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----- ' -' ■ d / 
 
 The 
 
 Balance of Pow^er 
 
 A Novel 
 
 ArtKtir Goodrich 
 
 Illtistrated by Otto Toaspern 
 
 New YorK 
 
 TKe Outing Pt&blisHin^ Company 
 
 1906 
 
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 COPTBIGHT, 1906, BT 
 
 THE OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 Sntered at Stationers' Hall, London, England 
 
 All rights re$erved 
 
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 THB OTJTINO PRE88 
 DEPOSIT, N. T. 
 
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 ^0 Mv Jfatfier 
 
 WHO HAS ALWAYS BEEN, AS WELL, 
 MY FRIEND AND COMRADE 
 
 M209356 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I The Garden of Memories 
 
 PAGE 
 1 
 
 13 
 
 II The President Blacks His Own Shoes 
 
 in "If Ye Git Hot Under the Collar, Take It 
 
 Off" ........ 29 
 
 IV The Enthusiasms of Jimmy O'Rourkb . . 50 
 
 V The Drowning of a Disappointment . . .66 
 
 VI At Mr. Hardy's 88 
 
 VII The Beginnings of a Cabinet .... 105 
 
 VIII Independence Day ...... 122 
 
 IX The Colonel Makes a Speech . . . .142 
 
 X A Three-cornered Fight ..... 155 
 
 XI An Unexpected Conference .... 175 
 
 XII Later in the Evening ..... 193 
 
 XIII Miss Hardy Goes Calling 209 
 
 XIV The Colonel Loses His Temper . . . 223 
 XV The Summons 242 
 
 XVI The Appearance of Mr, Conlin . . . 264 
 
 XVII To Drive Dull Care Away . . . .280 
 
 XVIII A Drive to Westbury 308 
 
 XIX The Brick Block Loses a Tenant . . . 329 
 
 XX The Colonel Reasons with Mb. Tubb . . 342 
 
 XXI In the Old Garden . . . . . .366 
 
 XXII Thanksgiving Day 395 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 "Now she returned to the edge of the cHff'* . Frontispiece 
 
 FACINa 
 PAGE 
 
 "'The President of the United States blacks his own 
 
 shoes'" 16 
 
 (( < 
 
 Run along now, Jack, and boss your machines, but don't 
 
 try to boss me' " 76 
 
 "The Colonel makes a speech" 148 
 
 " T stole 'em,' he said at last" 284 
 
 "'You're morbid,' was all she said" 318 
 
 "With an exclamation of triumph HeflBer held up the 
 
 wrinkled piece of paper" 338 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE GARDEN OF MEMORIES 
 
 THE settlers of Hampstead, Connecticut, stopped 
 half way up the red-soiled incline which sepa- 
 rates beyond into two broad summits. The 
 town grew up the rest of the way, unsatisfied until it 
 reached the top, first of West Hill and later of the lower 
 East Hill. The factories took the only place left, the 
 lower half of the incline at the bottom of which runs 
 Hampstead River, deep and narrow, evidently planned 
 to furnish power for mill-wheels. 
 
 High on the summit of West Hill, where even in the 
 early eighties the factory owners and officers and the pro- 
 fessional people lived and looked down upon the workers 
 in the shops whose frame houses dotted thickly the east- 
 em summit, were two houses side by side, of which the 
 owners were proud and the rest of the town envious. 
 One was built of irregular gray stone, square and strong; 
 over its front and sides crept thick ivy which turned a 
 wonderful red in the autumn; before it spread a broad 
 trim lawn shaded with big trees and bordered with a high 
 hedge, and behind it stretched terrace after terrace of 
 orchard and garden. The other was obviously new, an 
 
 1 
 
2 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 expensive mongrel structure of brownstone, brick and 
 wood, culminating in a tower which was the wonder of 
 the town. The ground which ran from the porch to the 
 street was spotted with new grass and old turf, and the 
 short yard at the back was still in straggling confusion. 
 
 Many people came to the stone house daily, for Doctor 
 Gilbert lived there — quick, nervous, kindly Doctor Gilbert 
 whom the well-to-do respected and liked and the poorer 
 people loved. Wealthy as he was — for his father had left 
 him not only the big gray house and broad acres of land 
 but a considerable fortune as well, made in trade with the 
 West Indies — there was never a sick child so far away, nor 
 a night so cold, nor a simple kindness so slight that the 
 Doctor was not ready at the call for help. Impractical 
 fine gentleman of the old school! Many a sick German 
 woman in a cottage on East Hill had slept for the first 
 time in a week of nights while the big man hummed Schu- 
 bert songs in his mellow baritone; many a miserable little 
 Irish lad chilled in a shanty, the cracks of which yawned 
 invitation to snow and winter cold, bolted bitter medicine 
 so as to hear the merry gentleman tell stories of the 
 Civil War or of that strange and wonderful court of King 
 Arthur; many an ailing clerk or bookkeeper laughed him- 
 self well at the Doctor's quaint wit, and poverty-bound 
 fathers blessed him with tears in their eyes as they watched 
 their children eating unexpected Christmas dinners. 
 
 He was as tender as a woman, and yet strong men had 
 hung their heads before the tempest of his anger. As a 
 young man he had seen visions, some of which he had 
 realized and many of which he had forgotten. Now he 
 dreamed dreams. They were all about a boy with tawny 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 locks who often sat wide eyed on a hassock before the 
 big fireplace in the library listening to the rambling 
 reminiscences of bluff Colonel Mead, who had fought 
 Indians on the plains, or to the Doctor's own stories, 
 perennially new. He planned the boy's future a dozen 
 times every day, and when his wife with characteristic 
 Scotch practicality started him awake with a short bit of 
 worldly common-sense, he only smiled and went back to 
 his dreaming. 
 
 Neighbors saw little in the boy to account for the 
 Doctor's pride. He was a gawky lad, tall for his age, and 
 his large nose and ears and chin forbade even the Doctor 
 to call him handsome. And yet, when he smiled there 
 was something about the gray eyes and the twist of the 
 mouth that wholly satisfied those who loved him. He had 
 a queer little mind that would focus itself to only one 
 thing at a time and which would not listen to anything 
 else until this one thing was settled conclusively. 
 
 " Ef ye want a thing, no matter what it is," the Colonel 
 once remarked approvingly of the boy's persistence, 
 "yeVe got to go after it an' stay after it till ye git it. 
 Jack's got the right idea. Jest wantin' never brought 
 any thin', so far ez I know, but want." 
 
 Mr. Hardy, the man who had built the house next 
 door, was a man of early middle age. His father had 
 started the now famous mills of Hardy & Son, when 
 Hardy after a hurried schooling had joined him. Much 
 of their success had been due to the younger man who by 
 strict economy and relentless energy had built up the 
 factories to their present size, the largest in Hampstead. 
 Although he was now president of the company, Hardy's 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 front door opened punctually every morning at half-past 
 seven and closed behind him at quarter-past six at night, 
 a phenomenon which interested greatly the mathematical 
 mind of the Doctor's boy. 
 
 The Hardys had occupied their new home only two or 
 three days on an afternoon when the Doctor's boy was 
 playing croquet on the second terrace. All at once the 
 boy instinctively straightened himself from a regrettable 
 "flinch" and turned slowly about. The delightful sense 
 of being alone with his little dream world had for some 
 reason vanished. 
 
 Standing in a narrow gap in the hedge, surrounded by 
 the fresh green, was a strange little figure of a girl and, 
 behind her, a boy somewhat larger than Jack. 
 
 "Hello, boy," said the girl. 
 
 "Hello," said Jack cordially, after a moment's inspec- 
 tion of the pair. "Come on in." The girl advanced 
 slowly and shyly, hugging a small decapitated doll. The 
 boy with her marched briskly forward and then, suddenly, 
 with a proud wave of his hand, he stood on his head for 
 a few seconds, by way of introduction. 
 
 The girl meanwhile had propped her headless doll on a 
 seat that surrounded a broad-trunked apple tree, and 
 looked about her. The place was a fairy land to her and 
 she sighed with delight. She looked with awe at the boy 
 who lived and who actually played croquet in the midst 
 of all this wonder. 
 
 "Can I look at the roses?" she asked, pointing to the 
 rows of bushes beyond. 
 
 "Of course," said Jack readily. "And I'll show 'em 
 to you." 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 **0h, come on/' said the strange boy. "I'll wrestle 
 you or I'll beat you to the fence and back or '' 
 
 "We'll do that afterwards," Jack's tone was decisive, 
 "after we see the flowers," and he started after the 
 girl. 
 
 "Oh, you're afraid, you are," taunted the other boy. 
 "Look at this," and he turned two or three handsprings 
 on the grass. To the evident joy of the flushed lad, the 
 girl turned from the roses in time to see the last rapid 
 turn. Jack watched quietly, his fists doubling convul- 
 sively. Then he followed the girl. "You'd better come 
 along," he called over his shoulder. And the boy reluc- 
 tantly followed, turning cartwheels and handsprings on 
 the way. Jack led them past tangled masses of roses, 
 beds of vari-colored pansies and arbors of honeysuckle, 
 and, beyond a sentinel apple tree, through the lanes of a 
 small produce garden. Back of this truck garden was a 
 line of trees and bushes that surrounded a little clearing, 
 in the midst of which was a frame summer-house, and to 
 this they finally came and sat down. The little girl had 
 not said a word, and she sat still for a moment. 
 
 "I'd like to live here," she said at last enviously. 
 
 "Oh, I know lots of better places," the strange boy re- 
 marked quickly, looking jealously from one to the other. 
 
 Jack glowered silently. Then he turned to the girl with 
 a new interest. 
 
 " So do I. I'd like to go out West. Say," he went on, 
 suddenly growing alert, "do you know Colonel Mead? 
 He's fought real Indians." 
 
 The strange boy noticed that the girl was watching 
 Jack with open admiration. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 "Colonel Mead?" he broke in sullenly, eager for trouble. 
 "He's an awful old liar anyhow. I heard " 
 
 Jack's face suddenly turned white and his gray eyes 
 burned black. His small fists doubled up and he jumped 
 to his feet. 
 
 "You take that back," he cried. 
 
 "I won't," said the large boy, dodging out on the turf 
 and pulling off his coat. Almost before he was ready 
 Jack was on him like a pent-up hurricane, and they were 
 fighting furiously. For a moment the girl watched them, 
 fascinated. Then she jumped up quickly and ran out of 
 the summer-house past the clinching, fighting, panting 
 pair, and straight down the path they had come. 
 
 Mrs. Gilbert was sitting placidly sewing in the library 
 when Ellen opened the door and let in a slender, sobbing, 
 breathless little figure. 
 
 "Well, well," ejaculated motherly Mrs. Gilbert, "what- 
 ever is the matter with the lassie?" and she put her sew- 
 ing quickly aside. 
 
 "Oh, come quick, please," panted the girl; "your little 
 boy and Willie McNish are fighting out in your garden. 
 I lost my way and I'm afraid they'll both be killed and — 
 and Willie's the biggest." 
 
 Mrs. Gilbert was a large but very active woman. Almost 
 before the girl knew it they were down the long stairs that 
 led to the garden, and were hurrying along the shortest 
 path to the summer-house. By the time they passed 
 the roses the tired girl was lagging far behind. When 
 Mrs. Gilbert reached the edge of the little clearing she 
 stopped suddenly. There before her was Jack, one eye 
 already swollen, helping the other boy to his feet and 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 wiping the blood from his nose and from a nasty cut in 
 his cheek. Mrs. Gilbert breathed a sigh of relief and 
 waited. 
 
 "I'm awfully sorry," said Jack, and his little form was 
 trembling with reaction. " I shouldn't have hit you here 
 in our yard, but you made me mad." 
 
 The other boy nodded, then he put out his hand. " Say," 
 he said, "I thought you were a sissy, but you aren't. 
 You're all right." And they shook hands manfully. 
 
 At this point Mrs. Gilbert, seeing the little girl coming, 
 broke in. "Laddie," she said, coming upon them ab- 
 ruptly, "I'll take Willie to the house and stop that 
 wretched bleeding, and you take the little girl to her 
 home." 
 
 That was all she said, except to thank the little girl and 
 to ask her to come and see her. But on the way to the 
 house she asked the McNish boy about it in her kindly 
 way, and the boy told her frankly everything. Mean- 
 while the girl and Jack, one eye already turning black, 
 followed them down the path. 
 
 The girl rescued her doll from the bench and they went 
 on to the hole in the hedge. 
 
 " My name's Clare, and I live in here." She pointed to 
 the new Hardy house. 
 
 " My name's Jack," said the boy. 
 
 "I like your yard," said the girl judicially, "but your 
 house isn't as nice as ours. Good-by." 
 
 That night when Jack had gone to bed early with a 
 bandage over his ugly black eye, the Doctor and Mrs. 
 Gilbert sat in the library. The Doctor's eyes seemed 
 fixed on an old and favorite copy of Horace, and his 
 
8 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 wife's seemed to be unraveling some of the tangles of 
 yarn she was knitting. Now and then each glanced 
 furtively at the other and then quickly back to book 
 and task. At last their eyes met and each stood dis- 
 covered. Mrs. Gilbert shook her head at him with a 
 merry twinkle in her eye. 
 
 "There must be a deal of reading on that one page, 
 David/' she said. ''You've been reading it for an hour 
 or more." 
 
 "I thought you were asleep, you worked so slowly," 
 laughed the Doctor. 
 
 "Well," said his wife after a moment. 
 
 "Tell me all about it again," said the Doctor capitu- 
 lating. 
 
 So she told the story of the fight over again for the 
 third time, losing not one detail. 
 
 "The other lad's a good one, too," she said at the end, 
 with a characteristic sense of justice. 
 
 "The only thing Jack said to me," said the Doctor 
 proudly, " was that he'd do it again, and that McNish's 
 boy fought well. He's got a Gilbert temper." 
 
 "It may have been a Gilbert temper but they were 
 Mackenzie blows he struck," said his wife. "I saw the 
 other boy's face." 
 
 "I believe you're proud of it," laughed the Doctor. 
 
 "I'm glad you haven't spoiled him yet," retorted his 
 wife. 
 
 "You're a great and good woman, Janie," said the 
 Doctor. "I'm going to give him money and education 
 enough to make him rich and famous." 
 
 " But who'll make him happy? " asked his wife wistfully. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 9 
 
 The Doctor rose to his feet and went around the table 
 to her. He kissed her brow reverently. 
 
 '*To have such a mother is sufficient, dear," he said. 
 
 As time went on the three children grew more and more 
 inseparable. Genial Mr. McNish soon came almost as 
 often as did Billy, and many an evening during the win- 
 ter that followed, when patients would let him, the 
 Doctor played cards till bedtime with McNish and the 
 Colonel. Mrs. Gilbert alternated her time between the 
 home and the church, busy always. The two boys and 
 the girl studied and played happily enough. Clare's 
 nurse was their only menace. One day when the girl had 
 been rudely summoned away from the garden, the two 
 boys followed her belligerently to the gap in the hedge. 
 
 "We'll take care of her when we grow up," said Jack 
 sternly, holding out his hand. 
 
 "You bet we will," said Billy, shaking the hand 
 solemnly. 
 
 The usual number of people were sick and needed the 
 Doctor, and yet things seemed somehow different with 
 him. He had a new habit of always getting a New York 
 paper as early as possible, and spending an hour or more 
 poring over it. He grew absent-minded and occasionally 
 seemed almost depressed. No one had ever heard him 
 sigh until that winter, but when Mrs. Gilbert rallied him 
 about it he laughed his old laugh and said that it was a 
 sigh of sheer joy. Nevertheless he aged rapidly, month 
 by month, and sometimes sat strangely silent through 
 whole evenings before the library fire. But he was never 
 more thoughtful of his wife nor more tender with Jack. 
 One night when the Spring was coming on and he sat by 
 
10 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 the window with the boy, watching the rivulets from the 
 melting snow that ran down the garden paths, he patted 
 Jack lightly on the back. 
 
 "When you grow up you'll be a big man," he said, 
 "and you'll take good care of the mither, eh. Jack?" 
 
 "I'll help you, of course," said Jack slowly, "but you 
 see I've promised Billy I'd help him take care of Clare." 
 
 "When Jack is a big man," laughed Mrs. Gilbert, who 
 had come up behind them, "you and I, David, will be 
 old enough to take care of ourselves, and he'll go out into 
 the big world." 
 
 "Out in the big world," .said Jack wistfully. "I'd 
 like to go out in the big world." 
 
 "And after he got there," went on Mrs. Gilbert softly, 
 "he'd come back again because he'd want love more than 
 anything in the big world." 
 
 "And isn't there love in the big world?" asked the boy 
 wonderingly. 
 
 "Not the same sort of love, laddie," said his mother; 
 and Jack looked from his mother to his father and back 
 again, and nearly understood. 
 
 When Decoration Day came the Doctor put on his 
 G. A. R. badge and tramped down town with Mr. Mc- 
 Nish. 
 
 "The Spring's going to put you to rights," said his 
 friend, as he thought he noticed that the Doctor's step 
 was lighter and that his cheeks had more color. " You've 
 been a bit down this Winter, just as Tom Nelson always 
 was just before a battle. He was always all right when 
 the fight began." 
 
 " I'm all right," said the Doctor. " To tell you the truth 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 11 
 
 I've been worried. I've been trying to make money 
 this year to lay up for the boy, and I'm afraid " 
 
 McNish stopped suddenly. There was real pain in his 
 face. He waited. 
 
 ''I've lost a good deal in stocks during the winter," 
 went on the Doctor, "and I've been trying to win it back 
 in a mine out in Colorado, but I'm afraid — I'm not much 
 of a business man, Donald." 
 
 A band in the distance started up "Tenting To-night 
 on the Old Camp Ground," and memories suddenly 
 flooded the minds and hearts of both men. The old 
 familiar strains thrilled them silent, and they locked arms 
 and walked on hurriedly down the street. They were 
 late, but they stopped for mail at the post-office and then 
 rushed on, crowding the letters into their pockets. As 
 they fell into line, for the Doctor insisted on marching 
 with the rest, McNish said, putting his hand on the Doc- 
 tor's shoulder, " You must tell me all about it to-night," 
 and the Doctor nodded. 
 
 Mrs. Gilbert and Jack watched them march by, and 
 Jack and the Doctor saluted solemnly. Ten minutes 
 later Doctor Gilbert left the line to stop at a house oppo- 
 site the gate of the cemetery, where a child was sick. The 
 little girl had not been sleeping and he gave her some 
 medicine. He decided to wait a few minutes to see how 
 it operated and, because the mother had left the room, he 
 pulled out his letters. He started to read; suddenly his 
 face went white, and without a murmur his big form 
 relaxed and he sank to the floor. 
 
 Over in the cemetery a bugle played "taps" for the 
 weary soldiers who were tenting on the old camp ground. 
 
12 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 ''The Doctor's big, tender heart," said Moriarty, Har- 
 dy's superintendent, that night, "had been working so 
 hard all his life that it plumb gave out." 
 
 That afternoon a boy and a girl were sitting looking out 
 at the gathering twilight from a rear window of the Hardy 
 house. Jack had been taken over there to get him out 
 of the way of it all. 
 
 "Let's go out in the garden," he said at last, and to- 
 gether they stole out and through the gap in the hedge. 
 There were lights upstairs in the stone house, but below 
 a single dim glimmer in the library. 
 
 "God's bigger out here," he said in an awed voice. 
 
 The little girl put her hand over his. 
 
 "It's getting dark and I'm afraid," she said. 
 
 "So'm I — a little," admitted the boy. Then suddenly 
 a new thought came to him. " If father was here I think 
 he'd tell me to take care of the mither," he said impul- 
 sively, and with that he started for the house. The girl 
 watched him for a moment and then sped toward the gap 
 in the hedge. From there she saw him mount the steps. 
 
 Mrs. Gilbert, dry-eyed, sitting alone in the darkened 
 library saw the boy come across the room toward her. 
 
 "I've come to take care of you, mither," he said stal- 
 wartly. 
 
 "Oh, my laddie, my laddie," she cried, as the pent-up 
 tears burst forth. She knew already how soon she would 
 need his care. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 THE PRESIDENT BLACKS HIS OWN SHOES 
 
 THE doors of the new Municipal building slammed 
 now and then as if to awaken the drowsy Main 
 Street of Hampstead. It was Spring once more, 
 but twenty years had passed since Dr. Gilbert died, 
 twenty long years for the young, twenty short years for 
 the older people of the now thriving city. It was Wednes- 
 day night, and the stores were closed and dark, except 
 for an occasional red or green light that marked a drug- 
 gist ^s long vigil, and except for the inviting entrance of 
 the Hampstead Hotel, flanked by a flaring glare of bril- 
 liancy. The few people who strolled aimlessly up and 
 down the sidewalk had wandered in to the center in 
 search of something to do, and were disappointed. 
 
 Shortly a cart was driven up beside the dilapidated 
 bandstand at the end of the green opposite the Municipal 
 building. The horse was unhitched and was led away, 
 while the man left in the derelict cart lit two campaign 
 torches and, fixing them securely in opposite corners of 
 his improvised stage, he stood forth for a moment, his 
 fingers thrust in his tightly buttoned coat of clerical cut, 
 that all might see. He had a square, dumpy body and 
 crooked legs about which soiled gray trousers wrinkled 
 from the end of his short coat to their tattered bottoms. 
 His coarse, pudgy face which had been clean-shaven some 
 
 13 
 
14 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 three days before, beamed with an odd mixture of child- 
 like good humor and pompous pride upon the dozen boys 
 who had gathered silently about the cart. A moment 
 later he was sitting on a campstool picking at a banjo, 
 and reciting in a megaphonic baritone the trials of a man 
 and a maid 
 
 "A suckin' cider throo a straw." 
 
 Almost instantly a large and constantly growing crowd 
 surrounded him, coming it seemed out of nowhere from 
 every direction: loafers from the post-ofSce steps, travel- 
 ing men from the hotel, couples from the park benches, 
 and all the floating population which, blocks away, heard 
 the shouted melody. Windows went up in the buildings 
 about the square, and curious faces peered out, and 
 across the way in the Municipal building the first arrivals 
 at the regular meeting of the Common Council crowded 
 each other to stare down at the little man with the big 
 voice. 
 
 " Say, 'tis a good thing for the telephone company that 
 there ain't many voices loike that wan," remarked Mr. 
 Moriarty. " Sure all he needs to do is to open the window 
 an' talk. The feller at the other end o' the wire'd hear 
 him all right." 
 
 "A suckin' cider throo a straw-aw-aw-aw," sang the 
 little man, his mouth excavating his face from ear to ear. 
 The crowd grinned and a few mouths yawned wide in 
 unconscious imitation. 
 
 As the song was finished a large automobile came 
 noisily down the street and stopped at the curb. An 
 elderly man with a red, scowling face alighted, followed 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 15 
 
 by two middle-aged women whose angular lines suggested 
 propriety and loneliness, and a young girl who, disre- 
 garding a proffered hand, sprang down unaided. The 
 three women turned to watch the scene in the square. 
 
 "Isn't it picturesque?" said Miss Snifkins' friend from 
 Boston, whose voice dropped at the end of a sentence in an 
 incline down which sentimentality oozed audibly. '^ See, 
 Cordelia, the city square, the lights of torches lighting up 
 a sea of faces and there in the center that figure which is 
 to say the least — ah — unusual. It's really poetic." 
 
 "Yes, it reminds you of 'there was a sound of deviltry 
 by night,' as Billy McNish says about our motor," laughed 
 Clare Hardy, her bright black eyes dancing. 
 
 Miss Snifkins looked at her friend apologetically, and 
 turned back in time to see the little man put a ball of 
 lighted paper in his mouth. 
 
 "Disgusting," she said, and she followed Mr. Hardy, 
 who was calling them with some irritation from the door- 
 way. 
 
 "For all the world like a frog," remarked the girl 
 derisively, as she watched the little man hop from one side 
 of the cart to the other in his efforts to be amusing. 
 
 "How very clever," assented Miss Snifkins' friend 
 politely, and they followed the others. As they reached 
 the doorway they stopped and looked back at the square 
 where the little man was suddenly silent. He had at- 
 tracted his crowd and he had amused them. It was 
 manifestly time for business. He reappeared from the 
 shadows of the front of the cart holding high in one hand 
 a flat, round tin box. The index finger of the other hand 
 he shook accusingly at the awestruck crowd. 
 
16 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 "Did you know/' he asked in a hoarse whisper that 
 grew to a loud, menacing shout, " that the President of 
 the United States blacks his own shoes?" He paused 
 proudly to note the effect of his words. "No, not for 
 exercise, strenuous man of action tho' he be; not because 
 he has to, certainly not — he could undoubtedly borrow 
 the money for a shine from the Secretary of the Treasury; 
 not because he wants to take meat and drink from the 
 poor boy, who, like an artist, wields a brush for a living. 
 Shall I tell you why, my friends? It is a precious secret! 
 Because — because — he has learned that it is easier to 
 black his own shoes with Diamond Blacking than to have 
 anyone black them for him." 
 
 Three of the party at the door of the Municipal building 
 had gone in after the opening sentence, but the girl re- 
 mained, her eyes sparkling with the humor of it. At last 
 she closed the door and hurried up the stairs to find her 
 father stamping the corridor, impatient at the delay. 
 
 "I wonder if it can be true," said Miss Snifkins' friend 
 dreamily, as they entered the large room at the front of 
 the building. 
 
 "If what can be true?" the girl asked. 
 
 " If the President does black his own shoes," said Miss 
 Snifkins' friend. 
 
 Samuel Hardy had intended to be a spectator at this 
 particular meeting of the Common Council, but he had 
 had no idea of acting as a chaperon. Mrs. Hardy, how- 
 ever, had happened to mention the fact casually to Corde- 
 lia Snifkins, the English teacher at the High School, and 
 Miss Snifkins had repeated it to her friend who taught 
 "government" and other studies in a Massachusetts 
 

 The President of the United States blacks 
 his own shoes.*'' 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 17 
 
 boarding-school. Mr. Hardy, after some argument during 
 which he found opportunity to occasionally interject 
 "yes" or '*no/' consented to take them to the meeting, 
 and discussed the matter rather abruptly with his wife 
 afterwards. Clare Hardy had attached herself to the 
 expedition at the last moment because there seemed 
 to be nothing else to do. 
 
 The '^city fathers," as the Hampstead News called the 
 members of the Council, were taking their places for the 
 meeting, when the party, led by Mr. Hardy, marched in 
 and found seats at the rear of the room. Two or three 
 older men bowed to the manufacturer, and Alderman 
 William McNish smiled and returned the girl's bright 
 little nod, while some of the younger men nudged each 
 other and winked visibly. Clare Hardy, noticing them, 
 flushed at their rudeness. 
 
 '^Have you ever attended one of these meetings be- 
 fore?" asked Miss Snifkins, when they were all settled as 
 comfortably as possible on the long wooden benches. 
 
 "No," said Clare Hardy sweetly, but in a tone loud 
 enough for some of the offenders to hear. "The men I 
 usually see have manners." 
 
 A tall, sad-looking man, also a spectator, sitting directly 
 behind them suddenly bent double in a paroxysm of silent 
 laughter, whispered to his companion, and then was con- 
 vulsed once more. 
 
 The routine business of the Council was quickly dis- 
 posed of — cleared away to gain time for the final discus- 
 sion and decision concerning the Street Railway Bill. 
 Hampstead had grown rapidly in the last few years, and 
 the Street Railway Company was anxious to more than 
 
18 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 double its length of track within the city. The terms of 
 the bill proposed, however, seemed so favorable to the 
 company that it was generally conceded that the bill 
 would be rejected until large modifications were made. 
 In fact, the only popular clause in the bill was the promise 
 of the much-needed Broad Street extension within six 
 months. Ex-Congressman Strutt arose to present the 
 company's case, and Mr. Hardy ignored a question from 
 Miss Snifkins' friend and leaned forward to listen. The 
 novelty of parliamentary practice had lost its first interest 
 for Clare Hardy, however, and she was enjoying, instead, 
 the comments of the tall man behind her. 
 
 She knew the tall man. His name was Tubb, and he 
 was a grocer. His greatest rival, Mr. Butterson, was a 
 coimcilman and sat over at the right, his chin sunk upon 
 his breast, sleeping peacefully. The rivalry between the 
 two had been bitter. Mr. Tubb had conducted the lead- 
 ing grocery store in town under the simple sign, "Tubb — 
 Grocer," until Mr. Butterson had opened "The Hamp- 
 stead Cash Provision Store," and the populace, always 
 eager for a change, had rushed to the new shop. Mr. 
 Tubb had retaliated by rechristening his store "The New 
 York Grocery," and considerable custom returned tem- 
 porarily. Mr. Butterson changed his sign to the "United 
 States Cash Store," and Mr. Tubb responded with "The 
 World Grocery," while the sign painters smiled as they 
 added up their bills. "The World Grocery" stared Mr. 
 Butterson in the face daily until at last he evolved "The 
 Universal Cash Grocery Store." After that for months 
 Mr. Butterson watched Mr. Tubb's store narrowly, won- 
 dering what he would do if Tubb went higher. Mr. Tubb, 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 19 
 
 however, had had an inspiration, and his opponent, riding 
 one day on a street-car, had read the result in black type 
 on a white card: 
 
 * * K you, want to buy some grub 
 Come and call on Mr. Tubb. 
 He will trust you for your food 
 And you can bet his food is good. " 
 
 Mr. Butterson went home that night pondering. All 
 day long in the store the miserable doggerel had echoed 
 from the change trolley and from the hum of conversa- 
 tion on the floor. The next day he called to Gilshannon, 
 the News reporter, who was passing the store, and they 
 conversed in whispers for some time, after which Gilshan- 
 non went down to the News office and laughed all by 
 himself. And only the week before this Common Council 
 meeting, another card had appeared beside the Tubb 
 advertisement : 
 
 " We ask cash while others trust. 
 We'll be here when others bust. 
 Number Seven Railroad Street 
 Everything that's good to eat." 
 
 Mr. Butterson was in the Council; therefore Mr. Tubb 
 always attended the meetings; and therefore, also, he 
 laughed convulsively at Clare Hardy's reference to "man- 
 ners." Now he was describing to his companion, evi- 
 dently a stranger, the importance of Ex-Congressman 
 Strutt, the insignificant looking little man who, in slow, 
 matter-of-fact tones that implied logic, was explaining 
 the great services which the Street Railway Company had 
 done to Hampstead. 
 
20 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 "Strutt's had good luck, that's all," the girl heard him 
 say. "He was poor's Job's turkey when he started 
 readin' law. But the old man he was studyin' with, I 
 fergit his name, he took to Strutt and when he died, 
 Strutt got his practice. Even then he couldn't 'a' made 
 a livin' if he hadn't played politics — a lawyer can't in 
 these parts. Somehow 'r other he got next to Alonao 
 Hubbard, and he's stuck to him closer than the bark to a 
 tree ever since. He never pays any attention to anybody 
 unless he happens to feel like it, and when somebody said 
 they wanted an independent candidate for Congress, they 
 decided Strutt was the most independent man in the 
 district. Some folks voted for him to get him out o' 
 town but. Lord, there wasn't any losin' Strutt. And 
 now that measly little shrimp's an officer at Hubbard's 
 factory. He's got a lot of stock in this electric company; 
 he an' Hubbard practically own the gas company, and I 
 don't know what all more. Yes," he added, *'he trades 
 at Butterson's." 
 
 Clare Hardy leaned back, smiling at the ceiling with 
 half-closed eyes. The Ex-Congressman still drawled on. 
 
 "The Mayor?" continued the whispered voice behind 
 her. " His name is Brett. He runs a bank here, a bank 
 his father started. Only one trouble with Brett. He 
 drinks. Don't look it, does he, white face and all; but 
 he's got a fine wife. He always was a high flyer and 
 when she came here — she was German and didn't know 
 a word of English — he used to go 'round to where she 
 was visitin' and teach her. One night she went out to 
 dinner and some women asked her if she didn't think the 
 weather was all right. 'Damfino,' says she. Brett'd 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 21 
 
 told her that meant 'yes, indeed.' Fact! After that she 
 sort o' laid fer him, and one night he put his arm 'round 
 her and kissed her. 'You know what this means in all 
 languages,' she says. Brett, he didn't want to show his 
 ignorance, so he says 'Yes,' and they was married." 
 
 Ex-Congressman Strutt finished abruptly and sat down, 
 and a portly man with chin whiskers arose and began to 
 speak in a persuasive, almost timid voice. Through the 
 open window came the plank, plank, of the banjo, and 
 occasionally the words of the fakir's song. 
 
 "Merrivale, that is," went on the voice behind Clare 
 Hardy. "Made his money in real estate. Knows his 
 business, he does. He's a Baptist, too, next pew to mine 
 and o' course he trades with me. He boomed a lot o' 
 swamp land out near Tareville three years ago; had a 
 brass band and a free lunch and such like; marked the 
 place out in streets and sold lots faster 'n you kin flap 
 pancakes. Seemed like everybody had always thought 
 that place was the only place on earth to build a house. 
 He paid the old widow that owned the swamp ten thou- 
 sand dollars for it, and he cleared up about twenty-five 
 thousand in a few weeks. No one ain't ever built there 
 though. You can see the signs — Pine Street, and Plum 
 Street, and the rest — from the cars. The lots is all just 
 long grass and weeds. Oh, he's sharp, he is, and he's 
 one of the best Christian men in town. He gives more to 
 our church than anybody, I guess." 
 
 Clare Hardy looked Captain Merrivale over quizzically 
 and felt impulsively sorry for his wife. She soon forgot 
 them both, however, and stared about the bare room in 
 search of something more interesting. She watched the 
 
22 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 Mayor as he lolled back indifferently in his armchair 
 behind the desk, until he looked up and across at her, and 
 she turned to Miss Snifkins with a wry face and a feeling 
 of sudden dislike for him which she could not explain. 
 Shortly, however, the meeting gained her undivided at- 
 tention for the first time. Captain Merrivale had com- 
 pleted his remarks in favor of the bill, and Alderman 
 McNish took the floor. Clare Hardy leaned forward with 
 frank interest, not noticing the curious looks that were 
 turned toward her nor her father's grim stare as the young 
 man began in opposition to the bill. It was evident from 
 his opening sentence that he was personally popular. He 
 had a merry, jaunty manner that caught every listener's 
 attention and the real orator's gift that held them. He 
 talked conversationally and well, and yet the girl ad- 
 mitted against her wish, long before he was through, that 
 he was not moving his audience — that he was not using 
 his power so much to influence votes as unconsciously to 
 increase his own reputation. To her feminine judgment 
 Billy sometimes posed. She felt that he was posing now 
 and the thought hurt her. Something was lacking in 
 his speech, seriousness or vigor or something else, she was 
 not sure what, and she was sorry. He retired, flushed by 
 the considerable applause that followed his remarks, and 
 he could not understand the frown that still creased her 
 forehead, when he stole a glance back at her. 
 
 Clare Hardy heard only indistinctly the short remarks 
 that followed from various parts of the hall, and with them 
 mingled the noises from the square below. She was try- 
 ing to understand why Billy had failed. A motion to 
 have the voting secret caught her attention at last, and 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 23 
 
 she looked up in time to see an exceedingly large and 
 awkward man rise from the seat beyond Billy McNish. 
 His irregular, homely features were kindly but set with 
 decision, and he leaned his great bulk on one broad rough 
 hand flattened on the rail before him. 
 
 "I don't believe in that,'' he began in slow, drawling 
 tones. He hesitated until the rustle of the people turn- 
 ing toward him should die away, and suddenly, as if 
 in answer to his remark, came the echoing voice from the 
 square, clearly audible to everyone in the room: 
 
 "It's a fact, sir. The President of the United States 
 blacks his own shoes." 
 
 A suppressed titter grew into loud unrestrained laugh- 
 ter. Billy McNish, whose sense of the ridiculous was 
 strong, lay back in his seat and shook for joy. Mr. 
 Butterson awoke suddenly, and became very red before 
 his blinking eyes showed him that they were not laughing 
 at him. Directly in front of the speaker a coarse looking 
 man with a face covered with red blotches, and with eyes 
 that looked out sneeringly from under a low, overhanging 
 brow, grinned up at him and laughed tauntingly, occa- 
 sionally beating his open hand on the bench to add to 
 the din. Captain Merrivale, nodding to the Honorable 
 Strutt, started to applaud vigorously, and others took it 
 up, laughingly. Even Mr. Hardy's face relaxed, and 
 Miss Snifkins and her friend giggled nervously. Clare 
 Hardy was smiling also, but the tall speaker's evident 
 earnestness had caught her attention, and she watched 
 him as he stood, his face flushed with embarrassment, 
 his shoulders braced back, protruding chin set firmly 
 although his mouth was smiling, waiting for the others to 
 
24 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 laugh themselves out. At last the Mayor called for order, 
 and it came slowly, the noise breaking out afresh as some- 
 one closed the windows. When, at last, there was quiet 
 once more it seemed to Clare Hardy that it had come more 
 in response to the speaker's silent command than because 
 the Mayor had asked for it, and she felt intuitively that 
 this man had an indefinable something which Billy lacked. 
 Not until they were waiting for him rather than he for 
 them, did he speak. 
 
 " Our friend believes in publicity," he drawled at last. 
 " So do I. A secret ballot on a thing like this is a sneak- 
 ing ballot. As I said," he smiled an illuminating boyish 
 smile, "I don't believe in it." 
 
 Nevertheless the Council, to Clare Hardy's surprise, 
 voted for the secret ballot. Many who had listened dur- 
 ing the evening with a bored look of dignity on their 
 faces, were laughing again with easy good nature as they 
 voted. The little man in the square seemed to have 
 driven the serious spirit from the meeting. Clare Hardy, 
 leaning back and watching the big man talking with 
 Billy McNish, heard Mr. Tubb's inevitable comment: 
 
 "Gilbert," said Mr. Tubb, " Jawn Gilbert. He's had a 
 hard row to hoe. Father was rich and died broke when 
 he was a kid. Jack, he had to go to work in the shops 
 and he's made good tho' a lot of folks that used to toady 
 to th' old doctor — his father — you know — don't have 
 anything to do with him. He's straight as a string and 
 strong as an ox. Why, he came down to me a few 
 weeks ago and showed me where I'd undercharged him 
 fourteen cents, tho' I guess he needs every penny he can 
 get; an' tho' he's as easy goin' and good tempered a fellow 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 25 
 
 as y'ever see, they say he licked Martin Jethro an' Tom 
 Grady together one day down at Hardy's. They ain't 
 either of 'em slouches either. That's Jethro sittin' in 
 front of him. Oh, he's got the right stuff in him. He 
 ain't any piece of fancy work to be used for decoration. 
 Look at his jaw." 
 
 The secret ballot had been taken and the Mayor was 
 about to announce the vote. Gilbert sat straight in his 
 seat, his chin protruding solid and strong in the profile. 
 Then there arose a low hum of surprise from the thirty or 
 more visitors, and many Council members looked at each 
 other questioningly. The bill had passed, and the Hamp- 
 stead Street Railway Company had its added franchise at 
 its own terms. 
 
 "D'clare! Strutt's got 'em," ejaculated Mr. Tubb. 
 "Funny, ain't it? Does it just the way Neely — he's that 
 long slim feller with the watery eyes — does with ten- 
 pins. Watch him roll and looks like he ain't throwing the 
 ball hard enough to get down to th' other end, but some- 
 how or other he gets a ten-strike every time." 
 
 Clare Hardy smiled across at Billy McNish, whose face 
 was frankly disconsolate. Looking beyond she saw Gil- 
 bert, who had not moved when the vote was announced 
 and who sat looking thoughtfully at Mayor Brett; and 
 her face flushed slightly as she remembered what Mr. 
 Tubb had said about the people who had toadied to the 
 Doctor. She had not spoken a dozen words to John Gil- 
 bert in as many years. 
 
 The meeting adjourned quickly, and Mr. Hardy left the 
 ladies to join the Mayor and Captain Merrivale and others 
 who were congratulating the Ex-Congressman on the sue- 
 
26 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 cess of the bill. Billy McNish emerged from a group that 
 were laughing again with Gilbert about the interruption 
 of his remarks, and came to greet Clare Hardy. 
 
 "I'd like to know what you're doing here?" he said, 
 after he had been introduced to Miss Snif kins' friend, 
 who was tremulous and ill at ease in the presence of his 
 greatness. Miss Snifkins and her friend explained simul- 
 taneously and with some confusion. 
 
 "I wanted to hear you make a speech," said Clare 
 Hardy, her eyes dancing. 
 
 Billy flushed self-consciously, and Miss Snifkins and her 
 friend turned to watch the others who were beginning to 
 leave the hall. 
 
 "Well, how was it?" Billy was looking frankly for 
 approval. 
 
 "Oh, you did very well," said the girl provokingly. 
 
 "Best speech I ever made and all because you were 
 here, although I'll admit you nearly knocked me when 
 you came." 
 
 "They passed the bill," said Clare viciously. 
 
 "Yes. I don't understand it either." 
 
 " Never mind, Billy, you'll make better speeches." 
 
 "You're mighty unsatisfactory, Clare." 
 
 "So are you." 
 
 Someone called Billy away before he could retort. Mr. 
 Hardy rejoined the ladies and hurried them out of the 
 rapidly emptying room, Clare Hardy nodding a smile to 
 Billy from the doorway. In the street they found the 
 square deserted; the cart and the crowd and the little 
 fakir had melted away as if by magic. 
 
 "Wonder if he sold all o' the President's shoe blackin'," 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 27 
 
 Mr. Tubb was heard remarking. " Wonder what the 
 great man ^11 do if he has.'' 
 
 Two men came down the steps as they sat waiting for 
 Mr. Hardy to start the motor. They were arm in arm, 
 and were talking vigorously. Clare Hardy watched them 
 swing rapidly up the street, Gilbert with long methodical 
 strides and Billy McNish with quicker, more nervous 
 steps, until they were lost in the shadow. 
 
 " How'd you like it, sis?" said Mr. Hardy, with a sigh of 
 relief when later they had deposited Miss Snifkins and her 
 friend at Miss Snifkins' house and had started for West 
 Hill. 
 
 "I learned a good deal I didn't know before." 
 
 "Huh," ejaculated Mr. Hardy, "I thought you left 
 that to the schoolmarms. What did you find out?" 
 
 "Oh, that Captain Merrivale's a good Christian who 
 sells lots for a good deal more than they're worth," rat- 
 tled off his daughter, counting each detail on her fingers; 
 "how that disgusting Mr. Brett happened to marry such 
 a charming woman; that Mr. Neely is a good bowler; 
 that Jack Gilbert isn't a piece of fancy work, and many 
 other things. You see, I sat in front of Mr. Tubb," she 
 added, in answer to the amazed look on Mr. Hardy's face. 
 
 "Why did Billy McNish oppose that bill?" she asked a 
 minute later. 
 
 "Party politics, I guess," said Mr. Hardy. 
 
 "And why did you favor it?" she asked again. 
 
 "Because there's money in it for me, but that's a 
 family secret." 
 
 Clare Hardy stared out at the lights in the houses and 
 the tree shadows nearer by that scuttled past them, and 
 
28 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 tried to understand the ways of men. As they turned in 
 at the narrow driveway, however, a familiar voice caught 
 her ear. 
 
 "And say, Jack," Billy was calling up the street, 
 "remember, the President of the United States blacks 
 his own shoes." 
 
 Clare smiled across at her father, but he was busy with 
 the machine. 
 
n 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 IF YE GIT HOT UNDER THE COLLAR, TAKE IT OFP' 
 
 THE heart of modern Hampstead is in its factories, 
 and the casual traveler, hurrying past over any 
 one of the three lines of railroad, hears its trip- 
 hammer pulse and feels its throbbing power long before 
 the train reaches the large stone station at the center. 
 Looking out, he catches glimpses of the solid mass of brick 
 ramparts whitened now and then for better light, that 
 liae either side of Hampstead River from the Hardy works 
 on the north to the newer Hubbard mills at the south. 
 From the windows blackened faces peer down at him 
 and grimy hands wave him a careless welcome. When 
 the train stops a crowd of passengers bustle out upon the 
 platform: emigrants with awkward bundles, and sullen 
 faces, timid faces, grinning faces, stolid faces, all talking 
 at once, a medley of Italian and Polish dialects; hurrying 
 noisy young men with heavy satchels of samples; keen- 
 eyed, square-jawed, silent men who have the look of the 
 shops, and an occasional more elderly man, slower of 
 step, his shrewd eyes fixed on the pavement before him 
 as if lost in a maze of figures and estimates. And all of 
 them are, or soon will be, part of the vast machine of 
 machines the train has left behind along the river bank. 
 
 Life in Hampstead is largely a matter of habit. In the 
 morning, at the shriek of the "quarter whistle," which is 
 
 29 
 
30 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 the Pied Piper of Hampstead, half of the population flows 
 down West Hill, and down East Hill, where a colony of 
 Poles are elbowing American citizens of Irish birth, and 
 up from the South End, conglomerate of Germans and 
 Swedes, and from across the river, ''Little Italy," as it is 
 called, where new streets are christened every week and 
 where Mike the Padrone bullies his following down and 
 up and across and into the mills, where the doors close 
 after them. The better half remains at home, and the 
 center is rural with milk wagons and grocery teams and a 
 load of hay now and then in its season. The ebb and 
 flow at noon is followed a little later by incoming groups 
 of women shoppers who make Mr. McNish's big depart- 
 ment-store their headquarters for the afternoon, while at 
 night when the stores are open, and especially on Satur- 
 day nights, Main Street approximates the bedlam of a 
 metropolis. Hampstead men seldom stay up late at 
 night, except to get the news of some unusual event, like 
 the Presidential election or a championship prize-fight, 
 and even for these midnight is usually the limit of the 
 vigil. And Hampstead thinks as it lives. When Cap- 
 tain Merrivale's son, who teaches in a college, came home 
 one summer, workingmen, who could not understand how 
 anyone could make a living without going into the shop 
 at seven and coming away at five, shook their heads and 
 remarked that "young Merrivale couldn't be doin' very 
 well," and kindly old Mr. McNish said seriously that it 
 seemed a pity for a young man, who evidently had so 
 much ability, to be wasting his time when he might make 
 money in business. 
 The Honorable Strutt had once called Hampstead in a 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 31 
 
 speech long remembered by its citizens, "the city of 
 ideas," which Billy McNish promptly paraphrased and 
 said that the Congressman had meant "I Deus." Mr. 
 Strutt probably meant that among the citizens there were 
 an unusual number of inventive Yankees, who found 
 constantly new things for the factories to make and new 
 ways of making things, or that the city was progressive 
 and was well supplied with public buildings and schools. 
 Otherwise it is very much like the country boy who at 
 ten is wearing the outgrown clothes of six. Its philosophy 
 is elementary and its tastes are unsophisticated of stand- 
 ard. Its people work hard every working day; all but a 
 very few, from Alonzo Hubbard down to the poorest day- 
 laborer, earn more than they spend, and nearly all of them 
 live in detached houses and are respectable, church-going 
 and law-abiding. It is a contented community, and if it 
 is seldom swept by enthusiasm, it is grounded in sound 
 common-sense and is impelled forward by steady ambi- 
 tion. 
 
 It is a home-loving town, and on Decoration Day, when 
 the thinned ranks of the Grand Army had passed, ranks 
 led by Captain Merrivale, who had enlisted as a private in 
 ^63, who had been taken ill before he reached Washington, 
 but who nevertheless had always enjoyed the martial 
 title; and flanked on the last line by Mr. McNish, who 
 had been a Major in the regulars but who remained plain 
 Mr. McNish, the people hurried back to their homes and 
 left the streets at the center quiet save for occasional 
 stragglers. Billy McNish, however, fat and roly-poly in 
 his khaki, returned after the parade to his law office. 
 There he threw up the windows and let the light and air 
 
32 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 stream in over musty books and paper-strewn desk. He 
 stood moodily looking out for a moment. Then he turned 
 to the stubby, straight little Irishman with black coat, 
 red hair and pug nose, who had followed him in and who 
 now stood waiting, fingering a derby hat which had once 
 been black. 
 
 " Sit down, Moriarty," said Billy good-humoredly, " and 
 have a cigar," opening up a box out of one of the desk 
 drawers. After seeing his guest pulling and puffing noisily, 
 he lit a cigar himself and settled back in the big office 
 chair. The breeae from the window ruffled up his long 
 curly hair, making more boyish his round face, clean 
 shaven save for a closely trimmed mustache. For a 
 moment they sat silent, Moriarty's eyes fixed on the waste- 
 basket, Billy's on the ceiling. 
 
 " I'm going to be absolutely frank with you, Moriarty," 
 said McNish at last. Moriarty leaned forward and took 
 his cigar from his mouth. 
 
 "You're talking about trying to make me a judge. 
 Now a judge, Moriarty, is a man who is considered to be 
 wise because he never smiles and because he don't talk." 
 Billy stopped and looked out of the window for a moment. 
 " Now, I'm not that sort. I like a good time. I've got 
 to laugh and to talk from late in the morning until early in 
 the morning," he said with a merry grimace that was 
 attractive. " So I can't be a judge, but I can be a poli- 
 tician. Moriarty!" he went on, *'I want to be Mayor of 
 Hampstead; later I want to be Governor, and after that 
 Congress or something else — anything I can get." 
 
 Moriarty studied the ash of his cigar microscopically. 
 
 "'Tis a good cigar," he said finally. "It burns like a 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 Manyool Garcy. It burns straight. Take it aisy,'* he 
 said quickly, noticing Billy's nervous drumming with his 
 fingers on the chair arm. "I'm comin' to that. You 
 burn straight, too; you've got a good head well connected 
 with yer tongue; fer political purposes you're a hero who 
 fought in Cuby even if you only got as far as Camp Alger. 
 But politics is like a horse race. How you look before- 
 hand don't coimt so much as the way you come down the 
 stretch." 
 
 "Well, what's the matter with me?" asked Billy, laugh- 
 ing. "Haven't I staying powers?" 
 
 "I'll tell ye, sir. It'll be close this Fall. It's always 
 close. The Demmycratic candidate '11 need the union 
 vote. Unions don't like lawyers. I wonder why. And 
 they hate Sam Hardy, and ye're Sam Hardy's lawyer." 
 
 "Hardy gave me that cigar that burns so straight," 
 laughed Billy. 
 
 "Hardy?" ejaculated Moriarty. "He did?" With a 
 quick movement he threw the partly smoked cigar on the 
 floor and stamped the fire out of it. Then he rose to his 
 feet. " *Tis an insult to let any respectable man smoke 
 after him without wamin'," he said angrily. 
 
 "Have one of mine to take the taste out of your 
 mouth," said Billy soothingly. 
 
 Moriarty hesitated a moment. Then he leaned over and 
 took it just as the door opened quietly and let in the tall, 
 broad-shouldered form of John Gilbert. He was fanning 
 himself with a slouch hat, and he smiled broadly as he 
 saw the two men before him. 
 
 "Hello," he drawled. "Am I interrupting a con- 
 spiracy?" 
 
34 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 "How are ye, Jack?" said Moriarty heartily, rising and 
 putting out his rough hand. 
 
 Billy, evidently embarrassed, fiddled with a penholder 
 on the desk. 
 
 "Why, I'd just as soon have you know, old man," he 
 said at last. "We've been talking about whether I 
 should run for Mayor in the Fall. There seems to be a 
 demand for young men, eh, Moriarty?" 
 
 "Yis," replied the Irishman, who remained standing. 
 "An' I was just agoin' to think it over, ye know." He 
 caught Billy's glance and added quickly — "Some more, 
 av coorse." 
 
 "Good idea," remarked Gilbert, looking with a whim- 
 sical smile from one to the other, as if he understood all 
 that had not been told him. " If I can help, you know 
 where I am, Moriarty." 
 
 The Irishman had reached the door, but he turned now 
 as a sudden thought came to him. 
 
 " Ye can help," he said. " Ye've got a big pull with the 
 men in the last two years — the union men especially." 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," Gilbert replied, slowly shaking his 
 head. "But of course you can bank on anything I can 
 do — both of you " 
 
 Moriarty went down the stairs slowly. As he reached 
 the street he stopped, leaned over and slapped his knee 
 vigorously. Then, suddenly coming to himself, ho looked 
 shamefacedly up and down the street to see if anyone 
 had noticed him do it. "He's the man, not the other 
 wan. I wonder," he had muttered as he smote his knee. 
 And he stood thinking for two or three minutes before he 
 moved off down the street. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 35 
 
 "Why weren't you at the town meeting last night, 
 Jack?" asked Billy, upstairs, after Moriarty had gone. 
 
 "I was there," grinned Gilbert, sitting in the seat 
 Moriarty had vacated. "Down in back. Didn't stay 
 through." 
 
 "That's just the trouble with you, Jack," began Billy 
 impulsively. "You always take a back seat. I'll bet 
 you saw me all right." 
 
 Gilbert nodded. 
 
 "And to-day here I tramp around with my medals on; 
 probably looked a holy show. D'ye think I do it for fun? 
 Every few steps I took I was cursing myself for an ass." 
 
 "That pretty typewriter girl of Hardy's said, * Ain't he 
 lovely?' when you passed," broke in Gilbert, smiling. 
 
 "That's just it," went on Billy eagerly. "Everybody 
 in town knows me because I always take a front seat. 
 They forget you because you always hide away out of 
 sight." 
 
 "I suppose you're right," Gilbert said after a slight 
 pause. "I'll try to brace up; but I can't talk, Billy, and 
 a crowd scares me. 
 
 "Say, Billy," Gilbert went on, "why did Hardy let in 
 Brett and Merrivale to his board of directors?" 
 
 "How should I know?" puzzled Billy. 
 
 " Thought you might. And where did Brett get money 
 enough to buy two big blocks of Hardy stock?" 
 
 "I don't know. Has he?" 
 
 "So I heard. I just wondered about it, that's all. 
 Thought you might know." 
 
 But Billy did not know, and was chagrined that he did 
 not, for Billy never liked to admit his ignorance of any- 
 
36 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 thing. Soon Gilbert arose to go and Billy,' slamming 
 down the window, went with him. Opposite the pho- 
 tographer's display at the foot of the stairs they stopped 
 for a moment. The central picture was that of a slender 
 girl in evening dress, whose wavy dark hair swept a broad 
 forehead and about whose full lips and cheeks there 
 played a tantalizing smile. The portrait caught the eyes 
 of both men as they stopped. They stood for a moment, 
 staring at it without speaking. 
 
 "Can I congratulate you yet, Billy?" asked Gilbert in 
 a low voice. 
 
 McNish shook his head. 
 
 "I wish you could," he said simply. "She's the best 
 ever." 
 
 Their ways divided at the comer, for Billy was going to 
 the armory, and Gilbert turned up West Hill alone, past 
 the clumsy new brick blocks of the business section which 
 were gradually encroaching on the residential property 
 beyond. A few old soldiers who drifted quietly by him, 
 younger, louder men in militia uniform and an occasional 
 sight-seer or two only accentuated the holiday emptiness 
 of the streets. Farther on he could see at the summit of 
 the hill the far-away gaunt gray outline of the old Gilbert 
 house, sturdy and firm as it had been when the Doctor 
 left it for the last time twenty years ago. It seemed now 
 to cry invitation to Jack every time he passed it, going to 
 and from the little cottage beyond, where he and his 
 mother lived. 
 
 Mr. McNish had bought it to save it from the ruin the 
 fatal letter had brought, and had mortgaged his future to 
 do it, though the future luckily had taken care of the 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 37 
 
 mortgage afterwards. Jack had been kept at school until 
 he had finished the High School course, and then, with the 
 student's mind he had inherited from the Doctor, had put 
 aside thoughts of college and had gone to work for Hardy 
 & Son. There were debts to be paid and a future to be 
 made for his mother and for himself. Mr. McNish had 
 offered him a place in his store, but the young fellow had 
 refused the kindly suggestion. "You've been a very 
 good friend to us, sir," he had said gravely, " and I think 
 I had rather work for someone else." So Mr. McNish 
 admired him all the more, and although it hurt his mother 
 to see him come home with his white hands daubed with 
 inerasable grease and dirt, she approved. It had been 
 hard for the boy at first, for he was proud, and it hurt him 
 to see his former friends gradually become polite and 
 restrained. The girls he knew soon merely bowed to him, 
 and even the boys lost something of their former good 
 comradeship as their different tasks drew them apart from 
 him. Billy McNish alone remained entirely unchanged. 
 Billy went to Yale and to Law School and came back as 
 loyal a friend of Jack's as before. He enlisted and be- 
 came a lieutenant of volunteers at the time of the Spanish 
 War, and when he arrived in Hampstead again Jack was 
 the first person he had gone to see. Billy went to all the 
 social affairs of the clique of well-to-do people who were 
 considered the society of the city, but there had never 
 been a time when their friendship had wavered. In the 
 meantime Jack had made new friends among the men of 
 the shops. The older mechanics welcomed him for the old 
 Doctor's sake, and in common with the others grew to 
 like him. Only a few had been jealous of his slow advance 
 
38 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 to the position of assistant superintendent of the large 
 mills, for everyone knew that he had earned it by per- 
 sistent work. There were many indeed who said without 
 hesitation that even Simpson, the superintendent, did 
 not know the shops as well as Gilbert did. And it had 
 been work, day in and day out, and at night self-imposed 
 tasks of study to perfect his equipment. 
 
 At first he rebelled bitterly against it all; this driving 
 work into which he had been forced. He felt the relent- 
 less power of circumstance wedging him into a narrow 
 niche. It suffocated him, and he tried to turn on it and 
 beat it back. He hated the machines, hated the dirt, 
 hated the badly ventilated rooms. He wanted to learn, 
 learn, learn. And yet his mother, patiently caring for the 
 little cottage with the same grace and even greater ten- 
 derness, never heard a word of complaint, and only a few 
 times did her keen mother's eyes get a fugitive glimpse of 
 his trial. The only person to whom he ever unburdened 
 himself was the Colonel. Once he let the whole flood of 
 his disappointment and discouragement loose in the Colo- 
 nel's little sitting-room, edged with bows and arrows, 
 wampum necklaces, snowshoes, saddles and a hundred 
 and one relics of the grizzled old man's career on the 
 frontier. When he was through the Colonel patted him 
 on the back roughly. *^ Don't git grouchy ef things don't 
 come your way, my boy," he said. " Ef ye're grouchy ye 
 can't blame 'em." 
 
 From the rebellion of the first year he relapsed into 
 stolid, dull plodding, seeing little light ahead, but saving a 
 little money from his pitiful salary to reduce the indebted- 
 ness that stared him constantly in the face. Again it was 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 39 
 
 the Colonel who put him to rights, for Jack was sensitive 
 and looked up to the Colonel much as he had as a boy. 
 "How's the traveling?" asked the Colonel one night. 
 "Well, I'm doing my best," said Jack lackadaisically. 
 "Doing your best, my boy," said the Colonel, blinking at 
 Jack over his spectacles, "ain't any good on earth ef it 
 don't git you whar ye want to go." 
 
 In the last two or three years the work had had a new 
 zest for him. To meet problems and solve them; to know 
 men and lead them; to build up achievement after 
 achievement, piece by piece, began to appeal to him. 
 His imagination, dulled before, began to find music in the 
 clanging drill, an epic in the swinging machines, drama after 
 drama in the human toil all about him. And his mother, 
 watching him, day by day, smiled more often at her 
 thoughts, as she saw his step grow more brisk and his 
 little attentions to her become more spontaneous than 
 they had been. His big body, hardened by rough toil, 
 was strong beyond his own knowledge of it, and he had 
 evolved a calmer philosophy than most men of his years. 
 
 He was thinking now of the shops, puzzling over the 
 same questions he had asked Billy McNish. The Doctor 
 had bought a few shares of Hardy stock during the winter 
 preceding his death, and they had held these alone out of 
 the wreck of his fortune because the stock paid large 
 dividends. Now the dividends had shrunk to almost 
 nothing, and there had been no evidence until recently 
 that anyone cared to buy the stock even at a low figure. 
 Why was Mayor Brett buying it? And whom was he buy- 
 ing it for? Everyone knew that the Mayor had no con- 
 siderable amount of money free for investment. Gilbert 
 
40 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 was frankly puzzled. At intervals he thought of Hardy 
 himself, the gruff "old man." Then suddenly his mind 
 ran off to greet the quaint figure of a little girl or to bow 
 coolly to a tall young woman with wavy black hair bor- 
 dering a broad forehead. He caught himself and blushed 
 boyishly. It was remarkable, he thought, how plainly 
 the little girl came back to him through all the years 
 during which he had occasionally met the young lady 
 and returned her pleasant nod. And it was remarkable, 
 too, how clearly he remembered each change he had seen 
 in her when she had been away at various times at college 
 and elsewhere. 
 
 And so he came to Colonel Mead's square frame house, 
 which was set, old and contented looking, in the midst of 
 thick trees and untrimmed bushes. Neighbors of the 
 Colonel often complained to each other because his house 
 alone, in a line of fresh modern dwellings, was dingy and 
 the place unkempt. One of them, bolder than the rest, 
 one evening when the Colonel was showing his curios, 
 wrote her name in the dust on some old firearms and, 
 shaking her smudged forefinger at the old veteran, 
 remarked that cleanliness was next to godliness. 
 
 "Cleanliness, my dear madam," the blunt old blas- 
 phemer had answered, "may be next to godliness, but 
 comfort's better'n either of 'em." 
 
 And the rugged old philosopher from experience con- 
 tinued to live his life in his own way. As to other people's 
 opinions it wasn't difficult, he often said, to think just as 
 bad things of them as they could possibly think of him. 
 
 Gilbert turned in at the sagging gate and mounted the 
 worn steps. Having rung the bell he sat down on the 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 41 
 
 veranda rail to wait. As he did so his eye, through the 
 vista of trees, caught sight of a Uttle boy on the other side 
 of the street, standing terrified as a huge dog, a big Dane, 
 bounded about him in awkward playfulness. Almost 
 immediately a tall, willowy girl appeared and put one hand 
 on the frightened boy's shoulder and the other on the 
 dog's head, and patted them both until the boy stopped 
 whimpering and the dog's tail wagged vigorously. Gil- 
 bert felt that he could almost see the tantalizing smile 
 about Clare Hardy's mouth as she made the boy's hand 
 smooth the big dog's back. Then with the youngster, 
 whom Gilbert had recognized as the son of the Rev. 
 Brice, the new Methodist minister, almost reconciled, she 
 disappeared behind the trees, the dog bounding on ahead. 
 
 " When ye've ridden thet rail ez fer ez the door o' the 
 ranch ye kin git down an' come in," remarked the Colo- 
 nel's voice reflectively from the doorway, and Gilbert, 
 laughing, disentangled himself from the railing and fol- 
 lowed the old man in. 
 
 " Ef I'd 'a' known it wuz only you I wouldn't 'a' put 
 my collar an' coat on," the Colonel said. '*It's remark- 
 able how ashamed civilization and women makes ye feel 
 of a good clean neck and a shirt fresh from washin'." 
 
 They sat down in the little sitting-room whose windows 
 were all wide open, and the Colonel began working upon 
 a basket he had been weaving when Jack rang the bell. 
 
 ''Well," remarked the Colonel, looking up. "What's 
 on yer mind, my boy? Pry it off an' let's look at it." 
 
 Gilbert took out his pipe, filled it and lighted it before 
 he answered, and the Colonel went back to his work. 
 
 "Has Brett tried to buy your Hardy stock. Colonel?" 
 
42 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 "What?" The veteran stared at Jack in evident 
 amazement. Gilbert repeated the question. 
 
 "No," said the Colonel, "he ain't; but he wouldn't 
 need a regiment of men to make me do it." 
 
 "You're a director in the concern." 
 
 "Thet's whar ye're wrong," returned the Colonel. 
 " Thar ain't but one real director and thet's Hardy. An' 
 when he gits throo directin', thar won't be nothin' left 
 fer the ravens to pick but bones. An' I'd rather hev 
 most anybody else a raven than me. Thar ain't but one 
 man in this here town," went on the Colonel reflectively, 
 "thet riles me worse'n Sam Hardy and that's old Hub- 
 bard. One's vinegar an' th' other's molasses. One sours 
 my stummick an' th' other makes me sick. What's the 
 matter, boy?" 
 
 Gilbert's chair ,which had been tilting back, had returned 
 to its normal position with a crash, and there was a gleam 
 in Gilbert's eyes as he stared at the Colonel. After a 
 moment he leaned back and smiled. 
 
 "It just occurred to me that Brett might have a good 
 deal of * molasses' behind him, Colonel," he drawled. 
 
 Colonel Mead looked thoughtfully over his glasses at 
 the young man. 
 
 "Hubbard, eh?" he remarked at last. "Like ez not. 
 Jack. Like ez not." 
 
 Gilbert sat silent for some minutes, during which the 
 Colonel, who, from experience, was a wise man and con- 
 siderate, returned to his basket-weaving. 
 
 Alonzo Hubbard, starting after Hardy had achieved 
 his first successes, had gradually built up a still larger 
 business, and, within the last few years, had gained con- 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 43 
 
 trol of many of the smaller Hampstead concerns. It had 
 been Hubbard's competition that had reduced the profits 
 of half of Hardy's business, before the growing company 
 in Westbury, ten miles away, had come to undersell 
 Hardy on the other half. Hubbard was the richest man 
 in Hampstead, and Mayor Brett was one of his closest 
 social and business friends, although Brett was also 
 ostensibly a friend to Hardy. Jack thought it all over 
 rapidly. 
 
 " With good management we could make a lot of trouble 
 for Hubbard and a lot of money for Hardy & Son," Gil- 
 bert said slowly. 
 
 '^Holdin' four deuces ain't any good if ye're playin' 
 whist," replied the Colonel. *'Ye can't hev good man- 
 agement with Hardy, an' ye've got to play with him." 
 
 "The old man is queer," said Jack, shaking his head 
 disconsolately. "He's as proud as Punch of the shops. 
 Look at that two hundred thousand dollars surplus we 
 made years ago. He'd rather quit than spend a penny 
 of that. And we need it. Lord, how we need it I It 
 makes me hot under the collar to think of it." 
 
 "Ef ye git hot under the collar," remarked the Colonel 
 out of the wisdom of experience, "take it off." 
 
 "Colonel," went on Gilbert in the tone of a man who 
 is telling a secret of which he is ashamed, "I've been 
 studying the business pretty hard and pretty closely. 
 I've got it all planned out on paper — machines, organiza- 
 tion, everything. And there are some patents, too; that 
 is to say, they are not patents yet — inventions I've been 
 thinking about. If I only had a chance to " 
 
 "But ye hevn't, boy," broke in the Colonel, putting 
 
44 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 aside the basketry, his interest in which had been feigned 
 ever since Jack's arrival. "Ye hevn't an' ye won't hev. 
 Don't git impatient, Jack. I got impatient with a mule 
 once, a good many years ago, and when I came to, I was 
 whole rods back of whar I was before. An' what's more, 
 I didn't want to go ahead agin fer days. Felt the humil- 
 iation chiefly in my stummick, whar I'd connected with 
 the mule's heels. Well, Hardy's a good deal of a mule. 
 You jest stay on his back an' be thankful ye're thar." 
 
 Gilbert smiled genially at the Colonel's sober face. 
 
 "I've been thinking of putting my plans before him — 
 the whole thing, Colonel." 
 
 "Don't ye do it. Jack. When ye git all yer plans on 
 paper, fold 'em up nice an' even an' put 'em in the fire an' 
 whistle 'Yankee Doodle,' an' go back to work. Ez fer 
 old Hubbard, ef he is after Hardy's he'll likely git it. 
 Never heard o' Hubbard goin' after anything an' not 
 gettin' it, did ye? An' ef he ain't — why he ain't, thet's 
 all." 
 
 The Colonel nodded his head vigorously to assure him- 
 self of the last statement. 
 
 "I'll have to work it out my own way, I guess." Gil- 
 bert rose to go. "But," he added, his lips smiling but 
 his eyes fixed soberly on the Colonel's, "whatever that is, 
 I know you'll help me." 
 
 The Colonel pushed the arms of his chair and hopped to 
 his feet in spite of his rheumatism. He took Jack's big 
 hand. 
 
 " Ef ye wuz to try to move Pike's Peak into Connecti- 
 cut," he said half complainingly, " I reckon I'd hev to git 
 a crowbar an' help. But go slow, boy, go slow an' watch 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 45 
 
 the bushes; don't trust anybody but yerself and don't 
 trust yerself out o' yer own sight. Ye've done well an' 
 ye're doin' well," he went on, his anxiety showing in his 
 voice. " I don't want to see ye do as yer father did " 
 
 **I don't want to do any better, Colonel," said Jack 
 quietly, putting his hand on the old man's arm. 
 
 "No," said the Colonel slowly. "I don't know ez ye 
 
 do. Gawd bless him " and they were silent for a 
 
 moment. 
 
 He stood at the door until Jack was out of sight, admir- 
 ing and worrying, for, although he would not have 
 admitted that he cared much for anyone, he loved Jack 
 like a father. 
 
 As for Gilbert, he forgot his problem just outside the 
 gate, in boyish enthusiasm at the sunset that threw its 
 red radiance over the hill's summit and crowned the great 
 gray house of his memories with glittering color. Even 
 if there had been no sunset to set his pulses thrilling with 
 a sudden joy in life, he would have forgotten the shops 
 and their future when he came in sight of home. His 
 mother opened the door of their modest cottage as soon 
 as he came in sight, and stood watching him as he hurried 
 up the walk. She was little changed. Gray hair, it is 
 true, sprinkled the brown-gray threads that the years had 
 woven out of peaceful dream textures. There were 
 creases about her mouth and eyes, marks of her calm, 
 almost unceasing smile, and the tears she had shed had 
 only made her eyes, still unhidden by glasses, more 
 steady and kind. The same musical voice greeted him. 
 
 "The afternoon has gone very slowly, laddie." 
 
 "Oh, no, mither," laughed Jack, putting his arm about 
 
46 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 her waist and leading her into the little dining-room. 
 "It's gone so fast that I couldn't get to you until it was 
 *clane gone intoirely,' as Moriarty says." 
 
 " That's the way with you men," she said reproachfully, 
 after they had seated themselves at the big dining table 
 which Mrs. Gilbert had refused to give up when they left 
 the old house and which nearly filled the little room. 
 " Things to do and folks to see, while the women sit and 
 knit and think, or sew and think, or make beds and think 
 or do nothing but think. Ah, laddie, I'm sorry for the 
 poor women who have anything but pleasant thoughts 
 like mine." 
 
 "You make your thoughts pleasant, mither," said Jack, 
 beaming at her over the fine old china and the simple 
 meal. 
 
 "Nonsense," said Mrs. Gilbert earnestly. "I'm strong 
 and well; how many women are that? Everyone is good 
 to me and everyone is good to few women; and then I 
 have you, laddie, and no other woman has you. It's a 
 bonnie world," and she smiled tenderly at him. 
 
 " I believe if you were set alone on a barren island you'd 
 still be happy," said Jack. 
 
 " No, I wouldn't," answered his mother. " But I'd have 
 pleasant memories," she added more slowly. 
 
 Then, noticing with a woman's keen glance that Jack 
 looked tired, she broke off into a recital of her day's work, 
 filling it so full of merry anecdotes and clever insight into 
 the good queer sides of people she had seen that Gilbert 
 was soon laughing heartily. They waited on each other, 
 each anticipating the other's wishes, and often she caught 
 him watching for a hint of some service to be performed. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 47 
 
 and often she gave the hint with enough secrecy to let him 
 think he had discovered it himself. When they were done 
 he helped her to take the dishes to the neat little kitchen 
 with its old-fashioned sinks and modern gas stoves. 
 
 *' There," she said, when the last of the fine old china 
 had been stacked by the sink and the last bits of cold 
 meat had been put away, "I'm going to leave those 
 dishes until to-morrow morning, for to-night, laddie, is 
 father's night.'' 
 
 Jack nodded, and going to a closet in the sitting-room 
 he brought forth a packet he had taken from the bank 
 vault the day before. Together they undid it, and, sit- 
 ting on the broad sofa, they went over the enclosures one 
 by one. There was a daguerreotype taken in winter 
 quarters in '64, and the central figure in uniform looked 
 much like Jack; there was the discharge with twenty-six 
 battles entered on it; and a few letters which no one but 
 Mrs. Gilbert had ever read; and then in natural sequence 
 their marriage certificate, a number of notes from patients 
 who wrote their gratitude in lieu of payment, a packet of 
 unsettled bills, an old Spanish knife which Jack's grand- 
 father had given the Doctor, and many other odds and 
 ends, the last of which were some certificates of mining 
 stock and a letter saying that the company had failed, the 
 letter the Doctor had taken from the post-office twenty 
 years before. They went over them silently, reverently. 
 
 "Why did father buy the mining stock?" asked Jack, 
 fingering the certificates. He knew, but he knew also 
 that she would like to tell him. 
 
 " It was for you, laddie," said his mother quietly. " He 
 wanted you to be rich and famous." 
 
48 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 "I wonder why he wished those things for me," said 
 Jack musingly. "He never thought of them himself/' 
 
 "Ah, that's where you're wrong," said his mother 
 quickly. "Men, the best of them, are always wanting to 
 do what it isn't in them to do. David wasn't the kind to 
 make money, so down in his heart he wanted to. He was 
 so modest he shrank from seeing his name in the paper, 
 so in his inmost soul he thought fame must be a very fine 
 thing. It isn't the thing they can put their hand on that 
 most men want, but something that's far out of reach. 
 I'm sometimes afraid you're the same at heart, laddie. I 
 mind how as a child you always wanted the sugar-bowl 
 that was at the other end of the table." 
 
 Jack smiled rather guiltily as he thought of the after- 
 noon. 
 
 " But with him it was all for you. I sometimes think I 
 was almost jealous of you and him because you thought so 
 much of each other. And that's the big reason why I 
 wish he was here to-night, to see you as you are now, 
 laddie." And then, suddenly, she cried quietly into an old 
 lace handkerchief. Jack put his arm about her shoulders 
 and waited. After a moment she looked up at him and a 
 rainbow of a smile broke out on the tear-stained face. 
 
 "You won't care, laddie, if your mither has one good 
 cry a year," she said, "so long as it's a happy one. Do 
 you mind how you said you'd take care of me and you no 
 higher than that?" and she put out her hand three feet 
 from the floor. " Well, you've done it and it's cost you a 
 deal of sacrifice, and he'd be very glad." 
 
 " But I'm neither rich nor famous," he said lightly, as 
 he began to tie up the packet. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 ** Which are only incidental." 
 
 ''Wouldn't you like to live in the old house, mither?" 
 suggested Jack insinuatingly. 
 
 "Well, I'd not say I wouldn't," said Mrs. Gilbert with 
 a sigh. " But this does very well." 
 
 Just then the telephone bell rang and Jack answered it. 
 He came back after a moment with a thoughtful look on 
 his face. 
 
 "What was it?" asked Mrs. Gilbert curiously. 
 
 "Only Billy McNish asking me not to mention some- 
 thing he spoke of this afternoon." 
 
 " He's a careless, good lad," said Mrs. Gilbert. " Well? " 
 she asked after a moment. 
 
 "But he doesn't wish me to mention it, mither," 
 laughed Jack. 
 
 "He wouldn't mind your telling your mither," said 
 Mrs. Gilbert, "and if he did he oughtn't to have told you. 
 "However," she went on with a sigh, after waiting a 
 moment more for Jack to surrender, "you're probably 
 right to keep your word." 
 
 Jack did not go to bed immediately in his square front 
 bedroom. He took a pile of loose papers from his worn 
 desk and studied over them for nearly an hour. Then he 
 lit a pipe, and rested his long legs on a chair opposite and 
 thought, his eyelids half shut as if to concentrate his gaze 
 into the future. And when he knocked the ashes out of 
 his pipe and went to bed, he thought he had made up his 
 mind, although he probably would not have admitted 
 even to himself that he had been influenced by the mem- 
 ory of a quaint little girl, with whom he had played in the 
 old garden long ago. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 A FTER dinner one Sunday afternoon two or three 
 
 [\ weeks later, Mrs. Gilbert seemed restless. Twice 
 -^ — ^ she went to the front window and twice she 
 returned with the same remark to Jack, who sat smoking 
 in the back parlor. 
 
 "You should go out for a walk, laddie. Tis a fine, 
 bright day." 
 
 Gilbert smiled whimsically at her insistence. It had 
 become her habit on Sunday afternoons recently, to send 
 him out for walks or for some other diversion while she 
 invariably remained alone at home. 
 
 " Will you come along, mither? " he asked, as he arose 
 and lazily yawned. 
 
 *'No, no," said his mother quickly. "I'll stop here 
 and write a letter or two." 
 
 Gilbert breathed deep of the fresh spring air outside 
 and started down the street with long strides. Soon, 
 however, he doubled back, and hurrying down along the 
 side of the cottage, stealthily keeping to the grass, he let 
 himself in quietly at the side door. From there he tip- 
 toed through the dining-room, and listened to the tap- 
 tap of his mother's foot in the next room — the regular 
 tap-tap which meant that something was interesting her 
 deeply. Then he threw the door open quickly and stepped 
 
 50 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 51 
 
 in, just in time to see her slip something beside her in the 
 chair. 
 
 "My, but you startled me, laddie I" said Mrs. Gilbert, 
 staring up at him innocently. " And I was just a-thinking 
 of you." 
 
 For answer Jack leaned over her and caught up a book 
 hidden away between the folds of her dress and the 
 chair arm. It was Dumas— the wonderful old "Monte 
 Cristo." 
 
