BANCROFT 
 
 LIBRARY 
 < 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
THE GIRL FROM FOUR 
 CORNERS 
 
 A ROMANCE OF CALIFORNIA TO-DAY 
 
 BY 
 
 REBECCA N. PORTER 
 
 WITH A FRONTISPIECE 
 BY ADA WILLIAMSON 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 
 1920 
 
COPYRIGHT. 1920 
 
 BY 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 
 gfr <8u(nn & gotten Company 
 
 BOOK MANUFACTURERS 
 RAHWAY NEW JERSEY 
 
TO 
 
 BETTY 
 
 AND TO ALL GOOD SISTERS EVERYWHERE, 
 
 WHO WILL BELIEVE-IN SPITE 
 
 OF THE CRITICS 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PART ONE PAGE 
 
 MARGARET . . . * * > 3 
 
 PART Two 
 FREDERICK . . . . . . . . . 53 
 
 PART THREE 
 CINDERELLA AND CERES * IO 7 
 
 PART FOUR 
 AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 155 
 
 PART FIVE 
 IN HIGH GEAR . . V * . . . . 195 
 
 PART Six 
 BURNING BRIDGES ; . . . .... 243 
 
 PART SEVEN 
 THE CORNER TABLE . 289 
 
 PART EIGHT 
 ON TRIAL . . . V 335 
 
PART ONE: MARGARET 
 
IT was five o'clock on Sunday afternoon. Margaret 
 Garrison, standing by the library window, watched 
 her uncle and aunt and cousin Edith start away for 
 the usual Sunday evening supper at the Peytons'. 
 She even managed a smile and a wave of her hand, 
 and then as the trio vanished around the corner her 
 face settled into the hard, tense lines that it had worn 
 all that crucial day. 
 
 They had all been so kind; Uncle Edward, Aunt 
 Juliet, Cousin Edith, and Uncle Rodney (always the 
 most understanding of all). Each had tried to make 
 light of Richard Pennington's defection with the 
 studied kindliness of people who find it hard to regard 
 public reproach lightly. Their comfortings drifted 
 with dreary insistence through her memory. She 
 marshaled them before her now, smiling wanly at 
 their palpable lack of conviction and the unmistakable 
 suitability of the " lines " to each valiant actor in the 
 drama. 
 
 Aunt Juliet: " Now don't let it embitter you, dear. 
 People forget these things in an unbelievably short 
 time; they really do. And it isn't as if Dick had done 
 anything to hurt any one else; anything beyond the 
 
 3 
 
4 :-.: :: " 
 
 pale of moral forgiveness. He is a Pennington, after 
 all, and to be running for state office at his age well, 
 people forget with a man like that; they just forget.' ' 
 
 Uncle Edward: " I've known just as promising 
 young men to go on the rocks before and yet make 
 port with the flag flying high. Politics-Quicksand. 
 A fellow is up to his neck before he knows it. He'll 
 be all right when he's got an anchor aboard when 
 he's got you." 
 
 Cousin Edith: " My dear, it's the most romantic 
 thing! I'd love to have a man like that care for 
 me. Why, only a man that was a man could get in 
 that deep, Marnie. Nobody is offered such a posi- 
 tion as a as a bribe, if he isn't worth it. I wish I 
 could hear what he says to you tonight! " 
 
 Uncle Rodney: No words at all, no caress, but a 
 comprehending sympathy in the very way that he 
 passed her the butter at table. 
 
 And now Dick Pennington was coming. He had 
 said he would be there at a little after five. If only 
 it were romantic, light-hearted little Edith who had 
 to hear his miserable defense, instead of herself! 
 They were both Garrisons, but Edith had never felt 
 the tyranny of family as much as she. In three years, 
 when Edith was her age, would her pride be more 
 despotic, Margaret wondered, or are such things mat- 
 ters, not of age, but of temperament? 
 
 The house was very still. The servants, all but old 
 
MARGARET 5 
 
 Myra, were away for the evening as usual, and the 
 only other person at home was Uncle Rodney, reading 
 in the upstairs sitting room. 
 
 There was a sound of footsteps on the front porch, 
 then the shrill staccato of a bell, and the next mo- 
 ment a voice that sent the blood rushing to her 
 cheeks. 
 
 'Til tell Miss Margaret that " old Myra was 
 
 saying. But the sharp, decisive voice interrupted her. 
 " I'll find her myself." A moment later Richard Pen- 
 nington stood in the doorway of the library. 
 
 He was a man just out of the twenties; tall, well- 
 proportioned, with that slight hauteur of bearing that 
 is not egotism but the armor with which the sensitive 
 temperament shields itself. The corners of his dark, 
 compelling eyes showed already that tribute of fine 
 lines which the intense and artistic natures pay early 
 at the shrine of ambition. Margaret Garrison was 
 almost as tall as he, and when their engagement had 
 been announced they had been called by their friends 
 "the handsomest couple of the season." For a moment 
 he stopped in the doorway reading her eyes; those 
 changing eyes, which seemed sometimes to take their 
 color from the wealth of light brown hair which she 
 wore like a crown, but which strong emotion darkened 
 and deepened. Tonight they looked almost black. Slow- 
 ly he came toward her, like a criminal who has already 
 heard the jury's verdict and awaits only the formal- 
 
6 MARGARET 
 
 ity of his sentence. " I have come, Margaret," he said. 
 
 Cold, contemptuous reproach died out of the girl's 
 face. At the sound of his voice the barbs of scorn 
 which she had prepared were forgotten. Only a 
 fathomless appeal was in her eyes as she looked into 
 his face now. 
 
 " Oh, Dick! Tell me that it isn't true! " 
 
 His lips set themselves in a hard, straight line. " I 
 wish I could tell you that. I wish to God I could tell 
 you that, Margaret ! " 
 
 Her eyes were searching his, hungrily, as though for 
 a crumb of hope. " But there must be some mistake, 
 some reason for " 
 
 "There is no mistake but there was a reason." 
 
 " What could it have been? " 
 
 He stood before her, his fingers digging into the 
 puffy back of a heavily upholstered chair. " The rea- 
 son," he said hoarsely, " was you." 
 
 Anger flamed in her face. " You can't say that ! " 
 she cried. " You can't take refuge behind that ! I 
 never urged you into politics. I never drove you to 
 to this, by a hounding ambition. I was satisfied 
 to have you a prosperous, respected lawyer, a Pen- 
 nington. It was not for me that " 
 
 " It was for you, Margaret. But I am not trying 
 to 'take refuge behind that,' as you say. I don't 
 say that you are to blame, and you know that I don't 
 mean that; but I say that you were my reason. You 
 
MARGARET 7 
 
 are the reason for everything I do. You are the 
 motive of my every act." 
 
 He came a step closer, still clutching at the heavy 
 chair as though afraid to remove all barriers between 
 them. " You say that you are not hounded by ambi- 
 tion, that you were satisfied with me as I was. But 
 having won you, I couldn't be satisfied with myself. 
 On that night, that wonderful night, Margaret, I 
 went home feeling that the world was at my feet. 
 You were willing to take me as I was. But I was 
 afire with determination to give you more than you 
 asked. Prosperity, a comfortable home, an honored 
 name you had all these in your uncle's house. To 
 me they seemed trivial, matter-of-course things. I 
 knew that I had it in me to do something more. The 
 assembly vote came so easily. I knew that you were 
 proud of me when I won. But up there at the legis- 
 lature Oh, I can't explain it to you ! If you had 
 ever been up against life I suppose you can't under- 
 stand. It won't sound convincing, and I don't give 
 it as an excuse, but in politics, nothing is out in the 
 open; everything is ambushed. Expediency is the 
 goal, and the pressure is so strong, the odds so large. 
 I suppose all of you call what I did, graft. But at 
 the time it didn't seem that way to me. If it had been 
 money, of course I would have seen it, for money is 
 always marked. But position, advancement, which I 
 felt that I had won anyway " 
 
8 MARGARET 
 
 His words were coming in a rush now, tumbling 
 over each other in their eagerness. But the old 
 hauteur of manner, that pretense of arrogance was 
 not all vanquished. Hardly conscious that she noted 
 this at all, the woman, from her dais of judgment, 
 thrilled at the plea of this offender, penitent but 
 unabased. 
 
 "And you really thought that this position would 
 mean so much to me ? " Richard Pennington had 
 once said that she had an "ardent" voice and that 
 it could work more havoc in a man's soul than most 
 women can accomplish with eyes and arms. 
 
 He pushed the chair away from him and stood be- 
 fore her with clenched hands. " No, I didn't think 
 that. I didn't think much about what it would mean 
 to you. All my thought was centered upon what it 
 would mean to me to offer it. You may not know 
 that you are ambitious, Margaret, but you are. You 
 couldn't help being; you ought to be. It's in your 
 blood. If your father had lived he would have been 
 one of the biggest men in this state. Your uncles are 
 called the railroad kings of California. And that 
 means more than you realize. I had to satisfy my 
 pride. I had to " 
 
 If he had only known If his guardian angel 
 had only sealed his lips, stricken him dumb if need 
 be, before he uttered that word! If he had only 
 pleaded his need of her instead ! But it was out, and 
 
MARGARET 9 
 
 the full measure of its devastation was not finished in 
 their lifetime. Generations of that cold self-possession 
 which had made many a Garrison man and broken 
 many a Garrison woman, were in her voice when she 
 spoke again. 
 
 " Now you have given me your real reason, 
 Richard. It was not love that prompted you at all. 
 It was merely pride." 
 
 His sensitive mouth twitched. " Some day you will 
 know," he said slowly, " that with a man, those two 
 things are the same." He averted his eyes from the 
 thing that she held out to him. " And may God help 
 you, Margaret, if you ever marry a man who can 
 divorce them." 
 
 Still she held it out to him, silently. He took it into 
 his possession with the hand that held it. " Darling," 
 he whispered, " don't cast me adrift now. Now, of 
 all moments, don't desert me. I was wrong, ter- 
 ribly wrong; I see it now. But I can make good yet; 
 I will make good, and live this thing down so that it 
 will be scarcely remembered. Pride? Of course I 
 have it. It's the cornerstone on which we must build. 
 But you have humbled it, dear. You have humbled 
 it greatly or I couldn't ask you to take my name now. 
 I'm not worthy to ask anything of you, but " 
 
 He paused, searching her face as he had done in 
 that first moment of their meeting. Then he relin- 
 quished her hand, and stood looking at her in silence. 
 
10 MARGARET 
 
 That she could not meet his eyes should have given 
 him hope, but through the mist that dimmed his vision, 
 he missed this signaling light. 
 
 " I'll not try to persuade you, Margaret, for God 
 knows you have a right to reject a future with me 
 now." He turned away, walking blindly down the 
 long, unlighted library. But at the door he stopped 
 and spoke again. " You have a right to scorn me. 
 Bat if you should relent, I will be ready, waiting. 
 And no wrong that either of us might do can ever 
 alter the fact that we were made for each other, that 
 we belong to each other. For either of us to forget 
 that will be the greatest wrong of all." 
 
 A moment later she heard the front door slam. It 
 seemed to shake the massive house to its very founda- 
 tions. It echoed through the quiet rooms. And al- 
 though she stood alert and tense, listening for the 
 sound of it to die away, all the years of her future 
 
 were not long enough to still its last reverberation. 
 
 ( 
 
 Two days after her dismissal of Richard Penning- 
 ton, and while he was still the favorite topic of Los 
 Angeles dinner table and club, Margaret yielded to the 
 plan made for her by her aunt and uncles. Mrs. 
 Peyton and her sister were going to the Yosemite for 
 the month of May and were urgent in their invitation 
 to have Margaret accompany them. " It won't thrill 
 you, my dear, to spend a month with two elderly 
 
MARGARET u 
 
 ladies in the wilderness. But it is the time of year 
 to see the valley " etc., etc. 
 
 And Margaret had not required much urging. The 
 very lack of thrills in the prospective program, was 
 appealing to her taut nerves. And so, with that gal- 
 lant pretense of ignorance of the real motive of the 
 plan, which is one of the most difficult demands upon 
 graciousness, she threw herself into the details of 
 preparation. 
 
 " She'll come back a different girl," Aunt Juliet 
 told her brother-in-law. "You'll see. Margaret's 
 only twenty-two and youth will assert itself. This 
 political gossip will all blow over and she and Dick 
 Pennington will be reconciled. They're madly in love 
 with each other, and well, I'm a happily married 
 woman myself and I ought to know something about 
 what love will do." 
 
 There was almost a challenge in the words, but 
 Rodney Garrison's face was inscrutable. He was 
 more than fifty, and twenty years of bachelor ease and 
 prosperity lay between him and a blasted dream, but 
 they had not been long enough to make him forget. 
 So he looked at Juliet Garrison with inscrutable eyes. 
 He knew that his was not the first soul whom love 
 has disciplined, which must, with what grace it may, 
 acknowledge the complacent peerage of one whose 
 life love has merely lighted. 
 
 At the Arcade depot, where he arranged for the 
 
12 MARGARET 
 
 comfort of the ladies the next evening, Margaret bade 
 him a linger ingly affectionate farewell. " You under- 
 stand better than any of them,'* she told him tremu- 
 lously as she adjusted her veil with nervous fingers. 
 " You always do, Uncle Rodney." 
 
 A blond Hercules in new spring grays had halted 
 near them, and Rodney Garrison called her attention 
 to him, with an obvious desire to change the subject. 
 " That's Bayne of the freight department. We're giv- 
 ing him his vacation this month. If there's any trou- 
 ble about anything, let him help you out." 
 
 The gate rolled back and the next minute Margaret 
 and the two Peyton ladies were following the colored 
 porter to where the north-bound train waited. They 
 were to spend a day in San Francisco before making 
 the trip into the valley. 
 
 During the first hour of their journey the three sat 
 in their drawing room, chatting in the desultory 
 fashion of tourists. But, when the two older ladies 
 were established with magazines for the evening, 
 Margaret wandered out to the observation car. Its 
 seats were all occupied, but at her entrance the blond 
 freight man offered his chair and appropriated a camp 
 stool on the rear platform. One by one the other oc- 
 cupants of the car strayed back to bed, but still she 
 lingered, dreading what threatened to be another sleep- 
 less night. It was almost eleven when she rose and 
 started back to her state-room. The man on the plat- 
 
MARGARET 13 
 
 form followed, and swung open the tenacious door for 
 her. She recalled his presence with a sudden start. 
 " It was very kind of you to give your seat to me this 
 evening," she told him with grave courtesy. " I hope 
 you haven't minded the platform." 
 
 " I like it," he responded, evidently pleased, but ill 
 at ease. Through the swaying Pullmans they walked 
 in silence. At the door of her room, where she wished 
 him good-night, he stopped long enough to say, " I 
 hope you're goin' to enjoy the rest of the trip, Miss 
 Garrison." 
 
 The words were perfunctory enough, but recalling 
 them three hours later, they seemed to her to have 
 been freighted with portent. 
 
 The tragedy occurred early the next morning in the 
 tortuous tunnel district near San Luis Obispo. 
 The Los Angeles and San Francisco newspapers gave 
 colorful and detailed descriptions of the accident in 
 which a spread rail resulted in precipitating two Pull- 
 mans over the side of a precipice and killing several 
 of their occupants. But to the chief actors in the 
 drama the sequence of events was not so clear. 
 
 Margarets memories of the catastrophe were a 
 jumble of sensations in which a thunderous crash and 
 the confusion of many voices played the leading parts. 
 The car in which she and the Peytons had their 
 rooms, did not leave the tracks. But just as she threw 
 on her slippers and dark silk dressing gown, some one 
 
14 MARGARET 
 
 burst in at the door. " Hurry ! " a peremptory voice 
 commanded through the darkness. " There's not a 
 minute to lose ! " And then, without waiting for her 
 to obey, he seized her by the arm and hurried her 
 down the steep steps and halfway up the sharp bluff. 
 
 " But the others ! " she cried in horror, clinging 
 desperately to his arm. 
 
 " I'll get them out," he assured her. " But get up 
 to the top of this. Hurry! " 
 
 The car had been wrenched free of the others and 
 had stopped in the narrow opening just outside a tun- 
 nel, with a steep cliff on one side and a precipice on 
 the other. The only possible exit from the scene now 
 was the steep ascent. For just a moment she stood 
 there trying to get her bearings. And then, gather- 
 ing the dressing gown about her with one hand, she 
 sprang back to the steps. 
 
 The next moments were too full for any thought of 
 self. Some of the other women refused, hysterically, 
 to leave the car. Others gazed at her helplessly as she 
 struggled with their kimonos and shoes. One woman 
 with a baby gave it quietly into her charge while she 
 gathered her things together for flight. The last 
 passenger was leaving the Pullman and Margaret was 
 on the steps, when the man who had hurried her to 
 safety dashed down the track toward the car. His 
 face was red with the strain of strenuous physical 
 exertion. She let him take her arm again and help 
 
MARGARET 15 
 
 her up the cliff. When they reached the top, follow- 
 ing the wild flight of the other passengers, he drew a 
 long breath. "God! That was a close shave!" he 
 breathed. " But it's all safe now." 
 
 She looked at him with mutely questioning eyes. 
 
 " There's another train a special, behind us. I 
 knew they couldn't get any signal, and if they rounded 
 that curve " 
 
 She shuddered. " And knowing that, you stopped 
 
 " Why did you go back in there ? " he asked harshly. 
 
 " I had to." 
 
 " It might have cost you your life." 
 
 She turned and started slowly over the rocks on 
 the other side of the slope. He caught at her arm. 
 " Don't go down there." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " You're safe here now." 
 
 " But those other cars there are people in them. 
 We must " 
 
 " Don't go," he repeated doggedly. 
 
 She turned on him in a fury. " I will go and help. 
 What right have you to speak this way to me? " 
 
 He clambered down from the summit of the bluff 
 and stood in her path. Then he spoke slowly, his 
 handsome gray eyes fastened upon her face. " Only 
 the right that every man has to protect the woman 
 that he loves." 
 
16 MARGARET 
 
 She gazed at him as though she feared he had gone 
 suddenly insane. A mirthless little laugh escaped 
 him. " I suppose you think this is kind of sudden. It 
 may be for you, but I've been workin' for the Gar- 
 rison company for three months. But I hate the city, 
 and I wouldn't have stayed on more than three days 
 if I hadn't seen you the first morning that I was 
 there. You drove your uncles down to the office. 
 I've seen you every day since morning and night. 
 When I found you were goin' on this trip, I made 'em 
 give me my vacation now. It didn't seem easy to 
 meet you at home, but I made up my mind that out 
 in the Yosemite I could find a way. I didn't plan to 
 have it just like this, but " 
 
 There was a sort of fascinated horror in her voice 
 as she interrupted him. " Down there," she cried, 
 pointing to the precipice, " people are suffering 
 dying ! And you can stand here and tell me this ! " 
 
 She remembered that he followed her on that in- 
 terminable journey down to the wrecked cars, and 
 that for what seemed hours they worked there to- 
 gether until the rescue train came. 
 
 The telegram which she sent home later was brief, 
 but completely satisfying to the frenzied Garrison 
 household. " Well, I'm glad they decided to go on 
 and have their trip out," Aunt Juliet remarked when 
 there was a lull in the incoherent comments upon the 
 catastrophe. " There's no reason why they should 
 
MARGARET 17 
 
 come home since none of them are hurt. They need 
 the trip now more than ever. She seems to be per- 
 fectly calm about the whole thing." 
 
 " She's got the Garrison nerve," her husband re- 
 minded her. " She will never break down as long as 
 any one needs her. When she gets to the valley she'll 
 probably collapse." 
 
 The first part of this prophecy was verified the next 
 morning when flaring headlines described the disaster 
 in full, and ran Margaret's name in a sub-heading, 
 linked with Frederick Bayne's, as the ministering 
 angel and the courageous young railroad*employe, who 
 had played the most spectacular roles in rescue 
 work. 
 
 " Wire Bayne to extend his vacation over the entire 
 month," Edward Garrison instructed his secretary 
 that day, "and tell him we'll fix up the other part of 
 our indebtedness when he comes home." 
 
 " That'll hold him, I guess," he remarked to his 
 brother. " And I don't think he's the type .of man 
 who will turn down a reward." 
 
 II 
 
 FREDERICK BAYNE did not refuse to take his re- 
 ward, but he would not accept the form of recompense 
 which the Los Angeles office offered him. 
 
 " I don't want anything any money," he told the 
 
i8 MARGARET 
 
 Garrison brothers, with a curiously intent expression 
 in his fine eyes. " Any man in my position would 
 have done what I did. But I might as well tell you 
 now that I'm through with the railroad business. It's 
 a good game all right but not for me. I've got a 
 good apple ranch up Mendocino way. My father died 
 a year ago and left me the place, and it's been rented 
 till now because my mother thought I ought to have 
 a try at city life. Well, she's had her wish now 
 and " 
 
 " And you find that it's not a fit? " 
 
 Edward Garrison's voice was kind but his keen eyes 
 were measuring the young man critically. 
 
 " No, I guess that's it." There was a tinge of 
 bravado in the freight employe's voice that puzzled 
 his questioner and grated upon both the Garrisons. 
 " Natural enough though," Rodney told himself tol- 
 erantly. " He's young, and he knows he's done a big 
 thing." He held out his hand. " We'll be sorry to 
 lose you, Mr. Bayne. I think you have a future here. 
 But if it's all settled in your mind " 
 
 " All but one thing." His gaze shifted nervously. 
 " And that thing is what I want to talk to you 
 about." 
 
 In conference with Margaret upon the same sub- 
 ject that evening, Uncle Edward was more emphatic 
 than tactful. " Frederick Bayne seems to have made 
 
MARGARET 19 
 
 good use of the extra time we allowed him," he 
 snapped, when, by a sort of tacit understanding, they 
 met in the library after dinner. 
 
 She met the challenge with a ghost of a smile. 
 " Yes," she said briefly. 
 
 " But Margaret, you can't really care for this man. 
 By one heroic act he has swept you off your feet. You 
 feel that you owe him your life; perhaps you do. But 
 to marry him because of " 
 
 " I am not marrying him out of gratitude," she in- 
 terrupted quickly. " I didn't care particularly about 
 having my life saved just then. It isn't that." 
 
 "What is it then?" 
 
 There was a moment of silence. " Uncle Edward," 
 she said slowly, " you and Aunt Juliet have done 
 everything for me. I owe you far more than I can 
 ever repay, and I I wouldn't do anything that 
 you absolutely opposed. If you forbid my mar- 
 riage with Frederick Bayne, I will abide by your 
 wish." 
 
 Like most fine characters, Edward Garrison could 
 push his own convictions with a relentless persistency 
 so long as his adversary maintained an equal war- 
 fare. But at the first sign of advantage on his side, 
 he sheathed his weapon. 
 
 " My dear child," he soothed. " It is your hap- 
 piness that I am seeking. If Edith were in your 
 place I would say the same thing to her. I don't for- 
 
20 MARGARET 
 
 bid this marriage, but I think it unsuitable in every 
 way preposterous." 
 
 " Because Mr. Bayne has held an inferior position 
 with the company?" 
 
 " Not at all. In the railroad business most men 
 begin at the bottom. The position is not ' inferior ' 
 as you call it. But, unless I am very much mistaken, 
 the man is." 
 
 " You thought it was fine of him to refuse the re- 
 ward." 
 
 " I should think, Margaret, that he would feel 
 that he had his reward. Almost any man can rise 
 to the height of doing a fine thing when he is in love, 
 and especially when he knows that the woman he 
 loves is bound to hear about it." 
 
 " Uncle Edward, I never heard you say such an 
 unkind thing as that before." 
 
 " I never had such provocation before." He stood 
 frowning upon her from the hearthrug, and in spite 
 of her resentment she thought she had never seen him 
 look so handsome, so strong, so like a man among 
 men. The fine hazel eyes glowed under their iron 
 gray brows with a sternness that would have terrified 
 any one who knew him less intimately. But the eyes 
 of the girl, so like his own, met them without flinch- 
 ing. "You don't know him," she said steadily. 
 "You are judging by mere externals. You don't 
 know him as I do." 
 
MARGARET 21 
 
 He sighed. " Now you have played the last argu- 
 ment in the case, my dear. That's the lover's trump 
 card, and it takes anything in the deck. As you say, 
 I don't know him. He is not in love with me and 
 therefore I have never seen him at his best." 
 
 But with Uncle Rodney, Margaret came out of the 
 encounter much less triumphant. She had gone up 
 to her room after telling Edward Garrison good-night, 
 and was sitting beside her trunk fingering the box of 
 souvenirs of her trip that she and Frederick Bayne 
 had collected during the long Spring days they had 
 spent together in the Yosemite. How could they 
 know? she was asking herself wildly. How could 
 any of them, this dearest family in the world, guess 
 how she had suffered? It was not only the humilia- 
 tion of Richard Pennington's disgrace and the revela- 
 tion that he cared more for position than for her, but 
 the helplessness of her own situation. The Garrisons 
 had done enough for her. Nineteen-year-old Edith 
 was out now and her interests should be the very core 
 of their lives. It wasn't fair for her now to usurp 
 the place that rightfully belonged to the daughter of 
 the house. Not one of them had ever hinted, ever 
 looked this suggestion, but her own quivering sensi- 
 bilities were pain enough. Aunt Juliet had seen to it 
 that both she and Edith had had a thorough training 
 in home-keeping. But there was no other way out. 
 And now that the glamour of romance was gone, 
 
22 MARGARET 
 
 " Why I ought to be grateful," she told herself. " I 
 ought to be grateful." And she was still repeating 
 this word like a religious chant when Uncle Rodney 
 knocked at the door. 
 
 His eyes fell upon the little cedar box which she 
 had laid upon the table as he entered. It was made 
 in form of a miniature chest with a tiny lock and key 
 and bits of pine cone inlaid on the top to form her 
 initials. He picked it up, scrutinizing it intently 
 while he groped for the opening words of his errand. 
 
 " Very fine workmanship," he commented, setting 
 it gently back in its place. "Frederick Bayne made 
 it for you?" 
 
 " Yes." She was nerving herself for the strain of 
 the interview. 
 
 He came over and sat down on the upholstered win- 
 dow seat near her. A quick sympathy for his em- 
 barrassment prompted her to help him. " You came 
 to talk to me about him, Uncle Rodney?" 
 
 "Yes, about him; about you." The tension was 
 broken now. He leaned toward her appealingly. 
 " Margaret, why do you marry this man ? " 
 
 Her reply came with a promptness that surprised 
 even herself. " Because I think that he is a man." 
 
 " But his family ! You don't know, none of us 
 knows, anything about his people." 
 
 " Family connections don't always seem to provide 
 assurance of " 
 
MARGARET 23 
 
 " I know, dear," he interrupted hastily. " You 
 have a right to feel a little bitter about that just now. 
 And yet in the long run they do count more than 
 anything else. They ought to. It takes a long time, 
 long years of right living to establish a name of honor 
 and integrity in a community. To achieve a place of 
 distinction in the world, to acquire what we call 
 ' a family name/ is the patient work of generations. 
 Any man who has it in him may make good, of course, 
 and there always has to be a beginning. But it's a 
 risky thing, a risky thing to assume that when his 
 family has no record of achievement back of him, that 
 he is going to try to rise above their level above the 
 level of mediocrity." 
 
 " To do what Mr. Bayne did on the night of the 
 accident was above mediocrity, it seems to me." 
 
 " I don't want to belittle it, my dear. That was a 
 moment of stupendous crisis, and he met it like a man. 
 He might prove himself willing again to risk his 
 safety for yours. That is part courage and part an 
 innate male instinct. But, Margaret, life isn't a suc- 
 cession of spectacular rescue parties. Even at its 
 best it is commonplace; routine unembellished by the 
 dramatic; that's what it is most of the time. Bayne 
 may be a man who will wear well, but he doesn't 
 look like it to me." 
 
 " I was mistaken once, Uncle Rodney," she said 
 huskily. " But this time " 
 
24 MARGARET 
 
 " This time is that time, I think. Richard Penning- 
 ton came to you a repentant sinner. He was over- 
 ambitious for your sake. But in attaining his goal, 
 he did nothing to hurt any one else. He acknowledged 
 his fault before the world and also his determination 
 to overcome it. He is a strong man who stumbled. 
 You have seen him at his very worst. I would con- 
 sider him a safer risk to tie to than a man of Bayne's 
 quality whom I had seen only at his super-best. He 
 looks to me like a man who is good because he has 
 never attained to the heights of great temptation." 
 
 " You don't know what he might become though, 
 Uncle Rodney." 
 
 "No. And you don't either. That's just the 
 trouble. But I do know this. That if you marry 
 him, you marry the whole Bayne family, whoever they 
 may be. No man or woman ever escapes doing that. 
 And, my dear child, he may be a good man; he may 
 always prove himself a good man, but I cannot shut 
 my eyes to the fact that he is not a fine man, in the 
 right sense of that word. He lacks the fine sen- 
 sibilities that you take as a matter-of-course. In 
 the intimacy of marriage Margaret, those things 
 count; they count more than anything to a woman 
 like you. And it is not for you alone that I speak. 
 Fortitude, fineness, the capacity to suffer and be 
 strong under high pressure these are not the out- 
 growth of sudden emergency. They are a long in- 
 
MARGARET 25 
 
 heritance, my dear, a long inheritance, and having 
 received them as a bequest through the patient toil of 
 generations, I say that you have no right to handicap 
 your children in the race of life by giving them an 
 inferior father." 
 
 A silence fell between them. A long minute 
 throbbed out its life. Then Margaret rose unsteadily 
 and came over to him. Only once or twice before in 
 all her life had he seen tears in her courageous eyes. 
 With a cry of guilty pain he reached out and drew 
 her down beside him. " Oh, Uncle Rodney, I only 
 want to be happy ! " she cried. " I never had anybody 
 of my very own, and I want somebody I want " 
 
 He patted her head in an anguish of self-reproach. 
 " I know, sweetheart," he breathed. " Ah, / know ! 
 I know!" 
 
 Ill 
 
 THE house to which Frederick Bayne brought his 
 bride was a two-story structure made picturesque by 
 its non-conformity to any style of architecture. It 
 had been built by a prosperous lumberman some ten 
 years earlier, the nucleus for the present plan being 
 four large, high-ceilinged rooms constructed in form 
 of a double V. When a rise in the price of redwood 
 made amplification possible, the two wings had been 
 rent asunder and four new rooms reared themselves 
 in double story between them. Perched upon a rocky 
 
26 MARGARET 
 
 bluff, " the old Hansen house," as it was still called, 
 had the appearance of a huge white gull, its two wings 
 half outspread as though poised for flight. It was 
 the most picturesque and inconvenient dwelling in 
 Rocky Cove. 
 
 Margaret Bayne, viewing it in the light of mid- 
 summer sunshine and enveloped in the glory of a 
 " first home," told her husband that it possessed in- 
 finite possibilities. 
 
 "Go to it then," he replied, with the careless 
 generosity that was one of his dominant qualities. 
 " You know what our stack is. Do whatever you 
 like." 
 
 The first number upon her reconstruction program 
 was the ordering of some seed catalogues from San 
 Francisco. For an enthralling week she pored over 
 these and then she planted vines around the bare front 
 porch and a Ragged Robin hedge on the side of the 
 bleak garden that bordered the road. " It will be 
 lovely to sit out here in the summer evenings," she 
 said to her husband, raising her glowing face from 
 her work with the last honeysuckle. " All that this 
 porch needs is a little softening, a little privacy." 
 
 " And a little less wind," he appended. 
 
 " But it isn't always as windy as this, is it ? " she 
 asked, trying to hold the flying strands of her hair in 
 place with the back of one soil-stained hand. " I 
 thought July was the worst month here." 
 
MARGARET 27 
 
 " Sure," he told her with glib reassurance. " This 
 is the worst right now. Autumn's the season." 
 
 But he had not been willing to wait until Mendo- 
 cino's best season to bring her home. Having won 
 her, and the reluctant consent of the Garrisons, he had 
 hurried her into an immediate wedding. Richard 
 Pennington had been willing to wait for her for a 
 year while he won laurels to lay at her feet. But 
 Frederick Bayne would not yield so much as a month 
 and his very importunity had warmed her frozen 
 heart. 
 
 The marriage had taken place one morning in the 
 Episcopal church where the family had attended all 
 her life, and Uncle Rodney, Aunt Juliet, and Edith 
 had been the only witnesses. Uncle Edward had been 
 kind, but unreconciled, and she had refused the sub- 
 stantial wedding gift which he proposed. " Not 
 money, please," she had told him with quiet insistence. 
 " Give me some little personal thing from you and 
 Aunt Juliet. But I can't take money, not from any 
 one now but my husband." 
 
 " Poor child," her aunt had sighed when he repeated 
 this message to her. " I hope that man will be able 
 to take care of her properly, for she'll never allow her 
 own family to help her." 
 
 Uncle Rodney had been more fortunate in his selec- 
 tion of a wedding present. On the day before her 
 marriage, Margaret had spent an absorbing morning 
 
28 MARGARET 
 
 with him in the Los Angeles book stores and the re- 
 sult of this expedition had arrived on the stage two 
 days behind the bride and groom. " It will be the 
 nucleus for a library," Uncle Rodney had said, as they 
 lunched together that day in town. "A nucleus!" 
 she had cried, looking at him with glowing eyes. 
 " Why, Uncle Rodney, it's a wonderful library ! " 
 
 And now while she planted honeysuckle and red 
 ramblers, Frederick Bayne littered the front porch 
 with shavings and nails while he evolved from red- 
 wood boards a set of shelves which were to line the 
 wall space on one side of the living room wing. 
 
 " Guess we'll have to call it the library now," he 
 said when on the following afternoon he installed the 
 shelves. " Sounds pretty tony for Rocky Cove, but 
 we don't need to let it get outside the family. Thought 
 of a name for the house yet? " 
 
 " Yes," she answered, pressing her hands against 
 her throbbing temples. "If it doesn't calm down here 
 pretty soon, I'm going to call it West Winds." 
 
 And " West Winds " it became. For as summer 
 drifted into autumn and autumn hardened into winter, 
 it became apparent to Margaret that a house that is 
 set on a cliff cannot be hid from ocean gales. She 
 began to wear a chiffon veil wound about her head 
 when she went out to feed the chickens or carry water 
 to the Ragged Robin hedge, and to stuff cotton in her 
 ears when she worked on the open back porch. 
 
MARGARET 29 
 
 " Your hair's all your own, what do you care how 
 it blows around ? " her husband queried one day when 
 he found her out in the store-room with the blue veil 
 still covering her head. She smiled back at him with a 
 valiant attempt to respond to the banter in his tone. 
 " But I'm too busy to fix it more than once a day 
 now/' she answered. And that night while he lay 
 wrapped in the profound slumber of the healthily tired, 
 she pressed her hands against her aching head in a 
 futile attempt to stop the stabbing pain. Only once 
 during that first year did she comment casually upon 
 the ever-present neuralgia, and then it was when her 
 courage quailed before the prospect of the six-mile 
 drive to Four Corners, the nearest town. " Neural- 
 gia ! " he repeated absently as he struggled into his 
 long coat. " I never heard anybody else around here 
 complain of it. You'll get used to the climate in a few 
 more months." 
 
 But it was not merely the climate to which Mar- 
 garet found it hard to adjust herself during that first 
 year. She loved the salt ocean air, the loading of the 
 lumber steamers at the Rocky Cove landing, the walks 
 back in the sequoia grove, and the drives with her 
 husband along the avenues of the apple orchard. But 
 he was out most of the day, and the work of the big, 
 rambling house and the preparation of three hearty 
 meals for six hungry men, filled her days so completely 
 that at evening she was almost alarmed at her weari- 
 
30 MARGARET 
 
 ness. The books on the living room shelves invited 
 her during those long winter evenings, but she was 
 too tired to read. The mail sack was thrown off at 
 the gate about five o'clock, and Frederick Bayne, hav- 
 ing disgorged from it the San Francisco paper, devoted 
 himself to its columns, reading an occasional excerpt 
 from the more startling happenings to his wife. 
 
 She tried to take an hour of rest every afternoon, 
 but many unexpected tasks encroached upon this plan. 
 Sometimes an over-supply of cream made an extra 
 churning necessary. Sometimes her husband asked 
 her to press his suit for a trip to Four Corners. Count- 
 less things intervened between her and the precious 
 hour which she told herself she needed to keep from 
 getting into a rut. 
 
 The Petersens, her nearest neighbors, were a mile 
 away, and when, after three months, they showed no 
 disposition to call, Margaret graciously took the initia- 
 tive and walked over to see Mrs. Petersen one after- 
 noon in early October. She was received by Nina, a 
 child of seven who, after one glance at her through the 
 screen door, had scuttled into the rear of the house 
 calling to an invisible Somebody that there was " a 
 lady all dressed up out on the front porch." 
 
 When Mrs. Petersen, a tall, bony woman with per- 
 petually inquiring eyes, appeared at the door, Mar- 
 garet found it hard to overcome the unaccountable 
 hostility in her eyes. 
 
MARGARET 31 
 
 " I am Mrs. Bayne, your new neighbor/' she in- 
 troduced herself, when she had been admitted into a 
 large bare room with a spectacularly handsome stone 
 fireplace. " I know that you are very busy with your 
 growing family, so I thought I'd be neighborly and not 
 wait for you to call." 
 
 " Oh, you're Fred Bayne's wife." Mrs. Petersen 
 repeated the announcement several times, accenting a 
 different word at each rendering, as though she were 
 trying dramatic effects. " Well, I knew you was here. 
 He said he saw you one day last week over at Four 
 Corners." 
 
 Margaret was to learn later that none of the women 
 of Rocky Cove ever referred to their husbands by 
 name. The first part of the call promised disastrous 
 failure, and Margaret, sensitive to every shade 
 of the other woman's hostility, felt herself flush- 
 ing under the candid appraisal of the china blue 
 eyes. 
 
 " Mrs. Petersen," she said, in a sudden burst of 
 entreaty, " everything up here is new to me. I've 
 never lived on a ranch before, and I have so much to 
 learn. I didn't really come to call. What I really 
 came for was to ask you if you would be willing to 
 help me a little." 
 
 Mrs. Petersen had the stolid, unemotional qualities 
 of the Norse temperament. But she was a big-hearted 
 woman with a passion for the role of counselor. Mar- 
 
32 MARGARET 
 
 garet had pierced her in her most vulnerable spot. 
 The wistful appeal in the voice of this beautiful girl 
 was irresistible. The remainder of the visit was spent 
 in the kitchen, the store-room, and the chicken yard. 
 And as Margaret departed down the back path, she 
 heard her hostess tell Oscar Petersen, who had just 
 driven in on the farm wagon, that although Fred 
 Bayne had " picked a city woman for his wife, she's 
 willin' to learn and that's something" 
 
 And so the months passed. Gradually Margaret 
 evolved a system which, although it took all her day 
 from five o'clock till late at night, kept the machinery 
 of her husband's home running as though on oiled 
 wheels. And having achieved the goal of his desires, 
 Frederick Bayne had, figuratively speaking, drawn a 
 long breath and settled back in his chair. He was 
 like a man who had seen a street car passing half a 
 block away. In that moment of desire, he had been 
 willing to sweep all other considerations aside and 
 give it a hot pursuit. But having swung himself 
 aboard, he had straightway forgotten what manner 
 of car it was and become absorbed in his daily news- 
 paper. If he noticed that his wife's delicate face 
 sharpened during that first year, he gave no sign of 
 dismay. Once when she was dressing a cut on his 
 wrist he watched her deft, sympathetic fingers with 
 amused tolerance. " Don't be afraid," he urged her 
 jovially. " You're always so afraid of givin' me 
 
MARGARET 33 
 
 extra pain. But I'm not as easy hurt as you are, 
 Margaret." 
 
 She looked up at him with one of those quick, un- 
 readable glances that he had come to know, but never 
 came to understand. They made him uncomfortable 
 and he took refuge in the first words that offered. 
 " Your hands don't look like the same person, Mar- 
 garet. I like to see them soft and white like they 
 used to be. Isn't there something that you can put 
 on 'em?" 
 
 " I have put something on them," she told him 
 lightly. " I've put sapolio and kerosene and stove 
 polish and kindling splinters, and none of them seem 
 to do any good." 
 
 She drew the bandaged hand shyly toward her. 
 "Oh, Freddy," she whispered. "Tell me that you 
 love me. Tell me that you love me very much. We've 
 been married almost a year, and you haven't told me 
 that for a long time." 
 
 He patted her shining hair with an awkward caress. 
 " You ought to know I do," he told her. " You ought 
 to know I do." 
 
 July came again, and on the seventh, Margaret 
 made a fruit cake, an elaborate achievement of suc- 
 culent raisins and citron and marvelous frosting, fol- 
 lowing the directions of one of Aunt Juliet's recipes. 
 She set it in the center of the table with one red candle 
 rising like a steeple out of a snowdrift. 
 
34 MARGARET 
 
 " Your favorite cake," she told her husband gaily 
 when he came in to dinner, pulling down the sleeves 
 of his striped shirt. " You must put on a coat to- 
 night when you dine with me, Freddy. This is a 
 celebration." 
 
 " Well, I'll be hanged." He stood looking down at 
 the festive little table in dismay. " The seventh ! 
 It was, by George! And I haven't got a thing 
 for you, Margaret. Not a darn thing. I'm a 
 boob!" 
 
 "Yes, you have something," she told him in her 
 low, ardent voice. " You have something, but you 
 haven't given it to me yet." 
 
 He came around the table and kissed her, and 
 rumpled her glorious hair with one clumsy hand. 
 
 "And you have something else for me," she said. 
 " But I'll pilfer that from you after dinner." 
 
 He yielded to her gay mood, drank the clever little 
 toast that she proposed to " West Winds," and after 
 dinner helped her pile their dishes with a wilderness 
 of others from the men's table in the kitchen, on the 
 draining board. " No more work tonight," she de- 
 creed. " I'll have to get up half an hour earlier to- 
 morrow I know, but they will have to wait. I thought 
 I'd read aloud to you tonight, Freddy, like I used to 
 do. Uncle Rodney sent up a new book yesterday 
 for an anniversary present. It's just short stories; 
 not a bit dull. I know you'll like them if you'll just 
 
MARGARET 35 
 
 listen to one. I feel mean enjoying them all alone. 
 Won't you?" 
 
 " Sure, I'll listen, if you want me to." But when 
 he had made himself comfortable in the easy Morris 
 chair, and when she drew the lamp out of range 
 of his eyes and was finding the story that she wanted, 
 he asked an abrupt question. 
 
 "What was it you said I was goin' to give you, 
 Margaret?" She sat facing him, the fingers of one 
 hand buried in the pages of the book. " It's a prom- 
 ise," she told him. " A promise that " 
 
 " I guess I know." He interrupted moodily. " You 
 don't want me to spend any more evenin's down at the 
 Landin' House. Why are you so set against it?" 
 
 " One reason is that I hate the kind of men who 
 hang around there at night. They're the very scum 
 of this place. You know that as well as I do. I 
 don't like to have my husband classed with them, 
 Freddy. Some of them are always carried home 
 drunk ; you've told me so yourself." 
 
 " Well, I've never been one of them, have I ? " 
 
 "Of course not, dear. I'm not accusing you of 
 anything bad. But I can't bear to think of your taking 
 the kind of pleasures those men take. And you can't 
 enjoy it, Fred." There was entreaty in her voice 
 now, as though she were calling upon him to settle 
 forever a subject which she had long debated. " You 
 can't enjoy those men," 
 
36 MARGARET 
 
 " Wherever you live you've got to mix around with 
 the other people that live there/' he told her sullenly. 
 r 'You do pretty well for the family that you come 
 from, Margaret, but at heart you're a snob." 
 
 She winced under the sting of it, but when she 
 spoke, her voice was quietly controlled. " I don't 
 think Mrs. Petersen and the other women of the 
 Swedish colony call me that. When the measles epi- 
 demic was on they trusted me to sit up with their chil- 
 dren at night, and when I started the Neighborhood 
 Club, they were all glad to meet here on Thursday 
 afternoons. I don't want to be aloof, Fred. But the 
 people here have so few advantages; it seems to me 
 we ought to give them our very best, not be content 
 to take their worst." 
 
 "You'll beat your heart out tryin' to raise people 
 up to meet your ideas of what they ought to be," he 
 warned her. " Why can't you take 'em as you find 
 'em ? That's my motto, and believe me, it's the easiest 
 way." 
 
 There was a long silence between them. The little 
 flame of gaiety which she had coaxed into life for 
 this night of nights, had flickered out. She stared out 
 the window into the blackness as though she were 
 afraid to bring her eyes back to the man in the Morris 
 chair. 
 
 " I am not thinking only of you, Fred, and not 
 at all of myself. We must think deeper than that now. 
 
MARGARET 37 
 
 If we are going to live here all our lives we must 
 make this a better place for our children to live in. 
 We owe it to them to surround them with the right 
 ideals, the right standards. It will be hard to teach 
 a girl the sacredness of family life in a place where 
 family relations are so irregular, so casual as they 
 are here. It will be hard to teach a boy fidelity to the 
 marriage vow in a place where he sees it so lightly 
 broken." 
 
 " You* re prejudiced against this place ! " he cried 
 hotly. " You expect the people here to have just the 
 same ideas that they have in cities where everything 
 is different. Up here, a forty-mile stage drive from 
 the nearest train, you ask just as much of people as 
 you would in your own home. It's too much. It's too 
 much. You can't change nature ; you'll have to change 
 yourself." 
 
 She was looking at him now, all her startled soul 
 burning in her eyes. Slowly her fingers slipped from 
 the leaves of her book and it glided unnoticed to the 
 floor. " You you don't mean that, Frederick. You 
 don't mean that you really feel that way." 
 
 " I thought you were goin' to read something" he 
 cut in sharply. 
 
 She reached for Uncle Rodney's book and laid it 
 
 on the table under the lamplight. " I was But I 
 
 feel very tired. I think, if you don't mind, that I'll 
 go to bed." 
 
38 MARGARET 
 
 The next morning when they met at the breakfast 
 table, Frederick Bayne glanced at his wife with uneasy 
 eyes. " You didn't get enough sleep last night, Mar- 
 garet. Why did you get up so early? The dishes 
 could have waited." 
 
 " Yes," she answered absently. " It wasn't the 
 dishes. But I thought I might as well get up because 
 I couldn't sleep. There is so much to think about 
 now. I dropped off for a little while after midnight, 
 but those dogs of the Petersens' woke me. There is 
 no reason why they should come up here at night, 
 Fred, and they make so much noise. I've mentioned 
 this to you before. I don't want to be unreasonable, 
 but I ought to get more sleep, and it's just that the 
 Petersens don't think about it. They're all such 
 healthy people themselves and not nervous, so they 
 don't think. Please ask him today to chain his dogs 
 at night." 
 
 "Well I'll see," he promised vaguely. "Peter- 
 sen's a good neighbor and I don't like to make him 
 mad. You oughtn't to let yourself get into that state, 
 Margaret." 
 
 She did not mention the subject again for a week. 
 And then, on Sunday morning, her husband, shaken 
 out of his customary complacency by the haggard look 
 in her face, was moved to further remonstrance. 
 " You ought to take some medicine, or something 
 to make you sleep. I'll get somethin* for you 
 
MARGARET 39 
 
 at Four Corners this afternoon if you'll tell me 
 what." 
 
 She had poured his coffee and a second cup for 
 herself, but her breakfast was congealing, untasted, 
 on her plate. " It isn't drugs that I need, Fred," she 
 said quietly. " I won't let myself get into the habit 
 of taking anything like that. All I need is the chance 
 to sleep quiet." 
 
 His spoon dropped into the saucer with a crash that 
 made her jump. " I s'pose what you're drivin' at is 
 those dogs of Petersen's ! " he cried in a sudden fury. 
 '' You want me to break up friendly relations with a 
 good neighbor by makin' a fuss over a little thing 
 like that! He's more touchy about those dogs than 
 he is about his own children ! We've got to live next 
 to those people all our " 
 
 " Frederick ! Stop ! " It was the new tone in her 
 voice that halted his flood of anger in mid-stream. 
 And the look in her eyes brought a slow flame to his 
 face. In the voice of the Garrisons, of people long 
 trained to control of self and command of others, she 
 spoke to this man to whom she had reached down and 
 made her husband. 
 
 " Stop right where you are. You have said enough, 
 acted enough to convince me that you care more for 
 the good will of these people than you do for my com- 
 fort. At this time, if at no other, my health ought to 
 be your chief consideration. I have discovered that it 
 
40 MARGARET 
 
 isn't. But I have discovered something else during 
 these past weeks that hurts me far worse than this. 
 You think that it is kindliness that prompts your con- 
 sideration of these neighbors. But it isn't kindness 
 it is cowardice. You are afraid of a fuss. Afraid 
 of making trouble. I have discovered that I am 
 married to a weakling ! " 
 
 If he had denied it with an oath, if he had ac- 
 knowledged it and sought her pardon, she could have 
 forgiven him. But he did that thing which put him 
 forever beyond the pale of her hopefulness. He 
 pushed back his chair and came over to her. Without 
 daring to touch the hand lying cold as ice upon the 
 tablecloth, he said soothingly, " I won't argue with 
 you, Margaret, because I know that you're not your- 
 self. You'll feel better soon. After September, you'll 
 be feelin' better." 
 
 Three months later Margaret's child was born. A 
 week passed before she came back from the dim bor- 
 derline of death and showed any interest in it. Then 
 Mrs. Petersen, who had been the only available nurse, 
 announced to her that " you got the finest little girl 
 I ever see," and Margaret's arms closed convulsively 
 around the tiny bundle. " God help her ! " she whis- 
 pered passionately. 
 
 >f You goin' to call her by some fancy name out of 
 a book?" her husband asked on the day, a month 
 later, that she came downstairs for the first time. It 
 
MARGARET 41 
 
 was characteristic of him that he left the naming of 
 their child to her, and that he assured her, with his 
 easy-going good humor, that whatever she decided 
 upon would be a " go " with him. 
 
 From the depths of the Morris chair she looked up 
 at him with eyes that her colorless cheeks seemed to 
 have made larger and darker. " No," she told him 
 gently. " No name out of a book. I am going to call 
 her Fredrica." 
 
 The unexpectedness of it pierced the armor of his 
 self -content as nothing else could have done. Some- 
 thing of the humility that must have been his when 
 he first won her was in his voice as he murmured, 
 "Why you don't want her to grow up like me, do 
 you, Margaret? You want her to grow up better 
 than me." 
 
 " I want her to grow up better than either of us," 
 she responded. But her eyes measured him with a 
 curious intensity as though she was trying to read in 
 his face the answer to her desperate question : " Will 
 this incentive fail too ? " 
 
 During the first three years of her life little Fred- 
 rica wore only the sheer white garments that came in 
 the boxes from Aunt Juliet. The Garrisons had moved 
 to Chicago, and Margaret, bereft now of her long de- 
 ferred visit home, accepted these gifts from the dear 
 aunt-mother as the child's rightful heritage. She 
 looked forward to the quarterly express packages with 
 
42 MARGARET 
 
 the eagerness of a girl. Uncle Rodney had died sud- 
 denly the year after her baby was born, and she 
 had grieved over his passing with an almost mor- 
 bid sense of impoverishment. The parcels from 
 Aunt Juliet were the last link that bound her to the 
 past. 
 
 During the child's fourth year, Frederick Bayne's 
 mother came up from Petaluma to visit at West 
 Winds, and one day Margaret heard her protesting to 
 her son about the fine little dresses and the silk-and- 
 wool petticoats. 
 
 " That child ought to be in over-halls, Fred/' she 
 remonstrated in her high-pitched, plaintive voice. 
 " She ain't livin' in a city. If Margaret didn't have 
 to do so much washin' for her she wouldn't have to 
 send the sheets and table linen out. It's awful tony 
 havin' washin' done away from home, even if it is 
 a Chinese laundry." 
 
 " Well, you fight it out with her, mother," her 
 son advised, with his instinctive adherence to the line 
 of least resistance. " I never draw the purse-strings 
 very tight, you know." 
 
 But when the elder Mrs. Bayne encountered her 
 daughter-in-law a few moments later, something in 
 Margaret's face made her decide to postpone her pro- 
 test concerning Fredrica's mode of dress. 
 
 "I guess she's got a right to rig her up as she likes," 
 she told herself philosophically. " If she don't mind 
 
MARGARET 43 
 
 the extra work, I oughtn't to. And Fred don't care. 
 He always was easy-handed with money." 
 
 But she could not forbear comment upon the unex- 
 pected evidences of Margaret's wifely training. 
 " You've sure got Fred well broke, Margaret ; bringin' 
 in the wood for you like he does and always hitchin' up 
 for you when you want to go to town I never could 
 get any of my menfolks to wait on me that way." 
 
 And she was voicing the universal opinion of the 
 community. Among the households of Rocky Cove 
 Frederick Bayne was counted a model husband. For 
 although Margaret made the comfort of his home and 
 the care of their child her whole concern, she had 
 never included in her duties the function of family 
 door-mat. To demand these attentions from her hus- 
 band was as instinctive with her as to yield good- 
 naturedly to them was with him. And the elder Mrs. 
 Bayne, watching his matter-of-course performance of 
 what she called " house tricks/' shook her head and 
 commented humorously to herself upon the unaccount- 
 ability of sons. 
 
 To Fredrica, a shy, intense child, the voluble visitor 
 was a strange, half -fearful personage. Though she 
 had come laden with bright-colored beads, picture 
 books and a doll that could close its eyes, as gifts for 
 this first grandchild, and although Fredrica had ac- 
 cepted them all with grave thanks, she was not respon- 
 sive to the old woman's insistent caresses. 
 
44 MARGARET 
 
 " Why, sweetheart, you mustn't run away when 
 you hear grandmother calling you," Margaret reproved 
 her gently one day. " You are her little girl too. 
 You must love grandma." 
 
 The child went obediently and sat on the visitor's 
 lap then, and answered her volley of questions as best 
 she could. But that night when she said her prayers, 
 her mother was startled at the new petition appended 
 at the very end. " And bless grandma too, and help 
 her not to make me so tired tomorrow." 
 
 At the end of that year Margaret reluctantly gave 
 up her baby, bobbed the heavy chestnut hair, dressed 
 her in coarse ginghams and turned her loose on the 
 hundred and sixty acre ranch to grow sturdy. But 
 although Fredrica played see-saw with the boards dis- 
 carded by the big planing mill, and rode on the rotary 
 harrow after they plowed the apple orchard, and 
 learned to climb the branchless trunks of redwoods, 
 she remained ineradicably feminine. In her seventh 
 year when, after a long winter of illness, her mother 
 called her to her bedside to trim the neglected hair 
 and found it a mass of shining curls, she substituted a 
 hair ribbon for shears, and began calling her Freda. 
 Of both these innovations Frederick Bayne expressed 
 unqualified approval and the prediction that " If that 
 girl grows up as pretty as she is now, she'll have all 
 the fellers in Rocky Cove standin' on their heads." 
 
 But Freda had already begun to spell out the stories 
 
MARGARET 45 
 
 in some of her mother's books now, and was more in- 
 terested in following the fortunes of " Black Beauty " 
 and " Alice in Wonderland " than in transforming the 
 youth of Rocky Cove into acrobatic experts. 
 
 It was that same winter that her father, coming back 
 one evening from Four Corners, handed Margaret a 
 telegram. It notified them of the death of Mrs. Bayne. 
 Margaret read it as she stood at the kitchen table 
 where she had been kneading bread. Then with 
 something of the old impulsiveness of their early mar- 
 ried days, she came over and put her arms about his 
 neck. " Poor Freddy ! " she murmured, as she might 
 have soothed a crying child. " My poor Fred ! But 
 at least you have the memory of a mother, dear, and 
 that must be a wonderful thing! " 
 
 That night while they were undressing for bed she 
 returned again to the subject of his loss. u This leaves 
 your young brother Avery all alone, doesn't it?" 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 "How old is he?" 
 
 "Fifteen!" 
 
 A little cry of pity escaped her. " Oh, that's a 
 hard age, a hard age for a boy to be left without his 
 mother ! We must have him with us." 
 
 He shot her a glance of quick gratitude. " Would 
 you be willin', Margaret? I felt that I ought to do 
 for him now, but I wondered if you'd be willin' to 
 take on the care of a boy? " 
 
46 MARGARET 
 
 " Why, it's the only thing to do, Fred. And only 
 eight years older than Freda he'll be just like a big 
 brother to her." 
 
 She went on talking out the plan with him, reassur- 
 ing him, persuading him easily that this extra respon- 
 sibility would not be too much for her. And long 
 after he was asleep, she lay awake, wondering about 
 the boy, planning for his comfort. And before uncon- 
 sciousness enveloped her, she told herself wearily, 
 " Perhaps if I take a Bayne young enough I can make 
 something out of him." 
 
 The coming into her life of this young uncle was 
 Freda's first clear memory of her childhood. He had 
 the Bayne good nature, their blond good looks, and 
 their easy-going liberality. But he was more demon- 
 strative than his brother and more secretive. To 
 Freda he was almost a supernatural being, and he came 
 to West Winds enveloped in the mysterious glamour 
 of bereavement. 
 
 During that first month he stood in awe of Mar- 
 garet and treated Freda with a sort of tolerant pity. 
 But in the end they both won him, and slowly he began 
 to adjust himself and to feel himself a part of this 
 new environment. At the Christmas party, the Easter 
 egg hunt, and the Fourth of July picnic to which Mar- 
 garet invited the wondering children of Rocky Cove 
 each year, he gave enthusiastic assistance. It was he 
 who stealthily hid the tree out in the woodshed on 
 
MARGARET 47 
 
 Christmas Eve, who drove to Four Corners one 
 stormy April day for a new kind of egg dye, and who 
 made a croquet court under the sequoias in the picnic 
 grounds. 
 
