old-school 
 dignity, General Garden presented James Blake. 
 
 The portrait was a libel. The genius of the 
 artist had failed to transfer to canvas the radiant 
 beauty of the living, breathing Jessie Garden who 
 stood before him. 
 
 There is born in every man's brain the image 
 of an ideal woman ; the fair goddess to whom his 
 imagination pays devotions; the vision of a face 
 and form floating beyond the reach of extended 
 arms; the elusive phantom of the soul's desire 
 ever present yet ever distant the ignis fatuus of 
 fancy hovering above the swamps of realism. James 
 Blake's ideal was dethroned the moment he looked 
 
 291
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 into Jessie Garden's eyes and felt the mysterious 
 thrill of her presence. 
 
 To her cordial greeting he stammered a reply, 
 and felt relieved when General Garden engaged 
 him in conversation on a topic of political interest. 
 Mrs. Bishop pleaded a theatre engagement and ex- 
 cused herself. 
 
 After a delightful hour spent over dinner, dur- 
 ing which Blake was in lively humor, the young 
 ladies left the general and his guest to the enjoy- 
 ment of cigars. For the first time in his life Blake 
 would willingly have sacrificed the soothing de- 
 lights of the weed. General Garden discussed 
 the latest gossip of the stock market, Blake re- 
 sponding absent-mindedly in monosyllables. He 
 was glad when his host gave the signal and con- 
 ducted him to the drawing-room, where they found 
 Jessie and Edith awaiting them. 
 
 Edith Hancock was a charming girl, but James 
 Blake was so enthralled by the rarer beauty of Jessie 
 Garden that he denied the other a fair tribute of 
 admiration. The family resemblance was so marked 
 in face, figure and carriage that neither brush nor 
 pen could limn the peculiar charm which distin- 
 guished Jessie's beauty above that of Edith. 
 
 In fact, the accurate critic might have con- 
 tended for the latter. He would have pointed out 
 that Jessie's nose was slightly retrousse a depar- 
 ture from the exact canons of feminine beauty, 
 which could not be charged against Edith Han- 
 292
 
 BREAKING OLD TIES 
 
 cock. There were exquisite modulations in the 
 ovals of their faces and in the archings of their 
 eyebrows; curves delicate in their difference, yet 
 potent in creating that ensemble which makes for 
 the superlative in loveliness. Edith's hair was a 
 shade lighter than the dark brown tresses of Jessie 
 Garden, but her eyes were of the same shade. 
 
 It is not possible to explain why one of two 
 diamonds scintillates with greater brilliancy, there- 
 fore words are incapable of disclosing the secret of 
 the charm which lurks in the eyes of a supremely 
 beautiful woman. It is not found only in the physical 
 beauty of the eyes, but in the mirrored image of 
 that individuality which, for lack of a better term, 
 we call the soul. 
 
 James Blake did not attempt an analysis of the 
 beauty of the cousins. All his life he had followed 
 the devious current of his emotions, and been buf- 
 feted by the conflicting winds of his impressions. 
 Yet those who knew and admired these fair young 
 women could not quarrel with his verdict, nor state 
 it in terser language when he inwardly said : 
 
 " Edith is beautiful ; Jessie is beauty." 
 
 At the general's request Jessie played several 
 of his favorite selections, Edith standing by her 
 side and deftly turning the music pages for her. 
 They then sang a duet : a German folk song. Jes- 
 sie's voice was a pure contralto tender, rich and 
 wonderfully expressive in its timbre. Blake was 
 passionately fond of music, and, though he had 
 
 293
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 been given little opportunity to cultivate his de- 
 cided natural talents, was nevertheless an excellent 
 singer and a capable critic. 
 
 " That was grand !" he exclaimed, his handsome 
 face aglow with admiration and the inspiration of 
 the music. " I have never heard Wanderer's Nacht- 
 leld rendered more exquisitely. Please favor me 
 with Der Tannenbaum, will you?" 
 
 "Willingly," said Jessie, as Edith smiled her 
 assent. " But Der Tannenbaum is much more effec- 
 tive with a tenor part. You sing, do you not, Mr. 
 Blake? Something tells me you do. 1 ' 
 
 " I'm sure Mr. Blake sings," asserted Edith. 
 "Come, Mr. Blake, the general shall be our audi- 
 ence!" 
 
 " I have been charged with singing, but never 
 by such fair accusers," laughed Blake, stepping for- 
 ward. " I trust the general will not mete out a pun- 
 ishment to fit the crime. Sing the English transla- 
 tion and I will do my best to carry a part." 
 
 Blake acquitted himself famously. In San Fran- 
 cisco clubs and social circles his clear, strong voice 
 had added to his popularity, but never did he sing 
 so well as on that night standing by Jessie Garden's 
 side. During the interludes he experienced a keen 
 pleasure in watching her tapered fingers trip over 
 the keys. Never did he forget his delight, when, 
 after the first measure Jessie looked up over her 
 shoulder, and paid him the compliment of a smiling 
 glance a look of surprise and appreciation. His 
 
 >94
 
 BREAKING OLD TIES 
 
 thoughts, at that moment, were far removed from 
 John Burt. 
 
 General Garden applauded vigorously and de- 
 manded an encore. The trio sang several songs, 
 and the old soldier lay back in his arm-chair and let 
 his mind drift back to the hours when the one of 
 whom Jessie was the image lifted her sweet voice in 
 the ballads he loved to hear. At his request they 
 sang " Douglas, Tender and True," " Robin Adair," 
 "The Blue Bells of Scotland," "Annie Laurie," 
 and several old war songs. 
 
 Then Jessie proposed a rubber of whist, and in 
 the cut she became the partner of James Blake. 
 Jessie played well and they defeated the general and 
 Edith. 
 
 No matter how pretty a woman may be, she 
 imperils her reign by displaying dulness or lack of 
 interest over a card game. Most men play cards to 
 win be the stakes money or the mere flush of suc- 
 cess and though they may smile at the woman 
 whose blundering dashes down their hopes, they do 
 it with an ill grace. And Jessie played to win from 
 the first lead until the last trick was gathered in. 
 
 " You don't know what a victory we have won !" 
 declared Jessie, her eyes sparkling with pleasure. 
 " Papa and Edith think themselves invincible, and 
 this is their first defeat. Don't look so disconso- 
 late, papa, we beat you fairly and squarely. Let's 
 go to the conservatory. I want to show Mr. Blake 
 those lovely bulbs I sent you from Holland, and I 
 
 295
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 know both of you men are famishing for a cigar," 
 and leaving Edith and the general to follow she 
 escorted Blake to the great glass house, with its 
 arched roof and wilderness of palms, ferns and 
 flowers. 
 
 "I know this is not much of a treat to you," 
 ventured Jessie. "I had forgotten that you have 
 spent all of your life in California, where the loveliest 
 flowers in the world grow wild. It must be beauti- 
 ful there!" 
 
 " But I have not spent all of my life in California," 
 Blake said, glad of the opportunity to bring up a 
 certain topic. 
 
 They had inspected the tulips, in which Jessie 
 took so much pride, and were seated near a fountain, 
 beneath the drooping branches of a Brazilian palm. 
 The general and Edith were on the opposite side of 
 the fountain, half obscured by its spray, which 
 seemed to blend with the smoke from the old gen- 
 tleman's cigar. He was listening to Edith, but only 
 when she laughed was her voice audible above the 
 splash of the waters. 
 
 The night was clear and warm and the stars 
 twinkled oddly through the glass dome. The air 
 was fragrant with the breath of flowers. Blake's 
 cigar was of choicest Havana. The fairest woman 
 he had ever met was looking into his face. He won- 
 dered if he had been translated into Paradise. 
 
 "I lived in California only seven or eight 
 years," continued Blake, " and had little chance to 
 296
 
 BREAKING OLD TIES 
 
 study flowers. For nearly five years I was in the 
 mountains, where an occasional violet was about all 
 I saw. What little knowledge I have of flowers 
 dates back to my boyhood days in New England." 
 
 "New England? I understood papa to say you 
 belonged to that haughty clan known as ' The Na- 
 tive Sons of California.' What part of New Eng- 
 land, Mr. Blake?" 
 
 " Massachusetts," he answered proudly. " I 
 was born in Boston, less than half a mile from 
 where the tea was thrown overboard. My mother's 
 name was Smith, so I'm a Yankee all over." 
 
 "So am I," laughed Jessie. "John Hancock 
 once lived in the house where I was born, and 
 Samuel Adams was there many, many times. I'm 
 as much of a Hancock as Edith, though she won't 
 admit it. Papa is jealous because he does not trace 
 back to any famous Americans, and says that Han- 
 cock was not much of a banker, any way. He 
 claims that such men as Mr. Drexel, or Mr. Pea- 
 body, do more business in a week than Mr. Han- 
 cock did in all his career. To tease me he talks 
 awfully about our great Boston patriots. He claims 
 that Samuel Adams was the only man who ever 
 failed in the brewing business. I answer him that 
 it would be a grand thing to-day if more brewers 
 failed and more patriots succeeded. Don't you 
 like Boston better than San Francisco, Mr. Blake? " 
 
 " Really, I remember very little of Boston," re- 
 plied Blake. "When I was a small boy we moved 
 
 297
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 to Quincy, and from there to a farm near Hingham. 
 That part of my New England life most vivid in 
 my memory clusters round the old farm in Rocky 
 Woods as the people who lived there used to call 
 it and may yet, for all I know." 
 
 " Did you live in Rocky Woods?" The dark 
 eyes opened wide and Jessie looked wonderingly 
 into Blake's face. 
 
 " Why, yes, I lived there for several years. Do 
 you mean to tell me that you ever heard of that 
 desolate patch of rocks, pines, stone fences, huckle- 
 berry swamps and cranberry marshes?" 
 
 " Certainly I have. Uncle Tom Mr. Bishop 
 lived there for a generation, and spends the sum- 
 mers there now. I have often been there. You 
 must know where the Bishop house stands?" 
 
 "Of course I do! Well, I declare, is this the 
 Thomas Bishop who was the only wealthy farmer 
 near Rocky Woods? I've driven past the house 
 thousands of times. It was my boyish idea of a 
 magnificent mansion. My folks were very poor in 
 those days, Miss Garden, and it's not likely your 
 uncle remembers the Blakes, though now that I re- 
 call it my father worked for Mr. Bishop two sea- 
 sons during haying and harvesting. And I helped 
 him. I was a lad of thirteen or fourteen then. 
 You remember the big meadow at the foot of what 
 they called Pine Ledge?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I helped rake the hay into windrows and pile 
 298
 
 BREAKING OLD TIES 
 
 it into cocks in that meadow. Once when it threat- 
 ened to rain your uncle came out and helped us. I 
 killed a big blacksnake right near the spring, under 
 the old willow tree. One day, when it did rain, I 
 ran to the house, and the hired girl asked me into 
 the kitchen and gave me some doughnuts and a 
 glass of milk." 
 
 "Was her name Susie?" asked Jessie with 
 interest. 
 
 " That was her name ! " exclaimed Blake. " She 
 was a big, goodnatured woman, who always had 
 her sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She had a 
 worthless husband, who lived in Weymouth, and 
 who used to come to the farm and wheedle her out 
 of her hard-earned money. Mr. Bishop chased 
 him away once with a pitchfork." 
 
 " That was before I went there," said Jessie. 
 " Susie's husband died when I was twelve years old. 
 She used to show me his picture, and cry and tell 
 me what a good man he was. Isn't it strange, Mr. 
 Blake, that both of us are familiar with that out-of- 
 the-way country? Where was your father's farm?" 
 
 " It was then known as the old Leonard farm. 
 Do you know where Peter Burt lived Peter Burt, 
 the old crazy man who used to pray at night from 
 the top of the big rock? " 
 
 "Yes," said Jessie softly, with a little catch at 
 her breath as the blood mounted to her cheeks. 
 
 James Blake watched her face intently. Both 
 were thinking of John Burt, but with what different
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 emotions ! Since the sun had set, a gulf had opened 
 between John Burt and James Blake. How wide it 
 was and how deep it was Blake could not tell, but 
 he was conscious of a void which had come as in a 
 dream. 
 
 And Jessie Garden? Intuitively she felt that 
 James Blake knew John Burt. In a flash it occurred 
 to her that Blake's business with her father was a 
 subterfuge. Was he the bearer of tidings from 
 John Burt? Perhaps John was dead? If alive, why 
 did he not come himself? She waited breathlessly 
 for Blake to continue. 
 
 "If you follow the road which passes Peter 
 Burt's to the east, and turn to the right at the first 
 crossing, you will come to the farmhouse where we 
 lived," explained Blake. " It is about three-quarters 
 of a mile northeast of Peter Burt's." 
 
 "I know exactly where it is!" Jessie's eyes 
 glowed with excitement. "And you knew John 
 Burt! I remember now that he often spoke of you. 
 He always called you 'Jim,' and rarely mentioned 
 your last name. It was always ' Here's where Jim 
 and I did this thing,' or ' One time Jim shot three 
 squirrels out of this tree.' You two were always 
 together when you were boys. He told me of the 
 first time you met, and the ridiculous fight you had 
 on a log when you both fell in the creek. And you 
 ran away from home. Did you ever meet John 
 Burt in California, Mr. Blake?" 
 
 James Blake was not deceived by the careless 
 
 JOO
 
 BREAKING OLD TIES 
 
 tone in which she asked this question. He pos- 
 sessed the cruel advantage of a gambler who knows 
 the hand of his opponent. With grim joy he 
 reflected that John's injunction for secrecy was still 
 in force. He must either mislead Jessie Garden 
 or prove false to his friend ; but for the first times 
 the deceit was his own and not a sacrifice for 
 another. 
 
 "Of course I knew John Burt," said Blake 
 reflectively. " Dear old John; I owe him thirty-five 
 dollars. When I ran away from home he gave me 
 every dollar he had, and I've not seen him since. 
 Did you say he had gone to California? Is that so? 
 No, I never saw him there, but that's not strange 
 when one stops to think that the Golden State is 
 eight hundred miles long and two hundred and fifty 
 miles wide. I am going back to Hingham as soon 
 as I get time, and was intending to look John up. 
 And you knew him? That, of course, was after I 
 left for the West. Really, Miss Garden, I almost 
 feel as if we were old acquaintances. Ah, here 
 comes Mr. and Mrs. Bishop ! I had no idea it was 
 so late." 
 
 Mr. Thomas Bishop was introduced, and after 
 a brief conversation, in which Jessie acquainted her 
 uncle with the fact that their guest was formerly 
 from Rocky Woods, Blake excused himself. He 
 accepted an invitation to call again. 
 
 "Then we will continue our recollections of 
 Rocky Woods, Miss Garden," he said on leaving. 
 
 301
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 " It seems good to meet some one who has lived in 
 the old place, though I confess I do not look back 
 with pleasure to the years I spent there. I may go 
 to Hingham next week. I don't know when I've 
 spent so enjoyable an evening. Good-night." 
 
 Instructing his coachman to drive to his apart- 
 ments, James Blake closed his eyes and attempted 
 to calmly review what had happened. He found it 
 impossible. One emotion held mastery of him 
 he was in love, madly and defiantly in love with 
 Jessie Garden. He thought of Arthur Morris and 
 hated him. He thought of John Burt and pitied 
 him. Neither should stand in his way. 
 
 Could she be engaged to Arthur Morris? 
 Now that he had met Jessie Garden he found him- 
 self unconsciously repeating John Burt's indignant 
 declaration: "It is a lie; an infamous lie!" If an 
 engagement did exist, it should be as a barrier of 
 mist to his ardent progress. But she did not, she 
 could not love Arthur Morris. 
 
 Did John Burt love her? Did she love John 
 Burt? 
 
 These were the stinging, burning questions 
 which seared his brain, but the clamor of his con- 
 science was drowned in the louder din of his pas- 
 sion. He had not yet reached a point where, with 
 calm selfishness he could voice the brutal aphorism 
 of moral and physical desperados : " All is fair in 
 love and war." He was eager to clear himself of 
 self-accused disloyalty to John Burt, and he clutched 
 
 lot
 
 BREAKING OLD TIES 
 
 at any defence which would serve as possible justi- 
 fication or extenuation. 
 
 John Burt was his friend, the founder of his 
 fortunes; the loyal, trustful comrade to whom he 
 owed all he was or could hope to be. Blake knew 
 this, and yet, with the truth confronting him and 
 pleading for justice, the sophistic arguments and 
 evasions of a vaulting passion came readily to his 
 lips. 
 
 " How do I know John loves her? " he pleaded. 
 " He has not told me so. He has sent her no word. 
 He could have done so easy enough. She does 
 not know if he be dead or alive. Is that the way 
 for a lover to act? If John is in love, he is very 
 deliberate about it. I would crawl on my knees 
 from California for a glimpse of her face. If she's 
 engaged to Morris she is lost to John, anyway. 
 Even admitting that John does love her, is not my 
 love a thousand times greater than his? She was 
 not greatly excited when his name was mentioned 
 to-night. Perhaps she only likes him. John is a 
 royal fellow with men, but I doubt his popularity 
 with the fair sex. He is too matter of fact. You 
 don't get quotations on love over a stock ticker. 
 John plans a love campaign as calmly as if studying 
 a bank statement. Women don't like such treat- 
 ment. Jessie probably resents it. If John has lost 
 her it is his own fault. Perhaps he gave her up 
 long ago. Honestly, I believe his hate for Morris 
 is more to him than his affection for Jessie Garden."
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 Thus quibbled James Blake. Awakened love 
 loosens a million eloquent tongues to plead for self, 
 and palsies the voice which should speak for others. 
 The love of a man for a woman is the sublimation 
 of his egoism ; his unconscious exaltation of desirec
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN 
 
 UNREASONING PASSION 
 
 FORTUNE had been lavish to John Burt since 
 he fled by night from the shores of New 
 England. He entered on his New York 
 career, possessed of rare gifts. He had a superb 
 physique, youth, health, wealth, knowledge, experi- 
 ence and intuition the seven-pointed star of Suc- 
 cess and Power. 
 
 He looked from his office window at the swarm- 
 ing throngs on Wall and Nassau streets. Within a 
 stone's throw were the master spirits of the money 
 world ; men whose names were mountains of finan- 
 cial strength, whose smallest deeds were recorded 
 for the delectation of an eager public. And John 
 Burt smiled to think that he was one of them . 
 leader but unknown. He had all the substance c 
 fame none of its acclaim. 
 
 In all the vast world only two persons knew 
 that such a man as John Burt lived James Blake 
 and Peter Burt. 
 
 John Burt owned stock in thousands of miles 
 of railroads. He was an investor in other great 
 enterprises and activities. An army of men worked 
 under his direction, and the stock market rose and 
 fell at the pressure of his unseen hand. For years 
 he had rebelled at the fate which had made him a 
 recluse, which denied him the fellowship and confi- 
 dence of his peers. He felt a keen joy over the 
 knowledge that the day was approaching when he 
 
 305
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 could assume his true place in the world of vast 
 affairs. 
 
 But of earth's countless millions there was one 
 above all others to whom he wished to tell his 
 secret. He impatiently awaited the time when he 
 could look into Jessie Garden's face and read the 
 verdict in her eyes. With eagerness he longed for 
 the hour when Blake should report the result of the 
 evening spent with General Garden. For the first 
 time in his life he felt unfit for the exacting duties 
 of the day. Were years of patient waiting and work- 
 ing to be rewarded or unrequited? 
 
 Blake arrived in his office at an unusually early 
 hour on the morning following his introduction to 
 Jessie Garden. He had spent a miserable night, 
 racked by passions and torn by emotions which 
 strove for mastery of heart and brain. No sleep 
 came to his bloodshot eyes, and for hours he rest- 
 lessly paced the floor. 
 
 " I love her; my God, how I love her, but I also 
 love John!" he exclaimed again and again, as the 
 night hours crawled slowly away. " What shall I 
 do ; what can I do ? I cannot give her up. By God, 
 I'll not give her up for any man ; not even for John 
 'Burt! Dear old John! What a dog I am! What 
 a damned hound I am to turn and bite the hand 
 which feeds me! But I love her! Am I to blame 
 for loving her? How can I help it? A man cannot 
 love a friend as he loves a woman. Would John 
 surrender the woman he loved for me? What am I 
 306
 
 UNREASONING PASSION 
 
 to do? I must decide before I see him. If I tell 
 John she is in New York he will see her inside of 
 twenty-four hours. That will be the end of my 
 hopes. Does she love him? She liked him when 
 she was rich and when he didn't have a dollar? 
 Will she not love him now when he is twenty times 
 a millionaire and when she is penniless? Of course 
 she will. But she would learn to love me were it 
 not for John. She shall love me ! She must love 
 me! I cannot live without her! Oh, why did I ever 
 see her ! " 
 
 In this unequal contest between loyalty and pas- 
 sion in a weak and self-indulgent nature, passion 
 won the battle, but at a frightful sacrifice. His con- 
 science cried out against the decision, and no sophis- 
 tic pleading could still its persistent voice. His 
 judgment warned him that he was doomed to defeat, 
 but with the frenzied desperation of a gambler he 
 staked everything honor, friendship, loyalty, his 
 business career all on the turn of a card, and dared 
 to meet John Burt with treachery in his heart and a 
 lie on his lips. 
 
 Such was the transformation wrought in the 
 heart of a naturally good man by the influence of an 
 innocent woman. Moralists warn the world against 
 the designing woman; dramatists conjure tragic 
 situations from the wiles and smiles of fair sirens; 
 the pulpit thunders anathemas against those who 
 should wear the scarlet letter, but a calm study of 
 history and a survey of to-day shows that virtue in- 
 
 307
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 spires greater tragedies than vice. Vice is some- 
 times alluring ; virtue is ever entrancing. A man 
 may dare something for a bad* woman; he will risk 
 all for a good woman. 
 
 Surely it was not Jessie Garden's fault that her 
 youth, beauty and innocence aroused in James Blake 
 a wild and unreasoning love. Fate had located four 
 human beings for a short space of time in an ob- 
 scure part of Massachusetts. Chance had decreed 
 that James Blake should be a boyhood friend of 
 John Burt ; that Jessie Garden should visit the house 
 of their neighbor ; that Arthur Morris should come 
 to know two of them through a whim of his banker 
 father. And then fate scattered these human atoms 
 to the four corners of the earth, only to pick them 
 up and place them in New York City. 
 
 One of the three men was strong and patient, 
 one was weak and passionate, one was cunning and 
 unscrupulous, and each, with all the strength of his 
 being, fixed his heart on this one woman. 
 
 Blake knew that John Burt was in his private 
 office, but for the first time in his life he hesitated 
 to enter it. Prosperity had erected no wall of for- 
 mality between these two. From the day they 
 fought their boyish battle, on the edge of the fish- 
 ing; pool, they had called each other "John" and 
 : * Jim." In tacitly accepting John Burt's leadership, 
 Blake recognized in his companion these traits 
 which attract allegiance, and which hold it by unseen 
 but powerful bands. Py a display of tact which 
 308
 
 UNREASONING PASSION 
 
 amounted to genius, John Burt had aided James 
 Blake without patronizing him, and had forgiven 
 his repeated mistakes without offending him. 
 
 Blake strolled slowly through the connecting 
 offices and entered tiie large room reserved for 
 customers. Though it lacked more than an hour 
 before the first quotation would come over tiie 
 ticker, a score or more of men were scattered about 
 the room. Those who knew the famous operator 
 bowed respectfully. Blake gazed absent-mindedly 
 at a bulletin board containing the early London 
 and Paris quotations. He read them, but they had 
 no meaning. He looked out of the window. The 
 hands of the clock on old Trinity pointed to the 
 hour of nine, and as he watched the bell rumbled 
 the strokes. He was thoroughly, abjectly miserable. 
 
 "Who is that gentleman?" asked a smooth- 
 cheeked and dapper young man, who had embarked 
 on his first speculative venture by risking the major 
 part of his quarterly allowance. 
 
 "Why, don't you know?" exclaimed his com- 
 panion. " I should have introduced you. That's 
 James Blake the famous and only James Blake. I 
 know him well," proudly. " Took dinner with him 
 at the club Saturday evening. You shall meet him, 
 Lawrence.. Charming fellow, and the greatest 
 operator this country has ever produced. If you 
 had his millions, my boy, you could buy Erie in ten 
 thousand share lots." 
 
 " Dashing looking chap, isn't he ? " observed 
 
 J09
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 the novitiate. " By Jove, he's handsome ! Looks 
 a bit fagged out, though. Been up most of the 
 night, perhaps. Seems worried over something, 
 don't you think ? " 
 
 " There's a big deal on, " said the other, with a 
 sage smile and lowered voice. "I happen to know 
 that Blake is gunning after old Stockton. There'll 
 be fur flying in this market in a few days. That's 
 why Blake is so quiet. He's just been elected a 
 director in the S. T. & L. Five years ago he didn't 
 have a dollar. Twenty millions in five years is his 
 record ! And it hasn't enlarged his hat in the least. 
 He tells a good story, sings a good song, and no 
 man in the club can drink him under the table. By 
 the way, he told me of a good joke on young 
 Rogers. You know Rogers, of course ? " 
 
 " Certainly. What's the story ? " 
 
 " Rogers, as you know, is a high flyer and not 
 afraid to risk his money on any fair chance. About 
 a week ago he gave a dinner at Delmonico's, and at 
 it were several Wall Street operators. Rogers is 
 always on the lookout for market tips. As a rule 
 he's rather cautious in his habits, but that night hq 
 drank a bit too much, and awoke the next morning 
 in a rather muddled condition. But he was per- 
 fectly clear on one thing. 
 
 41 Somebody had given him a tip to buy oats, 
 and had convinced him that oats were a good thing. 
 Who gave him this information, or what the argu- 
 ment was, Rogers could not recall, but the impres- 
 310
 
 UNREASONING PASSION 
 
 sion was vivid on his mind. Now, he knew nothing 
 of oats, or of any other grain ; had never dealt in 
 a bushel in his life. But he went ahead as if he 
 had operated in oats all his life. 
 
 ' He bought one hundred thousand bushels, 
 and the price began to climb. Then he bought 
 more and more. The shorts got scared, ran to 
 cover. On the final jump, Rogers covered and 
 cleaned up $45.000. 
 
 " That night he hunted up his guests, and 
 tried to find the man who had given him such 
 valuable advice. None of them knew anything 
 about it. Rogers was becoming worried. His 
 coachman drove him home, and as he stepped 
 from his carriage his man said : 
 
 " ' Excuse me, sir, but did you order them 
 oats? Last night you promised to buy fifty 
 bushels. We're clean out, sir. ' 
 
 " Rogers had found the man who had given 
 him the tip to buy oats. He gave the fellow a 
 hundred dollar bill, told him to buy fifty bushels 
 of oats, and keep the change. Ha, ha, ha !. 
 Pretty good, don't you think. Mr. Blake told 
 me that the other night. " 
 
 The moment for action had arrived for 
 James Blake. He compressed his lips, strode 
 through the room and a moment later entered 
 John's office. In the final struggle passion was 
 triumphant, and he nerved himself as best he 
 could for the ordeal. 
 
 3"
 
 JOHN BUR 
 
 John Burt looked up. The haggard expression 
 on Blake's face alarmed him. 
 
 "What's happened, Jim? You're pale as a 
 ghost!" 
 
 "It's a tooth," said Blake, rubbing his hand 
 tenderly over his face. " I'm all right now, but it 
 gave me a bad night. The dentist drew it this 
 morning. I dined with General Garden. I I sup 
 pose " 
 
 " Has Jessie returned ? Did you see her, Jim ? " 
 
 John Burt leaned slightly forward, his powerful 
 hands clasping the opposite arms of the chair. He 
 looked earnestly and searchingly into Blake's face, 
 and there Was in his glance the confident hope of 
 one, who after long years of waiting, had the right 
 to expect favorable tidings. 
 
 " Miss Garden has not returned, but she is ex- 
 pected to sail next Tuesday," said Blake, nervously 
 lighting a cigar. " I had hoped to bring you better 
 news, John, but this is the best I can do. I thought 
 it would be indelicate to ask General Garden for her 
 address, since nothing but a cablegram could reach 
 her before the sailing date." 
 
 A shade of disappointment passed over ^Pohn 
 Burt's face when Blake spoke, but a smile chased it 
 away when he mentioned the time of her departure. 
 
 "You did right, Jim," he exclaimed. "Let's 
 see: Tuesday is the thirteenth. I'm glad Jessie isn't 
 superstitious. That should bring her to New York- 
 on the twentieth. That's thirteen days from now."
 
 UNREASONING PASSION 
 
 Blake turned ashen when the second thirteen 
 was announced, but John's eyes were fixed on the 
 innocent calendar, his thoughts were four thousand 
 miles across a heaving ocean, and he did not notice 
 the superstitious agony imprinted on the other's 
 face. By what miserable chance had he selected that 
 ominous date ? Why should the fatal number repeat 
 itself? For an instant he resolved to abandon his 
 desperate plot. 
 
 It was not yet too late. He could laughingly 
 proclaim it a jest, and tell John the truth. But the 
 fair face and graceful form of Jessie Garden floated 
 before his eyes and a mad, wild longing froze the 
 words on his lips. He had cast the die he would 
 abide by the result. His judgment warned that the 
 odds were overwhelming, but with insane daring he 
 burned the bridges behind him. It was a gambler's 
 chance had not he been a gambler all his life? 
 
 John Burt leaned back in his chair and half 
 closed his ey.es. 
 
 "Two Weeks, lacking a day," he mused aloud.- 
 " There is a Ipng-standing account I should like to 
 settle before Jessie returns," he said, turning to 
 Blake, who had partly regained his composure. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Blake, with a lively show 
 of interest. 
 
 "The elder Morris ruined General Garden as 
 deliberately as ever one man did another," declared 
 John Burt, his deep gray eyes flashing a menace as 
 he brought his hand to the desk with a blow which 
 
 3'J
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 made it rattle. " The proceeds of that villainy have 
 been turned over to his son. He is holding this 
 depreciated stock as a club over General Garden's 
 head, and has the insolence to connect Jessie's name 
 with his. Five years ago Jessie Garden was the 
 daughter of a man with an independent fortune. 
 Two weeks from to-day Arthur Morris shall have 
 made restitution to the man his father wronged. 
 The certainty of this reconciles me to her longer 
 absence. I shall win this campaign, Jim, and it's my 
 last one. I am absolutely confident of the strength 
 of my position. When did Hawkins wire that he 
 would be here?" 
 
