BvJahn F Ale Cute he on 
 
 *i 
 
THE 
 RESTLESS AGE 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN T. McCUTCHEON 
 
 Author of 
 IN AFRICA, ETC. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED WITH CARTOONS 
 BY THE AUTHOR 
 
 INDIANAPOLIS 
 
 THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 

 Copyright 1920-1921 
 The Chicago Tribune 
 
 Copyright 1921 
 The Bobbs-Merrill Company 
 
 Acknowledging with thanks the courtesy 
 
 of The Chicago Tribune for permission to 
 
 publish in book form. 
 
 pRces OF 
 
 BRAUNWORTH & CO. 
 
 BOOK MANUFACTURCR8 
 
 BROOKLYN. N. Y. 
 
THE 
 RESTLESS AGE 
 
THE gray sliabbiness of wiuter was giving way to the 
 first flush of fresh spring loveliness. Trees and 
 shrubs were dappled with tender green. The farm was 
 awakening to the magic touch of spring. 
 
 On all sides nature was stirring with hints of the f rait- 
 ful richness of the months to come. Already the barn- 
 yard was simmering to the sunny music of clucking hens 
 
 1 
 
 wilS',dGB7 
 
2 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 and peeping chicks, and before long there would be new 
 calves and colts and puppies and pigs to add to the busy 
 joyousness of life in the country. 
 
 A young man was standing near the door of the barn. 
 In the lapel of his coat was a service button which told 
 of service abroad. He was about twenty-three years old 
 and, although he had been out of the army for over a year, 
 he still showed the clear-eyed and clean-cut effects of his 
 military training. 
 
 His eyes were following the course of a distant train 
 which was whistling for the stop at the village station. 
 In another five minutes it would have stopped, taken on 
 its passengers and then moved onward toward the great 
 city, a hundred and fifty miles to the north. 
 
 A look of restless discontent settled in the young 
 man's eyes. His hand clenched and unclenched 
 nervously. 
 
 "I've got to go," he muttered, "If I stick around 
 here much longer I'll go crazy. I simply can't stand it." 
 He brooded for a moment. "I guess the travel and excite- 
 ment have spoiled me for this life. I used to like it here 
 on the farm, but since I came back from the other side 
 the place seems deadly monotonous." 
 
 His eyes turned toward the comfortable old farm- 
 house, surrounded by its cluster of big oak trees. 
 
THE EESTLESS AGE 3 
 
 "There'll be an awful kick from the folks," he 
 thought, "especially as it's so hard to get help these days. 
 They won't want me to leave 'em in the lurch and go to 
 the citj'. But, great Scott, there's no life out herel 
 Their idea of an eight-hour day is eight hours in the fore- 
 noon and eight in the afternoon. 
 
 "Out of the ten boys who enlisted from the farms 
 around here I'm the only one who has come back. The 
 rest are all up in the city, having the time of their lives 
 and making more easy money than I ever saw. They're 
 seeing life, but as for me, the same old grind day after 
 day." 
 
 The sound of the locomotive whistle came from the 
 distant village. It seemed to decide him. 
 
 "I'm going!" he exclaimed, "folks or no folks I" 
 
 For an instant his lip trembled. 
 
 "I wonder how Emilv will take it." 
 
,»"<*^'i£-i^«iv ' 
 
 "So Tou want to leave the farm, eh?" 
 
 The farmer looked up at his sou, 
 
 "Yes, sir. I thiuk I can do better up there. There 
 are more opportunities in the city. Every day you read 
 how much they're making." 
 
 The father smiled grimly. 
 
 "Yes, and you read how other people are getting it 
 away from 'em as fast as they make it. 'Pears to me I 
 hear more complaints about high prices than rejoicings 
 about high wages. Don't overlook the fact, son, that 
 your dollar in the city don't go very far these days. Out 
 here you can hang on to it. ' ' 
 
 The boy shifted imeasily, but his expression became 
 set in its dogged resolution. 
 
 5 
 
6 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 "Most of the boys have left the farms and are now in 
 the cities, ' ' he said. ' ' Of the bunch that went to France 
 from this section I 'm the only one who hasn 't. ' ' His face 
 lighted up. 
 
 "I had a letter to-day from Tom Austin. He says 
 there's no trouble at all getting work. He says he could 
 have his pick from a dozen different jobs." 
 
 "Has he settled down to one of 'em yet?" asked the 
 father. 
 
 "No, not yet. He's looking around for just the right 
 one — one he's interested in." 
 
 The father smiled again, this time with a touch of bit- 
 terness. "I reckon there are a lot of young fellows in 
 that boat. Times have changed. Now 'days a boy won't 
 take a job unless it's congenial and then don't care 
 whether he holds it, because he's always sure of getting 
 another one. There's no incentive to work hard any 
 more." 
 
 ' ' But I intend to work hard, father. I 'm not going up 
 there just to have a good time." 
 
 "Well, I hope not, son." The father cleared his 
 throat to hide the tremor in his voice. "When do vou 
 reckon on going?" 
 
 "Right away, father, just as soon as you can get some 
 one to take my place." 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 7 
 
 There was a long pause, 
 
 "Well," said the older man, "if you've decided to go I 
 s'pose there's nothing more to be said. You're over 
 twenty-one. Of course we don't like to have you go. 
 You know how we're fixed out here in the matter of help. 
 All the young fellows seem crazy to get up to the city. 
 There's lots more to see and do up there " 
 
 "It isn't that, father," interrupted the son. "It's 
 because there are more opportunities, especially now 
 when such big wages are being paid and when there's such 
 a demand for men." 
 
 "Following that line of argument, everybody on the 
 farm will hike off to the city. And you know where that 
 will lead us. You folks in the city will have no food. Out 
 here we'll manage our three meals a day, while the city 
 will be yelling itself hoarse for something to eat at any 
 price." The thought gave him keen enjoyment. Then 
 he became serious again. 
 
 "Have you told your mother yet?" 
 
 "Just now, in the kitchen. She's gone up-stairs." 
 
 "What did she say?" 
 
 "Oh, you know what she'd say." 
 
 "Well, son, it's your funeral. You're the doctor. If 
 you're detennined to go — " here his voice trembled and 
 he wiped his glasses vigorouslj^ "I had kind o' figured 
 
8 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 <>u your staying here and heli3ing nie. I think you're 
 making a mistake. In the long run I think you'd do bet- 
 ter here than in the city. But that 's up to you. ' ' 
 
 He looked out across the wide acres of rich farm land. 
 The distant song of the meadow-lark reached his ears. 
 His face saddened. 
 
 "I guess there's nothing more for me to say. How 
 about Emily? Have you broken it to her?" 
 
 It was the boy 's turn to show emotion. 
 
 "I'm going over to tell her to-night," he said in a low 
 voice. 
 
Mr. harbridge was au enlightened farmer. He be- 
 lieved that life holds something besides hard work and 
 profits. Each year, instead of putting all his profits back 
 into the business, he devoted part to making life pleas- 
 anter for his wife and daughter, 
 
 "The women on the farms have the hard time," he 
 would say, "and it's a good investment to keep them 
 contented." 
 
 He followed the same policy with his men. Besides 
 paying them well he provided recreation, the lack of 
 which so often drives labor from the country. 
 
 His farms were operated scientifically and the men 
 who worked for him became in time skilled agriculturists. 
 
 9 
 
10 THE EESTLESS AGE 
 
 Those who showed industry and intelligence were aided 
 in their desire to become independent farmers. 
 
 "The one big human impulse," he often said, "is self- 
 interest. It's the driving force that makes folks work. 
 You've got to give a man something to look forward to — 
 something besides his bare living — if you expect him to 
 go forward. Self-interest is just another name for hope, 
 though it don't sound so nice." 
 
 His philosophy was successful. By considering the 
 ambitions and hopes of others as well as his own, he re- 
 tained help when other farmers bewailed its scarcity. 
 
 "You see, my policy ain't entirely unselfish. I get 
 better work and better results. If a man sticks and does 
 his work I'll help him, and he knows it. If he don't 
 that's his own lookout. There's always some natviral 
 drifters who don't stick to one job long enough to do it or 
 them any good. They're hopeless, but the stayer deserves 
 a square deal. He must have the same chance to improve 
 his position that the city worker has." 
 
 Mr. Harbridge's two older daughters were the wives 
 of tenant farmers who operated their father's farms on 
 shares. 
 
 Emily was his only unmarried daughter — twenty and 
 pretty, with eyes brimming over with friendliness. 
 
 On a certain evening in April she was sitting with her 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 11 
 
 parents in the living-room of the old farm-house. 
 Through the window came the fresh clean smell of spring. 
 Her eyes often sought the clock, but it was not of bedtime 
 she was thinking. Her hair was arranged with special 
 care and her dress was one of her prettiest. 
 
 Her father looked up from his newspaper. 
 
 "Well," he said as he took off his glasses, "the city- 
 folks are having their troubles these days. Labor and 
 capital seem to be getting most of the money, and the 
 eighty per cent, in between are getting the worries. 
 They're the ones — the big, helpless, unorganized middle 
 class — that I pity. And that's where most of these boys 
 who are leaving the farms will land. They all want white- 
 collar jobs." 
 
 He brightened up. 
 
 "But .you'll see 'em tramping back to the farms be- 
 fore long. They'll get sick of being robbed in the day- 
 time and squeezed into a two-by-four room at night." 
 
 He smiled at the thought. 
 
 "By the way, Emily, I was driving past George Wick- 
 ham's place to-day and I saw Tom." 
 
 Emily looked up quickly. 
 
 "I didn't get a chance to talk to him. He was tinker- 
 ing with an auto out near the barn." 
 
 He looked at his daughter. 
 
12 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 "There's a level-headed boy, Emily. He's sticking to 
 the farm. He won't be carried away by this city fever." 
 
 Emily flushed with pleasure. 
 
 "He's coming over to-night, father. He telephoned 
 that he wanted to see me about something." 
 
 Her eyes were bright as she looked out at the moonlit 
 fields. 
 
Emily harbeidge answered a familiar knock at the 
 front door. Tom Wickham had come. 
 
 "Well, speaking of angels — " she began. "We were 
 talking about yon just a minnte ago." 
 
 "Well, thinking of angels," he answered, "I've been 
 thinking of you all day." 
 
 She smiled. She was accustomed to his compliments, 
 but she feared they came more easily since he had been 
 in France. 
 
 "Couldn't you find anything else to think about?" 
 she asked. 
 
 "Nothing half so nice. Honestly, Emily, you're get- 
 ting prettier every day." 
 
 13 
 
14 THE EESTLESS AGE 
 
 She led the way into the parlor, where the girl's par- 
 ents greeted the young man with smiling amiability. He 
 was evidently high in the family favor. 
 
 "Father has just been paying you a compliment, 
 haven't you, father?" 
 
 "We were just talking about all the yoimg fellows 
 leaving the farms," said Mr. Harbridge, "and I allowed 
 as how you were one who wouldn't get caught by the epi- 
 demic. I guess that 's what Emily meant. ' ' 
 
 The boy's face was a study. Its expression changed 
 instantly. The smile was gone and his troubled eyes 
 showed the real distress he was feeling. He did not an- 
 swer, and his silence became significant. 
 
 Emily sensed the strain, and a moment later the older 
 people were vaguely conscious of something wrong. Mr. 
 Harbridge wondered if he had said anything to embarrass 
 the young man. 
 
 After an awkward i^ause Tom turned to Emily. 
 
 "Don't you want to ride over to town and see the 
 movies?" 
 
 For a long time after the car started nothing was 
 said. At last she spoke : 
 
 "What's the matter, Tom?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing — nothing much, Emily, I'm sorry if 
 I'm acting like a gloom." 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 15 
 
 "Please, Tom, tell me." She wanted to press his arm, 
 but this was a new and a strange Tom. He had never 
 acted this way before. 
 
 "Why, there's nothing the matter, Emily. Maybe it's 
 spring fever or something." 
 
 The girl was conscious of the vague unhappiness that 
 crept over her. Something was wrong, something far 
 from the happiness she felt this night had in store for her. 
 She had looked forward to his coming so eagerly — since 
 he had telephoned that he had something to tell her. Her 
 lips quivered with disappointment. 
 
 "I'll tell you, Emily." He slowed the car until it 
 barely moved. "I don't know whether you can under- 
 stand or not, but ever since I came back from the other 
 side I've been so restless I sometimes don't think I can 
 stand it. When I was over there, in the mud and all that, 
 I used to say, 'All I want in the world is to get back to 
 God's country.' I wanted to be home, here, with all the 
 people and things I love. I was sick of travel and for- 
 eigners. In my imagination this old home seemed like 
 heaven. ' ' 
 
 His words came faster and faster as all the pent-up 
 emotions of many stifled months burst loose. 
 
 "And then, when I came back, and all the people made 
 a hero of me for a week or two, I was never so happy. I 
 
16 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 had the happiness of having gone and of having done my 
 job with some credit. But then, after a few weeks, I 
 wanted to be going again, and that's the way it's been for 
 months. All the rest have gone to the city and I — I" — 
 his voice faltered — "Emily, I want to go, too." 
 
 Emily was crying softly. She was inexpressibly 
 miserable. 
 
 "Poor Tom!" she murmured. "I'm so sorry." 
 They did not go to the movies, but returned home. 
 She said a choking good night at the door, and her parents 
 heard her come in and go at once to her room. She had 
 not come in to say good night. 
 
/(^^i-o^-^ 
 
 Emily Hakbbidge spent a sleepless night. She tried to 
 think calmly, to see the situation from Tom's point of 
 view, but through all her troubled thoughts ran a per- 
 sistent one which would not down, one that hurt more 
 than she dared admit — that he was leaving her and that 
 he wanted to go. It kept poimding on her consciousness 
 with painful repetition. 
 
 And why shouldn't he go to the city if he wanted to? 
 She realized the lure of the city, the crowds, the big 
 wages, the diversions that api^eal to restless youth, and 
 against all these attractions what had the peaceful coun- 
 try to offer "? 
 
 A clean and wholesome life, a healthy out-of-door 
 existence, the importance of being a producer instead of 
 
 17 
 
18 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 a consumer, the chance for independence instead of being 
 a subordinate — these were things which to her seemed 
 important considerations, but to a young man impelled by 
 curiosity, restlessness, and the spirit of adventure, what 
 weight would they have in affecting his decision? She 
 wondered why everybody didn't flock to the cities. 
 
 How was she to know that in millions of city hearts 
 there is the ever-abiding dream of a farm and the raising 
 of chickens, and fresh vegetables, and children strong 
 and rugged from good air and wholesome food? 
 
 The thought of children thrilled her, and then fol- 
 lowed a mournful procession of thoughts related to it. 
 Tom had never asked her to marry him — at any rate, not 
 in so many words. But it had been sort of understood. 
 Even the neighborhood took it for granted. 
 
 And now he was thinking of going away without say- 
 ing the words which she felt were in his mind but which 
 she so longed to hear spoken out loud. Would he speak 
 them before he left ? 
 
 Pei-iiaps to-morrow — and with the glow of hope from 
 this cheering thought she finally dropped into an uneasy 
 sleep. And it was this thought that sprang up in her 
 first waking moments when the dajiight was streaming 
 through the open window. She looked at the clock. It 
 was after seven ! 
 
THE EESTLESS AGE' 19 
 
 At that moment Tom was boarding a train in the vil- 
 lage three miles away. He was starting for the great 
 city, and with each click of the rails he became more mis- 
 erable, depressed by two haunting reflections. 
 
 He was leaving his father's farm at a time when he 
 was urgently needed, when his leaving inflicted a hard- 
 ship on the one who deserved all he could give. And 
 Emily ? What could she think of him sneaking away like 
 this ? She who also deserved far better treatment. But 
 he would write her just as soon as he got to the city. And, 
 besides, he had so much dreaded the good-bys to Emily. 
 The more he thought of her — 
 
 "Hello, Tom; going up to the big town?" A friendly 
 hand slapped his shoulder. It was Bud Andrews, who 
 had been playmate, schoolmate and messmate. Well, he 
 would have company, pleasanter company than his own 
 depressing thoughts. 
 
 Bud sat down. 
 
 "We're up against it over on our farm. Two of our 
 men left yesterday and I'm going up to try to get a couple 
 to take their places. Father's half crazy. All work held 
 back three or four weeks by the cold weather, and now 
 these two birds quitting just as they can be of some 
 use." 
 
 Tom looked soberly out of the window, where every 
 
20 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 field showed the effects of backward weather and back- 
 ward labor and where the idle freight cars stood con- 
 gested and useless on the sidings. 
 
 "Tom," said Bud gravely, "I wonder if people laiow 
 what's ahead of them. The government will have to send 
 a recruiting squad up to these city birds and conscript 
 enough labor to grow a crop or else you'll see bread riots 
 and machine guns in the streets next winter." 
 
DuBiNG the five-hour train ride Tom Wickham dis- 
 cussed with Bud Andrews the wisdom of his determina- 
 tion to leave the farm and try his luck in the city. 
 
 "You're making a mistake," Bud said, "You're too 
 late. The easy-money period is about over and the city 
 man has some rough sledding ahead of him. The gent out 
 in the corn-field will be the lucky boy from now on. 
 
 "Tom," he continued, "you have a case of jazzitis and 
 I'd just like to bet a can of goldfish you won't stick in one 
 job longer than a month after you get it. If you do stick, 
 and work hard, you'll find that life in the city can be just 
 as much of a grind as life in the country. And if you 
 don't stick you won't amount to anything. You can 
 enlighten the world on that." 
 
 21 
 
22 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 "Yes, I know all that," Tom answered. "But you'll 
 have to admit the opportunities are greater in the city. 
 And, besides," he added, with a touch of bitterness, "why 
 should a man work on the farm to feed a bunch of birds 
 in the city who are dragging down two or three times what 
 he is getting 1 I fought for 'em for a dollar a day while 
 they were making ten or twelve at home, and now why 
 should I keep on working to feed 'em while they continue 
 to make big wages?" 
 
 Bud smiled. 
 
 "Tom, that listens all right, but don't forget the man 
 on the farm with his hundred a month can save more than 
 the guy up in town who is making twice as much. Under 
 present conditions city life is like a madhouse. Every- 
 body grabbing and nobody satisfied, no matter how much 
 he makes. As for me, I'll stick down in the base of sup- 
 plies where the eats come from, and in ten years from now 
 I'll bet I have more money and a better digestion than 
 you have." 
 
 In all the ride neither one had referred to Emily Har- 
 bridge, although she had been in the thoughts of both 
 during much of the long journey. Bud wondered if there 
 had been a split-up. He resolved to find out just as soon 
 as he got home. ^ 
 
 Before parting at the station it was agreed that they 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 23 
 
 would dine at Tom's hotel before Bud caught his eve- 
 ning train home. 
 
 As Tom walked toward the hotel he contrasted the 
 present visit with a former one. 
 
 Then he was in uniform, swinging through the streets 
 under waving flags to the music of a stirring war-time 
 march. Thousands of people cheered as he and his com- 
 rades flowed like an olive-drab river between banks of 
 humanity with the windows, high in the canyon-like walls 
 of the buildings, bright with fluttering handkerchiefs. 
 
 Many an eye was dimmed and many a throat tightened 
 as they went marching off to war. 
 
 Then, he was cheered by everybody. Now, he walked 
 unnoticed through these selfsame crowds, a stranger 
 swallowed up in the vast loneliness of crowded city streets. 
 
 "Can a fellow ever feel at home here?" he wondered. 
 
 At the hotel he registered, and the impersonal look of 
 appraisal which the clerk gave him revealed only a tall, 
 decent-looking young man wearing a service button and 
 with the healthy color of the outdoors in his face. 
 
 "You don't get that complexion in the city," thought 
 the clerk, as he blotted the name and address. 
 
 A moment later Tom was following the porter to the 
 elevator and did not notice the young woman who ap- 
 proached the desk and studied the register. 
 
She looked at the register and fixed the name and 
 address in her memory, 
 
 "Thomas Wickham, Grangefield, Illinois. 
 
 "From a hick town," she reflected, "and wearing a 
 silver service button. Wounded, therefore, in France. 
 Not in the Blackhawks, because the.y didn't get into 
 action. Mavbe a Buck or in aviation 
 
 It ought to be 
 
 easv, 
 
 That afternoon, as Tom was leaving the hotel, he nar- 
 rowly avoided colliding with a young woman. As he 
 hastened to apologize their eyes met and an instant change 
 swept over her face. 
 
 "Well, for goodness' sake! To think of seeing you 
 here!" 
 
 25 
 
26 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 He smiled awkwardly as he tried to place her. 
 
 "You don't remember me, do you?" she exclaimed. 
 
 "I'm afraid I don't — quite," he said apologetically. 
 "I'm awfully sorry." 
 
 "Brest! Now do you remember?" As his face still 
 showed mystification she hastened to add: "I'm sure it 
 was Brest. Or was it St. Nazaire ? I was in both places. ' ' 
 And, without waiting his answer, she continued: "My 
 goodness, do I look so different in civvies? Aren't you 
 Mr. Wickham? I'm sure I can't be mistaken!" 
 
 "Yes, but " 
 
 "Didn't you use to come to the Y in Brest," she hur- 
 ried on, "just before you sailed? And don't you remem- 
 ber how crazy you were to get home — to some small town 
 in Illinois — or was it Indiana ? I can almost remember 
 the name. Granger, or Grangeland, or something like 
 that. I think you had been wovuided or sick or some- 
 thing." 
 
 "Sure!" he exclaimed. "So you were one of the Y 
 girls ? Say, I'd never have known you in that get-up." 
 
 She smiled pleasantly. She was a most friendly look- 
 ing soul, and to a young man undergoing his first spasm 
 of loneliness in a great city she seemed sent by some 
 providential dispensation. 
 
 "Ah, now you know me! I was beginning to feel em- 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 27 
 
 barrassed — and very much hurt, too." Though her 
 words were mildly accusing her eyes were full of welcome 
 and forgiveness. Tom was wondering how in the world 
 he could ever have forgotten her. He vainly searched 
 his memory in an effort to recall her. So he said, rather 
 lamely : 
 
 "Why, say, this is great! I'm awfully glad to meet 
 you — again. I'll never forget those days in Brest — mud- 
 dy, and homesick, and crazy to get started home." 
 
 "You always called me 'Sister,' " she murmured, 
 reminiscently. 
 
 "Well, I guess I called 'em all 'Sister.' You girls 
 were sure a godsend to us homesick Yanks. Did I ever 
 know your real name ?" 
 
 "Never," she answered, laughing. "So far as the 
 A. E. F. went, I was incog! I was 'Sister' to them all. 
 But I did hope some of them would not forget me so 
 
 soon." 
 
 "Oh, please don't!" he protested. "I'm sorry if I 
 seemed to have forgotten you. Do you live here?" 
 
 "jSTo," she said, becoming serious; "I live in St. Paul, 
 I'm just here to meet my father, but there was a wreck or 
 something and his train is hours late, and so I must kill 
 time." 
 
 "Let me help you," he hastened to say, prompted as 
 
28 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 much by a craving for companionship as by politeness. 
 "It's one of the best things I do." 
 
 "Well," she said, with her brows contracted in a quiz- 
 zical little frown, "I suppose it is not quite proper, but I 
 got used to worrying along without chaperons during the 
 war — " here she smiled engagingly. "But you really 
 don't deserve it. Will you promise not to forget me in 
 the future?" 
 
 "I certainly won't forget you!" exclaimed Tom, with 
 genuine sincerity. 
 
 He never spoke a truer word, although he didn't fully 
 realize it at the time. 
 
 As they left the hotel, each in high spirits and talking 
 gaily, a young man coming out gazed after them in sur- 
 prise. It was Bud Andrews. 
 
 "Gosh!" he murmured. "Tom's a quick worker! 
 In society already. I wonder where he picked her up." 
 
 He watched them enter a yellow and drive away. 
 
 "Also, while I'm busy wondering, I wonder if our din- 
 ner engagement is off." 
 
Tom and "Sister" settled back in the taxi as it 
 threaded its way through the swirl of traffic. 
 
 Her eyes were sparkling. 
 