 " Say, I don't think the kids around here appreciate 
 all you do for 'em, Margaret," he protested on the day 
 that he finished this task under her direction and they 
 sat down to rest on a fallen log in the clump of giant 
 redwoods that Margaret had christened " The Chapel." 
 " Why do you go to all the bother? " 
 
 " I don't expect them to appreciate it now, Avery," 
 she explained. " But when they are grown-up men and 
 women they will remember these little parties. That's 
 why I do it." 
 
 " You're a brick," he told her. " Say, you'd make 
 a wonderful man/' 
 
 And Margaret acknowledged this compliment 
 gravely, for she knew it was the greatest flattery which 
 man ever offers woman. 
 
 It was that same summer that she and Freda spent 
 the wonderful week in San Francisco. Cousin Edith 
 was married and living there now and her urgings, 
 combined with a sharp admonition from the doctor 
 at Four Corners to Frederick Bayne, concerning the 
 state of his wife's health, resulted in this adventurous 
 trip by stage and train and ferry. 
 
 " A whole week! That ought to set me up! " Mar- 
 garet cried gaily to Cousin Edith that night when they 
 
48 MARGARET 
 
 were putting Freda to bed in the dainty guest room. 
 And Cousin Edith, looking at her through a mist of 
 tears that the child could not understand, agreed cyn- 
 ically, " Yes, a week ought to do wonders after only 
 eight years of that." 
 
 They were a wonderful seven days. And it was 
 not alone the glittering city with the innumerable ave- 
 nues of pleasure, its fairylike shop windows and the 
 friendly throngs upon its streets that fascinated Freda. 
 The most bewildering and unexpected thing of all was 
 the revelation which it gave her of her mother. For 
 the first time in her life she saw this intimate compan- 
 ion of her childhood in the light of a social being. 
 Mother, the honored guest at a luncheon party; 
 mother, invited to spend the night at one of the hand- 
 somest homes in Piedmont ; mother, in trim tailor suit, 
 and stealthily rubbing lemon on her hands at night; 
 mother, so at ease amid the perplexing ways of the 
 city ; these were memories that she liked to recall long 
 afterward to sweeten some of the years that 
 followed. 
 
 A week was all too short to include all the plans 
 which had been made by " mother " and Cousin Edith, 
 but they seemed to stretch their hours as though eager 
 to crowd all the happiness they could into the life of 
 the little girl who was seeing the gay, friendly city 
 for the first time, and the woman who was seeing it 
 for the last. 
 
MARGARET 49 
 
 They came home on the midnight stage, and Mar- 
 garet hurried Freda up to bed, and then went into the 
 living room, shivering under the inadequate protection 
 of the tailor suit coat. She found her husband 
 stretched out in front of the fireplajce in the old 
 Morris chair, the day-old city paper crumpled down 
 beside him. The fire had long since gone out and the 
 room was very cold. The lamp that should have been 
 filled and shining with welcoming light, loaded the air 
 with the stifling odor of burning wick. 
 
 Margaret's eyes rested upon the sprawling figure in 
 the chair with an expression which they only wore in 
 moments when they were off-guard. Affection had 
 long since faded out of them and in its place was 
 maternal pity; that pearl with which women of her 
 type mend their shattered dreams. 
 
 As if the quiet tensity of her gaze had pierced his 
 consciousness, Frederick Bayne sat suddenly upright. 
 " Oh, you're home, Margaret. Lord, I'm glad ! I 
 haven't had a square meal for a week. I was listenin' 
 for the stage. It's cold as the devil in here. Let's go 
 to bed." 
 
 He stumbled upstairs with a lighted candle in his 
 hand and she lingered a moment to pick up the fallen 
 paper. Something on its front page caught her eye. 
 She remembered now that Edith had not seemed able 
 to find this paper for her when she had asked for it. 
 But standing there beside the odorous lamp, in the 
 
50 MARGARET 
 
 bleak, deserted room, she read the story now, devoured 
 its every word with hungry eyes. 
 
 Upstairs Frederick Bayne lay awake listening for 
 his wife's step, but there was no sound. For a long 
 flight of stairs and a closed door were between him 
 and the woman who had thrown herself upon her 
 knees beside the shabby chair with a paper crumpled 
 in her hand and was sobbing out a passionate prayer. 
 
 " Oh, God, will I be able to keep strong and brave 
 until the end? Will I be able to fight the thing that 
 is in my heart now for the sake of my little girl? " 
 
PART TWO: FREDERICK 
 
IV 
 
 THE year that followed Margaret's visit to San 
 Francisco was a hard season for the Mendocino apple 
 growers. A form of blight, hitherto unknown there, 
 infested the orchards, and a strike among the pickers 
 delayed the hauling contracts. Under the strain of 
 these anxieties Frederick Bayne's temper sharpened. 
 The amiability of his earlier years broke beneath the 
 incessant pressure of ranch problems. During that 
 season and the three which succeeded it, he became 
 silent, almost morose. For the first time since the 
 Baynes had owned it, West Winds was covered by a 
 mortgage. Freda began to steal away and hide herself 
 with her books when she heard her father come into 
 the house. 
 
 But Avery, out of school now and working as clerk 
 in the general grocery store at Four Corners, did not 
 take his brother's shifting moods so seriously. He 
 treated his occasional outbursts of ill humor with care- 
 less unconcern. He had reached what Frederick 
 Bayne termed " the no 'count age," and was more 
 concerned with getting up dances at Hopkins Pavilion, 
 the junction of the two stage lines, than inscribing his 
 name upon a page of local Bradstreet. He was easily 
 
 53 
 
54 FREDERICK 
 
 the best looking young fellow in Rocky Cove and he 
 had a happy-go-lucky disregard of his weekly wage, 
 which appalled and fascinated the daughters of the 
 hard-working lumbermen and orchardists. 
 
 " You'll never amount to a hill of beans," his 
 brother predicted with stormy conviction one night, 
 when he learned from the irate merchant at Four Cor- 
 ners that Avery had stolen away on a fishing trip that 
 afternoon when he was supposed to be delivering a 
 wagonload of potatoes. " You'll never amount to any- 
 thing." 
 
 " Shucks ! " the culprit remarked contemptuously. 
 " You act as if you'd never done anything but grind 
 all your life. I'll bet when you were my age " 
 
 "I never sneaked away to enjoy myself," his ac- 
 cuser interrupted hotly. 
 
 " No, that don't happen to be your way of doin'. 
 But I don't see that that part of it makes much dif- 
 ference. You have your kind of high jinks and I've 
 got mine. Fishin', even when you're supposed to be 
 doin' somethin' else, isn't any worse than spendin* 
 every night down at that old Landin' House playin' 
 cards with ' Whisky Pete ' and the others." 
 
 "You shut up about that Landin' House. I'm of 
 an age when what I do don't hurt me, and I'm sick of 
 hearin' about " 
 
 " I don't see why you should be sick of hearin' 
 about it," Avery cut in with unperturbed insolence., 
 
FREDERICK 55 
 
 " Margaret never mentions it to you. Gee ! This 
 must be some gay joint for her in the evenin's; nobody 
 home but the kid. I guess I haven't got anything on 
 you, Fred, about cuttin' out when I get tired of things. 
 But maybe when I get to your age I'll be willin' to 
 settle down." 
 
 At dinner that night Margaret looked from one 
 sulky face to the other and inwardly sighed. " Avery's 
 at a trying age I know, Fred," she said that night 
 when they had gone up to bed. " But if you're not 
 careful you'll drive him away from you." 
 
 "Avery's almost twenty years old. It's time for 
 him to quit actin' like a kid now and steady down. 
 You don't seem to consider me at all," he went on, 
 jerking off his heavy shoes and dropping them on the 
 floor with an ugly crash. " Nobody in this house con- 
 siders me and I've got enough worries to drive " 
 
 " Everybody considers you, Fred," she interrupted 
 quietly. " You are always the first consideration. 
 Freda is getting to be actually afraid of you. You 
 don't mean to be unkind, but she is a sensitive child 
 and she feels things that " 
 
 " She'll have to get over it. This isn't any place 
 for touchy people." 
 
 " That is true. I wish to heaven she could get over 
 it, as you say, but it isn't as easy as that. I know you 
 are worried much of the time, but so am I." 
 
 "You!" He turned on her in dull astonishment. 
 
56 FREDERICK 
 
 " I'll always keep a roof over your head. What have 
 you got to worry about? " 
 
 Ten years ago the words would have stabbed her 
 to the quick. But with loss of affection, goes loss of 
 power. It was no longer possible for him to inflict 
 more than a flesh wound. 
 
 As she lay pondering that challenge in the darkness 
 it seemed almost terrible in its utter non-comprehen- 
 sion. " What have you got to worry about ? " 
 
 She recalled the night, that blinding night of her 
 return from the one vacation of her married life when, 
 down in the bleak living room, she had read of Richard 
 Pennington's election, by an overwhelming majority, 
 to the United States senate. In that moment of her 
 thrilling joy and pride in him, while she gloried in 
 the knowledge that he had won, under heavy handicap, 
 the goal he had set for himself, there had come to her 
 a revelation that had brought her to her knees in ter- 
 rified supplication. In that moment she knew that 
 whether his struggle had ended in defeat or success, 
 she had never succeeded in driving him from her 
 heart; that she loved him and always would. The 
 pride in him, the fight in him, the man they belonged 
 to her, as he had once told her, and she belonged to 
 them. She knew too that he was free, that he had 
 kept in touch with her life, and that she still possessed 
 the power to summon him back to her. But it was 
 not the possibility of such weakening that had terrified 
 
FREDERICK 57 
 
 her. To women of Margaret Bayne's type it is not 
 the letter of the law, but its spirit, that they hold in- 
 violate. To live out her life in a loveless but loyal 
 union with the man who was her husband but never 
 her mate, promised a hopeless, hungry future, but 
 one which whole-souled consecration almost glorified. 
 But to live with him, knowing that her heart belonged 
 irrevocably, uncontrollably to another, seemed a thing 
 intolerable a self -desecration. The unresponsive- 
 ness, the undemonstrativeness that had once starved 
 and frozen her, had become now the very bulwark of 
 their marriage. In abysmal ignorance of the strain 
 of her days, he was unconsciously helping her to bear 
 them. 
 
 " He asks so little," she told herself sometimes. 
 " He asks so pitifully little, just a part of me broken 
 off of the surface. There are whole realms that he 
 has never been in at all. Why should I begrudge him 
 that little?" 
 
 He was as completely dependent upon her as a child, 
 and she had become outwardly content with the al- 
 most mechanical task of filling his shallow life. Her 
 anxieties were centered far more upon Freda; Freda 
 who was completing the seventh grade at the Rocky 
 Cove schoolhouse and was contriving to achieve an 
 education in spite of her teachers. 
 
 Margaret had long felt apprehensive over the policy 
 of the trustees of this institution of learning. They 
 
58 FREDERICK 
 
 were passionate advocates of the trade-at-home slogan, 
 and accepted the applications of the graduates of 
 Rocky Cove without question as soon as they returned 
 triumphant from the county examinations. Usually 
 they served only one year, at the very most, two. For 
 matrimony, which was reckoned a by-product of 
 school-teaching, claimed them by that time, and left 
 the way open to other educators similarly equipped. 
 
 But in Freda* s twelfth year Rocky Cove demon- 
 strated its unqualified esteem for Margaret Bayne by 
 electing her to the school board, and the following 
 September witnessed the community's first experiment 
 in imported pedagogy. 
 
 The new teacher came through Four Corners on 
 the five-o'clock stage one afternoon en route to the 
 Petersens', where established tradition decreed that 
 she was to board. " What's she like, Avery ? " Freda 
 questioned eagerly when she met him that night at 
 supper. " What is she like? " 
 
 " She's a peach," he answered conclusively. 
 " Wears a face veil, so I couldn't see her much. 
 She'll, have to ditch that or she'll scare the kids. Hair 
 the color of well, not red exactly and not brown 
 either, with eyes to match. She's a little thing, and I 
 guess she'll find those kids a fistful. But she's a 
 peach." 
 
 From her mother, who called upon the new teacher 
 immediately, she learned further particulars. 
 
FREDERICK 59 
 
 " Miss Hartwell is a dear, Freda, I know you're 
 going to love her. She lost her mother last winter, 
 but she's so brave. When I found out that, I just 
 took her right to my heart. She's from Berkeley and 
 has never been in a country like this before. Ah, 
 I know how it looks to her." Her voice lapsed into 
 dreamy reminiscence. " How wonderful, and big, and 
 terrible. I'm going to have her over to dinner on 
 Sunday." 
 
 And Freda found Doris Hartwell all that her 
 mother had promised. She was young, just out of the 
 teens, and felt all the enthusiasm of the new recruit 
 for her first charge. " I can hardly wait," she told 
 Margaret after dinner. " I can hardly wait to try 
 myself." 
 
 During the weeks that followed she was a frequent 
 visitor at West Winds, and in the glow of her fresh 
 young enthusiasm Margaret Bayne's own gaiety began 
 to revive. Doris Hartwell brought back memories of 
 days long past. She was a recrudescence of her own 
 youth. They taught Freda to make " pully " candy, 
 and planned an evening of charades over in the school- 
 house. They read aloud in the long winter evenings 
 after Freda had gone up to bed. 
 
 The friendship was given greater impetus by Freda 
 herself, who was struggling that year with the com- 
 plicated labor problems of those erratic and indefati- 
 gable workers, " A " and " B." 
 
60 FREDERICK 
 
 " Why don't you have Miss Hartwell give her some 
 extra help in the evenin's?" Avery suggested to his 
 sister-in-law during the second month of the term. 
 " I'll see that she gets home all right." 
 
 Margaret accepted this suggestion with a prompt- 
 ness that delighted Freda, for she had, according to 
 her mother's prophecy, fallen in love with the new 
 teacher. In Doris Hartwell she saw her ideal of cul- 
 ture, beauty, and character. It was one of those all- 
 absorbing " first loves " of a girl's heart, so significant 
 in the life of adolescence and so lightly regarded by 
 most parents. 
 
 " Why do you say that Miss Hartwell is a ' real 
 lady/ Freda ? " her mother asked one night when, after 
 the arithmetic lesson, they were having one of their 
 intimate bed-time talks. " How do you tell ? " 
 
 " I don't know," Freda answered uncertainly. 
 " But she makes me feel like being polite all the time." 
 
 When the heavy hair was braided and she was 
 tucked under the covers, Margaret knelt down and 
 gathered her into her arms, with a gesture almost 
 fiercely protecting. " Oh, Freddy ! " she breathed. 
 " If I could only know that you were going to grow 
 up like that! " And then, after a little silence. " Al- 
 ways be good, dear. Always be good. It pays to 
 be good and nothing else does." 
 
 Freda promised sleepily, but she thought of the 
 
FREDERICK 61 
 
 words later in the week when it was necessary for her 
 to make a definite decision. For it was that same week 
 that Evelyn Peter sen, just a year older than Freda, 
 divulged to her a plan that took her riotous imagina- 
 tion by storm. 
 
 " A crowd of us are goin' up to Four Corners in 
 Oscar's new launch," she announced, while they were 
 walking home from school. " We'll leave just after 
 school Friday afternoon and take our supper, and in 
 the evenin' go to the show. Then we'll come home 
 by moonlight. There's a place for you if you want 
 to come, and Oscar says he's willin'." 
 
 Freda gasped at the daring of it. The plan seemed 
 so glittering that she felt it would vanish before the 
 great day came. "Is Miss Hartwell going?" she 
 asked. 
 
 Evelyn shook her head in impatient negative. " No- 
 body's goin' but just us; you and me and Nina and 
 Oscar and the two Hansen boys. We don't want any 
 grown-ups taggin' along." 
 
 " Oh! I'm afraid I can't go then," Freda protested 
 almost in tears. " I'm afraid Mother won't let me 
 if " 
 
 Evelyn regarded her with cold contempt. " Well, 
 what do you have to tell her about it for? You're 
 just tied to your mother's apron-string all the time, 
 Freda. You'll never have any fun if you don't cut 
 
62 FREDERICK 
 
 that out. Tell her you're goin' to spend the night with 
 us. What she don't know won't hurt her, I guess." 
 
 " But is it all right for us to go that way just 
 us?" 
 
 "My mother knows about it and she don't care. 
 Anyway Nina's goin' and she's eighteen. I guess she 
 ought to count some." 
 
 The first part of this argument seemed conclusive 
 and although she still had doubts about the adequacy 
 of Nina's chaperonage, she accepted the invitation, 
 subject to the condition of being able to persuade her 
 mother to the plan of a night with the Petersens. The 
 logic of Nina had proven the convincing argument in 
 the proposition. " Even if she does find out about 
 it afterwards, she can't take away a good time after 
 you've already had it, can she? " 
 
 But as Freda walked along the mile of wind-swept 
 bluff to school on Friday morning, with her nightgown 
 and toothbrush made into a neat little parcel, her song 
 was not all joyous. For she knew that Mother's con- 
 sent had not been given, but wrung from her under 
 pressure of Father's unexpected championship. At 
 the table the night before when she had made the pro- 
 posal, he had said nothing in response to Mother's 
 gentle refusal. But after supper, while Freda was 
 studying in the dining room, she had heard his voice 
 through the half-open door of the kitchen. 
 
FREDERICK 63 
 
 " Let her go, Margaret. I don't want the Petersens 
 to get the idea that we're afraid to have our children 
 mix. We can't raise her in a sealed package. Let 
 her go." 
 
 "They do mix," Mother had protested. "The 
 Petersen children are over here half the time. But 
 not at night, Fred. I can't let her stay over there all 
 night." 
 
 But in the end she had yielded, and Frederick Bayne 
 had come into the dining room and told Freda that 
 she might go. During the day she managed to banish 
 Mother's anxious face to the background of her 
 thoughts and to throw herself with the enthusiasm of 
 all her intense nature into plans for the evening. 
 Doris Hartwell was to spend the night with one of 
 the other families in the Swedish colony, so there 
 was no fear of disclosure from that source. And 
 "tied to your mother's apron-string" was a taunt 
 whose full insolence only dawning adolescence can 
 know. 
 
 When school was dismissed at four o'clock, the chil- 
 dren hurried out to the bluff where Oscar Petersen 
 junior was trying out the engine of his second-hand 
 launch. For an hour he and the two Hansen boys 
 worked over it, their faces growing blacker and their 
 language less guarded with each failure of the craft 
 to start. At the end of this time Oscar slammed down 
 
64 FREDERICK 
 
 the lid of the gasoline tank with an oath, and faced 
 
 his anxious guests. " The d thing won't work 
 
 and that's all there is to it! I'll have to get one of 
 the fellers at the Landin' House to look at it, but 
 that won't help us any for tonight." 
 
 His sister Nina met this situation with a quick re- 
 sourcefulness which staggered the rest of the crest- 
 fallen party. " Let's take the six-o'clock stage to Four 
 Corners. We can come home on the midnight one. 
 It won't be as much fun as this but it's better than 
 stay in' at home." 
 
 An hour later the party of six had hailed the empty 
 mail stage and tucked themselves inside. Nina and 
 the oldest Hansen boy appropriated the back seat, and 
 although it was wide enough for another couple, Oscar 
 unexpectedly hoisted Freda to the middle of the stage. 
 "You're goin' to be my girl for this trip," he told 
 her. His ill humor over the failure of the launch had 
 vanished. He was hilariously good tempered. From 
 the superior height of his sixteen years, he seemed to 
 Freda to be looking down upon her from a great al- 
 titude. When his arm stole about her, a little later, 
 she was annoyed but not startled. 
 
 "Don't! " she said, squirming herself free. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Because. It musses up my hair and I don't like 
 it" 
 
FREDERICK 65 
 
 The rest of the party were absorbed in their own 
 affairs and paid no heed to them. 
 
 "I bet you do like it all right, Freda. You're 
 on l y >' 
 
 " No, I don't. I think you're a silly boy." 
 
 He flushed. "If you think that, what'd you come 
 along for ? " 
 
 She looked at him, puzzled. " Why, I came to go 
 to the show." 
 
 " There ain't goin' to be any show." 
 
 The voice of Nina came to them, muffled, from the 
 rear seat. " Oh, Oscar, what'd you tell her for yet? " 
 
 Freda had pushed her hat far back on her head and 
 was gazing at him with startled eyes. "Where cure 
 we going then ? " 
 
 " We're goin' to have our supper first out in that 
 grove back of Johnson's," Nina soothed. " It'll be 
 just like a picnic and we'll sit around the fire after- 
 ward." 
 
 "But till midnight?" Freda protested. "It'll get 
 too cold. " 
 
 " Well, we don't have to stay there till midnight," 
 Oscar cut in impatiently. " You know that big brown 
 house on the hill back of the hotel, Freda? " 
 
 " Yes," she spoke in a strained, excited whisper. 
 " You mean the the Haunted House? " 
 
 He leaned closer and his voice was sepulchral in 
 
66 FREDERICK 
 
 the darkness. " We're goin' to find out if it's really 
 haunted! That's why we came. We've dared each 
 other to find out." 
 Freda shivered. 
 " You ain't afraid, are you? " 
 " I I think I am a little." 
 Evelyn turned and fixed her with a withering glance. 
 " 'Fraid cat," she accused. " We'll never get a chance 
 to see a haunted house again maybe. You'll have to 
 go anyway, unless you want to stay all alone." 
 
 " No, she don't," Oscar retorted. " She don't have 
 to go up there if she don't like. I'll stay with her." 
 Freda looked at him with troubled eyes. " Then 
 you'd have to miss seeing it." 
 
 "Oh, that's all right," ha told her in a tone of 
 patient resignation. " You needn't think about that." 
 His renunciation was magnificent. He grew larger 
 and larger before her eyes. " Don't decide about it 
 right now," he suggested. " Let me know when we 
 get to Four Corners. You think it over." 
 
 This last admonition was unnecessary. Freda could 
 think of nothing else. Her fear of the expedition, her 
 unaccountable dread of something unnamable, her pas- 
 sionate longing for Mother and the safe shelter of 
 home, made the plan a nightmare. But here was 
 Oscar, silly but kind-hearted Oscar, who had planned 
 this adventure to give them all fun. How could she 
 
FREDERICK 67 
 
 deprive him of it at the last minute? How could she 
 be the one to spoil his pleasure? No, it was not pos- 
 sible. She must not only go, but she must seem to 
 enjoy going. As he helped her down from the high 
 seat, she smiled bravely into his eyes. " I guess I'll 
 go, Oscar. I think it will be fun." 
 
 " You're a good sport," he rewarded her. " I knew 
 you wouldn't be a piker." 
 
 They stopped at the " Palace of Sweets " to buy 
 some candy, and it was while she waited for the com- 
 pletion of this purchase that Freda caught sight of a 
 familiar figure. It was Avery, sitting very close to 
 one of the dry goods store girls in a curtained com- 
 partment of the ice-cream parlor. "Well, what do 
 you know?" 
 
 He straightened suddenly and stared at her in blank 
 amazement, "What is what are you doin' here, 
 kiddo?" 
 
 She gave him a hurried account of the picnic plan. 
 The girl laughed. " You won't have any kind of a 
 time with that Petersen boy ! Oh no ! " she warned. 
 But Avery was looking at her gravely. 
 
 " Your mother don't know about it, does she ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 The misery of the last half hour made confession an 
 infinite relief. " Do you think she'd care very 
 much, Avery? " she implored. 
 
68 FREDERICK 
 
 He laughed half -pityingly at the agony in her tone. 
 " You know she would, Freda. You know good and 
 well she would." He stirred his soda with the long- 
 handled spoon. " You can trust me, kiddo, to keep 
 mum if you want to stay. But the buckskin's hitched 
 around by the Palace Hotel. I'll be goin' home in an 
 hour." 
 
 She caught at his arm. " Oh, Avery," she entreated. 
 " You tell Oscar." Her courage quailed at the pros- 
 pect of his displeasure. " You tell Oscar that I've 
 gone." 
 
 That night while she sobbed out the little story be- 
 side Mother's chair in the living room, there was 
 shame and self-reproach in her voice, but there was re- 
 sentment too, a resentment that made Margaret Bayne 
 tighten her clasp upon the cold little hand. " I never 
 have any fun," Freda sobbed. " All the others 
 have good times, but I I can never do any- 
 thing!" 
 
 She saw her mother's face grow rigid in the lamp- 
 light. " Freda dear, I have been making a plan for 
 you," she said gently. " I have a wonderful plan, 
 but I wasn't ready to tell you about it just yet. When 
 you finish at Rocky Cove, in just two years, when 
 you're fourteen, how would you like to go and stay 
 with Cousin Edith in the city and go to high school 
 there?" 
 
FREDERICK 69 
 
 Freda was struck speechless. So all the time that her 
 heart had been hot with resentment against Mother's 
 " apron-string " she had been planning this marvel- 
 ous thing for her. As the months of the term dragged 
 along, this prospect filled all her thoughts. And then, 
 during the last month of the session, just before she 
 was thirteen, there occurred an incident that marked 
 a milestone in her life. 
 
 Avery was showing Freda how to work the new 
 cash register over at the store in Four Corners one 
 Saturday afternoon, when the oldest Hansen boy, now 
 a stage driver and just Avery' s age, sauntered in for 
 some cigarettes. He had picked them out of the case 
 and flung the money to Freda when Avery, watching 
 her eager fingers making change, asked a casual ques- 
 tion. " Coin' to the dance down at Hopkins Pavilion 
 tomorrow night ? " 
 
 The Hansen boy had started toward the door. 
 " Ye aa, I'll be there," he answered with equal care- 
 lessness. 
 
 "Who you goin' with?" 
 
 He continued his slow passage toward the waiting 
 stage. " I ain't goin' with anybody." 
 
 Avery laughed. " Don't take it so hard, Bud," he 
 advised. "You ain't the first one she's put in the 
 discard and " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " the Hansen boy cried 
 
70 FREDERICK 
 
 fiercely. " Do you think I'm moonin' around that 
 Berkeley school teacher yet?" 
 
 " You was the last time I saw you. But Lord, man, 
 I'm not blamin' you. She's got eyes like " 
 
 " She's got eyes like beer bottles when the light 
 strikes 'em," the Hansen boy finished. An ugly smile 
 curved the corners of his mouth. " Look here, Avery. 
 You know me. If I can't kiss a girl the third time 
 I take her out, I quit her cold. But I'm not goin' 
 to quit this game with any cards out against me. 
 They're all goin' together from the Petersens' to- 
 morrow night. But we're comin' home in bunches of 
 two, and by the time Doris Hartwell gets there, she'll 
 wish to God " 
 
 Avery's indolent interest underwent a change that 
 seemed suddenly to transform him. With one long 
 leap he was over the counter and had knocked his 
 customer down. In half terrified, half fascinated 
 silence Freda watched them struggle together on the 
 floor. Ten minutes later when the stage had rumbled 
 on its way, the disgruntled driver swearing revenge, 
 she turned shining eyes upon the victor. "Why, 
 Avery ! " she gasped. " Why, Avery it was splendid ! 
 But what made you? " 
 
 " I dunno," he answered huskily. " But well, I 
 guess I ain't a dead one yet, Freda." 
 
 The next night he escorted Doris Hartwell to the 
 
FREDERICK 71 
 
 " Bunch " dance. It was the usual semi-monthly affair 
 given by the young men of the community down at the 
 junction of the two stage lines. Here the members 
 of the " Bunch," and their feminine guests held revelry 
 every other Saturday night, adjourning early Sunday 
 morning so as not to conflict with the services of the 
 Methodist minister, who came up from Cazadero 
 whenever there was a fifth Sunday in the month. 
 
 Avery had escorted Doris Hart well to many of these 
 functions, and had always been enthusiastic in his de- 
 scription of them on the following morning. But on 
 this occasion he was moodily noncommittal when his 
 brother questioned him concerning the details of the 
 evening's pleasure. 
 
 For Avery and Doris Hartwell, in making the steep 
 grade down to the river bed, had met with an accident. 
 And the Bayne buggy, with a broken axle, had been 
 left near the river while they rode the buckskin home. 
 For Avery it had been the most exhilarating expe- 
 rience of his life. His nearness to this girl, the feel 
 of her arm clasped about him, the sound of her gay, 
 thrilling voice, these had stirred him with swift, pas- 
 sionate desire, and they made the experience a thing 
 for dreams, not table conversation. But Frederick 
 Bayne was disposed to be jovial. 
 
 " I wouldn't have been surprised if you had broken 
 the buggy when you was goin' with Nina Petersen," 
 
72 FREDERICK 
 
 he commented, as he served the usual Sunday morning 
 chipped beef. " But this little girl don't weigh more'n 
 a hundred pounds. You must have both been sittin' 
 on the same side, wasn't you?" 
 
 Margaret, busy with the coffee cups, rallied, as 
 usual, to the cause of the discomfited. " Well, if 
 Avery tried it, I guess he comes by it honestly. The 
 Baynes have never been what I would call backward 
 men!" 
 
 " I guess Miss Hartwell would be willin' to go with 
 Avery all the time if she knew how he'd stood up for 
 her when Bud Hansen said that about her eyes bein' 
 like beer bottles," Freda's serious little voice inter- 
 posed. " But it wasn't Bud that started that, Avery. 
 It was Nina. I found out." 
 
 " It sounds like Nina," Mother commented dryly. 
 
 "Well, I guess she didn't mean anything by it," 
 Father suggested. " Over at Petersen's, that would 
 be considered a compliment." But Freda's thoughts 
 were already upon something else. " Why, Mother, if 
 the buggy's broken, we can't go to church ! " 
 
 " If you'll be ready in half an hour I'll take you over 
 on the wagon," Father promised. 
 
 It is not to be supposed that Freda's interest in the 
 services of the Methodist minister was prompted by 
 youthful piety. But the rare church service at the 
 Pavilion was the one social event of her monotonous 
 
FREDERICK 73 
 
 life. It afforded almost the only excuse for dressing 
 up, for the community singing which her soul loved, 
 for a dozen sedate pleasures which a more sophisti- 
 cated child would have taken as matters of course. 
 
 " But we can't get the dishes all stacked and be 
 dressed that quick, Father," she protested, and then 
 caught her mother's eye and stopped. 
 
 " Don't you know better than to cross your father 
 when he offers to do something for us, Freda? " she 
 said when she was giving the girl's hair a hasty brush- 
 ing upstairs. 
 
 Freda sighed. The motto, " Don't cross Father," 
 might well have been worked in worsted, she thought, 
 and hung over the living room door under the framed 
 inscription, " God Bless Our Home." The tyranny 
 of tact was beginning to chafe her eager young heart. 
 
 As the trio jolted over the uneven road a few min- 
 utes later, Mother's voice rose above the din. " I 
 wish you wouldn't tease Avery about Doris Hartwell, 
 Fred. She's just the kind of girl I want him to cul- 
 tivate." 
 
 " Well, I guess he'll go with a good many different 
 kinds before he settles down," her husband prophesied. 
 " It's in the blood." 
 
 " All the more reason to guide him carefully then," 
 Mother persisted, but her voice held a note of patient 
 futility. 
 
74 FREDERICK 
 
 It was the next week, when she was coming home 
 from school, that her mother's words were brought 
 back to her with unexpected suddenness. She had 
 lingered in the schoolyard for a quiet hour of study in 
 the early summer sunshine, and had taken a longer 
 but more interesting way home* through an unre- 
 claimed timber grove. Over the springy pine needles 
 she walked as on a pungent cushion. All at once there 
 came to her the sound of voices close at hand. She 
 halted. And then, through a break in the heavy under- 
 brush, she saw Avery and Doris Hartwell sitting on 
 a fallen log. It was the look in Avery 's face that held 
 her there for an instant, fascinated. She had never 
 seen it wear that expression before. The careless, half- 
 tolerant good humor was gone. It was strained and 
 tense. 
 
 " I have been in your home a good deal, yes," Miss 
 Hartwell was saying in a kind, but defensive tone. 
 " But Mrs. Bayne was the attraction always. It 
 seemed to me that I made that perfectly plain. I have 
 not been out with you more than any one else, and I 
 don't see why you should think " 
 
 "All that doesn't count for anything!" Avery 
 cried sharply. " The only thing that counts is that I 
 love you and that " 
 
 Freda stole away, her cheeks burning with the shame 
 of momentary eavesdropping, but her heart on fire 
 
FREDERICK 75 
 
 with emotions that were almost terrifying. She had 
 been given her first glimpse of the mysterious well- 
 spring of life and it awed and thrilled her. How did 
 Avery dare ? In all her life she had never dreamed of 
 such masterful intrepidity. She dreaded to meet him 
 that night at supper and was glad when Father an- 
 nounced that he had gone down to the Landing House 
 and would not be back until late. 
 
 Till far into the night she lay listening for him. 
 "He'll never be the same again," she told herself 
 solemnly. " His life is ruined." 
 
 For Mother's regretful announcement at the table 
 that night, that Miss Hartwell had accepted a position 
 in Berkeley for the next term, had dashed all her 
 hopes of Avery 's final victory. She felt a vague pity 
 for him and a bleak depression at the prospect of Miss 
 HartwelFs going, but his role of rejected lover was 
 far less appealing to her imagination than Doris Hart- 
 well in the character of a breaker of hearts. If she had 
 been an ideal before, she was a deity now. Only a 
 supernatural being could have waved aside importu- 
 nate love with such unruffled serenity. At last she had 
 found a real life heroine equal to those in her mother's 
 library. 
 
 Avery was morose when she met him next morning 
 at table. His mood was completely in keeping with 
 her passion for the dramatic. It was " in character." 
 
76 FREDERICK 
 
 But there was a curious light in his eyes that baffled 
 her. During all that week he was at home scarcely 
 at all, and Margaret, looking at him with troubled 
 eyes, made no comments. 
 
 The following Sunday while the family were seated 
 at the late supper which was their one unhurried meal 
 of the week, Avery drove in at the gate and hitched 
 the buckskin to the post just outside the kitchen door. 
 Margaret heard him and began pouring his cocoa. 
 The next moment there was a sound of footsteps 
 across the bare kitchen floor. The door was flung open 
 and Avery, in his best serge suit, with Nina, gowned 
 in white farmer's satin embellished with cheap lace, 
 stood upon the threshold. 
 
 In a voice that was a mixture of defiance and grim 
 exultation, Avery made an announcement. "We've 
 just come back from Cazadero and Nina and I are 
 married." 
 
 For a moment the little group about the supper 
 table sat motionless, like a trio of movie actors when 
 the director cries, " Hold ! " Then Mother rose auto- 
 matically as though propelled by some power outside 
 herself. She went quietly to where the bridal couple 
 stood in the doorway, and kissed them both. The 
 act seemed somehow to relieve the tension. 
 
 Frederick Bayne pushed back his chair. " Well, I'll 
 be damned!" he said weakly. 
 
FREDERICK 773 
 
 FOR the first few days after Avery's abrupt mar- 
 riage, Freda went about in a sort of trance. The 
 rush of her emotions overwhelmed her and held her 
 dumb. There was stupefaction, and resentment and 
 an infinite contempt. But more intense than any per- 
 sonal condemnation was her disillusionment concern- 
 ing life itself. A few days of golden rapture in the 
 glow of that mysterious thing called romance, and then 
 this tawdry climax, this incredible sequel. It was as 
 though she herself had caught at the radiant hem of 
 love's garment, only to have it change to a cotton rag 
 in her hand. 
 
 The first shock of the announcement over, Frederick 
 Bayne deeded to his brother five acres at the north end 
 of the apple orchard, and Oscar Petersen, expressing 
 stolid satisfaction in the fact that Nina was " married 
 and settled respectable," contributed to the young 
 couple's equipment a four-room house. 
 
 At the end of three years, when two little buds had 
 been added to the Bayne family tree, Nina complained 
 that this residence was too small. But its builder had 
 already passed on to that country whose territory is 
 described as " many-mansioned," and Frederick Bayne 
 made it clear to his brother that he considered his 
 fraternal obligations at an end. 
 
78 FREDERICK 
 
 It was upon Mother that the burden of the young 
 family fell heaviest. It was she who made most of the 
 children's first clothes, she who searched the catalogues 
 for labor-saving devices and passed them on to the 
 family in the apple orchard, she who invited them all 
 to dinner every Sunday so that Nina might have a 
 rest from cooking. 
 
 " I wish you wouldn't have them up every Sunday, 
 Mother," Freda complained one Sunday morning 
 while she helped prepare the meal for these extra 
 guests, which made this day a nightmare of drudgery. 
 " Sometimes I want to have one of the girls from Four 
 Corners over, but Nina never talks about anything that 
 interests us, and the babies make so much noise." 
 
 Mother laid down the chopping knife and looked 
 at her with anxious apology. " The reason I have 
 them up, dear, is to show Nina how nice people set 
 their tables and live. She hasn't had many advantages 
 
 but " She came over and drew the girl's shining 
 
 head close to her. " Freda, dear, I know you're dis- 
 appointed about not going to Cousin Edith's this year. 
 But be patient, sweetheart. Father has had a pretty 
 hard time just meeting the interest this fall. But 
 next term I think we can arrange it." 
 
 Freda looked at her with adoring eyes. " Mother, 
 I never can hide the least thing from you. It's no use 
 trying. But I have tried, and I didn't know you 
 
FREDERICK 79 
 
 knew I was disappointed about the Four Corners high 
 school. I haven't minded it much, though. Just for 
 my first year, maybe it's better for me to be at home." 
 
 She tried to speak lightly, for of late she had been 
 worried about Mother. It was not only her increasing 
 deafness, for chronic neuralgia had long ago begun to 
 affect her hearing, but the haggard lines of her face, 
 apparent even to the eyes of sixteen, filled the girl 
 with a vague uneasiness. Now as she mashed the 
 mound of potatoes with a rebellious vehemence, she 
 glanced furtively at Mother's bent, tired figure clad 
 in a fresh lavender gingham, with the coquettish little 
 bow of chiffon buds fastened incongruously at the 
 throat. The latter had come in one of Doris Hart- 
 weirs frequent letters, letters from the outside world 
 to which Margaret had come to look forward with a 
 pathetic eagerness. 
 
 " I'm going to put this little bow on your new party 
 dress, Freda," Mother told her now. " I wanted to 
 wear it just once to tell Doris that I had. But it's too 
 girlish for me. It will look dear just where the lace 
 comes together on " 
 
 "You're not," Freda told her hotly. "You're 
 going to wear it yourself on your gray dress that night. 
 I love to see you in dainty things." 
 
 Her spirits revived under the prospective joys of the 
 Easter-dance which the teachers of the Four Corners 
 
8o FREDERICK 
 
 high school were giving to the pupils that next week. 
 On this occasion Freda was to wear her first party 
 dress, a simple little frock of soft, mercerized mate- 
 rial, which Mother had contrived to make festive look- 
 ing by the patient working of French knots, by 
 shirred ribbon, and a bit of real lace. 
 
 That was a wonderful night. Long afterward when 
 she was a middle-aged woman and some one asked her 
 what day of her life she would live over again if she 
 could, Freda choose without hesitation the golden 
 hours of that first evening party. 
 
 Most of the conscientious little band of teachers of 
 the Four Corners high school were from the city, and 
 into their annual entertainment of the student body 
 they tried to bring an atmosphere of good-breeding and 
 culture. There were hand-painted dance programs, a 
 five-piece orchestra, a huge bowl of punch set in a 
 beflowered alcove of the Woman's Club hall, cakes, 
 chocolate, and ice-cream, served by the hostesses and 
 Mother, who was always enthusiastically welcomed by 
 the young people and faculty as a chaperon. That the 
 gathering was chaperoned at all was sufficient to place 
 it among the unique and " tony " parties of the town. 
 
 Freda, smiling at her mother that evening over the 
 shoulders of strapping youths who had learned some- 
 how and somewhere to dance, and did it with a grace 
 and rhythm that she never encountered in her after 
 
FREDERICK 81 
 
 years, thought she had never seen her look so dear. 
 The gray voile dress, turned once and made over 
 twice, was brightened by the alluring little fancy apron 
 which she wore as she helped pass the refreshments. 
 It was a love of an apron, another gift from Doris, 
 who had written that she had seen it in the Woman's 
 Exchange and couldn't resist sending it to Mrs. Bayne 
 because it looked exactly like her. A dainty, fine 
 little garment it was, embellished with embroidered 
 forget-me-nots and lace edging. " It's too sweet," 
 Mother had protested. " It must be meant for you, 
 Freda." Now as Freda whirled by in the arms of her 
 stalwart partner, Mother smiled back at her and shooed 
 them away with this haughty bit of sheer linen. 
 
 It was a wonderful evening, while the music thrilled 
 her heart, and Father, with a group of other fathers, 
 who had accepted the invitations of the teachers, 
 stood about the door talking, and gave gallant assist- 
 ance with the ice-cream freezers. 
 
 " It was a glorious party," Freda told them that 
 night when at last it was over and they drove home 
 through the cold March night. " Everybody said it 
 was the best party they ever had ! " 
 
 " And you were the best lookin' girl there," Father 
 told her with one of his rare bursts of affection. 
 
 That night while she talked it all over with Mother 
 as she undressed, Margaret watched her with glowing 
 
82 FREDERICK 
 
 eyes. " And by next year," she promised " by next 
 term I think surely we can send you to the city. Only 
 next August to wait for, Freda, and then won't you be 
 happy? " 
 
 Freda drew her into a convulsive embrace. " I don't 
 know," she said, " whether I can be happy away from 
 you, Mother." 
 
 It was a week later that Frederick Bayne knocked 
 at his daughter's door in the early morning and made 
 a brief, alarming announcement. 
 
 " Freda, you'd better come to your mother. She's 
 sick." When the girl knelt at her mother's bedside, 
 searching the white face in an agony of appeal, Mar- 
 garet Bayne opened her eyes and forced a smile. 
 " I'm just tired, dear, terribly tired with the pain in 
 the back of my neck. But it's nothing to be alarmed 
 about." 
 
 Freda did what she could to make her comfortable 
 and then went down to the kitchen. There were no 
 extra men to cook for that month, but Father must 
 have his breakfast on time. Through all her terrify- 
 ing anxiety persisted the realization that his comfort 
 must, at all costs, be assured. 
 
 To her surprise she found him already there, mov- 
 ing silently about between pantry and stove. He had 
 set two places at the kitchen table, and as she entered, 
 he lifted a pot of steaming coffee and filled her cup 
 
FREDERICK 83 
 
 and his own. The cereal, which had been cooked, as 
 usual, the night before, was heating in the double 
 boiler. 
 
 " Try to eat a good breakfast, Freda," he urged. 
 " You'll have a hard day." 
 
 It was a hard day, one of the hardest of all her 4 
 life, but as she looked back upon it through the vista 
 of after years, always there came back to her the 
 memory of that heart-warming sense of comradeship 
 with her father which she had never known before. 
 On that one day at least, they understood each other, 
 worked together, suffered together, each trying to 
 spare the other. 
 
 It was nine o'clock before Frederick Bayne returned 
 from Four Corners bringing the doctor, and an hour 
 later before a verdict was pronounced outside the pa- 
 tient's door. 
 
 " Spinal meningitis. She must have been suffering 
 for weeks, months. If I could have seen her be- 
 fore " 
 
 He was a tall, spare man with the drawn, haggard 
 face of the habitually overworked one of those 
 super-skilful physicians often encountered in the 
 isolated districts of California. 
 
 " Why didn't you tell me that you were sick, Mar- 
 garet? " The note of anguished appeal in her father's 
 voice wrung Freda's heart with a compassion for him 
 
8 4 FREDERICK 
 
 that, for a moment, deadened every other emotion. 
 " You know I've never denied you anything you ought 
 to have. Why didn't you tell me to call the doctor ? " 
 
 The woman on the bed made no response, neither 
 was there any recognition in her eyes as she looked 
 at him. 
 
 The day passed, and then another, the doctor staying 
 all night with his patient, with the matter-of-course 
 devotion of country physicians. 
 
 " Don't think about me," Frederick Bayne said 
 sharply to Freda when, on the third day, he found her 
 in the kitchen blindly preparing his dinner. " I don't 
 want anything to eat. You stay with your mother." 
 
 Freda went back to the sick room and found that 
 consciousness had returned to the patient. Margaret 
 Bayne stretched out a limp, tired hand. "Freddy." 
 The voice came faintly but vibrant with appeal. 
 " Take care of father. Don't let anything make you 
 neglect him. He isn't the kind of man who can live 
 alone. Make him happy." 
 
 ' 
 
 Freda's memories of her mother's funeral were con- 
 fused and vague save for one glaring incident. The 
 close, crowded rooms thronged with neighbors to 
 whom funerals were a subdued form of festivity, the 
 defiant voice of the Methodist minister as he repeated 
 the world-old challenge to death, the voices of the 
 
FREDERICK 85 
 
 volunteer choir wailing their insistent appeal to 
 " Abide with Me," all these formed a somber mist 
 through which she saw a long, gray casket supported 
 by three chairs in the dining room. The service was 
 over and six black-garbed men were moving toward 
 it, when Avery touched her arm. 
 
 " I think we'll be back from the cemetery in about 
 an hour, Freda," he whispered. " I'll get Nina to stay 
 and help you with the dinner." 
 
 Freda recoiled as from a blow. She had attended 
 innumerable funerals with her parents, for this is an 
 obligation which country communities demand, and 
 now with a shock of unspeakable dismay she recalled 
 the relentless tradition of dining the pall-bearers. The 
 thought startled her out of the dumb paralysis which 
 had benumbed every fiber of her being since her moth- 
 er's passing. Through her mind now floated grisly 
 memories of the comments of certain of the neighbor 
 men, regarding the funeral viands which had been 
 served to them by wealthy and poor whom they had 
 assisted in the dark hour of need. 
 
 She saw them departing with the gray casket, her 
 father and Avery walking, bareheaded, behind. The 
 coffin seemed long, incredibly long. With a sudden 
 overwhelming sense of her loss, she ran after it. The 
 procession halted and waited patiently while she picked 
 up a bunch of lavender brodisea which had fallen to the 
 
86 FREDERICK 
 
 ground and laid them tenderly on the lid. Just so had 
 they waited upstairs when, just before they started to 
 the dining room, she had begged them to stop a minute 
 while she tucked a chiffon veil about her mother's head. 
 " She feels the wind so," she had whispered. " She 
 always felt it so." 
 
 Now, standing at the gate, she watched with hungry 
 eyes while the long coffin was pushed gently into the 
 hearse and the procession started on the five-mile drive 
 to the bleak cemetery near Four Corners. She turned 
 back to the house then, nerving herself against its 
 silent desolation. On the threshold of the dining 
 room she paused, transfixed with horror. Over the 
 very spot where five minutes ago the three chairs had 
 stood in solemn rank, the dining table had been 
 stretched its full length and covered with a fresh white 
 cloth. Out in the kitchen Nina was stepping heavily 
 to and fro, and there was a jarring sound of clatter- 
 ing crockery. With a wild abandonment to grief, 
 Freda ran upstairs and threw herself upon her moth- 
 er's bed. Terrible sobs shook her, sobs that were muf- 
 fled by the pillow, for the thought of Nina's comfort- 
 ing was intolerable. 
 
 "I'll never be able to stand life!" she cried pas- 
 sionately. " I'll never be able to do it." 
 
 But ten minutes later, supported by a strength that 
 seemed to come wholly from outside her being 1 , she was 
 
FREDERICK 87 
 
 down in the kitchen helping with the dinner. And 
 thus she learned, with the poignant agony of youth, 
 one of life's grimmest lessons; that the commonplace 
 realities of existence are the things which rule it, that 
 they are utterly without reverence or decorum and 
 will push their clamorous claims into the very presence 
 of death itself. 
 
 In the days that followed, Freda was to learn many 
 other lessons. All thought of further education was 
 abandoned now and she took up the burden of house- 
 keeper, cook, and laundress for her father and three 
 hired men. During the first few months of this new 
 life she unconsciously discarded the motto, " Don't 
 Cross Father/' for the more positive standard, " Make 
 Father Happy." 
 
 And this proved no easy task. For in the death of 
 Margaret Bayne, her husband had lost more than a 
 wife. He had lost the shock-absorber who had eased 
 the burdens of his life and eliminated its petty troubles. 
 Like many another man of his type, he found himself 
 suddenly exposed to the jar and creaking of domestic 
 machinery and it bewildered and irritated him. Only 
 on rare occasions did he speak sharply to the girl who 
 was struggling with the steering gear, but his air of 
 martyrdom, his, silent resignation to the loss of his 
 birthright, were infinitely harder for her sensitive na- 
 ture to bear than would have been sharp-voiced end- 
 
88 FREDERICK 
 
 cism. As the days passed, she discovered to her dismay 
 that he expected her to fit, without any period of read- 
 justment, into the place left vacant by her experienced 
 and resourceful mother. 
 
 But it was not the work of the rambling ranch house 
 which terrified and overwhelmed her. Gradually this 
 fell into a routine, and the problems which it involved 
 could be solved, in large measure, by longer hours of 
 work or the elimination of other tasks. The duty of 
 making father happy seemed coincident with the duty 
 of making him comfortable. But at the end of each 
 day stretched an evening. 
 
 To the girl it seemed a curious thing that these even- 
 ings which had been so self-absorbed by Father, so 
 unshared by Mother, should be so obviously disturbed 
 by her empty chair. There was the nightly reading 
 of the paper, but it was a cursory perusal now, and 
 after he had thrown it aside there seemed no other re- 
 source for entertainment. For he did not spend the 
 rest of his evenings down at the Landing House now. 
 What Margaret Bayne had been unable to accomplish 
 during her lifetime, she accomplished in death. Freda 
 knew that he had relinquished these social gatherings 
 on her own account, and this knowledge made the 
 problem of his evening cheer doubly imperative in her 
 conscientious eyes. They had never been chummy. 
 Freda was appalled by the realization of this now and 
 
FREDERICK 89 
 
 at a loss to explain it. She read wistfully the stories 
 in books and magazines of girls who were their father's 
 boon companions. She knew that she felt a genuine 
 affection for him, and she knew too that he was proud 
 of her, that he had bragged to the neighbors about her 
 achievements at school. But there was something 
 What was that something that stretched between them, 
 and across which they seemed to view each other as 
 from a great distance? 
 
 In desperation she turned for help to literature. 
 Eagerly she read the women's magazines, hoping to 
 find in their varied pages a suggestion that would en- 
 lighten her. But the quest was vain. Although the 
 periodicals were full of the " confessions " of women 
 who were successful home-makers, and the fiction re- 
 plete with the chronicles of those who were lamentable 
 failures, there was no mention of her own problem. 
 There were suggestions for making a circus in the 
 attic and a gymnasium in the basement, for entertain- 
 ing the sick and helping the ambitious, but there was 
 nothing to light the path of a girl of sixteen, strug- 
 gling to understand and meet the needs of a bereaved 
 and uncommunicative father. Sometimes while the 
 man sat staring into the fire and Freda's needle wove 
 a slow passage back and forth across a ragged sock, 
 she felt that the silence between them was an impass- 
 able gulf. Once, in the late autumn, six months after 
 
90 FREDERICK 
 
 her mother's death, she attempted to bridge it by a 
 tentative suggestion. 
 
 They were sitting in the living room and Frederick 
 Bayne, having finished the checking over of some ac- 
 counts, had pushed them aside and was replenishing 
 the ample fire. As he sank back into his chair, a long 
 sigh escaped him. Freda's ever-alert ears caught the 
 weary boredom in it. 
 
 " Father," she said, " I I don't want you to feel 
 that you have to stay at home with me every evening. 
 I know it's pleasanter for you down at the Landing 
 House, and I'm not a bit afraid to stay alone, really 
 I'm not." 
 
 "What makes you think I like it so much down 
 there?" She did not understand the note of resent- 
 ment in his tone, but was quick to feel that somehow 
 she had offended him. 
 
 " Why I know you used to like to go there. I 
 I should think you would like it. Playing cards and 
 things like that, are more interesting for you than just 
 staying home with me." 
 
 He did not deny this, but his face softened. "I 
 don't mind it, and you're not of an age to stay here 
 alone evenin's, Freda." 
 
 There it was; his old resignation to her unvoiced 
 demands. It made her desperate. " Let's play cards 
 here then, Father. Let's have Avery up in the eve- 
 
FREDERICK 91 
 
 nings sometimes and play. You said yourself once 
 that I had ' card sense.' If I could learn euchre and 
 cribbage, I can learn poker, or whatever it is they 
 play down there." 
 
 He looked at her earnest, flushed face and a sud- 
 den pain stabbed him. The girl had that ardent 
 quality in her voice, and it seemed in that moment, 
 to drive home to him his loss with a cruel insistency. 
 It was suffering that made his tone harsh when he 
 spoke, but she was too young to distinguish between 
 this and cold displeasure. 
 
 " You needn't worry about me, Freda. I guess I'm 
 not a Landin' House bum yet." 
 
 He stalked away to bed a few minutes later, and 
 the girl buried her face in the pile of socks and cried 
 softly. 
 
 But the next day she had an inspiration. A new 
 catalogue had come, and in its pages she found fresh 
 hope. Two weeks later when her father came into 
 the living room with the paper after supper, he found 
 her waiting for him in eager excitement. He stopped 
 short, staring at something on the table beside her. 
 "Why, what the ?" 
 
 " It's a talking machine," she explained breath- 
 lessly. " I got it with my own money, father. With 
 some of my savings account money. Mother wanted 
 me to use it for high school in the city, you know. 
 But now that I'm not going, I thought There's 
 
92 FREDERICK 
 
 some left anyway, almost a hundred dollars. And in 
 the evenings this will be " 
 
 He had come over and was examining it with 
 curious interest. " Seems to be in pretty good shape 
 after the trip," he commented. " Let's hear it play." 
 
 " I only got a few records/' she explained as she 
 fitted one into place with nervous fingers. " They're 
 rather expensive, but we can send for more any time. 
 A whole bookful of names came with it." She was 
 watching his face eagerly. " Don't you like it, 
 Father?" 
 
 " Sure I like it. But you oughtn't to have spent 
 all that money, Freda an off year like this has been." 
 
 Avery and Nina appeared just then to hear the 
 new machine, and the evening passed off very well, 
 but in spite of their voluble approval, the investment 
 was not the brilliant success which Freda had pictured, 
 and she crept into bed with a cold feeling of futility 
 and failure clutching at her heart. 
 
 "You oughtn't to have spent all that money." 
 The words pounded against her tired brain. And 
 Mother had told her with her last breath and in a 
 voice tense with something more than her own phys- 
 ical suffering, to " make Father happy." How did 
 they do it? she demanded of herself passionately. 
 How had Mother, how did other women all around 
 her, keep men happy? Was the spending of money 
 or the saving of it, the all-vital element in a man's 
 
FREDERICK 93 
 
 happiness? Perhaps other women didn't care so 
 much whether their husbands were happy or not. But 
 Mother had seemed much more concerned about it 
 than about her desolate little daughter. 
 
 She knew that her father was not a stingy man, 
 that Mother had been troubled sometimes at his reck- 
 less liberality. Never had he refused to let her get 
 what she wanted at the store and charge it to him. 
 But he was different these past months, different in 
 many bewildering ways. 
 
 " You look kind of peaked, Freda," he said to her 
 one day, when the dreary winter was over and April 
 was rilling the air with the hope and invigoration of 
 spring. " I'm afraid you're moonin' around by your- 
 self too much. If you can be ready by eight, I'll take 
 you over to Four Corners with me tomorrow mornin'. 
 I've got to see about gettin' some more men." 
 
 Freda made ready for the trip with the first thrill 
 of happiness that she had felt during all that long 
 year. Sitting beside her father on the shabby, stiff 
 seat of the buggy, she felt a new vigor stealing over 
 her. The joy that possessed her seemed unaccountable 
 in view of the meager pleasures which the expedition 
 promised, but love itself is not more clamorous in its 
 demands than youth. For the heart of seventeen, 
 there is an enchantment that will persist, though all 
 the wailing world conspire against it. 
 
 It was still early when they reached Four Corners, 
 
94 FREDERICK 
 
 and while her father talked with the men down at 
 the freight wharf, she paid visits to some of her 
 former high school friends and to the new library 
 which the coast town boasted. She had long ago read 
 all the books on her mother's shelves, and the library 
 here had helped more than anything else to make the 
 past months endurable. When she met her father at 
 noon, there was new color in her cheeks. 
 
 "Don't bother to put up any lunch," he had told 
 her. " At noon we'll go to the Palace." 
 
 If the trip to Four Corners was a dissipation, lunch 
 at the " Palace " was almost a debauch. To take a 
 meal away from home, a meal planned, cooked, and 
 served by somebody else, each one of its courses a 
 surprise, held untold possibilities of adventure. 
 
 The Palace Hotel was a two-story green frame 
 structure, inclosed on three sides by narrow porches 
 upstairs and down. A narrow hall running the length 
 of the building led straight to the kitchen, and the 
 doors on either side of the passage lured the guests 
 into the pleasure fields of the parlor, with its jangling 
 square piano, and shabby card tables, or to the dining 
 room, inhabited by three long oilcloth covered tables 
 and cane-bottom chairs. 
 
 Freda and her father joined a score of other diners 
 in the center group, and friendly hands passed plat- 
 ters in their direction. For the " Palace " did not 
 pamper the whims of its patrons by providing " short 
 
FREDERICK 95 
 
 orders." When the Chinese cook beat the triangle 
 on the front porch, it signified literally that the meal 
 was served, for better or for worse. Those who liked 
 their food hot obeyed its summons promptly. Those 
 who were not sensitive to degrees of temperature 
 might loiter. The " Palace " had never been known 
 to run short of provisions, and for this reason it was 
 the Mecca to which traveling men, itinerant dentists, 
 and other professional tourists looked forward dur- 
 ing the long stage trip "up-county." The place of 
 head waitress was a merely honorary position and 
 was adequately filled by Mrs. Aurelia Hendricks. 
 