 " Thursday," answered Blake. Never before 
 had John Burt betrayed so intense a feeling in any 
 matter discussed between them. Every time he 
 mentioned Jessie's name Blake felt as if a dagger 
 were driven and twisted in his heart. John Burt 
 walked back and forth like a lion, eager to crush 
 down the puny restraints which held him from his 
 prey. Every motion and gesture was instinct with 
 curbed strength. Blake shrank back in his chair. 
 
 " I shall not wait for Hawkins," said John 
 Burt, abruptly. "He owns a block of this L. & 
 O. stock and I shall assume that I have his co-oper- 
 ation. I shall have control of L. & O. before he 
 reaches New York. How did it close last night?" 
 
 "Twenty-eight and a half," replied Blake. 
 
 " It opens to-day at a quarter," said John Burt, 
 standing over the ticker. " Take all offerings up
 
 UNREASONING PASSION 
 
 to thirty, but do not force matters. You under- 
 stand, Jim? Watch it closely and keep me ad- 
 vised." 
 
 " I understand," said Blake, as he arose to go. 
 
 "Wait a minute," called John, as the other 
 stood by the door. "Sam Rounds was in to see 
 you yesterday, was he not? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Send for him at once. Tell him it's some- 
 thing important. When he comes, bring him in 
 here and leave us alone until I give you word. Keep 
 on buying Northwestern. Sell the Tractions. That's 
 all." ' 
 
 Blake entered his own office and flung himself 
 into a chair. He felt as if he had aged years in the 
 hour that had passed.
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY- EIGHT 
 
 MEASURING LANCES 
 
 WHEN Randolph Morris retired in favor of 
 his son he transferred no small burden of 
 responsibility to the shoulders of the latter. 
 
 Arthur Morris inherited his father's money 
 and his ambitions, but not his masterly grasp of 
 affairs. Astute as he was in most things^ Randolph 
 Morris was deceived in his estimate of his son and 
 heir. This error of judgment does credit to the 
 parental love of the elder Morris, and must be con- 
 doned on that ground. To the fond eye of the 
 father, Arthur possessed the very qualities which 
 had founded the Morris fortunes. Yet by some 
 strange alchemy, which preserved the external while 
 transforming the hidden, what was judgment in the 
 elder Morris became daring in Arthur, policy in the 
 former degenerated to cunning in the latter, caution 
 changed to covetousness, and conservatism to un- 
 scrupulousness. So impalpable were the surface in- 
 dications that they might never have been discov- 
 iCred were it not for the results which followed 
 Arthur's accession to the Morris dynasty. 
 
 Arthur Morris had little sympathy with that 
 fine aid conservatism which stops short of direct 
 participation in corruption. He believed, as has 
 been stated, that every man has his price, and was 
 willing to pay it, provided it promised returns. 
 
 The renegade who, for a thousand dollars, sold 
 a public right worth ten times the amount, still
 
 MEASURING LANCES 
 
 considered Morris his benefactor, and held himself 
 under obligations to his briber. This purchased 
 loyalty is the secret of the success of political 
 machines. It is that gratitude which has been so 
 aptly defined as u a lively sense of favors to come." 
 It is " the cohesive power of public plunder." 
 
 He was the controlling factor in a powerful 
 bank, the acknowledged master of corrupt political 
 influences, and a daring operator on the stock ex- 
 change a compact trinity of seemingly irresistible 
 power. His smile was sought ; his frown dreaded. 
 Until James Blake established himself in New York, 
 no young millionaire was in a position to challenge 
 his supremacy, and the wise ones predicted that, 
 should Blake dare measure lances, he would go 
 down to defeat. 
 
 Ambitious to pose as a Wall Street leader, 
 Arthur Morris had assumed an enormous load of 
 stocks, and the success of his ventures had given 
 him the following which ever attends the leader in 
 a rising market. In addition to this speculative 
 risk, Morris had invested heavily in a local enter- 
 prise which had secured several valuable franchises, 
 and was confidently in expectation of others at the 
 hands of the city officials. 
 
 It will be sufficiently accurate to designate the 
 Morris enterprise by the name of " The Cosmopoli- 
 tan Improvement Company," and to state that its 
 assets consisted in its acquired and prospective 
 franchises. While purporting to afford relief from 
 
 3*7
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 existing monopolies, it was in fact nothing more nor 
 less than a well-planned attempt to acquire public 
 rights and force their sale upon threatened competi- 
 tors. In the parlance of finance it was a " sand-bag." 
 The speculative public estimated the value of the 
 prospective robbery at nine millions of dollars. 
 These seem small figures to-day, but in those modest 
 years Arthur Morris was esteemed a king in his 
 field of operation. 
 
 Modern finance was then in its infancy, and 
 public plunder was wrapped in its swaddling 
 clothes. 
 
 Arthur Morris took up the work so auspi- 
 ciously begun by his father the wrecking of the 
 L. & O. railroad company. In this campaign, Gen- 
 eral Garden and many others had lost their for- 
 tunes. Morris held control of the bonds, and 
 looked forward to the day when the stock would be 
 wiped out and this splendid property fall into his 
 hands. It was an open secret in railway circles that 
 the L. & O. would then be absorbed by one of the 
 two powerful companies which intersected its lines. 
 
 Neither Randolph Morris nor his son saw rea- 
 son to believe that anything could interfere with the 
 successful issue of their plans. It was a case of 
 "freeze out" for the desperate but despairing mi- 
 nority stockholders, and for a long time the market 
 temperature had been below zero. They doggedly 
 awaited the day when the powerful Morris interest 
 should make the final move.
 
 MEASURING LANCES 
 
 John Burt detected the flaw in this conspiracy. 
 Mr. Hawkins had guardedly confirmed his judg- 
 ment and tentatively promised his support, and 
 John Hawkins had yet to beat a retreat in railway 
 strategy. Confident of the strength of his position,, 
 John Burt had already taken the initial steps for 
 the control of L. & O. as has been narrated. He 
 set aside three battalions of a million dollars each, 
 and held them in reserve against the entrenched 
 wealth in the Morris vaults. 
 
 Then he again scanned the field of action, and 
 with unerring judgment placed his finger on the 
 weakest point in the Morris defences. The Cos- 
 mopolitan Improvement Company was a rampart 
 on paper. John Burt proposed to enfilade it. He 
 wheeled four millions into position, with more in 
 reserve if necessary. Then he threw out a legal 
 skirmish line. 
 
 In James Blake's name was a large block of 
 stock in the company whose interests were menaced 
 by the Cosmopolitan. Though Blake had recently 
 been elected a director in the former company, John 
 Burt proceeded to make an independent investiga- 
 tion. The highest legal authority assured him that 
 the franchises already granted to the Cosmopolitan 
 were invalid. 
 
 As the crisis in his affairs neared, John Burt 
 took a more direct charge of affairs. The trusted 
 employees of James Blake & Company were in- 
 formed that "John Burton" was a silent partner,
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 who represented large California interests, and that 
 his orders must be followed without question. For 
 months he had steadily converted his securities into 
 money, which reposed in vaults to which he held the 
 keys. The only stocks in Blake's name were those 
 of the company menaced by the Cosmopolitan, and 
 a few scattered blocks of L. & O. 
 
 Like a man-of-war stripped for battle, John 
 Burt carried no encumbrances. He had mastered 
 the secret of the stupendous efficiency of cash 
 money in a Wall Street contest against alleged 
 securities.
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE 
 
 ALDERMAN SAMUEL LEMUEL ROUNDS 
 
 IN response to James Blake's message, Alderman 
 Samuel Rounds called and was conducted to 
 the private office of the famous operator. 
 
 Only a few hours had passed since Blake 
 treacherously had burst the bonds which years of 
 friendship had welded between himself and John 
 Burt. They were wretched, nagging hours. He 
 looked longingly forward to the time when in Jes- 
 sie's company he hoped to enjoy sweet payment for 
 his perfidy. The excitement of a nervous market, 
 and the favorable movement of stocks in which he 
 was interested, had no effect on James Blake. The 
 tape seemed burdened with the story of a murdered 
 friendship. Two figures were ever before his eyes 
 John Burt, stern and unforgiving; Jessie Garden, 
 radiant and lovable. 
 
 Blake had anticipated with zest the meeting 
 between John Burt and Sam Rounds. It had been 
 contemplated for several weeks, but now that the 
 hour was at hand, he took little interest in it. In a 
 vague way it seemed only another menace to his 
 undoing. He found it difficult to respond to Sam's 
 hearty greeting, and terminated the interview as 
 soon as possible. 
 
 " Heou are ye, Jim ; heou are ye ! " exclaimed 
 Sam, as he greeted Blake in his luxurious office. 
 " Don't it beat time, as uncle Toby Haynes uster 
 say, that you an' I are here in New York, an'
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 you are rich, an' I am well, say fair to middlin'. 
 There were only three of us young fellers 'round 
 Rocky Woods ; you an' John Burt an' me. Most 
 all the rest of 'em was old folks. Never saw such 
 a place as Rocky Woods fer old timers. None of 
 'em dies ; they kinder dries up like an' blows away. 
 You an' John an' me was the only boys in the neigh- 
 borhood, an' two of us is here in New York right 
 here in the same buildin'. Do you suppose we'll 
 ever hear from John Burt, Jim? I've allers said 
 he'd turn up on top, some day or nother." 
 
 " Would you like to hear from him," asked 
 Blake, without raising his eyes. 
 
 "Would I? D'ye know anything erbout him, 
 Jim ? Dew ye really ? " 
 
 "There's a man in the next room who knows a 
 lot about him," replied Blake. " That's why I sent 
 for you. Come and meet him." He led the way, 
 and the dazed Sam followed. 
 
 Blake opened John Burt's door and stood in 
 the way as Sam entered. John was seated at his 
 desk and did not turn his head or make a move 
 when Blake said : 
 
 "Alderman Rounds wishes to speak to you." 
 
 Blake stepped outside and closed the door. 
 John deliberately blotted an unfinished letter, rose 
 and advanced to meet Sam, who stood awkwardly 
 by the door, hat in hand. 
 
 " I am glad to meet you, Alderman Rounds," 
 he said, extending his hand. " I have heard of you 
 322
 
 ALDERMAN ROUNDS 
 
 and wish the pleasure of your acquaintance. Pray 
 be seated, alderman." 
 
 The sharp blue eyes of the visitor were fixed 
 on the speaker, and only for an instant was he in 
 doubt. The tall, graceful youth he once knew in 
 Massachusetts had developed into superb man- 
 hood, but the trimmed beard did not efface the 
 lines of the resolute chin, and the Burt eyes clear, 
 calm and magnetic were those of the lad he knew 
 and admired in Rocky Woods. 
 
 " I know ye, John ! God bless ye, John ! Heou 
 are ye, John Burt ! I'm plumb tickled ter death 
 ter see ye ! Well, well, well ! " 
 
 His honest eyes glistened as he threw his hat 
 to the floor, and grasped John's hands with a grip 
 which would have made the average man wince. 
 
 "And I'm glad to see you, Sam I It seems 
 like coming back to life to meet you. How are 
 you, old fellow? Sit down and tell me all about 
 yourself and Rocky Woods." 
 
 "The last time I saw ye, John," he said, "was 
 under them maple trees in front of the Bishop 
 house. I reckon you ain't forgot that night. You 
 galloped away in the dark on my horse an' I ain't 
 seen ye since. Early next mornin' I went to your 
 grandad's house. He was just gittin' ready to untie 
 them constables that was after ye. He gave me a 
 message to Captain Horton, down tew New Bed- 
 ford, an' I took the early train an' went there. I 
 reckoned you was comin' there, an' wanted awfully 
 
 3*1
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 tew wait fer ye, but knew it wan't safe, so I come 
 back home. Now you begin at the place like in 
 them stories which run in the Fireside Companion 
 where it says ' to be continued in our next,' and 
 keep right on up to the present time." 
 
 John laughed and gave Sam a hurried sketch 
 of his career. He told of his voyage around Cape 
 Horn, his arrival in San Francisco, the search for 
 the mine described by the dying sailor, his meeting 
 with Jim Blake, the discovery of the gold mine, his 
 association with John Hawkins and the incidents 
 which led to the formation of the firm of James 
 Blake & Company. John said nothing to lead Sam 
 to think that Blake was only a representative, but 
 the shrewd Yankee guessed the truth. 
 
 As John proceeded with the tale of successes, 
 which he modestly minimized or attributed to per- 
 sistent good fortune, Sam's grin elongated and his 
 homely face was incandescent with joy. When John 
 had finished, the alderman could manifest his de- 
 light by no means other than executing a wild fan- 
 dango. 
 
 " I swan, John, this is tew good tew be true ! " 
 he gasped, shaking hands again. "You ain't told 
 me half the truth, an' ye don't have tew. I can 
 guess the rest. You're James Blake & Company. 
 You're the man who's taught these Wall Street 
 chaps a lesson I You're the lad the papers mean 
 when they write erbout 'The Young Wizard of 
 Finance ' ! I'm proud of ye, John 1 Didn't I allers 
 3*4
 
 ALDERMAN ROUNDS 
 
 say somethin' like this would happen? The last 
 time I saw ye I told ye that ye was clean strain an' 
 thoroughbred, an' that they couldn't down ye. I 
 knows hosses, an' I knows somethin' erbout men, 
 an' I'd pick ye fer a winner every time. An' you 
 can't have too much good fortune to suit me, John, 
 an' I don't want a thing from ye. I just like tew 
 see ye win, because well, because ye orter win." 
 
 "Thank you, Sam." 
 
 " Don't it beat thunder how things turn out?" 
 observed Sam. "I saw Jim when he was down tew 
 Rocky Woods a few months ago, an' when he told 
 me that he was the Jim Blake, you could a' knocked 
 me down with a willow switch. I said tew myself 
 then, that had it been John Burt I wouldn't been 
 surprised. An' now, by thunder, it was John Burt 
 who did it after all. But how erbout Jim Blake, 
 John? If you're James Blake & Company, who'n 
 the dickens is Jim?" 
 
 " I am not James Blake & Company," said 
 John with a smile. "I am the Company. Jim has 
 a substantial interest in the firm, and has done much 
 towards its success. Jim had a siege of bad luck in 
 California, but he's now solidly on his feet, and de- 
 serves all the reputation he has made." 
 
 " I'm mighty glad tew hear it," declared Sam, 
 41 but I reckon I can guess who does the thinkin'. 
 Jim's a fine feller, but he allerswas reckless an' care- 
 less, though mebbe he's outgrown it. Where is 
 he? I suppose he thinks he played a fine joke on 
 
 325
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 me. I like such jokes. Send fer him, John, an' 
 we'll all talk it over together, like we did in the old 
 days back in Rocky Woods." 
 
 John pressed a button and an attendant re- 
 sponded. 
 
 "If Mr. Blake is not busy, say that I should like 
 to see him," he said. 
 
 " There's one thing you haven't told me erbout," 
 said Sam, shifting his feet awkwardly. "I don't 
 want tew pry into your private affairs, John, but 
 have you seen her yet I mean Miss Garden?" 
 
 The door opened softly and James Blake 
 entered so silently that neither heard him. 
 
 " I have not seen Miss Garden," replied John. 
 " She is not in the city." 
 
 "Yes she is," asserted Sam eagerly. "I saw 
 her yesterday ridin' down Fifth Avenue." 
 
 John Burt had seated himself at his desk, which 
 he was putting in order. Surprised at Sam's posi- 
 tive statement he turned quickly. He saw Blake 
 standing by the door. A shaft of sunlight fell full 
 on his face. His hand was on the knob, and he 
 stood motionless as if riveted to the floor. There 
 was that in his expression and attitude which chal- 
 lenged John Burt's attention. 
 
 Students of psychological phenomena may offer 
 an explanation of the impalpable impression re- 
 ceived by John Burt in that moment. His was the 
 dominating mind; Blake's the subjective. By that 
 mysterious telepathy which mocks analysis and scorns 
 326
 
 ALDERMAN ROUNDS 
 
 description, a message passed to John Burt. He 
 yet lacked the cipher to translate it. It dotted no 
 definite warning and sounded none but a vague sus- 
 picion, but the vibration, though faint, was discord- 
 ant. There are natures so delicately constituted 
 that their consciousness stands ever on guard a 
 sleepless sentinel against smiling treachery. 
 
 John Burt glanced at Blake and turned to Sam. 
 
 "You surely are mistaken, Sam," he said. 
 " Miss Garden is abroad and will not sail for New 
 York for several days." 
 
 " Is that so ? " Sam ran his fingers through his 
 red hair and looked puzzled. " That's mighty curi- 
 ous! I've got an eye like a hawk, an' I'd a sworn it 
 was her. I met her once or twice when she was here 
 before, an' thought sure it was her I saw yesterday. 
 Must be wrong though. Guess I'd better begin 
 wearin' glasses. So ye ain't seen her yet, John. I'll 
 bet she'll be plumb glad tew meet you. We was- 
 talkin' erbout ye the last time I saw her. That's 
 two years ago. She hadn't forgot ye, John." 
 
 Blake closed the door and Sam turned at the 
 click of the latch. 
 
 44 Why, here's Jim I Well, well, well I Here we 
 are all together! Thought I wouldn't know John, 
 didn't ye? I knew him the moment he spoke, 
 didn't I, John? And so old Rocky Woods has 
 turned out the great firm of James Blake & Com- 
 pany! I want to congratulate both of ye. Are ye 
 all through work? Let's go somewhere where we 
 
 3*7
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 can have somethin' in honor of this mee-mentous 
 occasion. Come on, boys, it's my treat! The last 
 time I treated John, I bought him an' Jessie sody 
 an' ice cream. Haw, haw, haw ! Sody an' ice cream ! 
 D'ye remember it, John? I wish she was here now. 
 I'd buy somethin' better'n ice cream an' sody 
 water. Come on, let's go somewhere." 
 
 " Many thanks for your invitation, Sam, and I'd 
 like to accept it, but it's hardly safe," said John. 
 " In a few weeks I hope to enjoy your hospitality 
 and to extend mine, but until that time I am ' John 
 Burton' and you don't know me. Sit down, Sam, 
 we wish to discuss a business matter, or perhaps 
 more accurately speaking, a political one. Jim, send 
 one of the clerks out for a magnum, and we'll drink 
 Sam's health here. I'm still an exile, Sam. Until 
 an hour ago, Jim was the only man in New York who 
 was acquainted with me. But I'm filing away my 
 prison bars, and you can help me, Sam." 
 
 "lean help you?" echoed Sam. "You just 
 call on me fer anything except murder an' I might 
 manage that." 
 
 Blake had been singularly quiet, but he joined 
 in the laugh which followed, and left the room to 
 order the proposed refreshment. 
 
 "Jim ain't lookin' well," said Sam, sympatheti- 
 cally. " Looks sorter peaked like ; don't you think 
 so, John?" 
 
 "I noticed that this morning, and told him so," 
 John replied. " He has been under a severe strain 
 328
 
 ALDERMAN ROUNDS 
 
 for weeks, and possibly the change of climate doesn't 
 agree with him. I'm going to send him into the 
 country for a few days. He is entitled to a rest, 
 and there's no reason why he shouldn't have it. Jim 
 and I have been through many hard fought engage- 
 ments together, but at last a decisive victory is in 
 sight. Do you know Arthur Morris?" he asked 
 abruptly. 
 
 "You bet I do; but he don't know me except 
 as Alderman Samuel L. Rounds. Why d'ye ask, 
 John?" 
 
 Blake returned and took a seat near Sam. 
 
 "Our firm is interested in the ordinances 
 submitted to your Board, by the terms of which 
 new and amended franchises are proposed for the 
 Cosmopolitan Improvement Company," began John. 
 " I have studied the record of the proceedings, and 
 find that you spoke and voted against these bills 
 when originally proposed and passed. Do you mind 
 telling me, Sam, what you know of this matter ? Can 
 you do so without violating your trust?" 
 
 "You bet I can; an' I know a lot," declared 
 Sam. " I was comin' over to tell Jim, anyhow, an' I 
 reckon I know what you are after. There's no use 
 of my tellin' ye erbout this fellow Morris. He's 
 nothin' more er less'n a high toned thief. He owns, 
 or thinks he owns the Board of Aldermen. Perhaps 
 he does, but to my way of thinkin' he's likely ter 
 be fooled. There's er lot of new members who are 
 agin him, an' some of the old ones that he bought 
 
 -329
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 before want ter be bought agin, an' they have raised 
 their price. Morris was tew my house last night. 
 Say, John, I wonder what he'd think if he knew I 
 was in your office now? Darned if this ain't a funny 
 world 1 " 
 
 "What did Morris have to say?" asked Blake, 
 who did not need to counterfeit an interest in this 
 new development. 
 
 "He had er lot tew say," replied Sam. "A 
 year ago he offered me five thousand dollars fer my 
 vote. I told him then that I couldn't do business 
 with him, an' he managed tew pass his bills agin my 
 vote an' infloo-ence. Guess he wants me pretty bad 
 just now. Last night he raised his price tew ten 
 thousand." 
 
 "What did you answer him, Sam?" asked John 
 Burt. 
 
 " I told him I'd think erbout it," and Sam's eyes 
 twinkled beneath their red eyebrows. " I said tew 
 him, 'Mr. Morris,' says I, 'ten thousand dollars is 
 an awful lot of money, an' I can use it mighty handy 
 in my business,' I says, ' but I'm afraid my people 
 will think I've been improperly infloo-enced,' " and 
 Sam laughed as if this were the greatest joke he had 
 ever perpetrated. 
 
 "'These ordinances are all right an' fer the 
 benefit of the public,' says this self-sacrificing Mor- 
 ris. 'I'm sorry, Alderman Rounds,' he says, 'that 
 you're prejudiced agin them. If you'll change your 
 mind there's six other aldermen who'll dew the same, 
 330
 
 ALDERMAN ROUNDS 
 
 an' when the bills are passed ye gits ten thousand 
 more.'" 
 
 "That's what he said tew me," continued Sam, 
 " an' I told him that he was a liberal sport, an' that 
 I'd take his offer under consideration an' hold it in 
 abee-ance. Then I asked him who the six others 
 were who'd follow my lead, an' he told me. The 
 seven of us gives him a majority." 
 
 "Was that all?" 
 
 " I should say not," declared Sam. "I said tew 
 him, says I, 'Mr. Morris, I knows all these alder- 
 men, an' they are my personal friends. I'm a busi- 
 ness gent,' I says, 'havin' been in hoss tradin' an' in 
 the commission business all my life, an' perhaps this 
 game is right in my line. Suppose I contract,' says 
 I, ' to deliver all these seven votes,' I says, ' fer the 
 lump sum of eighty thousand dollars: forty per 
 cent, down in cash, an' the balance deposited with 
 a third party an' paid over when the bills is passed ?' 
 Morris thought a while an' said he'd be glad tew dew 
 that. I told him I'd think erbout it a lot an' let him 
 know in a few days." 
 
 Sam paused and looked keenly first at John 
 Burt and then at Blake. 
 
 " I hope you don't think, John," he said, " that 
 I'd any idea of takin' his offer. I " 
 
 "I certainly do not," said John. "I'm simply 
 astounded that Morris has done the one thing I 
 would have him do. This is a rare piece of good 
 fortune, Jim, isn't it?" 
 
 S3*
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 " It's great luck," declared Blake, with genuine 
 enthusiasm. Under the stimulus of Sam's dis- 
 closures he forgot Jessie for the moment, and again 
 took his position side by side with John Burt. 
 
 "This is remarkable, Sam!" he exclaimed. 
 "John and I have been planning to catch Morris at 
 some such game as this, and have hoped that you 
 might help us. And now Morris has set and sprung 
 his own trap and caught himself in its jaws." 
 
 " I reckon I know what tew dew," asserted 
 Sam. " I'm tew see these six aldermen that Morris 
 needs, an' then I'm goin' tew meet him an' make 
 my report. If it's all right he's tew pay me thirty- 
 two thousand dollars in cash, an' put the balance 
 up with some man that I name. I have a rich friend 
 in mind that Morris thinks is all right, an' one that 
 I know is all right, so far's I'm concerned. There's 
 three of these aldermen that Morris couldn't buy 
 if he offered each of 'em the whole lump sum, an' 
 I can handle the others." 
 
 "That is all right so far as it goes," interrupted 
 John Burt, " but Morris is shrewd enough to de- 
 mand positive pledges before paying over any 
 such amount of money. You should have your 
 aldermanic friends sign and execute written prom- 
 ises to support these bills, and keep certified 
 copies of the same. These agreements will not be 
 binding, legally or morally. I will consult my attor- 
 ney in this matter and let you know the best 
 methods of procedure." 
 
 33*
 
 ALDERMAN ROUNDS 
 
 "All right, John; anything you say goes with 
 me," laughed Sam. "When shall I drop in agin?" 
 
 " Early to-morrow morning," replied John. 
 " Send word to Judge Wilson, Jim, that I shall call 
 on him this evening." 
 
 The roar of the Wall Street district subsided 
 to a gentle murmur. The great office buildings 
 had poured forth their armies of clerks and custo- 
 mers, and the streets once thronged with excited 
 men now resounded to the laughter of children 
 and the cries of the few belated hawkers. The sun 
 dropped behind the spire of old Trinity, and in its 
 shadow these three men drank one another's health 
 in honor of their strange reunion. 
 
 Sam Rounds was proud and happy, and the 
 bookkeepers in the outer offices smiled in sympathy 
 to the echo of his laughter. John Burt was pleased, 
 but thoughtful, and a gleam of coming triumph 
 was in his eyes as he touched glasses with his com- 
 panions. 
 
 James Blake made no effort to enter into the 
 spirit of the occasion, and he fancied that his laugh 
 sounded hollow and that his smiles lacked sincerity. 
 When he found John Burt's gaze upon him he 
 unconsciously averted his eyes. 
 
 Like those who dream of being naked in the 
 streets, and who struggle vainly to cover their 
 shame, James Blake lived in a waking nightmare, 
 with his soul bare to the searching gaze of the man 
 he had wronged. 
 
 1JS
 
 CHAPTER THIRTY 
 
 ON THIN ICE 
 
 BLAKE found a ready excuse to call on General 
 Garden. The pronounced activity in L. & 
 O. served as a pretext for an evening visit to 
 the Bishop residence. Blake was greeted by the old 
 banker with dignified cordiality, and his heart beat 
 high as Jessie frankly welcomed him. 
 
 To his enraptured fancy she was the incarna- 
 tion of all that is lovable and fascinating in woman. 
 Nor was it matter for wonder. The dark eyes had 
 the melting tenderness of blue, and the proud little 
 mouth was bewitching in laughter or repose. Her 
 hair, falling back from the pure brow, was a crown 
 which needed no gems to enhance the queenly 
 beauty of its wearer. A princess gown revealed 
 blending curves, and every movement was instinct 
 with that grace which nature bequeaths to perfect 
 womanhood. 
 
 Under the witchery of her presence, James 
 Blake wondered that he had hesitated for a moment 
 to risk life itself to win her. What was friendship, 
 loyalty, fame or fortune in the balance with one 
 smile from the woman he had learned so suddenly 
 to love? His whole being thrilled with keenest 
 joy as he felt the faint clasp of her hand, and his 
 ears drank in the melody of her voice. 
 
 " Papa was saying at dinner that the market 
 had taken a decided turn, and that he thought you 
 would call this evening," said Jessie. "He felt so 
 
 334
 
 ON THIN ICE 
 
 certain of it that we postponed a theatre party. 
 You are to be congratulated, papa, on your intui- 
 tion." 
 
 " I am the one to be congratulated, "said Blake, 
 with a smile and a bow, " but I should preface my 
 self-felicitations with an apology for the informality 
 of my call. If General Garden will stand sponsor 
 for my plea that business exigencies cover a multi- 
 tude of social improprieties, I may hope for for- 
 giveness ; and, if forgiven, I warn you that I shall 
 commit the offense again!" 
 
 A delicate flush suffused Jessie's face and 
 brightened the radiance of her eyes. 
 
 "You will never become an outcast by such 
 transgressions," she laughed. " I will leave you and 
 papa to your business plottings. Edith is here, and 
 when you have ended your serious affairs perhaps 
 you will join us and we can have music or cards." 
 
 Blake's face glowed with a pleasure no formal 
 words could conceal. 
 
 " Our business will be ended in a minute," he 
 said. "I know the general has not forgotten the 
 defeat we administered to him the other evening, 
 and as an old soldier I fancy he is eager to wipe out 
 his repulse with a victory." 
 
 " He certainly is," asserted General Garden. 
 " I'm so sure of winning to-night that on behalf of 
 Edith I challenge you and Jessie to a rubber of 
 whist, with a box to-morrow evening for Booth's 
 production of 'A Fool's Revenge' as a wager! "
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 " Done ! " exclaimed Blake. 
 
 " I warn you that papa generally wins when 
 something is at stake," said Jessie, "but I'll do the 
 best I can, and hope for good luck to offset my poor 
 playing." 
 
 She excused herself, and Blake and General 
 Garden plunged into stock technicalities. 
 
 " I wished you to know the cause of to-day's 
 advance in L. & O.," explained Blake. " For rea- 
 sons you surmise, I am picking up blocks of this 
 stock. It will go higher to-morrow, and then a 
 slump may follow, but you need not worry whether 
 it advances or declines. I have the market under 
 control. From present indications you will be 
 called on to exercise your option inside of ten days." 
 
 " I have confidence in your judgment and you 
 can rely on prompt execution of your instructions," 
 said General Garden. "For twenty years I have 
 been identified with Wall Street, and I understand its 
 ethics. In this campaign you are the general. You 
 will find me a loyal aide." 
 
 There was more talk, but since Blake had 
 nothing of importance to disclose, the conference 
 soon ended. 
 
 Blake was triumphantly satisfied with his pro- 
 gress. He rightly interpreted General Garden's 
 suggestion of a theatre party as a tacit permission 
 to pay his addresses to Jessie Garden. Later in the 
 evening, through a chance remark by Miss Hancock, 
 he learned that they had declined a theatre invita- 
 336
 
 ON THIN ICE 
 
 tion from Arthur Morris. He no longer had the 
 slightest fear of Morris. He felt sure of the con- 
 sent and even the support of General Garden in his 
 suit for the hand of his daughter. 
 
 The whist game was closely contested, but as 
 Jessie had predicted the general and Edith won a 
 hard-fought victory, and Blake agreed to pay the 
 wager the evening following. 
 
