356^
 
 QUIN
 
 "If you don't leave the room instantly, I will !"
 
 QUIN 
 
 BY 
 
 ALICE HEGAN RICE 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 MRS. RIGGS OF THE CABBAGE PATCH 
 
 FRONTISPIECE BY 
 
 G. W. GAGE 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP 
 
 P U BLISHERS NEW YORK 
 
 Made in the United State* of America
 
 Copyright, 1921, by 
 THE CENTURY Cc. 
 
 PBINTED IN U. S. A.
 
 TO MY MERRIEST FRIEND 
 
 JOSEPHINE F. HAMILL 
 
 2229100
 
 QUIN 
 
 CHAPTER i 
 
 IF the dollar Quinby Graham tossed up on New 
 Year's eve had not elected to slip through his 
 fingers and roll down the sewer grating, there might 
 have been no story to write. Quin had said, "Tails, 
 yes"; and who knows but that down there under 
 the pavement that coin of fate was registering 
 "Heads, no"? It was useless to suggest trying it 
 over, however, for neither of the young privates 
 with town leave for twenty- four hours possessed 
 another coin. 
 
 The heavier of the two boys, Cass Martel, the 
 lame one, whose nose began quite seriously, as if it 
 had every intention of being a nose, then changed 
 abruptly into a button, scraped the snow from the 
 sewer grating with his cane, and swore savagely 
 under his breath. But Quin shrugged his shoulders 
 with a slow, easy-going laugh, 
 
 "That settles it," he said triumphantly. "We got 
 to go to the Hawaiian Garden now, because it 's the 
 only place that 's free !" 
 
 3 '
 
 4 QUIN 
 
 "I '11 be hanged if I know what you want to go 
 to a dance for," argued his companion fiercely. 
 "Here you been on your back for six months, and 
 your legs so shaky they won't hardly hold you. 
 Don't you know you can't dance?" 
 
 "Sure," agreed Quin amicably. "I don't mean 
 to dance. But I got to go where I can see some 
 girls. I 'm dead sick of men. Come on in. We 
 don't need to stay but a little while." 
 
 "That 's too long for me," said Cass. "If you 
 were n't such a bonehead for doing what you start 
 out to do, we could do something interesting." 
 
 One might have thought they were Siamese 
 twins, from the way in which Cass ignored the 
 possibility of each going his own way. He glared 
 at his tall companion with a mingled expression of 
 rage and dog-like devotion. 
 
 "Cut it out, Cass," said Quin at last, putting an 
 end to an argument that had been in progress for 
 fifteen minutes. "I 'm going to that dance, and 
 I 'm going to make love to the first girl that looks 
 at me. I '11 meet you wherever you say at six 
 o'clock." 
 
 Cass, seeing that further persuasion was useless, 
 reluctantly consented. 
 
 "Well, you take care of yourself, and don't forget 
 you are going home with me for the night," he 
 warned. 
 
 "Where else could I go? Haven't got a red
 
 QUIN 5 
 
 cent, and I would n't go back out to the hospital if 
 I had to bunk on the curbstone ! So long, cherie!" 
 
 Sergeant Quinby Graham, having thus carried 
 his point, adjusted his overseas cap at a more acute 
 angle, turned back his coat to show his distinguished- 
 conduct medal, and went blithely up the steps to the 
 dance-hall. He was tall and outrageously thin, and 
 pale with the pallor that comes from long confine- 
 ment. His hands and feet seemed too big for the 
 rest of him, and his blond hair stuck up in a bristly 
 mop above his high forehead. But Sergeant Graham 
 walked with the buoyant tread of one who has a 
 good opinion not only of himself but of mankind in 
 general. 
 
 The only thing that disturbed his mind was the 
 fact that, swagger as he would, his shoulders, usually 
 so square and trim, refused to fill out his uniform. 
 It was the first time he had had it on for six months, 
 his wardrobe having been limited to pajamas and 
 bath-robes during his convalescence in various hos- 
 pitals at home and abroad. 
 
 Two years before, when he had left a lumber 
 camp in Maine to answer America's first call for 
 volunteers to France, his personal appearance had 
 concerned him not in the least. But the army had 
 changed that, as it had changed most things for 
 Quin. 
 
 He checked his overcoat at the hall entrance, 
 stepped eagerly up to the railing that divided the
 
 6 QUIN 
 
 spectators from the dancers, and drew a deep breath 
 of satisfaction. Here, at last, was something dif- 
 ferent from the everlasting hospital barracks : glow- 
 ing lights, holiday decorations, the scent of flowers 
 instead of the stale fumes of ether and disinfectants; 
 soul-stirring music in place of the wheezy old 
 phonograph grinding out the same old tunes; and, 
 above all, girls, hundreds of them, circling in a 
 bewildering rainbow of loveliness before him. 
 
 Was it any wonder that Quin's foot began to 
 twitch, and that, in spite of repeated warnings at the 
 hospital, a blind desire seized him to dance? At 
 the mere thought his heart gained a beat that 
 unruly heart, which had caused so much trouble. 
 It had never been right since that August day in 
 the Sevzevais sector, when, to quote his citation, 
 he "had shown great initiative in assuming command 
 when his officer was disabled, and, with total disre- 
 gard for his personal safety, had held his machine- 
 gun against almost impossible odds." In the ac- 
 complishment of this feat he had been so badly 
 gassed and wounded that his career as a soldier was 
 definitely, if gloriously, ended. 
 
 The long discipline of pain to which he had been 
 subjected had not, however, conquered Quin's buoy- 
 ancy. He was still tremendously vital, and when 
 he wanted anything he wanted it inordinately and 
 immediately. Just now, when every muscle in him 
 was keeping time to that soul-disturbing music, he
 
 QUIN 7 
 
 heard his own imperative desire voiced at his elbow : 
 
 "I don't want to go home. I want to dance. 
 Nobody will notice us. Just one round, Captain 
 Phipps." 
 
 The voice was young and singularly vibrant, and 
 the demand in it was quite as insistent as the demand 
 that was clamoring in Quin's own khaki-covered 
 breast. 
 
 He craned his neck to see the speaker; but she 
 was hidden by her escort, in whose supercilious 
 profile he recognized one of the officers in charge 
 of his ward at the hospital. 
 
 "You foolish child!" the officer was saying, 
 fingering his diminutive mustache and viewing the 
 scene with a somewhat contemptuous smile. "You 
 said if I would bring you in for a moment you 
 would n't ask to stay." 
 
 "I know, but I always break my promises," said 
 the coaxing voice ; "and besides I 'm simply crazy 
 to dance." 
 
 "You surely don't imagine that I would get out 
 on the floor with all this hoi-poloi?" 
 
 Quin saw a pair of small gloved hands grasp the 
 railing resolutely, and he was straightway filled 
 with indignation that any man, of whatever rank, 
 should stand back on his dignity when a voice like 
 that asked a favor. A similar idea had evidently 
 occurred to the young lady, for she said with some 
 spirit :
 
 8 QUIN 
 
 "The only difference I can see between these boys 
 and you is that they are privates who got over, and 
 you are an officer who did n't." 
 
 Quin could not hear the answer, but as the officer 
 shifted his position he caught his first glimpse of 
 the girl. She was very young and obviously im- 
 perious, with white skin and coal-black hair and 
 the most utterly destructive brown eyes he had ever 
 encountered. Discretion should have prompted him 
 to seek immediate safety out of the firing-line, but 
 instead he put himself in the most exposed position 
 possible and waited results. 
 
 They arrived on schedule time. 
 
 "Captain Phipps!" called a page. "Wanted on 
 the telephone." 
 
 "Will you wait for me here just a second?" asked 
 the officer. 
 
 "I don't know whether I will or not," was the 
 spirited answer; "I may go home." 
 
 "Then I '11 follow you," said the Captain as he 
 pushed his way through the crowd co the telephone- 
 booth. 
 
 It was just at this moment, when the jazz band 
 was breaking into its most beguiling number, that 
 Quin's eyes and the girl's eyes met in a glance of 
 mutual desire. History repeated itself. Once again, 
 "with total disregard for his personal safety, 
 Sergeant Graham assumed command when his
 
 QUIN 9 
 
 officer was disabled," and rashly flung himself into 
 the breach. 
 
 "Will you dance it with me?" he asked eagerly, 
 and he blushed to the roots of his stubbly hair. 
 
 There was an ominous pause, during which the 
 young girl stood irresolute, while Mrs. Grundy 
 evidently whispered "Don't" in one ear and instinct 
 whispered "Do" in the other. It lasted but a second, 
 for the next thing Quin knew, a small gloved hand 
 was slipped into his, a blue plume was tickling his 
 nose, and he was gliding a bit unsteadily into Para- 
 dise. 
 
 What his heart might do after that dance was of 
 absolutely no consequence to him. It could beat 
 fast or slow, or even stop altogether, if it would 
 only hold out as long as the music did. Round and 
 round among the dancers he guided his dainty part- 
 ner, carefully avoiding the entrance end of the hall, 
 and devoutly praying that his clumsy army shoes 
 might not crush those little high-heeled brown pumps 
 tripping so deftly in and out between them. He 
 was not used to dancing with officers' girls, and he 
 held the small gray-gloved hand in his big fist as 
 if it were a bird about to take flight. 
 
 Next to the return of the Captain, he dreaded that 
 other dancers, seeing his prize, would try to capture 
 her ; but there was a certain tempered disdain in the 
 poise of his little partner's head,- an ability to put
 
 io QUIN 
 
 up a quick and effective defense against intrusion, 
 that protected him as well. 
 
 Neither of them spoke until the music stopped, 
 and then they stood applauding vociferously, with 
 the rest, for an encore. 
 
 "I ought to go," said the Radiant Presence, with 
 a guilty glance upward from under long eyelashes. 
 "You don't see a very cross-looking Captain charg- 
 ing around near the door, do you ?" 
 
 "No," said Quin, without turning his head, "I 
 don't see him" and he smiled as he said it. 
 \ Now, Quin's smile was his chief asset in the way 
 of looks. It was a leisurely smile, that began far 
 below the surface and sent preliminary ripples up 
 to his eyes and the corners of his big mouth, and 
 broke through at last in a radiant flash of good 
 humor. In this case it met a very prompt answer 
 under the big hat. 
 
 "You see, I 'm not supposed to be dancing," she 
 explained rather condescendingly. 
 
 "Nor me, either," said Quin, breathing heavily. 
 
 Then the band decided to be accommodating, and 
 the saxophone decided to out- jazz the piano, and 
 the drum got its ambition roused and joined in the 
 competition, and the young couple who were not 
 supposed to be dancing out-danced everything on 
 the floor! 
 
 Quin's heart might have adjusted itself to that 
 first dance, but the rollicking encore, together with
 
 QUIN ii 
 
 the emotional shock it sustained every time those 
 destructive eyes were trained upon him, was too 
 much for it. 
 
 "Say, would you mind stopping a bit? just for 
 a second?" he gasped, when his breath seemed about 
 to desert him permanently. 
 
 "You surely aren't tired?" scoffed the young 
 lady, lifting a pair of finely arched eyebrows. 
 
 "No ; but, you see as a matter of fact, ever since 
 I was gassed " 
 
 "Gassed!" 
 
 The word acted like a charm. The girl's sensitive 
 face, over which the expressions played like sunlight 
 on water, softened to instant sympathy, and Quin, 
 who up to now had been merely a partner, suddenly 
 found himself individual. 
 
 "Did you see much actual service?" she asked, her 
 eyes wide with interest. 
 
 "Sure," said Quin, bracing himself against a post 
 and trying to keep his breath from coming in jerks ; 
 "saw sixteen months of it." 
 
 Her quick glance swept from the long scar on his 
 forehead to the bar on his breast. 
 
 "What do all those stars on the rainbow ribbon 
 mean?" she demanded. 
 
 "Major engagements," said Quin diffidently 
 
 "And the silver one in the middle?" 
 
 "A citation." He glanced around to make sure 
 none of the other boys were near, then confessed,
 
 12 QUIN 
 
 as if to a crime: "That 's where I got my medal."' 
 
 "Come over here and sit down this minute," she 
 commanded. "You 've got to tell me all about it." 
 
 It would be very pleasant to chronicle the fact 
 that our hero modestly declined to take advantage 
 of the opportunity thus offered. But it must be 
 borne in mind that, his heart having failed him at 
 a critical hour, he had to fall back upon his tongue 
 as the only means at hand of detaining the Celestial 
 Being who at any moment might depart. With what 
 breath he had left he told his story, and, having a 
 good story to tell, he did it full justice. Sometimes, 
 to be sure, he got his pronouns mixed, and once he 
 lost the thread of his discourse entirely; but that 
 was when he became too conscious of those star-like 
 eyes and the flattering absorption of the little lady 
 who for one transcendent moment was deigning "to 
 love him for the dangers he had passed." With 
 unabated interest and curiosity she drank in every 
 detail of his recital, her half-parted lips only closing 
 occasionally to say, "Wonderful!" or "How per- 
 fectly wonderful!" 
 
 On and on went the music, round and round went 
 the dancers, and still the private in the uniform that 
 was too big and the officer's girl in blue and gray 
 sat in the alcove, totally oblivious to everything but 
 each other. 
 
 It was not until the girl happened to look at the
 
 QUIN 13 
 
 ridiculous little watch that was pretending to keep 
 time on her wrist that the spell was broken. 
 
 "Merciful heaven!" she exclaimed dramatically, 
 "It 's six o'clock. What will the family say to me ? 
 I must fly this minute." 
 
 "But ain't you going to finish this dance with 
 me?" asked Quin with tragic insistence. 
 
 "Ought you to dance again?" The note was 
 personal and divinely solicitous. 
 
 "I ought n't, but I am" ; and, with superb disre- 
 gard for doctors and syntax alike, Quin put a firm 
 arm around that slender yielding figure and swept 
 her into the moving crowd. 
 
 They danced very quietly this time, for he was de- 
 termined to hold out to the end. In fact, from the 
 dreamy, preoccupied look on their faces one might 
 have mistaken them for two zealous young acolytes 
 lost in the performance of a religious rite. 
 
 Quin was still in a trance when he helped her on 
 with her coat and piloted her down the crowded 
 stairs. He could not bear to have her jostled by 
 the boisterous crowd, and he glared at the men 
 whose admiring glances dared to rest too long 
 upon her. 
 
 Now that the dance was over, the young lady was 
 in a fever of impatience to get away. Qualms of 
 remorse seized her for the way she had treated her 
 one-time escort, and she hinted at the trouble in 
 store for her if the family heard of her escapade.
 
 14 QUIN 
 
 Outside the pavements were white with snow, and 
 falling flakes glistened against the blue electric 
 lights. Holiday crowds thronged the sidewalks, and 
 every other man was in uniform. 
 
 "I left my car at the corner," said Quin's com- 
 panion, nervously consulting her watch for the 
 fourth time. "You needn't come with me; I can 
 find it all right." 
 
 But Quin had n't the slightest intention of for- 
 going one second of that delectable interview. He 
 followed her to her car, awkwardly helped her in, 
 and stood looking at her wistfully. In her hurry 
 to get home she seemed to have forgotten him en- 
 tirely. In two minutes she would never know that 
 she had met him, while he 
 
 "Good-by, Soldier Boy," she said, suddenly hold- 
 ing out her hand. 
 
 "My name is Graham," stammered Quin "Ser- 
 geant Quinby Graham; Battery C, Sixth Field Ar- 
 tillery. And yours?" 
 
 She was fussing with the starter by this time, but 
 she smiled up at him and shook her head. 
 
 "I ? Oh, I have n't any ! I 'm just an irrespon- 
 sible young person who is going to gets fits for 
 having stayed out so late. But it was worth it, 
 wasn't H Sergeant Slim?" 
 
 And then, before he knew what had happened, 
 the small runabout was skilfully backed out of its 
 narrow space and a red tail-light was rapidly wag-
 
 QUIN 15 
 
 ging down the avenue, leaving him standing dazed 
 on the curbstone. 
 
 "Where in the devil have you been?" demanded a 
 cross voice behind him, and turning he encountered 
 Cass's snub-nose and irate eyes. 
 
 Quin's own eyes were shining and his face 
 was flushed. With a laugh he flung his arm around 
 his buddy's shoulder and affectionately punched his 
 head. 
 
 "In heaven," he answered laconically. 
 
 "Funny place to leave your overcoat!" said Cass,. 
 viewing him with suspicion. "Quin Graham, have 
 you had a drink?" 
 
 Quin hilariously declared his innocence. The 
 draught of which he had so freely imbibed, though 
 far more potent than any earthly brew, was one 
 against which there are no prohibitory laws.
 
 CHAPTER 2 
 
 THE fact that Cass had neglected to tell the 
 family that he was bringing a friend home 
 to supper did not in the least affect his welcome. It 
 was not that the daily menu was of such a lavish 
 nature that a guest or two made no difference; it 
 was simply that the Martels belonged to that casual 
 type which accepts any interruption to the regular 
 order of things as a God-sent diversion. 
 
 In the present instance Rose had only to dispatch 
 Edwin to the grocery for eggs and cheese, and send 
 Myrna next door to borrow a chafing-dish, and, 
 while these errands were being accomplished, to 
 complete her own sketchy toilet. Rose was an im- 
 pressionist when it came to dress. She got the de- 
 sired effect with the least possible effort, as was 
 evinced now by the way she was whirling two coils 
 of chestnut hair, from which the tangles had not 
 been removed, into round puffs over each ear. A 
 dab of rouge on each cheek, a touch of red on the 
 lips, a dash of powder over the whole, sleeves turned 
 back, neck turned in, resulted in a poster effect that 
 was quite satisfactory. 
 
 Of course the Martels had heard of Quinby 
 f*
 
 QUIN 17 
 
 Graham : his name had loomed large in Cass's letters 
 from France and later in his conversation; but this 
 was the first time the hero was to be presented in 
 person. 
 
 "What's he like, Rose?" asked Myrna, arriving 
 breathlessly with the chafing-dish. Myrna was 
 twelve and seemed to labor under the constant 
 apprehension that she was missing something, due 
 no doubt to the fact that she was invariably dis- 
 patched on an errand when anything interesting was 
 pending. 
 
 "Don't know," said Rose; "the hall was pitch- 
 dark. He 's got a nice voice, though, and a dandy 
 handshake." 
 
 "I bid to sit next to him at supper," said Myrna, 
 hugging herself in ecstasy. 
 
 "You can if you promise not to take two helps 
 of the Welsh rabbit." 
 
 Myrna refused to negotiate on any such drastic 
 terms. "Are we going to have a fire in the sitting- 
 room?" she asked. 
 
 "I don't know whether there is any more wood. 
 Papa Claude promised to order some. You go see 
 while I set the table. I 've a good notion to call 
 over the fence and ask Fan Loomis to come to 
 supper." 
 
 "Oh, Rose, please do!" cried Myrna. "I won't 
 take but one help." 
 
 Cass, in the meanwhile, was making his guest at
 
 i8 QUIN 
 
 home in the sitting-room by permitting him to be 
 useful. 
 
 "You can light the lamp," he said, "while I make 
 a fire." 
 
 Quin was willing to oblige, but the lamp was not. 
 It put up a stubborn resistance to all efforts to coax 
 it to do its duty. 
 
 "I bet it has n't been filled," said Cass ; then, after 
 the fashion of mankind, he lifted his voice in suppli- 
 cation to the nearest feminine ear : 
 
 "Oh! Ro ose!" 
 
 His older sister, coming to the rescue, agreed with 
 his diagnosis of the case, and with Quin's assistance 
 bore the delinquent lamp to the kitchen. 
 
 "Hope you don't mind being made home-folks," 
 she said, patting the puffs over her ears and looking 
 at him sideways. 
 
 "Mind?" said Quin. "If you knew how good 
 all this looks to me ! It 's the first touch of home 
 I 've had in years. Wish you 'd let me set the table 
 I 'm strong on K. P." 
 
 "Help yourself," said Rose; "the plates are in 
 the pantry and the silver in the sideboard drawer. 
 Wait a minute!" 
 
 She took a long apron from behind the door and 
 handed it to him. 
 
 "How do these ends buckle up?" he asked, help- 
 lessly holding out the straps of the bib.
 
 QUIN 19 
 
 "They button around your little neck," she told 
 him, smiling. "Turn round; I'll fix it," 
 
 "Why turn round?" said Quin. 
 
 Their eyes met in frank challenge. 
 
 "You silly boy !" she said but she put her arms 
 around his neck and fastened the bib just the same. 
 
 How that supper ever got itself cooked and 
 served is a marvel. Everybody took a turn at the 
 stirring and toasting, everybody contributed a 
 missing article to the table, and there was much 
 rushing from kitchen to dining-room, with many 
 collisions and some upsets. 
 
 Quin was in the highest of spirits. Even Cass 
 had never seen him quite like this. With his white 
 apron over his uniform, he pranced about, dancing 
 attendance on Rose, and keeping Myrna and Edwin 
 in gales of laughter over his antics. Every now 
 and then, however, his knees got wabbly and his 
 breath came short, and by the time supper was pre- 
 pared he was quite ready to sit down. 
 
 "What a shame Nell 's not here !" said Rose, 
 breaking the eggs into the chafing-dish. "Then we 
 could have charades. She 's simply great when she 
 gets started." 
 
 "Who is Nell?" asked Quin. 
 
 "Eleanor Bartlett, our cousin. She 's like chicken 
 and ice-cream the rich Bartletts have her on week- 
 days and we poor Martels get her only on Sundays. 
 Has n't Cass ever told you about Nell ?"
 
 20 QUIN 
 
 "Do you suppose I spend my time talking about 
 my precious family?" growled Cass. 
 
 "No, but Nell's different," said Rose; "she's a 
 sort of Solomon's baby I mean the baby that 
 Solomon had to decide about. Only in this case 
 neither old Madam Bartlett nor Papa Claude will 
 give up their half ; they 'd see her dead first." 
 
 "You did tell me about her," said Quin to Cass, 
 "one night when we were up in the Cantigny 
 offensive. I remember the place exactly. Some- 
 thing about an orphan, and a lawsuit, and a little 
 girl that was going to be an actress." 
 
 "That 's the dope," said Cass. "Only she 's not a 
 kid any more. She grew up while I was in France. 
 She 's a great girl, Nell is, when you get her away 
 from that Bartlett mess !" 
 
 "Does anybody know where Papa Claude is?" 
 Rose demanded, dexterously ladling out steaming 
 Welsh rabbit on to slices of crisp brown toast. 
 
 "He is here, mes enfants, he is here!" cried a 
 joyous voice from the hall, followed by a presence 
 at once so exuberant and so impressive that Quin 
 stared in amazement. 
 
 "This is Quinby Graham, grandfather," said 
 Cass, by way of introduction. 
 
 The dressy old gentleman with the flowing white 
 locks and the white rose in his buttonhole bore down 
 upon Quin and enveloped his hand in both his own. 
 
 "I welcome you for Cassius' sake and for your
 
 QUIN 21 
 
 own !" he declared with such effusion that Quin was 
 visibly embarrassed. "My grandson has told me of 
 your long siege in the hospital, of your noble service 
 to your country, of your gallant conduct at " 
 
 "Sit down, Papa Claude, and finish your oration 
 after supper," cried Rose; "the rabbit won't wait on 
 anybody." 
 
 Thus cut short, Mr. Martel took his seat and, 
 nothing daunted, helped himself bountifully to 
 everything within reach. 
 
 "I am a gourmet, Sergeant Graham, but not a 
 gourmand Edwin Booth used to say " 
 
 "Sir?" answered Edwin Booth's namesake from 
 the kitchen, where he had been dispatched for more 
 bread. 
 
 "No, no, my son, I was referring to " 
 
 But Papa Claude, as usual, did not get to finish 
 the sentence. The advent of the next-door neighbor, 
 who had been invited and then forgotten, caused 
 great amusement owing to the fact that there was 
 no more supper left. 
 
 "Give her some bread and jam, Myrna," said 
 Rose; "and if the jam is out, bring the brown sugar. 
 You don't mind, do you, Fan?" 
 
 Fan, an amiable blonde person who was going to 
 be fat at forty, declared that she did n't want a thing 
 to eat, honestly she did n't, and that besides she 
 adored bread and brown sugar. 
 
 "We won't stop to wash up," said Rose; "Myrna
 
 22 QUIN 
 
 will have loads of time to do it in the morning, 
 because she does n't have to go to school. We '11 
 just clear the table and let the dishes stand." 
 
 "We are incorrigible Bohemians, as you observe," 
 said Mr. Martel to Quin, with a deprecating arching 
 of his fine brows. "We lay too little stress, I fear, 
 on the conventions. But the exigencies of the 
 dramatic profession of which, you doubtless know, 
 I have been a member for the past forty years " 
 
 "Take him in the sitting-room, Mr. Graham," 
 urged Rose; "I '11 bring your coffee in there." 
 
 Without apparently being conscious of the fact, 
 Mr. Martel, still discoursing in rounded periods, 
 was transferred to the big chair beside the lamp, 
 while Quin took up his stand on the hearth-rug 
 and looked about him. 
 
 Such a jumble of a room as it was ! Odds and 
 ends of furniture, the survival of various household 
 wrecks; chipped bric-a-brac; a rug from which the 
 pattern had long ago vanished; an old couch piled 
 with shabby cushions; a piano with scattered music 
 sheets. On the walls, from ceiling to foot-board, 
 hung faded photographs of actors and actresses, 
 most of them with bold inscriptions dashed across 
 their corners in which the donors invariably ex- 
 pressed their friendship, affection, or if the chiro- 
 graphy was feminine their devoted love, for "dear 
 Claude Martel." Over the mantel was a portrait 
 of dear Claude himself, taken in the role of Mark
 
 QUIN 23 
 
 Antony, and making rather a good job of it, on the 
 whole, with his fine Roman profile and massive 
 brow. 
 
 It was all shabby and dusty and untidy; but to 
 Quinby Graham, standing on the hearth-rug and 
 trying to handle his small coffee-cup as if he were 
 used to it, the room was completely satisfying. 
 There was a cozy warmth and mellowness about it, 
 a kindly atmosphere of fellowship, a sense of inti- 
 mate human relations, that brought a lump into his 
 throat. He had almost forgotten that things could 
 be like this! 
 
 So absorbed was he in his surroundings, and in 
 the imposing old actor encompassed by the galaxy 
 of pictured notables, that he lost the thread of Mr. 
 Mattel's discourse until he heard him asking: 
 
 "What is the present? A clamor of the senses, 
 a roar that deafens us to the music of life. I dwell 
 in the past and in the future, Sergeant Graham 
 the dear reminiscent past and the glorious unborn 
 future. And that reminds me that Cassius tells me 
 that you are both about to receive your discharge 
 from the army and are ready for the next great 
 adventure. May I ask what yours is to be ? A re- 
 turn, perhaps, to your native city?" 
 
 "My native city happens to be a river," said 
 Quin. "I was born on a house-boat going up the 
 Yangtse-Kiang."
 
 
 24 QUIN 
 
 "Indeed !" cried Mr. Martel with interest. "What 
 a romantic beginning! And your family?" 
 
 "Haven't got any. You see, sir," said Quin, 
 expanding under the flattering attention of his host, 
 "my people were all missionaries. Most of them 
 died off before I was fourteen, and I was shipped 
 back to America to go to school. I did n't hold out 
 very long, though. After two years in high school 
 I ran away and joined the navy." 
 
 "And since then you have been a soldier of for- 
 tune, eh? No cares, no responsibilities. Free to 
 roam the wide world in search of adventure." 
 
 Quin studied the end of his cigarette. 
 
 "That ain't so good as it sounds," he said. "Some- 
 times I think I 'd amounted to more if I had some- 
 body that belonged to me." 
 
 "Is n't it rather early in the season for a young 
 man's fancy to be lightly turning " 
 
 The quotation was lost upon Quin, but the twinkle 
 in the speaker's expressive eye was not. 
 
 "I didn't mean that," he laughingly protested; 
 "I mean a mother or a sister or somebody like that, 
 who would be a kind of anchor. Take Cass, for 
 instance ; he 's steady as a rock." 
 
 "Ah! Cassius! One in ten thousand. From the 
 time he was twelve he has shared with me the finan- 
 cial burden. An artist, Sergeant Graham, must 
 remain aloof from the market-place. Now that I 
 have retired permanently from the stage in order
 
 QUIN 25 
 
 to devote my time exclusively to writing, my only 
 business engagement is a series of lectures at the 
 university, where, as you know, I occupy the chair 
 of Dramatic Literature." 
 
 The chair thus euphemistically referred to was 
 scarcely more than a three-legged stool, which he 
 occupied four mornings in the week, the rest of his 
 time being spent at home in the arduous task of 
 writing tragedies in blank verse. 
 
 "What I got to think about is a job," said Quin, 
 much more interested in his own affairs than in 
 those of his host. 
 
 "Commercial or professional?" inquired Mr. 
 Martel. 
 
 "Oh, I can turn my hand to 'most anything," 
 bragged Quin, blowing smoke-rings at the ceiling. 
 "It 's experience that counts, and, believe me, I 've 
 had a plenty." 
 
 "Experience plus education," added Mr. Martel; 
 "we must not underestimate the advantages of edu- 
 cation." 
 
 "That 's where I 'm short," admitted Quin. "My 
 folks were all smart enough. Guess if they iiad 
 lived I 'd been put through college and all the rest 
 of it. My grandfather was Dr. Ezra Quinby. Ever 
 hear of him?" 
 
 Mr. Martel had to acknowledge that he had not. 
 
 "Guess he is better known in China than in
 
 26 QUIN 
 
 America," said Quin. "He died before I was born." 
 
 "And you have no people in America ?" 
 
 "No people anywhere," said Quin cheerfully; 
 "but I got a lot of friends scattered around over the 
 world, and a bull-dog and a couple of cats up at a 
 lumber-camp near Portland." 
 
 "Cassius tells me that you are thinking of return- 
 ing to Maine." 
 
 Quin ran his fingers through his hair and laughed. 
 "That was yesterday," he said. "To-day you 
 couldn't get me out of Kentucky with a machine- 
 gun!" 
 
 Claude Martel rose and laid an affectionate hand 
 on his shoulder. "Then, my boy, we claim you as 
 our own. Cassius' home is your home, his family 
 your family, his " 
 
 The address of welcome was cut short by Cass's 
 arrival with an armful of wood which he deposited 
 on the hearth, and a moment later the girls, followed 
 by Edwin, came trooping in from the kitchen. 
 
 "Let 's make a circle round the fire and sing the 
 old year out," suggested Rose gaily. "Myrna, get 
 the banjo and the guitar. Shall I play on the piano, 
 Papa Cla ie, or will you?" 
 
 Mr. Murtel, expressing the noble sentiment that 
 age should always be an accompaniment to youth, 
 took his place at the piano and, with a pose worthy 
 of Rubinstein, struck a few preliminary chords,
 
 QUIN 27 
 
 while the group about the fire noisily settled itself 
 for the evening. 
 
 "You can put your head against my knees, if you 
 like," Rose said to Quin, who was sprawling on the 
 floor at her feet. "There, is that comfy?" 
 
 "I '11 say it 's all right !" said Quin with heartfelt 
 satisfaction. 
 
 There was something free and easy and gipsy-like 
 about the evening, a sort of fireside picnic that 
 brought June dreams in January. As the hours 
 wore on, the singing, which had been noisy and 
 rollicking, gradually mellowed into sentiment, a 
 sentiment that found vent in dreamy eyes and long- 
 drawn-out choruses, with a languorous over-ac- 
 centuation of the sentimental passages. One by 
 one, the singers fell under the spell of the music and 
 the firelight. Cass and Fan Loomis sat shoulder 
 to shoulder on the broken-springed couch and gazed 
 with blissful oblivion into the red embers on the 
 hearth. Rose, whose voice led all the rest, sur- 
 reptitiously wiped her eyes when no one was look- 
 ing; Edwin and Myrna, solemnly plucking their 
 banjo and guitar, were lost in moods of dormant 
 emotion ; while Papa Claude at the piano let his dim 
 eyes range the pictured walls, while his memory 
 traveled back through the years on many a secret 
 tryst of its own. 
 
 But it was the lank Sergeant with the big feet, 
 and the hair that stood up where it should n't, who
 
 28 QUIN 
 
 dared to dream the most preposterous dream of 
 them all. For, as he sang there in the firelight, a 
 little god was busy lighting the tapers in the most 
 sacred shrines of his being, until he felt like a cathe- 
 dral at high mass with all the chimes going. 
 
 "There 's a long, long trail a-winding 
 
 Into the land of my dreams, 
 Where the nightingales are singing 
 And a white moon beams." 
 
 How many times he had sung it in France ! jolting 
 along muddy, endless roads, heartsick, homesick. 
 
 "There 's a long, long night of waiting 
 
 Until my dreams all come true, 
 Till the day when I '11 be going 
 
 Down that long, long trail with you." 
 
 What had "you" meant to him then? A girl a 
 pretty girl, of course; but any girl. And now? 
 
 Ah, now he knew what he had been going toward, 
 not only on those terrible roads in France, but all 
 through the years of his life. An exquisite, im- 
 perious little officer's girl with divinely compassion- 
 ate eyes, who was n't ashamed to dance with a 
 private, and who had let him hold her hand at part- 
 ing while she said in accents an angel might have 
 envied, "Good-by, Soldier Boy." 
 
 Quin sighed profoundly and slipped his arm 
 under his head, and at the same moment the owner 
 of the knee upon which he was leaning also heaved 
 a sigh and shifted her position, and somehow in the
 
 QUIN 29 
 
 adjustment two lonely hands came in contact and 
 evidently decided that, after all, substitutes were 
 some comfort. 
 
 It was not until all the whistles in town had an- 
 nounced the birth of the New Year that the party 
 broke up, and it was not until then that Quin realized 
 that he was very tired, and that his pulse was behav- 
 ing in a way that was, alas, all too familiar.
 
 CHAPTER 3 
 
 FRIDAY after New Year's found Sergeant 
 Graham again flat on his back at the Base 
 Hospital, facing sentence of three additional weeks 
 in bed. In vain had he risked a reprimand by hotly 
 protesting the point with the Captain; in vain had 
 he declared to the nurse that he would rather live 
 on his feet than die on his back. Judgment was 
 passed, and he lay with an ice-bag on his head and 
 a thermometer in his mouth and hot rage in his 
 heart. 
 
 What made matters worse was that Cass Martel 
 had come over from the Convalescent Barracks only 
 that morning to announce that he had received his 
 discharge and was going home. To Quin it seemed 
 that everybody but himself was going home that 
 is, everybody but the incurables. At that thought 
 a dozen nameless fears that had been tormenting him 
 of late all seemed to get together and rush upon 
 him. What if the doctors were holding him on 
 from month to month, experimenting, promising, 
 disappointing, only in the end to bunch him with the 
 permanently disabled and ship him off to some God- 
 so
 
 QUIN 31 
 
 forsaken spot to spend the rest of his life in a hos- 
 pital ? 
 
 He gripped his hands over his chest and gave 
 himself up to savage rebellion. If they would let 
 him alone he might get well ! In France it had been 
 his head. Whenever the wound began to heal and 
 things looked a bit cheerful, some saw-bones had 
 come along and thumped and probed and X-rayed, 
 and then it had been ether and an operation and the 
 whole blooming thing over again. Then, when they 
 could n't work on his head any longer, they 'd 
 started up this talk about his heart. Of course his 
 heart was jumpy! All the fellows who had been 
 badly gassed had jumpy hearts. But how was he 
 ever going to get any better lying there on his back? 
 What he needed was exercise and decent food and 
 something cheerful to think about. He wanted des- 
 perately to get away from his memories, to forget 
 the horrors, the sickening sights and smells, 
 the turmoil and confusion of the past two years. In 
 spite of his most heroic efforts, he kept living over 
 past events. This time last year he had been up in 
 the Toul sector, where half the men he knew had 
 gone west. It was up there old Corpy had got his 
 head shot off . . . 
 
 He resolutely fixed his attention on a spider that 
 was swinging directly over his head and tried to 
 forget old Corpy. He thought instead of Captain 
 Phipps, but the thought did not calm him. What
 
 32 QUIN 
 
 sense was there in his ordering more of this fool rest 
 business? Well, he told himself fiercely, he was n't 
 going to stand for it ! The war was over, he had 
 done his part, he was going to demand his freedom. 
 Discipline or no discipline, he would go over Phipps' 
 head and appeal to the Colonel. 
 
 Throwing aside the ice-bag, he looked around for 
 his uniform. But the nurse had evidently mis- 
 trusted the look in his eyes when she gave him the 
 Captain's orders, for the hook over his bed was 
 empty. He raised himself in his cot and glared 
 savagely down the ward, sniffing the air suspiciously. 
 Two orderlies were wheeling No. 17 back from the 
 operating-room, and Quin already caught the faint 
 odor of ether. The first whiff of it filled him with 
 loathing. 
 
 Thrusting his bare feet into slippers and his arms 
 into a shabby old bath-robe, he flung himself out of 
 bed and slipped out on the porch. The air was cold 
 and bracing and gloriously free from the hospital 
 combination of wienerwurst, ether, and dried 
 peaches that had come to be a nightmare odor to him. 
 He sat on the railing and drew in deep, refreshing 
 breaths, and as he did so things began to right 
 themselves. Fair play to Quin amounted almost to 
 a religion, and it was suddenly borne in upon him 
 that he would not be where he was had he observed 
 the rules of the game. But then again, if he had 
 not danced, he never would have
 
 QUIN 33 
 
 At that moment something so strange happened 
 that he put a hot hand to a hotter brow and won- 
 dered if he was delirious. The singularly vibrant 
 voice that had been echoing in his memory since New 
 Year's eve was saying directly behind him : 
 
 "I shall give them all the chocolate they want, 
 Captain Harold Phipps, and you may court-martial 
 me later if you like!" 
 
 Quin glanced up hastily, and there, framed in 
 the doorway, in a Red Cross uniform, stood his 
 dream girl, looking so much more ravishing than 
 she had before that he promptly snatched the blue 
 and gray vision from its place of honor and in- 
 stalled a red, white, and blue one instead. So en- 
 grossed was he in the apparition that he quite failed 
 to see Captain Phipps surveying him over her 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Number 7 !" said the Captain with icy decision, 
 "weren't you instructed to stay in bed?" 
 
 "I was, sir," said Quin, coming to attention and 
 presenting a decidedly sorry aspect. 
 
 "Go back at once, and add three days to the time 
 indicated. This way, Miss Bartlett." 
 
 Now, it is well-nigh impossible to preserve one's 
 dignity when suffering a reprimand in public; but 
 when you are handicapped by a shabby bath-robe, 
 a three days' growth of beard, and a grouch that 
 gives you the expression of a bandit, and the public 
 happens to be the one being on earth whom you
 
 34 QUIN 
 
 are most anxious to please, the situation becomes 
 tragic. 
 
 Quin set his jaw and shuffled ignominiously off 
 to bed, thankful for once that he had been considered 
 unworthy a second glance from those luminous 
 brown eyes. His satisfaction, however, was short- 
 lived. A moment later the young lady appeared at 
 the far end of the ward, carrying an absurd little 
 basket adorned with a large pink bow, from which 
 she began to distribute chocolates. 
 
 A feminine presence in the ward always created 
 a flutter, but the previous flutters were mere zephyrs 
 compassed to the cyclone produced by the new ward 
 visitor. Some one started the phonograph, and 
 Michaelis, who had been swearing all day that he 
 would never be able to walk again, actually began 
 to dance. Witticisms were exchanged from bed to 
 bed, and the man who was going to be operated on 
 next morning flung a pillow at an orderly and upset 
 a vase of flowers. Things had not been so cheerful 
 for weeks. 
 
 Quin, lying in the last bed in the ward, alternated 
 between rapture and despair as he watched the 
 progress of the visitor. Would she recognize him? 
 Would she speak to him if she did, when he looked 
 like that? Perhaps if he turned his face to the wall 
 and pretended to be asleep she would pass him by. 
 But he did not want her to pass him by. This might
 
 QUIN 35 
 
 be the only chance he would ever have to see her 
 again ! 
 
 Back in his fringe of consciousness he was fran- 
 tically groping for the name the Captain had men- 
 tioned : Barnet ? Barret ? Bartlett ? That was it ! 
 And with the recovery of the name Quin's mind did 
 another somersault. Bartlett? Where had he heard 
 that name? Eleanor Bartlett? Some nonsense 
 about "Solomon's baby." Why, Rose Martel, of 
 course. 
 
 Then all thought deserted him, for the world sud- 
 denly shrank to five feet two of femininity, and he 
 heard a gay, impersonal voice saying: 
 
 "May I put a cake of chocolate on your table?" 
 
 For the life of him, he could not answer. He 
 only lay there with his mouth open, looking at her, 
 while she straightened the contents of her basket. 
 One more moment and she would be gone. Quin 
 staked all on a chance shot. 
 
 "Thank you, Miss Eleanor Bartlett," he said, 
 with that ridiculous blush that was so out of keeping 
 with his audacity. 
 
 She looked at him in amazement; then her face 
 broke into a smile of recognition. 
 
 "Well, bless my soul, if it isn't Sergeant Slim! 
 jWhat are you doing here?" 
 
 "Same thing I been doing for six months," said 
 Quin sheepishly; "counting the planks in the ceil- 
 ing."
 
 36 QUIN 
 
 "But I thought you had got well. Oh, I hope it 
 was n't the dancing " 
 
 "Lord, no," said Quin, keeping his hand over his 
 bristly chin. "I 'm husky, all right. Only they 've 
 got so used to seeing me laying around that they 
 can't bear to let me go." 
 
 "Do you have to lie flat on your back like that, 
 with no pillow or anything?" 
 
 "It ain't so bad, except at mess-time." 
 
 "And you can't even sit up to eat?" 
 
 "Not supposed to." 
 
 Miss Bartlett eyed him compassionately. 
 
 "I am coming out twice a week now Mondays 
 and Fridays and I 'm going to bring you some- 
 thing nice every time I come. How long will you 
 be here?" 
 
 "Three weeks," said Quin adding, with a funny 
 twist of his lip, "three weeks and three days." 
 
 "Oh! Were you the boy on the porch? How 
 funny I did n't recognize you ! I 'm going to ask 
 Captain Phipps to let you off those extra days." 
 
 "No, you mustn't," Quin objected earnestly; 
 "I '11 take what 's coming to me. Besides," he 
 added, "one of those days might be a Monday or a 
 Friday!" 
 
 This seemed to amuse her, for she smiled as she 
 wrote his name and bed number in a small note- 
 book, with the added entry: "Oyster soup, cigar- 
 ettes, and a razor."
 
 QUIN 37 
 
 Just as she was leaving, she remembered some- 
 thing and turned back. 
 
 "How did you know my name?" she asked with 
 lively curiosity. 
 
 "Did n't the Captain call it on the porch?" 
 
 "Did he ? But not my first name. How on earth 
 did you know that?" 
 
 "Perhaps I guessed it," Quin said, looking 
 mysterious. And just then a nurse came along and 
 thrust the thermometer back in his mouth, and 
 the conversation was abruptly ended. 
 
 Of course the calendar must have been right about 
 the three weeks that followed; there probably were 
 seven days in each week and twenty- four hours in 
 each day. But Quin was n't sure about it. He 
 knew beyond doubt that there were three Mondays 
 and four Fridays and one wholly gratuitous and 
 never-to-be-forgotten Sunday when Miss Bartlett 
 brought his dinner from town, and insisted upon 
 cutting his chicken for him and feeding him custard 
 with a spoon. The rest of the days were lost in 
 abstract time, during which Quin had his hair cut 
 and his face shaved, and did bead-work. 
 
 Until now he had sturdily refused to be inveigled 
 into occupational therapy. Those guys that were 
 done for could learn to knit, he said, and to make 
 silly little mats, and weave things on a loom. If he 
 could n't do a man's work he 'd be darned if he was 
 going to do a woman's. But now all was changed.
 
 38 QUIN 
 
 He announced his intention of making the classiest 
 bead chain that had ever been achieved in 2 C. He 
 insisted upon the instructor getting him the most 
 expensive beads in the market, regardless of size or 
 color. 
 
 Now, for Ouin, with his big hands and lack of 
 dexterity, to have worked with beads under the 
 most favorable conditions would have been difficult, 
 but to master the art lying flat on his back was a 
 tour de force. He pricked his fingers and broke 
 his thread; he upset the beads on the floor, on the 
 bed, in his tray ; he took out and put in with infinite 
 patience, "each bead a thought, each thought a 
 prayer." 
 
 "Don't you think you had better give it up?" 
 asked the instructor, in despair, after the fourth 
 lesson. 
 
 "You don't know me," said Quin, setting his jaw. 
 "You been trying to get me into this for two weeks 
 now you 've got to see me through." 
 
 It did not take long for the other patients to dis- 
 cover Quin's state of mind 
 
 "How about your heart disease, Graham?" they 
 inquired daily; "think it 's going to be chronic?" 
 
 But Quin had little time for them. The distinc- 
 tion he had enjoyed as the champion poker-player in 
 2 C. began to wane as his popularity with the new 
 ward visitor increased.
 
 QUIN 39 
 
 "I like your nerve ! keeping her up there at your 
 bed all the time," complained Michaelis. 
 
 "She 's an old friend of mine," Quin threw off 
 nonchalantly. 
 
 "Aw, what you try in' to put orer on us?" scoffed 
 Mike. "Where 'd you ever git to know a girl like 
 that?" 
 
 "Well, I know her all right," said Quin. 
 
 The little mystery about Miss Bartlett's first name 
 had been a fruitful topic of conversation between 
 a couple whose topics were necessarily limited. She 
 had teased Quin to tell her how he knew, and also 
 how he knew she wanted to go on the stage; and 
 Quin had teased back; and at last it had resolved 
 itself into a pretty contest of wits. 
 
 This served to keep her beside him often as long 
 as four minutes. Then he would gain an additional 
 two minutes by showing her what progress he had 
 made with his chain, and consulting her preference 
 for an American flag or a Red Cross worked in 
 the medallion. 
 
 When every other means of detaining her had 
 been exhausted, he sometimes resorted to strategy. 
 Constitutionally he was opposed to duplicity; he 
 was built on certain square lines that disqualified 
 him for many a comfortable round hole in life. But 
 under the stress of present circumstances he per- 
 suaded himself that the end justified the means. 
 Ignoring the fact that he was as deyoid of relations
 
 40 QUIN 
 
 as a tree is of leaves in December, he developed a 
 sudden sense of obligation to an imaginary cousin 
 whom he added, without legal authority, to the 
 population of Peru, Indiana. By means of Miss 
 Bartlett's white hand he frequently informed her 
 that she was not to worry about him, because he 
 was "doing splendid," and that a hospital "was n't 
 so worse when you get used to it." And while he 
 dictated words of assurance to his "Cousin Sue" 
 his eyes feasted upon a dainty profile with long 
 brown lashes that swept a peach-blow cheek. Once 
 he became so demoralized by this too pleasing pros- 
 pect that he said "tell him" instead of "tell her," 
 and the lashes lifted in instant inquiry. 
 
 "I mean er her husband," Quin gasped. 
 
 "But you had me direct the other letters to Miss 
 Sue Brown." 
 
 "Yes, I know," said Quin, with an embarrassment 
 that might have been attributed to skeletons in 
 family closets; "but, you see she er she took 
 back her own name." 
 
 The one cloud that darkened Quin's horizon these 
 days was Captain Phipps. His visits to the ward 
 always coincided with Miss Bartlett's, and he seemed 
 to take a spiteful pleasure in keeping the men at 
 attention while he engaged her in intimate conversa- 
 tion. He was an extremely fastidious, well groomed 
 young man, with an insolent hauteur and a certain 
 lordly air of possession that proclaimed him a con-
 
 QUIN 41 
 
 queror of the sex. Quin regarded him with growing 
 disfavor. 
 
 When the three weeks were almost over, Quin 
 was allowed to sit up, and even to walk on the porch. 
 Miss Bartlett found him there one day when she 
 arrived. 
 
 "Aha!" she cried, "I 've found you out, Sergeant 
 Slim ! You are Cass Martel's hero, and that's where 
 you heard about me and found out my first name." 
 
 Quin pleaded guilty, and their usual five minutes 
 together lengthened into fifteen while she gave him 
 all the news of the Martel family. Cass had taken 
 his old position at the railroad office, and, dear 
 knows, it was a good thing! And Rose was giving 
 dancing lessons. And what did he think little old 
 Myrna had done? Adopted a baby! Yes, a baby; 
 was n't it too ridiculous ! An Italian one that the 
 washwoman had forsaken. And Papa Claude had 
 given up his lectures at the university in order to 
 write the great American play. Were n't they the 
 funniest and the dearest people he had ever known? 
 
 It was amazing how intimate Quin and Miss 
 Bartlett got on the subject of the Martels. He had 
 to tell her in detail just what a brick her cousin 
 Cass was, and she had to tell him what a really won- 
 derful actor Papa Claude used to be. 
 
 "Captain Phipps says he knows more about the 
 stage than any man in the country."
 
 42 QUIN 
 
 "What does the Captain know about it?" asked 
 Quin. 
 
 "Captain Phipps? Why, he 's a playwright. He 
 means to devote all his time to the stage as soon as 
 he gets out of the army. You may not believe it, 
 but he is an even better dramatist than he is a 
 doctor." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I do," said Quin; "that's easy to 
 believe." 
 
 The sarcasm was lost upon Miss Bartlett, who 
 was intent upon delivering her message from the 
 Martels. They had sent word that they expected 
 Quin to come straight to them when he got his 
 discharge, and that his room was waiting for him. 
 
 "And you?" asked Quin eagerly. "You'll be 
 there every Sunday?" 
 
 Her face, which had been all smiles, underwent a 
 sudden change. She said with something perilously 
 like a pout: 
 
 "No, I sha n't ; I 'm to be shipped off to school 
 next week." 
 
 "School?" repeated Quin incredulously. "What 
 do you want to be going back to school for?" 
 
 "I don't want to. I hate it. It 's the price I am 
 paying for that dance I had with you at the 
 Hawaiian Garden that and other things." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Some old tabby of a chaperon saw me there and 
 came and told my grandmother."
 
 QUIN 43 
 
 "But what could ^she have told ? You did n't do 
 anything you ought n'^: to." 
 
 Miss Bartlett shook her head. It was evidently 
 something she could not explain, for she sat staring 
 gloomily at the wall above the bed, then she said 
 abruptly: "Well, I must be going. Good-by if I 
 don't see you again !" 
 
 "But you will," announced Quin fiercely. "You 
 are going to see me next Sunday at the Martels'. 
 I '11 be there if I land in the guard-house for it." 
 
 "Why, your time 's up Saturday, is n't it ? h ! 
 I forgot those three extra days. Captain Phipps 
 has got to let you off. He will if I tell him to." 
 
 At this something quite unexpected and elemental 
 surged up in Quin. He forgot the amenities that 
 he had taken such pains to observe in Miss Bart- 
 lett's presence, he entirely lost sight of the social 
 gap that lay between them, and blurted out with 
 deadly earnestness: 
 
 "Say, are you his girl?" 
 
 This had the effect of bringing Miss Bartlett 
 promptly to her feet, and the next instant poor 
 Quin was saying in an agony of regret : 
 
 "I 'm sorry, Miss Bartlett. I did n't mean to be 
 nervy. Honest, I did n't. Wait a minute 
 please " 
 
 But she was gone, leaving him to spend the rest 
 of the afternoon searching for a phrase sufficiently 
 odious to express his own opinion of himself.
 
 CHAPTER 4 
 
 ELEANOR BARTLETT, speeding home from 
 the hospital with Captain Phipps beside her, 
 repeated Quin's question to herself more than once. 
 Up to the present her loves, like her friendships, 
 had been entirely episodic. She had gone easily 
 from one affair to another not so much from fickle- 
 ness as from growth. What she wanted on Monday 
 did not seem in the least desirable on Saturday, and 
 it was a new and disturbing sensation to have the 
 same person dominating her thoughts for so many 
 consecutive days. If her relations with the young 
 officer from Chicago were as platonic as she would 
 have herself and her family believe, why had she 
 allowed the affair to arrive at a stage that precipi- 
 tated her banishment? Why was she even now 
 flying in the face of authority and risking a serious 
 reprimand by letting him ride in her car? 
 
 In fierce justification she told herself it was simply 
 because the family had meddled. If they had not 
 interfered, things would never have reached the 
 danger mark. She had met Captain Phipps three 
 weeks ago at her Uncle Randolph Bartlett's, and had 
 at first not been sure that she liked him. He had 
 
 44
 
 QUIN 45 
 
 seemed then a little superior and condescending, 
 and had evidently considered her too young to be 
 interesting. But the next time they met there Aunt 
 Flo had made her do the balcony scene from 
 "Romeo and Juliet," and since then all had been 
 different. 
 
 Captain Phipps had not only monopolized her 
 at the dances he had also found time from his not 
 over-arduous military duties to drop in on her fre- 
 quently in the afternoons. For hours at a time 
 they had sat in the long, dim Bartlett parlor, with 
 only the ghostly bust of old Madam Bartlett for a 
 chaperon, ostensibly absorbed in the study of 
 modern drama, but finding ample time to dwell at 
 length upon Eleanor's qualifications for the stage 
 and the Captain's budding genius as a playwright. 
 And just when Ibsen and Pinero were giving place 
 to Sudermann, and vague personal ambitions were 
 crystallizing into definite plans, the family inter- 
 fered. 
 
 The causes of their condemnation were as varied 
 as they were numerous. He was ten years older 
 than Eleanor ; he was too sophisticated a companion 
 for a young girl; he had taken her to a public 
 dance-hall on New Year's eve, where she had been 
 seen dancing with an unknown private ; he had been 
 quite insolent to Madam when she had taken him 
 to task for it ; and, most heinouss of all, he was 
 encouraging her in her ambition to go on the stage.
 
 46 QUIN 
 
 And beneath it all, Eleanor knew quite well, was 
 the nervous flutter of apprehension that seized the 
 entire family whenever a threatening masculine 
 presence loomed on the horizon. 
 
 She stole a glance at her handsome companion, 
 and, seeing that he was observing her, quickly low- 
 ered her eyes. The Captain had a flattering way of 
 studying her poses, remarking on the lines of her 
 gowns and her hats. He was constantly discovering 
 interesting things about her that she had not known 
 before. But sometimes, as now, she was restive 
 under his too close scrutiny. 
 
 "So you are actually going to leave me next 
 week?" he asked, with a note of personal aggrieve- 
 ment. 
 
 "To leave you? I like that! If it weren't for 
 you I should n't be going." 
 
 "Are they really sending you away on my 
 account?" 
 
 "Indeed they are. Grandmother says you are 
 encouraging me about the stage, and that poor Papa 
 Claude is demoralizing us both." 
 
 "Isn't that absurd?" said the Captain. "Dear 
 old C. M. is about as innocuous as a peacock. 
 Madam Bartlett should have been born in the 
 seventeenth century. What will she say when she 
 sees your name blazing over a Broadway theater?" 
 
 "In one of your plays ! Oh, Captain, would n't 
 that be glorious ?"
 
 QUIN 47 
 
 "Have n't I asked you to drop the 'Captain' ? My 
 name is Harold. Say it!" 
 
 "No; I can't." 
 
 "Yes, you can. Come !" 
 
 But she defied him with tightly closed lips and 
 dancing eyes. With feminine instinct she had dis- 
 covered that the irresistible Captain was piqued and 
 stimulated by the unusual taste of opposition. 
 
 "You little minx!" he said, lifting an accusing 
 finger. "Those eyes of yours are going to do a 
 lot of damage before they get through with it." 
 
 Eleanor took kindly to the thought that she was 
 dangerous. If she could cause disturbance to an 
 individual by the guarded flutter of her eyelids, 
 what effect might she not produce by giving them 
 full play before a larger audience? 
 
 "Do you really think I could act if I got the 
 chance?" she asked dreamily. 
 
 "I am absolutely sure. Your grandfather 's quite 
 right when he says you were born to the footlights. 
 With your voice and your unusual coloring and your 
 plastic little body " 
 
 "But you can't imagine the opposition," Eleanor 
 broke in. "It is n't as if my mother and father 
 were living. I believe they would understand. But 
 grandfather and the aunties, and even Uncle Ranny, 
 throw a fit at the mere mention of the stage." 
 
 "You do not belong to them," said the Captain 
 impatiently. "You do not even belong to yourself.
 
 48 QUIN 
 
 A great talent belongs to the world. All these 
 questions will settle themselves, once you take the 
 definite step." 
 
 "And you actually believe that I will get to New 
 York to study?" 
 
 "I don't believe I know. I intend to make it 
 my business to see that you do." 
 
 There was a confident ring of masterful assurance 
 in his voice that carried delicious conviction. A 
 person who was so absolutely sure of himself made 
 other people sure of him, too, for the moment. 
 
 Eleanor, sitting low in the car, with her absent 
 eyes fixed on the road ahead, lapsed into a day- 
 dream. From an absorbed contemplation of herself 
 and her dramatic career, her mind veered in grati- 
 tude to the one who most believed in its possibility. 
 What a friend he had been ! Just when she had 
 been ready to give up in despair, he had fanned her 
 dying hope into a glorious blaze that illuminated 
 every waking hour. And it was not only his sympa- 
 thetic interest in her thwarted ambition that touched 
 her: it was also the fact that he had rescued her 
 from the daily boredom of sitting with elderly ladies 
 making interminable surgical dressings, and by an 
 adroit bit of diplomacy outwitted the family and 
 introduced her as a ward visitor at the camp hospital. 
 
 The mere thought of the hospital sent her mind 
 flying off at a tangent. Even the stage gave way 
 for the moment to this new and all-absorbing occu-
 
 QUIN 49 
 
 pation. Never in her life had she done anything 
 so interesting. The escape from home, the personal 
 contact with all those nice, jolly boys, the excitement 
 of being of service for the first time in her butterfly 
 existence, was intoxicating. She smiled now as she 
 thought of the way Graham's eager head always 
 popped up the moment she entered the door, and of 
 how his face shone when she talked to him. After 
 all, she told herself, there was something thrilling in 
 having hands that had captured a machine-gun 
 laboriously threading tiny beads for her, in having 
 a soldier who had been decorated for courage 
 stammer and blush in her presence. 
 
 "Well," said the Captain, who had been lazily 
 observing her, "are n't you about through with your 
 mental monologue?" 
 
 Eleanor roused herself with a start. 
 
 "Oh, I am sorry ! I was thinking about my boys 
 at the hospital. You can't imagine how I hate to 
 leave them !" 
 
 The answer was evidently not what the Captain 
 had expected. As long as his company of feminine 
 admirers marched in adoring unison he was indif- 
 ferent to their existence; but let one miss step and 
 he was instantly on the alert. 
 
 "I haven't noticed any tears being shed over 
 leaving rne," he said, and the aggrieved note in his 
 voice promptly stirred her humor.
 
 50 QUIN 
 
 "Why should I mind leaving you? You don't 
 need me." 
 
 "How do you know?" 
 
 She looked at him scoffingly. 
 
 "You don't need anything or anybody. You 've 
 got all you want in yourself." 
 
 "I '11 show you what I want !" he said, and, 
 quickly bending toward her, he kissed her on the 
 cheek. 
 
 It was the merest brush of his lips, but it brought 
 the color flaming into her face and the lightning 
 into her eyes. She had never been so angry in her 
 life, and it seemed to her an age that she sat there 
 rigid and indignant, suffocated by his nearness but 
 powerless to move away. Then she got the car 
 stopped, and announced with great dignity that she 
 was nearly home and that she would have to ask 
 him to get out. 
 
 Captain Phipps lazily descended from the car, 
 then stood with elbows on the ledge of the door and 
 rolled a cigarette with great deliberation. Eleanor, 
 in spite of her wrath, could not help admiring the 
 graceful, conscious movement of his slender hands 
 with their highly polished nails. It was not until 
 he had struck his match that he looked at her and 
 smiled quizzically. 
 
 "What a dear little goose you are ! Do you sup- 
 pose that stage lovers are going to stand in the 
 wings and throw kisses to you ?"
 
 QUIN 51 
 
 "No," said Eleanor hotly; "but that will bs 
 different." 
 
 "It certainly will," he agreed amiably. ''You 
 will not only have to be kissed, but you will have to 
 kiss back. You have a lot of little puritanical 
 prejudices to get over, my dear, before you can 
 ever hope to act. You don't want to be a thin- 
 blooded little old maid, do you?" 
 
 The shot was well aimed, for Eleanor had no 
 desire to follow in the arid footsteps of her two 
 spinster aunts. She looked at Captain Phipps 
 unsteadily and shook her head. 
 
 "Of course you don't," he encouraged her. "You 
 are n't built for it. Besides, it 's an actress's busi- 
 ness to cultivate her emotions rather than repress 
 them, isn't it?" 
 