 Mrs. Hendricks was a stately blonde, with a Venus- 
 like figure and a genius for casual friendships. She 
 was habitually clothed in clinging black, but this was 
 because of certain spectacular effects of color scheme 
 and not in memory of the late Mr. Hendricks. Four 
 Corners was not even sure that Mr. Hendricks was 
 "late." Among the habitues of the "Palace," 
 Aurelia was reckoned an attractive woman and 
 "mighty good company," and no questions were 
 asked. Aurelia had announced her former residence 
 as Colorado, and her name as Hendricks, and Four 
 Corners had courteously added the prefix, as a mark 
 of friendly esteem. Four Corners appreciated the 
 honor of having been chosen as a residence by a lady 
 of such varied and sophisticated experience. Gener- 
 osity, tolerance of the shortcomings of others, and a 
 
96 FREDERICK 
 
 ready helpfulness in time of trouble, these were the 
 three cardinal virtues in their code, and Aurelia Hen- 
 dricks measured up to them all. 
 
 She moved toward the center table now with the 
 stately grace of a cruiser, and unloaded at the oil- 
 cloth dock a cargo of generously proportioned hot 
 biscuit. 
 
 " Trot that dish of corned beef down here to Mr. 
 Bayne," she ordered. " You folks goin' to hog it all 
 up at that end?" 
 
 She laid a large, friendly hand upon Freda's shoul- 
 der. " How you gettin' on housekeeping girlie ? I 
 been fixin' to come over and see you, but I just can't 
 seem to get started. " 
 
 Her alert eyes traveled over the tables, and she gave 
 orders here and there in a bantering but authoritative 
 voice which her guests good-naturedly obeyed. When 
 she convoyed to the table dishes of cottage pudding 
 submerged in a transparent sauce, she paused for a 
 moment at Frederick Bayne's place. " I'll try to 
 hustle a piece of pie for you," she promised. " I 
 know you don't care for this gooey stuff." 
 
 Her friendliness was light-hearted, almost careless, 
 but it seemed to Freda another bright spot in that 
 carefree day. During the following summer she made 
 the trip to Four Corners with her father once a week, 
 and she came to look forward to these occasions as 
 the pivotal events in her monotonous life. Its antici- 
 
FREDERICK 97 
 
 pation made endurable the daily drudgery of West 
 Winds and the increasing demands of Nina. 
 
 For Nina cherished a grievance. She had confi- 
 dently expected that Frederick Bayne would invite 
 his brother's family to move into the commodious 
 home and make part of it their own. To her com- 
 placent, self -loving mind the thing seemed so easy, 
 so natural, a sequel so logical to the passing of Mar- 
 garet Bayne. And when the months passed and still 
 the invitation was withheld, she dropped an unmis- 
 takable hint to Freda. 
 
 The girl carried the news to her father in bewildered 
 dismay. " Why, they're hurt, Father," she told him 
 one evening while he pored over the titles of records 
 in the catalogue, a diversion which gave him far more 
 pleasure than the music itself. " Nina says they're 
 just sick because we haven't asked them to come up 
 here and live with us." 
 
 Her father's grunt of contempt needed no words 
 of reassurance, but he threw them in for good meas- 
 ure. " Well, you can tell 'em that if they're goin' to 
 be sick till I do that, they'd better charter a doctor. 
 I guess you've got enough to do lookin' after 
 
 me." 
 
 Freda endeavored to translate this message into the 
 form of polite regrets, but Nina cut her short with 
 the embittered assurance that she " saw through it." 
 And although her promise that she would " get even " 
 
98 FREDERICK 
 
 with Freda was inaudible, the time came when she 
 was satisfied with the balance sheet. 
 
 Summer faded into early autumn. Freda's eigh- 
 teenth birthday came, and was made happy by a 
 dainty little lingerie waist from Doris Hartwell and 
 a package at the breakfast table from her father. 
 When she came in from the kitchen, flushed, and a 
 little nervous at having kept him waiting while she 
 dished up for the four hired men, the unexpectedness 
 of this attention brought a glow into her responsive 
 eyes. " Why, Father ! I didn't think you'd remem- 
 ber!" 
 
 He seemed pleased at her delight, but ill at ease. 
 " It's just a little somethin'. I got it for you last 
 time I was in town." 
 
 It was a silver chain and a miniature cross, studded 
 with sapphires. " The girl in the store told me that 
 was the stone for September. That was the only 
 piece they had with the right gems." 
 
 Her radiant face was reward enough, but she came 
 around the table shyly and kissed him. He submitted 
 with a shamefaced stoicism. 
 
 She did not accompany him on the weekly trips to 
 Four Corners now, for the summer canning had been 
 too absorbing to permit of such holidays, and in the 
 autumn months her father told her that it was too 
 cold now " for joyridin'." 
 
 The week before Thanksgiving, while she was mix- 
 
FREDERICK 99 
 
 ing a fruit cake as a peace offering to Nina, in lieu 
 of the invitation to dinner, which Frederick Bayne 
 had distinctly vetoed, he came into the kitchen and 
 stood drawing on his heavy gauntlet gloves. As he 
 watched her absorbed face, it came to him, with a 
 shock of surprise, that she had developed into a beau- 
 tiful girl. The awkwardness of the early teens was 
 gone. The heavy brown hair, that was so like her 
 mother's, was wound in two decorous braids about her 
 head, and the lustrous gray eyes that were his own, 
 no longer seemed too large for the delicate face. She 
 had never attained her mother's height, and her very 
 littleness suddenly struck him as infinitely ap- 
 pealing. 
 
 " Want anything from town? " he said abruptly, to 
 hide the admiration of her that possessed him. 
 
 " Only another book at the library, please. I've 
 written the name down on this slip." 
 
 He turned the leaves of the return volume with ab- 
 stracted eyes. " Kenilworth," he murmured. " Seems 
 to me your mother read that to me when we were 
 first married. Isn't there a piece in it about a feller 
 fallin' in love with a queen? " 
 
 He closed it with a sharp snap and started for the 
 door. But when Freda thought he was gone, he came 
 back and took a long drink at the pump. 
 
 It was quite dark when he returned. She heard 
 the brisk trot of the horse, and a little later the click 
 
ioo FREDERICK 
 
 of the corral latch. Then there was the sound of 
 footsteps, footsteps that passed the side of the house 
 and went around to the front door. The next moment 
 her father stood framed in the dining room door. 
 " Freda," he said, slowly, " you'd better put another 
 place at the table. We've got company." 
 
 She dropped the potato masher and stared at him 
 intently, as he was staring at her. Then, without a 
 word, she turned and followed him into the parlor. 
 The lamp had not yet been lighted, and through the 
 dimness a dark figure rose to greet her. It was 
 Aurelia Hendricks. 
 
 She was gowned in clinging black, and upon her 
 massive blonde head a large transparent hat was 
 poised at a perilous angle. An icy hand seemed to 
 leap out of the darkness and clutch at the girl's throat. 
 Before the words came, she divined them. 
 
 " Freda, this is your new mother." 
 
 She was conscious that she stood unresponsive as 
 a statue, while the woman's friendly arms sought 
 hers and Aurelia's ready voice soothed : " I've been 
 after him and after him to tell you. I knew it would 
 strike you all of a heap." 
 
 During her weeks of slow adjustment to this new 
 order of life, Freda became more quiet, more re- 
 pressed. And there was a look of mute questioning 
 in her eyes that her father often found it difficult to 
 meet. She accepted the situation in a sort of emo- 
 
FREDFJU'OK,, 'TO!' !'< ;' IO1 
 
 tional paralysis. She did not ask for any details con- 
 cerning the wedding, and none were volunteered. 
 Gradually Aurelia assumed her place as head of the 
 household, and Freda was left more to the compan- 
 ionship of books and the giant redwoods, where Mar- 
 garet Bayne had once loved to walk. There were no 
 congenial friends nearer than Four Corners, and she 
 shrank now from seeking them. 
 
 The head waitress from the "Palace Hotel" 
 brought a new atmosphere into the old ranch house, 
 an atmosphere that smacked of public dining halls and 
 second-class lodging houses. Almost unconscious that 
 she was doing so, Freda began to put away, one by 
 one, the personal belongings that had been her 
 mother's. She couldn't bear to see them in their new 
 surroundings. When Aurelia started one of her 
 stories of personal reminiscence at table, she grew 
 nervous, fearing a climax that would make her feel 
 uncomfortable. And yet she felt somehow that 
 Aurelia was trying to consider her, was under orders 
 to consider her feelings. 
 
 On one occasion only did her father show any 
 knowledge of the strain of the situation. That was 
 one night, a few weeks after Aurelia's installation, 
 when he came to Freda's room as she was preparing 
 for bed. He carried the little cedar chest with pine 
 cone initials, which Margaret had always kept upon 
 her bureau. 
 
102 FREDERICK 
 
 " This is yours now, Freda/' he said. " Keep it in 
 here out of your mother's room." 
 
 She took it from him silently, puzzled by the curi- 
 ous expression in his eyes. 
 
 And yet it was not possible to wholly dislike 
 Aurelia. It was she who suggested that Freda ought 
 to "have some young folks around," who helped 
 her fix over her clothes, and encouraged young Terry 
 Barker to stay to supper when he stopped by with 
 supplies from the store. It was she also who encour- 
 aged the buggy rides with Freda, which he suggested. 
 
 " Aurelia has waked up Freda," Avery commented 
 to his wife one night as they drove home from one of 
 the " Bunch " dances with the two babies. 
 
 " It's about time," she remarked contemptuously. 
 "Freda's as old as I was when I was married. It's 
 about time she woke up." 
 
 " You haven't told her anything, have you, 
 Nina? " he asked, startled. 
 
 " No," she answered sulkily. 
 
 " You'd better not," he warned. " Margaret was 
 the best friend I ever had ; yours, too. I guess I'm not 
 goin' to forget her this quick." 
 
 " It didn't take your brother so long." 
 
 He flicked at the mud on the buggy wheels with the 
 whip. " Fred's been a good brother to me, all right, 
 but he never was the kind of man for Margaret. 
 This arrangement suits him better." 
 
FREDERICK 103 
 
 And Freda herself was beginning dimly to sense 
 this, although she never put it into words. After the 
 first few months, Frederick Bayne had settled into 
 the unresponsive contentment of a man whose creature 
 comforts are assured. And Aurelia was almost pa- 
 thetically eager to please. Freda had never seen any 
 man waited upon as she waited upon her father. With 
 eyes prematurely old, she watched the gradual welding 
 of these two lives, and was conscious at last that in 
 this union her father had found his true level. There 
 was no sense of strain here, no pull between two na- 
 tures trying to adjust themselves to unnatural planes. 
 
 It was the following March that Evelyn Petersen 
 added a dash of spice to the gossip of the Landing 
 House by contracting a hasty marriage with the oldest 
 Hansen boy, a month before their child was born. 
 When Nina mentioned casually one day that she was 
 about to become an auntie, Freda turned upon her 
 in hot resentment. 
 
 " I think Evelyn and Aleck are horrid ! " she cried. 
 "I think they're just horrid!" She repeated the 
 word with the vehemence of one who realizes its in- 
 adequacy. 
 
 They were standing in Nina's untidy kitchen, where 
 Freda had gone to bring some doughnuts from 
 Aurelia. They faced each other across the table and 
 Nina's blue china eyes flamed with sudden passion. 
 "I know you don't like any of our family!" she 
 
104 FREDERICK 
 
 shrilled. " You never have been really friendly. You 
 only went with Evelyn at school because there was 
 nobody else. But you never liked me. You wanted 
 Avery to marry that stuck-up Hartwell girl. I know 
 you." 
 
 If the accusation had been false, Freda would prob- 
 ably have held her peace, as she had always done under 
 fire of Nina's outbursts. Because it was true, she made 
 a half-hearted effort to clear herself. " I wasn't talk- 
 ing about you, Nina. And I know that what Evelyn 
 did is nothing new around here. But when things 
 like that come right into your own family, you can't 
 blame me for being mad clear through." 
 
 Nina's gaze was resting upon the pile of fragrant 
 doughnuts. Suddenly she pushed them contemptu- 
 ously aside and lifted her eyes. There was an evil 
 smile upon her face as she fitted her arrow to her bow. 
 
 " You've got a right to be ' mad clear through/ 
 Freda Bayne. You don't know why Aurelia tries 
 to be nice to you and make you like her, do you? 
 Your mother was decent to me and so I've tried to 
 be decent to you. But " An ugly laugh escaped her. 
 She leaned across the table and spoke in a voice that 
 was almost a hiss. " It's time you knew a few things, 
 Freda. Go home to your stuck-up family that can't 
 stand a red-blooded story. Go home and ask your 
 own father if that woman he's livin' with now has ever 
 been his wife!" 
 
PART THREE: CINDERELLA 
 AND CERES 
 
VI 
 
 FREDA stumbled blindly through the redwood grove 
 toward West Winds. Nina's words seemed to be 
 hounding her over the familiar trail. " Ask your own 
 father if that woman he's livin' with now has ever 
 been his wife ! " 
 
 In that first moment of their utterance her instinct 
 had prompted her to violent denial of the accusation. 
 That pathetic logic of youth, which insists that calam- 
 ity is not true simply because it is too intolerable to 
 be borne, had hurried headlong to her rescue. But 
 its ministry was brief. Every step of that unreal walk 
 brought to light fresh evidence in defense of Nina's 
 hideous insinuations. 
 
 Her father had not favored her attendance at 
 " Bunch " dances, neither had he shown a hospitable 
 spirit to the calls of Terry Barker nor to any one else 
 who might enlighten his daughter concerning the al- 
 tered status of her home. It was Avery who made the 
 weekly visits to Four Corners for supplies now, and 
 although the society-loving Aurelia sometimes accom- 
 panied him, these trips were sullenly discouraged by 
 Frederick Bayne. 
 
 And the silver cross she saw it as a loathsome 
 
 107 
 
io8 CINDERELLA AND CERES 
 
 thing now, a sop thrown to her by her father on the 
 eve of his moral collapse. There were other things, 
 too, myriads of apparently unimportant things which 
 now, roused from their triviality, swarmed about and 
 settled upon her brain like a nest of angry insects, 
 each with its poisonous sting. 
 
 As she neared the house, she heard Aurelia's robust 
 voice singing a passe ragtime air while she turned the 
 leaves of a late catalogue on the front porch. Freda 
 veered off in the direction of the tool shop. It was im- 
 possible to encounter Aurelia just now. She found 
 the shop deserted save for Terry, mending a bit of 
 harness. At the sound of her footsteps, he raised his 
 head, and Freda turned and ran as though pursued by 
 an assassin. There were no eyes that she might meet 
 now without shame. "Does he know?" she asked 
 herself wildly as she hurried out to the rickety old 
 landing place. She had almost reached it, when sud- 
 denly she encountered the man for whom she searched. 
 He was sitting behind a pile of broken barrels un- 
 tangling a mass of rope. Freda stopped short at sight 
 of him. The abruptness of the encounter held her 
 dumb. She stood there staring at him in frozen hor- 
 ror, as though she had come upon a new kind of beast 
 of prey. His eyes met hers abstractedly. Then they 
 changed, and he dropped the tangle of rope and 
 got to his feet. Father and daughter held each 
 other in a long, terrible gaze. Then the man's eyes 
 
CINDERELLA AND CERES 109 
 
 fell. As though released from an evil enchantment, 
 Freda drew a long sigh. It was the sigh of a prisoner 
 on trial to whom conviction is less a torture than sus- 
 pense. 
 
 Frederick Bayne kicked the mass of rope to the edge 
 of the railing. " Well? " he said harshly. 
 
 An agony of embarrassment surged over the girl. 
 Who was this man with whom she had lived all her 
 life, but whom she felt now that she had never known? 
 Why was it that they had never been intimate, chummy 
 like some of the fathers and daughters of whom she 
 had read ? " I came " she began vaguely, " I came 
 to ask you about it." 
 
 " Of course you had to find it out sometime," he 
 said moodily. " I kep' it from you as long as I could." 
 She waited, her eyes fixed on him appealingly. " It's 
 just a temporary arrangement," he explained. " I 
 thought we'd get it all fixed up proper before I told 
 you anything about it. As soon as she gets her divorce 
 we'll get it we'll have it done." He picked up the 
 rope with an air of finality. The affected lightness 
 of his tone, and his easy dismissal of the subject, stung 
 the girl with a poignant sense of insult, and gave her 
 an amazing courage. She came a step closer, grasping 
 at one of the broken barrels as if for support. "Why," 
 she breathed, " why couldn't you have waited ? " 
 Somehow the word " father " wouldn't come. 
 
 For a brief moment he raised his eyes again to hers. 
 
i io CINDERELLA AND CERES 
 
 Then he shifted them to the distant horizon. The man 
 in him was struggling with the father, and when he 
 spoke again his tone was gentle. " Freda, your mother 
 left you just at the wrong time. If she'd lived she 
 would have told you some things about men and 
 women that you ought to know." 
 
 Nina's ugly taunt, " It's time that you knew a few 
 things/' sounded again in her ears. What were these 
 sinister " things " that every one else seemed to know, 
 and without the knowledge of which the world was 
 a place of ambushed evil? She felt a sudden terror 
 of life, a wild shrinking from the future, which seemed 
 to hold for her immeasurable disaster. Her father 
 was speaking again. " As long as you're happy here, 
 this is your home, Freda. When you're unhappy, it 
 
 no longer is. You've got money in the bank " 
 
 He seemed to forget that a large portion of this hoard 
 had been spent upon something for him. "And it's 
 all yours, Freda," he finished. 
 
 His words, spoken with low distinctness, were the 
 answer to the charge which she had made against him. 
 In them was no contrition for the past nor promise 
 for the future. And they closed forever one chapter 
 of her life and opened another. 
 
 Two days later she took the stage for the first lap 
 of the long journey to San Francisco. Only Avery 
 saw her off, boarding the automobile as it passed the 
 
CINDERELLA AND CERES in 
 
 store. His interest was more curious than regretful. 
 "What kind of work you goin' to try for, Freda?'* 
 
 " I don't know exactly. When I get to Cousin 
 Edith's, I'll talk over everything with her." 
 
 " She know you're comin' ? " 
 
 " Yes, I wrote to her yesterday." 
 
 But Avery did not seem to be listening. He leaned 
 toward her from the running board where he was 
 standing, and spoke in a hurried, embarrassed tone. 
 "I think you're takin' this kind of hard, Freda. 
 Aurelia ain't she ain't really a bad woman, and she's 
 tried to be nice to us all. Up here things is different 
 from the way it is in the city. Why, I know any num- 
 ber of people around here, and you do too that " 
 
 " I'm not blaming Aurelia," Freda told him. In all 
 her hours of bitter resentment, Aurelia had been only a 
 lay figure in the ugly drama, merely the instrument 
 used to reveal the true levels of her father's character. 
 
 " I'm sorry Nina told you," Avery went on with a 
 clumsy effort at apology. " She promised me she 
 wouldn't, but when she gits mad she loses her head." 
 
 " It might as well have been Nina as anybody," 
 Freda responded stonily. " I had to know it some- 
 time," 
 
 His mission accomplished, Avery swung to the 
 ground. " Well, so long ! " he cried. " Good luck ! " 
 They were the casual words that he might have used 
 to any tourist, but they were all she had, and she 
 
CINDERELLA AND CERES 
 
 hugged them to her heart as she turned and watched 
 Avery's vanishing figure until a turn in the road hid 
 him from view. 
 
 When the Sausalito ferry slid into the dock at San 
 Francisco, Freda lagged at the end of the procession 
 of speed-mad passengers. The big rattan suitcase, 
 which had been her mother's, dragged like a ton and 
 she stopped every few yards to shift the burden to the 
 other hand. In the long outside corridor of the ferry 
 building, where she stopped for a moment to rest, an 
 elderly woman in dark blue tailor suit approached and 
 spoke to her with friendly informality. " Can I be of 
 any help to you?" 
 
 Freda looked at her, startled. From the woman's 
 lapel fluttered a bit of ribbon bearing the words, 
 " Travelers' Aid." She was apparently en official of 
 some sort, and would doubtless expect to be paid. 
 " No, thank you," the girl replied. " I'm expecting to 
 meet a friend." She lifted the leaden suitcase and stag- 
 gered on. Suddenly a colored boy in livery swooped 
 down upon her and lifted it out of her hand. " Wha' 
 Totel?" he demanded. 
 
 Freda hurried along breathlessly beside him. " I'm 
 not going to any hotel," she gasped. 
 
 "What earthen?" 
 
 " The one that goes out to Octavia street." She had 
 expected Cousin Edith to meet her, but had no uneasi- 
 ness concerning her ability to find the address. The 
 
CINDERELLA AND CERES 113 
 
 boy broke into a run and slammed the suitcase to the 
 rear platform of a car that had just swung round 
 the loop in front of the ferry building. " This'll take 
 you to Octavia," he said. Freda stumbled up the steps, 
 so intent upon dragging her baggage out of the way 
 of the other passengers that she failed to see the 
 boy's outstretched hand. With a cynical grunt of 
 resignation, he disappeared into the crowd and the car 
 started on its way up Market street. 
 
 It seemed a longer ride than when she had taken it 
 with Mother years ago. And then she remembered, 
 with a start, that it was farther. Cousin Edith had 
 moved shortly after their visit, to a handsome new 
 apartment farther out. She had been on Van Ness 
 avenue before. 
 
 " Octavia ! " The conductor called the name at 
 last, and Freda found herself on the street again, a 
 slave to the bulky suitcase. The colored porter had 
 made a happy guess in his choice of uptown cars, for 
 she found herself within three doors of the number 
 which headed Cousin Edith's letters. But panic seized 
 her now. 
 
 Would Cousin Edith be willing to take her in after 
 all, when she heard the ugly story that had driven her 
 to her door? During all the hours of her trip Freda 
 had rehearsed this scene, adapting her part of the 
 dialogue to the shifting roles of Cousin Edith. Recol- 
 lections of this prosperous, kindly cousin, whose 
 
ii 4 CINDERELLA AND CERES 
 
 letters, though infrequent, had never failed of hospi- 
 table suggestion to " come down and treat me to a long 
 visit some time/' had made a cordial welcome seem 
 certain. Now standing here, actually at Cousin Edith's 
 front door, doubts of her reception assailed her on 
 every side. 
 
 In response to her desperate ring, the latch clicked 
 and the door opened the merest crack. She waited, 
 her heart pounding tumultuously. An impatient voice 
 came to her. " The door is open. Come in." 
 
 She pushed it farther open and found herself at the 
 foot of a heavily padded flight of stairs. On the land- 
 ing above, a woman in a silk negligee and beribboned 
 boudoir cap looked down at her. " What is it, 
 please?" she demanded crisply. 
 
 Freda's eyes sought hers appealingly. It was so 
 hard to explain with that relentless flight of stairs 
 between them. " Perhaps I have made a mistake in the 
 number," she faltered. "I am looking for Mrs. 
 Dale Mrs. Clinton Dale." 
 
 " Why, she hasn't lived here for a month." Im- 
 patience was still predominant in the woman's voice. 
 " She's moved out of the city." 
 
 " Out of the city! " Freda gasped. " Why, where 
 did they where did she go?" 
 
 " I think to San Jose." 
 
 Freda stared up at her with blank dismay. " Then 
 she didn't even get my letter ! " 
 
CINDERELLA AND CERES 115 
 
 The woman came halfway down the flight of steps. 
 " Are you from out of town ? " she queried. And then 
 in response to the girl's hurried explanation, " Well, 
 I would go to the Y. W. C. A. if I were you. It's a 
 nice safe place for a young girl traveling alone. I'll 
 look up the address in the 'phone book." 
 
 A few minutes later Freda was waiting on the cor- 
 ner for a downtown car. San Jose ! It might as well 
 have been Buffalo or Milwaukee. 
 
 The girl behind the desk at the Y. W. C. A. looked 
 her over with swiftly appraising glance. " You want 
 a single room ? " she inquired. Freda flushed. " I 
 don't know exactly. How how much are they?" 
 
 The girl named the price, her voice business-like and 
 crisp. Then she waited for Freda's decision, tapping 
 the desk with her fountain pen. "That's for the 
 room," she explained. "We serve cafeteria meals. 
 Of course you can do as you like about boarding here." 
 
 " Very well," Freda answered. " Could I go to my 
 room now ? " Another girl came in response to the 
 bell summons, showed Freda into the plain, cheerful 
 little room that was to be hers, and switched on the 
 light. " Going to take your dinners with us ? " she 
 asked. There was something in her plain, freckled 
 face and wide humorous mouth that stirred Freda to 
 sudden confidence. The girl downstairs had been 
 frigidly business-like; the epitome of twentieth cen- 
 tury feminine efficiency. But the wide-mouthed girl 
 
ii6 CINDERELLA AND CERES 
 
 was evidently not burdened with clerical responsibili- 
 ties. She leaned on the back of the one rocking chair 
 and surveyed her guest with unhurried friendliness. 
 
 Freda peeled off her chamois skin gloves and 
 turned the ringers right side out with nervous care. 
 Then she faced her hostess. " I guess you can tell 
 that I've I've just come in from the country," she 
 said. " My mother used to live here, but I don't know 
 much about the city. I hope you'll tell me a little 
 about things." 
 
 The freckle-faced girl sat down in the chair over 
 which she had been leaning. " I've always lived around 
 the bay," she said. " If I should visit up your way 
 you'd have to show me which cow gives the buttermilk 
 and which end of a horse you begin to harness first. 
 So I guess we're even. Is there anything in particu- 
 lar that I can tell you just now? " 
 
 Freda came a step nearer, plunging the pins into 
 her hat. " Just this," she said eagerly. " Tell me, 
 what is a cafeteria? " 
 
 Her hostess met the question gravely. " A cafe- 
 teria," she explained, " is a cross between a restaurant 
 dinner and a picnic lunch. You get your food hot 
 and pay the cashier. That's the restaurant part. You 
 serve yourself and forget to take any butter. That's 
 the picnic part. But I'll meet you at the registrar's 
 desk at six o'clock and show you how it works." 
 
 The next morning after Freda had made her second 
 
CINDERELLA AND CERES 117 
 
 journey down the long runway of the cafeteria, she 
 settled herself in the living room of the Y. W. C. A. 
 with one of the San Francisco papers. The sight of 
 it, lying on the magazine-littered table, had been like 
 the greeting of an old friend. She turned to the 
 " Help Wanted " columns and searched them eagerly. 
 Not for worlds would she have confessed to any of 
 the Y. W. workers that no definite position awaited 
 her in the city. To her carefully ordered mind, there 
 was something almost unforgivably improvident in 
 her present predicament. A wakeful, feverish night 
 had brought to her the conviction that she must solve 
 her problems alone. And desolate as the prospect ap- 
 peared, this decision brought a certain sense of relief. 
 Try as she might to be comprehending and helpful, 
 she knew that Cousin Edith would recoil from the 
 story that she would have had to tell her, and would 
 not be able to conceal entirely her repulsion. And 
 Freda knew also that, although hot resentment against 
 her father burned in her own heart, condemnation of 
 him by another would drive her to violent defense. It 
 would be a crucial situation; she saw that now. It 
 was better to work it all out alone ; to try, by her own 
 unaided efforts, to establish for herself a place in the 
 society of respectable people. 
 
 But the " Help Wanted " pages, whose lengthy col- 
 umns promised such varied forms of assistance, 
 proved disappointing. Those which were not strictly 
 
ii8 CINDERELLA AND CERES 
 
 domestic demanded " experience " and " recommenda- 
 tions." At the end of half an hour she had noted down 
 three addresses which featured " willingness " and 
 " reliability." Then she cast the paper aside and walked 
 slowly over to the long mirror at the end of the room, 
 where she looked at her reflection with critical disap- 
 proval. The tan tailor suit which she had bought at 
 Four Corners a year ago had led a sheltered life in 
 her bedroom closet and was as fresh as new. Her 
 one crepe de chine waist, which had begun life pure 
 white, had passed valiantly through the stages of 
 cream and ecru and had emerged from the last dyeing 
 process a golden brown. Brown, of a slightly darker 
 shade, was the round felt hat ; a severe, uncompromis- 
 ing little hat which somehow contrived in spite of its 
 austerity to blend with the glowing hair wound decor- 
 ously about her head in two heavy braids and escaping 
 into irregular curves above her ears. 
 
 " I don't look like anything," Freda told the reflec- 
 tion passionately. " I don't look like school or busi- 
 ness or even pleasure. What I look like is Four 
 Corners." 
 
 She was morbidly conscious of her lack of an all- 
 engulfing talent, of a glittering ambition, which would 
 shed a radiance across "the thorny path which stretched 
 before her. The girls in the books and magazine 
 stories who left their rural homes for the city, were 
 in quest of a golden fleece of which they held in their 
 
CINDERELLA AND CERES 119 
 
 hands a sample. They were possessed of a genius 
 for whose sake they scribbled happily in cheerless gar- 
 rets or sought questionable means of acquiring stage 
 costumes. Her own position was unromantic and 
 glamourless. She had come to the city like a fugitive 
 from justice, asking only that it obliterate her past. 
 She had brought no gift to enrich its motley treasure 
 box. What might she expect of its bounty? 
 
 She found her way about with surprising ease and 
 there was exhilaration in the traffic-crowded streets 
 and the fresh salt breeze that swept in from the bay. 
 But her search for work proved profitless. At the 
 first place, a dentist's office, the position had already 
 been filled. The second demanded a thorough knowl- 
 edge of the city. At the third office, where she 
 was kept waiting almost an hour for the manager, the 
 "position" turned out to be a book agent scheme 
 which offered " liberal commissions/' but no salary. 
 "I'm sure you could do it," the belated manager as- 
 sured her with flattering enthusiasm. " You never 
 can tell what you can do till you try. One of our 
 agents in Montana, a young girl like you, is making 
 thirty-five dollars a week in her territory." 
 
 Freda turned the leaves of the profusely illustrated 
 volume of " Bible Stories for Young Folks," each 
 chapter of which ended with a rebus for the attention 
 of smaller children of the family. " I couldn't do it," 
 she said, and laid the book upon his desk. 
 
120 CINDERELLA AND CERES 
 
 He laughed at her lack of confidence and entered 
 into voluble protest. But Freda interrupted him with 
 quiet self-possession. " It isn't that," she told him. 
 "Of course I'd be nervous about asking people. It 
 would be hard, terribly hard, but I could conquer that, 
 and I'm not looking for something easy. But I 
 couldn't sell that book because I don't approve 
 of it." 
 
 He stared at her in mute astonishment. But Freda, 
 who had been abashed in the presence of the dentist's 
 patronizing office nurse, and had quailed beneath the 
 supercilious gaze of the insurance agent, was on firm 
 ground with this vendor of books. 
 
 " What do you mean, you don't approve of it? You 
 can't get any better reading for young people than 
 Bible stories. Every child ought to be familiar with 
 literature that " 
 
 " With the real stories," Freda interrupted with a 
 sort of tense eagerness. " Don't you see," she hurried 
 on, " it isn't just the stories themselves that they ought 
 to know. It's it's the way they're told, too." She 
 pushed the volume farther away from her. "It's 
 cheating a child to give him a thing like this." 
 
 " But he can read the real stories in the Bible later," 
 the manager explained. " It's time enough to " 
 
 Freda shook her head. " He won't though," she 
 Declared. " That is, most children won't. They think 
 that they know those stories already and they want 
 
CINDERELLA AND CERES 121 
 
 something new. No, I couldn't do it I really 
 couldn't; it wouldn't be honest." 
 
 When she returned to the street, the clocks were 
 pointing the noon hour and she decided to go into one 
 of the dressing rooms of a large department store and 
 freshen up a bit before having her lunch. The room 
 was stuffy and crowded with tired women and quer- 
 ulous children. She stood aside to await her turn at 
 the lavatory, and the hurrying crowd, more aggressive 
 in its demands, jostled her this side and that. It was 
 impossible for her to elbow any one out of her way, 
 and with a little sigh of weariness she removed her 
 hat and sank into one of the chairs in the waiting 
 room. A portly, perfectly corseted woman in hand- 
 some, fur-trimmed coat, was sitting on the divan near 
 her. She had evidently been watching Freda's efforts 
 at the glass, for her smile was whimsically amused. 
 The girl felt the steady gaze fixed upon her and 
 blushed. Several minutes passed and then the woman 
 in the shimmering coat rose to go. But she stopped 
 at Freda's chair on her way out and asked 
 an abrupt question: "Do you want to sell your 
 hair?" 
 
 Freda clutched at the shining braids as though she 
 feared the woman had a pair of shears concealed under 
 her wrap. " Sell it ? " she gasped. She wouldn't have 
 been more startled if the woman had suggested ex- 
 tracting her teeth. 
 
122 CINDERELLA AND CERES 
 
 " Well, of course, you don't have to do it," her 
 questioner assured her, still amused. " But it's an un- 
 usual shade of chestnut. And people are getting tired 
 of golden blondes; they're not fashionable this year. 
 I'll give you seventy-five dollars for yours. Think it 
 over and if you care to sell, call at this address 
 tomorrow morning." 
 
 She dropped a card into Freda's lap and swept 
 away. Throughout the whole afternoon, this encoun- 
 ter and its amazing possibilities haunted the girl. 
 What could the woman want with her hair ? She cer- 
 tainly seemed to have plenty of her own, and anyway 
 hers was dark, almost black. Seventy-five dollars! 
 Did people really do such things? Her little store of 
 money would certainly melt away very rapidly if 
 tomorrow's quest proved no more fruitful than today's 
 had been. She resolved to gratify her curiosity and 
 find the address in the morning. 
 
 When she came upon it quite suddenly on one of 
 the busy downtown streets, she found herself before 
 a window filled with waxen heads marvelously 
 coiffured. There were brunettes and blondes in all 
 the shades, and here and there even gray-haired wigs. 
 Sparkling combs and coquettish barettes disported 
 themselves among the artificial poppies scattered casu- 
 ally on the floor of the display window. And propped 
 against the glass door at the rear was a card, bearing 
 the laconic announcement, " Girl Wanted." With 
 
CINDERELLA AND CERES 123 
 
 desperate boldness Freda opened the door and went in. 
 
 The room was furnished with cretonne-covered 
 chairs and several long showcases, whose displays 
 were an elaboration of what the window suggested. 
 Behind one of these a girl in a long white apron, with 
 a single curl over her shoulder, was making entries in 
 a notebook. She glanced languidly at Freda. " Did 
 you have an appointment ? " 
 
 " Yes, I was told to come sometime this morning 
 to see about " 
 
 The girl turned and spoke through a sheet partition 
 directly behind her. " Applicant for apprentice, 
 Madame." 
 
 " Send her in," a voice replied. Freda drew aside 
 the ghostly curtains of the first of a long row of 
 sheeted compartments and confronted the portly 
 woman, shorn of her luxurious cloak and tracing the 
 line of her eyebrows with a long dark pencil. She 
 spoke to Freda's reflection, without turning : " Oh, you 
 decided to let me have your hair? " 
 
 " No," the girl answered quietly. " But I want to 
 apply for the position." 
 
 There was a moment of silence. She watched with 
 fascinated eyes the progress of the thick pencil. The 
 eyebrow that had not been retouched looked sketchy. 
 She was astonished at the transformation which it 
 effected. Under the heavy fringe of the woman's long 
 lashes, the blue eyes shone with a strange brilliance; 
 
i2 4 CINDERELLA AND CERES 
 
 a brilliance which seemed to be borrowed in some un- 
 accountable way from without, for there was no light 
 back of them. Their beauty was that of carefully 
 poHshed jewels. 
 
 " Hairculture is a comparatively new and very rap- 
 idly growing profession," she said at last. " It fills a 
 large place in the lives of women who are leaders in 
 a community. While learning it, a girl comes in con- 
 tact with the swellest people. That's an education in 
 itself. But I am very particular about the class of 
 girls I take on/* She laid down the pencil and pushed 
 the enamel tray of toilet articles aside. Then she 
 turned toward Freda for the first time. She had not 
 invited her to sit down, and now the polished eyes 
 traveled slowly from head to feet. "Take off your 
 hat, please/' she commanded, as though she expected 
 to see the applicant's social status written on her hair. 
 Freda stood holding the stiff little hat in her hands. 
 " How old are you ? Any family in the city ? Where 
 are you living? Ever worked before? " 
 
 These, and an army of other questions, Freda 
 answered with a breathless eagerness to please. 
 
 " I think," said the inquisitor at length, " that I'll 
 give you a trial. I like to help the country girls; 
 they're usually more teachable. You'll get your pro- 
 fessional training absolutely free and have wonderful 
 social opportunities beside." She named the sum of 
 the apprentice's wages, watching the girl's face closely. 
 
CINDERELLA AND CERES 125 
 
 " Come tomorrow at eight," she finished, and waved 
 her aside. 
 
 In her little room at the Y. W. C. A. Freda offered 
 up a tremulous prayer of thanksgiving that night. 
 Never, never would she doubt the protecting hand of 
 Providence, she promised. Then, as she unwound the 
 wealth of hair, which had so unexpectedly provided her 
 with the key to a profession that afforded such remark- 
 able social opportunities, she told herself that perhaps 
 it was only the talented girls who had such heart- 
 breaking times finding a place in the city. "They 
 won't take anything that isn't in their own line," she 
 explained to the girl in the mirror. " Perhaps you're 
 better off after all if you don't have any ' line.' ' 
 
 And so she became one of Madame Peltier's white- 
 aproned girls, flitting noiselessly down the green-car- 
 peted aisles between the ghostly white rooms. She 
 had been there two weeks before she was admitted 
 into the rooms themselves where the " social leaders " 
 were shampooed, hot-oiled, blue-rayed, marcelled, and 
 bleached. Her tasks were confined to the sterilizing 
 of supplies, the sorting out of towels and the putting 
 up of fresh sheet partitions. And she performed these 
 with the reverend devotion of a priestess making ready 
 the sacred altar; an attitude that would have flattered 
 her employer had she noted it. To the new appren- 
 tice, the washing of sanitary brushes was glorified by 
 the professional atmosphere which enveloped the task. 
 
126 CINDERELLA AND CERES 
 
 The black-bristled toilet article was not merely a sani- 
 tary brush with perforated back, but the implement 
 with which she was eventually to pick the lock of suc- 
 cess and become " a woman with a profession." The 
 stark cleanliness of the place was a delight. The 
 dainty dressing tables with their mysterious aids to 
 beauty, the odor of perfumed powders, the vari-col- 
 ored toilet waters, her own immaculate uniform, all 
 these were the accessories to that culture which her 
 hungry soul craved. 
 
 She rarely saw the proprietor herself. Her tasks 
 were assigned her by a dumpy little Irish girl, whose 
 mouth drooped with a suggestion of tragedy, but 
 whose eyes defied you to notice it. Mellow-voiced, 
 generous of her time and her sympathies, she won 
 Freda's shy heart at once. It was impossible to be 
 reticent with Eileen. She radiated good humor. She 
 had always an apt story to season argument, and a 
 ready diplomacy in forestalling quarrels among the 
 workers. It was doubtless this talent which had 
 caused the manager to hasten her primary instruction 
 and to give her a remunerative position in her estab- 
 lishment as " head girl." 
 
 And to Eileen's other talents must be added a genius 
 for the adroit extraction of personal information. By 
 a process of painless surgery she inserted the sharp 
 edge of a carefully chosen interrogation point, turned 
 it gently, hooked the particular bit of fact for which 
 
CINDERELLA AND CERES 127 
 
 she groped, and drew it to light. She was the least 
 beautiful and the most popular among all the white 
 buds in Madame Peltier's bouquet. 
 
 At the end of two weeks, Freda had accepted her 
 unreservedly as her best friend. They lunched to- 
 gether at the Blue Heron cafeteria, exchanged cro- 
 cheted yoke designs, and treated each other at soda 
 fountains. It was at the beginning of the third week, 
 while they were lunching together, that Eileen, pour- 
 ing clam chowder from the heavy white bowl into her 
 soup dish, asked casually : 
 
 "You still livin' at the 'Y'?" 
 
 Freda nodded. 
 
 " Well, I don't see how you do it. Having to get 
 your uniforms and that new black skirt and hat makes 
 it expensive, and with the amount of money you told 
 me you had well, you're a wonderful manager." 
 
 !< That's just what I'm not," Freda hastily inter- 
 posed. And then she gave her a scenario account of 
 her finances. 
 
 " You've told me just what I want to know, dearie," 
 Eileen announced. " Now I've got a plan that will" 
 save you money and be more homelike for you, too. 
 Chip in with Glenn Markley and me. We've got a 
 dandy little flat out on Fillmore street. There's an 
 extra cot in the livin' room and we could put a rod 
 and a curtain across one corner for your clothes. We 
 take our lunches out and get our other meals at home 
 
128 CINDERELLA AND CERES 
 
 when we're not invited out by friends. Glenn told 
 me to sound you. We'd love to have you come." 
 
 The warm friendliness of it filled Freda's eyes with 
 quick tears. "Eileen" she faltered, "Eileen- 
 you're just a dear! " 
 
 VII 
 
 THE flat on Fillmore street proved to be in reality 
 a double house one story high and built above a half- 
 story basement. It had been newly painted a green- 
 ish brown and its straight square front gave it some- 
 what the appearance of a store. The parlor windows 
 of both houses were lace-curtained and caught back 
 from the center with heavy white cotton cord. 
 
 Freda set down her baggage in a tiny square front 
 hall bounded on two sides by the entrance and living 
 room doors and on the others with rows of hooks. 
 Eileen made a place for the tan coat on one of these 
 already crowded pegs and set her umbrella in a dim 
 corner on a patch of oilcloth. Then she ushered her 
 into the front room. It was unlighted, save for the 
 two narrow windows. Over in a far corner was a 
 couch almost hidden from view by a tumultuous array 
 of sofa cushions. There were cushions embroidered 
 in orange-colored poppies with the word " California " 
 spelled in floss on a diagonal line. There were woven 
 ribbon covers, the head of a college girl in cap and 
 gown painted against a rose background, two Chinese 
 
CINDERELLA AND CERES 129 
 
 handkerchiefs with ornate corners inclosing the ro- 
 tund form of small feathery substance, and a pro- 
 fusion of vari-colored cretonnes. At the foot of the 
 couch was a round table with a crocheted scarf falling 
 over its edges and supporting a tall vase with carved 
 roses and several framed photographs. " There's a 
 drawer underneath," Eileen explained. "We cleared 
 it out so that you could use it for your toilet things. 
 We can keep the card decks and things like that under- 
 neath on this little shelf just as well." Several shabby 
 rocking chairs and an air-tight stove completed the 
 furnishings of the room. The walls were ornamented 
 with two landscape paintings, heavily framed, and a 
 last year's calendar. When Freda had cornpleted her 
 survey of this apartment Eileen led her into the 
 adjoining bedroom furnished in imitation oak and 
 cheerful green carpet; thence into a miniature bath 
 room lighted only by a gas jet. The kitchen was the 
 sunniest and most commodious room in the house. 
 Its floor was covered with a new blue-and-white 
 linoleum and its pine table and sink were spotless. 
 Here they came upon Glenn Markley, standing before 
 an improvised music rack tuning a violin. " Welcome 
 home," she greeted Freda over her shoulder. " Leave 
 me alone for half an hour longer and I'll come out 
 of this real friendly." 
 
 When they acted upon this hint and wandered back 
 to the parlor, Eileen sat down on the end of the couch 
 
i 3 o CINDERELLA AND CERES 
 
 while Freda unpacked, and hung her scant wardrobe 
 behind the denim curtain in the corner. " Glenn's 
 cracked on the subject of music,'* Eileen confided in 
 the voice of one revealing for an instant a family 
 skeleton. " She practises every evening for an hour 
 and takes two lessons a week. She's got talent all 
 right, too, because one of the best violinists in the city 
 is givin' her lessons at half price just to help her 
 along. She ain't goin' to be a Marcel Wave all her 
 life. Nervy little tyke Glenn is, too; no family to 
 help her along; she's got to dig up all the prizes that 
 are comin' to her." 
 
 When the sounds of the violin ceased, and Eileen 
 had gone out to the kitchen to help with dinner, Freda 
 stood at the lace-curtained window looking out at the 
 darkening street. An unaccountable depression pos- 
 sessed her, a depression of which she felt half ashamed 
 in this atmosphere of frank friendliness. It may have 
 been the strangeness of her new surroundings, it may 
 have been the long sobbing notes of the violin that 
 brought to her a sudden aching loneliness, a wild 
 longing for the wind-swept bluffs and odorous forests 
 of Mendocino county. The house seemed to be cramp- 
 ing her on every side. There was no room to breathe. 
 She yearned for the sight of long grass cowering 
 under the coast gales, for the sound of horses whin- 
 nying in the corral. She pressed her face against the 
 cool window pane. " I mustn't cry," she commanded 
 
CINDERELLA AND CERES 131 
 
 herself sternly. " I mustn't cry. I always show it 
 when I do, and it would be so ungrateful." 
 
 It was the week following her change of residence 
 that her employer sent for her just before closing 
 time and informed her that she was to have charge of 
 the appointments. " The desk girl is leaving tomor- 
 row," she explained, " and I want you to take that 
 work for a while. As soon as you come tomorrow, 
 have Eileen Morton dress your hair, and then report 
 at the desk." 
 
 When Freda reported this promotion to the girls 
 at home, they were not as congratulatory as she had 
 expected. " I thought she'd be starting something 
 pretty soon," Glenn commented. " I think your hair 
 would look good in puffs, Freda." 
 
 When Eileen had finished her work upon it the next 
 morning, Freda was startled by the reflection which 
 the mirror showed. The coiffure seemed to have 
 transformed her into an entirely different being. She 
 found herself wondering, as she walked down the 
 curtain-lined aisle to the reception room, whether she 
 would be able to live up to the part of ultra- 
 sophistication which her hair dress unmistakably 
 demanded. 
 
 That first day at the desk was full of surprising 
 revelations. She was amazed at the number of young 
 men who came into the hair shop. And they came 
 not to make appointments for their mothers and sis- 
 
132 CINDERELLA AND CERES 
 
 ters, but for themselves. It was usually a manicurist 
 whose services they demanded, and most of them 
 knew all of the girls of the establishment by their 
 first names. Among them Freda recognized one. It 
 was the young man who had called at the flat on the 
 first Sunday of her residence there, to see Eileen. A 
 serious-looking blond man of about twenty-eight, 
 with slightly discolored hands and firm mouth. He 
 had talked gravely to her while waiting for Eileen 
 and although his conversation had been of the almost 
 painfully conventional type, she had liked him and 
 had watched with silent approval when he and Eileen 
 went away together. 
 
 He came into Madame Peltier's now only to leave 
 a brief message for her. " Tell Eileen, please, that if 
 she has to go away next Sunday, just to 'phone me in 
 the morning." 
 
 That was all. In his ready-made suit and dull gray 
 shirt he had formed a striking contrast to the fur- 
 collared, gauntleted men who leaned across her desk 
 and made unhurried appointments with the manicure 
 girls. Freda breathed easier when he had gone. He 
 seemed so palpably out of place in the beauty parlor, 
 like something almost crudely real in a not quite sin- 
 cere world. 
 
 When she delivered his message at noon, Eileen 
 received it abstractedly. " I will be away over Sun- 
 day. I suppose I've got to." 
 
CINDERELLA AND CERES 133 
 
 "You mean you're going out of town?" Freda 
 asked. 
 
 Eileen nodded, for once noncommittal, so Freda 
 did not press the subject. And Eileen did leave the 
 flat the following Sunday morning, in company with 
 a man who drew up to the curb in a high-powered 
 roadster. No allusion was made by any of the girls 
 to this incident, but when Eileen came in, late that 
 night, stepping quietly through the parlor so as not to 
 waken her, Freda was awake though she gave no sign. 
 Eileen was out several evenings of every week, but 
 Glenn denied herself sternly to most callers and shut 
 herself into the kitchen with her violin, while Freda 
 read undisturbed on the couch in the living room; 
 undisturbed save for the thrilling notes which floated 
 in to her through closed doors and sometimes made 
 attention to her book impossible. 
 
 " It's wonderful, Glenn ! " she cried one evening 
 when, drawn by the lilting music of Mendelssohn's 
 Spring Song, she crept up to the kitchen door. Glenn 
 was tightening a string, and she did not look up but 
 smiled at the intruder. She was a tall, dark girl with 
 wide-open eyes that seemed to be asking of life a never 
 answered question. 
 
 " Do you think so? " she said. " Well, I'm glad if 
 it sounds that way, but it's not really wonderful. I 
 never will get those runs." She straightened from her 
 task and rubbed her bow with an amber disk of rosin. 
 
134 CINDERELLA AND CERES 
 
 " My music is all I've got, Freda," she said grimly, 
 " and I'm going to make it get me somewhere no mat- 
 ter what I have to pay for it." 
 
 It was only when she was playing that Freda ever 
 saw her strongly moved. She was an undemon- 
 strative girl, almost cold at times, but like many per- 
 sons of her type, she possessed a subtle power of word- 
 less, gestureless affection. Perhaps it was her vibrant 
 voice that betrayed the carefully restrained emotions. 
 With most undemonstrative people, it is the voice 
 which they trust with their caresses. Freda knew 
 that Glenn liked her and was flattered by the friend- 
 ship. She watched her now as she wrapped her instru- 
 ment in a large faded silk handkerchief and laid it back 
 in its box with the tenderness of a mother putting her 
 child to bed. Then she perched herself upon the 
 kitchen table and regarded Freda with her chin in her 
 hands. 
 
 "You've made a hit with some of our customers 
 already," she told Freda. " One of the men I mani- 
 cured yesterday asked me who you were, and if you 
 were always at the desk. You can have all kinds of 
 a time with some of those fellers if you want to go in 
 for it. Eileen thinks I'm nuts for not takin' more 
 interest in some of 'em that's got perfectly good cars, 
 but I'm not makin' any friends just now that I can't 
 use in my business. I'm speakin' to you as a friend 
 though, Freda, when I tell you that you've got a kind 
 
CINDERELLA AND CERES 135 
 
 of stand-offish way with men. You haven't got any 
 reason to be a man-hater yet, have you ? " 
 
 " I like women better," Freda answered. " Men 
 who take such good care of their hands don't seem 
 to have much in their heads." 
 
 " Some of them have got a good deal in their 
 pockets though/' Glenn commented. She was look- 
 ing at Freda with eyes that seemed to be measuring 
 her curiously. " For a girl right out of the wilds 
 like you are," she said finally, " you've got an awful 
 lot of savvey." 
 
 " Madame Peltier told me when I first came that it 
 would be an education to meet some of the people 
 that came in for treatments," Freda went on, after 
 a moment of silence. " But it seems hard to really 
 get to know anybody. Have you ever made any 
 well, real friends there, Glenn?" 
 
 The other girl laughed. " Not so that you'd notice 
 it. But don't worry. You'll get an education all 
 right." 
 
 This philosophy was not encouraging, and Freda 
 crept into bed that night in a spirit of bleak depres- 
 sion. But that very week she had a most unexpected 
 opportunity for becoming acquainted with one of her 
 patrons. 
 
 In the hair-dressing department they were short- 
 handed, one of the girls being absent on account of 
 illness, and Freda, following the shop's policy of 
 
136 CINDERELLA AND CERES 
 
 making more 'phone appointments than there were 
 hours in the day, so that there would be no loss from 
 canceled engagements, found herself, at four o'clock, 
 confronting a personage whom she saw at a glance 
 would not be put off with suave suggestions of "If 
 you'll just have a seat and wait for a few minutes," 
 or " Your appointment was at four o'clock ? Well, 
 I'll have a girl for you in a very few moments now." 
 Miss Constance North was evidently the kind of 
 patron whom beauty parlors coveted. It would never 
 do to keep her waiting while half an hour dragged 
 by and Eileen hurried one of the workers through a 
 treatment to crowd in room for her. So Freda 
 ushered this customer into a booth and sought 
 Eileen. 
 
 "What is it, a hot oil, Freda?" 
 
 " No, she just wants her hair dressed. I think 
 I If you'd let me try I've watched the other 
 girls so much " 
 
 " Go to it," Eileen ordered. " You'll never learn 
 any younger. And if you get stuck, ring my bell and 
 I'll drop in and give it the once over." 
 
 But Freda did not get stuck. She had learned to 
 do her own hair with an elaborate affectation of sim- 
 plicity, and compared with its abundance, the equally 
 wavy but far less cumbersome task which Miss 
 North's imposed, seemed easy. She tried it several 
 different ways, studying the handsome dark face in 
 
CINDERELLA AND CERES 137 
 
 the mirror with an earnestness which flattered her 
 patron. When the last hairpin was in place Constance 
 North studied the effect with leisurely approval. " I 
 don't know that my own maid ever did it any bet- 
 ter." And then as she paid at the desk, " What is 
 your name? If I come in again I'll want to ask 
 for you." 
 
 And so Freda won in the early days of her service 
 that tribute for which all white-aproned girls in hair 
 parlors are in perpetual contest. But her acquaintance 
 with Constance North was destined for another, more 
 revealing, encounter. 
 
 Three days later, Madame Peltier, who had been 
 forced to take the 'phone calls herself while Freda 
 helped in the still crippled hair-dressing department, 
 summoned her to the desk. 
 
 " Did you give a hair dress to Miss Constance 
 North last Tuesday?" she demanded, measuring the 
 girl with her cold, unlighted eyes. 
 
 Freda admitted the charge. 
 
 " Well, she's on the 'phone now. She has not been 
 able to get a maid yet, and she wants her hair dressed 
 for a party this evening. She doesn't wish it until 
 late, and if you will go out to the house, she'll send 
 her car here for you at six-thirty." 
 
 When Freda revealed this plan to Eileen at lunch 
 time, she was whole-heartedly congratulatory. " Gee, 
 kiddo ! The Norths ! Some swells they are. They've 
 
138 CINDERELLA AND CERES 
 
 got a huge joint up on Pacific avenue. They're one 
 of the oldest families in San Francisco. You'll get 
 a line on some highlights up there." 
 
 The North mansion proved to be all that Eileen had 
 pictured for her. When the gray limousine drew up 
 at the entrance that evening and Freda rang the bell 
 at the side door, she was in a flutter of excitement. 
 While she followed the maid through the flower- 
 decked hall and up the staircase with its spacious 
 landings and long colored glass windows, she told 
 herself that it was like one of the homes described 
 in the novels of Edith Wharton and Mrs. Humphry 
 Ward. 
 
 She found Constance North in a brilliantly lighted 
 boudoir, studying, in a three-sided mirror, the effect 
 of a rouge stick. A younger girl was polishing some 
 silver shoe buckles near the window. As Freda 
 entered, she paused a moment in this task, gave her 
 a friendly nod, and then pushed forward a chair for 
 her hat and wrap. 
 
 Constance laid down the rouge stick and turned in 
 her chair, gathering a silk and lace negligee closer 
 about her with one hand. " So glad you could come-," 
 she said in a languid voice that held a note of 
 patronage. " You're helping me out of a bad situa- 
 tion. I'm giving rather an important party tonight, 
 and the maid whom I engaged sent word that she 
 couldn't be here until tomorrow. My sister, Miss 
 
CINDERELLA AND CERES 139 
 
 Bayne." She performed the introduction as an after- 
 thought. 
 
 Freda had taken off her wrap and Constance North 
 eyed her immaculate uniform with approval. " I'm 
 glad if I can help you," a quiet voice assured her. 
 " Shall I begin are you ready to have me do your 
 hair now ? " 
 
 " Not quite. I want to slip on my dress first and 
 see if it's all right. I didn't have time to go for a last 
 fitting and it has just come." 
 
 She threw off the alluring negligee and stood wait- 
 ing while Freda lifted, with fingers that were almost 
 reverent in their care, the filmy gown from a cloud 
 of white tissue paper on the cushioned window seat. 
 
 " Oh! " The little cry of awed admiration slipped 
 out as the light fell upon the shimmering folds of 
 golden gauze. 
 
 "Do you like it?" Constance asked, as Freda 
 groped for the ambushed fastenings. 
 
 " Like it ? Why it's wonderful ! And you, with 
 your fine height and this draped effect, why, it makes 
 you look like Ceres." 
 
 The girl at the window laid down the buckles and 
 came across the room, eyeing the costume of Ceres 
 with casually critical eyes. Freda explored for the 
 last fastening, found it, and rose from her knees. She 
 stepped back, surveying the tall, striking figure as a 
 sculptor might regard his finished statue. 
 
CINDERELLA AND CERES 
 
 " There's something," she mused. " Something not 
 quite right about the way that court train effect is 
 draped at the shoulders. I'll get you the hand 
 mirror." 
 
 She brought it, and Miss North's face darkened as 
 she revolved before the long glass. " Well, I should 
 say there is something the matter with it! Edna, 
 look at that back. It's a fright!! I was afraid of 
 that! I knew that that Madame Coralie of yours 
 would never be up to me. And you made me try 
 her. You said that " 
 
 She was working herself into a fever of passionate 
 anger. But her sister only shook her head in con- 
 temptuous negation. " I did nothing of the kind. I 
 know better than to recommend a modiste or a doctor 
 to anybody. I simply told you that she had made a 
 success of my blue georgette, and that if you wanted 
 to try her I'd give you her address. It's not my fault 
 that " 
 
 " It is your fault. And on this evening, of all 
 times when I want to look my best! Norman 
 Brewster's friends will think he's drawn a prize when 
 he claims me as his fiancee tonight." 
 