 They strolled into the conservatory. For the 
 first time he was alone with Jessie Garden, and a 
 sense of exalted happiness surged over him. 
 
 How dainty she looked in this bower of palms 
 and flowers ! The graceful Naiad, whose beautifully 
 chiseled form was half revealed in the splashing 
 waters of the fountain, seemed gross and material 
 compared to the rare being by his side. Already 
 he tasted that bliss which comes with a sense of 
 ownership ; the proud satiety of possession. Surely 
 fate had decreed that she should be his ! 
 
 Only by an effort did he restrain himself from 
 making an avowal of his passion. To James Blake 
 nature had been lavish with impulse and niggardly 
 with self-control. All of the good and all of the 
 evil in his being responded to the command of his 
 desires. He had no brake to apply its stern fric- 
 tion to the wild speed of his longings. Like a child 
 he reached out for that which attracted him, and like 
 a child he had been punished for his temerity. 
 
 Blake had formulated no plan of campaign for 
 the conquest of Jessie Garden, The light of her 
 
 3J7
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 eyes and the radiance of her beauty were to him as 
 ignes fatut, and drew him onward at a dizzy pace. 
 
 He talked of California and of Rocky Woods, 
 but his eyes spoke love and his deep rich voice was 
 tender. Fair woman is seldom blind to the spell 
 cast by her charms, and it is probable that Jessie 
 was aware of Blake's admiration ; but she neither 
 recognized nor took advantage of it. He was too 
 good a judge of the heart of a woman to mistake 
 her polite interest for any stronger sentiment. 
 He stood demanding entrance to the outer gate of 
 friendship, when he longed to storm the inner halls 
 of love. 
 
 In war Blake would have been a cavalry leader, 
 recklessly urging his forces into the enemy's coun- 
 try, risking all upon a headlong charge. In love he 
 was a desperado, inspired by a gambler's faith in 
 fortune. Though he knew that the odds were over- 
 whelmingly against him, and that one false step 
 meant irretrievable defeat, he shut his eyes to the 
 perils which encompassed him. 
 
 He knew the risk he ran in appearing in 
 public with Jessie Garden, but he did not hesitate 
 to secure a box for the Booth performance. Had 
 he not already passed unscathed through Sam 
 Rounds's disclosure ? That was an awful moment, 
 and the blood left his face whenever he thought of 
 it. but he argued the outcome as a favorable omen. 
 He knew John's habits so well that he had little 
 fear their paths would cross in the great city. John 
 
 33*
 
 ON THIN ICE 
 
 lived in his office or in his secluded up-town apart- 
 ments, and Blake had attempted in vain to induce 
 his partner to taste the pleasures of the metropolis. 
 
 " Not yet, Jim," he would say. " I've been a re- 
 cluse for five years and can wait a few weeks, or 
 even months, longer. But I've not lost my desire 
 for enjoyment. On the contrary, I've stored it 
 away as a miser hoards gold, and I propose to exact 
 full payment from the world of frivolity when the 
 time comes. I may be a bit dull when I first cast 
 off my prison garb, and it's likely I'll be awkward, 
 but you shall be my guide and mentor." 
 
 There were four in the theatre party the gen- 
 eral and Edith, Blake and Jessie Garden. Blake 
 escorted Jessie to the front of the box and took 
 his place by her side. The peerless Booth was at 
 the height of his power, and a brilliant audience 
 had assembled to do him honor. The vast audito- 
 rium was a mass of color. The boxes were thronged 
 with fair women, but all eyes were turned on Jessie 
 Garden and her handsome escort. She had been 
 absent from New York for two years, and only a 
 few recognized her as the niece of Thomas Bishop, 
 and as one whose debut had been a society sensa- 
 tion. 
 
 James Blake was even less known, though his 
 name had been made familiar by the fame of Wall 
 Street achievements with which he was publicly 
 identified. Scattered through the audience were 
 a score or more of men who knew Blake as a club 
 
 339
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 member or as an operator. By whispered word 
 and polite inquiry the information spread until all 
 in the gilded circle knew the names of the hand- 
 some couple. 
 
 The first act was nearly over when a thick-set 
 young man, with a soft, florid face, sauntered into 
 the box directly across the orchestra from Blake 
 and Jessie. Both recognized the new comer as 
 Arthur Morris, and both felt a secret joy that he 
 was present. His name had never been mentioned 
 between them, nor was Jessie aware that Blake was 
 acquainted with the young banker who had forced 
 himself into her life. 
 
 Like a flash the thought came to Blake that, by 
 means of his rival, he could enhance the chances of 
 a speedy success with the woman by his side. In a 
 dim way this possibility had occurred to him before, 
 but now that Morris was where he could hurl a 
 glove as a challenge at his feet, Blake welcomed 
 the incident, and saw in it boundless possibilities 
 for good fortune. 
 
 " Do you notice the gentleman sitting alone in 
 the box opposite?" asked Blake as the curtain fell. 
 
 u Yes," answered Jessie, raising her eyes and 
 looking at Blake with a puzzled smile. "Why do 
 you ask ? " 
 
 " That's Arthur Morris, the banker." 
 
 " Do you know him ? " 
 
 " I've met him in a business way and also 
 socially," replied Bltke, carelessly. " We belong to 
 340
 
 ON THIN ICE 
 
 the same clubs, and I've been his guest. Would 
 you like to meet him ? " 
 
 " I shall be delighted ! " exclaimed Jessie, who 
 could not resist the temptation. 
 
 At that instant Morris directed his opera- 
 glass for the first time at the Blake box. The 
 smile of joy when he recognized Jessie turned to 
 one of blank amazement when he saw James Blake. 
 Jessie conveniently looked in another direction. 
 Edith touched her on the shoulder. 
 
 " Do you see Mr. Morris? " she whispered. 
 
 "Mr. Blake is going to call him over and intro- 
 duce Mm," returned Jessie, with a warning finger to 
 her lips. " If you laugh, Edith, I shall never speak 
 to you again. This will be my third, and I trust 
 my last introduction to him. Ah, he is coming I I 
 hope papa will not spoil the treat." 
 
 In response to Blake's signal the dazed Morris 
 was picking his way through the crush. Blake led 
 Jessie to the rear of the box, where General Car- 
 den was chatting with a number of old friends. 
 
 " Miss Garden, permit me to present my friend, 
 Mr. Arthur Morris." 
 
 Jessie smiled and offered her hand. 
 
 " I'm glad to meet any friend of Mr. Blake's," 
 she said. 
 
 "By Jove, old man, this is a joke on you, 
 or me or both of us ! " stammered Morris. 
 "Charmed to meet you again, Miss Garden! Ah, 
 Miss Hancock, you are looking more lovely than 
 
 34*
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 ever! How are you, General Garden? This is a 
 good one on you, Blake! I've been acquainted 
 with Miss Garden for years five years, is it not, 
 Miss Garden?" 
 
 Jessie's laughing eyes admitted the truth and 
 Blake looked properly confused. 
 
 "I shall have to forgive you," Blake said to 
 Jessie, " but you are taking an unfair advantage of a 
 wild Westerner." 
 
 Morris looked from Blake to Jessie, but no 
 solution of the puzzle offered itself either in the 
 dark eyes of his rival or in the amused glance of the 
 other. The situation was particularly embarrassing 
 to General Garden, and he glanced appealingly 
 into the face of his daughter, who seemed not 
 in the least dismayed by this unexpected complica- 
 tion. 
 
 " You have the reputation of being lucky," said 
 Morris, laying his hand familiarly on Blake's shoul- 
 der, " but I didn't know that your good fortune 
 extended to an acquaintance with Miss Garden." 
 
 There was a shade of insolence in his tone, and 
 an air which did not escape any of his three listeners. 
 It hinted that he was General Garden's employer; 
 that the latter was under obligations to him, and that 
 Jessie was pledged to pay the debt. But Blake was 
 a good actor in the little comedy between the acts. 
 He held the key to the solution. Of all the figures 
 in this complicated drama, he alone knew the 
 motives which influenced the other players. 
 342
 
 ON THIN ICE 
 
 " I might say the same to you, my dear Morris," 
 said Blake with airy confidence. " Had you taken 
 me into your confidence sufficiently to mention Miss 
 Garden's name, I would have told you of what you 
 rightly call my good fortune. Were it in good form 
 I would willingly wager a supper that I met Miss 
 Garden before you did. Have I your permission, 
 Miss Garden, to challenge Mr. Morris to such a 
 wager?" 
 
 " You have," laughed Jessie. 
 
 General Garden's face was a study, but Morris 
 was too dumbfounded to notice it. Blake's words 
 had reminded him of the night he first met the 
 young magnate from California. He recalled Blake's 
 study of the portrait, and his assertion that he had 
 met Jessie Garden in Rocky Woods. He then had 
 no reason to doubt Blake's word, but now he dared 
 not admit it. He had only one card to play. 
 
 "I accept your wager," he said. 
 
 " When I was a boy I lived in Rocky Woods," 
 began Blake. " Miss Garden probably has told you 
 that she spent the summers with Mr. and Mrs. 
 Bishop, who still have a country place near there. 
 That was let's see seven or eight years ago. 
 Miss Garden was then a little girl, but I remember 
 her distinctly. After my streak of luck in California 
 I visited Rocky Woods but found none of my old 
 acquaintances. I learned, however, that the general 
 and Miss Garden were living in New York, and at 
 the earliest opportunity I took advantage of the 
 
 34S
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 slight acquaintance I had formed when a very young 
 man. That's all. If you demand evidence, I have 
 not the slightest doubt that Miss Garden or the 
 general will furnish it." 
 
 To Jessie's amusement and General Garden's 
 relief Morris declared that he did not doubt Blake's 
 word. There was that in the latter's manner which 
 warned Morris not to insist on fuller details. Though 
 he knew full well that Blake had boldly installed 
 himself as a rival by some method beyond his ken, 
 he was too politic to press the subject without being 
 sure of his ground. The fires of jealousy burned 
 fiercely in him, but he concealed his rage. From 
 that moment he hated Blake with all the malevolence 
 of a vicious nature, but he turned with a smile on 
 his sensuous lips. 
 
 "I admit myself done, old chap," he declared. 
 " We shall have a jolly dinner in honor of my de- 
 feat. Say Tuesday, at Sherry's? Will that be con- 
 venient, Miss Garden? Good! And you, Miss 
 Hancock ? Splendid ! We shall expect you, Gen- 
 eral Garden. There goes the curtain." 
 
 Morris smiled gaily and excused himself, and 
 Blake and Jessie resumed their places. 
 
 " You have a wonderful memory, Mr. Blake," 
 said Jessie, behind her fan. " I could not help 
 thinking, while you were enlightening Mr. Morris, 
 that perhaps you had unconsciously confused your 
 Rocky Mountain career with that of your boyhood 
 friend, John Burt." 
 
 344
 
 ON THIN ICE 
 
 The smile on Blake's lips died and the color 
 mounted to his temples. 
 
 " Perhaps perhaps I did," he said, after an 
 awkward pause. A thousand thoughts and fears 
 came to him. He dared not lift his eyes for fear 
 of encountering the gaze of the man he had 
 wronged. The voices on the stage sounded far 
 away. Jessie's innocent words : " your boyhood 
 friend, John Burt," had hurled him for the moment 
 from the heaven of bliss to the nadir of remorse. 
 Opportunely for his confusion, Edith called Jessie's 
 attention to some trifling matter, and in the interval 
 he regained his composure. 
 
 " I hardly knew what to say to Mr. Morris," 
 he explained hurriedly. "It's most embarrassing 
 that he should happen to be here to-night. I'll tell 
 you some time why I said what I did. I believe I 
 succeeded in diverting all suspicion that the general 
 and I have business relations, but it's a shame that 
 you should be used as a shield. In my clumsy way 
 I was trying to protect your father's interests, and 
 I hope you'll accept that as my excuse." 
 
 " I think I understand," returned Jessie. " Pray 
 do not disturb yourself on account of this inci- 
 dent, Mr. Blake. I'm sure I shall not. Here 
 comes Mr. Booth ! Isn't he grand I" 
 
 The play ended, and Arthur Morris again 
 joined the Blake party as they waited for the crowd 
 to leave. He declined Blake's invitation to supper, 
 pleading a previous engagement. 
 
 345
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 " I'm chaperoning the governor," he laughed, 
 pointing to his father, whose ponderous bulk 
 blocked an adjacent aisle. " By the way, Blake, did 
 you follow my tip on L. & O. ? Bought a little, 
 did you? That's right; keep on buying it. It's 
 going up, as I said it would. You needn't be afraid 
 of it. It's good for ten points in the next ten 
 days. Well, good-night. Don't forget our little 
 dinner party on Tuesday evening." 
 
 34*
 
 CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE 
 
 THE MANTLE OF CHARITY 
 
 IT was late on Sunday morning when Blake 
 awoke. For years he and John had dined at 
 
 four o'clock on Sundays, and they had con- 
 tinued the custom in New York. Blake looked 
 forward to what had ever been a pleasure, with an 
 aversion not unmixed with fear. 
 
 The preceding evening had been a season of 
 unalloyed happiness. Jessie had been most gra- 
 cious. He had monopolized her attention during 
 the supper, and from numberless little incidents he 
 argued that he was in her good favor. She had not 
 taken offense at his thinly-veiled compliments, and 
 she looked surpassingly lovely as the faint flush of 
 pleased confusion suffused her face. General Car- 
 den had clasped his hand and congratulated him on 
 his "diplomacy" in answering Morris's pointed 
 question. 
 
 He rang a bell and his valet responded. 
 
 "Mr. Burton will dine with me at four 
 o'clock," he said. " Until he leaves I'm not home 
 to any one. Make no mistake about this, Roberts. 
 Prepare my bath, and let me have the morning 
 papers. I want a light breakfast." 
 
 Blake carelessly glanced over a newspaper. 
 His attention was held for a few minutes by such 
 events as a society scandal, a Brooklyn fire, an 
 atrocious Chicago murder, and a threatened rail- 
 road strike. With a yawn he was about to lay the
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 paper aside, when he noticed a headline descrip- 
 tive of the Booth performance of the preceding 
 evening. 
 
 It is one of the secrets of newspaperdom that 
 the average subscriber loves to read of that he has 
 seen, rather than of events beyond his range of 
 vision. Since Blake knew all about the Booth per- 
 formance, he was keenly interested in studying the 
 published account of it. It was a long article, but 
 Blake was so engrossed in its reading that he paid 
 no attention to the valet's announcement that his 
 bath was ready. 
 
 To the abject astonishment of that trained and 
 sedate servant, Blake gave a cry of terror and 
 sprang from his couch, upsetting a small table as he 
 rushed towards the window. 
 
 He held the paper with a clutch as if it were 
 a serpent struggling to bury its fangs in his breast. 
 In the full flood of light he again read a paragraph 
 which had frozen the blood in his veins. It was as 
 follows : 
 
 "Among the box-holders at this notable performance 
 was James Blake, the famous Wall Street operator and 
 financier, whose recent advent in New York was signal- 
 ized by a market movement not yet forgotten. Mr. 
 Blake's guests were General Marshall Garden, Miss Jessie 
 Garden and Miss Edith Hancock, of Cohasset, Massa- 
 chusetts. Miss Garden returned a week ago, from a 
 two-years' sojourn abroad, where her musical and artis- 
 tic talents attracted nearly as much attention as her 
 rare beauty. Mr. Arthur Morris was a frequent visi- 
 tor to the Blake box. Gossip has been busy in associ- 
 ating his name with that of Miss Garden as an accepted 
 suitor, but the rumor may bt authoritatively denied."
 
 THE MANTLE OF CHARITY 
 
 "My God! this is awful awful awful I " 
 groaned Blake. "Get out of here!" he shouted 
 to his man. " What the devil do you mean, stand- 
 ing there gaping at me? Bring me a glass of 
 brandy, and be quick about it! " 
 
 He hurled the paper from him and sank back 
 into a chair. 
 
 The door bell rang, and at the sound every 
 nerve tingled with terror. Was it John Burt? 
 James Blake was not a coward as he had proved 
 a score of times when his mettle was put to the 
 test but from the moment he went down to defeat 
 beneath sturdy blows he had respected his boyhood 
 conqueror. Since that hour John Burt had won his 
 allegiance in a thousand ways had shown himself 
 the master mind on unnumbered fields. And in 
 this moment, cowed by the scourging of a guilty 
 conscience, he could not invoke a bravado to take 
 the place of courage. 
 
 The valet opened the door and Blake heard the 
 piping voice of a telegraph messenger. He drew a 
 long breath and tore open the envelope. The mes- 
 sage was from John Hawkins, and stated that he 
 would arrive in New York on the following morning. 
 
 The little clock spasmodically jingled the hour 
 of noon. In four short hours he would face John 
 Burt ! He drank the brandy at a gulp, and plunged 
 into a cool bath. Its cool waters did not bring their 
 wonted exhilaration. He glared at the tempting 
 breakfast, but could not taste it. 
 
 349
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 "Take that stuff away and bring me more 
 brandy," he ordered. 
 
 Again he read the dreaded paragraph. It had 
 a fascination he could not resist. His first impulse 
 had been flight, but the two portions of liquor were 
 not without effect. 
 
 " Perhaps John won't see it," he reflected. " I 
 don't believe he pays any attention to theatrical 
 news. He has often said that he has no time to 
 wade through the gossip and tittle-tattle of a New 
 York paper. There's no one to call his notice to that 
 paragraph. Yes there is Sam Rounds ! Well, 
 that's a thousand to one shot. I wonder if it was in 
 any other papers?" 
 
 He sent for all the Sunday journals and eagerly 
 scanned them for mention of the theatre party, but 
 to his great relief found that it appeared only in 
 the one paper. Again he helped himself to the 
 brandy. 
 
 " Come to think of it, John don't read that 
 cursed paper 1 " he exclaimed half aloud. " It's only 
 an accident that I happened to see it. If I hadn't 
 been there last night I never would have glanced 
 below the headline. What chance is there for John 
 to see it? Not one in a million I " 
 
 He paced up and down the room, and paused 
 to survey his reflection in a mirror. His face was 
 drawn, and dark circles showed under his eyes. 
 The decanter was his only friend. The grave face 
 of the valet did not disclose the astonishment he 
 35
 
 THE MANTLE OF CHARITY 
 
 felt over the conduct of his employer. Blake was 
 almost abstemious in his habits, and his sideboard 
 was more of an ornament than a utility. In this he 
 had wisely patterned himself after John Burt. 
 
 "Shall I serve breakfast now, sir?" asked 
 Roberts. 
 
 Blake answered with a sullen negative and tossed 
 off his fourth brandy. It sounded a new note in 
 the scale of stimulation. 
 
 " I don't see why I should go into such a beastly 
 funk over this affair ! " he muttered. " It's no crime 
 to be in love with a woman. She doesn't belong to 
 him. They're not even engaged. Suppose he does 
 love her? So do I. What if he did meet her first? 
 A woman is not something to be discovered and pre- 
 empted like a gold mine." 
 
 As the hours sped by and the dark red line in 
 the decanter dropped lower and lower, Blake's 
 courage aroused to such a pitch that he welcomed 
 the coming of John Burt. 
 
 " By God> we'll settle this matter now and here I" 
 he exclaimed as he lurched unsteadily about the 
 room. "John Burt nor any other man shall stand 
 between me and Jessie Garden ! I'll show him the 
 paper and ask him what he's going to do about it! 
 He's lorded it over me long enough! Let him 
 come on! I'll meet him face to face ! I'll " 
 
 The hall bell rang with that clear precision 
 which comes from the pressure of an insistent hand. 
 At the same instant the little clock hammered the
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 hour of four. The valet opened the door and John 
 Burt entered. 
 
 For a moment Blake did not recognize him. 
 The moustache and beard had disappeared, and 
 the strong regular lines of John Burt's face were 
 in perfect harmony with the keen, calm and discern- 
 ing eyes. 
 
 The contrast between the two men was startling. 
 John Burt, erect, self-possessed, faultlessly ap- 
 parelled, and invigorated by a brisk three mile walk ; 
 James Blake, disheveled, distraught, and on the 
 verge of a physical collapse. 
 
 Once again in the presence of John Burt and 
 under the glance of those commanding eyes, the 
 brute courage inspired by liquor evaporated. He 
 looked into John's face with a sickly grin, but no 
 words came to his lips. 
 
 "Hello, Jim; what's the matter with you?" 
 
 There was a cordial note in John's voice and 
 sympathy in his face. Blake's eyes and faculties 
 were blurred, but he felt that his friend harbored 
 neither suspicion nor malice. A sense of relief came 
 to him, but in the consequent mental reaction the 
 brandy was all potent. 
 
 "M'all right, John, ol' fellow; m'all right! 
 Glad to see ye, dear ol' John I Have a drink, John ! 
 Glad to see ye ! " 
 
 He swayed and fell into John Burt's arms. His 
 flushed face and reeking breath told their own story 
 without the help of the emptied decanter. Blake
 
 THE MANTLE OF CHARITY 
 
 weighed two hundred pounds, but John picked 
 him up and laid him on the couch as if he were a 
 child. 
 
 "You're knocked out, Jim," he said. "Take 
 a nap, old man, and you'll be all right when you 
 wake up." 
 
 With a dull smile on his lips Blake sank into a 
 deep slumber. 
 
 The minute hand of the little clock crawled half 
 its way around the circle before John Burt left the 
 side of his friend. His eyes were fixed on the 
 motionless figure, but his thoughts wandered far 
 away. 
 
 John Burt knew as positively as one can know 
 without ocular or visual proof that Blake was har- 
 boring a secret which was of vital concern to both 
 of them. He did not need this new incident to 
 strengthen the evidence furnished by his intuition. 
 He had not been deceived by Blake's careless man- 
 ner during the forty-eight hours which had passed. 
 
 But what was the secret ? What had arisen to 
 strike a jangling note in the harmony of their friend- 
 ship ? What motive could Blake have for mystery 
 or evasion? Was he piqued or jealous that the hour 
 was near when the world would know that another 
 was the commanding genius of the firm of James 
 Blake & Company ? 
 
 This latter question answered itself. John Burt 
 knew that Blake was unselfish in such matters, and 
 that he eagerly looked forward to the day when his 
 
 353
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 unearned fame would fall on another. He must 
 seek a motive elsewhere. Was Blake in love ? That 
 was a possibility, but why should he make a secret 
 of his love affairs at that late day? What woman 
 could come between them? Only one in all the 
 world. 
 
 The thought of Jessie Garden in this connection 
 was so grotesque that John attempted to dismiss it, 
 but despite all efforts the figure of the woman he 
 loved constantly arose before him, associated in a 
 vague way with Blake's strange conduct. 
 
 Blake groaned and muttered in his sleep. At 
 first his words were incoherent, but as his excitement 
 grew his voice became distinct, and in a higher key 
 he exclaimed : 
 
 "This is awful awful I What shall I do; what 
 shall I do? I love her! I love her, and no one 
 shall stand between us; no one, by God ! no one, not 
 even " The sentence ended in a moan and again 
 he sank into quiet slumber. 
 
 John walked across the room and gazed for 
 moments from out the opened window. It was a 
 perfect day in early autumn, but he felt oppressed 
 as if under the influence of a deepening shadow. 
 He glanced over Blake's collection of books, but 
 saw none which offered diversion. Pacing up and 
 down the room he stepped on a crumpled news- 
 paper. The rustle disturbed him. He picked it 
 up, glanced carelessly at the date and name and ran 
 his eye over the oages. 
 
 354
 
 THE MANTLE OF CHARITY 
 
 The first words that caught his attention were 
 "Miss Jessie Garden." It was as if they were 
 illuminated. John Burt stood like a statue and read 
 the paragraph which had thrown Blake into a frenzy 
 of fear. 
 
 Every word burned itself into his brain. In- 
 stinctively he drew back like one menaced by a blow 
 struck in the dark. Then the enormity of the thing 
 came to him. Crushing the paper in his hand, he 
 strode across the room and towered over the figure 
 of the man who had requited years of friendship 
 with an act of treachery. 
 
 Blake's face was turned towards him the hand- 
 some, clear-cut features of the one he had known 
 since boyhood. His breathing was as deep and 
 regular as that of an innocent child. The lips were 
 slightly parted in a smile. A tumbled lock of wavy 
 hair showed black against the pure olive of his brow. 
 The neck was white and bare, and seemed to invite 
 the clutch of strangling fingers. 
 
 For an instant an impulse to strike this man 
 dead in his sleep came to John Burt. By a supreme 
 effort he drew away from the couch and gazed with 
 horror at the helpless figure of the one he had 
 known as a friend. Then a flood of feeling checked 
 the swelling tide of his rage. 
 
 ' " How could you do such a thing, Jim ? " he 
 exclaimed, unconsciously aloud. 
 
 A deep sigh from the sleeper was the only 
 response. It breathed of helpless sorrow and un- 
 
 355
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 availing contrition. John Burt turned away and 
 gazed with flooded eyes at the dancing sunlight. 
 
 It was all so unreal that it seemed a mockery. 
 James Blake and Jessie Garden! His trusted part- 
 ner covertly aspiring to the love of the woman to 
 whom he had plighted his troth I 
 
 " He loves her ! " was the cry that sounded in 
 his ears. "He has met her and has concealed the 
 fact from me I He has come to me with lies on 
 his lips and deceit in his heart ! How could you do 
 it, Jim; how dared you do it? While I have been 
 striving to make her happy, you have been false to 
 me and to our friendship. He loves her. Poor 
 Jim; poor Jim! She must be very beautiful. She 
 is here in New York, not a mile from this spot. She 
 knows not if I be dead or alive. Perhaps he has 
 told her I am dead?" 
 
 He walked noiselessly up and down the room, 
 racked by conflicting emotions. At times he paused 
 to look into the face of the man who had wronged 
 and tortured him. He had conquered his desire to 
 exact immediate vengeance and vainly strove to find 
 a possible excuse for Blake's action. It was useless. 
 
 The truth stood clearly revealed. Blake had 
 met Jessie Garden, fallen in love with her, and de- 
 ceived John Burt. Sam Rounds was not mis- 
 taken. 
 
 Never for a moment did John doubt Jessie's 
 constancy. The joy of knowing that she was again 
 in New York, and the certainty that he soon should
 
 THE MANTLE OF CHARITY 
 
 see her, was turned to sorrow by the disclosure 
 which had been made. By degrees his hatred of 
 Blake's act was transformed into pity for the one 
 who had fallen in consequence of it. Blake was 
 doomed as the victim of his weakness and folly. 
 
 How could he help Blake to save himself be- 
 fore it was irretrievably too late ? 
 
 John Burt knew Blake better than the latter 
 knew himself. He read Blake's character as a keen- 
 eyed man scans bold type in the broad glare of 
 light. He detected that strain of weakness, that 
 lack of self-restraint, which made the other power- 
 less in the face of temptation. He marked how 
 the threads of that damning fault were woven into 
 the splendid fabric of a generous, loving nature. 
 He felt that Blake was no more to blame for this 
 defect than is a diamond which has been fused in 
 elemental heat, and whose one blistered flaw mars 
 its brilliancy. 
 
 Few men combine resistless tenacity of pur- 
 pose with charity for the short-comings of others. 
 Aggressive men rarely pause in their dizzy climb 
 to consider, much less to condone, that weakness 
 which has caused others to fall. 
 
 If ever a time existed when Blake stood in 
 need of such a friend as John Burt, it was in this 
 hour when passion had triumphed over loyalty, and 
 when outraged conscience scourged him with a 
 stinging lash. 
 
 For hours John Burt concentrated his mind on 
 
 357
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 the strange problem which had so suddenly arisen. 
 Slowly the tangled skein unraveled itself, and he 
 thought he saw his way clear. At times a wave of 
 anger swept over him, but in the end charity won 
 against odds which seemed overwhelming. 
 
 He resolved not to make himself known to 
 Jessie until Blake had been given a chance to re- 
 trace his steps. This delay in meeting the woman 
 he loved, and for whom he had labored and waited 
 weary years, was the crowning sacrifice, but when 
 John had decided upon it, a sense of happiness 
 stole over him. Somehow he felt that Jessie was in 
 sympathy with his plans. 
 
 It was dark when Blake awoke from his stupor. 
 He raised himself on his elbows and stared wildly 
 about the room until his eyes rested on John Burt. 
 His sleep had been harrowed by dreams, and in 
 this waking moment he could not separate the 
 actual from the unreal. But as the fog burned 
 away, the stern facts stood clear before his mental 
 gaze, and he groaned aloud. John laid aside the 
 book he had made a pretense of reading. 
 
 " Do you feel better, Jim?" he asked, as Blake 
 struggled to his feet, and passed his hand wearily 
 across his eyes. 
 
 " I think so," looking doubtfully at John. " I've 
 been making an ass of myself. That's not a diffi- 
 cult task. Did I say or do anything out of the way?" 
 
 " Nothing except to keep me waiting several 
 hours for my dinner," replied John. There was no
 
 THE MANTLE OF CHARITY 
 
 shade of annoyance or suspicion in his manner, and 
 Blake felt a mingled sensation of relief and remorse. 
 Humbled and nerveless he had an impulse to con- 
 fess all and plead for John's forgiveness, but he 
 lacked the strength of purpose. 
 
 " Take a cold plunge, and while you are dress- 
 ing I'll order dinner," suggested John. 
 
 " I beg pardon for this foolishness ! " exclaimed 
 Blake looking ruefully first at John and then at the 
 decanter. "As you know, I'm not given to drink- 
 ing. I felt very bad this morning and took some 
 brandy on an empty stomach. It went to my head, 
 and that fool valet of mine didn't know enough to 
 throw the cursed stuff out of the window. I've 
 no recollection of what I did after the first drink. 
 Are you sure I said nothing to offend you, John?" 
 
 " You have said nothing to offend me since that 
 day we had the fight near the creek in old Rocky 
 Woods," returned John, looking Blake frankly in 
 the face. The latter's eyes dropped in confusion. 
 
 "We'll say no more about it," added John. 
 "Take your bath, and by the time you are ready, I 
 will see that Roberts has dinner served." 
 
 During and after the meal John led the con- 
 versation back over the years they had spent to- 
 gether. Blake was strangely silent. As a rule he 
 took the lead over his quiet companion on such 
 occasions, but this evening when he attempted to 
 join in the conversation, something arose in his 
 throat and choked him. 
 