 "I wanted to make sure that I'd left you in good 
 company," said Gilbert, smiling boyishly down at his 
 mother, who seemed to be rather enjoying her guiltiness. 
 
 "I was afraid you'd think I'd come to my second 
 childhood," she confessed. "There's no time for me to 
 read all the week, and I left him last week just where he'd 
 come back. Run on with you now, for I want to see 
 what he does." 
 
 And Gilbert "ran on," laughing, remembering how he 
 had stayed up until after three in the morning some years 
 before to find out the very same thing. 
 
 "A fine, bright day." There was certainly no doubt 
 about that. The zest of it went to his head like wine and, 
 intoxicated, he gave himself over to the mere fugitive im- 
 pressions of things as he marched briskly down the long 
 hill. He felt about him the tense quiet of the Sunday; 
 even the trees whispered as if they were restrained by a 
 strange awe, and the birds sang single notes and then 
 seemed to listen as if for fear of punishment for a sacri- 
 lege. The roses were out in the old garden, for he caught 
 the remembered scent amid all the confused fragrance 
 that crept out over Mr. McNish's level green lawn. As 
 
52 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 he looked across at Hardy's house his eye caught a flash of 
 red at one of the tower windows, and he looked away 
 quickly, wondering vaguely if it might be the little girl 
 who had grown up. He saw a new bird's nest in the 
 eaves of the Colonel's porch, and laughed to himself as he 
 thought of the irascible veteran's probable language when 
 he, in turn, discovered it. 
 
 At the Center he saw blonde-haired Miss Smith, the 
 pretty typewriter girl at Hardy's, her full figure showing 
 to its best advantage in tight-fitting black, making her 
 way to the terminal of the trolley lines where a number of 
 cars stood, already packed with people who were out to 
 make the most of the holiday sunshine. And, as he 
 walked on, he smiled so broadly that people meeting him 
 smiled unconsciously as they watched him. He was 
 thinking of the Colonel's roughhewn rules of life. " When 
 ye find a real man," the Colonel had said, *' grip him hard. 
 Ef he turns on ye, shoot him; ef he's straight, die fer him. 
 Don't shoot yer mouth ofj reg'^ar; keep a lot o' ammuni- 
 tion and fire when ye see the whites o' their eyes. Don't 
 be scairt o' doin' anything except what ain't square, but 
 ef a woman comes near ye, run like hell." Gilbert always 
 remembered this last clause whenever he saw Gerty 
 Smith. There was something humanly fascinating about 
 her that made him realize the meaning of the Colonel's 
 warning. "There's only two calamities open to ye, my 
 boy," the veteran had continued, "death an' marriage. 
 Wait for both until ye're old an' philosophical." Surely 
 he, John Gilbert, needed little advice about marriage. 
 Here he was at twenty-nine with his heart as unscathed 
 as it was innocent. "Troubles enough of my own," he 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 53 
 
 muttered good-humoredly to himself, "without adding on 
 somebody's else, even if there were a somebody else." 
 
 ''Good-day, Mister Gilbert." 
 
 Jack looked up to see the pompous bob from a pudgy, 
 clean-shaven person clothed in a startlingly bright suit of 
 large checks. The loud voice continued: 
 
 "Splendid weather for the President's shoe blackin'. 
 Still use it!" The man looked down proudly at his shin- 
 ing shoes. " Reckon you'll never forget my blackin', eh? " 
 
 "Certainly made an impression on me that night," 
 laughed Jack as he moved on. It was the street fakir of 
 Common Council night, whose commercial possibilities 
 Mr. Tubb, who ran a huge night lunch wagon in addition 
 to his store, had been quick to realize; and who, the morn- 
 ing after, had given up without any seeming reluctance 
 his precarious sales of Diamond Shoe Blacking to put on 
 a white apron behind the counter of the " Excelsior" lunch 
 cart. Peter Lumpkin, for such was his name, was already 
 a town character and the lunch cart was doing a thriving 
 business. He had merely transferred his performance 
 from one wagon to another, and often now the mega- 
 phonic voice re-echoed up and down Main Street and put 
 even passers-by in good humor. 
 
 Soon Gilbert left the long, curving street for the road 
 that led to Clear Lake. It had been an aimless choice, 
 and now he drifted on beside the dusty roadway, where 
 huge sumach bushes stood out between him and the sun, 
 and where golden-rod twisted about his ankles. A 
 crowded electric car went spinning by him, and Simpson, 
 his superintendent at Hardy's, leaned out and waved to 
 him. And a few minutes later Gilshannon of the News 
 
54 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 drew up alongside him on a bicycle, and rode back and 
 forth across the road loafingly, that he might tell the big 
 fellow some of the day's happenings. It was a bully good 
 world, after all, Gilbert thought, as he tramped on alone 
 after the reporter had pushed forward once more. 
 
 Looking up some minutes later, he saw half-a-dozen 
 branches, heavlV laden with early astrakhan apples, lean- 
 ing over the roadside. With an unreasoning boyish elation 
 he scrambled up the high bank and over a fence rail into 
 somebody's property, and promptly climbed to the first 
 broad crotch above. It seemed to him that he had sud- 
 denly climbed back into his boyhood as he filled his pock- 
 ets with the round ripe fruit, and he wondered joyfully if 
 the owner would not suddenly appear and chase him 
 down the Sunday-silent road. He was so deep in his 
 fancies, indeed, that he did not hear the hoof-beats or the 
 rumble of the wheels until they were almost beneath him. 
 Then he crouched back suddenly and the bough creaked 
 imder his heavy weight, and one shining apple was shaken 
 from the end of the limb and dropped in Clare Hardy's 
 lap. Startled, she glanced up straight at the tree, straight 
 at him it seemed, and then disappeared, with Billy McNish 
 who was busy with the horses, behind the partly thrown 
 back buggy top. Gilbert watched the retreating carriage 
 until it disappeared behind the curve beyond. Then he 
 clambered down and over the fence and into the road 
 again, laughing to himself over his narrow escape. She 
 couldn't have seen him, he assured himself as he strolled 
 along, munching at one of the apples, that tasted sweeter 
 because it had been taken in the old boy's way. And 
 Billy, bless him, hadn't even turned his head. Then he 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 55 
 
 thought of that fat pink apple that lay half hidden in the 
 robe over her knees. He had given it to her, he mused, 
 not as plain John Gilbert who worked in her father's 
 shops to Miss Hardy, but as Jack, the small fool of a boy, 
 to the little girl over the hedge. At any rate, he decided 
 with a chuckle, he had kept his distance in presenting the 
 gift. But soon his fancies grew lazy. He listened to the 
 crooning of the insects and the chirping of the birds, and 
 he walked on and on in a waking dream. 
 
 Clear Lake lies in a hollow between the hills about five 
 miles from Hampstead Center. Its smooth surface mir- 
 rors the rugged evergreen heights that jut out above it, 
 and the place, when people are there, is haunted with 
 weird echoes. The Street Railway Company recently 
 extended its lines to the lake side, and a more or less pre- 
 tentious casino was built at the terminal. The road 
 around the lake was improved, and cheap board pagodas 
 were placed here and there at the water's edge. The old 
 roundabout path up to the top of the highest crag of the 
 ridge at the left, ''The Lookout," as it was called, was 
 left untouched, but a new, more direct climb was made, 
 straight up the face of the rock, with rough wood stairs 
 here and there to bridge over the impassable places. Of 
 the crowds that came out from Hampstead on bright 
 Sundays and holidays, however, few lost their breath and 
 strained their muscles for the wonderful view from "The 
 Lookout." The vast majority were content with mild 
 flirtations along the level, winding road, or with seats in 
 the pagodas, or with the revelries in the boats or the bowl- 
 ing alley or the swings or around the open-air lunch 
 tables. It was toward ''The Lookout," therefore, that 
 
56 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 Gilbert, whom the gUttering of the lake through the trees 
 and the cries of many children had suddenly awakened 
 from his dreams, was directing his way when he was way- 
 laid by Jimmy O'Rourke. Jimmy was an office-boy at 
 Hubbard's factory and a person of huge enthusiasms. 
 Gilbert was one of Jimmy's enthusiasms, partly because 
 he played a good game of baseball in the factory league, 
 partly because he was large and strong while Jimmy him- 
 self was, in his own language, '*a sawed-off little runt," 
 and partly because Gilbert was the only grown man he 
 knew who treated him with the respect his Irish blood 
 told him he ought to demand from everyone. 
 
 " What are you doing out here, Jimmy? " asked Gilbert, 
 as the boy tried laboriously to keep step with the big 
 fellow's long strides. 
 
 "Oh, I'm just lukin' 'em over, sir." Jimmy flicked the 
 ash from his cheap cigarette with self-conscious cynicism. 
 
 "Looking whom over?" 
 
 "Why, de girrls, av coorse. Say, dere perty cheesy, 
 most av thim, but dere's wan peach. Dere she is now." 
 Jimmy pointed toward a pagoda only a few yards away, 
 and his voice sank into a whisper. "De wan in black. 
 She hits de typewriter down at your place. Say," Jimmy 
 stopped and stared up at Gilbert with a sudden inspira- 
 tion. " Why don't ye get next? " 
 
 "Think it would be a good idea, Jimmy?" Gilbert's 
 face was perfectly sober. 
 
 "Yep," returned the boy judiciously, "an' you'd win 
 out hands down. Everybody looks up when she goes by, 
 all right. Why, say, I was up to de bank de oder day — 
 Boss sent me up fer some papers — and she was dere. An' 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 57 
 
 say, de Mayor was a lukin' at her somethin' more'n busi- 
 ness-like, you bet. I cud see troo de glass all right. He 
 fooled me all right about de papers, tho'. He sealed 'em 
 up so tight an' luked at me so hand, I was lukin' fer 
 somethin' interestin', but it wasn't nothing but a lot o' 
 figures on Hardy's station'ry." 
 
 "You seem to know pretty nearly everything that's 
 going on." Gilbert stood now at the beginning of the 
 ascent to "The Lookout." 
 
 "I keep me eyes open, you bet." Jimmy's tone was 
 full of conscious pride. "Goin' up, sir? I may see you 
 later, but now I got a feller to meet on de barrel business." 
 Jimmy sold both old barrels and newspapers in his leisure 
 moments. 
 
 Gilbert climbed slowly the first long flight of wooden 
 steps. Once in among the trees of the hillside the air 
 grew cool. The odor of fresh evergreens mingled with 
 the scent of the wet green leaves, that dangled in the 
 waters of the mountain brook gurgling down over its 
 rocky bed to the lake. From the top of the steps he 
 emerged upon an upward stretch of smooth sod, treach- 
 erously slippery with pine needles and moss, where a 
 thick sprinkling of trees alone kept him from slipping 
 back with every few steps toward the edge of the cliff he 
 had just ascended. Prodding his heels deep into the 
 earth and pulling himself along by an occasional tree 
 trunk, he toiled steadily upward. Now and then he 
 paused to get his breath and to wipe the perspiration 
 from his forehead. He was deep in thought now, for 
 Jimmy had turned him back from the peaceful Sunday 
 afternoon and its vagrant fancies to the shops and the 
 
58 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 daily duties of life. It was not until he reached the crag 
 beyond, therefore, that he noticed that the flight of steps, 
 which usually reached up its steep side, was gone. The 
 Winter snows and the Spring rains had evidently rotted 
 the wood and loosened the supports, for the framework 
 had fallen and lay, a tangled mess of rotten debris, in the 
 brook which here ran along the base of the cliff. A few 
 steps of the lower portion leaned in a straggling zig-zag 
 against the rock's face, and Gilbert, steadying them with 
 some small boulders, mounted to the top of the wreck. 
 Reaching upward he found that his hands were still three 
 or four feet from the upper ledge. He knew the place 
 well. There was no way around, for the cliff was a long 
 barrier, and the woods beneath it, a wilderness. 
 
 Turning back he found a soft bed of pine needles at the 
 left of the path, from which a large evergreen cut off the 
 edge of sun which still gleamed over the ledge above. 
 There, pulling another of his stolen apples from a pocket, 
 he threw himself down at full length. He decided philo- 
 sophically that he was glad the steps were gone. Above 
 there were distractions: the broad view with its changing 
 colors on hill and water and, very likely, people as well, 
 who had climbed up by the old path. Here he could think 
 quietly. There was one joy greater than being with peo- 
 ple when one wished to be with people, he assured him- 
 self, and that was to be alone when one wished to be 
 alone. Here the intermittent hammer of a woodpecker 
 in the thicket at his left and, from far below, the voices 
 of men singing on the water alone reached him. 
 
 Hardy stationery filled with figures and sent from 
 Brett to Mr. Hubbard. Jimmy O'Rourke had thought 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 59 
 
 the thing innocent enough. Perhaps it was. Gilbert 
 shook his head over a particularly large bite of his apple 
 and felt certain that the thing was not innocent. Hub- 
 bard was finding out how matters stood with Hardy & 
 Son. Brett was secretary of the company and could tell 
 him much that he might wish to know. There were some 
 things, however, that only Hardy knew, things that were 
 locked up in Hardy's head and Hardy's desk and Hardy's 
 personal correspondence. And directly there entered this 
 girl, this Gerty Smith at whom everybody looked when 
 she passed, as Jimmy declared. She was Hardy's sten- 
 ographer. Was Brett that kind of a man? Gilbert asked 
 himself the question. Had he any right to think that the 
 girl was untrustworthy? Was it any of his business, 
 anyhow? He raised himself on his left hand and sent the 
 apple core whirling straight at a tree about twenty yards 
 down the way he had come. It smashed up against the 
 trunk and fell in pieces. As it struck, Gilbert was startled 
 by a suppressed exclamation from above and behind him. 
 He half turned and leaned out inquisitively beyond the 
 edge of his evergreen shelter. Then he pulled himself up 
 to a sitting posture and brushed his clothes frantically as 
 he slowly rose to his feet. When he stepped out from 
 behind the evergreen he was conscious that his face was 
 flushed and that his heart was beating more rapidly than 
 it should. 
 
 "Oh," said a voice with that blurring richness that 
 Gilbert remembered well, ''it is Mr. Gilbert." 
 
 She had turned back as if to run away from the sudden 
 appearance of man in the silent place, but now she re- 
 turned to the edge of the cliff. She made a rare picture 
 
60 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 as she stood there, her lithe, slender figure in its simple 
 shirt-waist and short gray outing skirt, her dark, almost 
 olive cheeks brightened with an unwonted flush, her 
 black eyes sober but her full lips parted in a faint sugges- 
 tion of a smile, and strands of the wind-tossed, jet-black 
 hair sweeping her forehead. Her arms were filled with 
 laurel, its pink-tipped blossoms creeping up caressingly 
 about her neck. Behind her lay the background of dark 
 green moving idly in the breeze above, and at her feet 
 the perpendicular gray rock. 
 
 " Be careful how you step. Miss Hardy," warned Gilbert 
 involuntarily. "The moss is slippery." 
 
 The black eyebrows almost met in a frown, and the girl, 
 with a slight toss of her head, took a short step nearer the 
 edge of the cliff. 
 
 " I sha'n't slip," she said decisively; " but will you please 
 tell me how I can get down?" 
 
 "I don't know." Gilbert was smiling. **I've been 
 wondering how I was going to get up." 
 
 Neither the remark nor the smile seemed to please the 
 girl. 
 
 "That's really not half as important," she remarked 
 with some irritation. "Billy — Mr. McNish, I should say 
 — and I had an argument up on "The Lookout" as to 
 which was the better way to come down and I — well, I've 
 either to come this way now or give in. There must be 
 some way," she said petulantly. 
 
 Gilbert looked about him, thinking rapidly to find 
 some way out of the difficulty. Then, shaking his head, 
 he stared at the blank face of the rock, noting its slight 
 slope toward the top and the roughness of its surface, 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER Gl 
 
 which here and there showed short jagged prominences 
 and indentations. 
 
 "I should think/' called the girl tauntingly, "that a 
 man who can climb other people's apple trees might " 
 
 But Gilbert had made up his mind. He mounted the 
 steps that he had already made steady, and caught almost 
 recklessly at the first protruding bits of rock that might 
 serve for the grip of his hand or for a foothold. 
 
 "Oh," whispered the girl, catching her breath. "I 
 didn't really mean it." 
 
 Slowly Jack pulled himself upward, his teeth set and 
 his eyes alight with the struggle of it. And it was a 
 struggle. Crevices that had looked to be deep from the 
 path were narrow and slippery now as he tried them, and 
 jagged pieces of rock that seemed large enough for his 
 whole hand he found now only catching the tips of his 
 fingers. Once he slipped, and a sibilant drawing in of 
 breath above him helped him to catch again the grip he 
 had lost. Once he stopped for breath, his great body 
 stretched like a huge spider across the gray side of the 
 rock. But at last one big hand, its fingers bleeding from 
 one or two surface cuts, grasped the upper ledge, and 
 a moment later he dragged himself over the moss-soft- 
 ened edge. 
 
 "I— I didn't— think— you— saw me," he declared, 
 breathing hard. 
 
 "Saw you — why " 
 
 " In the apple tree, I mean." 
 
 "Oh." 
 
 There was a slight pause. 
 
 " I'll get my breath in a minute." 
 
62 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 "You — you oughtn't to have done it." 
 
 "No, I suppose not. But the apples looked mighty 
 good. He'll never miss 'em — the man that owns the 
 tree, I mean." 
 
 " But I meant — this." 
 
 Clare Hardy pointed down over the cliff. 
 
 "It was foolhardy," she went on severely, "and, 
 besides, it didn't help me a bit. It was only taking a 
 dare. You are strong, though, Mr. Gilbert." 
 
 Gilbert's breath was coming more easily now, and he 
 leaned over, examining closely the rock he had climbed. 
 Then he turned and slid down over the edge, digging his 
 feet in until they caught and he clung there, his broad 
 shoulders still above the upper ledge. 
 
 "What are you going to do now?" gasped the girl. 
 
 "I'm going to take you down. Sit down, please," 
 ordered Gilbert, "right at the edge, with your back to 
 me." 
 
 "No," the girl shook her head, rebellious in her heart 
 at the command of his voice. As she looked at him, 
 however, she thought she saw a critical, quizzical smile in 
 his gray eyes. 
 
 "I'm not afraid," she declared as if in answer. Then 
 she hesitated, and a tide of pink ran into her cheeks. 
 
 "Of course not." 
 
 She stared at him questioningly for another minute. 
 It was absurd, she told herself. She could not stand there 
 forever with this big man smiling up at her, and she would 
 not go back up to " The Lookout, " leaving him there hang- 
 ing to the rock. It was evident from that set jaw of his 
 that he would wait until he had his way. And there was 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 63 
 
 Billy. She surrendered quickly and sat down as he had 
 bade her. With a last look backward at the rough steps 
 he must use, he put his arm about her waist and swung her 
 clear. The descent would be slower than the upward 
 climbing had been, and harder, he knew. The girl's 
 weight quickly became like lead to his straining arm, and, 
 with only one hand free, he was forced to lie flat on the 
 slightly sloping rock and to make his steps short and sure. 
 As he groped his way downward he felt stray wisps of her 
 hair against his neck, and he realized that her face was 
 pressed against his shoulder. She had caught one down- 
 ward glimpse and, suddenly frightened, had blotted it 
 all out against his protecting arm. He felt a sudden 
 thrill as the sense of the clinging girl's nearness came to 
 him. An elemental something within him made his arm 
 tighten about her, but he did not realize it until his toes 
 touched the wood of the steps. Then his grasp loosened 
 mechanically, and he drew away to let her pass down be- 
 fore him, with a deep red in his cheeks that was not alto- 
 gether the red of exertion. 
 
 " I think I should know better than to ever dare you 
 again." Clare Hardy's cheeks were flushed, also, as she 
 stood looking up at him from the bottom of the steps. 
 " Now— I think— I'll hurry on and find— Mr. McNish. ' It's 
 — it's only to keep one's nerves at a strain,' you know." 
 
 Gilbert nodded as she turned away. 
 
 " ' And, baffled, get up and begin again.' " 
 
 She started slightly with surprise. He knew something 
 of Browning then, this man who worked in her father's 
 shops. Then the mark of the unerringly thrown core on 
 a tree before her caught her eye. 
 
64 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 "And, oh/' she called out, turning back, her eyes danc- 
 ing, " I meant to tell you. I liked my apple." 
 
 "It was stolen," he retorted. He was still standing at 
 the top of the steps, and as she hurried on down the path 
 she could still see the picture of the large, broad-shoul- 
 dered, awkward figure standing out against the great 
 gray rock, with the brook and the trees and the sky for a 
 frame, and it impressed her with a sense of grim strength, 
 eternal determination, immovable firmness. 
 
 For some minutes after she disappeared^how long he 
 did not know — Gilbert stood where she had left him, on 
 the top of the steps, his back to the rock. It had been 
 only a few seconds ago, it seemed to him, since he was 
 sprawling in the shelter of that evergreen yonder. He 
 went over and over again each detail of their conversa- 
 tion. He felt again the scraping of the rock. He remem- 
 bered — yes, the whole thing had been foolhardy. He had 
 been dared by a girl's whim and yet, he smiled to himself, 
 he was entirely glad that he had done it. She was not so 
 different from the little girl of the old garden after all, 
 and she liked the apple. 
 
 The melody of a popular song, shrilly whistled with the 
 disjointed rhythm of scanty breath, from the path below 
 warned him, and he had scarcely descended a step or two 
 before Jimmy O'Rourke appeared at the turn below. 
 The melody ceased instantly, and in its place came a long 
 whistle that descended an octave in surprise. 
 
 "Hello," called Jimmy, as he came panting up the 
 incline. **Say, ye luk like Umslop-and-so-forth about 
 to break de sacred stone. — Did ye ever read Allan Qua- 
 termain? — Only he was a nigger. Say," he rattled on, 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 65 
 
 ''who d'ye tink I just saw? Miss Hardy. Sure thing. 
 An' she near slipped down. Say," Jimmy grew confi- 
 dential, "she's de goods. She kin travel on my ticket as 
 fer as it goes. Say, she bowed to me. She did. Dat's 
 a fac'." 
 
 Gilbert looked at the boy with a sober, almost anxious 
 face. He was bathing his bruised fingers in the brook. 
 
 "Jimmy," he remarked, "I'm a fool." 
 
 "Whatcher talkin' about?" scowled Jimmy. 
 
 "I ought to have gone down with her, that's all." 
 
 Light suddenly broke in upon Jimmy as he noticed 
 the broken stairway. 
 
 " 'Course — you seen her too. But say, what's de mat- 
 ter wid yer clothes, an' who busted de staircase, an' " 
 
 "If an elephant chases a monkey up a match stick," 
 drawled Gilbert, "who owns the farm? Jimmy, I'm 
 going home." 
 
 Jimmy O'Rourke, frankly puzzled, frowned up at the 
 big man. 
 
 "Say, I'll go wid ye," he said at last, judiciously. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 THE DROWNING OF A DISAPPOINTMENT 
 
 WHEN the door closed behind his stenographer, 
 Mr. Hardy opened a lower drawer in his desk, 
 and helped himself from a small flask and 
 glass he kept secreted there under lock and key. Then he 
 lit the stub of a partly smoked cigar, rang her bell once 
 more, and wrote his name busily three of four times across 
 a blank sheet of paper. He was too occupied to look up 
 when she appeared. 
 
 "You needn't open my mail for me after this, Miss 
 Smith.'* 
 
 The stenographer grimaced at his broad back. 
 
 "Yes, sir," she said sweetly. "Of course I only did it 
 to help you." 
 
 "I know," nodded Mr. Hardy, "but I'll do it for my- 
 self from now on." 
 
 As soon as she was gone he leaned back thoughtfully. 
 He was one of those men who cannot bear a pretty 
 woman's ridicule, and Miss Gerty Smith, during her eight 
 months at Hardy & Son's, had almost terrorized him at 
 times with her pert smile that was always half sneer. 
 This order about his mail had been given not because he 
 was in the least suspicious of Miss Smith. Mr. Hardy 
 had never been suspicious of women. He had always 
 looked upon them as quite too insignificant to require 
 
 66 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 67 
 
 watching. It was rather because he, being an old-fash- 
 ioned business man, Hked to do everything himself. 
 There was even a certain childish joy about slitting the 
 envelope edges and wondering what was going to be 
 inside. 
 
 A certain matter might be mentioned in his mail at this 
 particular time, also, about which he meant no one to 
 know; and this feeling was of a piece with the pride that 
 had led him in the beginning into the matter itself. 
 Briefly, he had found the factory in need of ready money. 
 There were large sums owed on the books which would 
 more than meet the bills that bothered him, but he never 
 had made anyone wait even a day for money owed by 
 Hardy & Son. This was business sense as well as pride, 
 but his feeling about his large surplus — the feeling that 
 had kept him for years from touching that pile of gold for 
 any purpose whatever — was pride pure and simple, which 
 at last had made the surplus a personal fetich. To 
 obtain the ready money, therefore, he had sold the com- 
 pany's notes in New York. He had not asked permission 
 of his directors. Hardy & Son's directors met only when 
 they were elected and re-elected. The money he had 
 expected was coming in, and he was certain that he could 
 meet the notes when they came due. He still had three 
 weeks to make up the total amount. He hoped, how- 
 ever, that no one in Hampstead or among the trade 
 would hear of it. It was the first time since the early 
 days of Hardy & Son that he had found himself so strait- 
 ened financially. 
 
 The fact did not affect his confidence in the shops, how- 
 ever. Sooner or later these West bury people, who had 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 pressed selling prices down almost to cost, would find their 
 money gone and they would give up the losing fight; and 
 then Hardy & Son would rise again, prosperous and tri- 
 umphant, as it always had risen over the obstacles of the 
 past. His flabby red face lost its almost perpetual frown 
 as he thought of the eventual failure of this Westbury 
 concern. 
 
 Samuel Hardy was one of those men who train them- 
 selves to look upon life as a kind of barbaric fight for 
 supremacy; a fight in which the joy of victory is made 
 keener by the humiliation and distress of those who are 
 defeated. Winning of itself was to him justification for 
 any course, and to the men who went down in failure he 
 always applied the same dogma: "Served him right." 
 Whether the men opposed to him fought courageously or 
 not interested him little. The result alone was important 
 — winning or losing. There was nothing of the sports- 
 man about him. As he sat at his desk now he heard from 
 beyond many closed doors the whirr and hum of machin- 
 ery, the crash of heavy drops, the thudding of distant 
 drills, the scraping murmur and regular clicking of a 
 hundred lathes and automatic machines, the rattle and 
 thump of old-fashioned foot presses mingling with the 
 noise of great power presses like the purring of immense 
 cats; a weird mass of sound, gigantic, chaotic. These 
 were his single joy and inspiration. They formed to him 
 a huge parade of power: bands playing, the multitude 
 shouting, and the tramp, tramp, tramp of an army march- 
 ing at his command. He had formed these regiments of 
 men and machines; he had drilled them, marshaled them, 
 led them day after day and year after year. There had 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 been mutinies, of course — whole lines of machines that 
 had refused to work and men who had struck for larger 
 wages and for shorter hours — but he had always beaten 
 them back into line. 
 
 Through the window the warm June air, scented with 
 wild-flower fragrance from the field on which he meant 
 some day to build an additional shop, brought its mes- 
 sage of peace, but he heard only the striving cries of a gang 
 of yard workmen below, and the clang of the iron they 
 were moving. He was a man who had refused the happi- 
 ness that life offers, and who had tried to replace it with a 
 happiness he manufactured for himself. 
 
 From superintendent to imder-age boys, whom he 
 smuggled into the mill, nearly everyone disliked "Sam" 
 Hardy and feared him. The sound of his step, which 
 every workman knew as well as he knew the old, frowning 
 face, meant for each to work the machine to its utmost, 
 with head and shoulders bent and eyes on the task, imtil 
 the echo of the steps died away; and then to breathe 
 again and to take things easily and to curse " the old man " 
 to a neighbor while the machine took care of itself. Trav- 
 eling men in the moderate-priced hotels to which he sent 
 them, either sneered or trembled, according to their nat- 
 ural habit in the face of danger, when they found his letters 
 at the desk. And Moriarty was not the only man upon 
 whose patents Hardy had infringed when he was certain 
 that the patentee had too little money to take the matter 
 into the courts. The case of Moriarty had been partic- 
 ularly hard, however, because the little Irishman had 
 served Hardy well for many years, and he was now fight- 
 ing an unequal fight against his old employer, who, with 
 
70 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 infinitely larger facilities, had paralleled every line of 
 Moriarty's manufacture. Moriarty considered it to be 
 personal spite, but he was mistaken. It was what Hardy, 
 along with many others, called "business," — a synonym 
 with them for "any way to win." 
 
 Mr. Hardy was thinking of Moriarty, and of a threat the 
 hot-headed little Irishman had made the last time they 
 had met, when there was a knock at the door and there 
 entered a pursy, perspiring person who seemed to be 
 irritated by a sei^se of his own importance. Mr. Hardy 
 recognized him as the Boston factory expert, who had 
 been so persistent and so voluble with promises that, a 
 week or two before. Hardy had given him a chance "to 
 improve the system and to perfect the economy" — this 
 was the expert's high-sounding phrase— of Hardy & Son. 
 
 "Well, what's the matter?" Mr. Hardy's keen, hard 
 eyes had disconcerted many who came with juster cause, 
 but the newcomer was too angry to notice them. 
 
 "A good deal is the matter," he sputtered. It is a 
 strange fact that people who think that their dignity has 
 been trifled with, almost always "sputter," and so forfeit 
 all claim to the dignity they believe they possess. Petti- 
 ness almost always unmasks itself. "I can't stand the 
 impertinence and the interference of your subordinates, 
 sir." 
 
 The visitor drew in his breath sharply and then exhaled 
 slowly, blowing out his cheeks as if by way of exhaust for 
 his injured feelings. 
 
 "Well?" interjected Mr. Hardy shortly. 
 
 "I moved some machines in the finishing room this 
 morning to try an experiment which I think will vastly 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 71 
 
 increase the efficiency of the room. I hadn't had them 
 changed an hour, sir, when that young Gilbert came in 
 and looked around and shouted out : * Who moved those 
 machines?* I remarked that I had moved them, and he 
 said : ' Move 'em back to where you got 'em, and do it 
 quick.' I said in a perfectly gentlemanly way that I 
 wanted them to stay there until to-morrow. And would 
 you believe it, Mr. Hardy, that common workman came 
 up to me and threatened me. *Who are you,' he said, 
 'to move my machines around?' — 'his machines,' do you 
 hear, Mr. Hardy? ' Now, you move 'em back, and within 
 half an hour, or I'll take you by your neck and your legs 
 and throw you out of the shop.' What do you say to that, 
 Mr. Hardy?" 
 
 Mr. Hardy looked musingly into space, while the ex- 
 pert from Boston, breathing hard, waited for a vindica- 
 tion and for the reprimand or the dismissal of the work- 
 man Gilbert. The expert did not know that his moving 
 the machines had delayed important work that was being 
 pushed through to fill rush orders. His only thought was 
 that he was the expert from Boston. 
 
 "Let's see," said Hardy finally. "The superintendent 
 is away to-day, isn't he?" 
 
 "I don't know, sir. That's not my business." 
 
 Hardy's expression hardened, but he went on slowly. 
 
 "Then Gilbert is acting superintendent, isn't he?" 
 
 There was no reply. 
 
 "How much time did he give you, did you say?" 
 
 "Half an hour," choked the expert. 
 
 "And you've already lost half of it," said Hardy. 
 
 "Yes, sir, but " 
 
72 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 "I should say, my friend, that you have a good-sized 
 job to do in the next fifteen minutes." 
 
 "But the threat, sir, the threat this man Gilbert made: 
 what have you to say to that?" 
 
 " I've only got to say that from what I know of Gilbert, 
 he's likely to do what he says he'll do." 
 
 The expert stared at Mr. Hardy unbelievingly for a 
 moment, and then, crestfallen, he retired, muttering to 
 himself. 
 
 There was a grim smile on "the old man's" face as he 
 swung back to his desk. He remembered many incidents 
 in which John Gilbert had figured, and he liked them all; 
 but perhaps none of them had appealed to his martial 
 business heart as strongly as this humiliation of the pom- 
 pous "know-it-all" expert, whose type had always been 
 one of Mr. Hardy's pet aversions. He was in the habit 
 of doing things on impulse, and it was characteristic of him 
 that, long before the expert's fifteen minutes had passed, 
 Mr. Hardy had pressed one of the buttons that studded 
 his desk, and tilted back, smoking, waiting for Gilbert. 
 Soon there was a decisive banging at the door, and the 
 big, loosely hung figure, which looked bigger and more 
 loosely hung in the torn and patched and grease-spotted 
 overalls, entered. His solemn face was decorated with 
 grime, and his hands were black and rough. The theo- 
 retical expert, with his comparatively small knowledge of 
 practical factory affairs, was scarcely to be blamed for 
 looking upon Gilbert as a common workman. The differ- 
 ence between the two men struck Hardy forcibly as he 
 looked up at the assistant superintendent. 
 
 "Busy, Jack?" 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 73 
 
 The big fellow nodded and took a deep breath at the 
 open window by which he stood. 
 
 ''First breath I've had to-day, Mr. Hardy," he said, 
 and a genial smile lit up the roughly cut, blackened fea- 
 tures with a startling contrast that reminded Hardy sud- 
 denly of the early morning sun slanting across the uneven 
 surface of a stern, rocky western land he had seen years 
 before. ''If this pace keeps up the machines '11 all have 
 nervous prostration in a week." 
 
 Mr. Hardy came immediately to the point. It was one 
 of the qualities Gilbert had always admired in "the old 
 man," this blunt, straight-from-the-shoulder directness. 
 
 "Simpson's left," he said with jerky abruptness. He 
 was watching Gilbert closely, and he saw the young man's 
 start of surprise. "Told him not to say anything about 
 it. I've known about it a month. He's gone to Hub- 
 bard's." Mr. Hardy frowned over the name. "They're 
 welcome to him. Too much of the *I think so, maybe,' 
 and the ' I hope you'll approve, Mr. Hardy,' about Simp- 
 son to suit me." 
 
 As a matter of fact, Sam Hardy had thought well of 
 Simpson until the superintendent had announced his deci- 
 sion to leave, but now, of course, he had changed his mind 
 completely. 
 
 "I've thought about a man from outside," he went on, 
 "some fellow with new ideas, some fellow who'd made a 
 study of factories. Thought perhaps you was too young. 
 Guess I was wrong. How'd you like to tackle it?" 
 
 "I'd like it, Mr. Hardy." Gilbert's eyes were bright 
 and his jaw was set decisively. "And I think I can do 
 it." 
 
74 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 Mr. Hardy swung back to his desk with business-like 
 energy. 
 
 "That's settled/' he said gruffly. "You're boss. No- 
 body's to interfere with you. We'll talk about salary in 
 a month or two. That's all, Jack." 
 
 But Gilbert was not ready to go. It seemed to him 
 that the opportunity he had been waiting for, the oppor- 
 tunity he had been trying to make for himself, to lay 
 before Mr. Hardy all the plans he had formulated for the 
 shops, had come, and he seized it. A few moments later, 
 at Mr. Hardy's own suggestion — Hardy had been unwill- 
 ingly overborne by the young man's enthusiasm — he re- 
 appeared before the astonished president with a bundle 
 of papers, containing the drawings and estimates he had 
 been working over quietly for more than a year. He 
 unrolled the precious sheets almost tenderly, and for a 
 half hour Mr. Hardy listened to his rapid explanations. 
 And the president, in spite of his immediate inward deci- 
 sion, did not stop him. He realized dimly that what 
 Gilbert said was true, and that it was not the talk of a 
 theorist but the concentrated experience of a practical 
 man of the mills. 
 
 "Cost too much money," was his laconic conclusion 
 when Gilbert had finished. " Impossible." And this was 
 the answer with which he met each succeeding argument. 
 "Can't spend a cent except on repairs for a year or two. 
 Save it till then." 
 
 A year or two. By that time, as things were going now, 
 Gilbert groaned to himself, the shops would be in infinitely 
 worse condition than at present. By that time, if his 
 intuition was correct, they might be in Hubbard's hands. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 75 
 
 But Mr. Hardy had already dismissed him and his plans, 
 and was again turning to the desk. Again Gilbert was 
 not ready to go. He had carried out only part of his 
 decision made weeks before. He had yet to tell Mr. 
 Hardy his feeling about Hubbard — the feeling which, 
 although it was based on conjecture, had been growing 
 into a definite conviction. He had realized, when he 
 decided to warn 'Hhe old man," that Hardy might not 
 take his interference kindly, and he realized it more 
 clearly as, leaning on the desk top and looking down at 
 the president, he saw the flabby face turn from red to 
 purple as he talked, and a big hand doubled up until it 
 lay like a mallet on the blotter. But this did not matter 
 to Gilbert. It was the thing which, right or wrong,— and 
 he believed it to be right — he had decided to do. There- 
 fore he did it without a thought of flinching. Mr. Hardy 
 interrupted him before he had spoken many sentences. 
 
 " That's enough. I didn't hire you to advise me about 
 running this shop. I hire you to be superintendent, and 
 I can fire you just as quickly as I hire you, and don't you 
 forget it." Hardy's eyes met Gilbert's and he hesitated. 
 When he spoke again his voice had lost its angry growl 
 and was almost apologetic. " Run along now. Jack, and 
 boss your machines, but don't try to boss me. And, 
 look here, don't ever talk to me again about something 
 that isn't any of your business." 
 
 Gilbert walked out without a word. The first rush of 
 anger at the domineering words vanished before a hu- 
 morous admiration for "the old man" himself and his 
 unconquerable pride and spirit. In spite of his disap- 
 pointment he smiled as he thought of Hardy as a kmd 
 
76 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 of industrial Canute, ordering back alone a tide almost as 
 resistless as that of the ocean. It would be mightily 
 hard on "the old man/* he thought more soberly, when 
 the inevitable happened; mightily hard on "the old 
 man " and on everyone connected with him. He caught 
 
 himself thinking of a tall, slender girl looking down 
 
 No, he'd better go back to work and boss the machines, 
 as Hardy had said. It was positively sentimental for 
 him to have that girl's face following him about as it had 
 followed him ever since Sunday. It bothered him, too, 
 that the quaint little girl seemed to have almost disap- 
 peared from his memories. He spent half an hour in the 
 finishing room over the machines the expert had replaced 
 bunglingly, and, when they were working properly, he 
 moved his belongings into Simpson's old office. He 
 bundled his precious papers roughly into the desk. Then 
 he took them out with greater care and locked them away 
 in one of the drawers. 
 
 "I'll use them yet, you pig-headed old simpleton," he 
 whispered to himself, with a good-natured grin toward the 
 president's office. But at that moment he could not have 
 told even himself how. 
 
 When, an hour or more later, the whistle blew he 
 "washed up" with the men, as usual. It did not occur 
 to him at first to go to his new office with its compara- 
 tively clean little wash bowl, and when he did think of it, 
 after two or three who had heard the rapidly traveling 
 rumor of his advancement shook his hand, he decided im- 
 pulsively that he preferred the sociability of the black 
 old sink where the fellows he worked with jostled and 
 laughed and pounded each other on the back in the joy 
 

 
 \^* 
 
 
 I A' 
 
 {:" I«L\ 
 
 'Run along now. Jack, and boss your machines, but 
 dont try to boss m^.''\ , , , , 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 77 
 
 of another day's work done. When he left the shop he 
 turned down Main Street toward the Methodist church. 
 
 The Methodist church of Hampstead was a forbidding 
 brick structure on Main Street, not far from the beginning 
 of West Hill. Its high, tapering steeple stood out over 
 the town like a menacing index finger of correction. Be- 
 yond the swinging green doors of the inner vestibule with 
 their tiny glass windows, through which many young 
 knights of the town caught glimpses of their fair ladies 
 and waited with palpitating hearts for the last hymn 
 and the benediction, the somberness of the rigid pew 
 backs and the dark stained-glass windows was relieved 
 only by a garish piece of red carpeting on the pulpit and 
 the glint of the gilded organ pipes. On one evening in 
 each month, however, the Thursday of the last week, a 
 sacrilegious odor of steaming coffee stole up into the 
 musty vestibule from below, and lured belated brethren 
 and their families to the big room in the basement, where 
 a picnic repast, prepared by the ladies who "furnished" 
 for the church supper, awaited them. There, when the 
 preacher finished his blessing, there broke forth such a 
 noisy clatter of plates and silver, such a hum of good- 
 fellowship over discussions of unimportant and inter- 
 esting things, such shrieks of delight from the children at 
 the mere suggestions of ice-cream and chocolate cake 
 to come, that even sour old Mr. Butterson was forced to 
 grit his teeth to keep from smiling. 
 
 Across at a short table by the white- washed wall, on the 
 night of this June supper, the solemn young preacher was 
 seen to slap Gilbert on the shoulder with something that 
 approached heartiness, and Mrs. Brice, his more genial 
 
78 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 if not his better half, twitted the big fellow about "some- 
 thing that happened at Clear Lake/' until Gilbert, flush- 
 ing fiercely, changed the subject. Mrs. Brice, he knew, 
 had been a classmate of Clare Hardy's at college, and 
 their former friendship had been renewed since the 
 Brices had come to Hampstead. Next to Mrs. Gilbert 
 at the table sat Mr. McNish and Billy — the elder McNish, 
 whose kindly soul rejoiced in church suppers, and Billy, 
 who had told Gilbert once with characteristic frankness 
 that ''church suppers were a dead easy way to get next 
 to the people and to make a bluff at respectability." 
 Then there was Colonel Mead, who looked across at Gil- 
 bert with pathetic resignation from his unsought location 
 between little Molly Jethro, who spoke in monosyllables, 
 and Mrs. Neely, whom Billy called "a rapid fire gun of 
 talk loaded with blanks." The Colonel seldom appeared 
 in the solemn auditorium upstairs. He had sworn off 
 sermons when he swore off whiskey thirty years before, 
 he declared. During occasional dyspeptic periods he 
 railed alternately at the hypocrisy of church people and 
 at the dishonesty of secret societies, but he belonged to 
 four of the one hundred and one orders with which Hamp- 
 stead men decorate themselves, and he always sat at this 
 same table in the Methodist church basement on the last 
 Thursday evening of the month. And last but never 
 least, there was watery-eyed little Neely; local preacher, 
 prayer-meeting exhorter, councilman and critic of life. 
 The poor fund knew him only too well, for Neely had 
 never been able to find steady work, but his fiery phrases 
 never faltered, and his ability to find scandal anywhere 
 and everywhere made him the friend of all who loved 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 79 
 
 gossip. When Neely was seen buttonholing the preacher 
 or Mr. McNish there were immediately many good women 
 who wished to talk with him confidentially. 
 
 At the moment Neely was discussing the theater. 
 That was the primal sink of iniquity. It lured "our 
 young men " to sin and to crime. It taught " our young 
 women'' the ways of wickedness. And yet "some of our 
 own people'* were attracted by this ''superfluity of naugh- 
 tiness." Neely did not like to mention names, but 
 
 Gilbert smiled grimly. He remembered seeing Neely 
 convulsed with laughter over a cheap negro comedian in 
 the five-cent vaudeville show at Clear Lake. 
 
 The embarrassed Colonel created a diversion by put- 
 ting salt in his coffee and milk on his cold meat. 
 
 "We had a fine old general," put in Mr. McNish, to 
 cover the Colonel's confusion, " who was always the pride 
 of the boys because he was as calm as a church in the face 
 of fire. At Second Bull Run he sat on his horse at the 
 most exposed place in the line and calmly read a book. 
 Whenever a particularly loud shell 'Id scream over his 
 head, he'd turn a page and yawn. Pretty soon one 
 took his horse, and when two of the men picked him up 
 the book was still in his hand. But we reckoned he 
 must 've been absent-minded, too, for the book was 
 upside down." 
 
 As Mr. McNish finished his reminiscence the room be- 
 came suddenly quiet. Then whispers, more startling yet 
 in the stillness, came from the next table. It is remarkable 
 how few people have the courage to hear their own voices 
 in a silence. Gilbert turned with the rest to see that 
 nearly every woman in the place was staring fascinated 
 
80 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 at the doorway, and that men were moving uneasily in 
 their chairs and trying lamely to draw the attention of 
 the others away from the same spot. Then a voice, thick 
 and maudlin, remarked in tones that carried to the farthest 
 ends of the room: 
 
 "Want t^ see Molly, tha^s all/' 
 
 Gilbert knew the voice even before he saw the red, 
 blotched face, and the lurching figure that hung to the 
 post at the foot of the stairs, and he turned apprehen- 
 sively to Molly Jethro, who, with drawn face, had started 
 to rise and then had buried her face in her hands in sudden 
 shame. Gilbert had given Jethro the afternoon off that 
 day, and he understood now the use to which the council- 
 man, who represented labor among "the city fathers," 
 had put his leisure. He was on his feet quickly, but 
 Neely was ahead of him. 
 
 " Mrs. Jethro isn't here," he heard Neely say in his oily 
 voice. "She's probably home. You go along and find 
 her, Martin, that's a good man." 
 
 " Good man," muttered Jethro, " good man. No, you're 
 the good man, always talkin' about sin an' devils an' that 
 muck. Molly says you're so good you ought to be a lesson 
 to me. Think o' that, a lesson to me. An' all the time I 
 know better. I know better. Old Hubbard's money's 
 just as good to you as 'tis to me, eh, Mr. Neely?" 
 
 The last sentence was said in a whisper, but Neely 
 started back against Gilbert with a panic of fear on his face. 
 
 "Stop him," he panted, "stop him." 
 
 "Come on out of this, Jethro." Gilbert linked his arm 
 in that of the representative of labor and turned him 
 toward the stairs. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 81 
 
 '*0h, it's the new superintendent," sneered Jethro. 
 "Think you're better'n we are — but ye ain't. Runnin' 
 a shop now, aren't ye? Goin' to be a capitalist, soon; 
 eh, me son? All right. All right. We've got 'em on 
 the run. First 'twas ten hours a day; then 'twas nine; 
 now it's eight with a good many; then fill be seven, an' 
 by an' by we won't work at all, an' we'll have old Hub- 
 bard an' Hardy a-blackin' our " 
 
 Gilbert had not wished to use force, but Jethro hung 
 back, determinedly, talking at full voice. 
 
 "Come on, Jethro. You're making a holy show of 
 yourself." And Jethro felt a pull that made the muscles 
 of his arm strain and ache. The preacher came hurrying 
 up. 
 
 "I've telephoned for the police. They will be here in a 
 few minutes," he said excitedly. 
 
 Whether it was the yanking pull or the police that 
 changed Jethro's mind, his hand dropped from the post 
 and they started up the stairs. 
 
 "Telephone to the police — nothing doing," Gilbert 
 remarked over his shoulder to the preacher with a wink 
 that even Mr. Brice understood, and the strangely as- 
 sorted pair stumbled up and out into the street. 
 
 It was astonishing how interested those pleasant-faced, 
 gentle-voiced church women were in Jethro, the moment 
 his back was turned. They left their seats and gathered 
 at the bottom of the stairs to watch his exit, and a few 
 followed his lurching form up into the vestibule, and stood 
 in the door until they saw Gilbert help him into a hack 
 under the electric light at the corner. Then they went 
 back with awed whispers and told each other what they 
 
82 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 had seen, and stared sympathetically at poor Molly 
 Jethro until that sensitive little creature shrunk away 
 against the wall. At last Billy McNish, at the risk of his 
 popularity, took her away, in the midst of a pitiless silence, 
 to the preacher's study and left her there with Mrs. Brice, 
 who had followed Billy's beckoning nod and her own 
 better instincts. 
 
 After that, the gossip became mixed and gradually 
 sweetened with chocolate cake, and the children, who had 
 been silently listening to the helpful discourses of their 
 elders, turned their attention to the ice cream, and the 
 atmosphere of the room returned to the normal and 
 humdrum. Mr. Neely, however, was still making spiteful 
 remarks about Mr. Jethro's incapacity for telling the 
 truth, punctuating them here and there with scriptural 
 texts, and watching suspiciously with his watery eyes for 
 a sign that anyone had heard the labor councilman's 
 whispered remark. Finally he called Mr. McNish aside, 
 and left the Colonel to the mercies of Mrs. Neely and a 
 few other ladies, who wanted to know what that voluble 
 person thought about how Mrs. Jethro must have felt 
 when — and so forth. The poor Colonel pulled at his iron- 
 gray mustaches that drooped in a curve like steers' horns, 
 and thought words that are seldom used in churches. 
 Mrs. Gilbert had long since left the table for the busier 
 kitchen. 
 
 Sometime later, when Gilbert walked into the dimly 
 lighted vestibule, he found the Colonel pacing up and 
 down in contented solitude. 
 
 " S'pose I ought to hev stayed down there." There was 
 a gleam in the veteran's eye as he pointed soberly at the 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 83 
 
 floor. ^' They jest nachurally can't tear ye to pieces when 
 ye're with 'em. But I couldn't stand it any longer." 
 
 ''Stand what?" Gilbert looked at the Colonel absent- 
 mindedly. 
 
 "The women folks. Do ye know, boy, I never feel so 
 lonesome ez I do when I get left alone with a pack of 
 women, 'specially good women. I dassen't talk fer fear 
 I'll swear er say somethin' thet ain't right an' proper, an' 
 it sure makes me nervous to watch their mouths go, jest 
 sayin' nothin' at all. Women talk jest like most Injuns 
 fight. When they find a point they want to attack they 
 creep up to within one hundred yards of it on one side; 
 then they do the same on th' other side; then they try the 
 left an' the right; and then most likely they give a war- 
 whoop an' go runnin' off without ever attackin' the point 
 they was aimin' at at all. But say what'd ye do with 
 Jethro?" 
 
 "I took him home in a hack." 
 
 "Ye took him home in a hack!" echoed the Colonel. 
 "Ye don't mean to say ye took that blaguard thet 'Id a 
 soiled the dirtiest guardhouse in Fort Benton, that greaser 
 thet a decent rope 'Id be ashamed to hev hangin' to it, 
 thet mis'able, no-account pup thet a haff-breed cayuse 
 wouldn't associate with — home in a hack! Home in a 
 
 hack! Well, I'll be " The Colonel stopped suddenly 
 
 and looked cautiously about the vestibule. Then he came 
 close to Gilbert and shook the whispered word mto the 
 big fellow's face, "damned." 
 
 There was something in Gilbert's eyes, as he saw them 
 now at close range, that made the Colonel finish the word 
 quickly. 
 
84 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 " I had it all decided when I took hold of him." Gilbert 
 spoke as if with restraint. ** I put him in a hack and took 
 him home. He cursed me all the way. I took him inside 
 and undressed him, and he went on cursing. Then I tele- 
 phoned Gilshannon and the Register to keep it out of the 
 papers. I'd decided to do all that, but I came pretty 
 near not doing it or doing something else. I didn't mind 
 his cursing. That was amusing. But he said things 
 that — well, I never came so near to smashing a man's 
 head in before. I've walked off some of it, but I've got a 
 good deal left. Oh, I'm a fool, I guess. Colonel." 
 
 And Gilbert left the surprised veteran abruptly and 
 went downstairs. The ladies were disappointed in Mr. 
 Gilbert that night. He was extraordinarily uncommu- 
 nicative. They said to each other that it seemed a great 
 pity that someone else had not gone with Mr. Jethro, in 
 whom they were all so interested, someone who would 
 tell them the rest of the story. But they hovered about 
 him until Mrs. Gilbert came to his rescue. As the two 
 started out, the elder McNish joined them, but at the 
 street door he stopped suddenly. 
 
 "Forgotten something?" suggested Mrs. Gilbert. 
 
 "The Colonel and Billy," grimaced Mr. McNish. "I'm 
 like Cap'n Sanford of the Seventh Massachusetts — I think 
 it was the Seventh. Marched into camp at Kettle Run 
 alone. When they asked him where his company was, 
 Sanford scratched his head. 'Lordy,' he said, 'I knew 
 I'd forgotten something.'" 
 
 Colonel Mead was sitting moodily in a corner down- 
 stairs, absorbed in an increasing ill-will against the world 
 in general; but Billy had disappeared. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 85 
 
 "Some girl, probably." Mr. McNish chuckled as he 
 rejoined the others after a hasty search. ''Billy's like 
 Bill Jennings of the Fourth. When we were in camp 
 down at Kettle Run, Bill'd come out of his tent at night 
 and look around. Then he'd call two or three of the men. 
 * Mates,' he'd say — you see he was before the mast as a 
 boy — 'there's a girl or two about five miles and a half 
 away north by northwest. Let's go and make a call.' 
 And the boys said he never failed to make good." 
 
 They walked home slowly under the stars, Gilbert car- 
 rying his mother along on his arm after their usual 
 custom, and the stout little Mr. McNish taking two steps 
 to one of the gaunt Colonel's long strides. And for a time 
 the pulsing stillness of the night put its seal upon their 
 lips. 
 
 " Jack's all wrong." The Colonel was thinking aloud at 
 last. " He can't run men by bein' good to 'em. He's got 
 to fight. This world ain't a nursery er a Sundy School, an', 
 I tell ye, the most low-down haff-breed on the Mexican 
 border ain't half as wicked as some o' these Dagoes 
 that 're workin' here in the shops. He's got to fight an' 
 he don't know it." 
 
 Mr. McNish hummed a scrap of melody in his cracked 
 tenor, as he watched the big figure that loomed ahead of 
 them. 
 
 " I think I'll be sorry for them when he finds it out," he 
 said. 
 
 " I caught a gang of 'em yesterday, stealin' apples in my 
 back yard. An' when I told 'em to go they jest stared at 
 me. They couldn't 've understood my remarks. If they 
 had, an' wuz good Catholics, they'd 've vamoosed instanter. 
 
86 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 He'd likely Ve given 'em all the apples an' sent 'em home 
 in a hack." 
 
 There was at least one person, however, who wholly 
 approved of Gilbert's way of dealing with Jethro, and that 
 was his mother. In some unaccountable way, also, her 
 approval always satisfied him in the face of his inward 
 doubts. In characteristic man fashion he told her little, 
 and then depended much upon her woman's judgment, 
 for, like most men, he intuitively had more faith in a wom- 
 an's instincts than in his own reason. 
 
 When he left her that night, therefore, he put out of his 
 mind, as unworthy of further thought, the fact that Jethro 
 had called him a "scab" and a "leg-puller" and two or 
 three unmentionable terms. Of course, he remembered 
 that dictum from the Colonel's long experience with men. 
 " Most any man can fool ye when he's sober," the Colonel 
 had once said, "but git him drunk an' ye've got him with 
 the cover off his heart." But, after all, what did it 
 matter ? 
 
 One thing alone remained to bother him. Jethro evi- 
 dently knew something derogatory to Neely. There was 
 no other explanation for Neely's amusing and childlike 
 panic. There was nothing very extraordinary about that, 
 in itself. Neely was far too much of a well-meaning but 
 pointless joke, to be taken seriously. It was only the 
 introduction of Mr. Hubbard's name that caused Gilbert 
 to remember the incident at all. Gradually this wizened- 
 up, insignificant-looking, gray-haired man, whom he knew 
 merely by sight, was becoming to Gilbert's imagination a 
 kind of threatening creature crouching away somewhere 
 in the dark, and he had a human craving to turn the light 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 87 
 
 upon it. But he was a good man, this Alonzo Hubbard, 
 in the opinion of the community, and, what was more, he 
 was a successful man, which was much more important 
 in the eyes of many — although, of course, they would never 
 have admitted it. He was a devout churchman — hadn't 
 he paid for those remarkable red plush seats in St. John's 
 Church? He was a self-made man, and that was the only 
 kind of a man that Hampstead had any respect for. 
 And, although he was rich, he had not made enemies along 
 with his money, as most rich men did. Hampstead moth- 
 ers pointed him out to their sons as a model of propriety 
 — and of success; and daughters, who were striving for a 
 place in the small clique of people who styled themselves 
 " society," lost much of their respect for their fathers be- 
 cause those hard-working men were not as successful as 
 the rich Mr. Hubbard. And there were few men in this 
 democratic Connecticut city who were not proud when Mr. 
 Hubbard bowed to them in his icy way. 
 
 Gilbert understood Alonzo Hubbard little better than 
 most of his neighbors did, but he was willing— and he was 
 growing eager — to learn. And that was an advantage. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 AT MR. hardy's 
 
 IF the Hardy house on West Hill had grown old and 
 familiar for twenty years to Hampstead, there was, 
 nevertheless, a glaring newness about the interior 
 to help it to retain its earlier reputation for novelty. The 
 ''old man" liked the smell of paint and varnish, and had 
 a large part of the house painted and repapered every 
 year. It changed its appearance almost as often as Mrs. 
 Hardy changed her gowns, and Mrs. Hardy's gowns were 
 the envy of Hampstead women. And between the two 
 Sam Hardy seldom had more than a moderate-sized ac- 
 count at any of the banks. He never begrudged the money 
 spent in these two forms of decoration, however. They 
 satisfied his whims. He walked to church of a Sunday 
 morning with a gleam in his eye, acutely conscious of 
 every admiring glance at Mrs. Hardy's costume — his feet 
 keeping time to the refrain that re-echoed in his exalted 
 mind, "I paid for it, I paid for it." And inside the 
 church, the gowns always furnished him more consolation 
 than the sermon. 
 
 In the house, the parlors at present were modeled after 
 some rooms that had taken Mr. Hardy's eye at the Wal- 
 dorf Astoria. They were all in gilt and white. The 
 library, next door, was walled with green burlap and 
 contained many costly books with uncut leaves, a newly 
 
 88 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 89 
 
 patented chair with a mechanical book holder, and a 
 Turkish cozy corner. The big dining-room was finished 
 throughout with Flemish Oak, Rathskellar-like. Mr. 
 Hardy received his ideas in New York and adapted them 
 to Hampstead, even to hanging his pictures in such a 
 way that they looked as if they had been hurled at the 
 walls and had been allowed to remain wherever they 
 struck. And of course there were hardwood floors cov- 
 ered with treacherous rugs, which were responsible for 
 Mr. Hardy's attaining a rather incongruous, mincing gait, 
 a hesitating, suspicious step, as if he were walking on ice. 
 
 And if it be remarked that the house both within and 
 without was characterized, at the least, by an infinite 
 variety, what shall be said of those who lived in it? Mrs. 
 Hardy had objected regularly to every change that her 
 husband ordered, and she had then gone quietly upstairs 
 and read Marcus Aurelius. Her indifferent submission 
 had grown to be as chronic as her objections. She was 
 a languid woman with very tense ideas about the pro- 
 prieties of life, ideas nearly all of which Mr. Hardy vio- 
 lated, purposely violated it seemed to her. She, therefore, 
 lived, after her own fashion, an existence bounded by tea- 
 cups and gossip, an occasional bit of fine sewing, and Mar- 
 cus Aurelius. And the girl, who was like them both and to- 
 tally different from either one, had missed most of the things 
 that make a home better than a boarding-house, and was 
 vaguely disappointed. Meanwhile the servants controlled 
 the house, and Mr. Hardy paid the bills, and the neighbors 
 spoke of the Hardys as ''such a happy family." 
 
 Clare Hardy was lounging luxuriously on the broad 
 window seat of her room in the tower, late that Friday 
 
90 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 afternoon. The window was open and the fresh June air 
 blew the heavy curtains about her. Although a book 
 lay in her lap, she was looking down at the busy city below 
 her, with its ragged line of brick blocks showing above the 
 green of the trees. Long streaks of smoke twisted like 
 ribbons from a hundred chimney mouths and marred the 
 beyond of blue mystery about the hills. Far in the dis- 
 tance a long freight train was creeping along, a winding 
 tendril of black against the hillside. She had often won- 
 dered as she looked from this same window what Ruskin 
 would have said to the blur of dirty smoke and the sooty 
 chimneys. And yet, down at the mills the noise and the 
 quiet discipline, and the sense of an army of men doing 
 things appealed to her imagination. And in either of 
 these conflicting points of view she was different from her 
 girl friends in Hampstead, to nearly all of whom Ruskin 
 was merely a name that suggested a duty unperformed, 
 and the shops a noisy, mussy place where the men made 
 money. Yes, Clare Hardy was distinctly different, and 
 she had sense enough to know it and to be glad of it. 
 Not that there was any suggestion of snobbery about her. 
 The girls all declared that she was *' charming, lots of fun, 
 and so refined,'' and the boys liked her, although, of course, 
 they did not understand her. They were not to be blamed 
 for that. She was never certain that she understood her- 
 self. If people now and then caught a stray end of a line 
 of her character, they always found it tangled with half-a- 
 dozen others before they really had a firm hold of it. And 
 yet there was a fine frankness about her, a way of going 
 straight to a point like a man. Nothing in other women 
 amused and irritated her so much as their roundabout, 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 91 
 
 underneath, overhead, criss-cross methods of doing things. 
 In short, she was as incomprehensible as her smile, which 
 was alternately tantalizing and tender and malicious and 
 mocking, and which was never quite the same for a con- 
 secutive half-minute. 
 
 It seemed to her this afternoon that nature, conven- 
 tions and parents had combined to make girls useless and 
 unhappy. She was desperately weary of her leisurely 
 round of Women's Club meetings and eternal piano prac- 
 tice and insignificant church duties and occasional dances. 
 She was sure there was no place in the world with so small 
 a supply of originality as this town of Hampstead which 
 she felt she hated and which she knew she loved. And 
 perhaps this mood explains why the book in her lap hap- 
 pened to be her old character-study book. She had 
 started this book in college instead of keeping a diary. 
 Every girl she knew had a diary. Therefore Miss Hardy 
 scorned the daily entry of trivial incidents and, instead, 
 analyzed on paper the people she met who interested her. 
 For a year or two the book had gathered dust upon her 
 lowest book-shelf, but during the present week volumi- 
 nous notes had been entered in it daily. Perhaps this 
 same mood explained that John Gilbert was the character 
 she was studying, and perhaps John Gilbert explained the 
 mood. This is a problem that no mere man would at- 
 tempt to solve. 
 
 At any rate, three pages of the book were already de- 
 voted to him. She remembered him as the strong, un- 
 wieldy boy. With that strange feminine memory for 
 little, far-off things, she recalled his struggle with Billy 
 McNish on that first day in the old garden, and still 
 
92 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 another short but decisive fight with Billy, the cause of 
 which had been an argument as to whether or not her 
 voice "had a fuzz on it." Billy had admitted in the end 
 that it had. She remembered, with a combination of 
 inward embarrassment and inward pleasure, how angry 
 he had once become with a gypsy fortune teller who had 
 said he would some day marry a blonde woman — and her 
 eyes and hair were black. She remembered how the old 
 house had been sold, how all the girls in her set had had 
 nothing more to do with him when he went to work as a 
 mechanic, and how he had suddenly dropped out of the 
 circle of grown-up children and had become Mr. Gilbert. 
 She remembered little concerning him during the years 
 she had been away at college, and since she had graduated 
 she had scarcely thought of him until that Common 
 Council meeting a month ago. It was only since Sunday, 
 however, that he had really seemed interesting to her. 
 
 All the week she had missed only one or two noons or 
 evenings when the men came tramping home from the 
 shops. And she had watched, curious to know what he 
 was like when he was off his guard, when he did not know 
 that she was looking at him. Her feminine habit of 
 arguing everything to herself made her unconsciously 
 consider him off his guard whenever she was out of sight. 
 Every detail was noted in the book with mathematical 
 accuracy. Sometimes he strode homeward with some of 
 the men who had washed their faces just enough to make 
 the workaday dirt a smudge. She had commented on his 
 loud, hearty laugh and on his slapping a man on the back 
 on one occasion with vigorous approbation. And yet 
 there was always a sense of dignity about him; the men 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 did the talking and he seemed naturally to hold court. 
 One noon he had ridden up with her father, and again it 
 seemed to her that he was holding covu-t and that her 
 father took the place of the workmen. She had not 
 watched that night out of sheer resentment. And then, 
 one day, he had come along just as lame old Widow Ash- 
 ton was trying to catch a downtown car. He was talking 
 with a number of the men, but he caught sight of the 
 panting old lady, stopped the car, and then carried rather 
 than helped her to the platform. The rather infrequent 
 smile that was tender had played about Clare Hardy's 
 mouth, as she watched him catch up with the men and 
 tramp on as if nothing had happened. Sometimes he was 
 alone, loping along with awkward strides. "He drawls 
 with his tongue and his legs,'' was the entry in her book. 
 This noon he had passed with the two McNishes, and they 
 were such a jolly trio that she instinctively thought of the 
 immortal Taffy tramping along arm in arm with the Laird 
 and little Billee. Twice he had looked up at her window 
 while she dodged back behind the curtains and held her 
 breath, and last night her father had mentioned his pro- 
 motion at the shops. 
 
 She was wondering vaguely what John Gilbert thought 
 of her father when the whistles blew down by the river. 
 A car went clanging by, and soon the first groups of men 
 came hurrying up the hill. The farther side of West Hill 
 was already lined with new streets and dotted with work- 
 men's trim houses. Fifteen minutes passed and still he 
 did not come. She was beginning to be irritated when, 
 at last, she saw the tall, familiar form far down the street. 
 Beside him was a shorter, broader woman's figure. She 
 
94 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 strained her eyes to see who it was. She had never seen 
 him come by before with a woman. Then she discovered 
 that it was his mother. Miss Hardy felt suddenly guilty. 
 As a child she had always liked Mrs. Gilbert, but since she 
 had grown to be a woman she had not thought of calling 
 at the plain little cottage. And as she watched them 
 pass she had another and a different feeling of guilt, and 
 she turned impulsively away from the window. 
 
 He was very aggravating, she decided as she dressed for 
 dinner. Why was he such a paragon? He was like one 
 of those god-like heroes of popular novels, whom she liked 
 to read about but whom she considered too impossibly 
 perfect for words. She must discover something bad 
 about him, she argued, or her character study would have 
 no character. 
 
 To add to her irritation Mr. Hardy insisted on telling a 
 story about this man Gilbert at the dinner table. It 
 seemed that there was a certain Irishman at the shops, 
 whose steady and efficient life had been jarred out of gear 
 by fragments of socialistic doctrine. He had come to 
 believe that all men who have money ought to divide 
 equally with those who have not. And the quality of his 
 work grew poorer as the quantity of his talk increased. 
 Gilbert had called the man into his office that day, and 
 their conversation, as Mr. Hardy detailed it, was somewhat 
 as follows: 
 
 "Michael, I'm going to give you a half-holiday." 
 
 "Thank ye, sorr.'^ 
 
 "You own your house, don't you, Michael?" 
 
 "I do, sorr," proudly. 
 
 "And you have six hundred dollars in the bank?" 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 95 
 
 **I have, sorr," with some surprise. 
 
 "You know Pat Ryan well?" 
 
 "That I do. He lives forninst me in Mrs. Flynn's 
 boardin' house. He's woruked beside me fer eight years, 
 sorr, an' he owes me wan hundred dollars, bad cess to 
 him. He drinks too harud, does Pat. His two byes 
 woruk, an' it's all they can do to git along, the free av 
 thim." 
 
 "Your daughter Mary is graduating from the High 
 School this week?" 
 
 "She is, sorr. She's at the head av the class, God 
 spare her." 
 
 "And your two sons are both in school?" 
 
 "They are, sorr, an' doin' foine." 
 
 "All right, Michael. You'd like to deed over half of 
 your property to Pat, of course. Come here at noon with 
 the papers and I'll be witness for you. That's all, 
 Michael, and good luck to you." 
 
 Michael, his eyes blinkmg, his hands nervously twitch- 
 ing at his cap, goes out. Soon there is a knock at the 
 door. Michael's head is pushed through the narrow 
 opening. 
 
 " I'm dommed if I do, sorr," and the door slams behind 
 him. 
 
 In this way, according to Mr. Hardy, his new superin- 
 tendent cured Michael of socialism. He was quickly dis- 
 gruntled when his daughter did not join him in his noisy 
 laughter. With masculine consistency, therefore, he 
 turned to his wife. 
 
 "Women 're never interested in business," he growled, 
 spreading his bread on the tablecloth, with butter from a 
 
96 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 bread-and-butter plate. Nothing in the world aggra- 
 vated Mrs. Hardy so much as to see anyone spread 
 bread on the tablecloth. Her retort, therefore, was 
 quick. 
 
 "They are more interested in manners. Can't you see 
 your plate, Mr. Hardy?" 
 
 Mr. Hardy cut the bread on the cloth with childish 
 satisfaction. 
 
 "I'll eat as I like in my own house," he declared with 
 considerable vigor. 
 
 "And I object to watching such vulgarity. Annie, you 
 may serve my dessert in my room." And Mrs. Hardy 
 swept upstairs to enjoy her nesselrode pudding in the 
 cheering and calming company of Marcus Aurelius. As 
 for Mr. Hardy, he literally ploughed through the remainder 
 of the meal, his head lowered and his eyes avoiding his 
 daughter's glances, as if he had been a child shamefully 
 caught in the jam closet. Then he stamped out defi- 
 antly, with the evident intention of making noise enough 
 to express all the things he had not said, and went down 
 to the Hampstead Club for the evening. 
 
 Ordinarily Clare Hardy would have been neither pained 
 nor amused over the trivial disagreement of her parents. 
 She was too accustomed to it. But to-night she was dis- 
 turbed, and she dawdled over her coffee, trying to tell 
 herself that it was not in any way her fault and that there 
 was nothing on earth that she could do to put an end to 
 it. And, having definitely accepted in her mind both of 
 these conclusions, she denied them immediately in action 
 by going to her mother's room for the first time in weeks. 
 Mrs. Hardy was so surprised and so delighted inwardly by 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 97 
 
 this unexpected amiability on the part of her daughter 
 that she treated the girl as if she were a child again, and 
 spent the better part of the following half-hour in serious 
 admonition and advice. By the end of that time Clare's 
 frank sympathies were entirely with her father — and her- 
 self; and she returned vigorously to her earlier conclu- 
 sions about the futility of trying to make husbands and 
 wives compatible. She had just definitely made up her 
 mind that the thing was impossible when she mentioned 
 casually that she was expecting Billy McNish that even- 
 ing. Impossible? Of course it was. Husbands and 
 wives never agreed. Everyone knew that. There was 
 nothing to do. There was not one of her friends who had 
 married whom she considered really contented. It is 
 curious that nearly all cynics are young. 
 
 " He's a very persistent person, isn't he?" Mrs. Hardy 
 leaned forward with the sudden interest of a married 
 woman who scents the possibility of a match. "I like 
 him. I don't know of another young man in town who 
 is always so well groomed. And he is doing very well, I 
 hear. Really, my dear, it is time you were married. 
 After all, there is only one cardinal sin for a woman, 
 Clare, and that is to be unmarried at thirty. And you 
 have only five years of grace left." 
 
 *'Time enough to fall in love a dozen times." Miss 
 Hardy had no intention of discussing at that moment this 
 particular problem with her particular mother. She 
 moved toward the door. 
 
 "Love, my dear," sighed Mrs. Hardy, "is a luxury; 
 marriage is a necessity." 
 
 Now, Clare Hardy had always objected to this point of 
 
98 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 view, and she hated the word "necessity" with all her 
 heart. 
 
 " I'm never going to be married. I want to be happy," 
 she declared as she left the room. And perhaps, by that 
 hasty remark, she unconsciously denied again the conclu- 
 sions she had made over her coffee; for Mrs. Hardy sat 
 for a long time soberly repeating the words. Then she 
 sobbed gently in a lace handkerchief. She was a sensi- 
 tive woman. 
 
 When Billy McNish arrived Miss Hardy was at the 
 piano improvising. She nodded when he came into the 
 room, but she went on with her playing. No woman who 
 knew Billy well ever stopped doing anything because he 
 appeared. They treated him with the same bon camara- 
 derie they would have shown toward women who were 
 upon the same intimate footing. In a way this might 
 have been considered a compliment. It is certain that 
 Billy in his expansive and delightful egotism so consid- 
 ered it. And he had good reason. Unquestionably there 
 was no man in Hampstead so popular with its femi- 
 nine population as genial, free-and-easy, roly-poly Billy 
 McNish. And so Miss Hardy continued with her im- 
 provising, and Billy leaned at the side of the piano and 
 prepared his very best smile for her when she would look 
 up at him. 
 
 " I wish you'd sit down." Miss Hardy was certain that 
 Billy was posing again, and she was determined not to sat- 
 isfy him by looking at him. 
 
 "But I can't see you so well if I do." The beginnings 
 of his smile appeared, for he felt that this was a pleasant 
 remark, and everybody knew that all ladies liked pleasant 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 remarks. Billy knew it, at any rate, from long experi- 
 ence. 
 
 "That's the reason I wish you to sit down," she said, 
 rolling a very volcano of sound in the rumbling bass. 
 Why couldn't Billy do as he was told? 
 
 "But I came to see you." Charming Billy! Miss 
 Hardy was on the point of looking up at him. Then her 
 hands crashed off upon a new movement — for Clare Hardy 
 played with much of the firmness and vigor of a man — 
 accelerating with a rapid crescendo to a brilliant climax, 
 irritated music, noisy music. She was expressing her 
 mood. Billy had retired to a chair behind her back. He 
 had discreetly, as he thought, done the thing that would 
 be pleasing to her. The girl's music wandered off into 
 minors of disappointment. Why had he done it? Why 
 did he always give in to her? He should have known that 
 all the time she really longed to look up at him, to admire 
 his pose, to enjoy his smile. Miss Hardy liked Billy 
 greatly, but there was always something a trifle wrong 
 with him. He was very slightly too flexible; that was 
 it, too flexible. If someone could only stiffen him a 
 little he would — but, then, no one could really be aggra- 
 vated at Billy McNish for two consecutive minutes, and 
 Miss Hardy soon turned from the piano and lectured him 
 sharply because he was obstinate over leaving his place. 
 Then she commanded him to tell her about himself, and 
 Billy, who was willing to be accommodating after two or 
 three introductory remarks to the effect that " there was 
 really nothing to tell," confided in her for the first time 
 his new political ambitions and hopes and fears. 
 
 Billy always talked about himself to women with a pro- 
 
100 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 found humility which forced the listener to contradict his 
 self-judgments, a method that was exceedingly satisfac- 
 tory to both. The feminine mind seldom, if ever, dreamt 
 of any insincerity in Billy's remarks. His open-hearted 
 and often well-calculated frankness was disarming. 
 In fact, the only person who ever really discovered 
 Billy was Billy himself in his better moments. "I'm 
 nothing but a confounded play-actor," he would groan in 
 his self-abasement. And, following the custom of the 
 Hampstead ladies, we must contradict him again in his 
 humility. Billy McNish was a great deal more than "a 
 confounded play-actor." He was a generous, fresh- 
 minded, friendly fellow, unusually brilliant over any 
 piece of work that appealed to him, with ideals that he 
 really tried to live up to, and with a realization of his own 
 failings that was almost morbidly keen. And if he liked 
 to have other people's approval expressed in words, he was 
 never in anyone's debt for long. He said more compli- 
 mentary things about his friends behind their backs than 
 they ever said about him to his face. And he meant 
 what he said, or at least he thought he did at the time — 
 and it is on this, perhaps, that a man like Billy McNish 
 ought to be judged. 
 
 It was perfectly natural, therefore, that to-night, as he 
 opened his ambitious heart to Miss Hardy, Billy spoke of 
 Gilbert's promise to help him. 
 
 "And Jack's word's as good as his bond," he went on 
 enthusiastically. "He'll work like a trooper. He would 
 anyhow. He's that sort. Wish there were more like 
 him. But there aren't. Never seems to think of him- 
 self somehow. Not enough for his own good. Probably 
 
THE BALANCE OF PDWEii tOl 
 
 '11 never amount to much; too good-hearted and too slow. 
 But he's the sort to hang to." 
 
 Clare Hardy never admired Billy so much as when he 
 talked of his men friends. There was to her always some- 
 thing supremely fine, supremely strong about the friend- 
 ship of a man for a man. It was the one thing that made 
 her sorry that she was a woman. 
 
 "Do you see much of him?" Billy put the question 
 casually. 
 
 Miss Hardy shook her head. She had not told Billy on 
 Sunday about the incident on the Clear Lake hillside. 
 And somehow she did not like to tell him. She knew that 
 his face would grow sober, for no reason at all, of course, 
 and that now he would wonder why she had not told him 
 when the thing happened. And she had not told him 
 then, because — yes, because — after all, why should she 
 have told him? It was really of no importance. 
 
 Meanwhile Billy had plunged into a humorous account 
 of Mr. Jethro's inopportune call at the church supper the 
 night before, and she was soon laughing over his descrip- 
 tion—for Billy had a gift of droll caricature, and his stories 
 were usually as real as life itself ,— and nodding her head 
 approvingly over Gilbert's part in it. 
 
 "Why didn't you do it yourself?" she broke in 
 abruptly, to Billy's discomfiture. One reason why Billy 
 McNish liked her more than he liked other girls was that 
 she had this way of asking frankly disconcerting ques- 
 tions. He was not as certain of his masculine supe- 
 riority with her as he was with the others. 
 
 "Well, you see, I shouldn't have known how to do it." 
 It was said with Billy's appealing frankness. "It's not 
 
loa THfi BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 my line — dealing with that kind of men. It is Jack's. 
 That's why he'll be such a help at the election. And 
 that's why I'll probably never win, never in the world." 
 