 Her sister wandered off through the adjoining bath- 
 room with the gleaming buckles, casting a humorously 
 hopeless glance at Freda over her shoulder. But 
 Freda didn't catch it. She was down on her knees 
 again, her mouth full of pins. " I don't see that it's 
 
CINDERELLA AND CERES 141 
 
 spoiled at all, Miss North," she soothed. " I believe 
 the trouble isn't at the shoulders at all. I think it's 
 at the waistline. It seems to me that it shouldn't be 
 tacked in there. Would you be willing to let me cut 
 those threads ? I can put them back if I find that it's 
 a mistake." 
 
 " Cut the whole thing to pieces if you want to. I 
 don't care what you do with it. I can never wear it 
 this way." 
 
 She stood, like an impatient race horse, held by a 
 groom, while Freda clipped invisible stitches. " Oh, 
 that's much better," the girl cried as she laid the shears 
 beside her on the floor. " Oh, Miss North, that's 
 much better. Look." 
 
 She gave her the glass again. " Now if you'll let 
 
 me change two of those snaps, here and here " 
 
 She pinned one of the folds in illustration. 
 " It was just a mistake in the draping, you see. 
 And you say that you didn't have a last fitting, 
 so it's easy to understand. Why, it's perfect 
 now." 
 
 Slowly the stormy face of " Ceres " relaxed. " Yes, 
 that is better," she admitted grudgingly. "At any 
 rate, I can wear it now." 
 
 Freda had made the alteration, and was just com- 
 pleting her work upon Miss North's hair, when Edna 
 strayed back again, fastening herself with leisurely 
 skill into a sky-blue georgette crepe made over a silk 
 
142 CINDERELLA AND CERES 
 
 which defied any one but an artist to define as blue or 
 green. 
 
 " One more piece of bad luck and I'd call this revel 
 off for tonight," she advised her sister cheerfully. 
 " The caterer's come, but she's short two maids. 
 Rose has been pressed into service as waitress, but 
 there's nobody for the men's dressing room upstairs. 
 Mother's standing on her head." 
 
 Constance spun around with a swiftness that sent a 
 shower of hairpins from Freda's hand to the carpet. 
 " Why, what are we going to do ? Has mother 
 'phoned to Adeline's agency?" 
 
 " Trust mother. But there are a lot of other things 
 on for tonight. I advised her to let the men take care 
 of themselves. Even a perfect gentleman ought to be 
 able to find his own overcoat, and get it on. Halsey 
 Myrick is probably the only one who'll drink too much 
 punch to recognize his own hat." 
 
 " Edna, you talk like an idiot. What would people 
 think of us? What would they say " 
 
 " You're a perfect slave to what people think, Con- 
 stance. You know Norman hates this society business 
 anyway. When he takes you off in the wilds to live 
 like a hermit while he " 
 
 " I'll never live like a hermit for anybody. I don't 
 care what Norman thinks about it. He has no 
 standards of what is proper. But there are going to 
 be other people here tonight, Edna." 
 
CINDERELLA AND CERES 143 
 
 Freda had finished her work now, and when Miss 
 North was dressed, she left her explaining the altera- 
 tions in her gown to her sister, and went into the 
 adjoining bedroom to hang up the discarded negligee. 
 
 " Who is she anyway? " The voice of the volatile 
 Edna, carefully lowered but with a vibrant element 
 which carried easily, came to her through the half- 
 open door. " Dropping nonchalant allusions to Ceres, 
 and yet knowing enough to come in at the side door 
 instead of the front, who is she? " 
 
 Freda walked away out of earshot of the reply, but 
 Edna's voice came to her again. " I'd try it. No 
 harm to ask her, and she certainly puts up a good ap- 
 pearance. It might save mother from nervous pros- 
 tration." 
 
 Half an hour later, Freda found herself in charge 
 of the gentleman's dressing room, a luxurious apart- 
 ment furnished in dark oak with dull gold hangings. 
 The almost frenzied entreaty of Constance North, and 
 her own yearning to prolong her stay in these palatial 
 surroundings, had proved a combination of appeal too 
 strong to be resisted. Her dinner had been sent up 
 on a tray, and she had eaten in solitary state and then 
 carried the dishes down to the kitchen herself to save 
 any extra steps for the distracted Rose. 
 
 As she stole back up the heavily carpeted staircase, 
 a sense of infinite content enveloped her. Certainly, 
 she told herself as she snapped on the chiffonniere 
 
144 CINDERELLA AND CERES 
 
 lights according to her instructions, certainly she had 
 never been in such a mansion as this before, had never 
 seen one, outside of those pictured in books, and yet 
 she had a curious, unaccountable sensation of fa- 
 miliarity with it all. 
 
 While she waited for the arrival of the first guests, 
 she wandered slowly about the vast room, finding an 
 exquisite joy in the feel of velvet under her feet, the 
 delicately shaded lights, the voluptuous chairs, which 
 she tried one after another, the gleaming cheval glass, 
 where she stood for a moment surveying her austere 
 little uniformed figure. 
 
 And so, walking slowly down the long chamber, 
 she came at last to the bookshelves. They were built 
 into the wall and inclosed in diamond-pane glass 
 doors. Freda opened one of these and read the titles 
 hungrily. They were chiefly late novels with here and 
 there copies of Scott and the English poets in expen- 
 sive unused editions. One volume, pushed in at ran- 
 dom among the poets on the top shelf, was unfamiliar 
 and she drew it out and held it under the light. The 
 tide, " Thumbs Down," stared back at her and seemed 
 vaguely familiar. It was a collection of short stories, 
 and as she ran her eye over the indexed page she re- 
 called having read some of them when they had ap- 
 peared in one of the standard magazines. She drew 
 one of the voluptuous chairs under the light and began 
 a closer inspection of the contents of the volume. 
 
CINDERELLA AND CERES 145 
 
 The room was very quiet. The light was excellent. 
 The chair, a dream of comfort, and the story that she 
 chose, enthralling. She had turned many pages, but 
 was sure that she had been reading not more than five 
 minutes, when a voice spoke close beside her. 
 
 "Is this the gentleman's dressing room?" 
 
 Freda jumped up and confronted the questioner 
 with a guilty start. 
 
 " I I didn't hear you come in/' she stammered. 
 
 He reached down and picked up the book which had 
 tumbled to the floor. " I was afraid I had strayed 
 into the wrong room," he explained genially. 
 
 " I don't wonder. I I wasn't very attentive. I 
 forgot where I was." 
 
 He stood before her in a luxurious-looking over- 
 coat, turning the pages of the volume which he had 
 recovered. " I see you're reading Spence. Do you 
 like him?" 
 
 " I love him." Freda's voice was vibrant with its 
 old ardent quality. 
 
 He stood flipping the leaves with idle curiosity. 
 " Why? What sort of stuff is it? " 
 
 " Oh, haven't you read any of them? Some of the 
 stories came out in ' The Scribbler's Magazine/ 
 
 They're so beautifully done so " She paused, 
 
 struggling to find words. " I think he's a little like 
 Stevenson," she finished. 
 
 He laid the book upon the chiffonniere. " If that's 
 
146 CINDERELLA AND CERES 
 
 so, I'll read him." He threw off his coat and flung it 
 over a chair. When Freda had rescued it and fitted 
 it over a decorous hanger, she found him looking at 
 her while he drew off his gloves. He had the deep- 
 set, intense eyes of the scholar, but his bearing and 
 voice were those of a man of the world. His hair, 
 which had once been unmistakably coal black, was 
 prematurely gray, and it gave to the dark eyes a pre- 
 ter naturally youthful appearance. 
 
 " About thirty," Freda mused, sizing him up with 
 feminine finality. And then when he smiled, she 
 hastily subtracted three years from this sentence. 
 
 He showed no haste to depart for the festive scene 
 below, but strolled over to the bookshelves. " I'm 
 curious to know," he said, " where you found that 
 volume. Was it on top, or inside this case? " 
 
 " Inside." 
 
 He smiled inscrutably. " I imagined so. Nobody 
 in this house desecrates books by taking them off of 
 shelves." 
 
 " Nobody anywhere seems to do it as much as 
 you'd think they would." Freda was thinking of Four 
 Corners, and of her associates at the hair store, and 
 speaking more to herself than to him. But he caught 
 up her words at once. 
 
 "You mean that people don't read as they used 
 to?" 
 
 " Well, of course I don't know many people," she 
 
CINDERELLA AND CERES 147 
 
 explained hurriedly. " And perhaps the kind of peo- 
 ple I do know Perhaps it isn't fair to judge by 
 
 them. But everywhere, the people I've watched, they 
 read for pleasure when there is nothing else to do, 
 but they don't seem to have to do it. That's what I 
 mean." 
 
 He was looking down at her, a little puzzled light 
 in his eyes. And then all at once, swept out of her 
 habitual reserve by her encounter with this man who 
 cared for the things for which she cared so passion- 
 ately, Freda found herself talking to him about 
 books, about authors, about the world's great litera- 
 ture, and what these had meant to her. And he 
 listened with that responsive sympathy which is the 
 most potent of all stimulants to a dawning confidence. 
 During that brief ten minutes she shed what Glenn 
 had called her " stand-offish " manner, and revealed, 
 all unconsciously, to this guest of the Norths', her wist- 
 ful, eager, culture-hungry heart. 
 
 And then the room began to fill, and Freda, re- 
 called suddenly to her duties, began to assist with 
 overcoats and tall silk hats. When she was alone 
 again, and sounds of distant music told her that the 
 dancing had begun, she sank into a chair and took 
 up her book. At first it was difficult to get back into 
 the atmosphere of the story, for the face and the 
 voice of " The Old Young Man," as she had dubbed 
 him, would not be banished from her mind. It had 
 
148 CINDERELLA AND CERES 
 
 been a wonderful experience, to meet for the first 
 time in her life a stranger who lived in her world, 
 who spoke its language. It must be an inspiration, a 
 perpetual inspiration, to have friends who understood, 
 to whom one must look up, for whom no allowances 
 need be made, no apologies offered to one's self. 
 
 The maid from across the hall in the ladies' room 
 appeared breathless at the door. " Say, I think they're 
 all here now. Clara says the announcement is goin' 
 to be made just after the next dance. If you want 
 to come down the back way with me I'll show you 
 a place, just back of the ballroom, where we can 
 rubber." 
 
 She hurried on down the hall to the back stairs 
 and Freda reached for her book. But there was a 
 mist before her eyes now. Somehow the maid's 
 friendly suggestion had jarred her out of a golden 
 revery. The realization came to her, with a shock, 
 that in this house she was a maid, an assistant to the 
 caterer. The all-enveloping white apron was a badge 
 of servitude. To the men who had carelessly thrown 
 her their hats and coats, she was merely a waiting 
 maid, probably engaged to the butler, and flirting 
 with their chauffeurs downstairs. It had all seemed 
 an adventure before, a novelty, something to tell the 
 girls at the breakfast table. Now a hot shame surged 
 over her. And that she was ashamed of this shame 
 was the keenest pang of all. 
 
CINDERELLA AND CERES 149 
 
 "Why should / mind?" she asked herself bitterly. 
 "Any servant in this house has a right to hold her 
 head higher than I." 
 
 She took up her book again and finished that story 
 and another before there was a sound of footsteps 
 in the upper hall. The music downstairs had stopped. 
 It was after midnight and the guests were coming 
 back to the drawing room. A puffy- faced man, who 
 seemed to be straining the buttons of his white vest, 
 came down the hall and into the room. Freda went 
 over and selected his coat from the file of dark gar- 
 ments hanging in somber row. He took it from her 
 and then laid his hat among the silver-backed brushes 
 of the chiffonniere. 
 
 " M-must have been lonesome up here all by your- 
 self, w-weren't you?" he suggested, looking at her 
 with eyes that were frankly admiring. 
 
 She picked up the hat and handed it to him again. 
 " Good-night, sir," she said gravely. 
 
 " D-don't hurry me," he entreated, "w-when I came 
 up ahead of the others j-just to see you." He fum- 
 bled in his pocket and the next moment a silver dollar 
 gleamed in his outstretched palm. Other footsteps 
 were approaching the door now, but Freda scarcely 
 heard them. 
 
 "What is that for?" she asked incredulously. 
 
 " For you. F-for the prettiest little queen in this 
 house tonight." 
 
150 CINDERELLA AND CERES 
 
 In a voice that should have frozen him, even under 
 the luxurious overcoat, she said quietly, " Keep your 
 money for one of the servants.'* 
 
 But her repulse of his tip seemed only to increase 
 his admiration. He struggled to replace the money 
 in his pocket and it rolled to the floor under the 
 chiffonniere. 
 
 " Leave it alone," he said, still smiling at her. 
 " Leave it for the shervants to pick up." He reached 
 for his hat, then came a step closer to her. "I'll take 
 you home tonight if you'll just shay the word. If 
 you'll get into my car, the one with the " 
 
 Suddenly Freda saw him reel before her under the 
 ferocious grip of some one who had crossed the room 
 behind them. "Get downstairs, My rick!" a deep 
 voice ordered. " Get downstairs before I kick you 
 down!" 
 
 When he had gone, still smiling and mumbling 
 apologies, the Old Young Man turned to Freda. 
 " Don't give him another thought," he said lightly. 
 " Myrick couldn't distinguish between a charwoman 
 and a duchess after twelve o'clock at night. He 
 didn't know that he was being insulting." 
 
 " I suppose I shouldn't feel insulted at all," she told 
 him slowly. " But I dreamed that I was Cinderella, 
 and he has made the clock strike. Thank you very 
 much for what you did." 
 
 He held out his hand. " I don't know who you 
 
CINDERELLA AND CERES 151 
 
 are, Miss Cinderella. But I want to thank you for 
 something; for giving me the first real taste of con- 
 versation this evening that I've had for months." 
 
 The maid from across the hall came in as he left, 
 to announce that a taxicab had come for Freda. 
 "He's a good-lookin' feller, isn't he?" she said, nod- 
 ding in the direction of the departing guest. " He's 
 the best lookin' of all the fellers that was here 
 tonight / think. He and Miss North make a fine 
 lookin' couple." 
 
 That night when Norman Brewster and Carlton, 
 the friend with whom he shared a suite in one of the 
 downtown hotels, reached their apartments, they set- 
 tled into deep armchairs for a be fore-bed smoke. 
 
 " You don't look much like a happy bridegroom- 
 elect," Carter told his friend jovially. " Buck up, 
 man. What in the devil are you so serious for? 
 You're not married yet, only engaged. And Con- 
 stance looked like a goddess tonight, like a goddess." 
 
 " Yes," his companion agreed absently. " Yes 
 quite like a goddess." 
 
 But later, when the lights were out and he lay star- 
 ing into the night, he told himself grimly that, " I 
 can't think of anything that I need less in my life just 
 now than a goddess." 
 
PART FOUR: AN ADVENTURE 
 IN BABYLON 
 
VIII 
 
 IN narrating her evening's adventures at Constance 
 North's announcement party, the next morning, 
 Freda avoided mention of either of the guests who 
 had made it, for her, a memorable occasion. She 
 dwelt at length upon descriptions of the gowns worn 
 by the North sisters, upon the house decorations, and 
 the duties of her own impromptu role, and with these 
 details, becolored and bespiced by her ready vocabu- 
 lary, Eileen and Glenn were completely content. 
 
 " Some party ! " Eileen commented approvingly. 
 " What's your next play in the great social game, 
 kiddo?" 
 
 Freda laughed. " I've only one card in my hand 
 just now, and that doesn't promise many thrills. 
 But I'm hoping that I will get a chance to play it 
 some time. It was given to me by Miss Judson. She's 
 the most interesting person I've met in the shop, and 
 she always asks for me when she comes in." 
 
 " You mean that trim, good-looking, elderly spin- 
 ster? Every feather just in place? Glenn and I call 
 her ' The Sparrow.' She works in one of the down- 
 town stores, doesn't she?" 
 
 " Yes. At the ' Booklover's ' book store, just two 
 
 155 
 
156 AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 
 
 blocks above us. She's a little abrupt in her speech, 
 but just a dear when you get to know her. The last 
 time I gave her a treatment, she invited me to spend 
 a Sunday with her at her bungalow near the beach. 
 I hope she won't forget it, for I'm just crazy to go." 
 
 It was the very next week that Miss Judson re- 
 newed this invitation. Hurrying into the hair shop, 
 just before closing time, she asked for Freda. " My 
 sister and I shall expect you out on Sunday," she an- 
 nounced with peremptory hospitality. " I've written 
 the car directions on this card. Be there at one 
 o'clock, please, for we dine at that hour and never 
 wait for anybody." 
 
 It was unnecessary for them to break this record 
 on Freda's account, for she arrived at the beach 
 bungalow just before that hour, timing her departure 
 from the flat with an accuracy which amused the two 
 other girls. " Why, Freda, you look so excited. Any- 
 body 'd think you were goin' to spend the day joy- 
 ridin' with the king of the limousine dynasty," Glenn 
 had told her. "You get pleasure out of the most 
 curious things ! A day out at the beach, with two old 
 maids, wouldn't thrill me, but you're elected for the 
 highbrow bunch all right. It's in the cards." 
 
 Glenn invariably ended her prognostications with 
 this assurance. The declaration, uttered with almost 
 sepulchral finality, had nothing to do with the occult 
 science of telling fortunes with cards, but was expres- 
 
AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 157 
 
 sive of a sort of inarticulate piety; an abiding belief 
 in the guidance of an inscrutable Providence. 
 
 Freda found her two hostesses clipping off blighted 
 roses in the old-fashioned garden that surrounded 
 their very modern bungalow. " Wind just ruins them 
 out here," Miss Judson explained, when introductions 
 were over. " I tell Marcia that we shouldn't try to 
 have anything but geraniums and weeds like that, but 
 she will persist with these. She will persist with the 
 garden recipes out of magazines." 
 
 Miss Marcia Judson smiled with the tolerance of 
 one long used to these upbraidings. She was so much 
 like her sister that she seemed to be but a living 
 prophecy of what ten more years would do to the 
 younger Miss Judson. It was she who called them 
 in to dinner ten minutes later and presided at the 
 round table in the glass-inclosed dining room. 
 
 Freda was enchanted with this room, from whose 
 windows she could catch a glimpse of patches of blue 
 ocean beyond the sand dunes. " I designed it for a 
 sun parlor," the elder Miss Judson told her. " But it 
 has come to be dining room and living room as well. 
 It's easier to heat than any other part of the house, 
 and my sister and I are not native Calif ornians; 
 we've got to have our house warm. The people 
 out here " 
 
 " Now, Marcia, don't get started on that hobby," 
 her sister entreated. 
 
158 AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 
 
 " The people out here," Miss Judson continued, 
 unheeding, " seem to think that if they put a furnace 
 into a house, it's an admission that the climate isn't 
 what it is advertised to be. Wear summer clothes all 
 the year 'round, and swing outside under orange trees 
 at Christmas time. That was my idea of it before I 
 came out, and the first house I built was drawn to 
 that plan. But I never make the same mistake 
 twice." 
 
 It developed, during the conversation, that Miss 
 Marcia Judson was an architect; an architect of some 
 note, who had designed several of the most unique 
 residences in the city. After dinner she yielded to her 
 sister's suggestion and Freda's entreaties, and took 
 her into the workroom which occupied the whole 
 upper half -story, and was reached by a romantic little 
 circular stairway artfully concealed in the telephone 
 passage. 
 
 " Why, it's the dearest bungalow I ever saw ! " 
 Freda cried, as she tried the view from one dormer 
 window to the other. " I shouldn't think you'd ever 
 want to go out anywhere; I never would if I had a 
 house like this." 
 
 Her responsive enthusiasm quite won the elder Miss 
 Judson's heart, and she took the trouble to explain 
 a set of plans which were then under construction for 
 a bungalow hotel project. Before they left the work- 
 room, Freda's eyes fell upon a one-story concrete 
 
AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 159 
 
 house with quaint green roof just visible behind a 
 clump of sapling eucalypti several blocks away. 
 
 "You built that house too, Miss Judson," she ex- 
 claimed with sudden conviction. " I don't know what 
 there is about it, but well, it's like literature ; I never 
 knew it before, but houses have just as definite a style 
 as books, and you can tell the builders after you've 
 seen some of their work." 
 
 " That," Miss Judson announced, " is my master- 
 piece. It's the one house, among all my family, that 
 I wouldn't change in any regard. It's perfect, and 
 I'm not egotistical in saying it. Anybody but a fool 
 knows when his work is poor, and when it is good. 
 I'd like to have you see that house. Care to go 
 over?" 
 
 " I was going over anyway," her sister explained. 
 " I have a book for Mr. Meggs that I've been prom- 
 ising to bring out all this week. He's an invalid," 
 she went on, as the trio made their way down the 
 newly paved vacant blocks toward the lonely little 
 house with the green roof, " and although he drives 
 about in his car a great deal, he doesn't like to get 
 out downtown. Very interesting man in some 
 ways." 
 
 They found a shiny, luxurious little car in front of 
 the door when they arrived, but the colored man who 
 answered their ring assured them that Mr. Meggs 
 was not going out. " He's jus' come in," he ex- 
 
160 AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 
 
 plained. And then, with the instinctive hospitality of 
 his race, " Walk right in, ladies. He'll suttinly be 
 glad to see yo', very glad indeed." 
 
 He returned a moment later, wheeling an invalid 
 chair noiselessly over the hardwood, rug-covered floor, 
 and their host extended his hand in cordial, eager 
 greeting. 
 
 Martin Meggs was a man in the early thirties, with 
 the high forehead and wide-apart eyes of the student, 
 and a sensitive nose as finely chiseled as that of a 
 Greek god. With these features, the full lips and 
 slightly irresolute chin seemed in constant conflict. 
 
 The colored man vanished as quietly as he had 
 come and Mr. Meggs wheeled himself closer to the 
 luxurious divan on which his guests had seated them- 
 selves. He managed so adroitly that the attendant 
 seemed a superfluous encumbrance. " I tried to get 
 you last night, Miss Judson," he said when the greet- 
 ings were over, "but my 'phone and car have both 
 been out of order. I wanted you folks to have sup- 
 per with me tonight, and now your coming has con- 
 vinced me without a doubt that I have a genius for 
 wireless messages. You will stay, won't you?" 
 
 He spoke to the elder Miss Judson but his eyes 
 rested upon Freda. 
 
 " Nothing so alluring as one of your Sunday night 
 suppers," Miss Marcia responded. " You know we 
 never require any urging." She turned to Freda. 
 
AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 161 
 
 "You can stay, can't you? We always leave early 
 and " 
 
 " Oh, no/' she protested hurriedly, embarrassed at 
 her inclusion in this neighborly party. " I must get 
 home. I " 
 
 " You live here in the city ? " Martin Meggs inter- 
 posed. " Ah, well, you have no defense then. It's 
 only the suburbanites who can plead boat and train 
 connections. I'll take you home in my car any time 
 you wish to go." 
 
 Sunday night supper in this darling bachelor house ! 
 It was irresistible, and there was no good reason to 
 refuse. And so the afternoon with " the two old 
 maids out at the beach " took a most unexpectedly 
 romantic turn. 
 
 "You won't mind if I show Miss Bayne the 
 house ? " Miss Marcia Judson suggested, when the 
 matter had been settled. "Of course that's what we 
 came for, Martin." 
 
 " Of course," he assented with whimsical resigna- 
 tion. " Miss Bayne, when you decide to build a 
 house, get Miss Judson to plan it for you. She'll 
 supply you with, not merely the house, but the com- 
 pany without which no home is complete. I never get 
 lonely. My life is a succession of delightful ' house ' 
 parties." 
 
 Freda followed her guide from the long living room 
 into the den adjoining, a typical man's room with wide 
 
i62 AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 
 
 fireplace, cavernous chairs and Mission oak table and 
 bookcase. The house was built in form of a U, the 
 two ends at the rear inclosing a miniature cement court 
 partially roofed by the broad projecting eaves, under 
 whose shelter were several steamer chairs and a rattan 
 tabaret with newspapers, pipe, and ash tray. In the 
 unprotected center a family of goldfish disported them- 
 selves in a sunken pool, and over at the farthest 
 corner, a scrub oak, which had escaped the ravages 
 of encroaching civilization, cast its sparse shade. 
 The two bedrooms on the extreme ends of the 
 wings, the dining room, and den opened into this 
 court. 
 
 " You're seeing it at its very best today," the archi- 
 tect explained with characteristic candor. It was one 
 of those genial summer afternoons that visit the bay 
 city late in September, and linger during the first 
 weeks of autumn, as though reluctant to surrender it 
 to the vagaries of winter. 
 
 " Martin has to live outside," Miss Judson con- 
 tinued, " and he won't inhabit southern California 
 where this type of bungalow belongs, so I had to 
 adapt this to his whims and my common sense. It 
 was difficult, but money and the right exposure can 
 do almost anything in the matter of outwitting cli- 
 mate. You'll see when I show you the bedrooms, 
 that they are really elaborated sleeping porches. The 
 kitchen is finished in polished white tile; every inch 
 
AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 163 
 
 can be washed, though sometimes I am obliged to re- 
 mind William of this." 
 
 She led the way to the left wing, and Freda found 
 herself in a room full of casement windows which 
 afforded a view of well curbed streets and a winding 
 ribbon of asphalt boulevard. " It's building up out 
 here," Miss Judson sighed. " Plans are being drawn 
 for several new houses in this tract, but I tell my 
 sister we can't expect to be unmolested forever. 
 Martin is an ideal neighbor; never around when we 
 don't want him, and always available when we do." 
 
 She surveyed the man-made comforts of the room 
 with the interest which every woman feels in bachelor 
 apartments. " It's a pathetic sort of story," she said 
 with the abrupt change of subject that never permitted 
 a listener's attention to lag. " Our families knew each 
 other back east. The two brothers were both in love 
 with the same woman. Martin's father had con- 
 tracted tuberculosis in the tropics, where he'd lived 
 several years. His brother, who is a prominent 
 physician, warned him that it was dangerous for him 
 to marry, but he attributed this to jealousy, and he 
 won and married the girl they both loved. When 
 Martin was born, about six years later, his mother 
 had contracted the disease too, and by the time the 
 boy was ten, he had lost both his parents. The uncle, 
 who has never married, assumed his brother's respon- 
 sibilities and raised the boy. Because he kept him on 
 
164 AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 
 
 a New England farm, it seemed that he had over- 
 come his natural tendency and would fulfil his uncle's 
 dream of becoming a companionable son, who would 
 compensate him, in a measure, for the lost love of his 
 youth. But life cheated the doctor again. Unfor- 
 tunately Martin was not content with agriculture. He 
 craved a professional career, and his uncle yielded 
 again to the inevitable and sent him through the Har- 
 vard law school. During his last year there, he was 
 hurt on the football field, and his left arm and hip are 
 paralyzed. The indoor work and this shock brought 
 on the old trouble, so he came out here with a wrecked 
 career behind him and a colorless future ahead. The 
 doctor seldom writes to him, but he keeps him well 
 supplied with money and has become himself a fanatic 
 on the subject of eugenics. " 
 
 Miss Judson forgot the story almost as soon as it 
 was told, but the hopelessness of it haunted the girl's 
 impressionable mind. When they rejoined the other 
 two in the blue and cream dining room, she saw her 
 host in a new light. Though the heart of youth de- 
 mands happiness for itself as its rightful heritage, 
 tragedy in the life of another envelops its victim in 
 a rose-colored glow more alluring than any of the 
 enticements which fortune might supply. 
 
 Martin Meggs, presiding at his table with the easy 
 informality of the ideal host, Martin Meggs making 
 rarebit over the electric plate, with the adeptness of 
 
AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 165 
 
 the cabaret chef, and percolating the cafe noir, alert 
 and attentive to the needs of his guests, was now a 
 tragedy star, and his dexterity the crowning pathos of 
 his part. 
 
 It was still early evening when the little supper 
 party dispersed and William wheeled Martin Meggs 
 out to the waiting roadster. The Judsons declined 
 his invitation to drive them home, preferring to walk 
 back along the poppy-lined blocks. So Freda took 
 the front seat beside her host, averting her eyes as 
 William helped him make the painful transition from 
 the wheel chair, and stored a pair of crutches upon 
 the rear seat in case of emergency. 
 
 But with the starting of the car, Martin Meggs be- 
 came a transformed creature. The pathetic depend- 
 ence of the invalid vanished as completely as though 
 he had flung it, like a discarded wrap, into the empty 
 chair. He was a normal being now with all the self- 
 assurance and quiet mastery of vigorous manhood. 
 His sound arm and leg controlled the machine with 
 the ease of an expert. He drove at the limit of the 
 speed law, stretched it a little on the unpopulous 
 blocks, but Freda felt as safe with him as though they 
 had been jogging along on one of the farm wagons 
 at the ranch. 
 
 Very tactfully she conveyed this assurance to him, 
 and he smiled without shifting his steady gaze from 
 the street ahead. " I'm only half a man at home," 
 
i66 AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 
 
 he said, and although she flushed at mention of his 
 affliction, she knew that he spoke of it to relieve her 
 embarrassment. " But when I'm out with ' Gold- 
 Dust ' I have almost human intelligence. I call her 
 Gold Dust because she makes the dirt fly, and we've 
 tested the roads in almost every section of this state. 
 William goes along too, but he's just for ballast. If 
 you're satisfied with that recommendation, we might 
 make up a little party with the Judsons next Sunday 
 and go down the peninsula." 
 
 Down the peninsula! If he had said " around Cape 
 Horn," it wouldn't have been more alluring. It 
 seemed too glittering a prospect to really materialize, 
 but it did, and the very next Sunday found the little 
 touring party down in the Santa Clara valley. They 
 stopped under a clump of trees at the side of the road 
 and enjoyed the elaborate cold supper which William 
 had provided and whose bounty the Judsons sup- 
 plemented with thermos bottles of hot coffee. And 
 when " Gold Dust " drew up at the Fillmore street 
 flat that evening, Freda felt that she knew Martin 
 Meggs very well, and that life had become glorious 
 and very kind. 
 
 The month that followed, brought vexing prob- 
 lems that Freda had pondered before but which now 
 demanded definite solution. The two Sunday after- 
 noon excursions seemed in an indefinable way to have 
 accentuated the meagerness of her wardrobe and her 
 
AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 167 
 
 lack of many things which the girls all about her 
 seemed to possess as a matter of course. Her posi- 
 tion at the desk had required a new dress, which had 
 been bought and made by Madame Peltier's own 
 modiste at the reduced rates which, by some mysteri- 
 ous arrangement, she offered to the girls in the hair 
 shop. It was a black messaline, far more expensive 
 in its artful simplicity than any gown which Freda 
 had ever dreamed of owning for party wear. But 
 among the clinging crepe meteors and georgette 
 crepes of the other girls, it passed entirely without 
 comment among them. 
 
 Only fifty dollars remained of the little horde which 
 Freda had brought with her in the old suitcase, 
 and although she had been at the hair shop almost 
 four months now, there had been no hint of placing 
 her upon the salary basis which this term of service 
 had achieved for others who had passed their period 
 of apprenticeship. The desk position seemed a handi- 
 cap rather than a promotion. 
 
 How did the other girls manage to stretch their 
 salaries over the extravagances of varied wardrobes, 
 amusements, corsage bouquets, and the hundred other 
 luxuries which city life seemed to demand? Eileen 
 was the best dressed girl in the shop, but she earned 
 a better salary than any of the others. Glenn was 
 clever with her needle and made most of the pink silk 
 and lace underclothes which she wore. But she af- 
 
168 AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 
 
 forded music lessons, and always attended the expen- 
 sive concerts and musical comedies. Night after 
 night as Freda lay awake struggling with the prob- 
 lem, she told herself that she would have an inter- 
 view with Madame Peltier herself on the subject of 
 finances. But in the morning her resolution fled. 
 The girls themselves were reticent in their mention 
 of their personal affairs. " You'll take us as you find 
 us, I know," Eileen had remarked on the first day 
 of her life in the Fillmore street flat. " We all go 
 our ways here and the last one out puts the key in 
 the mailbox." 
 
 Freda had accepted this code, but there were times 
 when her heart was lonely and troubled. These girls 
 who had taken her, with such friendly kindness, into 
 their home, and who always included her in their 
 plans for amusements together, what did she know of 
 their real lives? Would Mother have quite approved 
 of them? 
 
 She had been embarrassed at first when their men 
 friends came to call and were entertained in the stuffy 
 little living room that was so obviously a bedroom 
 too. She had been miserably conscious of the denim- 
 curtained closet, and the toilet articles secreted in the 
 drawer of the card table. But before the buoyant un- 
 concern of the other girls, and the callers themselves, 
 her own uncomfortable apprehensions began to wear 
 away. On the rare evenings when Eileen was not out 
 
AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 169 
 
 with George Locke, or entertaining friends at the flat, 
 she invariably proposed a trip to the movies. An 
 uncongenial visitor or a poor show never dampened 
 her geniality, but a quiet evening at home plunged her 
 into abysmal depression. " I can't stand to be alone," 
 she told Freda. " I'd rather go anywhere or do any- 
 thing than just be alone and think!" 
 
 And although this attitude of mind was incompre- 
 hensible to Freda, she never declined Eileen's sugges- 
 tion of a movie when, as a last resort, she offered it. 
 Freda's knowledge of the screen drama was limited to 
 some half dozen experiences at the Jewel Theater in 
 Four Corners, and, to the astonishment of her two 
 companions, she did not thrill to the lure of the film 
 favorites. 
 
 " They hurt my eyes," she explained to Eileen after 
 the second evening of dissipation. " I wish you girls 
 would just go without me. I'd rather read, I truly 
 would." 
 
 " Well, you are a puzzle, kiddo," Eileen responded. 
 " I thought, raised way off in the wilds the 
 way you've been, you'd just want to go all the 
 time." 
 
 " I do love to go places," Freda assured her. " But 
 it's store windows and parks and people that interest 
 me." Her real reason for disliking the picture shows 
 was less easily explainable to Eileen. It would be 
 quite impossible for Eileen to understand how brutal 
 
iyo AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 
 
 had been the disillusionment of the movie plays. It 
 was during the era of the modern renaissance, when 
 the picture producers, during a temporary respite from 
 the exploitation of sex, had harked back to the 
 classical novel and were reviving in pantomime some 
 of the immortal scenes of Thackeray, Dickens, and 
 Hugo. To Freda, whose companionship with these 
 was far more intimate than with any friend of her 
 childhood, the outrages committed by scenario writers 
 upon plot and character were quite beyond forgive- 
 ness. Situations at which the authors had merely 
 hinted, were blazoned forth with nauseating detail. 
 The secret, half -fearful thoughts of characters deline- 
 ated by a master pen, were flashed upon the screen, 
 amplified and distorted almost beyond recognition. 
 The library at Four Corners, and the guiding hand of 
 Doris Hart well, stretched out to her just at the right 
 time, had done their work well, and, pitifully un- 
 sophisticated as she was in experience, they had pro- 
 vided for her the foundation upon which the super- 
 structure of ideals was to be builded. But when she 
 discovered Eileen's abnormal dependence upon diver- 
 sion, she acceded to her invitations with a cordiality 
 so well feigned that the other girl shortly forgot her 
 former lack of enthusiasm. And sometimes a refresh- 
 ing little comedy rewarded her loyalty. 
 
 It was two weeks after her tour down the peninsula 
 that she was transferred to the manicure department 
 
AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 171 
 
 as abruptly as she had been stationed at the desk. She 
 nerved herself to speak to Madame that Saturday 
 evening, for that was the only occasion on which 
 the proprietor's presence could be assured. So she 
 lingered when the other workers had gone and then, 
 feeling as though she had come to steal from her, she 
 approached the compartment where they had held 
 their first interview. 
 
 Madame Peltier was checking up some figures, and 
 according to her custom, did not look up as the girl 
 entered. Freda waited, feeling her courage ooze away 
 with every second. Finally a cool voice came to her 
 above the sheet of figures, " Was there something, 
 Miss Bayne?" 
 
 Freda had rehearsed the opening sentence till it 
 came quite of its own accord, and then fearing that 
 valor would desert her in mid-stream, words came 
 pell-mell, coherent but breathless. " I don't want to 
 trquble you about it," she ended with a pitiful eager- 
 ness to escape any hint of aggression, " but I thought 
 I'd just talk it over with you and see if there was 
 any way you see, no matter how carefully I man- 
 age " She smiled at the other woman, a deprecat- 
 ing little smile which seemed to convey the assurance 
 that the fault was all her own. " I can't seem to 
 I can't live on the salary that I get here." 
 
 She felt those polished eyes resting upon her now, 
 but she could not meet their gaze. She was ter- 
 
172 AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 
 
 rified lest her entreaty might be interpreted as an ac- 
 cusation, and she groped desperately for words to 
 make her meaning clearer. But before they came, 
 Madame's voice fell upon her like a clammy 
 blanket. 
 
 " I shouldn't imagine that you could." 
 
 She was playing with a glittering chatelaine that 
 fell almost to her knees. "You must know, Miss 
 Bayne," she went on in her cool, emotionless voice, 
 " you must know that you are not unattractive ; that, 
 in fact, you are unusually good-looking, especially so 
 since I have taken an interest in your appearance. 
 And I have given you your chance. You were at the 
 desk for more than a month." 
 
 She seemed to consider the interview at an end. 
 With the sheet of figures in her hand she turned to 
 the hallway. Freda stood aside to let her pass. In 
 the curtained doorway her employer paused for an 
 instant. There was a touch of impatience in her tone 
 as she surveyed the white-aproned figure of the 
 girl. 
 
 " Is it possible," she asked her, " that you have no 
 gentleman friend who can arrange these things for 
 
 you?" 
 
 IX 
 
 HALF an hour after her interview with Madame 
 Peltier, Freda was walking alone along Van Ness 
 
AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 173 
 
 avenue. She was scarcely conscious of the direction 
 she took. She felt that she must keep walking on and 
 on alone until her whirling thoughts steadied them- 
 selves. 
 
 She wondered dully why this woman's sugges- 
 tion had given her any shock. Like the blow that 
 Nina had struck, after the first stunned moment 
 passed, everything seemed so self-explanatory, so 
 nakedly clear. The extravagances of the other girls 
 were plain as day now. Hers were, as usual, the only 
 blinded eyes. A sudden shame for her own guileless- 
 ness possessed her. The standard which she had 
 raised unconsciously for her own guidance appeared 
 all at once an absurdity. This Thing, which had 
 driven her from the shelter of her own home and into 
 the arms of a city of strangers, why, it was every- 
 where. It was as inescapable as life itself. It was 
 life. 
 
 Avery had been right after all. She had taken 
 things too hard. She had always taken them too hard, 
 and in the end they would break her heart. That 
 thing for which she had condemned her father, was 
 a thing that people did all the world over. What had 
 appeared to her as hideous crime, was spoken of here 
 as casually as one might mention a change in the 
 weather. Other people, everybody but herself, knew 
 about it too. The nicest people knew it and if cir- 
 cumstance made it unnecessary in their lives, at least 
 
174 AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 
 
 they condoned it in the lives of others, less fortunate. 
 It was only in novels that such practices were 
 anathematized. That was as it should be of course. 
 People expected more of literature than of life. Some 
 of the grim morals of the older novelists seemed 
 archaic now. And modern stories teemed with char- 
 acters who not only broke the seventh commandment 
 and were forgiven, because of an act of heroism, 
 which somehow redeemed the past, or a spectacular 
 "confession," which wrung the hearts of their ac- 
 cusers, but led highly interesting and vivid lives. 
 Where did she alone get her narrow-minded preju- 
 dices, and what would they ever do for her but slam 
 the gates to the glittering, and not wholly evil, fields 
 of pleasure? 
 
 She had been walking fast and suddenly found her- 
 self very tired and out of breath. Across the street 
 was a large house set back from the sidewalk, and its 
 unlighted windows proclaimed it vacant. Freda stole 
 up its broad inviting steps and sank down under the 
 shelter of the projecting eaves. With wistful eyes 
 she watched the procession of passing automobiles 
 and street cars. They were all going somewhere, 
 those people, to find enjoyment. Everybody in this 
 light-hearted, pleasure-loving city was an expert 
 angler in the swiftly moving stream of happiness. 
 But it cost something ; there was a tax on each golden 
 hour, and with one coin or another one must be will- 
 
AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 175 
 
 ing to pay. Her own capital, what Madame Peltier 
 had called her " extreme good looks," how much 
 would this buy, and for how long? 
 
 She was aroused suddenly by the sound of voices, 
 many voices. They seemed to come from within the 
 unlighted house. She rose cautiously, stole across the 
 porch, and peered in at one of the handsome front 
 windows. The room seemed to be full of people. 
 And that they were young people she could tell now 
 by their voices. 
 
 Then, all at once, while she stood there, trying to 
 get a clearer sight of the room within, the scene flashed 
 into brilliant life. She recoiled as though the lights 
 had struck her full in the face. As noiselessly as she 
 had come, she started back across the porch. But half- 
 way to the steps she stopped. The realization had 
 come to her that the blazing chandeliers, which had 
 quickened that shadowy room into life, had in that 
 same moment made her own presence, as uninvited 
 spectator, safer than before. Drawn irresistibly by 
 the gay laughter, by her nearness to this thing for 
 which her eager heart was starving, she crept back 
 to the alluring window again. 
 
 The scene within held her enthralled. The hand- 
 some drawing room seemed to have been converted 
 into an impromptu theater, with a raised platform at 
 one end. Flitting up and down its shallow steps, men 
 and girls, in the costumes of the ancient Orient, made 
 
176 AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 
 
 hilarious comments upon their own histrionic abilities 
 and each other's make-ups. 
 
 " Why did you turn on the lights ? " a masculine 
 voice from behind the scenes protested. " I wasn't 
 ready yet." 
 
 " We wanted to try the effect/' a tall woman in a 
 flowing white tunic explained. " Come out and see 
 how you think the stage looks." 
 
 " I don't care how it looks. It's the costumes that 
 worry me. I wish some of you people had gone in 
 less for becoming effects and more for realism. I 
 wanted " 
 
 " Don't worry about all that highbrow stuff," a 
 young man with corn-colored curls advised jovially. 
 " Half the people who come to this benefit won't be 
 bothered about historical atmosphere. Anyhow, this 
 isn't supposed to be real Biblical drama, only a trav- 
 esty. The more incongruous a burlesque is, the better 
 hit." 
 
 "Well, switch off those lights," the voice of 
 invisible authority commanded. " And you people 
 who haven't anything to do in this act, please get out 
 of the room. You distract the actors. And this is 
 a dress rehearsal, folks. You ought to be used to each 
 other's wigs by now, and willing to settle down to 
 business." 
 
 With his last words, the scene vanished, like the 
 palace of Circe under the potent magic of Ulysses. 
 
AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 177 
 
 Freda felt as though the gate to the kingdom of hap- 
 piness had been ruthlessly slammed in her face. A 
 fog had rolled in from the bay now, and the October 
 night was cold, but she drew her coat closer about her 
 and resolved to wait for the first act. She was pre- 
 pared for an interval of monotonous scene-shifting, 
 for some fascinating moments as audience, for almost 
 anything except what actually happened. 
 
 Around the corner of the house, footsteps ap- 
 proached. Some of the actors, obeying the injunction 
 of their director, had evidently gone out through a 
 side door to try a breath of the revivifying ocean air. 
 They were almost at the front steps before Freda 
 heard them. The sound of their near approach 
 startled and terrified her. With as guilty a feeling 
 as though she had come to rob the unlighted house, 
 she turned and made a desperate break for es- 
 cape. 
 
 It was too late. She came face to face with a couple 
 on the front walk. Conscious that her face was 
 flaming in the darkness, she murmured incoherent 
 words of apology. " I must have made a mistake. I 
 was looking for an address I couldn't see the num- 
 ber " 
 
 " No, I don't think you've made a mistake," the 
 man's voice reassured her. " This is the Mansfield 
 residence. Did you come from Silverstein's ? " 
 
 Before Freda had time to reply, his companion gave 
 
1 78 AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 
 
 a little cry of surprise. "Why, it's the little hair 
 girl!" 
 
 The voice was familiar, and Freda, looking at her 
 for the first time, recognized the indolent, good- 
 natured eyes of Edna North. 
 
 " My dear," she said, slipping her hand from the 
 arm of the man with the corn-colored curls, " you 
 have a perfect genius for turning up at the dramatic 
 moment. I don't care where you're going. You've 
 got to come in here for a few minutes and help us." 
 
 She started toward the steps. " You can stay out 
 and smoke, Jack," she called back to her companion. 
 "I'll call you in time!" 
 
 Freda followed her through a spacious front hall, 
 where groups of gorgeously dressed young people 
 lolled on divans and staircase, and back to a bed- 
 chamber near the dining room which was evidently 
 used as an extra guest room. 
 
 Here they found girls in various stages of neglige, 
 fastening each other's lingerie, dabbing at each other's 
 faces with theatrical cream, and making frenzied 
 alterations in their costumes. 
 
 Edna paused for an instant, viewing the chaos with 
 the triumphant smile of one who possesses the magic 
 which will restore it to order and sanity. She was 
 gowned in the costume of a Persian princess, with an 
 exquisite veil embroidered in peacocks, and a chain 
 of gold coins encircling her forehead. A girl who 
 
AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 179 
 
 was sitting before the mirror, doing futile things to 
 her hair, turned with an exclamation of relief. 
 
 "Oh, is that the costumer with the wigs, Edna? 
 I had given up Silverstein's." 
 
 " You might as well, I think/* Edna told her, with 
 her habitual serenity in the face of another's disaster. 
 " They wouldn't be delivering this late." She seemed 
 to possess a sort of unconscious genius for dramatic 
 suspense. 
 
 " But, girls, I've found a mascot," she announced. 
 " I've found somebody who can not only make a 
 switch look like it grew on you, but can make your 
 own hair look almost as natural as a wig." 
 
 Freda, blushing under this superlative introduction, 
 found herself surrounded at once by a clamorous 
 throng of prospective stars. For the next half hour 
 she worked, turning out Persian nobility, dancing 
 girls, Cleopatras, and water-bearers. She was as happy 
 and excited as the players themselves. When the last 
 court lady emerged from her skilful hands, she ven- 
 tured a bold suggestion. 
 
 " May I go in and watch for awhile ? It would be 
 so much fun to see how you look on the stage." 
 
 " Well, I should say so. Come along and I'll show 
 you a place where you can get the best view of the 
 stage." 
 
 Edna led the way to a small music alcove adjoining 
 the drawing room. It was raised a few steps from 
 
i8o AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 
 
 the floor level and afforded an excellent vantage point 
 from which to watch the actors. 
 
 Freda felt as though she had been suddenly trans- 
 ported to another world, the world of joy and 
 laughter, which only a brief half hour ago had 
 seemed as inaccessible as ancient Babylon itself. 
 Other spectators came to the music room from time 
 to time, but she was undisturbed and sat there, en- 
 tranced, watching the progress of the first act. The 
 dignified setting and the grandiose lines, interspersed 
 so unexpectedly with modern slang and ultra-modern 
 love scenes, were irresistible. She found herself 
 wiping her eyes at the end of the second scene and 
 drawing little gasps of eager appreciation. 
 
 " Very good," a voice from the wings approved. 
 " Now I want you to go through the second act with- 
 out any prompting. I'm going to be audience." 
 
 Hurrying footsteps scuttled out of view of the 
 stage, and spectators settled into seats along the walls. 
 Several of them strayed into the music room, but she 
 had no eyes for anything but the stage. 
 
 A group of courtiers took " center," lounging with 
 realistic indolence, upon the gorgeous divans of the 
 royal dining salon. 
 
 " This is the best act of all, and we've got the poor- 
 est equipment for it," a voice behind Freda com- 
 plained. " Silverstein had almost nothing suitable, 
 and we just had to make the best of his stock." 
 
AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 181 
 
 " Nobody'll ever know the difference," some one 
 assured him. " You make such a point of all those 
 little things." 
 
 " Well, I don't want it to be merely a financial suc- 
 cess, you see. I care much more about the art of it, 
 .1 
 
 " Oh, art ! I'm sick of that word. I'm going 
 out and see how I look in my Gold of Ophir 
 robe." 
 
 There was a sound of retreating footsteps, and then 
 a long sigh. " It's not right though," the man mut- 
 tered. " That equipment somehow it doesn't get 
 by." 
 
 " I think it's the weapons that are wrong." 
 
 Freda had turned to him with an eager impulse to 
 help, and the words were out before she recognized 
 the deep-set, intent eyes of The Old Young Man. For 
 a moment she was confused, then certain that he had 
 not remembered her, she hurried on. " I happened 
 to find a book in the library the other day while I was 
 looking for something else. It was on the evolution 
 of war arms, and showed sets of plates. I didn't 
 think it would be at all interesting, but it was. I 
 spent the whole evening looking at it. Those swords," 
 she nodded in the direction of the stage, "are too 
 modern. They belong to the Renaissance period ; and 
 that short, dagger-looking one originated, I think, at 
 the time of the Lombard League." 
 
182 AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 
 
 He looked at her with the expression that might 
 have lighted the eyes of Newton when he picked up 
 the apple that was to revolutionize science. " Miss 
 Cinderella ! " he said slowly. " Now I know that I 
 am not mistaken." 
 
 He brought his chair forward and set it next to 
 hers. " Did you see the first act? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " What did you think of it? " 
 
 " Oh, delicious ! " She plunged into enthusiastic 
 praise of it, and he listened, keeping his eyes fixed 
 upon the distant stage. 
 
 " Artistic ? " he repeated eagerly. " Do you really 
 think it measures up to that? Burlesque, you know 
 nonsense, and merely " 
 
 " That's just it," she told him earnestly. " That's 
 just why I think it's wonderful. It seems to me that 
 it's easier for a serious play to be artistic. Suffering, 
 temptation, death, all those things always have a dig- 
 nity of their own. They help the author though he 
 may not realize it, by just being what they are. 
 But comedy I can't explain just what I mean, but 
 although it isn't ranked so high as the other, don't 
 you think people are more critical of a writer who is 
 trying to make them laugh ? " 
 
 The second act drew to its climax, but Norman 
 Brewster gave it only intermittent attention. When 
 a defect in the lighting called him abruptly back of 
 
AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 183 
 
 the stage, he excused himself with irritated re- 
 luctance. 
 
 " I'll be right back. It won't take me a minute." 
 
 But it took him many minutes, and he did not re- 
 turn until the act was over, and the players were wan- 
 dering off in the direction of the dining room. " I 
 had to do a lot of carpentry work back there," he 
 explained. "How did you like the ending?" 
 
 They sat there, deep in discussion, until a Persian 
 anarchist, with a scimiter in his hand, appeared on the 
 threshold of the music room. " Eats are now being 
 served in the rear," he announced in the voice of a 
 dining car waiter. " Better stray in. It's a general 
 grab. None of the servants are home." 
 
 " All right, Mansfield. Thanks." The Old Young 
 Man turned to Freda. " Come on out Let's forage 
 while the pasture is good." 
 
 " Oh, no, thank you," she said hurriedly. " I must 
 be going. It's getting late." 
 
 " Going ? Why, you can't. You've got to stay to 
 see the last act. I'll bring us something to eat in 
 here." 
 
 She began a quick protest, but he was already strid- 
 ing off in the direction of the dining room. When he 
 returned, a momont later, with two cups of coffee and 
 some French pastry, he found her deep in the pages 
 of the last act. " I really can't stay to see it," she ex- 
 plained, "but I had to know how it ended," 
 
1 84 AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 
 
 He drew the piano bench toward him with one 
 foot and set the tray upon it. " I'm not just satisfied 
 with that act/ 1 he confided. " It needs an extra 
 punch just before the last scene." 
 
 Freda stirred her coffee absently. " I was wonder- 
 ing " she began slowly. " It might not be possible 
 
 to manage, but I was wondering if it wouldn't add to 
 the suspense, if the audience didn't know until almost 
 the end that Belshazzar had ordered the writing on 
 the wall himself." 
 
 " Bully ! " he cried, seizing the manuscript from 
 her lap. He repeated the word over to himself in a 
 whisper while he made fantastic notes upon the mar- 
 gin. " Drink your coffee while it's hot, but I can't 
 stop to eat just now." 
 
 He wrote on, forgetful of her presence. When he 
 had finished, he slapped the pages together and drank 
 his coffee at a gulp. " That's a great suggestion," he 
 said, and transferred to her plate an apricot tart 
 smothered under an avalanche of whipped cream. 
 
 " Aren't you going to tell me who you are tonight, 
 Miss Cinderella ? " he begged. 
 
 The light died out of her eyes, and, quick to note 
 their change, he said at once, " It doesn't matter. The 
 point is that you have given me the criticism I needed, 
 and the idea for which I've been groping for weeks." 
 
 He swept the throng of performers with cynical 
 eyes. " Most of these people didn't remember that 
 
AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 185 
 
 there had ever been such a place as ancient Babylon," 
 he told her, " and I'm sure some of them had a hazy 
 impression that Belshazzar was a suburb of Los 
 Angeles. You can't imagine how stimulating you are." 
 
 " Hurry up there, Brewster," a voice called from 
 the drawing room. " We want to get this last act 
 over so we can dance." 
 
 He pushed the piano bench aside and gathered up 
 the manuscript. " I'll have to go behind to get it 
 started, but I'll be back right away," he promised. 
 
 When he had gone, Freda moved her chair back to 
 try a new angle of the stage. She was torn between 
 her eager desire to stay, and the knowledge that it 
 would be very late when she started home unescorted. 
 "Just for the opening scene," she reassured herself. 
 " I'll go right after that." 
 
 The room was in darkness now and from her place 
 by the hall-door the sound of voices came to her, 
 close at hand. " From one of those downtown hair- 
 shops. Edna picked her up somewhere and brought 
 her in to help the girls in the dressing room." 
 
 " Well, she is an accommodating little thing, isn't 
 she? And a charmer. You would have been jealous 
 if you had seen Norman with her just now in the 
 music room. She had him roped and tied." 
 
 "My dear, if I paid any attention to all of Norman's 
 casual acquaintances, I'd be in a constant state of re- 
 volt. He'd pick up with anybody who he thought 
 
186 AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 
 
 was an oddity. And then, you know, he probably 
 couldn't get away from her. A girl of that class 
 preordained man-hunters, you know." 
 
 The voices died away in the distance. Freda sat 
 as motionless as though she were frozen to her chair. 
 The joyousness of the scene, the comradeship of these 
 people, which a moment ago had seemed, in spite of 
 the social gulf between them, to reach out a hand to 
 her in the name of youth and draw her under its 
 friendly mantle, had undergone a swift transforma- 
 tion. She saw hostility in their eyes now, and what 
 was infinitely more cruel, amused patronage. 
 
 As she stole out into the semi-darkness of the hall, 
 Edna North hurried toward her from the dining 
 room. " Oh, you're going, Good Samaritan ? " she 
 
 cried. " Why, I haven't " She was fumbling in 
 
 the depths of a silver mesh-bag. 
 
 " Please don't," Freda entreated her in an unsteady 
 little voice. " It was it was just fun for me. I've 
 enjoyed it so much. Good-night." 
 
 She hurried down the hall and out on the porch, 
 only pausing when she reached the foot of the steps, 
 to fasten her coat, which seemed all at once an inade- 
 quate protection against the penetrating fog. 
 
 Inside, Edna North threw the silver mesh-bag upon 
 a divan with a rueful little laugh. " I got the turn- 
 down of my life just now," she said to Norman 
 Brewster. " I offered to pay that little hair girl for 
 
AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 187 
 
 helping us in the dressing room, and she waved me 
 aside with the hauteur of a queen.'* 
 
 " Has she gone ? " he cried. 
 
 " Gone ? I should say so ; in a coach and six, I 
 think." 
 
 As Freda turned out on the pavement, a command- 
 ing hand was laid upon her arm. " Why are you 
 running away like this ? " a stern voice demanded. " I 
 told you to wait." 
 
 " And I told you that I couldn't wait," she answered 
 in an icy little voice. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 She did not reply, but started on her way. He fell 
 into step beside her. 
 
 " I want you to come to the performance," he said, 
 his tone entreating now. " I want you very much 
 to come and see how you like it with the alteration you 
 suggested. Please give me your address and let me 
 send you softie tickets." 
 
 " A preordained man-hunter." The words seemed 
 to be pounding against her brain. " I can't come," 
 she answered coldly. " It will be quite impossible." 
 
 " Won't you let me send you home in my car 
 then? You shouldn't be out this late alone. I can't 
 allow you to go alone." 
 
 " I think you can," she told him. " I very much 
 prefer to go alone. Good-night." 
 
 "Who is she?" Norman Brewster demanded of 
 
i88 AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 
 
 Constance when, a few moments later, he encoun- 
 tered her in the music room. " Who is that little girl 
 
 with the gray eyes who " 
 
 " I haven't the slightest idea," she answered. 
 
 In the society columns of the papers Freda read 
 the story of the brilliant event at the Mansfield resi- 
 dence, where the younger members of the smart set 
 staged a comedy skit which netted almost a thousand 
 dollars for the associated charities. The performance 
 was described as " sparkling with clever lines," and 
 the actors, " taking their parts with all the delightful 
 exuberance and spontaneity of youth." 
 
 Freda had just passed her nineteenth birthday, but, 
 recalling the gay rehearsal at the Mansfield home, she 
 asked herself now if she had ever really been young. 
 