 359
 
 CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO 
 
 HAWKINS MAKES A DISCOVERY 
 
 JOHN HAWKINS strode into the office of 
 James Blake & Company at an early hour the 
 
 following Monday morning, and after greeting 
 the nominal head of the firm was shown to John 
 Hurt's room. 
 
 " Mighty glad to see you, my boy," his deep 
 voice rumbled as he laid a giant palm on the shoul- 
 der of the younger man. " Don't think I'd have 
 known you had I met you on the street. When did 
 you part with the beard and moustache ? It improves 
 your looks, Burton. You stack up like a four time 
 winner! " 
 
 "I'm feeling first-rate. And how are you, 
 Hawkins?" 
 
 "Never was better. If I felt finer I'd have to 
 take medicine for it." 
 
 He laughed with a roar that made the windows 
 rattle, and then extracted an enormous black cigar 
 from a case and filled the room with clouds of fra- 
 grant smoke. The tawny beard was perhaps a 
 shade more grizzled than when John Burt first met 
 him, but the years had not softened the lines of his 
 figure nor bowed the massive shoulders. They 
 talked for several minutes on commonplace topics. 
 Mr. Hawkins studied the face of the younger with 
 a scrutiny which did not escape John Burt. 
 
 "In your new disguise or lack of disguise 
 you strangely remind me of some one," said Mr. 
 360
 
 Hawkins suddenly. " I've been sitting here trying 
 to recall who'n the devil it is. You told me once, 
 as I remember, that you were born in Massachusetts, 
 didn't you ? " 
 
 " I did," replied John, " and I also told you 
 that Burton was not my right name. Now, I'm 
 going to tell you who I am, though you must guard 
 my secret for a while yet a short while, I hope." 
 
 "'John Burton' is good enough for me," 
 asserted the magnate, grimly. " It don't make any 
 difference whether your name is Smith, Jones or 
 Schwartzmeister ; I know you're all right, and I'll 
 bet a million on it. Don't tell me, my boy, if you 
 run any risk by doing so." 
 
 "There is no reason why I should not tell 
 you," said John, after a moment's pause. " If any 
 pretext ever existed why I should live under an 
 alias, it has passed now. Here's an advertisement 
 I recently ran across in a San Francisco paper. 
 Read it." 
 
 John Hawkins adjusted his glasses and read 
 the following : 
 
 To John Burt, of Hingham, Man. All rewards of- 
 fered for your arrest by Randolph or Arthur Morris are 
 hereby withdrawn, and you are exempt from prosecution 
 at our hands. 
 
 (Signed) RANDOLPH MORRIS, 
 
 ARTHUR MORRIS. 
 
 John Hawkins read it slowly, and looked 
 searchingly into the face of the young man.
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 " So your name's Burt? Ever have a relation 
 by the name of Peter Burt?" 
 
 "My grandfather's name is Peter Burt," re- 
 plied John. 
 
 " Living yet, eh? How old is he ? " 
 
 " Nearly ninety. You don't mean to tell me 
 that you know him?" 
 
 "Was he a whaling captain?" 
 
 " He was captain and part owner of the whaler 
 'Segregansett,' " answered John. 
 
 Hawkins vented his surprise in strange exclama- 
 tions, and John Burt was silent, in puzzled amaze- 
 ment. A frown spread across the older man's 
 features, but the stern mouth relaxed into a smile, 
 which was succeeded by a hurricane of laughter. 
 
 " John Burt, grandson to old Captain Pete 
 Burt ! This is too rich ! My boy, there's a feud 
 between the houses of Burt and Hawkins, but it 
 shall not extend to your generation. We'll bury it 
 right now I This is Greek to you, but I'll clear it 
 up. Did the old man ever mention the name of 
 Jack Hawkins to you?" 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " I suppose not. It isn't likely he would," and 
 again Mr. Hawkins seemed vastly amused. "Well, 
 I was his first mate on the Segregansett. Cap. Burt 
 was nearly sixty years old then, and I was about 
 twenty-six. I stood six feet four in my stockings, 
 and, without a pound of fat, weighed about two 
 hundred and forty. There was an idea abroad that
 
 HAWKINS MAKES A DISCOVERY 
 
 no man who trod a deck beneath an American flag 
 could lick Jack Hawkins, and, barring one man, I 
 guess they had the facts sized up about right. Your 
 grandfather was perhaps an inch shorter than I. 
 Every one knew that he was a tough old chap, but 
 I was a youngster and not afraid of my weight in 
 hungry wildcats, and it never occurred to me that 
 he would stand a- show with me in a fight. Do you 
 see that scar?" 
 
 He ran his fingers through the iron-gray locks 
 and pushed them back from his forehead. There 
 showed a livid mark, with four black circles. 
 
 11 Those round black marks are the prints of 
 your dear old grandfather's knuckles," he said, let- 
 ting the hair drop back into place. " They've been 
 there thirty odd years. I'll tell you how it hap- 
 pened. Captain Burt was a very religious man, ac- 
 cording to his own standards. He went through 
 the decalogue and marked off some of the com- 
 mandments, and had the others printed in large 
 letters. He was dead set against swearing, but 
 broadminded in his views on murder. He wouldn't 
 tackle a sperm whale if he blowed on Sunday, but 
 when he went ashore, after a long cruise, the way he 
 smashed some of the last commandments was a cau- 
 tion. But as I said, he was particularly down on 
 swearing. A cuss word drove him crazy, and I've 
 seen him pound a man nearly to death for a harm- 
 less ' damn.' It got so that the men would detail 
 one of their number to keep watch on the old man, 
 
 3 6j
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 while the others cussed softly in their bunks. Sail- 
 ors have a hard life, and swearing is one of their few 
 luxuries." 
 
 "We had a sailor named Bilson," continued 
 Mr. Hawkins. " He was one of those clumsy, 
 aggravating fools whose very looks were an incen- 
 tive to profanity. It came on to blow one night 
 and I sent Bilson aloft. He managed to foul the 
 fore-royal clew lines, and when I yelled at him he 
 laughed in his idiotic way, and I was boiling mad 
 all over. I said some things to him that wouldn't 
 go in print. While I was relieving my mind I felt 
 a hand on my shoulder, and it wasn't a gentle one, 
 either. 
 
 " ' Not another word from your blasphemous 
 mouth, Jack Hawkins ! ' said Captain Burt. 
 
 " ' You go to hell! ' I said, so mad I didn't know 
 what I was saying. 
 
 " He gave me a cuff on the side of the head 
 with the palm of his hand. It was not heavy, but it 
 made me crazy. 
 
 '" Go below and pray God to forgive you,' he 
 said. 
 
 "No man had ever struck me before, and I 
 swung at him with my right. I caught him a 
 glancing blow above the eye. He didn't even raise 
 his hands. 
 
 " * Hit me again, Jack Hawkins I ' he said, calm 
 as if asking me to pass him the salt. 
 
 " I aimed for his chin, but caught him on the
 
 HAWKINS MAKES A DISCOVERY 
 
 neck. It was like striking a brick wall. I saw his 
 eyes gleam, but he said nothing. His arm smashed 
 through my guard, and his fist landed full on my 
 temple. It was a frightful blow, and I went sprawl- 
 ing to the deck. Before I could make a struggle he 
 picked me up and hurled me over the rail. As I 
 came up I caught one glimpse of the Segregansett 
 through the mist, as she heeled to port in the gale. 
 
 "The water revived me, and I succeeded in 
 kicking off my boots. I swam in the direction of 
 the ship, and by sheer good luck bumped into a 
 hencoop, which some one Captain Burt most likely 
 had thrown overboard. I floated around on that 
 hencoop until morning. 
 
 " It was still heavy weather, with no sign of the 
 ship. Along about noon I heard a splashing, and a 
 big canoe filled with natives came in sight. I yelled 
 at them, and after much palaver they took me in. I 
 was pretty well fagged out. They were friendly 
 savages on a visit from one small island to another. 
 I went along as a guest, and it was months before 
 the boats of the 'Jane M' came ashore and took 
 me off. 
 
 "A year later I landed in 'Frisco, just in time 
 to be in the gold excitement. That's all. If your 
 grandfather hadn't thrown me overboard in the 
 middle of the Pacific Ocean, it's not likely I'd have 
 located the Challenge mine. I forgave him years 
 ago, and you can bet I harbor no grudge against 
 his grandson."
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 t 
 
 " He has been the one to suffer," said John. 
 " He imagines himself your murderer, and for years 
 has prayed for forgiveness. I remember as a little 
 child listening to his petitions to the Almighty for 
 * having taken from a fellow creature that breath of 
 life which Thou gavest.' I expect to go back to 
 him in a few days, and you must go with me. I 
 promised when I fled from Rocky Woods, that I 
 would not communicate with him or any one I knew 
 until I could meet my enemies as an equal. That 
 time has come, I believe," added John with a quiet 
 smile. 
 
 Then he told John Hawkins the story of his 
 boyhood and of the shooting of Arthur Morris. 
 He told of his love for Jessie Garden, and of his 
 determination to restore to General Garden the for- 
 tune filched from him by the elder Morris. 
 
 "When last I saw Miss Garden," said John, 
 " she was the heiress to a comfortable fortune. I 
 had nothing but health, strength, and ambition, but 
 she believed in my future, and something has told 
 me that she would wait for me. In these long years 
 my confidence has wavered only for the instant 
 when Blake brought news that she was engaged 
 to Morris. I shall see her in a few days, and I wish 
 her to be as proud and independent of my wealth as 
 on that night I left her side, five years ago. In 
 the old days I imagined myself handicapped by pov- 
 erty; now I dread the weight of success. She has 
 been robbed of her birthright, but if my judgment 
 366
 
 HAWKINS MAKES A DISCOVERY 
 
 of the value of L. & O. is accurate, it will be re- 
 stored to the keeping of her father." 
 
 " I have news for you about L. & O.," said 
 John Hawkins, " but first tell me exactly how you 
 stand. How much do you lack of control?" 
 
 " How many shares have you? " asked John. 
 
 " Seventy-four hundred and sixty." 
 
 John consulted a detailed statement of his pur- 
 chases. 
 
 "The company is organized with one hundred 
 thousand shares, of a par value of one hundred 
 dollars each," he said, u with bonds to the amount 
 of five millions more. Morris holds thirty-five 
 thousand shares, and his associates twelve thous- 
 and. That is three thousand less than control, 
 but he imagines that General Garden cannot exer- 
 cise his option on ten thousand shares. These he 
 expects will fall into his hands when the market 
 price drops below twenty-six. As I wrote you, I've 
 had Blake acquire this option from General Garden, 
 but of course Morris knows nothing of this. By 
 private purchase and in the open market, our 
 agents have picked up twenty-nine thousand 
 shares." 
 
 "Let's see," mused John Hawkins. "I have 
 7,460, you have 29,000 and an option on Garden's 
 10,000. That makes a total of 46,460 shares. You 
 yet lack 3,541 of control. Go into the market and 
 buy 'em, my boy! You've done a great piece of 
 work ; a bigger one than you realize." 
 
 167
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 "Now let me tell you something," continued 
 Hawkins, after pacing up and down the room, 
 "though you probably know most of it already. 
 Morris owns nearly all of the bonds. For years old 
 Randolph Morris has been scheming to wreck the 
 road and so come into possession of it on his bonds. 
 As a final step, his directors propose an assessment 
 of the stock. Since we now control, or will before 
 the day closes, we need not fear this move. He 
 had arranged to turn this wrecked property over 
 to C. M. & C. C., for a consideration of eighteen 
 million dollars. No wonder the L. & O. bonds are 
 not for sale. It's the most reckless piece of rail- 
 way murder ever attempted, but this young fool, 
 Morris, has ruined the plans so carefully laid by his 
 old villain of a father. He has staked everything 
 on the assumption that General Garden cannot ex- 
 ercise his option. What amount did Morris ad- 
 vance to Garden?" 
 
 " Less than $300,000." 
 
 11 H-m-m-m. What an ass! Why didn't he 
 give Garden what the stock was worth, take it up, 
 and then go on with his sheep-killing?" Hawkins 
 looked his disgust. 
 
 ** Listen to me, Burton I beg your pardon, 
 my boy Mr. Burt," and the room again resounded 
 with his laugh. "As I was about to say, I've been 
 looking into this L. & O. property. It's all right, 
 and, as president of the International Central, I'm 
 going to buy it if I can make reasonable terms with 
 
 368
 
 HAWKINS MAKES A DISCOVERY 
 
 you. The L. & O. gives us needed terminals in 
 three large cities. It would be fatal to our interests 
 to let it fall into the hands of the C. M. & C. C. 
 If it's worth eighteen millions to them, it's worth a 
 few millions more to us. I've talked with Ren- 
 shaw, and he's with us. He's willing to pay twenty, 
 or even twenty-two millions for the L. & O. Figur- 
 ing the bonds at their fair value, twenty millions 
 would make that stock worth $150.00 a share." 
 
 "That's the way I figure it," assented John 
 Burt. 
 
 " Has Morris sold the stock short?" 
 
 14 1 should judge that he is short 50,000 or 
 60,000 shares. I have gone long on at least 45,000 
 of this amount, at an average price of 28>^." 
 
 " You've got him all right," roared Hawkins, 
 grasping John Burt's hand. " I'm proud of you, 
 my boy ! I came on to help you out, and now I find 
 that you have turned the trick without me. Unless 
 an earthquake destroys New York in a week, 
 you'll have the Morris millions, and your sweet- 
 heart's military parent can count his fortune in 
 seven figures. Is there anything more you want ? " 
 
 "Yes," returned John. 
 
 " Well, you'll get her. I'll back your grandad's 
 judgment that she is waiting for you. Speaking of 
 Peter Burt, how old did you say he is?" 
 
 " Nearly ninety." 
 
 " And you wish me to see him. Think I'll wait 
 until he's a hundred," declared John Hawkins. 
 
 369
 
 J O H N B U R T 
 
 " Joking aside, I'll go with you any day you say, and 
 I'll be damned glad to meet the old man. Only I'll 
 promise not to swear again in his presence." 
 
 They talked for hours, and Hawkins listened 
 with interest to the disclosures made by Sam Rounds 
 concerning the Cosmopolitan Improvement Com- 
 pany. The ticker showed that the stock was strong 
 and buoyant, in anticipation of favorable aldermanic 
 action on the following evening. 
 
 A messenger arrived with a sealed letter from 
 the alderman, informing John Burt that the bribery 
 money had been paid over or deposited. With the 
 seven aldermen supposed to be purchased, Morris 
 estimated a majority of four in favor of his new 
 franchises. The conservative papers denounced the 
 proposed enactments as a steal, and called on repu- 
 table aldermen to go on record against them, but 
 refrained from naming the wealthy beneficiaries of 
 this public crime. 
 
 During the day John Burt contracted to make 
 future delivery of large blocks of Cosmopolitan. 
 In the parlance of Wall Street this was " going 
 short." In other words, he believed that this stock 
 was selling for more than it was worth. The 
 
 ; defeat of the ordinances would enhance the value 
 
 t 
 
 of the stock of the rival company, and John Burt 
 bought it. 
 
 Morris was so sure of speculative success that 
 he had fixed the dinner party to General Carden, 
 Jessie, Edith and Blake for Tuesday evening the 
 370
 
 HAWKINS MAKES A DISCOVERY 
 
 date of the council session when his ordinances 
 would come up for final action. The news of his 
 triumph should come to him while he was reveling 
 in the charm of Jessie Garden's presence. The 
 contemplation of this pleasure inspired Morris with 
 a new idea. 
 
 The dinner should celebrate his formal engage- 
 ment to Jessie Garden ! The more he pondered 
 over this brilliant coup the more entrancing did it 
 seem. He construed Jessie's acceptance of Blake's 
 invitation to the theatre as part of a pretty plot to 
 pique his jealousy. Had she not told him that she 
 would not marry until two years had passed? He 
 consulted his note book, and smiled when he found 
 that the weeks of his probation were ended. He 
 had been a laggard but would wait no longer. The 
 fair Jessie had employed a justifiable expedient to 
 spur him to action. 
 
 His carriage drew up at the Bishop residence 
 an hour before the time set for the dinner. He 
 waited with impatience for Jessie, and was effusive 
 in his greeting when she entered the drawing-room. 
 
 " You are more than prompt, Mr. Morris," she 
 said, releasing her hand. 
 
 " I have something to say to you, to ask you, 
 Jessie. Are we likely to be disturbed here? " 
 
 " I think not. What weighty secret have you 
 to disclose, Mr. Morris? I warn you that I do not 
 speculate or take the slightest interest in the stock 
 
 market. Pray be seated." 
 
 371
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 The great house was silent, and the yellow light 
 of the setting sun flooded the room. Jessie was 
 superb as she calmly awaited the declaration her 
 intuition told her was forthcoming. She could not 
 find in her heart the slightest feeling of pity or 
 sympathy for Arthur Morris. By nature loving and 
 tender, this man aroused in her naught but bitter 
 resentment. 
 
 "I have waited years for this moment," he said, 
 dramatically. His face paled slightly, but he was 
 not abashed. " From the hour I saw you in Hing- 
 ham I have admired you, and now I ask you to be 
 my wife. I am a man of vast affairs, a successful 
 business man, as you are aware. I I am not 
 up in matters of this kind, but but will you 
 be mine? As you know, I think a great deal of 
 you ; more than I know how to tell you ! The gov- 
 ernor dear old governor! endorses my choice. 
 Say you will have me, Jessie ! We will be married 
 at once." 
 
 He had forgotten the peroration of his carefully 
 prepared and oft-rehearsed proposal, and concluded 
 by dropping clumsily to his knees. There was more 
 of demand than of pleading in his manner. It was 
 the confident request of the creditor, who seeks final 
 payment on a long overdue debt. 
 
 Jessie Garden's eyes flashed as she looked down 
 upon him. 
 
 "Arise, Mr. Morris, and make an end to this 
 scene!" she said, as she instinctively drew away 
 
 37*
 
 HAWKINS MAKES A DISCOVERY 
 
 from him. " I cannot marry you. You must re- 
 spect this answer as final." 
 
 Her voice was low, but firm, and the dark eyes 
 held no gleam of hope. For an instant an almost 
 ridiculous expression of dismayed surprise came to 
 his face, and then it was mottled with an anger 
 which swept away the slight trace of tenderness. 
 Morris struggled to his feet. 
 
 " You told me to wait two years for you, and I 
 have waited ! " he exclaimed, harshly. " This is a 
 strange reward for my patience and for my kind- 
 ness to your father ! " 
 
 "I told you I would not marry within two 
 years. I have kept my word. I made no other 
 promise. I shall not discuss your business relations 
 with General Garden. You certainly have not con- 
 sidered me a part of them. Since our dinner en- 
 gagement promises no pleasure to either of us, I 
 will release you from it. Pray excuse me. General 
 Garden will be with you presently." 
 
 " Don't go, I beg of you ! " pleaded Morris, 
 as Jessie turned to leave the room. "Your absence 
 from the dinner would well, it would be very em- 
 barrassing, don't you see? I won't say anything 
 more about about marriage, but please go with 
 us. Something may happen which you would like 
 to hear about. You will go; won't you Miss 
 Garden?" 
 
 Jessie yielded to this miserable entreaty, and a 
 moment later General Garden entered the room 
 
 373
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 and relieved an awkward situation. Jessie took 
 small part in the conversation as the carriage rolled 
 down the avenue, but Morris chatted gaily with 
 Edith Hancock. He secretly nursed his anger, but 
 Jessie noticed that he studiously ignored General 
 Garden,
 
 CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE 
 
 SAM ROUNDS REPENTS 
 
 COSMOPOLITAN Improvement stock was 
 strong and active during the session preced- 
 ing the evening set for the special considera- 
 tion of its franchises. Brokers who acted for Arthur 
 Morris stood on the floor of the exchange and 
 bid up the stock and took all offerings. The price 
 mounted steadily, but rapidly. There was heavy 
 selling from some unknown source, and at the close 
 enormous blocks came out. 
 
 The rumor spread that James Blake was sell- 
 ing the stock. When his representatives stood in 
 the excited mob and boldly proffered Cosmopolitan 
 in thousand-share lots, the price sagged, but Mor- 
 ris's agents came to the rescue and it closed just 
 below the top figure. 
 
 A published poll of the council showed a ma- 
 jority in favor of the ordinances, and wise specula- 
 tors predicted that in the expected boom of the 
 morrow Blake would be severely punished. Blake 
 denied himself to all callers. The office force buzzed 
 with gossip, hanging on the fact that John Burton 
 had taken direct control of the Cosmopolitan deal. 
 Occasionally Blake was called into his office, but 
 when he emerged he issued no orders. The trans- 
 actions were recorded in the name of John Haw- 
 kins, and that gentleman spent all of his time with 
 "Mr. Burton." 
 
 Early in the day John sent for Blake. 
 
 17$
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 " Mr. Hawkins and I have arranged to attend 
 to-night's session of the council," said John. " Will 
 you join us, Jim?" 
 
 "I'd like to, but I have another engagement," 
 replied Blake. " I'll try to drop in before the ses- 
 sion is over." He called John aside so that Mr. 
 Hawkins would not overhear him. 
 
 " Arthur Morris is likely to be there. Are you 
 not afraid he will recognize you?" 
 
 " I am not attempting to avoid Morris, but I 
 doubt if he will be present," was John's reply. As 
 Blake left the room he felt that the searching eyes 
 of John Hawkins were upon him. 
 
 "What's the matter with Blake?" demanded 
 Hawkins abruptly, when the door had closed. " He 
 acts like a cat who has swallowed a canary, or who 
 intended to. He's not the same Blake I knew in 
 California. What's up with him?" 
 
 "He's in trouble." 
 
 "What about?" 
 
 " He hasn't told me," replied John Burt in a 
 tone which said that further questioning was use- 
 less. 
 
 I '' "U-m-m-m. It's none of my business, perhaps, 
 but I'd find out if I were you," with which remark 
 Hawkins pulled vigorously at his cigar and became 
 absorbed in an evening paper. 
 
 Long before the chairman called the city fathers 
 to order, the hall was cloudy with tobacco smoke. 
 There was little that was impressive in the personnel 
 01
 
 SAM ROUNDS REPENTS 
 
 of the municipal Solons, nor was their gathering 
 marked by dignity. It is a sad reflection that the 
 average city council is fairly representative of its 
 constituents. It is the mirror of urban ignorance, 
 deceit and cupidity ; of the varying grades of venal- 
 ity, relieved by a sprinkling of upright, but too 
 often impractical men. Righteous enactments are 
 wrung from such bodies only by fear of public 
 indignation, and corrupt measures go down to defeat 
 only when detection and punishment faces the pur- 
 chasable majority. 
 
 John Burt and John Hawkins looked down on 
 this motley crowd of civic statesmanship. 
 
 There were fat aldermen, with rotund stomachs 
 and double chins; slim aldermen, whose cadaverous 
 faces were alert lest some steal should be consum- 
 mated without their participation; pompous alder- 
 men, whose measured words and strutting mien 
 served instead of mentality ; modest aldermen, whose 
 retiring ways and furtive glances raised the suspi- 
 cion that they had stolen quietly into political honor 
 by some strange mistake; solemn aldermen, awed by 
 the weight of their responsibilities, and who gesticu- 
 lated with poised forefingers ; jocose aldermen, who 
 regarded the assembly as a club, and themselves as 
 the merrymakers; saloon-keeping aldermen, garish 
 in solitaires, who shook hands as if about to draw 
 glasses of beer ; ultra respectable aldermen from the 
 suburban wards, whose trimmed beards were sug- 
 gestive of landscape gardening ; exquisite aldermen, 
 
 377
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 slovenly aldermen, placid aldermen, nervous alder- 
 men these and other types represented the elective 
 majesty of the American metropolis. 
 
 Within the rail which held back the populace 
 were others than aldermen. Newspaper men greeted 
 the legislators by their first names ; artists sketched 
 them in characteristic poses. Former aldermen in 
 retirement by the negative votes of their wards, now 
 serving as lobbyists, plied their trade with small 
 attempt at secrecy. Policemen, sergeants-at-arms, 
 and distinguished visitors from other cities, hurried 
 about the halls. Titled foreigners studying Ameri- 
 can institutions "were honored with seats on the plat- 
 form. Messenger boys and a delegation of school 
 teachers armed with a petition for an increase in 
 salaries hung about. All came to a semblance of 
 order when the presiding officer hammered his desk 
 with a gavel and the secretary droned the roll-call. 
 
 Various minor matters had been debated and 
 decided when the chairman announced that the hour 
 set for the consideration of the franchises of the 
 Cosmopolitan Improvement Company had arrived. 
 A clerk read the ordinances, and each alderman was 
 provided with a copy of them. 
 
 Alderman Hendricks arose and was recog- 
 nized. He was the accredited champion of the 
 Cosmopolitan franchises. By profession he was a 
 lawyer by occupation the municipal representative 
 of such corporations as could command his ser- 
 vices. He made an able presentation of the argu- 
 378
 
 SAM ROUNDS REPENTS 
 
 ments in favor of the pending ordinances. He 
 was empowered by his constituents to vote in their 
 favor, he said. They promised a much-needed re- 
 lief from the exactions of a grinding monopoly. 
 Their sponsors were wealthy, reputable citizens 
 whose words were as good as their bonds. There 
 could be no intelligent, unselfish opposition to these 
 measures, and so on to an eloquent peroration. It 
 was a good speech, and worth all that was paid 
 for it. 
 
 Others followed in a similar strain, though not 
 so logically or grammatically. The language of 
 the Bowery vied with the classic diction of the uni- 
 versities in expounding the claims and merits of 
 Cosmopolitan. A well-drilled claque in the gallery 
 applauded at proper intervals. 
 
 Alderman Jones was recognized. He was op- 
 posed to the ordinances, and denounced them as a 
 sand-bagging measure, introduced for vicious pur- 
 poses. They offered no relief, and no honest man 
 could vote for them. Alderman Jones insinuated 
 that money had been used to secure their passage. 
 Since he was known to be an incorrigible reformer, 
 no attempt had been made to bribe him, and the 
 Cosmopolitan aldermen laughed at his charges. 
 
 Other speeches were made, for and against the 
 ordinances, and then Alderman Hendricks moved 
 the previous question. It was carried, and the roll- 
 call ordered. The clerk, pencil in hand, began his 
 monotonous task. 
 
 379
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 "First Ward Alderman Patrick?" 
 
 " A-aye, sor ! " yelled a shrill voice. 
 
 The claque applauded vigorously. 
 
 "Alderman Saboski?" 
 
 " Aye," sounded a clear tenor. 
 
 The gallery was again liberal in its approba- 
 tion. 
 
 "Second Ward Alderman Hendricks?" 
 
 "Aye," said the great lawyer, without raising 
 his eyes from a document. It was a confident, 
 assertive, matter-of-fact " aye," as if its recording 
 were a mere formality. 
 
 "Alderman Rounds?" called the clerk. 
 
 A tall, awkward man rose and faced the chair- 
 man. His red hair was plastered over his forehead, 
 and his hands seemed in the way. In one of them 
 he held a package, and in the other some loose 
 papers. He raised his eyes to the gallery and they 
 twinkled as they rested for a moment on John Burt. 
 
 " Mr. President, I desire to explain my vote on 
 these ordinances." 
 
 There was nothing awkward in the voice. It 
 was clear, firm, and had that ring of honesty which 
 commands the attention of hearers. 
 
 "The honorable alderman from the Second 
 Ward desires to explain his vote," said the presid- 
 ing officer. " If there is no objection he will pro- 
 ceed." 
 
 There was no objection. The Cosmopolitan 
 partisans believed that Alderman Rounds had been 
 380
 
 SAM ROUNDS REPENTS 
 
 won over to their side, and were willing he should 
 attempt to explain the reasons for his change of 
 heart. He had played a waiting game, and it was 
 no secret to those on the inside that Arthur Morris 
 had been compelled to pay liberally for the alle- 
 giance of Samuel L. Rounds. And they admired 
 Rounds for it. The small thief looks up to the big 
 thief, and in municipal circles the official who can 
 " hold up" a great corporation and make it " stand 
 and deliver" is awarded a full measure of respect 
 from those whose peculations are conducted more 
 timorously. 
 
 " Mr. Chairman," began Alderman Rounds, 
 placing his papers on the desk, and with his hands 
 plunged in his pockets, " two years ago, when the 
 original Cosmopolitan ordinances came up for pas- 
 sage, I voted an' spoke against them. I was opposed 
 to them an' said so. When these bills were pro- 
 posed I made a careful study of them. At first I 
 was not in favor of them, but certain gentlemen 
 presented the subject to me in a new light, an' I 
 agreed to vote for the passage of the ordinances 
 now under consideration." 
 
 The Cosmopolitan aldermen joined the claque 
 in the applause which followed this declaration. 
 
 " Mr. Chairman," continued Sam Rounds, as- 
 suming an easy attitude in the aisle, " I don't sup- 
 pose there's any one in this honorable body likes 
 money better'n I do. As far back as I can trace, 
 no one in the Rounds family ever had much money,
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 and it looks like I had inherited all the thirst for 
 money which comes from a drought in the Rounds 
 family extending two hundred years back an' more. 
 When I began to make money tradin' in hosses 
 back in Massachusetts, it was like pourin' kerosene 
 oil on a red-hot stove. The more I got the more I 
 wanted, an' as some of you know I've done pretty 
 fairly middlin' well." 
 
 Sam Rounds reached out and picked a small 
 package from the table and looked at it longingly. 
 Alderman Hendricks turned in his chair and gazed 
 uneasily at the speaker. There was something in 
 his manner which caused a hush to fall on the 
 assembly. 
 
 " Mr. Chairman, "said Alderman Rounds, slowly 
 unwrapping the package as he continued, " money 
 is the greatest argument in the world. Logic is a 
 fine thing, but money beats logic. I admire the 
 man who has the gift of eloquence, like my honor- 
 able colleague from my ward, but money can give 
 eloquence a handicap an' beat it every time. Money 
 talks with a tongue of silver an' lips of gold. It 
 whispers sweet words to our willin' ears, an' we 
 answer yes or no under the spell of its musical notes. 
 Money " 
 
 " Mr. Chairman," interrupted Alderman Hen- 
 dricks, " we desire to proceed with this vote much 
 as we are charmed by my colleague's trite reflections 
 about money as an abstract proposition. The ques- 
 tion before the Board is the disposition of these
 
 SAM ROUNDS REPENTS 
 
 ordinances. I demand that the alderman record 
 his vote." 
 
 "Alderman Rounds has the floor," decided the 
 chairman. 
 