 And before she knew it Billy was drawing a lugubrious 
 picture of his broken-hearted defeat at the polls, and she 
 was impulsively cheering him and telling him how popular 
 he was, and how certain he was of victory, and many other 
 similar things which Billy liked to hear. Then, when he 
 began to glow once more with self-satisfaction, she assured 
 him that he would never win anything if he kept saying 
 that he wouldn't. And he grew very sober, and told her 
 that she was the only person who really understood him, 
 and that her encouragement was the only thing that he 
 cared a snap of his fingers about, and that if he ever ac- 
 complished anything it was because she was his inspira- 
 tion; that she knew he Miss Hardy had heard all 
 
 this before, but she never had allowed him to finish it ex- 
 cept once. It had been very hard for her then, for she 
 liked Billy McNish very much better than any man she 
 knew, and she knew that he was as earnest about it as he 
 could possibly be about anything. Now, therefore, she 
 told him that he must not be idiotic, and asked him if his 
 father was well. Billy despairingly said that he believed 
 Mr. McNish was enjoying his accustomed good health, and 
 they talked about other and less interesting topics until 
 it was time for him to go. 
 
 Miss Hardy listened to his melodious whistling as he 
 went down the walk, and her pride was piqued that he 
 did not seem to be really very sad about those interrupted 
 remarks of his. After all, if Billy was only a little less 
 flexible, perhaps 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 103 
 
 As she climbed the stairs, her mother called her. 
 
 "I see by the paper," Mrs. Hardy informed her with a 
 long face, " that Nelson Strutt sails for Europe to-morrow." 
 
 "Well, what of it?" 
 
 "Why, he was to come to your party, your Fourth of 
 July party. It is very unfortunate, dear; one of the best 
 families in town. There must be somebody else now, I 
 suppose," added Mrs. Hardy wearily, "and there are so 
 few really nice people to ask." 
 
 The Fourth of July party was one of Clare Hardy's 
 original ideas. No one in Hampstead had ever thought 
 of any diversion for the national holiday, beyond the 
 usual firecrackers and torpedoes for the children, and the 
 usual fireworks in the evening, and the usual accidents 
 and doctors' bills. Miss Hardy, therefore, out of her 
 insistent desire for something that was new, had con- 
 ceived the plan of inviting all of the desirable young people 
 who had passed the firecracker age, and who had not as 
 yet reached the period when a costlier display of rockets 
 and Roman candles than their neighbors could afford 
 satisfied their pride, to help her celebrate the holiday in 
 her own way. The invitations were at that moment in 
 her room, ready to be addressed and posted the next 
 morning. 
 
 Miss Hardy thought quickly, and as usual decided out 
 of her impulses. 
 
 "I think it might please Dad," she said with a very 
 proper suggestion of doubt in her voice, "if we should 
 invite John Gilbert." 
 
 "Why, he's only a workman, my dear," remonstrated 
 Mrs. Hardy. 
 
104 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 "But he comes of good family, you know. And I 
 really think it would please Dad." 
 
 "Perhaps so.'* Perhaps Mrs Hardy's tears of earlier 
 in the evening helped her to consider the argument. " And 
 then, too, it will make us seem democratic without " 
 
 "Our really being so." Clare Hardy finished the sen- 
 tence with a gentle sarcasm that was lost on her mother. 
 
 She herself directed the envelope. Of course it was 
 only for character study. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE BEGINNINGS OF A CABINET 
 
 LIFE had a new zest for Gilbert. He had taken his 
 promotion quietly enough, but he felt an inward 
 exhilaration now as he went about his new work 
 and accepted his new responsibilities. It had affected 
 him as a smile and a nod of approval or a hearty shake of 
 the hand affected him — those little, human things that in 
 some mysterious way make the pilot wheel of life spin 
 more easily, and give the hands of our souls a firmer grip 
 on the spokes. We may scoff at them in our moments 
 of arrogant independence, but they do not come often 
 enough in the lives of most of us, to ever lose their first 
 novelty or power Outwardly, however, Gilbert did not 
 change, and the men in the shops, who expected to see 
 him assume Simpson's old shell of ostentatious dignity, 
 were disappointed. It is a weak leader who must have 
 the mark of his position pinned upon him to be recog- 
 nized. 
 
 Many of the men quickly caught the new spirit without 
 knowing why or how it came to them. There seemed to 
 be more pleasure in working for a comrade, who wore over- 
 alls and who did not mind dirtying his hands, than in 
 slaving for a man who always looked as if he had just 
 come from a bandbox and who spent most of his time in 
 
 105 
 
106 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 his office. Of course there were foreigners, newcomers 
 for the most part, whom it was necessary to boss until 
 they learned to understand friendlier treatment; and there 
 were a few men like Jethro, suspicious, jealous, always 
 looking for trouble — a kind of undergroimd vermin that 
 loosens the foundations of many a factory and that, in the 
 end, often brings the entire structure tumbling ruinously 
 upon owners and men alike. It was evident, also, that 
 some of the older men were shaking their heads over the 
 change. Gilbert overheard part of a conversation during 
 the first day of his new responsibilities. 
 
 "He won't be superintendent long if I know anything." 
 The voice came to him from around the corner in the 
 packing room. "Hardy'll run the place, and Jack ain't 
 the kind to knuckle under. Simpson used to tell me how 
 he'd get put behind two or three days on some jobs be- 
 cause 'the old man' butted in." 
 
 "Simpson was always complaining about something." 
 
 "That's because he caught you soldiering." 
 
 "Gilbert, he don't have much to say." 
 
 "Jack's deceivin'. He looks like a shamblin', good- 
 natured colt, but he can kick if anyone tries to ride him." 
 
 Gilbert smiled. He didn't take any stock in that kind 
 of talk. Why should he? "The old man" never had in- 
 terfered with him, at least not in any way that affected the 
 work of the shop. He knew factory men's talk; how they 
 planned out many kinds of incidents that might occur 
 among their "bosses," but never did. He smiled in his 
 leisurely, good-humored way and went on with his work. 
 But Saturday morning he knocked at Hardy's door and 
 he was not smiling. "The old man" had countermanded 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 107 
 
 an order he had given, and the interference meant delay 
 and confusion. 
 
 "Guess I've made a mistake, Mr. Hardy," he drawled 
 as the president turned sharply at the interruption. 
 
 "What's the matter?" 
 
 "I thought you made me superintendent of the shop. 
 Nobody to interfere and all that." 
 
 "So I did. What's the row?" Mr. Hardy scented a 
 complaint of insubordination. 
 
 "Just a minute." Gilbert picked up the telephone 
 receiver on Mr. Hardy's desk. "Hello, foundry please." 
 There was a'{)ause. " Hello, foundry? This you, Grady? 
 Mr. Hardy misunderstood about those Number 893 pat- 
 terns. Put the work right through." 
 
 He put down the receiver, thanked the astonished 
 president and left the room. Gilbert never knew how 
 dangerously near he was to dismissal in the next few 
 minutes, nor how many times Sam Hardy's finger trem- 
 bled over the button that rang the superintendent's bell. 
 It was a novel experience for the domineering " old man," 
 but he was having other novel experiences. He had 
 found himself, during the last day or two, worrying for the 
 first time about the future of "his shops." Gilbert's 
 frank talk two days before had left its mark upon Mr. 
 Hardy's mind, a mark that he could not erase, however 
 hard he tried. He felt unconsciously the need of a strong 
 man behind him, and at last he turned, growling to him- 
 self, back to his desk and his papers. But of course he 
 held a kind of grudge against his superintendent for it, 
 and that noon Miss Hardy had the satisfaction, although 
 that young woman was not certain that she was entirely 
 
108 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 satisfied, of hearing some unvarnished criticism of John 
 Gilbert — cynical remarks about the sort of men who 
 take a mile if you give them an inch, the sort of men that 
 a promotion spoils, and all that kind of thing. 
 
 Gilbert went home to find his mother on well-concealed 
 tip-toe about a small envelope which had been left at the 
 door that morning, and she beamed at him like any young 
 girl as she read and re-read the card which it inclosed. 
 To Gilbert the invitation was merely a cordial compli- 
 ment from Mr. Hardy himself. Perhaps, he thought to 
 himself, he had been a bit hasty that morning. But to 
 her it was something miraculously fine, soAiething that 
 brought with it a flavor of their old prosperous days. 
 She could remember cards, not unlike this one, that she 
 herself had sent from the big house down the street. 
 And while she assured him that they ought to have done 
 it long ago, she was inwardly delighted that they had done 
 it at all. There was, to be sure, a certain fear mixed with 
 her delight. She never for a moment thought of Mr. 
 Hardy. The girl was at the bottom of it, of course. 
 Gilbert noticed that she was looking at him intently, and 
 he heard the tap of her foot on the floor. 
 
 "I can't seem to understand that you're really grown 
 up," she remarked with some confusion. 
 
 "I'm not." Gilbert smiled, but his mother shook her 
 head soberly. 
 
 " Mothers are like that, laddie. They like their boys to 
 be always their boys; and every larger pair of trousers 
 they have to buy brings a lump to their throats. I'll 
 never forget the shock it was to me when I found you 
 wore the same size shirt your father used to wear." 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 109 
 
 "Growing big isn't growing up, mother." 
 
 "True, laddie, true/' 
 
 Now she smiled back at him, and when he started off 
 after dinner for Kemper's Park to play a game of baseball 
 in the factory league, the idea of it seemed to answer her 
 mood. Playing baseball I He was only a boy after all. 
 What simple little things in us all satisfy and cheer the 
 mothers! How they create splendid illusions about us 
 merely for the sake of deceiving themselves! How they 
 delight in believing us to be what they know in their heart 
 of hearts we are not. And yet, without their illusions and 
 their self-deceptions, what a world of pure contentment 
 and joy would vanish away out of their lives! It was so 
 with Mrs. Gilbert, and if one of the illusions which formed 
 the image of Jack in her heart was shattered, she promptly 
 brushed away the ruins and created another in its place. 
 
 Of all the many secret societies that thrived in Hamp- 
 stead — and there was one for every two score of voters — 
 none was so often mentioned in the News and Register as 
 the Edward Strutt Council, D. L. O. P. It had been 
 formed when Mr. Strutt was at the height of his glory as 
 Congressman, and he had written a letter from Washing- 
 ton, a letter which hung now in a cheap but gaudy frame 
 on a whitewashed wall of the society's rooms, permitting 
 the council to use his name. The members were, for the 
 greater part, skilled workmen from the mills, and, as far 
 as Strutt Council, D. L. O. P., was concerned, they lived 
 up to the name. They worked. They organized fairs 
 for their general funds; they engineered concerts for their 
 sick and benevolent association; they developed an ama- 
 teur comic opera company which gave performances at 
 
110 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 the Hampstead Opera House to endow a D. L. O. P. bed 
 at the hospital; they paraded in wonderful uniforms on 
 the slightest provocation; and the G. H. T., or Grand 
 High Treasurer, was never forced to face a deficit. They 
 were giving, this very week of Gilbert's promotion, a three 
 nights' bazaar at the large armory on Broad Street, for the 
 benefit of the widows and orphans of deceased members. 
 
 It goes without saying that the most important feature 
 of the bazaar was the list of prizes, and, since the numbers 
 were to be drawn on the last night, the people began to 
 pour into the big brick building before the streets outside, 
 filled with the Saturday night crowd, were dark. Of 
 course there were other attractions in the big drill hall. 
 There were the usual booths decorated with the usual gay 
 bunting — pinned up so cleverly that the holes and faded 
 places seldom showed, — behind which stood the usual 
 shop-girls and shop-wives and shop-daughters of the D. 
 L. O. P., selling the usual things, from imitation tortoise- 
 shell combs to imitation ice cream. An orchestra on a 
 temporary stage was making the usual disturbance, or 
 lounging back nonchalantly after an effort, doing their 
 best to look as if they disliked their prominence. Young 
 girls were sifting through the crowd selling "chances" 
 on a sewing-machine, which husbands bought because 
 wives were interested in both the sewing-machine and 
 the "chances." The people from outside kept crowding in, 
 elbowing their way through the tightly packed masses, and 
 there was so much noise that one had to shout to be heard. 
 The thermometer was at eighty and rising every minute, and 
 nearly everyone was having an outrageously good time. 
 
 Gilbert leaned against the candy counter near the door 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 111 
 
 and talked with Gilshannon of the News. He liked Gil- 
 shannon with his bright, cynical talk and his generous 
 Irish heart that gave the lie to it. Like most reporters 
 Gilshannon had a good supply of gossip at his tongue's 
 end, and, unlike most reporters, he analyzed his gossip; 
 he took it to pieces; and he laughed at it. It was very 
 entertaining. The men of Hampstead liked Gilshannon. 
 He admitted it frankly, and he said that this accounted 
 for his good-natured contempt for people. How could he 
 have any respect for the fools who were not clever enough 
 to see through him; who liked him, in a word? His mind 
 seemed always busy with new theories and sophistries, 
 which often turned upon him, boomerang-like; but few of 
 his friends took them seriously. Certainly he never did. 
 And so, although he scoffed at clothes, he took great care 
 to look well; and, although he declared that good humor 
 was an evidence of weakness, there was no smile in Hamp- 
 stead more constant than that about his bearded mouth; 
 and, although he often said that a newspaper man was 
 just nobody at all, he swaggered about the streets as if he 
 owned them. 
 
 Gilshannon saw her coming, but he did not mention it. 
 He broke off suddenly in the midst of a sentence: 
 
 " It's a begging fest," he remarked. " If you stay long 
 in one place you get collared. Your only hope is to keep 
 moving. Nothing to see anyhow except the people. If 
 you get a bunch of people together anywhere, you can 
 charge admission to those that are outside. They like to 
 herd. I'm off. 'Night, Jack." 
 
 A moment later Gilbert was confronted by Miss Gerty 
 Smith, all in clinging, flimsy white, a huge wad of her 
 
112 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 bright yellow hair built up at the edge of her forehead at 
 almost exactly the tilt of the tip of her upturned nose. 
 Her eyes had the triumphant glint of capture, as she 
 stretched out her exquisitely rounded bare arm and 
 prodded the collection box almost in his face. 
 
 "Something for the orphans?" 
 
 Her tone was business-like, and Gilbert mechanically 
 put his hand in his pocket. 
 
 "Ought to be something big from a man with a big 
 job like yours." 
 
 Gilbert dropped back the dime he had chosen and drew 
 forth a quarter instead. He knew that he had come to 
 the bazaar partly to see this girl. He knew that he wished 
 to understand her. There had been a time when he en- 
 joyed watching her physical beauty, her animal graceful- 
 ness, although the charm always disappeared when she 
 spoke to him. Now his thought was concentrated on the 
 problem of the shop and her relation to it. But he found 
 himself hesitating, scarcely knowing, now that she had 
 come to him, how to talk to her. 
 
 "That^s the business," she remarked, as the silver rat- 
 tled in the box. "Guess you got a raise all right." 
 
 He merely shook his head, and she turned away with a 
 half-hidden grimace. She was frankly piqued about this 
 big Mr. Gilbert. Most of the men stared at her with open- 
 eyed admiration, and she liked it. But she did not like 
 the look that she usually saw in his eyes. It seemed to 
 hurt her pride. 
 
 "Wait a minute. I want to talk to you." 
 
 "Well, you'll have to talk quick. My time's worth 
 about a dollar a minute to the widows and orphans." 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 113 
 
 "All right/' Gilbert drawled. "I'll wait till your time 
 is cheaper." 
 
 He settled back against the candy counter, and looked 
 past her toward the platform, where the orchestra had 
 been pushed back from its proud position to make room 
 for the ceremony of drawing the prizes. But her woman's 
 curiosity was aroused, and she stood waiting irreso- 
 lutely. 
 
 "Suppose you like being superintendent?" she re- 
 marked tentatively. 
 
 "Lots of possible difficulties. Suppose, for example, I 
 had a man under me who stole information about new 
 machines we haven't patented, and sold it to somebody 
 outside." 
 
 The crowd had become suddenly quiet and was pressing 
 toward the platform. The luck of the first draw was 
 about to be announced. Miss Gerty Smith paid no atten- 
 tion, however. She was obviously startled and her face 
 was slightly flushed. 
 
 "Well, what 'Id you do?" She tried to speak indiffer- 
 ently. 
 
 " I don't quite know. That's one of the difficulties." 
 
 "Silver water pitcher." The voice of the announcer 
 interrupted them, and the mass about them craned its 
 neck and sharpened its ears and held its breath. " Num- 
 ber 4178. Number 4178 is Joseph Heffler." 
 
 An audible sigh came from the crowd, and it was fol- 
 lowed quickly by a number of perfectly distinct hisses. 
 ^t that instant Gilbert, looking up, caught sight of a short 
 man with a young, beardless face and a contrasting shock 
 of prematurely gray hair. The man was almost at the 
 
114 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 edge of the crowd, and Gilbert saw the face grow suddenly 
 red and drawn at the hisses. It was an attractive face, 
 and the man's evident suffering seized upon Gilbert's 
 sympathies. The announcement of the second drawing 
 came almost immediately, and the man with the gray hair 
 slipped from his place and started for the door, almost 
 brushing Gilbert as he passed. But a woman's hand 
 stopped him as, his head bent, he hurried by, and Miss 
 Gerty Smith spoke, her hard, sharp voice modulated until 
 it seemed almost kind: 
 
 "Good-night, Joe. You won quick." 
 
 The man with the gray hair looked up, smiled and 
 passed out. 
 
 Gilbert knew about this Joe Heffler. Gilshannon had 
 been talking about him that very night. Gilshannon had 
 dismissed him from conversation by remarking that "he 
 was no good, no good on earth." And Heffler 's record 
 affirmed Gilshannon's opinion. Heffler had worked at 
 the Hubbard mills once, but he had been caught embez- 
 zling the factory funds and had served three years in 
 prison. He had had a hard time finding work after that, 
 but finally he had been given a chance as clerk in the 
 Water Commissioners' office. A few months ago he had 
 lost the place, however, and rumor, always eager to strike 
 a man who is down, said that he had been caught stealing 
 again. But Gilbert's sympathies, when they were fully 
 aroused — and the poignant pain on Heffler's face had 
 aroused them, — always made him impulsive. He forgot 
 Miss Gerty Smith entirely, and, turning on his heel, he 
 followed the man whom Gilshannon had said "was no 
 good" out into the night. The man was standing at the 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 115 
 
 comer, indecisively looking up and down Main Street, 
 when Gilbert came up behind him. 
 
 "My name's John Gilbert, Joe Heffler. Walk a bit 
 with me, will you? It's a fine night." 
 
 Without waiting for an answer he linked his arm in 
 Heffler's, and they were tramping up one of the deserted 
 side streets almost before Heffler knew what was hap- 
 pening. They walked for more than an hour, and at the 
 end of that time Joe Heffler, silent and suspicious at first, 
 was talking freely of himself, talking with the eager joy of 
 a man who has been schooled to silence. And Gilbert, 
 listening, realized that there is a harder solitary confine- 
 ment than that of the prison, — the solitary confinement of 
 the free streets of a free land, with public opinion, its head 
 turned away, passing by on the opposite side. 
 
 "It's none of my business, you know," Gilbert inter- 
 rupted him once. He felt vaguely that he owed the man 
 an apology for merely listening. 
 
 "It's anybody's business, sir," said Heffler bitterly. 
 
 It was a simple story enough, the old story of taking 
 money that he thought he could replace, money that was 
 needed at the moment to make his ailing mother com- 
 fortable. Heffler told it all with an almost frantic frank- 
 ness. He made no excuses. He laid bare every personal 
 motive. He said that, when he found the stealing easy, 
 he took more than he needed; and he admitted that, if he 
 had not been caught, he would probably have taken even 
 more. He felt that the shame of it had killed his mother, 
 but he did not blame Mr. Hubbard. He blamed himself. 
 And at this juncture of the story Gilbert patted him on 
 the shoulder and gruffly told him to " brace up." Heffler 
 
116 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 had little to say about the years in prison or about those 
 that had followed since his release. He had returned to 
 Hampstead with the intention of living down his mistake, 
 and he had found it a hard task. He could not explain 
 why he had lost his place in the Water Commissioners' 
 office. Captain Merrivale, the chairman of the board, had 
 always seemed friendly to him until about a month before 
 he had been dismissed. He had said something at that 
 time against the purchase of some land at the Hamp- 
 stead reservoir, and Captain Merrivale had been dis- 
 pleased by his remarks; but there were certainly no 
 grounds in that for dismissing him. 
 
 Gilbert remembered the CounciFs authorizing the Water 
 Commissioners to buy the land. He was interested. He 
 asked Heffler to tell him more about it, and Heffler, sur- 
 prised, told him what little he knew. The land on the 
 north of the reservoir was hilly and high priced; the land 
 on the south and west was level and cheap. For an addi- 
 tional reservoir and canal, the latter seemed better to 
 him; that was all. He knew little about it. The land on 
 the south and west was owned by farmers. The strip on 
 the north, the land that had been purchased by the com- 
 missioners, was held by a syndicate, in which, he knew 
 from the records, Mr. Hubbard and ex-Congressman 
 Strutt were interested. There were arguments in favor 
 of selecting this land, of course, and the commissioners 
 undoubtedly knew more about it than he did. 
 
 All this Heffler explained indifferently, in jerky, unfin- 
 ished sentences, and then he lapsed into his usual dull 
 silence. He had lost his interest when he had finished 
 his personal story. Perhaps he was half sorry that he 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 117 
 
 had talked so freely. He had become so accustomed to 
 distrust and ridicule that he expected it. 
 
 It was late when they walked up Main Street, their 
 footsteps echoing along the silent thoroughfare. The 
 stores were dark and the crowds had vanished. But the 
 lights in Mr. Tubb's gaudy ark of a night lunch wagon 
 were still burning, and Gilbert directed Joe Heffler, who 
 seemed to hang back reluctantly, to the narrow steps of 
 the cart. Mr. Lumpkin, protected by a huge white apron, 
 many sizes too large for him, which had belonged to his 
 predecessor in the glories of the lunch-counter, was wash- 
 ing dishes and singing lustily a song which may or may 
 not have been suggested by his occupation: 
 
 " It's suited me, this life at sea, 
 For nigh on twenty " 
 
 "Come in, boys! Howdy, Mr. Gilbert, and you, Joe. 
 Well, well! The Scriptures say that 'the lion an' the 
 lamb shall eat together,' or words to that effect. Been to 
 the bazaar, I presume. What '11 you have? Oh, come, 
 Joe, you'd better have something." 
 
 But Heffler shook his head doggedly. 
 
 "Ain't hungry." 
 
 "Your looks belie you, as the Scripture says, or some- 
 thing to that effect." Mr. Peter Lumpkin leaned upon 
 the counter and glared jovially at the obviously em- 
 barrassed Heffler. "Come, now, what'll it be, ham, 
 chicken, tongue, all the fifty-seven varieties? It's his 
 treat." Mr. Lumpkin jerked his thumb at Gilbert. 
 
 "Of course it's my treat." 
 
 "There, what'd I tell you. What'll it be, Joe, coffee. 
 
118 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 tea, cocoa, ginger pop — everything that's good to drink — 
 adapted, Mr. Gilbert, as you will observe, from our worthy 
 rival Butterson's well-known advertisement/' 
 
 Heffler, driven figuratively into a corner, looked appeal- 
 ingly up at Gilbert. 
 
 "I'm broke, that's all, if I've got to say it," he said 
 simply. " I bought that bazaar ticket with pretty nearly 
 my last money because somebody asked me, somebody I 
 couldn't refuse. I owe Peter here half a dollar " 
 
 "A falsehood, Mr. Gilbert," broke in Mr. Lumpkin with 
 a thump on the counter that rattled the dishes. *'A 
 gross, willful, and wicked falsehood. Our friend here has 
 joined me in certain comforting libations; he has helped 
 me to consume delectable eatables which otherwise were 
 destined for canine jaws, but always at my request, sir, 
 always at my request." 
 
 "Well, anyhow," persevered Mr. Heffler, "I don't in- 
 tend to run in debt. I'll starve first. And I don't want 
 to be under obligations to you, Mr. Gilbert." 
 
 "All right," said Gilbert, "I'll deduct it from your first 
 week's pay." 
 
 "My what?" Heffler stared at him with wide eyes. 
 
 "Your first week's pay at the shop. You're going to 
 begin there Monday, you know." 
 
 Heffler looked quickly from Gilbert to Mr. Lumpkin 
 and back. He ran his hand nervously through his thick 
 gray hair. He took a long breath and sat down weakly 
 on one of the revolving stools. 
 
 "D'ye mean to say that you're going to trust me?" he 
 said, almost in a whisper. "You, you aren't playing a 
 game on me?" 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 119 
 
 **0f course I trust you. Of course I'm not- 
 
 But, before Gilbert could finish, Joe Hefiler astounded 
 them by burying his head in his arms on the counter, with 
 imminent danger to a plate of ham sandwiches, and sob- 
 bing like a child. Mr. Lumpkin, after carefully rescuing 
 the sandwiches, shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "Joe's mighty precipitate," he remarked confiden- 
 tially. "But you've done a good thing, Mr. Gilbert. 
 I've often said to myself: * Peter Lumpkin,' says I, 'that 
 Mr. Gilbert is all wool and a yard wide. He may not be 
 very handsome,' I says, begging your pardon, of course, 
 *but handsome is as handsome does,' as the Scripture 
 says, or words to that effect. Now, I know Joe. He's 
 slept in this emporium of food and frivolity for the last 
 week, chiefly because Mr. Tubb didn't know anything 
 about it but mainly because he hadn't anywhere else to 
 sleep. And I tell you he's as tender hearted and as well 
 meaning an individual as ever helped to populate the 
 Almighty's footstool. You've done a good thing, and 
 you'll never have a jot or tittle of regret. I admire 
 you, sir, and if you ever want your shoes blacked, Mr. 
 Peter Lumpkin stands ready to shine them, sir, with the 
 President's shoe blacking." 
 
 Mr. Lumpkin finished his peroration with a gesture 
 which brought his hand in contact with the coffee boiler, 
 and, since that receptacle was hot, Peter added a few 
 words that seemed, to say the least, incongruous. 
 
 " All right, Lumpkin," laughed Gilbert. " Let me have 
 some coffee." 
 
 They had coffee all 'round, and sandwiches. Heffler ate 
 four silently and followed them with apple pie. While 
 
120 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 they were eating the door slid back and let in Jimmy 
 O'Rourke, who immediately filled in at the only vacant 
 seat left at the counter. Then Mr. Lumpkin brought 
 forth a box of cigars, made of "good patriotic Connecticut 
 tobacco," declaring that they at least were his treat; and 
 soon the four were puffing away contentedly and discuss- 
 ing topics along the line of least resistance to Mr. Lump- 
 kin's eloquence. Occasionally Peter would defer some 
 points to Gilbert's judgment and occasionally Jimmy 
 O'Rourke broke in with quotations from newspapers or 
 various local authorities. Heffler sat quiet, his eyes 
 almost constantly on Gilbert. 
 
 "Say," remarked Jimmy in a pause, while Mr. Lumpkin 
 was regaining his breath. Jimmy had a way of finding 
 every trivial situation of which he was a part, like some- 
 thing, much more important, that he had read about or 
 heard about. "Dis makes ye tink av de President an' 
 his cabinet, an' de way dey talks things over. De Secrety 
 av Agriculture, he don't have much to say — dat's Heff- 
 ler. De Secrety of War — dat's me all right," Jimmy 
 doubled up his fists and grinned. "An' Peter sure is 
 Secrety of de Interior." 
 
 Gilbert waited a moment, smiling. 
 
 "And where do I come in, Jimmy?" 
 
 "Say, ye want me to say it, don't ye? Well, you're 
 de main guy." 
 
 The bell of the town clock in the Municipal building 
 tolled twelve, and Mr. Lumpkin prepared to close the 
 wagon. Mr. Tubb's scruples would not permit him to make 
 money on Sunday, even in a lunch cart in the early morn- 
 ing. Outside Joe Heffler put his hand on Gilbert's arm. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 121 
 
 "I'll do my best to- 
 
 " Sure," said Gilbert heartily. But Heffler refused the 
 loan Jack tried to force upon him. 
 
 "I'd rather not, if you don't mind," he said. 
 
 Jimmy O'Rourke went off whistling down the street. 
 He had probably forgotten entirely his comparison of the 
 group in the lunch wagon to a cabinet. He certainly had 
 no notion that it was prophetic. As for Gilbert, he spent 
 all Sunday afternoon tramping about Hampstead reser- 
 voir, but if he came to any conclusion he said nothing 
 about it to anyone. In fact Mrs. Gilbert complained that 
 night with some raillery that he was unusually uncom- 
 municative. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 INDEPENDENCE DAY 
 
 FOR three or four days it rained almost continu- 
 ously, and the ''Glorious Fourth" dawned, drip- 
 ping and disheartening. Of course all Hamp- 
 stead arose early, and of course its youthful patriots 
 managed to express their enthusiasm "between drops," 
 and of course everyone remarked, with various degrees of 
 resignation, that it "always rained on Fourth of July," 
 and of course nobody wasted any time thinking about the 
 significance of the day or about the men of 1776 who, by 
 their act, created a nation as well as a holiday. Few peo- 
 ple in Hampstead bothered their minds about the signifi- 
 cance of anything. They were too busy, and a holiday 
 was a holiday. 
 
 After a dull, leaden afternoon and twilight, night shut 
 in black and menacing and growling with far-off thunder. 
 Lightning soon began to streak across the shroud that 
 hung over the Hampstead hills, and the thunder grew 
 harsh and rapid, as if the elements realized that they had 
 spoiled the town's celebration and were trying to replace 
 it by a display of their own. Then suddenly the down- 
 pour began, straight and steady even in the whirl of the 
 rushing wind that tore through the thick foliage of the 
 
 122 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 123 
 
 trees. But the closeness and the heat of the day persisted 
 and seemed even to increase. 
 
 On the side of West Hill, which stood forth defiantly 
 against the full force of the storm, and down the streets 
 of which the water streamed in miniature rivers, the 
 Hardy house, with its high tower, loomed up into the 
 desolate night like a beacon. Within there was the stir 
 of preparation, and the maids tiptoed here and there and 
 gave and took orders quietly, hushed by the sense of 
 something impending, as if someone was ill upstairs. 
 
 Clare Hardy, all in black, except for flashes of red at her 
 throat, at her waist and at the ends of her sleeves, knocked 
 at the door of her mother's room, sometime after eight. 
 Mrs. Hardy responded plaintively. She stood with her 
 back turned to the door. 
 
 "I've done it," she said, punctuating the words with 
 jerky little sobs. 
 
 '* Done what? " Miss Hardy hurried to her solicitously. 
 
 "I've wept, my child," moaned her mother. "That 
 means that I simply can't see anyone for half an hour. 
 You know how terribly crying makes one look. And if 
 anyone should notice— it's so vulgar, you know, to show 
 one's feelings." 
 
 "But what's the matter?" Clare Hardy dared to lay 
 her hand on her mother's shoulder. 
 
 "Don't be sympathetic, child," said Mrs. Hardy, sud- 
 den sternness stopping her tears. " It's bad for one's 
 repose. I wanted this to be so successful. It's out of 
 season and we might be criticised. And now there is this 
 wicked rain. I'm afraid the Bassett girls won't come, 
 and I did wish them to see my new vases. And your 
 
124 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 father, my dear, something is wrong with him. He was 
 very harsh to-night." 
 
 As Miss Hardy went slowly down the stairs, she could 
 hear her father stamping up and down his room with 
 heavy step. She leaned against the balustrade wearily, 
 and for a second she felt utterly discouraged, as if the sup- 
 ports had been suddenly jerked out from under her heart. 
 Then the bell rang, and pressing her lips tightly together, 
 she tried to make them smile as she hurried down to greet 
 the first comers. When the door opened John Gilbert 
 alone strode past the maid, and, seeing Miss Hardy at the 
 foot of the stairs, he crossed the hall, straight to her. 
 
 *^Miss Hardy," he said, putting out his big hand with 
 an awkward shyness, "I — I'm not late, am I?" 
 
 Clare Hardy laughed nervously. 
 
 "Oh, no, you're just in time." 
 
 "I didn't want to be too early." He was evidently 
 relieved until he looked about him. He saw the maid 
 smiling as she passed him. " I'm not too early, am I? " 
 
 Miss Hardy saw the red flush mount in his cheeks, and 
 she was sorry for him. 
 
 "The others are late." 
 
 Gilbert looked at her ruefully. Then he smiled. 
 
 "You're trying to let me down easy. After all there 
 are good things about being first." 
 
 His smile was contagious. 
 
 "That's a very nice speech, Mr. Gilbert.' 
 
 " Nice speech? " Gilbert was puzzled. " I didn't mean 
 any nice speech. Oh, I see. You thought I meant be- 
 cause you are here. I might have. But I didn't. I 
 was speaking generally." 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 125 
 
 It was her turn to be embarrassed. 
 
 "If you're always as honest as that I'm afraid the girls 
 won't like you." 
 
 Gilbert took a step forward and his eyes, although they 
 smiled down at her, were very searching. 
 
 ''Won't you?'' 
 
 "I— don't know." 
 
 There was a hint of defiance as well as of coquetry in 
 her tone. What right had he to ask such a question, and 
 what right had he to look at her as if he owned her? 
 
 " I hope you will," he said gravely, and he left her to 
 put aside his rain-coat and hat. 
 
 During the next half hour bedraggled horses, hoof deep 
 in water, dragged dripping carriages to the door; and men 
 and women in brave array, many of whom had mourned 
 deeply the necessity of coming in such a storm, paraded 
 in with protestations of delight. John Gilbert, watching 
 them, felt doubly awkward as he saw that the men were 
 all in evening clothes — evening clothes of great variety, 
 without doubt, for it literally takes decades for Hamp- 
 stead to wear them out. There were some that clung as 
 tightly as paper to a wall; there were collars that crowded 
 up about the ears; and there were sleeves that kept their 
 wearers busy, all the evening, jogging their cuffs upward 
 by a carefully concealed wrist exercise. But after all 
 they were evening clothes and therefore the badge of 
 propriety, and Gilbert's natural isolation was made almost 
 unbearable by this continuous succession of swallow tails. 
 There is many a hero among men who is more or less of a 
 coward in the face of clothes. 
 
 It was a simple affair, this Fourth of July party, and its 
 
126 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 very simplicity made it a novelty. There was no set pro- 
 gram of things to do. Hampstead usually thought out 
 its social matters as it thought out its business, and it 
 made its functions as formal as old-fashioned business 
 correspondence. It was not that its people preferred to 
 be stiff and uncomfortable. Not at all. They were 
 merely afraid of doing something that might be consid- 
 ered improper. And it was for the same reason that 
 they seldom applauded at theater or concert, and so gave 
 the town a reputation of being "cold." As a matter of 
 fact there is not a warmer-hearted community in the 
 world, when they are certain that it is proper to seem 
 warm-hearted. But Miss Hardy turned the house that 
 night into "Liberty Hall," and assured them that, since 
 it was Independence Day, they should do as they pleased. 
 Of course half of them did and half of them did not, as is 
 usually the custom where the sexes are equally divided; 
 but they all enjoyed it immensely. 
 
 They danced in the music-room and down the hall; 
 they played cards in the library; they made speeches and 
 sang songs; they helped themselves from the dining- 
 room table, crowded with good things, between times; 
 the men smoked in the little reception-room; couples 
 retired to the cozy comer or a window seat and pretended 
 to watch the others; and even the servants used the crack 
 in the door of the butler's pantry more freely than usual. 
 Altogether it was a great success. The Misses Bassett 
 rejoiced Mrs. Hardy's heart by going into raptures over 
 the new vases, although, behind her back, they told each 
 other that the things were undoubtedly imitation. And 
 Mr. Hardy enjoyed the impromptu smoking-room. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 127 
 
 Billy McNish had assured Miss Hardy that if he was to 
 do as he liked he would, of course, remain at her side 
 throughout the evening, and they spent an hour or more 
 trying to help the people to be independent who were 
 floundering aimlessly about because no one had built a 
 groove for them to run in. But the time came when the 
 girl chose a seat on the secluded stairs, and told Mr. 
 McNish that from that moment she was going to do as 
 she pleased — which meant, of course, that he was to do 
 as she pleased. She commanded him to search for other 
 sources of attraction for himself. Incidentally he was to 
 find John Gilbert and to direct him in some surreptitious 
 way down the hall and past the stairway. Billy himself, 
 she explained guilelessly, had urged her to know Mr. 
 Gilbert better. More than this, Mr. Gilbert was probably 
 having a very dull evening — since there were few people 
 there whom he knew intimately, — and it was her duty as 
 a hostess to be pleasant to him. And Billy, after some 
 delay and clearly out of pity for his friend, did as he was 
 told. 
 
 When he had gone Miss Hardy, with two or three deft 
 touches, straightened some imruly crinkles in her skirt 
 and sighed for a looking-glass. Then she leaned back 
 against the balustrade in absolute abandon, with her left 
 arm hanging loosely along the rail, and hummed the little 
 lilt of a French song just loudly enough to attract the 
 attention of anyone passing by, who had any curiosity. 
 She was certain that John Gilbert had at least enough 
 curiosity for that. A moment later he turned as he 
 crossed below her, and saw the figure, almost elf-like as it 
 huddled on the stairway, the mischievous black eyes and 
 
128 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 the tantalizing smile about half-closed lips. He stood 
 for a second as if undecided, and the song broke off. 
 
 "Won't you sit down?" she asked. 
 
 He responded with a naive shyness which, it seemed to 
 her, made his awkwardness singularly graceful. He sat 
 down opposite her on the stair below, with his hands 
 clasped over one knee and with the other long leg sprawled 
 at full length. He looked across at her, his irregular 
 features distorted into a frank smile. 
 
 "This is mighty good of you," he said simply. 
 
 Subterfuge and generalship suddenly vanished from 
 Clare Hardy's mind. 
 
 "Nonsense. I asked Billy to send you this way. I 
 wanted to know you better." 
 
 "And I want to know you," he answered with boyish 
 eagerness. "Do you know. Miss Hardy, this is the first 
 bit of frankness I've met to-night." 
 
 "Of course," she said with sudden cynicism. "Most 
 people are so commonplace that they're deadly dull even 
 when they are insincere. What would they be if they 
 told the truth? How have you been celebrating to-day? " 
 
 "Fussing with a lot of machines at the shop." He 
 grinned good-humoredly over his holiday. 
 
 Miss Hardy's eyebrows wrinkled slightly. 
 
 "Isn't that a mistake?" 
 
 " You mean that it seems selfish to keep working all the 
 time. Perhaps; but there are a lot of men I know, who 
 are really unselfish, but who have to live selfish lives." 
 
 "Oh, I didn't mean that. I meant that it's a mistake 
 to give up everything else, the finer things, you know, 
 books and pictures and people." 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 129 
 
 Gilbert nodded gravely. 
 
 "Yes," he said, ''it's a mistake. It's a mistake for me 
 to be built like a derrick, but I can't help it. It's a mis- 
 take to want food and a place to sleep. It's a mistake to 
 be poor. Sometimes, when I'm tired, that seems to me 
 the biggest mistake of all. But it isn't. There are lots 
 of worse things." 
 
 "I don't think I should mind being poor," said Miss 
 Hardy dreamily. 
 
 " Being poor is all right if you can forget it." 
 
 "Of course, you never get discouraged, you men who 
 have things to do, things that make you forget." 
 
 "Don't I? Why, some nights, I come home feeling 
 like a limp dishrag inside." 
 
 "Inside but not outside," she suggested. 
 
 "Well, 'outside' wouldn't do. Somebody might take 
 you at your face value, and wipe dishes with you." 
 
 Clare Hardy laughed. 
 
 " Tell me about that man you hired who was a thief. I 
 think Dad didn't altogether like it. What made you do 
 it?" 
 
 " It was sheer impulse. Miss Hardy. Perhaps a grown 
 man wouldn't 've done it." He smiled over at her boy- 
 ishly. Then he told her Heflaer's story, mentioning him- 
 self only when it was necessary to show HeflSer's sensi- 
 tiveness about obligations. When he told her of the 
 man's emotion at being trusted there were tears in her 
 eyes, and she stopped him suddenly. 
 
 "Do you believe in being impulsive?" she asked. 
 
 "Sometimes; why?" 
 
 " Because I impulsively want to shake hands with you."' 
 
130 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 He caught her hand eagerly, but with a gentle reverence 
 that made something in her heart catch and stop for a 
 second before going on. 
 
 "This is your impulse shaking hands with my impulse," 
 he explained beamingly. "For if I'd allowed myself to 
 reason about it I probably shouldn't have done it.'^ 
 
 "Of course you won't give him a chance to steal 
 again?" Miss Hardy, her face sUghtly flushed, was look- 
 ing down into the hall. She wondered if anyone had seen 
 them. 
 
 " He is handling a good deal of money. He^s assisting 
 the paymaster." 
 
 She turned to him quickly. 
 
 " Really? Isn't that risky? " 
 
 "I told him I trusted him, didn't I? I'd be a slushy 
 sort of a man if I told him that and then didn't trust him. 
 Of course, there are the usual checks on him, but that's 
 all. He's all right, Joe Heffler is, and he's going to have 
 a chance to prove it to everybody." 
 
 Gilbert brought a doubled fist down hard upon his 
 knee, and looked across at the girl so fiercely that she 
 laughed and he laughed with her. 
 
 "I suppose that's the reason the men like you, because 
 you're so honest." 
 
 "That's the reason why I Hke the men," he answered 
 quickly, "because they're 'on the level' with me." 
 
 Miss Hardy stared thoughtfully past him for a moment. 
 
 "It's a real man's work in the world," she said slowly. 
 "It's fine to do things." 
 
 "The only trouble is you only want to do other things 
 — bigger things." 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 131 
 
 "I've always said/' nodded Miss Hardy recklessly, 
 " that when my ship came in I was going to find the best 
 man in the world, and we'd buy a house in Venice. There 
 shouldn't be anything in that house I didn't like, and 
 we'd live there three months in a year and travel the 
 other nine. And when we were tired of that we'd do 
 something else. But the ship isn't even in sight, and I 
 mope around here doing nothing, calling on people who 
 don't want to see me and receiving people I don't want 
 to see." 
 
 She flushed under the quizzical look of his eyes. 
 
 "Well, what do you think of it?" she asked. 
 
 "I think it's tommyrot, and so do you." 
 
 "It's me," she insisted. 
 
 "It isn't any more you than a whirling dervish is an 
 angel." 
 
 There were sounds of stamping feet on the porch and 
 the bell rang vigorously. Miss Hardy, thankful for the 
 interruption, started up with quick energy and stumbled 
 over Gilbert's foot. Undoubtedly she would have fallen 
 if he had not caught her arm firmly. 
 
 "I always stumble at nothing," she cried petulantly, as 
 she regained her balance. 
 
 "Thank you," was the smiling answer. Their eyes met 
 and Miss Hardy's embarrassment vanished into good 
 humor. She hurried down to the door, and a second later 
 she beckoned to Gilbert. He noticed her perplexed look 
 as he passed her. And the look grew more perplexed 
 when, instead of stopping at the door, he went outside 
 with a muffled exclamation and almost closed it behind 
 him. She picked up a book from the hall table and 
 
132 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 opened it, but she listened to the sounds of subdued con- 
 versation outside. When Gilbert returned she dropped 
 the book and met him inquiringly. 
 
 "Is anything wrong?" she asked. She saw that his 
 face was set and frowning. There was a woman's tender 
 anxiety in her eyes that gripped Gilbert's heart strangely 
 as he looked down into them. 
 
 "Oh, no, but I want to see your father, and then I'm 
 afraid I'll have to go." 
 
 Reproach replaced anxiety in her look as she turned 
 away. She found Mr. Hardy quickly, but when they 
 reached the hallway Gilbert was already pacing the floor 
 anxiously, his rain-coat and overshoes on and his slouch 
 hat in his hand. 
 
 "I'm sorry I've got to go, Mr. Hardy," he said. Then 
 he hesitated as he glanced from father to daughter and 
 back again. "Is there any directors' meeting to-mor- 
 row?" he asked. 
 
 Hardy shook his head. "Not till September," he said. 
 The wind slammed a shutter in the next room and he 
 started violently. He looked very old and haggard to 
 Gilbert that night. His eyes had a kind of nervous, 
 hunted look, and the wrinkles about them seemed deeper 
 than usual. Gilbert felt the impulse strongly to tell "the 
 old man" why he was leaving, but he remembered the 
 vigorous command he had been given about not talking 
 of "things that weren't any of his business." So he said 
 good-night with awkward gratitude, and hurried out just 
 as Mrs. Hardy and Billy McNish came in from the library. 
 
 "Mr. Gilbert had to go early, mother," said the girl, 
 slipping her hand in Mrs. Hardy's arm. "He asked me 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 133 
 
 to say good-night to you for him/' she added unhesita- 
 tingly, although Gilbert in his hurry had forgotten to say 
 anything of the sort. Mr. Hardy turned to Billy McNish. 
 
 "I didn't know Jack went in much for politics," he 
 remarked. 
 
 '* I don't think he does." Billy spoke indifferently. 
 
 "I hope not," said Hardy wearily, as he started up the 
 stairs, "for a man can't be my superintendent and Mayor 
 at the same time, and I'd hate to lose him." 
 
 Billy's attitude changed amazingly to one of acute 
 interest, and Miss Hardy stopped at the music-room door. 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked Billy. 
 
 "I hear that Moriarty and some of the rest have been 
 sounding men at the shops about it, that's all." 
 
 The old man laboriously continued on his way up the 
 stairs. He was tired of the confusion and the noise and 
 the merriment. He wanted to think and smoke. He had 
 been worried all day about those notes he had sold in 
 New York, In a week or two they would come due. 
 Large orders he had been confident of taking had gone to 
 the Westbury concern. Small, imexpected repairs had 
 eaten in on the money he had laid aside. Business was 
 slacking up for the usual summer's dullness with its high 
 expenses and its small income. And there were these 
 rumors about large purchases of Hardy stock, rumors 
 that were all the more worrisome because of their mystery 
 and uncertainty. Of course, he did not take them very 
 seriously. Brett and Merrivale had always been friendly 
 to him. He had elected the Mayor a director in return 
 for a small "ground floor" allotment in the Street Railway 
 Company, and Merrivale had "let him in on" some real- 
 
134 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 estate deals in exchange for a Hardy directorship. Un- 
 doubtedly it was all right. But to-night all these things 
 were crowding in upon him. They irritated him, and he 
 shook his head, bulldog like, as if to drive them away. 
 But they did not frighten him. Never for a moment did 
 he doubt that, with his shops, he would beat them all 
 back as he had other opposition in other days. 
 
 It was long after midnight when the guests began to go. 
 Carriages again rumbled outside in the steady rain that 
 had followed the thunderstorm; doors slammed, echoing 
 noisily in the deserted street; and the stereotyped good- 
 night phrases were said, phrases for all the world like the 
 phrases with which the French close their letters, to the 
 patronizing amusement of our superior American mind. 
 At last Billy McNish alone remained, at Miss Hardy's 
 unspoken request. 
 
 "I'm not a bit sleepy or tired," she said. "I'd like to 
 run a mile or two, or play tennis, or dance another hour. 
 Let's go out and get wet." 
 
 . She returned a moment later, wrapped in her father's 
 gray mackintosh, which hung in folds about her, and with 
 an old cap perched at a rakish angle on the side of her 
 head. 
 
 "No umbrella," she commanded, the witchery of her 
 smile just showing itself to Billy above the tumed-up 
 collar of the mackintosh. She made him secrete in his 
 pockets a few huge, left-over firecrackers, and then she 
 led him out into the night. Once off the steps she darted 
 away from him, and, when he caught her at the gate, she 
 laughed till she cried because he slipped and went down 
 upon his knee in a puddle. She suggested stealing some 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 135 
 
 flowers from the McNish garden, and then gave it up 
 because he told her to help herself. She rated him for 
 being sober and solemn, and, to please her, of course, he 
 assumed a priestly air and sang mock Gregorians until 
 she begged him to stop. They held a council of war, and 
 decided unanimously that the firecrackers would create 
 more amusing havoc under crusty Mr. Butterson's win- 
 dow than elsewhere. And so they crossed the street, 
 whispering and giggling like two small children, to the 
 gaunt white frame house in which Mr. Butterson lived 
 and, at the moment, slept. 
 
 It had taken Colonel Mead nearly two hours to decide 
 to see Jack that night. According to his custom he had 
 tramped down to the post-ofiice just as the storm was 
 beginning. Nothing ever stopped the Colonel from car- 
 rying out the regular routine of his simple life, and getting 
 the mail at night was as necessary to him now as roll- 
 call had been years before. When he had read his letters 
 at home he sat down without taking off the long rubber 
 boots which he wore in spite of conventions, and he 
 fingered thoughtfully the little enclosure, signed by Robert 
 Brett, that called him to a special meeting of the board of 
 directors of Hardy & Son the next morning at eleven 
 o'clock. Then he threw it into the waste-basket and 
 picked up a book, but he forgot to take off his boots. 
 After a time he put the book down and rescued the paper 
 from the basket. Then he repeated the entire operation 
 and finally, swearing under his breath, he stamped out 
 into the night and up the street to Gilbert's house. When 
 he found that Gilbert was at Mr. Hardy's he hesitated 
 
136 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 again, and argued that Jack's absence was providence tell- 
 ing him to let the thing alone; but nevertheless his rheu- 
 matic legs seemed to carry him naturally to the Hardy 
 house. 
 
 "If the old man knew anything about the meeting he'd 
 \e signed the call himself," Gilbert said, as they talked on 
 the porch. " He likes to sign everything. Something's in 
 the wind, something, perhaps, to get him out of the way. 
 More Ukely it's something to get the directors down on 
 him, so that the other crowd can get control in the Fall." 
 
 " I ain't much on the ways o' doin' civilized business," 
 interrupted the Colonel. "D'ye mean they're goin' to 
 hang the old man up now, thinkin' mebbe he'll be dead 
 enough to cut down by September?" 
 
 "Something like that." Gilbert was thinking rapidly. 
 " Perhaps it's a scheme to make the stock cheap. Lord, 
 it might be anything. Only one thing dead sure and that 
 is, it's a snap meeting. It's up to us to see that every 
 director is there. That's what they won't expect." 
 
 "Up to us?" flared the Colonel. "I ain't heard thet 
 Hardy's sent out fer any relief party. Let him do his 
 own fightin'. Ye kin probly git more rations from the 
 other side anyhow." 
 
 Gilbert shook his head and turned to go in. 
 
 " I'll find out whether the old man knows about it," he 
 said. 
 
 "I'll git the horse," returned the Colonel, tacking 
 quickly before Gilbert's decision. "We'll hev to go to 
 Tareville an' it ain't good walkin'." 
 
 "Oh, I'll get along all right. Colonel. It's too nasty a 
 night for you to be out. You ought to be in bed now." 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 137 
 
 "Too nasty a night?" the Colonel grunted angrily. 
 "Ought to be in bed, hed I? Thet's what the doctor sed 
 to me down in New Erleens. I certainly wuz totterin' 
 around like a sick steer and ez white ez I wuz when I 
 struck gold. 'Ye've got Yella Jack/ he says. 'Ye're a 
 liar/ sez I, an' I goes over to a saloon, and the bartender 
 is so scared of me that he's going to hev me pitched out — 
 only he doesn't, seein' I git the drop on him. I drinks a 
 whole quart of whiskey raw, and goes to bed with my 
 shoes on. There isn't any undertaker a workin' over me 
 the next mornin', tho' I'll allow so much bad whiskey 
 leaves me high an' dry an' gaspin'. Now you git yer 
 feet movin' or I'll be here 'fore ye're ready," and the 
 grizzled old man stamped off down the steps. 
 
 When he drove up, some fifteen minutes later, he found 
 Gilbert waiting for him, and together they went in to see 
 Mr. McNish. They had scarcely stated their errand when 
 McNish broke in with genial abruptness. 
 
 "I'm a good deal in the position of Tom Dal ton down 
 at Spottsylvania," he said. "Tom was sent out as a spy, 
 and he was chumming up with a parcel of Johnnies at a 
 rebel outpost when his own regiment surrounded them 
 and took them prisoners. They were all marched to the 
 rear an' examined, Tom, dressed in faded butternut, with 
 the rest. When they came to examine 'em and got to 
 Tom, he remarked, 'Ye needn't waste any time on me. 
 I'm a sergeant in A Company.' Said afterwards that he'd 
 never been a rebel prisoner before, and that it was a great 
 deal more fun than being a Yankee spy. So," con- 
 tinued the kindly gentleman, "you needn't waste any 
 time on me." 
 
138 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 They soon found that they needed every minute Mr. 
 McNish had saved for them. One man they pursued to 
 the Hampstead Club, and dragged him from a game of 
 whist to make him reluctantly promise attendance at the 
 next morning's meeting. They spent the better part of 
 half an hour, arguing another into postponing until after- 
 noon a trip out of town. They broke into a patriotic 
 meeting at the Hampstead Y. M. C. A. to find a third, 
 and were forced to wait until, covered with glory and 
 perspiration, he finished amid great applause his remarks 
 and his gestures concerning "The Flag We Love." Of 
 course, after this applause he agreed readily. Then they 
 started for Tareville. The others were only too certain 
 to be present. 
 
 It was five miles to Tareville, five long miles, over 
 roads thick with sticky red mud, with the rain beating 
 steadily in their faces and trickling down into every tiny 
 opening in their covering. 
 
 "Better jog along rapid,'' the Colonel said, giving the 
 horse the rein when they had passed the last groups of 
 houses. " I'd rather ask a favor of a man that hedn't hed 
 his dinner than of a man I'd woke up in the middle of the 
 night." 
 
 Jack nodded, and then started to a sitting posture, as 
 the Colonel emitted a loud whoop that carried far out into 
 the wet darkness. Then, as the carriage careened and 
 swayed down the roadway, a dim light ahead turned 
 quickly to the left. A minute later they whirled past 
 a team pulled up by the roadside, and saw, in a flash, the 
 white, frightened face of the driver. The Colonel laughed 
 boisterously. On they went, each gripping the buggy 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 139 
 
 and watching the road ahead, where the lantern, hung 
 beneath, threw its flickering light among weird shadows 
 that played about the horse's beating hoofs. Other teams 
 turned out at the Colonel's piercing call, and the panting 
 livery horse ruled the road for perhaps the first time in 
 its humdrum life. 
 
 The house of the Tareville director was dark when they 
 reached it, but he appeared in dressing-gown and slip- 
 pers, in answer to their repeated ringing. And partly 
 because, as he explained, he was an old friend of Sam 
 Hardy's father, and, perhaps, partly because he was in a 
 hurry to be back in bed, he assured them quickly that he 
 would come to Hampstead for the meeting. 
 
 They jogged slowly homeward, the Colonel scrooged 
 down in the seat, trying to keep dry. Gilbert sat straight, 
 peering thoughtfully into the darkness. 
 
 "Unless they've got something big up their sleeve, we 
 can hold them; if the old man don't get somebody mad." 
 
 " Hardy's like a renegade cayuse," growled the Colonel. 
 "Ye can't lead him ner drive him. Ye've got to git on 
 his back and lick him into the trail." 
 
 "You've got to handle the meeting," remarked Gilbert. 
 
 The Colonel only swore viciously for an answer, and 
 Jack was satisfied. As they neared Hampstead the horse 
 pricked up its ears at the familiar surroundings and broke 
 into a steady trot. Down West Hill they rumbled, when 
 suddenly two figures started out of nowhere, it seemed, 
 into the road directly before them. With a hoarse shout 
 of warning Gilbert caught the reins from the Colonel's 
 hands and lay back against the seat, his feet braced, 
 pulling with all the strength of his big body. 
 
140 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 Other cries answered his, spontaneous cries of warning 
 and fear. In the sudden struggle to get out of the way 
 Billy McNish slipped in the wet street, and by a last effort 
 threw Clare Hardy aside. The horse slid along on his 
 haunches, pawing the air with his forelegs directly over 
 Billy's prostrate form. Then there was a quick flash of 
 gray beneath the pawing beast, and Billy was dragged 
 clear. He was scarcely out of danger when there came 
 the report of a bursting firecracker from Mr. Butterson's 
 front lawn, and the horse danced nervously away to the 
 right at the pull of the rein. The girl laughed hysterically 
 in the sudden silence. 
 
 "Them fools hurt?" queried the Colonel to Gilbert, who 
 had leaped out and caught the horse's head. 
 
 "No, I guess not." Gilbert was facing Miss Hardy, 
 her mackintosh smirched with mud, and Billy, dripping 
 with dirty water— a strange pair in the light from the arc- 
 lamp on the corner. "I'm sorry," he said. Then he 
 laughed and they laughed with him, shamefacedly, like 
 two culprits who have unexpectedly been caught. 
 
 "My fault, old man," said Billy, with a little tremble in 
 his voice, "but Clare pulled me out." 
 
 "The bravest thing I ever saw done, Miss Hardy." 
 Gilbert was quickly serious, but Miss Hardy merely 
 laughed again hysterically. 
 
 When the two men reached the Colonel's gate, the old 
 veteran, when he had stiffly stepped to the ground, leaned 
 over the muddy wheel to say good-night. 
 
 "I want to give you a bit o' worldly advice. Jack," he 
 remarked. "Things go by opposites in this world. Ef 
 ye do things fer other people ye'll respect yerself, but ef 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 141 
 
 ye do things fer yerself other people '11 respect you. Ye've 
 got to take yer choice. It's a sure thing 'at Hardy won't 
 thank ye fer anything ye do fer hini." 
 
 Mrs. Gilbert was waiting for him when Jack reached 
 home. He could not remember a time when, as a boy or 
 man, he had ever come back at any hour without finding 
 her ready to greet him. This time she was eager to know 
 about the evening at the Hardys', and, for the first time 
 in his life, he consciously deceived her. The mud on his 
 clothes was from some passing team; nearly everyone 
 had stayed late; and he hastened on guiltily to describe 
 the women's gowns — with masculine crudeness — and 
 events that had not occurred and the friendliness of every- 
 body, which he had not experienced. 
 
 "And Miss Hardy?" questioned Mrs. Gilbert insinu- 
 atingly, when she was satisfied. 
 
 "Ask Billy McNish." Gilbert smiled, but not in his 
 heart. 
 
 At about the same time Miss Hardy, in a trailing 
 kimono, was lounging in a huge Morris chair in the tower 
 of the Hardy house. "The bravest thing I ever saw 
 done." The words were echoing insistently, proudly m 
 her mind. And when she fell asleep, half an hour later, 
 they were still dinning dully in her ears. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE COLONEL MAKES A SPEECH 
 
 THE rain stopped toward daybreak, and when Gil- 
 bert left the house and joined the long lines of 
 men who filed down to the silent factories, the 
 sun was glinting brightly on the wet, turned leaves that 
 shadowed the walks. Most of the men slouched along 
 lazily, under the spell of the hot, enervating morning, but 
 when Hardy & Son's seven o'clock whistle blew, the mill 
 awoke like a great monster of power, and shook itself, and 
 breathed forth streams of black smoke, and growled and 
 hummed and snarled as the men, grouped in their accus- 
 tomed places, forced its thousand tentacles to pierce and 
 bruise and shape and polish the hard metal. Activity took 
 the place of laziness, although it was hotter in the shop 
 than in the sun outdoors; and the workers forgot tempo- 
 rarily the sick wives and children at home, the unpaid 
 bills, bickering friends and sullen enemies, in the steady 
 pulse-beat of the machinery, the drive of an all-engrossing 
 task. None of them except Gilbert, pacing the various 
 rooms trying to keep his eye from the clock and his mind 
 from wondering what would happen at eleven in Hardy's 
 office, dreamed that there was a shadow hanging over the 
 restless, pulsing mills. And if they had known they would 
 not have cared unless they had feared that it might affect 
 them. A regular job and regular pay; these were their 
 
 142 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 143 
 
 only interests in the shops. They hated Hardy because 
 he constantly menaced these interests. Their lives were 
 in grooves that ran from their homes to their machines 
 and back, and they had banded together to make these 
 grooves solid and immovable. 
 
 Gilbert, in dirty overalls, went from room to room, 
 talking with superintendents and foremen. Everywhere 
 he seemed to see this morning, as never before, the need of 
 new machines, traces of expensive waste, evidences of 
 lack of interest. He went out into the yard, and saw men 
 toiling above him, across bridges between buildings, with 
 loads which should have been ferried across on automatic 
 travelers. Then his thoughts, attracted as if by a magnet, 
 swung back to the meeting and to the uncertain future. 
 
 "What are you doing. Jack?" growled Mr. Hardy, 
 coming suddenly upon him. 
 
 "I'm thinking," said Gilbert simply, as he turned with 
 a smile. 
 
 "Well, I don't pay you to think," said the old man 
 crossly, as he turned on his heel. Some workmen nearby 
 overheard and laughed covertly. Gilbert's hands clenched 
 and then relaxed. Then he walked on toward the build- 
 ing opposite. And he was still there when, an hour later, 
 he was summoned to the president's office. 
 
 Mr. Hardy was on his way back to his office when he 
 spoke to Gilbert. He passed Miss Gerty Smith coming 
 through his own door with a sheaf of papers in her hand. 
 Reaching his desk, he found an unopened letter which had 
 evidently been mislaid from the morning's mail. He tore 
 it open and read a duplicate of the call for a directors' 
 meeting which the Colonel had received the night before. 
 
144 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 Then he took his glasses from the desk where he had left 
 them and re-read it. Then he looked at the clock. It 
 was after a quarter of eleven. Two things came to his 
 mind: the rumors of Hubbard and the stock, and John 
 Gilbert's question as he left the house on the previous 
 night. His hand reached out to ring a bell for Jack, but 
 it wavered and stopped. He went to the front window 
 and looked out. When he came back to the desk, his 
 coarse lower jaw protruded defiantly and his face was 
 purple with anger. He took a stiff drink of whiskey 
 from the bottle in the desk drawer, and lit a long black 
 cigar. Then he swung his seat about so as to face the 
 door and waited. For nearly ten minutes he sat there, 
 tense and motionless as a great beast at bay faces an 
 expected attack. Mr. McNish was the first to meet his 
 burning eyes, and, being a man of peace, McNish sat down 
 by the farther window. To him and to the rest as they 
 came Hardy merely jerked his head roughly for a greet- 
 ing, but he straightened and grew more rigid when, last 
 of all, Mr. Brett and Mr. Merrivale came in together. 
 Hardy might have protested against the snap meeting, 
 but the thought never entered his mind. 
 
 "Come to order,'' he snapped. ''Somebody state the 
 business." 
 
 Captain Merrivale arose in the uncomfortable silence 
 that followed. He had been manifestly surprised that 
 the entire board was present. 
 
 "I am gratified," he said with oratorical emphasis, 
 "that every director of the concern is here, for I have a 
 matter of grave importance to bring before this meeting. 
 Very recently," he went on after a deliberate pause, "I 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 145 
 
 learned with surprise that notes of this concern amount- 
 ing to upwards of fifty thousand dollars had been sold in 
 New York. They were signed by the president, but have 
 certainly never been authorized by this board. I think 
 the matter demands explanation." Captain Merrivale 
 did not look at Mr. Hardy when he sat down. He stared 
 instead, with an assumed air of nonchalance, at the ceil- 
 ing. There was a full moment of silence. Then Sam 
 Hardy's voice, loud and hard, broke it: ' 
 
 "There ain't any explanations. I've made this shop 
 and, by God, I'll run this shop without any interference 
 from you or anybody else," and he shook his finger men- 
 acingly at Merrivale. " If this board wants another pres- 
 ident," he went on, glaring at the others, " I'll get out, but 
 while I'm here I don't want any special directors' meetings 
 nor any questions asked." 
 
 Once before at a directors' meeting he had said almost 
 the same thing, and at that time they had bowed before 
 his anger and begged for pardon and declared that it was 
 all a misunderstanding. But now they were silent, all 
 except Mayor Brett, who sat motionless by the office table. 
 
 "Suppose," he said in his hard, even voice, "suppose 
 we consider seriously Mr. Hardy's last suggestion." 
 
 There was triumph in Merrivale's eyes, for Hardy was 
 playing directly into their hands. Sam Hardy leaned 
 forward, brutal with anger, the veins standing out in his 
 neck like whipcords, his fists clenched and hard as flint, 
 when the Colonel broke the tension with an explosive 
 chuckle. 
 
 "This ain't a directors' meetin'," he said. "This is a 
 cock-fight. 'Let us hev peace,' ez Grant used to say, at 
 
146 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 least long enough fer the rest o' us to find out exactly 
 what the skirmish is about. How long," he continued, 
 turning to Merrivale, "hev ye known about them notes? 
 Ye said 'very recently.' How long?" 
 
 Merrivale shifted nervously in his chair, but Mayor 
 Brett eyed the Colonel impassively. 
 
 "7^re only known it a — a few days." The slight em- 
 phasis upon the personal pronoun was Merrivale's sop to 
 his Sunday conscience. The Colonel was quick to use it, 
 however. 
 
 "But somebody else hes, eh, Mr. Merrivale? Now I've 
 alluz played the game plumb open, no cards up m' sleeve, 
 an' I'll bet ye an' give ye odds thet Mr. Alonzo Hubbard 
 hez known about it fer a good deal more'n a few days." 
 
 Mayor Brett came to Merrivale's rescue. 
 
 "We aren't here to bet, Colonel Mead. We're here to 
 talk business." 
 
 The Mayor's seeming indifference to the opinions of 
 others, his short, curt remarks, and his general attitude of 
 aloofness were the secrets of his power. Hampstead peo- 
 ple looked up to him chiefly because he looked down upon 
 them. There was a hardness about him, moreover, and 
 a steely gleam in his little beady eyes that made weak 
 men fear him. He was one of those men, who, when you 
 pass them on the streets, make you instinctively feel in 
 your pocket for your purse, to be certain that it is still there. 
 
 "Just ez you say," continued the Colonel, satisfied that 
 his guess was correct and that his point had been made 
 with the independent directors. "It alluz makes me 
 peevish to win on a dead sure thing. When did you call 
 this meetin', Mr. Secretary?" 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 147 
 
 ** Yesterday/' was Brett's laconic answer. 
 
 "When did you get yer notice?" The Colonel turned 
 to Sam Hardy. 
 
 "About fifteen minutes ago," snarled the old man. 
 
 "Huh," ejaculated the Colonel, with another chuckle. 
 "Thet's a good deal like shootin' a man an' then an- 
 noimcin' of his legal execution to him afterwards. Now, 
 ef ye'll allow me, I think I kin elucydate to the gentlemen 
 of the board of directors" — and the Colonel could not 
 restrain from emphasizing the word "gentlemen" — "the 
 case as it appears to me. I'll tell ye, detailed, a story that 
 mebbe won't assay first class as to truth, but which, fer 
 illustrative perposes, is better'n a circus-poster — the 
 which, I reckon, is what ye'd name a par'ble. Thar wuz 
 once a man out in the cattle country thet hed a big ranch, 
 an' enemies ez thick ez bunch grass. He wuz ez pig- 
 headed ez 'n obstinate woman, an' ef anyone set foot 
 within a mile of him, he went out of his way to tread on 
 the toes o' thet foot. His neighbors they appreciated his 
 ranch, but they 'lowed thet he'd be a more useful citizen 
 in some higher er lower territory. Thar wuz threats 
 around about hangin' him, and he heard 'em. An', bein' 
 a fool ez well ez a brave man, he put a rope 'round his 
 neck an' went ridin' round his ranch, boastful ez ever. 
 Well, 'twasn't long 'fore his neighbors got hold o' the end 
 o' thet rope. An' when they strung him up they all wuz 
 ez innocent ez hull families unborn. They'd foimd him 
 with the rope 'round his neck, they sed. Now, whether 
 he wuz cut down in time er not, I ain't decided. Ye kin 
 finish the story in yer own way." 
 
 A puzzled, amused interest was evident on the faces of 
 
148 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 most of the directors as the Colonel finished his parable, 
 but Captain Merrivale jumped to his feet, protesting. 
 
 '*! ain't through yet," went on the Colonel. "This is 
 the first reel speech I ever made. I've prepared it care- 
 ful an' I calculate to deliver it. Thar's a lot o' unhealthy 
 personal feelin' in this business. Th' only way I know to 
 git rid o' bad blood is to spill it in a fair fight, an' I reckon 
 the rest of us here'd be glad to make a ring an' cheer ye 
 on impartial." Everyone except the Mayor and Merri- 
 vale smiled broadly at this suggestion. Even Hardy's 
 face relaxed. "But" — the Colonel grew suddenly seri- 
 ous — "we're here fer the good o' this fact'ry. I say, of 
 course, thet this note-selling business wuz a mistake, but, 
 ef we wuz all chucked out o' things every time we made a 
 mistake, I reckon thar wouldn't be anybody a holdin' 
 down steady jobs. The first thing we've got to do is to 
 see that these notes are paid, an' the next is to see thet 
 it ain't ever necessary again to sell any notes. We've 
 been takin' so little interest that it ain't onnatural thet 
 Hardy here thinks he's the hull outfit. This concern's 
 makin' a lot o' stuff, but it ain't makin' much money. 
 I'd like to ask yer sup'rintendent some questions 'fore 
 I go on." 
 
 While the Colonel was talking Mr. Brett and Captain 
 Merrivale were having a whispered conversation, but now 
 they leaned back quickly in their chairs, — Merrivale ob- 
 viously surprised and disappointed at the turn affairs had 
 taken, and a sardonic smile on the Mayor's face alone 
 showing any emotion he may have felt. Sam Hardy 
 hesitated a moment, looking quest ioningly first at the 
 Colonel and then at the others. Then he leaned over to 
 
w 
 
 m^m^^.^: 
 
 •^ 
 
 The Colonel makes a speech. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 149 
 
 his desk, rang the bell for Gilbert, and sat rigid once more, 
 his arms folded. 
 
 The room was silent when Gilbert entered. It is doubt- 
 ful if any two men anticipated exactly the same result 
 from his coming. 
 
 "This is the Board of Directors, Jack," said Hardy 
 without looking at him. "They want to ask you some 
 questions." 
 
 The Colonel nodded to him with a whimsical smile. 
 
 "We want to know," he said, "ef somethin' can't be 
 done to make goods cheaper? " 
 
 Grouped about the table and by the window, the eight 
 men waited expectantly to hear what the big workman 
 in overalls, his hands black with grease, would say, while 
 Hardy, in his official isolation, stared aimlessly at the 
 floor. Gilbert looked across at the president doubtfully. 
 He could not understand how it had happened that he 
 was summoned or why Mr. Hardy sat silent; but he caught 
 the ColoneFs anxious nod. 
 
 " Yes," he said quickly. " I have plans for that, which 
 have been shown to Mr. Hardy and put aside temporarily 
 on account of — of the expense, I think." 
 
 "Trot 'em out." The Colonel was ruling the meeting 
 with a high hand, and he was enjoying it hugely. Many 
 of the other directors seemed to be enjoying it also, and 
 the atmosphere of the room had lost its tenseness. The 
 meeting was a novelty to them all, for previous Hardy 
 directors' meetings had been formal, cut-and-dried affairs 
 with nothing gained or lost by either attendance or 
 absence. 
 
 When Gilbert returned with his precious papers they 
 
150 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 listened to him steadily for more than twenty minutes, as 
 he described the factory's needs and outlined his plans. 
 His face was flushed and he talked with the assurance of 
 achievement, readily and vividly. He went into almost 
 exhaustive detail about the saving of each proposed 
 machine, about the ways in which waste might be utilized, 
 about the patents he wished to apply for whenever his 
 plans were worked out, about the men and their relations 
 to the problem; and they listened, many of them as much 
 interested in the man as they were in his schemes for the 
 mills. Sam Hardy, however, alternately watched the 
 Colonel and Gilbert, and his face grew grim, hard, malev- 
 olent; so obviously so, indeed, that it attracted the 
 beady eyes of the Mayor, who suddenly awoke from his 
 passivity, in the middle of Gilbert's explanations, long 
 enough to whisper to Captain Merrivale. The Captain, 
 who had been fidgeting in his chair, turned quickly and 
 looked at Mr. Hardy. His expression grew more alert; 
 he smiled and nodded. 
 
 "What '11 the hull thing cost?" asked the Colonel while 
 Gilbert folded up his papers. 
 
 "Between fifty and seventy-five thousand dollars, I 
 should say, but it can be done, of course, gradually." 
 
 Two or three other questions were asked and answered. 
 Then Gilbert hurried back to his office with the papers, 
 and from there out into the shop for the last few minutes 
 of a waning morning. He was absent-minded over his 
 work, however, for he was wondering how it had all come 
 about and what it might mean to him and to Hardy & 
 Son. 
 
 Meanwhile Sam Hardy was speaking, the moment the 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 151 
 
 door slammed behind Gilbert. He looked combatively 
 directly at the Colonel. 
 
 "I'm pretty sure I can take up those notes all right. 
 Knew I could from the start. And these plans of my 
 superintendent, I can look after them, too. I intended 
 to, anyhow, those of them that are any good, whenever I 
 can get to it." 
 
 The Colonel rose to his feet once more and his eyes met 
 Hardy's fighting gaze steadily. 
 
 "Thar's a surplus, so I've been told — I naturally 
 wouldn't know anything about it, bein' only a humble 
 director in Hardy & Son," he interjected sarcastically — 
 "a surplus of more'n two hundred thousand dollars. I 
 therefore move ye, Mister President, that this board of 
 directors hereby appropriate the sum of fifty thousand 
 dollars o' that surplus toward the takin' up of these notes. 
 I also move ye that Mister John Gilbert be to-day elected 
 General Manager of this concern, and that fifty thousand 
 dollars be appropriated fer the carryin' on o' his plans 
 fer puttin' Hardy & Son on hand-shakin' terms with 
 dividends an' prosperity." 
 
 Sam Hardy shook his head angrily when the Colonel 
 sat down. 
 
 "That surplus mustn't be touched," he shouted. "It 
 isn't needed. Nobody with any pride in this company 
 would suggest such a thing." 
 
 Colonel Mead, meanwhile, was being advised by Mr. 
 McNish to put his motions separately. This he imme- 
 diately did, and they were carried, one after another, with 
 only the director from Tareville voting in opposition. 
 Mayor Brett and Merrivale both voted "aye," and the 
 
152 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 Colonel realized that they were taking the only way left 
 to them of weakening Sam Hardy. He only shrugged 
 his shoulders, however, and when the meeting adjourned 
 — just as the whistle blew for the noon hour — he hurried 
 out with Mr. McNish to look for Gilbert. 
 
 The door closed behind the last of the directors, the 
 ,man from Tareville, who alone stopped to add a genial 
 word to the president. Sam Hardy again sat alone at 
 his desk. He felt suddenly faint and, rising, he stumbled 
 across to the window and feverishly breathed in deep gulps 
 of air. From the window he could see the irregular line 
 of dirty brick buildings, his shops that he had almost lost, 
 and the men hustling out in noisy crowds. Sharp pains 
 shot through the back of his head, and his body felt like 
 an empty shell through which some heavy weight was 
 pushing down, down, down, as if to crush out breath and 
 life. For a moment he stood staring. Then he caught 
 himself with quick tension, and, going over to the desk, 
 he poured out with trembling hands a long drink of whis- 
 key. Slowly his unstrung nerves steadied themselves 
 with the stimulant. He thought more clearly. They 
 had tried to take his shops away from him. Brett and 
 Merrivale had turned on him, and perhaps Hubbard was 
 behind them. They had taken half of his surplus, the 
 surplus that had always been his pride. They had openly 
 insulted him. And Jack Gilbert had known all about it 
 beforehand. Jack Gilbert had engineered the whole thing 
 to gain credit for himself and disgrace for him. He might 
 have expected it, Hardy told himself bitterly. He closed 
 down his desk and started out toward home. Outside, he 
 looked back at the silent shops, which lay, instinct with 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 153 
 
 power, resting in the summer sun; and the old lines of 
 indomitable, stubborn will settled about his mouth and 
 chin. 
 
 "Mr. Hardy," called Gilbert's voice from behind him. 
 
 The old man turned with a snarl. Gilbert had left the 
 Colonel and Mr. McNish and was crossing the street to 
 join him. 
 
 " I won't talk to ye," bellowed Mr. Hardy. " I always 
 thought you threw a straight ball, but now — I'll get on to 
 your curves, damn you." He stamped off up the street. 
 Gilbert returned to his friends, but he did not join in their 
 laughter. His first flash of anger at "the old man's" 
 unfairness gave way quickly, however, to a smile. Hardy's 
 remark brought back to his mind the half humorous, half 
 pathetic picture of " the old man " standing in the rickety 
 grandstand at Kemper's Park, waving his umbrella 
 frantically as the winning runs were scored in a game 
 between the nines of Hardy & Son and Hubbard & Wells. 
 
 "He'll be all right," he said, "when he understands. 
 Of course, I appreciate you're doing it, Colonel, and I'm 
 glad you did it, but I'm sorry you had to antagonize him." 
 
 "Can't reason with a man like Hardy," muttered the 
 Colonel, "by slapping his face soft-like. Ye hev to black 
 his eyes and bust his nose 'fore he begins to think." 
 
 "You'd better get proxies out for the regular stock- 
 holders' meeting in a hurry, —to-night," went on Gilbert. 
 "The other bunch will get ahead of us if you don't. 
 Hardy won't think it's necessary yet. It'll be too late by 
 the time we get 'the old man' to see things right." 
 