 A month later she became a full-fledged assistant at 
 the hair-shop, and was put in charge of the hair- 
 dressing department, with a substantial increase in 
 salary. But this promotion failed to bring the satis- 
 faction which she had so confidently expected. Now 
 that she had achieved the " definite profession " which 
 had been the goal of her desire, which was to have 
 brought independence and a circle of friends who 
 would provide her with the " education " which 
 Madame Peltier had promised, she discovered that the 
 future which her position assured was meager and 
 soul-starving. She had long ago begun to realize that 
 
AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 189 
 
 " social leaders " do not become friendly with the 
 girls who dress their hair, and her experiences with 
 the Norths made this conviction bitterly obvious. 
 Days, months, years she might give to the beauty par- 
 lor, and they would afford her not one stepping stone 
 to that social and intellectual world for which her 
 heart and brain hungered. 
 
 The slangy, superficial talk which made up all the 
 conversation of her associates, the incessant tyranny 
 of the mirror, the suave invitations to dinner from the 
 men patrons of the establishment, which must be so 
 tactfully declined, if declined at all, so artfully cir- 
 cumvented, these things, which made up all her days, 
 had come to be nauseating. Why had she ever taken 
 such a position? she asked herself, as she lay staring 
 into the darkness of the little living room at the flat, 
 when sleep would not come. Why couldn't she have 
 foreseen its limitations? 
 
 But beggars couldn't be choosers, and the stern 
 sense of justice which was one of her dominant traits 
 of character forced her to admit that a profession 
 which had required so little in the way of prerequisites 
 could not be expected to yield bounteous returns. 
 
 The enthusiasm with which she had begun her ap- 
 prenticeship had long ago burned out. That she per- 
 formed her tasks so well, so cheerfully, and with such 
 an infinite patience deceived every one, sometimes even 
 herself. Nobody guessed that she had come to hate 
 
190 AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 
 
 it all, and fastidious patrons arranged their appoint- 
 ments to suit her time. Nobody should ever guess it, 
 she resolved. Pride, as much as a strict sense of duty, 
 upheld her in this determination. 
 
 In all the months that she had been away, there had 
 only been two letters from the family at Rocky Cove. 
 These were from Avery, and were filled chiefly with 
 a report of the crop failure, the increasing complexity 
 of labor problems, and other ranch troubles. Aurelia 
 had not yet obtained her divorce, and now that Freda 
 was gone, little was ever said about it. After reading 
 the second of these letters, Freda abandoned hope of 
 her father's marriage and set her face even more 
 stonily away from the past. 
 
 But there was compensation in the dreary routine 
 of the weeks. And that compensation was the Sunday 
 afternoon drives with Martin Meggs. She had come 
 to look forward to them as the one bright spot in the 
 monotony of her life. And recalling these pleasures, 
 her resentment toward the hair store softened. " I 
 never would have met him if I hadn't first met Miss 
 Judson under the blue ray treatment," she was wont 
 to remind herself, when the days lagged unbearably. 
 
 It was the following January that Madame Peltier 
 asked her to make a delivery one evening after closing 
 hour. It was in the uptown residence district, and she 
 decided to walk home and take her dinner in one of 
 the modest restaurants where she could summon 
 
AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 191 
 
 Eileen and Glenn to join her. It would be a pleasant 
 little change, and she had never outgrown the feeling 
 that to dine away from home was a festivity in 
 itself. 
 
 It was nearly seven when she left the house on 
 California street. The evening was clear and cold and 
 there was wine in every breath of the crisp air. As 
 she turned a corner where a large apartment house 
 was in process of construction, she almost collided 
 with a man who was walking along the intersecting 
 street. His steps were uncertain, and he seemed to be 
 unaware of the direction that he took. At sight of 
 Freda, he stopped abruptly and tried to steady himself 
 against a lamp post. He wore a long overcoat, but 
 was without a hat, and he looked up and down the 
 street with a stealthy, furtive air. 
 
 Freda stared at him in incredulous astonishment. 
 It was The Old Young Man. But there was no light 
 of recognition in his eyes as he stood supporting him- 
 self by the lamp post. Her first impression was that 
 he was intoxicated, and she shrank back out of the 
 path of his swaying steps. But intoxication was more 
 familiar to her than all the dissipations of men. Her 
 earliest memories of the men at the Landing House 
 were of seeing them assisted home by riotous com- 
 panions, of watching them from the living room win- 
 dow, as they swayed hilariously or sullenly along the 
 wind-swept road. Her second glance at Norman 
 
192 AN ADVENTURE IN BABYLON 
 
 Brewster convinced her that he was not drunk. He 
 must have been drugged. 
 
 She felt no desire to avoid him, no instinct to cry 
 for help, only a bewildered pity, and an impulse to 
 protect him. 
 
 With the hand that was not clutching the post, he 
 felt in his pocket and drew out a roll of bank notes. 
 He tried to count them as they trembled in his hands 
 like aspen leaves. Then lifting his eyes hopelessly to 
 her face, he held them toward her. 
 
 "You're a nice girl, aren't you?" he asked 
 anxiously. "You'll help a fellow to get away?" 
 
 He thrust the money into her hands with nervous 
 haste, glancing stealthily over his shoulder. "You'll 
 help me, won't you?" he implored in a strained, 
 anxious whisper. "You'll come and help me buy a 
 ticket a ticket to Honolulu? " 
 
PART FIVE: IN HIGH GEAR 
 
X 
 
 "YOU'LL help me buy a ticket to Honolulu?" 
 
 Norman Brewster's tense, strained face and the un- 
 expectedness of his request, stirred Freda to an im- 
 pulsive pity that submerged every other emotion. 
 " Yes, of course I'll help you," she promised, in the 
 soothing voice that she would have used in comfort- 
 ing a lost child. She took the roll of bills and stuffed 
 them into her imitation leather bag. 
 
 When he had seen her snap it shut, he drew a sigh 
 of infinite relief, and ran his fingers nervously 
 through his thick, iron-gray hair. " Shall we go down 
 now ? " he suggested. " Shall we go down and " 
 
 Freda was looking up and down the quiet street. 
 " Yes," she promised. " But we'll have to wait here 
 for a car." 
 
 She was more and more convinced now that he had 
 been drugged. Her questions concerning his address 
 proved unavailing. There was only one recourse that 
 presented itself to her mind. She would take him to 
 the emergency hospital. There would be nothing sen- 
 sational about that, and as soon as the effects of the 
 drug wore off, he would be able to go home him- 
 self. 
 
 195 
 
196 IN HIGH GEAR 
 
 She allowed two or three automobiles to pass be- 
 cause they contained lady passengers. Then stepping 
 out into the street, she boldly hailed a shabby looking 
 car whose only occupant was the driver. At her few 
 murmured words of explanation the man was all eager 
 sympathy. Freda had never ceased to be surprised at 
 the apparent impossibility of surprising anybody in 
 this friendly, resourceful city. The stranger backed 
 his machine to the curb and jumped out. But Norman 
 Brewster turned to Freda in helpless dismay. " You'd 
 better get in first," the driver advised her. " Then 
 he'll be willin' to go along quiet." He was evidently 
 under the impression that the patient was insane. 
 
 Freda obeyed, and Norman Brewster followed her 
 without further protest. A few moments later they 
 drew up in front of the emergency hospital, and the 
 stranger helped them both to alight. " No thanks to 
 it," he told Freda cordially. " Glad to help you. 
 Hope he'll come out of it all right." 
 
 She took the patient's arm and led him into the 
 entrance hall. But while she was reporting her meager 
 knowledge of the case to the registrar, he fell back- 
 ward in his chair, his face white. 
 
 " He's only fainted," the girl explained calmly, and 
 rang a bell at the side of the desk. When Freda had 
 seen him disappear in charge of two competent look- 
 ing nurses, she drew a sigh of relief and hurried back 
 to the street. 
 
IN HIGH GEAR 197 
 
 It was quite dark now and she walked quickly, de- 
 ciding not to go downtown for dinner, as the girls 
 would probably be wondering about her. But when 
 she let herself into the tiny hall, she found a note 
 propped upon the table. She read it while she un- 
 pinned her hat. 
 
 DEAR F 
 
 We waited for you as long as we could. We're having 
 dinner downtown with George Locke and one of his friends. 
 The rest of the Hamburg steak and lemon jelly are in the 
 cooler. We won't be home till late. GLENN. 
 
 Freda smiled as she crumpled this characteristic 
 message in her hand. Nobody was " home until late," 
 who expected to get any fun out of life. But these 
 girls, who had taken her so unquestioningly into their 
 lives, had grown very dear to her. No matter what 
 the other white-aproned girls at Madame Peltier's 
 might be, she was sure of Glenn and 'Eileen ; sure that 
 they were " dear " and good. 
 
 But as she took the cold Hamburg balls and the 
 leathery jelly out of the cooler, she decided to say 
 nothing to them about the evening's adventure. For 
 some reason, which she could not explain to her- 
 self, she shrank from being joked about Norman 
 Brewster. 
 
 It was not until she was undressing for bed, that 
 the sight of the imitation leather bag, lying on the 
 couch, like a gorged boa-constrictor, recalled to her 
 
i 9 8 IN HIGH GEAR 
 
 mind, with a start, the roll of bank notes. She opened 
 the purse with fingers that were a little unsteady. In 
 her anxiety for the sick man, she had never given them 
 another thought after having stored them away. She 
 counted them over rapidly. They totaled more than 
 three hundred dollars. 
 
 " I'll have to get up early," she sighed, " and take 
 them out to the hospital before eight. Of course I'll 
 want to know how he is anyway." 
 
 But when, the next morning, she appeared at the 
 registrar's desk, she was told that the patient had left. 
 " He came to about half an hour after you'd gone," 
 the girl told her, " and the doctor said there was no 
 reason why he should stay. He'd had a blow on the 
 head and was just stunned. Nothing serious." 
 
 " But did he give you his address? " 
 
 The girl shook her head. 
 
 At noon Freda consulted a directory, but Norman 
 Brewster's name was not included in its pages. Then, 
 in desperation, she called the North residence on the 
 'phone. A child's high-pitched voice came to her over 
 the wire. " No, ma'am, the' Norths don't live here 
 any more. They've moved away. We live here 
 
 now." 
 
 A trip to the Mansfield mansion was rewarded by 
 drawn blinds and complete lack of response to the 
 doorbell. During that day and the next, the problem 
 of " Brewster's Hundreds," as Freda dubbed the 
 
IN HIGH GEAR 199 
 
 bank notes, weighed upon her with leaden heaviness. 
 The police occurred to her as a possible solution to 
 the problem, but, like many country-bred people, she 
 had a horror of it. The police pilfered from you your 
 name and then blazoned it forth to a ravenous public. 
 No, whatever happened, she would keep Norman 
 Brewster's name and her own out of print. She must 
 bank the money until such time as it could be returned. 
 
 The next day, just at closing time, a familiar car 
 drew up in front of the hair store and Martin Meggs, 
 looking more like a professional driver than ever in 
 heavy-rimmed goggles, leaned toward her over the 
 machine. " I went by the ' Booklover's ' to drive Miss 
 Judson home, but they're taking stock and she turned 
 me down. Won't you take a little spin before it 
 gets cold?'* 
 
 Nothing could have suited Freda's tired nerves 
 better. The suggestion seemed to have dropped from 
 the hand of Providence. They had driven several 
 blocks when he slowed down at the curb. " I've got 
 an extra coat on the back seat," he said. " It's one of 
 the fussy things that William insists upon loading in. 
 I want you to put it on. The breeze is sharper than I 
 thought." 
 
 She reached back into the tonneau and drew it out 
 from beneath robes and crutches, and then submitted 
 while he helped her into it with his dexterous right 
 hand. There was something very luxurious, she told 
 
200 IN HIGH GEAR 
 
 herself with a little sigh of content, something curi- 
 ously heart-warming in his solicitude. 
 
 While " Gold Dust " covered the uphill blocks out 
 to the park, they talked of another excursion down 
 the peninsula and of the new house which the inde- 
 fatigable Miss Marcia was now building over in 
 Berkeley, where the sisters had abruptly decided to 
 live. " They're a restless pair," Martin Meggs com- 
 mented. " But keen as knife blades, both of them. 
 Miss Marion is really the whole show at the ' Book- 
 lover's/ Whatever she says, goes with Chapman and 
 Nevin." 
 
 It was when they had turned into one of the broad, 
 diagonal boulevards of the park, that he suddenly 
 shifted the subject of their conversation. " Miss 
 Bayne," he said, " ever since I first met you I've won- 
 dered about something. It's just idle curiosity, but I'd 
 like to know. Where is your home? " 
 
 With the certainty that the words would mean 
 nothing to him, she named Four Corners. 
 
 " That's it," he cried in swift enlightenment. 
 "That's the very place. 'Gold Dust' stalled near 
 there once when I was making an up-country tour, 
 and a young fellow named Bayne towed us into that 
 town. He was accommodating and good-natured as 
 he could be. Your brother, perhaps?" 
 
 " My uncle," she told him briefly. 
 
 " Well, we put up that night at that terrible hotel, 
 
IN HIGH GEAR 201 
 
 the Palace I think they called it. That's a safe guess 
 anyway for a place like that. And the next day I had 
 a bad attack with my hip and William made me stay 
 there almost a week. That was about a year ago, I 
 guess," he mused. " But I'll never forget that ex- 
 perience. It was the deadliest five days I ever put in 
 anywhere. The people tried to be entertaining, too. 
 They used to sit on that front porch and talk to me 
 by the hour. I couldn't complain that there was lack 
 of company of a kind. Beautiful country around 
 there. But Lord, how lonely! How desperately 
 lonely ! A man would eat his heart out there." 
 
 Freda felt the ground slipping beneath her feet and 
 grasped at the first change of topic that presented it- 
 self. It chanced to be her previous evening's experi- 
 ence. In the telling of it, she found an unexpected 
 enjoyment and relief. And her companion listened 
 with a keen responsive interest. " Now, you are a 
 lawyer," she finished gaily. " What would you advise 
 me to do with that money ? " 
 
 " Spend it." 
 
 He laughed at her startled disapproval. " Now as 
 you have presented the case," he went on argumen- 
 tatively, " it appears that when the party of the first 
 part intrusted this money to you, he did so quite of 
 his own accord and without undue coercion on your 
 part. He gave it to you, and then disappeared, con- 
 cealing his identity so that you could not discover 
 
202 IN HIGH GEAR 
 
 him. Evidently then he intended to have you keep 
 the gift, and there are no strings tied to it. You are 
 free to spend it as you please, and you can be assured 
 too that no matter how you spend it, you will un- 
 doubtedly use it more wisely than he would have done 
 at the time he gave it to you." 
 
 She laughed at his logic, but it had relieved her 
 mind to tell him the story. "Thank you," she said, 
 " but I've already decided to put it into the bank." 
 
 " I might have known it," he sighed. " People 
 always decide what they are going to do before they 
 ask my advice, and never by any chance is it the thing 
 which I suggest. But I charge for my services just 
 the same. My education was expensive and I can't 
 give away its fruits. The price of this advice, which 
 you have just rejected, is a drive down to San 
 Mateo next Sunday afternoon. What time shall we 
 start?" 
 
 He called for her at two the following Sunday, and 
 as they left the city behind them and turned out upon 
 one of the finest stretches of roadway in the state, 
 Freda drew a long sigh of content. 
 
 " You won't mind if I don't talk much just yet? " 
 she said. " It's such a rest to be away from it all. 
 You never make me feel that I have to be entertaining 
 all the time." 
 
 Over several tree-bordered miles they drove in 
 silence, and then Martin Meggs spoke abruptly. " Why 
 
IN HIGH GEAR 203 
 
 do you stay in that beauty parlor? It's not where you 
 belong at all. Why do you stay there? You can't 
 like it." 
 
 " I loathe it." 
 
 "And yet you have never thought of doing any- 
 thing different?" 
 
 " I think of nothing else. But all my thinking 
 seems to bring me nowhere. You see, I have so little 
 to offer not even a high school education. And 
 every profession that is worth anything demands so 
 much. It is only fair that it should demand much. 
 I made a mistake in starting there; it's only one of 
 many mistakes that I've made during this past year, 
 but it's too late to change now." 
 
 "Why too late?" 
 
 " Because to learn anything else would take too 
 long. Perhaps I lack courage, but I'm afraid to cut 
 myself completely adrift." 
 
 Martin Meggs was staring straight ahead down the 
 perfect stretch of coast boulevard. There was a 
 moment of silence, while he veered sharply to avoid 
 a reckless motorcyclist. Then Freda met his chal- 
 lenge with an eager question. " You say I don't be- 
 long there. Well, where do I belong? " 
 
 " You are wasting yourself there. Often the first 
 step toward getting a thing that we very much want 
 in this life, is pushing something else aside that is 
 standing in its way." 
 
204 IN HIGH GEAR 
 
 "You mean," she asked anxiously, "burning 
 bridges?" 
 
 " Absolutely. Burning bridges is a dangerous thing 
 for people past middle life. But it's a sport designed 
 for youth. If you've never tried it, you have no idea 
 how exhilarating it is." 
 
 " I have tried it." 
 
 " Well, then, didn't you find that after it was done, 
 and even before the red coals had a chance to die out, 
 that a new plank from some some unexpected source 
 was put down for you to walk upon? " 
 
 She nodded silently. 
 
 " And didn't you find," he persisted, " that al f hough 
 you may have felt a little anxious when you touched 
 the match, that there was a certain thrill and excite- 
 ment about it all?" 
 
 His voice had become curiously sharp and strained 
 all at once, but he still stared ahead and " Gold Dust " 
 slackened her speed slightly. "You'll always find it 
 so," he assured her. " Progress is a succession of 
 burned bridges. They are the milestones and the 
 torches along the way of accomplishment and 
 happiness." 
 
 The last words came with an effort, and the car was 
 slowing to a stop. Freda, glancing at her companion's 
 face, was startled to see it drawn with pain. " I can't 
 do it," he said hoarsely. " I can't go on for a while. 
 It's got me." 
 
IN HIGH GEAR 205 
 
 "You're ill!" Freda cried in swift alarm. "Oh, 
 you're ill and I didn't know! Why didn't you stop 
 before? " Her voice was full of poignant compassion 
 and self-reproach. 
 
 " It's just my old hip trouble. I have spells with 
 it sometimes. There's nothing alarming about it. I 
 just lose control of the clutch, that's all." 
 
 But Freda saw that, in spite of his effort to re- 
 assure her, this was not " all." His face had suddenly 
 become haggard and old. His mouth twitched in its 
 agonized effort at self-control. She shot a swift 
 glance about them. Through the line of poplars that 
 bordered the road, she caught a glimpse of a white 
 house. It was one of those commodious, semi-rural 
 homes of the San Mateo region, which contrive, by 
 means of corner driveways and other landscape 
 devices, to simulate remoteness from the public 
 thoroughfare. It was only a few hundred yards 
 away. 
 
 " There may be someone here who can help you 
 out of the car," Freda told him, as she stepped hastily 
 from the machine. "You must lie down and be as 
 comfortable as you can." 
 
 He began a faint protest, but she was already dart- 
 ing through the trees. It was four o'clock, but already 
 the long shadows of winter were stealing across the 
 lawn, and the broad drooping eaves of the house made 
 its interior almost indiscernible from the front porch. 
 
206 IN HIGH GEAR 
 
 But the shades of the handsome front windows were 
 up, and as Freda stood at the door, she caught a 
 glimpse of a family party grouped about the open 
 wood fire in the living room. The electric bell arrested, 
 for an instant, their attention, but none of them moved 
 in response to its summons. Then, unheralded by the 
 sound of approaching steps, the door swung slowly 
 open. The impassive figure of a Chinese servant ap- 
 peared in the aperture. In reply to Freda's breathless 
 request to speak to one of the men of the household, 
 he surveyed her with dubious, unresponsive gaze. 
 " Who you like see? " he demanded. 
 
 " Any one of them," she entreated. " I don't know 
 their names, but " 
 
 He retreated a few steps from the door, and glanced 
 into the firelit room. " Lady come," he announced 
 laconically to the family at large. 
 
 A young man in tennis flannels, with silk neglige 
 shirt, appeared in the hallway. At sight of the alarm 
 in her eyes, his casually inquiring glance changed to 
 quick concern. An instant later he had returned to 
 the living room and there was a low mumble of words. 
 An elderly man and a large woman with restless eyes 
 and a white waist of intricate design, hurried to the 
 door. " I saw their car out there," the young man in 
 tennis flannels was saying, " but I thought they'd just 
 stopped to change a tire." 
 
 They hastened with Freda across the lawn to the 
 
IN HIGH GEAR 207 
 
 roadside, where " Gold Dust " stood motionless be- 
 neath a giant poplar. It was no longer possible for 
 her owner to attempt a gallant unconcern. Pain had 
 him in her pitiless grip and had wrung him limp. 
 His head had fallen upon his arms on the back of the 
 seat beside him. He did not move when the elderly 
 man gently touched his shoulder. 
 
 " The pain is in his hip," Freda explained in a low 
 voice. " I am afraid it will be agony to him to be 
 moved." 
 
 " Bring that small cot off the sleeping porch, 
 Lloyd," the woman ordered. Her restless air of petted 
 indulgence was gone. It was she who directed the 
 placing of the cot and the raising of Martin Meggs' 
 racked body. 
 
 " To the library," she said as the stretcher-bearers 
 moved away from the car. " It's quieter there." She 
 preceded them to the room, drew the shades, and 
 lighted a lamp on the reading table. " We can have 
 a doctor here in five minutes," she said to Freda. 
 " One of our neighbors is " 
 
 A faint voice from the couch interposed. Freda 
 leaned over to catch the words. " Please don't let 
 them bring a doctor. He could do nothing 
 for me. Just leave me quiet with you." 
 
 The woman received this message without protest. 
 " I know a man hates to have a scene," she whispered 
 to Freda. " But I'll be right across here in the living 
 
208 IN HIGH GEAR 
 
 room, and if he should want brandy or coffee or any 
 kind of stimulant " 
 
 The two men went out with her, and she closed 
 the door softly. Freda went back to the couch with 
 that feeling of blank helplessness which, in the pres- 
 ence of another's anguish, is the most poignant of all 
 life's miseries. More intensely than she had ever 
 wanted anything in her life, she wanted William. But 
 William was away upon his one-day-a-month holiday. 
 It would be impossible to reach him by 'phone till after 
 six. For an interminable quarter of an hour she 
 sat near the couch almost fearing to breathe lest she 
 disturb the sufferer. Then very quietly she bent over 
 him and spoke, moved by an idea which desperation 
 had suggested. " Mr. Meggs, haven't you isn't 
 there something beside your crutches that you carry 
 with you for emergencies like this?" 
 
 Without opening his eyes he nodded, as though 
 he had been expecting the question. 
 
 "Is it out in the car?" 
 
 He nodded again. She hesitated a moment. Then 
 he opened his eyes and the agony in them sent her 
 swiftly across the room, and out into the wide hall- 
 way. At the sound of her footsteps, the man in tennis 
 flannels confronted her, mute solicitude in his eyes. 
 
 " I'm going out to get something from the car," 
 she explained. " No, thanks, don't come." 
 
 She felt an instinctive impulse to guard, even from 
 
IN HIGH GEAR 209 
 
 these sympathetic strangers, Martin Meggs' pitiful 
 secret. Some one had brought " Gold Dust " up to 
 the front steps. As she hurriedly descended them, 
 the man snapped on the porch light behind her. The 
 search consumed only a few moments. In one of the 
 flap pockets beside the rear seat, her groping ringers 
 closed upon the panacea for Martin Meggs' sufferings. 
 
 Ten minutes after the hypodermic had been ad- 
 ministered he was resting comfortably, and an hour 
 later they were making their departure. There was 
 some protest among the group on the front porch who 
 saw them off, the elderly gentleman insisting that his 
 son follow the car to see them safely to their destina- 
 tion. Martin Meggs turned to the girl standing beside 
 his machine. " I wouldn't have you frightened or 
 exposed to any risk/' he told her in a low voice, while 
 he drew on his gloves. " Will you let this man take 
 you home?" 
 
 " I am not taking any risk when I am with you," 
 she answered. Thus the matter was settled and a 
 moment later " Gold Dust " glided out to the coast 
 highway, her driver alert and confident at the wheel. 
 
 They reached the city shortly after six, but Freda 
 refused to allow Martin Meggs to leave her at the flat. 
 " I wouldn't have a happy minute thinking of you out 
 there alone," she said. " Let me go out and stay till 
 William comes. He can drive me back after he has 
 made you comfortable." 
 
210 IN HIGH GEAR 
 
 So the car climbed the hills to the beach. As they 
 passed the Judson cottage, they saw that the shades 
 were drawn, except in the wide living room window 
 where a " For Sale " sign stared out across the sand 
 dunes. 
 
 Arrived at their destination, Freda, with instinctive 
 tact, left her companion to make the awkward transfer 
 from steering wheel to crutches, and when he thumped 
 into the den, she had turned on the lights and touched 
 a match to the fire. 
 
 "It isn't cold at all," she said. "The furnace 
 keeps the house just right all the time, but it's cozy 
 to have this, don't you think? " 
 
 He sank into one of the cavernous chairs with a sigh 
 of unutterable relief. " And you chose the right room 
 to light up," he told her. " I only have a living room 
 because Miss Marcia insisted upon it. But I hate it 
 and never go in there except when she comes to see 
 me. She considers that room her masterpiece, I be- 
 lieve." 
 
 " She considers the whole house her masterpiece," 
 Freda responded. " And surely it must be. It's an 
 ideal home; different from any bungalow that I ever 
 
 saw." 
 
 " Do you really think it looks like a home ? " he 
 asked eagerly. " I've always had the feeling that it 
 has the words ' Private Sanitarium ' painted over the 
 front door." 
 
IN HIGH GEAR 211 
 
 Neither of them made any pretense of ignoring the 
 near-tragedy of the afternoon, but they spoke of it 
 casually, thus avoiding the strain of that ghastly form 
 of conversation which would have been theirs had they 
 pretended blindness to a subject, stretched like a 
 shrouded corpse between them. 
 
 When the onyx clock on the mantel struck seven, 
 Freda began to listen for William, but the half hour 
 chimed and still he did not come. Then Martin Meggs 
 proposed supper with the electric plate and toaster as 
 aides. 
 
 "I'll tell you what I'd really love," Freda cried. 
 " I've been thinking about it, and wondering if I 
 could if you would let me get supper for us out 
 in that wonderful kitchen of yours. And listen," 
 she went on, her face aglow with sudden inspira- 
 tion, " let's have it at this table here by the fire. It 
 would be ever so much more fun than in the dining 
 
 room." 
 
 " But I'm going to help," her host insisted. " I 
 know I'm a better cook than you are anyway 
 and " He had already slipped the crutches be- 
 neath his arms. 
 
 She stopped on her way out ef the den and re- 
 garded him with severely challenging eyes. " What 
 experience have you ever had in real cooking? " she 
 demanded. " Could you get up a big dinner for six 
 hungry working men, on an old range, whose oven 
 
212 IN HIGH GEAR 
 
 was out of commission most ef the time, and whose 
 fuel had to be carried from yards away? Could you 
 stretch your menu at the last minute so that it would 
 satisfy eight men instead of six, and serve it on time, 
 without the aid of running water and wizard-like 
 Williams?" 
 
 " I'll set the table/' he suggested humbly. 
 
 While he stumped from pantry to den, arranging 
 the gold-circled china, which Miss Marcia had 
 selected, the sound of Freda's voice singing, out in the 
 tile-finished kitchen, floated in to him. He set a shal- 
 low, dull blue bowl, filled with canary colored pansies, 
 in the center of the table and hobbled out to where 
 the girl stood at the wall cabinet, beating the whites 
 of eggs. * I never allow my help to sing in the 
 house," he warned her. "William takes his duties 
 seriously." 
 
 " A deaf-mute could sing in this room," she told 
 him. She had donned a long white butcher's apron 
 which she had discovered behind the door, and it fell 
 to the hem of her demure little brown serge gown. 
 " I can't get used to a kitchen like this," she went on. 
 " Everything right to hand, and the flour sifting itself 
 before my very eyes. Why, William will be ruined. 
 I'm going to have cheese omelet and hot biscuit 
 (they're already in), and, oh yes, you can be making 
 the coffee. Two cups apiece, and some for William 
 when he comes, for good coffee simply cannot be made 
 
IN HIGH GEAR 
 
 in small quantities. Please do it in the den so you 
 won't be in my way." 
 
 " I shall make it in here," he said stubbornly. " I 
 never do light housekeeping in the den. It's shiftless 
 and desecrating. And it would ruin William." 
 
 When the supper was ready, Freda arranged it on 
 a colossal tray and carried it into the den, Martin 
 Meggs hobbling behind with the coffee and a bowl of 
 fruit. Together they drew the table closer to the fire 
 and he emptied into it half a sack of giant pine cones, 
 the spoils of a recent tour of the Marin county moun- 
 tains. The flames changed to blue, tipped with gold, 
 and for a moment they sat watching them in silence. 
 Then Martin Meggs rapped on the table with the 
 handle of his knife. " I'm starving," he reminded 
 her plaintively. " And the omelet is beginning to fall." 
 
 Then, as she turned with a guilty start, " I knew 
 that would bring you back. And may I say that you 
 are the only woman I ever saw who could get an ome- 
 let to the table without losing her temper ? The decline 
 and fall of the Roman Empire doesn't line up as a dis- 
 aster at all beside the decline and fall of an omelet." 
 
 It was a gay little supper, with the pine cones light- 
 ing up the room, and the covered pan of hot biscuits 
 keeping warm upon the hearth. When it was over, 
 Martin Meggs leaned back in his chair and gazed at 
 his companion through half -closed eyes. She was 
 staring into the fire again, where the red-hot cones 
 
214 IN HIGH GEAR 
 
 had crumbled into ruins. A silence fell between the 
 two. It lengthened into minutes. 
 
 " Well, why don't you do it ? " Freda asked sud- 
 denly. 
 
 " Do what? " he asked, startled. 
 
 " Smoke. That's what this room is made for, and 
 I don't object I like it anything but cigarettes." 
 
 He drew out pipe, tobacco, and ash tray from the 
 broad shelf under the table, and Freda threw more 
 pine cones upon the fire. " I thought I heard William 
 just then," she said. 
 
 " No, it was only the wind." 
 
 " But he ought to be coming. It's getting late." 
 
 " Confound William. I don't care when he comes. 
 Aren't you having a good time ? " 
 
 Ten minutes later William came, breathless with 
 apologies and incoherent explanations concerning a 
 tie-up of the transbay trains. " I saw ' Gold Dust ' out 
 front, so I knew you'd got home all right, suh," he 
 ended. " Do you want me to shall I put it " 
 
 " Just clear away the dishes here, William," Martin 
 Meggs ordered, " and make yourself some supper. 
 I'm going to take Miss Bayne home." 
 
 XI 
 
 DURING the next week Freda saw nothing of Martin 
 Meggs, but she was conscious that their Sunday after- 
 
IN HIGH GEAR 215 
 
 noon and evening experience had, in some unaccount- 
 able way, altered the relation between them. He had 
 become the object of compassion, the wistful de- 
 pendent, and she, the protector, the guardian of his 
 infirmity. The brooding maternal instinct, that had 
 once kindled for her father in his loneliness, had flared 
 again into arrogant fire. 
 
 But a subtle change had come over the little flat on 
 Fillmore street, and this occupied most of her thought. 
 It was quite impossible for her to describe to herself 
 the nature of this slow transformation. Certainly the 
 same unexacting, wholehearted friendship still existed 
 between the trio, but somehow she felt a new sense 
 of constraint that was not the constraint of unfriend- 
 liness or suspicion, but the atmosphere that pervades 
 a group who are living at high pressure. In some 
 indefinable way she sensed the fact that the old order 
 of their lives was about to change and disruption was 
 in prospect. As Glenn grew more silent and absorbed 
 in her music, Eileen grew more garrulously gay, but 
 to Freda her reckless effort at happiness was a pathetic 
 pretense. During the unguarded moments when her 
 face was in repose, something looked out of her eyes, 
 something that was like a wan face appearing at the 
 window of a haunted house. 
 
 Once Freda ventured to question Glenn about her. 
 " Eileen is all nerves lately/' she said. " She seems 
 
2i6 IN HIGH GEAR 
 
 to be under a strain of some sort. Do you know 
 whether I could help her in any way? " 
 
 " Ask her," Glenn responded briefly. 
 
 But from Eileen herself she obtained no more 
 definite explanation. It was after Eileen had returned 
 from a second expedition in the mysterious car, with 
 the tall, effective man who had called for her on that 
 first Sunday of Freda's residence at the flat. George 
 Locke had come a few moments after their departure, 
 and had gone away in morose silence when Freda had 
 given him Eileen's message that she would be away 
 all afternoon. 
 
 " Eileen," she said now, sitting on the side of the 
 bed while the other girl undressed, " when I was lonely 
 and bewildered and friendless, you and Glenn took me 
 in, and you have done everything to make me feel 
 happy and at home with you. I've never been able to 
 
 repay it, but I have the feeling lately " She paused, 
 
 searching carefully for words to tide her over what she 
 felt to be dangerous ground. " I've felt that you were 
 troubled about something. I don't want to seem in- 
 quisitive or obtrusive, but I just want you to know 
 that if I can help you in any way " 
 
 " Thanks," Eileen interposed. But she had stopped 
 with the brush halfway down her hair. " Thanks, 
 kiddo, for the idea, but there's nothing anybody can 
 do for me. If you've ever driven a cheap car," 
 she had resumed her brushing again, " you know 
 
IN HIGH GEAR 217 
 
 how hard it is for it to go slow when you've got it in 
 high. It seems to shake it all to pieces. Well, that's 
 me. I'm a cheap car, geared for a lc-;el road at fair 
 speed. But I've got a stretch of hill now that I've 
 got to take slow, and the high pressure is still on. I 
 may blow up, I don't know. But nobody can drive the 
 thing but me. I'm the only person livin' that's got 
 its number." 
 
 With this explanation Freda was obliged to be con- 
 tent. But good fortune descended upon one of the 
 trio during the next week, and this, for a time, was 
 the absorbing topic of their conversation. 
 
 Coming in breathless to a belated dinner on Satur- 
 day evening, Glenn hurried out to the kitchen where 
 the other two girls lingered over their dessert. She 
 had stopped in the living room only long enough to 
 slip her violin case into its place under Freda's bed. 
 Then she threw open the kitchen door and announced, 
 in dramatically triumphant tones, " I got it ! " 
 
 " You never did, Glenn," Eileen cried, pushing back 
 her chair and running to her in joyous congratula- 
 tion. 
 
 Glenn waved aside the warm plate which Freda set 
 before her. " Never mind heatin' up anything for me ; 
 I couldn't eat a thing. I just want to talk. I didn't 
 say anything about this to you, Fred, because 1 
 wanted to surprise you if I could." 
 
 "Where is it? At Radcliffe's?" Eileen asked. 
 
218 IN HIGH GEAR 
 
 Glenn nodded. " I told you that I'd rather get in 
 there than anywhere, you know. It's the swellest cafe 
 in town, and although there's some that pay better, 
 they've got the best class of musicians. Mosely put 
 me wise to the place at Christmas time ; said they were 
 losing their violinist, but I applied too late. But when 
 I went for my lesson last week, he advised me to try 
 again. It seems that he'd spoken to Radcliffe about 
 me, for when I went in to see him, he wasn't bowled 
 over with surprise. First he made me play for him, 
 up there in a sort of office place. Then he took me 
 down to the mezzanine floor, where the musicians 
 were just tuning up for dinner, and told me to take 
 the violin part in the first number. Well, maybe you 
 think I wasn't fussed. I'd never seen the pianist or 
 'cellist before, and the dining room was beginning to 
 fill. But the pianist seems to be used to having Rad- 
 cliffe wish strange musicians onto him like that, and 
 he gave me a few pointers and we were off. It was 
 that part of Thai's that Freda likes, and it went off 
 smooth as oiled lightning. Then somebody sent up a 
 request for Mendelssohn's Spring Song, and we gave 
 'em that, and afterwards one of the new fox-trots. 
 It's the popular stuff that's the dickens to play without 
 rehearsal, but we got through it, and then Radcliffe 
 sent up word that he'd see me again. I felt as if I 
 was goin' to have a tooth pulled, but / got the job, and 
 am to begin next week. Good-by, Marcel ! " 
 
IN HIGH GEAR 219 
 
 " Have you told Bagley that he'll have to look 
 around for another model ? " Eileen queried. 
 
 " No, I'm goin' to spring that on him when I go 
 tomorrow. I'll be glad to do it too. He's getting so 
 he thinks he owns me. Freda would be shocked at 
 the way he makes me pose sometimes; that's why I 
 never said anything about it. But I had to have the 
 money, and he knew it. What do you suppose he had 
 the nerve to say to me last Sunday when I was there? 
 ' No woman is so good that she won't fall for some- 
 thing/ he says. ' They don't all bite at the same fly, 
 but it's only a question of selectin' the right bait/ ' 
 
 " Well, I guess he ain't far off there," Eileen mused. 
 " What would be too strong a temptation for me, 
 wouldn't be enough for you, maybe but something 
 else would." 
 
 "George comin' tonight?" Glenn questioned. 
 
 Eileen nodded. 
 
 " Well, before you go out it seems to me we'd better 
 talk things over a little. Freda ought to know that 
 you're thinkin' of leavin' us, Eileen." 
 
 "Why my plans ain't certain yet; that's why I 
 haven't said anything. But I guess it won't surprise 
 you much to know that I may be leavin' the store 
 pretty soon. I've had an offer down south and it 
 might happen that I'd be leavin' suddenly." 
 
 "Oh, Eileen!" Freda cried. "I hope it will be 
 good something much better than this. Of course 
 
220 IN HIGH GEAR 
 
 I'll be sorry to have you go away, but " She 
 
 stopped, searching the other girl's face for a sign that 
 would guide her congratulations or sympathy. But 
 there was none. Eileen's responsive eyes were 
 strangely emotionless. Whatever the plans were to 
 be, they were apparently shaping themselves without 
 direction from her. "But anyway," she said after 
 a moment's silence, " if you girls want to make other 
 arrangements, go to it, without thinkin' about me and 
 I'll " 
 
 The doorbell announced George, and she hurried 
 away to get her wraps. The girls, left alone, discussed 
 plans in a desultory way, Glenn expressing the desire 
 to board for awhile and thus be relieved of house- 
 keeping cares. But although they came to no decision, 
 Freda went to bed feeling that another bridge was 
 about to be burned behind her. 
 
 The following Wednesday evening, Martin Meggs 
 called for her at the closing hour, but for some reason, 
 unaccountable to herself, she refused at first his in- 
 vitation to drive to the presidio. 
 
 He looked crestfallen. " But I want to talk to you 
 about something something important!" he cried. 
 " We needn't stay late, and you told me once that you 
 never have dinner till seven." 
 
 " Oh, it isn't that," she demurred. 
 
 "What is it then?" 
 
 She hesitated for a moment, feeling irritated at her 
 
IN HIGH GEAR 221 
 
 own indecision. There was no reason why she 
 shouldn't go, and a moment later they were on their 
 way. Through the congested streets of the down- 
 town district, Martin Meggs drove in watchful 
 silence. But when they turned up the hills toward the 
 presidio, he relaxed his vigilance though his eyes 
 were still fixed unswervingly upon the succession 
 of sloping streets that rose interminably before 
 them. 
 
 "What I wanted to tell you was this," he said, 
 settling back a little on the seat. " I've decided to 
 break into society. I'm going to give a party." 
 
 " A party ! " Freda cried with quick, responsive in- 
 terest. "Where? When? Who?" 
 
 " At my house on Saturday evening the Misses 
 Judson, their brother, who is visiting them this week 
 from the east, and a college friend of mine, who is 
 traveling with him." 
 
 He glanced at the girl's eager face and then plunged 
 into an elaboration of his plan. " You see, I want to 
 have the fellows out while they're here, but although 
 they were glib with promises over the 'phone, it's 
 safer to offer your friends some inducement when you 
 live out where I do. So I decided to have a party and 
 invite the ladies too." 
 
 " What kind of a party will it be? " 
 
 " Don't hurry me," he remonstrated. " I'm about 
 to give you a scenario of the idea. The Judsons have 
 
222 IN HIGH GEAR 
 
 sold their place out there, as you may know, and are 
 staying at the St. Gregory here in town until their 
 Berkeley place is finished. So the party are all to- 
 gether, and easy to herd. There's a good show on 
 at the Columbia, I find, so I thought we'd take that 
 in first and then drive out to the house and have a 
 little supper. There'll be just six of us. I am assum- 
 ing, of course, that you received my engraved invita- 
 tion and will come." 
 
 " And now/' he went on, when she had satisfied him 
 upon this point, " now I come to the part which needs 
 your assistance, cooperation, and aid. William is 
 faithful and trustworthy, but as a caterer he has his 
 limitations. When he came into my employ, he 
 frankly admitted that his knowledge of cookery was 
 confined to what he aptly and literally termed, ' the 
 top of the stove.' Now what I want to know is this : 
 Is it possible or even probable that a proper theatre 
 supper may be prepared without the use of an oven? 
 Of course I can buy the cakes and truck like that, but 
 I was thinking of " 
 
 " I'll tell you what we'll do ! " Freda cried. " You 
 know Saturday is Washington's Birthday. Had you 
 thought of that? So I'll be free all day. If you could 
 call for me early that afternoon, I'll come out and 
 make some things. I'd just love it, and I can't get 
 used to the idea of buying a cake. What else are you 
 going to have?" 
 
IN HIGH GEAR 223 
 
 " Reach into the pocket next to you there, and you'll 
 find it all written out on a card. William feels a little 
 nervous, and wanted to see it down in black and 
 white." 
 
 She studied the menu with critical approval. "It's 
 just right," she told him, and added to herself, " And 
 not too lavish to be in good taste, like so many parties 
 are now, that I hear people talk about." 
 
 And so, on the following Saturday afternoon, she 
 worked with joyous absorption in Martin Meggs' 
 kitchen, while he tinkered with " Gold Dust " out in 
 the garage, and called occasional instructions to Will- 
 iam, cutting daffodils and greenery in the trim back 
 garden. At five, the two men came in with vague 
 offers of help, impelled by the savory aroma which 
 had drifted out to them through the open window. 
 Freda, in the act of spreading a creamy maple-colored 
 frosting over the top of a four-story cake, frowned 
 upon the intruders. " I made a cake just for you 
 over there on the sink in that little tin pan. Take it 
 and clear out." 
 
 "Can't I have the remains of the frosting dish?" 
 Martin Meggs entreated, as William, mumbling 
 superlative compliments, disappeared through the 
 back door with a segment of the extra cake. 
 
 " There aren't going to be any remains," she told 
 him. " All this is for the sides." She revolved the 
 plate slowly, dabbing at it with the spatula, as a 
 
224 IN HIGH GEAR 
 
 sculptor might retouch his clay. " In ten minutes I'll 
 be finished and ready to go," she announced, when she 
 had set the cake away and drawn another pan from 
 the oven. " These are cheese straws. I never tried 
 them before, but they look all right, don't you think? 
 We'll each try just one." 
 
 While she tried hers, she turned the leaves of the 
 old recipe book of her mother's, which she had brought 
 from the ranch, and Martin Meggs, supported by two 
 crutches, stood watching her on the doorsill. 
 
 The last rays of winter sunshine still lingered at 
 the windows. The litter of used dishes on the table, 
 the fragrance of fresh baking, the open door of the 
 kitchen cabinet, revealing its rows of spices and con- 
 diments, the glistening crockery, and the girl so 
 quietly self-assured, standing beside the pan of crispy 
 cheese straws, filled the little room with cozy warmth 
 and transformed the cold perfection of its modernity 
 into something irresistibly human, livable, welcoming. 
 Freda glanced up casually and met Martin Meggs' 
 eyes off guard. She closed the recipe book and began 
 untying the stiff strings of the butcher's apron. " I'm 
 ready to go now," she said quietly. . . * 
 
 When the theater party met that evening at the 
 Columbia, every one was in high spirits. Martin 
 Meggs, supporting himself with reckless unconcern 
 on one crutch, led the way to a lower box and seated 
 
IN HIGH GEAR 225 
 
 his guests, adjusting their chairs with careful eye on 
 the angle of stage. They were an interesting group; 
 the Misses Judson, following the technique of the 
 drama with amiably critical enjoyment; their brother, 
 indelibly stamped with the Manhattan ensign, frankly 
 delighted with the atmosphere of the west, and of 
 finding himself spectator to its successive revelations; 
 Dick Reynolds, cosmopolite and friend of the world 
 at large, with a genius for sparkling conversation, 
 which he somehow contrived to restrain from becom- 
 ing monopolistic. 
 
 When the performance was over, Martin Meggs and 
 Freda left the others to the capable direction of Miss 
 Marcia, and led the way to the beach. " Marion 
 promised to stop at the window and get some matinee 
 tickets for a friend," her brother explained. "But 
 I've got a car here and we'll be right out." 
 
 The bungalow was brilliant with lights when " Gold 
 Dust " drew up at the door, and the hospitable William 
 stood at the curb. 
 
 "The table looks lovely! " Freda cried, as he fol- 
 lowed her into the dining room. lt You're an artist, 
 William. Only an artist could make daffodils and 
 violets look like this." She threw her wrap over the 
 back of a broad leather divan in a corner of the room, 
 and stood for a moment surveying the perfectly ap- 
 pointed table with glowing eyes. It was thus that 
 Martin Meggs found her, a radiantly happy little 
 
226 IN HIGH GEAR 
 
 figure in simple white evening gown. The one bit of 
 color in her costume was the corsage bouquet of fern 
 and violets that he had sent her, and the only touch 
 of sophistication, the coquettish purple-winged butter- 
 fly which Eileen's expert fingers had enmeshed in 
 the soft waves of her hair. 
 
 " I feel as excited as if it were my party ! " she 
 cried. 
 
 " It is your party," he told her. 
 
 " No, I'm not the guest of honor." 
 
 " But you made the refreshments." 
 
 " Some of them." 
 
 " And you're going to sit opposite me and serve the 
 coffee and ice-cream brick. What more status do you 
 ask?" 
 
 " None ! " she cried joyously. " None at all. It's 
 been a heavenly evening ! " She hurried to the win- 
 dow and drew aside the curtains. The two unblink- 
 ing eyes of an oncoming machine stared back at her, 
 grew larger, brighter, and then abruptly disappeared 
 around a curve. Two other cars followed, evidently 
 going out to the Cliff House cafe, and then there was 
 a lull. Martin Meggs came up and stood beside her, 
 looking out. Somewhere there was a tinkle of a bell. 
 A moment later William appeared, his eyes wide with 
 the excitement of the born sensation-monger. "Mr. 
 Judson jus' telephoned, suh. . He says somebody ran 
 into their cyar out on Van Ness. He says ain't 
 
IN HIGH GEAR 227 
 
 nobody hurt, but the front's all smashed in, and they 
 won't be able to git here." 
 
 Freda gave a cry of dismay. " Oh, William, you're 
 sure nobody was hurt ? " 
 
 " That's what he said, ma'am. Said nobody was 
 to be worried, and that Mr. Reynolds would take the 
 ladies back to the hotel while he got the cyar towed 
 in. Said he'd be out to see you some time tomorrow, 
 suh, and they's awful sorry about tonight. Shall I 
 put the things " 
 
 He glanced uncertainly at the gold and blue table. 
 " No, leave them alone. You needn't serve, William. 
 I'll call you later." 
 
 " Yes, suh." They heard him snap off the lights 
 in the rear of the house, and then the sound of his 
 retreating footsteps in the court as he went out to his 
 room over the garage. Martin Meggs followed to 
 the den and set a screen in front of the snapping fire. 
 When he returned to the dining room, he found 
 Freda drawing on her long coat in front of the 
 buffet mirror. " Can't we have a little supper before 
 you go ? " he entreated. 
 
 She shook her head, reaching for the filmy blue 
 scarf on the edge of the divan. He brought it, and 
 stood holding it in his hand while she fumbled with 
 the fastenings of her coat. " It's not late," he 
 pleaded. " Just eleven and what shall I do with the 
 cake and all the other things? " 
 
228 IN HIGH GEAR 
 
 He was making a desperate effort to restore to his 
 voice its old whimsicality, but the girl sensed the 
 strain back of it. " They won't be wasted," she assured 
 him. " The gentlemen are coming out tomorrow, and 
 you can have a bachelor luncheon/' 
 
 " I don't care about a bachelor lunch," he said 
 slowly. " I have one every day." His voice was very 
 low but it seemed to fill every corner of the room. 
 He came a step nearer, crushing the delicate scarf in 
 his ringers. " Why must you go now ? " he demanded 
 hoarsely. "Is it because you are afraid to stay?" 
 
 She met his eyes in the buffet mirror and groped 
 for the bit of chiffon. " Yes," she breathed. 
 
 Her fingers grasped nervously at the trailing end 
 of the scarf. The rest of it was still clutched in his 
 hand like a vise, and slowly he drew her to him. " It's 
 too late," he said. " It's too late for either of us to 
 be afraid now." He reached for her, and drew her 
 to him with a fiercely compelling arm. She was ter- 
 rified but fascinated too. "Freda," he whispered 
 brokenly. " Dear little name, dear little girl, do you 
 think I am made of stone? " 
 
 Cold fear, and a strange happiness surged over her. 
 In the conflict raging between the two she could not 
 define her feeling. The only thing of which she felt 
 certain in that instant, was that this was the biggest 
 moment of her life. 
 
 " I have tried to give you up," he was saying. 
 
IN HIGH GEAR 229 
 
 " Ever since that first day I met you, I have tried 
 to give you up. But chance, fate, life itself, have all 
 been against me. Everything has conspired to drive 
 home the truth that you were made for me that I 
 can't live without you." 
 
 His words thrilled her with a strange new sense of 
 power, with an infinite compassion, with an almost 
 maternal tenderness. Without forcing him to relin- 
 quish his hold upon her, she drew him gently toward 
 the wide divan. 
 
 " Freda," he whispered, " do you care for me 
 just a little?" 
 
 " I don't know," she answered. 
 
 She felt almost impatient of the question. The 
 moment was too big for cold directness. It was 
 enough that at last she had found some one to love 
 her, to say that he needed her. 
 
 But her reply seemed to him to sound the note of his 
 doom. He released her slowly. " Ah ! " There was 
 a world of renunciation in the sigh. " If you did, 
 you would know it," he told her. "If you cared, only 
 a little, you would have no doubt about it." 
 
 For him the scene seemed to have ended as abruptly 
 as it had begun. Hope flickered out of his eyes and 
 left his face gray and haggard. "We must go," he 
 said gently. " I mustn't keep you here." 
 
 He felt blindly for his crutch. But when his hand 
 had closed upon it he sat there, looking at her down- 
 
230 IN HIGH GEAR 
 
 cast eyes as though waiting for a different sentence. 
 "Perhaps I have been too hasty," he suggested 
 eagerly. "This has been in my own heart so long 
 that I forget it is new to you. I didn't mean to speak 
 of it tonight. I didn't dream of telling you now. 
 But this opportunity came, as though it had been 
 made on purpose for me. And you look like a little 
 white angel tonight, Freda. When I found you here, 
 waiting for me alone I couldn't fight it down any 
 longer. I had to tell you, I had to let you know what 
 you have done to my life. Have I startled you too 
 much?" 
 
 She shook her head. "No, it isn't that," she 
 answered, and now she was looking at him with eyes 
 as appealing as his own. " It seems it seems al- 
 most terrible to have you care so much for me. I'd 
 I'd rather not talk about it any more tonight. I 
 don't think oh, I'm sure that I don't feel the way 
 you want me to." 
 
 "We won't talk about it any more now," he said 
 quietly. " We won't talk about it, but what has hap- 
 pened tonight needn't make any difference in our 
 friendship, need it?" 
 
 " I think it would. I'm afraid it would. I would 
 be thinking about this now. When I am with you, I 
 couldn't forget it." 
 
 He drew himself to his feet and wound the delicate 
 scarf about her head, careful not to crush the wings 
 
IN HIGH GEAR 231 
 
 of the audacious purple butterfly. Then, while she 
 fumbled nervously with her white gloves, he turned 
 toward the hall. At the hat rack he stopped and 
 reached for his heavy coat. She followed, still tug- 
 ging at her gloves, embarrassed at the deathly silence 
 of the house, which seemed, all at once, to be suffocat- 
 ing her. 
 
 There was a moment of uncertainty while he lifted 
 down the overcoat, swaying perilously upon his single 
 crutch. And then the rubber-tipped prop slid treach- 
 erously over the hardwood floor and Martin Meggs, 
 without a cry, reeled backward. 
 
 She caught him before he fell, and leaning on her 
 young strength he made the interminable journey back 
 to the divan. From among the leather pillows, his 
 darkening eyes looked up at her with the old, defiant 
 smile. It smote her with a pathos more poignant 
 than any groan that he could have uttered. In that 
 instant, while she stood, looking down at his helpless- 
 ness, all prudence, all caution, all thought of herself, 
 were swept aside. A self-abnegation as exalted as it 
 was unconscious tore out of her heart every other 
 emotion. As vividly as though the words had been 
 emblazoned upon the wall before her, she read in 
 that gray face the mandate, " Here is your life- 
 work." 
 
 And having seen it, to obey was as instinctive as 
 to breathe. With the inarticulate cry of a mother 
 
232 IN HIGH GEAR 
 
 yearning over a suffering child, she knelt beside the 
 divan and drew him into her arms. 
 
 "Now I know," she whispered. "Now I am 
 
 sure." 
 
 It seemed to her that, during the next moments, the 
 love that he poured out upon her glorified, as by a 
 wonderful magic, all the loneliness of the past and 
 shed a warming light far down the vista of their 
 future. How could she ever have dreamed of any 
 life but this? How was it possible that each of them 
 had lived years unshared by the other? 
 
 " You asked me once to tell you where you be- 
 longed ? " he murmured. " And with every nerve and 
 fiber of me I ached to tell you then, to take you into 
 my arms and tell you where you belonged. But I 
 was afraid; I didn't dare, for fear that I would lose 
 you altogether. You seemed so unattainable, so far 
 away from any thought of what was in my heart." 
 
 " But you told me to burn my bridges," she re- 
 minded him. " You told me that that was the begin- 
 ning of the road to happiness. And now I shall burn 
 them every one." 
 
 From among the deep pillows, he looked up at her 
 with adoring eyes. " And you're not afraid to stand 
 with me on my shaky bridge? " 
 
 " No. I hate my own bridges. They connect me 
 only with things that are unhappy and ugly and 
 wretched. When the last one of them is gone, I'll 
 
IN HIGH GEAR 233 
 
 feel that I can really live, that I can begin to live. Oh, 
 it will be wonderful! You don't know how wonder- 
 ful it is to me to feel that you really need me." 
 
 He pressed her hand gently in that strong masterful 
 grip of his, which controlled with such assured mas- 
 tery the headlong progress of "Gold Dust." "I 
 wish," he said, looking into the eyes that were no 
 longer afraid to meet his, " I wish that I could work 
 for you as other men work for the women they love. 
 I wish that by my own efforts I could " 
 
 "I can provide things for us both if need be," 
 she told him eagerly. 
 
 " You shall not ! " he cried fiercely. " Why, Freda, 
 do you think- What can you think that I am? " 
 
 She flushed, with anger at herself, conscious that 
 she had stabbed him with the cruelest weapon a 
 woman may use. Her words had brought him up- 
 right on the divan, and there was color in his face 
 now. His lips were set in the tense line that she had 
 come to know so well. 
 
 " I have nothing," he told her passionately, and with 
 a sort of hopeless desperation in his voice. His gaze 
 rested for a moment upon the brilliant table in the 
 dining room, whose gleaming silverware and wealth 
 of blossoms made a brave attempt to refute his con- 
 fession. " I am as helpless, as dependent, as a charity 
 orphan." 
 
 She was sitting on the end of the divan beside him 
 
234 IN HIGH GEAR 
 
 now, pulling at the threads of the gauzy scarf. 
 "Don't say that," she entreated. "I can't bear to 
 hear you talk of yourself like that." 
 
 For a moment he said nothing, but sat looking away 
 from her, into the patch of darkness cut by the broad 
 dining room window. When he spoke again, his 
 voice was strained as it had been in that first passion- 
 ate moment of confession. 
 
 " Freda, I must tell you something. I mustn't put 
 it off any longer. It's something that you must 
 know." 
 
 She put out her hand in a quick little gesture of 
 protest. "Is it is it anything that will hurt?" 
 
 He did not answer. 
 
 " If it is, don't tell me now," she pleaded. " I 
 I have something to tell you too, but let's not say 
 these things to each other tonight. Oh, don't spoil 
 this. Don't spoil it. Let me have this evening, in my 
 life, this one evening perfect." 
 
 " Freda ! " He drew her to him again in a fiercely 
 possessive embrace. Then, in a voice that was almost 
 a whisper, but vibrant with grim determination, he 
 began to speak. 
 
 " I told you that I had nothing. It is true. I can 
 offer you a home, and many things that make a 
 woman's life comfortable and happy. But these 
 things are not mine by the unrestricted right of labor. 
 They come from the hand of the finest and the most 
 
IN HIGH GEAR 235 
 
 fanatical man I ever knew. There is one condition 
 attached to them" 
 
 There was a long pause. Freda did not move. She 
 seemed to have stopped breathing. He waited a mo- 
 ment, then plunged on desperately. 
 
 " Only when you said that you were sure you cared 
 for me, could I tell you this, Freda. I have tried, 
 God ! how hard I have tried, to let you go, to live out 
 my life without you. But today, when I saw my 
 dream come true, when I saw you here in my house, 
 so much a part of it, so completely " 
 
 " I shouldn't have come," she said, speaking more 
 to herself than to him. " But I never thought of that. 
 I didn't think of anything, except that it would be a 
 pleasure for me and that I would be helping you." 
 