 " Thank you, I'll not take up much of your 
 time," said Sam Rounds. " As I was sayin', I'm 
 uncommonly fond of money, an' when the President 
 of the Cosmopolitan Improvement Company came 
 to my place of business an' said he would pay me 
 ten thousand dollars for my vote in favor of these 
 ordinances, I just went plumb off my center, an' told 
 him I would consider it. I couldn't see anything 
 else in the world but that figure ' one ' with four 
 ciphers after it, an' a dollar mark in front of it. 
 Mr. Chairman, you never had to work hard or trade 
 for a livin', an' you can't realize how I felt when he 
 placed this here package in my hand." 
 
 Sam tore away the wrapping and disclosed a 
 layer of crisp banknotes. Every eye in the room 
 was fixed on the speaker as he stepped forward and 
 laid them on the chairman's table. Dazed and de- 
 moralized, no member of the opposition dared inter- 
 rupt. 
 
 " When I made my start tradin' hosses I was 
 tickled to death if I sold a hoss an' made twenty 
 dollars profit. That ten thousand dollars meant the 
 sellin' of more than five hundred hosses, an' all I 
 had to do was reach out an' take it. In my produce 
 an' commission business, competition is so sharp 
 that I'm lucky to quit two cents ahead on a bushel
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 of potatoes, an' there in a lump was more money 
 than I could make on half a million bushel of pota- 
 toes an' I want to tell you that that's an awful lot 
 of potatoes enough to last this town a long while. 
 An' I gazed at that money an' thought how it 
 would look in my bank book, an' I said to him, 
 'Mr. Morris,' says I, 'I'm your man.' An' then 
 seein' how easy it was to make money here in this 
 city council, I made a deal with him by which I was 
 to buy up six other aldermen an' turn 'em over to 
 him, same as if they was a lot of hosses or bags of 
 potatoes. I talked with these aldermen, Mr. Chair- 
 man, an' all of them accepted what I offered them. 
 Then we drew up an agreement to vote for the 
 ordinances an' gave it to Mr. Morris. Here, Mr. 
 Chairman, is the duly certified copy of that contract. 
 Part of the money was in cash an' the rest in a cer- 
 tified check which was deposited in the hands of a 
 disinterested party. That party has kindly loaned 
 me this check, an' I have brought it here for your 
 inspection. You will note that it is signed by Mr. 
 Arthur Morris and drawn on his bank. 
 
 "Now, Mr. Chairman, an' members of this 
 honorable body," said Sam, turning and facing his 
 astonished listeners, "I want to say to you that I 
 have changed my mind about voting for these ordi- 
 nances. My lawyer tells me I don't have to keep 
 this agreement with Mr. Morris, an' I'm goin' to 
 sacrifice that ten thousand dollars an' the ten thous- 
 and more which would have been mine when these
 
 SAM ROUNDS REPENTS 
 
 ordinances pass. I talked it all over with my old 
 mother an' she likes money a'most as bad as I do 
 an' we agreed it wan't the proper thing to do. I 
 told the people down in my ward when they elected 
 me, that I would be as square with them here in this 
 council as I was in my store, an' I take it that I'm 
 here only because they can't be here. I speak an' 
 act for them, but all of us are partners in matters 
 affecting the welfare of the city. I wouldn't cheat 
 a partner in business, an' I won't cheat my partners 
 as citizens. Mr. Morris says he isn't attempting to 
 bribe me, an' I'm willing to take his word for it that 
 it was purely a business proposition. He didn't say 
 anything to me about keeping it a secret, so I've 
 told you all I know about it. It occurs to me that 
 if these franchises are so valuable that those seeking 
 them are willing to pay money for them, that they 
 should pay it into the city treasury so it may be ex- 
 pended for parks, schools, streets, an' other im- 
 provements in which all the taxpayers can share. 
 Of course I may be wrong, but that's the way it 
 looks to me, Mr. Chairman. Acting on the advice 
 of my lawyer, I therefore turns this money over to 
 you, with the certified check an' the agreement we 
 signed. All of the aldermen who signed it have 
 changed their minds, as they probably will tell you. 
 Thankin' you for your kind attention to this explana- 
 tion, I votes 'no'." 
 
 A scene of wildest confusion followed. Half 
 of the members were on their feet demanding
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 recognition. The chairman pounded his gavel into 
 slivers in a vain attempt to restore order. Sam 
 Rounds was surrounded by reporters who de- 
 manded details, but he declined to add a word to 
 his public statement. The storm gradually subsided, 
 and Alderman Hendricks secured recognition from 
 the chair. 
 
 "In view of the remarkable statements made by 
 my colleague," he said, "I move a postponement of 
 the vote, and the appointment of a committee to 
 investigate these curious charges." 
 
 There were vigorous protests, and the chair 
 ruled that the vote must proceed. Each of the six 
 aldermen associated with Sam Rounds substantiated 
 the charges made, and deposited the bribery money 
 with the chairman. Realizing that defeat was inevi- 
 table, all of the ringsters excepting Alderman Hen- 
 dricks recorded their votes against the ordinances. 
 A motion to adjourn was declared passed, and the 
 excited mob poured into the corridors. 
 
 ]36
 
 CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR 
 
 THE LOVE OF A MAN FOR A WOMAN 
 
 IT was not the fault of the chef or of the service 
 that Arthur Morris did not enjoy his dinner. 
 
 Jessie's beauty, which once charmed him, now 
 inspired him with jealous rage. For Blake he felt 
 unalloyed hatred, and for General Garden a con- 
 tempt which he did not try to conceal. The cheer- 
 fulness which he had assumed when Jessie rejected 
 his suit, gave way to sullen reticence. On the ashes 
 of his passion he kindled the fires of revenge. He 
 impatiently awaited the morrow, when he hoped to 
 crush James Blake and to extinguish the general. 
 He prayed that the news of the council's decision 
 might be brought to him at dinner. 
 
 Morris knew that the firm of James Blake & 
 Company had sold large amounts of Cosmopolitan 
 stock. His agents had traced to the same source 
 extensive purchases of L. & O. He glanced at 
 Blake and then at Jessie, and a bitter smile came to 
 his lips. 
 
 "I will make this a famous marriage," he 
 thought. " I'll strip this cad Blake of his last dollar 
 before he can fix a wedding-day with this penniless 
 daughter of a doddering old bankrupt! I'll shear 
 him so close that they'll be glad to spend the honey- 
 moon in a hall bedroom of a tenement flat on the 
 East Side. I've got him at last where I want him. 
 And old Garden knows what's coming to him. He 
 shall walk the streets to-morrow ! Ruin absolute, 
 
 5*7
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 hopeless ruin will be served out to the whole 
 threadbare rabble to-morrow! The marriage of 
 Miss Jessie Bankrupt to Mr. James Failure!" and 
 he grinned in his hatred. 
 
 " Let us share your amusement," said Blake, 
 who had been watching Morris closely. He had 
 not failed to notice the coldness between his rival 
 and Jessie Garden, and felt reasonably certain of 
 the truth. " Why this suppressed merriment, Mor- 
 ris? Let us in on your secret hilarity." 
 
 " Excuse my absent-mindedness," returned 
 Morris, after a moment's reflection, "but I was 
 smiling to think of Cosmopolitan and the scene on 
 Wall Street to-morrow. Cosmopolitan is a stock, 
 Miss Garden, and I know you are not interested in 
 anything so vulgar as stocks or money, but to-mor- 
 row its fate will grip the world like the death of a 
 king. But Blake is interested, and your father used 
 to be. They say, by the way, Blake, that you're 
 short on Cosmopolitan? Hope not, old chap! It's 
 a deuced bad time, don't you know, to make that 
 sort of a play, my dear fellow." 
 
 " Oh, I'm all right, Morris, thanks, I haven't 
 sold a share," replied Blake, cheerfully. " Some of 
 my customers may have done so, but I've paid no 
 attention to it. I've been loading up on L. & O., 
 as you advised." 
 
 " Glad to hear it," returned Morris, who be- 
 lieved the latter half of Blake's statement, and set 
 the first down as a conventional Wall Street false* 
 588
 
 THE LOVE OF A MAN FOR A WOMAN 
 
 hood. " The council will pass the ordinances to- 
 night. I'm expecting word from there any minute." 
 
 As he spoke a messenger boy approached and 
 handed Morris an envelope. 
 
 u Ah ! I presume this is it 1 " he exclaimed. He 
 adjusted his monocle with elaborate care, broke the 
 envelope and read : 
 
 My Dear Morris : The Cosmopolitan franchises were de- 
 feated by a practically unanimous vote. Rounds and six 
 ethers charge you with bribery. Rounds exhibited your 
 certified check. Am on my way to the Hoffman House. 
 Meet me there at once. Destroy this. H. 
 
 The note fell from the speculator's hand and 
 fluttered to the floor. He stared wildly around, 
 but no words came to his lips. 
 
 "Any answer, boss?" The piping voice of 
 the messenger boy, as he stood, cap in hand, re- 
 called him to earth. 
 
 " No," he said, pushing his chair from the table 
 and rising unsteadily to his feet. "I'm going. 
 Good-night!" 
 
 " Forty-five cents, boss," demanded the mes- 
 senger. 
 
 "Get out of the way, damn you! Pay this 
 boy, Blake!" and he rushed for the dressing-room. 
 
 Blake picked up the note and tore it into 
 pieces. He knew the purport of the message 
 which had caused the precipitate departure of Arthur 
 Morris, but he did not disclose it.
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 " Some important Wall Street matter, I sup- 
 pose," he ventured, in answer to the questioning 
 surprise of Jessie and Edith. 
 
 "His expression positively frightened me!" 
 said Edith. " Did you notice how white he turned 
 when he read that note ? It must have been some- 
 thing awful! Perhaps his father is dead?" 
 
 Mr. Kingsley sauntered through the room, 
 and, with a smile and a polite salutation, paused a 
 moment to chat with his acquaintances. 
 
 " I passed Morris in the lobby," he said. " He's 
 been dining with you, has he not? He looked like 
 a ghost. You've heard the news, haven't you? 
 No ? I got it from young Rogers ; and he's nearly 
 as badly broke up as Morris. It's a beastly affair, 
 and I'm glad I'm not in it. The aldermen met to- 
 night and defeated the Cosmopolitan ordinances. 
 Morris is heavily interested in them, and all that 
 sort of thing, don't you know? But that's not 
 all. An alderman, named Square or Block 
 Rounds? knew it was some geometrical name 
 well, this fellow Rounds raised a blooming scandal 
 showed papers and checks and things, you know, 
 and said that Morris had bribed him! Young 
 Rogers tried to tell me about it. He was there 
 and saw it, but it seems he's been speculating in 
 this Cosmopolitan stock, and he's in such a purple 
 funk, don't you know, that I couldn't make out half 
 what he said. By Jove, it was a narrow escape for 
 me ! Morris wanted me to go in with him, but my 
 390
 
 THE LOVE OF A MAN FOR A WOMAN 
 
 governor wise old governor wouldn't put up a 
 dollar. Beastly business ! Looks bad for Morris. 
 Nice chap, Morris. Don't you think so, Blake? 
 You are looking more charming than ever, Miss 
 Hancock. I would that I could frame a compli- 
 ment worthy of you, Miss Garden. Waiter, a glass, 
 and, with your permission, I'll tarry in the place 
 vacated by your absent host and drink your health 
 and his success, in spite of this this unfortunate 
 incident." 
 
 The voluble Kingsley found the society of Miss 
 Hancock so agreeable that his companions could 
 not lure him from the table. General Garden was 
 called to another part of the room, and James Blake 
 welcomed the opportunity of a chat with Jessie. 
 
 The impending overthrow of Morris fed the 
 flames of James Blake's impatience. According to- 
 the falsehood he had told John Burt, Jessie was due 
 to arrive in New York in a few days. He saw a 
 thousand chances for the exposure of his duplicity 
 to one for its success. Only in Jessie's presence 
 did his hopes surmount his fears. He invented 
 innumerable wild schemes and dismissed them one 
 by one. One chance remained an immediate pro- 
 posal, its unhesitating acceptance, and a hasty mar- 
 riage. He would carry the citadel of her heart by 
 storm, and bear her away in the confusion and tur- 
 moil of the coming battle. 
 
 "Women have been won in a day," he mused, 
 " and by knights less well armed than myself. Why
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 should she not look with favor on my suit? I'm 
 rich ; they say I'm good-looking. Jessie will look 
 upon me as her father's benefactor the moment 
 Morris is slaughtered by the rise in L. & O. John 
 is likely to spring that trap to-morrow. I'll pro- 
 pose to-morrow night ! She must accept me she 
 will accept me. Then, an immediate marriage and 
 a trip to Europe. Why should that not win? It's 
 got to win; I'll make it win. Let's see; that gives 
 me about six days. The Bible says the world was 
 created in six days, and a strong man should be able 
 to win a little woman in half the time." 
 
 Thus argued James Blake during a lull in the 
 conversation. This was worthy of his reckless 
 nature. He could not turn back. The smoke of 
 burning bridges was behind him ; the spoils of con- 
 quered love awaited his onward march. 
 
 " It seems impossible that I have known you 
 only a week," he said, raising his eyes and looking 
 tenderly into Jessie's face. " I feel as if I'd been 
 acquainted with you for years, and not for a few 
 brief days." 
 
 Millions of lovers have voiced the same discov- 
 ery, and millions more will do it again. 
 
 "You are singularly forgetful," laughed Jessie, 
 " of our early acquaintance in Rocky Woods. That 
 was not weeks, but years ago." 
 
 "I must give Mr. Morris credit for that bit of 
 imagination," said Blake. " It has become a reality 
 to me, and I can see you as you were back in those 
 
 39*
 
 years, and picture you among the rocks and fields 
 we knew so well. Do you go there this season, Miss 
 Garden?" 
 
 " We leave on the Thursday evening boat," was 
 the reply. Nothing could h?ve suited Blake better. 
 He would tell John Burt that Jessie had postponed 
 her departure from France. He then would plead 
 ill health and join Jessie in Hingham, and their mar- 
 riage and wedding-trip should follow. The first 
 card had fallen in his favor, and he determined to 
 press his advantage. 
 
 " May I call to-morrow evening, and not plead 
 business with the general as a pretext?" he asked 
 boldly. " I may not have another chance to see you 
 oefore you leave. You see I'm already presuming 
 on these years of friendship." 
 
 " General Garden attends a banquet to-morrow 
 evening, but Edith and I will be at home and we'll be 
 delighted if you'll drop in to relieve the monotony," 
 replied Jessie. "Uncle Tom plays a splendid hand 
 at whist and you can take papa's place." 
 
 "One can't talk and play whist," observed 
 Blake with a queer smile. "I've so many things I, 
 wish to say that I'd be willing and even glad to 
 forego the pleasures of the game." 
 
 At that moment General Garden rejoined the 
 \ittle party, and as Jessie made no direct reply Blake 
 ..onstrued her silence into consent. His spirits 
 mounted high as hope fed the springs of his long- 
 ing. The hour was late when he bade his fellow- 
 
 393
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 guests good night at the carriage door, and his 
 being thrilled with the touch of her hand and the 
 light of her smile at parting. 
 
 Blake strolled slowly up the avenue, in the 
 direction of his apartments. He had not gone 
 two squares when he met John Burt. In all the 
 years in San Francisco and New York, this was the 
 first time they had met in a public thoroughfare. 
 One of the horses hauling a wagon laden with stage 
 settings had fallen and blocked the street. 
 
 The Bishop carriage was caught in the eddy of 
 traffic caused by the temporary dam across con- 
 flicting streams. A public hansom, furiously driven, 
 almost crashed into the entangled vehicles, and the 
 light from a street lamp showed the blotched face 
 of Arthur Morris as he leaned far out to curse the 
 driver. 
 
 Within a circle of a hundred feet were four of 
 the figures in a drama which was culminating to a 
 tragedy. 
 
 "Hello, Jim!" exclaimed John Burt. "I've 
 been looking everywhere for you. Was just going 
 to Sherry's. Have been to your rooms and left 
 word with your man that I would be back. Haw- 
 kins is there waiting for us. Where can we get a 
 carriage? I'm lost in this wilderness." 
 
 The fallen horse had struggled to his feet, and 
 Blake saw the Bishop carriage thread its way 
 through the crush and turn into a side street. Mor- 
 ris struck his horse a vicious blow with a cane, and 
 
 394
 
 THE LOVE OF A MAN FOR A WOMAN 
 
 the animal dashed ahead. Blake concealed his con- 
 fusion by looking up and down the street for a 
 carriage. He finally hailed a driver, and they were 
 rapidly driven to his apartments. 
 
 " We must perfect our plans for to-morrow," 
 said John. " The critical hours are near and every- 
 thing must move like clockwork. The city council 
 defeated the Cosmopolitan franchises to-night, and I 
 shall move against L. & O. to-morrow morning." 
 
 The voice was calm, but it held a note of 
 triumph and of quiet confidence. It hinted at no 
 suspicion, and Blake drew a long breath of relief 
 as he thought of his third escape. 
 
 He shuddered to think of what would have hap- 
 pened had General Garden postponed his departure 
 from the dining-room by a few minutes. He pic- 
 tured John Burt entering the room, his steady gaze 
 fixed first on himself and then on Jessie Garden. 
 So vivid was the imaginary picture that he felt all 
 the horror of the situation. 
 
 Little was said as they drove rapidly along the 
 avenue. John seemed absorbed in thoughts of the 
 morrow. The intermittent glare from street lamps 
 and passing carriages lighted up his face and re- 
 vealed his stalwart figure. The past unrolled its 
 scroll before James Blake, and something blurred 
 his eyes and surged to his throat. Passion for 
 Jessie Garden had overthrown his judgment, 
 dwarfed his reason, and made him recreant to a 
 friendship which he had cherished above all things. 
 
 395
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 John Burt aroused from his reverie and threw 
 his arm familiarly across Blake's shoulder. 
 
 "This is my last speculative campaign, Jim," 
 he said. " For years I have been a gold-grubbing 
 and money-making machine, and I hope my better 
 instincts have survived the strain. We shall triumph 
 to-morrow, and when it is ended you shall be, in 
 fact as well as in name, the head of the firm of 
 James Blake & Company. I can retire from active 
 participation in its affairs as quietly as I entered, 
 and you have fairly won whatever of prestige at- 
 taches to the name. You know, old man, that you 
 can call on me for counsel, or, if necessary, for 
 assistance, and I'm sure Hawkins will make the 
 same pledge. We'll not discuss the matter to- 
 night, but you must not argue with me or hurt my 
 feelings by attempting to thank me. We are all 
 more or less selfish, Jim, and you can put this down 
 as pure selfishness on my part. Here we are ! " 
 
 Before Blake could find words to reply, the 
 carriage stopped in front of his apartment. They 
 entered and found Hawkins awaiting them. 
 
 " I'm making myself at home, Blake," he said. 
 " I've kept your man busy getting cigars and refresh- 
 ments. I endorse your brandy, but your tobacco is 
 not heavy enough for me. Let's get down to busi- 
 ness, gentlemen. It's past midnight, and we'll need 
 all the sleep we can get." 
 
 For nearly two hours they worked at the plans 
 for the battle which was to come. At times Blake
 
 THE LOVE OF A MAN FOR A WOMAN 
 
 was absorbed in the discussion, again his mind wan- 
 dered to the woman he would buy at the price of 
 his honor. 
 
 Then he thought of John Burt's princely 
 pledge, and like a flash there came to him an im- 
 pulse which thrilled his very soul with a happiness in 
 which were throbs of poignant pain. 
 
 Not many blocks away another conference was 
 in progress. Staid bank directors and financiers 
 associated with Arthur Morris had been aroused 
 from their slumbers and were assembled in his 
 rooms. Bewildered for the moment by the unex- 
 pected blow, Morris took measures for defense with 
 a vigor which was keyed by a sense of imminent 
 danger. His suspicion that James Blake was the 
 cause of his defeat became a certainty when a reporter 
 informed him that Blake and Samuel L. Rounds 
 were boyhood companions, and that the latter had 
 been seen in Blake's offices. 
 
 How he had loathed Blake that night as Jessie 
 Garden sat between them at the dinner! He had 
 wished the food would choke him or the wine poison 
 him. And now his imperilled millions shrieked in 
 fear at the mention of the man's name. He cursed 
 the day that took him to Hingham, and the hour 
 when he saw the pretty face of Jessie Garden. 
 
 The east was crimsoned with sunlight before 
 the conference ended. The weary men of money 
 left Morris's rooms and sought a few hours of rest 
 before facing the ordeal of the day. For mutual 
 
 397
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 protection they had formed a pool; had pledged 
 themselves to support the market against the ex- 
 pected onslaught of Blake's millions. 
 
 They dreamed not that such a man as John 
 Burt existed, or that his masked and entrenched 
 millions were so arrayed as to strike a blow at an 
 undefended place, and in an unexpected moment. 
 
 Why were these masked millions drawn up in 
 battle array? Why were the accumulated fortunes 
 of a lifetime about to be risked in a grim struggle 
 for financial life or death? Why did men of vast 
 affairs wait with drawn faces and bated breaths the 
 hour when the clash of opposing fortunes should 
 sound the signal for merciless conflict? 
 
 Because of a woman a woman pure as an open- 
 ing bud and gentle as the dew which kisses it. 
 
 Why had James Blake proved false to the man 
 who unselfishly befriended him? Why had he sought 
 to repay loyalty with perfidy? 
 
 Because of a woman a woman whose loving 
 heart was incapable of deceit. 
 
 Why had John Burt consecrated years of his 
 life in stern preparation for the crisis then at hand? 
 Why was he willing to risk everything in a single 
 combat with the man who stood between him and 
 his crowning ambition? 
 
 Because of a woman because of Jessie Garden. 
 
 Because a whimsical fate had ordained that 
 three men should meet and love the same woman, 
 the eyes of the world were bent that day upon Wall 
 
 S9S
 
 THE LOVE OF A MAN FOR A WOMAN 
 
 Street. Because of her innocent charms, the vast 
 machinery of finance and speculation reached out 
 and crushed some into bankruptcy, lifted others 
 into opulence. When all was ended, the students 
 of such phenomena sagely discussed the causes 
 which precipitated so marked an upheaval. They 
 cited scores of reasons none surmised the truth. 
 
 No one knew that once upon a time a little girl 
 in a blue sailor suit was leaning over the rail of a 
 bridge, and that a boy drove by and recovered her 
 hat from the water. Yet that had everything to do 
 with the Wall Street excitement of the day. 
 
 None of the wise writers knew that a shot fired 
 by a hunter caused a runaway and a rescue yet that 
 shot had more to do with the hurricane in Wall 
 Street than all the reasons that wisdom ascribed. 
 
 None of the students of finance knew of the 
 day when the "Standish" rose and fell to the slow 
 heaving of the sea; of that hot August afternoon 
 when a boy of Rocky Woods laid his heart and his 
 life at the disposition of a soft-eyed girl. None of 
 them knew of an interview in the night shadows 
 under the old maples, when two soft arms were 
 thrown about John Hurt's neck and a cheek wet with 
 tears rested for an instant against his. 
 
 There is no such thing as accurate history, but 
 if one were written, it would be recorded that events, 
 dynasties and epochs have been created either by 
 the love of a man for a woman, or by the devotion 
 of a woman for a man. 
 
 399
 
 CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE 
 
 EDITH'S CONFESSION 
 
 papers say Mr. Morris will be arrested! 
 JL It's awful, Jessie ! Look at the big head- 
 lines! I don't understand half they say, 
 but it seems that Mr. Morris and Mr. Blake are 
 rivals on Wall Street, and that Mr. Morris has 
 fallen into a trap set by Mr. Blake. Oh, Jessie, 
 think of it, that we dined with both of them last 
 night, and they seemed as friendly and polite as if 
 they were bosom friends ! Isn't it awful? " 
 
 Edith Hancock's cheeks were reddened with 
 excitement as she dashed into her cousin's room. 
 They formed a dainty picture of maidenly health 
 and grace, these two, as they scanned the lines before 
 them. 
 
 " Mr. Blake was here while the general was at 
 breakfast," she gabbled on, breathlessly. "They 
 talked a minute and then he hurried away. Your 
 father put some papers in his pocket and started 
 down town at once. Do you suppose they will 
 fight, Jessie?" 
 
 " Who ? Papa and Mr. Blake ? " 
 
 "No, Miss Stupid; Mr. Blake and Mr. 
 Morris." 
 
 Edith pouted her pretty lips and gently cuffed 
 Jessie's cheek. 
 
 "We needn't hope for anything so romantic," 
 returned that untroubled maiden, laying the papers 
 aside and deftly fastening an ornament in her dark 
 400
 
 EDITH'S CONFESSION 
 
 tresses. "Wouldn't Mr. Morris make a heroic figure 
 in a duel? No, Edith, there's no field of honor 
 nowadays only Wall Street. I've no doubt Arthur 
 Morris would rather lose blood than money. Oh, 
 I hope Mr. Blake will despoil him of the millions 
 he has taken from others. Think of the misery his 
 fortune has cost 1 It ruined my father and he 
 dared to sneer at me last night. Edith, it's God's 
 vengeance not Mr. Blake's." 
 
 "Jessie, why was he such a brute with you 
 last night?" Edith glanced at Jessie out of the 
 corners of her wide-opened eyes. 
 
 " Can't you guess?" 
 
 "Did you refuse him? Honest? no joking. 
 Oh, I'm so glad! Do you know, Jessie, I was 
 awfully afraid you intended to accept him ? " 
 
 " I should be very sorry if he had been honest, 
 but he's a cad and a thief," declared Jessie, her 
 dark eyes flashing scorn. "Thank heaven, he is 
 pow ;riess to do us harm now. Did you notice how 
 happy papa was last night? I made him tell me 
 his secret. Listen, Edith ! It is possible that Mr. 
 Blake will be able to restore to papa a large share 
 of his fortune. There's a chance that we may again 
 live in the dear old Boston home. Isn't it splen- 
 did, Edith?" 
 
 "Splendid I It's more than splendid it's 
 heavenly!" exclaimed Edith. "Isn't Mr. Blake 
 lovely ? And he's so big and handsome, and gen- 
 erous, and good-looking, and manly, and and 
 
 401
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 everything. I just love him, Jessie, don't you ? " 
 She looked closely at Jessie Garden. 
 
 "I I like him, Edith. It wouldn't do for 
 both of us to love him, fvould it, cousin mine ? " 
 
 " He loves you," protested Edith, with a blush. 
 " I know he does. He never takes his eyes from 
 you. I watched him last evening. Are you sure 
 you don't love him, Jessie, just a little bit?" 
 
 "Quite sure," laughed Jessie, as the roses came 
 to her cheeks. " I can only love one man at a time 
 it's conventional, but it's true." 
 
 "You still love John Burt?" The big eyes 
 opened wide as Edith looked questioningly at her 
 cousin. " What a foolish little sweetheart you are, 
 wasting your life on a man you haven't heard from 
 for years ! You were a child then ; you're a woman 
 now. You're jesting, Jessie ; don't reject Mr. 
 Blake." 
 
 " It's not likely I shall have a chance," said 
 Jessie. The little face had grown very serious. " I 
 sincerely hope not, Edith. John Burt is not dead, 
 and he has not forgotten me. He will return, and, 
 rich or poor, my faith is in him. Do you know, 
 , Edith, just before our carriage was blocked last 
 '. night I saw a man walking down the avenue, in the 
 full glare of a street lamp. I could have sworn it 
 was John Burt. Do you remember I clutched your 
 arm and pointed out of the window ? I know he'll 
 come back, and when he does he'll find me true." 
 
 "It might have been his ghost," said Edith. 
 
 tfO,
 
 EDITH'S CONFESSION 
 
 "If so, it was a remarkably active ghost," 
 laughed Jessie. " He was walking rapidly, with 
 his shoulders thrown back, and when I saw his face 
 I could hardly keep from calling his name at the 
 top of my voice. Wasn't it odd, Edith? " 
 
 " But, Jessie, if John Hurt's in the city why 
 doesn't he come to see you?" 
 
 11 He may not know that I'm here," returned 
 Jessie quickly. " He Inay have just learned that 
 Arthur fylorris is not dead, and he may he may be 
 searching for us." 
 
 There was a trustful light in the deep brown 
 eyes and a longing smile touched the tender lips. 
 Edith's face was lighted with joy as she clasped 
 her cousin's hands. 
 
 " You're the dearest darling in the world, and 
 , no man is good enough for you," she exclaimed. 
 "John Burt will return; I'm sure of it, and he'll be 
 proud of you. But, Jessie, you must not let Mr. 
 Blake propose to you. You won't, will you, Jessie ?" 
 The voice was pleading in its earnestness. 
 
 "Why?" asked Jessie in surprise. 
 
 " Because " and Edith faltered. She lowered 
 her eyes in confusion, but when she looked again in 
 Jessie's face they flamed with passion. 
 
 " Oh, Jessie, can't you understand ? I'm jealous 
 of you, horribly, madly jealous," and she threw her- 
 self sobbing on her cousin's breast. " I know it's 
 not your fault that he loves you, but you can make 
 him stop. Please make him stop. If it wasn't for 
 
 401
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 you he would love me. Tell him tell him anything 
 so that he will know that you don't love him 1 Oh, 
 Jessie won't you?" 
 
 "What can I tell him?" asked Jessie in^amaze- 
 ment. " I can't make him propose and then com- 
 mend him to another. But, Edith, darling, I'm so 
 sorry, so awfully sorry!" 
 
 When Jessie could command herself she asked 
 if Edith really loved Jim. 
 
 "I loved him the moment I saw him, and he fell 
 in love with you at the same instant," declared 
 Edith Hancock, whose intuition had told her the 
 truth. "Make him stop, Jessie; you can find some 
 way to do it ; I know you can. Oh, why are people 
 always falling in love with those who don't love 
 them, and are blind to those who love them to 
 death?" 
 
 Jessie could not answer that world-old question, 
 and vainly attempted to soothe her. In anger and 
 mortification Edith rushed from the room, and when 
 Jessie knocked at her door a few minutes later there 
 was no response but the muffled sound of sobs. 
 
 404
 
 CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX 
 
 TALE OF THE TICKER 
 
 A THOUSAND men were scattered through 
 the hall of the New York Stock Exchange. 
 There were groups of three, five, ten, a score 3 
 and one compact mass of a hundred or more brokers. 
 Moving like shuttles between these irregular knots 
 of humanity were individual members some slow 
 and calm, others hurried and excited. Blue-uni- 
 formed messenger-boys added a tinge of color to 
 the mottled shades from gray to black. The laugh- 
 ing faces and shrill cries of this modern progeny of 
 Mercury were sharp in contrast to the stern earnest- 
 ness and hoarse roar of those they served. 
 