 "Suppose," ventured Mr. McNish anxiously, "sup- 
 pose he don't ever see things right?" 
 
154 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 Gilbert's face was troubled as he stared at the thick-set 
 figure far ahead on the other side of the street, but his 
 voice was quiet and determined. 
 
 "We'll have to fight him for his own sake, that's all," 
 he said. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 A THREE-CORNEEED FIGHT 
 
 nV "TOOTHING was sacred in Hampstead, except busi- 
 ^^ ness. Moriarty once remarked with more truth 
 -^ ^ than good grammar: "If my Katie goes out in 
 the backyard to hang up a close-line, sure 'tis all over the 
 neighborhood in foive minutes." And "all over the 
 neighborhood '^ meant all over the town, for Hampstead 
 was in its growing-up period of a town's life, the period of 
 asking persistent questions, of hearing things not intended 
 for its ears, and of telling all that it heard and much more 
 than it knew. Its house-cats often seemed wistful over 
 their dumbness. But business was comparatively sacred. 
 The Hardy & Son directors' meeting, therefore, brought 
 before the townspeople merely the personal fact that John 
 Gilbert had been made the general manager of the fac- 
 tory, and they bowed to him in the street more respect- 
 fully and remembered that they had always thought him 
 a promising young man. 
 
 Gilbert himself was too busy, however, to notice their 
 new attitude or to care what they thought. All summer 
 long he actually lived at the shops. On the afternoon of 
 the directors' meeting he had ordered some of the simple 
 automatic machines he had planned, from large machine 
 shops in Hampstead and Westbury. He enlarged his own 
 machine room, and set the men there at work under his 
 
 155 
 
156 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 own supervision on three more intricate machines. On 
 some inventions he appHed for patents, but others he in- 
 corporated into the machines, trusting more to the privacy 
 of his shop than to the publicity of the patent office. He 
 turned the force of men — many of them day laborers— 
 who were usually laid off in the summer, to the work of 
 installing the automatic traveler and the waste-utilizing 
 devices he bought or built. Others found themselves 
 dragged away from their regular work to move machinery 
 and shafting; a bookkeeper helped build a new shute; 
 and two or three idle shipping clerks cleaned up and sorted 
 scrap that had accumulated in valuable proportions in 
 unexpected hidden corners. Violence was done daily to 
 union rules and union precedent. Jethro and Tom 
 Grady and a few others grumbled about it, but their 
 grumbling was drowned in the noisy whirl of the work. 
 Of course, there were many of the men who dragged 
 themselves along in the old way, hearing only the whistle 
 calling them to work or sending them home again; but the 
 majority of them fell into step behind Gilbert as he 
 marched steadily and untiringly forward. Carpenters 
 hurried in and out, and an occasional electrician or mason. 
 Everything seemed a rushing, aimless hurly-burly, but 
 always Gilbert or one of the foremen brought order out 
 of the chaos. He camped at the shop every noon, eating 
 his lunch with anyone and everyone, taking them into 
 his confidence as far as he could, urging them on, thank- 
 ing them, filling them full of his own enthusiasm and de- 
 termination. At night he was often at the shops, conduct- 
 ing a kind of impromptu night school among certain 
 groups of younger men who were learning their trades. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 157 
 
 And, all the time, the big mill was in some way disgorging 
 daily, goods enough to meet the relaxed summer demand. 
 
 Day by day Gilbert realized more fully the immensity 
 of the work he had planned, and day by day he enjoyed 
 more every detail of it. This was what he had been un- 
 consciously seeking, a chance to grapple with a great task 
 and to manufacture an achievement, huge, iron-framed 
 and pulsing with power. And often, late at night, he lay 
 in his bed, staring into the darkness, and smiling over the 
 work of the day that had gone and of the day to come. 
 
 Long before the summer was over he had reason to be 
 thankful for his big awkward body and its capacity for 
 enduring fatigue, and for his slow, steady mind which a 
 hundred worries seldom put off the straight track to the 
 ends he sought. Of course, there were many worries; — the 
 greatest of them the coming stockholders' meeting, which 
 hung menacing above his highest hopes like a Damocles' 
 sword, and Sam Hardy's sustained antagonism. Hardy 
 seldom left the office now, and when he did appear in the 
 shops he ostentatiously ignored his superintendent. He 
 snubbed Gilbert so openly when Jack, in his direct way, 
 tried to tell him the plain truth about the directors' meet- 
 ing, that Gilbert's pride made him give it up hopelessly. 
 After a long talk with Gilbert, genial Mr. McNish went to 
 see "the old man," but he came away so bubbling over 
 with anger as to be almost incoherent, declaring that he 
 had forever "washed his hands of Sam Hardy." Then 
 Gilbert tried Billy as a last resort. Billy listened to all 
 that Gilbert told him with an air of judicial aloofness, that 
 would have been amusing if it had not been so unlike him. 
 He said only that he doubted his own influence with Mr. 
 
158 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 Hardy in the matter, but he was so obviously indifferent 
 and he watched Gilbert in such a carefully prepared, 
 heavy-lidded, speculative way, that at last Jack broke 
 out with: 
 
 "Honest, Billy, anybody 'Id think you believed as 
 Hardy does." 
 
 "I'm not quite sure, you know, what I do believe,'* was 
 Billy's hesitating answer. 
 
 Gilbert, entirely concentrated in the factory problems, 
 and without a thought of politics in his mind, stared, 
 frankly astonished at his friend. Then he rose and picked 
 up his hat. 
 
 " All right, Billy," he said, and turned to go. 
 
 "There's something I should like to say," said Billy, 
 rising also and assuming a melodramatic pose. 
 
 "Don't say it, Billy. We both might be sorry." 
 
 That Billy should doubt his motives hurt Gilbert more 
 than the failure of his last attempt to reconcile "the old 
 man." If an old friend like Billy questioned his good 
 faith, what must be her attitude toward him? He gave up 
 his work that night to make his delayed "party call" at 
 the Hardys'. It was a bold experiment, but he had made 
 up his mind to know what to expect from her. He had 
 other feelings about it, also, but he did not permit himself 
 to analyze them. He came away from the door of the 
 Hardy house, with his lips pursed in a forced smile. He 
 had heard her voice while the maid was telling him that 
 she was not at home. Well, that was done with, at any 
 rate. Done with! He knew suddenly that if it was true, 
 if "that was done with," the whole achievement, that he 
 was building by day and lying awake nights to plan, 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 159 
 
 would ring hollow. He knew suddenly that, without her 
 to share it with him, success was only black failure, gilded 
 perhaps but black underneath. He knew suddenly that 
 he loved her, and the knowledge shook him strangely. 
 He walked for hours that night, and when he came back 
 his shoulders were squared and his head was held high and 
 there was a new light in his eyes. 
 
 Proxies to represent the stockholders at the September 
 meeting had been sent out immediately, as Gilbert sug- 
 gested. The Colonel had growled about it testily, as 
 usual, but, as usual, also, he made sure that it was done 
 thoroughly. And in spite of his periodical outbreaks 
 against Gilbert and himself for trying to help Sam Hardy, 
 Colonel Mead was as keenly interested in the struggle for 
 the proxies as even John Gilbert himself, and more confi- 
 dent of success. 
 
 "I declar," said the Colonel, a grim smile lighting his 
 grizzled face, one night when Gilbert was with him, "I 
 wouldn't know ye to what ye wuz a year ago. Then ye 
 wuz jest sloppin' around in the slough o' despond, an' not 
 carin' much whether ye got out er not; an' now look at ye I 
 Ye got blood in yer eyes, an' ye walk on yer heels an' 
 generally look ez ef life wuz an eternal picnic, with lobster 
 salad an' ice cream fer every meal." 
 
 "I wonder what's got into Billy McNish," said Gilbert 
 musingly. 
 
 Billy was not a favorite with the Colonel. The veteran 
 pulled frowningly at his pipe. 
 
 "Women are cur'us critters," he remarked with seem- 
 ing irrelevance. " One reason why men like 'em, I reckon, 
 is because they're irritatin' kind o' puzzles, like *Pigs in the 
 
160 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 Clover/ Ye corral one part o' ther characters and think 
 yeVe got it hobbled so it can't git away. Then ye start 
 to drive in another, an', 'fore ye know it, out jumps the 
 first one an' ye've got to start all over again. An' ef ye 
 ever do git 'em all corraled at once, why ye lose all int'rest 
 in the game. They's only one thing sure about 'em, an' 
 that is thet ye can't be sure o' anything about 'em. I've 
 alluz figgered thet a woman's mind ain't gray matter. 
 It's a bunch o' rainbows with colors that run. They're 
 made to think crisscross. An' so's Billy," added the 
 Colonel reflectively, coming suddenly back to the subject 
 of conversation. " Billy, he's half a ' Pigs in Clover ' game 
 hisself. Don't ye worry about him. Why, ye never kin 
 tell, fer five conseq-u-tive minutes, whar Billy stands on 
 anything, ner why he's thar, ner how he got thar, ner when 
 he's goin' to vamoose to somewhars else." 
 
 Womenkind were the Colonel's aversion and diversion. 
 He never was more unhappy than when he was in a com- 
 pany of women, and he never was happier than when he 
 was discoursing wisely and from a distance upon their 
 failings. But his remarks about Billy were unsatisfac- 
 tory to Gilbert, and the conversation turned abruptly to 
 Sam Hardy and to the shops. 
 
 "We've got to make Hhe old man' understand, some- 
 how," said Gilbert. '^Have you ever thought that he 
 might go so far as to join up with Hubbard, for a consid- 
 eration, of course?" 
 
 "Ez to makin' him understand," replied the Colonel, 
 "ye might jest ez well try to make a steer thet's bein' 
 branded understand Christianity. But he won't tie up 
 with them. It's a three-cornered fight, with us standin' 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 161 
 
 ready to act ez his reinforcements, ef he says the right 
 word." 
 
 "Of course, Colonel, we stick to Hardy to the finish, 
 whether he says the right word or not." 
 
 The Colonel smiled quizzically. 
 
 " It's funny, ain't it?" he remarked, blowing a big cloud 
 of smoke toward the ceiling. " Ef ye knock a man down 
 he'll love ye like a brother, but ef ye do him an almighty 
 good turn he'll alluz be waitin' jest around the corner 
 with a knife up his sleeve." 
 
 "By the way," asked Gilbert, "have you got Tubb's 
 proxy yet?" 
 
 Mr. Tubb had a considerable holding in Hardy stock. 
 
 "Says he's goin' to let me know next week." 
 
 As the days went by and proxies came in to the Colonel 
 and Mr. McNish, the excitement of the two men grew in 
 ways to match their temperaments. The Colonel, with 
 buoyant confidence, was always counting the total number 
 of shares of stock for which they held proxies, and cau- 
 tious Mr. McNish was always adding up the larger number 
 that someone else controlled. 
 
 They had, as a matter of fact, great reason for encour- 
 agement, for their early start had helped them even more 
 than Gilbert had hoped. By the first of August they had, 
 including the support quietly gained from Hampstead 
 men, more than a quarter of the voting power in their 
 hands. The Colonel sent out a second batch of letters, 
 and Mr. McNish wagged his head doubtfully about the 
 remaining shares necessary for control. He knew that 
 they would come in more slowly, if at all. Gilbert's 
 younger eye, however, noticed one day that from groups 
 
162 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 of stockholders in Albany, Pittsfield and Springfield, 
 where the elder Mr. Hardy had sold, through friends, con- 
 siderable quantities of stock in the early, growing years of 
 the concern, only three or four proxies had arrived. He 
 urged the Colonel to spend a week visiting the three cities 
 and personally seeing these men, but Colonel Mead had 
 his heart set on a month at the Sound shore, and " pooh- 
 poohed" the idea. Mr. McNish was too busy to give up 
 the time. So the Colonel went away for his vacation, 
 leaving Gilbert to watch the mails closely for returns from 
 the three cities and to grow more certain, as the weeks 
 passed, that his intuition was correct. 
 
 Strangely enough Gilbert had come to depend upon 
 Joe Heffler. Every night when the whistle blew, the 
 gray-haired young fellow, with an anxious, almost pleading 
 face, came to him. 
 
 "Is there anything I can do for you, sir?" was the mo- 
 notonous question. 
 
 Gilbert found that Heffler seemed disappointed when 
 he shook his head and said that there was ''nothing at 
 all." And he soon began finding things for Heffler to do, 
 little things which were done eagerly and thoroughly. 
 Sometimes Heffler spent entire evenings at the shops, 
 helping Gilbert with anything he had in hand, and always 
 he asked for more to do, seemingly unsatisfied unless 
 every leisure moment was spent in Gilbert's service. 
 But he retained his silence and his sensitive aloofness. 
 
 " Joe," said Gilbert one night, in response to the usual 
 question, "I'm going to ask you to do a mighty delicate 
 thing, or perhaps a mighty indeUcate thing. You do it 
 or not, as you hke." 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 163 
 
 "Yes, sir." Heffler's gaze was directed at Gilbert's 
 chin. He seldom more than flashed for a second a 
 straight-in-the-eye glance. It was one of the marks that 
 the prison shame had left upon him. 
 
 "You know Miss Gerty Smith." 
 
 Heffler started suddenly, and looked away as he nodded. 
 
 "Well, frankly, I don't trust her. I think Mr. Brett 
 has got her wound about his little finger. I believe she's 
 telling him everything about us that he can't find out him- 
 self. IVe made a rule that none of the stenographers can 
 come out into the shops, but she comes, with Mr. Hardy's 
 permission, when I'm not around, and she watches the 
 work and talks with the men. Now I'd like you to keep 
 your eye on her and try to find out for sure what she's up 
 to. ' Tisn't a nice job, but it's necessary, and you can get 
 Jimmy O'Rourke to help you at the other end. Jimmy's 
 put me wise to a lot of things already." 
 
 Hefiier took off his cap and ran his fingers nervously 
 through his thick gray hair. 
 
 " What 'd you do to her if you caught her? " he asked 
 hesitatingly. 
 
 "I don't know." Gilbert's curiosity was aroused. 
 Heffler had never questioned anything he had said be- 
 fore. "I'd probably" — he went on slowly — "probably 
 give her a chance to tell what she knows and then — I 
 don't know. You can't be rough on a woman, you 
 know." 
 
 Heffler nodded and there was a long pause. 
 
 " I'll do it," Heffler said slowly, " if there won't anything 
 wrong come to her. She's a — a kind of a friend of mine." 
 
 Gilbert's hand settled heavily on Joe Hefller's shoulder. 
 
164 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 "Don't think any more about it, Joe/' he said. "I 
 didn't know." 
 
 Heffler was silent for a moment or two. 
 
 " I told Peter the other day," he said at last, with an 
 obvious eagerness to regain any confidence he might have 
 lost, " to keep his ears open about all those men and to let 
 you know anything he heard. He said he would." 
 
 "Good." Gilbert's tone was hearty. "You're a 
 mighty big help to me, Joe. Don't know how I ever got 
 along without you." 
 
 Heffler's pale face flushed with pleasure, but that was 
 his only answer. 
 
 Two or three days later, while Gilbert was in the ma- 
 chine room assembling one of the new machines, word 
 came to him that there was someone waiting to see him 
 in his office. 
 
 "Have him see Billings, or Walters, or Moines. I'm 
 too busy," he told the boy. 
 
 "Tried that. Won't see anyone but you, sir." 
 
 "What's his name?" said Jack, impatiently looking up 
 from the work. 
 
 "Lumpkin." 
 
 Gilbert called the room boss to take hold of the work, 
 and hurried across to his office. There, indeed, was Mr. 
 Lumpkin, clean shaven, well brushed, and resplendent in 
 a new tie of bird's-egg blue against a background of yellow 
 shirt. 
 
 "Well, bless my soul," he exclaimed in his big, hearty 
 voice as he stared at Gilbert's overalls and grimy face and 
 hands. "I'd hardly know you, Mister Gilbert. Still, a 
 little dirt don't hurt anybody, as the Scripture says, or 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 165 
 
 words to that effect. * Show me a man,' I often says to 
 myself, 'show me a man who's afraid to soil his hands 
 with the earth from which he was made and to which he 
 shall return,' I says, 'and I'll show you a man without 
 grit, grip er gumption ' " 
 
 Gilbert interrupted him at this juncture. 
 
 "What's up, Lumpkin? I'm rushed to death this 
 morning." 
 
 ''Now, isn't that curious?" Mr. Lumpkin wiped his 
 brow with a red bandanna and beamed at the big man. 
 "That's just what I was saying to myself as I walked 
 down the street. I said to myself, 'Peter,' I says, 
 ' you're going to see a business man,' I says, ' and you've 
 got to be business-like. You've got to come straight to 
 the point, Peter. You've got to introduce your facts in 
 logical succession so that your meaning will be apparent 
 to the most unintelligent listener.' Beg your pardon, 
 sir; of course not referring to you. And it was just at that 
 moment that I caught sight of ' Old Glory,' floating on the 
 summer air above these mighty mills of modern progress. 
 That sight thrilled me to the core, sir, and I says to myself, 
 ' Peter,' says I, ' it's a glorious thought, a thought winged 
 with hope, yes sir, winged with hope for future genera- 
 tions, that the humble toilers of our land day after day 
 labor under the shadow of that fadeless, star-spangled 
 banner.'" 
 
 Gilbert sat down at his desk, a smile of surrender about 
 his mouth, and offered Mr. Lumpkin a cigar. 
 
 "And now what's the news, Lumpkin?" he asked, while 
 the night-lunch man bit off the end of the cigar. 
 
 "I was just coming to that." Mr. Lumpkin was busy 
 
166 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 with a match now. When the cigar was aUght he leaned 
 forward and, after looking cautiously about, went on in a 
 loud whisper, '* It may not be of the greatest importance, 
 sir, but the Honorable Mr. Strutt's gone out of town." 
 
 " I saw that in the paper last night," returned Gilbert 
 quickly. "Gone to Marblehead." 
 
 Mr. Lumpkin nodded, and, after another hasty glance 
 about the room, he whispered: 
 
 "You're right, sir, always right. That's precisely and 
 completely what the papers said. But the Honorable 
 Mr. Strutt's son did me the honor last night of patron- 
 izing the viands which I prepare for the public, to the ex- 
 tent of a chicken sandwich and a bottle of ginger pop. 
 And incidentally, quite by the way, you understand, he 
 remarked to one of his friends that his father, the Honor- 
 able Mr. Strutt, left last night for Albany, Pittsfield, 
 Springfield and Marblehead." 
 
 Gilbert jumped to his feet. Before Mr. Lumpkin could 
 continue, he was at the telephone calling one of his assist- 
 ants. He must go out of town immediately, Mr. Lump- 
 kin heard him say, for two or three days. Then followed 
 a number of rapid orders for the work to be done while he 
 was away. Hanging up the receiver, he rang for a mes- 
 senger. Then he sat down again and wrote an even half 
 dozen telegrams, finishing them just as the boy arrived. 
 Then he turned to the lunch-cart man. 
 
 "Excuse me, Lumpkin. This is important. Great 
 hurry. Bully good of you." 
 
 Mr. Lumpkin rose; his chest with the bird's-egg blue tie 
 puffed forth with pride and joy. 
 
 "That, sir," he said, "warms the cockles of my heart. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 167 
 
 It was such a trifle, you see, that I wasn't going to bother 
 you at first, and then I says to myself, * Peter,' I says, 
 * Joe said anything about those four men and the " 
 
 "Thanks, thanks," broke in Gilbert impatiently, as he 
 hurried Peter out. "I'll see you when I come back." 
 
 Gilbert took the noon train for Pittsfield. He had 
 wired to all the stockholders in Albany as well as to the 
 Colonel. The Albany people would keep Mr. Strutt busy 
 all day, and the telegrams would at least make them slower 
 to decide. The longer they delayed the lawyer in Albany 
 the better start Gilbert would have in Pittsfield and 
 Springfield. It was the Honorable Mr. Strutt 's first open 
 activity, but Gilbert had been watching him, convinced 
 that sooner or later the clever, pompous little lawyer 
 would take a hand, and no uncertain hand, in the struggle. 
 He was the legal representative of all the Hubbard inter- 
 ests. His appearance had alone been needed to assure 
 Gilbert and the Colonel that, behind the stock buying and 
 the snap meeting of directors, was the hidden quiet direc- 
 tion of Alonzo Hubbard and the hoard of Hubbard dollars. 
 Gilbert wondered, as he sat in the train, whether any more 
 stock was changing hands. Hardy stock was cheap, but 
 it seemed to him, as he tried to put himself in the oppo- 
 sition's place, that with control gained at the September 
 meeting they could make it cheaper. That was a bridge, 
 at any rate, to which, as far as he had heard, he had not 
 come. Down in his heart, however, he felt that, if Hub- 
 bard started seriously to buy a majority of the stock, it 
 would make a bridge that neither he nor any of those 
 associated with him could cross. 
 
 There were only three stockholders in Pittsfield, and. 
 
168 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 late that night, Gilbert boarded a train for Springfield 
 with two proxies in his pocket. The third man was out 
 of town and Gilbert had no time to wait for him. Strutt 
 would be there in the morning. Incidentally Jack had 
 learned a new phase of the Hubbard campaign. He had 
 in his pocket a typewritten, confidential circular. The 
 statements of this circular, accompanied by figures, and 
 figures which he knew to be comparatively accurate, 
 were strong enough to convince almost any outside stock- 
 holder that Hardy & Son was on the verge of ruin. The 
 man who had given it to Gilbert had said frankly that he 
 had lost all hope of his stock ever again having any value. 
 Gilbert was already framing in his mind an answering 
 statement, which he determined should go to all the 
 stockholders as quickly after his return to Hampstead as 
 press could print it. But he scarcely hoped that it would 
 counteract the first effect of the other circular. He felt 
 his own ignorance and lack of skill against so versatile 
 and perfectly trained an opposition. And he went to bed 
 that night, tired and discouraged. 
 
 There were seven men to see in Springfield, and one held 
 a larger amount of stock than the other six. When, after 
 waiting an hour in an outer office, Gilbert finally met this 
 man, it was only to learn that the proxy had been signed 
 and sent to Mr. Brett that very morning. The man was 
 positive that it had been sent, but he gave Gilbert per- 
 mission to search the general mail-bag, on the chance that 
 the letter might still be in the office. And, after sorting 
 and re-sorting hundreds of letters. Jack, with a thrill of 
 triumph, brought forth a blue envelope with the familiar 
 address. A new proxy was made out, and Gilbert, heed- 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 169 
 
 less of luncheon, went out to find the remaining six. He 
 made another discovery that afternoon. One proxy had 
 been sent to "the president." Evidently Mr. Hardy was 
 fighting alone. Gilbert pitied the obstinate "old man," 
 as he thought of the lonely struggle. 
 
 When he reached the Springfield station, nearly a half 
 hour before his train to Hampstead was due, he had 
 three new proxies in his pocket. The other two, he knew 
 now, had already gone to the other side. The drizzling 
 rain, through which he had been plodding all day, still fell 
 from the lead-colored twilight sky. The air in the waiting- 
 room was close and hot, and he strolled up and down on 
 the covered platform. Weary as he was from unaccus- 
 tomed travel and irregular hours, there was real exhilara- 
 tion in his heart and in his smiling eyes and even in his 
 long jerky steps as he tramped up and down. An east- 
 bound train rattled in and unloaded groups of passengers, 
 but he scarcely noticed it. Reaching the end of the plat- 
 form, he wheeled to continue his monotonous walk, when 
 he found himself suddenly face to face with the Honorable 
 Mr. Strutt, hurrying, bag in hand, toward the street exit. 
 For a moment the two stared at each other with uncon- 
 cealed surprise. Then Gilbert smiled and nodded gravely 
 and started to pass the ex-Congressman. Mr. Strutt put 
 down his bag and turned. 
 
 "Gilbert," he called. 
 
 Jack faced him and waited quietly. 
 
 "Nasty day," volunteered Mr. Strutt, bowing pleas- 
 antly and rubbing his hands together — " washing his hands 
 with invisible soap and water," as Billy described it. 
 
 Gilbert assented. Mr. Strutt drew a cigar case from 
 
170 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 his pocket and, opening it, offered it to Gilbert, who com- 
 pleted the dumb show by displaying the half-smoked 
 cigar in his hand. 
 
 "Up here on business?" queried Mr. Strutt in his most 
 suave and genial manner. Gilbert^s drawling answer was 
 concise : 
 
 "I came to get exactly what you're after, and IVe got 
 it. Did my telegrams block you at Albany?" 
 
 Mr. Strutt smiled deprecatingly at his frankness. 
 
 "Not entirely, but I'll admit they hurt me. In fact, 
 I'll admit that you've beaten me all along the line." Mr. 
 Strutt's tone suggested that he was conferring a great 
 favor on his young friend by the admission. 
 
 "That's good hearing," Gilbert responded heartily. 
 
 "Gilbert," continued Mr. Strutt, after a short pause 
 during which the lawyer shifted his weight from one foot 
 to the other, giving his small body a swinging pendulum 
 movement, " I'm delighted to have found you here. I've 
 wanted to talk to you. I should like to say — if I can say 
 it without being misunderstood — that I have conceived 
 an admiration for you. You may not realize it — young 
 men of ability seldom do, — but you have been attracting 
 attention." 
 
 Mr. Strutt ceased his swinging and watched the big, 
 irregular face. He scowled slightly when Gilbert did not 
 take advantage of the pause to thank him for his good 
 opinion. Any gentleman or any man of tact could not 
 have done less, it seemed to the punctilious lawyer. 
 
 "You have even interested so keen a judge of character 
 as Mr. Alonzo Hubbard," went on Mr. Strutt. "Quite 
 confidentially, of course, he remarked to me the other 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 171 
 
 day that he needed a man hke you at exactly double the 
 salary you are receiving at present. He even mentioned 
 your name. He wants a man to correlate and manage 
 all his mills. It's a big job, but you can have it by a 
 word." 
 
 ''Double the salary.^' The idea dazed Gilbert for a 
 moment. With that he could pay off all the remaining 
 debts in a year and a half. He could make everything 
 easier for his mother. Mr. Strutt saw his momentary 
 advantage. 
 
 "I think something might be arranged also," he added 
 smoothly, "about some stock, and perhaps an official posi- 
 tion of some sort — say, assistant secretary or a director- 
 ship. You can see that Mr. Hubbard fully realizes your 
 value and is ready to pay for it. He seems to have taken 
 a great liking to you." 
 
 Double the salary; an infinitely surer position; a larger, 
 more important, work to do! Each of these attracted 
 John Gilbert. He owed no loyalty to Sam Hardy now. 
 The Colonel, if he were there, would undoubtedly tell him 
 to take the offer. He wavered and Mr. Strutt, watching 
 silently the signs of the inward struggle, smiled and rubbed 
 his hands together softly and said to himself that a young 
 man can almost always be trapped by an appeal to his 
 ambition. At last Gilbert, with a long breath that was 
 almost a sigh, looked squarely down into Mr. Strutt's eyes. 
 
 "I don't care to consider your suggestion," he said 
 shortly, and started to turn away. Mr. Strutt's open 
 surprise and disappointment made him forget his crafti- 
 ness and his carefully chosen words. 
 
 "Look here, Gilbert," he said hurriedly. "It's a cer- 
 
172 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 tainty for an uncertainty. You're fighting us now. For 
 the Ufe of me I can't see why. Hardy's against us both. 
 That means you can't get control without us." A sharp 
 exclamation from Gilbert checked him for a moment. '* I 
 supposed you knew that. I'm talking frankly. I don't 
 want to see you make the mistake of your life. And I'll 
 tell you another thing. If we don't control that meeting 
 we'll win afterwards." 
 
 Gilbert imderstood it all suddenly. He was a conceited 
 fool not to have seen it in the beginning, he said to him- 
 self. They didn't want him. They merely wanted to 
 put him out of their way. And by that, they showed 
 openly that he was in their way, that they were feel- 
 ing his opposition. 
 
 "Go ahead and win," he said slowly, "if you can." 
 
 "That means that you " 
 
 " I'm going to do all I can to stop you." 
 
 Mr. Strutt picked up his bag. 
 
 "I'll hold the offer open for a week," he remarked con- 
 ciliatingly. 
 
 "You needn't. I don't want it." 
 
 Mr. Strutt stared after him as he walked slowly away, 
 and the face of the Honorable ex-Congressman dropped 
 its genial mask. The look of it for that second promised 
 no good to the broad-shouldered young man strolling un- 
 concernedly down the platform. Mr. Strutt was accus- 
 tomed to having his way. He was decidedly unused to 
 being treated cavalierly by a young upstart whom cir- 
 cumstances had forced him to approach. And Mr. 
 Strutt's enmity was not a thing to be scorned. 
 
 As the train hurried down along the river bank Gilbert 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 173 
 
 scoffed at himself for his first hesitation. He realized, 
 however, that his own weakness, curiously enough, had 
 done him a service. He had learned that the Hubbard 
 forces controlled enough stock already to win if they, by 
 any chance, obtained Sam Hardy's help. He knew, also, 
 that it was to be a fight to the finish with them. He knew 
 how hopelessly the odds were against him in that fight. 
 He felt something of that relentless hand that was behind 
 it all, always hidden but always directing, the hand of 
 that silent Mr. Hubbard, whom few knew and whom 
 everyone respected. Then, as he stared into the growing 
 darkness beyond the dirty car windows, he saw the hun- 
 dreds of men toiling through the rattle and smoke and 
 grime of the Hardy mills, and admitted to himself shame- 
 facedly that he and another man had been bartering over 
 their future and Sam Hardy's, the grim, intolerant "old 
 man" whom he was trying to save. Then the picture 
 vanished before a tall, slender, girlish figure. And he 
 loathed himself for his indecision and his selfishness, and 
 told her so humbly a dozen times as he lay back wearily 
 on the cushioned seat. 
 
 Gilbert thought that his mother knew almost nothing 
 of the real struggle at the shops. He was certain that he 
 had never told her. He did not realize that, with a 
 woman's strategy, she had drawn from him, little by little, 
 many fragments of information which she had later pieced 
 together carefully until she understood the meaning of 
 each one and of the whole. Sometimes he had seen a look of 
 shrewd satisfaction about her mouth, and he had suddenly 
 remembered that he had been led into an admission he had 
 not intended to make. But these were little things, and 
 
174 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 he had been amused at her curiosity. Her first question, 
 therefore, when he reached home that night, made him 
 regard her with frank amazement. It was about the 
 proxies. 
 
 '*How do you know anything about that?'' he asked 
 almost sharply. His mother laughed. 
 
 " You told me near a month ago, but you did not know 
 it. You'll find out in time, laddie, that it's better to tell 
 a Scotch woman everything than to let her guess. She'll 
 know less in the end." 
 
 "There isn't anything for you to worry about." 
 
 " Worry?" Mrs. Gilbert jerked her head back proudly. 
 "And why should I worry, with you straight and strong 
 like that? No, no. Have your fling. It's a good one, 
 and a right one, and like you. I pray the good Lord 
 every night that I mayn't be too proud of you." 
 
 "Don't talk like that, mother." 
 
 "I'll talk as I please." 
 
 They were both laughing when the Colonel arrived, 
 growling about his interrupted vacation but eager to hear 
 the news. And Mrs. Gilbert left the two men to talk 
 business. It was after midnight when the Colonel left. 
 
 "Did you land Tubb?" asked Gilbert at the door. 
 
 "Saw him to-day. He's backin' and fillin' a hull lot. 
 Reckon he smells oats in the other direction. Says he'll 
 tell me certain, Saturday. He's one o' those men thet 
 wants ye to like him more'n most anybody else, but is 
 alluz afraid thet the other feller'll dislike him if ye do. 
 He shakes hands an' tells stories an' agrees with ye till ye 
 want to fight. But he ain't got a good healthy 'yes' er 
 'no' in his constitution." 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED CONFERENCE 
 
 UNCERTAINTY and delay worried Billy McNish. 
 When he could act on impulse he was more often 
 right than wrong. Given an unexpected case at 
 the last moment, and he would stir the most indifferent 
 judge and jury with brilliant pleading. Called upon for 
 impromptu remarks at a dinner, he would make the hap- 
 piest, wittiest speech of the evening. He might have been 
 a hero in any sudden moment of danger, if there were peo- 
 ple nearby to watch the deed. He might have led any 
 spectacular, forlorn hope the fates flung in his way. But 
 waiting weakened his decision. He brooded and grew 
 suspicious and changed his mind a dozen times in an hour. 
 An intricate, long-drawn-out case at law would be begun 
 with optimistic enthusiasm, only to be ended in 'pessi- 
 mistic, half-hearted endeavor. A carefully prepared 
 speech usually made his days and nights immediately 
 preceding the event a torment of foreboding misery. He 
 would be utterly dissatisfied with it long before it was 
 delivered. And if a thing had to be reasoned out, he in- 
 variably looked at it from so many different angles that 
 the longer he thought about it the more confused he 
 became. 
 
 When he had asked Clare Hardy to marry him, nearly a 
 year before^ he had almost taken her by storm. But since 
 
 175 
 
176 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 he had found that his love-making must become a long, 
 arduous campaign he had lost much of his dash, much of 
 his insistence, much of his confidence. Then he had 
 thought only of his love for her. Now he planned speeches 
 that he never made to her, and stratagems that he never 
 used. He swore roundly that he would not see her for a 
 fortnight. He would pique her curiosity. And then, 
 somehow, he forgot about it and called three times a week 
 as usual, and saw her on all the intermediate days. He 
 told himself that she was a flirt and then dangled, tem- 
 porarily content, at the end of her string. And now, 
 after a year, she seemed as desirable and as far away from 
 him as ever. 
 
 His new political ambitions had a similar history. He 
 had opened the subject to Mr. Moriarty with perfect as- 
 surance that the little Irishman would share his enthu- 
 siasm. He had not for a moment dreamed that Moriarty 
 would be blind to this opportunity of overcoming the 
 usually small Republican majority. Billy knew his own 
 popularity, and he threw himself into his preliminary 
 personal canvass eagerly. At night he often lay for hours, 
 picturing to himself the night of the caucus, the crowded 
 room, the absurd dignity of the chairman, the good- 
 humored shouts of the mass, and then his unanimous 
 nomination and the burst of applause as he took the 
 stage. And he saw himself, handsome, graceful, holding 
 che audience in the spell of his oratory, and heard his 
 own thrilling words, and applauded as he fell off to sleep. 
 At other times it was the night of his election, and the 
 entire town came to serenade him, and again he spoke, 
 this time a simple, modest speech of gratitude and with a 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 177 
 
 deep sense of his high responsibilities; and the men shook 
 hands with him afterwards and called him the next gov- 
 ernor. But now these visions had become old and dim, 
 and he lay awake thinking and doubting, for over them 
 hung the awkward shadow of John Gilbert, his friend. 
 
 When he had first heard that Gilbert was a candidate he 
 had impulsively disbelieved it, but the more he thought 
 about it and brooded over it the more doubtful and sus- 
 picious he became. Similarly when Mr. Hardy told him 
 of Gilbert's disloyalty at the shops, he shook his head 
 vigorously and declared that it was incredible. He knew 
 Sam Hardy's temper. He knew that Sam Hardy was 
 unwell, that he was in just the condition to magnify a 
 mole hill into a mountain. That very night he had dined 
 at the Hardys', and "the old man," nervously complain- 
 ing of dizziness, had left the table in the middle of dinner, 
 much to Mrs. Hardy's openly expressed irritation. And 
 yet, as the days and weeks followed, he moodily argued 
 himself into Mr. Hardy's point of view. Perhaps, after 
 all, as "the old man" had said, "Jack was ambitious 
 enough to do anything or anybody." 
 
 During the last two weeks of August Hampstead toiled 
 on, gasping and sweating in the grip of the "dog days," 
 which hung invisible weights on hurrying feet, and made 
 brains run slow and tempers fast. One stifling night, a 
 week or ten days after Gilbert's flying trip to Pittsfield 
 and Springfield, Billy McNish sat smoking on the veranda 
 steps of the big house. At dinner an impulse had come to 
 him to see Jack and "have it out," but unfortunately the 
 combined restfulness of a good dinner and a good cigar 
 made him delay, and delay made him hesitate. He 
 
178 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 would be showing his hand, he argued, if Gilbert was 
 really working against him. He recalled that they had 
 not seen each other in nearly a month. Impulse told him 
 that Gilbert was very busy and that his own attitude, 
 the last time they had met, had not been particularly in- 
 viting. As he thought, however, he felt that Jack had 
 purposely slighted him. It was scarcely up to him to 
 make any overtures. 
 
 The moon already threw a broad pathway of light be- 
 fore him, when he rose dejectedly and walked around to 
 Mr. Hardy's front door. No, Miss Hardy had gone out, 
 the maid said, and would not be back until late in the 
 evening. Of course she was out. It was just his luck. 
 Billy stood for a moment hesitatingly at the gate and 
 then, still undecided, he walked on up the hill. Perhaps 
 something would turn up. Perhaps Jack would come out 
 and they might meet naturally. When in doubt Billy had 
 a way of leaving things to chance. As he came to the 
 little house which the Gilberts occupied, he saw that the 
 door was open, and he stopped short as he recognized 
 the huge figure lounging, his hands in his pockets, against 
 the door jamb. Two other men stood in the shadow, be- 
 yond the edge of the light thrown by the lamp within. 
 Almost upon the moment that Billy stopped, he heard 
 familiar explosive laughter; the big figure straightened, 
 turned its back and went in, and the two men came down 
 the path talking rapidly. Billy, not caring to meet them, 
 passed the gate quickly, his face averted. Then he walked 
 slowly as he heard the voice of Mr. Moriarty. 
 
 "'Tis a sure thing Brett'll run agin, and runnin' anny- 
 wan but Jawn Gilbert against him 'Id be like trottin' 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 179 
 
 Flanagan's mule against Major Delmar wid a wind- 
 shield." 
 
 " Y'ain't goin' to run anybody else/' answered Colonel 
 Mead, ''so don't disturb the mule.'' 
 
 They turned down the street, and Billy started impetu- 
 ously after them. He stopped by the gate. There was 
 nothing that he could say to them. He looked down over 
 the terraced roofs of the houses below him. The town 
 lay resting from its day's work, glorified in the mellow 
 radiance of the moon. A wave of self-pity swept over 
 him. He was not to be even the candidate for mayor. 
 What a failure he was, after all! He wondered what 
 Clare Hardy would think. No woman could care for a 
 failure, he told himself bitterly. Success was what 
 counted, never mind what it cost. A new plan came to 
 him. He would be chivalrous. He would withdraw 
 without a word of complaint. He would show her the 
 difference between an unselfish chap, who was willing to 
 sacrifice for his friend, and the friend, who thought only 
 of personal, selfish reward. But, as he walked down the 
 street, his old ambition returned, and he declared to him- 
 self melodramatically that he would fight to the last 
 ditch, if he had only one vote at the caucus, and that vote 
 his own. He knew as he said it that he did not mean it. 
 Poor Billy! He could not have told anyone what he 
 really meant that night. He had never in his life sunk 
 so deep into the mire of complete despair. 
 
 Gilbert had asked Mr. Moriarty and the Colonel to 
 dinner that night. The shops were rounding themselves 
 into shape. The new rooms were almost completed and 
 a number of the new machines were already installed. 
 
180 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 He had accomplished as much as he had expected in the 
 time. The work was more than half done, and the re- 
 mainder would come along more easily. The first great 
 rush was over. Hardy & Son was ready to meet the com- 
 petition of the Fall trade. They had new improvements 
 on the lines of goods which the Westbury concern made, 
 and they were able now to manufacture them more 
 cheaply, he felt certain, than their rivals. He was giving 
 more of his time, therefore, to the fight for the stock. 
 The meeting and the crisis were only a fortnight away. 
 Mr. Moriarty still held some Hardy stock, he under- 
 stood, — stock that dated back to Moriarty's period of ser- 
 vice as superintendent of the growing mills. And that 
 was the reason that the little Irishman and the Colonel 
 dined with the Gilberts that night. 
 
 It was not until the three men were sitting in the little 
 library after dinner, with cigars and the Colonel's pipe 
 alight, that Gilbert came to the point. 
 
 "Moriarty," he said bluntly, "we want the vote of 
 your Hardy stock at the annual meeting. You don't 
 like Sam Hardy and I can't blame you, but we want to 
 vote your stock for him — for the good of the shops." 
 
 Mr. Moriarty nodded reflectively, and deflected his cigar 
 from its acute angle, at which the lighted end had been 
 threateningly close to his left eye. 
 
 " Twas a dirrty trick he done." Then the thin, smooth- 
 shaven lips wrinkled in a smile. "But 'tis the chip on 
 his shoulder that makes me mad. 'Tis always there and 
 I always want to knock it off." 
 
 "Oh, I'll admit that Hardy looks at life as a long bridge 
 over a chasm. He thinks there's room for only one on 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 181 
 
 that bridge, and to get across he's got to knock everybody 
 else off. But that isn't the point. We want to vote your 
 stock for the good of your stock and of everybody's else 
 stock." 
 
 Mr. Moriarty rubbed his chin thoughtfully during a long 
 pause. Moriarty had been accused of many things but 
 never, even by his bitterest opponents, of uttering an ill- 
 considered word. 
 
 "There seems to be somethin' doin' wid Hardy stock," 
 he remarked with an air of solemn conviction. 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Well, Oi said Oi'd not talk about it and Oi'll not," 
 Moriarty hesitated impressively, "but Oi'll tell ye confi- 
 dentially, because y'are who y'are, that Oi sold my stock 
 a week ago to His Honor the Mayor. 'Twas not much I 
 got, but 'twas more than Oi expected." 
 
 "Sold it?" ejaculated the Colonel and Gilbert in unison. 
 
 "If that's what ye had me up here for," went on Mr. 
 Moriarty with deliberate emphasis, "ye lose. 'Tis good 
 money against expectations, and expectations don't buy 
 potatoes or coal. But ye needn't worry about that. Ye 
 needn't worry at all." Mr. Moriarty leaned forward and 
 lowered his voice with the awe he felt for his own news. 
 "For ye're goin' to be His Honor the Mayor yerself in 
 October. And that," he added, with an almost defiant 
 triumph, "is what Oi had mesilf up here for." 
 
 Gilbert laughed in spite of himself. 
 
 "Don't scare me to death, Moriarty. What's the 
 joke?" 
 
 " 'Tis no joke." The Irishman's tone was resentful. 
 
 " 'Tain't possible," cried the Colonel, who in his excite- 
 
182 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 ment had risen and stood facing Mr. Moriarty, "thet the 
 folks o' this town actooly want a man with red blood in 
 him an* muscles in his brains, fer mayor." 
 
 "They want him all right," answered Moriarty, jerking 
 his thumb toward Gilbert, "but they don't know it and 
 Oi do." He thumped his breast vigorously with his sec- 
 ond finger. 
 
 "But kin ye round 'em up to nominate him?" 
 
 "Oi hov the caucus in here." The Irishman stuck his 
 stubby forefinger in his vest pocket. 
 
 "What hev ye got in th'other pocket?" the Colonel 
 asked without a smile. "Ef it's the election we'll con- 
 sider the proposition. I alluz thought caucuses an' 
 elections was almighty triflin' things, but I didn't expect 
 to find 'em travelin' round in the pockets of a red-headed, 
 pug-nosed Irishman like you, Moriarty." 
 
 Gilbert broke in before Moriarty could retort. 
 
 "You seem to have me nominated and elected between 
 you," he drawled. " This whole thing's nonsense. First, 
 because I haven't time; second, because Billy McNish is a 
 better man for it than I am and Billy wants it. I don't 
 know any more about politics than the Colonel does. 
 And the Colonel's clean forgotten that he's usually a Re- 
 publican and we're Democrats." 
 
 "Reckon I kin hold in my patriotic principles till after 
 you're elected," muttered the Colonel. 
 
 With that, Mr. Moriarty began to talk. It was not 
 easy, flowing, high-soimding talk. Nobody ever heard 
 Moriarty make a speech. He said that he didn't know 
 how, and that he'd never found need of it in his business. 
 No, it was jerky short-arm talk, that gradually grew stag- 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 183 
 
 gering in its accumulation of terse arguments. He had 
 past elections at his tongue's end. He had the results of 
 a quiet, indefinite canvass he had made, written out for 
 them to read. He had hypothetical figures for the vote 
 of every ward, and proved circumstantially that they 
 would become facts on election day. He had the rest of 
 the ticket up for inspection down to the smallest council- 
 man. 
 
 ''Ye're young," he added, beating each point home 
 with his fist on his knee. "That's what they want these 
 days. Ye're honest. Iverywan knows that. Ye're a 
 good union man — the fact'ry men loike that; and a good 
 baseball player — and that don't hurt ye a bit." Gilbert 
 laughed outright at this, but the Irishman shook his finger 
 at him warningly. "That's all right. There's manny a 
 man been ilicted to higher office for less than pitchin' a 
 good game o' ball. Nobody's got it in for ye. The 
 oulder men that remimber the Doctor — God rest his soul 
 — will vote for ye, Raypublicans and Dimmycrats. There 
 now. 'Tis the duty av anny man to run if he's wanted. 
 And ye're wanted." 
 
 Politics were primitively patriotic to Moriarty. He 
 worked hard for the good of his ticket. He bossed his 
 caucuses with an iron hand, partly because the people 
 trusted him and partly because there was no one else 
 willing to give up so much time to it. And Moriarty's 
 Hibernian soul loved the power of it. That was his only 
 reward. He seldom won anything except an extra 
 councilman this year or an extra alderman next. The 
 Republicans had controlled the town for years. He hon- 
 estly believed that he could elect John Gilbert mayor. 
 
184 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 But Gilbert did not argue with him, and Gilbert seemed 
 to hang tightly to his first excuses: lack of time and the 
 candidacy of Alderman McNish. Mr. Moriarty, there- 
 fore, shrewdly dropped the discussion and started for 
 home. At the door he stopped for a last word: 
 
 "Think it over, Jack," he said. "Think it over, me 
 boy. Oi won't ask ye for a decision to-night. 'Tis too 
 sudden, but 'tis worth considerin'. The honor av it is 
 somethin' and the opporchunity is somethin'. Oi think 
 ye'll go far — farther perhaps than Oi think." 
 
 The Colonel interrupted him, laying his hand on Mori- 
 arty's shoulder. 
 
 " His hair may look like a prairie sunset," he said, wink- 
 ing at Gilbert, " an' his nose mayn't be much to get a hold 
 of, but he ain't tongue-tied. Pardner," he went on, turn- 
 ing to the gaping little Irishman, "I thought I'd heard 
 folks 'at could shoot off their mouth, but you're the only 
 real, genuwine, fourteen-carat, honest an' no imitation, 
 Al word slinger I ever met." 
 
 Gilbert laughed heartily, and they said good-night. 
 
 For many minutes after they had gone he stood alone 
 in the front hallway, leaning against the balustrade. He 
 could be nominated for mayor, and Moriarty believed that 
 he could be elected. Mayor of Hampstead! The whole 
 thing seemed absurd. He, John Gilbert, who only six 
 months before had been pushed into the Common Council 
 to fill a vacancy. Moriarty had been working over this 
 for weeks, perhaps months, and he had heard no word of 
 it. He seemed to remember something that had been 
 said one day at the shop. He had thought it a joke, of 
 course. Moriarty was disappointed. Moriarty had called 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 185 
 
 it a duty. Perhaps it was a duty. Could he do it? 
 Could he swing his work at Hardy & Son's and do the 
 mayor's work at the same time? Perhaps. No, he was 
 not clever enough to handle Council meetings or to make 
 speeches. It was not his kind of work. But the cam- 
 paign part of it appealed to him. He had some ideas 
 about that campaign, ideas of which he had said nothing 
 to anybody, chaotic, unformed ideas, but ideas that inter- 
 ested him greatly because they made him angry whenever 
 he thought of them. He had had no time to work them 
 out, but he meant to, and to finish, before election day. 
 He shook his head wearily. Before election day! There 
 was so much to do between now and election day. 
 
 Then there was Billy, — he went on with his thinking. 
 Billy had been mightily unfair to him, but down under- 
 neath Billy was all right and a good friend. Billy wanted 
 to be nominated. Gilbert went back to that Decoration 
 Day meeting at Billy's office. "I believe I promised in a 
 sort of way to help him," he said to himself as he prodded 
 his memory. But Moriarty evidently thought Billy could 
 not be elected. 
 
 Then he thought of Clare Hardy. He had not seen her 
 since the night of the Fourth of July. He had tried only 
 the once, when she had made it obvious to him that she 
 did not care to see him. He had done his best to force 
 her out of his mind. He had built what seemed to him 
 an invulnerable armor against her out of his great task 
 at the mills, out of the din of its busy rooms and the calls 
 of his assistants, out of his fight, with the Colonel, for 
 stock enough to hold the factories safe at the coming 
 meeting. But still she came back to him, and the big, 
 
186 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 toiling man was heartsick for a glimpse of her. He knew 
 he must wait, wait until she imderstood his side, wait 
 until she knew that he had been square and straight 
 through it all, and then — he must wait after that forever. 
 There again entered Billy McNish. Billy loved her and 
 she, it seemed, loved him. Gilbert called to his mother 
 that he was going for a walk. He picked up his hat and 
 went out into the silent, radiant night. 
 
 At the gate he looked down over the scene which had 
 attracted Billy only a few minutes before. He saw at the 
 right the high, grimy smokestack of Hardy & Son stand- 
 ing forth defiantly in the weird moonlight. At the left 
 were the lower, more modern and more compact chimneys 
 of the Hubbard mills. They seemed to him like sentinels 
 of the opposing forces which lay bivouacked for the night 
 in the city below. He walked slowly down the street, 
 past the old house, and the Hardys' and the Colonel's. 
 People passed him and spoke to him, but he answered 
 mechanically, scarcely heeding. Directly before him at 
 the corner of a side street, an old elm tree threw its gaunt 
 shadow across the path. A gnarled branch far above 
 looked, in its shadow, like a roughly carved hand pointing 
 up the short street. It caught his interest and he looked 
 up. The street was familiar to him, chiefly because the 
 third house at the left was the Methodist parsonage. 
 Gilbert sometimes stopped there to play with the min- 
 ister's small son, — an imaginative youngster who liked 
 more attention than his father and mother were able to 
 give him, — or to puzzle himself with the contrasts between 
 Mrs. Brice's forced gayety and the preacher's forced 
 solemnity. Impulsively he turned into the street now. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 187 
 
 He would follow the shadowy signboard. Perhaps at 
 least it would lead him away from himself. 
 
 The maid at the parsonage liked Gilbert, and, perhaps 
 because she liked him and perhaps because she was very 
 stupid, she merely told him that Master Harry was in the 
 sitting-room, and then left him to his own devices. Gil- 
 bert walked to the sitting-room door, and opened it sud- 
 denly to surprise the boy. But he stopped in the doorway, 
 still fumbling over the knob awkwardly, his face redden- 
 ing fiercely. It was he, not the boy, who was surprised. 
 
 The gas was not lit, but the light from the great lamp 
 on the table spread its yellow circle over a collection of 
 blocks, grouped in squares and rectangles, and badly 
 maimed tin soldiers and dolls and various odds and ends 
 of a small boy's playthings. At the edge of this motley 
 array sat young Harry, listening with a child's absorbed 
 interest to Clare Hardy, who lay in utter abandon upon 
 the floor beside him. Miss Hardy looked up as the door 
 opened, and sat straight with a rapid movement that 
 disarranged some of the carefully placed blocks. 
 
 "Oh, Auntie Clare, you knocked the walls down," cried 
 the boy, rushing to the rescue and still too much en- 
 grossed to notice the interruption. The Prices had fol- 
 lowed the fashion, and had made Master Harry the nephew 
 of all their friends. Then, instinctively feeling the silence, 
 he turned and saw Gilbert. 
 
 "Hello, Uncle Jack," he called gravely, as he continued 
 to rearrange the blocks. "We're playin' fact'ry." 
 
 "Mrs. Brice had to go out to-night," Miss Hardy ex- 
 plained, "and she let me come down to look after the 
 boy. Won't you come in?" 
 
188 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 "If I may." 
 
 '^Of course. Mr. Gilbert knows a great deal more 
 about factories than I do, Harry. He can show us all 
 about it." 
 
 "Do you, Uncle Jack?" asked the boy doubtfully. 
 
 Gilbert stepped carefully over the "fact'ry" they had 
 built, and sat down upon the floor beside them. 
 
 "More than I sometimes wish I did," he said. 
 
 He turned and looked steadily at Miss Hardy. His 
 face was still flushed with embarrassment. Then he 
 stretched out his big hand toward her above the boy's 
 head. 
 
 " I'm mightily glad to see you," he said frankly. " I've 
 been wanting to for a long time." 
 
 There was an appeal in his voice and in his eyes that 
 could scarcely be refused. Miss Hardy gave him her 
 hand quickly and nodded. 
 
 "Tell Mr. Gilbert about the factory and the office, 
 Harry." 
 
 "He isn't Mr. Gilbert. He's Uncle Jack," the boy re- 
 marked reprovingly. Then, with boyish pride, he explained 
 the pile of blocks, his keen, interested little mind running 
 so far ahead of his tongue that his speech slipped and 
 stumbled in its haste to catch up. They were soon smil- 
 ing confidentially behind his back at his half knowledge and 
 his quaint phrases. Gilbert threw himself whole-heartedly 
 into the child's play, while Miss Hardy leaned back against 
 a chair, and watched him and listened critically to his pa- 
 tient answers to the boy's reiterated questions. 
 
 "An' is there a fire in it?" They had reached the 
 foundry. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 189 
 
 / '*A very big fire." 
 
 "Hot enough to burn 'em?" 
 
 "Oh, yes." 
 
 " Seven times seven? " The boy's religious training had 
 taught him that this was the last extremity of heat. 
 
 " Pretty nearly," laughed Gilbert. " But this ought to 
 be so, and that this way." He deftly changed the position 
 of some of the blocks and of the tin soldiers that served as 
 workmen. Harry Brice looked up inquiringly at Miss 
 Hardy, 
 
 "Mr. Gilbert knows how to remodel other people's 
 factories." Miss Hardy was half sorry she had said it 
 when she saw the sudden soberness of Gilbert's face. But 
 she noticed that he went on with his changes. 
 
 "You know all about it," he said quietly. 
 
 "I know one side of it. He's very angry." 
 
 "He has misunderstood." 
 
 "I thought so." 
 
 "Really?" His homely face lit up with a gleam of 
 frank joy as he turned to her. 
 
 "Well, I thought," she said quickly, frightened at her 
 own definiteness, "that you couldn't be as bad as " 
 
 Harry had been staring up at them, uncomprehending 
 and with growing restlessness. 
 
 "Why do the men get all black?" he broke in impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 "From the machines." 
 
 " Well, I shan't have any nasty machines in my fact'ry." 
 
 "How will it all end?" asked Miss Hardy. 
 
 "Hard to tell. All right, I guess." There was much 
 more confidence in Gilbert's words than he really felt. 
 
190 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 "He isn't quite himself." Miss Hardy spoke hurriedly, 
 as if she felt guilty at talking of her father. ''He's dis- 
 couraged and he isn't well. He said to-night that Mr. 
 Brett wants to see him to-morrow, and that he thought 
 he'd sell out if he got a chance. I don't believe he really 
 will," she added, startled by the fierce look of Gilbert's 
 face. 
 
 " You mustn't let him," he said almost roughly. " Give 
 up after all these years? Give up to a pack of sneak 
 thieves? Give up with success just ahead of him? We're 
 working for him. You must know that. We'd be work- 
 ing with him, if he'd let us. If he'll just hang on we'll 
 re-elect him president, and, if he'll help us, we'll save the 
 shop. He holds the balance of power for the meeting 
 now." 
 
 Gilbert's eyes were black with sudden anger, and his 
 whole figure was tense with emotion. He explained 
 rapidly the situation in regard to the stock, making it 
 simple by homely illustrations. 
 
 "I guess you've forgotten me," remarked the boy 
 plaintively. 
 
 "I guess we have," laughed Gilbert with sudden relax- 
 ation. "What do you want to know now?" 
 
 The boy looked from one to the other with a new in- 
 terest. 
 
 "That's just the way Uncle Charles talks to Aunt 
 Mary," he said, reasoning rapidly, "when he gets mad 
 at her. Now if you're Uncle Jack and she's Auntie 
 Clare, why don't you live in a big house by yourselves 
 the way they do?" 
 
 There was a terrifying pause for a long fraction of a 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 191 
 
 minute. Then Miss Hardy jumped up, with her back 
 turned toward Gilbert. 
 
 "It's half-past nine. What would your mother say, 
 Harry? She'd never let me come again when she went 
 away, and we'd never play factory again." 
 
 Gilbert laughed in spite of himself as she stopped for 
 breath. 
 
 ''And before I go, young man," he said, "I'll 'up in 
 the air' you three times — for punishment." He almost 
 said "for reward." 
 
 Before the boy could object he was seized and hurled 
 vigorously toward the ceiling, to descend in Jack's strong 
 arms. Three, four, five times the operation was re- 
 peated, while Miss Hardy's cheeks cooled as she bent to 
 pick up the toys. But there must be an ending of even 
 "up in the airs," and, with young Harry clasping his leg 
 and begging for more, Gilbert turned to say good-night to 
 Miss Hardy. Their eyes met and there was real com- 
 radeship in the glance. 
 
 " I'm depending on you," he said. 
 
 "I'll do my best." 
 
 "Then you believe in me?" 
 
 "I— I think I do. I think I have all the time." 
 
 "That's better than all the rest." 
 
 She was very quiet as she undressed the boy and 
 heard his prayers and tucked him in, so quiet that he 
 had an opportunity to remember the unanswered ques- 
 tion. As he lay in bed, decidedly awake, he asked it 
 again. 
 
 "Why?" he reiterated. 
 
 Miss Hardy turned out the lights. 
 
192 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 "You're a funny boy/' she said. Then she leaned 
 over him and, putting her arms about him, she half lifted 
 him up and kissed him. " You're a funny boy," she said 
 again. 
 
 ''Now," he remarked with masculine severity, "you've 
 got to tuck me in again." 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 LATER IN THE EVENING 
 
 MR. HARDY passed the street that led to the 
 parsonage only a few moments after Gilbert 
 turned into it that night. If Jack had con- 
 tinued his way toward Main Street they probably would 
 have met. The old man trudged up the hill, grunting 
 gruffly to those who spoke to him, staring at the sidewalk, 
 which sometimes seemed to rise up in billows beneath his 
 feet. He passed unheeding through the beauty of the 
 night, stiffening his will against a constant feeling of 
 dizziness, conscious only of a numb, wracking ache at the 
 back of his head and of a packet of papers in his coat 
 pocket, which he covered carefully with his rigid right arm. 
 He breathed a sigh of relief as he reached the house and 
 snapped his key in the lock. He was glad to be at home 
 again. Mrs. Hardy, upstairs in her room, heard his step 
 on the porch and, getting up, she quietly locked her door 
 and switched off the electricity. Then she sat nervously 
 listening to the stamp of his feet as he passed through the 
 hall, and, when the door of his room slammed shut with a 
 noise that echoed through the house, she shuddered and, 
 turning on the light, continued with her book. 
 
 In his room Mr. Hardy took the papers from his pocket 
 and carefully laid them on the table. Then, although the 
 white lace curtains bellied in from the breeze at an open 
 window, he took off his coat. He felt suffocated and 
 
 193 
 
194 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 oppressed. Sitting down at the table, he separated the 
 precious papers carefully into two piles. He knew the 
 contents of every one of them, but he unfolded each one 
 in turn and read it from beginning to end. As he re- 
 placed each paper he noted down some figures, using, 
 after his usual custom, half of a canceled envelope. When 
 he was done with them he added the figures carefully 
 twice. Then he leaned back and stared vacantly at the 
 window. He had known the result approximately before 
 he took the papers from the safe, but it was hard for Sam 
 Hardy to convince himself of defeat. That was what 
 these thin piles seemed to mean to him now, defeat; 
 utter, hopeless defeat. In one pile were his own stock 
 certificates, which he handled carefully, almost tenderly, 
 as if he thought they might crumble at his touch. In the 
 other pile were proxies and letters in reply to his requests, 
 sent out frantically a week or ten days after the snap 
 directors' meeting. His delay in sending them — which 
 proved that Gilbert had been right in his judgment of 
 "the old man" — had been one reason for the thinness of 
 the pile, but a greater reason lay in Sam Hardy's unpopu- 
 larity. He had made few friends among his stockholders. 
 Few of those who knew him could tolerate his up-and- 
 down domineering way. Decreasing dividends as well 
 had caused stockholders to lose faith in him. "Hardy is 
 a has-been," many of them said. They even forgot that 
 he was still a good salesman. But his old power, his old 
 fighting grit, was not dead. As he sat, leaning back, his 
 set face was still imcompromising and the sturdy figure 
 did not droop. 
 
 "It's the last ditch," he muttered, "the last ditch." 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 195 
 
 The sound of his own voice seemed to startle him. "I'm 
 all in," he went on, "all in. Nothing but a miracle can 
 save me now. They've got me between 'em. If I fight 
 one, the other wins. People I meet seem to know it. 
 ' That's Sam Hardy,' they seem to say. ' Big man once, 
 but down and out.'" 
 
 He rose and, going over to the tall pier-glass, he eyed 
 himself closely. He gained confidence and wheeled defi- 
 antly, as if to face an invisible visitor with whom he had 
 been talking. 
 
 "No," he growled. "I won't give it up. They're my 
 shops, I tell you. They're part of me, bone of my bone 
 and flesh of my flesh. They're mine, every stick and 
 stone of 'em." 
 
 He cursed roundly and tramped up and down the room, 
 attempting to force his exhausted mind upon the problem 
 which he had tried a hundred times to solve in the last 
 few days. He had asked no one for advice about it. In- 
 deed he had mentioned it only to Billy McNish, his law- 
 yer, the director from Tareville and a few local stock- 
 holders. He had always directed his fights alone, and 
 now he stood, half crazed with the worry and the humilia- 
 tion of it, facing this utter ruin alone. 
 
 He stopped at the table and lit a cigar. Then he began 
 to describe the situation to himself. His mind blurred 
 badly and he talked on. The spoken words seemed to 
 straighten out the tangle of too many thoughts. 
 
 "If Jack Gilbert gets control, he'll put me out. That's 
 what he's been working for from the start. And I made 
 him; made him from a green hand to superintendent. 
 Now he thinks he knows more about the shops than I do, 
 
196 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 and I made them as well as him. He's changing 'em now 
 so I hardly know 'em, and I can't stop him. He went 
 over me — over me, Sam Hardy, who ran the place before 
 he was bom. No man ever did it before. Guess I'm 
 getting old. The men ain't afraid of me as they were. 
 They snickered, some of 'em, when I slipped in the yard 
 yesterday." 
 
 He beat his fist with sudden anger upon the table. 
 
 "There'll be a way out of it yet," he said. "I'll make 
 'em bow down and say their prayers to the machines yet." 
 
 He was silent for a minute or two, the former vacant 
 stare in his eyes. Then he sat down and leaned forward, 
 his chin on his hands, his elbows on the table. 
 
 "Brett wants to talk, does he? Probably wants to 
 smooth me down and j&nd out something. Brett's a 
 sneak, but he's got Hubbard back of him. Perhaps — per- 
 haps he's ready to force me out now. No, the meeting's 
 only a little more'n a week away. He'll wait. But if 
 he'd buy me out — put up the cash, — then I could get away 
 and I'd have something to show for it. Nobody could 
 laugh at me then." For a moment he sat dejectedly. 
 Then he shook himself and stretched out his hands to grip 
 the two ends of the table before him. 
 
 "What 're you thinking of?" he whispered. "You 
 never was a quitter, Sam Hardy, and you ain't one now. 
 There'll be a way out yet. And the shops, I'd burn 'em 
 before I'd let that crowd get 'em." 
 
 A thousand invisible wires seemed to be pulling him 
 down, and he thought he could hear the steady beat of his 
 aching head. He picked the half-smoked cigar from his 
 mouth and flung it through the open window. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 197 
 
 "It doesn't taste good/' he explained to himself. 
 " Nothing tastes good or smells good or feels good. Wish 
 I knew how much stock Gilbert's got, and Brett. Wish 
 I'd sent out for proxies sooner. Might 've known they'd 
 get ahead of me. Wish I knew what they'll do when they 
 get control. Perhaps Gilbert's hand in glove with Brett 
 all the time. No," he muttered, "no, there'll be a way 
 out yet." 
 
 He sat in this position for some minutes, his tired brain 
 refusing to work consecutively. It was probably his 
 weariness, as well as his isolation and his friendlessness 
 and his obstinate self-will, that kept him from under- 
 standing the real situation. If he could have known, as 
 he sat there, that Mr. Hubbard's first move to own Hardy 
 & Son had been made a year before, when he maneuvered 
 to get Mr. Brett and Mr. Merrivale upon the Hardy board 
 of directors; that he had followed this by picking up 
 gradually any stock that he could buy at a sufficiently low 
 price; that he had tried to get rid of Mr. Hardy over the 
 matter of the notes by a snap directors' meeting, so that he 
 could depress at will the price of stock, and that Gilbert 
 and Colonel Mead alone had blocked the success of the 
 plan; that he had been doing his best to gain control of 
 the annual meeting with exactly the same purpose, and 
 that again Gilbert was blocking his way; that now, with 
 the unexpected success of Gilbert's reorganization of 
 Hardy methods of production, Mr. Hubbard was realizing 
 that he must buy control of the works now or never, except 
 at an increasing cost, and was scheming and working to 
 that end; — if Sam Hardy could have known all that and 
 could have believed it he could have slept well that night, 
 
198 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 and he could have faced the morrow with confidence. 
 But the hard-bound rules of his life and character would 
 not allow him to know or to believe anything of the kind. 
 The disturbing human factor, the human weakness, 
 entered, as it often does, to switch many a right cause off 
 upon a siding, while a wrong cause thunders past it and 
 ahead of it on the main line to success. 
 
 "Nobody cares," he muttered, his lips twitching ner- 
 vously. "Most of 'em will be glad to see me go down. 
 Moriarty, he'll be glad, and Simpson, and the hands. 
 Nobody'll care. And what'll I do? Everything I've got 
 is in the shop. I'll be a beggar, a nobody, a thing to be 
 laughed at and joked about." He pressed his head with 
 his hands as if to steady his thoughts. "No," he whim- 
 pered, trying to shut his teeth, " no, there'll be a way out 
 yet, Sam Hardy. There'll be a way out yet." 
 
 He was still sitting there when Clare Hardy knocked 
 at the door, and came in hesitatingly at his gruff sum- 
 mons. 
 
 " I saw the light as I came up the street," she said. " I 
 thought I'd look in on you, and find out how you are 
 feeling." 
 
 He had risen laboriously as she entered and stood facing 
 her. Clare Hardy saw the weary look in his eyes and the 
 unaccustomed whiteness of his flabby cheeks. A sudden 
 wave of pity went over her and, before he could stop her, 
 she went to him and put her arms about his neck and 
 kissed him. To her surprise he caught her to him and 
 held her close. And so they stood for a full minute. For 
 the first time in his long life of devotion to business, Sam 
 Hardy confessed that he needed someone's affection and 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 199 
 
 support; and in that moment his feeling of hopeless lone- 
 liness left him. 
 
 "You're a good girl," he said, patting her back awk- 
 wardly in embarrassment. There was a suggestion of 
 tears in his eyes and in hers. She squared him off with 
 her hands on his shoulders, and peered at him so closely 
 that he grew uncomfortable under her scrutiny. 
 
 ''You're worried and tired," she said. "You ought to 
 go away and rest. You haven't been away all summer." 
 
 Mr. Hardy shook his head and tried to smile. 
 
 "Not very tired," he replied hurriedly. "Not very 
 tired. I can't quit now. In a week or two p'raps I'll 
 quit." He paused for a few seconds. " What 'd you do," 
 he went on, "if I should lose all I've got? What 'd you 
 do and what d'ye think your mother 'd do?" 
 
 "Do?" cried the girl. "Do? Why, I've got Hardy 
 blood in me." 
 
 The old man stiffened proudly. 
 
 " Do? " Miss Hardy continued. " We'd form a partner- 
 ship and begin all over again. I almost wish you would 
 lose it, every penny of it. Perhaps, then, I'd amount to 
 something and not mope around the house and read silly 
 books. But you aren't going to lose it. Now sit down 
 and tell me all about it." 
 
 She pointed imperiously to the chair he had vacated, 
 and seated herself at the other side of the table. Bright- 
 ened momentarily by her infectious confidence he sat 
 down as she bade him. As he looked at the papers, how- 
 ever, still evenly piled with business-like neatness, the 
 gloom returned and he shook his head again. 
 
 "No," he said wearily, "you wouldn't understand." 
 
200 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 " You're not a bit flattering." The girl toyed flippantly 
 with a paper cutter. "You think I don't understand 
 anything about business. Now Usten. You said to- 
 night that that unpleasant Mr. Brett wanted to see you. 
 I've been thinking about that. How much stock of your 
 own and of other people's have you?" 
 
 He looked dully at the added figures on the paper. 
 
 "Only about twenty-four per cent, of the total," he 
 said with slow precision. 
 
 "Well," Miss Hardy spoke rapidly, as if she feared that 
 she would forget what she had prepared to say. " I look 
 at it in this way. Mr. Brett and the rest of them have 
 enough to win with yours. They probably wouldn't 
 come to you unless they had. And they haven't enough 
 to win without you, or they certainly wouldn't come to 
 you. Is that clear?" 
 
 "Yes," nodded Mr. Hardy, "that's clear unless — well, 
 go on." 
 
 " Well, if you've got twenty-four per cent. — that's what 
 you said, isn't it? Yes, well, if you've got twenty-four 
 per cent, and they've got enough to win with you but not 
 enough to win without you, then Mr. Gilbert and Colonel 
 Mead can't have enough to win without you either. And 
 you hold the balance of power." 
 
 The girl had remembered it and she smiled triumphantly 
 to herself. Mr. Hardy, puzzled over the rapid statement 
 of what sounded like some algebraic problem, coughed to 
 hide his perplexity. He repeated the words to himself, 
 and gradually light dawned upon him. He jumped to 
 his feet and began pacing to and fro excitedly. 
 
 "You may be right," he said, and his voice trembled 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 201 
 
 as he spoke. "That accounts p'raps for Mr. McNish 
 coming to me for Gilbert, too. They're in the same fix. 
 They're each holding the other one from getting at me. 
 Gilbert may have enough by now, though " 
 
 '* He hasn't," cried Miss Hardy. "That is, I'm sure he 
 hasn't." 
 
 She herself was trembling, as she watched suspicion 
 and doubt and belief struggle for control of his mind. 
 
 " I believe you're right," said Mr. Hardy slowly. " I've 
 said there'd be a way out. I'll boss that meeting yet " — 
 his eyes gleamed at the thought — "unless they should 
 join up." 
 
 Miss Hardy leaned forward. Her woman's sense had 
 made her expect this difficulty. Her knowledge of tac- 
 tics, if not of actual business, was keen enough. 
 
 "Don't you think that Mr. Brett or Mr. Hubbard or 
 whoever was doing it would have tried that first?" she 
 asked. "Wouldn't they leave you as a last resort?" 
 
 "You've got a good head." Sam Hardy looked down 
 at his daughter admiringly. "Guess I'd better let you 
 do my thinking for me after this: I'm played out. But" 
 — his brow creased again — " I don't understand Jack Gil- 
 bert's game." 
 
 " Perhaps," remarked Miss Hardy tentatively, as if the 
 idea had just occurred to her, "perhaps he's working for 
 you all the time." 
 
 Sam Hardy frowned and grunted with disgust. 
 
 "That's the first fool thing you've said," he growled. 
 "That's the woman of it. I tell you, men don't do things 
 for other men. They work for Number One. He went 
 over me nearly two months ago, for Number One. And 
 
202 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 he^s playing some game now, for Number One. I made 
 him and he's turned on me. I'll do him if I can and he'll 
 do me if he can. So get that out of your head quick." 
 
 Miss Hardy did not dare press the point. Instead she 
 changed the subject. 
 
 "I'd suggest," she said, as if the matter of John Gil- 
 bert's intentions had not been mentioned, 'Hhat you have 
 Billy McNish see Mr. Brett for you to-morrow, that you 
 let me take care of your papers and not leave them in your 
 safe at the shop where somebody might get them, and 
 that you go away for a week's rest early in the morning." 
 
 She arose while she was talking and went across to him, 
 and she put one hand on his shoulder caressingly as she 
 stood by his side. He looked at her doubtfully, but there 
 was an alertness in his whole attitude that had not been 
 there a half hour before. 
 
 '*I can't go away," he said, and there was something 
 very much like apology in his tone. "I've got to stay 
 and see it through. Your idea about McNish is all right. 
 I'd rather do it myself, but I guess your way's better. 
 I'll have him find out how things stand, too. Of course, 
 you take the papers along. Put 'em in that strong box 
 there and keep 'em safe. I'm glad to get rid of 'em." 
 
 Clare Hardy followed his pointing finger and brought 
 the dusty box from the shelf of the open closet. She had 
 deposited the papers within and locked it, and was putting 
 it imder her arm, when she felt her father's hands on her 
 shoulders. Before she knew it he had kissed her. He 
 turned away almost shamefacedly. 
 
 " You have got Hardy blood in you," he said in a muffled 
 voice. "And you've got a good head, too." 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 203 
 
 "I got it from you," she retorted as she reached the 
 door. 
 
 "Perhaps that's where mine's gone to," he answered 
 with an attempt to be jocular, as she bade him good- 
 night. 
 
 Clare Hardy sped along the hallway and up into her 
 tower room, never stopping until the box was deposited 
 carefully imderneath her bed, and the door closed and 
 locked. 
 
 "I've done it," she repeated breathlessly. It seemed 
 days since she had left the parsonage, and years since 
 Mrs. Brice had left her in charge of the boy. She glowed 
 with achievement, and she was certain that she was right. 
 Clare Hardy had never distrusted Gilbert, even when her 
 father in his first rage had exploded with his whole 
 biased story, that noon after the Fourth of July party. 
 Honesty, she had told herself in her moments of character 
 study, was the only thing that redeemed his homely face 
 and his slouching, awkward figure and his manners, which 
 were imconventional, to say the least. He was honest and 
 strong. She stood ready, she had told herself, to doubt 
 him on any other score. She had refused to see him, 
 because her father had declared that Gilbert "should 
 never set his foot in the house again." And perhaps be- 
 cause of the prohibition she had wished, far more than 
 ever before, to see him and to talk with him and to make 
 certain of her reading of him. 
 
 The two months had brought to her new sensations 
 and new responsibilities. Her father's evident illness, 
 and her mother's irritability, which increased in ratio 
 with Mr. Hardy's worry; the possibility, at which her 
 
204 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 father had hinted now and then in his moments of de- 
 pression, that they might find themselves suddenly poor; 
 all these things had made the girl feel that she must not 
 only brighten Mr. Hardy and soothe her mother, but 
 that she must accomplish something herself as well. 
 For some weeks she had been giving much of her time 
 to the direction of the housework, checking servants' 
 extravagances, planning simpler meals, managing the 
 cleaning, and generally putting an end to the former 
 expensive, slipshod regime. She had made many mis- 
 takes but, on the whole, she had found more enjoyment 
 in it than in her old irresponsible life. She had needed 
 something to do, she said to herself. If this was not the 
 height of her ambition, at least it was something done; a 
 beginning, perhaps, for something else that would be more 
 to her liking. And now, she felt, she had helped her 
 father at a crisis. 
 
 She wondered suddenly why she trusted John Gilbert 
 so completely. There was something else about him, 
 she knew to-night. He had a way of making other people, 
 herself included, do what he wished them to do, and she 
 was not certain that she liked it as applied to herself. As 
 she turned out her light she heard the echo of heavy foot- 
 steps on the sidewalk of the silent street. Peering out of 
 the window, she saw the unmistakable giant figure of the 
 man she was thinking about, under the electric light at 
 the corner. Impulsively she wished to throw up the sash 
 and to call to him that everything was all right. Instead 
 she stood still, the night breeze blowing in upon her, until 
 he had disappeared up the street in the darkness. Then, 
 with a little sigh, she went to bed. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 205 
 
 The Colonel had parted with Mr. Moriarty at his own 
 gate. They had planned between them John Gilbert's 
 entire campaign for mayor, on the way down the street. 
 
 " Oi'd loike to have him goin' so fast from the start that 
 he kud walk up the stretch/' Moriarty remarked just be- 
 fore they said good-night, " but 'twill be close anny way ye 
 luk at it. They've got the money, but he's a gentleman 
 as well as a workingman, and he ought to win." Mr. 
 Moriarty retained, unconsciously, something of the old 
 country's class distinctions. 
 
 "Jack's a real man, every inch of him," replied the 
 Colonel, "and," he added whimsically, "thar's a good 
 many inches." 
 
 When he had lighted his lamp the Colonel tried to read 
 the evening paper. All the headlines, however, seemed 
 to spell alike to him that night. " John Gilbert Elected 
 Mayor." The mere thought of it thrilled his loyal old 
 soul. During his varied life in the West as soldier, pony- 
 express rider and miner, he had been for a year the sheriff 
 of a small, but decidedly energetic, mining town, and he 
 had as great a respect for office as he professed to have 
 lack of respect for most officials. He pondered over Mr. 
 Moriarty's plans, and gradually he fitted himself into each 
 one until he had laid out more work for himself than he 
 could have done in six months. When at last he looked 
 at the clock he found that it was long past his usual bed- 
 time. He was beginning his preparations for closing up 
 and going to bed, when Gilbert surprised him at the door. 
 