 "This is going to be such fun!" she exclaimed. "I 
 love adventures ! Here we are, you and I, strangers and 
 alone in the great city, with hours ahead of us. We're 
 in the lap of the gods, let come what may." She paused 
 and allowed her eyes to linger for a moment on his. "I 
 hope you won't find me lacking in the spirit of 
 adventure." 
 
 Here was an opening which she expected him to seize, 
 but his eyes turned from her to the bewildering panorama 
 of city life that was being unreeled as they shot along. 
 Ab endless stream of flashing motor-cars, sidewalks 
 
 29 
 
30 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 thronged with sauntering people, all well-dressed, and 
 shop windows crowded with beautiful articles temptingly 
 displayed. 
 
 "Where does all the money come from?" he said, 
 wonderingly. "Everybody's kicking about high prices 
 and everybody's buying like mad. I'll bet there are a lot 
 of folks running cars who can't afford it. I've seen at 
 least a million cars since noon, and, believe me, I know 
 what it costs to run a car these days. ' ' 
 
 "What make of car have you?" asked "Sister," 
 quickly. Here was a chance to get a line on his financial 
 rating. The make of cars was her Bradstreet, the barom- 
 eter by which she appraised the probable bank-accounts 
 of those she met. 
 
 "We have a couple of cars down on the farm," he 
 answered, "but we use the old flivver most of the time." 
 
 She wondered what the other car was. Two cars! 
 That sounded pleasantly solvent. From the corner of her 
 eyes she studied his strong, sunburned face, and when its 
 lines hardened a little her watchful eyes were quick to 
 note the change. 
 
 ' ' 'What are you thinking about ? ' ' she asked. ' ' You 're 
 not repenting of our adventure already, are you?" 
 
 "I'm sorry," he said, "biit just look! Men, men, men 
 everywhere. Crowds of 'em standing in line before a 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 31 
 
 theater, crowds of 'em watching a sign painter, more 
 crowds watching a safe being lowered. And yet they say 
 America has no leisure class !" 
 
 "Yes, but what of that 9" she asked. "You always 
 see crowds like that in the cities, don't you?" 
 
 "I s'pose so, but just now out in the country the farm- 
 ers are praying for men to help with the crops that are to 
 feed all these idle men. Next winter, when food is scarce 
 and expensive, these birds will be yelling themselves 
 hoarse at the high prices." 
 
 She nodded gTavely, as if interested and impressed, 
 but, within, she was irritated that his thoughts persisted 
 in an economic vein rather than in one more complimen- 
 tary to herself and more promising to her purposes. 
 
 They never acted this way, she thought, and she won- 
 dered why he was so different. 
 
 Her eyes ranged from her neat and very costly shoes 
 to the very expensive silken stockings and the trim cling- 
 ing skirt that sheathed the studied grace of her figure. 
 It M-as a pleasing picture and she knew it. Was not the 
 admiring up-and-down of many eyes a constant proof of 
 it? And yet here he was, talking of crops and other 
 stupid things. 
 
 His next remark rather startled her. 
 
 "But you're not interested in these things," he said, 
 
32 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 with a quizzical smile. "Shall we talk of clothes, and 
 theaters, and dancing, and scandal? Isn't that what girls 
 are interested in?" 
 
 She flushed. To insult her by withholding her due of 
 admiration and then further insult her by proposing a 
 descent to the trivialities of her intellectual level — this 
 was too much! Her lips tightened imperceptibly, and 
 could he have read the thoughts behind those smiling eyes 
 he would have headed the taxi back to the security of the 
 crowded city. 
 
 Instead of which, at seven o'clock, they disembarked 
 before a restaurant in a quiet place out where the streets 
 had merged into country roads. 
 
From somewliere far away came the sound of a voice. 
 
 Tom's eyes slowly opened, fluttered a wavering sec- 
 ond, and as the heavy lids drooped together again there 
 stole into his dazed senses the consciousness of pain some- 
 where in the world. He didn't know whose pain it was or 
 where it was, but it was there, and it was becoming more 
 and more localized within himself. 
 
 ' ' Here, son, you '11 have to be moving. This ain 't a rest 
 cure. ' ' 
 
 A large hand was gripping his shoulder and his body 
 was being shaken vigorously to and fro. He looked up 
 and saw a face vaguely familiar, a face in which anxiety 
 was registered more than anger. 
 
 33 
 
34 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 "You feel all right now, don't you? You don't feel 
 sick, do you? You certainly had me scared, son." 
 
 Slowly memory returned. Tom remembered the man. 
 He was the waiter who had brought the dinner, but how 
 remote that dinner now seemed when he and "Sister" had 
 been shown into the little private dining-room where the 
 dinner had been served. But where was "Sister"? 
 There was no sign of her. 
 
 "The yoimg lady?" Tom asked. "Where is she?" 
 
 The waiter smiled. 
 
 "She left a couple of hours ago — said she was going 
 to telephone, and didn't come back." 
 
 Tom tried to rally his confused thoughts. His head 
 was throbbing with a blighting ache, and a sickening 
 weakness half paralyzed his body. He strove to recall 
 what had happened. 
 
 " I '11 get you a taxi, ' ' said the waiter, hurrying away. 
 
 What had become of "Sister"? Why had she left 
 him? What time was it now? He looked at his watch, 
 and the hour was two. Off in the other part of the house 
 there were voices raised in a maudlin song, but the bar- 
 baric drumming and wail of the jazz band was no longer 
 heard. 
 
 By slow degrees Tom reconstructed the events of the 
 night so far as he could remember them. He and "Sis- 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 35 
 
 ter" had arrived and had entered the private dining- 
 room. She had seemed so thrilled by the novelty of the 
 "adventure," as she called it. 
 
 "What would my friends say if they could see me 
 now!" she had exclaimed. 
 
 Then the dirmer was served, and with it something to 
 drink. He recalled a suffocating sense of confusion, a 
 dizziness that suddenly enveloped his senses like an anes- 
 thetic, and then complete blankness. He wondered what 
 he had done that "Sister" should have left him. Had 
 he offended her ? Try as he would, he could not remem- 
 ber. He hoped he had not behaved badly, because she 
 seemed to be such a nice girl. 
 
 The waiter returned and helped him bathe his aching 
 head with refreshing cold water, and then piloted him out 
 to a car that was M^aiting at the door. 
 
 Tom muttered the name of his hotel, and as the car 
 rattled off through the night the waiter gave a sigh of 
 deep relief. 
 
 "Saj', that boy had a close call. The shot was too 
 strong for him. I thought he was all in, and I guess she 
 did, too." 
 
 The long ride through the quiet darkness of the coun- 
 try roads and the scattered houses in the suburbs, and 
 then the endless ride through the sleeping city gave Tom 
 
36 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 time for the deep humiliation of the situation to sink into 
 his consciousness. 
 
 He was overwhehned with shame. His first night in 
 the city! His first step in the campaign to win a place 
 for himself! What a tragic beginning! What would 
 Emily say if she could see him now, dazed, befuddled, 
 aching with pain and remorse? 
 
 The car stopped, and he slowly lurched out on the side- 
 walk at his hotel. 
 
 "How much?" he asked. 
 
 "Six eighty," answered the chauffeur. 
 
 Tom dug into his pocket for his purse, and a cold chill 
 swept over him. The purse was gone ! A feverish search 
 of his other pockets yielded only a few small coins. 
 
 The chauffeur quickly stepped out on the sidewalk. 
 
When Sadie Johnson, the pretty telephone girl for 
 the Alert Taxi Company, reported for duty at eight thirty 
 A. M. she found a strange 5'oung man sound asleep on the 
 office bench. As he was a nice-looking young man she al- 
 lowed her romantic fancy free play in speculating upon 
 the mystery. All through the forenoon he slept on, dead 
 to the world, and if the telephone service during that time 
 was not up — or down — ^to its usual efficiency it was be- 
 cause her thoughts were busy with the mystery which had 
 come to brighten up an otherwise drab morning. 
 
 The floor boss and the day driver were unable to 
 answer her inquiries, so it was not until noon, when one 
 of the night men showed up, that Miss Johnson made 
 headway in her researches. 
 
 37 
 
38 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 "Who is our guest "?" she asked. "Who is the hand- 
 some stranger who is parking on the office bench?" She 
 did most of her reading on the screen. 
 
 The chauffeur grinned expansively and responded in 
 the same vein : 
 
 "He is a poor but worthy young man who had not 
 heard that the country has gone dry. He ran up a taxi 
 bill of six dollars and eighty cents, and as the critical mo- 
 ment approached when he was to pay he discovered that 
 his pocketbook had been stolen — cruelly stolen." 
 
 "Old stuff," was Miss Johnson's comment, "but he 
 looks like a nice boy." 
 
 "Oh, I guess he's all right, only his story didn't sound 
 convincing. He was out with a dame, a perfect lady, he 
 said, but he didn't know her name and he didn't know 
 ^Yhere they had dinner and he took only one drink. Some 
 drink that was ! It must have had one hundred per cent, 
 kick, because Buck says they had to lift him into the car." 
 
 "It's a shame the way these places are allowed to sell 
 drinks," she remarked. "There are a lot of people yell- 
 ing for law and order who break the law themselves three 
 or four times a day! They are for law when the law 
 pleases them and for order whenever they can get some- 
 body to take the order. Well, what hajjpened when he 
 couldn't pay?" 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 39 
 
 *'"Well, lie and Buck had an argument, and then a cop 
 comes up and horns in. He suggests that the mysterious 
 stranger go over to the station and rej^ort the loss of his 
 fortune ; but no, that would mean getting into the papers 
 and the folks at home finding out — utter disgrace and all 
 that, you know. Regular melodrama stuff. So finally he 
 proposes to come here and work off the 'mortgage.' He 
 wouldn't telegraph home and he wouldn't give his watch 
 as security — present from mother, he says — and that's 
 why he's here. The boss told him to get some sleep, and 
 if he ever wakes up he is to work six dollars and eighty 
 cents' worth in the garage." 
 
 The mystery, while shedding its baffling features, still 
 contained elements of interest for Miss Johnson. To her 
 romantic fancy the youth was held as a hostage. 
 
 She gently placed a blanket over the sleeping figure, 
 for the morning was cool, and in leisure moments when 
 the phone was silent she built quite a structure of ro- 
 mance about the young man. He was willing to work! 
 That in itself was noteworthy. Most others would have 
 soaked the watch or ducked at the first opportunity. 
 
 In the meantime all hands in the garage had the story. 
 Their comments were humorous at first, then assumed a 
 more serious aspect, 
 
 "Say, this guy don't belong to the union," said one 
 
40 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 driver, "and this is a union shop. He'll have to join or 
 else nothing doing for him." 
 
 The foreman was consulted, and his serious face re- 
 flected the fact that Tom Wickliam had become an eco- 
 nomic problem in the shop. 
 
 When Tom awakened the first thing he saw was the 
 pleasant face of Miss Sadie Johnson, regarding him with 
 unmistakable interest. 
 
— Ai^i^TL^f^f^ — 
 
 Emily Harbridge recognized the familiar hand-WT-it- 
 ing and with eager happiness ran up to her room, closed 
 the door, and tremblingly tore open the envelope. 
 
 Dear Emily : What a long time it seems since we said 
 good night and you told me to be sure to write and tell 3'ou 
 everything that happened, no matter how little or unim- 
 portant. Well, here goes! 
 
 To begin with, I got on the train the morning after 
 I left you, feeling at least one hundred per cent. blue. I 
 haven't felt so miserable since I was in France and didn't 
 get a letter for two whole months. 
 
 I felt mean about leaving the farm just when father 
 needed me the most, but I had to get it out of my system, 
 and the nice way father and mother took it was a million 
 times harder than if they had made a scene. Well, an^^- 
 way, I was indigo from the ground up. 
 
 Fortunately Bud Andrews was on the same train, and 
 we gassed all the way. 
 
 41 
 
42 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 When we struck the city we sepai'atecT, planning to get 
 together for dinner before Bud took the night train home. 
 Well, I never showed up and thereby hangs a tale. It's 
 too long to tell you now, but you must remind me to tell it 
 to you sometime. When you see Bud, please ask him if he 
 remembers a young ladj^ in Brest or some place over there 
 that we used to call ' ' Sister. ' ' I didn 't remember her my- 
 self, but he may. Kind of pretty and very friendly. 
 
 It was partly on her account that I got the job I am 
 now holding down more or less against my will. It was 
 like Aladdin, who used to rub a magic lamp and his wish 
 came true. Well, I wished for a job, and when I woke up 
 and rubbed my lamps there I was with a job wished on 
 me. 
 
 I'm working in a garage, ministering to the ailments 
 of sick automobiles. For a while the rest of the force 
 threatened to make trouble because I didn't belong to the 
 union, but for some mysterious reason they suddenly 
 decided to let me stay until I could get another job or else 
 join their union. If I was sure I wanted to stick to this 
 work I'd join, but I'm not sure at the present writing. 
 
 At any rate, here I am, camping on the trail of For- 
 tune—a long, long trail, believe me! I know the inside 
 of a car from A to Z, so the work comes fairly easy. The 
 fellows working Avith me are a pretty nice lot, but Sadie 
 Johnson says they can get awfully fresh sometimes and 
 have to be put where they belong. Sadie is the telephone 
 operator at the garage, and all the men think the world of 
 her. She's a breath of sunshine in this sordid city, and, 
 in her cheerful way, she has a lot of influence OA^-er the 
 men in the garage. I have a room at her mother's house, 
 and I guess they've had a pretty hard row to hoe. The 
 father was no good, and when he died he left nothing but 
 debts. The ouly brother is away some place. The}' never 
 
THE EESTLESS AGE 43 
 
 speak of liim. How she lias managed to keep her cheer- 
 fulness is a mj'steiy, but she sure has; and that's going 
 some for any one who has to telephone all the time. 
 
 I eat in restaurants, and, do you know, I haven't con- 
 nected with one honest-to-gosh meal since I've been here. 
 The prices are something sickening. Asparagus, the kind 
 we sell for ten cents a bunch — sixty cents or a dollar an 
 order here. It makes me mad to think what a small por- 
 tion of the profit reaches the pockets of the men who work 
 their heads off raising food. 
 
 Do you remember when we read the Jungle Book 
 years ago? Well, these city people remind me of the 
 Bandarlog, always rushing around like chickens with 
 their heads off, and, so far as I can see, never finishing 
 anything they start. They work, live, and eat to jazz, and 
 the city habit is like the drug habit. You know it isn't 
 normal, but it gets into .your blood. We saw a movie the 
 other night that took it off to a T, 
 
 To-night is beautiful. I 'm sitting in my room, looking 
 out at the same moon that is shining down on the trees rvc\ 
 beautiful fields around you, but here it shines down on a 
 waste of chimneys and littered streets. I can't tell you 
 how much I'd like to be down there, cranking up the old 
 fliv\-er to take you for a grand old trip to the Grange- 
 field Movie Palace, but there is no magic carpet to carry 
 me there. Please write very soon. I '11 mail this as we go 
 out to the movies to-night, so you'll get it to-morrow eve- 
 ning. Yours, Tom. 
 
 Emily read the letter over again, then turned out the 
 
 light and sat for a long time looking out upon the quiet 
 
 fields. For some reason a vague unhappiness stole over 
 
 her. 
 
When Emily Harbridge had read Tom's letter for the 
 third time she turned off the light and for a long time sat 
 looking out on the moonlight. She was unhappy. Not a 
 word of real affection in the letter — only the old friendly 
 phrases, now so pitifully unsatisfying. 
 
 Did it mean that he cared for her only as a dear 
 friend ? Or did it mean that some time when he got good 
 and ready he would come and say the words she wanted 
 so much to hear? This reflection stirred her to 
 resentment. 
 
 In this mood she wrote her answer. The big clock 
 down-stairs struck one before she finished, and when she 
 read the letter over she burst into tears, and tore it into 
 little bits. 
 
 45 
 
46 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 Next morning she drove into Grangefield. 
 
 Here were the comfortable homes of retired farmers, 
 whose land was being worked — and often worked to death 
 • — by tenants intent only upon draining the land of its 
 utmost without thought of conserving its lasting richness. 
 
 In the main street were the usual numbers of farmers' 
 autos, parked along the curbs. In other days the hitching 
 racks around the public square were thronged only on 
 Saturdays. 
 
 Emily thought of these things as she drove along, but 
 always in the background of her mind hung the dull 
 heaviness of a cloud which even the bright sunlight could 
 not dispel. The name of Sadie Johnson kept intruding 
 upon her consciousness. She was annoyed chiefly by the 
 fact that she cared enough to feel hurt. 
 
 Her mood was ripe for reprisals. The patient Emily 
 was becoming a rebellious Emily. 
 
 It was not by accident that she parked her car next to 
 Bud Andrews' car or turned, with apparent surprise and 
 marked cordiality, to greet that young man as he hurried 
 out of a store toward her. 
 
 "Hello, Emily. I was just thinking of you. What 
 brings you to town?" 
 
 "Oh, a lot of things." She was smiling gaily, and 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 47 
 
 Bud's active mind was already busy with searching 
 deductions. 
 
 She liad never been so cordial to him before. What 
 was up ? He wanted to ask if she had heard from Tom, 
 but caution prompted him to approach the subject less 
 directly. 
 
 "Is there anything in this great city that I can do for 
 j'ou ?" He swept his arms in a wide gesture that included 
 the Grangefield Moving Picture Palace, Berry's ice- 
 cream parlor, the Carnegie library, and the length of the 
 somnolent main street. "Theaters, restaurants, litera- 
 ture, anything you want. I await your pleasure." 
 
 He waited in an attitude of such deference that two 
 elderly ladies passing regarded him with surprise, and 
 proceeded with a new interest in their lives. 
 
 "All, ha! I have it!" he exclaimed. "I've saved up 
 some money, and I propose we go and purchase a pair of 
 the nicest ice-cream sodas that money can buy." 
 
 "This is so sudden," she smiled ; "but I most certainly 
 accept." 
 
 The phrasing of this remark, pleasantly suggestive 
 of romantic possibilities, stimulated Bud to hojieful 
 expectations. 
 
 As they sat at one of the little tables in Berry's the 
 conversation ranged along airy topics as it slowly but 
 
48 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 surely approached the matter uppermost in both their 
 minds. 
 
 "By the way," said Bud casually, "any news from our 
 wandering friend*?" 
 
 "Who?" asked Emily. "Oh, you mean Tom Wick- 
 ham ? Yes, I had a letter not long ago. Some evening, if 
 you happen to be over our way, remind me, and I '11 read 
 it to you." She resumed eating the ice-cream as though 
 unaware of the significance of her remark. 
 
 "I'm happening to come over that way to-night," he 
 said quickly, while through his thoughts shot the joyful 
 reflection that Tom's letters contained nothing that could 
 not be read to others. 
 
'jHi^/c/ff^ct/ — 
 
 Emily Haebridge was one of a type which is happily 
 becoming more common in farming communities. Mag- 
 azines, motor-carSj telephones, phonographs, movies, and 
 mail-order houses had kept her abreast of the times. 
 And churches, lectures, dances, and other entertainments 
 were within easy motoring distance. Her chief differ- 
 ence from her city sister was the fortunate absence of 
 that fungus growth of sophistication which modern city 
 life inflicts upon girls of her age. 
 
 By nature she was kindly and sincere. Duplicity was 
 foreign to her nature, and the consciousness that she was 
 now embarking upon such a game made her feel uncom- 
 fortable and somewhat ashamed. 
 
 She cared very deeply for a man who was either un- 
 willing or unready to propose to her. That he cared for 
 
 49 
 
50 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 her she had no doubt, but whether he cared enough to 
 want to marry her was another matter. She hoped he 
 did, but the prospect of waiting and wondering seemed so 
 essentially unfair that she was stirred by resentment and 
 a spirit of retaliation. She resolved to play one man 
 against the other, although she never would have ex- 
 pressed it so baldly. 
 
 Nearly all the ladies from Eve down to the present 
 have had occasion to do the same, and it has become a 
 time-honored weapon with her sex. Some employ it in- 
 stinctively, others by design. It is said to be effective in 
 promoting pep in lagging lovers. When husbands reach 
 the comfortable stage of taking their wives' love for 
 granted, the device is employed with effect. When young 
 men dally along without declaring their intentions it 
 often serves to awaken them to the need for positive 
 action. 
 
 Such was the situation with Emily. Tom Wickham 
 was in the city working off the restlessness born of the 
 war. Probably some time he would come back to her, 
 jDrovided he did not in the meantime meet some one else 
 he liked better. 
 
 Bud Andrews was on the spot, and as a substitute Bud 
 was not a negligible quantity. He was keen and amusing. 
 He was sticking to the farm at a difficult time, havino- 
 
THE EESTLESS AGE 51 
 
 character enough to resist the lure of temporary high 
 wages in the cities and insiglit enough to see that, in the 
 long run, the man with land that produces the essentials 
 of all life is bound to be best situated in times of depres- 
 sion or strife. Though profits might shrink, there would 
 never be for him the need of soup kitchens and bread 
 lines. He preferred being a creator instead of a parasite. 
 
 Bud was still single, but Emily's cordial invitation to 
 call gave him a sudden hope that a kindly Fate was shap- 
 ing a means of remedying that misfortune. 
 
 Arriving soon after supper, he found Emily smiling 
 and prettier than ever. They sat on the porch, screened 
 by morning-glories, and, for a time, talked of things in 
 general. About them were all the signs of peaceful pros- 
 perity and wholesomeness, fragrant flowering shrubs, 
 stately oak trees, a mild breath of spring lazily flapping 
 the curtains behind them, and a rich yellow moon. It was 
 a setting for romance and Emily's heart yearned for Tom. 
 
 Bud leaned toward her. 
 
 "You said something about showing me Tom's letter." 
 
 "Oh, yes; I'd forgotten. There's nothing much of 
 interest in it, but I'll get it if you really care to see it." 
 
 Bud was satisfied. He only wanted the assurance 
 that it was the kind of letter that could be shown. 
 
 "Never mind. I'd rather just talk to you. I s'pose 
 
52 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 he's having the time of his life up there— excitement and 
 gaiety, and leaving us down here to enjoy the rural scen- 
 ery." He saw the little flush of resentment in Emily's 
 face and, misinterpreting it, committed the tactical blun- 
 der of continuing : 
 
 "I don't suppose he said anything about the girl he 
 met at the hotel when he first arrived?" 
 
 Emily was silent for a minute. To her it seemed an 
 underhanded attack upon a friend. "With an effort she 
 controlled her anger and answered quietly : 
 
 "Oh, yes; he told me to ask j^ou if j^ou remembered a 
 girl called 'Sister' over in France. He didn't." 
 
Miss Sadie Joh^tson, at her switcliboard in the Alert 
 Garage, was enjoying the luxury of a dull morning. Few 
 calls were coming in and her mind was free to ramble off 
 in interesting day-dreams. At the moment she was re- 
 flecting upon the scarcity of heroes in real life, whereas 
 the movies were full of them. Douglas Fairbanks, ap- 
 pearing on the street, would attract a bigger crowd than' 
 General Pershing, and only the evening before she and 
 Mr. Wickham had seen Tom Mix perform numberless 
 heroics which made the young men of real life seem color- 
 less in comparison. 
 
 The switchboard signaled a call. Crisp, cutting 
 words came crackling into her ear : 
 
 "This is Miss Morland. "Will you please ask if the re- 
 pairs on my car will ever be done ? It was to have been 
 
 53 
 
54 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 at my door at ten sharp. It is now half past. Your serv- 
 ice is becoming more wretched every day." 
 
 Miss Johnson answered with unruffled politeness. 
 Her voice was electric sunshine. "Just a moment, 
 please. ' ' 
 
 After connecting with the repair department she 
 reported : 
 
 "Your car will be right over, Miss Morland. We're 
 very sorry it has been delayed. ' ' Miss Morland rang off 
 with a bang. 
 
 "Nice girl!" reflected Sadie. "Of all people she 
 should be the happiest. She has everything in the world 
 — oodles of money, big social position, and advertised as 
 a great beauty. But oh, what a disposition! And how 
 the boys here hate her! They won't deliver her ear if 
 they can help it. ' ' 
 
 A moment later the beautiful roadster with its dis- 
 tinctive coloring and monograms halted in the runway 
 below her. The foreman spoke earnestly to the driver. 
 