 The clicking of innumerable telegraph instru- 
 ments, the tinkle of telephone bells, the shuffling of 
 feet in the encircling galleries, the distant murmur 
 of street traffic, all blended with the noises from the 
 floor into a chord which held the majesty of bass and 
 the thrill of soprano. 
 
 As the hand of the great clock slowly crawled 
 to the point that marked the hour of ten, the vari- 
 ous groups compressed and assumed rounded out- 
 lines. While the last minute was speeding by, a 
 silence came, broken only by the chattering tele- 
 graph keys. 
 
 A gong sounded. Its reverberations were lost 
 in the vocal explosion from a thousand lungs. A 
 regiment of men stricken with violent insanity- 
 shouting, snarling, barking, clawing, fighting, glar- 
 es
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 ing such was the scene on the floor of the exchange 
 the morning following the defeat of the Cosmopoli- 
 tan ordinances. 
 
 A moment later and the acts of these seeming 
 maniacs were flashed around the world. While the 
 echoes of the initial outburst yet filled the room, 
 men in Boston, Chicago, New Orleans, San Fran- 
 cisco, London and Berlin, were scanning the open- 
 ing quotations which had boiled to the surface from 
 this seething cauldron. 
 
 The madness was sanity. 
 
 The chaos was order. 
 
 The frenzy was calmness. 
 
 The furor was judgment. 
 
 Into this crucible was being poured the col- 
 lected opinion of the financial world. A million 
 miles of metallic nerves focused in this centre and 
 throbbed with the earth's history for the day. Rain 
 on the wheat fields of Argentine, drought on the 
 steppes of Russia, the death of a banker in Berlin, 
 a failure in Omaha, a strike on a western railroad, a 
 rumor of a coming Congressional report, a rise in 
 English consuls, the appearance of a new insect in 
 Kansas, an area of low barometer in Manitoba, the 
 sickness of a king, the raising of a freight rate, the 
 echoes of a battle in the Soudan, the result of a 
 municipal election, the speech of an obscure alder- 
 man all hurled their weight into these delicate 
 scales and vibrated the needle which recorded 
 values. 
 406
 
 TALE OF THE TICKER 
 
 To these was added the impact of human pas- 
 sions revenge, treachery, cunning, caution, judg- 
 ment, daring, stupidity, avarice. 
 
 Wall Street is a mundane incarnation of the 
 terrors of hell, relieved by some of the joys of 
 heaven. 
 
 John Burt was in his office at eight o'clock, 
 and Mr. Hawkins and James Blake joined him a 
 few minutes later. 
 
 " Good morning, Jim," said John, extending 
 his hand, which Blake grasped cordially. " Isn't 
 this a glorious day? See the sun of Austerlitz." 
 
 John pointed to a broad shaft of light which 
 streamed across his desk and illumined the bright 
 colors of stacks of stock certificates. 
 
 " You look fit for the day's work, Jim," he 
 said. "Your eye is clear and you look as if you 
 had your fighting clothes on." 
 
 " I'm feeling splendid," declared Blake. " Never 
 felt better in my life. We will win, John ! I know 
 it, and can hardly wait for the row to begin." 
 
 "Now you're talking business," roared Mr. 
 Hawkins. "That sounds like the old Jim Blake I 
 knew out in California. I'd began to think that 
 these New York dudes had made an old woman 
 out of you. We'll hang some of their pelts on our 
 back fence before the sun goes down eh, boys?" 
 and he rested his giant palms on the shoulders 
 of his younger companions and shook the room 
 with a defiant rumble of laughter. 
 
 407
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 "Is General Garden here?" asked John. 
 
 " He's in my room," replied Blake. 
 
 " Give him the cash for that L. & O. check 
 and have him present the option at Randolph Mor- 
 ris & Company the moment they are open for bank- 
 ing business," instructed John Burt. " Bid L. & 
 O. above twenty-seven until General Garden has 
 the stock in his possession. Send two witnesses 
 along with him. That will prevent any chance for 
 a quibble. When he comes back with the stock, 
 turn it over to me." 
 
 " Aye, aye, General Burton ! " exclaimed Blake 
 with a profound salute. He seemed in high spirits 
 as he left the room. 
 
 " Blake's all right this morning," observed 
 Hawkins. " Guess he's recovered from his attacks 
 of mullygrubs. What the devil d'ye suppose has 
 been the matter with him, John? Has he been 
 speculating on his own account and lost?" 
 
 " I don't know that he has," said John, appar- 
 ently absorbed in the study of the early London 
 and Berlin quotations. " Jim hasn't made a deal on 
 his own account, to my knowledge, since we opened 
 these offices." 
 
 " Probably a woman," growled John Hawkins. 
 "When a man can't get into financial trouble he 
 gets tangled up with a woman. If it wasn't for 
 women and money this world would be fit to live 
 in eh, John?" 
 
 But John seemed so completely wrapped up in 
 408
 
 TALE OF THE TICKER 
 
 a computation that he did not heed the cynical 
 question. Mr. Hawkins jammed his hands into his 
 pockets, sauntered to the window, and, in a voice 
 like the hum of a dynamo, sang all he knew of 
 " Sweet Alice, Ben Bolt." There was a gentler 
 light beneath his shaggy eyebrows when he took 
 his seat near John Burt. 
 
 Let us look in on another scene. 
 
 There was no outward sign of excitement in 
 the offices of Randolph Morris & Company. A 
 larger throng than usual crowded around the tick- 
 ers and gazed at the opening quotations. Not a 
 few of these speculators had blindly followed the 
 lead of Arthur Morris, and yet had faith in the 
 power of his millions. Morris took personal com- 
 mand of his brokers on the floor of the Stock Ex- 
 change. 
 
 " It won't be much of a shower," he said to 
 his followers, with airy bravado. " Hang on to your 
 stocks ; we'll pass those ordinances yet. This fel- 
 low Rounds is a liar, and I'll prove it. Blake hired 
 him to turn that trick. I control Cosmopolitan 
 and am able to protect it against all the liars and 
 swindlers from San Francisco to New York." 
 
 Cosmopolitan opened at a loss of several points, 
 but the selling by Blake brokers was not so heavy 
 as had been expected, and the stock rallied when 
 given support by Morris and others interested with 
 him. The young millionaire speedily regained his 
 courage.
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 " Bid 'em up ; bid 'em up ! " he whispered to his 
 head broker. " We've got the Blake crowd on the 
 run already! They dare not sell. Take all they 
 offer and bid for more ! " 
 
 The man dashed into a pack of traders, and in 
 the roar of voices which followed Cosmopolitan 
 soared two points above its previous mark. 
 
 It was only a moment past ten o'clock when 
 General Garden walked briskly up the marble steps 
 and entered the Morris building. Two clerks in 
 the employ of James Blake & Company were with 
 him. He stopped at the outer railing and ad- 
 dressed Mr. Mason, the Vice-President of the com- 
 pany. 
 
 " I should like to speak to Mr. Morris," said 
 the general. 
 
 11 He is not here," replied Mr. Mason. " What 
 can I do for you ? " 
 
 "Accept my written resignation," said General 
 Garden. Mr. Mason took the letter, bowed coldly, 
 but said nothing. 
 
 u I hold an option on ten thousand shares of 
 L. & O. stock," continued the general, producing 
 an envelope from an inside pocket. 
 
 "Yes?" Mr. Mason raised his eyes with a 
 faint show of interest, and tapped the brass rail 
 with a pencil. "So I understand, General Garden." 
 
 "Under its terms I can take up the stock at a 
 stipulated figure, provided the market price is above 
 twenty-six dollars a share." 
 410
 
 TALE OF THE TICKER 
 
 "That is the agreement. You owe us about 
 two hundred and eighty thousand dollars on that 
 stock, General Garden. Do you wish to pay it to- 
 day?" 
 
 A sarcastic smile played around the corners of 
 Mr. Mason's mouth. 
 
 "I do. I demand the stock and will meet the 
 terms in cash." 
 
 "Very well, General Garden, it can quickly be 
 arranged." 
 
 There was no change of expression on the grave 
 face of the banker as he turned to a clerk and 
 ordered him to produce the stock from the vaults. 
 Mr. Mason glanced at the option and made a rapid 
 calculation. 
 
 " Two hundred and eighty-two thousand, four 
 hundred and sixty-seven dollars and seventeen cents," 
 he said, passing over a slip of paper. "Is that your 
 figure?" 
 
 General Garden bowed and motioned to one of 
 his companions who placed a satchel on the counter. 
 From its depths General Garden produced the 
 money demanded and exchanged it for the stock. 
 
 "I trust your faith in the value of these certifi- 
 cates may not prove amiss," said Mr. Mason with 
 an icy smile. " I bid you good day, sir." 
 
 General Garden bowed gravely and turned to 
 the door. As he did so Arthur Morris entered, his 
 face flushed with triumph. In his haste he ran into 
 General Garden. 
 
 4"
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 "I beg your pardon ! Oh, it's you, is it?" and 
 an evil light came to his eyes. " What in hell are 
 you doing here? You're discharged fired; d'ye 
 understand? Get out of here and keep out! Get 
 out, d'ye hear?" 
 
 Morris stepped behind the brass railing and 
 from that retreat shook his hand threateningly at 
 the man who had aroused his rage. General Garden 
 deliberately removed his glasses and walked towards 
 him. 
 
 " You are a cur and a coward, Morris ! " he said, 
 looking at the younger man with blazing eyes. 
 "Lay a hand on me if you dare!" 
 
 Mr. Mason grasped Morris by the arm and 
 whispered a sentence. With a muttered oath Mor- 
 ris turned and left the old soldier standing defiantly 
 by the railing. A minute later General Garden 
 entered a carriage and was driven rapidly to the 
 office of James Blake & Company. 
 
 In the meantime Morris had followed Mr. 
 Mason to his private office. 
 
 "I'd like to punch old Garden's head, and I'd 
 have done it hadn't it been for you! " he declared. 
 "What's he prowling around here for? What did 
 he want?" 
 
 " He demanded his L. & O. stock," replied 
 Mr. Mason. 
 
 " His L. & O. stock," repeated Morris. " Well, 
 what of it? He didn't wish me to make him a 
 present of it, did he? I've given him enough. Old 
 41*-
 
 TALE OF THE TICKER 
 
 Garden must be getting crazy. If he comes around 
 again tell him to dig up about three hundred thous- 
 and dollars and he can have his stock." 
 
 Morris laughed as he stepped to the ticker. 
 
 " He showed his option, demanded the stock, 
 and paid over the money," said Mr. Mason slowly, 
 " and I gave him the certificates." 
 
 "Old Garden took up his stock and paid over 
 the money ? What do you mean, Mason ? " Morris 
 looked blankly at the elderly broker and the tape 
 dropped from his fingers. 
 
 " I mean just what I say, Mr. Morris," was 
 the reply. "Do you know what has happened? 
 With that stock you lose control of L. & O. Some 
 one is back of General Garden in this transaction. 
 You should be able to guess who it is after what 
 has occurred in Cosmopolitan." 
 
 " Blake ! Blake I " gasped Morris. 
 
 He clutched the arm of his chair and the mus- 
 cles of his neck twitched nervously. Pacing up 
 and down the room he burst into a storm of inco- 
 herent profanity. Mr. Mason confronted him. 
 
 "This is no time for such an exhibition," he 
 said, sternly. "This is a serious matter and calls 
 for action not blasphemy. Control yourself, sir I " 
 The ticker, which had been silent, spluttered 
 rapidly, and the ominous sound did more to call 
 Morris back to his senses than had the sober words 
 of the broker. He lifted the tape and eagerly 
 scanned the characters. 
 
 4'S
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 "What's that? This must be a mistake! It 
 can't be as bad as that, don't you know ! Five 
 hundred shares of L. & O. at 38 ! It must mean 
 28?" Morris gazed at the figures like one in a 
 trance. 
 
 There came a violent rapping on the door, and, 
 without waiting for a response, a broker entered. 
 His collar was torn open and his hair was rumpled 
 and moist with perspiration. 
 
 " Blake & Company are bidding up L. & O. I " 
 he exclaimed. " I've sold them four thousand 
 shares up to 35, and they are yelling for more. 
 They say that John Hawkins is after the stock for 
 the International. How does it stand now? " 
 
 He took the tape from Arthur Morris's nerve- 
 less hand. 
 
 "Thirty-nine! Thirty-nine and a half! Six 
 hundred at forty ! A thousand at forty-one I Some- 
 thing's up, I tell you ! What shall we do, Mr. 
 Morris?" 
 
 Morris gazed helplessly at Mr. Mason. 
 
 " What can we do ? " he asked, weakly. For 
 hours his mind had been full of the dangers which 
 menaced him from Cosmopolitan, and, in the mo- 
 ment of fancied triumph, had found himself at- 
 tacked from an unexpected point. His brain was 
 in a whirl. 
 
 A heavy step was heard in the hallway and 
 Randolph Morris entered the room. 
 
 "You've raised hell, haven't you?" was his 
 
 4*4
 
 TALE OF THE TICKER 
 
 greeting to his son and heir. " I told you to keep 
 your nose out of this Cosmopolitan business. 
 You've made a fine mess of it! I suppose you 
 think, because the bottom hasn't fallen out of Cos- 
 mopolitan, that you're all right, don't ye? Been 
 supporting it, haven't ye? Of course you have. 
 You're an ass I Admit it, and take your losses. 
 It was the first thing I saw when I opened the 
 paper this morning, and I've come to the city 
 in order to prevent you making as many kinds of 
 an idiot of yourself as you are capable of. Hov 
 much of that rotten stock have you bought? I'll 
 bet this damn fool play will cost more than a 
 million." 
 
 Randolph Morris mopped his face with a 
 handkerchief, and reposed his ponderous bulk in an 
 easy chair. 
 
 "What's the matter with all of you?" he de- 
 manded. " Have you lost your tongues as well as 
 your senses?" 
 
 " Tell him about this business," said Arthur 
 Morris, sullenly turning to Mr. Mason. 
 
 In a few words the latter explained what had 
 occurred in L. & O. The old millionaire's face 
 was a study during this hurried recital. 
 
 The look of anger changed to one of per- 
 plexity and then to fear. The millions amassed in 
 a lifetime were menaced in his old age, and the 
 fires of defence and defiance blazed again in the 
 eyes of Randolph Morris. 
 
 4'5
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 Rising ponderously from his chair, he took a 
 place by the ticker. The ship of the Morris for- 
 tunes was drifting towards the rocks, and, aroused 
 from his slumbers, the old pilot again grasped the 
 wheel. His eyes were not as clear as in the days 
 when the craft was new, but his hand was steady and 
 his courage high. 
 
 " How much L. & O. have you ? " he de- 
 manded. 
 
 "Thirty-five thousand shares," replied Mr. 
 Mason. 
 
 " How many have you sold?" addressing his 
 son. Arthur Morris hesitated. 
 
 "Speak up!" he thundered, with an oath. 
 " How many have you sold?" 
 
 "About seventy-five thousand." 
 
 " Hu-m-m-m. Fine outlook ! Forty thousand 
 shares short on a stock, with only a hundred thous- 
 and shares in all," growled Randolph Morris. 
 
 Great beads of perspiration stood on his fore- 
 head. " Blake and Hawkins probably hold more 
 than fifty thousand between them. They've got us 
 cornered I There's only one chance in a hundred ( 
 for us to get out, but I'll take it. I know old Haw- 1 
 kins too well to think that he is taking any risks. 
 By God, if I pull out of this thing with a dollar 
 I'll place it where you can't find it with a set of 
 burglar's tools!" 
 
 Randolph Morris glared at his son, fumbled for 
 his glasses and bent over the tape. 
 416
 
 TALE OF THE TICKER 
 
 " Fifty-five bid for L. & O.," it read. "Bid 
 sixty for any part of ten thousand shares. Gimme 
 that telephone ! Go to the exchange, Mason, and 
 get on the other end of this wire and I'll give you 
 the orders. Run out doors, Arthur, and play with 
 the children. This is a man's job. Get out of here 
 I don't want you around ! " 
 
 "I'll stay right here," said Arthur Morris de- 
 fiantly, his face purple with mortification and rage. 
 Absorbed in his study of the figures which reeled 
 from the ticker, Randolph Morris made no reply. 
 
 A thousand thoughts came to the old financier 
 as with set features he studied the characters which 
 read his ruin. He recalled his boyhood struggles 
 for a foothold on the ladder of fortune ; the painful 
 climb to the first resting-place above the dull level 
 of poverty ; the successive advances through com- 
 fort and prosperity to affluence, and then the rapid 
 ascent to financial pre-eminence. And now the earth 
 crumbled beneath his feet, and he felt himself slip- 
 ping over the precipice of bankruptcy! 
 
 With a cruel smile on his thin lips he had 
 pushed others over the brink on which he now was 
 poised. With a cold heart he had been deaf to all 
 pleadings for mercy, and knew full well that none 
 would be extended to him. He cursed the hour 
 when his son was born. He had begotten a fool who 
 had fallen into the trap he had fashioned and set 
 years before Arthur Morris was born. 
 
 The ticker was singing a weird refrain and the 
 
 4J7
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 telephone added its note of despair. When the 
 Morris brokers changed from sellers to buyers a 
 wild scene took place on the floor of the Exchange. 
 Only a few hundred shares were secured, when 
 representatives of James Blake & Company raised 
 the bids to seventy. The stock was at par before 
 the Morris interests had been able to buy a thous- 
 and shares. It was generally known that Arthur 
 Morris was heavily short on L. & O. and ominous 
 rumors were in circulation. 
 
 Shortly before noon a news agency made public 
 a statement which hastened the crisis. The printed 
 slip read as follows; 
 
 Mr. John Hawkins of San Francisco, the well-known 
 magnate and President of the International Railroad 
 Company, has issued the following statement from the 
 office of James Blake & Company : 
 
 "Interests identified with the International Railroad 
 Company have purchased control of the stock of the L. 
 & O. Railroad Company, which will be merged with the 
 former corporation. 
 
 JOHN HAWKINS." 
 
 A few minutes later another bulletin was issued 
 It read : 
 
 The deal in L. & O. was engineered by Mr. James 
 Blake, the dashing young operator whose advent in New 
 York was signalized by the recent upheaval in prices. 
 For several weeks Mr. Blake has quietly been absorbing 
 blocks of L. & O. To-day he secured ten thousand 
 shares from General Marshall Garden, which, with the 
 holdings of Mr. John Hawkins gives the syndicate of 
 which Mr. Blake is the head absolute control of this 
 valuable property. Another railroad company has been 
 
 418
 
 TALE OF THE TICKER 
 
 a bidder for control, but the Garden stock gives Mr. 
 Blake the coveted advantage. 
 
 It is rumored that a well-known and powerful banking 
 house is short this stock to the amount of nearly forty 
 thousand shares. It opened at 29*4 and rapidly advanced 
 to 75, and then by leaps and bounds reached 125. Il is 
 believed that only a few scattered shares are yet in the 
 market, and that the stock is cornered. 
 
 At this writing a violent slump in Cosmopolitan is in 
 progress. The concern which is supposed to be short in 
 L. & O. has been active in the support of Cosmopolitan 
 and kindred stocks, and it is assumed that it is unable to 
 protect them. Cosmopolitan abruptly declined from 37 to 
 22 and seems absolutely without support. 
 
 Later. // is rumored that the banking house 
 of Randolph Morris & Company has sus- 
 pended.
 
 CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN 
 
 FATHER AND SON 
 
 ONE by one the directors of the bank had 
 entered the room where Randolph Morris 
 was making his fight against overwhelming 
 odds. Some he recognized by an almost impercep- 
 tible bow, but no words came from his lips as he 
 bent over the tape. The faces of the directors were 
 pale and drawn from tension. 
 
 It was like a scene in a death chamber. A vast 
 fortune was in its agonies, and the mourners moved 
 noiselessly about the room or stood in groups and 
 conversed in whispers. 
 
 With his hands thrust deep into his pockets, 
 his head bowed and an unlighted cigarette between 
 his lips, Arthur Morris paced up and down the 
 room. Not once did he glance in the direction of 
 his father. 
 
 When L. & O. had mounted to eighty dollars 
 a share, Randolph Morris changed his tactics and 
 attempted to check the rise by throwing all his 
 holdings on the market. In less than an hour he 
 hurled thirty-five thousand shares into the specula- 
 tive whirlpool. 
 
 It was like stemming Niagara with a straw. 
 The price did not sag. The powerful interests 
 back of L. & O. pledged three millions of dollars 
 for this stock and clamored for more. The firm of 
 Randolph Morris & Company yet lacked nearly 
 forty thousand shares with which to meet their con-
 
 FATHER AND SON 
 
 tracts. In addition to this they had agreed to pay 
 forty dollars a share for sixty thousand shares of 
 Cosmopolitan which was then being offered for 
 twenty-five dollars a share. 
 
 In the language of stock gambling they were 
 "whip-sawed." They had sold good stocks and 
 bought worthless ones. 
 
 In response to a demand for margins, Randolph 
 Morris deposited several millions in cash and valid 
 securities. Alarmed by rumors, patrons of the bank 
 formed in long lines and demanded their deposits. 
 The ticker continued to sing its remorseless refrain. 
 L. & O. climbed to dizzy heights and Cosmopolitan 
 dropped point by point. Every unit of advance in 
 the former meant a loss of $40,000 ; every decline of 
 a point in Cosmopolitan subtracted $60,000 from 
 the Morris fortunes. 
 
 There was no gleam of hope, but grim in de- 
 feat the old banker stood by the wheel and watched 
 the ship of his fortunes as she swiftly neared the 
 reefs of ruin. 
 
 A clerk entered and handed to Randolph Mor- 
 ris the yellow slip of paper containing the statement 
 i made by John Hawkins. He read it slowly, crum- 
 pled it in his hands and threw it on the floor. 
 
 Grasping his massive gold-headed cane he 
 brought it down on the glass dome which covered 
 the delicate mechanism of the ticker. One of the 
 flying fragments cut his cheek and a few drops of 
 blood slowly trickled down his face. 
 
 421
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 "The corporation of Randolph Morris & Com- 
 pany is bankrupt ! " he said, rising to his feet and 
 looking into the faces of his astounded associates. 
 "The Board of Directors will convene at once and 
 take formal action to that effect. Be seated, gen- 
 tlemen, and come to order. We will dispense with 
 the reading of the minutes of the last meeting. 
 You may make the motion for suspension, Mr. 
 Mason." 
 
 The wrecked ticker was silent forever. Its 
 broken wheels and springs responded no longer to 
 the electrical impulse which made it instinct with 
 life the tale-bearer of fortune or of disaster. 
 
 A shaft of sunlight glinted the broken glass. 
 A louder roar came from the Stock Exchange, but 
 it presaged nothing to the men who were gathered 
 in the inner office of Randolph Morris & Company. 
 
 The formality of declaring a suspension of the 
 bank was soon ended. The word was passed to the 
 clerks, and the glass windows before the paying 
 tellers were closed in the faces of those who were 
 demanding their deposits. A moan of rage and 
 despair went up from the long line, but officers 
 cleared the room and an employe tacked a notice of 
 suspension on the great oaken doors. 
 
 When Randolph Morris adjourned the direc- 
 tors' meeting he looked about for his son but he 
 was not in the room. He found Arthur Morris 
 within the caged enclosure occupied by the paying 
 teller. In his hands were several packages of money. 
 
 432
 
 FATHER AND SON 
 
 "What are you doing there?" demanded Ran- 
 dolph Morris. 
 
 " Cashing a check," was the sullen reply. 
 
 "You're a thief as well as a fool," roared Ran- 
 dolph Morris, his hand on the door and his features 
 convulsed with passion. " No officer of a bank on 
 the point of suspension has a right to accept or with- 
 draw funds, and you know it." 
 
 He grabbed Arthur Morris by the shoulder 
 ana dragged him through the narrow door-way. 
 
 " My curse goes with that money?" he shouted, 
 his face convulsed with rage. "You have dragged 
 me down to shame and poverty in my old age. I hope, 
 by God, that everything you buy with that money 
 will give you pain ! I don't know how much you've 
 got, but you'll live too long if you live to spend it. 
 I wish to God" 
 
 His voice was choked, the blood surged to his 
 temples, his hands clutched at his throat, and with a 
 gasp for breath he fell heavily to the floor. 
 
 Before Arthur Morris realized what had hap- 
 pened, others were by his father's side. The stricken 
 old financier was borne to a couch and simple re- 
 storatives applied. He partially recovered con- 
 sciousness before a physician arrived, but again sank 
 into a most alarming condition. 
 
 "Apoplexy," said the physician, in answer to a 
 question. "Is this his first attack ?' r he asked 
 Arthur Morris. 
 
 "I don't know," was the reply. "I've seen 
 
 433
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 the governor so mad he couldn't speak, several 
 times, but never so bad as this." 
 
 As he spoke Randolph Morris opened his 
 eyes and they rested on his son. 
 
 " Take him away," he said, averting his eyes. 
 "Take him away, and give me a chance to live." 
 
 " You're all right, governor," said Arthur 
 Morris, as the doctor gave him a signal to stay out 
 of sight. " Keep cool and you'll come out on top. 
 I feel as bad as you do about it, but there's no use 
 Li kicking. Brace up and take your medicine like 
 a man; we may win out yet." 
 
 To which encouraging advice Randolph Mor- 
 ris made no reply, and the son left the room, after 
 vainly attempting to persuade the physician to re- 
 move the patient to his apartment. 
 
 " Your father must have absolute rest and 
 quiet," he said, as he gave Arthur Morris the ad- 
 dress of a private hospital. "He is out of imme- 
 diate danger, but is likely to have a relapse at any 
 moment. I will advise you of his condition and let 
 you know when you can see him." 
 
 As Randolph Morris was tenderly carried down 
 the steps, through an angry crowd, and placed in an 
 ambulance, he opened his eyes and looked long- 
 ingly at the building which bore his name. Thus 
 he made his last journey away from the roar and 
 turmoil of Wall Street ; a mental, physical and 
 financial wreck, cast on the shores of oblivion by a 
 storm terrific and unforeseen. 
 424
 
 FATHER AND SON 
 
 Arthur Morris, stripped of all power by the 
 action of the directors, stood amid the wreck of 
 his fortunes. 
 
 He was a witness to the compromise by which 
 a representative of James Blake & Company agreed 
 to terms, which, while protecting the depositors, 
 called for the sacrifice of the millions which once 
 stood in his name. The fifty thousand dollars 
 he had succeeded at the last moment in drawing 
 from the bank was all that was left to him. 
 
 He thought of James Blake and uttered an 
 oath. He thought of General Garden, and then of 
 Jessie Garden. The money he had lost had made 
 her an heiress. And she would marry James Blake I 
 The certainty of this was maddening. He thought 
 of the great mansion, of his yacht, the Voltaire, of 
 a thousand vanishing luxuries torn from him in an 
 hour, but never once did he think of John Bvrt. 
 
 Morris was driven rapidly up town. Hi? ears 
 were assailed by the cries of newsboys yelling the 
 jarring refrain, " All about the great bank failure !" 
 "All about Randolph Morris & Co.!" 
 
 42;
 
 CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT 
 
 BLAKE'S SACRIFICE 
 
 THROUGH the long hours of that eventful 
 day General Garden's eyes were fixed on 
 the stock board. Few of the excited custo- 
 mers of James Blake & Company recognized the 
 ex-banker, and none knew the reason for his ab- 
 sorbing interest in the fluctuations of the stock 
 labeled L. & O. 
 
 His features betrayed little excitement while 
 the price mounted rapidly from thirty to fifty, and 
 thence by wild flights to par and above. But his 
 heart was beating with a great joy. 
 
 Years before he had watched with agony the 
 steady decline which culminated in his bankruptcy, 
 but now the ticker sang a song of triumph. 
 
 He walked out into the street, through the 
 hurrying throngs, and strolled along the paths of 
 Battery Park. It was difficult to realize that the 
 events of the preceding weeks were not dreams. 
 
 Who was this man Blake, and why had he 
 offered to place a fortune in his hand ? Why had 
 this stranger come from out the West, and by the 
 magic of his touch, transformed a worthless stock 
 into one of so great value that millionaires strug- 
 gled madly for its possession? Perhaps failure 
 would yet dash the cup of happiness from his lips? 
 The Morris interests were powerful, and General 
 Garden had witnessed the final collapse of many 
 ventures like Blake's. 
 426
 
 BLAKE S SACRIFICE 
 
 When he took his last look at the stock board 
 L. & O. was quoted at 105. He nervously drew a 
 slip of paper from his pocket and made a rapid 
 calculation. If Blake chose to realize at the quota- 
 tion, General Garden's share of the profits would 
 be nearly eight hundred thousand dollars. The 
 figures dazzled him, and he made the calculation 
 anew, only to find it accurate. This represented 
 more than the fortune he had lost. 
 
 A wild impulse came which urged him to de- 
 mand of Blake the sale of his stock. What right 
 had he to imperil that which would insure the hap- 
 piness of his daughter and the repose of his old 
 age? Hurriedly he retraced his steps until he 
 reached Broadway, and again he entered Blake's 
 office. 
 
 An hour had passed, and he hardly dared look 
 at the quotations. Perhaps the deal had collapsed ? 
 Perhaps 
 
 "L. & O. 145, 145 #, 146^," called out the 
 man who was reading the ticker. " Two thousand 
 L. &O. at 150!" 
 
 An exultant shout went up from the crowd of 
 men who surrounded James Blake. His handsome 
 face was aglow with pleasure as they slapped him on 
 the back. 
 
 " My congratulations, general," Blake said, 
 grasping the old soldier's hand. "Our little pool 
 is working splendidly! Do you feel like getting 
 out at 150, general? I wouldn't advise you to do 
 
 427
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 so, but if you wish it can be arranged. I have a 
 customer who will take the stock off your hands at 
 that figure." 
 
 "I I am entirely satisfied to let it alone," said 
 General Garden, drawing himself up proudly. 
 "Handle my stock according to your judgment. 
 The subordinate should not question the policy of 
 a victorious commander." 
 
 " L. & O. 155," came shrilly from the watcher 
 at the ticker. 
 