 "You look like the Statue of Liberty, Colonel," Gilbert 
 remarked as the veteran appeared with lamp upraised. 
 " I just dropped in to tell you about this political business. 
 
206 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 I'm not going to run. That's settled. I wanted to get 
 it off my mind." 
 
 "Why, you're all elected, boy. Got it all worked out 
 in my mind," declared the Colonel. 
 
 "Can't help it. Colonel. Sorry, but I'm out of it. 
 Tell Moriarty so if you see him." 
 
 Colonel Mead groaned. The headlines were fading 
 away, and all his evening's dreams and plans were crum- 
 bling. 
 
 "What's the matter?" he asked. 
 
 "Well, I'm going to vote for Billy McNish." 
 
 The Colonel made a wry face as if he had taken bitter 
 medicine. 
 
 "Billy McNish," he repeated sarcastically, "thet 
 dresses like one o' these advert-ise-ments of Noo York 
 tailors. Billy McNish 1 Did I ever tell ye about the note 
 he wrote me — note, not a letter, d'ye hear? Billy, he 
 couldn't write a hull letter without changin' his mind 
 'fore he finished it. It wuz about that little proceedin' 
 Fourth o' July night. It wuz so slushy thet it's a wonder 
 it didn't soak through the envelope, an' it wuz addressed 
 to Ralph Mead, Esquire — Esquire, do ye savvey?" 
 
 "Oh, that's all part of Billy's artistic temperament," 
 laughed Gilbert. 
 
 "Artistic temp'rament?" sneered the Colonel. "Lord, 
 I hev that ev'ry momin' in bed. When a woman hes a 
 boy, thet's so lazy an' shiftless an' gen'rally good fer 
 nothin' thet thar ain't ord'nary words fit to describe it, 
 she alluz says he's got 'artistic temp'rament.' " 
 
 "Billy's all right. Colonel." 
 
 "Yes, Billy's all right — fer decorative perposes. I tell 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 207 
 
 ye, Jack, feather-bed livin' makes feather-bed men. Ye 
 can't get around it." 
 
 "I've got another bit of news for you." Gilbert res- 
 cued Billy's character from the Colonel's relentless dissec- 
 tion by changing the subject. " * The old man's ' thinking 
 seriously of going over to the other side. I heard it 
 straight to-night." 
 
 Colonel Mead drew in his breath in a long whistle. 
 
 "That means hitchin' up and puttin' for shelter," he 
 remarked. 
 
 " No, I think I've stopped him. Never mind how." 
 
 "Have, eh?" mused the Colonel. "Well, you be keer- 
 ful. Ridin' somebody else's hoss too far hez got many a 
 man strung up fer stealin' of it. Didn't think it o' Hardy, 
 though. Thought he had too much sand." 
 
 "They wouldn't be after him imless they were a bit 
 desperate. There's no love lost, you know," said Gilbert. 
 
 "That man Hubbard!" The Colonel forgot the lamp 
 in his emphatic conviction, and the light was blown out 
 by the unexpected gesture. The Colonel soberly exam- 
 ined it before he went on. "That man Hubbard," he 
 began again, " is the kind of man thet 'd make friends with 
 his dead mother-in-law, ef he thought he could jump a 
 claim in hell by a-doin' of it. But I ain't thinkin' o' him 
 nor o' Sam Hardy. I'm thinkin' of you. Thar's two 
 games I ain't got any use for — give-away in checkers an' 
 that fool game o' hearts. They're too benevolent. They 
 make ye think o' some texts in the Bible. ' He that loses 
 most wins,' an' ' Make yerself poor an' ye shall be rich,' an' 
 such like. Seems like, when ye read 'em, thet it's only a 
 step from paradox to paradise. An' it's my observation 
 
208 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 thet a man thet plays good give-away never plays good 
 checkers. I want you to play checkers and run fer 
 mayor." 
 
 "I won't give away anything that belongs to me," 
 Gilbert broke in to stop the Colonel's flow of words. "I 
 haven't got time to be mayor, and I haven't the brains to 
 be mayor, and I've promised Billy McNish I'd work for 
 him." 
 
 " Well," sighed the Colonel, " ef ye promised I suppose 
 that's the end of it." 
 
 "Say, Colonel, how about Tubb?" asked Gilbert, stop- 
 ping half way down the walk after they had said gQod- 
 night. 
 
 " Oh, he's still Tubb, Lord help him! Still got his straw 
 up to see which way the wind blows, and still got his ear 
 to the ground. Ez far ez I kin make out, wind's kinder 
 variable, and he ain't heard nothin' loud an' clear." 
 
 "He's up to you. Colonel." The gate slammed and 
 Gilbert swung off down the street. Colonel Mead turned 
 into the house once more, but he was not thinking of Mr. 
 Tubb. 
 
 "Thar's one satisfaction," he remarked to himself with 
 a grin, "I ain't promised nobody.". 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 MISS HARDY GOES CALLING 
 
 WHEN Clare Hardy awoke the next morning at 
 the servant's sharp rap at her door, she 
 curled up sleepily for a moment, the thought 
 that the maid was in a bad humor alone crossing her 
 drowsiness. She could always read vindictiveness or 
 buoyant spirits or respectable timidity in these morning 
 knocks. Then she noticed, with some interest, that the 
 breeze that sifted through the curtains was cool and that 
 a long ray of sunshine lay along the edge of the bed. 
 She leaned forward and thrust her bare, slender fore-arm 
 into the sun's mild warmth, and watched the yellow 
 radiance flicker there as the wind-blown curtains played 
 in and out of the light's pathway. Then suddenly she 
 uttered a low cry and, darting forth from the covers, she 
 leaned and drew from beneath the bed's edge the rectan- 
 gular, black strong-box. She opened it nervously, and, 
 finding its contents untouched, she locked it again with 
 a quick little gasp of relief. Then she took it into her 
 arms and held it close and sat thinking. All the bright- 
 ness of the morning seemed to concentrate in her eyes 
 and to be reflected in the smile about her mouth. What 
 a fresh, fine world it was, to be sure, and how good it was 
 to be living in it! When she arose and moved about the 
 
 209 
 
210 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 room as she dressed, her step seemed to have lost its old 
 lightness. It was alert and confident. She was no longer 
 that Clare Hardy who had lived indolently, aimlessly, 
 constantly dissatisfied, the threads of her character lying 
 loose, unwoven. Something or somebody had caught up 
 the straying strands and was weaving them strongly to- 
 gether. She threw aside the curtains and looked out at 
 the bright new world. Then, smiling, she went down- 
 stairs. 
 
 It was a silent breakfast, with Mrs. Hardy's chair 
 vacant as usual and "the old man" busy with the morn- 
 ing Register as he gulped his coffee rapidly. Sam Hardy 
 had come to look upon meals, and upon breakfast in par- 
 ticular, as necessary evils to be finished as quickly as 
 possible. They delayed business. He devoured his food 
 between news paragraphs, and then, shoving back his 
 chair with a business-like scraping, he hurried out into 
 the hall. Miss Hardy created an innovation by rising and 
 following him. 
 
 "I hope you have a good day, partner," she said. "Is 
 there anything I can do?" 
 
 For answer he turned back from the door and, putting 
 his arms about her awkwardly, he kissed her. 
 
 "Guess not, thank ye," he said shortly, to hide his em- 
 barrassment at the unusual proceeding. "Take good 
 care of mother." Then he turned and hurried out, for it 
 had occurred to them both that this was the old formula 
 he had used when she was much younger, words which he 
 had not spoken in years. 
 
 "Why don't you go out for a walk, the day's so fine?" 
 Clare asked her mother later, as Mrs. Hardy, in a flowing 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 211 
 
 morning gown, sat eating her breakfast daintily in her 
 rooms upstairs. 
 
 "The sun is too bright, my dear," she said, looking 
 toward her window and shaking her head. ** There is 
 nothing more hideous than freckles for a woman of my 
 age, and I always freckle terribly. Did your father say 
 anything about our going away somewhere this Fall?" 
 
 Miss Hardy said that he had not. 
 
 "I suppose not," went on Mrs. Hardy with a sigh of 
 irritation. " But we really must do it. People are talk- 
 ing, I know, because we have been in town all summer. 
 Someone said to me the other day that it was a blessing, 
 for those who haven't the money to go away, that the 
 summer on the whole had not been severe. We must go 
 to some unusual place next month. 
 
 Clare Hardy judiciously picked up the tray of dishes. 
 
 "Let Mary take them, child," commanded Mrs. Hardy. 
 
 "Mary is busy. I'll take them," the girl said deci- 
 sively. "And I think we oughtn't to bother father 
 about going away just now. He's too worried about 
 his business." 
 
 Mrs. Hardy looked up in surprise. 
 
 "He is always worried about his business," she said 
 quickly 
 
 "But this is different," Miss Hardy asserted from the 
 doorway. "He has told me all about it. We ought to 
 help him." 
 
 Mrs. Hardy sat still in her chair for a long time. Down 
 underneath the outer artificial shell which she had been 
 taught to wear from childhood, Mrs. Hardy was a good 
 woman with a kind heart. He, her husband, had told 
 
212 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 Clare, her daughter, all about his business. He had not 
 told her. She remembered that at first, years ago, he 
 had tried to tell her. She had made him understand then 
 that she did not care to know about it all, that she had her 
 duties just as he had his, and that the less each troubled 
 the other with his or her difficulties the easier it would be 
 for both of them. That feeling had been the result of her 
 training. Now, after nearly thirty years, she suddenly 
 wondered if she had not been wrong; if, after all, she did 
 not wish to hear of his work and his plans and his worries. 
 A feeling almost of jealousy of her own daughter flashed 
 through her heart, and showed her, quivering there, her 
 old-time love for him, a love she had always felt although 
 she had hidden any expression of it. She had believed that 
 weakness of this sort, excusable enough in the young, 
 should be covered up by those who realize the serious 
 conventions of life. Could it be, she asked herself, that 
 the misunderstanding, that made a gulf between them, 
 was in part her fault? She tried to read and she could 
 not. "We ought to help him," she repeated, and it 
 seemed to her that Clare, her daughter, was sitting in judg- 
 ment upon her. Could it be possible that the factory, 
 which had yielded them money uncomplainingly for so 
 long a time, was in any real danger? A half hour later, 
 more shaken than she would have cared to admit, she 
 braved the sun to walk down to the center of town. She 
 could not stay still in that house another moment, she 
 said to herself. It may be added, however, that she wore 
 a heavy black veil. 
 
 When Clare Hardy had given the machinery of the day's 
 housework sufficient impetus so that it could not run 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 213 
 
 down until nightfall, she turned toward the high terraced 
 garden next door. She had been going there often all 
 summer, assured of her welcome by Mr. McNish when- 
 ever she saw him. The break in the hedge had never 
 been filled, although the green from each side made the 
 passway narrow, and through it she went, hatless, the 
 sleeves of her shirtwaist rolled up to the elbow and her 
 short skirt swinging free from the twigs and grasses of 
 the path. Slowly she walked past the gardens of the ter- 
 races, and on to the little summer-house that still stood in 
 the clump of woods behind them. Here she curled her- 
 self up on the broad seat and, half turning, rested her 
 arms on the railing and her face upon her arms. And 
 so she sat for some time. A squirrel ran up the sod 
 directly before her and sat back upon his haunches 
 sociably. Birds perched nearby on the railing and 
 looked at her inquisitively, their heads tilted to one side. 
 But she paid no attention to them. At last Mr. McNish's 
 kindly voice recalled her to the present. She had been 
 living in the past and in futures of her own planning. 
 
 "May I come in?" he asked, as he reached the steps. 
 
 "May I stay?" she asked in reply, using his inflection. 
 
 Mr. McNish smiled and bowed in his courtly way, and 
 sat down opposite her. 
 
 " You like the place, eh? " he said. 
 
 "Yes," she said simply, turning toward him. Mr. 
 McNish was a man to invite simplicity. "It's like a 
 colony of very old friends. The flowers all nod to me in 
 the gardens, and this spot seems to me like a protecting 
 pair of arms, always open to me. It's strange, isn't it, 
 what a shelter one's memories make for one?" 
 
214 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 "Memories?" He was obviously amused. "Memo- 
 ries for a child like you? You ought to be thinking 
 about prophecies. Leave the memories for old fossils 
 like me." 
 
 "Do you know," Miss Hardy went on confidentially, 
 "I think I like it best out here when it's raining. The 
 trees drip all about one and the roof hums with the beat 
 of the drops, and all the time one sits here dry and com- 
 fortable. It*s being out in the rain without getting wet, 
 don't you see?" 
 
 Mr. McNish nodded gravely. 
 
 "Same sensation you have in a bomb-proof with the 
 shells bursting all 'round," he said. 
 
 "Billy doesn't come out here very often, does he?" 
 asked the girl, after a long pause. The utter quiet and 
 contentment of the place made the talking desultory. 
 
 "No," said Mr. McNish, "he doesn't. Young blood, 
 you know; a thousand things to do at once; a thousand 
 ambitions to be satisfied. By and by he'll find out that 
 there's more music in a robin's chirp than there is in the 
 shouts of a mob. Sometime a cluster of flowers or a tree 
 in blossom will be prettier to him than his name in print. 
 Sometime he may learn a lot of things like that. I hope 
 he'll have the luck not to find 'em out too late." 
 
 "You believe in luck then?" queried Miss Hardy. 
 
 "With a boy like Billy," nodded Mr. McNish soberly. 
 " What most people call luck is only a matter of knowing 
 what you want and getting it. But Billy's different." 
 
 "Yes," assented Miss Hardy, "Billy is different from 
 almost anybody I've ever met." 
 
 " Billy isn't sure of what he wants and he don't know 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 215 
 
 how to get it," Mr. McNish went on. "He goes out and 
 looks for four-leaf clovers. You know what I mean. A 
 man like that may not find one until he's pretty old, and 
 then it's likely to be withered. I don't want Billy to be 
 like that." 
 
 Mr. McNish drummed uneasily upon the floor of the 
 summer-house with his cane, and Miss Hardy sat silent, 
 not knowing what to say. 
 
 "Strange I should talk to you about him," he said. 
 Then he added with a twinkle in his eye, "And yet I don't 
 know that it's so strange either." 
 
 "It's very interesting — and — nice of you," Miss Hardy 
 answered non-committally, a bright flush creeping into 
 her cheeks. Billy's father looked across at her and 
 changed the subject hurriedly. 
 
 "Speaking of the garden and this place," he said, "I 
 always feel like a visitor myself, as if I didn't really 
 belong here. Every time I come out here I feel as if I 
 ought to go and ask Mrs. Gilbert, or be a trespasser.'* 
 
 "I hardly know what she's Uke now." Miss Hardy 
 looked dreamily past him. "She used to be very kind to 
 me, long ago." 
 
 "She's kind to everybody," declared Mr. McNish. 
 "She's a wonderful woman. I can't tell you about her. 
 You'd have to know her to understand." 
 
 " I'm going to," said Miss Hardy deliberately. " What 
 do you think of John Gilbert?" she added after a pause. 
 
 Mr. McNish looked at her questioningly for a moment. 
 " You've probably heard things about him," he said. 
 
 Miss Hardy assented, and waited with a well-feigned 
 air of indifference. 
 
216 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 "Well." The elder McNish could be sententious on 
 occasion. "I don't think anything about him. I know. 
 I've known that boy ever since he was in kilts, and his 
 heart's as straight and as big as his body. He's not very 
 handsome and he's not over-quick, but he's got a back- 
 bone that 'd make most others seem like water reeds to 
 an oak tree. He's as stubborn as a regiment of army 
 mules; he's as gritty as General Grant ever was; and he's 
 as kind as his mother. There's just one word that de- 
 scribes him. He's inevitable. That's it — inevitable. 
 You mark my words." 
 
 Having delivered himself, Mr. McNish snapped the lid 
 of his watch vigorously and added that he must go down 
 to the store. An hour in the morning and two in the 
 afternoon satisfied him now for his day's work. He had 
 worked eighteen hours a day often enough in the past, he 
 declared, to keep his average good for the rest of his life. 
 
 "This is your back yard," he said with his usual cour- 
 tesy. "Come often." 
 
 "I'll ask Mrs. Gilbert if I may," she laughed. 
 
 "Do," he said, "do. I wish you would." 
 
 Long after the fine old gentleman had gone Clare sat 
 repeating his words over and over to herself. "Inevi- 
 table," she repeated, "inevitable." There was something 
 almost menacing about the word. 
 
 After a quiet luncheon, to which Mr. Hardy did not 
 return, Clare dressed to go out. She wore a simple, blue, 
 tailor-made suit, but anyone who had seen her stand long 
 moments before the glass would have known that she 
 was unusually anxious to look well that afternoon. As 
 she was crossing the threshold she remembered suddenly 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 217 
 
 that the meeting with Mr. Brett, which they had talked 
 of the night before, came at four o'clock. She must make 
 the papers safe beyond any chance of her father's changing 
 his mind. Returning, she took them from the strong- 
 box, and, putting it in plain sight on the closet shelf, she 
 placed the papers with feminine caution in a wicker case, 
 under a layer of handkerchiefs. Then, laughing to her- 
 self at her stratagem, she hurried out. 
 
 Mrs. Gilbert was upstairs in her little sewing-room when 
 the bell rang. 
 
 "And who might that be?" she said to herself, as she 
 tore off her apron and went slowly down the front stair- 
 way, smoothing away unruly wrinkles from her dress. 
 She started when she saw the vision in blue, and threw 
 her shoulders back primly. 
 
 " I came to see you, Mrs. Gilbert," said Clare Hardy, 
 stretching forth her ungloved hand, "if you're not too 
 busy and if I'm not in the way." 
 
 Mrs. Gilbert relaxed and caught the hand with her own. 
 
 "Come in," she said heartily. "Come right in." 
 
 She started to lead the way into the tiny parlor that 
 faced the street, but Miss Hardy hesitated. 
 
 " You came from upstairs, Mrs. Gilbert. You were do- 
 ing something. Let me go up with you and talk while 
 you work, or — let me help you." 
 
 "All right," Mrs. Gilbert said readily enough. Then, 
 like any yoimg girl, she gathered her skirts together that 
 she might run up the stairs. "I was just doing a bit of 
 sewing, and it's as gay to have company in one room as 
 another." 
 
 When they were comfortably seated in the bare room 
 
218 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 above, Mrs. Gilbert smiled at Miss Hardy over a needle 
 she was threading. 
 
 "I used to say, Miss Hardy," she said, "that no woman 
 would ever see anything here but the parlor and the 
 dining-room. They have some of the old things, and I 
 wasn't so ashamed of them. I think you are the first to 
 get up the stairs. It was false pride, I know, and I was a 
 very prideful woman. I've laughed about it many times. 
 But somehow you can't laugh away your weaknesses and 
 you wouldn't if you could, I think. They're the marks 
 that make you feel at home with yourself." 
 
 "But sometimes they aren't part of you, at all," said 
 Clare quickly. "They're just outside conventions. I 
 came here to make a confession, and you've made one first 
 to make it easier for me. I ought to have come here a 
 hundred times. I wanted to come, too, and I never have, 
 just because others didn't. It's as if I'd rented my 
 existence from other people, and lived according to their 
 rules. I'm more ashamed than I can say and I'm sorry 
 to have lost you all this time. I hope you'll forgive me." 
 
 No one could have helped forgiving the girl with that 
 frank appeal in her eyes and with the utter humility of 
 her words. Least of all could Mrs. Gilbert, who leaned 
 forward and patted Miss Hardy's hand affectionately. 
 
 "You spoke it very nicely, dearie," she said, with a 
 motherly tenderness that suddenly filled a place in the 
 girl's heart which she had not realized was empty. "I 
 know how it's been. I'd likely have done the same in 
 your place. I've never really laid it against you, although 
 I'll own I've missed you." 
 
 "Sometimes it seems to me," Miss Hardy said impul- 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 219 
 
 sively, "that we're all a lot of frauds. I was thinking 
 to-day that if we should be poor, my friends would prob- 
 ably turn their backs on me — all my own sort of people, 
 I mean." 
 
 "The friends your money buys, your lack of it sells,'^ 
 answered Mrs. Gilbert. Then, catching herself, she went 
 on hurriedly, "But there are excuses for them. They 
 can do things you can't do, and you soon drift apart. And 
 as for your own sort of people, I find that almost anybody 
 can be my sort of people if I give them a chance." 
 
 Clare Hardy knew that this gentle-voiced woman was 
 the moving force of the women's work at her church, and 
 that she was active in many of the organized benevo- 
 lences of the town. She knew that Mrs. Gilbert must 
 have denied herself constantly during all those years of 
 Jack's schooling, and that, always since, mother and son 
 had struggled along on absurdly small means. She had 
 had what Miss Hardy considered a hard life, for the last 
 twenty years, and yet she seemed to the girl little older 
 for the years or for the toil. There was an atmosphere of 
 complete contentment about her and about the humble 
 little house, that astonished and charmed the girl. 
 
 "I was in the old garden this morning," she said at 
 last. "Mr. McNish told me I should ask your permission 
 to go there. Perhaps that's one reason I came to-day." 
 
 Mrs. Gilbert laughed happily. 
 
 "He said that, did he? He's a good man, is Donald 
 McNish. He's tried to have me come over to see it but, 
 somehow, I haven't the courage. How does it look?" 
 
 "Just the same. You'd scarcely notice a change." 
 
 "Well," sighed Mrs. Gilbert with evident pride, "he 
 
220 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 couldn't have made it prettier than it was. Those were 
 bonny days, bonny days." She stared, unseeing, at the 
 work lying idle in her hands. Then she picked it up 
 with new energy. " But so are these,'' she added. 
 
 Miss Hardy sat silent for so long a time after this that 
 Mrs. Gilbert became curious. 
 
 "What are you thinking about so long?" she asked. 
 
 "I was wondering," said the girl frankly, "if I could 
 ever learn your secret for keeping happy." 
 
 "Why, I've no secret at all." Mrs. Gilbert was slightly 
 embarrassed by this sudden personal turn of the conver- 
 sation, but she liked it. She hesitated a moment. Then 
 she stiffened herself proudly. "It's a Mackenzie trait to 
 forget defeats and remember victories," she said. " It's 
 a Mackenzie trait to think well of yourself and of your 
 neighbors, and not to waste your time and patience 
 mourning over all your failings and gloating over 
 everybody's else. It's a Mackenzie trait to have work 
 enough to do to keep you company. It's a Mackenzie 
 trait to have a good strong lad who'll think of you 
 a year before he'll think of himself. And it's a 
 Mackenzie trait to shift all your burdens to the Al- 
 mighty shoulders that are always waiting to bear 
 them. There" — she stopped and smiled across at the 
 girl, — "you'll be thinking I'm a boastful and preachy 
 woman, but it's often and often, I'll tell you, that I'm a 
 bad Mackenzie." 
 
 "Blood tells," mused Miss Hardy. 
 
 "Oh, aye, blood tells, but you don't always listen to 
 it, more shame to you." 
 
 Miss Hardy nodded thoughtfully. Then, remembering 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 221 
 
 suddenly her real errand, she tried to turn the conversa- 
 tion to John Gilbert. She expected to mention it casually, 
 as if it were a natural part of the talk. But always Mrs. 
 Gilbert outmaneuvered her. The mere suggestion of his 
 name set his mother gossiping of anything and everything 
 else. At last Miss Hardy arose to go. 
 
 "I wish you'd tell Mr. Gilbert," she said desperately, 
 "that the matter he was interested in is all right." 
 
 Mrs. Gilbert showed none of the surprise she felt. 
 
 " He'll be very glad to hear it," she said gravely. She 
 had no intention of letting the girl think that there 
 was anything about Jack that his mother did not 
 know. 
 
 " I'll look for you often," she said at the door. "I was 
 saying to John the other night, that all my friends were 
 growing so old that I'd have to find somebody beside him 
 of my own age to talk to." 
 
 There was no sign of guile in her eyes as they searched 
 Clare Hardy's face, but, when the girl had gone, Mrs. 
 Gilbert neglected to go back to her work. She sat won- 
 dering what there was between her son and this girl, 
 where they had met and why he had told her nothing 
 about it. She determined to find out everything when 
 he came home. Perhaps she did and perhaps she did 
 not. A mother's knowledge is the only bottomless pool 
 that has never been fathomed. 
 
 They had an almost inconceivably enjoyable dinner 
 that night at the Hardys', without an unpleasant word 
 or a jarring incident. In the hallway, afterwards, Sam 
 Hardy took the girl to one side. 
 
 " You were dead right," he said. " I'll own that meeting 
 
222 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 with twenty-four per cent, of the stock. I'll show 'em 
 yet whether Sam Hardy " 
 
 Mrs. Hardy had stopped indecisively at the bottom of 
 the stairs, but now she came swiftly to them. 
 
 ''Samuel," she said with set lips, "I wish you to tell 
 me all about it.'' 
 
 Mr. Hardy looked from one to the other in open amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 "All right," he said at last. "Come in here." 
 
 He led the way into the library, and Clare Hardy 
 slipped away up the stairs, leaving them together. What 
 a fine, fresh world it was, full of things worth doing to do, 
 and things worth thinking about to think about, and, she 
 added to herself, people worth knowing to know. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE COLONEL LOSES HIS TEMPER 
 
 HAMPSTEAD was an old-fashioned town politi- 
 cally. Only comparatively few, men who had 
 offices, men who had ambitions and men who 
 had time for everything except work, attended the ordi- 
 nary nominating caucus of either party. The rest of the 
 male population accepted the nominations and voted on 
 strict party lines. Business men occasionally remarked, 
 when the assessor's notice came to them, that "taxes were 
 mighty high and city improvements mighty small," but 
 they were too busy to do more than talk. No one had 
 ever hinted that the city money might have been spent 
 dishonestly or even unwisely. No one had ever thought 
 much about it. When the citizens of Hampstead read 
 reports of corruption in the large city governments of 
 other sections of the country, they smiled at each other 
 with smug satisfaction. Nothing like that could ever 
 happen in Hampstead, they were sure. 
 
 The News and the Morning Register ^ during the week 
 preceding the rival caucuses, stated daily that "the polit- 
 ical situation remained unchanged." The Register, owned 
 and controlled by ex-Congressman Strutt, said: "The 
 Hon. Mr. Brett will be nominated again for mayor with- 
 out a dissenting voice. Our opponents will probably rim 
 somebody against him, but Mr. Brett's magnificent record 
 
 223 
 
224 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 will make the election a walk-over." The News, Inde- 
 pendent, said: "The Hon. Mr. Moriarty, speaking of the 
 coming caucus on Thursday night, stated that the race was 
 still open. Those most prominently mentioned as candi- 
 dates for mayor have been Captain McNish, the young and 
 popular attorney, and Judge Morrison. Either of these 
 two men will make it interesting for the Hon. Mr. Brett, 
 who will of course be renominated. Some time ago there 
 was some talk of running Mr. John Gilbert, the new man- 
 ager of Hardy & Son, against Mr. Brett, but nothing has 
 been heard of it recently." Hampstead read these re- 
 ports and remarked casually that "they" were thinking 
 of running young McNish for mayor, although it could 
 not have told and did not greatly care who "they" were; 
 and mouthed the titles with very undemocratic satis- 
 faction, without noticing that Judge Morrison had not 
 been a judge for nearly fifteen years, that Billy McNish 
 had never been more than lieutenant, or asking why Mr. 
 Brett and Mr. Moriarty had been dignified with an Hon- 
 orable. On election day Hampstead would vote if it had 
 the time, but it was much too busy to think about it 
 beforehand. On the whole, Hampstead would have 
 called it a dull week, filled to the full with the usual, unex- 
 citing, money-making, living-earning routine. 
 
 Meanwhile a small minority of men were unusually 
 active. Colonel Mead's behavior was extraordinary. 
 Often when they were together during that week, pulling 
 their final drag-net for Hardy stock proxies, Gilbert 
 noticed that the Colonel seemed absent-minded, almost 
 indifferent, that he chuckled merrily to himself when 
 nothing in their conversation warranted merriment, and 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 225 
 
 that he had mysterious engagements "down town," — 
 extraordinary proceedings for the Colonel, whose time 
 was usually limitless and entirely at Jack's command. 
 Of course Gilbert did not understand until afterwards. 
 There was only one man in Hampstead who completely 
 understood, and that was Mr. Moriarty. 
 
 Moriarty had conducted conspiracies before and he 
 liked them. He admitted to himself, however, that this 
 one was different. Usually his plotting concerned men 
 who were yearning for any or every office in sight. It 
 was the first time in his political career that Mr. Moriarty 
 was planning to nominate an imwilling candidate. In 
 spite of his enthusiasm for Gilbert, Moriarty probably 
 would have hesitated to take such a step if he had not 
 been persistently urged on by Colonel Mead. As it was, 
 the little Irishman was silently putting all his wires in 
 working order, and he was keeping Gilbert's name away 
 from the newspapers and from the loose tongue of "com- 
 mon talk." The Colonel was to arrange that Gilbert 
 should not attend the caucus, and both of them were to see 
 him afterwards and convince him that, once nominated, 
 he would be a traitor to his party if he refused to make 
 the campaign. Colonel Mead was certain that Jack's 
 scruples about his promise to Billy McNish had decided 
 him against permitting his name to be used, and the 
 veteran reasoned that these scruples would be satisfied 
 if the nomination came unsought and in the face of a 
 definite refusal. 
 
 Mr. Strutt and Captain Merrivale and Mr. Brett met in 
 secret conferences often during the week. It was said, 
 also, that the quiet Mr. Hubbard was seen coming from 
 
226 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 Mr. Strutt's offices on a day when the three were closeted 
 together there. Perhaps they were arranging Mr. Brett's 
 campaign, for they were the leaders of his party; or per- 
 haps they talked of the situation at Hardy & Son's and 
 the annual meeting which was set for the Saturday be- 
 tween the two political caucuses; or perhaps Mr. Hub- 
 bard's visit was merely over legal matters, and the meeting 
 of the four men only a pleasant chance. Nobody ex- 
 cept the four of them knew, and nobody paid any atten- 
 tion to it except Jimmy O'Rourke, who happened to have 
 an errand in the block which contained Mr. Strutt's 
 offices. Jimmy's presence, unfortunately, was noticed by 
 Mr. Hubbard, and that afternoon the boy was summarily 
 dismissed from the employ of the Hubbard mills. He 
 was out of work only a few hours, however, for he found a 
 place immediately at Hardy & Son's. 
 
 Sam Hardy seemed to be busy also. He spent two or 
 three evenings in Tareville with the director whom the 
 Colonel and Gilbert had awakened on Fourth of July 
 night. Billy McNish was rushing feverishly from friend 
 to friend for support. A strange man with a clean- 
 shaven face, who said little, who swaggered with self- 
 satisfaction and who wore a diamond shirt stud, came to 
 Hampstead one night. He was driven directly to Mr. 
 Hubbard's house, and he returned in time to catch the 
 eleven o'clock train for New York. No one would have 
 known of his visit if the hackman had not been talkative 
 that night, as he sat munching a sandwich at Mr. Lump- 
 kin's night-lunch counter. It was not such a dull week 
 in Hampstead after all. 
 
 On Thursday afternoon Billy McNish sat alone in his 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 227 
 
 law office. Through the window he was watching a group 
 of boys playing about the edge of the fountain in the 
 square. From the next room came the steady click- 
 click of his stenographer's typewriter. Billy knew that 
 he was certain to be beaten at the caucus that night. He 
 knew that Moriarty was against him and for somebody 
 else. John Gilbert, Billy felt certain. But, strangely 
 enough, Billy was less discontented than he had been 
 at any time since his first proposal to the Irishman on 
 Decoration Day. It was over now. He had done the 
 best he could. At least he had been a gentleman, he said 
 to himself. The Republicans had had an inkling of 
 Moriarty's plan and had offered Billy inducements to bolt 
 with his following to Mr. Brett's support, and Billy had 
 refused point blank. When he had met Mr. Brett for 
 Mr. Hardy, the Mayor had hinted at very definite personal 
 gain for Lawyer McNish, if Mr. Hardy could be influenced 
 to vote his stock with Mr. Brett at the annual meeting, 
 and Billy had brought the conference to a close with an 
 abruptness that evidently amazed the banker. Billy 
 had seen Clare Hardy coming from the Gilbert house late 
 one afternoon, and he had not followed his first jealous im- 
 pulse to mention the fact casually to Mr. Hardy. No, he 
 had played fair from the start, he told himself. And it 
 was true. If Billy found part of his contentment in 
 enlarging to himself his own goodness, and in considering 
 himself a kind of martyr to his own honesty, he should 
 not be blamed for it. It was part of his temperament. 
 
 The door opened and Mr. Moriarty came in. He 
 walked directly to the desk and extended his hand with 
 the utmost friendliness. Billy shook it heartily. He had 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 nothing against the Uttle Irishman, he told himself in a 
 kind of ecstasy of chivalry. He had nothing against 
 anybody. He would be known as "a good loser.*' He 
 almost believed in the part as he played it. 
 
 "OiVe just been hearin'," began Mr. Moriarty, "that 
 ye'd likely work against us if ye ain't nominated to- 
 night. I want to tell the man that told me so, that he's 
 a liar. Faith, he's bigger than Oi am an' Oi want moral 
 support." 
 
 Billy laughed. 
 
 "Go ahead, Moriarty," he said. "You've got it." 
 
 The Irishman took two cigars from his bulging vest 
 pocket, one short, shapeless and black; the other long, 
 shapely and brown. With something like a sigh, he 
 handed the short one to Billy and stuck the long cigar in 
 his own mouth. But he did not light it. A moment later 
 he absent-mindedly replaced it in his pocket. 
 
 "Have one of mine," suggested Billy, "and tell me 
 about it." 
 
 "About the se-gar?" asked Mr. Moriarty, rubbing his 
 chin reflectively to hide his embarrassment. "That's 
 politics. 'Tis my only graft. For a month before eliction 
 I swear off buyin' se-gars. Ivery man that wants any- 
 thing is suddenly as generous as if he was the happy father 
 av a hundred brand-new babies, an' I was the only wan 
 congratulatin' him. But there's a difference. Take them 
 two se-gars. Old Prifesser Gunter comes up to me an' 
 he's a real gentleman, the Prifesser. An' he says, ' Good- 
 mornin', Mr. Moriarty,' an' he slips the nice little black 
 wan into me fist. The Prifesser's a Republican, but he 
 loikes friends. Some of his own party, Brett an' that 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 229 
 
 crowd, are down on him; he's been runnin' the school so 
 long. Then bym-bye up comes Martin Jethro, that wants 
 to stay in the Council. He slaps me on the back. * Hello, 
 Mike!' he says. 'Have wan o' my se-gars.' An' I takes 
 the long brown wan, while he tells me how much it didn't 
 cost." 
 
 "But what are you keeping it for?" asked Billy. 
 
 "If we're beaten I might want to commit suicide," said 
 Mr. Moriarty soberly. 
 
 Billy smiled and waited. 
 
 "Oi'll tell ye something on the Q. T." Mr. Moriarty 
 chose his words slowly and carefully. "Oi think — av 
 coorse Oi dinnaw — but Oi think that the caucus '11 nomy- 
 nate Jack Gilbert to-night. Oi want you to withdraw 
 an' make it a sure thing. Some av thim are wantin' the 
 old Judge an' not a young man at all." 
 
 "No," said Billy, with that air of complete decision 
 which few but indecisive men ever attain, " I won't with- 
 draw and I won't bolt. That '11 have to do." 
 
 "An' ye'll stick to that?" Moriarty asked doubtfully. 
 
 "Of course I'll stick to it," retorted Billy, irritably, who, 
 like many other people, was most sensitive at the weakest 
 spot in his character. 
 
 Moriarty nodded with conciliatory approval. 
 
 " Good luck to ye," he added as he left the room. 
 
 Billy arose and stretched his short fat arms and yawned. 
 It was John Gilbert then. He shrugged his shoulders and 
 fumbled aimlessly with the papers on his desk. There 
 was nothing much to do at the office, nothing that he 
 couldn't let go until to-morrow. He had not seen Clare 
 Hardy in four days. He had not wished to see her, 
 
230 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 strangely enough, while there was still a fragment of 
 hope. Now that defeat was certain he wished to see her 
 more, it seemed to him, than he had ever wished to see 
 her in his life. He told himself that he ought to wait 
 until to-morrow, when the thing was done with and when 
 he could dismiss it all as ancient history. But he wanted 
 to see her now, to tell her all about it and to have her 
 sympathy. Billy was one of those men who double a 
 woman's burden without measurably lightening their 
 own. 
 
 He left the office in charge of his stenographer and 
 climbed West Hill, preparing upon his face a look of 
 martyred melancholy lighted by a sad smile. As he 
 neared the comer below the Hardy house, he saw the 
 familiar slender figure emerge from the gateway and turn 
 up the hill ahead of him. He walked faster and whistled 
 a trio of notes they had used for years as a signal. At the 
 sound she turned and, seeing him, she waved and came 
 swiftly back. They met at the gate. Billy protested 
 violently that she must not delay her calls for him. Miss 
 Hardy declared that she was tempted to take him at his 
 word after the way in which he had neglected her. Then, 
 entirely satisfied, they turned leisurely up the walk and 
 found comfortably unconventional seats on the veranda 
 steps. 
 
 "Oh, you're always busy," Miss Hardy asserted. 
 "Whenever men haven't a shred of decent excuse, they 
 always say they've been busy. But what makes you look 
 so downhearted?" 
 
 "I don't and I'm not," Billy replied, using the sad 
 smile and looking more downhearted than ever. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 231 
 
 "You look as if you'd lost your last friend," said the 
 girl. 
 
 "No, I think I have one left.'' Billy smiled at her 
 mournfully. 
 
 Miss Hardy looked at him intently, obviously per- 
 plexed. Then, as she thought, she changed the subject. 
 
 "Let me see," she said, "it's to-night you're to be 
 nominated for mayor. I suppose you've a speech all 
 prepared." 
 
 Billy laughed bitterly. Of course she thought that. 
 Everybody thought that. That was the worst of Mori- 
 arty's silence. 
 
 "I wish I might hear it," she rattled on, mistaking his 
 laughter for good humor. "Can't you smuggle me in 
 somehow?" 
 
 Since they had met at the gate Billy had changed his 
 mind about telling her. A man was a cad, he told him- 
 self, who went around tattling his troubles. But this 
 was too much for him. 
 
 "The joke is," he remarked, trying suddenly to be 
 jovial, "that they're going to nominate Jack Gilbert." 
 
 Miss Hardy started in her surprise. 
 
 "That's — impossible," she said hesitatingly. 
 
 No, he assured her, it was true. Then, little by little, he 
 told her the whole story from the first mention of Gilbert's 
 political ambitions on Fourth of July night. He told her 
 what he had heard Colonel Mead and Mr. Moriarty say 
 outside the Gilbert house a week or so before, and what 
 Mr. Moriarty had been doing in his silent campaign, and, 
 last of all, what Moriarty had told him that very afternoon. 
 Miss Hardy listened breathlessly, trying to understand. 
 
232 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 "It doesn't matter much, of course," Billy concluded, in 
 the tone of one who is trying to be brave under difficult 
 circumstances. "Jack would make a good mayor, I 
 guess." 
 
 " It's a shame, Billy. I'm terribly sorry." Miss Hardy 
 spoke with impulsive sympathy. "I thought you said 
 that he promised to help you." 
 
 "He did, but of course neither of us had an idea then 
 that he was a possibility." Billy's defense of Gilbert did 
 not seem very convincing. 
 
 Miss Hardy sat thinking for a few seconds. 
 
 "Have you said anything to him about it?" she asked 
 eagerly. 
 
 "I should think not," said Billy, throwing his head 
 back with an independence he did not feel. "I'm not 
 begging my way." 
 
 "And he hasn't said a word to you?" asked the girl. 
 
 "No. You see, the last time we talked we didn't quite 
 agree about some things, and I suppose that's made him 
 feel different. I don't really know what to think." 
 
 " That's no excuse for him," said Miss Hardy, and then 
 she was silent. 
 
 "But I don't want you to waste your time hearing 
 about my troubles," insisted Billy frankly, satisfied now 
 that all his troubles had been told. "I was just on the 
 way to the house anyhow. You go on and make your 
 calls." 
 
 After Miss Hardy had spent some minutes saying all 
 the cheering things she could think of, she acquiesced and 
 they went out together. When he left her at the gate of 
 the big house, Billy walked vaingloriously straight and 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 233 
 
 whistled buoyantly and hoped that she might turn and 
 admire his courage. He knew that he was posing and he 
 cursed himself for it, but he did not stop his whistling or 
 his strutting or his hoping that she would notice. But 
 Clare Hardy did not turn. She was hurrying along to- 
 ward Mrs. Gilbert's with the "inevitable" ringing in her 
 ears. Yes, he would win. He always won, and for the 
 moment she hated him for it. But this was winning un- 
 fairly. If John Gilbert deliberately went back on his 
 word to a friend for the sake of selfish gain, the entire 
 superstructure of the man toppled. She had granted him 
 honesty and strength, but this was not honest. It was 
 not like the man as she thought of him. If he was dis- 
 honest in this, might he not be dishonest in that miserable, 
 puzzling struggle at the shops? Perhaps she had been 
 wrong in advising her father. Perhaps what Gilbert had 
 told her at the parsonage was untrue, a part of a trick by 
 which he alone would gain. If he took this nomination 
 she could never trust him, she told herself, or her own 
 judgment again. Another man might do a dozen worse 
 things and still be attractive, but with John Gilbert she 
 felt that strong truth was the foundation of everything. 
 That gone, there was nothing left but sordid ruin. There 
 must be some mistake, she tried to convince herself, some 
 misunderstanding. So much depended upon him. To 
 Clare Hardy anything imsettled was unbearable. And 
 she stood at last at Mrs. Gilbert's door, with the convic- 
 tion that she must do something quickly, that she must 
 learn certainly that John Gilbert was or was not what she 
 had thought him. 
 
 When Gilbert said good-night to the watchman at 
 
234 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 Hardy's that night and walked home, he confessed to 
 himself that he was tired. Even his great frame and 
 steady nerves were beginning to feel the strain of double 
 responsibility and worry. His head was full of shop 
 odds and ends as he sat down at the supper table. Mrs. 
 Gilbert watched him solicitously. She noticed every 
 wrinkle that creased his forehead where his bushy eye- 
 brows met, and every line about his mouth. Suddenly 
 she gave a little cry — such as memory, when it jumps sud- 
 denly out of the dark, startles from elderly people — and 
 hurried into the sitting-room. She came back with an 
 envelope in her hand. Gilbert took it wonderingly. 
 When he had read the little note it inclosed, he pushed 
 back his chair and, asking her to keep the rest of the sup- 
 per standing for a few moments, he took his hat and 
 strode out and down the street. He turned in at the big 
 house, and, asking permission of the obviously surprised 
 Mr. McNish, he went directly through the house and out 
 into the garden. 
 
 The great hydrangea bushes that lined the first terrace 
 were loaded with bending bloom, and welcomed him back 
 into the wonderland of his boyhood. Great bunches of 
 purple grapes hung temptingly from trellises like those he 
 had climbed. In the long beds of green, occasional blos- 
 soms still remained to conjure up sweet memories for him 
 with their odors. Over at the left was the evergreen tree 
 from which he had fallen, and Jerry the gardener had 
 lectured him about the limb he had broken from the tree, 
 before either of them knew whether the boy's limbs were 
 broken or not. But now the grown-up boy scarcely more 
 than noticed any of these things. He pushed on by the 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 235 
 
 straight pathway over terrace after terrace, past the old 
 apple tree hanging fresh-cheeked pippins within his reach, 
 on toward the little clump of trees beyond, his heart beat- 
 ing fast although he had not hurried. 
 
 She rose to meet him, her gray dress showing against 
 the dusk of the trees. It was hard for her to begin, but 
 he had been summoned and he waited for her. 
 
 "I didn't know where else to see you," she said. 
 
 Her face in the half darkness was very serious, and her 
 eyes seemed to search his intently. 
 
 "There couldn't be a better place," was all he said. He 
 felt instinctively that something was wrong, that she was 
 troubled. Perhaps he might help her. He waited eagerly 
 to hear, knowing in his heart that whatever she asked he 
 would do. 
 
 "I won't keep you long." Miss Hardy was trying a 
 new beginning. ''I don't want to make you late." 
 
 "Late? What for? I don't care if I am, but what 
 for?" 
 
 "Why, the caucus, of course." Clare Hardy's eyes did 
 not leave his face. If she expected to see shame and em- 
 barrassment she was disappointed. Instead he smiled 
 good-humoredly. 
 
 "That is to-night, isn't it," he said. "I'd clean for- 
 gotten it. I'm not going." 
 
 "Forgotten?" asked the girl with growing excitement. 
 "Not going?" 
 
 "No. The Colonel — Colonel Mead, you know — made 
 me promise to be at home to-night. He's coming up. 
 I'm not much on politics anyhow. Suppose I ought to 
 have gone." 
 
236 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 " But" — the words stumbled in their haste to be said — 
 ''but — you're a candidate, aren't you?" 
 
 Gilbert shook his head gravely. He was becoming 
 decidedly puzzled at her insistent questions. 
 
 " They talked of it a little— not much. But I couldn't." 
 
 "Why?" Miss Hardy waited breathlessly. 
 
 " Oh, a good many reasons. I didn't have the time. I 
 don't know the game. I'd be a lovely mayor, wouldn't 
 I, fresh from overalls and machines? Then there was a 
 bigger reason than all the rest, a personal reason that " 
 
 " You'd promised Billy," broke in Clare Hardy triumph- 
 antly. 
 
 Gilbert stared at her incredulously. 
 
 "How did you know that?" he asked. "What's up 
 anyhow? " 
 
 "Billy told me," cried the girl and then, her tongue 
 loosened, she told him all she knew. 
 
 "He was too proud, don't you see?" she added at the 
 end. " He wouldn't tell you and so I've done it for him.'* 
 
 Gilbert had listened, his face growing more stem. They 
 were going to nominate him against his will. They 
 wanted him enough for that. The old struggle came 
 back to him, but he silenced it quickly. That was set- 
 tled. He had learned something else, harder to bear than 
 any little sacrifice of place or power. She was doing this 
 for Billy. It was Billy's success she wished, not his nor 
 anybody else's. Of course it was. He had known it all 
 the time, but he knew now that he had refused to think 
 about it, that he had tried not to believe it. He looked 
 at his watch in the dim light as she finished. 
 
 "I'm obliged to you, Miss Hardy," he said a little 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 237 
 
 wearily. '^I guess I'd better go to that meeting after all. 
 As you said, I might be late. Good-night." 
 
 "What are you going to do?" asked the girl. 
 
 He turned where the path led back into the garden. 
 
 "Just make it right," he said simply, and he was soon 
 lost in the growing darkness. Clare Hardy went into the 
 summer-house and threw herself upon the long seat. It 
 was all " right " now. He could be depended upon. That 
 was far more important, it seemed to her now, than being 
 mayor or "bossing" a shop. She wondered what he 
 would do. Perhaps Billy would be nominated, after all. 
 She clapped her hands together at the thought. She de- 
 cided that she was growing to be a great diplomatic suc- 
 cess. But — Gilbert looked tired, she suddenly remem- 
 bered. 
 
 The hall was crowded. The benches overflowed into 
 the aisles and the aisles into the hallway, in choppy waves 
 of noisy humanity, surging, jeering, scuffling its feet, 
 pounding its hands, shouting jokes at nearby neighbors, 
 howling for action. Even when the meeting was called 
 to order there were familiar cries and good-natured 
 epithets hurled at the committee chairman, from the 
 swaying mass below him. There was more quiet later, 
 when the venerable judge, who had once been mayor of 
 Hampstead, made his short speech as chairman of the 
 meeting. When the cheers that followed his words had 
 ceased to echo, whispers ran along the crushing lines and 
 men who had been joking with each other before, became 
 humorously stern-faced and antagonistic. At the rear 
 the little Irishman, who had early packed the best seats 
 
238 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 with the men he could depend upon, and who knew ex- 
 actly how every individual except a few would vote, stood 
 silently chewing a cigar. Each of the three nominations 
 for mayor was followed by applause. Moriarty smiled. 
 Then the crowd relaxed to cast the first ballot. 
 
 In the noise and confusion no one heard the slight com- 
 motion at the rear. No one, not even Mr. Moriarty, 
 chewing his cigar happily and talking quietly with Colonel 
 Mead, saw the broad, erect figure push its way forward 
 until it was half way to the platform. Suddenly Mr. 
 Moriarty started and pointed. The Colonel began imme- 
 diate pursuit, wrathfully hurling himself through the 
 crowd which, because it understood only its own dis- 
 comfort, swore at him and tried to stop him. But Mori- 
 arty, hesitating only a second, bent over to the man next 
 to him. A second later there rose a straggling cheer for 
 John Gilbert, which grew in volume until good-humored 
 bedlam reigned, and nervous men covered their ears with 
 their hands. Gilbert, turning upon them from the front, 
 raised his hand for silence. For an instant the noise 
 diminished and then, supported from the rear, it increased 
 once more. Gilbert shrugged his shoulders and sat down 
 upon the low stage, noting quickly, as he waited, that those 
 who were shouting for him looked like a large majority 
 over those who sat silent. 
 
 His appearance was an equal surprise to all, but every- 
 one believed that it was part of Moriarty's plan to sweep 
 the caucus without a chance of failure. The hoarse cries 
 that the little leader had started had settled back into a 
 regular, tireless rhythm accompanied with the stamping of 
 feet, when the Colonel at last reached Gilbert's side. The 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 men in all parts of the hall craned their necks to watch the 
 conference, and the cheering diminished. Then it sud- 
 denly stopped short. Gilbert had risen to his feet, his 
 great body looming high above the Colonel and his hand 
 on the old veteran's shoulder. For a moment he hesitated, 
 as if the words were slowly forming themselves into line, 
 and when he spoke he drawled even more than usual. 
 
 "I've just found out what was going on," he said, after 
 bowing to the chairman. ''I'd like to ask the man who 
 suggested me to withdraw my name, for I won't take the 
 nomination if I get it." At this point Colonel Mead, 
 whose face was red with suppressed anger and disap- 
 pointment, tried to interrupt, but Gilbert paid no atten- 
 tion to him. "I told my friends that long ago, and I 
 thought it was all settled. I told them, too, that I 
 thought the man to be named was Alderman McNish." 
 There was a short, sharp burst of enthusiasm from the 
 left. "I'm going to cast a ballot for him now, and if 
 he's nominated I'm going to work for him. I guess 
 that's all." 
 
 The crowd alternately cheered and stared. It wasn't 
 much of a speech, someone said afterwards, but if Gilbert 
 had recited the alphabet he couldn't have made more of a 
 sensation. 
 
 As soon as he had finished Gilbert turned to the Colonel 
 and, slipping his arm through his friend's, he tried to lead 
 him back toward the rear of the hall. But Colonel Mead 
 was not made of the stuff that gives up readily, and he 
 was angry. His heart had been set on the success of this 
 plan. To have it thwarted at the last moment by the 
 man for whom he had labored, made him lose control of 
 
UO THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 himself. He cast off Gilbert's arm and turned again 
 toward the swaying, hooting, cheering crowd. But Mr. 
 Moriarty was ahead of him. Mr. Moriarty always thought 
 first of the party and of his power over it. Gilbert's 
 speech had suddenly made his supporters, who had been 
 eternally solid for him, unsettled and malleable. Any- 
 thing might happen unless a firm hand caught them in 
 time. Almost before the shouting of Billy's friends had 
 ceased, the man who had nominated Gilbert had with- 
 drawn his name and seconded that of Alderman McNish. 
 Then a miniature pandemonium arose, and it was this 
 that the Colonel faced as he vainly tried to get the chair- 
 man's attention. Someone pulled him into a seat at 
 last, and there, cursing the chairman, the meeting, and 
 most of all, John Gilbert, he heard the vote announced 
 which overwhelmingly nominated Billy on the first ballot. 
 
 "They know the game," remarked Moriarty, pointing 
 to the crowd about Billy McNish as the meeting ad- 
 journed, to Colonel Mead, who was passing. '' If ye want 
 anything out of a new-laid, successful politician, ye want 
 to get after it quick. He'll give 'em the whole town now 
 he's so happy. Hard luck, sir, wasn't it? How'd he get 
 the tip?" 
 
 The Colonel shook his head like an angry dog and 
 growled. 
 
 Billy and Gilbert met near the doorway some minutes 
 later, the one flushed with unexpected triumph, the 
 other tired-looking but smiling. 
 
 "Let's get something to eat; I'm hungry," drawled 
 Jack wearily after the two had shaken hands, but Billy 
 hesitated a moment. He craved even more congratula- 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 241 
 
 tion. As he looked around, the Colonel appeared beside 
 them. 
 
 ''Get out o' my way, John Gilbert," cried the veteran, 
 suddenly enraged at seeing the two together. ''I'm 
 through with you. God curse me if I ever lift a foiger 
 for you again." 
 
 Gilbert's face turned white, and his eyes burned black 
 with such fierce anger that the Colonel flinched uncon- 
 sciously. Then Jack turned on his heel and walked 
 away, Billy following. 
 
 The Colonel shivered as if cold water had been dashed 
 upon him. He was suddenly sobered. He looked after 
 Jack for a moment, and then he hurried out and up the 
 street. 
 
 "I'm an old fool," he repeated pitifully to himself. 
 "An old fool." 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE SUMMONS 
 
 IT was Saturday morning at Hardy & Son's. Out- 
 side in the street an occasional covered team 
 dashed through the beating rain. Infrequent soli- 
 tary pedestrians hurried by, gripping umbrellas that quiv- 
 ered and rattled in the wind. At the corner entrance 
 imder the half shelter of the doorway, a stray dog crept 
 wet and shivering. Within toiled the vast, reorganized 
 machine, throbbing, grinding, shrieking, whirring, hum- 
 ming. Scattered through it was the usual human chaos 
 of square- jawed determination, low-browed ignorance, 
 scowling passion, timid subservience, stolid indifference 
 and alert ambition. The mills seemed cheerier to-day on ac- 
 count of the rain outside, and the clock ran slower because 
 work ended at noon. These things alone seemed to make 
 the day different from other days, until Gilbert brought 
 a group of men into the shops — outside men who wore 
 good clothes and who suggested the annual meeting to 
 some of the older workmen. The group passed rapidly 
 on, listening to the big superintendent's explanations of 
 the changes that had been made, to his short orders to 
 the men, and to his ready answers to sharp questions 
 put by members of the party. And often, the great 
 creature of men and machines, which seemed to purr 
 contentedly about the little cluster of stockholders, 
 
 242 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 243 
 
 seemed suddenly to crouch behind them when their 
 backs were turned, and to snarl with sneers and covert 
 hatred. In a few moments, however, they were for- 
 gotten, and the clock ran slower and slower toward the 
 anticipated half-holiday. 
 
 Gilbert left the party of visitors at the door which led 
 into the offices, and returned with a sigh of relief to the 
 shops. He had done all that he could do. The issue 
 remained with Sam Hardy. Jack had given the Colonel 
 a proxy for his stock along with the others. He was 
 certain that his own appearance at the meeting would 
 only aggravate Mr. Hardy's feeling against them all. 
 To the stockholders, moreover, the Colonel and Mr. Mc- 
 Nish represented their side of the struggle. Except for 
 Jack's hasty trip to Pittsfield and Springfield, he had 
 been a silent partner in the movement. He felt, too, 
 that he could not add anything to the Colonel's fighting 
 grit and ready, picturesque speech, or to the elder Mc- 
 Nish's diplomacy. After all, the result depended upon 
 Sam Hardy, and 'Hhe old man" seemed to be obdurate. 
 Billy McNish, flushed with his success and eager to make 
 amends, had gone confidently to Mr. Hardy the day 
 before. He had returned utterly disconsolate. "The 
 old man" had evidently been drinking, Billy said. He 
 had talked wildly. He had seemed hopelessly suspicious 
 of everybody. He had even suggested that Billy had 
 turned against him. Billy's elevator-like spirits had 
 descended to the deepest sub-cellar of depression. And 
 the outcome of the meeting, with all that it meant to 
 Hardy & Son, remained a mystery. 
 
 As Gilbert tramped down the long lines of men and 
 
244 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 machinery, they seemed to him a kind of supporting 
 phalanx of power. These were the evidences of the work 
 he had begun, and the foundation of his hopes. The men 
 were beginning to beUeve in him, to beUeve in his abiUty 
 to do things, and to beUeve that he meant well by them. 
 He meant that they should share in the success, if suc- 
 cess came. But there was no time now for day dream- 
 ing. From a dozen different corners the work was calling 
 him. It was not until nearly an hour later that he went 
 reluctantly up to his little office to dictate some letters. 
 And always that momentous meeting, silent behind closed 
 doors, seemed to threaten him and his work and his 
 hopes. 
 
 No one but Sam Hardy himself knew how he suffered 
 during that week. When his momentary exultation 
 over Clare's discovery had passed, his old weakness re- 
 turned. Each day that brought the meeting nearer 
 seemed to tighten the strain. Often, dizzy, tottering, 
 he caught the back of a chair or the edge of a table and 
 held himself upright, his teeth clenched, breathing rapidly, 
 his brain in a whirling agony. At night he lay awake, 
 until it seemed to him that he must cry out with terror 
 at something, he knew not what, that threatened him 
 out of the dark. He tried in vain to steady himself, to 
 think and to plan, and he beat his head with his hands 
 in wild hopelessness. Even if he could hold the balance 
 of power at the meeting he could see nothing beyond it 
 except ruin. And yet, with the meeting as a goal, he 
 braced himself and beat back his weakness and hysteria 
 with something of his old dogged determination. 
 
 As he faced them, that Saturday morning, his cheeks 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 245 
 
 were bloodless and flabby, and his body sagged shakily, 
 held up only by the tense support of his will. But his 
 brain seemed to be cleared for action, and his eyes were 
 unnaturally bright, as they flashed a last glance about 
 the room before calling the meeting to order. 
 
 No such gathering of Hardy & Son's stockholders had 
 been known in years. Usually Mr. Hardy himself 
 had controlled the stock at each meeting. Usually 
 he had accepted his own report and had elected a board 
 of directors of his own choosing. Usually this board of 
 directors at a subsequent meeting had elected the officers 
 whom Mr. Hardy suggested. Usually the meeting had 
 been a formal farce, but to-day it looked more like melo- 
 drama, as Billy McNish remarked to a stockholder from 
 Albany, who had come to Hampstead to add his strength 
 to the Colonel's side. There were between twenty and 
 thirty men in the room, divided naturally, by the long 
 director's table, into two factions. There was the Colonel, 
 of course, leaning on one side of the table, grumbling 
 loudly to two or three Hampstead men about the way 
 in which Jack Gilbert had upset his plans at the Thurs- 
 day night caucus. The Colonel had manufactured humor 
 out of his own irritation, and even joked with Billy and 
 the elder McNish about it. 
 
 "Thar wuz Moriarty an' me," he remarked, as if he 
 had entirely forgotten Hardy & Son's crisis, ''thinkin' 
 we wuz pullin' wires, an' all the time we wuz buttin' a 
 stone wall like a pair o' fool goats. An' now Moriarty 
 sez I can't talk about his red hair again, 'cause he sez I got 
 redder-headed thet night than he's ever been in his life." 
 
 Across the table, the opposing group surrounding Mr. 
 
246 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 Brett and Captain Merrivale opened to greet ex-Con- 
 gressman Strutt, who shook hands twice around with 
 everybody and smiled his customary smile and repeated 
 remarks about the weather. Sam Hardy's eyes nar- 
 rowed and his jaw set angrily, as he watched the ex- 
 Congressman, whom he had once counted among his 
 friends, join the men who were trying to take his shops 
 from him. Alone by the window, still independent and 
 undecided, Mr. Tubb, who had refused to join either 
 party for fear of alienating his patrons in the other, sat 
 combing his thin beard with his fingers and wrinkling 
 his thin, sallow face as he eyed his double-chinned, side- 
 whiskered, prosperous rival, Mr. Butterson of the Uni- 
 versal Emporium. Mr. Tubb had never heard that Mr. 
 Butterson held stock in Hardy & Son, and he was evi- 
 dently aggrieved at the discovery. Certainly Mr. But- 
 terson, fat and sober and blinking as usual, was there, 
 sitting beside the director from Tareville, suggestively 
 near the president's desk. Others seemed to be inter- 
 ested, for a number of men in both groups about the 
 director's table whispered and looked and nodded in the 
 direction of the silent, solitary pair. 
 
 The meeting came to order long enough for Mr. Brett, 
 in his capacity as the secretary of the company, to begin 
 making record of the stock represented. Then the talk- 
 ing began again, subdued now and more desultory. 
 
 "That paper's no good. Colonel Mead," remarked Mr. 
 Brett, tossing one of the Colonel's proxies back to him 
 without looking up. 
 
 " What's the matter with it, except that it's made out 
 to me?" asked the Colonel in the silence that followed. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 247 
 
 Mr. Brett smiled satirically as he picked out a sheet 
 from one of the piles before him. 
 
 " Only this," he said, referring to the paper in his hand, 
 "Since the gentleman gave you the proxy he has sold 
 his stock to Captain Merrivale." 
 
 The Colonel thumbed his useless proxy for a few sec- 
 onds. Then he turned suddenly upon Merrivale who 
 sat self-consciously tilting back in a chair. 
 
 "How much did yer friend Mr. Hubbard pay fer thet 
 stock?'' he asked. 
 
 Captain Merrivale's face flushed red, and he started to 
 protest angrily. The Colonel interrupted him. 
 
 "That's all right, Captain Merrivale," he remarked 
 soothingly. "I jest natch'rally wanted to see the flush 
 o' shame. Ye kin alluz tell a steer by the owner's brand 
 onto it." 
 
 Captain Merrivale leaped, blustering, to his feet, but 
 Mr. Hardy rapped for order. 
 
 "Sit down," he growled. "No personalities. I'm 
 running this meeting." 
 
 It was the Colonel's frank declaration of war. Mr. 
 Hardy saw the danger he had emphasized. The director 
 from Tareville leaned over to whisper to Mr. Butterson, 
 who inclined his head and sighed noisily, as if the burden 
 he was carrying was too heavy for mortal man to bear. 
 Each statement of similar transfers — and there were 
 three or four more recorded before Mr. Brett had finished 
 — Mr. Butterson greeted with a similar sigh, which he 
 followed with a complacent look that seemed to say that 
 he, at least, was doing his full duty in the face of over- 
 whelming odds. Mr. Tubb, meanwhile, seemed wholly 
 
248 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 fascinated by his rival's solemn face, until he learned that 
 Mr. Butterson possessed only one share of stock. Then 
 he smiled for the first time since the entrance of the pro- 
 prietor of the Universal Emporium, a smile that broad- 
 ened slowly and ended in a triumphant little cackle of 
 laughter. Mr. Tubb was, however, the only man in the 
 room who smiled at Mr. Butterson's solitary share of 
 stock. Indeed Mr. Butterson had become the sphinx of 
 the occasion, although his two hundred and fifty pounds 
 and his bland, ministerial air were far from being sphinx- 
 like. Billy McNish, describing the cash groceryman, had 
 once said that Mrs. Butterson probably rocked the baby 
 to sleep by placing it in Butterson 's arms, and reading him 
 jokes to make him shake with laughter. 
 
 There followed a number of laconic reports prepared 
 rather for form than for information. Nobody seemed 
 to listen to them and they were accepted readily. Every- 
 one was eager to reach the election of directors. Then, 
 of course, the real struggle would begin and the real 
 strength of each party would be tested. During the 
 reports Colonel Mead slipped a folded piece of paper 
 into Mr. McNish's hand. The elder McNish smoothed it 
 out carefully, compared the figures it contained with 
 those he had himself noted down, and nodded. The 
 Colonel's notes when deciphered read: 
 
 Hardy 5,528 
 
 Hubbard 9,910 
 
 McNish and Mead 8,842 
 
 Tareville 325 
 
 Butterson 1 
 
 Tubb 200 
 
 Not represented 194 
 
 25,000 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 249 
 
 Other pencils were working out the same result across 
 the table, and the director from Tareville whispered 
 once more to Mr. Butterson, whose gravity seemed 
 strangely undisturbed by the fact that Mr. Tubb held 
 one hundred and ninety-nine shares of stock more than 
 he did. 
 
 When Mr. Hardy declared the meeting open for the 
 election of directors, the Colonel was on his feet immedi- 
 ately to move Mr. Hardy's re-election by acclamation. 
 Mr. Brett was only slightly behind him. He seconded 
 the motion. Sam Hardy smiled grimly, and the Colonel 
 cursed under his breath. Mr. Brett's ferret eyes watched 
 the Colonel's obvious irritation, but his face was stolid. 
 The motion would have passed unanimously if Mr. Tubb 
 had not been too engrossed in Mr. Butterson's unexpected 
 presence and extraordinary behavior, to listen. The only 
 fact which Mr. Tubb realized was that his rival voted in 
 favor of the motion. He, therefore, declared shrilly for 
 the negative, to the confusion of Mr. Hardy and the 
 amusement of the others. The diversion occasioned by 
 Mr. Tubb was only momentary. He changed his vote 
 quickly with a stumbling apology, and the Colonel once 
 more took the floor, although the Honorable Mr. Strutt 
 made frantic efforts to gain the president's attention. 
 
 "Mister President," remarked the Colonel, "I ain't 
 much of a business man. New-fangled business, ez fer 
 ez IVe seen it, is a joodicious combination of a soft smile 
 an' a sandbag. I reckon I wuz made a director in this 
 concern 'cause ye thought I likely wouldn't do harm." 
 
 "We're greatly interested, of course, in our friend's 
 personal confession, and in the results of his observation," 
 
250 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 broke in Mr. Strutt, rubbing his hands together ingratia- 
 tingly, "but really, Mr. President, it isn't electing direc- 
 tors." 
 
 The Colonel chuckled. 
 
 " Been expectin' that. Thet's whar the sandbag begins 
 to come in," he retorted. 
 
 "Come to the point," growled Mr. Hardy. 
 
 Colonel Mead hesitated perceptibly. Being hurried 
 and being flurried usually rhymed in his temperament. 
 
 " I help to represent moreen a third o' the stock at this 
 meetin*," he went on slowly. "I'm goin* to state here 
 an' now what thet stock stands fer." 
 
 "But, Mr. President," Mr. Strutt interrupted again, 
 "all this takes time. Can't our friend explain, by the 
 way in which he votes, what his stock stands for, as he 
 puts it?" 
 
 "It don't stand fer you. Mister Strutt." The Colonel 
 was beginning to lose his temper. "It don't stand fer 
 the soft smile ner the sandbag. It ain't tryin' to con- 
 trol the company nor to own it. It stands fer the man- 
 agement as now constitooted. It stands fer the president 
 an' fer the gen'ral manager. It stands fer the profits 
 they're likely goin' to give us durin' the next year. An' 
 it don't stand fer the interference of an outside manu- 
 fact'rer, who don't like our competition, through his 
 hired men." 
 
 Mr. Hardy hunched back in his chair nervously, as he 
 met the Colonel's keen glance. He looked across at the 
 director from Tareville, as if to ask an opinion. Mr. 
 Strutt, however, recalled his attention to the meeting. 
 
 "Our friend seems to have so misunderstood our in- 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 251 
 
 tentions," the lawyer began glibly, "and to have so 
 misrepresented them, miintentionally no doubt, that I 
 am forced to answer him for my friends here and myself. 
 To use his reiterated phrase; — and we have enjoyed his 
 oratory greatly. He has a real gift, a gift that we ought 
 to hear in its expression more often, I'm sure. To use 
 his phrase — and I'm sure no better one could be invented 
 — we stand for exactly the things he stands for with one 
 slight exception. We all know Mr. Hardy," Mr. Strutt 
 bowed to the president. "We all trust his long experi- 
 ence and his tried abilities, but — and here is the exception 
 — we know much less of the new general manager. He 
 may be a valuable young man inside the shops. About 
 that Mr. Hardy undoubtedly knows more than we do. 
 But we cannot approve of the way in which he has forced 
 himself upon the company, nor do we like the presump- 
 tuous way in which he has undoubtedly attempted to 
 gain control of the stock at this meeting. This has been 
 done, of course, through his agents," Mr. Strutt nodded 
 to the Colonel, "and perhaps without their knowledge 
 of his real intentions. We can scarcely be blamed for 
 attempting to protect our large holdings in this company 
 from this inexperienced young man with large am- 
 bitions." 
 
 Mr. Strutt sat down amid murmurs of applause from 
 his side of the long table. Mr. Hardy stared dully, first 
 at the lawyer and then at Colonel Mead. He seemed 
 confused. Mr. Strutt's remarks had imdoubtedly re- 
 newed his suspicions of John Gilbert. They had un- 
 doubtedly opened also the old wound to his pride, which 
 the Colonel in his blunt way had tried to heal. 
 
252 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 "Thet's why you're buyin' up Hardy stock, I suppose," 
 suggested the Colonel sarcastically. 
 
 "If we are buying up Hardy stock" — returned Mr. 
 Strutt in his most genial manner, — "and probably our 
 omniscient friend knows more about it than we do. If, 
 as I say, we are buying Hardy stock, it is obviously be- 
 cause we have inexhaustible faith in the future of the 
 company under Mr. Hardy's management." 
 
 Mr. Hardy rapped for order. 
 
 "Proceed to election of other directors," he said, 
 gripping the arms of his chair as if to brace himself against 
 all arguments. "Divided meeting. Elect 'em one by 
 one." 
 
 The Colonel shrugged his shoulders, and Mr. Strutt 
 smiled pleasantly at Captain Merrivale, and Mr. Tubb 
 muttered to himself that "Strutt 'd got 'em again.'* As 
 the voting progressed Mr. Hardy's body seemed more 
 tensely upright, and his mouth smiled with a set smile. 
 He was proceeding exactly as he had planned before- 
 hand, and he was controlling the meeting. He elected 
 Mr. Brett and Captain Merrivale and Mr. Strutt by count- 
 ing his votes with theirs against the Colonel. He elected 
 the Colonel and Mr. McNish by turning his votes to them 
 against the others. 
 
 "I propose the name o' John Gilbert," declared the 
 Colonel, with a menacing gesture toward Mr. Strutt, "an' 
 I want to say that he didn't know I wuz goin' to do it. 
 He ain't lookin' fer it. He's a stockholder an' he ought 
 to be a director. The man thet's fightin' hardest fer the 
 concern sure ought to hev ez much show ez them thet 're 
 fightin' against it." 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 253 
 
 Mr. Hardy shook his head impatiently. It was not 
 in his plan. Gilbert was rejected, but Billy McNish was 
 elected a director readily, when the Colonel suggested his 
 name immediately afterward. Three from each side had 
 been chosen beside Mr. Hardy; seven in all out of the 
 nine. Then there ensued ten minutes of unsuccessful 
 balloting. Every proposal from either side of the table 
 was defeated with steady precision, until both parties had 
 exhausted their lists of candidates. There was an inter- 
 val of hesitant silence. Mr. Strutt, with an alert, sug- 
 gestive look, caught the Colonel's eye, but the veteran's 
 grizzled face turned away contemptuously. It was Sam 
 Hardy's moment of moments. 
 
 "Suggest Mr. Higgins of Tareville," he said hoarsely. 
 All eyes turned toward the silent pair who sat near Mr. 
 Hardy's desk. Mr. McNish whispered to the Colonel, 
 who answered with a wry face and a nod. Mr. Higgins 
 was elected. 
 
 "Suggest Mr. Butterson," added Mr. Hardy. This, 
 then, was the meaning of the grocer's one share of stock. 
 Mr. Hardy had transferred it to him so that he might be- 
 come the ninth director. Mr. Butterson smiled placidly 
 at the contending groups when his election was an- 
 nounced, but not so Mr. Tubb. Mr. Tubb's sensitive, 
 poetic soul was deeply wounded at this unexpected vic- 
 tory of his rival. The fore legs of his tilting chair slammed 
 resentfully upon the floor, and Mr. Tubb, muttering an- 
 grily, flung himself out of the room, in the midst of the 
 surprised laughter of everyone except sober Mr. Butter- 
 son. And before the laughter had entirely died away, 
 the stockholders' meeting was adjourned. 
 
254 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 Slowly, to the noisy accompaniment of the stamping 
 on of overshoes and the grating of moving chairs and the 
 hum of small talk, the crowd thinned down until only 
 the nine remained, the new directorate. The Colonel 
 had sauntered across to the window, and, leaning on the 
 chair which Mr. Tubb had vacated, he looked out at the 
 rain and the leaden sky. Mr. Strutt, watching him, rose 
 and started across the room to join him. He had scarcely 
 left his place, however, when he was halted by a hoarse, 
 unnatural voice. 
 
 "Come to order." 
 
 It was Mr. Hardy. He had not moved from his former 
 position, but he was manifestly excited. Feverish red 
 spots glowed in his sallow cheeks, and now he threw back 
 his shoulders with a jerky gesture. 
 
 "Suggest for officers, ensuing year," he went on, 
 forcing his old arrogance into the words. "President 
 and Treasurer, Hardy; Vice-President, Butterson; Sec- 
 retary, Higgins of Tareville." 
 
 The room, except for Mr. Hardy's raucous breathing, 
 became suddenly silent. Mr. Brett, the former secretary, 
 smiled sneeringly at Captain Merrivale, who fidgeted 
 with a pencil in his fingers. Mr. Strutt, who had sunk 
 back into his chair, still watched the Colonel. Only Billy 
 McNish, with his almost feminine sixth sense, noticed 
 the terrible tenseness of that stocky body in the presi- 
 dent's chair, or felt something clutch at his heart with a 
 warning of impending tragedy. 
 
 The Colonel turned back from the window and faced 
 Mr. Hardy. 
 
 "Sam Hardy," he said, bitter anger and disappoint- 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 255 
 
 ment emphasizing each word, "ef thet's what ye want, I 
 move ye hev it. An' then I want to remark thet ye make 
 me think a hull lot of a boy I saw playin' shinny last 
 winter. He had his eyes on the ball, thet boy did, an' 
 thet wuz all he thought about. When he got it he was 
 so plumb crazy thet he took it a-kitin' toward his own 
 goal. Th' others on his side, they yelled continuous to 
 stop him, but he wouldn't pay any attention to 'em. He 
 jest natch'rally lost the game fer them an' fer himself. 
 Thet's what I reckon you've done, an' I want to say thet 
 I wouldn't vote fer you fer janitor o' this shop ef it 
 wuzn't fer Jack Gilbert." 
 
 Mr. Hardy put the motion mechanically, his wide-open 
 eyes glaring at the Colonel. There was a pause after the 
 vote was taken. They waited so long a time that Billy 
 and Mr. McNish both moved uneasily in their seats. Mr. 
 Hardy still sat, staring vacantly at the window. Then 
 suddenly he swayed against his desk and slowly pitched 
 forward headlong upon the floor. The weakened cords 
 of "the old man's" life, pulled tight for the crisis, had 
 loosened, perhaps broken, with reaction. For a second 
 or two the men before him sat motionless. Then, Billy 
 McNish in the lead, they hurried to him. But John Gil- 
 bert was ahead of them. He had opened the door from 
 the hall, and, seeing the prostrate form at first glance, he 
 had rushed to "the old man's" side. Strangely enough 
 Mr. Hardy had fallen against the button that rang the 
 superintendent's bell, sounding a summons at last for 
 the man who had fought for him and whom he had fought. 
 
 It was nearly noon when Gilbert returned to the shops. 
 The Colonel was with him, but Billy had remained at the 
 
256 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 stricken Hardy house. Billy had seemed to know in- 
 stantly what to do, and both Jack and the Colonel 
 had felt that they were in the way. At the office door 
 they passed ex-Congressman Strutt and Mr. Brett, and 
 they found the director from Tareville and Mr. Butterson 
 waiting for them. It seemed that the Honorable ex- 
 Congressman had been arguing with the two new officials 
 of Hardy & Son. "Couldn't even wait till they knew 
 whether 'the old man' had passed in his checks or not," 
 as the Colonel expressed it. The director from Tareville 
 had told Mr. Strutt that he, as secretary, would call no 
 meetings of the directors while Mr. Hardy was living, 
 until Mr. Hardy was able to ask him to do so. He pro- 
 ceeded now to assure the Colonel of the same decision, 
 and Mr. Butterson nodded his head in solenm approval. 
 As to the shops, they were temporarily in the hands of 
 the general manager. Mr. Hardy had always ruled his 
 office with such a complete one-man power that there 
 was no one to take his place, but undoubtedly some of 
 his clerks and assistants could help Mr. Gilbert with any 
 puzzling problems, and he, Mr. Higgins, would come from 
 Tareville every day or so while Mr. Hardy was absent. 
 
 When they had gone Gilbert led the Colonel into his 
 little office. 
 
 "Couldn't 've tangled it up worse, could he?" he said, 
 as they sat down. 
 
 The Colonel shook his head mournfully. 
 
 "Thet man Strutt's the devil," remarked the Colonel, 
 after a long pause. "He kin paint white black till ye're 
 color blind. He kin sling soft soap till ye're smothered. 
 He kin pull the wool over yer eyes till ye bleat like a 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 257 
 
 lamb o' his own flock. He kin lie so thet it sounds truer 
 than all four gospels. I tell ye, boy, a man with a gift 
 o* gab like that ought to be sent to jail fer a year every 
 time he opens his mouth. But he's slick, Strutt is, an' 
 the great American beatitude is, 'Blessed are the slick, 
 for they shall inherit the earth.'" 
 