 "Now, for the love of Pete, don't get into a row with 
 her. Their business is worth too much. Tell her we've 
 hurried as fast as possible." 
 
 "I'll try not to get into a fight with her," answered 
 the driver pleasantly. ]\Iiss Johnson was visibly inter- 
 ested upon recognizing Tom Wiekham's voice. 
 
THE BESTLESS AGE 55 
 
 "So they've wished the job ou hhn," she thought, and 
 then called out through the window : 
 
 "Give nay love to Lucille." 
 
 "Lucille who?" asked Tom. 
 
 "Lucille Moiiand — that's the dear girl's name." 
 
 The car shot out, leaving Sadie busy with a new line of 
 reflections. 
 
 As Tom drew up before an imposing mansion on the 
 boulevard the door opened and a smartly dressed girl 
 hurried out. She was undeniably pretty. 
 
 "Has the car been repaired?" she asked sharply. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Yes — what?" she snapped. 
 
 "Yes, it has." 
 
 For the first time she looked directly at him, an angry 
 flush on her face. Then, biting her lip, she muttered 
 something that sounded like "Insolent!" 
 
 "Are you sure it's running properly? I'm driving 
 out-of-town and I don 't want it to break dowm the way it 
 did the last time you fixed it. One can not believe any- 
 thing these garage persons say." 
 
 "Yes, I strongly suspect we are a bad lot," was Tom's 
 comment. 
 
 Again she looked at him, this time sharply, as though 
 something in his words had arrested her attention. His 
 
56 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 face was serious, but she had a feeling he was laughing at 
 her. She was conscious of a lack of that deference to 
 which she was accustomed from this type of person, but 
 as the man seemed respectful she repressed the cutting 
 words that struggled for utterance. 
 
 Instead, she looked at her wrist watch and said: "I 
 wish you would drive me around the block. I want to be 
 sure it is all right," 
 
 As they started, a car driven by a young boy, who was 
 obviously showing off before the girl at his side, shot 
 around the corner at high speed, and only Tom's coolness 
 avoided a serious accident. 
 
 Miss Morland started violently. White-faced, she 
 glanced at Tom, but he was perfectly calm. She regarded 
 him with new interest. 
 
 "You drive well. You would have made a good 
 flyer, "she said. 
 
 "I like flying much better," he answered, swinging 
 the car in toward the sidewalk before her house. 
 
 "Oh, you've flown?" she exclaimed. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Yes— what?" 
 
 "Yes, I've flown," he answered gravely. 
 
 He opened the door, but Miss Morland, acting upon 
 a sudden impulse, said she would drop him at the garage. 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 57 
 
 When they arrived she suddenly asked: "What is 
 your name 1 ' ' 
 
 " Wickham— Tom Wickham." 
 
 "Well, Thomas, when I want a good chauffeur I'll 
 send for you." 
 
 "Thanks, Lucille; I'll be delighted." 
 
 And Tom left her boiling with outraged dignity. It 
 was not until an hour later that she thought of the crush- 
 ing things she would like to have said. Her impulse was 
 to burn up the wires to the manager of the garage, but 
 later she decided there was a better revenge in her power. 
 
— X«S*ii«»»— • 
 
 The more or less kindly Fates which shape the des- 
 tinies of humankind are apt to be capricious. Upon their 
 favorites they shower their gifts in prodigal profusion 
 and then withhold the one thing above all others that the 
 heart desires. 
 
 This was the case with Miss Lucille Morland. She had 
 everything in the world except the one thing she most 
 wanted. She wanted to fall in love, whole-heartedly and 
 tmrcservedly, to be swept off her feet by the kind of 
 overpowering passion one reads about in books. 
 
 Yet, at the age of twenty-eight, she reflected miser- 
 ably, not one of her numerous and obsequious suitors had 
 stirred her emotions in the least. It was maddening. She 
 had tried to imagine she was in love once or twice, but in 
 the broad daylight she knew in her heart it was 
 counterfeit. 
 
 59 
 
60 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 She wondered if the fault lay within herself, but de- 
 cided that the modern breed of men had become hope- 
 lessly standardized into the commonplace. 
 
 As season after season passed and her hoped-for fate 
 did not appear, she saw the future stretching out, a desert 
 of boredom, and the acid entered her soul. 
 
 Then the war came as a welcome relief. She plunged 
 headlong into war work and discovered, for the first 
 time, that to be happy a person must have an occupation 
 or a purpose in life. Idleness is an unfailing breeder of 
 discontent. 
 
 The armistice came as a bitter blow. The prospect of 
 returning to her former life of idleness and boredom 
 filled her with dismay and then resentment — a resent- 
 ment which for some reason was chiefly directed against 
 the men. If the men could not make life interesting for 
 her she would do her best to make life interesting for 
 them, and she vowed it with clenched hands and set teeth. 
 
 One after another of her suitors was beguiled to the 
 brink and then dropped with a crash. It was great fun, 
 heartless, perhaps — but most diverting. 
 
 In the vernacular of j^outh she had become a "cold 
 proposition, ' ' and the men of her home set were steering 
 clear of her. She had to go away, where she was not 
 known, for fresh material. 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 61 
 
 She envied her maids as she heard them go laughing 
 away with their sweethearts for an evening at a dance or 
 the movies. It seemed like a wretched trick of Fate. 
 Everybody was happy but herself, and yet she knew that 
 the world considered her one of the particular favorites 
 of fortune. 
 
 Money and position give no emotional thrills after one 
 gets used to them. 
 
 Her father gave her everything money could buy, but 
 because they came so easily, without effort or sacrifice, 
 they lost much of their desirability. She found herself 
 wondering what her father got out of life. He had no 
 resources for diversion. He was locked in the toils of his 
 business, which was huge and successful. He would have 
 been amazed by the thought that he aroused pity. 
 
 In his estimation he was the typical American, master- 
 ful, with great driving force, accustomed to get what he 
 went after, regardless of all obstacles. Opposition only 
 intensified his determination to overcome it. That was 
 his pleasure in life. 
 
 Money was not what he wanted except as he consid- 
 ered it the concrete measure of success. He had more 
 than he wanted and more than he needed. It rolled in 
 like the waves of a flood tide. 
 
 But the excitement of the game, the fascination of 
 
62 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 playing for big stakes, tlie flattering consciousness of 
 power in the community, kept him chained to the tread- 
 mill. To retire would mean the surrender of all the zest 
 of life. Leisure would kill him within five years. 
 
 He was not actively interested in politics except as it 
 affected his business. A few years ago he was crying 
 "Let well enough alone" when Colonel Roosevelt and 
 other radicals were threatening the peace of mind of the 
 financial world. Now he was desirous of seeing some 
 "safe and sane" man elected, some good man "like Elihu 
 Root." 
 
 These are the two Morlands, father and daughter, who 
 are to play a part in the imfolding adventures of Tom 
 Wicldiam, late of a farm near Grangef ield, now employed 
 in the mechanical department of the Alert Garage. 
 
 At three o 'clock one afternoon, late in May, Miss Mor- 
 land called up the garage and asked to have a chauffeur 
 sent over at five o'clock. 
 
 "I wish you would send the yoimg man who delivered 
 my car two days ago." 
 
 Miss Sadie Johnson took the message. 
 
 "Very well, Miss Morland ; I will tell him. It was Mr. 
 Wickham." 
 
 A queer light was in Sadie's eye. She had an engage- 
 ment to go to the movies that evening with Mr. Wickham. 
 
Looking from her window at five o'clock, Miss Mor- 
 land saw Tom Wickliam arrive and take his place in her 
 car. 
 
 She saw him look at his watch and then glance at the 
 house. 
 
 So, instead of hurrying, she sat down to enjoy the 
 pleasant contemplation of his impatience. 
 
 If she had been asked to analyze why she, Lucille 
 Morland, was thus employing her time she would have 
 sought justification in the claim that she was conducting 
 a "sociological experiment." In reality she was bored 
 and restless and there was diversion to be found with 
 this amazing chauffeur whose language and manners be- 
 tokened other things. 
 
 Her pleasant contemplation was short-lived. As she 
 watched, he lit a cigarette and took from his pocket a 
 
 63 
 
64 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 small volume, which he settled back comfortably to read. 
 So she changed her mind and hurried down. 
 
 **Why are you not in chauffeur's uniform?" she 
 demanded. 
 
 "I am not one of the chauffeurs," he answered. "I 
 am in the repair department, but for some reason I was 
 assigned to drive for you this afternoon." 
 
 "Yes; I asked them to send you." 
 
 Tom looked surprised. 
 
 "I hardly expected that — after the other day." 
 
 "I intended to report you. Do you usually address 
 strangers by their first names?" 
 
 "Only when some one sets the example. If you re- 
 member correctly, you called me by my first name." 
 
 "That is different. I always call my servants and 
 chauffeurs by their first or last names." 
 
 "But I am neither your servant nor your chauffeur," 
 He smiled. "However, if it pleases you to call me by my 
 first name, by all means do so. It is quite unimportant, 
 although it seems to emphasize class distinctions." 
 
 She was intensely irritated and grew more so when he 
 asked : 
 
 "Shall you want me for a long drive?" 
 
 "In what way does that concern you?" 
 
 "Because I have an engagement at eight o'clock. If 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 65 
 
 you are planning to be gone longer it would be well to get 
 one of the regular chauffeurs. ' ' 
 
 She thought, "An engagement with some girl," but 
 said, aloud: "Never mind. We'll be back. Drive to the 
 Elysian Fields Country Club." 
 
 * * You '11 have to direct me. I don 't know these parts. ' ' 
 For some time they drove in silence through city bou- 
 levards, then passed into alternating suburbs and open 
 country. At the crest of a hill, where the land ahead lay 
 in beautiful green billows, she directed him to stop. 
 
 From a flat gold case she drew a monogrammed cigar- 
 ette, lighted it daintily, and leaned comfortably back in 
 her seat. As he was a cigarette smoker she susj)ected the 
 anguish he must be undergoing, but he made no sign. 
 
 "You say you are a stranger here. Where are you 
 from?" 
 
 "I have lived on a farm." 
 
 "Why did you leave? Isn't that a wholesome life?" 
 "I thought the city offered greater opportunities." 
 "Opportunities for what — work or diversion?" 
 "Work." Then he added: "I suppose diversion had 
 something to do with it." 
 
 "The trouble nowadays," she commented sharply, "is 
 that people think more of diversion than work." 
 
 * ' Is that your experience ? " he asked. * * What I mean 
 
66 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 to say," he added quickly, "is that criticism of people 
 who work comes too often from those who do no work 
 themselves. I don't mean to be impertinent, but your 
 comment invited it." 
 
 She bit her lip. As a subject for "sociological experi- 
 ment" she was finding this young person decidedly head- 
 strong. He was typical of the new radical thought which 
 was upsetting the cherished tradition of her class, 
 
 "What is getting into the working people?" she ex- 
 claimed impatiently. "During the war they worked 
 splendidly. Now there is nothing but strikes and non- 
 production. They make promises only to break them. 
 Doesn't a promise mean anything any more?" 
 
 "Well," he said slowly, "I wasn't here during the 
 war. But I suppose there were no strikes because they 
 agreed not to while the war was on. The strikes now are 
 deferred strikes. AJso the ten per cent, plus enabled em- 
 ployers to give any wages the employees asked. The 
 government paid the bills. ' ' 
 
 She looked at him curiously, then abruptly changed 
 the subject. 
 
 "You speak of city opportunities. Have you found 
 them?" From the corner of her eye she watched him. 
 Here he was in a beautiful car on a lovely country road. 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 67 
 
 "I'm sure you find this more agreeable than slaving on 
 a farm." 
 
 ' ' I hate it, ' ' he answered. ' ' Anything would be better 
 than this." 
 
 She flushed angrily. Not another word was spoken 
 imtil the car drew up before the imposing portals of the 
 country club. 
 
 "I shan't be long," said Miss Morland. 
 
 It was six o 'clock. 
 
 Seven o'clock came, and at eight he had the telephone 
 clerk send word to INIiss Sadie Johnson that he was de- 
 tained and could not keep his engagement. 
 
 At eight forty-five Miss Morland came out, accom- 
 panied by a tall young man. 
 
 "You may take the car back," she said curtly, "I am 
 going in another car." 
 
 "Very well," he answered, and as he drove away her 
 companion turned to Miss Morland with excitement in 
 his voice. 
 
 "Who was that?" 
 
 "His name is Wickham, I think." 
 
 "What!" shouted the tall young man. 
 
^'Si-A^'^**^ " 
 
 As THE tail-light disappeared behind the trees lining 
 the broad white driveway, the tall young man found his 
 voice. 
 
 ''Chauffeur !" he exclaimed. "Well, be gosh, be gosh! 
 Old Tom chauffing. Wouldn't that jar a fixed star! I 
 ask you." 
 
 He was staring off in the direction the car had taken. 
 
 Lucille Morland regarded him with impatient 
 curiosity. 
 
 "A friend of yours ?" she asked. And as he continued 
 to stare without answering, her eyes narrowed in a slight 
 frown. 
 
 "Well," she said, "are we to stand here all night ?" 
 
 "Oh, a thousand pardons! Awfully sorry. Like see- 
 
 69 
 
70 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 ing a ghost, you know. Great mystery." They entered 
 the car and whirled out of the Elysian Fields Chib 
 grounds scarcely two minutes after Tom. 
 
 As they sti'uck the open road and the car leaped for- 
 ward at a terrific speed, Miss Morland turned a quick 
 questioning glance toward her companion. 
 
 Something in his face aroused sudden alarm. 
 
 "Harry," she exclaimed, clutching his arm. "Not so 
 fast! Please don't drive so fast." 
 
 "My old car's always kind o' restless after she's been 
 standing," he remarked amiably. "She'll slow down 
 pretty soon. Got to humor her, y'know, Lucie. Got to 
 humor 'er." He turned a smiling face toward her, and 
 the car swerved dizzily. 
 
 "Oh, Harry, please slow down! I'm terrified! You 
 shouldn't be driving in your condition. Please, Harry, 
 please!" A red tail-light gleamed ahead of them. 
 "Please be careful !" She shut her eyes as they shot past 
 with a scant six inches leeway, so she did not notice that 
 it was her own roadster. But for a few roaring moments 
 its head-lights glared over them and Tom recognized Miss 
 Morland 's hat. 
 
 "Wow!" he exclaimed. "She's likely to end up in a 
 ditch!" 
 
 Two minutes later his lights picked up something in 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 71 
 
 the roadway ahead. Swerving quickly, he brought the 
 car to a stop and ran back to where a huddled, silent fig- 
 ure was lying. Off to one side were the remains of a 
 crushed bicycle. 
 
 Tom shouted and blew his horn several times, till 
 presently a light appeared in the windows of a house 
 back among the trees. Confused voices were heard and 
 two men came running out. 
 
 ' ' A man 's been hurt, ' ' shouted Tom. * ' He 's still alive. 
 A\Tiere's the nearest hospital?" 
 
 They stooped down, and one directed a harsh question 
 at Tom. 
 
 "How'd you happen to hit him?" 
 
 "Great Scott!" exclaimed Tom, "I didn't hit him. 
 It was the car ahead of me. I just came up." 
 
 There w^as no resj^onse to this, and the men silently 
 lifted the body into Tom's car. 
 
 "We'll go with you," one said in a hard voice. 
 "There's too much wild driving on this road. It's got to 
 be stopped." 
 
 At the hospital in Rivington a hasty examination of 
 the injured man showed a flicker of life still remaining, 
 but the doctor shook his head gravely. 
 
 Shortly two officers arrived and questioned Tom. It 
 was obvious that they did not believe his story. And 
 
72 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 during the examination the two men from the scene of 
 action interposed frequent hostile comments. 
 
 "You say you didn't hit him?" asked one of the 
 officers. 
 
 "I found him in the road. He had evidently been hit 
 by another car a very short time before." 
 
 "Aw, he's lying," exclaimed one of the men, who ap- 
 parently had reason to be bitter toward speeders in gen- 
 eral and particularly those who passed his house. 
 
 Tom turned quickly. "If I were the kind that would 
 lie about it, I'd be the kind that would have run away. 
 You'll have to admit that I called for help." 
 
 There was no answer to this. 
 
 "Any friends in tovni?" one of the officers asked. 
 
 "No, I'm a stranger," Tom answered. This seemed 
 to decide their course of action. 
 
 "Well, son, I guess we'll have to hold you." But 
 when further questioning revealed that he worked for the 
 Alert Garage, and was driving for Miss Lucille Mor- 
 land, daughter of Henry Morland, they conferred again. 
 
 Tom overheard the name "Morland" repeated fre- 
 quently. One officer seemed to be for releasing him, the 
 other for holding him. After a time they agreed. 
 
 The next morning Miss Lucille Morland received the 
 shock of her life. 
 
Haggard from a sleepless night, Lucille Morland rang 
 for her maid. 
 
 "Has any one telephoned?" she asked anxiously. 
 
 "No, Miss Morland," answered the maid, surprised. 
 It was barely eight! A^^io would be calling at this hour? 
 Most mysterious, she thought. 
 
 "If Mr. Ellgate comes, I'll see him. No one else. And 
 please bring the morning papers. ' ' 
 
 This unusual request further mystified the sharp- 
 witted maid. She knew her mistress did not read the 
 papers unless there was something of personal interest 
 
 expected. And this early call from Mr. Ellgate 1 
 
 What could it mean 1 And at this unearthly hour ! Was 
 their engagement being announced "? And yet, Miss Mor- 
 land 's evident nervousness ? 
 
 73 
 
74 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 As for Miss Morland, the cheerful sunlight, the usual 
 sounds of the house and street, all had a reassuring effect, 
 and almost made her wonder if the events of the evening 
 before had not been part of a dreadful dream. It was 
 only when she closed her eyes and shut out the sunshine 
 that she saw again the stretch of skimming roadway and 
 the flying figure of a man as their car struck his bicycle. 
 How terrible! Harry Ellgate had slowed down, but she 
 iirged him on. In her mind had flashed the awful pub- 
 licity of the thing. The papers would make so much of it 
 if her name was involved. 
 
 She hoped the man was not killed. It would so com- 
 plicate a settlement, whereas if he were only injured a 
 lawyer could adjust the damages without her name ap- 
 pearing. She knew the man would ask a big sum if he 
 knew Henry Morland 's daughter had been in the car, and 
 a jury of course would decide against a rich man in a case 
 like this. Of course it could be appealed and appealed 
 until the man would be glad to settle, but at best it would 
 be awkward. 
 
 All these considerations shot through her mind in the 
 few seconds of wavering uncertainty following the acci- 
 dent. Stopping meant such a lot of distressing formal- 
 ities — and it was so easy to speed up and be swallowed by 
 the darkness. 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 75 
 
 Again these thoughts crowded through her head as she 
 lay in bed. She remembered with misgivings the attitude 
 of Harry as they drove into town. "It's a rotten thing to 
 do — to leave that poor chap lying back there." She knew 
 it was only her insistence that had restrained him from 
 turning back. Would his conscience force him to con- 
 fess I Or would he be true to his code of ethics — not to 
 involve a lady in disagreeable publicit}' ? She decided he 
 would remain silent. 
 
 The maid entered with the tray and the newspapers, 
 and as she tarried Miss ]\lorland dismissed her sharply. 
 
 "If I want you I'll ring." It was only when the door 
 had closed behind her that Miss Morland seized the 
 papers. 
 
 She did not have to search long. 
 
 There it was, emblazoned on the front page, and in her 
 first swift glance her eyes caught the name, "Morland" 
 and her senses reeled. How had they known 1 What did 
 they know ? 
 
 Bicyclist Crushed by Speeding Auto 
 driver of miss lucille morland 's car held 
 
 Jesse Martin, a farmer living near Rivington, was 
 struck by a speeding automobile at nine o'clock last night 
 on the Belleview highroad. He is now in the Rivington 
 
76 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 hospital, where the doctors say the chances of recovery 
 are slight. He is still unconscious. 
 
 Police inquiry has developed some mystifying cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 Thomas Wickham, driving the car of Miss Lucille 
 Morland, daughter of Henry Morland, is being held by 
 the police, although he claims his car did not strike the 
 injured man, 
 
 "I was driving into town alone from the Elysian 
 Fields Country Club at about nine and saw the man's 
 body in the road ahead of me. I stopped and called for 
 help from the nearest house. Two men came out and 
 helped me get him to the nearest hospital. He must have 
 been struck by some car that passed just ahead of me." 
 
 The two men testified that Wickham 's car had passed 
 the injured man and was some yards ahead. They make 
 no secret of their belief that Wickham ran the man down. 
 
 Wickham, who has lately come to the city from 
 Grangef ield, this state, is employed at the Alert Garage, 
 and is not Miss JMorland's regular chauffeur. He was 
 engaged for this special trip. He stovitly maintains his 
 innocence, and in substantiation of his claim he cites the 
 fact that he stopped instead of rmming away, and also the 
 established fact that his car shows no sign of having 
 struck anything. He had not been drinking. 
 
 Further police investigation is under way. A sharp 
 search is being made for a car that shows such evidence 
 of blood or bent fenders. 
 
 In the meantime Wickham is being held and sub- 
 jected to drastic examination. 
 
 Miss Morland finished the account with terrified eyes. 
 It was even worse than her fears. How awful! How 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 77 
 
 perfectly dreadful ! Oh, why hadn 't they stopped 1 Why 
 had they run away? Nothing could extenuate that! 
 
 The telephone rang. She started hysterically. Was 
 it the newspapers ? Or the police ? 
 
 As it continued to ring, insistent and determined, she 
 trembingly took off the receiver. 
 
Miss Morland was intensely relieved to hear her 
 father's voice on the phone. 
 
 "What's this I read in the papers this morning?" he 
 asked testily. 
 
 For an instant she had an impulse to dissemble, but 
 quickly realized the folly of pleading ignorance. It 
 would have to come out sooner or later. And, besides, 
 her father's influence might be urgently needed. 
 
 "Where are you? Can you come to my room?" 
 
 "I'll be right up." 
 
 Two minutes later he was seated by her bed. 
 
 ' ' Well ? What happened ? ' ' 
 
 "I drove out to the club," she began in a tense voice, 
 "with a driver from the garage. I sent my car home and 
 came back with Harry Ellgate." 
 
 79 
 
80 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 "Yes?" There was a painful pause. 
 
 In a voice barely audible she went on : 
 
 "It was Harry's car that struck the man. IsTo one 
 knows — except ourselves. The chauffeur must have been 
 right behind us. " 
 
 She dreaded the next question. 
 
 "You didn't stop?" 
 
 She burst into hysterical sobs, 
 
 "Oh, I wish we had ! How I wish we had! But it all 
 hajDpened so quickly and, without thinking, we went on. 
 It was a terrible thing to do. Oh, I 'm so wretched ! ' ' 
 
 It had been many j^ears since Henry Morland had seen 
 his daughter in tears, and in a gentler voice he asked : 
 
 "Was Harry drinking?" 
 
 Another long pause. 
 
 "A little, I— I think." 
 
 "He was drunk." 
 
 She didn't answer. 
 
 "Um — bad business. This chauffeur — ^he's being 
 held?" 
 
 "Yes. All I know is what is in the papers." 
 
 "Has Harry telephoned you this morning?" 
 
 "No. I expected him to, but he hasn't yet." 
 
 "It's a damned outrage that so much drinking is 
 going on — outside, I mean. You can't expect people to 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 81 
 
 observe other laws if the authorities don't enforce this 
 one." He glowered thoughtfully. "However, that's 
 beside the point. We must get this young man out and 
 hush the whole matter up. Fortunately the injured man 
 isn't dead, or wasn't last night." 
 
 "Do you think I will be drawn into it?" Lucille asked 
 anxiously. 
 