 "Yes, I suppose it is/' 
 
 "Then, for heaven's sake, obey your impulses 
 and let other people obey theirs. From now on you 
 are to be identified with a profession that transcends 
 the petty conventions of society. Confess! Aren't 
 you already a little ashamed of getting angry with 
 me just now?" 
 
 She was not ashamed, not in the least; but her 
 ardent desire to prove her fitness for that coveted 
 profession, together with the compelling insistence 
 of that persuasive voice, prompted her to hold out 
 a reluctant hand and to smile. 
 
 "You are a darling child!" said Captain Phipps,
 
 52 QUIN 
 
 with a level glance of approval. "I shall see you 
 to-morrow. When ? Where ?" 
 
 But she would make no engagement. She was 
 in a flutter to be gone. It was her first experience 
 at dancing on a precipice, and, while she liked it, 
 she could not deny, even to herself, that at times 
 it made her uncomfortably hot and dizzy.
 
 CHAPTER 5 
 
 ELEANOR'S thoughts were still in a turmoil 
 as she slowed her car to a within-the-law limit 
 of speed and brought it to a dignified halt before 
 an imposing edifice on Third Avenue. The precau- 
 tion was well taken, for a long, pale face that had 
 been pressed to a front window promptly trans- 
 ferred itself to the front door, and an anxious voice 
 called out: 
 
 "Oh, Nellie, why did you stay out so late? Did n't 
 you know it was your duty to be in before five?" 
 
 "It 's not late, Aunt Isobel," said Eleanor impa- 
 tiently. "It gets dark early, that 's all." 
 
 "And you must be frozen," persisted Miss Isobel, 
 "with those thin pumps and silk stockings, and 
 nothing but that veil on your head." 
 
 "But I 'm hot!" declared Eleanor, throwing open 
 her coat. "The house is stifling. Can't we have a 
 window open?" 
 
 Miss Isobel sighed. Like the rest of the family, 
 she never knew what to expect from this trouble- 
 some, adorable, disturbing mystery called Eleanor. 
 She worshiped her with the solicitous, over-anxious 
 care that saw fever in the healthy flush of youth, 
 
 53
 
 54 QUIN 
 
 regarded a sneeze as premonitory of consumption, 
 and waited with dark certitude for the "something 
 dreadful" that instinct told her was ever about to 
 happen to her darling. 
 
 "I am afraid your grandmother is terribly upset 
 about your staying out so late," she said, with a 
 note of warning in her voice, 
 
 "What made you tell her ?" demanded Eleanor. 
 
 "Because she asked me, and of course I could not 
 deceive her. I don't believe you know how hard 
 it is to keep things from her." 
 
 "Don't I!" said Eleanor, with the tolerant smile 
 of a professional for an amateur. "Well, a few 
 minutes more won't make any difference. I '11 go 
 and change my dress." 
 
 "No, dear ; you must go to her first. She 's been 
 sending Hannah down every few minutes to see if 
 you were here." 
 
 "Oh, dear ! I suppose I 'm in for it !" sighed 
 Eleanor, flinging her coat across the banister. 
 Then, in answer to a plaintive voice from the library, 
 "Yes, Aunt Enid?" 
 
 "Why on earth are you so late, sweetheart? 
 Didn't you know your grandmother would be 
 fretted?" 
 
 The possessor of the plaintive voice emerged 
 from the library, trailing an Oriental scarf as she 
 came. Like her elder sister, she was tall and thin, 
 but she did not wear Miss Isobel's look of mar-
 
 QUIN 55 
 
 tyred resignation. On the contrary, she had the 
 starved look of one who is constantly trying to pick 
 up the crumbs of interest that other peopk kt fall. 
 
 Enid Bartlett might have passed for a pretty 
 woman had her appearance not been permanently 
 affected by an artist once telling her she looked like 
 a Botticelli. Since that time she had done queer 
 things to her hair, pursed her lips, and cultivated 
 an expression of chronic yearning. 
 
 "I have n't seen you since breakfast, Nellie," she 
 said gently. "Haven't you a kiss for me?" 
 
 Eleanor presented a perfunctory cheek over the 
 banisters, taking care that it was not the one that 
 had been kissed a few minutes before. 
 
 "Remember your promise," Aunt Enid whis- 
 pered; "don't forget that your grandmother is an 
 old lady and you must not excite her." 
 
 "But she excites me," said Eleanor doggedly. 
 "She makes me want to smash windows and scream." 
 
 "Why, Nellie!" Miss Enid's mournful eyes 
 filled with tears. Instantly Eleanor was all con- 
 trition. 
 
 "I 'm sorry !" she said, with a real kiss this time, 
 "I '11 behave. Give you my word I will !" And, 
 with an affectionate squeeze of the hand that clasped 
 hers, she ran up the steps. 
 
 The upper hall, like the rest of the house, was 
 pervaded by an air of gloomy grandeur. Every- 
 thing was dreary, formal, fixed. Not an ornament
 
 56 QUIN 
 
 or a picture had been changed since Eleanor could 
 remember. She was the only young thing about the 
 place, and it always seemed to her as if the house 
 and its occupants were conspiring to make her old 
 and staid and stupid, like themselves. 
 
 At the door of her grandmother's room she 
 paused. As far back as she could remember, her 
 quarrels with her grandmother had been the most 
 terrifying events of her life. Repetition never 
 robbed them of their horror, and no amount of 
 spoiling between times could make up to her for the 
 violence of the moment. It took all the courage 
 she had to turn the knob of the door and enter. 
 
 A brigadier-general planning an important cam- 
 paign would have presented no more commanding 
 presence than did the formidable old lady who sat 
 at a flat-top desk, issuing orders in a loud, decisive 
 tone to a small meek-looking man who stood before 
 her. The most arresting feature about Madam 
 Bartlett was a towering white pompadour that 
 began where most pompadours end, and soared to 
 a surprising height above her large, handsome, mas- 
 culine face. The fact that her hair line had gradu- 
 ally receded from her forehead to the top of her 
 head affected no change whatever in the arrange- 
 ment of her coiffure. Neither in regard to her hair 
 nor to her figure had she yielded one iota to the 
 whims of Nature. Her body was still confined in 
 the stiffest of stays, and in spite of her seventy years
 
 QUIN 57 
 
 was as straight as an arrow. At Eleanor's entrance 
 she motioned her peremptorily to a chair and pro- 
 ceeded with the business in hand. 
 
 "You go back and tell Mr. Bangs," she was say- 
 ing to the meek-looking person, "that I want him 
 to send somebody up here who knows more than 
 you do. Do you understand ?" 
 
 The meek one evidently understood, for he 
 reached nervously for his cap. 
 
 "Wait!" commanded Madam peremptorily. 
 "Don't start off like that, while I am talking to 
 you ! Tell Mr. Bangs this is the third time I 've 
 asked him to send me the report of Bartlett & 
 Bangs' export business for the past year. I want 
 it immediately. I am not in my dotage yet. I still 
 have some say-so in the firm. Well, what are you 
 waiting for?" 
 
 "I was waiting to know if there was anything 
 more, ma'am." 
 
 "If there had been I would have said so. Tell 
 Hannah to come in as you go out." 
 
 Eleanor looked at her grandmother expectantly, 
 but there was no answering glance. The old lady 
 was evidently in one of her truculent moods that 
 brooked no interference, 
 
 "Has the plumber come?" she demanded of the 
 elderly colored maid who appeared at the door. 
 
 "No, ma'am. He can't get here till to-morrow." 
 
 "Tell him I won't wait. If he can't come within
 
 58 QUIN 
 
 an hour he need n't come at all. Where is Tom ?" 
 
 Hannah's eyes shifted uneasily. "Tom? Why, 
 Tom, he thought you discharged him." 
 
 "So I did. But he 's not to go until I get 
 another butler. Send him up here at once." 
 
 "But he ain't here," persisted Hannah fearfully. 
 "He 's went for good this time." 
 
 Eleanor, sitting demurely by the door, had a mo- 
 ment of unholy exultation. Old black Tom, the 
 butler, had been Madam's chief domestic prop for 
 a quarter of a century. He had been the patient 
 buffer between her and the other servants, taking 
 her domineering with unfailing meekness, and even 
 venturing her defense when mutiny threatened below 
 stairs. "You-all don't understand old Miss," he 
 would say loyally. "She 's all right, only she 's jes' 
 nachully mean, dat 's all." 
 
 In the turning of this humble worm, Eleanor felt 
 in some vague way a justification of her own 
 rebellion. 
 
 His departure, however, did not tend to clear the 
 domestic atmosphere. By the time Madam had 
 settled the plumbing question and expressed her 
 opinion of Tom and all his race, she was in no mood 
 to deal leniently with the shortcomings of a head- 
 strong young granddaughter. 
 
 "Well," she said, addressing her at last, "why 
 didn't you make it midnight?" 
 
 "It 's only a little after five." Eleanor knew she
 
 QUIN 59 
 
 was putting up a feeble defense, and her hands grew 
 cold. 
 
 "It is nearly six, and it is dark. Couldn't you 
 have withdrawn the sunshine of your presence from 
 the hospital half an hour sooner?" 
 
 Under her sharp glance there was a curious pro- 
 tective tenderness, the savage concern of a lioness 
 for her whelp; but Eleanor saw only the scoffing 
 expression in the keen eyes, and heard the note of 
 irony in all she said. 
 
 "Your going out to the hospital is all foolishness, 
 anyhow," the old lady continued, sorting her papers 
 with efficiency. "Contagious diseases, germs, and 
 what not. But some women would be willing to go 
 to Hades if they could tie a becoming rag around 
 their heads. Why did n't you dress yourself prop- 
 erly before you came in here?" 
 
 "I wanted to, but Aunt " 
 
 "Aunt Enid, I suppose! If rt was left to her 
 she 'd have you trailing around in a Greek tunic and 
 sandals, with a laurel wreath on your head." 
 
 There was an ominous pause, during which 
 Madam's wrinkled, bony hands, flashing with dia- 
 monds, searched rapidly among the papers. 
 
 "You are all ready to start on Monday? Your 
 clothes are in good condition, I presume ?** 
 
 Eleanor brought her gaze from a detached con- 
 templation of the ceiling to a critical inspection of 
 her finger-nails.
 
 6o QUIN 
 
 "I suppose Aunt Isobel has attended to them," 
 she said indifferently. 
 
 "Aunt Isobel, indeed !" snarled Madam. "You 'd 
 lean on a broken reed if you depended on Isobel. 
 And Enid is no better. / attended to your clothes. 
 I got you everything you need, even down to a new 
 set of furs." 
 
 "Silver fox?" asked Eleanor, brightening visibly. 
 
 "No, mink. I can't abide fox. Ah ! here 's what 
 I am looking for. Your ticket and berth reserva- 
 tion. Train leaves at ten-thirty Monday morning." 
 
 "Grandmother," ventured Eleanor, summing up 
 courage to lead a forlorn hope, "you are just wast- 
 ing money sending me back to Baltimore." 
 
 "It 's my money," said the old lady grimly. 
 
 "It 's your money, but it is my life," Eleanor 
 urged, with a quiver in her voice. "If you are 
 going to send me away, why not send me to New 
 York and let me do the one thing in the world I 
 want to do?" 
 
 That Madam should be willing to furnish 
 unlimited funds for finishing schools, music lessons, 
 painting lessons, and every "extra" that the curricu- 
 lum offered, and yet refuse to cultivate her one real 
 talent, seemed to Eleanor the most unreasonable 
 autocracy. She had no way of knowing that 
 Madam's indomitable pride, still quivering with the 
 memory of her oldest son's marriage to an unknown 
 young actress, recoiled instinctively from the theatri-
 
 QUIN 61 
 
 cal rock on which so many of her old hopes had 
 been wrecked. 
 
 Eleanor's persistence in recurring to this most 
 distasteful of subjects roused her to fury. A purple 
 flush suffused her face, and her cheeks puffed in 
 and out as she breathed. 
 
 "I suppose Claude Martel has it all mapped out," 
 she said. "He and that fool Harold Phipps have 
 stirred you up to a pretty pitch. What do you see 
 in that silly coxcomb, anyhow ?" 
 
 "If you mean Captain Phipps," Eleanor said with 
 dignity, "I see a great deal. He is one of the most 
 cultivated men I ever met." 
 
 "Fiddlesticks ! He smells like a soap-counter ! 
 When I see an affected man I see a fool. He has 
 airs enough to fill a music-box. But that 's neither 
 here nor there. You understand definitely that I do 
 not wish you to see him again?" 
 
 Eleanor's silence did not satisfy Madam. She 
 insisted upon a verbal assurance, which Eleanor 
 was loath to give. 
 
 "I tell you once for all, young lady," said Madam, 
 by this time roused to fury, "that you have got to do 
 what I say for another year. After that you will 
 be twenty-one, and you can go to the devil, if you 
 want to." 
 
 "Grandmother!" cried Eleanor, shrinking as if 
 from a physical blow. Then, remembering her 
 promise to her Aunt Enid, she bit her lip and strug-
 
 62 QUIN 
 
 gled to keep back the tears. As she started to 
 leave the room, Madam called her back. 
 
 "Here, take this," she said gruffly, thrusting a 
 small morocco box into her hand. "Isobel and 
 Enid never had decent necks to hang 'em on. See 
 that you don't lose them." And without more ado 
 she thrust Eleanor out of the room and shut the 
 door in her face. 
 
 Eleanor fled down the hall to her own room, and 
 after locking the door flung herself on the bed. It 
 was always like that, she told herself passionately; 
 they nagged at her and tormented her and wore 
 her out with their care and anxiety, and then suffo- 
 cated her with their affection. She did not want 
 their presents. She wanted freedom, the right to 
 live her own life, think her own thoughts, make 
 her own decisions. She did not mean to be 
 ungrateful, but she couldn't please them all! The 
 family expectations of her were too high, too differ- 
 ent from what she wanted. Other girls with half 
 her talents for the stage had succeeded, and just 
 because she was a Bartlett 
 
 She clenched her fists and wished for the hun- 
 dredth time that she had never been born. She 
 had been a bone of contention all her life, and, 
 even when the two families were not fighting over 
 her, the Bartlett blood was warring with the Martel 
 blood within her. Her standards were hopelessly 
 confused; she did not know what she wanted
 
 QUIN 63 
 
 except that she wanted passionately to be let alone. 
 
 "Nellie!" called a gentle voice on the other side 
 of the door. "Are you ready for dinner?" 
 
 "Don't want any dinner," she mumbled from the 
 depths of a pillow. 
 
 The door-handle turned softly and the voice per- 
 sisted : 
 
 "You must unlock the door, dearie; I want to 
 speak to you." 
 
 Eleanor flung herself off the bed and opened the 
 door. "I tell you, I don't want any dinner, Aunt 
 Enid," she declared petulantly. 
 
 Miss Enid drew her down on the bed beside her 
 and regarded her with pensive persuasion. "I 
 know, Nelchen; I often feel like that. But you 
 must come down and make a pretense of eating. 
 It upsets your grandmother to have any one of us 
 absent from meals." 
 
 "Everything I do upsets her !" cried Eleanor with 
 tragic insistence. "I can't please her there 's no use 
 trying. Why does she treat me the way she does? 
 Why does she sometimes almost seem to hate me?" 
 
 Miss Enid's eyes involuntarily glanced at the 
 picture of Eleanor's mother over the desk, taken 
 in the doublet and hose of Rosalind. 
 
 "Hush, child ; you must n't say such awful 
 things," she said, drawing the girl close and stroking 
 her hair. "Mother adores you. Think of all she 
 has done for you ever since you were a tiny baby.
 
 64 QUIN 
 
 What other girl of your acquaintance has her own 
 car, all the pretty clothes she can wear, and as much 
 pin-money as she can spend?" 
 
 "But that 's not what I want!" cried Eleanor 
 tragically. "I want to be something and to do some- 
 thing. I feel like I am in prison here. I 'm not 
 good and resigned like you and Aunt Isobel, and I 
 simply refuse to go through life standing grand- 
 mother's tyranny." 
 
 Poor Eleanor, so intolerably sensitive to con- 
 tacts, so hopelessly confused in her bearings, sitting 
 red-eyed and miserable, kicking her feet against the 
 side of the bed, looked much more like a naughty 
 child than like the radiant Lady Bountiful who had 
 dispensed favors and received homage in the hospi- 
 tal a few hours before. 
 
 So swift was the sympathetic action of her nerves 
 that any change in her physical condition affected 
 her whole nature, making her an enigma to herself 
 as well as to others. Even as she sat there rebellious 
 and defiant, her eyes fell upon the small morocco 
 box on her pillow, and she picked it up and opened it. 
 
 "Oh, Aunt Enid!" she cried in instant remorse. 
 "Just look what she 's given me ! Her string of 
 pearls! The ones she wore in the portrait! And 
 just think of what I 've been saying about her. 
 I 'm a beast, a regular little beast !" 
 
 And with characteristic impetuosity she flung 
 herself on Miss Enid's neck and burst into tears.
 
 CHAPTER 6 
 
 THE sun was getting ready to set on Sunday 
 afternoon when a tall, trim-looking figure 
 turned the corner of the street leading to the 
 Martels' and broke into a run. In one hand he 
 carried a large suit-case, and in the other he held 
 a bead chain wrapped in tissue-paper. In the breast 
 pocket of his uniform was a paper stating that 
 Quinby Graham was thereby honorably discharged 
 from the U.S.A. 
 
 Whether it was his enforced rest, or his state 
 of mind, or a combination of the two, it is impos- 
 sible to say ; but at least ten pounds had been added 
 to his figure, the hollows had about gone from his 
 eyes, and a natural color had returned to his face. 
 But the old cough remained, as was evident when 
 he presented himself breathless at the Martels' door 
 and demanded of Cass: 
 
 "Has she gone?" 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Miss Bartlett" 
 
 "I believe she 's fixing to go now. What 's it 
 to you?" 
 
 "Oh, I just want to say good-by," Quin threw 
 65
 
 66 QUIN 
 
 off with a great show of indifference. "She was 
 awful good to me out at the hospital." 
 
 "Oh, I see." Then Cass dismissed the subject 
 for one of far more importance. "Are you out for 
 keeps? Have you come to stay?" 
 
 "You bet I have. How long has she been here?" 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Miss Bartlctt, I tell you." 
 
 "Oh! I don't know. All day, I reckon. I got 
 to take her home now in a minute, but I '11 be back 
 soon. Don't you go anywhere till I come back." 
 
 Quin seized his arm : "Cass, I '11 take her home 
 for you. I don't mind a bit, honest I don't. I need 
 some exercise." 
 
 "Old lady 'd throw a fit," objected Cass. "Old 
 grandmother, I mean. Regular Tartar. Old aunts 
 are just as bad. They devil the life out of Nell, 
 except when she 's deviling the life out of them." 
 
 "How do you mean?" Quin encouraged him. 
 
 "I mean Nell 's a handful all right. She kicks 
 over the traces every time she gets a chance. I 
 don't blame her. They 're a rotten bunch of snobs, 
 and she knows it." 
 
 "Well, I could leave her at the door," Quin 
 urged. "I would n't let her in for anything for 
 the world. But I got to talk to her, I tell you; I 
 got to thank her " 
 
 Meanwhile, in the room above the young lady 
 under discussion was leisurely adjusting a new and
 
 QUIN 67 
 
 most becoming hat before a cracked mirror while 
 she discussed a subject of perennial interest to the 
 eternal feminine. 
 
 "Rose," she was asking, "what's the first thing 
 you notice about a man?" 
 
 Rose, sitting on the side of the bed nursing little 
 Bino, the latest addition to the family, answered 
 promptly : 
 
 "His mouth, of course. I would n't marry a man 
 who showed his gums when he laughed, not if 
 very hair of his head was strung with diamonds !" 
 
 The visualization of this unpleasant picture threw 
 Eleanor into peals of laughter which upset the 
 carefully acquired angle of the new hat, to say 
 nothing of the nerves of the young gentleman just 
 arrived in the hall below. 
 
 "I was n't thinking of his looks only," she said ; 
 "I mean everything about him." 
 
 "Why, I guess it 's whether he notices me," said 
 Rose after deliberation. 
 
 "Exactly," agreed Eleanor. "Not only you or 
 me, but girls. Take Cass, for instance; girls might 
 just as well be broomsticks to Cass, all except Fan 
 Loomis. Now, when Captain Phipps looks at 
 you " 
 
 "He never would," said Rose ; "he 'd look 
 straight over my head. I '11 tell you who is a better 
 example Mr. Graham." 
 
 Eleanor smiled reminiscently. "Oh, Sergeant
 
 68 QUIN 
 
 Slim? he's thrilled, all right! Always looks as if 
 he couldn't wait a minute to hear what you are 
 going to say next." 
 
 "He 's not as susceptible as he looks," Rose pro- 
 nounced from her vantage-point of seniority. 
 "He 's just got a way with him that fools people. 
 Cass says girls are always crazy about him, and 
 that he never cares for any of them more than a 
 week." 
 
 "Much Cass knows about it!" said Cass's cousin, 
 pulling on her long gloves. Then she dismissed the 
 subject abruptly : "Rose, if I tell you something will 
 you swear not to tell ?" 
 
 "Never breathe it." 
 
 "Captain Phipps is coming up to Baltimore for 
 the Easter vacation." 
 
 "Does your grandmother know?" 
 
 "I should say not. She 's written Miss Hammond 
 that I 'm not to receive callers without permission, 
 and that all suspicious mail is to be opened." 
 
 "How outrageous! You tell Captain Phipps to 
 send his letters to me ; I '11 get them to you. They '11 
 never suspect my fine Italian hand, with my name 
 and address on the envelope." 
 
 Eleanor looked at her older cousin dubiously. 
 "I hate to do underhand things like that!" she said 
 crossly. 
 
 "You wouldn't have to if they treated you 
 decently. Opening your letters ! The idea ! I
 
 QUIN 69 
 
 would n't stand for it. I 'd show them a thing or 
 two." 
 
 Eleanor stood listlessly buttoning her glove, 
 pondering what Rose was saying. 
 
 "I wonder if I could get word to the Captain 
 to-night?" she said. "Shall I really tell him to 
 send the letters to you?" 
 
 "No ; tell him to bring them. I 'm crazy to see 
 what his nibs looks like." 
 
 "He looks like that picture of Richard Mansfield 
 downstairs the one taken as Beau Brummel. 
 He 's the most fastidious man you ever saw, and 
 too subtle for words." 
 
 "He 's terribly rich, is n't he?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Eleanor indifferently. "His 
 father is a Chicago manufacturer of some kind. 
 Does Papa Claude think he is very talented?" 
 
 "Talented ! He says he 's one of the most gifted 
 young men he ever met. They are hatching out 
 some marvelous schemes to write a play together. 
 Papa Claude is treading on air." 
 
 "Bless his heart ! Would n't it be too wonderful, 
 Rose, if Captain Phipps should produce one of his 
 plays? He 's crazy about him." 
 
 "You mean he 's crazy about you." 
 
 "Who said so?" 
 
 "I don't have to be told. How about you, Nell? 
 Are you in love with him?" 
 
 Eleanor, taking a farewell look in the mirror,
 
 70 QUIN 
 
 saw a tiny frown gather between her eyebrows. It 
 was the second time that week she had been asked 
 the question, and, as before, she avoided it. 
 
 "Listen!" she said. "Who is that talking so 
 loud downstairs?" 
 
 Investigation proved that it was Cass and Quin 
 in hot dispute, as usual. On seeing her descend the 
 stair the latter promptly stepped forward. 
 
 "Cass is going to let me take you home, Miss 
 Bartlett." 
 
 "I never said I would," Cass contradicted him. 
 "I 'm not going to get her into trouble the night 
 before she goes away." 
 
 "That 's for her to decide," said Quin. "If she 
 says I can go I 'm going." 
 
 The very novelty of being called upon to decide 
 anything for herself, augmented perhaps by the 
 ardent desire in his eyes, caused Eleanor to tip the 
 scales in his favor. 
 
 "I don't mind his taking me home," she said 
 somewhat condescendingly. "They '11 think it 's 
 Cass." 
 
 "All buck privates look alike to them," added 
 Rose, laughing. 
 
 "My private days are over," said Quin grandly. 
 "This time next week I '11 be out of my uniform." 
 
 "You won't be half so good-looking," said 
 Eleanor, surveying him with such evident approval 
 that he had a wild idea of reenlisting at once.
 
 QUIN 71 
 
 "Tell Papa Claude I could n't wait for him any 
 longer," Eleanor then said. "Kiss him good-by for 
 me, Rose, and tell him I '11 write the minute I get 
 to Baltimore." 
 
 Then Cass kissed her, and Rose and the baby 
 kissed her, and Myrna came downstairs to kiss her, 
 and Edwin was called up from the basement to kiss 
 her. It seemed the easiest and most natural thing 
 in the world for everybody to kiss her but Quin, 
 who would have given all he had for the privilege. 
 
 At last he found himself alone with her in the 
 street, trying to catch step and wondering whether 
 or not it was proper to take hold of a young lady's 
 elbow. With commendable self-restraint he com- 
 promised on street crossings and muddy places. It 
 was not quite dark yet, but it was going to be very 
 soon, and a big pale moon was hiding behind a tall 
 chimney, waiting for a chance to pounce out on 
 unwary young couples who might be venturing 
 abroad. 
 
 As they started across Central Park, an open 
 square in the heart of the city, Eleanor stopped 
 short, and with eyes fixed on the sky began in- 
 canting : 
 
 "Star light, star bright 
 Very first star I see to-night 
 Wish I may, wish I might 
 May these three wishes come true 
 before to-morrow night."
 
 72 QUIN 
 
 "I have n't got three wishes," said Quin solemnly; 
 "I 've only got one." 
 
 "Mercy, I have dozens! Shall I lend you some?" 
 
 "No! mine 's bigger than all yours put together." 
 
 She flashed a look at him from under her tilted 
 hat-brim : 
 
 "What on earth 's the matter with you ? You look 
 so solemn. I don't believe you wanted to bring me 
 home, after all." 
 
 Quin did n't know what was the matter with him. 
 Heretofore he had fallen in love as a pebble falls 
 into a pond. There had been a delicious splash, and 
 subsequent encircling ripples, each one further away 
 than the last. But this time the pebble had fallen 
 into a whirlpool, and was being turned and tossed 
 and played with in a manner wholly bewildering. 
 
 "Oh, I wanted to come, all right," he said slowly. 
 "I had to come. Say, I wish you were n't going 
 away to-morrow." 
 
 "So do I. I 'd give anything not to." 
 
 "But why do you go, then?" 
 
 "Because 1 am always made to do what I don't 
 want to do." 
 
 Quin, who had decided views on individual free- 
 dom and the consent of the governed, promptly 
 espoused her cause. 
 
 "They 've got no right to force you. You ought 
 to decide things for yourself." 
 
 "Do you really think that? Do you think a girl
 
 QUIN 73 
 
 has the right to go ahead and do as she likes, regard- 
 less of her family?" 
 
 "That depends on whether she wants to do the 
 right thing. Which way do we turn?" 
 
 "This way, if we go home," said Eleanor. Then 
 she stopped abruptly. "What time is it?" 
 
 Quin consulted his watch and his conscience at the 
 same time. 
 
 "It 's only five-thirty," he said eagerly. 
 
 "I wonder if you'd do something for me?" 
 
 "You bet I will." 
 
 "I want to go out to the hospital. I can get out 
 there and back in my machine in thirty minutes. 
 Would you be willing to go with me ?" 
 
 Would he be willing? Two hours before he had 
 sworn that no power on earth could induce him to 
 return to those prison walls, and now he felt that 
 nothing could keep him away. Forty minutes of 
 bliss in that snug little runabout with Miss Bartlett, 
 and the destination might be Hades for all he cared. 
 
 It took but a few minutes to get to the garage and 
 into the machine, and then they were speeding out 
 the avenue at a pace that would surely have landed 
 them in the police station had the traffic officer been 
 on his job. 
 
 Quin, doubled up like a jack-knife beside her, was 
 drunk with ecstasy. His expression when he looked 
 at her resembled that of a particularly maudlin 
 Airedale. Having her all to himself, with nobody
 
 74 QUIN 
 
 to interfere, was an almost overwhelming joy. He 
 longed to pour out his soul in gratitude for all that 
 she had done for him at the hospital; he burned to 
 tell her that she was the most beautiful and holy 
 thing that had ever come into his life; but instead 
 he only got his foot tangled in the steering gear, 
 and muttered something about her "not driving a 
 car bad for a girl" ! 
 
 But Eleanor was not concerned with her com- 
 panion or his silent transports. She evidently had 
 something of importance on her mind. 
 
 "What time is the officers' mess?" she asked. 
 
 "About six. Why?" 
 
 "I want to catch Captain Phipps before he leaves 
 the hospital." 
 
 Quin's glowing bubble burst at the word. She 
 ivas Captain Phipps' girl, after all ! She had simply 
 pressed him into service in order to get a last inter- 
 view with the one officer in the battalion for whom 
 he had no respect. 
 
 The guard challenged them as they swung into the 
 hospital area, but, seeing Quin's uniform, allowed 
 them to enter. Past the long line of contagious 
 wards, past the bleak two-story convalescent bar- 
 racks, and up to the officers' quarters they swept. 
 
 "You are not going in yourself?" Quin protested, 
 as she started to get out of the car. 
 
 "Why not ? Have n't I been coming out here all 
 the time?"
 
 QUIN 75 
 
 "Not at night not like this." 
 
 "Nonsense. What 's the harm ? I '11 only be a 
 minute?" 
 
 But Quin had already got out, and was holding 
 the door with a large, firm hand. 
 
 "No," he said humbly but positively; "I '11 go and 
 bring him out here." 
 
 The unexpected note of authority in his voice 
 nettled her instantly. 
 
 "I shall go myself," she insisted petulantly. 
 "Let me out." 
 
 For a moment their eyes clashed in frank com- 
 bat, hers angry and defiant, his adoring but deter- 
 mined. 
 
 "Listen here, Miss Bartlett," he urged. "The 
 men would n't understand your coming out like 
 this, at night, without your uniform. I told Cass 
 I 'd take care of you, and I 'm going to do it." 
 
 "You mean that you will dare to stop me from 
 getting out of my own car? Take your hand off 
 that door instantly!" 
 
 She actually seized his big, strong fingers with 
 her small gloved ones and tried to pull them away 
 from the door. But Quin began to laugh, and in 
 spite of herself she laughed back; and, while the 
 two were childishly struggling for the possession of 
 the door-handle, Captain Phipps all unnoticed passed 
 out of the mess-hall, gave a few instructions to his 
 waiting orderly, and disappeared in the darkness.
 
 CHAPTER 7 
 
 BY the time they were on their way home, the 
 moon, no longer dodging behind chimneys, 
 had swaggered into the open. It was a hardened 
 old highwayman of a moon, red in the face and 
 very full, and it declared with every flashing beam 
 that it was no respecter of persons, and that it 
 intended doing all the mischief possible down there 
 in the little world of men. 
 
 Miss Eleanor Bartlett was its first victim. In 
 the white twilight she forgot the social gap that lay 
 between her and the youth beside her. She ceased 
 to observe the size and roughness of his hands, 
 but noted instead the fine breadth of his shoulders. 
 She concerned herself no longer with his verbal 
 lapses, but responded instead to his glowing confi- 
 dence that everybody was as sincere and well inten- 
 tioned as himself. She discovered what the more 
 sophisticated Rose had perceived at once that 
 Quinby Graham "had a way with him," a beguiling, 
 sympathetic way that made one tell him things that 
 one really did n't mean to tell any one. Of course, 
 it was partly due to the fact that he asked such out- 
 rageously direct questions, questions that no one in 
 
 76
 
 QUIN 77 
 
 her mast intimate circle of friends would dare to 
 ask. And the queer part of it was that she was 
 answering them. 
 
 Before she realized it she was launched on a full 
 recital of her woes, her thwarted ambition to go 
 on the stage, her grandmother's tyranny, the indig- 
 nity of being sent back to a school from which she 
 had run away six months before. She flattered 
 herself that she was stating her case for the sole 
 purpose of getting an unprejudiced outsider's unbi- 
 ased opinion; but from the inflection of her voice 
 and the expressive play of eyes and lips it was 
 evident that she was deriving some pleasure from 
 the mere act of thus dramatizing her woes before 
 that wholly sympathetic audience of one. 
 
 It was not until they reached the Eastern Park- 
 way and were speeding toward the twinkling lights 
 of the city that their little bubble of intimacy, blown 
 in the moonlight, was shattered by a word. 
 
 "Say, Miss Eleanor," Quin blurted out unex- 
 pectedly, "do you like me?" 
 
 The question, together with the fact that he had 
 dared used her first name, brought her up with a 
 start. 
 
 "Like you?" she repeated in her most conven- 
 tional tone. "Why, of course. Whatever made you 
 think I didn't?" 
 
 "I did n't think that. But do you like me
 
 78 QUIN 
 
 enough to let me come to see you when you come 
 back?" 
 
 Now, a romantically wounded hero receiving 
 favors in a hospital is one thing, and an unknown 
 discharged soldier asking them is quite another. 
 The very thought of Quinby Graham presenting 
 himself as a caller, and the comments that would 
 follow made Eleanor shy away from the subject in 
 alarm. 
 
 "Oh, you '11 be on the other side of the world 
 by the time I get back," she said lightly. 
 
 "Not me. Not if there 's a chance of seeing you 
 again." 
 
 A momentary diversion followed, during which 
 Eleanor fancied there was something wrong with 
 the radiator and expatiated at length on her prefer- 
 ence for air-cooled cars. 
 
 Quin listened patiently. A gentleman more 
 versed in social subtleties would have accepted the 
 hint and said no more. But he was still laboring 
 under the error that language was invented to reveal 
 rather than to conceal thought. 
 
 "You did n't answer my question," he said, when 
 Eleanor paused for breath. 
 
 "What question?" 
 
 "About my coming to see you." 
 
 She took shelter in a subterfuge. 
 
 "I told you that the family was horrid to every-
 
 QUIN 79 
 
 body that came to see me. To tell you the truth, 
 I don't think you would be comfortable." 
 
 "I 'm not afraid of 'em/' Quin insisted fatu- 
 ously. "I 'd butt in anywhere to get to see you." 
 
 Eleanor's eyes dropped under his gaze. 
 
 "You don't know my grandmother," she said; 
 "and, what is much more important, she does n't 
 know you." 
 
 "No, but she might like to," urged Quin, with 
 one of his most engaging smiles. "Old ladies and 
 cats always cotton to me." 
 
 Eleanor laughed. It was impossible to be dig- 
 nified and superior with a person who did n't know 
 the first rules of the game. 
 
 "She might," she admitted; "you never can tell 
 about grandmother. She really is a wonderful 
 person in many ways, and just as generous and 
 kind when you are in trouble! But she says the 
 most dreadful things ; she 's always hurting people's 
 feelings." 
 
 "She couldn't hurt mine, unless I let her," said 
 Quin. 
 
 "Oh, yes, she could you don't know her. But 
 even if she happened to be nice to you, there 's Aunt 
 Isobel." 
 
 "What is she like?" 
 
 "Horribly good and conscientious, and shocked 
 to death at everything people do and say. I don't 
 mean that she is n't awfully kind. She '11 do any-
 
 8o QUIN 
 
 thing for you if you are sick. But Uncle Ranny 
 says her sense of duty amounts to a vice. Whatever 
 she 's doing, she thinks she ought to be doing some- 
 thing else. And she expects you to be just as good 
 as she is. If she knew I was out here with a strange 
 man to whom I 'd never been introduced " 
 
 Eleanor was appalled at the effect upon her aunt 
 of such indiscretion. 
 
 "Oh, I could handle her all right," said Quin 
 boastfully. "I 'd talk foreign missions to her. 
 Any others ?" 
 
 "Heaps. There 's Aunt Flo and Uncle Ranny. 
 He 's a dear, only he 's the black sheep of the 
 family. He says I am a promising gray lamb, which 
 makes grandmother furious. They all let her twist 
 them round her finger but me. I won't twist. I 
 never intend to." 
 
 "Is that all the family?" 
 
 "No ; there 's Aunt Enid. She is the nicest of 
 them all." 
 
 "What is her line?" 
 
 "Oh, she 's awfully good, too. But she 's different 
 from Aunt Isobel. She was engaged to be married 
 once, and grandmother broke it off because the man 
 was poor. I don't think she '11 ever get over it." 
 
 "Do you think she would like me?" Quin anx- 
 iously inquired. 
 
 "Yes," admitted Eleanor, "I believe she would. 
 She simply adores to mold people. She does n't
 
 QUIN 81 
 
 care how many faults they have, if they will just 
 ' let her influence them to be better. And she does 
 help loads of people. I am her one failure. She 
 would n't acknowledge it for the world, but I know 
 that I am the disappointment of Aunt Enid's life." 
 
 She gazed gloomily down the long moonlit road 
 and lapsed into one of her sudden abstractions. A 
 belated compunction seized her for not going 
 straight home from the Martels', for being late for 
 dinner on her last night, for going on with her 
 affair with Captain Phipps, when she had been for- 
 bidden to see him. 
 
 "Miss Nell," said the persistent voice beside her, 
 "do you know what I intend to do while you are 
 away?" 
 
 "No; what?" 
 
 "I 'm going to start in to-morrow morning and 
 make love to your whole darn family !" 
 
 Now, if there is one thing Destiny admires in a 
 man, it is his courage to defy her. She relentlessly 
 crushes the supine spirit who acquiesces, but to him 
 who snaps his ringers in her face she often extends 
 a helping hand. In this case she did not make Quin 
 wait until the morrow to begin his colossal under- 
 taking. By means of a humble tack that lay in the 
 way of the speeding automobile, she at once set in 
 motion the series of events that were to determine 
 his future life. 
 
 By the time the puncture was repaired and they
 
 82 QUIN 
 
 were again on their way, it was half -past seven 
 and all hope of a timely arrival was abandoned. As 
 they slowed up at the Bartlett house, their uneasi- 
 ness was increased by the fact that lights were 
 streaming from every window and the front door 
 was standing open. 
 
 "Is that the doctor?" an excited voice called to 
 them from the porch. 
 
 "No," called back Eleanor, scrambling out of 
 the car. "What is the matter?" 
 
 No answer being received, she clutched Quin's 
 sleeve nervously. 
 
 "Something has happened! Look, the front hall 
 is full of people. Oh, I 'm afraid to go in ! I " 
 
 "Steady on!" said Quin, with a firm grip on her 
 elbow as he marched her up the steps and into the 
 hall. 
 
 Everything was in confusion. People were hurry- 
 ing to and fro, doors were slamming, excited voices 
 were asking questions and not waiting for answers. 
 "What's Dr. Snowden's telephone number?" 
 "Can't they get another doctor?" "Has somebody 
 sent for Randolph?" "Are they going to try to 
 move her?" everybody demanded of everybody else. 
 
 Eleanor pushed through the crowd until she 
 reached the foot of the steps.. There, lying on the 
 floor, with her towering white pompadour crushed 
 ignominiously against the newel-post, lay the one 
 person in the house who could have brought prompt
 
 QUIN 83 
 
 order out of the chaos. On one side of her knelt 
 Miss Enid frantically applying smelling salts, while 
 on the other stood Miss Isobel futilely wringing her 
 hands and imploring some one to go for a minister. 
 
 Suddenly the buzz of excited talk ceased. Madam 
 was returning to consciousness. She groaned 
 heavily, then opened one eye. 
 
 "What's the matter?" she demanded feebly. 
 "What's all this fuss about?" 
 
 "You fell down the steps, mother. Don't get 
 excited; don't try to move." 
 
 But Madam had already tried, with the result 
 that she fell back with a sharp cry of pain. 
 
 "Oh, my leg, my leg!" she groaned. "What are 
 you all standing around like fools for? Why don't 
 you send Tom for the doctor?" 
 
 "Tom is n't with us any more, dearest," said 
 Aunt Enid with trembling reassurance, "and Dr. 
 Snowden is out of town. But we are trying to get 
 Dr. Bean." 
 
 "I won't have Bean," Madam declared, clinching 
 her jaw with pain. "I '11 send him away if he 
 comes." 
 
 "Dr. Vaughn, then?" suggested Miss Enid ten- 
 derly. 
 
 "Vaughn nothing ! Send for Rawlins. He 's an 
 old stick, but he '11 do till Dr. Snowden gets here." 
 
 "But, mother," protested Miss Isobel. "Dr.
 
 84 QUIN 
 
 Rawlins lives in the country; he can't get here for 
 half an hour." 
 
 "Do as I tell you and stop arguing," commanded 
 Madam. "Has anybody telephoned Ranny?" 
 
 The two sisters exchanged significant glances. 
 
 "Their line is busy," said Miss Enid soothingly. 
 "We will get him soon." 
 
 "I want to be taken upstairs," announced Madam ; 
 "I want to be put in my own bed." 
 
 A buzz of protest met this suggestion, and a 
 small, nervous man in clerical garb, who had just 
 arrived, came forward to add his voice to the rest. 
 
 Madam glared at him savagely. "There '11 be 
 plenty of time for parsons when the doctors get 
 through with me," she said. "Tell some of those 
 able-bodied men back there to come here and take 
 me upstairs." 
 
 Quin, who had been standing in the background 
 looking down at the formidable old lady, promptly 
 came forward. 
 
 "I '11 take you up," he said. "Which leg is hurt?" 
 
 The old lady turned her head and looked up at 
 him. The note of confidence in his voice had evi- 
 dently appealed to her. 
 
 "It 's my left leg. I think it 's broken just above 
 the knee." 
 
 "Do you want me to put a splint on it?" 
 
 "Are you a doctor ?" 
 
 "No, ma'am ; but I can fix it so 's it won't hurt
 
 QUIN 85 
 
 \ 
 you so bad when we move you," Quin replied. 
 
 "How do you know you can?" 
 
 Quin ran his ringers through his hair and smiled. 
 
 "Well, I was n't with the Ambulance Corps for 
 six months in France for nothing." 
 
 Madam eyed him keenly for a moment ; then, "Go 
 ahead," she commanded. 
 
 A chorus of protests from the surrounding group 
 only deepened her determination. 
 
 "It 's my leg," she said irritably. "If he knows 
 how to splint it, let him do it. I want to be taken 
 upstairs." 
 
 It is difficult enough to apply a splint properly 
 under favorable circumstances; but when one has 
 only an umbrella and table napkins to work with, 
 and is hemmed in by a doubtful and at times protest- 
 ing audience, it becomes well-nigh impossible. 
 
 Quin worked slowly and awkwardly, putting the 
 bones as nearly as possible in position and then 
 binding them firmly in place. He paid no more 
 attention to the agitated comments of those about 
 him than he had paid to the whizzing bullets when 
 he rendered first aid to a fallen comrade in No 
 Man's Land. 
 
 During the painful operation Madam lay with 
 rigid jaws and clenched fists. Small beads of per- 
 spiration gathered on her forehead and her lips were 
 white. Now and then she flinched violently, but only 
 once did she speak, and that was when Miss Enid
 
 86 QUIN 
 
 held the smelling salts too close to her high-bridged 
 nose. 
 
 "Haven't I got enough to stand without that?" 
 she sputtered, knocking the bottle into the air and 
 sending the contents flying over the polished floor. 
 
 When Quin finished he looked at her with frank 
 admiration. 
 
 "You got nerve, all right," he said; then he 
 added gently: "Don't you worry about getting up- 
 stairs; it won't hurt you much now." 
 
 "You stay and help," said Madam peremptorily. 
 
 "Sure," said Quin. 
 
 It was not until she was in her own bed, and word 
 had come that Dr. Rawlins was on his way, that she 
 would let Quin go, and even then she called him 
 back. 
 
 "You ! Soldier ! Come here," was the faint edict 
 from the canopied bed. She was getting very weak 
 from the pain, and her words came in gasps. "Do 
 you know where the Aristo Apartments are?" 
 
 "No, but I can find out," said Quin. 
 
 "I want you to go for my son Mr. Randolph 
 Bartlett. If he 's not at home you find him. I '11 
 make it worth your while." 
 
 "I '11 find him," Quin said, with a reassuring pat 
 on her wrinkled hand. 
 
 As he went into the hall, Eleanor slipped out of 
 the adjoining room and followed him silently down 
 the stairs. She did not speak until they were at
 
 QUIN 87 
 
 the front door, and even then took the precaution of 
 stepping outside. 
 
 "I just wanted to come down and say good-by," 
 she said, 
 
 "But you surely won't be going now?" said Quin 
 hopefully. 
 
 "Yes, I 'm to go. Grandmother has just told Aunt 
 Isobel that everything is to be carried out exactly 
 as she planned it. But I wish they 'd let me stay 
 and help. Poor granny!" 
 
 Her eyes brimmed with ready tears. 
 
 "She'll pull through all right," said Quin, to 
 whom the tear-dimmed eyes of youth were more 
 unnerving than age's broken bones. "Don't worry, 
 Miss Eleanor, please. What time does your train 
 go in the morning?" 
 
 "Ten-thirty." 
 
 "I '11 be there at ten." 
 
 Eleanor brushed her tears away quickly. "No, 
 no you must n't," she said in quick alarm. "They 
 don't know that we ever saw each other before. 
 They think you just happened to be passing and ran 
 in to help. Oh, I don't want to give them any more 
 trouble. Promise me not to come!" 
 
 "Well, when you come back, then?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, when I come back," she whispered 
 hurriedly. Then she put out her hand impulsively. 
 "I think you 've been perfectly splendid to-night. 
 Good-by."
 
 88 QUIN 
 
 For a moment she stood there, her dainty figure 
 silhouetted against the bright doorway, with the 
 light shining through her soft hair giving her an 
 undeserved halo. Then she was gone, leaving him 
 on the steps in the moonlight, tenderly contemplat- 
 ing the hand that had just held hers.
 
 CHAPTER 8 
 
 IT was well that Quin had an errand to perform 
 that night. His emotions, which had been 
 accumulating compound interest since five o'clock, 
 demanded an outlet in immediate action. He had 
 not the faintest idea where the Aristo Apartments 
 might be ; but, wherever they were, he meant to find 
 them. Consultation with a telephone book at the 
 corner drug-store sent him across the city to a 
 newer and more fashionable residence quarter. As 
 he left the street-car at the corner indicated, he 
 asked a man who was just dismounting from a taxi- 
 cab for further information. 
 
 When the dapper gentleman, thus addressed, 
 turned toward him, it was evident that he had dined 
 not wisely but too well. He was at that mellow 
 stage that radiates affection, and, having bidden a 
 loving farewell to the taxi driver, he now linked his 
 arm in Quin's and repeated gaily: 
 
 " 'Risto? Of course I can find it for you, if it 's 
 where it was this morning! Always make a point 
 of helping a man that 's worse off than I am. 
 Always help a sholdier, anyhow. Take my arm, 
 old chap. Take my cane, too. I '11 help you." 
 
 89
 
 90 QUIN 
 
 Thus assisted and assisting, Quin good-humoredly 
 allowed himself to be conducted in a zigzag course to 
 the imposing doorway of a large apartment-house 
 across the street. 
 
 "Forgive me f ' taking you up stairway," apolo- 
 gized the affable gentleman. "Must n't let elevator 
 boy see you in this condishun. Take you up to my 
 apartment. Put you bed in m' own room. Got to 
 take care sholdiers." 
 
 At the second floor Quin tried to disentangle him- 
 self from his new-found protector. 
 
 "You can find your way home now, partner," he 
 said. "I got to go down and find out which floor my 
 party lives on." 
 
 But his companion held him tight. 
 
 "No, my boy! Mustn't go out again to-night. 
 M.P.'s '11 catch you. I '11 get you to bed without 
 anybody knowing. Must n't 'sturb my wife, 
 though. Must n't make any noise." And, adding 
 force to persuasion, he got his arms around Quin 
 and backed him so suddenly against the wall that 
 they both took an unexpected seat on the floor. 
 
 At this inopportune moment a door opened and 
 a delicate blonde lady in a pink kimono, followed 
 by an inquisitive poodle, peered anxiously out. 
 
 " 'S perfectly all right, darling!" reassured the 
 nethermost figure blithely. "Sholdier friend 's had 
 a little too much champagne. Bringing him in so 's
 
 QUIN 91 
 
 won't be 'rested, Nicest kind of chap, Perfectly 
 harmless !" 
 
 Quin scrambled to his feet and exchanged an 
 understanding look with the lady in the doorway. 
 
 "I found him down at the corner. Does he 
 belong here?" he asked. And, upon being informed 
 sorrowfully that he did, he added obligingly, "Don't 
 you want me to bring him in for you?" 
 
 "Will you?" said the lady in grateful agitation. 
 "The maids are both out, and I can't handle him 
 by myself. [Would you mind bringing him into his 
 bedroom ?" 
 
 Quin succeeded in detaching an affectionate arm 
 from his right leg and, getting his patient up, 
 piloted him into the apartment. 
 
 "I 'd just as leave put him to bed for you if you 
 like?" he offered, noting the nervousness of the 
 lady, who was fluttering about like a distracted 
 butterfly. 
 
 "Oh, would you?" she asked. "It would help me 
 immensely. If he is n't put to bed he is sure to want 
 to go out again." 
 
 "Shure to!" heartily agreed the object of their 
 solicitude. "Leave him to me, darling. I '11 hide 
 his uniform so 's he can't go out. Be a good girl> 
 run along I '11 take care of him." 
 
 Thus left to each other, a satisfactory compromise 
 was effected by which the host agreed to be 
 undressed and put to bed, provided Quin would later
 
 92 QUIN 
 
 submit to the same treatment. It was not the first 
 time Quin had thus assisted a brother in misfor- 
 tune, but he had never before had to do with gold 
 buttons and jeweled cuff-links, to say nothing of silk 
 underwear and sky-blue pajamas. Being on the 
 eve of adopting civilian clothes for the first time 
 in two years, he took a lively interest in every detail 
 of his patient's attire, from the modish cut of his 
 coat to the smart pattern of his necktie. 
 
 The bibulous one, who up to the present had 
 regarded the affair as humorous, now began to be 
 lachrymose, and by the time Quin got him into the 
 rose-draped bed he was in a state of deep dejection. 
 
 "My mother loves me," he assured Quin tear- 
 fully. "Gives me everything. I don't mean to be 
 ungrateful. But I can't go on in the firm. Bangs 
 is dishonest, but she won't believe it. She thinks 
 I don't know. They both think I 'm a cipher. I am 
 a cipher. But they 've made me one. Get so dis- 
 couraged, then go break over like this. Promised 
 Flo never would take another drink. But it 's no 
 use. Can't help myself. I 'm done for. Just a 
 cipher, a cipher, a ci " 
 
 Quin standing by the bed waiting for him to get 
 through adding noughts to his opinion of himself, 
 suddenly leaned forward and examined the picture 
 that hung above the table. It was of an imperial 
 old lady in black velvet, with a string of pearls 
 about her throat and a tiara on her towering white
 
 QUIN 93 
 
 pompadour. His glance swept from the photograph 
 to the flushed face with the tragic eyes on the pillow, 
 and he seemed to hear a querulous old voice repeat- 
 ing: "Ranny I want Ranny. Why don't they 
 send for Ranny?" 
 
 With two strides he was at the door. 
 
 "Are you Mrs. Randolph Bartlett?" he asked of 
 the lady who was nervously pacing the hall. 
 
 "Yes; why?" 
 
 "Because they sent me after him. It 's his 
 mother, you see she 's hurt." 
 
 "Madam Bartlett? What's happened?" 
 
 "She fell down the steps and broke her leg." 
 
 "How terrible! But she mustn't know about 
 him," cried Mrs. Ranny in instant alarm. "It always 
 makes her furious when he breaks over; and yet, 
 she is to blame she drives him to it." 
 
 "How do you mean?" asked Quin, plunging into 
 the situation with his usual temerity. 
 
 "I mean that she has dominated him, soul and 
 body, ever since he was born!" cried Mrs. Ranny 
 passionately. "She has forced him to stay in the 
 business when every detail of it is distasteful to 
 him. His life is a perfect hell there under Mr. 
 Bangs. He ought to have an outdoor life. He loves 
 animals he ought to be on a ranch." She pulled 
 herself up with an effort. "Forgive me for going 
 into all this before a stranger, but I am almost 
 beside myself. Of course I am sorry for Madam
 
 94 QUIN 
 
 Bartlett, but what can I do ? You can see for your- 
 self that my husband is in no condition to go to 
 her." 
 
 "Can't you say he 's sick?" 
 
 "She would n't believe it. She 's suspicious of 
 everything I do and say. Do you have to take back 
 an answer?" 
 
 "I told the old lady I 'd find him for her. You 
 see, I 'm a sort of a friend of Miss Eleanor's." 
 
 Under ordinary circumstances Mrs. Ranny would 
 have been the last to accept this without an explana- 
 tion ; but there were too many other problems press- 
 ing for her to worry about this one. 
 
 "I wonder how it would do," she said, "for you 
 to telephone that we are both out of town for the 
 night, spending the week-end in the country?" 
 
 "I guess one lie is as good as another," said Quin 
 ruefully. He was getting involved deeper than he 
 liked, but there seemed no other way out. "I '11 
 telephone from the drug-store. Anything else I 
 can do for you?" 
 
 "You have been so kind, I hate to ask another 
 favor." 
 
 "Let 's have it," said Quin. 
 
 "Would you by any chance have time to leave a 
 package of papers at Bartlett & Bangs' for me the 
 first thing in the morning? Mr. Bangs has been 
 telephoning me about them all day, and I 've been
 
 QUIN 93 
 
 nearly distracted, because my husband had them in 
 his pocket and I did not know where he was." 
 
 "Wait a minute," said Quin, going back into the 
 bedroom. "Are these the ones ?" 
 
 "Yes. They must be very important ; that 's why 
 I am afraid to intrust them to my maid. Be sure 
 to take them to Mr. Bangs himself, and if he asks 
 
 any questions " She caught her trembling lip 
 
 between her teeth and tried to force back the tears. 
 
 "Don't you worry!" cried Quin. "I'll make it 
 all right with him. You drink a glass of hot milk 
 or something, and go to bed." 
 
 She looked up at him gratefully. "I don't know 
 your name," she said, "but I certainly appreciate 
 your kindness to me to-night. I wish you would 
 come back some time and let us thank you " 
 
 "Oh, that 's all o.k.," said Quin, turning to the 
 door in sudden embarrassment. Then he discovered 
 that he was trying to shake hands and hold his cap 
 with the same hand, and in his confusion he slipped 
 on the hard- wood floor, and achieved an exit that 
 was scarcely more dignified than his entrance a half- 
 hour before.
 
 CHAPTER 9 
 
 THE news that Quin had broken through the 
 Bartlett barrage afforded great amusement to 
 the Martels at breakfast next morning. Of course 
 they were sympathetic over Madam Bartlett's acci- 
 dent the Martels' sympathy was always on tap for 
 friend or foe, but that did not interfere with a 
 frank enjoyment of Quin's spirited account of her 
 high-handed treatment of the family, especially the 
 incident of the smelling salts. 
 
 "She ought to belong to the Tank Brigade," said 
 Rose. " 'Treat 'em rough' is her motto." 
 
 "I like the old girl, though," said Quin disre- 
 spectfully, "she 's got so much pep. And talk about 
 your nerve! You should have seen her set her jaw 
 when I put the splint on!" 
 
 "Is the house very grand?" asked Myrna, hun- 
 gering for luxurious details. 
 
 "No," Cass broke in scornfully. "I been in the 
 hall twice. It looks like a museum big pictures and 
 statuary, and everything dark and gloomy." 
 
 "Yes, and Miss Isobel and Miss Enid are the 
 
 mummies," added Rose. "The only nice one in the 
 
 96
 
 QUIN 97 
 
 bunch besides Nell is Mr. Ranny, and he is hardly 
 ever sober." 
 
 "Well, I would n't be, either," said Cass, "if I 'd 
 been held down like he has all his life. The Bart- 
 lett estate was left in trust to the old lady, and she 
 holds the purse-strings and has the say-so about 
 everything." 
 
 Quin refrained from mentioning the fact that he 
 had also met Mr. Ranny. It was a point to his 
 credit, for the story would have been received with 
 hilarity, and he particularly enjoyed making Rose 
 laugh. 
 
 The entrance of Mr. Martel put an end to the 
 discussion of the Bartletts. Bitter as was his ani- 
 mosity toward the old lady, he would permit no 
 disrespect to be shown her or hers in his presence. 
 In the garish light of day he looked a trifle less 
 imposing than he had on New Year's eve in the fire- 
 light. His long white hair hung straight and dry 
 about his face; baggy wrinkles sagged under his 
 eyes and under his chin. The shoulders that once 
 proudly carried Mark Antony's shining armor now 
 supported a faded velvet breakfast .jacket that 
 showed its original color only in patches. But even 
 in the intimacy of the breakfast hour Papa Claude 
 preserved his air of distinction, the gracious conde- 
 scension of a temporary sojourner in an environment 
 from which he expected at any moment to take 
 flight.
 
 98 QUIN 
 
 When Cass had gone to work and the girls were 
 busy cleaning up the breakfast dishes, he linked his 
 arm in Quin's and drew him into the living-room. 
 
 "I have never allowed myself to submit to the 
 tyranny of time!" he said. "The wine of living 
 should be tasted slowly. Pull up a chair, my boy; 
 I want to talk to you. You don't happen to have 
 a cigar about you, do you?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. Here are two. Take 'em both. I got 
 to cut out smoking; it makes me cough." 
 
 Mr. Martel, protesting and accepting at the same 
 time, sank into his large chair and bade Quin pull 
 up a rocker. In the Martels' living-room all the 
 chairs were rockers; so, in fact, were the table and 
 the sofa, owing to missing castors. 
 
 "I am going to talk to you quite confidentially," 
 began Mr. Martel, giving himself up to the enjoy- 
 ment of the hour. "I am going to tell you of a new 
 and fascinating adventure upon which I am about 
 to embark. You have doubtless heard me speak of 
 a very wealthy and talented young friend of mine 
 Mr. Harold Phipps?" 
 
 Quin admitted without enthusiasm that he had, 
 and that he also knew him. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Phipps, or Captain, as you probably 
 know him, after a short medical career has found 
 it so totally distasteful that he is wisely returning 
 to an earlier love. As soon as he gets out of the 
 army he and I are going to collaborate on a play.
 
 QUIN 99 
 
 Of course I have technic at my finger-tips. Con- 
 struction, dramatic suspense, climax are second 
 nature to me. But I confess I have a fatal handi- 
 cap, one that has doubtless cost me my place at the 
 head of American dramatists to-day. I have never 
 been able to achieve colloquial dialogue ! My style 
 is too finished, you understand, my diction too per- 
 fect. Manager after manager has been on the verge 
 of accepting a play, and been deterred solely on 
 account of this too literary quality, I suffer from 
 the excess of my virtue ; you see ?" 
 
 Quin did not see. Mr. Martel's words conveyed 
 but the vaguest meaning to him. But it flattered his 
 vanity to be the recipient of such a great man's 
 confidence. 
 
 "Well, here 's my point," continued his host 
 impressively. "Mr. Phippe knows nothing of 
 technic, of construction; but he has a sense for 
 character and dialogue that amounts to genius. 
 Now, suppose I construct a great plot, and he sup- 
 plies great dialogue? What will be the inevitable 
 result? A masterpiece, a little modern master- 
 piece!" 
 
 Mr. Martel, soaring on the wings of his imagina- 
 tion, failed to observe that his listener was not 
 following. 
 
 "Does does Miss Eleanor know about all this ?" 
 Quin asked. 
 
 "Alas, no. I had no opportunity to tell her.
 
 ioo QUIN 
 
 Ah, Mr. Graham, I must confess, it hurts me, it 
 hurts me here," he indicated a grease-spot just 
 below his vest pocket, "to be separated from that 
 dear child just when she needs me most. She 
 should be already embarked in her great career. 
 Ellen Terry, Bernhardt, Rachel, all began their 
 training very early. If she had been left to me 
 she would be behind the footlights by now." 
 
 "They '11 never stand for her going on the stage," 
 said Quin authoritatively. It was astonishing how 
 intimate he felt with the Bartletts since he had put 
 two of them to bed. 
 
 "Ah, my friend," said Mr. Martel, shaking his 
 head and smiling, "what can be avoided whose end 
 is purposed by the mighty gods? Eleanor will fol- 
 low her destiny. She has the temperament, the voice, 
 the figure a trifle small, I grant you, but lithe, 
 graceful, pliant as a reed." 
 
 "Yes, I know what you mean," Quin agreed 
 ardently; "you can tell that in her dancing." 
 
 "But more than all, she has the great ambition, 
 the consuming desire for self-expression, for " 
 
 Quin's face clouded slightly and he again lost the 
 thread of the discourse. 
 