 "They'll be buying up stock now," Gilbert said slowly. 
 "We've got to stop 'em somehow." 
 
 "Stop 'em!" retorted the Colonel. "Ye can't stop 'em. 
 They've got the money. Why, Hubbard is money. I 
 reckon even his bones jingle when he walks. I'll bet he 
 owns the biggest half of the stock he voted to-day. You 
 calc'late how long it '11 take him to git the rest, an' twenty- 
 five hundred odd shares more, into his corral, when he's 
 got nice, fat pasturage an' we ain't got a blade o' grass, 
 an' I'll tell ye how long it '11 be before you ain't got any 
 job an' our stock ain't wuth two cents on a dollar. 'Course, 
 McNish an' I could put up some money to fight 'em, but 
 it 'Id take hundreds o' thousands, an' they've got the 
 start. We'd likely be ruined along with the concern." 
 
 "Oh, that's out of the question, of course," said Gil- 
 bert quickly. "Perhaps the whole thing's been a mis- 
 take," he went on musingly, "or perhaps we've made a 
 mess of it somewhere. And Hhe old man' stuck to his 
 guns. I thought he'd come around. I thought he'd 
 see. That's where I miscalculated. Confound it. Colo- 
 nel, it's brutal to think of his losing the shops now. He's 
 getting old and he's in bad shape. It 'Id kill him, or 
 near it. Colonel, we've got to stop 'em." 
 
 The Colonel only wrinkled his forehead into a per- 
 plexed frown for answer. 
 
258 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 "I've been wondering for a week or two/' Gilbert went 
 on, "why they're spending so much good time and money 
 on this thing. There's something back of it we don't 
 understand. Why should they " 
 
 "Look here," broke in the Colonel. "Ef ye start that, 
 ye're on the way to the daffy-house. Why, every year 
 a dozen er more collidge prifessers blow their brains out, 
 'cause they can't savvey the reasons fer the effervescence 
 of the perpendicular of the why. A teacher-man turned 
 up in camp down in Arizona one day. Tenderfoot? He 
 wuz the tenderest, gentlest thing ye ever see; one of the 
 kind thet smiles benevolently, while the women smooth 
 him and stroke him and say what a fine, big, intelligent 
 one he is. Well, he got talkin', an' I stood it all right 
 till he sed thet I wasn't real; sed I was only an idea. 
 That made me mad, an' I decided to impress thet impor- 
 tant idea on him instanter. And when I got throo with 
 him I reckon he had mainly one thought left in his head, 
 an' thet was me." The Colonel smiled grimly at the 
 memory. "But I didn't git over him fer a week. I'd 
 say to myself, 'Why is thet . tamarack tree yander?' 
 Then I'd answer, 'Becuz the idiot ridin' by in the trail 
 never has.' An' when I finally did git sobered from thet 
 reasonin' jag I swore off hard. I tell ye, boy, don't git 
 the habit o' tryin' to lasso why a thing is, 'cause, if ye do, 
 what it is an' where it is '11 sure git away from ye." 
 
 "There's one satisfaction. We've cost 'em some money 
 and. Colonel, we'll cost 'em more before we get through. 
 It isn't done with yet, by a long shot." The whistle 
 blew, and Gilbert arose and went to his little window. 
 "I can trust the men," he went on, as he watched 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 259 
 
 them hurry out mto the rain. "They're with me, any- 
 how." 
 
 "Don't ye ride too fer on thet hoss," retorted the 
 pessimistic Colonel. " Thar ain't a man in the shop thet's 
 with ye ten dollars' wuth. Thar ain't an Irishman in the 
 place thet wouldn't curse ye fer a drink o' whiskey, ner 
 a Dago thet wouldn't knife ye fer a nickel." 
 
 "Go home and take a tonic, Colonel." Gilbert spoke 
 without turning. "You need to brace up. And say, 
 Colonel," he added with a rueful smile, as the veteran 
 rose to go, "save some for me." 
 
 As Gilbert sat down alone it seemed to him that he 
 could feel Mr. Hubbard's long fingers closing remorse- 
 lessly about him, and about that mammoth being of men 
 and machines which Sam Hardy had given the best part 
 of his life to build, and which he himself had recreated. 
 He remembered a remark of the Colonel's made only 
 two or three days before. "We've got the principle," the 
 veteran had remarked, "but they've got the principal, 
 which latter is the only spellin' recognized in America." 
 There was a knock at the door, and Joe Heffler stood on 
 the threshold. 
 
 "Anything I can do for you, sir?" he asked, fingering 
 his hat nervously. 
 
 " Guess not, Joe, thanks." 
 
 Heffler hesitated for a moment. 
 
 "Could I have two or three moments of your time, 
 sir?" 
 
 "Come in, Joe. Sit down. What's the matter?" 
 Gilbert pushed a chair across to him and leaned back, his 
 hands caught behind his large head with its unruly mat 
 
260 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 of hair. Heffler sat down on the edge of the chair as if 
 to assure Gilbert that he did not intend to bother him 
 long, and leaned forward on the handle of his umbrella. 
 
 "I don't quite know how to begin, sir," Heffler cleared 
 his throat. "It's about Miss — Miss Gerty Smith." 
 
 "But I thought we agreed that you weren't to have 
 anything to do with that." Gilbert allowed his office 
 chair to settle back to its normal position, in his frank 
 surprise and interest. Heffler did not seem to notice the 
 interruption. He went on as if he wished to finish a 
 disagreeable duty. 
 
 "I've taken a room on the same floor as hers and her 
 sister's, in that brick block on Broad Street. You're 
 right, sir. She's been telling Mr. Brett — about things 
 here." Heffler stopped, and his hands worked convulsively 
 about the umbrella handle. "He's a — a scoundrel, sir, 
 an infernal scoundrel. But," — Heffler looked up with 
 sudden appeal in his eyes, — "I don't want you to put 
 her out." 
 
 "All right, Joe, whatever you say goes." 
 
 "You won't put her out, then?" asked Heffler, almost 
 in a whisper. 
 
 " Not unless you say the word. To tell the truth, Joe, 
 I'd pretty nearly forgotten her. She can't hurt us much 
 now, I guess." 
 
 Heffler did not understand the irony of Gilbert's tone. 
 He understood only that the big superintendent would 
 not discharge the girl. 
 
 "Thank you, sir," he said. Then he hesitated again, 
 and ran his fingers nervously through his gray hair. 
 " She's something of a friend of mine. She's been tied up 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 261 
 
 to — to him for going on a year now. I want to get her 
 rid of him if I can." 
 
 Gilbert nodded sympathetically 
 
 "He's boasted to her/' went on Heffler, "that he and 
 the rest of them, sir, would own this shop within three 
 weeks from to-day. I told her they wouldn't." 
 
 Gilbert leaned back in his chair again, wearily this 
 time. He had partly forgotten his discouragement in his 
 interest in Heffler's story. 
 
 "Three weeks," he repeated. "That's pretty quick." 
 
 "He's told her something about how that Street Rail- 
 way Bill was passed, too. I don't know much about it. 
 I suppose you aren't interested in that, are you?" 
 
 Gilbert stared thoughtfully straight into Heffler's eyes. 
 
 "Yes," he said quietly. "I am interested." 
 
 "And she knows something about that reservoir busi- 
 ness," Heffler went on, shifting his gaze to the window. 
 "You know, the thing I spoke of to them before they 
 got rid of me. She says that he — he is a mighty clever 
 man." 
 
 Gilbert arose and walked slowly across the room and 
 back. 
 
 "She's right, Joe," he said at last. "He's too clever 
 for me. His whole crowd is too clever for me. Perhaps 
 they'll be too clever for themselves. That's the only way 
 we slow coaches get a chance." 
 
 Heffler had risen with Jack, and was moving now toward 
 the door. 
 
 "If you're interested," he suggested, without meeting 
 Gilbert's eyes, "I'll find out all I can about those things." 
 
 Gilbert shook his head slowly. 
 
26« THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 "No, Joe. I don't want you to do that sort of thing 
 for me. She's your friend, you know." 
 
 Joe Heffler stood still, looking at the floor for a moment. 
 Then he nodded and went out. 
 
 Gilbert cleared up his desk and plodded out into the 
 steady downpour of rain. The dreary day seemed to fit 
 his mood. He was tired, discouraged, temporarily 
 beaten. Billy came out of the Hardy house as he tramped 
 up West Hill, and they walked together the few steps to 
 the McNish gateway. 
 
 " Brain fever," Billy said laconically. 
 
 "Hard luck," was Gilbert's short reply. "Very 
 serious?" 
 
 "Rather." 
 
 Gilbert walked on silently. He was thinking of the 
 girl in the house Billy had left. 
 
 Mrs. Gilbert watched her son furtively all that long 
 afternoon and evening, as he sat working at the desk in 
 the little library or tramping back and forth restlessly. 
 Gradually, by unsuspicious answers to cunning questions, 
 she learned much that was troubling him. But she said 
 nothing about it until they were locking up the house 
 for the night. 
 
 "Laddie." She was looking up at him as he towered 
 above her. " There's a word I mind my own mother used 
 to say when things went as they shouldn't. * We've aye 
 been provided for, and aye will we yet.' I heard her say 
 it often." 
 
 He realized then that she knew, and that she was 
 worried for him. 
 
 "Of course, mither," he said, trying to seem indifferent. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 263 
 
 An hour later, as he lay asleep, his great body sprawled 
 across his bed upstairs, she tiptoed in and looked down 
 at him, as he lay there in the moonlight that shone through 
 the open window. 
 
 "My little lad," she whispered to herself, and there 
 were tears in her eyes; **my little lad." 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE APPEARANCE OF MR. CONLIN 
 
 GILBERT started and looked wonderingly at one 
 of his draughtsmen, who stood staring in turn, 
 his brow creased with silent astonishment. 
 They had been bending over some penciled sketches of 
 machinery which Gilbert had brought with him that 
 Monday morning, when the bell from Mr. Hardy's room 
 sounded. There was something uncanny about it that 
 startled both men. 
 
 "Wire crossed, probably." 
 
 "Or the boy dusting." 
 
 Together they leaned again over the littered desk, 
 when, short and sharp, once more came the summons, 
 emphasized now irritably. 
 
 "If I didn't know it couldn't be, I'd say it was him." 
 
 "I'll go and see what's up. Only a minute. Wait 
 here." 
 
 Gilbert threw open the door of the president's office, 
 and then stood transfixed with surprise. The office chair 
 whirled around as the door opened, and in it sat the trim, 
 rigid figure of a girl, whose face had a forced sternness 
 that threatened to break instantly into spontaneous and 
 tantalizing smile|. 
 
 " You are very slow, Mr. Gilbert," said the low, musical 
 
 264 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 265 
 
 voice. "Close the door, please. I wish to speak to 
 you." 
 
 Gilbert closed the door obediently and faced her, sup- 
 pressed humor showing in his eyes and about his mouth. 
 
 She looked away quickly, biting her lips. 
 
 "Did the — the molasses come for the foundry?" she 
 asked. Then in spite of herself she lost control and 
 leaned back, quivering with silent laughter. Gilbert's 
 smile broadened. 
 
 "I didn't know we were out of molasses. Miss Hardy," 
 he drawled. 
 
 "Didn't you?" she said in a shocked tone. "Why, I 
 supposed you knew everything — that is, about shops. I 
 didn't, of course, but I remembered father told us you 
 used molasses in the foundry. It seemed odd, of course, 
 and it was the only thing I could think of at the mo- 
 ment. You shouldn't make me laugh, sir. It spoils my 
 dignity." 
 
 By this time Gilbert was leaning, with his arms upon 
 the desk-top, looking down at her. 
 
 "How is your father?" he asked. 
 
 Her face sobered instantly. 
 
 " He's very ill. The doctors can't tell yet." 
 
 "Why are you here?" he asked in his old, imperative 
 way that made her defiant for the moment. 
 
 "Partly to tell you that," she said hesitatingly. 
 
 He waited in alert silence. 
 
 " Partly the old story of Mohammed and the mountain. 
 You are a mountain," she added, eyeing humorously his 
 big, lumbering figure. ,-r 
 
 Again his eye caught hers and she moved restlessly. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 "Partly to see anything in his mail that " Then 
 
 she hesitated again. She glanced up at him, a rich red 
 coloring her olive cheeks. 
 
 "No, it isn't that at all," she went on hurriedly. "I 
 can't be of any use up at the house. They won't let me 
 go near him, and mother would rather be alone. I know 
 some of the things that happened Saturday. I know 
 that you're trying to save him and that you're in trouble 
 about it. Billy told me. I thought, perhaps, I might 
 help — a little — somewhere. It's a woman's part to do 
 that." 
 
 As she watched him, she saw that he smiled steadily 
 at her. 
 
 "You've begun already," he said quietly. 
 
 They sat down at the table which had separated the 
 contending parties at the meeting. 
 
 " Now tell me all about it," she commanded. 
 
 "Somehow," he said slowly, "I think you'll under- 
 stand. Most women wouldn't, I'm afraid." 
 
 Then, leaning his elbows on the table, he started at 
 the very beginning with the first intimation he had had 
 of Mr. Hubbard's intentions. And, as he talked, he 
 seemed to grow more and more interested in the story. 
 This first unburdening of it all upon other shoulders 
 seemed to free his own of some of their load. Once or 
 twice he stopped, as if some new clue or an idea toward 
 the solution of some difficulty had occurred to him. His 
 wits sharpened under the friction of her questions. He 
 forgot where they were. He forgot the man waiting 
 idly in his office. He forgot temporarily who she was, 
 and talked as if she were a business associate. And she, 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 267 
 
 realizing it, listened eagerly that she might understand 
 and be worthy of his confidence. 
 
 " In six months we'd have the shops so promising that 
 none would care to sell stock. They'd all want to buy. 
 But six months is a long time." 
 
 Clare stared at the table thoughtfully. Then she 
 smiled. 
 
 " If I were only in a story book," she said, looking up at 
 him, "I would sacrifice myself, and marry a man with 
 money, and turn it all over to you." 
 
 "Money wouldn't help now, I'm afraid," he said, his 
 mind concentrated on business. "They've too big a 
 start." 
 
 "What will you do?" 
 
 "Something will happen." Gilbert's face glowed with 
 new confidence. "Something must happen now." 
 
 At that moment, as if in answer to his remark, some- 
 thing did happen. The door opened and a man entered, 
 unannounced. He was short, with a figure like a care- 
 lessly rolled wad, over which hung a frock coat that looked 
 as if it had never met a tailor's iron since it was made. 
 A diamond shirt stud sparkled in the opening of his tan- 
 colored waistcoat, and he wore russet shoes. A cigar 
 was stuck in his narrow mouth; his hair was black and 
 greasy; and a large, flat nose squatted in the middle of 
 his full, clean-shaven face. Gilbert noticed all these 
 things after he had glanced at the visitor's bright, shifty 
 eyes. 
 
 The man looked from one to the other with an ill-bred, 
 knowing smile. 
 
 "Mr. Gilbert?" he asked, in a tone which was on the 
 
268 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 border line between deference and arrogance. Receiving 
 an affirmative nod for an answer, he came forward with a 
 card in his outstretched hand. As Gilbert glanced at it 
 he perceptibly stiffened. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Conlin?" he asked. 
 
 "D'ye want me to talk before the lady?" The visitor 
 jerked his thumb toward Miss Hardy. 
 
 " Of course," said Gilbert, not looking at Clare Hardy, 
 who had pushed her chair back, and who was watching 
 the two men with frank curiosity. 
 
 "All right." But the man shifted his feet uneasily. 
 "This shop ain't payin' its men enough," he began, 
 plunging his hands deep into his trousers pockets and 
 jerking his head back defiantly. "It keeps men after 
 bom's. It puts men off their regular jobs and onto others. 
 It discharges them when it takes the notion or when a 
 new automatic machine crowds 'em out. All but about 
 a hundred o' yer men are union men, and the imion's 
 decided, through me, to get these things adjusted. 
 You're a union man yerself. Mister Gilbert. Ye know 
 me and ye know the union rules." 
 
 "Yes, I know you. You're the worst thing I know 
 about the union," drawled Gilbert, a dangerous smile on 
 his lips. "If the men have any definite grievance I'll 
 fix it if I can. But I don't believe they have one, and, 
 what's more, I don't believe you can make them think 
 they have one. If you haven't anything else to say — 
 Good-morning, Conlin." 
 
 Gilbert turned once more to Miss Hardy, whose look 
 was unfortunately one of open amusement. Conlin saw the 
 look and felt the contemptuousness of Gilbert's speech. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 269 
 
 ''I'll have something more to say, Mister Gilbert, and 
 soon, too," he said. Then he turned and strutted out, 
 his anger swelling him up like a turkey cock. 
 
 Clare Hardy watched him out of sight, her body sway- 
 ing imconsciously with his, her face wrinkled with re- 
 pressed laughter. 
 
 "Isn't he absurd? What will he do?" she asked. 
 
 Gilbert was staring past her at the blank side wall. 
 
 "Oh, he'll probably excommunicate me from the 
 union," he said. "And he'll try to call a strike, which '11 
 be the last blow to our opposition." 
 
 The last words came more slowly, as if the speaker was 
 thinking of something else. His face took on the dreamy 
 look she had noticed before, when he was thinking deeply. 
 Then she saw light suddenly flash in his eyes. He jumped 
 to his feet and paced up and down before her. 
 
 "That's it," he said over and over to himself, paying 
 no attention to her. "That's it." 
 
 It was very trying to Clare Hardy's woman's curiosity, 
 this oracular, indefinite statement. 
 
 "What's it?" she asked. 
 
 Gilbert started, called to himself once more, and flung 
 himself, boyishly enthusiastic, into the chair. 
 
 "The first ray of light I've had in weeks," he cried. 
 Then, as he saw the alert surprise and sympathy on the 
 face opposite him — the face, near now, that, far away and 
 indistinct, had gone with him throughout the struggle — 
 he stopped suddenly and leaned toward her. "And you 
 brought it to me." 
 
 Her face flushed suddenly, but it grew sober and dis- 
 appointed as he went on. 
 
270 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 "Will you come again to-morrow? I want to think 
 about it, and the shop's a-calling me now." 
 
 Their eyes met for a short second. 
 
 "I'll do whatever you say," she said. 
 
 Gilbert turned quickly and pushed one of the buttons 
 that studded the president's desk. 
 
 "Send Jimmy O'Rourke here," he told the boy who 
 answered. Miss Hardy waited, curiously, near the door 
 that led down to the street, but Gilbert seemed to have 
 forgotten her. 
 
 "Jimmy," he said, when the boy appeared, "did you 
 see the man who was here a few minutes ago?" 
 
 " De guy wid the sparkler? Yessir." 
 
 "See Peter and get hold of that hackman he told us 
 about. Find out if this is the man. Then keep your 
 eye on him until I tell you to quit. His name is Conlin." 
 
 "All right, sir." Jimmy slammed the door behind him, 
 as if to signify immediate action. And Gilbert turned 
 awkwardly to Miss Hardy. 
 
 "It sounds very thrilling," was all she said as she 
 turned to go. 
 
 When he had relieved the draughtsman, who was still 
 waiting in his office, Gilbert walked through the shops 
 with an elation he could scarcely have analyzed. All the 
 straggling, disorganized forces of him seemed to marshal 
 themselves into line, and the gentle voice of command 
 that ordered them now was her voice. As he opened the 
 first door, however, and the choppy waves of metallic 
 sound broke over him from the grimy, seething sea of 
 activity within, he put her out of his mind. An hour 
 later, in the foundry, he came suddenly upon Mr. Conlin 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 271 
 
 gesticulating and talking to a knot of workmen. As 
 Gilbert appeared they separated quickly, as if impulsively 
 ashamed. Then they stood by, interested in the contest 
 between the two men. Gilbert quietly ordered them 
 back to work, and they went, hesitatingly looking at 
 Conlin for other orders. 
 
 " I'll give you just one minute to get out of here, and 
 I warn you not to come back," he said to the agitator. 
 
 Conlin squared off, his arms akimbo, defiantly. The 
 minute passed quickly and the two men still faced each 
 other. Gilbert snapped his watch-case and seized the 
 agitator unexpectedly, by the collar with one hand and 
 with the other by the trousers, where the tight frock- 
 coat sprung open at the rear. Conlin struggled ostenta- 
 tiously as he was marched roughly out of the door, 
 through the yard and out of the gate, which the gateman 
 opened for them wonderingly. Gilbert released him, 
 turned without a word, and the gate clanged behind him. 
 Conlin smiled malevolently and walked off, lighting a 
 cigar. He was a martyr now. That would help him 
 more than hours of his clever talk. Meanwhile Gilbert, 
 in the mills once more, sensed the first organized oppo- 
 sition he had felt in the shops since he had become 
 superintendent, and he began to distrust his hold on the 
 men. In an hour the insidious poison of the walking 
 delegate's tongue had undermined much of his work of 
 many months, until he felt it tumbling about him in 
 ruin. And when the machinists came back to work in 
 the afternoon — the most skilled, most intelligent workmen 
 in the building — he saw them talking together, some ex- 
 citedly, others more calmly, shaking their heads. All 
 
272 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 day the spirit of insurrection grew throughout the mills, 
 that, Saturday, had been contented in their compact 
 organization under his leadership. Uneasiness was every- 
 where, meeting him in covert glances; antagonism, grow- 
 ing and bitter; and the work became shiftless, half- 
 hearted. Only a few bent stolidly over their machines, 
 listening to the whirring, grating message of progress 
 and pejttce, while in the rooms where cheap day labor was 
 employed, his appearance was the signal for sudden fore- 
 boding silence, that would break into a babel of many 
 tongues and passions when he had gone. They were not 
 union men, but they scented trouble, and they liked it. 
 When the whistle blew Gilbert watched them hurry out 
 in long, straggling lines, and with heavy heart he noticed 
 the absurd but menacing figure of Conlin sauntering 
 down to meet them. As he turned from the window, he 
 saw a familiar figure at the door, and smiled a weary 
 welcome to it. 
 
 " Is there anything I can do for you, sir? '' 
 
 It was Heffler, with his usual good-night. 
 
 "Nothing, thank you, Joe." 
 
 But the man came forward, handed him a paper, and, 
 touching his hat, went out and down the stairs. On the 
 paper were noted the time and place of three union 
 meetings to be held that night. 
 
 Gilbert threaded his way through the motley crowd 
 that was hurrying homeward; old men hobbling along, 
 backs bent, as if by the weight of the empty dinner- 
 pails; younger men elbowing their way forward in noisy, 
 good-humored groups; boys, their faces daubed and their 
 arms swinging with the swagger of their bodies, furtively 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 273 
 
 glancing from right to left to see if everyone realized that 
 they were men and worked in the shops; tired-looking 
 women gossiping, in voices which were made to be heard 
 above the crash of machinery, about the clothes of a large, 
 puffing woman whom a conductor and the inspector were 
 helping into a trolley car; clerks, flowers faded in the 
 buttonholes of their stylishly cut clothes — which often 
 made whole groups look like ill-assorted twins and triplets, 
 because Brown the clothier had sold forty suits of the 
 same material for ten dollars each — but jaunty still, as 
 they smirked smugly at pretty typewriter girls, who 
 giggled and simpered and wriggled forward laboriously, 
 their skirts bound and held tightly about them; an occa- 
 sional lawyer, gesticulating as he talked; a doctor, his 
 arms folded pompously over a broad, white waistcoat, 
 one foot on the step of his carriage waiting for the other, 
 as he gave his opinions on the weather with the same 
 patronizing certainty he used when diagnosing diseases; 
 all turned toward home, the peaceful place where they 
 ate and slept and had arguments, usually gentle, and 
 made resolutions, usually good; where they had occa- 
 sional lapses into youthful sentiment which they hid 
 carefully, and so made more delightful the place of 
 which they said unconsciously but whole-heartedly, "God 
 bless it." 
 
 "Good people; good, funny people," said Gilbert to 
 himself, as now and then he answered noisy greetings 
 and waves of the hand. 
 
 "Sorry ye wouldn't let us put ye up for mayor," 
 shouted Mr. Tubb, the groceryman, who was always 
 ready to express various political opinions to his cus- 
 
274 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 tomers — various in that they invariably coincided with 
 those of the man he was serving. Once, it was said, two 
 of his best patrons, of opposite political faith, entering 
 the store together, had purposely caught him off his 
 guard. And, after sputtering and growing very red, and 
 brushing imaginary dust from his long apron, he had 
 suddenly heard an inaudible call from the rear of the 
 store and had rushed off and hidden in his little partitioned 
 office. There he had remained all day, peeking through the 
 glass window, and trying to figure out how he could prove 
 that both parties were right without showing that both 
 were also wrong. 
 
 "It was over-confidence for you to think of it," drawled 
 Gilbert. " Who are you going to put up to-night, Tubb? " 
 
 The groceryman bent over an empty barrel to hide his 
 embarrassment. 
 
 "Well," he called defiantly after the tall man, "Fd 
 rather have you than either of ^em." 
 
 Gilbert found Mr. Butterson in front of his Universal 
 Emporium, studying with obvious approval and pride 
 the big, newly decorated windows of his three adjoining 
 stores. Mr. Butterson was ready to start homeward, 
 and together they walked up West Hill, talking earnestly. 
 Gilbert turned in at the gate of the old house. He had 
 promised to dine with Billy that night. 
 
 The elder McNish occupied the greater part of the din- 
 ner hour with comments on the roominess of the big house, 
 and the littleness and loneliness of two mere men who 
 attempted to occupy it. After dinner he went upstairs, 
 and the two younger men, smoking, drifted naturally to 
 the broad veranda and the cool dusk of the approaching 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 275 
 
 night. Billy was very talkative and Gilbert listened 
 silently. 
 
 "Glad you're living, eh Billy?" he remarked at last. 
 
 "Rather," grinned Billy. For a time he sat looking 
 thoughtfully across the well-groomed lawn, and he smiled 
 as he thought. "I'm a funny mess, Jack, inside. Why 
 am I glad I'm living? I'll tell you. For four days I've 
 been going around with my chest out, and everybody 
 patting my back to keep it there. Every little while I go 
 out on the street so as to see people point at me and hear 
 them say, 'That's Captain McNish, who's up for mayor.' 
 In the office I keep the window up, and I sit beside it all 
 the time so that people can see me. I know it's idiotic, 
 but I can't help it. I like it and I want more. It's 
 like a man with a fever who wants water. He's ready 
 to drown in it. That's what I enlisted for, time of the 
 war, so's to wear the uniform and strut around. I 
 didn't want to fight. Lord no; I just wanted to come 
 home and show my shoulder straps. Asinine, isn't it? 
 And do you know what I've thought about most since 
 the caucus? The election? No. The great things to 
 do for the city? No. The campaign? No. I've been 
 thinking how bully it '11 be if I can go down to New 
 Haven next Commencement, and show the people I 
 know down there and the fellows that come back the 
 Mayor of Hampstead. And I'm thirty-two years old. 
 Jack Gilbert, think of that." He hesitated, a look half 
 wistful, half humorous, on his face. "But I can't help 
 it. It was born in me like a drunkard's thirst." 
 
 "I guess we're all a good deal like that," drawled 
 Gilbert, smiling affectionately at his friend. "Every 
 
276 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 time we hear a band play we'd like to think it's for 
 us." 
 
 " Oh, yes; you and the rest can take a drink of approval 
 now and then and it won't hurt you, but I've got to be 
 on a continuous spree or be unhappy. By the way," 
 he turned suddenly on Gilbert, "you haven't told me 
 why you happened to descend on that meeting the 
 way you did." 
 
 It was Gilbert's turn to look off toward the lawn and 
 the hedge beyond. 
 
 "I came directly from Miss Hardy," he said. "She 
 told me and asked me to fix it up." 
 
 "She did that!" cried Billy with sudden enthusiasm. 
 Then he caught a glimpse of Gilbert's face and stopped 
 short, for it had a hard look of repressed pain. " Well, 
 you certainly did the business, you sober old fossil," 
 he added in the lightest tone he could muster, "but it 
 was a mistake. You're worth ten of me." 
 
 "Rot, Billy. You're talking through the same hat 
 you were when you said you weren't thinking about 
 the great things you had to do for the city. You've 
 the biggest chance in years right there." 
 
 "Jack," said Billy suddenly, "I wish you could run my 
 campaign. I don't know what to do, and Moriarty '11 
 grind it out in the same old way. I've got to get some 
 grip in it or it '11 be a flat failure." 
 
 "I'll do what I can, Billy, but I'm likely to be kept 
 mighty busy. I've a strike on my hands. That's the 
 latest." 
 
 "A strike at the shops?" 
 
 Jack nodded, "There's a fat and oily person named 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 277 
 
 Conlin, who^s come all the way from New Haven to 
 tell the men that they don't know their own business. 
 He may get 'em out. They'll float out on the streams 
 of his oratory. But they won't stay out long and he 
 won't stay in town long unless I'm mistaken." 
 
 There was a fierce light in Gilbert's eye that Billy had 
 never seen before, and a solid, dangerous look about his 
 jaw, although his mouth was smiling. Shortly they 
 started down town together and parted at the corner 
 by the bank, where Billy turned to the left, bound for 
 the little Hampstead Club building where he expected to 
 hear, in congenial surroundings, of the opposing caucus. 
 
 "Where are you going?" he asked. 
 
 " To attend three union meetings, and to try to prove 
 to the men that New Haven can't get along without Con- 
 lin any longer, that the state metropolis is in dreary 
 desolation and that it's their duty as citizens to buy him 
 a return ticket." 
 
 "Isn't it dangerous?" said Billy doubtfully. "They 
 might do anything." 
 
 Gilbert shook his head smilingly. 
 
 "It's a pretty good world," he said. "There aren't 
 half as many people who want to shoot you and sandbag 
 you as the newspapers try to make you think there are." 
 
 It was a duel that night between Mr. Conlin and Jack 
 Gilbert. When the portly Irishman reached the hotel 
 victorious, some time after midnight, he was wiping the 
 perspiration from his face. He looked around furtively, 
 as if he still feared the presence of the big man, who 
 had trailed him from meeting to meeting and who had 
 made him use every trick, every argument, every threat 
 
278 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 he knew to win a half-reluctant vote from the men. 
 Then he shook his head as he looked back at the short 
 struggle. He had thought before the first — machinist's — 
 meeting that he was certain of a unanimous following. 
 The hot-heads, whose work had been arranged before- 
 hand, had been arguing with the doubtful ones before 
 the meeting began, when suddenly the big-bodied super- 
 intendent had entered and had instantly coalesced the 
 opposition. It wasn't so much what he said, Conlin 
 agreed, for he talked simply and straight from the shoul- 
 der, nor was it the way he said it, for the man was no 
 speaker. It was the man himself, fearless, powerful, 
 earnest, honest, that had forced Conlin to rally every 
 faculty to stave off defeat. 
 
 Gilbert had laid great emphasis on his own personal 
 relations with the men. They knew, he said, that he 
 would do the square thing by them if they did the square 
 thing by him. After Conlin, in a burst of his best rhetoric, 
 had denounced capital and had told the men the old 
 story of their woes, the large young man had asked 
 calmly, with a smile of ridicule that made the Irishman 
 double his fists till the nails bit into the flesh, what all 
 that had to do with, this particular case. His fists 
 doubled again now as he remembered how he, Conlin, 
 had forced them into line one after another, by threats 
 and cajoling; as he remembered the bitter insults that 
 Jethro and Grady and others of his aids had helped him 
 to heap upon the yoimg man, who stood smiling good- 
 humoredly at them, breaking the force of their blows 
 with quiet sarcasm or ridiculing silence; and as he re- 
 membered how, when the vote was taken and when the 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 279 
 
 strike was affirmed and when Gilbert had been expelled 
 from the imion for disloyalty, the young man had turned 
 on his heel and walked out, leaving a few jeering and 
 the rest shaken. The other two meetings had been 
 easier, for the news of the first victory had given his 
 workers heart and had placed Gilbert, the outsider, on 
 the defensive. But now, as Conlin sat in his room, star- 
 ing at a picture of Lincoln that was hung by chance in 
 the midst of a background of forget-me-not wall paper, 
 two or three sentences rang in his ears: 
 
 " I*m as good a union man as any of you, and the worst 
 of us is better than this man who tells you to strike. 
 For we're honest and he isn't." 
 
 '* Whether you follow the crack of his whip or not, I'll 
 show you the kind of man he is before I'm done with 
 him." 
 
 Mr. Conlin's fingers trembled slightly as he lit a cigar. 
 For a moment he was sorry he had left New Haven. 
 He was a trifle afraid of the big young man. Then he 
 thought of the reward that would be his if he won, and, 
 like the hen and many men, he began to count the eggs 
 of his hopes as if they were already hatched. 
 
 Meanwhile Gilbert was across the square, sitting, his 
 long legs crossed, in the box-like car of Mr. Tubb's night- 
 lunch wagon, and talking with Mr. Peter Lumpkin. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 TO DRIVE DULL CARE AWAY 
 
 A LTHOUGH it was long after midnight when Gilbert 
 /\ finally went upstairs to bed, he was up at an 
 -* — ^- earlier hour than usual in the morning. His 
 mother, working in the kitchen, heard him out in the 
 narrow garden at the back. He was muttering away, in 
 his unmusical bass, one of Mrs. Gilbert's old songs. Now 
 and then she caught a word or two, emphasized as he 
 bent over the rows of red salvia that ran along the edge 
 of the garden. 
 
 " There ne'er was a flower in garden or bower 
 Like auld Joe Nicolson's bonnie Nannie." 
 
 Mrs. Gilbert smiled as she hummed the words with 
 him, and beat out with her foot the time of the simple 
 tune. Then she stopped suddenly, wondering. She 
 couldn't remember ever hearing him sing that kind of 
 a song before. Usually it was " Down Among the Dead 
 Men," or "It's Always Fair Weather," or something 
 equally mannish. What possessed the lad to be sing- 
 ing a sentimental love ballad? Her face grew grave 
 with motherly intuition. 
 
 When Gilbert passed the Hardy house on his way to 
 the shop, he guiltily hid as much as he could of a large 
 
 280 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 281 
 
 bunch of salvia behind his burly form. At the office 
 he tried to keep the flowers out of the office boys* sight. 
 As he arranged the red blossoms on "the old man's" 
 open desk he swore to himself that he was a sentimental 
 fool — and glad of it. Then he went to the window to 
 see if she was coming, although it was not yet eight 
 o'clock and he did not expect her until nine. 
 
 What did he care what happened to the noisy, sordid 
 machine that called to him raspingly, or for the misled, 
 grimy men who changed from friends to foes in a day, 
 or for the stubborn political fight just ahead? She 
 was coming out of the dahlias and the chrysanthemums 
 of the old garden. Coming with the ineffably tender 
 look in her dark eyes (he wondered if he could meet 
 their glance without crying out). Coming with the 
 old tantalizing sweet smile on her lips that curled like 
 the heart of a rose out of the more faintly colored outer 
 petals (he wondered if he could see that smile without 
 telling her how he loved it). Coming with the dark, wavy 
 hair whose perfume went to his head as he thought of 
 it (he wondered if he could keep his big, ugly hands 
 from smoothing the hair and holding the dear head so 
 that it could never escape him). Coming to-day, com- 
 ing now, perhaps coming to-morrow and afterwards for 
 a time. Then she would go away (he wondered if he 
 could ever let her go, for somehow everything seemed 
 suddenly hollow and empty at the thought of it). Yes, 
 she would go but she would leave something, a rose 
 or a song or a look, that could not be forgotten. But 
 he would not think of that. She was coming, coming 
 to him. And what was he except that he loved her? 
 
282 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 The old shadow returned. He, with no graces, no 
 learning, no anything; he, a failure in the only struggle 
 he had ever made; he was playing the mad fool merely 
 because she was so prodigal of her sweetness that she 
 had let him breathe it for a few happy moments. Never 
 mind. She was coming. There was Billy, of course. 
 She really loved Billy. But Billy couldn't have her 
 to-day, and slie couldn't' stop him from loving her to- 
 day or any other day. Why think of it? She must 
 be on her way by now. He was sure that he could sing 
 splendidly, that he could be a poet or a painter or any of 
 the wonderful, impossible things that he used to dream 
 of as a boy. Now she must be turning the corner. A 
 light step came dancing up the stairs outside. She was 
 here. 
 
 When she entered he was gazing out of the window, 
 singing to himself with monstrous indifference. But he 
 could not have said what words he was singing or indeed 
 that he was singing at all. He was listening to the 
 sound of her footsteps and trying to be very calm. She 
 came directly to him and rested her hand lightly for a 
 mere second upon his arm; and, during that second, he 
 knew how sad everybody else in the world must be in 
 comparison with him. He seemed so close to her that 
 he held his breath, so that it might not check the tingling 
 passion that ran through him. 
 
 "You're not a bit disheartened." It was her voice. 
 
 Unconsciously he heaved a deep sigh. The hand 
 had dropped from his arm. 
 
 "Oh, you've come," he said solemnly, but with humor- 
 ously evident insincerity. He felt somehow that he 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER g83 
 
 ought to look at her, but when he turned he stared past 
 her at the opposite wall. 
 
 "Disheartened? What about?" he asked. He only 
 knew that she was there beside him, and that she was 
 wearing black and red as she had on the night of the 
 Fourth of July. His view toward the wall included her 
 slender, tapering arm. 
 
 "That's Uke you. Just as if you hadn't a trouble in 
 the world." The arm disappeared suddenly and, Uke 
 a magnet, it drew him. 
 
 "I haven't. They all went when you came," he 
 declared fervently. He had followed her to the desk 
 where she bent over the red flowers. 
 
 " Pretty speech and pretty flowers," she cried, glancing 
 back at him, her black eyes dancing; and he suddenly 
 felt giddy and exhilarated, as if he had been lifted to 
 some great height where the air was light and the sun 
 was shining very brightly. 
 
 "We have a very susceptible office boy," he drawled, 
 scarcely knowing what he said. "He fell in love with 
 you at first sight months ago, and has been languishing 
 ever since in bitter and hopeless despair. Not wishing 
 to break his young and tender heart, I allowed him to 
 decorate your desk." 
 
 "An office boy?" She leaned forward in the swinging 
 chair and forced him to look at her. "Did he say any- 
 thing about me?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," he went on desperately. "He's wonderful 
 with adjectives. He said that — that you were very 
 beautiful, you know, and — that you were almighty kind 
 to everybody, and that " 
 
284 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 There was a slight hesitant pause. 
 
 "Wonderful office boy," said Miss Hardy, flushing. 
 "I'd Uke to know him. I'd Hke to hear him say other 
 things Uke that." 
 
 There was a knock at the door, and Jimmy O'Rourke 
 hurled himself into the room with his customary haste. 
 He stopped short when he saw the girl. 
 
 "Man to see ye, sir." The boy looked from Gilbert 
 to Miss Hardy and grinned knowingly. 
 
 "Come here, Jimmy," said Gilbert severely. The boy 
 came closer and, looking up at the manager, he was 
 amazed to see the big man's right eye wink ostenta- 
 tiously at him. 
 
 " Where did you get these flowers you brought for Miss 
 Hardy?" Gilbert's eye did not leave the boy's face, 
 Jimmy tentatively patted one worn shoe with the other 
 and screwed his lips in thought. 
 
 "I stole 'em," he said at last, but his freckled face 
 showed no trace of shame. 
 
 "You've always liked Miss Hardy very much, haven't 
 you, Jimmy?" the stem voice went on. Jimmy flushed 
 imeasily. He didn't consider it manly to express his 
 affections, and to be forced to express those he had 
 never carefully considered seemed childish. He glanced 
 shyly at Miss Hardy. 
 
 "Yessir," he said decisively. 
 
 "You don't remember anything you've said about 
 her except that she was a — beautiful and — a — kind, do 
 you?" Gilbert was keeping a sober face with difficulty. 
 Jimmy looked up under his eyebrows, his mouth open 
 in wonder. 
 
'"/ stole V..i,' he said at last.'' 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 285 
 
 " No, sir," he said truthfully enough. 
 
 Clare Hardy smiled and held out her hand to the boy. 
 
 '* Thank you for the flowers," she said. "I like you, 
 too." 
 
 Jimmy took the hand hesitatingly, grinned sheep- 
 ishly and then, to Miss Hardy's merriment and Gilbert's 
 confusion, he turned his head and winked twice at the 
 general manager. Gilbert caught him by the shoulders. 
 
 "Did he tell you his name?" he asked shortly. 
 
 For a second Jimmy thought it was another of the 
 series of questions. Then he remembered. 
 
 "It's him, Conlin," he said in an almost sepulchral 
 whisper. 
 
 "Tell him I don't care to see him." Gilbert led the 
 boy to the door. When it had closed and they were 
 alone again, he moved quickly toward the window, his 
 hand smoothing his chin, and looked out. Clare Hardy, 
 her lips twitching, toyed with a paper cutter on the 
 desk. He turned after a minute and her eyes were 
 raised to meet his. Then they laughed. 
 
 "Jimmy is certainly wonderful with adjectives," she 
 said. But the mention of Conlin had cast a shadow 
 upon them. 
 
 "You haven't told me what you did last night," she 
 said, suddenly sober. 
 
 "There isn't much to tell. Conlin proved to the 
 men that I was the most dangerous thief and murderer 
 at large. They sputtered and called names and shook 
 their fists and generally enjoyed themselves." 
 
 "But what did they do?" 
 
 "They " Gilbert stopped suddenly and listened. 
 
286 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 The multifarious noise of machinery had grown fainter. 
 They heard the squeaking, dying wail of the shafting 
 after the power is taken away. The pulsing beat of 
 hammers stopped short. From outside came a straggling 
 shout as of boys when school is out. " That's what they 
 did," Gilbert said significantly. 
 
 Instantly all was hubbub in the outer office. Chairs 
 scraped, windows were thrown up, and a confusion of 
 many voices hummed incessantly. 
 
 "Let me go with you," she cried as he started toward 
 the door. He smiled and shook his head. 
 
 "I'll be back in a minute." 
 
 Miss Hardy went to the window and looked out at 
 the yard. A phalanx of grimy men and boys with 
 dinner pails were hurrying by, some capering and hoot- 
 ing, some swaggering self-consciously as if on parade, 
 some talking and gesticulating, some plodding along 
 stolidly. She saw them all, following the lead of 
 those in front, look at the awkward giant, his head 
 bared and the wind ruffling his thick hair, who had 
 at the moment appeared from the door beneath her. 
 She watched him as he passed them, waving his hand 
 to them and calling a few by name. 
 
 "You're going the wrong way, boys," she heard him 
 call, and, following his gaze, she saw some of the men 
 nod their heads anxiously, and stop to look after him 
 until they were carried on by the rush from behind 
 them. But she shuddered slightly and her face flushed 
 with anger as she saw many sneer and heard derisive 
 shouts, and as she saw a few swarthy-faced men, when 
 he had passed and could not see them, turn and shake 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 287 
 
 their fists at his back. And behind them all, like a 
 shepherd driving his sheep, came Conlin, grinning malig- 
 nantly at Gilbert, who ignored him. She turned from 
 him in disgust, and watched the tall man meet a little 
 group that remained as if undecided what to do, and 
 then she saw them follow the others more slowly and 
 reluctantly. Soon they were all gone and he, with a 
 short, white-haired man, had disappeared in the building 
 beyond. 
 
 She waited an almost interminable time, as it seemed 
 to her. Then, impatience and curiosity overcoming her, 
 she turned the handle of the door and looked cautiously 
 into the outer office. It was empty. Evidently he had 
 told them to go, along with the others. The silence 
 was sepulchral after all the clamor. She started when 
 a door slammed somewhere below. She was suddenly 
 very lonesome and she wished that he would hurry. 
 Then her eye caught sight of his name in small black 
 letters on a door beyond, and, alert with surreptitious 
 discovery, she tiptoed across the desolate office and 
 entered his little room. 
 
 With a throb of delight she shut the door behind her. 
 The fiat-topped desk was piled high with papers in wire 
 baskets, and at the back against the wall was a thick 
 roll of blue prints. An inkwell, a case of penholders 
 and a corncob pipe lay, like straggling islands, upon the 
 blue of the broad blotter, leather encased. A plain filing 
 case stood in one corner, and in another was a pile of 
 what looked like junk to Miss Hardy, stray machine 
 parts and tools thrown together there until he could 
 find the time to deal with them. Directly before the 
 
288 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 little window, and just far enough away for a pair of 
 very long legs to reach, was an old racked armchair. 
 Miss Hardy crossed the room and sat down in it. She 
 looked at the distance to the window sill and shook 
 her head with twinkling eyes. On the walls were two 
 large maps of the world traced with broad, colored lines, 
 a tinted picture of a steamship and a large calendar, 
 with an old man fishing above the lines of figures. 
 
 Two months before, Miss Hardy would have felt that 
 this simple, unordered office was offensively plain, offen- 
 sively careless, offensively lacking in any indication of 
 taste. She would have criticised it, and the man who 
 occupied it, unmercifully. This morning she noticed 
 merely that its eastern window made the room warm 
 and friendly, and she said to herself that everything in 
 the place suggested a strong man. 
 
 She returned to the desk. It was here that he had 
 worked during these last disquieting, discouraging 
 months. She curled herself up in the swinging chair, 
 and, tilting backward, she rested one flushed cheek against 
 the chair back. Then, suddenly remembering that he 
 might come at any moment and find her there, she 
 slipped from the chair and stood facing the door, expect- 
 ing him, woman-like, as soon as the thought entered her 
 head. She would never have forgiven herself if he had 
 caught her in his room and in his chair, but in her heart 
 she wished him to know that she had been there. She 
 caught up one of his blunt stub pens and impulsively 
 scratched a single line across the blue blotter, a line 
 that had recurred to her whenever she had thought of 
 him during the last few weeks. Then she tiptoed out, 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 289 
 
 closing the door quietly behind her, and hurried across 
 to the president's office. When he returned he found 
 her sitting where he had left her, thumbing the leaves 
 of a business directory. 
 
 "I guess we'll go home now," he said. 
 
 She liked his saying that. Together they went down 
 the creaking stairs, and at his suggestion she laughingly 
 turned the lock in the outer door. A small boy, playing 
 a harmonica, stopped and eyed them curiously as they 
 turned away, the tall, broad-shouldered man and the 
 radiant girl. A few minutes later the boy seated him- 
 self on the steps they had left and, evidently inspired 
 by the silent mills behind him, he played "Every Day'll 
 be Sunday By and By," with reckless regard for every- 
 thing except rhythm, which he beat with one foot as he 
 played. 
 
 Gilbert spent the afternoon alone at the shop. Much 
 of the time he was at his desk, his big body sprawled in 
 the swinging chair, his thick hair tousled, and a dreamy, 
 far-away look in his gray eyes, that made his homely 
 face with its broad-bridged nose and its heavy protrud- 
 ing jaw seem incongruously boyish. In moments of 
 sudden energy he scratched or erased rough notes on a 
 yellow pad before him, until the paper looked, as he 
 remarked to himself, like a Chinese laundry ticket. 
 When the growing darkness at last broke in upon his 
 reverie he tore the sheet from the pad and stowed it 
 away carefully in an inner pocket, although every letter 
 and figure upon it was clear in his mind. Then he took 
 the blotter from its case and, wrapping it, as most men 
 wrap parcels, into an ugly but unnecessarily solid bundle, 
 
290 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 he let himself out into the night, the paper about the old 
 blue blotter crackling under his arm. 
 
 He was late in reaching the big house that night, and 
 conversation, with the little group of men who were await- 
 ing him, halted temporarily after they had commented 
 upon every phase of September weather for all the years 
 they could remember. Gilshannon of the News was there. 
 Billy had found him searching for Gilbert and had 
 brought him in to wait with the others. 
 
 The pause in the talk was only momentary. To argue 
 is as necessary to a New Englander as to eat and to 
 sleep. By nature he rejoices in the opposite side of 
 every question, and he prefers broad, general questions 
 of which he knows only what the daily paper tells him. 
 If he is alone he will argue with himself, and often he 
 will prove to himself that he is wrong and that the argu- 
 ment by which he proves it is faulty. When these men 
 found that they differed on the labor question, naturally 
 uppermost in their minds at the moment, they glared 
 at each other pleasantly. They dabbed at it as a cat 
 will dab at a choice morsel, and played with it, and finally 
 jumped at it eagerly. 
 
 It was the one question about which the kindly Mr. 
 McNish could be angry, and he therefore rejoiced in it 
 and sat forward on the edge of his chair, his shoulders 
 straight, his gray beard sticking out almost horizontally 
 from his set chin. Colonel Mead leaned back philo- 
 sophically in a broad Morris chair, but his hand that lay 
 on the chair arm was doubled up. On the broad lounge 
 opposite sat Billy McNish and Gilshannon, the latter, 
 as usual, eager to talk. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 291 
 
 "That's just it," he said, eyeing Mr. McNish aggres- 
 sively. "Who's to say what pay the workingmen are 
 worth? The man that hires them? Nonsense. You know 
 as well as I do that he'll hire them as cheaply as he can, 
 and never pay them any more than he can help. He'll 
 squeeze the life blood out of them, and when they're 
 dry he'll turn them out, old and without a penny, 
 for they've never had more than a scrimping, living 
 wage." 
 
 "What's yer scheme, then?" asked the Colonel sar- 
 castically. "Turn over to the rabble the shops you've 
 put yer money and brains into? That 'd be like openin' 
 the gates of a stockade and tyin' yer hands when ye 
 see the Injuns comin'!" 
 
 "Who's the rabble?" asked Gilshannon, rejoicing in 
 this turn of the argument. "A number of men combine 
 a lot of money and build a factory. What per cent, do 
 they want for it? Four, five, six? Not at all. They 
 want ten, fifteen, twenty per cent., every penny they 
 can screw out of it. That's business. Now the laboring 
 men combine a lot of labor. What wages do they want? 
 Two dollars a day? No, three or four or five dollars, 
 as much as they can get. That's business. It's a fight 
 between the two, that's all. The owners cleverly circum- 
 vent laws or have new ones made to get their ends. 
 The ignorant workingmen sometimes take the franker 
 way — the only way they know — of breaking the laws. 
 It's intelligent selfishness and brutality versus ignorant 
 selfishness and brutality." 
 
 Mr. McNish arose and strode up and down to calm 
 himself. 
 
292 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 "We're all going to the merry bow-wows," remarked 
 Billy disconsolately, as he winked at the Colonel. 
 
 "Do you believe in the Bible, Mr. Gilshannon?" Mr. 
 McNish asked solemnly as he sat down again. 
 
 "I can't say that I do." The young man shook the 
 ashes from his cigarette nonchalantly. "It always has 
 seemed to me that ever since Columbus proved that the 
 world was round, Heaven has been flat." 
 
 "Anyone would know you're a Harvard man," Billy 
 said in a tone of feigned awe. 
 
 Gilshannon nodded. 
 
 "And anyone would know you're not," he retorted. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because you haven't expressed a single vigorous 
 opinion." 
 
 Billy smiled with appreciation. He took the cigarette 
 Gilshannon offered him, after patting congratulations on 
 the reporter's back. 
 
 "But what's yer scheme," the Colonel asked, "or 
 doesn't yer contract call for buildin' anythin' after ye 
 tear it all down?" 
 
 "Give them all an equal chance," said Gilshannon 
 readily, " educate them and " 
 
 "Educate them?" cried Mr. McNish, breaking out 
 suddenly. "Yes, we pay taxes and educate their sons 
 so that they'll shake their fists under the noses of our 
 own boys. I tell you, Mr. Gilshannon, there'll always be 
 'hewers of wood and drawers of water'; there'll always 
 be class distinction. Education don't change a man's 
 blood nor his heart. And I'll tell you another thing: 
 a mob is a mob. That's no theory nor a sentence full 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 293 
 
 of long words. I helped to meet one of the worst mobs 
 this country ever saw and I know what I^m talking 
 about. While they were killing defenseless women and 
 children in the Draft Riots of '63, there were a lot of men 
 like you who stood around and talked — copper-heads 
 we called 'em. The police tried their clubs and the 
 militia shot over the heads of the mob. It only made 'em 
 worse. Then we came up, a handful of us, just from 
 fighting an army we were proud even to run away from. 
 It wasn't any holiday or tin-soldier racket for us. When 
 they saw us coming they laughed, and when our colonel 
 told 'em to disperse they laughed, but after one volley 
 of the kind the Johnnies had been standing against for 
 three years, they didn't laugh. We broke that riot 
 because we shot to kill. And I tell you, many a time, 
 to-day, when I walk along the streets of this town, 
 which is better than most, I feel an itch for the old gun. 
 Bayonet and bullet, I tell you," added the thoroughly 
 angered Mr. McNish. "That's the only way to handle a 
 mob, and the politicians are afraid to use it." 
 
 Mr. McNish mopped his brow with a handkerchief. 
 
 "Do you believe in the Bible, sir?" asked Gilshannon 
 sternly, but his eyes were twinkling. 
 
 "I do," said Mr. McNish solenmly. "It was a mob 
 that killed Him, and Pilate was afraid." 
 
 Gilshannon moved uneasily at the answer. Billy 
 excused himself and went out into the broad hallway. 
 A few moments later the Colonel, who, as if in envy of 
 Mr. McNish's story, had begun one of his own, was inter- 
 rupted by a heavy stamping of feet on the veranda, and 
 by the appearance of Gilbert, Billy hanging to his arm. 
 
294 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 "IVe been telling Jack about the 'terrible mob' and 
 'intelligent selfishness and brutality/" remarked Billy 
 sweetly. 
 
 Gilbert lit one of Mr. McNish's cigars and sank into a 
 large easy chair with a deep sigh of content. Then he 
 smiled. 
 
 "Have you mentioned Hardy & Son to-night?" he 
 asked. 
 
 Mr. McNish looked guilty and shamefaced; Gilshannon 
 stared at the big fellow quizzically; and the Colonel shook 
 his head. Gilbert laughed aloud. 
 
 " At three union meetings last night they scarcely spoke 
 of it. The talk was capital in general versus labor in 
 general, and it roiled them so much that they struck." 
 They laughed with him now, all except Gilshannon. 
 
 " But I take it weVe got enough to tackle in what the 
 News would call 'the concrete situation.' Did you want 
 to see me, Gil?" Jack added, turning to the reporter. 
 
 "The News wants your opinion of the strike," Gilshan- 
 non said simply. 
 
 "My opinion?" Gilbert laughed. "Nothing to say, 
 Gil, for publication." And all of Gilshannon's plausible 
 reasoning did not change his decision. 
 
 "No, Gil," he said. "There's a lot I'll say to you 
 privately, but not one word to the News. 
 
 The reporter rose and picked up his hat. 
 
 "I'll move on then," he said. "I'd like to hear what 
 you've got to say, but I'd better not. It might appear in 
 the paper accidentally." 
 
 When the door had closed behind him Gilbert turned 
 abruptly to Billy. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 295 
 
 "I'll take on your campaign," he said, "if you still 
 want me to.'' 
 
 The Colonel interrupted before Billy had an opportu- 
 nity to answer. 
 
 "But ye can't do it, boy, with all this other thing on 
 yer shoulders." 
 
 "That's what I said to Moriarty once when he was 
 superintendent down at Hardy's," was Jack's reply. " It 
 was about a machine. It don't pay, Moriarty said then, 
 for a Yankee to say that a thing can't be done. The first 
 thing he knows along comes some other fool Yankee and 
 does it. Now, I've been puzzled about a good many 
 things for the last six months, and all the time I've felt 
 that there was one man back of them all. He never 
 appears, and we're apt to forget about him, but he's 
 there all the time, getting what he wants. He's the man 
 Billy's really got to fight to be elected mayor, and he's the 
 man we've got to fight to save Hardy & Son. I propose 
 that we join forces and go after him together. We've 
 been fighting Brett and Merrivale and Strutt and some 
 others down at the shop. And Billy is going to work 
 against the whole Republican party at the polls. We're 
 banging away all over the place with shot-guns, and 
 we aren't hitting much of anything. Let's pool our 
 issues, buy a rifle, and aim it straight at Alonzo Hub- 
 bard." 
 
 Mr. McNish shook his head slowly. Mr. Hubbard was 
 one of the most highly respected citizens of Hampstead. 
 He was a leader, morally, socially, and financially. The 
 idea of conducting a campaign against him seemed ab- 
 surd. Mr. McNish wondered if the worry had not unset- 
 
296 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 tied Gilbert's judgment. Billy stared at the floor to 
 avoid Jack's glance. 
 
 "Sounds all right," the Colonel remarked doubtfully. 
 "But 'tain't possible. Thar ain't time anyhow." The 
 Colonel had entirely lost faith since the strike had been 
 added to their troubles. 
 
 As they might have known, if they had thought, Gil- 
 bert was only made more stubborn by their opposition. 
 
 "I think there is," he said decisively, "although I wish 
 it was a month instead of two weeks to election. You 
 see, he's made one big mistake. He's back of one thing 
 too many for his own good." 
 
 The trio looked up with frank inquiry on their faces. 
 
 "He wanted to make Hardy stock cheap so that he 
 could buy it for a mere song," Gilbert went on, "and 
 he hired a mighty poor man named Conlin to do it 
 for him." 
 
 "Not the strike," cried Billy. 
 
 "You don't mean to say that Mr. Hubbard " 
 
 started Mr. McNish. 
 
 "Good Lord," ejaculated the Colonel, "kin ye prove 
 it? Do ye know it?" 
 
 Gilbert smiled. He was enjoying their surprise. But 
 he grew sober after a minute. 
 
 "Yes," he said quietly. "I can prove it and we'll have 
 more evidence later. But we've got to be quiet about it. 
 The biggest card in Mr. Hubbard's hand is that he keeps 
 his mouth shut. We're going to play his own card at him 
 till we know where we stand. He's making another mis- 
 take that he mustn't realize till the last minute. He 
 hasn't had the Street Railway Company build that short 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 297 
 
 Broad Street line yet. That's due to be done three days 
 after election. If it isn't done at that time the Council 
 can withdraw the franchise. Of course he thinks he's 
 going to own the new Council. Perhaps he will. And 
 of course we want him to think he will." 
 
 " But," interjected Mr. McNish doubtfully, " the Coun- 
 cil wouldn't take away the franchise without a good rea- 
 son, would it, even if the franchise was a little one-sided?" 
 
 Gilbert smoked rapidly for a few seconds as if he needed 
 time to arrange his words. He was talking more volubly 
 to-night than usual, and his tongue seemed to weary of the 
 unaccustomed exercise. 
 
 '^It wasn't straight," he said slowly, "the way they 
 passed it. It seemed strange at the time, but they have 
 a majority of one in the Council and we let it go as a 
 straight party vote. It wasn't. I put the thing up to 
 Butterson hard yesterday, and he told me that he and 
 somebody else on their side voted against it, but promised 
 them to vote for the secret ballot. Two of our men voted 
 for that bill, and I think I know who one of them was. 
 That's one of the things we've got to find out — who the 
 men were and how much they were paid for doing it." 
 
 "Paid?" cried Mr. McNish. "You don't believe that 
 Mr. Hubbard would bribe " 
 
 " Probably not directly. I don't know, but I'm pretty 
 sure it was done." 
 
 "I don't believe it," declared Mr. McNish. 
 
 The bell rang sharply and a moment later Mr. Peter 
 Lumpkin appeared, resplendent again with his bird's-egg 
 blue cravat, above which beamed his usual expansive 
 smile. Behind him came Joe Heffler, eyes downcast, as 
 
298 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 meek and timid as Mr. Lumpkin was proprietary and 
 hearty. 
 
 " Bless my soul," ejaculated Mr. Lumpkin, as he greeted 
 the group with vigorous hand-shaking, a proceeding that 
 was trying to Mr. McNish's aristocratic soul, '^but I am 
 glad to see you all. Mr. Gilbert here comes to me last 
 night and he was sorely troubled, or words to that effect, 
 and he asks me to come to-night. And I says to myself, 
 'Peter,' says I, ^he's a jolly good fellow, and what's more 
 he's in difficulties, and what's more he's bigger than you 
 are. You'd better go and see if you can't assist him in 
 your simple, modest and unvarnished way.' So I goes to 
 Mr. Tubb and I tells him that my only son was dying in 
 Tareville, — which was economizing the truth, gentlemen, 
 seeing that your humble servant has never been bound 
 by the holy ties of matrimony — and I asks, would he be 
 willing to oblige me in my affliction by dispensing hot 
 coffee and ham sandwiches to the hungry denizens of this 
 enlightened metropolis for one evening only, event not to 
 be repeated this season. And Mr. Tubb, who is a warm- 
 hearted man, gentlemen, is at present adorned with my 
 best white raiment, fresh from Raymond & Company's 
 steam laundry, occupying my humble station " 
 
 Gilbert had been talking in an undertone with Heffler, 
 and he now turned to the Colonel with so quick a move- 
 ment and with so much excitement that Mr. Lumpkin 
 stopped in the middle of his explanation. 
 
 "Of course," Gilbert was saying. "Don't you remem- 
 ber, Colonel, that night at the church?" He hesitated. 
 " No, you were too far away. But I've been a blockhead. 
 It's Neely, of course it's Neely." 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 299 
 
 "What^s Neely?" asked Billy. 
 
 "Mr. Junius Brutus Neely, a fine Christian gentleman/' 
 remarked Mr. Lumpkin. "A man with a vocabulary 
 second only to Webster himself. Particularly proficient, 
 I've noticed, in words beginning with d — destruction, 
 damnation, downward and so forth and so forth ad 
 libitum " 
 
 " And ad nauseam," suggested Billy. 
 
 Gilbert turned to Mr. Lumpkin. 
 
 "You know him?" he asked. 
 
 " Know him? " returned the night-lunch man. " Know 
 him? As I'd know my own brother, if the fates had not 
 destined me instead to the misfortune of sisters; as I'd 
 know my own deeply lamented father, if he had not been 
 consigned to the dust, a baker's dozen of years ago. Many 
 a time has he partaken of the justly renowned viands 
 cooked, dished and served under my own personal super- 
 vision. He has only one fault, gentlemen, and it is a 
 good fault in the world filled with a ' superfluity of naugh- 
 tiness,' or words to that effect. He always asks after my 
 immortal soul during his first sandwich. If he could only 
 wait till the second, gentlemen, it would be much easier, 
 much easier for me. But we all have our faults and " 
 
 "Lumpkin," Gilbert broke in, with a nod to Joe Heffler, 
 "Joe wants to talk to you privately. Can they use the 
 library, Mr. McNish?" 
 
 Mr. McNish assented and, with a courtesy that was 
 exaggerated because it was forced, he showed the two 
 visitors into the room across the broad hallway, and 
 returned, closing the door behind him, disgust evident 
 upon his face. 
 
300 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 "They're good fellows and good friends," Gilbert said, 
 meeting Mr. McNish's questioning glance frankly. " But 
 Peter talks too easily to hear all we have to say. He 
 wouldn't mean to repeat a word, but his tongue runs 
 away with him." 
 
 "Like most women," remarked the Colonel. "Ye kin 
 trust most every woman's heart but ye can't trust any 
 woman's tongue." 
 
 Gilbert took from his pocket the yellow sheet of paper 
 with its hieroglyphics. 
 
 "Colonel," he said, "I want you and Mr. McNish to 
 send a notice to all the Hardy stockholders, saying that 
 the strike will not affect the concern. Tell 'em that the 
 stock is worth par and more. Tell 'em you know a 
 ridiculously small price is being offered, and that you 
 want them to let you hear from them before they make 
 any such mistake as to sell out. Tell 'em anything to 
 make 'em hold their stock. Then I want you both to work 
 with Butterson and that man from Tareville — he'll prob- 
 ably be here to-morrow — to get their indirect if not their 
 open support. And, Colonel, I want you to put Mr. Tubb 
 on your conscience. He mustn't sell out to Hubbard." 
 
 The Colonel scowled at the grocer's name and opened 
 his mouth to reply. He evidently thought better of it, 
 however, for he merely nodded. Mr. McNish, following 
 the Colonel's lead, bowed a dignified assent. 
 
 "Billy," Gilbert went on, "look up the records of that 
 reservoir business. Get a fair valuation on the land they 
 bought. Go to the bottom of the thing." 
 
 "All right," Billy said genially. "Shan't I see Mori- 
 arty, too?" 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 301 
 
 "Yes," Jack replied. "I forgot about that. I'll look 
 after the rest, with Joe's help and Lumpkin's and 
 Jimmy's." 
 
 "Who's Jimmy?" asked Mr. McNish, in a tone which 
 suggested relief that there was at least one democratic 
 humiliation Gilbert had spared him. 
 
 "Jimmy? Why, Jimmy O'Rourke, one of my office 
 boys and a good one, too. I wonder where he is." 
 
 Gilbert strode across the hall and asked Mr. Lumpkin 
 and Heffler the question. They had not seen Jimmy, 
 but they returned, Mr. Lumpkin eagerly and Heffler with 
 evident hesitation, to join the group in the parlor. 
 
 "You'll do it, Lumpkin?" Gilbert asked, as they 
 crossed the hall. 
 
 "Do it?" repeated Mr. Lumpkin. ''Why, the minute 
 Joe mentions the matter I says to myself, ' Peter,' says I, 
 ' he wants it done, — meaning you, sir, of course, — and it '11 
 be a matter of pride ' " 
 
 "Good for you," said Jack, as they entered the parlor. 
 
 Billy McNish and his father were laughing at the 
 Colonel, who evidently had been talking and who was 
 watching them with an amusing mixture of anxiety and 
 good-humor on his grizzled face. 
 
 "Why don't you try something Western on him?" 
 Billy was saying. "Lasso him or hold him up." 
 
 The Colonel chuckled as he looked up at Mr. Lumpkin, 
 who stood in forensic attitude, one hand shoved between 
 the buttons of his tight coat, his mild little eyes shifting 
 about the room as if he were looking for an opportunity 
 to speak. 
 
 "Mister Lumpkin," remarked the Colonel, "I'm plumb 
 
302 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 interested in yer Mr. Tubb. Y'ought to know him like 
 you'd know'd George Washington if you'd a ben his 
 sister's husband's brother." 
 
 Everybody smiled except the night-lunch man. Mr. 
 Lumpkin noticed neither the allusion nor the smile. 
 There are men who coin phrases for their own use and 
 who wear them out with constant repetition. But Mr. 
 Lumpkin was more altruistic. He gave his phrases 
 freely and they seldom came back to him. 
 
 "Mr. Tubb, sir?" he said, clasping his hands com- 
 placently upon his waistcoat. "Certainly you must 
 know Mr. Tubb's reputation too well for me " 
 
 "Yes," broke in the Colonel. "Tubb's Uke a hull lot 
 o' men. Reckon I know his reputation like a brother, 
 but I ain't never shook hands with his character." 
 
 "Well, sir," Mr. Lumpkin went on, paying no heed 
 to the Colonel's interruption, "he's a man full of faith, 
 hope an' charity, — these three, or words to that effect, — 
 Mr. Tubb is. Of course, sir, a man of business must 
 consider the piles of shekels, how they growf or words to 
 that effect. He must watch, with clear and undiminished 
 vision, the machinations of his deadly rival in the grocery 
 trade. He is proud of his position, Mr. Tubb is, as be- 
 comes a man who furnishes food to a great community. 
 What would become of this thriving city, I ask you, 
 gentlemen, if, for one short week, its magnificent stores, 
 dedicated to the satisfaction of the inner man, should 
 close their doors? Mr. Tubb feels his power and yet he 
 is humble. He goes to church and mingles his voice with 
 
 the psalm of praise that rises to the skies and yet " 
 
 Mr. Lumpkin paused to glance about the room. Then 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 he added in a lower voice — ''He plays a good game of 
 poker, so good a game indeed that, if he was not my 
 employer and, of course, beyond reproach, I should be 
 tempted, sorely tempted, to ask him forcibly how he 
 arranges to hold four of a kind almost every time he 
 deals." Mr. Lumpkin was indulging in reminiscent cha- 
 grin, but now he caught himself. "Not meaning any- 
 thing against Mr. Tubb, gentlemen. Merely wishing to 
 show you that he is an all-round man, a man of power 
 and yet a man of the people, a man of " 
 
 "Thet's all right. Mister Lumpkin,'* said the Colonel, 
 pulling his gray mustaches. "Reckon I'd know Tubb's 
 character now, ef I met it loose in the street." 
 
 "I think we've had enough business for to-night," 
 Gilbert remarked. " I'm sick of it." 
 
 They all agreed with him. No one could have told 
 exactly how it started, but a few minutes later they were 
 gathered about Billy at the piano, while Mr. Lumpkin 
 repeated his first Hampstead success about the romantic 
 couple 
 
 " A euckin' cider throo a straw." 
 
 When, following that, Mr. Lumpkin, on a hint from 
 Jack, started to bellow "To drive dull care away," in his 
 megaphonic baritone, they all joined in, Mr. McNish en- 
 joying himself most of all, swaying shoulder to shoulder 
 with the night-lunch man, and grumbling away at an 
 improvised and not always harmonious bass. The Colonel, 
 droning along in monotone, stood arm in arm with Gil- 
 bert and Joe Heffler, who were trying to second the elder 
 McNish's efforts, while Billy pounded the piano to make 
 
304 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 it heard in the din, and added a shrill, jerky tenor during 
 his more leisure moments. 
 
 " To drive dull care away." 
 
 Jimmy O'Rourke lounged about the bar of the Hamp- 
 stead Hotel that night, commenting on the day's base- 
 ball scores with Mike the bartender, who whistled between 
 puffs from a long yellow cigar. He was there when Mr. 
 Conlin entered from a door at the back that led to the 
 servants' stairway. Mr. Conlin ordered a drink and 
 added a few personal anecdotes of ball players he had 
 met, while Mike, awed by such intimate knowledge of 
 great men, listened and asked questions very deferentially, 
 Jimmy tried to sell Mr. Conlin one of the papers he had 
 under his arm, and then drifted into an adjoining room. 
 The labor leader finished his drink and, remarking that 
 it was a fine night for a walk, he strutted to the side door 
 and out into a dark alley that led back to a neglected 
 street of workmen's houses. A few seconds later Jimmy 
 returned. 
 
 "Say, Mike," he said, excitedly, to the bartender, 
 "they's a guy in there that says Brennan, you know, av 
 de Chicago's, is a quitter. It ain't so. Brennan's all 
 right. Where's de stranger gone? He knows him." 
 
 The bartender looked up from his paper, eager for an 
 argument, and jerked his thumb toward the side door. 
 Jimmy crossed the room quickly. Once in the alley, 
 however, and the door closed softly behind him, he 
 stopped and listened. In the silence he could hear the 
 quick thud of Conlin's footsteps on the hard soil ahead. 
 He crept close to the brick wall and followed, scarcely 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 305 
 
 breathing. Out into the side street they went, Conlin 
 walking rapidly, the boy behind him stealing along in 
 the shadows, watching him. Twice Conlin turned sud- 
 denly but he saw nothing, for the boy stopped in his 
 tracks. Up West Hill they went. Once Conlin passed 
 under the glare of a lamp at a corner and paused in the 
 half darkness beyond for some minutes. Then he went 
 on, smiling complacently, and, turning to the left, he 
 made a wide detour before starting down toward the 
 south end of town. Once again he stopped, and this 
 time he sat down at the foot of a great elm tree by the 
 walk. The streets were quiet except for the beat of a 
 horse's hoofs at a .crossing below, and even that far-away 
 noise soon died away. For some minutes Conlin sat 
 quiet and listened. Then he struck a match, looked at 
 his watch and lit a cigar. He did not notice a form, 
 farther down on the opposite side of the street, obliterate 
 itself against the fence palings. 
 
 Conlin was enjoying the night, not because it suggested 
 peace but because it brought to him a sense of stealth 
 and, strange to say, of sentimentality. The two mem- 
 ories that came to him were of a night when a crowd of 
 strikers in New York state set fire to a factory, and the 
 night when he had first kissed Katy Doherty and had 
 immediately carried her off to become Mrs. Conlin. She 
 was dead now, Katy, rest her soul, and his little black 
 eyes grew suddenly moist. He puffed away rapidly on 
 his cigar and was very contented. 
 
 He lit another match and looked again at his watch. 
 Then he stumbled to his feet and marched down the hill. 
 A moment later the palings across the way grew ani- 
 
306 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 mated, and a figure slouched along silently on the turf 
 by the walk. The electric light at the corner above 
 sputtered and hissed and grew dim, and when it started 
 once more into its full brilliancy it shone only on dark 
 houses and a deserted street. 
 
 Conlin's short steps as he went down the hill were so 
 rapid that they approximated a run. He had delayed 
 under the tree on the hill longer than he had intended, 
 and he took a straight course now, never once turning 
 to look back at the street behind him. The arc light that 
 himg at the corner facing Alonzo Hubbard's simple and 
 dignified home was not burning that night, and Conlin 
 smiled as he thought how easily little things of that kind 
 were managed by those who had money and power. He 
 crossed the broad lawn, hid completely in the darkness, 
 and knocked at a side door which opened almost in- 
 stantly. He whispered his name, and, a second later, 
 the door closed behind him, almost in the face of the 
 boy who had arisen from the sod beside the entrance. 
 
 The only brilliantly lighted room evident from the out- 
 side was on the other side of the house, and thither Jimmy 
 crept. The shades were pulled down closely, but one 
 moved in the faint breeze, showing that the window was 
 raised. Beneath it in the shadows the boy knelt and 
 Hstened. At first he heard only the confused noise of 
 voices. For five — ten — fifteen minutes he waited, the 
 dull ache of his strained position adding to his impatience. 
 Then he suddenly grew tense. A voice was speaking 
 noisily just above him, Conlin's voice. 
 
 A few minutes later Jimmy O'Rourke slipped away 
 from under the window and almost ran across the dark 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 307 
 
 lawn to the street. Once upon the sidewalk he walked 
 briskly along and boarded a West Hill car. 
 
 The maid interrupted the swinging chorus to say that 
 there was a paper boy at the door who wanted to see Mr. 
 Gilbert. The song stopped suddenly and Jack went out 
 into the hallway. When he returned he had one arm 
 about the shoulders of a freckled-faced, undersized boy 
 whose mouth was twisted in a self-conscious grin. 
 
 "Jimmy O'Rourke, the boy detective," laughed Gil- 
 bert, by way of introduction. 
 
 And so they began the second verse. 
 
 " Too much care will turn a young man gray 
 And too much care will turn an old man to clay. 
 
 So we will dance and laugh and sing 
 And merrily pass the day, 
 
 For we count it one of the wisest things 
 To drive dull care away." 
 
 The sedate old house fairly shook with the noise of 
 it, and people passing in the street outside stopped and 
 listened and wondered. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 A DRIVE TO WESTBURY 
 
 HAMPSTEAD people watched the beginning of 
 the strike languidly. It would not last long, 
 everybody said. At first the general feeling, 
 even in the other shops, was rather against the strikers. 
 Hardy men were well paid, according to the Hampstead 
 standard of wages. 
 
 Down at the Center, outgoing trolley cars carried lei- 
 surely men and their families, all in their Sunday best, to 
 Clear Lake or to other nearby resorts. The fountain in 
 the little square was surrounded by benches, filled with 
 a pipe-smoking, spitting, noisy, profane, dirty, good- 
 natured crowd, content with temporary freedom. Along 
 the edge of Main Street, on the sidewalks in front of the 
 churches, there was strimg at any hour of the day a 
 wavering line of men, who listened to their haranguing 
 fellows and nodded apathetically and wiped tobacco juice 
 from their mouths and stared at the passers-by. 
 
 Down Railroad Street, near the long blocks which 
 Hardy & Son's shops occupied, men stood alone on cor- 
 ners and sat silently in open windows, watching sharply 
 every avenue which led toward the mills. Every hour 
 or two, night and day, new pickets took their places in 
 ceaseless vigil. 
 
 308 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 309 
 
 Slowly Hampstead became more interested and more 
 excited as the days went by with no settlement, and as 
 the noise of the political canvass began to be heard. 
 The News and the Register, both glad of something to 
 relieve the monotony of the daily "Miss Aniiie O'Flynn 
 is visiting relatives in Albany," and "Miss Mabelle Mc- 
 Cartee, daughter of Ex-Alderman McCartee, has returned 
 from Boston," gave large space to their views of the 
 political struggle, and reported verbatim the few speeches 
 that were made. Strangely enough, however, the edi- 
 torial pages of both papers published daily unusually 
 well-written articles condemning the attitude of Hardy 
 & Son toward its employees. "It is a pity," said the 
 News one night, "that Mr. Hardy is ill, for the young 
 man, who is in charge at this critical juncture, has been 
 too recently lifted from the ranks to be properly con- 
 siderate of the men. Moreover he seems to lack the 
 courage of any definite conviction, and the concern, which, 
 it is said, is not in too strong a condition financially, is 
 losing ground rapidly thereby. It would seem that the 
 directors or the stockholders of Hardy & Son would 
 object to such a fatal policy." 
 