 " Helping me, yes. That's just it. You were help- 
 ing me. The trouble is that you have helped me so 
 much that now I can't get along without your help. 
 I need it all the time. I must have it." 
 
 He bent his head and her radiant hair swept his 
 face. " Listen, darling," he said hoarsely. " I can't 
 live very long. I know that it can't be very long now. 
 This would be only an episode in your life. Out here, 
 we are as isolated as though we were on an island. 
 I have no friends so attentive, so understanding, that 
 the loss of their esteem would mean anything to me. 
 Neither, I imagine, have you yet. The world's ap- 
 proval isn't worth the price it costs. It isn't worth 
 
236 IN HIGH GEAR 
 
 the sacrifice of happiness. Public opinion breaks the 
 hearts of people who are not courageous enough to 
 defy it." 
 
 Freda found her voice at last. But it was justice 
 for another, not fear for herself, that made it vibrant 
 with reproach. 
 
 " But your uncle ! He has done everything for you ! 
 You admit that he has done all he can to make your 
 life bearable. You owe him that much. Surely, you 
 see yourself that you " 
 
 " That much ! " Martin Meggs echoed, his voice 
 harsh with pain. " That much is everything/' His 
 face was set in hard, defiant lines. " I wouldn't care 
 what he discovered ; I wouldn't care what he thought. 
 He was in a position to make all the terms. I had 
 to accept them. And when I accepted them I didn't 
 care. I cared for nothing in the world, except to 
 be free from pain. I didn't suppose I'd ever want to 
 marry. I hadn't met you then. But I have kept the 
 letter of our miserable bargain. I would still be keep- 
 ing it. He would have to admit that." 
 
 "And you wouldn't " She felt for her words 
 
 carefully now, as a surgeon might seek the implement 
 that would inflict the least suffering. " You wouldn't 
 
 let me Oh, wouldn't you let me take his 
 
 place?" 
 
 "Never!" 
 
 The fierceness of his answer clenched his hand, 
 
IN HIGH GEAR 237 
 
 She felt it grow rigid. " There's not much left of 
 me, Freda, but I haven't lost as much as that. I 
 
 haven't lost all pride, all sense of what Oh, 
 
 little darling, can't you understand ? " 
 
 She drew a long quivering sigh. " Perhaps I can 
 in time, but it seems a little strange." 
 
 " We've got to face it," he told her sternly. " You 
 have said it yourself, Freda. It must be everything 
 or nothing. We can't re-establish things as they 
 were before tonight. You say you can't forget this." 
 He laughed grimly. " Of course you can't. It isn't 
 in you to forget. This thing stands between us now. 
 We've got to accept it or let it divide us forever. 
 You have admitted that you care for me a little. 
 Then there is no one else, no brighter future that I 
 will spoil for you? " 
 
 He asked the question slowly, as though it had long 
 been imprisoned, and was pushing its own way to his 
 lips. "There is no one else, Freda?" 
 
 A cold hand seemed to clutch for an instant at her 
 throat. Her eyes, staring into the patch of blackness 
 outside the window, seemed to catch a sudden, terrify- 
 ing vision of a castle in flames. But it must burn, she 
 told herself with a dreadful calmness. It was just as 
 well that it should burn and leave no trace behind it 
 save a heap of gray ashes. For she had never pos- 
 sessed, and never could possess, the key to its entrance 
 door. Martin Meggs was waiting in tense silence. 
 
238 IN HIGH GEAR 
 
 " No," she said. " There is no one else. But it 
 doesn't seem fair to me yet. About your uncle, I 
 mean. I'm afraid that in the end, that in the end 
 you would suffer for this Martin." 
 
 " That / would suffer ! Is your thought all for 
 me?" 
 
 But in her apprehension for him, he read something 
 deeper than mere words, and with a convulsive gesture 
 he crushed her to his heart. It was only for a mo- 
 ment. Then his arm relaxed. 
 
 "You mustn't make such a decision as this all in 
 a moment ! " he cried sternly. " Little sweetheart, you 
 don't know what you are doing ! " And then, as 
 fervently as he had pleaded his own cause, he turned 
 to a passionate championship of hers. 
 
 " You would give me your youth in exchange for 
 my premature age; your health for my weakness; 
 your courage for my despair ! You would stake your 
 honor against my happiness. And I would let you 
 do it. I am a man, and therefore a brute, and I will 
 let you do it if you will do it ! " 
 
 " My youth," Freda said bitterly. " I haven't any. 
 
 I never had any, Martin. And honor " She 
 
 smiled, a wan, tired little smile. " I said that there 
 
 was something I must tell you. I think that now 
 
 
 His hand closed gently over hers. " There is noth- 
 ing that you have to tell me. There is nothing that 
 
IN HIGH GEAR 239 
 
 you might tell me that could even this score. Dear 
 little girl, you know the worst thing that is to be told 
 now. The very worst is over between us, and 
 
 now " 
 
 He struggled to his feet again, and she reached out 
 instinctively to help him, but he pushed her gently 
 away from him. " Not now," he said. " You shall 
 not help me now. Ring for William. Ring for 
 William, and tell him to drive you home. And 
 tomorrow tomorrow, darling I shall send him for 
 your answer." 
 
PART SIX: BURNING BRIDGES 
 
XII 
 
 A WEEK after Martin Meggs' theater party, Freda 
 made the rounds of Madame Peltier's white-sheeted 
 compartments and bade her associates there perfunc- 
 tory good-bys. To Madam Peltier's politely expressed 
 hope that she was " bettering " herself by the change, 
 she returned a coldly noncommittal reply. For the 
 first time since she had encountered them, she was 
 able to return the calculating stare of those polished 
 eyes with something of their own insolence. 
 
 But to Eileen and Glenn her farewells were inco- 
 herent and broken by conflicting emotions. Explana- 
 tions had come readily enough to hand. Her decision 
 once made, the details of its fulfilment had settled 
 into their places with the adaptability of the heaven- 
 ordered. 
 
 It was Glenn who severed the old order of things 
 by discovering, through one of the musicians at Rad- 
 cliffe's a boarding house whose living conditions and 
 location seemed ideal, but whose comforts would not 
 wait upon vacillating plans. 
 
 " I gave that boarding house on Polk street the 
 once-over today," she announced to the other girls, 
 two days after Freda's evening at the beach. "A 
 
 243 
 
244 BURNING BRIDGES 
 
 Chinese cook opened the door when I went, and if 
 there's anything that looks good to me about a place 
 like that, it's a Chink with a white apron on. The 
 room's on the third floor, not very large but big enough 
 so that I won't have to keep my violin under the bed. 
 I told the landlady I'd let her know tomorrow, but 
 nothing doing. She hinted that she'd had to hire a 
 special traffic cop to keep order among the crowd 
 of people who' re try in' to get that room, and pinned 
 me down for an answer. You can't make the slightest 
 suggestion about a change of plan, in this burg, that 
 somebody doesn't demand a deposit on the idea." 
 
 " When are you leavin* us, Glenn ? " Eileen in- 
 quired. She was perched upon Freda's bureau-table 
 whitening a pair of kid pumps. 
 
 " I took it from the first of the month. That'll be 
 Thursday of next week." 
 
 " Well, I can get out of here by that time all right 
 too. I've decided to accept that invitation of George's 
 married sister, and stay with her for a week or two 
 in Oakland, until I settle the question of that position 
 in the south. I don't mind commuting across every 
 day. It'll be a change for me. You still got that idea 
 that you're goin' to throw the Madame over, Freda, 
 and visit awhile with that friend of yours out near 
 the presidio ? " 
 
 " I have thrown Madame over," Freda answered 
 from her place on the floor, where she was sorting 
 
BURNING BRIDGES 245 
 
 over a pile of old magazines. " I did it this after- 
 
 noon." 
 
 " When are you goin' to leave her ? " 
 
 " I have left her." 
 
 " Good-night ! You'll be arrested for speeding, 
 kiddo." 
 
 Freda smiled faintly. Nothing concerning the 
 step she was about to take had been so hard for her 
 as to deceive these girls who had been so near and 
 yet were so far from her. Her love of frankness, 
 her hatred for any form of insincerity, had revolted 
 at the idea of secrecy, but Martin Meggs had per- 
 suaded her not to make her real position known for 
 a time, and she had yielded the point reluctantly. 
 The girls agreed to communicate their later plans to 
 each other through Glenn, who had the advantage of a 
 definite and stationary address. 
 
 Late Wednesday afternoon a taxi appeared at the 
 door of the flat, and the two girls helped carry Freda's 
 things down the long flight of outside steps. There 
 were two suitcases: the shabby rattan one, in which 
 she had brought all her meager possessions to the 
 city, and a new leather bag, which Glenn had helped 
 her select the day before at one of the department 
 stores. 
 
 When both these were stored into the waiting 
 machine, Freda clung to her two friends with a name- 
 less dread of parting. " You've been so good to me ! " 
 
246 BURNING BRIDGES 
 
 she cried, staring over Eileen's shoulder, through a 
 mist of tears, at the bleak little house whose ugliness 
 had eaten into her soul, but which had been home. 
 " You've been so good to me and I'm not being just 
 fair. I'm not " 
 
 "Well, we ain't dead yet, Freda," Eileen com- 
 forted. " You ain't gettin' rid of us for good. Why,. 
 I'm likely to crop up again, for better or for worse, 
 
 most any time. And about bein' fair Say, kiddo, 
 
 you've given me about all the real education I ever 
 had." 
 
 Glenn's handshake was characteristically satisfy- 
 ing. " We'll get together again before long," she 
 prophesied. " It's in the cards." 
 
 As the taxi turned the corner and started upon its 
 long uphill climb, Freda leaned back and closed her 
 eyes. The little scene which she had just left vanished 
 with the magical celerity of a screen drama. Her 
 brain seemed to have no room for anything now but 
 Martin Meggs. His care of her, his thoughtful ar- 
 rangement of every detail of her coming, his consid- 
 eration for her comfort, his unspoken comprehension 
 of feelings which she had scarcely unveiled to herself ; 
 these things flooded her heart and drowned every 
 other emotion. 
 
 ' Tell me, is it only pity that brings you to me ? " 
 In the first note that he had written her after that 
 momentous evening, he put that question to her. It 
 
BURNING BRIDGES 247 
 
 was almost all that the note had contained, and she 
 knew that, with all the pride of his man's nature, he 
 would renounce any sacrifice made in that odious 
 name. "If it is just pity, Freda, if it is only that, 
 it would be a miserable bargain, which couldn't bring 
 happiness to either of us. There must be something 
 else, something that will justify it for you and glorify 
 it for me." 
 
 And she had assured him that there was. If she 
 had been uncertain of her feeling for him in the first 
 moments of that tense, thrilling evening, his cham- 
 pionship of her cause, his stupendous effort to put 
 away from him the thing that he wanted, to consider 
 her sacrifice before his need, had set the final seal upon 
 her conviction that she loved him. 
 
 Gratitude, a gratitude that was almost like a prayer, 
 enveloped her. " I ought to be grateful ! I ought to 
 be so grateful ! " Unconsciously she was using the 
 very words that Margaret Bayne had used, long 
 years ago, when she had staked all her happiness upon 
 the man who offered her the gift of his love wrapped 
 in an inscrutably sealed package. 
 
 " Why did I ever hesitate ? " Freda asked herself 
 now. Why had she hesitated on that night after her 
 decorous drive home with William in the starlight? 
 Why had she not accepted without a moment's uncer- 
 tainty the great gift of this man's love? Surely she 
 had had evidence enough that there was nothing more 
 
248 BURNING BRIDGES 
 
 golden in store for her. And what right had she, a 
 Bayne, to demand of life its most perfect fruit? She 
 knew that countless people all around her had mar- 
 ried, and were living out their lives, on far less than 
 what Martin Meggs had showered upon her. The 
 divorce courts were voluble with evidence of the 
 pitiful failure of marriage. She thought of the love- 
 less union of her own parents, and shuddered. To 
 her, who had done nothing to deserve it, had come 
 love, all-engulfing love a lover who needed her. At 
 last after all the years of pent-up emotion, there was 
 some one now whose very life depended upon her care, 
 her understanding sympathy. And for these things, 
 these soul-warming, life-giving things, life asked only 
 the price which, ever since the days of her childhood, 
 she had known that women give for an evening's 
 diversion, or a new gown. And in giving it she had 
 nothing to lose. No family tradition would quiver on 
 its rock-built foundation ; no proud family name would 
 go down, dishonored to the dust. Of all people in 
 the world, she had the best right to make this decision. 
 It was really not a thing of her own making; it had 
 been made for her long ago by some one else. 
 
 She had not seen Martin Meggs since the night of 
 the vacant banquet table. But he had written to her 
 many notes in response to hers. She took the last 
 one from her bag now and read it over again. " I 
 shall not come for you myself," it ended. "For if, 
 
BURNING BRIDGES 249 
 
 at the last moment, you should change your mind, 
 you would feel impelled to come if I were there 
 waiting." 
 
 And at the gate he was not waiting. A Japanese 
 servant came out to bring in her things. But when he 
 and the taxi driver had vanished, and she started up 
 the curving front walk, Martin Meggs appeared on the 
 porch of the bungalow. With a long, yearning gesture, 
 he put his arm about her and drew her close, whisper- 
 ing huskily, " May God desert me, darling, if I ever 
 make you regret this day." 
 
 Together they went into the house and found it 
 fragrant with welcoming blossoms. In the open court 
 at the rear, a flowering peach tree was in bloom, and 
 from the narrow beds that bordered three sides of the 
 inclosure, hyacinths sent up their heavy languorous 
 incense. " There's always a warm spell in March, 
 you know," Martin Meggs said, in a light, casual tone, 
 calculated to set her at ease. " And when it conies, 
 we can have some of our lunches out here. Tokido 
 is a good cook (according to his own estimate), so 
 you can spend little or much time with him as you 
 please." 
 
 They had traversed the court now and he opened 
 for her the door of a room on the wing opposite his. 
 She had only been in it once before, on that Sunday 
 afternoon, that now seemed so remote, when Marcia 
 Judson had taken her through the house. It was a 
 
250 BURNING BRIDGES 
 
 dainty maple-and-blue room, with gay little chairs 
 upholstered in cretonne. In the midst of its bright 
 freshness, the old rattan suitcase, which Tokido had 
 set beside the bed, looked pitifully out of its element. 
 Under one of the windows was the new leather one 
 that she had bought only yesterday. Freda went to 
 this window and snapped up the shade with a nervous 
 twitch. She found it impossible to look at the man 
 standing in the open doorway. Then his voice came 
 to her. It was low, but it carried easily. 
 
 " This is to be your room, Freda. Just yours. I 
 want you to feel that it is that you will be free from 
 any intrusion. I want you to take your own time 
 about getting used to things. Do you understand me ? " 
 
 She nodded, still looking out at the patch of blue 
 water beyond the low, sage-covered hills. Then she 
 heard his crutches on the rug behind her and turned 
 to see him holding something between his ringers, 
 something that flashed as the light from the window 
 fell upon it. He felt for her hand. "Freda," he 
 said, " this was my mother's. When she died, she 
 gave it to me and told me never to part with it until 
 I found the girl whom I was sure could make me 
 happy. This is a ceremony, dear." He slipped the 
 band of tiny chip diamonds on her finger and kissed 
 her. A moment later the Chinese gong rang out its 
 summons from the dining room. 
 
 As Freda took her place opposite Martin Meggs at 
 
BURNING BRIDGES 251 
 
 the round table, she thrilled with her first sense of 
 possession. It was from her that Tokido awaited his 
 orders, she who served the vegetables in the silver- 
 covered dishes, and who sent the carver out to the 
 kitchen to be sharpened. 
 
 When they had finished dinner she lingered a 
 moment to confer with the Japanese concerning 
 breakfast, and then followed Martin Meggs to the 
 den where the last of the pine cones were being sacri- 
 ficed in her honor. " You're going to smoke, aren't 
 you? " she asked, and set the pipe and ash tray on the 
 broad arm of his chair. 
 
 " No, not now," he answered, and drew her down 
 beside him, pushing the intervening crutches to the 
 floor. 
 
 " Promise me something, Martin." 
 
 " Anything." 
 
 " That you'll never try to use just one crutch again. 
 It frightens me, it frightens me terribly to see you 
 do it." 
 
 " I only did it that night because I wanted to 
 
 seem " 
 
 " I know," she interposed hastily. " But you don't 
 have to seem any more. It makes my heart ache to 
 see you under such a strain." 
 
 "You sha'n't have the heartache, not if I can help 
 it. But, darling, you don't know what it means to 
 me to have you care, to have you afraid of my being 
 
252 BURNING BRIDGES 
 
 hurt. That Sunday at San Mateo, I could have killed 
 myself. I think I would have killed myself if you 
 hadn't been there. The hopelessness of it all, the 
 despair, the desert of future stretching out ahead- 
 nobody can understand who hasn't been through it, 
 who hasn't been cowed by pain and the dread of pain. 
 I tried to brazen it out because I couldn't bear to 
 weaken before you. But in the end I had to take it, 
 the stuff that has been righting for months to make a 
 slave of me. I loathe myself when I yield to it, and 
 I seldom do yield. But I have nothing else I had 
 nothing else. Now it will be different. We'll fight it 
 out together, sweetheart, and I'll die at last, as I've 
 never lived, like a man." 
 
 " Don't ! " she cried in terror, and pressed his hand 
 to her heart. " Don't talk like that, Martin. You'll 
 break my heart ! " 
 
 "You mean that, Freda?" he breathed. "You 
 mean that it would ? " 
 
 " You must know that it would dear." 
 
 " I ought to die now," he murmured. " For this is 
 the happiest moment of my life." 
 
 " I want to ask you something," Freda said after 
 a long minute of silence. " I wanted to ask you on 
 that night last week but I couldn't. Now " 
 
 " Now you can ask me anything." 
 
 " It's this ; you told me once that you had been to 
 Four Corners, that you had stayed there a week. It's 
 
BURNING BRIDGES 253 
 
 hardly possible that you could have been there that 
 long without and not Did someone tell you 
 about " 
 
 " I know what you mean/' he interrupted hastily. 
 ' Yes, I heard some gossip; all the gossip of the place, 
 I suppose. But it never occurred to me again until 
 after I had asked you about your home. It came to 
 me that night, afterwards, and I could have cut my 
 tongue out." 
 
 " I wanted you to know, Martin. I'm glad you 
 know." 
 
 "Well, don't talk about it. Don't ever mention it 
 again. I can't bear to think of you in an atmosphere 
 like that." 
 
 Tokido, coming in a few minutes later with an 
 armful of wood, found them at the library table with 
 the cribbage board between them. As he knelt to 
 replenish the fire, the telephone bell rang through the 
 room. " I'll go," Freda said, and laid down her hand. 
 
 " No," Martin ordered sharply. " I don't want you 
 to answer the 'phone. Let it ring. I don't care to talk 
 to anybody." 
 
 "But I can't bear to hear it ring and ring," she 
 protested. " It might be something important. Please 
 let me go." 
 
 " I'll go myself if it makes you nervous, dear." 
 When he hobbled back a moment later his face was 
 dark as a thundercloud, " It's my doctor. He was 
 
254 BURNING BRIDGES 
 
 'phoning to say that he wanted to come out. He said 
 he wanted particularly to see me. There was no ex- 
 cuse I could offer. He's a friend of my uncle's and 
 a privileged character. I told him I would come in to 
 him instead. If I don't go, he'll come. But it won't 
 take me long, perhaps an hour. If you're frightened 
 you can drive in with me and " 
 
 " Of course I'm not frightened. I've been left alone 
 in a place a thousand times more isolated than this, 
 
 but " She put her hand on his shoulder. " But 
 
 why don't you let him come out, Martin? Why not 
 tonight as well as any other time? " 
 
 " No ! " he cried, and looked down at her with 
 swift alarm. 
 
 " But, Martin, why ? I have chosen you with my 
 eyes open, and I am not a coward." 
 
 " No, by God, you're not ! You're the bravest, 
 sweetest But not tonight, dearest. This is my 
 night." 
 
 She yielded with a little sigh, and went with him 
 out to where " Gold Dust " waited in the moonlight. 
 " I won't be long," he assured her again. " But don't 
 stay up if you're tired, dear." 
 
 When he had gone, she went slowly back to the 
 house. But the little den seemed desolate and empty. 
 She wandered through the dining room and down the 
 little hallway. Her own room was more compan- 
 ionable. When she had lighted it and locked the 
 
BURNING BRIDGES 255 
 
 court door, she slipped into a warm negligee and began 
 unpacking her things. 
 
 The ample closet space, which Miss Marcia had 
 provided, was a superlative luxury in itself. With 
 leisurely delight she investigated it and hung up her 
 clothes, finding an unexpected pleasure in the mere 
 selecting of hooks. 
 
 There were some books in the box which had 
 come with the suitcases, but she decided not to unpack 
 these until morning, when she and Martin could ar- 
 range them on the shelves in the den. One she had 
 tucked into her bag, a new collection of stories by Stan- 
 ford Spence, which she had bought the day before at 
 the " Booklover's." But when the empty suitcases had 
 been stored away in the closet and she settled herself 
 in one of the luxurious cretonne-covered chairs beside 
 the blue-shaded reading lamp, she found it impossible 
 to read. Life was too strong a competitor for mere 
 literature. There was too much to think of, about 
 and through. 
 
 She pushed aside the book and let down her hair 
 before the dresser which Martin Meggs had stocked 
 with all sorts of costly toilet articles. 
 
 " I don't know what half of these things are for," 
 he had confessed, standing beside the little dresser 
 while she took off her hat and wrap. " But I've often 
 looked at things like these in the store windows and 
 longed to buy them for a woman. They may not be 
 
256 BURNING BRIDGES 
 
 what you like at all, but they looked dainty and mys- 
 terious like you. You don't mind my getting them 
 for you, do you ? " 
 
 He had asked the question wistfully, looking down 
 at her from between his two supporting crutches. Now 
 as she gazed at them, a sudden mist swam before her 
 eyes and through it the cut glass bottles, with their 
 green and amber contents, danced grotesquely. They 
 brought her a sudden feeling of despondency and 
 loneliness. She wished that she had not let him go 
 away, that she had insisted upon the doctor's coming 
 out. Was there no moment of life so vital, so all- 
 engrossing, that she might have it, uninterrupted by 
 the incessant demands of petty emergencies? 
 
 She felt a longing for the soothing touch of dark; 
 ness. The room, with its too brilliant illumination, 
 seemed garish. Hurriedly she finished undressing 
 and slipped into bed, snapping off the light on the 
 little reading table beside her pillow. As night blotted 
 out the objects in the room she drew a tired sigh and 
 closed her eyes. It had been a hard day, a hard week, 
 but in the mental turmoil of it all she had not realized 
 the full measure of its physical strain. Soon it would 
 be time to listen for the purr of " Gold Dust's " engine 
 as Martin Meggs turned in at the garage. But for a 
 time there would be rest and utter stillness. 
 
 But there was no thought of sleep. That militant 
 form of weariness, which will not be soothed, but 
 
BURNING BRIDGES 257 
 
 piles upon the brain a feverish load of irrelevant de- 
 tail, possessed her now. Her mind wandered back 
 over the past, and an endless succession of pictures 
 filed before her eyes. How hard had been the years, 
 how unlovely, how unspeakably lonely! Now that 
 they were over and their days dead, past all power of 
 brutal resurrection, she found herself wondering how 
 she had ever endured them. Surely no future years 
 could bring anything so intolerable. This was the 
 moment of crisis when fortune, grown suddenly re- 
 pentant, had loosed the strings of her miserly purse 
 and was counting out gold pieces to her. 
 
 She unclosed her eyes to rest them against the 
 blankness of night. Accustomed to the darkness now, 
 they found the room no longer veiled in impenetrable 
 blackness, but in dim shadow. The wall of windows 
 on the sheltered side of the room were all open and a 
 fresh breeze from the ocean stirred the curtains with 
 a softly caressing touch. It was, as Miss Marcia had 
 said, an elaborated sleeping porch. Freda found her- 
 self wishing that it were not quite so luxurious, that 
 the little bungalow were less eloquent of lavish ex- 
 penditure. If only Martin could be made to see that 
 these little things, these comforts, luxuries which he 
 offered with such eagerness, as a measure of compen- 
 sation to her, and a balm to his own pride, were not 
 the things for which she cared. He must come to see 
 that in time; she was sure that he would. If he loved 
 
258 BURNING BRIDGES 
 
 her so much, he would surely be willing to submit in 
 the end to her wish. They could be married, could 
 take a plainer little home somewhere, a little home 
 which she could finance. The profession which she 
 had come to hate would, at last, prove their salvation. 
 She knew that as a visiting hairdresser she could find 
 a large patronage among the wealthiest of Madame 
 Peltier's patrons. Many of them had asked her why 
 she did not seek such professional independence. As 
 the days passed and Martin felt her more and more a 
 part of his life, she felt certain that she could gradually 
 enter this wedge, which should pry loose the fingers 
 clutching, for her sake, at these material luxuries. 
 And in the meantime neither of them was being 
 false to any one else. Both of them were free. Their 
 present position was harming no one. Ah, that would 
 be unthinkable, to seek their own happiness at the ex- 
 pense of some one else. 
 
 Moonlight filtered in through the vines of the court 
 and filled the room with its ghostly, unwarming light. 
 On the chair near the dressing table an oblong white 
 object cut a patch out of the darkness. Freda's eyes 
 rested speculatively upon it. She could not quite make 
 out its identity. With that mute irritating power of in- 
 animate objects, it returned her gaze, holding her eyes 
 while it defied them. She threw back the covers at last 
 and, without turning on the light, glided across the 
 room and held the patch of white under the moonlight. 
 
BURNING BRIDGES 259 
 
 It was a small white apron; a limp, impassive little 
 apron, that had once been gay with blue forget-me- 
 nots and lace-tipped ruffle. Its youth was long ago 
 now, but she had treasured it as the one bit of dainti- 
 ness bequeathed to her by Mother, with the shabby 
 suitcase. It brought back a rush of memories that 
 held her there at the window, unmindful of the cool, 
 salt air. She lived over again that wonderful evening 
 of her first party at the Four Corners high school. 
 She recalled, as though it had been yesterday, Mother's 
 worn face, lighted with a gaiety, which she knew now 
 had been simulated for her sake. Mother, waving 
 Doris Hartwell's dainty apron at her as she circled 
 the hall with her partner, seemed now an infinitely 
 pathetic figure, and that mute gesture might have been 
 a farewell from the brink of eternity. 
 
 Memories became chaotic and without sequence 
 now. " Apron-string girl ! " The derisive title, hurled 
 at her by the young people of Rocky Cove, that 
 opprobrious insinuation that she was " different " 
 from the rest, which had been the unvoiced tragedy 
 of her childhood, seemed now, as she looked back 
 upon it, the safe, happy haven out of which she 
 had suddenly embarked upon a stormy, uncharted 
 sea. 
 
 " Always be good, Freddy. It pays to be good 
 and nothing else does ! " The words fell upon her like 
 pelting hailstones out of a cloudless sky. 
 
26o BURNING BRIDGES 
 
 Of all the associations that the dead leave behind 
 them, the garments they have worn recall them to 
 us with the crudest intimacy. The framed pictures 
 that hang above our beds, become in time only the 
 treasured illustrations of a chapter that is ended. The 
 books, marked by vanished hands, the yellowing let- 
 ters, the furnishings that stocked a life all these 
 fit, at last, into the shadowy mosaic of the years, 
 years expressed in that irrevocably pluperfect tense, 
 which signifies action forever completed. But come 
 suddenly upon a pair of wrinkled gloves, a familiar 
 hat, a gown once beloved! Before the necromancy 
 of these, the past is quickened into throbbing an- 
 guished life. " It cannot be! " we cry. " It cannot, 
 cannot be ! " 
 
 A wild longing surged over the girl, a longing that 
 swept aside the intervening years as though they had 
 never been, and made her mother's tragic death and 
 ghastly funeral things of yesterday. But it was not 
 the grimness of these that dominated her thought. 
 Memories of her mother's life, so much more cruel 
 than her death, haunted her now with an aching per- 
 sistence. All at once that barrier of relationship, 
 which forever blinds the eyes of the living, fell away. 
 She saw Margaret Bayne, not as her mother, but as 
 another woman, a woman detached from her, and yet 
 fighting for her with all the tensity of her ardent soul. 
 Incidents of her own childhood, trivial and long for- 
 
BURNING BRIDGES 261 
 
 gotten, flashed before her now, vivid with new signifi- 
 cance, like discarded objects freshly painted. Mother's 
 endless struggle against the degrading elements of 
 their surroundings, her eager groping after the fine, 
 her instinctive determination to raise into the light 
 whatever those groping hands fell upon these were 
 the memories which crowded upon her now as she 
 looked backward over the years. And the futility of 
 the struggle! The defeat at last of Mother's desper- 
 ately contrived plans for her, the utter collapse of the 
 man to whom she had clung these things were too 
 bitter for tears. With a blind unreasoning fury, that 
 seemed to scorch her own soul, she hurled her fierce 
 anathema against life, all life: against its derisive in- 
 justice, its contemptuous disregard of heroism, its 
 haphazard system of reward, and the unbelievable 
 indifference of the Providence that was supposed to 
 direct its course. In the chaos of her whirling emo- 
 tions, she told herself that there was nothing worth 
 while in all the universe; no sacrifice worth its cost, 
 no suffering that brought forth fruit. 
 
 She folded the faded apron and laid it away in one 
 of the bureau drawers. But when she had crept back 
 to bed and was settled again in its comforting warmth, 
 she was not satisfied with its disposal. There was 
 something almost like sacrilege about intrusting it to 
 that bureau drawer. That belonged to this new life, 
 a life that could have nothing in common with the 
 
262 BURNING BRIDGES 
 
 old. She got up again, dragged the suitcase out of the 
 closet and put the strip of linen into its shabby keeping. 
 But after that she felt no inclination to go back to bed. 
 
 She possessed no picture of her mother. But the 
 limp, impassive little apron had showered her with 
 them; pictures of the commonplace, the familiar, the 
 unembellished, and of such as these no portrait or 
 miniature painter has ever caught the knack. 
 
 How long she sat there in the dark beside the lavish 
 dressing table she never knew. But all at once she 
 caught herself listening nervously for the sound of a 
 machine. What if he should come now before she 
 had decided ? For to her weary brain had come a slow 
 realization that all the doubts and problems and con- 
 jectures which she had thought at rest must be roused 
 and counted over again. And she realized, too, that 
 in Martin Meggs' presence, in the presence of those 
 traitorous crutches, only one decision was possible. 
 She was sure that she had never chosen a course in 
 which thought of self had played so small a part, as 
 in the resolve which had brought her here. She 
 spread her motives out before her like a handful of 
 beads and scanned them with coldly critical eyes. 
 Compassion, the instinctive impulse to save and to 
 comfort, a yearning maternalism ; could it be possible, 
 could it be credible that life might turn the gold of 
 such armor into the base weapons of destruction? 
 
 This man, whose every thought was for her, but 
 
BURNING BRIDGES 263 
 
 whose stern code forbade him to accept her sacrifice if 
 he relinquished his claim upon those things which he 
 counted a woman's compensation, loneliness, pain, a 
 dolor unutterable, had made him a pitiable man but 
 never a bad one. And she was to be the prop of his 
 existence. Not his crutches, not the wheel chair, were 
 more essential to his existence now than was she. 
 
 It was too late. She might have refused to come 
 had not something stronger than self-preservation 
 swept her off her feet. He had given her every op- 
 portunity. But his very defense of her cause had 
 forged the final link that bound her to him. Every 
 disadvantage which he had piled upon her side of the 
 scale had only served to make his own need rise to 
 more exalted levels. Self-abnegation, at the other end 
 of the spiritual measure from venal motives, how could 
 it lead her astray ! The high idealism, that would have 
 recoiled in horror from an offer of wealth or of pleas- 
 ure in any of its varicolored costumes, had capitu- 
 lated, almost without a struggle, to the cry of desolate 
 pain. 
 
 And now, like a dry flame searing her brain, came 
 the sound of Eileen's cynical words, "What would 
 be too strong a temptation for me wouldn't be enough 
 for you, but something else would/' 
 
 She winced at that term " temptation." She had 
 never thought of it before in that guise. To her it 
 had appeared in the stern but glorious garments of 
 
264 BURNING BRIDGES 
 
 duty, and in its presence all material obstructions had 
 seemed to shrink out of the way. She had not been 
 afraid of her course nor ashamed of it. Her friends 
 should know about it as soon as Martin released his 
 jealous guardianship of the secret, and yielded to her 
 carefully devised plans. 
 
 Now suddenly the scene had changed. She had 
 a dim but terrified vision of her father and mother in 
 furious combat. They seemed to be fighting for her, 
 and she, in whose blood ran weak compliance with 
 impulse, watched the struggle like the fascinated spec- 
 tator to a street accident. 
 
 It may have been minutes, it may have been half an 
 hour later, that she found herself writing, with the 
 stump of a pencil, on the blank flyleaf torn from 
 Stanford Spence's book of stories. 
 
 " I can't do it, Martin. After all I promised you, 
 I can't do it. I cannot desecrate your mother's ring 
 and make my mother's whole life a bitter failure. 
 When you asked me, you felt, knowing my story, that 
 I could do it because I am my father's daughter, and 
 I felt that I could too. Oh, poor suffering heart, I am 
 not blaming you; I shall never blame you. But we 
 have both made a mistake, dear, a terrible mistake. 
 We thought that an evil heritage would be strong 
 enough to make me do this thing and to excuse it. But 
 oh, it isn't ! It isn't ! For beside the strength of good- 
 ness, the weakness of evil is as nothing, as nothing at 
 
BURNING BRIDGES 265 
 
 all. It tears the heart out of me to leave you now, 
 Martin. But something stronger than I am is forcing 
 me to do it. Be brave. It won't be harder for you 
 to suffer than for me to know that you are suffering." 
 
 She folded the paper and laid it on the maple dress- 
 ing table among the sparkling cut-glass bottles. He 
 would find it in the morning. It was too cruel a blow 
 to deal him in the dark. 
 
 And then she stood at the mirror, between the two 
 packed suitcases, pinning on her hat with unsteady 
 fingers. Her future was in the hands of fate now. 
 If " Gold Dust " came before the hastily summoned 
 taxi, she would tear that letter into fragments. 
 Before her on one side stretched a white, shadeless 
 desert, and on the other the warm, sustaining cheer of 
 love and a life work. And she had chosen between 
 them. Fate must do the rest. 
 
 She carried the suitcase into the unlighted dining 
 room and drew aside the curtain, watching as she had 
 watched on the fatal night of the theater party, for the 
 lights of a machine. A cold numbness seized her. She 
 felt suddenly indifferent to the course of life. A 
 weariness that was like dull-edged pain possessed her. 
 
 Around the curve of the ribbon of boulevard, the 
 glare of a machine flashed through the darkness. It 
 seemed to beckon and then to wave her back. An in- 
 stant later there was another light. The first machine 
 was slowing down, as though uncertain of its course. 
 
266 BURNING BRIDGES 
 
 The second swept past it and the sound of its purring 
 engine came distinctly now over the quiet intervening 
 blocks. 
 
 Freda stood there watching, cold as a statue. The 
 first car seemed to take courage from the assurance 
 of the second. It quickened its gait and its lights grew 
 larger as it took the outside of the curve of the road. 
 All at once the first machine reached the house, and 
 passed on. Then Freda picked up the shabby suitcase 
 and the other, and carried them out to the waiting taxi. 
 
 XIII 
 
 THE hotel to which Freda directed the taxi driver 
 was a shabby little uptown hostelry where she and 
 her mother had stayed on the first night of their visit 
 to the city. Here the clerk, after a briefly appraising 
 glance, assigned her to the guidance of a laconic bell- 
 boy who carried the suitcases to a complacent looking 
 room on the fourth floor. 
 
 And here she stayed throughout the next day, 
 dreading to go out on the streets, shrinking from con- 
 tact with its soulless, indifferent throng. But toward 
 evening she grew faint and desperately lonely and de- 
 cided to go out to a nearby restaurant. It had become 
 unbearable inside. She longed to hear something from 
 Martin, to know that he understood and forgave her, 
 to offer him some comfort. But she had purposely 
 
BURNING BRIDGES 267 
 
 closed the door to that possibility. For she knew that 
 there was nothing that either of them might say. 
 
 For herself she had made no plan. She had scarcely 
 thought of herself at all. Now, as she forced down 
 some sandwiches and a cup of hot chocolate in a mir- 
 ror-lined restaurant on Powell street, she recalled all 
 at once the money which she had stored in the savings 
 bank under her own name, but to the credit of a dis- 
 tracted stranger. It was not hers and she had always 
 felt that some day she would see its owner again and 
 return it. But two months of the six, which she had 
 allowed for his reappearance, had passed and still he 
 had not recrossed her path. She told herself now that 
 if she did not find some means of support within the 
 next few days she would borrow from the account. 
 
 " Spend it," Martin Meggs had gaily advised her. 
 " No matter how you use it, you will doubtless spend 
 it more wisely than he would have done." She shiv- 
 ered now at the memory of those light words. How 
 little she had thought then of the emergency which 
 might drive her to seek its aid. 
 
 She finished her supper and went out to the street. 
 It was after six now and the electric lights had changed 
 the dusk to evening. Hardly conscious of direction, 
 and feeling only that she must get away from Market 
 street with its jarring tumult, she started up the hill, 
 walking hurriedly like one bent upon an urgent errand. 
 
 A voice speaking quite close to her brought her 
 
268 BURNING BRIDGES 
 
 abruptly out of her absorption. She was in front of 
 the " Booklover's " store and Miss Marion Judson 
 was standing in the doorway. " I want to see you a 
 minute, Miss Bayne," she said. The kindly authority 
 of her voice was unchanged, but Freda saw that she 
 was struggling with strong emotion. She followed 
 her silently into a little glass-walled room, evidently 
 an office, at the rear of the shop. Miss Judson pushed 
 one of the straight-backed chairs toward her and she 
 sank into it, outwardly compliant but crying out with 
 all her soul against the mischance of the encounter. 
 Of all eyes in the world, she would have chosen last 
 to meet those of this keen, quick-witted woman who 
 had all unconsciously introduced her to the anguish 
 of the last hours. She couldn't meet them. She felt 
 that they were reading the events of those hours as 
 they might read the books ranged along the walls. 
 She fixed her gaze upon the floor. Surely the fire in 
 her face must burn it to ashes. But what right had 
 this woman to call her to judgment? What right 
 had any one to 
 
 Marion Judson was speaking in a curiously tense 
 voice. " Have you heard have you heard about 
 Martin Meggs?" 
 
 Freda looked up, startled. Her hands gripped the 
 sides of the chair and she waited dumbly, like a hunted 
 animal, for the blow of its pursuer. 
 
 " He died this morning. It was quite sudden. I 
 
BURNING BRIDGES 269 
 
 have just been talking to Doctor Latimer. He is 
 shocked by its unexpectedness. It seems that he saw 
 Martin only last night. He came in to see him, for 
 the doctor wanted to talk to him about a new treatment 
 for his hip. He kept him rather late and Martin 
 seemed restless, but he left about eleven, feeling quite 
 well and hopeful about the suggestion. And then, 
 just before noon today, the Japanese servant 'phoned 
 for the doctor. Martin must have had one of those 
 bad attacks with his hip, for the man found him dead 
 in his room. He had given himself " 
 
 It was the agony in the girl's face, rather than the 
 cry that burst from her like imprisoned flame, that 
 arrested Miss Judson' s story in mid-sentence. 
 
 Freda scarcely knew how she got back to the hotel, 
 except that Marion Judson came with her, and tried 
 in futile ways to comfort her. But in spite of her 
 kindly ministry, the girl was glad when she had gone 
 and she found herself alone. Marion Judson had asked 
 no questions, had looked no questions, and Freda 
 cared nothing for what her complete collapse must 
 have revealed. Like a dreary refrain she repeated 
 over and over again : " I killed him ! I killed him 
 and he wanted so much to die like a man/' 
 
 Life was too brutal a thing to be borne. How did 
 other people endure it? she asked herself wildly. How 
 did those others, those people out upon the streets, 
 endure it and live it out to the end? Did they aKI 
 
270 BURNING BRIDGES 
 
 suffer like this ? How was it possible that they could, 
 and yet be so indifferent to her pain ! And people must 
 suffer in this way for things that were not their fault ; 
 they must suffer while they were trying to do right. 
 With that realization, there was born in her soul a sor- 
 row that was not for herself, not for the man whose 
 unhappy end had so unnerved her, but for those 
 others, those nameless others of the world, who suffer 
 uncomforted. For the first time in her life she felt 
 their presence, felt them pressing her upon every side ; 
 the dry-eyed, the heroically smiling, the gallantly 
 silent; the spiritual aristocracy of earth, who will not 
 pick the pennies of comfort from life's cup because 
 they see that her store is meager, and that there are 
 some in the crowd who would starve without them. 
 
 With these she felt a sudden sense of kinship. 
 Tears, not alone for her own pain, but for the pain of 
 those countless others, burned her cheeks. Her cry 
 was but a part of the universal cry, which now, for 
 the first time, beat against her ears. 
 
 There are some who call this highly sensitized gift of 
 hearing life's greatest curse, and stuff their ears with 
 cotton. And some call it education, and learn to listen 
 untroubled. But there are others who quiver with the 
 pain of it, and these are doomed to live out all their 
 days in a blessed bondage. 
 
 The next evening Marion Judson came in to see 
 her on her way home from the " Booklover's/' and 
 
BURNING BRIDGES 271 
 
 Freda was able to meet her with a subdued cordiality. 
 She dreaded a mention of the tragedy, but braced her- 
 self for it. But Marion Judson had her own ideas of 
 comforting. " I saw that friend of yours last night 
 after I left you," she said, refusing the chair which 
 Freda offered, on the grounds that she would miss 
 the six-fifteen if she stayed more than a minute. 
 ' That girl that manages the appointments at the hair- 
 shop; girl with the plain, attractive, Irish face. I like 
 her; she looks honest. I told her I'd seen you and 
 she gave me a piece of information that I was glad to 
 have. You have given up your work there. Now 
 you're showing sense. I knew you had it, but I have 
 wondered when you would discover that that is not 
 the place for you. I could have told you that the first 
 day I saw you there. Well, the point is now, that we 
 need some help at the ' Booklover's.' It would be 
 a clerkship at first, but it needn't stop at that if you're 
 as adaptable and intelligent as I think you are. Think 
 it over and if it appeals to you, come around at the 
 noon hour tomorrow and I'll present you to Mr. 
 Nevin." 
 
 When she had bustled away, Freda sat at the win- 
 dow, looking out at the lights of the cities across the 
 bay, lying low in the darkness, like a blanket of stars 
 sheltering a tired world. How kind people were, after 
 all! With what unexpected graciousness a mere ac- 
 quaintance had turned out of her busy way to open 
 
272 BURNING BRIDGES 
 
 for her a door which might lighten the stifling oppres- 
 sion of the days! 
 
 She entered the " Booklover's " shop the following 
 noon to find Miss Judson at one of the long tables in 
 the back of the store sorting a pile of volumes that 
 bore evidence of much and varied handling. " These 
 are for library use," she explained in a matter-of-fact 
 voice as though Freda were already one of the " Book- 
 lover's " force. " Books are like people ; they have to 
 adapt themselves to the changing conditions of age. 
 When they lose the freshness of youth, we take them 
 out of the hustling mart of center aisles and put them 
 into the circulating library back here, where in addition 
 to the deposit of a dollar, for the dreaded ' rainy day/ 
 they receive an income of a nickel a reading. Not a 
 bad financial rating, and a perfectly self-respecting life. 
 They earn their board, and few books do more." 
 
 " May I help you sort them out ? " There was some- 
 thing of solace in the very touch of them. For almost 
 an hour she worked with Miss Judson until the shelves 
 marked " Circulating Library " were filled. 
 
 "Well, I go to lunch at one," her companion an- 
 nounced. " So I'd better take you into the office and 
 let you have a chance at our junior partner. It's 
 Chapman and Nevin, you know, but Mr. Chapman 
 rarely comes in, and never concerns himself with the 
 details of management. I've spoken to Mr. Nevin 
 about you, so this is more or less a formality." 
 
BURNING BRIDGES 73 
 
 The introduction over, she vanished and left her 
 protegee confronting Maxwell Nevin, a man in the 
 early fifties, with thin, humorous lips and sensitive 
 hands. He set a chair for her with old-fashioned 
 courtliness and sank into the one in front of a colossal 
 roll-topped desk. " Miss Judson tells me that you 
 are a lover of books," he said genially. " Do you think 
 you would care to be a Booklover?" 
 
 " I'm sure of it," she answered earnestly. " There 
 is nothing I'd like so much, Mr. Nevin." 
 
 The fervor of her tone evidently pleased him. 
 " We work pretty hard in here," he told her, " but we 
 get a lot of pleasure out of it somehow." He had a 
 habit of half closing his eyes as he talked, which gave 
 him a calculating air at variance with the rich mellow- 
 ness of his voice. 
 
 Freda's eyes were fixed upon a huge packing box 
 which stood uncovered beside the door. "Are all 
 those new books ? " she asked. 
 
 " Absolutely new. They've just come in from our 
 publishing department." He walked over to them, 
 reached down, and gathered an armful of them at ran- 
 dom. " We'll put these out in the windows tomor- 
 row," he said, spreading them over a table beside her. 
 " Just glance over this pile and tell me what you think 
 of them as a lot." 
 
 Freda's eyes lighted with a quick, responsive little 
 smile. " This is an examination ? " she queried. 
 
274 BURNING BRIDGES 
 
 He laughed. " Not a bit of it. If you've never 
 heard of any of these scribblers before, your stock 
 won't necessarily drop. But if you do happen to have 
 read any of them I'd be " 
 
 He stopped because he saw that she was not listen- 
 ing. With the all-oblivious absorption of the biblio- 
 maniac she was scanning the titles on the pile of 
 volumes. Suddenly she began to tug at her gloves. 
 " You'll excuse me," she murmured. " I never can 
 look at books with my gloves on. I have to feel 
 them." 
 
 Her fingers closed over one of the crisp paper- 
 jacketed books and dragged it from the stack. " Oh, 
 I didn't know that Stanford Spence had a new collec- 
 tion out." She turned its pages wistfully. " Are these 
 as good as ' This Side Up ' ? " 
 
 "Take it home and read them and tell me what 
 you think." Maxwell Nevin leaned over and tapped 
 the volume with his fountain pen. " He's a new writer, 
 you know, and I discovered him, as it were an 
 American De Morgan I think he is going to be. But 
 he hasn't tried a novel yet and I don't know You 
 never can tell." 
 
 Half an hour passed delightfully and with incredi- 
 ble swiftness. Then Freda rose to go with a startled 
 little exclamation of apology. In her arms were four 
 of the crisp-covered new books. " So much obliged 
 to you for the opportunity to read these," she mur- 
 
BURNING BRIDGES 275 
 
 mured. " But I can't agree with you about the Araby 
 novels, Mr. Nevin. I think they strike a false note 
 somehow. They're popular now, but they won't live; 
 they won't last, I think." 
 
 She had almost reached the front door of the shop 
 when suddenly she stopped short. Marion Judson 
 was looking at her quizzically from across a counter. 
 In flushed embarrassment she turned and walked back 
 to the door of the little glass office. Maxwell Nevin 
 glanced up absently. 
 
 " I forgot," she began in confusion, " I forgot to 
 ask you Am I Am I " 
 
 " You are," the junior partner assured her. 
 
 She was deep in one of the borrowed volumes that 
 evening when, just after her solitary dinner at the 
 hotel, a caller came to her door, breathless and unan- 
 nounced. It was Eileen, and although she made an 
 attempt at her old off-hand greetings, Freda was 
 alarmed at the trouble in her eyes. 
 
 " I told you I'd drop in again, Freda, and I have. 
 That little spinster friend of yours told me where you 
 were." Freda caught the strained note in her tone 
 and forgot that she herself had ever known a pang. 
 " Eileen ! " she cried. " Eileen, something has hap- 
 pened. Have you come to let me help you at last? " 
 
 The other girl nodded. " I don't know just what it 
 is," she said thickly. " But I'm goin' up to find out. 
 
276 BURNING BRIDGES 
 
 I thought I'd ask you if you'd come with me. It's 
 only out on Pacific Avenue, and we can ride." 
 
 Freda was already putting on her hat. When they 
 were out on the street, Eileen suggested a car. " It'll 
 be too far to walk, I guess," she said. 
 
 " Not for me," Freda responded. " Unless you're 
 in a hurry I'd rather walk. I feel that I'd like to walk 
 on and on indefinitely." 
 
 They had gone two blocks before Eileen spoke in a 
 tense voice from which all the old gaiety had fallen 
 away. " I ain't ever told you much about myself, 
 Freda. When you came in with us, we all just took 
 each other as we stood and no questions asked. That's 
 San Francisco, and it suits me and suited us all. The 
 way I look at it is, everybody's got their own troubles 
 and nobody's in the market for any bargain rates on 
 
 mine." 
 
 " Except your friends," Freda interrupted gently. 
 " And they have a right to them for nothing." 
 
 Eileen was silent for a moment. " I had a friend 
 once," she said. " She was pretty near all I did have 
 then, too, and I didn't care much if I never had any- 
 thing else. All she had to do was to come into the 
 room, and trouble seemed to melt away. And then 
 one day, when I'd been hit over the head by somethin' 
 so big that I couldn't help but notice it, I reached out 
 for her and she wasn't there at all. And a long time 
 afterward I realized that she never had been there. 
 
BURNING BRIDGES 
 
 Well, my religion is, learn somethin' out of every- 
 thing hard that hits you. Don't let it get away till it 
 has dropped a prize box into your lap. The grab I got 
 out of that experience, was that friendship is just like 
 everything else in life. It ain't on the 'Today's 
 Specials ' counter. It's for sale at the regular price, 
 not subject to reduction. If you want it, you got to 
 pay the market price. Your friends'll like you just 
 as long as you can keep them from knowin' you. 
 They'll stick to you just as long as you keep your blue 
 side inside. They'll pour out sympathy by the quart 
 as long as you don't appear to want it. But once show 
 'em that you're down and out, and are Ivviri on what 
 they give you, and they'll fade away like baked ice. 
 Me, I got to have friends. On any terms I got to 
 have people around that like me. So I pay for it by 
 makin' 'em think that I'm somebody entirely different 
 from what I really am. It's fair enough too. But 
 sometimes " 
 
 They were climbing the Geary street hill now, and 
 on a corner they waited an instant for a breathing 
 spell. At the same moment a high-powered black 
 roadster drew up to the curb beside them, and a man's 
 voice brisk and authoritative called that he would take 
 them "up to the house." 
 
 Without a word Eileen turned toward him. He 
 lifted his hat perfunctorily in recognition of her ex- 
 planation, " This is my friend, Miss Bayne," and the 
 
278 BURNING BRIDGES 
 
 next instant they had rounded a corner and were 
 gliding along the intersecting street. Not a word was 
 exchanged between the trio. The man stared through 
 the darkness, a cigar clenched between his teeth. 
 Eileen sat rigidly silent. The defiance had burned out 
 of her eyes and left them with a strangely haunted 
 expression. It was not until they had stopped in front 
 of a handsome granite-trimmed apartment house and 
 he was helping them to alight that Freda recognized 
 the stranger as the man who had, on several Sunday 
 afternoons, called for Eileen at the flat. 
 
 " I had to go out after I rang you up," he was ex- 
 plaining to her in his brisk, decisive voice. " But I 
 thought I'd be back by the time you came. Glad I 
 didn't keep you waiting." 
 
 Still Eileen said nothing, and they followed him up 
 the stone steps. A colored maid opened the door. 
 Scarcely glancing at her, he tossed his hat and gloves 
 in her direction and she caught them, with the adroit- 
 ness of a property man behind the wings of a theater. 
 " Tell Mrs. Latimer that I am here," he ordered. 
 
 The maid disappeared and he ushered them into the 
 most luxurious living room that Freda had ever seen. 
 It was furnished in mahogany and a soft shade of blue. 
 Her feet sank into the heavy warmth of the rugs. The 
 chair toward which her host waved her filled her with 
 a sense of grateful relaxation. But its subtle promise 
 of rest was never redeemed. It was a tense, strained 
 
BURNING BRIDGES 279 
 
 half hour to which she was doomed in that alluring 
 living room. 
 
 Eileen sank upon the edge of a wide davenport back 
 of which a table strewn with magazines and lighted 
 by a shaded lamp offered its irresistible invitation to an 
 hour of delightful ease. But she was sitting bolt up- 
 right, her eyes upon the face of the man standing on 
 the hearthrug before her. Both of them seemed to 
 forget the presence of a third person in the room. 
 He spoke with the short-cut words of one accustomed 
 to pronouncing undebatable verdicts. 
 
 " I have just returned from Agnew's. I told you 
 that I would probably be able to report upon the case 
 today." 
 
 " Yes, doctor.*' The tensity of Eileen's voice was 
 instantly apparent to his expert observation. Reas- 
 surance crept into his own. 
 
 " It was about two years ago that you had him com- 
 mitted to the asylum, wasn't it ? " he asked. 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 " And the physicians there pronounced his case 
 hopeless? There was certainly no indication that he 
 
 would ever regain his sanity. And last year " He 
 
 went over the points of the case like a lawyer building 
 up the details of his defense. " Last year, knowing 
 that he was incurable, you had him removed from the 
 charity ward of that other hospital, to Agnew's, where 
 you felt that he would receive better care. Six months 
 
28o BURNING BRIDGES 
 
 ago I saw him for the first time and became interested 
 in his case. I sought you out and told you what I 
 thought of his condition. I felt justified in telling you 
 that in my opinion there was one chance in a hundred 
 for a recovery if you were willing to take a long risk; 
 one chance in a hundred if you would consent to an 
 operation; a very dangerous operation. You thought 
 it over for a month or more, you remember, and then 
 gave me your answer. I think I recall your very 
 words, ' Fll give him his chance. He's got a right to 
 his chance/ ' 
 
 Eileen sat rigid as a statue, neither assent nor denial 
 on her white lips. 
 
 " Well, I performed the operation last week, as you 
 know. I performed it, knowing that if I were in the 
 place of my patient, I would rather take my one 
 perilous chance at sanity and lose my life, than to lead 
 such an existence as that. I was unwilling to make 
 any report, as I told you, until I had time to be fairly 
 
 sure." 
 
 He came over and stood looking down into the girl's 
 drawn white face, one of his keen hands resting upon 
 the back of the davenport. " I think that the crisis 
 is past," he said evenly. " I think I can assure you 
 now, Mrs. Morton, that your husband will recover." 
 
 The davenport seemed suddenly to be floating before 
 Freda's eyes. It seemed to be coming toward her and 
 then receding through a dank mist. Then her vision 
 
BURNING BRIDGES 281 
 
 cleared. It cleared as she heard a woman's wild, 
 agonizing cry, and saw Eileen bury her head on one 
 of the broad arms of the couch. Somehow she made 
 her way over to her and took one of those icy hands 
 in hers, bewildered but eager with sympathy. 
 
 "I can't stand it! Oh, doctor, I can't stand it!" 
 Eileen flung the words at him like the cry of a drown- 
 ing person who realizes that he has risen to the surface 
 for the last time. 
 
 Doctor Latimer still stood, looking down at her, 
 but his face had undergone a swift change. In the 
 keen eyes bewilderment and incredulity were strug- 
 gling with dismay. " I I don't understand, Mrs. 
 Morton," he said. " I thought I was bringing you 
 good news. I thought that you I thought that you 
 would be so glad " 
 
 Eileen sprang to her feet and faced him, all the pas- 
 sion of long months of restraint blazing in her tragic 
 eyes. 
 
 " Glad ! " she cried passionately. " Glad to have 
 that creature back again ! Glad to take him back into 
 my life that he ruined once and that I told myself he'd 
 never have a chance at again ! " She clenched her 
 hands and her voice changed to miserable entreaty. 
 " You told me that you'd only had one case before 
 that was successful. You said you told me that 
 there was hardly any hope that he'd pull through. 
 You said " She broke off and sank back on the 
 
282 BURNING BRIDGES 
 
 wide davenport, seeming to forget his presence. 
 " Oh, why did I do it? I fought it all out with myself 
 once. And then, when you came and took me out 
 there oh, it was too horrible to see him that way. 
 Even for him, it was too horrible and I gave in. I 
 felt that he ought to have his chance, that I had no 
 right to hold his chance back from him. And I've 
 known ever since, that I acted like a fool. I have ! I 
 have!" 
 
 Doctor Latimer had turned away. He seemed to 
 feel all at once that the thing had gone beyond him. 
 Years of successful practice in the operating room had 
 made him calm and self-assured in moments of phys- 
 ical crisis, but before the anguish of this human soul 
 that his knife had laid naked, he recoiled with all the 
 sensitive man's horror of outraged decency. As if by 
 magic, the colored maid appeared suddenly in the door- 
 way. " Tell Mrs. Latimer to come," he said, and 
 disappeared by another door. 
 