 "I think not," answered her father confidently. 
 Here was a difficult problem to meet and master. His 
 whole climb to wealth had been beset with difficult prob- 
 lems, ranging from labor troubles to legal restraints. His 
 experience with the law had robbed it of its terrors. And 
 likewise his knowledge of public officials had revealed 
 their points of -vailnerability. He arose, 
 
 "Don't worry, Lucille. I think we can straighten out 
 the matter. But if I were you I'd cut out this Ellgate. 
 He's no good." 
 
 At his office Mr. Morland held a conference with his 
 lawyer, of whose discretion he had ample proofs. 
 
 * ' That 's the situation, ' ' he concluded. "See what you 
 can do." 
 
 "I may have to use your name, Henry." 
 
 "Use your own judgment. I have complete confi- 
 dence in it — and your discretion." 
 
 Late that afternoon Tom Wickham was released from 
 
82 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 custody more or less to his own surprise. The police 
 department issued a statement that his innocence had 
 been proved beyond question, and that certain develop- 
 ments as yet undivulged woiild lead to a speedy appre- 
 hension of the guilty one. 
 
 In discussing the matter with Mr. Morland that eve- 
 ning the lawyer said with satisfaction : 
 
 "There'll be a little flurry in the papers, but in a week 
 the public will forget all about it. There'll be nothing 
 further to fear unless some meddlesome newspaper im- 
 dertakes an independent investigation. ' ' 
 
 "How about the injured man?" 
 
 "The doctors now say that he'll recover." 
 
 "Keep an eye on him. We'll do something for him 
 some time. And the chauffeur, Wickham ? ' ' 
 
 "He's been released. The police say he's a decent 
 fellow. But his garage won't take him back. Fussy 
 about publicity." 
 
 "Perhaps we may be able to do something for him 
 later on — indirectly, of course." 
 
 Wliile thus the Fates, impersonated for the moment 
 by Mr. Morland, were shaping the destinies of one 
 Thomas Wickham, an elderly man with distress written 
 on his face was inquiring at the Alert Garage for his son. 
 
"He was released this afterBOOB," said the maBager 
 UBeasily. "But he's Bot employed here aBy more. You 
 might fiBd him at his room." The uiaBager was feeliBg 
 very uBcomfortable. He had discharged Wiekham be- 
 cause of the publicity resultiug froui the latter 's arrest, 
 and the garage force, believiBg him iBBoceBt, were reseBt- 
 ful at the iBJustice. 
 
 Moved by a suddeu sjnBpathy, the maBager called 
 out: "Here, George; drive this geutlemaB over to Mrs. 
 JohBSOB's. He's lookiag for Wickhaui," 
 
 Mrs. JohnsoB greeted him cordially. 
 
 "I'bi glad to know Tom's father. Come right in." 
 She glanced at the clock. "They'll be back soon." 
 
 Mr. Wiekham sat down. "They?" he thought. Who 
 ■were "they"? 
 
 83 
 
84 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 "Tour son felt so miserable about this affair," said 
 Mrs. Johnson, "that after supper I insisted he take Sadie 
 — that's my daughter — to the movies to get it off his 
 mind." 
 
 Mr. Wickham looked around the small plain room. 
 So this was where Tom lived. In contrast he saw his 
 rambling farm-house and broad acres and wondered 
 wherein lay the lure of city life. 
 
 Mrs. Johnson was friendly and sympathetic. 
 "When did you hear of it?" she asked. 
 "A friend of Tom's saw it in the morning paper and 
 telephoned out to me, about twelve. I managed to catch 
 the two o'clock train and just got here. I went to the 
 garage first." 
 
 "Haven't you had any supper ?" 
 
 "I couldn't eat anything," he said huskily. 
 
 "But Tom is innocent!" she exclaimed. 
 
 "I'm sure of that, but — you see " He i^ubbed his 
 
 glasses and, when he could trust his voice, continued: 
 "He's our only child. When Bud told me on the phone 
 that Tom was under arrest I felt as if — as if I wanted to 
 die right there ! I didn 't dare tell his mother. It would 
 kill her — the bare thought of the boy's being locked up." 
 "Yes, I know." Mrs. Johnson's thoughts turned 
 swiftly to the subject that was rarely absent from her 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 85 
 
 mind — to the son who was away and whose name was 
 never mentioned. 
 
 The return of Sadie and Tom was timely. 
 
 "Why, father ! You here !" exclaimed Tom in amaze- 
 ment. "What's the matter? You didn't telegraph. 
 Mother? Is she " 
 
 "Bud telephoned about your — arrest, Tom. I came 
 up on the first train." 
 
 "But, my goodness, father, I didn't hit the man. 
 There's no need to think about it any more. I hope 
 mother isn't worrying." 
 
 "She doesn't know, Tom. I didn't have the heart to 
 tell her. She thinks I came up about extra help. ' ' 
 
 "Besides," Tom went on, "I wasn't really locked up. 
 They just held me while they investigated. And then 
 they let me go. There's no disgrace in that — not a mil- 
 lionth part of the disgrace the people who struck the man 
 must be feeling. I wouldn't be in their shoes for any- 
 thing." 
 
 "Are the police trying to find them?" 
 
 "Trying? Certainly not!" He paused impressively. 
 "The thing's most likely been hushed up." 
 
 "You mean they know?" exclaimed his father in 
 amazement, 
 
 "They probably don't know — exactly; but certain in- 
 
86 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 fluences have been powerful enough to head off a real 
 investigation." 
 
 "It's an outrage! And you are the one to suffer! 
 I'll hire a detective myself!" 
 
 Tom smiled. 
 
 "No use," he said. "Just forget it. But I almost got 
 really arrested this afternoon. When I came out of the 
 station a sharp-faced little lawyer grabbed me and wanted 
 to take the case for me. He said we could sue for false 
 imprisonment, or sue the Morlands for damages, and 
 split what we got. He was so persistent I had to threaten 
 to break his face for him." Tom grinned. "That's the 
 one bright spot in the day. The measly little rat !" 
 
 Mrs. Johnson whispered to Sadie, who left the room. 
 As Mr. Wickham's gaze followed the girl, young and 
 l^retty, a thought of Emily Harbridge flashed through his 
 mind. His eyes were sadder when he turned again to 
 Tom. 
 
 "This Miss Morland?" he asked. "Why wasn't she 
 with you when you came back?" 
 
 "She decided at the last minute to come in another 
 car." 
 
 "Has she done anything to help you?" 
 
 "I haven't heard from her," answered Tom; "but 
 why should I? She doesn't want to get mixpd un in the 
 
THE EESTLESS AGE 87 
 
 affair !" He spoke so bitterly that Ms father leaned for- 
 ward quickly. 
 
 "Who did she come back with?" 
 
 "Some man. A tall fellow. It was too dark to see. " 
 
 "Were they ahead, or behind you?" 
 
 "Now, father, what's the use of speculating? The 
 thing's over and done with. There's no use, I tell you." 
 
 "But " 
 
 Here Sadie Johnson returned with a pot of steaming 
 coffee and some bread and butter. The tension was 
 relieved. 
 
 Just then the doorbell rang. 
 
 "Mercy!" exclaimed Mrs. Johnson. "Who in the 
 world is coming at this hour?" 
 
 She opened the door and confronted a tall young man 
 who was weaving somewhat unsteadily on his feet. 
 
M^^T^^^onf^ 
 
 Harry Ellgate's nerves were ragged after a sleepless 
 night. Whenever he shut his eyes he saw the flying 
 figure of a man and he would get up and take another 
 drink. 
 
 In the morning he read that Tom Wickham was being 
 held. 
 
 "Ghastly!" he thought. "I hit a man and leave him 
 in the road. "Wickham picks him up and gets arrested." 
 
 He pondered gloomily. 
 
 "If I confess, I get Lucille in for a mess of beastly 
 notoriety. If I don't poor Tom stands the blame. Eot- 
 ten business, any way you look at it." 
 
 After a restless day indoors, he was relieved to read of 
 Tom's release, but was startled to see the police claimed 
 to have a clew to the guilty one. He wondered if Tom had 
 recognized him with Miss Morland at the club. If not, 
 
 89 
 
90 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 all was well. If he had, something must be done, and at 
 once. 
 
 He decided to find Tom and know the worst. 
 
 So, fortifying himself further with liquid courage, he 
 arrived in time at the modest home of Sadie and Mrs. 
 Johnson, where he found Tom and his father. Tom was 
 amazed. 
 
 "Harry Ellgate!" he cried. "Well, for the love of 
 Pete ! Where did you blow in from ? ' ' 
 
 "Saw your name in the papers, did a little sleuthing, 
 and here I am." 
 
 "But I thought you were still on the other side." 
 
 Harry beamed expansively. His relief was intense. 
 Tom had not recognized him the night before. 
 
 "Well, it's great to see you," said Harry. "Last tune 
 was in the hospital with several punctures. I thoiight 
 they had your number, old man." 
 
 Sadie leaned forward, wide-eyed. "Why, Tom, you 
 never told me 3^ou had been wounded." 
 
 "Wounded!" said Harry. "He was a regular sieve. 
 The whole division was talking — " 
 
 "Lay off!" interrupted Tom. "Tell us where you've 
 been. That 's more interesting. ' ' 
 
 "Oh, but tell us how he was wounded," cried Sadie 
 eagerly. 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 91 
 
 "It wasn't mucli," said Tom, "I'll tell you some 
 other time." 
 
 "Oh, no, it wasn't much," repeated Harry. "Only a 
 slight scratch through both lungs, and another through 
 the arm and shoulder and neck. He was merely laid up 
 for four months, that's all. But tell me, Tom, how long 
 have you been in town?" 
 
 "Only a month or so. I got restless on the farm." 
 
 "I hope you've had enough of the city, Tom." His 
 father spoke for the first time. 
 
 "Well, I'll admit things haven't been rosy." 
 
 "I hope you're ready to go back with me, Tom." 
 There was deep wistfulness in his voice. "You know how 
 much we need men — and — your mother misses you so 
 much." 
 
 Sadie's face was a study as she gazed unseeingly into 
 the empty grate. Tom was silent, and his father con- 
 tinued hopefully. 
 
 "You'll find things improved, Tom. They've organ- 
 ized a community center at Grangefield — all sorts of 
 amusements — dancing, billiards, athletic contests. The 
 boys won't have to come to the city for diversion any 
 more. " He paused. "Bud Andrews is at the head of the 
 movement. They're talking of running him for mayor." 
 
 At last Tom spoke. 
 
92 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 "I can't go back, father; it would be a confession of 
 failure. I'd be ashamed. Later, perhaps, but not now." 
 
 Sadie's face brightened. Harry Ellgate's revealed 
 sudden determination. 
 
 "You say you are short of men ?" he asked. 
 
 "Very," answered Mr. Wickliam. "They are hard 
 to get and harder to keep. " 
 
 Harry straightened up. "I want to get away from 
 the city. I'll go down. I worked on a Kansas farm one 
 summer with some fellows from college — sort of a lark, 
 you know. Healthy life, too. Never felt better. Let me 
 try for a couple of months," 
 
 Mr. Wickham smiled deprecatingly. The elegant fig- 
 ure, the slightly dissipated face, seemed to foredoom the 
 experiment to failure, 
 
 "IVe been too busy drinking up here. The city's 
 reeking with booze," explained Harry, "But don't 
 worry. I hear it 's hard to get in the country. ' ' 
 
 Mr. "Wickham shook his head. He couldn't imagine 
 Ellgate working on a farm. "The hours are long, and we 
 live very simj)ly," 
 
 "I'm not fussy," replied Harry cheerfully. "A year 
 in French farm-houses with animals and dung heaps has 
 cured me of fastidiousness." 
 
THE EESTLESS AGE 93 
 
 Mr, Wickham looked at Tom and Tom looked at 
 Hariy. 
 
 "I'm in earnest," said the latter, and they all smiled. 
 
 "Well, I'm willing," said Mr. "Wickham, "especially 
 if you think it will do you good. You're Tom's friend." 
 
 "Right-o! I'll be there to-morrow evening with bells 
 on," and he arose and bade them good night. 
 
 * ' A drunken imptdse, " said Tom to his father. ' ' He '11 
 forget all about it before morning." 
 
 Nevertheless at nine the next morning Mr. Harry Ell- 
 gate, attired in his oldest clothes, was motoring toward 
 Grangefield. At his side was a young lady, a most 
 friendly looking soul. 
 
 "This is going to be such fun," she said. "I love ad- 
 ventures. Here w^e are, you and I, with real adventure 
 ahead. I don't know where we're going, but we're on our 
 way. We're in the lap of the gods, let come what may." 
 
 "You're a good sport, Sister," said Harry gaily as he 
 stepped on the gas. 
 
- i*(<£^rz^£tf^ ~ 
 
 Late in the afternoon Harry Ellgate's car rolled 
 noiselessly into Grangefield. He was alone in it. The 
 girl he called "Sister" abruptly changed her mind when 
 she heard they were going to Grangefield. 
 
 "Not Grangefield!" she cried in alarm. 
 
 "Sure. Why not?" 
 
 Out of her memory leaped the name of the town and 
 the things associated with it. Tom Wickham, her mas- 
 querade as a "Y" girl, the taxi ride, the dinner at the 
 roadhouse, her desertion of the stupefied youth ! And he 
 was from Grangefield ! No, most certainly she could not 
 go there. 
 
 "I'm going back," she announced, and no amount of 
 persuasion could shake her, 
 
 "But you were strong for this adventure," argued 
 Harry. 
 
 95 
 
96 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 "I've changed my mind," she said, and so he stopped 
 at a village and put her on a train for the city. 
 
 "Fimny folks, women," reflected Harry, as he re- 
 smned his way. "Like golf. About the time you think 
 you know 'em, you find out you don't." 
 
 Of course he would miss her. She was to have been 
 his refuge from boredom, for he knew this crazy impulse 
 to work on a fann would carry with it a fair measure of 
 dull hours, 
 
 "However," he thought, "Ca ne fait rien, as we used 
 to say over there. Perhaps it's better. She might com- 
 plicate things. She would be hard to explain in a small 
 town." 
 
 He had not been in Grangef ield ten minutes before he 
 was intensely relieved that he did not have the girl with 
 him. As he stopped to inquire the whereabouts of the 
 "Wickham fami, a young girl passing, who overheard his 
 question, regarded him with sudden interest. He was 
 struck by her loveliness. 
 
 "They don't grow complexions like that in the city," 
 he thought. Fifteen minutes later he was knocking at 
 the door of the Wickham farm-house. 
 
 Mr. Wickham 's surprise may be imagined. His farm 
 hand had arrived — an elegant young man in a seven thou- 
 sand dollar roadster. The drunken impulse of the night 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 97 
 
 before had materialized into the accomplished fact. A 
 condition, not a theory, confronted him. 
 
 "Well, well — why — " he groped for words. "But 
 surely you're not in earnest, Mr. Ellgate." 
 
 "Don't call me mister," said Harry, beaming pleas- 
 antly, "I'm your new help. I'm in dead earnest. I'm 
 not doing this to help you but to help myself. I think I 
 need outdoor life and hard work — and besides, I want 
 to get away from the city. You'll be helping me more 
 than I '11 be helping you. Just lead me to the work and," 
 he added when Mr. Wickham said something about the 
 spare room, "treat me like the rest of the hands." 
 
 Thus was Harry Ellgate, yoimg man of fashion, in- 
 stalled into the Wickham household as a farm hand. It 
 was a preposterous situation, but intensely interesting to 
 all concerned. Mr. and Mrs. Wickham discussed it in low 
 tones long after their usual bedtime. 
 
 "He's Tom's friend," said Mr. Wickliam, "and if he 
 wants to play at farm work for a while, all right. We'll 
 humor him on Tom's account. He'll get tired of it in a 
 few days." 
 
 "And besides," cried his wife eagerly, "it may lead to 
 Tom's return." 
 
 But the strange part of it was that Ellgate stayed. 
 
 He was a type of young man often found in cities, a 
 
98 THE EESTLESS AGE 
 
 contradictory mixture of charming qualities and glaring 
 weaknesses of character. His likeable personality had 
 made him the envy of college mates who were in every 
 way more worthy. Attractive but undependable, inter- 
 esting but weak, this was Ellgate. 
 
 Mr. "VVickham showed him about the farm and ex- 
 plained the various duties he was expected to perform. 
 He supplied the overalls which were humorously incon- 
 gruous beneath Ellgate 's pallid, aristocratic face. He 
 illustrated the proper stance while milking a cow, and 
 the correct method of cleaning out a stall. Momentarily 
 he awaited the indignant revulsion against these menial 
 tasks. 
 
 But young Mr. Ellgate was game. 
 
 There was no job too menial for him. He worked with 
 an energy that must have impressed even himself. He 
 exhibited no shame when he was sent to the village in his 
 overalls, redolent of the stable. And in the evening he 
 might be seen flashing through the same streets in his 
 glistening roadster with its monogrammed panels. 
 
 "Within a week he was the most discussed person in the 
 community. He found himself surrounded with a pleas- 
 ant veil of mystery which he took no pains to disi^el. 
 
 At the first of his Saturday evening dances at the 
 Grangefield Community Center he was the sensation. 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 99 
 
 "The Bean Bnimmel of the Barnyard" was Bud An- 
 drews' cj-nical comment. 
 
 It was at this dance that he was first introduced to 
 Emily Harbridge. 
 
^/C^TiyrSo 
 
 Harey Ellgate and Emily Harbridge quickly became 
 friends. 
 
 Harry at once discovered Emily's interest in Tom 
 Wickham and liis instinct showed him the swiftest road 
 to her good graces. Tom was the bond of s\Tnpathy, so 
 he talked of Tom and told her what a splendid fellow Tom 
 was. 
 
 At the end of the first evening at the Community Cen- 
 ter dance Emily felt as if they had been friends for years. 
 
 But if Harry had won a friend, he had also made a 
 clever and resourceful enemy. Bud Andrews watched 
 gloomily the rapid growth of Emily's interest in Ellgate. 
 He was conscious that people were casting amused 
 glances at him, and his thoughts grew bitter. 
 
 101 
 
102 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 Gossip is alert and active in small communities, and 
 next day it was buzzing about Emily and the "Beau 
 Brummel of the Barnyard." 
 
 Ellgate was too shrewd to force his attentions on 
 Emily. He did not see her again until the dance a week 
 later. Once more they talked of Tom, and those who 
 watched her eager interest and shining eyes attributed it 
 to a different emotion. And another aspect of the little 
 triangle set gossip guessing. Bud Andrews seemed very 
 friendly toward his rival. 
 
 At the end of a month Harry's face had lost the marks 
 of dissipation. Prohibition as practised in the country 
 is not the farce that cities make it, and his eyes became 
 clear and his muscles hard from healthy work and reg- 
 ular hours. 
 
 He was clever enough not to put on airs. He dressed 
 quietly and was invariably good-natured. Such hostility 
 as might have been engendered by his splendid car and 
 his air of city breeding was swept away when he next ap- 
 peared in overalls on a load of manure. People couldn't 
 stay mad under these circumstances. 
 
 He took his part agreeably in the activities of the com- 
 munity — played on the local ball team, helped organize 
 a dramatic club, sang in the glee club, and occasionally 
 helped out with a fair line of dance music on the piano. 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 103 
 
 In a month he had established himself in a more whole- 
 some natural life than he had ever known in the city. 
 
 Those who predicted the speedy failure of his "ex- 
 periment" were surprised to find him staying on and on. 
 
 One evening Mr. Wickham and his wife were sitting 
 on their porch. The day's work was done and their rock- 
 ing chairs creaked in pleasant rhythm. The air was soft 
 with the fragrance of summer and flowers. 
 
 "Where's Mr. Ellgate?" asked Mrs. AVickham in a 
 low voice. 
 
 "He went up to his room right after supper. I guess 
 he's going out." 
 
 There was a pause. Then Mrs. Wickham added 
 significantly : 
 
 "He was over to the Harbridge^ again last night." 
 
 Her husband said nothing, but his wife knew where 
 his thoughts were. 
 
 "I wish Tom would come back." Mrs. Wickham 's 
 voice was full of the wistful note that always came when 
 she mentioned her boy. 
 
 "His pride won't let him, mother. He feels he hasn't 
 made good in the city. It would nigh kill him to come 
 back now." 
 
 "Dear, dear, everything's topsy-turvy. Here's 
 Harry, cut out for city life, and he 's down here working 
 
104 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 on a farm. And Tom, who's a natural out-of-doors boy, 
 is set on staying cooped up in the city. For the life of me 
 I can't " 
 
 "Sh!" 
 
 Harry Ellgate came out on the porch. His overalls 
 had been replaced by a trim comfortable suit whose quiet 
 simplicity bespoke a fashionable and expensive tailor. 
 
 ' ' Spooning ? " he smiled. 
 
 "Well, not exactly." 
 
 "Great night for it," said Harry. "I thought I'd urge 
 my old bus out for a little ride. I'll be back early. " 
 
 A few minutes later they saw his car glide noiselessly 
 out of the barnyard and disappear at a leisurely pace 
 down the road toward the Harbridges'. 
 
 For a long time the farmer and his wife rocked in 
 silence. Nearly a half-hour passed before either spoke. 
 
 "Do you think Emily likes him*?" Mrs. Wickham's 
 troubled words showed where her thoughts had been. 
 
 "He's over there a good deal lately." 
 
 "I do wish Tom would come home," sighed Mrs. 
 Wickham, "People are beginning to pity him." Her 
 voice broke. "I can hardly bear it." 
 
 Long after they retired her thoughts continued march- 
 ing back and forth in wearisome repetition. The big 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 105 
 
 clock in the dining-room struck hour after hour, echoing 
 in the silent house. 
 
 At half -past twelve she touched her husband's arm. 
 
 "I haven't heard Harry come in," she said. "Do you 
 suppose something has happened?" 
 
'I'^n^^'-'- 
 
 Harry Ellgate's seven thousand dollar roadster 
 drew silently up to the Harbridge gate. 
 
 "You must be a mind-reader," said Emily gaily, in 
 answer to his invitation. "I was just wishing for a ride. 
 It 's too heavenly to stay in to-night. ' ' She called indoors : 
 
 "I'm going for a ride with Mr. Ell gate, mother. We'll 
 not be gone long." 
 
 A moment later they were off. The fields were misty 
 with the moonlight, which cast an enchantment over the 
 land. Mile after mile of white roadway unrolled beneath 
 them. 
 
 "I get awfully restless a night like this," Harry said 
 at last, " and adventuresome." 
 
 Emily was silent. If she heard him she gave no sign. 
 
 Harry furtively watched her clear-cut profile. If she 
 
 107 
 
108 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 had been a city girl, of his own set, he would have known 
 how to proceed. If action is not speedy enough to suit a 
 baby vamp of society, she drops a hairpin down her back 
 and appeals for assistance in recovering it. 
 
 Bvit Emily was different. Her use of such tactics was 
 unthinkable. A false step on his part might wreck a 
 friendship which, for him, was swiftly deepening. 
 
 And yet a night like this was not one for empty com- 
 monplaces. The witchery of the moon was in his blood. 
 
 For a long time they drove in silence. The smooth 
 purr of the engine gave no suggestion of speed, but the 
 unheeded dial wavered between thirty-five and forty. 
 
 At the farther edge of a little wood the car slowed and 
 stopped as thougli of its own volition. Behind them the 
 moonlight filtered through an archway of leaves. Ahead, 
 away off across the silvery fields, the mists were rolling 
 up like a lake. 
 
 "Isn't it marvelous?" he said in a low voice. 
 
 "Yes," she answered, "and just think of the thou- 
 sands and millions of people in the stuffy cities who never 
 know such beauty." 
 
 They fell again into silence, each conscious of the 
 electric tension of the situation, and oblivious of time. 
 
 Finally Harry spoke huskily. 
 
 "It's so beautiful one is either intensely happy or 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 109 
 
 intensely miserable." There was a shade of meaning 
 which Emily could not misunderstand. 
 
 But the spell was broken by the sound in the distance 
 of an approaching car, and voices singing raucously. 
 Quickly it came upon them, and a rough voice called out : 
 
 "Ah there, sweetheart. Nice night for spooning, ain't 
 it?" 
 
 There was coarse laughter, and another voice, thick 
 and unsteady, added : 
 
 "Say, Cutie, does yer ma know you're out?" 
 