 The influence of these editorials grew daily, and the 
 storekeepers, who, aside from Mr. Butterson, the cash 
 grocer, were farther each day from collecting the growing 
 bills of the men, began to center their blame upon John 
 Gilbert. People began asking why this young Gilbert 
 should be allowed to make so much trouble for every- 
 body, and stockholders in Hardy & Son grew more and 
 more worried over the outlook. The men themselves, 
 who had followed Conlin blindly into the strike, read the 
 
310 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 editorials and found constantly new grievances, not 
 against Hardy & Son, but against its manager. A num- 
 ber of business men, led by ex-Congressman Strutt, called 
 upon Gilbert one evening and emerged, shaking their 
 heads, some fifteen minutes later. The ex-Congressman 
 wrote a letter to the Register, which appeared on the fol- 
 lowing evening, scoring Gilbert directly and declaring: 
 "Not content with ruining the noted mills of which the 
 town is righteously proud, he is dealing a blow to Hamp- 
 stead progress that should arouse all citizens against 
 him." The citizens wondered at the Honorable Strutt 's 
 vehemence, but they re-read his words and believed them. 
 This letter of the Honorable Strutt seemed to give the 
 News, which could not afford to be left behind by the 
 Register, an inspiration for "interviews.'* The first one 
 was printed on the day following the issue of Mr. Strutt's 
 letter, and it completely convinced many of those who 
 still held wavering allegiance to Gilbert. The letter was 
 a dignified apology from Mayor Brett, formerly secretary 
 of Hardy & Son, for the conditions at the shops. Mr. 
 Brett expressed his sympathy for the workingmen who 
 had made, as it seemed to him, a perfectly reasonable 
 demand; for the other stockholders who, like himself, 
 were helpless, in the face of a majority on the board of 
 directors, to put an end to the ruinously bad manage- 
 ment of Mr. Gilbert; and for the town, which must tem- 
 porarily suffer the consequences of a strike. Elsewhere 
 in the same copy of the News, it was stated sorrowfully 
 in large type that Mr. Gilbert was active for the candidacy 
 of Alderman McNish, and the Register immediately took 
 this statement and Mr. Brett's manly attitude in the 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 311 
 
 interview as important reasons for urging the election of 
 Mr. Brett by a large majority. One week before the 
 election, therefore, Mr. Brett seemed certain of the sup- 
 port not only of the self-styled '^better people" of both 
 parties, but as well of a good proportion of the labor vote. 
 Meanwhile the group of men about Mr. Alonzo Hubbard 
 were offering Hardy stockholders a very moderate price 
 for their stock. 
 
 Only two achievements seemed to mark Gilbert's work 
 during the eight days that had passed. One of these 
 was that he had carted three new automatic machines 
 from the freight yards to the factories in broad daylight, 
 before the eyes of the Union pickets. The other event, 
 which aroused considerable indignation, was reported 
 fully in the papers. One morning, it seemed, he had 
 heard a noise as he sat in the factory office. He had 
 gone out into the mills and had discovered Councilman 
 Martin Jethro, a foreman, who declared afterwards that 
 he had come to get some tools, his own private property. 
 Gilbert had seized Jethro, without waiting for any expla- 
 nation, and had literally thrown him through the window. 
 Jethro had been cut severely by the glass and had been 
 bruised by the fall, the papers said, but he had refused 
 to make a complaint. 
 
 In spite of the increasing agitation of the Hampstead 
 male mind over the strike, the leading women in town 
 had contented themselves with mere personal comment 
 upon Gilbert and Mr. Brett and the others concerned, 
 and with expressions of disgust at the loafers that made 
 it unpleasant to go down-town. On the Tuesday after- 
 noon, however, exactly a week before election day, there 
 
312 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 occurred the monthly meeting of the Women's Club. The 
 regular program announced included a paper on "The 
 Philosophy of Robert Browning," presented by Mrs. 
 Bradley-Bassette. Mrs. Bassette's paper quoted thirty- 
 one passages from various authorities on the subject; 
 but — ^because she did not wish to interfere with the 
 symmetry of her essay by mentioning the quotation 
 marks; and because none of the other ladies had looked 
 up the statements of the authorities on this particular 
 subject; and, most of all, because Mrs. Bassette was a 
 very popular woman, who subscribed generously to the 
 lecture fund and who wore a gown that was worthy of 
 careful inspection — ^no one noticed how the authorities 
 had been honored. 
 
 The other paper was on the "Love Letters of the Brown- 
 ings" and was the product of Cordelia Snif kins' genius. 
 Cordelia Snifkins was a confessed authoress. She had 
 written literally hundreds of love stories, which, after 
 going the rounds of the few magazines in which Miss 
 Snifkins cared to have the creations of her pen appear, 
 had been tied up carefully in pink ribbon and put away. 
 " Just as Frank Stockton did," the lady herself remarked. 
 "You know, he wrote for years, too, before the editors 
 grew up to him, and afterwards he sold for large prices 
 all the lovely things that he had written and that they 
 had refused." Miss Snifkins was as tall as the proverbial 
 bean-pole and her dresses properly twined upon her. 
 She had a long nose and a sharp voice. She was forty- 
 five years of age and single, although it can be asserted 
 that she was blameless for either of these misfortunes. 
 Miss Snifkins, withal, was the essence of modesty. When 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 313 
 
 the only story of hers which any publisher had ever 
 accepted appeared in print, Miss Snifkins had done her 
 best to be perfectly natural and unaffected with her former 
 acquaintances. She admitted, however, to a friend, who 
 without a smile suggested to her that it must be a pleas- 
 ant sensation to be great, that *'it did rather uplift 
 one." 
 
 Miss Snifkins^ eloquent paper completed the prear- 
 ranged program, but the president had a surprise in store. 
 Remarking in a short speech, obviously unprepared, that 
 the labor question was "timely and opportune,'^ she 
 called for extemporaneous discussion. Mrs. Robert 
 Brett, a pale little woman who was the chairman of 
 the Hampstead Hospital committee, arose and read 
 a short argument on '^The Oppression of Honest 
 Labor." The paper was written with surprisingly mas- 
 culine vigor, and it used, by open suggestion, the Hardy 
 & Son strike as an example to prove its text. No extem- 
 poraneous discussion followed. Instead, the women 
 crowded around Mrs. Brett and congratulated her. Sud- 
 denly they had attained understanding and convictions 
 concerning labor troubles. Conditions must be reformed 
 and the working people must be helped. Some of the 
 members wished to do something immediately, but there 
 seemed to be nothing they could do at last except to go 
 home, and homeward they journeyed, talking as they 
 went. 
 
 The next day's issues of the News and the Register 
 reported fully Mrs. Brett's remarks, and printed edito- 
 rials commending them, although there had been no 
 reporters at the meeting. A few of the cynically incUned 
 
314 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 members admitted, when they read it, that Mrs. Brett 
 was a " clever advertiser,'* but nearly all of them quoted, 
 as their own, catch phrases from her paper. 
 
 There was everything, in the outward appearance of 
 the situation that Tuesday night, to make Mr. Hubbard 
 and his associates supremely contented. Even two of 
 the leading preachers had played into their hands in 
 their Sunday sermons. And most encouraging of all was 
 the way in which Mr. Conlin had risen to the situation. 
 Once over his initial fear of Gilbert, he played the part 
 of a slandered leader of a righteous cause so perfectly 
 that he had almost come to believe in himself, and strutted 
 about with increasing dignity. He had talked with good 
 effect to business men in Hampstead, some of whom were 
 stockholders in Hardy & Son. He had increased his hold 
 upon the men. Uneasy as certain groups of the strikers 
 had become, there had been no violence to alienate the 
 people's sympathy or to harm the shops. The only act 
 approaching hoodlumism had occurred one morning on 
 Railroad Street, when one of a group in a window sent a 
 stone singing past John Gilbert's head, as the tall man 
 strode by toward the silent mills. Gilbert, as the story 
 went, turned and, taking off his cap, stood looking smil- 
 ingly about him. Then, singling out the group at the 
 window, he called out good-naturedly something about 
 their marksmanship never winning any cigars, and went 
 on slowly down the street. And, strangely enough, 
 some of the men in the window cheered him and no more 
 stones were thrown. 
 
 Only two things worried Mr. Strutt or Mr. Brett: the 
 silence of John Gilbert and the suspicious lack of enthu- 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 315 
 
 siasm among the supporters of Alderman McNish. They 
 had made Gilbert, as Mr. Brett said, the most impopular 
 man Hampstead had ever known. But he paid no 
 attention. He had not even made a public statement 
 of his attitude toward the strike. The opposition politi- 
 cal campaign had been even less vigorous than usual. 
 The only evidence of activity was the work which Colonel 
 Mead and Mr. McNish were doing in retarding the sale 
 of Hardy stock. Mr. Strutt remarked that they had 
 underestimated their own skill and overestimated John 
 Gilbert's, a solution that was humanly satisfactory. 
 
 It was on Wednesday that Gilshannon of the News, 
 with an eye to the sensational possibilities for his paper, 
 suggested casually to Mr. Brett that Gilbert might be 
 induced to take part in a joint political debate to be held 
 on the night before election day. Gilshannon argued 
 that ex-Congressman Strutt could easily out-talk him, 
 and that Gilbert's refusal would hurt him more than his 
 acceptance. The challenge was promptly published, and 
 Gilshannon followed it on Thiirsday afternoon by a call 
 at the Gilbert house. 
 
 Thursday afternoon, however, found John Gilbert dri- 
 ving a pounding, slouch-eared livery horse toward West- 
 bury, and by his side, her face pale from confinement 
 indoors and clean cut as a cameo against her waving 
 black hair, sat Clare Hardy. Gilbert had not even seen 
 her in the week that had intervened. Mr. Hardy had 
 grown steadily worse, and the doctor, coming soberly 
 from the sick room on the morning after her last visit 
 to the shops, had permitted her to join the nurse at Mr. 
 Hardy's side. There she had remained almost constantly. 
 
316 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 except for a ride or two with Billy in the Hardy auto- 
 mobile. 
 
 To Gilbert her absence brought a sudden, blank depres- 
 sion that staggered him. But he worked on doggedly, 
 sending occasional messages to her by his mother. He 
 said to himself that he must put her out of his mind, 
 knowing as he said it that he could not do anything of 
 the kind. He said to himself that Billy was his friend, 
 and then almost hated Billy for his own sacrifice. He 
 told himself that it was all for the best. And yet he 
 realized that, try as he would, he had lost much of his 
 interest in the struggle before him. The double task 
 seemed suddenly hopeless. The taste of the fight had 
 lost its tang, and the blows that were being struck at him 
 daily from behind his back did not stir him. He plodded 
 along without that fire of enthusiasm which, from weaker 
 material, often molds many a mighty power. There 
 were times, however, when a force stronger than his will 
 seemed to draw him toward the Hardy house, and to-day, 
 with a drive to Westbury before him, he had yielded to 
 it. When she joined him he started to take a circuitous 
 course through many side streets to the Westbury 
 road. 
 
 "Why are we going this way?" she asked. 
 
 "People are known by the company they keep," he 
 said with a smile. "IVe a reputation now. The News 
 says I'm the most unpopular man in Hampstead. I can't 
 afford to appear in public, driving with an ordinary popu- 
 lar person like you." 
 
 For answer she resolutely took the reins from his 
 hands and turned the horse toward the Center. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 317 
 
 "You're morbid," was all she said, while he looked on 
 contentedly. 
 
 It was strange how different the world looked to Gil- 
 bert from that hired buggy with Clare Hardy beside 
 him. The trees at the roadside had put on their autumn 
 colors of dark red and yellow, and rolling fields, their 
 crops already harvested, stretched away green and brown 
 on either side. Occasionally the road led them past 
 straggling frame houses, weary with age, and now and 
 then they caught sight of men like moving dots on the 
 far-away hillsides. The people whom they met, red- 
 cheeked girls and tanned, brawny men, called "good- 
 day" to them, and one tall, gawky fellow, mowing before 
 a dignified old colonial house with broad white pillars, 
 waved a broad-brimmed straw hat as they drove by. 
 Everywhere were simple, sociable people working under 
 a kindly sun on a peaceful land. 
 
 "God's country," said Gilbert quietly, scarcely con- 
 scious that he was speaking. "This makes you under- 
 stand why people like to get back to Connecticut. There's 
 a home feeling about it. I have a notion right now that 
 it all belongs to me and I to it. Do you feel that way?" 
 
 "I don't believe I ever did until to-day. I'm afraid 
 I never thought much about it. I only began to grow 
 up a month or two ago, you know." 
 
 The girl looked dreamily away from him toward the 
 open fields. 
 
 "You haven't told me yet why you haven't been to 
 see me," she remarked a little later. 
 
 "No," he said gravely, "and I'm not going to," 
 
 "You thought I didn't care." 
 
318 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 "No." 
 
 "You were so busy you forgot all about me." 
 
 "ATo/" 
 
 "I wasn't of any use, so you went to see those who 
 were." 
 
 "iNTo//" 
 
 "Then why?" 
 
 "Did you notice that bird? What was it?" 
 
 Miss Hardy hesitated at this rebuff. 
 
 "Do you think it was fair," she asked at last, "you in 
 the midst of things and I shut indoors, reading those Ues 
 in the papers and listening now and then to Billy's in- 
 coherencies?" 
 
 At her last words Gilbert glanced at her questioningly 
 and then looked away from her upturned eyes, his pulse 
 beating rapidly. 
 
 "There wasn't much to tell," he said lamely. 
 
 "Does that excuse you?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "I was hurt. I nearly didn't come this afternoon." 
 Clare Hardy had clearly forgotten her minute and hasty 
 preparations for the drive. 
 
 "I'm sorry." 
 
 "I don't believe it." 
 
 "Yes, you do." 
 
 It was her turn to look away suddenly at the fields 
 that seemed to move slowly past them. 
 
 "What have you done," she asked more quietly, "and 
 what will you do?" 
 
 "Everything you've suggested and will suggest," he 
 said, smiling. 
 
W'-'- 
 
 "V><5 
 
 ■Mm 
 
 ' You're morbid,' wa.s all she said.'' 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 319 
 
 Miss Hardy wrinkled her forehead into a puzzled little 
 frown. 
 
 "Are you making fun of me or don't you want to tell 
 me?" she asked. 
 
 "It's true. You've suggested everything to me that 
 we've done. You suggested that Mr. Hubbard was back 
 of the strike." 
 
 Miss Hardy started. 
 
 "Why, I never even heard of it," she said. "Is he? 
 Oh, no, it's impossible." 
 
 "You suggested to me that the biggest reason he wants 
 the shop is that he owns the West bury mills," Gilbert 
 went on relentlessly. 
 
 "But I shouldn't have dreamt what it meant if I had 
 known about it, and I didn't know," gasped the girl. 
 
 " Neither did anyone else. I don't know it yet. That's 
 why we're driving to Westbury." 
 
 Clare Hardy gave a low cry of pleasure. Then her 
 brows knit suddenly. 
 
 "But," she said, "what do you mean by saying that 
 I had anything to do with it?" 
 
 "I'll show you. I've a notion that there was dis- 
 honesty connected with a grant to the Street Railway 
 Company last spring. I've been trying for a week to 
 find out how to prove it. You suggested a way to me 
 about four miles back, when we weren't talking because 
 the coimtry was so beautiful." 
 
 "But — how can you say " 
 
 "Perhaps one reason why I didn't come to see you," 
 Gilbert interrupted, "was that it was hard for me to 
 admit that it was only when you were with me to sug- 
 
320 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 gest things that I had any ideas, that I was useless when 
 I was alone." 
 
 Miss Hardy stared at the road ahead where, through 
 the trees, the outlying houses of Westbury town could 
 be seen. Gilbert's eyes were fixed on her hand that lay 
 curved with unconscious grace upon her lap. He had 
 never realized before that driving gloves were really 
 beautiful. 
 
 "You're trying to make me very proud, Mr. Gilbert." 
 
 "My name used to be Jack." 
 
 "Mine was Clare then," the girl retorted. Then she 
 laughed gayly. " It always seems funny to hear you say 
 'Miss Hardy' in that grave voice of yours." 
 
 "I'll say Clare Uke a boy." 
 
 "Do you remember, Jack Gilbert," she cried, ignoring 
 his glance, "how you and Billy used to take turns rescu- 
 ing me from the Indians, and how hurt I was because you 
 both wanted to be the Indian every time? I was actually 
 afraid that sometime both of you would creep upon me 
 at once, and I'd never be rescued." 
 
 Gilbert nodded, and they drove on silently. 
 
 "It's taken us all a long time to remember it, Clare." 
 
 "We've never really forgotten. Jack." 
 
 They were in Westbury by this time, bowling along 
 under giant old maples and elms that stretched out, with 
 bowed heads, a trembling benediction over the quiet 
 street. Gilbert pulled in the horse to ask their way of 
 a man passing on a crosswalk. 
 
 "Westbury mills? Oh, yes," he said with an English' 
 accent. "Ye take the first left— hit's there in the trees 
 yonder— an' then ye keep h'agoin' huntil ye come to a 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 321 
 
 street to the left. Now ye don't take that street 'cause 
 hit leads hup the 'ill. Ye keep h'agoin' an' ye come to a 
 crossin'. That's where the church is. Then ye keep 
 h'agoin' an' ye take the second right an' keep h'agoin' till 
 ye turn to the left — not the first one 'cause that only goes 
 a little way, but the second one. Then ye keep h'agoin' 
 huntil ye come to the one — two — three," counting on his 
 fingers, ''third right, an' then ye'd better hinquire. I've 
 forgotten whether hit's the third or the fourth. There's 
 a shorter way " 
 
 But Gilbert had already thanked him and had spoken 
 to the horse. As soon as they were hidden from the man. 
 Miss Hardy burst into little convulsions of laughter that 
 she punctuated every now and then with: 
 
 "Ye keep h'agoin'. Jack, ye keep h'agoin'." 
 
 Strangely enough, they found the way easily, and 
 Gilbert soon drew rein and sprang from the carriage in 
 front of the newly built office-building of the Westbury 
 mills. 
 
 ''Shall I come, too?" she asked. 
 
 " No. They may not take kindly to me inside, and 
 I'm proud." 
 
 For a second he stood smiling at her. He was won- 
 dering whimsically whether she would really be there 
 waiting for him when he came out. Then he turned 
 and went slowly up the steps. It was not until he had 
 opened the door and stood in the room, walled in by high 
 counters and wire partitions, that the vision of her in 
 black and white faded from before his mind's eye. And 
 when it disappeared it left him imusually alert and clear- 
 headed. 
 
322 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 " Good-afternoon," he said pleasantly, to a boy behind 
 a desk. "Is Mr. Hubbard here?'' 
 
 "Mr. Hubbard?'' asked the boy wonderingly. 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Hubbard of Hampstead. I had a notion 
 that he would be here to-day." 
 
 "I— I'll ask Mr. Hooker." 
 
 The boy vanished behind a door beyond, marked 
 " President," from which he quickly reappeared, followed 
 by a dapper, officious little man with a gray beard, who 
 took short nervous steps and seemed constantly irritated. 
 
 "Well, sir?" he asked, frowning up at the big man. 
 
 "I wanted to see Mr. Hubbard, Mr. Alonzo Hubbard 
 of Hampstead," drawled Gilbert affably. Mr. Hooker 
 looked him over quizzically. 
 
 "Mr. Alonzo Hubbard," he said musingly, never once 
 taking his eyes from his visitor's face. " Yes, I've heard 
 of him. But he isn't here; hasn't been here. Is he — 
 did you mean that you thought he was coming here 
 to-day?" 
 
 "I may be mistaken," said Gilbert. "May I use your 
 'phone?" he asked suddenly "Perhaps I can get him 
 on the wire." 
 
 "Why — certainly." Mr. Hooker stared at him doubt- 
 fully. Then he opened a little gateway and added, 
 "Come into my office, sir." 
 
 While Gilbert was instructing the local central, Mr. 
 Hooker, although ostentatiously busy with papers on 
 his desk, shifted his eyes often to the open-faced, smiling 
 man opposite him. 
 
 "I brought you in here because I thought it might be 
 private business," he remarked, when Gilbert hung up 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 323 
 
 the receiver and sat waiting for ''long distance '' to get 
 Hampstead for him. 
 
 "I^m obUged to you. It is." Gilbert's eyes looked 
 at him understandingly and continued to smile. 
 
 Mr. Hooker seemed relieved. 
 
 " My being here " he started to suggest. 
 
 "Oh, not at all." 
 
 Mr. Hooker nodded complacently. The bell rang. 
 Gilbert leaned over the 'phone, his eyes upon Mr. Hooker, 
 who had turned and was watching him. 
 
 "Hello — no, I want Mr. Alonzo Hubbard. No, no- 
 body else will do." 
 
 There was a moment's tense silence, in which a paper 
 on a table by the window fluttered noisily imder a paper 
 weight. Gilbert spent the time hoping that the distance 
 would make the answers inaudible except to him. 
 
 "Hello, Mr. Hubbard." 
 
 "Yes," came a voice so dully that even Gilbert, the 
 receiver close to his ear, could scarcely hear it. 
 
 "This is Westbury." 
 
 "Yes; who's talking?" 
 
 "Mr. Hooker's private office. Doors closed." Gilbert 
 winked deliberately at Mr. Hooker before he went on. 
 "Thought you'd like to know I've one hundred H. and 
 S. Understand?" 
 
 "Good. Talk carefully. Whose was it?" 
 
 Gilbert pressed the receiver more closely to his ear as 
 if to shut out the sound. 
 
 "How many do you lack now?" he asked. 
 
 ' ' About fourteen hundred. Whose was it , did you say ? ' ' 
 
 Gilbert hesitated. 
 
324 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 "Is the election all right?" he asked desperately. 
 
 "Oh, certain. But, Hooker, whose was it?" 
 
 "Better not say. I'll wTite. There was something 
 else, but I can find that out here. Good-by." 
 
 Gilbert hung up the receiver quickly and looked at Mr. 
 Hooker. Mr. Hooker smiled jovially at him. 
 
 "Everything going well?" he asked. 
 
 "Like a summer breeze," drawled his visitor. "It '11 
 be all over in a week." 
 
 "What was it you wanted to find out here?" 
 
 "I want to glance at the stock book." 
 
 Mr. Hooker rang a bell and sent a tall, thin man to 
 the safe. 
 
 "Business improving during the righteous Hardy 
 strike?" asked Gilbert with a grin. 
 
 Mr. Hooker, now entirely at his ease, said that it was 
 too soon to see any great change. But he chatted proudly 
 of a few large orders that had come in, and, incidentally, 
 of the shrewdness he himself had displayed in obtaining 
 them. Gilbert took the stock book from the hands of 
 the clerk and thumbed it over hurriedly, making mem- 
 oranda as he went along. Mr. Hooker sat watching him 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 "I suppose this is Mr. Merrivale," he said at last. 
 
 " No," said Gilbert slowly, making a few last entries in 
 his note book. "YouVe got me wrong." 
 
 He arose and towered over the little president as they 
 shook hands. 
 
 "Not Mr. Merrivale!" said Mr. Hooker anxiously. 
 "Why, I thought I knew the others: Mr. Brett and ex- 
 Congressman Strutt, and—who are you, sir?" 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 325 
 
 Gilbert smiled down at him pleasantly. 
 
 "My name is Gilbert, Mr. Hooker/' he said. "John 
 Gilbert. I'm manager of Hardy & Son. You may 
 report to Mr. Hubbard that I have one hundred shares 
 of that stock if you think it is wise for you to do so. I 
 think he knows it already. I'm greatly obliged to you 
 for your courtesy, and I'm really sorry I had to take 
 advantage of it. Good-day, sir." 
 
 Mr. Hooker, white with anger and fear, stood staring 
 after the big man. He turned then and rang a bell, but 
 the boy who answered it found the president pacing up 
 and down the floor irresolutely. Meanwhile Gilbert had 
 taken his place silently in the carriage outside. 
 
 "What happened?" asked Miss Hardy as they drove 
 down the street. 
 
 "Oh, I've been telephoning." 
 
 "But you're shaking like an ague patient." 
 
 "Very likely." 
 
 As he told her slowly what he had done, urged on by 
 her persistent questions, a glowing exhilaration swept 
 over him until it reached her also, and they were both 
 laughing and talking excitedly. In their absorption they 
 lost their way in the winding Westbury streets, and a 
 kindly faced notary, at whose house they made inquiries, 
 very naturally insisted on misunderstanding their errand, 
 to her amusement and his embarrassment. 
 
 The ride home that afternoon, while the shadows 
 lengthened across the road and the twilight sounds broke 
 the twilight silence, was far too short for them both. 
 Men in heavy wagons, free after the day's toil, greeted 
 them jovially, for their faces were too happy to be passed 
 
326 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 in silence. Small boys, driven in rope harness by other 
 small boys, raced with the horse and beat him easily amid 
 loud shouts of triumph from mimic horse and driver. The 
 broad fields smiled at them and the jovial old sun winked 
 from the crest of the western hills. 
 
 When they came to where the outlying south end of 
 Hampstead squatted, dull and silent in the growing dusk, 
 he pulled back the horse, eager for home, into a walk. 
 It seemed to him that there could never be an afternoon 
 like this one again. Too rapidly they passed through 
 the Center and too rapidly they toiled up West Hill. The 
 realities of the silent Hardy house, with its curtain-drawn 
 windows, sobered them. 
 
 "A wonderful afternoon, Jack." He was helping her 
 from the carriage. 
 
 "The most wonderful," he said with conviction. 
 
 "It's been like old times." 
 
 "We'll have them again, perhaps, the three of us," he 
 said, suddenly remembering Billy. 
 
 "Yes," she nodded, "the three of us." 
 
 A smile, a firm clasp of the hand, and she was gone. 
 
 Gilbert found Gilshannon awaiting him on the steps 
 outside the little house. It was the reporter's third visit 
 during the afternoon. 
 
 "Hello, Gil." Gilbert's greeting was hearty. "The 
 News found some new reason why I'm the boy curse of 
 this be-u-tiful town, as the ex-Congressman says." 
 
 "That new Register man's inside waiting for you," 
 Gilshannon said with a wink. "Went right by me in 
 the dark. He's with the Colonel and Billy. You know 
 that Mr. Strutt has challenged you to a wordy duel. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 327 
 
 What do you say to it? That's what I'm here to find 
 out/' 
 
 Gilbert stretched and clasped his big hands behind his 
 neck thoughtfully. 
 
 "I'll say this and not a word more, Gil," he said slowly 
 after a moment. "Mr. Strutt is a lawyer and an orator; 
 I'm not. He could convince an audience of what is 
 wrong more easily than I could convince them of what is 
 right. Besides that, Mr. Strutt — and Mr. Brett, too, as 
 far as that goes — are merely the cat's-paws of a much 
 more dangerous power. Concerning that power some- 
 thing may be said later. I shan't answer what you call 
 his challenge. What's the use of talking about such a 
 fool idea as that?" 
 
 "Can I say all that?" asked Gilshannon excitedly. 
 
 Gilbert hesitated. He stood thinking for so long a 
 time that the reporter turned to look apprehensively at 
 the house. 
 
 "Let me see. To-day is Thursday. You'll print it 
 to-morrow," Gilbert said at last. "Yes, you can say 
 that, Gil, and you can say, too, that there'll be a big 
 mass meeting for men at the Opera House Saturday 
 night. We'll send down an ad. to-morrow." 
 
 "And the Register?" insisted the reporter. 
 
 "I'll give you first chance, Gil." Gilbert took two 
 cigars from his pocket and handed one to the reporter. 
 "Now, Gil," he added, "what are you going to do for 
 me?" 
 
 Gilshannon took Jack's arm and led him half way 
 down the front walk. 
 
 " I've been going to tell you," he whispered, " only you 
 
328 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 mustn't tell where you got it. , Merrivale bought off the 
 
 " Of course. How much? " 
 
 "Three hundred." 
 
 "Sure?'' 
 
 "Well, I ought to know. I did the business." 
 
 Gilbert laughed and held out his hand. 
 
 "Still playing both sides, Gil?" 
 
 "Yes," the reporter grinned, "but I bet ten dollars 
 on Billy to-day at one to ten. Can't afford to lose it. 
 'Night, Jack." 
 
 There was a friendly slap on the back, subdued laugh- 
 ter, and Gilshannon disappeared in the darkness. 
 
 When Gilbert and his mother were left alone an hour 
 later, they sat silent for some minutes in the little sitting- 
 room. He was suddenly aware that he had been neg- 
 lecting her throughout the past week. As he looked at 
 her, rocking gently opposite him, staring thoughtfully 
 at her toil-hardened hands, she seemed to him to have 
 grown old, and he realized that she had been suffering 
 for him. 
 
 "What are you thinking, mither?" he asked. 
 
 "I'm wondering if it's right, laddie, what you're do- 
 ing, what you did to-day; — if it's Christian to " 
 
 "They're a pack of scoundrels," said Jack with sudden 
 heat. 
 
 Mrs. Gilbert moved uneasily in her chair. When she 
 looked up she had ceased to rock. 
 
 "Can you whip them, Jack?" she asked anxiously. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THE BRICK BLOCK LOSES A TENANT 
 
 THAT evening, as the slouching livery horse came 
 leisurely homeward from Westbury , a man and a 
 woman sat on a broad couch in a room of the 
 Broad Street brick block. It was a front room, one 
 flight up, a room of dull colors and shadows in the chang- 
 ing light of the sunset and the afterglow. Even in the 
 dusk, however, it was a room of contrasts. Three cane- 
 seated chairs that suggested a bargain sale were grouped 
 about a green-topped card table. Two large paintings 
 in heavy oak frames were surrounded, on a red burlaped 
 wall, by cheap photogravures and colored pictures cut 
 from magazines. A small, delicately carved table, which 
 indicated both wealth and taste, was surmounted by a 
 few torn paper-covered novels and two photographs in 
 cheap gilt frames. Grotesque weavings of cigarette 
 smoke hung in mid air and curled about the white plaster 
 figure of a saint upon the mantel. It was a room of 
 contrasts. And perhaps the pair on the couch furnished 
 the greatest contrast of all: the short, slender, young- 
 faced man with his ruffled gray hair, and the blonde girl 
 with her full figure, her full, parted lips and her blue 
 eyes, heavy-lidded as they stared dreamily at the curling, 
 shadowy smoke. 
 
330 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 "You said that just as if you meant it, Joe," she 
 whispered, moving uneasily in the tight clasp of his 
 arms. 
 
 Joe Heffler's left hand caught a stray wisp of yellow 
 hair from her forehead and smoothed it back tenderly. 
 
 "Course I meant it," he said. 
 
 The woman quivered at the caress. Then she laughed. 
 
 "It's a cinch not to have to work," she remarked. 
 
 Heffler was silent for a moment. Then he nodded. 
 
 "As long as the cash holds out," he said. 
 
 "Oh, I guess that ^1 be all right." Gerty Smith 
 laughed again until she saw the double shadow upon his 
 face. Then she caught his arm, and, almost before he 
 knew it, she had kissed him and had buried her head 
 against his shoulder. 
 
 "I love you, Joe. I love you, do you hear? I love 
 you; I love you; I love you." 
 
 Suddenly she slipped from him and threw herself upon 
 one of the small chairs, one arm curled along its curved 
 back. 
 
 "It's a dream, you know," she said pitifully, half to 
 herself. "But don't wake me up yet. It's the first 
 time I ever really cared." 
 
 Heffler straightened up and ran his fingers nervously 
 through his gray hair. 
 
 "Same here," he said. 
 
 "It's funny, Joe," she went on dully after a pause. 
 "I've had a bunch of men talk to me about love and all 
 that, but none of 'em talked it the way you do. They 
 said it better, but— well — there's a big difference. Say, 
 you make me feel I've been a downright bad lot." 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 331 
 
 "Forget it/' Heffler returned, with that masculine 
 dominance which some men show only when they are 
 with women. "I'd been in hell or worse if it hadn't 
 been for John Gilbert." 
 
 The woman nodded reflectively. 
 
 "He did the square thing by you all right," she said. 
 
 Heffler's mild face lit up with a strange smile of con- 
 tentment. But he hesitated. He had come to a crisis, 
 and Heffler shrank from crises. They reminded him of 
 handcuffs and the court. Joe Heffler had felt only two 
 strong passions in his life. One was that mysterious, 
 unreasoning affection for the woman in the chair yon- 
 der, and the other was a loyalty to the man who had 
 befriended him, which amounted almost to worship. He 
 knew that the man did not ask any such service of him 
 as he had planned, but he felt that John Gilbert needed 
 it. There was no question in his simple heart of what 
 he himself might lose. 
 
 "He's in trouble." Heffler leaned forward earnestly. 
 "Your man Brett and the others are at the bottom of it." 
 
 At the name of Brett, Gerty Smith started and rose 
 to her feet. 
 
 "Brett?" she said complainingly. "Say, Joe, you've 
 woke me up. He's coming here to-night." 
 
 Heffler was beside her in an instant and, catching her 
 arms, he turned her about until her face was toward the 
 failing light. 
 
 "I knew it," he said. "I'd 've had the whole town 
 told about it long ago, if it hadn't been for you. What 're 
 you going to do about him?" 
 
 The woman seemed to be frightened by the question. 
 
332 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 " I don't know," she said. '' I hate him now. Honest, 
 I do, Joe." 
 
 "All right." Heffler fumbled in his pocket and brought 
 forth a wrinkled piece of paper. ''I want you to prove 
 it," he went on bluntly. "There are some questions on 
 this. I want the answers." 
 
 She looked at him wonderingly, but she took the paper 
 and went to the window, holding the paper to the light. 
 Then she shook her head. 
 
 "I don't know any of 'em," she said. 
 
 "You don't?" he asked quietly. "Then I want you 
 to find out — to-night." 
 
 The last word seemed to flash the reality of it all across 
 the woman's mind. 
 
 "I can't do that, Joe," she said slowly. 
 
 "Look here." Heffler's voice showed his irritation. 
 "You've been tattling to them about us. All I want you 
 to do is to square the thing with us, and quit even with 
 the game." 
 
 "I dasent," she answered. "Haven't got the nerve, 
 Joe." 
 
 Heffler waited until the silence became more cruel to 
 her than anything he might have said. 
 
 "What 'd he do to me if he caught me?" she asked 
 appealingly. "And, besides, he's paying me for the 
 things I've told him. I've got to live, Joe." 
 
 "It's living or loving then," said Heffler laconically. 
 "You can choose between." 
 
 Her hands clasped and unclasped nervously over the 
 paper. 
 
 "I can't do it, Joe," she said. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 333 
 
 "All right. Good-by." 
 
 The door closed behind him before she realized that 
 he was going. She did not cry out. She merely sank 
 back miserably upon the couch and buried her head upon 
 her arms. Her whole life ranged itself before her and 
 she cringed away from the vision of it. A sense of her 
 complete degradation came to her. Love taught it with 
 stinging strokes. Gerty Smith had never thought long 
 about anything. She had known only what she saw 
 and what she heard and what she felt. To be admired, 
 to be cared for, to have the things which she saw other 
 women have, these had formed her only goal. Love 
 had been merely a word, — a rather silly word, she had 
 been led to believe. Even now she could not under- 
 stand it, and she tried to tell herself that she was many 
 kinds of a fool. After a time she lit the light, and went 
 across to look at herself in the glass. She began to 
 rearrange her hair, tossing her head with attempted 
 bravado. But after a moment she turned away. 
 
 "Living or loving,'* she repeated aloud. "Living or 
 loving." 
 
 The lights in the Broad Street brick block were extin- 
 guished one after another, \mtil only one window, one 
 flight up, in the entire front was marked by a dull glare 
 from behind its heavy curtain. Above, Hampstead was 
 stretching out lazily upon its two hills and going to 
 sleep. A few blocks away Mrs. Brett, letting herself into 
 her empty house after a prolonged hospital committee 
 meeting, was saying to herself that she would be glad 
 when her husband's busy campaign was finished. Broad 
 
334 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 Street grew more and more deserted, until the heavy step 
 of the policeman on that beat alone echoed up and down 
 the short thoroughfare. 
 
 At the first stroke of midnight from the nearby bell of 
 the old First Church, Mayor Robert Brett started. He 
 was sitting, leaning forward, his elbows on the card table. 
 His cheeks were flushed and he was smoothing his closely 
 cropped mustache nervously. Opposite him was Gerty 
 Smith, one arm leaning languidly across the green cover 
 of the table; the other caught, with seeming carelessness, 
 at one of the pockets beneath. The whiteness of her 
 face seemed almost to spiritualize her large, coarsely 
 pretty features. She, too, heard the bell and she saw 
 dimly the sudden alertness of the man across the table. 
 
 *'Yes," she cried almost boisterously, ^' money '11 buy 
 almost anything — almost any " 
 
 The man looked up suddenly. Then he raised himself 
 to his feet and called to her. She did not answer. She 
 hung, a dead weight, on the edge of her chair. He fol- 
 lowed the edge of the table to her and shook her shoulders 
 convulsively. Then he stood straight and tried to think. 
 Perhaps she was dead. He had heard of things like that 
 happening. The outwardly impassive Mr. Brett was 
 anything but a brave man at heart. In his uncertainty 
 he wandered toward the door at the back, thinking only 
 of finding help. His eye caught the glint of a polished 
 push button on the wall near the door, and he hurried to 
 it. A push button meant her sister or somebody else, 
 and a general shifting of responsibility from his caving 
 shoulders. With an effort he drove it deep with his 
 thumb. Then he tried to cry out, and he could not in 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 335 
 
 his terror, for the room was suddenly in total darkness, 
 except for a weird, glimmering reflection from a street 
 lamp below. Frantically he groped for the other button 
 which he knew must be near by, but his trembling hands 
 could not find it. 
 
 He stopped at last and tried to remember where the 
 hall door had been before he turned off the lights, but 
 he could not. He could think of only one thing. Some- 
 where off in the darkness she lay, all in white. The 
 thought terrified him. He called to her again, but no 
 answer came. The window rattled a ghostly tattoo in 
 the night wind. Sweat broke out upon him, and, whim- 
 pering with maudlin fear, he instinctively made his way 
 along the wall. The small table fell before him with a 
 resounding crash, and a moment later he stumbled upon 
 the couch. Standing straight once more, he swayed along 
 past the window where the light gave him more courage. 
 He went on, feeling his way before him with one hand, 
 while the other reached its slow path on the burlaped 
 wall. He tried to think where she was, and the uncer- 
 tainty and the silence frightened him again. He hurried 
 faster now. His right hand shoved a picture from its 
 support, and it came down beside him with a dull thud, 
 the broken glass jingling about his feet. Then he uttered 
 a low, inarticulate cry of joy. The burlap ended and 
 wood took its place, wood that shook under his touch. 
 He groped for the knob, found it, and, throwing the door 
 open, he stumbled across the threshold, slamming the 
 door shut behind him. He stopped short and listened 
 with sudden cunning. Then he found the stairway in the 
 silent darkness, and began the slow and labored descent. 
 
336 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 Not fifteen minutes afterwards, Joe Heffler appeared 
 under the dingy street lamp, and crept cautiously up 
 the stairs. He had seen from below that her window was 
 dark. In his own little hall room he lit his light and, 
 with the same match, his pipe. He was in no mood for 
 sleep. Throughout the evening he had been mingling 
 with the strikers in saloons and on the streets. He had 
 come home at last when there was none left to listen to. 
 Now he was putting together, piece by piece, the things 
 he had heard. Suddenly he stopped and listened breath- 
 lessly. The faint knock at his door was repeated with 
 nervous insistence. 
 
 "Joe," came a weak voice. 
 
 He opened the door cautiously, and she, leaning against 
 it, came with it and into his arms. Without a word he 
 supported her, clinging to him, back across the hall and 
 into the still dark room. Steering his way carefully to 
 the couch by the window, he unfastened her arms, which 
 seemed unwilling to let him go. Then he found the 
 button and turned on the lights. He looked about him 
 at the debris of the table and picture, and then at her 
 chalky-white face. 
 
 "Rough-house," he remarked good-humoredly. 
 
 "I — I fainted, I guess — I fainted," she said with a 
 pitiful smile. 
 
 "What was the row?" asked Heffler, still peering about 
 the room with a puzzled grin. 
 ■ The woman bolstered' herself up by her arm and stared 
 at the disorder. 
 
 " I dunno, Joe," she said. " He had a good deal to drink. 
 Perhaps he got mad. I dunno," she repeated wearily. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 337 
 
 Heffler glanced at the door leading into the next room. 
 
 ''Where's your sister?" he asked suspiciously. "She 
 must 've heard the noise." 
 
 " She ain't there. She's out of town looking for a job. 
 That's what I'll have to do now, I guess." 
 
 She raised herself with a sudden jerky movement. 
 
 ''Oh, Joe!" she cried. "The table. It's there. I did 
 it. The table. Open it up." 
 
 Heffler sprang forward and seized the table top. 
 
 " This side," she called. " There! In the pocket." 
 
 With an exclamation of triumph Heffler held up the 
 wrinkled piece of paper, and studied the notes that were 
 scratched unevenly opposite his questions. He passed 
 two entries with nods as if he had expected the answers. 
 At the third he turned excitedly. 
 
 "Our crowd stock. Jethro and Neely two hundred 
 and fifty — four hundred. What's the four himdred?" 
 Heffler's voice was eager. 
 
 "Mr. Hubbard was ready to pay that, but they got 
 'em for two-fifty." 
 
 "Mean little shrimps! What does this 'close half 
 mean at the bottom?" 
 
 "He said they'd close half the shops when they got 
 'em," she answered. "Then he said something or other 
 about Westbury." 
 
 "Can't you remember what he said?" he asked roughly. 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "No," she said weakly. "I can't." 
 
 Heffler sat down with his back to her. He began to 
 write carefully upon the back of an envelope, with a 
 pencil he had found on the floor by the chair. The 
 
338 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 woman stared at the outline of him. He had not spoken 
 a tender word to her. He seemed to care nothing for 
 her sacrifice. He had merely used her to get the facts 
 from Mr. Brett. She weakened quickly and, sinking 
 back on the couch, she hid her face from him. 
 
 "You're sure that's all?" he asked, as he came to the 
 end. 
 
 "Yes," came the low, stifled answer. 
 
 He folded up the paper and put it carefully in an inside 
 pocket, as he arose and turned toward her. 
 
 "That was a good job," he remarked more to himself 
 than to her. " How d'ye feel?" he asked her hesitatingly. 
 
 " Rotten," she said indifferently, turning her head back 
 and facing him. "I'm going to get up in a minute and 
 start packing. I'm going away in the morning. You 
 can run along now, Joe. Good-by, if I don't see you 
 in the morning, and good luck." 
 
 Heffler slowly shifted his weight from one foot to the 
 other and smiled cheerfully. 
 
 " I'm not going along," he remarked with considerable 
 decision, "and you aren't going to do any packing. I 
 guess you'd better go in the morning, but just now you're 
 going to tell me what to pack and then you're going to 
 sleep. I'll wake you in time to see if it's O. K. Then 
 we'll get a license and get married. You'll go to my 
 aunt's in New Haven and I'll follow you as soon's I 
 can." 
 
 Wonderment, doubt, and joy struggled upon Gerty 
 Smith's face as she raised herself quickly on her arm. 
 
 "Married?" she cried. "Married, Joe? You marry 
 me? Oh, Joe!" She fell back and, hiding her face in 
 
nm 
 
 \ 
 
 With an exclamation of triumph Heffier held up the 
 wrinkled piece of paper.''' 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 a cushion, she wept with great convulsive sobs of happi- 
 ness that shook her entire body. 
 
 Heffler ran his hand nervously through his hair. Then 
 he went to her and, sitting beside her, he lifted her until 
 she sat with her head leaning against his shoulder and 
 with her waist held awkwardly in the crook of his arm. 
 
 "Shut off yer crying," he said appealingly. "Now we 
 haven't either of us been tin angels, but we're going to 
 be respectable together, see? And we'll make good, you 
 and me. It isn't what you have been that counts, but 
 what y'are and what you're going to be. How old are 
 you?" 
 
 "Twenty-eight." 
 
 "Well, I'm thirty-four. Just about time to get a 
 second wind. And say, we haven't merely been told 
 that it don't pay to go to the devil. We know. And 
 some time," Heffler's voice grew in fervor, "years from 
 now, we'll come back here to John Gilbert and we'll say to 
 him, * We're just as square and straight and on the level 
 as you are,' we'll say to him; and when we can tell him 
 that I'll be satisfied. I'd rather have him shake hands 
 with me on earth than go to heaven when I die." 
 
 She looked up at him through her tears. 
 
 "You're a brick, Joe," she said. 
 
 "So're you, little woman." He kissed her twice ten- 
 derly. Then he made her lie down and tell him what 
 to do with her things. When he imderstood he picked 
 her up and staggered, with her in his arms, back through 
 the dark hall. There he bathed her head and opened his 
 own bed invitingly for her. Then he lit his pipe once 
 more, and, whistling merrily, he left her and went to 
 
340 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 work in her dismantled room. He was glad, as he looked 
 about him, that they Hved only one flight up, with a store 
 beneath them. Joe Hefiler could pack like a woman, but 
 the noise he made was that of a man. 
 
 He was still there when the sun mingled its first light 
 garishly with that of the street lamps. At seven o'clock 
 he rapped hesitantly at his own door until she answered. 
 Then he went back, leaving the door of her room open. 
 He could hear her moving about. She was humming. It 
 was the "Wedding March," but Heffler did not know it. 
 He only realized that she was happy, and he whistled 
 "Good-morning, Carrie" softly in reply. 
 
 "But the pictures, Joe, and the table and " she 
 
 started to say as she glanced about the bare room. 
 
 "He put up for those. Let him have 'em. We're 
 going to start new." 
 
 "But " she objected, looking about at the only 
 
 valuable things she had ever owned. Her glance came 
 back to him. She held out her hand. 
 
 "You're the right sort, Joe. I don't want 'em." 
 
 Joe Heffler soon disappeared into his own room. 
 When he returned he bore a bulky, irregular bundle, 
 which he placed almost tenderly upon her trunk. 
 
 "What's that?" she asked. 
 
 "Your wedding present," he said shortly. "It's a 
 tilting water pitcher," he added, looking away. 
 
 Gerty Smith put both arms about him, locking his own 
 arms to his sides. Her face was very close to his. 
 
 "The thing you won that night at the Fair?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "The night he gave me a chance." There was a set- 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 341 
 
 tied look about Heffler's chin, a new look of confidence 
 in his face and manner. ''It's better'n a ring for us, 
 Gerty. You're going to take it along. It was the be- 
 ginning, Gerty, and we aren't ever going back on it, 
 are we?" 
 
 She shook her head, and there were tears in her eyes 
 for the second time that day, although Gerty Smith 
 had always believed that tears were something to be 
 despised. She could not speak, but her lips seemed to 
 tell him that everything was all right, eternally all right. 
 
 It was ten o'clock when they sat down to a meager 
 breakfast at the railroad-station restaurant. They called 
 it their wedding breakfast, for, after all, she wore a ring 
 on her second finger, a ring that Heffler himself had 
 worn until that morning. 
 
 "I'll look after your sister," he said as they hurried 
 to the train. 
 
 "And you'll come on soon, Joe?" 
 
 "Soon's I can, sure thing." 
 
 With new strength he brushed aside the brakeman, 
 to help her up the steps. She nodded a good-by to him 
 from the platform. She wished to wave, but she could 
 not, because she had a bag in one hand, while the other 
 arm was tightly bound about the tilting water pitcher. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 THH COLONEL REASONS WITH MR. TUBE 
 
 WHEN the woman who did the Colonel's washing 
 and mending came in at his back door that 
 Friday afternoon, she stopped suddenly on the 
 threshold. Her lower jaw dropped until her false teeth 
 slipped, and she was forced to close her mouth quickly to 
 avoid disaster. Her eyes bulged in a frightened stare and 
 the bundle of mending dropped from her hand. There, 
 in the middle of the kitchen, was the Colonel, dressed 
 in flannel shirt, with sleeves half rolled up, and worn 
 buckskins. On his feet were the decorated moccasins 
 that usually hung over the fireplace. About his waist 
 was a cartridge belt and on his head a torn sombrero. 
 His glasses were off and his eyes seemed to have a crazy 
 brightness in them. His hands flourished two rusty 
 cavalry revolvers, and he was swaying back and forth on 
 his rheumatic legs, muttering a strange gibberish of words. 
 When the bundle dropped the Colonel stopped and, see- 
 ing her, he chuckled and looked embarrassed. 
 
 "It's all right, Mary," he said. "Jest havin' mem- 
 ories. Whatche got in yer pack?" 
 
 "Mending" said Mary, and then, like a boy who limps 
 when he has a toothache, she tiptoed over to the table 
 and laid the bundle down, never once taking her eyes 
 from the Colonel. 
 
 342 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 343 
 
 The veteran watched her, partly amused and partly 
 bothered at her discovery. 
 
 "Wore some o' these togs fer years, Mary," he said in 
 a sort of shamefaced explanation. 
 
 '*Ye did, sir," said Mary, curiosity gradually overcom- 
 ing her fear, "and the pistols, too, sir?" 
 
 "We et with 'em out there," said the Colonel solenmly. 
 
 "Holy Virgin," said Mary, crossing herself. "And the 
 hoochee-koochee dance, too?" she inquired doubtfully 
 after a moment. 
 
 "Regular," said the Colonel without a smile, "after 
 meals." 
 
 "It must be a turrible place," said Mary, shaking her 
 head and starting for the door. 
 
 "Ye'd better not speak of it, Mary. Folks wouldn't 
 savvey," said the Colonel as he followed her. 
 
 "Indade and I won't. Oi like ye too well fer that. 
 But it must be a turrible place," and Mary departed, 
 still shaking her head. And that night she wrote a long 
 letter of solemn warning against the ways of the West, 
 to her brother, who had recently gone to Buffalo. 
 
 The Colonel had not felt so much at home in years as 
 he did that afternoon. He hummed old songs in growling 
 monotone. He drew forth an old leather trunk, bound 
 with heavy metal, that had come down the Missouri 
 years before. He remembered how he and his pardner 
 had stood on the dock and argued as to whether or not 
 they would take that particular boat, and how finally 
 they had thrown up a coin to decide it. The coin had 
 turned against their going aboard, but they had been 
 too late to get this trunk off the boat. The boat had 
 
844 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 gone down with all on board, some days later. The 
 trunk had been thrown up on the river bank, and, about 
 a year afterwards, he had bought it back for about five 
 times its worth. There was nothing in it now but some 
 soiled and yellow papers and a few trinkets, but to him 
 it stood for nearly twenty years of hardship and adven- 
 ture. The old trunk was perhaps the last possession he 
 had that he would have parted with. 
 
 Next, he gathered up the four corners of a faded table 
 cover, jumbling together in a heap all the decorations 
 and dust that had been Uttered upon it, and carried the 
 improvised bundle into an adjoining room. Then he 
 returned and pulled the table nearer the wall by the 
 fireplace. Ransacking one of the drawers, he brought 
 forth a worn pack of cards, and spent half an hour doing 
 old tricks with them that he had almost forgotten in the 
 lapse of years. At last he rose and went out into the 
 kitchen to prepare supper. The Colonel preferred 
 "gettin' his own grub" to having any "women folks" 
 aroimd the house. When he tired of his own cooking 
 he tramped down to the Hampstead House, and grumbled 
 at its well-served dinners. 
 
 The bell rang three or four times irritatingly, and the 
 Colonel, forgetting his appearance in the excitement of 
 trying to broil a steak and to answer a doorbell at the 
 same time, hobbled, muttering, to the door. The won- 
 derment on Billy McNish's face changed quickly to un- 
 controlled laughter, and the Colonel, suddenly conscious 
 of the spectacle he was to anyone passing by, caught 
 Billy's shoulder, and fairly dragged the prospective mayor 
 of Hampstead into the vestibule. This done and the 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 345 
 
 door closed, he turned his back on Billy with pretended 
 anger and returned to the kitchen. Billy followed con- 
 tritely and seated himself upon the wood-box. 
 
 "Couldn't help it, Colonel,'' he remarked. "You look 
 like a masquerade ball." 
 
 The veteran chuckled over the sizzling steak. 
 
 "Reckon I might create a sensation ef I went down- 
 town this way. But it might be named ' disturbin' the 
 peace ' ef some p'Hceman come out of a s'loon by accident 
 an' saw me. Reckon I'd try it ef it wasn't fer the women 
 folks. I'd likely git kissed a dozen times on the way to 
 the post-office. Curious 'bout the way women hitch onto 
 freaks, ain't it? Most of 'em '11 pass a good square man 
 whose head is stuck on straight, an' tie up in bunches 
 'round some sword-swallowin' hero, er a long-haired, long- 
 eared poet, er a collidge prifesser thet lectures on *Are 
 We Atoms er Atomizers?' an' gives it up. 'S'pose it's a 
 kind o' prifessional bond o' union. Most women hev 
 got a streak of the bunco steerer in 'em, an' they jest 
 natch'rally join up with those thet 're workin' the same 
 thing as a trade." 
 
 Billy changed the subject. He was in no mood for 
 discourses on the Colonel's favorite topic. 
 
 "Can you come up to the house to-morrow morning 
 about ten?" he asked. 
 
 "Reckon so," responded the Colonel with a half wink, 
 "ef I survive the evenin's performance." He gazed 
 down at his buckskins and waited for Billy to become 
 inquisitive. He had not long to wait. 
 
 "What performance?" Billy scrutinized the strange 
 clothes again, and once more he laughed. "What's the 
 
346 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 game, Colonel? Who 're you going to impress with 
 those?" 
 
 Colonel Mead transferred the steak to a waiting platter. 
 When this operation had been accomplished he turned 
 with a sigh of relief and eyed the younger man. 
 
 "One Mister Tubb is comin' up this trail to-night/' 
 he chuckled. " I've tried ev'ry kind o' Eastern reasonin' 
 with him. I've told him how good he wuz an' how 
 wicked he wuz. I've showed him how dead right he 
 wuz an' how plumb wrong he wuz. I've argyed with 
 him till my tongue's black and blue. I've patted him 
 on the back till my left hand's blistered. An' I've shook 
 hands with him till my right hand smells o' greens an' 
 onions continuous. Now I'm goin' to follow your lead 
 an' reason with him Western. He may buck, but I 
 reckon I'll keep my promise. I told him I thought he'd 
 hev an int'restin' evenin'." 
 
 The Colonel chuckled again prophetically. Billy shook 
 with noiseless laughter. 
 
 "Jove!" he cried. "Wish I could be here and see the 
 fun. But I can't. Got to be down-town all evening." 
 
 "May want ye in the p'lice court in the mornin'," 
 said the Colonel, leading the way with the steak into the 
 dining-room — Billy following along cheerfully, a dish in 
 each hand. "Better wash up an' hev a bite with me, 
 now ye're here. Mebbe ye won't never hev another 
 chance," the Colonel added with jocular moumfulness. 
 "I'm a des'prite man." 
 
 Billy was voluble with regrets. He had dropped in 
 merely to tell the Colonel about the next morning. He 
 had already stayed longer than he had intended to. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 347 
 
 The Colonel was a hard man to get away from, Billy 
 said, and he thought he had better hurry along immedi- 
 ately, or he would actually yield to temptation and stay. 
 
 The veteran did not go to the door with him. He sat 
 down at the table and began his solitary meal before 
 Billy finished his explanations. When he heard the 
 front door close he shook his head. 
 
 "Curious 'bout Billy," he muttered to himself. "He'd 
 be real tol'rable ef he didn't hev them soft turns. He's 
 so infernal nice t'ev'rybody thet ye hev to throw up a 
 cent to make up yer mind whether ye're his best friend or 
 his worst enemy." 
 
 It was a few minutes after half-past seven when Mr. 
 Tubb was received in the vestibule, which the Colonel 
 had maliciously left dark. It was not until they entered 
 the sitting-room together, therefore, that the grocer 
 stopped short in his greeting and stared uneasily at the 
 metamorphosed Colonel. 
 
 "'Declare!" he ejaculated, rubbing his thin chin with 
 his thumb and first finger. He had even forgotten the 
 clothes he wore. Mr. Tubb's lank figure was attired in 
 the clothes which usually appeared only once a week in 
 his pew at the Baptist church. Mr. Tubb liked to 
 remark that he was fifty or more years young. On Sun- 
 days and on special occasions he proved the assertion 
 by his clothes; clothes with broad, padded shoulders and 
 slender waist; clothes that pulled tightly over the per- 
 ceptible bend in his back and wrinkled across his narrow 
 chest; ready-made clothes, of course, for Mr. Tubb did 
 not believe in wasting his hard-earned and carefully 
 saved money in tailors' bills. He looked uncomfortable 
 
348 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 and he felt uncomfortable, but he considered that this 
 was one of the ways by which mankind, on one day of 
 the week, do penance for their sins of the other six days. 
 When it is said, therefore, that Mr. Tubb had forgotten 
 his clothes as he stared at the Colonel, no better descrip- 
 tion of his complete astonishment is possible. 
 
 "Told ye I'd show ye somethin' Western,'' chuckled 
 the Colonel. 
 
 "Where'd ye get 'em?" asked Mr. Tubb slowly. 
 
 "Well, the shirt I bought in Albuquerque," said the 
 Colonel reminiscently, motioning the grocer to a chair, 
 "an' the buckskins I took off'n Tony Mclntire, the des- 
 perado, after said Tony had been scalped by Injuns near 
 Las Vegas. The moccasins b'longed to a Nez Percy 
 buck 'fore he died a vi'lent death by one o' these here 
 pistols. I jest natch'rally found the sombrero in the 
 trail one day." 
 
 "'Declare!" repeated Mr. Tubb, eyeing the Colonel 
 with a mixture of doubt and admiration. Mr. Tubb had 
 always agreed readily with those doubting Thomases of 
 Hampstead, who declared that Colonel Mead had never 
 been farther west than Chicago in his life; who observed 
 that Colonel Mead's speech was more that of a New 
 Englander than that of a Westerner — which was natural 
 enough if they had remembered that the Colonel had 
 lived more than half of his life in Connecticut; and who 
 said that they had heard that Colonel Mead had bought 
 all of his curios at a side-street store in New York. But, 
 with the Colonel before him and with one of the Colonel's 
 hands resting lightly on the butt of a pistol, Mr. Tubb 
 would have admitted that Buffalo Bill was a Westerner 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 349 
 
 of comparatively little distinction. Mr. Tubb glanced 
 about the dimly lighted room, and wished from the 
 bottom of his heart that the pistols might be put away 
 in some far-off bureau drawer. Mr. Tubb had a revolver 
 at home, which he kept behind locked doors at night 
 for use in case of burglars. But he never had fired it, 
 and indeed he never had touched the trigger when the 
 thing was loaded. When he moved it he always gripped 
 the last inch of the butt and shut his eyes. 
 
 "I can't stay very long," he said, his thumbs and fore- 
 finger busy now with his sallow neck. "Got a date with 
 Captain Merrivale at nine-thirty." Mr. Tubb realized 
 immediately that this admission was a mistake, and he 
 hurried on. "I got a good joke on Captain Merrivale 
 the other day," he continued. "You know old Doctor 
 Ferguson that died last week? Well, I was talkin' to 
 Merrivale next day after the Doc. died, and Merrivale 
 he allowed that Ferguson was a good man and that he 
 was mighty surprised to learn that the old feller had 
 nigger blood in him. 'Nigger blood?' says I. 'Can't 
 be,' says I. He picks up the News, sober as a jedge, 
 and hands it over to me. ' Read that,' he says. * Don't 
 it say, clear as print can make it, that the old Doctor 
 was an octogenarian?' 'Course I allowed that it did, 
 and I tried not to laugh 'cause it might 've hurt his feel- 
 in's. He's sensitive, Merrivale is. But it was the best 
 joke on Merrivale I've heard in a month o' Sundays." 
 
 Mr. Tubb tittered in high falsetto. The Colonel only 
 grunted. 
 
 "An' thet's Hampstead's head Water Commiss'ner," he 
 grumbled as he arose and went across to the old trunk. 
 
350 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 "Ef y'ain't goin' to patronize my diggin's only till 
 nine-thirty," he said briskly, "we'll proceed instanter." 
 
 The grocer was always ready to agree to anything, 
 and never more so than now. The Colonel squatted 
 beside the open trunk, and drew from it various objects, 
 from a handful of broken arrows to a small string of 
 beads. It was not very long before Mr. Tubb had for- 
 gotten his imeasiness and was bending forward, his 
 mouth wide open with interest. Each new memento 
 which the Colonel handed him had its story, and the 
 Colonel, who had not rummaged through the old trunk 
 before in years, became so interested himself that he 
 lost track of the time, and forgot that there was any 
 such concern as Hardy & Son or any such undecided, 
 imreasonable person as this Mr. Tubb, who listened and 
 who, now and then, had the temerity to interrupt the 
 flow of reminiscence. The little clock on the mantel, 
 striking nine, brought the Colonel at last to his senses. 
 He had less than a half-hour left in which to reason with 
 Mr. Tubb. 
 
 "Talked so much my jaw aches," he remarked, break- 
 ing off in the middle of a long yarn. "Reckon y'are 
 plumb petered out. What d'ye say to a little two- 
 handed poker fer a change?" 
 
 Mr. Tubb hitched backward in his chair and looked 
 across at the little table and the cards. He had noticed 
 them when he entered the room. 
 
 "Well, ye see," he said with apparent hesitation, "I 
 don't play poker." 
 
 "Ye don't?" Surprise and scorn were in the Colonel's 
 tone. "Why, I wouldn't 'a' thought thar wuz a man 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 351 
 
 under the flag thet didn't know the nash'nal game. 
 What '11 we tackle? Old Maid?'' 
 
 "I mean to say," added Mr.Tubb lamely, ''not usually." 
 
 The Colonel for answer took a chair by the table and 
 waved his hand toward the chair opposite, next to the 
 wall. Mr. Tubb arose doubtfully. 
 
 "I mean I ain't used to playin' for money. I'm a 
 church member, ye know," he remarked, as if in self- 
 defense, as he sat down. 
 
 "Ye don't say?" said the Colonel, putting down the 
 cards he had been shuffling. "Well, I reckon I kin find 
 some chips ef I dig deep enough." He started to rise 
 laboriously. Mr. Tubb picked up the cards. 
 
 "At least not for high stakes," he added. 
 
 "How about penny ante?" suggested the Colonel, 
 sinking back in his chair. 
 
 "At least not for more'n a quarter," added Mr. Tubb 
 again, patting the cards affectionately. The Colonel 
 smiled in spite of himself. Mr. Tubb put down the 
 cards and turned cautiously toward the wall behind him. 
 
 "Pretty picture," he said apologetically. 
 
 The Colonel nodded grimly. " Better'n a mirror, ain't 
 it?" 
 
 Mr. Tubb proceeded to look through the cards care- 
 fully. 
 
 "Interestin' cards," he remarked. 
 
 The Colonel nodded again. 
 
 "Got 'em from thet forchune teller down New Orleens, 
 the same one I told ye 'bout; Fairy Ellen they called 
 her. Didn't tell ye 'bout how she told Leftenant Wood's 
 forchune, did I?" 
 
352 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 Mr. Tubb, engaged in dealing, said that he did not 
 remember the story. The Colonel scrutinized his cards. 
 
 ''Four/' he said laconically. "You see, I'd know'd 
 Fairy Ellen fer years," he went on. "Run acrost her 
 first in San Antonio, and later I'd found her in New 
 Orleens. So, when we landed thar fer a day one Spring, 
 and I'd put Bill Slosson and young Lef tenant Wood onto 
 all the trails in town, an' we wuz a-goin' back to the boat, 
 I happened to remember thet I'd plumb fergot Fairy 
 Ellen. We hed jest about time an', bein' the lead mule, 
 I steered 'em down into the picayune back alley whar 
 she did business. It wuz a dirty cabin, and she wuz 
 an old greaser woman with a complexion like a moldy 
 cheese and a figger like a question mark. I never be- 
 lieved in forchune tellin' till I saw her in San Antonio, 
 but she cert'nly marked out my trail fer me, even to the 
 bonanza I struck in Colorado." 
 
 " Wish she was here," put in Mr. Tubb, with a rueful 
 attempt to be jocular as the Colonel drew in a little pile 
 of silver. "P'raps she'd tell me what you're goin' to 
 hold next hand." 
 
 "Well, as I wuz recallin'," went on the Colonel, deal- 
 ing, " I took the boys 'round thar, and she took our dol- 
 lars an' mumbled a lot o' pigeon Spanish. She assayed 
 Slosson's hand all right an' told him a lot o' things he 
 didn't want to know, includin' the fact that he would 
 be killed finally by dark-faced furriners. I've been 
 waitin' fer years a-watchin' Slosson, an' when he wuz 
 ordered to the Phillipians I said it wuz all over. An' it 
 wuz. He wuz shot in the first fight he got into. When 
 she come to the Lef tenant " 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 353 
 
 Mr. Tubb threw down his cards with obvious irritation. 
 
 "Can't you hold anythin' at all but three of a kind?" 
 he asked peevishly. 
 
 "Yes/' returned the Colonel complacently. "Reckon I 
 kin hold my temper an' my payshunts, friend, winnin' er 
 losin'. But — goin' on with the story, which don't seem 
 to int'rest you none — when she come to the Leftenant she 
 looked fer a minute; then she shook her head. She jest 
 wouldn't tell his, and after we'd argued and threatened 
 and got mad and left, she stood thar and watched us 
 down the street. The other two wuz laughin', but I 
 thought I smelled somethin' int'restin', and I told 'em 
 thet I'd left somethin', I've fergotten now what, and I 
 sneaked back. She wuz standin' right whar we'd left 
 her and " 
 
 The Colonel stopped short and leaned forward, his 
 body suddenly tense. Mr. Tubb finished dealing and 
 eyed his hand with unusual care. 
 
 "Well?" he asked nervously, without looking up. 
 "What — what happened then?" 
 
 The Colonel settled back in his chair. He did not 
 look at his cards. 
 
 "Reckon I'm out o' this hand," he remarked, his eyes 
 still narrowed in scrutiny of the grocer's flushed face. 
 "Let's see," he went on, "I'd just gone back to Fairy 
 Ellen. Well, I says to her: 'Why didn't ye tell his 
 forchune. Fairy?' says I. 'Because,' says she, and her 
 voice sounded like a cowboy's the mornin' after a spree, 
 hard and tired like, 'he ain't got half an hour to live.' 
 I didn't ejaculate a word. I jest worked my legs fer 
 the dock. I got thar jest as Slosson an' the Leftenant 
 
354 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 was crossin' the gang-plank. 'Leftenant/ I called out 
 like a fool, and he stopped an' Slosson went on." 
 
 The Colonel paused to raise Mr. Tubb beyond the 
 limit of the grocer's cautious willingness to take risks, 
 and immediately drew in a considerable "pot," with a 
 hand composed chiefly of two jacks. 
 
 "Then, all of a sudden," he went on mechanically, as 
 if nothing had happened, "a spar got loose up above an' 
 I saw it fall, an' the young feller never know'd what hit 
 him. Old Fairy Ellen wuz right. The minute she told 
 me, I'd know'd thar wuzn't any more chance fer him 
 then thar is fer a man ridin' a buckin' bronco up Marshall 
 Pass." 
 
 "Good story," said Mr. Tubb, his mind on the game 
 and far away from Fairy Ellen of New Orleans. 
 
 It was astonishing to see how interested Mr. Tubb had 
 become in the turn of the cards, and how grudgingly he 
 brought forth from his trousers pocket at last — when 
 his silver was exhausted — the green roll of bills, and how 
 his thin, sallow cheeks flushed and how his eyes grew 
 feverishly bright, and how strained and tense the silence 
 seemed when the Colonel's story was finished — silence 
 broken only by the steady slap of the cards, the jingle 
 of silver and an occasional grunt of joy or despair from 
 the ecstatic or suffering grocer. The Colonel seemed to 
 be playing carelessly while he was talking, and even in 
 the silence he seemed to watch Mr. Tubb more closely 
 than the cards. But he won almost steadily, and the 
 meager assortment of silver which he had deposited at 
 his left hand grew rapidly with the additions of Mr. 
 Tubb's quarters and half dollars and bank notes. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 355 
 
 "Reckon I'm hevin' the luck/' he remarked genially, 
 as the half hour was struck by the little clock on the 
 mantel. Mr. Tubb did not seem to hear the clock. 
 
 ''Three/' he said, staring, fascinated, at the cards. 
 
 "But it's a long lane without any turnin'," added the 
 Colonel. Again the Colonel won and Mr. Tubb mut- 
 tered a single word in comment. 
 
 "Fer a Baptist," remarked the Colonel reflectively, as 
 Mr. Tubb dealt the cards, "thet might be considered 
 'strong langwidge.' Two," he added, looking over his 
 hand. 
 
 Mr. Tubb slapped the Colonel's two cards on the table 
 with angry force. Then he shifted the cards nervously 
 in his hand. 
 
 "I'll take four," he said. He added four cards to his 
 remaining one. Then he looked up and into the mouths 
 of two cavalry pistols. 
 
 Mr. Tubb jumped back so suddenly that he nearly 
 upset both the table and himself. He thought he shouted 
 'Murder! ' at the top of his voice, but, as a matter of fact, 
 he merely whispered the word. The pack of cards 
 dropped from his shaking hand and built scattering 
 pyramids of themselves upon the floor. His face lost 
 even its sallow color and he swallowed noisily. 
 
 "Let's see them cards," growled the Colonel. 
 
 Mr. Tubb hastened to obey. The four cards were aces. 
 
 "Ye took 'em from the bottom of the pack. Ye've 
 done it twice afore, only I wuzn't plumb certain 'bout 
 it afore." 
 
 The Colonel lowered the pistols to the table. 
 
 "Ye're a sweet and lovely church member, ain't ye?" 
 
356 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 he went on, looking aggressively at Mr. Tubb, whose 
 thumb and forefinger had returned nervously to his 
 chin. " Lord, won't this make talk fer the good Christian 
 women folks thet trades at yer store! Lord, won't they 
 fight to see which one can tell it first an' which one can 
 tell it worst! An', Lord, won't yer friend Butterson's 
 store look like a tornado'd struck it, after they've sent 
 him all yer orders!" 
 
 "Ye wouldn't tell 'em," gasped Mr. Tubb. 
 
 "Seems like a powerful pity, don't it?" said the Colonel 
 soberly. " But it sure looks to me like it wuz my public 
 duty. A man thet '11 cheat at cards '11 cheat at groceries. 
 Lord, I wonder what the Baptist church '11 do!" 
 
 "If 'twasn't for the pistols," blustered Mr. Tubb, 
 anger momentarily getting the better of his fear, "I'd 
 knock you down." 
 
 The Colonel grinned benevolently. 
 
 "I've lived years enough in this wicked but cowardly 
 world, m' friend," he remarked, "to know thet a man 
 thet talks 'bout them thet he's knocked down er is goin' 
 to knock down, never has an' never will. Thar's most 
 alluz an * if m the way." 
 
 "I thought I was playin' with a gentleman," stuttered 
 Mr. Tubb. 
 
 "I wuz plumb sure I wuzn't," retorted the Colonel. 
 "So we wuz both right." 
 
 " But it '11 ruin me," sobbed Mr. Tubb, giving way to 
 nasal moans. 
 
 The Colonel pulled at his mustaches, his hand care- 
 fully covering his mouth. 
 
 "It sure do look that way," he remarked judicially. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 357 
 
 "But don't git lackrimose 'bout it. P'raps I might be 
 reasoned with." 
 
 Mr. Tubb looked up with a sudden hopefulness that 
 nearly upset the Colonel. 
 
 "What do ye mean?" he asked. 
 
 "Well," the Colonel continued. "We might come to 
 a compr'mise. I've been wantin' somethin' o' you fer 
 more'n a month, an' now ye're wantin' somethin' o' me. 
 I'll tell ye. Ef ye'll ferget to see Captain Merrivale to- 
 night, an' ef ye'll come back here inside o' half an hour 
 with yer Hardy stock, to be left in my safe keepin' till 
 I think it's judicious fer ye to hev it again, p'raps I 
 might overcome my scruples 'bout spreadin' this here 
 incident. What d'ye say?" 
 
 Mr. Tubb looked at the Colonel through narrowed 
 eyes, and the color returned slowly to his face. 
 
 "It was a trick," he declared weakly. 
 
 "Yes." The Colonel nodded in the direction of the 
 four aces. "It wuz a dirty, low-down trick an' ye didn't 
 even do it clever." 
 
 Mr. Tubb stumbled to his feet and pulled his coat down 
 to its uncomfortably proper position. He realized sadly 
 that he could never wear his best clothes to church again 
 with a devout, religious feeling. 
 
 "All right," he said. 
 
 "An' this here money," continued the Colonel, point- 
 ing to the pile that had accumulated on his side of the 
 table, "I calc'late to give to the mish'nary fimd o' the 
 Baptist church, in yer name an' mine, fer the good o' 
 the heathen. An' I want to give ye a bit of advice. Don't 
 ever try that trick again. It ain't easy to lose, but it's a 
 
358 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 derned sight more 'Murrican to lose like a man than to 
 win like a sneak. Reckon I've kept my word/' he 
 added as they nioved toward the door. "It's been an 
 int'restin' evenin'." 
 
 When Mr. Tubb had gone the Colonel snapped the 
 pistols harmlessly three or four times, and smiled to 
 himself. 
 
 "Reckon he'll come back," he muttered. He was 
 right. Mr. Tubb had six minutes to spare when he 
 rang the Colonel's doorbell for the second time that 
 night. 
 
 The veteran threw the certificates into the old trunk 
 and sat down to read the News. Usually he spent the 
 better part of the evening with his paper, but to-night 
 he had almost forgotten it, and he handled it now with 
 apologetic eagerness, as if it were a friend he had ignored. 
 As he turned a flapping page, an advertisement, printed 
 in large type, caught his eye. He uttered an exclama- 
 tion as he stared at it. Then, he held it at various dis- 
 tances, to assure himself that his eyes had not played him 
 a trick. It announced a mass meeting for men at the 
 Hampstead Opera House on the following, Saturday, 
 night. It stated simply that Judge Morrison would pre- 
 side, and that the speakers would be Mr. McNish, Demo- 
 cratic candidate for mayor, and John Gilbert, general 
 manager of Hardy & Son, whose respective subjects 
 would be, " Why Hampstead Ought to Be a Democratic 
 City"— and "The Strike and Politics." In the news 
 column opposite the advertisement, to which the Colonel's 
 eyes wandered in their amazement, was the short inter- 
 view with Gilbert, all in capitals and double-leaded. The 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 Colonel dropped the paper to his side, and brought his 
 right fist down upon the rearranged table, with a force 
 that made the lamp-light jump and flicker weirdly. 
 
 ''Thet's business/^ he muttered. "Reckon he's found 
 out more'n " 
 
 He was interrupted by the violent ringing of his bell 
 and a heavy tattoo of knocks upon the door. He hur- 
 ried through the vestibule, still clutching the paper in 
 his left hand. 
 
 "Jest saw it in the News," he declared excitedly, as 
 Gilbert and Billy followed him into the sitting-room. 
 
 "They've seen it, too," Billy broke in, eager to tell 
 the news, "and they've probably heard more. They've 
 got a gang of Dagoes and Polocks tearing up Broad Street 
 already. They'll be working there all night." 
 
 "We're coming to the finish of our fight. Colonel," 
 Gilbert remarked, "and we're going to win. How about 
 Tubb, Colonel?" 
 
 The Colonel grinned reminiscently as they drew up 
 chairs. 
 
 "Well," he said. "I separated him from his stock. 
 It's in the trunk yander. An' we're makin' a joint con- 
 tribution to the Baptist Mish'nary Society. But thar 
 ain't any story, boys. Ye see, I paid him fer the stock 
 by sayin' I'd keep my mouth shet." 
 
 Billy frowned at the mystery, but Gilbert merely eyed 
 the Colonel with narrowed, smiling eyes. 
 
 "Mr. McNish wants you to help him reason with two 
 or three more to-morrow morning," he drawled, leaning 
 back in his chair until it creaked warningly under his 
 weight. "That's the only loop-hole they've got now — 
 
360 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 to get control before to-morrow night. Ten o'clock, 
 wasn't it, Billy?" 
 
 Billy nodded. 
 
 "No rest fer the wicked an' less fer the pious," grum- 
 bled the Colonel. " But what hev ye found out, to make 
 ye so brash about this meetin'?" 
 
 Gilbert allowed the chair to settle back and sprawled, 
 his long legs sticking out straight, his hands sunk deep 
 in his pockets. 
 
 ''We've got Neely's signed statement of that bribing 
 business." 
 
 The Colonel whistled. 
 
 "How'd ye do it?" he asked with some awe. 
 
 "Peter Lumpkin did most of it. I helped some. 
 Neely seems glad to get it off his mind. It's worried 
 him. He's more of a man than I thought he was. Jethro 
 was the other one, of course." 
 
 "And we've the signed story of the engineer who made 
 the false report on the reservoir deal," put in Billy. 
 
 "Lord!" ejaculated the Colonel, pulling his long mus- 
 taches in open wonderment. "An' I didn't know any- 
 thin' about it. How'd ye do thet?" 
 
 "Joe Heffler, chiefly," said Gilbert slowly. "He knew 
 him. He was clerk in the office for a time, you know. 
 Billy helped a good deal. That's what we've been doing 
 to-night." 
 
 "And we know," added Billy, who had been counting 
 on his fingers, "that Conlin and Martin Jethro and Tom 
 Grady were all at Mr. Hubbard's to-night." 
 
 "Say," grumbled the Colonel, "did ye hev anybody 
 listenin' to me an' Tubb to-night? Reckon I ought to've 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 361 
 
 gone 'round the shack careful aforehand. An' who 
 found thet out?" 
 
 Gilbert laughed heartily. 
 