 Left alone with Freda, Eileen sought relief in 
 incoherent confidence. " Oh, you'll think I'm wicked, 
 Freda. You'll think I'm a criminal and I guess I am 
 at heart. For the reason that I wanted that operation 
 performed, was because I thought he'd die. I wanted 
 him to die and leave me free. Oh, you don't know 
 the awful nights I've had ! You don't know what my 
 life was with him. Nobody knows, who hasn't tried 
 to live with a man like that. I tried to be a good wife 
 
BURNING BRIDGES 283 
 
 to him Lord, how I tried ! But no woman could have 
 stood it. I was too young, in the first place, I suppose. 
 I oughtn't to have ever married him. But I'd never 
 had any home. I never knew anything but an orphan- 
 age. And he could talk so well. I thought everything 
 was goin' to be so wonderful." 
 
 Her voice died away and Freda did not try to urge 
 her to talk. She knelt beside her quietly, waiting for 
 her emotions to choose their own course. 
 
 " For the first three months, we was pretty happy. 
 He was good to me and my only complaint was that 
 he didn't seem to want a home, after all, and we just 
 boarded around first one place and then another. He 
 was restless and never wanted to stay long. He had 
 told me before we was married, that he had big minin' 
 interests and was well off. But he seemed to forget 
 all about that story, and when I tried to find out about 
 it once he got mad. When I saw that he couldn't stick 
 at any job, I went to work in the hair store, but at 
 first you don't get much, you know, and we had a 
 pretty hard time. He was a good machinist and could 
 have got a job, but he didn't like it. He wanted to 
 speculate and make big money, he said. He was hot- 
 tempered and things got worse and worse. When he 
 was picked up in the street one day for tryin' to stab 
 a man that he'd never seen before, and they told me 
 he'd have to be penned up for life I don't care if I 
 do say it, it seemed like God had answered my 
 
284 BURNING BRIDGES 
 
 prayers. I was sorry for him though, for I knew 
 then why he'd been hard to get along with and that 
 he must have suffered too. When I began to get a 
 real salary, I put him in a pay room so he'd have good 
 care. I've stinted myself as much as I could and hold 
 my job, but I was willin', glad to pay that much, just 
 to be free." 
 
 There was a long pause while she looked at Freda 
 uncertainly. 
 
 " And then you met George,'* Freda said softly. 
 
 " Yes. You won't understand perhaps, but " 
 
 " I think I do, Eileen." 
 
 "We just had a good time together at first, and 
 never thought about anything else. And then, almost 
 before we knew it, things got too hard for us. George 
 ain't well off, he's just workin' in a hardware store, 
 you know, but I'd be willin' to work my hands off for 
 a man like that. Well, we felt that we couldn't give 
 each other up while we was livin' in the same town, 
 and George and I talked it all out one night and he 
 agreed with me that I'd better take a position some- 
 where else if I could, and we'd just write to each other 
 till something turned up for us. It was just then that 
 Doctor Latimer came to see me and took me up to his 
 office one Sunday and explained about the operation. 
 George was for it strong, but I think I've always been 
 a little afraid afraid that life would play me another 
 low-down trick. But when I went out there to the 
 
BURNING BRIDGES 285 
 
 asylum with the doctor, I had to consent, no matter 
 what happened to us all. From what he said, I didn't 
 think Tom would pull through, and it never seemed to 
 occur to me that if he did, he'd get well. I can't seem 
 to think of him that way Oh, but Freda, he is, he is, 
 and I've got to go back to him and " 
 
 She broke into a torrent of tears, heaving, con- 
 vulsive tears that Freda felt powerless to check or 
 soften. She turned away, sick with the futility of her 
 effort, with the inevitable loneliness of sorrow. And 
 in that moment there was a soft rustle of skirts, a low 
 murmur of voices outside the living room door. It 
 opened and closed, and a woman crossed the room 
 and drew the shaking Eileen into her arms. She asked 
 no questions, and offered no comfort, except to hold 
 her there, close to her until the chill which seemed to 
 rack Eileen's body left her and she grew quiet. 
 
 Then she rose from her knees, and for the first 
 time Freda saw her face. At sight of it, the crucial 
 scene which she had just witnessed was completely 
 annihilated. The picture which flashed before her 
 now was the old dining room at West Winds; herself 
 sitting there, with an arithmetic book, listening to the 
 patient explanations of the girl beside her, while 
 Mother hovered somewhere in the shadowy back- 
 ground, assuring them that the " pully " candy was 
 almost done. 
 
 It was the face of Doris Hartwell. 
 
PART SEVEN: THE CORNER TABLE 
 
XIV 
 
 IT would be three months, according to Doctor 
 Latimer's verdict, before he would be willing to dis- 
 miss Tom Morton from his care and pronounce him 
 cured. Mrs. Latimer delivered this message herself, 
 and followed it with a suggestion, before whose at- 
 tractiveness Eileen finally surrendered. 
 
 " Over in Mill Valley/' she told her, " we have a 
 little house; a bare, plain, woodsy little house nestled 
 in among the trees. I call it my house, but it isn't 
 really, for I didn't even build it. The doctor and I 
 discovered it once when we were rambling over the 
 mountains on one of our Sunday afternoon excursions. 
 It was just before we were married. I had stumbled 
 upon it quite by accident one day when I was alone; 
 so had he. We had both been saving it to show the 
 other, and we were married a year before either of us 
 was willing to relinquish the first rights to it. We 
 spent our honeymoon there. It was in the wonderful 
 month of October and the doctor took his first vaca- 
 tion in five years. That was almost three years ago 
 and we have never been there since. We knew we 
 wouldn't when we left, although neither of us admitted 
 it. But we couldn't let the little house go. It was 
 
 289* 
 
290 THE CORNER TABLE 
 
 hallowed by those days of perfect happiness and must 
 be forever ours. And it has never been lonely. The 
 doctor says I am superstitious about it. I feel that as 
 long as the chain of human association with it is un- 
 broken, some of the happiness that we stored into it 
 will find its way into the soul of every dweller under 
 its roof. If houses are haunted with evil, they must be 
 haunted with good too; it's only fair. So we call it 
 ' The Bluebird Cottage/ There are two trained nurses 
 over there now who are taking a rest cure. They are 
 already ' haunted ' with the happiness of returning 
 health. They're buoyant and altogether charming and 
 would love to have another companion. There's oceans 
 of room. Won't you give my ' Bluebird ' cottage a 
 chance for well, until it gets on your nerves to be 
 out of the world?" 
 
 And so it was arranged. Freda went over with her 
 the following afternoon and drew a sigh of relief as 
 she committed her to the genial restfulness of the little 
 home among the redwoods. It had been a nerve- 
 racking experience. Glenn, absorbed in her new pro- 
 fession and familiar with all the antecedent action of 
 the little drama, felt its climax less of a shock. 
 
 " It's goin' to work out all right for her/' she as- 
 sured Freda, with that ready optimism which is the 
 easiest service ever rendered to the demands of 
 friendship. " I know it all looks pretty black for her 
 now, but it's bound to come out all right. Eileen and 
 
THE CORNER TABLE 291 
 
 George have both been square with each other, and 
 they've got to be happy in the end. It's in the cards." 
 
 "It's in books too," Freda mused. "But life 
 doesn't care anything about rewarding goodness. In 
 books, when people are in the way like Tom Morton, 
 they are killed off. It's so easy." 
 
 She felt almost guilty about her own connection 
 with Eileen's hard experience. It seemed to her an 
 almost brutal thing that the tangled trail over which 
 her companion had traveled, should have been the 
 means of leading her, Freda, to a renewal of the one 
 golden friendship of her life. And it had been renewed 
 with a cordiality more satisfying than anything she 
 had ever experienced. A question here and there, a 
 train of eagerly caught up memories, and the gap of 
 the intervening years was bridged. Doris Latimer 
 herself had divined the climax to the Rocky Cove 
 chapter. 
 
 " And your father Did he marry again? " 
 
 They were sitting in the Latimers' dining room, 
 where Freda had come at Doris' insistent invitation 
 after her first day at the " Booklover's," to have din- 
 ner. The doctor had gone out and would not be home 
 until late, and they lingered at the table after the 
 dishes had been cleared away and a heavy tapestry 
 cloth had replaced the linen. 
 
 " It's a lonely place up there," Doris went on, and 
 Freda knew that she was thinking aloud rather than 
 
292 THE CORNER TABLE 
 
 questioning her. " And your father, I imagine, is a 
 dependent sort " 
 
 And then Freda told her story, and in its telling 
 found an inexpressible relief. She told it all, and 
 Doris Latimer listened, her eyes luminous with unshed 
 tears. But the girl's voice was steady, almost imper- 
 sonal, as though the experiences were those of some 
 mere acquaintance. And there was neither accusation 
 against others nor defense of herself in the narration. 
 All the tensity of its scenes seemed to have burned 
 away. Perhaps it was this very lack of denunciation, 
 this passionless acceptance of life, that made her in- 
 finitely pathetic to her auditor. When Doris Latimer 
 spoke, her own voice was sharp with resentment. 
 
 "You're too young, Fredrica! You're too young 
 to have been so much alone! Oh, why didn't I know 
 about it? Why don't we know about these things in 
 time to help ! What are we for? " 
 
 Her sympathy thrilled the girl's heart like sunlight 
 falling upon the tight-closed petals of a flower. But 
 she dreaded to taste its sweetness, to taste and then 
 relinquish it. 
 
 " So you see what I am/' she reminded her hur- 
 riedly. " You see what I am and how easily " 
 
 " I see what you are, yes. You gave up your 
 choice at the very moment when to give it up was 
 hardest, when most women would have felt that it 
 was an impossible thing to do." 
 
THE CORNER TABLE 293 
 
 " It wasn't I who did it," Freda told her wearily. 
 "I wanted to stay. / ached to stay and make him 
 happy. And if I had known what was going to 
 happen " She broke off with a shudder. 
 
 :< You gave him a few happy hours ; the happiest 
 hours of his life, at terrible expense. Oh, my poor 
 little girl!" 
 
 " But it wasn't all his fault! " Freda cried in quick 
 defense. "If you only knew how " 
 
 "Yes, I do know. I can imagine. The most pa- 
 thetic of all my husband's patients. I can understand 
 it, dear. I can understand you both. Two fine char- 
 acters entangled it's one of the most crucial situa- 
 tions in life." 
 
 A silence, that healing silence of perfect under- 
 standing, fell between them. Then Freda spoke 
 slowly. " One thing I'd like to know. I don't sup- 
 pose you could tell me. Nobody can really know, of 
 
 course, but Do you think that when he first 
 
 asked me, he Do you think he felt a little surer 
 
 of me because of my father? " 
 
 " I think it is possible that it influenced him, em- 
 boldened him perhaps, but I think it equally possible 
 that he wasn't aware that it did." 
 
 They went out into the cheerful glow of the living 
 room then, Doris eager with plans for the girl's 
 future. "You mustn't stay at that hotel, Fredrica. 
 You're going to stay with us for awhile. The doctor 
 
294 THE CORNER TABLE 
 
 is away so much and I need some one, I need you. 
 He will feel so much happier about me when he knows 
 you are here. We were talking about it this morn- 
 ing." 
 
 The invitation was almost irresistibly alluring. 
 For a moment Freda hesitated. " I can't," she said 
 at last. " I really can't. For Glenn told me yesterday 
 that she hated her boarding place. She wants me to 
 take an apartment with her, and I promised her yes- 
 terday that I would. You see, she has most of the 
 days free, and she says that it's awful to live in a 
 boarding house if you have any leisure. When I 
 first came to the city, you know, and was all alone, 
 she and Eileen shared their home with me." 
 
 " I know," Doris Latimer interrupted with a touch 
 of impatience. " But isn't it almost time for you to 
 think about yourself a little?" 
 
 In the end she yielded reluctantly to the girl's deci- 
 sion. 
 
 " When I was in Rocky Cove," she told her, " your 
 mother was the one congenial person whom I met. 
 That was a hard year. I had just lost my own 
 mother and she took me to her heart. I shall never 
 forget it, but I suppose I must remember it in some 
 other way, you strong-headed little thing." 
 
 One way in which she " remembered " was to go 
 with the girls on their quest, and stock the modest little 
 uptown apartment which they chose with a variety of 
 
THE CORNER TABLE 295 
 
 unobtrusive little luxuries. To them it seemed a 
 veritable little palace of comfort. A cheerful little en- 
 trance hall, running the width of the rooms, and large 
 enough for hat and umbrella rack, a mission-paneled 
 living and dining room, with bedroom adjoining, 
 a blue and white bathroom with linoleum, camou- 
 flaged to represent tiles, and a love of a kitchenette; 
 this was the home complete. The piano, which was 
 a necessity to Glenn now, encroached aggressively 
 upon the site of the wall desk, but Freda agreed that 
 the latter was a superfluous accessory with which they 
 might easily dispense. It was a harder wrench to 
 relinquish the long mirror on the reverse side. " But 
 in time," she promised, " I can forget that it's 
 there." 
 
 The two occupants of this luxurious little dwelling 
 rarely met, except on Sundays. When Freda returned 
 from the book store at six, Glenn had gone, and she 
 was careful not to waken her when she stole away 
 in the mornings. They kept each other informed of 
 the happenings of the day by means of notes pinned 
 to the roller towel in the kitchenette. Comments 
 upon the services of the butcher, the milkman and the 
 janitor, and suggestions for the morrow's menu, 
 formed the subject-matter of many of these missives. 
 But there was other, more colorful incident, too. In 
 this more highly spiced narrative, Freda was the bene- 
 ficiary rather than the dispenser. For her days at 
 
296 THE CORNER TABLE 
 
 the bookshop furnished scant material for that form 
 of adventurous literature which Glenn's soul craved. 
 They were happy, all-absorbing days, but it was a kind 
 of happiness which she found impossible to describe 
 by the roller towel method of communication. It 
 might have been said that Glenn furnished the plot 
 for their community living, and Freda the atmos- 
 phere. 
 
 " I'd die tucked away in that old book store, 
 Freda," she once remarked. " It suits you all right, 
 and you thrive on it. But I'd pass away. I've got 
 to have some excitement in mine." 
 
 And if excitement were denied to her as a first-hand 
 gift of the gods, she good-humoredly accepted the 
 vicarious adventures in romance that passed in frag- 
 mentary glimpses before her eyes every evening. 
 
 " I feel that I ought to make myself as interesting 
 to you as I can, Fred," she explained, with one of 
 her rare approaches to affection. " For you were such 
 a brick to give up the Latimers and come here with 
 me. If I'd stayed in that boarding house a day longer, 
 I would never have been able to play another note. 
 It wasn't the room, you know, or the meals. They 
 were as good as the average, and you know I'm not a 
 kicker,. But the conversation at meals! Always 
 about dreary, safe topics like the weather. Oh, my 
 Lord!" 
 
 And so, like the numbers on a theater bill which 
 
THE CORNER TABLE 297 
 
 promise a change of performance daily, she brought 
 the gossip of the elite into the little apartment, and 
 served it up on a roller towel. 
 
 For Radcliffe's is the only exclusive cafe in San 
 Francisco. It is not regarded by its habitues as a cafe, 
 properly speaking, but as a sort of open-door club. 
 It scorns the cheap Bohemianism of the downtown 
 restaurants. Its floor is not covered with sawdust; 
 its waiters are not garbed in overalls ; the tops of its 
 tables are not convertible into dance pavilions, and 
 its musicians confine their entertainment to the 
 stage. 
 
 Because of these eccentricities, Radcliffe has won 
 for himself the opprobrious title of " high-brow," and 
 is happy in his degradation. Around his tables con- 
 gregate scientists and celebrated professional men, 
 with honor emblems dangling from their watch chains ; 
 artists, recuperating in the west after too hard or too 
 swift or too hot a pursuit of the coquettish mistress, 
 Fame; authors, who have graduated from being 
 writers, and representatives from that rapidly dimin- 
 ishing class of society who still class dining as legiti- 
 mate, rather than vaudeville, drama. 
 
 Into the fathomless depths of this tranquilly run- 
 ning stream, Glenn threw her line and brought up an 
 occasional small fish for the delectation of Freda's 
 solitary breakfast. 
 
 " Harry Mayes was at R's last night with a swell 
 
298 THE CORNER TABLE 
 
 looking girl. They say that he's engaged to her but 
 it isn't announced. I think he's the author of that 
 book you were reading last Sunday in the park." 
 
 So the tenor of the notes ran. That Glenn was sel- 
 dom able to remember both the name of an author 
 and his achievements, made little difference to Freda, 
 for she could usually be counted upon to furnish the 
 missing links. And she devoured these tidbits with 
 an almost pathetic eagerness. Glenn's sketchy reports 
 came to her like distant reverberations from a world 
 in which she longed to live. 
 
 The book store gave her of its best, and she returned 
 it with hers. Three months after she became one of 
 its force, Maxwell Nevin summoned her to his office 
 and told her that she was to have charge of the New 
 Books. " You have worked in here just as Miss 
 Judson told me you would, Miss Bayne," he said, 
 " She will instruct you about the details of the depart- 
 ment, which includes, of course, the circulating books, 
 I think you will find the work congenial." 
 
 Congenial was a mild term for Freda's pleasure, 
 as she followed Marion Judson about, gleaning de- 
 tached ideas of cataloguing. She had learned not to 
 ask her superior direct questions, for Miss Judson was 
 one of those persons who do not conceive of conversa- 
 tion as a collaborate effort. She possessed that peculiar 
 genius for intermittent monologue, which incorpo- 
 rates into soliloquy the answers to queries put to her 
 
THE CORNER TABLE 299 
 
 by strategic seekers after information. It was only 
 a case of patience. 
 
 "You'll notice a run on certain writers," she re- 
 marked now, in the midst of instructions concerning 
 shelf arrangement. " And you must keep your hand 
 upon the pulse of public interest. Short story collec- 
 tions are not usually good publishing risks. O. Henry, 
 of course, and a few older ones; also this new author, 
 Spence. He's the rage now. But the psychological 
 novel is coming in again, I think, and the short story 
 and novel both which feature mere plot, action, is on 
 the wane. People get enough of that in the movies. 
 There's going to be a reaction in fiction that " 
 
 This was Miss Judson's hobby. She was forever 
 predicting a renaissance in fiction, and she looked for- 
 ward to the decline and fall of the modern novel with 
 the grim expectancy of a prophet, predicting the end 
 of the world. 
 
 Freda herself browsed with the happy aimlessness 
 of the true bookworm, among any of the departments 
 that invited her. She read fiction, biography, history, 
 travel, and verse, devoting all her leisure to these, 
 except the Sunday afternoons which she spent with 
 the Latimers. Her disquieting anxieties concerning 
 Eileen had been lulled to a temporary rest and released 
 her ever-alert sympathies from their unconscious 
 strain. 
 
 For Tom Morton, upon his release, had refused to 
 
300 THE CORNER TABLE 
 
 consider domestic life until he had made a trip out of 
 the state. Thence he promised the listless Eileen to 
 return and take up the responsibilities of married life. 
 Grateful for even a few months more of respite, she 
 had acquiesced and taken a temporary position in the 
 beauty parlor of one of the large hotels. The girls 
 saw her seldom, but she sent an occasional telephone 
 message of reassurance. 
 
 Meanwhile, the months passed, and Freda worked 
 her way into the very core of the " Booklover's " 
 life. 
 
 " Ask for Miss Bayne," its old customers were 
 wont to advise the new. " That pretty, serious- 
 looking little girl with the wonderful hair. She can 
 tell you just what you want." 
 
 By these long-distance introductions they were pre- 
 sented to the head of the " New Books " department, 
 and Freda redeemed their promises a hundredfold. 
 She had graduated now from being a mere book clerk, 
 and had become a mother-confessor, a diagnostician, a 
 lamp unto the feet of the hesitant followers of 
 Minerva. 
 
 When a society bud asked for a book suitable for 
 her college brother, Freda did not offer her " Pil- 
 grim's Progress." For the little girl who wanted 
 " something interesting to read on the train," she did 
 not suggest " Three Weeks," and she made no allu- 
 sion whatever to any of the Best Sellers, when a hag- 
 
THE CORNER TABLE 301 
 
 gard man, wearing a band of crepe on his arm, con- 
 fided to her that he wanted something that would give 
 him a "new grip." She possessed a fluent knowledge 
 of three different languages English, college English, 
 and New Thought. It was when Maxwell Nevin dis- 
 covered this, that he decided to put her in charge of 
 the New Books department. 
 
 " I want something that's got a lot of good love 
 scenes in it," a shopworn looking girl confided to her 
 one afternoon during the first week in her new do- 
 main. " I don't care much what the story's about, so 
 long as its strong on conversation and has got what 
 I told you. If a book ain't got love in it by the second 
 chapter, I ditch it." 
 
 When Freda had supplied her with a novel which 
 had love in the first chapter, and continued the theme, 
 with increasing violence to the last, she 'turned her 
 attention to the young man who was studying the con- 
 tents of the New Books table. 
 
 " I wish you'd pick me out about three of the livest 
 novels you've got in this bunch, please," he ordered. 
 " I want something snappy, and if I stood here look- 
 ing them over all the rest of the day, I wouldn't know 
 any more about them than I do now. You know 
 about the style of stuff I mean, don't you?" 
 
 " Oh, yes. I think so." 
 
 " Send them up to this address this afternoon if you 
 
302 THE CORNER TABLE 
 
 When he was gone and she had selected the 
 " livest " trio of novels which the New Books af- 
 forded, keeping her customer's face and manner in 
 view, as though she were fitting him with an intel- 
 lectual suit of clothes, she picked up the card which he 
 had left lying face down upon the counter and read 
 the address: MR. NORMAN BREWSTER, Hotel 
 St. Gregory. 
 
 All the way home from the store that evening, 
 Freda was revolving in her mind a plan for restoring 
 to their erratic owner, " Brewster's Hundreds." 
 Under ordinary circumstances it would have been a 
 simple enough matter to have written him a note of 
 explanation, inclosing a check. But the words of 
 Constance North had planted an insurmountable bar- 
 rier between herself and this man. A less intense 
 temperament would have forgotten the jealous words 
 long ago or remembered them only with contemptu- 
 ous amusement. But the tragic affair with Martin 
 Meggs had made Freda abnormally sensitive. It had 
 deepened her old reticence a hundredfold. 
 
 " A preordained man-hunter ! " Norman Brewster 
 was doubtless married by this time, but she shrank 
 from any move that he might interpret as an effort 
 to renew their casual acquaintance. But a written 
 communication seemed the only dignified way out of 
 the dilemma. The next evening she devoted to the 
 construction of notes. She wrote four, all of which 
 
THE CORNER TABLE 303 
 
 were discarded after careful readings. One was too 
 abrupt, another too vague, the others too garrulously 
 explanatory. She decided that the fifth would do. It 
 was the kind of note a man could read and never think 
 of again. She scanned its brief page with approval. 
 
 MY DEAR MR. BREWSTER: 
 
 Through certain business connections, I have dis- 
 covered that the money, which I herewith inclose, be- 
 longs to you. It came into my possession on the 
 evening of January sixteenth, under circumstances 
 which made its return impossible before. I have been 
 hoping to discover your address during the past 
 months, but the directory could give me no help, and 
 not until a few days ago did I find out, quite by acci- 
 dent, where a letter might reach you. 
 
 Kindly acknowledge the receipt of the inclosed and 
 oblige 
 
 Yours sincerely, 
 
 FREDRICA C. BAYNE. 
 
 The last injunction had required some pondering. 
 But she had decided that Glenn's post office box af- 
 forded security against any possible discovery of her 
 identity, and several hundred dollars simply couldn't 
 be sent off into space with no assurance of its safe 
 arrival. When they took the apartment, Glenn had 
 decided to have a box so that she might call for her 
 mail just before going to work in the evenings, 
 and thus, as she expressed it, "get in on the last 
 delivery." 
 
304 THE CORNER TABLE 
 
 When the letter was mailed and " Brewster's Hun- 
 dreds " en route at last to their rightful owner, Freda 
 was immensely relieved. Of course her name would 
 be as unenlightening to him as the noncommittal ad- 
 dress itself. It had been a curious little adventure, 
 as had been all of her encounters with this brilliant, 
 unaccountable stranger. She reviewed these as she 
 walked home that evening after sending off her letter. 
 What moments of rare pleasure they had given her, 
 and how ruthlessly they had been terminated always 
 by some one who seemed elected, by an uncompromis- 
 ing fate, to show her her own rightful place in the 
 social scale. 
 
 "If you find a letter in your box addressed to me, 
 don't be surprised," she warned Glenn the next morn- 
 ning when they met at their late Sunday breakfast. 
 "It's nothing exciting; simply a business letter and 
 I didn't wish it sent to the house. You don't mind, 
 do you? " 
 
 Glenn's wide-open eyes surveyed her with quiet 
 amusement. " It's the demure, cold-storage girls like 
 you, Freda, that play the very dickens with men. Of 
 course I don't care what they put into my box, but 
 why don't you let me in on the fun, kiddo? 
 Is he in the matrimonials or the ' too late to clas- 
 sify'?" 
 
 Under her indolent, good-natured scrutiny, Freda 
 found herself blushing. This was the very suggestion 
 
THE CORNER TABLE 305 
 
 which her carefully worded little message had tried to 
 circumvent. The commonness of seeking acquaint- 
 ance with a man through the medium of beguiling let- 
 ters was unendurable. 
 
 " It's nothing like that," she assured her companion 
 earnestly. " It's nothing like that at all. I sent a 
 person some money that I had borrowed, and I'm 
 returning it, that's all." 
 
 " Oh ! " Glenn pulled the plug out of the electric 
 percolator (Doris Latimer's last contribution to the 
 apartment) and poured out two cups of coffee before 
 she spoke. Then the raillery had died out of her 
 voice. " Say, kiddo, if you ever want to borrow any 
 more money, get it from me. My pile ain't so large 
 yet that a bank clerk would get it mixed with the 
 Rothschilds', but what there is of it is on tap for you. 
 Don't go borrowin' from any man though. Any- 
 body could tell by lookin' at you that you're straight 
 as the road to Kingdom Come, but it ain't safe. You'll 
 hear from him all right." 
 
 This prophecy proved correct. Two days later 
 Freda found pinned to the roller towel an envelope 
 bearing the insignia of the Hotel St. Gregory. Under 
 the flowing letters of the superscription, Glenn had 
 written the warning, " Go Easy, Mate." Freda read 
 the letter, to the purring accompaniment of percolat- 
 ing coffee. 
 
306 THE CORNER TABLE 
 
 MY DEAR Miss BAYNE, 
 
 Your letter, with inclosure, was a gratifying sur- 
 prise. It is a pleasant thing to receive three hundred 
 and twenty dollars under conditions so unexacting. 
 It is a pleasanter thing to receive more, and I note 
 that you withdrew the amount exactly three days 
 after the semi-annual interest upon it had been paid. 
 This was surely more than genial coincidence; it was 
 business sagacity of the highest order. And will you 
 allow me to confess that never before has money of 
 mine remained stationary long enough to accumulate 
 commercial moss. 
 
 Assuming that this money is really mine, there are 
 certain rights of ownership which I cannot waive. I 
 demand the right of meeting its custodian and of ex- 
 pressing some measure of my gratitude for her able 
 administration of my affairs. I feel that I cannot ac- 
 cept your precipitous resignation without a protest. 
 
 You have the advantage of me in name and address, 
 but unless I hear from you within the week, a detec- 
 tive shall be stationed at box 438 under strict orders 
 from 
 
 Your grateful client, 
 
 NORMAN BREWSTER. 
 
 Freda tucked this missive away in the tray of her 
 trunk as a souvenir of an interesting adventure past. 
 She would ignore the suggestion of an interview, of 
 course, for no matter how gallantly he carried it off, 
 she was sure that reference to their chance encounter 
 must inevitably be embarrassing to them both. What 
 sinister, unhappy associations might that evening in 
 January recall to his memory! It was natural of 
 course that he should ask for an opportunity to express 
 his thanks. Perhaps, now that he was married, he 
 
THE CORNER TABLE 307 
 
 might adopt the North method of conveying his grati- 
 tude. She smiled, a bitter cynical little smile, as Edna 
 North's silver mesh bag flashed before her mind's eye. 
 
 No, this was the end of the adventure with 
 " Brewster's Hundreds," she told herself as she hung 
 up her hat and wrap at the shop the next morning. 
 But fate had different plans, which she revealed two 
 weeks later. 
 
 It proved to be an unusually busy morning. By 
 noon, Freda had made out a list of books suitable for 
 a college athlete, spending some weeks in a hospital, 
 had selected several volumes to enliven the leisure 
 hours of a remote miner, who had warned her by let- 
 ter that he did not " go in for love, adventure or re- 
 ligion," and had prescribed and sold dozens of other 
 books to the voracious, sensation-seeking public. Now 
 there was the usual noon hour lull and she snatched 
 a few moments to rearrange some of the books on 
 the shelves of the circulating library. 
 
 She was roused from this task by the sound of a 
 customer who paused at the " Standard table " near 
 the front door and began turning the pages of a new 
 Stevenson set. Without glancing at him Freda went 
 on with her work. She knew that when patrons dis- 
 played an interest in the standards, it was fatal to fol- 
 low them about with tentative suggestions. Such fish 
 is not caught in nets, but by an ambushed angler, 
 gifted with tactful indifference and an infinite patience, 
 
308 THE CORNER TABLE 
 
 So she continued to sort books while the customer 
 worked an erratic passage toward her. Then, just at 
 the critical moment, while he hesitated to take the 
 plunge from old fiction to new, she glided to his side. 
 
 As their eyes met, Norman Brewster laid down the 
 book which he had carried from the standard table. 
 In his eyes was the expression of a man who has come 
 to the end of a long quest. But before he had time 
 to recover from his surprise, Freda spoke in a po- 
 litely professional voice. 
 
 " I think you may be interested in this new edition 
 of Kipling. It has just come in." 
 
 A slow frown furrowed itself between the man's 
 eyes. " I don't care to look it over just now." And 
 then, all at once his tone changed. It became as coldly 
 business-like as her own. "You have a circulating 
 library, haven't you? A friend of mine sent me some 
 novels from here a few weeks ago, but I didn't seem 
 to care for them." 
 
 He caught Freda for a moment off her guard. " I 
 wouldn't have selected them for you" she explained 
 in quick apology. " but he said he wanted something 
 light, something " 
 
 " That was just what I told him to get," he inter- 
 posed. " And I came in quest of something else that 
 is typically modern. I thought I could do better if 
 I selected myself this time." 
 
 " Oh, it is for some one else then? " 
 
THE CORNER TABLE 309 
 
 A gleam of amusement lighted his face. "Why 
 do you think that it isn't for me?" 
 
 " Because." She saw that he was laying a trap for 
 her, and made a skilful detour. " Because if you had 
 wanted something like that for yourself, you wouldn't 
 have spent so much time with Stevenson." 
 
 " Wrong," he retorted, smiling at her adroitness. 
 " It is for myself." He leaned one elbow on a pile 
 of Best Sellers and regarded her seriously. " I was 
 brought up on that sort of stuff," he said, nodding in 
 the direction of the standards. " By the time I was 
 fifteen, I'd read a lot of Scott and Dickens and 
 Maupassant and other boys of that class. The result 
 is, that now I am a rube in educated society. I can 
 hear people discuss books all evening and never catch 
 the sound of a familiar name. I suppose it's a case 
 of arrested development. I'm in a state of intellectual 
 anaemia. When the conversation gets beyond Poe, my 
 temperature rises; when it overtakes Howells, they 
 have to use ice bags. So I've put myself on a diet. 
 My nourishment from now until future notice is to 
 be provided by the Moderns. I don't know who they 
 are nor what they'll do to my digestion, but I'm going 
 to take the treatments. I'm at your mercy, you see. 
 Pour out the first dose." 
 
 Freda listened with something more than profes- 
 sional sympathy. Confidences were a daily, almost an 
 hourly occurrence, but this one had the relish of 
 
3io THE CORNER TABLE 
 
 novelty. Never before had she prescribed for just 
 such a patient. She took a catalogue from one of the 
 tables and a pencil from her hair. " Some of the 
 moderns are well worth while," she encouraged. 
 " Don't you really like Howells? " 
 
 " I do. I named him as my last outpost. It is 
 beyond, not including, the landmarks that I'm an out- 
 cast." 
 
 " If you like," she suggested, " I'll go over our list 
 with you and check those that you really ought to 
 know." She pressed back the limp cover of the 
 catalogue and plunged into the task. When her pen- 
 cil checked off a name, she gave a brief review of 
 the volume, touching upon its plot and setting and 
 supplementing these with occasional biographical inci- 
 dents concerning the author. 
 
 At the end of the lesson, the Old Young Man 
 straightened and drew a long breath. He had once 
 encountered a conscientious garage employe, an un- 
 hurried city editor, a surgeon who was reluctant to 
 operate, and other curious human phenomena, but 
 never before had he experienced a book clerk who 
 knew books. 
 
 She turned to the shelf behind her and began the 
 course of instruction by a selection from among the 
 A's. And Norman Brewster accepted her choice in 
 dazed silence and went his way. 
 
 When he had gone Freda stood at the library 
 
THE CORNER TABLE 311 
 
 shelves considering the case of her new patient with 
 a pensive, far-away expression on her face. She was 
 still thinking of him when Miss Judson bustled in and 
 reminded her brusquely that it was time to go to 
 lunch. 
 
 Two days later when Norman Brewster brought 
 back the A author, he was mildly enthusiastic. " Not 
 bad," he told Freda as she searched for his second 
 
 " dose." " Not bad at all but How many olives 
 
 is it that you have to eat before you begin to like 
 them?" 
 
 He was back again the next Saturday when she 
 returned from lunch, idly turning the pages of a new 
 biographical dictionary and chatting with Miss Jud- 
 son. When Freda entered he strolled back to the 
 circulating library and slipped his " return " into its 
 place without comment. She looked at him with dis- 
 approving eyes. 
 
 " You're not being quite fair to the modern novel- 
 ists," she said reproachfully. " You can't expect 
 much of an author whom you read as rapidly as you 
 have read that. You remember what Arnold Bennett 
 says, that ' the man who simply reads an author with- 
 out meditating upon him is really insulting the 
 author/ You're supposed to eat the olives that 
 you're trying to like, you know : not swallow them 
 whole." 
 
 " I'm going to do all my meditating at the end of 
 
312 THE CORNER TABLE 
 
 this course," he explained. " My friend, Carlton, 
 who came in for those first books, you remember, lives 
 with me, and he strongly objects to any form of 
 meditation. It isn't in his line at all, and we must 
 consider the feelings of the people who live with us." 
 
 But her advice had evidently made some impression 
 upon him, for it was almost a week before he visited 
 the " Booklover's " again. From that time on, he came 
 once a week, usually on Saturdays. Freda waited for 
 his criticism of the volumes that he returned, but he 
 made none. One day his eyes wandered restlessly over 
 the shopworn volumes upon the shelf. The course on 
 the Moderns had progressed as far as the Us now, but 
 his gaze halted upon some books near the end of the 
 shelf. He read over their titles listlessly. Suddenly 
 he made a defiant announcement. 
 
 " I'm going to skip some. The last of the alphabet 
 may not be any better than the first, but I'm going to 
 try it. You've got to take some risks in mental 
 dietetics in order to test your vitality." 
 
 He selected a volume from among the W's. " Tell 
 me about this," he ordered. 
 
 When she had given him one of her brief, clear-cut 
 reports upon it, he slipped it back into its place. His 
 fingers closed upon another book, choosing at random. 
 
 " That's the second collection of stories by Stan- 
 ford Spence," she told him. " I believe you said 
 once " She stopped suddenly, then realized that 
 
THE CORNER TABLE 313 
 
 she had gone too far to stop. " I believe you said 
 once that you had never read any of his? " 
 
 He didn't seem to be listening, but was turning the 
 pages with idle interest, reading here and there in hap- 
 hazard fashion. She took down several books, re- 
 solving to leave the choice of these to him. When 
 she glanced up, she saw that he was not reading and 
 that he was looking at her with an oddly intent ex- 
 pression in his deep-set eyes, 
 
 He weighed the volume in his hand as though test- 
 ing its literary merit by the measure of avoirdupois. 
 But he seemed to have lost interest in its contents. 
 " Well, how about it ? " he demanded stoically at 
 length. " Does the modern short story belong in a 
 study of the Moderns ? " 
 
 " Some collections do," she answered. " But " 
 
 She paused, uncertain. 
 
 "But what?" he persisted, with a touch of impa- 
 tience. 
 
 " Well, he has just brought out that series. If you 
 like Spence, don't read the later ones. You see, they 
 were published in one of the cheaper magazines 
 
 and Well, he's no worse than any of the others, 
 
 I suppose. They all seem to come down to flashy sort 
 of work after they've made names for themselves." 
 
 "What do you mean by flashy sort of work? " 
 
 She looked at him a little helplessly. " Why I 
 think you know what I mean. Plots and characters 
 
3H THE CORNER TABLE 
 
 that show life on its lowest levels and striving for 
 nothing better. Absurd improbabilities coated over 
 with the clever, slangy dialogue that succeeds in dis- 
 guising so much poor workmanship. All sorts of 
 neurotic adventure served up to suit the public's crav- 
 ing for sensation." 
 
 "Why do they do it? " he demanded. 
 
 " I suppose for the reason that I've just suggested 
 the public wants it." 
 
 " Not all the public." 
 
 " No, but " She paused, considering the ques- 
 tion gravely. " There are people like you and me 
 who don't like it," she went on in an abstracted tone 
 as though her attention were fixed upon an effort to 
 visualize these. " But the trouble is, we are such a 
 silent group. We are glad when we come upon the 
 kind of literature that we like, but the other part of 
 the public pound on the table and shout for what they 
 want." 
 
 He slipped the collection of short stories back into 
 place. 
 
 " Well, at least you've spoiled my taste for this 
 chap. I'm sure I should hate him." He sighed. " No 
 good comes of skipping, I see. It's better after all to 
 bear those L's we have than fly to S's that we know 
 not of." 
 
 When she had given him his next volume, he laid it 
 on top of a row of Best Sellers and faced her with 
 
THE CORNER TABLE 315 
 
 a new expression in his eyes. " Miss Bayne," he said 
 quietly, "don't you think I have been punished 
 enough? " 
 
 XV 
 
 STARTLED out of her professional serenity by the 
 abruptness of Norman Brewster's challenge, Freda 
 felt herself blushing, and was furious at her own 
 embarrassment. 
 
 " I had to get it over," her customer went on with 
 a brutal disregard of her helplessness. " I have been 
 wondering how much longer you were going to keep 
 me on the rack." 
 
 " I wasn't trying to keep you on the rack," she said 
 slowly. "I " 
 
 " Well, it has had that effect anyway. Do you 
 remember the night of the dress rehearsal at the 
 Mansfields', when you fled away into the night 
 after giving me the big suggestion for my third 
 act? Well, in your haste you lost your slipper 
 that night, Miss Cinderella. I found it after you'd 
 gone a handkerchief with F. Bayne printed across 
 the corner. It was the only clue I had. A detective 
 could have run you down and secured a ten years' 
 sentence on less, but I am not a detective. All I could 
 do was to treasure it and pray to the god of luck. 
 And I'd begun to think that he had gone out of busi- 
 ness when, out of a clear sky, came your note." 
 
3i6 THE CORNER TABLE 
 
 He shivered. " The style was unmistakable. Aloof, 
 elusive, all the things that proclaimed it unmistakably 
 your handiwork. It's a merciful thing that it struck 
 me in midsummer. If I had been exposed to it in) 
 winter, nothing could have saved me from an attack 
 of pneumonia." 
 
 Freda smiled in spite of herself. The Old Young 
 Man went on in a tone from which all the light banter 
 was gone. " You crossed my path last January just 
 in time to keep me from making the biggest mistake 
 of my life. And now that I have found you, do you 
 think I can let you hide behind a post office box ? " 
 
 The following Sunday when she went to the Lati- 
 mers', he was there. When she entered he drew him- 
 self out of the long Morris chair in the dim living 
 room, where they were enjoying the twilight, and ap- 
 pealed to his hostess. " Mrs. Latimer, will you 
 please introduce me to this lady? And if it isn't too 
 great a strain upon your friendship, assure her that 
 I am a good moral character, that I visited in your 
 home once for a whole week, and that when I left 
 you didn't miss any of the wedding silver; that no 
 one in my family has ever been hung, and anything 
 else you can think of that will give me status." 
 
 It was a gay little supper party, for no one else 
 came in that evening, and in the absence of the serv- 
 ants, who always had Sunday night off, Doris and 
 
THE CORNER TABLE 317 
 
 Freda prepared the cold chicken, sandwiches, fruit, 
 and coffee, while Norman Brewster set the table, and 
 the doctor, who in his leisure hours was a passionate 
 music lover, played snatches of opera on the Baby 
 Grand. 
 
 " It was such a delightful surprise to have Norman 
 turn up," Doris said as she cut waferlike slices of 
 bread at the pantry table. " He and my brother were 
 college friends at Princeton, but although I knew he 
 was out here on the coast, he didn't drop in until a 
 week or so ago." 
 
 " He seems to have a boundless leisure," Freda 
 commented. " What does he do ? " 
 
 " My dear child, he doesn't have to do anything. 
 That is the one disadvantage in his life. He is con- 
 tent simply to be. Belongs to the Dwight Brewster 
 connection, you know, big railroad people in the east. 
 He's not very congenial with his father and sister 
 though, so he has been spending most of his time out 
 here since he left college. Last winter I heard he was 
 engaged to one of his sister's friends who came out 
 to spend the season. A stunning looking girl but 
 rather shallow I thought. I was glad when it was 
 suddenly broken off. They were not congenial in 
 their tastes at all. It was one of those prearranged 
 affairs. They were brought up with the idea that 
 some day they would be married. The Brewsters are 
 a very aristocratic family and were anxious to have 
 
3i8 THE CORNER TABLE 
 
 him settled with Constance before he did anything 
 erratic. I think they've always been gripped by the 
 fear that he'd disgrace the family by making an out- 
 rageous match. The Norths are an old family here; 
 that is, the Thomas Norths are, and Constance is a 
 niece of theirs. They returned to the east just after 
 the engagement was broken." 
 
 The sandwiches were ready and Freda carried them 
 into the dining room, where Norman Brewster was 
 whistling a subdued obligate to the doctor's rendering 
 of " La Boheme," as he distributed butter knives on 
 the wrong side of each plate. 
 
 That Sunday evening was the beginning of a new 
 era for Freda. It was her " coming out " party. 
 From it she emerged into a world of lights and color 
 and music and laughter. San Francisco, which had 
 hitherto seemed an arena of struggle, or a pleasure 
 palace to which only those possessed of a mystic pass- 
 word might seek admission, suddenly threw open her 
 doors and invited her. She had longed wistfully to 
 catch just a glimpse of the glittering life behind those 
 doors but had never dreamed of feeling herself a part 
 of it. 
 
 But now, sitting with Norman Brewster in the 
 theater, smiling at him across the tables of downtown 
 cabarets, spending delicious holiday hours with him 
 down on the waterfront, where he was on terms of 
 
THE CORNER TABLE 319 
 
 easy friendship with stevedores and captains alike, 
 climbing Tamalpias and learning to row on Lake Mer- 
 ritt; these things brought her a keen-edged joyous- 
 ness, and the man who provided them looked upon his 
 achievement with an ever-increasing triumph. 
 
 "You like this sort of thing, don't you?" he said 
 one evening as they leaned on the upper railing of 
 the Key Route ferryboat and watched the widening 
 circles of foam churned by the giant wheel. They 
 were returning from a dance at the Claremont Coun- 
 try Club, and Freda's face was aglow with youth 
 and the joy of conquest. All the days of the past 
 were blotted out. Life was a thing only of the 
 throbbing present. She was wearing the first evening 
 cloak that she had ever possessed; a fairy thing of 
 sky blue, whose soft white furry collar nestled caress- 
 ingly against her hair and changed the gray of her 
 eyes to fathomless blue. They were fixed dreamily 
 upon the distant electric advertising signs that van- 
 ished and reappeared in the darkness of the soft Sep- 
 tember night, like the handwriting of some super- 
 natural being. 
 
 " Like it? " she cried. " I love it! It's beautiful! 
 It's wonderful! But I can't make it seem quite real. 
 It can't go on this way, you know." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 She sighed. " Oh, it's too too perfect. Nothing 
 like this lasts. It isn't life." 
 
320 THE CORNER TABLE 
 
 " Poor little girl. You haven't much faith in life, 
 have you? " 
 
 She did not answer, but kept her eyes fixed upon 
 the fantastic signs. " Can't you believe in it a little, 
 Miss Cinderella?" 
 
 " I think I could believe in anything on a night like 
 this." 
 
 " Then I shall tell you something that I want 
 very much to have you believe. Do you remember 
 that night in January? Have you ever wondered 
 about it?" 
 
 " Yes. I have wondered very much about it. It 
 was an adventure." 
 
 " Only that for you perhaps. But for me it was a 
 crisis. That night was the culmination of a long 
 strain. The woman to whom I was engaged had told 
 me that I must choose between her and the work 
 which T 1 wanted to make my life. She had no sym- 
 pathy with my ambition to suffer and sacrifice in 
 order to get somewhere. She saw no necessity for 
 my wanting to go. Her idea of marriage seemed 
 to be that it would provide her with a permanent 
 escort to the functions which filled her days. I had 
 decided that she was right, that I was not justified in 
 thinking that I could achieve anything that would be 
 worth its cost. I had started downtown to make the 
 reservations for our honeymoon trip. On the way, 
 I stopped to look over that new apartment which was 
 
THE CORNER TABLE 321 
 
 being built on the Norths* property. It was almost 
 dark, but I noticed another man, prowling around the 
 back. I thought he was one of the workmen looking 
 for his tools, and paid no attention to him. When I 
 got inside and started up the ladder to the second 
 floor, I saw that he was following me. I was halfway 
 up, when all at once he jerked the ladder down. All I 
 remember after that, is striking the floor below with a 
 terrible crash and of feeling his weight upon my chest. 
 When I came to in the hospital, I thought of course 
 that he had taken my money. I suppose the only 
 reason that he didn't was that some one came along 
 just then and frightened him. But I had a curious 
 feeling about it all. It seemed an intervention by the 
 hand of fate." 
 
 There was a moment of silence between them. 
 
 " I don't know why Constance didn't believe my 
 story," he went on at last. " I suppose my narrative 
 was a little confused. She was furious with me for 
 having made a fool of myself, and the engagement 
 was off." 
 
 " I see," Freda said slowly. " It would have been 
 a mistake ? " 
 
 " The biggest mistake of our lives. You saved us 
 both from making it." 
 
 " I suppose it was a fortunate chance then. But " 
 
 A frown clouded her face. " I don't think I like 
 that role : a blind, fumbling, destructive form of help- 
 
322 THE CORNER TABLE 
 
 fulness. An evil genius, gone right for a moment. 
 And perhaps not so very right after all." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 She turned to him with her old eager intentness. 
 " Don't you see, Mr. Brewster ? The story you have 
 
 just told me Well, to use your own expression, 
 
 it doesn't go anywhere. You lost the woman you 
 cared for and " 
 
 " Whom I thought I cared for," he amended. But 
 she went on, unheeding the interruption. 
 
 " You lost something, but I don't see that " 
 
 " You don't see that she did." 
 
 His tone was full of whimsical irony, but there 
 was no raillery in his eyes. 
 
 She flushed. " You know I don't mean that. I 
 mean that you lost something, but you didn't gain 
 anything in its place. You have paid a high price 
 for something that you haven't Your ambi- 
 tions, I mean Are you realizing them at 
 
 last?" 
 
 " My ambitions have changed. I have only one 
 now to be happy." 
 
 " You mean to spend evenings like this ? To go 
 about doing this sort of thing all the time? " 
 
 " Absolutely." 
 
 " But this doesn't It doesn't get you any- 
 where." 
 
 " I don't want to go anywhere. I intend to make 
 
THE CORNER TABLE 323 
 
 this my permanent address. And you say that you 
 love it, that it's wonderful and " 
 
 " It is to me. I feel that I can never get enough of 
 it. But " She turned on him in a sudden pas- 
 sion of scorn. " But if I had a talent like yours. If 
 I had " 
 
 "What do you mean?" he cried sharply. "Why 
 do you say that I have a talent? Why do you 
 think ?" 
 
 " You forget that I have read one of your plays," 
 she told him quietly. " You forget Belshazzar." 
 
 He smiled grimly. " No, I shall never forget Bel- 
 shazzar. I have good reason to remember Bel- 
 shazzar." 
 
 " Everything is so easy for you," she sighed. 
 " Everything is so easy that of course you'll never 
 win the thing for whose sake you ought to be willing 
 to push everything aside." 
 
 The ferry was gliding into the slip now, and they 
 followed the little group of sleepy passengers down- 
 stairs. On the way up Market street they said little, 
 but when they reached the apartment he lingered over 
 the farewells. 
 
 " You remember that we planned to go down to the 
 pier again soon," he reminded her. " Can't we make 
 it next Sunday?" 
 
 She shook her head. " I'm afraid not. I have 
 another engagement for Sunday." 
 
324 THE CORNER TABLE 
 
 " When, then? " 
 
 " I don't know. I'll be very busy at the store these 
 next few weeks. We're taking stock. I don't think 
 I'll be able to go out very much." 
 
 " When shall I see you again, then? " 
 
 But she would give him no definite answer to this 
 question. And he took her at her word, for during 
 the next week he did not even come to the " Book- 
 lover's." 
 
 It was almost two weeks later that Freda, coming 
 in after six one evening, found a note from Glenn 
 with the brief injunction : " Call Mrs. Latimer." 
 
 She took down the telephone in a little flutter of 
 expectancy. The voice of the colored maid came over 
 the wire. " Mrs. Latimer is dressing and can't come 
 to the 'phone, but she toF me when you called, to say 
 that she is giving a dinner party tonight downtown, 
 and if you can go, they'll come for you at seven." 
 
 While Freda put on the little rose-colored dress 
 which Doris had helped her buy, she wondered 
 whether Norman Brewster would be one of the 
 party. It had been surprisingly difficult to keep him 
 in the background of her thoughts during the past 
 days, and she told herself contritely that she had been 
 too peremptory in her refusal of the pier engagement. 
 
 She was almost dressed when she saw the Latimer 
 car draw up at the front steps. A moment later Doris 
 came up to see if she could help with the last 
 
THE CORNER TABLE 325 
 
 touches. " You do look like a darling, Fredrica," 
 she decreed, surveying her protegee in the light of the 
 little hallway. " That hair store certainly taught you 
 how to make the most of that glorious crown of 
 yours. I wanted you to look your best tonight. This 
 is a celebration." 
 
 "Of what?" 
 
 " Oh, I thought Nita told you at the 'phone. It's the 
 doctor's birthday, and I insist upon his taking this 
 one evening off. We're going to Radcliffe's. I've 
 never heard your friend, Miss Markley, play, you 
 know. And anyway Radcliffe's is the only place for 
 a party like this. There will be just us four. I'm 
 so glad you could come at the last minute this way. 
 Of course my life is an entirely impromptu affair. I 
 never know when I can have my husband nor for how 
 long. But I 'phoned Miss Markley to have a table 
 reserved for us, so I think there will be no hitch about 
 that." 
 
 The Radcliffe trio were playing their first number 
 when the Latimer dinner party entered. The table 
 which Glenn had reserved for them was ideally located 
 in a corner opposite the messanine floor, where, aided 
 by the cunningly arranged mirrors, they could see the 
 entire stretch of candle-lighted tables. 
 
 To Freda it was a brilliant scene ; its diners festive, 
 with the subdued gaiety of well-bred people; its 
 waiters gliding about as noiselessly as film actors, its 
 
326 THE CORNER TABLE 
 
 musicians half hidden behind feathery clumps of 
 bamboo, playing an all-pervasive but never obtrusive 
 accompaniment to the hum of conversation. From 
 across the table, Doris Latimer, the most beautiful 
 woman in the room, smiled at her. The doctor, keen- 
 eyed, distinguished, authoritative, clipped out orders 
 to the waiter, and Norman Brewster, so completely at 
 his ease in this environment, looked at her with eyes 
 that seemed to see no one else. 
 
 It seemed to her, sitting there in that softly lighted 
 room, the guest of one of the most distinguished 
 specialists in the state, chaperoned by a woman who 
 represented San Francisco at its very best, that she 
 had reached at last the goal toward which she had 
 been groping through long, painful years. To estab- 
 lish for herself a place in the society of respectable 
 people had been her passionate purpose. This corner 
 table at Radcliffe's was the material evidence of her 
 hard-won success. 
 
 Several of the incoming diners stopped at the 
 Latimers' table to exchange greetings. Norman 
 Brewster seemed to know them all. One, a tall man 
 with eyebrows that met over his nose, and gave to 
 his thin face an expression of perpetual astonishment, 
 lingered longer than the others. 
 
 "How is it coming?" Norman Brewster inquired. 
 " I hear you've just made a new contract with the 
 Orpheum. Why don't you try the east first?" 
 
THE CORNER TABLE 327 
 
 The other man shook his head. "No, it might 
 change my luck. Anyway San Francisco is the best 
 first-night test I know. If it gets by here, it's pretty 
 sure to be a go." 
 
 " Do you think so ? " Norman Brewster was look- 
 ing at him speculatively. " Well, you ought to know. 
 Good luck to it." 
 
 The man smiled and passed on. " That's Hadley," 
 Norman Brewster explained. "He's writing skits 
 for the Orpheum circuit and making a mint of 
 money." 
 
 " He ought to put more of it inside of him," the 
 doctor commented. " He looks like an advertisement 
 for the starvation cure, ' after taking.' ' 
 
 The waiter had reappeared, and through a succes- 
 sion of mysterious courses they talked of the celeb- 
 rities dining about the room, and drank the doc- 
 tor's health. It was a gay little party, and Fre- 
 da's eyes sparkled with the excited happiness of a 
 child. 
 
 Down the aisle at the fourth table from theirs, a 
 waiter was clearing away the dishes and making a 
 place for an incoming couple. She watched him with 
 abstracted eyes. For she could see no one on this 
 happy, brilliant evening but the man who sat beside 
 her, and whose eyes were fixed upon her with a light 
 so unmistakable burning in their depths. 
 
 "I should think San Francisco would be such a 
 
328 THE CORNER TABLE 
 
 difficult place for any kind of artistic work," Doris 
 was saying. " It's like a big, boisterous pleasure 
 ground, always calling people to come out and play. 
 And yet many of the people here tonight are doing 
 that kind of work." 
 
 " No, most of them have done it elsewhere and 
 have come here to frolic during their recess time," 
 her husband interposed. " A lot of them look like 
 people with tired nerves who have come here " 
 
 He broke off suddenly, his gaze riveted upon a cou- 
 ple who were seating themselves at the fourth table 
 on the next aisle. Up to this time his survey of the 
 diners had been casual. Now he spoke in slow-voiced 
 amazement. " Well, I'll be hanged ! " He turned to 
 his wife, with that irresistible impulse for sharing 
 every emotion, which is instinctive with perfectly 
 mated people. 
 
 " Do you recognize that man at the fourth table on 
 the right? " he demanded. 
 
 Freda followed his glance. It rested for a fleeting 
 instant upon the morose face of a large, heavy- 
 featured man with restless, unhappy eyes, and then 
 passed on with casual interest to his companion. 
 
 "Why why, that's Eileen Morton's husband! 
 That's Tom Morton, isn't it?" Doris whispered. 
 
 Her husband nodded. " What the devil is he doing 
 
 in a place like this? I don't know though He 
 
 used to be somebody in the old days; an early San 
 
THE CORNER TABLE 329 
 
 Franciscan feels that he can break in anywhere. But 
 with a woman like " 
 
 " Radcliffe's isn't as exclusive as it used to be/' 
 Norman Brewster cut in indolently. " It's beginning 
 to cater to the nouveau riche. Can't blame them 
 either. I was in here the other day with Treke, the 
 artist, you know, and we both commented " 
 
 His voice seemed to Freda to die away into a dis- 
 tant whisper. The gay little dinner party vanished 
 from her consciousness as though the fatal hour of dis- 
 enchantment had struck. She could see nothing in the 
 room save that couple at the fourth table. She saw 
 the waiter bring them two glasses of beer. The man 
 drank his with a sort of sullen enjoyment and the 
 woman with avidity, as one long denied. In another 
 moment she knew that the woman's eyes would fall 
 upon her. She shrank from them as from a blow and' 
 yet she could not tear her gaze away. A second glass 
 was poured for the woman. She raised it and started 
 to drink, smiling at the man across the brim. But his 
 glance was traveling restlessly around the room as 
 though he were trying to re-establish half -forgotten 
 memories. Suddenly it rested upon the party at the 
 corner table. There was a gleam of swift recognition. 
 He returned the doctor's curt nod and spoke quickly 
 to his companion. The eyes of the woman followed 
 his. One by one they took in the quartet. First 
 the doctor, then Doris, then, more lingeringly, 
 
330 THE CORNER TABLE 
 
 Norman Brewster. And then at last they fell upon 
 her. 
 
 For a long moment they held each other in a sort 
 of visual death grip. When she was released, Freda 
 dropped her eyes to the tablecloth. She knew that she 
 had paled beneath that encounter. She knew also, 
 without looking at them, that the eyes of the entire 
 party were upon her. She knew, without seeing too, 
 that the woman had leaned across the table and was 
 speaking hurriedly to her companion. 
 
 Through Freda's brain whirled a jargon of hideous 
 possibilities. She assured herself that she could en- 
 dure anything, anything at all if it only might be 
 postponed. But not here; not before these people. 
 She was not aware that this was a prayer, an inarticu- 
 late little plea for mercy. It was only when she re- 
 called it afterward that she knew that it had been. In 
 the moment that elapsed she braced herself for a 
 casual explanation. But it was never uttered. 
 