 "Lots of girls are stage-struck," he said pres- 
 ently, breaking in on Mr. Martel's rhapsody. "Miss 
 Eleanor 's young yet Don't you believe she will 
 get over it?" 
 
 "Young! Why, Mary Anderson was playing
 
 QUIN 101 
 
 Meg Merrilies when she was two years younger 
 than Eleanor. I tell you, Quinby you '11 forgive 
 my addressing you thus I tell you, the girl will 
 never get over it. She has inherited the histrionic 
 gift from her mother from me. The Bartletts 
 have given her money, education, social position; 
 but it remained for me the despised Claude Martel 
 to give her the soul of an artist. And mark 
 me," he paused effectively with a lifted forefinger, 
 "it will be Claude Martel who gives her her heart's 
 desire. For years I have fostered in her a love for 
 the drama. I have taken her to see great plays. I 
 have taught her to read great lines, and above all I 
 have fed her ambition. The time was limited a 
 night here, a day there; but I planted a seed they 
 cannot kill. It has grown, it will flower ; no one can 
 stop it now." 
 
 The subject was one upon which Quin would 
 fain have discoursed indefinitely, but a glance at his 
 watch reminded him that the business of the day did 
 not admit of further delay. He not only had an 
 important errand to perform, but he must look for 
 work. His exchequer, as usual, was very low and 
 the need for replenishing it was imperative. 
 
 When he reached Bartlett & Bangs' on the out- 
 skirts of the city, the big manufacturing plant was 
 ominously still. The only sign of life about the 
 place was at the wide entrance doors at the end of
 
 102 QUIN 
 
 the yards, where a group of men were talking and 
 gesticulating excitedly. 
 
 "What's the shindy?" Quin asked a bystander. 
 
 "Union men trying to keep scabs from going to 
 work," answered his informant. "Somebody 's 
 fixin' to get hurt there in about two minutes." 
 
 Quin, to whom a scrap was always a pleasant 
 diversion, ran forward and craned his neck to see 
 what was happening. Speeches were being made, 
 hot impassioned speeches, now in favor of the union, 
 now against it, and every moment the excitement 
 increased. Quin listened with absorbed attention, 
 trying to get the straight of the matter. 
 
 Just now a sickly-looking man, with a piece of 
 red flannel tied around his throat, was standing on 
 the steps, making a futile effort against the noise 
 to explain his return to work. 
 
 "I can't let 'em starve," he kept repeating in a 
 hoarse, apologetic voice. "When a man 's got a 
 sick wife and eight children, he ain't able to do as 
 he likes. I don't want to give in no more 'n you-all 
 do. Neither does Jim here, nor Tom Dawes. But 
 what can we do?" 
 
 "Do like the rest of us!" shouted some one in the 
 crowd. "Stick it out! Learn 'em a lesson. They 
 can't run their bloomin' old plant without us. Pull 
 him down off them steps, boys !" 
 
 "Naw, you don't!" cried another man, seizing a 
 stick and jumping at the steps. "We got a right to
 
 QUIN 103 
 
 do as we like, same as you! Come on up, Tom 
 Dawes! We ain't going to let our families in for 
 the Charity Organization." 
 
 Quick cries of "Traitor!" "Scab!" "Pull 'em 
 down!" were succeeded by a lively scrimmage in 
 which there was a rush for the steps. 
 
 Quin, from his place at the edge of the crowd, 
 saw a dozen men surround three. He saw the man 
 with the red rag about his throat put up a feeble 
 defense against two assailants. Then he ceased to 
 see and began only to feel. Whatever the row was 
 about, they were n't fighting fairly, and his blood 
 began to rise. He stood it as long as he could; 
 then, with a cry of protest, he plunged through the 
 crowd. In his sternest top-sergeant voice he issued 
 orders, and enforced them with a brawny fist that 
 was used to handling men. A moment later he 
 dragged a limp victim from under the struggling 
 group. 
 
 This unexpected interruption by an unknown 
 man in uniform, together with the appearance of a 
 stern-faced man in spectacles at an upper window, 
 had an instant effect on the crowd. The strikers 
 began to slink out of the yards, while the three 
 assaulted men dusted their clothes and entered the 
 factory. 
 
 Quin followed them in, and upon inquiring for 
 the office was directed to the second floor, where he 
 followed devious ways until he reached the door of
 
 QUIN 
 
 a large room filled with desks in rows, at each of 
 which sat a clerk. 
 
 "Mr. Bangs?" repeated a red-nosed girl, in 
 answer to his inquiry. "Got an appointment?" 
 
 "No," said Quin; "but I've got a parcel that's 
 to be delivered in person." s 
 
 The red-nosed one thereupon consulted the man 
 at the next desk, and, after some colloquy, conducted 
 Quin to one of the small rooms at the rear of the 
 large one. 
 
 The next moment Quin found himself face to face 
 with the stern-looking personage whose mere 
 appearance at the window a few minutes before had 
 had such a subduing effect on the crowd below. 
 
 As he listened to Quin's message he looked at him 
 narrowly and suspiciously with piercing black eyes 
 that seemed intent on seeking out the weakest spot 
 of whatever they rested upon. 
 
 "When did Mr. Bartlett give you these letters?" 
 he asked in a tone as cold as the tinkle of ice against 
 glass. 
 
 "I got 'em last night, sir." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "At his house, when I went to carry word about 
 his mother's accident." 
 
 "Close that door back of you," said Mr. Bangs, 
 with a jerk of his head; then he went on. "So Mr. 
 Bartlett was at home when you reached there last 
 night ?"
 
 QUIN 105 
 
 "Oh, yes, sir !" Quin assured him with an empha- 
 sis that implied Mr. Randolph Bartlett's unfailing- 
 presence at his own fireside on every Sabbath 
 evening. 
 
 "That is strange," Mr. Bangs commented dryly. 
 "Miss Enid Bartlett telephoned an hour ago that her 
 brother and his wife were out of the city." 
 
 Quin was visibly embarrassed. He was not used 
 to treading the quicksands of duplicity, and he felt 
 himself sinking. 
 
 "Young man," said Mr. Bangs sternly, "I am 
 inclined to think you are deceiving me." 
 
 "No," said Quin with spirit, "I have n't deceived 
 you; but I did lie to Miss Eleanor's aunt over the 
 telephone." 
 
 "What was your object?'* 
 
 "Well, I couldn't tell her Mr. Bartlett was 
 stewed, could I?" 
 
 Mr. Bangs gave a short, contemptuous laugh. 
 "As I thought," he said. "That will do." 
 
 But Quin had no intention of going until he had 
 spoken a word in his own behalf. The idea had 
 just occurred to him that by obtaining a position 
 with Bartlett & Bangs he could add another link to 
 the chain that was to bind him to Eleanor. 
 
 "You don't happen to have a job for me?" he 
 inquired of the back of Mr. Bangs's bald, dome- 
 like head.
 
 io6 QUIN 
 
 "A job?" repeated Mr. Bangs, glancing over his 
 shoulder at Quin's uniform. 
 
 "Yes, sir. I 'm out of the service now." 
 
 "What can you do?" 
 
 Quin looked at him quizzically. "I can receive 
 and obey the orders of the commanding officer," he 
 said. 
 
 Mr. Bangs, being humor-proof, evidently consid- 
 ered this impertinent, and repeated his question 
 sharply. 
 
 "Oh, I '11 do anything," said Quin rashly. "Sol- 
 diers can't be choosers these days." 
 
 Mr. Bangs cast a critical eye on his strong, well 
 built frame: 
 
 "We might use you in the factory," he said indif- 
 ferently; "we need all the strike-breakers we can 
 get." 
 
 Quin's face fell "I don't know about that," he 
 said slowly. "I have n't made up my mind yet about 
 this union business." 
 
 "I thought you were helping the union men in 
 the yard just now." 
 
 "I was helping that little Irishman that was get- 
 ting the life choked out of him." 
 
 Mr. Bangs's mouth became a hard, straight line. 
 
 "Then I take it you sympathize with the strikers ?" 
 
 "I don't know whether I do or not," Quin declared 
 stoutly. "I don't know anything about it. But one 
 thing 's certain I 'm not going to take another
 
 QUIN 107 
 
 fellow's job, when he 's holding out for better con- 
 ditions, until I know whether those better condi- 
 tions are due him or not." 
 
 Mr. Bangs's fish eyes regarded him with glitter- 
 ing disfavor, 
 
 "Perhaps you would prefer an office job?" he 
 suggested with cold insolence. "I need some one to 
 brush out in the morning and to wash windows 
 when necessary." 
 
 The erstwhile hero of the Sixth Field Artillery 
 felt his heart thumping madly under his distin- 
 guished-conduct medal; but he had declared that he 
 would accept any kind of work, and he was deter- 
 mined not to have his bluff called. 
 
 "All right, sir," he said gamely; "I'll start at 
 that if it will lead to something better." 
 
 "That rests entirely with you," said Mr. Bangs. 
 "Report for work in the morning." 
 
 Quin got out of the office with a hot head, cold 
 hands, and a terrible sinking of the heart. He had 
 forged the first link in his chain he was an 
 employee of the great Bartlett & Bangs Company; 
 but the gap between himself and Eleanor seemed 
 suddenly to have widened to infinity.
 
 CHAPTER 10 
 
 IF the window-washing did not become an actu- 
 ality, it was due to the weather rather than to 
 any clemency on the part of Mr. Bangs. He 
 seemed bent upon testing Quin's mettle, and re- 
 quired tasks of him that only a man used to the 
 discipline of the army would have performed. 
 
 Quin, on his part, carried out instructions with 
 a thoroughness and dispatch that upset the entire 
 office force. He had been told to clean things up, 
 and he took an unholy joy in interpreting the order 
 in military terms. Never before had there been such 
 a drastic overhauling of the premises. He did not 
 stop at cleaning up; he insisted upon things being 
 kept clean and orderly. In a short time he had 
 instituted reforms that broke the traditions of half 
 a century. 
 
 "Who moved my desk out like this?" thundered 
 Mr. Bangs on the second day after Quin's arrival. 
 
 "I did, sir," said Quin. "You can get a much 
 better light here, and no draught from the door." 
 
 "Well, when I want my desk moved I will inform 
 you," said Mr. Bangs. 
 
 But a day's trial of the new arrangement proved 
 1 08
 
 QUTN 109 
 
 so satisfactory that the desk remained in its new 
 position. 
 
 Other innovations met with less favor. The 
 clerks in the outer office objected to the windows 
 being kept down from the top, and Mr. Bangs was 
 constantly annoyed when he found that his papers 
 were disturbed by a daily dusting and sorting. 
 Quin met the complaints and rebuffs with easy good 
 humor, and went straight on with his business. The 
 moment his energies were dammed at one point, 
 they burst forth with fresh vigor at another. 
 
 The only object about the office that was left 
 undisturbed was Minerva, a large black cat which 
 the stenographer told him belonged to Mr. Randolph 
 Bartlett. Quin was hopelessly committed to cats 
 in general, and to black cats in particular, and the 
 fact that this one met with Mr. Bangs's marked 
 disfavor made him champion her cause at once. 
 One noon hour, in his first week, he was sitting 
 alone in the inner office, scratching Minerva's head 
 in the very spot behind the ear where a cat most 
 likes to be scratched, when a lively voice from the 
 doorway demanded: 
 
 "Well, young man, what do you mean by making 
 love to my cat in my absence?" 
 
 "She flirted with me first," said Quin. Then he 
 took a second look at the stranger and got up smil- 
 ing. "You are Mr. Bartlett, I believe?" 
 
 "Yes. Are you waiting for Mr. Bangs?"
 
 no QUIN 
 
 "No, sir," said Quin ; "he 's waiting for me. 
 I 'm to let him know as soon as you come in. I am 
 the new office-boy." 
 
 He grinned down on the shorter man, who in 
 his turn laughed outright. 
 
 "Office-boy? What nonsense! Where have I 
 seen you before? What is your name?" 
 
 "Quinby Graham, sir." 
 
 "Drop the sir, for heaven's sake. I 'm no officer. 
 Where in the dickens have I met you? Oh! wait 
 a second, I 've got it ! Sunday night. We were out 
 somewhere together " 
 
 "Hold on there," said Quin. "You were out 
 together, but I was out by myself. We met at your 
 door." 
 
 "So you were the chap that played the good 
 Samaritan ? Well, it was damned clever of you, old 
 man. I 'm glad of a chance to thank you. I had n't 
 touched a drop for six weeks before that, but you 
 see " 
 
 Mr. Bangs's metallic voice was heard in the outer 
 office, and the two younger men started. 
 
 "You bet I see !" said Quin sympathetically as he 
 hurried out to inform the senior member of the 
 firm that the junior member awaited his pleasure. 
 
 What happened at that interview was recounted 
 to him by Miss Leaks, the little drab-colored stenog- 
 rapher, who had returned from lunch when the storm 
 was at its height.
 
 QUIN in 
 
 "It 's a wonder Mr. Ranny don't kill that old man 
 for the way he sneers at him," she said indignantly 
 to Quin. "Why, / would n't take off him what Mr. 
 Ranny does! But then, what can he do? His 
 mother keeps him here for a mouth-piece for her, 
 and Mr. Bangs knows it. It 's no wonder he drinks, 
 hitched up to a cantankerous old hyena like that. 
 He never can stand up for himself, but he stood up 
 for you all right." 
 
 "For me?" repeated Quin. "Where did I 
 come in?" 
 
 "Why, he said it was a shame for a man like you 
 to be doing the work you are doing, and that he for 
 one would n't stand it. He talked right up to the 
 boss about patriotism and our duty to the returned 
 soldier, until he made the old tyrant look like ten 
 cents ! And then he come right out and said if Mr. 
 Bangs could n't offer you anything better he could." 
 
 "What did he say to that?" asked Quin. 
 
 "He curled up his lip and asked Mr. Ranny why 
 he did n't engage you for a private secretary, and 
 if you '11 believe me Mr. Ranny looked him straight 
 in the eye and said it was a good idea, and that he 
 would." 
 
 "A private secretary!" Quin exclaimed. "But 
 I don't know a blooming thing about stenography 
 or typewriting." 
 
 "Don't you let on," advised Miss Leaks. "Mr. 
 Ranny does n't have enough work to amount to any-
 
 H2 QUIN 
 
 thing, and he 's so tickled at carrying his point that 
 he won't be particular. I can teach you how to 
 take dictation and use the typewriter." 
 
 The following week found Quin installed in the 
 smaller of the two private offices, with a title that 
 in no way covered the duties he was called upon to 
 perform. To be sure, he got Mr. Ranny's small 
 affairs into systematic running order, and, under 
 Miss Leaks's efficient instruction, was soon able 
 slowly but accurately to hammer out the necessary 
 letters on the typewriter. He was even able at 
 times to help Mr. Chester, the melancholy book- 
 keeper whom the other clerks called "Fanny." 
 
 Through working with figures all his life Mr. 
 Chester had come to resemble one. With his lean 
 body and drooping oval head, he was not unlike the 
 figure nine, an analogy that might be continued by 
 saying that nine is the highest degree a bachelor 
 number can achieve, the figures after that going in 
 couples. It was an open secret that the tragedy of 
 Mr. Chester's uneventful life lay in that simple 
 fact. 
 
 In addition to Quin's heterogeneous duties at the 
 office, he was frequently pressed into service for 
 more personal uses. When Mr. Ranny failed to 
 put in an appearance, he was invariably dispatched 
 to find him, and was often able to handle the situa- 
 tion in a way that was a great relief to all concerned. 
 
 One day, after he had been with the firm several
 
 QUIN 113 
 
 weeks, he was dispatched with a budget of papers 
 for Madam Bartlett to sign. It was the first time 
 he had entered the house since the night of the acci- 
 dent, and as he stood in the front hall waiting 
 instructions, he looked about him curiously. 
 
 The lower floor had been "done" in peacock blue 
 and gold when Miss Enid made her debut twenty 
 years before, and it had never been undone. An 
 embossed dado and an even more embossed frieze 
 encircled the walls, and the ceiling was a complicated 
 mosaic of color and design. The stiff-backed 
 chairs and massive sofas were apparently committed 
 for life to linen strait- jackets. Heavy velvet cur- 
 tains shut out the light and a faint smell of coal soot 
 permeated the air. Over the hall fireplace hung a 
 large portrait of Madam Bartlett, just inside the 
 drawing-room gleamed a marble bust of her, and 
 two long pier-glasses kept repeating the image of 
 her until she dominated every nook and corner of 
 the place. 
 
 But Quin saw little of all this. To him the house 
 was simply a background for images of Eleanor: 
 Eleanor coming down the broad stairs in her blue 
 and gray costume; Eleanor tripping through the 
 hall in her Red Cross uniform; Eleanor standing in 
 the doorway in the moonlight, telling him how 
 wonderful he was. 
 
 He had written her exactly ten letters since her 
 departure, but only two had been dispatched, and
 
 H4 QUIN 
 
 by a fatal error these two were identical. After a 
 superhuman effort to couch his burning thoughts 
 in sufficiently cool terms, he had achieved a partially 
 successful result; but, discovering after addressing 
 the envelope that he had misspelled two words, he 
 laboriously made another copy, addressed a second 
 envelope, then inadvertently mailed both. 
 
 He had received such a scoffing note in reply that 
 his ears tingled even now as he thought of it. It 
 was only when he recalled the postscript that he 
 found consolation. "How funny that you should 
 get a position at Bartlett & Bangs's," she had writ- 
 ten. "If you should happen to meet any member 
 of my family, for heaven's sake don't mention my 
 name. They might link you up with the Hawaiian 
 Garden, or the trip to the camp that night grand- 
 mother was hurt. Just let our friendship be a little 
 secret between you and me." 
 
 " 'You and me/ ' Quin repeated the words 
 softly to himself, as he stood there among the objects 
 made sacred by her one-time presence. 
 
 "Madam Bartlett wishes you to come upstairs and 
 explain the papers before she signs them," said a 
 woman in nurse's uniform from the stair landing, 
 and, cap in hand, Quin followed her up the steps. 
 
 At the open door of the large front room he 
 paused. Lying in royal state in a huge four-poster 
 bed was Madam Bartlett, resplendent in a purple 
 robe, with her hair dressed in its usual elaborate
 
 QUIN 115 
 
 style, and in her ears pearls that, Quin afterward 
 assured the Martels, looked like moth-balls. 
 
 "You go on out of here and stay until I ring for 
 you," she snapped at the nurse; then she squinted 
 her eyes and looked at Quin. She did not put on 
 her eye-glasses; they were reserved for feminine 
 audiences exclusively. 
 
 "What do they mean by sending me this jumble 
 of stuff?" she demanded, indicating the papers 
 strewn on the silk coverlid. "How do they expect 
 me to know what they are all about?" 
 
 "They don't," said Quin reassuringly, coming 
 forward ; "they sent me to tell you." 
 
 "And who are you, pray ?" 
 
 "I am Mr. Randolph's er er secretary." 
 
 For the life of him he could not get through it 
 without a grin, and to his relief the old lady's lips 
 also twitched. 
 
 "Much need he had for a secretary!" she said, 
 then added shrewdly : "Are n't you the soldier that 
 put the splint on my leg?" 
 
 Quin modestly acknowledged that he was. 
 
 "It was a mighty poor job," said Madam, "but I 
 guess it was better than nothing." 
 
 "How 's the leg coming on ?" inquired Quin 
 affably. 
 
 "It 's not coming on at all," Madam said. "If I 
 listen to those fool doctors it 's coming off." 
 
 Quin shook his head in emphatic disapproval.
 
 QUIN 
 
 "Don't you listen to 'em," he advised earnestly. 
 "Doctors don't know everything! Why, they told 
 a fellow out at the hospital that his arm would have 
 to come off at the shoulder. He lit out over the 
 hill, bath-robe and all, for his home town, and got 
 six other doctors to sign a paper saying he didn't 
 need an amputation. He got back in twenty-four 
 hours, was tried for being A. W. O. L., and is 
 serving his time in the prison ward to-day. But 
 he 's still got his arm all right." 
 
 "Good for him!" said Madam heartily; then, re- 
 calling the business in hand, she added peevishly: 
 "Well, stop talking now and explain these papers." 
 
 Quin went over them several times with great 
 patience, and then held the ink-well while she trem- 
 blingly signed her name. 
 
 "Kinder awkward doing things on your back," he 
 said sympathetically, as she sank back exhausted. 
 
 "Awkward ? It 's torture. The cast is bad 
 enough in itself; but having to lie in one position 
 like this makes me sore all over." 
 
 "You don't have to tell me," said Quin, easing up 
 the bed-clothes with quite a professional air; "I 
 was six months on my back. But there 's no sense 
 in keeping you like this. Why don't they rig you 
 up a pulley, so 's you can change the position of 
 your body without disturbing your leg?" 
 
 "How do you mean?" 
 
 "Like this," said Quin, taking a paper -knife and
 
 QUIN 117 
 
 a couple of spoons from the table and demonstrating 
 his point. 
 
 Madam listened with close attention, and so ab- 
 sorbed were she and Quin that neither of them were 
 conscious of Miss Isobel's entrance until they heard 
 her feeble protest: 
 
 "I would not dare try anything like that without 
 consulting Dr. Rawlins." 
 
 "Nobody wants you to dare anything," flared out 
 her mother. "What the boy says sounds sensible. 
 He says he has fixed them for the soldiers at the 
 hospital. I want him to fix one for me." 
 
 "When shall I come?" Quin asked. 
 
 "Come nothing. You '11 stay and do it now. 
 Telephone the factory that I am keeping you here 
 for the morning. Isobel, order him whatever he 
 needs. And now get out of here, both of you; I 
 want to take a nap." 
 
 Thus it was that, an hour later, the new colored 
 butler was carrying the papers back to Bartlett & 
 Bangs's, and Mr. Randolph's new secretary was 
 sawing wood in Madam Bartlett's cellar. It was 
 a humble beginning, but he whistled jubilantly as he 
 worked. Already he saw himself climbing, by 
 brilliant and spectacular deeds, to a dazzling pinnacle 
 of security in the family's esteem.
 
 CHAPTER ii 
 
 MADAM BARTLETT'S accident had far- 
 reaching results. For fifty years her firm 
 hand had brooked no slightest interference with the 
 family steering-wheel, and now that it was removed 
 the household machinery came to a standstill. She 
 who had "ridden the whirlwind and directed the 
 storm" now found herself ignominiously laid low. 
 Instead of rising with the dawn, primed for battle 
 in club committee, business conclave, or family 
 council, she lay on her back in a darkened room, a 
 prisoner to pain. The only vent she had for her 
 pent-up energy was in hourly tirades against her 
 daughters for their inefficiency, the nurses for their 
 incompetency, the doctors for their lack of skill, and 
 the servants for their disobedience. 
 
 The one person who, in any particular, found 
 favor with her these days was her son's new secre- 
 tary. Every Saturday, when Quinby Graham 
 stopped on his way to the bank with various papers 
 for her to sign, he was plied with questions and 
 intrusted with various commissions. A top sergeant 
 was evidently just what Madam had been looking 
 for all her life one trained to receive orders and 
 
 118
 
 QUIN 119 
 
 execute them. All went well until one day when 
 Quin refused to smuggle in some forbidden article 
 of diet ; then the steam-roller of her wrath promptly 
 passed over him also. 
 
 He waited respectfully until her breath and vo- 
 cabulary were alike exhausted, then said good- 
 humoredly : 
 
 "I used to board with a woman up in Maine that 
 had hysterics like that. They always made her 
 feel a lot better. Don't you want me to shift that 
 pulley a bit? You don't look comfortable." 
 
 Madam promptly ordered him out of the room. 
 But next day she made an excuse to send for him, 
 and actually laughed when he stepped briskly up to 
 the bed, saluted smartly, and impudently asked her 
 how her grouch was. 
 
 There was something in his very lack of rever- 
 ence, in his impertinent assumption of equality, in 
 his refusal to pay her the condescending homage due 
 feebleness and old age, that seemed to flatter her. 
 
 "He 's a mule," she told Randolph "a mule with 
 horse sense." 
 
 Quin's change from khaki to civilian clothes af- 
 fected him in more ways than one. Constitutionally 
 he was opposed to saying "sir" to his fellow men; 
 to standing at attention until he was recognized; to 
 acknowledging, by word or gesture, that he was 
 any one's inferior on this wide and democratic 
 planet. He much preferred organizing to being
 
 120 QUIN 
 
 organized, leading to being led. Early in his mili- 
 tary training he had evinced an inclination to take 
 things into his own hands and act without authority. 
 It was somewhat ironic that the very trait that had 
 deprived him of a couple of bars on his shoulder 
 should have put the medal on his breast. 
 
 But freedom from the restrictions of army life 
 brought its penalties. He found that blunders con- 
 doned in a soldier were seriously criticized in a 
 civilian; that the things he had been at such pains 
 to learn in the past two years were of no apparent 
 value to him now. It was a constant surprise to 
 him that a plaid suit and three-dollar necktie should 
 meet with less favor in the feminine eye than a 
 dreary drab uniform. 
 
 About the first of March he was getting some- 
 what discouraged at his slow progress, when an inci- 
 dent happened that planted his feet firmly on the 
 first rung of his social ladder. 
 
 Ever since their mother's accident, Miss Isobel 
 and Miss Enid had stood appalled before their new 
 responsibilities. They were like two trembling dead 
 leaves that still cling to a shattered but sturdy old 
 oak. What made matters worse was the absence of 
 the faithful black Tom, who for years had served 
 them by day and guarded them by night. They lived 
 in constant fear of burglars, which grew into a 
 veritable terror when some one broke into the 
 pantry and rifled the shelves.
 
 QUIN 121 
 
 Quin heard about it when he arrived on Saturday 
 morning, and as usual offered advice: 
 
 "What you need is a man in the house. Then 
 you would n't be scared all the time." 
 
 "Well," said Madam, "what about you?" 
 
 Quin's face fell. He had no desire to exchange 
 the noisy, wholesome family life of the Martels for 
 the silent, somber grandeur of the Bartletts. His 
 affections had taken root in the shabby little brown 
 house that always seemed to be humming gaily to 
 itself. When the piano was not being played, the 
 violin or guitar was. There were bursts of laugh- 
 ter, snatches of song, and young people going and 
 coming through doors that never stayed closed. 
 
 "You don't seem keen about the proposition," 
 Madam commented dryly, smoothing the bed-clothes 
 with her wrinkled fingers. 
 
 "Well, I can't say I am," Quin admitted. "You 
 see, I 'm living with some friends out on Sixth 
 Street. They are sort of kin-folks of yours, I be- 
 lieve the Martels." 
 
 A carefully aimed hand grenade could have pro- 
 duced no more violent or immediate result. Madam 
 damned the Martels, individually and collectively, 
 and furiously disclaimed any relationship. 
 
 "They are a trifling, worthless lot !" she stormed. 
 "I wish I 'd never heard of them. They fastened 
 their talons on my son Bob, and ruined his life, and 
 now they are doing all they can to ruin my grand-
 
 122 QUIN 
 
 daughter. Haven't you ever heard them speak 
 of me?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Quin with laughing significance. 
 
 "What do they say?" Madam demanded instantly. 
 
 "You want it straight?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, Mr. Martel told me only last night that 
 he thought you were an object of pity." 
 
 Madam's jaw relaxed in amazement. 
 
 "What on earth did he mean?" she asked. 
 
 "He said you 'd got 'most everything in life that 
 he 'd missed, but he 'd hate to change places with 
 you." 
 
 She lay perfectly still, staring at him with her 
 small restless eyes, and when she spoke again it was 
 to revert to the subject of burglars. 
 
 Quin was relieved. He had been skating on thin 
 ice in discussing the Martels, for any moment might 
 have brought up a question concerning Eleanor. 
 
 "I used to have a corporal that was an ex-bur- 
 glar," he said, plunging into the new subject with 
 alacrity. "First-rate fellow, too. Last I heard of 
 him, he had a position as chauffeur with a rich old 
 lady who lived alone up in Detroit. She had two 
 burglar-alarm systems, but the joke of it was she 
 made him sleep in the house for extra protection!" 
 
 "I suppose you are trying to frighten me off from 
 engaging you?" Madam asked, 
 
 "Not exactly," Quin smiled, "Of course I'll
 
 QUIN 123 
 
 come if you can't get anybody else. But there's 
 no question of engaging me. If I come, I pay 
 board." 
 
 Madam laughed aloud for the first time since her 
 accident. 
 
 "Do you take me for a landlady?" she asked. 
 
 "Only when you take me for a night-watchman," 
 said Quin. 
 
 They eyed each other steadily for a moment, then 
 she held out her hand. 
 
 "We '11 compromise," she said. "No salary and 
 no board. We '11 try it out for a week." 
 
 The next day Quin's suit-case, containing all his, 
 worldly possessions, was transferred from the small 
 stuffy room over the Martels' kitchen to the large 
 luxurious one over the Bartletts' dining-room. It 
 was quite the grandest room he had ever occupied, 
 with its massive walnut furniture and its heavily 
 draped windows; but, had it been stripped bare but 
 for a single picture, it would still have been a cham- 
 bre de luxe to him. The moment he entered he 
 discovered a photograph of Eleanor on the mantel, 
 and ten minutes later, when Hannah tapped at the 
 door to say that dinner was served, he was still 
 standing with arms folded on the shelf in absorbed 
 adoration. 
 
 That first meal with the Misses Bartlctt was an 
 ordeal he never forgot. Their formal aloofness and 
 evident dismay at his presence were enough in them-
 
 124 QUIN 
 
 selves to embarrass him; but combined with the 
 necessity of choosing the right knife and fork, of 
 breaking his bread properly, and of removing his 
 spoon from his coffee-cup, they were quite over- 
 powering. During his two years in the army he 
 had drifted into the easy habits and easier vernacular 
 of the enlisted man. Whatever knowledge he ha<J 
 of the amenities of life had almost been forgotten. 
 But, though his social virtues were few, he pas- 
 sionately identified himself with them rather than 
 with his faults, which were many. To prove his 
 politeness, for instance, he insisted upon his hos- 
 tesses having second helps to every dish, offered to 
 answer the telephone whenever it rang, and even 
 obligingly started to answer the door-bell during the 
 salad course. 
 
 That dinner was but the initiation into a week of 
 difficult adjustments. When he was not in the arctic 
 region surrounding Miss Isobel and Miss Enid, he 
 was in the torrid zone of Madam's presence. New 
 and embarrassing situations confronted him on 
 every hand, and when he was not breaking conven- 
 tions he was breaking china. But Quin was not 
 sensitive, and, in spite of the fact that he was being 
 silently or vocally condemned most of the time, he 
 cheerfully persevered in his determination to win 
 the respect of the family. 
 
 The saving of his ignorance was that he never 
 tried to conceal it. He looked at it with surprise
 
 QUIN 125 
 
 and discussed it with disconcerting frankness. He 
 was no more abashed in learning new and better 
 ways of conducting himself than he would have 
 been in learning a new language. He laughed good- 
 humoredly at his mistakes and seldom committed the 
 same one a second time. His limitations were to him 
 like the frontier to a pioneer a thing to be reached 
 and crossed. 
 
 If only he could have contented himself with per- 
 forming the one duty required of him and then 
 gracefully effacing himself, his success would have 
 been assured. But that was not Quin's nature. 
 Having identified himself with the family, he 
 promptly assumed full responsibility for its welfare. 
 By the end of the second week he was the self- 
 constituted head of the establishment. No mission 
 was too high or too low for him to volunteer to 
 perform. One moment he was tactfully severing 
 diplomatic relations with a consulting physician in 
 the front hall, the next he was firing the furnace in 
 the basement. Whenever he was in the house he 
 was meeting emergencies and adjusting difficulties, 
 upsetting established customs and often achieving 
 unexpected results with new ones, 
 
 Miss Isobel and Miss Enid stood aghast at his 
 temerity, and waited hourly for the lightning of 
 Madam's wrath to annihilate him. But, though the 
 bolts rained about him, they failed to destroy him. 
 
 On one occasion Miss Isobel was so outraged by
 
 126 QUIN 
 
 his familiar attitude toward her mother that she 
 plucked up courage to remonstrate with him; but 
 Madam, instead of appreciating the interference on 
 her behalf, promptly turned upon her defender. 
 
 "Now, Isobel," she said caustically, "you may be 
 old enough to want men to respect you, but I am 
 young enough to want them to like me. You leave 
 young Graham alone." 
 
 Quin meanwhile, in spite of his arduous duties 
 at the office and at home, was living in a world of 
 dreams. The privilege of hearing Eleanor's name 
 frequently mentioned, of getting bits of news of her 
 from time to time, the exciting possibility of being 
 under the same roof with her when she returned, 
 supplied the days with thrilling zest. Since her 
 teasing note in answer to his double-barreled com- 
 munication, he had written but once and received 
 no answer ; but he knew that she was expected home 
 for the Easter vacation, and he lived on that pros- 
 pect. 
 
 One evening, when he was summoned to Madam's 
 room to shorten her new crutches, he realized that 
 the all-important subject was under discussion. 
 
 "Is n't that exactly like her?" Madam was saying. 
 "Refusing to go in the first place, and now objecting 
 to coming home." 
 
 "Well, it is n't especially gay for her here, is it?" 
 Miss Enid ventured in feeble defense. "I am afraid 
 we are rather dull company for a young girl."
 
 QUIN 127 
 
 "Well, make it gay," commanded Madam. "You 
 and Isobel aren't so old and feeble that you can't 
 think of some way to entertain young people." 
 
 "A tea?" suggested Miss Enid. 
 
 "A tea would never tempt Eleanor. She 's too 
 much her mother's child to enjoy anything so staid 
 and respectable." 
 
 "Why don't you give her a dance?" suggested 
 Quin enthusiastically, looking up from his work. 
 
 "Give who a dance?" demanded Madam in sur- 
 prise. 
 
 "Miss Eleanor," said Quin, bending over his work 
 and blushing to the roots of his stubby hair. 
 
 The three ladies exchanged startled glances; then 
 Miss Enid said: 
 
 "Of course. I had forgotten that you met her 
 the night of the accident. I wonder if we could 
 give the dear child a party?" 
 
 "It is not to be thought of," s.iid Miss Isobel, 
 "with no regular butler, and mother ill " 
 
 "I tell you, I 'm not ill !" snapped Madam. "I 
 intend to be up and about by Easter. I '11 give as 
 many parties as I like. Hurry up with those 
 crutches, Graham ; do you think I am going to wait 
 all night?" 
 
 One of Quin's first acts upon coming into the 
 house had been to aid and abet Madam in her de- 
 termination to use her injured leg. Dr. Rawlins
 
 128 QUIN 
 
 had infuriated her by his pessimistic warnings and 
 his dark suggestions of a wheeled chair. 
 
 "We '11 show 'em what you can do when you get 
 that cast off," Quin had reassured her with the 
 utmost confidence. "I 've limbered up heaps of 
 stiff legs for the fellows. It takes patience and grit. 
 I got the patience and you got the grit, so there we 
 are!" 
 
 Now that the cast was off, a few steps were at- 
 tempted each night, during which painful operation 
 Miss Enid fled to another room to shed tears of 
 apprehension, while Miss Isobel hovered about the 
 hall, ready to call the doctor if anything happened. 
 
 "Is that better?" he asked now, as he got Madam 
 to her feet and carefully adjusted the crutches. "If 
 you say they are too short, I '11 tell you what the 
 little man said when he was teased about his legs. 
 'They reach the ground,' he said; 'what more can 
 you ask?' ' 
 
 "Shut up your nonsense, and mind what you are 
 doing!" cried Madam. "My leg is worse than it 
 was yesterday. I can't put my foot to the ground." 
 
 "Oh, yes, you can," Quin insisted, coaxing her 
 from the bed-post to the dresser. "You are coming 
 on fine. I never saw but one person do better. That 
 was a guy I knew in France who never danced a 
 step until he lost a leg, and then his cork leg taught 
 his other leg to do the fox-trot." 
 
 "Did n't I tell you to hush !" commanded Madam,
 
 QUIN 129 
 
 laughing in spite of herself. "You will have me 
 falling over here in a minute." 
 
 ,\Vhen she was back in her chair and Quin was 
 leaving, she beckoned to him. 
 
 "What about Mr. Ranny?" she asked in an 
 anxious whisper. "Was he at the office to-day?" 
 
 Quin had been dreading the question, but when 
 it came he did not evade it. Randolph Bartietfs 
 lapses from grace were coming with such alarming 
 frequency that the sisters' frantic efforts to keep the 
 truth from their mother only resulted in arousing 
 her suspicion and making her more unhappy. 
 
 "No," said Quin ; "he has n't been there for a 
 week. He 's never going to be any better as long 
 as he stays in the business. You don't know what 
 he has to stand from Mr. Bangs." 
 
 "I know what Mr. Bangs has had to stand from 
 him." 
 
 "Yes ; but Mr. Ranny 's never mean. He is one 
 of the kindest, nicest gentlemen I ever met up with. 
 But he can't stand being nagged at all the time, and 
 he feels that he don't count for anything. He says 
 Mr. Bangs considers him a figurehead, and that 
 he 'd rather be selling shoestrings for himself than 
 be in partnership with him." 
 
 "Yes, and if I let him go that 's what he would be 
 doing," said Madam bitterly. 
 
 "Mr. Chester don't think so," persisted Quin; 
 "he says Mr. Ranny 's got a lot of ability."
 
 130 QUIN 
 
 "Don't quote that sissified Francis Chester to me. 
 He may be a good man I suppose he is ; but I can't 
 abide the sight of him. He goes around holding 
 one hand in the other as if he were afraid he 'd 
 ipill it ! What did you say he said about Ranny ?" 
 
 "He said he had ability; that if he was on his own 
 in the country some place " 
 
 " 'On his own' !" Madam's contempt was great. 
 "He has n't got any own. He 's just like the girls 
 no force or decision about any of them. Their 
 father was n't like that ; I am sure / 'm not. What 's 
 the matter with them, anyhow?" 
 
 Quin looked her straight in the eyes. "Do you 
 want to know, honest?" 
 
 Disconcerting as it was to have an oratorical 
 question taken literally, Madam's curiosity prompted 
 her to nod her head. 
 
 "The same thing 's the matter with them," said 
 Quin, with brutal frankness, "that 's the matter with 
 your leg. They 've been broken and kept in the cast 
 too long." 
 
 Then, before he could get the berating he surely 
 deserved, he was off down the stairs, disturbing the 
 silence of the house with his cheerful whistle. 
 
 At breakfast the next morning he scented trouble. 
 Until now he had made little headway with the two 
 sisters, having been too much occupied in storming 
 the fortress of Madam's regard to concern himself 
 with the outlying districts. But this morning he
 
 QUIN 131 
 
 met with an even colder reception than usual. In 
 vain he fired off his best jokes : Miss Enid remained 
 pale and languid, and Miss Isobel presided over the 
 coffee-pot as if it had been a funeral urn. A crisis 
 was evidently pending, and he determined to meet 
 it half way. 
 
 "Is Queen Vic mad at me?" he asked suddenly, 
 leaning forward on his folded arms and smiling 
 with engaging candor. 
 
 Miss Isobel started to pour the cream into the 
 sugar-bowl, but caught herself in the act. 
 
 "If you mean my mother," she said with reprov- 
 ing dignity, "she has asked me to tell you that is, 
 we all think it best " 
 
 "For me to go?" Quin finished it for her. "Now, 
 look here, Miss Isobel; you can fire me, but you 
 know you can't fire the furnace ! Who is going to 
 stay here at night? Who is going to carry Madam 
 up and down stairs? Of course I don't want to 
 butt in, but if ever a house needed a man it 's this 
 one. Why don't you have me stay on until things 
 get to running easy again?" 
 
 There was an embarrassing pause during which 
 Miss Isobel fidgeted with the cups and saucers and 
 Miss Enid bit her lips nervously. 
 
 "Don't you-all like me?" persisted Quin with his 
 terrible directness. 
 
 Now, Miss Isobel had spent her life in evasions 
 and reservations and compromises. To have even
 
 132 QUIN 
 
 a personal liking stripped thus in public offended 
 her maiden modesty, and she scurried to the cover of 
 silence. 
 
 "Of course we like you," murmured Miss Enid, 
 coming to her rescue. "We like you very much, 
 Mr. Graham, and we appreciate your kindness in 
 coming to help us out. But mother feels that we 
 should n't impose on your good nature any longer." 
 
 Quin shook his impatient head. 
 
 "That 's not it," he said. "She 's mad at some- 
 thing I said last night, and she 's got a right to be. 
 It was true all right, but it was none of my business. 
 I made up my mind before I went to bed that I 
 was going to apologize. I can fix things up with 
 her. It 's you and Miss Isobel I can't understand. 
 You say you like me, but you don't act like it. I 
 know I make mistakes about lots of things, and 
 that I do things wrong and say things I oughtn't 
 to. But all you got to do is to call me down. I want 
 to help you ; but that 's not all I want to learn the 
 game. When a fellow has knocked around with 
 men since he was a kid " 
 
 He broke off suddenly and stared into his coffee- 
 cup. 
 
 "I think he might go up and speak to mother, 
 don't you, Isobel?" asked Miss Enid tentatively. 
 
 Quin pushed back his chair and rose precipitately 
 from the table, dragging the cloth away as he did so. 
 
 "That 's not the point !" he said heatedly. "It 's
 
 QUIN 133 
 
 for you two to decide, as well as her. Do you want 
 me to go or to stay?" 
 
 Miss Isobel and Miss Enid, who had been assur- 
 ing each other almost hourly that they could not 
 stand that awful boy in the house another day, 
 looked at each other intercedingly. 
 
 "It would be a great help if you could stay at 
 least until mother learns to use her crutches," urged 
 Miss Enid. 
 
 "Yes, and until we get some one we can trust to 
 stay with us at night," added Miss Isobel. 
 
 "I '11 stay as long as you like !" said Quin heartily; 
 and he departed to make his peace with Madam.
 
 CHAPTER 12 
 
 FROM that time on Quin's status in the family 
 became less anomalous. To be sure, he was 
 still Mr. Randolph's private secretary, Madam's top 
 sergeant, Miss IsobeFs and Miss Enid's body-guard, 
 and the household's general-utility man; but he was 
 now something else in addition. Miss Isobel had 
 discovered, quite by chance, that he was the grand- 
 son of Dr. Ezra Quinby, whose book "Christianiz- 
 ing China" had been one of the inspirations of her 
 girlhood. 
 
 "And to think we considered asking him to eat 
 in the pantry !" she exclaimed in horror to her sister. 
 
 "Well, I told you all along he was a gentleman 
 by instinct," said Miss Enid. 
 
 To be sure, they were constantly shocked by his 
 manners and his frank method of speech, but they 
 were also exhilarated. He was like a disturbing 
 but refreshing breeze that swept through their quiet, 
 ordered lives. He talked about things and places 
 they had never heard of or seen, and recounted his 
 experiences with an enthusiasm that was contagious, 
 
 As for Quin, he found, to his surprise, that he 
 was enjoying his new quarters quite as much as he 
 
 134
 
 QUIN 135 
 
 had the old ones. Madam was a never-ending 
 source of amusement and interest to him, and Miss 
 Isobel and Miss Enid soon had each her individual 
 appeal. He liked the swish of their silk petticoats, 
 and the play of their slim white hands about the 
 coffee-tray. He liked their super-feminine delicacies 
 of speech and motion, and the flattering interest they 
 began to take in all his affairs. 
 
 Miss Isobel developed a palpitating concern for 
 his spiritual welfare and invited him to go to church 
 with her. She even introduced him to the minister 
 with proud reference to his distinguished grand- 
 father, and basked in the reflected glory. 
 
 Quin did not take kindly to church. He consid- 
 ered that he had done his full duty by it in the first 
 fourteen years of his life, when he, along with the 
 regenerate heathen, had been forced to attend five 
 services every Sunday in the gloomy chapel in the 
 compound at Nanking. But if Eleanor's aunt had 
 asked him to accompany her to the gates of hell in- 
 stead of the portals of heaven, he would have 
 acquiesced eagerly. So strenuously did he lift his 
 voice in the familiar hymns of his youth that he was 
 promptly urged to join the choir, an ordeal whose 
 boredom was mitigated only during the few mo- 
 ments when the collection was taken up and he and 
 the tenor could bet on which deacon would make his 
 round first. 
 
 Not for years had Miss Isobel had such thrilling
 
 136 QUIN 
 
 occupation as that of returning Ezra Quinby's 
 grandson to the spiritual fold. In spite of the fact 
 that Quin was a fairly decent chap already, whose 
 worst vices were poker and profanity, she persisted 
 in regarding him as a brand which she had been 
 privileged to snatch from the burning. 
 
 What gave him a yet more intimate claim upon 
 her was the fact that his heart and lungs were still 
 troublesome, and with any over-exertion on his part, 
 or a sudden change in the weather, his chest became 
 very sore and his racking cough returned. At such 
 times Miss Isobel was in her glory. She would 
 put him to bed with hot-water bottles and mustard 
 plasters and feed him hot lemonade. Quin took 
 kindly to the coddling. No one had fussed over him 
 like that since his mother died, and he was touch- 
 ingly grateful. 
 
 "Say, you 'd be a wonder out at the hospital," he 
 said to her on one of these occasions. "I wish some 
 of those fellows with the flu could have you to look 
 after them." 
 
 Miss Isobel's long, sallow face with its dark- 
 ringed eyes lit up for a moment. 
 
 "There is nothing I should like better," she said. 
 "But of course it 's out of the question." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Mother does n't approve of us doing any work 
 at the camp. She did make an exception in the case 
 of my niece, but Eleanor was so insistent. Sister
 
 QUIN 137 
 
 and I try never to oppose mother's wishes. It cuts 
 us off from a great many things ; but then, I contend 
 that our first duty is to her." 
 
 Miss Isobel's attitude toward her mother was that 
 of a monk to his haircloth shirt. She acquired so 
 much merit in her friends' eyes and in her own by 
 her patient endurance that the penance was robbed 
 ofjialf its sting. 
 
 "Things are awful bad out at the hospital now," 
 went on Quin. "A fellow was telling me yesterday 
 that in some of the wards they only have one nurse 
 to two hundred patients. The epidemic is getting 
 worse every day. You-all in town here don't know 
 what it 's like where there 's so many sick and so 
 few to take care of 'em." 
 
 Miss Isobel, with morbid interest, insisted upon 
 the details. When Quin had finished his grim re- 
 cital, she turned to him with scared determination. 
 
 "Do you know," she fluttered, "I almost feel as 
 if I ought to go in spite of mother's wishes." 
 
 "Of course you ought," Quin conceded, "espe- 
 cially when you are keeping a trained nurse here in 
 the house who does n't do a thing but carry up trays 
 and sit around and look at herself !" 
 
 "I know it," Miss Isobel admitted miserably. 
 "I 've lain awake nights worrying over it. Sister 
 and I are perfectly able to do what is to be done. 
 But mother insists upon keeping the nurse."
 
 138 QUIN 
 
 "Well, she can't keep you, if you really want to 
 go. I guess you got a right to do your duty." 
 
 The word was like a bugle call to Miss Isobel. 
 She went about all day in a tremor of uncertainty, 
 and at last yielded to Quin's insistence, and, donning 
 Eleanor's Red Cross uniform, accompanied him to 
 the hospital. 
 
 Every afternoon after that, when Madam was 
 taking her rest, Miss Isobel, feeling like Machiavelli 
 one moment and Florence Nightingale the next, 
 stepped into the carriage, already loaded with deli- 
 cacies, and proceeded on her errand of mercy. She 
 invariably returned in a twitter of subdued excite- 
 ment, and recounted her experiences with breathless 
 interest at the dinner-table. 
 
 "I 've never seen sister like this before," Miss 
 Enid told Quin. "She talks more in an hour now 
 than she used to talk in a week, and she seems so 
 happy." 
 
 The change wrought in Miss Isobel's fife by 
 Quin's advent into the family was mild, however, 
 compared to the cataclysm effected in the life of 
 her sister. Miss Enid, having had her own affec- 
 tions wrecked in early youth, spent her time acting 
 as a sort of salvage corps following the devastation 
 caused by her cyclonic mother. When Madam 
 shattered things to bits, Miss Enid tried patiently 
 to remold them nearer to the heart's deeire. She 
 had acquired a habit of offsetting every disagreeable
 
 QUIN 139 
 
 remark by an agreeable one, and she was apt to see 
 incipient halos hovering above heads where less 
 sympathetic observers saw horns. When the last 
 chance of getting rid of the disturbing but helpful 
 Quin vanished, she set herself to work to discover 
 his possibilities with the view of undertaking his 
 social reclamation. 
 
 One evening, as he was passing through the hall, 
 she called him into the library. It was a small, 
 high-ceilinged room, with bookcases reaching to ths 
 ceiling, and a massive mahogany table bearing a 
 reading-lamp with two green shades. Lincoln and 
 his Cabinet held session over one door, and Andrew 
 Jackson, surrounded by his weeping family, died 
 over the other. Miss Enid, with books 'piled up in 
 front of her, was sitting at the table. 
 
 "Quinby," she said, it had been "Quinby" ever 
 since the discovery of his grandfather, "I wonder 
 if you can help me? I have a club paper on the 
 1 4th, and I can't find a thing about my subject. 
 Can't you tell me something about the position of 
 women in China?" 
 
 Quin, who had come in expecting to be called upon 
 to put up a window or fix the electric light, looked 
 at her blankly. Under ordinary circumstances he 
 would have laughingly disclaimed any knowledge of 
 the subject; but with Miss Enid sitting there looking 
 up at him with such flattering confidence, it was 
 different. Out of the dusty pigeon holes of his
 
 140 QUIN 
 
 brain he dragged odds and ends of information, 
 memories of the native houses, the customs and 
 manners of the people, stories he had heard from 
 his Chinese nurses, street incidents he had seen, 
 stray impressions picked up here and there by a 
 lively active American boy in a foreign city. 
 
 "I ought to be able to tell you a lot more," he 
 said apologetically in conclusion. "I could if I 
 was n't such a bonehead." 
 
 "But you 've given me just what I wanted !" cried 
 Miss Enid. "And you 've made it all so vivid. It 
 takes a very good mind to register details like that 
 and to be able to present them in such good order." 
 
 Quin looked at her quizzically. He was confident 
 enough of his abilities along other lines, but he had 
 a low opinion of his mental equipment. 
 
 "I guess the only kind of sense I got is common," 
 he said. 
 
 But Miss Enid would not have it so. "No," she 
 said, earnestly regarding the toe of her beaded 
 slipper; "your mind is much above the average. 
 But it is n't enough to be born with brains one 
 must know how to use them." 
 
 "I suppose you mean I don't?" asked Quin, also 
 regarding the beaded slipper. 
 
 "Nobody does who has had no training," Miss 
 Enid gently suggested. "It seems a pity that a young 
 man of your possibilities should have had so little 
 opportunity for cultivating them."
 
 QUIN 141 
 
 "Well, I ain't a Methuselah!" said Quin, slightly 
 piqued. "What's the matter with me beginning 
 now?" 
 
 "It 's rather late, I am afraid. Still, other men 
 have done it. I wonder if you would consider tak- 
 ing up some night courses at the university?" 
 
 "I 'd consider anything that would get me on in 
 the world. I 've got a very particular reason, Miss 
 Enid, for for wanting to get on." 
 
 She looked at him with increased interest. 
 
 "Really ? How interesting ! You must tell me all 
 about it some day. But this would keep you back 
 for a time. You would have to give all your spare 
 hours to study, and you might not even be able to 
 take the better position they promised you at the 
 factory this spring." 
 
 "I Ve already got it," Quin said. "Mr. Bangs 
 told me to-day that I was to start in as shipping clerk 
 Monday morning. But he 'd let me off nights if I 'd 
 put it up to him. Old Chester says " 
 
 Miss Enid's Pre-Raphaelite brows contracted 
 slightly. "Don't you think it would be more re- 
 spectful " 
 
 "Sure," agreed Quin; "I didn't mean any harm. 
 I like Mr. Chester. He asked me to come up to his 
 rooms some night and see his collection of flutes." 
 
 "That was like him," Miss Enid said warmly. 
 "He 's always doing kind things like that. I know 
 his reputation for being diffident and hard to get
 
 142 QUIN 
 
 acquainted with, but once you get beneath the sur- 
 face 
 
 Quin was not in the least interested in Mr. Ches- 
 ter's surface. He sat on the edge of the taWe, 
 swinging his foot and staring off into space, wholly 
 absorbed in the idea of cultivating that newly dis- 
 covered intellect of his. 
 
 "Say, Miss Enid," he said, impulsively interrupt- 
 ing her eulogy of Mr. Chester's neglected virtues, "I 
 wish you 'd sort of take me in hand. You know 
 what I need better than I do. If you'll get a line 
 on that school business, I '11 start right in, if I have 
 to start in the kindergarten. Hand out the dope and 
 I '11 take it. And whenever you see me doing thing's 
 wrong, or saying things wrong, I 'd take it as a 
 favor if you 'd jack me up." 
 
 Miss Enid smiled ruefully. "Why, Ouinby, that 
 is just what we have all been doing ever since you 
 came. If you were n't the best-natured " 
 
 "Not a bit of it," disclaimed Quin. "Queen Vic 
 lets me have it in the neck sometimes, but that '$ 
 nothing. I Ve learned more since I 've been in this 
 house than I ever learned in all my life put together. 
 Why, sometimes I don't hardly know myself !" 
 
 "Two negatives, Ouinby, make an affirmative," 
 suggested Miss Enid primly; and thus his higher 
 education began. 
 
 Miss Enid was right when she said his mind was 
 above the average. Its one claim to superiority lay
 
 QUIN 143 
 
 in the fact that it had received the little training it 
 had at first hand. What he knew of geography he 
 knew, not from maps, but from actual observation in 
 many parts of the world. Higher mathematics were 
 unknown to him, but through years of experience he 
 had learned to solve the most difficult of all prob- 
 lems that of making ends meet. He had learned 
 astronomy from a Norwegian sailor, as they lay on 
 the deck of a Pacific transport night after night in 
 the southern seas. He had even tackled literature 
 during his six months in hospital, when he had 
 plowed through all the books the wards provided 
 from Dante's "Inferno" to "Dere Mable." 
 
 Soon after his talk with Miss Enid he decided to 
 call upon Mr. Chester, not because Mr. Chester was 
 an enlivening companion, but because he was so 
 touchingly grateful for the casual friendship that 
 Quin bestowed upon him. 
 
 "He 's so sort of lonesome," Quin told Miss 
 Leaks. "When he looks at me with those big dog 
 eyes of his, I feel like scratching him back of his 
 ear." 
 
 Mr. Chester, in his small but tastefully furnished 
 bachelor apartment, outdid himself in his efforts to 
 be hospitable. He insisted upon Quin taking the 
 best chair, gave him a good cigar, showed him some 
 rare first editions, displayed his collection of musical 
 instruments, and struggled valiantly to establish a 
 common footing. But there was only one subject
 
 144 QUIN 
 
 upon which they could find anything to say, and they 
 came back again and again to the affairs of the 
 Bartlett family. 
 
 "Why don't you ever come around and see the 
 folks?" Quin asked hospitably. "They get awful 
 lonesome with so few people dropping in." 
 
 Mr. Chester in evident embarrassment flicked the 
 ash from his cigar and answered guardedly : 
 
 "I used to be there a great deal in the old days. 
 Unfortunately, Madam Bartlett and I had a mis- 
 understanding. As a matter of fact, I have not 
 crossed that threshold in let me see it must be 
 fifteen years ! It was a party, I remember, given for 
 Eleanor, the little granddaughter, on her fifth birth- 
 day." 
 
 "Oh, yes ?' said Quin, finding Mr. Chester for the 
 first time interesting. "They 've got a picture of her 
 taken with Miss Enid in her party dress." 
 
 "I suppose you mean this ?" Mr. Chester reached 
 over and took from his desk a somewhat faded 
 photograph, in a silver frame, of a little girl leaning 
 against a big girl's shoulders, both enveloped in a 
 cloud of white tulle. 
 
 "Gee, bat she was pretty!" exclaimed Quin, de- 
 vouring every detail of Eleanor's chubby features. 
 
 "A beautiful woman," sighed Mr. Chester and 
 Quin, looking up suddenly, surprised a look in his 
 host's eyes that was anything but numerical.
 
 QUIN 145 
 
 Obligingly relinquishing his application of the 
 pronoun for Mr. Chester's, he said : 
 
 "She certainly thinks a lot of you !" 
 
 "How do you know?" demanded Mr. Chester. 
 
 "From the way she talks. She says people are 
 barking up the wrong tree when they think you are 
 cold and indifferent and all that ; says you 've got 
 one of the noblest natures she ever knew." 
 
 Quin wtas appalled at the effect of these words. 
 Mr. Chester's eyes got quite red around the rims and 
 his lips actually trembled. 
 
 "Poor Enid !" he said. Then he remembered him- 
 self, or rather forgot himself, and became a Number 
 Nine again, and bored Quin talking business until 
 ten o'clock. 
 
 At parting they shook hands cordially, and Mr. 
 Chester urged him to come again. 
 
 "I wonder if you would care to use one of my 
 tickets for the Symphony Orchestra next week ?" he 
 asked. 
 
 Quin looked embarrassed. He had accepted a 
 similar invitation the week before, and had confided 
 to Rose Martel afterward that he "never heard such 
 a bully band playing such bum music." But Mr. 
 Chester's intention was so kind that he could run no 
 risk of offending him. 
 
 "I '11 go if I can," he said, leaving himself a loop- 
 hole. 
 
 "Here is the ticket," said Mr. Chester, "and in
 
 146 QUIN 
 
 case you do not use it, perhaps you will so good as 
 to pass it on to some one who can." 
 
 This suggestion afforded Quin an inspiration. 
 
 "Say, Miss Enid," he said the next morning at 
 breakfast. "I want to give you a ticket to the Sym- 
 phony Orchestra next Friday night. Will you go?" 
 
 "But, my dear boy," she protested greatly touched, 
 "I cannot go by myself." 
 
 "You don't have to. I 'm going to take you and 
 come for you. You ain't going to turn me down, 
 are you?" 
 
 "Have you got the ticket?" 
 
 "Right here. Now you will go, won't you?" 
 
 It would have taken a less susceptible heart than 
 Miss Enid's to resist Quin's persuasive tones, and in 
 spite of Miss Isobel's disapprobation she agreed to 
 
 go- 
 Just what happened on that opening night of the 
 Fine Arts Series, when two old lovers found them- 
 selves in embarrassing proximity for the first time 
 in fifteen years, has never been told. But from 
 subsequent events it is safe to conclude that during 
 the long program they became much more interested 
 in their own unfinished symphony than in Schu- 
 bert's, and when Quin came to take Miss Enid home, 
 he found them in a corner of the lobby, still so en- 
 grossed in conversation that he obligingly walked 
 around the block to give them an additional five 
 minutes.
 
 CHAPTER 13 
 
 OUIN'S desire for self -improvement soon be- 
 came an obsession. With Miss Enid's assist- 
 ance he got into a night course at the university, and 
 proceeded to attack his ignorance with something of 
 the fierce determination he had attacked the Hun the 
 year before in France. He plunged through bogs 
 of history, got hopelessly entangled in the barbed 
 wire of mathematics, had hand-to-hand struggles 
 with belligerent parts of speech, and more than once 
 suffered the shell-shock of despair. But his watch- 
 word now, as then, was, "Up and at 'em!" And 
 before long he had the satisfaction of seeing his 
 enemy gradually giving way. 
 
 Having taken his small public into his confidence 
 in regard to his belated ambition to get an educa- 
 tion, he was surprised to find how ready everybody 
 was to help him. Mr. Chester not only assisted him 
 with his mathematics, but insisted upon taking him 
 to hear good music, in the vain effort to reclaim an 
 ear hoplessly attuned to jazz and rag-time. Mr. 
 Martel devoted Sunday afternoons to making him 
 read aloud from the classics, with great attention to 
 precise enunciation. Miss Isobel still looked after 
 
 147
 
 348 QUIN 
 
 his moral welfare, and Miss Enid continued to de- 
 vote herself to his social improvement. But it re- 
 mained for Madam Bartlett to render him the service 
 of which he was most in need. Whenever the bubble 
 of his self-esteem threatened to carry him away, she 
 always took pains to puncture it. 
 
 "Don't let them make a fool of you, Graham," 
 she said one day, as she leaned heavily upon his arm 
 in a painful effort to walk without her crutches an 
 experiment that she allowed neither one of her 
 daughters to share, as they invariably limped with 
 her and got frightened when she stumbled. "They 
 all treat you like a puppy that has learned to walk 
 on its hind legs. Remember that you belong on 
 your hind legs. You are only doing what most boys 
 in your position do in their teens. If you were aa 
 smart as they claim, you would have got an educa- 
 tion long ago. But young people these days have 
 no sense! Just look at my granddaughter, for 
 instance." 
 