 Emily felt the blood rise to her face in mortification 
 and embarrassment. Harry stiffened in angry silence. 
 Better endure their drunken banter than risk a mix-up. 
 
 But the other car stopped. There was the sound of 
 wrangling, and then, to Emily's horror, it began to back 
 toward them. 
 
 "We're in for trouble, I'm afraid," muttered Harry 
 as he stepped on the starter, but it was too late. At the 
 sound a couple of men from the other car leaped on to his 
 running-board. 
 
 "Hold on there, brother. Don't be unsociable. Intr'- 
 duce us to the lady. We wanta give you a drink. " Ashe 
 spoke he lurched against Emily's shoulder and she gave a 
 startled cry. Harry pushed him backward violently and 
 an angry curse burst from him. 
 
no THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 "Oh, yer goin' to get nasty, eh? Come on, fellows, this 
 guy wants to start somethin'." 
 
 Something in Harry surged up like an uncontrollable 
 flood. He saw red, and, regardless of consequences, he 
 leaped out and knocked the man down. As he tried to 
 regain his seat the other man struck him on the head with 
 a bottle and he sank to the ground. 
 
 The men in the other car cursed. 
 
 "Now youVe played hell. Bill. Come on, beat it." 
 
 "Hold on! Maybe the dame can run the bus." 
 
 And Emily saw the four tires of the roadster hacked, 
 one after another. 
 
 There was a scramble, and in a moment the men were 
 on their way. 
 
 Emily was appalled. Harry unconscious, possibly 
 seriously hurt ; the car useless, on a lonely road, and no 
 house in sight. Suppose the men should come back ? Her 
 heart gave a jump. 
 
 And her parents? What would they do as the hours 
 passed and she didn't return? Thank heaven, they 
 trusted her. But did they trust Harry Ellgate ? 
 
That experience was destined always to be a night- 
 mare in Emily Harbridge's memory. Her first emotion 
 upon seeing Harry unconscious and the car hopelessly 
 disabled was one of abject helplessness. It would have 
 been a pleasure to faint, but she knew she dare not suc- 
 cumb. So she braced herself and breathed a little prayer 
 for help and guidance. 
 
 A quick examination showed that Harry had received 
 an ugly gash in the head. Fragments of a bottle lay on 
 the ground. She tried to revive him, but without success. 
 
 "What shall I do : oh, what shall I do!" 
 
 Shoidd she wait in the hope that an automobile might 
 pass ? It was after ten and it might be hours before any 
 
 111 
 
112 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 one would pass this unfrequented way. Or should she 
 start afoot for the nearest house, leaving Harry uncon- 
 scious and alone ? Feverishly she renewed her efforts to 
 revive him. Wiping off the blood, she bound the wound 
 with strips torn from an undergarment, propped his head 
 up on a seat cushion, and covered him with a robe. 
 
 Then she drew a quick breath and started ahead. 
 There were haystacks off in the moonlight and she rea- 
 soned that a house could not be far. It was intensely 
 lonely, and the shadows by the roadside seemed alive with 
 moving terrors. Before she had walked a mile she was 
 hobbling, for the little high-heeled house slippers were 
 not meant for road walking. 
 
 Far ahead from a clump of trees rose the silhouette 
 of a windmill, but long before she reached the shadowy 
 group of buildings a chorus of barking dogs shattered the 
 silence. Her courage almost failed. 
 
 Meantime Harry had come to, confused at first, but 
 gradually clearer. Why was he alone? Where was 
 Emily ? Surely she wouldn 't desert him. He called, but 
 to no avail. Then a frightful thought struck him I 
 Shocked into action, he sat bolt upright. Great heavens. 
 Had those miserable brutes taken her in their carl He 
 dropped his head into his hands and as he did so he felt 
 the smooth folds of the bandage. Then he realized. 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 113 
 
 Thank goodness, she must be all right. She had fixed 
 him up and gone for help. By jove, there was grit for 
 you. A thrill that was new to him swept through him and 
 lent him false strength. He struggled to his feet, only to 
 collapse dizzily on the rimning-board. He tried again, 
 but could not stand. His helplessness was maddening. 
 His thoughts went out to Emily, somewhere in the night. 
 Away off ahead there was the distant barking of excited 
 dogs. He dared not let his imagination run. 
 
 He could not see Emily Harbridge standing resolutely 
 in the middle of the road. The dogs would not let her 
 proceed, so she had to call as loudly as she could. 
 
 Presently there was an answering cry. 
 
 "Wliat's the matter?" 
 
 "We've had an accident. Please come out, and call 
 off your dogs." 
 
 A light appeared in a window and soon a man came 
 out. To him the white-clad figure of a girl in the road 
 was weird and uncanny. 
 
 In a few words she told him the situation, and he got 
 out his car and they started back down the road. 
 
 "Where you from?" asked the farmer, 
 
 "Grangefield." 
 
 "Grangefield! That's nearly fifty-five miles! I 
 haven't got gas enough." 
 
114 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 '*0h, but we must get there to-night. My family will 
 be worried to death." 
 
 "We can put you up at our house," he said kindly, 
 "and you can telephone. Your folks got a phone?" 
 
 "Yes, but oh, can't you understand? I simply must 
 get home!" 
 
 "I don't see anything wrong about staying at my 
 house. My wife can make you comfortable and she's 
 good at doctorin' if your husband's hurt bad." 
 
 "Oh, but he isn't my husband. He — he's just a friend. 
 Don't you see I must get home?" 
 
 The farmer's brow knitted. Evidently he didn't see. 
 Why go traipsing off sixty miles at midnight when they 
 could go comfortably next morning ? 
 
 "You can telephone from my house," he said simply, 
 "or else I'll run you in to the hotel at Moorland, six miles 
 north." 
 
 "Impossible!" exclaimed Emily. "You're very 
 kind," she added, "and I'm very grateful to you. We 
 won't put you out." 
 
 So when Harry and Emily had been brought back to 
 the farm-house, Emily, unwilling to insist on further 
 troubling the amiable but stolid farmer, put in a call for 
 her home, and after an interminable wait the operator 
 reported the line out of order. 
 
- ^^-u^rt^^^s^' 
 
 There seemed nothing to do but spend the night at the 
 farm-house. If she could have telephoned her parents, or 
 the Wickhams, or somebody, Emily could have faced the 
 situation philosophically. But the whole Grangefield 
 connection was out of order. 
 
 The thought of their anxiety and distress of mind was 
 maddening. 
 
 "I'm sorry," said the farmer; "but you can get home 
 early to-morrow and explain everything. Besides, it's 
 just as well not to move your friend to-night. He's got a 
 bad cut on his head, and he needs a good night's rest right 
 away." 
 
 So, accepting the inevitable, Emily Harbridge and 
 Harry Ellgate remained at the farm-house. Emily's one 
 prayer was that her parents might sleep through the night 
 in peaceful ignorance that she had not returned. 
 
 115 
 
116 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 This prayer, however, was not to be realized. When 
 midnight had not brought their daughter home they 
 called up the Wickham house, only to find the same 
 uneasiness. Fear of an accident alternated in all their 
 minds with a vague distrust of the more or less mysterious 
 young man of whom they knew so little. 
 
 "Oh, I just know something dreadful has happened," 
 sobbed Mrs. Harbridge. 
 
 For the twentieth time she had gone to the window 
 with ears strained for the sound of the returning car. 
 But the night was silent and the bed in Emily's room was 
 undisturbed. 
 
 Mr. Harbridge strove bravely to conceal his own deep 
 concern. 
 
 "They've had a breakdown," he said with an attempt 
 at cheerfulness. "Run out of gas, probably. Likely to 
 happen to any car, and always at the worst possible time 
 and place." 
 
 "But why doesn't she telephone? It isn't like Emily 
 not to." 
 
 Her husband stirred uneasily on his pillow. 
 
 "Well," he said at last, "we can't do anything 
 ito-night. We don 't know where to go or what to do. All 
 we can do is to wait till morning. Try to go to sleep, dear. 
 I'm sure everything's all right." 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 117 
 
 "Can't we call up Emily's friends to see if she's 
 there?" 
 
 "No; if she was there, she would have telephoned." 
 
 At this, Mrs. Harbridge, half frantic with tragic 
 imaginings, burst into tears afresh. 
 
 After an interminable night, the Harbridges were up 
 at the break of dawn. 
 
 One after another, they called up Emily's friends, 
 only to hear that she had not been seen. And from each 
 came a comforting assurance that the car had probably 
 broken down and that soon she would return. 
 
 It was one of these friends, Tillie Randall, whose 
 fancy gave the incident a romantic turn. She called up 
 Bud Andrews, whose interest in Emily was well known. 
 She could not forego this opportunity to inflict pain. 
 
 "Have you heard about Emily Harbridge 1" she asked 
 excitedly. "She went away last night with that Mr. 
 Ellgate, and hasn't returned. Her folks are half wild. 
 They think there's been an accident. But my opinion is 
 they 've eloped. I wouldn 't trust that man out of sight. ' ' 
 
 The telephone operator in Grangefield, listening in, 
 added impetus to this by relaying it to friends, so that by 
 nine o'clock in the morning the rumor was spreading 
 wildly throughout the town. 
 
 It became a topic transcending all others. The farm- 
 
318 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 ers forgot their dismay at the falling price of wheat. 
 Emily Harbridge, of all girls ! She was the very last one 
 would expect to do such a thing. And, besides, wasn't 
 she supposed to be practically engaged to Tom Wickham ? 
 People love to be stirred by scandal, especially when 
 it rests upon those who happily have escaped it hereto- 
 fore; and no news spreads so swiftly or imparts such 
 delight in the retelling. 
 
 Grangef ield was in the grip of this interesting devel- 
 opment when a strange car appeared. It was driven by 
 a farmer, and in the back seat sat Emily Harbridge and 
 Harry Ellgate, the latter with a bandage wound about his 
 head. 
 
 The rumor of the elopement collapsed as the story of 
 the night's events was related. From the farmer came 
 unimpeachable corroboration. The bandaged Harry 
 found himself invested with the glamour of a heroism 
 which he modestly disclaimed. 
 
 "Miss Harbridge is the real hero," he said. "She 
 fixed me up and went for help — miles away on a lonely 
 country road. She tried to telephone home, but the line 
 was out of order. The pain I felt with this bump on my 
 head was nothing to what she suffered when she couldn't 
 reach her parents by phone. ' ' 
 
 A little later he was propped up in his own room at the 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 119 
 
 Wickhams' and Emily was in the arms of an hysterically 
 happy mother. 
 
 The one immediate action resulting from the adven- 
 ture was taken by Mrs. Wickham. 
 
 She wrote to her son Tom urging him to come home 
 at once. 
 
• /t<<a>T^£«'* ' 
 
 Two letters were waiting for Tom Wickham. 
 The first was from his mother, and he read it over 
 twice with knitted brows. She wrote : 
 
 You must come home, Tom, even if only for a day or 
 two. I feel you should know how things are going. 
 Your friend Harry Ellgate is laid up with a bad cut on 
 his head. Some drunken men struck him senseless 
 while he was out motoring with Emily last night and cut 
 all the tires of his car, so Emily had to walk a long way 
 on a lonely road for help. And when she got it there was 
 no way to get home. She and Harry stayed all night at a 
 farm-house and were brought back this morning. You 
 can imagine what gossip the affair has caxised. People 
 are openly hinting at an engagement, but I don't think 
 it has gone that far. We don't want Emily to get too 
 fond of your friend. Your father remembers the con- 
 dition he was in when he first saw him, although it is only 
 fair to say he has behaved himself while here. But 
 
 121 
 
122 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 surely you can understand why you must come home, if 
 you care for her at all. They are both to take part in an 
 amateur play before long, and the rehearsals will throw 
 them together a good deal. I feel sure Emily thinks the 
 world of you, but you can't expect a girl to go on forever 
 like that, especially when she never sees you. She used to 
 come to see me often, but she hasn't been here now for 
 nearly a month. You don't know how I pray to see you. 
 You probably don't need money; but if you do, I'll send 
 it ; only please come next Saturday. 
 
 Tom folded the letter slowly, and for a long time 
 stared out of the window. 
 
 He still had his room at Mrs. Johnson's, for he sus- 
 pected his weekly rent was of vital importance. Also he 
 was deeply grateful to Mrs. Johnson and her daughter, 
 Sadie, for their unfailing kindness. 
 
 After his discharge from the Alert Garage he made 
 several attempts to interest himself in uncongenial work, 
 but he was too restless to endure them for long. At first 
 it had been easy to get positions, but as the summer wore 
 on they became scarcer. Staffs were cut instead of 
 increased, and more and more men scanned the long 
 neglected pages of want ads. 
 
 He became profoundly depressed. He wanted to go 
 home, but his pride rebelled. He remembered Bud An- 
 drews' terse remark: 
 
 ''You're too late, Tom. The easy-money period is 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 123 
 
 about over, and the city man lias some rough sledding 
 ahead of him. The gent out in the corn-field will be the 
 lucky guy from now on." 
 
 Tom had begun to think Bud was right until one day 
 he received a strange note. 
 
 It was signed with an unknown name, but he noted the 
 letter-head was that of a law firm. 
 
 "Your name has been suggested to us," it ran. "Are 
 you open to take a position in the Henry Morland com- 
 pany ? It will not pay much at first, but the firm is large, 
 with wide interests, and there is ample chance to work 
 up." 
 
 After his first surprise Tom guessed that probably 
 Miss Morland had something to do with it — perhaps as 
 a sort of sop for her responsibility in the loss of his gar- 
 age job. But this was only speculation. 
 
 He had taken the i)osition as a matter of course, and 
 had now held down a white-collar job for some four 
 weeks. He was forced to reflect that it did not pay as 
 well as an overall job, but he hoped that disadvantage 
 might be only temporary. Neither was he disheartened 
 by the other white-collar men who had held the same 
 jobs at about the same pay for years of tenacious monot- 
 ony. From these plodding ranks must come some of the 
 
124 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 bosses of the future, as there were certainly not enough 
 favored sons to fill all the big positions. 
 
 Tom had not been with the Morland company long 
 before one of these same favored sons, Austin Newell, 
 discovered him. 
 
 "For the love of Pete! I thought you were perma- 
 nently crippled." And as a result of this reunion with 
 one of his old flying companions, Tom had been intro- 
 duced around the office. 
 
 "Mr. Morland," cried the exuberant Austin, "this is 
 Tom Wickham, one of the best ever. He got a D. S. C. 
 Persh pinned it on himself." 
 
 As he remembered this incident Tom smiled and the 
 bleak roofs and chimneys outside his window lost much 
 of their drabness. 
 

 
 He then opened the second letter. 
 
 It was an invitation to dine at the Morlands' the fol- 
 lowing Saturday — the same day, by the irony of fate, 
 that his mother expected him to come home. 
 
 Tom read the invitation over and over, as if fascinated 
 by the unreality of it, 
 
 "What can it mean ?" he thought. "Is it pity, or just 
 the caprice of a spoiled girl who is bored?" 
 
 He was conscious that the war had introduced new 
 social standards and that the modern young women in 
 search of diversion were ready to stray far beyond the 
 old conventional limits. They invited all kinds of freaks 
 to their houses, people who momentarily held the spotlight 
 in this restless age — therefore, why not himself? 
 
 That must be it, he thought, though the conclusion was 
 not flattering. 
 
 125 
 
126 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 He would have been more pleased could lie liave heard 
 the conversation between Mr. Morland and his daughter 
 three nights before. 
 
 They had just finished dinner and had gone into the 
 little morning-room. The great house was closed for the 
 summer, darkened and draped in dust covers. Only a 
 few essential rooms were kept open for their occasional 
 use when they happened to be in town. Only an old care- 
 taker and his wife remained. 
 
 Mr, Morland settled back in his favorite chair with his 
 evening paper before him. He was reacting pleasantly to 
 the coziness of the room, with its cheery fire in the grate 
 — although it was summer — and further cause of his 
 contentment was the comfortable thought that a success- 
 ful deal that day had made him a great sum of money. 
 His lawyer had devised an ingenious plan — and perfectly 
 legal — whereby a considerable part of this could escape 
 the income tax. 
 
 Therefore he was in a genial mood. 
 
 "By the way, Lucille, do you remember that young 
 Wickham — the man who got the blame when you and 
 Ellgate hit that fellow on the Belleview highroad?" 
 
 The color left Miss Morland 's face. Heavens! was 
 that dreadful case to be reopened ? 
 
 But her father continued placidly : 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 127 
 
 "Well, he's working in my office now. He was on 
 my conscience a bit, so I had my lawyer look him up and 
 give him a place. I met him to-day." 
 
 "You met him!" exclaimed Lucille. 
 
 "Yes. It seems he's an old friend of Austin. They 
 were together in the war, and I must say he seems like a 
 nice boy. I was quite favorably impressed." 
 
 Miss Morland's cold blue eyes were staring into the 
 dancing flames. 
 
 Strange how this young man kept coming up in her 
 life ! A few weeks ago she had never heard of him. Yet 
 since then he was continually recurring. Harry Ellgate 
 had known him, Austin Newell had known him, and now 
 her father. And she was honest enough with herself to 
 confess that many times in the past weeks she had found 
 herself wondering what had become of him. 
 
 He was not on her conscience, for her conscience was 
 not of a tender sort. But she was curious. This young 
 person had piqued her interest. He was ' ' different. ' ' 
 
 Through her mind shot a sudden thought. Why not 
 continue her "sociological experiment?" Why not 
 amuse herself for a brief moment ? If he bored her, she 
 could drop him without a twinge of feeling, as she had 
 dropped many others. And, besides, society in the city 
 was in the summer doldrums and diversion was rare. 
 
128 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 "Would you like to have him to dinner some time, 
 father?" 
 
 Mr. Morland, deep in liis paper, murmured a pre- 
 occupied approval, and so the invitation was sent. 
 
 She little realized what a formidable problem of con- 
 duet her caprice was costing Tom Wickham, now faced 
 with the necessity of deciding between two courses. 
 
 "You don't know how I pray to see you," his mother 
 had written. ' ' Only please come next Saturday. ' ' 
 
 And Miss Morland had written in her aristocratic 
 hand and upon her crested stationery : 
 
 "My father and I hope you will dine wth us next 
 Saturday at seven-thirty. Quite informally, of course." 
 
 She had added the last words to spare him the anxiety 
 about evening clothes, which she suspected he might not 
 possess. 
 
 "The irony of Fate," reflected Tom. "Both are for 
 Saturday night, and I 've got to decide. ' ' 
 
 Something within him, an intuition which always told 
 him the right thing to do, counseled him to decline Miss 
 Morland 's invitation by saying that he was going home 
 for Saturday and Sunday. And yet he realized that 
 powerful impulses were tugging against this course — 
 curiosity, adventure, and, not the least, the appeal to his 
 vanity in being an invited guest at the great Morland 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 129 
 
 mansion. He hated himself as he recognized the strength 
 of this last appeal. 
 
 "Your mother will understand. You can go down a 
 week later. It is important to your career to know the 
 Morlands. Mr. Morland is your employer. He can help 
 you far along your way. Your mother will understand if 
 you explain it all to her." 
 
 And against these insidious arguments arose the dear 
 patient face of his mother, and in his ears was resoimding 
 the appeal, which he knew came deep from her heart : 
 
 "You don't know how I pray to see you — only please 
 come next Saturday." 
 
 At a late hour, with his heart and his head struggling 
 against each other, he sat down and wrote his two letters 
 — one to Miss Morland and one to his mother. 
 
/f'<:'7<^^o^' 
 
 In the conflict between heart and head, the latter won. 
 Tom Wickham accejjted the invitation to dine with Miss 
 Morland on Saturday, and wrote a long apologetic letter 
 to his mother. He knew how disappointed she would be, 
 and with each word that he wrote he felt a growing 
 weight of self-condemnation. 
 
 He strove to persuade himself that he was acting for 
 what would be the best in the long run, but down in his 
 heart of hearts he knew these arguments did not ring 
 true. 
 
 Miss Morland received his note with a cryptic smile, 
 and tossed it aside. "Very amusing," she thought: 
 " 'Miss Lucille Morland, the beautiful daughter of Henry 
 Morland, is entertaining Mr. Thomas Wickham, ex- 
 chauffeur, at a small dinner'! We go far these days to 
 find relief from boredom!" 
 
 131 
 
132 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 His mother opened his letter with trembling eager- 
 ness, and its contents fell like a blow. She had been so 
 sure he would come. She had been counting the hours, 
 and his room had been aired and made cheery with flow- 
 ers. She had even called up Emily Harbridge to tell her 
 that Tom was expected. And now this bitter disappoint- 
 ment. 
 
 "Tom is not coming," she said to her husband. "He 
 says he is invited to a dinner at the home of the people 
 he's working for, but that he'll try his best to come next 
 week." 
 
 Later, when Harry EUgate came in, his head still 
 bandaged, she asked him about the ^lorlands. 
 
 "Well, they're quite important," he told her. "He's 
 very rich, and his daughter is socially very i^rominent." 
 
 "Is she attractive?" asked Tom's mother. 
 
 "Well, she's very good-looking, but not appealing. I 
 think I'd say she was rather hard. I've known her for 
 years, and I must say I don't much like the idea of Tom's 
 getting mixed up with her. She 's generally very nice to 
 a man until she's caught him, and then she gets bored 
 and drops him flat." 
 
 "If she's that kind, I'm sure Tom won't like her. 
 But, just the same, I wish he wouldn't see much of her." 
 
 Ellgate was struck by the note of tired wistfulness in 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 133 
 
 her voice, and as he walked out to the hammock in the 
 orchard where he w^as spending most of his convalescence, 
 his mind was busy with a noble plan for protecting Tom 
 from the heartlessness of Lucille. 
 
 "Of all the cold-blooded propositions in the world, she 
 is the champion ! And Tom 's the next victim. It 's rather 
 decent of her to stick around with her father when he has 
 to be in town, but I can see her, bored stiff, with nobody 
 to play with, and grabbing the first amusement that 
 offers itself." 
 
 He reflected for a long time before he reached a 
 decision. 
 
 "I think I'll just drop Tom a line which will finish 
 this affair in one round!" 
 
 And so he wrote a rambling letter which concluded 
 with these words : 
 
 **. . . So you are dining with Lucille Morland ? Well, 
 remember, Tom, she's not half as cold and unapproach- 
 able as she seems. You can go far with her, and while 
 you're on your way please give her a little kiss for me." 
 
 "There," thought Harry as he sealed the letter, "that 
 ought to do the business. Nobody has ever dared touch 
 Lucille with a ten-foot pole! And, if Tom tries it, his 
 social relations with the lady are likely to be absolutely 
 over — finis! A drastic remedy, but justifiable." 
 
134 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 In his mind's eye he saw Tom make the advance — say, 
 take her hand. Then the explosion. Exit Tom, pursued 
 by the devastating words which Miss Morland knew so 
 well how to use. Harry indulged himself in a broad and 
 soul-satisfying smile. 
 
 Tom received the letter Saturday morning, and read 
 the closing lines several times. 
 
 Late that afternoon a brief note from Miss Morland 
 announced that she had a severe headache and would have 
 to defer the dinner until Tuesday. So sorry, etc. He 
 could not know that her "headache" did not prevent her 
 motoring out to the Elysian Fields Country Club to a 
 hastily improvised party in honor of a friend passing 
 through town. 
 
 Tom spent a bitter evening in his room. He realized 
 it served him right for having catered to his vanity. But 
 this was the third time this girl had failed him, and in his 
 soul was born a grim resolve that somehow, some time, he 
 would get even. 
 
 In this spirit on Tuesday evening he entered the great 
 Morland house and was shown through darkened halls to 
 the cheery little morning-room. After some time Lucille 
 appeared, smiling cordially. She was exquisitely dressed, 
 and Tom was struck by her high bred beauty. 
 
 "Father had to attend a business dinner," she an- 
 nounced, "and so I'm afraid vou are doomed to a dull 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 135 
 
 evening alone with me." Her voice was apologetic, but 
 her look belied her words. 
 
 The elderly caretaker, acting this evening as butler, 
 entered then with cocktails and led the way to a chai'ming 
 little table set in the breakfast-room. Sherry, and after- 
 ward champag-ne, were served. 
 