 "Jimmy O'Rourke drove them there in a hack," he 
 said. "Yes, that's a fact. Jimmy's been driving hack 
 three or four nights now, ever since Conlin got suspicious 
 about walking to see his employers." Gilbert paused. 
 "They're a pretty good crowd, the three of them — my 
 'cabinet,' as Jimmy calls them," he added. "I tell you, 
 it's great to have friends." 
 
 There was something in his tone that made both the 
 Colonel and Billy stir uneasily and look away self-con- 
 sciously. 
 
 "It all depends on to-morrow night now," Gilbert 
 added again. "Think of it, Colonel. We started tilt- 
 ing at windmills, but we were honest about it. And 
 
 now " His teeth shut with a sudden click. Then he 
 
 smiled. "Well, I feel a good deal Uke that soldier your 
 father tells about, Billy, who was always repeating just 
 before a charge: 'We'll show 'em whether there's a God 
 in Israel or not.' We're going to bring about a new 
 order of things in Hampstead. Lord knows, the town 
 needs it." 
 
 " ' Course we are," cried the suddenly optimistic Colonel. 
 "Didn't I say so all the time?" 
 
 "I don't see yet," objected Billy peevishly, "how 
 we're going to change public opinion in one night." 
 
 Gilbert started to answer but the Colonel interrupted 
 him. 
 
 "Ef ye cross bridges so many times aforehand," he 
 said crossly, "ye'll sure bust 'em down 'fore ye really 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 come to 'em. But look here, boy/' he went on, looking 
 up at Gilbert, who had stretched himself lazily and risen, 
 and who now stood towering above him, "sit close 
 to-morrow an' keep yer eye peeled constant. I ain't 
 afeard o' threats usually, but thet hoss-thief of a Jethro's 
 sure got it in fer ye, and th'other crowd's goin' to be 
 desp'rite now. It's life an' death with 'em." 
 
 Gilbert smiled down into the Colonel's grizzled face 
 and then grew sober as he saw the veteran's earnestness. 
 
 "I believe you've caught the disease from Joe," he 
 said. "He talks the same way. The thing's getting on 
 your nerve, Colonel." 
 
 But the veteran repeated his warning as he followed 
 the two younger men to the door, and when he returned 
 to the sitting-room, he stared at the little clock and 
 shook his head solemnly. 
 
 "Wish it wuz this time to-morrow night," he muttered. 
 
 When Gilbert, coming in from the chilly October mist, 
 climbed the steps of the little house porch, he heard the 
 door knob before him rattle. Someone within was try- 
 ing to open the door, but the glue-like dampness had 
 gripped the wood and held it tightly fastened. He 
 caught the knob quickly and pushed the door, crackling, 
 wide open. Then he leaped forward and picked up Clare 
 Hardy, — who had been tugging at the knob, — from her 
 knees where she had fallen. 
 
 "I beg your pardon." 
 
 "It's the first time I was ever on my knees to a man." 
 
 "And the last." 
 
 "You can't tell when there are such masterful men," 
 she laughed as she brushed the dust from her dress. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 "You — you were just going home?" he remarked in 
 his embarrassment. 
 
 " How hospitable! No, I was just going to stay. I've 
 been waiting for you." 
 
 " Oh," he beamed doubtfully. " Where's mother?" 
 
 "Upstairs — worrying about you. Do you realize that 
 it's nearly midnight?" 
 
 "I believe I do." He was leading the way into the 
 little parlor. 
 
 "And that it's improper for me to be here?" she added 
 with a glint of her old tantalizing smile. 
 
 "No, I don't realize that." 
 
 "Well, it is," she retorted so convincingly that it 
 seemed to him that he was greatly to blame. He made 
 up his mind immediately that propriety was the most 
 senseless, unreasonable thing in the world. 
 
 "And I'm going home" — his face grew tragic — "in a 
 few minutes." 
 
 They both smiled. Then her face slowly became 
 grave. 
 
 "You made me forget." And she hurried into the 
 narrow hallway. 
 
 "What made you remember?" he called. He felt 
 instantly that the remark was the height of idiocy. She 
 was very serious as she came back with some papers. 
 
 "You told me yesterday there was a deal of some kind 
 that was dishonest, something about that street railway 
 bill. Father was in that, and spoke of it the night it 
 was passed. I was there with him, you know. I've 
 found some papers, correspondence and copies of his 
 letters. I want you to take them." 
 
364 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 She did not look at him as she held the papers toward 
 him. 
 
 "You'd trust them to me?" he asked in a low voice. 
 He was thinking rapidly, trymg to understand. 
 
 "You're silly," she said with a nervous laugh. "Of 
 course." 
 
 "Thank you," he spoke evenly. "I — we don't need 
 them. I know all about it — enough, that is. We'll 
 elect Billy and save the shops for your father as well 
 without this — this sacrifice of yours — as we could if I 
 read the papers and used them." 
 
 She looked up at him so wonderingly, so pleadingly, 
 and she came so near to him that he felt himself tremble 
 with restraint. 
 
 "But I want you to read them. Jack." 
 
 "It's better not," he said curtly, feeling himself weak- 
 ening. "Was there anything else on your mind?" 
 
 She looked away from him for a moment while he, for 
 something to do, fumbled among the books on the table. 
 Then she turned to him once more, firmly. 
 
 " No, there was nothing else. I — I thought this would 
 help you, but you're probably right. No, you needn't 
 come with me. You're tired, and it's such a little way." 
 
 He went, nevertheless, guiding her down the walk 
 hidden in the damp, misty darkness. 
 
 "Are you really going to speak to-morrow night?" 
 
 "It's hard to believe it, isn't it? Billy's going to make 
 the real speech. I wish you could hear him. Old 
 Demosthenes will be jealous in his grave." 
 
 "And you?" 
 
 "I believe I'm to read a few unpleasant facts. I'd 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 365 
 
 have stage fright if I tried to talk from memory. I'd 
 get everything hung on the wrong pegs/' 
 
 He could not see the tenderness in her eyes as she 
 looked up at him. 
 
 "It will be hard for them," she said after a moment. 
 
 "That's the woman of it," he laughed shortly. "The 
 under dog." 
 
 " I was thinking that they'd hate you for it." 
 
 "Probably," he said. "But that doesn't count. It's 
 the thing that counts, not me nor them nor any- 
 body else." 
 
 At the porch he hesitated, as if there was something 
 he wished to say and could not. He blundered awk- 
 wardly, and thanked her three separate times, and said 
 good-night twice, lingeringly. "I'm a fool," he said to 
 himself, as he walked slowly up the hill. " She couldn't 
 take those papers to Billy." 
 
 On his own porch again, he waited a moment before 
 going in, staring down at the unnatural glow of light far 
 away at the left. Men were working under torches on 
 Broad Street, working frantically at the eleventh hour to 
 keep the trivial promise the Street Railway Company 
 had made to Hampstead. The light that dribbled through 
 the blinds lit up the irregular features of his massive 
 face, and in the glimmer the face was haggard. 
 
 "Lucky Billy," he whispered. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 IN THE OLD GARDEN 
 
 MRS. GILBERT, bustling about her little kitchen 
 after the breakfast dishes had been cleared 
 away, stopped occasionally and listened to the 
 heavy tramp of feet overhead. At last she could endure 
 it no longer and, washing the cake-batter from her hands, 
 she toiled her way upstairs. 
 
 " Oh, you're here, are you? " she asked innocently. 
 
 Upon a table in the little bedroom lay pen and ink- 
 well and paper. Two or three scrawled sheets lay on 
 the floor and Gilbert, his hair tousled, his face wrinkled 
 into a frown, stood looking out of the window. The 
 room was gray with smoke, and the cigar in his fingers 
 was chewed into shreds. He turned and smiled a woe- 
 begone smile in reply. 
 
 "Is it all done?" she asked, as if she really thought it 
 was. 
 
 "Done?" Gilbert stretched out his long arms and 
 yawned cavernously. "Tisn't begun. I walk up and 
 down and say sentences just as I want them, and I sit 
 down in front of a piece of paper and I can't say them 
 that way at all. It was funny at first, but the novelty's 
 wearing off." 
 
 He shook himself and started again his weary pacing. 
 Mrs. Gilbert stood watching him thoughtfully. Then, 
 
 366 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 367 
 
 after first going over to the window and opening it to 
 let the cool air rush in, she sat down at the table. 
 
 "Now you say it, laddie," she said, "and I'll write it." 
 
 Gilbert stared at her for a moment, nodded assent, 
 and a second later the speech was begun. 
 
 "I guess," he drawled, when the first paragraph was 
 completed, "the trouble was that I had to keep my fists 
 doubled up to write that speech." 
 
 "You aren't actually going to say that, are you?" 
 asked his mother, reading a sentence aloud. 
 
 "Of course. It's the truth." 
 
 "But — I wish somehow you weren't in it at all, this 
 
 hating and calling names and hurting people " She 
 
 hesitated a moment. Then she added vigorously: 
 " Don't mind me. Women are inconsistent idiots. They 
 love a man that will fight, but they don't want a man 
 they love to fight. Go on." 
 
 The weather bureau had prophesied rain and was 
 probably disappointed, but the men of Hampstead, 
 emerging from the dingy, cavernous dampness and 
 lethargy of yesterday into the crisp, clear air, thanked 
 God on their faces if not in their hearts. It was the kind 
 of a day, as Gilshannon remarked, that "made everybody 
 get up on their toes." Gilshannon, as well as the other 
 men on their way to work, read the posters announcing 
 the meeting that night. He also listened attentively to 
 remarks made by those who stopped and examined the 
 broad white sheets, on which the ink was still wet. He 
 noticed, moreover, that at eleven o'clock most of the 
 posters had mysteriously disappeared. The latter fapt 
 became evident to him, when, in answer to a call from 
 
368 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 one of his friends, he went to the vicinity of the Hardy 
 shops as rapidly as a car would take him. 
 
 It was as if the strikers had suddenly been let loose 
 by iron hands which had held them. They were con- 
 gregated in swaying, restless groups down Railroad Street 
 and aroimd the Hardy corner. The windows of blocks 
 and tenements on either side were filled with more of 
 them. The police station alone, near the Main Street 
 corner, was somnolent in its repose. The crowd had 
 stoned two automobiles and had started a runaway. 
 Mr. McNish had been followed by a snarling, cursing, 
 hooting pack, and, stopping at the police station, had 
 had his anger increased by the nonchalant attitude of 
 the captain in charge. Others had had the same expe- 
 rience during the morning. In fact, the appearance of 
 anyone who had any connection, in the minds of the 
 men, with shop-owners was the signal for organized 
 abuse. When Gilshannon arrived, the groups about the 
 shops were enjoying themselves hurling occasional stones 
 through the office windows, and joking with the leisurely 
 "guardian of the peace *' who occasionally told them to 
 move on. 
 
 "There," remarked Gilshannon, "we've got down to 
 the genius of a strike, ' an infinite capacity for breaking 
 panes. ' " 
 
 He passed from group to group, and everywhere he 
 received a noisy welcome. He hurried up stairways 
 where no other outsider was permitted to go. He passed 
 pickets, and his cynical face was his countersign. He 
 interrupted an important meeting, where his sudden 
 appearance stopped Martin Jethro, whose red face ap- 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 369 
 
 peared occasionally in a revolving windmill of arms, so 
 abruptly that one of Jethro^s arms remained outstretched 
 some seconds, before finishing the gesture without words. 
 
 "Stop swinging Indian clubs," said Gilshannon. The 
 crowd turned around, angry at the interruption, and then 
 laughed aloud when they saw that it was Gilshannon. 
 They all liked him, and if the News printed anything 
 unfavorable to workingmen they were certain he had not 
 written it. Whatever they liked in the paper they were 
 sure came from his pen. 
 
 A few moments later he was the center of a large 
 crowd in the street, where he started a discussion to 
 which he listened until he caught sight of Tom Grady 
 talking excitedly to three or four men under a store awn- 
 ing. He drifted over to them, told them a good story 
 and asked no questions. They therefore told him a 
 good many interesting things, and Gilshannon yawned 
 and remarked that, "seeing there was nothing doing, he 
 guessed he'd go back to the office," and loafed down the 
 street, hands in pockets and whistling loudly. At the 
 first store around the corner a large blue bell suggested 
 a telephone; and he went in; matched a dime against a 
 nickel with the clerk to see who should pay for the mes- 
 sage; won; and closed the door of the little booth behind 
 him. Gilbert answered the call. 
 
 "No, I want to talk with Mrs. Gilbert." 
 
 "Isn't that you, Gil?" 
 
 "I'm McCarty, the iceman, and I want to talk to- " 
 
 "All right." 
 
 He told Mrs. Gilbert that he wanted her to keep "the 
 young man" indoors to-day, at least not to let him come 
 
370 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 down to the shop; that there was no trouble of any 
 kind and wouldn't be; that it was merely a question of 
 policy, and that he was certain that she alone could 
 keep "the young man" at home. Then he asked for 
 Gilbert and explained to him the situation. 
 
 "As far as I can tell Conlin turned them loose this 
 morning. He issued a statement to them not to use 
 violence, but he told Jethro and Grady and the rest to 
 go as far as they liked without burning up the shops. 
 There are perhaps three hundred of 'em lined up around 
 the shops, but there aren't fifty of 'em that have their 
 fighting blood up. They just josh people who go by, 
 and make folks in automobiles duck, and break window 
 glass. Jethro and the others have been letting off their 
 fireworks all morning, but they don't enthuse a bit. 
 But they've got it in for you, and if you turned up down 
 here you'd be a red rag and they'd all get their heads 
 done " — '' Yes, I knew you'd be like that. That's why I 
 told your mother to tie a hard knot in her apron strings" 
 — "All right, call me another. I like it." 
 
 He hung up the receiver and called up the police sta- 
 tion. The chief himself answered : 
 
 " Did you know that for two hours a bunch of strikers 
 have been relieving their feelings at the public expense 
 on your street?"— "All right. Just wanted to find out 
 if you knew about it. This is the News talking." 
 
 Gilshannon went out of the store, whistling, uncon- 
 sciously picking up, where he had left it, the melody he 
 had dropped. Up on Railroad Street, the police station 
 woke up suddenly and started to arrest two or three men. 
 Some hotheads among the strikers led an attempt to 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 371 
 
 prevent the arrests, and for an hour the crowd struggled 
 with the police and outwitted them and in the end over- 
 came them. At the twelve o'clock whistle they drifted 
 off to neighboring saloons, leaving a lone prisoner in the 
 jail, — a Jewish boy who worked for Weg, the cheap cloth- 
 ier, and who, passing, had assisted in the stone throwing. 
 
 It was nearly four o'clock when Gilbert completed his 
 writing. He tore up the sheets of paper he had wasted, 
 threw out the ashes of four cigars and put on his 
 coat. 
 
 ''Where are you going?'* Mrs. Gilbert asked in surprise. 
 
 "Down to Prentice's." 
 
 "Then I'm going with you," she said decisively, and 
 went for her hat and jacket. She went with him only 
 as far as the porch, however, and stood there, a moment 
 later, watching him down the sunny, peaceful street; 
 proud of him, fearful for him, and with a jealous sense of 
 defeat in her heart that she scarcely admitted even to 
 herself. 
 
 "He's going to see her," she said under her breath, 
 his promises and good-natured threats and ridicule repeat- 
 ing themselves in her ears. "He didn't want me." 
 
 The stinging air made the red blood bound through 
 his veins, and he threw back his broad shoulders with a 
 jerk as if to dislodge a burden. Everything was done 
 that could be done. Therefore he would forget the 
 entire matter. All day he had held his thoughts at 
 leash by sheer strength of will. When he had tried to 
 write that morning he had found her face looking up at 
 him from the paper, across at him from the walls, down 
 at him from the ceiling. He could not seem to escape 
 
372 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 her. And to-day the tantalizing smile, that he used to 
 doubt and fear, seemed consistently tender. Now he 
 must see her. He had tired of his imagination. He 
 wanted the reality. He hadn't seen her since last night, 
 and that was centuries upon centuries ago. He laughed 
 at himself boyishly as he turned in at her gate. 
 
 "She's not in," said the grinning Irish girl. "She's 
 gone out with Mr. McNish." 
 
 Gilbert had never before realized how much he dis- 
 liked grinning Irish girls. He stared at her for a full 
 moment, mumbled a word of thanks and turned away 
 down the long walk. And, as he went, his jaw set deter- 
 minedly, and his eyes, unseeing, stared at the sidewalk 
 before him. Even people, leaning curiously from a pass- 
 ing car to look at him, reminded him of nothing except 
 his ungainly bulk, which often made him conscious and 
 imcomfortable. 
 
 When he had done his errand at the little printery he 
 decided to go down to the shops, and was half way to the 
 corner before he remembered his promise. He stopped 
 to think and, listening, he heard the Fall wind piping in 
 the trees overhead. Its call stirred him. As he walked 
 on he saw, back of the corner in the vacant lot they had 
 used when he was in school, the High School boys prac- 
 tising football. Impulsively he strode across to the 
 swaying lines that faced each other, and the little group 
 which crouched ready for the ball. He heard the loud, 
 high signal, and he saw the crouching backs beat up 
 against the opposing line in vain; and the signal called 
 him as clearly as it called the rimner with the ball. The 
 boys cared nothing for Hardy & Son or for politics. They 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 373 
 
 greeted him with a cheer, for the achievements of the 
 team he had captained and which had won the state 
 championship years before, was a mighty chapter in the 
 school's history. Five minutes later the school team was 
 beginning the best practice game of its season, the prac- 
 tice which, they said afterwards, won the pennant for 
 them, and the dozen or more spectators were shouting for 
 the giant who, forgetful of all else, plimged through its 
 defenses and stopped its rushes and tackled its rimners 
 who had evaded the other players of the "scrub.'* It 
 was beginning to grow dark when he left them, his trou- 
 sers spotted with grass stains, and one shirt sleeve torn 
 into shreds. They gave their school yell for him vocifer- 
 ously, and he laughed and waved his hand to them and 
 hurried away. His watch told him that it was nearly 
 six o'clock. 
 
 Directly before him through the dusk he caught sight 
 of Colonel Mead toiling up the hill as rapidly as stiff, 
 rheumatic legs would carry him. Gilbert hailed him and 
 he stopped with an unmistakable look of relief on his 
 face. 
 
 "Lookin' fer you," he said between breaths, as Gilbert 
 joined him. ''Been down-town. That Gilshannon wri- 
 ter-man wuz standin' — steps o' the hotel — crowd around 
 — when I went down. Thought he watched me care- 
 ful. When I came back he steps out with thet way of 
 his, ez ef he was dancin' on a flower bed an' about to 
 ask the Queen o' Sheba to hev a stroll with him. He 
 looks me square in the eye, and he says loud like, 'Mr. 
 Mead, here's that check ye've been wantin'.' Havin' 
 been born day 'fore yestiddy, I savveyed, an' told him 
 
374 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 thet I wuz glad to see him leadin' a moral Christian life 
 at last, an' come along. Here's the check. ' Tell J. G. 
 plans being made to do for him at Opera House if he 
 tries to speak. ' " 
 
 "Good business," cried Gilbert emphatically. 
 
 The Colonel stared at him wonderingly. 
 
 '^That takes the last worry off my head," Gilbert 
 went on. "They haven't control and they can't get it 
 before to-night. We've got 'em on the run. Colonel." 
 
 "But, damn it, boy" — the Colonel shook the paper 
 vigorously in Gilbert's face — "how about this here am- 
 bush?" 
 
 "When is an ambush not an ambush. Colonel? When 
 you know about it before-hand, of course. There won't 
 be any important disturbance at that meeting." 
 
 Gilbert's whimsical smile reassured Colonel Mead, 
 though he shook his head doubtfully. 
 
 "I'm comin' after ye to-night, boy, in the best carry- 
 all I can get." 
 
 Gilbert laughed good-humoredly his thanks for the 
 older man's precaution, as the Colonel left him and 
 started diagonally across the street. 
 
 "Colonel," he called, when the veteran was only a 
 dark outline on the other side of the roadway, "come to 
 the Hardy s' for me at eight." 
 
 The Colonel stopped, hesitated, then waved his hand 
 imderstandingly and faded into the growing darkness. 
 
 Gilbert found his mother nervously pacing the little 
 front porch. 
 
 "There've been some men about, laddie," she said, 
 her forehead creased with worry wrinkles, when they 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 375 
 
 were within. Gilbert caught her chin and, stooping over, 
 he kissed her. 
 
 " I thought young women Uke you rather enjoyed that, 
 mither." And he laughed away her objections. 
 
 Supper was leisurely and merry, with Mrs. Gilbert in 
 higher spirits than usual, and her son, being a mere 
 man, watched her admiringly and believed that her 
 cheerfulness was genuine. The meal over, Gilbert, with 
 an awkward affectation of carelessness, closed the door 
 into the hall, and Mrs. Gilbert heard alternately for many 
 minutes the tinkling of the telephone bell and the steady 
 murmur of one-sided conversations. She found him in 
 the parlor sometime afterwards, smoking and reading 
 over his manuscript. Before he had finished it the clock 
 on the mantelpiece chimed the half hour. 
 
 "Do I look all right, mither?" he asked, as they stood 
 in the doorway a. moment or two later. Mrs. Gilbert's 
 eye wandered proudly over the massive, ungainly figure, 
 which no artificial things such as clothes could ever fit, 
 and the head with its protruding jaw, its shaggy eye- 
 brows, broad-bridged nose and shock of unruly brown 
 hair. She was a fighting mother. 
 
 "You look fine, laddie," she said. "I hope you beat 
 them." 
 
 She watched him tramp across the short area, where 
 the moonlight through the trees mingled weirdly with 
 the streaming lines of flaring gaslight. A shrill whistle 
 from the darkness beyond made her start suddenly, but 
 she stood for a long time on the brilliant threshold, that 
 he might see her if he chanced to look back. Then she 
 closed the door, and knelt quickly upon the stairs. 
 
376 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 Once away from the house Gilbert hurried with long, 
 loping strides. There were only twenty-five short, 
 precious minutes before the Colonel would call for him, 
 twenty-five minutes in which to see her. He tried to 
 comfort himself by calculating that there would be fif- 
 teen hundred seconds. Then the thought of her ban- 
 ished everything else from his mind. He saw nothing, 
 heard nothing, forgot everything but her. When he 
 awoke again he found himself at the beginning of her 
 hedge, where the night hung blackest midway between 
 the two corner lamps, the trees obscuring the moon. 
 Beyond was the house, a few dim lights alone showing 
 life. With the goal in sight he hurried the faster, and 
 turned in at the narrow gateway. There he wheeled 
 suddenly at a footstep behind him. But nobody ap- 
 peared and the noise was not repeated. He went on up 
 the path. The grinning Irish girl once more opened the 
 door and peered out. 
 
 "I'll see," she said and shut the door ungraciously. 
 Gilbert smiled and then fidgeted anxiously, watching the 
 street for fear the prompt Colonel would appear to carry 
 him away before he could see her. Under the electric 
 light below he saw occasional dark figures appear and 
 disappear, and a belated grocer's wagon drive by furiously. 
 
 "Mr. Gilbert," said the girl, appearing behind him, 
 "they say she's out in the garden next door. Shall I 
 call her or " 
 
 "I'll find her," he laughed boyishly and, taking the 
 three steps in one, he swung around the side of the house 
 toward the gap in the hedge he knew so well. As he 
 straightened up after bending to pass through it, he gave 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 377 
 
 a quick sigh of delight. Before him stretched the gar- 
 den of his memories, and across it lay undisoovered paths 
 of moonshine, with twigs and long waving stalks danc- 
 ing elfin-like at their edges. Far away the pale light lay 
 upon the old apple tree Hke a saintly halo, and, beyond, 
 reached again the fairyland of shade and shine, ending 
 never, a land of peace, peopled with the fancies of his 
 boyhood, reaching from him to the moon and back. 
 And somewhere, lost in its tangled labyrinths, she awaited 
 him, unknowing. He started forward, his feet tramp- 
 ing the well-remembered ways mechanically. Twice he 
 stopped and Ustened, thinking that he heard her, and 
 called softly. Hearing no answer, he went on more 
 slowly, feeling the spell of the silence and peace about 
 him. 
 
 At last he stopped at the edge of the trees. Beyond 
 was the little clearing and the summer-house, and, his 
 heart told him by its quickening beat, she was there. 
 It was her sanctuary and he hesitated to disturb her. 
 As he stood waiting for a moment in the shadow, he heard 
 the echoing toll of the First Church bell, sounding muffled 
 and mellow in the distance. It was eight o'clock, time 
 for the Colonel, and he had not seen her. He groped his 
 way in among the trees, through which, above, the moon 
 pierced with one broad spot of light directly before the 
 summer-house, and sent stray beams within to play with 
 the dense shadows. "Oh, Clare," he called, coming out 
 into the weird brilliancy. Beyond in the shadow some- 
 thing moved and came toward him. He started toward 
 it. Then, suddenly, he leaped aside into the blackness 
 and, throwing himself erect, braced himself, every sense 
 
378 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 alert. For the figure that he saw was that of a crouch- 
 ing man. A footstep crackled at his left, and someone 
 stumbled behind him. The moon disappeared behind 
 a cloud, and the garden of peace vanished. 
 
 All day Clare Hardy had felt an indefinable sense of 
 rebuff, in the midst of her admiration for Gilbert's refusal 
 to read the papers she had brought him. When she 
 found that he had come that afternoon while she was 
 out, her first impulse was to go to him. Perhaps there 
 was some new way in which she might help him. But 
 her pride held her back. She had taken the initiative 
 too often already, it told her, and with a sigh of discon- 
 tent she surrendered temporarily to the conventions her 
 mother worshiped. After a silent dinner with Mrs. 
 Hardy, idleness indoors grew too irksome to be borne, and, 
 throwing a coat over her shoulders, she slipped out and 
 through the gap in the hedge, into Mr. McNish's ever- 
 welcoming garden, to be idle out of doors and alone. 
 She, too, stopped as the calm, moonlit garden unfolded 
 itself before her, but she noticed few of its detailed 
 traceries of beauty. It suggested him and the old days 
 and Billy, — this garden; that was its beauty and its power 
 to her and, strangely enough, tears sprang to her eyes. 
 She was advancing to one of her favorite paths when she 
 heard the front door of the big house close noisily, and 
 Billy's well-known, whistle. Impulsively she answered 
 it, and, quickly drying her eyes, she turned back, along 
 the path by the side of the house. At the corner of the 
 porch she met him, and they paced together slowly aroimd 
 to the front walk. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 379 
 
 "I'm in a gray-green funk," was Billy's greeting. '*I 
 can't remember a thing I want to say to-night. Every 
 few seconds I find myself saying, ' Ladies and Gentlemen,' 
 and the meeting is for men only. It's going to be an 
 awful fizzle." 
 
 "Nonsense." 
 
 "That's right. Try to brace me up. But I was never 
 like this before. I've been scared, but I never was par- 
 alyzed. Why, I couldn't eat any dinner, Clare. That's 
 fair evidence, and, afterwards, I went upstairs and tried 
 to make my speech, and all I could do was to make ges- 
 tures. It's awful." 
 
 Billy's unassumed woe set Clare laughing gayly, for 
 tears and mirth were both near the surface with her 
 that night. He was laughing with her when they heard 
 the eight o'clock bell strike its echoing toll. 
 
 "Billy, will you ever grow up?" They were under 
 the big elm near the gate. The moon had gone under a 
 cloud and the lawn was dark. He hesitated. 
 
 "Perhaps," he said in a low voice, leaning toward her, 
 suddenly grave. 
 
 "It's so silly," she hurried on. "You know you're 
 going to make the greatest speech of your life to-night." 
 
 "I might if you'd say one word, just one word, Clare." 
 He caught her hand unawares and she let him hold it. 
 
 "Billy," she pleaded, her voice steady, "don't make 
 it hard for me to-night when I want to help you." 
 
 "I can't give you up, Clare." 
 
 "Yes, you can, Billy, and you must." 
 
 "You're certain?" 
 
 "Certain." 
 
380 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 The door of the house closed quietly, and Mr. McNish 
 came out and toward them. 
 
 " I'm sorry." Clare's words came slowly. " I want you 
 to succeed to-night— and always, Billy. You know that." 
 
 "It's Jack," Billy whispered. 
 
 She turned from him quickly to try to greet Mr. 
 McNish, but before she could speak Billy came to her 
 rescue. 
 
 "Clare has been wishing me success, father," he said 
 quietly. Mr. McNish looked from one to the other 
 curiously. 
 
 "There ought to be no doubt of the outcome of the 
 meeting, then," he remarked gallantly. 
 
 Clare Hardy walked slowly back to the gap in the 
 hedge. The garden had no charm for her. A dull 
 weight of regret pulled at her heart. At the hedge she 
 came suddenly face to face with her maid. 
 
 "Colonel Mead is looking fer Mr. Gilbert, ma'am, an' 
 'tis a hurry he's in, too." 
 
 "Mr. Gilbert? Where?" 
 
 "Sure, I sint him out after you long ago," and the 
 girl rehearsed the matter in detail. Clare's mind worked 
 quickly. 
 
 "All right," she said. "Tell Colonel Mead that Mr. 
 Gilbert will be there immediately." 
 
 She did not wait to see the girl turn back with the 
 message. She started down into the garden, calling his 
 name, her heart beating lightly. He had come again 
 then. He was here, in their old garden, searching for 
 her. The world was not such a helter-skelter affair after 
 all. She threaded her way along rapidly, calling and 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 381 
 
 listening. On through the garden, bright again in the 
 moonlight, she went, her heart growing heavier as no 
 answer came. Perhaps he had come and, not finding 
 her, he had gone again. She pushed her way in among 
 the trees about the summer-house. She stopped short, 
 her heart beating wildly. Then, with a low cry, she 
 threw herself on her knees beside the well-known figure 
 lying in the broad patch of light, and called his name 
 again and again. 
 
 The odor of smoke aroused her to the realities of it 
 all, and she turned to see the last sparks die out of a 
 crumpled mass of charred paper on the ground beside 
 him. The sinuous tendrils of smoke curled upward like 
 incense until they reached the edge of the background 
 of moonshine, and then they vanished into the darkness. 
 
 Hampstead Opera House had been built three years 
 before by a company organized by ex-Congressman 
 Strutt and a few others. Its common stock had been 
 sold by popular subscription among the citizens, and it 
 was therefore looked upon by them with pride as a 
 municipal achievement. The ex-Congressman, however, 
 looked upon the building very naturally as a personal 
 achievement, since he was president of the company 
 and since he held a majority of the preferred stock upon 
 which alone dividends were paid. Few visitors were 
 allowed to leave Hampstead without admiring the new 
 organ in the Baptist church or the handsome Public 
 Library, but no one escaped until the proud hosts had 
 led the way to the Opera House by night or by day. It 
 was Hampstead's magnum opits. 
 
382 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 Hampstead Opera House was one of the largest thea- 
 ters in Connecticut, and never in its short history had it 
 held as large or as vigorous a crowd as this which arose 
 to cheer and to jeer the young candidate for mayor, on 
 that memorable Saturday night. Billy McNish, thread- 
 ing his way among the party leaders and privileged guests 
 on the stage, stopping now and then to shake hands 
 gracefully with one and another, felt a sudden exhilara- 
 tion sweep through him as he realized that this discord- 
 ant, deafening noise was raised for him. He reached 
 the front of the stage, bowed with assumed dignity and 
 then gave a natural, boyish wave of the hand, a half 
 salute, that caught the assemblage immediately. Billy 
 sat down, looked squarely at the mass of men he had 
 feared and smiled contentedly. 
 
 They packed the little boxes at his left and right, and 
 the green hangings had been drawn aside that all might 
 see. Above in the two galleries a line of arms, many of 
 them in shirt sleeves, dangled in various postures over 
 the showy green papier-mach^ covering, and above them 
 rose terrace after terrace of bobbing heads. Down- 
 stairs in the pit the aisles were obliterated, the standing 
 room at the back was filled, and even in the lobby be- 
 yond, as in the foyer above, there was no end visible of 
 the swaying mass. 
 
 All day the town had been filled with rumors, many 
 of them wild and improbable, about this meeting. The 
 striking workmen had heard them, and the men at the 
 benches of Hubbard's huge shops, and the toiling gang 
 who were cutting up Broad Street and laying track. 
 The politicians had heard them and the storekeepers 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 383 
 
 had spread them and the street loafers had enlarged 
 them imtil all Hampstead was on tiptoe for some mys- 
 terious sensation. No wonder the Opera House was 
 crowded, and no wonder the streets outside were jammed 
 with disappointed men and curious women. 
 
 Within they were all men. Peering across the lowered 
 footlights Billy recognized many faces, a doctor here, 
 an old mechanic there, lawyers pushing young clerks, 
 a shirt-sleeved hod carrier sitting and a small factory 
 owner standing behind him. There was Mr. Higgins of 
 Tareville crowded up against the complacent Mr. Butter- 
 son, who mopped his red, apoplectic face with a huge 
 handkerchief. Mr. Tubb sat in the center, waving with 
 spasmodic enthusiasm a small American flag, and beyond 
 him, in a new check suit and wearing the inevitable 
 bird's-egg blue necktie, Mr. Lumpkin of the night lunch 
 wagon was evidently amusing those about him with 
 original remarks. Beside him Joe Heffler and Jimmy 
 O'Rourke sat silent. The ''cabinet" was still intact. 
 Over at the left Tom Grady sat scowling in the midst of 
 a group that seemed organized, and in which Billy saw 
 men whom he knew were employees of Hardy & Son. 
 Sprinkled here and there, he noticed swarthy foreign faces, 
 and he caught the glow of red handkerchiefs. Above in 
 the second gallery loafers whistled shrilly, and the men in 
 the orchestra worked hard to make "The Star-Spangled 
 Banner" heard above the hum of conversation and the 
 occasional remarks of loud-voiced wits, which followed 
 the din of applause at Billy's entrance. 
 
 Turnmg, Billy found Moriarty's eye upon him ques- 
 tioningly. The little Irishman jerked his finger toward 
 
384 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 two empty chairs at the front of the stage. As if in echo, 
 a loud, organized cry came from the left, which caught 
 the attention of everyone in the house, for the orchestra 
 had surrendered temporarily after playing every national 
 air it knew. 
 
 "Where is John Gilbert?" 
 
 Jeers and cat-calls followed the question. 
 
 'Toward." 
 
 "Scared out." 
 
 "Scab." 
 
 Most of the cries came from the left. The rest of the 
 house sat silent, but Billy, looking again at the thousands 
 of faces, — all, it seemed to him, turned in his direction, — 
 felt that a sudden change had been wrought in the 
 assemblage. A moment ago it had seemed good-humored 
 and leisurely. Now it was molded into an alert, grim 
 force, eager for struggle. For a half second he wished 
 that Clare Hardy might have heard his greeting and 
 Gilbert's. Then he straightened quickly in his chair as 
 Judge Morrison, standing by the speaker's low table, 
 addressed the meeting in his deep, orotund voice. 
 
 The crowd listened quietly at first, and Billy, with a 
 feeling of relief at being temporarily sheltered from atten- 
 tion, turned now and then to watch anxiously the wings 
 on the other side of the stage. Others behind him, also, 
 were staring in the same direction. Before the Judge 
 had spoken five minutes Moriarty slipped out unnoticed 
 and disappeared through the stage door plainly visible 
 from the stage. Gilshannon, at the reporter's table at 
 the side, caught Billy's eye and shook his head slightly, 
 while the Judge helped himself to the inevitable swallow 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 385 
 
 of water in the middle of his remarks. The rest of the 
 speech was punctuated with loud cheers and with hoots 
 and wails of derision, for the old Judge made a doleful 
 and pessimistic plea that "an industrial condition, or 
 the support of any man, ought not to influence a loyal 
 party man away from his ticket." He finished with an 
 open apology for John Gilbert's connection with the 
 campaign, and an introduction of Billy McNish, in well- 
 rounded phrases, as 'Hhe next mayor of Hampstead." 
 He sat down amid applause that quickly died away in 
 anticipation. 
 
 As Billy arose jauntily he was greeted by the reiter- 
 ated chant from the left. 
 
 "Where is John Gilbert?'' 
 
 This time it was echoed in a disjointed cry from the 
 top gallery, and when that died away, a group of young 
 men at the rear, anxious to have a hand in the fun, 
 reiterated it, emphasizing humorously the second word 
 and pausing an instant after it. 
 
 "Where ia John Gilbert?" 
 
 Billy beamed at them genially and waited. 
 
 "Can't we have it once more?" he said good-naturedly 
 when they were quiet. Billy's good humor was infectious 
 and the audience smiled. 
 
 "And I was taught that it was the women who were 
 inquisitive," he added. 
 
 The smile broadened and Billy, watching them, knew 
 that it was time for him to begin. 
 
 Never before had Billy so completely held an audience. 
 Throughout the ten minutes that he spoke he did not 
 see an eye turn from him. Every sense made keen with 
 
386 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 the exhilaration of it, he listened with them to his speech 
 and applauded it. He watched every movement in the 
 vast mass facing him, read their thoughts intuitively, and 
 felt every wave of emotion that lifted them. When they 
 laughed his whole being shook with delight. Tears came 
 into his eyes when he saw tears glisten in theirs. And 
 when they were silent, more than two thousand, so that 
 he could scarcely hear their repressed breathing, cool 
 thrills ran up and down his back. And yet, in the midst 
 of his triumph, he felt the emptiness of the chairs at his 
 right, and, turning now and then to speak to the boxes, 
 he flashed a glance across the stage at them. And 
 always they were empty. 
 
 Suddenly the atmosphere of success changed in the 
 midst of a sentence. His grip on the crowd seemed to 
 relax rapidly. The defection began in the galleries and 
 spread throughout the entire hall. The whispering stir 
 grew louder. Necks were craned. And in the pit many 
 men arose and stared past him. As he finished the sen- 
 tence a hand caught his arm, and he turned to look into 
 Moriarty's face, pale with excitement. A low murmur 
 ran through the wondering audience, partly of approval 
 at the young candidate's imexpectedly good speech, 
 partly of conjecture as to the cause of the interruption. 
 Billy had turned his back upon them and had followed 
 the little Irishman to the wings, without a word. On 
 the stage nearly everyone was standing, trying to catch 
 a glimpse of the little group by the stage door, but only 
 those near by could see Clare Hardy and Billy meet in 
 the midst of a dozen excited men. 
 
 When, a few moments later, Billy reappeared, he was 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 387 
 
 followed in single file by all of the men who had been in 
 the group in the wings except Mr. McNish, and when 
 they reached the front of the stage they separated slowly 
 into a long line that stretched behind Billy from one side 
 of the stage to the other. The great audience, impressed 
 instantly by the menacing grimness of their faces, leaned 
 forward in expectant silence, while behind them the 
 closely packed mass on the stage arose to see and to listen. 
 Billy in the center, the pivot of the surrounding throng, 
 stood waiting for the scraping of chairs behind him to 
 cease. When at last he spoke, his voice rang clear and 
 defiant, although he paused between words as if for 
 breath. 
 
 "If anyone fails to hear a word of what I say now I 
 want him to stop me.^' He paused, and for some seconds 
 the throbbing silence of the thousands, tense, awe-inspir- 
 ing, overpowering, filled the hall. "The bravest man in 
 Hampstead is dead or dying." Billy's voice broke, but 
 he went on with an effort. "For months he has been 
 fighting for you and for me the most insidious, the most 
 deadly, the most unscrupulous power in our city, fight- 
 ing while many of us railed at him and called him coward. 
 At last he uncovered them and to-night he was to have 
 told us for our own protection all he knew. But they, 
 these enemies of his and of ours, knowing that no honest 
 man in Hampstead would walk the same street with 
 them if what John Gilbert knew was told, have added 
 murder to their list of crimes. You asked some time 
 ago where John Gilbert was. I could not tell you then. 
 I can tell you now. He started for this meeting. On 
 the way he was attacked in the dark by a large number 
 
388 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 of men, who also destroyed the manuscript of the speech 
 he was to read to us. Men, you have called him a coward. 
 Two of the mob who attacked him were found senseless 
 near him, and there are trails of the blood of others that 
 show how well he defended himself." 
 
 The speaker paused again, but from every part of the 
 auditorium came shouts for him to go on. 
 
 "The manuscript of his speech was destroyed, but 
 there was another copy about which his enemies did not 
 know. I have it here." Billy lifted a smudged sheaf 
 of papers in his hand. Cheers started on the stage be- 
 hind him and swept out into the auditorium until the 
 great audience rocked with them, clear, defiant, menacing, 
 the outcry of an American assemblage for fair play. 
 Over at the left Tom Grady sat among the strikers, 
 cowed and silent. 
 
 "It was brought to me from the printers, to whom he 
 took it that every home might read his story in plain 
 print." Billy shouted this into the midst of the clamor. 
 Then he arranged the soiled and wrinkled sheets of paper, 
 and half-a-dozen men closed in about him as if in fear of 
 a second attack. The audience quieted quickly before 
 the magic of the manuscript, and Billy realized, for the 
 first time in his legal experience, the existence of a real 
 bar of justice in a republic of many courts of law. 
 
 "I come here to-night," the manuscript began, "not 
 as a speaker nor as a politician but as a citizen, to state 
 some unpleasant facts. There is a group of men in this 
 city, wealthy, respected, powerful. I shall name four, 
 Mr. Brett, your mayor, Mr. Merrivale, Mr. Strutt and 
 Mr. Alonzo Hubbard, and the greatest of these is the 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 389 
 
 last. I shall prove to you that these men are not only- 
 bad citizens but dangerous criminals; that for their own 
 ends they have robbed the city and have bribed weak- 
 lings; that they have bought and paid for a strike against 
 Hardy & Son, so that they might fleece its stockholders 
 and own it at little cost; that they are conspirators 
 against public and private peace, men who evidently 
 are not graced with a single conscientious scruple." 
 
 The stern face of the audience scarcely moved. A 
 quick, convulsive gasp at the naming of Hampstead's 
 leading citizens left mouths agape with amazement. 
 Otherwise the only stir was of heads turned now and 
 then toward neighbors, sober or doubting glances, and 
 then eyes front once more, bent upon the group at the 
 front of the stage, in the midst of which stood the young 
 man who had made them laugh a few minutes ago and 
 who had laughed with them, and in whose hands now 
 the threatening sheets of paper trembled and rattled 
 audibly. Slowly and with the jerky emphasis of hardly 
 restrained anger came concisely the intricate story of the 
 fight for the shops; how the ring had hired Mr. Conlin and 
 two local union men; how the mass of the men had been 
 imposed upon and had gone out; how the ring had then 
 bought the newspapers and had fooled the public as it 
 had fooled the men; and at last how nearly it had come 
 to obtaining the control of the mills. Rapidly the 
 atmosphere in the close hall became electric and fore- 
 boding. 
 
 "This man, Conlin, your leader, men, is an old criminal. 
 He has been in prison three times to my knowledge. He 
 will get thousands of dollars if this strike is successful. 
 
390 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 You know Martin Jethro and Tom Grady as well as I 
 do. They are getting thirty-five dollars a week salary 
 during the strike, and will receive a bonus of one hun- 
 dred dollars if it is successful. And what do you get? 
 Higher wages? No. A union shop? No. You are out 
 of work while the strike lasts, and if it is successful the 
 doors of part of Hardy & Son are closed against you. 
 You must sell your homes and find work elsewhere. 
 That is your reward." 
 
 A low growl of growing anger, like the first muttering 
 of a coming tempest, ran through the audience, beginning 
 at the left. The strikers near his seat reached threaten- 
 ing hands forward for Grady, but he was not there. He 
 had slipped from his seat to the orchestra box, and was 
 even then lying behind a pile of old canvas underneath 
 the stage. As the noise increased Billy raised the manu- 
 script above his head and, as if by magic, the tumult 
 ceased into grim silence. As the reading continued, how- 
 ever, and as they heard the true history of the Street 
 Railway Bill, of the bribery by which it was passed 
 and of the gain that it meant to a few at the expense of 
 the many, red passion flared across the multitude, and 
 thunderous shouts interrupted the speaker again and 
 again with growing rapidity of succession. 
 
 The story of the reservoir deal, with the engineer's 
 statement of the amoimt of money it had put into two 
 or three pockets at the city's expense, heaped up the 
 growing anger until men sat gritting their teeth and 
 clenching their fists and waiting for the speaker to finish. 
 From where Billy stood the strained intensity of the 
 crowd was startling, terrifying. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 391 
 
 " I think I have proved what I set out to prove. I ask 
 you this. Will you allow the Hardy shops to be wrecked 
 by these industrial pirates? Will you allow our city 
 government to be merely an open window to these gentle- 
 men thieves? Crime unpunished or unpre vented breeds 
 greater crime. If you do not stop them, they of them- 
 selves will stop at nothing.'* 
 
 With the coincidence of the last words the tempest 
 broke. The entire mass was on its feet, talking loudly, 
 shouting curses, howling suggestions; organized in its 
 unleashed passion for vengeance, but without a united 
 purpose for obtaining it; a wild chaos of swaying bodies, 
 faces alternately white and red with anger and deter- 
 mination, and glistening with sweat, arms lifted and 
 swinging. "Tar and feather" — "String 'em up" — 
 "Run 'em out." Here and there a few shouted for 
 order and tried to restrain those about them, but without 
 result. In their midst sat a man in a checked suit — 
 crying unashamed like a child, the tears dripping un- 
 heeded upon his gorgeous bird's-egg blue necktie. A 
 boy was on his feet, shaking his doubled fists in the air, 
 and a man with gray hair sat, unnaturally pale, staring 
 at the platform. On the stage the group of men in front 
 were talking earnestly. Suddenly the noise lessened and 
 quieted, until even Peter Lumpkin's sobs could be heard 
 in the stillness. Billy had advanced to the footlights 
 and again the magic manuscript was raised above his 
 head. 
 
 "Gentlemen, John Gilbert has fought a fair fight. 
 Only those who wish to blacken his name will finish 
 that fight with violence." 
 
392 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 Billy paused a second. Then he signaled to the leader 
 of the orchestra and, turning on his heel, he started 
 down through the lane that the people on the stage made 
 for him to the stage door. The orchestra struck up a 
 popular march, and the foreheads of the cornetist and the 
 trombone-player grew red with effort. Slowly the great 
 crowd turned and slowly it filed out. Again there were 
 loud cries and angry threats, but they were fewer and 
 less vigorous. Billy's closing sentence, while it had only 
 strengthened their anger, had brought back suddenly 
 their inbred Connecticut respect for law. Outside many 
 gathered in small groups that grew and melted into one, 
 and at last moved over to the little green, where Judge 
 Morrison and others talked quietly from the dilapidated 
 grandstand. Peter Lumpkin was among the last to 
 leave the hall. For a time he stood on the steps, and 
 now and then he wiped his eyes and breathed deep sighs. 
 Suddenly he was conscious of a figure that crept from 
 the darkened entrance, behind which the noises of clos- 
 ing doors were audible. It stood at last beside him, 
 peering across at the park and at the crowd there that 
 had left the street empty. 
 
 "What're they goin' to do now, Lump?" The voice 
 was half fear and half sneer. 
 
 The night lunch wagon proprietor dabbed at his eyes 
 carefully and returned his handkerchief to his pocket. 
 Then, without the slightest warning, he sent his dou})led 
 fist into the man's face and threw himself upon him. 
 Grady fell back with an oath, slipped, went down, then, 
 pullmg himself free, he disappeared in an alley. Mr. 
 Lumpkin picked himself up and stared down at the 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 393 
 
 ruined clothes. Then he started across to the green, 
 where he told the men on the edge of the crowd that he 
 had "whipped" Tom Grady, and showed his clothes as 
 proof. 
 
 All that night the tramp of men was heard in the streets 
 of Hampstead. People indoors heard it and wondered, 
 and, peering out, saw shadowy figures pass silently by. 
 Women, — wives and mothers, — sat up waiting for their 
 men and at last slept restlessly from sheer weariness. 
 Others, less fortimate, cried themselves to sleep with 
 shame at the dishonor which had come to them and to 
 their children, or sat lonely behind drawn shades and 
 heard the sound of many voices outside and the beat 
 of footsteps, at once a guard and a menace. Molly 
 Jethro, sitting dry-eyed beside a cot in jail on Railroad 
 Street where her husband had been brought from Mr. 
 McNish's garden, prayed for John Gilbert and for those 
 who sat wretchedly waiting with drawn faces in the 
 great stone house on the hill. 
 
 No one slept on Broad Street that night. Before mid- 
 night three or four hundred stern-faced men, with a gray- 
 haired young man in the lead, marched into the thorough- 
 fare. The workmen toiling imder the torches looked 
 into their faces and heard their commands and dropped 
 pick and shovel and hammer. The three or four hundred 
 men took their places. A team appeared, loaded with 
 Jimmy O'Rourke's barrels, and soon a great bonfi|;e lit 
 the entire length of street, where mechanics and store- 
 keepers and doctors in their shirt sleeves pulled up ties 
 and rails and filled in, from end to end, the lane which 
 the workmen had made. And all the while Peter Lump- 
 
394 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 kin, his shovel beating time, shouted songs in his mega- 
 phonic baritone, and the crowd joined in on chorus after 
 chorus. At last Peter started a tune in which nobody- 
 joined. He stopped work and everybody listened. He 
 finished it full voice: 
 
 *• For I count it one of the wisest things 
 To drive dull care away." 
 
 Then, to the surprise of everyone except Joe Heffler 
 and Jimmy O'Rourke, Mr. Lumpkin sat down on the 
 curbstone and cried again like a child. At dawn there 
 was no trace of the Broad Street extension of the street 
 railway except the uneven ridge that ran through the 
 middle of the street. 
 
 The peaceful sunUght of a New England Sunday dawn 
 seemed to rest benignly upon the windows of John Gil- 
 bert's boyhood room. Sometime later a girl emerged 
 from the side door, and the sun lighted a wan smile upon 
 her lips as she heard a low, muffled cheer from the groups 
 of men upon the lawn in front. Then she disappeared 
 through a gap in the hedge that led to a silent house 
 beyond. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THANKSGIVING DAY 
 
 JOHN GILBERT, sitting in an easy chair, started 
 suddenly and leaned forward. The merry ripple 
 of girlish laughter was not repeated, and he sank 
 back disconsolately. It had been like this for weeks. 
 In the first moments of returning consciousness on that 
 Sunday morning that seemed years ago, he thought that 
 he had seen bending over him a woman's face that he 
 knew. It had disappeared and he had tried to live that 
 he might see it again. Later, as the fragments of his 
 broken memory came back to him, they seemed to knit 
 together about a girlish figure sitting beside him in a 
 carriage, or standing before him in a parlor which seemed 
 so familiar that at times he almost knew where it was 
 and then lost it suddenly in a blank of exhaustion. Then, 
 as the whole structure of the past gradually built itself 
 up imtil he could look at it steadily, — until he knew that 
 it was no longer a mirage, that might tumble into the 
 dark cloud of forgetting which had hovered behind it, — 
 he heard sometimes the beat of a footstep that made his 
 pulse throb faster; he could hear it come to the door 
 and stop, and his mother would tiptoe away from him, 
 and he would hear whispers and then the footstep again, 
 going away, going away until it faded at last into a mere 
 pulse-beat. Only yesterday he had heard a voice that 
 
 395 
 
396 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 he was sure was hers — there was no other voice like 
 hers in the world — and he had limped to the window, for 
 it seemed to come from without, and he had stared dis- 
 appointedly at the empty garden. And now the ripple 
 of her laughter, that broke into a cascade of melody 
 at the end — from below stairs it sounded, and he was 
 forbidden to go down until dinner time. He sighed 
 deeply and listened, for once more it came echoing back 
 to him, dull and muffled now and going away mockingly. 
 
 They had told him gradually what had happened 
 after that last shattering blow felled him at the steps of 
 the old summer-house. They had told him how she 
 called Mrs. Ruggles, Mr. McNish^s housekeeper, and a 
 nearby doctor; and how, when they followed her to the 
 spot with others to help them, she turned away resolutely 
 and left them; how she brought Mrs. Gilbert and how 
 she drove the automobile at reckless speed to Prentice's 
 printery and from there to the Opera House, in time to 
 make the meeting an even mightier power than he could 
 have made it. They had not told him that, when Mr. 
 McNish brought her up West Hill again that night, she 
 sobbed hysterically against that kindly gentleman's 
 shoulder, repeating again and again — "I didn't want to 
 leave him. I didn't want to leave him. But it's the 
 thing that counts, not him nor me nor anybody else. 
 He said so." 
 
 They had told him other things which seemed to 
 interest him less. Martin Jethro had implicated a dozen 
 day laborers at the mills, most of them foreigners only 
 recently come to Hampstead, as those who, with him, 
 had followed Gilbert into the old garden. Conlin had 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 397 
 
 left town suddenly on that Saturday night, along with 
 four, thoroughly frightened, leading citizens, and the ex- 
 labor leader had never been heard of again. Jethro had 
 declared that Conlin planned the attack upon Gilbert, 
 but, whether or not Mr. Hubbard and the others had 
 been a party to it, only Conlin could tell and Conlin had 
 disappeared. The men had gone back to work at the 
 Hardy shops on Monday and, the following day, Hamp- 
 stead had elected Billy McNish mayor by the largest 
 majority the town had ever known. The new Common 
 Council had revoked the Street Railway Company's added 
 franchise, on the ground that the promised Broad Street 
 extension had not been completed within the stated 
 time. There had been some talk of lawsuits because of 
 the interference with the building of the line, but it had 
 proved to be nothing but talk. Mr. Hubbard evidently 
 desired peace more than anything else. There were 
 already two serious charges pending against him, and 
 pubUc opinion was with the prosecuting attorney. It 
 was rumored that, after all, the group about Mr. Hub- 
 bard had not lost much, aside from their hypothetical 
 profits under the extended franchise. A great railroad 
 company, which had been gradually absorbing electric 
 roads in Connecticut, had bought out the old franchise, 
 and had been granted the additional rights on terms 
 that were fair to the city. Much of this Gilbert had 
 listened to dully, seeming to take it all as a matter of 
 course. He wouldn't appear against Jethro or anybody 
 else if he could help it, he said. 
 
 During the last few days, with his returning strength, 
 he had fretted considerably about the shops and par- 
 
398 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 ticularly about the stock. He had overheard Mr. Mc- 
 Nish say that Mr. Hubbard was back in town again, and 
 his presence seemed to Gilbert like a threat. But neither 
 Mr. McNish nor the Colonel nor Billy would mention 
 business to him except to say soberly, in answer to his 
 repeated questions, that everything was all right, and, 
 jokingly, that they were getting along better without 
 him than they could with him. He tried to believe them, 
 but their assurances satisfied him less daily. The rattle 
 of machinery seemed to call him and the shouts of the 
 men at work, and the four walls of his old room seemed 
 those of a prison. To-day, however, came a partial 
 release, for his head seemed clear and strong and he could 
 manage the foot with a cane. And to-morrow, if the 
 weather was right, he was to be driven to the shops. He 
 wondered suddenly whether, if he asked her, she would 
 sit beside him in the carriage. 
 
 Mrs. Gilbert, coming in quietly, foimd him propped up 
 by his cane against the wood of the side window, below 
 which was the high hedge and, beyond, the silent Hardy 
 house. She smiled to herself as she stood for a few 
 seconds, hesitating to interrupt him. She had seen 
 him at that window many times during the last few 
 days. 
 
 "It's a dull day, laddie, outside," she said at last. He 
 turned quickly with a guilty look on his face. "I used 
 to want a cold, crisp day for Thanksgiving," she went 
 on, "but to-day I don't seem to care. There's so much 
 to be thankful for." 
 
 Mrs. Gilbert's arms were bared to the elbow, and the 
 neck of her plain gingham gown was loosened. Her 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 399 
 
 son, looking more closely, saw a fresh red stain on the 
 front of her waist. 
 
 ^^Mither," he said sternly, "youVe been cooking." 
 
 "Shh," she cautioned, bobbing her head at him and 
 laughing like a girl. " Do you think I could eat a Thanks- 
 giving dinner, here in this house, that some other woman 
 cooked? They were glad to have me there a-helping 
 them until I heard Mr. McNish coming, and then I ran 
 up here. But it's all done and you needn't fear, laddie, 
 about eating any of the food on the table. And now I'll 
 put on a dress that's seeming for the great occasion." 
 
 Dinner was a great occasion indeed. They all came 
 upstairs and escorted him down to the table, his mother, 
 Mr. McNish, the Colonel and Billy, and they settled him 
 in his chair and waited upon him until he laughed at 
 them, declaring that they would spoil him. 
 
 Mr. McNish's fervent blessing — at the end of which, to 
 Billy's undisguised surprise and delight, the Colonel 
 added an earnest and sonorous "Amen," — was not for a 
 table empty except of dishes, to which in dignified order 
 would come a slow procession of courses brought by sim- 
 pering maids. It was not necessary to approach this 
 dinner with strategy, slighting early opportimities and 
 holding reserves for that which was to come, only to be 
 sorry afterwards for an undoubted mistake; or, rushing 
 ahead with dauntless courage, only to find one's forces 
 exhausted just as the dish one desired more than all the 
 rest appeared. The good things were all before them, 
 and a dozen delicious odors lured them on. And such a 
 dinner as it was! There was no tempting soup to take 
 the edge from their appetites or from their anticipation. 
 
400 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 The great plates went around, piled high with turkey so 
 tender that it seemed ready to fall apart, and with potatoes 
 and squash from the garden. Then there were steaming 
 onions, and cranberry sauce with just the right amount 
 of sugar to please five varied tastes, and celery, crisp and 
 white, with occasional roots shining like polished ivory; 
 and olives and radishes with a dozen other relishes, and 
 a mountain of smoking, snowy biscuit. 
 
 As the meal progressed the Colonel gave vent to his 
 admiration. 
 
 "Only recollect one dinner the equal o* this," he 
 remarked, "an' thet was a cup o' hot coffee at Helena, 
 Montana, after I'd liked to starve to death in a blizzard." 
 
 "It is a good dinner," Mr. McNish spoke proudly. 
 "To tell the truth I didn't think Mrs. Ruggles had it 
 in her. She seems to have realized the occasion and 
 risen to it." 
 
 The Mayor of Hampstead laughed aloud and winked 
 impudently at Mrs. Gilbert. Then he told what he had 
 seen through the kitchen window that morning, while 
 Mr. McNish stared at Mrs. Gilbert with amazement and 
 concern, and she returned the gaze with smiling pride. 
 Mrs. Ruggles indeed! 
 
 After a time there was a short pause, filled with long 
 sighs of contentment. Then came thick pumpkin pies, 
 and nuts and oranges, until they all gave it up in despair 
 and drifted, with Gilbert in their midst, across the broad 
 hall into the library. There, when they had seen him 
 reclining comfortably in a broad Morris chair with his 
 back to the doorway, Mrs. Gilbert disappeared and Billy 
 followed her, shortly after cigars had been lit. Once, in 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 401 
 
 the half-hour that passed quickly, Gilbert lifted himself 
 up to go into the parlor in the front of the house where 
 the piano was, but the Colonel stopped him and began the 
 story of his experiences that had led to that dinner which 
 he considered the best he had ever had. Courtesy alone 
 would have held Gilbert, and soon he had forgotten the 
 piano and was staggering along with the Colonel through 
 the heaping snows of a Montana blizzard. It was a 
 long story and the veteran, looking beyond Gilbert to 
 the door, added many details and side incidents to make 
 it longer. 
 
 Afterwards, Billy reappeared with an almost suspicious 
 indifference, and the Colonel turned the conversation to 
 him. 
 
 "Glory," he remarked, "is a good deal like women. 
 Ye chase it continuous till ye've lost all yer self-respect, 
 an' when ye catch it y 'ain't got any more use fer it." 
 
 "More chasing than catching," laughed Billy, who 
 seemed restless and who watched the hallway constantly. 
 "What's this. Colonel, reminiscence?" 
 
 Colonel M ad smiled benevolently. 
 
 "Lord, uo, I'm jest talkin' gen'rilly, like a collidge 
 prifesser. It don't actooly mean anythin'." 
 
 "What is a college professor. Colonel, in your phi- 
 losophy?" asked Billy, eager to keep the conversation 
 feoing. 
 
 "A collidge prifesser," Colonel Mead paused reflectively, 
 "is a tenderfoot, thet spends some o' his valooble time 
 tellin' a bunch o' boys why somethin' ought to be what. 
 He's wasted a number o' years tryin' to guess the answer, 
 an' o' course^ they take his word fei: it. Ef they don't, 
 
402 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 I reckon he makes 'em all sit up nights till they do. 
 Then he puts on his goggles an' he looks at the hull 
 nation, ez ef we all wore caps on the backs of our heads 
 an' went to school in his class. 'The Phillipians ought 
 to be free,' he sez, *an' we ought to hev free trade an' the 
 labor unions ought to run the country.' An' when some 
 of us don't agree with him, he jest natch'rally puts a black 
 mark down in his book an' sez thet the country is goin' 
 to the dogs. Bymby he gits so many the'ries twisted in 
 his mind thet he either goes into the daffy house er be- 
 comes what they call a Socialist — which is next door with 
 a hole cut in the wall between." 
 
 Billy had unaccountably hurried out into the hall in 
 the midst of the Colonel's talk. The mention of "labor 
 unions" was a bugle call to Mr. McNish to mount his 
 hobby horse and fight, but he was interrupted. 
 
 "Jack," called Billy from the front door. "Someone 
 here wants to see you." 
 
 Mr. McNish broke off short and caught one of Gilbert's 
 arms; the Colonel seized the other and, before he could 
 cry a protest, they were leading him out into the hall, 
 where Billy was awaiting them, and on to the porch, 
 where Gilbert hung back suddenly and looked plaintively 
 from one to the other, gripping their arms convulsively. 
 
 "What's this?" he asked, dazed, as they beamed back 
 at him and urged him forward. Then he heard his name 
 called and he heard, as well, a low murmur that grew into 
 the loudest cheers that had ever been heard in Hamp- 
 stead, and something seized his throat, and he swallowed 
 with difficulty and tried to smile. 
 
 It seemed as if the entire town was there. Before him 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 403 
 
 they filled the broad lawn and walks, and overflowed into 
 the street, choking it so tightly that every stray team 
 that tried to pass was added to the waiting crowd. Half- 
 a-dozen street cars stood in their midst, and groups of 
 the more venturesome had climbed to the roofs, while 
 others helped the road employees stamp resounding 
 strokes upon the car gong, to add to the volume of the 
 cheering. Down the street they reached nearly to the 
 corner. They spread out over the Hardy lawn next 
 door and packed the front porch, while small boys himg 
 upon the slanting porch roof. Others had "shinned" up 
 every pole or post in sight, and clung tightly in vertical 
 lines, waving their caps with conscious pride. When 
 Gilbert appeared the Hampstead City Band, out of sight 
 between the swaying, shouting people and the veranda, 
 struck up " Hail the Conquering Hero Comes," and, as if 
 in answer, from the silent city below came the shriek of 
 the whistle of Hardy & Son. Pandemonium broke loose; 
 arms waved, handkerchiefs fluttered, and little children, 
 perched upon their fathers* shoulders, shook their chubby 
 hands and crowed with joy. Mr. McNish and the Colonel, 
 their faces red with exertion, led the cheering with their 
 free hands. Colonel Mead dancing up and down with 
 such careless vigor that Gilbert instinctively moved away 
 from him to save his sound foot. For many minutes the 
 band blared, the whistle blew, the gongs rang and the 
 hill shook with the steady cheers, and many a sleeve in 
 the mass of Hardy & Son employees, who stood at the 
 front, was brushed shamelessly across wet eyes, while 
 women laughed hysterically in their midst. Billy, stand- 
 ing behind Gilbert, shouted ecstatically with the rest. 
 
404 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 At last, when the band had surrendered and the whistle 
 had stopped and the cheers grew hoarse and intermittent, 
 Billy saw Gilshannon looking at him and smiling cynically. 
 
 "Great!" he shouted in the newspaper man's ear. 
 
 "They're a fickle bunch," answered the reporter. "A 
 little while ago they'd howled him down just as hard. 
 Where will they stand to-morrow? They make me sick." 
 
 Gradually the cheering straggled off to the far edges 
 of the crowd, where a few men, discovering at last that 
 they were shouting alone, stopped and flushed and 
 laughed good-naturedly, as they stood on tiptoe and 
 peered at the little group on the veranda far away. There 
 the Colonel was regaining his dignity as rapidly as pos- 
 sible. He was nervously sorting papers and envelopes 
 which he drew from his bulging pocket. This task com- 
 pleted, he conferred with Mr. McNish over Gilbert's shoul- 
 der. Then, stepping away from them, he faced Gilbert 
 and began to speak in a voice that was frayed to a mere 
 whisper with shouting. He told Gilbert all that they 
 had been keeping from him during his convalescence; 
 how Hardy & Son had been reorganized; how Mr. Hub- 
 bard and his three associates, wishing to make their 
 peace with the people of Hampstead — since each of them 
 had large properties in the city which must be operated 
 — had, after correspondence and conferences, offered their 
 Hardy stock for sale; how the citizens of Hampstead had 
 subscribed for all the stock which the surplus would not 
 buy; how the new stockholders had held a meeting and 
 elected a new board of directors of which he was a mem- 
 ber; and how the new directors had elected him secretary 
 and treasurer of the company. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 405 
 
 Gilbert threw back his shoulders quickly at the last 
 announcement. 
 
 "That's impossible," he said firmly, although his voice 
 trembled. "Mr. Hardy " 
 
 A hand on his arm interrupted him, and he turned to 
 look squarely in the face of Samuel Hardy himself, pale, 
 emaciated, crouched back in an invalid's chair. "The 
 old man" grinned up at him weakly, and their hands 
 met and clasped. 
 
 "It's all right. Jack. We had the directors' meeting 
 in my house, and it was unanimous." 
 
 The crowd on the lawn had not heard a word, but a 
 deafening din of applause arose as they saw the two 
 men meet, and the people beyond, who could not even 
 see, took up the shout good-humoredly. Gilbert's eyes, 
 glancing beyond Mr. Hardy, saw his mother turn away 
 suddenly as if to hide something of which she was ashamed, 
 and he caught a glimpse beyond her of a mass of waving 
 black hair and black eyes beneath, wet with tears. Then 
 someone came in between and he faced the lawn once 
 more. 
 
 Gilshannon, his cynicism changed temporarily to merry 
 egotism, — the simplest transformation for cynics, — ap- 
 peared on the steps after a conference with the men at 
 the front, and handed Gilbert a heavy seal ring from the 
 men, "a magic ring that gives you power over a thousand 
 men and more, men you're proud to have back of you, 
 sir, and men who're proud you want them." And with 
 the ring in an envelope, was Gilbert's union card. Gil- 
 shannon had been editor of the News since the day after 
 election, and he was as popular as ever. The people 
 
406 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 cheered him lustily as he stepped aside, and his face had 
 lost its cynical smile and beamed with unrestrained 
 pleasure. 
 
 Very few heard what Gilbert said in reply, but those 
 who did, understood the earnestness that was behind his 
 few halting words. 
 
 "You make me proud," he said slowly, "and I don't 
 want to be proud. I only want what I earn, and I haven't 
 earned all this." He hesitated. "It's just as right, I 
 guess, for men to make other people square and honest 
 with them, as it is for them to be square and honest them- 
 selves. It's just as right to make the law respect us as 
 it is to respect the law." Again he hesitated and cleared 
 his throat. "The thing that has been done has been 
 done. It was worth doing. We've got a new govern- 
 ment, and a new mayor who's square." He caught Billy's 
 arm and linked his own within it. "We've got a new 
 Hardy & Son and we're all going to be square down 
 there. This union card means a lot to me. And — just 
 because a few men haven't been on the level isn't any 
 reason why we should lose faith in each other or the city 
 or the state or the coimtry. It's just given us a new 
 start, that's all." 
 
 As he finished and limped, his hands outstretched, into 
 their midst, Billy raised himself upon his toes and shouted : 
 "All for one; one for all." The men near by took up the 
 cry. It ran down the long lines until the whole army 
 chanted it, and it echoed across the city below to the hills 
 beyond, the shout of the united citizens of Hampstead 
 as it had been that of the Guardsmen of old. 
 
 And, curiously enough, the first hands that reached 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 407 
 
 John Gilbert's were those of two men and a boy, who 
 stood in the front row of the crowd that surged toward 
 him. 
 
 " Hurrah!'* reiterated Peter Lumpkin, dancing up and 
 down and wiping his eyes with the back of his free hand. 
 
 "Ye're de goods," declared Jimmy O'Rourke with 
 dignity. 
 
 Joe Heffler said nothing. He gripped the extended 
 hand, and held it until he could pass it on to that of the 
 blonde, smiling girl who had once been Gerty Smith. 
 
 The band broke in with "Marching Through Georgia," 
 and the crowds began to disperse, keeping step in spite 
 of themselves to the music. The waiting cars filled 
 rapidly and went clanging noisily down-town ; but many 
 people crowded nearer to the veranda, where ever-chang- 
 ing groups surrounded Gilbert and where, on the steps, 
 Mr. McNish, his hat off and his gray hair blowing in the 
 mild breeze, was singing along with hundreds of others 
 the swinging, stirring chorus that his comrades had sung 
 as they marched to the sea forty years before. And 
 many, far down the street, stopped and listened and 
 joined in, in detached groups, or sang it alone under their 
 breath and felt an added lift at their hearts. 
 
 About Gilbert they were struggling to reach and shake 
 his hand. 
 
 "We'll sind ye to Congress next year," cried little 
 Moriarty, with what the Register characterized next day 
 as "Napoleonic calm in the midst of the tempestuous 
 excitement." 
 
 "No, you won't," retorted Gilbert. "I'm going to 
 stay right here. It's home and it's good enough for me." 
 
408 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 "Mister Gilbert," old Michael was puffing noisily, after 
 having pushed his way to the front, "Oi've gave up 
 socialism. Sure, Oi'm a Gilbertist now." 
 
 The band picked up its instruments and scattered down 
 the lawn, happy in its new imiforms and in the awed 
 gaze of the bystanders. Slowly those who remained 
 about Gilbert followed them, Mr. Butterson and Mr. 
 Tubb, the bitter rivals in groceries, going off arm in arm, 
 and Judge Morrison with Mr. Neely, who had come to 
 look upon himself as a hero who had helped the cause 
 by his confession. From far down the street Mr. Lump- 
 kin's megaphonic voice could still be heard chanting the 
 chorus of "Marching Through Georgia." 
 
 Gilbert, suddenly realizing that he was tired, found 
 Billy waiting at his elbow. 
 
 "I just saw somebody go out into the garden. Jack," 
 he said quietly, " Somebody who planned nearly every- 
 thing that happened to-day." 
 
 The two friends looked at each other steadily. 
 
 " I'd go out there," Billy added slowly, with a quaint 
 smile, "if I were you." 
 
 Gilbert put his hand on his friend's shoulder and 
 together they went up the steps. 
 
 "All right, Billy," was all Gilbert said, but Billy was 
 satisfied. 
 
 Within, the Colonel and Mrs. Gilbert, still aglow with 
 the success of their surprise party, were hushed suddenly 
 as they watched him limp past them. His eyes, fixed 
 straight ahead, did not see them as they sat in the 
 comer. 
 
 "And I always thought he had it in him to be a pro- 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 409 
 
 fessor or a doctor or something like that/' said his mother, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 "Tain't what a man's got in hisself that counts, it's 
 what he gits out o' hisself. Ye see, ma'am, he's got the 
 perseverance of a puppy at a root." 
 
 Mrs. Gilbert nodded. 
 
 "That's the Scotch in him," she remarked proudly. 
 "'It's well for a Scotchman to be right,' my mother 
 used to say, 'for if he's wrong he's ever and eternally 
 wrong. ' " 
 
 "Thar's a lot o' things thet ain't right in this coun- 
 try," nodded the Colonel soberly, "but it ain't the'ries 
 thet're goin' to make 'em right. It's men with level 
 heads Uke his, an' level consciences Uke his. An' one 
 man like him does more good'n the long run, than a 
 dozen the'ries does harm." 
 
 She was sitting on the low bench under the old apple 
 tree when she heard the crunch of his cane in the late 
 afternoon silence. She saw him, the next instant, emerge 
 from behind the bushes and come laboriously down the 
 pathway toward her. Pulling her long coat about her, 
 she rose to her feet quickly, suddenly breathless and 
 feeling an instinctive desire to run away. He had seen 
 her, however, and he was hurrying pitifully. A great 
 wave of tenderness swept her heart as she stood still, 
 watching him; him, her great man among men, the mas- 
 ter of her world, stumping along with a cane, his clothes 
 hanging loose on the great frame which illness had left 
 gaunt and spare. Instinctively she looked for the scar, 
 and she saw the jagged red line of it across the broad 
 
410 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 forehead. She started impetuously to meet him, and 
 then, remembering, she faltered and waited. 
 
 "IVe found you at last,'^ he cried, coming up before 
 her. She nodded, smiling, for she could think of nothing 
 to say. The bright light in his eyes warned her of impend- 
 ing happiness and she trembled. A sudden ecstasy of 
 fear flashed over her. Always before he had been calm, 
 quiet, a force imder strong control. Now he had thrown 
 off his bonds, and she seemed to feel the throb of his 
 unrestrained passion, that, magnet-like, drew her as she 
 never had been drawn before. 
 
 " I've found you at last. Where have you been, Clare 
 Hardy? IVe caught glimpses of you. IVe heard you. 
 IVe reached out for you in the dark, but you were never 
 there. Did you think that I could get along without 
 you? I can't. IVe tried and I can't. It's too strong 
 for me. No," he cried in quick command, for she turned 
 and hid her face from him. 
 
 He caught one of her arms and then, throwing his 
 cane away, the other, and made her face him. "You 
 can't run away again," he said fiercely. 
 
 For a second they stood so. Then the old tantalizing 
 smile glinted up at him through tears. 
 
 "I don't believe— I want to rim away. Jack." 
 
 And then the wonderful thing happened. The grizzled 
 old apple tree seemed to wait in awed silence, listening, 
 watching. Then it laughed above them in the breeze, 
 and laughed again for joy of what it had seen and heard. 
 Soon it was quiet again as they moved to the bench, 
 the man leaning on her arm for the support she begged 
 to give. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 411 
 
 "Why did you run away at all, Clare?" 
 
 "A woman's pride, dear, that's all. I wanted you 
 to come to me — and you came." 
 
 "And if I hadn't?" 
 
 "But you did." 
 
 This was uncontrovertible and he kissed her again 
 tenderly, entirely content. 
 
 "Is it all real, Clare? Is it all real?" 
 
 "I was just wondering myself." 
 
 "Do you know, sometimes when I was off my head 
 back there a month ago, before the world began, I'd 
 remember you for a while and then there wouldn't be 
 any you at all. It was awful." 
 
 "You'll never forget me again, Jack?" 
 
 He drew her to him and they sat, leaning forward, 
 peering together into the glad world. 
 
 "And it isn't Billy after all." 
 
 "I think it was always you, dear." 
 
 "He told me you were here." 
 
 "Dear Billy." 
 
 "Good old Billy." 
 
 "Did you think of me. Jack, to-day, out there? I 
 was very proud and a little afraid. You seemed to 
 belong to all of them and I wanted you all to myself." 
 
 "But you planned it all." 
 
 "Billy and I." 
 
 And suddenly they both saw before them on the 
 shriveled grass the shadows of three children playing, 
 and they were both silent. 
 
 "And your father?" he said at last. "What will he 
 
412 THE BALANCE OF POWER 
 
 " I wish you could have heard what he said yesterday. 
 I kissed him for it afterwards." 
 
 Sometime later she left him to find his cane. When 
 she returned there was a sober look on his face. 
 
 He had taken a torn strip of something from his pocket, 
 something blue and worn and soiled. 
 
 "Why did you write this, Clare?" he asked. "I car- 
 ried the whole thing home that night. And then, after- 
 wards, I tore this off and I've carried it ever since." 
 
 She took the piece of the old blotter from his hand 
 and read her own words. 
 
 "Do you remember. Jack," she said softly, "how 
 you told me once that father held the balance of power? 
 He didn't. You held it all the time, the real balance of 
 power. You held it with me and you " 
 
 She never finished, for his arms were around her, crush- 
 ing her to him, and his lips pressed tightly upon hers. 
 
 "Such power," she whispered when her lips were free, 
 her head sunk upon his shoulder. "Such wonderful, — 
 sweet, — maddening power. Oh, Jack," she sobbed against 
 his coat. 
 
 Slowly they walked down the darkening paths, and 
 the dim light dazzled their eyes with its brilliancy and 
 the bare boughs seemed to bloom about them. 
 
 "God's bigger out here," she said reverently, and he 
 remembered, as he looked at the great house where a 
 few lights were already glimmering. And his mother, 
 sitting quietly m the old library with the Colonel and 
 Mr. McNish, remembered too, with that inward peace 
 of those who, believing that all things mean good, see 
 beyond the narrowing years. 
 
THE BALANCE OF POWER 413 
 
 "Where's Billy?" cried Gilbert, bursting in upon them. 
 
 But Billy at that moment stood on the road to Tare- 
 ville, watching the fading light in the west. 
 
 '** Bless your souls/ I'll say to them," he assured him- 
 self, smiling as he meant to smile when he should meet 
 them. "'I'll take care of you both.' Perhaps," he 
 added, staring down the deserted road, "my confounded 
 trick of play-acting is of some use after all." 
 
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