 There being no direction in which he was more 
 eager to look, Quin gave her his undivided attention. 
 
 "I 've spent thousands of dollars on that girl's 
 education," Madam continued, "and what do you 
 suppose she elected to specialize in? 'Expression'! 
 In my day they called it elocution. When a girl was 
 too dumb to learn anything else, the teacher got 
 money out of her parents by teaching her to swing 
 her arms around her hear and say, 'Curfew Shall
 
 QUIN 149 
 
 Not Ring To-night.' Now they all want to write 
 poetry, or play the flute, or go on the stage, or some 
 other fool thing like that." 
 
 "What about those that want to go on a farm? 
 That 's sensible enough for you." Quin could n't 
 resist the thrust on behalf of Mr. Ranny. 
 
 "It 's sensible for a sensible person," Madam said 
 crossly. "It 's where you belong, instead of attempt- 
 ing all this university business." 
 
 There were times these days when Quin quite 
 agreed with Madam. When the tide of his confi- 
 dence was out, he regarded himself as a hopeless 
 fool and despaired of ever making up the years he 
 had lost But at high tide there was no limit to his 
 aspirations, nor to his courage. While his struggles 
 at the university kept him humble, his success at the 
 factory constantly elated him. Having achieved two 
 promotions in less than three months, he already saw 
 himself a prospective member of the firm. In fact, 
 he slightly anticipated this event by flinging himself 
 into the affairs of Bartlett & Bangs with even more 
 ardor than was advisable. Hardly a day passed that 
 he did not seek a chance to apprise Mr. Bangs of 
 some colossal scheme or startling innovation that 
 would revolutionize the business. 
 
 "See here, young man," said Mr. Bangs, when this 
 had occurred once too often; "I pay you to work 
 for me, not to think for me." 
 
 "But they are the same thing," urged Quin, with
 
 150 QUIN 
 
 appalling temerity. "Why, I can't sleep nights for 
 thinking how other firms are walking away with our 
 business. Smith & Snelling, up in Illinois, have got 
 a plant that 's half as big as ours, and they export 
 twice as much stuff as we do. And their plows can't 
 touch ours; they ain't in a thousand miles of 'em." 
 
 "How do you know ?" 
 
 "I 've seen 'em both in action, and I Ve heard men 
 talk about 'em. Why, if we could get a start in the 
 Orient, and open up an agency in Japan and 
 China " 
 
 "There that will do," said Mr. Bangs testily; 
 "you get back to your work. You talk too much." 
 
 Both Mr. Ranny and Mr. Chester warned Quin 
 again and again that he was not supposed to emerge 
 from the obscurity of his humble position as ship- 
 ping clerk. But Quin was the descendant of a long 
 line of missionaries whose duty it was to reform. 
 The effect of his heredity and early environment was 
 not only to increase his self-reliance and intensify 
 his motive power, but to commit him to ideals as 
 well. Once he recognized a condition as being ca- 
 pable of improvement, he could not rest until he had 
 tried to better it. 
 
 It was not until the approach of Easter that his 
 mind began to stray from the highroads of industry 
 and learning into the byways of pleasure. From 
 certain signs about the Bartlett house it was apparent 
 that preparations were in progress for an event of
 
 QUIN 151 
 
 importance. Paperhangers and cleaners came and 
 went, consultations were held daily concerning new 
 rugs and curtains. Miss Enid and Miss Isobel gave 
 tentative orders and Madam promptly counter- 
 manded them. Workmen were engaged and dis- 
 missed and reengaged. The door to the room at the 
 head of the stairs, which he knew to be Eleanor's, 
 now stood open, revealing a pink-and-white bower. 
 Stray remarks now and then concerning caterers and 
 music and invitations further excited his fancy, and 
 he waited impatiently for the time when he should 
 be formally apprised of Eleanor's home-coming. 
 
 Never before in his life had he been so inordi- 
 nately happy. He burst into song at strange times 
 and places, and had to be spoken to more than once 
 for whistling in the office. Instead of studying at 
 night, he frequently lapsed into delectable reveries 
 in which he anticipated the bliss of being under the 
 same roof with Eleanor. He already heard himself 
 telling her about his promotions, his work at the 
 university, his capture of her family. And always 
 he pictured her as listening to him as she had that 
 day at the Hawaiian Garden, with lips ready to smile 
 or tremble and eyes that sparkled like little pools of 
 water in the sunlight. 
 
 Occasionally reason suggested that she would be 
 at home very little and that the obnoxious Phipps 
 would be lying in wait for her whenever she went 
 abroad. But Phipps was forbidden the house, and
 
 152 QUIN 
 
 with such a handicap as that he surely was out of 
 the running. Besides, Miss Eleanor had probably 
 forgotten all about the Captain by this time ! Thus 
 reassuring himself, the fatuous Quin loosened the 
 reins of his fancy and rode full tilt for an inevitable 
 fall. 
 
 The first intimation of it came the week before 
 Easter, when Madam presented him with a hand- 
 some watch in recognition of his services. The gift 
 itself was sufficiently overwhelming, but the formal 
 politeness of the presentation sounded ominous. 
 Madam suggested almost tactfully, in conclusion, 
 that, now she was on her feet again, he need not 
 feel obligated to remain longer. 
 
 "But I don't feel obligated !" he burst out impet- 
 uously. "I 'd rather stay here than anywhere in the 
 world." 
 
 "Well, you can't stay," said Madam, whose small 
 stock of courtesy had been exhausted on her initial 
 speech. "My granddaughter is bringing some girls 
 home with her for the Easter vacation, and I need 
 your room." 
 
 "But I '11 sleep in the third story," urged Quin 
 wildly. "You can billet me any old place I don't 
 care where you put me." 
 
 "No," said Madam firmly. "It's best for you to 
 
 go." 
 
 That night at dinner the sisters did what they 
 could to soften the blow for Quin. They gave vague
 
 QUIN 153 
 
 excuses that did not excuse, and explanations that 
 did not explain. 
 
 "Of course, we have no idea of losing sight of 
 you," Miss Enid said with forced brightness. "You 
 must drop in often to tell us how you are getting 
 along and to make mother laugh. You are the only 
 person I know who can do that." 
 
 "Yes, and we shall count on you to come to sup- 
 per every Sunday evening," Miss Isobel added; 
 "then we can go to church together." 
 
 "Next Sunday?" asked Quin, faintly hopeful. 
 
 "Well, no," said Miss Isobel. "For the next two 
 weeks we shall be occupied with the young ladies 
 and their friends; but after that we shall look for 
 you." 
 
 Quin looked at the two gentle sisters in dumb 
 amazement. How could they sit there saying such 
 kind things to him, and at the same time shut the 
 door between him and the great opportunity of his 
 life? What did it all mean? Where had he failed? 
 Surely there was some terrible misunderstanding! 
 In his complete bewilderment he created quite the 
 most dreadful blunder that is registered against him 
 in his long list of social sins. 
 
 "But don't you expect me to meet the young 
 ladies?" he blurted out indignantly. "Aren't you 
 going to ask me to the party ? M 
 
 A horrible pause followed, during which the walls 
 seemed to rock around him and he felt the blood
 
 154 QUIN 
 
 surging to his head. He was starting up from the 
 table when Miss Enid laid a quieting hand on his 
 sleeve. 
 
 "Of course you are to be invited, Quinby," she 
 said in her suavest tones; "the invitation will reach 
 you to-morrow."
 
 CHAPTER 14 
 
 ON the night of the Bartlett party, Quin stood 
 before the small mirror of his old room over 
 the Martels' kitchen and surveyed himself in sec- 
 tions. The first view, obtained by standing on a 
 chair, was the least satisfactory; for, in spite of the 
 most correct of wing-toed dancing-shoes, there was 
 a space between them and the cuffs of his trousers 
 that no amount of adjustment could diminish. The 
 second section was far more reassuring. Having 
 amassed what to him seemed a fortune, for the pur- 
 chase of a dress-suit, Quin had allowed himself to 
 be persuaded by the voluble and omniscient salesman 
 to put all of his money into a resplendent dinner- 
 coat instead. The claim for the coat that it was 
 "the classiest garment in the city" was reinforced 
 by the fact that it had adorned the dummy in the 
 shop window for seven consecutive days and occa- 
 sioned much comment by its numerous "novelties." 
 Quin had no doubts whatever about the coat. Its 
 glory not only dimmed his eyes to the shortcomings 
 of the trousers, which he had rented for the occa- 
 sion, but even made him forget the aching tooth 
 that had been harassing him all day. 
 
 155
 
 156 QUIN 
 
 As he went down to present himself for the fam- 
 ily inspection, it is useless to deny that he was very 
 much impressed with the elegance and correctness 
 of his costume. It had been achieved with infinite 
 pains and considerable expense. Nothing was lack- 
 ing, not even a silver cigarette-case, bearing an un- 
 known monogram, which he had purchased at a 
 pawn-shop the day before. 
 
 His advent into the sitting-room produced a grati- 
 fying sensation. 
 
 "Ha! Who conies here!" cried Mr. Martel. "The 
 glass of fashion and the mould of form." Then he 
 came forward for close inspection. "Had n't you 
 any better studs than those, my boy?" 
 
 "They are the ones that came in the shirt," said 
 Quin, instantly on the defensive. 
 
 "Well, they hardly do justice to the occasion. 
 Step upstairs, Cassius, and get my pearl ones out of 
 the top chiffonier drawer." 
 
 "I wish Captain Phipps could see you," said Rose 
 admiringly. "You should have seen his face when 
 I told him you were going to-night ! He was n't 
 invited, you know." 
 
 "Where did you see him?" Quin asked, brushing 
 a speck of lint from the toe of his shining shoe. 
 
 <r Here. He 's been coming twice a week to work 
 with Papa Claude ever since you left. Give 'em to 
 me, Cass" this to her brother. "I '11 put them in."
 
 QUIN 157 
 
 "Are n't they too little for the buttonholes?" asked 
 Quin anxiously. 
 
 "Not enough to matter," Rose insisted. Then, as 
 she finished, she added in a whisper: "Tell Nell 
 somebody sent his love." 
 
 "Nothing doing," laughed Quin with a superior 
 shrug; "somebody else is faking his." 
 
 The curb was lined with automobiles by the time 
 he arrived at the Bartletts'. The house looked 
 strangely unfamiliar with its blaze of lights and 
 throng of arriving guests. He instinctively felt in 
 his pocket for his latch-key, and then remembered, 
 and waited for the strange butler to open the door. 
 The inside of the house looked even less natural than 
 the outside. The floors were cleared for dancing 
 and the mantels were banked high with flowers and 
 ferns. Under the steps the musicians were already 
 tuning their instruments. 
 
 "Upstairs, sir; first room to your left," said the 
 important person at the door, and Quin followed 
 the stream of black-coated figures who were filing 
 up the stairs and turning into the room he had occu- 
 pied a short week ago. It was just as he had left 
 it, except for the picture that no longer adorned the 
 mantel. 
 
 "Beg pardon, sir," said the lofty attendant who 
 took his overcoat, "your stud 's come loose." 
 
 "I bet the damn thing 's going to do that all
 
 158 QUIN 
 
 night," Quin said confidentially. "Say, you have n't 
 got a pin, have you?" 
 
 "Oh, no, sir, it could n't be pinned," protested the 
 man in a shocked tone. 
 
 Quin adjusted it as best he could, took a final look 
 at himself in the mirror, and proceeded downstairs. 
 Arrived in the lower hall, he glanced about him in 
 some perplexity. Not a member of the family was 
 visible, and he looked in vain for a familiar face. In 
 his uncertainty as to his next move, he went back 
 to the pantry and got himself a glass of water. 
 
 As he was returning to the hall, some one plucked 
 at his sleeve and whispered : 
 
 "Hello there, Graham!" 
 
 Turning around, he encountered the gaping mouth 
 of a shining saxophone, behind which beamed the 
 no less shining countenance of Barney McGinness. 
 
 Barney had been in the io5th Infantry Band, and 
 he and Quin had returned from France on the same 
 transport. They exchanged hearty greetings under 
 their breath. 
 
 "Serving here to-night, are you ?" asked Barney. 
 
 "Serving?" repeated Quin; then he laughed good- 
 naturedly. "You got another guess coming your 
 way, Barney." 
 
 "So it 's the parlor instid of the pantry, is it? 
 I 'd 'a' seen it for meself if I had used me eyes in- 
 stead of me mouth. You look grand enough to be 
 doing a turn on the vawdyville."
 
 QUIN 159 
 
 Quin tried not to expand his chest in pride, for 
 fear the movement would disturb those tempera- 
 mental studs. He would fain have lingered indefi- 
 nitely in the warmth of Barney's admiring smile, but 
 the signal for the first dance was already given, and 
 he moved nervously out into the throng again. 
 
 Now that the moment had come for him to meet 
 Eleanor the moment he had longed for by day and 
 dreamed of by night, he found himself overcome 
 with terrible diffidence. Suppose she did not want 
 to see him again? Suppose she should be angry at 
 him for coming to her party? Suppose she should 
 be too taken up with all these strange friends of hers 
 to have time to dance with him? 
 
 After obstructing social traffic in the hall for sev- 
 eral moments, he encountered Miss Enid. She was 
 all a lavender flutter, with sleeves floating and scarf 
 dangling, and she wore an air of subdued excitement 
 that made her almost pretty. 
 
 "Why, Quinby!" she said, and her eyes swept 
 him. "Have you spoken to mother yet ?" 
 
 "No; where is she?" 
 
 "In the library. And sister will present you to 
 the young ladies in the parlor." 
 
 She hesitated a moment, then she placed a timid 
 hand on Quin's arm. 
 
 "But before you go in would you mind doing 
 something for me? Will you watch the front door
 
 160 QUIN 
 
 and let me know as soon as Mr. Chester arrives?" 
 
 "Mr. Chester?" 
 
 "Yes. You see, it 's been a great many years 
 since he came to the house, and I want to to make 
 sure that he is properly welcomed." 
 
 "I '11 wait for him," said Quin, glad of any excuse 
 for not entering that crowded parlor. 
 
 Lovely young creatures in rainbow tints drifted 
 down the stairs and disappeared beyond the por- 
 tieres ; supercilious young men, all in tail coats and 
 most of them wearing white gloves, passed and re- 
 passed him. 
 
 Quin was experiencing the wholly new sensation 
 of timidity. In vain he sought reassuring reflections 
 from the long pier-glass, as he did guard duty in the 
 front hall pending Mr. Chester's arrival. He 'd be 
 all right, he assured himself, as soon as he got to 
 know some of the people. Once he had spoken to 
 Eleanor and been sure of her welcome, he did n't 
 care what happened. Meanwhile he worked with 
 his shirt-stud and tried not to think about his tooth. 
 
 It was late when Mr. Chester arrived, and by the 
 time he had been placed in Miss Enid's care the re- 
 ceiving line in the parlor had dissolved and the dance 
 was in full swing. 
 
 Quin made his way back to the library and pre- 
 sented his belated respects to Madam, who sat en- 
 throned in state where she could command the field 
 and direct the manoeuvers. She was resplendent in
 
 QUIN 161 
 
 black velvet and old lace. A glittering comb topped 
 her high white pompadour, and a dog-collar of 
 diamonds encircled her wrinkled neck. 
 
 "Well, I am glad one man lias the manners to 
 come and speak to his hostess!" she said grimly, 
 extending her hand to Quin. "The young lords of 
 the present day seem to consider a lady's house a 
 public dance-hall. Sit down and talk to me." 
 
 Quin did n't wish to sit down. He wished very 
 ardently to plunge into that dancing throng and find 
 Eleanor. But the old lady's vise-like grip closed on 
 him, and he had to content himself with watching 
 the couples circle past the door while he listened to 
 a tirade against present-day customs. 
 
 "Why, this dancing is indecent!" stormed the old 
 lady. "I never saw anything like it in my life ! Look 
 at that little Morris chit with her cheek plastered 
 up to Johnnie Rawlins' ! If somebody does n't speak 
 to her, I will! I will not have such dancing in my 
 house ! And there 's Kitty Carey, the one with no 
 back to her dress. What her mother is thinking 
 of Mercy! Look at the length of that skirt!" 
 
 It was not until Mr. and Mrs. Ranny arrived, and 
 Madam had no time for any one else, that Quin was 
 able to escape. 
 
 "Can you tell me where I can find Miss Eleanor?" 
 he asked eagerly of Miss Isobel, whom he en- 
 countered in the back hall. 
 
 Miss Isobel, looking thoroughly uncomfortable in
 
 162 QUIN 
 
 a high-necked, long-sleeved evening dress, sighed 
 anxiously : 
 
 "I am looking for her myself. She has had all 
 the windows opened, and mother gave express orders 
 that they were to be kept closed. Would you mind 
 putting this one down? It makes such a draught." 
 
 It was a high window and an obstinate one, and 
 by the time it was down Quin's cuffs were six inches 
 beyond his coat sleeves and his vest was bulging. 
 
 "I don't want that window down," said a spirited 
 voice behind him. "I wish you had left it alone." 
 
 "Eleanor!" said Miss Isobel reprovingly. "He is 
 doing it at my request. It is our young friend Quin- 
 by Graham." 
 
 Quin wheeled about in dismay, and found himself 
 face to face with a slender vision in shimmering blue 
 and silver, a vision with flushed cheeks and angry 
 eyes, who looked at him in blank amazement, then 
 burst out laughing. 
 
 "Why, for mercy sakes! I never would have 
 known you. You look so so different in civilian 
 clothes." 
 
 The words were what he had expected, but the 
 intonation was not. It seemed to call for some sort 
 of explanation. 
 
 "It 's my face/' he blurted out apologetically, 
 drawing attention to the fact that of all others he 
 most wished to ignore. "Had an abscess in my 
 tooth; it 's swelled my jaw up a bit."
 
 QUIN 163 
 
 Eleanor was not in the least concerned with his 
 affliction. A civilian with the toothache could not 
 expect the consideration of a hero with a shrapnel 
 wound. Moreover, this was her first appearance in 
 the role of hostess at a large party, and she fluttered 
 about like a distracted humming-bird. 
 
 Miss Isobel laid a detaining hand on her bare 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Did you know they were smoking in the dining- 
 room, Nellie ? Even some of the girls are smoking. 
 If mother finds it out I don't know what she will 
 do!" 
 
 "Call out the fire department, probably," said 
 Eleanor flippantly. 
 
 "But listen! She will speak to them you know 
 she will. Don't you think you can stop them?" 
 
 "Of course I can't!" declared Eleanor, her anger 
 rekindling. "And we can't dance with the windows 
 down, either. Oh, dear, I wish we 'd never tried to 
 give a party !" 
 
 "May I have the next dance, Miss Eleanor?" Quin 
 ventured at this inopportune moment. 
 
 She turned upon him a perturbed face. "It's 
 taken," she said absently. "They are all taken until 
 after supper. I '11 give you one then." And with 
 this casual promise she hurried away. 
 
 Quin wandered disconsolately into the hall again. 
 Everybody seemed to know everybody else. Appar- 
 ently he was the one outsider. At the soldier dances
 
 164 QUIN 
 
 to which he was accustomed, he was used to boldly 
 asking any girl on the floor to dance, sure of a wel- 
 coming smile. But here it was different. It seemed 
 that a fellow must wait for an introduction which 
 nobody took the trouble to give. He leaned against 
 the door- jamb and indulged in bitter reflections. 
 Much that bunch cared whether he had risked his 
 life for his country or not! The girls had already 
 forgotten which were the heroes and which were the 
 slackers. He did n't care f All he had come for, 
 anyhow, was to see Eleanor Bartlett. Just wait until 
 he got her all to himself in that dance after 
 supper 
 
 Finding the strain of being a spectator instead of 
 a participant no longer endurable, he wandered up- 
 stairs and bathed his face. The pain was getting 
 worse and he had a horrible suspicion that the swell- 
 ing was increasing. In the men's dressing-room he 
 found a game of craps in progress, and, upon being 
 asked to join, was so grateful for being included in 
 any group that he accepted gladly, and for half an 
 hour forgot his woes while he won enough to repay 
 Cass the sum he had advanced on the dress-shirt. 
 
 "Stud 's undone, old chap," said his opponent as 
 he paid his debt. 
 
 "Thanks, so it is,'* said Quin nonchalantly. 
 
 As he went downstairs he encountered Miss Enid 
 and Mr. Chester sitting under the palms on the 
 landing in intimate tete-a-tete.
 
 QUIN 165 
 
 "Will you dance this with me, Miss Enid?" asked 
 Quin, leading a forlorn hope. 
 
 "I am afraid I don't know those new dances," 
 said Miss Enid evasively, "the only thing I can do is 
 to waltz." 
 
 "You mean a one-step?" 
 
 "She means a waltz," Mr. Chester repeated im- 
 pressively, "the most beautiful and dignified dance 
 ever invented. Shall we show him, Miss Enid ?" 
 
 And, to Quin's unbounded amazement, Mr. Ches- 
 ter and Miss Enid proceeded to demonstrate, there 
 on the narrow landing, the grace and beauty of the 
 "glide waltz"; and so absorbed were they in the 
 undertaking that they did not even know when he 
 ceased to be a spectator and Miss Isobel became one. 
 
 The latter, inexpressibly shocked at the way 
 things were going in the ball-room, was on her way 
 upstairs, when she was confronted with the amazing 
 spectacle of her sister and the bald-headed Mr. Ches- 
 ter revolving solemnly and rhythmically in each 
 other's arms on the shadowy landing. 
 
 The only doubt that Miss Isobel had ever har- 
 bored concerning an all-wise Providence arose from 
 the passage in Scripture that read : "Man and woman 
 created He them." In her secret heart she had al- 
 ways felt that some other, less material scheme might 
 have been evolved. Softly retracing her steps, she 
 slipped back downstairs and took her place beside her 
 increasingly indignant mother.
 
 166 QUIN 
 
 The new wine was proving entirely too much for 
 the old bottles. Madam's ultimatums and Miss 
 Isobel's protests had alike proved unavailing. The 
 young people invaded the house like a swarm of 
 noisy locusts. Between dances they flew out to the 
 porch, some of the couples dashing out to sit in 
 automobiles, others driving madly around the block 
 to the incessant honking of horns. Then the music 
 w r ould call them back, and in they would pour, sing- 
 ing and whistling as they came, shouting jests from 
 room to room, playing ball with the decorations, 
 utterly regardless of everything save their own rest- 
 less, reckless, daring selves. Maddest of them all 
 was Eleanor, who, conscious of the stern disap- 
 proval of the family and rebelling against their at- 
 tempted restraint, led the merry revolt against old- 
 time proprieties and took her fling, for once regard- 
 less of consequences. 
 
 Ouin, meanwhile, had gone back to the dressing- 
 room and was making frantic efforts to reduce the 
 swelling in his face. If he could only keep it down 
 until after his dance with Eleanor, it might swell 
 to the dimensions of the dome of St. Peter's! A 
 hurried survey from over the banisters assured him 
 that supper was soon to be served, and he went back 
 to his hot applications with renewed courage. 
 
 But ill luck pursued him. No sooner had the 
 guests been seated at small round tables and the re- 
 freshments served, than some one remembered that
 
 QUIN 167 
 
 a big charity ball was in progress at the armory, and 
 it was proposed that the evening be concluded there. 
 The suggestion met with instant approval. In spite 
 of the indignant protests of the elders, the gay com- 
 pany, headed by Eleanor, left the half -eaten ices 
 melting on their plates, and, rising in a body, took 
 noisy and immediate flight. 
 
 At twelve o'clock the elaborately decorated rooms 
 were empty, the musicians were packing their instru- 
 ments, the caterers were removing trays of untasted 
 food, and Quin, standing dazed in the deserted hall, 
 one hand clasping his shirt-front and the other on 
 his face, was trying in vain to realize that the party 
 which he had inspired had proved his Waterloo !
 
 CHAPTER 15 
 
 THE next day Quin sold his dinner-coat for a 
 fourth of -what he paid for it, and forswore 
 society forever. There was absolutely nothing in 
 it, he assured the Martels, a conviction that assorted 
 strangely with the fact that he devoured the columns 
 in the daily papers devoted to the doings of the social 
 elect, and waded through endless lists under the cap- 
 tion "Among Those Present." Every hour in the 
 day he invented a new scheme for seeing Eleanor, 
 which pride alone prevented him from carrying out. 
 He wrote her a dozen notes, all of which he tore 
 up; he went out of his way to pass through the 
 streets where he might catch a glimpse of her, and 
 seized the slightest excuse for errands to the Bart- 
 lett house. But the days of her holiday slipped 
 away, and he neither saw nor heard from her. 
 
 Each morning at breakfast Mr. Martel would say 
 hopefully, "Well, Eleanor will surely grace our 
 humble abode to-day," or, "Something tells me my 
 lady-bird will come to-day!" And each evening 
 Quin would rush home from work buoyed up by the 
 hope that he might find her. 
 
 "I bet she'd come to-day if she knew Captain 
 
 168
 
 QUIN 169 
 
 Phipps was going to be here," said Myrna one morn- 
 ing, wagging her head wisely. 
 
 "What's that got to do with it?" Rose asked 
 sharply. 
 
 "They 're sweethearts," said Myrna, with the 
 frightful astuteness of twelve. "And old Madam 
 Bartlett won't let him come to the house, and Nell 
 has to see him on the sly." 
 
 "Tut, tut, child ! Where did you get that notion ?'" 
 asked Mr. Martel, peeling an orange with his little 
 fingers gracefully extended. "Harold Phipps is years 
 older than Nellie. He is interested solely in her pro- 
 fessional career. He has a lovely, detached soul, as 
 impersonal What is the matter, Rosalind ?" 
 
 "Nothing crumb went down wrong. What are 
 you laughing at, Quinby Graham?" 
 
 "Another crumb," said Quin. 
 
 Between him and Rose there had sprung up a cu- 
 rious intimacy. All sorts of little wireless messages 
 flashed between them, and Rose always seemed to 
 know things without being told. She had discovered 
 long ago that he was in love with Eleanor, and, in- 
 stead of scoffing at him or teasing him, she did him 
 the supreme favor of listening to him. Many a night, 
 after the rest of the family had gone to bed, they 
 lingered on before the fire in the shabby sitting- 
 room, Rose invariably curled up in the sofa corner 
 and Quin stretched out on the floor with his head 
 against her knees.
 
 170 QUIN 
 
 After his somewhat rigorous discipline at the 
 Bartletts' it was like slipping out of the harness to 
 be back at the Martels'. They held him up to no 
 standard, and offered no counsel of perfection. He 
 could tell his best stories without fear of reproof, 
 laugh as loud as he liked, and whistle and sing with- 
 out disturbing anybody. Rose mended his clothes, 
 doctored him when he was sick, petted him in pub- 
 lic as well as in private, and even made free to pawn 
 his uniform when the collector threatened to turn 
 off the gas if the bill was not paid. 
 
 One evening, coming in unexpectedly, he had sur- 
 prised her kissing Harold Phipps in the front hall. 
 Harold's back had been to the door, and at a signal 
 from Rose Quin had beat a hasty retreat. She ex- 
 plained later that she was letting the magnificent 
 Harold have just enough rope to hang himself; and 
 Quin, glad of anything that deflected Phipps from 
 the pursuit of Eleanor, laughed with her over the 
 secret flirtation and failed to see the danger lights 
 that hung in her eyes. 
 
 Financial affairs were evidently going worse than 
 usual with the Martels these days. Cass, adamant 
 in his resolve to pay off the numerous debts con- 
 tracted by the family during his absence abroad, 
 refused to contribute more than the barest living 
 expenses. Rose had given up the dancing classes 
 and taken a position in one of the big department- 
 stores. Edwin B. had had to leave high school and
 
 QUIN 171 
 
 go to work. The adopted baby had been regretfully 
 sent to the Orphans' Home. The little brown house 
 was reefing all its sails in a vain effort to weather 
 the coming storm. 
 
 The one member of the family who soared on 
 wings of hope above the sordid facts of the situation 
 was Claude Martel. After years of search, he had 
 at last found the generous benefactor, the noble 
 young patron, who recognized the merit of his work. 
 They spent hours together elaborating the plot of 
 "Phantom Love" and discussing every detail of its 
 construction. Occasionally on Saturday night Mr. 
 Martel would mention quite confidentially to Quin 
 that, owing to some delayed payments, he was a 
 little pressed for ready money and that a small loan 
 would be appreciated. This request invariably re- 
 sulted in an elaborate Sunday dinner, capped with 
 a couple of bottles of Haut Sauterne in which Mr. 
 Martel took the precaution of drinking everybody's 
 health twice over. 
 
 Ten days after the Easter party, when Qtiin had 
 almost despaired of seeing Eleanor at all, he found 
 her car parked in front of the house when he re- 
 turned in the evening. Mounting the front steps 
 two at a time, he opened the door with his latch-key, 
 then paused with his hand still on the knob. Queer 
 sounds were coming from the sitting-room sounds 
 of a man's agitated voice, broken by sobs. Unde-
 
 172 QUIN 
 
 terred by any sense of delicacy, Quin pushed open 
 the door and bolted in. 
 
 Mr. Martel was sitting in the arm-chair in an atti- 
 tude Kmg Lear might have envied. Every line of 
 his face and figure suggested unmitigated tragedy. 
 Even the tender ministrations of Eleanor Bartlett 
 who knelt beside him, failed to console him or to 
 stem the tide of his lamentations. 
 
 "What 's the matter ?" cried Quin in alarm. 
 "What has happened?" 
 
 Papa Claude, resting one expressive hand on 
 Eleanor's head, extended the other to Quin. 
 
 "Come in, my boy, come in," he said brokenly. 
 "You are one of us ; nothing shall be kept from you 
 in this hour of great affliction. I am ruined, Quin- 
 by utterly, irrevocably ruined!" 
 
 "But how? What 's happened?" 
 
 "It 's grandmother !" exclaimed Eleanor, strug- 
 gling to her feet and speaking with dramatic indigna- 
 tion. "She 's written him a letter I '11 never for- 
 give never! I don't care if the money is due me. 
 I don't want it. I won't have it ! What is six thou- 
 sand dollars to me if it turns Papa Claude out in the 
 street ?" 
 
 "But here hold on a minute!" said Quin. 
 "What's all the racket about?" 
 
 "It 's about money," Mr. Martel roused himself to 
 explain "the grossest and most material thing in 
 the world. Years ago Eleanor's father and I entered
 
 QUIN 173 
 
 into a purely personal arrangement by which he 
 advanced me a few thousand dollars in a time of tem- 
 porary financial depression, and as a mere matter of 
 form I put up this house as security. Had the dear 
 lad lived, nothing more would ever have been said 
 about it He was the soul of generosity, a prince 
 among men. But, unfortunately, at his death he left 
 his mother Eleanor's trustee." 
 
 "And she has simply hounded Papa Claude," 
 Eleanor broke in. "She has tried to make him pay 
 interest on that old note every single year, when she 
 knew I did n't need the money in the least. And 
 now she had notified him she will not renew the note 
 on any terms." 
 
 "She can't collect what you have n't got, can she?" 
 Quin asked. 
 
 "She can sell the roof over our heads," said Papa 
 Claude, with streaming eyes lifted to the object re- 
 ferred to. "She can scatter my beloved family and 
 drive me back into the treadmill of teaching. And 
 all through this blessed, innocent child, who would 
 give all she has in the world to see her poor old 
 grandfather happy !" 
 
 Again Eleanor, moved to a passion of sympathy, 
 flung her arms around him, declaring that if they 
 made him pay the note she would refund every 
 penny of it the day she was twenty-one. 
 
 But Papa Claude was not to be consoled. 
 
 "It will be too late," he said hopelessly. "All I
 
 174 QUIN 
 
 required was one year more in which to retrieve my 
 fortunes and achieve my life ambition. And now, 
 with success almost within my grasp, the goal within 
 sight, this cruel blow, this bolt from the blue " 
 
 "Have n't you got any other property or stocks or 
 insurance that you could turn over?" asked Quin, 
 who felt that the occasion demanded numerical fig- 
 ures rather than figures of speech. 
 
 "Only a small farm out near Anchordale, which 
 belonged to my precious wife's father. It is quite 
 as worthless as he was, poor dear! I have offered 
 it repeatedly in payment, but they refused to con- 
 sider it." 
 
 "Is there a house on it?" persisted Quin. 
 
 "Yes an uninhabitable old stone structure that 
 has stood there for nearly a century. For years I 
 have tried in vain to rent or sell it. I have left no 
 stone unturned, Quinby. I know I am regarded as 
 a visionary, a dreamer, but I assure you " 
 
 "What about the ground?" 
 
 "Very hilly and woody. Absolutely good for 
 nothing but a stock farm. Utterly incapable of culti- 
 vation. It 's no use considering it, my dear boy. I 
 have viewed the matter from every conceivable 
 angle. There is no reprisal. I am doomed. This 
 beloved house will be sold, my family scattered. I 
 an old man, a penniless outcast " 
 
 "No, no, Papa Claude !" protested Eleanor. "You 
 shrfn't be turned out. We must borrow the money.
 
 QUIN 175 
 
 It 's only a little over a year until I'm oi age, and 
 then I can pay it all back. Surely we can find some- 
 body to help us out !" 
 
 "Ah, my darling, your trust is born of inexperi- 
 ence. People do not lend money without security. 
 There is absolutely no one to whom I can appeal." 
 
 Eleanor, sitting on the arm of his chair, suddenly 
 started up. 
 
 "I have it !" she cried. "I know who will help us ! 
 Captain Phipps ! He knows better than any one else 
 what it means to you to have this next year free to 
 finish the play. He will be glad to do it ; I know he 
 will." 
 
 Mr. Martel looked slightly embarrassed. "As a 
 matter of fact, he has been approached on the sub- 
 ject," he said. "He was most sympathetic and kind, 
 but unfortunately his money is all invested at 
 present." 
 
 "Fiddlesticks!" cried Eleanor in a tone so sug- 
 gestive of her paternal grandmother that Quin 
 smiled. "What difference does it make if it is in- 
 vested? Let him un-invest it. I am sure I could 
 get him to lend it to me, only I would hate awfully 
 to ask him." 
 
 Mr. Martel's roving eyes came back to hers hope- 
 fully. 
 
 "I wonder if you could?" he said, grasping at the 
 proffered straw. "Perhaps if he understood that 
 yoier career was at stake, that my disappointment
 
 176 QUIN 
 
 would mean yow disappointment, he would make 
 some special effort to assist us. Will you go to him, 
 child? Will you plead our cause for us?" 
 
 Eleanor hesitated but a moment; then she set her 
 lips firmly. "Yes," she said, with a little catch in her 
 voice; "I will. I '11 go to him in tfie morning." 
 
 Quin, who had been staring out of the window, 
 deep in thought, turned abruptly to Mr. Martel. 
 
 "When do you have to have the money?" he asked. 
 
 "By next Wednesday, the first no, the second of 
 April. The date is burned in my memory." 
 
 "You see, there 's no time to lose," said Eleanor. 
 "I 'd rather die than do it, but 1 11 ask Harold Phipps 
 to-morrow morning." 
 
 "No, you won't," said Quin peremptorily ; "I am 
 going to get the money myself." 
 
 "But he wouldn't lend it to you. You don't 
 understand !" 
 
 "Yes, I do. Will you leave the matter with me 
 until Sunday night, Mr. Martel, and let me see what 
 I can do?" 
 
 Quin made the suggestion as calmly as if he had 
 unlimited resources at his disposal. Had the sum 
 been six million dollars instead of six thousand, he 
 would have made the offer just the same. The para- 
 mount necessity of the moment was to keep Eleanor 
 Bartlett from borrowing money from a man like 
 Harold Phipps. Mr. Martel's claims were of sec- 
 ondary consideration.
 
 QUIN 177 
 
 "We might let him try, grandfather," suggested 
 Eleanor. "If he does n't succeed, there would still 
 be time for me to speak to the Captain." 
 
 "But, my boy, where would you turn? What in- 
 fluence could you bring to bear ?" 
 
 "Well, you 'd have to trust me about that," Quin 
 said. "There are more ways than one of raising 
 money, and if you '11 leave it to me " 
 
 "I will! I will?" cried Mr. Martel in a burst of 
 confidence. "I shift my burden to your strong young 
 shoulders. For three days I have borne the agony 
 alone. There were special reasons for Cassius not 
 being told. He is one of the noblest of God's crea- 
 tures, but he lacks sentiment. I confess I have too 
 much. These old walls are but brick and mortar to 
 him, but to me they are the custodians of the past. 
 Here I had hoped to sit in the twilight of my life 
 and softly turn the leaves of happy memories. But 
 there! Enough! 'The darkest hour oft precedes 
 the dawn!' I will not despair. In your hands and 
 my darling Eleanor's I leave my fate. Something 
 tells me that, between you, you will save me! In 
 the mean season not a word, not a syllable to any 
 one. And now let us have some music and banish 
 these unhappy topics." 
 
 It was amazing how a gentleman so crushed by 
 fate at five could be in such splendid form by seven. 
 Mr. Martel had insisted upon having a salad and 
 ices for dinner in honor of Eleanor's presence, and
 
 178 QUIN 
 
 he mixed the French dressing with elaborate care, 
 and enlivened the company with a succession of his 
 sprightliest anecdotes. 
 
 It was Quinby Graham who was the grave one. 
 He ate his dinner in preoccupied silence, arousing 
 himself to sporadic bursts of merriment only when 
 he caught Eleanor's troubled eyes watching him. 
 Just how he was going to proceed with his colossal 
 undertaking he had not the faintest idea. One wild 
 scheme after another presented itself, only to be dis- 
 carded as utterly impractical. 
 
 Under cover of leaving the dining-room, Eleanor 
 managed to whisper to him : 
 
 "Make Cass let you take me home. I Ve simply 
 got to talk to you." 
 
 But neither Cass nor Quin was to have the priv- 
 ilege. Mr. Martel announced that he was going to 
 escort her himself. The only crumb of comfort that 
 Quin was able to snatch from the wretched evening 
 was when he was helping her on with her coat in the 
 hall. 
 
 "When can I see you?" he whispered anxiously. 
 
 "I don't know," she whispered back; "every 
 hour 's taken." 
 
 "What about Sunday afternoon?" 
 
 "I 've promised to motor out to Anchordale with 
 Aunt Flo and Uncle Ranny to hunt for wild flowers. 
 Think of it! When all this trouble 's brewing." 
 
 "Anchordale," repeated Quin absently, holding her
 
 QUIN 179 
 
 coat suspended by the collar and one sleeve. 
 "Anchordale ! By golly ! I Ve got an idea ! Say, 
 I 'm going along Sunday. You manage it somehow." 
 
 "But I can't manage it ! You are n't invited ; and, 
 besides " 
 
 "I can't help that I 'm going. What time do 
 you start?" 
 
 "Three o'clock. But you can't go, I tell you! 
 They won't understand." 
 
 "All ready, Nellie?" called a voice on the stair- 
 way; and Papa Claude, with a smile of perfect se- 
 renity on his face, bore lightly and consciously down 
 upon them.
 
 CHAPTER 16 
 
 DURING the rushing Easter vacation, Eleanor 
 had seen less of Harold Phipps than Quin had 
 feared. Considering the subliminal state of under- 
 standing at which they had arrived in their volumi- 
 nous letters, it was a little awkward to account for 
 the fact that she had found so little time to devote 
 exclusively to him. They had met at dances and 
 had had interrupted tete-a-tetes in secluded corners, 
 and several stolen interviews in the park; but her 
 duties as hostess to two lively guests had left little 
 time for the exacting demands of platonic friend- 
 ship. Now that the girls were gone, she had counted 
 on this last Sunday at Uncle Ranny's as a time when 
 she could see Harold under proper conditions and 
 make amends for any seeming neglect. 
 
 But when Sunday came, and she found herself 
 seated at Aunt Flo's small, perfectly appointed din- 
 ner-table, she found it increasingly difficult to keep 
 her mind upon the brilliant and cynical conversation 
 of her most admired friend. To be sure, they ex- 
 changed glances freighted with meaning, and as 
 usual her vanity was touched by the subtle homage 
 
 of one who apparently regarded the rest of humanity 
 
 i So
 
 QUIN 181 
 
 with such cold indifference. He was the first person, 
 except Papa Claude, who had ever taken her and 
 her ambitions seriously, and she was profoundly 
 grateful. But, notwithstanding the fact that she felt 
 honored and distinguished by his friendship, she 
 sometimes, as now, found it difficult to follow the 
 trend of his conversation. 
 
 An hour before she had received an agonized note 
 from her grandfather saying that nothing had been 
 accomplished, and that, unless she could use her in- 
 fluence "in a quarter that should be nameless, all, all 
 would be lost!" 
 
 Her dark, brooding eyes swept the table with its 
 profusion of silver and cut glass, its affectation of 
 candle-light when the world without was a blaze of 
 sunshine. She looked at Uncle Ranny, with his 
 nervous, twitching lips and restless, dissatisfied eyes ; 
 at Aunt Flo, delicate, affected, futile; at Harold 
 Phipps, easy, polished, serene. What possible chance 
 would there be of rousing people like that to sym- 
 pathy for poor, visionary Papa Claude? For three 
 days the dread of having to fulfil her promise had 
 hung over her like a pall. Now that the time was 
 approaching, the mere thought of it made her head 
 hot and her hands cold. 
 
 "Cheer up, Nell!" her uncle rallied her. "Don't 
 let your misdeeds crush you. You '11 be in high favor 
 again by the time you get back from Baltimore."
 
 182 QUIN 
 
 "Are you sharing my unpopularity with the fam- 
 ily?" asked Harold. 
 
 Eleanor confessed that she was. "I 've been in 
 disgrace ever since my party," she said. "Did Uncle 
 Ranny tell you the way we shocked the aunties ?" 
 
 "I did," said Mr. Ranny; "also the way sister 
 Isobel looked when little Kittie Mason shook the 
 shimmy. It 's a blessing mother did not see her ; I 
 veritably believe she would have spanked her." 
 
 "A delicious household," pronounced Harold. 
 "What a pity they have banished me. I should so 
 love to put them in a play !" 
 
 "But I would n't let you !" Eleanor cried, so indig- 
 nantly that the other three laughed. 
 
 "Neither bond nor free," Harold said, pursing his 
 lips and lifting his brows. "A little pagan at home 
 and a puritan abroad. How are we going to emanci- 
 pate her, Ran?" 
 
 "You need n't worry," said Mrs. Ranny, lazily 
 lighting her cigarette. "Eleanor is a lot more subtle 
 than any one thinks ; she '11 emancipate herself be- 
 fore long." 
 
 Eleanor was grateful to Aunt Flo. She was tired 
 of being considered an ingenue. She wanted to be 
 treated with the dignity her twenty years demanded. 
 
 "I have a plan for her," said Harold, with a pro- 
 prietary air. "Who knows but this time next year 
 she will be playing in 'Phantom Love' ?"
 
 QUIN 183 
 
 Eleanor's wandering thoughts came to instant at- 
 tention. 
 
 "Is there a part I could play?" she asked eagerly, 
 leaning across the table with her chin on her clasped 
 hands. 
 
 Harold watched her with an amused smile. "What 
 would you say if I told you I had written a role 
 especially for you? Would you dare to take it?" 
 
 Eleanor closed her eyes and drew a breath of rap- 
 ture. 
 
 "Would I? There isn't anything in heaven or 
 earth that could prevent me !" 
 
 "Mrs. Bartlett," said the trim maid, "there's a 
 young man at the front door." 
 
 The conversation hung suspended while Mrs. 
 Ranny inquired concerning his mission. 
 
 "It 's the young man that brings messages from 
 the office, ma'am." 
 
 "Oh, it must be Quin," said Mr. Ranny, rising 
 and going into the hall. "Did you want to see me 
 about something?" 
 
 Eleanor held her breath to listen. Was it possible 
 that that absurd boy had actually followed her up 
 to the Bartletts' with the intention of going with 
 them on their expedition ? Had n't it been enough 
 for him to come to her party in that idiotic coat, with 
 his shirt-front bulging and his face swollen? Of 
 course she liked him she liked him immensely ; but 
 he had no right to impose upon her kindness, to make
 
 1 84 QUIN 
 
 a pretext of his interest in Papa Claude to force him- 
 self in where he was not invited. Now that he had 
 got into the scrape, he would have to get out of it 
 as best he could. She was resolved not to lift a 
 finger to help him. 
 
 "Oh ! I did n't understand" Mr. Ranny^ voice 
 could be heard from the hall, with a cordial emphasis 
 evidently intended to cover a blunder. "Come right 
 in the dining-room ; we are just having coffee. You 
 know these ladies, of course, and this is Captain 
 Phipps, Mr. Graham." 
 
 Ouin came into the room awkwardly, half ex- 
 tended his hand, then withdrew it hastily as Harold, 
 without rising from the table, gave him a curt nod 
 and said condescendingly: 
 
 "How do you do, Graham?" 
 
 Eleanor's quick understanding glance swept from 
 the erect, embarrassed, boyish figure in the badly fit- 
 ting cheap suit and obviously new tan shoes, to the 
 perfectly groomed officer lounging with nonchalant 
 grace with his crossed arms on the table. A curious 
 idea occurred to her: Suppose they should change 
 places, and Harold should stand there in those dread- 
 ful clothes Quin wore, and receive a snub from an 
 ex-officer would he be able to take it with such 
 simple dignity and give no sign of his chagrin except 
 by the slow color that mounted to his neck and brow ? 
 She, who a moment before had been ready to anni-
 
 QUIN 185 
 
 hrlate the intruder, rose impulsively and held out a 
 friendly hand. 
 
 "Mr. Graham and I are old friends," she said 
 lightly. "We knew each other out at the hospital 
 even before he came to stay at grandmother's." 
 
 The next instant she was sorry she had spoken: 
 for the self-control for which she had commended 
 him suddenly departed, and his eyelids, which should 
 have been discreetly lowered, were lifted instead, and 
 such an ardent look of gratitude poured forth that 
 she was filled with confusion. 
 
 For half an hour four uncomfortable people sat 
 in the little gilded cage of a drawing-room, and 
 everybody wondered why somebody did n't do some- 
 thing to relieve the situation. Mr. and Mrs. Ranny 
 made heroic efforts to entertain their unwelcome 
 guest; Harold Phipps moved about the room with 
 iH-concealed impatience ; and Eleanor sat erect, with 
 tightly clasped hands, as angry with Harold as she 
 was with Quin. 
 
 "Mr. Graham," said Mrs. Ranny at length, when 
 Harold had looked at his watch for the fourth time, 
 "I am afraid we shall have to ask you to excuse us. 
 You see, this is our wedding anniversary, and we al- 
 ways celebrate it by a sentimental pilgrimage in 
 search of wild flowers. I am afraid it 's about time 
 we were starting." 
 
 Eleanor felt Quin's eyes seek hers confidently,
 
 i86 QUIN 
 
 but she refused to meet them. There was a painful 
 silence; then he spoke up hopefully: 
 
 "I know where there are wild flowers to burn : I 
 was at a place yesterday where you could hardly 
 walk for them; I counted seven different kinds in a 
 space about as big as this room." 
 
 "Where?" demanded Mr. and Mrs. Ranny in one 
 breath. 
 
 "Out Anchordale way I don't know the name of 
 the road. It 's an out-of-the-way sort of place. 
 Never was there myself until yesterday." 
 
 "Could you find it again?" Mrs. Ranny asked with 
 an enthusiasm hitherto reserved for her poodle. 
 
 "Sure," said Quin, shoving his hands in his 
 pockets and leaning back with the frankest and best- 
 natured of smiles. "I never saw so many cowslips 
 and buttercups and yellow violets, and these here 
 little arums." 
 
 "Arums !" repeated Eleanor. "What do you know 
 about wild flowers?" 
 
 "I lived with 'em up in the Maine woods," said 
 Quin. "I don't know their high-brow names, but I 
 know the kind of places they grow in and where to 
 look for 'em." 
 
 "Let's take him along!" said Mrs. Ranny. "We 
 won't mind being a bit crowded in the motor, will 
 we?" 
 
 Involuntarily all eyes turned toward Harold 
 Phipps.
 
 QUIN 187 
 
 "Not in the least," he said, flicking an ash from 
 the sleeve of his uniform with a dexterous little 
 finger, "especially as I am not going to be with you 
 all the way. These bucolic joys are hardly in my 
 line. I '11 get you to drop me at the Country Club." 
 
 It was Eleanor's turn to cast a look of tragic 
 appeal and get no response. In vain she tried to 
 persuade him to reconsider his decision. His only 
 concession was that he would remain at the apart- 
 ment with her if she would give up the expedition, 
 a suggestion that was promptly vetoed by Aunt Flo. 
 Eleanor was angry enough to cry as she flung on 
 her wraps in the little silk-hung guest-room. Men 
 were so selfish, she savagely told herself; if either 
 Quin or Harold had had a particle of consideration 
 for her they would not have spoiled her last day at 
 home. 
 
 On the way out to the club she sat between them, 
 miserably indifferent to the glory of the spring day 
 and refusing to contribute more than an occasional 
 monosyllable to the conversation, which needed all 
 the encouragement it could get to keep going. 
 
 "Shall I see you again before you go?" Harold 
 asked coldly, upon leaving the car. 
 
 She wanted very much to say no, and to say it in 
 a way that would punish him; but, in view of the 
 important matter pending, she was forced to swallow 
 her pride and compromise. 
 
 "I can see you to-night at the Newsons', unless
 
 i88 QUIN 
 
 you prefer spending your evening here at the club." 
 
 "You know perfectly well what I prefer," he said 
 with a meaning look; and then, without glancing 
 at Quin, across whose knees he had clasped Elea- 
 nor's hand, he bade his host and hostess an apologetic 
 good-by and mounted the club-house steps. 
 
 "What made you come?" Eleanor demanded 
 fiercely of Quin, under cover of the starting motor. 
 
 "I had to," Quin whispered back apologetically. 
 "We got to sell 'em the farm." 
 
 "What farm? Papa Claude's? [Whom are you 
 going to sell it to?" 
 
 Quin lifted a warning finger and nodded sig- 
 nificantly at the back of Mr. Ranny's unsuspecting 
 head. 
 
 "Uncle Ranny?" Eleanor's lips formed the 
 words incredulously. Then the mere suggestion of 
 outwitting her grandmother and saving Papa Claude 
 by such a master stroke of diplomacy struck her so 
 humorously that she broke into laughter, in which 
 Quin joined. 
 
 "You two are very lively all of a sudden," Mrs. 
 Ranny said over her shoulder. "What is the joke?" 
 
 "Miss Eleanor and I have gone into the real estate 
 business. Do you want to buy a farm?" 
 
 "We always want to buy a farm. We look at 
 every one we hear is for sale. But they all cost too 
 much." 
 
 "This one won't. It 's a bargain-counter farm.
 
 QUIN 189 
 
 A house and fifteen acres. You can get it for six 
 thousand dollars if you'll buy it to-day." 
 
 "All right; we '11 take it," cried Mr. Ranny gaily. 
 "Lead us to it." 
 
 The quest for the farm became so absorbing that 
 the wild flowers were forgotten. The oftener they 
 took the wrong road and had to start over, the 
 keener they became to reach their destination. 
 
 "I believe it was a pipe-dream," said Mr. Ranny; 
 "you never saw the place at all." 
 
 "Yes, I did ! I 'm not kidding you. It 's a regular 
 peach of a place for anybody that 's got money to 
 fix it up. Hold on a minute ; this looks like the side 
 lane. Do you mind walking the rest of the way?" 
 
 "Not if we get anywhere," said Mr. Ranny. 
 
 Their way led through a tangled thicket, across 
 a log bridge, and up a steep hillside abloom from 
 base to summit with early spring flowers. Down 
 through the tender green leaves the sunshine poured, 
 searching out many nooks and corners at which it 
 would get no chance when the heavier foliage in- 
 tervened. 
 
 "This is where the land begins," said Quin. "Did 
 you ever see such bully old trees? Any time you 
 wanted to sell off lots, you see, you could do it on 
 this side, without touching the farm." 
 
 "Where's the house?" asked Mrs. Ranny. 
 
 "Right through here," said Quin, holding back 
 the branches. "Now, ain't that a nice old place?"
 
 190 QUIN 
 
 His enthusiasm met with no response. 
 
 In the center of what had once been a clearing 
 stood an old stone building, half smothered in a 
 wilderness of weeds and sassafras and cane, its one 
 big chimney dreaming in the silence that seemed to 
 have encompassed it for ages. The shutters hung 
 disconsolate on their hinges, the window-panes were 
 broken, the cornice sagged dejectedly. 
 
 Eleanor's heart sank. It was worse, far worse, 
 than Papa Claude had described it, fit only for the 
 birds and spiders and chipmunks that were already 
 in possession. How Quin could ever for a moment 
 have thought of selling such a place to the fastidious 
 Bartletts was more than she could imagine. 
 
 But he was carrying the matter off with a high 
 hand, in spite of the dismayed faces of his prospec- 
 tive buyers. 
 
 "Of course it needs a shave," he admitted, as he 
 tore down a handful of trailing vines that barred the 
 front door. "But you just wait till you get inside 
 and see the big stone fireplace and the queer cup- 
 boards. Why, this house is historic ! It 's been here 
 since pioneer days. Look out for the floor ; it 's 
 a bit rotten along here." 
 
 "I don't think I '11 come in," said Mrs. Ranny, 
 holding up her skirts. 
 
 "What a funny little staircase!" cried Eleanor. 
 "And what huge rooms! You must come in, Aunt 
 Flo, and see the fireplace."
 
 QUIN 191 
 
 "And look at the walls !" cried Quin. "You don't 
 see walls like those these days. But you just wait 
 till you get upstairs. You 've got the surprise ol 
 your life coming to you." 
 
 "Outside 's good enough for me," Mr. Ranny 
 declared. "I want to take a look at that old apple 
 orchard." 
 
 "I '11 go upstairs with you!" said Eleanor. "Come 
 on, Aunt Flo; let 's see what it 's like." 
 
 At the top of the steps they both gave an exclama- 
 tion of delight. The house, hemmed in, in front, 
 by its trees and underbrush, overlooked from its 
 rear windows a valley of surpassing loveliness. For 
 miles the eye could wander over orchards full of 
 pink-and-white peach blossoms on leafless boughs, 
 over farm-lands and woody spaces full of floating 
 clouds of white dogwood. Through the paneless 
 windows came the warm spring air, full of the odor 
 of tender growing things and the wholesome smell 
 of the freshly upturned earth. 
 
 "Randolph Bartlett, come up here this instant!" 
 called Mrs. Ranny. "It's the loveliest thing you 
 ever saw !" 
 
 But Mr. Ranny was eagerly examining the re- 
 mains of a somewhat extensive chicken farm. 
 
 "Go down and show him around," Eleanor ad- 
 vised Quin, with a glimmer of hope. "Aunt Flo 
 and I will explore the rest of the house." 
 
 They not only explored, but in their imagination
 
 192 QUIN 
 
 they remodeled it. Eleanor, in spite of her day- 
 dreams, was a very practical little person, and, with 
 her power of visualizing a scene for others as well 
 as for herself, she soon made Mrs. Ranny see the 
 place painted and clean, with rag rugs on the floors, 
 quaint old mahogany furniture, tall brass candle- 
 sticks on the mantel, and gay chintz curtains at the 
 windows. 
 
 Mrs. Ranny grew quite animated talking about it, 
 and forgot the disturbing fact that she had not had a 
 cigarette since dinner. 
 
 "Do you know," she said to Eleanor, as they came 
 back to the window and looked down at the two men 
 talking and gesticulating eagerly in the garden be- 
 low, "I believe if Ranny had something like this 
 to work with and play with, things would be dif- 
 ferent." 
 
 "Of course they would," Eleanor agreed eagerly 
 "for him and for you too. Why don't you try it, 
 Aunt Flo?" 
 
 "Oh, it would cost too much to put it in repair. 
 But then, six thousand dollars is very little, is n't 
 it? Ran spent that much for his big car." 
 
 "Yes ; and he could sell his big car. You 'd lots 
 rather have this than an extra motor. And we 
 could get him interested in fixing the place up, and 
 he could keep dogs and cows and things " 
 
 "But what about his mother?"
 
 QUIN 193 
 
 "You wouldn't have to tell her. She will be 
 going to Maine in June, and you and Uncle Ranny 
 could be all settled by the time she comes home !" 
 
 Eleanor had forgotten all about Papa Claude in 
 her eagerness to get Uncle Ranny his heart's desire. 
 
 "I believe we could do it!" Mrs. Ranny was say- 
 ing. "The chief expense would be putting in a 
 couple of bath-rooms and fixing up the floors. As 
 for the furniture, I have all my mother's stuff packed 
 away in the warehouse nice, quaint old things that 
 would suit this place perfectly." 
 
 "Oh, Aunt Flo, let 's go down this minute and 
 make Uncle Ranny buy it!" 
 
 Randolph Bartlett, whose powers of resistance 
 were never strong, was already lending a willing 
 ear to Quin's persuasive arguments, when Eleanor 
 and Mrs. Ranny descended upon him in a whirlwind 
 of enthusiasm. They both talked at once, rushing 
 him from one spot to another, vying with each other 
 in pointing out the wonderful possibilities of the 
 place. 
 
 "See here, is this a frame-up?" he asked laugh- 
 ingly. "You are not actually in earnest, Flo ? You 
 don't mean that you would consider the place se- 
 riously?" 
 
 "But I do. I never wanted anything so much in 
 my life!" 
 
 Mr. Ranny looked at her in amazement. "And
 
 194 QUIN 
 
 you mean you 'd be willing to come out here and 
 live four months in the year?" 
 
 "I mean, if we could get it fixed up right, I 'd live 
 here the year round. We are only fifteen minutes 
 from town, and all our friends live out this way." 
 
 "By George, I 've almost a notion to try it !" Mr. 
 Ranny's eyes were shining. "Do you believe I 
 could pull it off, Quin ? I 've made such a darned 
 fizzle of things in the past that I 'm almost afraid to 
 kick over the traces again." 
 
 "The trouble is, you 've never given a big enough 
 kick to get loose," said Quin. "Here 's your chance 
 to show 'em what you can do. I believe if you 'd 
 buy this place, and buckle down to knocking it into 
 shape, you could have as pretty a little stock farm 
 as there is in the State." 
 
 "That sounds mighty good to me!" said Mr. 
 Ranny with the look of a prisoner who is promised 
 a parole. "When do you have to give an answer?" 
 
 "My option is up at midnight." 
 
 "Good heaven! You don't mean to-night?" 
 
 "Yes, sir ; not a minute later." 
 
 "I am afraid that settles it, as far as I 'm con- 
 cerned." 
 
 "No, it doesn't!" insisted Mrs. Ranny. "If you 
 really want it, there is no reason you shouldn't 
 have it. The ground alone is worth the price asked. 
 Let the others go back to the car while you and I 
 talk the matter over. It 's the chance we Ve been
 
 QUIN 
 
 looking for for ten years, and I 'm not going to let 
 it slip." 
 
 The next hour was one Eleanor never forgot. 
 She and Quin, confident of the success of their 
 conspiracy, were also jubilant over what they re- 
 garded as Mr. Ranny's possible emancipation. They 
 already saw him a reformed character, a prosperous 
 and contented farmer, no longer a menace to the 
 peace of the family. So elated were they that, in- 
 stead of going to the road, they explored the woods, 
 and ended by racing down the hill like a couple of 
 irresponsible children. 
 
 When they at last got back to the car, Eleanor, 
 disheveled and limp, sank on the running-board and 
 laughingly made room for Quin beside her. She 
 had quite forgotten to be grown up and tempera- 
 mental, a fact that Quin was prompt to take ad- 
 vantage of. 
 
 "See here I" he said. "Am I going to get a com- 
 mission for all this?" 
 
 "How much do you want?" 
 
 "I want a lot !" he threatened. 
 
 He was leaning forward with his elbows on his 
 knees, tracing figures in the sand with his shoe. 
 Eleanor noticed the nice way his hair grew on the 
 back of his neck and the white skin that met the 
 clear brown skin at the collar-line. In spite of his 
 bigness and his strength, he seemed very young and 
 defenseless when it came to his dealings with girls.
 
 196 QUIN 
 
 It was useless to deny that she knew what he 
 wanted. His eyes had been saying it persistently 
 each time they had met hers for three months. They 
 had whispered it after that first dance at the 
 Hawaiian Garden; they had murmured it through 
 the hospital days ; they had shouted it this afternoon 
 at Uncle Ranny's, so loud that she thought every 
 one must surely hear. But when a young lady is 
 engaged in the exciting business of playing with fire 
 she does n't always heed even a shouted warning. 
 As long as she was very careful, she told herself, 
 and snuffed out every blaze that threatened to be- 
 come unmanageable, no damage would be done. The 
 present moment was one requiring snuffers. 
 