 In common with so many American boys who served 
 abroad, Tom had learned to drink. 
 
 And as the little dinner party of two relaxed in for- 
 mality imder the inspiriting influence of the wine, 
 through Tom's glowing thoughts came leaping the words 
 of Harry Ell gate 's letter : ' ' You may go far with her. . . . 
 Give her a little kiss for me." 
 
■~-^<"<i/^Tl/*'^tf/«^ - 
 
 It was after midnight when Tom Wiclvham left the 
 Morland mansion. 
 
 Lucille had opened the front door softly and let him 
 out of the silent house. As he walked away he looked 
 back at the imposing pile and tried to convince himself 
 that he was awake and that the events of the evening had 
 not been part of a dream. The warmth of her good-night 
 kiss was still in his blood. 
 
 "Am I dreaming?" he reflected over and over on his 
 way toward the car line that would take him back to his 
 modest room on its imfashionable street. 
 
 His mind was whirling as he tried to piece together 
 the memories of the hours that he and she had been alone 
 together. The dinner with its plentiful garniture of 
 wine, the little morning-room with its dimmed lights and 
 
 137 
 
138 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 the dancing flames in the fireplace, the confidence, born 
 of Harry Ellgate's letter, with which he had taken her 
 hand, the startled surprise in her eyes, and then the com- 
 plete surrender to his embraces ! 
 
 "I'm dreaming!" he exclaimed. "It couldn't have 
 happened!" 
 
 He remembered the sound of the automobile which 
 stopped before the house, and the turning of the key in 
 the door when her father came in — it must have been ten 
 o'clock — and her whispered caution for silence until the 
 great house was all quiet again. 
 
 It was nearly one o'clock when Tom let himself in at 
 Mrs. Johnson's door, and Sadie Johnson, wakeful on her 
 pillow, heard his steps gropingly pass her door. She 
 wondered where he had been, and she wondered why he 
 had rather awkwardly withheld from her the purpose 
 that led him to dress with such care hours before. She 
 was miserably unhappy. It threw her into a fresh fit of 
 coughing. 
 
 If Sadie Johnson tossed uneasily on her bed, there was 
 another who did the same, though in vastly different sur- 
 roundings. 
 
 Lucille Morland went to her room quietly. She turned 
 on the lights and sat for a long time gazing into the mirror 
 of her dressing-table. 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 139 
 
 "You're crazy! You're perfectly crazy!" she mut- 
 tered as she studied the gray eyes, now shining with a 
 light which she had never before seen in them. Her 
 cheeks were glowing, and as she looked at her hair, awry 
 in its disorder, a smile with a suspicion of softness bright- 
 ened her face. 
 
 "I don't care!" she exclaimed recklessly. "It has 
 been heavenly, and whether he is chauffeur, tramp, hero, 
 or prince in disguise, he has stirred me more than I've 
 ever been stirred in my life. It is worth all the humilia- 
 tion I shall feel to-morrow and for days to come." 
 
 She began to take down her hair, her hands flashing 
 in and out of the long strands as they were woven into 
 braids. Occasionally she would pause to look question- 
 ingly into the eyes in the mirror. Sometimes she smiled, 
 and sometimes her lips tightened, but she proceeded delib- 
 erately, for to-morrow she could sleep late. 
 
 "I wonder what he is thinking of me," she mused, 
 "I wonder if this brash young man realizes that he is the 
 first man I have ever really kissed. Probably not," she 
 reflected bitterly. "He must have thought me easy 
 beyond words. But what I can't understand is how he 
 dared, and why I let him, and, above all, why, instead of 
 regret, I am now feeling so disgustingly happy. ' ' 
 
 Sleep came tardily to Miss Morland. 
 
140 THE RESTLESS A.GE 
 
 For a long time she lay awake, staring into the dark- 
 ness. She reflected upon the more or less kindly Fates 
 which had showered their gifts in prodigal profusion 
 upon her, but had withheld the one thing she most wanted. 
 She had wanted to fall in love, whole-heartedly and unre- 
 servedly, to be swept off her feet by the kind of overpow- 
 ering passion one reads about in books. 
 
 She had tried to imagine herself in love with young 
 men of her own set with whom marriage would be widely 
 acclaimed as ideal. But in the broad daylight analysis 
 she knew these emotions were counterfeit. They had 
 failed to awaken within her that response which she 
 would recognize as genuine if it ever really came. 
 
 And now, she reflected, the Fates had played another 
 of their capricious tricks on her. 
 
 Was she to find that the only man who could stir her 
 heart was one whose name and position she could not by 
 the wildest fancy see coupled with hers in the announce- 
 ment columns of the fashionable society journals ? 
 
— ><*Sa-7SME»r"^ 
 
 It was late when Lucille Morland awakened the fol- 
 lowing morning. 
 
 She lay for a long time thinking, reviewing, step by- 
 step, the events of the night before and lingering long 
 upon those which made her pulse quicken and her cheeks 
 flame with a strange elation. 
 
 Her heart was singing with the kind of happiness she 
 had not felt since those girlhood days when her soul was 
 just awakening to new and romantic emotions. She 
 smiled. 
 
 "Well, it's refreshing to find that I'm not immune," 
 she thought. "That's something to be thankful for, any- 
 way, however much of a mess I may be letting myself in 
 for. Playing with fire may be dangerous, but it does 
 warm one up most thoroughly." 
 
 Finally she rang the bell, which soon brought the old 
 caretaker's wife with the breakfast tray. 
 
 141 
 
142 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 "Any telephone messages this morning, Sophie?" she 
 asked with an effort at indifference. 
 
 "No, Miss Lncille," answered Sophie, and Lucille was 
 ^^ conscious of a sudden pang of disappointment. 
 
 She hadn't expected a message, but she had hoped for 
 one just the same. Under the circumstances it would be 
 only the polite thing to do. And yet, why should she 
 expect one of his social limitations to think of doing the 
 polite thing? 
 
 "There's a box of flowers for you. Miss Lucille." 
 Sophie's next remark startled her. It seemed a direct 
 answer to her thoughts. 
 
 So he had thought of her, after all ! She was surprised 
 to find how pleased she was, unless 
 
 Her brow contracted in a slight frown. She began to 
 look for motives which her experience with designing for- 
 tune-hunters led her to expect in every man who centered 
 his attention upon her. Wealth had made her suspicious 
 and distrustful. 
 
 "He's following it right up," she thought cynically. 
 "He's probably like all the rest, and I suppose at this 
 moment he is picturing himself marching down the aisle 
 with me." 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders and her eyes hardened. 
 
 " I 'd better end it now. I '11 not see him an v more. I '11 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 143 
 
 leave town at once and avoid getting in any deeper. ' ' Her 
 eyes softened a bit. "But he was nice, and I'm afraid I 
 shan't forget quickly. It's a pity he isn't some one — one 
 Jmoivs. I'll drop him a nice little good-by note, and 
 soften the blow." 
 
 She untied the box of roses and tore open the card. 
 
 As she read, the world seemed to collapse about her. 
 All the sunshine faded out, and her eyes brimmed with 
 tears. 
 
 She could hardly believe her senses. 
 
 He was ending it ! He was lightly giving up what so 
 many others had vainly sought. 
 
 She read again the swinnning words : 
 
 "You were very nice last night, and I shall never 
 forget. "Won't you let these flowers say a little of what 
 I haven't the words to express ? I shall always remember 
 the evening as a treasured episode, for I am sure you 
 mean me to regard it as an episode that had its happy 
 beginning and happy ending last night. And I'm sure 
 you will be relieved to know that what I am trying 
 clumsily to do is to say good-by and to spare you the pain 
 of having to do it." 
 
 She left her breakfast untouched. Never had she 
 suffered such a hurt befoi-e. Althoiigh she had in her 
 
144 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 time mercilessly dropped many men, slie had never been 
 dropped herself. It was a new and painful experience, 
 and it cut her to the quick. 
 
 Her one thought now was to get him back, and in her 
 eagerness she forgot to follow the old established lines of 
 feminine strategy, one of which is to let the man do the 
 pursuing. 
 
 It was not characteristic of Miss Morland to overlook 
 the rules of the game. Usually she played with a clear 
 and calculating head, unhampered by emotions of the 
 heart. 
 
 But now it was different. Her emotions had been 
 sounded to their depths, and she lost her head. 
 
 She looked at the clock. He would be in the office at 
 this hour. So she called the number of Henry Morland 
 & Company and asked for Mr. Wickham. 
 
 There was a delay until Tom, still new in the office, 
 was located. "Here, Wickham," said one of the officers, 
 on whose desk was a telephone, "a call for you." He 
 spoke grouchily, telej)hone calls from ladies during work- 
 ing hours being generally considered a nuisance. 
 
 Tom took the instrument. No one had ever called him 
 there before. 
 
 *'I must see you to-night," said Lucille. 
 
 "I'm afraid I shoixldn't come again," he answered in 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 145 
 
 a low voice, and he observed the officer at the desk glance 
 up sharply. 
 
 It was painfully awkward. He couldn't ring off with- 
 out being offensively discourteous, and yet to every 
 demur came a flood of insisting words. 
 
 He was conscious that a number of the men were now 
 regarding him with amusement. It seemed as if he had 
 been talking for hours. His face was burning, and he 
 felt the cold disapproving eye of the officer boring into 
 him. 
 
 At last, in despair, he said he would come. 
 
 " Come after dinner — at nine sharp. Don't ring. I'U 
 open the door for you." 
 
After dining alone, Miss Morland told Herman, the 
 old caretaker, that he need not wait up. Her gown, a 
 graceful, filmy house dress, indicated to him that she 
 would remain home. 
 
 She then spent many more careful moments before her 
 mirror. She was looking her best, and nervous eagerness 
 had brought a becoming color to her cheeks. 
 
 Just before nine o'clock she softly descended the 
 stairs, moved noiselessly through the darkened halls, and 
 awaited at the great front door. 
 
 Promptly at nine she opened the door for Tom Wick- 
 ham, and, motioning him to be silent, she gently closed 
 the door and led him down to the little morning-room 
 where they had been the evening before. 
 
 She turned on a light and, listening at the door, she 
 assured herself that old Herman and Sophie had retired 
 
 147 
 
148 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 to their remote quarters. She then lighted the fire, and 
 its cheery glow was soon suffusing the room. 
 
 Tom watched her with a grave face. Thus far not a 
 word had been spoken. Then she turned suddenly to him 
 and, placing her hands on his shoulders, looked intently 
 up into his eyes. 
 
 "Well," she said, "what are you thinking?" 
 
 He hesitated. 
 
 "Don't you want to tell me?" 
 
 "I was thinking I shouldn't have come to-night," he 
 said seriously. 
 
 "Not even if I wanted you to come ?" 
 
 "No, not even then." 
 
 "Aren't you going to kiss me ?" 
 
 "I resolved not to," he answered, smiling, "unless — " 
 
 "Unless what?" 
 
 "Unless I can't help it." 
 
 She smiled confidently. 
 
 "You're a fimny boy. Come, sit down here, and tell 
 me why you don 't like me. Am I so terrible ? ' ' 
 
 "You are fascinating," he answered. 
 
 "Now you're dodging the question. I don't want to 
 be called fascinating. I want to know why you don't like 
 
 me." 
 
 "But I haven't said I don't like you." 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 149 
 
 "No, not in so many words, but, remember, I had to 
 plead to get you to come to-night. I've never done that 
 before. A^Tiy didn 't you want to come ? ' ' 
 
 He stared into the fire for a long time. Then in a low 
 voice he spoke. 
 
 "There's no reason why you should be nice to me. Miss 
 Morland. I can see only one possible reason and that is 
 that you are bored and perhaps find me diverting as a 
 momentary pastime. You don't care for me — you can't. 
 And why should you? I'm not complaining, and I 
 should be dishonest if I told you I cared for you — deeply, 
 I mean." 
 
 "Then you don't?" she said in a curiously constrained 
 voice. 
 
 "Is it likely that I should when I think you are merely 
 amusing yourself?" 
 
 "But how do you know I am just amusing myself, as 
 you call it? Aren't there plenty of others available?" 
 
 "That's what I can't understand." 
 
 She looked at him intently as she asked the next ques- 
 tion. 
 
 "Do you care for some one else?" 
 
 "Yes, I always have — back as far as I can remember." 
 
 There was a long silence. Both were solemnly gazing 
 into the flames. 
 
150 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 "Is she mce?" 
 
 "Yes — she's very nice." 
 
 "Have you ever — kissed her?" she asked in a voice 
 barely above a whisper. 
 
 "No, not since we were children." 
 
 Quite suddenly Miss Morland burst into sobs and 
 buried her face in the pillows. After a moment he sought 
 to soothe her by smoothing her hair. He was miserably 
 upset. The more he endeavored to console her the more 
 bitter became her convulsive sobs. He kissed her hair 
 and then found both her arms violently about his neck. 
 
 It was two when the little clock on the mantel, after 
 sounding hour after hour, was at last successful in making 
 itself heard. 
 
 "Good heavens!" he exclaimed. "I didn't dream it 
 was so late. I must go." 
 
 Her eyes were misty with happiness. 
 
 She turned out the light and led him to the front door. 
 
 "Please telephone me to-morrow morning — surely," 
 she said as she turned the knob. 
 
 As the great door swung open, a violent clanging of 
 bells sounded through the house. 
 
 "Oh, mercy!" she gasped. "Herman set the burglar 
 alarm! Hurry! Don't wait! Rim!" and, pushing hmi 
 out, she fled up the stairs to her room. 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 151 
 
 From tlie darkened window she was horrified to see 
 Tom with the hand of a night watchman on his arm. 
 
 An impulse to open the window and assure the officer 
 that it was all right, that Tom was a caller and not a 
 burglar, was stifled by the thought that she would be 
 involved. It was so shockingly late. 
 
 Then she saw Tom whirl suddenly — a football player's 
 trick — kii'ch against the watchman, and saw the latter fall 
 heavily. Tom sprang away and the watchman, rising on 
 his elbow, fired two shots at him, the effect of which she 
 could not see. 
 
 "Oh, heavens!" she gasped. "How perfectly 
 terrible ! ' ' 
 
■ '^^tZfi&n — 
 
 It was a hideous nightmare for Miss Morland, except 
 that she knew she was awake and not dreaming. 
 
 After the clanging of the burglar alarm and the two 
 shots she listened in dread to the opening of windows in 
 neighboring houses and the hurry of footsteps on the 
 sidewalk and excited voices. 
 
 Summoning all her strength, she opened her door 
 upon the now brilliantly lighted house and called out. 
 
 "Herman, Herman, what is the matter?" 
 
 *'The burglar alaim, miss. I guess somebody's been 
 tryin' to break in." 
 
 From down the street came the clang of the police 
 patrol, and a moment later a cordon of officers with 
 drawn revolvers was encircling the house. 
 
 After a long time the old caretaker tapped on Lucille 's 
 door. 
 
 153 
 
154 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 "Don't worry, Miss Lucille. We've searched the 
 whole house and found nobody. I guess the alarm scared 
 'em away." 
 
 But there was no sleep for Miss Morlaud. Uppermost 
 in her mind was the dread of being iuA'olved, but in the 
 background was a persistent fear for what had happened 
 to Tom. 
 
 She assumed, and rightly, that he, leaving her dark- 
 ened house so late, could not explain his presence at that 
 hour without compromising her, and, rather than risk 
 this, had toppled over the night watchman and fled. It 
 pleased Lucille to think he had acted the gentleman for 
 her sake, even at the risk of being killed. 
 
 But when morning came the fear of being involved 
 restrained her from inquiring about him. Her one 
 thought was to get away as quickl}^ as possible — to put 
 miles and miles between her and the chance of unpleasant 
 publicity. ^ 
 
 As the morning passed, and no message came from 
 Tom, her fears became more intense. Suppose he had 
 been mortally wounded, or captiired; and, if the latter, 
 would be be subjected to the third degree until he con- 
 fessed why he was leaving the darkened Morland house 
 at two o'clock in the morning? She shuddered at the 
 thought, and hastened her preparations for departure. 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 155 
 
 At two-thirty heavily veiled, she started for her sum- 
 mer home ignorant of what had happened to Tom and 
 moved by one impulse — to save herself from possible 
 annoyance and embarrassment. 
 
 The early afternoon papers contained accounts of the 
 shooting. Liquor thieves were suspected, but the most 
 popular police theory was that it had been a frustrated 
 Red plot to blow up Mr. Morland, because of his huge war 
 profits obtained by speculating in foodstuffs. Some days 
 before, a radical daily had charged him rather ma- 
 lignantly with having doubled his fortune during the 
 war. 
 
 The night watchman, interviewed, described his assail- 
 ant as a powerful young man, heavily armed, who had 
 attempted to kill him. He himself had fired two shots, 
 but didn't know whether either had taken effect. 
 
 What the newspapers did not print was how Tom 
 Wickham, shot through the left shoulder, made his way 
 to his room, and with the knowledge of surgical dressing 
 gained in the war and the little first-aid kit he always 
 kept, cleaned and bandaged the wound as best he could. 
 
 He dared not go to a doctor, for that would necessitate 
 explanations, or else lead to his arrest and a possible 
 third-degree inquisition. 
 
 Sadie Johnson heard him come in, and heard him 
 
156 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 moving about for some time afterward. She fancied she 
 caught the faint, penetrating odor of antiseptics. 
 
 When Mrs. Johnson tapped on his door at the usual 
 hour Tom called out that he was not feeling well, and 
 requested her to ask Sadie to telephone the office from 
 the drug store that he would not be down. 
 
 "Can I do anything for you?" 
 
 "No, thank you. I'll be all right after a while." 
 
 Sadie went to her work at the Alert Garage, her quick 
 mind entirely preoccixpied with speculation. It was very 
 mysterious. But it was not until she saw the account of 
 the shooting at the Morland house that her conclusions 
 began to take form. She folded up the papers and took 
 them home. 
 
 Her mother was bringing Tom his supper. He was 
 sitting up in bed, and did not look ill, 
 
 "Here's something that may interest you," she said, 
 handing him the papers. He started and looked at her 
 queerly. She smiled. 
 
 "Interesting story, isn't it?" she commented, and 
 observed how stiffly he held his left arm. ' ' He must have 
 been a terrible person, that big, burly burglar ! " 
 
 The significance of her tone did not escape Tom. He 
 grinned. 
 
 "You're pretty smart, Sadie. Would you mind doing 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 157 
 
 something for me ? Please telephone Miss Morland that 
 I 'm all right, but that I '11 have to stick around the house 
 for a day or two." 
 
 "I'll tell her you have a cold in your shoulder," she 
 laughed, and in a few minutes returned from the drug 
 store with the news that Miss Morland had departed, 
 destination unknown, and left no word for anybody. 
 
 Tom's face clouded, and Sadie misconstrued the look. 
 
 "He's awfully in love with her," she thought. 
 
■ — /t<*^n^£e// ' 
 
 Sadie Johnson asked no questions. She dressed the 
 bullet wound in Tom Wickham's shoulder and cheered 
 him up with sprightly accounts of the day's happenings 
 at the Alert Garage. 
 
 He spent the days in the easy chair by his window, 
 thankful that the critical third day had passed without 
 the development of fever. 
 
 Down at the great firm of Morland & Company, the 
 office force received with varying comments the news 
 that he was laid up. 
 
 The cjTiical attributed his "indisposition" to an 
 attack of some particularly deadly "home brew," while 
 the evil-minded thought he had gotten snarled up with a 
 "vamp." One man, recalling Tom's long and embarrass- 
 ing telephone conversation a few days before, shared the 
 latter view, although he would have been shocked out of a 
 year's growth had he known the identity of the lady. To 
 
 159 
 
160 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 him the daughter of Henry Morland was one who lived 
 on the unattainable heights of a different world. 
 
 During the time while Sadie was away at work Tom 
 had many dragging hours in which to review the events 
 leading up to the present. 
 
 He was angry at LuciDe Morland 's selfishness — run- 
 ning away without an apparent thought of what might 
 have happened to him. She could not have failed to hear 
 the shots. Under no circumstances could he imagine 
 Emily Harbridge showing so little feeling, or Sadie 
 Johnson, either. 
 
 He was angry at Henry Morland, too. He had not 
 before realized the nature of Mr. Morland 's business, or 
 at least it had never before been presented to him in quite 
 the same light. 
 
 The newspaper references to Morland 's vast war 
 profits in foodstuffs brought him into direct comparison 
 with the difficult condition of Tom's own father, who 
 raised the food. 
 
 There was something radically wrong, Tom decided, 
 in the distribution of earned reward when the farmer who 
 slaved long weeks and months, gambling with fickle 
 weather while raising the grain, should receive so much 
 less than the speculator who traded in it. 
 
 And yet the consuming public was paying in many 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 161 
 
 cases, far more than the goods were worth, even allowing 
 a generous profit to both producer and middleman. 
 
 He was not certain he wanted to continue in the 
 employ of Henry Morland. He remembered the excite- 
 ment in the office when Mr. Morland, in a tremendous 
 bear campaign, had hammered down the price of corn to 
 the lowest price in three years. The farmers had suf- 
 fered, the consumers had not benefited, but Mr. Morland 
 had profited enormously. 
 
 In his mind's eye he saw his father working under 
 great difficulties, with insufficient help, winter and sum- 
 mer, at the mercy of droughts and rains, producing by the 
 sweat of his brow the necessities of life, and then he saw 
 Mr. Morland garnering the fruits of those labors. 
 
 In these brooding hours Tom found a mournful pleas- 
 ure in thinking of home and of what thej^ were doing 
 down there. 
 
 What a mess he had made of things in the city ! And, 
 beneath the tinsel of city gaiety, what disillusionments ! 
 Selfishness, greed, ostentation, duplicity, cutthroat busi- 
 ness methods, crafty evasions of the law, crime flourish- 
 ing in the face of official complacence or connivance ! 
 
 In Tom's frame of mind, the farm, with all its hard 
 work, seemed glorified in comparison and the farmer who 
 creates useful wealth from the ground gained a new dig- 
 
162 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 uity as the one upon whom the whole workl depends foi*- 
 life and pleasure. Without him, the whole elaborate 
 structure of society and commerce and law would crash 
 down in a single year, humanity would strip off its veneer 
 of civilization, and the world would revert to the chaos 
 of barbarism. 
 
 And yet he had heard city people speak contemptu- 
 ously of the ''yaps" from the tall grass! 
 
 From his suit-case Tom took out a picture of Emily 
 Harbridge and gazed long into the frank clear eyes. How 
 different she was from Lucille Morland, and how infi- 
 nitely finer ! 
 
 He placed the picture on the dresser, where Sadie 
 Johnson seeing it later, thought it was the picture of 
 Lucille Morland, but oh, so very much nicer-looking than 
 the frequent newspaper pictures had revealed her. It 
 confirmed Sadie's conviction that Tom was deeply in love 
 with Miss Morland. 
 
 Her mistake was destined to have unwelcome con- 
 sequences. 
 
 As Tom looked at the picture he gave himself up to 
 melancholy reflections. 
 
 "I wonder if Emily ever gives me a thought any more. 
 Goodness knows I don't deserve it, for I've been a miser- 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 163 
 
 able correspondent." He smiled bitterly. "But then, I 
 haven't had much that was cheerful to write about." 
 
 And then his mother's comments about Emily and 
 Harry came back to him. 
 
 Harry was sticking it out down there longer than 
 seemed humanly possible — for Harry. Several months 
 of close association with him in France had shown the 
 fundamental weakness of his character. 
 
 Tom would have wondered less could he have seen 
 Harry at that moment, seated on the Harbridge veranda 
 with Emily, whose grave eyes were turned away as Harry 
 talked in a low voice at her side. 
 
^/'dCuTlM^'' - 
 
 Matches are made in heaven or in haste. 
 
 The Fates, which, in their more or less infinite wis- 
 dom, decree who is to marry whom, were making a sad 
 mess of it in the case of Tom Wickman and Emily 
 Harbridge. 
 
 Circumstances were sweeping both of them closer and 
 closer to people they did not love and had no desire to 
 marry. 
 