 " Mr. Burton wishes to see you," whispered a 
 clerk to Blake, and the famous head of the firm 
 turned and left General Garden. 
 
 General Garden, like one in a trance, watched 
 the quotations during the closing hours of that 
 eventful afternoon. There was no ebb in the rising 
 tide of his fortunes, but a strange fear possessed 
 him lest the riches within reach of his grasp should 
 be swept away by some fatal turn of fortune. But 
 pride was stronger than fear, and nerved by it he 
 awaited the crisis. 
 
 He saw the Morris millions crumble before the 
 impact of the final charge. 
 
 He heard the shouts of victory and found him- 
 self shaking hands and laughing with strangers. He 
 felt a strong clasp on his shoulder and turned to see 
 James Blake. 
 
 "We settle with Randolph Morris & Company 
 at 175," he whispered. u Your share of the profits 
 is nearly a million and a half. I'll call at your house 
 428
 
 BLAKE S SACRIFICE 
 
 this evening and give you a check for the exact 
 amount." 
 
 " I can find no words to express my feelings," 
 said General Garden, deeply affected. "I do not 
 think that I am entitled to so large a share of these 
 profits. I I really I do not know what to say to 
 you, Mr. Blake. You have made me the happiest 
 man in the world. God bless and reward you." 
 
 u Don't thank me," replied James Blake. 
 
 A strange expression came over his face and a 
 look of pain to his dark eyes. " I am not I should 
 not " He paused, released General Garden's hand 
 and turning abruptly rushed across the room and 
 vanished into an inner office. 
 
 In the turmoil of his own feelings General Car- 
 den paid little attention to this strange action. Six 
 hours before he had entered these rooms all but 
 penniless. He left them more than a millionaire. 
 
 Never had the sun shone so brightly as on that 
 glorious afternoon. Never had Broadway been 
 decked in so regal a garb. The buildings which 
 once frowned upon him now opened a grand per- 
 spective to his triumphal march. The blood of 
 youth tingled in his veins. His step was light, his 
 eyes bright, his head erect. 
 
 In a darkened room in a remote quarter of the 
 city, a gray-haired man gasped for breath and moaned 
 in his delirium, A great financial battle had been 
 fought. Randolph Morris was one of the stricken 
 victims, and Marshall Garden was one of the victors. 
 
 429
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 In this age of commercial and industrial barbarism, 
 man must climb to glory over the dead and mangled 
 bodies of the losers. Commercial competition has 
 all the horrors and none of the chivalry of physical 
 warfare. 
 
 Thoughts such as these came to John Burt 
 when the news circulated that Randolph Morris had 
 been stricken in his office. The blow aimed at the 
 son had fallen with crushing force on the father. 
 In the hour of victory John Burt was silent and 
 sad, and John Hawkins was not slow to glean the 
 reason. 
 
 " I wouldn't worry over Randolph Morris," he 
 said, with a gruffness which was assumed. 4 ' The 
 old man will recover. One stroke of apoplexy 
 won't kill him." 
 
 " Write to Randolph Morris," said John, ad- 
 dressing Blake, " and say that his personal property 
 is exempt in this settlement. He has scheduled it 
 as having a value of nearly a million dollars. I 
 shall not take it from him. He's an old man, with 
 daughters and others dependent on him." 
 
 "Good for you, Burt!" exclaimed John Haw- 
 kins. u It isn't business, but business is hell as 
 old Sherman said about war. I'm going to my 
 hotel to take a nap. Where can I see you this 
 evening ? Dine with me at the hotel at nine o'clock. 
 What d'ye say? You, too, Blake." 
 
 Both accepted the invitation. For some mo- 
 ments after Mr. Hawkins had left no word was 
 430
 
 BLAKE'S SACRIFICE 
 
 spoken between John Burt and James Blake. Each 
 was busy with his thoughts, but John broke the 
 silence. 
 
 " How did General Garden act when he real- 
 ized his good fortune?" he asked. 
 
 " He was the happiest man I ever saw," replied 
 Blake. "You should have seen him, John! The 
 tears stood in his eyes as he thanked me. I felt 
 like dropping through the floor." 
 
 " You are to meet him this evening, are you 
 not?" 
 
 " I am going to give him the check. Here it 
 is," and he passed the little strip of paper, eloquent 
 in its figures, to John for his inspection. John 
 glanced at it and smiled. 
 
 "When is Miss Garden expected to return?" 
 he asked, quietly. 
 
 " I'll try to find out to-night," said Blake, look- 
 ing his partner full in the eyes. " My head has 
 been so full of stocks that I've thought of nothing 
 else. But I'll know all about it, John, before I 
 meet you and Hawkins at dinner. Perhaps Jessie 
 or rather Miss Garden is back now. Who 
 knows? This is your lucky day, old fellow, and 
 all kinds of things may happen before midnight. 
 Wouldn't it be great if I went up to the Bishop 
 house and found her there? Of course I wouldn't 
 say a word to spoil the surprise you have planned. 
 Well, I must be going. Hope I'll have good news 
 for you when I see you later."
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 Carefully replacing the precious check in his 
 pocketbook, Blake left the room. He managed to 
 evade the financial representatives of the news- 
 papers and was driven to his apartments. 
 
 Early in the evening Blake rang the bell of the 
 Bishop mansion, and was greeted by General Car- 
 den. 
 
 "It is a pleasure, General Garden, to tender 
 you this check, which represents your share of the 
 profits. Don't say a word of thanks to me, for I 
 do not deserve any credit. Is Miss Garden at 
 home, and may I see her for a moment?" 
 
 " She will be delighted to see you. I will call 
 her." 
 
 The general disappeared, and James Blake lay 
 back in his chair, with his eyes fixed on the portrait 
 of Jessie Garden. 
 
 The slender figure, with the bunch of golden- 
 rod at the waist, the proud poise of the little head, 
 the delicately chiseled features he gazed at the 
 artist's inspired work until a film stole over his 
 eyes. 
 
 He heard the faint rustle of a garment and 
 turned to see Jessie Garden as she entered the 
 room. A tender light glowed in her brown eyes, 
 but there was something wistful in the smile; a 
 blending of happiness, restraint and pity. The 
 eyes dropped for a moment as they met his frank 
 gaze, but her voice was clear and sweet as she 
 offered her hand and said : 
 
 43*
 
 BLAKE'S SAC R I F I C E 
 
 "You have made this the happiest day of our 
 lives, Mr, Blake. I " 
 
 " Not another word," interrupted James Blake. 
 "You must not thank me. Please don't Jessie. 
 It's the only favor I ask." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 The parted lips and questioning eyes were elo- 
 quent with surprise. 
 
 "Why not?" she repeated. 
 
 " Because I don't want you to," he said, releas- 
 ing the little hand. 
 
 His heart beat fast as he gazed into her face, 
 but in that moment he gained the final victory, and 
 only the numbing pain of wounded passion re- 
 mained. 
 
 Less than a day had passed since he had re- 
 solved to surrender all hope for the love of Jessie 
 Garden. Why had he done so? James Blake could 
 not answer that question. He had not calmly 
 weighed his chances of success against those of 
 failure. 
 
 Like a flash it dawned upon him that he could 
 not that he must not be disloyal to John Burt. 
 He did not reason it out it was told to him in that 
 voiceless, wordless language which has no name or 
 key. 
 
 A strange happiness stole over him as he sat by 
 her side and listened to the music of her voice. For 
 the first time in his life James Blake felt himself 
 almost worthy of the love of such a woman. Had 
 
 433
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 fate traced their paths along other lines, he believed 
 that she would have listened to an avowal which so 
 often had trembled on his lips. 
 
 James Blake did not pose before the mirror of 
 his inner consciousness as a martyr or a hero. 
 Those who will attempt to analyze and determine 
 the complex motives which impel them to any im- 
 portant action may then pass judgment on James 
 Blake. He was as generous as he was selfish, and 
 as forgiving as he was impulsive. Like a thought- 
 less child he reached out after forbidden things. 
 He loved everything which a healthy normal man 
 should love. 
 
 He had loved that woman, and the kindled fires 
 of his passion dulled the flame of friendship. There 
 had been moments when he was able to forget John 
 Burt wild, blissful moments when the vision of 
 Jessie Garden shut out all the world and selfishness 
 became exalted into love. In the strong presence 
 of the friend of his boyhood and the partner of his 
 young manhood, he saw the fathomless void which 
 lay between his extended arms and the woman he 
 loved. Ardent fancy spanned this gulf with bridges, 
 but they were arches of cobwebs when he stood be- 
 jfore John Burt. 
 
 No poison of envy or jealousy now turned his 
 friendship for John Burt into hatred. One man in 
 all the world was good enough for Jessie Garden 
 his friend, John Burt. Loving her none the less, he 
 respected John more. In a few hours John should 
 
 4J4
 
 BLAKE'S SACRIFICE 
 
 know the truth. Surely Blake could expect forgive- 
 ness for falling in love with Jessie Garden. 
 
 "You must not imagine," he said, "that your 
 father is under the slightest obligations to me. On 
 the contrary, our firm is indebted to him. The 
 stock which he held was the key to the situation. 
 Without it we could have done nothing. We have 
 simply been able to verify the general's confidence 
 in its value, and he is the one to be congratulated on 
 the outcome." 
 
 "I don't believe a word you say," replied Jes- 
 sie Garden, laughing. "I'm not so stupid about 
 these Wall Street affairs as you imagine. If it had 
 not been for you, Mr. Morris would have defrauded 
 papa out of all his property." 
 
 " Speaking of Morris reminds me of something 
 which has often puzzled me," said Blake, changing 
 the subject. "Will you excuse me for being inquisi- 
 tive, Miss Garden?" 
 
 "You are assuming a woman's prerogative, and 
 I warn you that Mr. Morris is not an agreeable 
 topic." 
 
 " It's about that portrait," said Blake, pointing 
 to the canvas. " I'm in for it now, but I may as well 
 go ahead. The first time I ever met Arthur Mor- 
 ris I saw your portrait in his library room. It has 
 always puzzled me. Some time I'll tell you why." 
 
 "My portrait in Mr. Morris's room!" ex- 
 claimed Jessie, the color mounting to her cheeks. 
 " Surely you are jesting, Mr. Blake I " 
 
 435
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 "It was probably a copy, though he told me it 
 was the original," replied Blake. " He said you had 
 it painted for him in Berlin, and that you presented 
 it to him. The first time I came here I saw this one 
 and thought it a remarkable coincidence." 
 
 "There is no mystery about it," said Jessie, her 
 eyes flashing with anger. " Mr. Morris saw fit to 
 take advantage of papa's bankruptcy, which gave 
 him possession of our Boston residence. This por- 
 trait hung on its walls, and he doubtless had a copy 
 made from it. This is consistent with other acts 
 from which we have suffered at his hands. I " 
 
 The portieres parted and Edith Hancock en- 
 tered the room. Her eyes rested first on Blake and 
 then on Jessie. 
 
 " Pardon this intrusion," she said. " I am 
 looking for a book and did riot know that any one 
 was here. You are to be congratulated, Mr. Blake; 
 doubly congratulated." 
 
 There was a tremor in the voice, but a proud 
 flash of the lovely eyes as Edith bowed slightly, 
 and, brushing the portieres aside, left the room. 
 
 "Don't go, Edith! " cried Jessie. 
 
 There was no response, and Jessie was too 
 wise to follow her fair cousin. For some moments 
 no words were spoken. 
 
 11 1 am going to tell you the story of that por- 
 trait," said Jessie. The crimson touched her cheeks 
 and a light, such as Blake had never seen, was in 
 her eyes. " Do you remember what you said last 
 436
 
 BLAKE'S SACRIFICE 
 
 night? You said that it seemed as if we had been 
 friends for years, and the same thought has oc- 
 curred to me. I'm going to presume on that 
 occult friendship and tell you a secret. That por- 
 trait belongs to John Burt! " 
 
 A few hours before this arrow would have 
 buried its barbs in James Blake's heart, but now 
 it went wide of its mark and only the archer was 
 in pain. 
 
 Jessie felt herself an ingrate as she uttered 
 these words. She had wounded him while he came 
 as a messenger bearing a princely gift. She had 
 innocently aroused his love only to spurn it before 
 it had been declared. Her lips trembled, and for 
 one brief moment she would that the cruel words 
 were not spoken. She raised her eyes and looked 
 into James Blake's face. He played his part with 
 the consummate art of an actor. 
 
 " John Burt? The John Burt I knew as a boy ? 
 What do you mean, Jessie?" 
 
 She opened an album and handed it to him. On 
 one page was the faded duplicate of the photo- 
 graph from which had been painted the portrait 
 he had seen so often in John Burt's study room in 
 San Francisco. Opposite it was a photograph of 
 John Burt. The album opened naturally to these 
 pages sure proof that certain white fingers had 
 sought them out many, many times. 
 
 " It was only a week before he went away," said 
 Jessie, softly, " that these pictures were taken. It 
 
 437
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 was a glorious day in autumn, and our horses had 
 galloped miles and miles. Near the bay shore in. 
 Hingham we saw a traveling photographer, and I 
 suggested that we have our pictures taken. We 
 each gave the other one, and I have mine yet. 
 We-" 
 
 " And he has his yet," said Blake, a far-off look 
 in his eyes. 
 
 " He has ! How do you know, Mr. Blake ? 
 Have you " 
 
 u Of course he has it. I'll wager dear old 
 John has never parted with that little gift. Wher- 
 ever he may be he wears that picture nearest his 
 heart. Excuse my interruption, Jessie; I'm greatly 
 interested." 
 
 " You spoke as if you knew," said Jessie, her 
 heart beating wildly. " The last day I saw him he 
 spoke of you. We sailed out to Black Reef and 
 we talked of many things. John said he was going 
 to California, and wondered if you were there and 
 if he would see you. That seems ages ago, but it's 
 only five years. And then we sailed back to the 
 grove and he quarreled with Arthur Morris. You 
 have heard the story. That night we parted, and 
 a thousand times I have heard the hoofs of his horse 
 as he galloped away in the darkness." 
 
 She paused, but Blake, with his eyes on the 
 portrait, said nothing. 
 
 "When you told me that you were John Burt's 
 friend I liked you," she said, in a voice which 
 438
 
 BLAKE S SACRIFICE 
 
 thrilled his very being. " You have been all that 
 he said in your favor, and many times more. I 
 have often thought how strange it is that the friend 
 of his boyhood should be the one to come to our 
 aid when all seemed darkest. I would that it were 
 in my power to repay you, Mr. Blake. You have 
 at your command everything which money can 
 furnish, and I can offer you only my friendship and 
 my prayer for your happiness." 
 
 He took her hand and impulsively pressed it 
 to his lips. 
 
 " You have made me very, very happy," he said, 
 rising to his feet as she tenderly withdrew her hand. 
 " I should like to tell you something which which 
 but I must not tell it. Some day you will know me 
 better. Will you promise not to be angry with me 
 then? Will you promise, Jessie ?" 
 
 "Angry with you? I am sure I shall never be 
 angry with you." 
 
 " That is your promise ? " 
 
 "That is my promise." 
 
 He laughed gaily as she repeated the words, 
 but his lips quivered and his eyes glistened suspi- 
 ciously. In a moment he was the careless, happy 
 Blake, chatting lightly on trivial subjects. 
 
 " I must keep an engagement," he said, looking 
 at his watch. "A friend of mine is here from Cali- 
 fornia, and I'm to take dinner with him. He's a 
 royal good fellow, rich, handsome, cultivated, and 
 ^and everything which a good fellow should be. 
 
 4J9
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 I'd like to introduce him. May I call with him to- 
 morrow evening?" 
 
 " Any friend of yours is welcome, especially a 
 paragon with such bewildering attractions," laughed 
 Jessie. "Good-bye, until to-morrow evening." 
 
 440
 
 CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE 
 
 THROUGH THE HEART 
 
 T lacked several minutes of the hour fixed for 
 dinner when Blake strolled through the hotel 
 cafe and thence into the lobby. The babble of. 
 voices, the gesticulations and the nervous energy 
 which pervaded the atmosphere were not in harmony 
 with Blake's feelings. 
 
 "Jessie was afraid I was going to say some- 
 thing to-night, and so she told me that she loved 
 John," he mused, throwing away a half-smoked 
 cigar. " Dear old John! Lucky old John ! Jessie 
 doesn't even know that he is alive and yet she's 
 patiently waiting for him. I wonder how she came 
 to fall in love with John? He wouldn't look at a 
 woman in San Francisco. This is a strange world. 
 I never noticed until to-night how remarkably beau- 
 tiful Edith Hancock is. She thinks Jessie and I are 
 engaged. That's what she meant this evening when 
 she said I was to be doubly congratulated. Yes, 
 I'm to be congratulated a lot! Hello, what's the 
 row? That sounds like Morris! I suppose he's 
 drunk. If he had a spark of decency he'd be with 
 his father. Here he comes ! " 
 
 Morris pushed his way through the crowd and 
 was followed by young Kingsley. They had been 
 engaged in a wordy dispute which promised to end 
 in blows when outsiders interfered. Morris had 
 been drinking steadily for hours. And as he drank 
 his form grew more erect, his brain clearer and his 
 
 44
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 hand more steady. There are times when liquor 
 possesses no power of intoxication. Against the 
 poison of a rattlesnake whiskey is soothing as milk. 
 The venom of defeat raged in the veins of Arthur 
 Morris, and the fiery liquor acted as an antidote. 
 
 Not until he was within a few feet of Blake did 
 he recognize his rival. Though anxious to avoid 
 a meeting, Blake scorned to retreat or to turn his 
 back. 
 
 Morris stopped squarely in front of him. His 
 lips parted with a sneer and his fingers toyed with a 
 small walking stick. Blake leaned carelessly against 
 a marble column, his eyes fixed on the man who con- 
 fronted him. Had Blake been in a Western mining 
 camp his fingers would have reached for the feel 
 of a gun, but in a metropolitan hotel he had no 
 sense of danger. The incident was trivial, but disa- 
 greeable. 
 
 " Lend me a thousand, Blake," demanded 
 Morris. 
 
 A whisper passed around the room and many 
 turned to watch these two men, whose names had 
 filled the public prints of the day. 
 
 " Certainly," said Blake, a strange smile light- 
 ing up his handsome face. " Is a thousand enough, 
 Morris?" 
 
 Blake took a wallet from his inner pocket and 
 handed Morris a bill. 
 
 " And a match," ordered Morris, advancing a 
 step nearer. 
 44*
 
 THROUGH THE HEART 
 
 "The hotel furnishes matches," responded 
 Blake, coolly. 
 
 " Here's a match," said Kingsley. 
 
 "Thanks, old chap." 
 
 Morris calmly struck a light and shielded it 
 with his hand against the draught from an open 
 door. 
 
 Holding the bright new thousand dollar note a 
 few feet from Blake's head he ignited it. As it 
 slowly burned up he turned it deftly until only a 
 charred corner remained in his hand. No word was 
 spoken as the blue and yellow flame died out. A 
 circle of men had formed around the two. 
 
 "Very clever, Morris," said Blake, replacing 
 his pocket-book. " Must be a new sensation to 
 burn my money? First of it you ever saw, isn't 
 it? Did you burn your fingers again Morris?" 
 
 " Come on, old fellow," pleaded Kingsley, lay- 
 ing his hand on Morris's shoulder. "Come on; 
 you're due at the club." 
 
 " Give this mucker his thousand, Kingsley," 
 ordered Morris, turning his back to Blake. 
 
 "Sorry, my dear fellow, but haven't it with me, 
 don't you know," replied the cautious Kingsley. 
 
 "Don't bother about repaying it," said Blake. 
 "We'll let it go as your commission for advising 
 me to purchase L. & O. You were singularly 
 accurate, Morris, in your estimate of its value." 
 
 "Don't go too far with me, Blake!" Morris 
 exclaimed, turning fiercely on the speaker. "I'll
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 not stand for it, do you hear? I've lost, and I'm 
 still a gentleman ; you've won, and are yet a cad 1 
 You've taken my money and won the woman. Keep 
 away from me." 
 
 "I didn't seek this interview," said Blake, his 
 face flushed with rising anger, "but since it's to be 
 our last one, I'm going to tell you something. I've 
 not a dollar of your money and am not your rival 
 in any respect. I didn't plan the deal which broke 
 you, and do not share in the profits." 
 
 " Blake, you're a ." Morris checked himself 
 and glared at the other with an expression of 
 mingled hate and surprise. 
 
 " Say it if you wish," responded Blake. " I 
 never strike drunkards, and you are safe. Listen 
 to me, Morris, and I'll tell you something that will 
 sober you. Do you remember John Burt? I guess 
 you do. He was the country boy who dragged you 
 out of a chair by the scruff of the neck for insulting 
 a young lady upon whom you had forced your society. 
 You recall him, don't you?" 
 
 "What of him?" demanded Morris, sullenly. 
 At the mention of John Burt's name Morris in- 
 stinctively raised his hand to his breast. There a, 
 bullet had plowed its way while he struggled in 
 close combat on the sanded floor of the old tavern. 
 The scene, with all its horror, came back to him. 
 The table, lined with bottles and glasses, the 
 drunken laughter, the ribald talk, the insulting 
 toast, and then John Burt. 
 
 444
 
 THROUGH THE HEART 
 
 "JohnBurt what of him?" repeated Morris. 
 Perhaps some vague suspicion of the truth came to 
 him in that moment. " That country lout can come 
 back, or stay away, or go to the devil, for all I 
 care." 
 
 " That country lout has come back," said Blake 
 deliberately. " I had the pleasure this afternoon, 
 my dear Morris, of transferring to John Burt the 
 various stocks and bonds which you and your 
 father tendered to James Blake & Company in set- 
 tlement of your liabilities. Permit me to let you 
 into a deep secret, my dear Morris. John Burt is 
 James Blake & Company. He is the Wizard of 
 Wall Street. I am nothing. I don't count, don't 
 you see ? In my feeble way I've attempted to carry 
 out John Burt's instructions. You seemed to stand 
 across his path and he blotted you out. He crushed 
 you as he would a buzzing fly. He forced you to 
 disgorge General Garden's fortune. He will wed 
 the woman on whom you have forced your ad- 
 dresses. Do I make myself plain, Morris?" 
 
 Morris gazed at James Blake and for a moment 
 seemed incapable of speech. He moistened his 
 lips with his tongue and fumbled nervously at his 
 watch chain. 
 
 " I I I think you lie, Blake," he stammered, 
 after a long pause. " It's all a lie, don't you know, 
 Kingsley." 
 
 Blake raised his eyes and saw John Burt and 
 Mr. Hawkins entering the room. Pausing not a 
 
 445
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 second to weigh the consequences, he grasped 
 Morris by the shoulders and whirled him around. 
 
 "Hands off of me," exclaimed Morris, his 
 voice harsh with rage and his eyes red with the 
 flame of anger. " Hands off! " he repeated. 
 
 Morris threw one arm behind him, but Blake, 
 scornful of his opponent, and thinking only of the 
 dramatic climax which offered itself, took no warn- 
 ing. 
 
 " Calm yourself, Morris," he said soothingly. 
 "Anger does not become you. I want you to look 
 your best, for here comes our mutual friend, John 
 Burt ! It's so long since you've seen each other 
 that an introduction is in order. Hello, John ! " 
 
 Blake released his grasp and Morris drew back 
 in a defiant attitude. With careless contempt Blake 
 ignored Morris, and his eyes followed John Burt 
 and Hawkins as they came towards him. John was 
 listening to his elderly companion and both were 
 circling the group which surrounded Blake and 
 Morris. 
 
 The contrast between Burt and Hawkins was 
 sharp but pleasing. John Hawkins his dark eyes 
 masked by bushy lashes, his tawny beard half cov- 
 ering his massive chest, the locks of his iron gray 
 hair showing beneath his broad brimmed hat, his 
 firm tread, the deep mellow bass of his voice he 
 was the perfect type of that sturdy American man- 
 hood transplanted from New England to California 
 and crowned with the glorious fruitage of years. 
 44.6
 
 THROUGH THE HEART 
 
 The man who walked beside John Hawkins had 
 been gifted by nature with lines of figure which 
 instantly commanded admiration. John Burt at 
 twenty-eight had the grace of youth and the sym- 
 metry of manhood. There is in physical beauty, be 
 it masculine or feminine, something so elusive that 
 it scorns description by comparison. John Burt 
 looked health, strength, vigor, intelligence, good 
 fellowship. The texture of his skin, the light of 
 his eyes, the pose of his head all proclaimed the 
 virility of perfect manhood. 
 
 At the call of his name John turned and saw 
 Blake. His face lighted with a smile as he stopped 
 and then walked towards the group. 
 
 The three men were almost in a line, with Blake 
 in the center. Morris fixed his gaze on the new- 
 comer, but John did not look in his direction. 
 
 The muscles of Morris's face twitched, and a 
 desperate look came to his eyes. With a quick 
 motion his arm came from behind his back and 
 something glittered in his hand. In the adjoining 
 cafe an orchestra sounded the notes of a march. 
 
 " Hello, Jim," said John. " Are we on time ? " 
 
 " Mr. Burt," said Blake, his dark eyes twinkling 
 with deviltry, and his .voice clear as a bell, "permit 
 me to introduce " 
 
 He turned to Morris with a mocking smile on 
 his lips. He heard the click of metal and saw the 
 flash of polished steel as Morris raised his arm and 
 leveled a revolver at John Burt. 
 
 447
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 "I bought this for myself! Take it, John 
 Burt," he cried. 
 
 He fired before the words were out of his 
 mouth. The spectators who stood their ground 
 saw James Blake throw himself forward the moment 
 before a spit of fire came from the muzzle of the 
 weapon. They saw his figure reel through the 
 smoke, and they saw Morris fire again. 
 
 Like a sharp echo came an answering shot 
 from Blake. He had half fallen, with his right 
 knee and left hand on the marble floor. Morris's 
 second shot was aimed over his head at John Burt, 
 who had dashed at Morris and was almost over the 
 wavering figure of his friend. 
 
 When Blake fired, Morris arms went up with a 
 jerk. His revolver fell with a crash on the floor. 
 One of the cartridges exploded and the bullet 
 buried itself in a heavy oaken chair. 
 
 " God ! " Morris cried. 
 
 Like a column pushed from its base he fell. 
 He turned half over and lay motionless. A num- 
 ber of letters were shaken out of his inner coat 
 pocket and scattered on the floor. A pair of broken 
 eye-glasses were near his head. His watch dropped 
 from his waistcoat, and, by some chance, the case 
 was opened. The hands marked the hour of nine. 
 
 "I've got him, John," gasped Blake, "and I 
 guess he's got me! Are you hurt, John? " 
 
 He again raised his weapon unsteadily, and 
 pitched forward into John Burt's arms. 
 
 44*
 
 Like a column pushed from a base he fell.
 
 CHAPTER FORTY 
 
 SHADOW OF DEATH 
 
 TAND back and give the man air!" roared 
 John Hawkins, pushing aside the morbid 
 crowd which surged around the motionless 
 bodies. " Bear a hand, John, we'll take Jim to my 
 room." 
 
 Sam Rounds touched John on the arm. 
 
 "Can I dew anything, John?" he asked, his 
 homely face pathetic in its sorrow. 
 
 u Call the best surgeons," ordered John Burt, 
 in a low tone. "We shall be in Mr. Hawkins's 
 room, on the second floor." 
 
 Officers waved back the spectators, and, ten- 
 derly raising the inert figure, Burt and Hawkins 
 carried it up the marble stairs. A moment later 
 the house surgeon, and a physician who had volun- 
 teered his services, entered the room. 
 
 With bated breath John watched the surgeon 
 as he opened the waistcoat and cut away the blood- 
 soaked shirt. For a moment he laid his head 
 against Blake's breast. It seemed an age before 
 the answer came. 
 
 " He lives," said the surgeon, reaching for an 
 emergency case. 
 
 "Has he a chance?" demanded Hawkins, in a 
 hoarse whisper. 
 
 An almost imperceptible shrug of the shoul- 
 ders was the ominous answer. He held a vial to 
 Blake's nostrils, and the watchers saw the faint 
 
 449
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 shudder which told of a halt in the march of death. 
 Then the breast heaved convulsively, and James 
 Blake opened his eyes and looked squarely into 
 John Burt's face. 
 
 "Hello, John!" he said, ' faintly. "What's 
 the matter? What's happened, old man?" 
 
 Before the surgeon could interfere, Blake 
 pressed his hand over his heart, raised it and looked 
 at the red stained fingers. Wearily he closed his 
 eyes, as in deep thought. 
 
 " I remember now," he said, softly. " It was 
 Morris. I got him, John, didn't I ? But I guess 
 he's got me." 
 
 u You must keep quiet, Jim," said John Burt, 
 tenderly clasping Blake's hand and pushing back 
 the damp locks from his forehead. " You are a 
 long way from being dead, old man, but you must 
 reserve your strength and obey the surgeons." 
 
 " I don't want a surgeon not now," declared 
 Blake, in a stronger voice and a quickening intelli- 
 gence in his dark eyes. " Hello, Hawkins ! You 
 won't be offended, will you, Hawkins, if I ask you 
 and the doctors to leave me alone with John for a 
 minute or two?" 
 
 "Certainly not, my boy, if the doctors say so." 
 
 The surgeon turned to John and whispered a 
 few words, which did not escape Blake's strangely 
 revived senses. 
 
 "You'll probe for nothing until I talk to John!" 
 he asserted. "I'm going to live long enough to 
 450
 
 SHADOW OF DEATH 
 
 tell John something that no one else shall hear, and 
 then I don't care how much you carve me, or if I 
 live or die. Send them out of here, John, or I'll get 
 up and chase them out." 
 
 John called the two medical men to one side. 
 
 " I have sent for other surgeons, and they will be 
 here soon," he said. " Unless an immediate opera- 
 tion is necessary, we shall lose more by refusing his 
 request than by granting it. I cannot explain why." 
 
 "It is a dangerous operation, and I consent to 
 delay it until others arrive," said the surgeon. "I 
 have sent for Dr. Harkness." 
 
 He held his hand for a moment on Blake's 
 pulse, administered a few drops of stimulant, and 
 motioning to Hawkins and the physician, the three 
 silently left the room. 
 
 " Sit close by me, John, and let me hold your 
 hand," said Blake. " Dear old John ! " 
 
 Tears glistened in his eyes as he clasped the 
 other's hand. 
 