 "We can't begin to pay you what we owe you," 
 she said in her most conventional tone. "If things 
 go as we hope they will, it will mean everything to 
 Uncle Ranny as well as to Papa Claude." 
 
 "I did n't do it for them only," Quin blurted out. 
 "I did n't want you to borrow money from Captain 
 Phipps." 
 
 The temptation to encourage this special spark 
 was not to be resisted. 
 
 "You don't love Mr. Phipps very much, do you?" 
 she said. 
 
 "No; do you?" 
 
 "Well, I like him. He is one of my very best 
 friends." 
 
 "Am I ?" demanded Quin with terrible directness.
 
 QUIN 197 
 
 It was Eleanor's turn to trace patterns in the sand. 
 
 "Well, you see " she began. 
 
 "No, I don't." Quin rose indignantly. "There 's 
 nobody in the world that would do any more for 
 you than I would. I may be chasing the kite in 
 thinking that you want me to do anything, but if 
 you '11 just let me under the ribbon, you bet your 
 life I '11 give Phipps and the rest of the talent a run 
 for their money!" 
 
 He stood staring hard down the road for a mo- 
 ment, while she sat in embarrassed silence; then he 
 broke forth again : 
 
 "I know you don't want me to say these things. 
 I know every time you head me off. But if you '11 
 just let me get it off my chest this once, then I 
 promise to keep the cork in if it busts the bottle !" 
 
 Eleanor laughed in spite of herself. 
 
 "All right," she said; "I '11 listen." 
 
 "Well," said Quin, "it 's this way. I know you 
 don't care a tinker's damn for me in the way I care 
 for you. But you can't deny that you do like me 
 some. You wouldn't talk to me like you do and 
 let me do things for you if you didn't. What I 
 want you to promise is that whenever you need a 
 friend a best friend, mind you you will come 
 straight to me." 
 
 He looked worth coming to as he stood there, big 
 and strong and earnest; and Eleanor, being young 
 and a woman, promptly forgot her good resolutions
 
 198 QUIN 
 
 not to encourage him, and rose impulsively and held 
 out her hand. 
 
 "I do promise, Quin," she said, "and I thank you 
 with all my heart." 
 
 Then a curious and unexpected thing happened 
 to her. As she stood there on the lonely country 
 road with her hand in his, a curious, deep, still 
 feeling crept over her, a queer sensation of complete 
 satisfaction that she never remembered to have felt 
 before. For a long moment she stood there, her 
 cheek almost touching that outrageous plaid tie that 
 had so recently excited her derision. Then she 
 snatched her hand away. "Look out !" she warned. 
 "They are coming." 
 
 Two minutes later Mr. and Mrs. Ranny, emerg- 
 ing from the thicket with their hands full of wild 
 flowers, found Eleanor seated in the car in a bored 
 attitude, while Quin solicitously examined a rear 
 tire. 
 
 "It's all settled!" Mr. Ranny cried exultingly. 
 "The farm is ours!"
 
 CHAPTER 17 
 
 ALTHOUGH Quin had taken himself and his 
 career seriously before Eleanor's home-com- 
 ing, it was nothing in comparison to the fever of 
 energy that possessed him after her departure. He 
 was determined to forge ahead in business, get an 
 education, and become versed in the gentler branches 
 of social life at the earliest possible moment. His 
 chief trouble was that the days contained only 
 twenty-four hours. Even his dreams were a jumble 
 of plows and personal pronouns, of mathematical 
 problems and social proprieties. 
 
 At the factory he flung himself into the affairs 
 of the firm with a zeal that at times bordered on 
 officiousness. But Mr. Bangs was beginning to find 
 him useful, and, while he continued to snub him and 
 correct him, he also came to depend upon him, es- 
 pecially in an emergency. Quin, on his part, was 
 for the first time turning a critical eye on his own 
 achievements in relation to those of bigger and abler 
 men, and the result was chastening. 
 
 As for his mad thirst for knowledge, even the 
 university classes, difficult as they were proving, 
 failed to satisfy him.. He purchased an expensive 
 
 199
 
 200 QUIN 
 
 "system" in fifteen volumes, by means of which, 
 the prospectus assured him, he could easily achieve 
 a college education in eight months. He wore the 
 covers off the first two booklets, then became dis- 
 gusted, and devoted himself instead to a small hand- 
 book entitled "Words We Mispronounce." 
 
 The branch of his education in which he was mak- 
 ing least effort and most progress was in the customs 
 and manners of polite society. He did not shine as 
 yet, but he had ceased to offend, and that was a long 
 step forward. Once initiated into the refinements 
 of life, he took to them naturally. Miss Isobel and 
 Miss Enid Bartlett had given him the cue, and Mr. 
 Chester was keeping him up to his standard. 
 
 Between him and the latter had sprung up a queer 
 friendship verging on intimacy. Ever since the 
 night of the symphony concert he had served as a 
 connecting link between the long-severed lovers, and 
 out of gratitude he had been adopted as a protege. 
 It was Mr. Chester who assumed responsibility not 
 only for his musical and literary tastes but for his 
 neckties and hosiery as well. Mr. Chester, in fact, 
 being too negative and conservative, acted as a 
 much-needed soft pedal on Quin's noisy aggressive- 
 ness. "Not so loud, Quinby," or, "A little more 
 gently, my boy," he would often say. And Quin 
 would acquiesce good-naturedly and even gratefully. 
 "That's right, call me down," he would say; "I 
 guess I '11 learn before I die."
 
 QUIN 201 
 
 In all that he did and said and thought, one object 
 was paramount. He never lost sight of the fact that 
 he was making himself over for Eleanor, and the 
 prize at stake was so colossal that no obstacles de- 
 terred him. To be sure, this was not by any means 
 his first amatory venture. As Rose Martel had said, 
 he "had a way with him" a way that had kept him 
 involved in affairs of the heart since the early days 
 in Nanking when he had succumbed to the charms 
 of a slant-eyed little Celestial at the tender age of 
 seven. He had always had a girl, just as he had 
 always had a job; but both had varied with time 
 and place. With a vocabulary of a dozen words and 
 the sign language, he had managed to flirt across 
 France and back again. He had f rivoled with half a 
 dozen trained nurses in as many different hospitals, 
 and had even had a sentimental round with a pretty 
 young stewardess on the transport coming home. 
 
 But this affair had been quite different. Instead 
 of wading about in the shallows of love, he had 
 tumbled in head first, and found himself beyond his 
 depth and out of sight of land. It was a case of 
 sink or swim, and Quin was determined not to sink 
 if he could help himself. 
 
 The fact that Eleanor Bartlett was not of his 
 world, that she apparently never gave him a second 
 thought, that he had less than nothing on which to 
 build his hopes, only made him take a deeper breath 
 and a longer stroke.
 
 202 QUIN 
 
 The first gleam of encouragement he had received 
 was that Sunday in the country, when for the frac- 
 tion of a second she had let him hold her hand. Since 
 then he had written her five letters and received but 
 one brief note in reply. Her silence, however, did not 
 depress him. She had told him she hated to write 
 letters, a sentiment he fully shared. Only in this 
 case he could not help himself. The moment any- 
 thing of interest happened, he was seized with an 
 uncontrollable impulse to tell Eleanor. He would 
 rush home from the university at night, go up to 
 his room, and, using the corner of his bureau for 
 a desk, cover pages of lined tablet paper with a de- 
 tailed account of the day's adventures. .When every 
 doubtful word has to be looked up in the dictionary, 
 and newly acquired knowledge concerning participles 
 and personal pronouns duly applied, letter-writing 
 is a serious business. Sometimes a page was copied 
 three times before it met with the critical approval 
 of the composer. 
 
 Since the passing of the acute financial crisis in 
 the Martel family, Papa Claude had revived amaz- 
 ingly, and was once more wearing a rose in his 
 buttonhole and courting the Muse. He and Harold 
 Phipps spent several afternoons a week working on 
 their play, which they hoped to get fully blocked out 
 before the latter left the service and returned to his 
 home in Chicago. 
 
 But, even though the sale of the farm had re-
 
 QUIN 203 
 
 lieved the financial strain, some other trouble was 
 brewing in the family, the cause of which Quin could 
 not make out. The usually sunny atmosphere was 
 disturbed by frequent electric storms between Cass 
 and Rose, marked by stern disapproval on his part 
 and fiery rebellion on hers. "Rose is going to get 
 herself into trouble !" Cass predicted darkly to Quin; 
 while Rose, on her part, declared that Cass should 
 shave his head and enter a monastery. 
 
 "What are you two ragging about, anyhow?" 
 Quin asked one morning at breakfast, when things 
 were worse than usual. 
 
 "Rose knows what I 'm talking about," said Cass 
 significantly. "Somebody 's going to get his face 
 pushed in if things keep on like they are going." 
 
 Absorption in his own affairs alone prevented 
 Quin from taking an immediate hand in this new 
 family complication. It was not until late in May 
 that he hit upon the truth, quite by accident. 
 
 Coming home rather later than usual one night, he 
 stumbled over Cass sitting hunched up on the dark 
 stairway, looking in his striped pajamas like an es- 
 caped convict. 
 
 "What in the devil are you up to?" Quin de- 
 manded, rubbing a bruised shin. 
 
 "I am waiting for Rose," said Cass grimly. 
 "Some fellow comes by here every few nights and 
 takes her out in a machine," 
 
 "Who is he?"
 
 204 QUIN 
 
 "I don't know that 's what I 'm going to find 
 out." 
 
 "You crazy wop!'' said Quin. "What 's got into 
 you lately? Can't you trust Rose to take care of 
 herself?" 
 
 "Yes ; but I don't trust any fellow that '11 go with 
 a girl and be ashamed to be seen with her." 
 
 "How do you know he 's ashamed to be seen with 
 her?" 
 
 "Because he comes sneaking in here after we Ve 
 all gone to bed. He don't ring the door-bell; he 
 honks once or twice; and then I hear Rose slipping 
 past my door." 
 
 "I did n't know any of Rose's beaux had a 
 machine." 
 
 "They have n't. This is some rich guy that thinks 
 any girl that works for her living is an easy mark. 
 I '11 show him a thing or two ! I '11 break his 
 
 damned Listen ! There 's an automobile 
 
 stopping now." 
 
 He started excitedly down the steps, but Quin 
 grasped his arms. 
 
 "Come back here, Cass ! You can't go cavorting 
 out there in your pajamas, making a mess of things. 
 You leave it to me. I '11 go out the side way and 
 amble around to the front door the same time they 
 do. They '11 think I 'm just getting home, and I 
 can size him up for you." 
 
 The next moment he was out of the house, over
 
 QUIN 205 
 
 the low hedge, and casually sauntering toward the 
 corner. The night was very dark, lightened only 
 by the swinging street lamp and the two staring eyes 
 of an automobile that had stopped a little distance 
 from the house. Quin saw Rose dart out of the 
 shadows and run toward the house. Some one 
 called her name softly and peremptorily, but she did 
 not stop. A man was following her out of the 
 shadows. But Quin did not wait for him to arrive ; 
 he promptly stepped around the corner and met Rose 
 at the front gate. 
 
 "What 's up?" he demanded, seeing her quivering 
 lips and angry, excited eyes. 
 
 "Tell him to go away!'' she whispered, trying to 
 get the gate open. "Tell him I never want him to 
 speak to me again. He can't apologize there is n't 
 anything he can say. Just make him go away, that 's 
 all." 
 
 "Miss Martel is making a mountain out of a mole- 
 hill," said a suave voice behind them, and, turning, 
 Quin saw the somewhat perturbed face of Harold 
 Phipps. "If she would listen to me for two min- 
 utes " 
 
 "But I won't not for one minute ! You sha'n't 
 speak to me " 
 
 "Just one word alone with you " 
 
 "See here," said Quin, stepping between them and 
 looking Harold Phipps squarely in the eyes. "You 
 heard what she said, didn't you?"
 
 206 QUIN 
 
 "Yes ; but I insist upon her listening to me. She 
 entirely misunderstood something I said." 
 
 "I did not!" Rose broke in furiously. "You 
 know perfectly well I did n't. I won't listen to any- 
 thing you have to say on that or any other subject." 
 
 "I sha'n't let you go until you do," he replied in 
 his most authoritative tone. 
 
 "Oh, yes, you will," said Quin quietly. "I don't 
 know what the row 's about, but she does n't have 
 to talk to you if she does n't want to." 
 
 For a moment the two men stood silently measur- 
 ing each other; then the one in uniform gave a 
 slight shrug and permitted himself a faint superior 
 smile. 
 
 "I see," he said. "The young lady's conduct did 
 not lead me to suppose she was engaged. I con- 
 gratulate you !" And, turning on his heel, he went 
 back to his car. 
 
 Rose turned quickly and seized Quin's arm. 
 
 "Don't tell anybody about this, please," she im- 
 plored. "I 've had my lesson the beast!" 
 
 "What did he do?" demanded Quin, longing for 
 an excuse to annihilate Phipps. 
 
 "It was n't so much what he did it was what he 
 said. But you 've got to promise not to give me 
 away, Quin. You must n't let on that I was out 
 to-night." 
 
 "But Cass is on to it. He 's waiting there in the 
 hall now."
 
 QUIN 207 
 
 She caught her breath sharply. 
 
 "Does he know who I was with?" 
 
 "Not yet" 
 
 "Then he must n't. It would spoil everything for 
 Papa Claude and the play; and, besides, Cass is so 
 excitable. I haven't done anything wrong, Quin! 
 I was just out for a little fun, and that contemptible 
 puppy thought " 
 
 "I wish to God I 'd cracked his bean !" said Quin 
 fervently. 
 
 "Promise me that you won't tell !" 
 
 "I won't tell, but I intend to have it out with 
 him." 
 
 "No, no!" she whispered hysterically. "I tell 
 you, nothing more must be said about it. It was 
 partly my fault ; only, I did n't know he was that 
 kind of a man. You know yourself I never really 
 liked him. Only it was fun to go out in his car, and 
 I get so sick of not having any clothes or money 
 and having to stay in that deadly old store day in 
 and day out !" 
 
 She buried her face in her hands and sobbed 
 violently for a moment; then she caught hold of 
 Quin's sleeve. 
 
 "You won't speak to him," she implored, "and 
 you won't tell Cass?" 
 
 "I won't do anything you don't want me to," 
 promised Quin, proffering his handkerchief with
 
 208 QUIN 
 
 his sympathy. "It 's your shooting-match, and Cass 
 has got to keep his hands off." 
 
 Cass at this moment cautiously opened the front 
 door, and stood in his bare feet, viewing them with 
 anxious suspicion. 
 
 "It 's all right, old cove," said Quin, slipping Rose 
 into the house and pulling the door to after her. 
 "No harm 's done, and she won't do it again." 
 
 "How do you know?" 
 
 "Because she and the fellow had a blow-out. She 
 says she is through with him for good and all." 
 
 "Did you see him?" 
 
 "Yes ; he 's a average-sized fellow with a smooth 
 face and brown hair." 
 
 "Would you know him if you saw him again?" 
 
 "Sure. I '11 keep an eye out for him. But you 've 
 got to leave it to me, I can handle the situation all 
 right now, if you just won't butt in." 
 
 "If you can get Rose to promise not to see him 
 again, she '11 stick to it; I can say that for her." 
 
 "She won't see him. They 've quarreled, I tell 
 you. I heard her balling him out good before he 
 left. The whole thing is settled, and all you got to 
 do is to button up your lip and go to bed." 
 
 A week later Papa Claude announced that Harold 
 Phipps was at last released from his onerous duties 
 in the army and had returned to his home in Chicago, 
 where he would in future devote himself to the 
 writing and producing of great American plays.
 
 CHAPTER 18 
 
 IN everybody's life there are hours or days or 
 even weeks that refuse to march on with the 
 solemn procession of time, but lag behind and hide 
 in some byway of memory, there to remain for ever 
 and ever. It was such a week that tumbled unex- 
 pectedly out of Quin's calendar about the first of 
 June, and lived itself in terms of sunshine and roses, 
 of moonshine and melody, seven halcyon days be- 
 tween the time that Eleanor returned from school 
 and the Bartletts went away for the summer. For 
 the first time since he met her, she seemed to have 
 nothing more demanding to do than to emulate "the 
 innocent moon, who nothing does but shine, and yet 
 moves all the slumbering surges of the world." 
 
 There was no doubt about Quin's "slumbering 
 surges" being moved. Within twenty- four hours of 
 her return to town he became totally and hopelessly 
 demoralized. Education and business were, after 
 all, but means to an end, and when he saw what he 
 conceived to be a short cut to heaven, he rashly 
 discarded wings and leaped toward his heart's desire. 
 
 The hour before closing at the factory became 
 a time of acute torture. He who usually stayed till 
 
 209
 
 210 QUIN 
 
 the last minute, engrossed in winding up the affairs 
 of the day, now seemed perfectly willing to trust 
 their completion to any one who would undertake it.j 
 The instant the whistle blew he was off like a shot, 
 out of the factory yard, clinging to the platform of 
 a crowded trolley, catching an interurban car, plung- 
 ing through a thicket, down an old lane, and emerg- 
 ing into Paradise. 
 
 The Rannys were having the adventure of their 
 lives with the secret farm, an adventure shared with 
 equal enthusiasm by their co-conspirators. "Valley 
 Mead" was proving the most marvelous of forbid- 
 den playthings, and was doing for Randolph Bartlett 
 what doctors and sanitariums and tears and threats 
 had failed to do. The old place had been overhauled, 
 the house made habitable, and now that furnishing 
 was in progress, each day brought new and fascinat- 
 ing developments. 
 
 Eleanor had arrived from school just in time to 
 fling herself heart and soul into the enterprise. By 
 a happy chance she had been allowed to spend the 
 week with the Randolph Bartletts, only reporting 
 to her grandmother from time to time for consulta- 
 tions regarding summer clothes. Her strange in- 
 difference to this usually all-important question, to- 
 gether with her insistent plea to remain in Kentucky 
 all summer, might have aroused the old lady's sus- 
 picion had she not long ago decided that the explana- 
 tion of all Eleanor's motives was perversity.
 
 QUIN 21 1 
 
 Every morning Eleanor and Mrs. Ranny went out 
 to the farm, and worked with enthusiasm. Each 
 piece of furniture that was taken out of the crate 
 was hailed with delight and dragged from one place 
 to another to try its effect. The hanging of curtains 
 was suspended while they rushed out to see the 
 newly arrived rabbits with their meek eyes and 
 tremulous pink mouths, or dashed out to the poultry- 
 yard to have another look at the downy little fluffs 
 of yellow that were pretending to be chickens. 
 
 But the real excitement of the day was when the 
 workmen had departed, and Mr. Ranny came out 
 with his machine laden with priceless treasures from 
 the ten-cent store, or later when Quin Graham 
 dashed up the lane with anything from a garden- 
 spade to a bird-house in his hands, and with an 
 enthusiasm and energy in his soul that communi- 
 cated themselves to all concerned. Then everybody 
 would talk at once, and everybody insist upon show- 
 ing everybody else what had been done since morn- 
 ing, and there was more hanging of pictures and 
 changing of furniture, and so much chatter and 
 laughter that it was a wonder anything was ac- 
 complished. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Ranny had agreed that they would 
 make Valley Mead livable at the least possible ex- 
 pense, looking forward to a future day to make the 
 improvements that would require much outlay of 
 money. The pride and satisfaction they took in
 
 212 QUIN 
 
 their petty economies were such as only the inexpe- 
 rienced wealthy can feel. 
 
 As for Quin, he moved through the enchanted 
 days, blind, deaf, and dumb to everything but 
 Eleanor. She was the dazzling sun in whose 
 effulgent rays the rest of humanity floated like 
 midges, So wholly blinded was he by her radiant 
 presence that he did not realize the darkness into 
 which he was about to be plunged until her departure 
 was imminent. 
 
 The evening before she left found them perched 
 upon the orchard stile, in that stage of intimacy that 
 permitted him to sit at her feet and toy pensively 
 w r ith the tassel on her girdle while his eyes said the 
 unutterable things that his lips were forbidden to 
 utter. 
 
 The sky was flooded with luminous color, neither 
 blue nor pink, but something deliciously between, 
 and down below them fields of wheat rippled under 
 the magic light. 
 
 "We ought to go in," said Eleanor for the third 
 time. "We 've been out here an outrageously long 
 time." 
 
 "They won't miss us," pleaded Quin; "besides, 
 it 's our last night." 
 
 "Don't talk about it!" said Eleanor. "It makes 
 me so cross to have to leave it all at the most excit- 
 ing time ! When I get back everything will be 
 finished and the fun all over."
 
 QUIN 213 
 
 "When are you coming back?" 
 
 "Not until September. We have to come home 
 then. Something 's going to happen." 
 
 Quin stopped twisting the tassel and looked at her 
 quickly. 
 
 "What?" he demanded. 
 
 "Can you keep a secret?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "It 's a wedding, Quin." 
 
 If the earth had suddenly quaked beneath him he 
 could not have experienced a more horrible sense 
 of devastation. He put out a hand as if to steady 
 himself. 
 
 "You don't mean " he began, and could get 
 
 no further. 
 
 "Yes, I do. It's to be a home wedding, very 
 quiet, with only the family, and afterward they are 
 going out to the coast." 
 
 "Who are?" he asked dully, 
 
 "Aunt Enid and Mr. Chester. After waiting for 
 twenty years. Is n't it too funny for words?" 
 
 Quin thought it was. He threw himself back and 
 shouted. He had never enjoyed a joke so much in 
 his life. It seemed replete with humor, especially 
 when he shared with Eleanor the part he had played 
 in bringing them together and described the waltz 
 on the landing the night of the Easter party. With 
 the arrogance of youth they laughed hilariously at 
 the late blooming romance.
 
 214 QUIN 
 
 "What about Queen Vic?" asked Quin. "How 
 did they ever get her consent?" 
 
 "They did n't ask for it. After letting her keep 
 them apart all these years, they just announced that 
 they were going to be married in September. I 
 expect she raised the roof ; but when she saw it was 
 all settled and she could n't unsettle it, she came 
 around and told Aunt Enid she could be married 
 at home." 
 
 "Good work !" said Quin, who was genuinely fond 
 of both Miss Enid and Mr. Chester. "How is Miss 
 Isobel taking it?" 
 
 "Better than you would think. I don't know what 
 has come over Aunt Isobel, she's so much nicer than 
 she used to be. The boys out at the hospital have 
 made her over." 
 
 "Miss Isobel's a pippin," said Quin, in a tone that 
 implied a compliment. "You ought to have seen 
 how she looked after me when I was sick. Has 
 Madam found out about her going out to camp ?" 
 
 "Yes ; but she has n't stopped her. Something 
 you said once about everybody having a right to do 
 his duty as he saw it made Aunt Isobel take a firm 
 stand and stick it out. You have certainly jolted 
 the family out of its ruts, Quin. Look at Uncle 
 Ranny; would you ever take him for the same per- 
 son he was six months ago?" 
 
 Quin removed his enamored gaze from her face 
 long enough to glance toward the house, where the
 
 QUIN 215 
 
 usually elegant useless Randolph was perched in 
 the crotch of an old ash tree, sawing off a dead limb, 
 and singing as he sawed. 
 
 "Well, when it comes to him, I guess I have had 
 a finger in the pie," said Quin with pardonable pride. 
 "He has n't slipped the trolley for two months ; and 
 if he can stay on the track now, it will be a cinch for 
 him after the first of July. All he needed was a 
 real interest in life, and a chance to work things 
 out for himself." 
 
 "It's what we all need," Eleanor said gloomily. 
 "I wish I could do what I liked." 
 
 "What would you do?" 
 
 "I'd go straight to New York and study for the 
 stage. It is n't a whim it 's what I Ve wanted most 
 to do ever since I was a little girl. I may not have 
 any great talent, but Papa Claude thinks I have. So 
 does Captain Phipps. To have to wait a whole year 
 until I 'm of age is too. stupid for words. It 's just 
 some more of grandmother's tyranny, and I 'm not 
 going to submit much longer ; would you ?" 
 
 Quin contemplated his clasped fists earnestly. For 
 the first time, his belief in the consent of the gov- 
 erned admitted of exceptions. 
 
 "I 'd go a bit slow," he said, feeling his own way 
 cautiously. "This stage business is a doubtful 
 proposition. I don't see where the fun comes in, 
 pretending to be somebody else all the time."
 
 216 QUIN 
 
 "You would if you didn't like being yourself. 
 Besides, I don't live my own life as it is." 
 
 "You will some day when you get married." 
 
 "But that 's just it ! I don't intend to marry I 
 am going to devote my whole life to my work," 
 
 Quin, having but recently recovered from the fear 
 that she was contemplating matrimony, now under- 
 went a similar torture at her avowal that she was 
 not. The second possibility was only a shade less 
 appalling than the first. 
 
 "The trouble is," she went on very confidentially, 
 "I am not interested in anything in the world but 
 my art." 
 
 "Oh, come now, Miss Eleanor !" Quin rallied her. 
 "You know you were interested in the work out 
 at the camp." 
 
 "That 's true. I except that." 
 
 "And you can't say you haven't been interested 
 in our selling this farm, and getting Mr. and Mrs. 
 Ranny fixed up, and all that." 
 
 "Of course I Ve been interested in that; it 's been 
 no end of fun." 
 
 "And then," Quin pursued his point quite braz- 
 enly, "there 's me. I hope you are a little bit 
 interested in me?" 
 
 She tried to take it lightly, "Interested in you? 
 Why, of course I am. We all are. Uncle Ranny 
 was saying only this morning " 
 
 "I don't care a hang what he said. It 's you I 'm
 
 QUIN 217 
 
 talking about. Do you like me any better than you 
 did in the spring?" 
 
 "You silly boy, I 've always liked you." 
 
 "But I told you I wanted a lot. Have I made any 
 headway?" 
 
 "Headway? I should say you have. I never saw 
 such improvement! If the university classes have 
 done this much for you in four months, what will 
 you be by the end of the year?" 
 
 "That's right," said Quin bitterly. "Open the 
 switch and sidetrack me ! But just tell me one thing : 
 is there anybody you are interested in?" 
 
 "Now, see here, Quin/' said Eleanor peremptor- 
 ily, "you have n't any right to ask me questions like 
 that. All I promised was that you could be my 
 chum." 
 
 "Yes; but I meant a chum plus." 
 
 "Well, you'd better look out or you will be a 
 chum minus." Then she caught sight of his eyes, 
 and leaned forward in sudden contrition. "I 'm 
 sorry to hurt you, Quin, but you must under- 
 stand " 
 
 "I do," he admitted miserably. "Only this week 
 out here together, and the way you 've looked at 
 
 me sometimes, made me kind of hope " His 
 
 voice broke. "It 's all right. I '11 wait some more." 
 
 This was the time Eleanor should have carried 
 out her intention of going back to the house. In- 
 stead, she sat on in the deepening twilight under the
 
 218 QUIN 
 
 feminine delusion that she was being good to the 
 miserable youth who sat huddled close to her knees 
 on the step below her. 
 
 Through his whole big being Quin was quivering 
 with the sense of her nearness, afraid to move for 
 fear something stronger than his will would make 
 him seize her slender little body and crush it to him 
 in an agony of tenderness and yearning. 
 
 "How beautiful it is out here now!" she said 
 softly. "Don't you love the feel of wings every- 
 where? Little flying things going home? Every- 
 thing seems to be whispering!" 
 
 Quin did not answer. He sat silent and immovable 
 until the light in the valley had quite faded, and the 
 twitter of the birds had been superseded by the 
 monotonous, mournful plaint of a whip-poor-will in 
 a distant tree. Then he stirred and looked up at 
 Eleanor with a rueful smile. 
 
 "I know what 's the matter with that damned old 
 bird," he said. "He's in love!"
 
 CHAPTER 19 
 
 NOTWITHSTANDING the fact that the sale 
 of the Martels' house was averted and Rose's 
 affair with Harold Phipps successfully terminated, 
 catastrophe, which was evidently due the family, 
 arrived before the summer had fairly begun. The 
 irrepressible Claude had no sooner weighed the 
 anchor of responsibility than he set sail for New 
 York to embark once more on dramatic waters. He 
 had secured a small part in a summer stock com- 
 pany which would leave him ample time to work on 
 "Phantom Love," which he confidently counted upon 
 to retrieve his fortunes. The withdrawal of even 
 his slender contribution to the household expenses 
 made a difference, especially as Edwin came down 
 with the measles early in July. Before the boy had 
 got the green shade off his afflicted eyes, Cass was 
 laid low with typhoid fever. 
 
 No other event in the family could have wrought 
 such disastrous results. Rose was compelled to give 
 up her position to nurse him, and while the income 
 ceased the expenses piled up enormously. 
 
 Nothing was more natural than that Quinby Gra- 
 ham should fling himself into the breach a His in- 
 
 219
 
 220 QUIN 
 
 timacy with Cass had begun on the transport going 
 to France, and continued with unabated zeal until 
 he was wounded in the summer of 1918. For six 
 months he had lost sight of him, only to find him 
 again in the hospital at Camp Zachary Taylor. He 
 was not one to share the privileges of Cass's home 
 without also sharing its hardships. 
 
 "It 's a shame we v'e got to take help from you/' 
 said Rose; "just when you are beginning to get 
 ahead, too!" 
 
 "You cut that out," said Quin. "I 'd like to know 
 if you did n't take me in and treat me like one of 
 the family? Ain't Cass the best friend a man ever 
 had ? And would n't he do as much and more for 
 me?" 
 
 But even Quin's salary failed to meet the emer- 
 gency. Doctor's bills, drug bills, grocery bills, be- 
 came more and more formidable. One day Rose 
 was reduced to selling two of Papa Claude's auto- 
 graphed photographs. 
 
 "I wouldn't do that yet," said Quin, who had 
 begun to walk to the factory to save carfare. "Those 
 old boys and girls are his friends; we can't sell 
 them. I can see him now talking to 'em through 
 his pipe smoke. I ought to have some junk we can 
 soak. Let 's go see." 
 
 The investigation resulted in the conversion of 
 a pair of new wing-toed dancing-shoes and a silver 
 cigarette-case into an ice-bag and an electric
 
 QUIN 221 
 
 "I could stand everything else," said Rose, "if we 
 could just get the children out of the house. Edwin 
 is still as weak as a kitten, and Myrna looks as if 
 she might come down with the fever any day." 
 
 Quin had a brilliant idea. "Why not ship 'em 
 both to the country? Ed could come to town to 
 work every day, and Myrna could help somebody 
 around the house." 
 
 "That sounds mighty fine; but who is going to 
 take two children to board for nothing?" 
 
 "I don't know yet," said Quin; "that 's what I 've 
 got to find out." 
 
 That night he went out to Valley Mead and put 
 the matter squarely up to Mr. and Mrs. Ranny. 
 
 "We 're up against it at our house," he said ; "I 
 want to borrow something from you two good 
 (people." 
 
 "You can have anything we 've got !" said Mr. 
 Ranny rashly. 
 
 "Well, I want to borrow some fresh air for a 
 couple of sick kids. I want you to ask 'em out 
 here for a week." 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Ranny looked aghast at the pre- 
 posterous suggestion, but Quin gave them no time 
 to demur. He plunged into explanation, and 
 clinched his argument by saying: 
 
 "Ed would only be here at night, and Myrna 
 could help around the house. They are bully
 
 222 QUIN 
 
 youngsters. No end of fun, and they wouldn't 
 give you a bit of trouble." 
 
 "But I have only one maid!" protested Mrs. 
 Ranny. 
 
 "What of that?" said Quin. "Myrna's used to 
 working at home ; she 'd be glad to help you." 
 
 "If it was anybody on earth but the Martels," 
 Mr. Ranny objected, with contracted brow. "The 
 families have been at daggers' points for years. 
 Why, the very name of Martel makes mother see 
 red." 
 
 "Well, the children aren't responsible for that!" 
 Quin broke in impatiently; then he pulled himself 
 up. "However, if you don't want to do 'em a good 
 turn, that settles it." 
 
 "But it does n't settle it," said Mr. Ranny. 
 "What are you going to do with them?" 
 
 "Hanged if I know," said Quin; "but you bet 
 I '11 do something." 
 
 The conversation then wandered off to Eleanor, 
 and Quin listened with vague misgivings to accounts 
 of her good times yachting parties, tennis tourna- 
 ments, rock teas, shore dinners all of which sug- 
 gested to him an appallingly unfamiliar world. 
 
 "I tell you w r ho was up there for a week," said 
 Mr. Ranny. "Harold Phipps. You remember 
 meeting him at our apartment last spring?" 
 
 "What's he doing there?" Quin demanded with 
 such vehemence that they both laughed.
 
 QUIN 223 
 
 "Probably making life miserable for Mother 
 Bartlett," said Mrs. Ranny. "I can't imagine how 
 she ever consented to have him come, or how he 
 ever had the nerve to go, after the way they 've 
 treated him." 
 
 "Harold 's not concerned with the feelings of the 
 family," said Mr. Ranny; "he is after Nell." 
 
 But Mrs. Ranny scorned the idea, "He looks 
 upon her as a perfect child," she insisted ; "besides, 
 he 's too lazy and conceited to be in love with any- 
 body but himself." 
 
 "That may be, but Nell's got him going all right." 
 
 Then the conversation veered back to the Martels, 
 with the result that an hour later Quin was on his 
 way home bearing a gracefully worded note from 
 Mrs. Ranny inviting the children to spend the fol- 
 lowing week at Valley Mead. But, in spite of the 
 success of his mission, he sat with a box of fresh 
 eggs in his lap and a huge bunch of flowers in his 
 hand, his hat rammed over his eyes, staring gloomily 
 out of the car window into the starless night. 
 
 Since Eleanor's departure he had had no word 
 from her, and the news that filtered through Valley 
 Mead was more disconcerting than the silence. The 
 thought of her dancing, sailing, and motoring with 
 Harold Phipps filled him with a frenzy oi 
 jealousy. He grew bitter at the thought of hef 
 flitting heedlessly from one luxurious pleasure 
 to another, while Cass lay in that stifling city, fight-
 
 224 QUIN 
 
 ing for his life and lacking even the necessities for 
 his comfort. 
 
 Every week since her departure he had written 
 her, even though the letters grew shorter and 
 blunter as his duties increased. Up until now, how- 
 ever, he, like every one else, had tried to shield 
 Eleanor from anything ugly and sordid. He had 
 tried to make light of the situation and reas- 
 sure her as to results ; but he was determined to do 
 it no longer. It wasn't right, he told himself 
 angrily, for anybody to go through life blinded 
 to all the misery and suffering and poverty in the 
 world. He was going to write her to-night and tell 
 Tier the whole story and spare her nothing. 
 
 But he did not write. When he reached home 
 Cass had had a turn for the worse, and there were 
 ice-baths to prepare and other duties to perform 
 that left him no time for himself. 
 
 The next day Edwin and Myrna were sent out 
 to the Randolph Bartletts', and Rose and Quin 
 cleared the decks for the hard fight ahead. Fan 
 Loomis came in to help nurse in the day-time, and 
 Quin was on duty through the long, suffocating 
 August nights. 
 
 At the end of the week Cass's condition was so 
 serious that the Bartletts insisted on keeping the 
 children at the farm. Myrna had proved a cheery, 
 helpful little companion, and Edwin, while more
 
 QUIN 225 
 
 difficult to handle, was picking up flesh and color, 
 and was learning to run the car. 
 
 Cass's fever dragged on, going down one day 
 only to rise higher the next. Seven weeks, eight 
 weeks, nine weeks passed, and still no improvement. 
 
 Quin, trying to keep up his work at the factory 
 on two or three hours' sleep out of the twenty- four, 
 grew thin and haggard, and coughed more than at 
 any time since he had left the hospital. During the 
 long night vigils he made sporadic efforts to keep 
 up his university work, but he made little headway. 
 
 "Go on to bed, Quin," Rose whispered one night, 
 when she found him asleep with his head against 
 the bed-post. "You '11 be giving out next, and God 
 knows what I '11 do then." 
 
 "Not me!" he declared, suppressing a yawn. 
 "You 're the one that 's done in. Why don't you 
 stay down?'' 
 
 "I can't," she murmured, kneeling anxiously be- 
 side the unconscious patient. "He looks worse to 
 me to-night. Do you believe we can pull him 
 through?" 
 
 She had on a faded pink kimono over her thin 
 night-gown, and her heavy hair was plaited down 
 her back. There were no chestnut puffs over her 
 ears or pink spots on her cheeks, and her lips looked 
 strange without their penciled cupid's bow. But to 
 Quin there was something in her drawn white face 
 and anxious, tender eyes that was more appealing.
 
 226 QUIN 
 
 In their long siege together he had found a staunch 
 dependence and a power of sacrifice in the girl that 
 touched him deeply. 
 
 "I don't know, Rose," he admitted, reaching over 
 and smoothing her hair ; "but we '11 do our darned- 
 est." 
 
 At the touch of his hand she reached up and im- 
 pulsively drew it down to her cheek, holding it there 
 with her trembling lips against its hard palm. 
 
 The night was intensely hot and still. That after- 
 noon they had moved Cass into Rose's room in the 
 hope of getting more air from the western exposure; 
 but only the hot smell of the asphalt and the stifling 
 odor of car smoke came through the curtainless 
 window. The gas-jet, turned very low, threw dis- 
 torted shadows on the bureau with its medley of 
 toilet articles and medicine bottles. Through the 
 open door of the closet could be seen Rose's personal 
 belongings; under the table were a pair of high- 
 heeled slippers ; and two white stockings made white 
 streaks across the window-sill. 
 
 Quin sat by Cass's bedside, with his hand clasped 
 to Rose's cheek, and fought a battle that had been 
 raging within him for days. Without being in 
 the least in love with Rose, he wanted desperately 
 to take her in his arms and comfort her. They were 
 both so tired, so miserable, so desperately afraid of 
 that shadowy presence that hovered over Cass. 
 They were practically alone in the house, account-
 
 QUIN 227 
 
 able to no one, and drawn together by an over- 
 whelming anxiety. In Rose's state of emotional 
 tension she was responsive to his every look and 
 gesture. He had but to hold out his arms and she 
 would sink into them. 
 
 Again and again his eyes traveled from her 
 bright tumbled head to Cass's flushed face, with 
 its absurd round nose and eyes that could no longer 
 keep watch over a pleasure-loving sister. What 
 would happen if Cass should die ? Who would take 
 care of her and the children, helpless and penniless, 
 with only Papa Claude and his visions to stand 
 between them and the world? A great wave of 
 sympathy rushed over him for the girl kneeling 
 there with her face buried in the bed-clothes. She 
 had asked so little of life just a few good times 
 to offset the drudgery, just an outlet for the ocean 
 of love that was dammed up in her small body. 
 Love was the only thing she cared about; it was 
 the only thing that mattered in life. Cass never 
 understood her, but Quin understood her. He was 
 like that himself. The blood was pounding through 
 his veins too, a terrible urgence was impelling him 
 toward her. Why shouldn't they throw discretion 
 to the winds and answer the call? 
 
 Then his mind did a curious thing. It brought 
 up out of the sub-conscious a question that Eleanor 
 Bartlett had once asked him: "Do you think a 
 person has a right to go ahead and do what he
 
 228 QUIN 
 
 wants, regardless of consequences?" He saw her 
 face, moonlit and earnest, turned up to his, and he 
 heard himself answering her: "That depends on 
 whether he wants the right thing." 
 
 Rose stirred, and he withdrew his hand and stood 
 up. 
 
 "See here, young lady," he said with authority; 
 "I '11 give you just two minutes to clear out of 
 here! No, I don't want you to leave your door 
 open; I '11 call you if there 's any change." 
 
 "But, Quin, I don't want to be alone I want 
 to be with you." Her eyes were full of frank 
 appeal, and her lips trembling. 
 
 "You are too sleepy to know what you want," 
 he said. "Up with you not another word. You '11 
 feel better to-morrow. Good-night." And with a 
 little push he put her out of the room and closed 
 the door.
 
 CHAPTER 20 
 
 OUIN stood under the big car-shed at the Union 
 Depot, and for the sixth time in ten minutes 
 consulted the watch that was the pride of his life. 
 He had been waiting for half an hour, not because 
 the train was late, but because he proposed to be on 
 the spot if by any happy chance it should arrive 
 ahead of schedule time. The week before he had re- 
 ceived a picture post-card on whose narrow margin 
 were scrawled the meager lines : 
 
 So glad Cass is up again. Rose says you 've been a 
 brick. Home on Sept. 2. Hope to see you soon. E. M. B. 
 
 It was the only communication he had had from 
 Eleanor since they sat on the stile in the starlight 
 at Valley Mead three months before. To be sure, 
 in her infrequent letters to Rose she had always 
 added, "Give my love to Quinby Graham," and 
 once she said : "Tell him I 've been meaning to 
 write to him all summer." Notwithstanding the 
 fact that Quin had waited in vain for that letter 
 for twelve consecutive weeks, that he had passed 
 through every phase of indignation, jealousy, and 
 consuming fear that can assail a young and undis- 
 
 229
 
 230 QUIN 
 
 ciplined lover, he nevertheless watched for the in- 
 coming train with a rapture undimmed by disturbing 
 reflections. The mere fact that every moment the 
 distance was lessening between him and Eleanor, 
 that within the hour he should see her, hear her, feel 
 the clasp of her hand, was sufficient to send his 
 spirits soaring into sunny spaces of confidence far 
 above the clouds of doubt. 
 
 "Hello, Quinby ; what are you doing here?" asked 
 a voice behind him; and turning he saw the long, 
 oval face and lady-like figure of Mr. Chester. 
 
 "Same thing you are," said Quin, grinning sym- 
 pathetically. "Only if I was in your shoes I 'd be 
 walking the tracks to meet the train." 
 
 Mr. Chester shook his head and smiled primly. 
 
 "When you have waited twenty years for a 
 young lady, twenty minutes more or less do not 
 matter." 
 
 "They would to me!" Quin declared emphatically. 
 "When is the wedding to be?" 
 
 "On the fourteenth. And that reminds me" Mr. 
 Chester ran his arm confidentially through Quin'f 
 and tried to catch step. "I want to ask a favor of 
 you." 
 
 A favor to Quin meant anything from twenty- 
 five cents to twenty-five dollars, and the fact that 
 Mr. Chester should come to him flattered and 
 embarrassed him at the same time.
 
 QUIN 231 
 
 "What 's mine is yours," he said magnanimously. 
 
 "No, you don't understand/' said Mr. Chester. 
 "You see, not being a club man or a society man, 
 I have in a way dropped out of things. I have 
 comparatively few friends, and unfortunately they 
 are not in a set personally known to Madam 
 Bartlett. Miss Enid and I thought that it might 
 solve the difficulty, and avoid complications, if you 
 would agree to serve as my best man." 
 
 "Why, I 'd be willing to serve as the preacher to 
 see you and Miss Enid get married," said Quin 
 heartily. Then his thoughts flew after his departed 
 Tuxedo and the gorgeous wing-toed pumps. 
 "What '11 I have to wear?" 
 
 "It is to be a noon affair," reassured Mr. Chester. 
 "Simple morning coat, you know, and light-gray 
 tie." 
 
 Quin's ideas concerning a morning coat were 
 extremely vague, and the possibility of his procur- 
 ing one vaguer still; but the occasion was too por- 
 tentous to admit of hesitation. He and Mr. Chester 
 continued their walk to the far end of the shed, and 
 then stood looking down at the coal cars being 
 loaded from the yards. 
 
 "White gloves, I suppose?" observed Quin. 
 
 "Pearl gray, with very narrow stitching. I think 
 that's better taste, don't you?" 
 
 "Sure," agreed Quin. "Flower in the buttonhole, 
 or anything like that?"
 
 QUIN 
 
 While this all-important detail was being decided, 
 a clanging bell and the hiss of an engine announced 
 the incoming train. Before the two waiting cavaliers 
 could reach the gate, Eleanor Bartlett came through, 
 laden with wraps and umbrellas. 
 
 "I like the way you meet us," she called out,. 
 "For mercy sake, help me." And she deposited her 
 burden in Quin's outstretched arms. Then, as Mr, 
 Chester strode past them with flying coat-tails in 
 quest of Miss Enid, she burst out laughing. 
 
 "Say, you are looking great," said Quin, with 
 devouring eyes, as he surveyed her over the top of 
 his impedimenta. 
 
 "It 's more than you are." She scanned his face 
 in dismay. "Have you been sick?" 
 
 "No, indeed. Never felt better." 
 
 "I know it was nursing Cass that did it. Rose 
 wrote me all about it. If you don't look better 
 right away, I shall make you go straight to bed 
 and I '11 come feed you chicken soup." 
 
 "My fever's rising this minute!" cried Quin, 
 "I believe I've got a chill. Send for the ambulance !" 
 
 "Not till after the wedding. I '11 have you know 
 I am to be Aunt Enid's bridesmaid." 
 
 "You Ve got nothing on me," said Quin, "I 'm 
 the best man!" 
 
 This struck them both as being so excruciatingly 
 funny that they did not see the approaching caval-
 
 QUIN 233 
 
 cade, with Madam walking slowly at its head, until 
 Quin heard his name called. 
 
 "Oh, dear," said Eleanor, "there they come. And 
 I 've got a thousand questions to ask you and a 
 million things to tell you." 
 
 "Come here, young man, and see me walk!" was 
 Madam's greeting. "Do I look like a cripple ? Leg 
 off at the knee, crutches for life ? Bah ! We fooled 
 them, didn't we?" 
 
 Quin made a tremendous fuss over the old lady. 
 He also threw the aunties into pleased confusion by 
 pretending that he was going to kiss them, and oc- 
 casioned no end of laughter and good-natured 
 banter by his incessant teasing of Mr. Chester. He 
 was in that state of effervescence that demanded an 
 immediate outlet. 
 
 Madam found him so amusing that she promptly 
 detailed him as her special escort. 
 
 "Eleanor can look after the baggage," she said, 
 "and Isobel can look after Eleanor. The turtle- 
 doves can take a taxi." And she closed her strong 
 old fingers around Quin's wrist and pulled him 
 forward. 
 
 He shot an appealing glance over his shoulder 
 at Eleanor, who shook her head in exasperation; 
 then he obediently conducted Madam to her carriage 
 and scrambled in beside her. 
 
 "Now," she said, when he had got a cushion at
 
 234 QUIN 
 
 her back and a stool under her foot, "tell me: 
 there's Ranny drunk as usual?" 
 
 "No, siree!" said Quin proudly. "Sober as 
 usual. He has n't touched a drop since you went 
 away." 
 
 She looked at him incredulously., 
 
 "Are you lying?" 
 
 "I am not." 
 
 Her hard, suspicious old face began to twitch and 
 her eyelids reddened. 
 
 "This is your doing," she said gruffly. "You Ve 
 put more backbone into him than all the doctors 
 together." 
 
 "That 's not all I Ve done," said Quin, "What 
 are you going to say when I tell you I Ve sold him 
 a farm?" 
 
 "A farm ? You Ve got no farm ; and he had no 
 money to buy it, if you had." 
 
 "That 's all right. He has had a farm for three 
 months. You ought to see him up at six o'clock 
 every morning looking after things, and so keen 
 about getting back to it in the evening that he never 
 thinks about going to the club or staying in town." 
 
 "What's all this nonsense you are talking?" 
 
 "It 's not nonsense. He 's bought a little place 
 out near Anchordale. They are living there." 
 
 "And they did this without consulting me!" 
 Madam's eyes blazed. "Why, he is no more capable 
 of running a farm than a ten-year-old child! I
 
 QUIN 235 
 
 have fought it for years. He knew perfectly well 
 if he told me I 'd stop it instantly. He will appeal 
 to me to help out within six months, you '11 see ! I 
 sha'n't do it ! I '11 show my children if they can do 
 without me that I can go without them." 
 
 She was working herself into a fine rage. The 
 aigrette on her bonnet quivered, and the black velvet 
 band about her neck was getting so tight that it 
 looked as if it could n't stand the strain much longer. 
 
 "Why didn't he write me?" she stormed. "Am 
 I too old and decrepit to be consulted any more? 
 Is he going to follow Enid's high-handed way of 
 deciding things without the slightest reference to 
 my wishes?" 
 
 "I expect he is," said Quin cheerfully. "You see, 
 you can't stiffen a fellow's backbone, as you call it, 
 for one thing and not another. When he found 
 out he could stop drinking, he decided he could do 
 other things as well. He 's started a chicken farm." 
 
 Madam groaned: "Of course. I never knew a 
 fool that sooner or later didn't gravitate to chickens. 
 He will get an incubator next." 
 
 "He has two already. He and Mrs. Ranny are 
 studying out the whole business scientifically." 
 
 "And I suppose they 've got a rabbit hutch, and 
 a monkey, and some white mice?" 
 
 "Not quite. But they 've got a nice place. Want 
 to go out with me next Saturday and see 'em?"
 
 236 QUIN 
 
 "I do not. I 'm not interested in menageries. I 
 never expect to cross the threshold." 
 
 Quin pulled up the cape that had slipped from her 
 shoulder, and adjusted it carefully. 
 
 "When Mr. Ranny comes in to see you," he 
 said, "I hope you won't ball him out right away. 
 He 's awful keen on this stunt, you know. It sort 
 of takes the place of the things he has given up." 
 
 Madam glared straight ahead of her for a few 
 moments, then she said curtly: 
 
 "I '11 not mention it until he does." 
 
 "Oh, but I want you to. He 's as nervous as a 
 witch about how you are going to take it. You 
 see, he thinks more of your opinion than he does 
 of anybody's, and he wants your approval. If you 
 could jump right in and say you think it 's a bully 
 idea, and that you are coming out to see what he has 
 done, and " 
 
 "Do you want me to lie?" Madam demanded 
 fiercely. 
 
 "No," said Quin, laughing; "I am trying to warm 
 you up to the project now, so you won't have to 
 lie." Then, seeing her face relax a little, he leaned 
 toward her and said in his most persuasive tone : 
 
 "See here, now ! I did my best to straighten Mr. 
 Ranny out. He 's making the fight of his life to 
 keep straight. It 's up to you to stand by us. You 
 don't want to pitch the fat back in the fire, do you?" 
 
 They had reached the big house on Third Avenue,
 
 QUIN 237 
 
 and the carriage was slowing up at the curbing. 
 Quin, receiving no answer to his question, carefully 
 helped Madam up the steps and into the house, where 
 black Hannah was waiting to receive her. 
 
 "You can't come in," said Madam gruffly. "I 
 am tired. I will see you some other time." 
 
 "All right," said Quin. "What time shall I come 
 Saturday afternoon?" 
 
 "Saturday afternoon? Why then?" 
 
 "To go out to Mr. Ranny's farm." 
 
 For an instant they measured glances ; then Quin 
 began to laugh a confident, boyish laugh full of 
 teasing affection. 
 
 "Come on," he coaxed, "be a good scout. Let 's 
 give 'em the surprise of their lives." 
 
 "You rascal, you!" she said, hitting at him with 
 her cane. "I believe you are at the bottom of all 
 this. Mind, I promise you nothing." 
 
 "You don't have to," he called back. "I can 
 trust you. I '11 be here at three !" 
 
 He arrived on Saturday an hour early in the hope 
 of seeing Eleanor, and was gloriously rewarded by 
 thirty minutes alone with her in the big dark draw- 
 ing-room. All the way up from the factory he had 
 thought of the things he wanted to tell her all 
 the Martel news, the progress of affairs at Valley 
 Mead, the fact that he had won his first-term certifi- 
 cate at the university, and above all about his pro- 
 motion at Bartlett & Bangs. But Eleanor gave him
 
 238 QUIN 
 
 no chance to tell her anything. She was like a 
 dammed-up stream that suddenly finds an outlet. 
 Into Quin's sympathetic ears she poured her own 
 troubles, talking with her hands and her eyes as 
 well as her lips, exaggerating, dramatizing, laugh- 
 ing one minute, half crying the next. 
 
 The summer, it seemed, had been one long series 
 of clashes with her grandmother. She hadn't en- 
 joyed one day of it, she assured him; that is, not a 
 whole day, for of course there were some gorgeous 
 times in between. Her friends had not been wel- 
 come at the house, and one (whom Quin devoutly 
 hoped was Mr. Phipps) had been openly insulted. 
 She had not been allowed to take part in the play 
 given at the club-house, when it had been planned 
 with her especially in mind for the leading role. 
 She had even been forbidden to go to the last boat- 
 house dance, because it was a moonlight affair, and 
 grandmother had never heard of such a thing as 
 dancing without lights. 
 
 "She has spent the entire summer nagging at me," 
 Eleanor concluded. "I could n't do a thing to please 
 her. If I stayed in she wanted me to go out; if 
 I went out she thought I ought to stay in. If I 
 put on one dress she invariably made me change it 
 for another. And as for being late to meals, why, 
 each time it happened you would have thought I 'd 
 broken the ten commandments." 
 
 "Could n't you have pushed up the stroke and got
 
 QUIN 239 
 
 there on time?" asked Quin, whose army training- 
 made him inclined to sympathize with Madam at this 
 point. 
 
 "No, I could not. I am always late. It 's a 
 Martel trait that 's why it infuriates grandmother. 
 But it was n't any of these things I Ve been telling 
 you that caused the real trouble. It was her constant 
 interference in my private affairs. I am simply 
 sick of being dictated to about my choice of 
 friends." 
 
 "You mean Mr. Phipps?" 
 
 She looked at him quickly. "How did you know?" 
 
 "Mrs. Ranny told me he was up there, and I 
 guessed there was a shindy." 
 
 "I should say there was for the entire three 
 days he was there! If he hadn't been big enough 
 to rise above it and ignore grandmother, she would 
 have succeeded in breaking up one of the most 
 beautiful friendships of my life." 
 
 Quin absently twisted a corner of the corpulent 
 sofa cushion which he held in his lap, before he 
 asked cautiously: 
 
 "What is it you like so much in him, Miss Nell?" 
 
 Eleanor curled her feet under her on the sofa, 
 and launched forth on a favorite theme: 
 
 "Well, to begin with, he 's the most cosmopolitan 
 man I ever met." 
 
 "Cosmopolitan ? How do you mean ?"
 
 240 QUIN 
 
 "Awfully sophisticated. A sort of citizen of the 
 world, you know." 
 
 "You mean he 's traveled a lot, knocked around 
 in queer places, like me?" 
 
 "Oh, no ; it is n't that. As a matter of fact, he 
 has never been out of this country. But I mean 
 that, wherever he 'd go, he would be at home." 
 
 "Yes," Quin admitted, with a grim smile ; "that's 
 where he was most of the time when he was in the 
 army. What else do you like about him?" 
 
 "I sha'n't tell you. You are prejudiced, like all 
 the rest. He says that only an artist can under- 
 stand an artist." 
 
 "Meaning, I suppose, that he understands you?" 
 
 "Yes; and I believe I understand him. Of course 
 I don't agree with him in all his ideas. But then, 
 I Ve been brought up in such a narrow way that I 
 know I am frightfully conventional. He is awfully 
 advanced, you know. Why don't you like him, 
 Quin?" 
 
 Numerous concrete and very emphatic reasons 
 sprang to Quin's lips. He would have liked nothing 
 better than to answer her question fully and finally ; 
 but instead he only smiled at her and said : 
 
 "Why, I guess the main reason is because you do." 
 
 Eleanor looked at him dubiously: "No," she 
 said ; "it 's something besides that. The family 
 have probably filled your ears with silly gossip. Mr. 
 Phipps was wild at one time he told me all about
 
 QUIN 241 
 
 it. But that 's ancient history ; you can take my 
 word for it." 
 
 Quin would have taken her word for almost any- 
 thing when she looked at him with such star-eyed 
 earnestness, but he was obliged to make an excep- 
 tion in the present instance. 
 
 "He 's nothing in my young life," he said in- 
 differently. "What I want to know is whether 
 you are home to stay?" 
 
 Eleanor glanced at the door, listened, then she 
 said: 
 
 "I don't know yet. You see, Papa Claude 
 is to be in New York this winter, finishing 
 his play. He says if I will come on he will 
 put me in the Kendall School of Expression 
 and see that I get the right start. It 's the chance 
 of a life-time, and I 'm simply wild to go." 
 
 "And Queen Vic won't hear of it?" 
 
 "Not for a second. She knows perfectly well 
 that I can go on the stage the day I am twenty-one, 
 yet through sheer obstinacy she refuses to advance 
 me a penny to do as I like with before the 2Oth of 
 next July." 
 
 "She don't do it for meanness," Quin ventured. 
 "She 'd give you all she had if it came to a show- 
 down. But none of 'em realize you are grown up; 
 they are afraid to turn you loose." 
 
 "Well, I 've stood it as long as I intend to. I
 
 242 QUIN 
 
 made up my mind that I would stick it out until 
 after Aunt Enid's wedding. It nearly breaks my 
 heart to do anything to hurt her and Aunt Isobel; 
 but even they are beginning to rebel against grand- 
 mother's tyranny." 
 
 "What do you mean to do ?" asked Quin, with a 
 sudden sinking of the heart. 
 
 "I am not sure yet ; I have n't quite made up my 
 mind. But I am not going to stay here. I am too 
 
 unhappy, Quin, and with Aunt Enid gone " 
 
 Her voice broke, and as she caught her lip between 
 her small white teeth she stared ahead of her with 
 tragic eyes. 
 
 Quin laid his arm along the sofa, as close to her 
 shoulders as he dared, and looked at her in dumb 
 sympathy. 
 
 "Don't you think you might try a different tack 
 with the old lady?" he ventured presently. "Even 
 a porcupine likes to have its head scratched, and I 
 think sometimes she 's kind of hungry for somebody 
 to cotton up to her a bit. Don't you think you 
 might " 
 
 "Who left that front door open?" broke in a 
 harsh, peremptory voice from the landing, "I don't 
 care who opened it I want it shut, and kept shut. 
 Where 's Quinby Graham ? I thought you said he 
 was waiting." 
 
 Quin rose precipitately and made a dash for the
 
 QUIN 243 
 
 hall, while Eleanor discreetly disappeared through a 
 rear door. 
 
 "Well," said Madam grimly, pulling on her gloves, 
 "it is a novel experience to find a young person who 
 has a respect for other people's time."
 
 CHAPTER 21 
 
 ITVDR the next two weeks Eleanor made a heroic 
 JL effort to follow Quin's advice and be nice to 
 Madam. She wanted, with all her heart, to gain her 
 point peacefully, and she also wanted Quin's ap- 
 proval of what she was doing. In spite of his obvi- 
 ous adoration, she frequently detected a note of 
 criticism in his voice, that, while it piqued her, also 
 stirred her conscience and made her see things in a 
 new and disturbing light. For the first time, she be- 
 gan to wonder if she could be partly to blame for the 
 friction that always existed between herself and her 
 grandmother. She certainly had taken an unholy 
 joy in flaunting her Martel characteristics in the old 
 lady's face. It was not that she preferred to identify 
 herself with her mother's family rather than with 
 her father's. The Martel shiftlessness and visionary 
 improvidence were quite as intolerable to her as the 
 iron-clad conventions of the Bartletts. She could 
 take correction from Aunt Isobel and Aunt Enid, 
 but there was something in her grandmother's 
 caustic comments that made her tingle with instant 
 opposition, as a delicate vase will shiver at the sound 
 of its own vibration. 
 
 244
 
 QUIN 245 
 
 During the days before the wedding she surprised 
 herself by her docility and acquiescence in all that 
 was proposed for her. She even accepted without 
 demur the white swiss and blue ribbons that a week 
 before she had considered entirely too infantile for 
 an adult maid of honor. This particular exhibition 
 of virtue was due to the exemplary behavior of the 
 bride herself. Miss Enid had longed for the regula- 
 tion white satin, tulle veil, and orange blossoms ; but 
 Madam had promptly cited the case of the old maid 
 who waited so long to marry that her orange 
 blossoms turned to oranges. 
 
 Miss Enid was married in a sober traveling dress, 
 and carried a prayer-book. She and Mr. Chester 
 stood in front of the drawing-room mantel, where 
 twenty years before Madam had expressed her 
 opinion concerning sentimental young fools who 
 thought they could live on fifteen dollars a week. 
 
 The budding romance, snatched ruthlessly up and 
 flung into the dust-heap of common sense, had lain 
 dormant all these years, until Quinby Graham had 
 stumbled upon its dried old roots, and planted them 
 once again in the garden of dreams. 
 
 Why is it that we will breathlessly follow the 
 callowest youth and the silliest maiden through the 
 most intricate labyrinth of love, never losing interest 
 until they drop safely into one another's arms, and 
 yet when two seasoned, mellowed human beings 
 tried by life and found worthy of the prize of love,
 
 246 QUIN 
 
 dare lift a sentimental lid or sigh a word of 
 romance, we straightway howl with derision? 
 