 While Tom in the city was brooding over his affairs, 
 Emily in the country was having her own difficult 
 problems. 
 
 "Do you know," Harry Ellgate was saying, "I'm 
 afraid our friend Tom is finding the world very pleasant 
 since he fell in with Lucille JMorland. She's " 
 
 "Please, Harry, 1 don't want to hear about her," 
 Emily interrupted, and then added hastily: "Goodness 
 knows I'm sure I hope he is enjoying himself, wherever 
 he is!" 
 
 165 
 
166 THE EESTLESS AGE 
 
 "It would be a good match," calmly continued Harry, 
 lighting a cigarette. "I can't say she appeals to me, but 
 she is beautiful and has oodles of money." 
 
 Emily said nothing. A number of times of late Harry 
 had referred to Tom and Miss Morland, and, against her 
 will, she was beginning to bracket them in her thoughts. 
 
 She arose abruptly. 
 
 "It's time to go to the rehearsal," she said in a tired 
 voice. "I wish the dreadful play was over and — in Hali- 
 fax!" 
 
 The rehearsals were being held in the town hall, where 
 the play was to be given a few daj^s later. Harry had 
 organized a dramatic club in Grangefield, and for some 
 weeks the company had been working on a production of 
 She Stoops to Conquer. During this time Harry and 
 Emily had been thrown together a good deal, much to the 
 gloomy resentment of Bud Andrews. 
 
 "I haven't the ghost of a show with her myself," 
 thought Bud, "but I sure don't want to see her tied up to 
 this bird from the city. I'd prefer to hand her over to 
 Tom." His eyes hardened. "But he hasn't got her yet. 
 There's a certain little test I'm framing up." And he 
 smiled a canny smile. 
 
 Later that evening, looking out into the moonlight 
 from her bedroom window, Emily railed at circumstance. 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 167 
 
 Harry Ellgate had iDroposed again this evening as he had 
 done at every suitable opportunity for the past two weeks. 
 
 She liked him, but she didn't love him. No one could 
 ever take the place Tom had held in her heart since child- 
 hood. 
 
 But Tom — ? He had never proposed. And even 
 though it had been tacitly understood that some day they 
 would be married, he had gone away almost without a 
 word and had written only a few vague, friendly letters 
 since. 
 
 Harry's constant insinuations about Lucille Morland 
 were shaking a faith which she had believed unshakable. 
 It was quite possible that Tom's new-found interests 
 might have forced her into the background. 
 
 On the other hand, he might be waiting, ashamed to 
 confess that, so far at least, he had not made a success of 
 things. 
 
 She was in the position of many girls who approach 
 that difficult ordeal when they must decide whether to 
 marry the man who is on the ground and eager, or wait 
 for a dream to come true. It would be tragic should the 
 dream, delayed by good and sufficient reasons, come true 
 too late. 
 
 And yet she realized that every girl who is happil)' 
 married may not have got the one her heai't was originally 
 
168 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 set upon. The plodding svutor may make a priceless hus- 
 band, and the fascinator may be a woeful failure in the 
 every-day confines of matrimony. 
 
 Harry Ellgate was agreeable, amusing, and consid- 
 erate. Always a gentleman, he had lived down the handi- 
 cap of his city elegance and had made even the doubting 
 ones his friends. And yet Emily had an intuitive feeling 
 that he lacked a certain dependability. There was a fixed 
 conviction that he would fail under a crucial test. 
 
 If the test never came, her life might move along 
 evenly enough, without any very high or very low spots; 
 and if there were children, she would probably be con- 
 tented and happy. 
 
 And the town considered him distinctly eligible — with 
 money, education, breeding. His work as a farm hand 
 was commonly accepted as a whim, and his propinquitj'^ 
 to Emily the only bond that held him to it. There was 
 much siDcculation about Tom, but not as much as in 
 Emily's own heart. 
 
 If she could only see him again! She knew her 
 instinct could tell her unerringly whether or not he had 
 changed toward her. And the Fates, sitting away off 
 some place minding everybody 's business, must have read 
 her thoughts. 
 
 Early next morning a frantic voice reached her on the 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 169 
 
 telephone. "Emilj-, you've got to go up to town to see 
 about Tillie Randall's costume. She can't leave her 
 mother, and the costume is impossible. Built for an 
 elephant! You're the only one who can help." 
 
 Emily consented with a joyous eagerness in her heart 
 that spoke volmnes to her head. 
 
 It gave her the excuse to go without the sacrifice of 
 pride. 
 
/<'*ti-/&*^iiv — 
 
 The morBing mail brought Tom Wickham a letter 
 from his father : 
 
 My deak son, I feel it is unfair to conceal from you 
 any longer the way things are running here on the farm. 
 I don't want to worry you with a hard luck story, but the 
 facts are serious. 
 
 Either you've got to come home and help handle the 
 place or else I've got to sell out. There's a Polack family 
 that wants to buy, but they want easy terms and consid- 
 erable time to pay. They're willing to work hard, the 
 whole family, children and all, while the boys of the old 
 American families get filled up with education and fancy 
 ideas and want to go to the cities. Not that education 
 isn^t a fine thing — and I must say I hate to see small 
 children slaving — but the millennium hasn't arrived and 
 some of us can't have everything. 
 
 One by one the old families around here are selling 
 out to the Polacks and are now living off their incomes in 
 the towns. Of course that's some people's idea of 
 Heaven, but I've always been accustomed to lots of space 
 around me. We're getting too far along, your mother 
 
 171 
 
172 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 and me, to take readjustment very easily, and I must say 
 I don't like to see the old place go into other hands if it 
 can be helped. You can't live on sentiment, but some of 
 it's good to have around. 
 
 This last summer and fall have been mighty dis- 
 couraging. Corn has dropped nearly seventy per cent.; 
 while the things we have to buy have come down only 
 twenty-five to thirty per cent. A few months ago thirty- 
 three bushels of corn would buy a suit valued at sixty- 
 five dollars. To-day, if clothing had dropped as much as 
 corn, we could buy that same suit for twenty dollars and 
 fifty cents. That illustrates what has happened to us. 
 
 What help I can get still wants high wages, and I 
 tell you it's hard for a man who hasn't a big family to 
 help him to compete with these frugal and industrious 
 Polacks, who all have any number of children to help do 
 the work. 
 
 And another thing that I don't like. You are work- 
 ing for Henry Morland. I've been waiting for you to 
 find out for yourself the connection between his business 
 and mine. Do you know that he has been one of the big- 
 gest bears in grain speculation and has hammered dovni 
 the price of corn until the farmers are ready to mob him ? 
 And as far as I can make out, nobody but himself bene- 
 fits. That is, the food that comes from the grain is still 
 unreasonably high. 
 
 Of course he's not wholly to blame for the big drop. 
 The big crop helped bring down prices, and I reckon we'd 
 have been better off financially if we'd raised only half a 
 crop. But then where would the city poor be ! 
 
 Now there's how matters stand, Tom. I hope you will 
 see your way clear to coming back and running the place. 
 It 11 be yours one of these days, and I don't mind saying 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 173 
 
 I'm just about ready to quit. Your mother has been ail- 
 ing. ' She misses you terribly, but she hardly ever says 
 anything. We both send love. 
 
 Tom read the letter over again, and then, for the first 
 since his accident, left the house for the offices of Henry 
 IMorland. 
 
 Mr. Morland's secretary informed him it would be 
 impossible to see him. However, he would take any mes- 
 
 sage T 
 
 "I'm employed here," said Tom, "perhaps if Austin 
 Newell said a word ?" 
 
 "Oh, you know Mr. Newell?" 
 
 "Yes, we were together in France." 
 
 "Just a moment, please. I think Mr. Morland will see 
 you." 
 
 After a short pause, Tom was shown into the paneled 
 office of the great financier. 
 
 "Well, young man, what can I do for you ?" Mr. Mor- 
 land was in good humor. He had hammered down the 
 price of corn another ten cents during the morning ses- 
 sion. 
 
 "I came to thank you for giving me a chance here, and 
 secondly to resign. ' ' 
 
 "Resign! Why, what 's the matter ? Have you found 
 something better than this ? Or don 't you like the work ? ' ' 
 
174 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 "The work is all right, but I don't like the business." 
 
 Morland sat up, his face lost its jocular look and his 
 eyes hardened. They reminded Tom of Lucille Morland 's 
 eyes when he had first met her. He reached for the push 
 button, but Tom's next words arrested his action. 
 
 "I think you're in a rotten business, Mr. Morland. 
 My father's a farmer and your gambling operations are 
 driving him to the wall. I don't want to work for you 
 anymore." Tom rose. "That's all, Mr. Morland. Good 
 morning." 
 
 Mr, Morland stared after him in amazement. He 
 rubbed his hand back over his head and for some inex- 
 plicable reason he felt very uncomfortable. 
 
 "Deluded fool!" he muttered and rang for his secre- 
 tary, 
 
 "Strike young Wickham's name off the pay-roll!" he 
 ordered. 
 
 In the meantime, young Wickham, torn by conflicting 
 emotions, had started for a long walk in the park, ignor- 
 ant that an unopened telegram from Emily Harbridge 
 was awaiting him at his boarding-house. 
 
-/V'U'/ay/^v.-' 
 
 Before leaving Grangefield for the city Emily Har- 
 bridge telegraphed Tom Wiekham: "Arriving on noon 
 train for afternoon only. Hope yon can meet me. 
 Emily." 
 
 It was this despatch which was delivered after Tom 
 had left his boarding-house to interview Henry JNIorland, 
 the resnlt of which had been his resignation from the 
 employ of that gentleman. Consequently Emily was not 
 met. 
 
 During the whole trip she had pictured her arrival and 
 wondered whether his greeting would confirm her fears 
 or dispel them. She was certain her instinct would tell 
 her whether time and absence had weakened the old bond 
 between them. She felt that the whole future hung upon 
 the impression formed during the first few minutes of 
 their reunion. And he did not meet her ! 
 
 175 
 
176 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 As the platform cleared this fact was borne in upon 
 her consciousness, and she grew heartsick with disap- 
 pointment. What did it mean ? Did he care so little ? 
 
 As her thoughts flashed back in review of the years 
 of their friendship she could not conceive of his failing 
 her in common courtesy, even though his deeper feeling 
 might have undergone a change. Her telegram must have 
 failed to reach him. There was but one course to follow. 
 Even at the risk of wounded pride she must give him the 
 benefit of the doubt and endeavor to get in touch with 
 him. 
 
 Telephoning Morland & Companj^ she was curtly 
 informed that Mr. Wickham was no longer in their 
 employ. 
 
 "Do you know where I can get him?" she asked. 
 
 "No. He left us to-day." 
 
 Somewhat surprised by this news, Emily hunted in the 
 telephone directory for Mrs. Johnson's number, but no 
 number was listed. She could not telephone. 
 
 In deep perplexity she sat down in the waiting-room 
 to think things over calmly and clearly. Either she must 
 go to his house and inquire or else go back home vithout 
 having settled, once for all, to what extent in future she 
 should allow herself to think of Tom Wicldiam. She 
 decided to see him, if possible. 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 177 
 
 A taxi took her to Mrs. Johnson's house, and Sadie, 
 opening the door, gazed at her with an interest unsus- 
 pected by Emily. 
 
 "He is not here, now, Miss Morland," she said, and 
 before the startled Emily could interpose a correction 
 Sadie went on to speak of a wound. 
 
 "To-day is the first day he has been out since he was 
 hurt." 
 
 ' ' Hurt ! ' ' exclaimed Emily. ' ' I hadn 't heard ' ' 
 
 "No ; the first thing he asked was that I let you know, 
 but when I called up you had gone. He wanted me to 
 assure you he was not badly hurt." 
 
 Emily's thoughts were racing in bewildered confu- 
 sion, but out of the maze arose one depressing fact. 
 ^Vhen Tom was in distress his first thought had been of 
 Lucille Morland, not for her. What else mattered 1 She 
 was angry and hurt and jealous, and without stopping to 
 correct Sadie's mistake of her identity she invented a 
 hasty excuse and fled down the steps. 
 
 When Tom returned, about five o'clock, he found the 
 telegram. His first thrill of happiness was swiftly fol- 
 lowed by a sinking of the heart. While he had been out 
 walking off his anger Emily had come and gone. Even 
 now, he knew, the evening train was probably pulling out. 
 There was simply nothing to be done. He threw himself 
 
178 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 helplessly into a chair, aud there Sadie found him when 
 she came in shortly after. 
 
 She greeted him cheerfully. 
 
 "Your friend, Miss Morland, was here to-day." 
 
 Tom started up. 
 
 "Impossible!" 
 
 But Sadie's report of the visit convinced him. 
 
 After supper, in his room, Tom read and re-read 
 Emily's telegram. This lost opportunity of seeing her 
 brought it home to him how intensely he really did want 
 to see her. It seemed as though he had never wanted an^'- 
 thing so much in his life. And here it had been Lucille 
 Morland, instead of Emily, who had come to his house. 
 He became filled with a sudden, unreasoning resentment 
 against Lucille. "Why in the world should she be pursuing 
 him again? Hadn't she caused him enough trouble 
 already ? Nearly all his recent difficulties could be traced 
 directly back to some imjDulsive whim of this spoiled, 
 selfish girl— and Tom determined to end things definitely 
 and finally. 
 
 In this mood he wrote a brief note to Lucille Mor- 
 land, addressing it to her home. 
 
 My Dear Feiend: For the good of both of us I am 
 sure you will agree with me that we should not see each 
 other again. Our friendship — you may think that a 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 179 
 
 mild word for it — has had its delightful phases, for which 
 I am grateful. But you must surely realize that it can 
 never be dignified by a stronger term. For that reason 
 why should we not face a fact which we both know to 
 exist ? Please agree with me, and know that this good-by 
 also carries my sincerest good wishes for a happy life, 
 imtroubled by further association with me. 
 
 "There!" he muttered. "That ought to finish her!" 
 He then wrote to Emily, addressing the note to 
 
 Grangefield. His heart sang as he wrote the few words. 
 
 Reserve was broken down in this first real love-letter to 
 
 her. 
 
 Dearest : I am broken-hearted at having missed you 
 to-day, and I'm coming to you as fast as I can. Expect 
 me surely to-morrow night. Tom. 
 
 That night he slej^t the sleep of happiness, blissfully 
 ignorant that he had placed the letters in the wrong 
 envelopes. 
 
y*^'^<> 7c^£^ct4 - 
 
 Emily Haebridge arrived liome on tlie evening train. 
 She had stared unseeingly out of the window during the 
 four-hour trip while an emotional conflict raged within 
 her. 
 
 She was resentful, bitter, and heartbroken. 
 
 She was angry at having exposed herself to the intense 
 hurt her pride had sustained, and she was embittered by 
 the thought that Tom Wickham, who had been enshrined 
 in her heai't since they were children together, was appar- 
 ently in love with another. 
 
 She knew she could never feel toward any one else as 
 she had always felt toward him, and gloomily she felt that 
 nothing could ever deaden the pain in her heart. 
 
 Harry Ellgate met her at the station. 
 
 "You're very quiet," he said as he drove her home. 
 
 "I'm tired," she answered; and as Harry refrained 
 
 ]81 
 
182 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 from asking questions slie was conscious of feeling grate- 
 ful to him for his consideration, Harry had a genius for 
 knowing when to talk and when not to. 
 
 "You must get a good rest to-night," he said, with 
 tender solicitude in his voice, "and to-morrow night you'll 
 make a tremendous hit in your part. ' ' 
 
 The following evening was to see the production of 
 She Stoops to Conquer, with Emily playing the part of 
 Kate Hardcastle. For weeks the rehearsals had been 
 going on. The play was to be the big social event of the 
 season, and Grangefield was agog with anticipation. 
 
 Emily passed an unhapjjy night. Not even the 
 inuninence of the play could still the ache inflicted by 
 what she considered Tom's inconstancy. 
 
 In the morning her mother asked if she had seen Tom 
 in the city. Later in the day others asked the same ques- 
 tion. To all she simply said she had not seen him, check- 
 ing further inquiry by abruptly changing the subject. 
 
 In the afternoon there were final rehearsals of certain 
 difficult parts, and when at last she went home to snatch 
 an hour or two of rest before the ordeal of the evening her 
 mind had been diverted from her distress. 
 
 It was then that she found on her bedroom table an 
 envelope addressed in Tom's familiar handwriting. With 
 quickened pulse and a sudden foreboding she opened it. 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 183 
 
 "My dear friend: For the good of both of us I am 
 sure you will agree with me that we should not see one 
 another again," and so on. Wliat a cruel letter! How 
 devoid of every instinct of kindness ! Oh, how could Tom 
 have written her in this heartless style ! 
 
 Poor Emily! Could she only have known that this 
 was not the letter that had been meant for that envelope. 
 But she didn't know, and she withered under this death- 
 blow to her hopes, and, more than that, to almost all the 
 tenderness she had felt toward Tom Wickham. 
 
 How he must have changed ! The Tom she had known 
 would never have inflicted such unnecessary pain on one 
 who had been such a dear friend, to say the least, for so 
 many years. The city must have wrecked the sweetness 
 in his nature. Her old Tom was gone. 
 
 She felt that she never wished to see him again, and 
 in the first blaze of resentment she tore his picture into 
 tiny bits and then flung herself weeping on her pillow. 
 
 She arose a new and reckless Emily. It didn't matter 
 what happened. If Harry still wanted her, she would 
 say yes. It might as well be Harry as any one else. 
 
 In this mood, with reckless gaiety shining in her eyes, 
 she prepared for the play. 
 
 Far away in the city a different little drama was being 
 unfolded. 
 
184 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 Lucille Morland, back from lier country home, was 
 reading over and over a very surjjrising note : 
 
 Dearest: I am broken-hearted to have missed you 
 to-day, and I'm coming to you as fast as I can. Expect 
 me surely to-morrow night. Tom. 
 
 It was not entirely clear to her how and where he had 
 missed her. He must have called at her house during the 
 previous day. That would be explained. Meanwhile here 
 was the note, postmarked the day before, so he must be 
 coming to-night, and that was the only thing that mat- 
 tered. She made no attempt to disguise the eagerness she 
 felt. 
 
 AVith shameless directness she proceeded to set the 
 stage for the rare combination, that most alluring of all 
 triangles — the time, the place, and the girl. Then, garbed 
 in her most beguiling gown, and with flaming cheeks and 
 tingling nerves, she awaited his arrival. 
 
Lucille Morland, eagerly awaiting the arrival of 
 Tom Wickham, became impatient and nervous as nine 
 o'clock api^roached. 
 
 "What in the world is keeping him?" For an hour 
 she had been posed effectively, in her most alluring gown, 
 on the big davenport before a crackling fire. She made a 
 pretty picture, and she knew it. He could not fail to be 
 impressed. 
 
 And he had already kept her waiting for an hour ! Her 
 impatience was turning to irritation. She resolved to 
 teach him the importance of promptness. 
 
 The door-bell rang. 
 
 "Bring him in here," she instructed Herman on his 
 way to the door, and then rearranged herself on the 
 davenport. 
 
 185 
 
186 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 Her heart was beating madly, and she knew her cheeks 
 were flaming with excitement. Her smile was of the 
 friendliest as she turned her eyes to the doorway. 
 
 It was Mr. Morland who entered. How perfectly 
 maddening ! 
 
 "Father!" she exclaimed. "Why, I thought you had 
 gone!" 
 
 "Didn't have to. Got a telegram at the last minute. 
 I dined at the club. Must have left my keys at the office. ' ' 
 
 He sat down in a big easy chair, and as he lighted a 
 cigar in preparation for a comfortable evening his daugh- 
 ter's thoughts were whirling in a panic of emotion. What 
 an awkward situation! Any moment might bring Tom, 
 and there would have to be explanations — a beastly mess 
 of things ! And, besides, the effect to her reception would 
 be lost. She was intensely agitated, so much so that her 
 father finally sensed it. 
 
 "Were you expecting some one? Shall I go?" 
 
 "I rather expected Mr. Wickham. You know, you 
 thought it would be nice to ask him here some time." 
 
 Mr. Morland 's eyes lighted up with a sharp glint, 
 which gradually changed to one of humorous enjo\mient. 
 
 "I shall enjoy meeting the young man — again." His 
 daughter caught the half veiled significance of his tone. 
 
 "What do you mean, father?" 
 
THE EESTLESS AGE 187 
 
 "He called on me only yesterday to tell me what lie 
 thought of me and my business, and then resigned his 
 job." Mr. Morland smiled amiably. "As nearly as I 
 could gather, I'm not a fit person for him to work for. 
 He's a very particular young man." 
 
 "It's incredible!" exclaimed Lucille. "Was he — was 
 he under the influence " 
 
 "Nope. Perfectly sober, but fired by noble ideals. 
 He's got a notion that I helped force down the price of 
 corn. And his father's a farmer, you know." 
 
 Then Mr. Morland 's voice hardened. 
 
 "Poor fool ! There are a lot of other people out in the 
 country who think the same way. As if I, or anybody 
 else, could have any influence on the value of grain. It's 
 a matter of supply and demand. There's been a big 
 crop, hence the fall. But you can't convince the farmer. 
 He thinks prices ought to stay up to the war level." 
 
 "But you have been bearing the market, father." 
 
 "Sure. I knew the prices would fall." He stared 
 reflectively into the fire and then added : "Besides, even 
 if I did anything to lower the price of corn, think how 
 many people were benefited by it. Think of the lower 
 prices of food for the millions in the cities. If they're 
 cursing me in the coimtry, they ought to be putting up 
 monuments to me in the cities. " 
 
188 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 There was a long silence. Lucille glanced up at the 
 clock, and she know that Tom Wickham was not coming. 
 Her preparations had been in vain. The evening, which 
 had promised so much, had flattened out, and she kissed 
 her father on his bald spot and went to her room. 
 
 "Well, I suppose it's over," she thought. "Another 
 horrid trick of Fate. I get everything in the world except 
 the one thing I want most of all." 
 
 She was painfully conscious of her depression and 
 disappointment. In vain she tried to reason them away. 
 Over and over she repeated: "I don't love him. I don't 
 love him. Why should I allow myself to feel miserable ? 
 There has never been a moment when I couldn't have 
 tossed him over without a pang. I could never marry 
 him, never — ^never!" But all these arguments, directed 
 by her reason, failed to lessen the deep hurt that rested so 
 heavily upon her heart. 
 
 "I didn't want him to end it. I wanted to end it 
 myself, when I got ready." There was the real wound. 
 And it rankled and pained her worse than any she had 
 ever before suffered. 
 
 "I'll not give him another thought !" she cried, but she 
 had never learned that real heartache is beyond the cure 
 of will and reason and logic. 
 
 She slowly removed her clothes, the attractive gauzy 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 189 
 
 things she had chosen so carefully for the occasion, and, 
 drawing about her a soft dressing gown, sat for a time 
 thoughtfully staring at nothing. The flush had left her 
 cheeks, her eyes were saddened, and her face looked tired. 
 That night her pillow was drenched with the first real 
 tears she had shed for a long, long tinie. 
 
Ai'^/^£'<'^ 
 
 It was the night of the play in Grangefield. There 
 was great excitement in the town, a sort of grown-up 
 excitement of the same kind that children feel on Christ- 
 mas Eve. 
 
 Long before eight o 'clock streams of people were con- 
 verging toward the opera-house and the country roads 
 were alive with incoming cars, 
 
 "Some crowd, I'll say," remarked Bud Andrews, Ms 
 eye glued to the peephole in the curtain. "Looks like a 
 bird's-eye view of a caviar sandwich. If they expect to 
 crowd any more in here they'll have to let out a tuck in the 
 opera-house." 
 
 Behind the scenes there was the customary hectic 
 flurry incident to the first production of an amateur play. 
 Every player was keyed to the highest tension. Out in 
 the body of the house a rising hum of voices registered 
 the eagerness and the size of the audience and the open- 
 
 191 
 
192 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 ing strains of the orchestra announced that the great hour 
 was near at hand. 
 