 " I don't wish you to tell me anything, Jim," 
 said John, soothingly, as he gently returned the 
 clasp. " Just keep quiet, Jim, and make up your 
 mind that you are going to get well and be the 
 same generous old Jim Blake that I have known all 
 these years." 
 
 " You know what I've done ! " exclaimed Blake, 
 his eyes glistening with excitement. " You know all, 
 and yet forgive me I Do you, John ? Tell me, old 
 man; it means more for me than drugs or probes." 
 
 45'
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 "I do, Jim. Say no more about it, old partner, 
 but lay quiet and keep all your strength for the 
 crisis which is coming." 
 
 "I don't care what's coming. This is my pun- 
 ishment, John, but your words take all the sting out 
 of it. I met Jessie, John, and fell in love with her! 
 I tried to stop myself, but it was no use. I met her 
 the first night I went to General Garden's, and since 
 then I have been tossed back and forth between 
 heaven and hell. I lied to you, John ; lied with my 
 lips and in my heart." 
 
 "Say no more about it, Jim," John almost 
 commanded. " You made a false step, but you re- 
 gretted it, and have done all you could to prove it." 
 
 A proud, happy smile lighted up Blake's face 
 and was reflected in his eyes. 
 
 "You have seen Jessie and she has told you 
 all?" 
 
 John shook his head. 
 
 " And yet you know the truth. I loved her madly, 
 John, but a few words from you, John, after you 
 learned the truth, brought me back to earth. Then I 
 knew to what a depth I had fallen. I said nothing to 
 Jessie, John. No word of love ever passed my lips. I 
 did not know what I was trying to do until you silently 
 spoke to me. I was going to tell you all about it 
 to-night, John. I saw Jessie this evening, and told 
 her that I was to dine with a friend of mine from 
 California you, John, you ! And to-morrow even- 
 ing I promised her that I would bring that unnamed 
 
 452
 
 THE SHADOW OF DEATH 
 
 friend to her house. That was my little surprise, 
 John, but it was not to be." 
 
 " I shall call the surgeons if you say another 
 word," declared John, who feared a change for the 
 worse. 
 
 James Blake sank back on the pillows, a rapt 
 look on his pale face, though excruciating pain was 
 gnawing at his breast. After an interval of silence 
 he opened his eyes and looked appealingly at John 
 Burt. 
 
 " I should like to see Jessie. Will you send for 
 her, John?" 
 
 " At once," was the answer. 
 
 The door opened softly and Dr. Harkness and 
 other surgeons entered the room. 
 
 45}
 
 CHAPTER FORTY-ONE 
 
 A MENDACIOUS GOD 
 
 ' TTERE'S a message for you, Jessie! The man 
 J_ J. says he will wait for an answer. I'm just 
 
 dying from curiosity." 
 
 Jessie Garden was reading when Edith Hancock 
 rushed into her room. 
 
 "A message for me?" Her hand trembled as 
 she broke the seal. " I hope nothing has happened 
 to papa." 
 
 " The general came in a few minutes ago and is 
 in the library," said Edith. " Read it, Jessie." 
 
 Too impatient to. wait, she leaned over Jessie's 
 shoulder. The note bore the letterhead of a hotel 
 and was written in a firm but scrawling hand. It 
 read: 
 
 Miss Jessie Garden, 
 
 Madison Avenue. 
 
 Mr. James Blake has been seriously wounded by a pis- 
 tol shot and may not recover. He wishes to see you. If 
 
 possible, come at once. 
 
 SAMUEL L. ROUNDS. 
 
 When the purport of the message dawned upon 
 her, Edith snatched the paper from Jessie's hand 
 and devoured it with straining eyes. 
 
 "He may not recover!" she moaned. "He 
 may not recover ! Oh, what has happened ? What 
 has happened to him ? I am going to him ! He 
 shall not die 1 Hurry, Jessie, hurry ! We may be 
 too late I " 
 
 Two white-faced girls rushed in upon General 
 
 454
 
 A MENDACIOUS GOD 
 
 Garden. His lips compressed as he read the mes- 
 sage. 
 
 "This is Morris's work," he said. "Tell the 
 messenger we will come at once. This is sad news; 
 sad, sad news." 
 
 The hotel entrance was blocked by a mob when 
 the Bishop carriage drew up. The blue helmets of 
 police officers formed a line which marked the edge 
 of a struggling crowd. 
 
 " One moment, sir! " ordered an officer holding 
 his baton in front of General Garden. " Make way 
 for the ambulance corps!" 
 
 The folding doors of the side entrance opened 
 and four men slowly advanced bearing a stretcher. 
 It contained a motionless mass covered with a white 
 cloth. Jessie clung to her father's arm. 
 
 With a low cry Edith Hancock sprang forward 
 and raised the cloth. She looked into the dead, 
 staring eyes of Arthur Morris. The bearers paused 
 while she gazed intently at the face, set by death in 
 its last expression of rage. She nervously replaced 
 the covering and turned to Jessie and her father. 
 
 " It's Arthur Morris ! He's dead. Perhaps it's 
 all a mistake about Mr. Blake. Find out, general; 
 find out at once ! We'll wait for you here." 
 
 General Garden returned and silently conducted 
 Jessie and Edith to a room on the second floor. 
 An attendant stood guard, but admitted them when 
 General Garden whispered the names. It was a 
 large apartment, furnished as a drawing-room.
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 A case of surgical instruments lay on the center 
 table, but the room had no occupant. As they stood 
 hesitatingly by the entrance, the door connecting an 
 adjoining room opened and a tall man with red hair, 
 sharp blue eyes and enormous hands entered. Jes- 
 sie recognized Sam Rounds. 
 
 u Heou dew ye do! " he said softly, advancing 
 with an awkward bow. "Sorry tew meet you in 
 such a place, but the bitter goes with the sweet. 
 Take a chair, General Garden. Jim's badly hurt, 
 but he has a chance so the doctors say. They're 
 probing for the bullet now." 
 
 "Is there anything we can do?" asked Edith, 
 her eyes clouded with agony and fear. 
 
 "No one but the doctors an' an' God can pull 
 him through," answered Sam. He looked at Edith 
 with a puzzled expression on his homely face. " I 
 don't rightly remember you, Miss, an' I don't ordi- 
 narily forget a face. The general I've seen, but of 
 course he don't know me. My name's Rounds 
 Sam Rounds once of Rocky Woods." 
 
 "This is my cousin, Edith Hancock," said Jes- 
 sie, softly. "You have often heard of Alderman 
 Rounds, papa." 
 
 In whispers the four talked of the tragedy. 
 Sam had entered the hotel office just before the first 
 shot was fired. 
 
 "It all happened so quick I couldn't do a 
 thing," Sam explained. "The second shot fired by 
 Morris just missed some one else some one Jim 
 456
 
 A MENDACIOUS GOD 
 
 was tryin' tew save an' went through the top of 
 Mr. Hawkins's hat. Morris was dead before he 
 struck the floor. Jim is shot in almost the same 
 place that Morris was five years ago or more. Mor- 
 ris lived then, an' so Jim has a chance now." 
 
 Jessie gently clasped Edith's hands and they 
 looked into each other's eyes. 
 
 "He shall live for your sake, Edith dear," she 
 whispered. 
 
 The door opened and a grave-faced surgeon 
 entered the room. 
 
 " Miss Garden may see Mr. Blake for a few 
 minutes," he said. 
 
 " May I see him then?" exclaimed Edith, laying 
 her hand on the doctor's arm. " Please let me see 
 him, doctor ! I will be very quiet. Ask him, Jes- 
 sie; ask Mr. Blake if I can see him if only for a 
 minute." 
 
 "We shall see," said Dr. Harkness, quietly. 
 "If you wish him to live, follow my orders with- 
 out question. You may go in now, Miss Garden." 
 
 Sam Rounds opened the door and Jessie en- 
 tered. Without once looking inside, Sam took a 
 seat near General Garden. 
 
 In the dimly lighted room Jessie Garden saw 
 two figures one [propped up with pillows so that 
 only the head and arms showed against the white of 
 linen. The curling, black locks fell back from the 
 pale brow, and the handsome face seemed chiseled 
 in purest marble. 
 
 457
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 As Jessie hesitated, awed by her surroundings, 
 Blake's dark eyes sparkled with an anticipation be- 
 yond words to express, and his lips parted with a 
 smile of ineffable joy. 
 
 Seated by him was a man, half shrouded in 
 shadow. Before John Burt could restrain him 
 Blake struggled to a sitting position. 
 
 " You are very good to come at this hour," 
 the sufferer said. His voice, though faint, was 
 clear, and had a thrill which went to the hearts of 
 his listeners. " I spoke to you this evening of my 
 dear friend from California. Miss Garden, allow 
 me to present him. God bless you both!" 
 
 And thus they met, after the weary flight of 
 years. Tenderly laying Blake back on the pillows, 
 John clasped Jessie's hands and looked in her face. 
 
 "John!" 
 
 "Jessie!" 
 
 " Take her in your arms, John ! Don't mind 
 me. She loves " 
 
 His voice died with a whisper, and, with a 
 long-drawn sigh, he closed his eyes. 
 
 "He's dying! Call the doctor!" exclaimed 
 Jessie, fear and pity chasing the love light from 
 her eyes. 
 
 " Don't send for him, I'm all right now," 
 pleaded Blake, opening his eyes. " Let me lie here 
 and talk to you. The sight of you two is better 
 than all the drugs or instruments. I have some- 
 thing to tell you Miss Garden. I " 
 
 45*
 
 A MENDACIOUS GOD 
 
 "You promised not to talk," interrupted John 
 Burt, with a look at Blake which had all the effect 
 of a command. " I will tell Jessie about your little 
 plot in which you thought to surprise me, but 
 which has ended so unhappily for you. When Jim 
 is strong and well, Jessie, we will let him make all 
 the explanations he cares to, and perhaps we may 
 forgive him for keeping us apart a whole week." 
 
 An expression of blank surprise, lightened 
 with pleasure, came to Blake's face, and again he 
 attempted to speak, but John checked him. 
 
 " As you may know, Jessie," John said, " Mr. 
 Blake is the head of a firm which has been co- 
 operating with your father in an important cam- 
 paign. When you become better acquainted with 
 Jim you will know that he is not only sentimen- 
 tal, but also fond of the dramatic. He knows a 
 little of some of my secrets, and, when he found 
 that you had returned from abroad, he conceived 
 the idea that it would be a brilliant scheme to 
 say nothing to me until the Morris conspiracy 
 had been overthrown, and General Garden again 
 came into possession of his own. The market 
 climax came to-day, and, having paid to the gen- 
 eral his share of the profits, Jim was ready for 
 the finale. He intended to make a full confes- 
 sion to me this evening, and later hoped to make 
 amends with you. Jim was waiting for me in the 
 hotel lobby when Morris approached. Crazed 
 with liquor, and enraged with the thought of his 
 
 459
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 losses, Morris fired a pistol shot which wounded 
 Jim. But we're going to pull him through all 
 right. He insists that we must forgive him, and 
 we do, don't we, Jessie?" 
 
 " Of course we do," declared Jessie, with a 
 puzzled glance into John Burt's eyes, and a smile 
 at Blake. " But I'm afraid Mr. Blake is teasing 
 us, John. Early this evening he hinted that he had 
 been guilty of some great transgression, and I for- 
 gave him in advance, but I don't believe he's a bit 
 sorry. I warn you, Mr. Blake, that I shall get even 
 with you when you are better." 
 
 Blake looktd from one to the other. As he real- 
 ized the purport of John's truthful but evasive ex- 
 planation, his eyes danced with joy. He clasped 
 each of them by the hand. 
 
 " Let me say just a word ! " he exclaimed, 
 with a meaning glance at John. "To see you two 
 together, and to hold your hands in mine after 
 all that has happened, gives me new courage 
 and renewed ambition. I want to live; I know 
 I shall live. I ask your prayers, Miss Garden. 
 If the prayers of a sinner are of any use, you 
 and John shall be the happiest mortals on this 
 earth." 
 
 The subdued sound of conversation came from 
 the adjoining room. All of Blake's faculties seemed 
 abnormally acute. 
 
 "Is not that Edith's voice?" he asked. 
 
 " She is in the other room," said Jessie. 
 460
 
 A MENDACIOUS GOD 
 
 " Let her come in," pleaded Blake. John made 
 a gesture of disapproval. 
 
 " I should like to see her, but you know best, I 
 suppose, John," he said. "I feel so much stronger 
 than before you came, Miss Garden. You may tell 
 the surgeons, John, that they can try it again any 
 time they are ready. There's a piece of lead some- 
 where in here," said Blake to Jessie, with his old 
 careless smile, as he laid his hand on his breast, 
 " but we're going to have it out, and keep it for a 
 relic, eh, John?" 
 
 Dr. Harkness entered the room and signaled 
 to John that the interview must end. Blake gal- 
 lantly raised Jessie's hand to his lips. 
 
 "Good-bye, until I'm better," he said, almost 
 gaily. "You and John have saved my life. Tell 
 Edith that my jailors would not let her in now ; but 
 that she must call when I'm free from them." 
 
 John escorted Jessie to the door, whispered a 
 few words and returned to Blake's side. 
 
 "You're a god, John; a splendid, mendacious 
 god!" said Blake, in a low tone. "You are the 
 only man in the world worthy the love of such a 
 
 woman." 
 
 Dr. Harkness approached and gave a satisfied 
 glance at the wounded man. 
 
 " Go ahead, doctor, and do your worst," was the 
 firm invitation. " Don't be afraid of hurting me. I 
 survived a broken neck in California, and am not 
 afraid of a lead pill in New York." 
 
 4 6i
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 It is merciful to draw the curtain over the two 
 hours which followed. At last a moment came when 
 the grave face of Dr. Harkness was touched with a 
 smile of professional pride, as he drew from an inci- 
 sion a flattened, jagged piece of lead. The patient 
 glanced at it with pain-distorted eyes, and then sank 
 into a sleep, the awakening from which meant so 
 much in deciding for life or death.
 
 CHAPTER FORTY-TWO 
 
 THE END 
 
 PETER BURT stood by the gateway and shaded 
 his eyes with his hand as he gazed down the 
 road. A cool breeze from the ocean tem- 
 pered the heat of a July afternoon. A few fleecy 
 clouds floated lazily in the summer sky. 
 
 Two weeks before that day Peter Burt had re- 
 ceived his first letter from John. It briefly and 
 modestly recited the story of his struggles and of 
 his success, and ended with an account of the tragedy 
 which resulted in the death of Arthur Morris and 
 the wounding of Blake. He informed his grand- 
 father that Jim had a chance for life, and said that 
 he should remain near him until the crisis decided 
 his fate. Each following day a letter from John 
 came to the old man, and on one occasion his heart 
 was made glad by a loving note from Jessie Garden. 
 
 A mounted messenger from Hingham rested 
 his horse by Peter Burt's gate and delivered a tele- 
 gram which read : 
 
 "Blake is declared out of immediate danger. You 
 may expect four of us about noon on Wednesday." 
 
 JOHN BURT. 
 
 The old-fashioned clock had sounded the mid- 
 day hour, and Peter Burt looked beyond the turn of 
 the road, where the yellow-brown of dust had dulled 
 the green of foliage. Responding to the touch of a 
 whip a spirited team of horses dashed ahead as they 
 reached the summit of the hill.
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 Sam Rounds was driving, and a stranger to 
 Peter Burt was beside him. John Burt and Jessie 
 were in the rear seat. 
 
 " God is very good to us, John," said Peter 
 Burt, as he took his grandson's hand and looked, 
 through glad tears, into his face. He gave no look 
 or word to the others, but fell on his knees in the 
 dust of the road and offered a short and fervent 
 prayer. 
 
 His stern old face grew tender as he arose and 
 turned to Jessie Garden. 
 
 " An old man's blessing on your pretty head," 
 he said, gently touching the folds of her hair with 
 his huge palm. "You are very beautiful, my daugh- 
 ter, and it is God's will that you shall be happy. I 
 am glad to see you again, Samuel." 
 
 He looked searchingly at the silent man in the 
 front seat. 
 
 " I do not know you, sir," he said, extending 
 his hand, " but any friend of my grandson's is wel- 
 come to such hospitality as a Burt can offer." 
 
 " Aye, aye, sir ; Captain Burt I My name's 
 Hawkins John Hawkins, and I'm coming ashore," 
 said that gentleman, stepping from the carriage. 
 
 Peter Burt grasped him by the shoulders and 
 stared into his face. 
 
 44 Jack Hawkins! Jack Hawkins, of the Segre- 
 gansett! The dead has come to life, and God is 
 good to his servant ! Forgive me, Hawkins, as He 
 has forgiven me ! " 
 464
 
 THE END 
 
 "Nothing to forgive, Captain Burt!" ex- 
 claimed John Hawkins, heartily, as he grasped the 
 patriarch's hand. " You dropped me off the Segre- 
 gansett in the right place and at the right time. 
 Destiny orders all these things, and old destiny and 
 I are chums. I'll tell you all about it, Captain Burt, 
 when we have lots of time. I smell something 
 cooking, and I'm as hungry as I was that time when 
 the old whaler ran out of grub off the Juan Fernan- 
 dez. I'm going into your cabin and prove that my 
 appetite is as good as in the days when we tossed 
 the seas around the world together. This is a fine 
 cove for an old salt." 
 
 Linked arm in arm the old captain and his 
 first mate entered the wide door of the Burt 
 farmhouse. 
 
 Never had the great oaken table upheld such a 
 dinner. Mrs. Jasper was temporarily supplanted 
 by a chef from Boston. Rare old plate came, for 
 the first time in John's recollection, from mysterious 
 chests stored away in the attic. Those who sur- 
 rounded the board never will forget the invoca- 
 tion offered by Peter Burt when he blessed the food. 
 The shadows which darkened his life had all been 
 lifted, and the austere cloud passed from his fea- 
 tures as fog before a quickening gale. 
 
 There were so many things to tell that polite 
 rules were ignored and all talked at once. The 
 deep rumble of Hawkins's bass, the nasal twang of 
 Sam Rounds's jokes, the music of Jessie Garden's
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 laughter, blended with the soothing clatter of dishes 
 as deft waiters served the courses. 
 
 "I am glad to hear that Blake is better," said 
 Peter Burt, in a lull of the conversation. " He is 
 impulsive, but has a kind, generous heart. I pre- 
 sume he has the best of care." 
 
 " I should say he had," declared Hawkins, with 
 a wink at Jessie Garden. u He has doctors who 
 charge him a dollar for every beat of his pulse, and 
 we have all helped take care of him. We were so 
 persistent in our attentions that Dr. Harkness said 
 he would be glad when we were out of the city. 
 But there was one he couldn't drive away; eh, Miss 
 Garden? Your charming cousin, Miss Hancock, 
 sticks closer to Jim than a sick kitten to a pan oi 
 warm milk." 
 
 Hawkins poked Sam Rounds in the ribs and 
 roared with a peal of laughter which amazed the 
 sedate Mrs. Jasper. 
 
 41 Edith is very considerate to remain in the 
 
 city during this hot weather, and you are cruel, Mr. 
 
 Hawkins, to make fun of her," protested Jessie, 
 
 her face crimsoned with blushes. " Come to Edith's 
 
 jdefense, John." 
 
 ' " She needs no defense," insisted Hawkins, 
 tossing back his tawny locks, delighted with the 
 chance to tease Edith's fair champion. " Jim is the 
 one who needs defense. There he is, flat on his 
 back, and Edith will capture him sure. He hasn't 
 a chance in the world. I'll leave it to John, or bet- 
 4 66
 
 THE E N D 
 
 ter yet .to Sam, who is an expert in affairs of the 
 heart." 
 
 "I reckon Jim ain't aimin' much, to escape," 
 grinned Sam. " I'd be shot up a whole lot if I thought 
 such a pretty girl as Miss Edith would bring me 
 flowers, an' jam, an' twenty-five cent see-gars, an' set 
 and read me poetry outer books an' magazines. I 
 never did have no kinder luck that there way, but 
 I'm a young man yet, an' Ma Rounds hasn't give up 
 hope that some day there'll be a Mrs. Samuel 
 Lemuel Rounds. Tew my way of thinkin' Jim's 
 erbout the luckiest chap that ever came outer Rocky 
 Woods exceptin', of course, John here; an' there's 
 nothin' tew good fer John." 
 ********** 
 
 Glistening in a new coat of paint the Standish 
 bobbed at the landing when John helped Jessie on 
 board. It was on such a day years before that they 
 sailed out past the bow of the haughty Voltaire. 
 They had accepted Sam Rounds's invitation to a 
 clambake at Churchill's Grove, and Sam asked all 
 his old friends and neighbors. For the first time in 
 the memory of the living generation Peter Burt 
 attended an outing. Under the giant pines he sat 
 with John Hawkins and told and listened to tales of 
 the sea. 
 
 Mrs. Rounds was in her element. The oppor- 
 tunity of hard work was again before her, and Sam 
 could not restrain the good woman. Enforced ease 
 had rounded her face and figure, and Sam's con- 
 
 467
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 tinued prosperity had chased away the haunting fear 
 of poverty. But the love of work remained. She 
 heaped fuel on the fires above the heated stones, set 
 ,the tables, gave bread and butter to children whose 
 appetites could not await the spreading of the 
 feast, and did a hundred and one tasks which her 
 sharp eyes detected. 
 
 " If you don't quit workin' I'll never let you 
 come again," was Sam's threat. 
 
 " Never mind me, Samuel," said Mrs. Rounds 
 with a happy smile. " This is the first real good 
 time I've had since you made so much money. 
 Some one has to do this work and why not me ? Be 
 a good boy, Samuel, and let me alone." And Sam 
 reluctantly did so. 
 
 The Standish pointed her bow out towards 
 Minot's Light, and picked her way between threat- 
 ening rocks. The splendid crescent of the beach 
 from Point Allerton to Cohasset spread out before 
 them the yellow of the sand, the deep green of the 
 hills, the melting blue of the sky, the silver of the 
 clouds, the moving splendor of the waves, the glint 
 of sun on far-out ships, the soft caress of the breeze, 
 the faint perfume of seaweed and cone, the idle flap- 
 ping of the sail, the long slow heave of the sea it 
 was glorious to live and love. 
 
 Under the shadow of Black Reef John dropped 
 the anchor and watched the line until it became taut 
 as the incoming tide swept them near the rocks. 
 Above his head he could see the spot where he had
 
 THE E N D 
 
 knelt as a boy and listened to Peter Burt while he 
 prayed to the God who ruled the storm. For some 
 minutes no words were spoken. 
 
 " Do you remember the last time we were here, 
 Jessie?" he asked. The little hand was over the 
 side of the boat and the tide rippled through the 
 slender fingers. 
 
 " Yes, John," without raising her eyes. 
 
 " Do you remember what I said to you that day, 
 Jessie? " 
 
 " I I think I do, John." It may have been the 
 reflection of the sun, but a touch of crimson came 
 to her cheeks. " It was a long time ago, John, and 
 perhaps I've forgotten just what you said. Can you 
 repeat it?" 
 
 An arm reached out and the little wet hand 
 was firmly clasped. 
 
 "I told you that I loved you, Jessie," he said. 
 The imprisoned hand made no attempt to escape. 
 "I told you that that love was my inspiration; that 
 no woman on earth should share it ; that no matter 
 whatever befell you sunshine or rain, happiness or 
 sorrow that my ambition was to see you showered 
 with all the blessings God can grant to a good 
 woman ; I said that if a day came when I had a right 
 to ask your love in return that I should do so, making 
 no claim on our old friendship. And then you said 
 something, Jessie do you remember what you said, 
 darling?" 
 
 " I said that I wanted you to love me, but not 
 
 469
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 to speak of it again until I said you could," said 
 Jessie, lifting her laughing eyes. " You can say it 
 again if you wish to, John." 
 
 Two soft arms were around his neck and two 
 sweet lips met his. 
 
 "You knew I would wait for you, John, didn't 
 you?" 
 
 Shortly before their wedding-day John and Jes- 
 sie galloped their horses along the beach. It brought 
 back the old days. They paused to rest beneath 
 the shade of trees at the base of Strawberry Hill. 
 
 "You told me an awful story, John," she said, 
 looking into his eyes. 
 
 "When?" asked John, innocently. 
 
 "The night Mr. Blake was wounded," she 
 replied, as her hand stole into his. " Don't deny it, 
 John ; I know all about it. Sam told me first, and 
 then I made papa admit the truth. Every one in Wall 
 Street knows that you are James Blake & Company, 
 even if you have succeeded in keeping it out of the 
 papers. Mr. Blake had nothing to do with restor- 
 ing papa's fortune. You planned it, and have kept 
 it a secret from me. Why, John ? " 
 
 He made no answer. 
 
 " You may as well own up," Jessie continued. 
 "I led Mr. Hawkins into the conservatory the 
 other night, when you were talking with uncle Tom, 
 and made him tell me all about it. At first he pre- 
 tended he didn't wish to say anything, but I could 
 see that he was proud to betray you. He told me 
 470
 
 THE EN D 
 
 of the founding of your company, of your wonder- 
 ful success, and of how you so manipulated that 
 wretched L. & O. stock that it showered gold. 
 Why did you keep this from me, John, and give all 
 the credit to Mr. Blake?" 
 
 " Mr. Hawkins is a mad wag," laughed John, 
 slipping his arm around the slender waist. " He is 
 always teasing you. Come on, let's ride to Hull." 
 ***** 
 
 John Burt's modest mansion stands on the 
 crest of the hill which slopes down to the old farm- 
 house. It commands a superb view of the crescent 
 sweep of ocean beach, and also of the more quiet 
 beauties of Hingham bay. Verdant terraces and 
 yinding paths and roads come to the edge of the 
 ard surrounding the old homestead, but no gar- 
 iener's hand has been permitted to touch the quaint 
 surroundings, sacred to the ancestral founder of the 
 house of Burt. 
 
 In the long summer days Jessie's children play 
 about Peter Burt's knees. Nearly five score years 
 have passed over his head. His shoulders are bent, 
 and the voice falters at times, but his eyes preserve 
 the spark of their wonted fires. 
 
 Watched and cared for by those who love him, 
 he calmly awaits the coming of the reaper, into 
 whose garner long since have been gathered the 
 atoms of his generation. 
 
 A few miles away another mansion fronts the 
 ocean. James Blake and his fair wife Edith have
 
 JOHN BURT 
 
 been blessed with two children and with each other's 
 love. A roguish boy bears the name of John, and 
 a dainty little miss responds to the name of Jessie. 
 James Blake is now in fact as well as in name the 
 head of the great firm so conspicuous in this narra- 
 tive. In a thousand ways he has merited the con- 
 fidence reposed in him by John Burt. Generous as 
 yet, almost to a fault, he has acquired with respon- 
 sibility that breadth of view and poise of judgment 
 which found its highest expression in the man who 
 made his success possible. 
 
 Retiring from active business when most men 
 are making a start, John Burt has devoted his time 
 to the study of statesmanship in its purest sense. 
 Political honors have crowded upon him. There 
 are thousands who share the confident faith of his 
 loving wife that the highest place in the gift of the 
 people shall some day crown his career. 
 
 There are frequent reunions in the old farm- 
 house or on the spacious lawns surrounding John 
 Burt's residence. Once a year Sam Rounds super- 
 intends a clambake, and John Hawkins always 
 manages to 'be present. To the latter's inquiries 
 concerning the future Mrs. Rounds, Sam turns a 
 grinning, untroubled face. 
 
 " No man in Rocky Woods is a bachelor until 
 he is way past sixty," Sam declares, " an' I'm spry 
 yet as a colt in clover. Sometimes Ma Rounds is a 
 bit doubtful erbout my matrimonial chances, but I 
 has hopes ; I still has hopes. Edith, may I help 
 
 47*
 
 THE END 
 
 you to some more of them clams ? Jessie, please 
 pass young Master Hurt's plate ; it's empty already. 
 How that boy grows ! He's coming up like sparrow- 
 grass after a rain." 
 
 Mrs. Rounds bustles around, her eyes bright 
 with the joy of being busy. 
 
 " You set down, Ma Rounds," commands Sam 
 in a hopeless tone. " You set right down and let 
 us young folks wait on the table. I can't break her 
 of workin', John; I swan, I just can't do nothin' 
 with her. Well," raising a glass of sparkling cider, 
 " here's God bless all good people, an' happy days 
 tew all of ye ! " 
 
 473
 
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 piece in colors by Howard Chandler Christy. 
 
 A novel of romance and adventure, of love and valor, of mystery and 
 hidden treasure. The hero is required to spend a whole year in the 
 isolated house, which according to his grandfather's will shall then 
 become his. If the terms of the will be violated the house goes to a 
 young woman whom the will, furthermore, forbids him to marry. 
 Nobody can guess the secret, and the whole plot moves along with 
 an exciting zip. 
 
 1 HE PORT OF MISSING MEN. With illustrations by Clar- 
 ence F. Underwood. 
 
 There is romance of love, mystery, plot, and fighting, and a breath- 
 less dash and go about the telling which makes one quite forget 
 about the improbabilities of the story ; and it all ends in the old- 
 fashioned healthy American way. Shirley is a sweet, courageous 
 heroine whose shining eyes lure from page to page. 
 
 ROSALIND AT REDGATE. Illustrated by Arthur I. Keller. 
 
 The author of "The House of a Thousand Candles" has here 
 given us a bouyant romance brimming with lively humor and opti- 
 mism ; with mystery that breeds adventure and ends in love and hap- 
 piness. A most entertaining and delightful book. 
 
 THE MAIN CHANCE. With illustrations by Harrison Fisher. 
 
 A " traction deal " in a Western city is the pivot about which the 
 action of this clever story revolves. But it is in the character-draw- 
 ing of the principals that the author's strength lies. Exciting inci- 
 dents develop their inherent strength and weaknesss, and if virtue wins 
 in the end, it is quite in keeping with its carefully-planned antecedents. 
 The N. Y. Sun says : " We commend it for its workmanship for its 
 smoothness, its sensible fancies, and for its general charm." 
 
 ZELDA DAMERON. With portraits of the characters by 
 t , John Cecil Clay. 
 
 A picture of the new West, 'at once startlingly and attractively 
 ^rue. * * * The heroine is a strange, sweet mixture of pride, wil- 
 lulness and lovable courage. The characters are superbly drawn ; the 
 Atmosphere is convincing. There is about it a sweetness, a whole- 
 someness and a sturdiness that commends it to earnest, kindly and 
 wholesome people." Boston Transcript. 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, - - New York
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 A 000042127 1