 It was not until Eleanor stood beside the elderly 
 bride that the affair ceased to be funny to her. For 
 the first time, she saw something pathetic and beauti- 
 ful in the permanence of a love that, starved and 
 thwarted and blasted by ridicule, could survive the 
 years and make two faded, middle-aged people like 
 Aunt Enid and Mr. Chester eager to drain the dregs 
 of life together, when they had been denied the 
 good red wine. 
 
 Her eyes wandered from their worn, elated faces 
 to the rows of solemn figures behind them. Madam, 
 as usual, dominated the scene. Her portrait gazed 
 in portentously from the hall; her marble bust 
 gleamed from a distant corner; and she herself, the 
 most resplendent person present, sat in a chair of 
 state placed like a proscenium-box, and critically 
 observed the performance. 
 
 "If she only wouldn't curl her lip like that!" 
 thought Eleanor shudderingly ; then she remembered 
 her resolution and looked at Quin. 
 
 He too was looking preternaturally solemn, and 
 his lips were moving softly in unison with Mr. 
 Chester's. If Eleanor could have heard those in- 
 audible responses she would have been startled by 
 the words: "I, Quinby, take thee, Eleanor." But 
 she only observed that he was lost in a day-dream, 
 and that she had never seen him look so nice.
 
 QUIN 247 
 
 Indeed, he was a very different-looking person 
 from the boy that six months ago had mortified her 
 by his appearance at her Easter party in "the classiest 
 coat in the market." The propriety of his garments 
 made her suspect that Uncle Ranny had had a hand 
 in their selection. 
 
 "And I like the way he 's got his hair slicked 
 back," she thought. "I wonder how he ever managed 
 it?" 
 
 After the wedding breakfast, which was a lavish 
 one, and the departure of the bride and groom, for 
 California, where they were to make their future 
 home, Madam summoned Eleanor. 
 
 "There 's no use in you and Quin Graham staying 
 here with all these fossils, v she said, lowering her 
 voice. "People hate to go home from a wedding 
 almost as much as they do from a funeral! You 
 two take this and go to a matinee." 
 
 This unexpected concession to Eleanor's weakness 
 touched her deeply. She flew into the hall to tell 
 Quin, and then rushed upstairs to change her dress. 
 
 "I believe the scheme is working!" she said joy- 
 ously, as she and Quin sat in the theater waiting for 
 the curtain to rise. "Grandmother has been peaches 
 and cream to me all week. This morning she capped 
 the climax by giving me a check for a hundred 
 dollars to buy a gold mesh bag." 
 
 "A what!" cried Quin, aghast. 
 
 "A mesh bag. But I am not going to get it. I
 
 248 QUIN 
 
 sent the check to Rose. It has nearly killed me not 
 to have a penny to send them all summer, and this 
 came just in time. Have you heard about Myrna?" 
 
 "Being asked to spend the winter at Mrs. 
 Ranny's ? I should say I have ! She 's the happiest 
 kid alive." 
 
 "And grandmother has even stood for that ! It 's 
 a perfect scream to hear her bragging about 'my 
 son's farm.' She will be talking about 'my 
 daughter's husband' next." 
 
 "Queen Vic 's all right," Quin declared stoutly. 
 "Her only trouble is that she 's been trying to play 
 baseball by herself; she's got to learn team-work." 
 
 The play happened to be "The Better 'Ole" ; and 
 from the moment the curtain rose Eleanor was 
 oblivious to everything but the humor and pathos 
 and glory of the story. She followed with ready 
 tears and smiles the adventures of the three Tom- 
 mies; she thrilled to the sentimental songs beside 
 the stage camp fire; she laughed at the antics of 
 the incomparable Corporal Bill. It was not until 
 the second act that she became conscious of the 
 queer behavior of her companion. 
 
 Quin sat hunched up in his wedding suit, his jaw 
 set like a vise, staring solemnly into space with an 
 expression she had never seen in his face before. 
 He seemed to have forgotten where he was and 
 whom he was with. His hand had crushed the 
 program into a ball, and his breath came short, as
 
 QUIN 249 
 
 it always did when he was excited or over-exerted. 
 
 Eleanor, whose emotions up to now had been 
 pleasantly and superficially stirred, suddenly saw the 
 play from a new angle. With quick imagination she 
 visualized the great reality of which all this was 
 but a clever sham. She saw Quin passing through 
 it all, not to the thunder of stage shrapnel and the 
 glare of a red spot-light, but in the life-and-death 
 struggle of those eighteen months in the trenches. 
 Before she knew it, she too was gazing absently into 
 space, shaken with the profound realization that 
 here beside her, his shoulder touching hers, was one 
 who had lived more in a day than she had ever lived 
 in a life-time. 
 
 They said little during the last intermission, and 
 the silence brought them closer together than any 
 words could have done. 
 
 "It takes a fellow back all this," Quin roused 
 himself to say in half-apology. 
 
 "I know," said Eleanor. 
 
 They walked home in the autumn twilight in that 
 exalted, romantic mood in which a good play leaves 
 one. Now that the tension was over, it was quite 
 possible to prolong the enjoyment by discussing the 
 strong and weak points of the performance. Eleanor 
 was surprised to find that Quin, while ignorant of 
 the meaning of the word technic nevertheless had 
 decided and worth-while opinions about every detail,
 
 250 QUIN 
 
 and that his comments were often startlingly per- 
 tinent. 
 
 They reached the Bartletts' before they knew it, 
 and Quin sighed ruefully: 
 
 "I wish Miss Enid and Mr. Chester could get 
 married every Wednesday! When can I see you 
 again?" 
 
 "Some time soon." 
 
 "To-morrow night?" 
 
 "I am afraid that 's too soon." 
 
 "Friday?" 
 
 "No; I am going to a dance at the Country Club 
 Friday night." 
 
 Still he lingered disconsolately on the lower ste.p, 
 unable to tear himself away. 
 
 "Do you know," he said, gaining time by pre- 
 senting a grievance, "you never have danced with 
 me but twice in your life?" 
 
 She looked at him dreamily. 
 
 "The funny thing is that I remember those two 
 dances better than any I 've ever had with anybody 
 else." 
 
 He came up the steps two at a time. 
 
 "What do you mean by that ?" he demanded. "Are 
 you joshing me?" 
 
 "No, honest. That New Year's eve with the 
 blizzard raging outside, and that bright crowded 
 hall, and all you boys just home from France. Do 
 you remember the big blue parrots that swung in
 
 QUIN 251 
 
 hoops from the chandeliers? And that wonderful 
 saxophone and the big bass drum !" 
 
 "Then it isn't me that you remember? Just a 
 darned old parrot hanging on a hoop, and a saxo- 
 phone and a drum!" 
 
 "You silly ! Of course it 's you too ! I remember 
 every single thing you told me, and how terribly 
 thrilled I was. This afternoon brought it all back. 
 I shall never forget this, either. Not as long as 
 Hive!" 
 
 She started to put out her hand; but, seeing the 
 look in Quin's eyes, she reconsidered and opened the 
 door instead. 
 
 "So long," she said casually. "I '11 probably see 
 you sometime next week. In the meanwhile I '11 be 
 good to granny !"
 
 CHAPTER 22 
 
 WHEN Eleanor reached the Country Club on 
 Friday night, she found a box of flowers 
 waiting for her in the dressing-room. It was the 
 second box she had received that day. The first 
 bore the conspicuous label, "Wear-Well Shoes," and 
 contained a bunch of wild evening primroses 
 wrapped in wet moss. With this more sophisticated 
 floral offering was a sealed note which she opened 
 eagerly : 
 
 Mademoiselle Beaux Yeux [she read] : 
 
 Save % all the dances after the intermission for me. I 
 will reach L. at nine-thirty, get out to the club for a 
 couple of hours with you, and catch the midnight express 
 back to Chicago. Pin my blossoms close to your heart, 
 and bid it heed what they whisper. 
 
 H. P. 
 
 Eleanor read the note twice, conscious of the fact 
 that a dozen envious eyes were watching her. She 
 considered this quite the most romantic thing that 
 had happened to her. For a man like Mr. Phipps to 
 travel sixteen hours out of the twenty-four just to 
 dance with her was a triumph indeed. It made her 
 think of her old friend Joseph, in the Bret Harte 
 poem, who 
 
 252
 
 QUIN 253 
 
 Swam the Elk's creek and all that, 
 
 Just to dance with old Folingsbee's daughter, 
 
 The Lily of Poverty Flat. 
 
 Not that Eleanor felt in the least humble. She 
 had never felt so proud in her life as she smiled a 
 little superior smile and slipped the note in her 
 bosom. 
 
 "Not orchids !" exclaimed Kitty Mason, poking an 
 inquisitive finger under the waxed paper. 
 
 "Why not?" Eleanor asked nonchalantly. "They 
 are my favorite flowers." 
 
 "But I thought the orchid king was in Chicago?" 
 
 "He is that is, he was. He 's probably on the 
 train now. I have just had a note saying he was 
 running down for the dance and would go back 
 to-night." 
 
 The news had the desired effect. Six noses, which 
 were being vigorously powdered, were neglected 
 while their owners burst forth in a chorus of ex- 
 clamations sufficiently charged with envious admira- 
 tion to satisfy the most rapacious debutante. 
 
 "I should think you 'd be perfectly paralyzed try- 
 ing to think of things to talk to him about," said 
 little Bessie Meed, who had not yet put her hair up. 
 "Older men scare me stiff." 
 
 "They don't me," declared Lou Pierce; "they 
 make me tired. Sitting out dances, and holding 
 hands, and talking high-brow. When I come to a
 
 254 QUIN 
 
 dance I want to dance. Give me Johnnie Rawlings 
 or Pink Bailey and a good old jazz." 
 
 Eleanor pinned on her orchids and moved away. 
 The girls seemed incredibly young and noisy and 
 crass. Less than six months ago she, too, was 
 romping through the dances with Jimmy and Pink, 
 and imagining that a fox-trot divided between ten 
 partners constituted the height of enjoyment. Mr. 
 Phipps had told her in the summer that she was 
 changing. "The little butterfly is emerging from 
 her chrysalis," was the poetic way he had phrased it, 
 with an accompanying look that spoke volumes. 
 
 Once on the dance floor, however, she forgot her 
 superior mood and enjoyed herself inordinately until 
 supper-time. Just as she and Pink were starting for 
 the refreshment room, she caught sight of a familiar 
 graceful figure, standing apart from the crowd, 
 watching her with level, penetrating eyes. 
 
 "Pink, I forgot!" she said hastily; "I 'm engaged 
 for supper. I '11 see you later." And without 
 further apology she slipped through the throng and 
 joined Harold. 
 
 "Let 's get out of this," he said, lightly touching 
 her bare arm and piloting her toward the porch. 
 
 "But don't you want any supper?" asked Eleanor, 
 amazed. 
 
 "Not when I have you," whispered Harold. 
 
 Eleanor gave a regretful glance at a mammoth 
 tray of sandwiches being passed, then allowed her-
 
 QUIN 255 
 
 self to be drawn out through the French window into 
 the cool darkness of the wide veranda. 
 
 "Let 's sit in that car down by the first tee," 
 Harold suggested. "It 's only a step." 
 
 Eleanor hesitated. One of the ten social com- 
 mandments imposed upon her was that she was 
 never to leave the porch at a Country Club dance. 
 That the porch edge should be regarded as the 
 limit of propriety had always seemed to her the 
 height of absurdity; but so far she had obeyed the 
 family and confined her flirtations to shadowy 
 corners and dim nooks under bending palms. 
 
 "What's the trouble?" Harold inquired solicit- 
 ously. "The little gold slippers?" 
 
 "No I don't mind the slippers; but, you see, 
 I 'm not supposed to go off the porch." 
 
 "How ridiculous ! Of course you are going off 
 the porch. I have only one hour to stay, and I Ve 
 something very important to tell you." 
 
 "But why can't we sit here?" she insisted, in- 
 dicating an unoccupied bench. 
 
 "Because those ubiquitous youngsters will be 
 clamoring for you the moment the music begins. 
 Have n't you had enough noise for one night ? 
 Perhaps you prefer to go inside and be pushed about 
 and eat messy things with your fingers?" 
 
 "Now you are horrid !" Eleanor pouted. "I only 
 thought " 
 
 "You mean you didn't think!" corrected Harold,
 
 256 QUIN 
 
 putting the tip of his finger under her chin and 
 tilting her face up to his. "You just repeated what 
 you 'd been taught to say. Use your brains, Eleanor. 
 What possible harm can there be in our quietly 
 sitting out under tue light of the stars, instead of 
 on this crowded piazza, with that distracting din 
 going on inside?" 
 
 "Of course there isn't really." 
 
 "Well, then, come on" ; and he led the way across 
 the strip of dewy lawn and handed her into the car. 
 
 Eleanor experienced a delicious sense of forbidden 
 joy as she sank on the soft cushions and looked back 
 at the brilliantly lighted club-house. The knowledge 
 that in many of those other cars parked along the 
 roadway other couples were cozily twosing, and that 
 not a girl among them but would have changed 
 places with her, added materially to her enjoyment. 
 
 It was not that Harold Phipps was popular. She 
 had to admit that he had more enemies than friends. 
 But rumors of his wealth, his position, and his 
 talent, together with his distinguished appearance, 
 had made him the most sought after officer stationed 
 at the camp. That he should have swooped down 
 from his eagle flight with Uncle Ranny's sophisti- 
 cated group to snatch her out of the pool of youthful 
 minnows was a compliment she did not forget. 
 
 "Well," he said, lazily sinking into his corner of 
 the car and observing her with satisfaction, "have n't
 
 QUIN 257 
 
 you something pretty to say to me, after I 've come 
 all these miles to hear it?" 
 
 Eleanor laughed in embarrassment. It was much 
 easier to say pretty things in letters than to say them 
 face to face. 
 
 "There is one thing that I always have to say to 
 you," she said, "and that 's thank you. These 
 orchids are perfectly sweet, and the candy that came 
 yesterday " 
 
 "Was also perfectly sweet ? Come, Eleanor, let 's 
 skip the formalities. Were you or were you not 
 glad to see me?" 
 
 "Why, of course I was." 
 
 "Well, you did n't look it. I am not used to 
 having girls treat me as casually as you do. How 
 much have you missed me?" 
 
 "Heaps. How 's the play coming on?" 
 
 "Marvelously ! We 've worked out all the main 
 difficulties, and I signed up this week with a man- 
 ager." 
 
 "Not really! When will it be produced?" 
 
 "Sometime in the spring. I go on to New York 
 next month to make the final arrangements. When 
 do you go?" 
 
 "I don't know that I am going. I 'm trying my 
 best to get grandmother's consent." 
 
 "You must go anyhow," said Harold. "I want 
 you to have three months at the Kendall School, 
 and then do you know what I am going to do?"
 
 258 QUIN 
 
 "What?" she asked with sparkling eagerness. 
 
 "I am going to try you out in 'Phantom Love/ 
 You remember you said if I wrote a part especially 
 for you that nothing in heaven or earth could prevent 
 your taking it." 
 
 "And have you written a part especially for me ?" 
 
 "I certainly have. A young Southern girl who 
 moves through the play like a strain of exquisite 
 music. The only trouble is that the role promises 
 to be more appealing than the star's." 
 
 "That 's the loveliest thing I ever heard of any- 
 body doing!" cried Eleanor, breathless with grati- 
 tude. "Does Papa Claude know?" 
 
 "Of course he knows. We worked it out to- 
 gether. I am going to find him a small apartment, 
 so he can be ready for you when you come. It 
 should n't be later than November the first." 
 
 Eleanor wore such a look as Joan of Arc must 
 have worn when she first heard the heavenly voices. 
 Her shapely bare arms hung limp at her sides, and 
 her white face, with its contrasting black hair, shone 
 like a delicate cameo against the darkness. 
 
 Harold, leaning forward with elbows on his knees, 
 kept lightly touching and retouching his mustache. 
 
 "In the first act," he continued softly, "I Ve put 
 you in the Red Cross Uniform the little blue and 
 white one, you know, that you used to break hearts 
 in out at the camp hospital. In the second act you 
 are to be in riding togs, smart in every detail, some-
 
 QUIN 259 
 
 thing very chic, that will show your figure to advan- 
 tage; in the last act I want you exactly as you are 
 this minute this soft clingy gold gown, and the 
 gold slippers, and your hair high and plain like that, 
 with the band of dull gold around it. I wouldn't 
 change an inch of you, not from your head to your 
 blessed little feet!" 
 
 As he talked Eleanor forgot him completely. She 
 was busy visualizing the different costumes, even 
 going so far as to see herself slipping through folds 
 of crimson velvet to take insistent curtain calls. 
 Already in imagination she was rich and famous, 
 dispensing munificent bounty to the entire Martel 
 family. Then a disturbing thought pricked her 
 dream and brought her rudely back to the present. 
 As long as her grandmother regarded her going to 
 New York as a foolish whim, a passing craze, she 
 might be wheedled into yielding; but at the first 
 suggestion of a professional engagement, her oppo- 
 sition would become active and violent. Eleanor 
 sighed helplessly and looked at Harold. 
 
 "What shall I do if grandmother refuses to send 
 me?" she asked desperately. 
 
 "You can let me send you," he said quietly. "It 's 
 folly to keep up this pretense any longer, Eleanor. 
 .You love me, don't you?" 
 
 "I I like you," faltered Eleanor, "better than 
 almost anybody. But I am never going to marry;
 
 2<5o QUIN 
 
 I don't think I shall ever care for anybody that 
 way." 
 
 He watched her with an amused practised glance. 
 "We won't talk about it now," he said lightly. "We 
 will talk instead of your career. You remember 
 that night at Ran's when you recited for me? I 
 can hear you now saying those lines : 
 
 'Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won 
 I '11 frown and be perverse, and say thee nay.' 
 
 For days I was haunted by the beauty and subtlety 
 of your voice, the unconscious grace of your poses, 
 your little tricks of coquetry, and the play of your 
 eyebrows." 
 
 "Did you really see all that in me the first night?" 
 
 "I saw more. I saw that, if taken in time, you 
 were destined to be a great actress. I swore then 
 and there that you should have your chance, and 
 that I should be the one to give it to you." 
 
 "But " 
 
 "No. Don't answer me now. You are like a 
 little bud that 's afraid to open its petals. Once you 
 get out of this chilling atmosphere of criticism and 
 opposition, you will burst into glorious bloom." 
 
 "But it would mean a terrible break with the 
 family. I don't believe I can " 
 
 "Yes, you can. I know you better than you know 
 yourself. If Madam Bartlett persists in refusing
 
 QUIN 261 
 
 to send you to New York, you are going to be big 
 enough to let me do it." 
 
 He was holding her hand now, and talking with 
 unusual earnestness. Eleanor thought she had never 
 seen a greater exhibition of magnanimity. That he 
 was willing to give all and ask for nothing, to be 
 patient with her vacillations, and understand and 
 sympathize with what everybody else condemned in 
 her, touched her greatly. She turned to him im- 
 pulsively. 
 
 "I '11 do whatever you say," she said. "You and 
 Papa Claude go ahead and make the arrangements, 
 and I promise you I '11 come." 
 
 Harold Phipps should have left it there; but 
 Eleanor was never more irresistible than when she 
 was in a yielding mood, and now, when she lifted 
 starry eyes of gratitude, he tumbled off his pedestal 
 of noble detachment, and drew her suddenly into 
 his arms. 
 
 In an instant her soft mood vanished. She 
 scrambled hastily to her feet and got out of the car. 
 
 "I am going in," she said abruptly. "I 'm cold." 
 
 Harold laughingly followed. "Cold?" he re- 
 peated in his laziest tone. "My dear girl, you could 
 understudy the North Pole! However, it was my 
 mistake; I 'm sorry. Shall we go in and dance?" 
 
 For the next half -hour he and Eleanor were the 
 most observed couple on the floor. The "ubiquitous 
 youngsters," seeing his air of proprietorship, forbore
 
 262 QUIN 
 
 to break in, and it was not until the last dance that 
 Pink Bailey, looking the immature college boy he 
 was, presented himself apologetically to take Eleanor 
 home. 
 
 "Bring your car around, and she will be ready," 
 said Harold loftily. Then he turned to Eleanor, 
 "I shall expect a letter every day. You must keep 
 me posted how things are going." 
 
 They were standing on the club-house steps now, 
 and she was looking dreamily off across the golf 
 links. 
 
 "Did you hear me?" he said impatiently. 
 
 "Oh, I was listening to the whip-poor-wills. They 
 always take me back to Valley Mead. Write every 
 day? Heavens, no. I hate to write letters." 
 
 "But you '11 write to me, you little ingrate ! I 
 shall send you such nice letters that you '11 have to 
 answer them." 
 
 A vagrant breeze, with a hint of autumn, blew 
 Eleanor's scarf across his shoulder, and he tenderly 
 replaced it about her throat. 
 
 "Are you cold?" he asked solicitously. 
 
 Eleanor, under cover of the crowd that was surg- 
 ing about them, felt a sudden access of boldness. 
 
 "Not so cold as some people think," she said mis- 
 chievously; then, without waiting for further good- 
 by, she sped down the steps and into the waiting car.
 
 CHAPTER 23 
 
 OF all the multitudinous ways in which Dan 
 Cupid, Unlimited, does business, none is more 
 nefarious than his course by correspondence. Once 
 he has induced two guileless clients to plunge into the 
 traffic of love letters, the rest is easy. Wild specula- 
 tion in love stock, false valuations, hysterical desire 
 to buy in the cheapest and sell in the dearest market, 
 invariably follow. Before the end of the month 
 Harold Phipps and Eleanor Bartlett were gambling 
 in the love market with a recklessness that would 
 have staggered the most hardened old speculator. 
 
 Harold, instead of being handicapped by his 
 absence at the most critical point in his love affair, 
 took advantage of it to exhibit one of his most 
 brilliant accomplishments. He sent Eleanor a hand- 
 some tooled-leather portfolio to hold his letters, 
 which he wrote on loose-leaf sheets and mailed un- 
 folded. They were letters that deserved preserva- 
 tion, prose poems composed with infinite pains and 
 copied with meticulous care. If the potpourri was 
 at times redolent of the dried flowers of other men's 
 loves, Eleanor was blissfully unaware of it. When 
 
 he wrote of the lonesome October of his most im- 
 
 263
 
 264 QUIN 
 
 memorial year, or spoke of her pilgrim soul coming 
 to him at midnight in the silence of the sleep-time, 
 she thrilled with admiration for his genius. 
 
 Such literary masterpieces deserved adequate 
 answers, and she found herself trying to make up 
 in quantity what she lacked in quality. His letters 
 always began, "Dearest Heloise," or "Melisande," 
 or "Baucis," or "Isolde"; and, rather than ac- 
 knowledge her ignorance of these classic allusions, 
 she looked them up and sent her answers to "Dear 
 Abelard," or "Pelleas," or "Philemon," or "Tristan," 
 as the case demanded. She indited her missives with 
 a dainty gold pen engraved with an orchid, which 
 Harold had requested her never to profane by 
 secular use. 
 
 The correspondence, while throbbing with emotion, 
 was not by any means devoid of practical details. 
 Harold lost no opportunity of urging Eleanor to 
 remain firm in her resolve to go to New York. It 
 would be sheer folly, he pointed out, to give up the 
 chance of a professional debut, a chance that might 
 not come again in years. He pointed out that her 
 grandfather had changed all his plans on the 
 strength of her coming, and would be utterly heart- 
 broken if she failed to keep her promise. He 
 delicately intimated that her failure to take the part 
 he had so laboriously written for her might seal the 
 fate of "Phantom Love" and prove the downfall of 
 both its creators.
 
 QUIN 265 
 
 His conclusion to all these specious arguments 
 was that the only way out of the tangle was for her 
 to consent to a nominal engagement to him that 
 would bind her to nothing, and yet would give him 
 the right to send her to New York if Madam Bartlett 
 refused to do so. In answer to Eleanor's doubts and 
 misgivings, he assured her in polyphonic prose that 
 he knew her far better than she knew herself, and 
 that he would be "content to wait at the feet of little 
 Galatea, asking nothing, giving all, until the happy 
 day when she should wake to life and love and the 
 consciousness that she was wholly and happily his." 
 
 And Galatea read his letters with increasing ardor 
 and slept with them under her pillow. It was all 
 so secret and romantic, this glorious adventure rush- 
 ing to fulfilment, under the prosy surface of every- 
 day life. Of course she did not want to be married 
 not for ages and ages; but to be engaged, to be 
 indefinitely adored by a consummate lover like 
 Harold Phipps, who so beautifully shared her 
 ambition, was an exciting and tempting propo- 
 sition. Like most girls of her type, when her 
 personal concerns became too complex for reason, 
 she abandoned herself to impulse. She merely 
 shut her eyes and allowed herself to drift toward 
 a destination that was not of her choosing. Like 
 a peripatetic Sleeping Beauty, she moved through 
 the days in a sort of trance, waiting liberation from 
 her thraldom, but fearing to put her fate to the
 
 266 QUIN 
 
 test by laying the matter squarely and finally before 
 her grandmother. 
 
 It was easy enough to drop out of her old round 
 of festivities. She had been away all summer, 
 and new groups had formed with which she took 
 no trouble to ally herself. Her friends seemed in- 
 ordinately young and foolish. She wondered how 
 she had ever endured the trivial chatter of Kitty 
 Mason and the school-boy antics of Pink Bailey and 
 Johnnie Rawlings. After declining half a dozen in- 
 vitations she was left in peace, free to devote all 
 her time to composing her letters, to poring over 
 plays and books about the theater, or to sitting 
 listless absorbed in day-dreams. 
 
 The one old friend who refused to be disposed of 
 was Quinby Graham. On one pretext or another 
 he managed to come to the house almost every day, 
 and he seldom left it without managing to see her. 
 Sometimes when she was in the most arduous throes 
 of composition, the maid would come to her door 
 and say : "Mr. Quin's downstairs, and he says can 
 you come to the steps a minute he 's got some- 
 thing to show you?" Or Miss Isobel would pause 
 on the threshold to say : "Quinby is looking for you, 
 Eleanor. I think it is something about a new tire 
 for your automobile." 
 
 And Eleanor would impatiently thrust her letter 
 into a desk drawer and do downstairs, where she 
 would invariably get so interested in what Quin had
 
 QUIN 267 
 
 to say to her or to show her that she would forget 
 to come up again. 
 
 Sometimes they went out to Valley Mead to- 
 gether for week-ends. On those days Eleanor not 
 only failed to write to Harold, but also failed to 
 think about him. The excitement of seeing what 
 new wonders had been wrought since the last visit, of 
 scouring the woods for nuts and berries, of going 
 on all-day picnics to a neighboring hill-top, made her 
 quite forget her castles in the air. She descended 
 from the clouds of art and under Quin's tutelage 
 learned to fry chops and bacon and cook eggs in the 
 open. She got her face and hands smudged and her 
 hair tumbled, and she forgot all about enunciating 
 clearly and holding her poses. So abandoned was 
 she to what Harold called her "bourgeois mood" 
 that she was conscious of nothing but the sheer joy 
 of living. 
 
 Often when she and Quin were alone together, 
 she longed to take him into her confidence. She 
 was desperately in need of counsel, and his level 
 head and clear judgments had solved more than one 
 problem for her. But she realized that, in spite of 
 the heroic effort he was making to keep within 
 bounds, he was nevertheless liable to overflow into 
 sentiment with the slightest encouragement. Con- 
 fession of her proposed flight, moreover, involved 
 an explanation of her relation to Harold Phipps,
 
 268 QUIN 
 
 and upon that point Quin could not be counted to 
 sympathize. 
 
 With the first of November came a letter that 
 brought matters to a crisis. Claude Martel wrote 
 that he must know immediately the date of her 
 arrival in New York, since the place he had be- 
 spoken for her at the Kendall School of Expression 
 could no longer be held open; he must also give a 
 definite answer about the apartment. 
 
 Eleanor received the letter one Saturday as she 
 was starting to a tea. All afternoon she listened to 
 the local chatter about her as a lark poised for flight 
 might listen to the twittering of house sparrows. 
 Her mind was in a ferment of elation and doubt, 
 of trepidation and joyful anticipation. The moment 
 she had longed for and yet dreaded was at hand. 
 
 Returning across Central Park in the dusk, she 
 rehearsed what she was going to say to her grand- 
 mother. The moment for approaching her had 
 never seemed more propitious. Ever since she had 
 accepted Quin's advice and "cottoned up" to the 
 old lady, relations between them had been amazingly 
 amicable. Her willingness to stay at home in the 
 evening and take Miss Enid's place as official reader 
 and amanuensis had placed her in high favor, and 
 Madam, not to be outdone in magnanimity, had 
 allowed her many privileges. 
 
 Now that there seemed some ground for the hope 
 that she might gain her grandmother's consent to
 
 QUIN 269 
 
 the New York proposition, Eleanor realized how 
 ardently she wanted it. It was not the money alone, 
 it was her moral support and approval hers and 
 Aunt Isobel's. Aunt Enid would understand, had 
 understood in a way; so would Uncle Ranny and 
 Aunt Flo. As for Quin Graham 
 
 She heard a cough near by, and turning saw a 
 couple sitting on a bench half hidden in the heavy 
 shrubbery. Their backs were toward her, and she 
 noticed that the girl's hand rested on the man's 
 shoulder and that their heads were bent in intimate 
 conversation. The next instant she recognized Rose 
 Martel's hat and the dim outline of Quin's troubled 
 profile. 
 
 Turning sharply to the right, she hurried up 
 through the pergola and out into the avenue. She 
 wondered why she was so unaccountably angry. 
 Rose and Quin had a perfect right to sit in the square 
 at twilight and talk as much as they liked. It was 
 not her business, anyhow, she told herself ; she ought 
 to be glad for poor Rose to have any diversion she 
 could get after being in that hideous store all day. 
 She did n't blame Rose one bit. But if Quin 
 thought as much of somebody else as he pretended 
 to, she could n't see what he would have to say to 
 another girl out here in the park at twilight, es- 
 pecially a girl that he saw three times a day at home ! 
 Could there be anything between them? She had 
 scorned the idea when it was once tentatively sug-
 
 270 QUIN 
 
 gested to her by Harold Phipps. Of course there 
 could n't. And yet 
 
 So preoccupied was she with these disturbing re- 
 flections that she almost forgot the real business in 
 hand until she stood on her own doorstep waiting 
 to be admitted. 
 
 "Old Miss says for you to come up to her room 
 the minute you git in," Hannah said, with an 
 ominous note in her voice. 
 
 "What's the matter, Hannah? Uncle Ranny?" 
 
 "Lord, no, honey ! Mr. Ranny's behavin' himself 
 like a angel. Hit was somethin' that come in the 
 mail. Miss Isobel she don't know, and I don't 
 know ; but Old Miss certainly has got it in f er some- 
 body." 
 
 Eleanor's new-found confidence promptly de- 
 serted her, and she hastily took stock of her own 
 shortcomings. Of course she was writing daily to 
 Harold, but the matter of her private correspondence 
 had been threshed out during the summer and she 
 had emerged battered but victorious. Aside from 
 that, she could think of no probable cause she had 
 given for offense. 
 
 In the hall she met Miss Isobel. 
 
 "Mother has been asking- for you, dear," she said 
 in a voice heavy with premonition. "She 's very 
 much upset about something." 
 
 Eleanor anxiously mounted the stairs. It was 
 evidently not a propitious moment to present her
 
 QUIN 271 
 
 case; and yet, Papa Claude must have an answer 
 within twenty- four hours. At the door of Madam's 
 room she hesitated. Then she took the small rem- 
 nant of her courage in both hands and entered. 
 
 Madam was sitting at her desk under the crystal 
 chandelier, with a severity of expression that sug- 
 gested nothing less than a court martial. Without 
 speaking she waved Eleanor to a seat, and began 
 searching through her papers. The light fell full 
 on her high white pompadour and threw the deep 
 lines about her grim mouth into heavy relief. 
 
 "Do you remember," she began ponderously, "a 
 check I gave you the day of Enid's wedding?" 
 
 "Yes, grandmother." 
 
 "Well, where is the bag you bought with it?" 
 
 Evasion had so often been Eleanor's sole weapon 
 of defense that she seized it now. 
 
 "I I haven't bought it yet," she faltered; then 
 she added weakly : "I have n't seen any I particu- 
 larly cared about." 
 
 "You still have the money?" 
 
 "Well I 've spent some of it." 
 
 "How much?" 
 
 "I don't know that I remember exactly." 
 
 Madam's lip curled. 
 
 "Perhaps I can stimulate your memory," she said, 
 running her fingers through a bunch of canceled 
 checks. "Here is the check I gave you, indorsed 
 to Rose Martel."
 
 272 QUIN 
 
 Eleanor flushed crimson. The imputation of un- 
 truth fulness was one to which she was particularly 
 sensitive. Her fear of her grandmother had taught 
 her early in life to take refuge in subterfuge, a shel- 
 ter that she heartily despised but which she still 
 clung to. In her desire to meet Rose's imperative 
 need, she had passed her gift on to her, with the 
 intention of saving enough from her own allowance 
 to get the mesh bag later. The fact that the can- 
 celed check would be returned to her grandmother 
 had never occurred to her. 
 
 "So that's where my money has been going!" 
 cried Madam. "They 've succeeded in working me 
 through you, have they? Just as they succeeded 
 in working Ranny through Quinby Graham." 
 
 "No no, grandmother! Please listen! They 
 have never asked me for a penny. But when I found 
 out the terrible time they 'd been having, the children 
 sick all summer and Cass down with typhoid why, 
 if it had n't been for Quin " 
 
 "So they sponged on him too, did they? He's 
 a bigger fool than I gave him credit for being." 
 
 "But they did n't sponge. He is Cass's best 
 friend, and he was glad to help. He and Rose did 
 all the nursing themselves." 
 
 "Yes, I heard about it. In the house alone for 
 six weeks. That does n't speak very well for her 
 reputation." 
 
 "Grandmother ! You Ve no right to say thatj
 
 QUIN 273 
 
 Rose may talk recklessly and do foolish things, but 
 she would n't do anything wrong for the world." 
 
 "Well, if she did, she would n't be the first mem- 
 ber of her family to compromise a man so that he 
 had to marry her." 
 
 "What do you mean?" demanded Eleanor, quiv- 
 ering with indignation. 
 
 "That 's neither here nor there," said Madam. 
 "There 's enough rottenness in the present without 
 raking up the past. But one thing is certain : if they 
 ask you for money again " 
 
 "I tell you, they did n't ask me !" 
 
 "Not in so many words, perhaps, but they worked 
 on your sympathies. I know them ! As for Claude 
 Martel, he would want nothing better than have you 
 traveling around in some Punch and Judy show. 
 But I scotched that nonsense once and for all. As 
 for their bleeding you for money," she rose and 
 crushed the check in her hand, "I guess I know a 
 way to stop that." 
 
 Eleanor rose too, and faced her. She was very 
 pale now, her anger having reached a white heat. 
 
 "My mother's people may be poor," she said de- 
 liberately, "but they are n't beggars, and at least 
 they 've come by what they have honestly." 
 
 It was Madam's turn to flinch. A certain famous 
 law-suit in the history of Bartlett & Bangs had 
 brought out some startling testimony, and the subject 
 was one to which reference was never allowed in
 
 274 QUIN 
 
 Madam's presence. At Eleanor's words the whirl- 
 wind of her wrath let loose. Her words hurtled 
 like flying missiles in a cyclone. She lashed herself 
 into a fury, coming back to Eleanor again and again 
 as the cause of all her trouble. 
 
 "I tried giving you your head," she raged in 
 conclusion ; "I let you work through that crazy stage 
 fever; I gave in about that man Phipps coming up 
 to Maine, in the hope that you 'd find out what a 
 fool he is. That was n't enough ! You had to write 
 to him. Very well, said I; go ahead and write to 
 him. I flattered myself that you might develop a 
 little sense. But I was mistaken. You haven't 
 got the judgment of a ten-year-old child. There- 
 fore I intend to treat you like a child. From this 
 time on you are not to write to him at all. And 
 you '11 get no allowance. I '11 buy you what you 
 need, and you '11 account for all the pin-money you 
 spend, down to every postage stamp. Do you under- 
 stand?" 
 
 Eleanor was by this time at the door, standing 
 with her hand on the knob, straight, pale, and de- 
 fiant, but quivering in every limb. She felt as 
 beaten, bruised, and humiliated as if the violence 
 directed against her had been physical. A sick long- 
 ing surged over her for Aunt Enid, into whose arms 
 she could rush for comfort. But there was no Aunt 
 Enid to turn to, and it was no use seeking Aunt
 
 QUIN 275 
 
 Isobel, whose sole advice in such a crisis was to 
 apologize and propitiate. 
 
 Catching her breath in a long, sobbing sigh, 
 Eleanor rushed down the gloomy hall and shut her- 
 self in her room. For ten minutes she sat at her 
 desk, staring grimly at the wall, with her hands 
 gripped in her lap. She was like a frenzied pris- 
 oner, determined to escape but with no destination 
 in view. Suddenly her eyes fell on an unopened 
 letter on her blotting-pad. She tore off the envelop 
 and read it twice. For another five minutes she 
 stared at the wall. Then she seized her pen and 
 dashed off a note. It took but a few minutes after 
 that to change her light gown for a dark one and to 
 fling some things into a suit-case. Just as dinner 
 was being announced, she slipped down the back 
 stairs and out of the side door into the somber dusk 
 of the November evening.
 
 CHAPTER 24 
 
 OUIN'S life at the factory these past three 
 weeks had been full of new and engrossing 
 business complications. Mr. Bangs seemed bent 
 upon trying him out in various departments, each 
 change bringing new and distracting duties. Just 
 what was the object of the proceeding Quin had no 
 idea; but he realized that he was being singled out 
 and experimented with, and he applied to each new 
 task the accumulated knowledge and experience of 
 those that had gone before. It was all very exciting 
 and gratifying to a person possessed of an inordinate 
 ambition to have a worthy shrine ready the moment 
 his goddess evinced the slightest willingness to 
 occupy it. 
 
 "Old Iron Jaw's got his optic on you for some- 
 thing," said Miss Leaks, the stenographer. "Maybe 
 he wants you to pussy-foot around in Shields' shoes 
 and do his dirty work for him." 
 
 "Well, he 's got another guess coming," said 
 Quin; but her remark disturbed him. Of course it 
 was no concern of his how the firm did business, 
 but more than once he had been called upon to ne- 
 
 276
 
 QUIN 277 
 
 gotiate some delicate matter that was not at all to 
 his liking. 
 
 "See here, young man," Mr. Bangs said upon one 
 of these occasions, "I am not paying you for advice. 
 You are here to carry out my orders and to make 
 no comments." 
 
 "That 's all right," Quin agreed good-naturedly ; 
 "but I got a conscience that was trained to stand 
 on its hind legs and bark at a lie." 
 
 "The quicker you muzzle it the better," said Mr. 
 Bangs. "You can't do business these days by the 
 Golden Rule." 
 
 On the Saturday when Eleanor saw Quin in the 
 park with Rose Martel, the factory had been in 
 the throes of one of its most violent upheavals. 
 Some weeks before the old steam engine had been 
 replaced by an expensive electric drive. There had 
 been much interest manifested in the installation of 
 the modern motor, and Quin, with his natural love 
 of machinery, had rejoiced that his duties as ship- 
 ping clerk required him to be present at the unpack- 
 ing. He and Dirk, the foreman, never tired of dis- 
 cussing the perfection of each particular feature. 
 But a few days after the departure of the installa- 
 tion foreman, the new motor burnt out, necessitating 
 the shutting down of the factory and causing much 
 inconvenience. 
 
 Dirk was beside himself with rage. He declared 
 that something heavy had been dropped upon the
 
 278 QUIN 
 
 armature winding, and he blamed every one who 
 could have been responsible, and some who could 
 not. In the midst of his tirade he was summoned 
 to the office, where he was closeted for more than 
 an hour with Mr. Bangs and Mr. Shields. When 
 he emerged, it was with the avowed belief that the 
 armature had been defective when received. This 
 sudden change of front, taken in connection with 
 the fact that the third payment was due on the motor 
 in less than sixty days, set every tongue wagging. 
 
 Quin was in no way involved in the transaction; 
 but, as usual, he had an emphatic opinion, which he 
 did not hesitate to express. 
 
 "I don't know what 's got into Dirk!'' he said in- 
 dignantly to Mr. Shields, the traffic manager, as 
 they left the office together. "He knows the injury 
 to the armature was done in our shop and that we 
 are responsible for it." 
 
 "I guess Dirk 's like the rest of us," said Shields 
 bitterly; "he knows a lot he can't tell." 
 
 "What do you mean? Do you think it was a 
 frame-up?" 
 
 "Well, we don't call it that. But when the boss 
 gets in a hole, somebody 's got to pull him out. I 'm 
 getting mighty sick of it myself. Wish to the Lord 
 I could pull up stakes as Mr. Bartlett and Mr. Ches- 
 ter did." 
 
 It was not until they separated that Quin's 
 thoughts left the disturbing events of the day and
 
 QUIN 279 
 
 flew to something more pleasing. For two weeks 
 now he had had to content himself with chance in- 
 terviews with Eleanor, meager diet for a person 
 with an omnivorous appetite ; but to-night there was 
 the prospect for a long, uninterrupted evening. 
 Since the day of Miss Enid's wedding he had found 
 her perplexed and absent-minded; but the fact that 
 she always had a smile for him, and that nothing 
 was seen or heard of Harold Phipps, sufficed to 
 satisfy him. 
 
 When he started across Central Park the sun was 
 just setting, and he turned off the main path and 
 dropped down on a bench to rest for a moment. 
 He had acquired a taste for sunsets at a tender age, 
 having watched them from many a steamer's prow. 
 He knew how the harbor of Hongkong brimmed like 
 a goblet of red wine, how Fujiyama's snow-capped 
 peak turned rose, he knew how beautiful the sun 
 could look through a barrage of fire. But it was 
 of none of these that he thought as he sat on the 
 park bench, his arms extended along the back, his 
 long legs stretched out, and his eyes on a distant 
 smokestack. He was thinking of a country stile and 
 a girl in white and green, in whose limpid eyes he 
 watched the reflected light of the most wonderful of 
 all his sunsets. 
 
 For the third time since leaving the office, he con- 
 sulted his watch. Six-thirty! Another hour and 
 a half must be got through before he could see her.
 
 280 QUIN 
 
 A rustle of leaves behind him made him look up, 
 but before he could turn his head two hands were 
 clapped over his eyes. Investigation proved them 
 to be feminine, and he promptly took them captive. 
 
 "It's Rose?" he guessed. 
 
 "Let me go!" she laughed; "somebody will see 
 you." 
 
 She slipped around the bench and dropped down 
 beside him. 
 
 "I was coming out the avenue and spied you 
 mooning over here by yourself. What 's the trou- 
 ble?" 
 
 "No trouble at all. Just stopped to get my wind 
 a bit and watch the sunset." 
 
 "I think you are working too hard." She looked 
 at him with anxious solicitude. "I Ve a good notion 
 to put you on buttermilk again." 
 
 "Good work ! Put me on anything you like except 
 dried peaches and wienies." 
 
 "And you need more recreation," Rose persisted. 
 "It 's not good for anybody to work all day and go 
 to school at night. What 's the matter with us get- 
 ting Cass and Fan Loomis and going down to 
 Fontaine Ferry to-night?" 
 
 "Can't do it," said Quin with ill-concealed pride. 
 "Got a date with Miss Eleanor Bartlett." 
 
 Rose sat silent for a moment, stirring the dead 
 leaves with her shabby boot; then she turned and 
 laid her hand on his shoulder.
 
 QUIN 28! 
 
 "Quin," she said, "I am worried sick about Nell 
 and Harold Phipps." 
 
 Quin, who had been trying to beguile a squirrel 
 into believing that a pebble was a nut, looked up 
 sharply. 
 
 "What do you mean ?" he said. "She has n't 
 seen him since last summer, and she never mentions 
 his name." 
 
 "Don't she ? She hardly talks about anything else. 
 She writes to him all the time and wears his picture 
 in her watch!" 
 
 "Do you know that?" 
 
 "Of course I know it. She can't talk about him 
 at home, so she pours it all out to me." 
 
 "But have n't you told her what you know about 
 him?" 
 
 "I Ve hinted at it, but she won't believe me be- 
 cause she knows I hate him. I wanted to tell her 
 iabout what he said to me, and about that nurse he 
 got into trouble out at the hospital ; but I was afraid 
 it might make an awful row and spoil everything 
 for Papa Claude." 
 
 "I don't care who it spoils things for! She's 
 got to be told." Quin's eyes were blazing. 
 
 "But perhaps if we leave it alone he '11 get tired 
 of her. They say he keeps after a girl until he gets 
 her engaged to him, then drops her." 
 
 "He 'd never drop Miss Nell. No man would. 
 He 'd be trying to marry her."
 
 282 QUIN 
 
 "But what can we do? The more people talk 
 about him, the more she 's going to take up for him. 
 That 's Nell all over." 
 
 "Couldn't Mr. Mattel " 
 
 "Papa Claude 's as much taken in as she is. You 
 remember the night over home when he talked about 
 his lovely detached soul? He never sees the truth 
 about anybody." 
 
 "Well, he 's going to see the truth about this. If 
 you don't write to him to-night and tell him the kind 
 of man Mr. Phipps is, I will!" 
 
 "Wait till to-morrow. I '11 have another round 
 with Nell. I 've got some proof that I think she '11 
 have to believe." 
 
 Quin rose restlessly. He wanted to go to the 
 Bartletts' at once, if only to stand guard at the gate 
 against the danger that threatened Eleanor. 
 
 "Aren't you coming home to supper?" asked 
 Rose. 
 
 "No," he said absently ; "I don't want any supper." 
 
 For an hour he paced the streets, trying to think 
 things out. His burning desire was to go straight 
 to Eleanor and lay the whole matter before her. 
 But according to his ethics it was a poor sport who 
 would discredit a rival, especially on hearsay. He 
 must leave it to Rose, and let her furnish the proof 
 she said she possessed. 
 
 At eight o'clock he rang the Bartletts' bell, and 
 <was surprised when Miss Isobel opened the door.
 
 QUIN 283 
 
 "She isn't here," she said in answer to his in- 
 quiry. "We cannot imagine what has become of 
 her. She must have gone out just before dinner, and 
 she has not returned." 
 
 "Did n't she say where she was going?" 
 
 "No." Miss Isobel's lips worked nervously; then 
 she drew Quin into the dining-room and closed the 
 door. "She and mother had a very serious misun- 
 derstanding, and and I 'm afraid mother was a 
 little severe. I did not know Eleanor was gone until 
 she failed to come down to dinner. I 've just sent 
 Hannah up to telephone my brother to see if she 
 is there." 
 
 "She probably is." Quin spoke with more as- 
 surance than he felt. "About what time did she 
 leave here?" 
 
 "It must have been between six-thirty and seven. 
 How long would it take her to get out to Ranny's ?" 
 
 "Depends on whether she went in her machine 
 or a street-car," said Quin evasively. "Besides, she 
 imay have gone to the Martels'." 
 
 "I don't think so," said Miss Isobel, twisting her 
 handkerchief in her slender fingers; "because, you 
 see, she she took her suit-case." 
 
 For the first time, Quin's face reflected the anxiety 
 of Miss Isobel's. 
 
 When Hannah returned she reported that net, 
 one answered the telephone at the Randolph Bart- 
 Letts'.
 
 284 QUIN 
 
 "Suppose the child gets there and nobody is at 
 home!" groaned Miss Isobel, whose imagination 
 always rushed toward disaster. "What on earth 
 shall I do?" 
 
 "Leave it to me," said Quin. "I '11 run around to 
 the Martels', and if she 's not there I '11 go out to 
 Valley Mead. She 's sure to be one place or the 
 other." 
 
 "Of course she must be; but I'm so anxious! 
 You will go right away, won't you ? And telephone 
 the minute you find out where she is. Then I '11 
 tell mother I gave her permission to go." 
 
 Miss Isobel pushed him toward the door as she 
 spoke : 
 
 "You you don't think anything dreadful could 
 have happened to her, do you?" 
 
 Quin patted her shoulder reassuringly. 
 
 "Of course not," he blustered. "She '11 probably 
 be in before I get around the corner. If not, I bet 
 I find her at the Martels', toasting marshmallows." 
 
 In spite of his assumed confidence, he ran every 
 step of the way home. As he turned the corner he 
 saw with dismay that the house was dark. His 
 call in the front hall brought no answer. He turned 
 on the light, and saw an unstamped letter addressed. 
 to himself on the table. The fact that the writing 
 was Eleanor's did not tend to decrease his alarm. 
 
 He tore off the envelop and read:
 
 QUIN 285 
 
 Dear Quin: 
 
 Grandmother has said things to me that I can never for- 
 give as long as I live. I am leaving her house in a few 
 moments forever. By the time you get this I shall be on 
 my way to Chicago to join Harold Phipps. We have 
 been engaged for two weeks. I did not mean to marry 
 him for years and years, but I Ve simply got to do some- 
 thing. He cares more for me and my career than any one 
 else in the world, and he understands me better than 
 anybody. 
 
 You'll get this when you go home to supper, and I 
 want you to telephone Aunt Isobel right away and tell 
 her I won't be home to-night. She will think I am with 
 Rose and that will keep her from being anxious. I don't 
 care how anxious grandmother is ! To-morrow I '11 send 
 them a wire from Chicago telling them I 'm married. 
 
 Dear Quin, I know this is a terribly serious step, and I 
 know you won't approve; but I am unhappy enough to 
 die, and I don't know where else to turn, or what to do. 
 Some day I hope you will know Mr. Phipps better, and 
 see what a really fine man he is. Do try to comfort Aunt 
 Isobel, and make her understand. Please don't hate me, 
 but try to forgive your utterly miserable friend, 
 
 E. M. B. 
 
 Quin stood staring at the letter. He felt as he 
 had on that August day when the flying shrapnel 
 struck him the same intense nausea, the deadly 
 exhaustion, the bursting pain in his head. Invol- 
 untarily he raised his hand to the old wound, half 
 expecting to feel the blood stream, again through 
 his fingers. 
 
 "Married ! Married I" he kept repeating to him- 
 self dazedly. "Miss Nell gone to marry that man, 
 that scoundrel!" 
 
 He sat down on the stair steps and tried to hold 
 the thought in his mind long enough to realize it.
 
 286 QUIN 
 
 But Phipps himself kept getting in the way : Phipps 
 the slacker, as he had known him in the army; 
 Phipps the condescending lord of creation, who had 
 refused to take his hand at Mr. Ranny's; and 
 oftenest of all Phipps the philanderer, who had in- 
 sulted Rose Martel, and been responsible for the 
 dismissal of more than one nurse from the hospital. 
 The mere thought of such a man in connection with 
 Eleanor Bartlett made Quin's strong fingers clench 
 around an imaginary neck and brought beads of 
 perspiration to his forehead. 
 
 "Something's got to be done !" he thought wildly, 
 staggering to his feet. "I got to stop it ; I got " 
 
 Then the sense of his helplessness swept over him, 
 and he sat down again on the steps. She had 
 evidently left on the eight-o'clock train for Chicago, 
 and it was now eight-thirty. There was nothing to 
 be done. What a fool he had been to go on hoping 
 and daring ! She had told him again and again that 
 she didn't care for him; but she had also told him 
 that she did not intend to marry anybody. But if 
 she had n't cared for him, why had she come to him 
 with her troubles, and followed his advice, and 
 wanted his good opinion? Why had she looked at 
 him the way she had the day of Miss Enid's wed- 
 ding, and said she remembered her dances with him 
 better than those with anybody else? In bitterness 
 of spirit he went over all the treasured words and 
 glances he had hoarded since the day he met her.
 
 QUIN 287 
 
 He didn't believe she loved Harold Phipps! She 
 did n't love anybody yet. But, in her mad desire 
 to escape from home, she had taken the first means 
 that presented itself. She had stepped into a trap, 
 from which he was powerless to rescue her. 
 
 In a sudden anguish of despair he flung himself 
 face downward on the steps and gave way to his 
 anguish. There was no one to see and no one to 
 hear. All the doubts and discouragements, the 
 humiliations and disappointments, through which 
 he had passed to win her, came back to mock him, 
 now he had lost her. The world had suddenly be- 
 come an intolerable vacuum in which he gasped 
 frantically for breath. 
 
 What was the use in going on? Why not put 
 an end to everything ? He could make it appear an 
 accident. Nobody would be the wiser. The tempta- 
 tion was growing stronger every second, when he 
 suddenly remembered Miss Isobel. 
 
 "I forgot she was waiting," he muttered, stum- 
 bling into the sitting-room and fumbling for the 
 telephone. "Miss Nell said I was to keep her from 
 being anxious she wanted me to comfort her. But 
 what in hell can I say!"
 
 CHAPTER 25 
 
 AT nine-thirty Edwin came in and passed up the 
 creaking stairs. Ten minutes later Cass 
 limped by the door, stopping a moment in the pantry 
 to get a bite to eat. Quin sat motionless in the dark 
 sitting-room and made no sign. He was waiting 
 for Rose, with a dumb dependence the strongest 
 man feels for the understanding feminine in times 
 of crisis. 
 
 When he heard her cheerful voice calling good 
 night to Fan Loomis, the clock was just striking 
 ten. 
 
 "Quin! What is it?" she cried in alarm the mo- 
 ment she saw his face. "Is anybody dead?" 
 
 "Worse ! She 's run away to get married !" 
 
 "Not Myrna?" 
 
 "No. Miss Nell. She left to-night for Chicago 
 to marry Phipps !" 
 
 "But she can't!" cried Rose wildly. "It's got 
 to be stopped. He 's not fit to marry anybody ! 
 We 've got to stop her !" 
 
 "I tell you, it 's too late ! She left on the eight- 
 o'clock train." 
 
 288
 
 QUIN 289 
 
 "Who said so ? Are you sure ? Do the Bartletts 
 know?" 
 
 "Nobody knows but you and me; nobody must 
 know yet. Maybe she '11 change her mind." 
 
 "But the Bartletts will miss her. Have they called 
 up?" 
 
 "I 'phoned Miss Isobel that she was all right and 
 she 'd telephone in the morning. All right ! Good 
 God, Rose, can't we do something?" 
 
 "If I could get Harold Phipps's address I 'd send 
 him a telegram that would scare the wits out of 
 him." 
 
 Quin brushed the suggestion aside. "It 's no use 
 wasting time on him; we 've got to reach her." 
 
 "But how can we ? Let me think. Do you sup- 
 pose I could send her a telegram to be delivered on 
 the train? Anything that would make her wait 
 until somebody could get to her." 
 
 "I '11 get to her," Quin cried. "I '11 search every 
 hotel in Chicago. You send the telegram and I 'II 
 start on the next train." 
 
 A hurried consultation of time-tables showed that 
 a Pennsylvania train left in ten minutes, and was 
 due in Chicago the next morning at seven-thirty. 
 
 "You can't make that," said Rose, but even as she 
 spoke Quin was rushing for the door. 
 
 "Have you got enough money?" she called after 
 him. 
 
 His meteor flight was checked. Ramming his
 
 290 QUIN 
 
 hands in his pockets, he pulled out a handful of 
 silver. 
 
 "Wait!" cried Rose, speeding up to her room and 
 and returning with a small roll of bills. "It 's 
 what 's left of Nell's check. Good-by I '11 send 
 the telegram." 
 
 Ten minutes later, as the night express for Chi- 
 cago pulled out of the station, the bystanders were 
 amused by the sight of a bare-headed young man 
 dashing madly through the gate and across the rail- 
 road tracks. The train had not yet got under way, 
 but its speed was increasing and the runner's 
 chances lessened every moment. 
 
 "He '11 never catch it," said the gate-keeper. 
 "He 'd lost his wind before he got here." 
 
 "He ain't lost his nerve," said a negro porter, 
 craning his neck in lively interest. "He's lettin' 
 hisself go lak a Derby-winner on de home stretch !" 
 
 "Has he give up ?" asked the gate-keeper, turning 
 aside to stamp a ticket. 
 
 "Not him. He 's bound to ketch dat train ef it 
 busts a hamstring. He 's done got holt de rear plat- 
 form ! He 's pullin' hisself up ! There ! I tole 
 you so! I knowed he was the kind of fellow that 
 gits what he goes after." 
 
 Quin caught the train, but he paid for his run. 
 A brakeman found him collapsed on the platform, 
 in such a paroxysm of coughing that the train had 
 covered many miles before he was sufficiently re-
 
 QUIN 291 
 
 covered to go inside and take a seat. But, even as 
 he leaned back limp and exhausted, he was conscious 
 of a dull satisfaction that he was traveling toward 
 Eleanor. He refused to think of the absurdity of 
 his wild quest, of her probable anger at his inter- 
 ference. He fought back his despair, his jealousy, 
 his inordinate fear. The one thing necessary now 
 was to get to her to be on hand in case she needed 
 him. 
 
 Through the interminable hours of the night 
 almost every breath came with an effort, but he 
 scarcely heeded the fact. With characteristic per- 
 sistence he forced himself to follow her steps in 
 imagination from the time she left home until she 
 reached her destination. The eight-o'clock sleeper 
 that she had taken was due in Chicago at five-thirty. 
 She would probably not leave it before seven at the 
 earliest, and by that time Rose's telegram ought to 
 have reached her. He tried to picture its effect on 
 her. Much would depend upon the time that inter- 
 vened between its reception and her seeing Mr. 
 Phipps. If he met her, as he probably would, he 
 . would sweep aside all her doubts. If, on the other 
 hand, Eleanor had time to think the matter over, 
 her innate common sense might make her wait at 
 least until she heard what Rose had to tell her. On 
 the bare chance of his not meeting her, what would 
 she do? Take the next train home? Go to his 
 apartment? Go to a hotel alone?
 
 292 QUIN 
 
 Plan after plan rushed through Quin's mind, 
 only to be impatiently discarded. He sat tense and 
 still, with his clenched hands rammed in his pockets 
 and his eyes ^ixed on the black square of the win- 
 dow. Sometimes dim objects flew past, and now 
 and then sharp, vivid lights stabbed the darkness. 
 Once the smelting-pots of a huge iron foundry 
 belched forth a circle of swirling flames, and for a 
 moment wrenched his mind off his problems. Then 
 the regular pounding of the wheels on the rails 
 recalled him. 
 
 "She 's gone to be married. Gone to be mar- 
 ried. Gone to be married." 
 
 He realized that they had been saying it in mo- 
 notonous rhythm ever since he started that they 
 would go on saying it through eternity. 
 
 Suddenly the train jarred to a standstill. Figures 
 with lanterns emerged through a cloud of steam 
 and stood under his window. 
 
 "Guess we got a hot-box," said a sleepy passen- 
 ger across the aisle. "That means I '11 miss my 
 connection." 
 
 Quin got up and went out on the platform. He 
 was filled with rage at the lazy deliberation with 
 which the men set about their task. He longed to 
 wrench the tools out of their hands and do the job 
 himself. 
 
 "How much will this put us behind?" he de- 
 manded of the conductor.
 
 QUIN 293 
 
 "Oh, not more than twenty minutes. We '11 make 
 some of it up before morning." 
 
 Once more under way, Quin dropped into a 
 troubled sleep. He dreamed that he was pursuing 
 a Hun over miles of barbed-wire entanglements; 
 but when he overtook him and forced him to the 
 ground, the face under the steel helmet was the 
 smiling, supercilious face of Harold Phipps. He 
 woke up with a start and stretched his cold limbs. 
 The black square of the window had turned to 
 gray; arrows of rain shot diagonally across it. He 
 realized for the first time that he had neither hat 
 nor overcoat, but he did not care. In ten minutes 
 more he would be in Chicago, in the same city with 
 Eleanor. 
 
 Notwithstanding the fact that it was pouring rain 
 when the train pulled into the station, Quin stood 
 on the lowest step of the platform, ready to alight. 
 
 "Say, young fellow, you forgot your hat," said 
 a man behind him. 
 
 "Didn't have any," answered Quin. 
 
 "I got an extra cap if you want it," offered the 
 man obligingly. 
 
 Quin, already on the platform, caught it as the 
 man tossed it out to him. Dashing through the 
 depot, he hurled himself into a taxi. 
 
 "Monon Station!" he shouted, "and drive like 
 the devil." 
 
 Just what kind of chauffeur the devil is has never
 
 294 QUIN 
 
 been demonstrated, but if that taxi-driver, urged 
 on by Quin, was his counterpart, it is safe to infer 
 that there are no traffic laws in Hades. In spite of 
 the fact that the streets were like glass from the 
 driving rain, and the wind-shield a gray blur, in 
 spite of the fact that a tire went flat on a rear wheel, 
 that decrepit old taxi rose to the occasion and made 
 the transit in record time. 
 