 Emily Harbridge had arrived a few minutes before 
 with Harry Ellgate. To Bud Andrews she never had 
 looked more lovely. Her cheeks were flushed and her 
 eyes dancing with a nervous exhilaration, and Bud 
 observed that her attitude toward Ellgate had suddenly 
 become markedly friendly. 
 
 "I wonder if she's decided to take that bird." he 
 thought imeasily. At the first opportunity he spoke to 
 her. 
 
 "I may have some interesting news for you before 
 long, Bud," she said, laughing. There was a suggestion 
 of recklessness in her manner that was new to her. 
 
 "Wedding bells?" he asked quicldy. 
 
 "Oh, I'm not saying." Then she ran to her dressing- 
 room with a backward glance at the puzzled face of Bud 
 Andrews. 
 
 "Well, be gosh ; be gosh !" he mvittered. "She's made 
 up her mind. I'm in the discard, and Tom's on the skids, 
 and 'Handsome Harry' wins out." 
 
 Through his mind shot a quick succession of thoughts. 
 He remembered Ellgate when he first arrived in Grange- 
 field, the marks of dissipation in his face. He remem- 
 bered the shaking hands as they lighted cigarette after 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 193 
 
 cigarette and to his practised eye these symptoms were 
 eloquent of a lurid past. 
 
 Ellgate had been "hitting it up," and had come to the 
 country to sober down, if for nothing more serious. Who 
 knew ? For weeks he had not touched a drop. His nerves 
 were normal, his hands steady, and his eyes clear, yet 
 Bud could not help but feel that his regeneration was a 
 matter open to grave doubts. 
 
 "If he marries Emily, he's got to show me that he 
 won't flop back. He's got to submit to the acid test, and 
 it's got to be applied P. D. Q." 
 
 With these reflections, and convinced that he was act- 
 ing for the good of a dear friend, Bud made hasty i)repa- 
 rations. He was sorry to ruin Harry, provided Harry 
 fell, but it was the only way he could think of to save 
 EmOy, If Ellgate came through all right, so much the 
 better. If he didn't, Emily would have time to renig 
 before it was too late. 
 
 The audience was becoming impatient. A few desul- 
 tory handclaps, like the first scattered shots of a battle, 
 grew in volume until the house was in a clamorous uproar. 
 The boys in the gallery were whistling and stamping, and 
 the orchestra was dro^\^led in the din. 
 
 Harry Ellgate, in his make-up, was rushing back and 
 forth behind the curtain like a cai)tain marshaling his 
 
194 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 forces for the zero hour. Excited performers, each 
 wholly concerned with himself, were clutching him from 
 right and left. "Is my make-uj) all right'?" "Where's 
 my props?" "How do I look?" "What did you say I 
 was to do in that third scene?" 
 
 Harry was half frantic. 
 
 Bud laid a hand on his arm and whispered. 
 
 "How about a small drink?" 
 
 For the fraction of a second Harry hesitated. 
 
 Perhaps he knew the consequences of the first drink — 
 how the taste would arouse the dormant craving and de- 
 stroy all restraint. Perhaps experience had taught him 
 the danger of stirring that slumbering apjoetite, that 
 sleeping madness in his blood, which, once aroused, was 
 instantly beyond control. 
 
 Bud drew a flask from his pocket and Harry looked 
 at the ruby clearness of the liquid with a sort of fearful 
 fascination in his eyes. 
 
 "I'm all shot to pieces, Bud. This play has gotten on 
 my nerves something frightful. Perhaps one small one 
 will pull me together. ' ' 
 
 With nervous eagerness he took a swallow, then a 
 longer one, and with the bottle in his hand he looked at 
 Bud as though reluctant to yield it. There was a pathetic 
 appeal in his eyes. 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 195 
 
 "A life saver," lie murmured. "I may want another 
 little drink before tlie show's over." 
 
 "That's all right. Keep it till after it's over," said 
 Bud, and as Harry turned to his dressing-room Bud 
 gazed after him with his face shadowed by a touch of 
 sadness. 
 
 "It's a rotten trick, a dirty, low down trick, but if he's 
 weak, now is the time to know it." 
 
 A moment later the bell soimded, announcing the ris- 
 ing of the curtain. The noise from the audience suddenly 
 stilled and the house sat in expectant silence as the curtain 
 creaked slowly upward. 
 
With the rising of the curtain for the first act of She 
 Stoops to Conquer there began an experience which 
 Grangefield wOl never forget. Expecting an old English 
 comedy, the audience witnessed a painful, pathetic drama 
 not contemplated by the author of the play. 
 
 The house was packed and the audience was in its most 
 generous mood. Bursts of enthusiasm greeted the appear- 
 ance of each performer. Emily Harbridge, as Kate 
 Hardcastle, was hailed by an explosion of applause that 
 rocked the house. Harry Ellgate, appearing later in the 
 first act as young Marlow, received a welcome the warmth 
 of which testified to the popular place he had won for 
 himself in the community. 
 
 His first spoken lines revealed a distinction and abil- 
 ity unusual in an amateur. To a striking degree he 
 possessed that strange quality called "personality," 
 
 197 
 
198 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 which captures the instant and watchful interest of an 
 audience. 
 
 The curtain went down amid a storm of applause in 
 which shouts of ai^proval mingled. Time after time the 
 players responded to curtain calls, and when an imposing 
 basket of American Beauty roses was handed over the 
 footlights to Emily a buzz of excited whispering swept 
 through the audience. 
 
 Emily had made a big hit, but the honors of the act 
 easily fell to Harry Ellgate, whose acting had really been 
 remarkable. The favor of the audience was manifested 
 when he again came on the stage in the second act. 
 
 He threw himself into his part with a spirit which 
 called forth frequent interruptions of ajiplause. He 
 acted as one inspired, and the animated whispering in the 
 audience reflected the belief that he was insj^ired by 
 Emily Harbridge. 
 
 He declined to take a curtain call alone in spite of the 
 evident wish of the house to force this honor upon him. 
 
 The big scene between Kate Hardcastle and young 
 Marlow in the third act was the one upon which the great- 
 est expectations were centered. Their first appearance 
 came late in the act, and, as the passage approached, the 
 other performers crowded into the wings to enjoy the 
 high spot in the play. 
 
THE EESTLESS AGE 199 
 
 As before, Harry was hailed by wild applause — yet he 
 had not spoken two lines before a questioning wave swept 
 through the house. 
 
 The audience became painfully uncomfortable. Every 
 eye was gazing, fascinated, as the realization grew that 
 all was not well. 
 
 Something was wrong with Ellgate. In the tense 
 hush people glanced at one another ! What in the world 
 had happened to Harry Ellgate ? 
 
 His enunciation, previously so distinct, had become 
 thick and faltering. Twice he repeated his words. His 
 movements were uncertain and so unsteady that once he 
 barely escaped falling by seizing a chair. The audience 
 knew his actions were not part of the play. 
 
 And the audience, every sense alert, did not miss the 
 quick, significant glances that Emily Harbridge shot at 
 Harry, the sudden look of awakening alarm in her eyes 
 as he said: "I vow, Emily, you are vastly handsome." 
 
 The line in the play read : "I vow, child, you are vastly 
 handsome," 
 
 And a moment later, from the way he said the lines, 
 "Suppose I should call for a taste, just by way of trial, of 
 the nectar of your lips," there was not a person in the 
 crowded house but knew that he was drunk. 
 
 Emily's distress was evident, and from the strained 
 
200 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 silence of the house now arose an undertone of comment 
 which grew to an excited murmur. 
 
 When Harry Ellgate seized the struggling Emily and 
 cried out thickly : "And why not now, my angel? Such 
 beauty fires beyond the power of resistance!" the 
 audience saw her throw a wild, appealing glance out 
 across the footlights, where it rested for one startled 
 instant upon an unexpected face in the crowd. 
 
 This speech was Harry's exit cue, but he simply clung 
 to the struggling girl in his arms. 
 
 Some one shouted: "Pull down the curtain!" and 
 after a distressing pause the curtain hastily descended 
 upon a stage filled with hurrying figures hustling Harry 
 Ellgate from view. 
 
 Then the storm broke. Relieved from nervous ten- 
 sion, the confusion in the house rose to an angry uproar. 
 The orchestra, slowly awakening to the need of the sitvia- 
 tion, started up a lively tune, which was as suddenly 
 stilled by Bud Andi'ews' appearance before the curtain. 
 
 He raised a hand and there was instant silence. 
 
 "Ladies and gentlemen, owing to the unfortunate 
 indisposition of one of the company, the performance 
 can not continue. We desire to thank you for your at- 
 tendance and express a deep regret that the play can not 
 be concluded." 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 201 
 
 And this was Tom Wickham's homecoming! Arriv- 
 ing on the evening train, he had gone direct to the opera- 
 house to seek Emily Harbridge. He was an amazed wit- 
 ness of Harry Ellgate's disgrace and Emily's humilia- 
 tion. 
 
 Pressing against the current in the crowded aisles, he 
 made his way behind the scenes. He caught a fleeting 
 glimpse of Emily, but she hurried out without speaking to 
 him. He had a feeling she had purposely cut him. 
 
 Harry sat slumped in a chair, his head buried in his 
 hands, his shoulders shaking with sobs. 
 
 "I'm no good, I'm no good," he kept repeating as the 
 consequences of his misstep penetrated into his conscious- 
 ness. 
 
 It was Tom who got him safely home and to bed at the 
 Wickham farm-house. 
 
The moming after the painful collapse of the amateur 
 plaj' Tom Wickham drove over to the Harbridge farm 
 and was told that Emily was not in. 
 
 Twice again that day he had the same experience. To 
 his telephone calls he received the same response, and he 
 knew then that she was purposely avoiding him. 
 
 Was she in love with Harry Ellgate? And had the 
 humiliating experience with Ellgate made her determined 
 to isolate herself from her friends? 
 
 Many people begin to appreciate things only when 
 they are threatened with the loss of them. The thought 
 that Emily Harbridge might be passing out of his life 
 brought home to him the realization of how very much 
 she meant to him. 
 
 All the happy anticipations of his homecoming were 
 shattered by Emily's course in avoiding him. 
 
 Harry Ellgate was still at the Wickliam farm fighting 
 
 203 
 
204 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 off a threatened fever. He was intensely depressed. He 
 felt that he had, in one weak hour, forfeited all the esteem 
 which he had won by months of clean living in the 
 country. 
 
 He reflected bitterly upon the pitiless judgments of 
 the small community. 
 
 "How fickle is public favor! With you when you're 
 on the crest, against you when you're in the trough." 
 
 Two mornings later Tom and Harry were talking. 
 Tom had just returned from Grangefield, where the big 
 topic of conversation was Harry's spectacular fall from 
 grace. 
 
 "Everybody's wondering where you got the stuff, 
 Harry. They say they never heard of you drinking any- 
 thing before down here." 
 
 ' ' I haven 't touched a drop for months — imtil the other 
 night. That 's the tragedy of it. ' ' 
 
 "But where did you get it?" 
 
 "Andrews gave it to me just before the play." 
 
 "Did he give it to you or did you ask him for if?" 
 
 Harry paused and Tom quicldy added : 
 
 "He offered it to you, didn't he? Isn't that so? He 
 offered it to you just before you went on, didn't he?" 
 
 Harry did not answer. When he spoke it was with no 
 feeling. 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 205 
 
 "It's all my own fault. I ought to know enough by 
 this time not to trifle with it. Some people can drink 
 moderately. I can't. When I start it's all off." 
 
 "I'll bet Andrews knew that!" exclaimed Tom indig- 
 nantly. ' ' But why should he want to get you in bad ? ' ' 
 
 Harry smiled ruefully. 
 
 "I guess he must have considered me a rival." 
 
 It was Tom's turn to be silent. 
 
 "Tom, I suppose you know what a fine girl Emily is. 
 It may interest you to know that I've been trying for some 
 time to induce her to marry me. The evening before the 
 play I began to think I had a chance. She suddenly 
 changed in her attitude and I could have sworn she had 
 decided to take a chance with me." 
 
 Tom's face was very grave. 
 
 "I always knew she was in love with you, Tom. But 
 you stayed away and didn't seem to care. A girl that's 
 worth having is worth working hard to get, and you cer- 
 tainly were not doing that. 
 
 "I still think you're the only one she likes, Tom, and 
 that something hapjDened in the last few days that con- 
 vinced her that you had thrown her over." 
 
 "I verote her that I was coming down the night of the 
 play," Tom exclaimed. "Did she mention that to you?" 
 
 "Not a word. She said she had not seen you in the 
 
206 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 city, but that's all. She seemed anxious to avoid discuss- 
 ing you. ' ' 
 
 "I wonder if my letter reached her," said Tom. "If 
 she knew I was coming down it seems natural she would 
 have mentioned it to you, no matter how little interest 
 she may have had in me. She knew we were old friends. " 
 
 "Hasn't she seen you yet?" 
 
 "No; unless she saw me at the play." 
 
 "My advice, Tom, is to go over. Stay there till she 
 does see you. I'm out of the running. Besides, if she 
 had taken me I think it would have been from wounded 
 pride, or on the rebound, I had no illusions about how I 
 stood, but even at that I'd have taken a chance." 
 
 Tom's further course of action was influenced by a 
 letter which came from Sadie Johnson. 
 
 Dear Tom : I made a fierce mistake. Do you remem- 
 ber I told you that Miss Morland called one da}^ while you 
 were out? Well, it wasn't Miss ^lorland at all, but some 
 one else — the same girl whose picture you had on your 
 bureau. I made the mistake of assuming that the picture 
 was one of Miss Morland. To-day the real Miss Morland 
 called. I recognized her by her voice, which I have often 
 heard on the garage telephone. She called to ask if you 
 were ill, for she expected you the evening before and you 
 had not come. I told her you had gone home the day 
 before, and she said there was surely some mistake, for 
 you had written her that you were coming last night — 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 207 
 
 Through Tom's fevered imagination a thread of de- 
 ductive reasoning took form. He must have got the 
 letters switched in their envelopes! What a mess! He 
 had written Emily that he was surely coming, and this 
 letter must have reached Lucille ! 
 
 Great Scott ! Then Emily must have received the one 
 meant for Lucille ! 
 
 It explained everything. No wonder Emily avoided 
 him. It explained her sudden change of attitude toward 
 Harrv EUgate. 
 
 Tom leaped into his car and drove madly to the home 
 of Emily Harbridge, who was coming in from the garage. 
 
 She saw him too late to escape, and he intercepted her 
 at the door. 
 
In vain Emily Harbiidge tried to conceal the agita- 
 tion she felt. The look of indifference with which she 
 sought to veil her emotions failed miserably of its 
 purpose. 
 
 One glance into the intense face of Tom Wickham told 
 her it was no time for polite dissembling. He was so ter- 
 ribly in earnest. Without warning, a crisis was at hand, 
 and she looked helplessly about her. 
 
 "I want to talk with you, Emily," were his first words. 
 "That's what I came down here for and I'm not going to 
 leave this place till I do." 
 
 The ice was broken, and with it she found herself 
 regaining control of her emotions. She felt she could 
 trust her voice to speak, 
 
 "Then by all means talk." 
 
 He disregarded the implication of her remark. If she 
 wanted to get rid of him, that could come later. 
 
 "Did you get a letter saying I was coming down?" 
 
 209 
 
210 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 "No," she answered, simply. 
 
 "Did you get another letter?" 
 
 She regarded him steadily for a moment. 
 
 "Yes — a very unkind one." 
 
 She was amazed to see his face brighten up with a look 
 of gratification. 
 
 "I knew it!" he exclaimed. "The two letters got 
 switched in their envelopes." 
 
 In spite of herself she revealed her deep interest. 
 
 ' ' What do you mean, Tom ? What letters ? ' ' 
 
 "The letter that you received was written to some one 
 else, Emily." 
 
 "Please explain," she demanded, for want of some- 
 thing else to say, but within her she was conscious of a 
 sudden surging elation. 
 
 "I wrote you, Emily, that I was coming to you the 
 night of the play, and told you how heartbroken I was to 
 have missed you when you were in the city." 
 
 For the first time a faint smile softened the gravity of 
 her face. 
 
 "The letter I received was nothing like that, Tom. It 
 was a horrid letter." 
 
 "Something about not seeing each other again?" 
 
 "Yes " and she quickly added: "But for whom 
 
 was that letter intended?" 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 211 
 
 In her mind leaped the thought of Lucille Morland, 
 of whose association with Tom, Harry had so frequently 
 referred. 
 
 "It was some one in the city — some one to whom I owe 
 a great deal, for I learned through her how much I love 
 you, Emily. ' ' 
 
 His face was white with earnestness as he looked into 
 Emily's ej^es. His voice was trembling with a depth of 
 emotion she had never before heard, and her eyes wavered 
 and fell. 
 
 "You don't know how much I've longed to be here 
 with you, Emily. If I learned nothing else in my city 
 experience, I learned that. " He paused. " You do believe 
 me, Emily, don't you?" 
 
 He took her hand, and he felt it tremble a little. 
 
 There was a suffocating silence that seemed to last 
 an eternity, and then, suddenly, in his mind dawned the 
 consciousness that she had not withdrawn her hand. 
 
 The next week's issue of the Grangefield Gazette 
 chronicled two interesting bits of news. One was the 
 announcement of the engagement of Thomas Wickham 
 and Emily Harbridge, with the further information that 
 the young couple would reside in the old homestead on the 
 Wickham farm. 
 
212 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 The other item was an announcement that "Mr. Harry 
 Ellgate, who has been in our midst for some months, has 
 engaged the opera-house for next Friday evening and will 
 deliver an address the nature of which has not been dis- 
 closed. Admission will be free, and all who wish to attend 
 are cordially invited to be present." 
 
 Of the two announcements, the latter, because so unus- 
 ual and unexpected, aroused the deeper interest. 
 
 "What in the world does it mean? And what does he 
 intend to talk about?" These questions arose in every 
 mind. The interest in the forthcoming address grew and 
 grew until, on the day of the speech, it became the 
 supreme, dominating topic in every conversation. 
 
y'.k'-'ii-r^e^'v' 
 
 Ir THE Grangefield Opera-House was crowded the 
 night of the amateur play, which was abruptly terminated 
 by Harry Ellgate's spectacular lapse from grace, it was 
 crammed to more than its capacity on the night of his 
 speech. Curiosity and the lure of another possible sensa- 
 tion were too much even for those most noisily outraged 
 by the first affair. 
 
 It was shortly after eight when he walked out on to 
 the- stage, and an expectant hush fell upon the house. 
 
 He spoke easily and wdtli the utmost composure. 
 
 "Ladies and Gentlemen: I am leaving Grangefield 
 to-morrow, and before I go there is something I want to 
 say. I am not trying to sell you anything nor ask you for 
 anything. 
 
 "If any one has come to-night expecting something 
 sensational, he will be disappointed. In that respect I 
 have already contributed more than my share. I refer, 
 
 213 
 
214 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 of course, to the painful night of the play when I chose an 
 especially inauspicious moment to get drunk. For that 
 performance I have written apologies to each member of 
 the Dramatic Club, expressing my profound regret and 
 the hope that I have not entirely forfeited their good will. 
 
 "This is all I shall have to say regarding that incident. 
 
 "As most of you know, I came from a large city to 
 work as a farm hand in this community. I am still a ten- 
 derfoot among you, but I have worked, and I've worked 
 with m}^ eyes open. I have lived both lives, which is my 
 only excuse for hoping that what I say may merit your 
 attention. 
 
 "I came at a time when many of your young men were 
 flocking to the cities. Their desertion of the farms had 
 become a grave problem, and the more enlightened men 
 among you were giving the subject the serious thought it 
 demanded. I say 'enlightened' because all of you are not 
 enlightened. 
 
 "Many farm hands are young men. They were con- 
 tented before the war because most of them knew little of 
 the attractions of citj- life. Now that so many have 
 traveled and broadened their horizons they are no longer 
 ignorant of the poverty of diversion in the average farm- 
 ing community. 
 
 "If you are going to keep young men on the fanns 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 215 
 
 you must give greater thought to wholesome amusement 
 for them. The old style farmer will resist this, but the 
 old style farmer is not going to survive. He is fighting a 
 losing fight and his day is nearly over. 
 
 "Every farming commimity has its organizations for 
 considering economic problems. You have your granges, 
 your local boards of trade, and your exhibitions. But just 
 as important is an organization in every community to 
 consider and provide means for bettering the condition of 
 the farm hand, give him wholesome diversions, and put 
 a fair share of enjoyment into his life. 
 
 * ' Provide good music, clean dancing, competitive ath- 
 letics, and good reading, not too high-brow — and, above 
 all, see to it that your farm hand is not too dog tired to 
 enjoy any or all of them frequently. 
 
 "Give the women variety. Take or send them away 
 in the dull season. That will amply compensate for that 
 other season, inseparable from farm life, when it is neces- 
 sary to work double time. 
 
 "If a farmer and his famil}^ can look forward only to 
 an eternal drab monotony of hard work, meager profits, 
 and long hours, then why in the name of heaven should 
 any one stay on the farm"? 
 
 "If you say you can't afford it, it is not true. You 
 farmers are the backbone of the whole economic struc- 
 
216 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 ture. The world could worry along without any other 
 class, but it couldn't exist without the farmer. 
 
 "There is no reason why he should slave to produce 
 that which middlemen get rich in handling. No profes- 
 sion is more ancient and honorable. It is a clean whole- 
 some life of productivity, infinitely better for children, 
 healthier for everybody, safer for the youth of both sexes. 
 There is no reason why the inestimable advantages of 
 country living should be at a discount. 
 
 "It is perhaps true there are greater opportunities in 
 the city, opportunities for money making, but that is the 
 fault of a system which should be changed. The farmer, 
 as his is the most necessary and vital of all professions, 
 should have a first lien on whatever prosperity a country 
 is enjoying. 
 
 "Improved methods of marketing, closer organiza- 
 tions for the mutual welfare of farmers, more scientific 
 methods of farming, more congenial working conditions 
 — these will go far to equalize the financial rewards in 
 which the city man now exacts the cream. 
 
 "I could say something about the sloppy habits of 
 over- worked farm women, but I do not wish to be unneces- 
 sarily rude. Travel will teach the farm woman the value 
 of being neat and attractive. 
 
 "No man who has tried both citv and farm life will 
 
THE RESTLESS AGE 217 
 
 give up his cut-and-dried city job, with leisure he can call 
 his own, for an endless succession of chores which never 
 seem to get done, an insufficiently heated or lighted room, 
 meals of little variety served sloppily on a soiled table- 
 cloth (remember, I am not accusing everybody!) and 
 nothing to do with his time when he does get any. 
 
 "And no wonder the women don't serve their meals in 
 city style and dress with immaculate neatness. What 
 woman would willingly exchange her compact, steam 
 heated apartment, with a handy bakery around the cor- 
 ner, for the entire responsibility of an old-fashioned, 
 inconvenient farm-house and a back-number farm, to be 
 at the beck and call of everybody and to help with all their 
 odd jobs, but with nobody to help her % 
 
 "One thing you will all have to help to change before 
 the young men and women will come back to you, and that 
 is the idea that life on the farm is a synonym for 'mo- 
 notonous drudgery,' which unfortunately it now is in the 
 minds of many. 
 
 "Ladies and gentlemen, I beg to remind you of the 
 many — in this conmiunit.y — very wonderful examples of 
 enlightenment. Personally I shall leave the farm with 
 regret. You have been kind to me. I wish I might take 
 with me your good will, but if I have lost that it is my 
 misfortune. I thank you for your attention." 
 
218 THE RESTLESS AGE 
 
 As Harry concluded the applause was desultory, but 
 not unflattering. It was that of an audience preoccupied 
 with new ideas. And the warmth of the hand grasps of 
 those men and women who were in the habit of using their 
 heads as well as their hands stayed long in the memory of 
 the departing Harry. 
 
 Tom Wickham walked out into the moonlight, his 
 head full of a Utopian vision of endless quiet, clean, pros- 
 perous farming commimities where all the Sadie John- 
 sons of the world would be stronger and happier and all 
 the Lucille Morlands softer and sweeter — and his heart 
 very full of the one Emily Harbridge in the world, just 
 as she was, working with him toward his ideal. 
 
 The End 
 
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