 She heard a chair grate on the bare floor, and then 
 approaching footsteps. Norman Brewster rose and 
 stood by Freda's chair in an attitude unconsciously 
 protecting. But the woman looked at none of the 
 others. She came straight to the girl and bent over 
 the back of her chair. " I couldn't believe at first that 
 it was really you, girlie," she said with an embar- 
 rassed effort at cordiality. " My ! How you've 
 changed! But I won't bother you now while you're 
 
THE CORNER TABLE 331 
 
 here with your friends. But before you go out, meet 
 me for a minute in the dressing room. I've got some- 
 thin' to tell you about about one of the family." 
 
 She moved away. And still the girl sat like a 
 statue. She was dimly conscious that Norman 
 Brewster resumed his seat and that the group around 
 the table began at once to talk of other things. When 
 the dessert course was served, she leaned across the 
 table and spoke in a low voice to Doris. " I don't 
 care for any coffee, and I think it would be better for 
 me to speak to to that woman now, so that I won't 
 keep you waiting afterward." 
 
 " Must you speak to her ? Why not ignore it ? " It 
 was the doctor who spoke in his tone of quick au- 
 thority. 
 
 "She is some one that I used to know," Freda 
 answered quietly. " I think I must see her for a 
 moment." 
 
 "Shall I come with you, dear?" Doris asked. 
 
 But Norman Brewster had risen and was waiting 
 for her. Together they walked down the long room, 
 the girl unconscious that many glances followed them. 
 " Please don't wait," she said when they had reached 
 the lobby. " Go back and finish your dessert. I will 
 be ready by the time you are through." 
 
 And then she turned and hurried into the heavily 
 curtained room where Aurelia Hendricks was waiting. 
 
PART EIGHT: ON TRIAL 
 
XVI 
 
 AT the door of Radcliffe's dressing room a uni- 
 formed maid came forward to offer Freda assistance. 
 The softly lighted room, the dressing tables with 
 their wide mirrors, the strains of distant music, all 
 these seemed at that moment to blend into a concen- 
 trated essence, a tiny phial of the perfume of life which 
 for a few brief weeks she had been allowed to hold in 
 her hand. And then, from the heart of this night- 
 blooming cereus, a poisonous insect crawled. 
 
 Aurelia stepped out of the shadows to meet her. 
 She was dressed in an apple-green silk gown, so close- 
 fitting that she seemed to be bursting out of it. Over 
 her arm she carried a black wrap with solferino lining. 
 Her hat was wide, black, and freighted with ostrich 
 plumes. The whole costume was obviously new, 
 ready-made, and hastily acquired. 
 
 By common consent the two turned toward the 
 heavily upholstered window seat in a far corner of 
 the room, and the discreet maid retired to an adjoin- 
 ing alcove. For a moment neither of them spoke. 
 Each measured the other with a woman's expertly ap- 
 praising glance. " I didn't realize that she looked 
 like this," Freda was telling herself with a gasp. 
 
 335 
 
336 ON TRIAL 
 
 " Up there she didn't seem to look so but I suppose 
 I didn't realize it then." 
 
 Aurelia' s voice, which rasped under unaccustomed 
 restraint, assailed her. " My Lord, girlie, how pretty 
 you've got! I always told your father that if you 
 could have the right kind of clothes you'd be a heart- 
 smasher. I'll bet you've had " 
 
 "Aurelia, you told me that you had news for me 
 from home. I wanted to hear about my father. Not 
 for any other reason would I have met you here. It 
 cost me something to come. What have you to tell 
 me?" 
 
 Aurelia followed her lead with voluble good humor. 
 "Had any letters from Rocky Cove?" 
 
 " Not lately. Avery writes to me occasionally and 
 I have tried to keep up my end of the correspondence. 
 But he has told me only about his own family." 
 
 " Well, if Avery's written he's probably told you all 
 the bad news about the apple blight, and the strike 
 at the Landin' House, and what trouble everybody's 
 had with help." 
 
 Freda nodded. 
 
 " Things have sorter gone from bad to worse these 
 last few months. Your father's had to sell a lot of 
 the live stock to keep things goin'. And he's put a 
 mortgage on the ranch again. But he thinks he can 
 scrape through now till the new crop's sold, if all 
 extra expense is cut out." 
 
ON TRIAL 337 
 
 She laughed with cynical mirth. "Well, I'm an 
 extra expense. Avery and Nina has moved up to the 
 big house now so that makes things easier all around. 
 They always wanted it fixed like that, and I " 
 
 Freda felt a wild impulse to seize one of this 
 woman's thick hands and wring it in grateful joy. 
 "You mean that you've left the ranch for good, 
 Aurelia?" she cried. "You mean you've left West 
 Winds?" 
 
 Aurelia leaned toward her, striving to suppress the 
 raucous eagerness of her voice. " That's what I want 
 to ask you, girlie. That's why I made this date with 
 you. Whether I've left there for good or not is up 
 to you." 
 
 Freda waited, bewildered, a deadly coldness coiling 
 itself serpentlike about her heart. 
 
 " You don't know much about my past life. Your 
 father didn't either. He was lonesome and wanted 
 somebody to cheer him up. That was all there ever 
 was to it for him. And he'd have married me straight 
 off if it could have been done. Maybe you know a 
 few more things now than you did when you left, 
 Freda, and if you do, you know that your father ain't 
 a bad man. He's a pretty good man, as men go, and 
 for that reason an easy mark. I wanted a home. I 
 was tired of knockin' around hotels. So I well, any- 
 way, we couldn't be married and he says he told you 
 why that day out on the Landin'. I was already a 
 
33 8 ON TRIAL 
 
 married woman. The man I'm with tonight is my 
 husband." 
 
 Still Freda waited. The coils seemed to be tight- 
 ening about her. 
 
 " We was married five years ago in Colorado. He 
 was well off, and slippery handed with money. He 
 give me all I wanted to spend and we was happy. 
 Then one day he had a accident at the mine. Some- 
 thin* hit him on the head. The doctors fixed him up 
 and said he was all right, but he never was the same 
 again. He'd forget things, and he began to make 
 wild deals and in no time at all he lost all we had. 
 Well, I never was cut out to be a nurse, and when I 
 told him I was goin' to leave, he didn't put up any talk. 
 He was always terrible serious-minded and has cranky 
 ideas. He didn't want me to get a divorce. He's a 
 Catholic and has a superstition or something against 
 it. That suited me all right anyway. I didn't want 
 one. But I wanted to cut loose from an uncertain 
 proposition like him, and I did. I went to Four 
 Corners, where I knew I wasn't the only person who 
 had a past. One of my friends out in Colorado used* 
 to write me about him, and I heard he was finally 
 locked up, and then had been turned loose and was 
 back in San Francisco, which is his old home. Then I 
 lost sight of him for awhile. Well, a few months ago 
 I picked the paper out of the mail sack and got a 
 shock. There was his name and picture on the second 
 
ON TRIAL 339 
 
 page, with a big write-up about a man of one of the 
 city's pioneer families ' comin' back ' after bein' in an 
 asylum almost two years. Well, I got curious, and I 
 came down here to the city and put a detective on his 
 track. He followed him out to Colorado and pretty 
 soon I got word that one of those deals of his had 
 turned out to be a bonanza. He's got a mine that'll net' 
 us a fortune. But," her voice sank to a whisper that 
 was like a hiss, "I found out somethin' else too. I 
 found out that he'd forgot me clean as a whistle during 
 those years he'd been loony. He thought he was a free 
 man. Honest to God, I believe he really did. And he 
 married another woman." 
 
 Freda turned on her with sudden passion. " Why 
 do you tell me this hideous story, Aurelia ? How dare 
 you tell it to me? That girl is a friend of mine. I'm 
 glad to know that she is free at last. But you and he 
 between you have ruined years of her life, as you ruin 
 everything you touch." 
 
 " Free is the word," she agreed eagerly. " I know 
 she's a friend of yours. I know where she worked 
 and all " 
 
 "Well, what do you want of me then?" 
 
 " Just this. Tom Morton belongs to me. I didn't 
 divorce him like many women would have done. I 
 stuck to him and now I ought to get my reward. I'm 
 tryin' to win him back. He was struck all of a heap 
 when I came back to him. He's kinder in a daze and 
 
340 ON TRIAL 
 
 talks wild about this Eileen woman. He says she's 
 the one who has kep' him off charity and give him his 
 chance. He says he's repaid her with a wrong, though 
 he didn't know it before, and that he'll find some way 
 to give her what a wife ought to have of his money. 
 I'm tryin' to cheer him up ; takin' him around to swell 
 places like this that he used to go to. But he's an un- 
 grateful devil. He tol' me today " she shot a swift 
 glance in the direction of the alcove " he tol' me 
 today that he had a detective at work too. He's 
 tryin' to find out about me! He's tryin' to find the 
 only grounds that he can have for a divorce." She 
 wrung her hands in a passion of anxiety. "If he 
 gets it on those grounds, I won't get a cent of that 
 money. I'll be left with only the half that " 
 
 "Well, what do I care about it all?" Freda chal- 
 lenged. " You brought misery and disgrace into my 
 home. You desecrated my mother's memory and 
 made my father's name a thing of loathing to me. 
 You have done all this for me. What are you going to 
 ask me to do for you? " 
 
 " I want you to take my side ! " Aurelia cried 
 fiercely. " You'll be the star witness in this case if it 
 comes to the courts, and I want you to swear that 
 it ain't true. You say I've made your father's name 
 a disgrace to you. Well, I come to you now offerin' 
 you a way to clear it clean as a slate. Avery and 
 Nina have always been on my side." 
 
ON TRIAL 341 
 
 All the indolent good-humor had died out of her 
 voice now. Her face was drawn into tense, hard lines 
 and her eyes desperate as she laid her last card face 
 up on the table. 
 
 " I didn't tell you this before, but I'm goin' to tell 
 you now. Avery and Nina lost their place last month. 
 It was foreclosed on 'em. He'll never be much of a 
 success. He's got it in him all right, but he mar- 
 ried the wrong kind of woman. Anyhow he's dis- 
 couraged and got your father to take him in. He 
 said he was through with Avery, but I made him do 
 it. And I get what I want up there, because it's my 
 money that has been runnin' that place for the past 
 six months, and that'll carry it till the apples is sold. 
 I gave I gave 'em all I had. Maybe they'll pay it 
 back, but if Tom Morton sticks to me, I won't care 
 whether they do or not. He can have it as a partin' 
 gift from me. So everybody in your family is on my 
 side. The keenest lawyer that ever lived couldn't 
 knife the truth out of 'em. And nobody at Four 
 Corners knew my real name. They don't ask many 
 questions up there, for they'd all have to answer a 
 few if they started anything like that. Tom Morton 
 only sees one way out of marriage by the divorce 
 court, and that way is goin' to be marked ' No 
 Thorofare.' The gate's closed for him. But it's 
 wide open to every one of the rest of us, girlie. Your 
 father has settled down to a quiet, respectable life with 
 
342 ON TRIAL 
 
 his own family. I get out of his way forever, and 
 you ain't got a thing to hide. It won't ever come into 
 the courts at all when you folks give your testimony 
 on the side. Tom Morton don't want any more adver- 
 tisin', and God knows I don't, and ii that friend of 
 yours wants to be free to " 
 
 But Freda was not listening to the torrent of 
 words. The pitiful last shred of loyalty which she 
 had treasured for her father, the oft-reiterated as- 
 surance to herself that though he was weak, he was 
 never despicable, had been rent asunder and she sat 
 gazing upon its ragged remnants. She heard a color- 
 less, dead voice speaking through her. " And they 
 are willing my father is willing, to accept ' respecta- 
 bility ' as you call it on those terms ? " 
 
 "What else is there for 'em to do, girlie? If I'm 
 willin' to hand 'em out money like that, why it's my 
 look-out. And," a sudden anger possessed her, " it's 
 just as much to your advantage as mine to hush this 
 thing up. That handsome, high-brow feller you're 
 with tonight wants to marry you. I could see it in 
 his eyes as he stood beside you at the table. Trust 
 me to know. Nobody can size up a situation of that 
 kind quicker than a woman like me. You got a top- 
 notcher, Freda, when you landed him. But believe 
 me, a man of his kind isn't goin' to marry any girl 
 that's got a black string tied to her name. He may 
 
ON TRIAL 343 
 
 think he will when he's with you, but don't you bet 
 anything on it." 
 
 She rose and stood over the girl like an Amazonian 
 representation of Fate. " It's up to you," she finished. 
 " It's up to you, and you can decide any time before 
 next Monday." 
 
 Back in the quiet of the little apartment that night, 
 Freda gave herself up to torturing conjectures con- 
 cerning the future. It was not indecision that racked 
 her, for Aurelia's frenzied plans seemed too prepos- 
 terous for anything save weary incredulity. But the 
 outcome of the miserable story, the probable results 
 of its disclosure upon her own life, terrified her. 
 What would Norman Brewster, of the D wight 
 Brewsters, think of it all? 
 
 Facing this question in the sheltering privacy of 
 night, she could not give her eager heart the answer 
 for which it clamored. Her own experience in life 
 could not justify her passionate defense of this man's 
 loyalty. Why, for reasons much less vindicating than 
 this, she had seen other women, finer than herself, 
 forgotten or supplanted without a ripple on the sur- 
 face of a man's emotional life. 
 
 And in that moment, while she faced the fear of 
 losing him, she realized that she loved Norman 
 Brewster. She made no attempt to hide the knowl- 
 edge from herself now. Love, that jewel more 
 
344 ON TRIAL 
 
 luminous than any betraying light, greater than any 
 heart that it has ever possessed, transcending the 
 bounds which any secrecy would build about it 
 where and how may such treasure be concealed ? And 
 perhaps she knew it better now because she had once 
 mistaken it. But always in the pictures of love which 
 she had drawn, she had seen him as a radiant, trans- 
 forming being, a master alchemist, at the magic of 
 whose touch the leaden hues of life were transmuted 
 into precious gold. And now he had come to her, 
 beautiful, but with the somber beauty of mists and 
 clouds and leafless trees. 
 
 She had felt certain that evening that Norman 
 Brewster loved her, and the knowledge had made her 
 shy, silent, a little fearful of herself and of him. 
 It seemed almost too much to hope and yet, that night 
 on the ferry, she had begun to suspect that he might 
 care for her. Certainly he had never told her so. 
 There had been no sentimental scenes in these happy 
 months of their friendship. But they had understood 
 each other so well. It had been a wonderful thing, an 
 almost unbelievable thing that any one should under- 
 stand so well. But now that the time of testing was 
 at hand, she shrank from it with the convulsive dread 
 of disillusionment. 
 
 "I can't endure it!" she cried passionately, and 
 pressed her hands against her head as though to shut 
 out the crucial thought. " If he isn't if he isn't all 
 
ON TRIAL 345 
 
 I think he is, I'd rather not know it. I'd rather never 
 know it. It's better to believe than to know ! " 
 
 She recalled his face as she had seen it that eve- 
 ning; handsome, distinguished, intellectual, with eyes 
 that seemed to see no one but her. Aurelia's vulgar 
 comments had made her quiver, had seemed to saw 
 their way through her consciousness, leaving an ugly, 
 jagged path down which her tumultuous thoughts 
 groped a tortuous way. Why had this woman come 
 back into her life again? Would she never be free 
 from the horror of the past? It seemed to have a 
 cancerous clutch upon her very life. 
 
 She heard Glenn come in, moving softly so as not 
 to waken her. And she did not stir. But long after 
 the light in the adjoining room vanished, she lay 
 awake staring at the years of the future. As 
 Aurelia's aggressively voluptuous figure rose again 
 before her, there came to her, with the swiftness of 
 an electric shock, the sickening realization that, but 
 for the intervention of an invisible hand, she herself 
 would have been rated in the class with that woman. 
 Vulgar, sordid, self-seeking as were the motives of 
 this confessed parasite, sacrificial as had been her 
 own, she knew that in the eyes of the world, that 
 world so indifferent to motives, so alert for evil, she 
 and Aurelia Morton would have had equal rank. 
 
 But she had conquered, or some one else had con- 
 quered for her. She had lived down her disgraceful 
 
346 ON TRIAL 
 
 heritage, had lived through it, over it, beyond it. Con- 
 cerning the " black string " tied to her name she was 
 disdainfully indifferent. That crucial conflict had 
 given her a new dignity. No sordid scandal could rob 
 her of it. The glaring spotlight of degrading pub- 
 licity might sicken but could not burn her. 
 
 Of all this she was certain. But though she 
 fed its comfort to her heart with a lavish hand, morn- 
 ing found her hollow-eyed and listless. The day at 
 the " Booklover's " dragged. She gave its customers 
 her usual courteous, sympathetic attention, but for the 
 first time her interest in books was feigned. During 
 the noon hour she went to the hotel to see Eileen. 
 
 She found her sorting over a pile of clothes beside 
 an open trunk. And she saw, to her infinite relief, 
 that she knew all the details of the story which she 
 had come to discuss with her. 
 
 " Tom came to see me last week and made a clean 
 breast of everything," she explained, clearing off the 
 only rocker in the room and settling her visitor in it. 
 She stood before her, folding and refolding with inat- 
 tentive fingers the delicate waist in her hands. " I 
 wouldn't hardly have known him, Freda," she went 
 on, a note of awed solemnity in her tone. " It's al- 
 most it's almost awful for a man to have as much 
 power as that Doctor Latimer. It makes him seem 
 almost like God. Tom ain't the same at all. I be- 
 lieve it's God's truth that he didn't know he had 
 
ON TRIAL 347 
 
 another wife. He wants to be square. He wants ter- 
 ribly to be square with me to make it up to me." 
 She smiled, a dry twisted little smile. " Ain't it funny 
 the way men are? How they think their money can 
 make up to a woman for everything? I wouldn't 
 touch a cent of it if I was starvin'. And if I would, 
 George wouldn't let me." 
 
 "Oh, Eileen!" Freda forgot everything save joy 
 for this other woman who was her friend. " Oh, 
 Eileen, are you is he ?" 
 
 Eileen nodded and laid the waist in the tray of the 
 trunk with elaborate carefulness. When she turned 
 about, her face was glowing. Freda told herself that 
 it was beautiful. 
 
 " We're goin' to be married now and go away and 
 start life all over." 
 
 Freda's arms were around her. " Oh, I'm so glad, 
 dear. You have been so brave ! I'm glad, glad ! " 
 
 " It ain't really me that's been brave," Eileen told 
 .her. " I would have oh, I don't know what I'd 
 have done, but George wouldn't let me. He always 
 held me up. He always told me that some day we 
 could be happy in the right way. I don't know 
 
 whether he believed it all of the time himself, but " 
 
 She drew herself away and looked into the girl's eyes 
 with a great humility shining in her own. " Oh, 
 Freda, it's a wonderful thing to love a strong man! 
 It's wonderful to have a real man love you ! " 
 
348 ON TRIAL 
 
 " It must be." 
 
 Freda was not aware that her voice held a note of 
 bitterness, but Eileen's alert ear caught it and her 
 shrewd eyes measured the girl quickly. " Kiddo," she 
 said, " I know the girls at Peltier's used to call me the 
 human ferret, but you can't say that I've ever tried to 
 worm any information out of you that you didn't want 
 to give. I liked you just as you stood, and the first 
 week I knew you I could tell that there was goin' to 
 be rocks ahead for you alone in a city. I kind of 
 wanted to take care of you, kiddo, and I knew that 
 I'd have competition in that line. Well, there wasn't 
 much I could do, there's not much any of us can do, 
 for when you come right down to it, we go it alone 
 in this life. But one thing I want to say: If men 
 haven't turned out to be all you thought they were, 
 don't get down on life." 
 
 She paused, searching for words to convey her com- 
 fort. 
 
 " It's like this, kiddo. It's like bein' turned loose 
 in a candy store blindfolded and told to help yourself. 
 Your hand falls on a tray and you pick out a piece 
 and taste it horehound. Smooth on the outside and 
 very sweet, but hard, and leavin' a kind of tang in 
 your mouth. You move on and dip into another pile 
 horehound again, in a different kind of paper maybe. 
 After you've tried another tray with the same result, 
 you decide that the whole stock is horehound, and go 
 
ON TRIAL 349 
 
 out. And all the time there was other trays just 
 jammed with different goods. Your luck was bad 
 and maybe your sense of taste not very good. But 
 the stuff is there, kiddo. I tell you that it's there and 
 if you don't fill up on the cheaper grade, you're goin' 
 to get your share of it." 
 
 In the weeks that followed, Freda thought often of 
 this assurance. She thought of it with high courage 
 in the days before the Morton divorce case was 
 brought into court, and in sickness of heart when days 
 and weeks passed and Norman Brewster failed to 
 make even perfunctory calls at the " Booklover's." He 
 had heard about it, of course, and with the first breath 
 of notoriety that touched her had vanished from her 
 life. Aurelia had been right. She knew men. Eileen 
 was wrong. She was in love. 
 
 And Freda's own prophecy that this case would 
 afford the kind of scenes which court room habitues 
 love, was justified during the early days of the trial. 
 Before his mental collapse, Tom Morton had been a 
 prominent figure in San Francisco sporting circles, 
 and his spectacular restoration to sanity, coupled with 
 the notorious career of his wife, made him a gleam- 
 ing prize for the sensation-hungry. 
 
 And as is the way of life, Aurelia Morton did not 
 take the consequences of her evil-doing alone. Those 
 who had befriended, and those who had condemned 
 her, the innocent and guilty alike, were drawn into 
 
350 ON TRIAL 
 
 the muddy stream which she had willed to stir to its 
 depths. When Tom Morton dropped his dredge into 
 the murky pool of her past, he drew up, not only the 
 hideous corpse for which he searched, but a horde of 
 other scaly, discolored objects which clung, like barna- 
 cles, to the rotten timbers of her existence. 
 
 There were pictures of the two Mortons in all the 
 local papers. Pictures also of their prosperous former 
 home in Colorado, and of the Palace Hotel at Four 
 Corners. 
 
 "If they only won't run a picture of me ! " Freda 
 said wildly to Glenn. " If I can only be just a name 
 in this awful story ! " 
 
 " If they do it would be only a snapshot and nobody 
 would recognize it anyway, Fred," Glenn comforted. 
 " It's the lawyers, and what they make you say that 
 you've got to look out for. One such lawyer as 
 Aurelia's got, could damage the reputation of the re- 
 cording angel. It takes money to shut 'em up, Freda. 
 It's like everything else, it's got a price hitched to it." 
 
 And then came at last the fateful day when Tom 
 Morton's star witness was called into the spotlight, 
 and it seemed to her, as she took the stand, that every 
 one in the world had crowded into that close, ugly 
 room to batten upon her misery. 
 
 "Your full name?" 
 
 The words were snapped at her by a ferret- faced 
 man with eyes which seemed sharp enough to pick out 
 
ON TRIAL 351 
 
 any information without the clumsy aid of language. 
 When she had given it and her address, he settled 
 back into his chair as though seeking the most com- 
 fortable position for what promised to be a long 
 journey. 
 
 " Please remove your veil/' 
 
 The demand seemed unnecessarily brutal and her 
 fingers trembled a little as they groped for the fugitive 
 ends, and she tore away the thin film which had of- 
 fered meager protection from that sea of eyes. 
 
 " Do you know this woman ? " 
 
 He nodded to the chair where Aurelia sat, re- 
 splendent in new purple tailor suit, watching her like 
 a malevolent goddess of fate. 
 
 Freda admitted the acquaintance. 
 
 " Where did you first become acquainted with 
 her?" 
 
 " At the Palace Hotel in Four Corners." 
 
 "What was her reputation in that place?" 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " You don't know?" 
 
 " I mean that I didn't know then." 
 
 She had the horrible conviction now that this ferret- 
 faced man had the power to wring from her any kind 
 of evidence that he wished. She wondered, in a sud- 
 den panic, whether, under the gleam of those pitiless 
 eyes, she would be able to distinguish truth from false- 
 hood. They seemed to have turned upon her brain a 
 
352 ON TRIAL 
 
 hard white light in whose dazzling glare all objects 
 were grotesquely misshapen. 
 
 " You didn't know what her reputation was," he 
 repeated. "How often did you go to this Palace 
 Hotel?" 
 
 " About once a week." 
 
 "For how long a time?" 
 
 " During one summer." 
 
 "And in all that time you never heard anything 
 about her character?" There was a taunt in his 
 voice now. "You never heard any comment upon 
 it?" 
 
 Freda hesitated. " Yes. I I suppose I did. But 
 I didn't pay much attention to it." 
 
 " How old were you then? " 
 
 "Almost eighteen." 
 
 " And comment upon another woman's reputation 
 didn't make any impression upon you? " 
 
 She looked at him appealingly. " No. Because 
 I don't think I understood it then." 
 
 There was a moment's pause. " Did you ever see 
 this woman in your own home? " 
 
 Her reply was almost a whisper. 
 
 " Describe the occasion when you first saw her 
 there." 
 
 Freda had rehearsed her answer to this demand, and 
 she told the story in a few brief, steady sentences. 
 But the ferret-faced man was evidently suspicious of 
 
ON TRIAL 353 
 
 their glibness. He went over every point in the nar- 
 rative again, tearing open each detail and prying into 
 its shadowy depths. 
 
 " When your father introduced this woman to you, 
 as you say he did, did you know what the arrange- 
 ment between them was ? " 
 
 " No. I thought " 
 
 "Never mind what you thought. Stick to the 
 facts. Did either of them tell you that there had been 
 a marriage? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " And you never asked for any of the details con- 
 cerning the plan?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " That seems a curious thing. If you had no sus- 
 picions, why did you avoid mention of the subject?" 
 
 " I don't believe that I can explain that." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 She looked at him with hopeless eyes. How could 
 there be in all the world such complete lack of under- 
 standing? How was it possible that human beings 
 could torture each other so! 
 
 " My father and I were not " She was groping 
 
 desperately for words to explain a situation that not 
 until a few brief months ago had been explicable even 
 to herself. " We were not on confidential terms with 
 each other. We " 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
354 ON TRIAL 
 
 The two words seemed to come automatically now, 
 quite irrespective of the replies which they elicited. 
 She gave it up. " I don't know.'* 
 
 " Did you discover later what the arrangement be- 
 tween them was ? " the inexorable voice went on. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "How much later?" 
 
 " About four months." 
 
 " You mean to say that you lived under that roof 
 four months and never suspected all that time that 
 these people were not married ! " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " How was it possible that you didn't suspect 
 it?" 
 
 " I didn't know this woman very well and the 
 man was my father." 
 
 A subdued murmur swept over the court room. 
 
 " And how did you finally discover it ? " 
 
 She gave him another carefully rehearsed reply. 
 
 He scarcely waited for her to finish. " And did 
 you face your father or this woman with that story ? " 
 
 "Yes. I I asked him about it." 
 
 "What did he say about it?" 
 
 She was silent, looking down at the floor, praying 
 that he might waive his right to this question. 
 
 "What did he say?" 
 
 " He said he advised me to leave my home." 
 
 " That will do." 
 
ON TRIAL 355 
 
 She knew that he was waiting for her to leave the 
 chair, but she felt powerless to move. " Could I say 
 something else?" she entreated. And then, without 
 waiting for his permission, she hurled aside, woman- 
 like, every possible defense of this other woman, and 
 turned to a passionate championship of the man whom 
 she had just condemned, but who was of her own 
 blood. 
 
 " He wanted to marry her ! " she finished with des- 
 perate eagerness. " She has admitted to me herself 
 that it was she who who made this arrangement. 
 He would have married her if she had only been will- 
 ing to free herself, but she refused, she refused to 
 do it!" 
 
 " That will do." 
 
 She felt her way blindly to the door, pulling with 
 futile fingers at the elusive veil which now seemed so 
 powerless to protect her. Outside the door, where 
 she paused for an instant to adjust it, she found her- 
 self staring straight into a black-shrouded camera. It 
 clicked exultantly. But the picture was never used. 
 For as she hurried down the hall, she found herself 
 all at once face to face with Norman Brewster. 
 " Wait for me," he commanded without preliminary 
 greeting, and stalked back to where the group of 
 camera men were clustered about the court room 
 door. 
 
 " You needn't worry about them," he told her when 
 
356 ON TRIAL 
 
 he returned a moment later. " I don't think very 
 much will be said about you in the papers to- 
 
 morrow." 
 
 She looked up at him with mute gratitude, but found 
 it impossible to frame a reply. 
 
 He had helped her into the car which was waiting 
 for them at the curb, and it had started upon its way 
 before he said sharply, " Why didn't you tell me 
 about this, Freda?" 
 
 It was the first time he had called her by this name, 
 and in spite of her depression it gave her a curious 
 little thrill. " I don't see how I could have told you," 
 she answered slowly. 
 
 "You mean, you haven't had an opportunity? I 
 know. I've been so absorbed just a self-absorbed 
 brute. I haven't even " 
 
 But she flew to his defense. " No, it wasn't just 
 that. But I couldn't talk about it. I couldn't " 
 
 " We won't talk about it," he said gently. " But I 
 hoped, I wish that you had a little more faith in me. 
 I don't deserve it, but the things we get which we 
 know we don't deserve are the very sweetest fruits of 
 life." 
 
 "Where are we going? " she asked quickly, feeling 
 that she must break the tension somehow or cry out 
 with the pain of it. 
 
 " To the Latimers'. They told me to bring you up 
 to dinner. Your friend Miss Markley is there too. 
 
ON TRIAL 357 
 
 Doris feels so badly because you wouldn't let her go 
 with you today. She wanted " 
 
 " I know, but I couldn't. I didn't want any one 
 there whom I knew. It was easier this way." 
 
 When they arrived at the Latimers' apartment, 
 they found the little group waiting for them in the 
 cheerful living room. It was one of Glenn's rare eve- 
 nings off duty and she was playing soft, dreamy things 
 on the Baby Grand, in obedience to the authoritative 
 requests of the doctor. 
 
 As the moments passed, Freda's taut nerves began 
 to relax under the quiet restfulness of the room. 
 There had been no definite effort at comforting from 
 any of them, but the scene was charged with sympa- 
 thetic understanding. How kind they all were, she 
 thought, as she sat before the open fire, leaning far 
 back in the chair which the doctor had rolled into 
 place for her. How dear, how completely com- 
 prehending they had been, this little company, 
 who were closest to her heart of any people in the 
 world. 
 
 It was almost six o'clock and the November sun- 
 light had faded into dusk. But Doris had not turned 
 on the lights and only the blazing coals illuminated 
 the room. The two men had withdrawn to a far 
 corner and were smoking in contented silence, while 
 Glenn's fingers rippled softly over the piano keys. 
 Doris was on the divan near Freda, her eyes fixed 
 
358 ON TRIAL 
 
 with anxious thoughtfulness upon the giiTs tired 
 face. 
 
 " This is my idea of perfect happiness." The doc- 
 tor's voice came to them from the distant, smoke- 
 wreathed corner. "An open fire, music, friends; 
 muffle the 'phone, somebody." 
 
 But it was not the telephone that broke in upon the 
 quiet scene. It was a sharp peal of the doorbell, that 
 seemed to jar upon the nerves of the little group and 
 break the spell of their serenity. At sound of it, the 
 notes that rippled from Glenn's fingers trailed off into 
 silence. 
 
 The voice of the colored maid came to them from 
 the front hall. And then there was the sound of 
 another voice, harsh, imperative. Freda stiffened in 
 her chair as though, at the word of the executioner, 
 it had been charged with the death current. 
 
 " I want to see Miss Bayne," the voice repeated. 
 " I want to see her. Where is she ? " 
 
 Norman Brewster was already on his feet and had 
 laid his glowing cigar upon the ash stand. " I'll go 
 and see what he wants. I'll find out who " 
 
 Freda had come halfway across the room and she 
 looked at him now with frightened, appealing eyes. 
 " No, it's for me," she said. " I'd rather go my- 
 self." 
 
 The certainty that she would, and the imploring 
 glance that she gave him, made him hesitate. But 
 
ON TRIAL 359 
 
 he still stood there as she went out into the hall, as 
 though awaiting a sudden summons. 
 
 Out there the light was burning and it seemed to 
 throw into brutal relief every line of the face which 
 confronted the girl as she stepped from the dimness 
 of the room beyond. As they stood there, facing each 
 other, the scene that she had just left faded from her 
 memory. She was vaguely conscious that the colored 
 maid had disappeared, leaving them alone, and that 
 Glenn had begun to play again. Faint and far away 
 the music seemed, like the ghostly accompaniment of 
 an evil dream. 
 
 She shuddered, as she had shuddered once before 
 that same day, at the marks of dissipation which two 
 years had left upon that face. There were deep, ugly 
 lines about the mouth now, and the handsome gray 
 eyes that had once given him a certain bold distinc- 
 tion, were bloodshot, and looked out from beneath 
 puffy lids which had encroached upon their domain 
 and made them seem only half their natural size. It 
 was evident that he had been drinking. But evident 
 too that he was not drunk. 
 
 " I found out where you were ! " 
 
 He threw the words at her like a challenge. 
 
 Freda knew that his harsh voice penetrated easily 
 to the still room beyond, and she spoke in a low, hur- 
 ried tone as one might apply a soft pedal to the raucous" 
 notes of a piano that had long ago lost its connec- 
 
360 ON TRIAL 
 
 tion with suppression. " Yes, I thought you 
 might." 
 
 A mirthless laugh broke from him. " You thought 
 I might! You were anxious to have me, I suppose. 
 I went to the place where you lived first, and the 
 woman at the desk told me you might be here." 
 
 Freda waited dumbly. 
 
 " You've got swell friends now," he went on. It 
 was evident that he thought himself alone with her. 
 The darkened room seemed to add to this assurance. 
 ;< You've got swell friends, and you're like your 
 mother a snob at heart. When you told that story 
 in court today, did you realize what you were doing? 
 Did you know that that woman had us all under her 
 thumb?" 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 " You did know it ! I thought maybe you didn't. 
 That there might be that excuse for you! But you 
 knew that you were as good as turnin' me out of my 
 home, makin' it necessary for me to be a hired man 
 in the place where I've lived all my life ! You knew 
 that and you didn't care ! " 
 
 " I did care ! " she cried desperately, finding her 
 voice at last. " I did care, but oh, if you had only 
 cared! If you had really cared about this wretched 
 affair! If you had wanted to begin all over again, 
 if you had cared about anything, except losing the 
 place! I would have done anything that you sug- 
 
ON TRIAL 361 
 
 gested. But I couldn't save you ! I couldn't! For it 
 isn't salvation that you want ! " 
 
 He turned upon her with a fury that could have 
 stricken her down where she stood. 
 
 " What right have you got to set yourself above 
 me?" he cried. "Do you think you can ever rise 
 above your own people? Do you think you can be 
 better than " 
 
 " I didn't think so once," she said steadily. " But 
 I have risen above what " 
 
 He laughed again, that exultant laugh that is more 
 hideous than a curse. 
 
 " I've found out about your life down here, Freda. 
 Aurelia has found out about it. It isn't hard to get 
 at what you want to know in a city, if you've got the 
 money to pay for it." He paused a moment, looking 
 at her with terrible eyes. 
 
 " I know where you used to work," he went 
 on. " And I know that the girls who work there 
 don't do it just for the wages they get from that 
 store." 
 
 Under the insolence of his tone she shrank like a 
 hunted animal desperately seeking shelter. But he 
 went on, his voice gathering violence. " I know about 
 that man that used to take you out with him. We 
 found the darky servant that worked for him. He'd 
 been fired without any warning, and he was glad to tell 
 us why. He told us " 
 
3 62 ON TRIAL 
 
 "Don't say it, Father!" 
 
 Her wild words of protest added the final link to 
 the chain of conviction with which he hoped to en- 
 slave her. The scene at the beach bungalow, the face 
 of Martin Meggs, ghastly in death, as she always saw 
 it now, was too terrible a picture for her overwrought 
 nerves. But he mistook her cry for the last despairing 
 struggle of the self-confessed criminal. 
 
 " You can't hide it," he told her grimly. " You 
 can't hide what you are any more than I could. I 
 guess you're not too good to come and take care of 
 your own father now. I guess you can come back 
 where you belong and help me get " 
 
 The torrent of his words stopped suddenly like a 
 phonograph record halted in mid-circle. Freda felt a 
 presence behind her. A voice that was dreadful in its 
 suppressed anger came over her shoulder. 
 
 " Get out of this house ! Get out of this house while 
 I can still keep my hands off of you ! " 
 
 There was an instant of awful silence. She knew 
 that the group who had been startled at this man's 
 coming, were all about her now. But the man made 
 a desperate effort at bold assurance. 
 
 " I'll get out," he promised defiantly, " when I can 
 take my girl with me. You don't seem to know who 
 I am. I'm her father. I'm " 
 
 Freda felt a strong arm about her, and a firm hand 
 closed over hers. "You may be her father," that 
 
ON TRIAL 363 
 
 tensely controlled voice agreed with quiet mastery. 
 " But I am going to be her husband." 
 
 XVI 
 
 IT was the day after what Glenn termed " Freda's 
 announcement party," that Maxwell Nevin summoned 
 her to his private office, just before closing time. 
 During the days of the divorce trial her attendance at 
 the " Booklover's " had been erratic, and she had 
 dreaded a sharp reproof from headquarters, as much 
 as she had dreaded the comments of her associates. 
 
 She found the junior partner sorting over a pile of 
 typewritten manuscripts that the expressman had just 
 brought in. He motioned her to a chair and went on 
 with his task like an executioner absorbed in prepar- 
 ing the last grisly details of his work. 
 
 " Let's see," he mused, pushing the papers away 
 from him at length. " You have been with us about 
 eight months now, haven't you, Miss Bayne ? " 
 
 " Yes, a little more than that." 
 
 " A little more than eight months," he repeated, and 
 tapped his glasses on the arm of his chair. " Well, I 
 think I am justified in saying that never before have 
 we had any employe become so valuable to us as you 
 have, in eight months." 
 
 A wave of color tinged the girl's tired face. It was 
 an almost overwhelming climax to the harassing 
 
364 ON TRIAL 
 
 ordeal of the past weeks. " I wanted to tell you that," 
 he said, turning back to his desk again. " I thought 
 you might like to know it just now." There was a 
 moment's pause and then he went on in his genial, 
 comradely voice. " I have a daughter over at the 
 unversity who is about to graduate. She tells me that 
 she has been grouping in English. I tell her that she 
 has been merely groping in English. But she has 
 written some very creditable stuff and had some of it 
 published in the Sunday editions of the local news- 
 papers. I had great hopes when she went to college. 
 I had a dream of having her come in here and help 
 me out after a time: of gradually shifting part of 
 the load to her shoulders. But I am beginning to think 
 that this is to be only a dream. She has all the mental 
 equipment of a critic, but no feeling for it no literary 
 instinct. She talks of ' unity ' and ' motivation ' and 
 ' implied action/ and other terrifying things, but she 
 seems to have lost, perhaps temporarily, the ability to 
 find the heart of what she reads. Of course hers may 
 be a light case. They tell me that some of these 
 college students recover. But I know that at present 
 she can be of no use to me here, and I think, Miss 
 Bayne," he leaned back in his chair now and laid his 
 glasses on his desk, " I think that you can." 
 
 " You mean," Freda said dazedly, " that you want 
 
 me " "To come in here and learn something 
 
 about the publishing end of the business. Mr. Chap- 
 
ON TRIAL 365 
 
 man, Miss Judson, and I have talked it over. We 
 realize that in withdrawing you from the floor we are 
 depriving our customers of a helpful friend. But we 
 feel that the buyers of books have had their turn and 
 that now the writers of books should have theirs. How 
 do you feel about it ? " 
 
 It was impossible for her to tell him just then how 
 she felt, but when at last she started toward the door 
 with inarticulate little words of thanks, he stopped 
 her. " Now that I have confessed to having a grown 
 daughter, do you mind if I ask you a very personal 
 question, Miss Bayne ? How old are you ? " 
 
 " A little over twenty." 
 
 "A little over twenty," he repeated. "That's a 
 cruel age; an age when the troubles of life look their 
 largest and blackest. Allow a little over fifty to say 
 something to ' a little over twenty,' my dear. Allow 
 fifty to assure you that no tragedy of our personal lives 
 is big enough or black enough for the world to remem- 
 ber longer than a day. Not by any chance does the 
 public remember longer than two." 
 
 She went back to the deserted shop in a warm glow 
 of grateful happiness. Wonderful things were hap- 
 pening these last few hours. Every one seemed to be 
 in a delightful conspiracy to spare her feelings, to 
 set her at ease about this ugly drama in which she had 
 been forced to take a part. 
 
366 ON TRIAL 
 
 When the storm was at its fiercest, she had received 
 both signed and anonymous communications concern- 
 ing her role as star witness. There had been letters 
 of condemnation, of voluble approval, of exhortation. 
 She had been astounded at their intensity and presump- 
 tion; at the time which so many people had, apparently, 
 to devote to affairs so irrelevant to their own lives. 
 
 " At last," she said cynically to Glenn one day, " at 
 last I can supply the roller towel with color and spice/' 
 
 The morning paper had given a detailed account of 
 the ending of the Morton case, dwelling with peculiar 
 relish upon Aurelia's highly colored comments upon 
 the injustice of the community property law; of the 
 quiet marriage of " the second Mrs. Morton," and 
 of Tom Morton's prospective return, unencumbered, 
 to Colorado. Of Frederick Bayne there was no fur- 
 ther mention, but Freda knew, even before Norman 
 Brewster had assured her of it, that she need have 
 no more fear of the sinister shadow which he had 
 cast across her life. " He shall be provided for," he 
 had told her last night when the curtain had fallen 
 upon their final tragic scene together. " He shall be 
 provided for, Freda. But he shall not spoil your life 
 our lives." 
 
 And now she was waiting for Norman Brewster, 
 waiting for him in the deserted bookshop, where they 
 had first come to really know each other. Maxwell 
 Nevin came out of his office, calling to her over his 
 
ON TRIAL 367 
 
 shoulder a warning that the janitor had driven him out 
 with his hostile brooms and would soon be upon her 
 too. 
 
 But she stood before the shelves of the circulating 
 library, reading over the familiar titles with eyes that 
 were unaware of their existence. She remembered 
 suddenly that the Latimers had planned a theater party 
 for this evening. It had been arranged a week ago, 
 and now she wished that she could escape it. She was 
 not in the mood for its garish gaiety. There was so 
 much that she must say to Norman Brewster. She 
 was jealous of any intrusion upon their time together. 
 
 A moment later she heard his step, saw him push 
 open the front door and come in, searching for her 
 with eager, impatient eyes. 
 
 " I knew that I'd find you here, Freda," he said 
 softly. " And I couldn't wait till this evening. I had 
 
 to come now, because you haven't told me yet 
 
 You know what it is that you haven't told me yet." 
 
 His hand sought hers in its nervous progress along 
 the shelves of the circulating library, but she drew it 
 away. " I can't let you do that," she stammered. 
 " I can't let you until " 
 
 " You have kept me waiting a long time, Freda 
 dear," he told her wistfully. " You elusive little frost 
 maiden, you have kept me hoping and then despairing 
 for a long time. You've always fled from me. Per- 
 haps that is what first made me want to follow." 
 
3 68 ON TRIAL 
 
 "But last night," she began huskily. "Last 
 
 night It all came about so suddenly. You were 
 
 taken unawares. You felt that you had to do some- 
 thing " 
 
 There was a note of almost fierce pride in her voice 
 now. She stood before him, a frost maiden indeed, 
 probing his heart with trembling but courageous 
 fingers, seeking for that dread thing pity. And as 
 he looked down at her, this girl with the dishonored 
 name, this little book clerk, who faced him with such 
 defiant eyes, a new humility enveloped him. Never 
 before had he wanted her so much. Never before had 
 his need of her been so overwhelming. 
 
 " Freda ! " he cried passionately, " do you think I 
 only began last night to love you? I've waited be- 
 cause I wanted to offer you something, some achieve- 
 ment that would make me more worthy of you. You 
 have had so little, and have made so much of it. I 
 have had so much, and have made so little of it. I 
 can't let the balance stand that way. And so I waited, 
 but " He stopped a moment, trying to read as- 
 surance in the eyes that would not meet his. 
 
 " Did you think it was only the Moderns who 
 brought me here?" He smiled shamelessly. "I 
 never read beyond the B's. I had found you by that 
 time, and in finding you, I found my soul. All my 
 friends had been urging me to do the popular stuff, 
 the kind of thing that sells quickly, and I came in here 
 
ON TRIAL 369 
 
 to find out what it was. And then I discovered, you 
 told me, that I must be true to the best that was in 
 me. You had said that you loved me and " 
 
 She looked at him now with startled, protesting 
 eyes. 
 
 " Yes, you did," he went on relentlessly. " You 
 told me that the very first time I met you. It 
 was almost the first thing you ever said to me, 
 Freda." 
 
 His fingers sought one of the worn volumes on the 
 shelves. He drew it out and spun it around upon a 
 pile of Best Sellers on the table between them. 
 " You said that you loved this man," he reminded her 
 sternly. " And I was jealous. I've been jealous of 
 him for more than a year." 
 
 She was staring down at the collection of short 
 stories through a gray mist. " How could you do it? " 
 she murmured. " How could you let me say all the 
 things I have said to you?" 
 
 " You have said a great many things," he admitted. 
 " You have said a great many things good things 
 and hard things to Stanford Spence. But you have 
 never said anything to me. And I wanted you to care 
 for me, Freda. I didn't want you to care only for a 
 successful writer. I wanted you to care for me. And 
 when I saw that he was losing caste in your eyes, when 
 he brought out that third collection, and you scorned 
 him for it " 
 
370 ON TRIAL 
 
 She put out her hand in a gesture of mute entreaty, 
 and he caught it and held it fast. 
 
 "Oh, why did you think I cared only for that?" 
 she whispered. " Why did you think I cared at all 
 for that? It was you. All the time it has been you. 
 But I wanted you so much to find to have your 
 heritage. I knew that you had it in you to be one of 
 the really great, and I couldn't bear to see you drift- 
 ing. And then on the ferry that night, when you 
 told me you cared only for society, for the kind of 
 thing that " 
 
 " I didn't say that. I said I cared only for hap- 
 piness, which is my other name for you/' 
 
 " And I thought," she went on, unheeding this ex- 
 planation, " I thought then that I was standing in 
 your way, just as some one else had once done. I 
 thought I decided that I ought to give you up." 
 
 At last she knew now, and the knowledge came, not 
 as conscious thought, but as conviction long ago a part 
 of her, but never before recognized. She knew now 
 that in the cause of pity, the heart may give itself at 
 great sacrifice and without stint, but only love may 
 reach the heights of renunciation. " But Norman 
 Spence can't let you go on here, Freda," he told her. 
 " He can't let you get into the editor's office as Nevin 
 says he's going to ask you to do. Why, with a critic 
 like you reading his stuff, Spence can never hope for a 
 career. And now you know," he went on, drawing her 
 
ON TRIAL 371 
 
 at last into his arms, " now you know, dear, that with- 
 out you he can do nothing worth while." 
 
 She looked up at him with eyes that were smiling 
 through sudden tears. " And now/' she told him with 
 hopeless lack of logic, " now I don't seem to care 
 about him, about anything but just you." 
 
 He was satisfied at last, and was still telling her 
 so when the dour- faced janitor appeared with his long- 
 handled brooms and drove them out to the street. 
 
 When the Latimers called for her that evening, she 
 was still resentful of the theater plan, except for the 
 fact that Norman would be there, and that they might 
 spend this first evening in the voiceless, gestureless 
 communion with each other that only lovers under- 
 stand. 
 
 " The announcement first, and the courtship after- 
 ward How like Norman to do it that way," she 
 
 said to herself as she dressed that evening, smiling in 
 her complete understanding of him. 
 
 They had one of the lower boxes at the Columbia, 
 and Freda was conscious, with that new self -conscious- 
 ness of love, that many eyes followed them as they 
 took their places. It seemed a long time since she 
 had been to the theater or had followed the glaring 
 announcements upon its billboards. The stress and 
 strain of the past weeks had made its unrealities seem 
 far remote. 
 
 Norman had disappeared to get them programs, 
 
372 ON TRIAL 
 
 but Freda scarcely noticed his absence. The moments 
 were too full for thought. There was no room now 
 for anything but feeling. When at last he came in 
 and took his place beside her, she did not turn but 
 kept her eyes fixed upon the gray velvet curtains of 
 the stage. 
 
 And then slowly, as the story unfolded itself, she 
 was drawn under the spell of it. Its pathos, its humor, 
 its appealing humanness, sought her heart, found it, 
 mastered it. She forgot the rest of the party. Her 
 responsive imagination and vibrant sympathy had car- 
 ried her across the footlights, and she was lost to 
 realities. And no one disturbed her, nor tried to call 
 her back from her dream. 
 
 All at once, it must have been a long time after- 
 ward, for the curtain had fallen upon the last act, she 
 was aware of thunderous applause and voices all over 
 the house calling insistently. 
 
 She never knew quite how it happened, but in a mo- 
 ment she was standing beside Norman in the narrow 
 hallway back of their box. Other people were there 
 too; people with eager, smiling faces and outstretched 
 hands. 
 
 " Author ! Author ! " The voices were coming 
 distinctly now, impatient, commanding. " Spence ! 
 Spence ! Bring him out ! Bring him out ! " 
 
 One of the men in the little group pressed forward. 
 It was the tall, lean dramatist whom Norman had 
 
ON TRIAL 373 
 
 pointed out to the Latimer party that night at Rad- 
 cliffe's, the successful writer of Orpheum skits. His 
 look of perpetual astonishment seemed to have in- 
 creased. 
 
 " Great stuff ! " he cried, slapping Norman Brewster 
 upon the shoulder. " It's the best thing that's hit San 
 Francisco since ' The Music Master.' You've got 'em 
 now, Spence. You've got 'em going! And believe 
 me, this burg knows." 
 
 He passed on, back to the wings, and Freda, look- 
 ing into the eyes of the man beside her, saw a trans- 
 formed being. This was not the man who had 
 pleaded for her love that afternoon. The Norman 
 Brewster whom she knew had vanished. In that mo- 
 ment of his triumph, the man was submerged in the 
 artist. 
 
 " I've got to take that curtain call ! " he cried. 
 " And I want to feel that you are up here in the wings 
 backing me." 
 
 And then, as he stood holding the heavy drapery of 
 the hallway aside for her to pass, " Freda, dear," he 
 whispered, " if you care just a little for this other 
 chap now I won't be jealous." 
 
COLAS BREUGNON Burgundian 
 
 BY ROMAIN ROLLAND 
 Author of "JEAN-CHRISTOPHE," $1.75. 
 
 The phrase, " there is life in the old dog yet," is the keynote of this 
 romance of a buoyant, plainspoken Burgundian in the little town of 
 Clamecy and the days of Marie de Medici. Colas is the embodied 
 artistry, humor and courage of France. 
 
 Bookman: "To live in the company of Breugnon is a tonic." 
 
 Review : " Seven or eight hours of delight. . . . Life in its totality, 
 teeming and varied, justified and glorious." 
 
 Nation: It "flows with sparkling Burgundy." 
 
 New York Sun : It is " so good that we do not pretend to be able to 
 do it justice . . . the very tonic the world now needs." 
 
 New York Evening Post: " Playful, tender, light-spirited and yet 
 penetrating." 
 
 Boston Transcript: " A character worth remembering." 
 
 Chicago Tribune: " Superior to anything Holland has done." 
 
 Philadelphia Evening Ledger: " Intensely human." 
 
 THE OLD MADHOUSE 
 
 BY WILLIAM DE MORGAN 
 
 Author of " JOSEPH VANCE," " SOMEHOW GOOD." etc. $1.90 
 
 The mystery of Dr. Cartaret's complete disappearance, told with 
 De Morgan's delightful characters, constant quiet humor and brave, 
 clean view of life. 
 
 New York Times' Review: "A peculiar homage . . . perhaps no 
 English-writing novelist since the days of Dickens and Thackeray has 
 won it as he has . . . full of all the things his admirers Love a 
 De Morgan novel for ... the mystery of Dr. Cartaret's disappearance 
 enthralls the reader." 
 
 New York Evening Post: "The absorbing progress of the story . . . 
 all these people really live . . . what may be called the moral force of 
 the novel is great." 
 
 Atlantic Monthly: " No English writer in this century has done so 
 much to take the novel away from the dilettanti and give it back to the 
 public." 
 
 New York Evening Sun: "He possesses the true magic of 'the spell 
 of the teller of tales.' " 
 
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 19 W 44 ST. (II '*o) NEW YORK 
 
FIRECRACKER JANE 
 
 By ALICE CALHOUN HAINES, author of "The Luck of the 
 Dudley Grahams," " Cock-a-doodle Hill," "Partners for 
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 Firecracker Jane is the motherless, lovable, red-haired 
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 Follows then a series of adventures which culminate in her 
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 a happy ending. 
 
 The New York Evening Sun : " Lives up to its title, much strenu- 
 ous adventure." 
 
 San Francisco Bulletin: "Thrilling . . . calculated to stir the 
 blood of the most jaded fiction reader." 
 
 THE CHINESE PUZZLE 
 
 By MARION BOWER and LEON M. LION. 
 
 The characters, vitally drawn, are gathered at a great 
 English country house, and include, in the group of brilliant 
 worldlings, a Chinese Ambassador, wise, loyal, and finally ? 
 There is a secret treaty, crime, intrigue and sparkling talk. 
 $1.60. 
 
 New York Times: " That all too rare literary product, an absorb- 
 ing mystery tale." 
 
 THE HAPPY YEARS 
 
 By INEZ HAYNES IRWIN. The third of the "Phoebe and 
 Ernest" Series. $1.60. 
 
 The author's response to the request that she tell what 
 happened to Phoebe and Ernest when they grew up. We here 
 see each of them married, with children of their own, and with 
 delightful friends, and perhaps the happiest of all are 
 grandfather and grandmother Martin. The life of them all is 
 rich with responsibility, friendship, love, sorrow and happi- 
 ness. 
 
 New York Evening Post: " Has as much humor, truth, and appeal- 
 ing warmth as any of its predecessors." 
 
 Boston Evening Transcript: "What marks Mrs. Irwin's work is 
 her ability to catch the mood of the average American." 
 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS (vi '19) NEW YORK 
 
THE LIGHT HEART 
 
 By MAURICE HEWLETT. $2.00. 
 
 Hewlett has never done anything more brilliant than 
 this northern story of adventure in which the epic starkness 
 of the plot, drawn from the Iceland sagas, is softened by the 
 humanity of a gentler day. The result is a surprising com- 
 bination of thrilling narrative and delicate characterization, 
 seldom to be matched in literature. 
 
 THE BLACK KNIGHT 
 
 By MRS. ALFRED SIDGWICK and CROSBIE GARSTIN. $2.00. 
 
 A young Englishman is involved in the financial ruin and 
 disgrace of his father, and emigrates to Western Canada. 
 At first a penniless laborer, he eventually makes a fortune, 
 after many humorous adventures strongly reminiscent of 
 Owen Wister's "Virginian." Finally he returns to Paris, 
 where he finds the girl of his choice in the clutches of schem- 
 ing relatives, and then . A fascinating up-to-date romance. 
 
 TRUE LOVE 
 
 By ALLAN MONKHOUSE, Literary Editor of the Manchester 
 Guardian. $1.75. 
 
 This novel deals with the spiritual struggles of a young 
 playwright, torn between his love for a woman and his love 
 of country at one of the great moments of the world's history. 
 No more gallant struggle was ever made, and Monkhouse's 
 handling of it is worthy of a high place in contemporary 
 fiction. The picture given of the dramatic and literary life in 
 Manchester is of particular interest. 
 
 CAPE CURREY 
 
 By RENE JUTA. $1.75. 
 
 This remarkable historical novel, which is also a first novel, 
 tells one of the strangest stories which has seen the light, even 
 in these wonder-loving days. Many of the characters have 
 descendants playing their parts now on the British imperial 
 stage. But the strange figure of Dr. James Barry has only 
 old wives' tales and this novel for memorial. The mysterious 
 garden is likewise no fiction, Sir Charles Somerset being 
 credited with the foundation of the first of its kind in the 
 Cape Province. 
 
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 19 W. 44TH ST. (iii '20) NEW YORK 
 
AT FAME'S GATEWAY 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF A PIANISTE 
 By JENNIE IRENE Mix. $1.75. 
 
 An often humorous story of the adventures of a beautiful 
 American girl from an oil-boom town, in search of musical 
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 the outcome cannot be foreseen by the reader, especially as to 
 how the heroine will succeed in both love and music. The 
 characters are an unusually likable lot, not the amorous 
 freaks that novelists have too often pictured musicians as 
 being. 
 
 THE GIRL FROM FOUR CORNERS 
 
 A CALIFORNIA ROMANCE 
 
 By REBECCA N. PORTER. $1.75. 
 
 An inspiring story of a girl's struggle between the evil in- 
 fluence of her father and the benign one of her mother, told 
 in action, which contains much of the unexpected. We begin 
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 she faces the vicissitudes of San Francisco. The gaiety of 
 that metropolis is well indicated. Strange to say, the heroine 
 comes the nearest to disaster from pity for one who needs 
 her. 
 
 THE UNCENSORED LETTERS 
 OF A CANTEEN GIRL 
 
 ANONYMOUS $a.oo 
 
 The only book of its kind so far produced by the Great 
 War. A remarkably sympathetic and fresh account of 
 A. E. F. happenings by an unpracticed writer. She gives us 
 the ingenuous joys and sorrows, the jokes, squabbles and 
 loves of our own great-hearted Yanks, mostly when they 
 were not fighting but occasionally when they were. Her 
 understanding both of officers and men seems equally clear 
 and sympathetic. 
 
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