 Arrived at the station, Quin thrust a bill into the 
 driver's hand and dashed down the steps to the 
 lower level. In answer to his frenzied inquiry he 
 was told that the Express had come in two hours 
 before and that the passengers had probably all left 
 the sleeper by this time. 
 
 Nothing daunted, he rushed out to the tracks and 
 accosted a porter who was sweeping out the rear 
 coach. 
 
 "Yas, sir, this is it," answered the negro. 
 "Young lady? Yas, sir; there was five or six of 
 'em on board last night. Pretty? Yas, sir, they 
 was all pretty all but one, and she wasn't so bad 
 looking." 
 
 "Did one of them get a telegram in the night or 
 this morning?" 
 
 The porter's face brightened. "Yas, sir. Boy 
 come through soon as we got in. Had a wire for 
 young lady in lower six." 
 
 "Do you know what time she left the car?" 
 
 "About half hour ago, I should say. Party she
 
 QUIN 295 
 
 was expecting to meet her didn't turn up, and I 
 had to git her a red-cap to carry her suit-case. 
 Thanky, sir." 
 
 Quin tore back to the station and dashed through 
 the waiting-room, the dining-room, the baggage- 
 room. He was on the point of going out to the 
 taxi-stand and interrogating each driver in turn, 
 when his eyes were caught by a smart suit-case that 
 lay unattended on one of the seats. It bore the 
 inscription "E.M.B. Ky." 
 
 In his sudden relief he could have snatched it up 
 and embraced it. But where was Eleanor? For 
 five interminable minutes he stood guard over her 
 property, watching every exit and entrance, and 
 pacing the floor in his impatience. Suddenly an 
 idea occurred to him, and, cursing himself for his 
 Stupidity, he strode over to the telephone-booths. 
 
 Eleanor was in the corner one, the receiver at her 
 ear, evidently waiting for her call. As Quin flung 
 upon the door she turned and faced him in defiant 
 surprise. 
 
 "What are you doing here?" she demanded in- 
 dignantly. "Did grandmother send you?" 
 
 "No; she does n't know I 'm here." 
 
 Eleanor turned nervously to the telephone. 
 
 "Hello! I can't understand you. Put what? 
 Oh! I forgot. Wait a minute " 
 
 Letting the receiver swing, she fumbled in her
 
 296 QUIN 
 
 purse ; then, finding no small change, looked appeal- 
 ingly at Quin. 
 
 He produced the necessary coin and handed it 
 to her. 
 
 "I don't think I 'd put it in just yet," he said 
 quietly. 
 
 For a moment she paused irresolute; then she 
 dropped the coin in the slot. 
 
 "Is this the Hotel Kington?" she asked. "Will 
 you please try again to get Mr. Phipps Harold 
 Phipps? P-h-i-p-p-s." 
 
 Quin watched her fingers drumming on the shelf, 
 and he knew he ought to go out of the booth and 
 close the door ; but instead he stayed in and closed it. 
 
 "He doesn't answer?" Eleanor was repeating 
 over the telephone. "Will you please page the 
 dining-room, and if he is not at breakfast send a 
 bell-boy up to waken him? It's very important." 
 
 Again there was a long wait, during which 
 Eleanor did not so much as turn her head in Quin's 
 direction. It was only when her answer came that 
 she looked at him blankly. 
 
 "They say he is n't there. The chambermaid was 
 cleaning the room, and said his bed had not been 
 disturbed." 
 
 Then, seeing a humorously unsympathetic look 
 flit across Quin's face, she burst out angrily: 
 
 "What right had you to follow me over here?" 
 
 They were standing very close in the narrow glass
 
 QUIN 297 
 
 enclosure, and as he looked down at the small, 
 trembling figure with her back against the wall 
 and her eyes full of frightened defiance, he felt un- 
 comfortably like a hunter who has run down some 
 young wild thing and holds it at bay. 
 
 "Please, Miss Nell," he implored, "don't think 
 I 'm going to peach on you ! Whatever you do, 
 I '11 stand by you. Only I thought, perhaps, you 
 might need a friend." 
 
 "I have a friend!" she retorted furiously. "If 
 Harold Phipps had received my telegram last night, 
 nothing in the world could have stopped him from 
 meeting me nothing!" 
 
 Then the defiance dropped from her eyes, leaving 
 her small sensitive face quivering with hurt pride 
 and an overwhelming doubt. She bit her lips and 
 turned away to hide her tears. 
 
 Quin put a firm hand on her arm and piloted her 
 back to her suit-case. 
 
 "What we both need is breakfast," he said. 
 "Come to think of it, I haven't had a mouthful 
 since yesterday noon." 
 
 "Neither have I ; but I could n't swallow a bite. 
 Besides, I 've got to find Harold." 
 
 "Well, you can't do anything till he gets back to 
 the hotel. If you '11 come in with me while I get a 
 cup of coffee, we can talk things over." 
 
 She followed him reluctantly into the dining- 
 room, but refused to order anything 1 . For some
 
 298 QUIN 
 
 time she sat with her chin on her clasped hands, 
 watching the door; then she turned toward him 
 accusingly. 
 
 "Did you see Rose's telegram ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 He watched her open her purse and take out a 
 yellow slip, which she handed to him. 
 
 "Don't take the step planned. Imperative reasons for- 
 bid. Rose." 
 
 he read slowly ; then he looked up. "Well ?" he said. 
 
 "What does she mean?" burst forth Eleanor. 
 "How dared she send me a message like that unless 
 she knew something " 
 
 She broke off abruptly and her eyes searched 
 Quin's face. But he was apparently counting the 
 grains of sugar that were going into his coffee, and 
 refused to look up. 
 
 "If it had been grandmother or Aunt Isobel 
 I shouldn't have been in the least surprised; they 
 are just a bunch of prejudices and believe every idle 
 story they hear. But Rose is different. She's 
 known about Harold and me for months. She for- 
 warded his letters to me when I was in Baltimore. 
 And now for her to turn against me like this " 
 
 "Why don't you wait till you hear her side of it ?" 
 suggested Quin, still concerned with the sugar-bowl. 
 
 "How can I?" cried Eleanor, flinging out her 
 hands. "I Ve no place to go, and I 've no money.
 
 QUIN 299 
 
 If I had had money enough I 'd have gone straight 
 to Papa Claude last night." 
 
 Quin's heart gained a beat. He made a hurried 
 calculation of his financial resources in the vain hope 
 that that might yet be the solution of the difficulty. 
 Whatever was to be done must be done at once, for 
 Harold Phipps might arrive at any moment, and 
 Quin felt instinctively that his advent would decide 
 the matter. 
 
 "I wish I had enough to send you," he said, "but 
 all I Ve got is my return ticket and enough to buy 
 another one for you." 
 
 At the mere suggestion Eleanor's anger flared. 
 
 "I'll never go back to grandmother's ! I '11 jump 
 in the lake first!" 
 
 "What's the matter with Valley Mead?" 
 
 "What good would that do ? Grandmother would 
 make Uncle Ranny send me straight home. No; 
 I Ve thought of all those things it 's no use." 
 
 "You could go to the MartelsV 
 
 "Yes, and put another burden on Cass. I tell you, 
 I 'm not going home. I am going to see Harold, 
 and and talk things over, and perhaps go straight 
 on to New York to-night." 
 
 "You can't see him if he is out of town." 
 
 "Why do you think he is out of town?" 
 
 "Well, he is n't here," Quin observed dryly. 
 
 The next moment he was sorry he had said it, 
 for the light died out of her face and she looked
 
 300 QUIN 
 
 so absurdly young and helpless that it was all he 
 could do to refrain from gathering her up in his 
 arms and carrying her home by force. 
 
 "See here, Miss Nell," he said earnestly, leaning 
 across the table. "Would you be willing to go back 
 to the Martels' if you knew that this time next 
 month you 'd be in New York with money enough 
 to carry you through the winter?" 
 
 "No. That is whose money?" 
 
 "Your own. I '11 go to Queen Vic and put the 
 whole thing up to her so she can't get around it." 
 
 Eleanor brushed the suggestion aside impatiently. 
 
 "Don't you suppose I Ve exhausted every possible 
 argument? And now, when she finds out what I 've 
 done " 
 
 "But you have n't done anything yet." 
 
 "She would n't believe me if I told her that I 
 had n't seen Harold. She never believes me." 
 
 "She 'd believe me" said Quin, "and what 's more 
 she 'd listen to me." 
 
 Eleanor did not answer; she sat doggedly watch- 
 ing the swinging doors, through which a draggled 
 throng came and went. 
 
 "He '11 be here soon," she said half-heartedly 
 "unless he 's gone off for a week-end somewhere. 
 If he doesn't come soon we can go up to the hotel 
 and find out whether he left any address. Perhaps 
 you could get me a room there until to-morrow." 
 
 Quin's courage was at its lowest ebb. It was like
 
 QUIN 301 
 
 trying to save a drowning person who fights despe- 
 rately against being saved. He heard a stentorian 
 voice through a megaphone announcing that the 
 eight-thirty train for the southwest would leave in 
 five minutes on track three, and he decided to stake 
 his all on a last chance. 
 
 "That 's my train," he said, rising briskly. "Are 
 you coming with me, or are you going to stay here ?" 
 
 "I am going to stay. But you can't leave me like 
 this f It 's pouring rain and I have n't any umbrella, 
 and if I get to the hotel and he isn't there, what 
 shall I do? Why don't you help me, Quin? Why 
 don't you stay with me till he comes ?" 
 
 "Sorry," said Quin, steeling his heart against 
 those appealing eyes and praying for strength to be 
 firm, "but I 've got to be ready to go back to work 
 to-morrow morning. Is it good-by?" 
 
 He held out his hand, but she did not take it. 
 Instead she clutched his sleeve. 
 
 "What would you do, Quin?" she asked. "Tell 
 me honestly, not what you want me to do, or think 
 I ought to do, but what would you do in my place ?" 
 
 In spite of his pretended haste, he stopped to con- 
 sider the matter. 
 
 "Well," he admitted frankly, "it would depend 
 entirely on how much I trusted the fellow I 'd prom- 
 ised to marry." 
 
 "I do trust him, and I 'm going to marry him ; 
 but, you see, Rose's telegram, and his not being here,
 
 302 QUIN 
 
 and all, have made me so unhappy ! I know he can 
 explain everything when I see him, only I don't 
 know what to do now. Do you think I ought to go 
 back?" 
 
 "That 's for you to decide." 
 
 "But I tell you I can't decide. Somebody 's al- 
 ways made up my mind for me, and now to have to 
 decide this big thing all in a minute " 
 
 "All aboard for the Southwestern Limited !" came 
 the voice through the megaphone. 
 
 Eleanor glanced instinctively at her suit-case, then 
 up at Ouin. 
 
 "Shall I take it?" he asked, with his heart in his 
 throat ; and then, when she did not say no, he seized 
 it in one hand and her in the other. 
 
 "We 'd better run for it!" he said. 
 
 "But, Quin wait a minute I won't go to grand- 
 mother's ! You 've got to protect me " 
 
 "You leave it to me!" he said, as he thrust her 
 almost roughly through the crowd and rushed her 
 toward the gate.
 
 CHAPTER 26 
 
 SO I am to understand that the young lady defies 
 my authority and refuses point-blank to come 
 home." 
 
 "That 's about what it comes to, I reckon." 
 
 It was evening of that eventful Sunday when 
 Eleanor and Quin had returned from Chicago. He 
 and Madam Bartlett sat facing each other in the 
 sepulchral library, where the green reading-light cast 
 its sickly light on Lincoln and his Cabinet, on An- 
 drew Jackson dying in the bosom of his family, on 
 Madam savagely gripping the lions' heads on the 
 arms of her mahogany chair. 
 
 That her quarrel with Eleanor and the girl's sub- 
 sequent flight had made the old lady suffer was 
 evinced by the pinched look of her nostrils and the 
 heavy, sagging lines about her mouth; but in her 
 grim old eyes there was no sign of compromise. 
 
 "Very well !" she said. "Let her stay at her pre- 
 cious Martels'. She will stand just about one week 
 of their shiftlessness. I shan't send her a stitch of 
 clothes or a cent of money. Maybe I can starve 
 some sense into her." 
 
 Quin traced the pattern in the table-cover with a 
 303
 
 3 o 4 QUIN 
 
 massive brass paper-knife. It was a delicate busi- 
 ness, this he had committed himself to, and every- 
 thing depended upon his keeping Madam's confi- 
 dence. 
 
 "You never did try letting her have her head, did 
 you?" He put the question as a disinterested ob- 
 server. 
 
 "No. I don't intend to until she gets this fool 
 stage business out of her mind." 
 
 "Well, of course you can hold that up for six 
 months, but you can't stop it in the end." 
 
 "Yes, I can, too. I 'd like to know if I didn't 
 keep Isobel from being a missionary, and Enid from 
 marrying Francis Chester when he did n't make 
 enough money to pay her carfare." 
 
 "That 's so," agreed Quin cheerfully. "And then, 
 there was Mr. Ranny." He waited for the remark 
 to sink in ; then he went on lightly : "But say ! They 
 all belong to another generation. Things are run on 
 different lines these days." 
 
 "More's the pity! Every little fool of a kite 
 thinks all it lias to do is to break its string to be 
 free." 
 
 "Miss Nell don't want to break the string; she 
 just wants it lengthened." 
 
 Madam turned upon him fiercely. 
 
 "See here, young man. You think I don't know 
 what you are up to ; but, remember, I was n't born
 
 QUIN 305 
 
 yesterday. If Eleanor has sent you up here to talk 
 this New York stuff " 
 
 "She hasn't; I came of my own accord." 
 
 "Well, you need n't think just because I 've shown 
 you a few favors that you can meddle in family af- 
 fairs. It 's not the first time you 've attended to 
 other people's business." 
 
 Her fingers were working nervously and her eyes 
 beginning to twitch. She made Quin think of Min- 
 erva when Mr. Bangs came into the office. 
 
 "I bet there 's one time you are glad I meddled," 
 he said with easy good humor. "You might have 
 been walking on a peg-stick, Queen Vic, if I had n't 
 butted in. Do you have to use your crutches now?" 
 
 "Crutches! I should say not. I don't even use 
 a cane. See here !" 
 
 She rose and, steadying herself, walked slowly and 
 painfully to the door and back. 
 
 "Bully for you!" said Quin, helping her back into 
 the chair. "Now what were we talking about?" 
 
 "You were trying to hold a brief for Eleanor." 
 
 "So I was. You see, I had an idea that if you 'd 
 let me put the case up to you fair and square, maybe 
 you 'd see it in a different light." 
 
 "Well, that 's where you were mistaken." 
 
 "How do you know ? You have n't listened to me 
 yet!" 
 
 Madam glared at him grimly. 
 
 "Go ahead," he said. "Get it out of your system."
 
 QUIN 
 
 "Well, it 's like this," Quin plunged into his sub- 
 ject. "Next July Miss Nell will be of age and have 
 her own money to do as she likes with, won't she ?" 
 
 "She won't have much," interpolated Madam. 
 "Twenty thousand won't take her far." 
 
 "It will take her to New York and let her live 
 pretty fine for two or three years. Everybody will 
 cotton up to her and flatter her and make her think 
 she 's a second Julia Marlowe, and meantime they '11 
 be helping her spend her money. Now, my plan is 
 this. Why don't you give her just barely enough to 
 live on, and let her try it out on the seamy side for 
 the next six months ? Nobody will know who she is 
 or what 's coming to her, and maybe when she comes 
 up against the real thing she won't be so keen about 
 it." 
 
 Madam followed him closely, and for a moment 
 it looked as if the common sense of his argument 
 appealed to her. Then her face set like a vise. 
 
 "No!" she thundered her decision. "It would be 
 nothing less than handing her over bodily to that 
 pompous old biped Claude Martel! For the next 
 six months she has got to stay right here, where I 
 can know what she is doing and where she is !" 
 
 "Do you know where she was last night ?" Quin 
 played his last trump. 
 
 She shot a suspicious look at him from under her 
 shaggy brows. 
 
 "You said she was at the Martels'."
 
 QUIN 307 
 
 "I did not. I said she was all right and you 'd 
 hear from her to-day." 
 
 "Where was she?" 
 
 "She was on the way to Chicago to join Mr. 
 Phipps." 
 
 He could not have aimed his blow more accurately. 
 Its effect was so appalling that he feared the conse- 
 quences. Her face blanched to an ashy white and 
 her eyes were fixed with terror. 
 
 "She she has n't married him ?" she cried 
 hoarsely. 
 
 "No, no; not yet. But she may any time." 
 
 "Good Lord ! Why have n't you told me this be- 
 fore? Call Isobel! No! she's at church! Get 
 Ranny! Somebody must go after the child!" 
 
 Quin laid a quieting hand on her arm, which was 
 shaking as if with the palsy. 
 
 "Don't get excited," he urged. "Somebody did 
 go after her last night, and brought her home." 
 
 "But where is she now? Where is that contemp- 
 tible Phipps ? I '11 have him arrested ! Are you sure 
 Nellie is safe?" 
 
 "I left her safe and sound at the Martels' half an 
 hour ago. Will you listen while I tell you all about 
 it?" 
 
 As quietly as he could he told the story, inter- 
 rupted again and again by Madam's hysterical out- 
 bursts. When he had finished she struggled to her 
 feet.
 
 QUIN 
 
 "The child is stark mad !" she cried. "I am going- 
 after her this instant." 
 
 "She won't see you," warned Quin. 
 
 "I '11 show you whether she sees me or not ! I 
 am going to bring her home with me to-night. She 's 
 got to be protected against that scoundrel. Ring for 
 the carriage!" 
 
 Quin did not move. "She said if any of you 
 started after her you 'd find her gone when you got 
 there." 
 
 "But who will tell her?" 
 
 "I will. I promised she would n't have to see you. 
 It was the only way I could get her back from 
 Chicago." 
 
 She scowled at him in silence, measuring his de- 
 termination against her own. 
 
 "Very well," she said at last. "Since you are in 
 such high favor, go and tell her that she can come 
 home, and nothing more will be said about it. I 
 suppose there's nothing else to do under the cir- 
 cumstances. But I'll teach her a lesson later!" 
 
 Quin balanced the paper-knife carefully on one 
 finger. 
 
 "I don't think you quite understand," he said. 
 "She is n't coming home. She still says she is going 
 to marry Mr. Phipps. He will probably get her 
 telegram when he goes to the hotel, and when she 
 doesn't turn up in Chicago he will take the first
 
 QUIN 309 
 
 train down here. That 's the way I 've figured it 
 out." 
 
 "And do you think I am going to sit here, and do 
 nothing while all this is taking place?" 
 
 "No; that's what I been driving at all along. I 
 want you and Miss Nell to come to some compro- 
 mise before he gets here." 
 
 "What sort of compromise? Haven't I swal- 
 lowed my pride and promised to say nothing if she 
 comes back? Does she want me to get down on 
 my knees and apologize?" 
 
 "No. That 's the trouble. She don't want you 
 to do anything. All she is thinking about is getting 
 married and going to New York." 
 
 "She can go to New York without that! That 
 contemptible man! I knew all summer he was fill- 
 ing her head with romantic notions, but I never 
 dreamed of this. Why, she 's nothing but a child! 
 
 She does n't know what love is " Then her 
 
 voice broke in sudden panic. "We must stop it at 
 any cost. Go go promise her anything. Tell her 
 I '11 send her to New York, to Europe, anywhere to 
 get her out of that wretch's clutches. My poor 
 child ! My poor baby !" 
 
 Her grief was no less violent than her anger had 
 been, and her tearless sobs almost shook her worn 
 old frame to pieces. 
 
 Quin knew just how she felt. It had been like 
 that with him last night when he heard the news.
 
 310 QUIN 
 
 With one stride he was beside her and had gathered 
 her into his arms. 
 
 "There, there !" he said tenderly. "It 's going to 
 be all right. We are going to find a way out." 
 
 This unexpected caress, probably the first one 
 Madam had received in many years, reduced her to 
 a state of unprecedented humility. She transferred 
 her resentment from Eleanor to Harold Phipps, and 
 announced herself ready to follow whatever course 
 Quin suggested. 
 
 "I 'd offer her just this and nothing more," he 
 advised: "The fare to New York, tuition at the 
 dramatic school, and ten dollars a week." 
 
 "She can't live on that." 
 
 "Yes, she can. Rose Martel does." 
 
 Madam became truculent at once. 
 
 "Don't quote that girl to me. Eleanor 's been 
 used to very different surroundings." 
 
 "That 's the point. Let her have what she has n't 
 been used to. You have tried giving her a bunch 
 of your money and telling her how to spend it. Try 
 giving her a little of her own and letting her do as 
 she likes with it." 
 
 "I don't care what she does for the present, if 
 she just won't marry that man Phipps. Make her 
 give you her word of honor not to have anything 
 whatever to do with him for the next six months. 
 By that time she will have forgotten all about him."
 
 QUIN '311 
 
 "I'll do my best," said Quin, rising. "You'll 
 hear from me first thing in the morning." 
 
 "Well, go now ! But ring first for Hannah. We 
 must pack the child's things to-night. The main 
 thing is to get her out of town before that hound 
 can get here. Don't you thing either Ranny or 
 Isobel had better take her on to New York to- 
 morrow ?" 
 
 Quin returned to the Martels' breathing easily for 
 the first time in twenty-four hours. As he passed 
 Rose's room on the way to his own, he saw a light 
 over the transom, and heard the girls' voices rising 
 in heated argument. He knew that the subject 
 under discussion was Harold Phipps, and that Rose's 
 arraignment was meeting with indignant denial and 
 protest. But the fact that Rose could offer specific 
 evidence that would shake the staunchest confidence 
 gave him grim satisfaction. 
 
 He stumbled into his own small room, and lay 
 across the bed looking up at the shadows made by 
 the street lamp on the ceiling. Would Miss Nell 
 believe what she heard? Would it go very hard 
 with her? Would she give Phipps up? Would she 
 accept Madam's offer? And, if she did, would she 
 ever be willing to come home again ? 
 
 Then his thoughts swerved away from all those 
 perplexing questions and went racing back over the 
 events of the day. For nine blissful hours he had 
 had Eleanor all to himself. They had taken a day-
 
 312 QUIN 
 
 coach to avoid meeting any one she knew, and he 
 load managed to secure a rear seat, out of the range 
 of curious eyes. Here she had poured out all her 
 troubles, allowing the accumulated bitterness of 
 years to find vent in a torrent of unrestrained con- 
 fidence. 
 
 She recalled the days of her unhappy childhood, 
 when she had been fought over and litigated about 
 and contended for, until the whole world seemed 
 a place of hideous discord and petty jealousies. She 
 pictured her circumscribed life at the Bartletts', shut 
 in, watched over, smothered with care and affection, 
 but never allowed an hour of freedom. She dwelt 
 on the increasing tyranny of her grandmother, the 
 objection to her friends, the ruthless handling of 
 several prospective lovers. And she ended by tell- 
 ing him all about her affair with Harold Phipps, 
 and declaring that nothing they could say or do 
 would make her give him up ! And then, quite worn 
 out, she had fallen asleep and her head had drooped 
 against his shoulder. 
 
 Quin could feel now the delicious weight of her 
 limp body as she leaned against him. He had sat 
 so still, in his fear of waking her, that his arm had 
 been numb for an hour. Then, later on, when she 
 did wake up, he had got her some cold water to 
 bathe her face, and persuaded her to eat a sandwich 
 and drink a glass of milk. After that she had 
 felt much better, and even cheered up enough to
 
 QUIN 313 
 
 laugh at the way he looked in the queer cap the 
 obliging stranger had given him. 
 
 "I could make her happy! I know I could make 
 her happy!" he whispered passionately to the sha- 
 dows on the ceiling. "She don't love me now; but 
 maybe when she gets over this " 
 
 His thoughts leaped to the future. He must be 
 ready if the time ever came. He must forge ahead 
 in the next six months, and be in a position by 
 the time Eleanor had tried out her experiment to 
 put his fate to the test. He must make up to old 
 Bangs, and stop criticizing his methods and saying 
 things that annoyed him. He must sacrifice every- 
 thing now to the one great object of pleasing him. 
 Pleasing him meant advancement; advancement 
 meant success; success might mean Eleanor! 
 
 He got up restlessly and tiptoed to the door. The 
 light over Rose's transom was gone and the house 
 was silent.
 
 ELEANOR did not leave for New York the 
 following day. Neither did she see Harold 
 Phipps when he arrived on the morning train. His 
 anxious inquiries over the telephone were met by 
 Rose's cool assurance that Miss Bartlett was spend- 
 ing the week-end with her, and that she would write 
 and explain her silly telegram. His demand for an 
 immediate interview was parried with the excuse that 
 Miss Bartlett was confined to her bed with a severe 
 headache and could not see any one. Without say- 
 ing so directly, Rose managed to convey the im- 
 pression that Miss Bartlett was quite indifferent to 
 his presence in the city and not at all sure that 
 she would be able to see him at all. 
 
 This was an interpretation of the situation de- 
 cidedly more liberal than the facts warranted. Even 
 after Eleanor had been served with the unpalatable 
 truth, generously garnished with unpleasant gossip, 
 she still clung to her belief in Harold and the con- 
 viction that he would be able to explain everything 
 when she saw him. Quin's report of Madam's offer 
 to send her to New York was received in non- 
 committal silence. She would agree to nothing, she 
 
 314
 
 QUIN 315 
 
 declared, until she saw Harold, her only concession 
 being that she would stay in bed until the after- 
 noon and not see him before evening. 
 
 About noon a messenger-boy brought her a box 
 of flowers and a bulky letter. The latter had evi- 
 dently been written immediately after Harold's talk 
 with Rose, and he made the fatal mistake of con- 
 cluding, from her remarks, that Eleanor had 
 changed her mind after sending the telegram and 
 had not come to Chicago. He therefore gave free 
 rein to his imagination, describing in burning 
 rhetoric how he had received her message Saturday 
 night just as he was retiring, how he tossed im- 
 patiently on his bed all night, and rose at dawn to 
 be at the station when the train came in. He pic- 
 tured vividly his ecstasy of expectation, his futile 
 search, his bitter disappointment. He had dropped 
 everything, he declared, to take the next train to 
 Kentucky to find out what had changed her plans, 
 and to persuade her to be married at once and re- 
 turn with him to Chicago. The epistle ended with 
 a love rhapsody that deserved a better fate than to 
 be torn into shreds and consigned to the waste- 
 basket. 
 
 "Tell the boy not to wait!" was Eleanor's furious 
 instruction. "Tell him there's no answer now or 
 ever!" 
 
 Then she pitched the flowers after the note, locked
 
 316 QUIN 
 
 her door, and refused to admit any one for the rest 
 of the day. 
 
 After that her one desire was to get away. She 
 felt utterly humiliated, disillusioned, disgraced, and 
 her sole hope for peace lay in the further humiliation 
 of accepting Madam's offer and trying to go on with 
 her work. But even here she met an obstacle. A 
 letter arrived from Papa Claude, saying that he 
 would not be able to get possession of the little 
 apartment until December first, a delay that ne- 
 cessitated Eleanor's remaining with the Martels for 
 another month. 
 
 The situation was a delicate and a difficult one. 
 Eleanor was more than willing to forgo the luxuries 
 to which she had been accustomed and was even will- 
 ing to share Rose's untidy bedroom ; but the knowl- 
 edge that she was adding another weight to Cass's 
 already heavy burden was intolerable to her. To 
 make things worse, she was besieged with notes 
 and visits and telephone calls from various emis- 
 saries sent out by her grandmother. 
 
 "I '11 go perfectly crazy if they don't leave me 
 alone !" she declared one night to Quin. "They act 
 as if studying for the stage were the wickedest 
 thing in the world. Aunt Isobel was here all morn- 
 ing, harping on my immortal soul until I almost 
 hoped I did n't have one. This afternoon Aunt 
 Flo came and warned me against getting profes- 
 sional notions in my head, and talked about my
 
 QUIN 317 
 
 social position, and what a blow it would be to the 
 family. Then, to cap the climax, Uncle Ranny 
 had the nerve to telephone and urge me against tak- 
 ing any step that would break my grandmother's 
 heart. Uncle Ranny! Can you beat that?" 
 
 "I 'd chuck the whole bunch for a while," was 
 Quin's advice. "Why don't you let their standards 
 go to gallagher and live up to your own?" 
 
 "That 's what I want to do, Quin," she said 
 earnestly. "My standards are just as good as 
 theirs, every bit. I 've got terrifically high ideals. 
 Nobody knows how serious I feel about the whole 
 thing. It is n't just a silly whim, as grandmother 
 thinks ; it 's the one thing in the world I care about 
 now." 
 
 Quin started to speak, reconsidered it, and whis- 
 tled softly instead. He had formed a Spartan re- 
 solve to put aside his own claims for the present, and 
 be in word and deed that "best friend" to whom 
 he had urged Eleanor to come in time of trouble. 
 With heroic self-control, he set himself to meet her 
 problems, even going so far as to encourage her 
 spirit of independence and to help her build air- 
 castles that at present were her only refuge from 
 despair. 
 
 "Just think of all the wonderful things I can do 
 if I succeed," she said. "Papa Claude need never 
 take another pupil, and Myrna can go to college, 
 and Cass and Fan Loomis can get married."
 
 318 QUIN 
 
 "And don't forget Rose," suggested Quin, to keep 
 up the interest. "You must do something hand- 
 some for her. She 's a great girl, Rose is !" 
 
 Eleanor looked at him curiously, and the small- 
 est of puckers appeared between her perfectly 
 arched brows. Quin saw it at once, and decided 
 that Rose's recent handling of Mr. Phipps had met 
 with disfavor, and he sighed as he thought of the 
 hold the older man still had on Eleanor. 
 
 During the next difficult weeks Quin devoted all 
 his spare time to the grateful occupation of divert- 
 ing the Martels' woe-begone little guest. Hardly a 
 day passed that he did not suggest some excursion 
 that would divert her without bringing her into con- 
 tact with her own social world, from which she 
 shrank with aversion. On Sundays and half-holi- 
 days he took her on long trolley rides to queer out- 
 of-the-way places where she had never been before: 
 to Zachary Taylor's grave, and to the old French 
 burying ground, to the venerable tree in Iroquois 
 Park that bore the carved inscription, "D. Boone, 
 1715." One Sunday morning they went to Shaw- 
 nee Park and rented a rowboat, in which they fol- 
 lowed the windings of the Ohio River below the 
 falls, and had innumerable adventures that kept 
 them out until sundown. 
 
 Eleanor had never before had so much liberty. 
 She came and went as she pleased; and if she 
 missed a meal the explanation that she was out
 
 QUIN 319 
 
 with Quin was sufficient. Sometimes when the 
 weather was good she would walk over to Central 
 Park and meet him when he came home in 
 the evening. They would sit under the bare trees 
 and talk, or look over the books he had brought her 
 from the library. 
 
 At first she had found his selections a tame sub- 
 stitute for her recent highly spiced literary diet; 
 but before long she began to take a languid inter- 
 est in them. They invariably had to do with out- 
 door things stars and flowers, birds and beasts, 
 and adventures in foreign lands. 
 
 "Here's a jim-dandy!" Quin would say enthu- 
 siastically. "It's all about bees. I can't pronounce 
 the guy that wrote it, but, take it from me, he 's 
 got the dope all right." 
 
 It was in the long hours of the day, when Eleanor 
 was in the house alone, that she faced her dark- 
 est problems. She had been burnt so badly in her 
 recent affair that she wanted nothing more to do 
 with fire ; yet she was chilled and forlorn without it. 
 With all her courage she tried to banish the un- 
 worthy image of Harold Phipps, but his melancholy 
 eyes still exercised their old potent charm, and the 
 memory of his low, insistent tones still echoed in 
 her ears. She came to the tragic conclusion that 
 she was the victim of a hopeless infatuation that 
 would follow her to her grave. 
 
 So obsessed was she by the thought of her. shat-
 
 320 QUIN 
 
 tered love affair that she failed to see that a 
 troubled conscience was equally responsible for her 
 restlessness. Her life-long training in acquiescence 
 and obedience was at grips with her desire to live 
 her own life in her own way. She had not realized 
 until she made the break how much she cared for 
 the family approval, how dependent she was on the 
 family advice and assistance, how hideous it was 
 to make people unhappy. Now that she was about 
 to obtain her freedom, she was afraid of it. Sup- 
 pose she did not make good? Suppose she had no 
 talent, after all? Suppose Papa Claude was as 
 visionary about her career as he was about every- 
 thing else? At such times a word of discourage- 
 ment would have broken her spirit and sent her back 
 to bondage. 
 
 "Would you go on with it?" she asked Quin, 
 time and again. 
 
 "Sure," said Quin stoutly; "you '11 never be satis- 
 fied until you try it out." 
 
 "But suppose I 'm a failure?" 
 
 "Well, then you 've got it out of your system, and 
 won't have to go through life thinking about the 
 big success you 'd have been if you 'd just had your 
 chance." 
 
 She was not satisfied with his answer, but it 
 had to suffice. While he never discouraged her, 
 she felt that he shared the opinion of the family
 
 QUIN 321 
 
 that her ambition was a caprice to be indulged and 
 got rid of, the sooner the better. 
 
 The first day of December brought word from 
 Claude Martel that the apartment was ready. 
 Eleanor left on twenty-four hours' notice, and it 
 required the combined efforts of both families to 
 get her off. She had refused up to the last to see 
 her grandmother, but had yielded to united pres- 
 sure and written a stiff good-by note in which she 
 thanked her for advancing the money, and added 
 not without a touch of bitterness that it would all 
 be spent for the purpose intended. 
 
 Randolph Bartlett took her to the station in his 
 car, and Miss Isobel met them there with a suit-case 
 full of articles that she feared Eleanor had failed 
 to provide. 
 
 "I put in some overshoes," she said, fluttering 
 about like a distracted hen whose adopted duckling 
 unexpectedly takes to water. "I also fixed up a 
 medicine-case and a sewing basket. I knew you 
 would never think of them. And, dear, I know 
 how you hate heavy underwear, but pneumonia is 
 so prevalent. You must promise me not to take 
 cold if you can possibly avoid it." 
 
 Eleanor promised. Somehow, Aunt Isobel, with 
 her anxious face and her reddened eyelids, had 
 never seemed so pathetic before. 
 
 "I '11 write to you, auntie," she said reassuringly ; 
 "and you must n't worry."
 
 322 QUIN 
 
 "Don't write to me," whispered Miss Isobel 
 tremulously. "Write to mother. Just a line now 
 and then to let her know you think of her. She 's 
 quite feeble, Nellie, and she talks about you from 
 morning until night." 
 
 Eleanor's face hardened. She evidently did cot 
 enjoy imagining the nature of Madam's discourse. 
 However, she squeezed Aunt Isobel's hand and said 
 she would write. 
 
 Then Quin arrived with the ticket and the bag- 
 gage-checks, the train was called, and Eleanor was 
 duly embraced and wept over. 
 
 "We won't go through the gates," said Mr. 
 Ranny, with consideration for Miss Isobel's tearful 
 condition. "Quin will get you aboard all right. 
 Good-by, kiddie!" 
 
 Eleanor stumbled after Quin with many a back- 
 ward glance. Both Aunt Isobel and Uncle Ranny 
 seemed to have acquired haloes of kindness and af- 
 fection, and she felt like a selfish ingrate. She 
 looked at the lunch-box in her hand, and thought of 
 Rose rising at dawn to fix it before she went to 
 work. She remembered the little gifts Cass and 
 Myrna and Edwin had slipped in her bag. How 
 good they had all been to her, and how she was 
 going to miss them ! Now that she was actually em- 
 barked on her great adventure, a terrible misgiving 
 seized her. 
 
 "Train starts in two minutes, boss!" warned the
 
 QUIN 323 
 
 porter, as Quin helped Eleanor aboard and piloted 
 her to her seat. 
 
 "You could n't hold it up for half an hour, could 
 you?" asked Quin. Then, as he glanced down 
 and met Eleanor's eyes brimming with all those 
 recent tendernesses, his carefully practised stoicism 
 received a frightful jolt. 
 
 As the "All aboard!" sounded, she clutched his 
 sleeve in sudden panic. 
 
 "Oh, Quin, I know I 'm going to be horribly 
 lonesome and homesick. I I wish you were going 
 too!" 
 
 "All right! I '11 go! Why not?" 
 
 "But you can't! I was fooling. You must get 
 off this instant!" 
 
 "May I come on later? Say in the spring?" 
 
 "Yes, yes! But get off now! Quick, we are 
 moving !" 
 
 She had almost to push him down the aisle and 
 off the steps. Then, as the train gained speed, in- 
 stead of looking forward to the wide fields of free- 
 dom stretching before her, she looked wistfully 
 back to the disconsolate figure on the platform, and, 
 with a sigh that was half for him and half for her- 
 self, she lifted her fingers to her lips and rashly 
 Uew him a good-by kiss.,
 
 CHAPTER 28 
 
 THAT aerial kiss proved more intoxicating to 
 Quin than all the more tangible ones he had 
 ever received. It sent him swaggering through the 
 next few months with his head in the air and his 
 heart on fire. Nothing could stop him now, he told 
 himself boastfully. Old Bangs was showing him 
 signal favor, Madam Bartlett was his staunch 
 friend, Mr. Ranny and the aunties were his allies, 
 and even if Miss Nell didn't care for him yet, she 
 didn't care for anybody else, and when a girl like 
 Miss Nell looks at a fellow the way she had looked 
 at him 
 
 At this rapturous point he invariably abandoned 
 cold prose for poetry and burst into song. 
 
 Almost every week brought him a letter from 
 Eleanor not the romantic, carefully penned epis- 
 tles she had indited to Harold Phipps, but hasty 
 scrawls often dashed off with a pencil. In them 
 she described her absurd attempts at housekeeping in 
 the little two-room apartment; her absorbing ex- 
 periences in the dramatic school; all the ups and 
 downs of her wonderful new life. She was evi- 
 dently enjoying her freedom, but Quin flattered 
 
 324
 
 QUIN 325 
 
 himself that between the lines he could find evi- 
 dences of discouragement, of homesickness, and of 
 the coming disillusionment on which he was count- 
 ing to bring her home when her six months of 
 study were over. 
 
 It was only when Rose read him Papa Claude's 
 lengthy effusions that his heart misgave him. Papa 
 Claude announced that Eleanor was sweeping 
 everything before her at the dramatic school, where 
 her beauty and talent were causing much comment, 
 and that he had not been mistaken when he had 
 foreseen her destiny, and, "single-handed against 
 the world," forced its fulfilment. 
 
 Usually, upon reading one of Papa Claude's pyro- 
 technical efforts, Quin went to see Madam Bart- 
 lett. After all, he and the old lady were paddling 
 in the same canoe, and their only chance of success 
 was in pulling together. 
 
 As the end of the six months of probation ap- 
 proached, Madam became more and more anxious. 
 Ever since Eleanor's high-handed departure she had 
 been undergoing a metamorphosis. Like most auto- 
 crats, the only things of which she took notice were 
 the ones that impeded her progress. When they 
 proved sufficiently formidable to withstand anni- 
 hilation, she awarded them the respect that was 
 their due. Eleanor's childish whim, heretofore 
 crushed under her disapprobation, now loomed as 
 a terrifying possibility. The girl had proved her
 
 326 QUIN 
 
 mettle by living through the winter on a smaller 
 allowance than Madam paid her cook. She had 
 shown perseverance and pluck, and an amazing 
 ability to get along without the aid of the family. 
 In a few months she would be of age, and with 
 the small legacy left her by her spendthrift father, 
 would be in a position to snap her fingers in the 
 face of authority. 
 
 "If it were n't for that fool Phipps I 'd have her 
 home in twenty- four hours," Madam declared to 
 Quin. "She '11 be wanting to take a professional 
 engagement next." 
 
 Quin tried to reassure her, but his words rang 
 hollow. He too was growing anxious as the months 
 passed and Eleanor showed no sign of returning. 
 He longed to throw his influence with Madam's in 
 trying to induce her to come back before it was too 
 late. The only thing that deterred him was his 
 sense of fair play to Eleanor. 
 
 "You let Miss Nell work it out for herself," he 
 advised; "don't threaten her or persuade her or 
 bribe her. Leave her alone. She 's got more com- 
 mon sense than you think. I bet she '11 get enough 
 of it by May." 
 
 "Well, if she does n't, I 'm through with her, 
 and you can tell her so. I meant to make Eleanor 
 a rich woman, but, mark my word, if she goes on 
 the stage I '11 rewrite my will and cut her off with- 
 out a penny. I '11 even entail what I leave Isobel
 
 QUIN 327 
 
 and Enid. I '11 make her sorry for what she 's 
 done!" 
 
 But with the approach of spring it was Madam 
 who was sorry and not Eleanor. Quin's sympathies 
 were roused every time he saw the old lady. Her 
 affection and anxiety fought constantly against her 
 pride and bitterness. For hours at a time she would 
 talk to him about Eleanor, hungrily snatching at 
 every crumb of news, and yet refusing to pen a line 
 of conciliation. 
 
 "If she can do without me, I can do without her," 
 she would say stubbornly. 
 
 Quin's business brought him to the Bartlett home 
 oftener than usual these days. For twenty years 
 Madam and Mr. Bangs, as partners in the firm of 
 Bartlett & Bangs, had tried to run in opposite direc- 
 tions on the same track, with the result that head- 
 on collisions were of frequent occurrence. Since 
 Randolph Bartlett's retirement from the firm, Quin 
 had succeeded him as official switchman, and had 
 proven himself an adept. His skill in handling the 
 old lady was soon apparent to Mr. Bangs, who lost 
 no time in utilizing it. 
 
 One afternoon in April, when Quin was busily 
 employed at his desk, his eyes happened to fall upon 
 a calendar, the current date of which was circled in 
 red ink. The effect of the discovery was immediate. 
 His energetic mood promptly gave way to one of
 
 328 QUIN 
 
 extreme languor, and his gaze wandered from the 
 papers in his hand across the grimy roof tops. 
 
 This time last year he and Miss Nell had made 
 their first pilgrimage to Valley Mead. It was just 
 such a day as this, warm and lazy, with big white 
 clouds loafing off there in the west. He wondered 
 if the peach trees were in bloom now, and whether 
 the white violets were coming up along the creek- 
 bank. How happy and contented Miss Nell always 
 seemed in the country! She had never known be- 
 fore what the outdoor life was like. How he would 
 like to take her hunting for big game up in the 
 Maine woods, or camping out in the Canadian 
 Rockies with old Cherokee Jo for a guide ! Or bet- 
 ter still, here his fancy bolted completely, if he 
 could only slip with her aboard a transport and make 
 a thirty days' voyage through the South Seas ! 
 
 It was at this transcendent stage of his reveries 
 that a steely voice at his elbow observed : 
 
 "You seem to be finding a great deal to interest 
 you in that smokestack, young man!" 
 
 Quin descended from his height with brisk em- 
 barrassment. 
 
 "Anything you wanted, sir?" he asked. 
 
 Mr. Bangs looked about cautiously to make sure 
 that nobody was in ear-shot, then he said abruptly: 
 
 "I want you to come out to my place with me for 
 overnight. I want to talk with you." 
 
 Quin's amazement at this request w r as so pro-
 
 QUIN 329" 
 
 found that for a moment he did not answer. Sur- 
 mises as to the nature of the business ranged from 
 summary dismissal to acceptance into the firm. 
 Never in his experience at the factory had any em- 
 ployee been recognized unofficially by Mr. Bangs. 
 To all appearances, he lived in a large limousine 
 which deposited him at the office at exactly eight- 
 thirty and collected him again on the stroke of four. 
 Rumor hinted, however, that he owned a place in 
 the suburbs, and that the establishment was one that 
 did not invite publicity. 
 
 "Very well, sir," said Quin. "What time shall I 
 be ready?" 
 
 "We will start at once," said Mr. Bangs, leading 
 the way to the door. 
 
 On the drive out, Quin's efforts at conversation 
 met with small encouragement. Mr. Bangs re- 
 sponded only when he felt like it, and did not scruple 
 to leave an observation, or even a question, perma- 
 nently suspended in an embarrassing silence. Quin 
 soon found it much more interesting to commune 
 with himself. It was exciting to conjecture what 
 was about to happen, and what effect it would have 
 on his love affair. If he got a raise, would he be 
 justified in putting his fate to the test? All spring 
 he had fought the temptation of going to New York 
 in the hope that by waiting he would have more 
 to offer. If by any miracle of grace Miss Nell should 
 yield him the slightest foothold, he must be prepared
 
 33 o QUIN 
 
 to storm the citadel and take possession at once. 
 
 The abrupt turn of the automobile into a somber 
 avenue of locusts recalled him to the present, and he 
 looked about him curiously. Mr. Bangs had not 
 been satisfied to build his habitation far from town ; 
 he had taken the added precaution to place it a mile 
 back from the road. It was a somewhat preten- 
 tious modern house, half hidden by a high hedge. 
 The window-shades were drawn, the doors were 
 closed. The only signs of life about the place were 
 a porch chair, still rocking as if from recent occu- 
 pation, and a thin blue scarf that had evidently 
 been dropped in sudden flight. 
 
 Mr. Bangs let himself in with a latch-key, and led 
 the way into a big dreary room that was evidently 
 meant for a library. A handsome suite of regulation 
 mahogany furniture did its best to justify the 
 room's claim to its title, but rows of empty book- 
 shelves yawned derision at the pretense. 
 
 Mr. Bangs lit the electrolier, and, motioning Quin 
 to a chair, sat down heavily. Now that he had 
 achieved a guest, he seemed at a loss to know what 
 to do with him. 
 
 "Do you play chess?" he asked abruptly. 
 
 "I can play 'most anything," Quin boasted. 
 "Poker's my specialty." 
 
 For an hour they bent over the chess-board, and 
 Quin was conscious of those piercing black eyes 
 studying him and grimly approving when he made
 
 QUIN 331 
 
 a good play. For the first time, he began to rather 
 like Mr. Bangs, and to experience a thrill of satis- 
 faction in winning his good opinion. 
 
 Only once was the game interrupted. The colored 
 chauffeur who had driven them out came to the 
 door and asked: 
 
 "Shall I lay the table for two or three, sir?" 
 
 Mr. Bangs lifted his head long enough to give 
 him one annihilating glance. 
 
 "I have but one guest," he said significantly. "Set 
 the table for two." 
 
 The dinner was one of the best Quin had ever 
 tasted, and his frank enjoyment of it, and franker 
 comment, seemed further to ingratiate him with Mr. 
 .Bangs, who waxed almost agreeable in discussing 
 the various viands. 
 
 After dinner they returned to the library and lit 
 their cigars, and Quin waited hopefully. 
 
 This time he was not to be disappointed. 
 
 "Graham," said Mr. Bangs, "what salary are you 
 drawing?" 
 
 "One hundred and fifty, sir." 
 
 "How long have you been at the factory ?" 
 
 "A year last February." 
 
 "Not so long as I thought. You are satisfied, I 
 take it?" 
 
 Quin saw his chance and seized it. 
 
 "It 's all right until I can get something better." 
 
 Mr. Bangs relit his cigar, and took his time about
 
 332 QUIN 
 
 it. Then he blew out the match and threw it on the 
 floor. 
 
 "I am looking for a new traffic manager," he 
 said. 
 
 "What 's the matter with Mr. Shields ?" Quin in- 
 quired in amazement. 
 
 "I have fired him. He talks too much. I want 
 a man to manage traffic, not to superintend a Sun- 
 day-school." 
 
 "But Mr. Shields has been there for years !" 
 
 "That 's the trouble. I want a younger man one 
 who is abreast of the times, familiar with modern 
 methods." 
 
 Quin's heart leaped within him. Could Mr. Bangs 
 be intimating that he, Quinby Graham, with one 
 year and four months' experience, might step over 
 the heads of all of those older and more experienced 
 aspirants into the empty shoes of the former traffic 
 manager ? 
 
 The South Seas seemed to flow just around the 
 corner. 
 
 "I have been considering the matter," continued 
 Mr. Bangs, catching a white moth between his thumb 
 and forefinger and taking apparent pleasure in its 
 annihilation, "and I 've decided not to get a new 
 man in for the summer, but to let you take the work 
 for the present and see what you can do with it." 
 
 Quin's joy was so swift and sudden that even
 
 QUIN 333 
 
 the formidable banks of Mr. Bangs's presence could 
 not keep it from overflowing. 
 
 "I can handle it as easy as falling off a log!" he 
 cried excitedly. "I know every State in the Union 
 and then some. Of course, I hate to see old Shields 
 go, but he is a slow-coach. I '11 put it all over him ! 
 You '11 see if I don't!" 
 
 "I am not so sure about that," said Mr. Bangs. 
 "Shields had the sense to do what he was told with- 
 out arguing the matter." 
 
 Quin laughed joyously. "Right you are!" he 
 agreed. "I 'd have come out of the service with a 
 couple of bars on my shoulders if I had n't argued 
 so much. I don't know what gets into me, but when 
 I see a better way of running things I just have to 
 say so." 
 
 "Well, I don't want you to say so to me," warned 
 Mr. Bangs. "There are certain business methods 
 that we Ve got to observe, whether we like them or 
 not. Take the matter of listing freight, for instance. 
 That 's where Shields fell down. He knows per- 
 fectly well that there is n't a successful firm in the 
 country that does n't classify its stuff under the head 
 that calls for the lowest freight rates." 
 
 "How do you mean?" 
 
 Mr. Bangs proceeded to explain, concluding his 
 remarks with the observation that you could n't af- 
 ford to be too particular in these matters. 
 
 "But it is beating the railroads, isn't it?"
 
 334 QUIN 
 
 "The railroads can afford it. They lose no chance 
 to gouge the manufacturers. It 's like taxes. The 
 government knows that everybody is going to dodge 
 them, and so it allows for it. Nobody is deceived, 
 and nobody is the worse for it. Human nature is 
 what it is, and you can't change it." 
 
 "Does the traffic manager have to classify the ex- 
 ports?" Quin asked. 
 
 "Certainly; that and routing the cars is his prin- 
 cipal business. It 's a difficult and responsible posi- 
 tion in many ways, and I have my doubts about your 
 being able to fill it." 
 
 "I can fill it all right," said Quin, as confidently 
 as before, but with a certain loss of enthusiasm. 
 Upon the shining brows of his great opportunity he 
 had spied the incipient horns of a dilemma. 
 
 For the next two hours Mr. Bangs explained in 
 detail the duties of the new position, going into each 
 phase of the matter with such efficient thoroughness 
 that Quin forgot his scruples in his absorbed interest 
 in the recital. It was no wonder, he said to him- 
 self, that Mr. Bangs was one of the most successful 
 manufacturers in the South. A man who was not 
 only an executive and administrator, but who could 
 make with his own hands the most complicated 
 farming implement in his factory, was one to com- 
 mand respect. Even if he did not like him person- 
 ally, it was a great thing to work under him, to have 
 his approval, to be trusted by him.
 
 QUIN 335 
 
 When Quin went up to his room at eleven o'clock, 
 his head was whirling with statistics and other new- 
 ly acquired facts, which he spent an hour recording 
 in his note-book. 
 
 It was not until he went to bed and lay staring 
 into the darkness that the mental tumult subsided 
 and the moral tumult began. The questions that he 
 had resolutely kept in abeyance all evening began 
 to dance in impish insistence before him. What right 
 had he to take Shields's place, when he had said ex- 
 actly the things that Shields had been fired for say- 
 ing? Did he want to go the way Shields had gone, 
 compromising with his conscience in order to keep 
 his job, ashamed to face his fellow man, cringing, 
 remorseful, unhappy? 
 
 Then Mr. Bangs's arguments came back to him, 
 specious, practical, convincing. Business was like 
 politics; you could keep out if you didn't like it, 
 but if you went in you must play the game as others 
 played it or lose out. Five hundred a month ! Why, 
 a fellow would n't be ashamed to ask even a rich 
 girl to marry him on that! The thought was balm 
 to his pride. 
 
 As he lay there thinking, he was conscious of a 
 disturbing sound in the adjoining room, and he 
 lifted his head to listen. It sounded like some one 
 crying not a violent outburst, but the hopeless, 
 steady sobbing of despair. His thoughts flew back 
 to that blue scarf on the porch, to the inquiry about
 
 336 QUIN 
 
 an extra seat at the table. They were true, then, 
 those rumors about the lonely, unhappy woman 
 whom Mr. Bangs had kept a virtual prisoner for 
 years. Quin wondered if she was young, if she was 
 pretty. A fierce sympathy for her seized him as he 
 listened to her sobs on the other side of the wall. 
 What a beast a man was to put a woman in a posi- 
 tion like that ! 
 
 His wrath, thus kindled, threw Mr. Bangs's other 
 characteristics into startling relief. He saw him at 
 the head of his firm, hated and despised by every 
 employee. He saw him deceiving Madam Bartlett, 
 sneering at Mr. Ranny's efforts at reform, terroriz- 
 ing little Miss Leaks. Then he had a swift and re- 
 lentless vision of himself in his new position, a well 
 trained automaton, expected to execute Mr. Bangs's 
 orders not only in the factory but in the Bartlett 
 household as well. 
 
 He tossed restlessly on his pillow. If only that 
 woman would stop crying, perhaps he could get a 
 better line on the thing! But she did not stop, and 
 somehow while she cried he could see nothing good 
 in Bangs or what he stood for. Hour after hour 
 his ambition and his love fought against his prin- 
 ciples, and dawn found him still awake, staring at 
 the ceiling. 
 
 Going back to town after an early breakfast, he 
 said to Mr. Bangs :
 
 QUIN 337 
 
 "I Ve been thinking it over, sir, and if you don't 
 mind I think I '11 keep the position I Ve got." 
 
 "What do you mean?" demanded Mr. Bangs. 
 "You decline the promotion?" 
 
 "I am afraid I am not the man for the job," said 
 Quin. 
 
 "That's for me to decide." 
 
 Quin was visibly embarrassed. After his enthusi- 
 asm of the night before, his present attitude called 
 for an explanation. 
 
 "Well, you see," he said awkwardly, "it may be 
 good business and all that, but there are some things 
 a fellow can't do when he feels about them the way 
 I do." 
 
 "Meaning, I suppose, that your standards are so 
 much higher than those of the rest of us that you 
 cannot trade in the market-place?" 
 
 "No, sir; I don't mean anything of the kind," 
 .Quin flashed back, hot at the accusations of self- 
 righteousness, but unable to defend himself without 
 criticizing his employer. 
 
 "And this is final? You've definitely decided?" 
 
 "I have." 
 
 "Very well; I am through with you." And Mr. 
 Bangs unfolded his newspaper and read it the rest 
 of the way to the city. 
 
 At the office door he was dismounting from the 
 car with his silence still unbroken, when Quin asked 
 nervously :
 
 338 QUIN 
 
 "Shall I go on with my old job, sir?" 
 
 Mr. Bangs wheeled upon him, his eyes like fiery 
 gimlets. 
 
 "No !" he thundered. "You need n't go on with 
 anything! For six months I have wasted time try- 
 ing to teach you something about business. I 've 
 pushed you along faster than your ability war- 
 ranted. I Ve given you a chance to quadruple your 
 salary. And what is the result? You give me a 
 lot of hot air about your conscience. Why don't 
 you get a soap-box and preach on the street-corners ? 
 You can draw your money and go. There is no room 
 on my pay-roll for angels!" 
 
 And, with a contemptuous shrug, he passed into 
 the factory, leaving Quin standing dazed and ap- 
 palled on the sidewalk.
 
 CHAPTER 29 
 
 AS long as a man can see his goal shining, how- 
 ever faint and distant, he will steer his craft 
 with tolerable reason and patience; but let the 
 beacon-light be extinguished, and he promptly 
 abandons reason and rashly trusts to instinct to 
 guide him. 
 
 Quin, who had resolutely kept his course as long 
 as he had been sure of his steady progress toward 
 success, lost his head completely at this sudden col- 
 lapse of his hopes, and took the first train for New 
 York. A sudden mad necessity was upon him to 
 see Eleanor at once. One look of encouragement, 
 one word of hope from her, and he would rush back 
 to port and gladly begin the voyage all over again. 
 
 He arrived at the Eighty-second Street apart- 
 ment about six o'clock in the evening, and, after 
 studying the dingy name-plates, took the five flights 
 of stairs with uncommendable speed, and presented 
 himself at the rear door on the sixth floor. 
 
 As he waited for an answer to his ring, he won- 
 dered if he had not made a mistake about the name 
 on the door-plate. The narrow dark hall, permeated 
 with a smell of onions and cabbage, was all too fa- 
 
 339
 
 340 QUIN 
 
 miliar to him, but it was not at all the proper set- 
 ting for Eleanor. His bewilderment increased when 
 the door was opened by a white-aproned figure, who 
 after a moment of blank amazement seized his hand 
 in boths of hers and pressed it rapturously. 
 
 At least, that was what Quin imagined took place ; 
 but when, a moment later, he sat opposite a com- 
 posed young lady who had removed her impulse 
 with her apron, he knew that he must have been 
 mistaken. She was still his adored Miss Nell, but 
 with a difference that carried her leagues away from 
 him. He knew how to cope with the hot-headed, 
 rebellious Miss Nell; with the teasing, indifferent, 
 provocative Miss Nell; and even with the discon- 
 solate little Miss Nell who had wept against his 
 shoulder coming home from Chicago. But in the 
 presence of this beautiful, grown-up, self-contained 
 young lady he felt thoroughly awkward and ill at 
 ease. Had it not been for the warmth of her smile 
 and the eagerness with which she plied him with 
 questions, his courage would have failed him utterly. 
 
 "Now tell me all about everything!" she urged. 
 "You are the first human being I Ve seen from 
 home for four mortal months. How 's everybody at 
 grandmother's ? Has Aunt Enid come home ? How 
 are Rose and the children?" 
 
 "One at a time!" protested Quin. "Tell me first 
 about yourself. What sort of a place is this you are 
 living in?"
 
 QUIN 341 
 
 "You must n't criticize our suite !" she said gaily. 
 "This is a combination bedroom, dining-room, and 
 kitchen. I am the cook and housemaid, and Papa 
 Claude is the butler. You ought to see the way I 've 
 learned to cook on the chafing-dish!" 
 
 Quin was not in the least interested in her culi- 
 nary accomplishments. It offended his sense of the 
 proprieties to see his divinity reduced to such neces- 
 sities, and he did not at all approve of her surround- 
 ings. 
 
 "When are you coming home?" he asked 
 abruptly. 
 
 Eleanor's eyes dropped. 
 
 "That depends. I may be here all summer. I 've 
 had an engagement offered me." 
 
 Quin's hands grew cold. "You don't mean that 
 you're going to act for pay?" 
 
 "Of course. Why not? That's what I 've been 
 working for." 
 
 "But I thought when you tried it out that you 
 would change your mind that you wouldn't like 
 it as much as you thought you would." 
 
 "But I do. I adore it! Nothing on earth can 
 ever make me give it up !" 
 
 Quin's heart sank. "But I thought you 'd had 
 enough," he said. "I thought you were homesick 
 and lonesome." 
 
 "Who wouldn't have been? Look at the way
 
 342 QUIN 
 
 they have treated me at home ? Do you know, none 
 of them ever write to me any more?" 
 
 Quin tried not to look guilty, but the fact that 
 he had counseled this course of discipline weighed 
 upon him. 
 
 "Haven't I written enough for the family?" he 
 asked. 
 
 But she was not to be put off. 
 
 "They treat me as if I had done something dis- 
 graceful!" she said indignantly. "My allowance is 
 just half what it used to be, and yet I have to pay 
 all my own expenses. As for clothes, I never was 
 so shabby in my life. But I can stand that. It 's 
 grandmother's silence that I resent. How can she 
 pretend to care for me when she ignores my letters 
 and treats me with perfect indifference?" 
 
 Hurt pride quivered through the anger in her 
 voice, and she looked at Quin appealingly. Stung 
 by his silence, she burst out afresh : 
 
 "Does n't she ever ask about me ? Has she let 
 me go for good and all?" 
 
 "Was n't that what you wanted?" 
 
 "You know it was n't ! I did everything to get 
 her consent. I 'd I 'd give anything now if she 
 would look at things differently. Do you think, 
 when she finds out that I am actually on the stage, 
 that she will ever forgive me that she will ever 
 want me to come home again?" 
 
 That was the moment when Quin should have
 
 QUIN 343 
 
 delivered Madam's ultimatum; but, before he had 
 the chance, a key was turned in the lock, and the 
 next instant Claude Martel's effulgent presence filled 
 the room. 
 
 For a moment he stood poised lightly, con- 
 sciously, his cane and gloves in one hand, and his' 
 soft felt hat turned gracefully across the other. On 
 his ankles were immaculate white spats, and in his 
 buttonhole blossomed the inevitable rose. 
 
 "Quinby Graham!" he cried in accents of rap- 
 ture. "My Cassius's beloved Quin! My beloved 
 Quin ! What happy fortune blew you hither ? But 
 no matter. You are here you are ours. Eleanor 
 and I are going out to a studio party at a dear, dear 
 friend's. You shall accompany us!" 
 
 "Oh, no, Papa Claude," protested Eleanor. "Quin 
 doesn't want to go to Miss Linton's messy old 
 party. Neither do I. You go and leave us here. 
 There are a million things I want to ask him." 
 
 But Papa Claude would not consider it. "You 
 can ask them to-morrow," he said. "To-night I 
 claim you both. We will introduce Quinby as one 
 of the gallant heroes of the Great War. I shall tell 
 his story no he shall tell it ! Come, put on your 
 hat, Eleanor; we must start at once." 
 
 "But here! Hold on!" protested Quin, laughing 
 and freeing himself from Papa Claude's encircling 
 arm, "I 'm not fixed to go to a party, and I have n't
 
 344 QUIN 
 
 got any story to tell. I '11 clear out and come back 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "No, no!" protested Eleanor and Papa Claude in 
 a breath, and after a brief struggle for supremacy 
 the latter triumphantly continued : 
 
 "I promise you shall say nothing, if you prefer 
 it. Modesty is gallantry's crowning grace. But you 
 must accompany us. My heart is set upon it e 
 Eleanor darling, here 's your wrap. Come, Quinby, 
 my boy !" And the dynamic little gentleman hooked 
 an arm through each of theirs and, in spite of their 
 protests, bore them triumphantly 'down the stairs 
 and off to the party. 
 
 It was not until they had boarded a crowded 
 downtown car and found themselves wedged in the 
 aisle that Quin and Eleanor managed to have 
 another word alone. 
 
 "It's a shame we had to come !" she pouted, look- 
 ing up at him from under a tilted hat-brim that 
 supported three dangling cherries. 
 
 "Where are we going?" he asked, thrilled by the 
 discovery that her lips and the cherries matched. 
 
 "To a studio party down in Washington Square. 
 Papa Claude is trying to get Estelle Linton to play 
 the lead in 'Phantom Love.' You always meet all 
 sorts of freaks at her parties." 
 
 "I did n't come to New York to meet freaks." 
 
 "What did you come for?" 
 
 "Shall I tell you?"
 
 QUIN '345 
 
 "Of course why not?" 
 
 "You want to know? Right now?" 
 
 He was looking at her with an expression that 
 was never intended to be worn in a public convey- 
 ance, and the thin-faced Polish woman on whose 
 toes they were all but standing looked at them with 
 such lively comprehension that Eleanor felt called 
 upon to assume her most haughty and dignified 
 manner for the rest of the way. 
 
 Miss Linton's party was in full swing when they 
 arrived. It was an extremely hilarious party, the 
 interest centering about a fat man in a dress-suit, 
 with a bath towel around his waist, who was at- 
 tempting to distil a forbidden elixir from an ingen- 
 ious condenser of his own invention. 
 
 The studio, under a grimy skylight, was cluttered 
 with bric-a-brac, animate and inanimate. A Dai- 
 butsu in a gilded shrine dominated one corner, 
 and a handsome woman in a Manchu coat and 
 swinging ear-rings of jade held court in another. At 
 sight of the Martel group she laid down the small 
 silver pipe she was smoking, and swam toward 
 them through a cloud of incense and tobacco smoke. 
 
 "Dear old C. M. ! Bless his heart!" she cried, 
 kissing Papa Cloude effusively. Then she nodded 
 good-naturedly to Eleanor, and held out a welcom- 
 ing hand to Quin. 
 
 "Who is this nice boy?" she asked, her languid 
 black eyes sweeping his face.
 
 34 6 QUIN 
 
 "Allow me to present ex-Sergeant Quinby 
 Graham," said Papa Claude impressively "a sol- 
 dier of whom his friends and his country have every 
 reason to be proud." 
 
 Then, to Quin's utter chagrin, he was conscious 
 of the fact that Papa Claude was giving, in an au- 
 dible aside, an account of his prowess that placed 
 him second only to another sergeant whom the world 
 acclaimed its chief hero. 
 
 "For the Lord's sake, head him off!" he whis- 
 pered in an agony of embarrassment to Eleanor. 
 "I did n't do half those things he 's telling about, and 
 besides " 
 
 But it was too late to interfere. Papa Claude, 
 the center of one animated group after another, was 
 kissing his way through the crowd, whispering the 
 news as he went that the guest of the evening 
 was no other than the 'distinguished young Graham 
 whom they all doubtless remembered, etc. 
 
 Within fifteen minutes Quin found himself the 
 lion of the evening. Even the fat man and his im- 
 provised still were eclipsed by the counter-attraction. 
 His very earnestness in disclaiming the honors 
 thrust upon him added enormously to his popu- 
 larity. The more clumsy and awkward he was, and 
 the more furiously he blushed and protested, the 
 more attention he received. 
 
 "So naif!" "So perfectly natural!" "Nothing
 
 QUIN 
 
 but a. boy, and yet think what he has done!" were 
 phrases heard on every side. 
 
 Papa Qaude corralled him in the corner with the 
 Daibutsu and pompously presented each guest in 
 turn. Quin felt smothered by the incense and the 
 flattery. His collar grew tight, perspiration beaded 
 his brow, and he began to cough. 
 
 "Effects of mustard-gas," Papa Claude explained 
 in a stage whisper. 
 
 For seeming hours the agony endured, until the 
 advent of refreshments caused a momentary diver- 
 sion, and he made a hasty bolt for Eleanor and 
 freedom. 
 
 He found her sitting on the divan, looking rather 
 bored by the attentions of a stout elderly person 
 with small porcine eyes and a drooping black mus- 
 tache. Without troubling to apologize, Quin inter- 
 rupted the conversation to say abruptly: 
 
 "Miss Nell, I am going." 
 
 Eleanor started to rise, but the red-faced one 
 lifted a protesting voice. 
 
 "See here, young man," he blustered. "You can't 
 run off with this little girl just when I 've got my 
 first chance at her this evening. She 's going to 
 stay right here and let me make love to her is n't 
 she?" 
 
 He turned a confident eye upon Eleanor, and even 
 ventured to lay a plump detaining finger on her cool, 
 slim wrist.
 
 348 QUIN 
 
 Eleanor rose instantly. 
 
 "I thought you were never coming!" she said 
 impatiently over the stout man's head, "I Ve been 
 ready to go for an hour!"
 
 CHAPTER 30 
 
 DOWN in the open square, under the clear cool 
 stars, they looked at each other and laughed. 
 
 "Lead me to a bus !" cried Quin. "I want to ride 
 on top of it where the wind can blow through my 
 whiskers. My head feels like a joss-house !" 
 
 "Oh, but you were funny!" cried Eleanor. "I 
 wish you could have seen your face when all those 
 women swarmed around you. I was afraid you 
 were going to jump out of the window! Did you 
 ever feel anything so hot and stuffy as that room? 
 And were n't they all silly and make-believe ?" 
 
 Quin gave a mighty sigh of relief at being out of 
 it. 
 
 "Is this the sort of thing you get let in for 
 often?" he inquired, aghast. 
 
 "Oftener than I like. You see, all those people 
 are Papa Claude's old friends, and he 's been having 
 a lovely time showing me off as he showed you off 
 to-night." 
 
 "But you surely don't like it?" 
 
 "Of course I don't. And they know it. They are 
 already calling me a prig, and poking fun at me 
 for not smoking and for not liking to have my 
 
 349
 
 350 QUIN 
 
 hands patted and my cheeks pinched. Is n't it funny, 
 Quin? At home I was always miserable because 
 there were too many barriers ; I wanted to tear them 
 all down. Here, where there are n't any, I find 
 myself building them up at every turn, and getting 
 furious when people climb over them." 
 
 "Bartlett versus Martel, eh?" 
 
 "I suppose so. Heaven knows, I wish I were one 
 thing or the other." 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," said Quin. "You are pretty 
 nice just as you are." Then he added inconse- 
 quently: "Who was that fat man you were talking 
 to when I came up?" 
 
 "Mr. Pfingst. He is Estelle Linton's backer." 
 
 "Backer?" queried Ouin. Then, when he saw 
 Eleanor's eyes drop, he added vaguely : "Oh ! I see !" 
 
 For the next block, strange to say, he did not 
 think so much about Eleanor as he did about Miss 
 Isobel Bartlett. The whole situation kept presenting 
 itself through her austere eyes, and instinctively he 
 put a protecting hand on Eleanor's elbow. 
 
 When at last they were on top of the bus, with 
 the big, noisy city apparently going in the opposite 
 direction, they promptly forgot all about the studio 
 party and plunged headlong into their own im- 
 portant affairs. 
 
 "Begin at the very beginning," commanded 
 Eleanor, settling herself for a good long ride; "I 
 want you to tell me everything."
 
 QUIN 351 
 
 The beginning and the end and all that lay be- 
 tween them could easily have been compassed in 
 three words by Quin. But there were things he 
 had pledged himself to tell her before he even 
 broached the subject that was shrieking for utter- 
 ance. With painstaking exactness he set forth the 
 facts that led up to his dismissal, trying to be fair 
 to Mr. Bangs as well as to himself, arid, above all, 
 to claim no credit for taking the stand he had. 
 
 But Eleanor would not see it thus. With char- 
 acteristic fervor she espoused his cause. She de- 
 clared he had been treated outrageously. He ought 
 to have taken the matter straight to her grandmother. 
 The very idea! After all the work he had done at 
 the factory, for him to be dismissed just because he 
 would n't do a thing that he considered dishonor- 
 able! She hated Mr. Bangs she always had hated! 
 him ; and the more she dwelt upon the fact, the more 
 ardently she approved Quin's course. 
 
 "It was perfectly splendid of you to refuse his 
 offer!" she cried, and her eyes blazed with that par- 
 ticular ray of feminine partizanship that is most 
 soothing to the injured masculine. "And you won't 
 lose by it in the long run. You '11 get another posi- 
 tion right off. Why don't you try to get one here in 
 New York?" 
 
 "Would you like me to?" 
 
 "I should say I should! Then we could do all 
 sorts of jolly things together. Not studio parties
 
 352 QUIN 
 
 or cabarets, but jolly outdoor things like we used to 
 do at home. Do stay, Quin; won't you?" 
 
 She was looking up at him with such frank urg- 
 ency and such entire sympathy that Quin lost his 
 head completely. 
 
 "Miss Nell," he blurted out, "if I stay and get a 
 job and make good, will you marry me?" 
 
 Eleanor, who was used to much more subtle 
 manceuvers, was caught unaware by this sudden 
 attack. For a second she was thrown into confu- 
 sion; then she rallied all her forces for the defense. 
 
 "Why, of course I won't !" she said then added 
 with more conviction: "I am not going to marry 
 anybody not for years arid years." 
 
 "But I '11 wait years and years," persisted Quin 
 eagerly. "I wouldn't marry any girl until I could 
 take care of her. But if you'll just give me a tip 
 that maybe some day perhaps " 
 
 It was very difficult to go on addressing his re- 
 marks to an impassive classic profile so difficult, in 
 fact, that he abandoned the effort and let his eyes 
 say the rest for him. 
 
 Eleanor stirred uneasily. 
 
 "I wish you would n't be foolish, Quin, and spoil 
 all our fun. I 've told you I mean to go on the stage 
 for good and all. You know you wouldn't want 
 an actress for a wife." 
 
 "I 'd want you, whatever you were," he said with
 
 QUIN 353 
 
 such fervor that she rashly gave him her luminous 
 eyes again in gratitude. 
 
 He made the most of the opportunity thus 
 offered. 
 
 "Honest, now!" he boldly challenged her. "You 
 can't deny that you love me just a little bit, can 
 you?" 
 
 She stared straight ahead of her down the long 
 dim avenue, making no response to his question. 
 The cherries that swung from her hat-brim stirred 
 not a hair's-breadth, but the commotion their still- 
 ness caused in Quin's heart was nothing short of 
 cyclonic. 
 
 "More than when you left Kentucky?" he per- 
 sisted relentlessly. 
 
 This time a barely perceptible nod stirred the 
 cherries. 
 
 "There !" he said triumphantly. "I knew it ! Just 
 keep right on the way you are going, and I won't 
 say a word!" 
 
 "But I haven't given you any encouragement; 
 you must n't think I have." 
 
 "I know it. But you have n't turned me down." 
 
 At this she smiled at him helplessly. 
 
 "You are not very easy to turn down, Quin." 
 
 "No," he admitted; "it can't be done." 
 
 At this moment the bus rounded a sharp corner 
 without slowing up, and the passengers on top were 
 lurched forward with such violence that at least
 
 354 QUIN 
 
 one masculine arm took advantage of the occasion 
 to clasp a swaying lady with unnecessary solicitude. 
 It may have been a second, and it may have been 
 longer, that Quin sat with his arm about Eleanor 
 and his hand clasping hers. Time and space ceased 
 to exist for him and blessed infinity set in. And 
 then 
 
 "Good gracious!" she cried, starting up. "Where 
 are we? I'd forgotten all about our cross-street." 
 
 As a matter of fact they were in Harlem. 
 
 All the way back Eleanor refused to be serious 
 about anything. The mischievous, contradictor}*, 
 incalculable little devil that always lurked in her 
 took full possession. She teased Quin, and laughed 
 at him, leading him on one minute and running to 
 cover the next. 
 
 When they reached the apartment, she tripped 
 up the five flights as lightly as a bird, and Quin, in 
 his effort to keep up with her, overtaxed himself 
 and paid the penalty. Heart and lungs were behav- 
 ing outrageously when he reached the top landing, 
 and he had to steady himself by the banister. 
 
 "Oh, Quin, I ought to have remembered!" 
 Eleanor cried, with what he considered divine com- 
 passion. "I can't bear to hear you cough like that! 
 It sounds as if it were tearing you to pieces." 
 
 "It 's nothing !" said Quin, struggling to get his 
 breath. "I '11 be all right in a minute. What 's the 
 box by the door?"
 
 QUIN 355 
 
 Eleanor's glance followed his. 
 
 "If that old walrus, Pfingst, has dared to send me 
 flowers again !" she cried, pouncing on the card and 
 holding it so they both could read it. 
 
 Penciled in small, even lines were the words : 
 
 Sorry to find the lady-bird flown. Will call up in the 
 morning. H. P. 
 
 Even in the dimly lighted hall, Quin could see 
 the flush that suffused Eleanor's face. 
 
 "It 's Harold Phipps," she said, trying to be 
 casual. "I I didn't know he was in town." 
 
 Quin followed her into the apartment, and stood 
 dully by the table as she untied the box and lifted 
 half a dozen exquisite white orchids from their bed 
 of maidenhair ferns. Then, trying very hard to 
 keep his voice steady, he asked gently : 
 
 "What does this mean, Miss Nell? I thought 
 you were n't going to have anything more to do with 
 that man." 
 
 "Well, I haven't. That is, not not until he 
 came on last month to see about the play. 1 ' 
 
 "What play?" 
 
 " 'Phantom Love.' " 
 
 "But why did you have to see him?" 
 
 "Because I am to be in the play." 
 
 "Not in his play?" 
 
 "No more his than Papa Claude's." 
 
 Quin's face darkened.
 
 356 QUIN 
 
 "I saw him for only a few minutes," Eleanor 
 went on, "and Papa Claude was with us. I give 
 you my word, Quin, I 've never spoken to him 
 alone, or answered one of his letters." 
 
 "Then he has been writing to you? What busi- 
 ness has he got worrying you with letters and 
 flowers when you have told him you are through 
 with him?" 
 
 In spite of his effort to keep calm, there was a 
 rising note of anger in his voice. 
 
 "He is not worrying me," said Eleanor, evidently 
 conscious of her weakness in admitting Harold at 
 the window of friendship when she had banished 
 him from the door of love. "He understands per- 
 fectly that everything is over between us. But it 
 would be silly for us to refuse to speak to each 
 other when we shall necessarily be thrown together 
 a lot." 
 
 "Thrown together? How do you mean?" 
 
 "At rehearsals." 
 
 "Do you mean he is to be here in New York?" 
 
 "Yes after next month. He has given up his 
 position in Chicago, so he can devote all the time 
 to the play. You see, he not only helped to write 
 it, but he is financing it." 
 
 "So he is the backer?" Quin was scarcely re- 
 sponsible for what he said, so suddenly had disaster 
 trodden on the heels of ecstasy. 
 
 "He is Papa Claude's partner and producer," said
 
 QUIN 357 
 
 Eleanor with dignity. "If I don't care anything 
 for him, I don't see what harm there is in seeing 
 him." 
 
 "Not liking whisky won't keep it from going to 
 your head," said Quin stubbornly. 
 
 "That's perfect nonsense; and besides, what can 
 I do ? It 's his play as well as ours. I can't ask 
 him to stay away from rehearsals." 
 
 "No ; but you can stay away yourself. You don't 
 have to be in this play. Something else will turn 
 up. You can afford to wait." 
 
 "But that 's just the point I can't ! And, be- 
 sides, think how silly and childish it would be for 
 me to refuse a wonderful chance for a professional 
 debut that might not come again in years." 
 
 "But don't you see, Miss Nell, you are in honor 
 bound not to go on with this ?" 
 
 "Honor bound? How do you mean?" 
 
 "Why, to Queen Vic." 
 
 "I agreed to break my engagement with Harold 
 Phipps and not to answer any of his letters. I 've 
 kept my promise." 
 
 "Yes; but I thought, and I made her think, that 
 you agreed not to see him or have anything to do 
 with him for six months." 
 
 "Well, the time will be up in six weeks." 
 
 "Lots can happen in six weeks." 
 
 If Quin had been wise he would have taken 
 another tack; but, in his earnest effort to make her
 
 35 8 QUIN 
 
 see her duty to Madam, he failed to press his own 
 more personal claims, and thus lost his one chance 
 of reaching her. 
 
 Eleanor understood impulse, emotion, but she 
 would not listen to reason. The mere mention of 
 Madam's name stirred up a whirlwind that snuffed 
 out any love-lights that might have been kindling. 
 She stood with her back to the table, twisting Har- 
 old Phipps's card in her fingers, and she looked at 
 Quin suspiciously. 
 
 "Did grandmother send you up here to see if I 
 was keeping my word?" 
 
 "She did not. She does n't know I am here." 
 
 "Then it's just you who don't trust me?" 
 
 "Well, I don't think you are playing quite fair," 
 admitted Quin bluntly, "either to Queen Vic or to 
 me." 
 
 "And I suppose you propose to go back and tell 
 her so?" 
 
 "I propose nothing of the kind. It 's up to you 
 whether we both keep our word, or whether we 
 both break it. You know what I think, and you 
 see the position I am in." 
 
 "I can settle that," said Eleanor with spirit. "I 
 can write home to-night and tell them what I intend 
 to do. That will exonerate you, if that is what you 
 are after." 
 
 "It is n't what I am after, and you know it ! For 
 God's sake, Miss Nell, be fair! You know you
 
 QUIN 359 
 
 can't go on with this thing without starting up the 
 old trouble with Mr. Phipps." 
 
 "But, I tell you, I can. I can control the situation 
 perfectly. Why can't you trust me, Quin?" 
 
 "I don't trust him. He 's got ways of compro- 
 mising a girl that you don't know anything about. 
 If he ever gets wind of your going to Chicago " 
 
 "I wish you wouldn't throw that up to me!" 
 There was real anger in her voice, which up to now 
 had shown signs of softening. "Just because I hap- 
 pened to me a fool once, it 'does n't follow that I '11 
 be one again! It won't be pleasant for me, but I 
 am not going to let his connection with 'Phantom 
 Love' spoil my chance of a lifetime." 
 
 "And he will be at all the rehearsals, I suppose, 
 and up here in the apartment between-times." 
 Quin's jealousy ran through him like fire through 
 dry stubble. "You '11 probably be seeing him every 
 day." 
 
 "And what if I do?" demanded Eleanor. "I 
 have told you our relations are strictly profes- 
 sional." 
 
 "That card looks like it," sai'd Quin bitterly. 
 
 Eleanor tossed the object referred to in the trash- 
 basket and looked at him defiantly. The very weak- 
 ness of her position made her peculiarly sensitive to 
 criticism, and the fact that her mentor was her one- 
 time slave augmented her wrath. 
 
 "See here, Miss Nell." Quin came a step closer,
 
 '360 QUIN 
 
 and his voice was husky with emotion. "I know 
 how keen you are about the stage ; but, take it from 
 me, you are making a wrong start. If you'll just 
 promise to wait until your time is up " 
 
 "I won't promise anything! What's the use? 
 Nobody believes me. Even you are siding with 
 grandmother and suspecting me of breaking my 
 word. I don't intend to submit to it any longer!" 
 
 Queer, spasmodic movements were going on in 
 Quin's lungs, and he controlled his voice with diffi- 
 culty. 
 
 "You mean you are going on seeing Mr. Phipps 
 and letting him send you flowers and things?" 
 
 "I am not!" Eleanor cried furiously. "But, if 
 I should, it 's nobody's business but my own !" 
 
 For an agonizing moment they faced each other 
 angrily, both of them lost in the labyrinth of their 
 own situation. At the slightest plea for help on 
 her part, Quin would have broken through his own 
 difficulties and rushed to her rescue. He would 
 even have offered to plead her cause again at the 
 family tribunal. But she was like a wilful child 
 who is determined to walk alone on a high and 
 dangerous wall. The very effort to protect her 
 might prove disastrous. 
 
 "If that 's the case," said Quin, with his jaw 
 thrust out and his nostrils quivering, "what do you 
 want me to do ?"
 
 QUIN 361 
 
 "I don't care what you do !" Eleanor flung back 
 "just so you leave me alone." 
 
 Without a word, he picked up his hat and strode 
 out of the apartment and down the stairs. At every 
 landing he paused, hoping against hope that she 
 might call him back. Even at the door he paused, 
 straining his ears for the faintest whisper from 
 above. But no sound broke the stillness, and with 
 a gesture of despair he flung open the door and 
 passed out into the darkness.
 
 CHAPTER 31 
 
 \ 1C THEN an extremely energetic person has 
 V V spent eighteen months making connections 
 with a family, he does not find it easy to sever them 
 in a day. Quin's announcement that he was going 
 to leave the Martels met with a storm of protest. 
 He had the excellent excuse that when Cass married 
 in June there would be no room for him, but it 
 took all his diplomacy to effect the change without 
 giving offense. Rose was tearful, and Cass furious, 
 and a cloud of gloom enveloped the little brown 
 house. 
 
 With the Bartletts it was no easier. On his re- 
 turn from New York he had found three notes from 
 them, each of which requested an immediate inter- 
 view. Madam's stated that she had heard of his 
 dismissal from the factory and that she was ready 
 to do battle for him to the death. "Geoffrey Bangs 
 got rid of Ranny," she wrote, "arid now he thinks 
 he can ship you. But I guess I '11 show him who 
 is the head of the firm." 
 
 The second note was from Miss Isobel and was 
 marked "Confidential." In incoherent sentences it 
 told of a letter just received from Eleanor, in which 
 
 362
 
 QUIN 363 
 
 she announced that she was planning to make her 
 professional debut in July, and that as Mr. Phipps 
 was connected with the play in which she was to 
 appear, she felt that she could accept no further 
 favors from her grandmother. Miss Isobel im- 
 plored Quin to come at once and advise her what 
 to do about telling Madam, especially as they were 
 leaving for Maine within the next ten days. 
 
 The third delicately penned epistle was a gentle 
 effusion from Miss Enid, who was home on a visit 
 and eager to see "dear Quin, who had been the in- 
 nocent means of reuniting her and the dearest man 
 in all the world." 
 
 It was these letters that put Quin's desire for 
 flight into instant action. He must go where he 
 would not be questioned or asked for advice. The 
 mere mention of Eleanor's name was agony to him. 
 It contracted his throat and sent the blood pounding 
 through his veins. His hurt was so intolerable that 
 he shrank from even a touch of sympathy. Perhaps 
 later on he would be able to face the situation, but 
 just now his one desire was to get away from every- 
 thing connected with his unhappiness. 
 
 In beating about in his mind for a temporary 
 refuge, he remembered a downtown rooming-house 
 to which he had once gone with Dirks, the foreman 
 at Bartlett & Bangs. Here he transferred his few 
 possessions, and persuaded Rose to tell the Bart- 
 letts that he had left town for an indefinite stay.
 
 364 QUIN 
 
 This he hoped would account for his absence until 
 they left for their summer vacation. 
 
 The ten weeks that followed are not pleasant ones 
 to dwell upon. The picture of Quin tramping the 
 streets by day in a half-hearted search for work, 
 and tramping them again at night when he could not 
 sleep, of him lying face downward on a cot in a 
 small damp room, with all his confidence and bra- 
 vado gone, and only his racking cough for company, 
 are better left unchronicled. 
 
 He fought his despair with dogged determina- 
 tion, but his love for Eleanor had twined itself 
 around everything that was worth while in him. 
 In plucking it out he uprooted his ambition, his 
 carefully acquired friendships, his belief in himself, 
 his faith in the future. For eighteen months he had 
 lived in the radiance of one all-absorbing dream, 
 with a faith in its ultimate fulfilment that tran- 
 scended every fear. And now that that hope was 
 dead, the blackness of despair settled upon him. 
 
 That fact that Eleanor had broken faith with 
 him, that she was willing to renew her friendship 
 with Harold Phipps when she knew what he was, 
 that she was willing to give up friends and family 
 and her inheritance for the sake of being with him, 
 could have but one explanation. 
 
 Quin used to tell himself this again and again, 
 as he lay in the hot darkness with his hands clasped 
 across his eyes. He used it as a whip with which
 
 QUIN 365 
 
 to scourge any vagrant hopes that dare'd creep into 
 his heart Had n't Miss Nell told him that she 
 did n't care what he said or did, just so he left her 
 alone ? Had n't she let him come away without 
 expressing a regret for the past or a hope for the 
 future ? 
 
 But, even as his head condemned her, his heart 
 rushed to her defense. After all, she had never said 
 she cared for him. And why should she care for a 
 fellow like him, with no education, or money, or 
 position? Even with her faults, she was too good 
 for the best man living. But she cared for Harold 
 Phipps and with that bitter thought the turmoil 
 began all over again. 
 
 He was not only unhappy, but intolerably lonely 
 and ill. He missed Rose and her care for him; he 
 missed Cass's friendship; he missed his visits to 
 the Bartletts; and above all he missed his work. 
 His interest still clung to Bartlett & Bangs, and the 
 only times of forgetfulness that he had were when 
 he and Dirks were discussing the business of the 
 firm. 
 
 What made matters worse was the humid heat 
 of the summer. A low barometer, always an afflic- 
 tion to him, in his present nervous state was torture. 
 Night after night he lay gasping for breath, and in 
 the morning he rose gaunt and pale, with hollow 
 rings under his eyes. Having little desire for food.
 
 366 QUIN 
 
 he often made one meal a day suffice, substituting 
 coffee for more solid food. 
 
 This method of living could have but one result. 
 By the middle of July he was confined to his bed 
 with a heavy bronchial cold and a temperature that 
 boded ill. Once down and defenseless, he became 
 a prey to all the feminine solicitude of the rooming- 
 house. The old lady next door pottered in and out, 
 putting mustard plasters on his chest and forgetting 
 to take them off, arid feeding him nauseous concoc- 
 tions that she brewed over a coal-oil stove. A woman 
 from upstairs insisted on keeping his window and 
 door wide open, and trying cold compresses on his 
 throat. While the majorful mother of six across 
 the hall came in each night to sweep the other two 
 out, close the window and door, and fill the room 
 with eucalyptus fumes. 
 
 Quin let them 'do whatever they wanted. The 
 mere business of breathing seemed to be about all 
 he could attend to these days. The only point on 
 which he was firm was his refusal to notify his 
 friends or to have a doctor. 
 
 "I '11 be all right when this beastly weather lets 
 up," he said to Dirks one Sunday night. "Is there 
 any sign of clearing?" 
 
 "Not much. It 's thick and muggy and still rain- 
 ing in torrents. I wish you 'd see a doctor." 
 
 Pride kept Quin from revealing the fact that he
 
 QUIN 367 
 
 had no money to pay a doctor. Five weeks without 
 work had completely exhausted his exchequer. 
 
 "I 'm used to these knockouts," he wheezed with 
 assumed cheerfulness one Sunday night. "It's not 
 half as bad as it sounds. I '11 be up in a day or so." 
 
 Dirks was not satisfied. His glance swept the 
 small disordered room, and came back to the flushed 
 face on the pillow. 
 
 "Don't you want some grulir?" he suggested. "I ''11 
 get you anything you like/' 
 
 "No, thanks ; I 'm not hungry. You might put 
 the water-pitcher over here by the bed. My tongue 
 feels like a shredded-wheat biscuit." 
 
 Dirks gave him some water, then turned to go. 
 
 "Oh, by the way," he said. "Here's a letter for 
 you that 's been laying around at the factory for a 
 couple of days. Nobody knew where to forward 
 it." 
 
 Like a shot Ouin was up in bed and holding out 
 an eager hand. But at sight of the small cramped 
 writing he lay back on his pillow listlessly. 
 
 "It's from Miss Isobel Bartlett," he said indif- 
 ferently. "Wonder what she's doing back in town 
 in the middle of the summer." 
 
 "I hear they are all back," Dirks said. "The old 
 lady is very ill and they had to bring her home. If 
 you want anything in the night, just pound on the 
 wall. I 'm going to fetch a doctor if you ain't 
 better in the morning."
 
 368 QUIN 
 
 When Dirks had gone Quin opened his letter and 
 read: 
 
 Dear Quin: 
 
 I am rushing this off to the factory in the hope that they 
 have your address and can get into communication with 
 you at once. Mother has had two dreadful attacks with 
 her appendix, and the doctors say she cannot survive 
 another. But she refuses point-blank to be operated on, 
 and my brother and sister and I are powerless to move 
 her. Won't you come the moment you get this, and try 
 to persuade her? She has such confidence in your judg- 
 ment, and you could always do more with her than any one 
 else. I am almost wild with anxiety and I don't know 
 which way to turn. Do come at once. 
 
 Your friend, 
 
 ISOBEL BARTLETT. 
 
 Quin sprang out of bed, and then sat down limp- 
 ly, waiting for the furniture to stop revolving about 
 him. It was evident that he would have to use his 
 head to save his legs, if he expected to make any 
 progress. Holding to the bed-post, he brought all 
 his concentration to bear on the whereabouts of the 
 various garments he had thrown off ten days be- 
 fore. The lack of a clean shirt and the imperative 
 need of a shave presented grave difficulties, but he 
 would have gone to Miss Isobel's rescue if he had 
 had to go in pajamas ! 
 
 When at last he had struggled into his clothes, 
 he put out his light and tiptoed past Dirks' door. 
 At the first sniff of night air he began to cough, 
 and he clapped his hand over his mouth, swearing 
 softly to himself. On the front steps he hesitated.
 
 QUIN 369 
 
 The rain was falling in sheets, and the street lights 
 shone through a blur of fog. For the first time, 
 Quin realized it was a block to the car line, and 
 that he had no umbrella. Hard experience had 
 taught him the dire results of exposure and over- 
 exertion. But the excitement of once more getting 
 in touch with the Bartletts, of being of service to 
 Madam, and above all of hearing news of Eleanor, 
 banished all other considerations. Turning up his 
 coat collar and pulling his hat over his eyes, he went 
 down the steps and started on an uncertain run for 
 the corner.
 
 CHAPTER 32 
 
 DURING the days that Quin was floundering in 
 the bog of poverty, illness and despair, 
 Eleanor Bartlett was triumphantly climbing the peak 
 of achievement. "Phantom Love," after weeks of 
 strenuous rehearsal and nerve-racking uncertainty, 
 had had its premiere performance at Atlantic City 
 and scored an instantaneous hit. 
 
 All spring Eleanor had lived in excited antici- 
 pation of the event. In the hard work demanded 
 of her she had found welcome relief from some of 
 her own complicated problems. She wanted to for- 
 get that she had broken her word, that she was caus- 
 ing the family serious trouble, and more than all 
 she wanted to forget Quinby Graham and the look 
 on his face when he left her. 
 
 During her stay in New York she had suffered 
 many disillusions. She had seen her dreams trans- 
 lated into actual and disconcerting realities. But, 
 in spite of the fact that much of the gold and 
 glamour had turned to tinsel, she was still fasci- 
 nated by the life and its glorious possibilities. 
 
 It was not until she got into the full swing of the 
 rehearsals that she made a disconcerting discovery. 
 
 37o
 
 QUIN '371 
 
 Try as she would, she could not adapt herself to 
 the other members of the company. She hated 
 their petty jealousies and intermittent intimacies, the 
 little intrigues and the undercurrent of gossip that 
 made up their days. From the first she realized 
 that she was looked upon as an alien. The fact 
 that she was shown special favors was hotly re- 
 sented, and her refusal to rehearse daily the love 
 passages with Finnegan, the promising young 
 comedian who two years before had driven an ice- 
 wagon in New Orleans, was a constant grievance to 
 the stage manager. In the last matter Harold 
 Phipps had upheld her, as he had in all others ; but 
 his very championship constituted her chief cause 
 of worry. 
 
 Since the day of his joining the company she had 
 given him no opportunity for seeing her alone. By 
 a method of protection peculiarly her own, she had 
 managed to achieve an isolation as complete as an 
 alpine blossom in the heart of an iceberg. But in 
 the heat and enthusiasm of a successful try-out, 
 when everybody was effervescing with excitement, it 
 was increasingly difficult to maintain this air of cold 
 detachment. 
 
 Papa Claude alone was sufficient to warm any 
 atmosphere. He radiated happiness. Every after- 
 noon, arrayed in white flannels and a soft white hat, 
 with a white rose in his buttonhole, he rode in his
 
 372 QUIN 
 
 chair on the boardwalk, bowing to right and to 
 left with the air of a sovereign graciously acknowl- 
 edging his subjects. Night found him in the pro- 
 scenium-box at the theater, beaming upon the audi- 
 ence, except when he turned vociferously to applaud 
 Eleanor's exits and entrances. 
 
 The entire week of the first performance was 
 nothing short of pandemonium. Mr. Pfingst had 
 brought a large party down from New York on his 
 yacht, and between rehearsals and performances 
 there was an endless round of suppers and dinners 
 and sailing-parties. 
 
 With the arrival of Sunday morning Eleanor was 
 in a state of physical and emotional exhaustion. 
 She was sitting before her dressing-table in a sleeve- 
 less pink negligee, with her hair dangling in two 
 thick childish braids over her shoulder, when Papa 
 Claude dashed in from the next room to announce 
 that Mr. Pfingst had invited the entire cast to have 
 lunch on his yacht. 
 
 "Not for me!" said Eleanor, sipping her coffee 
 between yawns. "I am going straight back to bed 
 and sleep all day." 
 
 "Morning megrims!" cried Papa Claude, fresher 
 than the proverbial 'daisy. "What you need is a 
 frolic with old Neptune! We bathe at eleven, go 
 aboard the Minta at twelve, lunch at one. Pfingst's 
 chef is an artist; he can create a lobster Newburg
 
 QUIN 373 
 
 that is an epic!" Papa Claude's tongue made the 
 circle of his lips as he spoke. 
 
 "I don't like lobster," Eleanor pouted; "and, 
 what's more, I don't like Mr. Pfmgst." 
 
 "Nonsense, my love ! Pfingst is a prince of good 
 fellows. Very generous very generous indeed. 
 Besides, there will be others on board Harold and 
 Estelle and myself." 
 
 Eleanor laid her face against his sleeve. 
 
 "I wish you and I could run off somewhere for 
 the day alone. I am so sick of seeing those same 
 people day in and day out. They never talk about 
 anything but themselves." 
 
 Papa Claude stroked her hair and smiled toler- 
 antly. It was natural that his little Eleanor should 
 be capricious and variable and addicted to moods. 
 She was evidently acquiring temperament. 
 
 Some one tapped at the door, and he sprang to 
 answer it. 
 
 "I 've just been to your room, and the maid said 
 you were in here," said Harold Phipps's voice. 
 
 "Come right in!" cried Papa Claude, flinging 
 wide the door. "We are just discussing plans, and 
 need you to cast the deciding vote." 
 
 "But I 'm not 'dressed, Papa Claude !" expostu- 
 lated Eleanor. "I still have on my kimono." 
 
 "A charming costume," said Papa Claude "one 
 in which a whole nation appears in public. I leave
 
 374 QUIN 
 
 it to my distinguished collaborator : could any toilet, 
 however elaborate, be more becoming?" 
 
 Harold gave a light laugh as his glance rested 
 with undisguised approval on the slender figure in 
 its clinging silk garment, the rosy hues of which 
 were reflected in the girl's flaming cheeks. 
 
 "Just stopped for a second, C. M.," Harold said, 
 avoiding her indignant eyes. "I wanted to tell you 
 about the New York press notices. They are simply 
 superb! Tribune has a column. The Times and 
 Herald give us a headliner. And even the old Sun 
 says there are passages in 'Phantom Love' that 
 might have been written by Moliere!" 
 
 "Where are the papers?" cried Papa Claude, 
 prancing with excitement. 
 
 "I gave mine to Estelle. You can get them down- 
 stairs at the news-stand." 
 
 "I '11 run down now be back in a second." And 
 Papa Claude rushed impetuously from the room. 
 
 Eleanor and Harold stood facing each other 
 where he had left them, he with an air of apologetic 
 amusement, and she with an angry dignity that 
 rested incongruously on her childish prettiness. 
 
 "Will you please go down and tell Mr. Pfingst 
 that I am not coming to his party?" she asked, with 
 the obvious intention of getting rid of him. 
 
 "Why aren't you?" 
 
 "Because I don't like him."
 
 QUIN '375 
 
 "Neither do it. But what has that to do with it? 
 Estelle Linton will take him off our hands." 
 
 "I don't care for Miss Linton, either. If I had 
 known " 
 
 "Oh, come! Haven't we got past that?" scoffed 
 Harold, sitting astride a chair and looking at her 
 quizzically. "Nobody pays any attention to 
 Estelle's numerous little affairs. I 'd as soon think 
 of criticizing a Watteau lady on an ivory fan !" 
 
 "You can probably catch Mr. Pfingst in the 'din- 
 ing-room if you go down at once," suggested 
 Eleanor pointedly. 
 
 "But I 've no intention of going down at once. 
 Eleanor, why do you play with me like this ? Can't 
 you see that this can't go on ? I 've been patient, 
 God knows. For two months I 've done nothing 
 but advance your interests, put you forward in every 
 conceivable way. And what have I got? The 
 merest civility ! Do you suppose it 's pleasant for 
 me to know that everybody in the company is whis- 
 pering about my infatuation for you and your in- 
 difference to me? The maddening part of it is that 
 I know perfectly well you are not indifferent. You 
 are in love with me. You always have been. You 'd 
 have married me last fall if some busybody hadn't 
 filled your ears with scandal. Confess, wouldn't 
 you?" 
 
 "Yes; but " 
 
 "I knew it! And you are going to marry me
 
 376 QUIN 
 
 now. You can do anything you \vant, have any- 
 thing you want. I '11 put you at the head of your 
 own company ; I '11 take you over to London. I '11 
 do anything under heaven but give you up." 
 
 He rose suddenly and went toward her, catching 
 her bare arm and trying to draw her toward him; 
 but she struggled from his embrace. 
 
 "Let me go!" she cried furiously. "If you don't 
 leave the room instantly, I will ! There 's Papa 
 Claude now. Let me pass!" 
 
 It was not Papa Claude, however, to whom she 
 opened the door. It was Estelle Linton, smartly 
 attired for the day's expedition, and exhibiting all 
 the compensating charms with which she sought to 
 atone for her lack of brains and morals. With a 
 glance of sophisticated comprehension she took in 
 the disordered room, the perturbed young people, 
 the unfinished breakfast-tray; then she burst into 
 a gay little laugh. 
 
 "Ten thousand pardons!" she cried, backing 
 away from the door in assumed confusion. "I 
 should n't have called so early. I just ran in to 
 bring you Town Topics. The most killing article 
 about you, dear. By-by ; I '11 see you later !" And, 
 kissing her hand to Eleanor, she flitted down the 
 hall. 
 
 "Shall I go or will you?" Eleanor demanded of 
 Harold. 
 
 She was standing in the open door, all the color
 
 QUIN 377 
 
 fled from her face and her eyes blazing with anger. 
 "I '11 go, of course," said Harold. "Only, you 
 must not mind Estelle. Everybody know's she's 
 a fool " 
 
 The door was slammed in his face and locked be- 
 fore he finished the sentence. 
 
 For a moment Eleanor stood immovable; then 
 her eye fell on the paper that Estelle Linton had 
 thrust into her hand 4 and she saw her stage name 
 on the title-page. 
 
 Pretty little romance back of the production of "Phantom 
 Love" [she read]. It is rumored that a wealthy young 
 Chicago playwright, having met with family opposition in 
 winning a young Southern belle, took advantage of her 
 histrionic ambition, and persuaded her to play a role in 
 his new play, which he wrote especially for her. Those 
 who saw the opening performance of "Phantom Love" at 
 Atlantic City Wednesday night will have little trouble in 
 recognizing the heroine of the story. Miss Nell Martel 
 is one of the daintiest bits of femininity that have flitted 
 behind the footlights in many moons. She has youth and 
 beauty and a certain elusive charm. But the fact remains 
 that she can not act. For the continued success of the 
 really brilliant play, let us hope that the young lady's lover 
 may soon become her husband, and that, having won his 
 prize, he will substitute a professional for the charming 
 young amateur who is in no way up to the rest of the 
 really excellent cast. 
 
 Eleanor crushed the paper in her hand, flung 
 herself across the bed, and buried her hot face in 
 the pillow. All her life she had walked unafraid 
 and inviolate, protected by her social position, the 
 over-zealous solicitude of the family, and her own 
 purity. She had flown out of the family nest, con-
 
 378 QUIN 
 
 fident of her power to take care of herself, to breast 
 any storm. And here, at the beginning of her flight, 
 she found herself in utter confusion of body and 
 spirit, powerless to protect herself against such 
 conduct as Harold's, such printed gossip as lay be- 
 fore her, or such unspeakable insinuations as Estelle 
 Linton's. 
 
 When Papa Claude returned, her first impulse 
 was to pour out her troubles to him; but second 
 thought restrained her. He was too much a part 
 of that casual, irresponsible world to take anything 
 it did or said seriously. She called through the 
 door to him that she had gone to bed and was 
 going to stay there. 
 
 But she did not stay there. She got up and knelt 
 by the open window, looking across the seething 
 mass of humanity on the boardwalk below to the 
 calm stretches of blue sea beyond. For the first 
 time, she faced her problem fairly and squarely. Up 
 to now she had been trying to compromise, to be 
 broad and tolerant and cosmopolitan. But she had 
 to admit that the new life satisfied her no more 
 than the old had. One was too circumscribed, the 
 other too free. If it was true that she had no talent 
 and was simply tolerated in the company because of 
 Harold Phipps, she must know it at once. To be 
 drawing a salary that she did not earn, and accept- 
 ing favors for which a definite reward would be 
 expected, was utterly intolerable to her.
 
 QUIN 379 
 
 A wild clesire seized her to go back to New York 
 and seek another engagement. In spite of what that 
 odious article said, she believed that she could suc- 
 ceed on the stage. Papa Claude believed in her; 
 the Kendall School people were enthusiastic about 
 her work; they; would help her to make another 
 Start 
 
 But 'did she Honestly want to make another start? 
 A conscience that had overslept itself began to stir 
 and waken. After all, what di'd the plaudits of hun- 
 dreds of unknown people count for, when the ap- 
 proval and affection of those nearest and dearest 
 was withdrawn? What would any success count 
 for against the disgust she felt for herself. 
 
 'A wave of terrific homesickness swept over Her. 
 But what was it she wanted, she asked herself, in 
 place of this gay kaleidoscope of light and color and 
 ceaseless confusion? Not the stagnation of the 
 Bartlett household, certainly not the slipshod poverty 
 of the Martels. She searched her heart for the 
 answer. 
 
 f And as she knelt there with her head on tfie 
 window-sill, looking miserably out to sea, a strange 
 thing happened to her. In a moment of swift, sure 
 vision she saw Quinby Graham's homely, whimsical 
 face, she felt his strong arms around her, and into 
 her soul came a deep, still feelipg of unutterable 
 content.
 
 380 QUIN 
 
 "I am coming, Quin !" she whispered, with a little 
 catch in her voice. 
 
 Then it was that Destiny played her second trump 
 for Quin. It was in the form of a telegram that a 
 bell-boy brought up from the office, and it announced 
 that Madam Bartlett was not expected to live 
 through the day. 
 
 Within twenty-four hours Eleanor was in Kelt* 
 tucky. 
 
 "Is she living?" she demanded of Hannah, who 
 answered her ring at her grandmother's door. 
 
 "I don't know, honey," whispered Hannah, ashy 
 with fright. "They 's operatin' now. We thought 
 she was going to die all day yesterday, but she 
 never give in to be operated on till Mr. Quin come." 
 i "Where are Aunt Isobel and Aunt Enid?" 
 
 "They's all in the library. Mr. Ranny's there, 
 too. Ain't nobody upstairs with her but jest the 
 doctors an' the nurse an' Mr. Quin." 
 
 Eleanor crept upstairs and sat down on the top 
 step, outside that door before which she had halted 
 in dread so many times before. Remorse and sym- 
 pathy and acute apprehension struggled for mastery. 
 All the old antagonism for her grandmother was 
 swept away in the dread prospect of losing her. It 
 was impossible to think of the family existing 
 without her. She held it up, kept it together, main- 
 tained the proud old Bartlett tradition. 
 
 There was a sound behind the closed doors.
 
 QUIN 381 
 
 Eleanor strained her ears to listen. It was some- 
 one coughing, at first gently, then violently. The 
 next moment the door opened and a wild-eyed, un- 
 shaven figure staggered into the hall. 
 "Damn that ether !" some one muttered. 
 And then, before Eleanor could get to her feet, 
 Quinby Graham came unsteadily toward her, stum- 
 bled twice, then pitched forward on his face, striking 
 his head on the banister as he fell*
 
 CHAPTER 33 
 
 TWO weeks later, when Quin struggled back to 
 consciousness, he labored under the delusion 
 that he was still in the army and back in the camp 
 hospital. Eleanor, who scarcely left his bedside, was 
 once more Miss Bartlett, the ward visitor, and he 
 was Patient Number 7. He tried to explain to all 
 those dim figures moving about the darkened room 
 that he was making her a bead chain, and unless they 
 got him more beads he could not finish it in time. 
 When they reassured him and tried to get him to 
 take food, he invariably wanted to know if Miss 
 Bartlett had brought it, and which was her day to 
 tome again. Then the doctor and the nurse would 
 argue with him, and try to make him remember 
 things he was sure had never happened, and his 
 mental distress would become acute. At such times 
 somebody, who of course could not be Miss Bartlett, 
 but who had her voice and eyes, would take his 
 hand and tell him to go to sleep, then the tangles 
 would all come straight. 
 
 One day he was startled out of a stupor by the 
 sound of a querulous old voice saying: 
 
 "I guess if he could get out of bed to come 
 382
 
 QUIN 383 
 
 across the city to me, I can come across the hall to 
 him. Wheel me closer!" 
 
 Quin was drifting off again, when a hand gripped 
 his wrist. 
 
 "Open your eyes, boy! Look at me. Do you 
 know who this is?" 
 
 He lifted his heavy lids, and wondered dully what 
 Madam was doing at the camp hospital. 
 
 "Put the blinds up," she commanded to some one 
 back of her. "Let him see the wall-paper, the furni- 
 ture. Move that fool screen away." 
 
 For the first time, Quin brought his confused at- 
 tention to bear on his surroundings, and even 
 glanced at the space over the mantel to see if a cer- 
 tain picture was at its old place, 
 
 "You are in my house," said Madam, with a 
 finality that was not to be disputed. "Do you re- 
 member the first time you came here?" 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "Yes, you <do. I fell down the steps and broke 
 my leg, and you came in off the street to tie me up 
 with an umbrella and the best table napkins. What 
 are you smiling about?" 
 
 "Smelling salts," Quin murmured, as if to him- 
 self. 
 
 "You don't need any smelling salts!" cried 
 Madam, missing his allusion. "All you need is to 
 rouse yourself and put your mind on what I am 
 saying. Do you remember living in this house?"
 
 ' 3 8 4 QUIN 
 
 He could not truthfully say that he 'did, though 
 familiar objects and sounds seemed to be all around 
 him. 
 
 "Well, I'll make you," said Madam, nothing 
 daunted. "You stayed in this very room for three 
 months to keep the burglars from stealing Isobel 
 and Enid, and every night you walked me up and 
 down the hall on my crutches.'' 
 
 She paused and looked at him expectantly; but 
 things were still a blur to him, 
 
 "You surely remember the Easter party?" she 
 persisted. "If you can forget the way your shirt 
 kept popping open that night, and the way your jaw 
 swelled up, it 's more than I can !" 
 
 Quin winced. Even concussion of the brain had 
 'failed to deaden the memory of that awful night. 
 
 "I sort of remember," he admitted, 
 
 "Good! That will do for to-day. As for the 
 rest, I '11 tell you what happened. You came here 
 one night two weeks ago, when everybody had me 
 dead and buried, and you deviled me into having an 
 operation that saved my life. You stood right by 
 me while they did it Then you collapsed and 
 knocked your head on the banister, and, as if that 
 wasn't enough, developed pneumonia on top of it. 
 Now all you Ve got to think about is getting well.'* 
 
 "But but Miss Eleanor?" Quin queried 
 weakly, fearing that the blessed presence that had 
 hovered over him was but a figment of his dreams.
 
 QUIN 385 
 
 "She came home to help bury me," said Madam. 
 "Failing to get the job, she took to nursing you. 
 Now stop talking and go to sleep. If I hear any 
 more of this stuff and nonsense about your being in 
 a hospital and making bead chains, I '11 forbid 
 Eleanor crossing the threshold ; do you hear ?" 
 
 From that time on Quin's convalescence was 
 rapid almost too rapid, in fact, for his peace of 
 mind. Never in his life had he been so watched 
 over and so tenderly cared for. Mr. Ranny kept 
 him supplied with fresh eggs and cream from 
 Valley Mead; Mr. Chester and Miss Enid deluged 
 him with magazines and flowers; Miss Isobel gave 
 him his medicine and fixed his tray herself ; Madam 
 chaperoned his thoughts and allowed no intruding 
 fancies or vagaries. 
 
 But all these attentions were as nothing to him, 
 compared with the miracle of Eleanor's presence. 
 Just why she was remaining at home he dared not 
 ask, for fear he should be told the date of her 
 departure. The fact that she flitted in and out of 
 his room, flirting with the doctor, teasing the aunt- 
 ies, assuming a divine proprietorship over him, was 
 heaven enough in itself. 
 
 Sometimes, when they were alone and she thought 
 he was asleep he would see the dancing, restless 
 light die out of her eyes, and a beautiful exalted 
 look come into them as if she were listening to the 
 music of the spheres.
 
 386 QUIN 
 
 He attributed this to the fact that she was happy 
 in being once more reconciled to the family. Even 
 she and Madam seemed to be on terms of the closest 
 intimacy, and he spent hours in trying to understand 
 what had effected the change. 
 
 As he grew stronger and was allowed to sit up 
 in bed, he realized, with a shock, what a fool's 
 paradise he was living in. A few more days and he 
 must go back to that dark, damp room in Chestnut 
 Street. He must find work and work, however 
 menial, for which he had the strength. Eleanor 
 would return to New York, and he would probably 
 never see her again. During his illness she had 
 been heavenly kind to him, but that was no reason 
 for thinking she had changed her mind. She had 
 given him his final answer there in New York, and 
 he was grimly determined never to open the sub- 
 ject again. 
 
 But one day, when they were alone together, his 
 resolution sustained a compound fracture. Eleanor 
 was reading aloud to him, and in the midst of a 
 sentence she put down the book and looked at him 
 queerly. 
 
 "Quin," she said, "did you know I am not going 
 back?" 
 
 "Why not ? Did the play fail?" 
 
 "No. It 's a big success. Papa Claude will prob- 
 ably make a small fortune out of it." 
 
 "But you? What's the trouble?"
 
 QUIN 387 
 
 "I Ve had enough. I had made up my mind to 
 leave the company even before I was sent for." 
 
 Quin's eyes searched her face, but for once he) 
 held his tongue. 
 
 She was evidently finding it hard to continue. 
 She twisted the fringe of the counterpane in hen 
 slender, white fingers, and she did not look at him. ; 
 
 "It all turned out as you said it would," she ad- 
 mitted at last. "I I simply could n't stand Harold 
 Phipps." 
 
 Quin's heart performed an athletic feat. It leaped 
 into his throat and remained there. 
 
 "But you 11 be joining some other company, I 
 suppose?" He tried to make his voice formal and 
 detached. 
 
 "That depends," she said; and she looked at him 
 again in that queer, tremulous, mysterious way that 
 he did not in the least understand. 
 
 Her small hands were fluttering so close to his 
 that he could have captured them both in one big 
 palm; but he heroically refrained. He kept saying 
 over and over to himself that it was just Miss, 
 Nell's way of being good to a fellow, and that, what- 
 ever happened, he must not make her unhappy arid 
 sorry he must not lose his head. 
 
 "Quin," her voice dropped so low he could 
 scarcely hear it, "have you ever forgiven me for 
 the way I behaved in New York?" 
 
 "Sure!"
 
 388 QUIN 
 
 He was trembling now, and he wondered how 
 much longer he could hold out. 
 
 "Do you do you still feel about me the way 
 you you did that night on the bus?" she whis- 
 pered. 
 
 Quin looked at her as a Christian martyr might 
 have looked at his persecutor. 
 
 "I think about you the way I 've always thought 
 about you," he said hopelessly "the way I shall 
 go on thinking about you as long as I live." 
 
 "Well," said Eleanor, with a sigh of relief, "I 
 guess that settles it" ; and, to his unspeakable amaze- 
 ment, she laid her head on his pillow and her cheek 
 on his. 
 
 When he recovered from his shock of subliminal 
 ecstasy, his first thought was of the trouble he was 
 storing up for Eleanor. Even his rapture was 
 dimmed by the prospect of involving her in another 
 love affair that could only meet with bitter opposi- 
 tion of her family. 
 
 "We must keep it dark for the present," he urged, 
 holding her close as if he feared she would slip 
 away. "Maybe, when I am well, and have a good 
 position, and all, they won't take it so hard." 
 
 Eleanor refused to listen to any such counsel 
 She wanted to announce their engagement at once, 
 and be married at the earliest possible date. He 
 needed her to take care of him, she declared; and be- 
 sides, they could make a start on the money that
 
 QUIN 389 
 
 would soon be due her from her father's estate. To 
 this proposition Quin would not listen, and they had 
 a spirited quarrel and reached no agreement. 
 
 Eleanor had fallen seriously in love for the first 
 time in her life, and it was a sudden and overwhelm- 
 ing experience. During those anxious days of 
 Quin's illness, when his life had hung in the balance, 
 she had time to realize what he meant to her. Now 
 that he needed skilful nursing and constant care to 
 assure his recovery, she was determined not to be 
 separated from him. 
 
 In spite of his protests, she joyfully announced 
 their engagement to Uncle Ranny and the aunties at 
 dinner, and was surprised to find that the family 
 tree, instead of being rocked to its foundation, was 
 merely pleasantly stirred in its branches. 
 
 "You see, we could not help suspecting it," Miss 
 Isobel twittered excitedly to Quin, when she brought 
 him his tray. "You talked about her incessantly 
 in your delirium, and the dear child was almost be- 
 side herself the night we thought you might not re- 
 cover. I told sister then that if you got well " 
 
 s< But what about Madam?" Quin interrupted 
 anxiously. "What will she think of Miss Nell's be- 
 ing engaged to a fellow like me, with no money or 
 position, or any prospects of being able to marry 
 for God knows how long?" 
 
 Miss Isobel looked grave. "Nellie is breaking 
 .the news to her now," she said primly. "I am
 
 390 QUIN 
 
 afraid she is going to find it very hard. But, as 
 sister says, there are times when one has to follow 
 one's own judgments. When mother sees that we 
 all stand together about this " 
 
 She waved her hand with a little air of finality. 
 It was the second time in her life that she had made 
 even a gesture toward freedom. 
 
 The interview between Eleanor and her grand- 
 mother lasted for more than an hour, and nobody 
 knew the outcome of it until the next morning, when 
 a family council was called in Quin's room. Madam 
 was wheeled in in state, resplendent in purple and 
 gold, with her hair elaborately dressed, as usual. 
 
 To everybody's amazement, she opened the con- 
 ference by abruptly announcing that she had de- 
 cided that Eleanor and Qttin should be married at 
 (Mice. 
 
 "She 's at loose ends, and he 's at loose ends. The 
 sooner they get tied up, the better," was the way 
 she put it. 
 
 "But hold on !" cried Quin, sitting up in bed. "I 
 can't do that, you know; I Ve got to get on my feet 
 first." 
 
 "How are you going to get on your feet until 
 you get your strength back?" demanded Madam. 
 "You look like going to work, don't you?" 
 
 "Well, the doctor has promised me I can go out 
 on Saturday. I ought to be able to go to work in 
 a couple of weeks."
 
 QUIN 391 
 
 "Couple of fiddle-sticks ! Dr. Rawlins told me it 
 would be two months before you would be fit for 
 work, and even then you would have to be care- 
 ful." 
 
 "Well, you don't think I am going to let Miss 
 Nell in on a deal like that, do you?" Quin's voice 
 broke and he gripped Eleanor's hand until she 
 winced. 
 
 "But, Quin, I want it to be now," Eleanor begged. 
 "Grandmother and I have gone over it from every 
 standpoint, and she 's come to see it as I do. You 
 need me, and I need you. Why can't you be sensi- 
 ble and see it as we do?" 
 
 How Quin ever withstood those pleading tones 
 and beseeching eyes, it is impossible to say. But 
 withstand them he did, announcing stubbornly that 
 it was bad enough for a girl to marry a chap with 
 broken bellows ; but for her to marry one she would 
 not only have to nurse, but support as well, was not 
 to be thought of. There was but one thing to do, 
 and that was to wait. 
 
 Then it was that Madam, who had been reason- 
 ably patient up till now, lost her temper and de- 
 livered an ultimatum. 
 
 "You '11 marry her now or not at all," slie 
 thundered. "I am sick and tired of the way you 
 try to run this family, Quinby Graham ! For more 
 than a year now you have carried things with a 
 high hand. You got Ranny out of the factory and
 
 392 QUIN 
 
 on a farm. You married Enid to Francis Chester, 
 and sent them to California. You made me let 
 Eleanor go to New York, and came very near land- 
 ing her on the stage for good. And now, when I 
 have been persuaded into letting the child marry you, 
 you are not satisfied, but insist on doing it at your 
 own time and in your own way!" 
 
 "You forgot one thing, granny," suggested 
 Eleanor 'demurely. "He made you have the opera- 
 tion." 
 
 Madam was not to be diverted. She glared at 
 Quin like an angry old lioness. 
 
 "Are you going to do as I advise ?" she demanded. 
 
 "No; not until I get a job." Quin's jaw was set 
 as firmly as hers, arid their eyes measured each 
 other's with equal determination. 
 
 "Well, then I '11 give you a job," she announced 
 with sudden decision. "I '11 send you to China." 
 
 "To China?" 
 
 "Yes. Bartlett & Bangs has just opened a brancK 
 house in Shanghai. They are looking for a man to 
 take charge of it. Your knowledge of the language 
 would make up for your lack of experience. Be- 
 sides, the sea voyage will do you good." 
 
 "Do you mean it?" cried Quinn eagerly. 
 "Would Mr. Bangs agree?" 
 
 "Geoffrey Bangs would take you back at the fac- 
 tory to-morrow. But I don't want you there, under 
 him. I want to turn you loose on China. It's the
 
 QUIN 393 
 
 only place I know that 's big enough to exhaust your 
 energies. You will probably have the entire coun- 
 try plowing up its ancestors before spring." 
 
 "And what about you ?" said Quin, turning eagerly 
 to Eleanor. "Would you go with me?" 
 
 'Will I ?" said Eleanor, her eyes dancing. 
 
 That night, when Miss Isobel was tucking 
 Madam into bed, she made bold to ask her how she 
 happened to give her consent to the wedding. 
 
 "Isobel," said Madam, cocking a wise old eye, "it 
 might as well be now as later. When a man like 
 Quinby Graham makes up his mind to marry a 
 certain girl, the devil himself can't stop him!" 
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